,^l 
 
 PS 3515 
 .U278 
 114 
 Copy 1 
 
 wtiSiB'SSSeQ 
 
 OiW<Y( 
 
 an 
 
 oxa^s 
 
 IWiijm 
 
 mos 
 
 
 UGHES 
 
iKarrlying to Ifvmtt 
 
 mi (Stl\tt mxuB Slfgm^s 
 
 B3) 
 
 Russell Meriwether Hughes 
 

 6<^.'^*^ 
 
 •?,•» t^ 
 
 0CI.A49Oti-;)(i 
 
 DEC 31 1917 
 
Mntt^m^ to Jranr? 
 
 anil (§ti(n iStxas Wai^mss 
 
 Sy 
 
 
 RUSSELL MERIWETHER HUGHES 
 
 
 Page. 
 
 ** Marching in France" 
 
 7 
 
 ''The Echo" 
 
 9 
 
 ''To Lilian" 
 
 10 
 
 "The Song of Bacchus" 
 
 11 
 
 "There Ain't no 'countin' 
 
 
 Fer Sum Things" 
 
 12 
 
 "Content" 
 
 15 
 
 "Discontent" 
 
 16 
 
 "Are You Coming? 
 
 17 
 
 " Uncle Rastus on the Weather' 
 
 '18 
 
 "Lolita" 
 
 19 
 
 "Yesterday and Today" 
 
 21 
 
 "The Slacker" 
 
 22 
 
 "The "Wind" 
 
 23 
 
 "Spring Fever" 
 
 24 
 
 "You" 
 
 25 
 
 "A Color Harmony" 
 
 26 
 
 "The Prairies" 
 
 27 
 
 "To a Japanese Rose Jar" 
 
 29 
 
 "The Last Question" 
 
 30 
 
 "Priscilla, a Portrait" 
 
 31 
 
 "Texas" 
 
 32 
 
 "The Ghosts of the Pawnshop" 
 
 33 
 
To MY SISTER 
 
^arctjtitg to ^vmxtt 
 
 Marching, Marching, 
 And never a knight on Holy Crusade 
 Went forth with prouder or readier blade, 
 Than the men that march in the crimson shade 
 
 Of the stars and bars, 
 To France. 
 
 Marching, Marching, 
 AVithout the bugle, clear and loud, 
 Without the cheer of the surging crowd. 
 He is slipping away perhaps to his shroud, 
 
 ''Under sealed orders". 
 To France. 
 
 Marching, Marching, 
 Bristling vvdth guns is the armoured car, 
 And the aeroplane's motor is heard afar. 
 And the long, dark transport slips o'er the bar 
 
 Without a good-bye. 
 To France. 
 
 Marching, Marching, 
 And the rythmical echo of their feet 
 Is heard in the Nation's quick heart-beat. 
 As their olive-drab uniforms fill the street, 
 
 On their ominous journey, 
 To France. 
 
Marching, Marching, 
 With a song on his lips and a laugh in his eye, 
 Though brooding deaths in the ocean lie, 
 He is ready and willing to go and die 
 
 For the stars and stripes, 
 In France. 
 
 Marching, Marching, 
 The silence echoes the March of the Dead, 
 And the sun and the moon burn a sullen red 
 And his heart beats high like the flag overhead 
 
 That he'll carry in triumph 
 Through France. 
 
®t{0 ^Ct{0 
 
 Waiting — Waiting. 
 
 The moon in the east reflects the red 
 Of battlefields where heroes bled. 
 
 And the old, old cry of the soul, **Is he dead? 
 Ts he hurt and alone 
 In France?'' 
 
 Waiting — Waiting. 
 
 She wonders if that was their last good-bye, 
 And there are no tears, but a shuddering cry, 
 
 ''Dear God, You cannot let him die, 
 Where my heart lies bleeding 
 In France." 
 
 Waiting — Waiting. 
 
 God, is not ours the harder task 
 To hide our thoughts 'neath a smiling mask? 
 
 Had we our choice, we'd only ask 
 To be marching — with him — 
 In France. 
 
®o plimt 
 
 A wealth of shing hair that falls 
 In softened waves of gold. 
 
 Bright eyes of blue that pearly 
 tears 
 Or ready laughter hold. 
 
 A silver thread of melody 
 
 From the violin's pent-up soul; 
 
 A brilliant blaze of technique 
 Where a million victories roll. 
 
