a cat or a Cameron,
Polished as somebody in the Decameron,
Putting the glamour on price or Pawnee.
In your meanderin',
Love and philanderin',
Calm as a mandarin
Sipping his tea!
Under the art of you,
Parcel and part of you,
Here's to the heart of you,
Barney McGee!

You who were ever alert to befriend a man,
You who were ever the first to defend a man,
You who had always the money to lend a man,
Down on his luck and hard up for a V!
Sure, you'll be playing a harp in beatitude
(And a quare sight you will be in that attitude)--
Some day, where gratitude seems but a platitude,
You'll find your latitude, Barney McGee.
That's no flim-flam at all,
Frivol or sham at all,
Just the plain--Damn it all,
Have one with me!
Here's one and more to you!
Friends by the score to you,
True to the core to you,
Barney McGee!

THE OLD DEACON'S VERSION OF THE STORY OF THE RICH MAN AND LAZARUS

BY FRANK L. STANTON

I s'pose yo' know de story, O my brotherin', er de man
Dat wuz rich ez cream, en livin' on de fatness er de lan'?
How he sot dar eatin' 'possum, en when Laz'rus ax fer some,
He tell 'im: "Git erway, dar! fer you'll never git a crumb!"

De rich man wuz a feastin' f'um his chiny plate en cup,
Kaze he 'fraid his po' relations come en eat his wittles up;
I spec' he had _two_ 'possums on de table long en wide,
En a jimmyjohn er cane juice wuz a-settin' by his side.

En he say: "Dis heah des suits me, en I gwine ter eat my fill;
But I'll sic de dogs on Laz'rus, ef he waitin' roun' heah still."
En de dogs commence dey barkin', raise a racket high en low,
En when Laz'rus see 'em comin' he decide 'twuz time ter go.

So, he limp off on his crutches, en de rich man think it's fun,
But I reckon Laz'rus answer: "I'll git even wid you, son!"
De rich man so enjoy hisse'f he laugh hisse'f ter bed,
En, brotherin', when he wake up he wuz stiff, stone dead!

En den he raise a racket, en he holler out: "What dis?
De place is onfamiliar, en I wonder whar' I is?"
Den Satan, he mek answer: "I'm de man ter tell you dat:
You's in de fire department er de place I livin' at!"

Den de rich man say: "Whar' Laz'rus dat wuz beggin' at my gate?"
En Satan tell him: "Yander, wid a silver spoon en plate;
En he eatin' fit ter kill hisse'f! He s