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A COPYRIGHT CONGRESS.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

I'd be a gay repeater,

Prohibition to cheat - ah!

Since manifold its wrongs are -

And give to Carl my tin, -

If votes were what my songs are,

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I mean exceeding thin.

If you were ale, my darling,

And I, your love, were beer,

Our hearts would foam together

All through this muddy weather

Which sets us all a-snarling,

Except the doctors, dear, -

If you were ale, my darling,

And I, your love, were beer.

There was a look of anguish and remorse upon the faces of the listeners when, at the conclusion of the second stanza, the poet fell exhausted into the arms of his friends. A moody silence ensued, broken at last by a slight, dark lady, with remarkably sharp eyes, Miss M. E. Baddone by name, who arose and read from a finely written manuscript: -

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