En den you puts yo' knife up, en you sorter licks de blade, En never stop fer sayin' any grace; But cat ontell you satisfy-roll over in de shade, En sleep ontell de sun shine in yo' face! Honey good ter see; But we'en it comes ter sweetness, De melon make fer me! Frank Libby Stanton. A VAGUE STORY PERCHANCE it was her eyes of blue, Her cheeks that might the rose have shamed, To all the rules by artists framed; That made her lover love her so, He may have had a rival, who Did fiercely gage him to a duel, And, being luckier of the two, Defeated him with triumph cruel; Left him despairing, conquered, spurned- So oft such woes will counteract Man knows so little here below, I cannot tell-I do not know. Walter Parke. His Mother-in-Law HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW He stood on his head by the wild seashore, In all his emotions, as never before, A wildly hilarious grig. And why? In that ship just crossing the bay For a tropical country far away, Where tigers and fever prevailed. Oh, now he might hope for a peaceful life Though owning no end of neuralgic wife, He had borne the old lady through thick and thin, And now as he looked at the ship she was in He watched as the good ship cut the sea, And thought if already she qualmish might be, He watched till beneath the horizon's edge And he sprang to the top of a rocky ledge He watched till the vessel became a speck Walter Parke. 75 ON A DEAF HOUSEKEEPER Or all life's plagues I recommend to no man I've got one who my orders does not hear, And what she brought me was a huge fat gammon. Unknown. HOMEOPATHIC SOUP TAKE a robin's leg (Mind, the drumstick merely); Put it in a tub Filled with water nearly; Set it out of doors, In a place that's shady; Let it stand a week Fill the kettle up, One atom add of salt, For the thickening one rice kernel, Some Little Bug And use to light the fire "The Homœopathic Journal." Half an hour, no longer, (If 'tis for a man Of course you'll make it stronger). Should you now desire Stir it once around, Then three times a day If he chance to live, Unknown. SOME LITTLE BUG IN these days of indigestion It is oftentimes a question As to what to eat and what to leave alone; For each microbe and bacillus Has a different way to kill us, And in time they always claim us for their own. There are germs of every kind In any food that you can find In the market or upon the bill of fare. Drinking water's just as risky As the so-called deadly whiskey, And it's often a mistake to breathe the air. Some little bug is going to find you some day, Some little bug is going to find you some day. 44 The inviting green cucumber Gets most everybody's number, While the green corn has a system of its own; Though a radish seems nutritious Its behaviour is quite vicious, And a doctor will be coming to your home. Eating lobster cooked or plain Is only flirting with ptomaine, While an oyster sometimes has a lot to say, But the clams we cat in chowder Make the angels chant the louder, For they know that we'll be with them right away. Take a slice of nice fried onion And you're fit for Dr. Munyon, Apple dumplings kill you quicker than a train. Chew a cheesy midnight "rabbit" And a grave you'll soon inhabit Ah, to cat at all is such a foolish game. Eating huckleberry pie Is a pleasing way to die, While sauerkraut brings on softening of the brain. When you eat banana fritters Every undertaker titters, And the casket makers nearly go insane. Some little bug is going to find you some day, Some little bug will creep behind you some day, He'll give cirrhosis of the liver; Some little bug is going to find you some day. When cold storage vaults I visit I can only say what is it Makes poor mortals fill their systems with such stuff? Now, for breakfast, prunes are dandy If a stomach pump is handy And your doctor can be found quite soon enough. Eat a plate of fine pigs' knuckles And the headstone cutter chuckles, |