This humorous postcard, dated 1907, brought to mind a poem that was found when Princeton lodge #634 turned 100.The house is full of arnica, and mystery profound;
We do not dare to run about or make the slightest sound.
We leave the big piano shut and do not strike a note;
The doctor's been here seven times since father rode the goat.
He joined the lodge a week ago; Got in at 4:00 a.m. ----
And sixteen brethren brought him home, though he says that he brought them.
His wrist was sprained and one big rip had rent his Sunday coat ----
There must have been a lively time when father rode the goat.
He's resting on the couch today! And practicing his signs ----
The hailing signal, the working grip, and other monkeyshines;
He mutters passwords 'neath his breath, And other things he'll quote ----
They surely had an evening's work when father rode the goat.
He has a gorgeous uniform, all gold and red and blue ----
A hat with plumes and yellow braid, And golden badges, too.
But, somehow, when we mention it, he wears a look so grim;
We wonder if he rode the goat ---- or if the goat rode him!