■ W WWW I 
 
 .045 J5 
 1913 
 Copy 1 
 
JIM'S WESTERN GEMS 
 
 BY THE 
 
 UNDISCOVERED POET OF THE WEST 
 
 COPYRIGHTED 1913 BY J. J. SOMERS 
 
 PRICES, [Post Paid] 
 Paper Cover, $1.00. Embossed Ripple Finish, $1.50 
 
 Address all orders for this book to J. J. Somers, 417 Fifth Ave. S., Minneapolis, Minn. 
 Care of The Iron Trail Co. 
 
''3 
 
 JAMES J. SOMERS 
 
 Composer 
 
 ©CI.A34 609 3 
 
 ?{ J t 
 
FOREWORD. 
 
 O the reader of this book of poems the author 
 wishes to say that the verses contained herein 
 were written at various times and under various 
 conditions during the past thirty years, and 
 were not intended for publication at the time of writing. 
 However, at the earnest solicitation of a large number of 
 friends who had read some of my productions, I have been 
 induced to publish the same in book form together with 
 some photographs taken in connection therewith, and trust 
 that this book will be received with the knowledge and 
 understanding that its author is not by any means a poet 
 in all that the word implies, but a farmer, having started 
 farming on a government claim in North Dakota with a 
 hoe (I still have the hoe) in the year 1900, and wrote the 
 following verses with little thought or study, as the occasion 
 was suggested to me, (some of these poems were composed 
 in thirty minutes' time). 
 
 I wrote my first piece of poetry when I was twelve vears 
 of age and have been writing more or less ever since. 
 Have also composed several songs with their music and 
 hope to publish the same in the near future, among which 
 I might mention the following: "I am Going Back to 
 Western Prairie Land," "I'd Rather Be a Farmer Than a 
 Multi-millionaire," "My Josephine, My Western Queen," 
 "The Zenith of the West," "If That Little Blue Eyed Babe 
 Was Only Mine," etc., and if the reader has found any 
 pleasure in perusing these pages of poetry as "she is writ" 
 the author will feel that his labors have not been in vain. 
 
 JAMES J. SOMERS. 
 
 Minneapolis, March, 1913. 
 
SOMERS ONE OF OUR FOREMOST POETS. 
 
 Poems Appear in Some of Our Best Magazines — The Outing Published One 
 
 of the Best Ones. 
 
 Ward County Independent, Minot, N. D. 
 
 With the removal of Jimmie Foley, the fa- 
 mous Bismarck poet, to the east, where he 
 can better handle his journalistic work, J. J. 
 Somers of this city, who stands in the same 
 class with Mr. Foley, can now lay claim to 
 being North Dakota's foremost poet. 
 
 Mr. Somers is writing poetry all the time; 
 that is, when the inspiration strikes him, for 
 he writes on the impulse of the moment. 
 Often an idea upon which he has been dwell- 
 ing for months comes to him all in a moment, 
 and he drops whatever work he may be do- 
 ing, and lets nothing interfere with his pen- 
 ning his thoughts. Mr. Somers has written 
 enough poems to fill quite a large volume, 
 and this will soon be published. His poetry 
 is largely on the humorous order, for "Jim" 
 can see a joke in nearly everything. His best 
 poems portray the life of the North Dakotan 
 in his true light, for Mr. Somers gave up a 
 thriving grocery business in Minneapolis to 
 come out to North Dakota and take up a 
 homestead "Along the Minot Trail," forty 
 miles north of this city. This was six years 
 ago and having small means he "farmed with 
 a hoe," doing some extraordinary good truck- 
 ing. He was not afraid of honest work, and 
 made the prairie blossom like the rose. His 
 hospitable farm home was always open to 
 friends and hundreds and hundreds enjoyed 
 themselves at Jim Somers' homestead. 
 
 Mr. Somers has the famous hoe of which 
 he has written so often in his better poems, 
 and last week he went to his old homestead, 
 near Maxbass, especially to get his faithful 
 old friend. He has given it a prominent place 
 in his room in this city and will soon have it 
 silver plated. He brought the hoe down on 
 the train and did not make any effort to con- 
 ceal it. The idea of a man carrying a hoe at 
 this time of the year thought the occupants of 
 the coaches. One ventured to ask Mr. Som- 
 ers what he was doing with the hoe so early 
 in the year. Jim just chuckled and said, 
 "Well, I'm going down to Minot, and as poli- 
 tics are warming up here, I may find it neces- 
 sary to do a little weeding." 
 
 Two years ago Jim took considerable in- 
 terest in Bottineau county politics and hap- 
 pened to be on the "other side of the fence" 
 politically from Peter Scott, editor of the 
 Bottineau Courant at that time. Scott wrote 
 of him : 
 
 "The juggler of words and disher of hash 
 who calls himself the critic poet of North 
 Dakota has gone to raising garden truck in 
 the summer, and Hades in general in the win- 
 ter, just to keep things warm." 
 
 This, of course, was uncalled for, and Jim 
 sat down one evening and wrote the following 
 about the audacious editor : 
 
 Retaliation. 
 
 GREAT SCOTT. 
 
 I am no juggler of words, 
 Or no lover of birds 
 
 That resemble the sandhill crane. 
 I'm no hasher of hash, 
 Or don't wax my moustache, 
 
 Or I have no disease of the brain. 
 
 I'm no critic of Dakota, 
 I have wrote in Minnesota, 
 
 And I have scribbled in Iowa, too. 
 Great Scott, you're not posted, 
 You ought to be roasted — 
 
 Have you heard of the road called the Soo? 
 
 I haven't gone trucking. 
 
 Or I haven't gone glucking, 
 
 Like some poor, old eggless hen. 
 I haven't gone crowing, 
 
 I have kept right on hoeing — 
 
 And that's no political sin. 
 
 For years I've been hoeing, 
 And garden truck growing, 
 
 And am quite reconciled to my fate. 
 Your free advertising 
 Is somewhat surprising — 
 
 Great Scott, I must reciprocate. 
 
 The Hades in the winter 
 I'd prefer to a printer 
 
 Confined in the shades of Bottineau. 
 To keep the Courant running 
 With news that is slumming — 
 
 Great Scott you're away up in Q. 
 
 If I'm keeping things warm, 
 I don't need to reform ; 
 
 Some need applications quite hot. 
 If this don't explain 
 I will make it more plain 
 
 For my most humble servant — Great Scott. 
 
 Scott failed to make reply to this. 
 
Farming with a hoe in the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 Mr. Somers naturally endured hardships in 
 the early days when he rode in all kinds of 
 weather forty miles to his homestead. He 
 tells a nice little story of his homestead life 
 in the following verses, which the editor of 
 the Outing, one of the best known magazines 
 in the United States, thought was good 
 enough to publish with many favorable com- 
 ments : 
 
 ALONG THE MINOT TRAIL. 
 
 I am one of the Pioneers 
 
 Of North Dakota State; 
 At Hill's request I came out west 
 
 In search of real estate. 
 I filed along the Cut Bank creek, 
 
 Just forty miles from rail. 
 And I started farming with a hoe 
 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 
 There wasn't any Westhope then ; 
 
 We had no hopes at all ; 
 It was a long time after 
 
 That I heard about Mohall. 
 We had to go to Bottineau 
 Or Minot for our mail, 
 Until they started Renville, 
 
 Along "the Minot trail. 
 
 The hardships that we did endure, 
 
 From hunger and from cold, 
 I haven't time to tell you, 
 
 Or it never will be told. 
 To start from Minot with a load 
 
 And face a northwest gale, 
 It would break your heart, right on the start, 
 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 
 Sometimes we'd stop at Christopher's, 
 
 More times at Half Breed Lake ; 
 Sometimes they'd have no room for us 
 
 At the place we tried to make. 
 We'd drive on to some other shack, 
 
 Through rain, through snow, or hail ; 
 I have had the blues from wading sloughs — 
 
 Alonsf the Minot trail. 
 
ALONG THE MINOT TRAIL (continued) 
 
 And when we'd reach our old sod shacks, 
 
 With none to greet us there, 
 A meal of bacon and dough jacks 
 
 We quickly would prepare. 
 We'd think about our old sweethearts, 
 
 And hoped we would not fail 
 To win a wife to cheer our life 
 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 
 The rivers, they were far apart, 
 
 And a well was something new. 
 It often tickled us to find 
 
 Some water in a slough. 
 I used to have a demijohn — 
 
 I called it ginger ale — 
 Once in a while we'd take a smile 
 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 
 The only fuel we knew about 
 
 Was prairie hay and straw; 
 From November until April 
 
 We never had a thaw. 
 I often thought I'd rather be 
 
 In some good, warm jail, 
 While twisting hay, both night and day, 
 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 
 And when a blizzard would begin, 
 
 You ought to see it snow ! 
 'Twould make your hair stand pompadour, 
 
 The way the wind would blow. 
 And if you ventured from your shack 
 
 Your death would tell the tale; 
 No more you'd see your sod shanty 
 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 
 And when the snow would disappear 
 
 The gophers would begin ; 
 They'd eat up everything we sowed, 
 
 And then we'd sow again. 
 If I could scheme some new device 
 
 To kill the flickertail, 
 I might stand a show with my old hoe 
 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 
 The flying ants are another pest 
 
 That would drive a man back east ; 
 1 hey'd light on you by millions, 
 
 And upon you they would feast. 
 Your clothes would not protect you — 
 
 Right through them they would sail : 
 They would sting and chew you black and 
 blue — 
 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 
 But we've railroads now on every side, 
 
 And rumors of some more, 
 And people, hunting after land, 
 
 Are coming by the score. 
 And when I go to Minot now, 
 
 I go around by rail ; 
 But I don't forget the friends I met 
 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 
 I haven't gone to Canada, 
 
 Though I'm tired of paying freight; 
 They say there are grafters over there, 
 
 And just as high a rate. 
 So, if by chance, you come this way, 
 
 You will be welcome without fail, 
 To where I'm farming with a hoe 
 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 
 In a more jubilant strain this poet sung a 
 sequel to his tale of stress and woe : 
 
 There's no corporation, 
 Can dictate our ration, 
 For strikes or for boycotts 
 We don't care a whoop. 
 
 His muse sings a top note of triumph in 
 these lines, where it is fitting that we leave 
 
 him : 
 
 The gophers we've banished, 
 
 The shacks have all vanished, 
 
 Except for an old odd one 
 
 That's used as a coop ; 
 
 On each claim there's a mansion 
 
 Where stockmen were ranchin 
 
 Just four years ago 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
A North Dakota Pioneer's Sod Shack. 
 
 TIRED OF PAYING FREIGHT. 
 
 I live three miles from Renville, 
 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 I'm getting tired of paying freight 
 
 On everything but mail. 
 My mail I get in bunches, 
 
 From two to six days late ; 
 If I could get it regularly, 
 
 I'd gladly pay the freight. 
 
 I've paid the freight on paper bags, 
 
 And blotting paper ton; 
 I've paid the freight on postage stamps, 
 
 And thresh bills overdue ; 
 I figured that the Mohall road 
 
 Would make a cheaper rate ; 
 But I must pull for Canada, 
 
 Or keep on paying freight. 
 
 I went into Jacobson!s 
 
 To buy some binding twine ; 
 He said 'twas 19 cents a pound, 
 
 And the quality was line. 
 I showed him T. M. Robert's list: 
 
 'Twas nineteen minus eight ; 
 Then Jacobson, he grabbed his pen, 
 
 To figure up the freight. 
 
 I've paid the freight on kerosene, 
 
 That wouldn't show no light ; 
 I've paid the freight on gasoline, 
 
 And also on lignite ; 
 I'm burning home-made candles now, 
 
 And never sit up late ; 
 If I had grown up daughters, sure 
 
 I'd go broke paying freight- 
 
 My wife went up to Renville 
 
 To buy some common thread ; 
 And when they said ten cents a spool, 
 
 Of course her face turned red. 
 Mr. Freeman heaved a sigh, 
 
 While Staub says, "If you wait, 
 I might make some reduction. 
 
 When I figure out the freight." 
 
 I went to pay my threshing bill 
 
 At the Lansford First State Bank; 
 The note was three days overdue, 
 
 So he filled another blank, 
 And when I kicked on fifteen cents, 
 
 For being three days late. 
 Says Engelbrecht, "Please don't forget 
 
 Those bank checks come , by freight. 
 
 I've paid sixty cents for pepper, 
 
 And five cents a pound for salt ; 
 I paid express on two shipments, 
 
 Of good old Duffy's malt, 
 I called at the Great Northern 
 
 And got one empty crate, 
 And then I swore I'd ship no more 
 
 By express or by freight. 
 
 I left my pony three days 
 
 At a Glenburn livery barn ; 
 
 If they had fed him plenty hay, 
 
 I wouldn't have cared a darn. 
 It was the rankest hold-up 
 
 That I ran against of late;". 
 He taxed me just three dollars, 
 
 So it must have been the freight. 
 
TIRED OF PAYING FREIGHT (continued) 
 
 If I had to fight contests, 
 
 Like others that I know, 
 I'd try another remedy 
 
 That wouldn't act so slow ; 
 You sly old Mack, you've learned the knack 
 
 Of gobbling real estate; 
 With nerve and bluff you've made enough 
 
 To pay the bloomin' freight. 
 
 There's another man in Mohall — 
 
 His actions I don't like. 
 He'd better go a little slow, 
 
 Or he'll go down the pike. 
 I've heard a lot of people say 
 
 If he don't change his gait, 
 He'd wake up in new quarters, 
 
 Where he'd be thru paying freight. 
 
 I've paid the freight on threshing rigs 
 
 That couldn't thresh wild hay ; 
 And I've paid for threshing flax 
 
 The wind had blown away; 
 Next fall I'll get myself a flail, 
 
 Although they're out of date — 
 I'll have a corner on the wind, 
 
 And also on the fright. 
 
 Some grain men on the Mohall branch 
 
 Have made the farmers sore ; 
 If they had given honest weight 
 
 We wouldn't make a roar ; 
 They pay starvation prices, 
 
 Then soak you on the weight; 
 Besides they dock you just enough 
 
 To pay Jim Hill the freight. 
 
 I have paid the freight on wrapping twine, 
 
 And wrappers on cigars ; 
 I paid the freight on Minot flour 
 
 That never saw the cars. 
 When a North Dakota business man 
 
 Raps at the Golden Gate, 
 St. Peter will say, "Go tither way. 
 
 You've tampered with the freight." 
 
 So, now, I'm off for Canada, 
 
 Where freight is not so high ; 
 I'm very, very sorry, 
 
 To bid Jim Hill good-bye. 
 I hope that other Mossbacks 
 
 Will this subject agitate. 
 Until they get another road 
 
 That will reduce the freight. 
 
 I'D RATHER BE A FARMER THAN A MULTI-MILLIONAIRE. 
 
 I St. 
 
 You may talk about your pleasure 
 
 In the good old summer time, 
 i\nd the winter months of leisure 
 
 In some Sunny Southern clime ; 
 But out on the Western prairie 
 
 You'll always find me there, 
 More happy and contented 
 
 Than a multimillionaire. 
 
 (Chorus.) 
 I listen to the chickens, 
 
 As they cackle in the barn ; 
 I listen to a neighbor 
 
 Spin an oldtime home-spun yarn. 
 As I stroll through grove and garden, 
 
 And breathe the scented air, 
 I'd rather be a farmer 
 
 Than a multi-millionaire. 
 
 2nd. 
 Some people long for city life, 
 
 For diamonds and for silk, 
 For butterine, o'margerine, 
 
 Condemned and condensed milk ; 
 With gas and smoke they almost choke, 
 
 Mixed in with impure air, 
 So I'd rather be a farmer 
 
 Than a multi-millionaire- 
 
 3rd. 
 There is John D. Rockefeller, 
 
 With his millions in the box ; 
 J. J. Hill and Harriman, 
 
 The Morgans and the Knox ; 
 Tho they dictate our politics, 
 
 Freight rates and railway fare, 
 I'd rather be a farmer 
 
 Than a multi-millionaire. 
 
 4th. 
 There is Jay Gould and the Vanderbilts, 
 
 And Andrew Carnegie, 
 
 To keep from jail some big fish sail 
 
 To Europe o'er the sea ; 
 Through one man rule we get our fuel — 
 
 He's a Pennsylvania Bear — 
 But I'd rather be a farmer 
 
 Than that multi-millionaire. 
 
 5th. 
 We don t make big donations 
 
 Of other people's gold, 
 And when election time comes around 
 
 We can't be bought or sold ; 
 We're as free and independent 
 
 As the bird that flies the air ; 
 So I'd rather be a farmer 
 
 Than a multi-millionaire. 
 
 6th. 
 We don't call the state militia 
 
 In a boycott or a strike ; 
 We never get run over 
 
 By an auto or a bike ; 
 We're never caught on fire escapes 
 
 Away up in the air — 
 An appropriate position 
 
 For a multi-millionaire. 
 
 7th. 
 We never join some great combine 
 
 To rob our fellow men ; 
 We don't donate to charity 
 
 To cover up our sin ; 
 And when the race of life is run, 
 
 And there's plenty of room down there- 
 I'd rather be a hayseed 
 
 Than a multi-millionaire. 
 
THE VALLEY OF TEARS. 
 
 Every true heart loves another true heart, 
 
 If some other true heart only knew; 
 But fond hearts oft meet with a heart of de- 
 ceit, 
 When they long for a heart that is true. 
 When the honeymoon's o'er, they are loved 
 ones no more, 
 Tho they have been sweethearts for years; 
 In sorrow each day their fond hopes fade 
 away, 
 As they pass through the Valley of Tears. 
 
 My advice to you now is be true to each vow, 
 
 Tis the duty of husband and wife ; 
 Some kind act each day cheers the heart on 
 its way, 
 And smoothens the rough path of life. 
 Deceit's loving tune leads the world on to 
 ruin, 
 And when fond hope of joy disappears, 
 True hearts filled with grief weep in vain 
 for relief, 
 As they pass through the Valley of Tears. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Let each loving heart shun deceit's cruel 
 dart — 
 Don't think they're all sweet loving dears — 
 Just one friend, many foes, many thorns, just 
 one rose, 
 As we pass thru the Valley of Tears. 
 
 I AM GOING BACK TO WESTERN PRAIRIE LAND. 
 
 I am thinking of the land of health and sun- 
 shine, 
 
 And the balmy air out on the western plain, 
 Where every man is free and independent — 
 
 I am going to the land of golden grain ; 
 When the winter's robe is fading from the 
 sunbeams. 
 
 And every stream flows like the Rio Grande, 
 I'll be there to see the green blades sprouting, 
 
 For I'm going back to western prairie land. 
 
 I long to see the fields of flax in blossom, 
 
 And breathe the fresh and balmy scented 
 air ; 
 I am going for I hear the ravens calling, 
 
 When the gophers whistle, I'll be there, 
 On the fast mail to the west I'll soon be going, 
 
 I long to hear the tunes of nature's band ; 
 I fancy I can see the green fields waving, 
 
 Oh, take me back to western prairie land. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 When the meadow larks are singing in the 
 morning, 
 And you feel the hot and balmy Chinook 
 breeze, 
 When the prairie chickens croon their spring- 
 time warning, 
 And the buds and blossoms decorate the 
 trees ; 
 When the robins warble sweetly in the mead- 
 ow, 
 And the buttercups tell spring-time is at 
 hand ; 
 I'll be there to greet the birds and blossoms, 
 For I'm going back to western prairie 
 land. 
 
■Mitt ** 
 
 WHEN THE SAP BEGINS TO RUN. 
 
 When the snow begins to thaw, 
 And the crows begin to caw, 
 
 It brings me back to days long, long ago; 
 How my heart would fill with glee, 
 As I tapped the maple tree, 
 
 And hurried home to let my mother know. 
 She would empty the milk pans, 
 And hunt up the other cans. 
 
 Then I thought of eating syrup with a bun ; 
 I would wade right through the snow, 
 With my red-top boots, you know — 
 
 In spring-time, when the sap began to run. 
 
 I can hear the pheasant drum, 
 As I'd pick the chewing gum 
 
 From the cedar balsam or the spruce ; 
 And the woodcock I can see, 
 Picking at the hollow tree — 
 
 It makes me feel as homesick as the deuce. 
 I see father making spiles, 
 I see black ash troughs in piles, 
 
 And near the camp a muzzle loading gun ; 
 I can see the camp fire bright, 
 As we'd boil, both day and night — 
 
 In the spring-time when the sap begins to 
 run. 
 
 A big maple, black as jet. 
 
 Was my own favorite pet ; 
 
 It's sap was sweet as honey from the bee; 
 
 I can see its flakey bark, 
 
 And its trough full after dark. 
 
 Sometimes it used to run too fast for me. 
 On a Sunday I can see 
 A taffy pulling bee 
 
 Of neighbor boys and girls to have some 
 fun ; 
 The taffy on the snow 
 Brings back the joys of long ago — 
 
 In the spring-time when the sap begins 
 to run. 
 
 10 
 
THE MORGAN OF THE WEST. 
 
 We've got a panic in the west — 
 
 They've done the job complete ; 
 The banks won't issue currency. 
 
 Grain men won't buy our wheat. 
 If you want information 
 
 While Wall Street makes the test, 
 Call in and ask Jim Bulger, 
 
 The Morgan of the West. 
 
 I know that Jim will tell you 
 
 To hold fast to your cash, 
 And pay all debts you owe with checks 
 
 While Wall Street wields the lash. 
 Other men may give you tips 
 
 To do what they think best, 
 But I'll take mine from Bulger — 
 
 The Morgan of the West. 
 
 He is better posted on finance 
 
 Than any man I km >w ; 
 His closest friends were money kings. 
 
 In panics long ago ; 
 So, if you're up against it, boys, 
 
 Keep cool, pull down your vest, 
 But keep in touch with Bulger — 
 
 The Morgan of the West. 
 
 Our friend, J. J. Somers, writes from the 
 Mesaba iron range saying they had a long 
 cold winter and asks if the zero scales have 
 fallen off Tom Hasting yet, if so, he may 
 wander back again. The following skit is 
 from his pen : 
 
 George Getschel is a harness man 
 
 As you are all aware. 
 
 And when he heard of Morgan 
 
 He shuffled back his hair. 
 
 He says if there's a panic on 
 
 For money I'm not pressed, 
 
 And with a scoff George says call off 
 
 The panic in the west. 
 
 His cash sales are increasing, 
 While others shake with fear, 
 He says he doesn't understand 
 Why people act so queer. 
 1 )an Kippen and Jos. Coghlan 
 For cash they did invest, 
 Perhaps that's why George does defy 
 The panic in the west- 
 
 So here's to Geo. J. Getschel, 
 
 The man with all the mon, 
 
 In future days great men will praise 
 
 The work George J. has done. 
 
 While Morgan he was napping, 
 
 George feathered up his nest. 
 
 Our hats we'll doff since George called off 
 
 The panic of the west. 
 
 WHEN THE MEADOW LARK WARBLES HER TUNE. 
 
 As I look at the snow and feel twenty below, 
 
 I long for the sweet scented breeze ; 
 I long for the spring when the meadow larks 
 sing 
 
 As they perch in the green sprouting trees. 
 
 I see lambs in the flock ; I see a chicken 
 hawk ; 
 
 I see visions of May and June. 
 Other joys disappear as I fancy I hear. 
 
 The meadow lark warbling her tune. 
 
 REFRAIN. 
 
 The warble of the meadow lark. 
 
 Is the tune I love to hear ; 
 At break of day, in the month of May, 
 
 It fills my heart with cheer. 
 On the budding bough I see her now. 
 
 From early morn till noon. 
 As the chinook breeze fans the willow trees. 
 
 She warbles her sweet tune. 
 
 I hear the ducks quack ; I hear the chicken- 
 eggs crack, 
 As the old hen acts mighty like bruin; 
 As they peep through the shell, their soft 
 cheep I can tell, 
 From the meadow lark warbling her tune. 
 T see geese in the pond and cow-slips in the 
 lawn, 
 I hear the grouse and the prairie-hens croon, 
 I see buds on the tree ; I hear a bumble bee, 
 As the meadow lark warbles her tune- 
 
 I see robin red breast gathering hay for her 
 nest, 
 And the chipmunk and gopher as soon, 
 As the lark makes a cheep to disturb their 
 long sleeep, 
 As she warbles her charming sweet tune. 
 Let me see Tenny wren and the pee wee 
 
 again. 
 Let me pick the May flowers until June, 
 Other charms fade away as I list to the lay, 
 Of the meadow lark warbling her tune. 
 
 11 
 
THE ZENITH OF THE WEST. 
 
 They may sing abqut Killarney's lakes, 
 
 And the little shamrock shore, 
 Where the River Shannon gently flows, 
 
 Arrah Gra Machre Asthore. 
 When but a tot, a charming spot 
 
 Filled me with joy and zest — 
 Duluth you are the brightest star — 
 
 The Zenith of the West. 
 
 They may sing of bonnie Scotland, 
 
 And the heather in the glen ; 
 Let Harry Lauder sing in praise 
 
 Of the Highlands and his kin ; 
 But let me dream of that beauty stream, 
 
 And the scenes that I love best. 
 Where Lester flows in sweet repose, 
 
 Through the Zenith of the West. 
 
 So let them sing of other lands, 
 
 But I will sing of mine, 
 As I go sailing " 'Round the Horn," 
 
 While the silvery moon doth shine. 
 
 take me back to Fond du Lac, 
 Where my true love I caressed ; 
 
 1 loved her there for she's as fair 
 As the Zenith of the West. 
 
 Come out with me for a "joy ride" — 
 
 Come for a row or sail ; 
 Then after dark see Lester Park — ■ 
 
 See the "Aerial" without fail. 
 Take the "Incline" for a sight sublime ; 
 
 When you reach the mountain crest, 
 The electric rays will you amaze, 
 
 In the Zenith of the West. 
 
 Though I have wandered far away, 
 
 In other lands so fair, 
 
 Dear old Duluth, I ne'er forgot, 
 
 None could with you compare. 
 In future days I'll sing your praise, 
 
 For you have stood the test. 
 In 1916 we'll crown her queen — 
 
 The Zenith of the West. 
 
 The nights are cool in summer time, 
 
 Each day there comes a breeze, 
 So balmy and refreshing from 
 
 The Queen of unsalted seas. 
 Duluth for health. Duluth for wealth, 
 
 And when I'm laid to rest. 
 Just, let me sleep near Superior's deep, 
 
 In the Zenith of the West. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Come for a stroll, where the white caps roll, 
 To the place where you confessed 
 
 To be my bride, my joy and pride, 
 In the Zenith of the West. 
 
 DAKOTA'S GOLDEN GRAIN. 
 
 I will sing you a song of the busy throng, 
 
 On the prairies of the west, where every man 
 does what he can ; 
 
 In the way that he thinks best, the quicker 
 you sow. 
 
 The sooner 'twill grow ! our neighbor is rais- 
 ing cane ; 
 
 He is up with the sun, and he's now half done, 
 
 Sowing Dakota's Golden Grain. 
 
 Dakota's Golden Grain ; oh, let me see again ; 
 
 That waving sea looks good to me, in sun- 
 shine or in rain ; 
 
 The gopher's bark and the meadow lark, or, 
 let me hear again 
 
 As the summer breeze fans the willow trees 
 and Dakota's Golden Grain. 
 
 Be careful how you set your plow, 
 
 Don't be lazy with the drag; 
 
 Don't leave a gap, but let it lap ; 
 
 Don't let the lead team lag; 
 
 Twenty miles each day is the safest way ; 
 
 Lost time don't rush to gain — give the horse 
 
 a show — 
 While you hustle to sow Dakota's Golden 
 
 Grain. 
 
 The prairie green is a charming scene 
 From May until July, no grander sight 
 Could man invite to view with naked eye; 
 Then every grove looks good by jove, 
 That's scattered o'er the plain ; take a tip from 
 
 me, 
 It's a sight to see Dakota's Golden Grain. 
 
 Now Mr. Mossback, don't be so slack; 
 Did you read J. J. Hill's letter; it is up to you 
 You must skidoo or farm a whole lot better ; 
 Enforce the foul seed law and scatter your 
 
 straw 
 Before you burn it again ; don't commit such 
 
 a sin, 
 Or don't stubble it in — it's Dakota's Golden 
 
 Grain. 
 
 My Eastern friend, come out and spend one 
 
 summer in the West, 
 Where the binder's hum bids the workmen 
 
 come and feather up his nest ; 
 That waving sea looks good to me at sunset 
 
 on the plain, 
 Let us sing in praise of the harvest days and 
 
 Dakota's Golden Grain. 
 
 12 
 
DAKOTA'S GOLDEN GRAIN (continued) 
 
 When the grain is in shock and the chicken 
 
 hawk soars low in searching prey ; 
 Every farmer waits for the thing he hates, 
 
 what he calls threshing day; 
 For it's rush, rush, rush, with every man; 
 
 that's not why we complain ; 
 It's the threshing rig that wastes the big 
 
 plump, Dakota's Golden Grain. 
 
 When the separator grinds and the farmer 
 
 finds some kernels in the stack, 
 The separator man regulates the fan or gives 
 
 the blower more slack, 
 Then the engineer's sharp whistle you'll hear 
 
 that gives tanky a pain, 
 Then he toots and screams for the bundle 
 
 teams, for the grain tanks he whistles in 
 
 vain ; 
 Boys, let her pound, run it on the ground — 
 
 it's Dakota's Golden Grain. 
 
 The law now reads that no foul seeds shall 
 
 mature on our soil ; 
 If that was true every man of you would 
 
 wear a broader smile ; 
 The threshing rig don't care a fig for the 
 
 farmer or law 'tis plain. 
 Every bundle rack leaves a foul seed track 
 
 through Dakota's Golden Grain. 
 
 When the cook car cook looks for a brook, 
 
 instead of alkali. 
 And the boys rush in and grab their tin and 
 
 two big hunks of pie; 
 When the breakfast call don't wake them 
 
 all you'll hear the cook compain, 
 With a club he'll jar the sleeping car, every 
 
 man takes to the grain. 
 
 When the dinner yell brings the boys pell 
 
 mell, Mr. Oiler takes a wash ; 
 Don't spare that soap, or we'll get a rope and 
 
 string you up by gosh ; 
 Don't talk as loud as a thunder cloud, take a 
 
 treatment for the brain; 
 Cut out that slang, or we will you hang with 
 
 hemp from the Golden Grain. 
 
 Threshing is over now and the big steam, Joy 
 
 Wilson or Hart Parr gasoline. 
 Makes the fields look black, and from each 
 
 strawstack the smoke and flames are seen ; 
 Each day brings mail with the one sad tale 
 
 that would drive a man insane, 
 Your bill is overdue, bring in a load or two 
 
 of Dakota's Golden Grain. 
 
 On all the roads you'll see big loads with two 
 
 and four horse teams. 
 For the elevator and the speculator, with all 
 
 their tricks and schemes. 
 Then the farmer pays with a smile and says 
 
 I am square with the world again ; 
 His balance shows we've the soil that grows 
 Dakota's Golden Grain. 
 
 Work on boys, work ; don't kick or shirk, be 
 
 as patient as you can, 
 And the good Lord will you reward — be an 
 
 upright, honest man, 
 And wear a smile, for in a short while we 
 
 may never meet again. 
 In that good old state where we celebrate 
 
 with the gold from the Golden Grain. 
 
 13 
 
THE YOUNG OLD TIMERS' BALL. 
 
 (Song — Written at Dulnth, 191 2.) 
 
 I got a bid for to attend 
 
 An invitation dance ; 
 The name it did appeal to me, 
 
 So I said I'll take a chance. 
 Ed Harper introduced me 
 
 To the fair sex in the hall, 
 The.v waltzed through the "rye" with Ed and I 
 
 At the Young Old Timers' ball. 
 
 The hall was decorated 
 
 In the very neatest style ; 
 
 Purple and white, to daze the sight. 
 
 Every lady wore a smile : 
 I had a promenade with one fair maid, 
 
 The sweetest of them all ; 
 She is just the size to take the prize. 
 
 At the Young Old Timers' Ball- 
 All the ladies wore bouquets. 
 
 They all looked good to me ; 
 And Blewett's band played something grand. 
 
 All their sweetest melody. 
 They served refreshments all night long, 
 
 That seemed to please them all ; 
 'Twas a dandy lunch with a bowl of punch. 
 
 At the Young Old Timers' Ball. 
 
 Fred Lindbeck wore his pleasing smile, 
 
 And you know — in a way — 
 That's just what takes with most the girls. 
 
 They say Fred is O. K. 
 Billy Harvey said he couldn't waltz, 
 
 But that was just a stall ; 
 In each quadrille, he danced to kill. 
 
 At the Young Old Timers' Ball. 
 
 Joe Miller is a model man, 
 
 A home man so to state ; 
 He loves his charming wife and babe, 
 
 He never stops out late. 
 Ed Thompson is a ladies man — 
 
 He gave bouquets to them all — 
 He let in two Harvey wouldn't let through- 
 
 At the Young Old Timers' Ball. 
 
 Al Johnson played a winning hand. 
 
 But not at seven up ; 
 He made an expert waiter. 
 
 With a little cut glass cup, 
 Steve Cody, a cousin of Buffalo Bill, 
 
 A thirty-second, that's all ; 
 He doffed his fur and his feet did stir, 
 
 At the Young Old Timers' Ball. 
 
 Iver Seasted, the Walla Walla King. 
 
 And promoter of a mine. 
 With a lady stole up to the bowl 
 
 That was filled with punch and wine. 
 Frank Dardis took a chance or two, 
 
 With a lady friend quite tall, 
 He's a ladies man, for he used a fan. 
 
 At the Young Old Timers' Ball. 
 
 Jack Lindbeck was right on deck, 
 
 With his cute lady chum ; 
 Tho he don't drink, his friends all think, 
 
 He touched the punch up some. 
 Lyons made a catch, 'twill be a match — 
 
 She's as pretty as a doll ; 
 We will drink to Al and his little pal 
 
 At the next Old Timers' Ball. 
 
 Billy McCullen sold the tickets. 
 
 And he played his part first class; 
 One welcome fnend a hand did lend, 
 
 'Twas a buttle, not a lass. 
 It was easily seen that Al Lofgren 
 
 Had distinguished relatives call, 
 Him or his friend could not attend 
 
 The Young Old Timers' Ball. 
 
 Mannie Swanstrom hustled some, 
 
 His tickets for to sell; 
 You bet that Mannie didn't return any, 
 
 For he knows the business well. 
 Axel Erickson, of fame, took a hand in the 
 game. 
 
 He brought a maid rather small; 
 And Al Olson looked cute, in his full dress 
 suit. 
 
 At the Young Old Timers' Ball. 
 
 The Silver King brought his best girl, 
 
 But he disappointed two; 
 Jim said lie didn't think they'd care, 
 
 But they felt mighty blue. 
 We all know Jim is liberal. 
 
 He would like to take them all. 
 But he shook the rest and took his best 
 
 To the Young Old Timers' Ball. 
 
 Billy McKee, the trout man, see, 
 
 He didn't care to dance, 
 But he had his eye on every guy 
 
 That at his glr] did glance. 
 Andy Otterson waltzed his girl 
 
 To the corner of the hall ; 
 He bowled up strong, the whole night long, 
 
 At the Young Old Timers' Ball. 
 
 Louie Birch furnished the punch. 
 
 And Moxie dished it out; 
 They are the boys that should get the praise — 
 
 They are princes without doubt. 
 Ed Miller danced till 4 a. m.. 
 
 He got no sleep at all. 
 George Lang said, "Dear Miss, home is noth- 
 ing like th's. 
 
 At the Young Old Timers' Ball." 
 
 I'll mention four old timers, 
 
 For fear you might forget. 
 
 If the music hadn't stopped. 
 
 They would be dancing yet : 
 l Bob Harper, Doc Davis, Capt. Stevens and 
 Shaw, 
 Are the ones T can recall ; 
 They danced so gay, till the dawn of day, 
 At the Young Old Timers' Ball. 
 
 14 
 
o 
 
 c 
 
 TO 
 
 D 
 
A SAD APPEAL. 
 
 (Written in Minneapolis, 1895.) 
 
 I. 
 
 V. 
 
 Now, husband, dear, you're growing old, 
 
 And feeble, too, they say; 
 Those curly locks that won my heart 
 
 Are turning now to gray; 
 And those blue eyes, I think I see 
 
 Them smiling on me still, 
 As oft they did in days gone by, 
 
 While mine with tears do fill. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 You have grown old and feeble now, 
 
 And so has mother, dear ; 
 And by her side a vacant chair 
 
 Is waiting for you here; 
 At the table there's a vacant place, 
 
 At the church a vacant pew, 
 While day by day we wait and pray 
 
 To see them filled by you. 
 
 II. 
 I have grown old and feeble, too, 
 
 I am a different Kate 
 To what I was that luckless day 
 
 That we did separate. 
 With sickness I have had my share 
 
 In those declining years, 
 And other troubles, great and small. 
 
 Have caused me bitter tears. 
 
 III. 
 Your children, they have all grown up, 
 
 And most of them have wed, 
 And thank the Lord that none of them 
 
 Are numbered with the dead. 
 The prayers they've said and tears they've 
 shed, 
 
 'Tis God alone can tell ; 
 They hope to be at your bedside 
 
 When you bid this world farewell. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Six loving sons, and daughters three, 
 
 Now join with me once more, 
 And ask you on our bended knees, 
 
 As we have done before, 
 To come home to your loving wife, 
 
 And loving children too ; 
 Come home, dear father, to us all, 
 
 For we cannot go to you. 
 
 Tho' we were young we don't forget 
 
 Your kind and loving ways, 
 And the lessons that you taught to us 
 
 While in our childhood days ; 
 And those old songs you used to sing, 
 
 We fancy we can hear. 
 And other recollections bring 
 
 A silent, heartfelt tear. 
 
 VI. 
 The prayers you taught us at your knee 
 
 We never shall forget; 
 We knelt and said them for you then— 
 
 We say them for you yet. 
 We pray that you and mother, dear, 
 
 Will meet to part no more, 
 Until some one of you are called 
 
 To that Bright Golden Shore. 
 
 VII. 
 Now, father, dear, forget the past, 
 
 No matter who's to blame ; 
 You are our mother's husband, 
 
 And our father, just the same; 
 Tho' passion did you separate, 
 
 Forget that cursed day, 
 And make your peace upon this earth, 
 
 Before you're called away. 
 
 VIII. 
 We are waiting now for your return, 
 
 No more from us to part ; 
 We will watch for you from day to day, 
 
 Each one with aching heart ; 
 Don't deny us this request, 
 
 Our sorrows to renew. 
 Come home, dear father, to us all, 
 
 Is our sad appeal to you. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Dear husband, say you'll come some day ; 
 
 Dear father, don't say no ; 
 Just picture our once happy home 
 
 In days long, long ago ; 
 That picture you will see once more, 
 
 If you'll return again ! 
 Come home some day, and drive away 
 
 All sorrow, grief and pain. 
 
 MY JOSEPHINE, MY WESTERN QUEEN. 
 
 I've got a Pal, a Western Gal, 
 
 I love my Josephine ; 
 I'd have you know that she's my Beau, 
 
 My little Western Queen. 
 I've got a ranch on the Spokane Branch, 
 
 And it is all my own, 
 I'd like to share with Joe so fair. 
 
 For I'm lonely here alone. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Sweet Josephine in the Coeur d'Alene, 
 
 My Pal, my Gal, my Joe ; 
 Sweet Josephine, my Western Queen, 
 
 In dear old, good old Idaho. 
 
 I'll treat you kind, you'll always find, 
 
 I'll be the same True Blue; 
 I'll wear a smile in Western style. 
 
 That smile will be for you. 
 Let us unite and our friends invite, 
 
 Now, Joe, you can't say no. 
 I love but you, I know you're lonely too, 
 
 In dear old, good old Idaho. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Sweet Josephine, my Western Queen, 
 Be my Pal through life, I love you so, 
 
 My Josephine in the Coeur d'Alene, 
 In dear old, good old Idaho. 
 
 16 
 
Martin Somers. 
 
 AS I KNELT BY MY DEAR FATHER'S GRAVE. 
 
 As I knelt by the grave of my father, 
 
 In sorrow, in sadness, and prayer, 
 I thought of his trials through life's voyage, 
 
 His crosses he manfully did bear. 
 Tho he met defeat in life's battles, 
 
 And lost on each road he did pave, 
 I could see him, light-hearted and cheerful, 
 
 As I knelt by my dear father's grave. 
 
 1 thought of the days of my childhood, 
 
 When father was happy and gay ; 
 I thought of his trials in the Wildwood, 
 
 Where he wore his poor heart away. 
 I thought of the hardships he endured 
 
 For the wife and the children God gave ; 
 I could see him alone, sad, forsaken, 
 
 As I knelt by my dear father's grave. 
 
 I thought of the songs he sang to me — 
 
 He sang them at work and at play. 
 I thought of the song he sang for me 
 
 One year before he passed away. 
 May he sing with the angels in Heaven — 
 
 May a just God have mercy and save 
 The soul of my kind, loving father, 
 
 As I kneel by my dear father's grave. 
 
 I thought of the stories he told me — 
 
 Of the green little island of old; 
 Of Jack, the Giant Killer, and others. 
 
 And of the turf that he oft dug and sold. 
 He told of the wrongs of old Ireland, 
 
 And how England had acted the knave; 
 I could see him a boy in old Wexford, 
 
 As I knelt by my dear father's grave. 
 
 He lived fifteen years like a Hermit, 
 
 In a cabin on the Aramosa Road ; 
 I could see him tottering into Guelpth City 
 
 With the garden produce that he g'rowed. 
 A dog was his only companion — 
 
 A dog that was faithful and brave ; 
 I could see him consoling his master — 
 
 As I knelt by my dear father's grave. 
 
 In fancy I heard a voice whisper: 
 
 Thy good, faithful servant, well done; 
 Then I offered a prayer for his poor soul, 
 
 To the Blessed Virgin, Father and Son ; 
 Then I fancied the angels around him, 
 
 Singing God sent us your soul to save; 
 And I prayed we might meet up in Heaven- 
 
 As I knelt by my dear father's grave. 
 
McCASSLIN'S YELLOW BOY. 
 
 There are threshing rigs, they say, 
 That couldn't thresh wild hay, 
 
 And other rigs of more or less renown. 
 Your attention I will call 
 To the one that leads them all — 
 
 For none can beat the Avery Yellow Clown. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 He threshes rocks and boulders, 
 Pitchforks and pitchfork holders; 
 
 All kinds of grain, in weather wet or dry; 
 He keeps four spikers busy ; 
 Findlander John got dizzy, 
 
 While handing bouquets to the Yellow Boy. 
 
 You never saw the like, 
 
 How Gerald Hastings he does spike. 
 
 Oscar Number One was a decoy ; 
 And Oscar Number Two 
 Has learned to pitch a few 
 
 Since he came on the Avery Yellow Boy. 
 
 Two men to grease and oil, 
 Who are on deck all the while, 
 
 Little Mack and Loomis, with an eagle eye ; 
 Tho they look wild and woolly, 
 They can fix a belt or pulley, 
 
 In jig-time on the Avery Yellow Boy. 
 
 He hits the three thousand mark 
 Without running after dark — 
 
 The engine keeps him spinning like a toy; 
 And the engineer — Mike Kleese — 
 Will bet money he can fleece 
 
 All others with the Avery Yellow Boy. 
 
 Fireman Smith from Iowa 
 Keeps the steam up, by the way — 
 
 He says he dreads the jar of the alarm; 
 He longs for one good sleep, 
 And he'd like to take a peep 
 At his dear old home down on his Iowa farm. 
 
 When he lays down at night, 
 He keeps thinking of the fright, 
 
 He knows the gong will very soon annoy ; 
 It disturbs his peaceful dream. 
 He rolls out to get up steam, 
 
 To get ready for the Avery Yellow Boy. 
 
 John Dippy and Clark Stokes 
 Are both good-natured blokes — 
 
 They would move a cook car over curduroy. 
 And Lou Burchfield run aground 
 A corner section mound 
 
 With the cook car on the Avery Yellow 
 Boy. 
 
 The man they call the crank, 
 Drives the second water tank — 
 
 They say he is a Jonar to employ ; 
 But our mascot, Billy Spriggs, 
 Who has turned down other rigs, 
 
 Keeps the water to the Avery Yellow Boy. 
 
 West Davison, you know, 
 Is anything but slow ; 
 
 As an all-around man he will classify; 
 Nelson Piepkorn and Twomley 
 Are cracker-jacks, you see- — 
 
 Like all others on the Avery Yellow Boy. 
 
 Tom Oliver is no fake ; 
 Burkman is wide-awake; 
 
 They say that Parker is the real McCoy ; 
 And before we loop the loop, 
 We'll get photos of the group, 
 
 Together with the Avery Yellow Boy. 
 
 McCasslin is a prince; 
 He furnishes immense ; 
 
 Long life to him of happiness and joy; 
 So wher'er you chance to roam, 
 Think of the happy home 
 That you had with the Avery Yellow Boy. 
 
 THE FAMOUS HOLSEY AND BASSET SHEEP JURY. 
 George Oaks, the Jury Foreman. 
 
 ("Written at Bottineau, 1904.) 
 
 I will give you my view, 
 And then leave it to you, 
 
 Who voted upon the right side ; 
 Or if some other juror 
 Was more certain or surer 
 
 He had picked out the man who had lied. 
 1 am no judge of mutton, 
 Or I don't care a button, 
 
 Where dead sheep are claimed to be found. 
 There was no proof to show 
 Who shot wether or yew, 
 
 Or where they'd been roaming around. 
 
 The first ballot stood 
 Six to six — very good; 
 
 Our foreman, with knowledge sublime. 
 Soon won over two. 
 Who said guilty they knew. 
 
 Just because he was charged with the crime. 
 But it happened that four 
 Knew a little bit more 
 
 Than the children that he taught at school. 
 They refused to be taught, 
 And they couldn't be bought, 
 
 For their heads were not shaped like a mule. 
 
 is 
 
THE FAMOUS HALSEY AND BASSET SHEEP JURY (continued) 
 
 At the big Oak we hewed 
 On the mutton we chewed 
 
 All night and the most of a day ; 
 Every man of the four 
 Gave his views o'er and o'er, 
 
 While one of the eight held full sway. 
 We knew if the oak 
 Could be softened or broke 
 
 His followers could easily been shown 
 But there wasn't a stroke 
 Brought a chip from the oak, 
 
 As he ruled like a king on his throne. 
 
