The old Bear got the _other_ end the gun
Ag'in' his shoulder, 'stid o' _th' other_ end--
So when he try to shoot the Little Boy,
It shot _the Bear_, it did--an' killed him dead!
An' nen the Little Boy clumb down the tree
An' chopped his old woolly head off:--Yes, an' killed
The _other_ Bear ag'in, he did--an' killed
All _boff_ the bears, he did--an' tuk 'em home
An' _cooked_ 'em, too, an' _et_ 'em!
--An' that's all.

[Illustration: ENVOY]




ENVOY

Many pleasures of youth have been buoyantly sung--
And, borne on the winds of delight, may they beat
With their palpitant wings at the hearts of the Young,
And in bosoms of Age find as warm a retreat!--
Yet sweetest of all of the musical throng,
Though least of the numbers that upward aspire,
Is the one rising now into wavering song,
As I sit in the silence and gaze in the fire.

'Tis a Winter long dead that beleaguers my door
And muffles his steps in the snows of the past:
And I see, in the embers I'm dreaming before,