mi 1 | T^':!';i';i;:'^;: : 'l ;: ft pi 1 Class : Book.__ b . Gcpighffl? „ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD 1885-1918 Rhymes of a Doggerel Bard As They Appeared in The Northwestern Miller, The Bellman, and Elsewhere Minneapolis, Minn., U. S. A. The Miller Publishing Company 1921 Copyright 1921 by The Miller Publishing Company NOV 25 192! §>C!.A630426 ~*vc / 1 PREFACE THE other day The Northwestern Miller had a house- cleaning, during which a system of indexing and reference was established. This necessitated an ex- amination of the old files, and in going over them attention was called to a department of the paper which had been abandoned so many years ago that it had been almost forgotten even by him who was responsible for it. It carried this heading: Reading these rhymes revived many amusing memo- ries of the time in which they were written, and believing that the older readers of The Northwestern Miller would be glad to be reminded of that period, while those whose PREFACE connection with the trade is of more recent date would be interested in the lighter side of the milling industry as it presented itself thirty or forty years ago, it was decided to reprint a characteristic selection from the contents of this department. "Last Column Lyrics" made their first appearance in 1885. The Lusty Lyre who wrote them was at that time the business manager of The Northwestern Miller, having entered its service in that capacity three years before with no expectation of ever becoming connected with its editorial staff. These contributions were en- tirely outside his proper department. He wrote them chiefly for his own amusement, as a relief from more prosaic duties, and they were tolerated by the editor as an innovation which might prove unobjectionable to the reader. A year or so later, the business manager found him- self acting as editor and being obliged to furnish a cer- tain amount of prose every week he abandoned his at- tempt to supply a column of rhyme and the department was discontinued. Thereafter The Lusty Lyre was heard from occa- sionally when some trade occurrence inspired him, as in 1905 when the activity of the "crop killers 1 ' gave him an inviting theme, and the Ode to Foggy Dew, the Battle of the Experts, and the Rhyme of the Ancient Granger were printed. In recent years, except at long intervals, the Lyre has been mute. In the Holiday Number of The Northwestern Miller for 1887, in a page, illustrated by Mr. Graves and print- ed in blue ink, the alleged poet was shown turning the crank of a machine somewhat resembling a roller mill. From above spouts led into it; these were labeled ink, paper, verbs, adjectives, nouns and pronouns, and the device was called the "Patent Milling Poetry Pounder and Verse Mixer." The frenzied person shown turning the handle of the mill was thus described: "This is The Miller's poet. He runs our rhyme machine. He is our verse compounder, The ablest ever seen. PREFACE .He sleeps upon a roller mill, On millstones takes his feed, And lives on shorts and red dog, The food that poets need. We keep him in the dust room Until it's Christmas time, When from his cage he breaks away And grinds his awful rhyme." To this collection from- the Lusty Lyre's past output in The Northwestern Miller have been added some rhymes by the same writer which originally appeared in other publications, including Life, Puck, Harper's Weekly and The Bellman. — W. C. E. Minneapolis, Minn., October, 1921. The Mill of the Years (1887) OLD TIME, in his wonderful Mill of the Years, Grinds daily an output of joys and of tears; And the sum of his grist for the year passing by, Now almost complete, is recorded on high. The good deeds, the bad ones, the gainings and winnings, The partings and meetings, the virtues and sinnings, Have all gone, perforce, through this terrible mill, And the hopper of Time is unsatisfied still. The goods deeds grade Patent; you usually find That forty per cent is the most these mills grind. Of fair words and intentions, Time makes a Straight grade, And regretfully notes 'tis the bulk of his trade. His Bakers' he gleans from the best that he can And his Red Dog is made from the weakness of Man. In the Offal and Waste go the crimes and the sins, And are spouted, they say, to some very warm bins. The experts declare that Time's system is poor — That the Mill of the Years' somewhat ancient is sure — But Head Miller Death is a hard one to beat; He says that the mill's -not in fault, but the wheat — That the All-Wise Millbuilder, who laid out the plan, Made the very best mill e'er constructed for man. That its system is perfect, machinery fine, Not a spout out of place, not a shaft out of line; In short, that the mill every way is first class, But the stuff that is ground in it's lacking, alas ! That the good Human Wheat is so mixed up with lies And Satan's own Cockle, 'tis quite a surprise RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD That the Mill of the Years doesn't grind all low grade, For the exclusive use of a tropical trade. Be that as it may, grinds this mill day and night, With an awful, resistless and terrible might; And ever shall grind until Time from his store Shall exhaust the last year; and exist nevermore. Too Much Flour (1892) THEY say "There exists a great surplus of flour. 'Tis a drug, and the market grows worse every hour. With the storehouses full and more stuff coming still, We must curtail the output and shut down the mill." Think of the life-giving, health-saving food, In its snowy white sacks, in its smooth-shaven wood ; Think of it pushed on "a market that's dead," While a million of mortals are hungry for bread ! Heaps of it, piles of it, barrels and sacks of it, Shiploads and carloads, and uncounted stacks of it. The miller can't sell it, the dealer can't buy, And for lack of it people must suffer and die! Crowded in tenements, lurking in holes; Sick as to body and worse as to souls; Crouched in the alley, or prowling the street, Seeking and begging the bread which they eat. Think of the terrible army of Hunger, Enrolling the older, enlisting the younger; Ready to riot or ready to steal, Ready to die for the hope of a meal. MILLS AND MILLERS Women whose faces are famished and white, Children who waken from hunger at night; Men who are starving and fall by the way — And flour is a drug in the market, they say ! Look at it! Never a pound without power — Even the poorest and cheapest of flour. Think of the terrible cry, "Give us bread!" And the thousands who utter it going unfed. Warehouses full, and unnumbered who lack it; Souls it could save — yet "it don't pay to sack it.' Wisdom of man ! Your philanthropy's pitiful ! Unlimited food, and of hunger a city-full. Ye Floury Humbugs (1892) SO, bless ye, merry miller-men — In sooth a curious lot; Which maketh resolutions fine W hereby to keep them not. And each his neighbor's throat would cut By competition sharp, While singing sweet of harmony And whanging Friendship's harp. Each vows the other is his friend And reacheth for his gun. Methinks 'tis well ye meet by day, Xot after set of sun. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Ye sagely prate of wicked ones, Who speculate in wheat, Then slyly take a whirl yourselves Chicago's game to beat. Full sweet is it to hear ye tell How millers all should act. Your words are good and kind enough To print within a tract. Ye weep about delaying freights And date your shipments back; Alack, the poor line agent knows Who holds the long-lost track. Indignantly ye often speak Of steamship lines, but note How quick a cut can always fill The poorest hulk afloat. And yet ye are a goodly throng; We wish ye much of cheer. May fortune smile upon ye all Throughout the coming year. Gathered In (1890) WHAT ho ! my merry miller Who but three days ago, Didst with thy genial, sunny smile Arrive from Chee-caw-go, Art feeling gay and festive yet? Has time gone swift or slow? MILLS AND MILLERS "Go get thee hence," the miller said, "My time will soon be o'er And once again I must return To work and worry sore; My heart is sad, my head is large And I must laugh no more. "But ere I leave this busy town And homeward take my way, Go find for me that blithesome one, Who met me yesterday; Who said he knew my folks at home And did the bunco play. "For him a welcome warm have I, A club extremely strong, Go face me with this dapper youth; I won't detain him long." The miller sighed full wearily, I wept to hear his song. The Miller Who Knows It All (1889) HIS mill is a model mill; It never needs repairs. There is nothing new That he can't see through, And improvements are mostly snares. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD His brands are always the best. And they find a ready sale. At a price so high That it makes you sigh When you hear him tell the tale. He always sells for cash; He never consigns a sack. His buyers all pay, He is pleased to say, And his orders are never slack. His flour is never off; His mill is never down. His shipments delay Not a single day On their road to the seaport town. An association join? Ah, no ! He does not need Any outside aid. He is not afraid Of the patent attorney's greed. Such things are not for him; They may do for the miller small. They are quite too slow For our friend, you know, The miller who knows it all. (In 18S9 the Millers' National Association, organized for mutual defense against patent litigation, was in active ex- istence. The consignment evil was one of the trade abuses which the millers were struggling to overcome and delays in transit were a common cause of complaint.) MILLS AND MILLERS Our German Millers (1892) THERE'S Uncle Ferd'nand' Schumacher, He doesn't seem to mind The market's ups and downs a bit, But keeps a tranquil mind. With one eye on the drunkard, Whose habits give him pain, He runs his mills, come fair or foul — ■ You don't hear him complain. And there is good George Urban (He says he's German too), You seldom hear him kicking Whate'er the markets do. And tho' perhaps he has ill luck And finds his business slow, He seems to keep his spirits up And laugh away his woe. This seems to indicate to us That there must be a trace Of calm and staid philosophy In all the German race. And tho' our German millers Will tell you (with a grin) That milling is a losing trade At which they cannot win, Still, if you'll look around the field And mark the Germans there You'll note that looks of sadness And suffering are rare. Perhaps we are in error, But we've oft remarked before, That mills run by the Germans keep No wolf around the door; RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD And we rather think that this is due Not half so much to luck, As to cheerfulness of spirit And good old German pluck. (Ferdinand Schumacher, of Akron, Ohio, was at this period the leading oatmeal miller of the country. He was also very prominent in the cause of temperance. Then, as now, George Urban, Jr., of Buffalo, N. Y., was a well-known and very popular miller.) The Extremely Jolly Miller (1885) IT is a Jolly Miller Who grindeth on the Falls; He dammeth of the river, And loud for power calls. He doeth best who kicketh best All things both great and small, And 'tis the Jolly Miller Who kicketh best of all. First 'tis the ebbing river Which urgeth him to heat, And then he loudly howleth About the price of wheat; Again it is the anchor ice, Or markets going down; Anon it's trouble with the wheel That makes the miller frown. Oh, yes, a merry critter Is the miller, I avow; The gayest, merriest, happiest soul. Especially — just now! (When this was written the millers of Minneapolis de- pended entirely upon water power, and in winter their operations were greatly handicapped by anchor ice.) MILLS AND MILLERS Cause and Effect (1885) NOW the water in the Falls is getting low, And, of course, cavorting upward prices go; While of steam the miller thinks And the engine builder winks As he contemplates the ducats that will flow. (It was not long thereafter that steam power began to supplement the water supply and Minneapolis millers became more independent of the vagaries of nature in their opera- tions.) Say, Where Is McCannf (1890) WHAT we're anxious to learn, What we ask every man Who comes up from the south Is, "Say, where is McCann, The Tennessee poet and miller?" Will somebody answer who can? He'll be missed at the meeting And missed at the bar, At banquet and picnic, Say, won't he be thar? If he won't then the lack of his laughter Our pleasure most sorely will mar. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD He hasn't so far said he wouldn't, And he hasn't so far said he would, And it's certain our Tennessee poet Would surely come up if he could. Some hope; and resolve that we'll give him A royal good time, if he should. (One of the gentlest and most lovable men in the milling business in those days was the "Miller Poet," Mr. McC'ann of Nashville, Tennessee, who used to write "poetry" almost as bad as that of his friend The Lusty Lyre. He has been dead these many years, but millers who attended conventions during his time will recall with a smile how much his presence contributed to the gayety of these occasions.) To a Mill Wheel (1885) DAY by day and night by night (Yes, and longer), Have I listened in affright (Growing stronger), And with many a hasty word Have I spoken as I heard Every one-horse, broken-backed, two- for-a-nickel milling journal on earth Raise a fuss On the mill wheel and its clack. Till my soul is on the rack And I hear each poet quack With a cuss — . MILLS AND MILLERS A Christmas Carol (1885) CAROL! carol! miller! Carol like a man, For flour's down and wheat is up, But carol if you can. Carol ! carol ! miller ! Times are most merry now; The devil's got the markets, You've got to stand the row. Another (1885) RING out the, bells, And raffle for turkey; The markets are cranky, And wheat it is jerky. But ring in the new year And chase off the old, And it's luck to the miller And plenty of gold. Revised Mother Goose (1885) LITTLE Miss Profit, At one time she saw fit To visit the miller so gay; Came Loss like a spider And sat down beside her, And frightened Miss Profit away. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Money No Object (1885) A MILLER who went on a spree Remarked, "What is money to me? For a bushel of wheat I can paint all the street, And a nice troop of elephants see." He Trimmed 'Em (1885) AN OLD miller once on the Falls Was pestered by too many call So he greased his doorway, And made happy each day By chalking the drops on the walls. Butted the Button (1885) UPON a summer afternoon A tender lad — a real gossoon — Of ladies, quite a large platoon Thro' Washburn's mill did guide. The elevator upward drew, And as the floors* they clambered thro" The tired ladies seemed to rue The trip, and faintly sighed. MILLS AND MILLERS Perhaps 'twere well here to explain That in this mill a complex skein Of wires, confusing to the brain (Or eye's perhaps the word), Lead up and down and round about To save long walks or yell and shout. Avoiding useless verbal spout, Which always seems absurd. These wires connect with buttons slick, Which in the office walls are thick; You touch them, and arriving quick You see a proper man Who gives report about the mill, How goes the work, if good or ill, And otherwise awaits your will — ■ Ingenious is the plan. One button tells of fire's outbreak; This summons makes the hearers quake — Exceeding lively legs they shake — An uproar loud they raise. Each hastens as he can to aid The working of the fire brigade, For every worker is afraid To see a hungry blaze. Well, as we stated here before. The party went from floor to floor, The guide explained with words galore, (He was a well read guide), Told of the work the main shaft does, Showed how the wheat was cleaned of fuzz, Until, worn out with hum and buzz, The gentle ladies sighed. