(chronological, dated from within the test or, when in parentheses, from notations in books of clippings)
1. I
grieve ter see these women folk
Too
weak ter do their labors;
But
they will do jes twice ther work
A-gaddin’
‘bout their neighbors.
A. by Conn. Valley Ad. , (c.
April 4, ‘91)
2. I
met her “coming through the rye”,
And said “you jade I’ve caught you now.”
A
modest farmer then was I,
And
she my young, unruly cow.
R.
by Puck, Pub. in Courier, (Feb. 11,
’94)
3. All
Love the Old Gal
There
is a “she” whom countless “he’s”
Admire
and love and try to please;
And
strange to say, no women hate her,
Because
it isn’t in their Natur’.
R.
by Puck, P. in B. Courier, (June 24, ’94)
4. She
slipped – she greeted Mother Earth
With
one resounding thud.
The
title that she’d borne since birth
Was
quickly changed to mud.
Conn. Valley Ad., (Mar.
21, ’91)
5. He
wrote some light and airy verse
And
carried it to Puck;
But
when he brought it home again
‘Twas on the strength of truck.
R.
by Puck, Pub. in Courier, (Feb. 25, ’94)
6. My
husband never kisses me
Said
she in tones real soft.
“Too
bad,” sighed Hannah, making tea biddy
“He
kisses me quite oft.”
Camb. Press, (c.
Mar. 21, ’91)
6½. To –
If
“one and one make two”,
How
is it, just for fun,
When
I was wed to you,
That
one and one made one?
R. by Puck, Judge, Truth, Pub. in B.
Courier, (Aug. 25, ’95)
7. Shocking!
What!
Git eout; my native place
Fallen
frum her peerless grace?
“Believe
it?” No, I can’t by jynx!
Thet
Moodus folks play Tiddle de Wynx.
Pub.
in Camb.
Press, (April 4, ‘91)
8. You
ask why Nell should break ther “spell”
An’
turn my love to bitter?
Alas!
‘Twa cuz I tried ter buzz
Thet
other blue-eyed critter.
Pub.
in Cam.
Press, (c. Nov. 28, ‘91)
9. The
pen is mightier than the sword,
The
sword is weaker than the pen;
But
pen and sword are both ignored
When
woman’s tongue attacks us men.
P.
in B. Courier,
(June 24, ’94)
10. There
is a strain upon my brain,
Beyond
my understanding;
Perhaps
it’s grown so that the bone
Prevents
it from expanding.
Pub.
in Cam.
Press, (c. Mar. 21, ’91)
11. The
sword is weaker than the pen,
The
pen is mightier than the sword;
But
sword and pen ain’t in it when
A
woman’s tongue commands the horde.
R.
by Puck, P. in Courier, (Feb. 11,
’94)
12. “I’m
glad to see you Uncle Josh,”
The
city sharper said.
“Yeow
won’t be long,” said he, “By gosh!”
And
stood him on his head.
R. by Puck, Pub. in Cam. Press, (Oct. 3,
‘91)
13. Although
it fits her to a T,
She
cannot rest a minute,
Until
her lover comes to see
If
he can squeeze her in it.
Pub.
in Cam.
Press, (c. July 25, ‘91)
14. During
the Editor’s Outing
Now
is the time
O
bards sublime
To
send your yards of funny rhyme.
The
Ed’s away
So
now let’s play
It
on the chap who has to stay.
Cam.
Press
15. When
you and wifey have a “bout”,
Take
drink, you never’d oughter;
“If
you must drown your sorrows out
You’d
better jes take water.”
Salmon River Cove
R.
by Puck, Cam. Press, (Apr. 16,
‘92)
16. Alas! ‘Twas Enough
I’d
nothing but my brass cornet,
He’d
nothing but his bass;
But
we were egged fer all uv thet,
An’
hooted from each place.
Pub.
in Boston
Leader, (Oct. 1, ‘91)
17. The
soberest man in a thousand miles,
He
never said ha! ha!
And
the only time he ever smiles
Is
when he sees a bar. b’ar.
R.
by Puck, Judge, Town Topics, Pub. Cam.
P. , (Jan. 14, ‘94)(Courier?)
18. What
is so delicious, pray,
O’er
which we hesitate
In
a half-sad and childish way
To
lift it from our plate?
It
is the maiden’s nightly dream –
The
last sweet spoonful of ice cream.
Pub.
in Cam.
Press, (Aug. 22, ‘91)
19. Our
might-hev-been’s are many,
Our
would-be’s many more;
Our
can-be’s, they hain’t any,
An’
that’s what makes us swore.
Cam. Press, (Aug.
22, ‘91)
20. Not In The Bank It
They
broke into a country bank –
Said
Jess to Frank, “let’s skin it.”
They
sought in vain, with faces blank,
Said
Frank to Jess, “we’re out this yank” –
“I
guess you’re right,” said Jess to Frank,
“But
mebbe we aint in it.”
Pub.
Aug. 25, ’95, B. Courier
21. The
gobbler gobbled meal and corn,
Till
he no more was slim;
And
when awoke Thanksgiving morn,
The
farmer gobbled him.
R.
by Truth, Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Dec. 2, 94)
22. Midsummer’s
here and farmer John
All
day his ground doth scratch;
While
every night he has to lie
And
watch his melon patch.
R.
by Puck, Judge, Pub. in Cam.
Press
23. Sing
a song of cartwheels,
A
pocket full of money;
If
we only had one
Wouldn’t
it be fun, eh?
Pub.
in Cam.
Press
24. A Music“Ail”
Hey
diddle diddle,
Dod
gast that fiddle
That
screeches next door, morn night and now;
The
little dog’s dead, I’ve lost my head,
And
lovers have all left town to spoon.
P.
in B. Courier,
(June 14, ’94)
25. Must Have Been An Easter
“O,
Mrs. B., do you like my hat?
My
husband did bequeath it.”
“‘Twould
look quite well,” said she since that,
“If
there were aught beneath it.”
Cam. Press, (May
23, ‘91)
26. Lines,
From an Ex-Angler
Ye
speckled beauties, known as trout,
Full
many lines I’ve cast to thee;
But
not the kind that anglers use,
They’ll
be small lines of poetry.
Pub.
in the Boston Courier, April 14, ‘95
27. Now
old fat girls, just think a bit,
Who
would be young and slender.
A
chicken sometimes misses it oftimes
By
being young and tender.
R.
by Puck, R. by Life, Pub. in B. Courier, (Jan. 24, ‘94)
28. Have Been Wet
No
one knows it better than I
That
all my lines are very dry;
But
if you will just stop to think,
You’ll
see they have been wet with ink.
Camb. Press, (Feb.
27, ‘92)
29. She,
provokingly –
What
would you do were I to say
To
all your pretty pleading, nay?
He,
sensibly –
I
thank my stars, shout with delight,
And
ask your chum tomorrow night.
Cam. Press, (c.
Nov. 28, ‘91)
30. Paddy’s Reflection
O
wouldn’t it be foire for Ireland
If
they could git soil free-gratis,
And
not be obliged for to hoire land
On
which to raise their peratis?
P.
in B. Courier,
(Feb. 10, 1895)
31. He
wore a natty yachting suit,
The
gay New Yorker did;
But
all the boat he ever sailed
Was
when he was a kid.
R.
by Puck, Town Topics, Pub. in Courier, (Feb. 11,
’94)
32. If you would like to get rich fast,
Heap
up a fortune that will last,
Just
take your rusty, unused pen
And
write a poem now and then.
Pub.
in Cam.
Press, (c. Oct. 3, ‘91)
33. “It
is no use,” the maiden said,
“But
I will be your sister, Ned.”
“I
have six, now; don’t want another,
But
would – I mean, I have no mother.”
The
maid turned red, then turned and fled,
And
thought ‘twas mean what Ned had said.
Cam. Press, (c.
Aug. 29, ‘91)
34. I
stole a kiss from Winifred,
And
kept it overnight;
Next
morn my lips were blushing red
Instead
of pinkish white.
R.
by P., Judge, Town Topic, Pub. in Courier,
(Jan. 24, ‘94)
35. A False Alarm
We
are drifting, drifting, drifting,
And
the moon is shifting, shifting,
And
it soon will be well hidden from our sight;
The
hour is witching, witching, witching,
And
my lips are itching, itching,
O
you needn’t dodge, Matildy, for it’s just a skeeter bite.
R.
by Puck, Pub. in Courier, (Jan. 24, ‘94)
36. Once
I was full of new ideas
!
But
could not well express‘m;
But
now that I can do all that
Where
are the ideas, bless ‘em?
Pub.
in Cam.
Press, (Oct. 8, ‘91)
37. Both Bad Enough
“What?”
said my old friend Jack when he saw my shining pate,
You
surely are not married and have not the ‘usual fate’.”
“Oh
no, my dear old comrade, far worse a thousand times,
I
have turned into a poet and scratched it thus for rhymes.
Pub.
in Cam.
Press, (Feb. 27, ‘92)
38. (The following was written and
sent to Mark Twain Sept. 14, 1891)
Mark Twain
Breathes
there a man who’s made his Mark
By
making light of things ‘twere dark;
And
Mark my words – ‘tis very plain,
This
man has split “the blues” in Twain.
This
poem ain’t wuth a cent an’ a ha’f.
But
surely it’s wuth yeour autograph.
Yankee Blade
(The
“autograph” was sent immediately)
39. I’d
sooner lose a hull week’s pay,
An’
stop a week frum eatin’;
Than
stay away the las’ gran’ day,
From
blessed ol’ camp-meetin’.
Pub.
in Conn.
Valley Ad.
40. The
melancholy days have come,
And
life for some has lost its sheen;
They
know not when they up will hum,
With
Biddy and her kerosene.
Pub.
in Cam.
Press, (Oct. 24, ‘91)
41. Read,
Reason, And Reflect
Now
doth the farmer stow away
Each
fussy city comer –
The
same he’ll do unto his wife,
When
wanes the hard-worked summer.
P.
in B. Courier,
(June 24, ’94)
42. “I
wish my legs were twice as big,”
Said
Grace, her mother shocking;
“For
ven you see, Old Santa Claus
Would
find a bigger stocking.”
R,
by Puck, R. by Life, Truth, NY World, To Date, Journal. Camb. Press
43. When
he proposed in accents clear,
She
swooned, the little saint;
But
when he whispered in her ear:
“Be
quick, arouse, you pa is near!”
He
saw ‘twas but a feint.
