THE IRRIGATION AGE. 



365 



thing. And even now, when at home for 

 a visit. I cast an apprehensive glance over 

 my shoulder and tread quietly past the 

 "bonnet"' that, hangs by the door, when- 

 ever I go out bareheaded into the glorious 

 sunlight. I never so freely realized that I 

 was actually grown-up, of age and my own 

 mistress, as I did when, that warning call 

 being sent alter me, "put your bonnet on," 

 I turned in the first glow of newly-acquired 

 liberty, drew myself up to my full height, 

 and with the remembrance of former 

 oppression cried "No. I'll not.'' and went 

 victoriously into the warm sunlight that 

 was to spot me with freckles innumerable 

 and give me besides a fine coat of tan. 

 No, never again will my summer days be 

 haunted with that nightmare of a snn- 

 bonnet that embittered my childhood. 

 I am emancipated from its dominion, 

 never again to fall beneath its swav. let 



the dictates of fashion be what they may. 

 But when I read of a man admiring and 

 upholding such a fashion I long for 

 vengance. Could I but see him toiling up 

 a dusty country road on a hot summer's 

 day, with a green and white checked 

 gingham sun-bonnet tied securely under 

 his perspiring chin, his hair damp with 

 moisture: and could I see him again with 

 flushed face looking out from the depths 

 of his nice warm bonnet, essaying vainly 

 to untie the strings which have become 

 hopelessly tangled and wet with sweat; 

 could I see him thus, then, and not till 

 then could I feel avenged and grant for- 

 giveness. A pretty girl never looks 

 prettier than when her face is in the half 

 shadow of a sun-bonnet scoop, and it is to 

 the credit of latter day fasnions that there 

 should be a revival of so fetching a mode. 



BACK THERE IN OL' MISSOURY. 



Back in ol' Missoury. when the acorns tumble down. 

 When the hick'ry nuts are fallin' an' the leaves are turnin' brown, 

 When the ripe persimmons hang like golden nuggets in the trees, 

 An' the luscious pawpaws ripen in the frost bejeweled breeze, 

 When the odor of the 'possum tempts the native appetite,' 

 An' the barkin' of the coon dog wakes the echoes of the night- 

 Tell you what, it makes a feller feel home?icky-like and queer 

 When he thinks of ol' Missoury an' the rural pleasures there. 



Back there in ol' Missoury when the autumn has begun. 

 When the fat an' sassy pun'kins lie a blushin' in the sun. 

 When the smell of apple butter livens up the atmosphere, 

 An' the quails are whis'lin' music mighty ticklin' to the ear. 

 When the cider mill is chawin' up the apples in its jaws. 

 An' the huskin' bees are bnzzin' in the golden Cupid cause: 

 That's the time a feller harbors the opinion mighty flat 

 That this life is worth a livin'. an' is pow'ful cheap at that. 



An' the gals back in Missoury. in their frocks of calico, 



Used to wonder what sich angels was a doing here below. 



Cheeks a bloomin' like the posies in their own dear native woods 



With a tint they never gobbled from apothecary's goods. 



Never carried no attractions built on fashionable style. 



Allus snared the gallant fellers in the network of a smile, 



Never needed stays to cinch 'em into shape that will eclat 



Natur' with her skill precluded the necessity fur that. Denver Post. 



