seems ter me

I'll write, for I'm witty, a popular ditty

I'm pretty nearly certain that 't was 'bout two weeks ago,--

I've got a little yaller dog, a wuthless kind of chap

In Mother's room still stands the chair

In the gleam and gloom of the April weather

It's a wonderful world we're in, my dear

It's alone in the dark of the old wagon-shed

It's getting on ter winter now, the nights are crisp and chill

It stands at the bend where the road has its end

Jason White has come ter town

Just a simple little picture of a sunny country road

Kind er _like_ a stormy day, take it all together,--

Little bare feet, sunburned and brown,

Little foot, whose lightest pat

Me and Billy's in the woodshed; Ma said, "Run out-doors and play;

My dream-ship's decks are of beaten gold

My sister's best feller is 'most six-foot-three

My son Hezekiah's a painter; yes, that's the purfession he's at;

Now Councilman O'Hoolihan do'n't b'lave in annixation

O, it's Christmas Eve, and moonlight, and the Christmas air is chill

O you boys grown gray and bearded, you that used ter chum with me

Oh, the cool September mornin's! now they 're with us once agin

Oh, the Friday evening meetings in the vestry, long ago

Oh! the horns are all a-tootin' as we rattle through the town

Oh, the song of the Sea--

Oh, the story-book boy! he's a wonderful youth

Oh, the wild November wind

Oh! they've swept the parlor carpet, and they've dusted every chair

Oh, those sweet old-fashioned posies, that were mother's pride and joy

Old Dan'l Hanks he says this town

On a log behind the pigsty of a modest little farm

Once, by the edge of a pleasant pool

Our Aunt 'Mandy thinks that boys

Our Sary Emma is possessed ter be at somethin' queer;

Pavements a-frying in street and in square

Say, I've got a little brother

She's little and modest and purty

Sometimes when we're in school, and it's the afternoon and late

South Pokus is religious,--that's the honest, livin' truth;

Summer nights at Grandpa's--ain't they soft and still!

Sun like a furnace hung up overhead

Sure, Felix McCarty he lived all alone

The fog was so thick yer could cut it

The spring sun flashes a rapier thrust

The tired breezes are tucked to rest

To my office window, gray

Up in the attic I found them, locked in the cedar chest

Want to see me, hey, old chap?

_We'd_ never thought of takin' 'em,--'twas Mary Ann's idee,--