R.
by Puck, Judge, Town Topics, Pub. in Courier,
(Jan. 24, ‘94)
44. And
now I have ten thousand friends
To
boost me from a fix;
But
that will fade when ‘lection ends,
For
‘tis but foolitricks.
Camb. Press, (Oct.
24, ‘91)
45. Old
Mother Bosit she went to the closet
To
feast on a big turkey bone;
But
when she got there she died of despair
Because
the old sinner had flown.
Cam. Press, (c.
Dec. 6, ‘91)
46. Your
stocking should be whole and clean
Before
Santa Claus ‘tis seen. is
And
all you children that are wise
Will
stretch it twice its usual size.
Camb. Press, (c.
Nov. 28, ‘91)
47. Now
Mary had a little lamb,
Potato
and a bean;
And
out of that she conjured up
A
feed for seventeen.
Pub.
in Cam.
Press, (Feb. 27, ‘92)
48. Lives
of all great men remind us
That
if we would do likewise;
We
must push, and leave behind us
Fist
prints twixt our neighbors’ eyes. Footprints
Camb. Press, (Jan.
16, ‘92)
49. What’s
the use in tellin’ folks
‘Bout
y er pains an’ aches;
They
hev hed the self-same thing,
On’y
wusser – sakes
Erlive!
yer own are drownded
‘Bout
ther time yer trumpet’s sounded.
Pub.
in Cam.
Press
50. There
is a man in Boston, Mass., our
town
And
he was wondrous wise; Polite
and
He
gave his car seat to a lass maid
Who
was full twice his size.
He’d
rather lose his seat (cherished)
Than
have her standing on his feet. treading
Cam. Press, B. Courier, (Mar. 17,
1895)
51. “The
best cologne in the world,” said he;
“Two
dollars an ounce, it’s cheap, you see,
The
scent is flower de honey.”
“Don’t
think I will buy to-day,” says she
“Because
I’m afraid if I do, you see
The
scent will be strongest of money.”
Cam. Press, (Jan.
16, ‘92)
52. “Nice
furnished room”, the placard read;
“I’ll
take it, ma’am,” the stranger said.
He
did; and, as the story goes,
Took
all the other lodgers’ clothes.
Camb. Press, (Feb.
6, ‘92)
53. O
the snow, the beautiful snow!
The welcomist thing of all year.
How
smilingly down the street we go
With
a big snow-ball wedged in each ear.
Camb. Press, (Jan.
23, ‘92)
54. We
do not want the whole world quite
O
generous hearted sirs!
But
if it pleases you, you might
Send
on some calendars.
Camb. Press, (Jan.
23, ‘92)
55. War
Song War-----
Songs -----
“We’re
full of fight, we’re in for war.”
From
north to south is wafted;
But
oh! how quick the tune will change
If
anyone is drafted.
Cam. Press, (Feb.
6, ‘92)
56. “O,
beautiful snow,” the poet penned,
“O,
beautiful snow,” the press did send;
“O,
beautiful snow,” the people read,
“O,
cuss the snow,” the people said. curse
most of them
Pub.
in Courier,
(Feb. 25, ’94)
57. She
nothing knew of speech or books,
And
common sense she’d not;
I
married her just for her looks,
And
that was all I got.
Cam. Press, (Feb.
13, ‘92)
quoted
in Blade
58. A
fib’s a fib and a squib’s a squib,
Tho’
many times a squib’s a fiB.
But
they who say my squibs are fibs’
Will
cause his nibs to punch their ribs.
Cam. Press, (Feb.
13, ‘92)
59. I
don’t propose to poetize,
On
“Spring” with smile or tear;
Because
I haven’t mended yet
From
kicks I got last year.
Cam. Press, (Mar.
19, ‘92)
60. I’ve
chased a woodchuck, fox and crow, skunk
an’ cow,
An’
chased ‘em long and far;
But
the hardest chase I ever had
Was
for a West End car.
Cam. Press, (Mar.
19, ‘92)
61. “Money
makes the mare go,”
Saying
old and funny;
But
the mare don’t do it all,
Man
makes the money.
Pub.
in Courier, (Feb. 25,
’94)
62. What
earthy scene is more beautiful
Than
a loving family group,
Where
children to parents are dutiful
And
have neither colic nor croup.
Camb. Press, (June
4, ‘92)
63. ‘Tis
January first, I know,
And
time of new resolves to sing;
But
I will turn no new leaves now,
They’ll
be more plenty in the spring.
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Dec. 30, ’94)
64. I
clasped her proudly
In
the hall,
And
kissed her loudly,
That
was all.
A
voice from overhead did roar:
“He’s
gone, I heard him slam the door.”
Cam. Press, (Aug.
20, ‘92)
65. The
grocer on one of his numerous pegs
Hangs
up a card with “Fresh Laid Eggs”.
And
in so doing no falsehood is made,
Because
in truth, they were fresh when laid.
Cam. Press, (Mar.
26, ‘92)
66. When
sloping walks are smooth as glass,
With
howling winds of winter,
And
breakfast late, I’ve no desire
To
be a suburb sprinter.
P.
in B. Courier,
(Jan. 14, ‘94)
R.
by Puck, Judge, Town Topics
67. The
man who missed it loudly cried:
“How
fast that car did go!”
But
he complained, who rode inside:
“What
makes this car so slow?”
Cam. Press, (Mar. 26,
‘92)
68.
A Queer World
“This
world is queer,” falls on our ear,
From
mortals every minute;
Another
says “the world’s all right,
It’s
them that’s livin’ in it.”
But
they forget just then, I fear,
That
they are part uv them that’s queer.
Pub.
in Camb.
Press, (Feb. 6, ‘92)
69. To
let me put her rubbers on
She
always hesitates;
But
freely shows her dainty foot
When
I strap on her skates.
R.
by Puck, Judge, Town Topics
Pub.
in Courier,
(Jan. 24, ‘94)
70. If
Solomon was half as wise as they claim
How
could he have married, in Heaven’s name,
So
many women, I cannot quite see
When
one is more than enough sufficient for me.
Pub.
in Cam.
Press, (Apr. 16, ‘92)
71. To
Tylerville
I’m
much obliged to Tylerville,
For
compliment ‘ithout a bill.
Kind
words like corns will never die,
An’
‘ithout corns never will I.
Conn. Valley Ad. , (Mar.
26, ‘92)
71½.
She says she loves me truly,
But
will not be my wife;
“But
if I’ll be her husband,
She’ll
marry me for life”!
Pub.
in Camb.
Press
72. A Crank’s Advice To Cranks
Don’t
ever seek an editor
When
he’s in his sanctum;
Some
friends of mine they did one day
And
he never thanked um. thum.
Cam. Press, (Apr.
9, ‘92) (B. Courier, Sept 15,
’95)
73. Now
doth the little idle bee, honey
Live
on last summer’s labor;
While
man who had good chance as he,
Is
living on his neighbor.
Pub.
in Courier,
(Jan. 7, ’94)
74. “Where
are you going my pretty, pretty maid?”
“After
an ice cream, sir,” she said.
“I’d
like to go with you my pretty, pretty maid,
But my last year’s bills are yet
unpaid.”
Camb. Press, (Apr.
9, ‘92)
75. “There’s
no love like the old love,”
Sung
sad and henpecked Harry,
“There’s
no love like the old love,
The
one I didn’t marry.”
P.
in B. Courier,
(Jan. 14, ‘94)
76. Little
Sally Waters
Sitting
on the ice;
Tried
her hand at skating;
Never’ll
try it twice.
Pub.
in Courier,
(Jan. 7, ‘94)
77. Old Lay; New Truth
Wife
and I live all alone, My
In
a house we call our own;
For
she raises such a fuss,
No
one else will live with us.
B. Courier
77½. Ah
me, ah me, the maiden sighed,
What
joy ‘twould be to feel
That
we could use our bathing suits
To
ride upon the wheel.
R.
by Puck, Judge, Truth, Pub. in Cambridge
Press
78. My Family
I
often see my children round without their father’s name
Stamped
on their faces anywhere, but I am not to blame;
It
is the rascal editors who draw the pencil blue
Across
my modest signature and take from me my due.
Boston Courier, (Oct. 13, ’95)
79. When
lovely woman starts to conquer,
And
finds too soon she rules the roost,
What
man can stand her gymnastics,
What
man won’t soon give up the ghost. goost.
P.
in B. Courier,
(July 15, ’94)
R.
by Puck, Judge, Town Topics
80. No Wish For Suicide
“Do
try one,” said my new made wife,
And
handed me a biscuit;
No
thank you dear, I value life
Too
much to go and risk it.
Camb. Press, (May
21, ‘92)
81. ‘Tis
January first, and new
Resolves
our minds do claim;
So
I have sworn and thrice resolved
To
keep right on the same.
Pub.
in Courier,
(Jan. 7, ’94)
82. Spooks
Full
few are those who are anxious to die,
In
all of this human host;
But
I ween there are none, But
there are none, when facing one,
When
brought facing to one,
Unwilling
to give up the ghost.
P.
in B. Courier,
(Sept. 15, ’95)
82½. One And Another How About It,
Brothers?
It’s
one thing to know a yarn,
Another
thing to tell it.
And
one thing to write a joke
Another
thing to sell it.
P.
in B. Courier,
(Aug. 25, ’95)
83. Men
of thought and men of action
Now
pace the slippery track;
And
leave their muddy footprints
On
some other fellow’s back.
P.
in Courier,
(Mar. 4, ’94)
84. What
makes the big moon smile all night?
Said
little John to his papa.
“It
makes him grin my son to see
How
many million fools there are.”
Cambridge Press, (c.
Aug. 13, ‘92)
85. O
for a song that wasn’t sung
Full
ten decades before;
And
Oh! for a joke that wasn’t sprung
Before
the days of Noah.
Pub.
in Cambridge
Press, (June 4, ‘92)
86. Right, Too
“What
song is now most popular?”
Asked
Cy from way down East;
Straightway
his city friend replied:
“The
one that’s sung the least.”
R.
by Life, Puck, Truth, T. Topic
P.
in B. Courier,
(Apr. 1, ‘94)
87. O
for a desert vast and wide,
Or
far sequestered spot
Where
I could dig a pit and hide
My
poems accepted not.
Cam. Press, (May
21, ‘92)
88. ‘Tis
not the elevated
Alone
that people want;
Where
they would some rapid transit
Is
in each restaurant. a
R.
by Puck, Truth, Life, T. Topics,
P.
in Boston Courier,
(Mar. 25, ‘94)
89. On Skates
At
home she looks divinely sweet,
In
furs she looks far sweeter;
But
fairest of all she looks is when
The
ice comes up to meet her.
