SHOP.
(Spring Thoughts by One In Trade.)
When the new Spring is drawing near
There always rises in my blood
A keen desire to see the year
Fresh opening in the bud.
From my tame task to wander free;
For one brief day to get me gone
To some sweet rural spot, and see
How things are getting on.
So, when a rising glass invites,
Off by the ready train I fare;
How sweet are all the country sights,
How fresh the country air!
Here every prospect has its charm;
On every side I find a spell;
There is a pleasure in a farm,
And (almost) in the smell.
'Tis sweet to see the pretty lambs,
To mark them as they frisk and jump,
Or nestle round their anxious dams,
So placid and so plump.
I hear the lark's ecstatic gush
From his clear ambush in the sky;
A blackbird (if it's not a thrush)
Sings from a wood hard by.
I climb towards an open lea
Whereon the goodly cattle browse,
And oh, it does me good to see
Such oxen and such cows.
And here and there an early calf
Staggers about with weakling frame;
It is a sight that makes me laugh;
I feel so glad I came.
The orchard with its early pink
(Cherry, I'm told) adorns the scene;
While the horse-chestnut (as I think)
Is well-nigh turning green.
So through the day I roam apart,
And bless the happy dawn of Spring,
Which thrills a butcher's homely heart
With such sweet visiting.
But soon the light begins to fade,
And I must quit these rural joys
To labour at my daily trade
Mid London's dust and noise.
Back to the buses and the trams,
To think on Spring's recurring boon,
Especially the calves and lambs:
They will be ready soon.
Dum-Dum.
"Carpentier was getting to be a sorry sight at the finish. There was hardly anything to indicate that Jeannette had been in a 15-round glove-fight."—Times.
"All this Carpentier stood well, and quick as lightning at long range cut the mulatto's face to bits."—Morning Post.
We think our contemporaries are carrying their rivalry with each other too far.