Young King COAL still waves his pipe and bowl, Though they reek of Rad flavour still. Some say it’s far from right, that he’ll set himself a-light, And blow up like a gunpowder-mill. But as for the whole of the “principles” of COAL, When he was a true Toree, If you want ’em you may see ’em in the British Museum, Or the writings of Lord SALISBUREE. _Punch._ December 4, 1886. ――――:o:―――― WHEN THIS OLD CAP WAS NEW. _From a black-letter copy among the Roxburgh Songs and Ballads._ When this old cap was new―― ’Tis since two hundred year―― No malice then we knew, But all things plenty were: All friendship now decays, (Believe me, this is true) Which was not in those days, When this old cap was new. The nobles of our land Were much delighted then To have at their command A crew of lusty men; Which by their coats were known, Of tawny, red, or blue, With crests on their sleeves shown, When this old cap was new. Now pride hath banish’d all, Unto our lands reproach, When he whose means are small Maintains both horse and coach: Instead of an hundred men, The coach allows but two; This was not thought on then, When this old cap was new. ANONYMOUS, about 1666. ―――― A CHANGE OF STYLE. When this old hat was new The railroad was a stage; And a six-mile team Made plenty of steam, For the broadest kind of gauge. You caught a goose when you wanted a pen, The ink you used was blue; And the women you loved didn’t want to be men When this old hat was new. A Spade was only a spade, And Jennie was just plain “Jane” For his impudent lip A boy would skip At the end of a rattan cane. There were sixteen ounces in every pound, Four quarts made a gallon true; But things don’t seem as they used to be When this old hat was new. But we’ve shortened the time since then, And we’re running a faster heat, And the boys of ten Are full-blown men, Who run the store and the street. We blush to giggle and we should smile; We’re cute and we never say die; We’re up to snuff and we’re full of guile; And we’re just too awfully fly; And father is governor, old man, dad, And his old day is gone; We run things fast and a little bad, Since we put this new hat on. ROBERT JONES BURDETTE. _The Cincinnati Inquirer._ ―――― WHEN THIS OLD JOKE WAS NEW.