$B 273 E P S 3503 O89 A7 1905b MAIN 8 O C\J m Ancient Poetry BY J. EDWARD BOYD,B.B.B. SIXTH EDITION Revised and Modernized by J.EDWARD BOYD.B. B, B. Professor of Trunkology, Graduate of Sing Sing, and Lecturer on How to Rope a Trunk and Honswogle the Owner ALSO His VIEWS ON POETRY ANCIENT AND MODERN FIFTH EDITION ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BERKELEY, CAL. 1905 Entered at the Post-office as first-class matter. Well, I should say so. PREFACE In answer to a lot of feeble-minded friends I have been compelled to issue another edition of this magnificent work. It has been not only a labor of love but also a job to pay the printer. With no extended remarks I might add a few com plimentary words I have received from distinguished personages. Simply slumgacious ADAUNA PATTI Shiver my topsails, but it s better than lob- scouse ADMIRAL DEWEY Good as ten years in San Quentin JIMMY HOPE What a nerve Boyd has got HENRY SCHELLHAUS The choicest work in my paujamas AGUANAI^DO Enough to make a man "look on the wine when it is red" GOVERNOR. PENNOYER And thousands of others when I have time to invent them. 766970 Ai BEEKELEY S BOY POET Berkeley has many attractions, but none of which she is more proud of than our "Boy Poet" a sweet-faced youth of 60 summers who may be found at Berke ley Station at all times of day, where his youthful beauty often attracts the atten tion of strangers and visitors. The fol lowing lines show his youthful genius: How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, Of pleasant old Berkeley that I used to know, The gas tank, the planing mill, the old China wash-house, The sweet-smelling mud-holes where wild weeds did grow. The old corner grocer\ r store kept by Uucle Joe, And his loud-talking driver who had such big feet; The old Golden Sheaf where we bought coffee and sinkers, And the old poky horse-car on Addison street. How oft at the noon hour when the whistles loud did blow Did I hasten home to eat a cold feed, As gaily I sauntered down this well-beloved road, How pleasent to smell the fragrant tar- weed. But those bright days have gone, never more to come again - Never more shall the sidewalk be trod by my feet, Never more shall I see the bright scenes of my childhood Or the poky old horse-car on Addison street. How oft in my childhood I ve "nipped" on the horse-car To hear Mr. Morehead How he did rip, curse and swear, And when he got done with his shouting and spouting, He d say, "You can t ride unless you have a nickel for fare." But no more those bright days when the world looked so rosy, This earth seemed a heaven and all things looked sweet, But they ve faded away, those bright scenes of my childhood, With the poky old cars on Addison street. Trunkology in Berkeley Was ever any Expressman sent To a house in town, and when he went Did the landlady ever fail to bawl Don t YOU put no scratches on that wall"? Whenever you go to a home for a trunk They certainly imagine that you are drunk, For they never fail to loudly bawl "Don t put no scratches on that wall." I ve found it so, and I m proud to say I ve handled baggage for many a day; But no sooner I ve entered into the hall Than they loudly scream, Don t scratch the wall. You may do your best and strive to please Till your body is weak from head to knees, And still some female loud will call "Be careful how you mark the wall." It would drive a man unto strong drink (When he is so tired he cannot think) To hear again the same old call "My goodness, how you ve marked the wall." When through at last, at home to rest, And striving to do your level best, And tired out, into bed you crawl To dream all night of that scratched wall. This thing is getting worse than bad- It s enough to drive Expressmen mad. Even the Sheenies have the gall To yell, "Dont from dot baper took der vail." But boys, when life s moving days are o er And you re checked right through to Heaven s bright shore, The angels, they will gently call "Come in, and never mind the wall." History of Poetry aS the years swiftly glide by it is sad to note thaf publishers take un wonted liberties with some of our most cherished poetry, not only changing the wording but conveying a totally different idea from the original manuscript. Take for instance that grand old poem "Jack and Jill." Why, publishers of the present day assert with the most unblushing ef frontery that their errand up the hill was to obtain water, while it is \vell known to all readers of ancient