SPRING TIME IN AMERICA.

DEAR, faded, flowers, they bloom again, Like echoes of the spring time gone; And mossy hillside, shadowy glen, Break out in beauty like the dawn. In regal beauty, leaf and bud Bend ’neath the kisses of the breeze, And “Spanish Mixture for the Blood” Smiles from the fences, rocks and trees. Dear, smiling Spring, what tender hope Breathes from the life-awakening soil; How “Bolus’ Anti-bilious Dope,” And “Dr. Gastric’s Castor Oil” Bid frightened nature wake and smile; For spring time’s blossoms fill us less With thoughts of pansies than with vile “Panaceas” for “Biliousness.” If to the wooded nook we stray, Where every swelling germ is huge With life; each gray-browed rock will say, “Use Philogaster’s Vermifuge.” If from these sylvan bowers we fly, We fly, alas, to other ills; And farm-yard gates and barn-doors cry, “Take Ginsengrooter’s Liver Pills.” Each blue-eyed violet hides a “Pill,” There’s scent of “Rhubarb” in the air; “Rheumatic Plasters” line each hill, And “Bitters” blossom everywhere. With “Ague Cures” the eyes are seared; The air is thick, or thin, I meant, For Nature’s face and clothes are smeared With “Universal Liniment.”