LITTLE TIM'S REVENGE.

"Little Tim " was the name of him

Of whom I have to tell;

And he abode on the Western road,

In the busy town of L--.

As trains went down through the little town,

He peddled through the cars

His stock in trade, — iced lemonade,

Cake, peanuts, and cigars.

Conductor Dunn was the only one

Who'd not this trade allow;

And so 'twixt him and little Tim

There always was a row.

At last one day they had a fray;

And Timothy declared

He'd "fix old Dunn, 'as sure's a gun,'"

If both their lives were spared.

So off he went with this intent,

And sold his stock in trade:

His earnings hard he spent for lard,

And started for "the grade."

(This place, you know, is where trains go

Upon the steep hillside,

And where — with lard — it isn't hard

To get up quite a slide.)

He took a stick, and spread it thick,

Remarking with a smile,

"There'll be some fun when Mr. Dunn

Commences to 'strike ile'!"

He lay in wait: the train was late,

And came a-puffing hard,

With heavy load, right up the road

To where he'd spread the lard.

They tried in vain: that fated train

Could not ascend the grade:

The wheels would spin with horrid din

Yet no advance was made.

Then little Tim — 'twas bold in him —

Cried out in accents shrill,

"Remember me, Conductor D.,

When you get up the hill!"

MORAL.

Success in trade is up a grade

That we should all ascend,

And with a will help up the hill

Our fellow-man and friend.

When "on the road," don't incommode

The seeker after pelf,

Or ten to one, like Mr. Dunn,

You'll not get up yourself.