ONLY SEVEN

IJOURNEYED, on a winter's day,Across the lonely wold;No bird did sing upon the spray,And it was very cold.I had a coach with horses four,Three white (though one was black),And on they went the common o'er,Nor swiftness did they lack.A little girl ran by the side,And she was pinched and thin.“Oh, please, sir, do give me a ride!I'm fetching mother's gin."“Enter my coach, sweet child," said I,“For you shall ride with me;And I will get you your supplyOf mother's eau-de-vie."The publican was stern and cold,And said: “Her mother's scoreIs writ, as you shall soon behold,Behind the bar-room door!"I blotted out the score with tears,And paid the money down;And took the maid of thirteen yearsBack to her mother's town.And though the past with surges wildFond memories may sever,The vision of that happy childWill leave my spirits never!Rudyard Kipling.

IJOURNEYED, on a winter's day,Across the lonely wold;No bird did sing upon the spray,And it was very cold.

IJOURNEYED, on a winter's day,

Across the lonely wold;

No bird did sing upon the spray,

And it was very cold.

I had a coach with horses four,Three white (though one was black),And on they went the common o'er,Nor swiftness did they lack.

I had a coach with horses four,

Three white (though one was black),

And on they went the common o'er,

Nor swiftness did they lack.

A little girl ran by the side,And she was pinched and thin.“Oh, please, sir, do give me a ride!I'm fetching mother's gin."

A little girl ran by the side,

And she was pinched and thin.

“Oh, please, sir, do give me a ride!

I'm fetching mother's gin."

“Enter my coach, sweet child," said I,“For you shall ride with me;And I will get you your supplyOf mother's eau-de-vie."

“Enter my coach, sweet child," said I,

“For you shall ride with me;

And I will get you your supply

Of mother's eau-de-vie."

The publican was stern and cold,And said: “Her mother's scoreIs writ, as you shall soon behold,Behind the bar-room door!"

The publican was stern and cold,

And said: “Her mother's score

Is writ, as you shall soon behold,

Behind the bar-room door!"

I blotted out the score with tears,And paid the money down;And took the maid of thirteen yearsBack to her mother's town.

I blotted out the score with tears,

And paid the money down;

And took the maid of thirteen years

Back to her mother's town.

And though the past with surges wildFond memories may sever,The vision of that happy childWill leave my spirits never!Rudyard Kipling.

And though the past with surges wild

Fond memories may sever,

The vision of that happy child

Will leave my spirits never!

Rudyard Kipling.

(A Pastoral Story after Wordsworth)

IMARVELLED why a simple child,That lightly draws its breath,Should utter groans so very wild,And look as pale as Death.Adopting a parental tone,I ask'd her why she cried;The damsel answered with a groan,“I've got a pain inside!“I thought it would have sent me madLast night about eleven."Said I, “What is it makes you bad?How many apples have you had?"She answered, “Only seven!"“And are you sure you took no more,My little maid?" quoth I;“Oh, please, sir, mother gave me four,But they were in a pie!"“If that's the case," I stammer'd out,“Of course you've had eleven."The maiden answered with a pout,“I ain't had more nor seven!"I wonder'd hugely what she meant,And said, “I'm bad at riddles;But I know where little girls are sentFor telling taradiddles.“Now, if you won't reform," said I,“You'll never go to Heaven."But all in vain; each time I try,That little idiot makes reply,“I ain't had more nor seven!"

IMARVELLED why a simple child,That lightly draws its breath,Should utter groans so very wild,And look as pale as Death.

IMARVELLED why a simple child,

That lightly draws its breath,

Should utter groans so very wild,

And look as pale as Death.

Adopting a parental tone,I ask'd her why she cried;The damsel answered with a groan,“I've got a pain inside!

Adopting a parental tone,

I ask'd her why she cried;

The damsel answered with a groan,

“I've got a pain inside!

“I thought it would have sent me madLast night about eleven."Said I, “What is it makes you bad?How many apples have you had?"She answered, “Only seven!"

“I thought it would have sent me mad

Last night about eleven."

Said I, “What is it makes you bad?

How many apples have you had?"

She answered, “Only seven!"

“And are you sure you took no more,My little maid?" quoth I;“Oh, please, sir, mother gave me four,But they were in a pie!"

“And are you sure you took no more,

My little maid?" quoth I;

“Oh, please, sir, mother gave me four,

But they were in a pie!"

“If that's the case," I stammer'd out,“Of course you've had eleven."The maiden answered with a pout,“I ain't had more nor seven!"

“If that's the case," I stammer'd out,

“Of course you've had eleven."

The maiden answered with a pout,

“I ain't had more nor seven!"

I wonder'd hugely what she meant,And said, “I'm bad at riddles;But I know where little girls are sentFor telling taradiddles.

I wonder'd hugely what she meant,

And said, “I'm bad at riddles;

But I know where little girls are sent

For telling taradiddles.

“Now, if you won't reform," said I,“You'll never go to Heaven."But all in vain; each time I try,That little idiot makes reply,“I ain't had more nor seven!"

“Now, if you won't reform," said I,

“You'll never go to Heaven."

But all in vain; each time I try,

That little idiot makes reply,

“I ain't had more nor seven!"

POSTSCRIPT

To borrow Wordsworth's name was wrong,Or slightly misapplied;And so I'd better call my song,“Lines after Ache-Inside."Henry S. Leigh.

To borrow Wordsworth's name was wrong,

Or slightly misapplied;

And so I'd better call my song,

“Lines after Ache-Inside."

Henry S. Leigh.

POOR Lucy Lake was overgrown,But somewhat underbrained.She did not know enough, I own,To go in when it rained.Yet Lucy was constrained to go;Green bedding,—you infer.Few people knew she died, but oh,The difference to her!Newton Mackintosh.

POOR Lucy Lake was overgrown,But somewhat underbrained.She did not know enough, I own,To go in when it rained.

POOR Lucy Lake was overgrown,

But somewhat underbrained.

She did not know enough, I own,

To go in when it rained.

Yet Lucy was constrained to go;Green bedding,—you infer.Few people knew she died, but oh,The difference to her!Newton Mackintosh.

Yet Lucy was constrained to go;

Green bedding,—you infer.

Few people knew she died, but oh,

The difference to her!

Newton Mackintosh.

