Once more, Good Friends, we're gathered 'round the board To feel the joys of fellowship restored. There's nothing like them! _Friends_ can't be replaced, Nor thoughts of them from Memory be effaced! Of course we form _new_ friendships, but I feel That these, like _old_ ones, are not staunch and real. It takes long years to _prove_ our friends, you know,-- Those who are steadfast in our weal or woe. So here's to you, Miss Prim! and you, Miss Prude! We wouldn't have you different if we could! Two Roses rare you are, and sweet; I ween You were not doomed to bloom and blush unseen. I've seen your cheeks suffused with crimson hues; (Dame Nature's _make-up_ is the rouge you use!) I've seen your lips in saucy challenge perked; (But for your protests, they'd be overworked!) I've seen your eyes with mischief filled and tears; (But I could never _pity_ you, My Dears!) I've seen your breasts with agitation heave; (Your _hearts_ must be affected, I believe!) I've seen your shapely forms pass in review Before my lonely couch, in dreams of you,-- And what I haven't seen, some little bird Has told me all about. Upon my word, If what he says be true, what I have _heard_ To what I've seen, methinks, would be preferred. Then here's to Friendship! What more potent force Doth link mankind together? Love, of course, Doth fetter us betimes, but Time must say Whom we shall cherish, whom to cast away. When Love and Friendship, heart and hand, are bound, What more of Joy can compass us around? So, Friends and Sweethearts, Comrades tried and true, We pledge our love and loyalty to you! THE CRUISE OF THE SQUIRREL Somewhere, sometime, I've heard it said, or read That Fools butt in where Angels fear to tread. A single "Angel" with a Pack of Fools Is not enough to change established rules; And so, I think, the "Angel" in this case Should bear, alone, the onus and disgrace,-- For Angels should know better than to swoop Upon the Dove of Peace and fowl her coop. The Good Ship Squirrel has left our shores behind To measure human breath 'gainst Ocean Wind. "Laden with Nuts" her clearance shows. Four Bells! She's off! to fight for Peace with all those shells. No Port, however, figures in her quest, Her "papers" show,--and this is manifest! The Dove of Peace, perched on the mizzen-top, Hath disappointments sticking in her crop. The peaceful bird is shy and very frail; Can't stand the weight of salt upon her tail; The War has made her nervous, and the roar Of many cannon made the poor bird soar.