He may train up his reason on bridge and riot on afternoon tea, And at dinner, all wineless and proper, a dress-suited guest he may be; But when the mild cheese has been passed, and the chocolate mint drops are few, And the coffee comes in and he hankers, What is a poor fellow to do? It's all for his good, they say; for in heaven no nicotine grows, And the angels need no cedar for moth-proofs to keep their clothes; No ashes are dropped, no carpets are singed, by all the saintly crew; If _this_ is heaven, and he gets there, What is a poor fellow to do? He'll sit on the golden benches and long for a chance to break jail, With a shooting-star for a motor, or a flight on a comet's tail; He'll see the smoke rise in the distance, and goaded by memory's spell, He'll go back on the women who saved him, And ask for a ticket to _Hell_! An exact description of the usual happenings at "Breezy" in the beginning, by my only sister, Mrs. Babcock, who was devoted to me and did more than anyone to help to develop the Farm. I feel that this chapter must be the richer for two of her poems. LIGHT AND SHADE AT "BREEZY MEADOWS" FARM This charming May morning we'll walk to the grove! And give the dear dogs all a run; Over the meadows 'tis pleasant to rove And bask in the light of the sun. Last night a sly fox took off our best duck! Run for a gun! there a hen hawk flies! We always have the very worst of luck, The anxious mistress of the chickens cries. We stop to smell the lilacs at the gate, And watch the bluebirds in the elm-tree's crest-- The finest farm it is in all the state, Which corner of it do you like the best? Just think! a rat has eaten ducklings two, Now isn't that a shame! pray set a trap! The downiest, dearest ones that ever grew, I think this trouble will climax cap! At "Sun Flower Rock," in joy we stand to gaze; The distant orchard, flowering, show so fair: Surely my dear, abandoned farming pays, How heavenly the early morning air! Now only see! those horrid hens are scratching! They tear the Mountain Fringe so lately set! Some kind of mischief they are always hatching, Why did I ever try a hen to pet? Here's "Mary's Circle," and the birches slender, And Columbine which grows the rocks between, Red blossoms showing in a regal splendour! We must be happy in this peaceful scene. The puppies chew the woodbine and destroy The dainty branches sprouting on the wall! How can the little wretches so annoy? There's Solomon Alphonzo--worst of all!