s from our lonely plight.

"Then mother she went after him--alas! that it should be--
And shortly learned the game herself--she plays it famously--
Which left us children orphans, I and all my brothers three.

"They play it here, they play it there, they play it everywhere;
No matter what the weather, be it wet or be it fair,
And for the cares of golf they've dropped their every other care.

"And so it is that we poor lads are forced to leave our home,
And join the ranks of caddy boys who o'er the fields do roam
In search of little golf-balls in the sunlight and the gloam;

"For some day we are hoping that our eyes again will see
Our most beloved parents on some putting-green or tee;
A sight to gladden all our hearts if it should ever be."

And lo--I looked upon that boy--his face was sweet and sad,
And to my heart there came a twinge, for in that little lad
I recognized my eldest son--_I_ was that wicked dad!

And now together we are out on links at home and far.
He and his three small brothers with their shamed, repentant pa,
A-looking here and looking there to find their dear mamma.

_GARRULOUS WISDOM_

I KNOW a wondrous man--my neighbor he;
He's ripe in years, and great in understanding.
He's versed in art, and in philosophy
He shows a mind that's verily commanding.

He'll stand before a painting, and without
A single instant's thought, or hesitation,
He'll tell the painter's name, nor any doubt
Is there he gives the proper information.

The rocks, the hills and valleys, hold from him
No secret that is past a man's revealing.
He knows why some are stout and others slim;
He comprehends all kinds of human feeling.

The records of the stars he knows, and each
Romance that round about the heavens lingers.
At dinner-time he oft delights to preach
On which was made the first, or forks or fingers.

Indeed, all things he knows, or high or low--
The things that fly on wing, or go a-walking--
Except one thing he never seems to know,
And that's when he should stop his endless talking.

_THE PERJURY OF A REJECTED LOVER_

WHEN I was twenty-one, I swore,
If I should ever wed,
The maiden that I should adore
Should have a classic head;
Should have a form quite Junoesque;
A manner full of grace;
A wealth of hirsute picturesque
Above a piquant face.

But I, alas! am perju