(The true story in blank verse)

OH! young Lochinvar has come out of the West,Thro' all the wide border his horse has no equal,Having cost him forty-five dollars at the market,Where good nags, fresh from the country,With burrs still in their tails are sellingFor a song; and save his good broadswordHe weapon had none, except a seven shooterOr two, a pair of brass knuckles, and an ArkansawToothpick in his boot, so, comparatively speaking,He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone,Because there was no one going his way.He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not forToll-gates; he swam the Eske River where fordThere was none, and saved fifteen centsIn ferriage, but lost his pocket-book, containingSeventeen dollars and a half, by the operation.Ere he alighted at the Netherby mansionHe stopped to borrow a dry suit of clothes,And this delayed him considerably, so whenHe arrived the bride had consented—the gallantCame late—for a laggard in love and a dastard in warWas to wed the fair Ellen, and the guests had assembled.So boldly he entered the Netherby HallAmong bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers andBrothers-in-law and forty or fifty cousins;Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword(For the poor craven bridegroom ne'er opened his head):“Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in anger,Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"“I long wooed your daughter, and she will tell youI have the inside track in the free-for-allFor her affections! My suit you denied; but letThat pass, while I tell you, old fellow, that loveSwells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,And now I am come with this lost love of mineTo lead but one measure, drink one glass of beer;There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by farThat would gladly be bride to yours very truly."The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up,He quaffed off the nectar and threw down the mug,Smashing it into a million pieces, whileHe remarked that he was the son of a gunFrom Seven-up and run the Number Nine.She looked down to blush, but she looked up againFor she well understood the wink in his eye;He took her soft hand ere her mother couldInterfere, “Now tread we a measure; first fourHalf right and left; swing," cried young Lochinvar.One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,When they reached the hall-door and the chargerStood near on three legs eating post-hay;So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,Then leaped to the saddle before her.“She is won! we are gone! over bank! bush, and spar,They'll have swift steeds that follow"—but in theExcitement of the moment he had forgottenTo untie the horse, and the poor brute couldOnly gallop in a little circus around theHitching-post; so the old gent collaredThe youth and gave him the awfullest lambastingThat was ever heard of on Canobie Lee;So dauntless in war and so daring in love,Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?Anonymous.

OH! young Lochinvar has come out of the West,

Thro' all the wide border his horse has no equal,

Having cost him forty-five dollars at the market,

Where good nags, fresh from the country,

With burrs still in their tails are selling

For a song; and save his good broadsword

He weapon had none, except a seven shooter

Or two, a pair of brass knuckles, and an Arkansaw

Toothpick in his boot, so, comparatively speaking,He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone,Because there was no one going his way.He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not forToll-gates; he swam the Eske River where fordThere was none, and saved fifteen centsIn ferriage, but lost his pocket-book, containingSeventeen dollars and a half, by the operation.

Toothpick in his boot, so, comparatively speaking,

He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone,

Because there was no one going his way.

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for

Toll-gates; he swam the Eske River where ford

There was none, and saved fifteen cents

In ferriage, but lost his pocket-book, containing

Seventeen dollars and a half, by the operation.

Ere he alighted at the Netherby mansionHe stopped to borrow a dry suit of clothes,And this delayed him considerably, so whenHe arrived the bride had consented—the gallantCame late—for a laggard in love and a dastard in warWas to wed the fair Ellen, and the guests had assembled.

Ere he alighted at the Netherby mansion

He stopped to borrow a dry suit of clothes,

And this delayed him considerably, so when

He arrived the bride had consented—the gallant

Came late—for a laggard in love and a dastard in war

Was to wed the fair Ellen, and the guests had assembled.

So boldly he entered the Netherby HallAmong bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers andBrothers-in-law and forty or fifty cousins;Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword(For the poor craven bridegroom ne'er opened his head):

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall

Among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and

Brothers-in-law and forty or fifty cousins;

Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword

(For the poor craven bridegroom ne'er opened his head):

“Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in anger,Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"“I long wooed your daughter, and she will tell youI have the inside track in the free-for-allFor her affections! My suit you denied; but letThat pass, while I tell you, old fellow, that loveSwells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,And now I am come with this lost love of mineTo lead but one measure, drink one glass of beer;There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by farThat would gladly be bride to yours very truly."

“Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in anger,

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

“I long wooed your daughter, and she will tell you

I have the inside track in the free-for-all

For her affections! My suit you denied; but let

That pass, while I tell you, old fellow, that love

Swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,

And now I am come with this lost love of mine

To lead but one measure, drink one glass of beer;

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far

That would gladly be bride to yours very truly."

The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up,He quaffed off the nectar and threw down the mug,Smashing it into a million pieces, whileHe remarked that he was the son of a gunFrom Seven-up and run the Number Nine.She looked down to blush, but she looked up againFor she well understood the wink in his eye;He took her soft hand ere her mother couldInterfere, “Now tread we a measure; first fourHalf right and left; swing," cried young Lochinvar.

The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up,

He quaffed off the nectar and threw down the mug,

Smashing it into a million pieces, while

He remarked that he was the son of a gun

From Seven-up and run the Number Nine.

She looked down to blush, but she looked up again

For she well understood the wink in his eye;

He took her soft hand ere her mother could

Interfere, “Now tread we a measure; first four

Half right and left; swing," cried young Lochinvar.

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,When they reached the hall-door and the chargerStood near on three legs eating post-hay;So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,Then leaped to the saddle before her.“She is won! we are gone! over bank! bush, and spar,They'll have swift steeds that follow"—but in the

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall-door and the charger

Stood near on three legs eating post-hay;

So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,

Then leaped to the saddle before her.

“She is won! we are gone! over bank! bush, and spar,

They'll have swift steeds that follow"—but in the

Excitement of the moment he had forgottenTo untie the horse, and the poor brute couldOnly gallop in a little circus around theHitching-post; so the old gent collaredThe youth and gave him the awfullest lambastingThat was ever heard of on Canobie Lee;So dauntless in war and so daring in love,Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?Anonymous.

Excitement of the moment he had forgotten

To untie the horse, and the poor brute could

Only gallop in a little circus around the

Hitching-post; so the old gent collared

The youth and gave him the awfullest lambasting

That was ever heard of on Canobie Lee;

So dauntless in war and so daring in love,

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

Anonymous.