R.
by Puck, Truth, Life, T. Topics,
P. in Courier, (Mar. 18, ’94)
90. Now
doth the little busy bee
Buzz
round the meadow lot,
And
leave upon our burning knee
A
red “forget-me-not”.
Cam. Press, (July
3, ‘92)
91. O
poets far and poets near,
One
small request I here unfurl:
If
write you must you’ll skip, I trust
The
breezy “summer girl”.
Camb. Press, (July
3, ‘92)
92. Man
wants but little here below,
But
lovely woman wants – –
I
thought I’d leave it just like so
Or
I might sorrow on my birth.
Camb. Press, (July
16, ‘92)
93. This
world is a world of trouble,
This
world is a world of sin;
But
after all this world is double
The
best I e’er was in.
Pub.
in Cam.
Press, (July 16, ‘92)
94. (Campaign
Song)
Should
I become a democrat
And
live two minutes after that,
I’d
think that fate was kinder than
It
e’er before was unto man.
Cam. Press, (c.
Sept. 3, ‘92)
95. O
politics, sweet politics, !!
Thou
art the star on which I fix
My
earthly hopes and earthly fame,
But
not an inch beyond the same.
Cam. Press, (c.
Oct. 8, ‘92)
96. The
ladies understand the byke,
And
handle it quite good;
But
ninety-nine of them can’t strike
A
graceful attitude.
Pub.
in Camb.
Press, (Aug. 6, ‘92)
97. Assisting The Deep Sea
“I
wonder what the wild waves say?”
He
asked, with smile resigned;
“I
think,” said she with charming pout,
“They
say they’d like to wash the doubt
From
that young fellow’s mind.”
P.
in B. Courier, (Feb. 18,
’94)
98. Clickerty,
clickerty, click, click, click,
Poems
come now fast and thick;
Pen
and ink no more is seen,
Grind
‘em wholly by machine.
Clickerty,
clickerty, click, click, click,
Faster
than a chap can think.
Cam. Press, (Aug.
20, ‘92)
99. O
how delightful it would be
To
feel the splush and splinter
Of
the dam-p, well-aimed snow ball
We
cussed about last winter.
Camb. Press, (c.
Aug. 13, ‘92)
100. Wife
says since “trains” are all the go,
Of
sidewalk sweeping she has none;
The
reason why she said it tho’,
Is
just because she hasn’t one.
Pub.
in Camb.
Press, (Aug. 27, ‘92)
101. I’m
glad that “Uncle Ned” died “Long, Long Ago”,
And
that the “Old Arm Chair” had an arm.
I’m
glad that “Grandfather’ Clock” has ceased for to go,
And
that the “Old Oaken Bucket” is “Down On The Farm”.
Pub.
in Music
and Mirth
102. “Dear
Editor,” the scribe did say,
“My
lack of items please excuse;
My
wife for two weeks is away,
And
I can’t get a scrap of news.”
Cam. Press, (c.
Oct. 8, ‘92)
103. Oh, Patti!
Did
I hear her sing “My Friend”? O, no,
Which
I am real sorry to tell;
When
she gives her final farewell.
P.
in Courier, (Feb. 11,
’94)
Adelina Patti (10 February 1843 – 27 September 1919) was a highly acclaimed 19th-century opera singer, earning huge fees at the height of her career in the music capitals of Europe and America. She first sang in public as a child in 1851 and gave her last performance before an audience in 1914. Along with her near contemporaries Jenny Lindand Thérèse Tietjens, Patti remains one of the most famous sopranos in history, owing to the purity and beauty of her lyrical voice and the unmatched quality of her bel canto technique.
The composer Giuseppe Verdi, writing in 1877, described her as being perhaps the finest singer who had ever lived and a "stupendous artist". Verdi's admiration for Patti's talent was shared by numerous music critics and social commentators of her era.
104. Time
was she thought to see me fly
Along
the ice was great;
But
now she makes the angels sigh
When
I get on a skate.
P. in Courier, (Feb. 18,
’94)
105. Does
anyone know of a single man
In
all of this human batch,
Who
has his lamp wick all prepared,
Before
he has stricken a match?
Cam. Press, (Oct.
15, ‘92)
106. No
deed so brave does man perform
In
all this famed world’s history,
As
to outride a fierce love-storm,
And
anchor to a “mystery”.
P.
in Courier,
(Mar. 4, ’94)
107. I
wish I were a soldier,
A
soldier made of tin;
I’d
guard the “unprotected”,
And
rake the shekels in.
R.
by Puck, Judge, Truth,
P.
in B. Courier,
(May 19, ‘95)
108. This
life is very changeable,
And
trials ne’er cease to roll;
To-day
we buy a cake of ice,
Tomorrow
it is coal.
Cam. Press, (Oct.
1, ‘92)
109. And
from the seashore now they come, came,
Like
chickens home to roost;
The
maiden and her lover who
Is
not so well gal-loosed.
Cam. Press, (Oct.
1, ‘92)
110. What
wonder they the water over
Think
a lot of “free trade” Grover?
For
years they in the hole have been
And
want to get their neighbors in.
Cam. Press
111. If
you, a man of common sense,
Like
drunkards leaning on your fence,
Carousing
morning, night and noon,
Then
vote to bring back the saloon.
Cam. Press
* * *
Campaign
Squibs
For
the campaign edition of the Cam. Press
Oct. 22, 1892
Pub. Nov. 5, ‘92
112.
Things Political
Election
day now draweth nigh,
Be
careful how you vote;
Elect
the man who lets you buy
The
cheapest overcoat.
Revised
for B. Courier,
Sept.
22, ‘95
113. One’s
friend are thicker now than flies
Around
a ‘lasses cask;
But
where they’ll be November ninth
Is
needless quite to ask.
114. Of
“heelers” there will be enough
Election
day about the polls;
But
they won’t answer after then,
To
“heal” the many ailing souls.
115. Republicans
are smiling now,
And
democrats are very sad.
“Protection”
sounds the best, somehow,
While
“free trade” sounds far worse than bad;
And
working men will now allow
The
times are best they ever had.
* * *
116. I
asked her quick to marry me,
As
quick as you’d say “scat”;
But
when she gave to me her “yes”,
‘Twas
quicker far than that.
B. Courier,
(Sept. 6, ’95)
117. “What
made the lamb love Mary so?”
Why,
can’t you see, you fool?
Because
one day was all she made
Him
go with her to school. Go
with him
R.
by Puck, Judge,
P.
in Courier,
(Feb. 4, ‘94)
118. The
real sweet youth a blossom wears, swell
Full
oft upon his clothes;
And
after he has “rounded” up
He
wears it in his nose.
R. by Puck, Judge,
P.
in Courier,
(Feb. 4, ‘94)
119. Paddy’s Reflection
This
be the winter av our discontent;
No
worruk, no phwiskey, an’ divil a cint.
R. by Puck, Truth, Life, T. Topics,
P.
in Boston Courier,
(Mar. 18, ‘94)
120. Once Per Year
Thanksgiving
comes but once a year,
O.
let us truly thankful be;
For
that’s the only time, I fear,
That
turkey gets in front of me.
B. Courier,
Nov. 24, ‘95
121. Now
doth the Easter maiden wise
Trip
forth in summer’s filing clothes;
While
we, devoid of sense still wear
Our
ulsters turned up to our nose.
Pub. in Music
and Mirth
122.
Hard and Cold
At
critics hard and cold, I laugh,
Nor
short-lived fame do I regret;
I
do not write to live for e’er
But
for the hard, cold cash I get.
R.
by Puck, Truth, Judge, Pub. in Courier,
(Feb. 4, ‘94)
123. Jack
and Jill went up the hill,
To
coast in winter weather;
Jack
couldn’t steer, Jill bruised her ear, –
No
more they slide together.
P.
in B. Courier,
(Mar. 11, ’94)
124. Now
Mary’s sold her little lamb,
(Let
all the jokers know it)
Because
ere long her wool she’ll buy
Cheaper
than she can grow it.
P.
in Courier,
(Mar. 11, ’94)
125. Pay
up the old, contract the new,
And
end ye editor his due;
Ye
editor comes first, you know;
Praise
God from whom all blessings flow.
Cam.
Press, Jan. 1, 1893(Jan. 14, ’93)
126. Don’t
pick out a wife in a ballroom
When
she is scented with eau de and clove;
But
call around early next morning,
When
she’s wrestling her mother’s old stove.
Pub.
in Camb.
Press
127. To The Fraternity
O,
brothers if you seek revenge
On
him who deals you sting on sting, and
Remember
it is nearly time
To
send him verses done on Spring.
P.
in B. Courier,
(Mar. 4, ’94)
128. And
now the boy who nearly dies
When
asked to journey to the store,
Will
skate from morn till night, and rise
Next
day and hanker after more.
Cam. Press, (Jan.
14, ’93)
129. “I’ve come to take you for a ride
Within
my open sleigh.”
The
maid looked up, eyes staring wide,
And
then to him did say:
‘You
surely couldn’t hire one, Dwight.” Ned?
“O,
no, I purchased it last night!” one,” he said
Cam. Press, (c. Feb.
25, ’93)
130. The
Charles is froze’ from shore to shore,
And
you who own a nice house,
Should
now lay in your summer’s store
By
filling up an ice house.
Cam. Press, (c. Feb.
25, ’93)
131. The
maiden doesn’t mind the cold,
And
at the ice-blocked stream she grins;
For
in her dream she’s spooning cream lapping
When
once the summer trade begins.
Cam. Press, (Feb. 18,
’93)
132. (The Same One)
O,
hearest though the rustling leaf?
I
asked of her, my dear;
“Got
used to that,” said she in doubt
“I’ve
heard it every year.”
Cam. Press, (Jan.
14, ’93)
133. The
Easter maid, lightly arrayed,
Defies
the fierce and cutting breeze;
While
all mankind, in style behind,
Must
wear our overcoats or freeze.
P.
in B. Courier,
(Mar. 18, ’94)
134. If
you want all the human race
To
land you in its talk,
And
put you up for President
Keep
ashes on your walk.
Cam.
Press, (Feb. 18, ’93)
135. Present Company Excepted (
)
O,
for a deadly, infernal machine,
That
would blow into splinters each “sage”,
Who
takes up his pen and hashes anew
A
joke that’s been going the rounds for an age.
B. Courier,
(Sept.22, ’95)
136. O,
let us go and rummage now
The
dingy garret o’er,
And
hustle out with gladsome shout
The
hoops our mothers wore.
