mer resorts it's the rage.
The drum corps, it beats it,
The echo repeats it,
The bass-drummer brings it out strong,
And we speak, and we talk,
And we dance, and we walk,
To the notes of that popular song.

It really is driving me crazy;
I feel that I'm wasting away;
My brain is becoming more hazy,
My appetite less every day.
But, ah! I'd not pray for existence,
Nor struggle my life to prolong,
If, up some dark alley, with him I might dally
Who wrote that new popular song.

The bone-player clicks it,
The banjoist picks it,
It 'livens the clog-dancer's heels;
The bass-viol moans it,
The bagpiper drones it,
They play it for waltzes and reels.
I shall not mind quitting
The earthly, and flitting
Away 'mid the heavenly throng,
If the mourners who come
To my grave do not hum
That horrible popular song.

* * * * *

MATILDY'S BEAU

I hain't no great detective, like yer read about,--the kind
That solves a whole blame murder case by footmarks left behind;
But then, again, on t'other hand, my eyes hain't shut so tight
But I can add up two and two and get the answer right;
So, when prayer-meet'ns, Friday nights, got keepin' awful late,
And, fer an hour or so, I'd hear low voices at the gate--
And when that gate got saggin' down 'bout ha'f a foot er so--
I says ter mother: "Ma," says I, "Matildy's got a beau."

[Illustration: Matildy's Beau]

We ought ter have expected it--she's 'most eighteen, yer see;
But, sakes alive! she's always seemed a baby, like, ter me;
And so, a feller after _her_! why, that jest did beat all!
But, t' other Sunday, bless yer soul, he come around ter call;
And when I see him all dressed up as dandy as yer please,
But sort er lookin' 's if he had the shivers in his knees,
I kind er realized it then, yer might say, like a blow--
Thinks I, "No use! I'm gittin' old; Matildy's got a beau."

Just twenty-four short years gone by--it do'n't seem five, I vow!--
I fust called on Matildy--that's Matildy's mother now;
I recollect I spent an hour a-tyin' my cravat,
And I'd sent up ter town and bought a bang-up shiny hat.
And, my! oh, my! them new plaid pants; well, wa'n't I something grand
When I come up the walk with some fresh posies in my hand?
And didn't I feel like a fool when her young brother, Joe,
Sang out: "Gee crickets! Looky here! Here comes Matildy's beau!"

And