Picture them--CALLOT'S free brush might have managed it--gathered in
pow-wow around the camp-fire,
Sun-tanned and wind-browned, in picturesque raiment, with wisp of the
wild hop or trail of the briar
Hat-wreathed or button-holed. BURNS should have sung of them;
trim-skirted Muse, with punctilious tastes,
Were not at home with these waifs from the rookery, pastured at large
in free Nature's wild wastes,
Bounding, and breathing fresh air, romping, wrestling, and disciplined
only to cleanness and order.
Otherwise free as the tent-dwelling Arabs, or outlaws of Sherwood, or
bands of the Border.
Picture it! FEGAN'S pink pamphlet _has_ pictured it. Read it, all lovers
of Nature and youth,
All who have care for the wrecks of humanity, all who are moved by the
spirit of ruth.
Ere Spring returns, far Canadian homesteads will house their contingents
of "Nobody's Boys."
Let them take with them kind thoughts of Old England, and memories sweet
of its rare rural joys.
Let them "camp out" once again, by the ocean, and plunge in the billow,
and rove on the sands;
Know the true British brine-whiff by experience. Help, British Public,
their friends' kindly hands.
Good is the work, and the fruit of it excellent; giving poor wastrels a
fair start in life,
Taste of true pleasure, and wholesome enjoyment, aid in endeavour, and
strength for the strife.
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