  CHARLES W. JEROME I have a sand bed, and I play There in the sand for half the day. And mother comes, and sits by me; And little sister likes to see The many things I make of sand. But she's too young to understand About the houses and the hills The mines and stores and flouring mills And then I make believe, and say My sand bed is the sunny bay; These blocks are boats, and far away They sail all night and sail all day, And carry iron. When they return They bring us coal that we may burn. And now my sand bed is a farm. This is the barn. Here, safe from harm, My horses and my cows I keep. These sheds are for the wooly sheep. And there you see my piggies's pens. This yard holds in the lively hens. This is the garden, where I hoe My plants; and here the flowers grow. These sticks are pines, so straight, so tall And dark. But these aren't half of all The things I make each pleasant day Out in the sand bed where I play. MONTEREY, CALIFORNIA, IN 1842 A view of the town as it was before the "Gringo" came. Four years later during the Mexican War Commodore Stockton captured Monterey and left Walter Colton, a naval chaplain, in charge as Alcalde. |
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