hen the western light is fading, And the deepening shadows fall, When the night winds through the branches Softly to each other call; When in grassy country meadows Heavy hang the clovers red, And the stars begin to twinkle In the dusky arch o'erhead; |
When within the crowded city Spring the dark lamps into flame, And long rows of lighted windows Set the street as in a frame; When the busy hours are over, Cares and worries put away, And the evening enters softly After the retreating day; When the sound of homeward footsteps Echoes through the quiet street, Or the wayside grass is trampled By the tread of hurrying feet,— Then, in stately shining windows, Hung with misty laces white, Or in low-roofed cottage doorways Opening out into the night; With their merry voices silent, And their playthings put aside, Bright eyes, blue or black or hazel, All with eager watching wide, |
Stand a hundred little maidens,
Looking out beneath the stars,
Waiting in a hundred households
For a hundred dear papas;
And the quick, familiar footsteps
Nearer through the darkness come,
Till a hundred happy voices
Cry at once their "Welcome home!"
THE PIGS' CHOWDER-PARTY.
Down at Cape Cod there lived two merry little twin brothers. Very full of fun and mischief were they, and seldom quiet except when they were asleep.