 As I had the blues 
 
 I thought I'd take a snooze, 
 
 For I had failed as a debater; 
 I longed for a bed, 
 Or a prop for my head, 
 
 As I hugged a stone cold radiator. 
 As I lay there asleep 
 I dreamt about sheep, 
 
 And reviewed most of the evidence. 
 I dreamt of a poke, 
 And of splitting the oak 
 
 To build up a good boundary fence. 
 
 When I opened my eyes 
 1 found to my surprise 
 
 The vote still was eight to convict ; 
 I asked some questions brief, 
 But they brought no relief, 
 
 Yet no one would dare contradict. 
 A disagreement it was, 
 And I'm sorry, because 
 
 I'd like to see Basset go free. 
 A man in his prime 
 Hadn't ought to serve time 
 
 On account of an overgrown tree. 
 
 But in a short while 
 He will get a new trial, 
 
 And no jury will ever convict; 
 For they can't all be oaks, 
 Or they can't all be bloaks, 
 
 An acquittal is what I'd predict. 
 1 make no apology 
 To that lofty oak tree, 
 
 Or the boughs that hang close to the trunk. 
 My position is plain, 
 And I'll take it again, 
 
 If I don't go insane or get drunk. 
 
 A YANKEE, OR A KANUCK? 
 
 I was born of Irish parents 
 
 On the shores of the Georgian bay, 
 Why wasn't I born in Ireland, 
 
 Or in good old U. S. A. 
 Although I'm a Yankee citizen, 
 
 I think, gosh darn the luck, 
 Why wasn't I born a Yankee, 
 
 Instead of a Kanuck. 
 
 I am proud of the Irish people, 
 
 From dear old Erin's Isle, 
 With their Irish wit and Irish grit 
 
 And their good old Irish style ; 
 And when I see a Pat or Dan 
 
 With Irish wit and pluck, 
 1 wish I was born an Irishman, 
 
 Instead of a bloomin' Kanuck. 
 
 When I read English history 
 
 And think of her bloody past, 
 Her wars of cruel oppression, 
 
 How long yet will they last ; 
 When I think of the battle of Spion Kopp, 
 
 Where the English had to duck, , 
 I wish, darn it, I was a Dewitt, 
 
 Instead of a bloomin' Kanuck. 
 
 Although I love the Stars and Stripes, 
 
 I am off for the Canada west; 
 I'd like to stick by you big Dick, 
 
 You know I love you best ; 
 The dearest friends oftimes must part, 
 
 For years by you I've stuck, 
 Misfortune's stamp makes me a tramp 
 
 And a bloomin' poor Kanuck. 
 
 19 
 
THE LOST TAMARACK SWAMP. 
 
 (Written at Hibbing, Minn., 191 1. ) 
 
 Al Dixon, the logger, 
 
 A contract did take 
 To cut the pine timber 
 
 That joined Beauty Lake; 
 He signed an agreement 
 
 To cut all the pine 
 That Walsh left last winter 
 
 Inside of the line. 
 
 I wish Al success, 
 
 For he is a prince, 
 A jolly good fellow, 
 
 With good, common sense ; 
 Give him a square deal — 
 
 He will ask nothing more — 
 And he'll pull the timber 
 
 On Beauty Lake shore. 
 
 Weyerhauser's scaler, John Pinkerton, 
 
 Knows how to scale, 
 But he don't favor Dixon 
 
 The length of your nail. 
 He will measure and inspect, 
 
 And search for a flaw, 
 Then he'll figure it down 
 
 To the Weyerhauser law. 
 
 And Mattison, the Punk man, 
 
 Is an expert on Punk ; 
 He can see through a tree 
 
 From the top to the trunk, 
 And when a tree falls, 
 
 He can tell by the sound 
 If there is a punk 
 
 On the side next the ground. 
 
 At night we roll into 
 
 The blankets and hay, 
 And slumber and dream 
 
 Of a happier day — 
 Dream of a feather mattress, 
 
 Or a fond, loving wife, 
 And other good things 
 
 A man should have in life. 
 
 There may be some damsel 
 
 That we've never met, 
 That's longing for some one 
 
 To love and to pet. 
 If we don't chance to meet her 
 
 We will stick to the woods, 
 While those who have loved ones 
 
 Enjoy all the world's goods. 
 
 When the pine was near cut 
 
 Weyerhauser's man did appear, 
 With snow shoes he travelled. 
 
 Through swamps, far and near; 
 He located some tamarack 
 
 Mark Walsh couldn't find, 
 With roads leading to it 
 
 Of a jerk water kind. 
 
 Says Mattison to Dixon : 
 
 You can make money here, 
 For I have found tamarack 
 
 That is large, sound and near. 
 The swamp is well frozen, 
 
 And no sign of a thaw ; 
 It will hold up far more 
 
 Than four horses can draw. 
 
 Says Dixon to Mattison : 
 
 I'm here for to log, 
 Not to pick up culled tamarack 
 
 From a cranberry bog. 
 The holes in the swamp 
 
 It won't pay me to fill, 
 Or I won't put a road 
 
 Around Mark Walsh's hill. 
 
 While they were discussing, 
 
 Tom York did appear. 
 Says Tom : We need all kinds 
 
 Of tamarack this year. 
 He offered inducements 
 
 That looked rather fair, 
 And he said March the first 
 
 The ground sure would be bare. 
 
 They cut at the tamarack 
 
 Till March the first came, 
 And they are still hauling tamarack, 
 
 Now, who is to blame. 
 Is it a Weyerhauser or York, 
 
 Walsh, Mattison or Dixon — 
 You can see for yourself 
 
 That his head needs some fixin. 
 
 We hear tamarack at breakfast, 
 
 We hear tamarack at noon ; 
 We hear tamarack at night, 
 
 By the light of the moon ; 
 But the last load of tamarack 
 
 Has just left the swail, 
 So farewell to the tamarack 
 
 And the jack rababit trail. 
 
 They tell me that Dixon 
 
 Cleaned up a good sum, 
 While other loggers were chewing 
 
 On his tamarack gum. 
 There are all kinds of loggers 
 
 Who claim they can log, 
 But they wouldn't dare tackle 
 
 The cranberry bog. 
 
 So, now we'll return 
 
 To our friends, far and near, 
 With our winter's stake 
 
 And our hearts full of cheer. 
 So, good-bye, Mr. Dickson, 
 
 Good-bye, one and all ; 
 Good-bye to the tamarack, 
 
 And the rabbit-trail haul. 
 
 20 
 
Mrs. Thomas Barton. 
 
 SHE PROVED A MOTHER TO ME. 
 
 When a youth I did roam, 
 
 Far away from my home, 
 To a town by the unsalted sea. 
 
 Where I met a kind friend, 
 
 That was true to the end, 
 For she proved a mother to me. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 With pride I can say. 
 She's my true friend today; 
 
 I have other friends true as can be. 
 Though I love all the rest, 
 She's the friend I love best. 
 
 For she proved a mother to me. 
 
 In sickness and in need, 
 
 She did kindly intercede, 
 She was my friend financially. 
 
 For thirty long years, 
 
 In smiles or in tears, 
 She has been a mother to me, 
 
 I long to repay, 
 
 All her kindness some day, 
 For she won my true sympathy. 
 
 When feeble and old, 
 
 She will not want for gold, 
 For she proved a true friend to me. 
 
 May her troubles be few, 
 
 I wish long life to you, 
 And heaven your eternity. 
 
 It's my daily prayer 
 
 We may meet over there. 
 For you've been a mother to me. 
 
 21 
 
WHEN THE MANISTEE WENT DOWN. 
 
 Farewell, old boat, and precious freight, 
 
 Captain McKay and his staunch, strong 
 crew. 
 Xo more at home shall the cargo wait 
 
 For loved ones to come with you. 
 The work she did no other would do ; 
 
 Success would the effort crown. 
 But oh ! the anguish of waiting hearts 
 
 When the Manistee went down. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Oh ! God, it must have been dreadful 
 To freeze and then to drown, 
 In a storm on Lake Superior, 
 When the Manistee went down. 
 
 Fond memory oft will picture her still, 
 
 Her cabins and decks grow dear, 
 In a storm that made every fiber thrill. 
 
 Captain McKay spoke words of cheer : 
 Farewell, old boat, and gallant crew ; 
 
 Love will your memories crown ; 
 But, oh! the darkness, pain and grief, 
 
 When the Manistee went down. 
 
 Another scene of horror 
 
 Has happened on this deep, cold lake : 
 The schooner M. A. Hulbert, with 
 
 Twenty brave, strong men, went down. 
 It was next they should lie beneath the wave 
 
 When her ballast above were e'er; 
 But we long the helpless ones to save 
 
 Whose voices we hear no more. 
 
 DR. SLEIGHT'S TRAVELING DRUG STORE. 
 
 Xot far from old Renville lives one Dr. So, good luck to "Doc" Sleight and his auto- 
 Sleight, mobile, 
 
 , XM _ , ' , , • . , ■, r , , Give him a night's lodging, or a good warm 
 
 Who purchased a lug automobile of late; 
 
 For up-to-date service horses were too slow, When his auto gets balky, help him on his 
 
 So he now has an auto that sure ought to go ; way ; 
 
 He sells Rawlie's remedies, perfumes and Remember a doctor should have no delay. 
 
 \\ e don't care so much when the mail man 
 spice, , . 
 
 ' . is late, 
 
 In large and small sizes at a very low price; But w.th keen disappointment we look for 
 He can cure corns or bunions, a new or old "Doc" Sleight ; 
 
 sore, There is no need to suffer or die any more 
 
 With his full line of cure-alls in his Auto While we have "Doc" Sleight and his Auto 
 
 Drug Store. 
 
 His district takes in all of Bottineau county, 
 A mighty big job for a Dr., you see; 
 His regular trips he makes without fail, 
 He don't stop for wind, or for rain, snow or 
 
 hail; 
 For a hurry up call he has a telephone. 
 
 Drug Store. 
 
 The latest report is "Doc's" auto broke down. 
 It died in a ditch about five miles from town. 
 He called for Devorshack, the expert auto 
 
 man, 
 Then phoned. Bring my horses as quick as 
 
 you can. 
 
 So, you see, that his service is second to My faithful old team, always ready to go 
 none; I will never exchange for a balky auto. 
 
 You can see him and hear his horn ten miles "Doc" says that he ought to have known be- 
 or more ; fore 
 
 If you haven't you ought to see that Auto That he couldn't win out with an Auto Drug 
 Drug Store. Store. 
 
 Now "Doc" lias a rival to add to his woes, 
 
 There is Ed Gowan and Tuning, that every 
 one knows ; 
 
 They just signed a contract Eatons remedies 
 to sell. 
 
 And they say that their outfit will be some- 
 thing swell ; 
 
 "Doc" says if they start with an automobile. 
 
 Or an up-to-date outfit he'd give them a deal ; 
 
 He will sell at half price, just to prove he's 
 not sore, 
 
 And wish them success with their Auto Drug- 
 store. 
 
DULUTH IN EIGHTY-TWO. 
 
 To tell the truth 
 I came to Duluth 
 In eighteen eighty-two. 
 The Windsor was the best hotel 
 On Superior Avenue; 
 I walked right in 
 To the lion's den, 
 The Gilbreths kept the joint; 
 Then nix come arouse 
 
 To the Cap Norris house 
 Or Minnesota Point. 
 
 It may seem queer, 
 
 But I did not hear 
 
 Of any iron range, 
 
 But the big pine trees, 
 
 Bent to the breeze ; 
 
 Oh, mister, what a change. 
 
 No ore docks then, 
 But now, gentlemen. 
 Look up along the bay ; 
 See the docks of ore. 
 Hear the whistles roar. 
 As the big boats steam away. 
 
 No Lester park 
 To spoon in the dark ; 
 No big automobiles, 
 Not even a bike — 
 Even- man did hike. 
 I hem days we eat square meals ; 
 A restaurant or boarding house 
 Looked good, but by the way, 
 They are now out of date — 
 We all want to eat 
 At the St. Louis big, swell cafe. 
 
 Just one main road 
 
 Was all we had, 
 
 And the scally to St. Paul. 
 
 Every man used an axe. 
 
 We had no whalebacks — 
 
 McDougall and Hill looked small. 
 
 But Jim Hill has growed, 
 
 He controlls each road, 
 
 Down east and way out West, 
 
 And they tell me 
 
 He controls the sea — 
 
 Ask Jim, he can tell you best. 
 
 No big flour mills. 
 High as the hills, 
 No Duluth Board of Trade- 
 Just two elevators. 
 And no speculators — 
 The wheat was just one grade. 
 No electric light 
 To daze the sight. 
 No monster areal bridge ; 
 No electric railway 
 Across St. Louis bay, 
 No incline up the ridge. 
 
 I miss each one 
 
 Of my old friends gone, 
 
 Tho many still remain ; 
 
 Soon we shall meet 
 
 Each other to greet, 
 
 Tho we must oart again. 
 
 This spring I'll call 
 
 And see you all. 
 
 And view your city grand. 
 
 They say you've growed 
 
 Beyond Herman town road, 
 
 And you are still annexing land 
 
 I remember quite well, 
 
 And in song I tell, 
 
 How the Manistee went down 
 
 With Catain McKay and crew 
 
 That sailed from the Zenith Town 
 
 And the Hulbert too. 
 
 Sank with her crew 
 
 Far out from any shore. 
 
 In the water's deep 
 
 They all do sleep — 
 
 We shall never see them more 
 
 so gay, 
 
 MY SWEET MONTANA BELLE. 
 
 From Montana I did roam. 
 
 Far away from Friends and Home, 
 
 On the battleship Wisconsin o'er the sea ; 
 But I always kept in mind 
 One fair one left behind, 
 
 And wondered if she oftimes thought of me^ 
 
 My Sweet Montana Belle, 
 I always loved so well-; 
 
 I loved you true, but didn't like to tell. 
 That farewell on the Plain 
 Brought your True Love back again, 
 
 To wed my own, my Sweet Montana Belle. 
 
 Six long years far away. 
 
 I thought of you each day — 
 
 I wondered if an offer you'd decline; 
 But, alas, my dreams came true, 
 I'll whisper sweet to you. 
 
 While I fondly hold your little hands in 
 
 My Sweet Montana Belle, 
 In love with you I fell ; 
 
 I love you sweeter than I dare to tell; 
 I am with you to remain, 
 For we haven't loved in vain — 
 
 I'll always love my Sweet Montana Belle. 
 
 23 
 
The Mohall Pioneers in the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 24 
 
THE MOHALL PIONEERS. 
 
 For friendship sake, my friends and I 
 
 One day did congregate. 
 We talked about the early days 
 
 In North Dakota state. 
 Each story told made a hero bold 
 
 Of each man in his own behalf. 
 And for old times sake we agreed to take 
 
 This old-time photograph. 
 
 Now there is Doc Fitzmaurice 
 
 Who keeps us in good health, 
 And the banker, S. H. Sleeper, 
 
 Who looks after our wealth. 
 John Schnitzler is our editor, 
 
 He gives the latest news ; 
 Charles Lano is our postmaster 
 
 His dons give us the blues. 
 
 And there is Gilbert Johnson 
 
 Who supplies us with the sweet. 
 His place is cozy as can be, 
 
 His brands cannot be beat. 
 Nels Iverson has got the mon 
 
 For he has got a bank. 
 John J. Gilsett is not in debt, 
 
 He gets the cash for Plank. 
 
 And Handsome William Clifford 
 
 Is an all around financier; 
 He deals mostly in horses 
 
 When they are scarce and dear. 
 Chris Thorson is the hardware man, 
 
 And at that he is O. K. 
 And his son Will can fill the bill, 
 
 As a business man they say. 
 
 It is plain to see John Doherty 
 
 Has got his share of coin ; 
 He sells plows and drills to the man who 
 tills 
 
 And likewise binder twine. 
 It is easily seen that Sig McKeen 
 
 Is mighty hard to fool ; 
 For we all know he made the dough 
 
 While we were playing pool. 
 
 Louie and Martin Haugan 
 
 They sell farm machinery. 
 I first met them at their claim shack 
 
 And they look good to me. 
 John Windolf is our grocery man ; 
 
 He built his grocery shack 
 Before the town was called Mohall, 
 
 When there was no wagon track. 
 
 And let us praise our friend Pat Hayes, 
 
 A marshal brave and true. 
 The bunch looks mighty good to me, 
 
 How do they look to you ? 
 And you all know Jim, with his hoe, 
 
 From the old Minot trail. 
 Old friends, adieu, good luck to you, 
 
 Let us still be friends bv mail. 
 
 SHE NEVER ASKED ME YET; 
 "Or a Bachelor's Dream." 
 
 Tho I am close to forty, 
 
 And have been around a few, 
 And looked and longed for a dear wife 
 
 Since I was twenty-two, 
 I'm still a batch, I made no catch, 
 
 With any maid I met; 
 Tho each leap year brings me new cheer, 
 
 She never asked me yet. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 I see a gleam of love's sweet dream, 
 
 In the smiles I can't forget ; 
 Sweetheart, get wise ; do you realize 
 
 I am wait.ng for you yet. 
 
 I'd make a model husband ; 
 
 I don't gamble, drink or smoke ; 
 I could have lots of money, 
 
 But my courting keeps me broke ; 
 They all pretend to be my friend, 
 
 While I am flush, don't fret ; 
 So, I'm the chump, got many a bump, 
 
 For she never asked me vet. 
 
 There is more than one that said to me, 
 
 "Dear Jim," and "Sweetheart," too ; 
 At one a. m. they say, "Dear Jim, 
 
 I love none else but you !" 
 Could you believe she would deceive 
 
 The one she hoped to get ; 
 It seems untrue, but I'll tell you, 
 
 She never asked me yet. 
 
 25 
 
SHE NEVER ASKED ME YET (continued) 
 
 I took her to the balls and shows, 
 
 And sat up with her late ; 
 I would like to take her to Superior, 
 
 If that would seal my fate; 
 But here I am, just like a clam. 
 
 No one to call me "pet;" 
 You precious pearls, you. cruel girls, 
 
 You never asked , me yet. 
 
 I have played the game from A to Z, 
 
 And I don't understand 
 Why each fair maid seems much afraid 
 
 To offer me her hand. 
 So, now, my dear, in this leap year, 
 
 Don't overlook a bet ; 
 If she don't yield, I'll play the field 
 
 And make a winning yet. 
 
 So, now, dear girls, don't be unkind, 
 
 Why must we keep apart ; 
 I would adore, I have love galore, 
 
 Away down in my heart. 
 I am lonely here, I need your cheer, 
 Xow, girls, you will regret 
 You served me so, for I won't , say "No, 
 
 But you never asked me yet. , 
 
 The chaps that win our wealthy girls, 
 
 They don't look good to me ; 
 A titled name brought fame and shame 
 
 To many o'er the sea. 
 Our Yankee dude, with mustache glued, 
 
 His cane and cigarette, 
 Just seems to suit girls, say they're cute, 
 
 But they never asked me yet. 
 
 So let them choose the Yankee dude, 
 
 Or some great royal prince ; 
 Perhaps some level-headed girl 
 
 Is waiting on the fence. 
 I have said enough, it is no bluff ; 
 
 I have just one heart to let. 
 So, girls, come through ; it's up to you. 
 
 For you never asked me yet. 
 
 THE ST. CLOUD CYCLONE. 
 
 (Written at Sheldon. Iowa. 1887.) 
 
 ft's sad and dismal is the tale to you I will relate 
 At St. Cloud and Sauk Rapids, in Minnesota State; 
 Likewise at Rice Station to the world I'll make it known. 
 Met death and desolation in the deadly Cyclone. 
 
 Oh, when the deadly cloud appeared it made their blood run cold. 
 The sights that met them as it neared was dreadful to behold; 
 Their cries for mercy were in vain, no mercy was there shown, 
 The cruel wind their lives did end in the St. Cloud Cyclone. 
 
 It was little did those people think, the sword of death so near, 
 
 Or did they think they'd part that day from those they loved so dear; 
 
 As evening dawned the twinkling stars upon the bodies shone 
 
 Of sixty-eight who met their fate in the St. Cloud Cyclone. 
 
 That day at Rice's Station two lovers joined for life, 
 
 And joyfully returning home, as loving man and wife; 
 
 That morn she was a happy bride, that night the death list showed 
 
 The one she wed he then lay dead from the deadly Cyclone. 
 
 Those little ones that often times had tottered down the street 
 No more until the judgment day will they their parents meet; 
 May God protect those little ones left in this world alone — 
 Their parents they have passed away in the St. Cloud Cyclone. 
 
 The sight it was heart-rending to those who were left to mourn, 
 As they gazed on those pale faces whom to earth would never return; 
 To see the dying breathe their last, to hear the wounded moan, 
 Their mournful cries would rend the skies in the St. Cloud Cyclone. 
 
 Now, one request I ask you ali, and that is for to pray 
 
 For those poor souls whoss bodies lie moulding in the clay; 
 
 O'er their graves so greeni there can be seen upon each marble stone 
 
 The dav and date thev met their fate in the St. Cloud Cvclone. 
 
 26 
 
D. G. Colcord 
 
 THE INDEPENDENT EDITOR (D. G. COLCORD), 
 
 In Minot's far city 
 
 Dwells a newspaper man, 
 Bright, honest and fearless, 
 
 The pride of his clan. 
 He's a pioneer of Minot 
 
 And the county of Ward, 
 The independent editor 
 
 Is D. G. Colcord. 
 
 You can tell by his writings, 
 
 You can tell by his smile, 
 He's kind hearted and cheerful 
 
 In plain western style. 
 He is admired by all classes 
 
 And let me say, Thank the Lord 
 He don't travel on passes, 
 
 Not D. G. Colcord. 
 
 When the old Renville stage 
 
 Would arrive with the mail. 
 We'd walk through a blizzard 
 
 On the old Minot trail. 
 His four-page farm paper 
 
 Would be our reward 
 And we'd read and reread 
 
 From the pen of Colcord. 
 
 But now it looks more 
 
 Like a Sunday Tribune, 
 Colcord and Truax 
 
 Will be millionaires soon. 
 In the city of Minot 
 
 You'll find no discord. 
 It's the best in the west 
 
 Like mv old friend Colcord. 
 
 27 
 
THE DANCE OUT AT SOMERS' CLAIM. 
 
 With joy I'll relate 
 Of a dance up-to-date 
 
 That was given by one you all know ; 
 He is known everywhere, 
 Not as a millionaire, 
 
 But as Somers, the man with a hoe. 
 The neighbors turned out, 
 From the north and the south. 
 
 From Mohall and Lansford they came ; 
 I'll tell you no yarn. 
 They filled stable and barn — 
 
 At the dance out at Somers' claim. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Frank Stark's cornet band 
 Furnished music so grand. 
 
 That in each heart it kindled a flame 
 That will ever burn bright 
 When they think of the night 
 
 Of the dance at Somers' claim. 
 
 Pat Murphy was there 
 With a heart free from care. 
 
 And Will Clifford, of course, brought his 
 f rau ; 
 Tom Fitzmaurice came too, 
 With a girl he loves true — 
 
 She's a charmer, we all must allow. 
 The Bartzs' and Rudds, 
 And some more of the bloods 
 
 Must have thought it would be something 
 tame ; 
 But now they repent, 
 And wish they had went 
 
 To the dance at Somers' claim. 
 
 The fair sex were not few, 
 With eyes brown and blue, 
 
 Their sweet faces adorned with a smile; 
 They looked neat and homespun — 
 And were right in for fun — 
 
 How I wished I was single a while. 
 The last coach to arrive 
 Made a fifteen-mile drive, 
 
 Filled with ladies — I won't tell their name. 
 But P. J., .with his surry, 
 Made other girls worry — 
 
 At the dance out at Somers' claim. 
 
 Dan Lahey was there 
 With a damsel as fair 
 
 As the rays of a bright summer's day ; 
 Likewise Jimmy Rock, 
 On the music did walk, 
 
 When a hornpipe the band it would play. 
 As they danced to the whirl, 
 
 Every fellow and girl, 
 
 Were certain the climax had came ; 
 Until Somers did show 
 'His new kind of hoe— 
 
 At the dance out at Somers' claim. 
 
 Dan Stout hit the floor 
 Like a boy twenty-four, 
 
 For the first time since he struck the West : 
 Alexander put them through 
 All the changes he knew : 
 
 The Canuck change outdone all the rest. 
 Some one said can it be 
 That this blowout is free, 
 
 When Somers was heard to exclaim : 
 Tho I farm with a hoe, 
 No collection will go — 
 
 At the dance at Somers' claim. 
 
 There was plenty to eat 
 
 Of all kinds, sour and sweet, 
 
 And as Somers, he likes gingerale, 
 He had a supply 
 That they couldn't run dry, 
 
 Altho Murphy, he drank like a whale. 
 There was ten-year-old wine 
 That was number one fine, 
 
 There was turkey and other large game ; 
 There was more than enough 
 Of all the richest of stuff — 
 
 At the dance out at Somers' claim. 
 
 A big electric bell 
 Was a signal to tell 
 
 That we needed some more gingerale ; 
 Lon Smith with a bound, 
 He would pass it around. 
 Saying. Good luck to the old Minot Trail. 
 After testing the jars, 
 He would pass the cigars — 
 
 One brand had a poetic name. 
 There were chocolate bon-bons 
 Decorated with bronze — 
 
 At the dance out at Somers' claim. 
 
 Starks played hornpipes and reels, 
 That gave Merritt wheels, 
 
 As he tried to make his feet chime ; 
 At Loomases' command 
 They danced new ragtime grand, 
 
 And finished up on "A Hot Time." 
 They drank, danced and eat, 
 And sang songs so sweet, 
 
 That no one felt sorry they came; 
 At daybreak they quit. 
 There was nothing to it — 
 
 But the jar out at Somers' claim. 
 
 28 
 
SOMERS' BIRTHDAY SURPRISE. 
 
 (At the Old Homestead in the Mouse River Loop, 1905.) 
 
 They say I'm to blame 
 
 For the dance at my claim, 
 And other more serious crimes ; 
 
 The way matters now hinge, 
 
 I am out for revenge. 
 And will take it all out in good times. 
 
 The dance at my claim 
 
 Was not common or tame, 
 And the crowd was enormous in size ; 
 
 They propped up the floor 
 
 To accommodate more 
 At Somers' Birthday surprise. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Frank Starks' Cornet band 
 Had the program all planned, 
 
 So no one had time to look wise ; 
 The tunes were so sweet 
 There was no silent feet. 
 
 At Somers' Birthday surprise. 
 
 When the first sleigh-load came, 
 
 And the Bard saw the game, 
 Some visions soon ran through his head : 
 
 He saw a mooley cow's tail, 
 
 And the word gingerale, 
 In letters too small to be read, 
 
 But the Honorable Joe Fish. 
 
 Assisted by Dad Weish, 
 Were acting the Bard in disguise, 
 
 Their early arrival 
 
 Brought instant survival 
 At Somers' Birthday surprise. 
 
 The old sports that turned out 
 
 Where McDevitt and Stout, 
 Tom Painter gave them a close rub ; 
 
 Charlie Merritt of course 
 
 Hit the floor with such force 
 That he loosened the spokes on the hub. 
 
 Tom Hastings came too. 
 
 And he stepped off a few, 
 For Irish jigs he took the prize; 
 
 The way he fanned the air 
 
 Made the young roosters stare, 
 At Somers' Birthday surprise. 
 
 The crowd from Mohall 
 
 Was the largest of all, 
 Lansford and Maxbass sent their share; 
 
 A sleigh-load of nine 
 
 From the Canada Line, 
 Broke the record with five miles to spare 
 
 In the neighbors did pour. 
 
 Till they filled every floor; 
 Then Somers did soon realize 
 
 He could add one more year 
 
 To his poetical career. 
 On the night of his birthday surprise. 
 
 There were bachelors plenty, 
 There were maids of sweet twenty, 
 
 With strong matrimonial views ; 
 They didn't need masking, 
 They just needed asking, 
 
 They certainly couldn't refuse. 
 While the band was atuning, 
 Indeed some were spooning; 
 
 I'd judge from the love in their eyes 
 That more than one batch 
 Played their cards for a match 
 
 At Somers' Birthday surprise. 
 
 The celebration is o'er, 
 May he see many more, 
 
 Is the chorus that each one did sing. 
 Then Somers replied 
 That he'd cherish with pride 
 
 The tokens his neighbors did bring. 
 When parting time came, 
 Some one said, "What a shame," 
 
 As the sun was beginning to rise, 
 There was none cared to start, 
 Many hated to part, 
 
 From Somers' Birthday surprise. 
 
 29 
 
James J. Colt 
 
 THE DULUTH SILVER KING. 
 
 They may talk about jolly good fellows, 
 
 In my travels I've met one or two, 
 A genuine friend that is true to the end, 
 
 In this world you will find mighty few. 
 To tell you with pride of one true and tried, 
 
 Much joy to my heart it does bring, 
 He is generous and kind, not a flaw can you 
 find, 
 
 In the Duluth "Silver King." 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Good luck to "J. J." and his cozy buffet, 
 In summer or winter or spring. 
 
 He's a prince, he's O. K. 
 He's the same every day, 
 
 The Duluth "Silver King." 
 
 His place is a neat little palace, 
 
 No roughness or toughness you'll see, 
 He sells the best that you'll find in the west, 
 
 A manly, bright fellow is he, 
 You may travel each state in the Union 
 
 In search of a friend, the real thing, 
 If you know him, you'll say, none can equal 
 "J. J." 
 
 The Duluth "Silver King." 
 
 So drink to the prince of good fellows, 
 
 Drink a toast to my friend Silver Jim, 
 May his pathway be strewn with roses, 
 
 Long life and best wishes to him. 
 When you wish to meet a good fellow, 
 
 Shake the hand of the one that I sing, 
 And you'll never regret the day that you met, 
 
 The Duluth "Silver King." 
 
 30 
 
MIKE O'DONNELL'S CREW. 
 
 There is a jolly bridge crew 
 
 On the Missaba road. 
 A little palace dining car 
 
 Is their humble abode. 
 Every man is an expert 
 
 At the work he has to do. 
 When there's a rush they need no push 
 
 With Mike O'Donnell's crew. 
 
 John AIcRichie gives the signals — 
 
 An important place to fill — 
 He must be quick with hand and foot, 
 
 His part requires much skill. 
 Charlie Tyo does the chaining — 
 
 He is the best I ever knew 
 To fill such a position 
 
 With Mike O'Donnell's crew. 
 
 They are descendants of each race 
 
 Who are foremost on the stage ; 
 For every man can sing and dance. 
 
 Regardless of his age. 
 Scotch and Irish, French and Dutch 
 
 And a Belgian or two, 
 Compose the nationalities 
 
 In Mike O'Donnell's crew. 
 
 Felix Plisson is the handy man — 
 
 I le does his part O. K. — 
 lie takes the place of any man 
 
 That should be called away. 
 Billy Blarney Hysler and Colparet 
 
 Have bid the boys adieu, 
 Their vocation now is farming 
 
 Far from O'Donnell's crew. 
 
 John Gillis is chief engineer ; 
 
 He makes the hammer bound ; 
 He can drive a pile a half a mile 
 
 Into the hardest ground. 
 With a pleasing smile on all the while 
 
 And an eye so keen and true. 
 The hammer never makes a miss 
 
 With Mike O'Donnell's crew. 
 
 Rory McDonald is night watchman 
 
 And Rory is all right ; 
 He steams up every morning 
 
 And he is the crew's delight. 
 He sings for us some good old songs 
 
 Whenever we feel blue, 
 For Rory is the mascot 
 
 Of Mike O'Donnell's crew. 
 
 Dennie Morris spots the piles — 
 
 He knows just where they go; 
 He is an old bridge builder 
 
 And he's anything but slow. 
 His job requires an active man, 
 
 With much experience, too, 
 And that's why Dennie is on the roll 
 
 With Mike O'Donnell's crew. 
 
 Most of the crew are ladies' men — 
 
 That's what the people say. 
 The boys they don't deny the charge 
 
 For they act and talk that way. 
 But when the ladies make a call 
 
 The other boys skidoo, 
 Gillis is the ladies' charmer 
 
 Of Mike O'Donnell's crew. 
 
 John McKay and Frank O'Brien 
 
 The timbers do prepare; 
 They measure and they inspect them 
 
 With precaution and great care. 
 They served their time on other roads, 
 
 Their equals are but few, 
 They look after the timber 
 
 With Mike O'Donnell's crew. 
 
 I have told you of O'Donnell's crew. 
 
 They are all A Number One. 
 Mike is as good a foreman 
 
 As ere the sun shone on. 
 His work will pass inspection 
 
 On bridges old or new, 
 For Mike is always on the job 
 
 With Mike O'Donnell's crew. 
 
 Sam Naud and Alick Grenier 
 
 They guide the beam and swing 
 To guide the beam where it belongs 
 
 Is a quite particular thing. 
 You'll always find them at their post, 
 
 In hard pan or in a slough ; 
 At every beck they are on deck 
 
 With Mike O'Donnell's crew. 
 
 So here's good luck to all the boys, 
 
 Where'er they chance to stray ; 
 Think of the times at Duluth 
 
 And at Hibbing, by the way ; 
 Think of the songs and dances 
 
 That cheered both I and you 
 And sing in praise of the happy day- 
 
 With Mike O'Donnell's crew. 
 
THE IROQUOIS THEATRE FIRE. 
 
 I am sad and broken-hearted, 
 
 From loved ones I've been parted, 
 
 And the pleasures of this world for me are 
 
 few. 
 Now I sit alone repining, 
 Where I sat in pleasure dining, 
 As the pictures on the wall I sadly view. 
 I view one and then the other. 
 Loving wife and dear old mother. 
 And those little ones who were so sweet and 
 
 good; 
 But they are gone forever, 
 Cruel flames their lives did sever. 
 Where the Iriquois Theatre stood. 
 
 When the fire alarm was given. 
 
 Two thousand souls were driven 
 
 Into a frenzied panic with despair. 
 
 One mad rush for their lives — 
 
 Mothers, sweethearts and dear wives — 
 
 But cruel death was waiting for them there. 
 
 The sight it was appalling. 
 
 To hear those dear ones calling 
 
 To save their lives. Oh, if we only could 
 
 The last sad moans I hear 
 
 Beneath that human tier 
 
 Where the Iriquois Theatre stood. 
 
 The new year of tomorrow 
 
 Will be one of gloom and sorrow, 
 
 With the City of Chicago filled with grief. 
 
 As I look into the ruins, 
 
 And hear those sad funeral tunes, 
 
 I pray to God for mercy and relief. 
 
 As I gaze upon their ashes. 
 
 Beneath the electric flashes, 
 
 I know that God in heaven is so good 
 
 He'll have mercy on each poor soul 
 
 That appeared upon the death roll. 
 
 Where the Iriquois Theatre stood. 
 
 I hear the sad chimes ringing, 
 
 I hear the church choir singing, 
 
 As I bid the last farewell to my true love ; 
 
 As I smooth her auburn hair, 
 
 I offer up a prayer : 
 
 May her soul rest in peace with God above. 
 
 I will try my grief to smother, 
 
 But I cannot love another — 
 
 Her angel face would haunt me if I should. 
 
 Through life her I will cherish — 
 
 Why did our loved ones perish — 
 
 Where the Iriquois Theatre stood. 
 
 In the summer's evening hours 
 
 O'er their graves we'll plant sweet flowers, 
 
 And night and morning when we kneel and 
 
 pray 
 We will offer up a prayer 
 For all who perished there. 
 That we may meet them on the judgment day. 
 When I think of future years, 
 I can't stop those blinding tears — 
 I'd drown my grief and sorrow if I could — 
 I will mourn while my poor heart beats 
 For engaging those reserved seats 
 Where the Iriquois Theatre stood. 
 
 The sad fate we implore 
 
 Of six hundred souls or more 
 
 Whose bodies are at rest beneath the clay. 
 
 By and by our grief and sadness 
 
 Will turn to joy and gladness 
 
 When we meet in heaven on the judgment 
 
 day. 
 Let us meet on each new year, 
 At the graves of loved ones dear, 
 And when we die let it be understood 
 To lay us side by side — 
 Our loved ones who died 
 Wbere the Iriquois Theatre stood. 
 
 THE HOOCHIE COOCHIE MOVEMENT AT THE BALL. 
 
 It happened just by chance 
 
 I was present at a dance. 
 That was given in a town not very small ; 
 
 And I'm tickled that I went, 
 
 For it didn't cost a cent 
 To see the hoochie coochie at the ball. 
 
 I saw movements there, that night, 
 
 That fairly dazed my sight, — 
 W'ith shame I watched the shadow on the wall. 
 
 That circle half-step hitch 
 
 Was flavored mighty rich — 
 But the hoochie coochie movement beat them 
 all. 
 
 The management that night 
 
 They failed for to invite 
 Some ladies much admired by one and all. 
 
 It's amusing for to see 
 
 How one-sided some can be ; — 
 But they missed the hoochie coochie at the 
 ball. 
 
 A man in common clothes 
 
 To a friend he did propose 
 To give one introduction — that was all. 
 
 But it happened that the gent 
 
 Was a four-hundred per cent ; 
 So the farmer got no partner at the ball. 
 
 Between the acts and plays, 
 
 They passed around bouquets. 
 If I had been a lady, I would squall, 
 
 For they offered none to me ; 
 
 But I hung around to see 
 If the hoochie coochie movement beat them all. 
 
 I sat there taking chills, 
 
 While they danced rag-time quadrilles ; 
 As they danced the latest schottische of them 
 " all. 
 
 It took lots of nerve and grit 
 
 To gaze very long at it — 
 For the hoochie coochie paralyzed them all. 
 
THE HOOCHIE COOCHIE MOVEMENT AT THE BALL (continued) 
 
 I, myself, am rather gay, 
 
 In a smooth kind of a way ; 
 But I never could collect the nerve or gall 
 
 To get up in a crowd 
 
 And show movements half as loud 
 As the hoochie coochie movement at the ball. 
 
 A lady dressed in white 
 
 Thought she'd have fun on the quiet ; 
 She stuck right to a man not very tall 
 
 While another dressed in red 
 
 Danced with no one but her Fred — 
 But the hoochie coochie dancer beat them all. 
 
 A blonde in cream sateen, 
 
 Not more than seventeen, 
 Seemed rather gay for so late in the fall. 
 
 Her and a married man 
 
 Went through movements like can-can ; 
 But the hoochie coochie movement beat them 
 all. 
 
 One lady dressed in blue 
 Must have thought herself a few ; 
 As she danced a two-step with a man quite 
 tall. 
 She moved at such a rate, 
 That he couldn't strike her gait — 
 But the hoochie coochie movement beat them 
 all. 
 
 One damsel in full dress 
 
 Kept me in great distress ; 
 While she kept bounding like a rubber ball. 
 
 She tried hard to win the race ; 
 
 But she must take second place 
 For the hoochie coochie movement beat them 
 all. 
 
 I sized up one that wore 
 
 Her hair in pompadour ; 
 She tried so hard to imitate a doll. 
 
 She is certainly a peach 
 
 But she had too short a reach, 
 For the hoochie coochie movement beat them 
 all. 
 
 A brunette dressed in pink, 
 
 Cast a very roguish wink. 
 If I was single on her I would call. 
 
 She would take first prize with me 
 
 But a big majority 
 Savs the hoochie coochie dancer beats them 
 all. 
 
 The leader of the band 
 
 Kept peeping through his hand 
 When all at once he took a backward fall. 
 
 As soon as he came to. 
 
 He says, "I've seen a few — 
 But the hoochie coochie movement beats them 
 all." 
 
 THE NIGHT THAT MILLER MILKED THE MOOLEY COW. 
 
 (Written at Lansford, N. D., 1905.) 
 
 Air : "Down Went McGinty." 
 
 On last Thanksgiving night 
 
 Lansford folks did me invite 
 To take part in a great Thanksgiving feast. 
 
 They said it would be grand 
 
 So I thought I'd take a hand 
 And help devour some foul or other beast. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 That night I'll ne'er forget 
 I see Miller milking yet, 
 They say he is no milker anyhow. 
 At Somers he did swear 
 For finding cattle there, 
 On the night that Miller milked the mooley 
 cow. 
 
 When supper time drew near 
 
 I happened for to hear, 
 That all arrangements for the feast fell 
 through. 
 
 Then to Miller I did say, 
 
 I haven't eat today, 
 And I'd give a dollar for an oyster stew. 
 
 Says Miller : "Then by Jove 
 
 We'll have fresh or we'll have cove." 
 As we started out to find the oyster man. 
 
 We disturbed his peaceful rest, 
 
 And he got up and dressed, 
 And we soon had oysters in a big tin can. 
 
 We thought our work was done 
 
 But we found we'd just begun, 
 For we couldn't find a drop of milk in town. 
 
 So with our empty pail, 
 
 Our fate we did bewail, 
 As I spied a bunch of cattle lying down. 
 
 Says Miller with a smile. 
 We will camp here for a while, 
 
 As he approached a mooley black as jet. 
 But the mooley gave a kick, 
 That made poor Miller sick. 
 
 And I hear myself a-laughing at him yet. 
 
 When Miller he came to, 
 
 He says : "Darn the oyster stew, 
 I think I'd rather have a dozen raw." 
 
 But he soon conceived a plan. 
 
 To milk a condensed can. 
 And it was the worst condensed I ever saw. 
 
 All arrangements were complete, 
 
 Except a place to eat, 
 To Mrs. Pelsey we did sing our tale of woe. 
 
 She finally gave consent, 
 
 Her establishment to rent, 
 To Miller and to Somers for the show. 
 
 33 
 
THE NIGHT THAT MILLER MILKED THE MOOLEY COW 
 
 (continued) 
 
 On our two-bit bill of fare, 
 We had oysters raw and rare, 
 
 We had oyster stew condemned with con- 
 densed cream. 
 We had crackers by the peck, 
 And we filled them to the neck, 
 
 As they crowded on us in a steady stream. 
 
 Miller acted as cashier. 
 
 While Somers in the rear, 
 Kept adding water to the condensed cream. 
 
 The water got so thick, 
 
 They all began to kick, 
 And they said we had contrived a robbing 
 scheme. 
 
 For their money they did shout, 
 Then says Miller, we'll pull out, 
 
 For I think that we are forty cents ahead. 
 That will buy all kinds of bGoze, 
 Then we'll go and have a snooze, 
 
 For in Lahey's barn I know we'll find a bed. 
 
 This great blowout is o'er, 
 
 And I'll act as cook no more, 
 On next Thanksgiving I'll go to Mohall. 
 
 Where they'll serve you night or day, 
 
 With refreshments up in "A", 
 And where dried up cows cannot be found 
 at all. 
 
 THE CON ON THE D., M. & N. 
 
 (Written at Hibbing, 1901.) 
 
 When I came to Hibbing, 
 Back in ninety-three, 
 
 The town was the best on the range ; 
 The people were social, 
 And brim full of glee, 
 
 Not a face in the village seemed strange. 
 
 But now I see faces 
 Almost every day — 
 
 Faces of queer-looking men ; 
 But the queerest of all 
 Is a man rather tall 
 
 Who works on the D, M. & X. 
 
 Some say he's a halfbreed. 
 More say he's a Turk, 
 
 And some say he's wearing a cue ; 
 I'd judge from his actions, 
 And also his nerve, 
 
 That he is a fullblooded Jew. 
 
 So, now, Mr. Conney, 
 Because you've a pull, 
 
 And own about half on the range, 
 Don't think that a quarter 
 Will fill you chuck full. 
 
 Just knock down a little more change. 
 
 So, please Mr. Knocker, 
 Don't knock quite so hard ; 
 
 Why not be a man among men, 
 Pay the price everywhere, 
 Just like I pay my fare, 
 
 When I ride on the D., M. & .N. 
 
 Get your wooden paddles, 
 Wade into the rice, 
 
 Be happy among your own kin ; 
 Then draw a cartoon 
 Of yourself and Wan Loon, 
 
 For to post on the D., M. & N. 
 
 When in Hibbing you dine. 
 Pass by every sign 
 
 Until you see Sing-Sing, Wun Lin ; 
 Then take off your hat, 
 While they serve you the rat 
 
 That was caught on the D., M. & X. 
 
 Signed : 
 A Bum Cook or the Leg of a Bear. 
 
 WORDS OF LOVE. 
 
 My true fond heart is aching 
 For the one I dearly love, 
 
 I long to press her to my loving breast 
 Oh, cheer my heart that's breaking, 
 Is my prayer to him above ; 
 For she's the one I dearly love the best. 
 
 Oh, how I long to fondly kiss 
 The lips that are sweet to me ; 
 While her gentle form I embrace, 
 You are the only one I miss, 
 Oh, hear my loving plea, 
 
 And let me look into my true love's 
 face. 
 
 34 
 
THE FOREIGNER'S HOME. 
 
 ( Written at Seattle, Wash., 1890.) 
 
 Port Madison is a place 
 
 You will find most every race. 
 Although its population it is small ; 
 
 It's a museum complete, 
 
 I'm sure it can't be beat, 
 For representing nations, one and all ; 
 
 They're from Italy and Spain, 
 
 So far across the main — 
 From England, Ireland, Scotland, and from 
 Wales; 
 
 And Sweden, too, also, 
 
 I'd have you all to know, 
 Is represented here by many males. 
 
 A description I will give 
 
 Of the manner which they live — 
 The town, it is composed of cabins small, 
 
 Where each single man does dwell, 
 
 In his little frame hotel, 
 And they very seldom on each other call. 
 
 They're from Switzerland and Russia, 
 
 From Portugal and Prussia, 
 From Lapland, Finland and Australia, too; 
 
 From India and Japan, 
 
 Emmigration just began. 
 But from each place I know of one or two. 
 
 From France and Germany, 
 
 They come for liberty, 
 And Africa, don't fail to represent ; 
 
 And Canada, so dull, 
 
 That is ruled by Johnny Bull, 
 Quite a number to this little Isle have sent ; 
 
 And the Siwash Indian band 
 
 Are natives of this land, 
 And many on this island still remain ; 
 
 And the Chinese did not fail 
 
 To come in some pleasant gale, 
 Which caused many here for to complain. 
 
 From each Territory and State, 
 
 To this little Isle they emmigrate, 
 From Wisconsin, Michigan and Iowa, 
 
 And from the State of Maine, 
 
 They have come to see it rain, 
 And finally have concluded here to stay. 
 
 I find some from Minnesota, 
 
 Nebraska and Dakota, 
 Montana, Indiana and Massachu — 
 
 And some from Illinois, 
 
 The World's Fair to advertise, 
 America's greatest hit in ninety-two. 
 
