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 . 1916 . 
 
 O O LIAM 
 
 EDWIN ALFRED WATROUS 
 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 
 
 I iiiiii m iii m i m i iniiin rwTB 
 
THE FOOLI AM 
 
 A SA TIRE 
 
 WITH APOLOGIES TO POPE AND HIGH 
 PRIESTS OF LITERATURE 
 
 EDWIN ALFRED WATROUS 
 
 BOSTON: THE GORHAM PRESS 
 
 TORONTO : THE COPP-CLARK COMPANY, UMITED 
 
Copyrishc 1916 by Edwin Alfred AVatrous 
 All RiKbts Reserved 
 
 
 ,^ 
 
 ft' 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS. BOSTON, V. S. A. 
 
 )CI.A427780 
 
THE FOOLIAM 
 
PROEM 
 
 To Knights of Gripdom, those who scour the land 
 
 And keep it bright with eloquence and sand — 
 
 I dedicate this Work (it's work — not play 
 
 To grind out sausages — a link a day ! ) 
 
 With expectations that this first edition 
 
 Will yield abundant harvest to get rich on. 
 
 The Salesman's work extends from sun to sun; 
 
 His outgo beats his income two to one, 
 
 And yet he'll spend his money with delight 
 
 Whenever any orders are in sight: 
 
 And though he's broke or blue or bluffed, he beams 
 
 With everlasting cheerfulness it seems: 
 
 His heart's so big it makes his chest distend, 
 
 But he's a modest man and loyal friend. 
 
 I wonder if, when he has lost his grip 
 
 And come, at last, to make his final trip, 
 
 The good Saint Peter, at the Pearly Gate, 
 
 Will take him in forthwith or make him wait 
 
 Until his Yearly Sales are scrutinized 
 
 And last Expense Account is itemized? 
 
 Or, when the Angel Gabriel appears 
 
 (The Final Judge of mortals in arrears) 
 
 And blows his horn, — could anyone expect 
 
 The Salesman to be beat in this respect ? 
 
THE FOOLIAM 
 
 To Sons and Daughters, those who carved a name 
 
 Upon the everlasting Scroll of Fame 
 
 For val'rous deeds in War, renov^^n in Art 
 
 Or Law or Letters; those who played a part 
 
 In our discov'ry and our transformation 
 
 From savage state to record-breaking nation, 
 
 And framed our Constitution (Wondrous picture!) 
 
 We give the meed of praise without a stricture. 
 
 A halo hovers 'round the names of all 
 
 Whose portraits hang, illumined, in Fame's Hall. 
 
 I'm sure 'twould be a sacrilege to paint 
 
 One of these Idols other than a Saint. 
 
 Where Fires of Virtue glow in hallowed mien 
 
 The counter-picture should not gloom the screen. 
 
 Altho, to-day, immune from Satire's jibes 
 
 They suffered from coeval diatribes. 
 
 Contemporaries hastened to decry 
 
 These Geniuses whom we beatify, 
 
 Rating their works as Daubs in Hue and Greases 
 
 That we pronounce distinguished Masterpieces. 
 
 Their Manuscripts were Bernardized enough 
 
 To make them rank as rankest kind of stuff. 
 
 And matchless Prototypes in alabaster 
 
 Were lampooned like mere trinkets cast from 
 
 plaster. 
 They had, you see, their share of human worry 
 Until, at last, they crossed the Styg'an Ferry, 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Resigned to leave this world of grief and pride,- 
 With garments of asbestos fortified. 
 
 This is the day of MOVIES and the screen 
 
 Is far more mighty than the pen, I ween; 
 
 So now we'll turn the crank and flash in view 
 
 A hundred faces that are known to you. 
 
 Here shines the Man of Iron, the Canny Scot 
 
 Whose place is booked in Paradise, I wot; 
 
 Whose genial face and unbent shoulders show 
 
 How far an upright Plutocrat may go: 
 
 And here a Churchman, rectified we're told, 
 
 Is seen to stagger 'neath a Cross of Gold; 
 
 A King of Finance but a pauper he 
 
 Whose soul is mortgaged for Eternity: 
 
 A mitey host of penceless widows waits 
 
 To bar his entrance at the Pearly Gates. 
 
 Next in the line a Preacher of renown 
 
 Who doused vermilion glims in Gothamtown: 
 
 But justice, drossless, tempered his Crusade 
 
 Against the Social Outcasts and their Trade. 
 
 He clothed and sheltered them with righteous care 
 
 (For "Man can't live by bread alone" — nor prayer) 
 
 And led them by the Light of Hope ablaze 
 
 To lives of usefulness from sinful ways. 
 
 Thus Moral Suasion scored a winning inning 
 
 Where Statutes failed to check unbridled sinning, 
 
 For Purity can touch the robe that's soiled 
 
 And be not fearful lest its own be spoiled ; 
 
 The Hypocrite would scorn to even touch 
 
 8 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 These Magdalens, and yet he made them such. 
 
 And here a Kansas Joan with a hatchet 
 
 Who shut the door on Rum but didn't latch it ; 
 
 (How much of Bonnie Bourbon thus was wasted, 
 
 And what a crime to let it spill untasted!) 
 
 Meanwhile her baby hatchet grows to axe 
 
 And wreck and ruin follow in her tracks 
 
 Until she reaches England, where she gets 
 
 A great ovation from the Suffragettes. 
 
 Then comes a hero of the Cuban Main 
 
 Who bottles up the fighting ships of Spain: 
 
 But how much braver than to dare the Dons 
 
 To face the powder of the Amazons ; 
 
 And how much better than to fight King Booze 
 
 An easy berth in Washington to choose! 
 
 Then comes a Singer, one of world-wide note, 
 
 Whose wondrous lungs and cultivated throat 
 
 Gave her the power to captivate the masses 
 
 And sing to "standing room," without free passes: 
 
 Behold her on her Seventeenth Farewell 
 
 Fall flat with half the choicest seats to sell! 
 
 And here's a way-up tenor, ultra fine! 
 
 Weighed up by Scale Chromatic I opine: 
 
 Whene'er he sings the royalties attend, 
 
 And King Mazuma is his closest friend. 
 
 Whether he's heard in aria or chant 
 
 His Record is the Soundest one extant. 
 
 The next film shows, if you will strain your eyes, 
 How much of food, to-day, One Dollar buys. 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 The present cost of living does not show 
 
 That man wants only little here below ; 
 
 Nor does it prove, when married life's begun, 
 
 That two can live for little more than one. 
 
 It takes some courage to embark in life, 
 
 In dual bliss, with but a single wife 
 
 (In olden days before they had divorce 
 
 A single woman was no wife, of course!) 
 
 And those old Heroes who supported more 
 
 Deserve a palace on the Golden Shore. 
 
 When Solomon the King, famed for his mind, 
 
 The Matchless Queen of Sheba wined and dined 
 
 And urged her to become his wife and queen 
 
 Regardless of Four Hundred in between. 
 
 She said "Great King, you give me this impression," 
 
 "That your famed mental powers are in recession !" 
 
 Would Wisdom thus distinguish modern lives 
 
 If ev'ry man possessed four hundred wives? 
 
 Our Wise Men nowadays are quite unable 
 
 To stall a brace of fillies in one Stable. 
 
 There's Kicking from the start and then revolt, 
 
 And added danger when they face the Colt. 
 
 With one good Pacer, one who's never lagging,- 
 
 You're hitched up right and save a peck of nagging. 
 
 'Tis safer far to concentrate on one 
 
 Than seek new pastures and the gamut run,' 
 
 With menace to your purse and peace of mind. 
 
 With Mary and the yearlings left behind. 
 
 'Tis better too! Be careful what you hand her! 
 
 10 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 (The sauce will baste the goose that bastes the 
 
 gander!) 
 For, when forsaken, she may sh'p the halter 
 And lead some other Jackass to the altar. 
 
 Behold a man of versatility 
 Who does things with pronounced Ability! 
 Regardless of its orthographic form 
 His active mind doth Keep the subject warm. 
 Reformer, Author, Potentate and Colonel, 
 Respected even by the Imps Infernal, 
 He has the power to charm wild beasts they tell, 
 And mortals also fall beneath his Spell. 
 He Nimrods to the kingly Lion's lair 
 (But never stoops to take the lion's share) 
 And shoots the rapids of some unmapped River 
 Or breasts its flood without a qualm or quiver. 
 Acquitted of Intemp'rance by a Jury, 
 It now leaks out whence came his aqua pura. 
 Whether the River Doubt flows North or South 
 Or hides its source or shuts its toothless mouth, 
 The fact remains, Discoverers agree. 
 It bears resemblance — close analogj^ — 
 To old Salt River, renamed Brine the Great, 
 Where quondam Politicians navigate. 
 Be they the same or only tributary 
 Methinks the Bull Moose, without fear or worry, 
 StalTceth the miry trail along its brink. 
 Where cumbrous, thick-skinned Elephants would 
 sink; 
 
 11 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Chewing Contentment's Cud, made to his order 
 By franchised Mermaids basking on the border. 
 Avaunt Salt River! Cease your flow and eddy! 
 Your bayous brand your dirty-work already: 
 So dam your channel ! Stay your delta's suction 
 And save the drifting Donkey from destruction ! 
 
 Here comes the bard of Avon with a crutch : 
 There is no lameness in his feet — not much ! 
 He's only tired because — no doubt mistaken — 
 The hoggish Scribes ascribe his works to Bacon. 
 And here's the Human Ferret with his masks, 
 Who undertakes the most bewild'ring tasks; 
 Whose Dark Adventures — fiction dressed in 
 
 leather, 
 Have earned him Knighthood — fame and wealth 
 
 together. 
 Next bursts a shining mark of Wit's domain 
 Who throttled sadness, cut despair in Twain* 
 And made the Universe with laughter ring, 
 Driving the Gloom away — O joyous thing! 
 
 Then here's a Wigwam Brave of Tammany — 
 A Pale-Face Chief and Boss of the Teepee; 
 His Scalping-knife no longer bleeds Manhattan 
 For he hath ample wampum to grow fat on. 
 He trusted many — ^was a loyal fellow! 
 But trusted most his gum-shoes and umbrella: 
 No hostile Tribe could oust him from his post 
 But Diatribe, 'tis said, he feared the most. 
 
 12 
 
The F 00 Ham 
 
 The greatest burden that he had to pack 
 Was keeping Stripes confined to Tiger's back. 
 In Erin now he hath his country seat 
 Where he doth, as in olden days, repeat 
 "The Harp, that once through Tara's Hall" re- 
 sounded 
 To-day hath wider scope — Is not impounded: 
 Its Wires are strung broadcast, its flag unfurled 
 And Celts, with Jacob's kin, divide the world. 
 
 The Operator wakens from his slumber 
 To show his Union Card and Chapter number, 
 Then flashes on the screen the old refrain 
 "Those coming late — permitted to remain"! 
 "A lady with a wig may wear her bonnet 
 But otherwise the Law doth sit upon it." 
 Here ends the Intermission : next in order 
 Are rural scenes across the Texas border: 
 First is a Cactus Grove beneath whose shade 
 Reclines at length a Montezuma Maid ; 
 Next comes a Cavalier, who won his mount 
 A playing Monte with a purblind Count: 
 He sees the Seniorita and makes free 
 To say — "Fair Stranger fly away with me!" 
 But she retorts "Yon burro canst not carry 
 The twain of us to Torreon to marry." 
 Whereat the man, by force of arms abetted, 
 Drags her away — but he is soon macheted. 
 Thus from this Romance was a feud begun 
 Embroiling ev'ry Greaser neath the Sun: 
 
 13 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 The Cactus Grove still thrives but on each limb 
 A rebel hangs suspended cold and grim; 
 The Maid — an old Senora now — delights 
 To make tamales while the Senor fights; 
 The Burro carries arms from corps to corps 
 And loves to soldier just as heretofore. 
 
