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    ONCE more are we met for a season of pleasure,

    That shall smooth from our brows every furrow of care,

    For the sake of old times shall we each tread a measure

    And drink to the lees in the eyes of the fair.

    Once more let the hand-clasp of years past be given;

    Let us once more be boys and forget we are men;

    Let friendships the chances of fortune have riven

    Be renewed and the smiling past come back again.

    The past, when the prairie was big and the cattle

    Were as "scary" as ever the antelope grew--

    When to carry a gun, to make our spurs rattle,

    And to ride a blue streak was the most that we knew;

    The past when we headed each year for Dodge City

    And punched up the drags on the old Chisholm Trail;

    When the world was all bright and the girls were all pretty,

    And a feller could "mav'rick" and stay out of jail.

    Then here's to the eyes that like diamonds are gleaming,

    And make the lamps blush that their duties are o'er;

    And here's to the lips where young love lies a-dreaming;

    And here's to the feet light as air on the floor;

    And here's to the memories--fun's sweetest sequel;

    And here's to the night we shall ever recall;

    And here's to the time--time shall know not its equal

    When we danced the day in at the Cattlemen's Ball.

                       _H. D. C. McLaclachlan._