And the cheek that has long been withered With the Christmas fire's warm glory Grandpa and the Foghorn BY WILBUR D. NESBIT. Is a fog-horn on th' shore. Where we live, an' it just make Till your ears inside they ache. But it only roars just when They's a fog-'cause ships they might Try to sail right in, an' then They be wrecked all up some night! Grampa come to visit us, An' las' night th' fog-horn start Settin' up a nawful fuss Roarin' awful close apart. Course we go right on an' sleep, 'Cause we're used to it, you know, An' don't hear it while it keep But poor grampa he ain't been To this house an' moved 'way in From th' house we moved out from. So he just don't sleep at all An' he let his boiled egg fall Purt' near right into his lap. An' he ast us if some one Ain't got cows some place that's near, An' pa say he guess there's noneIf there is, w'y he ain't hear. Grampa say, "I heard a cow Beller all night fer her calf. My, but she kicked up a row!" An' my goodness! How we laugh! Vot to Call Him BY GEORGE V. HOBART. Der leedle boy vot yust arrived His voice vas learning for to make I vonder vot to call him? Some say Thomas, Some say Tim; Some say Stephen, Some say Jim; Some say Diederich, Some say Matt; Some say Daniel, Some say Goethe, Some say Choe; I doan'd know. I ask dot leedle boy himself Ah Goo! dot is a Chinese name! To be called dot ven he grows ub, I vonder vot I call him? Some say Heinrich, Some say Net; Call him Fritz. The Vagabond BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. Give to me the life I love; Give the jolly heaven above And the highway nigh me. Bed in the bush with stars to see, Bread I dip in the river, There's the life for a man like me! Let the blow fall soon or late, Wealth I ask not, hope nor love, 4 Pat Magee's Wife BY LENA BARRINGTON. In "Longman's Magazine." Livin' wid Pat Magee, In a cabin fornent the bay, An' often he comes an' says: "Do ye ever repent the day that ye went There's a bit av a childie now, Playin' around the floor, Runnin' about wid a laugh an' a shout, In an out av the door; Mick wid his father's eyes Bits av the sky for blue, An' aich hair av his head like a golden thread, An' the voice av his father, too. An' often he comes an' says: "Honey," he says, says he, "Do ye ever repent the day that ye went Times when the evenin' falls, An' the work av the day is done, An' think av me girlhood's days, An' the love that came me way, An' the price, the price that a woman pays An' I laugh when he comes an' says: "Do ye ever repent the day that ye went Never be tellin' a man All that he'd like to know, Give him half av the whole that he wants But times I misdoubt he knows, That I'll never repent the day that I went Pat Magee BY LENA BARRINGTON. Walkin' wid Pat Magee Down by the Tullah bog, "Mind where ye're settin' yer stheps," says he, "Lest yez put yer foot on a frog. Frogs is the divil," says he. "I'm thinkin'," he says, says he, "Av I carried yez over to yondher wall The sorry a frog we'd see." Sittin' wid Pat Magee Atop of a loose-built wall, "It's unaisy I am in me mind," says he, "Dhreadin' the stones might fall. Stones is the divil to slip. I'm thinkin'," he says, says he, "Av I gave yer waist a bit of a clip, The sorry a fear there'd be." Talkin' wid Pat Magee, Wid the arm av him round me waist, An' the red sun sinkin'. "Arrah," says he, "Will yez let me speak to the praste? Delays is the divil's delight. An' I'm thinkin'," he says, says he, "Av the two av us settled this matther to-night, 'Tis married next week we'd be." |