 A whirling figure in yellow and red 
 With a tinkling tambourine ; 
 
 A shining vision of satin and tulle 
 In a beautiful ball-room scene. 
 
 The ready hand of a real, true friend, 
 Unselfish and loving and sweet. 
 
 May Fortune open her golden doors 
 And pour her wealth at your feet. 
 
 10 
 
"SElie ^ong of ^accl{us 
 
 0, the grass is green and the sky is blue, 
 And the laughing field-flowers sparkle with dew. 
 Hear the answering cry of the cooing dove, 
 "To live, to live, to love." 
 
 The clear brook's yodel the echo wakes, 
 Where the weeping willow her banner shakes. 
 And the sw^allow, winging his flight above 
 Cries, ''Live, to live, to love." 
 
 A green snake glides in the oak-tree's root. 
 And a tawny tiger purrs at my foot. 
 What's the breeze a-murmuring of? 
 ''Love, to live, to love." 
 
 The lithe, white nymphs are dancing along 
 Laughing, and playing and singing a song 
 Of an Oread, who in her mountain cove 
 Sings, "Love, O Love, love." 
 
 0, the sun and the sky and the wind and the sea 
 And the dryads singing so merrily. 
 The purple grapes their nectar give. 
 Ah, life, to live, to live. 
 
 11 
 
''There ain't no 'countin' fer sum things," 
 
 Thus speaks Silver Cy, 
 And we know there 's a story coming, 
 
 By the twinkle in his eye. 
 
 Cy is a broncho buster, 
 
 An awful likeable chap 
 In spite of his tall ungainliness 
 
 And the way his eyebrows lap. 
 
 ' * I wuz out on th ' Bar L outfit, 
 
 Down in th' Lone Star State 
 Jus' this side of th' Rio Grande, 
 
 'Twas there that I met Kate. 
 
 ''Purtiest I'il critter. 
 
 Shy as a unbroke colt. 
 As bad as a 'lectric batt'ry 
 
 Thet yu jes' can't tak' a-holt. 
 
 "Fust time I ever seen her 
 
 She wuz on her wild cayuse 
 A runnin' down a cayote 
 
 An' yellin' like hell broke loose. 
 
 12 
 
**I don't much know whut made her, 
 But she liked me frum th' start. 
 
 We had great times together 
 'Till one day she lost her heart. 
 
 ''One o' these movie comp'nys 
 Cum down tu make a play 
 
 An' th' leadin' man wuz han'some 
 An' fresh as new-mown hay. 
 
 "Kate went wild about him 
 An' he wuz took with her 
 
 'Till one night th' moon went to his 
 head 
 An' he went jus' once too fur. 
 
 ''Kate, she doubles up her fist 
 
 An' hits him in th' bill, 
 With that he jumps up an ' walks off 
 
 A-swearin' fit tu kill. 
 
 "Sum time passed an' our ranch 
 
 queen 
 Wouldn't notice him one bit 
 
 'Till one day Katie told me 
 
 That she'd likely have a fit. 
 
 "If she didn't get revenge on him 
 
 Fur cuttin' up like that. 
 She'd doped a plan that'd fix him, 
 
 Yu can jus' bet your hat! 
 
 13 
 
** She would write an' say tu meet her 
 At th' old oak tree at eight, 
 
 An' I would get there early, 
 An' she'd get there late. 
 
 **We'd give him that ole Western 
 
 trick 
 
 Of the desperate robber man. 
 So, that evenin' I started out 
 
 To th' 'pointed bit o' Ian'. 
 
 ' * Eight an ' nine they came an ' went. 
 
 My Ingersoll ticked ten, 
 I dozed a little sittin' 
 
 On my sleepy bronc, an' then, 
 
 ''I started fer th' ranch house 
 With many a peevish curse 
 
 An' found th' Bar L outfit 
 As solemn as a herse. 
 
 *'Nex' day I got a telegram, 
 It said, 'PLEASE pardon mo 
 
 Fer runnin' off with Harry. 
 We're as happy as can be. 
 
 ** *We can keep a lovely li'l home 
 On what his salary brings.' 
 
 No sir," said Cy, ''There certainly 
 ain't 
 No 'countin' fer sum things." 
 
