Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 May 1894 — OUR BOYS AND GIRLS. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

OUR BOYS AND GIRLS.

THIS IS THEIR DEPARTMENT OF THE PAPER. Quaint Sayings and Cute Dolnjs of the Little Folks Everywhere, Gathered and Printed Here for AU Other Little Ones to Reed. A'Bo/’i Ode to the Goat,

I’m a goat, Facetiously and derisively Called William. And Billy for short.

1 walk with stately tread, Like one to purple bred, City and town. And on the old.back lot. Among the sans-oulotte, I lay me down.

At break of day I’m up. and wander away Up and down the deck, Among old tin cans JVnd naturalized codfish, ?Or take the alley in Where there's more tin And runaway rubber shoes. And feed on boot-tops, heels and Scraps of barbed - wire fence.

I nibble cinders And sample corduroy And macadamized pavements .And tiling and gaspipes I While I wait. Talk abont your ostrich— He ain't In it with me. He’s a oanary bird Along with me.

When the ostrich fills His stomach, he hides His head in the sand Or the nighest place at hand. He's ashamed to look Around to see Where he's at, But with me; I’m a goat All over.

I can live on sand In any land, Or rope, or currycombs, Or rakes, or spikes, Or tenpenny nails, Or old tin palls That have had their day As growlers, Or galluses, or screws Red with rust And garnished with Old paint brushes.

And I can amble away, Any time of the day, And lay me down In the shade, I And enjoy a siesta Like one of the too - Never have to chew Gum for my digestion.

With a goat There's no after-claps From late suppers. No nightmare Monkeys with a goat. And there's no statistics As to sick goats.

The goat’s the only thing That renews its youth Ad valorem. After it quits foraging in the alleys, And loses its appetite And gets sere and sore-eyed.

Thinking of the good times'! It has had. It grows sad, But not for long. The tanner min is a fairy To the goat And takes Its hide.

And that’s when the goat Gets right In the swim— And he takes a front seat At the banquet. Or at the opera. Or In the dreamy waltz, As a six-button kid.

I'm a goat. An ambling goat ’Round town. Always up or down.

I walk With stately tread, Like a “bute" trimmed In red, City and town. And on the old back lot Among the saus-culotte I lay me down. William Metbimett.