 California sent us some, 
 
 And from Oregon they've come ; 
 Kentucky, Pennsylvania and Ohio; 
 
 Missouri sent "her share, 
 
 And New York had some to spare. 
 And I'm told there's one or two from Idaho. 
 
 And here you'll find the dude, 
 
 So selfish and so rude, 
 And many more who try the dude to be. 
 
 What are they going to do, 
 
 The fair sex are so few, 
 And most of them of such a high degree ? 
 
 There's a few on Bendbridge Isle, 
 
 Who try to put on style, 
 And hold their heads above all others here. 
 
 1 am sorry for their fate, 
 
 They have got here rather late, 
 And their capital is too small, I fear. 
 
 Of a few more I would mention, 
 
 And call to your attention — 
 They lately crossed the path of poverty ; 
 
 Though superior to their neighbor, 
 
 I notice they do labor 
 For wages, just the same as you and me. 
 
 The fair sex here are cute, 
 
 Though some are hard to suit — 
 A banker's son might any of them steal. 
 
 There may be one or two, 
 
 A ship captain might do, 
 Providing he is handsome and genteel. 
 
 They're from Sweden and Norway, 
 
 And" some from Dogfish Bay; 
 They're descendants of high aristocracy ; 
 
 As they have no proof to show, 
 
 Therefore, we do not know ; 
 At present we must judge from what we see. 
 
 There's a few I must leave out — 
 
 They are ladies without doubt ; 
 Although they are all strangers unto me. 
 
 I am told "by those who know, 
 
 Thy're admired where'er they go 
 For common sense and sociability. 
 
 This statement, it is true, 
 
 I perhaps have missed a few 
 That some one in this town ought to expose; 
 
 But, as I don't intend 
 
 Any one for to offend, 
 I will now bring these few verses to a close. 
 
 THE FIRE BOAT SNOQUALEMIE. 
 
 (Written at Seattle, Wash., 1890.) 
 
 To the fire boat, neat and trim, 
 Fill your glasses to the brim ; 
 
 The Snoqualemi comes our fortune and 
 fame to aid ; 
 She will guard, by night or day, 
 Marts of commerce by the bay, 
 
 Like a battleship to join in the brigade. 
 
 When the dreadful fiend of fire, 
 Threats the city in its ire, 
 
 Let not any heart in hopelessness despair; 
 
 Like the warrior on his steed, 
 She will come unto our need, 
 When the good Snoqualemi's 
 rend the air. 
 
 trumpets 
 
 The Snoqualemi's gallant crew 
 Are jolly, brave and true; 
 
 And as long as currents flow in Puget 
 Sound, 
 Our brave companions they'll be. 
 And no more in dread we'll see 
 
 The queen of cities burning to the ground. 
 
 35 
 
" I started farming with a hoe along the Minot Trail." 
 
 36 
 
THE BEAUTIES OF THE MOUSE RIVER LOOP. 
 
 It gives me much pleasure 
 To relate the treasure 
 That's here for each man 
 
 Who is willing to stoop. 
 It's not in the Klondike, 
 Or at the World's Fair Pike; 
 It's here in Dakota — 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 Tho we have prohibition, 
 If you're in a condition 
 That you cannot eat 
 
 Or drmk nothing but soup, 
 It's not a bit risky 
 To buy beer or whisky 
 In an up-to-date town 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 You land speculators, 
 And smooth calculators, 
 And men whose's ambitions 
 
 Don't run to free soup. 
 If you're searching this nation 
 For an ideal location. 
 You'll find it right here 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 The Mouse River fishes 
 
 Are simply delicious ; 
 
 Wild geese, ducks and chickens 
 
 Are here by the group. 
 And fox, badger and rabbit 
 Have formed a habit 
 To stay the year round 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 The're's the Red River Valley, 
 That we call mud alley ; 
 Some think she's the pride 
 
 Of the northwestern group. 
 But I'll take the dry belt, 
 Where no drouth have I felt 
 Since I cast my lot 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 ( >ur produce they can't beat, 
 ( )ur No. i hard wheat. 
 And flax, oats and barley, 
 
 With weight fairly droop. 
 At the St. Louis World's Fair 
 They found us right there, 
 And prizes won our share 
 
 From the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 The soil is a clay loam, 
 For hills we have no room ; 
 You can see fifty miles 
 
 Without a telescope. 
 In a mirage at sunrise 
 You view, to your surprise. 
 Almost every town 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 For fuel we are all right, 
 With large mines of lignite; 
 And right from the surface 
 
 The coal you can scoop- 
 Each town on the Soo tells, 
 From Minot to Bowbells, 
 Where you'll find the coal wells 
 
 Of the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 The nights in the summer 
 
 Are as cool as cucumber ; 
 
 You can sleep without powders 
 
 Put up by Doc Shoop. 
 Meadow larks every morning 
 Sing sweet melodies, warning 
 Daylight has appeared 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 Xew towns are abooming. 
 And as aspect assuming. 
 That make new-comers stare 
 
 Like a steam caliope ; 
 And grain speculators, 
 Building more elevators, 
 Are as busy as bees — 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 I've been west of the Cascades, 
 I strolled in the south shades. 
 And I've stood on the docks 
 
 Of New York harbor sloop ; 
 But here on the prairie, 
 So balmy and airy. 
 I am wedded for life 
 
 To the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 With railroad competition, 
 
 We are in a position 
 
 Where the freight racket story 
 
 No more can us dupe. 
 Tom Lowerv and Jim Hill 
 \re here of their free will, 
 And the N. P. hello Bill 
 
 Has surveyed through the 
 
 Loop. 
 
 Tt's a tough proposition 
 Here for a physician ; 
 The only diseases 
 
 Are measles and croup. 
 This clime is so healthy, 
 A man knows he's wealthy, 
 If he's not worth a cent — 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 The Gophers we've banished, 
 The shacks have all vanished. 
 Except an odd one 
 Used for a chicken coop ; 
 On each claim there's a mansion 
 Where stockmen were ranchin' 
 Just four vears ago — 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 37 
 
THE BEAUTIES OF THE MOUSE RIVER LOOP (continued) 
 
 There's no corporation 
 Can dictate our ration, 
 For strikes or for boycotts 
 
 We don't care a whoop. 
 This land, self-supporting, 
 Is all we need courting, 
 To fill all our wants 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 We came here from all nations, 
 And changed our vocations — ■ 
 Those who were not farmers 
 
 Would make a large troop. 
 To me it seems funny, 
 They all have made money, 
 The way some people farm 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 So get on Jim Hill's van 
 
 As quick as you can ; 
 
 Don't wait till your shoulders 
 
 Are round as a hoop. 
 Get in on the ground floor, 
 And you'll never feel sore 
 That you cast your lot 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 Try Glenburn, Lansford or Mohall, 
 Or give Sherwood a call ; 
 Go and see Omemee, 
 
 And don't miss W,esthope ; 
 And if you come to Renville 
 Call on me and I will 
 Make you feel at home 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop. 
 
 IF THAT LITTLE BLUE-EYED BABE WAS ONLY MINE. 
 
 (Song — Written at Minot, 1910.) 
 
 On a Pullman car from Minot 
 
 To Kenmare, on the Soo, 
 
 A lady sat across the aisle from mc 
 
 With a sweet babe in her arms, 
 
 With smiling eyes of blue. 
 
 A picture true of merriment and glee, 
 
 I was moved by the expression, 
 
 And a longing filled my heart, 
 
 A feeling that was simply divine, 
 
 As I looked on that sweet face 
 
 I wished it was my place 
 
 To call that little blue-eyed baby mine. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 My heart first filled with gladness, 
 
 But soon was turned to sadness ; 
 
 No home, no wife, no babe to love divine ; 
 
 This is my true, sad story, 
 
 But I'd feel life's joys and glory. 
 
 If that little blue-eyed babe was only mine. 
 
 As we smiled on one another, 
 
 A smile came from the mother, 
 
 As love beams from that babe's blue eyes did 
 
 shine, 
 And as it smiled on me. 
 From love and sympathy, 
 
 I wished that little blue-eyed babe was mine. 
 But soon the train neared Kenmare, 
 Where I knew we'd have to part, 
 Perhaps to never see that face again. 
 I whispered, God be with you, 
 As a sigh came from my heart, 
 And bid farewell to babe and railway train. 
 
 As the golden sun was setting 
 
 On that western prairie land, 
 
 That westbound train kept gliding on its 
 
 way; 
 Heart filled with admiration, 
 And fond hopes of expectation, 
 I longed for home, sweet home, and babes 
 
 some day. 
 God be with you, darling, 
 Is my earnest prayer tonight; 
 May joy, good health and peace be ever thine; 
 May your dear parents caress you, 
 Farewell, adieu, God bless you — 
 Tho I wish that little blue-eyed babe was 
 
 mine. 
 
 38 
 
With my coach and four, I'll have friends galore. 
 
 WHEN THE LOOP IS TEN YEARS OLD. 
 
 At this present moment 
 
 We are making history fast; 
 It's natural that the future 
 
 Will sure surpass the past. 
 Tho many changes will take place 
 
 That cannot be foretold, 
 I'd like to meet yon face to face 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 I walked the ground where Mohail stands 
 
 Three years ago today; 
 There wasn't anything in sight 
 
 Excepting the survey ; 
 It took an expert pilot 
 
 To find each corner mould. 
 But I'd like a corner on the Loop 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 We'll have rural mail delivery, 
 
 Telegraph and telephone ; 
 We'll have wireless telegraphy 
 
 Connection with the Zone. 
 We won't need Hicks or his almanacs 
 
 To post us on the cold — 
 We'll show them all a hot time 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 We'll have High Schools and Universities, 
 
 And churches for each creed; 
 With fiber mills and flour mills. 
 
 We will all others lead; 
 The brick we'll manufacture 
 
 Will be the finest sold; 
 We'll have a suspension bridge where the 
 ferry runs — 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 We'll have a Renville County. 
 
 Or no county at all ; 
 For the county seat you cannot beat 
 
 The City of Mohail. 
 The matter hangs with Tracy Bangs, 
 
 An attorney bright, I'm told ; 
 We've got to win ; we won't give in — 
 
 Till the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 Our sister, Minnesota, 
 
 Known as the "Timber Hog;" 
 We've got the soil, in a short while 
 
 We'll show Minnie how to log. 
 A grove on every quarter 
 
 Is the sight you will behold, 
 We will need no flax straw burners 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 You pioneers, who blazed the way, 
 
 Into this Paradise, 
 Don't sell, or don't you mortgage, 
 
 Is my sincere advice. 
 Each quarter section will be worth 
 
 Ten thousand plunks in gold, 
 If you will have the sand to hold your land 
 
 Till the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 The words "Northwestern Canada," 
 
 Will be spelled "U. S .A.;" 
 There won't be any boundary line, 
 
 Not even Hudson Bay. 
 And with that country settled 
 
 With Yankee Boys so bold, 
 We'll show Secretary Hay and John Bull the 
 way, 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 39 
 
WHEN THE LOOP IS TEN YEARS OLD (continued) 
 
 There will be no Prohibition then — 
 
 We'll put Blind Pigs on the hog; 
 We'll have only High Licensed saloons, 
 
 That will handle first-class grog; 
 Colored poisons and Tame Moose 
 
 No longer will be sold; 
 We'll have the best they can produce 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 The coal mines we'll develop, 
 
 West of Minot, on the "Soo," 
 And we will test for other mines, 
 
 And we will rind them, too ; 
 Lignite will be the standard coal, 
 
 As Washburn oft has told ; 
 To the tune of "Lig Pennsylvania'' will jig, 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old- 
 
 In the summer time we know the clime 
 
 Is strictly up-to-date ; 
 As we grow old the winters cold 
 
 Are sure to moderate; 
 While the air keeps dry and health stands by, 
 
 The weather we won't scold. 
 We can easily show Missouri 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 Our present railroad service 
 
 Is rotten to the core ; 
 Of course, poor Jim, we can't blame him. 
 
 With his appetite for more. 
 He keeps raking in the millions, 
 
 With the millions he does hold ; 
 By the powers of Mars, we'll have other cars. 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 Each road will have a main line, 
 
 Each main a double track ; 
 The second "Soo"' is part way through, 
 
 And we know she won't turn back. 
 The N. P. and the Milwaukee 
 
 Are coming, I am told ; 
 Where will the G. N. tow-paths be 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old? 
 
 An electric railway system 
 
 Tom Lowery he will build ; 
 With electric incandescent lights 
 
 Each town it will be filled ; 
 On a special line around the loop, 
 
 Round trip tickets will be sold — 
 To show you how to "loop the loop," 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 Wurk on with vim and courage, 
 
 On the Prairie^ of the West; 
 And when you vote, vote like a man, 
 
 For what you think is best. 
 When we get in true, honest men, 
 
 Who can't be bought or sold, 
 There'll be no cause to revoke the laws 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 We'll fight those Wall Street plutocrats 
 
 Till we force them to the wall ; 
 The lobby in the White House 
 
 Won't be a gambling hall. 
 I see our silver dollar 
 
 On an equal with the gold. 
 With Billy Bryan for President, 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 Just one word of encouragement, 
 
 To oppressed across the sea: 
 The world would smile if Erin's Isle 
 
 Could gain her liberty. 
 With American assistance, 
 
 And leaders not controlled, 
 I hope to see old Ireland free 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 I'd also have you understand. 
 
 And please let others know, 
 That I intend for to disband 
 
 From farming with a hoe ; 
 I will farm then with a crew of men, 
 
 While the poet you'll behold, 
 With his coach and four he'll have friends 
 
 galore, 
 
 When the Loop is ten years old. 
 
 SWEET, CHARMING ANNA MARS. 
 
 In a little cot in fair Minot 
 
 Dwells a charming little Queen, 
 
 With eyes as bright as the stars at night, 
 She's the fairest one I've seen. 
 
 One thing I'll say, I'd gladly stay 
 Ten years behind the bars, 
 
 If she'd love me when I'd get free- 
 Sweet, charming Anna Mars. 
 
 Why did the cruel hand of fate 
 Come knocking at her door, 
 
 And human passion agitate 
 Before love's dream was o'er. 
 
 If we had met in innocence, 
 I vow by sun and stars, 
 
 I'd give my life to make her wife- 
 Sweet, charming Anna Mars. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Sweet little Belle 
 
 I love so well, 
 I'd get on board the cars, 
 
 And bid adieu 
 
 To all I knew 
 For charming Anna Mars. 
 
 40 
 
The Willow Grove Farm, 1910. 
 
 A HIGHER JUDGE WILL JUDGE BOTH YOU AND I. 
 
 (Written at Duluth, 1912. ) 
 
 In this world of greed and selfishness many They took my gold, they took my land my 
 
 innocent fall prey old homestead so dear; 
 
 To the deceit and treachery of those that To the God of justice I still pray for peace 
 
 would betray; and comfort and cheer; 
 
 Much loss and sorrow I have felt from de- When each one takes the witness stand De- 
 ceit, and fraud and lie, fore the judge on high, 
 
 But a h gher judge will judge both them A higher judge will judge both them and I. 
 and I. 
 
 I was robbed of my blue-eyed babe, the babe Some men high up in politics look mighty 
 
 of hopes and dreams; small to me; 
 
 I still hope on, sad and alone, how far the O, what a sin to have them win through cun- 
 
 goal yet seems ; ning trickery; 
 
 There is no one seems to understand what Through graft and gall they make a stall, 
 
 would bring me true joy. their greed to satisfy; 
 
 But a higher judge will judge both them But a higher judge will judge both them 
 
 and I. 
 
 The attorneys made a hit ; they made a grand- 
 stand play ; 
 
 What care they for the wounded hearts that 
 in grief for justice pray; 
 
 Win or lose, thev always win, their trickery 
 I defy; 
 
 And a higher judge will judge both them 
 and I. 
 
 and I- 
 
 They robbed me of my dear old home along 
 the Minot trail, 
 
 Where rive long years I pioneered and buf- 
 feted every gale ; 
 
 Their cruel hearts are not content, they would 
 like to crucify ; 
 
 But a higher judge will judge my foes and I. 
 
 I find that most all liars would lie you to j am ]]Q loafer Qr deadbeat> record lain . 
 
 your grave, . ly s h ows • 
 
 Tho' they pretend for to defend your rights j neyer booze "_ that is sad news for all 
 
 against the knave; bitter foes 
 
 From them I got no justice, I was several Qf the bUter thJngs jn thjs M wQrld j haye 
 
 thousand shy; had a full supplv; 
 
 But a higher judge wdl judge both them But a higher jud wil , jud foeg and j 
 
 and I. 
 
 The District Judge who knew me well has To those who rob the innocent I have just a 
 
 had his little say; word to say: 
 
 I don't know why he judged me thus, but The hand of just.ce will demand a recom- 
 
 he'll be judged some day; pense some day. 
 
 The evidence submitted there no judge I'll drown my sorrows with a smile, while 
 
 should justify; they drown theirs in rye; 
 
 But a higher judge will judge both him And a higher judge will judge both them 
 
 and I. and I. 
 
 41 
 
A HIGHER JUDGE WILL JUDGE BOTH YOU AND I (continued) 
 
 Tho I have lost at a great cost, my mind is They now have troubles of their own; their 
 
 now at ease; tainted gold will go; 
 
 They can't annoy or mar my joy, I am on the Year by year it will disappear just like the 
 
 peaceful seas; inciting snow; 
 
 Day by day I hope and pray to that great They'll wish they never served me so, some 
 
 judge on high— day before they die — 
 
 The judge that's sure to judge both them And a higher judge will judge both them 
 
 and I. and I. 
 
 Some of my closest relatives have persecuted 
 
 me; I thank the Lord, who saved my life — I don't 
 
 Their hearts of stone will yet atone for their thank them for that ; 
 
 inhumanity; I wouldn't change my lot with them, or with 
 
 They praise my bitter enemies, my down- any plutocrat; 
 
 fall they enjoy — Id rather lose in lionest shoes, than win 
 
 But a higher judge will judge both them through a falsity— 
 
 and I. For a higher judge will judge both them 
 
 and I. 
 They meet me with a counterfeit smile — a 
 
 smile that plainly shows 
 
 They have no sympathy for me — they are my Farewell to dear old Renville and Lkewise 
 
 blackest foes; to Bottineau; 
 
 If you ask them the reason, they cannot ex- Farewell to the Mouse River Loop, from you 
 
 plain why— I am forced to go. 
 
 And a higher" judge will judge both them On my famous hoe and pen also I always 
 
 and I. can rely. 
 
 Till a higher judge will judge my foes and I. 
 They entertain my enemies, who tried to 
 
 ruin my life ; 
 
 Thev flatter them and turn down him who Farewell to my kind neighbors, whom I never 
 
 deserves a real wife; more may see; 
 
 Their slanderous lies will meet surprise Farewell, farewell, old Minot Trail, I hate to 
 
 , when the Lord will ratify, part from thee; 
 
 And a higher judge will judge both them Farewell to the Willow Grove Farm — one 
 
 anc l J. last fond look — good-bye ; 
 
 But a higher judge will judge my foes and I. 
 
 THE GRAND OLD G. O. P. 
 
 How did the gold men win the fight in 1896? Who said if Bryan's elected we'll have a silver 
 Who called our leaders anarchists and silver flood 
 
 lunatics? That will drown out even- gold bug of good 
 
 Who said if Bryan's elected, the chair he'll old English blood ~? 
 
 It will make some silver miner a millionaire 
 you see, 
 st object," savs 
 the G. O. P." 
 
 never see , 
 
 Was he a gold bug anarchist I'd ask the G. you see, 
 
 O. P.? ! ! "I must object," says Wall street, "I am with 
 
 Who bought the daily papers up when money Who gaid the paIg f;iced (]nllar wouJd be 
 
 could them buy? worth but 50 cents ? 
 
 To educate the public with insults and with Aml wou](1 ])e l6 timcs as ]argc when C0Jnc(] 
 
 .,,.?• r- , • 1 1 i ii- ., . 1 free at the mints? 
 
 \ oud always find ui large headlines that word Who saJd we [oye ^ laboring men they - n 
 
 Prosperity, have our svmoathv 
 
 I hat word it won a million votes for the Jf they>n worshipthe full dinner pail and the 
 
 grand old G. O. P. grand i d G . . P. ? 
 
 Who was it singled out the flag as something Who told us all about the trust who, said trust 
 
 of their own? us once more, 
 
 Who gave all others warning to let that flag And we'll apply a remedy to cure that deadly 
 
 alone? sore. 
 
 Hanna had it figured out where'er a flag you'd They have quit doctoring with the trusts they 
 
 see; have found a remedy. 
 
 You'd know it was the emblem of the grand Thev say "Let well enough alone, 'tis the 
 
 old G. O. P. grand old G. O. P." 
 
 42 
 
THE GRAND OLD G. O. P. (continued) 
 
 Who was it asked the laboring men to join 
 
 them in parade? 
 Who was the man that organized the full 
 
 dinner pail brigade? 
 Who said 'twas not coercion for to ask an 
 
 employee 
 To wear the campaign button of the grand old 
 
 G. O. P.? 
 
 Who pleaded to men's stomachs when all ar- 
 guments did fail? 
 
 How man}' bit but got no bite from that full 
 dinner pail? 
 
 Some got their mess of pottage some more 
 got the G. B. 
 
 While others got their belly full of the grand 
 old G. O. P. 
 
 What have they done for Cuba and Porto 
 
 Rica too? 
 What will they do for Panama to get the canal 
 
 through? 
 Who played see-saw with Johnny Bull on the 
 
 Alaskan boundary ? 
 Was it Grover Cleveland or the grand old 
 
 G. O. P.? 
 
 Who was it shipped ten thousand mules for 
 
 England from our shores? 
 To help old England conquer the brave and 
 
 fearless Boers ? 
 And when Boer representatives came to 
 
 Washington, D. C. 
 Thev got a cool reception from the grand old 
 
 G. O. P. 
 
 And when they're educated and the last one 
 
 laid away. 
 We'll hoist our flag, the stars and stripes, and 
 
 to anarchists we'll say, 
 "1 hough it waves above a million souls who 
 
 died for liberty, 
 Don't haul it down, it's the emblem of the 
 
 grand old G. O. P." 
 
 Why don't they tackle Canada on their civiliz- 
 ing tour, 
 
 If they are so determined to become a great 
 world power? 
 
 I'd feel inclined to gamble, if I was up a tree, 
 
 That Johnnv Bull is in cahoots with the grand 
 old G. O. P. 
 
 Who fought the noblest battle that was ever 
 fought by man? 
 
 Who kept the gold hugs spell-bound from the 
 time the tight began ? 
 
 He did not fight for cursed gold but for hu- 
 manity 
 
 And almost won a victory from the grand old 
 G. O. P. 
 
 The traitors that deserted us in both the last 
 
 campaigns, 
 Would recognize Democracy if they only held 
 
 their reins. 
 If they repent in sorrow they may come back 
 
 privately. 
 But we want no turncoat leaders who fought 
 
 with the G. O. P. 
 
 Who said the Filipinos are a very ignorant 
 
 race, 
 As we're short of ink and paper we'll use 
 
 firearms in their place. 
 With rifle and with cannon balls we'll teach 
 
 them A. B. C. 
 That's how we'll educate them we're the grand 
 
 old G. O. P. 
 
 I here's another campaign close at hand, what 
 
 will the gold bugs do ? 
 Free silver's dead and buried and the Filipinos ,, 
 
 too. 
 They may civilize Columbia, if she fails to 
 
 agree 
 To the terms that Miss Panama made with 
 
 the G. O. P. 
 
 ECHOES FROM THE WEST. 
 
 I Campaign of T908. ) 
 
 Wall Street financiers and panic pioneers 
 
 Pray list to the song of the west; 
 Each note ringing out with a laugh and a 
 shout ; 
 
 '"Billy Bryan is the one we love best." 
 Go tell to the world our flag we've unfurled. 
 
 And placed on it one we adore ; 
 The one that we call the champion of all 
 
 An American, true to the core." 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Hear Dakota's sweet tenor 
 
 Ring out "Bryan's the winner." 
 Each note harmoniously fine. 
 
 Hear the Hawkeye's soprano, 
 And the bass of Indiana, 
 
 All singing the praises of Bryan. 
 
 43 
 
ECHOES FROM THE WEST (continued) 
 
 You financier mechanics, and boosters of 
 panics, 
 Now list to the song we sing. 
 Hear Iowa's soprano and the bass of Indiana, 
 
 Will you scoff at the tidings they bring? 
 You will hear those true notes sung from 
 millions of throats 
 Who never before fell in line. 
 They are now wide awake, and for their 
 country's sake. 
 They are singing the praises of Bryan. 
 
 New York will be true and our old friend 
 Missou 
 Knows Wall Street will have to be shown. 
 Watch good old Ohio, how she'll tackle the 
 foe, 
 Hear Illinois clear ringing tone; 
 Hear the voice from each state ; we're at 
 victory's gate ; 
 Those words, "equal rights" fill the air. 
 Stand loyal and true by the Red, White and 
 Blue, 
 And we'll place Billy Bryan in the chair. 
 
 THE CHAMPION OF HEROES TODAY. 
 
 (October, 1908.) 
 
 Every nation on earth has its heroes ; 
 
 Its heroes on land and on sea ; 
 But when fighting the battle of ballots, 
 
 There is only one hero for me. 
 In ninetysix he was our standard bearer, 
 
 In nineteen hundred he led the way ; 
 And who dare deny him the title : 
 
 "The Champion of Heroes Today.'' 
 
 So let us prepare for the battle, 
 
 Let every true Yank fall in line ; 
 Just pickle all Benedict Arnolds 
 
 In a good strong solution of Bryan. 
 Fight on till the ballots are counted, 
 
 With honest words, manly actions and 
 prayer, 
 And we'll put the champion of champions 
 
 Quite safe in the president's chair. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Though we have noble Teddies and Johnnies, 
 
 Other new and true men so they say; 
 Though they're great I must state we can't 
 call them : 
 "The Champion of Heroes Today." 
 
 A LABORING MAN'S APPEAL. 
 
 (October, 1908.) 
 
 Cheer up, you Yankee sons of toil, 
 
 There's victory in the air ; 
 Don't heed the corporation kings, 
 
 Or their coercion scare. 
 Stand by your colors in this fight, 
 
 And don't be led astray. 
 Just keep in line for Billy Bryan, 
 
 And we shall win the day. 
 
 So stick together in this fight. 
 
 Like true and honest men, 
 And if you do there is no doubt 
 
 We will the battle win. 
 Vote for that true American, 
 
 Who above all others shine ; 
 Vote for honest laws and labor's cause, 
 
 And for William Jennings Bryan. 
 
 SINCE OUR DEAR MAMIE DIED. 
 
 (In Memory of Mamie Little, Minneapolis, Minn., 1900.) 
 
 This world seems dark and lonely. 
 And my heart is sad with grief, 
 Since cruel death took away my pride ; 
 
 The days are long and dreary, 
 And in vain I seek relief — 
 This world seems lonely since dear Mamie 
 died. 
 
 Her dark brown eyes are sleeping 
 
 In a silent country grave; 
 
 Her auburn tresses cluster by her side. 
 While I am left here weeping 
 
 For the comforts that she gave 
 
 In those days before our darling Mamie 
 died. 
 
 Tho I know that she is happy 
 
 With the angels far above; 
 
 I miss my dear one ir this world so wide ; 
 No smiles so sweet as Mamie's, 
 
 And the tunes she played I love, 
 
 But they're silent since our darling Mamie 
 died. 
 
 44 
 
WILSON'S CABINET. 
 
 How do you do, Mr. President ! 
 
 I wish to compliment 
 
 And sincerely congratulate, 
 
 But to be honest and fair, 
 
 The man I wanted there 
 
 Was our new Secretary of State. 
 
 And Albert Sidney Burleson 
 
 Has much noble work done 
 
 That the people should appreciate. 
 
 His standards are high 
 
 But he can't quite qualify 
 
 Like our new Secretary of State. 
 
 Hon. William Gibbs McAdoo, 
 We can rely on you, 
 Our money system to regulate; 
 You're an expert they say, 
 But don't overlook the O. K. 
 Of our new Secretary of State. 
 
 Josephus Daniels is bright, 
 
 And has always been right — 
 
 He will keep our Navy up-to-date ; 
 
 He is a good Democrat, 
 
 But must take off his hat 
 
 To our new Secretary of State. 
 
 I admire Lindley M. Garrison 
 For the victories he has won ; 
 No wars we need anticipate, 
 He is admired everywhere; 
 But he cannot compare 
 With our new Secretary of State. 
 
 And there's Franklin K. Lane, 
 
 He's a man with great brain — 
 
 They consider him a heavyweight. 
 
 He is capable enough, 
 
 But he is not the real stuff 
 
 Like our new Secretary of State. 
 
 James C. Reynolds, I'm told, 
 Strayed away from the fold, 
 But he has repented of late. 
 He hasn't stood the test, 
 Like the man I love best, 
 Our new Secretary of State. 
 
 Huston, Wilson and Redfield, 
 Much influence will wield — 
 Each man is a power in debate ; 
 But please take the hunch — 
 Not a man in the Bunch 
 Can outgeneral our New Secretary 
 State. 
 
 of 
 
 VICTORY AND BRYAN, 1912. 
 
 Hark the call of ,our hero. 
 
 As great as the world ever knew. 
 Hark ! Hear the voice of a leader, 
 
 A man who is honest and true. 
 His record, no man can assail it, 
 
 His greatness no tongue can define. 
 Fellow men, hear the call of a nation, 
 
 The call is for victory and Bryan. 
 
 He is the progressive champion, 
 
 He blazed the way for reform ; 
 He fought against Wall Street plutocracy 
 
 In every great political storm. 
 He fought for the masses, not classes; 
 
 He defied every trust and combine ; 
 And behold it was gold did defeat him, 
 
 When we should have had victory and 
 Bryan. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Hark ! to the call of our hero, 
 
 His greatness no tongue can define; 
 
 Hark! to the call of a nation, 
 
 The call is for victory and Bryan. 
 
 So let no man despair in this contest. 
 
 For time always brings its reward ; 
 When the money kings line up for battle, 
 
 Their gold cannot purchase discord. 
 For there is a moral awakening, 
 
 That will all other issues outshine. 
 Be true to your home and your country, 
 
 And stand pat for victory and Bryan. 
 
 We have been taught many lessons ; 
 
 Yes, even the Heathen Chinee 
 Cries out to the Bright Star of Freedom, 
 
 "Let me die as I battle for thee." 
 Fellowmen, I appeal, do your duty, 
 
 Be true to a cause that's divine; 
 Be true to the champion of champions, 
 
 And march on to victory and Bryan. 
 
 45 
 
Hon. W. J. Bryan 
 
 46 
 
FOUR WARD COUNTY DELEGATES. 
 
 (Written at Minot, 1908.) 
 
 The following delegates to the state con- 
 vention to be held at Grand Forks on March 
 25, were elected : 
 
 Sam Lowe, L. H. Paige. P. W. Arnold, 
 C. R. Shurr, R. H. Grace, John Clifford, Ed 
 Sherman, R. B. Cox, August Riba, J. J. 
 Somers, Arthur Blaisdell, E. W. Burke, D. C. 
 Greenleaf, John L. Fahey, M. J. Barrett, A. D. 
 Hagenstein, L. W. Gammons, John Ehr. Thor- 
 walf Mostad, W. C McHugh, John Under- 
 dahl, Peter Ehr, T. P. Mulick, Mark Francis, 
 W. H. McKee, Anton Rose, W. W. Taylor, 
 N. N. Schilling, W. H. Parker, Peter Hol- 
 brook, Henry Hurd, F. M. Hill, John Fust, 
 T. P. Parke and Thos. E. Hagen. 
 
 I was a delegate from Ward ; 
 
 I was thank the Lard; 
 But I don't thank Barrett or Cox. 
 
 They fought against Bryan, 
 
 They were never in line, 
 So we landed them safe on the rocks. 
 
 Gammons and McHugh 
 Were for the G. N. and Soo, 
 
 At railroading they work fine. 
 Their master they did serve, 
 Though it took lots of nerve, 
 
 But they failed to sidetrack Br3'an. 
 
 Boss O'Connor did them fix, 
 To play Ozark flats blix, 
 
 But their little game fell through. 
 For there was no mention 
 Of Ward at the convention, 
 
 Unless some one said skidoo. 
 
 Your four Johnson boosters, 
 
 You back-sliding roosters, 
 Go join the Wall street bunch. 
 
 Now all that we ask 
 
 Is please throw off the mask, 
 Will you kindly take the hunch. 
 
 MINNE-APOLIS, MINNESOTA, 
 Or My Charming Miss Dakota. 
 
 Once more I'm back with Minne 
 
 And she welcomed my return, 
 Though five years I've been absent 
 
 On my western sojourn. 
 I must admit I love her still 
 
 For I always loved her ways ; 
 She is even looking better 
 
 Than she did in bygone days. 
 
 Dear Minnie, I'd hardly know you 
 You have grown mighty tall, 
 
 I never thought you would outgrow 
 Your sister, Miss St. Paul. 
 
 Your age improves your beauty 
 
 And you're not through growing yet. 
 Oh ! how can I embrace you 
 If you will much bigger get. 
 
 You do more wholesale business 
 
 Than your sister. I am told. 
 Tt's shameful how they slight o'd maids 
 
 When they get just so old. 
 You sister has my symoathy 
 
 She don't look bad at all. 
 But of course they all know Minnie 
 
 Is the sweetest girl of all. 
 
 Now Minnie, dear, forgive me 
 
 But the truth to you I'll tell, 
 Out on the western prairie 
 
 I met a country belle; 
 Although I loved you dearly 
 
 And my old friend Minne-sota ; 
 I chose instead and won and wed 
 
 One charming Miss Dakota.. 
 
 We are happy in Mouse River Loop, 
 
 Encircled by Mouse river, 
 So don't be jealous, Minnie dear, 
 
 Forgive me and forgive her. 
 T saw some of your other beaus, 
 
 Awinking at the prairie, 
 So don't be angry with them Minn. 
 
 For she's a little fairy. 
 
 Dear Minnie, I will not deny 
 
 1 loved you best of any, 
 
 T thought you were the sweetest girl 
 
 Although I had seen many. 
 But the girl out west, I now love best, 
 
 So farewell Minne-sota, 
 She has won my heart, I'll never part 
 
 With my charmingg Miss Dakota. 
 
MINNE-APOLIS— MINNIE-HA-HA ! 
 
 Dear Minnie, I just came to make you a call 
 
 And renew old acquaintance and such ; 
 Although I have courted comely Miss St. Paul 
 
 And have praised Miss Duluth very much. 
 Forgive me, Dear Minnie, for I still love you 
 true 
 
 As I did in those days long ago. 
 I first met and loved you back in '82, 
 
 Sweet Minnie Ha Ha — well you know. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Dear Minnie, Sweet Minnie Ha Ha. 
 
 Dear Minnie, don't tell your papa. 
 I still love you true, 
 And I'd like to steal you, 
 
 Dear Minnie, Sweet Minnie Ha Ha. 
 
 I then loved your beauty, your charms and 
 vour ways, 
 
 And although we have long been apart, 
 I cherish the memory of those happy days, 
 
 That's why you're still dear to my heart. 
 You look sweeter far than when you were 
 sixteen — 
 
 Your form is so handsome and fair; 
 Of all I have seen, I must call you the queen 
 
 With Minnie there's none can compare. 
 
 So now, Lovely Minnie, forgive me and say 
 
 I still love as I loved you before; 
 And promise you'll love me when I'm feeble 
 and gray, 
 
 Dear Minnie, I'll ask nothing more. 
 No more I will ramble, no more I will roam 
 
 To the north or the south, east or west. 
 I'll be happy with Minnie in our humble 
 home. 
 
 For I still love Dear Minnie the best. 
 
 THE NIGHT WE DROVE OVER TO HURD. 
 
 A Maxbass delegation 
 Took a short vacation; 
 
 They were a hot bunch, pon my word— 
 I dream of it yet, 
 And I'll never forget 
 
 The night we drove over to Hurd. 
 
 One cute little pet, 
 
 I am trying to forget — 
 
 There are others, but she is a bird; 
 She's as sweet as the Rose 
 And I'd like to propose — 
 
 Since the night I drove over to Hurd. 
 
 There was Sully and me, 
 Getschel and Horney, you see, 
 
 Sam Ardies' eyesight was blurred; 
 He had Monson and Onstead 
 Hunting the river bed, 
 
 The night we drove over to Hurd. 
 
 Both Xellie and Rose 
 
 Got their feet nearly froze, 
 
 Soon after the breakdown occurred. 
 Clara and Evelyne 
 Thawed out w.th gasoline, 
 
 On the night we drove over to Hurd. 
 
 It would never do 
 For me to tell you, 
 
 Some love whispers I overheard — 
 So don't think it strange 
 If some names should change 
 
 From the trip we took over to Hurd. 
 
 To the music so grand. 
 We danced hand in hand ; 
 
 They say we were very absurd. 
 But we got no knock down 
 In that wonderful town, 
 
 The night we drove over to Hurd. 
 
 One girl of the five 
 
 Said she knew where to drive — 
 
 Fred Horney took her at her word; 
 She drove into a ridge 
 In an unfinished bridge 
 
 On the night we drove over to Hurd. 
 
 Next morning at four, 
 We stole into a store ; 
 
 Before the proprietor stirred — 
 We had breakfast they say 
 In Joe Coghlan's cafe 
 
 On the morn we drove over from Hurd. 
 
 48 
 
Joseph Colt 
 
 MY OLD FRIEND JOE. 
 
 (In Memory of Joseph Colt, Duluth, Minn.) 
 
 I have lost an old-time friend, 
 On whom I could depend ; 
 
 I knew him in my childhood long ago. 
 We were chums for many years, 
 And my eyes now fill with tears , 
 
 For I have lost my old friend Joe. 
 
 He was taken in his prime, 
 And tho short may be the time 
 
 Until his old-time chums may have to go. 
 We miss him day by day. 
 Why was he called away — 
 
 A true friend like my old friend Joe? 
 
 His heart was light and free, 
 And he'd welcome you with glee. 
 
 I met kind friends while rambling to and 
 fro, 
 But when I was sick or well, 
 If I the truth must tell, 
 
 A true friend was my old friend Joe. 
 
 His Christian Lfe was bright, 
 He stood for just and right; 
 
 He fulfilled every duty we all know ; 
 But now his task is o'er, 
 And we'll never see no more 
 
 The smiling face of our friend Joe. 
 
 From earth he has passed away, 
 For his poor soul let us pray — 
 
 The Father up in Heaven willed it so. 
 Let us pray to God above 
 To share his joy and love 
 
 Forever with mv true friend Joe. 
 
 49 
 
ALICE AND THE POET'S NEWSPAPER COURTSHIP. 
 
 HANDS A WARM BUNCH TO MEN. 
 
 Indignant Lady Correspondent Declares Minot Ycung Men Are Quitters. 
 
 The following communication floated into 
 the Independent office today, and is repro- 
 duced unabridged, the name of the writer be- 
 ing withheld by request : 
 Editor Independent : 
 
 Dear Sir — For a long time I have had a 
 growing desire to write to some paper, and 
 through its kindness call the attention of the 
 community to the peculiar plight in which the 
 marriagable young women of the town find 
 themselves. 
 
 But I hesitate to commence. 
 
 The right words are not easy to think of; 
 two or three times I've started, but the awful 
 truth in print looks so shocking that I kept 
 erasing and starting it all over again. 
 
 Being a marriageable young woman ( that 
 is, comparatively young), it's a delicate sub- 
 ject for me to handle, as you'll readily under- 
 stand. 
 
 But to get down to brass tacks, the truth 
 is that none of the young men of the town 
 ever ask the girls to marry. 
 
 Now, ain't it a fright? 
 
 Xot only that — but they won't even make 'a 
 fuss over us. I'm speaking for the whole 
 community of unmarried girls, now, and not 
 just for one or two shelf-worn, moth-eaten, 
 antiquated old derelicts whom a blind man 
 wouldn't smile at, much less marry. 
 
 I'm no Venus myself. 
 
 But I'm no perfect fright, either. I'm an 
 American beauty compared with some of 
 those spindle-shanked, cadaverous old skele- 
 tons that give themselves such airs. 
 
 I don't know what the trouble is. 
 
 But you know this town is just full of 
 bachelors — fellows that have either brains or 
 money — I don't mean that you often find the 
 combination. But when you've got one, it is 
 a sort of compensation for the absence of the 
 other. 
 
 And we old girls, who are losing out, would 
 be satisfied with a modest amount of either. 
 I repeat it, Mr. Editor, something's wrong 
 
 with the men- They're not stuck up, for 
 some of them go about without shaving for 
 a week, and flirt with the waitresses in the 
 restaurants. And I don't think they're nat- 
 urally shy and hermit-like, for I've often seen 
 them rush up to other men and drag 'em into 
 an open door and talk about "having some- 
 thing." 
 
 But they just won't pay any attention to 
 us girls. 
 
 Girls here give parties and try their best 
 to show the boys a good time; the boys will 
 come, sure they will, and eat what we fix up 
 for them; but they never come back again 
 till there's something more to eat in sight, or 
 we've framed up a little dance that won't cost 
 them much. They never think of planning 
 any amusement for us. 
 
 I hope the very ones I'm thinking about 
 will see this, and read it. It will "hit the 
 spot'' if they do, for nearly all the boy-; in 
 town are alike. 
 
 This kick doesn't apply to the calf love of 
 the high school children. Puppy love is an 
 epidemic there, as it is in most other schools 
 in small cities. The delinquent gentlemen I 
 refer to are the old boys about town — those 
 who work in offices, have lawyers' cards hang- 
 ing on their doors, roll pills, and write copy 
 for newspapers — that's the good-for-nothing 
 bunch we forlorn maidens have it in for. 
 
 Gee, but they're selfish. But I reckon I've 
 said enough. I think maybe you'll print this. 
 I've noticed lately that the Independent has 
 been printing the news, regardless of people's 
 corns and the sore spots of old croakers who 
 think they own the town, so maybe you'll give 
 us girls a chance to say a word. I don't 
 know whether any marriageable man will get 
 enough worked up over this to answer, but if 
 he does, or if it even starts them to think- 
 ing, I'll have done my part and not worked 
 in vain. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 A MARRIAGEABLE GIRL. 
 
 A BACHELOR'S LAMENT. 
 
 You fair young and old maids. 
 
 Who are anxious for to wed. 
 Don't look for new beauxs every night ; 
 
 Stick to some level head, 
 And learn to do a woman's work — 
 
 To cook, to wash and sew, 
 Before you go out trapping 
 
 For to catch yourself a beaux. 
 
 I am one of the old bachelor-, 
 
 As you can plainly see ; 
 I'd like to capture some old maid. 
 
 That would prove true to me ; 
 For I am tired of single life, 
 
 And Table d'Hotel ; 
 I am dead anxious for a wife. 
 
 If I the truth must tell. 
 
 J Uu when I see those awful girls, 
 
 The way they put on airs, 
 And paint and powder and fix up, 
 
 As cute as Teddy Bears. 
 I fall back in my easy chair; 
 
 And puff a mild cigar, 
 I figure in my mind, by gosh ! 
 
 I'll stay right where I are. 
 
 And when I think of happy homes, 
 
 That I have seen some day, 
 With women true and babies too. 
 
 As sweet as flowers in May, 
 I try to figure where we're at, 
 
 Or what the deuce is wrong, 
 If I would dare to pen down my thoughts 
 
 I might use words too strong. 
 
 50 
 
A BACHELOR'S LAMENT (continued) 
 
 I am an independent chap, 
 
 With heart as true as steei; 
 I'd captivate an ideal mate, 
 
 Should Cupid make the deal ; 
 On all life's joys I'd compromise, 
 
 And let her have her say, 
 But business management and money 
 
 This boy must guide the way. 
 
 spent 
 
 Although I'm much dissatisfied, 
 
 In my perplexing state, 
 I plainly see there's naught for me 
 
 But wait, old boy, just wait. 
 If sonic maid true, should me lasso, 
 
 Then life I will enjoy; 
 So girls come thru, it's up to you 
 
 To capture this old boy. 
 
 REPLY TO THE BACHELOR'S LAMENT. 
 
 I am one of those bachelor girls, 
 
 From wisdom, be it said, 
 For I hear old people say 
 
 That any fool can wed. 
 I've traveled up and down a lot, 
 
 From St. Paul to the coast, 
 I would not marry one I've seen 
 
 Of all the blooming host. 
 I've tried to find one of those men. 
 
 That boast of a level head, 
 But, well, I know that all such men 
 
 Are married or all dead. 
 
 Now, I can plow, and drill, and mow, 
 
 As good as most men can ; 
 I do not see what use I'd make 
 
 Of any bachelor man, 
 Unless, perchance, I'd stand him up 
 
 Amongst the tall corn stalks 
 To move his arms and bow his head 
 
 To scare away the hawks ; 
 My claim is out near Minot, 
 
 I think a little west ; 
 I'd like to see my bachelor friends. 
 
 I'd treat them to the very best. 
 
 I would show them I could cook, 
 
 And make a batch of bread ; 
 I can wasli and sew and also write a book; 
 
 My eyes are brown, my hair is black, 
 My complexion is fair enough ; 
 
 I do not need a powder box, 
 Nor yet a powder puff ; 
 
 I carry in my hand-bag 
 My fancy work instead; 
 
 I'm quite content and do not care to wed, 
 Unless, perchance, I see a man 
 
 That I think is worth pursuing, 
 Then I will get him if I can — 
 
 I think I'll try lassooing. 
 
 Now, my standard of a man 
 
 Is one that would not marry 
 On purpose to get some one 
 
 The heavy end to carry; 
 I think a man that wants a wife 
 
 To love, to cherish, and obey, 
 Until I find a man like that 
 
 A bachelor girl I'll stay. 
 And when I'm sitting in my shack, 
 
 And shades of evening come, 
 I'll like to think of the Old Boys 
 
 Eating supper in Hotel de Bum 
 And putfiing their best cigars. 
 
 "ALICE" WRITES GOOD, COMMON SENSE. 
 
 Says She Is Educated and Holding Down Claim, Yet Is Not Above Honest 
 
 Work — Her Idea Is a Good Honest Farmer. 
 
 (From Ward County Independent.) 
 
