Picture the boys "camping out" on the commons, and gipsying gaily in tents midst the heather,
Armed with their canvas and blankets and boilers and pannikins well against hunger and weather.
Picture them—CALLOT'S free brush might have managed it—gathered in pow-wow around the camp-fire,
Sun-tanned and wind-browned, in picturesque raiment, with wisp of the wild hop or trail of the briar
Hat-wreathed or button-holed. BURNS should have sung of them; trim-skirted Muse, with punctilious tastes,
Were not at home with these waifs from the rookery, pastured at large in free Nature's wild wastes,
Bounding, and breathing fresh air, romping, wrestling, and disciplined only to cleanness and order.
Otherwise free as the tent-dwelling Arabs, or outlaws of Sherwood, or bands of the Border.
Picture it! FEGAN'S pink pamphlet has pictured it. Read it, all lovers of Nature and youth,
All who have care for the wrecks of humanity, all who are moved by the spirit of ruth.