FROM ONE BOY TO ANOTHER.
I'm sorry for you, King of Spain—
You're just a boy like me—
But even though you are a boy
You are not half as free!
You're fenced about by etiquette—
By lots of little rules
Like those we have to mind when we
Are in our dancing-schools.
Poor little King!—you have no fun
Like that of other boys;
You cannot jump and romp about,
And try to make a noise.
You cannot take a sled and slide
Like lightning down a hill;
To land head-first in snow would make
Your little highness ill.
You have a tutor come to you
Instead, like we boys have,
Of going to school and romping there,
With none to domineer!
Poor little King!—I weep for you,
Deprived of all life's joy;
And when I pray, I pray you'll dream
That you're a Yankee boy.
For I have found that that which comes
By day, for wrong or right,
Is easier made by fairy dreams
Which come to me at night.
So, little King, I beg you take
From me, a Yankee free,
The message of a boy who has
A deal of sympathy.
And while we do not care for kings,
And look on thrones askance,
We love you as a fellow-boy,
And wish you had a chance!
John Kendrick Bangs.
A VALID REASON.
Jimmieboy had just moved into town, and he didn't like hotel life.
"What's the matter, Jimmieboy? Why don't you like it here?" asked a friend.
"Oh, it's sort of flat," said Jimmieboy. "Home I can go all over the house, but here pop's got lots of visitors that seem to own the rooms. I wish he'd never hired this old hotel!"