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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Verses for Children, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Verses for Children
+       and Songs for Music
+
+Author: Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+Release Date: September 12, 2005 [EBook #16686]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSES FOR CHILDREN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                  [Illustration: The Convalescent.]
+
+                          VERSES FOR CHILDREN
+
+                                  AND
+
+                            SONGS FOR MUSIC
+
+
+
+
+                                   BY
+
+                        JULIANA HORATIA EWING.
+
+
+
+
+
+                                LONDON:
+
+              SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,
+
+                      NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.
+
+                    NEW YORK: E. & J.B. YOUNG & CO.
+
+
+
+[Published under the direction of the General Literature
+Committee.]
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+It has been decided in publishing this volume to reproduce the
+illustrations with which the verses originally appeared in _Aunt Judy's
+Magazine_. In all cases Mrs. Ewing wrote the lines to fit the pictures,
+and it is worthy of note to observe how closely she has introduced every
+detail into her words. Most of the woodcuts are by German artists, Oscar
+Pletsch, Fedor Flinzer, and others; but the frontispiece is from an
+original sketch by Mr. Gordon Browne. In accordance with his special
+desire, it has only been used for Mrs. Ewing's poem, as the Convalescent
+was a little friend of the artist, who did not live to complete his
+recovery. The poem is the last that Mrs. Ewing wrote for children, and
+it was penned when she herself was enduring the discomforts of
+convalescence with all the courage she so warmly advocates.
+
+Mr. Randolph Caldecott's illustrations to "Mother's Birthday Review"
+first appeared in his _Sketch Book_, but the letterpress that
+accompanied them was very brief, and Mrs. Ewing could not resist asking
+permission to write some verses to the pictures, and publish them in
+_Aunt Judy's Magazine_. This favour was kindly granted, and by Mrs.
+Caldecott's further kindness the sketches are again used here.
+
+The contents of this volume have been arranged chronologically as far as
+is possible.
+
+"The Willow Man" and "Grandmother's Spring" were both written to protest
+against wantonly wasting Dame Nature's gifts, and the Note on page 69
+shows that Mrs. Ewing had learnt this lesson herself in childhood. My
+Father has lately recalled an incident which he believes first roused
+our Mother to teach the lesson to us. They were driving to Sheffield one
+day, when on Bolsover Hill they saw a well-known veterinary surgeon of
+the district, Mr. Peech, who had dismounted from his horse, and was
+carefully taking up a few roots of white violets from a bank where they
+grew in some profusion. He showed Mrs. Gatty what he was gathering, but
+told her he was taking care to _leave a bit behind_. This happened fully
+forty years ago, long before the Selborne and other Societies for the
+preservation of rare plants and birds had come into existence, and
+Mother was much impressed and pleased by Mr. Peech's delicate
+scrupulousness.
+
+"A Soldier's Children" was written in 1879, whilst many friends were
+fighting in South Africa, and ten years before a story bearing the same
+name was issued by the writer of _Bootles' Baby_.
+
+The "Songs for Music" appeared in 1874 in a volume called _Songs by Four
+Friends_, except the two last poems, "Anemones" and "Autumn Tints." The
+former was given by Mrs. Ewing to her brother, Mr. Alfred Scott-Gatty,
+to set to music, and it has recently been published by Messrs. Boosey.
+"Autumn Tints" was found amongst Mrs. Ewing's papers after her death,
+and is now printed for the first time.
+
+HORATIA K.F. EDEN.
+
+_June 1895._
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+VERSES FOR CHILDREN.
+
+
+
+
+    THE BURIAL OF THE LINNET
+
+    MASTER FRITZ
+
+    THE WILLOW-MAN
+
+    OUR GARDEN
+
+    A FRIEND IN THE GARDEN
+
+    THREE LITTLE NEST BIRDS
+
+    DOLLY'S LULLABY: A NURSERY RHYME
+
+    A HERO TO HIS HOBBY-HORSE
+
+    THE DOLLS' WASH
+
+    HOUSE-BUILDING AND REPAIRS
+
+    THE BLUE-BELLS ON THE LEA
+
+    AN ONLY CHILD'S TEA-PARTY
+
+    PAPA POODLE
+
+    GRANDMOTHER'S SPRING
+
+    BIG SMITH
+
+    KIT'S CRADLE
+
+    THE MILL STREAM
+
+    BOY AND SQUIRREL
+
+    LITTLE MASTER TO HIS BIG DOG
+
+    A SWEET LITTLE DEAR
+
+    BLUE AND RED; OR, THE DISCONTENTED LOBSTER
+
+    THE YELLOW FLY: A TALE WITH A STING IN IT
+
+    CANADA HOME
+
+    THE POET AND THE BROOK: A TALE OF TRANSFORMATIONS
+
+    A SOLDIER'S CHILDREN
+
+    "TOUCH HIM IF YOU DARE:" A TALE OF THE HEDGE
+
+    MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY REVIEW
+
+    THE PROMISE
+
+    CONVALESCENCE
+
+    THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF. (_Translated_)
+
+
+SONGS FOR MUSIC.
+
+    SERENADE
+
+    MAIDEN WITH THE GIPSY LOOK
+
+    AH! WOULD I COULD FORGET
+
+    MADRIGAL
+
+    THE ELLEREE: A SONG OF SECOND SIGHT
+
+    OTHER STARS
+
+    FADED FLOWERS
+
+    SPEED WELL
+
+    HOW MANY YEARS AGO?
+
+    "WITH A DIFFERENCE"
+
+    THE LILY OF THE LAKE
+
+    FROM FLEETING PLEASURES: A REQUIEM FOR ONE ALIVE
+
+    THE RUNAWAY'S RETURN
+
+    FANCY FREE: A GIRL'S SONG
+
+    MY LOVE'S GIFT
+
+    ANEMONES
+
+    AUTUMN LEAVES
+
+
+HYMNS.
+
+    CONFIRMATION
+
+    WHITSUNTIDE
+
+    CHRISTMAS WISHES: A CAROL
+
+    TEACH ME. (_From the Danish_)
+
+
+
+
+VERSES FOR CHILDREN.
+
+
+
+THE BURIAL OF THE LINNET.
+
+
+    Found in the garden--dead in his beauty.
+      Ah! that a linnet should die in the spring!
+    Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,
+      Muffle the dinner-bell, solemnly ring.
+
+    Bury him kindly--up in the corner;
+      Bird, beast, and gold-fish are sepulchred there;
+    Bid the black kitten march as chief mourner,
+      Waving her tail like a plume in the air.
+
+    Bury him nobly--next to the donkey;
+      Fetch the old banner, and wave it about:
+    Bury him deeply--think of the monkey,
+      Shallow his grave, and the dogs got him out.
+
+    Bury him softly--white wool around him,
+      Kiss his poor feathers,--the first kiss and last;
+    Tell his poor widow kind friends have found him:
+      Plant his poor grave with whatever grows fast.
+
+    Farewell, sweet singer! dead in thy beauty,
+      Silent through summer, though other birds sing;
+    Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,
+      Muffle the dinner-bell, mournfully ring.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration: MASTER FRITZ.]
+
+
+    Fritz and I are not brother and sister, but we're next-door
+             neighbours; for we both live next door.
+    I mean we both live next door to each other; for I live at
+             number three, and Fritz and Nickel the dog live at number
+             four.
+    In summer we climb through the garret windows and sit
+             together on the leads,
+    And if the sun is too hot Mother lends us one big kerchief
+             to put over both our heads.
+    Sometimes she gives us tea under the myrtle tree in the big
+             pot that stands in the gutter.
+    (One slice each, and I always give Fritz the one that has
+             the most butter.)
+    In winter we sit on the little stool by the stove at number four;
+    For when it's cold Fritz doesn't like to go out to come in next door.
+    It was one day in spring that he said, "I should like to
+             have a house to myself with you Grethel, and Nickel." And I
+             said, "Thank you, Fritz."
+    And he said, "If you'll come in at tea-time and sit by the stove, I'll
+             tell you tales that'll frighten you into fits.
+    About boys who ran away from their homes, and were taken by robbers,
+             and run after by wolves, and altogether in a dreadful state.
+    I saw the pictures of it in a book I was looking in, to see where
+             perhaps I should like to emigrate.
+    I've not quite settled whether I shall, or be cast away on a desert
+             island, or settle down nearer home;
+    But you'd better come in and hear about it, and then, wherever it is,
+             you'll be sure to be ready to come."
+    So I took my darling Katerina in my arms, and we went in to tea.
+    I love Katerina, though she lost her head long ago, poor thing; but
+             Fritz made me put her off my knee,
+    For he said, "When you're hushabying that silly old doll I know you're
+             not attending to me.
+    Now look here, Grethel, I think I have made up my mind that we won't
+             go far;
+    For we can have a house, and I can be master of it just as well where
+             we are.
+    Under the stairs would be a good place for a house for us if there's
+             room.
+    It's very dirty, but you're the housewife now, and you must sweep it
+             out well with the broom.
+    I shall expect you to keep my house very comfortable, and have my meals
+             ready when there's anything to eat;
+    And when Nickel and I come back from playing outside, you may peep out
+             and pretend you're watching for us coming up the street.
+    You've kept your apple, I see--I've eaten mine--well, it will be
+             something to make a start,
+    And I'll put by some of my cake, if you'll keep some of yours, and
+             remember Nickel must have part.
+    I call it your cake and your apple, but of course now you're my
+             housewife everything belongs to me;
+    But I shall give you the management of it, and you must make it go as
+             far as you can amongst three.
+    And if you make nice feasts every day for me and Nickel, and never
+             keep us waiting for our food,
+    And always do everything I want, and attend to everything I say, I'm
+             sure I shall almost always be good.
+    And if I am naughty now and then, it'll most likely be your fault;
+             and, if it isn't, you mustn't mind;
+    For even if I seem to be cross, you ought to know that I mean to be
+             kind.
+    And I'm sure you'll like combing Nickel's hair for my sake; it'll be
+             something for you to do, and it bothers me so!
+    But it must be done regularly, for if it's not, his curls tangle into
+             lugs as they grow.
+    I think that's all, dear Grethel, for I love you so much that I'm sure
+             to be easy to please.
+    Only remember--it's a trifle--but when I want you, never keep that
+             headless doll on your knees.
+    I'd much rather not have her in my house--there, don't cry! if you
+             will have her, I suppose it must be;
+    Though I can't think what you want with Katerina when you've got
+             Nickel and me."
+    So I said, "Thank you, dear Fritz, for letting me bring her, for I've
+             had her so long I shouldn't like to part with her now;
+    And I'll try and do everything you want as well as I can, now you've
+             told me how."
+    But next morning I heard Fritz's garret-window open, and he put out
+             his head,
+    And shouted, "Grethel! Grethel! I want you. Be quick! Haven't you got
+             out of bed?"
+    I ran to the window and said, "What is it, dear Fritz?" and he said,
+             "I want to tell you that I've changed my mind.
+    Hans-Wandermann is here, and he says there are real sapphires on the
+             beach; so I'm off to see what I can find."
+    "Oh, Fritz!" I said, "can't I come too?" but he said, "You'd better
+             not, you'll only be in the way.
+    You can stop quietly at home with Katerina, and you may have Nickel
+             too, if he'll stay."
+    But Nickel wouldn't. I give him far more of my cake than Fritz does,
+             but he likes Fritz better than me.
+    So dear Katerina and I had breakfast together on the leads under the
+             old myrtle tree.
+
+
+
+
+    THE WILLOW-MAN.
+
+
+    There once was a Willow, and he was very old,
+    And all his leaves fell off from him, and left him in the cold;
+    But ere the rude winter could buffet him with snow,
+    There grew upon his hoary head a crop of Mistletoe.
+
+    All wrinkled and furrowed was this old Willow's skin,
+    His taper fingers trembled, and his arms were very thin;
+    Two round eyes and hollow, that stared but did not see,
+    And sprawling feet that never walked, had this most ancient tree.
+
+    A Dame who dwelt near was the only one who knew
+    That every year upon his head the Christmas berries grew;
+    And when the Dame cut them, she said--it was her whim--
+    "A merry Christmas to you, Sir!" _and left a bit for him_.
+
+    "Oh, Granny dear, tell us," the children cried, "where we
+    May find the shining Mistletoe that grows upon the tree?"
+    At length the Dame told them, but cautioned them to mind
+    To greet the Willow civilly, _and leave a bit behind_.
+
+    "Who cares," said the children, "for this old Willow-man?
+    We'll take the Mistletoe, and he may catch us if he can."
+    With rage the ancient Willow shakes in every limb,
+    For they have taken all, and _have not left a bit for him_!
+
+    Then bright gleamed the holly, the Christmas berries shone,
+    But in the wintry wind without the Willow-man did moan:
+    "Ungrateful, and wasteful! the mystic Mistletoe
+    A hundred years hath grown on me, but never more shall grow."
+
+    A year soon passed by, and the children came once more,
+    But not a sprig of Mistletoe the aged Willow bore.
+    Each slender spray pointed; he mocked them in his glee,
+    And chuckled in his wooden heart, that ancient Willow-tree.
+
+    MORAL.
+
+    Oh, children, who gather the spoils of wood and wold,
+    From selfish greed and wilful waste your little hands withhold.
+    Though fair things be common, this moral bear in mind,
+    "Pick thankfully and modestly, and leave a bit behind."
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    OUR GARDEN.
+
+
+    The winter is gone; and at first Jack and I were sad,
+    Because of the snow-man's melting, but now we are glad;
+    For the spring has come, and it's warm, and we're allowed to garden
+             in the afternoon;
+    And summer is coming, and oh, how lovely our flowers will be in June!
+    We are so fond of flowers, it makes us quite happy to think
+    Of our beds--all colours--blue, white, yellow, purple, and pink,
+    Scarlet, lilac, and crimson! And we're fond of sweet scents as well,
+    And mean to have pinks, roses, sweet peas, mignonette, clove
+             carnations, musk, and everything good to smell;
+    Lavender, rosemary, and we should like a lemon-scented verbena, and
+             a big myrtle tree!
+    And then if we could get an old "preserved-ginger" pot, and some
+             bay-salt, we could make _pot-pourri_.
+    Jack and I have a garden, though it's not so large as the big one,
+             you know;
+    But whatever can be got to grow in a garden we mean to grow.
+    We've got Bachelor's Buttons, and London Pride, and Old Man, and
+             everything that's nice:
+    And last year Jack sowed green peas for our dolls' dinners, but they
+             were eaten up by the mice.
+    And he would plant potatoes in furrows, which made the garden in a
+             mess,
+    So this year we mean to have no kitchen-garden but mustard and cress.
+    One of us plants, and the other waters, but Jack likes the
+             watering-pot;
+    And then when my turn comes to water he says it's too hot!
+    We sometimes quarrel about the garden, and once Jack hit me with
+             the spade;
+    So we settled to divide it in two by a path up the middle, and
+             that's made.
+    We want some yellow sand now to make the walk pretty, but there's none
+             about here,
+    So we mean to get some in the old carpet-bag, if we go to the seaside
+             this year.
+    On Monday we went to the wood and got primrose plants and a sucker of
+             a dog-rose;
+    It looks like a green stick in the middle of the bed at present; but
+             wait till it blows!
+    The primroses were in full flower, and the rose ought to flower soon;
+    You've no idea how lovely they are in that wood in June!
+    The primroses look quite withered now, I am sorry to say,
+    But that is not our fault but Nurse's, and it shows how hard it is to
+             garden when you can't have your own way.
+    We planted them carefully, and were just going to water them all in
+             a lump,
+    When Nurse fetched us both indoors, and put us to bed for wetting our
+             pinafores at the pump.
+    It's very hard, and I'm sure the gardener's plants wouldn't grow any
+             better than ours,
+    If Nurse fetched him in and sent him to bed just when he was going to
+             water his flowers.
+    We've got Blue Nemophila and Mignonette, and Venus's Looking-glass,
+             and many other seeds;
+    The Nemophila comes up spotted, which is how we know it from the weeds.
+    At least it's sure to come up if the hens haven't scratched it up
+             first.
+    But when it is up the cats roll on it, and that is the worst!
+    I sowed a ring of sweet peas, and the last time I looked they were
+             coming nicely on,
+    Just sprouting white, and I put them safely back; but when Jack looked
+             he found they were gone.
+    Jack made a great many cuttings, but he has had rather bad luck,
+    I've looked at them every day myself, and not one of them has struck.
+    The gardener gave me a fine moss-rose, but Jack took it to his side,
+    I kept moving it back, but he took it again, and at last it died.
+    But now we've settled to dig up the path, and have the bed as it was
+             before,
+    So everything will belong to us both, and we shan't ever quarrel
+             any more.
+    It is such a long time, too, to wait for the sand, and perhaps
+             sea-sand does best on the shore.
+    We're going to take everything up, for it can't hurt the plants to
+             stand on the grass for a minute,
+    And you really can't possibly rake a bed smooth with so many
+             things in it.
+    We shall dig it all over, and get leaf-mould from the wood, and hoe
+             up the weeds,
+    And when it's tidy we shall plant, and put labels, and strike cuttings,
+             and sow seeds.
+    We are so fond of flowers, Jack and I often dream at night
+    Of getting up and finding our garden ablaze with all colours, blue,
+             red, yellow, and white.
+    And Midsummer's coming, and big brother Tom will sit under the tree
+    With his book, and Mary will beg sweet nosegays of Jack and me.
+    The worst is, we often start for the seaside about Midsummer Day,
+    And no one takes care of our gardens whilst we are away.
+    But if we sow lots of seeds, and take plenty of cuttings before we
+             leave home,
+    When we come back, our flowers will be all in full bloom,
+    Bright, bright sunshine above, and sweet, sweet flowers below.
+    Come, oh Midsummer, quickly come! and go quickly, Midsummer, go!
+
+    P.S. It is so tiresome! Jack wants to build a green-house now,
+    He has found some bits of broken glass, and an old window-frame, and
+             he says he knows how.
+    I tell him there's not glass enough, but he says there's lots,
+    And he's taken all the plants that belong to the bed and put
+             them in pots.
+
+
+
+
+    A FRIEND IN THE GARDEN.
+
+
+    He is not John the gardener,
+      And yet the whole day long
+    Employs himself most usefully,
+      The flower-beds among.
+
+    He is not Tom the pussy-cat,
+      And yet the other day,
+    With stealthy stride and glistening eye,
+      He crept upon his prey.
+
+    He is not Dash the dear old dog,
+      And yet, perhaps, if you
+    Took pains with him and petted him,
+      You'd come to love him too.
+
+    He's not a Blackbird, though he chirps,
+      And though he once was black;
+    And now he wears a loose grey coat,
+      All wrinkled on the back.
+
+    He's got a very dirty face,
+      And very shining eyes!
+    He sometimes comes and sits indoors;
+      He looks--and p'r'aps is--wise.
+
+    But in a sunny flower-bed
+      He has his fixed abode;
+    He eats the things that eat my plants--
+      He is a friendly TOAD.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    THREE LITTLE NEST BIRDS.
+
+
+              We meant to be very kind,
+                  But if ever we find
+    Another soft, grey-green, moss-coated, feather-lined nest in a hedge,
+              We have taken a pledge--
+    Susan, Jemmy, and I--with remorseful tears, at this very minute,
+    That if there are eggs or little birds in it--
+    Robin or wren, thrush, chaffinch or linnet--
+                We'll leave them there
+                To their mother's care.
+    There were three of us--Kate, and Susan, and Jem--
+                And three of them--
+    I don't know _their_ names, for they couldn't speak,
+    Except with a little imperative squeak,
+                Exactly like Poll,
+                Susan's squeaking doll;
+    But squeaking dolls will lie on the shelves
+    For years and never squeak of themselves:
+    The reason we like little birds so much better than toys
+    Is because they are _really_ alive, and know how to make a noise.
+
+    There were three of us, and three of them;
+    Kate,--that is I,--and Susan, and Jem.
+                Our mother was busy making a pie,
+                And theirs, we think, was up in the sky;
+    But for all Susan, Jemmy, or I can tell,
+    She may have been getting their dinner as well.
+              They were left to themselves (and so were we)
+              In a nest in the hedge by the willow tree;
+    And when we caught sight of three red little fluff-tufted, hazel-eyed,
+             open-mouthed, pink-throated heads, we all shouted for glee.
+
+    The way we really did wrong was this:
+              We took them for Mother to kiss,
+              And she told us to put them back;
+    Whilst out on the weeping-willow _their_ mother was crying "Alack!"
+              We really heard
+    Both what Mother told us to do, and the voice of the mother-bird.
+              But we three--that is Susan and I and Jem--
+              Thought we knew better than either of them:
+    And in spite of our mother's command and the poor bird's cry,
+    We determined to bring up her three little nestlings ourselves
+             on the sly.
+
+              We each took one,
+              It did seem such excellent fun!
+              Susan fed hers on milk and bread,
+              Jem got wriggling worms for his instead.
+                  I gave mine meat,
+    For, you know, I thought, "Poor darling pet! why shouldn't it have
+             roast beef to eat?"
+    But, oh dear! oh dear! oh dear! how we cried
+    When in spite of milk and bread and worms and roast beef, the
+             little birds died!
+              It's a terrible thing to have heart-ache,
+              I thought mine would break
+              As I heard the mother-bird's moan,
+    And looked at the grey-green, moss-coated, feather-lined nest she had
+             taken such pains to make,
+    And her three little children dead, and as cold as stone.
+              Mother said, and it's sadly true,
+              "There are some wrong things one can never undo."
+              And nothing that we could do or say
+              Would bring life back to the birds that day.
+
+    The bitterest tears that we could weep
+    Wouldn't wake them out of their stiff cold sleep.
+                              But then,
+    We--Susan and Jem and I--mean never to be so selfish, and wilful,
+             and cruel again.
+    And we three have buried those other three
+    In a soft, green, moss-covered, flower-lined grave at the foot of
+             the willow tree.
+              And all the leaves which its branches shed
+              We think are tears because they are dead.
+
+
+
+
+    DOLLY'S LULLABY.
+
+    A NURSERY RHYME
+
+
+    Hush-a-by, Baby! _Your_ baby, Mamma,
+    No one but pussy may go where you are;
+    Soft-footed pussy alone may pass by,
+    For, if he wakens, your baby will cry.
+
+    Hush-a-by, Dolly! My baby are you,
+    Yellow-haired Dolly, with eyes of bright blue;
+    Though I say "Hush!" because Mother does so,
+    You wouldn't cry like her baby, I know!
+
+    Hush-a-by, Baby! Mamma walks about,
+    Sings to you softly, or rocks you without;
+    If you slept sounder, then I might walk too,
+    Sing to my Dolly, and rock her like you!
+
+    Hush-a-by Dolly! Sleep sweetly, my pet!
+    Dear Mamma made you this fine berceaunette,
+    Muslin and rose-colour, ribbon and lace;
+    When had a baby a cosier place?
+
+    Hush-a-by, Baby! the baby who cries.
+    Why, dear Mamma, don't you shut baby's eyes?
+    Pull down his wire, as I do, you see;
+    Lay him by Dolly, and come out with me.
+
+    Hush-a-by, Dolly! Mamma will not speak;
+    You, my dear baby, would sleep for a week.
+    Poor Mamma's baby allows her no rest,
+    Hush-a-by, Dolly, of babies the best!
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    A HERO TO HIS HOBBY-HORSE.
+
+
+    Hear me now, my hobby-horse, my steed of prancing paces!
+    Time is it that you and I won something more than races.
+    I have got a fine cocked hat, with feathers proudly waving;
+    Out into the world we'll go, both death and danger braving.
+
+    Doubt not that I know the way--the garden-gate is clapping:
+    Who forgot to lock it last deserves his fingers slapping.
+    When they find we can't be found, oh won't there be a chorus!
+    You and I may laugh at that, with all the world before us.
+
+    All the world, the great green world that lies beyond the paling!
+    All the sea, the great round sea where ducks and drakes are sailing!
+    I a knight, my charger thou, together we will wander
+    Out into that grassy waste where dwells the Goosey Gander.
+
+    Months ago, my faithful steed, that Goose attacked your master;
+    How it hissed, and how I cried! It ran, but I ran faster!
+    Down upon my face I fell, its awful wings were o'er me,
+    Mother came and picked me up, and off to bed she bore me.
+
+    Months have passed, my faithful steed, both you and I are older,
+    Sheathless is my wooden sword, my heart I think is bolder.
+    Always ready bridled thou, with reins of crimson leather;
+    Woe betide the Goose to-day who meets us both together!
+
+    Up then now, my hobby-horse, my steed of prancing paces!
+    Time it is that you and I won something more than races.
+    I a knight, my charger thou, together we will wander
+    Out into that grassy waste where dwells the Goosey Gander.
+
+
+
+
+    THE DOLLS' WASH.
+
+
+    Sally is the laundress, and every Saturday
+    She sends our clean clothes up from the wash, and Nurse puts them away.
+    Sometimes Sally is very kind, but sometimes she's as cross as a Turk;
+    When she's good-humoured we like to go and watch her at work.
+    She has tubs and a copper in the wash-house, and a great big fire and
+             plenty of soap;
+    And outside is the drying-ground with tall posts, and pegs bought from
+             the gipsies, and long lines of rope.
+    The laundry is indoors with another big fire, and long tables, and a
+             lot of irons, and a crimping-machine;
+    And horses (not live ones with tails, but clothes-horses) and the same
+             starch that is used by the Queen.
+    Sally wears pattens in the wash-house, and turns up her sleeves, and
+             splashes, and rubs,
+    And makes beautiful white lather which foams over the tops of the tubs,
+    Like waves at the seaside dashing against the rocks, only not so
+             strong.
+    If I were Sally I should sit and blow soap-bubbles all the day long.
+    Sally is angry sometimes because of the way we dirty our frocks,
+    Making mud pies, and rolling down the lawn, and climbing trees, and
+             scrambling over the rocks.
+    She says we do it on purpose, and never try to take care;
+    But if things have got to go to the wash, what can it matter how
+             dirty they are?
+    Last week Mary and I got a lot of kingcups from the bog, and I
+             carried them home in my skirt;
+    It was the end of the week, and our frocks were done, so we didn't
+             mind about the dirt.
+    But Sally was as cross as two sticks, and won't wash our dolls'
+             clothes any more--so she said,--
+    But never mind, for we'll ask Mamma if we may have a real Dolls'
+             Wash of our own instead.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Mamma says we may on one condition, to which we agree;
+    We're to _really_ wash the dolls' clothes, and make them just
+             what clean clothes should be.
+    She says we must wash them thoroughly, which of course we intend to do,
+    We mean to rub, wring, dry, mangle, starch, iron, and air them too.
+    A regular wash must be splendid fun, and everybody knows
+    That any one in the world can wash out a few dirty clothes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Well, we've had the Dolls' Wash, but it's only pretty good fun.
+    We're glad we've had it, you know, but we're gladder still that
+             it's done.
+    As we wanted to have as big a wash as we could, we collected
+             everything we could muster,
+    From the dolls' bed dimity hangings to Victoria's dress, which I'd
+             used as a duster.
+    It was going to the wash, and Mary and I were house-maids--fancy
+             house-maids, I mean--
+    And I took it to dust the bookshelf, for I knew it would come back
+             clean.
+    Well, we washed in the wash-hand-basin, which holds a good deal, as
+             the things are small;
+    We made a glorious lather, and splashed half over the floor; but the
+             clothes weren't white after all.
+    However, we hung them out in our drying-ground in the garden, which
+             we made with dahlia-sticks and long strings,
+    And then Dash went and knocked over one of the posts, and down in the
+             dirt went our things!
+    So we washed them again and hung them on the towel-horse, and most of
+             them came all right,
+    But Victoria's muslin dress--though I rinsed it again and again--will
+             never dry white!
+    And the grease-spots on Mary's doll's dress don't seem to come out, and
+             we can't think how they got there;
+    Unless it was when we made that Macassar-oil, because she has
+             real hair.
+    I knew mine was going to the wash, but I'm sorry I used it as a duster
+             before it went;
+    We think dirty clothes perhaps shouldn't be _too_ dirty before they
+             are sent.
+    We had sad work in trying to make the starch--I wonder what the Queen
+             does with hers?
+    I stirred mine up with a candle, like Sally, but it only made it worse;
+    So we had to ask Mamma's leave to have ours made by Nurse.
+    Nurse makes beautiful starch--like water-arrowroot when you're ill--in
+             a minute or two.
+    It's a very odd thing that what looks so easy should be so difficult
+             to do!
+    Then Mary put the iron down to heat, but as soon as she'd turned
+             her back,
+    A jet of gas came sputtering out of the coals and smoked it black.
+    We dared not ask Sally for another, for we knew she'd refuse it,
+    So we had to clean this one with sand and brown-paper before we
+             could use it.
+    It was very hard work, but I rubbed till I made it shine;
+    Yet as soon as it got on a damped "fine thing" it left a brown line.
+    I rubbed it for a long, long time before it would iron without a mark,
+    But it did at last, and we finished our Dolls' Wash just before dark.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Sally's very kind, for she praised our wash, and she has taken away
+    Victoria's dress to do it again; and I really must say
+    She was right when she said, "You see, young ladies, a week's wash
+             isn't all play."
+    Our backs ache, our faces are red, our hands are all wrinkled, and
+             we've rubbed our fingers quite sore;
+    We feel very sorry for Sally every week, and we don't mean to dirty
+             our dresses so much any more.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    HOUSE-BUILDING AND REPAIRS.
+
+
+    Father is building a new house, but I've had one given to me for
+             my own;
+    Brick red, with a white window, and black where it ought to be glass,
+             and the chimney yellow, like stone.
+    Brother Bill made me the shelves with his tool-box, and the table I
+             had before, and the pestle-and-mortar;
+    And Mother gave me the jam-pot when it was empty; it's rather big, but
+             it's the only pot we have that will really hold water.
+    We--that is I and Jemima, my doll. (For it's a Doll's House, you know,
+    Though some of the things are real, like the nutmeg-grater, but not
+             the wooden plates that stand in a row.
+    _They_ came out of a box of toy tea-things, and I can't think what
+             became of the others;
+    But one never can tell what becomes of anything when one has brothers.)
+    Jemima is much smaller than I am, and, being made of wood, she is thin;
+    She takes up too much room inside, but she can lie outside on the roof
+             without breaking it in.
+    I wish I had a drawing-room to put her in when I want to really cook;
+    I have to have the kitchen-table outside as it is, and the
+             pestle-and-mortar is rather too heavy for it, and everybody
+             can look.
+    There's no front door to the house, because there's no front to have a
+             door in, and beside,
+    If there were, I couldn't play with anything, for I shouldn't know how
+             to get inside.
+    I never heard of a house with only one room, except the cobbler's, and
+             his was a stall.
+    I don't quite know what that is; but it isn't a house, and it served
+             him for parlour and kitchen and all.
+    Father says that whilst he is about it, he thinks he shall add on
+             a wing;
+    And brother Bill says he'll nail my Doll's House on the top of an
+             old tea-chest, which will come to the same thing.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Father's house is not finished, though the wing is; for now the
+             builder says it will be all wrong if there isn't another
+             to match;
+    And my house isn't done either, though it's nailed on, for Bill took
+             off the roof to make a new one of thatch.
+    The paint is very much scratched, but he says that's nothing, for it
+             must have had a new coat;
+    And he means to paint it for me, inside and out, when he paints
+             his own boat.
+    There's a sad hole in the floor, but Bill says the wood is as rotten
+             as rotten can be:
+    Which was why he made such a mess of the side with trying to put real
+             glass in the window, through which one can see.
+    Bill says he believes that the shortest plan would be to make a new
+             Doll's House with proper rooms, in the regular way;
+    Which was what the builder said to Father when he wanted to build in
+             the old front; and to-day
+    I heard him tell him the old materials were no good to use and weren't
+             worth the expense of carting away.
+    I don't know when I shall be able to play at dolls again, for all the
+             things are put away in a box;
+    Except Jemima and the pestle-and-mortar, and they're in the bottom
+             drawer with my Sunday frocks.
+    I almost wish I had kept the house as it was before;
+    We managed very well with a painted window and without a front door.
+    I don't know what Father means to do with his house, but if ever
+             mine is finished, I'll never have it altered any more.
+
+
+
+
+    THE BLUE-BELLS ON THE LEA.
+
+    FAIRY KING.
+
+
+    "The breeze is on the Blue-bells,
+      The wind is on the lea;
+    Stay out! stay out! my little lad,
+      And chase the wind with me.
+    If you will give yourself to me,
+      Within the fairy ring,
+        At deep midnight,
+        When stars are bright,
+      You'll hear the Blue-bells ring--
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+      On slender stems they swing.
+
+    "The rustling wind, the whistling wind,
+      We'll chase him to and fro,
+    We'll chase him up, we'll chase him down
+      To where the King-cups grow;
+    And where old Jack-o'-Lantern waits
+      To light us on our way,
+    And far behind,
+          Upon the wind,
+      The Blue-bells seem to play--
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+      Lest we should go astray.
+
+    "So gay that fairy music,
+      So jubilant those bells,
+    How days and weeks and months go by
+      No happy listener tells!
+    The toad-stools are with sweetmeats spread,
+      The new Moon lends her light,
+        And ringers small
+        Wait, one and all,
+      To ring with all their might--
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+      And welcome you to night."
+
+
+    BOY.
+
+    "My mother made me promise
+      To be in time for tea,
+    'Go home! go home!' the breezes say,
+      That sigh along the lea.
+    I dare not give myself away;
+      For what would Mother do?
+          I wish I might
+          Stay out all night
+        At fairy games with you.
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+        And hear the bells of blue.
+
+    "But Father sleeps beneath the grass,
+      And Mother is alone:
+    And who would fill the pails, and fetch
+      The wood when I am gone?
+    And who, when little Sister ails,
+      Can comfort her, but me?
+          Her cries and tears
+          Would reach my ears
+      Through all the melody--
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+      Of Blue-bells on the lea."
+
+    The sun was on the Blue-bells,
+      The lad was on the lea.
+    "Oh, wondrous bells! Oh, fairy bells!
+      I pray you ring to me.
+    I only did as Mother bade,
+      For tea I did not care,
+          And winds at night
+          Give more delight
+      Than all this noonday glare."
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+    No sound of bells was there.
+
+
+    BOY.
+
+    "The snow lies o'er the Blue-bells,
+      A storm is on the lea;
+    Our hearth is warm, the fire burns bright,
+      The flames dance merrily.
+    Oh, Mother dear! I would no more
+      That on that summer's day,
+        Within the ring,
+        The Fairy King
+      Had stolen me away--
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+    To where the Blue-bells play.
+
+    "Yet when the storm is loudest,
+      At deep midnight I dream,
+    And up and down upon the lea
+      To chase the wind I seem;
+    While by my side, in feathered cap,
+      There runs the Fairy King,
+        And down below,
+        Beneath the snow,
+      We hear the Blue-bells ring--
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+    Such happy dreams they bring!"
+
+
+
+
+    AN ONLY CHILD'S TEA-PARTY.
+
+
+    When I go to tea with the little Smiths, there are eight of them
+             there, but there's only one of me,
+    Which makes it not so easy to have a fancy tea-party as if there were
+             two or three.
+    I had a tea-party on my birthday, but Joe Smith says it can't have
+             been a regular one,
+    Because as to a tea-party with only one teacup and no teapot,
+             sugar-basin, cream-jug, or slop-basin, he never heard of such
+             a thing under the sun.
+    But it was a very big teacup, and quite full of milk and water, and,
+             you see,
+    There wasn't anybody there who could really drink milk and water except
+             Towser and me.
+    The dolls can only pretend, and then it washes the paint off
+             their lips,
+    And what Charles the canary drinks isn't worth speaking of, for he
+             takes such very small sips.
+    Joe says a kitchen-chair isn't a table; but it has got four legs and
+             a top, so it would be if the back wasn't there;
+    And that does for Charles to perch on, and I have to put the Prince
+             of Wales to lean against it, because his legs have no joints
+             to sit on a chair.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    That's the small doll. I call him the Prince of Wales because he's
+             the eldest son, you see;
+    For I've taken him for my brother, and he was Mother's doll before
+             I was born, so of course he is older than me.
+    Towser is my real live brother, but I don't think he's as old as the
+             Prince of Wales;
+    He's a perfect darling, though he whisks everything over he comes
+             near, and I tell him I don't know what we should do if
+             we all had tails.
+    His hair curls like mine in front, and grows short like a lion behind,
+             but no one need be frightened, for he's as good as good;
+    And as to roaring like a real menagerie lion, or eating people up,
+             I don't believe he would if he could.
+    He has his tea out of the saucer after I've had mine out of the cup;
+    You see I am sure to leave some for him, but if I let him begin first
+             he would drink it all up.
+    The big doll Godmamma gave me this birthday, and the chair she gave me
+             the year before.
+    (I haven't many toys, but I take great care of them, and every birthday
+             I shall have more and more.)
+    You've no idea what a beautiful doll she is, and when I pinch her in
+             the middle, she can squeak;
+    It quite frightened Towser, for he didn't know that any of us but he
+             and I and Charles were able to speak.
+    I've taken her for my only sister, for of course I may take anybody
+             I choose;
+    I've called her Cinderella, because I'm so fond of the story, and
+             because she's got real shoes.
+    I don't feel so _only_ now there are so many of us; for, counting
+             Cinderella there are five,--
+    She, and I, and Towser, and Charles, and the Prince of Wales--and
+             three of us are really alive;
+    And four of us can speak, and I'm sure the Prince of Wales is
+             wonderful for his size;
+    For his things (at least he's only got one thing) take off and on,
+             and, though he's nothing but wood, he's got real glass eyes.
+    And perhaps in three birthdays more there may be as many of us as the
+             Smiths, for five and three make eight;
+    I shall be seven years old then (as old as Joe), but I don't like
+             to think too much of it, it's so long to wait.
+    And after all I don't know that I want any more of us: I think I'd
+             rather my sister had a chair
+    Like mine; and the next year I should like a collar for Towser if
+             it wouldn't rub off his hair.
+    And it would be very nice if the Prince of Wales could be dressed
+             like a Field-marshal, for he's got nothing on his legs;
+    And Cinderella's beautifully dressed, and Towser looks quite as if
+             he'd got a fur coat on when he begs.
+    Joe says it's perfectly absurd, and that I can't take a Pomeranian
+             in earnest for my brother;
+    But I don't think he really and truly knows how much Towser and I
+             love each other.
+    I didn't like his saying, "Well, there's one thing about your lot,--you
+             can always have your own way."
+    And then he says, "You can't possibly have fun with four people when
+             you have to pretend what they say."
+    But, whatever he says, I don't believe I shall ever enjoy a tea-party
+             more than the one that we had on that day.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    PAPA POODLE.
+
+
+    Can any one look so wise, and have so little in his head?
+    How long will it be, Papa Poodle, before you have learned to read?
+    You were called Papa Poodle because you took care of me when I was
+             a baby:
+    And now I can read words of three syllables, and you sit with a book
+             before you like a regular gaby.
+    You've not read a word since I put you in that corner ten minutes ago;
+    Bill and I've fought the battle of Waterloo since dinner, and you've
+             not learned BA BE BI BO.
+    Here am I doing the whole British Army by myself, for Bill is obliged
+             to be the French;
+    And I've come away to hear you say your lesson, and left Bill waiting
+             for me in the trench.
+    And there you sit, with a curly white wig, like the Lord Chief Justice,
+             and as grave a face,
+    Looking the very picture of goodness and wisdom, when you're really in
+             the deepest disgrace.
+    Those woolly locks of yours grow thicker and thicker, Papa Poodle.
+    Does the wool tangle inside as well as outside your head? and is it
+             that which makes you such a noodle?
+    You seem so clever at some things, and so stupid at others, and I keep
+             wondering why;
+    But I'm afraid the truth is, Papa Poodle, that you're uncommonly sly.
+    You did no spelling-lessons last week, for you were out from morning
+             till night,
+    Except when you slunk in, like a dirty door-mat on legs, and with one
+             ear bleeding from a fight,
+    Looking as if you'd no notion what o'clock it was, and had come home
+             to see.
+    But _your watch keeps very good meal-time_, Papa Poodle, for you're
+             always at breakfast, and dinner, and tea.
+    No, it's no good your shaking hands and licking me with your
+             tongue,--I know you can do that;
+    But sitting up, and giving paws, and kissing, won't teach you to
+             spell C A T, Cat.
+    I wonder, if I let you off lessons, whether I could teach you to pull
+             the string with your teeth, and fire our new gun?
+    If I could, you might be the Artillery all to yourself, and it would
+             be capital fun.
+    You wag your tail at that, do you? You would like it a great deal
+             better?
+    But I can't bear you to be such a dunce, when you look so wise; and
+             yet I don't believe you'll ever learn a letter.
+    Aunt Jemima is going to make me a new cocked hat out of the next old
+             newspaper, for I want to have a review;
+    But the newspaper after that, Papa Poodle, must be kept to make a
+             fool's cap for you.
+
+
+
+
+    GRANDMOTHER'S SPRING.
+
+
+    "In my young days," the grandmother said (Nodding her head,
+    Where cap and curls were as white as snow),
+    "In my young days, when we used to go
+               Rambling,
+               Scrambling;
+    Each little dirty hand in hand,
+    Like a chain of daisies, a comical band
+    Of neighbours' children, seriously straying,
+    Really and truly going a-Maying,
+    My mother would bid us linger,
+    And lifting a slender, straight forefinger,
+               Would say--
+    'Little Kings and Queens of the May,
+               Listen to me!
