A FEAST OF AUTO SONG.

Every little while they tell us that the horse has got to go; First the trolley was invented 'cause the horses went so slow, And they told us that we'd better not keep raisin' colts no more. When the street cars got to moting that the horses pulled before, I thought it was all over for old Fan and Doll and Kit, S'posed the horse was up and done for, But he ain't went yit! When the bike craze first got started people, told us right away, As you probably remember, that the horse had saw his day; People put away their buggies and went kitin' 'round on wheels; There were lots and lots of horses didn't even earn their meals. I used to stand and watch 'em with their bloomers as they'd flit, And I thought the horse was goin', But he ain't went yit! Then they got the horseless carriage, and they said the horse was done. And the story's been repeated twenty times by Edison; Every time he gets another of his batteries to go He comes whoopin' out to tell us that the horse don't stand a show. And you'd think to see these chauffeurs, as they go a-chauffin', it Was good-by to Mr. Dobbin, But he ain't went yit! When the people git to flying in the air I s'pose they'll say, As we long have been a-sayin', that the horse has had his day. And I s'pose that some old feller just about like me'll stand Where it's safe, and watch the horses haulin' stuff across the land; And he'll mebby think as I do, while the crows above him flit, "Oh, they say the horse is done for, But he ain't went yit!" Chicago Record-Herald.

There lived, one time, a shiftless chap, who wasn't satisfied; To settle down and plug along he never could abide. He felt the fire of greatness burn within his eager breast, And knew himself cut out for deeds the highest and the best. His spirit fairly fumed and frothed at cruel Fate's restraint; Of favorless environment he ever made complaint. "But some fine day," he used to say, "I'll set the world afire; It's not for me unknown to be when I do so aspire." Each day our hero might have found some labor to pursue; On every side stood waiting work for willing hands to do; The neighborhood wherein he dwelt had crying need of men To mow the lawns, for instance, and to beat the rugs—but then A man so keenly conscious of his real inward worth Could hardly care to tackle toil so tainted of the earth. And so, to pass the time away until his chance should come, He boarded with his mother when he wasn't drinking rum. No doubt, good-natured reader, you opine and apprehend That this vain, shiftless person met a mean and sorry end. The facts are these: He waited till the time, for us so sad, When wagons run with gasoline became the reigning fad. A sudden, wild demand arose for drivers, men with cheek, And Shifty got a handsome job at fifty bones a week, The people stare, where'er he goes; he's gained his great desire, And every-day he sets the world, or part of it, afire. Newark Evening News.

Grandma says we're right in style, A-sittin' in our automobile. Grandpa says we're fit to kill, A-ridin' in our automo-bill. Ma, she says we ought to feel Grateful fer our automo-beel. Pa says there ain't no other man Kin run an auto like he can. Auntie preaches near and far 'Bout our lovely touring car. Uncle Bill says he ain't seen Nowhere such a good machine. Brother Jim, he keeps a-braggin' 'Bout the speed of our new wagon. But, oh, it sounds so grand and noble When sister Sue says automoble. Puck.

The automobile owner crawled With haste into his car And said good-by, for he was called To travel fast and far. He grasped the steering wheel with glee And gave the clutch a yank, And then, with objurgations, he Climbed down again to crank. Again he mounted to the seat Prepared like wind to fly, Yet there he lingered in the street; The water tank was dry. He filled the tank; it seemed a cinch, Once more he starts to chauff, Behold, he does not move an inch— The differential's off. In rage he toils with might and main Till he is faint and weak; Again he starts—and stops again; The tire's sprung a leak. The shades of night are falling fast, But joy illumes his brow, He shoots ahead—his trouble past, Pray who can catch him now? And yet, around the corner we May find the same machine; Its owner is not there, for he Has gone for gasoline. Council Bluffs Nonpareil.

Thisisthewayheracedalong Ateighteenmilesanhour; This the speed he walked back home When busted was his power. Exchange.

I am coming, I am coming, don't you hear my thunder roll, Don't you feel my mighty power thro' your body and your soul; Don't you dread my awful presence, my momentous throbbing feel? I'm a dashing, thrashing, bucking, clucking Auto-mo-bile! I'm a wonder, I'm a snorter, I'm a bull put on parade, I'm a devil, I'm a terror for the people who're afraid; I can paralyze the horses, I can make 'em dance a reel, I'm a rearing, tearing, rumbling, grumbling Auto-mo-bile! Clear the track, ye meek and lowly, for I claim the right of way! There's no limit to my tenure, or my speed by night or day; To the woods with everybody, that's the way we devils feel, I'm a lusty, dusty, ramming, jamming Auto-mo-bile! The Pneus.