{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4750", "width": "3008", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "\u00e2\u0080\u00a2^A0\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2bv\\nf .*afe -aK\\n,j5\u00c2\u00b0^\\nj.\u00c2\u00b0-n#..\\nA", "height": "4406", "width": "2984", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "._ _ o .vV^.", "height": "4524", "width": "2866", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4481", "width": "2730", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4543", "width": "2790", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4459", "width": "2760", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4505", "width": "2802", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4477", "width": "2826", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "50NQ5\\nOP\\nCVCRY DAY,\\nBY\\nARTHUR G. BURGOYNE.\\nPirrsDurgh, Pa., 1900.\\nPRESS OP\\nPITTSBURGH PRINTING COMPANY\\n1900.", "height": "4527", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "XNATO COPIES HECElVfiD.\\nLibrary of C0Bgrtl%\\nOffice of tkt\\nMAY 1 1 1880\\nKeglafor of Copyrights\\n6EC0NDC0PY. r^\\nRMY141800 il\\n61398", "height": "4479", "width": "2818", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1900,\\nBy ARTHUR G. BURGOYNE,\\nIn the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTORY.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2np-HE verses in this volume are selected from a\\nseries appearing daily in the columns of the\\nPittsburgh Leader since October, 1890, and consti-\\ntuting a running commentary on the events of the\\nhour. Unsandpapered and unvarnished, they were\\nturned in as regular copy, and it is, therefore, sim-\\nply as examples of short order newspaper verse\\nthat the writer submits them to the public in book\\nform. All pretensions to a place in the class with\\nlaureates and other lyrists of an exalted type are cheer-\\nfully waived, and only the indulgence due to a self-\\nconfessed machine poet is claimed by\\nThe Author.\\nPittsburgh, January 19, 1900.", "height": "4526", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4481", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "COlslTEr^NTS\\nPage.\\nThe Old Silver Dollar 5\\nTo an Erring Astronomer 6\\nOom Paul 8\\nMason on the Floor 9\\nNevermore 10\\nMars at the Phone 12\\nThe Fire Alarm 13\\nWhat Dewey Did 15\\nDog Days 16\\nEchoes of the Fourth 17\\nDeadman s Isle 19\\nOld Joe 20\\nGood Times 22\\nMaceo 23\\nThe Crowning of Nicholas 25\\nMenelik 27\\nA Soldier s Letter 28\\nWhen the Snow Melts 30\\nMerriman s Bar 31\\nSanta Glaus 33\\nThe Thanksgiving Bird 34\\nThe Day After Ghristmas 35\\nPrinceton Inn 37\\nAt the Ringside... 38\\nTrump Gards 40\\nA Blue Sunday 41\\nLil s Restoration 43\\nGhris Magee and Bill Flinn 44\\nOn a Mean May Day 46\\nSousa Triumphans 47\\nTitwillie 49\\nEly s Great Home Run 50\\nSic Transit 52\\nHarrisburg in 97 53\\nTheology Up to Date 55\\nTo an Old Umbrella 56\\nMary s Garden 58\\nAt the Art Gallery 59\\nBolting Time 61", "height": "4488", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "Page.\\nThe Crime of 73 62\\nThe Return of the Crinoline 64\\nWhen Brennen Quits the Chair 65\\nThe Cycling Age 67\\nGeorge and the Hatchet 69\\nPlain William 70\\nNansen 72\\nMarching Through Cuba 74\\nCasablanca Redivivus 75\\nDewey 77\\nThe Merry Month of June 79\\nThe Circus Parade 80\\nSpring 82\\nPhilhellenic 84\\nThe Tenth Pennsylvania 85\\nInfra Dig 87\\nHymn of the National Delegates 88\\nEspanol 90\\nInks 91\\nAlbert Ed s Lament 93\\nNon Compos 94\\nListing 96\\nDemocracy s Love Feast 97\\nTurkey Day 99\\nThose New Year s Bills 101\\nA La Wilcox 102\\nThe Plum Tree 104\\nIn Allegheny 105\\nThe 00 Model 107\\nThe Jackaby 108\\nThe Dinosaur 109\\nHagenbeck s Visit Ill\\nOur Amazons 113\\nClipping Coupons 114\\nCalumpit 116\\nSt. Valentine 117\\nSummer 119\\nDavy Hill s Plea 120\\nThe First Pantaloons 122\\nA Kentucky Deadlock 123\\nThe Jingo 125\\nDora and Cassius 126\\nSpring 128\\nJolly Kaisers 130\\nIn the Toils 132\\nSatan Rebuked 133\\nNot for Joe 135", "height": "4487", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "Page.\\nThe Equinox 137\\nFrom Cairo to the Cape 138\\nAdvice to the Shah 140\\nTo a Lady in Distress 141\\nCoamo 143\\nWillie s Dinner Party 144\\nSlabtown 147\\nSeavey s Isle 149\\nBoley on the Watch 150\\nThe Girl Graduate 152\\nThe Mandolin Cluh 154\\nThe Boy Graduate 155\\nPaddy Rewski 157\\nColumbus 158\\nLullaby 160\\nChautauqua 161\\nElection Day 163\\nTurning the Tables 165\\nGoosebone Wisdom 166\\nGatacre s Inveiglement 168\\nObjurgatory 170\\nIn Extremis 171\\nMcKinley s Message 173\\nAVhere Can Aggie Be? 174\\nThe Open Door 176\\nThe Gobbler s Doom 177\\nPoe 178\\nA Meteoric Deception 179\\nDreyfus Avenged 181\\nOn the Ice 182\\nBobs of Candahar 184\\nNaughty-Naught 185\\nAggie s Flight 186\\nBrother Jolo 188\\nThe Ground Hog 189\\nLady Smith 191", "height": "4489", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4473", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "The Old Silver Dollar.\\nHow dear to our hearts is the bright bit of metal,\\nThat s known as a dollar all over the land\\nHow blithely and gaily our due bills we settle,\\nAnd square up accounts with the cartwheels of Bland\\nWho cares for the notes of the national banker\\nWho cares for the greenback As gold tis the same.\\nOh, no. For that coin of our fathers we hanker,\\nThe old silver dollar of Popocrat fame.\\nThe old silver dollar,\\nThe heavyweight dollar,\\nThe half value dollar\\nOf Popocrat fame.\\nThose dollars of old. Well, we used not to coin em\\nIn days that were palmy for, as you ll recall,\\nWe feared that the Rothschilds would darkly purloin\\nem.\\nWe dreaded that Wall street would corner em all.\\nThough suff ring for silver, we just didn t use it.\\nWe left it to Europe that metal to claim.\\nBut now we ll restore it. Don t dare to abuse it,\\nThat old silver dollar of Popocrat fame.\\nRef. The old silver dollar, etc.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "Professors informed us that when silver wandered\\nAway from our shores and was strange to the mint,\\nThat metal alone was of prices the standard,\\nAnd boosted the laborer s wage without stint.\\nBut when it came back and the government bought it\\nIn hundreds of tons, oh, the woe and the shame\\nThe government s help into disrepute brought it,\\nThat old silver dollar of Popocrat fame.\\nRef. The old silver dollar, etc.\\nIn Coin s School of Finance tis well demonstrated\\nThat silver and prices to nothing must fall,\\nUnless at a price that by congress is stated,\\nThe mints ask for silver and swallow it all.\\nWhen this comes to pass, the whole outfit of nations\\nWill pay any price that it suits us to name\\nFor that wonderful output of Coin s demonstrations,\\nThe old silver dollar of Popocrat fame.\\nRef. The old silver dollar, etc.\\nTo an Erring Astronomer.\\nHow now, Brashear? What break in your machine.\\nWhat jolts or jars\\nSwitched off the show mapped out for yestere en,\\nThat show r of stars\\nDidst slip a cog, or knock the belting off,\\nOr wheels disjoint\\nThat thus the multitude (now prone to scoff)\\nYou disappoint?\\nWhere were your lenses, convex and concave,\\nYour quadrants true\\nAnd tools for measuring, with aspect grave,\\nThe heavens blue", "height": "4461", "width": "3308", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "Where were your never-failing charts and maps\\nOh, let us hope\\nThat Providence preserved from dire collapse\\nYour telescope.\\nWhate er the mischief; aye, whate er arose\\nYour plans to mar,\\nYou can t deny your failure to disclose\\nOne shooting star.\\nNo, sir. Despite your promise to produce\\nA show r with ease,\\nYou did not turn a single twinkler loose.\\nThe crowd to please.\\nE en had a lonely two-pound meteor dropped\\nThe mob among.\\nPerchance this visitation would have stopped\\nThe public tongue.\\nBut no. A million of us watched and watched\\nAnd strained our eyes\\nUntil we found out that the job was botched\\nBeyond disguise.\\nNow this is not a fair and proper game.\\nAn honest steer,\\nNor can you kick if people lay the blame\\nOn you, Brashear.\\nFor just as Ancient Prob is roundly cussed\\nFor storms undue.\\nSo you when astronomic programs bust\\nMust suffer, too.\\nBut sir, we ll let you have another chance.\\nIf you know how.\\nShake up the sky, make all the planets dance,\\nKick up a row.\\nDo this some night and criticisms severe\\nWe ll then recall.\\nBut you must hit the mark next time, Brashear.\\nPlay ball, play ball.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "Oom Paul.\\nOom Paul is big, Oom Paul is fat,\\nA slow and cumbrous-looking fellow,\\nBut well he knows where he is at\\nWhen dogs of war around him bellow.\\nWith hand that s firm and nerve that s steady\\nHe s always ready.\\nBehind him, solid as a rock,\\nHis people stand, a sturdy race\\nThat little fear the battle s shock.\\nWhat odds how strong the foe they face\\nNo powV, while they ve Oom Paul to guide em,\\nCan override em.\\nThey proved a score of years ago\\nTheir never-failing store of grit\\nWhen England sought to lay em low,\\nAnd furious battle fires were lit.\\nNo danger scared no hardship tired em.\\nOom Paul inspired em.\\nAnd so they won in many a fight,\\nAnd manfully they kept their feet\\nAnd England hailed with much delight\\nHer first good chance for peace to treat.\\nWell done, Oom Paul, the whole world thun-\\ndered\\nAnd watched and wondered.\\nAnd now, forsooth, Joe Chamberlain\\nServes notice of a war in store.\\nThe Boers, he swears, must fight again\\nAnd cope with British steel once more.\\nWhereat Oom Paul gives out this fiat,\\nAll right. Come try it.", "height": "4508", "width": "3169", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "So in the future close at hand\\nLook out for squalls. In combat dire\\nThe foemen face to face will stand\\nMid ruin black and blood and lire.\\nAnd any Boer will bet his dinner\\nThat Paul s a winner.\\nMason on the Floor.\\nWhen Billy Mason takes the floor\\nThere is a sudden rush of gore;\\nFrom countless wounds it leaks.\\nWar drums give out a fierce tattoo\\nAnd lightning streaks the heavens blue\\nWhen Billy Mason speaks.\\nThe earth vibrates; the welkin rings;\\nA tremor runs through czars and kings,\\nWhose noses Billy tweaks\\nThe stars, affrighted, cease to shine,\\nThe dogs of war howl, snarl and whine\\nWhen Billy Mason speaks.\\nCyclones spring up and waterspouts;\\nAn angry mob infuriate shouts\\nLike Turks turned loose on Greeks.\\nFrom ev ry scabbard leaps the sword.\\nSomebody s ox must needs be gored\\nWhen Billy Mason speaks.\\nGreat guns are loaded; dynamite\\nGoes ofif. A pallor ghastly white\\nShows on the women s cheeks:\\nSkyrockets mount with wicked fizz\\nOn such occasions, namely, viz.\\nWhen Billy Mason speaks.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "Armed men go marching to and fro,\\nCampfires send out a warning glow,\\nAnd on the mountain peaks\\nStrange signals greet the public eye;\\nThe mob exclaims *Oh me, oh my!\\nWhen Billy Mason speaks.\\nColumbia starts in sheer surprise,\\nOld Uncle Sammy rubs his eyes,\\nThe eagle loudly shrieks\\nAnd circumambient oceans roar\\nAnd wildly try to smash the shore\\nWhen Billy Mason speaks.\\nThe hapless infant king of Spain\\nBegins to wonder if his reign\\nWill last for many weeks;\\nAnd Blanco, wrapped in Fear s embrace,\\nFeels just like toppling off his base\\nWhen Billy Mason speaks.\\nYet when tis over, when of Bill\\nThe congressmen have had their fill\\nAnd shut down on his freaks,\\nNobody s hurt no foe hurled hence\\nTis in a strict Pickwickian sense\\nThat Billy Mason speaks.\\nNevermore r\\nIn Berlin the Reichstag sitting causes Yankee hearts to\\nthrill.\\nCauses horror and affliction with its meat inspection bill.\\nRuthless measure. Its provisions, now affirmed with\\nangry roar,\\nParalyze our Meat Trust tapping, tapping at the\\nTeuton s door.\\nQuoth the Reichstag Nevermore.\\n10", "height": "4508", "width": "3193", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "In Chicago, Kansas City and in far-off Omaha\\nThere s no trace of trichinosis nor a sign of lumpy jaw.\\nGuaranteeing this, the butchers and the packers hasten\\no er\\nTo the tempting German market. But when entrance\\nthey implore,\\nQuoth the Reichstag Nevermore.\\nCudahy and Nelson Morris, Swift and Armour all unite\\nIn a plaintive note of protest. Boys, they say, **this\\nisn t right.\\nHere at home no clamps are on us. Why then from a\\nforeign shore\\nShould we be debarred? Ah, won t you treat us as in\\ndays of yore?\\nQuoth the Reichstag Nevermore.\\nPast placating is the Teuton, and his ire cannot be\\ncalmed,\\nFor has he not heard the grewsome narratives of beef\\nembalmed?\\nSalicylic ham appals him, boric sausage makes a sore\\nSpecies of impression on him. Knowing how our sol-\\ndiers swore.\\nQuoth the Reichstag Nevermore.\\nThere s the record Miles and Daly, backed by scores\\nof honest chaps,\\nSwore that on this kind of diet e en an ostrich would\\ncollapse.\\nStomachs rose in fierce rebellion; men keeled over by\\nthe score,\\nFiends, said Deutschland, would you sell us meat\\nthat s doctored to the core?\\nQuoth the Reichstag Nevermore.\\nAh, the pity! Ah, the scandal! Is it not a woeful\\nshame\\nThat our land should bear the stain of such a nasty little\\ngame?\\nOut upon those hateful packers Fate for them should\\nhave in store\\nRetribution since no neighbor trusts us as in times\\nbefore.\\nQuoth the Reichstag Nevermore.\\n11", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "Mars at the Phone\\nOne Tesla on a summer day,\\nWith tools electric toiled away.\\nReferring oft to bulky tomes,\\nHe figured much with volts and ohms.\\nLike to a torrent was the flow\\nOf power from out his dynamo.\\nAnd cheerful was the pit-a-pat\\nThat issued from his rheostat.\\nAnon he pufYed a fat cigar,\\nAnd quaffed things from a Leyden jar.\\nWhereat, refreshed, he d soak with oil\\nHis favorite induction coil;\\nOr, with a nonconductor drape\\nHis magnets of the horseshoe shape.\\nThen upon problems deep intent\\nHe d ponder, ponder, and invent.\\nJust as the sun his downward slide\\nBegan, Eureka Tesla cried.\\nAt last my toil and thought profound\\nWith glorious success are crowned.\\nFor haply, thank my lucky stars\\nIVe found a way of reaching Mars.\\nAnd here his face with glory shone-\\nI ll call em up by telephone.\\nNow doth he stand his phone beside.\\nTransfigured in his joy and pride.\\nAnd with enthusiasm aglow.\\nHe rings and shouts a loud Hello!\\nIs that you. Mars? O dire suspense!\\nWhat answer? Aye, the strain s intense.\\nHas Tesla failed Perhaps But no,\\nThere travels back a faint Hello!\\nNow hallelujah All s O. K.\\nFor Tesla tis a happy day.\\nTis proved that he has had no peers\\n12", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "On earth within a thousand years.\\nBut, you may ask, with awe and dread,\\nWhat Mars to Tesla later said.\\nWhat were the words of mystic cast\\nThat traveled through the ether vast?\\nAlas, those words were cold and few,\\nThey were not singular or new.\\nNo message of celestial grace\\nThey carried to the human race.\\nThe talk, in fact, we re bound to state,\\nWas, just Hke Central s, up to date.\\nMars simply gurgled out somehow,\\nRing up again. We re busy now.\\nThe Fire Alarm.\\nOne Three the dread alarm rings out.\\nIts echoes putting sleep to rout.\\nWayfarers pause, and sleeping folks\\nWake up and count the laggard strokes.\\nSome finding that no danger s nigh.\\nDoze oi\u00c2\u00a5 again. Some when they spy\\nThe blaze that in the distance glows\\nRush forth in scanty meed of clothes,\\nAnd speed through mud and slush and mire,\\nWhile all the time they shriek Fire, fire\\nBing, bing! Crash, bang! Like Furies fleet\\nThe firemen flash from street to street.\\nHose, ladders, engines rattle past\\nLike thunderbolt or whirling blast.\\nThe very horses, black as night,\\nLike war-steeds sweeping to the fight,\\nSeem crazed, as neath a red-lit sky\\nForth to the scene of dread they fly.\\nNow comes the crowd. Each mother s son", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "Excitedly upon the run.\\nLike phantoms from some ghostly sphere\\nIn every quarter they appear.\\nSoon they are packed in solid mass\\nBehind the lines, which none can pass\\nExcept the firemen and the few\\nPolicemen in their coats of blue,\\nWho, much disgusted with their job.\\nPull out their sticks and boss the mob.\\nThe blaze roars upward to the skies.\\nAnd puny water-jets defies.\\nIn vain the fire-chief, bronzed and stout,\\nImpassioned, gives his orders out.\\nIn vain his men with hose and ax\\nTheir skill and strength and courage tax.\\nAs well might they attempt to snufT\\nVesuvius out. Lion-like they strain\\nTheir ev ry nerve, but all in vain.\\nThere go the walls. The lurch, the smash,\\nThe thund rous cataclysmal crash\\nFill the beholders hearts with fright.\\nAnd groans are heard and lips turn white.\\nAnd some their neighbors quick remind\\nOf venturous spirits left behind\\nWhen from the wreck the firemen fled.\\nAnd deeper grows the sense of dread.\\nThe morning dawns. The thousands creep\\nHeart-sick and weary home to sleep.\\nThe firemen stay, still working hard.\\nAnd all are grimy, stained and charred.\\nWell dressed adjusters come to count\\nThe loss, nor start at the amount.\\nAnd enterprise, now fallen through,\\nAlready fashions plans brand-new.\\nThus short-lived is the Fire King s star.\\nBut for a night his victories are.", "height": "4508", "width": "3186", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "What Dewey Did.\\nHe hurried forth,\\nHe scurried forth\\nFrom Hong Kong where he lay,\\nHe dashed along,\\nHe flashed along\\nTo old Manila s bay.\\nHe went bare-knuckled to the fray. He wore no gloves\\nof kid,\\nFor he meant to paralyze the Dons, and that s what\\nDewey did.\\nHis jolly boys.\\nHis bully boys\\nWere crazy for the fight.\\nEquipped for it\\nAnd stripped for it\\nThey were both day and night.\\nAll hands, alike the veteran and young and verdant\\nmid\\nWere burning to avenge the Maine, and that s what\\nDewey did.\\nDark night it was,\\nDread sight it was\\nTo see the squadron glide\\nBy foe unseen\\nAnd go unseen\\nThe harbor lines inside.\\nExplosives neath the waters had been dexterously hid.\\nBut heroes laugh at things like these, and that s what\\nDewey did.\\nThe quaking Dons,\\nThe shaking Dons\\nWere taken by surprise.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "No grit they showed,\\nNo wit they showed\\nSalt tears were in their eyes.\\nThey thought that Yankee hands from h 1 had Hfted\\noff the lid\\nTo dump their poor old squadron in, and that s what\\nDewey did.\\nHe battered em,\\nHe shattered em,\\nHe ripped em all, kersmash!\\nHe turned em up,\\nHe burned em up.\\nHe sank em all, kersplash\\nAnd now of Spanish ships and men the Philippines are\\nrid,\\nFor Uncle Sam said Clean em out! and that s what\\nDewev did.\\nDog Days,\\nLo, the dog catcher! Soon he ll be in season\\nProwling the streets uncannily along;\\nNe er will he pause to argufy or reason.\\nBut simply yank the canine, right or wrong.\\nWhat does he care for value or for beauty?\\nWhat does he care for lengthy pedigree?\\nMoved by a sense of predatory duty,\\nCanines, he says, are all alike to me.\\nMastiff and pug and precious Gordon setter.\\nLap dog and Dane and terrier of Skye,\\nRoaming at large of course they should know better,\\nInto his hands will fall and groan and die.\\nCollie and pointer, bulldog heavy muzzled.\\nFrisky King Charles and greyhound long and slim,\\nBeagle and dachshund sorely will be puzzled\\nWhen they essay to get away from him.\\n16", "height": "4508", "width": "3194", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "Raising his net, a thing of cruel meshes,\\nDeftly he ll aim and trap his helpless prey\\nAnd having safely bagged the burden precious,\\nOff to the pound he ll blithely drive away.\\nNo Cerberus or fierce devouring dragon\\nEver kept watch with vigilance so keen\\nAs this dog-hunter with his net and wagon.\\nAlways alert to feed the death-machine.\\nGloom reigns around the pound, that place of slaughter.\\nWhere wandering hounds the coup-de-grace receive\\nCaged up and sunk in black and chilly water\\nThus in disgrace the sunny world they leave.\\nMany a home will thus be filled with sorrow;\\nMany a hearth will miss a cherished form\\nLittle it boots new dogs to buy or borrow,\\nWhen He is cold, no other is so warm.\\nHaste then, and sink the necessary dollars\\nIn chain and strap and muzzle built of wire.\\nLoad up with ropes and hitching gear and collars\\nNail up the purp each night ere you retire.\\nThen when around your home the catcher lingers,\\nTwill be your turn to grin with ghoulish glee,\\nAnd to remark with careless snap of fingers,\\nCatchers of dogs are all alike to me.\\nEchoes of the Fourth\\nFriends, Romans, Countrymen, rejoice, be glad\\nFor great and glorious was the Fourth you had.\\nNe er has there been another such a gay\\nAnd blithe and brilliant Independence day.\\nIt bloomed, it fizzed, it effervesced, it glowed;\\nIn endless stream the fount of pleasure flowed.\\nAh, after such a ripper of a Fourth.\\nWho ll say he failed to get his money s worth\\n17", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "Drawbacks there were. Full many a luckless wight\\nSuccumbed to powder or to dynamite,\\nOr yielding to the giant cracker s charm.\\nGave up, perchance a leg, perchance an arm.\\nOr when he looked within to find out why\\nThe bang was tardy, forfeited an eye.\\nAnd there is likewise mourning in the land\\nFor him that held a rocket in his hand.\\nThere was, in sooth, no little havoc played.\\nSee what a rent the Roman candles made\\nWhich, bursting at a moment unforeseen,\\nAssailed the celebrant and roused his spleen.\\nAnd eke the pistol, made for callow kids,\\nLed up to legends writ for coffin lids.\\nFor such mishaps are foreordained by Fate\\nTo mark always the Day We Celebrate.\\nBut he that kicks on little things like these\\nIs certainly morose and hard to please.\\nFor had we not as compensating joys\\nPrismatic fires and vast, volcanic noise\\nAh, twas a sight for Jove himself to see.\\nThis whole great nation on a jamboree.\\nFrom hades with a whoop we raised the lid\\nAnd ripped things open that is what we did.\\nAh, famous Fourth, well may we wonder when\\nAnother such a day will come again.\\nAnother day of patriotic zeal,\\nPervading all this grand old commonweal.\\nTwas all that man could hope for or desire\\nA burst of light, a cataract of fire.\\nAnd Young America, w-hich had the floor,\\nSighs deep and bitterly because tis o er.\\n16", "height": "4508", "width": "3201", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "Deadman s Isle.\\nA Ballade of the Ohio River.\\nAt Deadman s Isle, ill-fated spot,\\nWhere river furies lurk and plot,\\nThe mariner is often caught\\nAnd wonders what the matter is.\\nThe ripple grimly grasps his craft,\\nHis cruiser, schooner, brig or raft,\\nAnd riles him till he, fore and aft,\\nAs mad as any hatter is.\\nUnsparing Deadman There to-day\\nThe stately coal boats on their way\\nTo southern ports, O reader, pray,\\nGive ear unto this tale of woe\\nThese coalers, with their white wings spread,\\nAnd all in trim to forge ahead,\\nApproach the Island of the Dead.\\n(Here please insert a wail of woe).\\nEach captain on the poop-deck stands,\\nA night glass in his sun-browned hands,\\nAnd thunders out his bold commands\\nIn language terse and vigorous.\\nThe mate skips round with vet ran skill.\\nThe bos n pipes his whistle shrill.\\nThe purser meets with iron will\\nThe situation rigorous.\\nFrom topmast high the cabin boy\\nSings out, Land ho! Deadman ahoy!\\nThe captain groans, My poor convoy\\nOf flats foredoomed to ruin is.\\nYon binnacle of brass so bright\\nYon marhnspike, my heart s delight.\\nMust go. No ray of hope s in sight\\nWhen such like trouble brewin is.\\nSoon, soon, the vessel will be swiped,", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "All hands are now to quarters piped,\\nThe colors, neatly starr d and striped,\\nAre dipped, distress to signify.\\nBrave lads, the stricken captain cries,\\nFly while you can. Who lingers dies.\\nThe tears that gather in his eyes\\nThe hero s visage dignify.\\nNow comes the rush of flying feet,\\nThe mariners, all lads discreet.\\nCare not a wat ry grave to meet,\\nAnd skip with much celerity.\\nBut mark the captain. Mercy, no\\nCan this be thus? Ah, yes, tis so,\\nDown with his ship he means to go,\\nOh, Spartanlike temerity\\nAll s done. In water two feet deep.\\nThe hero sleeps his final sleep\\nAnd loving ones for aye will weep,\\nRecalling what became of him.\\nBeneath the waters, noble soul!\\nHe rests mid Youghiogheny coal,\\nAnd on th immortal muster roll\\nWe ll register the name of him.\\nOld Joe.\\nOld Joe Wheeler,\\nSolid at his post.\\nNot a thing to kick about.\\nNobody to roast.\\nNever writes a letter\\nFull of gall and spite\\nOld Joe Wheeler,\\nHe s all right.\\n20", "height": "4506", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "Old Joe Wheeler,\\nFlat upon his back,\\nGot the boys to carry him,\\nMarshaled the attack.\\nDoctors couldn t handle him,\\nOff he went to fight.\\nOld Joe Wheeler,\\nHe s all right.\\nWeary was the army;\\nSpaniards hard to beat.\\nSome one passed the word along,\\nBoys, we must retreat.\\nit, no, says Ancient Joe.\\nNever take to flight.\\nOld Joe Wheeler,\\nHe s all right.\\nAfter Santiago fell.\\nFighting men got sick.\\nGenerals and colonels\\nAll began to kick.\\nHang it all, thought General Joe,\\nThis disgusts me quite.\\nOld Joe Wheeler,\\nHe s all right.\\nTeddy wrote an angry note,\\nStirring Alger s bile.\\nRipped the powers up the back\\nIn a roughshod style.\\nNot a word old Joe let drop\\nAt this woful sight.\\nOld Joe Wheeler,\\nHe s all right.\\nNever mad, never huffed.\\nNever riled or sore.\\nSteady Old Reliable\\nFights and nothing more.\\nDon t forget him. Uncle Sam,\\n(Some folks think you might).\\nOld Joe Wheeler,\\nHe s all right.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "Good Times-\\nHappy is the farmer in his truly rural ranche.\\nTo rejoice it is his turn\\nHe has crops and things to burn.\\nGrain is in the granary and fruit is on the branch,\\nAnd the people rush to buy,\\nAnd to give him prices high.\\nHis wagons heavy-laden to the city roll away.\\nEnabling him to tap a little Klondike ev ry day.\\nOh, tisn t any wonder that the farmer s feeling gay\\nFor his pocketbook grows fat\\nAnd he s mighty glad of that.\\nWheat and oats and yellow corn Niag ra-like they\\npour,\\nYet there isn t half enough\\nOf the life-sustaining stuflF.\\nEurope buys incessantly and still she cries for more,\\nFor this year she hasn t struck\\nHer accustomed streak of luck.\\nA fleet of ships goes merrily a-sailing o er the main\\nThey re loaded to the quarter-deck with bags of yellow\\ngrain\\nTis yellow gold they ll carry when they re sailing back\\nagain.\\nForeign folks their molars gnash.\\nFor they must give up the cash.\\nUp goes flour a-whooping and our statesmen freely\\nshed\\nTears of joy because the boom\\nConquers poverty and gloom.\\nBakers make arrangements to run up the price of bread,\\nWhich economists opine\\nIs a very healthy sign\\n22", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "And ev ry agriculturist, with gladness in his soul\\nBelieves that he in luxury will ultimately roll,\\nNor fears that subsequently he ll again be in the hole.\\nWith his pockets bulging out,\\nTis no time for dread or doubt.\\nPeaches by the million and the mellow canteloupe\\nInto market daily come,\\nAnd the glossy-coated plum\\nNumerously figures like a messenger of hope;\\nAnd the huckleberry, too.\\nIs extensively on view.\\nTomatoes, blushing scarlet, are unloaded by the ton,\\nThe grinding of the cider press is merrily begun,\\nThe apple looms up apple-ly (excuse the scaly pun,\\nFor we re truly overjoyed\\nAnd these things we can t avoid.)\\nSo before the year is out the farmer we will see\\nIn Prince Albert spick and span\\nAnd in shoes of yellow tan,\\nAlso in a stovepipe hat as shiny as can be,\\nAnd when Christmas comes again\\nHe ll be drinking fine champagne.\\nThen blessings on the season which these benefits has\\nbrought\\nAnd magic alterations in our people s case has wrought.\\nA year like 97 with such happiness is fraught\\nThat there s really no recourse\\nBut to cheer until we re hoarse.\\nMaceo.\\nBehold yon new-made grave\\nAnd weep, ye sons of men,\\nr^or Maceo the brave\\nIs dead yes, dead again.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "In Cuba s gallant fight,\\nCourageously unique,\\nHe battled for the right\\nAnd fell three times a week.\\nWhen Campos led the foe.