IJ2 THE BAGGAGE-WAGON.
With garments dried in country sun Tumbled and tossed within.
Under the locks what finery
Lies travel-stained and worn !
Limp muslins with the sea-kiss on, Flounces on fences torn.
(For how could Kitty stop to think
Of dress on sea-sand wet, When Fred was whispering the while
A vow she don t forget ?
Or how could Lily spare her flounce, Scrambling in breathless fright,
When Silvertop was coming near To woo her, if he might ?)
Methinks mamma will open wide
Her pretty eyes to see How school-boy Fred has packed his trunk
With trophies recklessly ;
Risking by Bramah Pootra eggs The shine of Sunday clothes ;
A tortoise in the collar-box, Birds nests on satin bows.
But oh ! there s baggage coming home
In yonder jostled pile, Packed, outward bound, not long ago,
With jest and happy smile ;