“The measure was a happy iambic tetrameter and fitted the story, and before going to bed, I jotted down the first two lines which I have always found the hardest to compose, next day I finished the story. When Joe read it, I saw tears in his eyes. It was published in the New York Dispatch. Joe bought a hundred copies of the paper and sent 25 to the Buffalo Bill Co. who were playing in London and among whom both he and I had many friends. Cody and Major Burke circulated the copies among their theatrical friends and before many months three vaudevillians were reciting the poem at the big music halls, then Sam Bernard set America crazy with it and yet after over thirty years, it is still a popular ‘act’ and wins excellent booking. “I have been often told that my story set the pace for prohibition. I sincerely hope not. If I thought that I had helped that unfortunate law, I would walk down to the dock and kick myself into the river. ‘The Face Upon the Floor’ is not a temperance story, but an admonition to the world, not to despise the unfortunate derelict.” In this issue we are pleased to publish another poem by Mr. D’Arcy and have his promise of more to follow. And let me add, I found Mr. D’Arcy a regular fellow, well met, an excellent conversationalist and a fine reminder of the good old days. * * * * * Gus, our ex-hired man, escorted a petite young lady to her apartment. “Just as I was putting my arm around her,” Gus reports, “a man walked in.” “My gawsch, my husband!” exclaimed the girl. “Oh, busy honey?” the intruder remarked, as he walked out. * * * * * Our new hired man, Ikey, from the cities, is so absentminded that when he went in the stable to saddle a horse, he was surprised to find, after a half hour’s work, that he had the saddle on himself and he spent another half hour in vain trying to climb on his own back. * * * * * The Wa-hoo-wa Bird Ladies and Gentlemen, I take great pleasure in presenting to you the Wa-hoo-wa Bird. The only bird of its kind in captivity today. This strange bird comes from the far off shores of the Isle of Borneo where it rears its young among the crannies and crags of the mountainous coastline. Now the particular strange thing about this bird is that it only mates once every one hundred years, and after having mated, it crawls, half drags, half flies, until it gets itself to the topmost pinnacle of the long, tall, lofty rubber tree. Casting its eyes to the heavens it cries in tones of ecstacy “Wa-hoo-wa,” which, translated in the language of the natives, means “My Gawsch, Mamma, ain’t love grand!” * * * * * Deciding the Race Pat and Mike were to run a race to a tree by different routes.