Part 14

. . . . . . Midst the wealth of facts and fancies That our memories may recall, Thus the old school-day romances Are the dearest, after all!-- When some sweet thought revises The half-forgotten tune That opened "Exercises," On "Friday Afternoon."

"JOHNSON'S BOY"

The world is turned ag'in' me, And people says, "They guess That nothin' else is in me But pure maliciousness!" I git the blame for doin' What other chaps destroy, And I'm a-goin' to ruin Because I'm "Johnson's boy."

THAT ain't my name--I'd ruther They'd call me IKE or PAT-- But they've forgot the other-- And so have I, for that! I reckon it's as handy, When Nibsy breaks his toy, Or some one steals his candy, To say 'twas "JOHNSON'S BOY!"

You can't git any water At the pump, and find the spout So durn chuck-full o' mortar That you have to bore it out; You tackle any scholar In Wisdom's wise employ, And I'll bet you half a dollar He'll say it's "Johnson's boy!"

Folks don't know how I suffer In my uncomplainin' way-- They think I'm gittin' tougher And tougher every day. Last Sunday night, when Flinder Was a-shoutin' out for joy, And some one shook the winder, He prayed for "Johnson's boy."

I'm tired of bein' follered By farmers every day, And then o' bein' collared For coaxin' hounds away; Hounds always plays me double-- It's a trick they all enjoy-- To git me into trouble, Because I'm "Johnson's boy."

But if I git to Heaven, I hope the Lord'll see SOME boy has been perfect, And lay it on to me; I'll swell the song sonorous, And clap my wings for joy, And sail off on the chorus-- "Hurrah for 'Johnson's boy!'"

HER BEAUTIFUL HANDS

Your hands--they are strangely fair! O Fair--for the jewels that sparkle there,-- Fair--for the witchery of the spell That ivory keys alone can tell; But when their delicate touches rest Here in my own do I love them best, As I clasp with eager, acquisitive spans My glorious treasure of beautiful hands!

Marvelous--wonderful--beautiful hands! They can coax roses to bloom in the strands Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine, Under mysterious touches of thine, Into such knots as entangle the soul And fetter the heart under such a control As only the strength of my love understands-- My passionate love for your beautiful hands.

As I remember the first fair touch Of those beautiful hands that I love so much, I seem to thrill as I then was thrilled, Kissing the glove that I found unfilled-- When I met your gaze, and the queenly bow, As you said to me, laughingly, "Keep it now!" . . . And dazed and alone in a dream I stand, Kissing this ghost of your beautiful hand.

When first I loved, in the long ago, And held your hand as I told you so-- Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss And said "I could die for a hand like this!" Little I dreamed love's fullness yet Had to ripen when eyes were wet And prayers were vain in their wild demands For one warm touch of your beautiful hands.

. . . . . . . . . Beautiful Hands!--O Beautiful Hands! Could you reach out of the alien lands Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night, Only a touch--were it ever so light-- My heart were soothed, and my weary brain Would lull itself into rest again; For there is no solace the world commands Like the caress of your beautiful hands.

NATURAL PERVERSITIES

I am not prone to moralize In scientific doubt On certain facts that Nature tries To puzzle us about,-- For I am no philosopher Of wise elucidation, But speak of things as they occur, From simple observation.

I notice LITTLE things--to wit:-- I never missed a train Because I didn't RUN for it; I never knew it rain That my umbrella wasn't lent,-- Or, when in my possession, The sun but wore, to all intent, A jocular expression.

I never knew a creditor To dun me for a debt But I was "cramped" or "bu'sted"; or I never knew one yet, When I had plenty in my purse, To make the least invasion,-- As I, accordingly perverse, Have courted no occasion.

Nor do I claim to comprehend What Nature has in view In giving us the very friend To trust we oughtn't to.-- But so it is: The trusty gun Disastrously exploded Is always sure to be the one We didn't think was loaded.

Our moaning is another's mirth,-- And what is worse by half, We say the funniest thing on earth And never raise a laugh: 'Mid friends that love us over well, And sparkling jests and liquor, Our hearts somehow are liable To melt in tears the quicker.

We reach the wrong when most we seek The right; in like effect, We stay the strong and not the weak-- Do most when we neglect.-- Neglected genius--truth be said-- As wild and quick as tinder, The more you seek to help ahead The more you seem to hinder.

I've known the least the greatest, too-- And, on the selfsame plan, The biggest fool I ever knew Was quite a little man: We find we ought, and then we won't-- We prove a thing, then doubt it,-- Know EVERYTHING but when we don't Know ANYTHING about it.

THE SILENT VICTORS

MAY 30, 1878,

Dying for victory, cheer on cheer Thundered on his eager ear. --CHARLES L. HOLSTEIN.

Deep, tender, firm and true, the Nation's heart Throbs for her gallant heroes passed away, Who in grim Battle's drama played their part, And slumber here to-day.--

Warm hearts that beat their lives out at the shrine Of Freedom, while our country held its breath As brave battalions wheeled themselves in line And marched upon their death:

When Freedom's Flag, its natal wounds scarce healed, Was torn from peaceful winds and flung again To shudder in the storm of battle-field-- The elements of men,--