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Children of Our Town



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FLYING KITES A blustering windy day's just rightFor boys who want to fly a kite;And it affords the greatest joyTo make and use the pretty toy. But Aged Duffers, do not tryA large-sized paper kite to fly;You could not manage tail or string,And ten to one you'd spoil the thing.
  BOATS ON THE LAKE A morning full of happiness any boy may findBy sailing boats upon the lake, if he is so inclined;The wind it drives them out to sea, he pulls them back, and thenThey jerk and struggle to be free—away they go again!They wibble-wobble as they sail, and sometimes they upset,—Of course he reaches out for them,—of course he gets quite wet. But Aged Grandsires, if you must sail boats in Central Park,Play properly, don't splash yourself, and run back home ere dark.
  AT CONEY ISLAND See proud Belinda smartly dressedIn all her flaunting Sunday best;With muslin hat and ruffles bigShe cannot comfortably dig. Ask her if she would like to play,—She will not answer either way;She'll only shake herself, and then,Just pout and grin and pout again. Dear Grandams, meekly learn from this,How very ill-advised it isTo don a costume fine and grandWhen you go playing in the sand. Instead of your bespangled net,Or moire velvet edged with jet,Just wear a gingham, simply made,So you can tuck it up and wade.
  IN CENTRAL PARK In Central Park, along the Mall,We see the gay goat-carriage crawl;With little boys and girls inside,Enjoying their exciting ride. Right willingly each nimble steedExerts his very utmost speed;And o'er the smooth hard road they raceAt something like a turtle's pace. But stout old men and portly dames,Pray, do not urge your rightful claims;And even though you have the price,Listen, I beg, to my advice. Do not insist on getting inThe little carriage for a spin;You'd not look picturesque at allCareering up and down the Mall.
  THE FIRST OF APRIL 'Tis taught by philosophic schoolsThe human race is mostly fools.And once a year you see this truthAbly set forth by jocund youth,Who broach the tenets of the creedPlainly that he who runs may read. But Aged Idiots, 'tis not meetFor you to run along the street,And with a manner bold and slyPin tags on ladies passing by,Or sit upon the curb and lookFor fools to snatch your pocket-book.
  PLEBEIAN Lucinda's tastes are so depraved;She likes to play and rompWith children poor and ill-behaved,Who boast no style or pomp. Their costumes are not quite correct,They have no pretty tricks;Lucinda! pray be more select,In higher circles mix.
  PATRICIAN Ah, sweet Lucinda, best of girls,How quick to take advice.Behold her with unpapered curls,And frock so rich and nice! Her haughty stare! Who would supposeThat dress would change her soOh, blessed influence of fine clothes,How much to thee we owe!
  QUARRELSOMENESS Dear lady-readers of whatever age,Look backward and with me enjoy this page.What happy moments have we often spentThus to our frenzied anger giving vent.Ah, me, the long-lost joys of being young!To make up faces, and stick out one's tongue;How those occasions of Xantippish strifeGave zip and zest to our dull childish life.
  THE ETERNAL FEMININE Ah, truly, as the tree is bent the tiny twig's inclined,And in the very littlest girls we seeThe contradictious tendencies of woman's wayward mindDeveloped to a marvellous degree....