+               If you want to be
+    Every one of you very good
+    In that beautiful, beautiful, beautiful wood,
+    Where the little birds' heads get so turned with delight,
+    That some of them sing all night:
+               Whatever you pluck,
+               Leave some for good luck;
+    Picked from the stalk, or pulled up by the root,
+    From overhead, or from underfoot,
+    Water-wonders of pond or brook;
+               Wherever you look,
+               And whatever you find--
+               Leave something behind:
+               Some for the Naïads,
+               Some for the Dryads,
+    And a bit for the Nixies, and the Pixies.'"
+
+    "After all these years," the grandame said,
+               Lifting her head,
+    "I think I can hear my mother's voice
+               Above all other noise,
+    Saying, 'Hearken, my child!
+    There is nothing more destructive and wild,
+    No wild bull with his horns,
+    No wild-briar with clutching thorns,
+    No pig that routs in your garden-bed,
+    No robber with ruthless tread,
+               More reckless and rude,
+    And wasteful of all things lovely and good,
+    Than a child, with the face of a boy and the ways of a bear,
+               Who _doesn't care;_
+    Or some little ignorant minx
+               Who _never thinks_.
+    Now I never knew so stupid an elf,
+    That he couldn't think and care for himself.
+    Oh, little sisters and little brothers,
+    Think for others, and care for others!
+    And of all that your little fingers find,
+               Leave something behind,
+    For love of those that come after:
+    Some, perchance, to cool tired eyes in the moss that stifled your
+             laughter!
+               Pluck, children, pluck!
+               But leave--for good luck--
+               Some for the Naïads,
+               And some for the Dryads,
+    And a bit for the Nixies, and the Pixies!'"
+
+    "We were very young," the grandmother said,
+          Smiling and shaking her head;
+          "And when one is young,
+    One listens with half an ear, and speaks with a hasty tongue;
+          So with shouted Yeses,
+          And promises sealed with kisses,
+    Hand-in-hand we started again,
+          A chubby chain,
+    Stretching the whole wide width of the lane;
+          Or in broken links of twos and threes,
+            For greater ease
+            Of rambling,
+            And scrambling,
+          By the stile and the road,
+    That goes to the beautiful, beautiful wood;
+          By the brink of the gloomy pond,
+          To the top of the sunny hill beyond,
+    By hedge and by ditch, by marsh and by mead,
+    By little byways that lead
+              To mysterious bowers;
+    Or to spots where, for those who know,
+              There grow,
+    In certain out-o'-way nooks, rare ferns and uncommon flowers.
+              There were flowers everywhere,
+              Censing the summer air,
+              Till the giddy bees went rolling home
+              To their honeycomb,
+              And when we smelt at our posies,
+    The little fairies inside the flowers rubbed coloured dust on
+             our noses,
+    Or pricked us till we cried aloud for snuffing the dear dog-roses.
+              But above all our noise,
+              I kept thinking I heard my mother's voice.
+    But it may have been only a fairy joke,
+    For she was at home, and I sometimes thought it was
+        really the flowers that spoke.
+              From the Foxglove in its pride,
+              To the Shepherd's Purse by the bare road-side;
+    From the snap-jack heart of the Starwort frail,
+    To meadows full of Milkmaids pale,
+    And Cowslips loved by the nightingale.
+    Rosette of the tasselled Hazel-switch,
+    Sky-blue star of the ditch;
+              Dandelions like mid-day suns;
+              Bindweed that runs;
+    Butter and Eggs with the gaping lips,
+    Sweet Hawthorn that hardens to haws, and Roses that die into hips;
+              Lords-with-their-Ladies cheek-by-jowl,
+              In purple surcoat and pale-green cowl;
+              Family groups of Primroses fair;
+              Orchids rare;
+    Velvet Bee-orchis that never can sting,
+    Butterfly-orchis which never takes wing,
+    Robert-the-Herb with strange sweet scent,
+    And crimson leaf when summer is spent:
+              Clustering neighbourly,
+              All this gay company,
+              Said to us seemingly--
+              'Pluck, children, pluck!
+              But leave some for good luck:
+              Some for the Naïads,
+              Some for the Dryads,
+    And a bit for the Nixies, and the Pixies,'"
+
+    "I was but a maid," the grandame said,
+    "When my mother was dead;
+    And many a time have I stood.
+    In that beautiful wood,
+    To dream that through every woodland noise,
+              Through the cracking
+              Of twigs and the bending of bracken,
+              Through the rustling
+    Of leaves in the breeze,
+              And the bustling
+    Of dark-eyed, tawny-tailed squirrels flitting about the trees,
+    Through the purling and trickling cool
+    Of the streamlet that feeds the pool,
+              I could hear her voice.
+    Should I wonder to hear it? Why?
+    Are the voices of tender wisdom apt to die?
+    And now, though I'm very old,
+    And the air, that used to feel fresh, strikes chilly and cold,
+              On a sunny day when I potter
+              About the garden, or totter
+    To the seat from whence I can see, below,
+    The marsh and the meadows I used to know,
+    Bright with the bloom of the flowers that blossomed there long ago;
+              Then, as if it were yesterday,
+              I fancy I hear them say--
+              'Pluck, children, pluck,
+              But leave some for good luck;
+    Picked from the stalk, or pulled up by the root,
+    From overhead, or from underfoot,
+    Water-wonders of pond or brook;
+    Wherever you look,
+              And whatever your little fingers find,
+              Leave something behind:
+              Some for the Naïads,
+              And some for the Dryads,
+    And a bit for the Nixies, and the Pixies.'"
+
+
+    The following note was given in _Aunt Judy's Magazine_, June
+    1880, when "Grandmother's Spring" first appeared:--"It may
+    interest old readers of _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ to know that
+    'Leave some for the Naïads and the Dryads' was a favourite
+    phrase with Mr. Alfred Gatty, and is not merely the charge of
+    an imaginary mother to her 'blue-eyed banditti.' Whether my
+    mother invented the expression for our benefit, or whether she
+    only quoted it, I do not know. I only remember its use as a
+    check on the indiscriminate 'collecting' and 'grubbing' of a
+    large family; a mystic warning not without force to fetter the
+    same fingers in later life, with all the power of a pious
+             tradition."--J.H.E.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    BIG SMITH.
+
+
+    Are you a Giant, great big man, or is your real name Smith?
+    Nurse says you've got a hammer that you hit bad children with.
+    I'm good to-day, and so I've come to see if it is true
+    That you can turn a red-hot rod into a horse's shoe.
+
+    Why do you make the horses' shoes of iron instead of leather?
+    Is it because they are allowed to go out in bad weather?
+    If horses should be shod with iron, Big Smith, will you shoe mine?
+    For now I may not take him out, excepting when it's fine.
+
+    Although he's not a real live horse, I'm very fond of him;
+    His harness won't take off and on, but still it's new and trim.
+    His tail is hair, he has four legs, but neither hoofs nor heels;
+    I think he'd seem more like a horse without these yellow wheels.
+
+    They say that Dapple-grey's not yours, but don't you wish he were?
+    My horse's coat is only paint, but his is soft grey hair;
+    His face is big and kind, like yours, his forelock white as snow--
+    Shan't you be sorry when you've done his shoes and he must go?
+
+    I do so wish, Big Smith, that I might come and live with you;
+    To rake the fire, to heat the rods, to hammer two and two.
+    To be so black, and not to have to wash unless I choose;
+    To pat the dear old horses, and to mend their poor old shoes.
+
+    When all the world is dark at night, you work among the stars,
+    A shining shower of fireworks beat out of red-hot bars.
+    I've seen you beat, I've heard you sing, when I was going to bed;
+    And now your face and arms looked black, and now were glowing red.
+
+    The more you work, the more you sing, the more the bellows roar;
+    The falling stars, the flying sparks, stream shining more and more.
+    You hit so hard, you look so hot, and yet you never tire;
+    It must be very nice to be allowed to play with fire.
+
+    I long to beat and sing and shine, as you do, but instead
+    I put away my horse, and Nurse puts me away to bed.
+    I wonder if you go to bed; I often think I'll keep
+    Awake and see, but, though I try, I always fall asleep.
+
+    I know it's very silly, but I sometimes am afraid
+    Of being in the dark alone, especially in bed.
+    But when I see your forge-light come and go upon the wall,
+    And hear you through the window, I am not afraid at all.
+
+    I often hear a trotting horse, I sometimes hear it stop;
+    I hold my breath--you stay your song--it's at the blacksmith's shop.
+    Before it goes, I'm apt to fall asleep, Big Smith, it's true;
+    But then I dream of hammering that horse's shoes with you!
+
+
+
+
+    KIT'S CRADLE.
+
+
+    They've taken the cosy bed away
+    That I made myself with the Shetland shawl,
+    And set me a hamper of scratchy hay,
+    By that great black stove in the entrance-hall.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    I won't sleep there; I'm resolved on that!
+    They may think I will, but they little know
+    There's a soft persistence about a cat
+    That even a little kitten can show.
+
+    I wish I knew what to do but pout,
+    And spit at the dogs and refuse my tea;
+    My fur's feeling rough, and I rather doubt
+    Whether stolen sausage agrees with me.
+
+    On the drawing-room sofa they've closed the door,
+    They've turned me out of the easy-chairs;
+    I wonder it never struck me before
+    That they make their beds for themselves up-stairs.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    I've found a crib where they won't find me,
+    Though they're crying "Kitty!" all over the house.
+    Hunt for the Slipper! and riddle-my-ree!
+    A cat can keep as still as a mouse.
+
+    It's rather unwise perhaps to purr,
+    But they'll never think of the wardrobe-shelves.
+    I'm happy in every hair of my fur;
+    They may keep the hamper and hay themselves.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+    THE MILL STREAM.
+
+
+    One of a hundred little rills--
+          Born in the hills,
+    Nourished with dews by the earth, and with tears by the sky,
+          Sang--"Who so mighty as I?
+          The farther I flow
+          The bigger I grow.
+    I, who was born but a little rill,
+    Now turn the big wheel of the mill,
+    Though the surly slave would rather stand still.
+        Old, and weed-hung, and grim,
+        I am not afraid of him;
+    For when I come running and dance on his toes,
+    With a creak and a groan the monster goes.
+          And turns faster and faster,
+          As he learns who is master,
+          Round and round,
+          Till the corn is ground,
+    And the miller smiles as he stands on the bank,
+    And knows he has me to thank.
+    Then when he swings the fine sacks of flour,
+           I feel my power;
+    But when the children enjoy their food,
+    I know I'm not only great but good!"
+
+    Furthermore sang the brook--
+    "Who loves the beautiful, let him look!
+    Garlanding me in shady spots
+           The Forget-me-nots
+    Are blue as the summer sky:
+           Who so lovely as I?
+    My King-cups of gold
+    Shine from the shade of the alders old,
+           Stars of the stream!--
+    At the water-rat's threshold they gleam.
+           From below
+    The Frog-bit spreads me its blossoms of snow,
+           And in masses
+    The Willow-herb, the flags, and the grasses,
+           Reeds, rushes, and sedges,
+    Flower and fringe and feather my edges.
+           To be beautiful is not amiss,
+    But to be loved is more than this;
+    And who more sought than I,
+    By all that run or swim or crawl or fly?
+    Sober shell-fish and frivolous gnats,
+           Tawny-eyed water-rats;
+    The poet with rippling rhymes so fluent,
+    Boys with boats playing truant,
+    Cattle wading knee-deep for water;
+    And the flower-plucking parson's daughter.
+    Down in my depths dwell creeping things
+    Who rise from my bosom on rainbow wings,
+    For--too swift for a school-boy's prize--
+    Hither and thither above me dart the prismatic-hued dragon-flies.
+    At my side the lover lingers,
+    And with lack-a-daisical fingers,
+    The Weeping Willow, woe-begone,
+    Strives to stay me as I run on."
+
+    There came an hour
+    When all this beauty and love and power
+             Did seem
+    But a small thing to that Mill Stream.
+             And then his cry
+        Was, "Why, oh! why
+        Am I thus surrounded
+    With checks and limits, and bounded
+           By bank and border
+           To keep me in order,
+              Against my will?
+    I, who was born to be free and unfettered--a mountain rill!
+        But for these jealous banks, the good
+            Of my gracious and fertilizing flood
+        Might spread to the barren highways,
+    And fill with Forget-me-nots countless neglected byways.
+            Why should the rough-barked Willow for ever lave
+        Her feet in my cooling wave;
+            When the tender and beautiful Beech
+    Faints with midsummer heat in the meadow just out of my reach?
+    Could I but rush with unchecked power,
+    The miller might grind a day's corn in an hour.
+            And what are the ends
+    Of life, but to serve one's friends?"
+
+    A day did dawn at last,
+    When the spirits of the storm and the blast,
+    Breaking the bands of the winter's frost and snow,
+    Swept from the mountain source of the stream, and flooded the
+             valley below.
+           Dams were broken and weirs came down;
+           Cottage and mill, country and town,
+           Shared in the general inundation,
+           And the following desolation.
+           Then the Mill Stream rose in its might,
+           And burst out of bounds to left and to right,
+    Rushed to the beautiful Beech,
+           In the meadow far out of reach.
+    But with such torrents the poor tree died,
+    Torn up by the roots, and laid on its side.
+           The cattle swam till they sank,
+           Trying to find a bank.
+           Never more shall the broken water-wheel
+           Grind the corn to make the meal,
+           To make the children's bread.
+           The miller was dead.
+
+                When the setting sun
+    Looked to see what the Mill Stream had done
+             In its hour
+        Of unlimited power,
+    And what was left when that had passed by,
+    Behold the channel was stony and dry.
+             In uttermost ruin
+        The Mill Stream had been its own undoing.
+    Furthermore it had drowned its friend:
+             This was the end.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    BOY AND SQUIRREL.
+
+
+    Oh boy, down there, I can't believe that what they say is true!
+    We squirrels surely cannot have an enemy in you;
+    We have so much in common, my dear friend, it seems to me
+    That I can really feel for you, and you can feel for me.
+
+    Some human beings might not understand the life we lead;
+    If we asked Dr. Birch to play, no doubt he'd rather read;
+    He hates all scrambling restlessness, and chattering, scuffling noise;
+    If he could catch us we should fare no better than you boys.
+
+    Fine ladies, too, whose flounces catch and tear on every stump,
+    What joy have they in jagged pines, who neither skip nor jump?
+    Miss Mittens never saw my tree-top home--so unlike hers;
+    What wonder if her only thought of squirrels is of furs?
+
+    But you, dear boy, you know so well the bliss of climbing trees,
+    Of scrambling up and sliding down, and rocking in the breeze,
+    Of cracking nuts and chewing cones, and keeping cunning hoards,
+    And all the games and all the sport and fun a wood affords.
+
+    It cannot be that you would make a prisoner of me,
+    Who hate yourself to be cooped up, who love so to be free;
+    An extra hour indoors, I know, is punishment to you;
+    _You_ make _me_ twirl a tiny cage? It never can be true!
+
+    Yet I've a wary grandfather, whose tail is white as snow.
+    He thinks he knows a lot of things we young ones do not know;
+    He says we're safe with Doctor Birch, because he is so blind,
+    And that Miss Mittens would not hurt a fly, for she is kind.
+
+    But you, dear boy, who know my ways, he bids me fly from you,
+    He says my life and liberty are lost unless I do;
+    That you, who fear the Doctor's cane, will fling big sticks at me,
+    And tear me from my forest home, and from my favourite tree.
+
+    The more we think of what he says, the more we're sure it's "chaff,"
+    We sit beneath the shadow of our bushy tails and laugh;
+    Hey, presto! Friend, come up, and let us hide and seek and play,
+    If you could spring as well as climb, what fun we'd have to-day!
+
+
+
+
+    LITTLE MASTER TO HIS BIG DOG.
+
+
+    Oh, how greedy you look as you stare at my plate,
+      Your mouth waters so, and your big tail is drumming
+    Flop! flop! flop! on the carpet, and yet if you'll wait,
+      When we have quite finished, your dinner is coming.
+
+    Yes! I know what you mean, though you don't speak a word;
+      You say that you wish that I kindly would let you
+    Take your meals with the family, which is absurd,
+      And on a tall chair like a gentleman set you.
+
+    But how little you think, my dear dog, when you talk;
+      You've no "table manners," you bolt meat, you gobble;
+    And how could you eat bones with a knife, spoon, and fork?
+      You would be in a most inconvenient hobble.
+
+    And yet, once on a time it is certainly true,
+      My own manners wanted no little refining;
+    For I gobbled, and spilled, and was greedy like you,
+      And had no idea of good manners when dining.
+
+    So that when I consider the tricks _you_ have caught,
+      To sit or shake paws with the utmost good breeding,
+    I must own it quite possible you may be taught
+      The use of a plate, and a nice style of feeding.
+
+    Therefore try to learn manners, and eat as I do;
+      Don't glare at the joint, and as soon as you're able
+    To behave like the rest, you shall feed with us too,
+      And dine like a gentleman sitting at table.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    A SWEET LITTLE DEAR
+
+
+    I always _was_ a remarkable child; so old for my age, and such a
+             sensitive nature!--Mamma often says so.
+    And I'm the sweetest, little dear in my blue ribbons, and quite a
+             picture in my Pompadour hat!--Mrs. Brown told her so on
+             Sunday, and that's how I know.
+    And I'm a sacred responsibility to my parents--(it was what the
+             clergyman's wife at the seaside said),
+    And a solemn charge, and a fair white page, and a tender bud, and
+             a spotless nature of wax to be moulded;--but the rest of
+             it has gone out of my head.
+    There was a lot more, and she left two books as well, and I think she
+             called me a Privilege, and Mamma said "Yes," and began to cry.
+    And Nurse came in with luncheon on a tray, and put away the books, and
+             said she was as weak as a kitten, and worried to
+             fiddlestrings, as any one with common sense could see with
+             half an eye.
+    I was hopping round the room, but I stopped and said, "My kitten's not
+             weak, and I don't believe anybody could see with only half an
+             eye. Could they, Mamma?"
+    And Nurse said, "Go and play, my dear, and let your Mamma rest;"
+             but Mamma said, "No, my love, stay where you are.
+    Dear Nurse, lift me up, and put a pillow to my back, I know
+             you mean to be kind;
+    But she does ask such remarkable questions, and while I've strength
+             to speak, don't let me check the inquiring mind.
+    If I should fail to be all a mother ought--oh, how my head throbs when
+             the dear child jumps!" and then Nurse said, "Ugh!
+    When you're worried into your grave, she'll have no mother at all,
+             and'll have to tumble up as other folks do.
+    There's the poor master at his wits' end--a child's not all a grown
+             person has to think of--and Miss Jane would do well enough if
+             she'd less of her own way;
+    But there's more children spoilt with care than the want of it, and
+             more mothers murdered than there's folks hanged for, and
+             that's what I say.
+    Children learns what you teach 'em, and Miss Jane's old enough to have
+             learned to wait upon you:
+    And if her mother thought less of her and she thought more of her
+             mother, it would be better for her too."
+    But Nurse is a nasty cross old thing--I hate her; and I hate the
+             doctor, for he wanted me to be left behind
+    When Mamma went to the sea for her health; but I begged and begged
+             till she promised I should go, for Mamma is always kind.
+    And she bought me a new wooden spade and a basket, and a red and green
+             ship with three masts, and a one-and-sixpenny telescope to
+             look at the sea;
+    But when I got on to the sands, I thought I'd rather be on the
+             esplanade, for there was a little girl there who was
+             looking at me,
+    Dressed in a navy-blue suit and a sailor hat, with fair hair tied
+             with ribbons; so I told Mamma,
+    And she got me a suit, ready-made (but she said it was dreadfully
+             dear), and a hat to match, in the Pebble Brooch Repository
+             and Universal Bazaar.
+    It faded in the sun, and came all to pieces in the wash; but I was
+             tired of it before.
+    For the esplanade is very dull, and the little girl with fair hair had
+             got sand-boots and a shrimping-net and was playing on
+             the shore.
+    And when my sand-boots came home, and I'd got a better net than hers,
+             she went donkey-riding, and I knew it was to tease me,
+    But Nurse was so cross, and said if they sent a man in a herring-boat
+             to the moon for what I wanted that nothing would please me.
+    So I said the seaside was a very disagreeable place, and I wished I
+             hadn't come,
+    And I told Mamma so, and begged her to try and get well soon, to take
+             us all home.
+    But now we've got home, it's very hot, and I'm afraid of the wasps;
+             and I'm sure it was cooler at the sea,
+    And the Smiths won't be back for a fortnight, so I can't even have
+             Matilda to tea.
+    I don't care much for my new doll--I think I'm too old for dolls now;
+             I like books better, though I didn't like the last,
+    And I've read all I have: I always skip the dull parts, and when you
+             skip a good deal you get through them so fast.
+    I like toys if they're the best kind, with works; though when I've had
+             one good game with them, I don't much care to play with
+             them again.
+    I feel as if I wanted something new to amuse me, and Mamma says it's
+             because I've got such an active brain.
+    Nurse says I don't know what I want, and I know I don't, and that's
+             just what it is.
+    It seems so sad a young creature like me should feel unhappy, and not
+             know what's amiss;
+    But Nurse never thinks of my feelings, any more than the cruel nurse
+             in the story about the little girl who was so good,
+    And if I die early as she did, perhaps then people will be sorry I've
+             been misunderstood.
+    I shouldn't like to die early, but I should like people to be sorry
+             for me, and to praise me when I was dead:
+    If I could only come to life again when they had missed me very much,
+             and I'd heard what they said--
+    Of course that's impossible, I know, but I wish I knew what to
+             do instead!
+    It seems such a pity that a sweet little dear like me should
+             ever be sad.
+    And Mamma says she buys everything I want, and has taught me
+             everything I will learn, and reads every book, and takes
+             every hint she can pick up, and keeps me with her all day,
+             and worries about me all night, till she's nearly mad;
+    And if any kind person can think of any better way to make me happy
+             we shall both of us be glad.
+
+
+
+
+    BLUE AND RED:
+    OR, THE DISCONTENTED LOBSTER.
+
+
+    Permit me, Reader, to make my bow,
+            And allow
+    Me to humbly commend to your tender mercies
+    The hero of these simple verses.
+    By domicile, of the British Nation;
+    By birth and family, a Crustacean.
+    One's hero should have a name that rare is;
+    And his was _Homarus_, but--_Vulgaris!_
+    A Lobster, who dwelt with several others,--
+        His sisters and brothers,--
+    In a secluded but happy home,
+    Under the salt sea's foam.
+            It lay
+    At the outermost point of a rocky bay.
+    A sandy, tide-pooly, cliff-bound cove,
+    With a red-roofed fishing village above,
+    Of irregular cottages, perched up high
+    Amid pale yellow poppies next to the sky.
+    Shells and pebbles, and wrack below,
+    And shrimpers shrimping all in a row;
+    Tawny sails and tarry boats,
+    Dark brown nets and old cork floats;
+    Nasty smells at the nicest spots,
+    And blue-jerseyed sailors and--lobster-pots.
+
+              "It is sweet to be
+    At home in the deep, deep sea.
+    It is very pleasant to have the power
+    To take the air on dry land for an hour;
+    And when the mid-day midsummer sun
+    Is toasting the fields as brown as a bun,
+    And the sands are baking, it's very nice
+    To feel as cool as a strawberry ice
+    In one's own particular damp sea-cave,
+    Dipping one's feelers in each green wave.
+    It is good, for a very rapacious maw,
+    When storm-tossed morsels come to the claw;
+    And 'the better to see with' down below,
+    To wash one's eyes in the ebb and flow
+    Of the tides that come and the tides that go."
+    So sang the Lobsters, thankful for their mercies,
+    All but the hero of these simple verses.
+              Now a hero--
+      If he's worth the grand old name--
+    Though temperature may change from boiling-point to zero
+      Should keep his temper all the same:
+    Courageous and content in his estate,
+    And proof against the spiteful blows of Fate.
+    It, therefore, troubles me to have to say,
+      That with this Lobster it was never so;
+    Whate'er the weather or the sort of day,
+      No matter if the tide were high or low,
+    Whatever happened he was never pleased,
+    And not himself alone, but all his kindred teased.
+
+            "Oh! oh!
+          What a world of woe
+    We flounder about in, here below!
+            Oh dear! oh dear!
+        It is too, too dull, down here!
+      I haven't the slightest patience
+      With any of my relations;
+      I take no interest whatever
+      In things they call curious and clever.
+      And, for love of dear truth I state it,
+      As for my Home--I hate it!
+    I'm convinced I was formed for a larger sphere,
+    And am utterly out of my element here."
+    Then his brothers and sisters said,
+    Each solemnly shaking his and her head,
+    "You put your complaints in most beautiful verse,
+          And yet we are sure,
+    That, in spite of all you have to endure,
+    You might go much farther and fare much worse.
+    We wish you could live in a higher sphere,
+    But we think you might live happily here."
+    "I don't live, I only exist," he said,
+    "Be pleased to look upon me as dead."
+    And he swam to his cave, and took to his bed.
+    He sulked so long that the sisters cried,
+    "Perhaps he has really and truly died."
+    But the brothers went to the cave to peep,
+    For they said, "Perhaps he is only asleep."
+    They found him, far too busy to talk,
+    With a very large piece of bad salt pork.
+    "Dear Brother, what luck you have had to-day!
+    Can you tell us, pray,
+    Is there any more pork afloat in the bay?"
+    But not a word would my hero say,
+    Except to repeat, with sad persistence,
+    "This is not life, it's only existence."
+
+    One day there came to the fishing village
+    An individual bent on pillage;
+    But a robber whom true scientific feeling
+    May find guilty of picking, but not of stealing.
+      He picked the yellow poppies on the cliffs;
+      He picked the feathery seaweeds in the pools;
+      He picked the odds and ends from nets and skiffs;
+      He picked the brains of all the country fools.
+    He dried the poppies for his own herbarium,
+    And caught the Lobsters for a seaside town aquarium.
+
+      "Tank No. 20" is deep,
+      "Tank No. 20" is cool,
+      For clever contrivances always keep
+        The water fresh in the pool;
+    And a very fine plate-glass window is free to the public view,
+    Through which you can stare at the passers-by and the passers-by
+             stare at you.
+    Said my hero, "This is a great variety
+    From those dull old rocks, where we'd no society."
+
+    For the primal cause of incidents,
+      One often hunts about,
+    When it's only a coincidence
+      That matters so turned out.
+    And I do not know the reason
+      Or the reason I would tell--
+    But it may have been the season--
+      Why my hero chose this moment for casting off his shell.
+      He had hitherto been dressed[1]
+      (And so had all the rest)
+    In purplish navy blue from top to toe!
+      But now his coat was new,
+      It was of every shade of blue
+    Between azure and the deepest indigo;
+    And his sisters kept telling him, till they were tired,
+    There never was any one so much admired.
+
+    My hero was happy at last, you will say?
+    So he was, dear Reader--two nights and a day;
+    Then, as he and his relatives lay,
+    Each at the mouth of his mock
+    Cave in the face of a miniature rock,
+    They saw, descending the opposite cliff,
+    By jerks spasmodic of elbows stiff;
+    Now hurriedly slipping, now seeming calmer,
+    With the ease and the grace of a hog in armour,
+    And as solemn as any ancient palmer,
+              No less than nine
+              Exceedingly fine
+    And full-grown lobsters, all in a line.
+    But the worst of the matter remains to be said.
+    These nine big lobsters were all of them _red_.[2]
+    And when they got safe to the floor of the tank,--
+    For which they had chiefly good luck to thank,--
+    They settled their cumbersome coats of mail,
+    And every lobster tucked his tail
+    Neatly under him as he sat
+    In a circle of nine for a cosy chat.
+    They seemed to be sitting hand in hand,
+    As shoulder to shoulder they sat in the sand,
+    And waved their antennæ in calm rotation,
+    Apparently holding a consultation.
+    But what were the feelings of Master Blue Shell?
+    Oh, gentle Reader! how shall I tell?
+
+    [Footnote 1: The colours of lobsters vary a good deal in various
+    localities. _Homarus vulgaris_, the common lobster, is spotted, and, on
+    the upper part, more or less of a bluish black. I once saw a lobster
+    that had just got a new shell, and was of every lovely shade of blue
+    and violet.]
+
+    [Footnote 2: _Palurinus vulgaris_, the spiny lobster, has no true
+    claws, but huge hairy antennæ. These lobsters are red _during their
+    lifetime_! I have seen them (in the Crystal Palace Aquarium) seated
+    exactly as here described, with blue lobsters watching them from
+    niches of the rocky sides of the tank, where they looked like
+    blue-jerseyed smugglers at the mouths of caves.]
+
+    From the moment that those Nine he saw,
+    He never could bear his blue coat more.
+    "Oh, Brothers in misfortune!" he said,
+    "Did you ever see any lobsters so grand,
+    As those who sit down there in the sand?
+    Why were we born at all, since not one of us all was born red?"
+    "Dear Brother, indeed, this is quite a whim."
+    (So his brothers and sisters reasoned with him;
+    And, being exceedingly cultivated,
+    The case with remarkable fairness stated.)
+    "Red is a primary colour, it's true,
+            But so is Blue;
+    And we all of us think, dear Brother,
+    That one is quite as good as the other.
+    A swaggering soldier's a saucy varlet,
+    Though he looks uncommonly well in scarlet.
+    No doubt there's much to be said
+    For a field of poppies of glowing red;
+    For fiery rifts in sunset skies,
+    Roses and blushes and red sunrise;
+    For a glow on the Alps, and the glow of a forge,
+    A foxglove bank in a woodland gorge;
+    Sparks that are struck from red-hot bars,
+    The sun in a mist, and the red star Mars;
+    Flowers of countless shades and shapes,
+    Matadors', judges', and gipsies' capes;
+    The red-haired king who was killed in the wood,
+    Robin Redbreast and little Red Riding Hood;
+    Autumn maple, and winter holly,
+    Red-letter days of wisdom or folly;
+    The scarlet ibis, rose cockatoos,
+    Cardinal's gloves, and Karen's shoes;
+    Coral and rubies, and huntsmen's pink;
+    Red, in short, is splendid, we think.
+    But, then, we don't think there's a pin to choose;
+    If the Guards are handsome, so are the Blues.
+    It's a narrow choice between Sappers and Gunners.
+    You sow blue beans, and rear scarlet runners.
+    Then think of the blue of a mid-day sky,
+    Of the sea, and the hills, and a Scotchman's eye;
+    Of peacock's feathers, forget-me-nots,
+    Worcester china and "jap" tea-pots.
+    The blue that the western sky wears casually,
+    Sapphire, turquoise, and lapis-lazuli.
+          What can look smarter
+    Than the broad blue ribbon of Knights of the Garter?
+    And, if the subject is not too shocking,
+    An intellectual lady's stocking.
+          And who that loves hues
+            Could fail to mention
+          The wonderful blues
+            Of the mountain gentian?"
+    But to all that his brothers and sisters said,
+    He made no reply but--"I wish I were dead!
+    I'm all over blue, and I want to be red."
+    And he moped and pined, and took to his bed.
+    "That little one looks uncommonly sickly,
+    Put him back in the sea, and put him back quickly."
+    The voice that spoke was the voice of Fate,
+    And the lobster was soon in his former state;
+    Where, as of old, he muttered and mumbled,
+    And growled and grumbled:
+    "Oh dear! what shall I do?
+    I want to be red, and I'm all over blue."
+
+    I don't think I ever met with a book
+    The evil genius of which was a cook;
+            But it thus befell,
+    In the tale I have the honour to tell;
+    For as he was fretting and fuming about,
+    A fisherman fished my hero out;
+    And in process of time, he heard a voice,
+            Which made him rejoice.
+    The voice was the cook's, and what she said
+    Was, "He'll soon come out a beautiful red."
+
+            He was put in the pot,
+            The water was very hot;
+    The less we say about this the better,
+    It was all fulfilled to the very letter.
+    He did become a beautiful red,
+    But then--which he did not expect--he was dead!
+
+    Some gentle readers cannot well endure
+      To see the ill end of a bad beginning;
+    And hope against hope for a nicer cure
+      For naughty heroes than to leave off sinning.
+    And yet persisting in behaving badly,
+    Do what one will, does commonly end sadly.
+
+    But things in general are so much mixed,
+      That every case must stand upon its merits;
+    And folks' opinions are so little fixed,
+      And no one knows the least what he inherits--
+    I should be glad to shed some parting glory
+    Upon the hero of this simple story.
+
+    It seems to me a mean end to a ballad,
+    But the truth is, he was made into salad;
+    It's not how one's hero should end his days,
+          In a mayonnaise,
+    But I'm told that he looked exceedingly nice,
+    With cream-coloured sauce, and pale-green lettuce and ice.
+
+    I confess that if he'd been my relation,
+    This would not afford me any consolation;
+    For I feel (though one likes to speak well of the dead)
+    That it must be said,
+    He need not have died so early lamented,
+    If he'd been content to live contented.
+
+      P.S.--His claws were raised to very high stations;
+            They keep the earwigs from our carnations.
+
+
+
+
+    THE YELLOW FLY.
+
+    A TALE WITH A STING IN IT.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+                   Ah!
+            There you are!
+    I was certain I heard a strange voice from afar.
+    Mamma calls me a pup, but I'm wiser than she;
+    One ear cocked and I hear, half an eye and I see;
+    Wide-awake though I doze, not a thing escapes me.
+
+                   Yes!
+            Let me guess:
+    It's the stable-boy's hiss as he wisps down Black Bess.
+    It sounds like a kettle beginning to sing,
+    Or a bee on a pane, or a moth on the wing,
+    Or my master's peg-top, just let loose from the string.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+                   Well!
+            Now I smell,
+    I don't know who you are, and I'm puzzled to tell.
+    You look like a fly dressed in very gay clothes,
+    But I blush to have troubled my mid-day repose
+    For a creature not worth half a twitch of my nose.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+                   How now?
+            Bow, wow, wow!
+    The insect imagines we're playing, I vow!
+    If I pat you, I promise you'll find it too hard.
+    Be off! when a watch-dog like me is on guard,
+    Big or little, no stranger's allowed in the yard.
+
+                   Eh?
+            "Come away!"
+    My dear little master, is that what you say?
+    I am greatly obliged for your kindness and cares,
+    But I really can manage my own small affairs,
+    And banish intruders who give themselves airs.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+                   Snap!
+            Yap! yap! yap!
+    You defy me?--you pigmy, you insolent scrap!
+    What!--this to my teeth, that have worried a score
+    Of the biggest rats bred in the granary floor!
+    Come on, and be swallowed! I spare you no more!
+
+                   Help!
+            Yelp! yelp! yelp!
+    Little master, pray save an unfortunate whelp,
+    Who began the attack, but is now in retreat,
+    Having shown all his teeth, just escapes on his feet,
+    And is trusting to you to make safety complete.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+                   Oh!
+            Let me go!
+    My poor eye! my poor ear! my poor tail! my poor toe!
+    Pray excuse my remarks, for I meant no such thing.
+    Don't trouble to come--oh, the brute's on the wing!
+    I'd no notion, I'm sure, there were flies that could sting.
+
+                   Dear me!
+            I can't see.
+    My nose burns, my limbs shake, I'm as ill as can be.
+    I was never in such an undignified plight.
+    Mamma told me, and now I suppose she was right;
+    One should know what one's after before one shows fight.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    CANADA HOME.
+
+
+    Some Homes are where flowers for ever blow,
+      The sun shining hotly the whole year round;
+    But our Home glistens with six months of snow,
+      Where frost without wind heightens every sound.
+        And Home is Home wherever it is,
+        When we're all together and nothing amiss.
+
+    Yet Willy is old enough to recall
+      A Home forgotten by Eily and me;
+    He says that we left it five years since last Fall,
+      And came sailing, sailing, right over the sea.
+        But Home is Home wherever it is,
+        When we're all together and nothing amiss.
+
+    Our other Home was for ever green,
+      A green, green isle in a blue, blue sea,
+    With sweet flowers such as we never have seen;
+      And Willy tells all this to Eily and me.
+        But Home is Home wherever it is,
+        When we're all together and nothing amiss.
+
+    He says, "What fine fun when we all go back!"
+      But Canada Home is very good fun
+    When Pat's little sled flies along the smooth track,
+      Or spills in the snowdrift that shines in the sun.
+        For Home is Home wherever it is,
+        When we're all together and nothing amiss.
+
+    Some day I should dearly love, it is true,
+      To sail to the old Home over the sea;
+    But only if Father and Mother went too,
+      With Willy and Patrick and Eily and me.
+        For Home is Home wherever it is,
+        When we're all together and nothing amiss.
+
+
+
+
+    THE POET AND THE BROOK.
+
+    A TALE OF TRANSFORMATIONS.
+
+
+    A little Brook, that babbled under grass,
+              Once saw a Poet pass--
+    A Poet with long hair and saddened eyes,
+    Who went his weary way with woeful sighs.
+              And on another time,
+    This Brook did hear that Poet read his rueful rhyme.
+            Now in the poem that he read,
+              This Poet said--
+    "Oh! little Brook that babblest under grass!
+    (_Ah me! Alack! Ah, well-a-day! Alas!_)
+            Say, are you what you seem?
+    Or is your life, like other lives, a dream?
+    What time your babbling mocks my mortal moods,
+            Fair Naïad of the stream!
+            And are you, in good sooth,
+    Could purblind poesy perceive the truth,
+              A water-sprite,
+    Who sometimes, for man's dangerous delight,
+    Puts on a human form and face,
+    To wear them with a superhuman grace?
+
+    "When this poor Poet turns his bending back,
+    (_Ah me! Ah, well-a-day! Alas! Alack!_)
+    Say, shall you rise from out your grassy bed,
+    With wreathed forget-me-nots about your head,
+              And sing and play,
+    And wile some wandering wight out of his way,
+          To lead him with your witcheries astray?
+    (_Ah me! Alas! Alack! Ah, well-a-day!_)
+              Would it be safe for me
+              That fateful form to see?"
+    (_Alas! Alack! Ah, well-a-day! Ah me!_)
+
+    So far the Poet read his pleasing strain,
+            Then it began to rain:
+            He closed his book.
+    "Farewell, fair Nymph!" he cried, as with a lingering look
+          His homeward way he took;
+          And nevermore that Poet saw that Brook.
+
+    The Brook passed several days in anxious expectation
+              Of transformation
+    Into a lovely nymph bedecked with flowers;
+    And longed impatiently to prove those powers--
+    Those dangerous powers--of witchery and wile,
+    That should all mortal men mysteriously beguile;
+    For life as running water lost its charm
+    Before the exciting hope of doing so much harm.
+              And yet the hope seemed vain;
+              Despite the Poet's strain,
+    Though the days came and went, and went and came,
+    The seasons changed, the Brook remained the same.
+
+    The Brook was almost tired
+    Of vainly hoping to become a Naïad;
+    When on a certain Summer's day,
+    Dame Nature came that way,
+              Busy as usual,
+              With great and small;
+    Who, at the water-side
+    Dipping her clever fingers in the tide,
+          Out of the mud drew creeping things,
+    And, smiling on them, gave them radiant wings.
+    Now when the poor Brook murmured, "Mother dear!"
+          Dame Nature bent to hear,
+    And the sad stream poured all its woes into her sympathetic ear,
+    Crying,--"Oh, bounteous Mother!
+    Do not do more for one child than another;
+    If of a dirty grub or two
+            (Dressing them up in royal blue)
+    You make so many shining Demoiselles,[3]
+    Change me as well;
+    Uplift me also from this narrow place,
+    Where life runs on at such a petty pace;
+    Give me a human form, dear Dame, and then
+    See how I'll flit, and flash, and fascinate the race of men!"
+
+    [Footnote 3: The "Demoiselle" Dragon-fly, a well-known slender
+    variety (_Libellula_), with body of brilliant blue.]
+
+    Then Mother Nature, who is wondrous wise,
+    Did that deluded little Brook advise
+    To be contented with its own fair face,
+        And with a good and cheerful grace,
+    Run, as of yore, on its appointed race,
+    Safe both from giving and receiving harms;
+    Outliving human lives, outlasting human charms.
+    But good advice, however kind,
+    Is thrown away upon a made-up mind,
+    And this was all that babbling Brook would say--
+    "Give me a human face and form, if only for a day!"
+
+    Then quoth Dame Nature:--"Oh, my foolish child!
+        Ere I fulfil a wish so wild,
+        Since I am kind and you are ignorant,
+        This much I grant:
+    You shall arise from out your grassy bed,
+    And gathered to the waters overhead
+              Shall thus and then
+    Look down and see the world, and all the ways of men!"
+              Scarce had the Dame
+        Departed to the place from whence she came,
+        When in that very hour,
+        The sun burst forth with most amazing power.
+              Dame Nature bade him blaze, and he obeyed;
+        He drove the fainting flocks into the shade,
+        He ripened all the flowers into seed,
+        He dried the river, and he parched the mead;
+    Then on the Brook he turned his burning eye,
+    Which rose and left its narrow channel dry;
+    And, climbing up by sunbeams to the sky,
+    Became a snow-white cloud, which softly floated by.
