t dreams," and shuts the door;
If she's a-listenin' both of us snore,
But as soon as ever she goes we light a light
And pitch right into our piller fight.

We play that the bed is Bunker Hill
And George is Americans, so he stands still.
But I am the British, so I must hit
As hard as ever I can to make him git.
We played Buena Vista one night--
Tell you, that was an awful hard fight!

Held up our pillers like they was a flag,
An' hollered, "Little more grape-juice, Captain Bragg!"
That was the night that George hit the nail--
You just ought to have seen those feathers sail!

I was covered as white as flour,
Me and him picked them up for 'most an hour;
Next day when our ma saw that there mess
She was pretty mad, you better guess;

And she told our pa, and he just said,
"Come right on out to this here shed."
Tell you, he whipped us till we were sore
And made us both promise to do it no more.

That was a long time ago, and now lodge nights
Or when Pa's away we have piller fights,
But in Buena Vista George is bound
To see there aren't any nails anywhere 'round.

Piller fights is fun, I tell you;
There isn't anything I'd rather do
Than get a big piller and hold it tight,
Stand up in bed, and then just fight.

_D.A. Ellsworth._

Little Bateese

You bad leetle boy, not moche you care
How busy you're kipin' your poor gran'pere
Tryin' to stop you ev'ry day
Chasin' de hen aroun' de hay.
W'y don't you geev' dem a chance to lay!
Leetle Bateese!

Off on de fiel' you foller de plough,
Den we'en you're tire, you scare de cow,
Sickin' de dog till dey jamp de wall
So de milk ain't good for not'ing at all,
An' you're only five an' a half this fall--
Leetle Bateese!

Too sleepy for sayin' de prayer tonight?
Never min', I s'pose it'll be all right;
Say dem to-morrow--ah! dere he go!
Fas' asleep in a minute or so--
An' he'll stay lak dat till the rooster crow--
Leetle Bateese.

Den wake up right away, toute suite,
Lookin' for somethin' more to eat,
Makin' me t'ink of dem long-lag crane,
Soon as they swaller, dey start again;
I wonder your stomach don't get no pain,
Leetle Bateese.

But see heem now lyin' dere in bed,
Look at de arm onderneat' hees head;
If he grow lak dat till he's twenty year,
I bet he'll be stronger than Louis Cyr
And beat de voyageurs leevin' here--
Leetle Bateese.

Jus' feel de muscle along hees back,--
Won't geev' heem