 Albeit nothing's new and you'll agree 
 
 Not to object to ancient history, 
 
 We'll retrospect to Eden's woods and dales 
 
 And show your forbears hanging b> their tails; 
 
 Or, if you scoff at Darwin's Evolution 
 
 And pride rebels at such caudate solution, 
 
 We'll spread our sails on European decks 
 
 And find your forbears hanging by their necks. 
 
 Here is a picture of your Mother Eve, 
 
 (The first authentic picture I believe) 
 
 Taken with time exposure (just like women!) 
 
 While she devoured the negatived persimmon. 
 
 And for this fruitful act of mastication 
 
 The curse of Adam fell upon creation! 
 
 Then comes the scene of Ararat's disaster 
 
 Where Noah launched his subsidized two-master; 
 
 Just Mr. Noah and Joan de Arc, 
 
 Two apes, two flies and so on filled the bark ; 
 
 All other creatures without wings or fins 
 
 Were hydrocuted for their divers sins; 
 
 Next David has his fling and soon is seen 
 
 To petrify the giant Philistine: 
 
 Here Jonah makes his plunge to right the barge 
 
 14 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 And here's the Whale that suffered his discharge, 
 While Jehu drives a bargain in the mart 
 And takes his wife to dinner a la carte. 
 Then Samson enters, blind but still a factor. 
 Brings down the house and shows he is some actor. 
 
 When William bartered with the Savage men 
 And made the sword subserv'ent to the Penn, 
 He showed the world that gewgaws and debate 
 Were legal tender for choice real estate. 
 This picture shows that Lo is but a faker 
 When matched against a calculating Quaker. 
 
 Upon the Bridge he stands, with glass in hand, 
 (This was before the glass was contraband) 
 Watching the shell game thund'rously proceed 
 Till Spain was humbled like a broken reed. 
 Then homeward from the hostile foreign shore 
 Come conqu'ring fleet and crafty Commodore. 
 Ovations greet him: Congress unafraid 
 To show elation — elevates his grade. 
 While grateful countrymen with willing hands 
 Build him a home and deed him spacious lands. 
 But when the Warrior turned to matrimony. 
 Bequeathing to his bride his patrimony, 
 A fickle nation, to hysterics keyed. 
 Shattered his Idol for this gracious Deed. 
 
 15 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Watt have we here a Wizard or a gnome 
 
 Whose magic h'ghts the boulevard and ohm? 
 
 No bushel hides his lights, e'en in a measure, 
 
 For he hath well accounted for his treasure. 
 
 He makes the human voice from distant zone 
 
 A living presence by the telephone. 
 
 Or places it in bondage, at his will. 
 
 Until the speaker's form lies cold and still. 
 
 Then resurrects it — song or speech or laugh — 
 
 And reproduces it by phonograph! 
 
 Here is a Pastor — English importation; 
 
 The Lord hath prospered him in ev'ry station; 
 
 Called from a parish to a diocese 
 
 With added honors and a wage increase, 
 
 (Did I say called? I must be bluffed or dazed; 
 
 In Poker parlance it's not called but raised/) 
 
 He soon discovers that his views have changed 
 
 (His mental views: become somewhat deranged) 
 
 And straightway starts a Doctrine all his own, 
 
 Sowing the tares of doubt where truth was grown. 
 
 Now here's the latest model of a dress : 
 
 With changing styles the cloth grows less and less, 
 
 And as it lessens into tiny pieces 
 
 It happens, strangely, that the price increases. 
 
 The figure silhouetted through the crepe 
 
 Has not the semblance of a model shape — 
 
 Scarcely a Dido fit for an Aeneas: 
 
 (Could we but see ourselves as others see us!) 
 
 16 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 When Eve her body clothed in flowing tresses, 
 She had no thought of substituting dresses 
 Until Old Nick's Department Store was built, 
 Then hirsute robe gave way to fig-leaf Kilt. 
 And leaf by leaf the skirt was evoluted 
 Till now we're back where it was instituted. 
 Thus back again where garments first were worn 
 We see this picture of September Morn, 
 Marking the limbits of our dress reform 
 When smiles are worn to keep the women warm. 
 But men will ogle and women will flirt 
 And men will follow the Sign of the Skirt 
 Till women usurp, a Militant plan. 
 The one garment left distinguishing man. 
 
 Behold a vineyard ; hanging on its vines 
 
 The lucious fruitage — Mother of choice wines 
 
 And Father to the Grape-juice, some berate, 
 
 That quenches thirst but can't intoxicate. 
 
 A dual role the Vine doth thus essay — 
 
 To soothe the grave and stimulate the gay ; 
 
 Shedding its blood alike for Saint or vicious. 
 
 Causing effects inspiring or pernicious. 
 
 Nourished from such a store of plentitude, 
 
 With social uplift tendencies imbued, 
 
 Springs Modern Hermes, Master of Debate 
 
 And doughty leader in Affairs of State. 
 
 No Master Minds of Greece or Ancient Rome 
 
 Could match the mental measure of His dome, 
 
 And Caesar's Comments on Campaigns in Gaul 
 
 17 
 
The FooUam 
 
 Have nothing on his Three Campaigns at all: 
 
 Whene'er his Eloquence the rafters hit 
 
 It makes Demosthenes seem counterfeit; 
 
 The Peroration on the Siege of Troy 
 
 Compared with Cross of Gold was base alloy ; 
 
 His potent voice, discharging verbal rockets, 
 
 Hath power to fill the Hall — and fill his pockets. 
 
 O what a pity to disdain to work it 
 
 When it commands such tribute on the Circuit! 
 
 And what a loss from monetary angle 
 
 To waste such breath in diplomatic wrangle! 
 
 Hail to the Chief! let noise resound a plenty 
 
 While cannon roar and volley one and twenty! 
 
 It's not so disagreeable you see 
 
 To be the Father of your own country! 
 
 But how much bigger heroes loom away 
 
 A century or more from yesterday! 
 
 A child to-day who hacked a cherry tree 
 
 Would be examined for insanity; 
 
 And if he bragged about it to his father 
 
 Would likely get a whipping for his bother. 
 
 The Story of the Cherry-tree and hatchet 
 
 Would take some clever mental work to match it, 
 
 But who would on this pleasing legend trample 
 
 To make of George a horrible example? 
 
 'Tis better, to his truthful heights aspire 
 
 Than undertake to make him out a liar. 
 
 18 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Here is a meadow stream, its banks o'errun 
 
 With naked urchins sporting in the sun : 
 
 A clump of willows shades the swimming pool 
 
 And serves as dressing room for all the school, 
 
 Besides supplying all official switches 
 
 Used by the Teacher on the school-boy breeches. 
 
 The scene's unchanged since forty years ago 
 
 (Reflections from the pool do clearly show) 
 
 The Teacher, in his day, was wont to play 
 
 Upon this verdant bank in just this way, 
 
 And also paid his tribute to the clump 
 
 Of "Weeping" willows on his smarting rump. 
 
 The Teacher grew in wisdom and morale 
 
 Till he became a High School Principal; 
 
 Then he was made Professor in a College 
 
 Where he could better utilize his knowledge: 
 
 But still scholastic scope was too much pent 
 
 Until assigned as College President, 
 
 Where he administered successfully 
 
 Because, forsooth, he had the faculty. 
 
 The sky-line cannot limit erudition 
 
 Nor boundry be to vaunting man's ambition. 
 
 And so the campus and curriculum 
 
 To Peerless Prex, proved narrow and humdrum. 
 
 Thus from the College to the Commonwealth 
 
 The Tutor transferred all his mental wealth, 
 
 Enriching by his vast beneficence 
 
 The frontal assets of its residents; 
 
 Teaching the denizens of Jersey dunes 
 
 The rythmic beauties of his famous runes, 
 
 19 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 And how to legislate for self-protection, 
 
 Making himself their Leader, by election. 
 
 Just as the lion, caged, chafes at restraint 
 
 Because the Jungle lureth where he ain't, 
 
 The Governor, disdaining narrowed spheres, 
 
 As Presidential Candidate appears. 
 
 Inaugurated as Chief Magistrate 
 
 (The High School where our Great matriculate) 
 
 He still aspires to be the guiding force 
 
 Of other worlds within his orbit's course 
 
 And founds, endowed by Constitution, free! 
 
 An Internat'nal University, 
 
 Where Nations, who than eat would murder rather, 
 
 To hear his potent precepts taught may gather; 
 
 Where obtuse peoples, seeking sapience. 
 
 May learn the fundaments of Common Sense 
 
 And how much better than to kill and hate 
 
 Is tolerance; and how to Watch and Wait, 
 
 And how much better than the way they breed 'em 
 
 It is to cross them with the Bird of Freedom. 
 
 So, standing on the Summit of Success 
 
 He guides our actions in these days of stress 
 
 And, like a Beacon on the stormy Main, 
 
 Will guide the world back to its poise again. 
 
 Thus link by link is Hope's fruition wrought. 
 
 And leaf by leaf its Lesson will be taught 
 
 To rising generations, who'll discuss 
 
 Achievements linked with this EMERITUS. 
 
 I wonder, when the final page is turned, 
 
 The book is closed — life's secret has been learned — 
 
 20 
 
The Fool'iam 
 
 What higher Honors and Degrees will come 
 To crouTi his triumphs — in Elysium ? 
 Meanwhile the willow switch is being plied 
 As Scholars sit in Congress, side by side, 
 Waiting in vain for signs of a vacation 
 To plunge in divers pools for recreation. 
 The Teacher calmly reads the daily lesson, 
 Keeping the scholars constantly in session ; 
 And now it seems about to come to pass 
 That honors will distinguish this year's class. 
 
 Here waves Old Glory, ev'ry star aflame ; 
 A Beacon Light in Freedom's righteous name. 
 Time was when warring stars, fading away, 
 Forsook their firmament of blue for grey 
 And, dimly twinkling through the long black night 
 That followed close upon their ill-starred flight. 
 Menaced the course of our staunch Ship of State 
 Until the Helmsman, reckoning with Fate, 
 Avoiding sirens and the lights uncharted. 
 Steered her in safety back whence she departed. 
 Long since, unsullied, to our constellation 
 The wand'ring stars obtained their restoration: 
 And now we see this wondrous galaxy 
 Resplendent in the sky eternally! 
 A simple plaster bust stands in this niche, 
 A household Idol 'mongst the poor and rich; 
 Such homely features, such a kindly mien 
 Are rare Indeed in one so GREAT I ween! 
 And yet this War Lord saved from dissolution 
 
 21 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Our Statehood and preserved our Constitution. 
 What matters it that murd'rous shot was fired? 
 His work was finished ere his breath expired! 
 And in his martyrdom a lasting peace 
 Was crystalized and malice found surcease. 
 
 A graveyard is a gruesome place at best, 
 But those who fill it have a welcome rest 
 From sordid cares and physical restrictions 
 And find much comfort reading the inscriptions. 
 So now I'll canvass certain epitaphs 
 That were obtained by truthful photographs. 
 "This marks the place where Tony Malachite 
 Climbed skyward on a stick of dynamite." 
 "Tread softly, Stranger, and emit no sound 
 Lest you disturb my wife who's underground: 
 For twenty years she talked me half to death 
 But now, forsooth, she's husbanding her breath." 
 "Here lie twin sisters, each of them a mother; 
 Their mourning children can't tell which from 
 
 t'other." 
 "Here sleeps at length an elongated Samson 
 Who lost his eyesight peeking through a transom." 
 "Alas ! too soon was called our dext'rous son 
 Who held four aces and another one." 
 "He did not know the rusty gun was loaded, 
 Nor never will, forsooth, for it exploded." 
 "Here lies our truant Mary evermore; 
 We never could locate the child before." 
 "The man entombed beneath this slab of gneiss 
 
 22 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Provided for a daily pack of ice 
 
 To keep the Devil at a proper distance 
 
 Till he became too pliant for resistance." 
 
 "Interred herein my dear old father lies 
 
 Just as he did before he broke his ties." 
 
 A "bosom friend" we called him, half in jest, 
 
 Because his whiskers rested on his chest 
 
 And offered him perhaps, a means of grace 
 
 To pose as saintly with a sinner's face." 
 
