tering through Whittier's kindly verse.
As the days went by I came to have a
certain fondness for those homely lines:

O -- fruit loved of boyhood! -- the old days re-

calling,
When wood grapes were purpling and brown

nuts were falling!
When wild, ugly faces we carved in the skin,
Glaring out through the dark with a candle

within!
When we laughed round the corn-heap, with

hearts all in tune,
Our chair a broad pumpkin -- our lantern the

moon,
Telling tales of the fairy who travelled like

steam
In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her

team!


On all sides this poem was considered
very fitting, and I went to the festival