Boston Courier
137. Ward
3 now has three sights that cause
The
crowds to stare and wonder at;
Electric
cars, the engine house
And
B.J. Brogan’s Easter hat.
Pub.
in Camb.
Press
138. The
Market Price
His
outfit cot him a god round sum,
And
his guide to row him around;
And
the fish he brought into town that night
Cost
him twenty-five cents per pound.
P.
in B. Courier,
(July 1, ’94)
139. Rapid
? Transit
They
are stewin’ an’ a-chewin’ uv the rapid transit scheme;
Whether
overhead or underground, electric, hoss, or steam.
An’
when they’re done a-wranglin’, for the next ten years or more,
We’ll
ride roun’ the city jest the same’s we did before.
P.
in B. Courier,
(June 2, ’94)
140. After
the fair is over,
After
we get back home;
It’s
scratch we must to pay that “trust”,
For
many months to come.
R.
by Puck, Pub. in Courier, (Feb. 18,
’94)
141. A
boy last Fourth of Juli one
A
did bi; mammoth fire-cracker bunch
of fire crackers
The
whole business exploded –
“Didn’t
know they were loaded,”
And
now he is minus an i.
R.
by Puck, Pub. in Courier, (July 8, ’94)
142. Sing
not to me of better times,
In
speech or letter, prose or rhyme;
“Congress
has sit” – Ah, yes, ahem,
But
someone ought to sit on them.
Camb.
Press, Sept. 1893
143. State
politics are on the wing;
Be
sure to get within the “ring”,
Take
all the “boodle” you can get
And
put it where it won’t get “wet”.
November,
’93, Camb.
Press
144. Our
Mary had a little lamb,
And
sheared it every year;
But
if they cut the tariff off,
No
more will Mary shear.
R.
by Puck, Pub. in Cam. Press
145. The Last Report
The
lamb grew to enormous size,
His
mistress run the dairy;
One
day he put her up a tree,
And
then the lamb had Mary.
A.
by Puck, Pub. in #882, Jan. 31, 1894
146. The
state of finance growth low,
In
palace, cot, and shanty;
And
children now will wonder if
Hard
times have struck old Santa.
Pub. in B.
Courier, (Dec. 13, ’94), R. by Puck
147. Burial Of The Baseball Warrior
After
the ball is over,
After
the prayer is said,
They
take his glove, his mask, and bat,
And
place beside the dead.
R.
by Puck, Judge, Pub. in B. Courier, (Feb. 4, ‘94)
148. That
“Tired” Feeling
It’s
summut odd I s’pose to put
“Weary”
in our desires;
But
jest the same I like to feel
Them
soft, pneumatic “tires”.
Sent
to Pope Mfg. Co. for 1984 Calendar (Pub.)
(1895 Columbia Calender, Pope Mfg. Co.)
149. A Home Queen
“You
like to see queens dress in style
“You
say?” said she with charming mien;
“Why
yes,” said he. “Well, then,” said she,
“Not long ago you called me queen.”
Pub. in Berlin
News, (Mar. 1, ’94)
150. After
the jokes are over,
After
they’ve hashed it all,
What
happiness folks will express
All
o’er the “Ball”. over
this civilized
Pub.
in B. Courier, (Apr. 1, ‘94)
150. After
the jokes are over,
After
they’ve hashed it all,
What
happiness folks will express
All
o’er the “Ball”. over
this civilized
Pub.
in B. Courier, (Apr. 1, ‘94)
151. He
strolled through the streets of a Western town,
And
ground out the “Chord that was lost”;
But
a gang of cowboys soon discovered the rope,
And
into the air the Italian was to’st.
Pub. in B.
Courier (May 6, ’94), R. by Puck, Truth, Judge
Lost chord - something achieved once and evermore unattainable, coming from poem/hymn ‘The Lost Chord’.
152. Old
Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard,
To
get a cold sausage for Towser;
“Have
you nothing better, mam?” asked the dog,
“It’s
good enough,” said she, “you hog,”
“Another
case of dog eat dog,”
Said
Towser.
P.
in B. Courier,
(Mar. 11, ’94)
153. Now
brightly shines the summer sun,
Prosperity
is in the signs;
The
bootblack’s face is all aglow,
In
thought of all of his future shines.
R.
by Puck, Truth, Judge, Pub. in B. Courier,
(Apr. 22, ‘94)
154. What’s
In A Name?
“They
wouldn’t take a joke of me,”
Said
Gagg, the funny poet; Boggs
“But
they have copied yards and yards
Of
mine and didn’t know it.”
R.
by Puck, Truth, Judge, Pub. in B. Courier,
(Apr. 15, ‘94)
155. “I’d
like to go a-berrying,”
The
poet sang full merry;
“O
would you might” did the editor write,
“If
only yourself you’d bury.”
P.
in B. Courier,
(Mar. 18, ’94)
“Joe went berrying”
156. Sometimes
in life a pair of shoes Even…
Will
cloud our hearts with doubt;
Just
when we get the broken in,
We
find they’re broken out.
R.
by Puck, Truth, Judge, Pub. in B. Courier,
(May 19, ‘95)
157. Doesn’t Know Where She’s At
“A
hen mus’ git all tangled up,”
Drawled
farmer Jones while hayin’;
“Becuz
she’s layin’ while she sets,
An’
settin’ while she’s layin’.”
Pub. in B. Courier,
(June 3, ’94) R. by Puck, Truth, Judge
158. “Two
Little Girls in Blue”, they sung,
As
they reeled ‘neath the morning dew;
When
suddenly they were hurried away
By
two little boys in blue.
Pub. in Music
& Mirth
159.
To My Wife In Her Easter Frills
Silver
threads among the gold; Darling I am growing old;
Darling
I am growing old; Silver
threads among the gold;
Age
tells on me every year,
But
you are young as e’er, dear.
P.
in B. Courier,
(Mar. 25, ‘94)
160. Familiar
grow the catchy strains
From
out the latest song;
But
more familiar are the ones
Our
labor brings along.
P.
in B. Courier,
(Mar. 25, ‘94)
161. The Last Bawl
“After
the ball is over,” I
Can’t
see why this so much is cried;
After
the ball is over, why
We
simply see the other side.
R.
by Puck, Truth, Judge, Pub. in B. Courier,
(Apr. 22, ‘94)
162. He’d
nothing but his “Magic Flute”,
“I’d
nothing but my song”;
But
we were “Rocked” when “Homeward Bound”,
By
“Fifty Thousand Strong”.
R.
by Puck, Truth, Judge, Pub. in B. Courier,
(June 10, ’94)
163. No Mark Down
“A
penny for your thoughts,” said he,
Beside
the fireside’s glow,
“I
guess I’ll keep them sir,” said she,
You
value them too low.”
R. by Puck, Truth, Judge, Pub. in B. Courier,
(Apr. 29, ‘94)
164. A Nice Mess
Daylight
will find him casting line,
And
“trouting” doth he call it;
Twilight
will find him with his string, At
night he carries home
Wrapped
safely in his wallet.
R.
by Puck, Truth, Judge, Pub. in B. Courier,
(Apr. 29, ‘94)
165. “O,
do my eyes deceive me?”
Mankind
full often cries;
Perhaps,
but oftener I’ll bet
Mankind
deceives its eyes.
R.
by Puck, Truth, Pub. in B. Courier, (May 20, ’94)
166. He
sank into a barber’s chair,
Stuffed
cotton in his ears;
It
paralyzed the shaver so
He
lost his speech for years.
R.
by Puck, Truth, Pub. in B. Courier, (May 20, ’94)
167. No Need Of Going Under
If
one contemplates suicide,
And
wants the job secure,
Just
dip into the river Charles
And
death will follow sure.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(May 13, ’94)
168. A Short Story
I.
Lovely
maiden on the beach.
II.
Carried
far beyond her reach.
III.
Shark
attracted by the sound.
IV.
Saves
the maid from being drown’d.
R. by Puck,
Pub.
in B. Courier,
(July 8, ’94)
169. The Editor’s Son
His
father works upon the staff,
A
man sedate and grim;
And
if the boy cuts up a shine, at
night,
The
staff works some on him.
Pub. in Courier,
(Apr. 8, ‘94)
170. ‘Tis
April first, look out, beware!
Just
take the matter cool;
Whatever
else you are to-day,
Don’t
be an April fool.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Apr. 1, ‘94)
171. Necessary To Grow
Mother
may I go out to play?
Yes,
my darling daughter;
But
please don’t eat much mud to-day,
Or
sit down in the water.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Apr. 8, ‘94)
172. Now
that the spring is fairly here,
And
things are in the sprout;
It’
time for season bards to shove
Their
autumn poems out.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Apr. 15, ‘94)
173. “Written For” The Courier
It
makes us laugh when we reach that half
Of
these poems were “written for”, so and so;
When
rejected they’ve been time, time and again,
By
the ones they were written for, you know.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(May 27, ’94)
174. The
Average Poem
(Written For The Courier) Puck
“This
verse I wrote for the Courier, dear
old Puck
No
other Journal shall us it; one
(The
Puck and Judge, Truth, Life and Vogue, added
‘Puck’, Free Press
And
the Free Press did refuse it.) Siftings
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier,
(July 16, ’94)
175. When
May comes in with smile serene
All
warmed with summer’s hue;
She’ll
say to April, “Yum, yum, sis,
I’m
glad I wasn’t you.”
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Apr. 22, ‘94)
176. “I
want to be an angel,”
He
sang that morn, and “swish!
Bang!”
the cannon cracker went,
And
Johnnie got his wish.
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier,
(July 8, ’94)
177. The
boy stood on the railway track
When
all but him did fly; scat
And
later on they laid him where
Such
tricks boys cannot try, are
out of date
R. by Puck, Pub. in Courier, (May 27, ’94)(June 24, ’94)
178. With Socialistic Foundations
The
new world’s not the only land
Where
real estate spreads fast and thick;
For
oft we read in Paris grand,
They
send up buildings full as quick.
R. by Puck, Pub. in Courier, (June 3, ’94)
179. “How
is it Johnny is so choice
Of
all his pennies now?”
The
circus season draweth near,
And
that is simply how.
R. by Puck, Pub. in Courier, (May 27, ’94)
180. “Honest
police?” ask of the man
Who
selleth fruit so sweet; cheap
He’ll
tell you that the cop he knows
Is
always on the beat.
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier
(May 6, ’94)
181. Hard
Luck
An
hour he waited on the lake,
To
get the thrill of one soft bite;
But
when his catch was fried that night,
It
didn’t even that much make.
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier,
(June 3, ’94)
182. “Any
trout here in this brrok?”
