The Ripest Peach Is Highest On The

But The Air's So Appetizin'; And The Landscape Through The Haze Of A Crisp And Sunny Morning Of The Airly Autumn Days Is A Pictur' That No Painter Has The Colorin' To Mock-when The Frost Is On The Punkin And The Fodder's In The Shock.

He Is Not Dead, He Is Just - Away.

O'er Folded Blooms On Swirls Of Musk, The Beetle Booms Adown The Glooms And Bumps Along The Dusk.

The Jelly - The Jam And The Marmalade, And The Cherry-and Quince-'preserves' She Made! And The Sweet-sour Pickles Of Peach And Pear, With Cinnamon In 'em, And All Things Rare! And The More We Ate Was The More To Spare, Out To Old Aunt Mary's! Ah!

To Make The World A Friendly Place, One Must Show It A Friendly Face.