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Out of town

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Vi'i I \
f.eweatherly unniev/att
«%? N E W V O i=? K
E. P. DUTTON & CO
$3. West Twenty Third Street


WAYNE'STATtUNIVERSnYUBRARV
TUDDL01SERAMSEYC0LLECTI0N





——
Ok


*\ I
^ou sit and listen, little ones,
^ The far bells chiming through the flow’rs ;
You watch the busy road that runs
Towards the distant city tow’rs.
You wonder what the world can hold,
What life, with all its business, means :
You think the streets are paved with gold,
And all the folks are kings and queens.
Ah, little ones ! we thought it so,
Like you we thought it must be fair;
You'll find it different, I trow,
W hen you are there, when you are there.
And then, like us, you’ll long to stand
Far from the city ’mid the flow’rs,
And hear in childhood’s morning land
The sweet bells from their distant tow’rs.



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PROLOGUE.
When the pavements are baking, the streets all aglare,
And every one panting and gasping for air,
When the last patch of grass is all dusty and brown,
O to be anywhere out of the town :
Away from the bustle, the jostle, and jams,
The bands and the ’busses, the cabs and the trams,
The bawling and calling, the rush up and down—
Anywhere, anywhere out of the town.
Just to lie all the day in the grass by a stream,
W ith the noises of town like a far-away dream ;
With the low of the cows, and the hum’ of the flies,
(That is, if they keep from your nose and your eyes),
W ith some nice little children to sing and to play,
At a suitable distance, three meadows aw f ay;
While the sole morning callers (O freedom from ills)
Are the dicky-bird-duns with their dear little bills.
When the summer is over and rain has begun,
And there’s plenty of fog, and but little of sun ;
When the grass is too damp and the leaves at their fall,
And the dicky-birds’ songs are beginning to pall;
When Mudie’s last volume is closed w r ith a sigh,
And there’s much that you’re wanting, and nothing to buy
Don’t fancy you like it, don’t stay there and frown,
But pack your portmanteau, and go back to town.


CONTENTS.
the echo of the song, 2.
ANGELICA AP-JONES, iS. 19
IN THE WOODS, 24.
*
MOTHER'S BLESSING, 20. 21
PROLOGUE, 6. 7.
RAGGED ROBIN, 22. 23. ^
THE LONG AVENUE, 25.
’"f
MY LADY'S CLOTHES, 10. n. 12. Sj§ a
TIMOTHY TOMKINS TUCK, 26.
SUCK THUMB, 13.
PAMELA, 28. 29.
TUMBLE DOWN DICK, 14. 15.
DAISY DILL, 30. 31.
/>’/. £ 'E BELL WOOD, 16. 17.
HIE CHILDREN'S VOICES, 32. 33.
3H9


CONTENTS.
WIND AND SUNSHINE, 34, 35.
TWO O'CLOCK,, 48.
GRANDPA THER’.S' CHAIR, 49.
KISSING TIME, 50, 51.
GENTLEMAN JOHN,, 36, 37.
THE FROG'S PHILOSOPHY, 52, 53.'
/I/F NEXT, 38, 39.
DOROTHY DUNN,, 54, 55 1
A’A/’A" STRA HUE PRIES, 40.
DAISIES, 56.
GARLAND DA Y, 41.
BUTTERCUPS, 57.
i/ 7'6> ^ GOOSE, 46, 47.
REST, 62, 63d
EA TILER'S BOAT, 42, 43.
THE DOLLS' SEASON, 58, 59. J
9
RAKE'S CONFESSION, 44, 45.
THE TALE OF THE SEA, 60, 61.


