Ganderfeather kissed me then,-- Ganderfeather, quaint and merry! No attenuate sprite was he, But as buxom as could be; Kissed me twice and once again, And the others shouted when On my cheek uprose a berry Somewhat like a mole, mayhap, But the kiss-mark of that chap Ganderfeather, passing merry,-- Humorsome but kindly, very! I was just a tiny thing When the prankish Ganderfeather Brought this curious gift to me With his fairy kisses three; Yet with honest pride I sing That same gift he chose to bring Out of yonder haunted heather; Other charms and friendships fly,-- Constant friends this mole and I, Who have been so long together! Thank you, little Ganderfeather! OLD TIMES, OLD FRIENDS, OLD LOVE. THERE are no days like the good old days,-- The days when we were youthful! When humankind were pure of mind, And speech and deeds were truthful; Before a love for sordid gold Became man's ruling passion, And before each dame and maid became Slave to the tyrant fashion! There are no girls like the good old girls,-- Against the world I'd stake 'em! As buxom and smart and clean of heart As the Lord knew how to make 'em! They were rich in spirit and common-sense, And piety all supportin'; They could bake and brew, and had taught school, too, And they made such likely courtin'! There are no boys like the good old boys,-- When _we_ were boys together! When the grass was sweet to the brown bare feet That dimpled the laughing heather; When the pewee sung to the summer dawn Of the bee in the billowy clover, Or down by the mill the whip-poor-will Echoed his night song over. There is no love like the good old love,-- The love that mother gave us! We are old, old men, yet we pine again For that precious grace,--God save us! So we dream and dream of the good old times, And our hearts grow tenderer, fonder, As those dear old dreams bring soothing gleams Of heaven away off yonder. OUR WHIPPINGS. COME, Harvey, let us sit awhile and talk about the times Before you went to selling clothes and I to peddling rhymes,-- The days when we were little boys, as naughty little boys As ever worried home folks with their everlasting noise! Egad! and were we so disposed, I'll venture we could show The scars of wallopings we got some forty years ago; What wallopings I mean I think I need not specify,-- Mother's whippings didn't hurt; but father's,--oh, my!