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581.1

I have not finished yet.
When our mutual friends, the great and versatile eriter,
Mr. Anonymous, learned that I had been assigned the
task of ”entertaining” you here today,
he wrote extending his sympathies to
you, and with best wiahes enclosed
the following short poem:

”One night a drummer dreamed a dream, and dreaming, dreamed he died,
And straightway to the pearly his stained spirit hied,
And there before the saints he stood,
with downcast head and low.
‘My records pretty rank,’ he said,’I guess I’m bound below.
I’ve smoked a lot and drank a lot,
confess it all I must,
And flirted too, and then besides
great heavens how I’ve cussed’.

The good Saint Peter looked at him
with kindly smiling eyes,
But shook his head. ‘Don’t ask,’
said he, a mansion in the skies.
‘But let me ask some questions,
Are you a traveling man?”
The sinner bowed, and in this
strain the aged Saint began:
‘You’ve gotten up at four a. m. and
chased the freight a mile
Amid the train crew’s jibes and
Jeers a sounding all the while:
And then you found, as usual, the
time card’s played its tricks,
You’ve chased the wrong train once
again and yours goes out at six.’

‘You’ve taken some gay merchant out
and spent a ten or more,
And then he calmly says he bought
his goods the day before.
You’ve spent your life at bad hotels,
and eaten still worse meals
With oleo and waiter girls all run down at the heels.
You’ve had your letters sent astray,
your grips, have wandered, too;
With posters, clerks and baggage- men you’re in a constant stew;
And once a month you see your wife.
Now tell me, is it so?”
‘It Is, repiled the drummer, as he took his hat to go.

‘Ah well, said good Saint Peter, as he opened the portale wide,
I’m very glad to mee you, sir; just kindly step inside.
We’ll try to make you happy here;
we’ll do the best we can.
You’ve served your time in hell, for
you’ve been a travelling man.”