MY LADY’S CLOTHES.
“ Now what do you think of ray lady’s clothes,
My lady’s clothes,
My lady’s clothes,
What do you think of my lady’s clothes,
For a summer day in the morning ? ”
My grandmother once wore clothes like those,
Clothes like those,
Clothes like those,
My grandmother once wore clothes like those,
When she went out in the morning.
“ Did ever you see such frills and bows,
Frills and bows,
Frills and bows,
Did ever you see such furbelows
For a summer day in the morning ? ”
O my grandmother once was drest like that,
Drest like that,
Drest like that,
With a very short waist and a coal-box hat,
When she went out in the morning..
/ V '^J -j
10



“Now what do you think of her parasol,
Her parasol,
Her parasol ?
Is it really meant to protect her poll
On a summer day in the morning ? ”
O it comes, I think, from far Japan
Far Japan,
Far Japan,
Made by a Japanese young man,
For a summer day in the morning.
And what is the reason that thus she goes,
Thus she goes,
Thus she goes,
All in her grandmother’s furbelows
On a summer day in the morning ? ”
Because whatever is odd and old,
Odd and old,
Odd and old,
Is quite the fashion, as I’ve been told,
For any day in the morning.
12


jSuCK Jhumb.
'Who stands here ?
Little Sammy JSuck-h^-Thujvib
'With a nail, I feaf{,
J4e surely must have
5tuck his thumb
Or whe^ he’s qot
JNice pudding hot,
]4e SURELY WOULD jSIOT
Suck HIS thumb.
jlo, S>R. no -
It is not so ;
]4e has not hurt or
Stuck his thumb :
0 E SIMPLY IS
SULKY BOY,
•Who REALLY LIKES
Jo SUCK HIS
THUMB.
13


TUMBLE-DOWN DICK.
Tumble down Dick he could not go straight,
Brushed his hair with a coal-box and always was late,
Put his head thro’ the windows and sat in the doors,
Thought the ceiling to walk on far better than floors.
So some one suggested this odd little ell
Had better go build him a house to himself,
Where his head might be broken, his fingers be squeezed,
And the doors be as crooked as ever he pleased.
So he took his wheelbarrow and spade in his hand,
And built him a tumble-down house on the sand;
And 'Tumble-down Dick in his tumble-down house,
For five minutes at least, was as still as a mouse.
O Tumble-down Dick, alack! well-a-day,
'The tide came in quickly and washed it away,
And all that was left there, was one little stick
To tell the disaster of Tumble-down Dick.
14


But somebody tells me
I^e’s turned up again :
; />S RESTLESS AS EVEF^,
I NEED NOT EXPLAIN J
ut he’s fast growing famous,
; And wealthy, and qgand,
pOF( they’ve MADE him the
builder OF
[umble-down-land.
T 5


ich is the way to Blue Bell Wood?
To Blue Bell Wood?
To Blue Bell Wood?”
I’ll tell you the way, if you’ll he good,
To Blue Bell Wood in the morning.
If you will simply see next page,
See next page,
See next page,
You’ll find the blue bells, I’ll engage,
In Blue Bell Wood in the morning.
“If you please, kind sir, and how do you know?
How' do you know ?
How do you know?
Because the children told me so
As I came by in the morning.
“ And will the children be there still ?
Be there still?
Be there still ? ”
I cannot tell, but . I think they will,
In Blue Bell Wood in the morning.
16



PI ANGELICA AP-JONES.
£*T*^Ucrab was he of high degree, she met him on the strand,
Good evening, little miss,” said he, and offered her his hand.
I’m not a little miss,” she said, in most indignant tones;
\(vW “ My name is Miss Angelica—Angelica Ap-Jones.”
With that, a dark, deep hole she made upon the shining strand,
And put the crab in with her spade, and covered him with sand;
She put him in, she piled it high and heaped it up with stones,
And danced upon it furiously—Angelica Ap-Jones.
“ O let me out,” the crab did pray, “ I die, if here I stop ; ”
But wildly still Angelica kept dancing on the top.
“ O let him out,” a lobster said, “ you’ll rue it if you don’t; ”
She only whacked him with her spade, and shouted, “No, I won’t.”
And fainter grew the pleading tones, and higher rose the sea,
While Miss Angelica Ap-Jones kept dancing heedlessly ;
It rose, it rose above her toes, it rose up to her chin,
Alack, alack, the piteous plight Angelica was in.
18


JhE 'MORAL OF THIS
STOF(Y Js NOT
HARD TO UNDERSTAND Jon’t BURY CRABS
yVJMD LOBSTERS 'V/ H EN YOU MEET
THEM ON THE SAND J
Pon’t DANCE UPON
THEM FURIOUSLY, Jon’t cover them
WITH STONES,
pR YOU
jVI/VY QET Jk duckinq.
pIKE y\NQELICA j/\p-JoNES.
i9