\\nDid Maceo let him slide?\\nNot so. With zeal aglow\\nHe fiercely charged and died.\\nThe men who write the news\\nStood round and wept amain,\\nWhile scribbling interviews\\nWith him who had been slain.\\nNext day, rememb ring not\\nTheir sorrow, they announced\\nThat Maceo on the spot\\nThe Dons again had trounced.\\nSoon Weyler things controlled,\\nAnd people held their breath,\\nFor Maceo, as of old.\\nWent forth and met his death.\\nWhere er he met in strife\\nThe Spaniards, sad to tell,\\nHe risked his priceless life\\nAnd, foremost fighting, fell.\\nOn Sanguillera s plain.\\nOn Bandillera s coast,\\nHe never could refrain\\nFrom giving up the ghost.\\nHe used to vault across\\nThe trocha evVy day,\\nAnd oh, the mournful loss!\\nHe d perish right away.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a224\\nI", "height": "4508", "width": "3173", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "E en when his foot and horse\\nHad conquered, people still\\nWould find poor Maceo s corse\\nAll gory, stiff and chill.\\nIn thicket, grove and dale,\\nOn mountains and on plains,\\nThe searcher could not fail\\nTo find those same remains.\\nAnd still stern duty s call\\nRequires that we lament\\nBeneath a fun ral pall\\nThis truly sad event.\\nThen weep, good people weep,\\nLet tears in torrents pour,\\nFor in his final sleep\\nPoor Maceo lies once more.\\nThe Crowning of Nicholas\\nNot a bomb was thrown, not a dynamite mine\\nWas set off by conspirators frowning,\\nOf Anarchy s hand there was never a sign\\nAt the great imperial crowning.\\nGreat crowds came in over ev ry road,\\nAnd they whispered the gruesome story\\nThat Moscow s palace was booked to explode\\nAnd to blow all hands to glory.\\nAnd from lip to lip in a voice low-toned.\\nWent the rumor dark and dreary.\\nAnd ambassadors quaked and envoys groaned\\nAnd royalties felt quite weary.\\n2ft", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "Few and short were the kicks they made\\nAnd they dared not think of skipping,\\nFor of vengeance dire they were sore afraid\\nIf the czar once caught em tripping.\\nSo with faces blanched and with trembling knees,\\nAnd with hearts all palpitating,\\nThey did what they could to seem at ease\\nIn the course of the coronating.\\nNicholas himself was cool and calm,\\nFor his father of old had taught him\\nTo be stiff of lip and of diaphragm\\nWhenever the Anarchists caught him.\\nAnd he said to his wife, did this fearless czar\\n**If to-day T meet disaster,\\nYou will find my will in the bureau draw r.\\nHid under my porous plaster.\\nOn came the priests with the jeweled crown,\\nWhich like to the sunbeams glistened,\\nAnd the czar put it on and screwed it down.\\nWhile for dynamite sounds he listened.\\nBut nought did he hear save the anthems low\\nOf the choir and the pray rs soft-spoken\\nOf patriarchs. It was really so\\nThat the danger-spell was broken.\\nGlad of heart was the czar and proud\\nOf his neat escape from removal.\\nAnd he tipped his crown to the surging crowd\\nAs a token of bland approval.\\nBut half of his royal task is done.\\nFor the Anarchs are still conspiring,\\nYet little he ll reck if they let him alone\\nAnd at long range do their firing.", "height": "4508", "width": "3211", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "Menelik.\\nOh the mis ry Oh, the pity\\nOver the Eternal City\\nHangs a pall of tribulation,\\nHangs a gloomy adumbration,\\nSent to figure as a token\\nOf a nation s glory broken.\\nHapless Rome What villain tricked her\\nMenelik? Yes, Menelicked her.\\nThings were diff rent on the morning\\nWhen all thoughts of danger scorning,\\nNoble Romans, on their mettle,\\nStarted Menelik to settle.\\nBands were playing, flags were flying,\\nViva! everyone was crying.\\nGuns were booming ev ry minute;\\nAbyssinia wasn t in it.\\nOn the hostile shore they landed\\nAnd apologies demanded.\\nMenelik, they said, be humble\\nOr from off your throne you ll tumble,\\nLosing all your royal pickings.\\nParalyzed by Menelickings,\\nOne last chance to you we ll tender.\\nPut your gun up and surrender.\\nStrange to say, the Abyssinian\\nKing was not of this opinion.\\nSo he called his fiercest kickers,\\nFilled em up with Meneliquors;\\nSaid to em, Shall we lie idle\\nUnder pressure homicidal?\\nNever, cried they all in chorus.\\nItaly shall fall before us.\\n27", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "Thus a fierce campaign was fathered\\nSixty thousand natives gathered.\\nArms they had and ammunition\\nAnd advantage of position.\\nWay up in the mountains airy\\nThey lay low for Baratieri,\\nAll prepared the scrap to mix in\\nEre he d gotten Menelicks in.\\nCrash! The armies came together,\\nAll the Furies slipped their tether,\\nRomans fell like leaves in autumn.\\nHa! cried Menelik, I ve got em.\\nBaratieri, wretched victim.\\nNever knew how Menelicked him.\\nOh, the mis ry Oh, the pity\\nFloored is the Eternal City.\\nA Soldier s Letter.\\nThe neighborhood is all astir.\\nGreat is the fuss and fluster.\\nTogether in a busy swarm\\nThe gossipmongers muster.\\nThere s news on hand and when tis known,\\nThey ll all be feeling better\\nFor somebody, some lucky soul.\\nHas got a soldier s letter.\\nTom, Dick or Harry whosoe er\\nIt may be, mid the rattle\\nOf guns and drums tells rudely of\\nHis baptism of battle.\\nNo need has he with arts of speech\\nIngeniously to juggle;\\nHowe er he writes, they know he was\\nA hero in the struggle.\\n2B", "height": "4508", "width": "3202", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "A qualm he felt, he freely states,\\nWhen bullets first fell near him,\\nBut soon the fighting craze came on\\nAnd nought on earth could skeer him.\\nWhat odds that life at such a time f\\nWas hardly worth a penny\\nHis cartridge belt he emptied and\\nHe slew dear knows how many.\\nJack at his right was stricken down.\\nAnd at his left fell Eddie.\\nBut still his nerve was iron-like,\\nAnd still his hand was steady.\\nAnd when a bullet grazed his head\\nAnd left a furrow gory,\\nIt simply riled him. Twice as hard\\nHe fought then for Old Glory.\\nHe saw the brave Rough Riders charge\\nHe saw guerillas shooting.\\nHe helped to take San Juan and send\\nThe Spanish outposts scooting.\\nAnd still he s living, safe and sound,\\nWith not a thing to grieve him\\nExcept a touch of Yellow Jack,\\nAnd that will quickly leave him.\\nThe folks at home with swelling hearts\\nAnd eyes that oft need drying,\\nDevour the simple tale and set\\nThe family colors flying.\\nFor mark it well, not all the mails\\nIn all creation carry\\nSuch precious news as that which comes\\nFrom Tom or Dick or Harry.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "When the Snow Melts.\\nSlush, slush, slush\\nThere are seas and lakes of mud,\\nAnd pedestrians rash to ruin rush\\nAnd fall with a sullen thud.\\nFor the street is slippy yet\\nAnd threatens misfortune dire,\\nAnd it s oh for the hapless ones upset\\nAnd wallowing in the mire.\\nThe small boy whoops and hoots,\\nHe shows no sign of dread.\\nBut scoots along in his rubber boots\\nDragging a bumping sled.\\nFor youth is wild and rash.\\nNor fears the tempest s wrath,\\nBut covets the chance to slide and splash\\nAnd yearns for a muddy bath.\\nThe maiden coy and prim.\\nWith skirts pulled up around.\\nAt fearful hazard to life and limb\\nCovers the doubtful ground.\\nShe shrieks she slips she goes.\\nTis an awful sight, ah me\\nWhen the slush engulfs those stainless hose\\nAnd dainty lingerie.\\nThe stately merchant prince.\\nWith shining silken tile.\\nToo proud in danger s face to wince\\nMoves in a pompous style.\\nAnd the coarse, unfeeling crowd,\\nAnd the kids en route to school,\\nAssail his ears with laughter loud\\nWhen he sits in a slimy pool.", "height": "4526", "width": "3222", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "Oh, where is the singer sweet\\nThat warbled years ago\\nA song of praise in verses neat\\nAbout the beautiful snow\\nThat guy was off his base,\\nHe knew not nature s law,\\nThat snow some day must needs give place\\nTo a foul and clammy thaw.\\nSlush, slush, slush\\nAfter ev ry snow it comes.\\nNo use for giddy bards to gush\\nTis umbrellas we need and gums,\\nAnd the poet s magic lyre\\nIs sorely out of tune.\\nIn these days of the petticoat daubed with mire\\nAnd the soaking pantaloon.\\nMerriman s Bar.\\nMerriman s Bar who has not heard tell\\nOf that ill-omened spot with its evil spell\\nWhen the water is low, its white sands gleam\\nMid the watersr swift of Ohio s stream.\\nWhen the water is high tis lost to sight.\\nLike a thief that s hid in the shades of night.\\nAnd then neither sunshine nor friendly star\\nBetrays the location of Merriman s Bar.\\nMerriman s Bar. At the very name\\nA shudder convulses the mariner s frame.\\nAh me he sighs. **What a dead soft snap\\nI d have were it not for that old death trap\\nWhat a pleasure a sailor s life would be\\nIf from breakers and snags his course were free.\\nAnd no vagrant plank or wand ring spar\\nTold tales of wreck on Merriman s Bar.\\n31", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "But no O ye that the waters ride,\\nMust often alas lay hope aside\\nAnd await the worst as a watch ye keep\\nOn the trackless paths of the vasty deep.\\nFor man, proud man, is a creature frail\\nWhose powers full oft are of small avail.\\nAnd he seldom, if ever, is up to par\\nWhen he runs aground on Merriman s Bar.\\nTis a gallant sight when the coalboats gay\\nFrom the Pittsburg landings sail away.\\nMothers and wives, with a furtive tear,\\nWatch the lordly vessels disappear.\\nAnd with quivering lips and long-drawn sigh\\nThose dear ones murmur a last Good-bye\\nWell do they know that the bold Jack Tar\\nMay go down to his ruin at Merriman s Bar.\\nTis a sad, sad sight when the news comes in\\nOf terrible danger to kith and kin.\\nAt the bulletin boards a surging crowd\\nIs seen, and with grief all heads are bow d,\\nWhen the word is passed that with sick ning crash\\nA clipper-built barge has gone to smash.\\nAh, Juggernaut with his destroying car\\nDoesn t half size up with Merriman s Bar.\\nWho was Merriman What was his game,\\nAnd why did his doings belie his name?\\nBlank are the records; they give no guide\\nTo this great promoter of homicide.\\nBut whoever he was and whatever he meant,\\nHe has wrought out a purpose malevolent.\\nAnd tis time for Progress to hitch up her car\\nAnd triumphantly haul away Merriman s Bar.\\n32", "height": "4508", "width": "3177", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "Santa Claus\\nup in the mountains high, high, high,\\nThere s a jolly old chap with a glist ning eye.\\nIn a workshop quaint he hammers and saws,\\nAnd the name on his sign is Santa Claus.\\nThere s where he turns out Christmas toys\\nReady for bright little girls and boys.\\nWith knives and chisels and cans of paint\\nHe works all day, does that jolly old Saint.\\nAt early morn when the mail comes in\\nHe goes through it all with a jolly old grin,\\nFor it fills his heart with intense delight\\nTo read ev ry word that the children write.\\nSanta Dear, won t you kindly bring\\nA jointed doll and a nice gold ring,\\nAnd a baby carriage and candy, too\\nAha! says the Saint, That s just what I ll do.\\nSanta, please, down the chimney come\\nWith a punching bag and a gun and a drum.\\nAnd skates and boots and a sled for me.\\nAha! says the Saint, I ll be there, you ll see.\\nSanta, dear, do not pass us by.\\nA turkey fat and a nice mince pie\\nAre all we want. Says the Saint, Never mind\\nA Christmas dinner for you I ll find.\\nSanta, dear, you must not suppose\\nThat tis toys we want, for we re short of clothes.\\nCan t you slip our dad a ten-dollar bill?\\nAye, says his Saintship, that s what I will.\\n88", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "So he hammers and saws and he cuts and he sews,\\nAnd he packs up jewels and toys and clothes.\\nAnd he chops down trees which you d better be-\\nlieve\\nHe ll be trimming himself on Christmas eve.\\nDear old Saint If it wasn t for him\\nChristmas Day might be bleak and grim.\\nAnd old and young have the very best cause\\nTo be glad that the world has a Santa Claus.\\nThe Thanksgiving Bird.\\nThe eagle is lord of a noble dominion,\\nMajestic he soars twixt the earth and the sky.\\nAnd hov ring aloft on imperial pinion,\\nHe holds his levee on the Fourth of July.\\nFrom the tropics clear up to the region that s polar,\\nHis soul-stirring notes are with reverence heard,\\nAnd he s only eclipsed by that other high roller,\\nAmerica s stand-by, the Thanksgiving bird.\\nThe trav ler who roams about hither and yonder\\nHears many a vain and inordinate boast;\\nThe proud South American brags of his condor\\nJust think of that fowl for a Thanksgiving roast!\\nWild Africans point to that top-heavy wobbler,\\nThe long-legged ostrich, with pride that s absurd.\\nAh, there s none can compare with our own turkey\\ngobbler,\\nSupreme in his tribe is the Thanksgiving bird.\\nThe ibis, the lyre bird, the stately flamingo.\\nThe snipe and the pheasant, the grouse and the quail.\\nAre glorified freely in all sorts of lingo\\nAnd figure in many a luminous tale.", "height": "4508", "width": "3199", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "The partridge is dainty, the woodcock enticing,\\nThe wild duck by epicures oft is preferred\\nBut if life with the greatest of joys you d be spicing,\\nYou re bound to fall back on the Thanksgiving bird.\\nNo need of a touch from the hand of a wizard\\nControlling the arts of the mystic cuisine\\nTo flavor his flesh. Leg and wing, neck and gizzard,\\nAre all proper fare for a king or a queen.\\nAnd as for the breast oh, ye gourmands, confess it.\\nYour feelings thereby are resistlessly stirr d.\\nYou look for perfection and lo you possess it.\\nEnshrined in the flesh of the Thanksgiving bird.\\nThen here s wishing luck to the man whose researches.\\nPursued mid the tribes of the air and the field.\\nBrought second-class claimants adown from their\\nperches\\nAnd first the rare charms of the Turkey revealed.\\nYes, while we are feasting, let s duly remember\\nTo recognize fondly the favor conferred\\nBy whoever first thought in the month of November\\nOf crowning the board with the Thanksgiving bird.\\nThe Day After Christmas,\\nThe day after Tis not very cheery,\\nThe gilding has somehow worn off,\\nAnd Pa is decidedly weary\\nAnd Ma has a raspy old cough.\\nTo the spirit so keenly vivacious\\nThat yesterday all of us fired.\\nThere succeeds a reaction ungracious,\\nMankind is dejected and tired.\\n85", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "Santa Claus is no longer enchanting\\nThe spell that hung round him has fled.\\nAnd he leaves but a memory haunting\\nThe soul with unspeakable dread.\\nFor he comes pretty high and when, after\\nHis visit, the bills come to hand,\\nThere^s an end of melliflous laughter\\nAnd woe is abroad in the land.\\nThen the little ones bless em have striven\\nTheir hoHday gifts to wipe out.\\nAnd the costliest playthings are riven\\nApart at the very first bout.\\nAn unmendable cripple is dollie,\\nCollapsed are the drum and the horn\\nHow could any young hopefuls be jolly\\nTo-day as they were yestermorn\\nLike some downcast and penitent sinner\\nThat s forfeited caste and repute\\nOne looks back on that large turkey dinner\\nWith mincemeat and pudding to boot.\\nAh, if man would but think of the morrow.\\nWhen haply himself thus he fills,\\nThere would be no post-prandial sorrow.\\nInclusive of potions and pills.\\nTis too bad that the carnival festive\\nShould lose its attraction so fast\\nThat satiety should get the best of\\nThe happiest mortal at last.\\nThat the goblet of pleasure heart-warming\\nShould always be doomed to be spilt.\\nBut there s no use in fuming and storming,\\nYou see, tis the wav that we re built.\\n3(\u00c2\u00bb", "height": "4508", "width": "3154", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "Princeton Inn.\\nAt Princeton Inn, that hallowed place\\nWhere sordid chasers never chase,\\nAnd bleary topers never try\\nWith morning drams to ope the eye,\\nThere s trouble nov^. An evil star\\nHas risen o er the guileles bar\\nAnd brought dark obloquy and scorn\\nOn gentle mug and peaceful horn,\\nAye, there s a coarse hubbub and din\\nAt Princeton Inn.\\nThe sober souls that gather there\\nIndulge no thoughts of jag or tear.\\nGrave scientists of mien austere\\nIn solemn conclave sip their beer\\nAnd now and then a pretzel munch\\nWhich serves em as a frugal lunch.\\nBut stronger stimulants are scorned\\nAnd no one thinks of getting corned,\\nFor there s no whisky, rum or gin\\nAt Princeton Inn.\\nSometimes collegians strike the spot.\\nPretending that a time red-hot\\nThey love not but prefer, in fact.\\nThe temperate and frugal act.\\nAnd this ingenious little game\\nGives many a festive cuss the name\\nOf walking straight, whereas, you see\\nA lallycooler he may be.\\nThere s none to doubt or cry Too thin\\nAt Princeton Inn.\\nAt times G. Cleveland, noble soul\\nDrops in to drain a friendly bowl.\\nAnd while the foaming malt he sips.\\n87", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "Wise words fall from his honored lips.\\nThen do the scientists make free\\nTo clink their mugs and drink to G.\\nWho thus benignly condescends\\nTo tipple mildly with his friends.\\nHow nice that statesmen yarns should spin\\nAt Princeton Inn.\\nBut lo, the synods, pausing not\\nTo learn who s who or what is what,\\nPounce on this peaceful, harmless place\\nAnd call it ev rything that s base.\\nAnd hence unless the Profs, rebel\\nG. C. must hunt a new hotel\\nAnd scientists and all that ilk\\nMust wash their pretzels down with milk\\nWhereat most men will give the grin\\nTo Princeton Inn.\\nAt the Ringside.\\nThe brutal sport is finished,\\nThe butchery is o er,\\nThe lawless, heartless sluggers\\nHave bathed themselves in gore.\\nAnd righteous people murmur,\\nDisgusted with the strife,\\nFitzsimmons is a corker\\nFrom Corkville betcher life.\\nLike beasts of prey those sluggers\\nMixed up within the ring,\\nAnd unto one another\\nThey didn t do a thing.\\nThe world, appalled, beheld em.\\nAnd Conscience wide awake\\nCried out, This fight s a cuckoo,\\nAnd no dodgasted fake.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "As when the tiger hungry-\\nLeaps forth with wicked howl,\\nJim jumped upon Fitzsimmons\\nAnd jabbed him in the jowl.\\nAnd moralists indignant\\nTo see the cruel fun,\\nObserved, Our stuff s on Corbett,\\nWe ll lay you two to one.\\nAs when the dread hyena\\nProceeds to tear and claw,\\nFitz hurled himself on Corbett\\nAnd plunked him in the jaw.\\nWhereat right-thinking people\\nWith wrath began to storm\\nAnd shrieked, Tho Jim is hot stuff.\\nBob certainly is warm.\\nOh, cruel, cruel carnage!\\nBob rose in round fourteen,\\nAnd with his deadly mitten\\nBanged Corbett in the spleen.\\nAnd as the erstwhile champion\\nWent down ith gurgling sob.\\nThe world yelled, Shame upon ye!\\nHooray for Lanky Bob\\nYea. E en while we prohibit\\nIn all the states save one\\nThe shocking, vicious prize fight.\\nWhich all men ought to shun,\\nOur wrath pro tem. we smother.\\nAnd somehow cause enough\\nWe find to yell like sixty,\\nFitzsimmons is the stuff.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "Trump Cards\\nWith a card up his sleeve,\\nThe redoubtable Piatt,\\nFeeling ripe for a spat.\\nAt St. Louis arrives.\\nHe looks daggers and knives.\\nAnd he hopes to retrieve\\nLevi s fortunes depressed.\\nYes, he s doing his best\\nWith a card up his sleeve.\\nWith a card up his sleeve.\\nTommy Reed comes from Maine.\\nHave I labored in vain\\nAs congressional czar\\nHe exclaims. Must my star\\nThe bright firmament leave?\\nThough by Manley thrown down,\\nHe s still after the crown.\\nWith a card up his sleeve.\\nWith a card up his sleeve,\\nMatthew Quay comes around.\\nLooking over the ground.\\nHe has little to say.\\nBut twill be a cold day\\nWhen opponents deceive\\nOr play tricks upon Matt.\\nHe is ready for that\\nWith a card up his sleeve.\\nWith a card up his sleeve,\\nOld Man Allison bold\\nIn his fealty to gold.\\nIsn t yielding a bit.\\nFor though sentenced to quit,\\nHe expects a reprieve.\\nHolding out to the last.\\nBy his claims he stands fast,\\nWith a card up his sleeve.\\n40", "height": "4508", "width": "3252", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "With a card up his sleeve,\\nHanna gets in the game,\\nAnd enlivens the same\\nBy the way that he swings\\nWinning aces and kings.\\nWhich his rivals aggrieve.\\nAnd he swears that he knows\\nHe ll come in at the close\\nWith a card up his sleeve.\\nWith a card up his sleeve.\\nThat s the way it is done.\\nThat s the way that they run\\nOur conventions, for why\\nShould old Vox Populi\\nAny conquest achieve,\\nSince it fails to chip in\\nWhere professionals win\\nWith a card up his sleeve\\nA Blue Sunday.\\nIn the parks the lounging masses\\nWaited for the Sunday band.\\nWaited for the wood and brasses,\\nMarshaled under deft command.\\nBut in vain the people waited.\\nDulcet strains were not in store,\\nAnd a voice ejaculated:\\nSunday music? Nevermore.\\nIn advance the unsuspecting\\nPlayers had their gems rehearsed.\\nAnd the geniuses directing\\nFor new triumphs were athirst.\\nBut the news that they were sat on\\nMade em shudder, made em gasp,\\nAh, twas sad to see the baton\\nDrop from Guenther s nerveless grasp.\\n41", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "Brisk fantasias, swift potpourris,\\nNocturnes in a minor key.\\nTwo steps, sarabands and bourrees,\\nOpera bijouterie,\\nAll these things with care selected.\\nHad been programmed. Who d have thought\\nThat such efforts well directed\\nShould be doomed to come to naught?\\nBut twas so. A veto solemn\\nFell upon the loud trombone,\\nOn the E flat what-d ye-call em.\\nOn cornet and saxophone.\\nSome unfeeling Mrs. Grundy,\\nTired of cymbals, drum and fife,\\nWrathful cried What play on Sunday\\nIn the parks? Not on your life.\\nTo the people this embargo\\nSeemed like putting on a gag,\\nFor they sighed for Handel s Largo\\nAnd the tempo of the rag.\\nAnd they wanted things pathetic.\\nSuch as music halls emit.\\nBut they got the word splenetic,\\nSunday music? Aber nit.\\nSay who is the sour offender.\\nWho the tyrant that demands\\nThat our people shall surrender\\nInterest in Sunday bands?\\nLet us hunt him up and show him\\nWhat is what. With horns immense\\nOff the earth let s promptly blow him,\\nScouting thus his vile offense.", "height": "4508", "width": "3186", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "LiPs Restoration.\\nWith teardrops in her lovely eyes\\nThe Sandwich Lily came\\nTo Grover,\\nGood old Grover.\\nTo reassume her queenly guise\\nShe sweetly filed a claim\\nWith Grover,\\nGood old Grover.\\nSays she, Oh, Mr. President, you re chivalrous, I\\nknow\\nYou could not be a party to a lady s overthrow,\\nAnd hence for restoration quite confidingly I go\\nTo Grover,\\nGood old Grover.\\nHer skin as dark as Erebus,\\nHer air of regal grace\\nCaught Grover,\\nGood old Grover.\\nI m happy madam, to discuss\\nYour interesting case.\\nQuoth Grover,\\nGood old Grover.\\nYour dusky kind of beauty has its own peculiar charm\\nThat moves me to relieve you from the slightest dread\\nof harm\\nIf any one is competent your foemen to disarm\\nTis Grover,\\nGood old Grover.\\nHe summoned then the cabinet,\\nWhich held a grave pow-wow\\nWith Grover,\\nGood old Grover.\\nThey said, We ll help the lady yet,\\nAnd set her right somehow,\\nThrough Grover,\\nGood old Grover.\\n43", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "The age of chivalry endures on that tis safe to bank\\nAnd since some scamps have ventured Lily s crown\\naway to yank,\\nWho is there in the universe that can restore her rank\\nBut Grover,\\nGood old Grover?\\nThe foremost goldsmith in the town,\\nWas summoned and he came\\nTo Grover,\\nGood old Grover.\\nOh, make me quick a golden crown\\nWith jewels in the same,\\nSaid Grover,\\nGood old Grover.\\nThe crown was made; no monarch could a finer head-\\ndress wear;\\nInstanter it was placed upon the Lily s kinky hair,\\nAnd now the greatest man on earth, Hawaiians all\\ndeclare,\\nIs Grover,\\nGood old Grover.\\nChris Magee and Bill Flinn.\\n(Written when the venerable Pittsburg Commercial\\nGazette was convicted of libeling the city bosses).\\nObserve, ye journals up-to-date,\\nThe poor Old Lady s painful fate.\\nConvicted of that awful sin\\nOf jumping on and\\nWhose names to mention curious fact\\nHenceforth is a felonious act.\\nSometimes the press finds time you see.\\nTo jump on and roast\\nAnd heretofore, in doing this.\\nIt spoke of them as and\\nWhich lack of reverential awe\\nMust cease, for tis against the law.", "height": "4508", "width": "3236", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "Twas often hinted that this pair\\nOf pious persons did their share\\nOf meddling in affairs of state\\nAnd meanwhile gathering riches great.\\nBut now no man that drives a quill\\nMay hint such things of and\\nAnd oft when in the lobby they\\nTheir plans with cunning art would lay,\\nDark schemes concocting to outwit\\nThat poor old stager, Father Pitt,\\nThe press would howl. But now we ll miss\\nThose howls concerning and\\nAt Harrisburg the noble dukes\\nLikewise have gotten in their hooks.\\nAnd many a legislative pill.\\nIll-flavored, came from and\\nThese things were shown up many a time.\\nBut now to breathe them is a crime.\\nThus Providence prepares for us\\nA government anonymous.\\nVeiled prophets will our laws hand down\\nAnd in the dark control the town.\\nAnd only ringsters thick-and-thin\\nMay name or mention\\nWherefore, ye journals of our town,\\nClose up, keep dark, say nix, lie down.\\nAnd bid the men that type do set\\nTo watch and guard the alphabet.\\nLest lawless letters should get free\\nAnd form the names and\\nI", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "i\\nOn a Mean May Day.\\nNo use to call her early,\\nCall her early, mother dear.\\nFor May Day s getting meaner,\\nGetting meaner ev ry year.\\nAll day it drizzles, mother,\\nGiving ev ry one the blues.\\nAnd celebrants wear rubber coats\\nAnd sloppy overshoes.\\nOh, truly, such a day, mother,\\nTruly such a day\\nIs rough on the Queen o the May, mother,\\nRough on the Queen o the May.\\nDon t waste your time, dear mother,\\nVamping up a floral crown,\\nIn half an hour or sooner\\nTwould be soaked and wilted down.\\nThe weather man sits waiting.\\nDearest ma, to make a spring.\\nAnd to that poor old diadem\\nHe wouldn t do a thing.\\nAnd this is no exception, ma,\\nIt always is that way.\\nA.nd tis rough on the Queen o the May, mother.\\nRough on the Queen o the May.\\nYour girl is fair to look upon,\\nHer locks are burnished gold.\\nBut, mother, she cannot afford\\nTo catch her death of cold.\\nAnd if, O ma, in robes of white\\nShe gayly prances round.\\nThe gloomy undertaker man\\nWill plant her underground.\\nPneumonia hunting for a chance\\nThe young and fair to slay\\nIs rough on the Queen o the May, mother,\\nRough on the Queen o the May.", "height": "4508", "width": "3250", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "Who talks about the Maypole\\nIn a wild, romantic vein?\\nThis Maypole nonsense, mother,\\nGives to men of sense a pain.\\nTo gambol on the greensward\\nWhen the flowers are in bud\\nIs well enough, but, bless you, ma am\\nWho d gambol in the mud\\nTis mud that s holding sway, mother,\\nAnd mud that s holding sway\\nIs rough on the Queen o the May, mother,\\nRough on the Queen o the May.\\nL ENVOI.\\nPerhaps when we have gone to press\\nAnd when these lines are read.\\nThe sunshine will have dried the earth.\\nAnd sorrow will have fled.\\nIf so, O mother, let er rip.\\nGet out those robes of white.\\nAnd crown of flo wrs and give to us\\nA vision of delight.\\nBut the outlook is dark, we must say, mother,\\nDreary and dark, we must say,\\nAnd tis rough on the Queen o the May, mother.\\nRough on the Queen o the May.\\nSousa Triumphans.\\nO Sousa, gallant Sousa,\\nWith the marches that you wrote\\nOur warriors equipped themselves\\nAnd came and saw and smote.\\nNo matter whom they had to fight.\\nIn any foreign clime,\\nTo the music of your two-steps\\nThey could conquer ev ry time.\\n47", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "When Dewey in Manila bay\\nHis awful sweep began,\\nThe band upon his flagship\\nStarted up El Capitan.\\nAnd thus inspired, our sailor lads\\nGot at and let er go\\nTill not a Spanish ship remained\\nTo tell the tale of woe.\\nAt Santiago, when Toral\\nHis arms was laying down,\\nThe Stars and Stripes Forever\\nStirred the echoes of the town.\\nAnd when our conq ring flag was raised,\\nDrum, trumpet and bassoon\\nTopped off the ceremony\\nWith a rattling Sousa tune.\\nIn forests, where guerillas lurked.