Da 'Mericana Girl

66

BY T. A. DALY.

From the " Catholic Standard and Times."

I gatta mash weeth Mag McCue,
An' she ees 'Mericana, too!

Ha! w'at you theenk? Now, mebbe so,
You weell no calla me so slow

Ef som' time you can looka see
How she ees com' an' flirt weeth me
Most evra two, t'ree day, my frand,
She stop by dees peanutta-stand
An' smile an' mak' da googla-eye
An' justa look at me an' sigh,
An' alla time she so excite'
She peeck som' fruit an' taka bite.
Oh, my, she eesa look so sweet
I no care how much fruit she eat.
Me? I am cool an' mak' pretand
I want no more dan be her frand;
But een my heart, you bat my life,
I theenk of her for be my wife.

To-day I theenk: "Now I weel see
How moocha she ees mash weeth me,"
An' so I speak of dees an' dat,
How moocha playnta mon' I gat,
How mooch I makin' evra day

An' w'at I spand an' put away,
An' den I ask, so queeck, so sly:
"You theenk som' pretta girl weell try
For lovin' me a littla beet?

Oh, my! she eesa blush so sweet!-
"An' eef I ask her lika dees

For geevin' me a littla keess,
You s'pose she geeve me wan or two?
She tal me: "Twanty-t'ree for you!
An' den she laugh so sweet, an' say:
"Skeeddoo! Skeeddoo!" an' run away.

She like so mooch for keesa me
She gona geeve me twanty-t'ree!
I s'pose dat w'at she say-" skeeddoo
Ees alla same I love you."

Ha! w'at you theenk? Now, mebbe so
You weell no calla me so slow!

وو

A Dialogue from Plato

BY AUSTIN DOBSON.

"Le temps le mieux employé est celui qu'on perd.”

-Claude Tillier.

I'd "read" three hours. Both notes and text
Were fast a mist becoming;

In bounced a vagrant bee, perplexed,

And filled the room with humming.

Then out. The casement's leafage sways,
And, parted light, discloses

Miss Di., with hat and book-a maze
Of muslin mixed with roses.

"You're reading Greek?" "I am—and you?"

She smiled. 'My book in turn avers
(No author's name is stated)

That sometimes those Philosophers

Are sadly mis-translated."

"But hear the next's in stronger style;
The Cynic School asserted

That two red lips which part and smile
May not be controverted!"

She smiled once more: "My book, I find,
Observes some modern doctors

Would make the Cynics out a kind
Of album-verse concoctors."

Then I: "Why not?

Ephesian law,

No less than time's tradition,

Enjoined fair speech on all who saw
Diana's apparition.'

She blushed-this time. "If Plato's page
No wiser precept teaches,

Then I'd renounce that doubtful sage
And walk to Burnham Beeches."

"Agreed," I said. "For Socrates
(I find he too is talking)

Thinks Learning can't remain at ease
While Beauty goes a-walking."

Maloney's St. Patrick's Day Hat

66
From 'Puck."

Fer three sixty-four-and in lape-year wan more-
Av the days av the long, lonesome year,
It hangs all aslant in the closet beyant,

With the sorrer caller ter cheer;

The linin' is tore and the band is all wore,

An' 'tis gray as a grandfather rat,

An' the dust settles down on the brim and the crown
Av Maloney's St. Pathrick's Day hat.

It was tony and foine in the year forty-noine,

An' they called it an elegint tile;

But ye take it to-day, and perhaps ye moight say

"Twas a bit antiquated in style.

The brim, it is true, is a taste out av skew,

An' 'tis shedding its fur loike a cat;

An' there's spots here and there that is scraped a bit bare

On Maloney's St. Pathrick's Day hat.

The dint in the roof is the place where the hoof
Av O'Brien's fool hoss put a kick;

An' that hole that looks bad is a mix-up it had
With a Donegal b'y and a brick;

ye

where

Thim creases round there on the side show
Big Hogan sat down on it flat.
Sure, a vet'ran, no less, like its wearer, I guess,
Is Maloney's St. Pathrick's Day hat.

An' it hangs on the hook in its dusty ould nook
Till the night of the sixteenth of March;

Thin 'tis took down and rubbed and most moightly
scrubbed,

Till it shoines loike 'twas polished with starch. And thin, the next day, it is thrimmed up so gay With the shamrock and green and all that,

If ye don't want to foight ye must swear 'tis all roight—
Brave Maloney's St. Pathrick's Day hat.

Ah! there's years not a few since that cady was new
An' Maloney was proide av the place;

Now the hair that was red is snow-white on his head
And the wrinkles are thick on his face.

But his heart is still young, loike the brogue on his tongue,

And the p'rade wouldn't start without Pat,

Fer we think it looks grand whin it follers the band— Ould Maloney's St. Pathrick's day hat.

Cleon is a slave to grandeur,
Free as thought am 1;
Cleon fees a score of doctors,
Need of none have I;

Wealth-surrounded, care-environed,
Cleon fears to die;

Death may come, he'll find me ready—
Happier man am I.

Cleon sees no charm in nature,

In a daisy, I;

Cleon hears no anthems ringing

In the sea and sky;

Nature sings to me forever,
Earnest listener I;

State for state, with all attendants,
Who would change? Not I.

At Dancing School

From the Denver Post.

My mother makes me awful mad,
I wisht she'd let me be.

But, dern the luck, she seems to think
That she's a-runnin' me.

Now, here I am dressed like a dude,
At this here dancin' school;

I might look clean an' sporty, but
I feel jest like a fool.

The other kids keep guyin' me,
Because I come down here;

Such things as girly boy" an' "dude " They holler in my ear.

Course, I can't blame 'em, 'cause I do

Look mushy-like, an' yet

If they don't cut that guyin' out,

I'll punch some heads, I'll bet.

They ain't no fun in huggin' girls,
But what else kin I do,

With Mom a-settin' lookin' on?
Doggone it, I feel blue.

Mom says I'll be a gentleman
In years that is to come;

If she keeps sendin' me down here,
I won't-I'll be a bum.