Mt)TrtER’S BLESSING.
• *
ou left me in my cot, mother,
You think I'm safe and sound ;
jut indeed, indeed, I’m not, mother,
I’m crawling on the ground.
I’m in among the coals, mother,
I’ve blacked my face all o’er;
The kettle must have holes, mother,
j It’s streaming on the floor.
If* So hang out the clothes, mother,
Hang out the clothes;
Don’t let the dicky bird
Bite off your nose.
The fire is getting low, mother,
I've got some matches here,
I soon shall make it go, mother,
You’ll find it bright and clear.
I've let the chickens out, mother,
And pussy’s with them now;
What can they be about, mother ?
They’re making such a row.
So hang out the clothes, mother,
Hang out the clothes;
Don’t let the dicky bird
Bite off your nose.
20



RAGGED ROBIN.
Tramp ! tramp ! tramp !
Till his feet are weary and sore,
He is only a little scamp,
Driven from door to door.
Curled in a barn, at night,
Kicked from the barn at morn,
Staggering, faint, and white,
Ragged, and cold, and torn.
The eagle to his lofty nest,
The sea-gull to the foam ;
But the world is Ragged R.obin’s rest,
The wide, wide world his home.
You that call him a scamps
And drive him. away from your door
How would you like to tramp
Till your feet were weary and sore ?
Why'is it he must roam?
Why is it you can rest ?•
You with your happy home,
He with a ditch at best.
The eagle to his lofty nest,
The sea-gull to the foam ;
But the world is Ragged Robin's rest,
The wide, wide world his home.
22


^Ah, WHO CAJM TELL U3 why?
1 Y/e MUgT LEAVE THE RIDDLE ALONE.
^3 UT DO NOT LET HIM QO BY,
]4e HA£ A HEAf^T LIKE YOUF^ OWN.
•GjlVE HljW A LITTLE LOVE,
T^ND HI3 LIFE WILL BE LES3 30FJE.
'Jl3 THE 3 A ME HEAVEN ^BOVE,
JjIE3 FOR YOU BOTH IN 3TOF^E,
JhE EAQLE TO H13 LOFTY ^E3T
"pHE 3EA-QULL TO THE fOfitA
THI3 WOF^LD 13 f^QQED ^OBIN’3 F(E3T:
|3uT J^OT, BUT NOT, HI3 HO/UE!
23


IN THE WOODS.
n the heart of the town
The streets are ringing,
And many the toiling
And weary feet;
But deep in the woods
The birds are singing,
And all is peaceful
And pure and sweet.
Back to the town,
To the din and shadows,
With a peace that passes
The power of words,
I carry the breath
Of the country meadows,
And deep in my heart
The song of the birds.
jv* .
24


THE LONG AVENUE.
Down the long avenue, down the long avenue,
Children at play in the morning sun;
They have no fear for the fast-coming years,
Not a sigh of regret for what is gone.
Down the long avenue, down the long avenue,
Striving of labour and rush of feet,
W hile hand in hand the young lovers stand,
Unheeding it all in their dreamings sweet.
Down the long avenue, down the long avenue
Slowly together the old folks roam,
Life it is sweet to their tottering feet,
For it tenderly leads to a peaceful home.
Life is an avenue, life is an avenue,
Strife in it, peace in it, shade and sun;
Heav'n give us rest in the land that is best,
When all of our wearyful days are done.
25



