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Page 226 text:
I used to think that I was wise,
But now I must admit
That I have found to my surprise That I lack common wit.
I used to think my mind was broad, That my ideas were grand—
Alas! I ought to bear a hod,
Pitch hay, or shovel sand.
I used to laugh at Jones, who worked In the village store with me;
For while my tasks I always shirked, He labored busily.
I used to tog up like an earl,
But Jones cared naught for that;
He often walked beside his girl With a stove in his derby hat.
In former days I loved to talk,
And speeches often made;
But now the chalk-line I must walk— To whisper, I’m afraid.
I used to tend for other men,
Ten businesses alone;
But now I find I’ve plenty, when I strictly tend my own.
But time past on; old Jones arose 'I'ill now he owns the store.
From these poor shoes protrude my toes;
I’m where I was before.
I hold that same two-dollar job;
Boss Jones is hale and fat—
The man whom I oft called a slob,
With a stove-in derby hat.
The mumps, one of the first and most dependable harbingers of the joyous springtime, is a peculiar affection of the parotid and other salivary glands, which gives to the facial contour of the victim the appearance of an over-inflated toy baloon.
When a mump epidemic gets loose in a community the soup-bone and the boullion cube vie with each other as article of popular diet, and the merchant orders crackers by the car-load lot. The efficacy of the sour pickle as a tester makes this ordinarily rejected dainty very much in demand.
The peculiar feature of the mumps is, that while other diseases beget the sympathy of one’s neighbors, this malady appeals only to his sense of humor; and the victim, isolated like the leper of olden days, is given his own time in which to recover. In this state of solitude his only solace consists in applying heated towels to the area of high pressure.
Then again, the contagion of this disease is rather mysterious. Hypochondriac people have been known to wilfully absent themselves from the weekly meeting of the Commercial Club, or from the Sunday evening services thru fear of the disease germs, only to catch the ailment from the sneeze of a kind passerby—with no charges.
The disease was at first christened “Cvnanchc parotitis,” but the pronunciation of the name invariably proved fatal to the patient. Thereupon, the medical men out of respect to the sweet nature and benign aspect of the victim, shortened the name to the good, old, vernacular “mumps.”
E. E. ERICSON.
Two hundred fourteen
Page 225 text:
These two now sit before their fire,
And he calls every man a liar;
He wants to give that one a slug,
Who says that marriage is a drug.
She speaks no more of worthless trash, But calmly mixes up the hash,
And wonders how she lived so long Without the glory of his song.
Now if you'll do a kindly deed,
Of these last words take careful heed; You who arc thus unhappily yoked,
Our deepest pity have invoked.
But, for the sake of future clans,
Don't form yourselves in fireproof bands, And prate aboyt love's luckless fate—
It’s just the sour grapes you ate!
We have heard the daffy mumbler And the discontented grumbler;
They have tried in vain to show us That the world is growing worse. They've discussed each situation, Talked of perils of the nation,
Till we’ve longed to see them riding To the boneyard in the hearse.
They have missed the silver lining That behind each cloud is shining; They have failed to find the diamonds That lie sparkling in the slate.
But continually they’re growling,
Ever keeping up their howling—
They shall one day sec their error, When alas! 'twill be too late.
With their sins all unamended,
When their journey here is ended, They will meet Saint Peter grumbling, And their records they will tell.
But he’ll say, “I've heard about you, Heaven will better be without you— And the only place you’re needed,
That I know of, is in—Kearney.”
Tiro hundred thirteen
Page 227 text:
It is our purpose in this short sketch to give our readers a history, profusely and authentically illustrated, of the college career of Guiliclnius Granby, an only son and the pride of his parents. Having finished the High School in Poscyville, he emerged from his mothers wing. and. polishing up his rubber collar, lie packed his suitcase, and after an uneventful ride of a few hours duration, landed in Peru. The Y. M. C. A. committee, dear old hustlers, were there to meet him and in a few hours he was safely lodged in the Cannon House. Here he met the boys. When he said anything lie was careful that it was apropos, and when he had nothing to say the silence of ignorance was mistaken for wisdom. And so lie soon gained pals, even among the big letter men.
Boy friends were easy to get, but how to make the acquaintance of the three hundred girls, or even know them by sight, that was the proposition. Soon, however, he was self-elected to the receiving line on the rod fence near the fountain and his inquisitive “Who's she?” soon got him acquainted with the ladies, heroine and amazon, of the school. Later, at the “get-acquainted” reception. he was very much in evidence, and thereafter tipped his hat to every lady he met, acting on the supposition that he had met her at the reception. True, he did greet a laundry woman and the portly wife of a farmer, mistaking them for dowager-looking Specials, but in a society as democratic as ours what boots it?
Two hundred fifteen
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