A blustering windy day's just right

      For boys who want to fly a kite;

      And it affords the greatest joy

      To make and use the pretty toy.

      But Aged Duffers, do not try

      A large-sized paper kite to fly;

      You could not manage tail or string,

      And ten to one you'd spoil the thing.

      A morning full of happiness any boy may find

      By sailing boats upon the lake, if he is so inclined;

      The wind it drives them out to sea, he pulls them back, and then

      They jerk and struggle to be free – away they go again!

      They wibble-wobble as they sail, and sometimes they upset, —

      Of course he reaches out for them, – of course he gets quite wet.

      But Aged Grandsires, if you must sail boats in Central Park,

      Play properly, don't splash yourself, and run back home ere dark.

      See proud Belinda smartly dressed

      In all her flaunting Sunday best;

      With muslin hat and ruffles big

      She cannot comfortably dig.

      Ask her if she would like to play, —

      She will not answer either way;

      She'll only shake herself, and then,

      Just pout and grin and pout again.

      Dear Grandams, meekly learn from this,

      How very ill-advised it is

      To don a costume fine and grand

      When you go playing in the sand.

      Instead of your bespangled net,

      Or moire velvet edged with jet,

      Just wear a gingham, simply made,

      So you can tuck it up and wade.

      In Central Park, along the Mall,

      We see the gay goat-carriage crawl;

      With little boys and girls inside,

      Enjoying their exciting ride.

      Right willingly each nimble steed

      Exerts his very utmost speed;

      And o'er the smooth hard road they race

      At something like a turtle's pace.

      But stout old men and portly dames,

      Pray, do not urge your rightful claims;

      And even though you have the price,

      Listen, I beg, to my advice.

      Do not insist on getting in

      The little carriage for a spin;

      You'd not look picturesque at all

      Careering up and down the Mall.

      'Tis taught by philosophic schools

      The human race is mostly fools.

      And once a year you see this truth

      Ably set forth by jocund youth,

      Who broach the tenets of the creed

      Plainly that he who runs may read.

      But Aged Idiots, 'tis not meet

      For you to run along the street,

      And with a manner bold and sly

      Pin tags on ladies passing by,

      Or sit upon the curb and look

      For fools to snatch your pocket-book.

      Lucinda's tastes are so depraved;

      She likes to play and romp

      With children poor and ill-behaved,

      Who boast no style or pomp.

      Their costumes are not quite correct,

      They have no pretty tricks;

      Lucinda! pray be more select,

      In higher circles mix.

      Ah, sweet Lucinda, best of girls,

      How quick to take advice.

      Behold her with unpapered curls,

      And frock so rich and nice!

      Her haughty stare! Who would suppose

      That dress would change her so

      Oh, blessed influence of fine clothes,

      How much to thee we owe!

      Dear lady-readers of whatever age,

      Look backward and with me enjoy this page.