history that the parents of Jack and Jill were accustomed to "looking on the wine when it was red," and it was no unfrequent thing to "Rush the Growler" when they hap pened to have the necessary short bit to make the purchase with. Of late years 8 it has become the fashion to hide the fact that the children s errand was to pur chase some steam beer. While the writer cannot deny that temperance is a virtue, he must also acknowledge the truth of the saying of General Burgoyne, on the field of Saratoga, when he uttered the following well-known w r ords, "A glass of beer goes mighty fine on a hot day;" and right here, without extra cost, I intend to favor my readers with the true ver sion of Jack and Jill Jack and Jill went up the hill To get some steam beer, I guess; Jack fell down and broke his crown While nipping on Boyd s Express. The writer s sole idea in printing this literary gem is to supply a long-felt want, a nd to correct a growing tendency to mislead the rising generation by publish ing a true version of the delightful bal lads of our childhood s days not the mutilated and sawed-of corrections of these latter-day soi-distant poets. Take for example that touching refrain which pleased and soothed us in our infancy Mother, may I go down to the beach? Yes, my darling Bess If you feel too lazy to walk, Why, charter BOYD S EXPRESS. Instead of which some antedeluvian fossil has transmogrified those pathetic lines as follows Mother, may I go down to the beach ? Yes, my darling Mag, If you ve mislaid your bathing suit, Why, wrap j ourself in a rag. And still another paralyzed poet brings into the cold, unfeeling world the follow ing melodious mixture Mother, may I go down to the beach ? Yes, my darling Addie, But if you get your tootsies wet I ll spank your little paddie. Again , look at that soul-stirring poem of "The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck. Not one person in a thousand can recite the lines correctly. For the bene fit of our numerous patrons we insert it 10 Bold Boyd stood on the burning deck And for help he telephoned "Oh ! Central, sound the lire alarm, "Our ship is burning," he groaned, "Ring in an alarm, and do it quick, No other is on board her!" But all the answer that he got, was "The line is out of order." Mary Had a Little Lamb And still another mutilated poem comes floating over our brain-pan. We refer to that too-utterly-too-sweet refrain of "Mary and Her Lamb." The occurrence took place during the Civil War, and the following lines were published in the Monthly Review, probably written by some one who didn t know a lamb from a lobster Mary had a little lamb The lamb got in the pound, And to get her sweet pet out, Poor Mar}- she was bound. Her mother called the poundman up "Let him feed the lamb some grain," But all the answer she got was "Line s busy, please call again." After reading the foregoing it must be a source of great pleasure to read the original, as follows Mary had a little lamb, That lamb it was a fool, It followed her to camp one day Instead of going to school. And as it passed the picket-line The sentry paid no heed, For some one is sure to gobble him up And we ll have a bully feed. And soon a soldier raised his gun When he saw the welcome sight, And as he fired he shouted out "We ll have roast lamb to-night." How good the soldiers all did feel When they smelt that mutton stew Some, they ate a big pan full, And some they gobbled two. "What makes 3-0 ur men love mutton so?" The people all did cry, "Because they re tired of pork and beans" The Colonel did reply. "It is too bad," the children cried, For Mary to lose her lamb," But our soldier boj^s did have a feed And she did n t care a ham. 12 Royal Entertainment Some years ago I was invited to a musical entertainment given at Windsor Castle, England, at which were present not only all the members of the royal family, but also a great many of the no bility of Great Britain. On that occasion I read, amid terrific applause, this touch ing poem Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep And wonder where they can be found. She hunted east, she hunted west And through the U. C. grounds. And sad to say if it is true, It surely is a pity They say that Boyd has stole the sheep And sold it in the city. And as an encore I recited Old Mother Hnbbard she went to the cupboard To get her poor dog some grub, She fell down and broke her neck 63^ tripping over a tub. "Plague take the dog," she madly cried, "I