The readers of the Boston Evening Transcript

Sway in the blind like a field of ripe corn.

When evening quickens faintly in the street, Wakening the appetites of life in some

And to others bringing the Boston Evening Transcript, I mount the steps and ring the bell, turning

Wearily, as one would turn to nod good-bye to Rochefoucauld If the street were time and he at the end of the street,

And I say, "Cousin Harriet, here is the Boston Evening Transcript."