\\nIn trenches damp and drear,\\nThe grim and seasoned regular\\nAnd homesick volunteer\\nAlike forgot their troubles\\nAnd no more were feeling glum\\nWhen somebody bethought himself\\nA Sousa march to hum.\\nA Hot Time figured also;\\nThere are words to that, you know\\nBut though the tune is warm, it lacks\\nThe Sousa swing and go.\\nTo stir our lusty lads ashore\\nAnd gallant tars afloat,\\nThere s nothing half so jolly as\\nThe things that Sousa wrote.\\nThen here s to Hero Sousa,\\nTo that king of fighting men\\nWho routs the foe completely\\nWith his paper and his pen.\\nBow down, ye foreigners, bow down;\\nWe do not care a cuss\\nFor the whole confounded universe\\nWhile Sousa writes for us.\\n48", "height": "4508", "width": "3249", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "Titwillie.\\nOn the avenue sidewalk a willie-boy stood\\nSing willie, titwillie, titwillie,\\nPutting on all the style that a willie-boy could\\nSing willie, titwillie, titwillie.\\nHe was feeble of limb and defective in brain,\\nBut his hair it was banged and he carried a cane.\\nThose who passed him remarked, for they couldn t re-\\nfrain,\\nOh willie, titwillie, titwilUe.\\nAs the willie-boy puffed at his mild cigarette.\\nSing willie, titwillie, titwillie.\\nHe fancied he was of the fair sex the pet,\\nSing willie, titwillie, titwillie.\\nSo he ogled the girls in a languishing style.\\nFeeling sure that their hearts he would thusly beguile,\\nAnd he cared not for folks who observed with a smile,\\nOh willie, titwillie, titwiUie.\\nA lass came along who was wondrously fair.\\nSing willie, titwillie, titwillie,\\nThe wilHe-boy, seeing her, lisped out, Ah there!\\nSing willie, titwillie, titwillie.\\nIn those two little words what he meant to convey\\nWas that love at first sight to the heart found the way,\\nAnd besides that s the thing that all willie-boys say.\\nSing willie, titwillie, titwilUe.\\nThe lass passed along as if nothing she d heard,\\nSing willie, titwillie, titwillie.\\nBut the willie-boy s soul by her beauty was stirred,\\nSing willie, titwillie, titwillie.\\nSo he followed her quickly and reaching her side,\\nWith his cane in the air, and his eyes opened wide.\\nSaid Ah there once again he would not be denied,\\nOh willie, titwillie, titwillie.\\n49", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "It happened alas! that the lady unkind,\\nSing willie, titwillie, titwillie.\\nHad a husband, who just then was walking behind.\\nSing willie, titwillie, titwillie.\\nThe husband was tall and of ponderous weight,\\nAnd the way he went after that masher was great.\\nDid the willie-boy skip No, indeed, twas too late,\\nSing willie, titwillie, titwillie.\\nEly s Great Home Run.\\nTradition tells of paladins who met in fearful fights.\\nAnd swung their broadswords round their heads and\\nsmote tremendous smites;\\nOf knights who single-handed fought and laid whole\\narmies flat;\\nOf Richard who on Saladin victoriously sat.\\nGreat heroes these, but all their famous feats rolled into\\none\\nLook feeble by comparison with Ely s great home run.\\nYou ve heard of Ely. Such a strange anatomy he\\nowns\\nThat people widely know him by the sobriquet of\\nBones.\\nHe s shortstop for our Pittsburg team, but when to rip\\nand snort\\nAnd tear things up old Bones begins no pow r can\\nstop him short;\\nAnd so he turned things upside down till e en the shin-\\ning sun\\nStood still and gasped astonishment at Ely s great home\\nrun.\\nEight innings had been played, the ninth was drawing\\nto a close\\nThe score it stood at 3 to 2 in favor of our foes.\\nFor Boston, full of ginger and of chipperness and gall,\\n50", "height": "4508", "width": "3250", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "Had certainly been putting up a famous game of ball.\\nTwo men were out. Our boys, it seemed, were totally\\nundone;\\nSuch was the lay-out at the time of Ely s great home\\nrun.\\nThe crowd, which thought the jig was up, was moving\\noff the ground.\\nWhen click there came from Ely s bat the sharp, de-\\ncisive sound\\nWhich tells of leather fiercely swiped. Great Christmas\\nCould it be\\nThat Bones was doing business? Ev ry eye was\\nstrained to see.\\nThen from two thousand throats there came the cry,\\nWell done, well done!\\nAnd ev ry one went crazy over Ely s great home run.\\nOh, what a fearful swipe that was! The leather trav-\\neled hence\\nAway to farthest center field and landed at the fence,\\nWhile Bones around the bases skipped at locomotive\\nspeed,\\nAnd landed home, a hero and a conqueror, indeed.\\nAnd Boston, which supposed itself to have the battle\\nwon.\\nFell flat beneath the crushing weight of Ely s great\\nhome run.\\nOur Own, inspired by Ely s feat, came nobly to the fore.\\nAnd in the tenth another run they added to the score.\\nAye, from the jaws of dire defeat a victory was snatched,\\nAnd poor old Boston sneaked away, undone and over-\\nmatched.\\nAh, boys, that was a record. Other feats may shine\\nbut none,\\nPast or present, figures in the class with Ely s great\\nhome run.\\nu", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "Sic Transit-\\nAs Sully fell and Corbett, too,\\nSo Fitz at last goes tumbling down.\\nAnother hero wears the crown.\\nRing out the old ring in the new.\\nRing out the pride of lanky Bob,\\nRing out the laurels that he bore\\nAway from far New Zealand s shore,\\nMid plaudits from the howling mob.\\nRing out his long and nobby string\\nOf finish fights, with ev ry bout\\nConcluding wath a clean knock-out.\\nTo such old mem ries who will cling?\\nRing out the glory that he won\\nWhen Dempsey, Goddard, Maher, all\\nBefore his prowess had to fall.\\nAll that is past. His day is done.\\nRing out his triumph unexcelled\\nWhen with a solar plexus thrust\\nHe laid Jim Corbett in the dust\\nAnd thenceforth sway imperial held.\\nRing out the oceans of long green\\nThat surged around him while the crowd\\nTo shake his royal hand felt proud\\nAnd hollered for the great champeen.\\nRing out the floods of interviews,\\nThe cuts of Fitz in every style,\\nHis demon grin, his fatal smile.\\nThe endless ads dished up as news.\\nRing out the plays of garish hue\\nWherein the mighty fistic star\\nWas wont to punch the bag and spar\\nA condescending round or two.", "height": "4508", "width": "3224", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "Ring out the rivers of champagne\\nSet up by those that sang his praise.\\nLikewise the ladies with bouquets\\nThat followed in the hero s train.\\nRing out, wild bells, and let your tune\\nBid him that cut so wide a swath\\nGo hence and follow Corbett s path\\nAnd run an up-to-date saloon.\\nFor lo, in the ethereal blue\\nA brand-new star is shining high.\\nHurrah for Jeff! the people cry.\\nRing out the old ring in the new.\\nHarrisburg In 97,\\nO Harrisburg, du schoene stadt,\\nWhere legislators dwell,\\nWhere men of guile on jobs grow fat\\nAnd statutes buy and sell.\\nYour streets are paved with good, long green,\\nYour founts with boodle Aow,\\nAnd from your statesmanlike machine\\nReformers get no show.\\nO Harrisburg, you know the way\\nTo close the public eye.\\nFull oft upon election day\\nYou work that same old guy.\\nTo lead a better life you swear,\\nAnd voters cry Amen\\nBut just as soon as you get there\\nYou turn us down again.", "height": "4507", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "O Harrisburg, two years ago,\\nYou burned with honest zeal.\\nYou promised to reform, you know,\\nThis blessed commonweal.\\nBut now your weather eye you wink,\\nAnd tell us with a sneer\\nYes, we re reformers, we don t think.\\nCall round some other year.\\nO Harrisburg, within your hand\\nYou hold the G. O. P.\\nIts hopes and prospects you command,\\nTis ruled by your decree.\\nAnd at the next election-tide,\\nOh, say, perfidious town,\\nHow can you then the record hide\\nThat drags the party down\\nO Harrisburg, your boodlers rush\\nIn squadrons and brigades.\\nTo-day they all are in the push\\nAnd each the cash box raids.\\nStrong men must groan and women weep\\nThis carnival to see,\\nAnd Democrats prepare to sweep\\nFrom earth the G. O. P.\\nO Harrisburg, du schoene stadt,\\nThe state would plan and scheme\\nTo sink you, if it knew what s what.\\nIn Susquehanna s stream.\\nAnd honest men upon the bank\\nIn pray rful style would kneel,\\nAnd cry together Gott sei Dank\\nThat s how the people feel.", "height": "4508", "width": "3264", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "Theology Up to Date.\\nIn the town that s known to many\\nBy the name of Allegheny,\\nSo recorded in its charter,\\nThere s a far-famed pious quarter,\\nWhere the spectacled scholastic\\nUnder regulations drastic\\nCut out for a theologian\\nToils and struggles like a Trojan\\nAnd by light of midnight taper\\nFeeds on book and pen and paper.\\nDominies severely ruling\\nCarry on the work of schooling.\\nNow in phrases finely rounded\\nPuzzling doctrines are expounded.\\nNow baldheaded old ascetics\\nDrill the class in homiletics\\nOr the souls of students harrow\\nWith old P. Virgilius Maro,\\nHomer, Livy and, for ballast,\\nCaesar, Cicero and Sallust.\\nAll the young men, wearing glasses,\\nIn their rooms or in their classes\\nAre required to lead a level\\nvSort of life and shun the d 1.\\nLaws more harsh than those of Draco\\nSmite the user of tobacco.\\nOr the scamp who in a sly way\\nWinks at females on the highway.\\nEach must be a truly good un\\nAnd display a visage wooden.\\nBut alas that any vandal\\nShould promote so great a scandal\\n1", "height": "4502", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "Rumor says that, scorning rigid\\nRules and regulations frigid,\\nPious youths their virtue slacken\\nAnd improper games fall back on;\\nThat by light of midnight tapers\\nThey indulge in worldly capers,\\nCrying, free from ev ry fetter,\\nAnte up, boys. Jacks or better.\\nJacks or better! Moral science\\nShudders at the bold defiance\\nMeek theology goes under,\\nHomiletics fall asunder,\\nSeeing thus scholastics trample\\nOn all precept and example.\\nAnd deport themselves as jaunty\\nFollowers of penny ante.\\nAh, tis sinful ways they grope in\\nWhen the festive jackpot s open.\\nHaste, then, dominies. Oh, hasten\\nTo rebuke and eke to chasten.\\nJump upon the faithless sinner\\nWho comes out a four-time winner.\\nAnd when outraged virtue crushes\\nHouses full and bobtailed flushes\\nThen, perchance, in Allegheny\\nSatan will be not so many.\\nNow, if you d completely daze em,\\nSee the scalawasrs and raise em.\\nTo an Old Umbrella.\\nHail, old umbrella! Tempest-scarred\\nAnd wobbly as thou art,\\nOne cannot help but view thee, pard.\\nWith kindliness of heart.\\n56", "height": "4508", "width": "3263", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "Although thy ribs are out of gear,\\nAlthough thy coat is torn,\\nFor thee there is no covert sneer.\\nNo epithet of scorn.\\nFor in thy old age, thou art proof\\nAgainst the itching hands\\nThat somehow ne er can hold aloof\\nFrom one s umbrella-stands.\\nIn railway trains thou mayst be left\\nUntouched by those that loot.\\nThy owner cannot be bereft\\nOf thee, old parachute.\\nIf thou wert made of silken stuff,\\nWith silver mountings gay,\\nThieves could not hurry fast enough\\nTo carry thee away.\\nBut, old umbrell, the duty s thine\\nTo hold thy place as yet.\\nTo travel with us when tis fine\\nAnd vanish when tis wet.\\nAt home in leisure thou shalt lie\\nWhen rain begins to pour,\\nBut when there is a cloudless sky,\\nBe always to the fore.\\nSuch is thy custom, aged gamp\\nWith innocence demure,\\nTo hide thyself in weather damp\\nAnd hold a sinecure.\\nBut. bless thy ancient heart, why not\\nThus slumber on the shelf?\\nIf we were an umbrell, that s what\\nWe d like to do ourself.\\n67", "height": "4496", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "Mary s Garden\\nMary had a garden patch,\\nIt measured two by four\\nShe was a floral amateur,\\nJust this and nothing more.\\nShe had some little garden tools,\\nA spade, a rake, a hoe.\\nAnd ev ry seed that Mary sowed\\nWas certain not to grow.\\nA seedsman heard of Mary s fad\\nHe grinned a wicked grin\\nAnd sent her gorgeous catalogues\\nWith colored plates therein.\\nThe lily and the queenly rose,\\nGeraniums red and white\\nGrew lavishly on ev ry page\\nTo Mary s great delight.\\nAnd there were dahlias many-hued,\\nVerbenas, pansies, stocks.\\nChrysanthemums and marguerites\\nAnd tow ring hollyhocks.\\nThe tulip and the hyacinth,\\nThe castor bean so tall.\\nQuoth Mary, These are out of sight,\\nI ve got to have em all.\\nSoon ev ry train and ev ry mail\\nBrought in a precious freight\\nOf floral things that Mary thought\\nShe d neatly propagate.\\nAnd soon with hoe and rake and spade\\nShe delved and dug and scratched\\nI ll have a garden, Mary said,\\nThat can t on earth be matched.\\n58", "height": "4505", "width": "3278", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "But fortune on poor mortals oft\\nIs predisposed to frown;\\nIt proved that Mary s choicest bulbs\\nWere planted upside down.\\nHer finest seeds ^just think of this\\nTwould make an angel weep\\nGrew not at all because they had\\nBeen buried three feet deep.\\nThe plants she purchased ready made\\nTook sick and pined away;\\nSomehow the soil that Mary used\\nSet everything astray.\\nAnd when the gayest ones were gone,\\nFor reasons unexplained,\\nTen million bugs came prancing round\\nAnd ate up what remained.\\nAt this the maid threw up her hands,\\nShe d done the best she could\\nBut now she yielded and her tools\\nWere used for kindling wood.\\nAnd if she ever should again\\nAttempt the floral lay,\\nShe ll hunt some German gard ner up\\nAnd hire him by the day.\\nAt the Art Gallery.\\nNow the crowd with expectancy eager,\\nAnd burning desire in its heart.\\nPresses onward, resolved to beleaguer\\nCarnegie s great temple of art.\\nA truce to malevolent strictures,\\nA truce to foul jealousy s taint,\\nWhile the mob is turned loose on the pictures\\nAnd revels sublimely in paint.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "There are critics, of course, pompous fellows,\\nDescanting with loud haws and hems,\\nOn the blues and the reds and the yellows\\nIn exquisite classical gems.\\nEach of talent at home is a spurner;\\nThereat they consumedly scoff\\nAnd they rave over Landseer and Turner\\nAnd RulDens, and won t be called off.\\nBut the common unlettered *Hoi Polloi\\nEnjoy ev ry canvas in sight.\\nThey find Rembrandt uncommonly jolly\\nAnd Vandyck a source of delight.\\nThey give way; to the witching concoctions\\nOf Whistler and Bouguereau, too,\\nAnd go wild over local productions\\nAnd never once know which is who.\\nTell them not about tints ineffective,\\nAnd ill-managed shadows and lights.\\nDon t bore them by talking perspective,\\nThey care not to soar to such heights.\\nPlease keep mum on Pre-Raphaelite schooling\\nAnd Renaissance methods, unless\\nWith a buzz-saw y^ou re bent upon fooling.\\nAnd carry the thing to excess.\\nNo, let folks neither skilled nor presuming.\\nJust follow the catalogue s lead.\\nAnd read up on each masterpiece blpoming\\nWithout to the source giving heed.\\nFor the acme of popular pleasure,\\nUnmarr d by a drawback or hitch,\\nIs to view each pictorial treasure\\nAnd not know the t other from which.\\nfiO", "height": "4502", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "Bolting Time\\nBolt, bolt, bolt!\\nTis the universal cry,\\nAnd the faction that can t get a strangle holt\\nIs sure the plan to try.\\nThe silver-gilt Prohib\\nIs first to fly the track.\\nYou can tell from the cut of his beaming jib\\nThat he ll never again come back.\\nDon t talk to him of rum,\\nOf the soul-destroying cup.\\nHe is pounding his toy financial drum\\nAnd won t be bottled up.\\nAnd the stately schooners flit\\nFor a nickel across the bar,\\nBut Prohibition in twain is split\\nAnd has lost its guiding star.\\nSt. John, the Kansan sleek.\\nTriumphant leads the way.\\nHe carries a tempting silver brick\\nTo lead the Prohibs astray.\\nHeed not the drinking horn.\\nBut come with me, he cries.\\nAnd the National party thus is born\\nAnd dons a warlike guise.\\nSo, too, within the ranks\\nOf older parties lurk\\nA host of furious silver cranks\\nReady for ugly work.\\nAnd the Grand Old Party quails\\nAs the antics queer it sees\\nOf Bill McKinley trimming his sails\\nTo suit most any breeze.\\n61", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "Speak out, McKinley, speak,\\nThe Stalwarts wildly call.\\nBut in William s views there s never a leak,\\nHe will not speak at all.\\nAnd it s oh for the fatal day\\nWhen into St. Louis troop\\nThe delegates Fully convinced are they\\nThat somebody ll fly the coop.\\nThe Democrats, too, are pained.\\nAnd Harrity can t but weep.\\nFor his followers, rather than be restrained,\\nWill scatter abroad like sheep.\\nAnd November s ides mav see,\\nTo the regulars great dismay.\\nHeretical mobs from parties three.\\nAll on the bolting lay.\\nBolt, bolt, bolt.\\nOh, what wonder that bosses cuss?\\nFor the good old days, with nary a jolt.\\nMay never come back to us.\\nThe Crime of 73.\\nThe truth we ll now unfold about\\nThe crime of 73.\\nNo more can men afford to doubt\\nThe crime of 73.\\nAll ills to which the flesh is heir.\\nAll sorts of worry, woe and care\\nResult from that most foul affair.\\nThe crime of y^-\\nWhat injures men that never toil?\\nThe crime of 73.\\nWhat makes the blood of shirkers boil?\\nThe crime of 73.\\n62\\nI", "height": "4508", "width": "3276", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "What causes folks to dodge their bills?\\nWhat drives a few to tapping tills?\\nWhat is the root of human ills\\nThe crime of 73.\\nWhat was it led to Noah s flood\\nThe crime of 73.\\nWhat laid out Caesar in his blood\\nThe crime of 73.\\nWhat brought Ould Ireland neath the yoke\\nOf England and her heart nigh broke.\\nOh, Pat, it was this is no joke\\nThe crime of 73.\\nWhat caused the London plague and fire\\nThe crime of 73.\\nWhat caused in France rebellion dire?\\nThe crime of 73.\\nWhat did a hapless British king.\\nWhose barons had him on a string,\\nRepeal? It was that same old thing,\\nThe crime of 73.\\nWhat led to Joan of Arc s crusade\\nThe crime of 73.\\nWhat killed off Nolan s Light Brigade?\\nThe crime of 73.\\nWhat was it that in Asia bred\\nThe cholera, which black ruin spread\\nAbroad? Ah, twas that monster dread.\\nThe crime of 73.\\nWhat is behind the Bryan boom?\\nThe crime of 73.\\nWhat fills the Pops with wrath and gloom\\nThe crime of 73.\\nAnd what impels irreverent folk\\nWith wicked merriment to choke?\\nIt is that source of m^ny a croak,\\nThe crime of 73.\\n68", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "The Return of the Crinoline.\\nThe hoopskirt is coming Dame Fashion s decree\\nIs bringing it hither from over the sea\\nAnd our girls, it appears, tis a thing to deplore)\\nMust go back to the togs that their grandmothers wore.\\nO woman, sweet woman how hard is thy case,\\nTo be thus, nolens volens, enlarged at the base.\\nAnd, without an appreciable chance of escape,\\nTo be forced to assume a pyramidal shape.\\nWhat wonder that youths of an amorous turn\\nBreathe curses intense and with wrathfulness burn?\\nOf woman s caprice they ll of course be the Hupes,\\nFor there s no hope of hugging a charmer in hoops.\\nThe waltz! dear, oh dear, there s an end of all that;\\nNever more can a chap feel the loud pit-a-pat\\nOf a feminine heart on his shoulder so stout.\\nSince the crinoline infamous thing bars him out.\\nAlas for the sidewalk, already too small,\\nA couple of ladies will cover it all.\\nAnd the streets will be closed against masculine craft\\nWhen the gals promenade every Saturday aft.\\nThe street railway trav ler who s sandwiched between\\nTwo females will yearn to decamp from the scene;\\nOh, tis easy to guess how a fellow must feel\\nWhen environed with whalebone and girdled with steel.\\nIs there no dress reformer, with gumption enough\\nTo inflict on this evil an early rebuff.\\nAnd induce the dear girls, ere they ve pushed things too\\nfar.\\nTo fall back upon trousers, or stay as they are\\nIf not, then, by Jove, let us males all unite\\nIn a prayer that Boreas will rise in his might\\nAnd send forth such a blast, bringing woe and dismay,\\nAs will fill up the hoopskirts and blow em away.\\n64", "height": "4502", "width": "3269", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "When Brennen Quits the Chair.\\n[Apropos of the Rumored Resignation of the Demo-\\ncratic Chairman of Allegheny County, Pa.]\\nThe stars above will cease to shine\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair;\\nThe bosses will their crowns resign\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nOur millionaires will help the poor,\\nPhysicians will not kill, but cure.\\nAnd councils will be good and pure\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nEd Bigelow will economize\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nThe Times no more will deal in lies\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nThe Coxey scheme will win the day,\\nThe month of June will come in May,\\nAnd the Pope will join the A. P. A.\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nBill Flinn will cease to legislate\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nProhibs. will all get on a skate\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nSpeak-easies will be free to run,\\nInstallment men will cease to dun,\\nThe moon will overpower the sun\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "The traction roads will fares reduce\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nSaloons will sell no lightning juice\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nDefunct will be the coupon fake,\\nG. Cleveland will free trade forsake,\\nAnd pugs will fight without a stake\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nOld Prob the truth will always tell\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nBrazilians won t again rebel\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nNo dude will smoke a cigarette,\\nPhil Flinn on candidates won t bet\\nAnd water won t be very wet\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nJohn Larkin will with Sipe agree\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nThe British will set Ireland free\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nHerr Most will wash his hairy face,\\nThe Leader won t be pressed for space\\nAnd Breckinridge will win his case\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nThe south will have no lynching mobs\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nB. Mullen will resign his jobs\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.\\nLed on by Billy s action rash,\\nThe universe, with awful crash,\\nWill split apart and go to smash\\nWhen Brennen quits the chair.", "height": "4508", "width": "3284", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "The Cycling Age.\\nAll the world these days is riding\\nOn a wheel.\\nTo and fro mankind is sliding\\nOn a wheel.\\nUniversal the divorce is\\nFrom the thrall of mules and horses,\\nAnd the wise man swiftly courses\\nOn a wheel.\\nKings and princes do their ruling\\nOn a wheel.\\nChildren go to get their schooling\\nOn a wheel.\\nPedagogues who give instructions\\nIn geometry and fluxions\\nReach conclusions and deductions\\nOn a wheel.\\nPreachers hurry to their preaching\\nOn a wheel.\\nPublic speakers do their speeching\\nOn a wheel.\\nBabies on the bottle feeding\\nNurses care no more are needing,\\nFor we let em go a-speeding\\nOn a wheel.\\nPainters dally with their palettes\\nOn a wheel.\\nPoliticians purchase ballots\\nOn a wheel.\\nPoets, careless of contusions,\\nNurse their fancies and illusions\\nAnd produce their swift effusions\\nOn a wheel.\\nf)7", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "Architects their plans unravel\\nOn a wheel.\\nModerators swing the gavel\\nOn a wheel.\\nPitchers practice curves deceiving,\\nNovelists, when plots they re weaving.\\nPeg along, with bosoms heaving,\\nOn a wheel.\\nConcert singers take to trilling\\nOn a w^heel.\\nWeyler does his daily killing\\nOn a wheel.\\nAnd McKinley with a knowing\\nWink foresees good fortune flowing,\\nWhen all things ahead are going\\nOn a wheel.\\nCoppers chas^^ the bold law-breaker\\nOn a wheel.\\nStiffs hunt up the undertaker\\nOn a wheel.\\nBargain hunters go a-jewing,\\nLovers in their pristine wooing\\nDo their billing and their cooing\\nOn a wheel.\\nYes, life s worth the living only\\nOn a wheef.\\nNo one s helpless, sad or lonely\\nOn a wheel.\\nThen let s hope, to end the story,\\nThat we ll all be hunky-dory\\nAnd go scorching off to glory\\nOn a wheel.", "height": "4508", "width": "3171", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "George and the Hatchet.\\nOnce more tis here, that famous date\\nWhereon the birth we celebrate\\nOf him who, howsoe er he d try,\\nCould never, never tell a lie\\nOur nation s noblest, biggest gun.\\nThe great and good G. Washington.\\nGreat was the joy when first to Truth\\nGeorge pledged himself in early youth.\\nBefore that time his parents had\\nNo special reverence for the lad.\\nBoys will be boys, they said, and guessed\\nThat George might yarn like all the rest.\\nNow George was much aggrieved to know\\nThat people should regard him so.\\nAnd hence he watched his chance to make\\nCorrection of the odd mistake.\\nZounds cried the lad, I ll prove some day\\nThat morally I am O. K.\\nIt chanced that one fine Christmas morn\\n(Seven years had passed since George was born),\\nChriskingle down the chimney slid\\nAnd left a hatchet for the kid.\\nTwas small, but chroniclers agree\\nThat it was famous cutlery.\\nAha said George when he awoke.\\nOnce more that old Chriskingle joke.\\nTwas father that put up the tax\\nTo purchase this incipient ax,\\nBut punished for his trick he ll he\\nI ll chop his fav rite cherry tree,\\nThus saying, George went forth and plaved\\nSad havoc with his keen-edged blade.\\nAnd soon that priceless cherry stood\\nA shapeless mass of kindling wood.\\nIts place quotli he, they ll hardly fill.\\nIt cost a twenty dollar bill.\\nf.9", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "Meanwhile the elder Washington\\nUnto the spot had traced his son.\\nUnhappy youth he howled, I see\\nThat someone s felled my priceless tree.\\nAnd from your hatchet, plain to view,\\nI m reasonably sure twas You,\\nFather, said George, I must confess\\nYou ve struck it at a single guess.\\nBut touch me not. Learn now with shame,\\nI ve tumbled to your Christmas game.\\nMark my example. Dad, and try\\nLike Me to NEVER tell a lie.\\nThe words struck home. The old man said,\\nYou re right, my boy. Great head, great head.\\nTis very clear that, as you state,\\nYou can t and v^^on t prevaricate.\\nAnd thus wound up the great event\\nThat made G. Wash our President.\\nPlain William\\nIn his modest home at Canton, that blessed Buckeye\\ntown.\\nWhere pilgrims go to worship at his shrine.\\nPlain William sits a-waiting for the presidential crown\\nWhich comes to him, you know, by right divine.\\nAt St. Louis they have named him with a glorious\\nhurrah.\\nAnd committeemen will wait on him to-day\\nTo inform him of his triumph, and before the boys with-\\ndraw\\nIn tones Napoleonic he will say\\nRefrain.\\n70", "height": "4508", "width": "3317", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "Just tell em that you saw me, and they will know the\\nrest,\\nJust tell em 1 was looking well, you know,\\nJust tell em you surprised me, and the merry, merry jest\\nWill please em as it did long, long ago.\\nThe major has a Fireside. A picture of the same\\nIs shown in ev ry journal up-to-date.\\nThe reason that tis utilized is simply to proclaim\\nThat William is domestically straight.\\nAt that dear old chimney corner, with associations\\nsweet.\\nHe will stand with swelling heart and flashing eye.\\nAnd in simple pious language, free from semblance of\\ndeceit,\\nTo the notifying speeches he ll reply\\nRef Just tell em that you saw me, etc.\\nAnd William has relations. They re females ev ry one\\nRomantically guiding his career.\\nHistorians inform us that when daily toil is done,\\nHe fondly turns to gentle woman s sphere.\\nEv ry mention of this winning trait, so rare in public\\nmen.\\nWins applause, and so in language soft and fond,\\nThe committee will refer to it successfully, and then\\nThe Plain One will immediately respond\\nRef: Just tell em that you saw me, etc.\\nThere are many kicking citizens, who oftentimes pre-\\ntend\\nThat presidential aspirants should speak\\nUnevasively and plainly, making clear how they intend\\nTo act, if chosen to the place they seek.\\nSo it may be said to William, Will you drop the silver\\ncraze\\nAnd hoist the honest money flag at once?