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Show if Rippling' Rhymes j Uy WALT MASON j SONG AND SUCCOTASH. When I'm not toiling at my lrc, producing pro-ducing thrilling waves of sound, I'm busy as a liousu afire, ln my miall plot of garden ground. When 1 ve turned out an anthem sweet, designed to soothe men's troubled souls. J spade the dirt around a b. i. and teach m beans to grow on poles. A bard may chant an tide or two, may write, per chance, some soaring screeds, but to his duty he's untrue if ho neglects to pull the weeds. For what this country needs Just now, when everything ker-flummlxed ker-flummlxed stands. Is not the pre. dm of the brow it is the product of the bends. Too many bask on beds o, ease, and write or sing or paint or play, when they should hoc the String-h String-h i" .1 ' and p! n-1; the t r : l-r .1 1 1 1 bah of hay It I were young I'd soak my lyre, and quit this Idle graft of song, and In the- furrow I'd perspire, or whack up elm the whole day' long. But 1 am old and full of lard, and when I've worked an hour or three, the! neighbors lend me from tbo yard and! fan mo with a cedar tree. And so I 1 toot the poet'l burn, but when I've earned a saw buck green, I strive to grow an ear of coin, a carrot or a lima bean. |