Oh, dear! Rollin Pease, the singer, is around again, reminding sundry readers of the difficulty of keeping them on a knife.
“THOSE FLAPJACKS OF BROWN’S.”
(Postscriptum.)
I’ll write no more verses—plague take ’em!—
Court neither your smiles nor your frowns,
If you’ll only please tell how to make ’em,
Those flapjacks of Brown’s. D. W. A.
Three cupfuls of flour will do nicely,
And toss in a teaspoon of salt;
Next add baking powder, precisely
Two teaspoons, the stuff to exalt;