\\nWhereupon the modest hero on the wall will fix his gaze\\nAnd murmur the appropriate response:\\nRef: Just tell em that you saw me, etc.\\n71", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "In November twill be settled whether William gets the\\nplum\\nOr before the rabid enemy shall fall.\\nIn the latter case tis understood that ruin s bound to\\ncome,\\nAnd play the very mischief with us all.\\nBut no matter what the outcome is, we ll ne er forget\\nthe day\\nWhen at Canton, with admirers grouped around.\\nThat committee said to William, Take the nomination,\\npray,\\nAnd he replied with no uncertain sound:\\nRef Just tell em that you saw me, etc.\\nNansen\\nIn the European region\\nTenanted by folks Norwegian,\\nDwelt a youth of lore prolific,\\nSteeped in knowledge scientific.\\nNansen so his name is written\\nWith the polar craze was smitten\\nDays and nights he passed in dreaming,\\nPlotting, planning, deeply scheming.\\nCeasing not the hope to cherish\\nThat he d find the Pole or perish.\\nOne fine day the King of Norway\\nLoafing at the palace doorway,\\nNoted Nansen, darkly musing\\nO er his plans of polar cruising,\\nAnd the monarch philanthropic\\nBraced him on his favorite topic.\\nAh, my liege, said Nansen sadly,\\nCash I need and need it badly.\\nTut the king said. I ll befriend you\\nTo the blamed old Pole I ll send you.\\n72", "height": "4498", "width": "3275", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "Soon a ship, the Fram, was ready,\\nWell-built, solid, stout and steady;\\nAnd with captain, mate and bos n\\nDuly used to being frozen,\\nNansen sailed away rejoicing\\nPraise for good King Oscar voicing.\\n**Soon, he said, in matters polar\\nI shall be a true high roller,\\nAnd oh, prospect full of rapture\\nEasily the Pole I ll capture.\\nOn he kept a-sailing, sailing,\\nWhere the whalers go a-whaling,\\nWhere the sealers go a-sealing\\nMid perpetual congealing.\\nWhere when fields of ice are growing\\nEsquimaux go forth a- mauing.\\nWhere, a ton of clothing wearing.\\nWhite bear hunters go a-bearing,\\nAnd in advertising phrase he\\nMurmured This Great Sail s a Daisy.\\nFinally his gallant vessel\\nHad with icebergs huge to wrestle\\nAnd the passageway to close up,\\nEv rything around him froze up.\\nNo more laughed his sailors gladly;\\n*Tis a frost, they whispered sadly.\\nit all, said Nanse profanely,\\nIs my trip to wind up vainly?\\nNever. Fate may seek to balk it,\\nBut by all the gods, I ll walk it.\\nForth he skipped and walked with vigor,\\nHeeding not the season s rigor\\nWalked and walked the ice fields over,\\nYet no pole could he discover.\\nNot the smallest piece of timber", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "Showed itself. So tired and limber\\nAfter many days, the hero,\\nAt a point far under zero.\\nStruck his flag, with anger burning\\nAnd resolved on home returning.\\nHomeward then he wandered, wandered.\\nZigzagged, circled and meandered.\\nLost himself and woe hung round him\\nWhen a cruising vessel found him.\\nHow s the Pole? they asked him smiling\\nIn a tone of voice beguiling.\\nBut this thing there s no romance in\\nBlank, blank, blank the Pole, said Nansen.\\nMarching Through Cuba\\nBring the good old bugle, boys, that s long been laid\\naway.\\nAs she rang out years ago, so let er ring to-day.\\nTo the martial tunes of yore we ll rally to the fray,\\nAs we go marching thro Cuba.\\nChorus\\nHurrah, Hurrah! we ll sound the jubilee,\\nWhen Cuba s sons from tyrant thrall are free.\\nBlanco and his cutthroat band we ll drive across the sea,\\nAs we go marching thro Cuba.\\nGives us Yankee Doodle, which in early days inspired\\nGallant patriotic hearts with hope of freedom fired.\\nBlanco, when he hears the strain, will feel exceeding\\ntired,\\nAs we go marching thro Cuba.\\nCho. Hurrah, hurrah, etc.\\n74", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "Give us, while the drummers beat a glorious tattoo,\\nStirring Hail Columbia, and the old Red, White\\nand Blue.\\nAt the very sound of em the Dons will hide from view.\\nAs we go marching thro Cuba.\\nCho. Hurrah, hurrah, etc.\\nGive us Rally Round the Flag, and while we jest at\\nscars\\nLet us have the Banner that is spangled o er with stars,\\nTelling us the glory of our soldiers and Jack Tars,\\nAs we go marching thro Cuba.\\nCho. Hurrah, hurrah, etc.\\nTop er off with Dixie, which to all men will attest\\nThat the North and South are hand in hand and breast\\nto breast.\\nSending forth unitedly their bravest and their best,\\nAs we go marching thro Cuba.\\nCho. Hurrah, hurrah, etc.\\nSoon the thrilling echoes of these tunes will penetrate\\nTo the heart of old Madrid and to her palace gate.\\nGet up, then, ye Dons, and git before it is too late,\\nAs we go marching thro Cuba.\\nCho. Hurrah, hurrah, etc.\\nCasablanca Redivivus,\\nThe Boy, the Oratoric Boy,\\nStood on the burning deck\\nAnd viewed with signs of fiendish joy\\nThe Democratic wreck.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "Around him fast and fiercely burned\\nThe old Jacksonian craft.\\nHer ropes and spars to ashes turned\\nAfore and eke abaft.\\nWhat lit the terror-breeding fire\\nWhat set the ship ablaze\\nAlas for the misfortune dire!\\nIt was the silver craze.\\nAmid it all the Boy stood forth\\nAnd said with flashing eye\\nCall fifty cents a dollar s worth,\\nOr at my post I ll die.\\nIn vain Jacksonians called to him\\nTo quit the scene of woe.\\nHe held his ground, stern-faced and grim\\nThe Youngster would not go.\\nTroud youth, the old-time leaders said,\\n*To swift demise you re doomed.\\nBut still the Youth with bulging head\\nStood there to be consumed.\\nTm from the surging Platte, said he,\\nVm fresh from Omaha,\\nAnd, oh, I ll shout for silver free\\nClear to Gehenna s maw.\\nThe fire raged on. Its angry glow\\nTold of Destroying Fate.\\nThe boy stuck fast. He would not go\\nHe was a candidate.\\nSoon one by one the older hands\\nAmong the good ship s crew,\\nSlipped off, unmindful of commands.\\nIn lifeboats, staunch and true.", "height": "4508", "width": "3161", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "There still remained a handful small\\nAround the nervy Lad.\\nThe silver craze had made em all\\nStark, staring, raving mad.\\nAnd so, while flames lit up the sky,\\nThey danced a wild cancan.\\nAnd screamed: The old ship we ll stand by\\nAnd Bryan is our man.\\nSoon burns the fire. Oh, will that Child\\nIn ashes yet be laid\\nAsk of the winds that make up wild\\nBill Bryan s stock-in-trade.\\nDewey\\nCool as a crystal chunk of ice\\nIs Dewey.\\nNo need of warning or advice\\nFor Dewey.\\nNo foreign emperor or king\\nHis funny tricks may haply spring,\\nFor there, prepared for ev rything.\\nIs Dewey.\\nThree months ago but few had heard\\nOf Dewey;\\nSmall public notice was conferred\\nOn Dewey.\\nNo one to howls of joy gave vent\\nWhen to the far-off Orient\\nThe first commands of war were sent\\nFor Dewey.\\nM", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "McKinley s words were short and sweet\\nTo Dewey:\\nGo forth and smash the Spanish fleet,\\nFriend Dewey.\\nDid Dewey falter? Did he pause?\\nOr hesitate from any cause?\\nNay. Into Ruin s very jaws\\nWent Dewey.\\nBut Ruin somehow failed to fall\\nOn Dewey.\\nSuccess was at the beck and call\\nOf Dewey.\\nAcross explosive mines he skipped\\nAnd Spanish ships to pieces ripped.\\nTeetotally the Dons were whipped\\nBy Dewey.\\nAt first there were no troops to stand\\nBy Dewey,\\nBut still like iron was the hand\\nOf Dewey.\\nAnd when the Germans thought it cute\\nHis regulations to dispute,\\nLie down, ye terriers, or Til shoot.\\nSaid Dewey.\\nIf all commanders ruled the seas\\nLike Dewey,\\nAll round we d boss things with the ease\\nOf Dewey.\\nBut bless you! while of sea dogs grim\\nAnd brave our stock is nowise slim,\\nThe world can hold but one Uke him,\\nOne Dewey.\\n78", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "The Merry Month of June.\\nOh, the frost is on the dahlias and the rosebud is n. g.\\nThe nascent peach sustains a chill and dies upon the tree\\nThe birds abandon melody and mournful dirges croon,\\nHoarsely hailing the arrival of the merry month of\\nJune.\\nFires that long have been extinguished are rekindled\\nwith a sigh.\\nAnd grate screens are abandoned till the sweeter by-\\nand by.\\nHot toddy strikes the spot again, and cough drops are\\na boon\\nTo pneumonia-stricken wretches in the merry month\\nof June.\\nSee the maiden in the shirtwaist. She has reason to\\nrepine.\\nA seriatim course of chills is trav ling down her spine.\\nShe sneezes and she wheezes and they ll plant her pretty\\nsoon\\nIf she doesn t wear her flannels in the merry month of\\nJune.\\nMark that hectic looking citizen with pinched and\\nhollow jaw.\\nHe was the very first to wear a hat of Mackinaw.\\nHe s looking now for rock-and-rye, and breathes in each\\nsaloon\\nDark and dismal imprecations on the merry month of\\nJune.\\nOn the public highway still we see a visage worn and\\nwan;\\nIt is that super-previous lad, the hanky-panky man.\\nI-i-scream the dismal utterance is sadly out of tune\\nWith the frostiness that permeates the merry month\\nof June.\\n79", "height": "4503", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "Panic seizes on the churches, and the Sunday schools\\nare grieved\\nTo think that by the weather man they thus should be\\ndeceived.\\nMethinks twere better far to be a dog and bay the moon\\nThan to lay the ropes for picnics in the merry month\\nof June.\\nAsk the railroads what they think of it. They ll tell you\\nthat the Fates\\nAre down on summer traveling at cheap excursion rates.\\nWith wreckage of their brightest plans their lines are\\nthickly strewn,\\nAnd they shudder at the advent of the merry month of\\nJune.\\nMatrimony is the caper in the early summer time;\\nErotic poets sing of it in ev ry sort of rhyme.\\nBut what s the use of poetry when lovers cease to spoon\\nAnd fall back on pills and powders in the merry month\\nof June.\\nTo the bow-wows we are going that s a sure and certain\\nthing;\\nWe haven t any summer and we haven t any spring.\\nThen, prithee, Mr. Weather Man, confer on us a boon\\nAnd just jolt the sun a little in this merry month of\\nJune.\\nThe Circus Parade.\\nCircus in town. See em running,\\nThe youngsters with wings on their feet.\\nWhen the pageant breaks loose on the street\\nIn splendor and majesty stunning.\\nThey re certainly doing it brown.\\nCircus in town.", "height": "4508", "width": "3223", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "Circus in town. Many-tinted\\nAnd brilliantly gilt are the cars\\nWhich princes and grand dukes and czars\\nHave gazed on with pleasure unstinted\\nAnd never a trace of a frown.\\nCircus in town.\\nCircus in town. The musicians\\nAhead of the gay caravan\\nKeep a-pounding out El Capitan\\nAnd All Coons, and with no intermissions\\nThe noise of the highway they drown.\\nCircus in town.\\nCircus in town. In their cages\\nThe wildest of beasts move along;\\nLions glare at the onlooking throng,\\nAnd the tiger ferociously rages.\\nHe d like to gulp somebody down.\\nCircus in town.\\nCircus in town. Here come creeping\\nThe elephants, massive to view\\nThey re a thick-skinned and slow-going crew,\\nAnd they carry their trunks for safe keeping,\\nAnd ha! ha! there s a rollicking clown.\\nCircus in town.\\nCircus in town. Lady riders\\nIn fairy-like tarlatan clothes\\nAre posing and each in her pose\\nMuch resembles a pair of dividers\\nDressed up in a fractional gown.\\nCircus in town.\\n81", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "Circus in town. See the juggling\\nAnd tumbling and other such feats,\\nAll performed in the march o er the streets;\\nAnd the populace madly is struggling\\nThe artists with glory to crown.\\nCircus in town.\\nCircus in town. Tis a magnet\\nAttracting the young and the old,\\nAnd the wise and the fair and the bold,\\nOr a sort of omnipotent drag-net.\\nNo bounds to its royal renown.\\nCircus in town.\\nSpring.\\nIn the spring the little birdies\\nFrom their southern quarters come;\\nIn the spring the young man s fancy\\nLightly turns to coats of gum;\\nIn the spring the cooing dovelets\\nDon their brightest burnished suits\\nIn the spring the population\\nHoists a million umbrachutes.\\nIn the spring the blithesome rabbit\\nO er the greensward gaily scoots;\\nIn the spring suburban dwellers\\nDon extensive rubber boots;\\nIn the spring the brooks and streamlets\\nPrattle with a gleeful prat;\\nIn the spring the sad policeman\\nGlow rs beneath an oilskin hat.\\n8S\\nI\\nI", "height": "4508", "width": "3264", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "In the spring the sugar maple\\nLets its stored-up sweetness slip;\\nIn the spring the doctors revel\\nIn the sudden spread of grip;\\nIn the spring, with colors radiant,\\nButterflies begin to whizz\\nIn the spring old residenters\\nDouble up with rheumatiz.\\nIn the spring the violet modest\\nLifts her head and peeps about\\nIn the spring the rivers rising\\nSeize the chance to flood us out\\nIn the spring the farmer s offspring\\nScour the woods for sassafras;\\nIn the spring the thrifty housewife\\nShuts down on the natural gas.\\nIn the spring the fruitful orchard\\nPuts forth many a leaf and bud;\\nIn the spring the sturdy plowman\\nPlows profanely through the mud;\\nIn the spring the earth is full of\\nLight and life and hope and cheer\\nIn the spring the cemetery\\nDoes the bus ness of the year.\\nIn the spring the heart of Nature\\nSwells with feelings of good will;\\nIn the spring the stoutest infant\\nBaffles the physician s skill\\nIn the spring well, talk of wetness\\nWeather men don t do a thing.\\nPouring, drizzling, soaking, seeping\\nThat s your size, O gentle Spring.\\n83", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "Philhellenic.\\nUp, up, ye Greek societies that dwell in college halls,\\nAnd gird ye on your weapons, for duty loudly calls.\\nNo more blow-outs and banquets. The obligation s\\nstrict\\nTo live up to your lettered names until the Turk is\\nlicked.\\nUp, up Phi Gamma Epsilon. Go forth to do or die.\\nLet not the world, beholding you, look black and say,\\nOh, Phi!\\nBut, breathing to Olympian ones a pray r in classic\\nstrain,\\nGo forth to show that alphabetic names are not in vain.\\nUp, up. Pi Kappa. Now s the time for arming\\nKap-a-pie.\\nInto the ring your castor you ve simply got to shy.\\nAnd where the tide of Moslem steel is seen to surge and\\nswell,\\nPile in, lads, and stampede em with a good old college\\nyell.\\nUp, up, O Gamma Delta, nor fail to understand\\nThat to your members Providence has dealt-a fighting\\nhand.\\nNo use to frame excuses. The same must needs be\\nweak,\\nFor bless you, sirs, talk as you will, your very name is\\nGreek.\\nAye faith. There is no way to dodge the obligation\\nstern\\nThat rests on our Greek letter men their warlike spurs\\nto earn.\\nFrom Alpha down to Omega, the whole caboodle must\\nPrance forth like Homer s warriors and whale the Turk\\nor bust.\\n84", "height": "4502", "width": "3301", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "For now s the time when Hellas needs the aid of lusty\\nhands\\nTo shield her shrines traditional from bloody Moslem\\nbands.\\nAnd now she cries, Shall Moslems grim my fields and\\ntowns despoil,\\nWhen alphabetic Grecians are thick on Yankee soil?\\nNot so. A million Alphas, Gammas, Sigmas, Chis and\\nTaus,\\nWill surely hasten to the front and boost the Grecian\\ncause,\\nAnd Turkey when she finds herself thus fearfully beset\\nWill groan, I never thought to fight the whole blamed\\nalphabet.\\nThe Tenth Pennsylvania.\\nBring a thousand bugles, boys. Let s have another\\nsong.\\nThundered by a chorus that is half a million strong.\\nSing it to the boys whose fame to us and ours belong,\\nHeroes of old Pennsylvania.\\nChorus.\\nThe Tenth The Tenth Sing out the glad refrain.\\nThe Tenth The Tenth Brave boys, they re home\\nagain.\\nBack they come with glory that will never, never wane.\\nShout for the Tenth Pennsylvania\\nWhen McKinley called for volunteers to cross the sea.\\nWho advanced demanding in the foremost place to be?\\nWho to join the battle made the first and strongest plea\\nWho but the Tenth Pennsylvania?\\nCho.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Tenth The Tenth etc.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "Off to far Manila went those noble hearts of oak,\\nLonging for the conflict, with its blood and fire and\\nsmoke.\\nSoon upon the foeman s ears their cry of battle broke.\\nLoud spoke the Tenth Pennsylvania.\\nCho.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Tenth The Tenth etc.\\nSpaniards at the dead of night essayed a fierce attack.\\nForward, boys! cried Hawkins, Drive the sneaking\\ndagoes back\\nHelter skelter went the Dons and quickly cleared the\\ntrack,\\nChased by the Tenth Pennsylvania.\\nCho.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Tenth The Tenth etc.\\nWhen the Dons were routed and the Filipos broke out\\nAguinaldo s fighters found themselves in ev ry bout\\nBeaten and discomfited and scattered by the stout\\nRustlers from old Pennsylvania.\\nCho.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Tenth The Tenth etc.\\nNever did they lose a fight. Where er their colors flew\\nVictory was sure to come. The old Red, White and\\nBlue\\nNever waved o er warriors more steadfast, brave and\\ntrue\\nThan those from old Pennsylvania.\\nCho.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Tenth The Tenth etc.\\nThat s the song we have to sing. Let all, with might\\nand main,\\nJoin in ripping out the glad and glorious refrain.\\nHonoring the heroes that are with us once again.\\nGlorious Tenth Pennsylvania.\\nCho.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Tenth The Tenth etc.", "height": "4508", "width": "3320", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "Infra Dig.\\nAre they long-sepultured Pawnees!\\nAre they dead and buried Shawnees\\nAre they slumb ring Kickapoos?\\nAre they Choctaws, gone to glory?\\nAre they Blackfeet, famed in story?\\nAre they Chippewas or Sioux\\nAre they AHquippas haughty,\\nAre they Hurons, wild and naughty?\\nAre they Iroquois or Crees?\\nOr oh, horror stead of red men,\\nAre there only recent dead men\\nIn that moundlet of McKee s?\\nIn that pile of earth prolific,\\nA. Carnegie s scientific\\nCorps has delved these many day?\\nSpite of rain and of caloric,\\nScores of relics prehistoric\\nThey ve been managing to raise.\\nBones they ve spaded up in plenty.\\nSkeletons they number twenty\\nThey have found beneath the trees.\\nAnd the doctrine now is nourished.\\nThat an Indian village flourished\\nIn that moundlet of McKee s.\\nBut now comes the blatant scoffer,\\nWith strange evidence to offer,\\nContradicting Gerodette.\\nFriends, he says, Your work s indecent,\\nThat these upturned stiffs are recent,\\nAny sum I d like to bet.\\nThen, with nothing to restrict him,\\nHe identifies each victim\\nJust as easy as you please.\\nAnd he demonstrates that very\\nLike a modern cemetery\\nIs that moundlet of McKee s.\\n87", "height": "4504", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "There s Wun Lung, who kept a laundry;\\nOh, he died of yaller jandry,\\nIn the year of fifty-six.\\nThere s old Hans, the Dutch salooner,\\nThere s the old piano tuner.\\nWhisky sent him all to sticks.\\nThere s a Dago, there s a naygur\\nTo the fever and the ager\\nWe attribute their decease.\\nPaddy Whack and Bill McCarty,\\nAll are in the Indian party\\nIn that moundlet of McKee s.\\nThus he speaks. A ghastly feeling\\nO er professors grave is stealing\\nAs the painful news they hear.\\nNot a chief nor ancient prancer,\\nTo such names as these could answer.\\nOh, tis truly too severe.\\nAnd one trembles when reflecting,\\nThat the wholesale resurrecting\\nOf such recent chaps as these\\nLeaves no way of hunting cover;\\nWe must bury em all over\\nIn that moundlet of McKee s.\\nHymn of the National Delegates.\\nBring the good old platform, boys, triumphantly along.\\nMake it, as we used to make it, good and hot and strong.\\nLet it be a corker, whether we are right or wrong,\\nStrike hard and fast at St. Loo-ey.\\nHurrah, hurrah Our hearts are filled with pride.\\nWe re out for gold with silver on the side.\\nJust a little while from now the spoils we shall divide,\\nThat s why we meet at St. Loo-ey.", "height": "4495", "width": "3257", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "Gentlemen disinguished ask to be our candidate\\nMorton, Reed and Allison and Quay our pleasure wait,\\nBut McKinley s name already figures on the slate,\\nHe has the call at St. Loo-ey.\\nHurrah, hurrah McKinley s flag we fly.\\nHurrah, hurrah! We really don t know why.\\nAnyhow we re booming Mac and no one can deny\\nThat s why w^e meet at St. Loo-ey.\\nHave you heard of Hanna who commands McKinley s\\ntroops?\\nEv rywhere the delegates w ith ease and grace he scoops.\\nWhen he opes his satchel there are wild McKinley\\nwhoops.\\nRending the air at St. Loo-ey.\\nHurrah, hurrah Let beaten rivals bark.\\nHurrah, hurrah We ll still be true to Mark.\\nAmple is his barrel, boys, and (kindly keep it dark)\\nThat s why we meet at St. Loo-ey.\\nWhy do w^e go back on Reed and other leaders stout\\nWhy do w^e the noblest of our party chieftains flout\\nHang it That s a question we don t care to figure out\\nDon t press the same at St. Loo-ey.\\nHurrah, hurrah We ll never, never flinch.\\nHurrah, hurrah We ll never yield an inch.\\nWe are for the candidate that has the richest cinch\\nThat s why w^e meet at St. Loo-ey.\\nWhen the great convention and election, too, are o er,\\nHappiness and comfort for us rooters are in store.\\nHanna will provide for us forever, ever more,\\nTrue to his vows at St. Loo-ey.\\nHurrah, hurrah The platform bring along.\\nHurrah, hurrah! Let s make er hot and strong.\\nTill we re all in clover, boys, it won t be very long.\\nThat s why we meet at St. Loo-ey.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "Espanol.\\nStep in, step in Senores,\\nMake all we have your own,\\nReceive mid bow rs of Acres\\nOur salutacion.\\nA greeting in your lingo\\nWe d spring with heart and soul\\nInstanter, but, by jingo!\\nNo hablo Espanol.\\nStep in, commerciales\\nFrom blooming Uruguay,\\nAnd Chile s hot tamales\\nAnd Venezuelans gay.\\nSome day perhaps you ll need us\\nAnd meanwhile, on the whole.\\nYou are our bienvenidos;\\n(How s that for Espanol?)\\nBrazilians, do not linger;\\nPeruvians, do not wait;\\nOld Pitt with beck ning finger\\nIs standing at the gate.\\nTo welcome you he s had his\\nYoung men fill up the bowl.\\nThen here s hospilidades\\nThat s straight-out Espanol.\\nWill anybody touch you\\nWhile you re on Pittsburg ground?\\nCaramba, sirs, non mucho.\\nYou all are safe and sound.\\nA land of milk and honey\\nAwaits you. Tis a goal\\nTo melt the corazone\\nSee there. More Espanol.\\n90", "height": "4508", "width": "3307", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "Ah, Senors, when you ve seen us,\\nAnd riveted your gaze\\nUpon our great molinos\\nYou can t withhold your praise.\\nYou can t go home and d n us\\nOr claim that we cajole\\nFor plaudits esperamos\\nHurrah for Espanol!\\nThen, waiter, fetch the biera.\\nAnd fetch the vino, too;\\nLet s pledge a toast sincera\\nUnto hermanos true.\\nSaludad, ev ry brother,\\nWhile Pittsburg has a roll\\nTo spend, let s take another\\nThat style is Espanol.\\nInks.\\nFar off upon a summit high\\nA dazzling thing to human eye,\\nThe baseball pennant gaily waves,\\nBeyond the reach of Pittsburg s braves,\\nMethinks\\nFor have they not at Louisville\\nSuccumbed already to the skill;\\nThe deft and cunning dexter hand\\nAnd curves they could not understand\\nOf Inks?\\nAh, yes! One s blood must fairly boil\\nTo think that on Kentucky soil,\\nWhere ev ry man to corn-juice sticks\\nAnd loftily disdains to mix\\nHis drinks.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "Onr rustlers, deemed of splendid heft,\\nShould let themselves get sadly left,\\nKerflummuxed, pounded, hammered, slashed,\\nAnd totally to pieces smashed\\nBy Inks.\\nYet so they fared. They couldn t hit\\nNor even pitch a little bit;\\nTwas simply fatal to the nerves\\nTo see how Killen lost his curves\\nAnd kinks,\\nAnd how the rest, alarmed, surprised\\nAnd one and all demoralized,\\nSlid uselessly about the field,\\nThrew up their hands and had to yield\\nTo Inks.\\nAll Louisville turned out to scream\\nIts plaudits for the local team.\\nConsidering those Colonels dense\\nTo be of manly excellence\\nThe pinks;\\nAnd sure enough their sanguine view\\nTo all appearances came true,\\nFor Louisville was out of sight\\nWhen Pittsburg s crowd was slaughtered quite\\nBy Inks.\\nA plague on Inks It is a shame\\nThat one of his unseemly name\\nA name that smacks of blot and smear,\\nA name suggesting very queer\\nHigh jinks\\nShould stump us. Still the fact is there.\\nThat Pittsburg simply pawed the air\\nBefore this dandy, smeary chap.\\nPoor pennant I Twill be grabbed mayhap\\nBy Inks.\\n92\\nJ", "height": "4508", "width": "3315", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "Albert Ed s Lament.\\nI m getting old and feeble; I m a sporty boy no more.\\nThe elephant I do not care to see.\\nI ve let up a bit on baccarat; likewise on rouge-et-noir\\nAnd the betting book has lost its charms for me.\\nAh, yes, I m crawling up in years; my hair is getting\\ngray;\\nAt 56, I m stiff in ev ry bone,\\nBut I have a little parent, who is built another way.\\nShe seems booked to sit forever on the throne.\\nRefrain\\nShe s a very ancient dame, but she stays there just the\\nsame;\\nSuch another wondrous case was ne\\\\ er known.\\nAt the age of 78, she keeps up that same old gait.\\nOh, she s booked to sit forever on the throne.\\nIn my childhood people used to come and fondle Al-\\nbert Ed.\\nNoble youth, they d say, the time cannot be long,\\nTill he wears a royal mantle and a crown upon his head,\\nAnd supplies us with a reign that s hot and strong.\\nBut the years kept rolling onward and I still remained a\\nprince.\\n(Please excuse me while I step aside and groan).\\nI ve been nothing but a crownless heir apparent ever\\nsince\\nTo that little aged lady on the throne.\\nRef. She s a very ancient dame, etc.\\nEarly manhood found me splurging in a very vivid style.\\nOh, I painted things the deepest carmine hue.\\nAnd although my royal parent wouldn t let me touch\\nher pile,", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "I had coin to burn and spent it freely, too.\\nSage advisers said, Be virtuous. I answered No,\\nindeed\\nI intend to have a hot time of my own.\\nTwill be time enough to sober up whenever I succeed\\nMy perennial little parent on the throne.\\nRef. She s a very ancient dame, etc.\\nMiddle age came on and found me getting in my merry\\nlicks,\\nAnd I d still be with the foremost in the swim,\\nBut you see a fellow cannot hold his own at fifty-six\\nYouthful high jinks are no longer good for him.\\nSo I m gradually settling dowm, and upon this natal day\\nPlease regard me as a person who has sown\\nAll his wild oats and quite decently awaits the right of\\nway\\nFrom that little aged lady on the throne.\\nRef. She s a very ancient dame, etc.\\nNon Compos.\\nSoftly breathe it, gently break it.\\nDo not rattle, do not scare\\nThose that bear the news, but make it\\nEasy for the world to bear.\\nOh, the cup of tribulation\\nThat must now be deeply quaffed\\nHear the mournful information\\nPaderewski has gone daft.\\nDo you ask us who is Paddy\\nHimniel Have you ne er set eyes\\nOn that pretty, winsome laddie,\\nNever heard him concertize\\nIf you have, you re bound to feel it\\nLike a deadly sabre cut.\\nAh, good friends, we can t conceal it,\\nPaderewski s off his nut.\\n94", "height": "4504", "width": "3207", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "Rondo and capriccioso,\\nScherzo and concerto grand,\\nBy this glorious virtuoso\\nWere performed, to beat the band.\\nKings and princes howled approval\\nWhen the ivories he d thump.\\nNow we witness his removal.\\nPaderewski s off his chump.\\nOh, the tawny mane that crowned him\\nWondrous was the hair of Pad;\\nHigh school maidens swooned around him,\\nSpinsters saw him and went mad.\\nOne and all they threw him kisses,\\nSighing for a wild embrace.\\nAh, those disappointed misses\\nPaderewski s off his base.\\nWhat came over Pad to queer him\\nWhat occurred his mind to smash?\\nDid the mob too loudly cheer him\\nWas he overcome with cash\\nNay, it was the overpow ring\\nRush of gals that cooked his goose.\\nThanks to womankind devouring,\\nPaderewski s roof is loose.\\nTake him to his gloomy prison;\\nHide away his yellow hair;\\nCurb the symptoms strangely risen;\\nCover up the vacant stare.\\nHedge him round with watchers wary,\\nLest the mob should come and scoff.