So out with that bottle of Roederer!

Large glasses, boys! Up goes the cork!

All charged? To the belles of creation,

The glorious girls of New York.

EIGHT HOURS.

"Sign the petition!" "Write my name!"

"She said, ask me!"—oh, she's fooling;

Where do you think a girl like me

Could find the time for so much schooling?

Why, I've been here since I was eight or so—

That's ten years now—and it seems like longer;

The hours are from eight till six—you see

It wears one out—I once was stronger.

"A bad cough!" oh, that's nothing, sir;

It comes from the dust, and bending over.

It hurts me sometimes—no, not now.

"This!" why, a flower, a bit of clover.

I picked it up as I came to work—

It grew in the grass in some one's airy,

Where it stood, and nodded all alone

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