ll tie him vvith a rope And keep him there for the next six weeks While I feed him vvith soft soap." 13 I shall never forget the delight I ex perienced when I first read the following touching sonnet by my old friend "Billy the Kid." I felt as if I would like to shake his hand and borrow two bits off him Breathes there a man with soul so dead Who to himself hath never said When he sees the pretty girls of Kellogg school. Don t you wish you were younger? you old fool. If such there be, may he droop and fade And wind up in marrying an old maid The very opposite of a High school girl Whose cheeks are roses and teeth are pearl. One of the most pathetic pieces of po etic gush I ever read is as follows: To my great regret, though I have looked through all the high-toned college and prison libraries, I have been unable to learn the name of the author or to dis cover whether he was insane or drunk when he inscribed his name on the Roll of Fame by writing the following Immortal Verse As I was walking in the U. C. ground Who do you think came driving round? 14 Just as the Sophs lined up to muster Along came BOYD, THE BAGGAGE BUSTER. Said I, Mr. B. what is the news? Now spit it out and don t refuse. People do say, with all your knowledge You should be Big Chief of Stanford College. * There is no news," Bold Boyd replied Just jump in and take a ride. How my wife would kick if she could see Those girls making goo-goo eyes at me. It is not best she should be too wise And hear about those goo-goo eyes, For how unhappy she would be If she knew the girls were in love with me." During the late successful war with Spain, when the continuous defeat of the Spanish foes on land and sea brought gloom and disappointment over the Cas- tillian court and people, none had the "blues" worse than the Queen. Every effort was made to cheer and arouse her without avail. One afternoon, when the court physicians were consulting on the perilous state of the queen s heajth and planning some means to arouse her, the 15 young Prince Alfonzo (the queen s only son) burst into the room, crying out "O, Mama ! your majesty! I am a poet!" The queen read the following lines which greatly pleased her and, as the doctors said, did her more good than two bottles of horse medicine. At great expense I have procured a translation of this ten der poem which is here inserted without extra charge I wished to talk to a friend one day To inquire about a lady boarder, But as quick as I said Dana 962, Central said, "That line is out of order." I went to telephone to a friend next night And I was in a pickle I had nothing but five frank in gold And Central said, "Drop a nickel" I ran to the Queen and borrowed five cents, Although it was pouring rain, And as I dropped the nickel in the slot I heard, "Busy. Call again." I think the best thing I can do Before my brain gets into a whirl, Is to buy a telephone of my own And marry a telephone girl. 16 From an Unknown Author I would do an act of injustice to both my readers and the directors of the Brit ish Museum did I fail to insert the fol lowing beautiful poem said to have been written by Billy Shakespeare when he had the delirium tremendous The shades of night were falling fast When through the town of Berkeley passed A youth who dressed not over nice, But on his cap the strange device BOTD S EXPRESS. A lady went to the telephone To make to Boyd her wishes known, And said "Please give me Stuart 81," No sooner asked for than t was done. There s no delay, as you may guess When people call for BOYD S EXPRESS I have never been able to positively dis cover the name of the author. Among the many interesting manu scripts unearthed from the catacombs of Egypt is the following pathetic effusion discovered by Mrs. Carrie Nation while searching among the ruins for traces of an Oriental "Blind Pig," and presented to the author by that eminent lady, the title of which is The Wise Men of Berkeley Said Trustee Brown to Trustee White, What ordinance shall we pass to-night? There ll be no excitement and no fun No protests to hear about street work done. We passed a law about the butcher cart, I heard it broke Mike Fischel s heart. On bicycle riding we passed a law And our attorney says it has no flaw. But some new law we must introduce Or the people will raise the very deuce. I have it now, said Trustee Briggs, We ll make the expressmen move their rigs. We ll make a law to "beat the band" And on Wild-cat creek we"ll let em stand. Said Trustee