\\nPoor old chap! He was too hairy,\\nThat is why his trolley s off.", "height": "4495", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "Listing.\\nListing for the Philippines.\\nWho s inclined to join?\\nPlenty of hard knocks ahead,\\nPrecious little coin.\\nHeavy gun and pack to lug\\nSky with fire aglow.\\nSwelter, swelter all the time,\\nWho s inclined to go\\nListing for the Philippines.\\nWeary is the tramp\\nThrough the jungle dense and dark\\nOver bog and swamp.\\nMauser bullets flying round\\nTry a fellow s nerve.\\nZip another one laid out.\\nWho would like to serve\\nListing for the Philippines.\\nAlways on the jump,\\nChasing varmints hidden in\\nEv ry forest clump.\\nOne is killed and ten spring up.\\nFighting such a mob\\nSeems a never-ending task.\\nSay, who wants the job\\nListing for the Philippines.\\nTrenches ev ry where\\nFilled with dusky chaps that won t\\nDo things on the square.\\nNot a chance for villainous\\nDeviltry they miss.\\nHard it is to smoke em out,\\nWho ll go in for this\\n96", "height": "4503", "width": "3317", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "Listing for the Philippines.\\nSomehow, after all,\\nLines of sturdy patriots\\nAnswer to the call.\\nUp to Uncle Sam they step\\nTell him with a grin,\\nWe are ready any day.\\nKindly count us in.\\nListing for the Philippines.\\nFor the stalwart son\\nOf Columbia happy dame\\nTerrors it has none.\\nWhere the Stars and Stripes are borne\\nThere in time of need\\nYankee boys are glad to go.\\nBlessings on the breed\\nDemocracy s Love Feast.\\nLo, the tribesmen Democratic\\nOnce mercurial and erratic,\\nFinally have ceased their fussing,\\nCeased their snarling and their cussing,\\nAnd from Temperancevillihaha,\\nAnd from Allegheniawawa,\\nAnd from Bayardstowniwiski,\\nSo Ho and Southsidiski,\\nAnd from divers other regions\\nCome the former hostile legions\\nSaying: Let us all be merry\\nAnd the ax forever bury.", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "No more on the warpath running\\nSilver cranks for foes are gunning.\\nNo more in their war paint savage\\nDo they fiercely wreck and ravage,\\nShouting in their guttural lingo,\\nBryan is the stuff, by jingo!\\nBut with former hostiles joining\\nThey forsake their schemes of coining.\\nCoining silver thought audacious\\nAt the wildest kind of ratios.\\nQuoth each medicine man and sachem,\\nMake what coins you please. We ll take\\nNo more, shouting war cries horrid,\\nAnd emitting cusswords torrid.\\nCome with fierce determination\\nTribesmen of the Goldbug nation.\\nNow, with bland and courteous greeting\\nAncient foemen they are meeting.\\nAnd instead of scalp-locks hooking\\nElbows at the bar they re crooking.\\nJimclark blandly hails Pefoley,\\nFagan grasps the hand of Boley.\\nNo one kicks about preferment\\nAnd the ax receives interment.\\nWhence this marvel? How explain it?\\nCan the tribes, forsooth, maintain it\\nCan they always in subjection\\nKeep the fires of disaffection,\\nAnd behave each to the other\\nLike a gentle, loving brother?\\nAsk us not. This game new-fangled\\nLeaves us quite non-plussed and tangled.\\nHardly can we yet conceive it\\nOr accept it and believe it.\\nDemocrats no more asunder\\nBoys, this is the world s eighth wonder.", "height": "4508", "width": "3244", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "Turkey Day.\\nOne more glad turkey day\\nFull of good cheer.\\nNowise a murky day\\nDismal and drear.\\nJoyously, chipperly\\nAnd Jack-the-Ripperly\\nKeen knife and fork\\nCut out the heart of thee,\\nSlashed ev ry part of thee.\\nThanksgiving turk\\nOut of doors whistled\\nThe razor-edged blizzard,\\nIndoors men wrestled\\nWith Pope s nose and gizzard.\\nAh, it was wreck to thee\\nRight in the neck to thee,\\nSwift to destroy,\\nCame the unnerving knife.\\nAye, the deft carving knife\\nCleft thee, old boy.\\nNone stopped to muse on\\nThy youth when existence\\nTook roseate hues on\\nAnd Death at a distance\\nImmense seemed to be.\\nHadst thou a family, tenderly dear to thee\\nBrothers and sisters and other ones near to thee?\\nHad some romantic\\nHen-turkey paid frantic\\nDevotion to thee?\\nNobody cared a red,\\nThose on thy flesh that fed\\nWere up in G.\\nUtfa\\nI", "height": "4497", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "Ah, lad, how easily\\nFate strikes the blow\\nOozily, greasily\\nThou wert laid low.\\nRound thee light-yellery\\nBunches of celery\\nRaised each its plume.\\nStuffing inside of thee;\\nGone was the pride of thee,\\nGone to the tomb.\\nOlden folks fluffy-faced\\nToyed with thy corse.\\nJuveniles puffy-faced,\\nLarge-mouthed and hoarse\\nSmacked Hps and panted all\\nDrumsticks they wanted all.\\nGreat was the fuss.\\nTwas a sad job for thee\\nBy a whole mob to be\\nEaten up thus.\\nBut from thy grave, O turk,\\nSardonic laughter\\nComes now. Thy heavy work\\nComes the day after.\\nThey that your flesh devoured,\\nUsed up and overpow red,\\nIn desperation,\\nCall in the grave M. D.\\nHerein, O turk, we see\\nJust reparation.\\nI\\n100", "height": "4507", "width": "3218", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "Those New Year s Bills.\\nThose New Year s bills, those New Year s bills,\\nDown ev ry spine they send the chills.\\nScarce have the chimes, so crisp and clear,\\nRung in the new and smiling year\\nThan ev rywhere the mails convey\\nThose short and sweet requests to pay.\\nMost hearts with grief their advent fills.\\nThose New Year s bills, those New Year s bills.\\nTo homes where joy supreme has reigned.\\nWhere Christmas fun was unrestrained,\\nWhere all hands had a time immense\\nAnd blew themselves at large expense.\\nWhere out of Santa s precious load\\nA goodly store of presents flowed.\\nNow comes the aftermath of ills,\\nThose New Year s bills, those New Year s bills.\\nThe parent fond who, coaxed and urged\\nBy wife and offspring, boldly splurged,\\nWho, though the outlay blanched his hair,\\nWent in for presents rich and rare,\\nNow finds that he the cost must count\\nAnd dig up soon a large amount.\\nTo him they re bitter, bitter pills,\\nThose New Year s bills, those New Year s bills.\\nAnd there s the youth, of slender store,\\nWhose boarding mistress trusts no more.\\nYoung man, she says, you re much inclined\\nTo travel fast, yet run behind.\\nYou ask a stay. 1 answer No.\\nMy fiat is, Pay up or go.\\nAnd so he views, with whitening gills,\\nThose New Year s bills, those New Year s bills.\\n101\\ni", "height": "4489", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "Ah, sore the test of human grit\\nWhen there s a postscript Tlease remit,\\nWhich means that those will sorrow sup\\nWho do not promptly settle up.\\nThen he that s short, in black despair.\\nSheds tears of blood and tears his hair.\\nThey warn us gainst the pace that kills.\\nThose New Year s bills, those New Year s bills.\\nBut mark it well. The suff rer now\\nTakes on the spot a solemn vow\\nThat twelve months hence he ll not be rash\\nBut hold a store of saved-up cash.\\nAnd this his mind at ease may set.\\nAlthough such vows he ll soon forget.\\nNext year, as now, they ll give him chills,\\nThose New Year s bills, those New Year s bills.\\nA La Wilcox.\\nCome, O Muse, and let us fashion,\\nStead of songs and politicians,\\nAnd of coarse and rank ambitions\\nJust a little pome of passion.\\nLet us sing Hke Ella Wheeler\\nWilcox of mankind s surrender\\nTo emotions sweet and tender.\\nWarm is El. Naught could congeal er.\\nFor such warbling there s a reason.\\nAre we not tis great to think of-\\nFairly trembling on the brink of\\nSpring, the sentimental season?\\n102", "height": "4508", "width": "3360", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "And does Tennyson not tell us\\nThat the youth now daily, nightly,\\nLets his fancy revel lightly\\nIn amours and tangles jealous?\\nNow the crow the air is sawing.\\nMoving north. With pride he*s swelling.\\nSoon he ll build his love a dwelling\\nAnd a serenade he s cawing.\\nBluebirds whistle and the robin\\nHops around and none pursues him,\\nFor beneath his ruddy bosom\\nMatrimonial hopes are throbbin\\nSunshine, wintry blasts disarming,\\nLights the landscape, rousing, cheering.\\nMother Earth, with visage clearing.\\nTo her fav rite work is warming.\\nAnd the poets and the various\\nSeekers after joys romantic,\\nBoil with inspiration frantic.\\nMark the rush of gay Lotharios.\\nLutes are tuned. Guitar and zither\\nSound a strain which tells it plainly\\nThat some youth let s hope not vainly-\\nSighs oh, would that he were with her\\nYes. Let Spring the great revealer\\nOf men s hearts perform her duty\\nAt the shrine of Love and Beauty.\\nLet us stand by Ella Wheeler.\\nSay not that the hint is wicked.\\nAll that s not approved by Ella\\nIs but leather and prunella.\\nPassion, passion that s the ticket.\\n108", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "The Plum Tree.\\nA plum tree once in an orchard grew\\n(Listen to my tale of woe.)\\nAnd the plums it wore were of golden hue.\\nThis is elegant fruit, says M. S. Q.\\nMatt Q.\\nThat s who.\\n(Listen to my tale of woe.)\\nRefrain\\nOh, wait for election day.\\nSome one then for those plums must pay.\\nAsk who it is and the people say,\\nMatt Q.\\nThat s who.\\n(Listen to my tale of woe.)\\nOutside the fence stood a bank cashier.\\n(Listen to my tale of woe.)\\nQuoth he, To me it would appear\\nThat paper and plums go together here.\\nThey do,\\nSays Q.\\n(Listen to my tale of woe.)\\nRef. Oh, wait for election day, etc.\\nThe Old Man winked. Take a taste, says he.\\n(Listen to my tale of woe.)\\nIf you ll help Son Dick and be true to me\\nI ll be ready and willing to shake that tree.\\nThat s true,\\nSays Q.\\n(Listen to my tale of woe.)\\nRef. Oh, wait for election day, etc.\\n104", "height": "4508", "width": "3232", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "Alas for Stone, who would governor be.\\n(Listen to my tale of woe.)\\nFor the spectral form of that same plum tree\\nMakes his friends turn tail, and they groan and flee.\\nStone and Q.\\nFeel blue.\\n(Listen to my tale of woe.)\\nRef. Oh, wait for election day, etc.\\nIn Allegheny.\\nHark to that old familiar click\\nIn Allegheny.\\nAnother gun has done the trick\\nIn Allegheny.\\nAnother mortal, tired of toil\\nAnd grief upon earth s sordid soil,\\nHas shuffled off this mortal coil\\nIn Allegheny.\\nWho talks of joy and light and hope\\nIn Allegheny?\\nWhat s that? Another dangling rope\\nIn Allegheny?\\nAye. aye, Horatio. Tis a fact:\\nOnce more poor Yorick, sorely rack d,\\nIn spirit has performed the act\\nIn Allegheny\\nShort is the span of human life\\nIn Allegheny.\\nRight grimly gleams the butcher knife\\nIn Allegheny.\\nA glint of steel, a groan, a tear.\\nAnother citizen dear, dear!\\nHas slit himself from ear to ear\\nIn Allegheny.\\n105", "height": "4527", "width": "2766", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "Broad, deep and black the river flows\\nIn Allegheny.\\nHow nice therein to sink one s woes\\nIn Allegheny\\nBankrupt in pocket, full of booze,\\nOff come hat, vest and coat and shoes,\\nAnd one more resident they lose\\nIn Allegheny.\\nConvenient is the poison store\\nIn Allegheny.\\nWide open stands the druggist s door\\nIn Allegheny.\\nHeart aches and rude domestic spats.\\nAnd jim-jams bred by frequent bats\\nLead oftentimes to Rough on Rats\\nIn Allegheny.\\nSuch is the normal daily round\\nIn Allegheny.\\nA sudden death, a body found\\nIn Allegheny.\\nA line of print, a crowner s quest,\\nAh, reader, tis no idle jest.\\nTo shuffle off men deem it best\\nIn Allegheny.\\nWhat strange decree of Fate thus works\\nIn Allegheny?\\nWhat suicidal demon lurks\\nIn Allegheny?\\nWe trow not, but some people say.\\nThat one devouring thought holds sway,\\nTo wit the hope to get away\\nFrom Allegheny.\\n106", "height": "4508", "width": "3288", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "The oo Model\\nInvention marches onward, never dropping to the rear;\\nNew models of the bicycle it gives us every year.\\nA man has scarcely bought his wheel and started in to\\nblow\\nWhen fresh improvements come along and quickly lay\\nhim low.\\nBut the biggest thing of all has yet to come along the\\npike.\\nTis the chainless, wheelless, pedalless, seatless, handle-\\nbarless bike.\\nWherever scorchers meet and talk, with real warmth and\\nzest\\nYou ll hear each one among em swear his wheel s the\\nvery best.\\nThis is a point of honor recognized the whole world o er\\nFrom Greenland s icy mountains unto farthest Singa-\\npore.\\nAlas that some mechanic s skill the guns of all should\\nspike\\nWith the chainless, wheelless, pedalless, seatless, handle-\\nbarless bike.\\nHill climbers are a boastful lot. They dearly love to show\\nHow easy tis to leave the feeble common herd below.\\nWith eyes that from their sockets start and veins that\\nsorely swell\\nThey work their way up mountains and pretend to like\\nit well.\\nOh, we ll all be climbing Alpine heights as quickly as we\\nlike\\nWith the chainless, wheelless, pedalless, seatless, handle-\\nbarless bike.\\n107", "height": "4527", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "Talk about your century records They are good enough\\nto-day,\\nWhen bicycling is a heavy work upon a rough highway.\\nBut wait till 1900, O ye lads that loudly boast,\\nAnd then twill be an easy thing to skip from coast to\\ncoast,\\nKor the very least among us will a gait of lightning strike\\nWith the chainless, wheelless, pedalless, seatless, handle-\\nbarless bike.\\nThe Jackaby.\\nThe Jackaby Frostlet from Nipaway Land\\nComes creeping, comes sneaking.\\n(These lines are intended for babes, understand.\\nAnd that s why in words of the infant school brand\\nWe re jabb ring; not speaking).\\nFrom Icetown he brings us a nice little freeze.\\nAnd our noses get red and we sputter and sneeze\\nWhile we watch the thermometer drop its degrees.\\nTis falling. Tis leaking.\\nThe poor little flow rets are in for it now;\\nHe ll soak em he ll rip em.\\nNo time for repentance to them he ll allow.\\nFor the Jackaby seems to have taken a vow\\nTo smite em to nip em.\\nGeraniums and dahlias he hastes to attack.\\nAt morning you ll find them all withered and black.\\nOh, he can t be induced when he gets on their track\\nTo pass em, to skip em.\\nThe Jackaby goes for the hat built of straw,\\nNow waning, now dying;\\nAnd you ll see from his rippling and gurgling guffaw,\\nHe s laughing; he s guying.\\n108", "height": "4503", "width": "3294", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "The summer girls wilt and the summer boys flee\\nThat the weather s too chilly they all must agree.\\nAnd a razor-edged breeze o er the land and the sea\\nComes moaning, comes sighing.\\nThe Soda Founts stop. There s an end of the fizz\\nSo bracing, so cooling.\\nIce cream has departed. No time now there is\\nFor nonsense; for fooling.\\nA magical uncle will now from his chest\\nProduce the top-coat and the thick undervest.\\nAnd the Jackaby thinks it an excellent jest.\\nHe s bossing; he*s ruling.\\nNow what do you think of the Jackaby s work.\\nSo chilling, so blighting?\\nHe s surely a cruel, unmerciful Turk,\\nRampaging, affrighting.\\nBut next spring, if we chance to be living and well.\\nWe ll cast off the Jackaby s horrible spell.\\nTwill be our turn to laugh when that monster so fell\\nWe re downing; we re smiting.\\nThe Dinosaur,\\nA dinosaur of extensive girth\\nSat in the bosom of Mother Earth.\\nHe was not pretty he was not neat\\nFor he measured in height full sixty feet,\\nAnd he seemed when bared to the curious view,\\nLike a mixture of frog and kangaroo.\\nOh, not for peace, but for cruel war\\nDid Nature construct the dinosaur.\\n109", "height": "4529", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "This dinosaur, we would have you know,\\nHad died and petrified ages ago.\\nNerves and muscles and parchment hide\\nHad all decayed when the monster died,\\nAnd only his skeleton still sat there\\nWith changeless pose and a stony stare.\\nAnd tambourines might rattle away.\\nBut never a word had Bones to say.\\nAnd he mused as he sat on the glories great\\nThat marked the earth at an early date.\\nHe thought of the days when ev ry beast\\nWeighed a couple of hundred tons at least.\\nWhen brutes that dwelt in the woodland bow rs.\\nWere tall as churches or light house tow rs.\\nAll these had gone from this earthly sphere.\\nAnd the dinosaur dropped a fossil tear.\\nThere came a day when the Indian red\\nTrampled the sod o*er his poor old head.\\nAnd dusky corpses around him lay\\nAs civilization blazed its way\\nThrough the western land. This thing called War\\nIs a new one on me, said the dinosaur,\\nAnd if civilization thus holds its own\\nI am glad to be nought but a mass of stone.\\nAnd finally one fine day there came\\nA digger and delver, Holland his name.\\nWhile spades and crowbars cheerily clanked.\\nThat dinosaur from his bed he yanked.\\nAnd soon our Pittsburg folks will gaze\\nOn that strange survival of ancient days.\\nAnd the dinosaur well, he ll never know\\nThat he s down to the grade of a curio.\\nno", "height": "4502", "width": "3277", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "Hagenbeck s Visit.\\nThe king of zoo promoters in our city is on deck.\\nHe comes from far-off Hamburg and his name is Hagen-\\nbeck.\\nHe s here to visit Eddie, and his expert eyes he feasts\\nUpon the local galaxy of foreign birds and beasts.\\nOur Eddie plays the pilot with distinguished grace and\\nease\\nFor the highly honored visitor and this is what he sees\\nWhitewingus Paisleyensis, shining in the public view.\\nFlycoppus Joeybrownus, with his plumage colored blue.\\nThe ringtailed flinflamingo, picking up the early worm,\\nThe Bonvon horse that gallops through his forty-second\\nterm.\\nThe Payrollus Magistris, up to ev ry sort of trick,\\nThe docile little councilmanic monkey-on-a-stick.\\nTon my word, says Mr. Hagenbeck, the like I never\\nknew\\nOf the marvelous exhibits in the famous Pittsburg zoo.\\nYes, yes, the visitor went on, tis wonderful, indeed.\\nPray tell me. Brother Eddie, how these animals you\\nfeed?\\nThat s easy, answered Bigelow, the softest kind of\\nsnaps\\nAre fed to em and patronage is given out in scraps.\\nAnd then, you see, we ve lobbies where they loaf around\\nand browse\\nAnd nice protected club rooms where each evening they\\ncarouse.\\nAnd in the summer holidays we have a nice menu\\nOf Atlantic City passes which we pass around our zoo.\\nIll", "height": "4531", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "I see, I see, says Hagenbeck. Now tell me if you\\nplease.\\nWhence comes the flow of boodle for expenses such as\\nthese.\\nWhy, bless you, man, quoth Eddie, Tittsburg doesn t\\ncare a durn\\nFor such small considerations. We have money here\\nto burn.\\nAnd even when the cash runs out, which happens ev ry\\nyear,\\nWe hit the banks for millions, which instanter disappear.\\nNo other town on earth is so intelligently bossed;\\nWe continually blow ourselves and never count the\\nAt this a loud approving roar went up from ev ry cage\\nExcept from one where sounds were heard of sorrow\\nmixed with rage.\\nThere dwelt the wild reformeros and twixt his teeth he\\nsaid,\\nIf ever I get loose, then lud-a-mercy on you, Ed.\\nDon t mind him, Mr. Hagenbeck, said Edde, Fm\\nashamed\\nTo own that still we harbor here a specimen untamed.\\nNow Hagenbeck, delighted with the wonders that he\\nsaw.\\nDeclares we must enlarge the zoo and add to its eclat\\nAnd so he says he ll search the globe and see if he can\\nfind\\nSome novelties and marvels of an interesting kind.\\nAnd with this bland assurance to our town he bids Adieu\\nAnd goes back to startle Hamburg with his tales of Ed-\\ndie s zoo.\\n112", "height": "4490", "width": "3335", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "Our Amazons.\\nTis not the genus masculine\\nAlone that yearns for fighting,\\nFor cannon s roar and charging line,\\nThe Spaniards boldly smiting.\\nLikewise to smell the battle s smoke\\nOn plaza and on prado\\nCome forth the gentle women folk\\nOf far-off Colorado.\\nOn, on they come in pow rful force\\nTheir zeal each day grows larger.\\nTo arms they cry. A horse a horse\\nOur kingdom for a charger\\nNo common infantry are we,\\nIn war to be discounted.\\nBut furious cavaliers we ll be\\nOn blooded prancers mounted.\\nAnd so without the least dismay\\nNor heeding grewsome rumors\\nThey don, expectant of the fray,\\nTheir neatest shot-proof bloomers.\\nNot theirs to flinch or hesitate\\nUpon the path of glory.\\nThey put their soldier hats on straight\\nAnd all is hunky-dory.\\nWith carbine primed, with lance in rest\\nAnd hat-pin fiercely flourished\\nBehold em. In each tender breast\\nThe hope of fame is nourished;\\nIn high soprano tones they shriek\\nA battle-cry inspiring.\\nWho says that womankind is weak\\nOr timid or retiring?\\nus", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "Nay, nay. Those Colorado belles\\nWill figure in the mauling\\nWhere er the tide of carnage swells\\nWith fury most appalling.\\nAnd Spain will feel beneath her vest\\nA heart with terror drumming\\nWhen word comes in, From out the West\\nThe Amazons are coming.\\nBut hold. The Dons themselves may save\\nBy mean and vicious scheming\\nEmployed against those females brave,\\nOf trickery ne er dreaming.\\nAnd many a Colorado house\\nWith sorrow will be laden\\nIf Spaniards cry A mouse A mouse\\nAnd scare off ev ry maiden.\\nClipping Coupons.\\nThis is the shearsman, hired to clip\\nCarnegie s coupons snip, snip, snip\\nDay in, day out, the whole year round\\nAt duty s post he will be found.\\nWhile wreathed in smiles Carnegie hears\\nThe merr}^ music of the shears.\\nDear children, would you like to know\\nWhy coupons should be clipped off so?\\nFew words it takes the tale to tell\\nWhich bloated bond sharps know so well.\\n(Ah, children, would that shearsmen thus\\nWere constantly at work for us\\n114", "height": "4471", "width": "3295", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "Carnegie, you re aware, no doubt,\\nHas sold his mammoth bus ness out.\\nTwo hundred millions so they say\\nThe buyers have agreed to pay.\\n(Dear children, must it not be nice\\nTo sell out for so large a price?)\\nSince coin is hard to lug away,\\nIn bonds Carnegie takes his pay;\\nAnd on these pledges, good as gold,\\nA claim for interest he ll hold.\\n(Say, little folks, would you not like\\nA mother lode like this to strike\\nOn evVy bond are little squares\\nLike tickets used for street car fares.\\nEach serves upon the date correct\\nOne interest payment to collect.\\nHow s that for a luxurious lay\\nJust with a snip to earn your pay\\nBut when the bonds at per cent,\\nTwo hundred millions represent,\\nTo snip and clip so vast a heap\\nMust be an undertaking steep.\\nLaborious Aye, but by the pow rs\\nWe d do it if the chance were ours.\\nBe good, then, little ones, and pray\\nThat you may also some fine day\\nGet rich like Andy and retire\\nAnd able-bodied shearsmen hire.\\nAh, Paradise indeed is nigh\\nWhen coupons pile up mountains high.\\n115", "height": "4508", "width": "2746", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "Calumpit.\\nHear the trumpet\\nAt Calumpit\\nCalling Yankee lads to fight.\\nNight or morning\\nAt its warning\\nThey turn out the foe to smite.\\nAh, they love the clarion note\\nComing from that brazen throat.\\nHere s an army. Come and thump it,\\nSays the trumpet\\nAt Calumpit.\\nWhen the trumpet\\nAt Calumpit\\nGives its message to the Yanks,\\nThere is shaking\\nAye and quaking\\nIn the Filipino ranks,\\nAnd commanders brown of skin\\nHearken with a sickly grin.\\nFilipos, tis time to hump it,\\nSays the trumpet\\nAt Calumpit.\\nWhen the trumpet\\nAt Calumpit\\nSplits the welkin, there s a howl\\nFrom the kickers\\nAnd flaw-pickers\\nThat upon expansion scowl.\\nAh, McKinley, there s no reason\\nTo be mild with semi-treason.\\nOfif the earth you ought to dump it,\\nSays the trumpet\\nAt Calumpit.\\n116", "height": "4486", "width": "3298", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "When the trumpet\\nAt Calumpit\\nStarts the boys, they do not lag.\\nBut despising\\nThose advising\\nThat they quit the starry flag,\\nThey uphold the nation s fame\\nAnd they curse the clique of shame,\\nFull of lead some day let s pump it/\\nSays the trumpet\\nAt Calumpit.\\nAh, the trumpet\\nAt Calumpit\\nNever summons to retreat.\\nIn its message\\nThere s the presage\\nOf a victory complete.\\nAnd the Antis they may frown\\nAnd want Uncle Sam turned down\\nBut their game Aha we ll stump it,\\nSays the trumpet\\nAt Calumpit.\\nSt. Valentine.\\nSt. Valentine, your day is past,\\nNo longer lovers falter\\nAnd tremble as with eyes downcast\\nThey loaf around your altar.\\nNo longer at your fabled shrine\\nDo mooncalves kneel and mope and pine\\nAnd venture with the pow r divine\\nOf poetry to palter.\\n117", "height": "4508", "width": "2757", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "There was a time, O ancient saint,\\nWhen twas your pride and pleasure\\nMankind to please with daubs of paint\\nAnd rhymes in lilting measure.\\nSoft youths and maidens you d entrance\\nAnd lead em coyly to advance\\nAlong the paths of love s romance\\nIn quest of precious treasure.\\nAnd oh, what missives you d inspire\\nPerfumed and gilt the paper;\\nAnd ev ry line ablaze with fire\\nEnkindled at love s taper.\\nAnd at the end, sure sign of bliss,\\nA string of X s, each a kiss;\\nYou used to tell em, Val, that this\\nWas quite the proper caper.\\nThen you were fond of Cupid s darts\\nIn colors loud depicted\\nThe same were used for piercing hearts\\nTo mooncalfism addicted.\\nAnd underneath you d have a strain\\nAbout the woes of love in vain\\n(Those old-time lovers with a pain\\nWere all the time afflicted.)\\nBut now, St. Val., your lovesick loons\\nRearwards are relegated.\\nAnd nought we have but tough cartoons\\nBy malice vile dictated.\\nSign-painters wield the brush and paint.\\nThe verses well, it makes us faint\\nTo think, sir, that so great a saint\\nHas so degenerated.\\n118", "height": "4485", "width": "3304", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "Summer.\\nTis usual at this time of year\\nFor poets tunefully to sing\\nTheir lays in praise of gentle spring,\\nBut now another song we hear\\nThe bards proclaim another comer,\\nAnd twang the lyre in praise of summer.\\nFor these are truly summer days.\\nNo need there is to wait till June\\nEre undertaking to attune\\nThe voice and lute to languorous lays\\nWherein the poet deftly shows us\\nChurch picnics, lemonade and roses.\\nThe gardens prematurely bloom,\\nThe Easter flow rs have done their duty.\\nAnd shrubs and trees display their beauty\\nAnd load the air with sweet perfume.\\nAnd o er the lawn grass, thickly growing.\\nThe swift lawn-mower goes a-mowing.\\nStraw hats appear and eke the soft\\nAnd jaunty headgear pearly-hued\\nIs sported by the natty dude.\\nThe lightest overcoats are doffed\\nAnd shirts once viewed with keen derision\\nLoud-striped and gay beguile the vision.\\nThe gentler sex is glad to don\\nThe shirt waist with its cincture neat\\nAnd dainty collar. Very sweet\\nAre summer girls to look upon.\\nBehold, unto these visions sightly\\nThe young man s fancy still turns lightly.\\n119", "height": "4530", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "Along the roadway thick with dust\\nThe biker scoots at racehorse speed\\nUpon his faithful silent steed.\\nHe ll make his century or bust.\\nAlas, if at some fatal juncture\\nThe Fates should queer him with a puncture\\nA thousand other things combine\\nTo prove to any man of reason\\nThat spring no longer is in season,\\nBut yields to summer s sway divine.\\nAh, no one has a right to know it\\nMuch better than the floored spring poet.\\nDavy Hill s Plea.\\nRoast me no more. It is the voice of Hill,\\nOf warlike Davy, him that in the heat\\nOf battle fierce delights the foe to meet\\nAnd slaughter him. But oh, the bitter pill\\nSubmission humble is for him in store\\nWith broken lance he stands. Another leads,\\nAnd Davy murmurs with a heart that bleeds,\\nRoast me no more.\\nRoast me no more. It was not thus he spake\\nWhen at Chicago in tremendous flights\\nOf eloquence he rammed the silverites.\\nAnd jumped upon the fiat money fake.\\nThen, then, war s honors from the field he bore.\\nBut now, shamefaced and eke with downcast eyes,\\nHe makes apology and meekly cries,\\nRoast me no more.\\n120\\nii", "height": "4495", "width": "3295", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "Roast me no more. Were these the words that\\nflowed\\nFrom Davy when, his strength not overtaxed,\\nG. Cleveland, chick-like, in the neck he axed,\\nAnd, this achieved, with satisfaction glowed?\\nNot so. Those all too palmy days are o er,\\nAnd he that used G. Cleveland s hair to raise,\\nNow kneels before the Silver Gang and says,\\nRoast me no more.