Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 79, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 April 1913 — POT HOUSE DOGGEREL [ARTICLE]

POT HOUSE DOGGEREL

Scholars ’oft write of the glory of Rome Are the scenes of my hoiqe. So I turn from the past* With its dim waning star To record the brave deeds Of the old Jasper Bar. Foltz is now farming ; And Dunlap, Ah: well— - Some think him a Webster, '! More wish him in hell. The Jew has tugned Christian ’ ’ ’ ' And to me it is clear That the devil is scowling f \ At old Rensselaer. • Chapman no longer shaves paper, men say, ! And Austin and Hopkins do nothing but pray. Sir Bilj, has quit drinking And the devil, I fear, ! Will move his headquarters From old Rensselaer. ■■ 4 f Irwin is not fining old-fashioned drunks, l But those who are sober draw twenty-five plunks. The world is sure daffy And to me it iS queer ’ That the-devil still lingers ’Round old Rensselaer. Halleck no longer ’bout politics raves, I But Honan still tramples down Bull Moosers’ graves; He can stand is the court-yard When the weather is clear And address the out townships - From old Rensselaer. Thompson is writing insurance, I’m told, And says Jasper County is a mine of pure gold; ’ While Blue is now preaching, And Williams, I hear, May break into Congress from old Rensselaer; Should he do so, men say, things will look queer, To a man who is sober around old Rensselaer. And now that Pegasus is weary, And tired, and thirsty, I think;. I hasten to Hanley’s star-chamber And bone the old man for a drink, But wish face turned from earth unto Heaven Like a martyr of old at the stake , He spoke of the horrors of liquor, Until all my being did quake; Then taking his seat on the wool-sack, < And with eyes pointing daggers at me, He shouted, “Stand up in the forum. You’ve been on a hell of a spree; - . You never were much of a lawyer. I’ll give you some credit for that, But a poet—ye Gods,”* and he fainted And his face was as black as my hat; ' Then turning around to the sheriff, With a countenance rigid and pale, He said, ‘Take him over to Goodland, Before I now soak him in jail, Yes, take him right over to Goodland And this order obey without fail,” For it’s worse to be sentenced to Goodland . Than to spend a whole life-time in jail. w March 25th, 1913. A. D..BABCOCK. x Goodland, Indiana.