to come down?

"Judge it" out _here_, if you will,--
The birds are in session by dawn;
You can draw, not _complaints_, but a sketch of the hill
And a breath that your betters have drawn;
You can open your heart, like a case,
To a jury of kine, white and brown,
And their verdict of "Moo" will just satisfy you!--
Can't you arrange to come down?

[Illustration]

Can't you arrange it, old Pard?--
Pigeonhole Blackstone and Kent!--
Here we have "Breitmann," and Ward,
Twain, Burdette, Nye, and content!
Can't you forget you're a Judge
And put by your dolorous frown
And tan your wan face in the smile of a friend--
Can't you arrange to come down?

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

OUR BOYHOOD HAUNTS

Ho! I'm going back to where
We were youngsters.--Meet me there,
Dear old barefoot chum, and we
Will be as we used to be,--
Lawless rangers up and down
The old creek beyond the town--
Little sunburnt gods at play,
Just as in that far-away:--
Water nymphs, all unafraid,
Shall smile at us from the brink
Of the old millrace and wade
Tow'rd us as we kneeling drink
At the spring our boyhood knew,
Pure and clear as morning-dew:

And, as we are rising there,
Doubly dow'rd to hear and see,
We shall thus be made aware
Of an eerie piping, heard
High above the happy bird
In the hazel: And then we,
Just across the creek, shall see
(Hah! the goaty rascal!) Pan
Hoof it o'er the sloping green,
Mad with his own melody,
Aye, and (bless the beasty man!)
Stamping from the grassy soil
Bruised scents of _fleur-de-lis_,
Boneset, mint and pennyroyal.

[Illustration]

MY DANCIN'-DAYS IS OVER

What is it in old fiddle-chunes 'at makes me ketch my breath
And ripples up my backbone tel I'm tickled most to death?--
Kindo' like that sweet-sick feelin', in the long sweep of a swing,
The first you ever swung in, with yer first sweet-heart, i jing!--
Yer first picnic--yer first ice-cream--yer first o' _ever'thing_
'At happened 'fore yer dancin'-days wuz over!

I never understood it--and I s'pose I never can,--
But right in town here, yisterd'y, I heerd a pore blindman
A-fiddlin' old "Gray Eagle"--_And_-sir! I jes stopped my load
O' hay and listened at him--yes, and watched the way he "bow'd,"--
And back I went, plum forty year', with boys and girls I knowed
And loved, long 'fore my dancin'-days wuz over!--

[Illustration]

At high noon in yer city,--with yer blame Magnetic-Ca