Asked
the dude of farmer Crook,
To
which the farmer made reply, “My poor misguided friend,
There
be trout in this here brook,
But
they wouldn’t bite a hook,
Thet
hed sech a lookin’ image a-holt the other end.”
Pub. in B. Courier,
(May 6, ’94)
183. “What use is Coxey anyhow?”
The dull world asts a-blinkin’;
He’s jet this use, thet feller is,
He’s set the world a-thinkin’.
Pub.
in B. Courier,
(May 13, ’94)
184.
World Moves Too Fast
I
hev tried night an’ mornin’,
Tried
it ‘arly, tried it late;
But
I can’t, an’ no use tryin’,
Write
a poem up to date.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(May 13, ’94)
185.
Woman’s Sphere
My
wife (she) is a poet, too,
And
spends the whole of seven days
In
writing poems and essays
On
how and what men ought to do.
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier,
(June 17, ’94)
186. Maud
Muller on a summer’s day
Stole
my very heart away.
But
folks all said my heart was bad,
So
when she took it I was glad.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(June 10, ’94)
187. Miss
Seabird sought her bathing suit,
To
air it and to bind it;
But
sought in vain, it was so small
The
poor girl couldn’t find it.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(May 20, ’94)
188. No Decline There
Reports
fresh from the angling world
Declare
the sport is tame;
And
tho’ all fish are growing scarce
The
lies remain the same.
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier,
(June 17, ’94)
189. We
are overwhelmed with questions and their number daily gains;
Things
are twisted, topsy-turvy clear from Oregon to Maine;
And
now for the love of goodness let every human tongue
Demand
some of them settled ere another one is sprung.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(May 20, ’94)
190. Them
bloomin’ politicians who propel the ship of state
Hev
run her on the ledges while us passengers mus’ wait;
But
the tide is risin’, brother, an’ we’ll float her by an’ by,
An’
we’ll head for Labor River, where demand exceeds supply.
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier,
(May 27, ’94)
191. The
lakes are full of fishes and the air is full of flies,
Resorts
are full of pleasures, and the anglers full of lies,
The
books are full of stories which are neither dry nor stale,
But
the little wallet’s empty, and thereby hangs a tale.
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier,
(June 24, ’94)
192. Sensitive Mary
She
said she didn’t
give a jamb how much folks
ridi-
culed
her lamb; but when those poets, sons of Hamb! began
to poetized
I t ramb, she said, “it’s sorely grieved I ain’t,”
and
wept e’en like a tearful clam.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(June 10, ’94)
193. Little
drops of poetry,
Larger
grains of sand,
Make
cold blooded editors,
All
o’er this mighty land.
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier,
(June 17, 94)
194.
Petticoats, Poodles And Politics
There
ain’t no use in cryin’ if you’ve lost yer good ol’ job;
These
pokey politicians, they are boun’ ter bluff an’ rob;
But
the times will soon be better than they ever yet hev been,
For
we’re goin’ to tackle suffrage an’ will vote the wimmin in!
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier,
(June 17, ’94)
195. It Will Pass
The
Wilson Bill is one thing,
The
dollar bill another;
The
first one we’ve no use for
But
pass along the other.
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier,
(July 1, ’94)
The Revenue Act or Wilson-Gorman Tariff of 1894 (ch. 349, §73, 28 Stat. 570, August 27, 1894) slightly reduced the United States tariff rates from the numbers set in the 1890 McKinley tariff and imposed a 2% income tax. It is named for William L. Wilson, Representative from West Virginia, chair of the U.S. House Ways and Means Committee, and Senator Arthur P. Gorman of Maryland, both Democrats.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wilson%E2%80%93Gorman_Tariff_Act
196. The Model Man
He
never longs for freedom in his course of married life;
Never
tries his hand at mashing with his neighbor’s wife;
Never
stares at women boldly when he meets them here in town,
And
on a whole he’s reckoned as a 33rd rate clown.
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier,
(July 8, ’94)
197. “O,
what is so rare as a day in June?”
The
poet asks so cool;
And
Lank in his boarding house answereth:
“Good
steak, you god-goned fool!”
Pub. in B. Courier,
(June 10, ’94)
198. He Proposed Soon Afterward
“There’s
a ring around the moon,”
He
whispered with lover’s glee;
She
sighed and murmured softly,
“How
happy the moon must be!”
Pub. in B. Courier,
(July 22, ’94)
199. Signs
Of The Times
The
maiden’s full of rapture and the youth is full of woe;
The
fatal sign is visible wherever he may go;
Her
eyes are rolling upward while his own are looking down,
But
she gets her ice cream soda and she’s peaceful with the town.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(June 10, ’94)
200. What
makes the little busy bee
Lay
in a stock of honey?
It’s
just to cause an aching tooth,
And
bring the dentist money.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(July 1, ’94)
201. “Railroad
Crossing, Look Out For Engine,”
We
read as we spin them by;
“The
engine’s all right, you can’t do it harm,
Look
out for yourself,” say I.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(July 15, ’94)
202. When We Miss A Miss
We
never miss the water
Till
the well runs dry,
But
we often miss the daughter
When
she don’t say “Aye”.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Aug. 5, ’94)
203. O,
would I were a bird just now,
I’d
mount high in the skice;
Then
soar away to Baffin Bay,
And
light upon some ice.
R. by Puck, Truth, Pub. in Boston Courier,
(July 22, ’94)
204. I’ve
been on my vacation and its joys have all been tested;
And
thank the Lord I’m home again to work and to get rested.
R. by Puck, A. by Truth
205. Names
He
names his choice, – she names the day,
And
thinks it over, maybe;
But
later on she’s called upon
To
name the nameless baby.
R. by Puck, A. by Truth, Pub. in #387,
Sept. 15, 1894
206. We
are sittin’ an’ a-waitin’ fer the better times ter come,
Which
poets long hev promised, but the wheels don’t seem to hum;
An’
this spot it ain’t New Englan’, ain’t New Englan’ any more,
It’s
Englan’; hard ol’ Englan’ with our wages goin’ lower.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(July 15, ’94)
207. The Difference
Man
thinks he’s a beauty the whole of his life;
But
his sweetheart is pretty till she is his wife.
R. by Puck, Truth, Judge, B. Life, Pub. in B. Courier,
(Aug. 26, ’94)
208. I
wish I were a honeybee,
I
would not toil an hour;
I’d
steal my honey from the hive
Instead
of from the flower.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(July 29, ’94)
209. Left All Around
The
folks have left the city,
For
the stretch of beaches white;
And
the fish have left the seashore,
And
the clam is out of sight.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(July 22, ’94)
210. Knee
deep she stands, courageous maid,
Defying
man or waves;
But
when she sees a tiny mouse
She
caves.
R. by Puck, Truth, Judge, B. Life, Pub. in B. Courier,
(Aug. 26, ’94)
211. So The Girls Say
The sea has lots of bathers fair,
The
beach has lots of sand;
But
not so much as those galoots,
Who
always are on hand.
R. by Puck, Truth, Judge, B. Life, Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Aug. 19, ’94)
212. They
are striking to the right of us and striking to the left,
Till
it seems as if the country of its senses was bereft;
And
they struck so mighty heavy that our business seemed to lag,
But
when they bothered Uncle Sam they simply struck a snag.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(July 15, ’94)
213. All
Hands Up
How
many men we would like to ask,
As
they pause a moment in life’s mad whirl,
Do
sometimes wish with all their hearts,
That
they’d married that “other” girl.
From
Henpeck.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(July 22, ’94)
214. If
she would give me but a smile,
E’en
tho’ it were exacted;
But
Ah! he won’t; the darling’s been
And
had her teeth extracted!
R. by Puck, Truth, Judge, B. Life, Pub. in B. Courier,
(Aug. 19, ’94)
215. Something
You Didn’t Know
If a maiden weds in June,
Life will be a merry tune;
But is she waits until July,
‘Twill be a dirge or lullaby.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(July 29, ’94)
216. I
do not love her anymore,
She’s
gone a bit too far;
She
willingly lets
Me
smoke cigarettes,
But
“kicks” at my cigar.
R. by Truth, Puck, Pub. in B. Courier, (Sept. 9, ’94)
217. Now
Captain Meigs stick up your pegs,
And
give us rapid transit;
No
West End bluff, but cars enough
To
let each working man sit.
The Meigs Elevated Railway was an experimental steam-powered monorail invented by Josiah V. Meigs (also known as Joe Vincent Meigs) of Lowell, Massachusetts. He wrote an extensive explanation of how the railway worked, complete with diagrams and statistics, which was published in 1887.[2] The weight of the train was carried on a 22 inch gauge track. The train was balanced by an additional set of horizontal wheels which operated against a second set of rails 42 inches above the load carrying rails. A fire, supposedly of an incendiary nature, broke out on the night of Feb. 4, 1887, and destroyed Meigs's car sheds along with the experimental coach and tender and severely damaged the locomotive.
A 227-foot demonstration line was built in 1886 in East Cambridge, Massachusetts on land abutting Bridge Street, now Monsignor O'Brien Highway. Never expanded, it ran until 1894.
218. The
Old Maid
Dame
Boston may be cultivated but she’s growing old and gray,
And
how her wrinkles, to her horror, only deepen every day;
While
Chicago and her sisters, full of youth and beauty still,
Pity
the dear old lady as She fades upon the hill.
R. by Truth, Puck, Pub. in Boston Courier, (Sept. 16.
’94)
219. A “Capital” Way
She
was Capital, I was labor,
We’d
quarreled, and hard seemed fate;
Arbitration
was mentioned, – her head
Fell
softly on my breast, and she said:
“There’s
nothing to arbitrate.”
A.
by Truth,
Pub. in #384, Aug. 25, 1894
220. The
shoemaker’s life is awl but fast,
And
his sole waxes strong each day;
One
job depends upon the last,
But
still he keeps pegging away.
R. by Truth, Puck, Pub. in B. Courier, (Oct 7, ’94)
221. How
doth the little busy bee
Improve
each summer day?
By
vaccinating girls and boys
In
his peculiar way.
R. by Truth, Judge, B. Life, Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Aug. 19. ’94)
222. There
is a time for shoutin’ an’ a time for keepin’ still;
A
time for gittin’ trusted an’ a time tur pay yer bill;
An’
mos’ people on the former hev a world uv time tur spare,
But
when it’s on the latter, why their time ain’t there!
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(July 29, ’94)
223. He
fished all day in the mountain stream
‘Neath
the shade of scented pine;
But
the bites that thrilled his longing soul
Weren’t
all along his “line”.