(The Wedding Guest's Version of the Affair from HisPoint of View)

IT is an Ancient Mariner,And he stoppeth one of three—In fact he coolly took my arm—“There was a ship," quoth he.“Bother your ships!" said I, “is thisThe time a yarn to spin?This is a wedding, don't you see,And I am next of kin.“The wedding breakfast has begun,We're hungry as can be—Hold off! Unhand me, longshore man!"With that his hand dropt he.But there was something in his eye,That made me sick and ill,Yet forced to listen to his yarn—The Mariner'd had his will.While Tom and Harry went their wayI sat upon a stone—So queer on Fanny's wedding dayMe sitting there alone!Then he began, that Mariner,To rove from pole to pole,In one long-winded, lengthened-out,Eternal rigmarole,About a ship in which he'd sailed,Though whither, goodness knows,Where “ice will split with a thunder-fit,"And every day it snows.And then about a precious birdOf some sort or another,That—was such nonsense ever heard?—Used to control the weather!Now, at this bird the MarinerResolved to have a shy,And laid it low with his cross-bow—And then the larks! My eye!For loss of that uncommon fowl,They couldn't get a breeze;And there they stuck, all out of luck,And rotted on the seas.The crew all died, or seemed to die,And he was left aloneWith that queer bird. You never heardWhat games were carried on!At last one day he stood and watchedThe fishes in the sea,And said, “I'm blest!" and so the shipWas from the spell set free.And it began to rain and blow,And as it rained and blew,The dead got up and worked the ship—That was a likely crew!However, somehow he escaped,And got again to land,But mad as any hatter, say,From Cornhill to the Strand.For he believes that certain folksAre singled out by fate,To whom this cock-and-bull affairOf his he must relate.Describing all the incidents,And painting all the scenes,As sailors will do in the talesThey tell to the Marines.Confound the Ancient Mariner!I knew I should be late;And so it was; the wedding guestsHad all declined to wait.Another had my place, and gaveMy toast; and sister FanSaid “'Twas a shame. What could you wantWith that seafaring man?"I felt like one that had been stunnedThrough all this wrong and scorn;A sadder and a later manI rose the morrow morn.Anonymous

IT is an Ancient Mariner,And he stoppeth one of three—In fact he coolly took my arm—“There was a ship," quoth he.

IT is an Ancient Mariner,

And he stoppeth one of three—

In fact he coolly took my arm—

“There was a ship," quoth he.

“Bother your ships!" said I, “is thisThe time a yarn to spin?This is a wedding, don't you see,And I am next of kin.

“Bother your ships!" said I, “is this

The time a yarn to spin?

This is a wedding, don't you see,

And I am next of kin.

“The wedding breakfast has begun,We're hungry as can be—Hold off! Unhand me, longshore man!"With that his hand dropt he.

“The wedding breakfast has begun,

We're hungry as can be—

Hold off! Unhand me, longshore man!"

With that his hand dropt he.

But there was something in his eye,That made me sick and ill,Yet forced to listen to his yarn—The Mariner'd had his will.

But there was something in his eye,

That made me sick and ill,

Yet forced to listen to his yarn—

The Mariner'd had his will.

While Tom and Harry went their wayI sat upon a stone—So queer on Fanny's wedding dayMe sitting there alone!

While Tom and Harry went their way

I sat upon a stone—

So queer on Fanny's wedding day

Me sitting there alone!

Then he began, that Mariner,To rove from pole to pole,In one long-winded, lengthened-out,Eternal rigmarole,

Then he began, that Mariner,

To rove from pole to pole,

In one long-winded, lengthened-out,

Eternal rigmarole,

About a ship in which he'd sailed,Though whither, goodness knows,Where “ice will split with a thunder-fit,"And every day it snows.

About a ship in which he'd sailed,

Though whither, goodness knows,

Where “ice will split with a thunder-fit,"

And every day it snows.

And then about a precious birdOf some sort or another,That—was such nonsense ever heard?—Used to control the weather!

And then about a precious bird

Of some sort or another,

That—was such nonsense ever heard?—

Used to control the weather!

Now, at this bird the MarinerResolved to have a shy,And laid it low with his cross-bow—And then the larks! My eye!

Now, at this bird the Mariner

Resolved to have a shy,

And laid it low with his cross-bow—

And then the larks! My eye!

For loss of that uncommon fowl,They couldn't get a breeze;And there they stuck, all out of luck,And rotted on the seas.

For loss of that uncommon fowl,

They couldn't get a breeze;

And there they stuck, all out of luck,

And rotted on the seas.

The crew all died, or seemed to die,And he was left aloneWith that queer bird. You never heardWhat games were carried on!

The crew all died, or seemed to die,

And he was left alone

With that queer bird. You never heard

What games were carried on!

At last one day he stood and watchedThe fishes in the sea,And said, “I'm blest!" and so the shipWas from the spell set free.

At last one day he stood and watched

The fishes in the sea,

And said, “I'm blest!" and so the ship

Was from the spell set free.

And it began to rain and blow,And as it rained and blew,The dead got up and worked the ship—That was a likely crew!

And it began to rain and blow,

And as it rained and blew,

The dead got up and worked the ship—

That was a likely crew!

However, somehow he escaped,And got again to land,But mad as any hatter, say,From Cornhill to the Strand.

However, somehow he escaped,

And got again to land,

But mad as any hatter, say,

From Cornhill to the Strand.

For he believes that certain folksAre singled out by fate,To whom this cock-and-bull affairOf his he must relate.

For he believes that certain folks

Are singled out by fate,

To whom this cock-and-bull affair

Of his he must relate.

Describing all the incidents,And painting all the scenes,As sailors will do in the talesThey tell to the Marines.

Describing all the incidents,

And painting all the scenes,

As sailors will do in the tales

They tell to the Marines.

Confound the Ancient Mariner!I knew I should be late;And so it was; the wedding guestsHad all declined to wait.

Confound the Ancient Mariner!

I knew I should be late;

And so it was; the wedding guests

Had all declined to wait.

Another had my place, and gaveMy toast; and sister FanSaid “'Twas a shame. What could you wantWith that seafaring man?"

Another had my place, and gave

My toast; and sister Fan

Said “'Twas a shame. What could you want

With that seafaring man?"

I felt like one that had been stunnedThrough all this wrong and scorn;A sadder and a later manI rose the morrow morn.Anonymous

I felt like one that had been stunned

Through all this wrong and scorn;

A sadder and a later man

I rose the morrow morn.

