er thought it fine to keep op'nin' wine.
Now walk, you ----, walk.

"Stop to drink? What--water?
Why, thar
Water with you warn't anywhere.
'Twas wine, Extra Dry. Oh,
You flew high--
Now walk, you ----, walk.

"Chokes yer, this dust? Wal, that
Ain't the wust,
When yer get back whar the
Diggins are
No pick, no shovel, no pan;
Wal, yer a healthy man,
Walk--jest walk."

The fools don't all go to Denver town,
Nor do they all from the mines come down.
'Most all of us have in our day--
In some sort of shape, some kind of way--
Painted the town with the old stuff,
Dipped in stocks or made some bluff,
Mixed wines, old and new,
Got caught in wedlock by a shrew,
Stayed out all night, tight,
Rolled home in the morning light,
With crumpled tie and torn clawhammer,
'N' woke up next day with a katzenjammer,
And walked, oh ----, how we walked.

Now, don't try to yank every bun,
Don't try to have all the fun,
Don't think that you know it all,
Don't think real estate won't fall,
Don't try to bluff on an ace,
Don't get stuck on a pretty face,
Don't believe every jay's talk--
For if you do you can bet you'll walk!

MR. DOOLEY ON GOLD-SEEKING

BY FINLEY PETER DUNNE

"Well, sir," said Mr. Hennessy, "that Alaska's th' gr-reat place. I
thought 'twas nawthin' but an iceberg with a few seals roostin' on it,
an' wan or two hundherd Ohio politicians that can't be killed on account
iv th' threaty iv Pawrs. But here they tell me 'tis fairly smothered in
goold. A man stubs his toe on th' ground, an' lifts th' top off iv a
goold mine. Ye go to bed at night, an' wake up with goold fillin' in
ye'er teeth."

"Yes," said Mr. Dooley, "Clancy's son was in here this mornin', an' he
says a frind iv his wint to sleep out in th' open wan night, an' whin he
got up his pants assayed four ounces iv goold to th' pound, an' his
whiskers panned out as much as thirty dollars net."

"If I was a young man an' not tied down here," said Mr. Hennessy, "I'd
go there: I wud so."

"I wud not," said Mr. Dooley. "Whin I was a young man in th' ol'
counthry, we heerd th' same story about all America. We used to set be
th' tur-rf fire o' nights, kickin' our bare legs on th' flure an'
wishin' we was in New York, where all ye had to do was to hold ye'er hat
an' th' goold guineas'd dhrop into it. An' whin I got