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This little Book is dedicated 
 
 to you, DEAR READER, with the 
 
 hope that you zvill buy another to 
 
 give to a friend; for to tell the 
 
 honest Truth— Pd kinder like to 
 
 get my digits on the Money. 
 
 The Author. 
 
^\ RIDE your High Horse! 
 
 But you needn't get cross 
 With me now, Old Woman, 
 
 And start in to boss. 
 You want rings on your fingers, 
 
 And costly silk hose; 
 But where the Dough's coming from, 
 
 Lord only knows. 
 
TTHERE was an old woman who lived in a shoe 
 
 Had so many children she knew not what to do. 
 So she wrote to our Theodore, stating her plight, 
 
 And our Theodore sent her an answer that night. 
 He said "I*m dee-lighted to know you have tried 
 
 To bust the trust on Race Suicide." [pride, 
 
 Now the old woman's so chesty, and puffed up with 
 
 The shoe pinches the kids when the old dame's 
 
 [inside. 
 
/^LD KING COAL was a merry old soul, 
 
 And indeed, why would^nt he be? 
 With his cousin John D, who was old King Oil, 
 He owned half the earth, you see. 
 
CLEANING THE SEWER. 
 
 TITO! -^-^^ ^ "^^^ ^ child, what a joy 'twas to me 
 ^^■^^^ To see the street sewer cleaned out. 
 When they opened the manhole in front of our 
 house, 
 
 And with ladder and rope that was stout. 
 Went down, down, down. 
 
 Where the mud and the dead leaves lay; 
 And Billy McCool filled the big pail full. 
 
 While Hennessy hauled it away. 
 
 'Twas an edification — a brand new sensation. 
 
 When Dwyer, the boss, cussed old Pete, 
 For slinging the mud-pail against the tip-cart 
 
 And spilling the mud in the street. 
 Since then I've grown older and likewise blase. 
 
 And the pleasures of life pall on me; 
 There's nothing in women, in wine or in song, 
 
 In travel on land or on sea. 
 
 I've yachted and motored, seen Paris and Rome ; 
 
 And soared the air in a balloon. 
 I've hunted for elephants, tigers and quail, 
 
 I've gone up a tree after a coon. 
 But my mind fondly turns to one pleasure I knew, 
 
 Which puts all others to rout; 
 To the days of my childhood, and that happy sight 
 
 When they cleaned the street sewer out. 
 
 7 
 
^ MISTRESS MARY, quite contrary, 
 We know what makes you so. 
 
 You're getting along in years, my dear, 
 And you haven't got a beau. 
 
♦^♦iCA BA BLACK SHEEP, have you any wool?" 
 "O yes, my master, three bags full. 
 
 The All Wool's for the Millionaire, 
 
 The Woolene^s for the Dame, 
 
 The Near WooPs for the Poor Man who lives in the 
 
 [lane." 
 
^OOSIE Goosie Gander, 
 
 Go ahead and wander 
 Upstairs, downstairs, 
 
 But duck milady^s chamber 
 Unless you've got your will made, 
 
 And likewise said your prayers; 
 For her Old Man will murder you. 
 
 Then pitch you down the stairs. 
 
 10 
 
APOSTROPHE TO AN OLD SHOE. 
 
 IliOU'RE busted out at the side, Old Shoe, 
 ^ And you're all run down at the heel; 
 
 Yet I fondly gaze on your shapeless form, 
 
 And with tenderest thoughts I feel 
 That Fve lost a friend in you. Old Shoe, 
 
 A friend who was staunch and true; 
 Tho' you pinched my foot like the very deuce. 
 
 The first time I wore you. Old Shoe. 
 But your leather expanded, my foot to encase — 
 
 You loved me, I know, fond and true. 
 For you are an eight, and my foot is a nine 
 
 And very much broader than you. 
 Did I break your poor heart. Old Shoe, Old Shoe. 
 
 That night I fell into a hole? 
 Forgive me, old friend, I was drunk as a lord, 
 
 And I know that I busted your sole. 
 You shall yet cry "V^ictory," Old Shoe, 
 
 Ere your humble day is spent; 
 I can't have you mended new again. 
 