-r
/
' V ,
TIMOTHY TOMKINS TUCK.
Ys is young Timothy Tomkins Tuck
(TliJtt is, if you’ll “see next page”),
A British yapth of excellent pluck, ^
If not of very great age.
0 Timothy Tomkins Tuck,
1 sincerely admire your pluck ;
I wish we’d a few
More fellows like you,
Timothy Tomkins Tuck !
Now in spite of Timothy’s innocent looks,
He is fond of annoying a fly,
And of tying a string round a cockchafer’s wing,
And poking a pussy-cat’s eye.
0 Timothy Tomkins Tuck,
1 sincerely admire your pluck;
'The world has so few
Brave fellows like you,
Timothy Tomkins Tuck.
A couple of ducks came over a field,
A very fat couple were they ;
Said Timothy Tuck ’twere excellent luck
To have them for dinner to-day.
But Timothy Tomkins Tuck,
You never will shoot a duck.
Unless you have got
A gun and some . shot,
Timothy Tomkins Tuck.
Said the ducks with a wink, “ I really don’t think
Master 'Tomkins will catch us to-day,”
And all he could do was just to say “ Shoo,”
While they merrily waddled away.
So Timothy Tomkins Tuck
Went home without a duck,
And as for the rest,
He’ll tell it you best,
Timothy Tomkins Tuck !
t
27


Pamela.
pRETTY LITTLE PAMELA,
pAU?lNQ ON THE BRINK,
pEAR? TO WET HER PETTICOAT?,
JBtOP? AWHILE TO THINK;
r jV[ ED IT ATE? AND PONDER?,
JUF(N? AND TURN? ABOUT,
Jill hiqh and dry i? pamela,
^\nd THE TIDE I? OUT.
28


v~
PAMELA
So it was, when to her side
Many a wooer stept,
Pamela was prudent,
Looked before she leapt ;
Looked so very long, in fact.
Paused and pondered on,
That high and dry was Pamela,
And the lovers gone.
When she used to paddle,
Is thirty years ago ;
Pamela is altered
Very much, you know;
Much objects to paddling,
Cannot stand a noise ;
If there’s one thing she detests
It’s little girls and boys :
Looks upon them half, in fact,
As crocodiles or whales;
Never gives them bread and jam,
Never tells them tales ;
Thinks they ought to be at school,
Always still and trim,
For Pamela, the prudent,
Is Pamela, the prim !
29


■"t(
ClIJVIB ALONQ, TIjVIE ALOj^q,
JSwEET PAISY PlEL,
You’eL gOON BE ALL gAFE . AT THE
JOP OF THE HILL.
30


DAISY DILL
limb along, time along, sweet Daisy Dill,
Tis a long way to the top of the hill,
And the road is so rough, and the sun in the skies
Makes little Daisy Dill blink her blue eyes.
But climb along, time along, sweet Daisy Dill,
YouJii^ soon be all safe at the top of the hill.
Climb along, time along, sweet Daisy Dill,
Now r she’s at last at the top of the hill;
Tired ! yes, of course she is ; glad just to rest,
And look back to the valley she’s left in the west
Tired ! but it’s worth it, my sweet Daisy Dill,
To be really at last at the top of the hill.
And life, like your journey, my sweet Daisy Dill,
s a very long pull up a very steep hill,
And some reach the top and some of us never,
Although we go toiling and struggling for ever ;
Never mind; we’ll still struggle ; ’tis far better so
Than to die in a ditch in the valley below.



J -#*; THE CHILDRENS VOICES.
aily sound the children’s voices,
jw Homeward from the hills they go,
Bearing many a flower to brighten
Yonder nestling homes below.
Breast high thro’ the waving bracken,
Gaily down the fields they run,
Like a band of dancing fairies
Floating from a morning sun.
Came the children to the churchyard,
Little lips no more can sing,
For they stood where one was lying
Who had played with them last Spring.
Then they twined their flowers together,
Gazed, and kissed them o'er and o’er;
Laid them on the little headstone,
Saying, “ We can gather more ! ”
' '• • ■■■■
33


—r-
•‘Wftoiiitt
'
Plow. wijmd-,
BLOW,
^.other’s caps y\wf^v
$H1NE., ^HINE, • . PaBY MIJME.
. SujMgHl^E ; BY-AND-BY.
34


WIND AND SUNSHINE.
Blow, wind, blow !
Wind across the shore;
Father’s waiting,
• Baby mine,
Waiting at the door !
Blow r , wind, blow !
All the world’s awry;
Soon or late
’Twill all be straight,
Sunshine by-and-by.
Nothing hurts,
Nothing harms,
All in vain
The world’s alarms.
Need we fear
For rain or shine ?
God above and father near,
Baby mine !



