Now boys I’m ’fraid thet some o’ you are growin’ up this way, I’m ’fraid fer learnin’ some o’ you are substertootin’ play, I’m ’fraid there’s boys a-livin’ in this present gineration, Who’ll wish some day they’d seen less play an’ more o’ eddication. You can’t keep waitin’, thinkin’ thet you’ve got a lot o’ time,-- The time to git yer schoolin’, boys, is while you’re in yer prime; When you are ol’ you’ll see enough o’ care an’ tribulation, Without the thought thet carelessly you missed an eddication. _UNCLE NICK, ON GOSSIPERS._ When people git to gossipin’ sometimes they’ll set an’ talk Fer hours an’ hours together, jest ez reg’ler ez a clock; I s’pose they think folks love to hear their never-endin’ yop,-- But when Samantha’s talked a while she knows enough to stop. When Mrs. Jones wuz tellin’ et our place the other day, Thet Mrs. Williams told her thet her neighbor, Mrs. Gray, Sed she never saw so big a story-teller’s Widder Heath-- Samantha set there quiet, with her tongue between her teeth. She ain’t ferever slingin’ out sech everlastin’ gab:-- She of’en sez “it’s bad enough to hear the neighbors blab;” But she jest stays et home instid an’ ’tends to fam’ly cares, An’ never tells the neighborhood about her home affairs. We don’t take any papers, but with news we’re well supplied; Fer the neighbors tell us every birth an’ death an’ suicide: When Mrs. Jones comes up our walk a-squeakin’ them new shoes, Sometimes Samantha’ll say to me, “here comes the daily news.” _THE ART O’ KNOWIN’ HOW._ It’s hard to write a decent song, tho’ maybe you deny it, Most any job looks easy you’ll allow; But if you’re inexperienced perhaps you’d better try it, An’ you’ll find the nickromancy’s in the art o’ knowin’ how. There’s lots o’ things you’ve never done that looks all killin’ easy-- Did you ever try to milk a kickin’ cow? If not, just try yer hand fer fun, to satisfy and please ye, An’ you’ll find the nickromancy’s in the art o’ knowin’ how. Whatever yer profession, you’ll discover soon or late, As you stop to wipe the sweat from off yer brow, That to preach a decent sermon er to draw a furrow straight, The nickromancy lies within the art o’ knowin’ how. So be sure thet you’re adapted to the work thet you profess, Teachin’ gospel truths er hangin’ on the plow, Then buckle down to business, an’ yer can’t escape success, Fer you’ll find the nickromancy’s in the art o’ knowin’ how. _MOTHER’S PHOTOGRAPH._ D’you wish to know what came to me from good ol’ Santa Claus? ’Twuz not a lot o’ nigger-toes to crack between yer jaws, Nor candy nor a jumpin’-jack fer makin’ youngsters laugh-- But the present thet he give to me wuz mother’s photograph.