 14 
 
(Hontettt 
 
 The soft Spring sunshine 
 Dances and plays 
 
 On the grass 
 
 Under the spreading 
 
 Trees while the 
 
 Breezes pass. 
 
 And the quivering shadows 
 Dodge the 
 
 Gay sunbeams 
 
 And a Islzy cricket 
 
 Suns himself 
 
 And dreams. 
 
 The cool, near sky 
 Holds one 
 
 White cloud 
 
 Where a frail sky-fairy 
 Sits in a 
 
 Misty shroud. 
 
 15 
 
^istonitnt 
 
 The sun is white 
 
 And the cricket's cry 
 Is monotonous as 
 
 The eternal sigh 
 Of the sea. The broad 
 
 Blue heaven's face 
 Is naught but a glaring 
 
 Unbroken space. 
 The breeze is as dead 
 
 As the dull, hot day. 
 Ah ! Would that I might be 
 
 Up and away! 
 
 16 
 
Are you coming? Are you coining? 
 
 There is work for those who dare, 
 There's a place for every true man 
 
 In the conflict over there. 
 There's a nation's load to lighten 
 
 And a country's wrongs to right. 
 There's a blow to strike for freedom, 
 
 'Tis for liberty they fight. 
 
 Are you coming? Are you coming? 
 
 It's the battle of the world, 
 And through the smoke, all-glorious 
 
 The stars and stripes unfurled. 
 Are you playing in that great game 
 
 With hum.anity at steak? 
 To lose must mean the tide 
 
 Of Christianity must break. 
 
 Are you coming? Are you coming? 
 
 There is tumult in the air, 
 All the Nation is responding 
 
 To the martial bugle's blare. 
 Are you fighting for your loved ones? 
 
 For you mother and your wife ? 
 There are many gallant soldiers 
 
 Dying in that Vv^orld-wide strife. 
 
 Are you coming? Are you coming? 
 
 They are fighting over there. 
 Are you coming? Are you coming? 
 
 There is work for those who dare. 
 
 17 
 
How do, starngah. Whar you frum? 
 Mississip'? Dat's far tu cum. 
 *' Weather fine"? Jehosaphat! 
 Whut a fool remark is dat! 
 
 Nigger, it ain't rained roun' here 
 For, I reckon, mos' a year. 
 Cotton's dried up. Craps is dead. 
 Steers is done got tu be fed. 
 
 ' * Purty sunshine ' ' ? Well, I guess ! 
 Tho' we'd like a cloud th' bes'. 
 But if th ' good Lord needs th ' rain 
 Somewheres else, we can't complain 
 
 Look dar, nigger! Does yu see? 
 Whar's mah specs? 0, Lordy me! 
 Whar is dis nigger's weakenin' 
 
 brain? 
 I 'se right, chile ! Thank Gawd I 
 
 It's rain! 
 
 18 
 
^altta 
 
 Down on the streets of old Seville 
 
 When the moon in mid-heaven is set 
 
 You can hear gay laughter and soft guitar, 
 And the click of the castanet. 
 
 In a brilliantly-lighted Spanish cafe 
 
 Thru air heavy with cigarette smoke, 
 
 Gleams the glitter of jewels and shoulders bare, 
 Fringed scarfs and toreador's cloak. 
 
 The jests are many, the laugh is light, 
 In this garden of yellow and red. 
 
 And burning black eyes and crimson lips 
 Are tost in the glasses o'erhead. 
 
 When the gaiety 's highest and wine flows free, 
 With the music a-crash and a-swirl 
 
 In the midst of the tables of revelry 
 Walks Lolita, the dancing girl. 
 
 With many a cheer she is welcoraed in 
 
 As with swaggering, easy grace 
 She, with a half-smoked cigarette 
 
 In her fingers, takes her place. 
 
 A little black hat, a-bob with balls 
 
 Is set on her blue-black head. 
 Her mantilla's draped o'er a yellow skirt 
 
 And she carries a cape of red. 
 
 19 
 
Down on the floor she flings her hat 
 
 And swirling her crimson cape 
 She advances, retreats, with agile step, 
 
 Like the matador's daring escape. 
 
 A blue-eyed youth in a broadcloth suit 
 With a twirky foreign mustache — 
 
 A black-eyed man with an olive skin 
 And a picador hat and sash. 
 