+
+          It was a glorious Autumn day,
+    And all the world with red and gold was gay;
+          When, as this cloud athwart the heavens did pass,
+    Lying below, it saw a Poet on the grass,
+          The very Poet who had such a stir made,
+    To prove the Brook was a fresh-water mermaid.
+            And now,
+    Holding his book above his corrugated brow--
+            He read aloud,
+    And thus apostrophized the passing cloud:
+                "Oh, snowy-breasted Fair!
+    Mysterious messenger of upper air!
+    Can you be of those female forms so dread,[4]
+    Who bear the souls of the heroic dead
+    To where undying laurels crown the warrior's head?
+    Or, as you smile and hover,
+    Are you not rather some fond goddess of the skies who waits a mortal
+             lover?
+                And who, ah! who is he?
+   --And what, oh, what!--your message to poor me?"--
+    So far the Poet. Then he stopped:
+                His book had dropped.
+    But ere the delighted cloud could make reply,
+    Dame Nature hurried by,
+    And it put forth a wild beseeching cry--
+    "Give me a human face and form!"
+    Dame Nature frowned, and all the heavens grew black with storm.
+
+    [Footnote 4: The Walkyrie in Teutonic mythology, whose office it is to
+    bear the souls of fallen heroes from the field of battle.]
+
+                But very soon,
+    Upon a frosty winter's noon,
+    The little cloud returned below,
+                Falling in flakes of snow;
+    Falling most softly on the floor most hard
+    Of an old manor-house court-yard.
+    And as it hastened to the earth again,
+    The children sang behind the window-pane:
+        "Old woman, up yonder, plucking your geese,
+         Quickly pluck them, and quickly cease;
+    Throw down the feathers, and when you have done,
+         We shall have fun--we shall have fun."
+    The snow had fallen, when with song and shout
+            The girls and boys came out;
+        Six sturdy little men and maids,
+    Carrying heather-brooms, and wooden spades,
+    Who swept and shovelled up the fallen snow,
+    Which whimpered,--"Oh! oh! oh!
+            Oh, Mother, most severe!
+            Pity me lying here,
+    I'm shaken all to pieces with that storm,
+    Raise me and clothe me in a human form."
+
+    They swept up much, they shovelled up more,
+        There never was such a snow-man before!
+    They built him bravely with might and main,
+        There never will be such a snow-man again!
+    His legs were big, his body was bigger,
+    They made him a most imposing figure;
+    His eyes were large and as black as coal,
+    For a cinder was placed in each round hole.
+    And the sight of his teeth would have made yours ache,
+    Being simply the teeth of an ancient rake.
+    They smoothed his forehead, they patted his back,
+    There wasn't a single unsightly crack;
+    And when they had given the final pat,
+    They crowned his head with the scare-crow's hat.
+
+              And so
+    The Brook--the Cloud--the Snow,
+    Got its own way after so many days,
+    And did put on a human form and face.
+              But whether
+    The situation pleased it altogether;
+              If it is nice
+        To be a man of snow and ice;
+              Whether it feels
+        Painful, when one congeals;
+              How this man felt
+        When he began to melt;
+    Whether he wore his human form and face
+        With any extraordinary grace;
+        If many mortals fell
+        As victims to the spell;
+              Or if,
+        As he stood, stark and stiff,
+        With a bare broomstick in his arms,
+    And not a trace of transcendental charms,
+              That man of snow
+              Grew wise enough to know
+    That the Brook's hopes were but a Poet's dream,
+    And well content to be again a stream,
+              On the first sunny day,
+              Flowed quietly away;
+    Or what the end was--You must ask the Poet,
+              I don't know it.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    A SOLDIER'S CHILDREN.
+
+
+    Our home used to be in a hut in the dear old Camp, with lots of bands
+             and trumpets and bugles and Dead Marches, and three times
+             a day there was a gun,
+    But now we live in View Villa at the top of the village, and it isn't
+             nearly such fun.
+    We never see any soldiers, except one day we saw a Volunteer, and we
+             ran after him as hard as ever we could go, for we thought he
+             looked rather brave;
+    But there's only been one funeral since we came, an ugly black thing
+             with no Dead March or Union Jack, and not even a firing party
+             at the grave.
+    There is a man in uniform to bring the letters, but he's nothing like
+             our old Orderly, Brown;
+    I told him, through the hedge, "Your facings are dirty, and you'd
+             have to wear your belt if my father was at home," and oh,
+             how he did frown!
+    But things can't be expected to go right when Old Father's away, and
+             he's gone to the war;
+    Which is why we play at soldiers and fighting battles more than ever
+             we did before.
+    And I try to keep things together: every morning I have a parade of
+             myself and Dick,
+    To see that we are clean, and to drill him and do sword-exercise with
+             poor Grandpapa's stick.
+    Grandpapa's dead, so he doesn't want it now, and Dick's too young for
+             a real tin sword like mine:
+    He's so young he won't make up his mind whether he'll go into the
+             Artillery or the Line.
+    I want him to be a gunner, for his frock's dark blue, and Captain
+             Powder gave us a wooden gun with an elastic that shoots
+             quite a big ball.
+    It's nonsense Dick's saying he'd like to be a Chaplain, for that's
+             not being a soldier at all.
+    Besides, he always wants to be Drum-Major when we've funerals, to
+             stamp the stick and sing RUM--TUM--TUM--
+    To the Dead March in _Saul_ (that's the name of the tune, and you play
+             it on a drum).
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    Mary is so good, she might easily be a Chaplain, but of course she
+             can't be anything that wants man;
+    She likes nursing her doll, but when we have battles she moves the
+             lead soldiers about, and does what she can.
+    She never grumbles about not being able to grow up into a General,
+             though I should think it must be a great bore.
+    I asked her what she would do if she were grown up into a woman,
+             and belonged to some one who was wounded in the war,--
+    She said she'd go out and nurse him: so I said, "But supposing you
+             couldn't get him better, and he died; how would you behave?"
+    And she said if she couldn't get a ship to bring him home in, she
+             should stay out there and grow a garden, and make wreaths
+             for his grave.
+    Nurse says we oughtn't to have battles, now Father's gone to battle,
+             but that's just the reason why!
+    And I don't believe one bit what she said about its making Mother cry.
+    Only she does like us to put away our toys on Sunday, so we can't
+             have the soldiers or the gun;
+    But yesterday Dick said, "I was thinking in church, and I've thought
+             of a game about soldiers, and it's a perfectly Sunday one;
+    It's a Church Parade: you'll have to be a lot of officers and men,
+             Mary'll do for a few wives and families, and I'll be Chaplain
+             to the Forces and pray for everyone at the war."
+    So he put his nightgown over his knickerbocker suit, and knelt on the
+             Ashantee stool, and Mary and I knelt on the floor.
+    I think it was rather nice of Dick, for he said what put it into
+             his head
+    Was thinking they mightn't have much time for their prayers on active
+             service, and we ought to say them instead.
+    I should have liked to parade the lead soldiers, but I didn't, for
+             Mother says, "What's the good of being a soldier's son if
+             you can't do as you're bid?"
+    But we thought there'd be no harm in letting the box be there if we
+             kept on the lid.
+    Dick couldn't pray out of the Prayer-book, because he's backward with
+             being delicate, and he can't read;
+    So he had to make a prayer out of his own head, and I think he did it
+             very well indeed.
+    He began, "GOD save the Queen, and the Army and the Navy, and the
+             Irregular Forces and the Volunteers!
+    Especially Old Father (he went out with the first draft, and he's a
+             Captain in the Royal Engineers").
+    But I said, "I don't think 'GOD save the Queen' is a proper prayer,
+             I think it's only a sort of three cheers."
+    So he said, "GOD bless the Generals, and the Colonels, and the Majors,
+             and the Captains, and the Lieutenants, and the
+             Sub-lieutenants, and the Quartermasters, and the
+             non-commissioned officers, and the men;
+    And the bands, and the colours, and the guns, and the horses and the
+             wagons, and the gun-carriage they use for the funerals; and
+             please I should like them all to come home safe again.
+    (Don't, Mary! I haven't finished; it isn't time for you to say Amen.)
+    I haven't prayed for the Chaplains, or the Doctors who help the poor
+             men left groaning on the ground when the victories are won;
+    And I want to pray particularly for the very poor ones who die of fever
+             and miss all the fighting and fun.
+    GOD bless the good soldiers, like Old Father, and Captain Powder,
+             and the men with good-conduct medals; and please let the
+             naughty ones all be forgiven;
+    And if the black men kill our men, send down white angels to take
+             their poor dear souls to Heaven!
+    _Now_ you may both say Amen, and I shall give out hymn four hundred
+             and thirty-seven."
+    There are eight verses and eight Alleluias, and we can't sing very
+             well, but we did our best,
+    Only Mary would cry in the verse about "Soon, soon to faithful
+             warriors comes their rest!"
+    But we're both very glad Dick has found out a Sunday game about
+             fighting, for we never had one before;
+    And now we can play at soldiers every day till Old Father comes
+             home from the war.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    "TOUCH HIM IF YOU DARE."
+
+    A TALE OF THE HEDGE.
+
+
+    HEDGE-PLANTS.
+
+    "Beware!
+       We advise you to take care.
+    He lodges with us, so we know him well,
+               And can tell
+       You all about him,
+    And we strongly advise you not to flout him."
+
+
+    DANDELION.
+
+    "At my time of life," said the Dandelion,
+                "I keep an eye on
+    The slightest sign of disturbance and riot,
+    For my one object is to keep quiet
+    The reason I take such very great care,"
+    The old Dandy went on, "is because of my hair.
+    It was very thick once, and as yellow as gold;
+              But now I am old,
+              It is snowy-white,
+              And comes off with the slightest fright.
+              As to using a brush--
+              My good dog! I beseech you, don't rush,
+              Go quietly by me, if you please
+              You're as bad as a breeze.
+    I hope you'll attend to what we've said;
+    And--whatever you do--don't touch my head,
+    In this equinoctial, blustering weather
+    You might knock it off with a feather."
+
+
+    THISTLE.
+
+    Said the Thistle, "I can tickle,
+    But not as a Hedgehog can prickle;
+    Even my tough old friend the Moke
+    Would find our lodger no joke."
+
+
+    DOG-ROSE.
+
+    "I have thorns," sighed the Rose,
+    "But they don't protect me like those;
+    He can pull his thorns right over his nose."
+
+
+    NETTLE.
+
+    "My sting," said the Nettle,
+    "Is nothing to his when he's put on his mettle.
+    No nose can endure it,
+    No dock-leaves will cure it."
+
+
+    DOG.
+
+    "Bow-wow!" said the Dog:
+    "All this fuss about a Hedgehog?
+    Though I never saw one before--
+               There's my paw!
+    Good-morning, Sir! Do you never stir?
+               You look like an overgrown burr.
+    Good-day, I-say:
+    Will you have a game of play?
+    With your humped-up back and your spines on end,
+    You remind me so of an intimate friend,
+               The Persian Puss
+               Who lives with us.
+               How well I know her tricks!
+               The dear creature!
+    Just when you're sure you can reach her,
+    In the twinkling of a couple of sticks
+    She saves herself by her heels,
+    And looks down at you out of the apple-tree, with eyes like catherine
+             wheels.
+               The odd part of it is,
+    I could swear that I could not possibly miss
+    Her silky, cumbersome, traily tail,
+    And that's just where I always fail.
+    But you seem to have nothing, Sir, of the sort;
+    And I should be mortified if you thought
+               That I'm stupid at sport;
+    I assure you I don't often meet my match,
+    Where I chase I commonly catch.
+               I've caught cats,
+               And rats,
+    And (between ourselves) I once caught a sheep,
+    And I think I could catch a weasel asleep."
+
+
+    HEDGE-PLANTS.
+
+    From the whole of the hedge there rose a shout,
+    "Oh! you'll catch it, no doubt!
+    But remember we gave you warning fair,
+              Touch him if you dare!"
+
+
+    DOG.
+
+    "If I dare?" said the Dog--"Take that!"
+    As he gave the Hedgehog a pat.
+    But oh, how he pitied his own poor paw;
+    And shook it and licked it, it was so sore.
+
+
+    DANDELION.
+
+    "It's much too funny by half,"
+    Said the Dandelion; "it makes me ill,
+    For I cannot keep still,
+    And my hair comes out if I laugh."
+
+    The Hedgehog he spoke never a word,
+            And he never stirred;
+    His peeping eyes, his inquisitive nose,
+            And his tender toes,
+    Were all wrapped up in his prickly clothes.
+    A provoking enemy you may suppose!
+    And a dangerous one to flout--
+    Like a well-stocked pin-cushion inside out.
+
+    The Dog was valiant, the Dog was vain,
+    He flew at the prickly ball again,
+    Snapping with all his might and main,
+            But, oh! the pain!
+    He sat down on his stumpy tail and howled,
+    Then he laid his jaws on his paws and growled.
+
+
+    DANDELION.
+
+    With laughter the Dandelion shook--
+    "It passes a printed book;
+    It's as good as a play, I declare,
+    But it's cost me half my back hair!"
+    The Dog he made another essay,
+    It really and truly was very plucky--
+    But "third times," you know, are not always lucky--
+    And this time he ran away!
+
+
+    HEDGE-PLANTS.
+
+    Then the Hedge-plants every one
+    Rustled together, "What fun! what fun!
+                The battle is done,
+                The victory won.
+    Dear Hedge-pig, pray come out of the Sun."
+
+    The Hedge-pig put forth his snout,
+    He sniffed hither and thither and peeped about;
+    Then he tucked up his prickly clothes,
+    And trotted away on his tender toes
+    To where the hedge-bottom is cool and deep,
+    Had a slug for supper, and went to sleep.
+    His leafy bed-clothes cuddled his chin,
+    And all the Hedge-plants tucked him in.
+
+    But the hairs and the tears that we shed
+                Never can be recalled;
+    And when _he_ too went off, in hysterics, to bed,
+                DANDELION was bald.
+
+
+
+
+    MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY REVIEW.
+
+    BROTHER BILL.
+
+
+    To have a good birthday for a grown-up person is very difficult indeed;
+    We don't give it up, for Mother says the harder things are, the harder
+             you must try till you succeed.
+    Still, _our_ birthdays are different; we want so many things, and
+             choosing your own pudding, and even half-holidays are treats;
+    But what can you do for people who always order the dinner, and never
+             have lessons, and don't even like sweets?
+    I know Mother does not. Baby put a big red comfit in her mouth, and I
+             saw her take it out again on the sly;
+    I don't believe she even enjoys going a-gypseying, for she gets
+             neuralgia if she stands about where it isn't dry.
+    And how can you boil the kettle if you're not near the brook? But it's
+             the last time she shall go there,
+    I told her so; I said, "What's the good of having five sons, except to
+             mount guard over you, you Queen of all Mothers that
+             ever were?"
+    But she's not easy to manage, and she shams sometimes, and shamming is
+             a thing I can't bear.
+    She shammed about the red comfit, when she didn't think Baby could
+             see her;
+    And (because they're the only things we can think of for birthday
+             presents for her) she shams wearing out a needle-book and a
+             pin-cushion every year.
+    The only things we can think of for Father are paper-cutters; but
+             there's no sham about _his_ wearing _them_ out;
+    He would always lose them, long before his next birthday, if Mother
+             did not keep finding them lying about.
+    Last year's paper-cutter was as big as a sword (not as big as Father's
+             sword, but as big as a wooden one, like ours),
+    And he left it behind in a railway-carriage, when he'd had it just
+             thirty-six hours;
+    So we knew he was ready for another. It was Mother's birthday that
+             bothered us so;
+
+    [Illustration: Review of the Household Troops
+                   The Cavalry]
+
+    And if it hadn't been for Dolly's Major (he's her Godfather, and she
+             calls him "my Major"), what we should have done I really
+             don't know!
+    He said, "What's the matter?" And Dolly said,
+    "Mother's birthday's the matter." And I said, "We can't think what
+             to devise
+    To give her a birthday treat that won't give her neuralgia, and will
+             take her by surprise.
+    Look here, Major! How can you give people treats who can order what
+             they wish for far better than you?
+    I wonder what they do for the Queen!--her birthday must be the hardest
+             of all." But he said, "Not a bit of it! They have a review:
+    Cocked hats and all the rest of it; and a salute, and a _feu de joie_,
+             and a March-Past.
+    That's the way we keep the Queen's Birthday; and every year the same
+             as the last."
+    So I settled at once to have a Mother's Birthday Review; and that she
+             should be Queen, and I should be the General in command.
+    I thought she couldn't come to any harm by sitting in a fur cloak and
+             a birthday wreath at the window, and bowing and waving
+             her hand.
+    We did not tell her what was coming, we only asked for leave to have
+             all the seven donkeys for an hour and a half;
+    (We always hire them from the same old man)--two for the girls, and
+             five for me and my brothers--I told him, "for me and
+             my Staff."
+    We could have managed with five, if the girls would only have been
+             Maids of Honour, and stayed indoors with the Queen.
+    Maggie would if I'd asked her; but Dolly will go her own way, and
+             that's into the thick of everything, to see whatever there
+             is to be seen.
+    She's only four years old, but she's ridiculously like the picture
+             of an ancient ancestress of ours
+    Who defended an old castle in Cornwall, against the French, for
+             hours and hours.
+    Her husband was away, so she was in command, and all her household
+             obeyed her;
+    She made them strip the lead off the roofs, and they did, and she
+             boiled it down and gave it very hot indeed to the
+             French invader.[5]
+    Maggie would have let the French in; she doesn't like me to say so,
+             but I know she would,--you can get anything out of Maggie
+             by talking.
+
+    [Illustration: The Spectators.]
+
+    She likes to hire a donkey, and then sham she'd rather not ride, for
+             fear of being too heavy; and to take Spike out for a run,
+             and then carry him to save him the trouble of walking.
+    But she's very good; she made all our cocked hats, and at the review
+             she and Dolly and Spike were the loyal crowd.
+    Dick and Tom and Harry were the troops, and I was the General, and
+             Mother looked quite like a Queen at the window, and bowed.
+    The donkeys made very good chargers on the whole, and especially mine;
+    Jem's was the only one that gave trouble, and neither fair means nor
+             foul would keep him in line.
+    Just when I'd dressed all their noses to a nice level (you can do
+             nothing with their ears), then back went Jem's brute,
+    And Jem caught him a whack with the flat of his sword (a thing you
+             never see done on the Staff), and it rather spoilt the salute;
+    But the spirit of the troops was excellent, and we'd a _feu de joie_
+             with penny pistols (Jem's donkey was the only one that shied),
+             and Dolly's Major says that, all things considered, he never
+             saw a better March-Past;
+    And Mother was delighted with her first Birthday Review, and she is
+             none the worse for it, and says she only hopes that it won't
+             be the last.
+
+    [Footnote 5: Dame Elizabeth Treffry (_temp._ Henry VI.) defended Place
+    House, Fowey, Cornwall, in the circumstances and with the
+    vigorous measures described. On his return her husband wisely
+    "Embattled all the walls of the house, and in a manner made it
+    a Castelle, and unto this day it is the glorie of the town building
+    in Faweye."--_Carew_. The beauties of Place Castle remain to
+    this day also.]
+
+
+    DOLLY.
+
+    They call me Dolly, but I'm not a doll, and I'm not a baby, though
+             Baby is sometimes my name;
+    I behave beautifully at meals, and at church, and I can put on my
+             own boots, and can say a good deal of the Catechism, and ride
+             a donkey, and play at any boys' game.
+    I've ridden a donkey that kicks (at least I rode him as long as I was
+             on), and a donkey that rolls, and an old donkey that
+             goes lame.
+    I mean to ride like a lady now, but that's because I ought, not because
+             I easily can;
+    For what with your legs and your pommels (I mean the saddle's pommels),
+             it would be much easier always to ride like a man.
+    Boys _look_ braver, but I think it's really more dangerous to ride
+             sideways, because of the saddle slipping round.
+    (I didn't cry; I played at slipping round the world, and getting to
+             New Zealand with my head upside down on the ground.)
+    The reason the saddle is slippery is not because it's smooth,
+             for it's rather rough; and there's a hard ridge behind,
+    And the horse's hair coming through the donkey's back (I mean through
+             his saddle) scratches you
+    dreadfully; but I tuck my things under me, and pretend I don't mind.
+    They work out again though, particularly when they are starched, and
+             I think frocks get shorter every time they go to the wash;
+    But I don't complain; if it's very uncomfortable, I make an ugly face
+             to myself, and say, "Bosh!"
+    We've all of us had a good deal of practice, so we ought to know
+             how to ride;
+    We've ridden a great deal since we came to live on the Heath, and we
+             rode a good deal when Father was stationed at the sea-side.
+    My Major taught me to ride sideways, and at first he would hold me on;
+    But I don't like being touched; and I don't call it riding like a lady
+             if you're held on by an officer, and I'd rather tumble off if
+             I can't stick on by myself; so I sent him away, and the nasty
+             saddle slipped round directly he was gone.
+    I only crushed my sun-bonnet, and the donkey stood quite still. (We
+             always call that one "the old stager.")
+    I wasn't frightened, except just the tiniest bit; but he says he was
+             dreadfully frightened. So I said, "Then you ought to be
+             ashamed of yourself, considering all your medals, and that
+             you're a Major."
+    He likes me very much, and I like him, and when my fifth birthday
+             comes, he says I'm to choose a donkey, and he'll buy it for
+             me, but the saddle and bridle shall be quite new;
+    So I've made up my mind to choose the one Brother Bill had for his
+             charger at Mother's Birthday Review;
+    And Maggie is so glad, she says her life is quite miserable with
+             thinking how miserable other lives are, if only we knew.
+    Maggie loves every creature that lives; she won't confess to black
+             beetles, but she can't stamp on them (I've stamped out lots
+             in my winter boots), and she doesn't even think a donkey
+             ugly when he brays;
+    And she says she shall buy a brush, out of her pocket-money, and brush
+             my donkey every day till he looks like a horse, and that it
+             shan't be her fault if there isn't one poor old brute beast
+             who lives happily to the end of his days.
+
+
+    JACK ASS.
+
+    The dew falls over the Heath, Brother Donkeys, and the darkness falls,
+             but still through the gathering night
+    All around us spreads the Heath Bed-straw[6] in glimmering sheets of
+             white.
+    Dragged and trampled, and plucked and wasted, it patiently spreads
+             and survives;
+    Kicked and thwacked, and prodded and over-laden, we patiently cling
+             to our lives.
+    Hee-haw! for the rest and silence of darkness that follow the labours
+             of light.
+    Hee-haw! for the hours from night to morning, that balance the hours
+             from morning to night.
+    Hee-haw! for the sweet night air that gives human beings cold in
+             the head.
+    Hee-haw! for the civilization that sends human beings to bed.
+    Rest, Brother Donkeys, rest, from the bit, the burden, the blow,
+    The dust, the flies, the restless children, the brutal roughs, the
+             greedy donkey-master, the greedier donkey-hirer, the
+             holiday-maker who knows no better, and the holiday-makers
+             who ought to know!
+    When the odorous furze-bush prickles the seeking nose, and the short
+             damp grass refreshes the tongue,--lend, Brother Donkeys, lend
+             a long and attentive ear!
+                Whilst I proudly bray
+                Of the one bright day
+            In our hard and chequered career.
+    I've dragged pots, and vegetables, and invalids, and
+    fish, and I've galloped with four costermongers to the races;
+    I've carried babies, and sea-coal, and sea-sand, and sea-weed in
+             panniers, and been sold to the gypsies, and been bought back
+             for the sea-side, and ridden (in a white saddle-cloth with
+             scarlet braid) by the fashionable visitors. (There was always
+             a certain distinction in my paces,
+    Though I say it who shouldn't) I've spent a summer on the Heath, and
+             next winter near Covent Garden, and moved the following year
+             to the foot of a mountain, to take people up to the top to
+             show them the view.
+    But how little we know what's before us! And how little I guessed I
+             should ever be chief charger at a Queen's Birthday Review!
+    Did I triumph alone? No, Brother Donkeys, no! You also took your place
+             with the defenders of the nation;
+    Subordinate positions to my own, but meritoriously filled, though a
+             little more style would have well become so great an occasion.
+    That malevolent old Moke--may his next thistle choke him!--disgraced us
+             all with his jibbing--the ill-tempered old ass!
+    Young Neddy is shaggy and shy, but not amiss, if he'd held his ears up,
+             and not kept his eyes on the grass.
+    Nothing is more je-june (I may say vulgar) than to seem anxious to eat
+             when the crisis calls for public spirit, enthusiasm, and an
+             elevated tone;
+    And I wish, Brother Donkeys, I wish that all had felt as I felt, the
+             responsibility of a March-Past the Throne!
+    Respect and self-respect delicately blended; one ear up, and the other
+             lowered to salute, as I passed the window from which we
+             were seen
+    (Unless I grievously misunderstood the young General this morning,) by
+             no less a personage than her Most Gracious Majesty THE QUEEN.
+    Sleep, Brother Donkeys, sleep! But I fancy you're sleeping already,
+             for you make no reply;
+    Not a quiver of your ears, not a sign from your motionless drooping
+             noses, dark against the dusky night sky.
+    As black and immovable as the silent fir-trees you solemnly
+             slumber beneath,
+    Whilst I wakefully meditate on a glorious past, and painfully ponder
+             the future, as the dews fall over the Heath.
+
+    [Footnote 6: Heath bed-straw (_Galium Saxatile_). This white-flowered
+    bed-straw grows profusely on Hampstead Heath.]
+
+
+
+
+    THE PROMISE.
+
+
+    CHILD.
+
+            Five blue eggs hatching,
+            With bright eyes watching,
+    Little brown mother, you sit on your nest.
+
+
+    BIRD.
+
+            Oh! pass me blindly,
+            Oh! spare me kindly,
+    Pity my terror, and leave me to rest.
+
+
+    CHORUS OF CHILDREN.
+
+            Hush! hush! hush!
+            'Tis a poor mother thrush.
+    When the blue eggs hatch, the brown birds will sing--
+    This is a promise made in the Spring.
+
+
+    CHILD.
+
+            Five speckled thrushes
+            In leafy bushes
+    Singing sweet songs to the hot Summer sky.
+            In and out twitting,
+            Here and there flitting,
+    Happy is life as the long days go by.
+
+
+    CHORUS.
+
+          Hush! hush! hush!
+          'Tis the song of the thrush:
+    Hatched are the blue eggs; the brown birds do sing--
+    Keeping the promise made in the Spring.
+
+    Published in _Aunt Judy's Magazine_, July 1866, with music by
+    Alexander Ewing.
+
+
+
+
+    CONVALESCENCE.
+
+
+    Hold my hand, little Sister, and nurse my head, whilst I try to
+             remember the word,
+    What was it?--that the doctor says is now fairly established both
+             in me and my bird.
+    C-O-N-_con_, _with a con_, S-T-A-N-_stan_, _with a stan_--No! That's
+             Constantinople, that is
+    The capital of the country where rhubarb-and-magnesia comes from, and
+             I wish they would keep it in that country, and not send
+             it to this.
+    C-O-N-_con_--how my head swims! Now I've got it!
+             C-O-N-V-A-L-E-S-C-E-N-C-E.
+    _Convalescence!_ And that's what the doctor says is now fairly
+             established both in my blackbird and me.
+    He says it means that you are better, and that you'll be well
+             by and by.
+    And so the Sea-captain says, and he says we ought to be friends,
+             because we're both convalescents--at least we're all three
+             convalescents, my blackbird, and the Captain and I.
+    He's a sea-captain, not a land-captain, but, all the same, he was
+             in the war,
+    And he fought,--for I asked him,--and he's been ill ever since, and
+             that's why he's not afloat, but ashore;
+    And why somebody else has got his ship; and she behaved so beautifully
+             in the battle, and he loves her quite as much as his wife,
+             and rather better than the rest of his relations, for I asked
+             him; and now he's afraid she will never belong to him
+             any more.
+    I like him. I've seen him three times out walking with two sticks, when
+             I was driving in the bath-chair, but I never talked to him
+             till to-day.
+    He'd only one stick and a telescope, and he let me look through it at
+             the big ship that was coming round the corner into the bay.
+    He was very kind, and let me ask questions. I said, "Are you a
+             sea-captain?" and he said, "Yes." And I said, "How funny it
+             is about land things and sea things!
+    There are captains and sea-captains, and weeds and sea-weeds, and
+             serpents and sea-serpents. Did you ever meet one, and is it
+             really like the dragons on our very old best blue tea-things?"
+    But he never did. So I asked him, "Have you got convalescence? Does
+             your doctor say it is fairly established? Do your eyes ache
+             if you try to read, and your neck if you draw, and your back
+             if you sit up, and your head if you talk?
+    Don't you get tired of doing nothing, and worse tired still if you do
+             anything; and does everything wobble about when you walk?
+    Wouldn't you rather go back to bed? I think I would. Don't you wish
+             you were well? Wouldn't you rather be ill than only better?
+             I do hate convalescence, don't you?"
+    Then I stopped asking, and he shut up his telescope, and sat down on
+             the shingle, and said, "When you come to my age, little chap,
+             you won't think 'What is it I'd rather have?' but, 'What is
+             it I've got to do?'
+    'What have I got to do or to bear; and how can I do it or bear
+             it best?'
+    That's the only safe point to make for, my lad. Make for it, and
+             leave the rest!"
+    I said, "But _wouldn't_ you rather be in battles than in bed, with
+             your head aching as if it would split?"
+    And he said, "Of course I would; so would most men. But, my little
+             convalescent, that's not it.
+    What would _you_ think of a man who was ordered into battle, and went
+             grumbling and wishing he were in bed?"
+    "What should I think of the fellow? Why, I should know he was a
+             coward," I said.
+    "And if he were confined to bed," said the Sea-captain, "and lay
+             grumbling and wishing he were in battle, I should give
+             him no better a name;
+    For the courage that dares, and the courage that bears, are really
+             one and the same."
+    Hold my hand, little Sister, and nurse my head, for I'm thinking, and
+             I very much fear
+    You've had no good of being well since I was ill; I've led you such a
+             life; but indeed I am obliged to you, dear!
+    Is it true that Nurse has got something the matter with her legs, and
+             that Mary has gone home because she's worn out with nursing,
+    And won't be fit to work for months? (will _she_ be convalescent,
+             because it was such hard work waiting on _me_?) and did Cook
+             say, "So much grumbling and complaining is nigh as big a sin
+             as swearing and cursing"?
+    I wish I hadn't been so cross with poor Mary, and I wish I hadn't given
+             so much trouble about my medicine and my food.
+    I didn't think about her. I only thought what a bother it was. I wish
+             I hadn't thought so much about being miserable, that I never
+             thought of trying to be good.
+    I believe the Sea-captain is right, and I shall tell him so to-morrow,
+             when he comes here to tea;
+    He's going to look at my blackbird's leg, and if it is really set, he
+             wants me to let it go free.
+    He says captivity is worse than convalescence, and so I should think
+             it must be.
+    Are you tired, little Sister? You feel shaky. Don't beg my pardon; I
+             beg yours. I've not let you go out of my sight for weeks.
+             Get your things on, and have a gallop on Jack.
+    Ride round this way and let me see you. I won't say a word about
+             wishing I was going too; and if my head gets bad whilst
+             you're away, I will bear it my very best till you come back.
+    Tell me one thing before you start. If I learn to be patient, shall I
+             learn to be brave, do you think? The Sea-captain says so.
+    He says, "Self-command is the making of a man," and he's a finely-made
+             man himself, so he ought to know.
+    Perhaps, if I try hard at Convalescence now, I may become a brave
+             sea-captain hereafter, and take my beautiful ship into battle,
+             and bring her out again with flying colours and fame,
+    If the courage that dares, and the courage that bears, _are_ really
+             one and the same.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF.
+
+    A PICTURE POEM FOR THE LITTLE ONES.
+
+    _By Fedor Flinzer. Freely translated by J.H. Ewing._
+
+
+    I.
+
+    Dear children, listen whilst I tell
+    What to a certain Elf befell,
+    Who left his house and sallied forth
+    Adventure seeking, south and north,
+    And west and east, by path and field,
+    Resolved to conquer or to yield.
+    A thimble on his back he carried,
+    With a rose-twig his foes he parried.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    II.
+
+    It was a sunny, bright, spring day,
+    When to the wood he took his way;
+    He knew that in a certain spot
+    A Bumble Bee his nest had got.
+    The Bee was out, the chance was good,
+    But just when grabbing all he could,
+    He heard the Bee behind him humming,
+    And only wished he'd heard him coming!
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    III.
+
+    In terror turned the tiny man,
+    And now a famous fight began:
+    The Bee flew round, and buzzed and stung,
+    The Elf his prickly rose-staff swung.
+    Now fiercely here, now wildly there,
+    He hit the Bee or fought the air.
+    At last one weighty blow descended:
+    The Bee was dead--the fight was ended.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    IV.
+
+    Exhausted quite, he took a seat.
+    The honey tasted doubly sweet!
+    The thimble-full had been upset,
+    But still there were a few drops yet.
+    He licked his lips and blessed himself,
+    That he was such a lucky Elf,
+    And now might hope to live in clover;
+    But, ah! his troubles were not over!
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    V.
+
+    For at that instant, by his side,
+    A beast of fearful form he spied:
+    At first he thought it was a bear,
+    And headlong fell in dire despair.
+    He lost one slipper in the moss,
+    And this was not his only loss.
+    With paws and snout the beast was nimble,
+    And very soon cleared out the thimble.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    VI.
+
+    This rifling of his honey-pot
+    Awoke our Elfin's wrath full hot.
+    He made a rope of linden bast,
+    By either end he held it fast,
+    And creeping up behind the beast,
+    Intent upon the honey feast,
+    Before it had the slightest inkling,
+    The rope was round it in a twinkling.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    VII.
+
+    The mouse shrieked "Murder!" "Fire!" and "Thieves!"
+    And struggled through the twigs and leaves.
+    It pulled the reins with all its might,
+    Our hero only drew them tight.
+    Upon the mouse's back he leapt,
+    And like a man his seat he kept.
+    His steed was terribly affrighted,
+    But he himself was much delighted.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    VIII.
+
+    "Gee up, my little horse!" he cried,
+    "I mean to have a glorious ride;
+    So bear me forth with lightning speed,
+    A Knight resolved on doughty deed.
+    The wide world we will gallop round,
+    And clear the hedges at one bound."
+    The mouse set off, the hero bantered,
+    And out into the world they cantered.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    IX.
+
+    At last they rode up to an inn:
+    "Good Mr. Host, pray who's within?"
+    "My daughter serves the customers,
+    Before the fire the Tom-cat purrs."
+    For further news they did not wait--
+    The mouse sprang through the garden-gate--
+    They fled without a look behind them.
+    The question is--Did Thomas find them?
+
+
+
+
+    SONGS FOR MUSIC
+
+
+
+
+    SERENADE.
+
+
+    I would not have you wake for me,
+      Fair lady, though I love you!
+    And though the night is warm, and all
+      The stars are out above you;
+    And though the dew's so light it could
+      Not hurt your little feet,
+    And nightingales in yonder wood
+      Are singing passing sweet.
+
+    Yet may my plaintive strain unite
+      And mingle with your dreaming,
+    And through the visions of the night
+      Just interweave my seeming.
+    Yet no! sleep on with fancy free
+      In that untroubled breast;
+    No song of mine, no thought of me,
+      Deserves to break your rest!
+
+
+
+
+    MAIDEN WITH THE GIPSY LOOK.
+
+
+    Maiden with the gipsy look,
+    Dusky locks and russet hue,
+    Open wide thy Sybil's book,
+    Tell my fate and tell it true;
+    Shall I live? or shall I die?
+    Timely wed, or single be?
+    Maiden with the gipsy eye,
+    Read my riddle unto me!
+
+    Maiden with the gipsy face,
+    If thou canst not tell me all,
+    Tell me thus much, of thy grace,
+    Should I climb, or fear to fall?
+    Should I dare, or dread to dare?
+    Should I speak, or silent be?
+    Maiden with the gipsy hair,
+    Read my riddle unto me!
+
+    Maiden with the gipsy hair,
+    Deep into thy mirror look,
+    See my love and fortune there,
+    Clearer than in Sybil's book:
+    Let me cross thy slender palm,
+    Let me learn my fate from thee;
+    Maiden with the gipsy charm,
+    Read my riddle unto me.
+
+
+
+
+    AH! WOULD I COULD FORGET.
+
+
+    The whispering water rocks the reeds,
+    And, murmuring softly, laps the weeds;
+    And nurses there the falsest bloom
+    That ever wrought a lover's doom.
+      Forget me not! Forget me not!
+        Ah! would I could forget!
+      But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
+        Her image haunts me yet.
+
+    We wander'd by the river's brim,
+    The day grew dusk, the pathway dim;
+    Her eyes like stars dispell'd the gloom,
+    Her gleaming fingers pluck'd the bloom.
+      Forget me not! Forget me not!
+        Ah! would I could forget!
+      But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
+        Her image haunts me yet.
+
+    The pale moon lit her paler face,
+    And coldly watch'd our last embrace,
+    And chill'd her tresses' sunny hue,
+    And stole that flower's turquoise blue.
+      Forget me not! Forget me not!
+        Ah! would I could forget!
+      But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
+        Her image haunts me yet.
+
+    The fateful flower droop'd to death,
+    The fair, false maid forswore her faith;
+    But I obey a broken vow,
+    And keep those wither'd blossoms now!
+      Forget me not! Forget me not!
+        Ah! would I could forget!
+      But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
+        Her image haunts me yet.
+
+    Sweet lips that pray'd--"Forget me not!"
+    Sweet eyes that will not be forgot!
+    Recall your prayer, forego your power,
+    Which binds me by the fatal flower.
+      Forget me not! Forget me not!
+        Ah! would I could forget!
+      But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
+        Her image haunts me yet.
+
+
+
+
+    MADRIGAL.
+
+
+    Life is full of trouble,
+      Love is full of care,
+    Joy is like a bubble
+      Shining in the air,
+        For you cannot
+      Grasp it anywhere.
+
+    Love is not worth getting,
+      It doth fade so fast.
+    Life is not worth fretting
+      Which so soon is past;
+        And you cannot
+      Bid them longer last.
+
+    Yet for certain fellows
+      Life seems true and strong;
+    And with some, they tell us,
+      Love will linger long;
+        Thus they cannot
+      Understand my song.
+
+
+
+
+    THE ELLEREE.[7]
+
+    A SONG OF SECOND SIGHT.
+
+
+    Elleree! O Elleree!
+    Seeing what none else may see,
+    Dost thou see the man in grey?
+    Dost thou hear the night hounds bay?
+      Elleree! O Elleree!
+    Seventh son of seventh son,
+    All thy thread of life is spun,
+    Thy little race is nearly run,
+      And death awaits for thee!
+
+    Elleree! O Elleree!
+    Coronach shall wail for thee;
+    Get thee shrived and get thee blest,
+    Get thee ready for thy rest,
+      Elleree! O Elleree!
+    That thou owest quickly give,
+    What thou ownest thou must leave,
+    And those thou lovest best shall grieve,
+      But all in vain for thee!
+
+    "Bodach Glas!"[8] the chieftain said,
+    "All my debts but one are paid,
+    All I love have long been dead,
+    All my hopes on Heaven are stay'd,
+      Death to me can bring no dole;"
+    Thus the Elleree replied;--
+    But with ebbing of the tide
+    As sinks the setting sun he died;--
+      May Christ receive his soul!
+
+    [Footnote 7: "Elleree" is the name of one who has the gift of second
+    sight.]
+
+    [Footnote 8: "Bodach Glas," the Man in Grey, appears to a Highland
+    family with the gift of second sight, presaging death.]
+
+
+
+
+    OTHER STARS.
+
+
+    The night is dark, and yet it is not quite:
+      Those stars are hid that other orbs may shine;
+    Twin stars, whose rays illuminate the night,
+      And cheer her gloom, but only deepen mine;
+        For these fair stars are not what they do seem,
+        But vanish'd eyes remember'd in a dream.
+
+    The night is dark, and yet it brings no rest;
+      Those eager eyes gaze on and banish sleep;
+    Though flaming Mars has lower'd his crimson crest,
+      And weary Venus pales into the deep,
+        These two with tender shining mock my woe
+        From out the distant heaven of long ago.
+
+    The night is dark, and yet how bright they gleam!
+      Oh! empty vision of a vanish'd light!
+    Sweet eyes! must you for ever be a dream
+      Deep in my heart, and distant from my sight?
+        For could you shine as once you shone before,
+        The stars might hide their rays for evermore!
+
+
+
+
+    FADED FLOWERS.
+
+
+    My love she sent a flower to me
+    Of tender hue and fragrance rare,
+    And with it came across the sea
+    A letter kind as she was fair;
+    But when her letter met mine eyes,
+    The flower, the little flower, was dead:
+    And ere I touched the tender prize
+    The hues were dim, the fragrance fled.
+
+    I sent my love a letter too,
+    In happy hope no more to roam;
+    I bade her bless the vessel true
+    Whose gallant sails should waft me home.
+    But ere my letter reach'd her hand,
+    My love, my little love, was dead,
+    And when the vessel touch'd the land,
+    Fair hope for evermore had fled.
+
+
+
+
+    SPEED WELL.