/
I ou’ve only a fustian coat, my lad,
You sleep upon straw, maybe ;
When my lord goes by, it makes you sad,
You want to be rich as he.
You hate to be called a son of the soil,
GENTLEMAN JOHN,
You’d like to be gentleman born ;
Never to want and never to toil,
And never go tattered and torn.
But broadcloth or fustian, what you’ve got on,
Never will make you a gentleman, John.
’Tis not the honest brown dirt, my lad,
Makes a man’s hand unclean ;
’Tis what he does that is base and bad,
Tis what is cruel and mean.
Don’t be ashamed of your coat or your toil,
Each has his work to do,
Loyally, faithfully stick to the soil,
And you’ll be a gentleman too.
’Tis what you have in you, not what you have on,
That ever will make you a gentleman, John.
37


jVW TURN jMEXT


' V' - is.
• v • A' •'
' - V\ ">
Ah, little ones ! with us 'tis so,
We know that soon we all must go
And so we wonder, whispering low—
“ Whose turn next ? ”
MY TURN NEXT.
Tis sad, but oh, ’tis true indeed,
When Alec swings he will not heed
Two little eyes and lips that plead-
“My turn next.”
When Doctor Whackem gets his cane,
And calls up little Tommy Payne,
Augustus knows—the truth is plain—
His turn next.
When baby has some jam at night,
With something from a packet white,
Miss Mabel understands it quite—
Her turn next.
39


' <Vv"-. i /
f^IPE ^TR^WBERRIE^. •
Three eittle maidens,
jAs I’ve heard tell,
y-HEY WENT TO MARKET,
Strawberries to sell ;
’¥/hejn they came to mrf;ket
I’hey hadn’t much to sell
pECAUSE they’d EATEN EVERY ONER
^As I’ve heard tell.
40


'Qarland Pay.
y HE FIRST OF ply\Y
JS GARLAND DAY.
pLEASE TO REMEMBER
Jhe QARLAND.
'V/e don’t COJVIE HERE
pUT ONCE A YEAR,
pLEASE TO REjMEMBEFj
Jhe QARLAJND.
41


FATHER’S BOAT.
Sea-gull, sea-gull, answer me,
Have you seen father’s boat at sea ?
How should I know your father s boat
From all the many I see afloat ?
Sea-gull, sea-gull, ’tis easy quite,
There’s mother’s name on the bows in white ;
And whether her sails are set or furled,
She’s the smartest craft in all the world.
..
• . V ■ l '"
Sea-gull, sea-gull, answer me,
Have you seen father himself at sea?
O, how should I your father knoiv
From all the folk in your world below I
Sea-gull, sea-gull, ’tis easy quite,
There’s a lock of his hair just turning white.
You’d find his face ’mid fifty score,
’Tis the dearest face the whole world
42



RAKES CONFESSION.
didn’t take it, indeed, not I
I’ll tell you the story; I’ll tell you why.
I passed by the larder, Miss, all by myself,
And I saw r a fowl on the larder shelf.
I peeped thro’ the door, and I said to Myself,
“Don’t you think that’s a fowl on the larder shelf?”
“ There’s not the least doubt of it,” answered My;
“It’s a very fat fowl on the larder shelf.”
“ Well there, never mind it,” said I to Myself;
“Come away, and don’t look at the larder shelf.”
So I ran off at once, Miss; but somehow Myself,
When / wasn’t looking, climbed up to the shelf.
But I caught him and scolded that wicked Myself;
“Come down, sir,” I told him, “come down from the shelf.”
But he would not obey me, that wicked Myself,
I"or he eat all the fowl on the larder shelf.
44


s
45
^3ut he would jmot
^QbEY JV1E, THAT WICKED
r jVl Y£ELF,
7or he eat ale
JhE jp OWL OF THE
Harder ehelf.
.
.