 "Here rests a Drummer's trunk in bad repair; 
 
 Frame bent, locks gone, and trays completely bare; 
 
 At last called home! This was his final trip 
 
 Because, alas! he didn't check his Grippe!" 
 
 The man most feared is not the man of weight 
 But one whose brain and brawn coordinate: 
 The sickly looking chap who has the head 
 Can spare his hands and use his wits instead. 
 Oftimes it happens that the "sickly looks" 
 Are due to training — not to bile or books, 
 Therefore, when picking out an adversary, 
 Don't be too hasty — but a little wary, 
 For any man who looks for trouble will 
 Discover it close by and get his fill. 
 The Crop of Fistiana devotees 
 Is countless as the billows on the seas. 
 The modern Pollux, though, is very rare 
 And only lights our archives here and there. 
 But here's a Gladiator of the Ring 
 Whose blows were deadly as the serpent's sting: 
 
 23 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 This Vulcan was not noted for his grace 
 But for his striking prowess in its place. 
 He forged ahead, outclassing giant-sized, 
 And with short jabs his rivals mesmerized. 
 No kick by mule however much enraged 
 Was equal to his punch where he engaged ; 
 No thunderbolt, with lightning in its wake, 
 Could vie with him — such shocking havoc make : 
 And though the Censors bar him from the ropes 
 He still could put it over all White Hopes. 
 
 The Wave of Reformation sweeps the land, 
 
 Reforms of ev'ry kind and ev'ry brand. 
 
 But more and more a selfish purpose shows 
 
 The farther our investigation goes. 
 
 The willing workers have some axe to grind 
 
 Instead of really being wondrous kind; 
 
 The ones arrayed against the Sport of Kings 
 
 Of times contribute towards more racy things; 
 
 Those who'd prohibit rum to other fellers 
 
 Would always keep a bar room in their cellars; 
 
 Those who decry a Sunday baseball game 
 
 Would bridge the day with 'auction" just the same. 
 
 We'd not object to Doctors if they would 
 
 Prescribe the choicest tidbits for our food, 
 
 But when they urge a diet we dislike 
 
 We straighway balk or start a hunger strike. 
 
 Reformers would do well, in our conversion, 
 
 To recollect we're hostile to coercion. 
 
 There was a time when Patriots were grown 
 
 24 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Wherever seeds of liberty were sown, 
 But crops of Politicians did supplant 
 The patriotic harvest then extant. 
 What would we think, if public man to-day 
 Should have the moral rectitude to say? 
 "O! Friends, in our dire need I do not falter 
 To place my life upon my country's altar!" 
 We'd all pronounce the start'ling peroration 
 A certain sign of mental aberration. 
 
 Behold the witches in their aeroplanes 
 Sweeping the skies through ebon clouds and rains ; 
 Mocking at birds that strain to overtake. 
 Leaving them spent and fiutt'ring in their wake ; 
 Shooting past stars that scintillate with hate 
 And thunderbolts that, muffled, lie in wait! 
 Thus Superman defies all natural laws 
 And makes the Skies subserv'ent to his cause. 
 
 At last the bestial Dogs of War, unleashed, 
 
 Together gather for the carrion feast! 
 
 The hapless progeny of War and Dearth 
 
 Bestrew ten million acres of the earth! 
 
 And here the Kennel whelps of ev'ry breed 
 
 Grapple and struggle in their ghoulish greed: 
 
 With frothing mouths and rabid brains thev strive, 
 
 Maiming and rending ev'rything alive: 
 
 The scene, with only snarling curs astir. 
 
 Is one vast desecrated Sepulcher. 
 
 How long, O Lord, will thinking beings be 
 
 25 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Impressed to serve a tott'ring dynasty? 
 How long will men, like pawns, be moved aside 
 That Kings in senseless splendor may abide? 
 Mayhap the worm will turn, the pawn rebel. 
 And Kings, checkmated, have their crowns to sell! 
 A righteous cause is destined to prevail 
 While rule or ruin Despotisms fail! 
 What greater crime than War, unjustified, 
 Could smirch a throne or shock a nation's pride? 
 What more than Reign of Peace could bring 
 
 renown 
 And added lustre to an earthly crown ? 
 
 We next throw on the screen an ancient flagon 
 Containing something rare that we can brag on. 
 The Operator, while he tries to serve us. 
 Should be excused for acting rather nervous. 
 THIS is a drink to even Gods denied 
 When Jove, with brilliant courtiers by his side. 
 Beguiled the nights with laughter, feast and song 
 And ruddy nectar cheered the royal throng. 
 Had Fate vouchsafed this energizing draft 
 Instead of high-wine nectar that they quaffed, 
 They could have thwarted jealous Gods that hurled 
 Them from Olymp'an Heights to Nether- World. 
 Partake of THIS! and you can clearly see 
 With mental vision, as in imagery, 
 A countless host of dainty phantoms flit 
 Athwart the rustic table where you sit: 
 Elfs, sylvan nymphs and graceful fairy queens, 
 
 26 
 
Tlic Fooliam 
 
 With shapely limbs and Venus-vieing miens, 
 Prostrate themselves before your eager gaze 
 While mystic voices sing and fancy plays: 
 Gay song birds flutter in the fragrant air 
 And dreamy music springs from ev'rj'where; 
 All nature and the spirit world together 
 Commune in harmony upon the heather; 
 No sound, in echo, gets a harsh reply 
 From friendly sprites that hover in the sky; 
 No gnomes or goblins show their hid'ous forms ; 
 No wicked witches conjure thund'rous storms; 
 No shadows linger ; no ill winds are blowing — 
 Your joyous cup is full to overflowing! 
 At length the phantom spirit forms are fled 
 And spirits tangible abide instead. 
 Thus ends the spectral dr^am, alas! alack! 
 You fain would call the fleeting fairies back. 
 But thoughts revert, perforce, to mundane things 
 And presto! one more drink contentment brings. 
 This is a scheme to introduce, you think, 
 Some brand of Holland Gin or kindred drink ; 
 But such a course I would not deign to follow 
 Unless I undertook my pride to swallow, 
 Instead of just a thimblefuU of THIS 
 Which, rich and rare, I would not care to miss. 
 So here's to you ! I guess you're not opposed 
 To just a dram before the bar is closed. 
 
 A dauntless mariner with caravels, 
 
 Not very fleet but buoyant on the swells, 
 
 27 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 T- ..ited his course, with crews of Portugese, 
 (At home on seas like skippers in a cheese) 
 For unmapped ports (a connoisseur was he) 
 To quench his thirst for notoriety. 
 Hard work ahead! This was no junket cruise: 
 His crews debauched by Santa Cruz refuse. 
 When half seas over, to attend the sails 
 And trim them 'gainst the treach'rous northern 
 
 gales ; 
 So Chris, egged on by menace to his spars. 
 Scrambles on deck and trims his mutinous tars. 
 Then all went well until our shores were sighted 
 And famed Columbian Knights found us benighted. 
 And ceded us with all our seed to Spain: 
 But like bad pennies we've come back again. 
 
 Next picture shows the warring winds and waves 
 In ceaseless vigil over unmarked graves: 
 And struggling in the dreadful maelstrom swings, 
 Helpless to port or starboard, shorn of wings, 
 A luckless ship: the ice-clad shroud reveals 
 A youthful seaman clinging as she reels : 
 He's seen to toss a bottle from the boat 
 (The lines were not so icy in the note) 
 Abaft the sinking hull: then satisfied. 
 Plunges headlong into the seething tide. 
 The morning sun beams on a peaceful sea, 
 But wreckage mutely tells the tragedy. 
 A tearful maiden, searching on the beach, 
 Espies a bottle flotsamed within reach: 
 
 28 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Her gloomy face assumed a hopeful smile, 
 
 For she conjectured that the stranded vial 
 
 Contained a message from her Sailor Lover: 
 
 Breathless, she stooped the billet to recover. 
 
 'Twas but a moment ere her fingers held 
 
 The welcome bottle vi^ith the cork expelled : 
 
 She peeped within and blushed; then glanced 
 
 around 
 To keep the message secret if 'twere found ; 
 And there it was! some lover's last reply. 
 Ground in the glass— O'^E QUART of SNAKE- 
 TOOTH RYE. 
 
 This is the school where Mary used to pull 
 Over her guileless Teacher's eyes, the wool. 
 Here is her lamb — a walking lexicon — 
 Who took her old school boys to feed upon ; 
 Until one day — a victim to his yearning — 
 He died from book worms in his seat of learning ; 
 And never knew, when Mary's schooling ended, 
 How much, on him, her sheepskin had depended. 
 
 Darius Green, of Second Reader mention. 
 Bided his time to show off his invention ; 
 But when he poised, to fly from barnyard shed, 
 His wings collapsed and threw him on his head. 
 Which shows that had he used his head before. 
 He might have lived to walk around some more. 
 The moral teaches — Error's doomed to fall: 
 There's only one Wright method after all. 
 
 29 
 
 \. 
 
 \ 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 T- 1..S shows how fires were fought in early years — 
 
 A Company of Vet'ran Volunteers 
 
 Running with cart and pump and speed amazing 
 
 Wherever any building was a blazing. 
 
 They did their duty — put the flames to rout; 
 
 Wherever they went in the fire went out! 
 
 "My Kingdom for a horse" ! would get your goat 
 
 If coming nowadays from mortal throat : 
 
 You'd say, instead "A taxicab instanter!" 
 
 And go ten times as fast as in a canter. 
 
 For service such as this you'd gladly pay 
 
 A Kingly ransom for your getaway. 
 
 But Richard's crown — when thus he spake was lost, 
 
 And so a horse seemed dear at any cost. 
 
 Next, see the Piccaninnies pickin' cotton! 
 The staple stuff, the weevils haven't gotten: 
 These bursting bolls, the Textile Press says so. 
 Are quite essential to print calico. 
 This one White Hope that's really fit to print 
 Coins money for the Planters like a mint: 
 The "julep" kind is not the mint I nean, 
 Altho it fits in well — mashed in between. 
 Methinks the Julep Mint is banked on more 
 Than any other kind by Southern Grower; 
 And if, perchance. Certificates could be 
 Exchanged for these by Treasury decree 
 The South, where Nature's mood is always Sunny, 
 Would soon be surfeited with ready money. 
 
 30 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 The Southland Colonel is a mighty host — 
 
 In numbers as in quality almost: 
 
 He seems possessed to do you any favor, 
 
 And makes you feel at home — stranger or neighbor. 
 
 No bar can halt his hospitality: 
 
 He leads you to it with alacrity 
 
 And greets each Colonel there with jest or banter: 
 
 But when he enters — out comes the decanter. 
 
 The Diamond Mines of Africa are good, 
 
 But not so rich as ours 'tis understood: 
 
 It takes a thousand men to work their mines 
 
 While here we do the work with just two nines. 
 
 Out there they work a twelve hour shift each day 
 
 And get a penny for their daily pay, 
 
 While here our shifty lads, for two hours' play, 
 
 Pick up enough to keep the wolf away: 
 
 And if the Africander falls from grace, 
 
 Goes on a bat, another gets his place: 
 
 While here the one who bats the most and robs 
 
 The diamond sacks can choose from many jobs. 
 
 A Sinecure is thus our workman's prize 
 
 And always will be till the Diamond Dyes, 
 
 Or Killgore and his Fed'ral legions drop 
 
 A deadly bomb the Diamond mines atop. 
 
 This canvas shows a Boomerang in action. 
 Missing its hurler by a narrow fraction ; 
 Which goes to show that chickens that v/e father 
 Come home to roost and sometimes give us bother. 
 
 31 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Monroe declared U. S. as Overseer 
 Of everything w^ithin this hemisphere. 
 Though alien Powers disclaim the principle 
 And try to make it obsolete or nil, 
 The bluff has been consistently pulled over, 
 Abetted by the winning hand of Grover. 
 To be consistent what more right have we 
 To hold possessions near the China Sea 
 Than Nippons have to gain a footing here 
 Within a hundred leagues of our frontier? 
 We must not trespass if we say Keep Out! 
 To alien Powers that sail the Seas about, 
 Nor keep our fingers in the Orient 
 It we would make our M. D. permanent. 
 