Anonymous

IT was a railway passenger,And he lept out jauntilie."Now up and bear, thou stout portèr,My two chattèls to me."Bring hither, bring hither my bag so red,And portmanteau so brown;(They lie in the van, for a trusty manHe labelled them London town:)"And fetch me eke a cabman bold,That I may be his fare, his fare;And he shall have a good shilling,If by two of the clock he do me bringTo the Terminus, Euston Square.""Now,—so to thee the saints alway,Good gentleman, give luck,—As never a cab may I find this day,For the cabman wights have struck.And now, I wis, at the Red Post Inn,Or else at the Dog and Duck,Or at Unicorn Blue, or at Green Griffin,The nut-brown ale and the fine old ginRight pleasantly they do suck.""Now rede me aright, thou stout portèr,What were it best that I should do:For woe is me, an' I reach not thereOr ever the clock strike two.""I have a son, a lytel son;Fleet is his foot as the wild roebuck's:Give him a shilling, and eke a brown,And he shall carry thy fardels downTo Euston, or half over London town,On one of the station trucks."Then forth in a hurry did they twain fare,The gent and the son of the stout portèr,Who fled like an arrow, nor turned a hair,Through all the mire and muck:"A ticket, a ticket, sir clerk, I pray:For by two of the clock must I needs away.""That may hardly be," the clerk did say,"For indeed—the clocks have struck."Charles S. Calverley.

IT was a railway passenger,And he lept out jauntilie."Now up and bear, thou stout portèr,My two chattèls to me.

IT was a railway passenger,

And he lept out jauntilie.

"Now up and bear, thou stout portèr,

My two chattèls to me.

"Bring hither, bring hither my bag so red,And portmanteau so brown;(They lie in the van, for a trusty manHe labelled them London town:)

"Bring hither, bring hither my bag so red,

And portmanteau so brown;

(They lie in the van, for a trusty man

He labelled them London town:)

"And fetch me eke a cabman bold,That I may be his fare, his fare;And he shall have a good shilling,If by two of the clock he do me bringTo the Terminus, Euston Square."

"And fetch me eke a cabman bold,

That I may be his fare, his fare;

And he shall have a good shilling,

If by two of the clock he do me bring

To the Terminus, Euston Square."

"Now,—so to thee the saints alway,Good gentleman, give luck,—As never a cab may I find this day,For the cabman wights have struck.

"Now,—so to thee the saints alway,

Good gentleman, give luck,—

As never a cab may I find this day,

For the cabman wights have struck.

And now, I wis, at the Red Post Inn,Or else at the Dog and Duck,Or at Unicorn Blue, or at Green Griffin,The nut-brown ale and the fine old ginRight pleasantly they do suck."

And now, I wis, at the Red Post Inn,

Or else at the Dog and Duck,

Or at Unicorn Blue, or at Green Griffin,

The nut-brown ale and the fine old gin

Right pleasantly they do suck."

"Now rede me aright, thou stout portèr,What were it best that I should do:For woe is me, an' I reach not thereOr ever the clock strike two."

"Now rede me aright, thou stout portèr,

What were it best that I should do:

For woe is me, an' I reach not there

Or ever the clock strike two."

"I have a son, a lytel son;Fleet is his foot as the wild roebuck's:Give him a shilling, and eke a brown,And he shall carry thy fardels downTo Euston, or half over London town,On one of the station trucks."

"I have a son, a lytel son;

Fleet is his foot as the wild roebuck's:

Give him a shilling, and eke a brown,

And he shall carry thy fardels down

To Euston, or half over London town,

On one of the station trucks."

Then forth in a hurry did they twain fare,The gent and the son of the stout portèr,Who fled like an arrow, nor turned a hair,Through all the mire and muck:"A ticket, a ticket, sir clerk, I pray:For by two of the clock must I needs away.""That may hardly be," the clerk did say,"For indeed—the clocks have struck."Charles S. Calverley.

Then forth in a hurry did they twain fare,

The gent and the son of the stout portèr,

Who fled like an arrow, nor turned a hair,

Through all the mire and muck:

"A ticket, a ticket, sir clerk, I pray:

For by two of the clock must I needs away."

"That may hardly be," the clerk did say,

"For indeed—the clocks have struck."

Charles S. Calverley.

(By Northey-Southey-Eastey-Westey)

"YOU are cold, Father William," the young man cried,"You shake and you shiver, I say;You've a cold, Father William, your nose it is red,Now tell me the reason, I pray.""In the days of my youth," Father William replied—(He was a dissembling old man)"I put lumps of ice in my grandpapa's boots,And snowballed my Aunt Mary Ann.""Go along, Father William," the young man cried,"You are trying it on, sir, to-day;What makes your teeth chatter like bone castanets?Come tell me the reason, I pray.""In the days of my youth," Father William replied,"I went to the North Pole with Parry;And now, my sweet boy, the Arc-tic doloreauxPlays with this old man the Old Harry.""Get out! Father William," the young man cried."Come, you shouldn't go on in this way;You are funny, but still you've a frightful bad cold—Now tell me the reason, I pray.""I am cold, then, dear youth," Father William replied;"I've a cold, my impertinent son,Because for some weeks my coals have been boughtAt forty-eight shillings a ton!"

"YOU are cold, Father William," the young man cried,"You shake and you shiver, I say;You've a cold, Father William, your nose it is red,Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"YOU are cold, Father William," the young man cried,

"You shake and you shiver, I say;

You've a cold, Father William, your nose it is red,

Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied—(He was a dissembling old man)"I put lumps of ice in my grandpapa's boots,And snowballed my Aunt Mary Ann."

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied—

(He was a dissembling old man)

"I put lumps of ice in my grandpapa's boots,

And snowballed my Aunt Mary Ann."

"Go along, Father William," the young man cried,"You are trying it on, sir, to-day;What makes your teeth chatter like bone castanets?Come tell me the reason, I pray."

"Go along, Father William," the young man cried,

"You are trying it on, sir, to-day;

What makes your teeth chatter like bone castanets?

Come tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied,"I went to the North Pole with Parry;And now, my sweet boy, the Arc-tic doloreauxPlays with this old man the Old Harry."

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied,

"I went to the North Pole with Parry;

And now, my sweet boy, the Arc-tic doloreaux

Plays with this old man the Old Harry."

"Get out! Father William," the young man cried."Come, you shouldn't go on in this way;You are funny, but still you've a frightful bad cold—Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"Get out! Father William," the young man cried.

"Come, you shouldn't go on in this way;

You are funny, but still you've a frightful bad cold—

Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"I am cold, then, dear youth," Father William replied;"I've a cold, my impertinent son,Because for some weeks my coals have been boughtAt forty-eight shillings a ton!"

"I am cold, then, dear youth," Father William replied;

"I've a cold, my impertinent son,

Because for some weeks my coals have been bought

At forty-eight shillings a ton!"