 Dear Editor : 
 
 I am one of the busy, active, healthy and 
 earnest young women, who might figure in 
 this war between bachelors and marriageable 
 girls. My plan would be to pour oil on the 
 troubled waters by saying that they all mean 
 well, but are not understood. 
 "Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
 
 The dark, unfathomed cares of ocean bear; 
 Full many a flower was born to blush unseen. 
 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 
 
 "Be ye not unevenly yoked together," at 
 any rate, for such a life is only misery for the 
 contracting parties. 
 
 One of the horrors of matrimony is the 
 possibility of shutting the gates of mercy upon 
 
 oneself, by taking for a life companion the 
 bilious sort of perpetual grumbler, either in 
 skirts or trousers. A cheerful, sunny face 
 is worth a fortune, yes, ten fortunes. Give 
 me the cheerful worker ever}' time. The 
 jolly soul wlio can laugh at a joke when his 
 cares are many ; the social man, not the cloudy 
 glum fellow, who always hunts for some- 
 thing to kick about in his home. God bless 
 the cheerful whistle of the farm boy, as he 
 comes home after a hard day's work. God 
 bless the cheerful, jolly housemaid, too. Girls 
 look out for the fellow with the thick neck, 
 for he is stubborn as an ox and you are go- 
 ing to ride on his hobbies if you marry him. 
 But still worse than the heavy neck comes 
 
 51 
 
"ALICE" WRITES GOOD COMMON SENSE (continued) 
 
 the near-set eyes, for the man or woman with 
 eyes set closely together is narrow-minded, 
 and unreasonable, actually small-minded. He 
 is likely to get you into a rut for the rest 
 of your life. In building up the great west, 
 we have no time to waste on rutty people. 
 So far as the "shanks" are concerned, they 
 don't count for much, providing they are not 
 too crooked. It is brain power that counts, 
 when taken together with good home train- 
 ing and a kind heart all is well. I am trying 
 hard to make a comfortable home at my 
 claim. 
 
 Of course, I would marry if suited- So 
 would they all, but I must say I have never 
 been out "trapping"' for a beau in Minot. I 
 know the young men there in a business way, 
 but had never thought that any of them ought 
 to propose to me, and any way I am a little 
 particular concerning my company. ("I pick 
 mine.") However, I am rather curious to 
 meet the gifted author of "A Bachelor's La- 
 ment." He has been waiting long enough 
 now. If I can't lasso him, I can at least help 
 him out, because I know plenty of lovely 
 young women in Ward county, and most of 
 them have claims, too. I am a josher and I 
 am at my best in jolly company. Give me 
 the merry laugh, though I am the hustling 
 sort of the girl that meets the world with a 
 smile, but hurries on to duty, day by day. 
 Some times it is up hill work, and I wish and 
 long for sympathy, for some kindred soul to 
 whom I could tell my exploits, some trusty, 
 substantial friend with whom I could spend 
 my evenings cheerfully and with a full ex- 
 change of confidences. I am a Christian 
 (deep in my heart)- So deep that nothing 
 earthly could shake my faith in God. My 
 
 choice of a husband would be an intelligent, 
 hustling farmer, with an eye to business, and 
 not too old. Excuse me from the mouldy 
 fellow who never goes anywhere. With a 
 live partner I would do my share a^ build- 
 ing up the west morally, spiritually and intel- 
 lectually. I am here to stay. I came here 
 from a substantial, God-fearing and hospit- 
 able eastern home, to lend a helping hand in 
 building up the country, and at the same time 
 use my homestead right. I believe in wise 
 and intelligent farming, broad and well-tilled 
 fields, with plenty of food in sight for man 
 and beast, where we laugh at the beef trust, 
 the milk trust and the butter shortage. I can 
 work even if I am well educated. There is 
 very little of the Teddy Bear in my make- 
 up and (Joe's mother) would certainly be 
 delighted with my toil-stained hands. But I 
 don't intend to just get down and drudge all 
 my life- Who will answer this? 
 
 The next time I write I'll write a funny 
 piece. Let us continue the war of words 
 peacefully. Let me ask you, dear co-worker, 
 to refrain from saying mean things to each 
 other, because it is good, sound, common 
 sense that counts after all. Girls should not 
 be in too great a hurry to marry, because 
 the home needs a better foundation than an 
 old bachelor and a "Teddy Bear." Scripture 
 tells us that "Parents give houses and lands, 
 but a prudent wife is from the Lord." Where 
 has the old-fashioned home gone to any way. 
 Where is the father now, when family pray- 
 er time comes he used to sit, book in hand, 
 before the fireplace, waiting for the family to 
 assemble for evening prayer. God bless my 
 father ! Do you wonder that I am single. 
 There are few men like him now. 
 
 ALICE. 
 
 HAD A FEELING IN HIS HEART. 
 
 Kenmare, N. D-, March I, 1908. 
 
 Dear Editor : 
 
 I would like to write a few lines in your 
 valuable volume, if you have no objections, 
 but as I am not a very good scholar you will 
 have to excuse me in many instances. I am 
 very much interested in the correspondence 
 of the young ladies and gentlemen of Ward 
 county, published in your weekly paper. Es- 
 pecially am I interested in Alice's writing, as 
 we are of the same opinion. I like to know 
 where I am at before I get tied up in a deal, 
 not that I am of a suspicious nature and 
 afraid, but it saves hard feelings and trouble 
 in a great many instances. My home is near 
 Niagara, N. Y. It will be two years in April 
 since I came west. I have met many classes 
 of people in my travels. Nearly all that I 
 have met since I left home were strangers, 
 but have been very fortunate in always having 
 a lot of friends after I became acquainted. It 
 
 would cause me to feel bad when I would bid 
 some of these same people good-bye. In fact, 
 when it came to part with them I would feel 
 as bad as I did when I left home- Having 
 never been away from home very much it 
 brings rather a strange feeling over a fellow 
 somet mes. I was born and raised upon a 
 farm and never spent much time in town. My 
 parents were very religious and we attended 
 church every Sunday. Since coming out west 
 I have found surroundings very different and 
 have been unable to attend church as I would 
 have liked to. If Alice has no objection I 
 would be pleased to learn what church she is 
 a member of. I have not taken this matter 
 up as a joke and for what fun there is in it, 
 but am writing with the greatest sincerity 
 and would take much pride and comfort in 
 building up a home. I would not want to be 
 a bachelor the rest of my days for all the 
 world. I am a home man and long for com- 
 panionship. At present I am living with a 
 
HAD A FEELING IN HIS HEART (continued) 
 
 private family, who have three little children, be kind enough to write, giving me her ad- 
 
 and I have become so attached to the little dress, I will be pleased to answer her ques- 
 
 ones that it would be hard for me to part tions and give her any further information 
 
 with them. This couple take great pride and desired. 
 
 comfort in their little ones, and I am sure that Miss Alice may then judge for herself as 
 
 it is a gloomy home where there are no chil- to my qualifications as a worthy companion. 
 
 aren. I would like very much to correspond My address will be box 288, Kenmare, N. D. 
 
 with Alice, but prefer to do so by letter. Be- Yours very truly, 
 
 low I will give her my address and if she will LEO. 
 
 ALICE HAS THEM ALL GOING. 
 
 From Ward County Independent 
 
 "Alice," the mysterious young woman who pendent recently, in which he made a plea 
 
 has been stirring up such an intense feeling for her to divulge her name to him. This 
 
 in the hearts of many of the old boys by her has stirred up one of Alice's Minot admirers, 
 
 articles in the Independent, impelled a Ken- who breaks out in verse this week as fol- 
 
 mare swain to write a letter to the Inde- lows : 
 
 Dear Alice I'm doting on you, day and night, 
 Those sweet lines you wrote filled my heart 
 
 with delight; 
 I'll ask but one favor, so don't be unfair — 
 Just give me a chance with that chap from 
 
 Kenmare. 
 
 I have also a feeling in my tender heart — 
 I long for to meet you, no more for to paif 
 My gold and affections with you I would 
 
 share, 
 If you'd take me, instead of the boy from 
 
 Kenmare. 
 
 I would tell you my exploits on land and on 
 sea, 
 
 1 would tell of my troubles for your sym- 
 pathy, 
 
 I would share your sorrows, your joys and 
 all care, 
 
 If you'd love me, instead of that boy from 
 Kenmare. 
 
 Xow, sweet, charming Alice, don't be un- 
 kind ; 
 
 1 know that your equal is hard for to find ; 
 
 I'll trust your judgment if I'm on the square, 
 
 So take me, or just take that boy from Ken- 
 mare- 
 
 Sweet Alice I'll call you the Pride of the 
 
 West; 
 Tho I've never seen you, I love you the best ; 
 I could love another, but my earnest prayer 
 Is, give me a chance with the chap from 
 
 Kenmare. 
 
 You'll find me in Minot, that city of fame; 
 I'd write of you more if I knew your last 
 
 name ; 
 I may write again when I have time to spare. 
 So don't turn me down for that chap from 
 
 Kenmare. 
 
 So, now, lovely Alice, I must say adieu, 
 Although I would like to write more about 
 
 you ; 
 I sincerely love you, I do on the square — 
 In fact, I feel worse than that chap from 
 
 Kenmare. 
 
 53 
 
ALICE WOULD FORM BACHELOR CLUB. 
 
 Gives the Old Boys Some More Good Advice — Scores the Fellow at the Hotel 
 
 — How Young Boys and Girls Are Being Lead to Ruin — 
 
 Would Lift Them Up. 
 
 Dear Editor : 
 
 As the bachelors seem anxious to hear from 
 Alice once more I shall try to make my let- 
 ter clear and impressional. While I am a 
 careful student of phrenology and can read 
 features and palms with no mean ability, I 
 shall refrain from further comments concern- 
 ing necks and eyes until a liberal fee for such 
 information is forthcoming. 
 
 I enjoy reading faces and watching the 
 build of heads. I couldn't help feeling sorry 
 for the poor fellow out in the Hills who un- 
 derstood that I had made statements concern- 
 ing "crooked eyes." Bless your soul, man. 
 crooked eyes may be set in place by an oculist 
 and not cause the slightest difference in the 
 personal nature. What I did say was that 
 persons with eyes set near together were un- 
 reasoning mortals, lacking in judgment, rash, 
 tempestuous and strictly buzz-fuzz. There 
 are some people that we cannot reason with 
 because they are people of narrow views. One- 
 sided people and usually selfish as well as 
 stubborn, I can pick thm out in glancing over 
 an audience. Now, am I understood? 
 
 Concerning the bachelor in Grand Meadow. 
 Minn., I wish to remark that he is a strong 
 socialist, but a good fellow, if he is the man 
 we think he is. I suppose he sat up and 
 took notice when we spoke of Socialism. It 
 is a well known fact that when there is any- 
 thing in view along matrimonial lines some 
 can always butt in, can't let things alone, you 
 know. But, really, Jess, we never suspected 
 you of being meddlesome before. So you 
 think "the sun shines nearly all the time in 
 North Dakota," do you ? Yes, Jess, you are 
 quite right, but don't you remember the hun- 
 dreds of rainy days when the mail didn't go 
 out and Walter got fussy concerning the R. 
 F. D. drivers? Where was the sun then? 
 Perhaps the "young man at the hotel" 
 couldn't or would not meet the requirements. 
 No doubt he had a "full assortment of bad 
 habits," and has retired to some sanitarium 
 to reform. Let me say to you, dear bache- 
 lors, one and all. if you don't want to be 
 styled "buzz fuzz" don't butt into every ar- 
 rangement that comes up and argue against 
 all common sense and reason until you make 
 yourself very tiresome members of society. 
 Try to weigh your reasoning and see if it 
 ; s up to the standard weight for good, sound 
 logic. Don't rattle away your precious time 
 on trash. Plenty of married men and some 
 single men think it is smart or cute to scoff at 
 religion and stand about in gangs, making low 
 and rude remarks about women. I consider 
 a bachelor claimholrier, who is farming his 
 land with industry, quite a hero. He means 
 well and ought to have honor and respect in 
 a measure equal to his honest intentions. He 
 
 wants a home and ought to have a good wife 
 before he goes crazy wondering what is going 
 to become of him if he remains single much 
 longer. Young man, why not be a power for 
 good among your friends, rather than an 
 agent for evil. God has given you intelli- 
 gence, why not make a noble use of it? Sure- 
 ly there is misery and sorrow enough in this 
 world without your contribution. Young men 
 who have been well trained in good eastern 
 homes will come here and play the idiot while 
 in company with a set of hardened wretches, 
 'hoot leggers and grafters, who live by such 
 thievery. We are very much in need of local 
 societies for the protection of boys and well- 
 meaning young men who are often times led 
 astray for lack of decent amusements, either 
 at home or within reach. My heart and sym- 
 pathies are with the young people. None of 
 them are bad until some one older leads the 
 way to the dark and downward path. Why 
 ni it have a regular system of decent amuse- 
 ment for young people. 
 
 God bless the young people. I would keep 
 them always about me and council them wise- 
 ly. What do you think of parents who will 
 let young girls and boys go to boot-leg 
 dances, gotten up for the sale of liquor? Cut 
 it out, young people ; cut it out, or your repu- 
 tation is ruined; cut it out, or your most sure 
 to turn out a social and moral wreck. For 
 God's sake, let us get busy and form societies 
 for our boys and girls. 
 
 Earnest parents, bestir yourselves in be- 
 half of the social lives of your budding girl 
 and thoughtless boys. Teach them self-re- 
 spect or some one else will teach them no 
 end of deviltry before you know anything 
 about it. What does a good, honest home boy 
 think when he sees a bunch of older fellows 
 drinking, gambling and frequenting dens of 
 vice. He is shocked at first, but gradually he 
 becomes curious and follows the example of 
 older and more foolhardy men. 
 
 Do you blame that boy? No, you must 
 rather pity him. We are told that such scenes 
 cause the angels to weep. Then my bachelor 
 friends and all come out and help me in this 
 grand work. What good can a woman's club 
 do with a problem of this nature? It is the 
 men we want. They know all the pitfalls 
 better than we do. Now, remember, I want 
 your assistance in this beautiful work. The 
 old girls are with us always. They mean well 
 all the time. The old boys are what we need 
 to turn the wheel. Parents cannot keep their 
 children at home from objectionable places 
 unless they offer some form of clean, whole- 
 some recreation instead. Young people are 
 just foolhardy enough to run away if they 
 can't go where they please- Young blood is 
 restless and must have vent. But experience 
 
 54 
 
ALICE WOULD FORM A BACHELOR'S CLUB (continued) 
 
 has taught me that boys will take more readily lies and not let them hang around the "pigs"" 
 to good than to evil. So, why not make the until they are beastly drunk and have spent 
 influence good for young boys. We must or- the money that should go to the wife and 
 ganize. There is no other way. I want 500 family. Go home with them if need be. 
 bachelor subscribers to this club right away. Never scoff at any form of church work. All 
 Call it the "Alice club" until we meet in grand mean well to say the least. The only trouble 
 convention next July and vote on some real with our church work is that scoffers preju- 
 name for the club. With such a club a grand dice the mind of youth. Help to get up so- 
 wave of social reform would rise up over this cial entertainments and parties for the young 
 beautiful land of perpetual sunshine that people, as well as for the older members of 
 would prove as great a blessing to its people society. Be faithful and zealous worker for 
 as its broad fields of golden grain. Now, good among your neighbors. Send in your 
 bachelors, come out every man of you, and names to Alice in care of the Independent. I 
 helo in this social work. What are the duties wish this society to get busy all along the 
 of the Alice club, you ask? Well, here are line. A president will be elected for each 
 some o- them : circle and I am sure the work will move on 
 
 Try to be decent yourself. Never set a , t , ^, ■ . . . , „ < ■ 1 
 
 , , J , r , „ J -kj , smoothly. The president must be a man high- 
 
 bad example for boys, rvever speak coarse J 1 
 
 and rough about women in the hearing of any ly respected by all his fellows. So, now, get 
 
 one. Send married men home to their fami- ready for the first election. ALICE. 
 
 ALICE'S MATRIMONIAL SCHOOL. 
 
 You bachelors, both young and old, 
 
 Rejected and forlorn; 
 Don't stew and fret and oft regret 
 
 The day that you were born. 
 You've chased for rainbow's much too long, 
 
 So try the latest rule : 
 Send in your application 
 
 To the Matrimonial School. 
 
 You must make solemn promise 
 
 With the application fee, 
 That you will never drink or smoke, 
 
 Or use profanity; 
 And also shun those dens of vice 
 
 Where hell's flames beg for fuel ; 
 Now, boys, be good, do as you should — 
 
 Join the Matrimonial School. 
 
 So, now, old boys, my college chums, 
 
 I'm going to reform. 
 I'll promise you I have gone through 
 
 The last destruction storm. 
 So day by day I'll hope and pray 
 
 To win some true blue jewel ; 
 I have no doubt I'll sure win out 
 
 In the Matrimonial School. 
 
 Let us ever praise sweet Alice — 
 
 The pride of the Northwest — 
 Her good advice will cheer us 
 
 Until we find peace and rest. 
 I have applied for membership, 
 
 To prove that I'm no fool, 
 And IT! do my best to graduate 
 
 From the Matrimonial School. 
 
 Cheer up. old boys, take my advice, 
 You'd better join with me; 
 
 Without a wife you'know that life 
 Is not what it should be. 
 
 Picture a home, sad heart alone- 
 How can you be so cruel? 
 
 Then picture two, loving and true, 
 From the Matrimonial School. 
 
 55 
 
"WHEN TH' FEVERS IN THE BLOOD. 
 
 Ain't felt right pert fer a week er two; 
 
 Been sorter cranky an' restless an' blue; 
 
 No p'tickler reason, es I ken see; 
 
 Can't find enythin' specially wrong wi' me; 
 
 Jes' don't feel frisky an' don't wanter do 
 
 A goldarn thing that I don't hev to; 
 
 Food don't taste jes' 'xactly right; 
 
 Sleep is kinder broken up at night; 
 
 Don't wanter set still, an' don't wanter walk; 
 
 Don't wanter keep quiet, an' don't wanter talk; 
 
 Nothin' t hinder me from doin' jes' 
 
 Th' very thing thet '11 suit me bes' ; 
 
 Yet when I'm doin' jes' what I wanter to, 
 
 I find it's jes' what I don't wanter do. 
 
 Now I wonder 
 What's th' matter 
 
 Wi' me, by thunder? 
 'Tain't fever, sure — fer my heat an't riz: 
 'Tain't biliousness; ner rheumatiz; 
 'Tain't my head, fer I think right smart; 
 'Tain't my liver, ner yet my heart; 
 'Tain't stomach, ner gout — then goldarn me 
 'Tain't nothin' at all, es I kin see. 
 En yet it's somethin' — guess I'll go 
 An' see th' doctor; he'll sure know. 
 
 Seems t' me 1 remember this very same thing 
 Come on about this same time las' spring; 
 An' th' doctor doped me with nasty stuff 
 By th' gallon, an' I bought drugs enuff 
 T' start a store; but Lordy. they 
 Couldn't drive that gnawin' inside away; 
 Somethin' jes' a-gnawin' at my innards — th' 
 same 
 
 Symptoms thet I hed when th' las' spring came. 
 Gosh! what's th' use o' seein' th doc? 
 He ain't got nuthin' et all thet '11 knock 
 This here trouble thet alius comes 
 When th' birds all sing an' th' honey bee hums. 
 When th' ice breaks up, an' th' streams all roar; 
 An' th' soft air blows through th' open door; 
 When th' vi'lets come, an' th grass blades 
 
 sprout, 
 An' th' sun gits warm, an' th' buds break out; 
 Lemme tell you this — when th' world gits green 
 An' a feller gits ornery, restless an' mean, 
 Thar ain't no doctor in eny place 
 Es kin properly diagnose his case. 
 
 The on'y cure fer a man I know 
 
 Is f git right out o' th' town an' go 
 
 Where th' wil' ducks swarm an' th' geese go 
 
 by, 
 An' th' trout an' bass are a-jumpin' high; 
 Th' on'y thing thet'll cure him then 
 Is t' git away from his feller-men, 
 An' loaf all day by some laffin' stream, 
 An' fish an' whistle an' sing an' dream. 
 An' listen t' birds an' bugs an' hear 
 Th' voice o' th' woods in his eager ear, 
 An' smell th' flowers, an' watch th' squirrels, 
 An' cast a fly where th' eddy whirls, 
 An' fergit that there's cities an' houses an' men, 
 Fergit thet he's got ter go back agen. 
 Fergit. when on moss-grown bank he's curled, 
 Thet thar's enythin' else in th' whole wide world 
 But jes' him, an' th' birds, an' th' bugs an' 
 
 things 
 Thet live right thar where th' wild stream sings. 
 
 56 
 
JIM'S VACATION AT HIBBING IN 1907. 
 
 I took a short vacation, 
 
 My brothers for to see; 
 I'll do my best to tell you, 
 
 How they all did welcome me. 
 They met me at the station 
 
 With the Hibbing City band; 
 The way they serenaded me 
 
 Was something mighty grand. 
 
 Mike took me out to Chisholm 
 
 In his big automobile; 
 The way he flew broke me in two, 
 
 But yet I didn't squeal. 
 On our way back he jumped the track- 
 
 The chance for life looked slim; 
 I didn't like the ride that Mike 
 
 Gave to his brother Jim. 
 
 The band played "Jimmy Comes Marching 
 Home," 
 
 And "Auld Saint Patrick's Day;" 
 They marched and played until they came 
 
 In front of Mike's Cafe ; 
 They wined me and they dined me, 
 
 They catered to every whim — 
 That's how the boys in Hibbing 
 
 Entertained their brother Jim. 
 
 They gave a grand reception 
 
 At the Theatre Power; 
 They showed me Burdie's Car Line 
 
 In less than half an hour. 
 They then showed me Mahoning Mine, 
 
 And Al Powers' Headquarters' Camp, 
 Then took me down to Crooked Lake 
 
 Deer hunting with a lamp. 
 
 I'll mention just one other trip, 
 
 For fear I might forget : 
 The day we went to Nashwauk, 
 
 And from there to Calumet. 
 There I saw Scrapps Costello 
 
 And Chuck O'Connor fight, 
 But neither won the championship 
 
 In Calumet that night. 
 
 They next took me to Eveleth, • 
 
 To the Flandrie-Whitehead bout; 
 In less than half a round, that coon 
 
 He knocked the white man out. 
 I bet my dough on Flandrie — 
 
 Al Smith was with us, see — 
 I lost, by gum, but I kept mum. 
 
 For I'm a sport, that's me. 
 
 And while I speak of fighters. 
 
 And that Mista Walt Whitehead, 
 They brought a man from Chicago 
 
 For to kill this nigger dead. 
 You'll have to see this bloody fight, 
 
 Says brother Mike to me ; 
 I'll show you I'm dead game sport, 
 
 So here's a ticket free. 
 
 But Mista Walter Whitehead 
 
 Put Heller to the bad; 
 The way that darkie fought that night 
 
 Would drive a white man mad. 
 Tom Madden was the referee — 
 
 From Duluth, you all know — 
 Tom hollered foul, threw uo the sponge, 
 
 And Whitehead got the dough. 
 
 He then did introduce me 
 
 ^ To the King Bees of the town; 
 
 Shake hands with Jim, he said to them, 
 
 He's a poet of renown ; 
 He is from Big Dick, and he's a brick, 
 
 So fill them to the brim — 
 That's how the boys in Hibbing 
 
 Entertained their brother Jim. 
 
 They took me out sleigh-riding 
 
 In Billy Barret's tally-ho; 
 The way they drove four spanking blacks 
 
 Was anything but slow. 
 Just as we crossed the railroad bridge, 
 
 One lady, she got weak, 
 To soothe her pain, she took champagne, 
 
 And recovered, so to speak. 
 
 They next took me ski jumping 
 
 Away out on Maple Hill ; 
 The way they jumped right through the air, 
 
 Forget I never will. 
 One Norway boy the record broke — 
 
 His name I just forget — 
 But on that Norsk ski jumper 
 
 I didn't have a bet. 
 
 I only bet ten dollars, 
 
 But I might have bet ten more. 
 Dick Giffin he gave me the tip — 
 
 That's why I felt so sore — 
 Because Dick was a race horse man, 
 
 I had good faith in him ; 
 I lost the mon, so now's I'm done — 
 
 No more ski jump for Jim. 
 
 One night my Brother Mart took me 
 
 Into the Hotel Miles; 
 I bought a stack, then gave them back, 
 
 And bought two more big piles ; 
 Take reds or blues, just as you choose, 
 
 The white chips are too slow ; 
 While the chips did last we bet them fast, 
 
 But went broke on double O. 
 
 On our next night's jaunt 
 
 We met Joe Zant — we called at Harry 
 Breen\ ; 
 It is no joke, I almost went broke, 
 
 Playing the slot machines. 
 Each time we won we'd split the mon — 
 
 We both got our flam-flim. 
 Twenty dollars out by the slot machine route 
 
 Was enough for Brother Jim. 
 
 57 
 
JIM'S VACATION AT HIBBING (continued) 
 
 They next took me to Long Ear Lake 
 
 Horse-racing for to see; 
 They said that Albert H. would run, 
 
 And likewise Lucy P. 
 Al Powers and Bryan O'Rourke, 
 
 Two horsemen of renown, 
 With purses full, each vowed he'd pull 
 
 The other's colors down. 
 
 Fred Twitchell and Frank Ainsley 
 
 Had horses in the race; 
 Little Jim and Billy Sunday 
 
 Both led an awful pace. 
 Joe Cox and Billy Barrett 
 
 Made bets they wouldn't lose, 
 While others bid on the Adrian Kid 
 
 With Kieffman and Judge Hughes. 
 
 When they were ready for the heat 
 
 Jim Buchard did appear 
 With his long Jim in perfect trim, 
 
 He had nothing for to fear. 
 Dock Plapper and John Pomeroy 
 
 Came skipping over the track. 
 With George Scott and Exception, 
 
 They couldn't hold them back. 
 
 I tried to pick the winning horse 
 
 That day upon the ice ; 
 I can't forget the way I bet 
 
 On one old sport's advice. 
 In every heat my horse got beat — 
 
 It made my eyesight dim ; 
 'Twas not the horse that lost, but what it cost, 
 
 That bothered Brother Jim. 
 
 They took me to the Swan river 
 
 For to see Diamond Mack. 
 We stopped at other noted towns 
 
 When we were coming back ; 
 At Kelley Lake and Mitchel 
 
 They entertained us right, 
 With music sweet they seemed to greet 
 
 Me everywhere that night. 
 
 When I awoke next morning 
 
 I felt both sick and sore ; 
 I thought of mother's warning, 
 
 And I took a vow once more, 
 To quit sporting and gambling, 
 
 And have the courage and vim 
 To stand up each day with pride and say — 
 
 No more dissipating for Jim. 
 
 THE DAY WE RODE BEHIND M'ARTHUR'S BLACKS. 
 
 (Written at Duliith, 1912.) 
 
 Four Hibbing sports so gay 
 To Chisholm made their way — 
 
 Not knowing Longyear Lake was full of 
 cracks. 
 They all got quite a soak, 
 And some of the boys went broke — 
 
 The day we rode behind McArthur's blacks. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 There was Gullicson and me, 
 And Brother Will, you see ; 
 We tried our best to cover up our tracks ; 
 But we made too big a break 
 In the ice on Longyear Lake — 
 
 The day we rode behind McArthur's b'acks. 
 
 The road was rather wavy, 
 Some jolts were mighty heavy — ■ 
 
 It was lucky we had cushions at our backs. 
 I took swift rides before. 
 But I don't want no more — 
 
 Like the one I took behind McArthur's 
 blacks. 
 
 At Riley's we did stop, 
 
 Then went to the plumbing shop, 
 
 Got fixed up and gladly paid the tax. 
 Then we telephoned Joe Zant, 
 We'd like to but we can't — 
 
 The day we rode behind McArthur's blacks. 
 
 The town we did survey 
 Before we came away 
 
 We inspected every building but the shacks. 
 The postoffice looked the best 
 To the farmer from the west — 
 
 The day we rode behind McArthur's blacks. 
 
 When I awoke next morn 
 I looked somewhat forlorn — 
 
 I was shy a lot of North Dakota flax. 
 In spots I felt quite sore, 
 And vowed I'd ride no more — 
 
 Behind McArthur's noted span of blacks. 
 
 58 
 
FIGHTING PAL BROWN. 
 Written at Hibbing, Minn., 191 1.) 
 
 Have you heard of the Kid — 
 Have you heard what he did 
 
 To the fighters who thought they were 
 tough ? 
 He has won every bout, 
 He knocked the best of them out — 
 
 Just two draws, and that's good enough. 
 His manager, Doc Plapper, 
 Will pit this plucky scrapper 
 
 Against all top-notchers, bar none. 
 So bring on the best, 
 From the east or the west, 
 
 A ringer or some great unknown. 
 
 So, three cheers for Pal Brown, 
 He's the pride of the town. 
 
 He's the champion lightweight of the West. 
 He has never been beat, 
 And is anxious to meet 
 
 Ad Wolgast, as well as the rest- 
 He is there with the punch. 
 So please take the hunch — 
 
 He will soon wear the championship crown. 
 He is the best ever yet. 
 So if you make a bet, 
 
 Just pick out tlie winner. Pal Brown. 
 
 He knocked out Kid Paul, 
 
 Who stayed three rounds, that all ; 
 
 Kid Davis took his count in tw r o ; 
 And he made Constantene 
 Talk of what he had been 
 
 In both fights, that's what he did do. 
 Mike O'Keefe couldn't stay; 
 He put Brennan away, 
 
 Jackson, Trenholm and McCann. 
 And he put on the lid 
 On the Savoy Hairy Kid, 
 
 And also the tough Neneman. 
 
 Murphy, O'Leary and Loye 
 Took the count — that's no lie — 
 
 From the jabs of the Jack Pine Kid. 
 They met the same fate 
 As the rest on his slate, 
 
 They were all satisfied with one bid. 
 He put Greenwald to sleep ; 
 He was too green to keep. 
 
 So his hide he did tan and salt down. 
 And Chuck Larson, the great, 
 Met his master and fate 
 
 When he met our hero, Pal Brown. 
 
 So drink a toast to Pal Brown, 
 That boy of reknown. 
 
 In Hibbing they do him admire. 
 He has fought on the square, 
 And demands nothing unfair. 
 
 For honor he does much aspire- 
 So, bet your loose change 
 On. the pride of the range, 
 
 To defeat may he never go down. 
 May he always be found 
 Wide-awake to the sound 
 
 Of the referee's count — Pal Brown. 
 
 OUR SPECIAL BILL OF FARE. 
 
 (Written in Hibbing, 1901.) 
 
 Did you see our Special Bill ; 
 
 'Tis strictly up to date. 
 I know 'twill suit the better class, 
 
 Who knows just what to ate. 
 The rarest foreign dishes — 
 
 Jack Rabb-it and Long Hair; 
 Also two home-made Fishes 
 
 On our Special Bill of Fare. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Ping Pong, Chow-Chow, for breakfast 
 
 Rat Hash — Red Hot — at noon; 
 Pig tails cooked to order ; 
 
 Mock Possum and Mock Coon. 
 For supper try our Sucker Pie, 
 
 Or Bull Heads stuffed with air; 
 Cromos thrown in from far Pekin, 
 
 On our Special Bill of Fare. 
 
 The color of our Special Bill 
 Will suit most all in town ; 
 
 We know 'twill tickle you to death- 
 It looks so nice and brown. 
 
 The background of our regular Bill, 
 The printer he made white ; 
 
 That's why so many kick and frown 
 And lose their appetite. 
 
 You see our Regular Bill of Fare 
 
 Is somewhat mixed in price; 
 And when it goes above two bits 
 
 It makes some folks look twice. 
 I'm not so fussy where I drink, 
 
 Or where I buy my wear, 
 But where I shine is when I dine 
 
 On the Special Bill of Fare. 
 
 59 
 
OUR SPECIAL BILL OF FARE (continued) 
 
 While standing on the corner — 
 
 It nearly made me smile — 
 To see so many would-be swells 
 
 Marching in double file- 
 And when I saw a white man, 
 
 It almost made me stare, 
 To see the "push" all make a rush 
 
 For our Special Bill of Fare. 
 
 Put on your stand-up collar, 
 
 Your cady and red tie ; 
 Pull down your vest, throw out your chest, 
 
 Then look a little shy ; 
 And if you're shy the quarter, 
 
 Just borrow one somewhere. 
 And blow the whole darn business 
 
 On our Special Bill of Fare. 
 
 Our suckers are delicious ; 
 
 We catch them here in town ; 
 Our other fish are bullheads — 
 
 We fry them nice and brown. 
 They are not on our Regular Bill ; 
 
 The space we could not spare ; 
 You see they'd be too swell a dish 
 
 For our Regular Bill of Fare. 
 
 Our goods we get from Hongkong; 
 
 They do not cost a cent ; 
 We stand in with the City Board ; 
 
 We don't pay any rent. 
 So order everything in sight — 
 
 For prices do not care — 
 It all goes for a quarter 
 
 On our Special Bill of Fare. 
 
 We've got the whites most dead to rights- 
 
 We've got more than our share ; 
 So every man do all you can 
 
 To put them in the air. 
 Don't feel shy — don't pass us by — 
 
 Come in and don't feel scared ; 
 Just one trial will make you smile 
 
 On our Special Bill of Fare. 
 
 So. Christian folks in Hibbing, 
 
 Please patronize us — do — 
 
 For, although we are heathen. 
 
 We very much love you. 
 We like Uncle Sammy, 
 
 Our Governor and Mayor ; 
 But we no like Sour Dough Mike 
 
 And his pale-faced Bill of Fare. 
 
 A CAMP COOK'S DOWNFALL. 
 
 A great camp cook threw up his job 
 
 At his best friend's command; 
 I'll go and tempt the fates, he said. 
 
 In Hibbing town so grand. 
 And so he landed there, be gosh. 
 
 In that booming mining town. 
 And opened up a restaurant. 
 
 And swore he'd settle down. 
 
 He was the landlord, elerk and cook. 
 
 And table waiter, too; 
 He'd waited on the counter some, 
 
 And had enough to do. 
 The town grew fast, his business throve- 
 
 He hired some extra hands; 
 His profits he soon did invest 
 
 In stocks and western lands. 
 
 And as he throve he felt a want — 
 
 Mysterious, dim. obscure — 
 He could not tell exactly what. 
 
 But there it was for sure. 
 Ha! ha! he cried, a sudden light 
 
 Broke on him while at dinner; 
 I want a printed bill of fare. 
 
 And I do — as I'm a sinner. 
 
 He loaded it with lots of French, 
 
 To sort of give it style, 
 And proudfully he set it forth, 
 
 His boarders to beguile. 
 There came six lumberjacks to town, 
 
 All armed and fierce and grim; 
 Each man picked up a bill of fare, 
 
 Then hastened out to him. 
 
 Then on that pale and trembling man 
 
 Their words fell fierce and hot; 
 Why don't you talk United States? 
 
 What is thic Dago rot? 
 What's a Lay-Matee-D-Hotel? 
 
 What's Pum-Mey-D-Ter-Ree? 
 What's Mack-er-Honey-au-Gra-teen? 
 
 What's Me-new? What's Sau-tee? 
 
 Who's Juli-ana? Who's Tommy-T? 
 
 Who's Li-and-May-o-Nass? 
 Say is Con-Sommy Printer near? 
 
 Where is Pat-o-Foy-Grass? 
 Yer growing rich, yer getting proud, 
 
 Yer want 'ter be a dude. 
 The daisies' claim yer tender toes, 
 
 Yer'll do the grass roots good. 
 
 There fell a gravelike silence then. 
 
 Each man his jackknife drew. 
 The doctor's perforator's count 
 
 Reached one hundred and two. 
 This man was too advanced for use — 
 
 He had too great a head. 
 His bill of fare had too much French 
 
 For those he oft had fed. 
 
 And so. be gosh, they turned him down, 
 
 In winter and in summer. 
 
 No one seemed to care a darn 
 
 When he went on the hummer. 
 In a plain hotel or restaurant 
 
 He could have made it pay; 
 But he went bump — wasn't he the chump?- 
 
 To name the place Cafe. 
 
 60 
 
THE HOTEL COSMOS. 
 
 This poem was written in 1891 at Spokane, 
 Washington. The author had lost all his be- 
 longings in the Seattle fire and was playing 
 in hard luck, and he accepted a position as 
 pantryman at the Hotel Cosmos. After com- 
 mencing work he discovered that the head 
 cook was a Chink, Mrs. Burke was the land- 
 lady, and the kitchen was on the sixth floor. 
 Four days later the expert dish washer was in 
 Coerdeleon, Idaho, working for one hundred 
 dollars per month. 
 
 My present posish 
 
 Is washing the dish. 
 Though at cooking I used to be boss. 
 
 I've been cooking for years, 
 
 But now it appears 
 I must booster around the Cosmos. 
 
 For a moment don't think 
 
 That I gamble or drink — 
 In business I had quite a loss. 
 
 And I've got papers to show 
 
 That I am no hobo 
 Though I wash dishes at the Cosmos. 
 
 I'll show Mrs. Burke 
 
 I'm no Jap or no Turk, 
 And she'll find I'm a very poor cross ; 
 
 For I just come to know 
 
 That Chinaman Joe 
 Is chef at the Hotel Cosmos. 
 
 I am just taking stock 
 
 So I'll soon take a walk. 
 I'd rather be farming in Floss ; 
 
 Than have people think 
 
 I once worked with a Chink 
 One day at the Hotel Cosmos. 
 
 But the chambermaids three 
 
 Are as cute as can be, 
 And if I had a little more moss ; 
 
 I'd make no delay 
 
 In naming the day 
 With one at the Hotel Cosmos. 
 
 Not long I'll remain 
 
 In the Town of Snokane, 
 Where the Chinese and women are boss. 
 
 With a tear in my eye 
 
 T will soon say "good bye" 
 To the fair ones around the Cosmos. 
 
 When I make a stake 
 
 I'll prove I'm no fake ; 
 I'll return with a bright golden gloss. 
 
 If she don't be mv bride, 
 
 I'll commit Susan Side, 
 From the sixth story of the Cosmos. 
 
 THE WOULD-BE BUSINESS MAN. 
 
 (Written at Olivia. Minn., 1895.) 
 
 I. 
 There's a green country Swede, 
 Who is noted for greed, 
 Olivia is where he does dwell ; 
 He used to mossback, 
 Till business got slack, 
 
 And then he went keeping hotel. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Hotel De Grand 
 Is at his command, 
 
 But his cooks will not show him respect. 
 To give meals at all hours. 
 And serve milk when it sours, 
 And ljuy ice his food to protect. 
 
 III. 
 In front of the Grand, 
 This hayseed will stand, 
 
 His vest pockets filled with cigaroots, 
 He may call on Pete Ryan, 
 Though he never drinks wine — 
 
 In the basement he blackens his boots. 
 
 IV. 
 
 He loves shoulder roast. 
 
 And of round steak hi il boast, 
 
 His meats must be cue small and thin; 
 Screen doors he despite s, 
 But he loves chasing flies, 
 
 To use tanglefoot is a sin. 
 
 Y. 
 You seldom would find 
 A Swede man so kind 
 
 To the needy who happened his way, 
 Until he got beat 
 Taking one from the street, 
 
 Her expenses were high, so they say. 
 
 VI. 
 She could not afford 
 To pay room and board, 
 
 So lie gave her three dollars to go; 
 She says that will take 
 Me to Buffalo Lake, 
 
 Where I'll find more suckers, you know. 
 
 til 
 
THE WOULD BE BUSINESS MAN (continued) 
 
 VII. 
 
 He's a batch to his sorrow, 
 
 But has hopes in tomorrow, 
 
 With school-mam's he don't seem to take 
 
 He stands in with one, 
 
 She's the Grand Central blonde — 
 
 She loves him for ice cream and cake. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 From the latest report, 
 He's a would-be sport ; 
 
 In Minneapolis he made quite a splash. 
 Down on Second street, 
 Some sports he did meet ; 
 
 Thev relieved him from sixty in cash. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Good luck to poor Pete, 
 And your No. 10 feet. 
 
 Your head is too round for to swell ; 
 Get your gunny sack. 
 And to Sweden go back, 
 
 But never go keeping hotel. 
 
 THE COOK CAR MAGNATES. 
 (Written at Dulnth, Minn., 1893.) 
 
 Knudsen and McCune 
 
 They own the stars and moon 
 And have got a mortgage on the sun. 
 
 They own every boarding car 
 
 On railroads near and far. 
 But wont employ a cook who has a gun. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 So white cooks now beware 
 
 Of this bulldozing pair; 
 They'll pay you off in time checks never due. 
 
 They'll put you off each day 
 
 Until your hair is gray 
 And then the same old song they'll sing to you. 
 
 They furnish rotten meat. 
 
 Potatoes are a treat. 
 They'll stint you on oleomargarine. 
 
 Fish or eggs you never see, 
 
 And they'll swear they shipped you tea 
 In a bottle thev do furnish kerosene. 
 
 Their supply man so sedate 
 
 Is Fredrickson the Great ; 
 He was chief mogul on the D. M. and N. 
 
 But he got an awful jar 
 
 In a certain dining car. 
 And vows he wont molest a cook again. 
 
 He caused arrest and tried. 
 But the costs reduced his pile ; 
 
 Attorney Edison made him look rather sick. 
 He gave him compliments, 
 Till he looked like thirty cents ; 
 
 Then Knudsen paid the cook up mighty quick. 
 
 So white cooks drink a toast 
 
 To the bunch that got the roast ; 
 It comes cpiite high to give good cooks the run. 
 
 Cheap pot-gang cooks will do 
 
 For all they want is stew ; 
 But don't get into law suits through a gun. 
 
 IF I WAS IN FLANNIGAN'S PLACE. 
 
 I am lonely today 
 In a land far away, 
 
 And my steps I would like to retrace, 
 For my heart is on fire 
 With a longing desire 
 
 For to be in Flannigan's place. 
 
 You sweet, charming Minnie, 
 You fair Irish guinea, 
 
 Your neat form I would embrace ; 
 I would stick to you true, 
 As the grass to the dew, 
 
 If I was in Flannigan's place. 
 
 As I sit here tonight. 
 
 My heart beats with delight. 
 
 When I think of your charming, sweet face 
 I would call you my queen. 
 My dear Irish coleen — 
 
 If I was in Flannigan's place. 
 
 You sweet Irish daisy, 
 
 Your smiles drive me crazy ; 
 
 Oh, could we but meet, face to face : 
 I would speak from my heart, 
 And no more we would part, 
 
 If I was in Flannigan's place. 
 
 My bright Irish jewel, 
 Now don't be so cruel, 
 
 But give me a chance in the race ; 
 I would soon tie the knot, 
 And bring you to Minot, 
 
 If I was in Flannigan's place. 
 
 You cute Irish fairy. 
 My love will not vary, 
 
 I love your manner and grace 
 Tho I'm from Killarney, 
 Don't give me no Blarney — 
 
 Just put me in Flannigan's place. 
 
 62 
 
TO THE MAIDS OF TACONITE. 
 
 'Written at Taconite, Minn., 191 1.) 
 
 I have traveled up and down a lot. 
 
 From St. Paul to the Coast, 
 And I have met a lot of charming girls, 
 
 I fancied I liked most. 
 But the fairest bunch I ever saw, 
 
 That fairly dazed my sight, 
 Are the girls, so sweet, none can compete, 
 
 With the maids of Taconite. 
 
 They always look so graceful. 
 
 Each wears a pleasing smile ; 
 They are just the size to take the prize, 
 
 They dress in neatest style ; 
 And if you are fond of dancing. 
 
 It would fill you with delight 
 To have a whirl with any girl 
 
 From the town of Taconite. 
 
 But I feel sorry for the bovs. 
 
 That are sticking to their Ma, 
 For what is life without a wife, 
 
 And a tot to call you pa. 
 My college chums, take my advice, 
 
 And you will find this world more bright, 
 If you will set the day, not far away. 
 
 With a maid from Taconite. 
 
 If you are just her cousin. 
 
 Give some other guy fair play ; 
 Don't aggravate and have her wait 
 
 Until her hair turns gray. 
 So, girls, don't be too patient. 
 
 Demand what's just and right; 
 The girls are few that equal you — 
 
 You maids of Taconite. 
 
 So, here's good luck to each fair maid 
 
 In that little mining town ; 
 When you are in their company 
 
 No face could wear a frown : 
 May each one wed some level head 
 
 For love, and not for spite ; 
 So, now, adieu, good luck to you, 
 
 The maids of Taconite. 
 
 THE MICHIGAN SPECIAL OF 1911. 
 
 It was the second of November. 
 
 That the Holman Pit was closed. 
 The Michigan men with Henry Denn 
 
 Went to Cassidy's to get soused. 
 Mike Callahan said to pull to Ishpemin^ 
 
 In the hump we make our home; 
 Then Welet did swear, we'll not go 
 
 To Negaunee we must roam. 
 
 Ed Welsh he blew with Johnny Shoe 
 
 To Gorrell's to pack their trunk, 
 The amount of beer it looked so queer 
 
 Both timekeepers they got drunk. 
 Geo. Apitz and Ed Mingus, 
 
 Both took a five-dollar goose, 
 But Smoky Guyer he took a flier. 
 
 To the brush to catch a moose. 
 
 When the special train pulled into town, 
 
 Poor Cohen he did faint, 
 Old Regals breath it came in pants, 
 
 Dan Cassidy looked old and quaint. 
 Bob Loux came to the rescue • 
 
 As his massive chest it grew; 
 Now boys, he said, bills must be paid, 
 
 Or this train will be overdue. 
 
 Then came ex-Judge O'Connell, 
 
 With future automobile fame; 
 I'll hike me out to Washington, 
 
 I always liked that name. 
 The judge bought his three tickets, 
 
 He was sure to be on time; 
 When down the track ran little Jack 
 
 Straight to Camp twenty-nine. 
 
 A letter came from Michigan. 
 
 The news it soon was spread; 
 The letter was signed by little Dick, 
 
 There is work for all, he said. 
 McHale must engineer the Hennery, 
 
 Art Brown go tending bar: 
 Sawlog must work on the section, 
 
 With Jerry go oil the car. 
 
 Ed Welsh and Jim McMillan 
 
 Had hard work to hide their sorrow: 
 Big Jim he said to little Ed, 
 
 "I'll overhaul the '53' tomorrow." 
 Said Pussyfoot Gus and Flatfoot Bob 
 
 To Uncle George behind; 
 "We got a hunch, when we lose this bunch. 
 
 New jobs we will have to find." 
 
