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I ’d  go  right  in  the  parlor,
                                         No  matter  who  was  there j
                                       I'd  have a  span  of  horses,
                                         And  keep  a  dancing  hear ]

                                       But,  then,  I  ain’t  a grown-up,
                                         I'm  a  hoy  that  has  to  mind,
                                       With a little  blue-checked  apron.
                                         And my  trousers  thin  behind;
                                       And  the  women  comc  and  kiss  me,
                                         And call  me  “  little  dear
                                       fVnd  I shan’t be a  grown-up
                                         In  many  a long  year,
                                                                       M r s,  M .  F ,  B u t t s*


                                         GOING  AFTER  THE  COWS.

                              ^ T 'E N N IE !  ”  mother  cries,  "Jen-itie i
                                  J   Why,  where in  the  world  can  Jennie be?
                                 J    She  went  for the  cows  an  hour  ago.
                                      What  ails  the girl  tiiat  she  lingers  so?u


                                 The  sun  goes  down in  the  crimson  west,
                                 The tired  day  prepares  for  rest,
                                 And  the  laggard  moments  slowly pass,
                                 But  bring no  news  of  the  truant  lass.


                                 " What ails  the  girl? "   The sober cows,
                                 Stopping along  the  fields  to browse,
                                 May look  in  vain  from  side to  side,
                                 And  wait the  voice  of  their pretty guide.

                                 For far  behind,  by  the pasture gate,
                                 Jennie— and  Jamie— forget  ’tis late,
                                 Forget the  cows,  and  the  milking  hour,
                                 And  everything else,  save  love's  sweet power.
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