SOME PROMINENT NEW MEMBERS. 



3* 



Lieutenant-Governor, the Secretary of 

 State, the Attorney-General, the State 

 Treasurer, State Auditor, Commissioner of 

 Public Lands, and Superintendent of Pub- 

 lic Instruction. Furthermore, Mr. Ager 

 hustled the photograph galleries in Lin- 

 coln until he got pictures of all these hon- 

 orable gentlemen, and here they are. 



Gee whiz! If I could only get all my 

 lieutenants to work as a few of them do, 

 we should have 50,000 members before the 

 end of this year. 



But, while I am grateful for the Agers, 

 the Littletons, the Pratts, the Elrods, the 

 Foleys, the Whiteheads, the Sherwoods, 

 the Lehles, the Bicknells, the Sawyers, 

 the Fays, the Langes, the Van Sauns, the 

 Ponds, the Reutingers, the Emersons, the 



Martins, the Macks, the Stearns, the Mer- 

 rills, the Droughts, and the Dunhams, yet 

 there are others whose apathy and indol- 

 ence make me tired. 



There are a few men whose names I 

 have not mentioned in this connection who 

 do not even answer my letters. They know 

 what I think of them, and they know what 

 other men think of any man who is not 

 courteous enough to answer a letter, even 

 when a self-addressed stamped envelope is 

 enclosed. 



It is never too late to reform, and I can 

 only hope that some of these lazy, sleepy 

 chief wardens will one of these days wake 

 up, and decide to emulate the example of 

 their brothers who are really doing things. 



FOURTH OF JULY IN JOSHVILLE. 



A. L. VERMILYA. 



(With apologies to Kipling.) 



Dim dawn behind the turnip field — the 

 sky is saffron-yellow — 

 As the women in the village pare their 

 corns; 

 And the cattle seek the riverside, each 

 kicking at his fellow, 

 And hooking wads of hair off with his 

 horns. 

 Oh, the racket in the highway! Oh, the 

 shouting in the byway! 

 Oh, the powder smoke that hovers over 

 earth! 

 For to-day we're making merry — Bill, 

 and Pete, and Tom and Jerry — 

 To-day the Yankee fellows own the 

 earth. 



Full day behind the turnip fields — the 

 sky is blue and staring — 

 As some pilgrims wobble on, with gibe 

 and joke; 

 And they bear one through an alley, who 

 is past all thought of caring, 

 To his home, to put him 'neath the 

 pump to soak. 

 Call on, Johnny, going slowly, as ye bear 

 a brother lowly — 

 Call on, Johnny, he may hear, perhaps, 

 your voice! 

 No: he dreams of realms enchanting, 

 where the people all walk slanting — 

 He is deaf to all the music and the 

 noise. 



High noon behind the turnip fields — the 

 sun is hot above us — 

 As the merry July day is jogging on. 

 We will spend our money freely, and the 

 giddy girls will love us 

 Until every blooming plunk is nicely 

 gone. 

 Oh, the stuff we buy of fakirs! Oh, the 

 pop and candy makers! 



Oh, the dizzy, aching head, and stomach 



pam 



Wool brought cash— wherefore we sold 

 it; hay was cheap — we couldn't 

 hold it, 

 And to-day we're blowing in our paltry 

 gain. 



Grey dusk behind the turnip fields — the 

 cattle get together — 

 As the milking time approaches ovei 

 home. 

 We don't care a continental what the 

 day, or time, or weather, 

 As along the village streets we gaily 

 rjoam. 

 What a jolly, roaring frolic, void of all 

 things Apostolic, 

 Is this day, made by those Patriots long 

 ago! 

 Oh, could they but just be near us — could 

 they see, and smell, and hear us — 

 They would surely be dumbfounded at 

 the show. 



Black night behind the turnip fields — the 

 skeeters sing in chorus — 

 As we start for home, along a winding 

 way; 

 With a howling day behind us, and ex- 

 panded heads before us, 

 Let us roll along while yet we're feeling 

 gay. 

 Hip, hurrah! then, jolly neighbors; mor- 

 row comes with all its labors; 

 Let us shout as is the custom of our 

 caste; 

 We have ripped the world asunder, 

 plugged the cracks with home 

 made thunder, 

 And another Independence Day has 

 past. 