+
+
+    What time I left my native land,
+      And bade farewell to my true love,
+    She laid a flower in my hand
+      As azure as the sky above.
+        "Speed thee well! Speed well!"
+      She softly whispered, "Speed well!
+          This flower blue
+          Be token true
+      Of my true heart's true love for you!"
+
+    Its tender hue is bright and pure,
+      As heav'n through summer clouds doth show,
+    A pledge though clouds thy way obscure,
+      It shall not be for ever so.
+        "Speed thee well! Speed well!"
+      She softly whisper'd, "Speed well!
+          This flower blue
+          Be token true
+      Of my true heart's true love for you!"
+
+    And as I toil through help and harm,
+      And whilst on alien shores I dwell,
+    I wear this flower as a charm,
+      My heart repeats that tender spell:
+        "Speed thee well! Speed well!"
+      It softly whispers, "Speed well!
+          This flower blue
+          Be token true
+    Of my true heart's true love for you!"
+
+
+
+
+    HOW MANY YEARS AGO?
+
+
+    How many years ago, love,
+      Since you came courting me?
+    Through oak-tree wood and o'er the lea,
+      With rosy cheeks and waistcoat gay,
+      And mostly not a word to say,--
+        How many years ago, love,
+        How many years ago?
+
+    How many years ago, love,
+      Since you to Father spoke?
+    Between your lips a sprig of oak:
+      You were not one with much to say,
+      But Mother spoke for you that day,--
+        How many years ago, love,
+        How many years ago?
+
+    So many years ago, love,
+      That soon our time must come
+    To leave our girl without a home;--
+      She's like her mother, love, you've said:
+     --At her age I had long been wed,--
+        How many years ago, love,
+        How many years ago?
+
+    For love of long-ago, love,
+      If John has aught to say,
+    When he comes up to us to-day,
+      (A likely lad, though short of tongue,)
+      Remember, husband, we were young,--
+        How many years ago, love,
+        How many years ago?
+
+
+
+
+    "WITH A DIFFERENCE."
+
+
+    I'm weary waiting here,
+      The chill east wind is sighing,
+    The autumn tints are sere,
+      The summer flowers are dying.
+    The river's sullen way
+      Winds on through vacant meadows,
+    The dying light of day
+      Strives vainly with the shadows.
+
+    A footstep stirs the leaves!
+      The faded fields seem brighter,
+    The sunset gilds the sheaves,
+      The low'ring clouds look lighter.
+    The river sparkles by,
+      Not all the flowers are falling,
+    There's azure in the sky,
+      And thou, my love, art calling.
+
+
+
+
+    THE LILY OF THE LAKE.
+
+
+    Over wastes of blasted heather,
+    Where the pine-trees stand together,
+    Evermore my footsteps wander,
+    Evermore the shadows yonder
+                Deepen into gloom.
+    Where there lies a silent lake,
+    No song-bird there its thirst may slake,
+    No sunshine now to whiteness wake
+                The water-lily's bloom.
+
+    Some sweet spring-time long departed,
+    I and she, the simple-hearted,
+    Bride and bridegroom, maid and lover,
+    Did that gloomy lake discover,
+                Did those lilies see.
+    There we wandered side by side.
+    There it was they said she died.
+    But ah! in this I know they lied!
+                She will return to me!
+
+    Never, never since that hour
+    Has the lake brought forth a flower.
+    Ever harshly do the sedges
+    Some sad secret from its edges
+                Whisper to the shore.
+    Some sad secret I forget.
+    The lily though will blossom yet:
+    And when it blooms I shall have met
+                My love for evermore.
+
+
+
+
+    FROM FLEETING PLEASURES.
+
+    A REQUIEM FOR ONE ALIVE.
+
+
+    From fleeting pleasures and abiding cares,
+    From sin's seductions and from Satan's snares,
+    From woes and wrath to penitence and prayers,
+                        Veni in pace!
+
+    Sweet absolution thy sad spirit heal;
+    To godly cares that end in endless weal,
+    To joys man cannot think or speak or feel,
+                        Vade in pace!
+
+    From this world's ways and being led by them,
+    From floods of evil thy youth could not stem,
+    From tents of Kedar to Jerusalem,
+                        Veni in pace!
+
+    Blest be thy worldly loss to thy soul's gain,
+    Blest be the blow that freed thee from thy chain,
+    Blest be the tears that wash thy spirit's stain,
+                        Vade in pace!
+
+    Oh, dead, and yet alive! Oh, lost and found!
+    Salvation's walls now compass thee around,
+    Thy weary feet are set on holy ground.
+                        Veni in pace!
+
+    Death gently garner thee with all the blest,
+    In heavenly habitations be thou guest;
+    To light perpetual and eternal rest,
+                        Vade in pace!
+
+
+
+
+    THE RUNAWAY'S RETURN.
+
+
+        It was on such a night as this,
+          Some long unreal years ago,
+        When all within were wrapp'd in sleep,
+          And all without was wrapp'd in snow,
+        The full moon rising in the east,
+          The old church standing like a ghost,
+        That, shivering in the wintry mist,
+          And breathless with the silent frost,
+    A little lad, I ran to seek my fortune on the main;
+    I marvel now with how much hope and with how little pain!
+
+        It is of such a night as this,
+          In all the lands where I have been,
+        That memory too faithfully
+          Has painted the familiar scene.
+        By all the shores, on every sea,
+          In luck or loss, by night or day,
+        My highest hope has been to see
+          That home from which I ran away.
+    For this I toil'd, to this I look'd through many a weary year,
+    I marvel now with how much hope, and with how little fear.
+
+        On such a night at last I came,
+          But they were dead I loved of yore.
+        Ah, Mother, then my heart felt all
+          The pain it should have felt before!
+        I came away, though loth to come,
+          I clung, and yet why should I cling?
+        When all have gone who made it home,
+          It is the shadow, not the thing.
+    A homeless man, once more I seek my fortune on the main:
+    I marvel with how little hope, and with what bitter pain.
+
+
+
+
+    FANCY FREE.
+
+    A GIRL'S SONG.
+
+
+    With bark and bound and frolic round
+      My dog and I together run;
+    While by our side a brook doth glide,
+      And laugh and sparkle in the sun.
+    We ask no more of fortune's store
+      Than thus at our sweet wills to roam:
+    And drink heart's ease from every breeze
+      That blows about the hills of home.
+                      As, fancy free,
+                      With game and glee,
+                      We happy three
+                      Dance down the glen.
+
+    And yet they say that some fine day
+      This vagrant stream may serve a mill;
+    My doggy guard a master's yard;
+      My free heart choose another's will.
+    How this may fare we little care,
+      My dog and I, as still we run!
+    Whilst by our side the brook doth glide,
+      And laugh and sparkle in the sun.
+                      For, fancy free,
+                      With game and glee,
+                      We happy three
+                      Dance down the glen.
+
+
+
+
+    MY LOVE'S GIFT.
+
+
+    You ask me what--since we must part--
+    You shall bring home to me;
+    Bring back a pure and faithful heart,
+    As true as mine to thee.
+      I ask not wealth nor fame,
+      I only ask for thee,
+      Thyself--and that dear self the same--
+    My love, bring back to me!
+
+    You talk of gems from foreign lands,
+    Of treasure, spoil, and prize.
+    Ah, love! I shall not search your hands,
+    But look into your eyes.
+      I ask not wealth nor fame,
+      I only ask for thee,
+      Thyself--and that dear self the same--
+    My love, bring back to me!
+
+    You speak of glory and renown,
+    With me to share your pride,
+    Unbroken faith is all the crown
+    I ask for as your bride.
+      I ask not wealth nor fame,
+      I only ask for thee,
+      Thyself--and that dear self the same--
+    My love, bring back to me!
+
+    You bid me with hope's eager gaze
+    Behold fair fortune come.
+    I only dream I see your face
+    Beside the hearth at home.
+      I ask not wealth nor fame,
+      I do but ask for thee!
+      Thyself--and that dear self the same--
+    May God restore to me!
+
+
+
+
+    ANEMONES.
+
+
+    If I should wish hereafter that your heart
+    Should beat with one fair memory of me,
+    May Time's hard hand our footsteps guide apart,
+    But lead yours back one spring-time to the Lea.
+               Nodding Anemones,
+               Wind-flowers pale,
+             Bloom with the budding trees,
+             Dancing to every breeze,
+             Mock hopes more fair than these,
+               Love's vows more frail.
+
+    For then the grass we loved grows green again,
+    And April showers make April woods more fair;
+    But no sun dries the sad salt tears of pain,
+    Or brings back summer lights on faded hair,
+               Nodding Anemones,
+               Wind-flowers pale,
+             Bloom with the budding trees,
+             Dancing to every breeze,
+             Mock hopes more frail than these,
+               Love's vows more frail.
+
+
+
+
+    AUTUMN LEAVES.
+
+
+    The Spring's bright tints no more are seen,
+    And Summer's ample robe of green
+        Is russet-gold and brown;
+    When flowers fall to every breeze
+    And, shed reluctant from the trees,
+        The leaves drop down.
+
+    A sadness steals about the heart,
+   --And is it thus from youth we part,
+        And life's redundant prime?
+    Must friends like flowers fade away,
+    And life like Nature know decay,
+        And bow to time?
+
+    And yet such sadness meets rebuke,
+    From every copse in every nook
+        Where Autumn's colours glow;
+    How bright the sky! How full the sheaves!
+    What mellow glories gild the leaves
+        Before they go.
+
+    Then let us sing the jocund praise,
+    In this bright air, of these bright days,
+        When years our friendships crown;
+    The love that's loveliest when 'tis old--
+    When tender tints have turned to gold
+        And leaves drop down.
+
+
+
+
+    HYMNS.
+
+
+
+
+    CONFIRMATION.
+
+
+    Long, long ago, with vows too much forgotten,
+      The Cross of Christ was seal'd on every brow,
+    Ah! slow of heart, that shun the Christian conflict;
+      Rise up at last! The accepted time is now.
+           Soldiers of Jesus! Blest who endure;
+           Stand in the battle; the victory is sure.
+
+    Hark! hark! the Saviour's voice to each is calling--
+      "I bore the Cross of Death in pain for thee;
+    On thee the Cross of daily life is falling:
+      Children! take up the Cross and follow Me."
+           Soldiers of Jesus! &c.
+
+    Strive as God's saints have striven in all ages;
+      Press those slow steps where firmer feet have trod:
+    For us their lives adorn the sacred pages,
+      For them a crown of glory is with God.
+           Soldiers of Jesus! &c.
+
+    Peace! peace! sweet voices bring an ancient story,
+      (Such songs angelic melodies employ,)
+    "Hard is the strife, but unconceived the glory:
+      Short is the pain, eternal is the joy."
+           Soldiers of Jesus! &c.
+
+    On! Christian souls, all base temptations spurning,
+      Drown coward thoughts in Faith's triumphant hymn;
+    Since Jesus suffer'd, our salvation earning,
+      Shall we not toil that we may rest with Him?
+           Soldiers of Jesus! &c. Amen.
+
+
+
+
+    WHITSUNTIDE.
+
+
+    Come down! come down! O Holy Ghost!
+      As once of old Thou didst come down
+    In fiery tongues at Pentecost,
+      The Apostolic heads to crown.
+
+    Come down! though now no flame divine,
+      Nor heaven-sent Dove, our sight amaze;
+    Our Church still shows the outward sign,
+      Thou truly givest inward grace.
+
+    Come down! come down! on infancy,
+      The babes whom Jesus deign'd to love;
+    God give us grace by faith to see,
+      Above the Font, the mystic Dove.
+
+    Come down! come down! on kneeling bands
+      Of those who fain would strength receive;
+    And in the laying on of hands
+      Bless us beyond what we believe.
+
+    Come down! not only on the saint,
+      Oh! struggle with the hard of heart,
+    With wilful sin and inborn taint,
+      Till lust, and wrath, and pride depart.
+
+    Come down! come down! sweet Comforter!
+      It was the promise of the Lord.
+    Come down! although we grieve Thee sore,
+      Not for our merits--but His Word.
+
+    Come down! come down! not what we would,
+      But what we need, O bring with Thee.
+    Turn life's sore riddle to our good;
+      A little while and we shall see. Amen.
+
+
+
+
+    CHRISTMAS WISHES.
+
+    A CAROL.
+
+
+      Oh, happy Christmas, full of blessings, come!
+          Now bid our discords cease;
+          Here give the weary ease;
+          Let the long-parted meet again in peace;
+          Bring back the far-away;
+          Grant us a holiday;
+          And by the hopes of Christmas-tide we pray--
+      Let love restore the fallen to his Home;
+    Whilst up and down the snowy streets the Christmas minstrels sing;
+    And through the frost from countless towers the bells of
+             Christmas ring.
+
+      Ah, Christ! and yet a happier day shall come!
+          Then bid our discords cease;
+          There give the weary ease;
+          Let the long-parted meet again in peace;
+          Bring back the far-away;
+          Grant us a holiday;
+          And by the hopes of Christmas-tide we pray--
+      Let love restore the fallen to his Home;
+    Whilst up and down the golden streets the blessed angels sing,
+    And evermore the heavenly chimes in heavenly cadence ring.
+
+
+
+
+    TEACH ME.
+
+    _Translated from the Danish of Oehlenschläger._
+
+
+    Teach me, O wood, to fade away,
+    As autumn's yellow leaves decay
+        A better spring impends,--
+    Then green and glorious shall my tree
+    Take deep root in eternity,--
+        Whose summer never ends!
+
+    Teach me, O bird of passage, this,
+    To seek, in faith a better bliss
+        On other unknown shores!
+    When all is winter here and ice,
+    There ever-smiling Paradise
+        Unfolds its happy doors.
+
+    Teach me, thou summer butterfly,
+    To break the bonds which on me lie.
+        With fetters all too firm.
+    Ah, soon on golden purple wing
+    The liberated soul shall spring,
+         Which now creeps as a worm!
+
+    Teach me, O Lord, to yonder skies
+    To lift in hope these weary eyes
+         With earthly sorrows worn.
+    Good Friday was a bitter day,
+    But bright the sun's eternal ray
+         Which broke on Easter morn.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay._
+
+
+_The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorized,
+complete, and uniform Edition published._
+
+_It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. per vol.,
+issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these will
+appear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Series
+will be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover was
+specially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing._
+
+_The following is a list of the books included in the Series_--
+
+
+    1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES.
+
+    2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES.
+
+    3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY TALES.
+
+    4. A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING.
+
+    5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES.
+
+    6. SIX TO SIXTEEN.
+
+    7. LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES.
+
+    8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL.
+
+    9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS.
+
+    10. THE PEACE EGG--A CHRISTMAS MUMMING
+    PLAY--HINTS FOR PRIVATE
+    THEATRICALS, &c.
+
+    11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND  OTHER TALES.
+
+    12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES
+    OF BEASTS AND MEN.
+
+    13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I.
+
+    14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II.
+
+    15. JACKANAPES--DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOTE--THE
+    STORY OF A SHORT LIFE.
+
+    16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES
+    OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS.
+
+    17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the
+    Bloody Hand--Wonder Stories--Tales of the
+    Khoja, and other translations.
+
+    18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER
+    BOOKS, with a selection from Mrs. Ewing's
+    Letters.
+
+
+S.P.C.K., NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, LONDON, W.C.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Verses for Children, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
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+</head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Verses for Children, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Verses for Children
+       and Songs for Music
+
+Author: Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+Release Date: September 12, 2005 [EBook #16686]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSES FOR CHILDREN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+<h1><img src="images/image_28.gif" alt="The convalescent" width="560" height="779" /></h1>
+<h1>VERSES FOR CHILDREN</h1>
+<h4>AND</h4>
+
+
+<h3>SONGS FOR MUSIC</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>BY</h3>
+
+<h2>JULIANA HORATIA EWING.</h2>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>LONDON:</h3>
+<h3>SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,</h3>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Northumberland Avenue</span>, W.C.</h3>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">New York</span>: E. &amp; J.B. YOUNG &amp; CO.</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h4>[Published under the direction of the General Literature
+Committee.]</h4>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>PREFACE</h2>
+
+
+<p>It has been decided in publishing this volume to
+reproduce the illustrations with which the verses
+originally appeared in <i>Aunt Judy's Magazine</i>. In all
+cases Mrs. Ewing wrote the lines to fit the pictures,
+and it is worthy of note to observe how closely she has
+introduced every detail into her words. Most of the
+woodcuts are by German artists, Oscar Pletsch, Fedor
+Flinzer, and others; but the frontispiece is from an
+original sketch by Mr. Gordon Browne. In accordance
+with his special desire, it has only been used for
+Mrs. Ewing's poem, as the Convalescent was a little
+friend of the artist, who did not live to complete his
+recovery. The poem is the last that Mrs. Ewing
+wrote for children, and it was penned when she
+herself was enduring the discomforts of convalescence
+with all the courage she so warmly advocates.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Randolph Caldecott's illustrations to "Mother's
+Birthday Review" first appeared in his <i>Sketch Book</i>,
+but the letterpress that accompanied them was very
+brief, and Mrs. Ewing could not resist asking permission
+to write some verses to the pictures, and
+publish them in <i>Aunt Judy's Magazine</i>. This favour
+was kindly granted, and by Mrs. Caldecott's further
+kindness the sketches are again used here.</p>
+
+<p>The contents of this volume have been arranged
+chronologically as far as is possible.</p>
+
+<p>"The Willow Man" and "Grandmother's Spring"
+were both written to protest against wantonly wasting
+Dame Nature's gifts, and the Note on page 69 shows
+that Mrs. Ewing had learnt this lesson herself in childhood.
+My Father has lately recalled an incident which
+he believes first roused our Mother to teach the lesson
+to us. They were driving to Sheffield one day, when
+on Bolsover Hill they saw a well-known veterinary
+surgeon of the district, Mr. Peech, who had dismounted
+from his horse, and was carefully taking up
+a few roots of white violets from a bank where they
+grew in some profusion. He showed Mrs. Gatty what
+he was gathering, but told her he was taking care to
+<i>leave a bit behind</i>. This happened fully forty years
+ago, long before the Selborne and other Societies for
+the preservation of rare plants and birds had come
+into existence, and Mother was much impressed and
+pleased by Mr. Peech's delicate scrupulousness.</p>
+
+<p>"A Soldier's Children" was written in 1879, whilst
+many friends were fighting in South Africa, and ten
+years before a story bearing the same name was issued
+by the writer of <i>Bootles' Baby</i>.</p>
+
+<p>The "Songs for Music" appeared in 1874 in a
+volume called <i>Songs by Four Friends</i>, except the two
+last poems, "Anemones" and "Autumn Tints." The
+former was given by Mrs. Ewing to her brother, Mr.
+Alfred Scott-Gatty, to set to music, and it has
+recently been published by Messrs. Boosey. "Autumn
+Tints" was found amongst Mrs. Ewing's papers after
+her death, and is now printed for the first time.</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="sig">Horatia K.F. Eden.</span></p>
+
+<p><i>June 1895.</i></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2>
+<table summary="Contents" style="font-variant:small-caps" >
+  <tr>
+    <td>&nbsp;</td>
+    <td class="tocpg">page</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#THE_BURIAL_OF_THE_LINNET">The Burial of the Linnet</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#MASTER_FRITZ">Master Fritz</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#THE_WILLOW-MAN">The Willow-man</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#OUR_GARDEN">Our Garden</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#A_FRIEND_IN_THE_GARDEN">A Friend in the Garden</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#THREE_LITTLE_NEST_BIRDS">Three Little Nest Birds</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#DOLLYS_LULLABY">Dolly's Lullaby: A Nursery Rhyme</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#A_HERO_TO_HIS_HOBBY-HORSE">A Hero to His Hobby-horse</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#THE_DOLLS_WASH">The Dolls' Wash</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#HOUSE-BUILDING_AND_REPAIRS">House-building and Repairs</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#THE_BLUE-BELLS_ON_THE_LEA">The Blue-bells on the Lea</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#AN_ONLY_CHILDS_TEA-PARTY">An Only Child's Tea-party</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#PAPA_POODLE">Papa Poodle</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#GRANDMOTHERS_SPRING">Grandmother's Spring</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#BIG_SMITH">Big Smith</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#KITS_CRADLE">Kit's Cradle</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#THE_MILL_STREAM">The Mill Stream</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#BOY_AND_SQUIRREL">Boy and Squirrel</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#LITTLE_MASTER_TO_HIS_BIG_DOG">Little Master to his Big Dog</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#A_SWEET_LITTLE_DEAR">A Sweet Little Dear</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#BLUE_AND_RED">Blue and Red; or, the Discontented Lobster</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#THE_YELLOW_FLY">The Yellow Fly: A Tale with a Sting in it</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#CANADA_HOME">Canada Home</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#THE_POET_AND_THE_BROOK">The Poet and the Brook: a Tale of Transformations</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#A_SOLDIERS_CHILDREN">A Soldier's Children</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#TOUCH_HIM_IF_YOU_DARE">"Touch him if you Dare:" a Tale of the Hedge</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#MOTHERS_BIRTHDAY_REVIEW">Mother's Birthday Review</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#THE_PROMISE">The Promise</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#CONVALESCENCE">Convalescence</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#THE_ADVENTURES_OF_AN_ELF">The Adventures of an Elf</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>&nbsp;</td>
+    <td class="tocpg">&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td colspan="2">SONGS FOR MUSIC.</td>
+
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#SERENADE">Serenade</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#MAIDEN_WITH_THE_GIPSY_LOOK">Maiden with the Gipsy Look</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#AH_WOULD_I_COULD_FORGET">Ah! Would I Could Forget</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#MADRIGAL">Madrigal</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#THE_ELLEREE7">The Elleree: A Song of Second Sight</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#FADED_FLOWERS">Faded Flowers</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#SPEED_WELL">Speed Well</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#HOW_MANY_YEARS_AGO">How Many Years Ago?</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#WITH_A_DIFFERENCE">"With a Difference"</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#THE_LILY_OF_THE_LAKE">The Lily of the Lake</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#FROM_FLEETING_PLEASURES">From Fleeting Pleasures: a Requiem for One Alive</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#THE_RUNAWAYS_RETURN">The Runaway's Return</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#FANCY_FREE">Fancy Free: A Girl's Song</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#MY_LOVES_GIFT">My Love's Gift</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#ANEMONES">Anemones</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#AUTUMN_LEAVES">Autumn Leaves</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>&nbsp;</td>
+    <td class="tocpg">&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td colspan="2">HYMNS.</td>
+
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#HYMNS">Confirmation</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#WHITSUNTIDE">Whitsuntide</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#CHRISTMAS_WISHES">Christmas Wishes: a Carol</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><a href="#TEACH_ME">Teach Me. (<i>From the Danish</i>)</a></td>
+    <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="VERSES_FOR_CHILDREN" id="VERSES_FOR_CHILDREN"></a>VERSES FOR CHILDREN.</h2>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_BURIAL_OF_THE_LINNET" id="THE_BURIAL_OF_THE_LINNET"></a>THE BURIAL OF THE LINNET.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Found in the garden&mdash;dead in his beauty.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah! that a linnet should die in the spring!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Muffle the dinner-bell, solemnly ring.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Bury him kindly&mdash;up in the corner;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bird, beast, and gold-fish are sepulchred there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bid the black kitten march as chief mourner,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Waving her tail like a plume in the air.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Bury him nobly&mdash;next to the donkey;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fetch the old banner, and wave it about:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bury him deeply&mdash;think of the monkey,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shallow his grave, and the dogs got him out.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Bury him softly&mdash;white wool around him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Kiss his poor feathers,&mdash;the first kiss and last;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell his poor widow kind friends have found him:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Plant his poor grave with what ever grows fast.<br /></span>
+
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Farewell, sweet singer! dead in thy beauty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Silent through summer, though other birds sing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Muffle the dinner-bell, mournfully ring.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span></p>
+<p class="center"><img src="images/image_29.png" alt="Fritz and I are not brother and sister" width="599" height="504" /></p>
+<h2><a name="MASTER_FRITZ" id="MASTER_FRITZ"></a>MASTER FRITZ</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fritz and I are not brother and sister, but we're next-door neighbours; for we both live next door.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I mean we both live next door to each other; for I live at number three, and Fritz and Nickel the dog live at number four.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span>
+<span class="i0">In summer we climb through the garret windows and sit together on the leads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if the sun is too hot Mother lends us one big kerchief to put over both our heads.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sometimes she gives us tea under the myrtle tree in the big pot that stands in the gutter.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(One slice each, and I always give Fritz the one that has the most butter.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In winter we sit on the little stool by the stove at number four;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For when it's cold Fritz doesn't like to go out to come in next door.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was one day in spring that he said, "I should like to have a house to myself with you Grethel, and Nickel." And I said, "Thank you, Fritz."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he said, "If you'll come in at tea-time and sit by the stove, I'll tell you tales that'll frighten you into fits.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About boys who ran away from their homes, and were taken by robbers, and run after by wolves, and altogether in a dreadful state.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw the pictures of it in a book I was looking in, to see where perhaps I should like to emigrate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've not quite settled whether I shall, or be cast away on a desert island, or settle down nearer home;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span>
+<span class="i0">But you'd better come in and hear about it, and then, wherever it is, you'll be sure to be ready to come."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I took my darling Katerina in my arms, and we went in to tea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I love Katerina, though she lost her head long ago, poor thing; but Fritz made me put her off my knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For he said, "When you're hushabying that silly old doll I know you're not attending to me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now look here, Grethel, I think I have made up my mind that we won't go far;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For we can have a house, and I can be master of it just as well where we are.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under the stairs would be a good place for a house for us if there's room.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's very dirty, but you're the housewife now, and you must sweep it out well with the broom.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shall expect you to keep my house very comfortable, and have my meals ready when there's anything to eat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when Nickel and I come back from playing outside, you may peep out and pretend you're watching for us coming up the street.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You've kept your apple, I see&mdash;I've eaten mine&mdash;well, it will be something to make a start,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span>
+<span class="i0">And I'll put by some of my cake, if you'll keep some of yours, and remember Nickel must have part.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I call it your cake and your apple, but of course now you're my housewife everything belongs to me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I shall give you the management of it, and you must make it go as far as you can amongst three.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if you make nice feasts every day for me and Nickel, and never keep us waiting for our food,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And always do everything I want, and attend to everything I say, I'm sure I shall almost always be good.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if I am naughty now and then, it'll most likely be your fault; and, if it isn't, you mustn't mind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For even if I seem to be cross, you ought to know that I mean to be kind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I'm sure you'll like combing Nickel's hair for my sake; it'll be something for you to do, and it bothers me so!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But it must be done regularly, for if it's not, his curls tangle into lugs as they grow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think that's all, dear Grethel, for I love you so much that I'm sure to be easy to please.<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">Only remember&mdash;it's a trifle&mdash;but when I want you, never keep that headless doll on your knees.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd much rather not have her in my house&mdash;there, don't cry! if you will have her, I suppose it must be;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Though I can't think what you want with Katerina when you've got Nickel and me."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I said, "Thank you, dear Fritz, for letting me bring her, for I've had her so long I shouldn't like to part with her now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I'll try and do everything you want as well as I can, now you've told me how."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But next morning I heard Fritz's garret-window open, and he put out his head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shouted, "Grethel! Grethel! I want you. Be quick! Haven't you got out of bed?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I ran to the window and said, "What is it, dear Fritz?" and he said, "I want to tell you that I've changed my mind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hans-Wandermann is here, and he says there are real sapphires on the beach; so I'm off to see what I can find."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Oh, Fritz!" I said, "can't I come too?" but he said, "You'd better not, you'll only be in the way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You can stop quietly at home with Katerina, and you may have Nickel too, if he'll stay."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Nickel wouldn't. I give him far more of my cake than Fritz does, but he likes Fritz better than me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So dear Katerina and I had breakfast together on the leads under the old myrtle tree.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_WILLOW-MAN" id="THE_WILLOW-MAN"></a>THE WILLOW-MAN.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There once was a Willow, and he was very old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all his leaves fell off from him, and left him in the cold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ere the rude winter could buffet him with snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There grew upon his hoary head a crop of Mistletoe.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All wrinkled and furrowed was this old Willow's skin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His taper fingers trembled, and his arms were very thin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two round eyes and hollow, that stared but did not see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sprawling feet that never walked, had this most ancient tree.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A Dame who dwelt near was the only one who knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That every year upon his head the Christmas berries grew;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when the Dame cut them, she said&mdash;it was her whim&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"A merry Christmas to you, Sir!" <i>and left a bit for him</i>.<br /></span>
+
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span>
+<span class="i0">"Oh, Granny dear, tell us," the children cried, "where we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May find the shining Mistletoe that grows upon the tree?"<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">At length the Dame told them, but cautioned them to mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To greet the Willow civilly, <i>and leave a bit behind</i>.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Who cares," said the children, "for this old Willow-man?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We'll take the Mistletoe, and he may catch us if he can."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With rage the ancient Willow shakes in every limb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For they have taken all, and <i>have not left a bit for him</i>!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then bright gleamed the holly, the Christmas berries shone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in the wintry wind without the Willow-man did moan:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Ungrateful, and wasteful! the mystic Mistletoe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A hundred years hath grown on me, but never more shall grow."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A year soon passed by, and the children came once more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But not a sprig of Mistletoe the aged Willow bore.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span>
+<span class="i0">Each slender spray pointed; he mocked them in his glee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And chuckled in his wooden heart, that ancient Willow-tree.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<div class="p12"><b>MORAL.</b></div>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, children, who gather the spoils of wood and wold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From selfish greed and wilful waste your little hands withhold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though fair things be common, this moral bear in mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Pick thankfully and modestly, and leave a bit behind."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+
+<p class="center"><img src="images/image_01.jpg" alt="Decorative_Image" width="200" height="74"/></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span></p>
+
+<div><img src="images/image_30.jpg" alt="OUR_GARDEN" width="590" height="426" /></div>
+<div><img src="images/image_31.jpg" alt="OUR_GARDEN" width="112" height="247" class="figleft" /></div>
+
+<p><a name="OUR_GARDEN" id="OUR_GARDEN"></a></p>
+<div><span class="top1">OUR GARDEN.</span></div>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+
+<span class="i4">The winter is gone; and at first Jack and I were sad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Because of the snow-man's melting, but now we are glad;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For the spring has come, and it's warm, and we're allowed to garden in the afternoon;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And summer is coming, and oh, how lovely our flowers will be in June!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">We are so fond of flowers, it makes us quite happy to think<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span>
+<span class="i4">Of our beds&mdash;all colours&mdash;blue, white, yellow, purple, and pink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Scarlet, lilac, and crimson! And we're fond of sweet scents as well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And mean to have pinks, roses, sweet peas, mignonette, clove carnations, musk, and everything good to smell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Lavender, rosemary, and we should like a lemon-scented verbena, and a big myrtle tree!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then if we could get an old "preserved-ginger" pot, and some bay-salt, we could make <i>pot-pourri</i>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jack and I have a garden, though it's not so large as the big one, you know;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But whatever can be got to grow in a garden we mean to grow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We've got Bachelor's Buttons, and London Pride, and Old Man, and everything that's nice:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And last year Jack sowed green peas for our dolls' dinners, but they were eaten up by the mice.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he would plant potatoes in furrows, which made the garden in a mess,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So this year we mean to have no kitchen-garden but mustard and cress.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One of us plants, and the other waters, but Jack likes the watering-pot;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then when my turn comes to water he says it's too hot!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span>
+<span class="i0">We sometimes quarrel about the garden, and once Jack hit me with the spade;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So we settled to divide it in two by a path up the middle, and that's made.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We want some yellow sand now to make the walk pretty, but there's none about here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So we mean to get some in the old carpet-bag, if we go to the seaside this year.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On Monday we went to the wood and got primrose plants and a sucker of a dog-rose;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It looks like a green stick in the middle of the bed at present; but wait till it blows!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The primroses were in full flower, and the rose ought to flower soon;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You've no idea how lovely they are in that wood in June!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The primroses look quite withered now, I am sorry to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But that is not our fault but Nurse's, and it shows how hard it is to garden when you can't have your own way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We planted them carefully, and were just going to water them all in a lump,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Nurse fetched us both indoors, and put us to bed for wetting our pinafores at the pump.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's very hard, and I'm sure the gardener's plants wouldn't grow any better than ours,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span>
+<span class="i0">If Nurse fetched him in and sent him to bed just when he was going to water his flowers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We've got Blue Nemophila and Mignonette, and Venus's Looking-glass, and many other seeds;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Nemophila comes up spotted, which is how we know it from the weeds.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At least it's sure to come up if the hens haven't scratched it up first.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when it is up the cats roll on it, and that is the worst!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sowed a ring of sweet peas, and the last time I looked they were coming nicely on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just sprouting white, and I put them safely back; but when Jack looked he found they were gone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jack made a great many cuttings, but he has had rather bad luck,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've looked at them every day myself, and not one of them has struck.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gardener gave me a fine moss-rose, but Jack took it to his side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I kept moving it back, but he took it again, and at last it died.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But now we've settled to dig up the path, and have the bed as it was before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So everything will belong to us both, and we shan't ever quarrel any more.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span>
+<span class="i0">It is such a long time, too, to wait for the sand, and perhaps sea-sand does best on the shore.<br />
+</span>
+<span class="i0">We're going to take everything up, for it can't hurt the plants to stand on the grass for a minute,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you really can't possibly rake a bed smooth with so many things in it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We shall dig it all over, and get leaf-mould from the wood, and hoe up the weeds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when it's tidy we shall plant, and put labels, and strike cuttings, and sow seeds.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We are so fond of flowers, Jack and I often dream at night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of getting up and finding our garden ablaze with all colours, blue, red, yellow, and white.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Midsummer's coming, and big brother Tom will sit under the tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With his book, and Mary will beg sweet nosegays of Jack and me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The worst is, we often start for the seaside about Midsummer Day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And no one takes care of our gardens whilst we are away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if we sow lots of seeds, and take plenty of cuttings before we leave home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When we come back, our flowers will be all in full bloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span>
+<span class="i0">Bright, bright sunshine above, and sweet, sweet flowers below.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come, oh Midsummer, quickly come! and go quickly, Midsummer, go!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">P.S. It is so tiresome! Jack wants to build a green-house now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He has found some bits of broken glass, and an old window-frame, and he says he knows how.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I tell him there's not glass enough, but he says there's lots,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he's taken all the plants that belong to the bed and put them in pots.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center"><img src="images/image_02.jpg" alt="Decorative_Image" width="200" height="64" /></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="A_FRIEND_IN_THE_GARDEN" id="A_FRIEND_IN_THE_GARDEN"></a>A FRIEND IN THE GARDEN.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He is not John the gardener,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And yet the whole day long<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Employs himself most usefully,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The flower-beds among.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He is not Tom the pussy-cat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And yet the other day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With stealthy stride and glistening eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He crept upon his prey.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He is not Dash the dear old dog,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And yet, perhaps, if you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Took pains with him and petted him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You'd come to love him too.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He's not a Blackbird, though he chirps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And though he once was black;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now he wears a loose grey coat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All wrinkled on the back.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span>
+<span class="i0">He's got a very dirty face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And very shining eyes!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sometimes comes and sits indoors;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He looks&mdash;and p'r'aps is&mdash;wise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But in a sunny flower-bed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He has his fixed abode;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He eats the things that eat my plants&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He is a friendly <span class="smcap">Toad</span>.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center"><img src="images/image_12.jpg" alt="Decorative_Image" width="200" height="77" /></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span></p>
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_32.png" alt="THREE LITTLE NEST BIRDS" width="502" height="500" /></div>
+<h2><a name="THREE_LITTLE_NEST_BIRDS" id="THREE_LITTLE_NEST_BIRDS"></a>THREE LITTLE NEST BIRDS.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+
+<span class="i10">We meant to be very kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i13">But if ever we find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Another soft, grey-green, moss-coated, feather-lined nest in a hedge,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">We have taken a pledge&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Susan, Jemmy, and I&mdash;with remorseful tears, at this very minute,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span>
+<span class="i0">That if there are eggs or little birds in it&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Robin or wren, thrush, chaffinch or linnet&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">We'll leave them there<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">To their mother's care.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There were three of us&mdash;Kate, and Susan, and Jem&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And three of them&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I don't know <i>their</i> names, for they couldn't speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Except with a little imperative squeak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Exactly like Poll,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Susan's squeaking doll;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But squeaking dolls will lie on the shelves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For years and never squeak of themselves:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The reason we like little birds so much better than toys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is because they are <i>really</i> alive, and know how to make a noise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There were three of us, and three of them;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kate,&mdash;that is I,&mdash;and Susan, and Jem.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Our mother was busy making a pie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And theirs, we think, was up in the sky;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But for all Susan, Jemmy, or I can tell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She may have been getting their dinner as well.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">They were left to themselves (and so were we)<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">In a nest in the hedge by the willow tree;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when we caught sight of three red little fluff-tufted, hazel-eyed, open-mouthed, pink-throated heads, we all shouted for glee.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span>
+<span class="i0">The way we really did wrong was this:<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">We took them for Mother to kiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And she told us to put them back;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst out on the weeping-willow <i>their</i> mother was crying "Alack!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">We really heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Both what Mother told us to do, and the voice of the mother-bird.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">But we three&mdash;that is Susan and I and Jem&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Thought we knew better than either of them:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in spite of our mother's command and the poor bird's cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We determined to bring up her three little nestlings ourselves on the sly.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i5">We each took one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">It did seem such excellent fun!<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Susan fed hers on milk and bread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Jem got wriggling worms for his instead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i7">I gave mine meat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, you know, I thought, "Poor darling pet! why shouldn't it have roast beef to eat?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, oh dear! oh dear! oh dear! how we cried<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When in spite of milk and bread and worms and roast beef, the little birds died!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span>
+<span class="i5">It's a terrible thing to have heart-ache,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">I thought mine would break<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">As I heard the mother-bird's moan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And looked at the grey-green, moss-coated, feather-lined nest she had taken such pains to make,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And her three little children dead, and as cold as stone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Mother said, and it's sadly true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">"There are some wrong things one can never undo."<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And nothing that we could do or say<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Would bring life back to the birds that day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The bitterest tears that we could weep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wouldn't wake them out of their stiff cold sleep.<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">But then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We&mdash;Susan and Jem and I&mdash;mean never to be so selfish, and wilful, and cruel again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we three have buried those other three<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a soft, green, moss-covered, flower-lined grave at the foot of the willow tree.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And all the leaves which its branches shed<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">We think are tears because they are dead.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="DOLLYS_LULLABY" id="DOLLYS_LULLABY"></a>DOLLY'S LULLABY.</h2>
+
+<h3>A NURSERY RHYME</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hush-a-by, Baby! <i>Your</i> baby, Mamma,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No one but pussy may go where you are;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soft-footed pussy alone may pass by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, if he wakens, your baby will cry.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hush-a-by, Dolly! My baby are you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yellow-haired Dolly, with eyes of bright blue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though I say "Hush!" because Mother does so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You wouldn't cry like her baby, I know!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hush-a-by, Baby! Mamma walks about,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sings to you softly, or rocks you without;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you slept sounder, then I might walk too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sing to my Dolly, and rock her like you!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hush-a-by Dolly! Sleep sweetly, my pet!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dear Mamma made you this fine berceaunette,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Muslin and rose-colour, ribbon and lace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When had a baby a cosier place?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span>
+<span class="i0">Hush-a-by, Baby! the baby who cries.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why, dear Mamma, don't you shut baby's eyes?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pull down his wire, as I do, you see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lay him by Dolly, and come out with me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hush-a-by, Dolly! Mamma will not speak;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You, my dear baby, would sleep for a week.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poor Mamma's baby allows her no rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hush-a-by, Dolly, of babies the best!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_04.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="88" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span></p>
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_33.gif" alt="A HERO TO HIS HOBBY-HORSE." width="453" height="552" /></div>
+<h2><a name="A_HERO_TO_HIS_HOBBY-HORSE" id="A_HERO_TO_HIS_HOBBY-HORSE"></a>A HERO TO HIS HOBBY-HORSE.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hear me now, my hobby-horse, my steed of prancing paces!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Time is it that you and I won something more than races.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span>
+<span class="i0">I have got a fine cocked hat, with feathers proudly waving;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Out into the world we'll go, both death and danger braving.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Doubt not that I know the way&mdash;the garden-gate is clapping:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who forgot to lock it last deserves his fingers slapping.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When they find we can't be found, oh won't there be a chorus!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You and I may laugh at that, with all the world before us.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All the world, the great green world that lies beyond the paling!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the sea, the great round sea where ducks and drakes are sailing!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I a knight, my charger thou, together we will wander<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Out into that grassy waste where dwells the Goosey Gander.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Months ago, my faithful steed, that Goose attacked your master;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How it hissed, and how I cried! It ran, but I ran faster!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span>
+<span class="i0">Down upon my face I fell, its awful wings were o'er me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mother came and picked me up, and off to bed she bore me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Months have passed, my faithful steed, both you and I are older,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sheathless is my wooden sword, my heart I think is bolder.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Always ready bridled thou, with reins of crimson leather;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Woe betide the Goose to-day who meets us both together!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Up then now, my hobby-horse, my steed of prancing paces!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Time it is that you and I won something more than races.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I a knight, my charger thou, together we will wander<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Out into that grassy waste where dwells the Goosey Gander.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_05.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="73" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_DOLLS_WASH" id="THE_DOLLS_WASH"></a>THE DOLLS' WASH.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sally is the laundress, and every Saturday<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She sends our clean clothes up from the wash, and Nurse puts them away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sometimes Sally is very kind, but sometimes she's as cross as a Turk;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When she's good-humoured we like to go and watch her at work.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She has tubs and a copper in the wash-house, and a great big fire and plenty of soap;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And outside is the drying-ground with tall posts, and pegs bought from the gipsies, and long lines of rope.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The laundry is indoors with another big fire, and long tables, and a lot of irons, and a crimping-machine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And horses (not live ones with tails, but clothes-horses) and the same starch that is used by the Queen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sally wears pattens in the wash-house, and turns up her sleeves, and splashes, and rubs,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span>
+<span class="i0">And makes beautiful white lather which foams over the tops of the tubs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like waves at the seaside dashing against the rocks, only not so strong.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I were Sally I should sit and blow soap-bubbles all the day long.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sally is angry sometimes because of the way we dirty our frocks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Making mud pies, and rolling down the lawn, and climbing trees, and scrambling over the rocks.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She says we do it on purpose, and never try to take care;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if things have got to go to the wash, what can it matter how dirty they are?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Last week Mary and I got a lot of kingcups from the bog, and I carried them home in my skirt;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was the end of the week, and our frocks were done, so we didn't mind about the dirt.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Sally was as cross as two sticks, and won't wash our dolls' clothes any more&mdash;so she said,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But never mind, for we'll ask Mamma if we may have a real Dolls' Wash of our own instead.<br /></span>
+</div>
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Mamma says we may on one condition, to which we agree;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We're to <i>really</i> wash the dolls' clothes, and make them just what clean clothes should be.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span>
+<span class="i0">She says we must wash them thoroughly, which of course we intend to do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We mean to rub, wring, dry, mangle, starch, iron, and air them too.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A regular wash must be splendid fun, and everybody knows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That any one in the world can wash out a few dirty clothes.<br /></span>
+</div>
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Well, we've had the Dolls' Wash, but it's only pretty good fun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We're glad we've had it, you know, but we're gladder still that it's done.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As we wanted to have as big a wash as we could, we collected everything we could muster,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the dolls' bed dimity hangings to Victoria's dress, which I'd used as a duster.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was going to the wash, and Mary and I were house-maids&mdash;fancy house-maids, I mean&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I took it to dust the bookshelf, for I knew it would come back clean.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well, we washed in the wash-hand-basin, which holds a good deal, as the things are small;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We made a glorious lather, and splashed half over the floor; but the clothes weren't white after all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">However, we hung them out in our drying-ground in the garden, which we made with dahlia-sticks and long strings,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span>
+<span class="i0">And then Dash went and knocked over one of the posts, and down in the dirt went our things!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So we washed them again and hung them on the towel-horse, and most of them came all right,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Victoria's muslin dress&mdash;though I rinsed it again and again&mdash;will never dry white!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the grease-spots on Mary's doll's dress don't seem to come out, and we can't think how they got there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unless it was when we made that Macassar-oil, because she has real hair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I knew mine was going to the wash, but I'm sorry I used it as a duster before it went;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We think dirty clothes perhaps shouldn't be <i>too</i> dirty before they are sent.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We had sad work in trying to make the starch&mdash;I wonder what the Queen does with hers?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I stirred mine up with a candle, like Sally, but it only made it worse;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So we had to ask Mamma's leave to have ours made by Nurse.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nurse makes beautiful starch&mdash;like water-arrowroot when you're ill&mdash;in a minute or two.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's a very odd thing that what looks so easy should be so difficult to do!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span>
+<span class="i0">Then Mary put the iron down to heat, but as soon as she'd turned her back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A jet of gas came sputtering out of the coals and smoked it black.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We dared not ask Sally for another, for we knew she'd refuse it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So we had to clean this one with sand and brown-paper before we could use it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was very hard work, but I rubbed till I made it shine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet as soon as it got on a damped "fine thing" it left a brown line.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I rubbed it for a long, long time before it would iron without a mark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But it did at last, and we finished our Dolls' Wash just before dark.<br /></span>
+</div>
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sally's very kind, for she praised our wash, and she has taken away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Victoria's dress to do it again; and I really must say<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She was right when she said, "You see, young ladies, a week's wash isn't all play."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our backs ache, our faces are red, our hands are all wrinkled, and we've rubbed our fingers quite sore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We feel very sorry for Sally every week, and we don't mean to dirty our dresses so much any more.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span></p>
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_34.png" alt="HOUSE-BUILDING AND REPAIRS." width="534" height="365" /></div>
+<h2><a name="HOUSE-BUILDING_AND_REPAIRS" id="HOUSE-BUILDING_AND_REPAIRS"></a>HOUSE-BUILDING AND REPAIRS.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Father is building a new house, but I've had one given to me for my own;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brick red, with a white window, and black where it ought to be glass, and the chimney yellow, like stone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brother Bill made me the shelves with his tool-box, and the table I had before, and the pestle-and-mortar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Mother gave me the jam-pot when it was empty; it's rather big, but it's the only pot we have that will really hold water.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span>
+<span class="i0">We&mdash;that is I and Jemima, my doll. (For it's a Doll's House, you know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though some of the things are real, like the nutmeg-grater, but not the wooden plates that stand in a row.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>They</i> came out of a box of toy tea-things, and I can't think what became of the others;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But one never can tell what becomes of anything when one has brothers.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jemima is much smaller than I am, and, being made of wood, she is thin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She takes up too much room inside, but she can lie outside on the roof without breaking it in.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wish I had a drawing-room to put her in when I want to really cook;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have to have the kitchen-table outside as it is, and the pestle-and-mortar is rather too heavy for it, and everybody can look.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's no front door to the house, because there's no front to have a door in, and beside,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If there were, I couldn't play with anything, for I shouldn't know how to get inside.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I never heard of a house with only one room, except the cobbler's, and his was a stall.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I don't quite know what that is; but it isn't a house, and it served him for parlour and kitchen and all.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span>
+<span class="i0">Father says that whilst he is about it, he thinks he shall add on a wing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And brother Bill says he'll nail my Doll's House on the top of an old tea-chest, which will come to the same thing.<br /></span>
+</div>
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Father's house is not finished, though the wing is; for now the builder says it will be all wrong if there isn't another to match;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my house isn't done either, though it's nailed on, for Bill took off the roof to make a new one of thatch.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The paint is very much scratched, but he says that's nothing, for it must have had a new coat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he means to paint it for me, inside and out, when he paints his own boat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's a sad hole in the floor, but Bill says the wood is as rotten as rotten can be:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which was why he made such a mess of the side with trying to put real glass in the window, through which one can see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bill says he believes that the shortest plan would be to make a new Doll's House with proper rooms, in the regular way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which was what the builder said to Father when he wanted to build in the old front; and to-day<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span>
+<span class="i0">I heard him tell him the old materials were no good to use and weren't worth the expense of carting away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I don't know when I shall be able to play at dolls again, for all the things are put away in a box;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Except Jemima and the pestle-and-mortar, and they're in the bottom drawer with my Sunday frocks.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I almost wish I had kept the house as it was before;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We managed very well with a painted window and without a front door.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I don't know what Father means to do with his house, but if ever mine is finished, I'll never have it altered any more.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_06.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="76" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_BLUE-BELLS_ON_THE_LEA" id="THE_BLUE-BELLS_ON_THE_LEA"></a>THE BLUE-BELLS ON THE LEA.</h2>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Fairy King.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The breeze is on the Blue-bells,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The wind is on the lea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stay out! stay out! my little lad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And chase the wind with me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you will give yourself to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Within the fairy ring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">At deep midnight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">When stars are bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You'll hear the Blue-bells ring&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">D!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">DI! DIN!<br /></span>