 For I haven't got a cent. 
 But I'll chuck you out at a cat to-night. 
 
 And as you cut off her breath. 
 And you fall flat by the side of the cat. 
 
 You will die a victorious death. 
 11 
 
^ITTLB BOY BLUE, stop blowing your horn! 
 
 WeVe tired of hearing it toot. 
 Your automobile has killed all the sheep, 
 
 And the chickens and children to boot. 
 
 12 
 
rgEORGIE PORGIE, pudding and pie, 
 Kissed the girls and made them cry. 
 
 They liked his kisses — thought them bliss, 
 
 Until they learned that each sweet kiss 
 
 Contained a germ as big as this: — ## 
 
 And now you know the reason why 
 
 Young Georgie Porgie made them cry. 
 
 13 
 
qr ITTLE JACK HORNER sat in a corner 
 Eating his Christmas pie. 
 
 But the Trusts had the gall to make it so small, 
 He could put it all into his eye. 
 
 14 
 
CfiiNG a song o* sixpence 
 
 That bought some Rock and Rye, 
 And four and twenty blackbirds 
 
 Baked in a pie 
 With purple snakes and monkeys red, 
 
 That all began to sing 
 When the bottle had been emptied 
 
 By the whiskey-sodden Thing. 
 
 16 
 
AIGS IS BRINGIN' SIXTY CENTS. 
 
 *fl4l O, we ain't heard about the war, 
 
 Nor who is born, or who is dead. 
 We're all too busy countin' aigs. 
 
 From sunrise till it's time for bed. 
 'N' we don't crave for future bliss; 
 
 We're happy now, ez we'll be hence — 
 Our hens is layin' pretty brisk, 
 
 'N' aigs is bringin' sixty cents. 
 
 When pa picks up a big brown aig, 
 
 You'd think 'twas wuth its weight in gold. 
 His hand it shakes and trembles jes' 
 
 As if the aig was icy cold. 
 When we all laff, pa smiles, 'n' says 
 
 They're wuth their weight in copper pence, 
 'N' he kin prove it, too, he says, 
 
 'Cause aigs is bringin' sixty cents. 
 
 16 
 
We live on milk and clotted cream, 
 
 'N' honey-cake, 'n' pickled meat, 
 'N' nuthin' ain't too good — excep' 
 
 We never get an aig to eat. 
 Pa says that aigs is far too rich; 
 
 'N' only fit for lords and gents 
 Who have the price to pay for them, 
 
 When aigs is bringin' sixty cents. 
 
 To-day our Bud crawled from the nests, 
 
 With both hands rounded like a ball. 
 When ma caught Bud, the aig he stole, 
 
 He quickly sv^allovs^ed, shell 'n' all. 
 Ma collared Bud, 'n' soon his pants 
 
 Was hangin' in a thousand rents: 
 Ma says she'd quit long 'fore she did. 
 
 But aigs is bringin' sixty cents. 
 
 Each night pa counts the aigs on hand, 
 
 'N' then he counts the gold they bring, 
 'N' says if prices still keep high. 
 
 He'll soon be rich ez any king. 
 'N' then we go to bed 'n' dream 
 
 Of days so happy — not far hence. 
 When we'll eat aigs three times a day. 
 
 When aigs is bringin' sixty cents. 
 
 17 
 
TTHERE was a man in our town, 
 
 2\nd lie was wondrous wise. 
 HeM stand up to your very face 
 
 And cheat you 'fore your eyes. 
 And when he found what he had done, 
 
 With all his might and main 
 He'd stand up barefaced as before, 
 
 And cheat you o'er again. 
 
 18 
 
gIMPLE SIMON went a fishing 
 
 With bait, and hook and pail. 
 
 He didn't catch a blessed thing, 
 
 But he swore he caught a whale. 
 
 19 
 
CHOP SUEY. 
 
 4pRlED Culinary Hieroglyphics, 
 
 And dish of Chinese nut-brown Whatnot, 
 I love thine odor to inhale 
 
 When placed before me, steaming hot. 
 What's in a name? It puzzles me 
 
 To know from whence your appellation; 
 Perhaps Hop Sing the Chinese cook, 
 
 Could shed light on my education. 
 