R. by Puck, Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Sept. 16, ’94)
224. My
sweetheart has given me the mitten,
But
I will not despair;
For
tonight I’ll make love to her sister,
And
then I’ll have a pair.
R. by Puck, Judge, Truth, Pub. in Boston Courier, (Mar. 3, 1895)
225.
Divided
I’m
divided in my opinion,
Said
the sweet bicycle flirt;
As
to whether to quit the cycle, give
up
Or
don a two-legged skirt. divide
a pretty
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Aug. 5, ’94)
226. The Buzz Saw Girl
Her
complexion was light and light was her weight,
And
her heart was light and kind;
And
most of the gents decided her sense
Was
lighter than all combined.
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Aug. 5, ’94)
227. I
meet her every morning on the crowded city street;
And
the smile she gives when passing is far more than heav’nly sweet;
But
do not be mistaken, for she smiles not thus for me,
It’s
for my chum, confound his skin! – who is her fiancée.
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Aug. 5, ’94)
228. If
China and Japan or
Harm
a single “Melican”,
We
will all stop drinking tea,
And
boycott them on Washee,
And
make our own fire crackers
If
we can.
Pub.
in B. Courier,
(Aug. 5, ’94)
Sino-Japanese War, (1894–95), conflict between Japan and China that marked the emergence of Japan as a major world power and demonstrated the weakness of the Chinese empire. The war grew out of conflict between the two countries for supremacy in Korea. Korea had long been China’s most important client state, but its strategic location opposite the Japanese islands and its natural resources of coal and iron attracted Japan’s interest. In 1875 Japan, which had begun to adopt Western technology, forced Korea to open itself to foreign, especially Japanese, trade and to declare itself independent from China in its foreign relations.
229.
We have progressed and no mistake,
And
should most grateful feel;
For
where our grandsires used to tread work
We
ride the spinning wheel.
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Aug. 12, ’94)
230. In
case the war continues long
And
China’s sons are laid to rest,
Ten
million ‘Pig tails” can be had
From
packing houses in the west.
Pub.
in B. Courier,
(Aug. 12, ’94)
231. Hard To Settle
It’s
hard to settle questions,
And
it’s hard to settle wills;
And
hard to settle household goods,
But
hardest to settle bills.
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Aug. 12, ’04)
232. When
trouble confronts us we take no part,
No
matter how strong it appeals;
Instead
of taking t that sort of thing,
We
invariably take to our heels.
R. by Puck, Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Sept. 23, ’94)
233. Soon
through the woodland depths will steal
Ye hunter, clad in buff;
But
no alarm the game will feel, –
‘Twill
be the same old bluff.
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier,
(Sept. 23, ’94)
234. Of
Persons No Respecter
The
skeeter, in good times or bad,
He
doesn’t care a blame;
He
moves amongst the rich and poor,
And
gets a bite the same.
R. by Puck, Pub. in B. Courier,
(Sept. 6, ’95)
235. Old
King coal is a dear old soul,
But
listen, you every hearer:
You
would better buy ‘ere winter is nigh,
For
then he will be some dearer.
Pub. in B. Courier,
Sept. 23, ‘94
236.
Soon will the bathers cease to swim,
And
take the townward train;
Where
soon they’ll be, unconsciously,
Right
in the swim again.
R. by Puck, Truth, Pub. in B. Courier, (Oct. 7, ’94)
237. O,
Vigilant, on whom we are smitten,
Listen,
sweetheart, unto our appeals;
Please
give the Prince of Wales the mitten,
By
showing to him your graceful heels.
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Aug. 19, ’94)
Designed and built by Captain Nat
Herreshoff; the 96 ton Vigilant was the successful defender of the
1893 America's Cup. After her win she crossed the Atlantic for the 1894 season
at Cowes. Vigilant and Britannia were considered two of the most
evenly matched yachts of the era. They would race a total of 17 times in some
of the most exciting match racing events in history. 'Old Britty'; the first of
the British Royal yachts named Britannia; holds much of the stature in Great
Britain that the schooner America has in the U.S. Britannia won 33 firsts
out of 39 starts in her maiden season and was actively campaigned until 1936 by
both Edward VII and his son George V. Her amazing hull shape kept her
competitive in the big cutter class until she was outclassed by the J-boats in
the 1930's. After King George's death in 1936; according to his wishes;
Britannia was stripped and scuttled off the Southern tip of the Isle of
Wight.
238. The
smoke of battle has no charms
For
Melican Chinese;
The
smoke that comes from opium
Is
all he cares to see.
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Aug. 19, ’94)
239. “Farewell,
Farewell” my “Sweet Marie”,
And
dear “Little Girls in Blue”;
“After
the Ball” is over now
Thank
heaven, and so are you.
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Aug. 26, ’94)
240. Ah! But It’s Different
The
maid who tripped along the sand, boldly
rode the waves
In
trousers-knee, and saw no hurt, pants
Now
kicks at riding on a wheel
In
bloomers or divided skirt. split
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Sept. 16, ’94)
241. There’s
a secret in my heart,
Sweet
wifee;
Which
to you I’ll not impart,
Sweet
wifee.
For
‘twould give the thing away,
And
there’d be the duce to pay,
So
I’ve nothing more to say,
Sweet
wifee.
Pub.
in B. Courier,
(Aug. 26, ’94)
242. Her
hair was soft and lily white,
Her
cheeks were chestnut shade;
O,
no; there lines are not misplaced,
She
was an old, old maid.
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Sept. 2, ’94)
243. Some
Boston Don’ts
Don’t
give up your resolutions pervidin’ they are right,
Don’t
give up your fishin’ jest becuz the fish won’t bite;
Don’t
give up the game uv poker till you see you’re gittin’ beat,
Don’t
give up your street car cusion ‘less the gal is young an’ sweet.
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Sept. 2, ’94)
244. Tumble!
The
leaves will soon begin to drop,
And
frogs to cease their call;
The
farmer will lay low his crop,
And
summer’ll take a fall.
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Sept. 2, ’94)
245. We
spooned away the summer nights,
And
life was one sweet dream;
P.S.
In addition to this,
Were
spooned by the Miss,
Some
forty quarts of cream.
R. by Puck, Truth, Pub. in Boston Courier, (Oct. 7, ’94)
246. The
sugar trust is gonter bust, an so’s big corporations;
Monopperlizz
will go tur fizz midst shouts an’ exultation;
The
workin’ man will rise from fan, all crookedness adjustin’,
An’
bout the time he gits things prime he’ll be the one needs bustin’.
Pub.
in Boston Courier
247. The
summer days are fading now,
The
players are called in;
Engagements
at the seaside close
While
those in town begin.
R. by Puck, Truth, Pub. in Boston Courier, (Oct. 7, ’94)
248. To
Phyllis
Pack
up the little bathing suit,
And
mind what you’re about;
Stop
up the keyhole in your trunk
So
it cannot fall out.
R. by Puck, Truth, Pub. in Boston Courier, (Sept. 20
{23?}, ’94) (Sept. 30, ’94)
249. At Nothing
“What
are you kicking at my pretty young maid?”
“I’m
kicking at nothing, kind sir,” she said;
And
e’en as she spoke she raised a speck
And
fetched him one squarely in the neck.
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Sept. 9, ’94)
250. There
was a young maid in Atlanta,
To
whom a young fellow said, “can’t er?”
She
said, “yes you can,
You
horrid young man,”
So
he kissed the sweet maiden instanter.
Pub.
in B. Courier,
(Sept. 9, ’94)
251. There
was a young maid in Detroit,
Who
knew a good thing when she saw it;
So
when I proposed,
She
said she supposed
That
she was decidedly in for it.
R. by Puck, Truth, Pub. Courier, (Oct. 14, ’94)
252. Mary
had a little pug,
Its
fleas were white as snow;
And
everywhere the puggie went,
The
fleas were bound to go.
Pub.
in B. Courier,
(Sept. 23, ’94)
253. Why He Broke The Engagement
“Be
mine! Be mine!” He wildly cried,
She
smiled triumphantly;
And
as he prest her to his breast,
“I
told you so,” said she.
P.
B. Courier,
(Nov. 17, ’94)
254. Little
drops of water,
Little
grins of grit,
On
the floor in kitchen,
Gives
my wife a fit.
Pub.
in Camb.
Press
255. Sometimes
the wind ceases to blow,
And
all is calm and sublime;
But
some other “blows”, whom everyone knows,
Keep
their blowing up all of the time.
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(March 3, 1895)
256. Tale Of A Tail
A
little boy once owned a kite,
Which
high in the air did sail;
One
day it lodged high in a tree,
And
hangs there by a tale.
Pub.
in B. Courier,
(May 19, ’95)
257.
No Suffrage
Mary
had a little hen,
With
feathers white as snow;
And
every time she won a fight,
She
tried, but failed to crow.
R. by Puck, Judge, Truth, Pub. in B. Courier, (Mar. 17, ’95)
258.
Mum’s The Verb
“Be
mine! Be Mine!” the lover cried,
“O,
be my own, my blushing bride.”
“Your
bride I’ll be,” remarked the miss,
“But ask not impossibilities.”
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Oct. 14, ’94)
259. Some
pity the poor canary bird,
I
don’t, and I’ll tell you why;
While
he sits and sings, and eats good things,
The
other birds have to scratch or die.
Pub.
in B. Courier,
(Oct. 14, ’94)
260. Bites
Mosquitoes
all the summer through,
Did
naught but bite and sip;
And
now that fall is coming on,
Jack
Frost will take a nip.
Pub.
in B. Courier,
(Sept 20 {23?}, ’94) (Sept. 30, ’94)
261. Boom, Boom, Boom!
Boom
yer part, boom yer ticket, boom yer howlin’ nominee;
Hol’
up the’r gilt edged morrils so the people all kin see;
But
they’s lots o’ fellers loafin’, and right here we wanter state,
Don’t
neglect ter boom yer biz zuz fer tur boom yer candidate.
Pub.
in B. Courier,
(Sept. 20 {23?}, ’94)
262. If
you have got a “Sweet Marie”,
And
she is beautiful to see;
Don’t
tell your chum, whate’er you do,
Lest
he should learn to think so too.
Pub.
in Camb.
Press
263. Lives
of editors remind us
We
can make our lives sublime;
And,
departing, leave behind us,
Blue
prints on some poet’s rhyme.
R. by Puck, Pub. B. Courier, (Jan. 20, ’95)
264. The
funny man, ‘long headed chap,
Now
needs no brand new character;
He’ll
change his summer maiden’s wrap,
And
make a winter girl of her.
