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THE SPECIAL DELIVERY BOY T laid aside my schoolboy suit To wear the P. ©. gray. And though I ride on electric cars, No nickel do IS pay. The letters with a special stamp, I handle with great care. It matters not to whom addressed, I take them everywhere. Then give three cheers for Uncle Sam, The author of our joys, We feel as proud as admirals, The Special Delivery boys. And as we nimbly jump aboard The Rapid Transit cars, With buttons bright and uniform, We look like sons of Mars. The boys back from the Philippines. With us they stand no show. For the Special Mail-boy he test. Wherever he may go. Then give three cheers for Uncle Sam, And President Roosevelt, too, The boys in gray feel just as gay As the soldier boys in blue. If you knew how the girls all smile Admiringly at us. And yet we're mostly little chaps, Who don't make any fuss. But though we now may catch their eye And set their hearts in motion, All love affairs we will postpone Until we get promotion. Jim wuz allus findin’ springtime. Knowed where all the violets bloom, Allus talkin’ of the good time— Never told us of the tomb. Allus singin’ of the sunshine, Never seemed to shed a tear, And somehow I think we'll miss him ‘Fore the endin’ of the year, Jim could allus catch the gleamin’ of glories on the other shore. He could hear the harps a-playin’ Where folks sorrow nevermore, He could hear the chorus swellin’ Now at last he has drawn near. Yes, somehow I think we'll miss him ‘Fore the endin’ of the year. A “CORNER” IN COAL A darkey preacher, once, I've heard teil, Was talking about the place called hell. And this is the way he described it: ‘Twas ice above, around, below. Rivers of ice, and banks of snow Ice to eat ice water to drink— Each darkey that heard him began to shrink, And shiver, and shake; and his teeth to chatter Like noise of a hailstorm’s icy clatter. When asked why he had changed the season of that famous place, he gave this reason: “Dese ole rheumatic niggahs, I know, if it preached it wahny would want to go. So I make it cold’’—the point, Iween. By every one can be plainly seen. Unless the ministers change the plan of making it warm for sinful man. If ever again there’s a strike in coal. The price of it all would be the soul. For sinner and saint would long for a spot Where fuel is plenty and climate hot. S. Francis Gilbreath-Ingersoll. Middlefield, O. THOSE GREEDY CHINESE (Sir Liang introduced curved pitching at Phillips Academy 20 years ago.)— News Despatch. There's nothing we've invented but The Chinks have said it’s theirs. They're always making claims that knock our pride in our affairs. There's nothing you can mention that Americans have done. But that some queued Celestial says A chap named Wing Ah Fun Or some such awful bunch of words Had, centuries ago, Constructed just such things as those— They make us feel quite slow. But now comes one they call tang, A gentleman of note, To force the hardest dose of all A down the country’s throat, He boldly states (and proves it, too), With cool, unruffed gall. That he it was who introduce] The curve into baseball. ‘Twas thought humiliation had Its limit reached ere now. But this last straw has done the work— No use to make a row. Who cares for kites and guns and things. For autos and all that? Who cares for fireworks or for steam, Or e’en the derby hat? Who cares what laurels else the Chinks Steal from our furrowed brow? Why longer struggle to be great? They've double crossed us now For this last cup Liang has brewed is bitterer than gall— We'd always thought some Yankee put The bend into the ball. —Brookyn Eagle. see IT MAKES A DIFFERENCE He met a fair maid. Affection displayed In ways that must ever endear. he said, “Now, with you My wants will be few— Can we live on a thousand a year? “What father has done is right for the son, And easy to do, ‘twould appear. And father has said That when he was wed He'd less than a thousand a year.’ “Indeed, sir,’’ said she, “Your wife I will be, But of money pray don’t let me hear. I care naught for it. And so, I submit, We can live on a thousand a year. But, sad to relate, expenses were great. She cared not for money, ‘twas clear, And he of himself Used loss of the pelt. They spent a two thousand a year. I'll show in this song just where he was wrong. The reason would seem to be here: This father was poor, Had never had more than just a mere thousand a year. It's all in the life. The youth and his wife Had never had poverty near. “I know,’ he said, “we ll brought up as he, Could live on the thousand a year.” WHY NOT BE CONTENTED? What's th’ use o’ fussin'’ O'er th’ weather of th’ day? What's th’ use o' fearin’ That it’s much too fine to stay? What's th’ use o' cringin’ When th’ west winds louder hum? Why not be contented jest To take things as they come? What's th’ use o’ claimin’ That th’ world is goin’ wrong? What's th’ use o' harpin' on th’ same ol’ dismal song’ What's th’ use o’ whinin’ An’ o ° lookin’ sour an’ glum? Why not be contented jest To take things as they come?
Newspaper Details
Boston Sunday Post
Boston, Massachusetts, US
Sun, May 10, 1903
Page 31
Full Page
Clipped by
Ted R.