 A jeweled maiden who waves her fan 
 
 'Neath her soft, deep, langorous glance. 
 A fat, sleek matron; a gray-haired earl — 
 All breathless, watch her dance. 
 
 Her eyes dart a challenge, 'tween her teeth is a rose 
 And her soft, lithe body swings free. 
 
 And with easy curve of her round, white arms, 
 Play her castanets rythmically. 
 
 The music grows wilder, the dancer's afire, 
 There is passionate joy in her face. 
 
 Those watching arise, toss their hats, cry, 
 
 ''To Spain!" 
 And cheer the dark dancer's wild grace. 
 
 Down the gray streets of old Seville 
 
 At the birth of the quivering day 
 The spirit of Spain dances and sings 
 
 In a noisy Spanish cafe. 
 
 20 
 
Yesterday a cold north wind 
 Swept o^er the rattling grass. 
 The trees were bare, the sky was gray 
 Yesterday, ah, yesterday! 
 
 Yesterday the world was cold, 
 
 Cold with the chill of death 
 
 And a heavy stupor o 'er earth there 
 
 lay. 
 Yesterday, ah, yesterday! 
 
 Today a crooning, soft south wind 
 Sways the blossoms in the grass 
 And every tree with blooms is gay, 
 Today is here. Today! 
 
 Today the world is soft and warm 
 And it throbs with the joy of life. 
 Birds are singing, all things play. 
 Today 'tis Spring. Today ! 
 
 21 
 
®i{0 flacker 
 
 I 
 
 When the clarion cry of your country ^s call m 
 
 Is sweeping from shore to shore, 
 Will you be one to stand aside 
 
 While the enemy screams at the door? 
 
 Will you be one, when the shrapnel song 
 
 Of death is heard afar. 
 To say, **I will not fight, for this 
 
 Is naught but a money war * * ? 
 
 Will you hide behind a woman's skirt? 
 
 Cries your mother, *'In sixty-one 
 My father died for his flag. Have I 
 
 A coward bred in my son"? 
 
 Will you force Uncle Sam to force you to fight 
 
 'Gainst your enemy's armed host? 
 He has given you all you have in life. 
 
 Will you come when he needs you most? 
 
 Will you say, **I will wait. There is time, there 
 
 is time." 
 
 When in France your countrymen fight 
 'Gainst the Teuton there for the stars and bars 
 
 And glorious freedom's right? 
 
 Ah, better a grave on a foreign shore 
 
 Alone 'neath the red white and blue, 
 Than a living death where the people hiss 
 
 "He was a slacker." 
 Are you? 
 
 22 
 
®I|c Pruli 
 
 The wind ! The wmd ! Away it flies, 
 Rolling the clouds across the skies; 
 Whipping- the branches from off each tree, 
 Howling the while in fendish glee; 
 Creeping thru' cracks with the softest sighs. 
 Beating the wings of each bird that flies ; 
 Snatching the flowers from off their bush, 
 And sinking again in a deathlike hush, 
 Catching the leaves and bearing them high 
 With a laugh and a sob like a wild-cat's cry, 
 Flinging the dust up everywhere 
 In miniature cyclones here and there ; 
 Over the cities and over the trees. 
 Over the mountains and over the seas, 
 Asking from no man the way to go, 
 Only God knows where the wind will blow. 
 
 23 
 
spring ^tittv 
 
 Th' birds a-lovin' in th' trees, 
 Th' clouds at rest on th' soft, warm breeze, 
 An * a lazy smile on th ' earth. I sees 
 It's got Spring Fever. 
 
 Th' dancin', dimplin', happy brook 
 Is still a-gurglin*, but with th' look 
 Of a fat, pink baby when it's took 
 Spring Fever. 
 
 I hear th' ole grasshopper's cry 
 An' acrost th' deep, th' deep blue sky 
 Flits a yaller butterfly, 
 
 With Spring Fever. 
 
 A-listenin' to th' wind go pas'. 
 An' in th' wavin' Johnson grass, 
 Th' noisy crickets fuss an' sass, 
 'Bout Spring Fever. 
 
 Th' new-turned earth has a fresh, sweet smell 
 An' muffled by distance, th' old cow-bell 
 Carries a message it wants to tell, 
 Of Spring Fever. 
 
 Of course th' sun is powerful hot. 
 Tho' I ain't plowed an awful lot 
 I'm tired an' sleepy. Guess I've got 
 Spring Fever. 
 
