R. Bogardus "gin a treat,"

And a green goose, best of birds to eat,

Delicious, savory, fat and sweet,

Formed the dish the guests to greet;

But such, we know,

Is small for a "blow,"

And many times around won't go;

So Mr. Bogardus chanced to reflect,

And with a wisdom circumspect,

He sent round cards to parties select,

Some six or so the goose to dissect,

The day and hour defining;

And then he laid in lots of things,

That might have served as food for kings,

Liquors drawn from their primal springs,

And all that grateful comfort brings

To epicures in dining.

But Mr. Bogardus's brother Sim,

With moral qualities rather dim,

Copied the message sent to him,

In his most clerkly writing,

'Twas dinner time by the Old South Clock;

Bogardus waited the sounding knock

Of friends to come at the moment, "chock,"

To try his goose, his game, his hock,

And hoped they would not dally;

When one, and two, and three, and four,

And running up the scale to a score,

And adding to it many more,

Who all their Sunday fixings wore,

Came in procession to the door,

And crowded in on his parlor floor,

Filling him with confusion sore,

Like an after-election rally!

"Gentlemen," then murmured he,

"To what unhoped contingency

Am I owing for this felicity,

A visit thus unexpected?"

Then they held their cards before his eyes,

And he saw, to his infinite surprise,

That some sad dog had taken a rise

On him, and his hungry friends likewise,

And whom he half suspected;

But there was Sim,

Of morals dim,

With a face as long, and dull, and grim,

As though he the ire reflected.

Then forth the big procession went,

With mirth and anger equally blent;

To think they didn't get the scent

Of what the cursed missive meant

Annoyed some of 'em deeply;

MORAL.

Keep your weather eye peeled for trap,

For we never know just what may hap,

Nor if we shall be winners;

Remembering that one green goose

Will be of very little use

'Mongst twenty hungry sinners.