ase if Love could only
have her way for a very little while.

All Fool's Day.

God bless the man who hallowed April First!
(Or was it, after all, some saintly woman?)
May countless barrels of honors brimming burst
Across the realms he rules so super-human!
A wondrous person he in every part
With true affection filling all his heart!

For 'tis but proper that one holy day
From all the hundreds should be consecrated,
While Nature triumphs over Arts' display
And Life's dear memories are celebrated:
This day is ours! Behold, no master rules!
We all are equals in the Realm of Fools!

The Cap and Bells to active work awake,
All dressed in motley garbs for their appearing,
With no disguises for the parts we take,
Forgetful of the maskings so endearing;
And we, the fools before we posed as men,
In common claim our heritage again!

E'en every dog, they tell us, has his day,
On which fond fortune comes and cheers and blesses;
And as the years roll on their endless way,
This one and that go by with soft caresses,--
How proper, then, that one day from the throng
Should unto Us and all the Fools belong!

There are no wise men to contest our claim,--
This day is ours,--is ours without disputing!
Who boasts his wisdom bows his head in shame
And knows his folly ere it goes to fruiting;
The truth we speak! Today we proudly know it,
And in the open to each other show it!
We meet as equals once for all the year!
The wise and foolish shout with kindred laughter;
No greater and no smaller fools appear,
And Folly flouts the dullard calling after!
No tryant reigns! No hoary falsehood waves
Imperial scepters over willing slaves!

Then doff the fetters and discard the chains!
Today is ours and let us be rejoicing!
Forget the wise men and their soggy brains
While we our native follies now are voicing!
We all are fools! Let all the Fools unmask!
One great inheritance is all we ask!

Some men throw a dollar in the contribution box and immediately figure
compound interest on it at two per cent per month.

In the Orchards of Spring.

A cloud of white in the orchard
And blossoms fair in the sun,
When love comes by in the morning
And sings till the day is done!

A cloud of white in the orchard!
O, branches hung with the bloom