+<span class="i7">DING!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">On slender stems they swing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The rustling wind, the whistling wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">We'll chase him to and fro,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We'll chase him up, we'll chase him down<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To where the King-cups grow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And where old Jack-o'-Lantern waits<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To light us on our way,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span>
+<span class="i3">And far behind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Upon the wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The Blue-bells seem to play&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">D!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">DI! DIN!<br /></span>
+<span class="i7">DING!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Lest we should go astray.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"So gay that fairy music,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">So jubilant those bells,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How days and weeks and months go by<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">No happy listener tells!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The toad-stools are with sweetmeats spread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The new Moon lends her light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And ringers small<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Wait, one and all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To ring with all their might&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">D!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">DI! DIN!<br /></span>
+<span class="i7">DING!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And welcome you to night."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Boy</b></span>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"My mother made me promise<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To be in time for tea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Go home! go home!' the breezes say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That sigh along the lea.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span>
+<span class="i0">I dare not give myself away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For what would Mother do?<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">I wish I might<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Stay out all night<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">At fairy games with you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">D!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">DI! DIN!<br /></span>
+<span class="i7">DING!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And hear the bells of blue.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"But Father sleeps beneath the grass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And Mother is alone:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And who would fill the pails, and fetch<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The wood when I am gone?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And who, when little Sister ails,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Can comfort her, but me?<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Her cries and tears<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Would reach my ears<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Through all the melody&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">D!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">DI! DIN!<br /></span>
+<span class="i7">DING!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of Blue-bells on the lea."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sun was on the Blue-bells,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The lad was on the lea.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span>
+<span class="i0">"Oh, wondrous bells! Oh, fairy bells!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I pray you ring to me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I only did as Mother bade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For tea I did not care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And winds at night<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Give more delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Than all this noonday glare."<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">D!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">DI! DIN!<br /></span>
+<span class="i7">DING!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">No sound of bells was there.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Boy</b></span>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The snow lies o'er the Blue-bells,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A storm is on the lea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our hearth is warm, the fire burns bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The flames dance merrily.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, Mother dear! I would no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That on that summer's day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Within the ring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">The Fairy King<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Had stolen me away&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">D!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">DI! DIN!<br /></span>
+<span class="i7">DING!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To where the Blue-bells play.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span>
+<span class="i0">"Yet when the storm is loudest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">At deep midnight I dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And up and down upon the lea<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To chase the wind I seem;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While by my side, in feathered cap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">There runs the Fairy King,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And down below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Beneath the snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">We hear the Blue-bells ring&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">D!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">DI! DIN!<br /></span>
+<span class="i7">DING!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Such happy dreams they bring!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_07.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="78" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="AN_ONLY_CHILDS_TEA-PARTY" id="AN_ONLY_CHILDS_TEA-PARTY"></a>AN ONLY CHILD'S TEA-PARTY.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When I go to tea with the little Smiths, there are eight of them there, but there's only one of me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which makes it not so easy to have a fancy tea-party as if there were two or three.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I had a tea-party on my birthday, but Joe Smith says it can't have been a regular one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because as to a tea-party with only one teacup and no teapot, sugar-basin, cream-jug, or slop-basin, he never heard of such a thing under the sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But it was a very big teacup, and quite full of milk and water, and, you see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There wasn't anybody there who could really drink milk and water except Towser and me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dolls can only pretend, and then it washes the paint off their lips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what Charles the canary drinks isn't worth speaking of, for he takes such very small sips.<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">Joe says a kitchen-chair isn't a table; but it has got four legs and a top, so it would be if the back wasn't there;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span>
+<span class="i0">And that does for Charles to perch on, and I have to put the Prince of Wales to lean against it, because his legs have no joints to sit on a chair.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_35.png" alt="AN ONLY CHILD'S TEA-PARTY." width="566" height="481" /></div>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That's the small doll. I call him the Prince of Wales because he's the eldest son, you see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I've taken him for my brother, and he was Mother's doll before I was born, so of course he is older than me.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span>
+<span class="i0">Towser is my real live brother, but I don't think he's as old as the Prince of Wales;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He's a perfect darling, though he whisks everything over he comes near, and I tell him I don't know what we should do if we all had tails.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His hair curls like mine in front, and grows short like a lion behind, but no one need be frightened, for he's as good as good;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as to roaring like a real menagerie lion, or eating people up, I don't believe he would if he could.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He has his tea out of the saucer after I've had mine out of the cup;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You see I am sure to leave some for him, but if I let him begin first he would drink it all up.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The big doll Godmamma gave me this birthday, and the chair she gave me the year before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I haven't many toys, but I take great care of them, and every birthday I shall have more and more.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You've no idea what a beautiful doll she is, and when I pinch her in the middle, she can squeak;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It quite frightened Towser, for he didn't know that any of us but he and I and Charles were able to speak.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've taken her for my only sister, for of course I may take anybody I choose;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've called her Cinderella, because I'm so fond of the story, and because she's got real shoes.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span>
+<span class="i0">I don't feel so <i>only</i> now there are so many of us; for, counting Cinderella there are five,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She, and I, and Towser, and Charles, and the Prince of Wales&mdash;and three of us are really alive;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And four of us can speak, and I'm sure the Prince of Wales is wonderful for his size;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For his things (at least he's only got one thing) take off and on, and, though he's nothing but wood, he's got real glass eyes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And perhaps in three birthdays more there may be as many of us as the Smiths, for five and three make eight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shall be seven years old then (as old as Joe), but I don't like to think too much of it, it's so long to wait.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And after all I don't know that I want any more of us: I think I'd rather my sister had a chair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like mine; and the next year I should like a collar for Towser if it wouldn't rub off his hair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And it would be very nice if the Prince of Wales could be dressed like a Field-marshal, for he's got nothing on his legs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Cinderella's beautifully dressed, and Towser looks quite as if he'd got a fur coat on when he begs.<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">Joe says it's perfectly absurd, and that I can't take a Pomeranian in earnest for my brother;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span>
+<span class="i0">But I don't think he really and truly knows how much Towser and I love each other.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I didn't like his saying, "Well, there's one thing about your lot,&mdash;you can always have your own way."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then he says, "You can't possibly have fun with four people when you have to pretend what they say."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, whatever he says, I don't believe I shall ever enjoy a tea-party more than the one that we had on that day.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_08.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="80" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span></p>
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_36.png" alt="PAPA POODLE." width="391" height="292" /></div>
+<h2><a name="PAPA_POODLE" id="PAPA_POODLE"></a>PAPA POODLE.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Can any one look so wise, and have so little in his head?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How long will it be, Papa Poodle, before you have learned to read?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You were called Papa Poodle because you took care of me when I was a baby:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now I can read words of three syllables, and you sit with a book before you like a regular gaby.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You've not read a word since I put you in that corner ten minutes ago;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bill and I've fought the battle of Waterloo since dinner, and you've not learned BA BE BI BO.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here am I doing the whole British Army by myself, for Bill is obliged to be the French;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span>
+<span class="i0">And I've come away to hear you say your lesson, and left Bill waiting for me in the trench.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there you sit, with a curly white wig, like the Lord Chief Justice, and as grave a face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looking the very picture of goodness and wisdom, when you're really in the deepest disgrace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those woolly locks of yours grow thicker and thicker, Papa Poodle.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Does the wool tangle inside as well as outside your head? and is it that which makes you such a noodle?<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">You seem so clever at some things, and so stupid at others, and I keep wondering why;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I'm afraid the truth is, Papa Poodle, that you're uncommonly sly.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You did no spelling-lessons last week, for you were out from morning till night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Except when you slunk in, like a dirty door-mat on legs, and with one ear bleeding from a fight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looking as if you'd no notion what o'clock it was, and had come home to see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But <i>your watch keeps very good meal-time</i>, Papa Poodle, for you're always at breakfast, and dinner, and tea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No, it's no good your shaking hands and licking me with your tongue,&mdash;I know you can do that;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But sitting up, and giving paws, and kissing, won't teach you to spell C A T, Cat.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span>
+<span class="i0">I wonder, if I let you off lessons, whether I could teach you to pull the string with your teeth, and fire our new gun?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I could, you might be the Artillery all to yourself, and it would be capital fun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You wag your tail at that, do you? You would like it a great deal better?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I can't bear you to be such a dunce, when you look so wise; and yet I don't believe you'll ever learn a letter.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Aunt Jemima is going to make me a new cocked hat out of the next old newspaper, for I want to have a review;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the newspaper after that, Papa Poodle, must be kept to make a fool's cap for you.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_27.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="74" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="GRANDMOTHERS_SPRING" id="GRANDMOTHERS_SPRING"></a>GRANDMOTHER'S SPRING.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"In my young days," the grandmother said (Nodding her head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where cap and curls were as white as snow),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"In my young days, when we used to go<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Rambling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Scrambling;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each little dirty hand in hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a chain of daisies, a comical band<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of neighbours' children, seriously straying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Really and truly going a-Maying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My mother would bid us linger,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lifting a slender, straight forefinger,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Would say&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Little Kings and Queens of the May,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Listen to me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">If you want to be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Every one of you very good<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In that beautiful, beautiful, beautiful wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the little birds' heads get so turned with delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That some of them sing all night:<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span>
+<span class="i5">Whatever you pluck,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Leave some for good luck;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Picked from the stalk, or pulled up by the root,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From overhead, or from underfoot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Water-wonders of pond or brook;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Wherever you look,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And whatever you find&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Leave something behind:<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Some for the Na&iuml;ads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Some for the Dryads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a bit for the Nixies, and the Pixies.'"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"After all these years," the grandame said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Lifting her head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I think I can hear my mother's voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Above all other noise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saying, 'Hearken, my child!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is nothing more destructive and wild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No wild bull with his horns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No wild-briar with clutching thorns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No pig that routs in your garden-bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No robber with ruthless tread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">More reckless and rude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wasteful of all things lovely and good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than a child, with the face of a boy and the ways of a bear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Who <i>doesn't care;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span>
+<span class="i0">Or some little ignorant minx<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Who <i>never thinks</i>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now I never knew so stupid an elf,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he couldn't think and care for himself.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, little sisters and little brothers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Think for others, and care for others!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And of all that your little fingers find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Leave something behind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For love of those that come after:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some, perchance, to cool tired eyes in the moss that stifled your laughter!<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Pluck, children, pluck!<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">But leave&mdash;for good luck&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Some for the Na&iuml;ads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And some for the Dryads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a bit for the Nixies, and the Pixies!'"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"We were very young," the grandmother said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Smiling and shaking her head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">"And when one is young,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One listens with half an ear, and speaks with a hasty tongue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">So with shouted Yeses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And promises sealed with kisses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hand-in-hand we started again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">A chubby chain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stretching the whole wide width of the lane;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span>
+<span class="i3">Or in broken links of twos and threes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">For greater ease<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Of rambling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And scrambling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">By the stile and the road,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That goes to the beautiful, beautiful wood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">By the brink of the gloomy pond,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">To the top of the sunny hill beyond,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By hedge and by ditch, by marsh and by mead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By little byways that lead<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">To mysterious bowers;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or to spots where, for those who know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">There grow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In certain out-o'-way nooks, rare ferns and uncommon flowers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">There were flowers everywhere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Censing the summer air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Till the giddy bees went rolling home<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">To their honeycomb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And when we smelt at our posies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The little fairies inside the flowers rubbed coloured dust on our noses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or pricked us till we cried aloud for snuffing the dear dog-roses.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">But above all our noise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">I kept thinking I heard my mother's voice.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But it may have been only a fairy joke,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span>
+<span class="i0">For she was at home, and I sometimes thought it was<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">really the flowers that spoke.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">From the Foxglove in its pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">To the Shepherd's Purse by the bare road-side;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the snap-jack heart of the Starwort frail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To meadows full of Milkmaids pale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Cowslips loved by the nightingale.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rosette of the tasselled Hazel-switch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sky-blue star of the ditch;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Dandelions like mid-day suns;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Bindweed that runs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Butter and Eggs with the gaping lips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet Hawthorn that hardens to haws, and Roses that die into hips;<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i5">Lords-with-their-Ladies cheek-by-jowl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">In purple surcoat and pale-green cowl;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Family groups of Primroses fair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Orchids rare;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Velvet Bee-orchis that never can sting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Butterfly-orchis which never takes wing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Robert-the-Herb with strange sweet scent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And crimson leaf when summer is spent:<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Clustering neighbourly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">All this gay company,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Said to us seemingly&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">'Pluck, children, pluck!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span>
+<span class="i5">But leave some for good luck:<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Some for the Na&iuml;ads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Some for the Dryads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a bit for the Nixies, and the Pixies,'"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I was but a maid," the grandame said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"When my mother was dead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And many a time have I stood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In that beautiful wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To dream that through every woodland noise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Through the cracking<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Of twigs and the bending of bracken,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Through the rustling<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of leaves in the breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And the bustling<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of dark-eyed, tawny-tailed squirrels flitting about the trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through the purling and trickling cool<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the streamlet that feeds the pool,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">I could hear her voice.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should I wonder to hear it? Why?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are the voices of tender wisdom apt to die?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now, though I'm very old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the air, that used to feel fresh, strikes chilly and cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">On a sunny day when I potter<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">About the garden, or totter<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span>
+<span class="i0">To the seat from whence I can see, below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The marsh and the meadows I used to know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bright with the bloom of the flowers that blossomed there long ago;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Then, as if it were yesterday,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">I fancy I hear them say&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">'Pluck, children, pluck,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">But leave some for good luck;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Picked from the stalk, or pulled up by the root,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From overhead, or from underfoot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Water-wonders of pond or brook;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherever you look,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And whatever your little fingers find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Leave something behind:<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Some for the Na&iuml;ads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And some for the Dryads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a bit for the Nixies, and the Pixies.'"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>The following note was given in <i>Aunt Judy's Magazine</i>, June
+1880, when "Grandmother's Spring" first appeared:&mdash;"It may
+interest old readers of <i>Aunt Judy's Magazine</i> to know that
+'Leave some for the Na&iuml;ads and the Dryads' was a favourite
+phrase with Mr. Alfred Gatty, and is not merely the charge of
+an imaginary mother to her 'blue-eyed banditti.' Whether my
+mother invented the expression for our benefit, or whether she
+only quoted it, I do not know. I only remember its use as a
+check on the indiscriminate 'collecting' and 'grubbing' of a
+large family; a mystic warning not without force to fetter the
+same fingers in later life, with all the power of a pious tradition."&mdash;J.H.E.</p></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span></p>
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_37.gif" alt="BIG SMITH." width="589" height="548" /></div>
+<h2><a name="BIG_SMITH" id="BIG_SMITH"></a>BIG SMITH.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Are you a Giant, great big man, or is your real name Smith?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nurse says you've got a hammer that you hit bad children with.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm good to-day, and so I've come to see if it is true<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That you can turn a red-hot rod into a horse's shoe.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why do you make the horses' shoes of iron instead of leather?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is it because they are allowed to go out in bad weather?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If horses should be shod with iron, Big Smith, will you shoe mine?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For now I may not take him out, excepting when it's fine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Although he's not a real live horse, I'm very fond of him;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His harness won't take off and on, but still it's new and trim.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His tail is hair, he has four legs, but neither hoofs nor heels;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think he'd seem more like a horse without these yellow wheels.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They say that Dapple-grey's not yours, but don't you wish he were?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My horse's coat is only paint, but his is soft grey hair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His face is big and kind, like yours, his forelock white as snow&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shan't you be sorry when you've done his shoes and he must go?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span>
+<span class="i0">I do so wish, Big Smith, that I might come and live with you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To rake the fire, to heat the rods, to hammer two and two.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be so black, and not to have to wash unless I choose;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To pat the dear old horses, and to mend their poor old shoes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When all the world is dark at night, you work among the stars,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A shining shower of fireworks beat out of red-hot bars.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've seen you beat, I've heard you sing, when I was going to bed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now your face and arms looked black, and now were glowing red.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The more you work, the more you sing, the more the bellows roar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The falling stars, the flying sparks, stream shining more and more.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You hit so hard, you look so hot, and yet you never tire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It must be very nice to be allowed to play with fire.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span>
+<span class="i0">I long to beat and sing and shine, as you do, but instead<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I put away my horse, and Nurse puts me away to bed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wonder if you go to bed; I often think I'll keep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Awake and see, but, though I try, I always fall asleep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I know it's very silly, but I sometimes am afraid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of being in the dark alone, especially in bed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when I see your forge-light come and go upon the wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hear you through the window, I am not afraid at all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I often hear a trotting horse, I sometimes hear it stop;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hold my breath&mdash;you stay your song&mdash;it's at the blacksmith's shop.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before it goes, I'm apt to fall asleep, Big Smith, it's true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But then I dream of hammering that horse's shoes with you!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="KITS_CRADLE" id="KITS_CRADLE"></a>KIT'S CRADLE.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They've taken the cosy bed away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I made myself with the Shetland shawl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And set me a hamper of scratchy hay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By that great black stove in the entrance-hall.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+  <div class="center"><img src="images/image_38.png" alt="KIT'S CRADLE." width="206" height="252" /></div>
+  <div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I won't sleep there; I'm resolved on that!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They may think I will, but they little know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's a soft persistence about a cat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That even a little kitten can show.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span>
+<span class="i0">I wish I knew what to do but pout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And spit at the dogs and refuse my tea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My fur's feeling rough, and I rather doubt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether stolen sausage agrees with me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On the drawing-room sofa they've closed the door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They've turned me out of the easy-chairs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wonder it never struck me before<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That they make their beds for themselves up-stairs.<br /></span>
+</div>
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I've found a crib where they won't find me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though they're crying "Kitty!" all over the house.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hunt for the Slipper! and riddle-my-ree!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A cat can keep as still as a mouse.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It's rather unwise perhaps to purr,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But they'll never think of the wardrobe-shelves.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm happy in every hair of my fur;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They may keep the hamper and hay themselves.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+
+  <div class="center"><img src="images/image_39.png" alt="KIT'S CRADLE." width="380" height="224" /></div>
+  <hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_MILL_STREAM" id="THE_MILL_STREAM"></a>THE MILL STREAM.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One of a hundred little rills&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Born in the hills,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nourished with dews by the earth, and with tears by the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Sang&mdash;"Who so mighty as I?<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">The farther I flow<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">The bigger I grow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, who was born but a little rill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now turn the big wheel of the mill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though the surly slave would rather stand still.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Old, and weed-hung, and grim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I am not afraid of him;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For when I come running and dance on his toes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a creak and a groan the monster goes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And turns faster and faster,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">As he learns who is master,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Round and round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Till the corn is ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the miller smiles as he stands on the bank,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And knows he has me to thank.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span>
+<span class="i0">Then when he swings the fine sacks of flour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">I feel my power;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when the children enjoy their food,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know I'm not only great but good!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Furthermore sang the brook&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Who loves the beautiful, let him look!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Garlanding me in shady spots<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">The Forget-me-nots<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are blue as the summer sky:<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Who so lovely as I?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My King-cups of gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shine from the shade of the alders old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Stars of the stream!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At the water-rat's threshold they gleam.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">From below<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Frog-bit spreads me its blossoms of snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And in masses<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Willow-herb, the flags, and the grasses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Reeds, rushes, and sedges,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flower and fringe and feather my edges.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">To be beautiful is not amiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But to be loved is more than this;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And who more sought than I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By all that run or swim or crawl or fly?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sober shell-fish and frivolous gnats,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Tawny-eyed water-rats;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span>
+<span class="i0">The poet with rippling rhymes so fluent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Boys with boats playing truant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cattle wading knee-deep for water;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the flower-plucking parson's daughter.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down in my depths dwell creeping things<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who rise from my bosom on rainbow wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For&mdash;too swift for a school-boy's prize&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hither and thither above me dart the prismatic-hued dragon-flies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At my side the lover lingers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with lack-a-daisical fingers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Weeping Willow, woe-begone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strives to stay me as I run on."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There came an hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all this beauty and love and power<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Did seem<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But a small thing to that Mill Stream.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And then his cry<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was, "Why, oh! why<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Am I thus surrounded<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With checks and limits, and bounded<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">By bank and border<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">To keep me in order,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Against my will?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, who was born to be free and unfettered&mdash;a mountain rill!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span>
+<span class="i2">But for these jealous banks, the good<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of my gracious and fertilizing flood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Might spread to the barren highways,<br />
+</span>
+<span class="i0">And fill with Forget-me-nots countless neglected byways.<br />
+</span>
+<span class="i4">Why should the rough-barked Willow for ever lave<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her feet in my cooling wave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">When the tender and beautiful Beech<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Faints with midsummer heat in the meadow just out of my reach?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could I but rush with unchecked power,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The miller might grind a day's corn in an hour.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And what are the ends<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of life, but to serve one's friends?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A day did dawn at last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the spirits of the storm and the blast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Breaking the bands of the winter's frost and snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swept from the mountain source of the stream, and flooded the valley below.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Dams were broken and weirs came down;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Cottage and mill, country and town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Shared in the general inundation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And the following desolation.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Then the Mill Stream rose in its might,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And burst out of bounds to left and to right,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span>
+<span class="i0">Rushed to the beautiful Beech,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">In the meadow far out of reach.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with such torrents the poor tree died,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Torn up by the roots, and laid on its side.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">The cattle swam till they sank,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Trying to find a bank.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Never more shall the broken water-wheel<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Grind the corn to make the meal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">To make the children's bread.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">The miller was dead.</span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i5">When the setting sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looked to see what the Mill Stream had done<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In its hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of unlimited power,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what was left when that had passed by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Behold the channel was stony and dry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In uttermost ruin<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Mill Stream had been its own undoing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Furthermore it had drowned its friend:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">This was the end.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<div><img src="images/image_40.jpg" alt="BOY AND SQUIRREL." width="472" height="350" /></div>
+<div><img src="images/image_41.jpg" alt="BOY AND SQUIRREL." width="240" height="331" class="figleft" /></div>
+
+<div><span class="top1">BOY AND SQUIRREL.<a name="BOY_AND_SQUIRREL" id="BOY_AND_SQUIRREL"></a></span></div>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">h boy, down there, I can't believe that what they say is true!<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">We squirrels surely cannot have an enemy in you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">We have so much in common, my dear friend, it seems to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">That I can really feel for you, and you can feel for me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">Some human beings might not understand the life we lead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">If we asked Dr. Birch to play, no doubt he'd rather read;<br /></span> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span>
+<span class="i12">He hates all scrambling restlessness, and chattering, scuffling noise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">If he could catch us we should fare no better than you boys.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i12">Fine ladies, too, whose flounces catch and tear on every stump,<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">What joy have they in jagged pines, who neither skip nor jump?<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">Miss Mittens never saw my tree-top home&mdash;so unlike hers;<br /></span>
+<span class="i12">What wonder if her only thought of squirrels is of furs?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But you, dear boy, you know so well the bliss of climbing trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of scrambling up and sliding down, and rocking in the breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of cracking nuts and chewing cones, and keeping cunning hoards,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the games and all the sport and fun a wood affords.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It cannot be that you would make a prisoner of me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who hate yourself to be cooped up, who love so to be free;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span>
+<span class="i0">An extra hour indoors, I know, is punishment to you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>You</i> make <i>me</i> twirl a tiny cage? It never can be true!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet I've a wary grandfather, whose tail is white as snow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He thinks he knows a lot of things we young ones do not know;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He says we're safe with Doctor Birch, because he is so blind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that Miss Mittens would not hurt a fly, for she is kind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But you, dear boy, who know my ways, he bids me fly from you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He says my life and liberty are lost unless I do;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That you, who fear the Doctor's cane, will fling big sticks at me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tear me from my forest home, and from my favourite tree.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The more we think of what he says, the more we're sure it's "chaff,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We sit beneath the shadow of our bushy tails and laugh;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hey, presto! Friend, come up, and let us hide and seek and play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you could spring as well as climb, what fun we'd have to-day!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="LITTLE_MASTER_TO_HIS_BIG_DOG" id="LITTLE_MASTER_TO_HIS_BIG_DOG"></a>LITTLE MASTER TO HIS BIG DOG.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, how greedy you look as you stare at my plate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Your mouth waters so, and your big tail is drumming<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flop! flop! flop! on the carpet, and yet if you'll wait,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When we have quite finished, your dinner is coming.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yes! I know what you mean, though you don't speak a word;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You say that you wish that I kindly would let you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take your meals with the family, which is absurd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And on a tall chair like a gentleman set you.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But how little you think, my dear dog, when you talk;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You've no "table manners," you bolt meat, you gobble;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how could you eat bones with a knife, spoon, and fork?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You would be in a most inconvenient hobble.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span>
+<span class="i0">And yet, once on a time it is certainly true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My own manners wanted no little refining;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I gobbled, and spilled, and was greedy like you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And had no idea of good manners when dining.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So that when I consider the tricks <i>you</i> have caught,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To sit or shake paws with the utmost good breeding,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I must own it quite possible you may be taught<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The use of a plate, and a nice style of feeding.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Therefore try to learn manners, and eat as I do;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Don't glare at the joint, and as soon as you're able<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To behave like the rest, you shall feed with us too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And dine like a gentleman sitting at table.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_02.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="64" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span></p>
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_42.gif" alt="A SWEET LITTLE DEAR" width="536" height="479" /></div>
+<h2><a name="A_SWEET_LITTLE_DEAR" id="A_SWEET_LITTLE_DEAR"></a>A SWEET LITTLE DEAR</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I always <i>was</i> a remarkable child; so old for my age, and such a sensitive nature!&mdash;Mamma often says so.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I'm the sweetest, little dear in my blue ribbons, and quite a picture in my Pompadour hat!&mdash;Mrs. Brown told her so on Sunday, and that's how I know.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span>
+<span class="i0">And I'm a sacred responsibility to my parents&mdash;(it was what the clergyman's wife at the seaside said),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a solemn charge, and a fair white page, and a tender bud, and a spotless nature of wax to be moulded;&mdash;but the rest of it has gone out of my head.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was a lot more, and she left two books as well, and I think she called me a Privilege, and Mamma said "Yes," and began to cry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Nurse came in with luncheon on a tray, and put away the books, and said she was as weak as a kitten, and worried to fiddlestrings, as any one with common sense could see with half an eye.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was hopping round the room, but I stopped and said, "My kitten's not weak, and I don't believe anybody could see with only half an eye. Could they, Mamma?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Nurse said, "Go and play, my dear, and let your Mamma rest;" but Mamma said, "No, my love, stay where you are.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dear Nurse, lift me up, and put a pillow to my back, I know you mean to be kind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she does ask such remarkable questions, and while I've strength to speak, don't let me check the inquiring mind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I should fail to be all a mother ought&mdash;oh, how
+my head throbs when the dear child jumps!" and then Nurse said, "Ugh!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span>
+<span class="i0">When you're worried into your grave, she'll have no mother at all, and 'll have to tumble up as other folks do.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's the poor master at his wits' end&mdash;a child's not all a grown person has to think of&mdash;and Miss Jane would do well enough if she'd less of her own way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But there's more children spoilt with care than the want of it, and more mothers murdered than there's folks hanged for, and that's what I say.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Children learns what you teach 'em, and Miss Jane's old enough to have learned to wait upon you:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if her mother thought less of her and she thought more of her mother, it would be better for her too."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Nurse is a nasty cross old thing&mdash;I hate her; and I hate the doctor, for he wanted me to be left behind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Mamma went to the sea for her health; but I begged and begged till she promised I should go, for Mamma is always kind.<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">And she bought me a new wooden spade and a basket, and a red and green ship with three masts, and a one-and-sixpenny telescope to look at the sea;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span>
+<span class="i0">But when I got on to the sands, I thought I'd rather be on the esplanade, for there was a little girl there who was looking at me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dressed in a navy-blue suit and a sailor hat, with fair hair tied with ribbons; so I told Mamma,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she got me a suit, ready-made (but she said it was dreadfully dear), and a hat to match, in the Pebble Brooch Repository and Universal Bazaar.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It faded in the sun, and came all to pieces in the wash; but I was tired of it before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the esplanade is very dull, and the little girl with fair hair had got sand-boots and a shrimping-net and was playing on the shore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when my sand-boots came home, and I'd got a better net than hers, she went donkey-riding, and I knew it was to tease me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Nurse was so cross, and said if they sent a man in a herring-boat to the moon for what I wanted that nothing would please me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I said the seaside was a very disagreeable place, and I wished I hadn't come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I told Mamma so, and begged her to try and get well soon, to take us all home.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But now we've got home, it's very hot, and I'm afraid of the wasps; and I'm sure it was cooler at the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span>
+<span class="i0">And the Smiths won't be back for a fortnight, so I can't even have Matilda to tea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I don't care much for my new doll&mdash;I think I'm too old for dolls now; I like books better, though I didn't like the last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I've read all I have: I always skip the dull parts, and when you skip a good deal you get through them so fast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I like toys if they're the best kind, with works; though when I've had one good game with them, I don't much care to play with them again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I feel as if I wanted something new to amuse me, and Mamma says it's because I've got such an active brain.<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">Nurse says I don't know what I want, and I know I don't, and that's just what it is.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It seems so sad a young creature like me should feel unhappy, and not know what's amiss;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Nurse never thinks of my feelings, any more than the cruel nurse in the story about the little girl who was so good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if I die early as she did, perhaps then people will be sorry I've been misunderstood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shouldn't like to die early, but I should like people to be sorry for me, and to praise me when I was dead:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I could only come to life again when they had
+missed me very much, and I'd heard what they said&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span>
+<span class="i0">Of course that's impossible, I know, but I wish I knew what to do instead!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It seems such a pity that a sweet little dear like me should ever be sad.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Mamma says she buys everything I want, and has taught me everything I will learn, and reads every book, and takes every hint she can pick up, and keeps me with her all day, and worries about me all night, till she's nearly mad;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if any kind person can think of any better way to make me happy we shall both of us be glad.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_11.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="75" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="BLUE_AND_RED" id="BLUE_AND_RED"></a>BLUE AND RED:
+OR, THE DISCONTENTED LOBSTER.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Permit me, Reader, to make my bow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And allow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Me to humbly commend to your tender mercies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hero of these simple verses.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By domicile, of the British Nation;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By birth and family, a Crustacean.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One's hero should have a name that rare is;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And his was <i>Homarus</i>, but&mdash;<i>Vulgaris!</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A Lobster, who dwelt with several others,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His sisters and brothers,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a secluded but happy home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under the salt sea's foam.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">It lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At the outermost point of a rocky bay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sandy, tide-pooly, cliff-bound cove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a red-roofed fishing village above,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span>
+<span class="i0">Of irregular cottages, perched up high<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amid pale yellow poppies next to the sky.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shells and pebbles, and wrack below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shrimpers shrimping all in a row;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tawny sails and tarry boats,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dark brown nets and old cork floats;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nasty smells at the nicest spots,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And blue-jerseyed sailors and&mdash;lobster-pots.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i5">"It is sweet to be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At home in the deep, deep sea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is very pleasant to have the power<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To take the air on dry land for an hour;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when the mid-day midsummer sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is toasting the fields as brown as a bun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the sands are baking, it's very nice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To feel as cool as a strawberry ice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In one's own particular damp sea-cave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dipping one's feelers in each green wave.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is good, for a very rapacious maw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When storm-tossed morsels come to the claw;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And 'the better to see with' down below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To wash one's eyes in the ebb and flow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the tides that come and the tides that go."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So sang the Lobsters, thankful for their mercies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All but the hero of these simple verses.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span>
+<span class="i5">Now a hero&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If he's worth the grand old name&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though temperature may change from boiling-point to zero<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Should keep his temper all the same:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Courageous and content in his estate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And proof against the spiteful blows of Fate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It, therefore, troubles me to have to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That with this Lobster it was never so;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whate'er the weather or the sort of day,<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i1">No matter if the tide were high or low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever happened he was never pleased,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not himself alone, but all his kindred teased.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">"Oh! oh!<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">What a world of woe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We flounder about in, here below!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Oh dear! oh dear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It is too, too dull, down here!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I haven't the slightest patience<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With any of my relations;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I take no interest whatever<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In things they call curious and clever.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And, for love of dear truth I state it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As for my Home&mdash;I hate it!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm convinced I was formed for a larger sphere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And am utterly out of my element here."<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span>
+<span class="i0">Then his brothers and sisters said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each solemnly shaking his and her head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"You put your complaints in most beautiful verse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And yet we are sure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, in spite of all you have to endure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You might go much farther and fare much worse.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We wish you could live in a higher sphere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But we think you might live happily here."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I don't live, I only exist," he said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Be pleased to look upon me as dead."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he swam to his cave, and took to his bed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sulked so long that the sisters cried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Perhaps he has really and truly died."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the brothers went to the cave to peep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For they said, "Perhaps he is only asleep."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They found him, far too busy to talk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a very large piece of bad salt pork.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Dear Brother, what luck you have had to-day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can you tell us, pray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is there any more pork afloat in the bay?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But not a word would my hero say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Except to repeat, with sad persistence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"This is not life, it's only existence."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One day there came to the fishing village<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An individual bent on pillage;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span>
+<span class="i0">But a robber whom true scientific feeling<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May find guilty of picking, but not of stealing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He picked the yellow poppies on the cliffs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He picked the feathery seaweeds in the pools;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He picked the odds and ends from nets and skiffs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He picked the brains of all the country fools.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He dried the poppies for his own herbarium,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And caught the Lobsters for a seaside town aquarium.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">"Tank No. 20" is deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"Tank No. 20" is cool,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For clever contrivances always keep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The water fresh in the pool;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a very fine plate-glass window is free to the public view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through which you can stare at the passers-by and the passers-by stare at you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said my hero, "This is a great variety<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From those dull old rocks, where we'd no society."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For the primal cause of incidents,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">One often hunts about,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When it's only a coincidence<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That matters so turned out.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I do not know the reason<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or the reason I would tell&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span>
+<span class="i0">But it may have been the season&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Why my hero chose this moment for casting off his shell.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He had hitherto been dressed<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i1">(And so had all the rest)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In purplish navy blue from top to toe!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But now his coat was new,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It was of every shade of blue<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between azure and the deepest indigo;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And his sisters kept telling him, till they were tired,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There never was any one so much admired.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My hero was happy at last, you will say?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So he was, dear Reader&mdash;two nights and a day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, as he and his relatives lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each at the mouth of his mock<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cave in the face of a miniature rock,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They saw, descending the opposite cliff,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By jerks spasmodic of elbows stiff;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now hurriedly slipping, now seeming calmer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the ease and the grace of a hog in armour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as solemn as any ancient palmer,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span>
+<span class="i5">No less than nine<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Exceedingly fine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And full-grown lobsters, all in a line.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the worst of the matter remains to be said.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These nine big lobsters were all of them <i>red</i>.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when they got safe to the floor of the tank,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For which they had chiefly good luck to thank,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They settled their cumbersome coats of mail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every lobster tucked his tail<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Neatly under him as he sat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a circle of nine for a cosy chat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They seemed to be sitting hand in hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As shoulder to shoulder they sat in the sand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And waved their antenn&aelig; in calm rotation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Apparently holding a consultation.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what were the feelings of Master Blue Shell?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, gentle Reader! how shall I tell?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The colours of lobsters vary a good deal in various localities.
