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Young Briggs has received his first medal for the effort of his life, a 36 x 24, "In the Meadow." His rich uncle has come to consider buying it. “Wall, now, I guess we can make a dicker on that picter, providin' you kin fat up them cows and turn 'em sideways. Then take them trees out and put a couple of ranche buildin's in place of 'em, and with the name of our ranche in big red letters across the sky, she'll be a bully ad."
Aphorisms from the Quarter.
When some folks start out preachin', 'tis sort o' like playin' a hymn on de banjer.
De water-milion vine need a taller fence dan de rose-bush.
De man in de moon don't git much 'tention on 'lection day.
De runnin' vine in de grass kin fling you harder 'n de stump in de open road.
MULE keeps his 'ligion in his front en'.
De sto’-keeper's long pra'rs ain't no sign of a long yard-stick.
When de pea-vine git too proud to lean on a stick, 'tain't much service in de garden.
ONE rascal talkin' 'bout ’nuther one is like a deef man thumpin' a water-milion.
"Tain't fa'r to medjer de dep' ob a snow by de drifts in de fence-corner.
CLAPPER in de cow-bell shine in de dark.
J. A. Macon,
Ballade of the Romantic Poet.
An Old-fashioned Girl.
Ah, Poet, you are out of date !
You “sing" and live in “faery-land";
Is all the profit you'd command :
At cantos all of “lute” and “lance”:None heed to-day, though perfect-planned,
The rippled rhyme of old Romance. These analyze for hint of fate:
The Age, the Life on every hand;
And verse on geologic sand.
One blew a ballad over France ? —
The rippled rhyme of old Romance. Leave Roland at the Tower gate ;
Write odes to Autumn fruitage - canned; With Locomotive sonnets sate
“ The heavy Spring and Fall demand.” Ah, Poet, once were ladies bland,
And woods enringed with Satyr dance We learn too much to understand
The rippled rhyme of old Romance.
OLD-FASHIONED ? Yes, I must confess
By each attenuated curl,
An odd, old-fashioned girl.
'Tis long, long since she had a beau,
'Mid drunken jests of boor and churl, She goes with swift and pitying feet,
This same old-fashioned girl.
James B. K'enyon.
But hearken ! though the time be fanned
With torrid airs of change and chance; Some love the shade, the magic-wand,
The rippled rhyme of old Romance.
The Missing Glove.
Harrison S. Morris.
I WROTE some lines, from end to end
In praise of dearest May.
To see what he would say.
“ They're crude," said he, “and so are you."
(He was a grouty fellow!) • Just let them lie a year or two, To ripen and grow
“Go over them from time to time,
And polish bit by bit; Perfect the meter and the rhyme,
And sharpen up the wit:
CLARINDA's ball is almost o'er;
“In half a year, but for the theme,
And for the lady's name, They'll be so changed you'll hardly dream
The lines could be the same."
I let them lie, I worked them o'er,
Changed epithet and rhyme. I hardly knew them any more,
They'd mellowed so by time. “ Black eyes" had mellowed into “ blue,"
Fallen at her feet; still gazing down, She lets her loosed hair to her knee Slide heavily; then stoops to see What lies entangled in her gown.
Ah! luckless glove, that that quick fire Should prove at last thy funeral pyre!
And “ringlets" into “strands “One dimple,” ripened into “ two “Small," grown to "
shapely” hands. And what was once
nes retroussé Was now a "
nose; In fact, the very name of “May”
Had mellowed into “Rose."
Esther B. Tiffany.
THE DE VINNE PRESS, PRINTERS, NEW YORK.