THE BRAVE BROTHER.

I was scared almost to death When I heard my sister Beth Screeching loud and crying. But I ran and took a stick, And I tell you, pretty quick, I had taught our goose a trick, And had sent him flying. Girls are always frightened stiff, Just as sister Beth was, if That cross, ugly gander Flies across the garden fence. And they always will commence Screaming,—’stead of having sense And showing out some dander. I made believe, with all my might, He was a dragon, dressed in white, With his fiery red mouth grinning,— Like that one mother read about, That old St. George marched forth and fought, And beat and killed him out and out Almost in the beginning. And once I heard my father say, “It’s pretty sure to be the way, When you’re awful frightened, If you fight till you’re ’most dead, Bravely, you’ll come out ahead;” But sister told me mother said, “You might,—and then you mightn’t!”

You’d scarce expect one of my age To speak in public or on the stage; And if I chance to fall below Demosthenes or Cicero, Don’t view me with a critic’s eye, But pass my imperfections by. Large streams from little fountains flow, Tall oaks from little acorns grow.