The clothes I had were furry, And it made me fret and worry When I found the moths were eating off the hair; And I had to scrape and sand ’em, And I boiled ’em and I tanned ’em, Till I got the fine morocco suit I wear. I sometimes seek diversion In a family excursion With the few domestic animals you see; And we take along a carrot As refreshment for the parrot, And a little can of jungleberry tea. Then we gather as we travel, Bits of moss and dirty gravel, And we chip off little specimens of stone; And we carry home as prizes Funny bugs, of handy sizes, Just to give the day a scientific tone. If the roads are wet and muddy We remain at home and study,— For the Goat is very clever at a sum,— And the Dog, instead of fighting, Studies ornamental writing, While the Cat is taking lessons on the drum. We retire at eleven, And we rise again at seven; And I wish to call attention, as I close, To the fact that all the scholars Are correct about their collars, And particular in turning out their toes. _James Whitcomb Riley_ James Whitcomb Riley, who was possibly the most widely read native poet of his day, was born October 7, 1849, in Greenfield, Indiana, a small town twenty miles from Indianapolis, where he spent his later years. Contrary to the popular belief, Riley was not, as many have gathered from his bucolic dialect poems, a struggling child of the soil; his father was a lawyer in comfortable circumstances and Riley was not only given a good education but was prepared for the law. His temperament, however, craved something more adventurous. At eighteen he shut the heavy pages of Blackstone, slipped out of the office and joined a traveling troupe of actors who sold patent medicines during the intermissions. Riley’s functions were varied: he beat the bass-drum, painted their flaring banners, wrote local versions of old songs, coached the actors and, when occasion arose, took part in the performance himself.