Jr. George Augustus Baker

Come! Why, halloa, that you, Jack? How's the world been using you? Want your pipe? it's in the jar

So you're going to give up flirtation, my dear, And lead a life sober and quiet? There, there, I don't doubt the intention's sincere.

You call me trifler, fain'ant, And bid me give my life an aim! You're most unjust, dear. Hear me out,

Suthin' to put in a story! I couldn't think of a thing, 'N' it's nigh unto thirty year now

You saw her last, the ball-room's belle, A souffl', lace and roses blent; Your worldly worship moved her then;

Spring-time is coming again, my dear; Sunshine and violets blue, you know; Crocuses lifting their sleepy heads

I shouldn't like to say, I'm sure, I shouldn't like to say, Why I think of you more, and more, and more

Blackboard, with ruler and rubber before me, Chalk loosely held in my hand, Sun-gilded motes in the air all around me,

Vine leaves rustled, moonbeams shone, Summer breezes softly sighed; You and I were all alone

PART ONE. "Come right in. How are you, Fred? Find a chair, and get a light."

(HE EXPLAINS.) Oh, just burning up some old papers, They do make a good deal of smoke:

Through the windows on the park Float the waltzes, weirdly sweet; In the light, and in the dark,

Under the maple boughs we sat, Annie Leslie and I together; She was trimming her sea-side hat

Oh, Lowbury pastor is fair and young, By far too good for a single life, And many a maiden, saith gossip's tongue,

The squadrons of the sun still hold The western hills, their armor glances, Their crimson banners wide unfold,

Too early, of course! How provoking! I told Ma just how it would be. I might as well have on a wrapper,

"Sign the petition!" "Write my name!" "She said, ask me!" oh, she's fooling; Where do you think a girl like me

"Harry, where have you been all morning?" "Down at the pool in the meadow-brook." "Fishing?" "Yes, but the trout were wary,

We were driving home from the "Patriarchs'" Molly Lef'vre and I, you know; The white flakes fluttered about our lamps;

A tomb where legal ghouls grow fat; Where buried papers, fold on fold, Crumble to dust, that 'thwart the sun

Shine! All right; here y'are, boss! Do it for jest five cents. Get 'em fixed in a minute,

"Yes, I'm here, I suppose you're delighted: You'd heard I was not coming down! Why I've been here a week! 'rather early'

Old coat, for some three or four seasons We've been jolly comrades, but now We part, old companion, forever;

What has become of the children all? How have the darlings vanished? Fashion's pied piper, with magical air,

Shining patent-leather, Tie of spotless white; Through the muddy weather

I. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. A.D. 1880. "Thank you much obliged, old boy,

Ten o'clock! Well, I'm sure I can't help it! I'm up go away from the door! Now, children, I'll speak to your mother

Summer is over, and the leaves are falling, Gold, fire-enamelled in the glowing sun; The sobbing pinetop, the cicada calling

Old lady, put your glasses on, With polished lenses, mounting golden, And once again look slowly through

A canvas-back duck, rarely roasted, between us, A bottle of Chambertin, worthy of praise Less noble a wine at our age would bemean us

The lights blaze high in our brilliant rooms; Fair are the maidens who throng our halls; Soft, through the warm and perfumed air,

"Hey, Johnny McGinnis, where are yez? I've got a place! Arrah, be quick!" Whiz! Boom! "Hooray, there goes a rocket;

I had come from the city early That Saturday afternoon; I sat with Beatrix under the trees

I'd wandered, for a week or more, Through hills, and dells, and doleful green'ry, Lodging at any carnal door,

You remember the nursery legend We heard in the early days, Ere we knew of the world's deception

The evenings are damper and colder; The maples and sumacs are red, The wild Equinoctial is coming,

The Spring has grown to Summer; The sun is fierce and high; The city shrinks, and withers

Oh! he was a student of mystic lore; And she was a soulful girl All nerves and mind, of the cultured kind

The d'butantes are in force to-night, Sweet as their roses, pure as truth; Dreams of beauty in clouds of tulle;

"Love your neighbor as yourself," So the parson preaches; That's one-half the Decalogue.

There sat two kings upon Orkadal, The torches flamed in the pillared hall. The minstrel sings, the red wine glows,