The captain saw the dame that day—
Addressed her in his playful way--
"And did it want a wedding-ring?
It was a tempting ickle sing!

"Well, well, the chaplain I will seek,
We'll all be married this day week
At yonder church upon the hill;
It is my duty, and I will!"

The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece,
And widowed ma of Captain Reece,
Attended there as they were bid;
It was their duty, and they did.

William Schwenck Gilbert [1836-1911]

"SPÄCIALLY JIM"

I wus mighty good-lookin' when I wus young,

Peert an' black-eyed an' slim,

With fellers a-courtin' me Sunday nights, 'Späcially Jim.

The likeliest one of 'em all wus he,

Clipper an' han'som' an' trim;

But I tossed up my head an' made fun o' the crowd, 'Späcially Jim.

I said I hadn't no 'pinion o' men,

An' I wouldn't take stock in him!

But they kep' on a-comin' in spite o' my talk,

'Späcially Jim.

I got so tired o' havin' 'em roun'

('Späcially Jim!)

I made up my mind I'd settle down

An' take up with him.

So we wus married one Sunday in church, 'Twas crowded full to the brim;

'Twas the only way to git rid of 'em all,

'Späcially Jim.

Bessie Morgan [18

ROBINSON CRUSOE

७

THE night was thick and hazy,
When the Piccadilly Daisy

Carried down the crew and captain in the sea;
And I think the water drowned 'em,

For they never, never found 'em,

And I know they did n't come ashore with me.

Oh! 'twas very sad and lonely When I found myself the only Population on this cultivated shore; But I've made a little tavern

In a rocky little cavern,

And I sit and watch for people at the door.

I spent no time in looking

For a girl to do my cooking,

As I'm quite a clever hand at making stews;
But I had that fellow Friday

Just to keep the tavern tidy,
And to put a Sunday polish on my shoes.

I have a little garden

That I'm cultivating lard in,

As the things I eat are rather tough and dry;
For I live on toasted lizards,

Prickly pears, and parrot gizzards,
And I'm really very fond of beetle-pie.

The clothes I had were furry,

And it made me fret and worry

When I found the moths were eating off the hair;

And I had to scrape and sand 'em,

And I boiled 'em and I tanned 'em, Till I got the fine morocco suit I wear.

I sometimes seek diversion

In a family excursion

With the few domestic animals you see;
And we take along a carrot

As refreshments for the parrot,
And a little can of jungleberry tea.

Then we gather as we travel
Bits of moss and dirty gravel,
And we chip off little specimens of stone;
And we carry home as prizes
Funny bugs of handy sizes,

Just to give the day a scientific tone.

If the roads are wet and muddy,
We remain at home and study,-
For the Goat is very clever at a sum,-
And the Dog, instead of fighting,
Studies ornamental writing,

While the Cat is taking lessons on the drum.

We retire at eleven,

And we rise again at seven;

And I wish to call attention, as I close,

To the fact that all the scholars

Are correct about their collars,
And particular in turning out their toes.

Charles Edward Carryl [1841

CASEY AT THE BAT

THE Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day; The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to

play; And so, when Cooney died at first, and Burrows did the same, A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could but get a whack, at that,
They'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a pudding and the latter was a fake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the
bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,

And Blake, the much despisèd, tore the cover off the ball; And when the dust had lifted, and they saw what had occurred,

There was Jimmy safe on second, and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell,
It bounded from the mountain-top, and rattled in the dell;
It struck upon the hillside, and recoiled upon the flat;
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place,

There was pride in Casey's bearing, and a smile on Casey's

face;

And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt,

Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt;

Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,

And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there; Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped. "That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled

roar,

Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant

shore;

"Kill him! kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand. And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signalled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew,
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered, "Fraud!"

But a scornful look from Casey, and the audience was awed; They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,

And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lips, his teeth are clenched in hate,

He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate;

And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,

But there is no joy in Mudville-mighty Casey has struck.

out.

Ernest Lawrence Thayer [18

AT A COWBOY DANCE

GIT yer little sage hens ready,
Trot 'em out upon the floor-
Line up there, you cusses! Steady!
Lively, now! One couple more.
Shorty, shed that old sombrero;

Bronco, douse that cigarette;

Stop that cussin', Casimero,

'Fore the ladies! Now, all set!