Pioneer Mothers.
The First Ball.

String up the lanterns; we must have more light;
Let festooned bunting hide the rough-hewn beam;
Shake out the long-packed fineries; set the gleam
Of heirloom jewels on fair bosoms white.
Life's at the flood, the future rosv-bright;
Some hardships past, no matter; we'd not deem
Achievement easy; let the merry stream
Of dancers circle; we are gay to-night.
The evening wanes; and while the fiddles shrill
Mazy cotillon or discreet quadrille,
We sit at ease, and mellowed thoughts recall
Our courtship's happy days in cot or hall,
Here's to the land we left across the sea!
And here's to this, our children's, that's to be!

—Edith L. Kerr.