 Here is a Tennis match upon the green, 
 A man and maid with Cupid's net between: 
 This is a love set and I know the reason, 
 They're practicing to "double" it next season. 
 
 The North Pole trail is blazed by giant stones 
 Marking a hundred graves, where human bones 
 In mute appeal, warn trav'lers but too late 
 Of bitter hardships and impending fate. 
 Forward they go, impelled by vaunting pride, 
 To doom as certain as the flowing tide. 
 Heedless of warnings of the ice-clad hosts 
 Of speechless spectres and uncanny ghosts. 
 But man knows no defeat, is not dismayed 
 Though all the Imps of Darkness be arrayed 
 
 32 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Against him: thus upward climbs ambition 
 Towards the beck'ning summit of fruition ; 
 And forward presses towards the Northern Pole 
 The fearless Trav'ler — greedy for the goal — 
 In spite of many battles and defeats 
 O'er countless years of marches and retreats. 
 At last success rewards the human kind 
 Against the very Powers of Hell combined, 
 Who, marvelling at man's audacity, 
 Unguard the fortress of the Arctic Sea 
 Just for a moment, while the trav'ler wrests 
 The long-sought treasure from their icy chests! 
 Now walrus, auk and Polar-bear defend 
 Our peerless ensign on the North Pole's end. 
 And waving there, defiantly forever, 
 It tribute pays to Superman's endeavor. 
 
 This shows a clinic where the Surgeon's art 
 Is traced in red upon the human chart. 
 The burnished scalpel, keen for any issue, 
 Is seen to plunge into the patient's tissue 
 Until it reaches the aflfected liver. 
 Which is removed without a groan or quiver. 
 Remarkable indeed! O, lucky day 
 When man discovered anaesthesia! 
 For cutting-up when risky work commands 
 The Surgeon should receive our reprimands. 
 Instead, he gets whatever we possess 
 Whether his work be failure or success: 
 And if we live, absorbing all the stitches, 
 
 33 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 The nurses take the money from our breeches. 
 
 So what alternative do Surgeons give? 
 
 They rob us vv^hen we die or if we live ! 
 
 Though, doubtless, they prefer to take our savings 
 
 Than take our lives and end our futile ravings: 
 
 In living, though, the Undertaker's fee 
 
 Is not included in the bill, you see ; 
 
 Thus if we live ten years without befallments 
 
 The Surgeon's bill is paid off by installments! 
 
 But not for me ! I'll die a normal creature 
 
 Or Live my life — sans anaesthetics — ether. 
 
 Of all the great achievements of mankind 
 
 The Panama Canal is not behind. 
 
 In fact, it takes first rank in clever notions, 
 
 Uniting, as it does the two great oceans. 
 
 A weed-grown ditch we first obtained from France, 
 
 And then a revolution came, by chance, 
 
 Within this very zone. A Merry Christmas 
 
 Attended thus our presence on the Isthmus, 
 
 When by concession, treaty or finesse 
 
 We gained clear title to this wilderness. 
 
 What feats of engineering skill were shown! 
 
 But he who built it does not stand alone 
 
 The subject of our praise, for Theodore 
 
 Who engineered the deal, deserves still more: 
 
 And equal praise and credit should redound 
 
 To him who put this pestilential ground 
 
 And fetid air into his hot retort 
 
 And made of Panama a Health Resort. 
 
 34 
 
TJie Fooliam 
 
 The Panama Canal is open wide 
 
 To ev'ry kind of craft that stems the tide — 
 
 And yet it seems a perfect paradox 
 
 To keep it open when it's under Locks. 
 
 Here's a parade of English Militants 
 
 Who strive for Suffrage and to "wear the pants." 
 
 'Tis not for Equal Rights their Leader presses; 
 
 They want to wear the pants as well as dresses! 
 
 Imagine Gertrude, sweet and debonair, 
 
 With feathered helmet on her wavy hair, 
 
 As Constable? With Ethel Magistrate? 
 
 And Lawyers Kate and Fan in Court Debate — 
 
 While Flossie, dressed to kill, does plain-clothes 
 
 stunts 
 With ev'rybody talking all at once ? 
 Would any Fellow struggle or protest 
 Against such classy sleuthing and arrest? 
 Instead, the men would struggle to be caught 
 Beneath the chassis of this Juggernaut! 
 O, Militants! you better keep a hiking 
 Than spend your days in jail in hunger-striking! 
 Or, volunteer and join the Royal Navy 
 Leaving Dear Dad at home to tend the baby ! 
 With sword and buckler drive opponents hence 
 And make your husbands household ornaments ! 
 Your Triumph's near! You're coming to your 
 
 Own! 
 But Franchise Laws will make you vote alone/ 
 You'll have your segregated polls forsooth, 
 
 35 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 With Samovar and Make-Up in each booth 
 And ev'rything around you that avails 
 (Did I say ev'rything?) excepting Males. 
 Your Sacred Precincts (this is no reflection!) 
 Will furnished be with mirrors, at election, 
 Where Daisy, Weda, Dorothy or Kate 
 May have a look in as a candidate: 
 And when you run for Office, on the Ticket, 
 You'll win out in a walk, as I would pick it, 
 For ev'ry father, husband, brother, son 
 Would still support you as they've always done. 
 And thus the World is yours, when you have fenced 
 
 it, 
 With Laws repealed that militate against it. 
 And so I hail the coming Sexless Suffrage 
 But bid you cease your unbecoming roughage. 
 
 Behold a school ! but not a school of learning — 
 A School of Shad from Southern streams returning. 
 This is a model school — quite fin de siecle, 
 *Twas caught by Kodak so, of course, is reel. 
 With bated breath they roe against the current 
 To bring their net weight down (this is apparent!) 
 Below the mart requirements; thus 'tis plain 
 Though Shad pound weight away they're not in 
 
 Seine; 
 For thus they slip thro meshes ev'ry season. 
 (They take their scales along just for this reason.) 
 If, flound'ring in deep water, I should fail 
 To hook a moral to this fishy tale 
 
 36 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 My wooden poll, you'd say, had lost its cunning: 
 If, in the swim you'd be and in the running 
 Like Shad, you must avoid each snare and net 
 That everywhere your lifelong course beset; 
 And other precepts too I could define 
 So, if you Succor need — drop me a line! 
 
 When Mrs. Lot the wicked City fled 
 
 And, looking back, brought evil on her head, 
 
 She had nd disposition or intent 
 
 To change her being into Condiment. 
 
 For being fresh, her preservation took 
 
 An unexpected turn — for just one look: 
 
 But Lot himself went on and did not waver 
 
 Regardless of his wife, who lost her Savor. 
 
 Thus Lottie, shaken, cared not what befell her 
 
 But lived alone thereafter in the cellar. 
 
 The Railroads claim their operating cost 
 Has grown so gross their profit is all lost: 
 In other words — their outgo dissipates 
 Their income from both passengers and freights. 
 To me this tale of poverty is trash! 
 They run along on time, while we pay cash! 
 If, therefore, they would discount all their bills 
 They would not troubled be with fiscal ills: 
 And, furthermore, it seems to me they lose 
 By operating trains with those Full Crews. 
 It opes the way for Clerg\'men's attacks, 
 The recognized authorities on tracts. 
 
 37 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Methinks the Railroads' principal offense 
 Is what we choose to call extravagance : 
 For instance, all those culverts are not needed 
 To merely drain the water out unheeded; 
 And Enginemen should only have half pay 
 Who drive around in horseless cabs all day; 
 And Towermen should be banished evermore 
 Who only know, at most, what's semaphore: 
 Besides, what service can the Targets do? 
 (The Enginemen shoot by them, it is true.) 
 And why should Rolling Stock up-keep, diurnal, 
 Be entered always on the Fixed Charge Journal? 
 Or double tracks be stretched from East to West 
 When one right way is always much the best? 
 Or why maintain the obsolete Caboose 
 And run behind still further? What's the use? 
 If Railroad Presidents would work for less 
 There'd be some chance for dividends, I guess; 
 (A Poet, even, from his total fees, 
 Has income less, per year, than one of these) 
 Or, if the Counselors would waive retainers 
 The Coupon-holders might, perchance, be gainers; 
 And Auditors, the good, old faithful diggers, 
 Could substitute, for red, the ebon figures. 
 Such careless management and wanton waste 
 Are gall and wormwood to the Public taste. 
 We bitter grow, as Stocks we hold so dear, 
 Keep going lower till the bottom's near; 
 And then invoke the Courts for instant cure 
 For all the "Common" ills that we endure. 
 
 38 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 The I. C. C. is hot upon the trail 
 
 Of all these minions of the House of Baal 
 
 Who will, if given time, improve their ways 
 
 And side track Evil in the coming days. 
 
 I sometimes think that Railroads are oppressed, 
 
 That most of them could stand the Acid Test, 
 
 And all of them would number in this list 
 
 If Wrecking Crews in Wall Street were dismissed. 
 
 Here is an escapade along the Nile: 
 
 A Princess and her train are seen to file 
 
 Into the tawny reeds (in dishabile) 
 
 That skirt the shores and hide the swift-winged 
 
 teal ; 
 Returning from their bath quite unabashed 
 To where, forsooth, their flowing robes are cached. 
 They hear a cry; a lion cub 'twas feared. 
 But yet so very human it appeared! 
 A matron of the retinue, au fait, 
 Who'd known the Infant Language in her day 
 Searched through the rushes, with the Princess near, 
 Without a semblance of prevailing fear. 
 And found a bunch of swaddling clothes, a boy's, 
 Who bawled them out with regulation noise. 
 Thus Moses, Hawkshawed, found a place to go 
 Within the Palace of King Pharoah, 
 And saw the Princess daily, at her best. 
 With fluffy surah clinging to her breast 
 And cub-skin sandals on her shapely feet 
 That rivalled Rythm when she traipsed the street. 
 
 39 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Her grace and matchless charms were patent quite 
 
 And Moses longed to get the Patent Right: 
 
 And as his knowledge grew and he waxed bolder 
 
 He wished devoutly he were twelve years older 
 
 Or else had been a man when from her swim 
 
 He first beheld her, unadorned of limb 
 
 But clothed with modesty and crimson blushes, 
 
 Within the labyrinth of swaying rushes. 
 
 The moral, if there's any, makes it plain 
 
 That foundling Moses was not found in vain: 
 
 A gifted man, Physician to the King; 
 
 He had a chance to doctor ev'rything ; 
 
 And thus his shekels multiplied each day 
 
 To aid him in his final getaway. 
 
 The rushes still abound along the shore 
 
 Where Mcses Rushed the Bull in days of yore; 
 
 The tamarind umbrageously defends 
 
 The hiding places of the water-hens; 
 
 And, silhouetted 'gainst the sky, the Sphinx 
 
 Is mute as ever — but I know it thinks. 
 
 What's Friendship? Did you ever own a Pup 
 
 And spend eight hours a day to bring him up ? 
 
 And feed him at the table meat galore? 
 
 And "sick" him on your neighbor's dog next door? 
 
 And suffer him to irritate the cat 
 
 And cut his teeth upon the doorstep mat ? 
 
 And let him sleep upon your choicest rug? 
 
 That's Friendship! Did you ever have the bug? 
 
 This picture shows the whelp a chasing chickens — 
 
 40 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 But what of that? Just let him raise the dickens! 
 