“ BO ” TO A GOOSE.
Adolphus Jones had once been told,
And thought it proper, too,
“ Whene’er maybe a goose you see,
Say, ‘ Bo, goose, Bo to you.’ ”
Adolphus Jones he took a walk
Upon a summer’s day,
When Farmer Spruce’s biggest goose
Ventured to stop the way.
Adolphus Jones, that clever child,
Remembered what to do ;
In valiant haste the goose he faced,
And shouted, “ Bo to you”
V
Adolphus Jones, that dauntless child,
Cried “ Bo ” with might and main ;
But as the goose stood still and smiled,
He shouted, “ Bo ” again
“ I’ve never seen you,” said the goose ;
“ You are I don’t know who ;
But if, you know, it comes to ‘ Bo,’
I can say ‘ Bo ’ to you.
“ For all I care you are a hare,
A monkey, or emu ;
But this I know, I can say ‘ Bo ’
As easily as you.”
Adolphus soon will wiser be,
And learn this truth to tell;
That folks whom you call geese, you see,
May think you geese as well.
46



TWO O’CLOCK.
ing a song of two o’clock,
Tadpoles in a pool,
Four-and-twenty lazy boys
Droning in a school.
Sing a song of three o’clock,
Master is not there,
Four-and-twenty little boys
Fighting for his chair.
Sing a song of somebody
Peeping like a fox,
Four-and-twenty little boys
Hiding in a box.
Sing a song of sugar-cane,
String, and cobbler’s wax;
Isn’t that a dainty thing
To tickle little backs ?
■A if'J?


GRANDFATHER’S CHAIR.
randfather talks to his little ones sweet,
As he sits in his old oak chair.
Two on his knees, and three at his feet,
Tenderly stroking their hair.
Holding their little fat hands in his own,
Smiling so soft and mild,
Telling them stories of years long flown,
When he was a child.
Grandfather’s chair is empty now,
In the churchyard grandfather lies,
Cold and still is his gentle brow,
Closed are his sweet blue eyes.
The little ones stand with a wistful air,
Round the fire as eve draws on,
And whisper and point to his empty chair,
“ Grandfather’s gone ! ”
Grandfather’s chair is empty still,
Empty is each one’s heart;
Changed is the old home under the hill,
And the children are far apart.
And all are grown, and some are asleep,
F'or swift have the years fled on,
But the words have their old fond yearning deep,
“ Grandfather’s gone ! ”
49


“^HATS O’CLOCK, gVVEET r jVlAF^QEF^Y 9
5aid ,: V/illie AT THE QATE.
“ |-|ALF-PA3T KIggIJMQ-TIME,
£ 0 YOU ARE jUgT TOO LATE."


r$vV*j "V
■.
T
j^. w >; KISSING-TIME.
argery sat in the lane alone,
A “ shepherd’s clock ” she blew ;
And “one,” she cried, and “ two,” she
As down the petals flew.
“ What’s o’clock, sweet Margery ? ”
Said Willie at the gate.
“ Half-past kissing-time,
So you are just too late ” $
“ Half-past kissing-time ? ”
Said Willie, sore downcast;
“ I don’t believe your clock is right-
It goes a deal too fast.”
And taking her sweet hand in his,
And picking up the flow’r,
He showed her how to put it back
Exactly half an hour.
But that is fifty years ago,
They both are old folks now ;
They love to saunter down the lane,
Where first they made their vow.
Those quaint old words, they linger
But with a sweeter sound;
’Tis never “ Half-past kissing-time ”
While love’s true wheels go round.
-f
51


“^ILL YOU WALK IjNTO MY BAgKET ?
JSaID • jpANNY TO THE FF^OQ ;
• “I’ve J-UgT COJVIE BACK ' pROjVl MARKET,
f . *
^ND THE B/.gKETg’ 'FULL OF PROQ.’’
“It D EPEJM Dg UPOjM ‘THE MARKET,”
•CjRAVELY OBgERVED THE FP^OG.
52


I?v4
■■ &
„■ ;
V-
rxt^. FROCKS PHILOSOPHY.
X. you walk into my basket ? ”
Said Fanny to the frog;
“ I’ve just come back from market,
And the basket’s full of prog.”
“ It depends upon the market,”
Gravely observed the frog.
“Our dog he likes it well enough,”
Said Fanny to the frog;
“ I should not think you often get
A better chance of prog.”
“ Excuse me, miss,” the frog replied,
“You see, I’m not a dog.”
“ Then keep your muddy pool yourself,”
Said Fanny to the frog;
And, picking up *her basket,
Ran homeward to her dog.
“ I think perhaps it’s just, as well,”
Calmly remarked the frog.
i
53