 24 
 
1 
 
 on 
 
 There's a laugh on my lips and a song in my heart, 
 
 And the sea and the sky are blue. 
 What has made the world such a joyous place? 
 
 Is it you, my dear, is it you? 
 
 There is music in every sigh of the breeze ; 
 
 There are colors untold in the dew. 
 What has given the light and song to the world ? 
 
 Is it you, sweetheart, is it youf 
 
 1 can feel the joy in the heart of the earth, 
 
 And its joy is in mine, too. 
 Ah, now I know who put it there, 
 
 It was you, my love, it was you ! 
 
 25 
 
^ Calar ^armang 
 
 The death of Autumn ! The radiant sun 
 
 Looks down on quivering trees, gray-brown 
 
 and clad 
 
 In the last rags of Summer's raiment glad, 
 And even these are falling, one by one. 
 
 The grass a crackling yellow carpet seems 
 
 Prom which the red ghosts of the weeds arise. 
 The butterfly slips to the earth and dies ; 
 
 And the dead leaves sigh like ghosts of blasted 
 
 dreams. 
 
 High overhead the arch of pale blue skies. 
 
 Is there no color in this sweep of gray 
 
 To make eternal Nature harmony? 
 Lo! Thru' the trees a scarlet Cardinal flies. 
 
 26 
 
©tje Prairies 
 
 0, the prairies in the dawning 
 When the young sim's crimson blush 
 On the waving chapparal tree 
 Makes it Moses' Burning Bush; 
 
 When the hush that comes with 
 
 sunrise 
 O'er the gray-green pastures broods 
 'Till the eerie cry of the Tehas dove 
 Breaks the waking solitudes. 
 
 0, the prairies in the noonday, 
 With the blazing sun o'erhead 
 And the burning breezes over all 
 Have a dusty blanket spread. 
 Far away a friendly windmill — 
 And a snake his flat head rears 
 From the trail; and in the sunshine 
 Graze the bronze-backed, long- 
 horned steers. 
 
 27 
 
0, the prairies 'neath the sunset 
 In the west the sky is gold, 
 And the rolling plains are rising 
 To that red disk, fold on fold. 
 All are clad in blue and purple, 
 And their gorgeous colors play 
 O'er the throbbing earth in worship 
 At the vespers of the day. 
 
 0, the prairies in the starlight, 
 A coyote's wail afar, 
 And across the brilliant heavens 
 Flys a burning shooting star. 
 And the road is a soft gray ribbon, 
 And the wind has a weeping moan, 
 And up on the hill a clearing. 
 And the twinkling lights of home. 
 
 28 
 
®0 n "^nipvintet ^ase 2(ar 
 
 A slant-eyed, black-haired maiden 
 
 With a gaily-colored fan, 
 On a tiny bridge that arches 
 
 'er a stream of old Japan. 
 The flowers red and purple 
 
 And the blue sea from afar, 
 And the slant-eyed, black-haired 
 
 maiden 
 
 Running riot 'round the jar. 
 
 'Tis the jar that holds the ashes 
 
 Of the roses that we know 
 And the fragrance and the promise 
 
 Of the Springtimes long ago. 
 All the petals there are faded. 
 
 Pink and yellow, white and red 
 Have a dingy, dusky aspect. 
 
 But their perfume is not dead. 
 Take the top from off the rose jar 
 
 And the sweetest essence breathes 
 On the gentle wind that wanders 
 
 Thru the many-colored leaves. 
 
 They were young, and live, and brilliant 
 
 Toy of child ; boquet of bride ; 
 E'er their gorgeous beauty faded 
 
 And their petals scattered wide. 
 Now they're gathered there together, 
 
 Each suggesting memories 
 Of love, and hope, and sunshine, 
 
 Summer skies and moonlit seas. 
 
 29 
 
Do you ever think, when the wind is high 
 And the shadowy clouds hang low in the skjy 
 When the far-off moan of some waterfall 
 Answers the shriek of a banshee's call — ^ 
 
 Do you think, as you face the setting sun, 
 That your race of life is nearly run 1 
 Do you ask yourself, as your life you scan, 
 "What have I done for my fellow-man?" 
 
 *'Has the work God gave me to do been done? 
 The battle of life's been fought. Have I won? 
 Of the perfect whole I'm an imperfect part. 
 Have I helped or hindered the world's wide mart?" 
 