"YOU are old, Father William," the young man said,"And your hair has become very white;And yet you incessantly stand on your head—Do you think, at your age, it is right?""In my youth," Father William replied to his son,"I feared it might injure the brain;But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,Why, I do it again and again.""You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,And grown most uncommonly fat;Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—Pray what is the reason of that?""In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks,"I kept all my limbs very suppleBy the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—Allow me to sell you a couple.""You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weakFor anything tougher than suet;Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak;Pray, how did you manage to do it?""In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,And argued each case with my wife;And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw,Has lasted the rest of my life.""You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly supposeThat your eye was as steady as ever;Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—What made you so awfully clever?""I have answered three questions and that is enough,"Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!"Lewis Carroll

"YOU are old, Father William," the young man said,"And your hair has become very white;And yet you incessantly stand on your head—Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"YOU are old, Father William," the young man said,

"And your hair has become very white;

And yet you incessantly stand on your head—

Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,"I feared it might injure the brain;But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,Why, I do it again and again."

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,

"I feared it might injure the brain;

But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,

Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,And grown most uncommonly fat;Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—Pray what is the reason of that?"

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,

And grown most uncommonly fat;

Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—

Pray what is the reason of that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks,"I kept all my limbs very suppleBy the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—Allow me to sell you a couple."

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks,

"I kept all my limbs very supple

By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—

Allow me to sell you a couple."

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weakFor anything tougher than suet;Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak;Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak

For anything tougher than suet;

Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak;

Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,And argued each case with my wife;And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw,Has lasted the rest of my life."

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,

And argued each case with my wife;

And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw,

Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly supposeThat your eye was as steady as ever;Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—What made you so awfully clever?"

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose

That your eye was as steady as ever;

Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—

What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions and that is enough,"Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!"Lewis Carroll

"I have answered three questions and that is enough,"

Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!

Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?

Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!"

Lewis Carroll

(Sapphics)

DOWN the green hill-side fro' the castle windowLady Jane spied Bill Amaranth a-workin';Day by day watched him go about his ampleNursery garden.Cabbages thriv'd there, wi' a mort o' green-stuff—Kidney beans, broad beans, onions, tomatoes,Artichokes, seakale, vegetable marrows,Early potatoes.Lady Jane cared not very much for all these:What she cared much for was a glimpse o' WillumStrippin' his brown arms wi' a view to horti-Cultural effort.Little guessed Willum, never extra-vain, thatUp the green hill-side, i' the gloomy castle,Feminine eyes could so delight to view hisNoble proportions.Only one day while, in an innocent mood,Moppin' his brow (cos 'twas a trifle sweaty)With a blue kerchief—lo, he spies a white unCoyly responding.Oh, delightsome Love! Not a jot doyoucareFor the restrictions set on human inter-Course by cold-blooded social refiners;Nor do I, neither.Day by day, peepin' fro' behind the bean-sticks,Willum observed that scrap o' white a-wavin',Till his hot sighs out-growin' all repressionBusted his weskit.Lady Jane's guardian was a haughty Peer, whoClung to old creeds and had a nasty temper;Can we blame Willum that he hardly cared toRisk a refusal?Year by year found him busy 'mid the bean-sticks,Wholly uncertain how on earth to take steps.Thus for eighteen years he beheld the maidenWave fro' her window.But the nineteenth spring, i' the castle post-bag,Came by book-post Bill's catalogue o' seedlingsMark'd wi' blue ink at "Paragraphs relatin'Mainly to Pumpkins.""W. A. can," so the Lady Jane read,"Strongly commend that very noble Gourd, theLady Jane, first-class medal, ornamental;Grows to a great height."Scarce a year arter, by the scented hedgerows—Down the mown hill-side, fro' the castle gateway—Came a long train and, i' the midst, a black bier,Easily shouldered."Whose is yon corse that, thus adorned wi' gourd leavesForth ye bear with slow step?" A mourner answer'd,"'Tis the poor clay-cold body Lady Jane grewTired to abide in.""Delve my grave quick, then, for I die to-morrow.Delve it one furlong fro' the kidney bean-sticks,Where I may dream she's goin' on preciselyAs she was used to."Hardly died Bill when, fro' the Lady Jane's grave,Crept to his white death-bed a lovely pumpkin:Climb'd the house wall and over-arched his head wi'Billowy verdure.Simple this tale!—but delicately perfumedAs the sweet roadside honeysuckle. That's why,Difficult though its metre was to tackle,I'm glad I wrote it.A. T. Quiller-Couch.

DOWN the green hill-side fro' the castle windowLady Jane spied Bill Amaranth a-workin';Day by day watched him go about his ampleNursery garden.

DOWN the green hill-side fro' the castle window

Lady Jane spied Bill Amaranth a-workin';

Day by day watched him go about his ample

Nursery garden.

Cabbages thriv'd there, wi' a mort o' green-stuff—Kidney beans, broad beans, onions, tomatoes,Artichokes, seakale, vegetable marrows,Early potatoes.

Cabbages thriv'd there, wi' a mort o' green-stuff—

Kidney beans, broad beans, onions, tomatoes,

Artichokes, seakale, vegetable marrows,

Early potatoes.

Lady Jane cared not very much for all these:What she cared much for was a glimpse o' WillumStrippin' his brown arms wi' a view to horti-Cultural effort.

Lady Jane cared not very much for all these:

What she cared much for was a glimpse o' Willum

Strippin' his brown arms wi' a view to horti-

Cultural effort.

Little guessed Willum, never extra-vain, thatUp the green hill-side, i' the gloomy castle,Feminine eyes could so delight to view hisNoble proportions.

Little guessed Willum, never extra-vain, that

Up the green hill-side, i' the gloomy castle,

Feminine eyes could so delight to view his

Noble proportions.

Only one day while, in an innocent mood,Moppin' his brow (cos 'twas a trifle sweaty)With a blue kerchief—lo, he spies a white unCoyly responding.

Only one day while, in an innocent mood,

Moppin' his brow (cos 'twas a trifle sweaty)

With a blue kerchief—lo, he spies a white un

Coyly responding.

Oh, delightsome Love! Not a jot doyoucareFor the restrictions set on human inter-Course by cold-blooded social refiners;Nor do I, neither.

Oh, delightsome Love! Not a jot doyoucare

For the restrictions set on human inter-

Course by cold-blooded social refiners;

Nor do I, neither.

Day by day, peepin' fro' behind the bean-sticks,Willum observed that scrap o' white a-wavin',Till his hot sighs out-growin' all repressionBusted his weskit.

Day by day, peepin' fro' behind the bean-sticks,

Willum observed that scrap o' white a-wavin',

Till his hot sighs out-growin' all repression

Busted his weskit.

