(_Sings_): Once while I was playing poker, I hid four kings in my shoe; And I said, when someone raised me, "I won't do a thing to you." Then I shoved in all my money, And I reached out for the pot-- But a fellow shouted, "Drop it! I've four aces, what you got?" Little things--but ain't they whizzers! Little one spots downed the kings, And my hand it was not in it When he showed the little things. (_Deafening applause from the audience; two men fall out of private boxes overcome with laughter, and every man in the audience claps his hands for fear it will be thought he does not understand the game. The singer will please smile indulgently, and when the noise has subsided, continue_)-- I engaged board once in Hooston (_or Howston_), At a house not far from here; They were fashionable people, And the grub was scarce and dear. I turned into bed quite early, But I jumped out with a roar, And I scratched myself two hours Then slept upon the floor. Little things--but ain't they whizzers! Never felt such bites and stings! When you go to bed in Howston, Look out for the little things. (_Plaster falls from the opera-house ceiling, and the audience stand up in their chairs and wave their handkerchiefs. The singer will here do a few steps of a clog dance, and exit r. Whistles, yells, and calls and screams from dress circle. Gallery totters. Enter singer, smiling and bowing, wearing another coat and hat--Sings:_) I have got a girl in Hooston, And she rides upon a bike; You should see her when she spins to Harrisburg upon the pike. She wears bloomers, though she don't weigh More than eighty pounds or so; Now, I wonder how she does it, When I see her move 'em so. Little things--but ain't they whizzers! Pair of bloomers hung on strings; Wonder they don't break to pieces, Such hard work for little things. (_The audience goes wild with delight, gentlemen throw their hats at the ceiling, ladies shriek with delight, and the gallery resolves itself into a Republican convention, while the police pound with their clubs on the wall and cry "Encore!"_) _Curtain_. (_Houston Daily Post_, Sunday morning, April 26, 1896.) Last Fall of the Alamo