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THE BROWNIES IN THE STUDIO.
 THE Brownies once approached in glee
A slumbering city by the sea.
"In yonder town," the leader cried,
"I hear the artist does reside
Who pictures out, with patient hand,
The doings of the Brownie band."
"I'd freely give," another said,
"The cap that now protects my head,
To find the room, where, day by day,
He shows us at our work or play."
A third replied: "Your cap retain
To shield your poll from snow or rain.
His studio is farther down,
Within a corner-building brown.
So follow me a mile or more
And soon we'll reach the office door."
 
Then through the park, around the square,
And down the broadest thoroughfare,
 
The anxious Brownies quickly passed,
And reached the building huge at last.
 
They paused awhile to view the sight,
To speak about its age and height,
And read the signs, so long and wide,
That met the gaze on every side.
 
But little time was wasted there,
For soon their feet had found the stair.
And next the room, where oft are told
Their funny actions, free and bold,
Was honored by a friendly call
From all the Brownies, great and small.
Then what a gallery they found,
As here and there they moved around—
 
For now they gaze upon a scene
That showed them sporting on the green;
Then, hastening o'er the fields with speed
To help some farmer in his need.
Said one, "Upon this desk, no doubt,
Where now we cluster round about,
 
Our doings have been plainly told
From month to month, through heat and cold.
And there's the ink, I apprehend,
On which our very lives depend.
Be careful, moving to and fro,
 
Lest we upset it as we go.
 
For who can tell what tales untold
That darksome liquid may unfold!"
A telephone gave great delight
To those who tried it half the night,
Some asking after fresh supplies;
 
Or if their stocks were on the rise;
What ship was safe; what bank was firm;
Or who desired a second term.
Thus messages ran to and fro
With "Who are you?" "Hallo!" "Hallo!"
 
And all the repetitions known
To those who use the telephone.
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