\\nRoast me no more. Just fancy words like these\\nProceeding from the lips of David B.,\\nWhen in the senate like a hero he\\nBrought bluflfing statesmen to their wicked knees.\\nHow things do change! The eagle long may soar.\\nBut lo, at last his royal wing gives out.\\nHow pitiful those words of fear and doubt,\\nRoast me no more\\nRoast me no more. The Popocratic press\\nAnd orators that howl for fiat coin,\\nThe played-out warrior would thus enjoin\\nHis soul no more to harrow and distress,\\nWith jeering talk of bolters to the fore.\\nMy principles, he says, advise revolt.\\nBut I ve a stake in this. I cannot bolt.\\nRoast me no more.\\nRoast me no more. Herewith an idol drops.\\nTo-day with Bryan he sits down to lunch,\\nAnd o er the oysters, terrapin and punch.\\nDeclares alack his fealty to the Pops.\\nWhile, like a lost soul s shriek, from shore to shore,\\nFrom Texas to the confines of New York,\\nThat awful cry gets in its deadly work,\\nRoast me no more.\\n121", "height": "4528", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "The First Pantaloons.\\nIf the depths of real sentiment you re wishing to ex-\\nplore,\\nSeeking pathos that will fill your eyes with tears,\\nAnd reviving plaintive memories from out the days of\\nyore,\\nDim and gray now after long and weary years\\nDon t be fooled with plaints deceptive as to rings and\\nbaby shoes.\\nThings to which the bogus bard his song attunes,\\nBut recall with deep emotion how in youth you did\\nenthuse\\nO er your first abbreviated pantaloons.\\nChorus.\\nGalluses went with em whopping ones were they.\\nPrized beyond all other earthly boons.\\nAnd twill set your heart a-throbbing\\nWhen you think of upward bobbing\\nIn your first abbreviated pantaloons.\\nHow you blessed your dad for buying them those pre-\\ncious hand-me-downs,\\nAnd your mother when she helped you put them on\\nHow you burned to show them ofif to kids in petticoats\\nand gowns\\nAnd excite the rage of Tommy, Dick and John\\nHow you strutted back and forward feeling ev ry inch a\\nman,\\nWhile your comrades sneered the jealous little\\nloons\\nAnd you felt that all the world your form admiringly\\nmust scan\\nIn those first abbreviated pantaloons.\\nChorus Galluses went with em, etc.\\n122", "height": "4490", "width": "3304", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "O how bitter was the day when, through an unforeseen\\nmishap,\\nIn the basement of those pants a void was torn\\nThen your aggravated parent laid you promptly on her\\nlap\\nAnd pro tern you wished you never had been born.\\nSoon the buttons slipped their moorings and the knees\\nthey sprang a leak,\\nAnd the patches looked Hke dissipated moons,\\nSo that people discontinued in admiring tones to speak\\nOf your first abbreviated pantaloons.\\nChorus Galluses went with em, etc.\\nWhere, oh where, is now that garment Has it gone Hke\\nCaesar s clay\\nIn some weather-beaten shed to stop a hole?\\nIs it worked into a crazy quilt or has it found its way\\nTo the haunts which carpet-weaving sharps con-\\ntrol?\\nHave the ragmen gently fondled it? Well, wherefore\\nshould we ask\\nTis enough that with the past your soul communes\\nAnd that lovingly you think how in the joys you used\\nto bask\\nOf those first abbreviated pantaloons.\\nChorus Galluses went with em, etc.\\nA Kentucky Deadlock\\nNot a head was smashed; not a jugular vein\\nIn the course of the fracas was severed,\\nNot a pistol was pulled when Kentucky raised Cain\\nAnd to wreck the old state house endeavored.\\n128", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "They brought in Joe Blackburn and Johnny Carlisle,\\nAnd Boyle, to the senate aspiring,\\nAnd the populace listened with anxious smile\\nFor the sound of revolver firing.\\nNo useless ballot would suit the crowd\\nIn the lobby grimly standing,\\nBut they slapped hip-pockets and cussed aloud.\\nRecognition forthwith demanding.\\nFew and short were the caucuses held.\\nFor twas known to the members sorrow,\\nThat a riot one day by a caucus repelled\\nWould bob up afresh on the morrow.\\nAnd the governor on his executive bed\\nTossed about in a fitful fever.\\nMilitiamen, double quick march, he said,\\nEre the state is lost, retrieve er.\\nLightly they ll talk of this fearful strife.\\nAnd forget the fright infernal.\\nThat old Jack Chinn with his bowie knife\\nGave to many a fellow-colonel.\\nBut little the Blue Grass state will reck\\nIf the boys who howled so madly\\nWill only lie down, since direct in the neck\\nThey have got it from Governor Bradley.\\nBut half of their heavy task is done.\\nFor no senator yet is elected.\\nAnd the populace still from the random gun\\nIs substantially unprotected.\\nSlowly and sadly the rest of us see\\nThe conclusion; but, friends, we re lucky\\nTo live in a land where a statesman is free\\nFrom the shotguns of old Kentucky.\\n124", "height": "4486", "width": "3272", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "The Jingo\\n(1896.)\\nA jingo, in his fighting gear\\nSwept with his eye the earthly sphere.\\nWhere er his vision roved he saw\\nThe stirring signs of martial law.\\nHe saw the sword and burning brand\\nTurn d loose on many a helpless land,\\nAnd, fired with zeal, he cried, What bliss\\nOur country must get in on this.\\nHe saw on Madagascar s soil\\nThe Hovas from the French recoil.\\n*Neath waving palms, where monkeys dwell.\\nThe savage tribesmen fought and fell.\\nThe Frenchmen, flushed with triumph, vow d\\nThat France had reason to be proud,\\nConfound it said the jingo grim,\\nCan t w^e be likewise in the swim\\nHe saw John Bull in Ashantee\\nCompel the native troops to flee.\\nKing Prempeh got a turning down,\\nAnd lost his richly jeweled crown.\\nGreat heaps of gold and silver ware\\nWere filched from Prempeh then and there.\\nAh, sighed the jingo, tis a shame\\nThat Uncle Sam can t do the same.\\nHe saw the Cubans in revolt,\\nFrom monarchy they had to bolt.\\nAnd so they march and countermarch,\\nAnd out of Weyler take the starch.\\nWe re after liberty, they cry,\\nWe ll get that priceless boon or die.\\nThe jingo heard, and, with a blush,\\nHe said, We must get in the push.\\n126\\n1", "height": "4532", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "He saw King Humbert s soldiers fling\\nThemselves on Abyssinia s king;\\nWho, being somewhat stout himself,\\nJust laid those Romans on the shelf.\\nGreat Scotland! Thus the jingo spoke,\\nThis is indeed a sorry joke.\\nIf barbarism such feats can do.\\nWhy can we not be in it, too\\nPerhaps some day the jingo s hope\\nWill be fulfilled in widest scope.\\nPerhaps we, too, will feel the crash\\nOf battle, and the foeman smash.\\nAnd if perchance that jingo then\\nShould be among the fighting men,\\nAnd perish in the blood-red tide,\\nSay, would he then be satisfied\\nDora ^nd Cassius.\\nYoung Dora, down Kentucky way,\\nDid chores and things for Gin ral Clay.\\nShe was a child of tender age,\\nWhile he had reached the doting stage.\\nBut Cassius Clay, though old and gaunt,\\nWas still a blooded old gallant.\\nAnd to himself the Ancient said\\nMethinks I m not too old to wed.\\nYoung Dora, flattered, nursed a dream\\nOf endless candy and ice cream.\\nHer heart within her leaped to think\\nOf countless sodas that she d drink.\\n126", "height": "4492", "width": "3332", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "And how, right smartly primped and gowned,\\nShe d eat French candy by the pound.\\nAnd eke her neighbors she d strike dumb\\nBy using yards of chewing gum.\\nTherefore when Cassius made a play\\nTow rds marriage, he was met half way.\\nAnd when he murmured, Be my wife,\\nHis handmaid answered, Betcher life.\\nThe knot was tied, but Dora soon\\nGrew weary of the honeymoon.\\nIce cream and candy lost their charm,\\nAnd chewing gum was not so warm.\\nConsumed with languor and with doubt\\nShe dodged the Gin ral and lit out.\\nWill Bryant, young and fresh and straight,\\nMet Dora at the outer gate.\\nAnd, smitten with her girlish grace.\\nTook boarding at the self-same place.\\nWhereat the Gin ral, struck aghast.\\nCollapsed as though he d breathed his last.\\nNow, on both sides the kith and kin\\nOf all concerned come piling in.\\nThe rifle and the bowie-knife\\nAre ready for ensanguined strife.\\nAnd when the bloody feud is o er.\\nMost ev ryone will be no more.\\nYet Dora, in her childish way,\\nJust munches candy all the day.\\nAh, that the Kates should ever so\\nO erwhelm a white-haired Romeo!\\n127", "height": "4531", "width": "2750", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "Spring,\\nNo; we can no more conceal it,\\nTis high time that we reveal it\\nThat this fair and fragrant thing JL\\nWhich by gliding in among us ^H\\nInto ecstasies has flung us\\nIs the spring, gentle spring.\\nTra la la\\nHear us sing,\\nYes, tis spring.\\nWinter, dull and frozen-hearted,\\nHas undoubtedly departed\\nFor a year he s taken wing,\\nGiving place, though far from willing,\\nTo that fascinating, killing\\nDamsel spring, gentle spring.\\nTra la la!\\nHear us sing,\\nYes, tis spring.\\nHear the birdies how they warble,\\nThey would get a heart of marble\\nOr of iron on a string.\\nEach for better or for worse is\\nWed and thinks not of divorces\\nIn the spring, gentle spring.\\nTra la la\\nHear us sing, I\\nYes, tis spring. J\\nWhat though roads and streets are muddy ,J\\nAnd the weather charts we study\\nWet prognostications bring.\\n128\\n1", "height": "4483", "width": "3339", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "It should hold us good and level\\nTo remember that we revel\\nIn the spring, gentle spring.\\nTra la la!\\nHear us sing,\\nYes, tis spring.\\nWith the dead past let us bury\\nThe seductive Tom and Jerry\\nBeer henceforward is the king.\\nAnd the druggist soon will load a\\nMarble fountain up with soda,\\nIn the spring, gentle spring.\\nTra la la!\\nHear us sing,\\nYes, tis spring.\\nOne more word avoid pneumonia,\\nWhich assuredly will bone you\\nIf you indiscreetly fling\\nHeavy clothes aside, for, look you,\\nDeath is very prone to hook you\\nIn the spring, gentle spring.\\nTra la la\\nHear us sing,\\nYes, tis spring.\\nPostscript.\\nSeventy thousand million curses\\nOn these unpropitious verses\\nDingety jam, bam dod bang bing I\\nAs we write a snowfall traps us\\nAnd the mercury collapses\\nIn the spring, tricky spring.\\nOw, ow, ow!\\nHear us sing,\\nNary spring.\\nV29", "height": "4508", "width": "2693", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "i\\nI\\nJolly Kaisers. j\\nIn old Budapest,\\nOf Hungarian fame,\\nTogether they came,\\nKaiser Franz and his guest,\\nKaiser WilHe, whose plan\\nIs his neighbors to hug\\nO er the little brown jug\\nAnd the free-flowing can.\\nIt tickled the town\\nMonarchs thus to behold.\\nEach so gallant and bold,\\nWith his twenty-pound crown\\nTilted back on his head\\nJust as much as to say,\\nWe are out to get gay,\\nAnd we ll paint the place red.\\nNun, mein Lieber, said Franz,\\nAs the Kellner drew nigh,\\nShall we start off on rye?\\n(Stowed away in his pants\\nWas a flask of the same.)\\nNay, quoth Willie, Nicht das.\\nLet the tanglefoot pass\\nTill the end of the game.\\nSo the Kellner drew near\\nAnd made haste to fill up\\nEach imperial cup\\nWith old Bay risches bier.\\nAnd the ilagon-like steins\\nWere no sooner drained out\\nThan the emperors stout\\nCried together, Noch eins!\\n130\\n4", "height": "4479", "width": "3341", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "Next the cup-bearers bore\\nOn a rich-jeweled tray\\nA few quarts of tokay\\nFrom the blue Danube s shore.\\n^Tis hot stuff, Willie\u00e2\u0080\u0094 not?\\nSaid old Franz, with a wink,\\nAch, says Will, Tis a drink\\nThat goes right to the spot.\\nThen there followed champagne,\\nSome old widow Clicquot,\\nMade in days long ago\\nAnd of claret a drain.\\nAnd Madeira and port.\\nAnd Chartreuse. Over this\\nThe boys started to kiss\\nThey were chockfull of sport.\\nRye came in at the close\\nAnd the ultimate bowls\\nFired the emperors souls,\\nAnd they jointly uprose.\\nShedding tears on the floor,\\nEach the other embraced\\nAnd with hearts interlaced\\nTo be brothers they swore.\\nHence tis perfectly clear\\nThat if monarchs would fain\\nFrom dissension refrain\\nThey must start in with beer.\\nAnd tis likewise no lie\\nThat if brothers they d be\\nThey must also agree\\nTo wind up on old rye.\\n181", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "In the Toils.\\nDrill, drill, drill.\\nWith unremitting toil.\\nAnd the poor producers work with a will\\nSapping the earth of oil.\\nThey have hopes of profits fat,\\nWhich are of life the spice,\\nBut the best of em doesn t know where he s at\\nWhen the Standard cuts the price.\\nNo monarch upon his throne\\nWould have riches more profuse\\nIf the pipe lines weren t the Standard s own.\\nThan the men that oil produce.\\nThere is wealth in the deep sunk well.\\nBut the plans of men and mice\\nGang aft aglee, and it s oh, wot t ell\\nWhen the Standard cuts the price.\\nDrill, drill, drill,\\nWhen the sun is shining bright.\\nDrill, drill, drill,\\nThrough the watches of the night.\\nWith an open market, say.\\nMines of gold would cut no ice\\nWith the men on the oleaginous lay\\nTill the Standard cuts the price.\\nJust five brief weeks ago\\nOil brought, with the Trust s consent.\\nOne twenty a barrel The quid pro quo\\nMade many a heart content.\\nHas the output changed since then?\\nNot much, but nowise nice\\nIs the language that comes from the lips of men\\nAs the Standard cuts the price.\\n182", "height": "4477", "width": "3346", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "Down to a dollar she drops,\\nAnd then to 99,\\nAnd she falls and falls and never stops\\nTo rest in her quick decline.\\nTis not demand and supply,\\nNor Fortune s cast of the dice,\\nBut monopoly winking its ugly eye\\nAs the Standard cuts the price.\\nDrill, drill, drill.\\nWhat use to count the cost\\nWhen individual effort still\\nBy the same old trust is boss d\\nAnd it s oh for a pow r to sweep\\nAway that thing of vice\\nAnd it s oh to bury the trust down deep,\\nWhen the Standard cuts the price!\\nSatan Rebuked,\\nAt Flushing, in the Empire state,\\nA town that s highly moral,\\nP or virtue strictly up-to-date\\nThe school board takes the laurel.\\nIts laws are moulded by the rules\\nOf custom Puritanic,\\nAnd peccadillos in the schools\\nCreate a real panic.\\nThere are among the teachers fair\\nThree maids of beauty striking.\\nWhom Satan, seeking to ensnare,\\nInduced to practice biking.\\nThey hiked at noon, they hiked at eve\\nThey hiked when schoolward hieing.\\nSome folks pretended to believe\\nThey d bike if they were dying.\\n183", "height": "4531", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "Of course these maids could not conceal\\nTheir strange and fatal weakness\\nFor scudding to and fro awheel\\nWith feminine uniqueness.\\nAnd so unto the school board came\\nA host of ugly rumors,\\nAnd gossips murmured, Oh, for shame!\\nThey re on the road to bloomers.\\nAt this the grave directors met\\nAnd talked the matter over\\nIt filled them with profound regret\\nSuch doings to discover.\\nThey felt they couldn t tolerate\\nThree careless young carousers,\\nWhose wonderfully rapid gait\\nWould some day lead to trousers.\\nForthwith they raked those maidens o er\\nThe coals, no mercy showing;\\nEach speaker showed how more and more\\nThe world to sticks is going;\\nHow women duty s call forget,\\nAnd go with dudes a-spooning,\\nAnd how those hateful wheels must yet\\nResult in pantalooning.\\nThe maidens wept. What could they do?\\nTheir case was past repairing;\\nAnd so they broke their wheels in two,\\nThe use thereof forswearing.\\nAnd now in Flushing, this decree\\nIs firmly promulgated\\nThat wheels for woman all must be\\nWithin her head located.\\n184", "height": "4488", "width": "3318", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "Not for Joe.\\nYou ve heard of Joseph Sibley, who\\nTo farming fame aspires;\\nHe farms upon a kite-shaped track\\nAnd grows pneumatic tires.\\nIn politics he thinks he ought\\nTo get a goodly show,\\nAnd hankers to be governor, but\\nThat job is not for Joe.\\nChorus.\\nNot for Joe, not for Joe,\\nNot for Joseph,\\nOh dear no, sir.\\nNot for Joe, no, no, no,\\nThe governorship is\\nNot for Joe.\\nJoe lives in old Venango, but\\nWhen he for office ran,\\nThe Erie-Crawford voters chose\\nHim for their congressman.\\nAnd still their hearts with love of J.\\nSo largely overflow,\\nThat they want to make him governor, but\\nThat job is not for Joe.\\nCho. Not for Joe, etc.\\nIn congress Joseph made a hit.\\nFree silver he upheld.\\nAnd when the Wilson bill came forth,\\nHe valiantly rebelled.\\nHis Democratic backers sought\\nA dark revenge, and so\\nThey trot him out for governor, since\\nThat job is not for Joe.\\nCho. Not for Joe, etc.\\n186", "height": "4534", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "The Populists beheld his course\\nWith half-suspicious eye\\nThey said, Let us indorse him and\\nRight there is where he ll die.\\nOld J. discreetly answered back:\\nHands off, kind friends, for lo.\\nIf I m your choice for governor, then\\nThat job is not for Joe.\\nCho. Not for Joe, etc.\\nThe ruling Dems. at Harrisburg\\nNow mingled in the fun.\\nAnd cheerfully took Joey up\\nSince no one else w^ould run.\\nGet out your barrel, J., they cried,\\nAnd freely let her go,\\nTis nice to run for governor, though\\nThat job is not for Joe.\\nCho.: Not for Joe, etc.\\nThe voice of General Coxey, too,\\nWas raised in tones of zeal.\\nI m with you, J., the general said,\\nAnd so s the Commonweal.\\nThe Commonweal, J. might have known,\\nForeshadows comin woe;\\nThe governorship it settles, and\\nThat job is not for Joe.\\nCho.: Not for Joe, etc.\\nIf Joseph only profits by\\nThe lessons of events,\\nHe ll hie back to his kite-shaped track\\nAnd farming implements.\\nThe governorship on General Dan\\nThe people will bestow.\\nAnd crack a smile as they remark,\\nThat job is not for Joe.\\n136", "height": "4486", "width": "3323", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "The Equinox,\\nNow the time has come for voicing\\nGreat and glorious rejoicing,\\nFor the vernal equinox\\nIs on hand, bright-eyed and ruddy\\nAnd old winter with a thud he\\nFrom his coign of vantage knocks.\\nAnd this equinoctial stranger\\nBy whose coming hearts are stirred\\nEntertains no thought of danger\\nSuch a thing would be absurd.\\nHe s a bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird.\\nHe s a ripping, rattling equinoctial bird.\\nFairly over the equator\\nHangs Old Sol, the conservator\\nOf creation s vital spark.\\nHe was somewhat misanthropic\\nWhile he hugged the southern tropic\\nThen our clime was cold and dark.\\nBut to-day he gives us gladly\\nEqual length of day and night,\\nAnd the poets carol madly\\nAnd declare the season quite\\nOut of sight, sight, sight, sight, sight, sight, sight;\\nThey declare it to be strictly out of sight.\\nBit by bit the Orb will creep up\\nTow rds the north and he will keep up\\nHis performance ev ry day,\\nGetting warmer as he travels.\\nShutting up the man who cavils.\\nMaking friends along the way,\\n137", "height": "4528", "width": "2747", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "Till in June he ll come to Cancer\\nAnd the boiling point he ll hit;\\nFarther north he can t advance or\\nHe d press on; but there he ll quit;\\nYes, he ll quit, quit, quit, quit, quit, quit, quit,\\nHaving roasted us and broiled us he will quit.\\nBlessings on that just arrangement\\nWhich prohibits long estrangement\\nTwixt ourselves and Ancient Sol.\\nAfter winter s blizzards vicious\\nTis a privilege delicious\\nUnder balmy skies to loll.\\nOh, tho all the world may perish,\\nLet us hope that cruel shocks\\nNe er will touch the thing we cherish,\\nOur delightful equinox.\\nFor it nox, nox, nox, nox, nox, nox, nox.\\nThe persimmon that s precisely what it nox.\\nFrom Cairo to the Cape.\\nCome Austin, Alfred Austin, wake up and earn your\\nwage;\\nThe glory of Great Britain now is at its highest stage.\\nUp, lad, and twang your laureate lyre. Don t let the\\nchance escape\\nTo glorify the pow r that strides from Cairo to the Cape.\\nAlong the valley of the Nile, across the wild Soudan,\\nThrough parts of Darkest Africa scarce visited by man.\\nWhere dwell the lordly elephant, the lion and the ape,\\nJ. Bull is carving out his path from Cairo to the Cape.\\n188", "height": "4485", "width": "3357", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "Khartoum goes down before him with a heart-appall-\\ning thud,\\nDear knows how many Dervishes lie welt ring in their\\nblood!\\nAnd, smitten in the portion of the neck that s called the\\nnape.\\nThe fierce Kalifa flies the track twixt Cairo and the\\nCape.\\nWho threatens at Fashoda One Marchand sacre\\nbleu\\nA little hint from Kitchener soon shows him who is who.\\nAh, many a Frenchman s family would soon be wearing\\ncrepe.\\nIf the Mounseers dared to bar the way from Cairo to the\\nCape.\\nAlong the edge of Congo, where the Belgians hold\\ntheir own.\\nPast Ujiji and Zambe, brought to light by Livingstone;\\nOn, on, past Bangweolo s lake, in true heroic shape\\nSweeps Johnny Bull along the road from Cairo to the\\nCape.\\nThrough Bechuanaland he goes. Tremendous is his\\ngait.\\nNo use for Boers and Hottentots to vent their spleen\\nand hate.\\nThose warriors in mourning gear their citadels may\\ndrape.\\nFor Bull is bound to make the run from Cairo to the\\nCape.\\n*Tis done. The road is open. Rivals in the cold are\\nleft.\\nArise then, Mr. Laureate. Arise and show your heft.\\nBid all the Britishers fill up on nectar from the grape,\\nIn honor of the Queen s Highway from Cairo to the\\nCape.\\n139", "height": "4537", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "Advice to the Shah.\\nThere s a new Shah in Persia, a bright-looking chap,\\nWho will listen, perhaps, to a plain verbum sap,\\nTo a bit of advice having visible force\\nSince it comes from a thoroughly civilized source.\\nSo give ear, if you please, ere your work you begin,\\nTo a few words of counsel, Muzaf\u00c2\u00a5er-ed-Din.\\nFirst, we haste to remind this incipient Shah\\nThat his lately deceased and lamented papa\\nOf his ways saw the folly three decades ago.\\nAnd to mend em went trav ling for years to and fro.\\nOn returning the seeds of reform he put in.\\nWhy not go and do likewise, Muzaff er-ed-Din\\nNow the Shah that is dead, though he did fairly well\\nWhen the great wheels of progress he tried to propel,\\nWas a tyro at best and unfortunate man\\nHe survived not to finish the work he began.\\nHence the rest of it falls on his nearest of kin.\\nTake it up, then, instanter, Muzaffer-ed-Din.\\nWe are told that in Persia the natives perforce\\nHave been led superstitions of old to unhorse,\\nAnd with open reluctance, themselves to resign\\nTo the railroad and eke to the telegraph line.\\nBut they need something more if a place they would\\nwin\\nAmong civilized nations, Muzaffer-ed-Din.\\nThere s the hat a la stovepipe, which progress denotes.\\nThere s the plan of electing a man without votes,\\nThere s the poster disease and the bicycle hump.\\nThere s the style of oration that s used on the stump.\\nAnd the ballet, which baldheads behold with a grin\\nThey are all worth a trial, Muzaffer-ed-Din.\\n140", "height": "4487", "width": "3328", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "You must not forget baseball. Your governing scheme\\nShould embrace an invincible Teheran team,\\nAnd you ll find that when Ispahan, Shiraz et cet.\\nMake a race for the pennant and cranks start to bet\\nThe applause of the world you will certainly win,\\nThere s no charge for this pointer, Muzaf\u00c2\u00a5er-ed-Din.\\nJust throw in the New Woman. Prepared is her sphere,\\nFor your people already wear bloomers we hear.\\nMake your theater folk warble heart-stirring lays\\nOn the model of She May Have Seen Better Days.\\nMake each copper a statesman. (You say that s too\\nthin.\\nWell, perhaps, but tis progress, Muzafifer-ed-Din.)\\nNow, Muzaffer, begin on the lines we have shown,\\nAnd you ll do yourself proud while you sit on the\\nthrone.\\nFor as ignorance fades and the glorious light\\nOf superlative culture comes fairly in sight.\\nAll creation will swear by the Prophet s old chin\\nThat there s never a fly on Muzaffer-ed-Din.\\nTo a Lady in Distress\\nO Lady Smith, O Lady Smith,\\nUnless we re much mistaken,\\nYou re lacking in the means wherewith\\nTo save your precious bacon.\\nNearby a ruthless foeman waits.\\nIn fashion nowise tender.\\nHe soon will batter at your gates\\nAnd call for your surrender.\\n141", "height": "4527", "width": "2798", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "Aye, madam, neath the skilled command\\nOf Joubert, stern old marshal,\\nTwelve thousand Boers are close at hand,\\nAnd, ma am, to gore they re partial.\\nThey re seasoned hunters ev ry one,\\nAnd tis no idle banter\\nTo say that with unerring gun\\nThey ll pot their game instanter.\\nThey ve come from veldts and drifts and neks\\nTo ply a soldier s calling.\\nAnd, ma am, they won t respect your sex;\\nYou re certain of a mauling.\\nUnless and this we sorely doubt\\nYou ve adequate resources\\nTo keep those fierce assailants out\\nAnd paralvze their forces.\\nLo, even now the trumpet notes\\nOf quick assault give warning.\\nOh, ma am, tuck up your petticoats.\\nNor think of danger scorning.\\nBut with your cannon emphasize\\nYour hate of fighters shady\\nThat would with shot and shell surprise\\nA Smith who is a lady.\\nO Lady Smith, O Lady Smith,\\nIn such a situation\\nWhy not invite your kin and kith\\nTo lend co-operation.\\nIf all the Smiths from foreign shores\\nWould but take up your quarrel.\\nThey d swiftly polish oft the Boers\\nAnd wreathe your brow with laurel.\\n142", "height": "4487", "width": "3318", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "Aye, e en the plain John Smiths would make\\nAn army fully able\\nThe pow r of all the Boers to break\\nJust call em, then, by cable.\\nFor, Lady Smith, twill never do\\nIf, through some painful blunder,\\nAn interesting dame like you\\nShould suddenly go under.\\nCoamo.\\nThis is the song of Coamo,\\nWhere Hulings, the brave, with his legion\\nFrom Old Pennsylvania s oil region.\\nCame down on the Dons and o erthrew em\\nAnd shot em and otherwise slew em.\\nIt seemed one of Destiny s rulings\\nThat nothing could stand before Hulings\\nOr cope with the courage infernal\\nOf the oil country boys and their colonel.\\nGirdled with walls is Coamo.\\nOn all sides the mountains surround it.\\nNot easy our warriors found it.\\nTo get there. The general commanding\\nBid all march ahead notwithstanding.\\nTo Hulings he said While we pound em\\nIn front and our lines close around em\\nGo you to their rear, there to catch em.\\nAnd then we shall quickly dispatch em.\\nAh for the fate of Coamo\\n*A11 right, sir, quoth Hulings and, leading\\nHis men, he was soon seen proceeding\\nO er boulders and torrents swift-rushing,\\n143", "height": "4536", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "Nor feared any Spaniard ambushing.\\nNot one of his soldier boys tarried,\\nBut proudly the old flag they carried\\nAnd waved it with great airs and graces\\nIn most inaccessible places.\\nNow in the rear of Coamo\\nAt length Hulings warriors gritty\\nLine up, while in front of the city\\nThe mainguard s artillery batters\\nThe walls, which it speedily shatters.\\nNo use to wait there for a beating.\\nThe Dons get the word for retreating.\\nThey start, but unhappy their fate is.\\nFor Hulings outside the back gate is.\\nQuick was the end at Coamo.\\nThe Dons, although cornered and rattled.\\nWith desperate bravery battled.\\nNo terror their grit could diminish.\\nBut Hulings soon showed em their finish,\\nAnd the general, on learning the wind-up.\\nObserved to the regiments lined up,\\nWith countenance visibly brightening:\\nThose oil country boys are chain lightning.\\nWillie s Dinner Party.\\nThere were covers laid for fifty\\nPoliticians shrewd and thrifty.\\nWillie Flinn, you see, was giving em a lay-out a la\\ncarty.\\nAt his invitation urgent\\nEv ry true and tried insurgent\\nDonned his spiketail and betook himself to Willie s din-\\nner party.\\n144", "height": "4487", "width": "3327", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "Oh, the viands were delicious\\nThere were rare and costly dishes\\nFrom the soup that mocked the turtle to the toast that\\nnever quailed.\\nAnd the guests they murmured Trust us,\\nMr. Flinn, to render justice\\nTo your bill of fare, whereat the same they gallantly\\nassailed.\\nAnd the host with visage shining\\nSa3^s, I m proud to see you dining\\nHere to-day, and boys I m hoping that you ll one and\\nall eat hearty.