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Then seating them until he'd call A man from some far distant hall By pushing button in the wall, He'd show authority, And how the electric signal flew From floor to floor the great mill thro'— An interesting thing he knew The button dodge to be. The row of buttons on the wall Were rightly labeled for each call. But pride precedes the usual fall; The wrong alarm he sent, And at his summons flying came The dusties sturdy, fleet and game, The long, the short, the quick, the lame, Equipped with implement. A hundred voices yelled out, "Well? Where is the fire we come to quell?" With hand grenades and Babcocks well ' Were fixed this dusty band. And on, and on, and on they came, Seeking each one the quivering flame, And anxious each to win a name For being first on hand. The guide was rattled, quite up broke. "There is no fire," at last he spoke. Remarks were made. "Confound the bloke For spreading this alarm." The ladies certain were amused, The guide with blushing was confused, And every one in turn abused The author of the harm. MILLS AND MILLERS What else occurred we will pass o'er, And only add that nevermore That guileless man from floor to floor Will lady callers guide. All kinds of buttons he eschews, And on his clothes Mill only use Buckles and safety pins. His shoes With hempen strings are tied. (The hero of this lay — dead long ago — was an amiable young man who came to Minneapolis in the pioneer days and, in addition to "parting his name in the middle," aroused much good-natured criticism by introducing various innova- tions, including a tandem cart with a "tiger" on the back seat. His connection with the milling business was not long continued, but during it he was the unconscious source of much innocent hilarity because of his idiosyncrasies, withal being a man of more than ordinary ability.) The Ballad of Mr. Brown (1892) THERE lived a prosperous miller once, Whose name was J. P. Brown, Whose cognomen quite common was In this same miller's town. For Brownsville was the city's name, And Brown the county, too. Brown also was the postmaster, Sold meat, a Brown or two. Brown colored were the houses, Brown kept a grocer-ee, Brown banked, Brown baked, Brown shod, Brown brewed, Brown shaved jou frequentlee. 15 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD And not one Smith or Jones was there In all the district round; You might have hunted far and near, But mostly Browns you'd found. Now, Miller Brown ambitious was, And longed for wealth and fame. It vexed his heart to have to hide Behind the common name. Perhaps this seems a trifling thing To worry you or me, But then our names are all our own; Poor Brown's was not, you see. If some obscure, degraded Brown Was hauled away to jail, Of "Brown the thief," or "Burglar Brown" Was told the gossip's tale. And, look you, if he. made a hit, 'Twas only "Brown's in luck," It only helped the lot named Brown, And there, alas ! it stuck. Now, Miller Brown was sensitive, And did not care to pass As simply one among the Browns, An atom in a mass. He found it useless to attempt To gain distinction, when The common Brown of commerce merged Himself with other men. MILLS AND MILLERS In vain he tried "Jay Perkyns Brown." The title would not stick, Although he so marked all his things From flour sack to slick. And Brown so worried over this .('Tis sad, though you may grin), That from a plump and pleasant man, He grew morose and thin. He meditated schemes of flight, And thought of suicide, But felt that had he killed himself His name would not have died. I've told how Brown grew lean and sour. Each day he moped the more, And soon his trade began to go, And custom left his door. He got in debt and fell behind — One day the sheriff came. Brown smiled a bitter kind of smile, Remarked "he wa'n't to blame." They took away the mill from Brown, He passed out from the door, And placed his bundle on his back And — smiled again once more. Since then the former Miller Brown Has grown quite sleek and fat, He wanders all the country o'er, And wears a shocking hat. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD He tramps it in a blithesome way, Well known as "Brown the vag," And happy and content is Brown, Although his coat's a rag. For strangely is the same Brown made. In his peculiar mind. It makes him really pleased to feel He's damaging his kind. He always names himself as Brown, It seems to make him glad To circulate the idea round That all the Browns are bad. He reasons that a score he has To settle with his name, And so he hooks a chicken here, And gives to Brown the blame. Whene'er he takes a trip to jail, He gives the name of Brown, And glories in producing proofs That he's from Brownsville town. He labels all his clothing Brown, In letters plain and large, And as a living scarecrow seeks His ill fame to enlarge. He burglarizes, murders, steals, "With compliments of Brown." His aim and happiness it is To kick the Brown name down. THE ENGLISH INVASION To Our Masters (1889) H AIL, England, hail ! Or, as your sons say, 'ail ! Thou pluck'st the feathers From the Eagle's tail. You own our railways, Capture all our land, And buy up brewers With a mighty hand. Thine are the cattle On our thousand hills; And thine at last, alas ! Our flouring mills. Hail, mighty England ! Tho' she won in fight, America is conquered By your checkbook's might. It's English, You Know (1889) OH THE beer which we drink, and the salt which we use Are English, you know, all English, you know, And our bankers and brewers and makers of shoes Are English, rich English, you know. They own all our railways and most of our banks, They are buying the very best things from the Yanks, They take our investments and say, "Aw, yes, thanks," These English, rich English, you know. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Chorus— Oh the rumors you hear, and the stories they tell, Of English, you know, yes, English, you know, Might induce you to think that our souls we might sell To the English, rich English, you know. They have bought up our stocks and they own all our land, These English, you know, rich English, you know. They have captured our sugar and cornered our sand. These English, rich English, you know. They are getting an option on everything loose, For each golden egg laid they have bought up a goose, And expect to consign Yankee ways to the deuce, These English, rich English, you know. It is rumored about that American flour Is English, you know, part English, you know, If they haven't bought yet, they may buy any hour, These English, smart English, you know. Still a great many grin when these stories they hear, Of shoes and tobacco and flour and beer, And remark that perhaps they are paying quite dear, These English, shrewd English, you know. And perchance they may purchase our end of the earth, These English, you know, bright English, you know, But it's dollars to doughnuts they pay what it's worth, These English, shrewd English, you know. The American Eagle will still proudly sail, And decline to be snared by gold salt on his tail, In their efforts to own him perhaps they may fail, These English, bright English, you know. THE ENGLISH INVASION The Millowner Contemplates a Journey (1889) A H, Hennery, pack me luggage And call a cabby here; For I must leave old Lunnon Before the glad new year. Ye know I've bought some flour mills, Some lifts and other rot, Somewhere out west there, don't ye know, I cawn't recall the spot. It's some place near Cheecawgo Or Bawston — I'm not clear — ■■ I fawncy that it's near the town I bought, that makes Jhe beer. I'd like to see the beggars Who grind me out me flour, And so I'll leave the city Within this very hour. And, Hennery, pack me hunting gear, I'd like to shoot a bit. They tell me there's some sport out there; They often make a hit. There's like to be some Indians, And while I am not scared, When going on a trip like this, 'Tis well to be prepared. 21 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD So pack me luggage, Hennery, And call a cabby here; For I must see me properties Before the glad new year. (Thirty-two years ago English capital undertook to exploit American industries. The movement was stimulated by a strong demand for industrial stocks in the London market, and a great many British promoters came to the United States for the purpose of obtaining options on manufacturing plants. The Americans who disposed of their properties almost invariably obtained a handsome price, capitalizing their good will at a liberal figure. Some of these investments turned out well, but others did not. This financial fashion was slightly waning when American flour mills and wheat elevators began to be subject to negotiation, and compara- tively little progress was made in this direction. The three foregoing lays were inspired by this movement.) Kicked on the Substantials (1885) THERE was a bold chap in Calcutta, Who shouted out, "Blawst bread and buttah, I intend to have cake Or bones I will break." (In the bake shops he caused quite a fluttah.) Everybody Knows This Barber (1885) A MILLER who rose from his grave, Said, "I think I'll drop in for a shave," And his barber cried out, "I believe beyond doubt, With my tonic vour back hair I'll save !" EPITAPHS Became a Canuck (1885) THERE was a bank teller named Pete, Who slyly was wont to hit wheat, His cash being short He removed by report To Toronto, where bank tellers meet. An Epitaph (1890) BENEATH this stone a miller lies Who left the world before the rise Of modern ways of making flour, And hence passed many a happy hour. He was not forced to speculate. Nor on Chicago's movements wait; He did not care for foreign trade, But sold his neighbors all he made. Cables and telegrams were rare — The markets did not make him swear; Small was his mill, his profits round; Clear was his head, his slumbers sound. He envied none, was envied not, And died contented with his lot. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Another (1890) HERE lies, poor soul, a tired man — A miller on the modern plan. He was not born to rest content With modest mill and life well spent. Great was his output- — near and far He sold his product by the car; Sought over seas the golden store That once he garnered at his door. By speculators vexed and worried, Thro' life's brief span his course was hurried, Until on earth no rest he found, And gladly sought it underground. (The first of these epitaphs was the origin of an interest- ing incident. ' Years after it was written, there appeared in an American newspaper an account of a very old millstone monument, said to have been seen somewhere in Ohio, which bore this inscription. The story went the rounds of the American press, the monument being discovered in various places. Some years later it appeared in an English periodical, and subsequently was published in India, making its way slowly around the world. Curious to ascertain the facts, The Northwestern Miller endeavored to trace the story to its original source and finally learned that a miller living in Ohio had the epitaph inscribed on a discarded millstone with the idea of having it placed over himself when he died. Before this happened the mill burned, the site was aban- doned and the miller himself moved away. The millstone remained where he had left it and an inventive reporter, happening to see it, started the story of the miller's monu- ment on its long and honorable career.) Stranded (1911) THERE was a poor artist in Rome Who remarked, "I'm a long way from home, But it's cheaper to stay Here a year and a day Than to hike back to Oshkosh from Rome." THE ESTEEMED CONTEMPORARY The Way It Is Done (1885) HE dips his pen in mouldy ink And forthwith on the yellow page He traceth ancient saws and quips And maxims of some long dead sage. He sheareth with his rusty shears, Then hangs them on the cobwebbed wall, And pasteth with some half dried paste The slips that from the shears do fall. Then some time in the coming month He maileth to subscribers old The Miller 'Mericanus trite, Crusted with age, and sad and cold. Humor Prehistoric (1885) IF for ancient lore you're anxious, The curtained past to raise, Learn why Caesar used to linger With his nose against his finger (Roman nose and index finger) Telling jest of early days — Seek no more in old library, Search no musty commentary — These are recent ; modern — very ; Seek the only truthful sage. In Awericanus Miller, There, all petrified — but stiller — Ancient, moss grown, most fossiler. Is a funny page. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Humor here we find from ages Long before Silurian stages, Poets sung or talked the sages, Pterodactyls spoke. Here translated and rewritten Are the same bright things side-splittin' Which, when Adam, garden-quittin', Made a joke. Another Go at the American (1885) I KNOW it is a sin For me to sit and grin, At it here; But its trade items and news, Its clippings and reviews Are so queer! Advantageous Location (1885) UNDER the spreading chestnut tree The Miller American stands. It shakes the limbs and the old jokes fall Into its waiting hands. Notes on the buhr and the trade item too, Gladly it gathers there, And not an item or topic or theme But seemeth to wear gray hair. THE ESTEEMED CONTEMPORARY Beats Morphine (1885) A MILLER whose age was fourscore Said, "To read is a terrible bore; So I'll take for a piller The 'Merican Miller." (The neighbors next door heard him snore.) Slumber Song (1885) ANCIENT battered type, O cover, fadey blue, Again, sweet Miller 'Merican, My song must be of you. Mayhap you do not care, 'Tis said that you are weary And do not love to hear me sing My little lyric cheery. But ever as I sing, I hear the mill wheels clack; And to my dreaming soul Old memories come back. All innocent of news — You aid my dreamy mind, And in your columns wide No rude shock shall I find. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Ah, dearly do I love To read your monthly number, Your dear, delightful pages lead Seductively to slumber. Oh, drowsy, dear American, I weary of this life; Oh put me on your deadhead list, I long to cease from strife. No Choice (1885) A MILLER whose back was of moss Said, "The 'Merican Miller's the boss. When it's read upside down It's as good, I'll be boun'; 'Twixt either side up it's a toss." All on the Quiet (1885) A ROCK being broken in two, A handsome old frog came to view, Who said it was stiller Round the 'Merican Miller Than in any rock that he knew. THE ESTEEMED CONTEMPORARY He Read a Paid Write-Up (1885) I N the 'Merican Miller a man Discovered a wonderful plan For grinding his flour, And felt very sour, Because it sold cheaper than bran. The Subtle Somnolent (1885) "TT7HAT ho! good ancient, \\ Wherefore dost thou doze With loud resounding snore And spectacles on nose?" "Good lack," quoth he, "I merely looked it o'er." The Miller 'Mericaniis, as he spoke, Did smite the floor. (The Lusty Lyre, being new to journalism, and a bit of an amateur, must needs pay his respects in ribald rhyme to rival trade publications; this was the fashion of the time. The subject of the lays here given, which The Northwestern Miller is glad to say prosperously survives, will doubtless pardon their republication, since any animus which may have existed when they appeared has long since evaporated under the kindly process of the passing years.) RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Y What Is a Bag of Flour? (1892) E millers all, come hear the news Which the Jackson line doth tell; "A bag of flour is a bag of flour," A fact remember well. You can ship a red dog, patent or straight, It doesn't matter a dern; "A bag of flour is a bag of flour," And millers must live and learn. You can brand in red, you can brand in blue, "Superlative," "Extra" or "Best"; "A bag of flour is a bag of flour," Let it come from east or west. For a difference in price of a shilling or two, The Jackson line don't care; "A bag of flour is a bag of flour," In their bill of lading rare. You may mark your sacks to suit yourself, You may also pay the freight. Your buyer may stand on the sad sea sand And patiently watch and wait; But this is the limit of what you can do, For Jackson & Company say That "a bag of flour is a bag of flour," At least, when it comes their way. They are free to deliver to suit themselves. Whatever is handiest goes; For "a bag of flour is a bag of flour," As every smart ship-owner knows. SEA SONGS The mark on the outside? What of that? They haven't the time to heed. "A bag of flour is a bag of flour," Can they be expected to read? O go your ways, ye millers great; Likewise ye millers small. "A bag of flour is a bag of flour," This rule applies to all; For the Jackson folk are wondrous wise, They have written it down as a law That "a bag of flour is a bag of flour," So the lawyers can now withdraw. (A well-known British steamship line, relying- upon the limitless latitude allowed the ship owner in the bill of lading- used at this time, proffered, in lieu of the flour purchased by the consignee, an equal amount of an entirely different quality, made by another mill, and actually held that under the terms of its receipt this was a proper delivery, as "a bag of flour was a bag of flour irrespective of its brand or the character of its contents." From this absurd position it was subsequently forced to withdraw.) The Modern Pirate (1890) WHEN Captain Kidd was a pirate bold, He loved a ship to scuttle; Full many a throat he slit in glee, And many a treasure gobbled he, With his methods fierce and subtle. 31 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD He proudly strode the quarter-deck With dirk and cutlass handy; And woe to him who crossed his way — He walked the plank that very day, To please this pirate dandy. But, as it might have been supposed, The law at last descended; The captain for his fights and gains Soon found himself hung up in chains, His bright career quite ended. Altho' the black flag long has ceased To terrorize the ocean, The pirates of the sea are still Engaged in robbing at their will, And when they feel the notion. They do not wear a cutlass now; All violence evading, They use a weapon which they find Exactly suited to their mind — The modern bill of lading. (For many years exporting millers and their British cus- tomers struggled with the ocean carriers to obtain a fair bill of lading in place of the archaic shipping document which the steamship lines forced them to use. The subject was discussed at all the millers' conventions and finally it was necessary to go to Congress to secure redress. The passage of the Harter Act was the first step toward securing a more equitable bill of lading.) LIMERICKS Britannia Rules the Waves (1911) THERE was an Inglese in Venice Who used the canals for lawn tennis; "These excellent nets," She remarked, between sets, "I procure from the fishers of Venice." The Wily Old Master (1911) A PAINTER there was in Milan Who said, "I've an excellent plan; I shall finish so few Of the paintings I do That my name will be great in Milan. Un Fiorentino Spirito Bizarro (1911) AN ECCENTRIC shopkeeper of Florence Held the tourist in scornful abhorrence, When requested to sell, He'd reply, "Go to — ," well, His words were the scandal of Florence. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD The Truth About Ulysses (1911) THERE was an exploring old Greek Who sailed to Salerno one week. He said, with a scowl, "How these blamed sirens howl ! You can't even hear yourself speak." Overheard on the Piazza (1911) THERE was an old dove of St. Mark Who, while feeding, was heard to remark, "These tourists are kind, But they put me in mind Of my ancestors' tales of the ark." The Editor and the Balancing Pole (1885) An editor being the envied owner of two advertise- ments, from rival manufacturers who were engaged in a patent warfare, was endeavoring by care fid editorial mention to satisfy both his customers and thm save the advertising columns. To 'perform this feat successfully, he found it necessary not only to arise early in the morning, but to stay tip all night. In one of his sleep- less attacks he wrote the following and shortly after- ward turned up his toes: I T'S oh to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where one has never an ad. to save If this be Christian work. THE BUILDING OF THE MILL It's scrawl, and scribble, and scratch, Of patents, and cases, and suits, Of measly decisions And prophetic visions, A-scaring one out of his boots. Oh, it's little I wot of the law And it's little I know of its sting, But to scribble and scrawl On a patent suit brawl, Ah! this is a horrible thing! Oh, I never sleep in the night, But I dream with a terrible chill Of the Octopus' claw Reaching out for my paw, And remarking, "I have you, friend Bill !" Then a tottering new purifier Exciteth the Octopus' ire, And they fight on my chest With a terrible zest, And I think I will surely expire. But up comes a patent suit then, Arrayed in a judicial gown, And a travelling brush And a job lot of slush On my stomach all dance up and down. The spirit of old man Lacroix Appears to be maddened with joy; A bolting chest rare Twines its hand in my hair And exclaims, "I am with you, my boy! - ' RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Now I hold that the wealth of the world Is payment far short of his due Of the man who must write On this theme erudite And I know that my statement is true. (Millbuilding and milling machinery occupied a great deal of the attention of millers at this period. The introduction of the purifier, and of what was called "the new process," by which the roller mill superseded the millstone, and the development of the "gradual reduction" system of flour mill- ing were still comparatively recent. There was great activity in the remodeling and rebuilding of plants and many new mills were being constructed. The Lusty Lyre naturally found opportunity for rhyming in incidents connected with this movement, and as this and the lays which follow testify he freely availed himself of it.) Another St. John Man (1885) GOOD Captain S., of rotund form, And jolly laugh, and cheerful joke, (A purifier man is he, Who sells the make of Smith, George T.), Stood in the office door and spoke: "Today,* of course, the Democrats Rejoice and guzzle beer; Quite different my feelings are — Regret and pain are here. "I am an old Republican And fought throughout the war; Therefore my party's tumble Provokes a feeling sore. THE BUILDING OF THE MILL "And even that I could allow. And still, perhaps, brace up, But on account of Cleveland's tricks I lose the cheering cup. "To keep a four years' swear-off, In short, I did agree. If Cleveland should be President, And that's what worries me. "You need not ask me up to drink, Because I must decline. For four years from election day Strict abstinence is mine." (Prohibition was an academic question in 1885 and Gover- nor St. John was one of its leading- advocates. Grover Cleve- land was elected President at the election of 1884. Mill- furnishers, such as "Captain S." referred to in this rhyme, were accustomed in those days to indulge at least moderately in the cheering cup, and the outcome of his unfortunate wager was a much more serious hardship than it would be now.) To (Pillsbury) B—Or Not to B! (1885) A THOUSAND millwrights steadily Inquire for William Gunn. A thousand millwrights did I say? Five thousand — if there's one! They come from East, and West and South, All eagerly to see Who from among the lusty throng- Can labor on the B. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD And William G. they seek at once (Sometimes they look for Gray). Alas ! their lot is sadly cast, For William keeps away. And Mr. Gray he lingereth Where sounds the Gulf Stream's roar, And all expectant millwrights Are heard to cuss, swear, swore. (William, better known as "Billy," Gunn was a well- known millbuilder of Minneapolis who was engaged by William D. Gray, then of E. P. Allis & Company, to super- intend the construction of the Pillsbury B mill. This work necessitated the employment of a large number of mill- wrights. In consequence they nocked to Minneapolis from all parts of the country and usually applied to the office of The Northwestern Miller for information concerning the whereabouts of Messrs. Graj- and Gunn.) How He Built His Mill (1889) JOHN HENDERSON, of Johnstown, Resolved to build a mill; He had precious little money, And his credit it was nil; But he did not lack for shrewdness, Had great confidence in self, And possessed some other qualities More useful far than pelf. So he wrote to all millfurnishers, Inviting them to bid, And in glowing terms magniloquent His lack of funds he hid. THE BUILDING OF THE MILL He wrote about the site he owned ('Twas given by the town), And alluded to the wheat crop Which was the country's crown. He chose his words so neatly, And wrote with such a grace, That those who got his letters Ached to build in such a place. So, upon the day appointed, The trains to Johnstown came Just loaded down with builders — • Every expert known to fame; And each one brought his plan along, A bid likewise brought he, And the way they clawed each other Was a pretty sight to see. In starting in, the terms were cash, But soon the contest grew Until each bidder tried his best The others to outdo. One guaranteed to give results That ne'er were known before; John Henderson he sweetly smiled, And said he'd think it o'er. The next one offered four years' time, And freely did agree To discount every item in The first one's guarantee. 39 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD John Henderson he smiled again. And showed him to the door; And so there came another one Who guaranteed some more. The next one cut the price in two; Anon another came Who also helped John Henderson To play his little game. The contract was awarded then, And everyone was sad, For all had sought the mill to build And failure made them mad. And the saddest one of all the lot Of all the builders there Was the man who got the contract ; He wept and tore his hair. And smiling Mr. Henderson Soon owned a handsome mill For which the good millfurnisher Had kindly paid the bill. He buildeth best, who smileth best And hath the most of gall; And the man who "works" his fellow men He buildeth best of all. (Competition grew very keen as the number of rival mill- builders increased and the - demand for new mills slackened. So anxious were contractors to demonstrate the merits of their systems and machinery that not infrequently a bid was made at less than cost.) 40 THE BUILDING OF THE MILL T Overdosed (1889) HERE was a man who ran a mill: Most credulous was he, He listened oft to fairy tales About machineree. "New process" caught him every time, And everything he read About new things and novelties Completely turned his head. He scanned each advertisement new ; Oft pondered o'er and o'er The claims of every new device, And bought them by the score. Twice every year he tore things up And changed the mill around. He was the very choicest meat That e'er millbuilders found. In sooth, he was a curious man. Who, lacking not for wealth, Was ever pleased to run his mill Exclusively for health. Toward his door with joyful step Machinery agents came. Came also milling experts, who AVere widely known to fame. Short system men, and long ones too, Inventors, cranks and bores, He caught the lot, and never one AVas met by fastened doors. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD He saw them all, he talked with each, Believed whate'er they taught. No wonder that this worthy man By all the trade was sought. There came a time, a bitter day When, having heard them all. He went aside and kicked himself And wrote thus on his wall: "Ten per cent patent by Brown's new bolt And thirty more by Greens, And forty, they saj", I can add any day That I put in the Jones machines. "Twenty will come with the Jiggsby roll And ten with the reels they sent. By addition I find That of patents I'll grind One hundred and ten per cent !" He bathed his head in water cool, Then marked upon his gate A notice warning visitors To pause a while and wait. "Within this yard there lurks a dog Whose teeth are long and keen. Forbear to test them, ye who bring 'A wonderful machine.' "Beside the dog, remark the gun, 'Tis loaded to the brim; The man who talks of 'guarantees,' This gun is meant for him. 42 THE BUILDING OF THE MILL "And oh, observe the hired man, His knotted club hard by; With milling revolutionists Conclusions would he try. "All ye Who wonders would achieve On other mills commence, And those who seek a lamb to fleece Had better get from hence." (Ridiculous claims were often made by mill machinery makers of savings accomplished by their devices, and the increased amount of patent flour which their systems could produce. The advertisements in the trade press of the time were usually expressed in superlatives and no statement was too strong to suit the average inventor. Fortunately the miller was accustomed to make a very liberal discount for exaggeration.) A A "Strait" Tip (1895) SSEMBLED in the Nicollet, A crowd surged back and forth And every railway car was full, That travelled to'ard the North. Millfurnishers, from every state, Were gathered there that day : And every man felt confident Tbat things would go his way. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Within the bar the glasses rang, Responsive to a toast; And "inside tracks" and "pointers" were Each man's exclusive boast. Machinery men a many score Encamped upon the ground, And all around that noisy spot Millfurnishers were found. What meant this demonstration great? The reader may suggest; A contract to be let, it was, Inspired this wondrous zest. For 'twas a time when contracts few Came to the boys who sell, And whosoever purchased then Did buy exceeding well. The miller's face full solemn was, Both solemn and severe, As one who to the throng might say, "The contract is let here!' For three long days and nights was held This conclave at the inn; Men fainted from exhaustion, and The fattest man grew thin. At last the awful hour arrived; The miller bared his head, And, looking sternly on the crowd, These awful words he said: THE BUILDING OF THE MILL "Go hence, ye bold machinery men; Millbuilders, haste away; The contract that ye hope to gain I'll let s'mother dav !" Ah! but the language which that day The boys were heard to use; The cuss words, falling thick as hail, Commingled with abuse. And when, at last, the work was let, Altho' the few felt sore, The most of these machinery men Rejoiced that all was o'er. (The Nicollet House, in Minneapolis, was headquarters for millers and machinery men and here the out-of-town miller intending to build or remodel was accustomed to talk with competing bidders, some of whom had travelled a long dis- tance in order to meet him. Not infrequently the miller would decide to postpone awarding the contract and the disappointed millbuilders would have nothing to show for their work but a heavy expense account.) The Delegate from Center Station Interviews the Mill Furnisher (1889) UR folks at Center Station They hankered for a mill, ' And all the fellers sot about Some way the want to fill. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD They met at Levy Isaac's place And sot around the store, And jawed the project up and down And spit upon the floor; And 'twas every feller's notion, They said it with a will, That the town of Center Station jest Had ter have a mill. They 'lowed that Thomson's Corner 'Bout fifteen miles due west, Since gettin' up its flouring mill Had forged along the best; Had built two bran-new buildin's (Tho' one was still for rent) • And farmers' wives seemed all as if To trade there they was bent. So while all hands was jawin' Up jumped old Abner Gill And sez, "I'll tell you what it is, we've Got ter have a mill." "I'll give a yoke of oxen And a hundred dollars cash, And I'd like to hear from Brother Sharp, He's looking pritty brash"; THE BUILDING OF THE MILL And Sharp got up and said, "You bet I'm willin' to jine in"; So he agreed to pay as much To see the project win. Now when the Station humps itself There's lots of life there still, And so the fellers shouted out, "We're Bound ter have a mill." Inthusiasm ketched us hard And one by one we thumped Upon old Isaac's counter, Until the scheme jest humped. "I'll give my white-faced sorrel"; "Jes' put me down one steer"; "I'll donate all the wheat I get Off our lower field this year." And so they went on givin', First one, then 'nother, till They'd pledged enough among 'em to Build the blamed old mill. So we made a corporation An' portioned out the stock, And swapped fer land to put her on And hauled some buildin' rock. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD We've got the stuff all ready And waitin' ter begin, We'll knock out Thomson's Corner — The Station's bound to win. So I'm here to make a bargain A contrac' to fulfill, So draw me up yer figgers, we're Bound to have a mill. Excuse me, ain't you jokin'. Five thousand, did you say? Great Gosh ! and Center Station s A hundred miles away ! Why, some one got the figgers From that Thomson's Corner fraud, An' he said the whole caboodle Cost but fifteen hundred odd. Five thousand ! Great Jehosaphat ! Worth more than Abner Gill ! I reckon Center Station's got To go without her mill. (This jingle indicates the desire of every country town, at this time, to have a new, up-to-date flour mill. The old grist mill with the overshot wheel was rapidly passing, indeed had practically gone, and the ambitious village yearned for a modern roller mill. Very often its yearnings were gratified at considerable local sacrifice, the new mill frequently proving a white elephant.) I WITHOUT EXCUSE Musically Mutilated (1885) WENT to church the other night— I did not go to scoff — I went to hear the good man's words. But not to take them off. Metho't, perhaps when I get there I'll hear the well-known ring Of some of those old-fashioned hymns, Where all the people sing. And so I donned a quiet tie, And sober as a clam, I took me to the village church With thoughts of hymn and psalm. But bless your boots ! there was a yell As I came in the door; I wondered how the seats retained Their places on the floor. The village choir, forsooth, it was, A-going for a hymn; And the chances for that fated song (It seemed to me) were slim. They took the old familiar words, • By one, by two, by three, They split 'em up, they juggled 'em, They jerked them round in glee. The organist, he braced himself, His hair flew wildly round; He pulled out all the stops at once (It made an awful sound). 49 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD The bass and tenor had a race. All up and down the scale, The alto and soprano both Kept up a dismal wail. The final word at last was reached, I thought we'd have a rest; But if they didn't give "Amen" A wrestle, I'll be blessed ! "Amen ! amen !" the tenor said. Now soft, now high, now loud; "Amen ! amen !" the alto sang — And "Amen !" sang the crowd. The organ roared, the choir screamed, (It was a dreadful sight!) And when they struck the final note I rushed out in affright. (This and the three lays which follow it were unprovoked by anything that happened in the trade. The Lusty Lyre wrote them because he felt like it and there was no one to stop him. They are included in this sample selection chiefly to make it thicker.) Owed to the Office Boy (Five Dollars per Week) (1885) COME hither, little Jakie, Office boy with misfit pants, Come hither. Leave the nickel Which in matching seems so fickle; Come and listen to the cry the office chants. WITHOUT EXCUSE In the morning, little Jakie, Sweep the room. Do not monkey with the litter Which provoketh words so bitter, Use a broom. And, fair Jakie, pray remember — Cuspidor. When so often you forget It suggests no violet, Quite galore. And again, good youth, remember, Give us ink. And in getting up a letter, The pen if clean writes better — Don't you think? (Jakie, the office boy, was also the printers' devil. Long after the Lusty Lyre ceased to gibe at him, one of the edi- torial staff used to print paragraphs concerning him. Jakie resented this, and one day he set up a line of type expressing his private opinion of the facetious writer in language more emphatic than polite. This he inserted immediately follow- ing the editor's paragraph of which he was. the butt. The proofs had already been read and corrected and the form containing Jakie's very vulgar postscript went to press. Some copies had actually been printed when the addition was fortunately discovered and eliminated. Jakie's revenge, although it failed of the result he hoped for, procured him release from further ironic comment.) Oh Had I Known (1885) IF I had bet that time I held three kings, He said, I had been wiser in my time; My chips so soon would not have taken wings And I be left without a single dime, If I had bet that time I held three kings. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD The day it was decreed that Cleveland won If I had only seen how it should be I would not mind the cost of coal per ton Nor patronize the friendly lunch route free, The day it was decreed that Cleveland won. Oh, had I known that wheat would surely rise I would not wear an overcoat so thin, But sport a sealskin reaching to my eyes And for my use have quantities of tin, Oh, had I known that wheat would surely rise. (They wore sealskin coats in 1SS5; that is, the sports did; they also played poker, made election bets and occasionally took a flyer in the wheat market.) D Hoch! Die Anarchie! A German-American Lay (1896) ER con man mit his dyed mustache Ein Anarchist ge-met. Der Anarchist hat langen hair Und much mit bier hat wet. Er hat ein fearful shoot-maschin — Infernal was its name; Der con man saved, "Gut heil ! Ja wohl ! Und what's your leetle game? WITHOUT EXCUSE "Kanst du der moosic-organ grind? Ve viel! Was hast du got? Show up, mine friend, und I will put Ein nickel in der schlot." Der Anarchist he make some words, Sehr gross — just like a swear; Und from his headt, mit both his hands, Ge-plucked his oily hair ! "Du weinerschnitzel schutzenf est ! Du verfluckte oldt fake ! Du katzenjammer-regenschirm ! Ich vill some moosic make!" Down mit der ground his strange maschin Der Anarchist ge-flung. "Ich vill some sweeter moosic sing Als ever yet vas sung. "Ein nickel in der schlot maschin? Aha ! er ist sehr schon. Be good enough to stop, my friendt, Und listen to its playin'." Der con man paused und schmole a schmile: It vas his very last ! Der Anarchist he grabbed a crank Und turned it qvick und fast. Ten tousand duyvels ! Vas is das ! A roar, much smoke, one yell — Der con man vanished from der sight Und didn't leave a schmell. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Der Anarchist he made a laugh, 'Twas loud und full of glee, Und "Hoch ! die Anarchie !" he cried, Also, "Hurray for me !" "Ich bin der schlickest Anarchist Dot ever hated soap. Der con man und his three-card game Er kannicht mit me cope." So to der nearest bier saloon Der Anarchist lit out, Und all dot day und all dot night Made gay, mit song und shout. Love Song of the Option Dealer (1885) WHEN the bear is in the market And the prices going down, Oh, then come and meet me, darling, Without either sigh or frown (When the bear is in the market* And the prices going down.) For the margins must be covered, Tho' the check book waxeth thin, And tho' the heart oe breaking, You can only bear and grin; (For the margins must be covered, Tho' the checkbook waxeth thin.) THE GAY GAMBOLIER Then come and see me, darling, With a neatly written check, For I hunger for your coming, Tho' your little deal's a wreck; (Yes, come and see me, darling, With your neatly written check.) (When the Last Column Lyrics were printed millers used to watch the course of the wheat market much closer than they do now, and a large number of them were usually long or short on wheat, hedging not being as common as now. The greater number of failures in the trade, at that time, were due to wheat speculation.) The Eyeless Bull (1890) THERE was a man in our town, And he was wondrous wise, He bulled the market for a year And put out both his eyes. Now when he found his eyes were out You'd think he would refrain. Not so. He soon became a bull To get them back again. We Told You So (1892) PERHAPS it was you. Or perhaps it was I, But whoever first said it, Now neither deny That wheat was an excellent purchase That day we neglected to buy. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD A Bear Movement (1892) DOWN sank the market, Fathoms down, While the hungry bulls did roar, And the gallant fleet, W T hich was carrying wheat, Littered a bankrupt shore. Ah, well for the reticent bear That he worried the horned bull, And it's much he cares Whose scalp he wears When he goes to his domicile, full. The risible Supply (1892) THE winter wind— it rustleth Across the icy street. The family man he hustleth To make both ends to meet. Behind his can, the Red Hot man Outyelleth all the throng, While, with a cry, the newsboy fly Contributes to the song. The snow beneath the 'lectric light Doth sparkle like a jewel, And he who dropped his pile on wheat Doth seek to borrow fuel. IN THE MARKET PLACE Lament for the British Lion (1892) OH, Britain, what has changed thee? Thou wert not once so coy, But took the flour we sent thee, And paid for it, dear boy. We loved your shining guineas, They filled our hearts with glee. But now, alas, for many moons, No shekels come from thee. Hast learned to love s'mother? And hath it turned thy head? And hast thou grown too smart to use Our flour in your bread? Oh, Johnny Bull, come back again. We need thee every hour, For, if thou goest back on us, Where shall we ship our flour? (The larger millers of the country were far more de- pendent upon export trade in 1892 than they are today, and a much greater percentage of their output was shipped abroad than at present. The natural growth of the domestic trade has made exporting less vital to this class of millers than it once was.) Try Something Else (1890) THERE were some men in Richmond town, Upon a winter's day, Who met in solemn conclave there To drive a smell away; And much they writ and long they spoke, Resolving this and that, And blaming fierce and calling names And crying "Shame!" and "Seal !" RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD But still the smell refused to go. And, as bad odors do, The more it was declared non est The stronger still it grew. Indeed it was an odor bad, And Richmond men did well To labor hard and labor long- To drive away the smell. Yet still it was, and still it is, And still it will remain, As long as Richmond will not see That which the world sees plain. Oh, honest trade of Richmond, By holding of your nose, You may ignore, but scarcely kill, That smell the public knows. (Both Cincinnati, Ohio, and Richmond, Virginia, were, at one time, in very bad odor with millers because of un- scrupulous flour buyers who used various subterfuges, usually local inspection, to avoid paying their drafts.) These Are Marked ■ (1889) THE fellow who buys, and says the flour Is 'off,' 'cause the market dropped Has got to go; Let us tell him so. It's time this thing was stopped. 'And the chap who orders and cancels the same As soon as the price declines Has got to go; Let us tell him so. No matter how he whines. IN THE MARKET PLACE 'The foreign buyer who always kicks And by arbitration steals Has got to go; Let us tell him so, No matter how he squeals. 'The miller who uses another's brands And tries to cheat the trade Has got to go; Let us tell him so. He's the meanest man that's made. 'And the ornery cuss in Kankakee Who brands his flour 'Minn.' Has got to go; Let us tell him so, And cure him of his sin. 'And a bill of lading which guarantees Naught else but the shipping rate Has got to go; Let us have it so. Too long we've had to wait. 