 But Hop won't tell what's in a name. 
 
 Nor will he tell me what's in you. 
 Thou combination Hot Pot Roast, 
 
 Chopped up Hash, and Irish Stew. 
 There's meat of some kind in 370ur brew; 
 
 Mayhap 'tis chicken, pork or veal — 
 But whether old hen, cow or pig, 
 
 Hop's mighty sure you'll never squeal. 
 
 20 
 
There' onions, mushrooms, sprouted beans- 
 Conglomerated in the platter 
 
 That holds Hop's secret masonry; 
 
 Well, anyhow, it does'nt matter. 
 
 Perhaps you are the recipe, 
 
 Of some old withered Chinese witch. 
 
 And you were handed down the line 
 
 By lords and nobles, kings and sich. 
 
 That youVe a puzzle. Til admit; 
 
 But this also, I must allow: — 
 You have a flavor unsurpassed. 
 
 And so V\l eat you anyhow. 
 
 21 
 
^^TITTI HERE are you going, my Pretty Maid," 
 None of your business, Sir," she said. 
 
 "Be on your way, or 1^11 have you pinched; 
 
 You corner loafers ought to be lynched." 
 
/nVARIE had a little lamb, 
 
 It's fleece was white as snow, 
 And everywhere that Marie went, 
 
 The lamb was sure to go. 
 When Marie took an Empty Box, 
 
 And started out to fight 
 Upon the corners for the Cause, 
 
 The lambkin said ^'Good Night.^' 
 
 23 
 
THE DUMP. 
 
 ffl TORN straw hat and a run-down shoe 
 
 Half buried in ashes; some papers — a few 
 Broken dishes; a "House to Let" sign, 
 
 A. straw encased flagon made to hold wine; 
 Some dented tomato cans, (twenty or more) 
 
 The half of a hinge from somebody's door; 
 A handleless frying-pan covered with rust, 
 
 A dressmaker's form with a "medium" bust; 
 Some leaves from a copy-book, spattered with ink, 
 
 A moth-eaten muff that was probably mink — 
 A headless doll-baby still able to cry, 
 
 And the feet of a chicken lying nearby 
 With some lime half-slackened into a lump. 
 
 All mingle together to make up the dump. 
 
 24 
 
/^LD Mother Hubbard she went to the cupboard; 
 
 But not for a bone did she go. 
 She'd sold her poor dog to a fat Butcher Man, 
 
 And was hiding away the Dough. 
 
THE RAIL FENCE. 
 
 A Near Tragedy. 
 
 Scene. Two neighboring back-yards separated 
 by a low rail fence, in the outskirts of a New Eng- 
 land city. 
 Time. Morning of the present. 
 
 Characters. 
 
 Bridget O'Sullivan. 
 Nora Hannigan. 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — An' what would you be after, 
 Nora Hannigan, peerin' into my premises at this 
 hour of the mornin' ? 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — After what, to be sure, but a 
 sight of my fine fat goose; her with the brown 
 wing, and hatched in my own cellar four months 
 ago, come Friday. 
 
 26 
 
Mrs. O'Sullivan — 'Tis not here you'll be findin' 
 her, in the yard of a dacint woman, and honest. 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — The same words you said, 
 Bridget O'Sullivan, when my best Leghorn pullet 
 disappeared, and when little Helen, pet kitten of 
 my daughter Mary, was two days lost; but the two 
 of them was found hidden in your kitchen, so they 
 were — my pullet warming her own tgg in a box 
 behind your stove, and the wee cat chewin' a bone 
 under the sink. 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — [Horrified) O dear God, will 
 you listen to that now! Is it reflectin' on my hon- 
 esty you'd be tryin', Nora Hannigan, an' my son 
 Timothy on the police force an' known an' respect- 
 ed by the entire first ward? 
 
 Mis. Hannigan — Faith, and I'm not denyin' that 
 your boy Timothy be on the police force, for by 
 the same token, it takes a rogue to catch a rogue. 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — [Threateningly) Be off now, 
 with your untidy tongue, or I'll have the law on 
 you, and that quickly. 
 