 When you were young you chased the chickens too, 
 
 But only picked fine feathers it is true: 
 
 The Pup will learn before it is too late 
 
 As you did, how to differentiate; 
 
 For, whining whelps, like boys, must have their 
 
 flings 
 Though puppy-love no satisfaction brings. 
 But friendship is my theme and you'll agree 
 Twixt dog and man there's bond of sympathy. 
 To save his dog a man will risk his life 
 Or have a dreadful rumpus with his wife: 
 The dog, in turn, will run like mad and faster 
 To render any service to his master; 
 And though belabored by his master's cane 
 He'll lick the very hand that caused him pain : 
 When old and mangj' still the dog holds sway 
 Though no more equal to a canine fray: 
 Discreetly he determines not to risk it 
 But growls instead and chews his stale dog-biscuit. 
 The man, rheumatic, limps along the street 
 With Rover always trailing at his feet: 
 Their days of nimbleness are gone forsooth, 
 For thus Old Age puts double check on Youth, 
 But still they're Friends and never are apart 
 While Wifey stays alone with breaking heart. 
 This Dogma then, O Ladies, bear in mind! 
 When you get married, leave the Pup behind! 
 
 41 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 After The War what fortune is in store 
 
 For Crippled men who lusty were before? 
 
 What welcome waits them where the home-fire 
 
 blazed, 
 To-day a heap of ruins shrapnel-razed? 
 Where will they seek and find those left behind 
 To fight Starvation or a fate less kind? 
 What if they find them? More a tragedy 
 Than if uniound for all Eternity! 
 The War-scarred Hero seeks his youthful bride 
 With empty sleeve a-dangling by his side; 
 A footless limb, supported by a peg, 
 Assists, as best it can, his other leg. 
 His patient quest is soon to be rewarded. 
 For here, 'mong Refugees, her name's recorded. 
 At last! Her snow-white hair and sunken cheeks 
 Cannot deceive when Youth its lovemate seeks; 
 And so the Soldier hobbles to embrace 
 The shapeless figure, once renowned for grace, 
 Who, seeing, shows no int'rest or surprise; 
 No recognition lights her soulless eyes! 
 Reason dethroned! Seeing his child-wife's plight 
 Surrenders he to Death — gives up the fight! 
 Oblivion, relinquish thou the key 
 To dungeon cell where, gagged, lies Memory 
 That we may slay, ere Vengeance doth relent, 
 The dastard guilty of this ravishment! 
 O, well! 'Tis sweet to be a crippled hero 
 With decorations from the hand of Nero! 
 And what a joy to bear and rear our Sons 
 
 42 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Just to make targets for a Caesar's guns! 
 Three million corpses, soldiers to the last, 
 Salute the Conquerer as he rides past; 
 And this his Empire — these his Subjects prone — 
 To his Ambition each a Stepping-Stone ! 
 
 It's current news— the Germans are blockaded 
 And non-combatant Powers have been degraded; 
 The Sea belongs to England and to France 
 (The raging main with all its broad expanse) 
 And Russ and Jap, who plan to drain the ocean 
 (Deep-sea-ted project causing much commotion) 
 In order thus to sink (to lower levels) 
 The German Superdreads and Water Devils. 
 How else can England ever hope to master 
 The Kaiser's craft that sail the seas much faster, 
 (Our experts rate — and this I'd have you note 
 The Baltic Fleet the fastest one afloat!) 
 Unless, forsooth, when drainage work's completed, 
 They march their Army (Moses' feat repeated!) 
 Drj^-shod across the Baltic Desert reaches 
 And dig the Teuton cruisers from the beaches? 
 Meanwhile the Allies as they pump the brine 
 Will find some ghastly relics, I opine, 
 In Davy Jones's Locker — men and boats — 
 To bring the choking feeling to their throats. 
 Our John Paul Jones was not a kin to "Davy" 
 But had relations with the English Navy ; 
 He taught the British — v/orked the pea and shell — 
 Not to presume on Uncle Samuel. 
 
 43 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 The Race of Joneses thrives and multiplies; 
 Statistics show two births for each demise: 
 Whenever duty calls — up springs a Jones 
 Ready to sacrifice his blood and bones 
 To save our Bird of Freedom from disaster: 
 (Ten million Joneses itch to shy the caster!) 
 Whene'er they touch the Eagle — harm a feather, 
 The Joneses, rufHed, always flock together. 
 Let Foreign Powers who seize the Seas beware ! 
 Or else we'll send our "Joneses" over there! 
 
 A Rich man finds it difficult, we're told. 
 
 To gain admittance to the Gates of Gold ; 
 
 The Camel knows its hardly worth a try 
 
 To thread his passage through the Needle's Eye. 
 
 With opulence or stomachs triplicate 
 
 I'd take my chances hanging 'round the gate. 
 
 If wealth and good digestion both were mine 
 
 I'd stay outside for aye and not repine. 
 
 WTien gastric juices cease their flow, 'tis then 
 
 We grow contrite and pray and shout, Amen ! 
 
 Or, when our riches fly away like finches 
 
 We try to ease our Conscience where it pinches. 
 
 With liver, spleen and purse in good condition 
 
 We mortals "feel our feed" and not contrition. 
 
 With three digestive organs to maintain, 
 
 The Camel's life is but a sad refrain, 
 
 And so I wouldn't care to be a Camel 
 
 But to be Croesus-like I'd work like Sam Hill; 
 
 A Dromedary, though, I'd rather be 
 
 44 
 
The F 00 Ham 
 
 If Mammon turned a frozen ear to me; 
 Then I could eat and drink to beat the Dutch 
 And wouldn't have to hump myself so much, 
 But merely loiter 'round the green oases 
 And draw my rations — just like filling aces. 
 
 The Standpat Policy is on the wane ; 
 
 To hinder Progress it doth strive in vain: 
 
 Both Major Parties, in the main, agree 
 
 That Progress is a prime necessity'. 
 
 So now they're all engaged, including Mooses, 
 
 In regulating long-allowed abuses 
 
 And working out Reforms to suit the plastic 
 
 As well as obstinate, — hence not too drastic. 
 
 The "putting" game has long been out of style ; 
 
 The "driving" game is popular meanwhile: 
 
 The Politicians know, to earn their sal'ries. 
 
 They must make telling strokes, — play to the 
 
 gall'ries. 
 And so they play the game, — 'tis plainly seen — 
 Always a driving for the Green — Long Green ! 
 
 Since this Revolving Orb received its birth, 
 A Solar System Scion christened Earth, 
 We've passed through periods of Slipping Ice, 
 The Rock Formations, mica, quartz and gneiss. 
 And Elemental Conflicts in this Sphere 
 Till "combinations" made them disappear: 
 And now, cooled of?, progressing stage by stage 
 We've reached at last the Antiseptic Age. 
 
 45 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Our drinking cups in public must be free 
 
 From ev'ry atom of impurity; 
 
 (This law enforced is good — but I deplore 
 
 That all these free cups cost a cent or more) 
 
 And Public Towels are marked "for pers'nal use" 
 
 To do away with Syndicate abuse; 
 
 (I must confess the Roller Towel of old 
 
 Possessed advantages quite manifold). 
 
 Our Dental Brushes are enclosed in cases 
 
 To keep py'rrhea from the gummy places; 
 
 And Straws, they serve with "fizz" and lemonade, 
 
 Have lost their tickle, 'cause they're paper-made. 
 
 Our laws are such that no kind-hearted Barber 
 
 Can give Bacteria continued harbor: 
 
 They cut the feathers from our hats and bonnets 
 
 And censorize our essays and our Sonnets ; 
 
 Inspect our food, and liquors analyze; 
 
 (To make us lose our Spirits, I surmise) 
 
 Eugenicize our marital relations 
 
 And scrutinize our lives and reputations. 
 
 An Antiseptic Legislature next 
 
 May be demanded by religious sects, 
 
 And dramas purged of amatory diction 
 
 And then a law to sterilize our Fiction. 
 
 But with it all, our compensation this is, 
 
 They'll not be caught a cauterizing Kisses! 
 
 Here is a mob awaiting at the door 
 
 Of Hardluck Brothers' Big Department Store. 
 
 A crowd of females — not a single male, 
 
 46 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Makes up the mob-that storms the Bankrupt Sale. 
 (No single male or married one: I mean 
 No sign of masculinity is seen. 
 The men are working for their daily bread: 
 Their wives don't bake but spend the dough in- 
 stead ) 
 An Ad. sets forth the "bargains" to be sold 
 "At Sacrifices hitherto untold";, 
 "Since Noah's Ark was raffled oflF as junk" 
 No such amazing values have been sunk. 
 "Here's where a dollar doubles, you'll agree," 
 "And changes underclothes to lingerie." 
 "Our half-off nightgown sale compels attention" 
 "And 5-cent Handkerchiefs claim special mention." 
 "Here's where you blow yourselves without re- 
 
 gret"; 
 "Two dozen for a Dollar you can get!" 
 "And stockings! reinforced and extra long," 
 "With double heels and toes, just for a song!" 
 "No man on earth endowed with any feeling" 
 "Could find such Stocking values — short of steal- 
 
 ing." 
 "So here's the place for Ladies' Hosiery" 
 "Marked with plain figurei so you all can see"; 
 "And some have clocks that tell the time aright," 
 "When on, forsooth, it's day; when off, it's night!** 
 "Our Corset-covers in the Middle Aisle," 
 "Are made by hand and very much in style"; 
 "The open-work is quite the latest fad"; 
 "It pleases Ma but makes a pique of Dad." 
 
 47 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 "Three-for-a-dollar is absurdly low" 
 "For classy peek-a-boos like this to go!" 
 "And here's the latest corset U. I. C." 
 "That makes the bosom swell with vanity; 
 "A model just designed by Madame Blanc 
 "To fit the corpulent or trim or lank; 
 "Three dollars for this corset does not pay 
 "The cost of whalebones — but it's here to stay." 
 So run the Ads; you read them and attend 
 The Bargain Sales and all your money spend; 
 But when you figure up, to your surprise, 
 You've paid two prices for your merchandise. 
 
 You'll next observe some fav'rites that you knew 
 When toys were plenty and your birthdays few ; 
 When Santa Claus and Mother Goose held sway 
 At eventide, when you were tucked away, 
 With Mother's lullaby to calm your fears 
 And "Now I lay me" ringing in your ears. 
 If you could throw aside the cares that blight 
 And be a child again — just for a night, 
 You'd revel in the goodies in the Cupboard 
 And doubt the tale anent Old Mother Hubbard 
 WTio found no bone — no scrap of food to nourish 
 Her Faithful Fido who thus had to perish. 
 And then you'd see Bo Peep in bed asleep, 
 Wearied from quest of migratory sheep, 
 Awakened rudely by the Butcher's ringing 
 Who, marketward, her quondam flock was bring- 
 ing. 
 
 48 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 The "tales they left behind" about B. P. 
 Tell how she faced the altar sheepishlj% 
 But always loathed her spouse with hate deep- 
 seated 
 And then eloped (particulars deleted). 
 There's Old King Cole, in palace banquet room, 
 Stringing his fiddlers while they fret and fume; 
 And Jacic and Jill, upon the inclined plane, 
 With pail in hand and water on the brain; 
 And Little Jack, the pious Horner youth 
 Who cornered all the Christmas food forsooth, 
 Working the problem out by rule of thumb; 
 And there's the Widow, indigent become, 
 Compelled to domicile in cast-oflE slipper 
 Because her absent husband was a Skipper 
 Who sailed away, with all her household loot, 
 Leaving ten daughters and six sons to boot ; 
 And there's the Cat, interned in violin, 
 Playing his part with caterwauls within; 
 And frisky bovine, jumping o'er the moon. 
 And chafing dish eloping with the Spoon; 
 While Faithful Fido doggedly tehees 
 At all the grotesque antics that he sees. 
 Here's Humpty Dumpty, Storage House Deceiver! 
 A bad old Egg afflicted with a fever, 
 Who tumbled from his mural nest and died 
 Without a friend around but Lime Chloride. 
 And then there's Tom the Piper's Son, the thief, 
 Who stole a suckling pig and came to grief 
 Running the street adown ; but Tom, they say, 
 
 49 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 With six feet even, couldn't get away; 
 And Little Boy Blue who, cowed and forlorn 
 Went on a toot with a horn of the corn ; 
 Fe Fi Fo Fum ; the Giant Killer Jack 
 Who stalked the Giant ere he made attack; 
 And all those Sainted Myths of joyous childhood 
 Who did their freakish stunts in moor or wild- 
 wood. 
 
