'round

— The cottonwood leaves were dropping yellow, just as they be now, for it were fall, and some things in nature are about the same one year as another; but the country has changed so much, that when I get to thinking of them days, and look ’round and see the valley a-settled up and the wire fences a-winding across the hills, I get mighty lonesome, and likely enough wish I’d wake up on my old blankets and find it a dream, and see once more the buffalo a-feeding on the hillside, and the beaver a-working at their dams.

— I’m sure I look demure enough, as I go ’round the city, / And do my best to hide the fact that I am young and pretty, / And I, therefore, cannot see, when I go out to preach, / Why men must say to me that I’m a perfect peach; […]