I hope that you and I, dear reader, may be able to get as many of these new dollars as we actually shall need, though perhaps none of us may ever have as many of them, or of any other kind of money, as we think we should like to have.
O the sweet spring days when the grasses grow. And the violets blow, And the lads and the lassies a-maying go!
When the mosses cling in their velvet sheen, Like a fringe of green, To the rocks that o'er the deep pools lean;
When the brooks wake up with a merry leap From their winter sleep, And the frogs in the meadows begin to peep;
When the robin sings, thro' the long bright hours, Of his southern bowers, With a dream in his heart of the coming flowers;
When the earth is full of delicious smells From the ferny dells, And the scent of the breeze quite plainly tells
He has been with the apple-blooms! They fly From his kisses sly Like feathery snow-flakes scurrying by!
O the saucy pranks of the madcap breeze In the blossoming trees! O the sounds that thrill, and the sights that please,
And the nameless joys that the May days bring On their glad, glad wing! O the dear delights of the sweet, sweet spring!
On the nineteenth day of last month, Sam could and would have testified, from information and belief, that he was "eight yeahs ol', gwine on nine;" but on the morning of the twentieth, that interesting infant of color was informed by his mother, as soon as he awoke, that he was "nine yeahs ol', gwine on ten." When Aunt Phillis imparted this surprising intelligence to her son, he was greatly amazed and confounded; and he immediately began to speculate as to what extraordinary combination of circumstances could have so suddenly wrought this remarkable change.
"Hoo-_ee_!" he cried, "whut a pow'ful while I mus' ha' slep'! Or else I grows wuss an' dat ar Jonus's gourd you tol' me 'bout, whut wuz only a _teenchy_ leetle simblin at night, and got big as de hen-house afore mornin'--early sun-up. Hm! hey! look heah, mammy, is I skipped any Christmusses?"
"No, chile," replied his mother; "you aint skipped nuffin. Dis is yo' buff-day: de 'fects ob which is, dat it's des so many yeahs sence you wuz fust borned. I don't know how 't 'll be, Sam,--folks is sim'lar to de cocoa-grass, whut grows up mighty peart, tell 'long come somebody wid a hoe to slosh it down,--but ef you libs long enough, an' nuffin happens, you'll keep on habbin a buff-day ebry yeah wunst a yeah till you dies. An' ebry time you has one, son, you'll be one yeah older."