+<i>Homarus vulgaris</i>, the common lobster, is spotted, and, on the
+upper part, more or less of a bluish black. I once saw a lobster
+that had just got a new shell, and was of every lovely shade of
+blue and violet.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> <i>Palurinus vulgaris</i>, the spiny lobster, has no true claws,
+but huge hairy antenn&aelig;. These lobsters are red <i>during their
+lifetime</i>! I have seen them (in the Crystal Palace Aquarium)
+seated exactly as here described, with blue lobsters watching
+them from niches of the rocky sides of the tank, where they
+looked like blue-jerseyed smugglers at the mouths of caves.</p></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From the moment that those Nine he saw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He never could bear his blue coat more.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Oh, Brothers in misfortune!" he said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Did you ever see any lobsters so grand,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span>
+<span class="i0">As those who sit down there in the sand?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why were we born at all, since not one of us all was born red?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Dear Brother, indeed, this is quite a whim."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(So his brothers and sisters reasoned with him;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, being exceedingly cultivated,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The case with remarkable fairness stated.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Red is a primary colour, it's true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But so is Blue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we all of us think, dear Brother,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That one is quite as good as the other.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A swaggering soldier's a saucy varlet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though he looks uncommonly well in scarlet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No doubt there's much to be said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a field of poppies of glowing red;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For fiery rifts in sunset skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Roses and blushes and red sunrise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a glow on the Alps, and the glow of a forge,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A foxglove bank in a woodland gorge;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sparks that are struck from red-hot bars,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sun in a mist, and the red star Mars;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flowers of countless shades and shapes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Matadors', judges', and gipsies' capes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The red-haired king who was killed in the wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Robin Redbreast and little Red Riding Hood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Autumn maple, and winter holly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Red-letter days of wisdom or folly;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span>
+<span class="i0">The scarlet ibis, rose cockatoos,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cardinal's gloves, and Karen's shoes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Coral and rubies, and huntsmen's pink;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Red, in short, is splendid, we think.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, then, we don't think there's a pin to choose;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If the Guards are handsome, so are the Blues.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's a narrow choice between Sappers and Gunners.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You sow blue beans, and rear scarlet runners.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then think of the blue of a mid-day sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the sea, and the hills, and a Scotchman's eye;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of peacock's feathers, forget-me-nots,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Worcester china and "jap" tea-pots.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blue that the western sky wears casually,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sapphire, turquoise, and lapis-lazuli.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">What can look smarter<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than the broad blue ribbon of Knights of the Garter?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, if the subject is not too shocking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An intellectual lady's stocking.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And who that loves hues<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Could fail to mention<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">The wonderful blues<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of the mountain gentian?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But to all that his brothers and sisters said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He made no reply but&mdash;"I wish I were dead!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm all over blue, and I want to be red."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he moped and pined, and took to his bed.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span>
+<span class="i0">"That little one looks uncommonly sickly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Put him back in the sea, and put him back quickly."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The voice that spoke was the voice of Fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the lobster was soon in his former state;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where, as of old, he muttered and mumbled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And growled and grumbled:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Oh dear! what shall I do?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I want to be red, and I'm all over blue."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I don't think I ever met with a book<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The evil genius of which was a cook;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">But it thus befell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the tale I have the honour to tell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For as he was fretting and fuming about,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fisherman fished my hero out;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in process of time, he heard a voice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Which made him rejoice.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The voice was the cook's, and what she said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was, "He'll soon come out a beautiful red."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i3">He was put in the pot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">The water was very hot;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The less we say about this the better,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was all fulfilled to the very letter.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He did become a beautiful red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But then&mdash;which he did not expect&mdash;he was dead!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span>
+<span class="i0">Some gentle readers cannot well endure<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To see the ill end of a bad beginning;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hope against hope for a nicer cure<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For naughty heroes than to leave off sinning.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet persisting in behaving badly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do what one will, does commonly end sadly.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But things in general are so much mixed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That every case must stand upon its merits;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And folks' opinions are so little fixed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And no one knows the least what he inherits&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I should be glad to shed some parting glory<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the hero of this simple story.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It seems to me a mean end to a ballad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the truth is, he was made into salad;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's not how one's hero should end his days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In a mayonnaise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I'm told that he looked exceedingly nice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With cream-coloured sauce, and pale-green lettuce and ice.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I confess that if he'd been my relation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This would not afford me any consolation;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I feel (though one likes to speak well of the dead)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That it must be said,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span>
+<span class="i0">He need not have died so early lamented,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If he'd been content to live contented.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">P.S.&mdash;His claws were raised to very high stations;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">They keep the earwigs from our carnations.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_12.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="77" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_YELLOW_FLY" id="THE_YELLOW_FLY"></a>THE YELLOW FLY.</h2>
+
+<h3>A TALE WITH A STING IN IT.</h3>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_43.png" alt="A TALE WITH A STING IN IT." width="265" height="182" /></div>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i7">Ah!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">There you are!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was certain I heard a strange voice from afar.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mamma calls me a pup, but I'm wiser than she;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One ear cocked and I hear, half an eye and I see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wide-awake though I doze, not a thing escapes me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i7">Yes!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Let me guess:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's the stable-boy's hiss as he wisps down Black Bess.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span>
+<span class="i0">It sounds like a kettle beginning to sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or a bee on a pane, or a moth on the wing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or my master's peg-top, just let loose from the string.<br /></span>
+
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_44.png" alt="A TALE WITH A STING IN IT." width="219" height="252" /></div>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i7">Well!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Now I smell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I don't know who you are, and I'm puzzled to tell.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You look like a fly dressed in very gay clothes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I blush to have troubled my mid-day repose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a creature not worth half a twitch of my nose.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_45.png" alt="A TALE WITH A STING IN IT." width="332" height="200" /></div>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span>
+<span class="i7">How now?<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Bow, wow, wow!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The insect imagines we're playing, I vow!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I pat you, I promise you'll find it too hard.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be off! when a watch-dog like me is on guard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Big or little, no stranger's allowed in the yard.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i7">Eh?<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">"Come away!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My dear little master, is that what you say?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am greatly obliged for your kindness and cares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I really can manage my own small affairs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And banish intruders who give themselves airs.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_46.png" alt="A TALE WITH A STING IN IT." width="285" height="270" /></div>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i7">Snap!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Yap! yap! yap!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You defy me?&mdash;you pigmy, you insolent scrap!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span>
+<span class="i0">What!&mdash;this to my teeth, that have worried a score<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the biggest rats bred in the granary floor!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come on, and be swallowed! I spare you no more!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i7">Help!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Yelp! yelp! yelp!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little master, pray save an unfortunate whelp,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who began the attack, but is now in retreat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Having shown all his teeth, just escapes on his feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And is trusting to you to make safety complete.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_47.png" alt="A TALE WITH A STING IN IT." width="297" height="201" /></div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i7">Oh!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Let me go!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My poor eye! my poor ear! my poor tail! my poor toe!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pray excuse my remarks, for I meant no such thing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Don't trouble to come&mdash;oh, the brute's on the wing!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd no notion, I'm sure, there were flies that could sting.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span>
+<span class="i7">Dear me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I can't see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My nose burns, my limbs shake, I'm as ill as can be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was never in such an undignified plight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mamma told me, and now I suppose she was right;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One should know what one's after before one shows fight.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_48.png" alt="A TALE WITH A STING IN IT." width="196" height="214" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span></p>
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_49.gif" alt="CANADA HOME." width="554" height="557" /></div>
+
+<h2><a name="CANADA_HOME" id="CANADA_HOME"></a>CANADA HOME.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some Homes are where flowers for ever blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sun shining hotly the whole year round;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But our Home glistens with six months of snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where frost without wind heightens every sound.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And Home is Home wherever it is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">When we're all together and nothing amiss.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span>
+<span class="i0">Yet Willy is old enough to recall<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A Home forgotten by Eily and me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He says that we left it five years since last Fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And came sailing, sailing, right over the sea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But Home is Home wherever it is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">When we're all together and nothing amiss.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Our other Home was for ever green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A green, green isle in a blue, blue sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With sweet flowers such as we never have seen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Willy tells all this to Eily and me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But Home is Home wherever it is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">When we're all together and nothing amiss.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He says, "What fine fun when we all go back!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But Canada Home is very good fun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Pat's little sled flies along the smooth track,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or spills in the snowdrift that shines in the sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For Home is Home wherever it is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">When we're all together and nothing amiss.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some day I should dearly love, it is true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To sail to the old Home over the sea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But only if Father and Mother went too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With Willy and Patrick and Eily and me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For Home is Home wherever it is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">When we're all together and nothing amiss.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_POET_AND_THE_BROOK" id="THE_POET_AND_THE_BROOK"></a>THE POET AND THE BROOK.</h2>
+
+<h3>A TALE OF TRANSFORMATIONS.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A little Brook, that babbled under grass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Once saw a Poet pass&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A Poet with long hair and saddened eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who went his weary way with woeful sighs.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And on another time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This Brook did hear that Poet read his rueful rhyme.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Now in the poem that he read,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">This Poet said&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Oh! little Brook that babblest under grass!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(<i>Ah me! Alack! Ah, well-a-day! Alas!</i>)<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Say, are you what you seem?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or is your life, like other lives, a dream?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What time your babbling mocks my mortal moods,</span>
+<span class="i3">Fair Na&iuml;ad of the stream!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And are you, in good sooth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could purblind poesy perceive the truth,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span>
+<span class="i5">A water-sprite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who sometimes, for man's dangerous delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Puts on a human form and face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To wear them with a superhuman grace?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"When this poor Poet turns his bending back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(<i>Ah me! Ah, well-a-day! Alas! Alack!</i>)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say, shall you rise from out your grassy bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With wreathed forget-me-nots about your head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And sing and play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wile some wandering wight out of his way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">To lead him with your witcheries astray?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(<i>Ah me! Alas! Alack! Ah, well-a-day!</i>)<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Would it be safe for me<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">That fateful form to see?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(<i>Alas! Alack! Ah, well-a-day! Ah me!</i>)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So far the Poet read his pleasing strain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Then it began to rain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">He closed his book.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Farewell, fair Nymph!" he cried, as with a lingering look<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His homeward way he took;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And nevermore that Poet saw that Brook.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Brook passed several days in anxious expectation<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Of transformation<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span>
+<span class="i0">Into a lovely nymph bedecked with flowers;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And longed impatiently to prove those powers&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those dangerous powers&mdash;of witchery and wile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That should all mortal men mysteriously beguile;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For life as running water lost its charm<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before the exciting hope of doing so much harm.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And yet the hope seemed vain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Despite the Poet's strain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though the days came and went, and went and came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The seasons changed, the Brook remained the same.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Brook was almost tired<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of vainly hoping to become a Na&iuml;ad;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When on a certain Summer's day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dame Nature came that way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Busy as usual,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">With great and small;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, at the water-side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dipping her clever fingers in the tide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Out of the mud drew creeping things,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, smiling on them, gave them radiant wings.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now when the poor Brook murmured, "Mother dear!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Dame Nature bent to hear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the sad stream poured all its woes into her sympathetic ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span>
+<span class="i0">Crying,&mdash;"Oh, bounteous Mother!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do not do more for one child than another;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If of a dirty grub or two<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">(Dressing them up in royal blue)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You make so many shining Demoiselles,<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Change me as well;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Uplift me also from this narrow place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where life runs on at such a petty pace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give me a human form, dear Dame, and then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See how I'll flit, and flash, and fascinate the race of men!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> The "Demoiselle" Dragon-fly, a well-known slender
+variety (<i>Libellula</i>), with body of brilliant blue.</p></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then Mother Nature, who is wondrous wise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did that deluded little Brook advise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be contented with its own fair face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And with a good and cheerful grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Run, as of yore, on its appointed race,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Safe both from giving and receiving harms;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Outliving human lives, outlasting human charms.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But good advice, however kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is thrown away upon a made-up mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this was all that babbling Brook would say&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Give me a human face and form, if only for a day!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then quoth Dame Nature:&mdash;"Oh, my foolish child!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ere I fulfil a wish so wild,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span>
+<span class="i2">Since I am kind and you are ignorant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This much I grant:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You shall arise from out your grassy bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gathered to the waters overhead<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Shall thus and then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look down and see the world, and all the ways of men!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Scarce had the Dame<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Departed to the place from whence she came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When in that very hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sun burst forth with most amazing power.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Dame Nature bade him blaze, and he obeyed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He drove the fainting flocks into the shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He ripened all the flowers into seed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He dried the river, and he parched the mead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then on the Brook he turned his burning eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which rose and left its narrow channel dry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, climbing up by sunbeams to the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Became a snow-white cloud, which softly floated by.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i3">It was a glorious Autumn day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the world with red and gold was gay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">When, as this cloud athwart the heavens did pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lying below, it saw a Poet on the grass,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span>
+<span class="i3">The very Poet who had such a stir made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To prove the Brook was a fresh-water mermaid.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Holding his book above his corrugated brow&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">He read aloud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus apostrophized the passing cloud:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">"Oh, snowy-breasted Fair!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mysterious messenger of upper air!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can you be of those female forms so dread,<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who bear the souls of the heroic dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To where undying laurels crown the warrior's head?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or, as you smile and hover,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are you not rather some fond goddess of the skies who waits a mortal lover?<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And who, ah! who is he?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;And what, oh, what!&mdash;your message to poor me?"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So far the Poet. Then he stopped:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">His book had dropped.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ere the delighted cloud could make reply,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dame Nature hurried by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And it put forth a wild beseeching cry&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Give me a human face and form!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dame Nature frowned, and all the heavens grew black with storm.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> The Walkyrie in Teutonic mythology, whose office it is to
+bear the souls of fallen heroes from the field of battle.</p></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span>
+<span class="i4">But very soon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon a frosty winter's noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The little cloud returned below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Falling in flakes of snow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Falling most softly on the floor most hard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of an old manor-house court-yard.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as it hastened to the earth again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The children sang behind the window-pane:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Old woman, up yonder, plucking your geese,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Quickly pluck them, and quickly cease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Throw down the feathers, and when you have done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We shall have fun&mdash;we shall have fun."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The snow had fallen, when with song and shout<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The girls and boys came out;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Six sturdy little men and maids,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Carrying heather-brooms, and wooden spades,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who swept and shovelled up the fallen snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which whimpered,&mdash;"Oh! oh! oh!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Oh, Mother, most severe!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pity me lying here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm shaken all to pieces with that storm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Raise me and clothe me in a human form."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They swept up much, they shovelled up more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There never was such a snow-man before!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span>
+<span class="i0">They built him bravely with might and main,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There never will be such a snow-man again!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His legs were big, his body was bigger,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They made him a most imposing figure;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His eyes were large and as black as coal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a cinder was placed in each round hole.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the sight of his teeth would have made yours ache,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Being simply the teeth of an ancient rake.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They smoothed his forehead, they patted his back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There wasn't a single unsightly crack;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when they had given the final pat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They crowned his head with the scare-crow's hat.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i5">And so<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Brook&mdash;the Cloud&mdash;the Snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Got its own way after so many days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And did put on a human form and face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">But whether<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The situation pleased it altogether;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">If it is nice<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To be a man of snow and ice;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Whether it feels<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Painful, when one congeals;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">How this man felt<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When he began to melt;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span>
+<span class="i0">Whether he wore his human form and face<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With any extraordinary grace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If many mortals fell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As victims to the spell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Or if,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As he stood, stark and stiff,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With a bare broomstick in his arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not a trace of transcendental charms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">That man of snow<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Grew wise enough to know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the Brook's hopes were but a Poet's dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And well content to be again a stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">On the first sunny day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Flowed quietly away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or what the end was&mdash;You must ask the Poet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">I don't know it.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_13.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="74" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span></p>
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_50.gif" alt="A SOLDIER'S CHILDREN." width="411" height="535" /></div>
+<h2><a name="A_SOLDIERS_CHILDREN" id="A_SOLDIERS_CHILDREN"></a>A SOLDIER'S CHILDREN.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Our home used to be in a hut in the dear old Camp, with lots of bands and trumpets and bugles and Dead Marches, and three times a day there was a gun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But now we live in View Villa at the top of the village, and it isn't nearly such fun.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span>
+<span class="i0">We never see any soldiers, except one day we saw a Volunteer, and we ran after him as hard as ever we could go, for we thought he looked rather brave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But there's only been one funeral since we came, an ugly black thing with no Dead March or Union Jack, and not even a firing party at the grave.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is a man in uniform to bring the letters, but he's nothing like our old Orderly, Brown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I told him, through the hedge, "Your facings are dirty, and you'd have to wear your belt if my father was at home," and oh, how he did frown!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But things can't be expected to go right when Old Father's away, and he's gone to the war;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which is why we play at soldiers and fighting battles more than ever we did before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I try to keep things together: every morning I have a parade of myself and Dick,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see that we are clean, and to drill him and do sword-exercise with poor Grandpapa's stick.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grandpapa's dead, so he doesn't want it now, and Dick's too young for a real tin sword like mine:<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">He's so young he won't make up his mind whether he'll go into the Artillery or the Line.<br />
+</span>
+<span class="i0">I want him to be a gunner, for his frock's dark blue, and Captain Powder gave us a wooden gun with an elastic that shoots quite a big ball.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span>
+<span class="i0">It's nonsense Dick's saying he'd like to be a Chaplain, for that's not being a soldier at all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Besides, he always wants to be Drum-Major when we've funerals, to stamp the stick and sing RUM&mdash;TUM&mdash;TUM&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the Dead March in <i>Saul</i> (that's the name of the tune, and you play it on a drum).<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_51.png" alt="A SOLDIER'S CHILDREN." width="385" height="411" /></div>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Mary is so good, she might easily be a Chaplain, but of course she can't be anything that wants man;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span>
+<span class="i0">She likes nursing her doll, but when we have battles she moves the lead soldiers about, and does what she can.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She never grumbles about not being able to grow up into a General, though I should think it must be a great bore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I asked her what she would do if she were grown up into a woman, and belonged to some one who was wounded in the war,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She said she'd go out and nurse him: so I said, "But supposing you couldn't get him better, and he died; how would you behave?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she said if she couldn't get a ship to bring him home in, she should stay out there and grow a garden, and make wreaths for his grave.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nurse says we oughtn't to have battles, now Father's gone to battle, but that's just the reason why!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I don't believe one bit what she said about its making Mother cry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only she does like us to put away our toys on Sunday, so we can't have the soldiers or the gun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But yesterday Dick said, "I was thinking in church, and I've thought of a game about soldiers, and it's a perfectly Sunday one;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's a Church Parade: you'll have to be a lot of officers and men, Mary'll do for a few wives and families, and I'll be Chaplain to the Forces and pray for everyone at the war."<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span>
+<span class="i0">So he put his nightgown over his knickerbocker suit, and knelt on the Ashantee stool, and Mary and I knelt on the floor.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think it was rather nice of Dick, for he said what put it into his head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was thinking they mightn't have much time for their prayers on active service, and we ought to say them instead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I should have liked to parade the lead soldiers, but I didn't, for Mother says, "What's the good of being a soldier's son if you can't do as you're bid?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But we thought there'd be no harm in letting the box be there if we kept on the lid.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dick couldn't pray out of the Prayer-book, because he's backward with being delicate, and he can't read;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So he had to make a prayer out of his own head, and I think he did it very well indeed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He began, "GOD save the Queen, and the Army and the Navy, and the Irregular Forces and the Volunteers!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Especially Old Father (he went out with the first draft, and he's a Captain in the Royal Engineers").<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I said, "I don't think 'GOD save the Queen' is a
+proper prayer, I think it's only a sort of three cheers."<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span>
+<span class="i0">So he said, "GOD bless the Generals, and the Colonels, and the Majors, and the Captains, and the Lieutenants, and the Sub-lieutenants, and the Quartermasters, and the non-commissioned officers, and the men;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the bands, and the colours, and the guns, and the horses and the wagons, and the gun-carriage they use for the funerals; and please I should like them all to come home safe again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Don't, Mary! I haven't finished; it isn't time for you to say Amen.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I haven't prayed for the Chaplains, or the Doctors who help the poor men left groaning on the ground when the victories are won;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I want to pray particularly for the very poor ones who die of fever and miss all the fighting and fun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">GOD bless the good soldiers, like Old Father, and Captain Powder, and the men with good-conduct medals; and please let the naughty ones all be forgiven;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if the black men kill our men, send down white angels to take their poor dear souls to Heaven!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Now</i> you may both say Amen, and I shall give out hymn four hundred and thirty-seven."<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span>
+<span class="i0">There are eight verses and eight Alleluias, and we can't sing very well, but we did our best,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only Mary would cry in the verse about "Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But we're both very glad Dick has found out a Sunday game about fighting, for we never had one before;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now we can play at soldiers every day till Old Father comes home from the war.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_14.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="76" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span></p>
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_52.png" alt="&quot;TOUCH HIM IF YOU DARE.&quot;" width="559" height="352" /></div>
+<h2><a name="TOUCH_HIM_IF_YOU_DARE" id="TOUCH_HIM_IF_YOU_DARE"></a>"TOUCH HIM IF YOU DARE."</h2>
+
+<h3>A TALE OF THE HEDGE.</h3>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Hedge-Plants.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Beware!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We advise you to take care.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He lodges with us, so we know him well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And can tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">You all about him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we strongly advise you not to flout him."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Dandelion.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"At my time of life," said the Dandelion,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">"I keep an eye on<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span>
+<span class="i0">The slightest sign of disturbance and riot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For my one object is to keep quiet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The reason I take such very great care,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The old Dandy went on, "is because of my hair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was very thick once, and as yellow as gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But now I am old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">It is snowy-white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And comes off with the slightest fright.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">As to using a brush&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My good dog! I beseech you, don't rush,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Go quietly by me, if you please<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">You're as bad as a breeze.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hope you'll attend to what we've said;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;whatever you do&mdash;don't touch my head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In this equinoctial, blustering weather<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You might knock it off with a feather."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Thistle.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Said the Thistle, "I can tickle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But not as a Hedgehog can prickle;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even my tough old friend the Moke<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would find our lodger no joke."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Dog-rose.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I have thorns," sighed the Rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"But they don't protect me like those;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He can pull his thorns right over his nose."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Nettle.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span>
+<span class="i0">"My sting," said the Nettle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Is nothing to his when he's put on his mettle.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No nose can endure it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No dock-leaves will cure it."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Dog.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Bow-wow!" said the Dog:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"All this fuss about a Hedgehog?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though I never saw one before&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">There's my paw!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good-morning, Sir! Do you never stir?<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">You look like an overgrown burr.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good-day, I-say:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will you have a game of play?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With your humped-up back and your spines on end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You remind me so of an intimate friend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">The Persian Puss<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Who lives with us.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">How well I know her tricks!<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">The dear creature!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just when you're sure you can reach her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the twinkling of a couple of sticks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She saves herself by her heels,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And looks down at you out of the apple-tree, with eyes like catherine wheels.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span>
+<span class="i5">The odd part of it is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I could swear that I could not possibly miss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her silky, cumbersome, traily tail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that's just where I always fail.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But you seem to have nothing, Sir, of the sort;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I should be mortified if you thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">That I'm stupid at sport;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I assure you I don't often meet my match,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where I chase I commonly catch.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">I've caught cats,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And rats,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And (between ourselves) I once caught a sheep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I think I could catch a weasel asleep."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Hedge-Plants.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From the whole of the hedge there rose a shout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Oh! you'll catch it, no doubt!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But remember we gave you warning fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Touch him if you dare!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Dog.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+
+<span class="i0">"If I dare?" said the Dog&mdash;"Take that!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As he gave the Hedgehog a pat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But oh, how he pitied his own poor paw;<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">And shook it and licked it, it was so sore.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Dandelion.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"It's much too funny by half,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said the Dandelion; "it makes me ill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I cannot keep still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my hair comes out if I laugh."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Hedgehog he spoke never a word,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And he never stirred;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His peeping eyes, his inquisitive nose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">And his tender toes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were all wrapped up in his prickly clothes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A provoking enemy you may suppose!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a dangerous one to flout&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a well-stocked pin-cushion inside out.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Dog was valiant, the Dog was vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He flew at the prickly ball again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Snapping with all his might and main,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">But, oh! the pain!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sat down on his stumpy tail and howled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then he laid his jaws on his paws and growled.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Dandelion.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With laughter the Dandelion shook&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"It passes a printed book;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's as good as a play, I declare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But it's cost me half my back hair!"<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span>
+<span class="i0">The Dog he made another essay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It really and truly was very plucky&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But "third times," you know, are not always lucky&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this time he ran away!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="p12"><span class="smcap"><b>Hedge-Plants.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then the Hedge-plants every one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rustled together, "What fun! what fun!<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">The battle is done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">The victory won.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dear Hedge-pig, pray come out of the Sun."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Hedge-pig put forth his snout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sniffed hither and thither and peeped about;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then he tucked up his prickly clothes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And trotted away on his tender toes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To where the hedge-bottom is cool and deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had a slug for supper, and went to sleep.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His leafy bed-clothes cuddled his chin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the Hedge-plants tucked him in.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But the hairs and the tears that we shed<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Never can be recalled;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when <i>he</i> too went off, in hysterics, to bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">DANDELION was bald.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="MOTHERS_BIRTHDAY_REVIEW" id="MOTHERS_BIRTHDAY_REVIEW"></a>MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY REVIEW.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><b>Brother Bill.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To have a good birthday for a grown-up person is very difficult indeed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We don't give it up, for Mother says the harder things are, the harder you must try till you succeed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still, <i>our</i> birthdays are different; we want so many things, and choosing your own pudding, and even half-holidays are treats;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what can you do for people who always order the dinner, and never have lessons, and don't even like sweets?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know Mother does not. Baby put a big red comfit in her mouth, and I saw her take it out again on the sly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I don't believe she even enjoys going a-gypseying, for she gets neuralgia if she stands about where it isn't dry.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span>
+<span class="i0">And how can you boil the kettle if you're not near the brook? But it's the last time she shall go there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I told her so; I said, "What's the good of having five sons, except to mount guard over you, you Queen of all Mothers that ever were?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she's not easy to manage, and she shams sometimes, and shamming is a thing I can't bear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She shammed about the red comfit, when she didn't think Baby could see her;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And (because they're the only things we can think of for birthday presents for her) she shams wearing out a needle-book and a pin-cushion every year.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The only things we can think of for Father are paper-cutters; but there's no sham about <i>his</i> wearing <i>them</i> out;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He would always lose them, long before his next birthday, if Mother did not keep finding them lying about.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Last year's paper-cutter was as big as a sword (not as big as Father's sword, but as big as a wooden one, like ours),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he left it behind in a railway-carriage, when he'd had it just thirty-six hours;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So we knew he was ready for another. It was Mother's birthday that bothered us so;<br /></span>
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_53.png" alt="MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY REVIEW." width="600" height="386"  style="border-style:solid; border-width:thin; "/></div>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+
+<span class="i0">And if it hadn't been for Dolly's Major (he's her Godfather, and she calls him "my Major"), what we should have done I really don't know!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He said, "What's the matter?" And Dolly said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Mother's birthday's the matter." And I said, "We can't think what to devise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To give her a birthday treat that won't give her neuralgia, and will take her by surprise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look here, Major! How can you give people treats who can order what they wish for far better than you?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wonder what they do for the Queen!&mdash;her birthday must be the hardest of all." But he said, "Not a bit of it! They have a review:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cocked hats and all the rest of it; and a salute, and a <i>feu de joie</i>, and a March-Past.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That's the way we keep the Queen's Birthday; and every year the same as the last."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I settled at once to have a Mother's Birthday Review; and that she should be Queen, and I should be the General in command.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thought she couldn't come to any harm by sitting in a fur cloak and a birthday wreath at the window, and bowing and waving her hand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We did not tell her what was coming, we only asked for leave to have all the seven donkeys for an hour and a half;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span>
+<span class="i0">(We always hire them from the same old man)&mdash;two for the girls, and five for me and my brothers&mdash;I told him, "for me and my Staff."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We could have managed with five, if the girls would only have been Maids of Honour, and stayed indoors with the Queen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Maggie would if I'd asked her; but Dolly will go her own way, and that's into the thick of everything, to see whatever there is to be seen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She's only four years old, but she's ridiculously like the picture of an ancient ancestress of ours<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who defended an old castle in Cornwall, against the French, for hours and hours.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her husband was away, so she was in command, and all her household obeyed her;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She made them strip the lead off the roofs, and they did, and she boiled it down and gave it very hot indeed to the French invader.