Lady Jane's guardian was a haughty Peer, whoClung to old creeds and had a nasty temper;Can we blame Willum that he hardly cared toRisk a refusal?

Lady Jane's guardian was a haughty Peer, who

Clung to old creeds and had a nasty temper;

Can we blame Willum that he hardly cared to

Risk a refusal?

Year by year found him busy 'mid the bean-sticks,Wholly uncertain how on earth to take steps.Thus for eighteen years he beheld the maidenWave fro' her window.

Year by year found him busy 'mid the bean-sticks,

Wholly uncertain how on earth to take steps.

Thus for eighteen years he beheld the maiden

Wave fro' her window.

But the nineteenth spring, i' the castle post-bag,Came by book-post Bill's catalogue o' seedlingsMark'd wi' blue ink at "Paragraphs relatin'Mainly to Pumpkins."

But the nineteenth spring, i' the castle post-bag,

Came by book-post Bill's catalogue o' seedlings

Mark'd wi' blue ink at "Paragraphs relatin'

Mainly to Pumpkins."

"W. A. can," so the Lady Jane read,"Strongly commend that very noble Gourd, theLady Jane, first-class medal, ornamental;Grows to a great height."

"W. A. can," so the Lady Jane read,

"Strongly commend that very noble Gourd, the

Lady Jane, first-class medal, ornamental;

Grows to a great height."

Scarce a year arter, by the scented hedgerows—Down the mown hill-side, fro' the castle gateway—Came a long train and, i' the midst, a black bier,Easily shouldered.

Scarce a year arter, by the scented hedgerows—

Down the mown hill-side, fro' the castle gateway—

Came a long train and, i' the midst, a black bier,

Easily shouldered.

"Whose is yon corse that, thus adorned wi' gourd leavesForth ye bear with slow step?" A mourner answer'd,"'Tis the poor clay-cold body Lady Jane grewTired to abide in."

"Whose is yon corse that, thus adorned wi' gourd leaves

Forth ye bear with slow step?" A mourner answer'd,

"'Tis the poor clay-cold body Lady Jane grew

Tired to abide in."

"Delve my grave quick, then, for I die to-morrow.Delve it one furlong fro' the kidney bean-sticks,Where I may dream she's goin' on preciselyAs she was used to."

"Delve my grave quick, then, for I die to-morrow.

Delve it one furlong fro' the kidney bean-sticks,

Where I may dream she's goin' on precisely

As she was used to."

Hardly died Bill when, fro' the Lady Jane's grave,Crept to his white death-bed a lovely pumpkin:Climb'd the house wall and over-arched his head wi'Billowy verdure.

Hardly died Bill when, fro' the Lady Jane's grave,

Crept to his white death-bed a lovely pumpkin:

Climb'd the house wall and over-arched his head wi'

Billowy verdure.

Simple this tale!—but delicately perfumedAs the sweet roadside honeysuckle. That's why,Difficult though its metre was to tackle,I'm glad I wrote it.A. T. Quiller-Couch.

Simple this tale!—but delicately perfumed

As the sweet roadside honeysuckle. That's why,

Difficult though its metre was to tackle,

I'm glad I wrote it.

A. T. Quiller-Couch.

THERE came to port last Sunday nightThe queerest little craft,Without an inch of rigging on;I looked and looked—and laughed!It seemed so curious that sheShould cross the Unknown water,And moor herself within my room—My daughter! Oh, my daughter!Yet by these presents witness allShe's welcome fifty times,And comes consigned in hope and love—And common-metre rhymes.She has no manifest but this,No flag floats o'er the water;She's too new for the British Lloyds—My daughter! Oh, my daughter!Ring out, wild bells—and tame ones too,Ring out the lover's moon;Ring in the little worsted socks,Ring in the bib and spoon.Ring out the muse, ring in the nurse,Ring in the milk and water;Away with paper, pen, and ink—My daughter! Oh, my daughter!George Washington Cable.

THERE came to port last Sunday night

The queerest little craft,

Without an inch of rigging on;

I looked and looked—and laughed!

It seemed so curious that she

Should cross the Unknown water,

And moor herself within my room—

My daughter! Oh, my daughter!

Yet by these presents witness allShe's welcome fifty times,And comes consigned in hope and love—And common-metre rhymes.She has no manifest but this,No flag floats o'er the water;She's too new for the British Lloyds—My daughter! Oh, my daughter!

Yet by these presents witness all

She's welcome fifty times,

And comes consigned in hope and love—

And common-metre rhymes.

She has no manifest but this,

No flag floats o'er the water;

She's too new for the British Lloyds—

My daughter! Oh, my daughter!

Ring out, wild bells—and tame ones too,Ring out the lover's moon;Ring in the little worsted socks,Ring in the bib and spoon.Ring out the muse, ring in the nurse,Ring in the milk and water;Away with paper, pen, and ink—My daughter! Oh, my daughter!George Washington Cable.

Ring out, wild bells—and tame ones too,

Ring out the lover's moon;

Ring in the little worsted socks,

Ring in the bib and spoon.

Ring out the muse, ring in the nurse,

Ring in the milk and water;

Away with paper, pen, and ink—

My daughter! Oh, my daughter!

George Washington Cable.

AFELLOW near Kentucky's climeCries, "Boatman, do not tarry,And I'll give thee a silver dimeTo row us o'er the ferry.""Now, who would cross the Ohio,This dark and stormy water?""O, I am this young lady's beau,And she, John Thompson's daughter."We've fled before her father's spiteWith great precipitation;And should he find us here to-night,I'd lose my reputation."They've missed the girl and purse beside,His horsemen hard have pressed me;And who will cheer my bonny bride,If yet they shall arrest me?"Out spoke the boatman then in time,"You shall not fail, don't fear it;I'll go, not for your silver dime,But for your manly spirit."And by my word, the bonny birdIn danger shall not tarry;For though a storm is coming on,I'll row you o'er the ferry."By this the wind more fiercely rose,The boat was at the landing;And with the drenching rain their clothesGrew wet where they were standing.But still, as wilder rose the wind,And as the night grew drearer;Just back a piece came the police,Their tramping sounded nearer."Oh, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,"It's anything but funny;I'll leave the light of loving eyes,But not my father's money!"And still they hurried in the faceOf wind and rain unsparing;John Thompson reached the landing place—His wrath was turned to swearing.For by the lightning's angry flash,His child he did discover;One lovely hand held all the cash,And one was round her lover!"Come back, come back!" he cried in woe,Across the stormy water;"But leave the purse, and you may go,My daughter, oh, my daughter!"'Twas vain; they reached the other shore(Such doom the Fates assign us);The gold he piled went with his child,And he was left thereminus.Phœbe Cary.

