And the whole wood-pile's clean under snow!
And the days is dark as night!
You can't go out--ner you can't stay in--
Lay down--stand up--ner set!"
And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues
Would double him jest clean shet!

I writ his parents a postal-kyard,
He could stay 'tel Spring-time come;
And Aprile first, as I rickollect,
Was the day we shipped him home!
Most o' his relatives, sence then,
Has either give up, er quit,
Er jest died off; but I understand
He's the same old color yit!




MORRIS AND THE HONORABLE TIM[3]

BY MYRA KELLY


On the first day of school, after the Christmas holidays, teacher found
herself surrounded by a howling mob of little savages in which she had
much difficulty in recognizing her cherished First-Reader Class. Isidore
Belchatosky's face was so wreathed in smiles and foreign matter as to be
beyond identification; Nathan Spiderwitz had placed all his trust in a
solitary suspender and two unstable buttons; Eva Kidansky had entirely