Gray, If I might speak, Better move them on to Grizzly peak. Said Trustee Payne, What are they worth? We had belter fire them "off the earth." Said Trustee Smith, It would be well To send the whole derned crowd to (No more ink) 18 Flood on Center Street One of the most soul-moving pieces of poetry it was ever my good fortune to. read was written by an uncouth, uneducated Expressman of Berkeley who actually did not seem to know enough to steal eggs. The circumstances were as follows: Along in the early eighties a gentleman named B - kept a Boys Boarding School on Atherton Street. One day some of the boys got the idea that it would advance their education to have a "Beer Bust," and engaged the Express man to purchase one ten-gallon keg of beer which he was to keep at his home until the boys called for it in the evening. Now, Mr. B had got wind of the affair and lay hidden in a dark corner watching the transaction. As soon as the boys started up the street with the keg, Mr. B rushed out. The boys dropped the keg and ran. Mr. first stopped to turn the faucet, and al lowing the beer to run into the gutter, 19 started after them. We will let the poeti cal Expressman finish the story the beer ! the beautiful beer! It flowed upon the sidewalk so bright and so clear, And the silent stars wept and the moon shed a tear To see such a waste of the beautiful beer. As B disappeared I had the keg righted, And srlancing around, not one of them sighted , And into the cellar I soon did disappear With about seven gallons of beautiful beer. Now here s to old B and his gay boys so frisky, 1 hope they ll stear clear of beer, rum and whiskey; But boys, don t worry, and never have fear, For I ll get away with your beautiful beer. Possibly my readers will feel inclined to doubt my words, but this Expressman still lives and is as handsome as ever. The author of the following lines is unknown. Tennyson claimed them, By ron claimed them, as .did Aguinaldo, Billy the Kid and several other authors of renown. The professor hesitates to give his views on so important a subject. Who is this crowd from Stanford town? They look so sad, with eyes cast down; From Palo Alto to play ball They come, and show immaculate gall. Beware! Beware! their friends all cried The U. C. boys will "tan your hides." It was a happy crowd came down On that bright day from Stanford town. They came from Frisco to play ball, But met defeat and feel quite small. Too bad ! too bad ! And they all cried, The U. C. boys have "tanned our hide." Now Stanfordite, don t be a fool, But go way back to Jordan s school; Obey your teachers, great and small Don t dream you ever can play ball. Remain at home at your country side, Or a U. C. boy will "tan your hide." So when to Stanford back you go With faces sad and full of woe, No flags will wave, no music play, And all will feel bad and regret the day When they went away our joy and pride For the U. C. boys did "tan their hides." A Great Discovery While we have found many friends to help and encourage us in our endeavor to bring this priceless gem into the liter ary world others have not been so ac commodating. A few months ago we learned that there was in the U. C. Library an unpub lished poem said to have been written by Napoleon the Great during his imprison ment at St. Helena. On account of the great jealousy of the English government this beautiful lyric was smuggled from the island and finally reached the U. C. Library and, greatly to our surprise, when we requested leave to copy it, we were refused, and told that it could not leave the building." We then offered to come there with our typewriter and three bot tles of "Mile limit" and treat the crowd. But No. We were informed that the U. C. authorities did not allow tramps around the buildings, and it was not until we brought the powerful influence of our friend, Mr. James Potatoes. Professor of Broomology and Janitor of North Hall to bear, that we could gain access to the manuscript. Professor Potatoes accom panied us over to the Library and said, "Librarian, by dad, if ye don t let my friend B see that paper, be jabers I ll let your fire go out." The threat was enough. The venerable document was quickly produced and we here pre sent it to our readers. It is entitled The Poetical Congress A meeting was called by learned men one day To hear the opinions, and let each have his say To settle a question no one could decide Who was the Boss Poet of all the world wide. The wise men