AFELLOW near Kentucky's climeCries, "Boatman, do not tarry,And I'll give thee a silver dimeTo row us o'er the ferry."

AFELLOW near Kentucky's clime

Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry,

And I'll give thee a silver dime

To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now, who would cross the Ohio,This dark and stormy water?""O, I am this young lady's beau,And she, John Thompson's daughter.

"Now, who would cross the Ohio,

This dark and stormy water?"

"O, I am this young lady's beau,

And she, John Thompson's daughter.

"We've fled before her father's spiteWith great precipitation;And should he find us here to-night,I'd lose my reputation.

"We've fled before her father's spite

With great precipitation;

And should he find us here to-night,

I'd lose my reputation.

"They've missed the girl and purse beside,His horsemen hard have pressed me;And who will cheer my bonny bride,If yet they shall arrest me?"

"They've missed the girl and purse beside,

His horsemen hard have pressed me;

And who will cheer my bonny bride,

If yet they shall arrest me?"

Out spoke the boatman then in time,"You shall not fail, don't fear it;I'll go, not for your silver dime,But for your manly spirit.

Out spoke the boatman then in time,

"You shall not fail, don't fear it;

I'll go, not for your silver dime,

But for your manly spirit.

"And by my word, the bonny birdIn danger shall not tarry;For though a storm is coming on,I'll row you o'er the ferry."

"And by my word, the bonny bird

In danger shall not tarry;

For though a storm is coming on,

I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this the wind more fiercely rose,The boat was at the landing;And with the drenching rain their clothesGrew wet where they were standing.

By this the wind more fiercely rose,

The boat was at the landing;

And with the drenching rain their clothes

Grew wet where they were standing.

But still, as wilder rose the wind,And as the night grew drearer;Just back a piece came the police,Their tramping sounded nearer.

But still, as wilder rose the wind,

And as the night grew drearer;

Just back a piece came the police,

Their tramping sounded nearer.

"Oh, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,"It's anything but funny;I'll leave the light of loving eyes,But not my father's money!"

"Oh, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,

"It's anything but funny;

I'll leave the light of loving eyes,

But not my father's money!"

And still they hurried in the faceOf wind and rain unsparing;John Thompson reached the landing place—His wrath was turned to swearing.

And still they hurried in the face

Of wind and rain unsparing;

John Thompson reached the landing place—

His wrath was turned to swearing.

For by the lightning's angry flash,His child he did discover;One lovely hand held all the cash,And one was round her lover!

For by the lightning's angry flash,

His child he did discover;

One lovely hand held all the cash,

And one was round her lover!

"Come back, come back!" he cried in woe,Across the stormy water;"But leave the purse, and you may go,My daughter, oh, my daughter!"

"Come back, come back!" he cried in woe,

Across the stormy water;

"But leave the purse, and you may go,

My daughter, oh, my daughter!"

'Twas vain; they reached the other shore(Such doom the Fates assign us);The gold he piled went with his child,And he was left thereminus.Phœbe Cary.

'Twas vain; they reached the other shore

(Such doom the Fates assign us);

The gold he piled went with his child,

And he was left thereminus.

Phœbe Cary.

'TIS a last choice HavanaI hold here alone;All its fragrant companionsIn perfume have flown.No more of its kindredTo gladden the eye,So my empty cigar caseI close with a sigh.I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,To pine; but the stemI'll bite off and light theeTo waft thee to them.And gently I'll scatterThe ashes you shed,As your soul joins its mates inA cloud overhead.All pleasure is fleeting,It blooms to decay;From the weeds' glowing circleThe ash drops away.A last whiff is taken,The butt-end is thrown,And with empty cigar-case,I sit all alone.Anonymous.

'TIS a last choice HavanaI hold here alone;All its fragrant companionsIn perfume have flown.No more of its kindredTo gladden the eye,So my empty cigar caseI close with a sigh.

'TIS a last choice Havana

I hold here alone;

All its fragrant companions

In perfume have flown.

No more of its kindred

To gladden the eye,

So my empty cigar case

I close with a sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,To pine; but the stemI'll bite off and light theeTo waft thee to them.And gently I'll scatterThe ashes you shed,As your soul joins its mates inA cloud overhead.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,

To pine; but the stem

I'll bite off and light thee

To waft thee to them.

And gently I'll scatter

The ashes you shed,

As your soul joins its mates in

A cloud overhead.

All pleasure is fleeting,It blooms to decay;From the weeds' glowing circleThe ash drops away.A last whiff is taken,The butt-end is thrown,And with empty cigar-case,I sit all alone.Anonymous.

All pleasure is fleeting,

It blooms to decay;

From the weeds' glowing circle

The ash drops away.

A last whiff is taken,

The butt-end is thrown,

And with empty cigar-case,

I sit all alone.

Anonymous.

INEVER bought a young gazelle,To glad me with its soft black eye,But, when it came to know me well,'Twas sure to butt me on the sly.I never drilled a cockatoo,To speak with almost human lip,But, when a pretty phrase it knew,'Twas sure to give some friend a nip.I never trained a collie houndTo be affectionate and mild,But, when I thought a prize I'd found,'Twas sure to bite my youngest child.I never kept a tabby kitTo cheer my leisure with its tricks,But, when we all grew fond of it,'Twas sure to catch the neighbor's chicks.I never reared a turtle-dove,To coo all day with gentle breath,But, when its life seemed one of love,'Twas sure to peck its mate to death.I never—well I never yet—And I have spent no end of pelf—Invested money in a petThat didn't misconduct itself.Anonymous.

INEVER bought a young gazelle,To glad me with its soft black eye,But, when it came to know me well,'Twas sure to butt me on the sly.

INEVER bought a young gazelle,

To glad me with its soft black eye,

But, when it came to know me well,

'Twas sure to butt me on the sly.

I never drilled a cockatoo,To speak with almost human lip,But, when a pretty phrase it knew,'Twas sure to give some friend a nip.

I never drilled a cockatoo,

To speak with almost human lip,

But, when a pretty phrase it knew,

'Twas sure to give some friend a nip.

I never trained a collie houndTo be affectionate and mild,But, when I thought a prize I'd found,'Twas sure to bite my youngest child.

I never trained a collie hound

To be affectionate and mild,

But, when I thought a prize I'd found,

'Twas sure to bite my youngest child.