'And all this trouble about delay On railway and steamship routes Has got to go; Let us have it so." Thus the western miller shouts. (Thirty-two years ago, cancellations and repudiation of contracts because of decline in price were among the miller's troubles as they are today. Misbranding and brand piracy have ceased to *be trade troubles, owing to the greater pro- tection afforded by the laws.) 59 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Very Uncommercial (1889) OUR senators and congressmen May know a bit of law, Be up to snuff in politics And master hands at draw, But when they tackle commerce And laws affecting trade, Ye gods and little fishes, What knowledge is displayed ! A Glorious Heritage (1893) ET bulls and bears cavort at wil _j And prices take a tumble. Let strikers strike, If 30 the}^ like, The farmer still may grumble. Be prices high, or prices low, Thrones totter, nations stumble, The farmer he Will happy be If he can only grumble. SONGS OF SUNDRY Then iet all sons of toil unite, All grangers rich and humble, Forever hold More dear than gold The precious right to grumble. The Knight and the Captain (After W. S. Gilbert) (1885) OF ALL the cooper shops that grew, The greatest one, if I've heard true, Was that one run by Captain R., Whose name was famous near and far. He was adored by all his men, Was Captain R., and it was then He did what lay within him to Promote the comfort of his crew. If ever they were dull or sad The Captain danced to them like mad, Or told, to make the time pass by, Droll legends of his infancy. An easy chair had every man, Warm slippers and hot water can, Brown Windsor from the Captain's store, A waiter, too, to every four. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Did they with thirst in summer burn ? Lo! soda cool at every turn, And on all very sultry days Ice cream was handed round on trays. New volumes were provided free, And tickets to the libraree; The Pioneer and Tribune too Beguiled the leisure of the crew. Kind-hearted Captain R. was then Extremely good to all his men; In point of fact, the fame he made Beatified the cooper trade. One summer day, at half past four, A Knight of Labor sought his door. "Good Captain R., I grieve," said he, "That in some things we don't agree." "By any reasonable plan I'll make you happy if I can," The kindly Captain thus did speak, Awhile the Knight rubbed down his cheek. The Knight replied, "Good sir, I see Your men work now till half past three. I would request, in Labor's name, That you abate this crying shame. "I also urge that you refrain From making barrels should it rain ; Likewise, whene'er the sun shines bright, You knock off work, or run but light. SONGS OF SUNDRY "I also ask, and modestly (No doubt you'll cheerfully agree), At my own price your stock you'll sell, And thus all will be suited well." Good Captain R., he heard him thro', And, thoughtful, gave a wink or two. "Kind Knight of Labor, it is well That all your wants you freely tell. "I'll gladly do as I am bid If you'll receive my plan instead. This is the idea I present, And which, I hope, will all content: "My men shall take the shop, and I Will hasten to a nunnery; Then let them fix their hours of work, And those who can afford it, shirk. "All prices they can make at will, Sell all the stock, pay every bill; For suiting every gentleman, Co-operation is my plan." The Knight of Labor shook his head, And turning on his heel he said, "I grieve that here again we find That Capital does Labor grind." (During- this period, barrels were used very largely for flour containers and the cooperage business was of interest to millers. Many of the cooper shops in Minneapolis were co-operative. The particular shop which "Captain R." oper- ated, finding its barrel business a declining industry, devel- oped into a bag factory, the beginning of one of the large concerns now doing business in Minneapolis. Gilbert's hero was Captain Reece; the name of the Lusty Lyre's friend was very similar.) 63 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD The Crop Destroyer (1889) THE farmer sows his crop of wheat And watches it with care, The sun and rain they shine or fall And nature does her share, While the farmer hopes to raise a crop And thinks his chances fair. Anon there comes a Man of Might And casts his evil eye, And lo ! where once was a field of grain Is now but a desert dry; For the Man of Might o'er that field has caused His "hot, dry winds" to sigh. He sends the all-pervading "midge," The "rust and blight" sends he, The "grasshopper," too, he hath ordered out And the "chinch-bug" dire, set free, And some "early frosts" and "untimely rains'* He will send, if the same need be. And he writes it so, and prints it thus, And wires it o'er the land, And the largest crop that was ever grown He sweeps away with his hand. "If we get seed wheat 'twill be well for us," Says the Man of Might, so grand. Is he a god, this mighty one, Who sendeth blight and drouth, Who killeth all the wheat which grows And blasteth north and south? Nay, nay, he is a bull on wheat And kills it with his mouth. SONGS OF THE SAD ONES Ode to Foggy Dew "Foggy Dew," the new bull feature. Rain in the Southwest and "Foggy Dew" Northwest made the strength. * * * "Foggy Dew" was rather a new proposition. It was reported as the sure forerunner of black rust. — Minneapolis Journal. FOGGY Dew, Howd'ye do! You're something new. After a drink or two Of "mountain dew," The Krop Killer Crew Discovered you; Something to snare with. Something to scare with, Fearsome, if true. They killed the grain With too much rain, But, when the sun shone out The rain, non est, Wheat looked its best, They raised another shout; A hullabaloo Of you, Foggy Dew. No one knew Where you grew, Foggy Dew; They found you, Foggy Dew, Howd'ye do ! RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD You were well met. They needed a new scare And so, in the wet, They found your lair. Phew! Foggy Dew. Forerun, thou Foggy Dew, Even as they say you must, Even as they say you do Forerun the rust. You'll do For a hoodoo, Foggy Dew, Adieu ! CHORUS OF KROP KILLERS Foggy Dew or Dewy Fog, Found within the darksome bog; Rust and ruin; rain and hail, All contribute to our wail. Blast and blight the growing crop, So we make the markets hop. (Exeunt in search of new calamities.) SONGS OF THE SAD ONES The Battle of the Experts (1905) "When Mr. B. W. Snow hurried to Minnesota two weeks ago and from Tracy announced that 'several coun- ties in southwest Minnesota are already almost destroyed with black rust' we held our peace, knowing that what Mr. Snow was so excited over was only leaf rust, we having been to Tracy." — Mr. Jones on Mr. Snow. "Deliberate misquotation is little different from de- liberate mendacity . I made no such statement. * * * I had found the infection which Mr. Jones now an- nounces in his eleventh hour wisdom. Possibly his fail- ure to recognize black rust * * * tvas due to the fact that he did not have John Inglis with him to point it out." — Mr. Snow on Mr. Jones. THERE were three valiant wheat crop sharps Went roaming in the field; And one went north and one went south A-knocking out the yield;' The third, he tarried close at home His pencil for to wield. And all these gallant gentlemen To kill the crop were heeled. The one discovered red, red rust; The other found the black; The third invented Foggy Dew Wherewith the crop to crack. And for a time the three were one, All hunting in a pack, For the gentle lamb stood waiting near With fleece upon his back. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD But, all upon a summer day, It chanced that they fell out; Some jealousy, professional, Made one the other flout, Or 'twas perchance trade rivalry That brought the thing about; Each expert clawed the other And his knowledge called in doubt. The fight that followed fiercely waged, And ink was shed in ire. Fierce pens attacked and pens replied With carnage grim and dire; For to destroy each other's fame These experts did aspire In language which resembled much The vulgar "You're a liar!" And still the cruel war is on; The end is far from sight. As long as ink and pens hold out, Each one, a man of might, Will prove the other wholly wrong While he is wholly right; And expert reputations fade Like shooting stars at night. How sad is discord ! Yet, perchance, When Peace resumes her sway, We may discern a blessing hid Behind this dire affray; While crop destroyers, plunged in war, Each other strive to slay, The wheat fields, left alone, may yield The crop for which we pray. SONGS OF THE SAD ONES The Rime of the Ancient Granger (With profuse apologies to the late Mr. Samuel Taylor Coleridge.) (1905) Aberdeen, S. D., July 31. — Many farmers are com- plaining bitterly of the inroads made upon their wheat, fields by rust 'hunters. In some fields so many samples have been taken that the farmers are beginning to think they are in more danger from loss by the investigators than they are from the rust itself. — Special to the Min- neapolis Journal. I T IS an ancient Granger And he stoppeth one of three; "By thy green beard and horny hand Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? "The Board of Trade is open wide And I of wheat am short; The markets soar, the brokers roar; May'st hear them at their sport." He holds him with his horny hand, "There was a farm," quoth he. "Hold off ! unhand me, Granger loon Eftsoons his hand dropped he. He holds him with his vitreous eye — The Gambler man stood still, And listens like a three years' child: The Farmer hath his will. 69 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD The Gambler man sat on a curb; He can not choose but hear; And thus spake on that Granger old To the list'ning Gambolier, "The grain was sown, the wheat was grown, Cheerily looked the crop ; The stalk was strong, the head was long And plump and full the top. "I looked upon my waving grain, My heart leap'd up with joy. I said, 'This year your way is clear; You'll make a stake, my boy !' "Better and stronger grew the wheat ; Better and more and more — " The Gambler man to swear began For he heard the wheat pit roar. The Gambler man to swear began, Yet he can not choose but hear; And thus spake on that Granger old To the list'ning Gambolier. "And now an Expert came, and he Was tyrannous and strong; He struck my wheat with an inky blight And proved me in the wrong. "Down fell my hopes, my wheat fell down, 'Twas sad as sad could be; The Expert tramped down half a field And samples gathered free. SONGS OF THE SAD ONES "Anon, an Option Dealer came In search of Foggy Dew. He carried off a lot of wheat To prove his rumor true. "All in a hot and copper sky, Next day there came, at noon, Ten chumps from Minneapolis Chaunting the Black Rust rune. "They gathered samples, each and all And homeward went their way; With what they hooked my wheat fields looked Like thirty cents next day. "Four times fifty wheat men came And through my fields did roam, By Pullman car they flew afar — And carried samples home." "I fear thee, ancient Granger wight; I fear thy horny hand ! And thou art long and lank and brown And lackest not of sand ! "I fear thee and thy vitreous eye And thy skinny hand so brown — " "Fear not, fear not, thou Gambolier ! But hear me out ; sit down ! "Alone, alone, all, all alone, No wheat was left to see ! And never an Expert cared a cuss Nor left one grain for me. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD "I looked upon the ruined fields And drew my eyes away; I looked upon the railway track — 'Twas there the lunch-route lay. "Since then, at an uncertain hour A fearful thirst returns; And till my ghastly tale is told This heart within me burns. "Farewell, farewell, but this I tell To thee, thou Gambolier ! He feeleth well who drinketh well Of whisky, wine or beer. "He feeleth best who drinketh most Or straight or eke high-ball; And the countryman who hath a jag He feeleth best of all." The Gambolier fetched forth the coin. The ancient Granger fled, As one who thinks of sundry drinks Or, wheels has in his head. The Granger man of vitreous eye. Whose beard is strangely made, Is gone and now the Gambolier Turned from the Board of Trade. He went like one that hath been touched And is of sense forlorn; A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn. 72 THE LOST TOBOGGAN The Rhyme of the Lost Toboggan (1887) Telleth how the rich merchant and his beiuteous daughter go forth to slide upon the treacherous toboggan. r I ' WAS a wealthy merchant Who sought the icy slide, And with him came his daughter dear, That she with him might ride. Speaketh of a worthy but poor young man who loveth the lady but hath never men- tioned the fact to her father. II A comely youth was standing near Who long had loved this maid, But ne'er had voiced his sentiments- In sooth, he was afraid. Ill Showeth why. For crusty was the wealthy sire; And had he pressed his suit, Gadzooks ! I ween the youth had felt A large parental hoot. Explaineth the situ- ation in life of the youth aforesaid. IV 'Twas in the glove department The young man's lot was cast, 'Mid dry goods, laces, notions. His busy days were passed. Relateth his infatu- ation for the tobog- gan habit. V But when the shades of evening Fell o'er the frozen snow, Tobogganing with wild delight, It was his wont to go. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Reiterateth that the young man is present. VI This comely youth, I said, was nigh, Who loved the lady fair, And with him his toboggan new. Possessed of powers rare. VII Dwelleth on the en- And when he marked her standing there, nobling sentiments . , „ , L , which overcame him And felt her presence near, JteiSE^ He lon S ed t0 be the fr°st-bite keen Which nibbled at her ear. The young man speaketh to the rich merchant and the lovely maid ofwhort he is enamored. VIII He guilelessly approached the pair, And, bowing. low, spake he: "Fair lady and kind sir, I fain Would have ye ride with me. Beseeching them that they may give consent to ride with him. IX "Behold my fleet toboggan, which Outspeeds the very best; If you should deign to ride thereon, 'Twould give ye added zest." The parent accept.eth the young titan's in- vitation, and maketh preparations to vide. X The graybeard, he of treachery Bethought not nor of guile, But briefly thanked the youth, and so Prepared to ride the while. Showeth the manner whereby the youth uetteth the start of the stern parent. XI The young mans face grew strangely grim (The lady sat before). But ere the father gained a seat, Away the couple tore. THE LOST TOBOGGAN Of the latter.s griet and unseemly rage. XII Away upon the glist'ning slide Like lightning sped the pair, The father called to them, amazed, Then, frenzied, tore his hair. Of It is vain offer to those who stand about. of their inability t< aid him. XIII "What, ho ! O'ertake them he who can, And bring my daughter back, Nor corner lots, nor bonds nor stocks, Nor red gold shall he lack." XIV But motionless the sliders stood, Nor did they move a limb; So swift the youth went down the slide, 'Twere vain to follow him. Describeth the flight of the young man and the maid, XV Away, away upon their course The fleeting lovers flew; Downward into the black beyond They disappeared from view. And their melan- : h o ly disappeara n ( front mortal view. XVI What magic that toboggan had None ever knew. Alack ! The dry goods man, the lady fair. Thev never more came back. (Hreth a description of the effect upon the bereaved parent, XVII A bent and white-haired gentleman Roams near the rimy slide. And marks, with face o'erlined with care, The couples downward glide. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD And hoiv it is his wont to iveep and sigh most sorrow- fully. XVIII With tearful eye he looks upon The people passing by, Then shakes his head despondently, And heaves a bitter sigh. Speaketh of the vision which doth haunt the wondering and awe-struck watch. XIX Policeman X has testified That of a wintry night, When all the town is fast asleep, He sees a gruesome sight. And giveth his opin- ion regarding the same. XX A couple all in snowy white Go down the slide like mad. He says it is the lovers' ghosts A-fleeing from their dad. Narrated hoiv the memory of the ill- fated youth is cher- ished in his former haunts, XXI Still in the glove department, Still in the notions too, Yea, even at the cashier's desk. They tell this tale o'er — true And detaileth the manner in which the recital of this tale is therein received. XXII As showing how a dry goods man When crossed in love can die. The lady clerks exclaim, "Just think !' The gents remark, "My eye !" (Originally written to be read at a meeting of a toboggan club, this was subsequently published in Harper's Weekly, accompanied by illustrations. At the time tobogganing was a new and fashionable winter sport in America.) HERBERT BRADLEY Herbert Bradley (1906) I WONDER to what land tonight, What strange, far land you take your flight; O'er what vague sea, uncharted and unknown, O dauntless traveller, outward bound, alone, You fare you forth. The chill November sky Is storm beset and autumn winds are high. Dark is the way. There shines no friendly star To mark the course o'er reef or harbor bar; Yet you embarked as you were used to do Upon your journeys o'er the ways you knew, Nor can I think that your brave, honest soul Feared the unseen more than the well-known goal. Having the thing to do, it was your wont Straightway to do it. Journeys did not daunt Nor storms prevent, nor fear of wreck dismay; Full confident, you went upon your way. Ready you always were, and ready when The order came to voyage beyond your ken; Stout was your heart and hope was still the guide, When, unafraid, you steered forth with the tide. And it must be that to some fairer land, Where skies are sunny and the deathless stand, You have gone forth and there safe harbor won In the bright Port of Souls, your journeys done. For there must be for those, like you, who strive, In ceaseless effort that the right may thrive, Some safe retreat, some home among the blest, Where those who labored long may find their rest. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD w The Revised Barbara Frietchie (1886) HEN over the mountains, riding clown. Horse and foot into Frederick Town. The "rebs" marched over the mountain wall With their usual clatter and usual gall. Barbara Frietchie bedridden lay And knew no odds 'twixt blue and gray, Whittier says not, but he don't know — (At least, so the Century war papers show.) Though forty flags with their silver stars And forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped all morning, and then came down, When the hungry rebels came to town — Barbara Frietchie didn't mind, She couldn't see 'em — being blind. When up the street came the gray-clad boys, She probably muttered: "Oh, drat their noise!'' And to Stonewall Jackson, riding ahead, Never a syllable Barbara said. She didn't lean out of her window-sill To shake the flag with a royal will. No! Barbara Frietchie, so they say, Stayed in bed on that autumn day. The "shade of sadness and blush of shame"' Which the poet alludes to, never came. THE CANNIBAL ISLANDS Therefore the salt)* but well-meant tear Will please cease falling on Stonewall's bier — "lis twenty odd years since the fight was o'er, And the rebel rides on his raids no more, But heroes in blue and the same in gray Love to tell of that awful day — When, hearing the conquering rebel tread. Barbara Frietchie stayed in bed, And valorous generals love to stalk Through well-paid pages of gory talk. Blood-red ink and fierce steel pen, In the Century meet and fight again — Flag of freedom and union, wave O'er the land of the true but inky brave ! (The foregoing was printed in Puck and at the time it Tvas written the Century magazine was publishing a series of articles about the Civil War contributed by various dis- tinguished participants in it. One of these denied that there was any basis in fact for Whittier's famous poem, claiming that Barbara Frietchie, at the time the incident was supposed to have occurred, was both blind and bedridden.) H The Cannibal Islands (1886) OW happy must the people be Amid these islands blest, Where strikers cease from troubling And switchmen are at rest. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD No Powderlys infest these isles, No Martin Irons jaw, No Knights of Labor proclamate, No riots break the law. Among these cheerful islanders A man is but a man, And be he either poor or rich They serve him if they can. Sometimes they serve him raw, again They do him up on toast; Braised, buttered, stewed; anon, perchance, They serve him as a roast. (Thirty-five years ago the relations between capital and labor were no more harmonious than they are today, in fact they were very much less so. Terence V. Powderly was chief of the Knights of Labor, the national labor organiza- tion, and Martin Irons was a well-known agitator. This rhyme appeared in Life, to which its author was an occa- sional contributor.) The Real Authority (1907) I SEE that Baron Rothschild's been a-shooting off his head About our money markets and the attytood of Ted; I'd like to ask ye, what's he know about affairs out West, A-livin' off in London out o' touch with what's the best? Kin he size up the President an' what he aims to do Like fellers such as Bowser of the Pee Wee Falls Bazoo? When Bowser went to Washin'ton an' stood up in the line To pay respects to Roosevelt, awaitin' fer a sign, 80 ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN The President looked out the door and then he sung out loud, "If there ain't Bowser! Send him in!" before the whole blamed crowd ! An' took an' fetched him by the arm, an' led him through the door, And confidential talked with him for half an hour or more. Now Bowser knows the President an' what his speeches mean A dern sight better'n Rothschild or any man he's seen, An' if you read his writin' in the Pee Wee Falls Bazoo You'll find there's mighty little ground fer all this fuss an' stew. Why, dern these London bankers and all the Wall Street lot, A r talkin' of depression an' all that kind o' rot, They make me mighty tired 'til I turn to my Bazoo An' get the other side o' things, an' then I ain't so blue. Why, ain't the crops enormous and ain't the prices high? An' ain't the country boomin' in our vicinity? The big starch works, they ain't shut down, the mill it's runnin' still, They're buildin' seven new houses out yonder on the hill. I see no call to worry if stocks and bonds are down As long as signs are all so good in our partickler town. Ye want to keep yer courage up an' take the proper view, So pin yer faith to Teddy an' the Pee Wee Falls Bazoo. (The London Daily News interviewed Lord Rothschild concerning the financial depression prevailing in 1907. The celebrated banker said that President Roosevelt's speeches against the 'American railways were greatly disturbing the money markets, whereupon Uncle Silas Mossback, prominent citizen of Pee Wee Falls, being interviewed on the financial outlook, gave his opinion, as above.) RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD The Fishin' Season (1911) THE Old Man sat in his swivel chair, His forehead puckered and vexed with care. He has 'phoned to every man on the staff. And now he groans, with a scornful laugh: — "May the devil hook 'em ! That's my wish ; Every blamed ijjiot's gone after fish! "Why do the presses idle wait? That ass of a foreman's soaking bait. "Why are the linotypes so quiet? The operators thought they'd try it. "Why is there naught on the copy-hook? The editor's casting his line in a brook. "Why can't the artist that drawing make? He sleeps in a boat on Cedar Lake. "Is there any one 'round a bill to pay? No, the cashier's off on a holiday. "Where the deuce is that office boy? Gone with a fishpole — wish him joy! "Every man-jack o' 'em, so help me, Bob! For love of fishin' has jumped his job. "June is here and the anglers dream Of glorious sport in lake or stream, "Editors, proofreaders, pressmen, all, Typesetters, office men, heed her call. S2 ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN "Big or little; high or low, Every fool must a-fishin' go. "Bait in a jug, or worms in a can, Frogs and flies for the fisherman ! "It makes me tired," the Old Man said, As he rubbed the top of his shiny head. "Never a one of the whole blamed pack Ever brings a real fish back. "Sit in the sun, a-soaking bait; Dangle a line and watch and wait, "Or stand in the rain, get drenching wet, It's all the same — no fish they get. "Watch 'em come home with their poles and truck- Same old story : 'Fisherman's luck !' " The Old Man sat in his swivel chair And the words he muttered were rich and rare. "Business has gone to the dogs," said he, "Things are not like they used to be." He shut his desk with a noisy slam And muttered a word that rhymes with ham. Some one to see him, next day, was wishing — "Where's the Old Man?" "He's gone a-fishing!' 83 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD The Prayer of the Simple (1909) FROM the psycho what-you-call-'ems And the culture cranks who write; From all fad-fools, and the faddist Who preys by day and night; From the legion cracked on "science," Of a thousand silly names, Who sell new ways of playing The ancient, world-old games; The tin-horn "chest expander," And the hordes who near-food make, From the pan-faced "health instructor," And the "vital power" fake, From those who teach the lesson, By a correspondence school, That there's nothing sooner parted Than the dollar and the fool; From all, all, short-haired women And from all, all, long-haired men That bellow from the platform Or drive an "uplift" pen. Thy mercy on Thy people ! Lord deliver us, Amen. The Trust Buster (1910) WHEN he isn't busting trusts, The Trust Buster loves to fuss With the questions that agitate and vex us; He is glad to lend a hand To save our threatened land And solve the mighty problems that perplex us; S4 ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN With his fist above his head And an eye that flashes fire With an earnestness convincing And a laudable desire, He will talk on any topic You may ask him to discuss, But, when all is said and over — There remains the same old muss. The platitude don't solve it, While the obvious is plain: There has been a lot of talking But one fails to see the gain. The Buster busts the truster With the fearful, awful thought: "I've been filled with words and phrases And I've listened, as I ought, But I'm blowed if I'm the wiser For the language I've been fed. There remains the same old problem Tho' there's nothing left unsaid." The Index Expurgatorius (1913) WE HAVE a little list of them, The words that we abhor, The special line of language We've so often heard before; The stilted, trite and vulgar, The weak attempts at style, The Bellman knows a lot of them. And keeps his list on file. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD There's "food for thought," a hoary wreck, And "safe and sane" as well, And "ultimate analysis," Which "in our midst" doth dwell; "Along these lines" provokes his wrath, And "viewpoint" drives him mad, While those who "make for righteousness" Send good folks to the bad. "He's severed his connection," meaning Johnny's lost his place, With "simple life" and "strenuous" Provoke a wry grimace; The "flutter in the dovecotes" Makes The Bellman tear his hair, While "slated for" and "being groomed" Are more than he can bear. There's "cultural" and "gripping," "Red-blooded" and "galore," With "fictionist" and "artistry" And half a hundred more; "Uplift" and "sleuth" and "plutocrat" And "multimillionaire," - With all the silly string of words Like "makes for" and "bids fair." Fine-writing fills his soul with gloom. Hysterics please him not, Nor lad)' -like attempts to swear By use of dash or dot; In short, The Bellman interdicts The feeble and the trite, All Grub-street's worn-out stock in trade, — Take notice, ye who write! ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN Corinna's Going a-Sleighing (What Robert Herrick, Esq., might have written had he Jived in North Dakota.) (1907) GET up, get up for shame, the snowy morne Hath on her wings a fleecy mantle borne. See how Aurora throws her faire Ice-crystalled colours through the aire ! Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see The frost bespangling herbe and tree. But, ere you leave the snug, steam-heated nest, Be very sure that you are warmly drest. Nay! not so much as out of bed? When all the maids the fires have fed And warmed their frozen hands; 'tis sin, Nay, profanation, to keep in. Then while time serves, and still the snow is staying Come, my Corinna, come, let's goe a-sleighing. The Spot-Light (1907) KEEP away from the Spot-Light, It only brightens to burn; The fool who chases the will-o'-the-wisp Its mocking end will learn. 'Ware of the sudden fortune, 'Ware of the unknown pool; Sail in the waters you've sounded before ; Be warned by the cruise of the fool. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Stand by the time-tried methods, Steer by the old, safe light; Sheer off from the ways where the beacons blaze That only beckon to blight. Whether you work with your think-tank, Or labor with pick or spade; Artist or artisan, rich or poor, Stick to the game you've played. Lays of a Lucertola (1909) I A Sorrento I HAVE found a place for the tired mind, For the vexed and fretted soul; It lies where the steep steps upward wind From the shores where the blue seas roll, Where, far above, on the terraced hills, The grapes and the orange trees grow, And the murmuring voice of the mountain rills Answers the waves below. All day long through the narrow ways, Stone-paved, mid their moss-grown walls, The click of the wooden sandal plays A tune to the children's calls. Faint and far, from the cloistered peak Comes the chime of a soft-toned bell, And ever the echoing valleys speak Their benison — "All is well !" ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN When the sunset falls o'er the azure bay In the wave-washed solemn deep, You may see the Castles of Yesterday Cast down in a dreamless sleep. So perish, o'erwhelmed in a peaceful tide, The thoughts that the soul would tire, And under the sea of forgetfulness hide The House of the Vexed Desire. II Sonne z S. V. P. 1 for the Waiter, 2 for the Maid, 3 for Facchino, a king at his trade, 4 for the Porter, who wears the cross keys, 5 for his helper, who struggles to please, 6 for the Insect, who lives in the lift, 7 for a nondescript, on the night shift, 8 for the Laundress, who comes when you call, And tips for two dozen lined up in the hall. Ill Poor Papa (A Tragedy of Travel) GO, mark him on the corso, Where the cabbies seethe and roar. As patiently he waits without The portals of the store, Where his wife has bought some rubbish And his girls are buying more — Poor Papa ! ("That stuff won't be no use in Chicago, Mama.") RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD His eyes are sad and weary, And his figure's on the stoop, He is feeling lost and dreary, And his mouth is on the droop. For the scenes and sights around him He is caring not a whoop — Poor Papa ! ("There ain't a blame thing in this town but scenery.") He cannot speak the language, And he doesn't want to try, He is sick of foreign travel, And he's hungry — worse, he's dry. While the thought of club and country Brings the moisture to his eye- Poor Papa ! ("When I get home and get a good beefsteak — ") They snake him through cold churches, Where lumbago lies in wait, They drag him through old ruins With a laggard, footsore gait; They begin it in the morning And they keep it up till late — Poor Papa ! ("When I've seen one. I seen a million!") How he loathes the food they feed him, How he hates the guide-book red, How he dreads the morrow's waking, As he shivers in his bed; If he sleeps to dream of comfort, He awakes to find it fled — ■ Poor Papa ! ("Well, courier, we've got half an hour, what do ice do?") ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN He has forded rushing rivers, He has climbed the stony hills, He has watched the sunset's glory, Dumbly missing all the thrills, And, when all is done and over, Who digs up to pay the bills? Poor Papa ! Poor, dear, Nice Papa! He may grumble, still he always pays the bills. "Well, sir, this is where they part you from your money, ain't it?" "What are these here things all about, anyhow?" "This tarantoola ain't what it's cracked up to be, why don't they have some fancy dances?" "Well, sir, there's places in New York I never seen." "What in thunder is oofs? Eggs? And two francs extra for just eggs! Well, I'm dumed! Now in Pelican Rapids you can git — " "Round steak and bread and butter, that's what I said, waiter, and that's what I want — " "Forgot to tip the maid, eh, what? Lord, I've tipped everything in sight — " "When we git home again I won't complain of nothing" Exeunt: Poor Papa in a cloud of dust, amid rattle of wheels and cracking of whip, holding handbags, wraps, umbrellas, canes, guide-books, camera, and express checks; Mama striving to appear serene and dignified and the girls with the indomitable light of travellers triumphant in their eager eyes. Remain: hotel manager, head waiter, table waiter, room waiter, porter, assistant porter, boots and hall RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD boys, looking more or less resigned to guests' departure Thin group of interested spectators, consisting of peas- ants, carabiniere, children bearing wilted and dusty nosegays, postal-card vendor and a licensed mendicant, who possesses the unique distinction of being the only man on earth who could have fully profited by the terms of a modern accident insurance policy (if he had held one when his cataclysm overtook him) being blind in the right eye, bereft of both legs and shorn of his left arm. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle of guitar in the distance, accom- panying remains of tenor voice, somewhat the worse for exposure to night air and possibly vinous over-indul- gence, warbling plaintively " : o Sole mio!" Sunset falls o'er castle walls, etc., precisely as it did before Poor Papa arrived on the scene. Curtain. The Wise Sluggard (1907) V I "l WAS the voice of the Sluggard, They heard him explain: "You have waked me too soon, I Mali slumber again." Like a sensible person, He turned on his bed, And the world and its worries Away from him fled. Oh, honor St. Baldwin, Who knew a good thing, And declined to respond To the rising bell's ring. ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN St. Valentine's (1907) WHAT is a poor fellow to do In a town that's so barren of taste That its Valentine makers Are all arrant fakers; Whose diamonds of thought are mere paste Whose art is sheer rubbish and waste? If he seeks in the shops a design Of a cupid not grossly precocious, He is vastly annoyed To be shown celluloid Arranged in a manner atrocious, With hand-painted verses ferocious I have trudged up the Pass Nickoloot Seeking something to give to My Fair, But the objects displayed My courage dismayed; They were nightmares intended to scare Concoctions to make a man swear!! So 1 give up the hopeless pursuit And send My Dear flowers instead. To avoid something worse Must we make our own verse? Please tell us, thou Bellman in red, Are St. Valentine's poets all dead? RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Not Guilty! "Wood pulp literature, I call it. ■ * * * There are ten times as many magazines as there were thirty or forty years ago. Seriously, I think that the next man who starts a new one ought to be sent to jail." — Edmund Clarence Stedman. (1907) REVERED and honored Stedman, banker-poet, There are too many of them and they know it, But forty years ago, as you'll concede, There were not near so many who could read, And, further, then the world was not so wise, For few there were who cared to advertise. "Wood-pulp" it is and second grade at that, Yet modern scribblers need not pass the hat. Sure, something's gained if literary fellers No longer feed on crusts or live in cellars. Spare the poor publisher! Send him not to jail, Lest wood-pulp authors of their wages fail; But, if you must, then save the young and tender. We, who are new, say : Jug the Old Offender ! The Infant Terror (1907) WHEN Little Willie drives the car How proud Mamma and Auntie are! But, as the sight he contemplates, The Undertaker smiles — and waits. ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN i Campaign Portraiture (1906) KNEW a man, a worthy soul, Of countenance benign, And when he smiled, I could but wish The face he wore was mine. So full it shone with kind intent, So winning 'twas and true, I always thought his pleasant mug Was quite the best I knew. One evil day it so befell, This man of face so rare Became a struggling candidate And voters sought to snare. And worse — he advertised his face, Like Douglas of the Shoe, And paid a certain rate the inch For putting it on view. And all his friends beheld and wept To see him thus portrayed, For the cut they saw above his name Would make strong men afraid. It took away his kindly smile And showed a sneer instead; His jaw the pugilist declared, Likewise the bullet head. And there was meanness in the mouth, And malice in the eye; The forehead marked the narrow mind The nose stuck out awry. 95 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Each, one and all, and others too, Beholding this display, Could not but cast his name aside Upon election day. The other fellow got the votes, The good man lost the race, Beyond a doubt what knocked him out Was his awful wood-cut face. Death of the Shah (1907) THE Shah is dead; Not Six-toed Shaw Of Denison, in Iowa, — The other man Who ruled the roost in Teheran. ' Death came a-knocking: The list'ning world inclined its ear To hearken to the Grand Vizier, Who, in a voice with woe opprest, Declared the Shah to be non est; Oh Pshaw ! how shahking. Muzaffar-ed-Din Lies dead, his bed in; Rules over Persia Mohammed Ali Mirza. Well, whether in Kalamazoo or Teheran, Oshkosh or Medicine Hat, life is but a span, And the late King Muzaffar little recks How great his lot was, now he's cashed his checks. Allah is Allah ! Hail the living Shah, Whether in Persia or in Arkansaw. ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN Overworked (1907) OH, GIVE us a rest on the great big stick, And an end to the endless probe; Of the loud brass band we're a trifle sick As it echoes around the globe. The strenuous life is wearing thin, And the broncho busting's flat, And we're just a bit weary of the rattle of tin And the roar of the statesman's blat. We've gone too fast and we've gone too far; And our struggles we fain would cease; For a while we're content to be just as we are With the blessings of quiet and peace. (President Roosevelt was so vigorous and unresting in his attacks upon "big business" and "malefactors of great wealth" during the earlier part of 1907 that, in the opinion of many, he precipitated the panic of that year.) D Dies Irae (1907) AY of wrath ! that day of mourning ! See fulfilled the awful warning, "Safe and sane" advices scorning! July Fourth, ere dawn is breaking Cannons thunder an awaking To a time of clamor-making! Lo ! the awful day returneth When the Kid all caution spurneth And his face with powder burneth! RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Lo ! the Lad's exploding pockets ! See the deadly falling rockets And the limbs rent from their sockets ! See the Youth who o'erlong lingers Near the crackers lose his fingers ! Lo ! the busy Stretcher-Bringers ! Day of wrath ! thy fearsome story Still is writ in letters gory, Giving Tetanus great glory ! Journalese (1907) "TF ANYWHERE, at home, abroad, upon this busy X globe, There is investigation, it is termed, of course, a 'Probe.' " Let "Don the Ermine" totter on its old, accustomed way, And "Skiddoo," once a sprightly word, the writer's wit display ; Still may the candidate be "Groomed," as if he were a horse, While "Slated" for the place retains its ancient hold, of course, E'en let "Bids Fair" bloom ever in his columns, fresh and green, While "Severed his connection," for lost his job, is seen; But for wearing out one's patience, tho' he be a modern Job, There's nothing in "fine writin' " like the daily's use of "Probe." ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN A Recessional (After Kipling) (1907) G OD of the Nation, known of old, Supreme, all-powerful and just, No longer on our coins of gold Dare we inscribe: In Thee we trust. Lord God of Hosts, forsake us not; We have forgot, we have forgot ! Our Fathers did not ask in vain When, unashamed, they sought Thine aid; Now, in our day of stress and strain, We falter in our faith — afraid. God of our country, long forgot, Forsake us not, forsake us not ! We bowed before the shrine of wealth And, drunk with riches, went astray; Restore, O God, the Nation's health And lead it in the old, true way. In sorrow, shame and vain regret We plead that Thou wilt spare us yet. Forgive our wilful waste, our pride, Our foolish pomp and wicked lust; Once more be Thou the Nations guide That we may say, "In God we trust." For thoughtless act and idle word, Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord ! (President Roosevelt, for some reason unknown to the public, eliminated from the coinage the old motto, "In God we trust," thereby causing considerable indignation. It was subsequently restored.) 99 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Autumn Musings (1907) WEELUM Jennings Bryan, The corn is in the shock, And the Autumn crow is calling To his brothers on the block; But where is little " Willie With his hand against the pain? For his chance to run for President May never come again. O Weelum Jennings Bryan, They heard you in the South; North, East and West have heard you make Strange noises with your mouth; And they have seen your winning smile, But ah! 'Tis all in vain! Your chance to run for President May never come again. O Weelum Jennings Bryan, They call you from the East, And from the South they call you, And from the West the least; But all the calling voices Unite in one refrain — The hope that little Willie Will never run again. O Weelum Jennings Bryan, They have husked the fragrant hay, They have shaved the bearded barley And the oats are tucked away, 100 ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN But Glad-Eyed Little Willie They will leave out in the rain, And his chance to run for President May never come again. (Mr. Bryan's "chance to run for President" did come again, however. He was nominated by the Democratic party in 190S and defeated at the election.) Lochinvar (1908) BLATHERSKITE Bill has come out of the West, Through all Oklahoma his steed was the best, ' And, save his good Jawbone, he weapons had none, But his nerve was enough for the job to be done. So slick with his tongue and so deft with his quill, Sure, never was knight like old Blatherskite Bill. So boldly he entered Democracy's hall, 'Mong statesmen, and henchmen, and bosses and all, One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall door where his donkey stood near; So light on the beast the old lady he swung, So quick to the saddle behind her he sprung ! "She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush and hill ; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth Blatherskite Bill. There are curses, not loud, but exceedingly deep, Old knives are resharpened revenges to reap, And when, next November, it's time for the kill, O, they won't do a thing to old Blatherskite Bill ! (In the Democratic convention of 1908 Mr. Bryan over- came all opposition, and, seizing the nomination, carried off old "Aunty Democracy" by sheer force of his determination. The abduction did not end happily, however, as Bryan was overwhelmingly defeated at the elections in the Fall. ) 101 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD The Poor Magnate (1907) I WOULD not be a Railway Man In this degenerate day, When the pass has been abolished And the editor must pay; When every ink-pot in the land Is working over-time To prove all railway presidents Are steeped in fraud and crime. I would not be a Railway Man In this exacting age, When the Unions are demanding Less hours and higher wage; When every shipper on the line Would put behind the bars That luckless wight, the Railway Man, Because there are no cars. I would not be a Railway Man In this disturbing time, When every hayseed statesman Attempts his neck to climb; With laws to cut down earnings, And laws to tax them more, With endless complications And persecutions sore. I would not be a Railway Man At this destructive date, A target for the journals, A football for the State. ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN I'd let them take the railways And run them as they'd like; I would not be a Railway Man, I'd quit my job and strike. The Black Hand And Some Other Undesirable Importations (1907) DRIVE them forth from the country, The hordes that pollute its name; Turn them back to their ancient lairs, There let them revel in shame. Ignorant, filthy and brutal, Spawn of the Worst on Earth, Why should we take these ravening beasts From the lands that gave them birth? Liberty? theirs means license, The warrant to burn and kill; You may not uplift the world's accurst, Nor bend their ways to your will; Murder will follow their footsteps; Theirs be the nameless deeds; Why should we gather the hangman's fruit That grows on the old-world weeds? Skilled with the torch and dagger Hither by millions they come — Finns and Armenians, Italians and Poles, The nations are sending their scum. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Open the gates to the peoples, The honest, the humble, the wise; Bid them come in and find welcome, Give to the worthy the prize; Share with them freely our birthright; Here let them grow as we grow; Grant them the rights we have conquered, Teach them the lessons we know. But drive out the vicious who seek here License to riot and kill; Bar fast the gates on the outcasts, Turn back the swine to their swill Song of the Vultures "The Thaw murder is an ordinary police court affair:' — Jerome. (190T) FORCE it down the public maw, The nasty trial of Harry Thaw. Fill the columns ! Give details ; Tell the gossip of the jails; Hire a man who missed the noose To discuss the law's abuse; Print the story once again, Then repeat the old refrain. Interview the broken mother. Show a picture of the brother; Drag before the public gaze All entangled in the maze; ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN With the brazen head-line strike Innocence and guilt alike. Print and spare not ! Make a spread ! Blast the living, blight the dead. Tear and rend, and stuff and fatten On the victims gorge and batten. Glorious work ! Spread wide the news ! Hither hasten carrion crews. (The trial of Thaw was of such a sensational nature that the American newspapers fairly nauseated their readers hy their reports of it.) The Battle of Kingston (1907) I THE Yankee ships came sailing To Kingston, stricken and sore, And the Admiral saw blue ruin And hustled his tars ashore. He didn't wait to be bidden, He answered humanity's call; He made no note of the flag afloat From the peak of the Governor's wall. His sailors worked like beavers Helping to guard and save, Moving the sick and the wounded, Giving the dead a grave. II Roared the Governor of Jamaica, Sir Aleck Swettenham (By nature rather testy And inclined to actions chesty), To the tars of Uncle Sam: 105 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD "Take your ships away and leave us ! Your intrusion here is grievous, Unwarranted, mischievous. I'm astounded ! so I am. Without an invitation You invade the British Nation. You forget I rule this Station. I'm a Lion, not a Lamb ! How dare you show compassion For my people in this fashion? We don't want your proffered ration, So begone !" cried Swettenham. The Yankee tars, unfretted, Apologized — regretted — ■ "Hoped the G.uvner would ferget it," Would the doughty Swettenham. Then they went away quite sweetly, Brushed their jackets very neatly And controlled their tongues completely, Just as meek as Mary's lamb. Ill ' The Yankee ships went sailing From Kingston, stricken and sore, And the Admiral stood on his Binnacle Lamp Or what-you-may-call-it, and swore. "Now blow me !" mused Admiral Davis, "If ever I met a clam 'Twas this testy and chesty and rusty and crusty Red tape of an ass, Swettenham !" (After the earthquake in Jamaica in 1907, Admiral Davis, of the American navy, landed his sailors in Kingston to meet the emergency. They performed excellent service, but the action was resented by the British Governor of Jamaica, Sir Alexander Swettenham, who protested against receiving as- sistance from the American navy. The sailors were, of course, promptly withdrawn. Later the governor was re- called.) 106 ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN Absent (1907) SINCE you are gone, the old haunts cease to charm, Lacking the presence that once made them dear. My feet move slowly in accustomed paths Through yellowing leaves, disconsolate and drear, Since you are gone. Since you are gone, the house seems strangely void, Lacking the voice that echoed through its halls; I hear you call in the familiar tones, Start to respond — but wake to vacant walls; Since you are gone. Since you are gone, my heart more somber grows, Lacking the charm and fullness of your grace; Sighs come unbidden and the smile is forced, Joyless all sunshine in the empty place, Since you are gone. Since you are gone, the tedious world is vain, Lacking the part that gave to life its zest ; Blindly I stumble on, perforce I must, A laggard straggler, asking naught but rest. Since you are gone. Since you are gone, O heart that beat with mine And brought the gladness that made bright the day, I find no pleasure in the sodden road O'er ashen memories, under skies of gray. Since you are gone. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD The Dignity of Death (1908) GOOD painter, paint me my portrait To send to a friend of old; A friend who knew and loved me Ere the blood grew pale and cold ; A friend, almost a brother, In the days when life was young; Who has lived apart in another land Attuned to a stranger tongue. He would not know the portrait If 'twere like my face today, So, prithee, good Sir Painter, Turn into gold the gray; Smooth from the furrowed forehead The deep-etched lines of care; Put in the eyes that are faded now The light that they used to wear; Brush out the sorrow and sinning, Paint in the faith that has fled, Round out the cheeks that are sunken, Tint them again with the red. Smooth off the marks of the battle, Weariness, hopelessness, pain, And picture, by Art's divination, The face of mv bovhood again." Closed were the eyes in the coffin, Gray was the hair of the dead, Sunken the cheek, with the pallor Still taking the place of the red, 10s ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN But the painter marveled in silence, As he looked on the features within, For gone were the sorrow and weakness, Gone were the traces of sin; Only a peaceful calm was there And the look that belongeth to youth. " 'Tis a strange commission," the painter said, "That Death undertook, forsooth." A Christmas Prayer (1911) LORD, on this Thy Christmas day, Grant us grace to go our way, And where'er its path may wend, Courage 'til we reach its end. Children all; blind, foolish, weak, Stumbling to'ard the goal we seek, Not for larger work we ask, But for strength to meet the task; Not for wealth, nor toil's surcease, Give us only, Lord, Thy peace. By our firesides, grateful hearts Feel the joy that love imparts; Know Thy blessings, made to fall, Through the years, upon us all, Here petition make to Thee For our friends where'er they be; Send them, Lord, Thy Christmas joy: Kindly mirth without alloy, Give them, Lord, from care release, Grant them, over all, Thy peace. 109 RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD The Pathetic Ballad of Wayzata (In Fourteen Verses, Cantos or Staves, Done in Every Known Meter, Including The Gas Meter.) (1911) TIS the intent Hereby to represent An incident Connected with the President. II Sweetly the village slept Unknown to fame, Wayzata, dreaming by the lake- Few knew the name, Or, knowing, could pronounce the same: Way-zetta, zeeta, zotter, Wise-etta, no one sought her, Fair village of the water. HI Idly the wavelets lapped the beach below her, Rude commerce never deigned to know her. Above, Bald Hill stood silently on guard, Watching the grocer's refuse in his yard, Anon a flashing motor whirled the dust, Dashed down the road and left the town unfussed: Slumbrous, sun-kissed Wayzettibus ! IV Suddenly, out of the East, came a rumor Wonderful, marvelous; choice in its humor; Messengers dashed through the village Summoning citizens back from their tillage, 110 ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN Back from the haunt of the bullhead and crane, Back to Wayzata and glory again ! V Promptly they answered, these sons of her breeding, Valiant in pitchfork, bait-selling, grass-seeding, Ready to rally, do, dare at her needing, Quick to respond to her call; Leaving the boat at its mooring, Baitless, the tourist went touring, Homeward the people came pouring, Rallying in the Town Hall. VI Then spake the Herald, "Behold me ! I bring you a message, 'twas told me By one who has never yet sold me ! By his own wish and free consent Our ever gracious President Has signified his real intent Here to become a resident." VII Few cities ever made pretense To presidential residence, And residential presidents Are rightly reckoned rare events, Therefore Wayzata, named the Royal Town, Awakened from its slumber to renown, Forthwith began to do itself up brown. VIII • Rare was the bustling, the rustling, the hustling. Housekeepers wore themselves out with mere dusting, RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD The pavements were scrubbed and the windows were screened, Garbage removed and the back yards were cleaned. Soap went to a premium, dirt fled in affright, And the oil on the street put the autos to flight. Such a scrubbing, and drubbing and rubbing! No town ever saw such a tubbing. IX Now sits Wayzata, Royal Town, No further need to don her; Surprised at unaccustomed scenes Bald Hill looks down upon her; Washed, painted, cleaned and oiled she waits The presidential honor. X The presidential deed is made; The presidential plan, Not one but six, has been displayed Before the eyes of man, The enterprising press has shown Its beauties, as it can. XI The presidential guard has drilled In all its strength and state, And nightly stands its watchful ward Without Wayzata's gate, Lest coming unawares, the guest Should be obliged to wait. ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN XII Why tarries he, the President, For whom all this is done? Wayzata looks toward the East With every setting sun, And listens for the Herald's feet, The feet of those who run. XIII Way-zetta, zeeta, zotter, Wise-etta of the water, He cometh not but oughter. XIV Wayzata may have paid the cost, He may not heed her call; 'Tis better to have scrubbed and lost Than not have scrubbed at all. (Wayzata is a pleasant little village situated on Lake Minnetonka. In 1911 some practical joker started the rumor that President Taft intended to establish a "Summer White House" somewhere in the West and that he favored the shores of Minne"tonka. This inspired the citizens of Wayzata to make the great effort referred to in the foregoing ballad, in which they were encouraged by the humorists of the daily press.) The Bellman's Message (1912) OVER the snow on Christmas day, The Bellman taketh his cheerful way, Ringing his bell with a joyous peal, Crying his tidings with hearty zeal: "Hear ! oh hear ye ! men of good-will, The world grows old, but the message is still Peace on earth from heaven on high; Wherefore, I pray you, let old feuds die. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Pause in your labor, forego your strife. Lift up your souls to a nobler life. Hark to the song of my golden bell: God is at peace with us. All is well." The Peace Pipe (1915) LET us smoke the Pipe of Peace, While the world goes roaring by, Tumult, anger, strife will cease, Vanish — like this smoke on high. Few our days, at best but brief, Why corrode the hours with hate? Why sit down with Care and Grief While we let good Friendship wait? Let us smoke, and smoking dream Of that happier day to come When this hideous crash will seem But the echo of a drum. Passing all these man-made things, Guns that kill and swords that maim, Still endures the word that rings Over all, to peace proclaim. Let us smoke the Pipe of Peace, While the world goes struggling by, Let us smoke and find release From its madness — you and I. (Written for the annual dinner of the staff of The North western Miller, January 15. 1915.) ECHOES FROM THE BELLMAN The Flag in Belgium (1915) WE STOOD on Belgium's tortured soil, War-scarred it was — blood red, While Hunger stalked the smitten land And widows mourned their dead; And there was nowhere sign of hope. And nowhere help was nigh, Save in that spot where flew our flag, The Stars and Stripes, on high. Beneath it, safe protected, lay The food by Pity sent, And where it waved, Compassion stood With succor for the spent. The little children blessed the flag, And women kissed its bars, And men looked up, again with hope, To gaze upon its stars. Go, trace its glories to their source In fights by land or sea. And tell of all that made this flag The einblem of the free, But nobler fight was never waged Nor higher honor gained Than when, in Belgium, hunger-swept, God's mercv it maintained. RHYMES OF A DOGGEREL BARD Treason (1918) HUSH a bye, baby, Darling, don't cry, Some food inspector May be passing by. Pain in its tummy That keeps it awake? Darling, don't mention Your peanut-oil cake ! For words of the Soya-bean, Spoke in dispraise, Brother was sentenced To serve sixty days. Sister's at home In the cooler, my pet. Because Feterita She spoke of as "Fet." Slandering barley Sent Father to jail. Hush a bye, baby, 'Tis treason to wail. (During the latter part of the war, local food inspectors became so zealous in behalf of substitutes for wheat bread that one of them denounced complaints of barley bread as "treasonable.") INDEX A "Strait" Tip 43 Absent .... . Advantageous Location 26 All on the Quiet 28 Another Go at the American 26 Another St. John Man 36 Autumn Musings 100 Ballad of Mr. Brown, The 15 Battle of Kingston, The 105 Battle of the Experts, The 67 Bear Movement, A 56 Beats Morphine 21 Became a Canuck 23 Bellman's Message, The 113 Black Hand, The 103 Britannia Rules the Waves 33 Butted the Button \2 Campaign Portraiture 95 Cannibal Islands, The ' 79 Cause and Effect 9 Christmas Carol, A 11 Christmas Carol, Another 11 Christmas Prayer, A 109 Corinna's Going a-Sleighing 87 Crop Destroyer, The . 64 Death of the Shah . 96 Delegate from Center Station, The 45 Dies Irae 97 Dignity of Death, The 108 Editor and the Balancing Pole, The 34 Epitaph, An ... 23 Epitaph, Another 24 INDEX Everybody Knows This Barber Extremely Jolly Miller, The Eyeless Bull, the . . . Fishin' Season, The Flag in Belgium, The Floury Humbugs Foggy Dew, Ode to Gathered In Glorious Heritage, A Herbert Bradley He Read a Paid Write-Up He Trimmed 'Em . Hoch! Die Anarchie ! . How He Built His Mill Humor Prehistoric It's English, You Know . Index Expurgatorious, The Infant Terror, The Journalese .... Kicked on the Substantial Knight and the Captain, The Lament for the British Lion Lays of a Lucertola Loch invar Love Song of the Option Dealer Mill of the Years Miller Who Knows It All, The Millowner Contemplates a Join Modern Pirate, The . Money No Object Musically Mutilated . No Choice Not Guilty ! . Oh Had I Known Our German Millers Overdosed Overheard on the Piazza Overworked Owed to the Office Boy Peace Pipe, The Poor Magnate, The Poor Papa Prayer of the Simple, The Real Authority, The Recessional, A nev, The 22' 8 55 82 115 3 65 4 60 77 29 12 52 38 25 19 85 94 98 22 61 57 88 101 54 1 5 21 31 \i 49 28 94 51 7 41 34 97 50 114 102 89 84 80 INDEX Revised Barbara Frietchie, Tlie 78 Revised Mother Goose Rhyme of the Lost Toboggan, The . . 73 Rime of the Ancient Granger, The 69 St. Valentine's .... 93 Say, Where Is McCann? 9 Slumber Song . 27 Song of the Vultures . 104 Sonnez S.V.P. . . 89 Sorrento .... 88 Spot-Light, The 87 Stranded .... 24 Subtle Somnolent, The 29 These Are Marked 58 To a Mill Wheel 10 Too Much Flour 2 To Our Masters 18 To Pillsbury B— Or Not to B ! 37 Treason .... 116 Trust Buster, The 84 Truth About Ulysses, The 34 Try Something Else 57 Un Fiorentino Spirito Bizarro 33 Very Uncommercial 60 Visible Supply, The 56 Way It Is Done, The . 25 Wayzata, Ballad of 110 We Told You So 55 What Is a Bag of Flour? 30 Wily Old Master, The 33 Wise Sluggard, The 92