I saw her somewhat towzled hair
Reflected in the brook--
I might have seen her often there,
Only--I didn't look.
G.C.
* * * * *
SONG OF THE BASEMENT STORY.
Her mean abode was but a cell;
'Twas lonely, chill, and drear.
Her work was all her wealth, but well
She wrought with hope and cheer.
She, envious not of great or gay,
Slept, with unbolted doors;
Then woke, and as we Yankees say,
"Flew round" and did her chores.
All day she worked; no lover lent
His aid; and yet with glee
At dusk she sought her home, content,
That beauteous Bumble Bee.
A cell it was, nor more nor less.
But O! all's one to me
Whether you write it with an S,
Dear girl, or with a C.
April 1st.
N.B. The motto for this ought to be, "For she was a water-rat."
CHAPTER XXVIII.
MELCOMBE.
"In the pleasant orchard closes
'God bless all our gains,' say we,
But, 'May God bless all our losses,'
Better suits with our degree"
E.
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