Say "yessum" to the ladies, an' "yessir" to the

men,

An' when they's company don't pass yer plate f'r pie

again;

But, thinkin' uv the things you'd like to see upon that

tree,

Jes' 'fore Christmas be as good as you kin be!

LITTLE BOY BLUE

BY EUGENE FIELD

The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;

And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise!"
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamt of his pretty toys;
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue -

Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place -

Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;

And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,

What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there.

WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD

BY EUGENE FIELD

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, one night,
Sailed off in a wooden shoe,
Sailed on a river of misty light

Into a sea of dew;

"Where are you going and what do you wish?”
The old moon asked the three.

"We have come to fish for the herring fish,
That live in this beautiful sea;

Nets of silver and gold have we,"

Said Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

The old moon laughed and sung a song,
As they rock'd in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night along
Ruffled the waves of dew;

The little stars were the herring fish

That lived in the beautiful sea.

"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,
Never afraid are we";

So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

All night long their nets they threw,
For the fish in the twinkling foam;
Down from the sky came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home.

'T was all so pretty a sail, it seemed

As if it could not be;

And some folks thought 't was a dream they 'd dream'd,

Of sailing that beautiful sea;

But I shall name you the fishermen three,
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,

The wooden shoe that sail'd the skies
Is the wee one's trundle bed;
So shut your eyes while mother sings

Of wonderful sights that be;

And you shall see the beautiful things,

As you rock on the misty sea,

Where the old shoe rock'd the fishermen three,
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

THE TEMPEST

BY JAMES THOMAS FIELDS

We were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul would dare to sleep,-

It was midnight on the waters
And a storm was on the deep.

"T is a fearful thing in winter
To be shattered by the blast,

And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"

So we shuddered there in silence, -
For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring,
And the breakers talked with Death.

As thus we sat in darkness,

Each one busy in his prayers, "We are lost!" the captain shouted As he staggered down the stairs.

But his little daughter whispered,
As she took his icy hand,
"Is n't God upon the ocean

Just the same as on the land?"

Then we kissed the little maiden,
And we spoke in better cheer,
And we anchored safe in harbor

When the morn was shining clear.

POETICAL FAVORITES

THE BLUE AND THE GRAY

BY FRANCIS MILES FINCH

[Written in honor of women of Columbus, Mississippi, who, in 1867, when decorating soldiers' graves, strewed flowers "alike for the friend and the foe." Northern soldiers' graves were as lovingly decorated as were Southern soldiers' graves blossoms bloomed for all.]

By the flow of the inland river,

Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead: -
Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment-day;

Under the one, the Blue,

Under the other, the Gray.

These in the robings of glory.
Those in the gloom of defeat,
All with the battle-blood gory,
In the dusk of eternity meet:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the laurel, the Blue,

Under the willow, the Gray.

From the silence of sorrowful hours,
The desolate mourners go,

Lovingly laden with flowers,

Alike for the friend and the foe:

Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment-day;

Under the roses, the Blue,
Under the lilies, the Gray.
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