MR. BILLINGS OF LOUISVILLE.

THERE are times in one's life which one cannot forget;

And the time I remember's the evening I met

A haughty young scion of bluegrass renown

Who made my acquaintance while painting the town:

A handshake, a cocktail, a smoker, and then

Mr. Billings of Louisville touched me for ten.

There flowed in his veins the blue blood of the South,

And a cynical smile curled his sensuous mouth;

He quoted from Lanier and Poe by the yard,

But his purse had been hit by the war, and hit hard:

I felt that he honored and flattered me when

Mr. Billings of Louisville touched me for ten.

I wonder that never again since that night

A vision of Billings has hallowed my sight;

I pine for the sound of his voice and the thrill

That comes with the touch of a ten-dollar bill:

I wonder and pine; for — I say it again —

Mr. Billings of Louisville touched me for ten.

I've heard what old Whittier sung of Miss Maud;

But all such philosophy's nothing but fraud;

To one who's a bear in Chicago to-day,

With wheat going up, and the devil to pay,

These words are the saddest of tongue or of pen:

“Mr. Billings of Louisville touched me for ten.”