of England did Shakespeare uphold, Until up spoke a German with voice loud and bold, Vots der matter, he said, you certainly must be villing To admit dare vas never a poet like Schilling. Then up jumped a Frenchman, I d have you to know it That France has produced full many a poet: 23 There was Hugo, Beranger and Monsieur Racine Whose poetry pleased both peasant and queen. Then up spoke bold Scottie whose face red did turn Did ye ever hear tell o my freen Robbie Burn? Be japers, said Pat, not wan a good poet Torn Moore bates them all I have \e to know it. Then spoke up Ah Sing a learned Chinaman, You sabe Confucius he neber play tan, But he potry make velly good, velly nicey All Chinamen read when he eat he ricey. Then up spoke our President, a man of great knowledge, Who came to the meeting right straight from our College, Said he You poor fellows, have you never enjoyed That beautiful poetry written by Boyd ? So pleased were they when they heard the name And that Boyd was climbing up the pillar of fame, They decided at once, to the credit of our nation, That Boyd, as a poet, beat the rest of creation, And that none other his place could ever take, And that Boyd, as a poet, captured the cake. 24 So Bevel s the boss poet of the whole Yankee nation And the Boss Baggage-buster flfBerkeley Station Railroad Agent s Nightmare What means this look so forlorn and sad Which comes over the ticket agent s face As on the approach of the train now due At the window he takes his place? He knows he ll hear the same old gag Which he s heard both day and night As some female pokes her face right in And says, "Is that clock just right? Five thousand times within the last year The same old question has been sprung It has been asked all hours of day By middle-aged, old and young. How oft the agent s heart feels faint And his face turns pale with fright When some one shoves his mug right in And says, "Is that clock just right?" Poor agent, I know how bad you feel You d like to yell and swear As you answer that question day after day While they regard you with a stare. It s enough to wear your patience out And you should yell with all your inight- "Yes, damn it, if you want to know, That clock is always right." 25 THE TELEPHONE GIRL What is the matter, my pretty May ? You mind your biz, sir, she did say; Don t bother me, my brain s in a whirl Since George made a mash on the telephone girl. He conies at night and stays quite late, I bid him good bye at the garden gate. v Does he go straight home ? Ah ! I m afraid He has fixed a date with the telephone maid , Oh ! George, Oh ! George, my heart will break If this "Hello girl" you do not shake. Is it true what I heard said You will "fly the coop" with the telephone maid ? For George, you remember you promised me That in the spring we wedded should be; And I feel sad, and my feelings hurt When you "chew the rag" with the telephone flirt. So George, take care and go straight home, And promise me you no more will roam, Or go down town and get too gay Awalking around with that telephone jay. And George, kiss me, and tell me true That you will shake the telephone crew, And by my side you ll be each night And speak no more to the telephone fright. 20 The "Vigilante Oak" on Allston Way Aye, cut it down, this old landmark, Tis but a relic of the past, Though for ages it has stood The storm-king s wintry blast. What though it sprang from mother-earth Ere the white man reached this land, Before kind earth did yield its gold To the grasping Gringo s hand. No matter if an outlaw met his death By Judge Lynch s stern decree No matter if the court was held Beneath the old oak tree. No matter of the statement made By one of Berkeley s sages; No matter if the wise L,e Conte Said, tis a relic of past ages. Aye, cut it down, ye ruthless sons Of Berkeley s lovely clime; Aye, cut it down and burn it up It has outlived its time. BOVD the Boss Crank of Berkeley MYRTLE S PLAGUY CORN Myrtle had a little corn Upon her little toe And every time that Myrtle stepped That corn did hurt her so. She let her ma do all the work And would not wash a dish; And when mama said. Please make your bed, She boldly said "Go fish." But at all balls and parties too She always could be found, And not a Sunday but she went To the picnic at Shell Mound. She wanted to go to the fireman s dauce Still, she knew she hadn t oughter, But she soaked that corn for two long hours In vinegar and hot water. But when she pulled her slipper on Upon that little foot, She felt the pain of that darn corn Away down to the root. When her parduer asked her to dance Upon the well-waxed floor, The plaguy corn did hurt her so It almost made her roar. Why do you make that awful face ? Her pardner he did say. You mind your.biz, poor Myrtle said, And don t you get too gay. The next dance is a peach, he said I wouldn t miss it for a dollar, But, Jimmy Crips! when Myrtle stood up, It almost made her holler. 