Explore "The Stoddards" by Eugene Field on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When I am in New York, I like to drop around at night, / To visit with my honest, genial friends, the Stoddards hight; / Their home in Fifteenth street is all so snug, and furnished so, / That, when I once get planted there, I don't know when to go; / A cosy cheerful refuge for the weary homesick guest, / Combining Yankee comforts with the freedom of the west.
The first thing you discover, as you maunder through the hall, / Is a curious little clock upon a bracket on the wall; / 'T was made by Stoddard's father, and it's very, very old -- / The connoisseurs assure me it is worth its weight in gold; / And I, who've bought all kinds of clocks, 'twixt Denver and the Rhine, / Cast envious eyes upon that clock, and wish that it were mine.