+<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Maggie would have let the French in; she doesn't like me to say so, but I know she would,&mdash;you can get anything out of Maggie by talking.</span>
+
+
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_54.png" alt="MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY REVIEW." width="600" height="394"  style="border-style:solid; border-width:thin; " /></div>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span>
+<span class="i0">She likes to hire a donkey, and then sham she'd rather not ride, for fear of being too heavy; and to take Spike out for a run, and then carry him to save him the trouble of walking.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she's very good; she made all our cocked hats, and at the review she and Dolly and  Spike were the loyal crowd.<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">Dick and Tom and Harry were the troops, and I was the General, and Mother looked quite like a Queen at the window, and bowed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The donkeys made very good chargers on the whole, and especially mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jem's was the only one that gave trouble, and neither fair means nor foul would keep him in line.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just when I'd dressed all their noses to a nice level (you can do nothing with their ears), then back went Jem's brute,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Jem caught him a whack with the flat of his sword (a thing you never see done on the Staff), and it rather spoilt the salute;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the spirit of the troops was excellent, and we'd a <i>feu de joie</i> with penny pistols (Jem's donkey was the only one that shied), and Dolly's Major says that, all things considered, he never saw a better March-Past;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Mother was delighted with her first Birthday Review, and she is none the worse for it, and says she only hopes that it won't be the last.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Dame Elizabeth Treffry (<i>temp.</i> Henry VI.) defended Place
+House, Fowey, Cornwall, in the circumstances and with the
+vigorous measures described. On his return her husband wisely
+"Embattled all the walls of the house, and in a manner made it
+a Castelle, and unto this day it is the glorie of the town building
+in Faweye."&mdash;<i>Carew</i>. The beauties of Place Castle remain to
+this day also.</p></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><b>Dolly.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span>
+<span class="i0">They call me Dolly, but I'm not a doll, and I'm not a baby, though Baby is sometimes my name;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I behave beautifully at meals, and at church, and I can put on my own boots, and can say a good deal of the Catechism, and ride a donkey, and play at any boys' game.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've ridden a donkey that kicks (at least I rode him as long as I was on), and a donkey that rolls, and an old donkey that goes lame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I mean to ride like a lady now, but that's because I ought, not because I easily can;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For what with your legs and your pommels (I mean the saddle's pommels), it would be much easier always to ride like a man.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Boys <i>look</i> braver, but I think it's really more dangerous to ride sideways, because of the saddle slipping round.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I didn't cry; I played at slipping round the world, and getting to New Zealand with my head upside down on the ground.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The reason the saddle is slippery is not because it's smooth, for it's rather rough; and there's a hard ridge behind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the horse's hair coming through the donkey's back (I mean through his saddle) scratches you<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span>
+<span class="i0">dreadfully; but I tuck my things under me, and pretend I don't mind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They work out again though, particularly when they are starched, and I think frocks get shorter every time they go to the wash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I don't complain; if it's very uncomfortable, I make an ugly face to myself, and say, "Bosh!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We've all of us had a good deal of practice, so we ought to know how to ride;<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">We've ridden a great deal since we came to live on the Heath, and we rode a good deal when Father was stationed at the sea-side.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My Major taught me to ride sideways, and at first he would hold me on;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I don't like being touched; and I don't call it riding like a lady if you're held on by an officer, and I'd rather tumble off if I can't stick on by myself; so I sent him away, and the nasty saddle slipped round directly he was gone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I only crushed my sun-bonnet, and the donkey stood quite still. (We always call that one "the old stager.")<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wasn't frightened, except just the tiniest bit; but he says he was dreadfully frightened. So I said, "Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself, considering all your medals, and that you're a Major."<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span>
+<span class="i0">He likes me very much, and I like him, and when my fifth birthday comes, he says I'm to choose a donkey, and he'll buy it for me, but the saddle and bridle shall be quite new;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I've made up my mind to choose the one Brother Bill had for his charger at Mother's Birthday Review;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Maggie is so glad, she says her life is quite miserable with thinking how miserable other lives are, if only we knew.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Maggie loves every creature that lives; she won't confess to black beetles, but she can't stamp on them (I've stamped out lots in my winter boots), and she doesn't even think a donkey ugly when he brays;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she says she shall buy a brush, out of her pocket-money, and brush my donkey every day till he looks like a horse, and that it shan't be her fault if there isn't one poor old brute beast who lives happily to the end of his days.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><b>Jack Ass.</b></span><br />
+</p>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+
+<span class="i0">The dew falls over the Heath, Brother Donkeys, and the darkness falls, but still through the gathering night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All around us spreads the Heath Bed-straw<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> in glimmering sheets of white.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span>
+<span class="i0">Dragged and trampled, and plucked and wasted, it patiently spreads and survives;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kicked and thwacked, and prodded and over-laden, we patiently cling to our lives.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hee-haw! for the rest and silence of darkness that follow the labours of light.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hee-haw! for the hours from night to morning, that balance the hours from morning to night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hee-haw! for the sweet night air that gives human beings cold in the head.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hee-haw! for the civilization that sends human beings to bed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rest, Brother Donkeys, rest, from the bit, the burden, the blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dust, the flies, the restless children, the brutal roughs, the greedy donkey-master, the greedier donkey-hirer, the holiday-maker who knows no better, and the holiday-makers who ought to know!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the odorous furze-bush prickles the seeking nose, and the short damp grass refreshes the tongue,&mdash;lend, Brother Donkeys, lend a long and attentive ear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Whilst I proudly bray<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Of the one bright day<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In our hard and chequered career.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've dragged pots, and vegetables, and invalids, and
+fish, and I've galloped with four costermongers to the races;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span>
+<span class="i0">I've carried babies, and sea-coal, and sea-sand, and sea-weed in panniers, and been sold to the gypsies, and been bought back for the sea-side, and ridden (in a white saddle-cloth with scarlet braid) by the fashionable visitors. (There was always a certain distinction in my paces,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though I say it who shouldn't) I've spent a summer on the Heath, and next winter near Covent Garden, and moved the following year to the foot of a mountain, to take people up to the top to show them the view.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But how little we know what's before us! And how little I guessed I should ever be chief charger at a Queen's Birthday Review!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did I triumph alone? No, Brother Donkeys, no! You also took your place with the defenders of the nation;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Subordinate positions to my own, but meritoriously filled, though a little more style would have well become so great an occasion.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That malevolent old Moke&mdash;may his next thistle choke him!&mdash;disgraced us all with his jibbing&mdash;the ill-tempered old ass!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Young Neddy is shaggy and shy, but not amiss, if he'd held his ears up, and not kept his eyes on the grass.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span>
+<span class="i0">Nothing is more je-june (I may say vulgar) than to seem anxious to eat when the crisis calls for public spirit, enthusiasm, and an elevated tone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I wish, Brother Donkeys, I wish that all had felt as I felt, the responsibility of a March-Past the Throne!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Respect and self-respect delicately blended; one ear up, and the other lowered to salute, as I passed the window from which we were seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Unless I grievously misunderstood the young General this morning,) by no less a personage than her Most Gracious Majesty <span class="smcap">The Queen</span>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sleep, Brother Donkeys, sleep! But I fancy you're sleeping already, for you make no reply;<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">Not a quiver of your ears, not a sign from your motionless drooping noses, dark against the dusky night sky.<br />
+</span>
+<span class="i0">As black and immovable as the silent fir-trees you solemnly slumber beneath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst I wakefully meditate on a glorious past, and painfully ponder the future, as the dews fall over the Heath.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Heath bed-straw (<i>Galium Saxatile</i>). This white-flowered
+bed-straw grows profusely on Hampstead Heath.</p></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_PROMISE" id="THE_PROMISE"></a>THE PROMISE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><b>Child</b></span>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Five blue eggs hatching,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">With bright eyes watching,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little brown mother, you sit on your nest.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><b>Bird</b></span>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Oh! pass me blindly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Oh! spare me kindly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pity my terror, and leave me to rest.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><b>Chorus of Children</b></span>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Hush! hush! hush!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">'Tis a poor mother thrush.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the blue eggs hatch, the brown birds will sing&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is a promise made in the Spring.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><b>Child</b></span>.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Five speckled thrushes<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In leafy bushes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Singing sweet songs to the hot Summer sky.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span>
+<span class="i4">In and out twitting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Here and there flitting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy is life as the long days go by.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><b>Chorus</b>.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Hush! hush! hush!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">'Tis the song of the thrush:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hatched are the blue eggs; the brown birds do sing&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keeping the promise made in the Spring.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center">Published in <i>Aunt Judy's Magazine</i>, July 1866, with music by
+Alexander Ewing.</p>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_15.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="63" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="CONVALESCENCE" id="CONVALESCENCE"></a>CONVALESCENCE.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hold my hand, little Sister, and nurse my head, whilst I try to remember the word,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What was it?&mdash;that the doctor says is now fairly established both in me and my bird.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">C-O-N-<i>con</i>, <i>with a con</i>, S-T-A-N-<i>stan</i>, <i>with a stan</i>&mdash;No! That's Constantinople, that is<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The capital of the country where rhubarb-and-magnesia comes from, and I wish they would keep it in that country, and not send it to this.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">C-O-N-<i>con</i>&mdash;how my head swims! Now I've got it! C-O-N-V-A-L-E-S-C-E-N-C-E.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Convalescence!</i> And that's what the doctor says is now fairly established both in my blackbird and me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He says it means that you are better, and that you'll be well by and by.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so the Sea-captain says, and he says we ought to be friends, because we're both convalescents&mdash;at least we're all three convalescents, my blackbird, and the Captain and I.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span>
+<span class="i0">He's a sea-captain, not a land-captain, but, all the same, he was in the war,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he fought,&mdash;for I asked him,&mdash;and he's been ill ever since, and that's why he's not afloat, but ashore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And why somebody else has got his ship; and she behaved so beautifully in the battle, and he loves her quite as much as his wife, and rather better than the rest of his relations, for I asked him; and now he's afraid she will never belong to him any more.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I like him. I've seen him three times out walking with two sticks, when I was driving in the bath-chair, but I never talked to him till to-day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He'd only one stick and a telescope, and he let me look through it at the big ship that was coming round the corner into the bay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He was very kind, and let me ask questions. I said, "Are you a sea-captain?" and he said, "Yes." And I said, "How funny it is about land things and sea things!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There are captains and sea-captains, and weeds and sea-weeds, and serpents and sea-serpents. Did you ever meet one, and is it really like the dragons on our very old best blue tea-things?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he never did. So I asked him, "Have you got convalescence? Does your doctor say it is
+fairly established? Do your eyes ache if you try to read, and your neck if you draw, and your back if you sit up, and your head if you talk?<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span>
+<span class="i0">Don't you get tired of doing nothing, and worse tired still if you do anything; and does everything wobble about when you walk?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wouldn't you rather go back to bed? I think I would. Don't you wish you were well? Wouldn't you rather be ill than only better? I do hate convalescence, don't you?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then I stopped asking, and he shut up his telescope, and sat down on the shingle, and said, "When you come to my age, little chap, you won't think 'What is it I'd rather have?' but, 'What is it I've got to do?'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'What have I got to do or to bear; and how can I do it or bear it best?'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That's the only safe point to make for, my lad. Make for it, and leave the rest!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I said, "But <i>wouldn't</i> you rather be in battles than in bed, with your head aching as if it would split?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he said, "Of course I would; so would most men. But, my little convalescent, that's not it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What would <i>you</i> think of a man who was ordered into battle, and went grumbling and wishing he were in bed?"<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span>
+<span class="i0">"What should I think of the fellow? Why, I should know he was a coward," I said.<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">"And if he were confined to bed," said the Sea-captain, "and lay grumbling and wishing he were in battle, I should give him no better a name;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the courage that dares, and the courage that bears, are really one and the same."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hold my hand, little Sister, and nurse my head, for I'm thinking, and I very much fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You've had no good of being well since I was ill; I've led you such a life; but indeed I am obliged to you, dear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is it true that Nurse has got something the matter with her legs, and that Mary has gone home because she's worn out with nursing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And won't be fit to work for months? (will <i>she</i> be convalescent, because it was such hard work waiting on <i>me</i>?) and did Cook say, "So much grumbling and complaining is nigh as big a sin as swearing and cursing"?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wish I hadn't been so cross with poor Mary, and I wish I hadn't given so much trouble about my medicine and my food.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I didn't think about her. I only thought what a bother it was. I wish I hadn't thought so much about being miserable, that I never thought of trying to be good.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span>
+<span class="i0">I believe the Sea-captain is right, and I shall tell him so to-morrow, when he comes here to tea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He's going to look at my blackbird's leg, and if it is really set, he wants me to let it go free.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He says captivity is worse than convalescence, and so I should think it must be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are you tired, little Sister? You feel shaky. Don't beg my pardon; I beg yours. I've not let you go out of my sight for weeks. Get your things on, and have a gallop on Jack.<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">Ride round this way and let me see you. I won't say a word about wishing I was going too; and if my head gets bad whilst you're away, I will bear it my very best till you come back.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell me one thing before you start. If I learn to be patient, shall I learn to be brave, do you think? The Sea-captain says so.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He says, "Self-command is the making of a man," and he's a finely-made man himself, so he ought to know.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps, if I try hard at Convalescence now, I may become a brave sea-captain hereafter, and take my beautiful ship into battle, and bring her out again with flying colours and fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If the courage that dares, and the courage that bears, <i>are</i> really one and the same.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span></p>
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_55.png" alt="THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF." width="351" height="340" /></div>
+<h2><a name="THE_ADVENTURES_OF_AN_ELF" id="THE_ADVENTURES_OF_AN_ELF"></a>THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF.</h2>
+
+<h3>A PICTURE POEM FOR THE LITTLE ONES.</h3>
+
+<h4><i>By Fedor Flinzer. Freely translated by J.H. Ewing.</i></h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="p12"><b>I.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dear children, listen whilst I tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What to a certain Elf befell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who left his house and sallied forth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adventure seeking, south and north,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And west and east, by path and field,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resolved to conquer or to yield.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thimble on his back he carried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a rose-twig his foes he parried.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_56.png" alt="THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF." width="357" height="446" class="img1" /></div>
+<p><span class="p12"><b>II.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span>
+<span class="i0">It was a sunny, bright, spring day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When to the wood he took his way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He knew that in a certain spot<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A Bumble Bee his nest had got.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Bee was out, the chance was good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But just when grabbing all he could,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He heard the Bee behind him humming,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And only wished he'd heard him coming!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_57.png" alt="THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF." width="325" height="573" /></div>
+<p><span class="p12"><b>III.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span>
+<span class="i0">In terror turned the tiny man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now a famous fight began:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Bee flew round, and buzzed and stung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Elf his prickly rose-staff swung.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now fiercely here, now wildly there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He hit the Bee or fought the air.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last one weighty blow descended:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Bee was dead&mdash;the fight was ended.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_58.png" alt="THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF." width="347" height="494" /></div>
+<p><span class="p12"><b>IV.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span>
+<span class="i0">Exhausted quite, he took a seat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The honey tasted doubly sweet!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The thimble-full had been upset,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But still there were a few drops yet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He licked his lips and blessed himself,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he was such a lucky Elf,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now might hope to live in clover;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, ah! his troubles were not over!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_59.png" alt="THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF." width="353" height="631" /></div>
+<p><span class="p12"><b>V.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span>
+<span class="i0">For at that instant, by his side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A beast of fearful form he spied:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At first he thought it was a bear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And headlong fell in dire despair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He lost one slipper in the moss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this was not his only loss.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With paws and snout the beast was nimble,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And very soon cleared out the thimble.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_60.png" alt="THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF." width="480" height="455" /></div>
+<p><span class="p12"><b>VI.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span>
+<span class="i0">This rifling of his honey-pot<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Awoke our Elfin's wrath full hot.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He made a rope of linden bast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By either end he held it fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And creeping up behind the beast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Intent upon the honey feast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before it had the slightest inkling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rope was round it in a twinkling.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_61.png" alt="THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF." width="461" height="439" /></div>
+<p><span class="p12"><b>VII.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span>
+<span class="i0">The mouse shrieked "Murder!" "Fire!" and "Thieves!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And struggled through the twigs and leaves.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It pulled the reins with all its might,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our hero only drew them tight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the mouse's back he leapt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like a man his seat he kept.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His steed was terribly affrighted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he himself was much delighted.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_63.png" alt="THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF." width="478" height="481" /></div>
+<p><span class="p12"><b>VIII.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span>
+<span class="i0">"Gee up, my little horse!" he cried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I mean to have a glorious ride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So bear me forth with lightning speed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A Knight resolved on doughty deed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wide world we will gallop round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And clear the hedges at one bound."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mouse set off, the hero bantered,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And out into the world they cantered.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_64.png" alt="THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF." width="542" height="520" /></div>
+<p><span class="p12"><b>IX.</b></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span>
+<span class="i0">At last they rode up to an inn:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Good Mr. Host, pray who's within?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"My daughter serves the customers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before the fire the Tom-cat purrs."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For further news they did not wait&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mouse sprang through the garden-gate&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They fled without a look behind them.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The question is&mdash;Did Thomas find them?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="SONGS_FOR_MUSIC" id="SONGS_FOR_MUSIC"></a>SONGS FOR MUSIC</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="SERENADE" id="SERENADE"></a>SERENADE.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I would not have you wake for me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fair lady, though I love you!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though the night is warm, and all<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The stars are out above you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though the dew's so light it could<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not hurt your little feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And nightingales in yonder wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are singing passing sweet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet may my plaintive strain unite<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And mingle with your dreaming,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And through the visions of the night<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Just interweave my seeming.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet no! sleep on with fancy free<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In that untroubled breast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No song of mine, no thought of me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Deserves to break your rest!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="MAIDEN_WITH_THE_GIPSY_LOOK" id="MAIDEN_WITH_THE_GIPSY_LOOK"></a>MAIDEN WITH THE GIPSY LOOK.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span>
+<span class="i0">Maiden with the gipsy look,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dusky locks and russet hue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Open wide thy Sybil's book,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell my fate and tell it true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall I live? or shall I die?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Timely wed, or single be?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Maiden with the gipsy eye,<br />
+</span>
+<span class="i0">Read my riddle unto me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span>
+<span class="i0">Maiden with the gipsy face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If thou canst not tell me all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell me thus much, of thy grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should I climb, or fear to fall?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should I dare, or dread to dare?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should I speak, or silent be?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Maiden with the gipsy hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Read my riddle unto me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Maiden with the gipsy hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deep into thy mirror look,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See my love and fortune there,<br />
+</span>
+<span class="i0">Clearer than in Sybil's book:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me cross thy slender palm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me learn my fate from thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Maiden with the gipsy charm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Read my riddle unto me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_16.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="84" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="AH_WOULD_I_COULD_FORGET" id="AH_WOULD_I_COULD_FORGET"></a>AH! WOULD I COULD FORGET.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The whispering water rocks the reeds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, murmuring softly, laps the weeds;<br />
+</span>
+<span class="i0">And nurses there the falsest bloom<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That ever wrought a lover's doom.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Forget me not! Forget me not!<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Ah! would I could forget!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But, crying still, "Forget me not,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Her image haunts me yet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We wander'd by the river's brim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The day grew dusk, the pathway dim;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her eyes like stars dispell'd the gloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her gleaming fingers pluck'd the bloom.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Forget me not! Forget me not!<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Ah! would I could forget!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But, crying still, "Forget me not,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Her image haunts me yet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span>
+<span class="i0">The pale moon lit her paler face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And coldly watch'd our last embrace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And chill'd her tresses' sunny hue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stole that flower's turquoise blue.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Forget me not! Forget me not!<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Ah! would I could forget!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But, crying still, "Forget me not,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Her image haunts me yet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The fateful flower droop'd to death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fair, false maid forswore her faith;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I obey a broken vow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And keep those wither'd blossoms now!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Forget me not! Forget me not!<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Ah! would I could forget!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But, crying still, "Forget me not,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Her image haunts me yet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweet lips that pray'd&mdash;"Forget me not!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet eyes that will not be forgot!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Recall your prayer, forego your power,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which binds me by the fatal flower.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Forget me not! Forget me not!<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Ah! would I could forget!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But, crying still, "Forget me not,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Her image haunts me yet.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="MADRIGAL" id="MADRIGAL"></a>MADRIGAL.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Life is full of trouble,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Love is full of care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Joy is like a bubble<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Shining in the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For you cannot<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Grasp it anywhere.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love is not worth getting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It doth fade so fast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life is not worth fretting<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Which so soon is past;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And you cannot<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Bid them longer last.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet for certain fellows<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Life seems true and strong;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with some, they tell us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Love will linger long;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thus they cannot<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Understand my song.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_ELLEREE7" id="THE_ELLEREE7"></a>THE ELLEREE.<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></h2>
+
+<h3>A SONG OF SECOND SIGHT.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Elleree! O Elleree!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seeing what none else may see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dost thou see the man in grey?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dost thou hear the night hounds bay?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Elleree! O Elleree!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seventh son of seventh son,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All thy thread of life is spun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy little race is nearly run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And death awaits for thee!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Elleree! O Elleree!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Coronach shall wail for thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Get thee shrived and get thee blest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Get thee ready for thy rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Elleree! O Elleree!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thou owest quickly give,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What thou ownest thou must leave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And those thou lovest best shall grieve,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But all in vain for thee!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span>
+<span class="i1">"Bodach Glas!"<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> the chieftain said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"All my debts but one are paid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All I love have long been dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All my hopes on Heaven are stay'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Death to me can bring no dole;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus the Elleree replied;&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with ebbing of the tide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As sinks the setting sun he died;&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">May Christ receive his soul!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> "Elleree" is the name of one who has the gift of second
+sight.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> "Bodach Glas," the Man in Grey, appears to a Highland
+family with the gift of second sight, presaging death.</p></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_08.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="80" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="OTHER_STARS" id="OTHER_STARS"></a>OTHER STARS.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The night is dark, and yet it is not quite:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Those stars are hid that other orbs may shine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Twin stars, whose rays illuminate the night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And cheer her gloom, but only deepen mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For these fair stars are not what they do seem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But vanish'd eyes remember'd in a dream.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The night is dark, and yet it brings no rest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Those eager eyes gaze on and banish sleep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though flaming Mars has lower'd his crimson crest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And weary Venus pales into the deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">These two with tender shining mock my woe<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From out the distant heaven of long ago.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The night is dark, and yet how bright they gleam!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Oh! empty vision of a vanish'd light!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet eyes! must you for ever be a dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Deep in my heart, and distant from my sight?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For could you shine as once you shone before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The stars might hide their rays for evermore!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="FADED_FLOWERS" id="FADED_FLOWERS"></a>FADED FLOWERS.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My love she sent a flower to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of tender hue and fragrance rare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with it came across the sea<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A letter kind as she was fair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when her letter met mine eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The flower, the little flower, was dead:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ere I touched the tender prize<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hues were dim, the fragrance fled.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I sent my love a letter too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In happy hope no more to roam;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I bade her bless the vessel true<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose gallant sails should waft me home.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ere my letter reach'd her hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My love, my little love, was dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when the vessel touch'd the land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair hope for evermore had fled.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="SPEED_WELL" id="SPEED_WELL"></a>SPEED WELL.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What time I left my native land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And bade farewell to my true love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She laid a flower in my hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As azure as the sky above.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Speed thee well! Speed well!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She softly whispered, "Speed well!<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">This flower blue<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Be token true<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of my true heart's true love for you!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Its tender hue is bright and pure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As heav'n through summer clouds doth show,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pledge though clouds thy way obscure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It shall not be for ever so.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Speed thee well! Speed well!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She softly whisper'd, "Speed well!<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">This flower blue<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Be token true<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of my true heart's true love for you!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span>
+<span class="i0">And as I toil through help and harm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And whilst on alien shores I dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wear this flower as a charm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My heart repeats that tender spell:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Speed thee well! Speed well!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It softly whispers, "Speed well!<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">This flower blue<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Be token true<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of my true heart's true love for you!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_18.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="74" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="HOW_MANY_YEARS_AGO" id="HOW_MANY_YEARS_AGO"></a>HOW MANY YEARS AGO?</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How many years ago, love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Since you came courting me?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through oak-tree wood and o'er the lea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With rosy cheeks and waistcoat gay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And mostly not a word to say,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How many years ago, love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How many years ago?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How many years ago, love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Since you to Father spoke?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between your lips a sprig of oak:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You were not one with much to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But Mother spoke for you that day,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How many years ago, love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How many years ago?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So many years ago, love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That soon our time must come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To leave our girl without a home;&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She's like her mother, love, you've said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">&mdash;At her age I had long been wed,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How many years ago, love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How many years ago?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span>
+<span class="i0">For love of long-ago, love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If John has aught to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When he comes up to us to-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">(A likely lad, though short of tongue,)<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Remember, husband, we were young,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How many years ago, love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How many years ago?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_19.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="78" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="WITH_A_DIFFERENCE" id="WITH_A_DIFFERENCE"></a>"WITH A DIFFERENCE."</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'm weary waiting here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The chill east wind is sighing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The autumn tints are sere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The summer flowers are dying.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The river's sullen way<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Winds on through vacant meadows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dying light of day<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Strives vainly with the shadows.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A footstep stirs the leaves!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The faded fields seem brighter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sunset gilds the sheaves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The low'ring clouds look lighter.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The river sparkles by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Not all the flowers are falling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's azure in the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And thou, my love, art calling.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_LILY_OF_THE_LAKE" id="THE_LILY_OF_THE_LAKE"></a>THE LILY OF THE LAKE.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Over wastes of blasted heather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the pine-trees stand together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Evermore my footsteps wander,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Evermore the shadows yonder<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Deepen into gloom.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where there lies a silent lake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No song-bird there its thirst may slake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No sunshine now to whiteness wake<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">The water-lily's bloom.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some sweet spring-time long departed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I and she, the simple-hearted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bride and bridegroom, maid and lover,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did that gloomy lake discover,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Did those lilies see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There we wandered side by side.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There it was they said she died.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ah! in this I know they lied!<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">She will return to me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span>
+<span class="i0">Never, never since that hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has the lake brought forth a flower.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ever harshly do the sedges<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some sad secret from its edges<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Whisper to the shore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some sad secret I forget.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lily though will blossom yet:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when it blooms I shall have met<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">My love for evermore.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_20.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="77" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="FROM_FLEETING_PLEASURES" id="FROM_FLEETING_PLEASURES"></a>FROM FLEETING PLEASURES.</h2>
+
+<h3>A REQUIEM FOR ONE ALIVE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From fleeting pleasures and abiding cares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From sin's seductions and from Satan's snares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From woes and wrath to penitence and prayers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Veni in pace!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweet absolution thy sad spirit heal;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To godly cares that end in endless weal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To joys man cannot think or speak or feel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Vade in pace!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From this world's ways and being led by them,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From floods of evil thy youth could not stem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From tents of Kedar to Jerusalem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Veni in pace!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Blest be thy worldly loss to thy soul's gain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blest be the blow that freed thee from thy chain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blest be the tears that wash thy spirit's stain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Vade in pace!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, dead, and yet alive! Oh, lost and found!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Salvation's walls now compass thee around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy weary feet are set on holy ground.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Veni in pace!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Death gently garner thee with all the blest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In heavenly habitations be thou guest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To light perpetual and eternal rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Vade in pace!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_01.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="74" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_RUNAWAYS_RETURN" id="THE_RUNAWAYS_RETURN"></a>THE RUNAWAY'S RETURN.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">It was on such a night as this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Some long unreal years ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When all within were wrapp'd in sleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And all without was wrapp'd in snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The full moon rising in the east,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">The old church standing like a ghost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That, shivering in the wintry mist,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And breathless with the silent frost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A little lad, I ran to seek my fortune on the main;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I marvel now with how much hope and with how little pain!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">It is of such a night as this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">In all the lands where I have been,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That memory too faithfully<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Has painted the familiar scene.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By all the shores, on every sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">In luck or loss, by night or day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My highest hope has been to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">That home from which I ran away.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span>
+<span class="i0">For this I toil'd, to this I look'd through many a weary year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I marvel now with how much hope, and with how little fear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">On such a night at last I came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">But they were dead I loved of yore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah, Mother, then my heart felt all<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">The pain it should have felt before!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I came away, though loth to come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">I clung, and yet why should I cling?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When all have gone who made it home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">It is the shadow, not the thing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A homeless man, once more I seek my fortune on the main:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I marvel with how little hope, and with what bitter pain.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_22.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="76" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="FANCY_FREE" id="FANCY_FREE"></a>FANCY FREE.</h2>
+
+<h3>A GIRL'S SONG.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With bark and bound and frolic round<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My dog and I together run;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While by our side a brook doth glide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And laugh and sparkle in the sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We ask no more of fortune's store<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Than thus at our sweet wills to roam:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And drink heart's ease from every breeze<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That blows about the hills of home.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">As, fancy free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">With game and glee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">We happy three<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Dance down the glen.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And yet they say that some fine day<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">This vagrant stream may serve a mill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My doggy guard a master's yard;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My free heart choose another's will.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span>
+<span class="i0">How this may fare we little care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My dog and I, as still we run!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst by our side the brook doth glide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And laugh and sparkle in the sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">For, fancy free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">With game and glee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">We happy three<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Dance down the glen.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_23.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="81" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="MY_LOVES_GIFT" id="MY_LOVES_GIFT"></a>MY LOVE'S GIFT.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You ask me what&mdash;since we must part&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You shall bring home to me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bring back a pure and faithful heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As true as mine to thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I ask not wealth nor fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I only ask for thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thyself&mdash;and that dear self the same&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My love, bring back to me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You talk of gems from foreign lands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of treasure, spoil, and prize.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, love! I shall not search your hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But look into your eyes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I ask not wealth nor fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I only ask for thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thyself&mdash;and that dear self the same&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My love, bring back to me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span>
+<span class="i0">You speak of glory and renown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With me to share your pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unbroken faith is all the crown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I ask for as your bride.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I ask not wealth nor fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I only ask for thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thyself&mdash;and that dear self the same&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My love, bring back to me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You bid me with hope's eager gaze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Behold fair fortune come.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I only dream I see your face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beside the hearth at home.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I ask not wealth nor fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I do but ask for thee!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thyself&mdash;and that dear self the same&mdash;<br /></span>
+
+<span class="i0">May God restore to me!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_24.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="69" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="ANEMONES" id="ANEMONES"></a>ANEMONES.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If I should wish hereafter that your heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should beat with one fair memory of me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May Time's hard hand our footsteps guide apart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But lead yours back one spring-time to the Lea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Nodding Anemones,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Wind-flowers pale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Bloom with the budding trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Dancing to every breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Mock hopes more fair than these,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Love's vows more frail.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For then the grass we loved grows green again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And April showers make April woods more fair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But no sun dries the sad salt tears of pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or brings back summer lights on faded hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Nodding Anemones,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Wind-flowers pale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Bloom with the budding trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Dancing to every breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Mock hopes more frail than these,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Love's vows more frail.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="AUTUMN_LEAVES" id="AUTUMN_LEAVES"></a>AUTUMN LEAVES.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Spring's bright tints no more are seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Summer's ample robe of green<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is russet-gold and brown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When flowers fall to every breeze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, shed reluctant from the trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The leaves drop down.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A sadness steals about the heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;And is it thus from youth we part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And life's redundant prime?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must friends like flowers fade away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And life like Nature know decay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And bow to time?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And yet such sadness meets rebuke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From every copse in every nook<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where Autumn's colours glow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How bright the sky! How full the sheaves!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What mellow glories gild the leaves<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Before they go.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span>
+<span class="i0">Then let us sing the jocund praise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In this bright air, of these bright days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When years our friendships crown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The love that's loveliest when 'tis old&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When tender tints have turned to gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And leaves drop down.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_27.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="74" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span></p>
+
+<h2>HYMNS.</h2>
+
+<h2><a name="HYMNS" id="HYMNS"></a>CONFIRMATION.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+
+<span class="i0">Long, long ago, with vows too much forgotten,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The Cross of Christ was seal'd on every brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah! slow of heart, that shun the Christian conflict;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Rise up at last! The accepted time is now.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Soldiers of Jesus! Blest who endure;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Stand in the battle; the victory is sure.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hark! hark! the Saviour's voice to each is calling&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"I bore the Cross of Death in pain for thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On thee the Cross of daily life is falling:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Children! take up the Cross and follow Me."<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Soldiers of Jesus! &amp;c.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Strive as God's saints have striven in all ages;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Press those slow steps where firmer feet have trod:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For us their lives adorn the sacred pages,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For them a crown of glory is with God.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Soldiers of Jesus! &amp;c.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span>
+<span class="i0">Peace! peace! sweet voices bring an ancient story,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">(Such songs angelic melodies employ,)<br />
+</span>
+<span class="i0">"Hard is the strife, but unconceived the glory:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Short is the pain, eternal is the joy."<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Soldiers of Jesus! &amp;c.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On! Christian souls, all base temptations spurning,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Drown coward thoughts in Faith's triumphant hymn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since Jesus suffer'd, our salvation earning,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Shall we not toil that we may rest with Him?<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Soldiers of Jesus! &amp;c. Amen.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_26.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="68" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="WHITSUNTIDE" id="WHITSUNTIDE"></a>WHITSUNTIDE.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come down! come down! O Holy Ghost!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As once of old Thou didst come down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In fiery tongues at Pentecost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The Apostolic heads to crown.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come down! though now no flame divine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Nor heaven-sent Dove, our sight amaze;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our Church still shows the outward sign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thou truly givest inward grace.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come down! come down! on infancy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The babes whom Jesus deign'd to love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God give us grace by faith to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Above the Font, the mystic Dove.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come down! come down! on kneeling bands<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of those who fain would strength receive;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the laying on of hands<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Bless us beyond what we believe.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span>
+<span class="i0">Come down! not only on the saint,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Oh! struggle with the hard of heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With wilful sin and inborn taint,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Till lust, and wrath, and pride depart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come down! come down! sweet Comforter!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It was the promise of the Lord.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come down! although we grieve Thee sore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Not for our merits&mdash;but His Word.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come down! come down! not what we would,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But what we need, O bring with Thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turn life's sore riddle to our good;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A little while and we shall see. Amen.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_27.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="74" /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHRISTMAS_WISHES" id="CHRISTMAS_WISHES"></a>CHRISTMAS WISHES.</h2>
+
+<h3>A CAROL.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">Oh, happy Christmas, full of blessings, come!<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Now bid our discords cease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Here give the weary ease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Let the long-parted meet again in peace;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span>
+<span class="i3">Bring back the far-away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Grant us a holiday;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And by the hopes of Christmas-tide we pray&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Let love restore the fallen to his Home;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst up and down the snowy streets the Christmas minstrels sing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And through the frost from countless towers the bells of Christmas ring.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">Ah, Christ! and yet a happier day shall come!<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Then bid our discords cease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">There give the weary ease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Let the long-parted meet again in peace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Bring back the far-away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Grant us a holiday;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And by the hopes of Christmas-tide we pray&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Let love restore the fallen to his Home;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst up and down the golden streets the blessed angels sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And evermore the heavenly chimes in heavenly cadence ring.<br /></span>
+
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/image_01.jpg" alt="Decorative Image" width="200" height="74" /></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span></p>
+<h2><a name="TEACH_ME" id="TEACH_ME"></a>TEACH ME.</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Translated from the Danish of Oehlenschl&auml;ger.</i></h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Teach me, O wood, to fade away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As autumn's yellow leaves decay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A better spring impends,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then green and glorious shall my tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take deep root in eternity,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose summer never ends!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Teach me, O bird of passage, this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To seek, in faith a better bliss<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On other unknown shores!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all is winter here and ice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There ever-smiling Paradise<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unfolds its happy doors.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Teach me, thou summer butterfly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To break the bonds which on me lie.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With fetters all too firm.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, soon on golden purple wing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The liberated soul shall spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which now creeps as a worm!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Teach me, O Lord, to yonder skies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To lift in hope these weary eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With earthly sorrows worn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good Friday was a bitter day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But bright the sun's eternal ray<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which broke on Easter morn.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>THE END.</h3>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p class="center"><i>Richard Clay &amp; Sons, Limited, London &amp; Bungay.</i></p>
+ <hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><i>The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorized,
+complete, and uniform Edition published.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. per vol.,
+issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these will
+appear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Series
+will be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover was
+specially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>The following is a list of the books included in the Series</i>&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY TALES.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">4. A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">6. SIX TO SIXTEEN.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">7. LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">10. THE PEACE EGG&mdash;A CHRISTMAS MUMMING
+PLAY&mdash;HINTS FOR PRIVATE</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left:4em;">THEATRICALS, &amp;c.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND&nbsp; OTHER TALES.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES
+OF BEASTS AND MEN.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">15. JACKANAPES&mdash;DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOTE&mdash;THE
+STORY OF A SHORT LIFE.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES
+OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the
+Bloody Hand&mdash;Wonder Stories&mdash;Tales of the</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Khoja, and other translations.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER
+BOOKS, with a selection from
+Mrs. Ewing's
+Letters.</span><br />
+</p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p class="center">S.P.C.K., <span class="smcap">Northumberland Avenue, London</span>, W.C.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Verses for Children, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
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+</body>
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@@ -0,0 +1,4431 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Verses for Children, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Verses for Children
+       and Songs for Music
+
+Author: Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+Release Date: September 12, 2005 [EBook #16686]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSES FOR CHILDREN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                  [Illustration: The Convalescent.]
+
+                          VERSES FOR CHILDREN
+
+                                  AND
+
+                            SONGS FOR MUSIC
+
+
+
+
+                                   BY
+
+                        JULIANA HORATIA EWING.
+
+
+
+
+
+                                LONDON:
+
+              SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,
+
+                      NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.
+
+                    NEW YORK: E. & J.B. YOUNG & CO.
+
+
+
+[Published under the direction of the General Literature
+Committee.]
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+It has been decided in publishing this volume to reproduce the
+illustrations with which the verses originally appeared in _Aunt Judy's
+Magazine_. In all cases Mrs. Ewing wrote the lines to fit the pictures,
+and it is worthy of note to observe how closely she has introduced every
+detail into her words. Most of the woodcuts are by German artists, Oscar
+Pletsch, Fedor Flinzer, and others; but the frontispiece is from an
+original sketch by Mr. Gordon Browne. In accordance with his special
+desire, it has only been used for Mrs. Ewing's poem, as the Convalescent
+was a little friend of the artist, who did not live to complete his
+recovery. The poem is the last that Mrs. Ewing wrote for children, and
+it was penned when she herself was enduring the discomforts of
+convalescence with all the courage she so warmly advocates.
+
+Mr. Randolph Caldecott's illustrations to "Mother's Birthday Review"
+first appeared in his _Sketch Book_, but the letterpress that
+accompanied them was very brief, and Mrs. Ewing could not resist asking
+permission to write some verses to the pictures, and publish them in
+_Aunt Judy's Magazine_. This favour was kindly granted, and by Mrs.
+Caldecott's further kindness the sketches are again used here.
+
+The contents of this volume have been arranged chronologically as far as
+is possible.
+
+"The Willow Man" and "Grandmother's Spring" were both written to protest
+against wantonly wasting Dame Nature's gifts, and the Note on page 69
+shows that Mrs. Ewing had learnt this lesson herself in childhood. My
+Father has lately recalled an incident which he believes first roused
+our Mother to teach the lesson to us. They were driving to Sheffield one
+day, when on Bolsover Hill they saw a well-known veterinary surgeon of
+the district, Mr. Peech, who had dismounted from his horse, and was
+carefully taking up a few roots of white violets from a bank where they
+grew in some profusion. He showed Mrs. Gatty what he was gathering, but
+told her he was taking care to _leave a bit behind_. This happened fully
+forty years ago, long before the Selborne and other Societies for the
+preservation of rare plants and birds had come into existence, and
+Mother was much impressed and pleased by Mr. Peech's delicate
+scrupulousness.
+
+"A Soldier's Children" was written in 1879, whilst many friends were
+fighting in South Africa, and ten years before a story bearing the same
+name was issued by the writer of _Bootles' Baby_.
+
+The "Songs for Music" appeared in 1874 in a volume called _Songs by Four
+Friends_, except the two last poems, "Anemones" and "Autumn Tints." The
+former was given by Mrs. Ewing to her brother, Mr. Alfred Scott-Gatty,
+to set to music, and it has recently been published by Messrs. Boosey.
+"Autumn Tints" was found amongst Mrs. Ewing's papers after her death,
+and is now printed for the first time.
+
+HORATIA K.F. EDEN.
+
+_June 1895._
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+VERSES FOR CHILDREN.
+
+
+
+
+    THE BURIAL OF THE LINNET
+
+    MASTER FRITZ
+
+    THE WILLOW-MAN
+
+    OUR GARDEN
+
+    A FRIEND IN THE GARDEN
+
+    THREE LITTLE NEST BIRDS
+
+    DOLLY'S LULLABY: A NURSERY RHYME
+
+    A HERO TO HIS HOBBY-HORSE
+
+    THE DOLLS' WASH
+
+    HOUSE-BUILDING AND REPAIRS
+
+    THE BLUE-BELLS ON THE LEA
+
+    AN ONLY CHILD'S TEA-PARTY
+
+    PAPA POODLE
+
+    GRANDMOTHER'S SPRING
+
+    BIG SMITH
+
+    KIT'S CRADLE
+
+    THE MILL STREAM
+
+    BOY AND SQUIRREL
+
+    LITTLE MASTER TO HIS BIG DOG
+
+    A SWEET LITTLE DEAR
+
+    BLUE AND RED; OR, THE DISCONTENTED LOBSTER
+
+    THE YELLOW FLY: A TALE WITH A STING IN IT
+
+    CANADA HOME
+
+    THE POET AND THE BROOK: A TALE OF TRANSFORMATIONS
+
+    A SOLDIER'S CHILDREN
+
+    "TOUCH HIM IF YOU DARE:" A TALE OF THE HEDGE
+
+    MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY REVIEW
+
+    THE PROMISE
+
+    CONVALESCENCE
+
+    THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF. (_Translated_)
+
+
+SONGS FOR MUSIC.
+
+    SERENADE
+
+    MAIDEN WITH THE GIPSY LOOK
+
+    AH! WOULD I COULD FORGET
+
+    MADRIGAL
+
+    THE ELLEREE: A SONG OF SECOND SIGHT
+
+    OTHER STARS
+
+    FADED FLOWERS
+
+    SPEED WELL
+
+    HOW MANY YEARS AGO?
+
+    "WITH A DIFFERENCE"
+
+    THE LILY OF THE LAKE
+
+    FROM FLEETING PLEASURES: A REQUIEM FOR ONE ALIVE
+
+    THE RUNAWAY'S RETURN
+
+    FANCY FREE: A GIRL'S SONG
+
+    MY LOVE'S GIFT
+
+    ANEMONES
+
+    AUTUMN LEAVES
+
+
+HYMNS.
+
+    CONFIRMATION
+
+    WHITSUNTIDE
+
+    CHRISTMAS WISHES: A CAROL
+
+    TEACH ME. (_From the Danish_)
+
+
+
+
+VERSES FOR CHILDREN.
+
+
+
+THE BURIAL OF THE LINNET.
+
+
+    Found in the garden--dead in his beauty.
+      Ah! that a linnet should die in the spring!
+    Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,
+      Muffle the dinner-bell, solemnly ring.
+
+    Bury him kindly--up in the corner;
+      Bird, beast, and gold-fish are sepulchred there;
+    Bid the black kitten march as chief mourner,
+      Waving her tail like a plume in the air.
+
+    Bury him nobly--next to the donkey;
+      Fetch the old banner, and wave it about:
+    Bury him deeply--think of the monkey,
+      Shallow his grave, and the dogs got him out.
+
+    Bury him softly--white wool around him,
+      Kiss his poor feathers,--the first kiss and last;
+    Tell his poor widow kind friends have found him:
+      Plant his poor grave with whatever grows fast.
+
+    Farewell, sweet singer! dead in thy beauty,
+      Silent through summer, though other birds sing;
+    Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,
+      Muffle the dinner-bell, mournfully ring.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration: MASTER FRITZ.]
+
+
+    Fritz and I are not brother and sister, but we're next-door
+             neighbours; for we both live next door.
+    I mean we both live next door to each other; for I live at
+             number three, and Fritz and Nickel the dog live at number
+             four.
+    In summer we climb through the garret windows and sit
+             together on the leads,
+    And if the sun is too hot Mother lends us one big kerchief
+             to put over both our heads.
+    Sometimes she gives us tea under the myrtle tree in the big
+             pot that stands in the gutter.
+    (One slice each, and I always give Fritz the one that has
+             the most butter.)
+    In winter we sit on the little stool by the stove at number four;
+    For when it's cold Fritz doesn't like to go out to come in next door.
+    It was one day in spring that he said, "I should like to
+             have a house to myself with you Grethel, and Nickel." And I
+             said, "Thank you, Fritz."
+    And he said, "If you'll come in at tea-time and sit by the stove, I'll
+             tell you tales that'll frighten you into fits.
+    About boys who ran away from their homes, and were taken by robbers,
+             and run after by wolves, and altogether in a dreadful state.
+    I saw the pictures of it in a book I was looking in, to see where
+             perhaps I should like to emigrate.
+    I've not quite settled whether I shall, or be cast away on a desert
+             island, or settle down nearer home;
+    But you'd better come in and hear about it, and then, wherever it is,
+             you'll be sure to be ready to come."
+    So I took my darling Katerina in my arms, and we went in to tea.
+    I love Katerina, though she lost her head long ago, poor thing; but
+             Fritz made me put her off my knee,
+    For he said, "When you're hushabying that silly old doll I know you're
+             not attending to me.
+    Now look here, Grethel, I think I have made up my mind that we won't
+             go far;
+    For we can have a house, and I can be master of it just as well where
+             we are.
+    Under the stairs would be a good place for a house for us if there's
+             room.
+    It's very dirty, but you're the housewife now, and you must sweep it
+             out well with the broom.
+    I shall expect you to keep my house very comfortable, and have my meals
+             ready when there's anything to eat;
+    And when Nickel and I come back from playing outside, you may peep out
+             and pretend you're watching for us coming up the street.
+    You've kept your apple, I see--I've eaten mine--well, it will be
+             something to make a start,
+    And I'll put by some of my cake, if you'll keep some of yours, and
+             remember Nickel must have part.
+    I call it your cake and your apple, but of course now you're my
+             housewife everything belongs to me;
+    But I shall give you the management of it, and you must make it go as
+             far as you can amongst three.
+    And if you make nice feasts every day for me and Nickel, and never
+             keep us waiting for our food,
+    And always do everything I want, and attend to everything I say, I'm
+             sure I shall almost always be good.
+    And if I am naughty now and then, it'll most likely be your fault;
+             and, if it isn't, you mustn't mind;
+    For even if I seem to be cross, you ought to know that I mean to be
+             kind.
+    And I'm sure you'll like combing Nickel's hair for my sake; it'll be
+             something for you to do, and it bothers me so!
+    But it must be done regularly, for if it's not, his curls tangle into
+             lugs as they grow.
+    I think that's all, dear Grethel, for I love you so much that I'm sure
+             to be easy to please.
+    Only remember--it's a trifle--but when I want you, never keep that
+             headless doll on your knees.
+    I'd much rather not have her in my house--there, don't cry! if you
+             will have her, I suppose it must be;
+    Though I can't think what you want with Katerina when you've got
+             Nickel and me."
+    So I said, "Thank you, dear Fritz, for letting me bring her, for I've
+             had her so long I shouldn't like to part with her now;
+    And I'll try and do everything you want as well as I can, now you've
+             told me how."
+    But next morning I heard Fritz's garret-window open, and he put out
+             his head,
+    And shouted, "Grethel! Grethel! I want you. Be quick! Haven't you got
+             out of bed?"
+    I ran to the window and said, "What is it, dear Fritz?" and he said,
+             "I want to tell you that I've changed my mind.
+    Hans-Wandermann is here, and he says there are real sapphires on the
+             beach; so I'm off to see what I can find."
+    "Oh, Fritz!" I said, "can't I come too?" but he said, "You'd better
+             not, you'll only be in the way.
+    You can stop quietly at home with Katerina, and you may have Nickel
+             too, if he'll stay."
+    But Nickel wouldn't. I give him far more of my cake than Fritz does,
+             but he likes Fritz better than me.
+    So dear Katerina and I had breakfast together on the leads under the
+             old myrtle tree.
+
+
+
+
+    THE WILLOW-MAN.
+
+
+    There once was a Willow, and he was very old,
+    And all his leaves fell off from him, and left him in the cold;
+    But ere the rude winter could buffet him with snow,
+    There grew upon his hoary head a crop of Mistletoe.
+
+    All wrinkled and furrowed was this old Willow's skin,
+    His taper fingers trembled, and his arms were very thin;
+    Two round eyes and hollow, that stared but did not see,
+    And sprawling feet that never walked, had this most ancient tree.
+
+    A Dame who dwelt near was the only one who knew
+    That every year upon his head the Christmas berries grew;
+    And when the Dame cut them, she said--it was her whim--
+    "A merry Christmas to you, Sir!" _and left a bit for him_.
+
+    "Oh, Granny dear, tell us," the children cried, "where we
+    May find the shining Mistletoe that grows upon the tree?"
+    At length the Dame told them, but cautioned them to mind
+    To greet the Willow civilly, _and leave a bit behind_.
+
+    "Who cares," said the children, "for this old Willow-man?
+    We'll take the Mistletoe, and he may catch us if he can."
+    With rage the ancient Willow shakes in every limb,
+    For they have taken all, and _have not left a bit for him_!
+
+    Then bright gleamed the holly, the Christmas berries shone,
+    But in the wintry wind without the Willow-man did moan:
+    "Ungrateful, and wasteful! the mystic Mistletoe
+    A hundred years hath grown on me, but never more shall grow."
+
+    A year soon passed by, and the children came once more,
+    But not a sprig of Mistletoe the aged Willow bore.
+    Each slender spray pointed; he mocked them in his glee,
+    And chuckled in his wooden heart, that ancient Willow-tree.
+
+    MORAL.
+
+    Oh, children, who gather the spoils of wood and wold,
+    From selfish greed and wilful waste your little hands withhold.
+    Though fair things be common, this moral bear in mind,
+    "Pick thankfully and modestly, and leave a bit behind."
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    OUR GARDEN.
+
+
+    The winter is gone; and at first Jack and I were sad,
+    Because of the snow-man's melting, but now we are glad;
+    For the spring has come, and it's warm, and we're allowed to garden
+             in the afternoon;
+    And summer is coming, and oh, how lovely our flowers will be in June!
+    We are so fond of flowers, it makes us quite happy to think
+    Of our beds--all colours--blue, white, yellow, purple, and pink,
+    Scarlet, lilac, and crimson! And we're fond of sweet scents as well,
+    And mean to have pinks, roses, sweet peas, mignonette, clove
+             carnations, musk, and everything good to smell;
+    Lavender, rosemary, and we should like a lemon-scented verbena, and
+             a big myrtle tree!
+    And then if we could get an old "preserved-ginger" pot, and some
+             bay-salt, we could make _pot-pourri_.
+    Jack and I have a garden, though it's not so large as the big one,
+             you know;
+    But whatever can be got to grow in a garden we mean to grow.
+    We've got Bachelor's Buttons, and London Pride, and Old Man, and
+             everything that's nice:
+    And last year Jack sowed green peas for our dolls' dinners, but they
+             were eaten up by the mice.
+    And he would plant potatoes in furrows, which made the garden in a
+             mess,
+    So this year we mean to have no kitchen-garden but mustard and cress.
+    One of us plants, and the other waters, but Jack likes the
+             watering-pot;
+    And then when my turn comes to water he says it's too hot!
+    We sometimes quarrel about the garden, and once Jack hit me with
+             the spade;
+    So we settled to divide it in two by a path up the middle, and
+             that's made.
+    We want some yellow sand now to make the walk pretty, but there's none
+             about here,
+    So we mean to get some in the old carpet-bag, if we go to the seaside
+             this year.
+    On Monday we went to the wood and got primrose plants and a sucker of
+             a dog-rose;
+    It looks like a green stick in the middle of the bed at present; but
+             wait till it blows!
+    The primroses were in full flower, and the rose ought to flower soon;
+    You've no idea how lovely they are in that wood in June!
+    The primroses look quite withered now, I am sorry to say,
+    But that is not our fault but Nurse's, and it shows how hard it is to
+             garden when you can't have your own way.
