If you saw papa's picture, as taken By Brady, and tinted at that, You'd never suspect he sold bacon And flour at Poverty Flat.

And yet, just this moment, when sitting

In the glare of the grand chandelier,
In the bustle and glitter befitting
The "finest soirée of the year,'
In the mists of a gaze de chambéry
And the hum of the smallest of
talk,

Somehow, Joe, I thought of “The
Ferry,"

And the dance that we had on "The
Fork;"

Of Harrison's barn, with its muster
Of flags festooned over the wall;
Of the candles that shed their soft
lustre

And tallow on head-dress and shawl;
Of the steps that we took to one fid-