 The Turks are up in arms again, the Porte 
 
 Has leased his harem and discharged his Court. 
 
 His co-religionists, at his command, 
 
 A "holy" war are waging in the land. 
 
 The faithful gather from the quaint Kiosques 
 
 For supplications in the gilded mosques, 
 
 While robed muezzins, perched in minarets, 
 
 Adjure the multitude to pay their debts 
 
 To Allah, with their lives if there be need 
 
 To crush or undermine the Christian creed, 
 
 And force upon the world their own Koran, 
 
 In England, Russia, France and far Japan. 
 
 If Martin Luther were today alive 
 
 I wonder if he could, for long, survive 
 
 The spectacle of Turk and Teuton peoples 
 
 Praying to Allah from the roofs and steeples. 
 
 And waging "holy" warfare, with a curse 
 
 Upon all others in the Universe? 
 
 WTien Islam Porte receives his proper dues, 
 
 I wouldn't give a copeck for his shoes 
 
 Or Moslem sandals, worn to ease the pinches. 
 
 50 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 (But this pertains to feats and not to inches.) 
 If ever he essays, with sins weighed down, 
 To change his earthly for a Heav'nly crown, 
 I fancy Luther, snug in Paradise, 
 Will bar his vaunted entrance to the skies, 
 Then roast the tough old Turk to saffron tinge 
 And force this bird of prey with clipped wings 
 Down to the yawning, seething vilayet 
 Where rules Mcphisto with his ghostly get. 
 When this gaunt Gobbler, head upon the block. 
 Gets, in the neck, the threat'ning ax's shock, 
 The world will join in grand Thanksgiving Chorus 
 While this Hegira crosses the Bosphorus. 
 
 Our Kinematic mechanism is 
 Too hot for other thrilling scenes like this; 
 Besides, the Operator, glowing there. 
 Has been presented with a son and heir; 
 He, too, is over-heated from excitement 
 But gracefully submits to the indictment 
 And asks a furlough, with a good excuse 
 To seek a red-cross nurse with flag of truce. 
 An expert as a movie operator 
 He'll handy be with the perambulator. 
 A telegram has just been sent to me 
 Changing the final score from one to three: 
 When "Cranky" reaches home and knows his fate, 
 ('Tis not an action I would emulate) 
 Brimful will be his cup of happiness, 
 Though you and I could get along with less/ 
 
 51 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 The plan seems wrong that some folks have so 
 
 many 
 While others, just as willing, haven't any. 
 Than battl'ing in the trenches with the foe 
 It takes more courage to stay home, I trow, 
 And face such Infantry and night attacks 
 With meagre rations in the haversacks. 
 Thus Simple Man obtains a well earned rest 
 With Theodorian medals on his chest, 
 While woman, bless her! bears the heavy load. 
 Making the nursery a charmed abode 
 Without reward — except to be called Mother, 
 And you'll agree no name is sweeter other! 
 Tied down by little ties, she may neglect 
 Her own apparel — as you might expect, 
 While babies' stylish toilets she arranges; 
 And that's some job : there are so many changes. 
 
 Now here you see the famous Golden Gate 
 
 With portals open: inside there await 
 
 The wonders of the San Francisco Fair, 
 
 The treasures of the earth from ev'rywhere. 
 
 But wait awhile, before you get a guide 
 
 And view, in order, ev'rything inside: 
 
 The City proper (you may think I'm jesting) 
 
 Is one grand place and very interesting; 
 
 Seal Rocks, The Cliff, Goat Island, you should 
 
 know. 
 Are famed as much as the Presidio; 
 And there's San Quentin with its rooms and rations 
 
 52 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 In case, elsewhere, you miss accommodations; 
 And Chinatown! Of course you'll smoke some pills 
 And dream you're rich and free from human ills, 
 But lest you lose your carfare home, 'tis best 
 To sew some saffron banknotes in your vest! 
 In olden days before they had the Quake, 
 ( I beg your pardon for this grave mistake ! 
 I should have said before they had the Fire;) 
 Then Frisco was a scintillating wire; 
 (Did I say Frisco? There I go again! 
 San Francisco! Forgive this slip of pen!) 
 Those golden days perhaps will not return. 
 When Native Sons with yellow coin to burn, 
 Would blow their heads off like the fiery Lassen 
 And raise the "Ante" with no thought of passin* ; 
 But civic pride and enterprise remain. 
 (The reconstructed city makes this plain.) 
 Their champagnes, shrimp and "pinchless" lobsters 
 
 make 
 An epicure voracious to partake: 
 Fruits in abundance thrive along the reaches 
 (I always take my hat off to the peaches!) 
 And flowers of wondrous beauty greet the sun 
 In hillside gardens riv'ling Babylon. 
 With quays to Eastward, Golden Gate to West 
 The bulwarks of the city are the best: 
 No safer place exists by man's device 
 For lightning never strikes the same place twice. 
 A magic wand smote Chaos and behold 
 This matchless City with its Gate of Gold ! 
 
 53 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 From desolation, phoenix-like, the rise 
 Of San Francisco crowns man's enterprise. 
 She fought the fight and won, against reverse, 
 The admiration of the Universe. 
 There's force dynamic, nothing soporific 
 In San Francisco, Pride of the Pacific! 
 
 Along the Rio Grande is next in order: 
 
 It masquerades as River on our border. 
 
 Its lava banks are cactus-lined ; its bed 
 
 Is waterless and filled with sand instead. 
 
 And here our weary soldiers have to sleep 
 
 Where scorpions and Hela monsters creep. 
 
 This is a place for "movies" unsurpassed; 
 
 The air is clear and dry, the landscape vast ; 
 
 There's action, too, when vicious vampires fly 
 
 Athwart the sleepless pallets where you lie. 
 
 It's very pleasant on the Rio Grande 
 
 Where watchful soldiers guard our borderland 
 
 And vary humdrum life and arid scenes 
 
 In driving wells to fill up their canteens. 
 
 (To water they have driven been because 
 
 Of some late Army prohibition laws.) 
 
 This watchful waiting may not please, of course, 
 
 The Jingoes and our Military Force, 
 
 But fighting bats and all the brood of spiders 
 
 Is safer far than Mexican Rough Riders: 
 
 For though the spiders sting, you will survive 
 
 While greaser bullets leave but few alive. 
 
 And fever epidemics kill the rest; 
 
 54 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 So watchful waiting is by far the best! 
 Besides, perhaps we'll need our army legions 
 To keep invaders from these sacred regions. 
 
 When Jacob to his Uncle Laban strayed 
 And asked the hand of Rachel, comely maid. 
 He cozened was and therefore did not wed 
 The one he loved but Leah in her stead. 
 But as the days passed by and Rachel grew 
 In grace and beauty, he annexed her too. 
 Now Laban with no other girls was blessed 
 Or Jacob, surely, would have wed the rest. 
 His Mormon instincts did not cease, I'm certain I 
 But that's another tale: so draw the curtain! 
 In his defence (poor Jacob!) here's the truth: 
 He loved not wisely but two well, forsooth I 
 He had to marry ev'ry Laban cousin, 
 To keep the busy gossips from a-buzzin'. 
 And so was whitewashed Jacob's Fam'ly Tree 
 To shield the shoots of his Posterity. 
 
 I'll next present a Farmstead and explain 
 Why rural life drives many folks insane: 
 With eggs at sixty cents and butter stronger 
 The City folks can stand the strain no longer. 
 It's not, you see, the Farmers that go mad 
 But urban dwellers that get in so bad. 
 The milk delivered at your door at four 
 Is quarter water and a little more, 
 
 55 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 But you, asleep, ne'er have a chance (poor 
 
 Chump ! ) 
 To smite the hand that flirteth with the pump. 
 The buckwheat flour that brings a fancy price 
 Because 'twas grown and milled by Farmer Rice, 
 Is buckless and a poor makeshift for doe 
 Because the plaster filling makes it so. 
 The Maple Syrup sent by Parcel Post 
 Straight from the grove by honest Farmer Yost, 
 Is only cane juice from some Southern haunt 
 With just the slightest flavor of Vermont. 
 The sausages, fresh from a country killing, 
 "With only pork and condiments for filling," 
 Are stuffed with mush and bare of even jowl 
 But when you fry them how they snarl and growl! 
 Unless immune from rabies do not taste 
 Such sausages but let them go to waste: 
 The other kind I'm sure you could not swallow 
 If you but knew where hogs delight to wallow: 
 In other words, all sausages eschew 
 Unless the kennel brand is known to you. 
 The farmer's lot is humdrum and forlorn; 
 He milks the cows, digs postholes and hoes corn ; 
 Then churns, and feeds the chickens, herds the 
 
 sheep 
 And beds the horses ere he goes to sleep. 
 Awake at three, he starts the same routine 
 And cuts a cord of stovewood in between. 
 But that is what he did when Dad swarmed bees 
 And Mother worked the butter on her knees: 
 
 56 
 
The FooUam 
 
 Noiv all is changed ! A Lacteal Pump relieves 
 
 The bulging udders of the dairy beeves, 
 
 And handmade butter has been forced to go 
 
 By Separators run by dynamo. 
 
 (Old Rover views the treadmill obsolete 
 
 And waggishly, congratulates his feet.) 
 
 The setting hens, the good old patient waiters, 
 
 Have lost their jobs through modern incubators; 
 
 The hay is cut by motor mowers now 
 
 Where scythes once mowed tlie fodder for the cow ; 
 
 The chanticleers are fed by Automats 
 
 And skim-milk pipe-lines feed the pigs and cats: 
 
 Steam cultivators, where the weeds are growing, 
 
 Supplant the farmhands and their quondam hoeing. 
 
 While jigsaws, hitched to turbines, cut more wood 
 
 Than twenty skilful axemen ever could. 
 
 The farmer's life, you say, compels your pity, 
 
 You, who depend on Clerkships in the City. 
 
 If you but knew what real contentment meant, 
 
 Instead of counter jumping for your rent 
 
 You'd quit the Glove Department (Do not wait!) 
 
 And to some farming district emigrate. 
 
 In line with observations heretofore 
 
 The workdays of the farmstead folk are o'er. 
 
 They rise at eight (for clerks this is a crime!) 
 
 And read their R. F. D.'s at breakfast time; 
 
 Then George is called to bring around the car 
 
 And so they tour the country near and far. 
 
 Old Farmer Jones, today a Money Master, 
 
 Once owed the Banks his last hard-earned piaster. 
 
 57 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 A blanket mortgage on his Real Estate 
 Kept old Jones poor to pay the interest rate. 
 Then came the turn, when wheat kept mounting 
 
 skyward 
 And Farmer Jones's "luck" became a byword. 
 A truly grateful man would kneel in prayer 
 For change from pauper to a millionaire, 
 But Jones took credit to himself and paid 
 The Banks in full, in cash and not in trade ; 
 Then as his later harvests brought their toll 
 He bought the Bank Stocks till he got control. 
 Today he owns five Banks and half the County, 
 While sev'ral Widows live upon his bounty, 
 And yearly he exhibits at the Fair 
 The finest peaches grown in Delaware. 
 His cultivated daughter, quite in fashion, 
 For Wagner and Beethoven has a passion: 
 And thus the Organ, lately on her staff. 
 Has been succeeded by a Phonograph. 
 Poor country folk indeed! With war-priced wheat. 
 With beef and mutton quite too dear to eat, 
 An endless stream of money seems to flow 
 From city farmward as they reap and sow. 
 The greatest Trust that ever raised its head, 
 (A Bird-of-prey to Octopuses wed!) 
 Is what we call the Farmers* Self-Reliance 
 That corners grub and robs us as a science. 
 They'll sell no eggs — no matter how antique, 
 Unless they get the prices that they seek: 
 Their fresh laid eggs, according to their laws. 
 
 58 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Must never reach the marts for any cause. 
 
 Their purpose is — to make us quite forget 
 
 How fresh eggs taste: you couldn't on a bet 
 
 Obtain an egg in all its pristine health 
 
 Through any kind of influence or wealth. 
 
