THE GLORIOUS FOURTH AND ITS MEMORIES.

Have you ever mused in silence upon a summer's day

And let your thoughts run riot and your feelings have full sway,

As you sprawled full length upon the grass in some secluded dell

And breathed the balmy country air, and smelt the country smell?

Then as you muse,

And gently snooze,

Between thinks

You remember those jinks

When spirits were high

On the Fourth of July.

There was little Willie Browning, the worst of all the boys

Who had a sure-nuff cannon that made all kinds of noise;

And when the cannon would n't go he blew into the muzzle,

But what became of Willie's teeth has always been a puzzle.

How the folks looked askance

At the seats of our pants,

When those giant skyrockets

Went off in our pockets!

Gee whiz!

What fun the Fourth is!

When the red-hot July sun began to wink the clouds away,

We were out with whoops and shoutings to celebrate the day.

With piece of punk in one hand and crackers in the other,

We would troop home later in the day for linseed oil and mother.

But our burns

Were small concerns.

Our hearts were light,

Injuries slight.

Not even a sigh

On the Fourth of July.

And as you lie and ponder, the thought comes home to you

That your youngest boy now celebrates the way you used to do;

And the mother that he bawls for to have those small wounds dressed

Is the woman whom long years ago you swore you loved the best.

But what funny things

Memory brings.

Who would have thought

That I would be caught

With a tear in my eye

On the Fourth of July.