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Show PASSING CHIMES. 1 (By James Barton Adams.) SHE WENT THE LIMIT. Now the envious Indian maiden Who has visited the city In the hot midsummer season When the peek-a-boo brings blushes To the faces of the men folk Who allow their eyes to wander Into where they hadn't orter And from gunnybagging fabric Takes the strands from shirtwaist pattern, Leaving only every fourth strand In original position. Then she fashions well the garment, Sews the seams with wild deer sinew, Trims it o'er with buckskin fringes, Blazons it with soldier buttons And with beads of varied colors; i Then, with look of "fcride, she dons it, Studies it in crystal surface Of the streamlet near her teepee Nature's own pellucid mirror And her eyes of brown are beaming With the light of -new-born triumph As she trips about the village Envied by her dark-skinned sisters. But, urged by her young ambition To outdo tho paleface maidens, She has quite o'enstepped the limit, Even of New York or Pittsburgh, Or of Newport-by-the-Sad-Sea, , For she's mado it peek-a-booish j From tho place tho chicken got It To tho place her belt encircles! i |