THE STORY OF OLEOMARGARINE. 
THE HOO, THE STEER AND THE DAIRYMAID, 
A Doggerel for the Times. 
You’ve all read the story, as good folks should, 
The story of Little Red Riding Hood. 
The little girl and the grandmother old 
And the horrid wolf with his scheme so bold 
How he hid himself in the old dame’s bed 
With her big nightcap tied over his head, 
And her glasses perched on his savage nose 
That little Red Riding Hood might suppose 
It was grandma still—and the old wolf Ihought 
He could eat her up; but the fraud was caught. 
Yes, that is the story you all have heard ; 
I hope you remember it, every word 
For though that old coward has passed away, 
He has a bad cousin alive to-day. 
A mean and contemptible, painted fraud, 
A terror to farmers is now abroad ; 
The theme of all ages for praise and song 
Has been the old cow—for her milk and cream 
Has started full many a poet’s dream 
For sentiment, fancy and fact somehow 
Run back to the farm and the good old cow ; 
And her golden butter a memory brings 
Of breezy old pastures, and pure cold springs 
And the old-time life on the sunny farm— 
But here comes the wolf with his chilling harm. 
The steer and the hog—they are jealous folks. 
They pass for good-natured and slow old pokes 
All right in their place; but, my stars ! say how 
Can they take the place of the good old cow ? 
They are just “ not in it,” as one might say. 
But the thought got into their heads ons day— 
“ It isn’t the coin, but the dairymaid 
That gives the old critter so much good trade. 
Let’s start with the statement that fat is fat. 
There isn’t a shadow of doubt of that. 
And nobody knows it without its name, 
For in hog, cow, steer, it is all the same. 
You let me dress up like a dairymaid ” 
Says the hog to steer: “ And our fortune’s made 
For tallow and lard they are cheap to buy 
While Number 1 butter is awful high.” 
So alas! one night while the poor girl slept 
They captured her dress. How the poor thing wept 
How the cow wept too, while, with grin and leer 
These miserable traitors—the hog and steer, 
With their clumsy fingers and butcher’s skill 
Made over the dress, so the hog could fill 
11 is bogus position—they found it hard 
To fit on the dress—but a tub of lard 
And a junk of tallow soon filled him out 
Whi’c ov-’r bi^ f^ce and his ugly snout, 
They poured a bottle of cotton-seed oil; 
And then, though it made the old cow’s blood boil. 
They smeared him all over with butter pure. 
‘‘And now,” says the hog, “that’ll get ’em sure ! 
And, as for a name so the lard won’t show 
S ly, what is the matter with ‘ oleo ’ ? ” 
Then gayly he walked through the market p’ace. 
That traitorous hog, with his buttered face 
And his stolen clothes—like the wolf of old. 
And many a ton of his stuff he sold 
At the price of butter—the fraud and thief, 
For he had been shrewd in hie first belief, 
That customers surely would give their trade 
To him, as a counterfeit dairymaid. 
So with stolen dress and with buttered face 
He went on his way ; while in deep disgrace 
The sorrowful cow and the dairymaid 
Were forced to admit, that their labor paid 
A mighty small margin ; when bogus fat 
Will sell for good butter, trade falls as fiat 
As an unraised pancake—and, anyhow. 
It looked like the end of the good old cow. 
The wolf in the story was killed at last 
And the hog’s fat credit one day went past. 
The scandalized dairymaid had a beau. 
And he was just tickled to death to show 
A bit of devotion, to prove his love. 
He swore he would handle without a glove. 
The lying old hog in his sweetheart’s dress. 
And show up the whole of his bogus mess. 
So with a big cudgel the folks called vote. 
He cornered the hog in the fence and smote 
The liar a blow on his ugly snout. 
So hard that the secret all came right out. 
For closest analysis ne’er reveals 
In butter the shade of a thing that si/wcaJs. 
So they stripped the robber and scraped him clean. 
And under the butter and oil was seen 
The very same hog, and the people said : 
“ We’ll mark him now so they painted him red. 
And so, to the end of all time, he goes 
A warning alike to his friends and foes. 
Bright red from his snout to his lazy toes. 
So listen now, dairymen, stop your play. 
The traitor is here at your door to-day : 
All over your trade if you don’t watch out. 
Up, men ! and hammer his butter-lined snout 
With vote! There’s a cudgel that ne’er will fail. 
Just corner the fraud, and you’ll see him quail. 
Then strip off his dress and his thin disguise. 
And souse him by law to the very eyes 
In color as red as a ball of fiame, 
And make him sail under his own foul name ; 
And carry his color where’er he goes ; 
Up, dairymen ! Strike at your sneaking foes J 