28 You should not wear such small shoes, The young man said again; Go screw your nut, poor Myrtle cried Your chin gives me a pain. Will you let me see that darling corn ? Said the young man, with a sigh. Go chase yourself around the block, Poor Myrtle did reply. Now Myrtle goes to hops no more, For she finds it will not pay, She has turned over a new leaf And joined the Y. M. C. A. JAPAN S PBOMISE We are coming, Mr. School Trustee, about seventy-five or eighty more; We are coming, dear directors, from Japan s pagan shore We are coming to gay Berkeley, a town upon the bay, W T here a poor Jap gets free schooling for which the people pay. Why your people are such greenies, we don t quite understand, As to give free education to the Japs from Japan land; To pay all the taxes, cause them to toil with might and main, 29 And it looks as if the Yankees had these poor Japs on the brain. But don t worry, Berkeley people, for we will fill your schools, And be thankful to our idols that the Yankees are such fools. All we want is a job washing dishes night and morn, And if your short on taxes why put your watch in pawn? Praise the gods we ve struck a land where tbe people are such fools As to give to us, smart Japies, the freedom of their schools. The people they may kick when they come to pay the tax, But if we wash their dishes, what more can they ax ? So now, good Berkeley people, keep your piib- lic schools a going, And our jolly Japanese boys will fill them to overflowing; And if there is no room for the children of your race Why, let them stay at home and we will take their place. Written by the cute little Jap who attends the Berkeley school. 30 RICHMOND ON THE JEEMS A soldier of Jeff. Davis lay dead drunk at Ball s Bluff, His canteen was nearly empty, for he d drank a pile of stuff A comrade was beside him, and he too lav- stretched out, But he bent with pitying glances to hear what the other fellow might shout. The drunken hobo staggered as he took that comrade s hand, Saying If I don t get off this jag I shan t see my own, my native land. Take a message to my home it is not as far as it seems For I was born at Richmond calm Richmond on the Jeems. My father was a soldier, and often when a kid. My heart felt gay to hear him tell of the awful things he did, And when he turned his toes up and was planted neath the green, I let them take what else they would, but kept the old canteen. When I left my old home about ten months ago My ma and sister Ruby both said I shouldn t go,. But I ax d all my friends to think of me in dreams, For I was hound to fight the Yanks upon the river Jeems. 31 And his comrade took another drink and quietly he turned o er, And, pulling his cap o er his eyes, straightway began to snore, Forgetful of war s alarms or love s delightful dreams He dreamt that Lee had licked the Yanks upon the river Jeems. But soon the Yanks advanced their lines and the two were gathered in And sent to Johnson s Island without a drop of gin. Then said No. i to No. 2, Oh! dear, how hard it seems, I wish I was back in Richmond, upon the river Jeems. WELCOME TO UNION VETERANS Written for the G. A. R. Encampment held in San Francisco August 1903 Welcome ! Union Veterans, welcome ! Welcome to our college town, We have heard in song and story Of your deeds when our flag was down. How you fought to save "old glory" When by erring sons disgraced, Then you marched to save the nation On Freedom s brow a crown you placed. 