THE OLD DAGUERREOTYPES, "Grandpa's collar a show." OUR FIRST FIRE-CRACKERS, "Do yer 'member how yer fired 'em, slow and careful, one by one?" HEZEKIAH'S ART, "I swan, he did look like a daisy!" THE SCHOOL-COMMITTEE MAN, "'And with--ahem--er--as I said before.'" WHEN THE MINISTER COMES TO TEA, "He sets and says it's lovely." THE VILLAGE ORACLE, "'Well now, I vum! I know, by gum! I'm right because I _be_!'" THE BALLAD OF MCCARTY'S TROMBONE, "'By--Killarney's--lakes--and--fells, Toot--tetoot toot--toot--toot--dells!'" His NEW BROTHER, "Why'd they buy a baby brother, When they know I'd _good_ deal ruther Have a dog?" A COLLEGE TRAINING, "'That was jolly, Guv'nor, now we'll practice every day.'" A THANKSGIVING DREAM, "He stood up on his drumsticks." THE POPULAR SONG, "The washwoman sings it all wrong." MATILDY'S BEAU, "I recollect I spent an hour a-tyin' my cravat." MY OLD GRAY NAG, "He ain't the sort that the big-bugs sport" MAY MEMORIES, "Oh, the lazy days of boyhood, when the world was fair and new!" NINETY-EIGHT IN THE SHADE, "Collar kerflummoxed all over my neck." NOVEMBER'S COME, "Hey, you swelled-up turkey feller!" THE ANT AND THE GRASSHOPPER, "The Grasshopper wore his summer clothes, And stood there kicking his frozen toes." THE LIGHT-KEEPER, "It seems ter me that's all there is: jest do your duty right." "THE REG'LAR ARMY MAN," "They ain't no tears shed over him When he goes off ter war." A RAINY DAY, "'Settin' 'round and dreamin'." "JIM," "Seem to see her tucked in bed, With the kitten's furry head Peekin' out." CAPE COD BALLADS THE COD-FISHER Where leap the long Atlantic swells In foam-streaked stretch of hill and dale, Where shrill the north-wind demon yells, And flings the spindrift down the gale; Where, beaten 'gainst the bending mast, The frozen raindrop clings and cleaves, With steadfast front for calm or blast His battered schooner rocks and heaves. _To same the gain, to some the loss, To each the chance, the risk, the fight: For men must die that men may live-- Lord, may we steer our course aright._. The dripping deck beneath him reels, The flooded scuppers spout the brine; He heeds them not, he only feels The tugging of a tightened line. The grim white sea-fog o'er him throws Its clammy curtain, damp and cold; He minds it not--his work he knows, 'T is but to fill an empty hold. Oft, driven through the night's blind wrack, He feels the dread berg's ghastly breath, Or hears draw nigh through walls of black A throbbing engine chanting death; But with a calm, unwrinkled brow He fronts them, grim and undismayed, For storm and ice and liner's bow-- These are but chances of the trade. Yet well he knows--where'er it be, On low Cape Cod or bluff Cape Ann-- With straining eyes that search the sea A watching woman waits her man: He knows it, and his love is deep, But work is work, and bread is bread, And though men drown and women weep The hungry thousands must be fed.