Pub. B. Courier,
(Oct. 21, ’94)
265. Laugh
and the world laughs with you,
“Shout”
and it’s with you, too;
Humanity’s
weak, in all but its cheek,
And
there it is found true blue.
R. by Puck, Pub. B. Courier, (Jn. 13, ’95)
266. This
be the time illiterates
Shine
up their education;
Then
to the wardroom make their way,
To
bluff on registration.
Pub. Boston Courier,
(Oct. 21, ’94)
267. Spend,
and the world is with you,
Scrimp,
and you’re left alone;
The
people, sublime, like a duce of a time
On
someone’s else change than its own.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Oct. 21, ’94)
268. And The Game Went On At The Ball
We
met at the ball, bright shone the stars,
‘Twas
over in one swift glance;
I
was carried away, – and so was he,
In
the college ambulance.
R. by Truth, A. by Puck, Pub. Jan.
13 (18?), ’95, #932.
269. The
open car is side-tracked now,
And
closed ones lead the style;
The
smoker’s pipe is side tracked, too,
Meanwhile
the ladies smile.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Oct. 28, ’94)
270. The
world is full uv hunger, an’ the world is full uv woe;
You
kin hear the same condition wherever you may go;
But
‘tain’t a time fur sulkin’ no matter how you feel;
Each
kin help tur make it better with his shoulder at the wheel.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Oct. 28, ’94)
271. A
party of hunters in Maine,
Shot
a “deer” in a field of tall grain;
An
old farmer cried “wow!”
“You
hev killed my best cow,”
So
they paid him and took the first train.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Nov. 4, ’94)
272. A
million leaves fall to the ground,
They
turn and turn, now fast, now slow;
The
one I turned some ten months since,
Fell
quite a little while ago.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Nov. 4, ’94)
273. Winter’s
comin’, winter’s comin’, stuff yer coal bin uo ‘ith coal;
Stuff
a derby in each winder thet hez got a
weather hole; ‘at
Stuff
yer stummick, stuff yer wallet, stuff youngsters’ Chritmas socks,
But
be mighty keerful ‘lection day, don’t stuff the ballot box.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Nov. 4, ’94)
274. Cider Time
The
city boys with apple big
And
juicy struts about;
His
country cousin, with a straw,
Takes
his all squozen out.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Nov. 4, ’94)
275. That
“Mary” had a little lamb,
No
longer shall we see;
The
funny man must switch his rhyme,
From
Mary to “Maree”.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Nov. 11, ’94)
276. My
wife is a tartar on suffrage,
She
believes in doing man’s work;
Only
when it comes to building fires, sifting
ashes, running errands, blacking stoves
and putting up the clothesline,
She
thinks it’s time to shirk.
R.
by Puck,
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Jan. 20, ’95)
277. Our
Mary had a little hen,
With
feathers white as snow;
She
lived a happy life until
Mary
told her of the suffrage bill,
Then
died because she couldn’t crow.
R.
by Puck,
Pub.
in Boston Courier,
(Jan. 6, ’95)
278. Brace Up
Now
votin’ day is over, an’ we know jes where we stan’,
Start
up yer bizzniz, fellers, all up an’ down the lan’;
Let
pollertics an’ party lines go sizzin’ up the spout,
Let’s
all be brother workmen with our wallets bulgin’ out.
P. B. Courier,
Nov. 17 or 18, ’94 (Nov. 17)
279.
Much Needed Rest
Now
tongue and press, the world at large,
Won’t
have the least objection,
If
you’ll let up on politics,
Until
the next election.
P. B. Courier,
(Nov. 17, ’94)
280. O,
Heaven! why didst thou send down
So
soon that fall of snow?
Thou’st
set a thousand bards at work, –
Why
must we suffer so?
P. B. Courier,
Nov. 17, ‘94
281, “Why
doth the little student wear college
His
hair so long?” I’m told
It
does for furs; that is, prevents
His
brains from taking cold. catching
Boston Courier, Dec. 2,
‘94
282.
News From Hi
“Hi
ain’t so well as usual,”
Wrote
Mrs. Hiram Krupp;
“His
be’n puttin’ up a stove,
An’
now he’s all stove up.”
B. Courier,
(Sept.
22, ’95)
283. This Is Poetry
Of
all sad words of tongue or pen,
The
saddest are these: “Rejected again”.
R.
by Puck, Judge. Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Feb. 10, ’95)
284. Tom
Toasted
Here’s
to the turkey upon the big platter;
Here’s
to the bird who could stuff him no fatter;
Here’s
to the victim who no longer could hobble;
Here’s
to poor Thomas, come, let us all “gobble”.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Dec. 12, ’94)
285. There
is a young maid “In Kentucky”,
Who
leaps o’er a chasm quite plucky;
Who
scorns a side-saddle,
Rides
a race horse a-straddle,
And
wins, and is otherwise lucky.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Dec. 9, ’94)
286. If
a body meets a body
Skating
on the ice,
And
makes a body “bump” a body,
‘Tisn’t
very nice.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Dec. 9, ’94)
287. The
women all around the Hub,
From
blue-bloods down to peasants;
Now
scrimp their husband’s table fare
To
buy him Christmas presents.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Dec. 9, ’94)
288. “After
the ball,” foot ball, I mean,
Will
balling cease? O, no;
From
now till spring, with slush and sting,
Snow
balls will be the “go”.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Dec. 9, ’94)
289. Public Ball Season
To
see that public balls are patronized
More
and more,
Watch
you the anxious crowds that surge around
Ikey’s
door.
R.
by Truth.
B. Courier,
(Sept.
22, 1895)
(there
was an actor named Ikey Marks in that era)
290. Of
course, detectives, needful are,
These
plotting ones to rout;
But
tailors, as a rule re best
For
finding people out.
R.
by Puck, Judge. Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Feb. 3, ’95)
291. She’s
very busy nowadays,
For
home cares never stopping;
She
started in two weeks ago,
To
do her Christmas shopping.
P. B. Courier,
(Dec. 16, ’94)
292. As
Christmas presents draweth near
Each
little boy is sure
To
look his stockings o’er to see
If
they are darned secure.
Pub. B. Courier,
(Dec. 16, ’94)
293.
Pollertics In Boston
We
ain’t pertic’lar who gits in, the diffrince here is small;
Jest
give us hope an’ lots uv work an’ we’ll elect ‘em all!
Pub. B. Courier,
(Dec. 16, ’94)
294. Shelved
Thanksgiving’s
past, the funny man
Puts,
with a silent tear,
Rejected
turkey jokes away
Until
another year,
Pub. B. Courier,
(Dec. 16, ’94)
295. Adown
the streets the children coast,
With
shout and cheer;
Upsetting
frightened passers-by,
With
laugh and jeer;
And
when the cop gets on the scene,
The
coast is clear!
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Dec. 16,’94)
296. Order
a Quire
Send
your orders early so
As
not to be delayed;
I
mean for paper, upon which
Your
new resolves are made.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Dec. 16,’94)
297. I
am but a little poem,
And
I won’t do any harm;
I
end in just one sentence more,
So
please feel no alarm.
B. Courier,
(Sept.
6, ’95)
298. Kin ketch a cold, a train or gal,
A
fish or lady’s pug;
But
I’ll be henged ef I kin ketch
A
thawed out water bug.
A.
– Pub. in Yankee
Blade, Mar. 23, 1895
299. She
starts, she moves, she seems to feel
The
ice drop from her skates of steel;
And
then she cuts, by strange device,
A
pretty figure on the ice.
Pub. in
the Boston Courier,
(Dec. 30, ’94)
300. That
servant girl, that servant girl!
But
ruin do I see;
She’s
broken all my furniture,
And
now she’s broken me.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Jan. 13, ’95)
301. Two
questions long I’ve wished to know,
They
trouble me, alas!
Why
is Chicago always Ill,
And
Boston out to Mass?
R.
by Puck, Judge. Pub. in B. Courier, (FeB. 3, ’95)
302. –,
To –
If
you love me,
As
I love you,
For
Heaven’s sake
Don’t
say you do.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Sept. 15, ’95)
303. The Poets Lay
A
rising young poet of Cambridge,
Strolled
at midnight onto the same bridge
Of
which Longfellow tells in his famous old lay;
Said
he, “I will write up another,”
But
a copper, Tim Flannigan’s brother,
Rung
him in for a drunk where he “lay” till the next day.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Jan. 13, ’95)
304. A Small Boy’s Idea
Since
Christmas comes but once a year
O,
wouldn’t it be fun,
If
they who make the almanac,
Would
bring two years in one?
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Dec. 23, ’94)
305. Wouldn’t It Be Nice?
“I’d
like to be hung,” Said Willie Roe,
(His
parents checked their glee),
“I’d
like to be hung a hour or so,
Upon
a Christmas tree.”
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Dec. 23, ’94)
306. It
isn’t the ice that’s three feet thick,
Which
charms the small boy’s eye;
It’s
the ice that won’t hold up a brick
Which
he delights to “try”.
Pub. in Boston Courier
307. Take
off the bloomers, lay by the wheel,
Prepare
ye maid for drear winter scene;
Run
errands for mother, sew buttons for brother,
And
tock the cradle and sewing machine.
Pub. in B. Courier
308. Well Red
A
young student in English two-two,
O’er
his theme work had grown rather blue;
“They’re
failures,” he said,
“Although
they’re all re(a)d,
That
is with the old college hue.”
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Feb. 10, 1895)
309. I’ve
sworn and sworn ten thousand swares,
As
many faults to doff;
But
all I’ll do two days from now,
Will
be to just sear off.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Dec. 30, ’94)
310. I
didn’t kiss her ‘neath the holly,
As
the sweet old custom goes;
To
wait would have been sheer folly,
So
I kissed her ‘neath the nose.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Dec. 30, ’94)
311. I
gave up my seat, and she said “no thanks”,
In
a tone that was positively galling;
And
in my surprise, which I couldn’t disguise,
I
seized four straps to keep from falling.
Pub. in
the Boston Courier,
(Dec. 30, ’94)
312. The
student now hies him back to school,
With
plenty of cash for his “supplies”;
You
see he’s been home and pulled the wool
Down
over the old folks’ eyes.
Pub. in
the Boston Courier,
(Dec. 30, ’94)
313. Querycuss.
When
will the wires go underground?
Answercuss:
When
through the “Sub” we’ll ride around
Querycuss.
When
will the elevated spin?
Answercuss.
When
Boston ropes the suburbs in.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Jan. 5, ’95)
314. O,
would I were a boy again,
For
then I’d have the right
To
thrash those youngsters who pelt me
With
snow balls ev’ry night.