 Tom O'Brien had a suitcase. 
 
 Case Downing had a trunk: 
 Bingo Morisey came with a turkey. 
 
 Not full, but beastly drunk. 
 Butcher Roache and Sausage Jim, 
 
 With Peg Phillips stood in awe; 
 For want of something else to do 
 
 Cooked up a big Boo Yaa. 
 
 Bill Watson looked somewhat forlorn 
 
 To see his men depart. 
 From a financial standpoint, 
 
 Barkla was very sore at heart: 
 Old Charlie Byrnes was moved to tears, 
 
 For Van Waves whiskers' sake. 
 And said he would donate to them, 
 
 If a collection they would take. 
 
 They called on Con McTaggert, 
 
 To pull the special out, 
 To Signal Bell and news did tell, 
 
 Without a wave or shout. 
 Farewell to Holman Pit, 
 
 Farewell to Taconite; 
 If we ever reach old Michigan, 
 
 We won't forget to write. 
 
 03 
 
SINCE I GAVE YOU YOUR START. 
 
 Now brother Ike, 
 
 I do not like 
 To grumble or complain. 
 
 But the way that you have treated me 
 Has caused me bitter pain. 
 
 I done for you 
 
 What none would do, 
 And now it aches my heart ; 
 
 For with a frown 
 
 You've turned me down 
 Since I gave you your start. 
 
 To Al Powers' camp 
 
 I oft did tramp. 
 And told you as a brother ; 
 
 What I would do 
 
 To help you through 
 I pleaded as no other. 
 
 Both night and day 
 
 I paved the way 
 To get your business star rl; 
 
 When sickness came 
 
 Oh, what a shame, 
 With me you were cruel hearted. 
 
 I worked for you 
 As none could do 
 
 I made your place a winner : 
 But in return 
 You did me spurn, 
 
 As though I was a sinner. 
 You interfered, 
 And often sneered, 
 
 When I tried to advise you. 
 Now I repent 
 
 For what I spent 
 
 To help to advertise you. 
 
 You spent your gold 
 
 With men behold, 
 You were their entertainer. 
 
 You did me shun 
 
 That's what you done, 
 I'd like to tell you plainer. 
 
 I am no sham ; 
 
 I am no gam, 
 I have an honest heart. 
 
 And don't forget, 
 
 You're in my debt, 
 Since I gave you your start. 
 
 So brother Ike, 
 
 Do what you like 
 Our Darting gives me sorrow. 
 
 Though it must be 
 
 I plainly see 
 There's joy for me tomorrow, 
 
 I have said enough 
 
 It is no bluff. 
 So this is where we part. 
 
 Although we're through 
 
 Good luck to you, 
 But I gave you your start. 
 
 A BROTHER'S REPLY. 
 
 Now brother Matt 
 
 Where are you at, 
 Why do you turn me down 
 
 I have been up against it 
 But never gave a frown. 
 
 Oh, what a shame 
 
 You bear the name 
 And act as you have done. 
 
 I cannot see 
 
 How such can be 
 If you're my father's son. 
 
 hard 
 
 When much in need 
 
 You did not heed 
 My letter of inquiry. 
 
 And when I read 
 
 The words you said 
 I saw your thoughts were fiery. 
 
 You made it brief, 
 
 There's no relief. 
 So keep that ten now brother. 
 
 But while I live 
 
 I'll never give 
 A chance to take another. 
 
 You may see the day 
 
 When I can say 
 That I can buy and sell you ; 
 
 Both Ike and you 
 
 May surely rue, 
 Remember what I tell you. 
 
 I'm sorry, too, , 
 
 But I must do 
 My duty I'm a Somers. 
 
 I'll show you all 
 
 I'm nothing small 
 I'm not classed with the bummers. 
 
 64 
 
A BROTHER'S REPLY (continued) 
 
 So don't forget 
 
 You'll both regret, 
 With blushing shame and sorrow. 
 
 I'm Martin's son 
 
 And I'll have raon 
 When you may have to borrow. 
 
 Though I did mourn 
 
 You both did spurn 
 My earnest, honest pleading. 
 
 My father's grit 
 
 Has kept me fit, 
 To shield my heart from bleeding. 
 
 So Matt and Ike 
 
 Do as you like 
 Stick to the Hoys forever. 
 
 Though you're my foes, 
 
 The Lord he knows, 
 I never will him sever. 
 
 I'll work and pray 
 
 Both night and day, 
 I know that he will hear me; 
 
 Through my life's task 
 
 All that I ask, 
 May God protect and cheer me. 
 
 THIS OLD WORLD OF OURS. 
 
 I have lived for many years in this old world 
 
 of ours; 
 I have felt its bitter tears and have picked its 
 
 sweetest flowers, 
 But when misfortune comes my way, I think 
 
 of my happiest hours 
 And 1 look ahead to a brighter day in this 
 
 old world of ours. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 In this old world of ours there is more sun- 
 shine than showers, 
 So if you get the blues don't fill up on booze; 
 In this old world of ours. 
 
 That little word called duty is the word we 
 
 should obey ; 
 All human kind should bear in mind that word 
 
 should rule the day. 
 So be wise, beware if you wish to share in 
 
 the Eternal Powers, 
 When life is o'er and you'll see no more of 
 
 this good old world of ours. 
 
 The darkest hour of the darkest night is the 
 
 one before the day. 
 But the sun of joy will throw out its light and 
 
 the clouds will clear away. 
 So look afar to the brightest star that in 
 
 the heaven towers. 
 If you hope in vain just try again in this old 
 
 world of ours. 
 
 I MUST BE A FOOL OR A CRANK. 
 
 At the age of fifteen 
 
 I was awfully mean, 
 I thought I knew where I was at. 
 
 I could take a man's place 
 
 And won many a race 
 In the field and also on the mat. 
 
 When my day's work was done 
 
 I was right in for fun, 
 With the boys but with girls as a rule, 
 
 I loved them you bet, 
 
 And I like them some yet, 
 So I must be a crank or a fool. 
 
 When I worked at my trade, 
 
 I was not afraid, 
 To keep my end up with the best; 
 
 But wages and me 
 
 Could no longer agree. 
 So I pulled up my stakes for the west. 
 
 I filed on a claim 
 
 And it's still in my name, 
 And for it myself I must thank; 
 
 No mortgage for me, 
 
 Was my motto you see, 
 So I must be a fool or a crank- 
 
 I don't understand 
 
 Very much about land, 
 But I may learn to farm some day. 
 
 At present I know 
 
 How to farm with a hoe, 
 But that kind of farming don't pay. 
 
 It makes people gauk, 
 
 It gives some a shock, 
 While others will treat me too cool. 
 
 They give me the blues, 
 
 But their style I won't choose, 
 So I must be a crank or a fool. 
 
 I want all to know, 
 
 That I'm proud of my hoe, 
 And I'm here in the loop for to stay ; 
 
 Last night I'd a dream, 
 
 About buying a team, 
 And likewise a wagon and sleigh. 
 
 I sprang from my bed 
 
 In confusion and dread, 
 And fell o'er a three-legged stool. 
 
 And when I awoke, 
 
 I thought what a joke, 
 So I must be a crank or a fool. 
 
 65 
 
I MUST BE A FOOL OR A CRANK (continued) 
 
 A smooth gent of late 
 Had a scheme up-to-date, 
 
 To advertise me around the globe. 
 He thought it would. go 
 Because he had the dough, 
 
 While I was as poor as old Jobe. 
 He almost took a fit, 
 But I couldn't see it, 
 
 So he made a bee line for his bank. 
 It confuses him yet. 
 And he says I'll regret, 
 
 I acted the fool and the crank. 
 
 I don't know how it is. 
 
 But I mind my own biz. 
 And I'd like others to do the same. 
 
 Every now and then 
 
 They keep butting in ; 
 Some take a long shot at the game. 
 
 Men of every degree 
 
 Have tried to show me, 
 Where my ideas are rank. 
 
 They can't cut the ice, 
 
 I'll take no one's advice, 
 So I must be a fool or a crank. 
 
 SUNNY JIM AND MOONLIGHT DICK. 
 
 There are two sports in Minot, 
 
 And together they do stick ; 
 One calls the other Sunny Jim — 
 
 The other Moonlight Dick. 
 It's a pleasure for to meet them. 
 
 For they always wear a smile ; 
 They are both good entertainers 
 
 In their own peculiar style. 
 
 Jim plays his pranks in daylight. 
 
 While Dick, he takes the dark; 
 They give their friends some bum steers, 
 
 When they go out on a lark ; 
 When some smooth guy retaliates, 
 
 They never make a kick ; 
 They certainly are thoroughbreds — 
 
 Sunny Jim and Moonlight Dick. 
 
 So, when you come to Minot, 
 
 In summer or in fall, 
 I'll make a bet you don't regret 
 
 If you give them a call. 
 Just ask for Jim, they all know him, 
 
 For he's a noted Mick, 
 And where'er your from, you should know 
 Tom — 
 
 The jovial Moonlight Dick. 
 
 THE PERPETUAL MOTION HORSE. 
 
 I had a dream the other day 
 
 While I was wide awake : 
 I dreamt two ladies called on me, 
 
 Just for old time's sake ; 
 And as they drove right by my door 
 
 I asked them in to tea ; 
 They said the horse he wouldn't stop, 
 
 That's all the}' said to me. 
 
 And as they drove on through the yard, 
 They had the nerve, by thunder, 
 
 They didn't offer no excuse 
 
 Why they made such a blunder. 
 
 In future they should keep the road 
 Until they take a notion 
 
 To purchase a more friendly horse, 
 That's not perpetual morion. 
 
 It was an awful shock to me. 
 
 But yet I may live through it ; 
 I never thought that any horse 
 
 Would have the nerve to do it. 
 But strange things happen in this world, 
 
 On land and on the ocean ; 
 Who'd ever think that any horse 
 
 Could be perpetual motion. 
 
 I've always been a horse's friend, 
 
 But now I am a thinking, 
 My disappointment is so great 
 
 It may drive me to drinking. 
 At first I thought it was a dream, 
 
 But the shock just made me dizzy. 
 I happened to be wide awake, 
 
 That's why my pen got busy. 
 
 And as I kept a dreaming on, 
 
 As wide awake as ever, 
 I chanced to see the old horse stop, 
 
 I smiled and thought, how clever ! 
 I didn't look to see him start 
 
 I just said, "you're a daisy." 
 I thought I'd keep a dreaming on 
 
 And dream something more crazy. 
 
 Just like a flash I realized 
 
 I had not been a sleeping; 
 I felt quite bad but then I thought 
 
 "What is the use in weeping!" 
 But I felt sorry for the horse, 
 
 To think he didn't know it, 
 That every horse has had the best 
 
 While stopping with the poet. 
 
 66 
 
I really hope the horse will live I am no Joe Joe from Borneo, 
 
 Until he learns to stop; Although I am J. J. 
 
 And when he does I hope he'll give I never eat folks up alive 
 
 The girls a sudden flop. Who chance to come my waj ; 
 
 So when they take another drive I'd have you know I'm no Pat Crow 
 
 For pleasure or for shopping, For I am no kidnapper; 
 
 They'll know enough to take a horse Although I am a ladies' man 
 
 That has heen broke for stopping. I am no lady trapper. 
 
 THE BLUES TOWN ON THE SOO. 
 
 There's a one-man town 
 
 Of much renown 
 Just over on the Soo. 
 
 Where some men swear 
 
 Until the air, 
 Is looking mighty blue. 
 
 From jealousy or insanity 
 They booze and swear and stew. 
 
 Believe what I say 
 
 Please keep away 
 From the Blues Town on the Soo. 
 
 When you go there, They speak of gas 
 
 They'll growl and stare, And sassy sass ; 
 
 And snarl, well, who are you. Now boys I must tell you 
 
 And before you can speak The gas don't burn 
 
 They'll say take a sneak That the people churn 
 
 From the Blues Town on the Soo. In the Blues Town on the Soo. 
 
 So should you go there Now Blues Town writer, 
 
 You must prepare; I'm no back biter, 
 
 They'll surely insult you. I'm a prince; who are you? 
 
 If you ask me why If I learn your name 
 
 I can only reply It wiil bring more shame 
 
 It's the Bluest Town on the Soo. To the Blues Town on the Soo. 
 
 THE BOYS OF THE NATIONAL GUARD. 
 
 (Written at Minot, X. D., January 21-23, 1908. 
 
 You Boys in Blue, 
 Come in two by two — 
 
 In Leap Year that's not hard. 
 Come one and all 
 To the full dress ball 
 
 Got up by the National Guard. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 So forward four. 
 And do it some more. 
 
 Then all salute your pard ; 
 Then all sashay, 
 And girls run away 
 
 With the boys in the National Guard. 
 
 The girls, so dear, 
 
 Know that it's Leap Year, 
 
 So they'll play their very best card 
 To make a catch. 
 And perhaps a match 
 
 With the boys in the National Guard. 
 
 67 
 
LOUIE BURCHFIELD'S SUGAR-MAKING CAMP. 
 
 1 called on my friend Lou, 
 Near Hamel on the Soo; 
 
 It happened to he sngar-making time. 
 My face wore pleasing smiles, 
 When I found him making spiles. 
 
 So I'll try and put our meeting into rhynin. 
 He invited me inside 
 To his sugar camp — his pride. 
 
 The roof was low, the floor was rather 
 damp ; 
 As the place I did survey , 
 My thoughts were far away 
 
 From Louie Burchfield's sugar-making 
 camp. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 I thought of my old home, 
 Before I left to roam — 
 Those days when mother 
 
 scamp 
 
 said, you little 
 
 T thought of old-time joys 
 I had with girls and hoys 
 
 Far away from Louie Burchfield's sugar 
 camp. 
 
 Some trees we soon did tap, 
 I then drank my fill of sap ; 
 
 The next day some hot syrup was a treat. 
 T made some taffy, too, 
 Just like I used to do 
 
 When I wore brass-toed boots upon my feet. 
 I now must say adieu 
 To my old-time friend Lou — 
 
 The time is up, so I must take a tramp. 
 The parting gives me pain, 
 But I hope we'll meet again 
 
 At Louie Burchfield's sugar-making camp. 
 
THE LADIES' LEAP YEAR BALL. 
 
 (Written at Ontonogan. Mich., 1892.) 
 
 As I read the Herald one night, 
 
 I saw to my delight, 
 
 The ladies were to give a Leap-Year Ball ; 
 
 They hoped without a doubt 
 
 All the young men would turn out. 
 
 As they guaranteed to please, both one and 
 
 all, 
 To the party I did go ; 
 And mean to let you know 
 The manner in which I was entertained; 
 No floor managers did me greet, 
 I politely took a seat, 
 And undisturbed I quietly remained. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Just one introduction 
 
 Would have saved me from destruction. 
 Now, ladies, isn't that an awful shame? 
 I longed for some old maid, 
 Of me they seemed afraid. 
 For the old maid that I longed for never 
 came- 
 
 I sat there, taking stock, 
 Until after ten o'clock ; 
 I took close observation, you can bet ; 
 After sitting there for hours, 
 With several more wall flowers, 
 An introduction I did fail to get; 
 I was longing for a dance, 
 Just waiting for a chance — 
 The managers they are the ones to blame. 
 On them I did depend 
 A welcome to extend. 
 
 But the managers that I longed for never 
 came. 
 
 I got introduced at last, 
 Tho many hours had passed. 
 And engaged with her to dance a waltz quad- 
 rille ; 
 It nearly took my breath, 
 I was tickel most to death, 
 With pleasure and with joy my heart did fill. 
 I thought I was in luck. 
 
 As she wrote down in her book 
 
 The number of the dance, also my name; 
 
 When they formed on the floor 
 
 My hair stood pompadour, 
 
 For the lady that engaged me never came. 
 
 Disgusted with the crowd, 
 
 I pledged my word and vowed 
 
 I never would attend the like again ; 
 
 As it was getting late, 
 
 For supper I did wait, 
 
 As I was feeling faint with grief and pain ; 
 
 While I was sitting there, 
 
 Each one did at me stare — 
 
 I might have looked much better in a frame. 
 
 They must have strained their eyes, 
 
 But to my great surprise. 
 
 The masher that I longed for never came. 
 
 When supper time came round, 
 
 The lunch room I soon found. 
 
 And paid my little quarter at the door; 
 
 I thought it quite a treat, 
 
 To be allowed to eat, 
 
 Quie satisfied with that, if nothing more. 
 
 There was sandwiches by the score, 
 
 And they kept on bringing more, 
 
 While I sat waiting for a dish of cream; 
 
 I waited half an hour 
 
 That ice cream to devour. 
 
 But the ice cream that I longed for never 
 
 As I'm a stranger here, 
 
 And also on the pier. 
 
 Where dudes and mashers gather every night, 
 
 A stranger I'll remain, 
 
 Myself I'll entertain, 
 
 Unless I get a knock-down on the quiet. 
 
 There is one I'd like to steal. 
 
 She is handsome and genteel ; 
 
 Her loving eyes on me she often cast ; 
 
 I hope I'll see the day, 
 
 When I can proudly say. 
 
 The lady that I longed for came at last. 
 
 THE SHERWOOD MASQUERADE. 
 
 I am feeling good, 
 Since I saw Sherwood ; 
 
 And I'm not a bit afraid 
 To tell you all 
 She put the leap year ball 
 
 Of Mohall in the shade. 
 You could have your pick, 
 For there was no clique, 
 
 There was only just one grade. 
 Even "Dad" and the bard 
 Went number one hard, 
 
 At the Sherwood masquerade. 
 
 There was no row, 
 
 Or no mooley cow ; 
 It was worth the price we paid, 
 
 Though the hoochie coochie 
 
 We failed to see, 
 At the Sherwood masquerade. 
 
 The Canucks were there, 
 
 And they didn't care, 
 How long with us they stayed. 
 
 We used them so white, 
 
 That they danced all night, 
 At the Sherwood masquerade. 
 
 69 
 
THE SHERWOOD MASQUERADE (continued) 
 
 The nigger wench, 
 
 Had as hig a cinch, 
 As anyone in parade. 
 
 You could win no prize, 
 
 For looking wise, 
 At the Sherwood masquerade. 
 
 The girl in pink. 
 
 Took the prize, I think, 
 For the neatest angle blade ; 
 
 And the girl with the sock. 
 
 Made the whole crowd gawk, 
 At the Sherwood masquerade. 
 
 The Canada band 
 
 Didn't understand. 
 How we wanted music played : 
 
 They couldn't chime 
 
 For a real hot time. 
 Like the Sherwood masquerade. 
 
 We saw two Moons, 
 
 But no saloons, 
 On our down-town serenade ; 
 
 We shook hands with Blatz 
 
 From the Milwaukee flats, 
 At the Sherwood masquerade. 
 
 Just before the dance, 
 
 We took a glance 
 At the west side of the grade; 
 
 We saw some "pigs," 
 
 Then we bought our wigs 
 For the Sherwood masquerade. 
 
 We drank good luck 
 
 To each Canuck, 
 Who across the boundary strayed 
 
 To join the yanks 
 
 In their funny pranks, 
 At the Sherwood masquerade. 
 
 We have seen Sherwood, 
 And the woods looked good. 
 
 As far as we surveyed. 
 We saw beautiful limbs 
 By the gas-light "glims" 
 
 At the Sherwood masquerade. 
 After years roll by, 
 When "Dad" and r 
 
 Meet at the board of trade; 
 We'll take a "smile" 
 In our good o 1 d style 
 
 On the Sherwood masquerade. 
 
 We ate oyster stews. 
 
 Then we took a snooze. 
 In Qualley's Palace Arcade. 
 
 The poet and "Dad" 
 
 Didn't fare so bad. 
 At the Sherwood masquerade. 
 
 At the break of day, 
 
 We came away ; 
 But the little while we stay "!, 
 
 We had barrels of tun, 
 
 For a little "mon," 
 At the Sherwood masquerade. 
 
 THE GRAVEL TRAIN CREW. 
 
 (Written at Sheldon, Iowa, 1887.) 
 
 Now, boys, if attention you'll pay for a while, 
 
 Believe me or not, it is true, 
 
 The distance from Sheldon is only one mile — 
 
 I work with the Gravel Train Crew. 
 Up in Minnesota three months did I wait, 
 
 No work could I find for to do ; 
 Then I took a free pass to Iowa State, 
 
 To work with the Gravel Train Crew. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 You can bet that 1 sweat, 
 But still did not fret. 
 
 But what I could hold down No. 2, 
 The first night I felt tired, 
 And was sorry I hired, 
 
 To work with the Gravel Train Crew. 
 
 After a few days passed slowly away 
 
 I could feel in my bones I'd come through; 
 With the boys I will stay. 
 And am proud I can say 
 
 I am one of the Gravel Train Crew. 
 We turn out every morning at 7 o'clock, 
 
 Our hand cars we hustle them through ; 
 Dublin lost the cigars when he bet he could 
 walk 
 
 And outdistance the hand-car crew. 
 
 We did not come here to live on root beer; 
 
 It takes muscle to swing No. 2 ; 
 You'll find you are off if you think there's 
 a dude 
 Among the boys in the Gravel Train Crew. 
 There's a few in this town who from poverty 
 came — 
 They think themselves up high as Q ; 
 If they walk in our path they'll find there is 
 game 
 In some of the Gravel Train Crew. 
 
 m 
 
THE GRAVEL TRAIN CREW (continued) 
 
 Foreman Sheeley wants everything done np 
 in style — 
 His boys they are willing and true; 
 But still he will never say rest for a while, 
 
 To one of the Gravel Train Crew. 
 It's for work we are paid, so we'll do all we 
 can. 
 For our foreman and Co. too. 
 We have done nothing else since first we be- 
 gan 
 To work with the Gravel Train Crew. 
 
 We struck for one fifty the first day of June, 
 
 But failed, as the boys seldom do ; 
 There was five of the boys didn't turn out at 
 noon, 
 
 Which broke up the Gravel Train Crew. 
 When the boys were unwilling to turn out at 
 noon, 
 
 The news to Sioux City soon flew, 
 Which brought half a dozen of foreigners soon 
 
 To fill out the Gravel Train Crew. 
 
 The day of the strike there was one of the 
 boys 
 To his friends in the country he flew ; 
 lie was badly used up with a pair of sore 
 eyes, 
 He got with the Gravel Train Crew. 
 1 lie strike it was ended without any blood- 
 shed, 
 Tho some said the company they'd sue, 
 But later, I'm told, some of the boys said 
 They'd go back to the Gravel Train Crew. 
 
 There are two of the boys on the Milwaukee 
 line, 
 
 They still seem to love No. 2; 
 For one twenty-five, let it rain or shine, 
 
 I'll take mine with the Gravel Train Crew. 
 There is Andrew so tall and Dublin so small, 
 
 They'll be minus a dollar or two 
 When they come to sie up their dust in the 
 fall 
 
 W ith the boys in the Gravel Train Crew. 
 
 We will all take a trip to the south in the fall, 
 
 We'll have a special to carry us through; 
 But before we will go we'll get papers to show 
 
 We belong to the Gravel Train Crew, 
 And line thing I'll say when I'm far away, 
 
 You can bet your old hat on it too. 
 If I live till I die I will never deny 
 
 I am one of the Gravel Train Crew. 
 
 THE SHELDON NINE. 
 
 (As Written and Sung' by J. J. Somers. ) 
 
 One lovely day in June my boys 
 
 Near Sheldon, Iowa, 
 The Sheldon team assembled, 
 
 The heavyweights to play; 
 As they are always ready to go at any call, 
 
 To prove themselves the champions 
 At the game they call baseball. 
 
 The time was called at 3 p. m., 
 
 And everything was quiet, 
 When a ball from the pitcher, Donahoe, 
 
 Was knocked clean out of sight. 
 At this time the Sheldon nine 
 
 Were thirteen to their five, 
 And Donahoe, with all his crew, 
 
 Seemed more dead than alive. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 There's no mistake, they take the cake, 
 They've got the game down fine. 
 
 They'd make you stare, none can compare, 
 Witii the boys in the Sheldon nine. 
 
 To their surprise the Sheldon boys, 
 
 Not thinking of a fight, 
 When Donahoe at their pitcher flew 
 
 And slugged him on the quiet. 
 He kicked him in the stomach, 
 
 And also in the face, 
 Which ever more to Donahoe 
 
 Will prove a great disgrace. 
 
 The champions then, returning home, 
 
 As they had won the game, 
 Which caused a great excitement 
 
 As to the town they came. 
 And now they are awaiting 
 
 A challenge every day, 
 To prove themselves the champions 
 
 Of Northern Iowa. 
 
 71 
 
THE J. C. DONAHOE'S NINE. 
 
 We're an up-to-date nine, 
 Above others we shine, 
 
 A challenge we never refuse. 
 We have defeated the best, 
 And will tackle the rest, 
 
 We're the J. C. Donahoes. 
 
 Walt Nolar and McLean 
 Are hard ones to fan ; 
 
 John Stave is not easy to lose. 
 Mechlen and Hoppenrath 
 Keep on the right path, 
 
 With the J. C. Donahoes. 
 
 With Budd in the box, 
 
 We shut out the white sox, 
 The Kelly Steinmetz and the Blues. 
 
 With Peterson, Murphy and Flynin, 
 
 We are certain to win ; 
 We're the J. C. Donahoes. 
 
 All comers we'll meet, 
 We will take no back seat, 
 
 Keep tab on the Grays and Blues: 
 We'll play just for fun 
 Or we'll put up the mon, 
 
 We're the J. C. Donahoes. 
 
 Louie Taylor is alright, 
 He puts up a hard fight, 
 
 Mgr. Olson will bet his old shoes 
 That in sunshine or rain 
 Champion we'll remain, 
 
 We're the J. C. Donahoes. 
 
 MAXBASS "MUD HENS" vs. TOWNER "NIGHT HAWKS." 
 
 The diamond was muddy, 
 
 The grounds they were wet 
 But Doc. Webb was anxious 
 
 His money to bet. 
 The sun had gone down — 
 
 It was nine by the clocks — 
 When Maxbass lined up 
 
 With the Towner "Night Hawks." 
 
 Umpire Nelson's signal 
 
 Brought Wlliams to bat. 
 He landed on "Bobby" 
 
 As spry as a cat. 
 "Billy" Chase also found him 
 
 For two desperate knocks 
 When the Maxbass "Mud Hens" 
 
 Played the Towner "Night Hawks." 
 
 When the game got exciting 
 
 McCarter was there; 
 And Chelcroft's manoeuvers 
 
 Made everyone stare ; 
 McCormick and Williams, 
 
 They had to change socks 
 After wading through sloughs 
 
 With the Towner "Night Hawks. 
 
 Staub was on deck 
 
 With his quick, eagle eye ; 
 And Patterson captured 
 
 A very hard fly. 
 "Bobby" Robinson found 
 
 He was in a tight box 
 When the 'Mud Hens" went after 
 
 His Towner "Night Hawks." 
 
 "Kid" Quimby pitched ball 
 
 From beginning to end. 
 He showed them some curves 
 
 That they couldn't defend. 
 He outclassed "Smilinp- Bobby" 
 
 With the auburn locks 
 When the Maxbass "Mud Hens" 
 
 Played the Towner "Night Hawks." 
 
 They played the eighth inning 
 
 With lantern and torch 
 And as the "Night Hawks" 
 
 Were unable to scorch, 
 "Doc" threw up the sponge 
 
 And dug up several "rocks" 
 For the "Mud Hens" defeated 
 
 The Towner "Night Hawks." 
 
WHEN MAXBASS PUT TOWNER TO SLEEP. 
 
 A 
 
 Maxbass to the fore 
 
 They are victors once 
 
 shut-out is all that they claim. 
 
 Five to nothing ! O, my ! 
 
 Is where Towner did die 
 While playing the third losing game. 
 
 They hammered first-class 
 
 (Away back on the grass) 
 But the "Mud Hens" they cut wide and deep. 
 
 Their scalps they did comb 
 
 They drove every nail home 
 When Maxbass put Towner to sleep. 
 
 Their light men they fired 
 
 And some experts they hired 
 From Grand Forks and one from St. Paul. 
 
 They bet all their cash 
 
 And they cut quite a dash 
 Until they got playing baseball. 
 
 Danny Booth in the box 
 
 Played as cute as a fox 
 His curves caused poor Towner to weep. 
 
 Little Danny is king ; 
 
 He made every ball sing: 
 (Towner) I Lay Thee Down to Sleep. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 So fill up your glass 
 Drink a health to Maxbass 
 
 At the top of the ladder they'll keep 
 Let me give you a hunch 
 Did you see the sore bunch? 
 
 When Maxbass put Towner to sleep. 
 
 When they got between the fires 
 They changed the umpires; 
 
 Then Danny went after them right. 
 He fanned them out fast; 
 He easily outclassed 
 
 "Bobby'' Robinson, Towner's delight. 
 "Doc." Webb kept a howling, 
 His rooters kept growling 
 
 The bunch looked forlorn and cheap. 
 "Doc," went broke again 
 And almost went insane, 
 
 When Maxbass put Towner to sleep. 
 
 In six coaches they came 
 
 But they got so tame 
 It only took five to return; 
 
 For they felt so small 
 
 They took no room at all, 
 Just one little corner to mourn. 
 
 They made us a donation 
 
 Of their train decoration 
 And replaced it with mourning quite deep. 
 
 We then paid their fare 
 
 And offered up a short prayer. 
 After Maxbass put Towner to sleep. 
 
 SKIPTAMELOO, OR THE WOODLAWNS' FAVORITE. 
 
 i Written at Des Moines, Iowa, 1888.) 
 
 Now give me your attention I'll sing to you If by chance a stranger among this bunch 
 
 a song ; " should go 
 
 It's all about the woodlawn folks and how They give no introduction, no friendship do 
 
 they get along. they show, 
 
 And how they do enjoy themselves I'm going And when the room you enter, each one will 
 
 to explain— at you stare, _ 
 
 I'm sure with me you will agree those people You have your choice in standing, or find 
 
 are insane. " yourself a chair. 
 
 CHORUS Pleasant Hills and Woodlawn's pride is Pro- 
 
 Skiptameloo, Skiptameloo, this is what you 11 
 
 hear; 
 Those words so sweet each time they meet, 
 Not more than twice a year. 
 Skiptameloo and Nellie Gray, they dance un- 
 
 fessor White's String Band. 
 And soon they'll give a concert that will be 
 
 something grand, 
 And if the noted Woodlawnites should come 
 
 their hearts to cheer, 
 
 til they faint away, j ust f or a change we will arrange some oth- 
 And for the chorus they all say. Skiptameloo, er songs to hear . 
 
 my darling. 
 
 In the evening when they meet, they circle In favor of this Woodlawn bunch I have no 
 
 the floor- more to sav, 
 
 Those words so sweet they do repeat until I hope they'll ^"^tinies think of me when 
 
 Then they whSle YorTwhile till some one Take warning in the "future in strangers you 
 
 And as^hey try to bring them to, those words Don't 'sing" that song the whole night long- 
 yo^ll hear them say. the Woodlawn s favorite. 
 
 73 
 
POOR BOB, 
 
 Or the Bigelow Heart-Breaker. 
 
 (Written at Bigelow, Minn., 1886.) 
 
 Ye lads and lasses of this town, 
 
 Attention pay to me ; 
 Its all about a young man 
 
 Concerning coquetry. 
 He is all broke up on a fair one, 
 
 Miss Rouperick is her name; 
 She is wealthy and good looking, 
 
 Poor Bob is not to blame. 
 
 Poor Bob is noble minded 
 
 I'd have you all to know; 
 He is honest and good hearted, 
 
 But still he has no show. 
 He is figuring on her company 
 
 To go to a Christmas dance ; 
 But opposition is so large 
 
 I think his name is pants. 
 
 The evening of the dance has come, 
 
 Poor Bob has left the town ; 
 He boarded the 1 1 130 train 
 
 All for Lake Crystal bound. 
 He did not even bid farewell 
 
 To the lass he did adore, 
 But left quite broken hearted 
 
 All for Lake Crystal shore. 
 
 He paid his last long visit 
 
 The night before the dance, 
 In coaxing and persuading, 
 
 But alas there was no chance. 
 Poor Bob could sleep ten hours away 
 
 And do it like a charm, 
 But to sleep he couldn't go that night 
 
 For money or a farm. 
 
 I must conclude and finish. 
 
 For now 'tis getting late ; 
 I'm sorry for poor Robert 
 
 In his adopted state. 
 Now all you lads of Bigelow, 
 
 A warning take by me ; 
 And make no calculations 
 
 When a pretty girl you see. 
 
 You may get left like Robert, 
 
 To leave town in shame, 
 Be sure that you have high, low. jack, 
 
 Before you play for game. 
 So now my song is ended. 
 
 And Somers is my name. 
 I never play for high, low, jack, 
 
 Till I am sure of game. 
 
 "WHAT A MAN WILL GO THROUGH." 
 
 Song — (Written at Minneapolis, njo;.) 
 
 When I was a chap 
 I got many a slap 
 
 Because I was naturally wild ; 
 My parents and teacher. 
 They used the blue beacher, 
 
 The "black sheep"' is what I was styled. 
 My school mates licked me — 
 They were bigger, you see ; 
 
 But I licked the smaller boys, too; 
 When I look back today, 
 All that I have to say — 
 
 I am lucky I ever pulled through. 
 
 After many bum steers, 
 When I grew up in years, 
 
 I got weary of living alone ; 
 With my thoughts running fast, 
 I reviewed all my past, 
 
 And thought I'd got past being shown. 
 I didn't marry for "111011," 
 And no beauty prize won — 
 
 I was captured by love No. 2. 
 Since that unlucky day 
 I can't see things her way. 
 
 And without her I'm now pulling through. 
 
 When a boy, seventeen, 
 
 My love thoughts were keen; 
 
 The way I could make love wasn't slow ; 
 With my temperature high, 
 I gave many a sigh, 
 
 But I cashed in at forty below. 
 She trifled with me 
 (And others, on the Q. T-) ; 
 
 She was sweet on a dozen or two ; 
 When I think of her now, 
 And review every vow — 
 
 I am lucky I ever pulled through. 
 
 As the years pass away, 
 I still hope and pray, 
 
 I will yet share a true woman's love. 
 A few years of bliss 
 In this world's wilderness, 
 
 I ask from the Father above. 
 I have been through the mills, 
 Through the hollows and hills ; 
 
 I have felt financially blue ; 
 I have played some big games, 
 But I won't tell their names, 
 
 For you'd wonder I ever pulled through. 
 
 74 
 
THE SHARP, CRUEL STING OF DECEIT. 
 
 (Written at Duluth, IQII.) 
 
 In this world of enjoyment and sorrow, 
 Of each we all get a fair share, 
 
 And those who are anxious to borrow, 
 Quite often have troubles to spare. 
 
 They sigh and they cry and they grumble, 
 Their smile is not earnest or sweet, 
 
 And yet they find victims to tumble 
 Right into their net of deceit. 
 
 II 
 Deceit drives the forsaken lover 
 
 To a disgraceful, sad life of shame ; 
 Deceit breaks the heart of the mother — 
 
 The sting of a lie is to blame. 
 
 Deceit kills the love for true women ; 
 
 Men doubt every lady they meet ; 
 Oh ! why must fond hearts live in torture, 
 
 From the sharp, cruel sting of deceit. 
 
 III. 
 They flirt in the church on a Sunday, 
 
 They .would ilirt with the angels of God; 
 They will promise to meet you on Monday, 
 
 When they'll give your heart the first prod. 
 
 1 hey will offer all kinds of excuses, 
 To lure you once more on their beat; 
 
 May a just Lord pray stop the abuses, 
 From the sharp, cruel sting of deceit. 
 
 IV. 
 Deceit makes the drunkard and deadbeat; 
 
 I )eceit tills the world witli insane ; 
 Deceit is the cause of divorcer, 
 
 Deceit brings the keenest heart pain. 
 
 May true loving hearts learn to shun it; 
 
 May a lie always suffer defeat ; 
 May our guardian angel protect us 
 
 From the sharp, cruel sting of deceit. 
 
 V. 
 So let us be upright and honest, 
 
 Kind, sympathetic and true ; 
 And always be patient and cheerful — 
 
 Each frown brings more sorrow to you. 
 
 This life is just what we make it; 
 
 Some prefer the sour to the sweet ; 
 May the innocent never overtake it — 
 
 The sharp, cruel sting of deceit. 
 
 BACHELOR PATIENTLY WAITING FOR LENA. 
 
 How a Duluth Bachelor Was Weazled Out of His Hard-Earned Money — 
 Story Had a Thrilling Effect on J. J. Somers — Writes a Poem. 
 
 The following article, taken from the Du- 
 luth Evening Herald of recent date, will no 
 doubt cause many of the bachelor readers of 
 the Independent to extend the'.r heart-felt sym- 
 pathy to poor Math Nuranen who was treated 
 in a shameful manner by the woman whom 
 he hoped to lead to the altar. The story had 
 such an effect on our critic poet, Mr. J. J. 
 Somers, that he broke out again with a hum- 
 orous poem, which follows the article. The 
 story is a good one and so is the poem. 
 
 "There was I, waintin' at the station." The 
 "Waiting at the Church" song needs but little 
 modification to fit the plight 01 Math Nuranen. 
 a Duluth Finn, who each morning for the past 
 week has early gone to the union depot to 
 greet with open arms and smiling countenance 
 the bride-to-be, who with coy and maidenly 
 reserve continued to keep Math waiting with 
 rueful face and aching heart. 
 
 The story of the missing maiden is full of 
 pathos. The wooing and apparent winning 
 was done in far away Finland. With the 
 consent of the maiden to become his bride act- 
 ing as a spur to his ambition, Math Nuranen 
 treked to America, the land of the free, and 
 
 proceeded to close tight his purse strings that 
 stray sheckels might lodge therein safely. 
 W r hen he had saved the necessary money Math 
 sent for the maid. Ah, but more, to make glad 
 her heart and to show that he had already im- 
 bibed the ideas of the new land, he sent her 
 a gold watch and ring, and also a new and 
 wonderful hat. That would surely tickle her 
 
 Alas, how badly Math Nuranen was mis- 
 taken ! 
 
 To be sure, the maiden cro?sed the b.road 
 Atlantic. She was fond of travel. But she 
 married in Monessen,, Pa., writing to Math 
 "that a batter man than you has won my 
 heart." She neglected to return the passage 
 money, nor did- the keeping of the gold watch 
 and ring, or the wonderful new hat, seem to 
 bring compunctions of her conscience. 
 
 But hold ; a ray of light came into the dark 
 and melancholy life of Math. A few days ago 
 he received a letter from the maid saying that 
 she had tired of her Monessen, Pa-, flame and 
 that she longed again for the steady company 
 and the confiding words of Math. Math went 
 out and raised enough dust to forward the 
 price of the fare from Monessen to Duluth. 
 
 75 
 
BACHELOR WAITING FOR LENA (continued) 
 
 He even included the price of a Pullman berth Sadly, but with hope still combatting his 
 
 in his subscriptions. dreacl forebodings, does Math wait at the sta " 
 
 _,, , ; . ,, , ,.. ,, tion. When the train is in, when there is no 
 
 Then he began to count the days until the chance that the maid hag becQme j Qst in the 
 
 girl he had courted in Finland would step off shuffle, Math repairs to the railway offices 
 
 the train at Duluth and leap with joyous ex- and sadly makes inquiries. Thus does sorrow 
 
 clamation into his waiting arms. Again he ride heavily upon the soul of Math, 
 
 was doomed to bitter disappointment. A week The railway men have not the courage to 
 
 of laden hours has droned its weary length tell Math their convictions — that the maid in 
 
 away and each train has failed to disgorge the case is a fickle bird, loving bright plum- 
 
 from its crowded depths any one that looks age, gold watches and rings, and money 
 
 like Math's old time steady. withal, but sad to relate, not Math. 
 
 WAITING AT THE STATION FOR LENA. 
 
 Now, Lena, my loved one, why do you forsake Dear Lena, you hear me ; I want you here 
 
 me . 
 
 near me. 
 
 ' , , • ,, , , ,- ,, .- By dav and bv night I am longing for vou. 
 
 I am sad and alone in the land of the free. lt - s y mv - calculat -j on * to wait at £ e | tation; 
 
 With fond expectation I stand at the station. Xow, Lena, what more do you want me to 
 
 Between joy and sorrow awaiting for thee. to do? 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Why stay in Monesseu, some strange one car- 
 
 essen? 
 
 Sweet Lena, my darling, why treat me so 
 
 mean? 
 
 With loving sensation I wait at the station ; 
 
 Now come to the arms of your own Math 
 
 Nurean. 
 
 I'll play for you, Lena, on my concertina. I'll show you the ore docks ; I'll buy you some 
 
 pink socks. 
 I will show you the aerial bridge right away. t/h t a ke you to Park Point where strange 
 
 I'll show you the bowry and then with Tom p,, spend^otTof money and make you feel 
 
 Lowry fu'W. , . . , 
 
 Dear Lena, oh why don t you come quick 
 
 We'll go for a ride around St. Louis bay. to me? 
 
 A LIVE BURG. 
 
 (With Apologies to Alfred Aburg, Minot.) 
 
 I have been in many burgs 
 
 And have read of many more 
 
 But the other night I saw a burg 
 
 I never saw before. 
 
 Says my friend Tom this is a burg 
 
 That's certainly all right 
 
 Well then says I, I'm awfully dry 
 
 With a burg right in sight. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 This burg seemed to diminish 
 
 Until I could see its finish 
 
 For in this burg I couldn't see a man 
 
 Says I, I've seen enough 
 
 On this side o the bluff 
 
 For this live burg was just a moving van. 
 
 We kept in the background 
 For fear we'd see a cop 
 But later we grew bolder 
 From ginger ale and pop. 
 As we came closer to the burg 
 Not a burg could we see. 
 T'was all a bluff says I enough, 
 No more live burgs for me. 
 
 76 
 
THE DULUTH BOND FIEND CLUB. 
 
 If you please, ladies and gentlemen, 
 
 And men who are not men ; 
 Those who have joined the Bond Fiend club, 
 
 The people for to skin. 
 We have got all the light we need, 
 
 But some of us need grub; 
 Can we get any light on that. 
 
 From the Duiuth Bond Fiend club. 
 
 We are bonded seven million. 
 
 But that figure looks too small ; 
 To the members of the Bond Fiend club 
 
 Who would occupy the city hall. 
 They would fish for votes with any bait ; 
 
 For the jobs they anticipate; 
 Every taxpayer should them snub 
 
 And put to route the Bond Fiend club. 
 
 They say seven hundred thousand 
 
 Would surely be enough 
 To install a municipal light plant, 
 
 Good people, that's a bluff. 
 That would not buy machinery 
 
 For each of our suburbs ; 
 So investigate and don't donate 
 
 To the Duiuth Bond Fiend club. 
 
 The price for light would far exceed 
 
 The present low standard rate, 
 And who would pay the difference, 
 
 Will the Bond Fiend club please state. 
 What care they for high taxes, 
 
 But you are a chump and a chub 
 If you submit to their big mitt 
 
 And the Duiuth Bond Fiend club. 
 
 Fellow taxpayers take my advice 
 
 Don't vote for a high tax. 
 On every member of this club 
 
 Swing heavy with the axe. 
 The present tax is much too high 
 
 That is our greatest rub. 
 So every man do what you can 
 
 To defeat the Bond Fiend club- 
 
 LAKE TWENTY NINE. 
 (Written at Barnnm, Minn., 1887.) 
 
 One fine summer's morning 
 
 As the moon was adawning, 
 Before the bright sun from the heavens did 
 shine. 
 
 Four Inns who loved camping, 
 
 With an outfit for tramping, 
 All started together for Lake Twenty-Nine. 
 
 When we came to the shore. 
 
 Our feet they were sore, 
 And although it was time for to dine, 
 
 We threw off our coats 
 
 And got into our boats. 
 To try our luck fishing at Lake Twenty-Nine. 
 
 Oh, how we love camping, 
 
 Oh, how we love tramping. 
 Among the green bushes and pine. 
 
 Oh, how we love fishes, 
 
 They taste so delicious, 
 Cooked in the tin dishes at Lake Twenty- 
 Nine. 
 
 Tlie fish would not bite, 
 
 There was no game in sight, 
 So for Barnum we took a bee line ; 
 
 We'll live on boned English herring 
 
 Until we will learn, 
 Of some better fish port than Lake Twenty- 
 Nine. 
 
 Ob, bow we hate camping, 
 
 Oh, how we hate tramping. 
 Through brush and through thickets of pine. 
 
 Oh, how we hate fishes 
 
 Cooked in black dishes. 
 Especially by Somers at Lake Twenty-Nine. 
 
 WHY-NOT MINOT? 
 
 If you're searching a location, 
 
 Why-not Minot. 
 It's the best town in creation, 
 
 Is Minot. 
 For a factory or a mill 
 You may travel wdiere you will 
 No place will fill the bill 
 
 Like Minot. 
 
 For every kind of biz, 
 It's the onlv town what is. 
 
 Take Minot. 
 
 You will never find her dull. 
 In business there's no lull, 
 If you've got a pull, just pull 
 
 Is Minot. 
 
 For Minot. 
 
WHY NOT MINOT (continued) 
 
 Ask the drummers what they think 
 
 Of Minot. 
 And they'll tip you with a wink, 
 
 For Minot. 
 . They say she is the hest 
 Little city in the west 
 For they've feathered up their nest, 
 
 In Minot. 
 
 If you're out on a vacation, 
 
 Why-not Minot. 
 Travel till vou reach the station 
 
 Called Minot. 
 We will entertain you right, 
 Rounds of pleasure day and night, 
 That will fill you with delight. 
 
 In Minot. 
 
 This winter is so fine, 
 
 In Minot ; 
 That there's washouts on the line, 
 
 Near Minot. 
 After touring through the south, 
 You'll decide without a doubt. 
 That forever more you'll shout, 
 
 For Minot. 
 
 So let everybody boost 
 
 For Minot ; 
 Stray birds come back to roost 
 
 In Minot. 
 For no matter where they roam. 
 Through the south, Klondyke, or Nome, 
 They return to make their home 
 
 In Minot. 
 
 FAIR DAKOTA. 
 
 (James T- Somers, Writes from Hibbing, Minn., Where He Is Hibernating.) 
 
