FIFTY YEARS OF A SHOWMAN'S LIFE 



There the tax-collector never calls, and the sun 

 shines both sides of the hedges. I know, for I 

 lived there once a-many years ago long before 

 I became a showman, which was lucky, else 

 I had been far too unsophisticated for the 

 business. 



This unpremeditated chapter the last but one 

 of my story owes its existence to my happening, 

 when recently turning over some of the literary 

 or otherwise, according to taste escapades of my 

 youth, to drop across a piece of versification which, 

 as Touchstone said of his particular Arcadian, is 

 " a poor thing but mine own." It took form on 

 paper not long after I had embarked upon an 

 agricultural showman's career, and oblivion, whence 

 I am now rescuing it, soon after claimed it. It 

 may be said to typify my old love for the idyllic 

 past, tempered by a practical recognition of the 

 prosaic present, and so may help to account for 

 the mental attitude which was the mainspring of 

 my actions during these fifty years of old memories. 

 The references to smock and billy-cock, bonnet 

 and crinoline all examples of discarded fashions 

 afford evidence of how long ago it is since these 

 lines were penned. 



A SHATTERED DAY-DREAM. 



" Oh, happy were those golden days, 



By lyric poets Bung 

 In madrigals and roundelays, 



When all the world was young. 

 When Damon piped and Phyllis danced, 



All garlanded with flowers, 

 And saucy nymphs at Strephon glanced 



From 'mong their leafy bowers. 



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