#
Pub.
in B. Courier,
(Jan. 6, ’95)
315. “Where
draw the line on women’s rights?”
Subscriber
asks this week;
There
is no line, for women’s rights
Are
everything they seek.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(FeB. 3, ’95)
316. Easy Job
I
wouldn’t want to be a thief,
In
many a too tight squeeze he;
But
just the same, he has the name,
Of
taking things quite easy.
R. by Puck, Judge, Truth, Pub. in B. Courier, (Mar. 17, ’95)
317. A
Big Hit
Behind
the scenes the actor sighed,
“Would
I could make a hit.”
Alas,
not he, the man who threw
The
ancient egg made it.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Mar. 10, ’95)
318. Higglety
pigglety, my blacj hen,
She
lays fine eggs for gentlemen;
But
this is why I’ll not her keep:
She
never lays but when they’re cheap.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Feb. 10, ’95)
319. Her
brow was like the snowdrift,
Her cold heart thereabout;
But
her conversational aptitude, ranging
from
theosophy to zoophyology
was
the tallest
That
Boston could pan out.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Jan. 6, ’95)
320. A
Pointer For Young Men
I
used to strap her skates, what next?
To
tell my heart forbids;
I
used to strap her skates, and now,
I
have to strap her kids!
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Jan. 13, ’95)
321. Song Of The Lyar
I
love to steal awhile away
From
park and noisy crowd,
And
lay, or lie, all by myself,
Where
lying is allowed.
B. Courier,
(Sept.
22, ’95)
322. “O,
give me back my youth,” he wrote,
A
poet true was he;
“Well
here he is,” his wife broke in,
“And
spank him well for me.”
R.
by Puck, A. by Judge, Pub. in #696, Feb.
16, 1895.
323. I cannot live without her, and I’m not a-going to try;
It’s
necessary very, to have her daily by;
Somehow
her very being seems a portion of my life;
I
cannot live without her, just because
she is my wife.
R.
by Puck, Judge, Pub. in B. Courier, (Feb. 3, ’95)
324. Gone Tur Pot
Jenyerwerry’s
on the wane, Janerwary’s
Ol’
time habits waxin’ hot;
Swearin’
off wuz all in vain,
Jenyerwerry’s
on the wane, Janerwary’s
New
resolves all gone tur pot.
Pub. B. Courier,
(Jan. 20, ’95)
325. It isn’t time yet to angle
For
the wary little trout;
But
we’re bound to be the first ones
To
get a fish joke out.
Pub. in Courier,
(Jan. 20, ’95)
326. We’l b rite glad when sum’r cums,
So
we shal c no mor
That
sasy, cold mid-wint’r sine,
“Pleas
shut the dor.”
Pub. B. Courier,
(Jan. 27, ’95)
327. O, would we were the publisher,
Instead
of funny man;
Then
we’d have had some calendars
When
‘95 began.
Pub. B. Courier,
(Jan. 27, ’95)
328. Some people borrow,
And
some people steal;
Which
one is the better
We
cannot reveal.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Mar. 10, ’95)
329. The Tramp’s Mince Pie
She
gave him all he sought, and more,
He
asked her for mince pie;
She
gave him bread, then loosed the dog,
So
he to cook might try.
B. Courier,
(Apr.
24, ’95)
330. Almost A Wrong
Story
I
kissed her goodnight on the steps,
And
turned into the street;
Hold
on, no; I kissed her on the lips,
Instead
of on the feet.
R.
by Puck, Judge, Truth, Pub. in B. Courier, (Mar. 17, ’95)
331. The Old And The
New
“The
bird comes back to its last year’s nest,”
Sang
the poet old and true;
“My
poems come back to their last week’s chest,”
Singeth
the poet new.
P. B. Courier,
(Sept. 15, ’95)
332. I sought her hand, she spoke no word,
But
that will not prevent;
Her
name is “Silence”, sweet old name,
And
Silence gives consent.
R.
by Puck, Judge, Truth, Pub. in Boston Courier, (Mar. 17, ’95)
333. “A mare, a mare!” the actor cried,
“My
kingdom for a mare!”
“You’re
out of date,” the crowd yelled straight,
“The
byke is what gets there!”
A. Pope Co.
334. A dozen grains of sugar,
A
hundred grains of sand;
That
is the combination
Of
“Trusts”, we understand.
Pub. B. Courier,
(Jan, 27, ’95)
335. The worl’ is growin’ better no marter what they say;
The
worl’ is growin’ better, an’ it’s growin’ ev’ry day;
An’
ef you want the proof jest gaze upon our happy tears;
An’
ol’ subscriber’s jest be’n in an paid up his arrears!
Pub. B. Courier,
(Jan. 27, ’95)
336. Napoleon was a mighty man,
The
mightiest, but shaw!
We
can’t show how great are we,
Becuz
they hain’t no war.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Mar. 3, ’95)
337. The man who always feeleth so bad,
Is
generally last to die;
And
he who is surest of future wings,
Is
pretty apt not to fly.
R.
by Puck, Life, Judge, Truth, Pub. B. Courier,
(Apr. 7, ’95)
338. To elevate the stage or not,
That’s
the question; so be it;
Please
elevate it ten feet high,
So
all the men can see it.
R.
by Puck, Life, Judge, A. by Truth, Pub. #419, Apr. 27, ‘95
339. I asked her how she liked the play,
She
said it tiresome was;
You
see her beau was in the cast,
And
kissed the star from first to last,
Which
fact explaining the cause.
R.
by Puck, Life, Judge, Truth, Pub. B. Courier,
(Apr. 7, ’95)
340. Fickle Man
How
glad we see the tiny flakes,
That
round the casement creep;
And
later how we curse and curse
With
slush six inches deep.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Feb. 3, ’95)
341. A Mercantile Decline
He
started a six story store,
Then
fell to five and then to four,
Could
scarce believe his eyes;
And
now he has a store no more,
He
peddles goods from door to door, –
He
didn’t advertise.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Feb. 17, 1895)
342. Weather
Of
“Beautiful Snow” and “Winter’s Joys”,
We’ve
had enough ‘tis plain;
And
we’ll ne’er sigh for winter, love,
When
summer comes again.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Feb. 17, 1895)
343. Howlers
The
howling winds of March will soon
Howl
round our ears with fiendish glee;
But
they will be more welcome than
The
howlers of Calamity.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Feb. 17, 1895)
344. Turn On The Gas
“Turn
on the light at City Hall,”
The
traveler doth remark;
Of
course; we wouldn’t have our city
gods
A
stumbling in the dark.
Pub. in B. Courier
(Feb.17, ’95)
345. Of Long Standing
She’s
stood upon Mt. Washington,
She’s
stood in all the states; forty
She’s
stood upon the platform, but
She
can’t stand up on skates.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Feb. 17, ’95)
346. Discords
They’s
a mighty lot uv questions fer ter settle purty soon;
Everything
the coultry over izzer gittin’ outer toon.
They
is wars an’ strikes an’ tariffs, an’ the stealin’s uv the cash –
An’
it tain’t questions settled why t’will be somebody’s hash.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Feb.17, ’95)
347. A sloppy street,
An
ankle neat,
No
staring when she crosses;
The
reason’s this:
She
is no miss,
The
ankle is a horse’s.
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Feb. 24, 1895)
348. Shaking Up The Planets
Two
soles with but a single thought,
souls
Two
feet that slipped as one;
And
when at last they reached the earth,
The
meeting jarred the son.
Pub. in Boston Courier
349. Mikado On Wheels
The
bloomers that flower in spring tra-la-la,
Have
something to do with the case;
For
women will don them then, tra-la-la,
And
I sort of reckon the men, tra-la-la,
Will
get all they want of the race.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Feb. 24, 1895)
350. Alack, alas, alack a-day!
The
snow will soon be gone.
And
bards will sing of springy spring, –
Alack,
a rose, a thorn!
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Feb. 24, 1895)
351. How Tur Keep The Day
We
cellerbrated yesterday,
My
brother Bill an’ I;
He
cut down daddy’s cherry tree,
And
didn’t tell no lie.
“Catch Up
Book”, Feb. 23,
‘95
352. A Lie Somewhere
“Can
February March?” asked Fligh,
“No;
but April May,” said I;
But
June said, “July”. “Jewlie”
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Mar. 3, ’95)
353. I asked my muse to hold my hand,
To
hold it just a minute;
She
blushed, then archly said, “she would,
But
there’s no money in it.”
R.
by Puck, Judge, Pub. in B. Courier, (Mar 24, ’95)
354. Nature’s
Watering Cart
The
April skies fill up with tears,
Then
sob and sob their grief away;
This
is a form of sprinkling streets,
For
which we do not have to pay.
R.
by Puck, Judge, Pub. in Boston Courier, (March 24,
’95)
355. Hustled Out
Yes,
March came in like a lamb,
And
glad that she did we all amb;
But
of course we all know,
When
she gets ready to go,
She
not will be chased by a ramb!
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Mar. 10, ’95)
356. Dead And Buried
Soon
will the wires be buried all,
Barring
of course there be no slip;
And
plain it is, that when they fall,
The
trolley car will lose its grip.
Pub. in Boston Courier,
(Mar. 10, 1895)
357. Don’t be a wantin’, wantin’, wantin’ something all the time;
Wishin’
‘at yew hed a dollar when yew haven’t but a dime;
Wantin’
mizzery an’ sorrer, when the worl’ is full uv mirth;
Some
people git a graveyard jest becuz they want the earth!
Pub. in B. Courier,
(Mar. 10, ’95)
358. I’m ridin’ uv my hobby now,
An’
better do I feel;
I’m
ridin’ uv my hobby, an’
My
hobby is a wheel!
A. by Pope Co.
359. Miss Anna Gould
So
lately fooled,
May
now repent at leisure;
The
count meanwhile
Will
draw and smile
Upon
his Yankee “seizure”.
Anna Gould (June 5, 1875 – November 30, 1961) was an American heiress and socialite, the daughter of financier Jay Gould. She married Paul Ernest Boniface de Castellane (1867–1932), elder son and heir apparent of the Marquis of Castellane, on March 14, 1895 in Manhattan, New York. He was commonly referred as Boniface de Castellanewith the nickname "Boni" and used the courtesy title of Count of Castellane (Comte de Castellane).
360. That’s Why He’s Liked
“I
cannot sing the old songs,”
He
murmured feeling blue;
“I
cannot sing the old songs,
Nor
any of the new.”
Pub. in
the Boston Courier,
(April 14, ’95)
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