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Show THE WAIL OF THE MOVER. The rumbling vans go slowly by From sooty morn to smoky eve; With household goods piled extra high Sad tenants take their mournful leave, The streets are filled with caravans-All caravans-All up and down the' town they range; Oh, beds and stoves and rugs and , pans. This life's a life of constant change TIs better to have let and lost Than novor to have let at all; For nen will settle when they choose, Nor chooso to settle when you call. Tho creaking vans go rumbling by To seek fresh fields and pastures strange, And landlords sigh and tenants cry; "This life's a life of constant change" j From the Cleveland plain Dealer. oo |