Part 16 (1/2)

ASTER

I kissed her all day on her red, red mouth (Cats, cradles and trilobites! Love is the master!) Too utterly torrid, a sweet, spicy South (Of compositae, fairest the Aster) Stars shone on our kisses--the moon blushed war the homeward! And where was my arm?

(Crushed, crushed at her waist was the Aster!)

No one kisses me now--my winter has come: (To ice turns fortune when once you have passed her) I long for the angels to beckon me home (hum) (For dead, deader, deadest, the Aster!)

[Illustration: PINES AND SILVER BIRCHES]

Doctor Bolles has very kindly sent ic forecast of suffragette rule which is too glooreeable sar”

DESCENSUS AD INFERNUM

When the last cigar is sone, And only the faintest whiff of the dear old shtful, When he's lonesoers his useless ettes have conquered, and their harvest is gathered in; From Texas to Maine they've voted tobacco the deadliest sin; A pipe sends you up for a year, a cigarette for two; In this female republic of virtue, What is a poor fellow to do?

He e and riot on afternoon tea, And at dinner, all wineless and proper, a dress-suited guest he may be; But when the mild cheese has been passed, and the chocolate mint drops are few, And the coffee comes in and he hankers, What is a poor fellow to do?

It's all for his good, they say; for in heaven no nicotine grows, And the angels need no cedar for moth-proofs to keep their clothes; No ashes are dropped, no carpets are singed, by all the saintly crew; If _this_ is heaven, and he gets there, What is a poor fellow to do?

He'll sit on the golden benches and long for a chance to break jail, With a shooting-star for a ht on a cooaded by o back on the women who saved him, And ask for a ticket to _hell_!

An exact description of the usual happenings at ”Breezy” in the beginning, by my only sister, Mrs Babcock, as devoted to me and did more than anyone to help to develop the Farm I feel that this chapter must be the richer for two of her poems

LIGHT AND SHADE AT ”BREEZY MEADOWS” FARM

This charive the dear dogs all a run; Over the ht of the sun

Last night a sly fox took off our best duck!

Run for a gun! there a hen hawk flies!

We always have the very worst of luck, The anxious mistress of the chickens cries

We stop to sate, And watch the bluebirds in the elm-tree's crest-- The finest farm it is in all the state, Which corner of it do you like the best?

Just think! a rat has eaten ducklings two, Now isn't that a shame! pray set a trap!

The downiest, dearest ones that ever grew, I think this trouble will cliaze; The distant orchard, flowering, show so fair: Surelypays, How heavenly the earlyair!

Now only see! those horrid hens are scratching!

They tear the Mountain Fringe so lately set!

So, Why did I ever try a hen to pet?

Here's ”Mary's Circle,” and the birches slender, And Colu in a regal splendour!

We must be happy in this peaceful scene

The puppies chew the woodbine and destroy The dainty branches sprouting on the wall!