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AFTER SUNSET
AFTER sundset in the west,
Robes that clad the monarch Day,
Golden crown and crimson vest,
All are spurned and cast away.
Far along the the purple sea
Fading splendors slowly die;
Many a bird to many a tree
Rustling flies, for night is nigh.
After sunset, gone the glow,
All the air with silence fills;
After sunset, colder blow
Wailing winds from lonely hills.
Ceased is labor, hushed is mirth,
Day has died on couch of gold;
Twilight veils the weary earth,
Quiet broods o'er flock and fold.
After sunset, o'er the moor
Slowly flies the plover home;
To the leafy cottage door,
Sleepy-eyed, the children come;
Watching how the great white moon
Rises high o'er hill and plain;
Silvery stars will sparkle soon,
Peeping out and in again.
After sunset, melodies
All unheard in noisy day,
Like a fragrant southern breeze
Through the pensive spirit stray.
Mem'ries, lost, ah me! so long,
Floating round me dreamily,
Like a dim-rememberrd song,
Melt into a thought of thee!
THE WORLD ON WHEELS.--STATE COACH OF JOHN V. OF PORTUGAL.
THE WORLD ON WHEELS.--EARLY MAIL COACH.
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The Shoe That Fitted.
THE minister hit 'em every time,
And when he spoke of fashion,
And riggin' out in bows and things,
As woman's rulin' passion,
And comin' to church to see the styles,
I couldn't help a winkin'
And nudgin' my wife, and says I, "That's you,'
And I guess it sot her to thinkin'.
Just then the minister says, says he,
"And now I've come to the f llers
Who've lost this shower by usin' their friends
As a sort o' moral umbrellas.
Go home," said he, "and find your faults
Instead of huntin' your brother's;
"Go home," says he, "and wear the coats
You tried to fit for others."
My wife she nudged, and Brown he winked,
And there was lots o' smilin',
And lots o' lookin' at our pew,
It sot my blood a bilin',
Says I to myself, our minister
Is gitting a little bitter;
I'll tell him, when meetin's out, that I
Ain't at all that kind of a critter.
Home Song
STAY, stay at home, my heart, and rest;
Home-keeping hearts are happiest;
For those that wander they know not where
Are full of trouble and full of care;
To stay at home is best.
Weary and homesick and distressed,
They wander east, they wander west,
And are baffled and beaten and blown about
By the winds of the wilderness of doubt;
To stay at home is best.
Then stay at home, my heart, and rest;
The bird is safest in its nest;
O'er all that flutter their wings and fly
A hawk is hovering in the sky;
To stay at home is best.
LONGFELLOW
The Hired Squirrel.
A LION to the squirrel said:
"Work faithfully for me.
And when your task is done, my friend,
Rewarded you shall be
With barrelful of finest nuts fresh from
My own nut tree."
"My lion king," the squirrel said, "to this
I do agree."
The squirrel toiled both day and night
Quite faithful to his hire;
So hungry and so faint, sometimes,
He thought he must expire.
But still he kept his courage up, and tugged
With might and main.
"How nice the nuts will taste," he thought,
"When I my barrel gain."
At last, when he was nearly dead,
And thin, and old and gray.
Quoth lion: "There's no more hard work
You're fit to do. I'll pay."
A barrelful of nuts he gave--ripe, rich,
And big, but ob!
The squirrel's tears ran down his cheeks;
He'd lost his teeth, you know.
'SPRING."--AFTER THE ORIGINAL BY J. R. WEHLE.
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"A BUNCH OF ROSES."
"June's cherished blossom. red, pink, pale,
Whose perfume faints on every gale."
HER ANSWER.
You have asked for a gift worth possessing,
For a love that shall always prove true,
And I answer by frankly addressing
Some pertinent questions to you.
Will you love me as now when the chiming
Of life's silver bells is less sweet,
When the blossoms of youth now entwining
Lie withered and dead at my feet?
When the lamp of my life is dim burning
And haggard and wan is my brow,
When to gray my brown locks shall be turning,
Will you love me sincerely as now?
Will you love me, my dear, if the dashing
Of life's stormy sea in its roar,
With the lightnings about us still flashing,
Shall cast us as wrecks on its shore?
Will your love for me be as enduring
As the life you now promise to bless;
Will your heart be at rest at its mooring?
If so, then my answer is "yes."
F. E. McFA
THE WORLD ON WHEELS.--QUEEN ELIZABETH'S COACH.
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SUNDAY MORNING IN "OLD VIRGINIA." BY E. A. ABBEY. SEE PAGE 451.
THE WORLD ON WHEELS.--GARDEN CHAIR, ABOUT 1700.
As You Please.
"DEAREST. do you know you grieve me
More than I can well express?
You are lovely, but, believe me,
Something's wrong about your dress.
It may be the height of fashion,-
What. In fact, is always worn;
But-- don't get into a passion-
Change it ere the morrow morn."
Like a kind, obedient lady,
Straight the good wife went. I ween,
Robed herself in vesture shady,
Faced him in a sad sage green.
Quoth she, bowing to corretion,
"Here's the last aeshetic 'fad;'"
Said he, with wild interjection,
"Bless me, dear, you must be mad!"
Then she wore a jersey, fitting
Like an eel-skin all complete,
With a skirt so tight that sitting
Was an agonizing feat.
Cried she with supreme conviction.
"This, I think, will suit the men;"
It was not a benediction
That he breathed upon her then!
Still she kept her temper sweetly,
And, with aggracating smiles.
Dressed herslf and did it neatly-
In a mixture of all styles,-
Modern, classic, Dolly Varden;
Then she brought him to his knees!
For he cried. "I beg your pardon;
Dress, in future- as you please!"
