Robert of Lincoln’s Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings, Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, Spink, spank, spink; Brood, kind creature; you need not fear Thieves and robbers, while I am here. Chee, chee, chee. Modest and shy as a nun is she, One weak chirp is her only note, Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat: Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, Spink, spank, spink; Never was I afraid of man; Catch me, cowardly knaves if you can. Chee, chee, chee. Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might: Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee. Soon as the little ones chip the shell Six wide mouths are open for food; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seed for the hungry brood. Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, Spink, spank, spink; This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work and silent with care; Off is his holiday garment laid, Half-forgotten that merry air, Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee. Summer wanes; the children are grown; Fun and frolic no more he knows; Robert of Lincoln’s a humdrum crone; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes: Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, Spink, spank, spink; When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee. * * * * * DROUGHT. PLUNGED amid the limpid waters, Or the cooling shade beneath, Let me fly the scorching sunbeams, And the southwind’s sickly breath! Sirius burns the parching meadows, Flames upon the embrowning hill, Dries the foliage of the forest, And evaporates the rill. Scarce is seen the lonely floweret, Save amid the embowering wood; O’er the prospect dim and dreary, Drought presides in sullen mood! Murky vapours hung in ether, Wrap in gloom, the sky serene; Nature pants distressful――silence Reigns o’er all the sultry scene. Then amid the limpid waters, Or beneath the cooling shade, Let me shun the scorching sunbeams And the sickly breeze evade. * * * * * THE PAST.