 27 
 
Mrs. Hannigan — Sure and I'll not be off — nor 
 movin' either. 'Tis my own side of the fence I'm 
 leanin' on, and my own land beneath my feet I'm 
 standin' on, as was bought and paid for, when you 
 and yours was diggin' peat from bogs in the old 
 country. 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — May the Lord forgive you for 
 the lies you be tellin', Nora Hannigan. 'Twas to 
 America I come two full years before yourself; an' 
 my cousin Dan Moloney, alderman in the city of 
 New Bedford at the time, an' himself dyin' the 
 same year, an' with wine at the wake, a brass band 
 at the cemetery, an' the flag to half mast on the 
 City Hall — God rest his soul. Faith, an' there 
 never was a Hannigan worthy to kiss the foot of 
 an O'SuUivan. 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — Is it invitin' me to kiss your 
 feet you are Mrs. O'SuUivan? And where are they, 
 I'm wonderin' — well covered and out of sight. Ten 
 year ago, when you had'nt a whole shoe in the 
 family, you was'nt so free with your invitations, 
 my fine lady. 
 
 28 
 
Mrs. O'Sullivan — 'Tis the green worm of jeal- 
 )usy do be talkin' inside of you, Mrs. Hannigan; 
 vith your bare feet a disgrace to the avenue, and 
 ^-our ducks and your chickens wanderin' all over 
 he neighborhood, an' hens hatchin' in your cellar, 
 in' your tongue green with the brogue as the day 
 y^ou come over. 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — God help me! An Irishwoman 
 [ am, and no would-be ''Yankee Sullivan" like your- 
 self, Bridget O'Sullivan; and full well I know as 
 my ducks and chickens and my bare feet offend 
 your eyesight, because far too well they do remind 
 you of your father's hut in the old country, with 
 never a handful of meal in the scullery, nor a lean 
 pig to feed upon it. 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — {Enraged) That the devil may 
 choke you! By Katie Brady livin' at number 
 forty-two Dean Street, I can prove that sows we 
 had three an' a boar, an' always a bit of bacon to 
 give to a neighbor. 
 
 29 
 
Mrs. Hannigan — {Laughing hysterically) Ha! 
 Ha! Ha! Katie Brady of forty-two Dean Street! 
 And well you might call her to witness you, and 
 her tongue fertile with untruth; 'twas myself she 
 was tellin' in front of the blessed church, as how 
 she come over second class in the steamer Hiber- 
 nia, when God knows 'twas deep down in the steer- 
 age she come, like myself; with the Jews and with 
 the Italians; and the heavy waves thunderin' and 
 groanin' like the bowels of hell, and the winds 
 howlin' like the Banshee day and night, ana scar- 
 in' to death a Dago woman's child; and the wee 
 lamb bein' dropped into the sea by way of burial, 
 with but the prayer of the church of England said 
 by the captain — God have mercy on the poor child. 
 
 Mrs. O'SuUivan — {Exasperated) Will you never 
 leave off bringin' Ireland to America an' settin' it 
 in your back yard? What with your nanny-goat 
 cryin' the night through, and with your hens 
 trackin' over my clean clothes on the grass, sure I 
 never could forget the old country, even tho I was 
 so minded. Only this mornin', twice over I wash- 
 ed my Jerry's pajamas as your hens had walked 
 through. 
 
Mrs. Hannigan — And baited they were with corn, 
 I don't doubt, to entice my goose into your pot. 
 Pajamas indeed! Sure you couldn't rightly pro- 
 nounce the word in Ireland. If a pair you had seen 
 on the day you sailed from Queenstown, you'd be 
 thinkin' the briches was some kind of a bag to pack 
 your household goods inside of. 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — 'Tis an unsavory tongue you 
 have in your head, Nora Hannigan, an' 'tis well 
 there be no witness to your accusations, or I'd have 
 you before the court before you be a day older. 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — Before the court you'd have 
 me, is it? Bad luck to you for an old cattle thief! 
 A woman of your rank and position to be stealin' 
 a bird from a poor woman like me. I wish to God 
 we was before the court now, that I might tell 
 the judge of my suspicions. 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — An' quick enough you'll get 
 before the court I can tell you. An' neighbors I'll 
 have aplenty to testify agin you. Sure an' if I told 
 all I know about you, 'tis a life sentence you'd be 
 gettin'. 
 
