HOW WE SETTLED THE ALASKAN BOUNDARY QUESTION

Now that little Venezuela

Has her navy back in tow,

With the “allies” in the distance

Waiting for the promised “dough”,

It may not be deemed improper

For the mind that loves to roam,

Just to focus its attention

On some matters nearer home.

We are also growing weary

Of the “war clouds in the East”,

Which bob up to entertain us

Once or twice a year at least.

And we'd bear the “bobbing” better

If it did not always bring

To the “concert of the Powers”

An unfailing chance to sing.

They are masterful musicians

With chin music as their forte,

And a penchant strong for love songs

When they serenade the Porte!

While they sing the Sultan dances

Like a strolling Dago's bear,

Till one really feels the presence

Of roast Turkey in the air!

Thus they exorcise the spirit

Of destruction in the Turk,

And adjure the imp to vamoose

And forego its bloody work.

Doth he vamoose? Yes, a season,

To return with “seven more,”

While the Sultan's still insultin’

And his fingers still in gore.

But we'll leave this doubtful concert

And its harem-scarem tones,

Meant to drown the voice appealing

In the dying Christian's groans;

And examine rather closer

Into troubles of our own.

To uproot the crops of mischief

Which old Satan may have sown.

People must with friendly feelings,

And the best intentions, try

To elucidate the muddle

Termed “Alaskan boundary.”

There's a rumble in that region,

And it should n't louder grow —

Just a little cloud of worry

‘ Mid the flurry of the snow.

Why, oh why, should kindred people

Quarrel over hunks of ice?

If they knew each other better

They would settle in a trice.

But Miss Canada is frigid

And Columbia is cold,

So in presence of the couple

There's an iciness untold.

Harken to the one bemoaning

Up among the northern lights,

How that‘ tother is a “squatter”

And encroaching on her rights.

“It is mine by deed and title,

For as everybody knows —

Not to mention Rudyard Kipling —

I am‘ Lady of the Snows’.

“See my cousin, Hail Columbia,

Who has settled thereabout,

She will soon take Root and Lodge there

If I do not Turner out.

When I asked her‘ please to vacate’,

Can you guess the jade's response?

Why, she sweetly smiled and answered,

‘ After you, my dear Alphonse’!”

Thus the question rests at present,

Till the arbitrators meet;

And we trust when said time cometh

They will gravely take their seat

Near the base of all the trouble,

On the apex of the Pole,

Where they'll exercise the virtue

At the least of keeping cool!

Furl your “colors,” then, ye fair ones,

In a truce of amity,

Till this august body settles

Where the “boundary” should be;

We've emerged from clouds of discord

And should never more go back

Whether Skagway's‘ neath Old Glory

Or beneath the Union Jack!