I never kept a tabby kitTo cheer my leisure with its tricks,But, when we all grew fond of it,'Twas sure to catch the neighbor's chicks.

I never kept a tabby kit

To cheer my leisure with its tricks,

But, when we all grew fond of it,

'Twas sure to catch the neighbor's chicks.

I never reared a turtle-dove,To coo all day with gentle breath,But, when its life seemed one of love,'Twas sure to peck its mate to death.

I never reared a turtle-dove,

To coo all day with gentle breath,

But, when its life seemed one of love,

'Twas sure to peck its mate to death.

I never—well I never yet—And I have spent no end of pelf—Invested money in a petThat didn't misconduct itself.Anonymous.

I never—well I never yet—

And I have spent no end of pelf—

Invested money in a pet

That didn't misconduct itself.

Anonymous.

There's a bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard,And the cabbages grow round it, planted for greens;In the time of my childhood 'twas terribly hardTo bend down the bean-poles, and pick off the beans.That bower and its products I never forget,But oft, when my landlady presses me hard,I think, are the cabbages growing there yet,Are the bean-vines still bearing in Benjamin's yard?No, the bean-vines soon withered that once used to wave,But some beans had been gathered, the last that hung on;And a soup was distilled in a kettle, that gaveAll the fragrance of summer when summer was gone.Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,An essence that breathes of it awfully hard;As thus good to my taste as 'twas then to my eyes,Is that bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard.Phœbe Cary.

There's a bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard,And the cabbages grow round it, planted for greens;In the time of my childhood 'twas terribly hardTo bend down the bean-poles, and pick off the beans.

There's a bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard,

And the cabbages grow round it, planted for greens;

In the time of my childhood 'twas terribly hard

To bend down the bean-poles, and pick off the beans.

That bower and its products I never forget,But oft, when my landlady presses me hard,I think, are the cabbages growing there yet,Are the bean-vines still bearing in Benjamin's yard?

That bower and its products I never forget,

But oft, when my landlady presses me hard,

I think, are the cabbages growing there yet,

Are the bean-vines still bearing in Benjamin's yard?

No, the bean-vines soon withered that once used to wave,But some beans had been gathered, the last that hung on;And a soup was distilled in a kettle, that gaveAll the fragrance of summer when summer was gone.

No, the bean-vines soon withered that once used to wave,

But some beans had been gathered, the last that hung on;

And a soup was distilled in a kettle, that gave

All the fragrance of summer when summer was gone.

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,An essence that breathes of it awfully hard;As thus good to my taste as 'twas then to my eyes,Is that bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard.Phœbe Cary.

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,

An essence that breathes of it awfully hard;

As thus good to my taste as 'twas then to my eyes,

Is that bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard.

Phœbe Cary.

'TWAS ever thus from childhood's hour!My fondest hopes would not decay;I never loved a tree or flowerWhich was the first to fade away!The garden, where I used to delveShort-frock'd, still yields me pinks in plenty;The pear-tree that I climbed at twelveI see still blossoming, at twenty.I never nursed a dear gazelle;But I was given a parroquet—(How I did nurse him if unwell!)He's imbecile, but lingers yet.He's green, with an enchanting tuft;He melts me with his small black eye;He'd look inimitable stuffed,And knows it—but he will not die!I had a kitten—I was richIn pets—but all too soon my kittenBecame a full-sized cat, by whichI've more than once been scratched and bitten.And when for sleep her limbs she curl'dOne day beside her untouch'd plateful,And glided calmly from the world,I freely own that I was grateful.And then I bought a dog—a queen!Ah, Tiny, dear departing pug!She lives, but she is past sixteenAnd scarce can crawl across the rug.I loved her beautiful and kind;Delighted in her pert bow-wow;But now she snaps if you don't mind;'Twere lunacy to love her now.I used to think, should e'er mishapBetide my crumple-visaged Ti,In shape of prowling thief, or trap,Or coarse bull-terrier—I should die.But ah! disasters have their use,And life might e'en be too sunshiny;Nor would I make myself a goose,If some big dog should swallow Tiny.Charles S. Calverley.

'TWAS ever thus from childhood's hour!

My fondest hopes would not decay;

I never loved a tree or flower

Which was the first to fade away!

The garden, where I used to delve

Short-frock'd, still yields me pinks in plenty;

The pear-tree that I climbed at twelve

I see still blossoming, at twenty.

I never nursed a dear gazelle;But I was given a parroquet—(How I did nurse him if unwell!)He's imbecile, but lingers yet.He's green, with an enchanting tuft;He melts me with his small black eye;He'd look inimitable stuffed,And knows it—but he will not die!

I never nursed a dear gazelle;

But I was given a parroquet—

(How I did nurse him if unwell!)

He's imbecile, but lingers yet.

He's green, with an enchanting tuft;

He melts me with his small black eye;

He'd look inimitable stuffed,

And knows it—but he will not die!

I had a kitten—I was richIn pets—but all too soon my kittenBecame a full-sized cat, by whichI've more than once been scratched and bitten.And when for sleep her limbs she curl'dOne day beside her untouch'd plateful,And glided calmly from the world,I freely own that I was grateful.

I had a kitten—I was rich

In pets—but all too soon my kitten

Became a full-sized cat, by which

I've more than once been scratched and bitten.

And when for sleep her limbs she curl'd

One day beside her untouch'd plateful,

And glided calmly from the world,

I freely own that I was grateful.

And then I bought a dog—a queen!Ah, Tiny, dear departing pug!She lives, but she is past sixteenAnd scarce can crawl across the rug.I loved her beautiful and kind;Delighted in her pert bow-wow;But now she snaps if you don't mind;'Twere lunacy to love her now.

And then I bought a dog—a queen!

Ah, Tiny, dear departing pug!

She lives, but she is past sixteen

And scarce can crawl across the rug.

I loved her beautiful and kind;

Delighted in her pert bow-wow;

But now she snaps if you don't mind;

'Twere lunacy to love her now.

I used to think, should e'er mishapBetide my crumple-visaged Ti,In shape of prowling thief, or trap,Or coarse bull-terrier—I should die.But ah! disasters have their use,And life might e'en be too sunshiny;Nor would I make myself a goose,If some big dog should swallow Tiny.Charles S. Calverley.

I used to think, should e'er mishap

Betide my crumple-visaged Ti,

In shape of prowling thief, or trap,

Or coarse bull-terrier—I should die.

But ah! disasters have their use,

And life might e'en be too sunshiny;

Nor would I make myself a goose,

If some big dog should swallow Tiny.

Charles S. Calverley.

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