252 



THE IRRIGATION AGE. 



When the decks are cleared for action, 



out at sea, 

 But it's forty times more thrilling when a 



dozen women run 

 Through the streets, d;ad set on letting 



liquor free 

 When they hold their spattered skirts 



up and begin 

 To cut the hoops and knock the stoppers 



in 

 When they open up the cases where the 



fancy juices are 



When they fiercely rush to tear the fau- 

 cets loose 

 When they render the free lunch unfit 



for use 

 Then there's always something doing for 



the man behind the bar 

 If he hasn't wisely sprinted fast and far. 



O, the birds are sipping whisky from the 



cow tracks all around, 

 See the streams of seltzer spurting here 



and there! 

 Behold the cloves and coffee that are 



spilled out on the ground 

 Yonder goes a leather dice-box through 



the air! 

 There are new demands for hatchets 



every day; 



Newer faces are appearing in the fray, 

 And there's terror in the places where the 



drink dispensers are, 

 For the sounds of falling mirrors swiftly 



spread 

 The men who lift the schooners drink in 



dread, 



And from Kansas to Chicago folks are go- 

 ing forth to mar 



The features of the man behind the bar! 

 Fresno Republican. 



THE BAD BOY. 



His hair is red an' tangled, and he has a 



turned-up nose; 

 His voice is loud and strident, and it never 



gets repose; 

 His face is full of freckles, and his ears 



are shaped like fins, 



And a large front tooth is missing, as 

 you'll notice when he grins, 



He is like a comic picture from his toes up 

 to his head 



But his mother calls him "darling" when 

 she tucks him into bed. 



It is he who marks the carpet with the 



print of muddy boots; 

 And rejoices in a door-bell that is pulled 



out by the roots. 

 Who whistles on his fingers till he almost 



splits your ear, 

 And shocks the various callers with slang 



he chanced to hear. 

 He fills the house with tumult and the 



neighborhood with dread 

 But his mother calls him "darling'' when 



she tucks him into bed. 



Washington Evening Star. 



KIPLING'S LATEST POEM. 



[Mrs. Beerbohm Tree is nightly reciting 

 this poem at the Palace Music Hall in 

 London, receiving $500 a week for her 

 services and contributing this to the sol- 

 diers' fund. One Thursday night recently 

 her plea. "Pay, Pay. Pay," met with such 

 a warm response that she was almost 

 driven from the stage by the hail of silver 

 thrown by the enthusiastic audience.] 



When you've shouted "Rule Britannia." 

 when you've sung "God Save the Queen. 

 When you've finished killing Kruger 

 with your mouth, 



Will you kindly drop a shilling in my little 

 tambourine 



For a gentleman in khaki ordered 

 South. 



He's an absent-minded beggar and his 

 weaknesses are great, 



But we and Paul must take him as we 

 find him; 



He is out on active service wiping some- 

 thing off a slate, 



And he's left a lot o' little things be- 

 hind him. 



