He seemed more sick than lunatic, Mr. Topper had to grant; As meek and mild as a little child, He did not rave or rant, He only cried, until he died: "You ought to, _but you can't_!" [Illustration: ALWAYS WITH ANOTHER FELLOW] GIRLS They wander everywhere about The dears in pink, the dreams in yellow, With fetching smile, with pretty pout, And always with another fellow. They spend their mornings baking cakes, Their afternoons in making cookies; And, oh! the soul within me aches-- Their sweets are all for other rookies. Often, when 'neath their eyes we pass, I hear some maiden sigh divinely, And murmur to another lass, "Dear, isn't _Jackie_ marching finely?" Ah, girls, a sorry lot is his-- Dull are his days, his nights are dreary-- Who knows no maiden where he is, Who has no dame to call him "Dearie." A LAMENT (AFTER C. LAMB) All, all are gone, the old familiar glasses That used to range along the fragrant bar; Gone, all are gone, and in their places Milk, Pop and Dietade its beauty mar. The Big Four now has turned to Prohibition, Anhäuser Busch no longer sells at par, Bar-maids have joined the Army of Salvation, The voice of Bryan governs from afar; All, all are gone, the old familiar glasses, Where once they glistened on the fragrant bar. THE MANUAL Did you ever run into the butt of your gun, Or dig the front sight with your nose? Did your stomach turn over and stand up on end, When you dropped the damn thing on your toes? When coming to Port did the rifle fall short, And the swivel ram into your fist? When the rest did present did you so intent Find a count that the others had missed? And when at "Inspection" you clutched to perfection, Then shot up the piece with a thrust, Was there some dirty pup who pushed your cut-off up So your bolt dug a cave in the dust? Then when on the range your windage you'd change For the flag that the Anarchists wave, And the old cocking piece smeared your nose with red "grease," Did you learn what it meant to be brave? How your old back did ache when you got the bad breaks With the rifle that now has such charms, And I'll make a good bet that you'll never forget That exhausting old Manual of Arms. THOSE "PATRIOTIC" SONGS I