The bayberry aromatic,
The papery immortelles
(That give our grandma's attic
That sentimental smell,
Tied up in little brush-brooms)
Were sweet as new-mown hay,
While we went hunting mushrooms
That blue September day.

Henry Augustin Beers (1847

MISS NANCY'S GOWN

IN days when George the Third was King And ruled the Old Dominion,

And Law and Fashion owned the sway

Of Parliament's opinion,

A good ship brought across the sea,-
A treasure fair and fine,—

Miss Nancy's gown from London town,
The latest Court design!

The plaited waist from neck to belt
Scarce measured half a span;
The sleeves, balloon-like, at the top
Could hold her feather fan;
The narrow skirt with bias gore
Revealed an ankle neat,
Whene'er she put her dainty foot
From carriage step to street!

By skilful hands this wondrous gown
Of costliest stuff was made,
Cocoons of France on Antwerp looms
Wrought to embossed brocade,
Where roses red and violets

In blooming beauty grew,
As if young May were there alway,
And June and April too!.

Wing Tee Wee

1803

And from this bower of delight

Miss Nancy reigned a Queen,
Nor one disloyal heart rebelled
In all her wide demesne:
The noble House of Burgesses

Forgot its fierce debate

O'er rights of Crown, when Nancy's gown
Appeared in Halls of State!

Through jocund reel, or measured tread

Of stately minuet,

Like fairy vision shone the bloom

Of rose and violet,

As, hand in hand with Washington,

The hero of the day,

The smiling face and nymph-like grace

Of Nancy led the way!

A century, since that gay time
The merry dance was trod,

Has passed, and Nancy long has slept
Beneath the churchyard sod;

Yet on the brocade velvet gown

The rose and violet

Are blooming bright as on the night

She danced the minuet!

Zitella Cocke [1847

WING TEE WEE

OH, Wing Tee Wee

Was a sweet Chinee,

And she lived in the town of Tac.

Her eyes were blue,

And her curling cue

Hung dangling down her back;

And she fell in love with gay Win Sil

When he wrote his love on a laundry bill.

And oh, Tim Told

Was a pirate bold,

And he sailed in a Chinese junk”

And he loved, ah me!

Sweet Wing Tee Wee,

But his valiant heart had sunk;

So he drowned his blues in fickle fizz,
And vowed the maid would yet be his.

So bold Tim Told

Showed all his gold

To the maid in the town of Tac,
And sweet Wing Wee

Eloped to sea,

And nevermore came back;

For in far Chinee the maids are fair,

And the maids are false, as everywhere.
J. P. Denison [18

MY GRANDMOTHER'S TURKEY-TAIL FAN

Ir owned not a color that vanity dons

Or slender wits choose for display;

Its beautiful tint was a delicate bronze,

A brown softly blended with gray.

From her waist to her chin, spreading out without break,

'Twas built on a generous plan:

The pride of the forest was slaughtered to make
My grandmother's turkey-tail fan.

For common occasions it never was meant:
In a chest between two silken cloths
'Twas kept safely hidden with careful intent
In camphor to keep out the moths.

'Twas famed far and wide through the whole country side,

From Beersheba c'en unto Dan;

And often at meeting with envy 'twas eyed,
My grandmother's turkey-tail fan.

Camp-meetings, indeed, were its chiefest delight.
Like a crook unto sheep gone astray

It beckoned backsliders to re-seek the right,
And exhorted the sinners to pray.

1805

A Moral in Sevres

It always beat time when the choir went wrong,
In psalmody leading the van.

Old Hundred, I know, was its favorite song-
My grandmother's turkey-tail fan.

A fig for the fans that are made nowadays,
Suited only to frivolous mirth!

A different thing is the fan that I praise,

Yet it scorned not the good things of earth.
At bees and at quiltings 'twas aye to be seen.
The best of the gossip began

When in at the doorway had entered serene.
My grandmother's turkey-tail fan.

Tradition relates of it wonderful tales.
Its handle of leather was buff.

Though shorn of its glory, e'en now it exhales
An odor of hymn-books and snuff.

Its primeval grace, if you like, you can trace:
"Twas limned for the future to scan,
Just under a smiling, gold-spectacled face,
My grandmother's turkey-tail fan.
Samuel Minturn Peck [1854-

A MORAL IN SEVRES

UPON my mantel-piece they stand,
While all its length between them lies;
He throws a kiss with graceful hand,
She glances back with bashful eyes.

The china Shepherdess is fair,

The Shepherd's face denotes a heart
Burning with ardor and despair.

Alas, they stand so far apart!

And yet, perhaps, if they were moved,
And stood together day by day,
Their love had not so constant proved,

Nor would they still have smiled so gay.

His hand the Shepherd might have kissed
The match-box Angel's heart to win;
The Shepherdess, his love have missed,
And flirted with the Mandarin.

But on my mantel-piece they stand,
While all its length between them lies;

He throws a kiss with graceful hand,

She glances back with bashful eyes.
Mildred Howells [18

ON THE FLY-LEAF OF A BOOK OF OLD PLAYS

AT Cato's Head in Russell Street
These leaves she sat a-stitching;
I fancy she was trim and neat,
Blue-eyed and quite bewitching.

Before her on the street below,
All powder, ruffs, and laces,
There strutted idle London beaux
To ogle pretty faces;

While, filling many a Sedan chair
With monstrous hoop and feather,
In paint and powder London's fair
Went trooping past together.

Swift, Addison, and Pope, mayhap

They sauntered slowly past her,
Or printer's boy, with gown and cap,
For Steele, went trotting faster.

For beau nor wit had she a look;
Nor lord nor lady minding,
She bent her head above this book,
Attentive to her binding.

And one stray thread of golden hair,
Caught on her nimble fingers,

Was stitched within this volume, where
Until to-day it lingers.