The Press., 1885-07-16
[For The Press.l FOX AND FARMER WITH STRICTURRs.

A crafty old fox, whose hole on hill
 Was across from a farmers home, Had made arrangements his stomach to fill Whenever he fancied to roam. He said to himself, in iocose way.
 That the world owed him living, And few fine flow sabout one day
 Was not extravagant living. He had made up his mind, he said, to live
 Without any laborsa at all ,-- His t.would support, with something 10 give To many charity call. Like many to-day-too lazy to work
 In an honest and useful way, Prefer the great duties of life to shirk Through indolence-day after day. One night an old turkey sadly complained 1 Of being disturbed in her sleep, And wished that night prowlers were all re
 strained
 And made civil order to keep. 1 Awhile after that the farmer kept watch
 Of the fox, or other bold thief Determined the robber of roosts to catch, ! Or bring the bold scoundrel to grief. At the nick of time rose cackle and quit,
 Which induced the farmer to aim Pretty we'll up the legs in hopes to hit
 The vermin, though it made him lame. The rogue was so shocked he leaped from thu
 yard l Much quicker than when he went in, Declaring such treatment, cruel and hard, l For the farmers notions of sin. How many different views of wrong,
 Like the fox purloining the hens Their thieving is well, so they get along,
 Though they patronize dirty dens. From nearby town surgeon was called 1 Perhaps, the next morning, to lance, And take from a place that was somewha l galled Some shot near the seat of his pants. Don't come to nasty conclusions, my boys, | And rate all farmers as fools, Because they dislike the jargon and noise
 That comes from the rostrum of schools. Though he sweat and toil with brawny arm
 He can see through ladder plain You may fool him once, but heed the alarm
 If you come to his coop again. If you will have poultry raise it yourself, 1 Or pay the good breeder the cash But to pi1fer his fowls and hoard yonr pelf l Merits shotgun, prisor, or lash. There are many that live by special gift,
 And get their round millions by trade think they deserve 8 good leather lift,
 And not much of anything said. There are foxes that some call syndicates, Who handle our cash, grain and stocks: | But far better name is sin dictates
 The only true name of that fox. ... The meanest thing that these foxes can do
 Is to plunder and live on men By making all fair, for an outside show,
 Then stealing your fame, purse or hen Sometimes an old fox in the livery,
 That judges between right and wrong Among his fellows whose connivery
 Is as plain as a baby's song. There are foxes that bark in politics,
 And get a rich living by theft,- Buy votes, drink ,perjure, and other vile tricks
 And leave to the public what's left. There's an old black fox-keep shy of him
 friend
 For he's lurking after his game, And will hunt you down to the drunkard's s end
 While he feeds on ruin and shame. There fox that would scorn to steal hen,
 That's a thief in another way Who pliers the eehearts of many good men,
 While they have but little to say. Oh! shun that vile fox, in gold and brocade Who hunts for the chickens of lust With guileful heart she's the meanest jad
 That ever set foot on the dust.
 Holland, July 4th, 1885. J. L. CLouaH.