Cats is funny creatures an' I like to make 'em yowl, Gramma alwus looks at me with a awful scowl An' she says, "Young gentlemen, mamma should be thanked Ef you'd get your knickerbockers right well spanked." An' she says, "Now thes you wait, It's a-comin'--soon or late," When a feller's itchin' to be spanked. Ef you fin' the days is gettin' awful hot in school An' you know a swimmin' place where it's nice and cool, Er you know a cat-fish hole brimmin' full o' fish, Whose a-goin' to set around school and wish? 'Tain't no use to hide your bait, It's a-comin,--soon or late, Wen a feller's itchin' to be spanked. Ol' folks know most ever'thing 'bout the world, I guess, Gramma does, we wish she knowed thes a little less, But I alwus kind o' think it 'ud be as well Ef they wouldn't alwus have to up an' tell; We kids wish 'at they'd thes wait, It's a-comin'--soon or late, Wen a feller's itchin' to be spanked. THE RIVER OF RUIN Along by the river of ruin They dally--the thoughtless ones, They dance and they dream By the side of the stream, As long as the river runs. It seems all so pleasant and cheery-- No thought of the morrow is theirs, And their faces are bright With the sun of delight, And they dream of no night-brooding cares. The women wear garlanded tresses, The men have rings on their hands, And they sing in their glee, For they think they are free-- They that know not the treacherous sands. Ah, but this be a venturesome journey, Forever those sands are ashift, And a step to one side Means a grasp of the tide, And the current is fearful and swift. For once in the river of ruin, What boots it, to do or to dare, For down we must go In the turbulent flow, To the desolate sea of Despair. TO HER Your presence like a benison to me Wakes my sick soul to dreamful ecstasy, I fancy that some old Arabian night Saw you my houri and my heart's delight. And wandering forth beneath the passionate moon, Your love-strung zither and my soul in tune, We knew the joy, the haunting of the pain That like a flame thrills through me now again. To-night we sit where sweet the spice winds blow, A wind the northland lacks and ne'er shall know, With clasped hands and spirits all aglow As in Arabia in the long ago. A LOVE LETTER Oh, I des received a letter f'om de sweetest little gal; Oh, my; oh, my. She's my lovely little sweetheart an' her name is Sal: Oh, my; oh, my. She writes me dat she loves me an' she loves me true, She wonders ef I'll tell huh dat I loves huh, too; An' my heaht's so full o' music dat I do' know what to do; Oh, my; oh, my.