Part 19

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee.

Soon as the-little ones chip the shell Six wide mouths are open for food; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seed for the hungry brood. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care; Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air,

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee.

Summer wanes; the children are grown; Fun and frolic no more he knows; Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Riggity-rig, Dance a jig, Dance a Highland Fling; Dance a Cake-walk, Give us o Clog, Or cut a Pigeon's Wing.

U. S. SPELLS US.

My papa's all dressed up to-day; He never looked so fine; I thought when I first looked at him My papa wasn't mine.

He's got a beautiful new suit The old one was so old-- It's blue, with buttons, oh, so bright, I guess they must be gold.

And papa's sort o' glad and sort O' sad--I wonder why; And ev'ry time she looks at him It makes my mamma cry.

Who's Uncle Sam? My papa says That he belongs to him; But papa's joking, 'cause he knows My uncle's name is Jim.

My papa just belongs to me And mamma. And I guess The folks are blind who cannot see His buttons marked U. S.

U. S. spells Us. He's ours--and yet My mamma can't help cry, And papa tries to smile at me And can't--I wonder why.

ANON.

A dancing Bear came down the street; The children all ran to see the treat; Said the keeper: "Now, boys, come pay for your fun; Give me a penny to buy Bruin a bun."

"DIXIE" AND "YANKEE DOODLE."

I was born 'way down in "Dixie," Reared beneath the Southern skies, And they didn't have to teach me Every "Yankee" to despise.

I was but a country youngster When I donned a suit of gray, When I shouldered my old musket, And marched forth the "Yanks" to slay.

Four long years I fought and suffered, "Dixie" was my battle cry; "Dixie" always and forever, Down in "Dixie" let me die.

And to-night I'm down in "Dixie," "Dixie" still so grand and true; But to-night I am appareled In a uniform of blue.

And to-night the band is playing; 'Tis not "Dixie's" strains I hear, But the strains of "Yankee Doodle" Ring out strong and clear.

Long I listen to the music; By my side a comrade stands; He's a "Yank" and I'm a "Rebel," But we grasp each other's hands.

Here together we united 'Way down South in "Dixie" stand, And my comrade whispers softly, "There's no land like 'Dixie's land.'"

But my eyes are filled with teardrops, Tears that make my heart feel glad; And I whisper to my comrade: "'Yankee Doodle' ain't so bad." LAWRENCE PORCHER HEXT.

A game of marbles We were having one day, When Baby chanced to come along that way. Too little he was to join our game, But he pocketed our marbles just the same.

THE BAREFOOT BOY.

Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan; With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace! From my heart I give thee joy; I was once a barefoot boy.