 Can you say, on that night when the wind is high. 
 And a shadowy angel comes down from the sky, 
 Can you say, head high, **I have done my all." 
 When you give your account at your Maker's call? 
 
 30 
 
PrisctUa, a Portrait 
 
 (To K. H.) 
 
 She is dainty and she 's pretty, 
 
 She's demure and yet she's witty, ^ vlf 
 
 She is like a bunch of old primroses sweet. 
 
 With her bonnet, all of lace, 
 
 Like a frame about her face. 
 
 To her tiny silk-encased and cross-patched feet 
 
 With pink ribbons all a-loop 
 
 About her airy hoop, 
 
 And her creamy shoulders rising from her shawl. 
 
 With her mitts disclosing fingers. 
 
 Where the breath of lilac lingers, 
 
 She is ready for the Southern Guv 'nor 's ball. 
 
 31 
 
I^m going back to Texas 
 
 Where the sky and prairie meet, 
 And the fertile land is measured off 
 
 By miles, and not by feet. 
 Where the mocking-birds and sparrows 
 
 Sing a merry roundelay, 
 And many a herd of cattle roam 
 
 The plains both night and day. 
 
 I'm going back to Texas, 
 
 Where the sweet bluebonnets grow, 
 And breezes fan us always 
 
 From the Gulf of Mexico. 
 Where the sun, it sets in glory, 
 
 And the creeping, purple night 
 Comes and stays 'till morn dispels it 
 
 With a blazing sword of light. 
 
 I'm going back to Texas 
 
 Where the nimble horned toad 
 Runs races with the rattler 
 
 Past the prairie-dog's abode. 
 Where the courtesy of Dixie 
 
 Blends with brav'ry of the West. 
 'Mong the states of our great country 
 
 Old Texas is the best! 
 
 32 
 
Down on a busy thoroughfare where the ceaseless crowds go by 
 In the heart of the city that voices the w^oes of the people with 
 
 its sigh, 
 The pawnshop calls one's gaze away from the stately 
 
 buildings tall, 
 Away from their swaying heights to its own queer window^s 
 
 small. 
 Over its creaking doors are hung three battered rusty balls, 
 And only the '4ast-chance -down-and-out" at its dusty counter 
 
 calls. 
 
 And the little old man that sits and looks at the city's changing 
 
 mass 
 Is alone. But no ! For he hears the swish as the ghosts of the 
 
 pawnshop pass. 
 Out of the pledges of long ago those ghosts of memory troop 
 And with many a sob and many a tear they stand in a whisper- 
 ing group. 
 And a story each pale ghost can tell of poverty, death or crime, 
 Of the rich and the poor, the happy and sad of every country 
 and clime. 
 
 Prom a dusty Stradavarius steps a bent old man whose eyes 
 Still cherish the light of a blasted dream where the soul of 
 
 music lies. 
 And there from a golden locket where a starving baby creeps, 
 A fair young mother by a clock kneels over her child and weeps. 
 From a handsome watch and a diamond ring with the proof of 
 
 what was lost; 
 On the ticker ribbon still in his hands glides a man vrho was 
 
 ''double-crossed." 
 
 33 
 
Down from the wall where two rapiers in their tarnished 
 
 splendor hang, 
 Springs a cavalier whose heart is light as the gay bright songs 
 
 he sang ; 
 He kisses the hand of the jeweled dame who trips from an 
 
 ivory fan ; 
 And there creeps from a pistol the hideous soul of a hell-bent 
 
 murdered man. 
 Out of a strange old wedding ring slips the ghost of a woman 
 
 fair, 
 With a cold, bright steel in her soft white breast and the blood 
 
 on her golden hair. 
 
 They whisper together in the gloom, these ghosts of the shop 
 
 hard by, 
 And they echo with voices full of pain the city's eternal sigh 
 For they know, these spirits of pledges grim, the tragedies of 
 
 life; 
 They know that for some *tis a down hill coast and for others 
 
 an endless strife. 
 Tho, only the *4ast-chance down-and-out" at its dusty counter 
 
 calls, 
 It is rich in memories, this little shop with its battered, rusty 
 
 balls. 
 
KOENIG a AMOS a^^^ GIBBS BUILDING 
 

 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 897 910 P