32 Welcome ! Union Veteran, welcome ! Welcome to this sun-kissed land, You have fought to save the Union We extend a welcome hand. You have bravely faced the danger Have heard the cannon s deadly roar; You have seen your comrades falling Their gaze fixed on heaven s bright shore. Welcome ! Union Veteran, welcome ! To the fairest spot on earth ; Thou hast made the home of freedom On the land that gave me birth. As we read the page of history Of Five Forks, Shiloh, Vicksburg too, We pray "God bless the Union soldier" May thy days be long and troubles few. Welcome ! Union Veteran, welcome ! Welcome, boys of sixty one, You have stood the storm of battle From Appomatox to Bull Run. As we read of fields of danger Where you marched to meet the foe Bearing Freedom s flag triumphant ; We now reap what you did sow. Welcome! Union Veteran, welcome! Welcome to our town, so gay This is the spot the poet dreamed of Where "the star of empire wends its way." No more shall your order meet in Berkeley, For its race on earth is nearly run, [us But we ll make you welcome while you re with You fighting boys of sixty-one. THE BLUE AND THE GRAY Long years ago men s passions were rife And both sides called for war Political tricksters then took up the row And fought with both tongue and jaw. But those crafty ones didn t rush to the field Nor arm themselves for the fray, But left the fighting to be done By men who wore blue and gray. Four long years dread war s alarms Shook our country to the core And we rejoiced, both North and South, When those terrible days were o er. Our friends felt pleased on our return, And happy was the day When our soldier boys came marching home And took off the blue and gray. Long years rolled by blue and gray at rest And peace had long held reign When Spain commenced her dirty tricks By blowing up the Maine. Again the bugle sounded war s alarm Our boys hastened to the fray No one asked where their fathers fought, Or whether they wore blue or gray. We honor the men who wore the blue And those who wore the gray, And the time for questioning has gone past On what side did you fight that day ? You "walloped us sweet, you Southland boys. And we gave you "Jessie" too, For American boys are the devil to fight Whether wearing the gray or blue. Then here s to the gray and to the blue Who fought long years ago. And on many a southern battle field The crimson tide did flow. Those days are past and gone, comrades, Old friendships we ll renew, And we dou t care a "hang" as we shake hands Whether you wore gray or blue. But one thing, comrades, let us all stear clear Whatever else we may do Of political sharps who shoot off their mouth About loving the gray and the blue. For when election day has come and gone They have nothing more to say [fought They don t give a whoop on which side you Or whether you wore blue or gray. Ho THE GOVERNMENT MULE Have you read the sad story of Charley O Toole Who was shot by the heel of a government mule? He was the best scholar in our village school And he didn t give a whoop for a government mule. Twas down at the fort where Ben Butler did rule And Charley was chief chambermaid to a gov ernment mule. While buckling the croupier, this dod-gasted old mule Kicked the brains galley west of poor Charley O Toole. Oh ! Charley, my darling, why was you such a fool As to get in the rear of a government mule. It may be all right to die for old glory, But to die by a mule is a different story. So, comrades, be careful and make it a rule To keep to windward of a government mule. And should one heave in sight, be steady and cool And avoid the sad fate of poor Charley O Toole. Blood and brains mixed together lay mixed in a pool And its all that was left of poor Charley O Toole. So here lies the body of Charley O Toole Who was hit by the starboard battery of a gov ernment mule. HOME, SWEET HOME T was down on a southern streamlet Where silver waters did flow On one side camped we Yankees, On the other, our southern foe. The western sun was setting And right was drawing near, The pickets paced their lonely beats Stout hearts that had no fear. From out the gathering shades of night Came the music of a band, And a cheer rose from the southland boys At tht- sound of "Dixie Land." The challenge was accepted And our band began to play The moon rose in the heavens And the scene was bright as day, But all the world seemed gayer And everything looked bright As we heard "O! say can you see" by the day s gray dawn If our flag be still in sight ? What a cheer rose from Yankee throats As the grand old hymn was played, But our southern foes soon answered us, To show they were not dismaved; 37 And clear the stirring notes we heard Echoing from hill and crag, Of that well-known air the Johnnies loved "Hurrah for our Bonnie Blue Flag," The cheer scarce died from rebel throats Ere our band tuned up again And soon there floated o er the camp That well-remembered strain A song we sung both night and day, And we sang with true devotion, And Yankee throats yelled loud and strong Columbia