Harken to the one bemoaning Up among the northern lights, How that 'tother is a "squatter"

And encroaching on her rights.

"It is mine by deed and t.i.tle, For as everybody knows-- Not to mention Rudyard Kipling-- I am 'Lady of the Snows'.

"See my cousin, Hail Columbia, Who has settled thereabout, She will soon take Root and Lodge there If I do not Turner[C] out.

When I asked her 'please to vacate', Can you guess the jade's response?

Why, she sweetly smiled and answered, 'After you, my dear Alphonse'!"

Thus the question rests at present, Till the arbitrators meet; And we trust when said time cometh They will gravely take their seat Near the base of all the trouble, On the apex of the Pole, Where they'll exercise the virtue At the least of keeping cool!

Furl your "colors," then, ye fair ones, In a truce of amity, Till this august body settles Where the "boundary" should be; We've emerged from clouds of discord And should never more go back Whether Skagway's 'neath Old Glory Or beneath the Union Jack!

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote C: Root, Lodge and Turner, the three American arbitrators.]

DE GUARDS OF LAFAYETTE

Ma Rosie say to me today, "You mus' prepare, ol' man, For to join de Allied army In de ranks of Honcle Sam.

De worl' is full commotion Since explosion of de Hun, An' de dev's to pay for Belgium An' "position in de sun".

I say, "all rat, ol' woman, Let de summon come today, An' you'll fin' ol' Joseph ready For to arm an' march away!

I'm as good for carry knapsack An' to shoulder up ma gun As I was in Reil rebellion On de far Saskatchewan."

De home of ma adoption Is as good a place for me As across de line in Canadaw, Ma native counteree.

Ma work, ma home, ma frien's, are here-- In fac', de whol' dem set!

So w'at can I do but join wit you In de Guards of Lafayette!

I don't care me for n.o.bodda But stan' up for w'at's right, An' if Honcle Sam he geeve de word An' say we got to fight: Good-bye ma work on Amoskeag, I leave it quick you bet, An' join de boy wit' utmos' joy On de Guards of Lafayette!

So don't mak' fuss abo't dis cuss, An' don' be tak' it hard If I, ol' Joe, go soon to show Ma colors in de Guard.

You say I got some babby-- I mus' stay rat by dem? Nit!

I will march beneat' ol' Glory In de Guards of Lafayette!

O ain't it mak' sensation On de streets of Manchestar W'en de order come from Honcle Sam To march us off to war.

n.o.bodda'll know dat dis is Joe From dear ol' Nicolet, W'en off I march jus' stiff lak starch In de Guards of Lafayette!

Dear Woodrow, would you be so good As send us Teddy R., To be commander of de chief An' leader of de Guar'?

Dis war, ma friend, is quick to end If battle stage is set For bol' Ted, on Armageddon Leading Guards of Lafayette!

O sure it's be proud day for me I nevair saw before, W'en Johnny Bull an' Honcle Sam Fight sides by side once more!

It's mak' one combination Dat's tarnation sure to win W'en Old Glory joins de Allies On dat rough road to Berlin!

Mos' place I go dey ask me, "Joe, Who start dis gol darn war?

Was it de Sultan-Kaiser, Or de Austro Hungry Tsar?"

I hanswer, "well, it's hard to tell Who start dis h.e.l.l abroad, But spite of Hun, de gas an' gun, We'll finish it, ba G.o.d!"

Den Rosie, dear, dry up de tear, An' cheer up lak ma joy-- You know de Hun is turn his gun On leetle girl an' boy!

Now dat we mus' join in de fuss And Honcle Sam say, "Get!"

Jus' wish us well an' shout lak h.e.l.l For de Guards of Lafayette!

THE LUMBERJACK

We have songs on many topics, New and old, beneath the sun, But, alas, in many cases, Minstrelsy is overdone;

So I'll sing a song of labor-- Where the muse is rather slack-- And my theme shall be of timber And the hardy lumberjack.

Now republican traditions Are so grafted in our bones, That e'en monarchs of the forest Must be tumbled from their thrones.

And to raze those ancient strongholds We have armies of the axe, Plucky pioneers of progress, Known to all as lumberjacks.

He may lack the wings of angels And the sanct.i.ty of saints: If a town's in need of painting He may furnish all the paints.

Yet he lapses but a moment And again he hies him back Close unto the heart of nature, Does the lonesome lumberjack.

There amid his wild surroundings And the crooning of the trees, He finds balm for mind and body Borne on every pa.s.sing breeze.

There is something strangely healing In the magic of the myrrh, In the odor of the cedar And the fragrance of the fir!

Grind your axes, O my heroes, Point your peavies, file your saws; Let your ropes and chains and cables Be examined now for flaws.

Fire up the iron donkey, Till each rivet feels the strain, Lumberjack has had his outing And returns to camp again!

There is music in the axe fall As it sounds upon the ear; There is music in the sawing When the dust is flying clear--

Aye, there's music for the lumberjack Magnificent of sound, In the crashing of the timber As it thunders to the ground.

He will never lack for music While the owl is keeping time With the ceaseless serenading Of the frog within the slime.

But the music ever sounding, With the sweetest of appeals, Is the ding-dong of the iron gong That calls him to his meals!

He's a credit to his calling, To his country and his clan: There is not a dude among them-- Every lumberjack's a man.

And you'll find him ever cheerful, In the sunshine or the rain, From the camps of B. Columbia To the lumber camps of Maine.

He may show a rough exterior, But his heart is warm within-- Mark him poring o'er that letter, Just received from home and kin:

Tears will gather hot and blinding And he cannot hold them back, Reading words from distant loved ones to their absent lumberjack!

'Tis, perchance, a loving message From a sweetheart far away, Or a tender admonition From a mother old and gray.

O, ye lumberjacks, remember, That wherever ye may roam, There are anxious hearts awaiting For an answer "back at home"!