possibly say them in rhyme, merely because the committee insists upon
it. I send you herewith all the poetry which has been written in
camp since last Monday, and it has been a very prosy week.

I have given them to papa, and he says that the best of my own, which
are all bad enough, is the following hammock-song.

I thought it out while I was swinging Margery, and here it is! -


To--fro,
Dreamily, slow,
Under the trees;
Swing--swing,
Drowsily sing
The birds and the bees;
Sleep--rest,
Slumber is best,
Wakefulness sad;
Rest--sleep,
Forget how to weep,
Dream and be glad!


Papa says it is all nonsense to say that slumber is best and
wakefulness sad; and that it is possible to tell the truth in poetry.
Perhaps it is, but why don't they do it oftener, then? And how was
he to know that Polly and Jack had just gone through a terrible
battle of words in which I was peacemaker, and that Dicky had been as
naughty as--Nero--all day? These two circumstances made me look at