In the old days of the clown, when one ring furnished satisfying enjoyment, his was a very important and conspicuous part of the performance. His efforts of entertainment occupied the sole attention of the audience at times, as with voice or action he provided fun and folly. It was as a songster that he was at his best. Perched on a stool in the centre of the ring--thrown up of soil and not the portable wooden, forty-two foot diametered affair of to-day--his vocal enlivenments were a source of much laughter and merriment. Here is a type of the old-time clown song, which none who ever witnessed one of the shows will fail to recall: I don’t mind telling you, I took my girl to Kew, And Emma was the darling creature’s name. While standing on the pier, Some folks did at her leer, And one and all around her did exclaim: Whoa, Emma! Whoa, Emma! Emma, you put me in quite a dilemma. Oh, Emma! Whoa, Emma! That’s what I hear from Putney to Kew. I asked them “what they meant?” When some one at me sent An egg, which nearly struck me in the eye. The girl began to scream, Saying, “Fred, what does this mean?” I asked again, and this was their reply: Whoa, Emma! etc. I thought they’d never cease, So shouted out “Police!” And when he came he looked at me so sly The crowd they then me chaffed, And said “I must be daft,” And once again they all commenced to cry: Whoa, Emma! etc. An old man said to me, “Why, young man, can’t you see The joke?” And I looked at him with surprise. He said, “Don’t be put out, It’s a saying got about,” And then their voices seemed to rend the skies: Whoa, Emma! etc. After a round of jokes and other buffoonery at the expense of the ringmaster, who retorted with threatening crackings of whip, he was ready with more melody. Sometimes he appealed to the tender emotions. “Baby Mine” was a favorite. It ran thus: I’ve a letter from thy sire, Baby mine, Baby mine; I could read and never tire, Baby mine; He is sailing o’er the sea, He is coming back to me, He is coming back to me, Baby mine, baby mine; He is coming back to me, Baby mine. Oh, I long to see his face, Baby mine, Baby mine; In his old accustomed place, Baby mine; Like the rose of May in bloom, Like a star amid the gloom, Like the sunshine in the room, Baby mine, Baby mine; Like the sunshine in the room, Baby mine. I’m so glad I cannot sleep, Baby mine, Baby mine; I’m so happy I could weep, Baby mine; He is sailing o’er the sea, He is coming back to me, He is coming back to thee, Baby mine, Baby mine; He is coming back to thee, Baby mine.