 And yet they ask for speedy legislation 
 
 To give their "wretched lots" amelioration. 
 
 A bill is now before our Congressmen 
 
 To pension pumps and subsidize the hen. 
 
 They might as well go further and include 
 
 A bill providing royalties on food, 
 
 And make themselves exempt from human toil 
 
 These "horny-handed Tillers of the Soil." 
 
 The moral is — "fresh" poultry eggs don't tackle 
 
 Unless you know just when the hen will cackle: 
 
 And "just churned butter"? Do not ever buy it 
 
 Unless the cows themselves identify it! 
 
 The wave of Prohibition inundates 
 
 The ballot boxes of a dozen States, 
 
 And Booziana has received a scare 
 
 Driving its 'Still-alarmists to despair. 
 
 The Ships of State, in dry dock since defeat, 
 
 Await, content, accessions to the fleet ; 
 
 And those afloat steer clear of bars, 'tis said, 
 
 Maneuv'ring near the Lighthouses instead. 
 
 Their helmsmen never veer to port, but force 
 
 Their frothless schooners on the starboard course: 
 
 And thus the hydrant takes the place of beer 
 
 And rust invades our inwardness, I fear. 
 
 59 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 For common weal the sacrifice I'd make 
 But what would you suggest for Stomachache? 
 In taking from us all that we hold dear, 
 The bev'rages that stimulate and cheer, 
 There's only one recourse when we are ailing — 
 To put our feet upon the dear old railing! 
 
 Each new Administration deems it wise 
 
 To boost our Import Duties to the skies 
 
 Or cut in two the rates that then apply 
 
 Without a pretext or a reason why. 
 
 Our poor, sick Tariff always gets first aid 
 
 When newly seated Congressmen tirade. 
 
 The Kansas Statesman, in his maiden speech, 
 
 Hoping his voice to Wichita will reach, 
 
 Decries the slender duty placed on wheat. 
 
 Ranting an hour before he takes his seat. 
 
 The Minnesota member takes the floor 
 
 And threshes out the subject to the core; 
 
 "The eloquence from Kansas is all chaff," 
 
 He says, and pauses for a laugh; 
 
 "I cannot look my people in the eye" 
 
 "As long as Winter Wheat remains so high"; 
 
 "And, Gentlemen, my people are the flour" 
 
 "Of this great land. I wish I had the power" 
 
 "To picture famine and the martyred dead" 
 
 "Because of Dollar wheat and high priced bread." 
 
 A member from Chicago then arose, 
 
 Before the other members came to blows, 
 
 And pointed out that Dollar wheat can't pay 
 
 60 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 With Farmers buying Autos ev'ry day. 
 
 A member from Ohio, face awry, 
 
 Observed that with the price of wheat so high 
 
 Distill'ry outputs would run far behind. 
 
 Which would impose a hardship on mankind. 
 
 Then Skinner from the Lone Star State derides 
 
 The Wheat discussion, setting forth that hides 
 
 Are more important — should bear higher tolls 
 
 As promised to his henchmen at the polls. 
 
 The Kansan rose, to bolster up his cause, 
 
 And called the Texan "Cowherd !" 'midst applause. 
 
 A Congressman from Boston stands to say 
 
 "Hides are too dear to make Shoe Making pay," 
 
 "And, furthermore, I see no difference whether" 
 
 "The grain is found in Kansas or in leather." 
 
 And thus from foot to foot the shoe is passed 
 
 Always a-pinching somewhere, to the last. 
 
 Meanwhile the Baking Trust with bags of dough 
 
 Is lobbying to make wheat prices low; 
 
 The Tanners' Pool, to save its precious pelt, 
 
 Has busy grown, to make its presents felt. 
 
 And so it goes — the everlasting clatter 
 
 About this moss-grown thread-bare Tariff matter. 
 
 I wonder if venality and greed 
 
 Will always Love of Country supersede? 
 
 A Tarifif Board that's permanent or fixed. 
 
 Non-partisan, diversified and mixed 
 
 With men of sterling worth from ev'ry section 
 
 Could give us all a measure of protection. 
 
 61 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 The ancient game of Golf is quite a sticker 
 For novices or those surcharged with liquor: 
 It takes a skillful hand — a normal brain, 
 When badly bunkered to get out again ; 
 For once you lose your nerve you lose your skill 
 And lose control of the elusive "pill." 
 When Patience leaves you, just make up your mind 
 To calm yourself or you'll quit far behind : 
 Because the Caddie laughs when you're in trouble 
 Just show him how to niblick from the stubble ; 
 Or, if you slice or pull and Caddie smiles. 
 Don't be disturbed but conjure all your wiles 
 And drive a neat one far up on the green, 
 And he will cease his comedy I ween. 
 Then if your form improves from tee to tee 
 He'll doff his bonnet to your Majesty 
 And put you on a par with Donaldson, 
 Who holds the record with a Sev'nty-one. 
 The Caddie is a factor in the game. 
 But if you fozzle he is not to blame. 
 He lets you have your head, and clubs to suit, 
 And makes no comment when you go to shoot : 
 But there's no power that can his giggle stop 
 If you should chance to smite the ball atop. 
 But cheering comfort for your saddened soul 
 Is always waiting at the nineteenth hole. 
 I wonder — when the Caddie homeward goes 
 With missing golf balls nesting in his clothes 
 And gives them "to make over" to his daddy, 
 Why someone doesn't reconstruct the Caddie? 
 
 62 
 
The Fool'tam 
 
 Revivals of Revivals are in vogue ; 
 Evangelists of ev'ry creed and brogue 
 Are filling pulpits, rostrums and our stages 
 In condemnation of our sinful wages. 
 Some point with fervor to the better life 
 Divorced from wickedness and sordid strife; 
 Some say we're doomed to sizzle on the coals 
 Unless we mend our ways and save our souls, 
 While others tell us we must Hit the Trail 
 If we would safety find within the Vale; 
 In other words — desert the altitudes 
 And be not like the Phariseean broods 
 But humble and contrite — just common sinners, 
 In order to become Salvation Winners. 
 Revivals now like Moving Picture Shows 
 Are run for Cash from opening to close. 
 It pays to advertise that Billy Bundy 
 Will do his stunts in Zion church on Sunday; 
 To promulgate the order of the day 
 The printed program reads about this way — 
 The Cowboy Band will play at half-past eight 
 When Brother Goodlyman will pass the plate; 
 At nine o'clock we'll of^er special prayers 
 For Plutocrats and hapless Millionaires; 
 Concluding this performance we have hopes 
 Of large donations placed in envelopes. 
 The Timbrel Trio will appear at ten, 
 A session planned exclusively for men ; 
 'Tis hoped the contributions will be ample 
 To meet our Printing Charges, for example. 
 
 63 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 The Ladies' Guild will meet at sharp eleven 
 To aid in pointing out the way to Heaven ; 
 Those giving jewels will receive our praise 
 And help us thus our "overhead" to raise. 
 The Great Evangelist will preach at noon — 
 "Look out for Satan or he'll get you soon," 
 While Mongoose Mary fascinates the snakes 
 And Brother Bilious a collection takes; 
 A recess then will follow until four 
 While Off'rings will be taken at the door. 
 The talk at four by Rev' rend Brother Spout 
 Will feature "How I knocked the devil out." 
 The Bearded Lady, Sister Constantine, 
 Will pass the hat the interval between 
 This session and the Gamblers' hour at six 
 When Brother Crooks will show some marked card 
 
 tricks, 
 While Brother Bouncer gathers up donations 
 And entertains with songs and imitations. 
 At eight o'clock the Mothers will begin 
 A great crusade 'gainst drunkenness and sin, 
 And those not able to give bonds or stocks 
 May patronize the Contribution box; 
 And we might add, we still need quite a sum 
 To heat and light the Auditorium. 
 Just a suggestion, though we do not ask it, 
 As you go out put money in the basket ! 
 In lieu of money we place no restrictions 
 On deferred payments: welcome are subscriptions! 
 Thus runs the Convert Circus ev'ry season 
 
 64 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 And thus they prey upon our purse and reason. 
 The latter-day Evangelist is wise 
 To point the Golden Highway to the Skies 
 And lead us on : but soon we all backslide 
 Leaving the golden highway to the Guide. 
 "Salvation's free," you say? I disagree! 
 For Heaven's so High, it's quite a luxury! 
 
 Play ball! the Umpire bawls; the game is on: 
 
 The Pitcher starts his windmill, spits upon 
 
 His fine-cut hands, — and then there comes a pause 
 
 As crazy fans give vent to wild hurrahs. 
 
 To make the Pitcher lose his self-control, 
 
 To hurl wild balls, to put him in a hole 
 
 Is uppermost in ev'ry mind and throat. 
 
 "One ball!" "Foul Strike!" "Two balls!" 
 
 "Two Strikes!" "You Goat!" 
 "That last one was a steal!" "Brush off the plate!" 
 "And put your glasses on, you Wooden Pate!" 
 Then Casey at the bat, with all his skill, 
 The next ball pitched doth bravely try to kill: 
 But straightway to the doughty Catcher's mit 
 The curving spheroid laughingly doth flit. 
 The scene that followed could not well be richer 
 When Casey Struck the hole dug for the Pitcher. 
 
 Rebellion no more hurtles through our States, 
 And North and South ne'er clash in hot debates. 
 The tomahawk and sword lie buried where 
 The smoking Pipe of Peace assails the air. 
 
 65 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Fraternal strife gives place to friendly feelings 
 And ethics form the Keystone of our dealings. 
 To-day we stand alone, 'rnong major Nations, 
 A people free from War's grave occupations. 
 (Not yet! It's best to qualify, I guess, 
 Lest War Dogs nab us ere we go to Press.) 
 We neutral are, while busy Ordnance Plants 
 Our balances, 'gainst Europe's Trade, enhance. 
 They all want Powder and our mills supply it, 
 Though those who play with fire must suffer by it. 
 We play no fav'rites in our War Zone shipments 
 But those get most, with maritime equipments. 
 The submarines and Sky-boats that we send 
 With cartridges, our neutral stand defend. 
 Whoever has the "bottoms" and the price 
 Can get munitions from us in a trice. 
 Those without bottoms who have money merely 
 Get nothing from us and complain severely. 
 Our Terms are. Cash with Order, f . o. b. : 
 Deliveries we do not guarantee. 
 These Terms of Sale the Powers well understand: 
 We book no sailings for our contraband ! 
 No Power could justly criticize our System; 
 We're fair with friend or foe howe'er we list 'em. 
 So much for Peace at Home while foreign Powers 
 Destroy themselves with shot and shell of ours. 
 It seems a pity that our bullets maim 
 The innocents and not the ones to blame. 
 If we could send projectiles that would slaughter 
 The Neros in their bomb-proofs, as we oughter, 
 
 66 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 The War would cease; our part would be humane: 
 For, thus, the World its equipoise would gain. 
 Meanwhile our Ship of State, in treach'rous seas, 
 Well holds its charted course with fav'ring breeze 
 Until the ranking Mate, on watch, espies 
 A threat'ning Rock a-looming 'gainst the skies. 
 When Danger threatens Skill and Courage haste 
 To drive it hence lest Manhood be debased; 
 The Mate, however, overcome by fears, 
 (An arrant Coward as the log appears) 
 Deserts his post, thinking of Safety First 
 And swims for shore, by Crew and Captain cursed. 
 And then was flashed the signal of distress 
 Which brought at once the proper S. O. S. 
 Meantime the watchful Captain, tried and true. 
 Hard-downs the helm and calls his loyal Crew 
 To man the sheets, close-haul the fore and mizzen, 
 Until the Rock is passed and Vict'ry his'n. 
 Avaunt, O, Mut'nous Mate! You'll struggle long 
 In troubled waters where the tides are strong, 
 Before the new-born Hyphen Party, maybe! 
 Concludes to pick you up to rock the baby: 
 Or else, O, Jonah ! some fool- Whale, with jag on. 
 Gives you a harbor in his water-wagon ; 
 Or, drifting, as the tides turn in and out. 
 You reach Salt River and go up the Spout! 
 