s the Gem of the Ocean." Night was drawing near taps close at hand, Both bands had ceased to play, As though the boys had gone to rest To prepare for another day; But soon there arose from the southern camp, Echoing from earth to dome, That tender air we loved so well That good old "Home, Sweet Home." Our band joined in with the southern band In the song we loved so well, And as they played of "Home, Sweet Home" Both sides began to yell. We thought of home and mother, too, As determined no more to roam, And both sides sang when the music ceased, H-w "Johnnie Conies Marching Home." Lost Poem Deals on a Live Subject The following beautiful poem was picked up at Berkeley station. The owner ma3 r gain pos session of it by calling at the office of the Ex pressmen s Union. Come all you Berkeley expressmen and list to what I say, Don t get in the road of the carmen while driv ing on Bancroft \vay. For if you do you ll have a smash and soon repent the day You ever had the impudence to drive on Ban croft way. The street is very narrow only about sixty feet wide. And the carmen want the middle while you can take the side, But look out when they come "kiting down" though you ma} 7 not hear the bell, For if you don t quickly clear the track, they ll knock your rig to thunder. They will knock 3 r ou silly if you are in their way, And if you commence to "kick," they call you a "country jay." No matter how much damage done, these an gels do not care, But simply shout, "Oh, close your trap" and "get the hayseed out yer hair" You may talk about free country and all that sort of rot, But, boy, be careful, take my advice, don t get the carmen hot, But keep your weather-eye lifted, now remem ber what I say, And clear the track for the ding-a-ling when driving on Bancroft way. THE BLOOMIN CORONATION Much sorrow was expressed during the summer of 03 when one of Berkeley s most distinguished citizens was recalled to his native land to assist in the coro nation of King Edward VII. Great sor row was manifested by his fellow towns men, and a thrill of joy swept over the college town when the glad news was heralded that he was on his way to Berke ley and would soon be with us. The Town Trustees ordered the poet- laureat to compose some verses for the joyful occasion. What is this good news that we hear As we pass by Berkeley Station, That Sammy Wakeham was made a Lord At the bloomin coronation. How all our people will rejoice, And shout and screach and roar When Sammy puts his bloomin foot On the Bloomin Yankee shore. But the English King did a noble deed When a Peer of Sam he did make um, And now his cards read "werry swell" Houses painted by Lord Wakeham. ON A HOOK AND EYE I won t compete, and I ll tell you why I have no use for a hook or an eye. If I "bust a button," I simply grin Until I get hold of a safety pin. A fellow would be in a terrible mess If he had a woman to hook his dress. A man will make all kinds of hitches Ere asking a woman to button his breeches And you can bet as sure as fate She d make a blunder and not button straight. So now you know the reason why I want nothing to do with hook or eye. For I should faint I do confess If a woman asked me to hook her drtss. In conclusion, let me express :he hope that my readers may feel as much pleas ure in perusing this little gem as my printers did when I planked down the cash to pay for the printing. To be sure, I had formed a plan to "stand them off." But the other night, when I had retired to my virtuous couch, and while sleeping in childish innocence, 1 had a fearful dream. In my dream, a figure with clo- 40 ven hoofs and horns on his head appeared at my bedside. In his hand he held a copy of this book and opening it read as follows I am sorry to say, sad is your case, You ll go way hack to the other place; On such sad doings we must frown As swindling the people of Berkeley town. But one thing in your favor I will say You did not forget your printer to pay; And you certainly did have lots of fun While your silly book never hurt any one. I have often heard of the printers devil, but if the fellow I saw in my dream is a sample of their collecting agent I ll "ante up" without a visit from the party of the first part, his heirs, assigns, or any of his relatives. J. EDWARD BOVD, B. B. B. N. B. No flowers. Photomount Pamphlet Binder Gaylord Bros. Makers Stockton, Calif. PAT. IAN. 21. 1908 I20c U.C.BERKELEY LIBRARIES 7GG970 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY