Uncle Ephraim 135 Thirty-Nine 138 Horace I., 18 141 Three Rineland Drinking Songs 143 The Three Tailors 147 Morning Hymn 150 Doctors 151 Ben Apfelgarten 155 In Holland 158 HOOSIER LYRICS PARAPHRASED. We've come from Indiany, five hundred miles or more, Supposin' we wuz goin' to get the nominashin, shore; For Col. New assured us (in that noospaper o' his) That we cud hev the airth, if we'd only tend to biz. But here we've been a-slavin' more like bosses than like men To diskiver that the people do not hanker arter Ben; It _is_ fur Jeems G. Blaine an' _not_ for Harrison they shout-- And the gobble-uns 'el git us Ef we Don't Watch Out! * * * * * When I think of the fate that is waiting for Ben, I pine for the peace of my childhood again; I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul And hop off once more in the old swimmin' hole! * * * * * The world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew (Which is another word for soup) that drips for me and you. * * * * * "Little Benjy! Little Benjy!" chirps the robin in the tree; "Little Benjy!" sighs the clover, "Little Benjy!" moans the bee; "Little Benjy! Little Benjy!" murmurs John C. New, A-stroking down the whiskers which the winds have whistled through. * * * * * Looks jest like his grampa, who's dead these many years-- He wears the hat his grampa wore, pulled down below his ears; We'd like to have him four years more, but if he cannot stay-- Nothin' to say, good people; nothin' at all to say! * * * * * There, little Ben, don't cry! They have busted your boom, I know; And the second term For which you squirm Has gone where good niggers go! But Blaine is safe, and the goose hangs high-- There, little Ben, don't cry! * * * * * Mabbe we'll git even for this unexpected shock, When the frost is on the pumpkin and the fodder's in the shock! * * * * * Oh, the newspaper man! He works for paw; He's the liveliest critter 'at ever you saw; With whiskers 'at reach f'om his eyes to his throat. He knows how to wheedle and rivet a vote; He wunst wuz a consul 'way over the sea-- But never again a consul he'll be! He come back f'om Lon'on one mornin' in May-- He come back for bizness, an' here he will stay-- Ain't he a awful slick newspaper man? A newspaper, newspaper, newspaper man!