TO GO A-FISHING.
It's time to put the lessons by,
The fields are full of daisies;
When summer blue is in the sky,
Who cares for sums and phrases?
Deep in his heart, his highest joy,
The boy I know is wishing
To leave the school-room's strict employ,
And just to go a-fishing.
He'll find a grand old willow-tree,
Above brown waters dipping,
Where catfish glide and pickerels be,
And dainty birds are sipping.
There, waiting long, with earnest pluck,
At last his line will quiver,
And you and I will wish him luck
Beside that bonny river.