And down through the woods to the swimming-hole—­
    Where the big, white, hollow, old sycamore grows,—­
  And we never cared when the water was cold,
  And always “ducked” the boy that told
    On the fellow that tied the clothes.—­
  When life went so like a dreamy rhyme,
    That it seems to me now that then
  The world was having a jollier time
    Than it ever will have again.

The crude production is received, I am glad to note, with some expressions of favor from the company, though Bob, of course, must heartlessly dissipate my weak delight by saying, “Well, it’s certainly bad enough; though,” he goes on with an air of deepest critical sagacity and fairness, “considered, as it should be, justly, as the production of a jour-poet, why, it might be worse—­that is, a little worse.”

“Probably,” I remember saying,—­“Probably I might redeem myself by reading you this little amateurish bit of verse, enclosed to me in a letter by mistake, not very long ago.”  I here fish an envelope from my pocket the address of which all recognize as in Bob’s almost printed writing.  He smiles vacantly at it—­then vividly colors.

“What date?” he stoically asks.

“The date,” I suggestively answer, “of your last letter to our dear Doc, at Boarding-School, two days exactly in advance of her coming home—­this veritable visit now.”

Both Bob and Doc rush at me—­but too late.  The letter and contents have wholly vanished.  The youngest Miss Mills quiets us—­urgently distracting us, in fact, by calling our attention to the immediate completion of our joint production; “For now,” she says, “with our new reinforcement, we can, with becoming diligence, soon have it ready for both printer and engraver, and then we’ll wake up the boy (who has been fortunately slumbering for the last quarter of an hour), and present to him, as designed and intended, this matchless creation of our united intellects.”  At the conclusion of this speech we all go good-humoredly to work, and at the close of half an hour the tedious, but most ridiculous, task is announced completed.

As I arrange and place in proper form here on the table the separate cards—­twenty-seven in number—­I sigh to think that I am unable to transcribe for you the best part of the nonsensical work—­the illustrations.  All I can give is the written copy of—­

BILLY’S ALPHABETICAL ANIMAL SHOW.

  A was an elegant Ape
  Who tied up his ears with red tape,
    And wore a long veil
    Half revealing his tail
  Which was trimmed with jet bugles and crape.

  B was a boastful old Bear
  Who used to say,—­“Hoomh!  I declare
    I can eat—­if you’ll get me
    The children, and let me—­
  Ten babies, teeth, toenails and hair!”

  C was a Codfish who sighed
  When snatched from the home of his pride,
    But could he, embrined,
    Guess this fragrance behind,
  How glad he would be that he died!