OLIVE A. WADSWORTH. Joey was a country boy,
Father’s help and mother’s joy;
In the morning he rose early,—
That’s what made his hair so curly;
Early went to bed at night,—
That’s what made his eyes so bright;
Ruddy as a red-cheeked apple;
Playful as his pony, Dapple;
Even the nature of the rose
Wasn’t quite as sweet as Joe’s.
Charley was a city boy,
Father’s pet and mother’s joy;
Always lay in bed till late;
That’s what made his hair so straight,
Late he sat up every night,—
That’s what made his cheeks so white;
Always had whate’er he wanted,
He but asked, and mother granted;
Cakes and comfits made him snarly,
Sweets but soured this poor Charley.
Charley, dressed quite like a beau,
Went, one day, to visit Joe.
“Come,” said Joey, “let’s go walking;
As we wander, we’ll be talking;
And, besides, there’s something growing
In the garden, worth your knowing.”
“Ha!” said Charley, “I’m your guest;
Therefore I must have the best.
All the inner part I choose,
And the outer you can use.”


Joey gave a little laugh;
“Let’s,” said he, “go half and half.”
“No, you don’t!” was Charley’s answer,
“I look out for number one, sir.”
But when they arrived, behold,
On the tree a peach of gold,
All without, fair, ripe and yellow,
Fragrant, juicy, tempting, mellow,
And, within, a gnarly stone.
“There,” said Joey, “that’s your own;
As you choose, by right of guest,
Keep your choice—I’ll eat the rest.”
Charley looked as black as thunder,
Scarce could keep his temper under.
“’Twas too bad, I think,” said Joe;
“Through the cornfield let us go,
Something there, perhaps we’ll see
That will suit you to a T.”
“Yes,” said Charles, with accent nipping,
“Twice you will not catch me tripping;
Since I lost the fruit before,
You now owe me ten times more.
Now the outer part I choose,
And the inner you can use.”

Joey gave another laugh;
“Better call it half and half.”
“No, indeed!” was Charley’s answer,
“I look out for number one, sir!
Well I know what I’m about,—
For you, what’s in; for me what’s out!”
On they went, and on a slope
Lay a luscious cantaloupe,
Rich and rare, with all the rays
From the August suns that blaze;
Quite within its sweets you find,
And without the rugged rind.

Charley gazed in blank despair,
Deeply vexed and shamed his air.
“Well,” said Joey, “since you would
Choose the bad and leave the good;
Since you claimed the outer part,
And disdained the juicy heart,—
Yours the rind, and mine the rest;
But as you’re my friend and guest,
Charley, man, cheer up and laugh,
And we’ll share it half and half;
Looking out for number one
Doesn’t always bring the fun.”