\\nAh, such ancients as LucuUus\\nWould have reason to be jealous\\nIf they only saw the royal spread at Willie s dinner\\nparty.\\nThere were speeches full of vigor,\\nDavy Martin cut a figure\\nQuite distinguished when he rattled off an anti-Quay\\noration.\\nJohn Dalzell in language polished\\nMathew Stanley soon demolished.\\nAnd his views were hailed with evidence of real appro-\\nbation.\\nCalvin Wells demanded credit\\nFor the gentlemen who edit\\nMr. Wanamaker s organs and with hot philippics fill\\nem,\\nAnd Van Valkenburg dilated\\nOn the furore he created\\nBy his threats to hold the Quayites up and hammer em\\nand kill em.\\n145", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "Koontz, of Somerset, describing\\nHow the bribers did their bribing,\\nMade a famous hit. He told how in the lobby many a\\nsmarty\\nUsed a wad but was detected\\nBy the boys that insurrected.\\nThis delighted all the spotless ones at Willie s dinner\\nparty.\\nWanamaker wasn t present,\\nHis condition was unpleasant,\\nSince he happened to be laid up with a twenty-pound\\ncarbuncle.\\nBut he sent a letter saying\\nTis a noble game we re playing,\\nAnd I m with you to a finish. Very truly yours\\nYour Uncle.\\nThen there was a general slaughter\\nOf the best champagney water,\\nAnd of Burgundy, Madeira, claret, hock and port and\\nsherry.\\nAnd those co-mates vowed that never\\nWould the fates their friendship sever,\\nBut they d cleave together always in a union chaste and\\nmerrv.\\nAfter which the boys meandered\\nWhile the band of music rendered\\nStrains expensively Beethovenish and some of em\\nMozarty.\\nThus the curtain fell and ended\\nThe diversion great and splendid,\\nWhich historians will enlarge upon as Willie s dinner\\nparty.\\n146", "height": "4487", "width": "3353", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "Slabtown\\nAt Slabtown, sev ral days ago,\\nAll coondom wore a merry glow,\\nAnd bright and sparkling was the flow\\nOf Plum Creek rolling rapidly.\\nGreat was the uproar and the fun;\\nOf bug-juice steady was the run.\\nEach Ethiopian had a gun\\nAnd plunked his neighbor gallantly.\\nSpeak-easies did a rushing trade,\\nThe booze upon the spot was made,\\nTwas keen as any razor blade,\\nAnd deadly in its potency.\\nBut on the colored heroes rushed\\nAnd charged the kegs and lushed and lushed,\\nAnd mugs were carved and craniums crushed\\nIn tantrums of insanity.\\nAnd there were stirring games of crap\\nAll day and all the night on tap;\\nBankrupting many a dusky chap\\nAnd breeding rows promiscuously.\\nAmid the rattle of the bones\\nYou d hear em yell in murd rous tones.\\nBing, bang! Tremendous oaths and groans\\nWould permeate the shrubbery.\\nAround the coons who tried their skill\\nGay ladies loafed in deshabille,\\nAwaiting an invite to swill\\nThe product of the doggery.\\n147", "height": "4532", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "And when the ladies got their load\\nWith gaiety they overflowed.\\nAnd ugly-looking guns they showed\\nAnd fired em off right nobbily.\\nAt night when Luna lit her lamp\\nThe coons would carry out of camp\\nThe corpses of the day, and damp\\nAnd drear would be their burial.\\nBut burials quickly were forgot,\\nFor some one else would soon be shot.\\nDear, dear, but they had times red-hot\\nWhen Slabtown held its carnival!\\nBut Slabtown saw another sight.\\nWhen Kersten came, in all his might.\\nCommanding fires of death to light\\nThe haunts of giddy revelry.\\nAnd Plum Creek wore a carmine hue\\nWhen busted kegs of liquor flew\\nAthwart its tide, within the view\\nOf Afros, moaning wearily.\\nFarewell then, Slabtown. Here s a toast\\nUnto the boys that laid thy ghost:\\nOh, may their days be long to roast\\nThe pow rs that deal in deviltry.\\n148", "height": "4488", "width": "3363", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "Seavey s Isle.\\nFrom Seavey s isle they ve sailed away,\\nCervera and his seamen.\\nIn jail they made a two-months stay\\nAnd now they all are freemen.\\nThey re sailing back to sunny Spain,\\nBut though their thraldom s over,\\nThey d like to strike that jail again,\\nFor there they were in clover.\\nBefore Cervera s famous fleet\\nWas sunk, their woe was utter.\\nThey didn t have a thing to eat.\\nNot even bread and butter.\\nSo keenly hunger s pangs they felt\\nThat with despairing faces,\\nThey tightened every man his belt\\nTo close the hollow spaces.\\nNow when these lads were yanked to jail,\\nAll fresh from scenes of slaughter.\\nThey looked with countenances pale\\nFor naught but bread and water.\\nAnd, oh, you should have seen em grin\\nWhen Uncle Sam, the sinner,\\nSang out, My skinny friends, pitch in,\\nAnd sat em down to dinner.\\nHe served up tubs of milk and soup,\\nAnd tons of beef and bacon.\\nAnd springtime chickens from the coop\\nIn countless dozens taken.\\nCold slaw and mushrooms, garden truck,\\nBologna, rice and sago,\\nSuch luck before was never struck\\nBy any Spanish dago.\\n14U", "height": "4527", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "Now such a life as this was sweet.\\nBy dint of meals and luncheons,\\nThose Dons, with naught to do but eat,\\nSwelled out as big as puncheons.\\nPerceiving what might happen here,\\nSays Uncle Sam, half weeping,\\nI ll have to ship you home for fear\\nYou d burst while in my keeping.\\nAnd that is why they sail to-day\\nAcross the ocean briny.\\nFour hundred pounds apiece they weigh,\\nAnd all are sleek and shiny.\\nAnd when the Dons at home in Spain\\nBehold these fattened sailors.\\nThey ll all be rushing o er the main\\nTo board with Yankee jailers.\\nBoley on the Watch\\nNow from his castle turret Sir Boley casts his eye\\nUpon the outstretched landscape, the plain, the sea and\\nsky.\\nHis brow is pale and anxious, his mouth is drawn and\\nhard.\\nWith Brennen at his elbow and the chairmanship to\\nguard.\\nSay, Boley, quoth the chairman, dost thou per-\\nchance behold\\nFar off upon the highroad a foeman blithe and bold;\\nSome cavalier pretentious, sent hitherward by Sipe\\nTo paralyze our henchmen and the chairmanship to\\nswipe?\\n150", "height": "4489", "width": "3347", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "Nay, nay, the judge responded, mine eyes are true\\nand keen,\\nBut I behold no cavaher as yet upon the scene.\\nBe calm, good brother William, don t yield thee to\\ndespair.\\nAs long as I can wield the lance, thou lt hold that bles-\\nsed chair.\\nHark, Bole, quoth Brennen trembling, what distant\\nnoise is that\\nDon t tell me it s a thunder-clap; don t tell me it s the\\ncat.\\nLike to the tramp of Xerxes host across the grassy\\nplain\\nMethinks ten thousand Rutledges are after me again.\\nNow, prithee, William, said the judge, do let thine\\nheart be still.\\nYon sound is not of savage men, who mean to burn and\\nkill;\\nThe mighty host that passes is merely out for fun\\nTis but the gang of postmasters en route to Wash-\\nington.\\nBig beads of sweat stood out upon Sir William s marble\\nbrow\\nHe saw Pat Foley, Larkin, too, and recognized them\\nnow.\\nMay Providence be praised, he said, that peaceful\\nmen are they.\\nToo busy holding Grover up to take my chair away.\\nThe army passed and soon another dubious cloud of\\ndust\\nAppeared on the horizon to Brennen s great disgust.\\nHand me my culverin, he cried, no more suspense\\nfor me,\\nTo arms! to arms! that chair of mine must never cap-\\ntured be.\\n161", "height": "4534", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "*Teace, caitiff, Bole responded, the cloud that yonder\\nlooms\\nIs only Tim O Leary, who s laden down with booms;\\nHe, too, is bound for Washington with Grover to\\nconfer.\\nAnd careth not though from that chair thou nevermore\\nshouldst stir.\\nAt this the chairman brightened, the anguish left his\\nsoul;\\nHe saw the coast was keeping clear. He put his trust\\nin Bole.\\nAnd well he might, for haply no man will ever dare\\nTo break a lance with William while Boley guards the\\nchair.\\nThe Girl Graduate.\\nWhat form is this whose charms serene\\nWith delicate and lustrous sheen.\\nThe stage illuminate?\\nIs t Venus or Diana? Nay,\\nTis one far lov lier than they\\nThe sweet girl graduate.\\nIn robes of virgin white she stands.\\nWith jewels on her dainty hands.\\nAnd flow rets in her hair.\\nHer glass has told her of her charms.\\nAnd so she feels no strange alarms,\\nNor shirks the footlights glare.\\n162", "height": "4487", "width": "3305", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "A thousand dudes in yellow shoes,\\nAnd neckties of hilarious hues,\\nLook on with lovesick eyes.\\nTheir gaze she does not fear to meet,\\nBut just to bring them to her feet\\nHer level best she tries.\\nA hush upon the audience falls;\\nDeep interest its soul enthralls,\\nNo covert sneer doth lurk\\nWhen she unties a ribbon blue.\\nAnd opens up to public view\\nHer essay peerless work\\nNow, now she lets the torrents loose\\nOf learning vast, and thoughts abstruse,\\nWorthy of sages old.\\nThe field of rhetoric for flow rs\\nShe ransacks. Wondrous are the pow rs\\nThat here themselves unfold.\\nScarce have the plaudits died away,\\nWhen lo she seats herself to play\\nPiano solos grand.\\nMozart, Tschaikowsky, Sydney Smith,\\nShe bangs and slams and rattles with\\nA finely cultured hand.\\nShe closes. Flow rs fall round her fast,\\nHow can she ever be outclassed?\\nFolks ask with flushing cheek.\\nAsk of young Counter Jumper who\\nGets twelve per month, his honest due\\nShe ll marry him next week.\\n158", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "The Mandolin Club.\\nO list to the music that s borne on the breeze,\\n(Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tunk, tink-a-tay);\\nLike the ripple of wavelets on sweet summer seas\\n(Tink-a-tonk, tink-a-tank, tink-a-too).\\nNo semblance of discord the harmony warps,\\nOne would think twas the angels performing on harps,\\nBut tis only a concert of mandolin sharps\\n(Twink-a-twank, twink-a-twunk, twink-a-twee).\\nRefrain.\\nThen hearken with rapture beyond all compare,\\nTo the sweet twinkle-twankling that twunks through\\nthe air.\\nFlee away from the brass band s delirious blare,\\nAnd the orchestra s giddy hubbub.\\nDull care to the winds will at once be consigned.\\nAnd a solace for grief you ll immediately find,\\nIn the gentle and soft twinkle-twanklesome grind\\nOf the twunklesome MandoHn club.\\n(Twink-a-twoo.)\\nBeethoven s sonatas they play like old vets\\n(Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tunk, tink-a-tay)\\nAnd full justice they do to the High School Cadets\\n(Tink-a-tonk, tink-a-tank, tink-a-too).\\nThe waltzes of Strauss and Waldteufel they play\\nIn a witchingly winsome and delicate way;\\nTill you wish they d keep at it all night and all day.\\n(Twink-a-twank, twink-a-twunk, twink-a-twee).\\nRef. Then hearken with rapture, etc.\\nThe Dead March in Saul they can render with skill\\n(Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tunk, tink-a-too).\\nAnd the strains of the Yorke they reel ofif with a will\\n(Tink-a-tonk, tink-a-tank, tink-a-too).", "height": "4490", "width": "3296", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "McGinty, Tannhaeuser, the songs of the war,\\n^Semiramide, White Wings and Rory O More,\\nAre among the bright things in their vast repertoire.\\n(Twink-a-twank, twink-a-tvvunk, twink-a-t\\\\vee).\\nRef. Then hearken with rapture, etc.\\nPianos and organs must move to the rear\\n(Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tunk, tink-a-tay).\\nTheir Hght is bedimmed while the mandoHn s here\\n(Tink-a-tonk, tink-a-tank, tink-a-too).\\nThe future May Festival, all must agree,\\nWill be shaped to conform to the people s decree,\\nAnd a mandolin carnival surely twill be\\n(Twink-a-twank, twink-a-twunk, twink-a-twee).\\nRef. Then hearken with rapture, etc.\\nThe Boy Graduate.\\nHe mounts the stage. His brow is clear,\\nHe knows no qualm, no puny fear,\\nNo quiver of dismay.\\nNoble and lofty is the state\\nOf youthful Mr. Graduate\\nUpon commencement day.\\nGarments brand-new his form bedeck,\\nA tow ring collar walls his neck.\\nHis cuffs are snowy white.\\nWho, in such radiant togs as these,\\nCould stoop to weak ning at the knees,\\nBeset with vulgar fright?\\n165", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "Not he. The proud and happy lad\\nExpertly coached and nobly clad,\\nFeels to the manor born.\\nGenius his soaring soul expands,\\nAnd fame nearby awaiting stands\\nHe views the mob with scorn.\\nWhat s this that he unfolds? Oh, yes\\nIt is, it is, a large MS.,\\nWith burning thoughts inscribed.\\nThe people listen with intense\\nDelight, till all his eloquence\\nThey ve joyously imbibed.\\nAll nature s secrets he unlocks,\\nThe rules of science orthodox\\nHe handles like a sage.\\nProblems that make our statesmen swear\\nHe settles with astuteness rare\\nIn this benighted age.\\nThen, when the thunders of applause\\nHave ceased, and he at length withdraws,\\nMid torrents of bouquets.\\nThe glee club claims him, and he takes\\nHis turn at rippling trills and shakes\\nIn rattling college lays.\\nAlas! that after college days,\\nWith light and life and hope ablaze.\\nThere comes a cold, cold deal\\nWhen heroes of the stage must try\\nTheir luck at hustling, or oh, my\\nGo join a Commonweal.\\ni\u00c2\u00bbs", "height": "4481", "width": "3271", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "Paddy Rewski.\\nA strain of mourning fills the air; a strain of anguish\\nkeen,\\nBecause the gcd-like maestro has vanished from the\\nscene.\\nUnto their grief our Pittsburg maids unceasingly give\\nvent,\\nThe world for them has lost its charm since\\nPaddy\\nRewski\\nWent.\\nThe mem ry of his tawny hair is like a bushy dream.\\nThree feet of wiry waviness a poet s fitting theme.\\nOut, out upon close-shaven heads! Who cares a\\ncopper cent\\nFor ordinary barber work since\\nPaddy\\nRewski\\nWent.\\nHis features they are classic, and he has a melting eye\\nHe doesn t wear a spiketail coat Hke any common guy;\\nHis limblets are a poem, in their movements eloquent.\\nWe ll never see their like again since\\nPaddy\\nRewski\\nWent.\\ni\\nThey say he plays sonatas and symphonic thingumbobs,\\nWhich move expert musicians to indulge in pray rs and\\nsobs;\\nBut music doesn t enter to a very great extent\\nInto what the girls are thinking of since\\nPaddy\\nRewski\\nWent.\\n157", "height": "4508", "width": "2725", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "O ye who at his ahar have been worshiping, suppose\\nThe whole ecstatic crowd go after Tad where er he\\ngoes.\\nTis only thus that kindred souls forever can be blent\\nAnd wipe out all the pangs one feels since\\nPaddy\\nRewski\\nWent.\\nColumbus.\\nBring the good old Caravel across the seas, yeo-ho\\nBring her as she first was brought four hundred years\\nago,\\nWhen she came for Yankeeland a-hunting high and low,\\nThanks to the nerve of Columbus.\\nChorus.\\nHurrah, hurrah Let s sing the praise of Chris.\\nHurrah, hurrah Just think what we would miss\\nIf Chris had never stumbled on a land so fair as this\\nThat s what we owe to Columbus.\\nIn the town of Genoa Columbus first drew breath.\\nPeople there still ask you, Didgenoabout his death?\\nFor he is forgotten there so many an expert saith\\nThat s pretty rough on Columbus.\\nPedagogues insisted that the earth was wholly flat\\nChristopher declared he couldn t let it go at that.\\nThereupon the nincompoops with big rattans got at\\nAnd tanned the hide of Columbus.\\n158", "height": "4487", "width": "3207", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "Christopher grew up and went a-sailing on the sea.\\nIn the course of time I ll knock out Captain Cook,\\nthought he.\\nCook had not been born yet, but the gift of prophecy\\nLurked in the soul of Columbus.\\nIsabella met the lad (she was the Queen of Spain);\\nThought he was dead gone on her, for Belle was prettj\\nvain.\\nChristopher, she said, for thee my bank account I ll\\ndrain.\\nRight in the swim was Columbus.\\nBella she put up the cash; Columbus did the rest;\\nSailed away from Pales toward the undiscovered west.\\nEverybody thought the scheme was but a merry jest\\nBut they were fooled in Columbus.\\nGlorious the triumph was when Yankeeland he struck,\\nFilled with copper-colored folks and lots of garden\\ntruck.\\nGentlemen, says Christopher, this is a run of luck.\\nThose were the words of Columbus.\\nOther foreign immigrants came after, when they saw\\nThat the Indians didn t have a contract labor law;\\nHence the Union flourishes with more or less eclat,\\nAll on account of Columbus.\\nTherefore join us, young and old, and make the welkin\\nring.\\nHymns of jubilation let us all in chorus sing.\\nThankful for the good things that continue still to\\nspring\\nOut of the cruise of Columbus.\\nir.9", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "Lullaby.\\nOver the mountains to Booze-Away Land,\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nWhere fairies are sporting on Tamarack strand,\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nWeary eyes closing and legs getting weak.\\nTongue getting thick ah, tis hard now to speak,\\nPapa s been on it, dear babe, for a week.\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nDaily he trudges to Barrelhouse Town,\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nHis nose it is red and his taste is seal brown,\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nBright is the sheen of the dollars he spends.\\nSetting em up for his thousands of friends\\nA white-aproned goblin upon him attends,\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nAlcohol River s aglow in the sun.\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nDad goes a-swimmin when he has the mon,\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nRivulets enter its bosom so clear,\\nRhine wine, and claret, ale, porter and beer.\\nBut King Corn- Juice lays over em all, never fear,\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nSee where the boas and copperheads play,\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nAlways frisk round when the old man s that way.\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nTake him away where the Strait Jackets dwell.\\nInto a cute little Hospital Cell\\nMedical fairies will soon make him well.\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\n100", "height": "4490", "width": "3307", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "Grand is the kingdom of Do-It-No-More,\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nDad will land there when the circus is o er,\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nO little babe, when to manhood you grow,\\nNever to Booze-Away Land must you go\\nLook at your father, and tell me No, no!\\nBye-bye, bye-bye.\\nChautauqua.\\nChautauqua! O thou sacred spot,\\nWhere idle tourists linger not\\nWhere vulgar sports, of habits low.\\nTheir brazen faces never show;\\nWhere fakirs for their arts profane\\nA license ask, but ask in vain;\\nAnd where enlightened laws exclude\\nThe noxious lady-killing dude\\nThe vivid fact we can t disguise\\nThou art a Christian paradise.\\nPure are the ways thou walkest in.\\nUnlike those garish haunts of sin.\\nSeaside resorts, where throng like sheep\\nThe vulgar, making angels weep.\\nTom, Dick and Harry there combine\\nTo soak themselves with rosy wine.\\nAlong the beach the maidens scoot,\\nEach in a scanty bathing suit.\\nThe righteous man, with burning cheek,\\nMust turn from these thy charms to seek.\\n1", "height": "4505", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "Lo, in thy temples do we find\\nSublime reflection for the mind.\\nThy people nearly all possess\\nA score of titles, more or less.\\nDoctors, Professors, Reverends, too.\\nIn all directions are on view\\nAnd every one his chance doth wait\\nTo mount the platform and orate.\\nThine is, in fact, Chautauqua dear,\\nA most didactic atmosphere.\\nRostrums and blackboards huge abound\\nThey re utilized by thinkers sound\\nPhilosophers with heads that bulge,\\nWho scientific truths divulge\\nLinguists well versed in ev ry freak\\nOf Latin, Hebrew, French and Greek\\nArtistic sharps who d have you know\\nThat they could teach Mike Angelo.\\nGlory is theirs that never fades\\nIn blest Chautauqua s classic shades.\\nThe woman on the suffrage lay\\nOf course, you know, *she d-talk-away,\\nAnd so she does. Her light s not hid,\\nFor John stays home to mind the kid,\\nAnd while his hand the cradle rocks\\nShe lectures on the ballot box.\\nThis feat, so woman-like and cute,\\nBrings forth the handkerchief salute,\\nAnd as the girls the speaker greet,\\nThey vow Chautauqua s just too sweet.\\n162", "height": "4487", "width": "3309", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "Alas, Chautauqua, with distress\\nThe ghastly truth we must confess,\\nWith thee and thine we can t consort,\\nBecause on goodness we are short.\\nExcuse our conscienceless remarks,\\nBut we prefer midsummer larks\\nTo hearing the discourse complex\\nOf Doctor Y. or Reverend X.\\nTherefore, thy charms with reverend awe\\nWe ll worship from afar.\\nTa, ta\\nElection Day.\\nDaybreak The dawn with smiling face\\nIlluminates the polling place\\nLights up the frosty sidewalk where\\nElection officers repair,\\nTo figure out with caution due\\nWhich one is which and who is who,\\nAnd, swearing one another in.\\nThe business of the day begin.\\nInspectors, clerks and judges, all\\nWithin the booths themselves install;\\nAnd watchers, early on the ground,\\nLook wise and idly stand around\\nTill with a self-approving grin,\\nThe first stray voter ambles in.\\nA candidate or two comes by\\nTo see that nothing is awry,\\nAnd in the foreground, full of grace,\\nA copper stands and twirls his mace.\\n163", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "Midday Now doth the fight wax hot,\\nA hundred men are on the spot\\nThe heeler, rounder, thug and bloat\\nBeset the man who wants to vote.\\nIn all directions, left and right.\\nPolice and firemen are in sight,\\nWith hosts of other active chaps,\\nWho live on soft official snaps.\\nThe challenger now cuts a swath\\nAnd leaves his victims white with wrath.\\nProne in the dust will he be laid\\nWhose taxes yet remain unpaid.\\nThe candidates, with anxious air.\\nAre here and there and ev rywhere;\\nLiquor there is in large supply;\\nFrom hand to hand the greenbacks fly,\\nWhile calm and heedless of the fray\\nThe Baker ballot pounds away.\\nEvening The hard-fought battle s o er,\\nThe warriors cleanse themselves of gore.\\nStill on the sidewalk loafs the crowd.\\nBeery, obstreperous and loud.\\nThe board within takes ofT its coat.\\nAnd figures up the total vote.\\nAt last returns are given out.\\nAnd greeted with a rousing shout.\\nMoved by the mob s approving cheers,\\nThe winners set up countless beers.\\nThe losers, when they hear the news.\\nSneak off unseen and get the blues.\\nThis ends it all. At once the town\\nGets sobered up and simmers down;\\nBusiness resumes its even flow,\\nAll things return to statu quo.\\nAnd war s alarms are filed away\\nUntil the next election day.\\n101", "height": "4486", "width": "3182", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "Turning the Tables.\\nIf Roberts should turn the tables;\\nIf when he gets the bounce\\nHe has the grit\\nAnd ready wit\\nHis foemen to denounce\\nIf in terms distinct he labels\\nThe false-pretending crew\\nThat makes to-day\\nA virtuous play\\nWhat then will congress do?\\nThey call his life improper;\\nThey say that prison gyves\\nWould fit the case\\nOf the Mormon base\\nWho sports a trio of wives.\\nBut what if a sudden stopper\\nWere placed on the statesmen who\\nDark byways tread\\nWith wives unwed?\\nThen what would congress do?\\nFor among those purists smiting\\nThe man from Utah state\\nThere s many a one\\nThat never was known\\nTo walk in pathways straight.\\nAnd after their blatherskiting\\nIf Roberts should bring to view\\nIn vengeful style\\nTheir covert guile\\nThen what would congress do?", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "And why should he not thus settle\\nHis score with the snarling pack\\nThat rolls its eyes\\nAnd loudly cries:\\nA sinner thou art Stand back\\nAh, friends, if a man of mettle\\nWould tell us just who is who\\nAnd what is what\\nIn that plague-struck spot,\\nThen what would congress do?\\nLay on, then, Roberts, and spare not;\\nWith the rod of truth chastise\\nThe sorry array\\nThat make their play\\nTogged out in virtue s guise.\\nLay on, sir, and forbear not.\\nTill we know the record true\\nOf the statesmen all\\nThat seek your fall.\\nThen what will congress do?\\nGoosebone Wisdom\\nWhat warning voice is this we hear?\\nLo, tis the goosebone prophet who\\nAlarms us with a forecast blue,\\n(His liver must be out of gear).\\nLike to Cassandra, who in days\\nLong past, gave all the world a chill\\nBy prophesying nought but ill\\nThe goosebone sharp his views conveys.\\n166", "height": "4486", "width": "3300", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "No sign propitious can he see.\\nHis osseous indicator shows\\nNo trace of aught but blackest woes\\nA most dyspeptic cuss is he.\\nBe warned, he cries, Ye mortals all\\nThis year you ll miss the keen delight\\nThat s in a winter crisp and white.\\nThe mercury will refuse to fall.\\nNo friendly snow the earth will deck\\nInviting youths and maids to glide\\nIn sleighs across the country side;\\nSuch joys will get it in the neck.\\n**The small boy, with his bumping sled,\\nWill have no chance to yell, Track, track\\nAnd lay the traveler on his back.\\nBunged up with cold, he ll lie abed.\\nAnd there will be no stretches vast\\nOf solid, smooth and glassy ice\\nSkatorial artists to entice.\\nThe skater s happy day is past.\\nOld Santa Claus when he comes out\\nBy seas of mud will be appalled;\\nHis dainty reindeer will be stalled.\\nThe Saint will shake his job, no doubt.\\nThen, owing to the Christmas mean,\\nAll hands will sicken and collapse\\nAnd then the doctors, lucky chaps\\nWill fill their wallets with long green.\\nThus speaks the Goosebone sharp. And oh,\\nIf what he says were really true,\\nTo give that sour old boy his due.\\nWe d get an ax and lay him low.", "height": "4505", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "Gatacre s Inveiglement.\\nOut spake Gatacre boldly as the natives flocked around\\nNow who will guide mine army to the burghers\\ncamping ground?\\nFor I am on my way to join Methuen, but before\\nWe meet I want to wipe out ev ry intervening Boer.\\nSpeak up, then. Ample recompense will fall unto the\\nlot\\nOf whosoever humps himself and leads me to the spot.\\nForth stepped some aborigines. Of guileless mien\\nwere they.\\nCommand us, honored sir, they said we ll guide you\\non your way.\\nWe know the veldt from end to end. We know the tor-\\nrents swift.\\nWe re onto ev ry kopje, ev ry neck and ev ry drift.\\nBesides, we re true and faithful, and your army, never\\nfear,\\nWith guidance such as we supply will get the proper\\nsteer.\\nThe deal was closed instanter, and the British marched\\nalong\\nWith confidence unflinching. Were they not four thou-\\nsand strong,\\nAnd had they not of deadly arms a plentiful supply?\\nWell might they yearn to sight the Boers and catch em\\non the fly.\\nIn sooth, the bold Gatacre said, my plans can hardly\\nfail.\\nAnd twill be strange if any Boer survives to tell the\\ntale.\\n16S", "height": "4485", "width": "3296", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "Bang, boom! What s that? Boom, bang! What s\\nthis? On center, left and right\\nA hundred flashes overcome the darkness of the night,\\nAnd through the British columns, taken wholly una-\\nwares,\\nA hail of shells and rifle balls incessant rips and tears.\\nWhile to the ears of Gatacre, that warrior of renown\\nA laugh of mockery is borne. Those guides have done\\nhim brown.\\nNo chance to rally now. No hope of silencing the foe.\\nThus trapped, the Britishers have not the semblance of\\na show.\\nWith lines cut up and hearts bowed down, those war-\\nriors undone\\nHave no recourse remaining but at once to cut and\\nrun,\\nWhile those whom they designed to slay, with vengeful\\nthoughts aglow,\\nPursue the fugitive brigades and smash em as they go.\\nSo comes from poor Gatacre the woe-beg one report\\nThat his campaign of triumph has been suddenly cut\\nshort.\\nI m sorry, gentlemen, he writes, it cuts me to the\\nquick\\nTo think that I should ever fail a band of Boers to lick.\\nAnd henceforth when Gatacre takes his troops to parts\\nunknown\\nHe ll give the native guides the shake and play his hand\\nalone.\\n169", "height": "4508", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "Objurgatory\\nLo, the cup of German wrath\\nIs uncomfortably full,\\nAll by reason of the swath\\nThat is cut by Johnny Bull.