Passing on swift wings through the valley of life.
Cold are the days when winter comes again.
When my sweet days were passing at my happy home,
Sweet were the days on the rivulet's green brink;
Sweet were the days when I read my father's books;
Sweet were the winter days when bright fires are blazing."

"Bless the baby! where did he get all that?" exclaimed Miss Celia,
amazed, while the children giggled as Tennyson, Jr., took a bite at the
turtle instead of the half-eaten cake, and then, to prevent further
mistakes, crammed the unhappy creature into a diminutive pocket in the
most business-like way imaginable.

"It comes out of my head. I make lots of them," began the imperturbable
one, yielding more and more to the social influences of the hour.

"Here are the peacocks coming to be fed," interrupted Bab, as the
handsome birds appeared with their splendid plumage glittering in the
sun.

Young Barlow rose to admire, but his thirst for knowledge was not yet
quenched, and he was about to request a song from Juno and Jupiter,
when old Jack, pining for society, put his head over the garden wall
with a tremendous bray.

This unexpected sound startled the inquiring stranger half out of his
wits; for a moment the stout legs staggered and the solemn countenance
lost its composure, as he whispered, with an astonished air:

"Is that the way peacocks scream?"