HARD-LUCK ADAM.

Adam had no Easter hat to buy for Mrs. Eve; Adam had no “cost-of-living” troubles to aggrieve; Adam had no job to hold by slaving day or night, Adding columns, beating carpets, planning stuff to write. Adam had a hectic cinch, played across the boards— Everything that nature and an idle life affords. And yet I wouldn’t change with him, whatever be my loss: He never saw a triple drive the winning run across. Adam had no dress to buy to calm his spouse’s grief (All that Adam had to do was go and pull a leaf). Back in Father Adam’s day, long and long ago, There was not an Aldrich nor a crusty Uncle Joe; Raving politicians never roamed about the land, Double-crossing voters in a way to beat the band. But with it all poor Adam never had a chance to dream Of bold three-hundred hitters and a pennant-winning team. Adam lived on Easy Street, dreaming in the sun; Never a policeman there to cut in on his fun; Never had a cook around threatening to leave; “Bridge” was not invented in the days of Mrs. Eve. Take it up and down the line in those golden days, Adam had it on us in a hundred different ways; And yet with all his blessings, what a dull and massive pall— For poor old Father Adam never saw a game of ball!