 James J. Somers, the critic poet, writes us 
 that he is enjoying life at Hibbing, Minn., 
 where his mother, sisters and brothers live. 
 He is alarmed at the reports of storms and 
 fuel famine from this neighborhood and wants 
 to know the particulars. "Jim" enclosed the 
 following poetical gem which he says expresses 
 his sentiments in regard to this country. With 
 his kind permission we reproduce the verses 
 as follows : 
 
 Though far from the vast prairie sea 
 My dreams are quite often of thee 
 Something seems to whisper to me, 
 Fair Dakota. 
 
 Though I am enjoying sweet rest 
 Far away among friends I love best, 
 I long to be back in the west, 
 Fair Dakota. 
 
 I look to the coming of spring 
 I fancy the joys it will bring, 
 I'll be "there when the meadowlarks sing, 
 Fair Dakota. 
 
 I'll go back to the land of sunshine, 
 I'll go back to the home I call mine; 
 I have seen no one fairer than thine 
 Fair Dakota. 
 
 OUR TWENTIETH CENTURY SHOW. 
 
 Uncle Sam beats the world for inventions ; 
 
 We have everything right up-to-date ; _ 
 And we always have real good intentions, 
 
 Though sometimes we may speculate. 
 We boast of a grand combination 
 
 And are anxious to let the world know. 
 We have everything under creation, 
 
 In our twentieth century show. 
 
 Of churches we have quite a number. 
 
 And just fifty thousand saloons; 
 With snake rooms where human beings slum- 
 ber, 
 
 Where you find scholars cleaning spittoons. 
 We have almost a million of poupers, 
 
 And millionaires are all the go, 
 And big mitt men they call coppers, 
 
 In our twentieth century show. 
 
 We have theologians, thieves and liars, 
 
 Who never committed a sin. 
 We have Christian politicians and squires, 
 
 Always ready to buy their way in. 
 We have trusts and tramps and chain gangs, 
 
 With poverty, hunger and woe, 
 Money and misery, virtue and vice, 
 
 In our twentieth century show. 
 
 Our bibles they cost twenty dollars, 
 
 Bad whiskey is ten cents a drink; 
 And a dude with those high stand up collars, 
 
 Can break a girl's heart with a wink. 
 With ten wives you get into the senate, 
 
 With two to the pen you must go ; 
 With money you are strictly in it, 
 
 In our twentieth century show. 
 
OUR TWENTIETH CENTURY SHOW (continued) 
 
 Where preachers are paid twenty thousand a 
 year 
 
 To tickle the ears of the rich 
 And help dodge the devil whenever they fear 
 
 They cannot jump over the ditch. 
 They will call you a shrewd business man 
 
 In society your influence will grow; 
 If you keep out of jail and steal all you can, 
 
 In our twentieth century show. 
 
 Where trusts hold up and poverty down 
 
 Where the wire puller is sure to win, 
 At the truest patriot in the town 
 
 A crowd will jeer and grin. 
 They say humble prayers in White House floor, 
 
 Just a force of habit you know ; 
 In temperance states they sell whiskey galore, 
 
 In our twentieth century show. 
 
 Where men make their wives into sausage, 
 
 And some want to cat them up raw ; 
 
 Where canned beef is made from dead 
 horses. 
 
 And they never enforce any law, 
 They make corpses of people who eat it, 
 
 They don't ever pity the crow ; 
 I don't believe Turkey can beat it ; 
 
 Our twentieth century show. 
 
 Where congress and senate make laws 
 
 For the supreme court to ignore ; 
 They always find some little flaws, 
 
 And they keep finding more and more. 
 Newspapers are paid for suppressing the truth, 
 
 Some made rich for lieing you know; 
 Where houses pay license to shelter the youth 
 
 In our twentieth century show. 
 
 Where negroes can vote and hold office of 
 rank ; 
 
 Our women don't seem to know how. 
 To be honest is to be a fool or a crank, 
 
 But our fools are not plentiful now. 
 You can steal a railroad if you wish; 
 
 If you have plenty of dough 
 They'll elect you to some high posish 
 
 In our twentieth century show. 
 
 We are right up-to-date for the check book 
 talks. 
 
 And you'll always find justice asleep. 
 The devil keeps laughing while onward he 
 walks, 
 
 When he knows human souls are so cheap. 
 Other nations that wish to annex. 
 
 We'll place them right in the front row, 
 Where they can be seen without specks 
 
 In our twentieth century show. 
 
 MINOT IN NINETEEN TWELVE; 
 Or Watch Magic Minot Grow. 
 
 Magic Minot, they say, 
 
 Leads all others today ; 
 It's the name and location, you know. 
 
 And her bright business men 
 
 That keeps things on the spin, 
 Makes Magic Minot grow ! 
 
 Four years from today 
 
 You will hear people say : 
 "Now, mister, I told you so," 
 
 So don't be a quack, 
 
 Get on the right track, 
 Watch Magic Minot grow! 
 
 The Masonic Temple 
 
 Will look like a pimple, 
 The White Front will look mighty low. 
 
 The Public Library 
 
 Will be a grand sight to see, 
 Watch Magic Minot grow! 
 
 The Bijou and Arcade 
 
 Will larger quarters invade, 
 They will show a much grander show. 
 
 We'll have an opera de grand; 
 
 The finest in the land; 
 Watch Magic Minot grow! 
 
 The Minot Flour Mills 
 
 Will give Pillsbury ills, 
 And Washburn-Crosby Tally ho! 
 
 With a keen eye they'll guard 
 
 Our No. One Hard ; 
 Watch Magic Minot grow! 
 
 Cafes Morrill and Grill, 
 
 Take advice if you will; 
 Good prices, good service, you know. 
 
 Out here in the west, 
 
 We must have the best, 
 Watch Magic Minot grow ! 
 
 Every tent, every shack. 
 We must move away back, 
 
 Just about a mile or so. 
 
 This spring in the boom 
 We must have the room ; 
 
 Watch Magic Minot grow ! 
 
 Stone and Ordean Grocery 
 
 Told me on the Q. T. 
 The way they were making the dough. 
 
 They'd have to enlarge 
 
 And on the Mouse run a barge ; 
 Watch Magic Minot grow ! 
 
 The Leland, Lexington and Morrill 
 
 Will have no time to quarrel; 
 They won't go to sleep in the row ; 
 
 And the Home Bakery 
 
 Will be X-L-N-T 
 Watch Magic Minot grow! 
 
 Business men now beware ! 
 
 For the big show prepare ! 
 Every man loosen up with his dough. 
 
 If you mooch round and pike, 
 
 We'll put you on the hike; 
 Watch Magic Minot grow ! 
 
MINOT IN NINETEEN TWELVE (continued) 
 
 The Minot telephone 
 Will have to be shown; 
 
 Their service is a little slow. 
 A full moon at night 
 Gives more reasonable light ; 
 
 Watch Magic Minot grow ! 
 
 We'll have a water supply 
 That will never run dry ; 
 
 The street cars will run to and fro. 
 Let me give you a nudge, 
 The Mouse river we'll "drudge; 
 
 Watch Magic Minot growl 
 
 The Great Northern and Soo 
 
 Had better come through 
 And give us a union depot. 
 
 Now please take the tip 
 
 Or we'll cancel our trip ; 
 Watch Magic Minot grow! 
 
 Other cities of fame 
 Please remember the name, 
 
 More grand than Grand Forks or Fargo. 
 One glance at Minot 
 And you'll purchase a lot ; 
 
 Watch Manic Minot grow! 
 
 SEASONABLE POETRY. 
 
 It is a little early for spring poetry, but the 
 recent weather was so springlike, that 'he 
 "Critic Poet," J. J. Somers, who sells bread 
 and pies at the Home bakery, broke out 
 with the following bit of poetry : 
 
 NORTH DAKOTA. 
 
 The Christmas chimes are ringing 
 
 In Dakota. 
 And the little birds are singing 
 
 In Dakota. 
 
 We haven't any snow, 
 Or the weather's not below, 
 And the wind has ceased to blow, 
 In Dakota. 
 
 So let us sing in praise, 
 
 Of Dakota. 
 Those December balmy days, 
 
 In Dakota. 
 
 While they shiver in the south, 
 We are fishing here for trout, 
 And other fish, no doubt, 
 In Dakota. 
 
 They come from everywhere 
 
 To Dakota : 
 Yet, there's plenty room to spare. 
 
 In Dakota. 
 
 To this vast prairie sea, 
 In the golden land of the free, 
 We invite you to come and see 
 North Dakota. 
 
 St. Paul, Minn., February n, 1908. 
 Somers & Moore, 
 
 Minot, N. D., 
 Gentlemen : 
 
 We received your order which you gave 
 our Mr. Weddell and would ask you whether 
 or not we should send the goods C. O. D., 
 as we have so far been unable to receive a 
 financial report from you. Of course, you 
 understand that it is a custom with every 
 house where there is no financial standing 
 
 that the goods are sent C. O. D. or cash in 
 advance. We do not want you to think that 
 we doubt your responsibility, however, we 
 cannot tell this until we have an assurance to 
 that effect. 
 
 Hoping that you appreciate our position and 
 that we may receive a favorable reply to our 
 request, we remain, 
 
 Respectfully yours, 
 
 The Schmitz-Maas Co., 
 M. S. 
 
 REPLY TO THE SCHMITZ-MAAS COMPANY. 
 
 Now Messrs. Schmitz-Maas, 
 Don't worry because 
 
 We are not listed with Dunn. 
 We're not so up-to-date, 
 But we don't use a slate ; 
 
 We pay with American mon. 
 
 We have just enough dough 
 
 To pay as we go ; 
 So bill it C. O. D. 
 
 Please don't lose your nerve, 
 
 And all others serve. 
 The same as von have me. 
 
 80 
 
REPLY TO SCHMITZ MAAS (continued) 
 
 Since the financial scare 
 For Dunn I don't care ; 
 
 I do as my forefathers done. 
 I have cut out the banks 
 And Wall Street money cranks, 
 
 And I carry my wad near a gun. 
 
 St. Paul, Minn., February jo, 1908. 
 J. J- Summers, 
 
 Minot, N. D., 
 Dear Sir: 
 
 Yours of February the 18th received, and 
 in reply would say, we want to congratulate 
 you on your grand rhyme you sent us, but you 
 should have added on the end : 
 
 Then I am sure if I want some fun, 
 I do not have to the bank to run, 
 To get the 111011. 
 Your goods have been sent several days ago 
 and we hope that you will receive them in 
 good order. 
 
 Respectfully yours, 
 
 The Schmitz-Maas Co., 
 M. S. 
 
 'I here's a baker in a western town who har- 
 bors the Muse in his bakery, and he makes 
 use of her in his ads from time to time. He 
 has the gift of making jingles that really 
 jingle right merrily, as witness this: 
 
 The good Lord hath said 
 
 We must earn our bread, 
 Alas ! by the sweat of our brow. 
 
 My grandmother she 
 
 Lived one hundred three, 
 But we're short-lived and up-to-date now. 
 
 If the mixing machine 
 
 Is not perfectly clean, 
 Y'ou'll soon land on the beautiful shore ; 
 
 So don't be misled, 
 
 But buy Mothers' Bread, 
 You'll find it with Somers & Moore. 
 
 But was it not a shame to give that slam 
 at machine-made bread? That's where com- 
 petition gets in its deadly work sometimes — 
 even taking a poet so far afield that he hates 
 to lose a chance to get his little dagger un- 
 
 der his competitor's ribs. Now, if he would 
 only buy a mixer for himself, a little expe- 
 rience with it would give him a brand new 
 inspiration. Land ! How his Pegasus would 
 soar ! — Bakers' Helper, Chicago, 111. 
 
 ALL PLUGGING FOR JOHN D. BOSSGANDER. 
 
 (Written at Minot, N. D., 1908.) 
 
 I am on a rough sea, 
 Just as rough as can be, 
 
 And I am not in sight of the land ; 
 I see waves everywhere 
 That would any man scare, 
 
 But my craft is still at my command. 
 I must soon reach the shore, 
 Or turn my craft o'er 
 To some expert knocker commander — 
 To some old-time skinner, 
 Or blind pig beginner — 
 
 We'll just call him John D. Bossgander. 
 
 If I reach the shore, 
 
 1 will fix every store. 
 
 That is run by some pinhead Greenlander: 
 
 I will sink every skift, 
 
 Before they float adrift, 
 Just like my friend, John D. Bossgander. 
 
 I will launch a new boat, 
 
 Much the finest afloat- 
 Mouse proof, fly proof, none grander ; 
 
 Then I'll hoist every sail, 
 
 And defy every gale, 
 And also the noted Bossgander. 
 
 81 
 
ALL PLUGGING FOR JOHN D. BOSSANDER (continued) 
 
 I will meet all you buggers, 
 You John D. cheap pluggers, 
 
 With a solar plex right and left-hander; 
 I'll take an uppercut punch. 
 At the whole bloomin' bunch, 
 
 That boosted for John D. Bossgander. 
 One old friend in name, 
 Oh, you bloak, what a shame, 
 
 Your deceit has worked up my dander ; 
 You did me befriend, 
 And your help you did lend 
 
 To the shylock, our John D. Bossgander. 
 
 Every baker and plumber, 
 Every old and new comer. 
 
 Every souvenir artist lowlander, 
 Have all done their best 
 To help feather the nest 
 
 Of the high chief, our John D. Bossgander. 
 All you knockers please knock, 
 Till you knock off your block. 
 
 Then persecute me with your slander; 
 I will still wear a smile, 
 And scoff at the pile 
 
 Hoarded up by the noted Bossgander. 
 
 DAN KIPPIN'S RUNAWAY TEAM. 
 (Written at Maxbass, iqio. ) 
 
 Blades and Summers took a drive 
 
 To Eckman on the Soo 
 
 They hired a team from Kippin 
 
 That Bill Williams said he knew 
 
 He said that they would run away 
 
 If they got half a chance 
 
 So Summers was compelled to drive 
 
 While Blades went into a trance. 
 
 When Summers grabbed the whip 
 
 Blades to the sides did grip 
 
 He began to shiver and to scream 
 
 As the bronko shook his head 
 
 With surprise Blades calmly said 
 
 That cannot be Dan Kipping's runaway team. 
 
 We tried to make them trot 
 
 But they kept on the walk 
 
 And when we got near Eckman 
 
 The bronk began to balk 
 
 Then Blades he got red headed 
 
 At Williams he felt sore 
 
 He said he'd never take his word 
 
 On horses any more. 
 
 When we returned to Maxbass 
 The night was very dark 
 Blades swore he would get even 
 For he was no E. Z. mark ; 
 He said he'd bring his auto 
 When he'd come this way again, 
 Or he would come with Sheldon 
 When there were no signs of rain. 
 
 SHELDON'S NEW PATENT MACHINE. 
 
 ( Written at Bottineau, N. D., 1910. ) 
 
 I have seen a few 
 
 Of great patents quite new 
 In places that I've lately been. 
 
 But there's one beats them ail 
 
 It's the one that they call 
 Sheldon's New Patent Machine. 
 
 For a complete separator 
 
 There's none simpler or greater ; 
 It's equal no man ever seen. 
 
 It is built so complete 
 
 No device can compete 
 With Sheldon's New Patent Machine. 
 
 He will show you free gratis 
 
 This great apparatus. 
 And the different grain it will clean. 
 
 It works like a charm. 
 
 Just the thing for the farm, 
 This wonderful Patent Machine. 
 
 When you want to be shown 
 
 Call mi Mr- Bowen, 
 A patent attorney not green. 
 
 He can easily explain 
 
 How it handles the grain 
 This wonderful Patent Machine. 
 
 This new patent device. 
 Is sure worth the price 
 
 Of all other separators ; it's queen. 
 So boys don't delay, 
 Order one right away; 
 
 Get Sheldon's New Patent Machine. 
 
 82 
 
MY CHARMING, SWEET FLORENCE RICHTAD. 
 
 My dear Florence Richtad, 
 
 You say you feel sad 
 And you say that you still love me true. 
 
 Those words give me joy 
 
 And I cannot deny 
 That my heart has a longing for you. 
 
 Though you caused me much pain, 
 
 I'll forgive you again ; 
 I'll forget the love quarrels we have had. 
 
 If you say you'll be true 
 I'll love none else but you. 
 My charming sweet, Florence Richtad. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 How I long for to meet, 
 
 My dear Florence, so sweet ; 
 When I think of the pleasures we've had. 
 
 Let me see your sweet face. 
 
 Let me once more embrace 
 My charming, sweet Florence Richtad. 
 
 Though still in my prime Your sweet face let me see 
 
 I'm beginning to climb Out in Williams county. 
 
 High up on the ladder of fame, Next spring when the flowers are in b'oom. 
 
 And in some future day Those will be happy hours 
 
 In soft tones I will say, As we pick the wild dowers : 
 
 "Dear Florence will you change your name." There will be no more sorrow or gloom. 
 
 If you will consent There we'll drain sorrow's cup; 
 
 We will live in content ; There we'll kiss and make up ; 
 
 So if you will be true to your lad, No more we'll make each other sad. 
 
 Some day you will find There I'll promise to wed 
 
 I'll prove loving and kind; And share half of my bed 
 
 To my charming, sweet Florence Richtad. With my charming sweet Florence Richtad. 
 
 A TRIP TO SHERWOOD. 
 
 (Written in 1903.) 
 
 A few days ago I gave Sherwood a call 
 And I see she is creeping right up on Mohall. 
 I saw bills that read, "We buy Canada grain-" 
 And of course she has a daily passenger train. 
 With big elevators fast approaching the sky, 
 She is now going some ; she'll go more bye 
 
 and bye. 
 She is right in the swim, like a canvassback 
 
 duck. 
 Since she has made friends with her neighbor 
 
 Canuck. 
 
 For fun and amusement she is right up-to-date 
 With plenty to drink and with plenty to ate. 
 Her ladies look charming; her men wear a 
 
 smile 
 That makes a man feel right at home all the 
 
 while. 
 Good luck to you, Sherwood I wish you 
 
 God speed, 
 Mohall won't be jealous if you take the lead. 
 When you're at vour best just give us a call 
 And you'll find like the rest, that you can't 
 'beat Mohall. 
 
 83 
 
THE TELEGRAM KID. 
 
 A young man named Ray 
 
 Sent a message one day, 
 And it read come at once ma is sick. 
 
 My heart filled with grief, 
 
 And to find some relief, 
 A train I did board mighty quick 
 
 It was a lonely ride 
 
 For I wept and I sighed, 
 Until I arrived in Duluth 
 
 And found his ma well, 
 
 But the rest I won't tell, 
 Though I got some revenge on the youth. 
 
 So now Master Rav 
 
 At first I felt sore, 
 
 But I thought matters o'er, 
 
 And forgave him for what he had done. 
 Then he said to me, Judsre, 
 As he gave me a nudge, 
 
 How would you like me for a son. 
 I said, my boy Ray, 
 You would suit me O. K. 
 
 And I'd never regret what you did. 
 I'd be happy through life, 
 With your ma for my wife ; 
 
 I'd feel proud of my telegram kid. 
 
 All that I have to say ; 
 I hope you won't regret what you did. 
 
 So please don't feel bad, 
 
 With a judge for your dad. 
 And guardian of the telegram kid. 
 
 I am grateful to you, 
 
 For that message untrue, 
 For that act I'll get even some day. 
 
 Your sentence will be, 
 
 For life obey me, 
 And that's what you'll get for being gay. 
 
 TO ONE I TRULY LOVE. 
 
 With a 1 l my heart I pity you. 
 
 Far more than words can tell ; 
 
 It seems unfair I cannot share with one I love 
 
 so well; 
 As Providence has willed it so, 
 All that I have to say. 
 With sympathy I'll remember thee, 
 As I journey on life's way. 
 
 SWEET MARY, MY OWN. 
 
 They may sing of their bonnie Scotch lassies. 
 And the charms of an Irish coleen, 
 
 And they may drink a toast from their glasses 
 To some other beautiful queen; 
 
 But the one that I love is much sweeter 
 Than all other girls I have known ; 
 I don't wish for any one neater — 
 Oh, could I but call her my own. 
 
 Her lips are as red as the cherry, 
 
 Her eyes shine with innocence sweet; 
 Her smile is so cheerful and merry, 
 
 And her form is so comely and neat. 
 If you have true love in your bosom, 
 
 Accept the affection I've shown, 
 And we'll live in peace and contentment : 
 
 So, now, dearest, make me your own. 
 
 I loved her when I first met her, 
 
 But now many years have gone by ; 
 Altho I oft tried to forget her, 
 
 I still love, and will till I die. 
 I always feel happy when near her, 
 
 Without her I feel sad and alone ; 
 Through life I would comfort and cheer her. 
 
 If I could but call her my own. 
 
 So, now, lovely Mary, I've told you 
 
 The thoughts of a fond, loving heart ; 
 In loving embrace I could hold you, 
 
 Through life, until death would us part. 
 So do not forsake or deceive me, 
 
 To live in this world, sad, alone; 
 The rest of my life it would grieve me, 
 
 If I cannot make you my own. 
 
 84 
 
THE ROLLER MASQUERADE. 
 ( Written at Minneapolis, 1907.) 
 
 I had been to the Dewey 
 
 Likewise the Chop Suey; 
 Operas of high and low grade. 
 
 Then says Dutch Tom to me, 
 
 How would you like to see, 
 The roller masquerade. 
 
 We invaded some flats, 
 
 We then met Mr. Blatz, 
 In the ladies Palace Arcade. 
 
 We hurriedly changed our clothes, 
 
 Took hacks with our beaus 
 For the roller masquerade. 
 
 Mr. Peterson came 
 
 And got into the game; 
 He captured a charming young maid. 
 
 A man they call Holmes 
 
 Though he seldom ere roams, 
 Showed up at the masquerade. 
 
 Both Cooper and Dunn 
 Had their share of the fun 
 While Dutch Tommy led the parade; 
 With his friend Molenbrock, 
 They were prize winning stock, 
 At the roller masquerade. 
 
 Miss Beeda looked very cute 
 And her chum is a bute ; 
 
 If Clark will keep back in the shade. 
 I'll play my best card. 
 To win her for my pard, 
 
 Since the roller mesquerade. 
 
 We happened to learn, 
 
 Of a man they call Feran. 
 
 On our home coming serenade. 
 
 Golly that is where we did shine, 
 On his champagne and wine, 
 
 Coming home from the masquerade. 
 
 THE GROUND-HOG MYTH. 
 
 (In Memory of the Coldest January in the History of Duluth, 1912.) 
 
 Some say the ground hog came right out 
 
 And viewed his shadow bold, 
 While others say he froze to death 
 
 From the January cold. 
 But I'll tell you what I was told 
 
 By one who says he knows, 
 For he saw Mr. Ground Hog. 
 
 And the ground hog's' eyes were froze. 
 
 He says the ground hog couldn't see 
 
 His shadow on the snow. 
 For both his eyes were frozen tight 
 
 At thirty-six below. 
 I think my friend has told the truth. 
 
 For I feel much inclined 
 To think also, thirty-six below 
 
 Would freeze a ground bog blind. 
 
 The Herald received a message 
 
 And it went on to tell, 
 The ground hog had been captured 
 
 Not far from Kalaspell, 
 From Medicine Hat and Winnipeg, 
 
 A message also came ; 
 Both cities say on ground hog day, 
 
 The hog walked very lame. 
 
 They also claim they have the proofs 
 
 That an Indian chief did say, 
 The ground hog froze his eyes and feet, 
 
 Crossing the Georgian bay. 
 This ancient fable seems untrue, 
 
 As I oft said before; 
 And if it really was a fact. 
 
 It won't be any more. 
 
 Cook and Peary also claim 
 
 They saw him at the pole ; 
 And seven thousand miles due south 
 
 They found the ground hog's hole. 
 Why should we doubt a mythologist 
 
 Who has made the facts so plain ; 
 He is surely froze, do you suppose 
 
 He will revive again. 
 
 My truthful friend has made it plain, 
 
 The hog no more will see 
 That legend old, so often told 
 
 Will pass from history. 
 For hog or bear, no more we'll care, 
 
 For now the proof is clear ; 
 They both froze blind, next spring we'll find 
 
 Their skeletons, I fear. 
 
 JUDGE US NOT TOO HARSHLY. 
 
 (Reply to Spring Poet's Number of Judge Magazine, March, 1910.) 
 
 Now, Mr. Judge, 
 Please don't begrudge 
 
 A poet his position ; 
 We have troubles too, 
 As well as you, 
 
 And lots of competition- 
 
 Tho you're more wise, 
 Don't criticise 
 
 Us pen push amateurs ; 
 The road is long 
 In poem and song, 
 
 Outside of Burns and Moores. 
 
 85 
 
JUDGE US NOT TOO HARSHLY (continued) 
 
 None of us stole 
 
 The Great North Pole, 
 
 Or the South African Coodoo ; 
 We write humorous stuff 
 That is good enough — 
 
 Now, Judge, what more do you do? 
 
 So, Air. Judge, 
 I'll never budge, 
 
 A poet is ni}- calling; 
 I'll write what's right. 
 While others tight, 
 
 And do a lot of stalling. 
 
 If John D. would donate 
 To us poets great, 
 
 We'd sing him into Heaven 
 He'd help me sure, 
 For I'm as poor 
 As seven come eleven. 
 
 THE M. B. A. BALL. 
 
 The eighteenth of June 
 Will be here pretty soon, 
 
 I wish to remind one and all; 
 For that is the date 
 That we all celebrate 
 
 The first grand M. B. A. ball. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Frank Stark's famous band 
 Will furnish music so grand 
 
 It is sure for to please one and all. 
 So bring out your best girl, 
 Put her heart in a whirl 
 
 At the first grand M. B. A. ball. 
 
 Let each lass do her share 
 Some shy fellow to snare, 
 
 In leap year that's not hard at all. 
 Now girls do your best, 
 And the boys will do the rest, 
 At the first grand M. B. A. ball. 
 
 So, remember the date, 
 Mark it down on your slate; 
 
 Don't sit with your back to the wal 
 Don't miss this rare chance, 
 Let us all have a dance 
 
 At the first grand M. B. A. bail. 
 
 LITTLE EDDIE. 
 Written at Minneapolis, Minn., 1898.) 
 
 I 
 
 Now, linemen, pay attention, 
 
 While a story I relate ; 
 It is about poor Eddie, 
 
 In his adopted state. 
 For four and thirty long years 
 
 He lived a single life, 
 Till on the new installment plan 
 
 He swore he'd have a wife. 
 
 II 
 He met a friend, an ex-mossback, 
 
 An unconverted "bach," 
 And with his kind assistance, 
 
 They prearranged the match. 
 He then gave him employment 
 
 To make the bargain stick. 
 And the overgrown groundhog 
 
 Made a lineman mighty quick. 
 
 Ill 
 The widow from Mankato 
 
 And her little Eddy, dear. 
 Lived on the new installment nlan 
 
 Until she came to hear 
 That he had made arrangements 
 
 To abscond with a freak. 
 Who finished her engagement 
 
 At the museum that week. 
 
 IV 
 He left the town and widow, 
 
 And the widow did the same ; 
 And while his long green lasted, 
 
 He stuck right to the game 
 Till he got into a jackpot 
 
 With just one little nair, 
 Little Eddy he went belly up ; 
 
 Oh, what a sad affair. 
 
 V 
 
 They took his mileage ticket, 
 
 And barred him from the play ; 
 So, sad and broken-hearted, 
 
 Back home he made his way. 
 He met his bum companion, 
 
 His joblots from the farm. 
 Who sympathized with Eddy, 
 
 And said he meant no harm. 
 
 VI 
 
 Once more this noble groundhog 
 
 He took a lineman's place, 
 To work with decent, honest men, 
 
 Which is a great disgrace. 
 He loves to solder rusty joints. 
 
 And repair Western Union wires. 
 After tracing them to h — 11, 
 
 And making other people liars. 
 
 86 
 
LITTLE EDDIE (continued) 
 
 VII 
 
 Now, all you noble linemen, 
 
 Have pity on this pair, 
 That little banty rooster 
 
 And that overgrown bear. 
 They ought to change their rooming 
 place, 
 
 Or move down in the row, 
 Or travel with some museum freak, 
 
 Or join some wild-west show. 
 
 VIII 
 
 It doesn't make any difference, 
 
 Or it doesn't cut any ice. 
 He didn't mean any harm (so long) 
 
 Though he paid a Klondyke price. 
 He's the only man I've got 
 
 Who can solder and transpose, 
 And take my place when I am gone, 
 
 Providing I get froze. 
 
 WHERE WE BELONG. 
 
 J. J. Somers has received a notice from 
 Sheriff Gardner of Bottineau county, inform- 
 ing him that his personal property tax is de- 
 linquent; the amount being $1.72 the interest 
 26 cents, and the costs $1.00 and it further 
 states : 
 
 "Therefore if your taxes are not paid at once 
 I will without further notice collect the same 
 by distress, together with all costs. 
 Yours truly, 
 Thomas Gardner, Sheriff." 
 
 Somers has the following to send with his 
 remittance : 
 
 Kind friend Sheriff Gardner 
 
 I hate to pay you 
 Something I don't owe 
 
 To the County Bottineau. 
 Its due Renville county 
 
 But through a fictitious law, 
 I claim I'm an orphan, 
 
 Will that straighten the flaw? 1 
 
 As you are a dem, 
 
 And I voted for you, 
 I'll pay this small bill 
 
 So you won't have to sue, 
 For reorganization 
 
 I am a true blue. 
 And darned if I'll pay 
 
 Any more to Bottineau. 
 
 Bottineau county officials 
 
 Some day you'll repent 
 For robbing from Renville 
 
 Her taxes and rent. 
 In the near future 
 
 The law will show you, 
 I belong to old Renville 
 
 And not to Bottineau. 
 
 By your dun arriving 
 
 Just one year late 
 I see I'm compelled 
 
 To pay one dollar freight. 
 I can see you've got me 
 
 So T won't make a hoHer 
 But please keep on file 
 
 That you owe me a dollar 
 
 ALL BOUND FOR BOTTINEAU. 
 
 The train left Westhope Tuesday 
 
 Filled clean to the brim 
 With jolly good fellows, 
 
 That looked good to Jim. 
 There were no tickets sold 
 
 To Grand Forks or Fargo ; 
 Everyone in the bunch 
 
 Had a check to Bottineau. 
 
 By their conversation. 
 
 It was easy to tell 
 Some of them had drunk 
 
 From an artesian well. 
 They don't sell gingerale 
 
 Around Westhope I know, 
 And we have to cross the line, 
 
 When we get to Bottineau. 
 
 If Judge Goss will permit 
 
 I'll send out of the state, 
 And order a shipment 
 
 By expresss or freight: 
 A case of Val Blatz beer 
 
 I'll have in my possession 
 To keep my thinker clear 
 
 While the court is in session. 
 
 87 
 
A North Dakota Pioneer's Sod Stable. 
 
 THE HUB OF THE MOUSE RIVER LOOP. 
 
 While perusing the map 
 
 I discovered a gap 
 Where no road has yet been surveyed 
 
 It's an ideal spot 
 
 To make a town plot 
 If Jim Hill will just build the grade. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Go ten miles north of Lansford 
 
 Ten east of Mohall 
 Ten west of Maxbass 
 
 Then give Antler a call 
 If you're building railroads 
 
 You're an overgrown chub 
 If you can't see an opening 
 
 For one through the Hub 
 
 I have examined the wheel 
 
 Of the loop a good deal. 
 Each spoke is a short little stub 
 
 Though they're crooked and straight 
 
 I am sorry to state 
 That none of them enter the hub 
 
 The Great Northern and Soo 
 
 Are now overdue, 
 Their arrival will be a close rub. 
 
 It is choice fighting ground, 
 
 And each road is bound 
 It will drive the first spike in the hub. 
 
 lt^ central location 
 
 Will cause consternation, 
 You can't keep them out with a club. 
 
 I'll bet my old hoe, 
 
 Every lot's sure to go 
 When they locate a town in the hub. 
 
 When a town they will plat 
 
 I will purchase a lot, 
 And supply all the hungry with grub. 
 
 If a sign you should see 
 Cafe X. L. N. T. 
 Call and see me at the hub. 
 
 UP TO DATE VENTILATION IN ROOM No. 4. 
 
 This room is ventilated in the very latest 
 style, 
 
 You surely will reduce in flesh by rooming 
 here awhile 
 
 By using the air funnel you don't need any 
 clothes, 
 
 For a complete disenfectant we have supplied 
 a hose. 
 
 You will notice the thermometer is close be- 
 side your feet, 
 
 So keep your eye upon it for fear of over- 
 heat, 
 
 And if your slumbers are disturbed in the 
 dead of the night. 
 
 You'll find those Peeriess bottles will fix you 
 up all right. 
 
 If you get overheated saw a hole up in the 
 • roof, 
 
 Don't fear the wind, the rain or snow, 
 
 The straw hat is weather proof. 
 
 If you wish to purify the air directly at your 
 head. 
 
 Just give the crank an extra turn that's hang- 
 ing at your bed, 
 
 Then use the fire extinguisher, in case of fire 
 or smoke, 
 
 Or else jump through the window, for the 
 pane is already broke. 
 
 If your head is still affected, sleep in some 
 alley way, 
 
 Or crawl into some haystack, where there's 
 plenty needle hay. 
 
 88 
 
TOLLY ON THE SOO. 
 
 I am feeling good, by golly 
 
 Since I stopped off at Tolly. 
 I have made quite a few towns on my trip. 
 
 I found towns wide awake, 
 
 But Tolly takes the cake. 
 Her boys are a one fellow's take the tip. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 So give three cheers for Tolly, 
 
 Her men are fine and jolly. 
 I met no better bunch inside the loop. 
 
 I feel good yet by golly, 
 
 Since the day I spent in Tolly, 
 I. wish I had a photo of the group. 
 
 For instance Hynes and True 
 How could you beat them two, 
 
 They're as wide awake as any men could be. 
 And C. W. Heineke, 
 You can bet looks good to me, 
 
 And of course there's nothing wrong with 
 Dick Tremble. 
 
 Baker is a first class printer 
 
 In summer or in winter. 
 He gets out a newsy paper, up-to-date. 
 
 And the druggist, W. A. Miner, 
 
 You couldn't meet no finer, 
 If you traveled all around the bloomin' state. 
 
 Jack O'Loughlin keeps hotel, 
 
 He's a prince from what they tell. 
 Leo Safford runs a first class restaurant. 
 
 Cots, the barber, is O- K. 
 
 Billy Hudson the harp can play, 
 Beat Pete and Louis Sours I know you can't. 
 
 Tuck Mollison you bet. 
 
 Is a live one, don't forget. 
 Roy Johnson is the jeweler, by the way 
 
 He will sell a wedding ring 
 
 For half price in the spring ; 
 He figures on some future sales they say. 
 
 I found Jim Simkins square 
 
 On our trip down to Kemnare ; 
 They say he is a painter of renown. 
 
 I rather think that's true, 
 
 For Jim can go a few, 
 Just ask the bunch we met in Kenmare town. 
 
 Geo. A. Isaacs he buys grain. 
 
 Ira Pellett won't complain 
 If some expert horseman ropes him in. 
 
 Carl Swens he won't squeal 
 
 When he gets bit on a deal, 
 And Vick Lindbloom he always has the tin. 
 
 Geo. Burnett is on the square, 
 
 I met other good boys there. 
 I found no better town inside the loop. 
 
 Harry Marshall and Makee, 
 
 They also looked good to me, 
 So I'd like to have a photo of the group. 
 
 POET A SUCCESSFUL GARDENER. 
 
 From Ward County Independent . 
 
 J. J. Somers, the "Critic Poet" from Ren- 
 ville raised four acres of garden truck and 
 sold $550 worth of vegetables in Maxbass, 
 Lansford, Mohall and Hurd. He is within ten 
 miles of each of those places. He raised 250 
 bushels of onions, an acre of cabbage, a large 
 quantity of potatoes, cucumbers, beets, carrots 
 and rutabagas. Besides he had 70 acres of 
 
 crop on his farm. When he arrived in Minot 
 three years ago he had but $40 in cash. He 
 now has a nice bunch of fine stock. 
 
 "You can grow anything here and you can 
 sell anything you grow," Mr. Somers ex- 
 plained. He had 16 acres of oats that aver- 
 aged 65 bushels, machine measure, and 20 
 bushels of wheat on discing. 
 
 MY CHARMING NELLIE M'GREE. 
 
 As Written and Sung by J. J. Somers, 1885.) 
 
 Farwell to Duluth. I must leave thee, 
 
 And friends I may never see more, 
 To seek for a healthier climate, 
 
 Far away from the one I adore. 
 As the cold winds from off Lake Superior, 
 
 With the Canada boy don't agree, 
 Broken hearted I'm left for to wander, 
 
 Far away from my Nellie McGree. 
 
 When I am far away from my darling, 
 
 In Texas or sweet Tennessee. 
 I will sigh for the day that I parted 
 
 My charming sweet Nellie McGree. 
 Soon over the rails I'll be carried. 
 
 Where many strange faces I'll see, 
 But among them I cannot find any 
 
 To equal my Nellie McGree. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Good bye, fare you well, I must leave you, 
 
 Some day I may come back to thee ; 
 I never intend to decieve you, 
 My charming sweet Nellie McGree. 
 
 89 
 
MY CHARMING NELLIE M'GREE (continued) 
 
 If I should return to my Nellie, 
 
 And she should prove constant to me. 
 No more through the world I would wander 
 
 For away from my Nellie McGree. 
 But if she should prove false and should marry, 
 
 Some one of a higher degree, 
 All the rest of my life I would tarry 
 
 For the sake of my Nellie McGree. 
 
 I am leaving you now to my sorrow, 
 
 Xo matter wherever I be ; 
 In my prayers I'll remember my darling, 
 
 My charming sweet Nellie McGree. 
 And one thing I'll say before going, 
 
 My heart it will never be free, 
 Until I'll return to my darling. 
 
 My charming sweet Nellie McGree. 
 
 A TRIP TO MUSKOKA. 
 
 (The Author's First Poem. 1878.) 
 
 I boarded the train at Stayner in the year of I occupied a home-made lounge, without a 
 
 seventy-eight, quilt or sheet. 
 
 And landed safe in Gravenhurst, for the Cuddled in an overcoat with my socks upon 
 
 boat I was too late. my feet. 
 
 I walked up to the village and got on board In the next berth was a darkey — no overcoat 
 
 a stage had he. 
 
 With twelve others for Bracebridge, like I kept my eye on him all night, and he done 
 
 sardines in a cage. the same with me. 
 
 When we arrived in Bracebridge 'twas after The next day I made Huntsville, and the next 
 
 ten o'clock ; saw Emsdale ; 
 
 Some tavernkeepers were in bed— more had I then walked eight miles farther, on the 
 
 their doors to lock. Surveyor's Trail. 
 
 We got into one hotel — the landlord's name My father he did welcome me at the old log 
 
 was Kent — shanty door. 
 
 Though all the beds were occupied, we And I felt much like saying, "Your dear boy 
 
 helped to pay the rent. will roam no more." 
 
 CONTRIBUTED TO THE HERALD. 
 
 If you've got $1,000, salt it down, 
 You are quite an exception in our town ; 
 You certainly don't booze. 
 And I'd hate to see you loose. 
 So be careful how yon choose. 
 Just salt it down. 
 
 If you've got a good position, hold it down, 
 You are better off than many in our town ; 
 Trust prices we all feel 
 When we eat our scanty meal ; 
 If you can save a silver wheel, 
 Just salt it down. 
 
 If you invest, just buy a piece of lam!. 
 Don't speculate in rock piles or in sand ; 
 
 Buy Minnesota's best. 
 
 Or go away out west. 
 
 And time will do the rest. 
 If you hold it down. 
 
 Xo use to covet green fields far away, 
 Duluth and Minnesota are O. K. 
 Believe what I tell you, 
 Or ask George Maxwell what to do, 
 His predictions will come true. 
 So hold her down. 
 
 So don't overlook the value of good land ; 
 
 You run no chance to lose, you understand, 
 Good land is good as gold, 
 It's a nice thing when you're old, 
 A.S with ease your arms you fold. 
 Do vou understand? 
 
 P. S. — This article was written for the sec- 
 ond of the Herald's series of contests. En- 
 titled, "I've got the first $1,000; what shall 
 I do with it?" 
 
 FOR HIS SAKE. 
 
 I ask of you a favor 
 
 Although you live afar. 
 
 We need your kind assistance 
 In our Catholic bazaar. 
 
 Please send me one handkerchief 
 Silk or cotton, large or small 
 
 It will help to build a church 
 In the village of Mohall. 
 
 90 
 
COLEMAN'S ACRE TRACTS. 
 
 On the banks of Lester river 
 
 There lies a tract of land ; 
 It is known as Lester Valley ; 
 
 It's a beauty spot most grand. 
 The surroundings are most charming, 
 
 And if I must tell the truth. 
 
 It is the ideal suburbs to the city of 
 Duluth. 
 
 Take a stroll up Lester river, 
 Watch the rippling water flow; 
 
 By the babbling brook each shady nook 
 Cheers the heart where 'ere you go. 
 
 The birds and trees and the scented breeze 
 Will keep your nerves intact. 
 
 In a cozy cot on an acre lot, in Coleman's 
 acre tracts. 
 
 Lester Valley is one mile from Lake Su- 
 perior shore, 
 __ The boats you view as they pass through, 
 From your little cottage door. 
 
 Come out and share the balmy air; get 
 posted on the facts. 
 And you'll never rest until you invest 
 In Coleman's acre tracts. 
 
 Other suburbs have their charms, 
 
 That fact I don't deny ; 
 But the east branch of Lester river 
 
 Nature did much beautify. 
 And when Snively's boulevard is complete, 
 
 There will be no drawbacks ; 
 We'll go to and fro in a big auto— 
 
 To Coleman's acre tracts. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF OUR DEPARTED BROTHER, REV. DONALD Mac- 
 
 KENZIE. 
 
 (Died in Duluth Union Depot, Jan. 26, 1912, Age 47 Years.) 
 
 I listened to a speaker 
 
 In a banquet hall one night ; 
 He told of the life of Robert Burns, 
 
 And of his death-bed sight. 
 He pictured to his fellow clans 
 
 A most pathetic scene 
 How the poet died in his prime and pride 
 
 As he called for his dear wife Jean. 
 
 Though his dear Jean was near him 
 
 She could not kiss his brow; 
 Nor could she kiss his infant babe, 
 
 Her strength would not allow. 
 Each heart grew sad with sympathy, 
 
 A tear came in their eye ; 
 'Tis sad but true, the speaker, too, 
 
 A tragic death must die. 
 
 Though he was hale and hearty. 
 
 And his jokes our hearts did cheer; 
 Xext day he died, far from the side 
 
 Of those he loved so dear. 
 Donald MacKenzie fare thee well ; 
 
 We mourn your tragic end. 
 May a just God share his joys up there 
 
 With our departed friend. 
 
 Without a moment's warning 
 
 He bid this world adieu. 
 Just as he started homewards 
 
 To the ones he loved so true. 
 We mourn for his orphan children : 
 
 We mourn for a widow's grief ; 
 May they meet some day in heaven 
 
 Where true Christians find relief. 
 
 THE NIGHT OTTO HANSON SHOWED SOMERS THE WAY. 
 
 ( Written at AYillow Bunch. Saskatchewan, 1910.) 
 
 The stars shone bright on a summer's night, 
 
 To that we both agree ; 
 When two pioneers on the prairies for years 
 
 Went out their next neighbor to see. 
 But on their way back they took the wrong 
 track ; 
 They found home sometime the next day. 
 They lit their last match in Schivies garden 
 patch, 
 The night Otto Hanson showed Somers 
 the way. 
 
 All the mountains and sloughs they tried to 
 peruse 
 Of the trip they had little to say 
 Schivies garden looks square 
 But they lost the trail there, 
 The night Otto Hanson showed Somers 
 the way. 
 
 When they found Heart Butte, they sent up a 
 hoot ; 
 It gave them new courage and hope ; 
 Says Otto, I know the direction to go, 
 
 My shack is down here on the slope. 
 After roaming awhile they found a stone pile ; 
 
 Then Otto to Somers did say ; 
 I have been here before, we're at George's 
 once more, 
 On the night Otto Hanson showed Somers 
 the way. 
 
 They crawled into George's bed, 
 
 And next morn they said. 
 We are tired and hungry and would like to 
 chew. 
 
 They then devoured lunch 
 
 And started out for Willow bunch. 
 And to keep awake was more than they could 
 do. 
 
 They awoke from their snooze 
 
 Much relieved of the blues. 
 And returned home cheerful and gay. 
 
 They roam nights no more, 
 
 Heart Butte to explore, 
 Since the night Otto Hanson showed Somers 
 the way. 
 
 91 
 
THE MAN WITH THE PETRIFIED GALL. 
 
 Now Johnny Lynch 
 
 It is a cinch, 
 Your gall is petrified- 
 
 You have nerve enough 
 
 To try to bluff 
 When you're on the inside. 
 
 If we should meet 
 
 Upon the street, 
 Don't open your bazoo. 
 
 If you've the cheek 
 
 To dare to speak, 
 I'll break you right in two. 
 
 You little whiff, 
 
 Just one good biff 
 Would silence your fool mug. 
 
 I'll make a bet 
 That's what you'll get, 
 You little brazen pug. 
 
 Now Mr. Elichon Judge 
 
 Please take a nudge, 
 Don't tamper with the poet, 
 
 For if you do 
 
 You'll surely rue 
 It's time that you should know it. 
 
 So Johnny Wise 
 Think of your size, 
 
 Also your low position- 
 Give up your slang, 
 Or join some gang 
 
 To suit your disposition. 
 
 So Johnny Tough 
 
 I've said enough. 
 For our first introduction. 
 
 If I said more. 
 
 You might feel sore, 
 And go to destruction. 
 
 REFLECTIONS. 
 
 When the lights are burning lowly and the 
 cares have flown, 
 And I go and get my meersham from its 
 shelf, 
 When the house is dark and silent and I sit 
 and smoke alone, 
 I have often asked these questions of myself. 
 Why are we forever chasing fleeting rainbows 
 in the sky 
 As we tread upon the blossoms of the flowers? 
 Why is it we strive and struggle from our 
 births until we die 
 Overlooking all the pleasures that are ours? 
 
 Why will things in dim perspective which we 
 never can attain 
 Lure us on until our fading dreams have fled, 
 Leaving but the trampled blossoms with their 
 fragrancy of pain 
 To remind us of the roses that are dead? 
 And 'mid dreams of smoke and fancy as the 
 embers slowly die 
 Mystic voices from the shadows seem to say, 
 "Though a thousand tinted rainbows hang their 
 arches in the sky, 
 You should gather in the roses while you 
 may." 
 
