_Four_ from _six_ leaves two, Mamma!

Now I have it right.

Well! upon my word, I think I wasn't very bright.

Dear Mamma, before I go, Here's a kiss for you.

Four from six leaves two, hurrah!

Four from six leaves two!

GRANDFATHER DEAR.

[_Written for Decoration Day._]

Jonquil and daffodil mine, Lift me your golden-crowned heads!

c.o.c.ks...o...b..and peony fine, Lend me your lordliest reds!

Tying my posy up here, I must have flowers at will; They are for Grandfather dear, There where he sleeps on the hill.

Grandfather dear was a soldier, Gallant and handsome and young.

Flowers, I'll show you his picture, Over the shelf where 'tis hung.

Yes, and his sword hangs beneath it, The sword that he waved as he fell, Fighting on Winchester Field,-- The field he was holding so well.

So when the year's at the sweetest, Mother and Grandmother dear And I, we go gathering flowers, So sweet as they're blossoming here.

And when Grandfather looks down from heaven, As he looks, and looks lovingly still, He smiles as he sees his own flowers, All shining and sweet on the hill.

GATHERING APPLES.

Down in the orchard, down in the orchard, Under the gold-apple tree, One little maid and two little maids Frolic, merry and free.

Brown as a berry, red as a rose, Sweeter maidens n.o.body knows.

"What are you doing, Marjorie?

Marjorie, tell to me?"

Up she lifted her curly head, (Oh, but her cheeks were rosy-red!) Shaking her curls right saucily, "I'm gathering apples!" said she, said she, "I'm gathering apples!" said she.

Down in the orchard, down in the orchard, Under the gold-apple tree, Softly treading, the farmer came, Peeping so warily.

Six feet high from his head to his toes; A jollier farmer n.o.body knows.

"What are you doing, farmer, pray?

Jolly old farmer, say!"

Up he caught them both in his arms; Oh, the shrieks, the merry alarms!

Closer clasping them lovingly, "I'm gathering apples!" said he, said he, "I'm gathering apples!" said he.

THE BALLAD OF THE BEACH.

"Take off thy stockings, Samuel!

Now take them off, I pray; Roll up thy trousers, Samuel, And come with me to play.

"The ebbing tide has left the sand All hard and smooth and white, And we will build a goodly fort, And have a goodly fight."

Then Samuel he pulled off His hose of scarlet hue, And Samuel he rolled up His breeches darkly blue.

And hand-in-hand with Reginald, He hied him to the beach; Each little boy a shovel had, And eke a pail had each.

Then down upon the shining sand Right joyfully they sat; And far upon the shining sand Each tossed his broad-brimmed hat.

Then valiantly to work they went, Like st.u.r.dy lads and true; And there they built a stately fort, The best that they might do.

"Now sit we down within the walls, Which rise above our head, And we will make us cannon-b.a.l.l.s Of sand, as good as lead."

Now as they worked, these little boys, Full glad in heart and mind, The creeping tide came back again, To see what it could find.

The creeping tide came up the sand, To see what it could do; And there it found two broad-brimmed hats, With ribbons red and blue.

And "See now!" said the creeping tide; "These hats belong, I trow, To Reginald and Samuel; I saw them here but now."

And "See now!" said the creeping tide; "What hinders me to float These hats out to the boys' mamma, Is sailing in a boat?"

Then up there came two little waves, All rippling so free; They lifted up the broad-brimmed hats, And bore them out to sea.

The ribbons red and ribbons blue Streamed gallantly away; The straw did glitter in the sun, Were never craft so gay!

The mother of these little lads Was sailing on the sea; And now she laughed, and now she sang, And who so blithe as she?

And "Look!" she said; "what things be these That dance upon the wave, All fluttering and glittering And sparkling so brave?

"Now row me well, my brethren, twain, Now row me o'er the sea!

For we will chase these tiny craft, And see what they may be."

They rowed her fast, they rowed her well,-- Too well, those gallants true; For when she reached the broad-brimmed hats, Right well those hats she knew.

"Alas!" she cried; "my little lads Are drowned in the sea!"

Then down she sank in deadly swoon, As pale as she might be.

They rowed her well, those gallants gay, They rowed her to the land; They lifted up that lady pale, And bore her up the strand.

But as they bore her up the beach, The b.a.l.l.s began to fly, And hit those gallants on the nose, And hit them in the eye.

They looked here, they looked there, To see whence this might be; And soon they spied a stately fort, Beside the salt, salt sea.

And straight from out the stately fort The b.a.l.l.s were flying free; Each gallant rubbed his smitten nose, And eke his eye rubbed he.