PRINTER'S INK.
Little drops of printer's ink,
A little type "displayed,"
Make our merchant bosses
And all their big parade.
Little bits of stinginess,
Discarding printer's ink,
Busts the man of business,
And sees his credit sink.
"Jump on the scale," the butcher said
Unto a miss one day,
"I'm used to weighing, and," said he,
"I'll tell you what you weigh."
"Ah, yes," came quick the sweet reply
From lips seemed made to kiss,
"I'm sure, sir, that it would not be
First time you've weighed amiss."
The butcher blushed; he hung his head
And knew not what to say;
He merely wished to weigh the girl—
Himself was given away.
"What did that lady say?" asked Mr. Buyem of his confidential clerk. "I'd rather not repeat her words, sir," replied the clerk. "But I must know, Mr. Blume—must know, sir." "Oh! if you insist upon it, sir, I suppose I must tell you. She said you were all business, but you lacked culture." "So?" exclaimed Mr. Buyem, in astonishment. "Lack culture, eh? Look here, Mr. Blume, d'ye know you' oughter told me that long ago? Let's have some right away before Scribe & Blowhard can get ahead of us."