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If successful in our enterprise, our ways are never scanned, We're applauded by the populace, and praised by every

tongue. But if a fell disaster crown the efforts we have planned, Our methods are at once condemned by old as well as young.

The same black tar,

By the same black stick,
No matter who we are,

Is laid on thick.
If poor, we're marred,

If rich, we kick,
But we're all of us tarred

With the same black stick.

Owosco (derisively). Ah! here comes our worthy apology for a chief.

Otsiketa. And our equally worthy medicine man.

Owosco. They make a gay old couple. The one is about as useful as the other. (Enter Old Chief, closely followed by Medicine Man, both old and ugly.)

Old Chief sings :
I'm chief of the tribe of the Wa-wa-ta-see,
As savage a savage as savage can be;
I've scalped and I've murdered full many a foe-

Yes, yes; but that happened a long time ago.

Long, long ago, we had wars in the land,
And pillage and bloodshed on every hand;
With knife and with arrow, with war-club and bow,
We defended our country a long



Old Chief.
In love-making nonsense I never took part;
Neither war-club nor squaw ever conquered my heart;
I forcibly reaped, but I never would sow-

Yes, yes; but that happened a long time ago.

Long, long ago, we had wonderful chiefs,
Who gathered in scalp-locks as farmers do sheaves.
Much rather they'd fight than a-courting they'd go-
But that happened, thank goodness, a long time ago.

Old Chief
Young men, in my day, courted war's cutting claws,
Nor wasted their time making love to the squaws ;
Such fooling as that in those days did not go-

Yes, yes; but that happened a long time ago.

What wonders the men were a long time ago,
How thankful we are that it now isn't so!
Every day for amusement a-killing they'd go,
In the fearful, the awful, the long time ago.

Otsiketa. Say, old fellow, you must have been a great chap beyond all our memories !

Owosco. I say, old chap, where did you ever manage to store all your scalps?

Old Chief (to Medicine Man). What shall I say to these young men? They're getting very inquisitive!

Medicine Man, I should not answer them. The proper thing to do is to assume a dignified silence.




Both sing
When we're attacked at any point,

Our knavery to hide,
We get ourselves behind a wall

Of silence dignified,
A wall without a hole or chink,
Behind it all is black as ink,
Where we're obscure from those who think

Into our past to pry.
When at our deeds they wish to peek,
And interviewers mild and meek,
Attempt to make this couple speak,

They might as well not try.


Medicine Man.

I never eased a human ill,

Old Chief
I never struck a blow;


The potency of club or pill

We neither of us know.
But when our youth would question us,

We assume a lofty pride,
And wrap us up in a solemn cloak

Of silence dignified.

John Barr.

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You haven't heard about my friend the Professor's first

experiment in the use of anæsthetics, have you? He was mightily pleased with the reception of that poem of his about the chaise. He spoke to me once or twice about another poem of similar character he wanted to read me, which I told him I would listen to and criticise.

One day, after dinner, he came in with his face tied up, looking very red in the cheeks, and heavy about the eyes. “Hy 'r ye?” he said, and made for an arm-chair, in which he placed first his hat and then his person, going smack through the crown of the former, as neatly as they do the trick at the circus.

The Professor jumped at the explosion as if he had sat

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