\\nFor his emmissaries bag-\\nIn a most offensive way\\nShips that fly the German flag\\nDown by Dalagoa bay.\\nOver bows they re firing shots\\n(This their nation ill befits),\\nAnd the reichstag thunders Totz T\\nAnd the kaiser mutters Blitz\\nAsk Bull the reason why\\nOn his high horse thus he rides,\\nTo the question he ll reply,\\nTis the fault of Dr. Leyds.\\nNone that knows the truth disputes\\nThat this agent of the Boers\\nHas been drumming up recruits\\nAnd accumulating stores;\\nAnd since Germans take his cash,\\nTheir offense is mighty rank,\\nDriving me to mutter Dash\\nWhile my people thunder Blank\\nFrenchmen join the hue and cry,\\nBull, they say, may rule the seas,\\nBut he cannot justify\\nHateful infamies like these.\\nNo he can t assert the right\\nLike a cat to lie in wait.\\nSeizing ev rything in sight.\\nWhether passengers or freight\\nHe s a pirate; he s a wrecker;\\nHe cares not a fig for law;\\nHere the men of France cry Sacre\\nAnd the journals shout A bas\\n170", "height": "4484", "width": "3207", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "Bull, impassive as a rock,\\nHears it all and doesn t blanch;\\nHe expects no battle shock\\nFrom the Germans or the French.\\nSo he gathers in his prey.\\nAnd he never cares a pin\\nWhat his critics choose to say\\nAs the ships he gathers in\\nLet em freely wag the jaw\\nWhile of indignation full.\\nPotz! Blitz! Sacre! and A Bas\\nThey are all the same to Bull.\\nMn Extremis.\\nNow hang it all, says Chamberlain, this thing has\\ngone too far,\\nTho tis glory that we sieek.\\nWe are licked three times a week.\\nWe need a man like Roberts, who won fame at Can-\\ndahar.\\nOr Hke Kitchener to soak\\nThese unruly burgher-folk.\\nOur strategists are rusty and their tactics are n. g.\\nTheir method of campaigning simply isn t worth a D.\\nTis perfectly disgraceful that high rollers such as wc.\\nRich and brave and big and strong\\nShould be walloped right along.\\nRoberts at the summons comes upon the double quick,\\nAnd he makes obeisance low\\nTo the Honorable Joe.\\nNow, my boy, says Joseph, tis for you to do the\\ntrick,\\nYou must scoot across the wave\\nAnd the nation s honor save.\\n171", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "Gatacre has been razzled on his journey from the Cape,\\nMethuen has been paralyzed and pounded out of shape,\\nAnd Buller well for Buller s troops we re mostly wear-\\ning crepe.\\nHors de combat are they all.\\nThat s why you receive a call.\\nWell and good, says Roberts, your command shall\\nbe obeyed.\\nThough my hair is snowy white\\nStill I m not afraid to fight.\\nAll my brethren have been whipped, but hang it Who s\\nafraid\\nWith decided ease and grace\\nMr. Joubert I will face.\\nIt isn t very pleasant for a man to risk his fame\\nBy taking up the thread of an infernal losing game,\\nAnd though I later on may find that Dennis is my\\nname,\\nI am ready for the trip\\nAnd I ll try to let er rip.\\nKitchener is ordered to accompany his chief.\\nHe s the stout and sturdy man\\nWho won out in the Soudan.\\nThe coming of the pair of em gives promise of relief\\n(If their fame is not a myth)\\nTo beleaguered Ladysmith.\\nAnd to the troops demoralized that now are on the\\nground\\nTis glorious to hear about the heroes thither bound,\\nBut Kruger only winks his eye and says, When they\\ncome round\\nWill our people have to flee?\\nHa, ha, ha Just wait and see.\\n172", "height": "4474", "width": "3241", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "McKinley s Message.\\nCongress from its labors dizzy\\nSuddenly was bid to cease.\\nMembers loud and brisk and busy\\nSimmered down and held their peace.\\nIn the house forensic bruisers\\nCeased to make a grand stand play.\\nIn the senate ancient snoozers\\nClosed their eyes and snored away.\\nFor the voice of Pruden ringing\\nLoud and clear proclaims to men\\nThat a message he is bringing\\nFrom the presidential pen.\\nAnd the statesmen must be docile;\\nNone must praise or blame or scofif,\\nWhile the document colossal\\nBy a clerk is rattled off.\\nLo, the clerk with visage solemn\\nIn a high-pitched monotone\\nReels off colum after column\\nWith full many an inward groan,\\nTill at last his voice comes thinly\\nAnd he finds it hard to speak,\\nFor that message from McKinley\\nSeems as if twould last a week.\\nPlans for strengthening our finances.\\nLittle stabs at trade combines\\nAnd occasional side-glances\\nAt our neighbors monkey-shines.\\nTreaty outlines, full of promise,\\nWords of thankfulness sincere\\nTo convince the doubting Thomas\\nThat prosperity is here.\\n173", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "Diagrams of our campaigning\\nOn the Filipino shore;\\nPledges meant to check complaining\\nFrom the Cubans, always sore.\\nTips on many a happy presage\\nOf good times within our land,\\nAll are furnished in that message\\nFrom McKinley s honored hand.\\nBut, although the thread they re losing,\\nWhich may seem a trifle odd,\\nStill the senators keep snoozing\\nAnd the other fellows nod.\\nAnd they hear it not nor heed it\\nFor this reason, which is true,\\nThat in print some day they ll read it\\nWhen they ve nothing else to do.\\nWhere Can Aggie Be\\nThey say that Aguinaldo is no longer to be found;\\nThat somehow he has slipped away from Luzon s\\nbloody ground.\\nThey re searching for him high and low, on land and\\non the sea.\\nBut all in vain. He can t be traced. Oh, where can\\nAggie be?\\nPerhaps he s in the Transvaal pounding Johnny Bull.\\nPerhaps he s in a temperance town, getting good and\\nfull.\\nPerhaps he s up in cloudland with a harp and crown.\\nPerhaps perhaps but what s the use? We can not\\nrun him down.\\n174", "height": "4475", "width": "3238", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "A nimble leg has Aggie. When he first received a hint\\nThat Uncle Sam meant business, he at once began to\\nsprint.\\nSays Otis This will never do. We must not let him\\nflee,\\nBut now the general wonders where on earth can Ag-\\ngie be?\\nPerhaps he s gone to Russia with a bombshell for the\\nczar.\\nPerhaps he s being kodaked as the only shooting star.\\nPerhaps he s playing football in the realm of cap and\\ngown.\\nPerhaps perhaps but what s the use? We can not\\nrun him down.\\nOur troops kept gamely on his trail. They hustled af-\\nter Ag\\nFrom Calembangaloocan to the wilds of Balinag.\\nThey often thought they had him, but just like the Irish\\nflea.\\nHe wasn t there. He wouldn t stay. Oh, where can\\nAggie be\\nPerhaps he s in Kentucky doubling up the Goebel vote.\\nPerhaps he s drinking CHcquot with the Prince and\\nJoey Choate.\\nPerhaps he s gone to Hades with the Ancient Boy to\\nsup.\\nPerhaps perhaps but what s the use? We give the\\nrascal up.\\niia", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "The Open Door,\\nNow in a chorus uniform,\\nA great harmonious strain,\\nThat overpow rs the howHng storm\\nAnd echoes o er the main,\\nThe nations join. In such a lay\\nThey ve never joined before;\\nFor the rattHng song they sing to-day\\nIs the song of the open door.\\nOpen door on Chinese coast. Heathen shan t say nay.\\nOpen door in Cochin open door in Mandalay.\\nBreak the lock of the Orient. Riches are in store.\\nThere s golden coin for the pow rs that join in the song\\nof the open door.\\nThe voice of England leads the stave;\\n**0 brethren mine, quoth she,\\nTis not the land and loot I crave\\nIn cHmes beyond the sea.\\nTo hopes of blessed peace I cling\\nUnmix d with thoughts of gore,\\nxA.nd in this righteous mood I sing\\nThe song of the open door.\\nOpen door in Africa soon twill be in shape.\\nOpen door along the line from Cairo to the Cape.\\nAfrikanders, hold your peace. Proudly to the fore.\\nIs Progress, stepping onward to the song of the open\\ndoor.\\nThe German kaiser s basso voice\\nComes in to swell the tune.\\nThe Japs do likewise, and rejoice\\nWith allies to reune.\\n176", "height": "4484", "width": "3278", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "And last, but nowise least, you ll hear\\nOn fair Columbia s shore,\\nSent out from Uncle Sammy s throat,\\nThe song of the open door.\\nOpen door, Samoa, shall forevermore be thine.\\nOpen door hold on, though; we must somewhere\\ndraw the line.\\nIf Luzon, too, must be unlocked, why, then, perhaps no\\nmore\\nYou ll hear your Uncle Sammy sing the song of the\\nopen door.\\nThe Gobbler s Doom\\nHe does not know. He harbors no suspicion\\nOf ruin high.\\nNo sign of aught to alter his condition\\nCan he espy.\\nWith head erect and ample breast expanded\\nHe struts around.\\nNo fears has he of foes against him banded\\nHe knows his ground.\\nWhat if the farmer now doth feed him double\\nTo make him fat?\\nQuoth he A gobbler has the right to gobble.\\nNo doubt of that.\\nAnd when strange people come around and eye him.\\nAnd note his size.\\nHe feels that they are there to glorify him.\\nThat s no surprise.\\nFor is he not the noblest thing that s living\\nA sovereign born\\nAnd gossips rude that talk about Thanksgiving\\nHe laughs to scorn.\\n177", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "He to be slaughtered He to make a dinner\\nFor gourmands gay\\nT would take a fearfully case-hardened sinner\\nTo act this way.\\nAsk of the hens that humbly gather round him;\\nThey ll all declare\\nThat none can overawe him or confound him.\\nHe knows no scare.\\nAnd yet this in a whisper we re reve*aling\\nWe ll soon behold\\nThe ax across that gobbler s jugular stealing,\\nKeen-edged and cold.\\nThis tale is duly with a moral salted\\nRemember, all,\\nThat pride, stiflf-necked and overly exalted\\nMust have a fall.\\nPoe.\\nHeroes invincible, patriots, warriors.\\nStatesmen whose names are on tables of gold,\\nPoets, philosophers, fistical tarriers.\\nAll that by Fame on her list are enrolled.\\nLights of antiquity, notables latter-day.\\nNe er will again have the ghost of a show.\\nDwarfed and o ershadowed they all were last Saturday\\nNow the world s worshiping centers on Poe.\\nWhat is the trade of him? What is the style of him?\\nWhat makes him greater and grander than all?\\nWhy does the multitude hang on the smile of him?\\nWhy is the universe under his thrall\\nWherefore will babes be endowed with the name of him,\\nWhich the fond parents rejoice to bestow?\\nWhence the spectacular, earth-shaking fame of him?\\nMarvelous, mighty, redoubtable Poe!\\n1T8", "height": "4484", "width": "3254", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "Is he a new sort of mental phenomenon.\\nIs he a demigod ,far above men,\\nBlest with the gifts of a Greek or a Roman un\\nSuch as we mortals may ne er see again?\\nIs he a conqueror, bard or philosopher?\\nIs he with fire superhuman aglow,\\nThat this old earth should accept as the boss of her\\nGlorious, wonderful, wizard-like Poe?\\nNone of these roles is one-half big enough for him,\\nWider and nobler by far is his sphere\\nOnly one human pursuit is the stuff for him,\\nOnly one calling on earth he holds dear.\\nAsk for old Princeton whose prowess revealed for her\\nGlories that will sempiternally glow?\\nWho against Yale kicked a goal from the field for her?\\nList to the roar of em.\\nNinety-nine score of em\\nThunder the answer Who was it but Poe\\nA Meteoric Deception.\\nPut away the kodak and the lengthy telescope.\\nFile the heavenly charts away\\nTill a more propitious day.\\nShed a bitter tear or two and bid good-bye to hope.\\nThere is sorrow in the cup,\\nAnd we ve got to drink it up.\\nThe scientists contracted for a great and glorious show\\nNone like it had been seen since three and thirty years\\nago\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWith meteors the realms of Space, they said, would be\\naglow.\\nBut twas all a hollow cheat\\nAnd the meteors didn t mete.\\n179", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "Thousands of the populace sat up and watched the sky.\\nNot a blessed wink they slept,\\nBut a steady vigil kept.\\nNobody amongst em had the nerve to close an eye\\nNone would venture on a snooze\\nLest the spectacle he d lose.\\nThey sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and sat,\\nAnd strained their eyes till many a one was blind as any\\nbat\\nBut ah, their weary vigil turned out profitless and flat.\\nThey were victims of deceit.\\nFor the meteors didn t mete.\\nOn the Allegheny hills Brashear was on the watch\\nIn an eager attitude;\\nTo a lens his eye was glued.\\nClose at hand were cameras the gorgeous sight to\\ncatch,\\nEv ry kodak cocked and primed\\nAnd with accuracy timed.\\nA multitude around him w^atched his ev ry move with\\nawe.\\nThey knew that in his processes there couldn t be a\\nflaw.\\nBut somewhere in the small hours he was heard to cry,\\nOh, pshaw\\nThen he beat a quick retreat\\nFor the meteors didn t mete.\\nClouds did all the mischief. They were piled up thick\\nand black\\nAnd they acted as a bar\\nTo the festive falling star.\\nEv ry blessed meteor was driven ofif the track.\\nAnd no other show r is due\\nUntil 1932.\\nNo wonder that vindictive ones are looking for Bra-\\nshear.\\nNo wonder that a sleepless mob is wildly on its ear.\\nNo wonder that the awfulest anathemas we hear,\\niFar too wicked to repeat,\\nFor the meteors didn t mete.\\n180", "height": "4485", "width": "3331", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "Dreyfus Avenged.\\nAh, little did the Frenchmen know\\nWhen Dreyfus they were hounding,\\nThat Nemesis was lying low\\nTo take revenge astounding.\\nHad they foreseen the awful fruits\\nOf Dreyfus cruel sentence,\\nThey d all have trembled in their boots\\nAnd made a swift repentance.\\nBut all unchecked the men of guile\\nAchieved their shameful purpose.\\nTheir victim went to Devil s Isle\\nBeyond all habeas corpus.\\nAnd all too late they brought him back\\nAnd loosed the chain that bound him,\\nFor Nemesis was on their track\\nDetermined to confound em.\\nTo-day, behold, the crushing blow\\nUpon their heads is falling.\\nTheir great and glorious Expo\\nWill meet a fate appalling.\\nTo Thomas, peerless Theodore,\\nFor music they are turning.\\nBut vainly, vainly they implore;\\nTheir ofifers he is spurning.\\nHis answer is both hot and strong,\\nHe glares and thunders Diable\\nThink you I d trust my band among\\nYour mischief-making rabble?\\nBegone, avaunt No base Mounseers\\nMy peerless men shall rope in.\\nJust think of feasting brigand ears\\nOn Mendelssohn and Chopin\\n181", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "Td rather die than treat you to\\nTschaikowsky and Beethoven,\\nOr even to such Hghts brand-new\\nAs Herbert and DeKoven.\\nFrom me you ll never, never drag\\nA single theme or chanson\\nYou ll get no tempo of the rag,\\nNo Massenet, no Saint-Saens.\\nThis floors em. Theodore, they say,\\nWith fatal force you knife us.\\nTis thus a fitting price they pay\\nFor what they did to Dreyfus.\\nAnd henceforth when they re in the mood\\nTo chase men and undo em\\nThey d better let up and be good,\\nOr Yankee strings and brass and wood\\nWill never more come to em.\\nOn the Ice.\\nNow the skater, shod with steel,\\nFull of vigor and of zeal.\\nNotes with pleasure that the waters have consented to\\ncongeal.\\nAnd he girdeth up his feet.\\nAnd with motion smooth and fleet\\nHe cavorts across the landscape at a pace that s hard\\nto beat.\\nIf perchance he is brand-new.\\nThen affairs go all askew,\\nAnd his pristine evolutions are appalling to the view.\\nLightly he essays to skim\\nO er the ice, but Fortune grim\\nDesignates a sitting posture as the only one for him.\\n182", "height": "4476", "width": "3218", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "Then he may be young and rash,\\nFond of surfaces that smash,\\nAnd in consequence he ll frequently go under with a\\nsplash.\\nAnd though rescued on the spot\\nAnd filled up with liquor hot,\\nHe most likely gets pneumonia and goes where it\\nfreezes not.\\nBut if fully skilled is he,\\nEverybody must agree\\nThat his dexterous gyrations are a charming thing to\\nsee.\\nAs he glides from place to place,\\nAt a very giddy pace,\\nHe presents the true embodiment of poetry and grace.\\nTis a source of pleasure great\\nWhen he doth ejaculate,\\nKeep your eye upon me, fellers, while I cut the fig-\\nure 8.\\nAnd beholders must proclaim\\nThat their feelings are the same\\nWhen in lettering that s faultless on the ice he cuts his\\nname.\\nAccidents, of course, may mar\\nHis career. It is a bar\\nTo his triumph when his cranium hits the ice and makes\\na star.\\nAnd the hearts of all are sore.\\nAnd with anguish brimming o er.\\nWhen he strikes a wicked air-hole and goes down to\\nrise no more.\\nBut he is a chipper chap.\\nFull of blood and vim and snap\\nSo let s hope that he ll encounter no misfortune or\\nmishap.\\nAnd that frosty weather still\\nWill maintain its grip until\\nEv ry skater of the edifying sport has had his fill.", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "Bobs of Candahar.\\nNow haste thee, Bobs of Candahar,\\nFor lo, in Afric s land afar,\\nThe Hght of fair Britannia s star\\nIs sadly on the wane.\\nHer soldiers, formerly the best\\nIn all the world, are sore distress d\\nWhat they ve bit off they can t digest,\\nAnd bitter is their pain.\\nAh, Bobs, you may conceive their woe,\\nRecalling how, not long ago.\\nThose lads were sneering at the foe\\nThat has them now at bay\\nHow Buller, that distinguished chief,\\nIn public said, Tis my belief\\nThat in Pretoria our roast beef\\nWe ll eat on Christmas day.\\nDid Buller s forecast come to pass?\\nWhat need to answer No. Alas,\\nElsewhere the knife and fork and glass\\nOn Christmas day he plied.\\nWith Boers in front and Boers behind\\nAnd Boers on right and left he dined,\\nWhile shot and shell by hands unkind\\nWere fired from ev ry side.\\nPoor Buller! Twas his hope forthwith\\nTo bring relief to Ladysmith,\\nAnd all his friends and kin and kith\\nBelieved he d do the trick.\\nBut when he reached Colenso, lo,\\nOld Joubert suddenly let go\\nAnd dealt him a destructive blow\\nUpon the double-quick.\\n184", "height": "4476", "width": "3323", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "Hence, Bobs, you re needed in a rush.\\nMake haste, lad, and get in the push\\nBefore the Boers to atoms crush\\nThe flow r of Britain s flock.\\nTo you Britannia s people turn,\\nExhorting you in words that burn\\nTo whip the Boers from stem to stern,\\nAnd all their games to block.\\nAnd, Bobs oh, melancholy thought\\nIf all in vain your aid is sought,\\nAnd if your plans should come to naught,\\n(Here let s indulge in sobs)\\nThen Britain nothing else can do\\nBut simply skip the tra-la-loo\\nFrom Africa, and as for you\\nOh, but you ll catch it, Bobs\\nNaughty-Naught.\\nWe may drop a tear\\nFor the good old year\\nThat is dead, but why repine\\nSince the year brand-new\\nIs as good and as true\\nAnd as jolly as Ninety-nine?\\nYes, the rising star\\nIs brighter far\\nThan the star whose fall is wrought.\\nThen a toast let s drink\\nAnd our glasses clink\\nTo the health of Naughty-naught.\\nChorus\\nCheer, boys, cheer.\\nNever a tear,\\nHere s to the naughty, naughty year.\\nMay his coming with bliss for all be fraught.\\nHere s a health to Naughty-naught.\\nISiS", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "The good old year\\nHad a bright career,\\nHe was chipper and blithe and gay,\\nWith generous hand,\\nHe gave to our land\\nSuccess that is here to stay.\\nAye, more than enough\\nOf the long green stuff\\nTo this land of ours he brought.\\nBut there s plenty more\\nLong green in store,\\nThen hurrah for Naughty-naught\\nCho. Cheer, boys, cheer, etc.\\nYes, love grows cold\\nAnd it s off with the old\\nAnd on with the love that s new,\\nAnd the year that s fled\\nTo the world is dead\\nAnd vanished from mortal view.\\nBut wherefore mourn\\nFor another is born\\nAnd to serve us well he ought.\\nThen your glasses fill,\\nAnd drink with a will\\nTo the health of Naughty-naught.\\nCho. Cheer, boys, cheer, etc.\\nAggie s Flight\\nThere was terror in Bimbolango;\\nThe news came in that day.\\nThat the Yankee troops\\nWith murderous whoops\\nWere coming to burn and slay\\nThey had taken Tingotango,\\nAnd wrought destruction dire.\\nAnd twas oh, the dread\\nOf a scene blood-red\\nAnd of terrible sword and fire.\\n186", "height": "4472", "width": "3324", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "Quoth Aguinaldo s mother,\\nMy son, what news is this\\nThat makes you shake\\nAnd quiver and quake?\\nOh, tell me, what s amiss.\\nOh, mother, says he, don t bother\\nIt is but a passing chill.\\nTwill yield no doubt.\\nTo a poultice stout\\nOr an antibilious pill.\\nO son, you speak not truly.\\nI see by your troubled looks\\nAnd your quiv ring shanks\\nThat the awful Yanks\\nWill soon get in their hooks.\\nI urge you not unduly.\\nBut if you love me, Ag.\\nYou ll leave me not\\nOn this ill-starr d spot\\nFor Lawton s men to bag.\\nSay, mother, what harum-scarum\\nIdea is this you ve framed\\nFear not, fear not.\\nFor even if caught\\nBy Lawton s troops untamed.\\nYou ll grace no Yankee harem\\nNor yet be a slave for sale.\\nAnd those Yankee chaps\\nSome day, perhaps.\\nMight let you out on bail.\\nThus saying the dauntless leader\\nPicked up his valise and skipped.\\nIn vain the chase.\\nHis lightning pace\\nPursuers all outstripped.\\nBut his mother, who was no speeder.\\nJust sat in her hut and whined.\\nAnd the Yanks came round\\nAnd all they found\\nWas the old girl left behind.\\n187", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "Brother Jolo.\\nUncle Sam plays no longer a solo\\nWithout the least sign of regret\\nHe has taken the Sultan of Jolo\\nTo join in a ruling duet.\\nYes, quoth Sam to the Sultan, Old chappie,\\nYour throne I don t want to pull down,\\nYour vassalage won t be unhappy.\\nFor, lad, I shall leave you your crown.\\nMy liege, quoth the Sultan, pray tell me,\\nIn case to my slaves I hold on.\\nDo you mean to chastise and expel me\\nAnd leave me completely undone?\\nAnd then my poor wives will you scare em\\nBy ruling polygamy out\\nOh, sire, if I give up my harem\\nMy glory will vanish, no doubt.\\nFear not, Uncle Sam answered gaily,\\nThough slavery counts among us\\nAs a thing that is deucedly scaly,\\nAbout it we ll not have a fuss\\nAnd your wives well, we won t be outlawing\\nThose ladies. Just keep the whole crew.\\nFor a careful distinction wx re drawing\\nBetween Brigham Roberts and you.\\nQuoth the Sultan: You ll certainly lay me\\nBeneath obligations immense.\\nIf a stipend you re willing to pay me.\\nI d like to have some recompense.\\nDear fellow, I ll do it, said Sammy.\\nFive dollars a week is the price,\\nAnd your chiefs and your courtiers why, damme,\\nFor them five a year should sufiiice.", "height": "4473", "width": "3238", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "The bargain was closed and twas settled\\nThat henceforth the star-spangled flag\\nShould float o er the Moros high-mettled,\\nConfounding such traitors as *Ag.\\nEnded now was the vile domination\\nOf pirates and bandits and sich,\\nAnd we added an isle to our nation\\nWithout the least sign of a hitch.\\nThen here s to our brothers in Jolo,\\nNo longer condemned and despised,\\nThey have laid down the gun and the bolo\\nAnd as Yankees they re now recognized;\\nThey are yellow, but bless you! their color\\nWith us shouldn t cut any ice,\\nFor their isle will yield many a dollar\\nAnd oh, but it s cheap at the price!\\nThe Ground Hog,\\nIn tradition old and hoary\\nTreasured up in song and story\\n(Jealously such things are hoarded),\\nSolemnly it is recorded\\nThat upon this date and day\\nFrom his hole, where he s been sleeping\\nThrough the winter, softly creeping\\nComes the ground hog, nosing, Avinking,\\nSizing up the scene and blinking\\nIn a very furtive way.\\nNot in fashion helter skelter\\nDoes he issue from his shelter.\\nThere in quarters snug and cozy\\nHe s been having dreams of rosy\\nTimes when summer days come round.\\nThere no biting blasts could chill him\\nAnd with pains rheumatic fill him.\\nThickest snowstorms never fazed him.\\nZero s edges never grazed him\\nHe s been warm and safe and sound.\\n189", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "Shyly he slips out and shivers.\\nAye, in ev ry nerve he quivers.\\nFor he dreads the wintry tussle,\\nDreads the Ice King on his muscle,\\nDreads Jack Frost s inclement hand.\\nAnd his heart within him flutters,\\nAnd the sentiments he utters\\nSignify his anxious feeling\\nIn the face of things congealing\\nEv rywhere throughout the land.\\nNow for him there comes a crisis.\\nMinus warnings or advices.\\nHe must deftly put together\\nTwo and two and gauge the weather,\\nGauge for forty days ahead.\\nAll mankind on him depending\\nWaits upon the fateful ending\\nOf his mission. Ah, twould grieve us\\nIf the ground hog should deceive us.\\nBut he never does, tis said.\\nIf the sun he should set eyes on\\nClimbing up from the horizon,\\nAnd his shadow darkly throwing\\nOn the snow, then he ll be going\\nUnderground again to snooze.\\nAnd for forty days unpleasant\\nThings will keep on as at present.\\nFreezing right along and snowing,\\nLikewise polar winds a-blowing\\nWhile men shiver in their shoes.\\nBut if he beholds no trace of\\nSun and shadow, then in place of\\nGoing back again to cover\\nHe ll stay out, for winter s over\\nAnd the way for spring is clear.\\nHence humanity has reason\\nAt this very doubtful season\\nIn the very choicest phrases\\nTo recite the ground hog s praises,\\n.And that s why these lines appear.\\n190", "height": "4475", "width": "3284", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "Lady Smith.\\nDo you hear that distant drumming,\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith?\\nThat s a sign that Buller s coming,\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nHe has sworn by high and low\\nTo release you from the foe.\\nBut he happens to be slow.\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nHe is desperately slow,\\nLady Smith.\\nDo not kick because he s tardy,\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nHaste, you know, would be foolhardy,\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nFor twixt you and him there lurk\\nFoes that, like the heartless Turk,\\nDo all sorts of deadly work.\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nTheirs is very deadly work,\\nLady Smith.\\nHow, indeed, could BuUer hustle,\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith,\\nWhen with Boers he has to tussle,\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith\\nThey have guns on ev ry kop.\\nFiring broadsides from the top.\\nAnd they simply will not stop,\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nThey re too hard of heart to stop,\\nLady Smith.\\nIll", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "Buller once essayed to flank em,\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith;\\nAnd he really hoped to spank em.\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nSpion Kop he occupied,\\nBut the Boers ran up the side.\\nThen the Britons mostly died,\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nQuite a number of em died.\\nLady Smith.\\nBuller ever since is careful.\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nHe is watchful now and pray rful,\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nHe is hoping that some day\\nHe will find a passageway\\nAnd slip through without delay.\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nThere will then be no delay.\\nLady Smith.\\nThen wait patiently and coolly,\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nDon t be fractious and unruly.\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nFor be sure, the British race\\nWon t commit desertion base\\nWhen a lady s in the case,\\nLady Smith, Lady Smith.\\nAnd it won t neglect your case,\\nLady Smith.\\n192\\nC 32 89 iff", "height": "4472", "width": "3364", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4466", "width": "3334", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4506", "width": "2975", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "y o\\nDe\\nNe\\nOj^ Treatment Date. Sept. 2009\\nDeacidified using the Bookkeeper process\\nNeutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide\\nPreservationTechnologies\\nA WORLD LEAOERIN COLLECnONS PRESERVATION\\nk .^(dj^^ Thomson Park Drive\\nCranbefry Toivnship, PA 16066\\n(724)779-2111", "height": "4505", "width": "3323", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "^oV\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0\u00e2\u0080\u00a2^0\\ny\\nov-\\nv^\\nV v*-^\\no\\niV\\nc\u00c2\u00b0 y.\\ny\\n\u00c2\u00b0v\\nAT", "height": "4527", "width": "2901", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "iii\\nill\\niilii", "height": "4740", "width": "3068", "jp2-path": "songsofeveryday01burg_0214.jp2"}}