Dire the precentor's glare,
Flashed his pitchfork in air,
Sounding fresh keys to bear
Out the Old Hundred.
Swiftly he turned his back,
Reached he his hat from rack,
Then from the screaming pack,
Himself he sundered.
Tenors to right of him,
Tenors to left of him,
Discords behind him,
Bellowed and thundered.
Oh, the wild howls they wrought:
Right to the end they fought!
Some tune they sang, but not,
Not the Old Hundred.

BILLY OF NEBRASKA
BY J. W. BENGOUGH

'Twas out in Nebraska—a town they call Lincoln,
(I but mention the place, and everyone's thinkin'
Of W. J. B., the favorite son,
Who twice for the Washington sweepstakes has run),

But this is not a political story,
And has nothing to do with the Silver question,
Or Rate-bills, or Trusts, or even Old Glory,—
Tho Bryan's name may start the suggestion;
And he, as a matter of fact, is the source
Of the tale, which makes it much better, of course;
For it goes to show
What some may be slow
To believe,—that this Democrat, earnest and stern,
On whose lips the eloquent sentences burn,
And who never is known to drink or to smoke,
Has a fondness for fun and enjoys a good joke.

It appears that Billy—if I may make free,
(Like the G. O. P. press) with the Commoner's name—
Kept a goat, with a cognomen just the same,
(At least I suppose such was likely to be,
For Billy's the name of each goat that is he);
And I likewise suppose,
(Tho nobody knows)
That William's idea in keeping a goat
Was to make himself sound with the shantytown vote;
But be that as it may,
It happened one day
That he went to the court-house, did W. J.,—
To lodge in due form a complaint—to protest
'Gainst the manner in which his estate was assessed;
And especially to kick
(For even a peace-arbitrationist hollers
When you cut to the quick)—
To kick 'gainst the taxing at twenty-five dollars
Of Billy the goat. "I say it's too much,"
Cries Bryan, "and savors of kingcraft and such!
Tax-dodging's a thing I abhor, but I swear
This tax is unrighteous, unjust, and unfair;
'Tis a tax more odious than taxes on tea,
And illegal, moreover, for I fail to see
Where the law gives you power to impose such a rate,
For the statutes don't say that a goat's real estate.
I stand on my rights!"—Here he threw back his coat,
And like Hampton of old
Stood up brave and bold,
"I refuse," he declared, "to be taxed for my goat!"

The assessor, a gentle and mild-faced old chap,
Most anxious to do only that which was right,
Grew pale with affright
When he saw the great orators angry eyes snap;
But he ventured to speak
In a mild little squeak,
"If you will excuse me, I think you're astray;
The rules 'nd riglations is printed that way;
And I haint did nothin' but what I am bid;
I done it this year as I always have did;
Here's the book;
Take a look,
And read for yerself how the law sets it out,
And I guess you will see I know what I'm about.

"Your goat he runs on the highway, I guess?"
"Well, yes, I suppose,"
Says Bryan, "he does."
"And he butts, I presume, don't he, now, more or less?"
"Yes," says Bryan, "no doubt
He butts when he's out,
But what has that got to do with——"
"See here!"
Says the old man, as one who had made his point clear:
"I calk'late, mister, you hain't read the laws,
If you'll just take a look at this here little clause;
Where the duties of 'sessors it specially notes;
It says, as you see,
Tax all property
Runnin' and a-buttin' on the highway!
And that has jest exactly bin my way;
And the 'pinion's sound as oats
That it taxes on billy-goats
So you can't git out o' payin' in such a sly way!"

DOT LAMBS VOT MARY HAF GOT
ANONYMOUS

Mary haf got a leetle lambs already;
Dose vool vas vite like shnow;
Und efery times dot Mary dit vent oued,
Dot lambs vent also oued mit Mary.

Dot lambs did follow Mary von day of der schoolhouse,
Vich vas obbosition to der rules of der schoolmaster,
Also, vich it dit caused dose schillen to schmile out loud,
Ven dey dit saw dose lambs on der inside of der schoolhouse.