And wants the children round him to
Be there when "sufferin' Pa gets through";
He says he wants to say good-by
And kiss us all, and then he'll die;
Then moans and says his "breathin''s thick",--
It's awful sad when Papa's sick.

When Papa's sick he acts that way
Until he hears the doctor say,
"You've only got a cold, you know;
You'll be all right 'n a day or so";
And then--well, say! you ought to see--
He's different as he can be,
And growls and swears from noon to night
Just 'cause his dinner ain't cooked right;
And all he does is fuss and kick,--
We're _all_ used up when Papa's sick.

* * * * *

[Illustration]

THE BALLAD OF McCARTY'S TROMBONE

Sure, Felix McCarty he lived all alone
On the top av a hill be the town av Athione,
And the pride av his heart was a batthered trombone,
That he played in an iligant style av his own.
And often I've heard me ould grandfather say,
That, long as he lived, on Saint Patherick's Day,