DOROTHY DUNN.
Who will marry me, who’s the man ?
Timothy, Zachary, Peter, or Dan ?
Timothy’s forward, and Zachary shy,
And Peter’s nose it goes all awry ;
While as for Dan, I don’t think I can
OMarry an ugly and elderly man.
But somehow or other the lovers don’t come,
And Dorothy twiddles her finger and thumb;
Zachary swings all the day on a gate,
And Peter is trying to make his nose straight ;
While as for Dan, he is off to Japan,
Where the ladies declare he’s a charming old man.
y
And Timothy courts all the ladies but one,
And that one is particular Dorothy Dunn ;
If you asked him the reason, he’d say ’twas because
Miss Dorothy is not as sweet as she was ; k
While as for Miss D., she says with defiance, Y.',
That in man she had ne’er put the slightest reliance. :
55


?•
■ X v ;

jijUHE ROLLS’ SEASON
■i- * * -'■
m&K ■
•«*$> v-t
o ! '. set the bells ringing,”
The dollies wfere singing ;
“ We are all of us going to town,
With roses, and lilies,
And daffydowndillies,
And each in a silken gown.
“ Of the woods we are weary,
The country is dreary,
Tis desolate, dusty, and brown ;
We long for society’s
Charming varieties,
We are sure to be first in the town. ’
“ The style of our dresses
Is fit for princesses ;
Twill make the folks jealous in town,
With our roses and lilies,
And daffydowndillies,
And each in a silken gown.
“ O, rny sawdust is beating,”
They all kept repeating;
Our lovers will love at first sight;
I feel in my stitches
The sweetest of twitches ;
Am melting with rapture and light.”
The season was closing,
The dolls lay reposing
In tears on a lumber-room floor ;
No voices, no laughter
From basement to rafter,
And shut was each window and door,
58


In the dust y\ND th.e shadows
They eonqed pop the meadows,
^\nd the woods where they once WE PE AT
play ;
^UT NO ONE RELENTED,
In vain they repented,
Top THEIR SA wdu ^ t wa S EBBING AWAY.


r . s THE TALE OF THE SEA.
hat is the tale of it, mother, mother ?
What is the tale of the wide, wide sea ? '
Merry and sad are the tales, my darling,.
Merry and sad as tales must be.
Those ships that sail in the happy mornings,
Full of the lives and the souls of men,
Some will never come back, my darling,
Some will never come back again. ' â– 
Where are they gone, O mother, mother ?
Why is it cruel, the wide, wide sea ?
Tears and smiles are our lot, my darling,
Shadow and sun in the world must be.
They hear no longer the loud waves beating,
They feel no longer the cold, cold foam,
They sleep as sweet in the sea, my darling,
As you in your little bed at home.
Will it be so for ever, mother,
That friends must sever and tears must fall?
Not for ever, my child, for ever,
This world is not the end of all.
All will be changed, the earth and ocean,
We know not how and we know not when,
But those who have loved in this world, my darling,
Will meet in that world and be happy .then !
60


3fr$PV • ^
'V/hAT 1? THE TALE' 'OF IT, MOTHER,
Mother
*Vy H AT 13 THE TALE OF THE WIDE,
. WIDE SEA?
*jVlERRY 'AND SAD
ARE THE TALES, MY DARLINQ,
^ERRY AJN'D sad, as tales
MUST BE.
6l


REST.
There was sunlight falling through old green trees,
Where the birds sang all day long;
And the flow’rs were trembling in ecstasies,
—There is no joy but song.
There were two that wandered the woods along,
Where the green boughs waved above,
And their hearts gave back to the birds their song, .
— There is no joy but love.
There was moonlight over the sjlent sea
There was calm on vale and hill ;
"T3ut the old graveyard slept peacefully
In a hush that was deeper still.
There were closed eyes in the quiet earth,
There were hands on the sleeping breast;
No more sorrow, and no more mirth,
—There is no joy but rest.





STORAGE
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