 THE WILLOW BUNCH. 
 (Written at Minot, X. D., 1910.) 
 
 A jolly bunch from near Ambrose, 
 To H. J. Heckman did propose : 
 Let us go west, so off he goes ; 
 
 He had a hunch. 
 A pack horse he did quickly get, 
 And rode through the country, dry and wet. 
 He found the best land ever yet. 
 
 Near Willow Bunch. 
 
 He traveled just three thousand miles 
 And gave each district a fair trial; 
 Driving across country was his style ; 
 
 He carried lunch. 
 He looked Alberta, o'er and o'er 
 Until his eyes and feet were sore ; 
 He made up his mind to look no more 
 
 Near Willow Bunch. 
 
 On a half section he did file 
 
 And then returned home, with a smile 
 
 And told his friends in a short while. 
 
 Of township two. 
 Then to each friend he gave a plot 
 With full description of each lot ; 
 Range twenty-seven boys that's what 
 
 For me and vou. 
 
 In nineteen ten you'll find us there, 
 A jolly bunch that fears no care; 
 Our friendship we'll be glad to share 
 
 With wine or punch. 
 So if you chance to come our way, 
 Give us a call by night or day; 
 We'll prove to you that we're O. K. 
 
 At Willow Bunch. 
 
 See Heckman, Brackelsburg, or Rami, 
 Lou, White, Kinley or Jake Knudson, 
 They are good fellows every one ; 
 
 That's a cinch. 
 And don't forget to call on me, 
 A pioneer from good old N. D. 
 All comers will be welcome, see, 
 
 To Willow Bunch. 
 
 92 
 
Farewell Trip on the Minot Trail. 
 
HEART ALA CARTE. 
 
 While your on the coast, 
 
 Where I'd love to be most 
 And I'm among Dakota's bleak blizzards. 
 
 A piece of my heart 
 
 I would send a la carte, 
 But they say nothing's left but gizzard. 
 
 They accuse me of stalling, 
 
 When I see a man falling, 
 They say I've no heart that is true. 
 
 But they are away off their trolley. 
 
 And I've fooled them by golly, 
 It's out on the coast, there with von. 
 
 BROTHER MARTIN PRESENTS A CIGAR CASE TO HIS BROTHER 
 
 JIM. 
 
 We present you a bottle 
 
 Of condensed smoke. 
 May it ever be full 
 
 And you never be broke. 
 If you take a trip 
 
 To Chisholm or Buhl, 
 Smoke up a Havana 
 
 And try to keep cool. 
 
 Your match on the top 
 
 In this bottle you'll see. 
 In other respects 
 
 We don't think it could be. 
 When you're through smoking smokers 
 
 Of a various kind; 
 Unscrew the bottom 
 
 And your finish you'll find. 
 
 SURPRISED. 
 From the Maxbass Monitor. 
 
 The beautiful home of Mr. and Mrs. J. J. 
 Somers, about seven miles west of town, was, 
 on Wednesday evening, invaded by friends 
 who brought with them Stark's famous or- 
 chestra — than which there are few better in 
 the state — and danced until the "wee sma' 
 hours" of the morning. The affair was a to- 
 tal surprise to Mr. Somers, but he admirably 
 arose to the occasion and with right royal 
 hospitality welcomed the party and made ev- 
 eryone feel at home. During the intermis- 
 sions in the dancing, songs, recitations, and 
 step dancing were in order, everyone enter- 
 ing into the spirit of the affair and contribut- 
 
 ing his share to the evening's enjoyment. 
 Messrs. Somers, Kent, and Coghlan were 
 the principal contributors to the vocal pro- 
 gram and that they made a "hit" was evi- 
 denced by the thunderous rounds of applause 
 after each selection. About midnight a de- 
 licious lap lunch was served. As a token of 
 the esteem in which they are held by their 
 many friends, Mr. and Mrs. Somers were 
 made the recipients of several beautiful pres- 
 ents. About 4 o'clock the party broke up, 
 the guests expressing much regret that cruel 
 necessity compelled them to depart in order 
 to take up their daily labors- 
 
 FED THE HUNGRY. 
 
 From the Maxbass Monitor. 
 
 A jolly party assembled at the rural home 
 of J. J. Somers, the critic poet, last Sun- 
 day and were welcomed in his usual hospitable 
 manner. After partaking of a hearty turkey 
 dinner the afternoon was pleasantly spent 
 with music, singing and games. In the even- 
 ing a chicken and turkey supper was served — 
 and such a spread could not be beaten in the 
 swellest eating house in the land. The guests 
 included that tall Milesian gentleman, "Tom" 
 Hastings, and his accomplished wife, the 
 Misses Brady and father, Joseph Brady, "Doc" 
 Kent — who when it comes to entertaining is 
 a host in himself — Louis Geifer, John Mul- 
 
 lans. W. J. Evans and James P. Dillon. The 
 party from town had a narrow escape from 
 a serious accident in leaving which was only 
 averted by the skilful driving of W- J. Evans. 
 Tlie horses were wild and barely manageable, 
 and as soon as attached to the buggy started 
 off at a furious speed, but "Walt" performed 
 the difficult feat of guiding them, while on the 
 "dead gallop" between a telegraph pole and 
 a tree, where there was scarcely room for the 
 buggy to pass, on to the road and there got 
 them under control. Taken altogether, it was 
 one of the most enjoyable days in the lives 
 of the Maxbass crowd and one which they 
 declare they will never forget. 
 
 From the (irand Forks Herald. 
 
 J. J. Somers, the "Bard of the Mouse River 
 Loop," "that man with the hoe," and varied 
 other titles has arranged for a St. Patrick's 
 day dance, to be given at Maxbass as a fare- 
 
 well ball and celebration. A Dutch band, 
 brass band, bagpipe players, orchestra and 
 harpist will furnish music and a special train 
 from Minot will help some. 
 
 <)4 
 
THE BUILDERS. 
 
 (From the Outing Magazine, March, 1906.) 
 
 The loneliness and homesickness of the pi- 
 oneers of the Dakota prairies is not a new 
 story. What they suffered in Kansas and Ne- 
 braska, they fought through in this latest mi- 
 gration into North Dakota. They endured 
 and conquered in the spirit that glows in every 
 line of the following verses. They are bet- 
 ter than any attempts at description, for the 
 author, James J. Somers of Renville, is a 
 North Dakota man who has lived the life 
 whose trials he so vividly sings : 
 "I am one of the pioneers 
 
 Of North Dakota state. 
 At Hill's request I came out west 
 
 In search of real estate. 
 I filed along the Cut Bank creek 
 
 Just forty miles from rail. 
 And I started farming with a hoe. 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 
 The hardships that we did endure, 
 
 From hunger and from cold, 
 I haven't time to tell you, 
 
 Or it never will be told. 
 To start from Minot with a load 
 The rivers they were far apart, 
 
 And a well was something new. 
 
 And face a northwest gale. 
 It would break your heart, right on the 
 start, 
 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 
 It often tickled us to find 
 
 Some water in a slough. 
 I used to have a demijohn — 
 
 I called it "ginger-ale" — 
 Once in awhile we'd take a smile 
 
 Along the Minot Trail. 
 
 The only fuel we knew about 
 
 Was prairie hay and straw. 
 From November until April 
 
 We never had a thaw. 
 I often thought I'd rather be 
 
 In some good warm jail. 
 While twisting hay both night and day 
 
 Along the Minot trail. 
 
 And when the snow would disappear 
 
 The gophers would begin. 
 They'd eat up everything we sowed, 
 
 And then we'd sow again. 
 If I could scheme some new device 
 
 To kill the flicker-tail, 
 I might stand a show with my old hoe 
 
 Along the Minot trail." 
 
 In a more jubilant strain the poet has 
 sung a sequel to his tale of stress and woe : 
 
 "There's no corporation 
 Can dictate our ration. 
 For strikes or for boycotts 
 We don't care a whoop." 
 
 His muse sings a top-note of triumph in 
 these lines, where it is fitting that we leave 
 
 him : 
 
 "The gophers we've banished, 
 The shacks have all vanished, 
 Except for an odd one 
 
 That's used as a coop. 
 On each claim there's a mansion 
 Where stockmen were ranchin' 
 Just four years ago 
 
 In the Mouse River Loop." 
 
 VISIT THE COUNTRY. 
 
 From the Maxbass Monitor. 
 
 Last Sunday three hungry looking individu- 
 als from Maxbass invaded the rural home of 
 J. J. Somers, the critic poet, seven miles west 
 of this city, and devoured several of his fine 
 spring chickens and much of his excellent gar- 
 den produce. However, Mr. and Mrs. Somers 
 are the soul of hospitality and immediately 
 made their guests feel at home and welcome- 
 The array of tempting viands set before the 
 visitors was enough to make a dead man 
 rise in his coffin and ask for another mouth- 
 ful before being buried ; and the cooking — it 
 was superb. There is an old saying that the 
 proof of the pudding is in the eating, and such 
 being the case, actions certainly spoke louder 
 than words in complimenting Mrs. Somers on 
 her cooking. 
 
 After enjoying some fragrant Havanas in 
 the shade of the beautiful grove, the party, 
 which consisted of W. J. Evans, John Mltllan 
 
 and James P. Dillon, inspected the large and 
 well kept garden of "the man with the hoe." 
 • Here were onions and carrots and turnips and 
 tomatoes and parsnips and parsley and lettuce 
 and cucumbers and citrons and peas and ,beans 
 and potatoes in profusion, several different 
 varieties of each being grown, and all appear- 
 ing in excellent condition. It is marvelous 
 how one man can find time to look after such 
 a large garden and also attend to his large 
 crop of wheat and flax. 
 
 The party returned in the evening, after 
 spending the most enjoyable day of their lives, 
 and being of one mind in the expresoion that 
 truly the Lord loves the Irish. 
 
 From the Mohall Tribune . 
 
 The Maxbass Monitor tells of a big surprise 
 party tendered Mr. and Mrs. J. J. Somers 
 east of here. The poet is still popular and 
 continues to write it down as it comes to him. 
 
 !>5 
 
BIG TIME AT MAXBASS 
 "Bard of Mouse River Loop'' to Give a Farewell Ball. 
 From the Minot Optic. 
 
 One of the biggest celebrations ever given 
 in northwestern North Dakota will take 
 place on Thursday evening, March 17, at 
 Maxbass. The celebration will be in the na- 
 ture of a St. Patrick's day ball and will be a 
 testimonial farewell to J. J. Somers, "the 
 Bard of the Mouse River Loop," better known 
 as "The man with the hoe." Special music 
 has been engaged for the occasion, consist- 
 ing of Rognlies' orchestra of Minot, Billy 
 Chase's famous Dutch band of Eckman; Max- 
 bass orchestra of Maxbass, assisted by Frank 
 
 Stark's famous cornet band ; also W. W. 
 Davey, the champion harp player of the north- 
 west, and the Glenburn band of twenty-two 
 pieces. Dancing will take place in three 
 halls, which will be especially decorated for 
 the occasion. The various committees will 
 see that all have a good time and supper will 
 be served at the Hotel Wall. The cash prizes 
 to be given will be, "Belle of the Ball," $10; 
 best lady dancer, $10; best gentleman dancer, 
 $10; most typical Irishman, $10. A large 
 delegation of merrymakers is planning on at- 
 tending from Minot. 
 
 From Minot Reporter . 
 
 J. J. Somers. who will give a big ball at 
 Maxbass, March 17, reports that he has en- 
 gaged a special train which will leave Minot 
 at 2:30 on the day, returning early the next 
 morning. Many from this city are sure to at- 
 
 tend. Major Murphy has been engaged to 
 give an address. The Amidon orchestra will 
 play at the Maxbass hotel during the evening. 
 Mr. Somers is planning one of the greatest 
 events of the kind that has ever been given 
 in the Northwest. 
 
 THE SPREAD-EAGLE DANCE 
 Somers' Farewell Dance on March 17 Was Thoroughly Enjoyed. 
 
 From the Maxbass Monitor. 
 
 The most disappointed man in Bottineau 
 county today is the Bard of the Mouse River 
 Loop, J. J. Somers. 
 
 When Mr. Somers conceived the idea of 
 giving his farm away at his farewell dance, 
 he no doubt anticipated no trouble in dis- 
 posing of three thousand tickets. Jim fully 
 expected to sell these tickets, give the people 
 the time of their lives and go out on his spe- 
 cial train accompanied by brass bands and 
 parting plaudits of the multitude, but alas. 
 the farm is still the Bard's and the gift dance 
 fizzled out as far as the drawing was con- 
 cerned. 
 
 The dance was an unqualified success and 
 the brass band, string orchestras and bag- 
 pipes were here to entertain the crowd. The 
 special train pulled in on time, cigars and re- 
 freshments were free and the dance was the 
 
 biggest thing of the kind ever attempted here. 
 
 The drawing did not take place because only 
 twelve hundred tickets had been sold — about 
 enough to pay expenses — but the deed has 
 been deposited in the Security bank and all 
 those having purchased tickets on the 
 strength of the drawing will have an oppor- 
 tunity to get their money back after October 
 t. The town has no apology to make as it 
 was strictly an individual affair and as far 
 as we are concerned we feel sorry for Mr. 
 Somers that his plans miscarried. 
 
 During the dance a lamp was knocked down 
 which caused an incipient panic and a rush 
 for the stairs but the timely order of Prof. 
 Amadou to play some music quieted the peo- 
 ple down and the fire was extinguished after 
 Joe Fraser had presence of mind enough to 
 carry the lamp outside. 
 
 SOMERS GROWS CAUSTIC. 
 
 From the Ward County Independent . 
 
 J- J. Somers, the Bard of the Mouse River 
 Loop, was in Minot yesterday. It will be 
 remembered that Mr. Somers gave a dance 
 at Maxbass on St. Patrick's Day, at which 
 time he expected to give away his farm to 
 the holder of the lucky ticket. Not enough 
 tickets were sold and in consequence the 
 farm was not given away, but he informs us 
 
 that the money has been returned to all who 
 bought tickets, and who did not atcend the 
 dance, who returned their tickets within the 
 thirty days, specified by him. Some of the 
 fellows who ought to be Jim's best friends 
 have been doing a little knocking and Mr. 
 Somers has replied in the following caustic 
 lines : 
 
 % 
 
I HAVEN'T GONE THE SULLY OR MYERS ROUTE YET. 
 
 The spread eagle dance 
 
 Put some in a trance, 
 rt may take some time to recover. 
 
 The expert eagle grabbers, 
 
 And false expert tabbers, 
 Can't outdo an expert pen shover. 
 
 I've committed no sin 
 
 And yet my fellow men, 
 They ridicule, slander and fret. 
 
 They don't need to holler, 
 
 For they won't lose their dollar; 
 T haven't gone the Sulley or Myers route yet. 
 
 I am disappointed in men 
 
 Who slander me when, 
 I am boosting their business and town. 
 
 Men who knock, block and lie, 
 
 Their tactics I defy, 
 They can't keep an honest man down. 
 
 It was a one man affair, 
 
 Thanks for boosting me there. 
 I fought single handed, you bet. 
 
 My true friends, though few, 
 
 I'll make good, that I'll do, 
 I haven't gone the Sulley or Myers route yet. 
 
 So here's to the green 
 
 And each Irish coleen, 
 Here's to each true friend of mine. 
 
 Here's to the pen, 
 
 Given by my fellowmen ; 
 T prize it as something divine. 
 
 Here's to the hoe. 
 And where're I go 
 
 I'll cherish that token, my pet. 
 
 With my pen and my hoe, 
 
 I'll sure make the dough, 
 I'll never go the Sully or Myers route, don't 
 fret. 
 
 THE FIREMAN'S STORY. 
 
 r sat in the cab of my engine lads 
 One dark cloudy night in June: 
 
 I was fireman on engine 66, 
 
 That was wrecked last month at Boone. 
 
 The engineer sat just across the cab 
 With such a sad look in his eyes, 
 
 That I asked him what was troubling him 
 And he said much t<i my surprise. 
 
 "Would you like to hear a story lad, 
 
 A story of love and woe, 
 Of an event that has saddened the rest of my 
 life 
 
 Though it happened long ago?" 
 
 I answered, "yes," and he said, "Well then. 
 
 In the fall of '49, 
 1 was engineer of the Midland Express 
 
 The fastest train on the line. 
 
 My sweetheart, Nell, lived close by the track. 
 
 And every night she would stand, 
 On the top of the cut and as we passed by 
 
 She would smile and wave her hand. 
 
 One night we were late and were running fast 
 
 And as usual. Xell was there; 
 I can see her yet with her sweet blue eyes 
 
 And her wealth of golden hair. 
 
 But as she stepped to the top of the bank 
 She stumbled I don't know how, 
 
 And fell right in front of the rushing train. 
 Oh, God! I can see her now. 
 
 1 shut off steam and set the brakes 
 
 And tried to stop the train; 
 But witli our speed and on the grade. 
 
 My efforts were all in vain. 
 
 Just as she staggered to her feet 
 We struck her with all our power; 
 
 Should I live on earth a thousand year, 
 1 can never forget that hour. 
 
 I leaped from the engine gangway 
 And ran back to confirm my fears: 
 
 The rest of the crew were already there 
 And every man was in tears. 
 
 Gently T raised my poor darling; 
 
 She smiled up at me and said, 
 
 'Good bye, dear Jim.' then sank weakly back 
 
 And they told me that she was dead. 
 
 The next thing that I remember, 
 
 I la j - in a darkened room; 
 And when I remembered what happened. 
 
 My heart was tilled with gloom. 
 
 But when I had fully recovered, 
 
 I took again this run; 
 And for ten years now I've held it. 
 
 But my work is nearly done. 
 
 For something tells me tonight lad 
 That e'er the rise of another sun; 
 
 I shall be with Nell in Heaven, 
 I'll have finished my last run." 
 
 As he finished his story they signaled 
 And we pulled from the city in gloom. 
 
 Jim sat with his hand on the throttle. 
 And drove straight ahead to his doom. 
 
 For we met the express at the curve that night 
 
 With a terrible shock and shriek. 
 1 was hurled from tile cab, more dead than 
 alive, 
 
 But for Jim I started to seek. 
 
 We found him under the engine 
 With his life blood flowing fast. 
 
 But a calm sweet smile was on his face 
 He was with dear Nell at last. 
 
 Composed by Beslie R. Smith. 
 
 97 
 
THE FIREMEN'S LAST CALL. 
 
 The memorable McDonald fire last year, re- 
 sulting in the death of five firemen, was the 
 inspiration for the following verses, a copy of 
 which was furnished The Tribune through 
 courtesv of George W. Kehoe, captain of Hook 
 and Ladder Company No. 1. The person who 
 penned them is quite young, but so aptly did 
 he imbibe the spirit of the sorrowful event that 
 each fireman at headquarters has a copy of the 
 verses framed and hung in his room. The 
 verses are as follows: 
 
 The wind was gently blowing 
 And dew-drops kissed the rose; 
 
 Our firemen were retiring, 
 To a peaceful night's repose. 
 
 And on this pleasant evening 
 The moon looked softly down; 
 
 Shedding its pale lustre 
 On a calm and sleeping town. 
 
 The stillness soon was broken, 
 As the cry of fire arose, 
 
 And the dismal sound of fire-bells, 
 Disturbed their night's repose. 
 
 Boldlv dashed the firemen 
 
 To whei^e the flames rolled high, 
 
 And on that fiery structure 
 Their deadly streams did ply. 
 
 They rushed into the alley, 
 The bravest of them all — 
 
 Into that fatal alley 
 
 Beneath the treach'rous walls. 
 
 They fought the fire bravely. 
 
 And when the walls gave 'way 
 Five of our daring firemen 
 
 Beneath the ruins lay. 
 
 Brave Richardson and Uehlein, 
 Together fought and died; 
 
 Sande, Hoy and Horner 
 Lay mingled side by side. 
 
 These heroes now are sleeping 
 Among the honored dead; 
 
 And never more the fire alarm 
 Shall call them from their bed. 
 
 A DANCE AMONG THE LUMBER JACKS. 
 
 "Cal" Stone, the "Sapolio Belvidere" general 
 passenger agent of the St. Paul and Duluth 
 railroad, was in the city the other day, on 
 his return from Cloquet, Minn., to which point 
 he escorted some 700 lumber jacks. He says 
 he attended, for the first time, a dance given 
 by lumber jacks in a neighboring lumber camp. 
 He savs he stood behind the fiddler most of the 
 time, for the remembered the old adage, "Don't 
 shoot the fiddler, as he's doing the best he can." 
 But what amused him most was the "calling 
 off," which was executed by a raw-boned jack 
 from the Clam river. "Cal" says this is the 
 way he "threw it into them:" 
 
 Git ver cant-hook on a lady — 
 
 Slide her out here on the floor, 
 What's the matter with you fellers? 
 
 Ain't ver got yer nerve no more? 
 That's right, say, this ain't no log-jam: 
 
 Spread out like a lot o' stumps! 
 Saw that crazy Dutchman's legs off, 
 
 'Fore he has a case o' jumps. 
 
 All cross over! Where's yer manners, 
 
 Reddy Burke? Throw out that cud! 
 Spittin' on the floors forbidden — 
 
 Try it 'n y'll lose some blood. 
 Back again! So! That's the caper! 
 
 Grab yer gals, spin eround; 
 Don't be skeered ter squeeze a little — 
 
 Places all! 'n stan' yer groun'. 
 
 Hev yer got the logs a-runnin'? 
 
 Pipes don't go et this here rag- 
 Gents don't come to dance, Ole, 
 
 When they've got a redhot jag. 
 Cook cain't scale his derned old fiddle- 
 Yes, he kin, so let her go! 
 Homier pardners! Fust four forward! 
 Come again 'n don't be slow! 
 
 Side four forward! — here, no scrappin'! 
 
 Part them fellers! — chuck 'em out! 
 Git that Polack's knife, 'n slam him! 
 
 That's good! Biff him, Sauerkraut! 
 Easy, ladies — Side four forward! 
 
 No one's goin' ter hurt yer now, 
 All cross over! — here's a pine slab 
 
 That'll settle any row. 
 
 THE LAST SONG MY FATHER SANG. 
 
 Come all young maids, so fair and gay, 
 
 That glory in your prime. 
 Be wise, beware, keep your gardens clear, 
 
 Let no man steal your time. 
 
 For when your time it is all gone. 
 
 There'll no man care for you. 
 And the very place where my time was 
 
 Is spread all over with rue. 
 
 The gardner's son was standing by 
 Three flowers he plucked for me, 
 
 The pink, the blue, the violet, too, 
 And the red rosy three. 
 
 I'll cut off the primrose top, 
 
 And plant a willow tree. 
 So that the whole world may plainly see, 
 
 How my love slighted me. 
 
 Slighted lovers they must live, 
 
 Although they live in pain; 
 For the grass that grows in yon green moor 
 
 In time will rise again. 
 
 98 
 
LINES IN MEMORY OF MY BELOVED FRIEND, NETTIE RAUSTAD. 
 
 < >ur cherished friend has gone to rest 
 
 In Heaven, forevermore to be blessed, 
 
 And in fancy I hear that heavenly throng 
 
 As that sweet soul joins in their' song 
 
 Of praise to the Saviour who redeems. 
 
 Now her earthly trials are forgotten it seems 
 
 As to her dawns this new life of bliss 
 
 Being greeted by angels with a heavenly kiss 
 
 From wishing her this joy, should I refrain? 
 Yet still, the tear drops my cheeks do stain 
 As I think of her kind deeds, in days gone by 
 My heart fills with sorrow, in vain I sigh. 
 A golden link, in a family of love 
 Was our little friend, as pure as a dove; 
 The sweetest flowers from the garden are 
 
 broken 
 As the death-angel passes without a word 
 
 spoken. 
 
 Dear little Annie has gone years ago 
 
 And now darling Nettie is with her we know. 
 
 Two sweet little angels in Heaven above 
 
 Dwelling in the sunshine of God's love. 
 
 Tin- walls of the City are jasper; the streets of 
 
 gold, 
 And happiness is not bought or sold. 
 Then trusting to our Heavenly Father's care 
 W e will dwell with our loved ones some day 
 
 there. 
 
 Just a few more days, a few more vears 
 In this world of joy. or this world of tears 
 And we'll follow dear ones gone before 
 To find them waiting on the other shore. 
 How grand the meeting of our loved ones there 
 When as angels, they welcome us on the golden 
 
 stair. 
 Our joys in that glory, told cannot be, 
 And we'll dwell with them all through eternity. 
 Written Wednesday night. March 30, 1910. 
 
 — D. L. W. 
 
 OLD NORTH DAKOTA. 
 
 Take me back to North Dakota, 
 
 Where there is plenty of room and ail 
 Where there is flax and elevators, 
 
 Self binders and prickly pear. 
 Where there aint no pomp nor glitter, 
 
 Where a "shillin's" called a "bit," 
 Where at night the magpies twitter, 
 
 Where the Injun fights were fit. 
 
 Take me back where land is plenty, 
 
 Where there is rattlesnakes and licks, 
 Where a stack of "whites" costs twenty, 
 
 Where they don't sell gilded bricks. 
 Where the old Missouri river 
 
 And the winding, clear Sheyenne, 
 Makes green patches in the Bad Lands, 
 
 Where the Sioux and Blackfeet ran. 
 
 Take me where there aint no subways, 
 
 Nor no forty-story shacks, 
 Where they shy at automobiles, 
 
 Dudes, plug hats and three- rail tracks, 
 Where the honest sun-burned farmer 
 
 Dreams of wealth and plows the dirt. 
 Where the sleepy night herd "puncher" 
 
 Sings to steers and plies his quirt. 
 
 Take me where there's diamond hitches, 
 
 Ropes and brands and cartridge belts, 
 Where the boys wear "chapps" for britches, 
 
 Soft boiled shirts and Stetson felts. 
 Land of "blind pigs" and hustle, 
 
 Land of waving grain of gold, 
 Take me back to North Dakota. 
 
 Let me die there when I am old. 
 
 A NEW DEAL. 
 
 When the cards are shuffled and dealt again 
 
 On the other side of the day. 
 And the hand you held goes over the board 
 
 To the fellow that couldn't play. 
 
 We'll know whether you could take his hand 
 
 And play it as well as he 
 And whether the man with the thirteen trumps 
 
 Was the man he seemed to be. 
 
 Health and wealth and birth and worth 
 And wit are the cards you hold; 
 
 But the cards that were dealt to him 
 Were hunger and rags and cold. 
 
 I >h' it's easy to win with the winning hand 
 
 And to carry away the prize. 
 But hard to lose with a winning grace 
 
 In the selfish victor's eyes. 
 
 But the dealer that dealt us the good and ill 
 
 Will shuffle the pack anew; 
 Then the trumps will go to the man that lost, 
 
 And the losing cards to you; 
 
 And many a prize shall fall at last 
 To the fellow that couldn't play. 
 
 And the winner knows how it feels to lose — 
 On the other side of the day. 
 
 TOO LATE. 
 
 This is her room, and this the chair, 
 In which she sat day after day; 
 
 The soft little dent in the cushion there 
 Is the spot where her dear head lay. 
 
 Here is her work where she laid it down, 
 With the needle still in the fold, 
 And the stitch half taken too heavy grown 
 For the poor weak hands to hold. 
 
 How oft the failing eyes looked out 
 O'er the upland barren and brown,' 
 
 To see if one whom she dreamt about 
 Came riding in haste from town. 
 
 The roses that droop in the old blue jar 
 Have long been touched with decay; 
 
 Oh! I have come fast and I have come far 
 To find them like this today. 
 
 The sunlight enters the curtains between 
 
 And brightens the dusty floor 
 As 1 ponder the things that might have been 
 
 And the things that shall be no more. 
 
 99 
 
A PLEA FOR ONE WHO FAILED. 
 
 They called him Failure, all the busy throng 
 Of bold, successful men, and idlers told 
 
 Beneath their breath, the sorry tale and long. 
 Of futile loses. But one heart of Gold 
 
 Remembered other days, his eager youth. 
 
 His charm, his promise, all his careless truth. 
 
 Remembered, too, the hampered race he ran. 
 
 His handicap of care beyond his years, 
 A boy, slight, crude, with duties of a man; 
 
 A man, restrained from ranking with his 
 peers. 
 His gift, — a touch of genius. Heaven-sent. 
 His tragedy — its undevelopment! 
 
 Ah. ye brave Suns of Fortune favoring. 
 
 Forget your splendid scorn of Unsuccess! 
 
 Not always does the finger fit the ring 
 
 Nor heart of hero beat 'neath kingly dress. 
 
 A failure — granted! But you, in his place, 
 
 Clear Failure might have tarnished by Dis- 
 grace! 
 
 IF—. 
 
 If you were wise, or I were wise. 
 
 We should not disagree 
 About so much, but exercise 
 
 .More charity. 
 
 If you knew much, or I knew much. 
 We'd speak in kinder tone. 
 
 More loving, every look and touch 
 Would bless our own. 
 
 If you could learn, or I could learn, 
 Life would not seem so vain, 
 
 And happiness, e'en, might return 
 And banish pain. 
 
 if you could see. or l could see 
 How short the road ahead, 
 
 How kind our every act would be, 
 And all we said. 
 
 If you could know, or I could know, 
 Each silent, troubled mind. 
 
 We should not grieve each other so, 
 But — we are Mind! 
 
 HER ANSWER. 
 
 Her eyes were as blue as the heavens above; 
 
 And the stars, they were never so bright. 
 Love her? Why, yes, to be sure — but my love 
 
 Was sadly commingled with fright. 
 All winter I stood at the portals of Fate. 
 
 Both longing and fearing to knock; 
 One should not be rash in a matter of weight. 
 
 For all may be lost by a shock. 
 
 At last one night, putting prudence to flight, 
 
 I charged the sweet Foe like a brave — 
 But fancy my feelings, victorious wight. 
 
 As I harked to the answer she gave; 
 "I ought to say 'no,' " said serenely the Fair, 
 
 "Yes. I ought, with a scolding, and more!— 
 I've waited for weeks — don't rumple my hair — 
 
 Why didn't you tell me before!" 
 
 THE SECRET. 
 
 There's a little word called "Sweetheart:'' it's 
 
 as old as Heaven's blue; 
 'Tis the sweetest word e'er spoken and its joy 
 
 is ever new; 
 It was Love's first murmured message, spoken 
 
 in the ear of Loa e, 
 When the earth took shape from nothing and 
 
 the blue sky arched above; 
 It has come through time unmeasured; it has 
 
 ■ lived unnumbered years; 
 It was born of smiles and laughter and has 
 
 dried grief's countless tears; 
 It's the magic soul of music and the living fire 
 
 of art. 
 And I've chosen it to give thee — just that little 
 
 word "Sweetheart." 
 
 Ah, the aching hearts and heavy it has bidden 
 hear and smile; 
 
 It has bidden Youth be merry and has cheered 
 the afterwhile 
 
 Of the years to peace and gladness and the 
 dreary days and long 
 
 Are forgotten in the glory of its whispered 
 even-song. 
 
 It has made the heart go leaping of the school- 
 boy at his play; 
 
 It has filled with gladder dreamings all the sun- 
 shine of his day; 
 
 It has bridged world-sundered chasms and has 
 played the noblest part 
 
 In the life and strife of being — just that little 
 word "Sweetheart." 
 
 It has cheered the eve of battles; it has fired 
 
 the heart of dawn; 
 It has braved the mouth of cannon and has 
 
 borne war's banners on; 
 It has lured the soldier deathward, where the 
 
 scar]) was red and steep; 
 It has trembled like a blessing on the ashen 
 
 lips Of sleep; 
 
 It has hushed the cry of children; it has Bred 
 "he souls of men. 
 
 Beaten back on shores of Failure to be bold 
 and strong again; 
 
 In the hermit's cloistered silence or in Traf- 
 fic's busy mart. 
 
 It is of all, in all, through all — just that little 
 word "Sweetheart." 
 
 And forever and forever, through the endless- 
 ness of Time. 
 
 It shall hallow song and story and shall be the 
 soul of rhyme. 
 
 It shall be a part of Being, much as heartbeat, 
 much as breath, 
 
 It shall be the jov of living and the overthrow 
 of Death; 
 
 So I bid thee kneel and listen till I whisper 
 thee the key. 
 
 Till 1 tell thee why is Labor, Life, Love, Death 
 and Mystery; 
 
 Hut or palace, serf or master, clod or genius, 
 toil or art, 
 
 It is of all, in all. through all — just that little 
 word "Sweetheart." 
 
 — J. W. P^oley, in New York Times. 
 
 100 
 
BETHGELERT, OR THE GRAVE OF A GREYHOUND. 
 
 The spearmen heard the bugle sound, 
 And cheerily smiled the morn; 
 
 And many a brach, and mans- a hound, 
 Obeyed Llewellyn's horn. 
 
 And still he blew a louder blast. 
 
 And gave a lustier cheer. 
 "Come. Gelert, come; wert never last 
 
 Llewellyn's horn to hear." 
 
 "Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam? 
 
 The flower of all his race; 
 So true, so brave — a lamb at home. 
 
 A lion in the chase!" 
 
 'Twas only at Llewellyn's board 
 
 The faithful Gelert fed; 
 He watched, he served, he che sred his lord, 
 
 And sentineled his bed. 
 
 In sooth, he was a peerless hound, 
 
 The gift of royal John! 
 But now no Gelert could be found, 
 
 And all the chase rode on. 
 
 And now. as o'er the rocks and dells 
 
 The gallant chidings rise. 
 All Snowdon's cragy chaos yells 
 
 The many-mingled cries. 
 
 That day Llewellyn little loved 
 
 The chase of hart and hare! 
 And scant and small the booty proved, 
 
 For Gelert was not there. 
 
 LTnpleased. Llewellyn homeward hied. 
 
 When, near the portal seat. 
 His truant Gelert he espied, 
 
 Bounding, his lord to greet. 
 
 But, when he gained his castle door. 
 
 Aghast the chieftain stood; 
 The hound all o'er was smeared with gore; 
 
 His lips, his fangs, ran blood. 
 
 Llewellvn gazed with tierce surprise; 
 
 Unsed such looks to meet; 
 His favorite checked his joyful guise. 
 
 And crouched and licked his feet. 
 
 Onward, in haste. Llewellyn passed, 
 
 And on went Gelert, too; 
 And still, where'er his eyes were cast, 
 
 Fresh blood gouts shocked his view. 
 
 O'erturned his infant's bed he found. 
 
 With blood-stained cover rent; 
 And all around the walls and ground 
 
 With recent blood besprent. 
 
 lie called his child — no voice replied — 
 
 He searched with terror wild; 
 Blood, blood, he found on every side, 
 
 But nowhere found Ids child. 
 
 "Hell-hound! my child's by the.- devoured" 
 
 The frantic father cried; 
 And to the hilt his vengeful sword 
 
 He plunged in Gelert's side. 
 
 His suppliant looks as prone he fell, 
 
 No pity could impart; 
 And still his Gelert's dying yell 
 
 Passed heavy o'er his heart. 
 
 Aroused by Gelert's dying yell. 
 
 Some slumberer wakened nigh; 
 What words the parent's joy could tell 
 
 To hear his infant's cry! 
 
 Concealed beneath a tumbled heap 
 
 His hurried search had missed, 
 All glowing from his rosy sleep. 
 
 The cherub boy he kissed. 
 
 Nor scathe had he. nor harm, nor dread. 
 
 But, tlie same couch beneath. 
 Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead. 
 
 'tremendous still in death. 
 
 Ah. what was then Llewellyn's pain! 
 
 For now the truth was clear; 
 His gallant hound the wolf had slain 
 
 To save Llewellyn's heir. 
 
 Vain, vain, was all Llewellyn's woe; 
 
 "Best of thy kind, adieu! 
 The frantic blow which laid thee low, 
 
 This heart shall ever rue!" 
 
 And now a gallant tomb they raise, 
 
 Willi costly sculpture decked. 
 And marbles, storied with his praise, 
 
 Poor Gelert's bones protect. 
 
 There, never could the spearman pass 
 
 Or forester, unmoved: 
 There, oft the tear-besprinkled grass 
 
 Llewellyn's sorrow proved. 
 
 And there he hung his horn and spear.. 
 
 And there, as evening fell. 
 In fancy's ear he oft would hear 
 
 Poor Gelert's dying- veil. 
 
 — William Howard Spencer. 
 
 JUST TWENTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 I wandered to the village. Tom, and sat beneath The river's running just as still, the willows on 
 
 the tree. its side 
 
 Upon the school house playing ground, that Are larger than they were, dear Tom. the 
 
 sheltered you and me; stream appears less wide: 
 
 But none were there to greet me, Tom, and The grape vine swing is ruined now, where 
 
 few were left to know. once we played the beau. 
 
 Who played with me upon the green, just And swung our sweethearts— pretty girls— just 
 
 twenty years ago. 
 
 twenty years ago. 
 
 The grass is just as green, dear Tom; bare- 
 footed boys at play, 
 
 Were sporting just as we were then, with spir- 
 its just as gay; 
 
 But the master sleeps upon the hill, which, 
 coated o'er with snow. 
 
 Afforded us a sliding place, just twenty years 
 ago. 
 
 The old school house is altered some, the 
 
 benches are replaced 
 By others very like the ones our penknives had 
 
 defaced; 
 The same old bricks are in the walls, the bell 
 
 swings to and fro, 
 Its music's just as sweet, dear Tom, as twenty 
 
 yea rs ago. 
 
 101 
 
JUST TWENTY YEARS AGO (continued) 
 
 The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, close 
 
 by the spreading beach, 
 Is very high — 'twas once so low — that I could 
 
 scarcely reach, 
 And stooping down to get a drink, dear Torn, 
 
 I started so! 
 To see how much that I was changed, since 
 
 twenty years ago. 
 
 My heart was very sad, dear Tom, and tears 
 
 came in my eyes; 
 I though of her I loved so well, those early 
 
 broken ties; 
 I visited the old churchyard, and took some 
 
 flowers to strew 
 Upon the graves of those we loved, just twenty 
 
 years ago. 
 
 Close by this spring, upon an elm, you know I 
 
 cut your name, 
 Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom, and 
 
 you did mine the same; 
 Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark, 'tis 
 
 dying sure, but slow, 
 Upon the graves of those we loved, just twenty 
 
 years ago. 
 
 Some now in that churchyard lay, some sleep 
 
 beneath the sea, 
 But few are left of our old class, excepting you 
 
 and me; 
 And when our time shall come, dear Tom, and 
 
 we are called to go, 
 I hope they'll lay us where we played, just 
 
 twenty years ago. 
 
 —Old Song. 
 
 IT'S LITTLE FOR GLORY I CARE. 
 
 It's little for glory I care; 
 
 Sure ambition is only a fable; 
 
 I'd as soon be myself as lord mayor, 
 
 With lashins of drink on the table. 
 I like to lie down in the sun. 
 
 And drame when my faytures 
 scorchin', 
 That when I'm too ould for more fun. 
 
 Why, I'll marry a wife with a fortune. 
 
 And in winter, with bacon and eggs, 
 
 And a place at the turf-fire basking, 
 Sip my punch as I roasted my legs, 
 
 Oh! the devil a more I'd be asking. 
 For I haven't a joyness for work — 
 
 It was never the gift of the Bradies, 
 But I'd make a most illigant Turk, 
 
 For I'm fond of tobacco and ladies. 
 
 CHRISTMAS HOME WITH MOTHER. 
 
 Christmas in the city, with its streets of light 
 
 ashine; 
 Christmas in the castle, with so many things 
 
 and fine; 
 Christmas in the village, with its neighbors 
 
 on the street, 
 And friendship smiling at you from the lips 
 
 you love to meet; 
 But Christmas home with mother — you may 
 
 take away the rest, 
 And give me that for gladness that is tender- 
 
 est and best! 
 
 Turn back again, oh, marchers, in the ranks 
 
 that lead away 
 From the Christmas home with mother to 
 
 the fields of fame and fray! 
 The triumph may be tempting and the victory 
 
 fine and sweet, 
 But Christmas home with mother makes th« 
 
 heart forget the street. 
 And the roaring world around one, and the 
 
 new life for the old, 
 And its fanfare and its tinsel and its gilt 
 
 without the gold! 
 
 Christmas home with mother as it used to be 
 
 you know, 
 In life's divine reversion to the dreams of long 
 
 ago; 
 The old house ringing laughter from the lips 
 
 of chick and child. 
 The old dreams dancing after in the hearts 
 
 just fairly wild, 
 And the romping, ringing revel, and the dinner 
 
 with its smells 
 Of the old familiar dishes with their haunting 
 
 homespund spells! 
 
 Christmas home with mother — 'tis a dream 
 to make one creep 
 
 To the attic as in childhood for a little child- 
 hood sleep; 
 
 And the waking at her calling, and the march- 
 ing single file 
 
 To the Christmas in the parlor witn our faces 
 wreathed in smile 
 
 At the tender expectation — how it glows within 
 as yet — 
 
 Of the things we said we wanted aid *he things 
 we knew we'd get! 
 
 Christmas home with mother — when it's train 
 
 time let me know, 
 For my heart has bought a ticket to the days 
 
 of long ago. 
 And I have lost the city, with its splendor and 
 
 its gleam, 
 In the Christmas home with mother that has 
 
 come to be my dream — 
 The old house and the childhood, and her sweet 
 
 face waiting there 
 For the phantom sons and daughters single 
 
 file upon the stair! 
 
 102 
 
YOU WILL NEVER BE SORRY. 
 
 For living a white life. 
 For doing your level best. 
 For paying for your paper. 
 For looking before leaping. 
 For being kind to the poor. 
 For your faith in humanity. 
 For hearing before judging. 
 For being candid and frank. 
 For thinking before speaking. 
 For harboring clean thoughts. 
 
 For discounting the tale-bearer. 
 For being loyal to your religion. 
 For standing by your principles. 
 For stopping your ears to gossip. 
 For asking pardon when in error. 
 For being as courteous as a duke. 
 For bridling a slanderous tongue. 
 For the influence of high motives. 
 For being generous with an enemy. 
 For being square in business deal's. 
 For sympathizing with the oppressed. 
 
 One that I love best. 
 
 Best of all I know; 
 Shall I tell you why. 
 
 Why I love you so? 
 'Tis because I see, 
 
 In your gentle eyes; 
 Love and modesty, 
 
 Truth without disguise! 
 
 "Then are we to take it that the English gen- 
 tleman is the one?" Miss Barrymore was 
 asked. 
 
 "No, no, no," she replied. "I'm fond of Amer- 
 ican men. It's only fops I despise. I will 
 marry none other than a poor man, one who 
 has the ability to make his own dollars, and 
 when I make up my mind to marry him I 
 will be willing to give up career, admiration 
 and everything, if he is worth while. Cer- 
 tainly 1 wouldn't marry a real man and expect 
 
 him to carry my grips from place to place. 
 
 "No. 1 am not happy. T never expect to be 
 until I find some one entirely congenial; some 
 one in whom I find a delicate response to the 
 demands of my nature. I am awfully lone- 
 some sometimes, and often my moods are too 
 many for me and life seems very poor, and I 
 am just weary. I go to my room alone and 
 there's no one to tell it to. No, I am not satis- 
 fied or contented or happy. But I am occupied 
 and interested, vitally, in men and women and 
 affairs." 
 
 A POEM— WITH AN ADDITION. 
 
 To The Star: The enclosed clipping was 
 taken from a law publication and it appears 
 was originally printed in the Chicago Record- 
 Herald. After reading this it occurred to me 
 that it ended rather abruptly and accordingly 
 T composed the last verse, which is also en- 
 closed. — W. H. Woodwell. 
 
 THE ORIGINAL POEM. 
 
 Before the gate of heaven there stood 
 One who had cheated when he could; 
 
 He'd run a trust on earth, 
 
 "Where he'd been worth 
 More millions than a fig has seeds; 
 He had been sued for lawless deeds 
 
 At least a score of times, 
 
 But though 'twas proved that crimes 
 Had been committed in his interest 
 
 And under his direction. 
 Though juries found him guilty, in his breast 
 
 There never lodged dejection. 
 Whenever any court decided 
 
 Against him he appealed; 
 
 His doom was sealed 
 Time and again, but he derided 
 The sealers, ever sure that he 
 
 Somehow, somewhere 
 
 Could find a judge who would declare 
 That in the law 
 There was a flaw. 
 
 And therefore set him free. 
 
 One day this man appeared at heaven's gate 
 And. having been informed about his fate, 
 
 He smiled a knowing smile 
 
 And stood around a while, 
 Instead of starting for the realm below. 
 At length St. Peter asked: "Why don't you 
 go?" 
 
 "Go?" he replied, "go where? 
 You don't expect me to report 
 
 Down there 
 Where Satan holds his court! 
 Why. I intend. 
 My white-haired friend, 
 
 To hang around this place; 
 
 T shall appeal the case." 
 "You must depart." the saint directed;' 
 "Or you will forthwith be ejected. 
 
 You can't appeal from my decision!" 
 
 With fine derision. 
 He whose appeal was thus denied 
 Drew himself up in all his pride 
 
 Of five feet seven, 
 And frowning, turned to say: 
 "This is a punk old way 
 
 To run a heaven." 
 
 MR. WOODWELL'S EPILOGUE. 
 
 But when he reached the other place 
 And met old Satan face to face, 
 
 And with a grin 
 
 Was ushered in 
 To where ex-magnates shovel coal, 
 He realized he was in a hole. 
 
 He scratched his head, 
 
 And then he said: 
 
 "Please send for my attorneys, Nimble-Witt, 
 And have them bring a habeas corpus writ." 
 
 The devil leered, 
 
 And sneered: 
 
 "Those writs don't go 
 
 Down here, you know." 
 Poor man, he had a fainting spell. 
 And weakly whispered: "This is hell." 
 
 103 
 
RULES FOR SOCIAL SUCCESS. 
 
 Be yourself. Don't imitate some one else. 
 
 Be as nice to women as you are to men. 
 
 Be cordial to older men and women. 
 
 Be natural. Forget yourself. 
 
 Don't let man monopolize you. 
 
 Look as though you were having a good time, 
 even if you are not. 
 
 Make every man feel that you appreciate his 
 courtesies. Don't gush over them or over him. 
 
 Don't spend your time in corners with a man. 
 Stay out in the open. 
 
 Never fail to pay all your calls. 
 
 Let nothing prevent you from being prompt. 
 
