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HE Hawthorne children—seven in all—

Are famous friends of mine,

And with what pleasure I recall

How, years ago, one gloomy fall,

I took a tedious railway line

And journeyed by slow stages down

Unto that sleepy seaport town

(Albeit one worth seeing),

Where Hildegarde, John, Henry, Fred,

And Beatrix and Gwendolen

And she that was the baby then—

These famous seven, as aforesaid,

Lived, moved, and had their being.

The Hawthorne children gave me such

A welcome by the sea,

That the eight of us were soon in touch,

And though their mother marvelled much,

Happy as larks were we!

Egad I was a boy again

With Henry, John, and Gwendolen!