Volume 99 — SUNDAY AT HOME.

The stillness of the Summer day Broods o'er the country sweet, And all things, save the murmuring stream, Are silent in the heat. The sunbeams through the green leaves play, The air is sweet with new-mown hay— But I am bound at home to stay Here in Great Gasworks Street. On the fourth-floor I take the air, And hear the trains roll by, And dream of all the visions fair That o'er the housetops lie; The meadows where the daisies stray, The bleating sheep, as white as they, The breakers and the sparkling spray, Beneath the smokeless sky. There's MINNIE in the cradle, And TOMMY on the floor, And JOHNNY with a ladle Is banging on the door; And, where the household linen dries, Cross little ANNIE sits and cries As loud as she can roar. About the street the children sprawl, Or on the door-steps sit; The women, gay with kerchief-shawl, Engage the men with wit, Who lounge at ease against the wall, And meditate and spit. So through the Summer Sunday hours The sunbeams slowly steal, Gilding the beer-shop's saw-dust bowers, The cabbage-stalks in lieu of flowers, The trodden orange-peel, Till, calm as heaven, the moon appears, A Sister in a house of tears, Who soothes, but cannot heal. And now the cheap excursionists Come, tired and happy, home, And hear amid the noisy streets The churning of the foam. They've seen the surges rolling in With slow, reluctant roar. Or shouted to the ceaseless din Along the rocky shore; And others in the woodland way, Or on the breezy down, Have gone excursioning astray, While I have stayed in Town, And wished that I was dead and bu-ri-ed, For all my Sunday gown. And little BOBBY'S hair is curled By country breezes sweet; And LIZZIE'S heart is full of light, Though heavy are her feet. Father and mother face their plight More hopeful for the treat, And bless the God who made a world Beyond Great Gasworks Street.