A LITTLE SCAMP.
BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD.
He's off on a tramp,
Like the little scamp
That he is, for we did not bind him;
And with hurrying feet
Up and down the street
We've followed, but can not find him.
There are gypsies about,
Who will steal him, no doubt,
And keep him in horrible places;
And changing his name,
Our darling will claim,
Who misses our fond embraces.
The dear little scamp,
What made him decamp
In this way, without any warning?
He can not speak plain,
And we've sought him in vain,
Why, ever since yesterday morning.
He was saucy and pert,
And will surely get hurt
In some of his comical capers;
And hoping to get
Our runaway pet,
We've advertised him in the papers.
We've mentioned his size,
The color of his eyes,
And his hair—'twas a beautiful yellow;
And offered reward,
All we could afford,
To whoever restores the dear fellow.
His meals he will take
Very nicely, and cake
He is almost as fond of as candy.
If he crosses your track,
Won't you please bring him back?
He's a dog, and he answers to—Dandie.