me," and more;
And that one that's slow and wailin', "Home ag'in from somethin' shore."
Then a feller's awful sleepy and he kinder wants ter rest,
But the stuff he's et feels creepy and like bricks piled on his chest;
And, perhaps, he dreams his stummick has been stepped on by a mule;
But it ain't: it's jest the picnic of the Baptist Sunday school!

* * * * *

"AUNT 'MANDY"

Our Aunt 'Mandy thinks that boys
Never ought ter make a noise,
Or go swimming or play ball,
Or have any fun at all;
Thinks a boy had ought ter be
Dressed up all the time, and she
Hollers jest as if she's hurt
At the _littlest mite_ er dirt
On a feller's hands or face,
Or his clothes, or any place.

Then at dinner-time she's there,
Sayin', "Mustn't kick the chair!"
Or "Why _don't_ yer sit up straight?"
"'Tain't perlite to drum yer plate."
An' yer got ter eat as _slow_,
'Cause she's dingin' at yer so.
Then, when Chris'mus comes, she brings
Nothin', only _useful_ things:
Han'kershi'fs an' gloves an' ties,
Sunday stuff yer jest _despise_.

She's a ole maid, all alone,
'Thout no children of her own,
An' I s'pose that makes her fuss
'Round our house a-bossin' us.
If she 'd had a boy, I bet,
'Tween her bossin' and her fret
She'd a-killed him, jest about;
So God made her do without,
For he knew _no_ boy could stay
With Aunt 'Mandy _every_ day.

* * * * *

THE STORY-BOOK BOY

Oh, the story-book boy! he's a wonderful youth,
A prodigy reeking with goodness and truth;
As brave as a lion, as wise as a sage,
And sharp as a razor, though twelve years of age.
His mother is good and she's awfully poor,
But he says, "Do not fret, _I'll_ provide for you, sure!"
And the hard grasping landlord, who comes to annoy,
Is braved to his teeth by the story-book boy.

Oh, the story-book boy! when he sees that young churl.
The Squire's spoiled son, kick the poor crippled girl,
He darts to the rescue as quick as he can,
And dusts the hard road with the cruel young man;
And when he is sought by the vengeful old Squire,
He withers the latter with tongue-lashing ire;
For the town might combine his young nerve to destroy,
And never once shake him--the story-book boy.

[Illustration: "And with--ahem--era--I said before."]

Oh, the story-book boy! when the Judge's dear child
Is dragged through the streets by a runaway wild,
Of course he's on hand, and a "ten-strike" he makes,
For he stops th