 31 
 
Mrs. Hannigan — God forgive me! Is it murder 
 Fve done? 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — 'Tis no murderess you be, but 
 all the same I can bring witness to prove that no 
 good Catholic you are. Never to mass do you go 
 of a Sunday mornin', nor in the v^eek; and but for 
 Tom your son, draggin' you to church at Christ- 
 mas an' at Easter, 'tis excomunicate you'd be long 
 ago, for an old heathen. 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — I'll answ^er to the priest for that, 
 and to no judge of the court; but v^hen 'tis sum- 
 moned I am, I warrant you, Bridget O'Sullivan, 
 'twill be no other witness I'll need than myself, to 
 get you a life sentence and more. 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — The saints help us! Is it one 
 man I've killed, or two? 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — No man you've killed nor wo- 
 man, but 'tis many a dollar you made in secret 
 seven year ago with sellin' beer in your kitchen, 
 when the prohibition law was on. 
 
 82 
 
Mrs. O'Sullivan — An* if I did sell a swallow of 
 beer now an' agin, 'twas your man, Michael Han- 
 nigan, as drank his share of it. An' little enough 
 he paid for it too, dear knows, with always threat- 
 nin' to squeal on me to the cops. 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — Ah, lucky 'tis that's not the first 
 lie you told, or you'd be chokin' in your tracks. 
 Tittle enough he paid for it". Far too much he 
 paid for it, as I can prove by the tally-book behind 
 my kitchen clock. Every cent as my man paid 
 you for beer was kept count of in the tally-book by 
 my daughter Mary, and when he found a small 
 fortune he had spent, 'twas then Mike swore off. 
 
 Mrs. O^Sullivan — Little he had to do with the 
 swearin' off, I'm thinkin'. 'Twas begrudged the 
 poor man was by you an' Mary, the wee drop o' 
 consolation he got in the beer. 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — Do you accuse me of bein' 
 miserly with my man's food, and with his drink? 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — I've said what I have said. 
 
 33 
 
Mrs. Hanni^an — [^Raising a hand to strike) You 
 can thank God the fence is bechune us, or id have 
 your heart out for that. 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — 'Tis America we're in, Nora 
 Hannigan, an' not the old country, an' if you be 
 hftin' the weight of a finger to strike me, I'll have 
 you pinched within the hour. 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — And a search warrant I'll have 
 served on you, Bridget O'Sullivan, to discover my 
 fat goose. The curse of the saints be on you for 
 an old cattle thief; and may you never live to en- 
 joy an ^^^ from that bird. 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — Lord have mercy on you! I 
 deny stealin' your goose. 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — Where is she, then? 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — {Pointing) Maybe that'll be 
 her across the road, near the Dago's place. 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — It has a brown wing — I won- 
 der — {Runs off waving her arms) Glory be to God, 
 'tis the same bird I've hunted all mornin'. 
 
 34 
 
Mrs. O'SuUivan — (Laughing immoderately) O 
 !.ord! Lord! the sight of the woman! Duck, Nora, 
 juick! Grab her by the wing! Ah! you have her. 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — (Returning out of breath holding 
 I goose under her arm) The rogue she is, to give 
 me such a chase. 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — An' a fine goose she is ; an' hun- 
 gry you must be yourself, Mrs. Hannigan. Have 
 you had breakfast? 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — Devil a mouthful, with huntin' 
 for the goose all mornin'. 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — The teapot is still on the stove, 
 an' 'tis hot biscuit I have in the oven. God love 
 ^ou, come over for a cup of tea. I'm wantin' to 
 tell you about Jim Cosgrove's weddin'. 
 
 Mrs. Hannigan — One minute, Bridget, till I go 
 'round to the gate. 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — Whist, woman, an' myself 
 waitin' to help you over the fence. 
 
 35 
 
Mrs. Hannigan — Give a hand to the goose, then, 
 for ril not be losin' her again. {Hands goose 
 across to her neighbor and proceeds to climb over 
 the fence). 
 
 Mrs. O'Sullivan — Aisy, Nora darlin', don't be 
 hurtin' yourself. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
NOV 14 1912 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS