Ah, sir, you can have no conception of the poignancy of my anguish that I am deprived of that blessed privilege! (Laughter.) There are two insuperable obstacles in the way. In the first place, my constituents, for whom I am acting here, have no more interest in this road than they have in the great question of culinary taste now perhaps agitating the public mind of Dominica, as to whether the illustrious commissioners who recently left this capital for that free and enlightened republic would be better fricasseed, boiled, or roasted (great laughter); and, in the second place, these lands which I am asked to give away, alas, are not mine to bestow! My relation to them is simply that of trustee to an express trust. And shall I ever betray that trust? Never, sir! Rather perish Duluth! (Shouts of laughter.) Perish the paragon of cities! Rather let the freezing cyclones of the bleak Northwest bury it forever beneath the eddying sands of the raging St. Croix! (Great laughter.) DICTUM SAPIENTI BY JOHN PAUL That 'tis well to be off with the old love Before one is on with the new Has somehow passed into a proverb,-- But I never have found it true. No love can be quite like the old love, Whate'er may be said for the new-- And if you dismiss me, my darling, You may come to this thinking, too. Were the proverb not wiser if mended, And the fickle and wavering told To be sure they're on with the new love Before they are off with the old? HARD[10] BY TOM MASSON I wrote some foolish verses once On love. Unhappy churl! The metre makes me shudder still, I sent them to a girl. I know that girl, and if I should, Like Byron, wake some day To find Fame written on my brow, She'd give those lines away. So now I have to watch myself Each hour. Oh, hapless plight! For if I should be great, of course, Those lines would come to light. FOOTNOTES: [10] By permission of Life Publishing Company. THE SCEPTICS BY BLISS CARMAN It was the little leaves beside the road. Said Grass, "What is that sound So dismally profound, That detonates and desolates the air?" "That is St. Peter's bell," Said rain-wise Pimpernel; "He is music to the godly, Though to us he sounds so oddly, And he terrifies the faithful unto prayer." Then something very like a groan Escaped the naughty little leaves. Said Grass, "And whither track These creatures all in black, So woebegone and penitent and meek?" "They're mortals bound for church," Said the little Silver Birch; "They hope to get to heaven And have their sins forgiven, If they talk to God about it once a week." And something very like a smile Ran through the naughty little leaves.