 The best beautifler a young lady can use is 
 good humor. The best renovator is temperance: 
 the best lip salve is truth; the best rouge is 
 modesty; the best eyewater is the tears of 
 sympathy; the best gargle for the voice is 
 cheerfulness; the best wash for smoothing wrin- 
 kles is contentment; the best cure for deafness 
 is attention; the best mirror is reflection, and 
 the whitest powder is innocence. 
 
 STARVING TO DEATH ON A GOVERNMENT CLAIM IN NEBRASKA 
 
 My name is Dan Cole, an old bachelor, I am, 
 I'm keeping old batch on an elegant plan; 
 You'll find me out here on Nebraska's sand 
 
 plain 
 A starving to death on a government claim. 
 My house, it is built of the natural soil. 
 The walls are elected according to Hoyle; 
 The roof has no pitch but is level and plain: 
 I always get wet when it happens to rain. 
 Hurrah for Nebraska: just come if you please 
 To the home of grasshoppers and bedbugs and 
 
 fit-as: 
 I'll sing loud its praises: Til sing loud its fame 
 While starving to death on my government 
 
 claim. 
 
 My clothes are all ragged, my language is 
 
 rough , 
 My bread is case-hardened and soiled and 
 
 tough; 
 My dough, it is scattered all over the room. 
 My floor, it gets scaled at the sight of a broom. 
 My dishes are scattered all over the lied. 
 They're covered with sorghum and government 
 
 bread; 
 I have a good time and I live at my ease 
 With my soup and my bacon, my sorghum and 
 
 grease. 
 
 Then come to Nebraska, there's a home for 
 
 you all, 
 Where the winds never cease and the rains 
 
 never fall. 
 Where the sun never sets, but always remain 
 LTntil it burns us all out on our government 
 
 claims. 
 
 How happy 1 feel when 1 roll into bed. 
 The rattlesnake rattles a tune at my head; 
 The gay little centipede, void of all fear. 
 Crawls over my face and down into my ears. 
 The little bedbugs, so cheerful and bright, 
 He keeps one a-laughing two-thirds of the 
 
 night. 
 The smart little flea with the tacks in his toes. 
 Crawls up through my whiskers and tickles my 
 
 nose. 
 
 Hurrah for Nebraska, the land of the west! 
 Where the farmers and lab'rers are ever at 
 
 rest, 
 With nothing' to do but sweetly remain 
 And starve like a man on a government claim. 
 
 Then don't get discouraged if stuck on a claim. 
 
 There's nothing to lose, and there's nothing to 
 gain. 
 
 There's nothing to eat and there's nothing to 
 wear. 
 
 So nothing for nothing is honest and fair. 
 
 It's here 1 am settled and here I must stay. 
 
 Mv money's all gone and 1 can't get away; 
 
 There's nothing to make a man hard and pro- 
 fane. 
 
 Like starving to death on a government claim. 
 
 Hurrah for Nebraska, where blizzards don't 
 
 rise! 
 Where the winds never cease and the flea never 
 
 dies; 
 Come sing loud its praises, come sing loud its 
 
 fame, 
 Your poor hungry- settler that's stuck on a 
 
 claim. 
 
 Then don't get discouraged if stuck on a claim. 
 You know you're as free as a pig in a pen, 
 Just stick to your homestead and battle the 
 
 fleas. 
 And trust to the Master to send us a freeze. 
 You may try to raise wheat, you may try to 
 
 raise rye. 
 You may stay here to starve, you may stay- 
 here to die. 
 But as for myself. I'll no longer remain 
 A starving to death on my- government claim. 
 Farewell to Nebraska, farewell to the West; 
 Backward I will go to the girl I love best; 
 I'll go to Missouri and get me a wife 
 And live on corn dodger the rest of my life. 
 
 WHAT BECAME OF A LIE. 
 
 First somebody told it. 
 
 Then the room wouldn't hold it: 
 
 So busy tongues roiled it 
 
 Till they got it outside. 
 
 Then the crowd came across it 
 
 And never once lost it. 
 
 But tossed it and tossed it 
 
 Till it grew long and wide. 
 
 This lie brought forth others. 
 
 Dark sisters and brothers 
 
 And fathers and mothers, 
 
 A terrible crew. 
 
 And while headlong they hurried 
 
 The people they flurried 
 
 And troubled and worried. 
 
 As lies always do. 
 
 104 
 
SUNSET ON THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 They have tamed it with their harrows; they 
 
 have broken with their plows; 
 Where the bison used to range it some one's 
 
 built himself a house; 
 They have stuck it full of fence posts; they 
 
 have girdled it with wire; 
 They have shamed it and profaned it with an 
 
 automobile tire. 
 They have bridged its gullied rivers; they have 
 
 peopled it with men: 
 They have churched it; they have schooled it; 
 
 they have steeped it — Amen. 
 They have furrowed it with ridges ;they have 
 
 seeded it with grain. 
 And the West that was worth knowing I shall 
 
 never see again. 
 
 They have smothered all its campfires, where 
 
 the beaten plainsman slept; 
 They have driven up their cattle where the 
 
 sulking coyote crept: 
 They have made themselves a pasture where 
 
 the timid deer would browse, 
 Where the antelope were feeding they have 
 
 dotted o'er with cows; 
 There's a yokel's tuneless whistling down the 
 
 bison's winding trail. 
 Where the redman's arrow fluttered there's a 
 
 woman with a pail 
 Driving up the cows for milking; they cut its 
 
 wild extent 
 Into forty-acre patches till its glory is all 
 
 spent. 
 
 I remember in the sixties, when as far as 1 
 could see, 
 
 It had never lord or ruler but the buffalo and 
 nie: 
 
 E'er the blight of man was on it, and the end- 
 less acres lay 
 
 Just as Cod Almighty left them on the rest- 
 ful Seventh day; 
 
 When no sound rose from its vastness but a 
 murmured hum and dim 
 
 Like the echoed void of silence in an unheard 
 prairie hymn; 
 
 And I lay at night and rested in my bed of 
 blankets curled. 
 
 Much as if I was the only man in all the world. 
 
 But the prairie's passed, or passing, with the 
 
 passing of the years. 
 Till there is no West worth knowing and there 
 
 are no pioneers: 
 They had riddled it with railroads, throbbing 
 
 on and on and on, 
 They had riddled it of dangers till the zest 
 
 of it is gone. 
 And I've saddled up my pony, for I'm dull 
 
 and lonesome here. 
 To go westward, westward, westward, till we 
 
 find a new frontier; 
 To get back to God's own wildness and the 
 
 skies we used to know — 
 But there is no West: it's conquered — and I 
 
 don't know where to go. 
 
 —J. W. Foley. 
 
 HOW TO QUALIFY. 
 
 To live the life my father taught, 
 
 Of honor, dignity and length; 
 To do the little things I ought; 
 
 To know but not to show my strength; 
 To make and keep a friend or two. 
 
 Ami show a kindness every day: 
 To do the work I have to do and do 
 
 It in a goodly way; 
 To earn as much as 1 may need 
 
 For my own wants and little more: 
 
 To win perhaps a cheering meed 
 
 From her whose praises I labor lor; 
 To do no hurt by thoughtless speech 
 
 By careless, cruel look or act; 
 To learn from whomsoe'er may teach 
 
 The kindly courtesy of tact — 
 These the ideals to approach, 
 
 These be the lessons 1 must scan; 
 That I may bear without reproach 
 
 The grand old name of Gentleman. 
 
 THE GOOD THINGS IN LIFE. 
 
 "I see positively nothing in life to lie happy 
 about," said the morose man. "My life is a 
 habit. One dull routine of working, eating, 
 sleeping, working, eating, sleeping." 
 
 Truly there is nothing so dull as only work- 
 ing, eating, sleeping. And so far the morose 
 man was right- 
 But this man was laboring under a delusion 
 that the zenith of all earthly ambitions is 
 money and the kind of pleasures it brings. 
 
 When work is made a pleasure then it ceases 
 to be work and is recreation. When one is 
 not thankful for the bountiful supply of food 
 on his table then he is not as well off as the 
 poor peasant who sincerely thanks God for 
 the crust of black bread between him and 
 
 starvation. And sweet are the dreams of him 
 who is thankful for a shelter and a bed to 
 rest himself after a hard day's labor. 
 
 There are many good things in life that the 
 millionaire does not perceive as he goes hurtl- 
 ing along the highway in his ponderous auto. 
 And these same things are the ones that 
 make the poor man happy. 
 
 Because there is a real pleasure in having 
 responsibilities and duties. The good things 
 of life are within reach of all. 
 
 We cheat ourselves of the good things of 
 life by not recognizing them. For the only 
 good things that are are the fruit of heaven, 
 won by sacrifice and the price of being good 
 to others and thankful to God. 
 
 STICK TO THE FARM. 
 
 "Stick to the farm." says the President 
 
 To the wide-eyed farmer boy, 
 Then he hies him back to the White House 
 
 With its air of rustic joy. 
 
 "Stick to the farm." says the railroad king 
 
 To the lad who looks afar, 
 Then hikes him back on the double-quick 
 
 To his rustic private car. 
 
 "Stick to the farm" says the clergyman 
 To the youth on the worm-fence perch 
 
 Then lays his ear to the ground to hear 
 A call to a city church. 
 
 "Stick to the farm." says the doctor wise 
 To those who would break the rut, 
 
 Then hies him where the appendix grows 
 In bountiful crops to cut. 
 
 105 
 
THE LADY OF TEARS. 
 
 Through the valley and hamlet and city. 
 
 Wherever humanity dwells, 
 With a heart full of infinite pity, 
 
 A breast that with sympathy swells, 
 She walks in her beauty immortal, 
 
 Each household grows sad as she nears, 
 But she crosses at length every portal, 
 
 The mystical Lady of Tears. 
 
 If never this vision of sorrow 
 
 Has shadowed your life in the past, 
 
 You will meet her, I know, some tomorrow- 
 She visits all hearthstones at last. 
 
 To hovel, and cottage, and palace. 
 To servant and king she appears, 
 
 Ana offers the gall of her chalice — 
 The unwelcome Lady of Tears. 
 
 To eyes that have smiled but in gladness, 
 
 To the souls that have basked in the sun. 
 She seems in her garments of sadness 
 
 A creature to dread and to shun. 
 And lips that have drank but of pleasure 
 
 Grow pallid and tremble with fears, 
 As she portions the gall from her measure, 
 
 The merciless Lady of Tears. 
 
 But in midnight lone hearts that are quaking 
 
 With the agonized numbness of grief 
 Are saved from the torture of breaking 
 
 By her bitter-sweet draught of relief. 
 Oh, then do all graces enfold her, 
 
 Like goddess she looks and appears, 
 And the eyes overflow that behold her — 
 
 The beautiful Lady of Tears. 
 
 — Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
 
 JUST TO BE TENDER. 
 
 Just to be tender, just to be true, 
 Just to be glad the whole day through, 
 Just to be merciful, just to be mild, 
 Just to be trustful as a child. 
 Just to be gentle and kind and sweet, 
 Just to be helpful with willing feet. 
 Just to be cheery when things go wrong. 
 
 Just to drive sadness away with a song. 
 Whether the hour is dark or bright, 
 Just to be loyal to God and right. 
 Just to believe that God knows best, 
 Just in His promises ever to rest. 
 Just to let love be our daily key, 
 That is God's will for you and me. 
 
 WHAT'S THE USE. 
 
 Did you ever think as the hearse drives by 
 That it won't be long till you and I 
 Go riding out in the big plumed hack. 
 And never remember of coming back? 
 
 Did you ever think as you strive for gold. 
 That a dead man's hand, a dollar can't hold? 
 That you may pinch and tug, you may strive 
 
 ana save, 
 Hut you may lose it all when you reach the 
 
 grave. 
 
 And then as for money — 
 
 If you save your money, you're a "grouch," 
 If you spend it, you're a "loafer;" 
 If you get it you're a "grafter;" 
 If you don't get it, you're a "bum," 
 So, what is the use? 
 
 FACT AND FANCY. 
 
 We say that in the morning the sun rises, 
 but it doesn't. It seems to, that's all. The 
 <earth appears to be flat, but it isn't. And, too. 
 at first thought you would say that the sky 
 is blue, when it is no such thing. There is 
 no color there at all. 
 
 For so many things are not what they seem. 
 
 We might settle many a perplexing problem 
 in every-day life were we to reason thusly — 
 that half of our troubles are the products of a 
 lively imagination, and that they are not just 
 what they seem. 
 
 The trouble with us is that we do not see 
 things as they are. A mariner at sea may 
 think that he is sailing west. In his sense 
 of direction he really is sailing west- But 
 to make sure he takes a look at the compass, 
 and finds that he is sailing in some oher di- 
 rection. 
 
 You've had the "blues," we dare say. You 
 
 have been dragged to the very depths of de- 
 spair over nothing. You imagine that the 
 whole world is against you. Some person 
 hates you. you say. You wonder that the 
 world is so cruel. 
 
 It isn't ; and after you have come to your 
 senses you know that it isn't. 
 
 On the great voyage of life there are many 
 storms. We are often thrown out of our 
 course. In unknown waters we lose all sense 
 of direction. We may imagine we are going 
 south when we are going east. But what 
 should we do? Look at our compass. 
 
 So when we have the "blues" again, when 
 we are miserable over nothing, when we im- 
 agine that the whole world is against us, let's 
 turn to our principle, our compass, which is 
 love reflected in every smiling face on the 
 street, every good thought and every good 
 deed, which tells us that the world is all 
 right and that it is we who have been wrong. 
 
 106 
 
A LOVE POEM. 
 
 Sweetheart of the Long Ago, 
 Time plays many a trick, I trow. 
 I am sitting in my room 
 Writing verse — ah — to whom 9 
 Thinking, sweetheart, still of thee 
 And the land of the was-to-be; 
 Thinking verses to and of 
 Thee, my first, my only hive; 
 Talking to my musing self; 
 Padding poetry for pelf. 
 If the Then were but the Now! 
 I am here and where art thou? 
 Art thou far away from me 
 Over mountain, over sea? 
 Dost remember how we played 
 In the pear tree's pleasant shade? 
 Dost recall the perfect bliss 
 Of our stolen pristine kiss, 
 And remember how we said 
 That we'd run away and wed? 
 Need I put in public print 
 That at which I only hint? 
 Sweetheart, dost remember how 
 Deep we loved? Where art thou now? 
 More and more for thee. Ah, where. 
 Where — if art at all — art thou? 
 Answer, sweetheart, answer now! 
 
 Comes a voice: "Why, T'm litre 
 In the kitchen, cooking dear." 
 
 Time plays many a trick, I trow. 
 Sweetheart of the Long Ago. 
 
 To many a friend both far and near, 
 
 In climes though distant yet to memory dear. 
 
 I'd fain send a greeting with hearty good 
 
 cheer, 
 While wishing "God speed" through another 
 
 New Year. 
 These holiday times our old memories revive, 
 And thankful are we to still keep them alive. 
 Not content though with this, because we 
 
 should strive, 
 
 To press onward and upward while we freedom 
 
 derive. 
 As a help by the way, as a means to an end, 
 I beg you accept, some verses I'll send. 
 May they come to your soul as they've helped 
 
 me amend 
 "Views of life and its lessons, its aims and its 
 
 end. Cordially, 
 
 St. Paul, Jan., 1908. J. W. Griggs. 
 
 PLEASE SPARE THAT OLD HOME. 
 
 There's an old rustic cot that stands in a 
 
 square, 
 For ninety-odd years that cot has stood there ; 
 Surrounded by trees and a fence that is worn, 
 It's the home of my forefathers, there I was 
 
 born. 
 But misfortune came o'er us, it's hard now to 
 
 tell, 
 The sheriff came in, our old home to sell. 
 It's then I did weep and my mother did mourn 
 As I begged them in vain, would they please 
 
 spare our home. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Please spare that old home, please spare it, I 
 
 pray; 
 Don't turn out my mother so feeble and gray. 
 And my dear loving sister, so sickly and pale ; 
 Auctioneer, auctioneer, won't you please stop 
 
 that sale? 
 
 You seldom would find a happier lot 
 Than our little family that dwelt in that cot, 
 With father and mother, sister, brother and I, 
 Till sickness came over us and father did die. 
 My brother left home to find work to do, 
 
 But where he had gone to, no one ever knew. 
 I toiled late and early to keep down the debts, 
 And I fancy I hear myself pleading them yet. 
 
 In vain did I plead, but it was of no avail, 
 
 The auctioneer continued to cry on the sale ; 
 
 And the very next bidder, a man quite un- 
 known, 
 
 He laid down his money, and purchased our 
 home. 
 
 Then mother and sister, with hearts sad and 
 sore, 
 
 Prepared to depart from that old cottage door ; 
 
 When the stranger spoke up, saying, "Your 
 sorrow is done, 
 
 I return you your home, I am your long lost 
 son. 
 
 Accept a home from me, your long lost son." 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 What love and rejoicing was there on that day, 
 When brother embraced my mother so gray. 
 With a welcome for me and my sister so frail. 
 And that put an end to that dread sheriff's 
 sale. 
 
 107 
 
IMMORTALITY. 
 
 Immortal life is something to be earned Each well-borne sorrow is a step toward God. 
 
 By slow self-conquest, comradeship with pain. Faith cannot rescue, and no blood redeem 
 
 And patient seeking- after higher truths. The soul that will not reason and resolve. 
 
 We cannot follow our wayward wills, Lean on thyself, yet prop thyself with prayer; 
 
 And feed our baser appetites, and give For there are spirits, messengers of light, 
 
 Loose rein to foolish tempers year on year, Who come at call, and fortify thy strength. 
 
 And then cry, "Lord, forgive me,' I believe!" Make friends with them, and with thine inner 
 And straightway bathe in glory. Men must self. 
 
 learn Cast out all envy, bitterness, hate, 
 
 God's system is too great a thing for that. And keep the mind's fair tabernacle pure. 
 
 The spark divine dwells in each soul, and we Shake hands with pain, give greeting unto 
 Can fan it to a steady flame of light grief, 
 
 Whose luster gilds the pathway to the tomb, Those angels in disguise, and thy glad soul 
 
 And shines on through eternity; or else From height to height, from star to shining 
 Neglect it till it simmers down to death, star. 
 
 And leaves us but the darkness of the grave. Shall climb, and climb to blest immortality. 
 Each conquered passion feeds the living flame: — Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
 
 THE TOWN OF CONTENT. 
 
 Oh, how few of the thousands who travel by Many journey o'er deserts and valleys for 
 
 rail, years, 
 
 ( >r are borne o'er the seas by the strength Through the various countries of both hemis- 
 
 of the gale. pheres, 
 
 And how few of the millions on walking But alas, when both money and strength have 
 
 intent, been spent, 
 
 Ever safely arrive at the town of content. They find they are far from the Town of Con- 
 tent. 
 Xot a man who has wealth and is craving 
 
 XT >° „ „J Far beyond the tall Alps with their cold caps 
 Has e er passed one short day at its beautiful 
 
 « . ■ 01 -now. 
 
 v °r' i i. i , , •,, And in lands where warm zephyrs unceasingly 
 
 No one who has aught and not content with ,, &J 
 
 , • , & 1)1' i\V. 
 
 c - ., , ' r u aj i . i For the roads through it- gates men have 
 
 Jsince the days of old Adam has ever stopped , , , , , 
 
 , - ' ' looked up and down, 
 
 there. 
 
 And have died just in sight of the spires of 
 the town. 
 
 Xot a man whose poor soul with ambition is 
 
 Idled, 
 Has the town on his head its sweet odors dis- So to yon who are seeking the town, let me 
 
 tilled. say. 
 
 Not a soul wdto has fame and not satisfied Though its long looked for street you may 
 
 quite, not tread today, 
 
 In the Town of Content has e'er slept over If you ever should find it nearby or afar, 
 
 night- You will find it located just where you are. 
 
 THE BLACKEST SIN. 
 
 In a big brown school house over the way 
 The children were asked to tell one day 
 What each one thought was the greatest sin. 
 So far as their youthful thoughts had been. 
 
 A fair- haired girl, one who answered first, 
 Thought a "bold, bad boy was about the 
 
 woi-st ;" 
 And the bad boy answered, with saucy wink, 
 "A stuck-up gii-1 is the worst. 1 think." 
 
 I tiif "reckoned a thief was mighty bad." 
 And next to that was a "drinking lad." 
 While another thought that a pirate's life 
 Was one with the greatest evil rife. 
 
 A lie came in for its share of blame. 
 With hints that it led to a sea of flame; 
 And a "hold-up man." with his deeds galore, 
 Was voted the worst by half a score. 
 
 Then spoke a boy who, with flashing eyes, 
 Seemed unconverted by these replies; 
 "I think that the meanest thing in town 
 Is to strike a fellow when he is down." 
 
 Ills 
 
THE VAMPIRE. 
 
 A fool there was and he made his prayer — 
 
 (Even as you and I) 
 To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair — 
 (We called her the woman who did not care) 
 But the fool he called her his lady fair — 
 
 (Even as you and I.) 
 
 Oh. the years we waste and the tears we 
 waste — 
 
 And the work of our head and hand 
 Belong to the woman who did not know — 
 (And now we know that she never could know) 
 
 And did not understand. 
 
 • Hi. tin- toil we lost and the spoil we lost — 
 And the excellent things we planned 
 
 Belong to the woman who didn't know why — 
 And did not understand. 
 
 The fool was stripped to his foolish hide — 
 
 (Even as you and I.) 
 Which she might have seen when she threw 
 
 him aside 
 (But it isn't on record the lady tried) 
 So some of him lived but the most of him died — 
 
 (Even as you and I.) 
 
 A fool there was and his goods he spent — 
 
 (Even as you and 1.) 
 Honor and faith and a sure intent — 
 (And it wasn't the least what the lady meant) 
 But a fool must follow his natural bent 
 
 (Even as you and 1.) 
 
 But it isn't tlie shame, and it isn't the blame 
 
 That stings like a white hot brand — 
 It's coming to know that she never knew why — 
 (Seeing at last she could never know win) 
 And could never understand. 
 
 — Rudyard Kipling. 
 
 "AFTERWARDS." 
 
 After the day has sung its song of sorrow. 
 And one by one the golden stars appear, 
 I linger >et, where once we met, beloved. 
 
 And seem to feel thy spirit still is near. 
 The flow'rs have Med that blossom'd in the 
 springtime. 
 The birds are mute that sang their 
 above; 
 And though the years have drifted us asunder, 
 Time cannot break the golden chain of love. 
 Still we can love, although the shadows gather, 
 
 Still we can hope until the clouds be past; 
 Come to my heart and whisper through the 
 silence: 
 "Hope on, dear heart, our lives shall meet 
 at last." 
 
 Sometimes my heart grows weary of its sad- 
 ness. 
 Sometimes my life grows weary of its pain, 
 Then. love. I wait and listen to your whisper, 
 Till fears depart and sunshine comes again. 
 It cannot be that we should part forever. 
 That love's sweet song is hush'd for us al- 
 way; 
 I hear it yet, although its theme be alter'd, 
 'Twill reach thy heart and bring thee back 
 some day. 
 Love, we can love, although the shadows 
 gather. 
 Still we can hope until the clouds be past 
 Come to my heart and whisper through the 
 silence: 
 "Hope on, dear heart, our lives shall meet 
 a.t last." 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 My "friend" you signed yourself, but did you 
 think 
 i >!' ail that such a friendship means to me — 
 To me. who need a true and faithful friend 
 .More than the weary river needs the sea; 
 More than the faint roses need the fresh'ning 
 
 rain, 
 More than the daybreak needs the sun again? 
 
 Say, did you pause and strive to comprehend 
 Each thought that lingers in the words "your 
 friend." 
 Are you prepared to suffer any pain 
 By which your sacrifice may prove my gain? 
 Would you believe in me, should slander's 
 
 sword 
 Be the strong weapon 'gainst my simple word? 
 
 Are you prepared to stand by me through ill, 
 And in misfortune lie my true friend still? 
 Or are you but a friend while fair days 
 
 shine? 
 While happiness, and love, and youth are 
 mine? 
 Nay, I must plead, if even such you be, 
 "I greatly need your friendship — give it to 
 me." 
 
 WHY DO WE WAIT? 
 
 Why do we wait till ears are deaf 
 Before we speak our kindly word. 
 
 And only utter loving praise 
 
 When not a whisper can be heard? 
 
 Whv do we wait till hearts are still 
 To tell them all the love in ours. 
 
 And give them such late meed of praise, 
 And lav above them fragrant flowers? 
 
 Why do we wait till hands are laid 
 
 Close-folded, pulseless, ere we place 
 
 Within them roses sweel and rare. 
 And lilies in thai flawless grac 
 
 Mow oft we, careless, wait till life's 
 Sweet opportunity is past, 
 
 And break our "alabaster box 
 Of ointment" at the very last! 
 
 Why do we wait till eyes are sealed 
 
 To light and love in death's deep trance — 
 
 Dear wistful eyes — before we bend 
 Above them with impassioned glance? 
 
 Oh, let us heed the loving friend 
 Who walks with us life's common ways, 
 
 Watching our eyes for look of love. 
 Ami hungering for a word of praise! 
 
 109 
 
THE LAND OF MAKE-BELIEVE. 
 
 I know of a dear, delightful land, 
 
 Which is not so far away. 
 That we may not sail to its sunlit strand; 
 
 No matter how short the day; 
 Ah, there the skies are always blue, 
 
 And hearts forget to grieve, 
 For there's never a dream but must come true 
 
 In the Land of Make-Believe. 
 
 There every laddie becomes a knight, 
 
 And a fairy queen each lass; 
 And lips learn laughter, and eyes grow bright 
 
 As the dewdrops in the grass; 
 For there's nothing beautiful, brave and bold 
 
 That one may not achieve 
 If he once sets foot on the sands of gold 
 
 Of the Land of Make-Believe : 
 
 So spread the sails, and away we go 
 
 Light-winged thro' the fairy straits; 
 For the west winds steadily, swiftly blow 
 
 And the wonderful harbor waits. 
 On our prow the foam-flecks glance and gleam, 
 
 While we sail from morn till eve, 
 All bound for the shores of the children's 
 dream 
 
 Of the Land of Make-Believe! 
 
 THE SPRING POET AND THE EDITOR. 
 
 Glad to see ye, Mr. Editor, 
 
 It's somethin' of a spell 
 Since I see ye when yer lookin' 
 
 So hearty an' so well. 
 I s'pose yer not so busy since 
 
 In business there's a lull. 
 It's usual this time o' year, 
 
 Thet everythin' is dull. 
 Yes, thank ye, I'm feelin' tolerable, 
 
 I skursly kin complain, 
 I'm feeling like a fightin' cock 
 
 With nary ache or pain. 
 An' why should folks go to the coast 
 
 The weather here is fine. 
 Pacific states may be all right, 
 
 It's North Dakota fer mine. 
 I've got a hunch we're goin' to hev 
 
 An extra early spring, 
 These balmy days it seems ter me 
 
 I hear the robins sing. 
 I'm pretty sure it's nothing' but 
 
 Spring fever in my veins, 
 I'm also sure I hev a lot 
 
 Of poetry in my brains. 
 
 If ever man wrote poetry, 
 
 It's always in the spring 
 And thet's what ails me now instead 
 
 Of hearin' robins sing. 
 I've had a hunch the crop this spring 
 
 < »f poets will be great, 
 For North Dakota truly is 
 
 A most poetic state. 
 An' so 1 thought I'd call around 
 
 An' be in plenty o' time 
 An' see if you would like the chance 
 
 Ter print this dope of mine. 
 The cost of livin's been so high, 
 
 I've had to live on hash. 
 An' so I'm bringin' you this dope 
 
 Because I need some cash. 
 When J. J. Somers left. I thought 
 
 I'd hev my sailin' clear, 
 But now I realize I must 
 
 Compete with Bessie Grier. 
 So if you like ter print my dope 
 
 Jest start in right away; 
 I'll bring some more next time I come 
 
 Thank ve, Sir, good day. 
 
 — G. E. Wright. 
 
 STILL AND FOR AYE LOVERS. 
 
 "You are still a youth to me, John; 
 
 You are still my bonny beau; 
 The same as when we plighted troth 
 
 Full fifty years ago! 
 The same as when our wedding bells 
 
 Rang out as glad and gay." 
 And here the good wife breathed a sigh, 
 
 And shook her locks of gray. 
 
 "It seemeth strange to me, John, 
 
 Who married you for aye. 
 Who hold the ring you gave me as 
 
 The apple of my eye. 
 To see the youngsters ne'er content 
 
 To give their hearts and hands. 
 As we did in the good old times, 
 
 Without scrip and lands! 
 
 "I didn't bring you much. John, 
 
 And you had little more; 
 But we had health in place of wealth, 
 
 And plenteous love in store. 
 And through the joys and strife, dear, 
 
 We each one did our part; 
 And now we've one another still, 
 
 As we had in the start. 
 
 "The times have sadly changed, John, 
 
 Since you and I were young; 
 The marriage tie is lightly held 
 
 And many a heart is wrung. 
 And yet you're young to me, John, 
 
 And still my bonny beau; 
 The same as when we plighted troth 
 
 Full fifty years ago!" 
 
 WITHOUT YOU. 
 
 Without you, love, the day would hold no light: 
 The kindly stars would vanish from the night; 
 The flowers would forget to wake at morn: 
 The rose die sleeping, leaving but the thorn, — 
 Without you. 
 
 Without you, love, no promise would be bright: 
 Hope's golden sun would darken at its height; 
 The world of all its glory would be shorn. 
 And I should be a wanderer, forlorn, — 
 Without you. 
 
 110 
 
HER ANSWER. 
 
 An Atchison girl had a proposal of marriage 
 Sunday night and asked a week to think it 
 over. She went to all of her married sisters. 
 One, who used to be a belle, had three chil- 
 dren, did all her own work and hadn't been to 
 the theater or out riding since she was mar- 
 ried. Another, whose husband was a prom- 
 ising young man at the time she was married, 
 
 was supporting him. A third didn't dare say 
 her life was her own when her husband was 
 around, and a fourth was divorced. After 
 visiting them and hearing their woes, the hero- 
 ine of this little tale went home, got pen, ink 
 and paper and wrote an answer to the young 
 man. You may think it was refusing' him 
 but it wasn't. She said she could be ready 
 in a month.— Atchison Globe. 
 
 "OUT OF THE DARKNESS INTO THE LIGHT." 
 
 "Out of the darkness into the light;" 
 Never was word of promise more bright, 
 Never came sound to listening ear. 
 Or waiting heart, more thrilling and clear, 
 Nerving the soul for its onward flight. 
 Than "Out of the darkness into the light.' 
 
 Only the folding of hands and feet, 
 And closing of eyes in slumber sweet; 
 Only the stopping of painful breath, 
 Only the touch of the hand of Death; 
 Only the Master's call of might, 
 And "Out of the darkness into the light." 
 
 Out of the shadows of sorrow and care 
 Out of the blackness of doubt and despair; 
 Out of the harrowing, constant, strife, 
 Out of the wearying toils of life; 
 < >ut of the reach of foes within. 
 Out of the withering touch of sin. 
 
 Into the certain hope of the just, 
 Into the fulness of joy and trust; 
 Into the calmness of spirit-peace, 
 Into the rest where labors shall cease; 
 Into the regions of guilt untrod; 
 Into the smile and presence of God 
 
 Watchers, pale watchers, who wearily stand, 
 
 Longing for sight of the better land. 
 
 Look up, o'er the darkness and gloom, to the 
 
 star, 
 Of promise that gleams in the distance afar; 
 For surely He cometh — the dawning bright— 
 And "Out of the darkness into the light." 
 
 WHAT A WOMAN IS THINKING ABOUT. 
 
 From Adam's arrival in this wicked world 
 
 To the wonderful age we are in; 
 Our wise men have shattered some pretty hard 
 nuts, 
 
 And also committed much sin. 
 But one of the problems that's baffled them all, 
 
 And has put all their science to rout, 
 Is something concerning the sex we adore, 
 
 What a woman is thinking about. 
 
 Her lips may be saying a host of sweet things; 
 
 And her eyes with true love be enshrined; 
 Her lover may think that he knows every 
 thought 
 
 In her gentle and feminine mind; 
 
 But the very next breath her mood is trans- 
 formed, 
 
 And she's having a mystical pout; 
 All, all of love's logic cannot make it clear, 
 
 What a woman is thinking about. 
 
 Her eyes may be laughing at something we 
 wear. 
 And her face may be solemn as death; 
 Her tongue may be wagging on forty-odd 
 themes 
 Till she's really gasping for breath; 
 But the wisdom and science of all the world 
 
 Isn't able to clearly find out 
 What flits through her mind, or can even sur- 
 mise 
 What a woman is thinking about. 
 
 SAY YOU LOVE ME, SWEETHEART. 
 
 CSONG.) 
 
 I'm so lonesome, day and night, 
 
 I don't now what to do, 
 Longing for the rare delight 
 
 Of being near to you. 
 Just sit 'round and dream all day, 
 
 Dream all day of you. 
 Longing just to hear you say 
 
 That you love me, too. 
 
 (CHORUS.) 
 
 As the days grow into years. 
 
 Still I'm pining, dear, for you; 
 Still from lonesomeness my tears 
 
 Gather with the twilight dew. 
 I am longing for you, dear — 
 
 For you, dear, alone; 
 Longing your sweet voice to hear 
 
 And your sweet heart to own. 
 
 Say you love me, sweetheart- 
 Say it, sweetheart, do; 
 
 Say we nevermore shall part, 
 Say that you'll be true. 
 
 Listen to my sighing heart — 
 I'm in love with you; 
 
 Say you love me, sweetheart; 
 Say it, sweetheart, do. 
 
 Ill 
 
CALLING ACROSS THE VOID. 
 
 Where the waves of death lap the shores of I know it is well, for He knoweth best 
 
 ... Who hath taken her into His care; 
 
 llte But the tears will keep starting, for the sorrow 
 
 We wandered — my love and I; of parting 
 
 Hand clasped in hand, of life's borderland. Seems greater than I can bear. 
 
 We whispered our sad good bye. Be courageous, oh soul, submissive, oh heart. 
 
 Into the bark of the oarsman, death. For a wisdom far wiser than mine, 
 
 iiilu me u«,i Has ca u e( j ner aW ay from the life of a day 
 
 She stepped all alone, alone, To the j oys of a p res ence divine. 
 And passed from my sight, in the darkness of 
 
 night, She is led by a Hand that is gentler than mine. 
 
 To the land of the great unknown. And called by a Voice sweeter far, 
 
 To a home that is sure and a life that is pure 
 
 , Inside the gates ajar. 
 I stretch forth my arms, and cry in despair. 
 
 "Return, oh. return to me." , - ., 
 
 x ^ c , ,„ . „ r1ic And that bark will return in Gods own time, 
 
 And I look through my tears, as mj lo\ e ctis- Return with a summons for me; 
 
 appears And bear me above to my love, my love, 
 
 In the mists of eternity. O'er the waves of the mystic sea. 
 
 THE HERO. 
 
 There's one man whom each man forgives 
 
 For all his follies and mistakes. 
 One man whom each man while he lives 
 
 Excuses for the hearts he breaks. 
 
 This man by everv man is thought To every man there is one man 
 
 To have far less' than he deserves. Who seems to have been born to lead, 
 
 No matter how his gains are sought And molded on a better plan 
 
 Or how from righteousness he swerves. Than ever other was, indeed. 
 
 To every man he seems to be One man to every man seems great. 
 
 More able and more wise, by far, Or be he Ohibelline or Guelf; 
 
 From little weaknesses more free 'Tis needless, probably, to state. 
 
 Than other mortals ever are. That this sublime one is himself. 
 
 "NEAR THE BANKS OF THAT LONE RIVER" 
 
 Near the banks of that lone river, bike the streams with lilies laden. 
 
 Where the water lilies grow. Will life's future current flow. 
 
 Breathed the fairest flower that ever 'Till in heav'n I meet the maiden 
 
 Bloomed and faded years ago. Fondly cherished years ago. 
 
 How we met and loved and parted Hearts that love like mine forget not, 
 
 None on earth can ever know, They're the same in weal or woe, 
 
 Nor how pure and gentle-hearted And the star of mem'ry sets not 
 
 Beamed that mourn'd one years ago, In Hie grave of years ago. 
 
 CH< »RUS. 
 
 Near the banks of that lone river, 
 
 Where the water lilies grow. 
 Breathed the fairest flower that ever 
 
 Bloomed and faded years ago. 
 
 AH, LEAVE ME NOT! 
 
 Ah, leave me not, sweetheart, so soon Ah, leave me not: With thee away. 
 
 To lonely thought and wistful sighs! Sad thoughts of ill my heart affright, 
 
 The night is young. Behold the moon And pleasure scorns the fairest day 
 
 Hath not yet climbed the eastern skies! Until thy presence makes it bright; 
 
 Tell me again love's rosary 'Tis but a moment since we met. 
 
 Of sweet words, low and soft: So. sweetheart, bide a wee. 
 
 A thousand times, it could not be And in thy love let me forget 
 
 By thy lips told too oft. Thy parting soon to be. 
 
 Crusty — Want to marry my daughter, eh? 
 Well, all 1 can say is. go and get a repu- 
 tation. 
 
 I >asherly — Excuse me. sir. but am I dealing 
 with a gentleman or a prize fighter? — New 
 York Evening Journal. 
 
 Though wrong may win. its victory is brief, The road of Right has neither turn nor bend. 
 
 The tides of good at first no passage find; It stretches straight unto the highest goal; 
 
 Each surge breaks, shattered, on the sullen Hard, long, and lonely? — Yes, yet never soul 
 
 Vet still the infinite ocean comes behind. Can lose its wax therein, nor miss the way. 
 
 112 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Along the Minot Trail 5 
 
 A Sad Appeal 16 
 
 As I Knelt By My Dear Father's Grave 17 
 
 A Yankee, or a Kanuck? 19 
 
 A Higher Judge Will Judge Both You 
 
 and I 41 
 
 A Laboring Man's Appeal 44 
 
 A Bachelor's Lament 50 
 
 Alice Writes Good Common Sense.... 51 
 
 Alice Has Them All Going 53 
 
 Alice Would Form Bachelor Club 54 
 
 Alice's Matrimonial School 55 
 
 A Camp Cook's Downfall 60 
 
 A Brother's Reply 64 
 
 A Live Burg 76 
 
 All Plugging for John D. Bossgander.. 81 
 
 A Trip to Sherwood 83 
 
 All Bound for Bottineau 87 
 
 A Trip to Muskoka 90 
 
 A Dance Among the Lumber Jacks... 98 
 
 A New Deal 99 
 
 A Plea for One Who Failed 100 
 
 A Poem — With an Addition 103 
 
 A Love Poem 107 
 
 Afterwards 109 
 
 Ah, Leave Me Not! 112 
 
 Beauties of the Mouse River Loop, 
 
 the 37 
 
 Boys of the National Guard, the 67 
 
 Bachelor Patiently Waiting for Lena 75 
 Brother Martin Presents a Cigar Case 
 
 to Brother Jim 94 
 
 Builders, the 95 
 
 Big Time at Maxbass 96 
 
 Bethgelert, or the Grave of a Grey- 
 hound 101 
 
 Blackest Sin, the 108 
 
 Con on the D., M. & N. the 34 
 
 Champion of Heroes Today, the 44 
 
 Cook Car's Magnates, the 62 
 
 Contributed to the Herald 90 
 
 Coleman's Acre Tracts 91 
 
 Christmas With Mother 102 
 
 Calling Across the Void 112 
 
 Dakota's Golden Grain 12 
 
 Dance Out at Somer's Claim, the 28 
 
 Duluth Silver King, the 30 
 
 Dr. Sleight's Traveling Drug Store.... 22 
 
 Duluth in Eighty-two 23 
 
 Dav We Rode Behind M'Arthur's 
 
 Blacks, the 58 
 
 Duluth Bond Fiend Club, the 77 
 
 Dan Kippen's Runaway Team 82 
 
 Echoes from the West 43 
 
 Famous Holsey and Basset Sheep Jury, 
 
 the •• 18 
 
 Foreigner's Home, the 35 
 
 Fire Boat Snoqualemie, the 35 
 
 Four Ward County Delegates 47 
 
 Fighting Pal Brown 59 
 
 Fair Dakota • • • • 78 
 
 For His Sake 90 
 
 Fed the Hungry 94 
 
 Fireman's Story, the 97 
 
 Firemen's Last Call, the 98 
 
 Fact and Fancy 106 
 
 Friendship .. 1C n 
 
 Grand Old G. O. P., the '.... 42 
 
 Gravel Train Crew, the 70 
 
 Ground-Hog Myth, the 8^ 
 
 Good Things in Life, the 105 
 
 Hoochie Coochie Movement at the Ball 32 
 
 Hands a Warm Bunch to Men 50 
 
 Had a Feeling in His Heart 52 
 
 Hotel Cosmos, the 61 
 
 Hub of the Mouse River 88 
 
 Heart a la Carte 94 
 
 Her Answer 100 
 
 How to Qualify 10^ 
 
 Her Answer n] 
 
 Hero, the II2 
 
 Fd Rather be a Farmer Than a Multi- 
 millionaire 8 
 
 I am Going Back to Western Prairie 
 
 Land g 
 
 Independent Editor 27 
 
 Iroquois Theater Fire, the 32 
 
 If That Little Blue Eyed Babe Was 
 
 only Mine 38 
 
 If 1 Was in Flannigan's Place 62 
 
 I Must be a Fool or a Crank 65 
 
 In Memory, of Our Departed Brother, 
 
 Rev. Donald MacKenzie 91 
 
 I Haven't Gone the Sulley or the My- 
 ers' Route Yet 07 
 
 y, T . 100 
 
 Its Little for Glory I Care 102 
 
 Immortality io 8 
 
 Jim's Vacation at Hibbing in 1907.... 57 
 
 J. C. Donahoe's Nine, the 72 
 
 Judge Us Not Too Harshly 85 
 
 Just Twenty Years Ago 101 
 
 Just to be Tender 106 
 
 Lost Tamarack Swamp, the 20 
 
 Louie Burchfield's Sugarmaking Camp 68 
 
 Ladies' Leap Year Ball, the 69 
 
 Lake Twenty-nine 7^ 
 
 Little Eddie 86 
 
 Last Song My Father Sang, the. ..... ! 98 
 
 Lines in Memory of My Beloved 
 
 Friend, Nettie Raustad 99 
 
 Lady of Tears, the 106 
 
 Land of Make Believe, the no 
 
 Morgan of the West, the 1 1 
 
 My Josephine, My Western Queen 16 
 
 McCasslin's Yellow Boy 18 
 
 My Sweet Montana Belle ■... 23 
 
 Mohall Pioneers, the ->e 
 
 Mike O'Donnell's Crew 31 
 
 Minne-apolis, Minnesota 47 
 
 Minneapolis-Minnehaha 48 
 
 My Old Friend Joe .' .' 49 
 
 Michigan Special of 1911, the 63 
 
 Maxbass "Mud Hens" vs. Towner 
 
 "Night Hawks" 72 
 
 Minot in 1912 7 g 
 
 My Charming, Sweet Florence Richtad 8^ 
 
 M. B. A. Ball, the 86 
 
 My Charming Nellie M'Gree ' 89 
 
 Night That Miller Milked the Mooiey 
 
 Cow, the -,-> 
 
 Night We Drove Over to Hurd, the!.' 48 
 
 113 
 
7 1913 
 
 INDEX (continued) 
 
 Night Otto Hanson Showed Somers 
 
 the Way, the 91 
 
 Near the Banks of the Lone River.... 112 
 
 ( )ur Special Bill of Fare 59 
 
 Our Twentieth Century Show 78 
 
 Old North Dakota 99 
 
 (Jut of the Darkness Into the Light... HI 
 
 Perpetual Motion Horse, the 66 
 
 Poor Bob 74 
 
 Poet a Successful Gardner 89 
 
 Please Spare That Old Home 107 
 
 Retaliation 4 
 
 Reply to the Bachelor's Lament 51 
 
 Reply to the Smitz-Maas Company.... 80 
 
 Roller Masquerade, the 85 
 
 Rules for Social Success 104 
 
 Scmers One of the Foremost Poets... 4 
 
 She Proved a Mother to Me 21 
 
 St. Cloud Cyclone, the 26 
 
 Somers' Birthday Surprise 29 
 
 Sweet, Charming Anna Mars 40 
 
 Since Our Dear Mamie Died 
 
 Since I Gave You Your Start 64 
 
 Sunny Jim and Moonlight Dick 66 
 
 Sherwood Masquerade, the 69 
 
 Sheldon Nine, the '. 71 
 
 Skiptameloo, or the Woodland's Favor- 
 ite 73 
 
 Sharp, Cruel Sting of Deceit, the 75 
 
 Seasonable Poetry 81 
 
 Sheldon's New Patent Machine 82 
 
 Sweet Mary, My Own 84 
 
 Spread-Eagle Dance, the 96 
 
 Somers Grows Caustic 96 
 
 Secret, the 100 
 
 Starving on a Government Claim in 
 
 Nebraska 104 
 
 Sunset on the Prairie 105 
 
 Stick to the Farm 105 
 
 Spring P'oet and the Editor, the no 
 
 Still and for Aye Lovers no 
 
 Say You Love Me, Sweetheart m 
 
 Tired of Paying Freight 7 
 
 To the Maids of Taconite 63 
 
 This Old World of Ours 65 
 
 Telegram Kid, the 84 
 
 To One I Truly Love 84 
 
 Tolly on the Soo 89 
 
 Too Late 90 
 
 Town of Content 108 
 
 Up-to-Date Ventilation in Room No. 4 88 
 
 Valley of Tears, the 9 
 
 Victory and Bryan 45 
 
 Visit the Country 95 
 
 Vampire, the 109 
 
 When the Sap Begins to Run 10 
 
 When the Meadow Lark Warbles Her 
 
 Tune 11 
 
 When the Manistee Went Down...... 22 
 
 Words of Love 34 
 
 When the Loop is Ten Years Old 39 
 
 Wilson's Cabinet 45 
 
 When the Fever's in the Blood 56 
 
 Would-be Business Man, the 61 
 
 When Maxbass Put Towner to Sleep.. 73 
 
 What a Man Will Go Through 74 
 
 Why Not Minot 77 
 
 Where We Belong 87 
 
 What Becomes of a Lie ••.. 104 
 
 What's the Use? 106 
 
 Why Do We Wait? 109 
 
 Without You 1 10 
 
 What a Woman is Thinking About.. .. Ill 
 
 Young Old Timer's Ball, the 14 
 
 You Will Never Be Sorry 103 
 
 Zenith of the West, the 12 
 
 114