The Amity in Calamity.

But “big business” has been slammed by Slump, which proves the proverb that “out of evil cometh the goods”; and dibs-omania hasbeen dissipated by Depression, which proves again that a gain is only a loss with its face lifted, and that there is amity in calamity. Even a Slump has a silver lining, but it needs a shining with the polish of perception. The disadvantages of slumps are so adjectively evident that to mention them would be tantamount to enlarging on an elephant or getting a close-up of an oyster, but let us put on a bold front and face facts; although a bold front oft’ creates suspicion, frontier fighting is better than backknocks. So here goes for a fling at the famous aesthetic sport known as tossing the discuss:

Every copper-plated chump
Who complains about the slump,
With its awful obligations
And its arrant operations,
Should be asked at once to pause
And consider not the cause
Or the cure for all our woes
(Which of course each of us knows),
But the evils of the Boom
Which have met their proper doom
(Having merited the bump)
At the hands of Uncle Slump.
For when life was gay and gladsome.
And most everybody had some
Kale or cash to cut a caper,

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We were rich—at least on paper—
And our arrogance was such
That we didn't worry much
On the other fellow's score—
We were busy making more
We were snobs and worshipped Mammon,
Gobbled up his guilty gammon,
And the under-dog went under,
When it came to plucking plunder.
And we worshipped at the bowser,
(Don't mistake me for a wowser)
And our gods were Gold and Guzzle—
Life was not a jig-saw puzzle
In the palmy days of plunder,
Ere the bark of Boom went under.
If the practice of confession
Is a sorrowful expression
Of the sins in our agendum,
And our promise to amend ‘em,
Uncle Slump's the right relation
To effect a reformation.
But his style is not too tasty,
And he's just a little hasty,
But—say guy, you sure have said it—
We have got to give him credit
For his psychologic spanking,
And his swatting of our swanking.
When he's gone and left us reeling.
There will be a better feeling.
Though he's bowled us middle stump,
We must grant that Uncle Slump,
On a bad and bumpy wicket,
Has contrived to teach us Cricket.