 Unnecessary Noises are the cause 
 
 Of Mental Troubles, hence some recent laws 
 
 To isolate them, put them out of hearing, 
 
 67 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 To save the tension on our wheels and gearing. 
 
 We put soft-pedal on discordant notes 
 
 That burst, like shrapnel, from metallic throats. 
 
 But voices, pitched however low or high, 
 
 Do not, alone, these brain-fag sounds supply. 
 
 The Taxicab that smokes and choos and scampers. 
 
 Will cut-out nothing that its tumult hampers: 
 
 This deadly Vampire, object of our cusses, 
 
 Will soon be flagged by low-geared Jitney busses. 
 
 The Cat, acknowledged but a screeching pest, 
 
 To mock Tranquility doth strive his best; 
 
 And though his paean interrupted be 
 
 By boot-jack, sad-iron or by musketry, 
 
 There's never surcease from his caterwaul. 
 
 The most annoying brain-jar of them all. 
 
 Another nuisance is the Knave who goes 
 
 Adown the alley yelling, "Rags! Old Clothes!!'* 
 
 He seems to think, in making his appeal, 
 
 The remnants of our nerves are made of steel. 
 
 The household Prima Donna, off the key, 
 
 Fills all our waking hours with misery ; 
 
 And Windy Bach, with piccolo and flute, 
 
 Is always there, next door, to follow suit, 
 
 While Fiddle-de, in flat above, doth play 
 
 The very Devil, as he scrapes away. 
 
 To make such direful sounds, what right have they? 
 
 The cackling Hen has some excuse to lay. 
 
 But what Soprano has excuse to twitter 
 
 Who screams as if some mangy bull-dog bit her? 
 
 These senseless noises, that assail our ears 
 
 68 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Till calm gives way to storm and smiles to tears, 
 Have put us under such tremendous tension 
 That we're but fit for hospital and pension. 
 Unless the German Bands, the brazen Spielers 
 With breaths of Hercules and dingy feelers; 
 Unless the Boys who whistle, homeward going, 
 When darkness reigns, to keep their fears from 
 
 showing ; 
 Unless the Hucksters modulate their yelling 
 When "Farm to Fireside" garden truck they're 
 
 selling ; 
 Unless, I say, all these reform and show it. 
 We'll all be in the Bughouse ere we know it! 
 
 When Daniel, who was capable but pious, 
 Preferred above all others by Darius, 
 Became a victim of the King's decree, 
 "To me alone shall Subjects bend the knee," 
 And sentenced was to feed the beasts of prey, 
 (Enough to take their appetites away) 
 There was rejoicing in his Rival's palace 
 Who planned his death through jealousy and 
 
 malice. 
 But Daniel's Enemy did not prevail, 
 And here's the joker to the Lion Tale: 
 The King perceived, too late, his autograph 
 Upon the "bull" spelt Daniel's epitaph: 
 His vanity had fallen for the "canon" 
 Aimed at the Seer whom Fate thus put the ban on ; 
 And while the Mede and Persian law could not 
 
 69 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Be changed or altered by a single jot, 
 He felt in duty bound to change the Menu 
 If not the law, he feared to put his pen thru. 
 Thus went his Dentist, loyal to his cause, 
 To pull their teeth and trim the lions' claws: 
 And so it happened when the Seer was cast 
 Into the Den, to break the lions' fast, 
 He found them, docile as a barnyard brood, 
 Nursing their sores: They had no zest for food. 
 And when the King and all his retinue 
 Approached the Atn, "the ghastly sight to view," 
 But found the Prophet roaring fit to kill 
 Because the beasts were servile to his will. 
 Confusion showed in ev'ry pair of eyes 
 Except the King's, who framed up the surprise. 
 And thus they marvelled at the Seer's survival 
 While healthy lions feasted on his Rival. 
 But Daniel did not trust his fate to chance: 
 He figured out, in ev'ry circumstance. 
 While all the plots and secret schemes were brew- 
 ing, 
 The new Decree was planned for his undoing. 
 But still he made no protest, but was bent 
 On "writing in" the form of punishment: 
 In this he had his way, nobody dreaming 
 That Prophet Daniel would resort to scheming; 
 But so he did ! and his was artful framing, 
 For all his youth was spent in Lion Taming. 
 And thus his sentence caused no tears or sighs 
 For this, for him, was only exercise. 
 
 70 
 
The Fooitam 
 
 Darius, though, was never told the truth 
 About the Prophet's training in his youth, 
 Or else he would have understood full well 
 Why he, like lions, fell beneath his spell. 
 The "eagle eye," that made the lions cower, 
 Was evidence of cagey Daniel's power; 
 And thus, above all others, he was prized, 
 This Seer whom King Darius lionized. 
 
 To You, who go Abroad with well-filled purses, 
 With Butler, Chaufifeur, Governess and Nurses, 
 Leaving our Land of Liberty to see 
 The shambles of some blood-bought dynasty; 
 Forsaking grandeur here that thrills the Muse 
 The Ruins of Antiquity to choose; 
 Who while your hours 'mong catacombs in Rome 
 Instead of with the live ones here at home; 
 Who sell your daughters to the Royal Scions 
 And sell your souls to stroke the Social Lions; 
 Who spend your monies like the quick-rich Farmers 
 For pedigrees and antiquated armours; 
 Who climb the Alpine Peaks where Angels 
 
 beckon — 
 (They cheer you up, then drop you down, I 
 
 reckon ) 
 To You, I send this timely aerogram — 
 Come Home at once to patient Uncle Sam! 
 And nevermore desert your native States 
 To toady to those Royal Reprobates! 
 Come back to EARTH ! That is, stay over here 
 
 71 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Where friends and kin, all those so near and dear. 
 Except the Royal Sons-in-law, the leeches, 
 May welcome 3'ou with banquets, bands and 
 
 speeches. 
 Forgiveness waits you if your ways are mended 
 Before our waning patience is expended : 
 So do not longer wait on foreign shores 
 Lest we forget, and close and lock our doors. 
 AMERICA! Why, bless your silly polls, 
 Who find no Wonders here have icy souls! 
 Our rivers, lakes and mountain peaks eclipse 
 The cheesy Rhine, Lucerne and Alpine Tips. 
 Our Mauna Loa is no second-rater. 
 But great as Mount Vesuvius and crater; 
 And little Lassen with its lava splashes 
 Could smother Aetna with its smoke and ashes. 
 You see, O, Wanderers, for ev'ry wonder 
 The Old World boasts we hush their noise with 
 
 thunder. 
 For here within our borders Marvels lure 
 That make their vaunted Meccas quite obscure. 
 Niagara Falls, with all its water treasure, 
 Could flood Sahara, with a goodly measure, 
 And have enough left over, at its worst, 
 To quench the growing Prohibition thirst. 
 Their tombs and mummies, parchments and Dead 
 
 Seas 
 Are not as dead as our peace industries; 
 And War Clouds there would soon be dissipated 
 If reigning Czars were incapacitated. 
 
 72 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 Our Tourists "do" the Pyramids and Nile, 
 And pyramid their profits here meanwhile: 
 The latter Pile of Rocks I'd have you know 
 Makes quite grotesque the Works of Pharaoh. 
 America, wherever Tourist delves, 
 Has Wonders that can speak up for themselves; 
 And as for being mute, the Moose methinks 
 Can give an object lesson to the Spinx. 
 Our Brooklyn Bridge is larger, I surmise, 
 Than any crumbling Old World Bridge of Sighs, 
 And Europe's sapphire Danube is a scream 
 Competing with Chicago's saffron Stream: 
 Compare Pike's Peak with Ural's barren crests — 
 There cringes Serfdom; here our Eagle nests! 
 And sparkling Vichy brought from LaBelle France 
 With Schuylkill River water has no chance. 
 (For aught but drinking, Vichy is tabooed; 
 While Schuylkill Water is both drink and food). 
 The London Tower would be an "also ran" 
 If matched against our matchless Charlamagne, 
 And Australasia's giant Kauri trees 
 Are toothpicks stacked against Yosemite's. 
 Ephemeral is Europe's fame when Czars 
 Are noted less than Moving Picture Stars, 
 And why keep harping on the Blarney Stone 
 When stony kisses here were never known? 
 Our fragrant woods and meadows should disown 
 Americans who sojourn in Cologne, 
 And Monte Carlo players at the tables 
 'Gainst Wall Street gamblers are but timid Mabels. 
 
 73 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 While Europe mourns and casts its loaded dice 
 Our Paradise for Tourists should suffice. 
 Your European "conquest" is a joke! 
 They tolerate you merely till you're broke, 
 Then send you home, bereft of pride and frills, 
 To settle down and settle up your bills. 
 Surprises wait you as you journey through 
 Our Wonderland, an endless, splendrous view: 
 These Spectacles will cure short-sightedness 
 And cause emotions Tourists can't repress. 
 Where will j'ou find in all your world-wide stray- 
 ing 
 Another Yellowstone with Geysers playing? 
 Or, what great Work abroad by God or man done 
 Compares with our Grand Colorado Canyon? 
 So now you are acquainted, don't away go 
 Until you've toured from Bath to San Diego 
 And back again from "Frisco" to Mobile! 
 Then, write the inspirations that you feel. 
 As you, transported, cross the Great Divide, 
 And add the fancies that have multiplied; 
 Nor cease your task until the book is finished: 
 Then write again! with ardor undiminished. 
 Until vast volumes fill the shelves and cases 
 With tales amazing of our Feature Places: 
 Then keep on writing! piling ream on ream, 
 In order to do justice to the theme! 
 
 74 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 You, who know Meter better than your prayers, 
 
 Whose Feet ne'er slip, albeit unawares; 
 
 Who pose as Scansion Experts to the Trade ; 
 
 To You, I pay respects in this tirade. 
 
 And, Oracles, who rarely condescend 
 
 To read a Manuscript from start to end, 
 
 No matter how impressive or ornate. 
 
 Unless it bears the mark of Syndicate ; 
 
 To You, I dofiE my bonnet with acclaim 
 
 And hang your famous pictures in this frame, 
 
 In order that our Patient Poetasters 
 
 May feast their eyes upon their learned Masters. 
 
 I lay no claim to friendship with the Muse; 
 
 All aid from Shears and Scissors I refuse; 
 
 And, what the Scribes and Pharisees deem strange, 
 
 I have contempt for Paste Pot and Exchange; 
 
 I only claim, and want you all to know it, 
 
 I am the Champion Long-Distance Poet! 
 
 My forebears, as I search my pedigree. 
 
 Hung many branches on the Fam'ly tree: 
 
 Their occupations were diversified 
 
 But no one did what mortal could deride 
 
 Nor famous was for any brilliant deed ; 
 
 So now, in ripened age, I see the need 
 
 For doing something, flirting thus with Fame, 
 
 In order to perpetuate the name. 
 
 My duty, clearly seen, I do not shirk, 
 
 75 
 
The Fooliam 
 
 And here you have this Monumental Work! 
 
 I have no House of Crystal nor a Quarry 
 
 And for these absent burdens I'm not sorry. 
 
 An easy target is the glass-house dweller: 
 
 Give me, instead, the good, old Cyclone Cellar, 
 
 Where pebbles, flung by Critics, melted over 
 
 Into real 'rocks," will let me live in clover! 
 
 This Syncopated Satire with its slurs 
 
 Is not as bad as Partington infers: 
 
 I mean by this, though commonplace the verses, 
 
 There's not a word to justify your curses, 
 
 Because the Author is of good intent 
 
 And not dyspeptic or on mischief bent. 
 
 My aim has been to shoot no poisoned arrow 
 
 At eagle, vulture, nightingale or sparrow: 
 
 In truth, the Human Flock, from big to little 
 
 Hath not my enmity, one jot or tittle. 
 
 I therefore make a most profound salaam 
 
 And beg indulgence for the FOOL-I-AM. 
 
 76 
 
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