GOLDEN MEMORIES.

Summers come and Summers go, Sir,

As appints the course of Nater:

In the winter I'm a grocer,

In the Summer I'm a waiter.

I'm a waiter at the sea-side;

There's the "Grand Hotel" up yonder—

Never hancient Rome or Greece eyed

Poet of the Summer fonder.

Though I'm quite self-heddycated,

Yet I love the Summer golden;

Every gent on whom I've waited

Feels 'isself to me beholden;

As appropriate verse I quote, Sir,

I can watch 'em growing gladder:

They're aweer 'ow much I dote, Sir,

On the golden light and shadder.

"Tipped with gold" the clouds and copses,

"Tipped with gold" yon arf-awake ox,

"Tipped with gold" the sheep and wapses,

"Tipped with gold" the 'arvest 'aycocks;

"Tipped with gold" the cows as browses,

Ditto waves and fish and sea-things,

Ditto shops and dwellin'-'ouses,

Ditto our hotel and tea-things.

"Tipped with gold." It's langwidge splendid,

Summing hup the Summer brightly—

Good for Nater, good for men, did

Gentlemen but read it rightly.

"Tipped with gold" still what I quote is:

'Umble folk should not be proud, Sir,—

Which I 'opes you've marked our notice—

"No gratuities allowed," Sir!