+    We planted them carefully, and were just going to water them all in
+             a lump,
+    When Nurse fetched us both indoors, and put us to bed for wetting our
+             pinafores at the pump.
+    It's very hard, and I'm sure the gardener's plants wouldn't grow any
+             better than ours,
+    If Nurse fetched him in and sent him to bed just when he was going to
+             water his flowers.
+    We've got Blue Nemophila and Mignonette, and Venus's Looking-glass,
+             and many other seeds;
+    The Nemophila comes up spotted, which is how we know it from the weeds.
+    At least it's sure to come up if the hens haven't scratched it up
+             first.
+    But when it is up the cats roll on it, and that is the worst!
+    I sowed a ring of sweet peas, and the last time I looked they were
+             coming nicely on,
+    Just sprouting white, and I put them safely back; but when Jack looked
+             he found they were gone.
+    Jack made a great many cuttings, but he has had rather bad luck,
+    I've looked at them every day myself, and not one of them has struck.
+    The gardener gave me a fine moss-rose, but Jack took it to his side,
+    I kept moving it back, but he took it again, and at last it died.
+    But now we've settled to dig up the path, and have the bed as it was
+             before,
+    So everything will belong to us both, and we shan't ever quarrel
+             any more.
+    It is such a long time, too, to wait for the sand, and perhaps
+             sea-sand does best on the shore.
+    We're going to take everything up, for it can't hurt the plants to
+             stand on the grass for a minute,
+    And you really can't possibly rake a bed smooth with so many
+             things in it.
+    We shall dig it all over, and get leaf-mould from the wood, and hoe
+             up the weeds,
+    And when it's tidy we shall plant, and put labels, and strike cuttings,
+             and sow seeds.
+    We are so fond of flowers, Jack and I often dream at night
+    Of getting up and finding our garden ablaze with all colours, blue,
+             red, yellow, and white.
+    And Midsummer's coming, and big brother Tom will sit under the tree
+    With his book, and Mary will beg sweet nosegays of Jack and me.
+    The worst is, we often start for the seaside about Midsummer Day,
+    And no one takes care of our gardens whilst we are away.
+    But if we sow lots of seeds, and take plenty of cuttings before we
+             leave home,
+    When we come back, our flowers will be all in full bloom,
+    Bright, bright sunshine above, and sweet, sweet flowers below.
+    Come, oh Midsummer, quickly come! and go quickly, Midsummer, go!
+
+    P.S. It is so tiresome! Jack wants to build a green-house now,
+    He has found some bits of broken glass, and an old window-frame, and
+             he says he knows how.
+    I tell him there's not glass enough, but he says there's lots,
+    And he's taken all the plants that belong to the bed and put
+             them in pots.
+
+
+
+
+    A FRIEND IN THE GARDEN.
+
+
+    He is not John the gardener,
+      And yet the whole day long
+    Employs himself most usefully,
+      The flower-beds among.
+
+    He is not Tom the pussy-cat,
+      And yet the other day,
+    With stealthy stride and glistening eye,
+      He crept upon his prey.
+
+    He is not Dash the dear old dog,
+      And yet, perhaps, if you
+    Took pains with him and petted him,
+      You'd come to love him too.
+
+    He's not a Blackbird, though he chirps,
+      And though he once was black;
+    And now he wears a loose grey coat,
+      All wrinkled on the back.
+
+    He's got a very dirty face,
+      And very shining eyes!
+    He sometimes comes and sits indoors;
+      He looks--and p'r'aps is--wise.
+
+    But in a sunny flower-bed
+      He has his fixed abode;
+    He eats the things that eat my plants--
+      He is a friendly TOAD.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    THREE LITTLE NEST BIRDS.
+
+
+              We meant to be very kind,
+                  But if ever we find
+    Another soft, grey-green, moss-coated, feather-lined nest in a hedge,
+              We have taken a pledge--
+    Susan, Jemmy, and I--with remorseful tears, at this very minute,
+    That if there are eggs or little birds in it--
+    Robin or wren, thrush, chaffinch or linnet--
+                We'll leave them there
+                To their mother's care.
+    There were three of us--Kate, and Susan, and Jem--
+                And three of them--
+    I don't know _their_ names, for they couldn't speak,
+    Except with a little imperative squeak,
+                Exactly like Poll,
+                Susan's squeaking doll;
+    But squeaking dolls will lie on the shelves
+    For years and never squeak of themselves:
+    The reason we like little birds so much better than toys
+    Is because they are _really_ alive, and know how to make a noise.
+
+    There were three of us, and three of them;
+    Kate,--that is I,--and Susan, and Jem.
+                Our mother was busy making a pie,
+                And theirs, we think, was up in the sky;
+    But for all Susan, Jemmy, or I can tell,
+    She may have been getting their dinner as well.
+              They were left to themselves (and so were we)
+              In a nest in the hedge by the willow tree;
+    And when we caught sight of three red little fluff-tufted, hazel-eyed,
+             open-mouthed, pink-throated heads, we all shouted for glee.
+
+    The way we really did wrong was this:
+              We took them for Mother to kiss,
+              And she told us to put them back;
+    Whilst out on the weeping-willow _their_ mother was crying "Alack!"
+              We really heard
+    Both what Mother told us to do, and the voice of the mother-bird.
+              But we three--that is Susan and I and Jem--
+              Thought we knew better than either of them:
+    And in spite of our mother's command and the poor bird's cry,
+    We determined to bring up her three little nestlings ourselves
+             on the sly.
+
+              We each took one,
+              It did seem such excellent fun!
+              Susan fed hers on milk and bread,
+              Jem got wriggling worms for his instead.
+                  I gave mine meat,
+    For, you know, I thought, "Poor darling pet! why shouldn't it have
+             roast beef to eat?"
+    But, oh dear! oh dear! oh dear! how we cried
+    When in spite of milk and bread and worms and roast beef, the
+             little birds died!
+              It's a terrible thing to have heart-ache,
+              I thought mine would break
+              As I heard the mother-bird's moan,
+    And looked at the grey-green, moss-coated, feather-lined nest she had
+             taken such pains to make,
+    And her three little children dead, and as cold as stone.
+              Mother said, and it's sadly true,
+              "There are some wrong things one can never undo."
+              And nothing that we could do or say
+              Would bring life back to the birds that day.
+
+    The bitterest tears that we could weep
+    Wouldn't wake them out of their stiff cold sleep.
+                              But then,
+    We--Susan and Jem and I--mean never to be so selfish, and wilful,
+             and cruel again.
+    And we three have buried those other three
+    In a soft, green, moss-covered, flower-lined grave at the foot of
+             the willow tree.
+              And all the leaves which its branches shed
+              We think are tears because they are dead.
+
+
+
+
+    DOLLY'S LULLABY.
+
+    A NURSERY RHYME
+
+
+    Hush-a-by, Baby! _Your_ baby, Mamma,
+    No one but pussy may go where you are;
+    Soft-footed pussy alone may pass by,
+    For, if he wakens, your baby will cry.
+
+    Hush-a-by, Dolly! My baby are you,
+    Yellow-haired Dolly, with eyes of bright blue;
+    Though I say "Hush!" because Mother does so,
+    You wouldn't cry like her baby, I know!
+
+    Hush-a-by, Baby! Mamma walks about,
+    Sings to you softly, or rocks you without;
+    If you slept sounder, then I might walk too,
+    Sing to my Dolly, and rock her like you!
+
+    Hush-a-by Dolly! Sleep sweetly, my pet!
+    Dear Mamma made you this fine berceaunette,
+    Muslin and rose-colour, ribbon and lace;
+    When had a baby a cosier place?
+
+    Hush-a-by, Baby! the baby who cries.
+    Why, dear Mamma, don't you shut baby's eyes?
+    Pull down his wire, as I do, you see;
+    Lay him by Dolly, and come out with me.
+
+    Hush-a-by, Dolly! Mamma will not speak;
+    You, my dear baby, would sleep for a week.
+    Poor Mamma's baby allows her no rest,
+    Hush-a-by, Dolly, of babies the best!
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    A HERO TO HIS HOBBY-HORSE.
+
+
+    Hear me now, my hobby-horse, my steed of prancing paces!
+    Time is it that you and I won something more than races.
+    I have got a fine cocked hat, with feathers proudly waving;
+    Out into the world we'll go, both death and danger braving.
+
+    Doubt not that I know the way--the garden-gate is clapping:
+    Who forgot to lock it last deserves his fingers slapping.
+    When they find we can't be found, oh won't there be a chorus!
+    You and I may laugh at that, with all the world before us.
+
+    All the world, the great green world that lies beyond the paling!
+    All the sea, the great round sea where ducks and drakes are sailing!
+    I a knight, my charger thou, together we will wander
+    Out into that grassy waste where dwells the Goosey Gander.
+
+    Months ago, my faithful steed, that Goose attacked your master;
+    How it hissed, and how I cried! It ran, but I ran faster!
+    Down upon my face I fell, its awful wings were o'er me,
+    Mother came and picked me up, and off to bed she bore me.
+
+    Months have passed, my faithful steed, both you and I are older,
+    Sheathless is my wooden sword, my heart I think is bolder.
+    Always ready bridled thou, with reins of crimson leather;
+    Woe betide the Goose to-day who meets us both together!
+
+    Up then now, my hobby-horse, my steed of prancing paces!
+    Time it is that you and I won something more than races.
+    I a knight, my charger thou, together we will wander
+    Out into that grassy waste where dwells the Goosey Gander.
+
+
+
+
+    THE DOLLS' WASH.
+
+
+    Sally is the laundress, and every Saturday
+    She sends our clean clothes up from the wash, and Nurse puts them away.
+    Sometimes Sally is very kind, but sometimes she's as cross as a Turk;
+    When she's good-humoured we like to go and watch her at work.
+    She has tubs and a copper in the wash-house, and a great big fire and
+             plenty of soap;
+    And outside is the drying-ground with tall posts, and pegs bought from
+             the gipsies, and long lines of rope.
+    The laundry is indoors with another big fire, and long tables, and a
+             lot of irons, and a crimping-machine;
+    And horses (not live ones with tails, but clothes-horses) and the same
+             starch that is used by the Queen.
+    Sally wears pattens in the wash-house, and turns up her sleeves, and
+             splashes, and rubs,
+    And makes beautiful white lather which foams over the tops of the tubs,
+    Like waves at the seaside dashing against the rocks, only not so
+             strong.
+    If I were Sally I should sit and blow soap-bubbles all the day long.
+    Sally is angry sometimes because of the way we dirty our frocks,
+    Making mud pies, and rolling down the lawn, and climbing trees, and
+             scrambling over the rocks.
+    She says we do it on purpose, and never try to take care;
+    But if things have got to go to the wash, what can it matter how
+             dirty they are?
+    Last week Mary and I got a lot of kingcups from the bog, and I
+             carried them home in my skirt;
+    It was the end of the week, and our frocks were done, so we didn't
+             mind about the dirt.
+    But Sally was as cross as two sticks, and won't wash our dolls'
+             clothes any more--so she said,--
+    But never mind, for we'll ask Mamma if we may have a real Dolls'
+             Wash of our own instead.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Mamma says we may on one condition, to which we agree;
+    We're to _really_ wash the dolls' clothes, and make them just
+             what clean clothes should be.
+    She says we must wash them thoroughly, which of course we intend to do,
+    We mean to rub, wring, dry, mangle, starch, iron, and air them too.
+    A regular wash must be splendid fun, and everybody knows
+    That any one in the world can wash out a few dirty clothes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Well, we've had the Dolls' Wash, but it's only pretty good fun.
+    We're glad we've had it, you know, but we're gladder still that
+             it's done.
+    As we wanted to have as big a wash as we could, we collected
+             everything we could muster,
+    From the dolls' bed dimity hangings to Victoria's dress, which I'd
+             used as a duster.
+    It was going to the wash, and Mary and I were house-maids--fancy
+             house-maids, I mean--
+    And I took it to dust the bookshelf, for I knew it would come back
+             clean.
+    Well, we washed in the wash-hand-basin, which holds a good deal, as
+             the things are small;
+    We made a glorious lather, and splashed half over the floor; but the
+             clothes weren't white after all.
+    However, we hung them out in our drying-ground in the garden, which
+             we made with dahlia-sticks and long strings,
+    And then Dash went and knocked over one of the posts, and down in the
+             dirt went our things!
+    So we washed them again and hung them on the towel-horse, and most of
+             them came all right,
+    But Victoria's muslin dress--though I rinsed it again and again--will
+             never dry white!
+    And the grease-spots on Mary's doll's dress don't seem to come out, and
+             we can't think how they got there;
+    Unless it was when we made that Macassar-oil, because she has
+             real hair.
+    I knew mine was going to the wash, but I'm sorry I used it as a duster
+             before it went;
+    We think dirty clothes perhaps shouldn't be _too_ dirty before they
+             are sent.
+    We had sad work in trying to make the starch--I wonder what the Queen
+             does with hers?
+    I stirred mine up with a candle, like Sally, but it only made it worse;
+    So we had to ask Mamma's leave to have ours made by Nurse.
+    Nurse makes beautiful starch--like water-arrowroot when you're ill--in
+             a minute or two.
+    It's a very odd thing that what looks so easy should be so difficult
+             to do!
+    Then Mary put the iron down to heat, but as soon as she'd turned
+             her back,
+    A jet of gas came sputtering out of the coals and smoked it black.
+    We dared not ask Sally for another, for we knew she'd refuse it,
+    So we had to clean this one with sand and brown-paper before we
+             could use it.
+    It was very hard work, but I rubbed till I made it shine;
+    Yet as soon as it got on a damped "fine thing" it left a brown line.
+    I rubbed it for a long, long time before it would iron without a mark,
+    But it did at last, and we finished our Dolls' Wash just before dark.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Sally's very kind, for she praised our wash, and she has taken away
+    Victoria's dress to do it again; and I really must say
+    She was right when she said, "You see, young ladies, a week's wash
+             isn't all play."
+    Our backs ache, our faces are red, our hands are all wrinkled, and
+             we've rubbed our fingers quite sore;
+    We feel very sorry for Sally every week, and we don't mean to dirty
+             our dresses so much any more.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    HOUSE-BUILDING AND REPAIRS.
+
+
+    Father is building a new house, but I've had one given to me for
+             my own;
+    Brick red, with a white window, and black where it ought to be glass,
+             and the chimney yellow, like stone.
+    Brother Bill made me the shelves with his tool-box, and the table I
+             had before, and the pestle-and-mortar;
+    And Mother gave me the jam-pot when it was empty; it's rather big, but
+             it's the only pot we have that will really hold water.
+    We--that is I and Jemima, my doll. (For it's a Doll's House, you know,
+    Though some of the things are real, like the nutmeg-grater, but not
+             the wooden plates that stand in a row.
+    _They_ came out of a box of toy tea-things, and I can't think what
+             became of the others;
+    But one never can tell what becomes of anything when one has brothers.)
+    Jemima is much smaller than I am, and, being made of wood, she is thin;
+    She takes up too much room inside, but she can lie outside on the roof
+             without breaking it in.
+    I wish I had a drawing-room to put her in when I want to really cook;
+    I have to have the kitchen-table outside as it is, and the
+             pestle-and-mortar is rather too heavy for it, and everybody
+             can look.
+    There's no front door to the house, because there's no front to have a
+             door in, and beside,
+    If there were, I couldn't play with anything, for I shouldn't know how
+             to get inside.
+    I never heard of a house with only one room, except the cobbler's, and
+             his was a stall.
+    I don't quite know what that is; but it isn't a house, and it served
+             him for parlour and kitchen and all.
+    Father says that whilst he is about it, he thinks he shall add on
+             a wing;
+    And brother Bill says he'll nail my Doll's House on the top of an
+             old tea-chest, which will come to the same thing.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Father's house is not finished, though the wing is; for now the
+             builder says it will be all wrong if there isn't another
+             to match;
+    And my house isn't done either, though it's nailed on, for Bill took
+             off the roof to make a new one of thatch.
+    The paint is very much scratched, but he says that's nothing, for it
+             must have had a new coat;
+    And he means to paint it for me, inside and out, when he paints
+             his own boat.
+    There's a sad hole in the floor, but Bill says the wood is as rotten
+             as rotten can be:
+    Which was why he made such a mess of the side with trying to put real
+             glass in the window, through which one can see.
+    Bill says he believes that the shortest plan would be to make a new
+             Doll's House with proper rooms, in the regular way;
+    Which was what the builder said to Father when he wanted to build in
+             the old front; and to-day
+    I heard him tell him the old materials were no good to use and weren't
+             worth the expense of carting away.
+    I don't know when I shall be able to play at dolls again, for all the
+             things are put away in a box;
+    Except Jemima and the pestle-and-mortar, and they're in the bottom
+             drawer with my Sunday frocks.
+    I almost wish I had kept the house as it was before;
+    We managed very well with a painted window and without a front door.
+    I don't know what Father means to do with his house, but if ever
+             mine is finished, I'll never have it altered any more.
+
+
+
+
+    THE BLUE-BELLS ON THE LEA.
+
+    FAIRY KING.
+
+
+    "The breeze is on the Blue-bells,
+      The wind is on the lea;
+    Stay out! stay out! my little lad,
+      And chase the wind with me.
+    If you will give yourself to me,
+      Within the fairy ring,
+        At deep midnight,
+        When stars are bright,
+      You'll hear the Blue-bells ring--
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+      On slender stems they swing.
+
+    "The rustling wind, the whistling wind,
+      We'll chase him to and fro,
+    We'll chase him up, we'll chase him down
+      To where the King-cups grow;
+    And where old Jack-o'-Lantern waits
+      To light us on our way,
+    And far behind,
+          Upon the wind,
+      The Blue-bells seem to play--
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+      Lest we should go astray.
+
+    "So gay that fairy music,
+      So jubilant those bells,
+    How days and weeks and months go by
+      No happy listener tells!
+    The toad-stools are with sweetmeats spread,
+      The new Moon lends her light,
+        And ringers small
+        Wait, one and all,
+      To ring with all their might--
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+      And welcome you to night."
+
+
+    BOY.
+
+    "My mother made me promise
+      To be in time for tea,
+    'Go home! go home!' the breezes say,
+      That sigh along the lea.
+    I dare not give myself away;
+      For what would Mother do?
+          I wish I might
+          Stay out all night
+        At fairy games with you.
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+        And hear the bells of blue.
+
+    "But Father sleeps beneath the grass,
+      And Mother is alone:
+    And who would fill the pails, and fetch
+      The wood when I am gone?
+    And who, when little Sister ails,
+      Can comfort her, but me?
+          Her cries and tears
+          Would reach my ears
+      Through all the melody--
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+      Of Blue-bells on the lea."
+
+    The sun was on the Blue-bells,
+      The lad was on the lea.
+    "Oh, wondrous bells! Oh, fairy bells!
+      I pray you ring to me.
+    I only did as Mother bade,
+      For tea I did not care,
+          And winds at night
+          Give more delight
+      Than all this noonday glare."
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+    No sound of bells was there.
+
+
+    BOY.
+
+    "The snow lies o'er the Blue-bells,
+      A storm is on the lea;
+    Our hearth is warm, the fire burns bright,
+      The flames dance merrily.
+    Oh, Mother dear! I would no more
+      That on that summer's day,
+        Within the ring,
+        The Fairy King
+      Had stolen me away--
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+    To where the Blue-bells play.
+
+    "Yet when the storm is loudest,
+      At deep midnight I dream,
+    And up and down upon the lea
+      To chase the wind I seem;
+    While by my side, in feathered cap,
+      There runs the Fairy King,
+        And down below,
+        Beneath the snow,
+      We hear the Blue-bells ring--
+                   D!
+                DI! DIN!
+                 DING!
+    Such happy dreams they bring!"
+
+
+
+
+    AN ONLY CHILD'S TEA-PARTY.
+
+
+    When I go to tea with the little Smiths, there are eight of them
+             there, but there's only one of me,
+    Which makes it not so easy to have a fancy tea-party as if there were
+             two or three.
+    I had a tea-party on my birthday, but Joe Smith says it can't have
+             been a regular one,
+    Because as to a tea-party with only one teacup and no teapot,
+             sugar-basin, cream-jug, or slop-basin, he never heard of such
+             a thing under the sun.
+    But it was a very big teacup, and quite full of milk and water, and,
+             you see,
+    There wasn't anybody there who could really drink milk and water except
+             Towser and me.
+    The dolls can only pretend, and then it washes the paint off
+             their lips,
+    And what Charles the canary drinks isn't worth speaking of, for he
+             takes such very small sips.
+    Joe says a kitchen-chair isn't a table; but it has got four legs and
+             a top, so it would be if the back wasn't there;
+    And that does for Charles to perch on, and I have to put the Prince
+             of Wales to lean against it, because his legs have no joints
+             to sit on a chair.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    That's the small doll. I call him the Prince of Wales because he's
+             the eldest son, you see;
+    For I've taken him for my brother, and he was Mother's doll before
+             I was born, so of course he is older than me.
+    Towser is my real live brother, but I don't think he's as old as the
+             Prince of Wales;
+    He's a perfect darling, though he whisks everything over he comes
+             near, and I tell him I don't know what we should do if
+             we all had tails.
+    His hair curls like mine in front, and grows short like a lion behind,
+             but no one need be frightened, for he's as good as good;
+    And as to roaring like a real menagerie lion, or eating people up,
+             I don't believe he would if he could.
+    He has his tea out of the saucer after I've had mine out of the cup;
+    You see I am sure to leave some for him, but if I let him begin first
+             he would drink it all up.
+    The big doll Godmamma gave me this birthday, and the chair she gave me
+             the year before.
+    (I haven't many toys, but I take great care of them, and every birthday
+             I shall have more and more.)
+    You've no idea what a beautiful doll she is, and when I pinch her in
+             the middle, she can squeak;
+    It quite frightened Towser, for he didn't know that any of us but he
+             and I and Charles were able to speak.
+    I've taken her for my only sister, for of course I may take anybody
+             I choose;
+    I've called her Cinderella, because I'm so fond of the story, and
+             because she's got real shoes.
+    I don't feel so _only_ now there are so many of us; for, counting
+             Cinderella there are five,--
+    She, and I, and Towser, and Charles, and the Prince of Wales--and
+             three of us are really alive;
+    And four of us can speak, and I'm sure the Prince of Wales is
+             wonderful for his size;
+    For his things (at least he's only got one thing) take off and on,
+             and, though he's nothing but wood, he's got real glass eyes.
+    And perhaps in three birthdays more there may be as many of us as the
+             Smiths, for five and three make eight;
+    I shall be seven years old then (as old as Joe), but I don't like
+             to think too much of it, it's so long to wait.
+    And after all I don't know that I want any more of us: I think I'd
+             rather my sister had a chair
+    Like mine; and the next year I should like a collar for Towser if
+             it wouldn't rub off his hair.
+    And it would be very nice if the Prince of Wales could be dressed
+             like a Field-marshal, for he's got nothing on his legs;
+    And Cinderella's beautifully dressed, and Towser looks quite as if
+             he'd got a fur coat on when he begs.
+    Joe says it's perfectly absurd, and that I can't take a Pomeranian
+             in earnest for my brother;
+    But I don't think he really and truly knows how much Towser and I
+             love each other.
+    I didn't like his saying, "Well, there's one thing about your lot,--you
+             can always have your own way."
+    And then he says, "You can't possibly have fun with four people when
+             you have to pretend what they say."
+    But, whatever he says, I don't believe I shall ever enjoy a tea-party
+             more than the one that we had on that day.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    PAPA POODLE.
+
+
+    Can any one look so wise, and have so little in his head?
+    How long will it be, Papa Poodle, before you have learned to read?
+    You were called Papa Poodle because you took care of me when I was
+             a baby:
+    And now I can read words of three syllables, and you sit with a book
+             before you like a regular gaby.
+    You've not read a word since I put you in that corner ten minutes ago;
+    Bill and I've fought the battle of Waterloo since dinner, and you've
+             not learned BA BE BI BO.
+    Here am I doing the whole British Army by myself, for Bill is obliged
+             to be the French;
+    And I've come away to hear you say your lesson, and left Bill waiting
+             for me in the trench.
+    And there you sit, with a curly white wig, like the Lord Chief Justice,
+             and as grave a face,
+    Looking the very picture of goodness and wisdom, when you're really in
+             the deepest disgrace.
+    Those woolly locks of yours grow thicker and thicker, Papa Poodle.
+    Does the wool tangle inside as well as outside your head? and is it
+             that which makes you such a noodle?
+    You seem so clever at some things, and so stupid at others, and I keep
+             wondering why;
+    But I'm afraid the truth is, Papa Poodle, that you're uncommonly sly.
+    You did no spelling-lessons last week, for you were out from morning
+             till night,
+    Except when you slunk in, like a dirty door-mat on legs, and with one
+             ear bleeding from a fight,
+    Looking as if you'd no notion what o'clock it was, and had come home
+             to see.
+    But _your watch keeps very good meal-time_, Papa Poodle, for you're
+             always at breakfast, and dinner, and tea.
+    No, it's no good your shaking hands and licking me with your
+             tongue,--I know you can do that;
+    But sitting up, and giving paws, and kissing, won't teach you to
+             spell C A T, Cat.
+    I wonder, if I let you off lessons, whether I could teach you to pull
+             the string with your teeth, and fire our new gun?
+    If I could, you might be the Artillery all to yourself, and it would
+             be capital fun.
+    You wag your tail at that, do you? You would like it a great deal
+             better?
+    But I can't bear you to be such a dunce, when you look so wise; and
+             yet I don't believe you'll ever learn a letter.
+    Aunt Jemima is going to make me a new cocked hat out of the next old
+             newspaper, for I want to have a review;
+    But the newspaper after that, Papa Poodle, must be kept to make a
+             fool's cap for you.
+
+
+
+
+    GRANDMOTHER'S SPRING.
+
+
+    "In my young days," the grandmother said (Nodding her head,
+    Where cap and curls were as white as snow),
+    "In my young days, when we used to go
+               Rambling,
+               Scrambling;
+    Each little dirty hand in hand,
+    Like a chain of daisies, a comical band
+    Of neighbours' children, seriously straying,
+    Really and truly going a-Maying,
+    My mother would bid us linger,
+    And lifting a slender, straight forefinger,
+               Would say--
+    'Little Kings and Queens of the May,
+               Listen to me!
+               If you want to be
+    Every one of you very good
+    In that beautiful, beautiful, beautiful wood,
+    Where the little birds' heads get so turned with delight,
+    That some of them sing all night:
+               Whatever you pluck,
+               Leave some for good luck;
+    Picked from the stalk, or pulled up by the root,
+    From overhead, or from underfoot,
+    Water-wonders of pond or brook;
+               Wherever you look,
+               And whatever you find--
+               Leave something behind:
+               Some for the Naiads,
+               Some for the Dryads,
+    And a bit for the Nixies, and the Pixies.'"
+
+    "After all these years," the grandame said,
+               Lifting her head,
+    "I think I can hear my mother's voice
+               Above all other noise,
+    Saying, 'Hearken, my child!
+    There is nothing more destructive and wild,
+    No wild bull with his horns,
+    No wild-briar with clutching thorns,
+    No pig that routs in your garden-bed,
+    No robber with ruthless tread,
+               More reckless and rude,
+    And wasteful of all things lovely and good,
+    Than a child, with the face of a boy and the ways of a bear,
+               Who _doesn't care;_
+    Or some little ignorant minx
+               Who _never thinks_.
+    Now I never knew so stupid an elf,
+    That he couldn't think and care for himself.
+    Oh, little sisters and little brothers,
+    Think for others, and care for others!
+    And of all that your little fingers find,
+               Leave something behind,
+    For love of those that come after:
+    Some, perchance, to cool tired eyes in the moss that stifled your
+             laughter!
+               Pluck, children, pluck!
+               But leave--for good luck--
+               Some for the Naiads,
+               And some for the Dryads,
+    And a bit for the Nixies, and the Pixies!'"
+
+    "We were very young," the grandmother said,
+          Smiling and shaking her head;
+          "And when one is young,
+    One listens with half an ear, and speaks with a hasty tongue;
+          So with shouted Yeses,
+          And promises sealed with kisses,
+    Hand-in-hand we started again,
+          A chubby chain,
+    Stretching the whole wide width of the lane;
+          Or in broken links of twos and threes,
+            For greater ease
+            Of rambling,
+            And scrambling,
+          By the stile and the road,
+    That goes to the beautiful, beautiful wood;
+          By the brink of the gloomy pond,
+          To the top of the sunny hill beyond,
+    By hedge and by ditch, by marsh and by mead,
+    By little byways that lead
+              To mysterious bowers;
+    Or to spots where, for those who know,
+              There grow,
+    In certain out-o'-way nooks, rare ferns and uncommon flowers.
+              There were flowers everywhere,
+              Censing the summer air,
+              Till the giddy bees went rolling home
+              To their honeycomb,
+              And when we smelt at our posies,
+    The little fairies inside the flowers rubbed coloured dust on
+             our noses,
+    Or pricked us till we cried aloud for snuffing the dear dog-roses.
+              But above all our noise,
+              I kept thinking I heard my mother's voice.
+    But it may have been only a fairy joke,
+    For she was at home, and I sometimes thought it was
+        really the flowers that spoke.
+              From the Foxglove in its pride,
+              To the Shepherd's Purse by the bare road-side;
+    From the snap-jack heart of the Starwort frail,
+    To meadows full of Milkmaids pale,
+    And Cowslips loved by the nightingale.
+    Rosette of the tasselled Hazel-switch,
+    Sky-blue star of the ditch;
+              Dandelions like mid-day suns;
+              Bindweed that runs;
+    Butter and Eggs with the gaping lips,
+    Sweet Hawthorn that hardens to haws, and Roses that die into hips;
+              Lords-with-their-Ladies cheek-by-jowl,
+              In purple surcoat and pale-green cowl;
+              Family groups of Primroses fair;
+              Orchids rare;
+    Velvet Bee-orchis that never can sting,
+    Butterfly-orchis which never takes wing,
+    Robert-the-Herb with strange sweet scent,
+    And crimson leaf when summer is spent:
+              Clustering neighbourly,
+              All this gay company,
+              Said to us seemingly--
+              'Pluck, children, pluck!
+              But leave some for good luck:
+              Some for the Naiads,
+              Some for the Dryads,
+    And a bit for the Nixies, and the Pixies,'"
+
+    "I was but a maid," the grandame said,
+    "When my mother was dead;
+    And many a time have I stood.
+    In that beautiful wood,
+    To dream that through every woodland noise,
+              Through the cracking
+              Of twigs and the bending of bracken,
+              Through the rustling
+    Of leaves in the breeze,
+              And the bustling
+    Of dark-eyed, tawny-tailed squirrels flitting about the trees,
+    Through the purling and trickling cool
+    Of the streamlet that feeds the pool,
+              I could hear her voice.
+    Should I wonder to hear it? Why?
+    Are the voices of tender wisdom apt to die?
+    And now, though I'm very old,
+    And the air, that used to feel fresh, strikes chilly and cold,
+              On a sunny day when I potter
+              About the garden, or totter
+    To the seat from whence I can see, below,
+    The marsh and the meadows I used to know,
+    Bright with the bloom of the flowers that blossomed there long ago;
+              Then, as if it were yesterday,
+              I fancy I hear them say--
+              'Pluck, children, pluck,
+              But leave some for good luck;
+    Picked from the stalk, or pulled up by the root,
+    From overhead, or from underfoot,
+    Water-wonders of pond or brook;
+    Wherever you look,
+              And whatever your little fingers find,
+              Leave something behind:
+              Some for the Naiads,
+              And some for the Dryads,
+    And a bit for the Nixies, and the Pixies.'"
+
+
+    The following note was given in _Aunt Judy's Magazine_, June
+    1880, when "Grandmother's Spring" first appeared:--"It may
+    interest old readers of _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ to know that
+    'Leave some for the Naiads and the Dryads' was a favourite
+    phrase with Mr. Alfred Gatty, and is not merely the charge of
+    an imaginary mother to her 'blue-eyed banditti.' Whether my
+    mother invented the expression for our benefit, or whether she
+    only quoted it, I do not know. I only remember its use as a
+    check on the indiscriminate 'collecting' and 'grubbing' of a
+    large family; a mystic warning not without force to fetter the
+    same fingers in later life, with all the power of a pious
+             tradition."--J.H.E.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    BIG SMITH.
+
+
+    Are you a Giant, great big man, or is your real name Smith?
+    Nurse says you've got a hammer that you hit bad children with.
+    I'm good to-day, and so I've come to see if it is true
+    That you can turn a red-hot rod into a horse's shoe.
+
+    Why do you make the horses' shoes of iron instead of leather?
+    Is it because they are allowed to go out in bad weather?
+    If horses should be shod with iron, Big Smith, will you shoe mine?
+    For now I may not take him out, excepting when it's fine.
+
+    Although he's not a real live horse, I'm very fond of him;
+    His harness won't take off and on, but still it's new and trim.
+    His tail is hair, he has four legs, but neither hoofs nor heels;
+    I think he'd seem more like a horse without these yellow wheels.
+
+    They say that Dapple-grey's not yours, but don't you wish he were?
+    My horse's coat is only paint, but his is soft grey hair;
+    His face is big and kind, like yours, his forelock white as snow--
+    Shan't you be sorry when you've done his shoes and he must go?
+
+    I do so wish, Big Smith, that I might come and live with you;
+    To rake the fire, to heat the rods, to hammer two and two.
+    To be so black, and not to have to wash unless I choose;
+    To pat the dear old horses, and to mend their poor old shoes.
+
+    When all the world is dark at night, you work among the stars,
+    A shining shower of fireworks beat out of red-hot bars.
+    I've seen you beat, I've heard you sing, when I was going to bed;
+    And now your face and arms looked black, and now were glowing red.
+
+    The more you work, the more you sing, the more the bellows roar;
+    The falling stars, the flying sparks, stream shining more and more.
+    You hit so hard, you look so hot, and yet you never tire;
+    It must be very nice to be allowed to play with fire.
+
+    I long to beat and sing and shine, as you do, but instead
+    I put away my horse, and Nurse puts me away to bed.
+    I wonder if you go to bed; I often think I'll keep
+    Awake and see, but, though I try, I always fall asleep.
+
+    I know it's very silly, but I sometimes am afraid
+    Of being in the dark alone, especially in bed.
+    But when I see your forge-light come and go upon the wall,
+    And hear you through the window, I am not afraid at all.
+
+    I often hear a trotting horse, I sometimes hear it stop;
+    I hold my breath--you stay your song--it's at the blacksmith's shop.
+    Before it goes, I'm apt to fall asleep, Big Smith, it's true;
+    But then I dream of hammering that horse's shoes with you!
+
+
+
+
+    KIT'S CRADLE.
+
+
+    They've taken the cosy bed away
+    That I made myself with the Shetland shawl,
+    And set me a hamper of scratchy hay,
+    By that great black stove in the entrance-hall.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    I won't sleep there; I'm resolved on that!
+    They may think I will, but they little know
+    There's a soft persistence about a cat
+    That even a little kitten can show.
+
+    I wish I knew what to do but pout,
+    And spit at the dogs and refuse my tea;
+    My fur's feeling rough, and I rather doubt
+    Whether stolen sausage agrees with me.
+
+    On the drawing-room sofa they've closed the door,
+    They've turned me out of the easy-chairs;
+    I wonder it never struck me before
+    That they make their beds for themselves up-stairs.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    I've found a crib where they won't find me,
+    Though they're crying "Kitty!" all over the house.
+    Hunt for the Slipper! and riddle-my-ree!
+    A cat can keep as still as a mouse.
+
+    It's rather unwise perhaps to purr,
+    But they'll never think of the wardrobe-shelves.
+    I'm happy in every hair of my fur;
+    They may keep the hamper and hay themselves.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+    THE MILL STREAM.
+
+
+    One of a hundred little rills--
+          Born in the hills,
+    Nourished with dews by the earth, and with tears by the sky,
+          Sang--"Who so mighty as I?
+          The farther I flow
+          The bigger I grow.
+    I, who was born but a little rill,
+    Now turn the big wheel of the mill,
+    Though the surly slave would rather stand still.
+        Old, and weed-hung, and grim,
+        I am not afraid of him;
+    For when I come running and dance on his toes,
+    With a creak and a groan the monster goes.
+          And turns faster and faster,
+          As he learns who is master,
+          Round and round,
+          Till the corn is ground,
+    And the miller smiles as he stands on the bank,
+    And knows he has me to thank.
+    Then when he swings the fine sacks of flour,
+           I feel my power;
+    But when the children enjoy their food,
+    I know I'm not only great but good!"
+
+    Furthermore sang the brook--
+    "Who loves the beautiful, let him look!
+    Garlanding me in shady spots
+           The Forget-me-nots
+    Are blue as the summer sky:
+           Who so lovely as I?
+    My King-cups of gold
+    Shine from the shade of the alders old,
+           Stars of the stream!--
+    At the water-rat's threshold they gleam.
+           From below
+    The Frog-bit spreads me its blossoms of snow,
+           And in masses
+    The Willow-herb, the flags, and the grasses,
+           Reeds, rushes, and sedges,
+    Flower and fringe and feather my edges.
+           To be beautiful is not amiss,
+    But to be loved is more than this;
+    And who more sought than I,
+    By all that run or swim or crawl or fly?
+    Sober shell-fish and frivolous gnats,
+           Tawny-eyed water-rats;
+    The poet with rippling rhymes so fluent,
+    Boys with boats playing truant,
+    Cattle wading knee-deep for water;
+    And the flower-plucking parson's daughter.
+    Down in my depths dwell creeping things
+    Who rise from my bosom on rainbow wings,
+    For--too swift for a school-boy's prize--
+    Hither and thither above me dart the prismatic-hued dragon-flies.
+    At my side the lover lingers,
+    And with lack-a-daisical fingers,
+    The Weeping Willow, woe-begone,
+    Strives to stay me as I run on."
+
+    There came an hour
+    When all this beauty and love and power
+             Did seem
+    But a small thing to that Mill Stream.
+             And then his cry
+        Was, "Why, oh! why
+        Am I thus surrounded
+    With checks and limits, and bounded
+           By bank and border
+           To keep me in order,
+              Against my will?
+    I, who was born to be free and unfettered--a mountain rill!
+        But for these jealous banks, the good
+            Of my gracious and fertilizing flood
+        Might spread to the barren highways,
+    And fill with Forget-me-nots countless neglected byways.
+            Why should the rough-barked Willow for ever lave
+        Her feet in my cooling wave;
+            When the tender and beautiful Beech
+    Faints with midsummer heat in the meadow just out of my reach?
+    Could I but rush with unchecked power,
+    The miller might grind a day's corn in an hour.
+            And what are the ends
+    Of life, but to serve one's friends?"
+
+    A day did dawn at last,
+    When the spirits of the storm and the blast,
+    Breaking the bands of the winter's frost and snow,
+    Swept from the mountain source of the stream, and flooded the
+             valley below.
+           Dams were broken and weirs came down;
+           Cottage and mill, country and town,
+           Shared in the general inundation,
+           And the following desolation.
+           Then the Mill Stream rose in its might,
+           And burst out of bounds to left and to right,
+    Rushed to the beautiful Beech,
+           In the meadow far out of reach.
+    But with such torrents the poor tree died,
+    Torn up by the roots, and laid on its side.
+           The cattle swam till they sank,
+           Trying to find a bank.
+           Never more shall the broken water-wheel
+           Grind the corn to make the meal,
+           To make the children's bread.
+           The miller was dead.
+
+                When the setting sun
+    Looked to see what the Mill Stream had done
+             In its hour
+        Of unlimited power,
+    And what was left when that had passed by,
+    Behold the channel was stony and dry.
+             In uttermost ruin
+        The Mill Stream had been its own undoing.
+    Furthermore it had drowned its friend:
+             This was the end.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    BOY AND SQUIRREL.
+
+
+    Oh boy, down there, I can't believe that what they say is true!
+    We squirrels surely cannot have an enemy in you;
+    We have so much in common, my dear friend, it seems to me
+    That I can really feel for you, and you can feel for me.
+
+    Some human beings might not understand the life we lead;
+    If we asked Dr. Birch to play, no doubt he'd rather read;
+    He hates all scrambling restlessness, and chattering, scuffling noise;
+    If he could catch us we should fare no better than you boys.
+
+    Fine ladies, too, whose flounces catch and tear on every stump,
+    What joy have they in jagged pines, who neither skip nor jump?
+    Miss Mittens never saw my tree-top home--so unlike hers;
+    What wonder if her only thought of squirrels is of furs?
+
+    But you, dear boy, you know so well the bliss of climbing trees,
+    Of scrambling up and sliding down, and rocking in the breeze,
+    Of cracking nuts and chewing cones, and keeping cunning hoards,
+    And all the games and all the sport and fun a wood affords.
+
+    It cannot be that you would make a prisoner of me,
+    Who hate yourself to be cooped up, who love so to be free;
+    An extra hour indoors, I know, is punishment to you;
+    _You_ make _me_ twirl a tiny cage? It never can be true!
+
+    Yet I've a wary grandfather, whose tail is white as snow.
+    He thinks he knows a lot of things we young ones do not know;
+    He says we're safe with Doctor Birch, because he is so blind,
+    And that Miss Mittens would not hurt a fly, for she is kind.
+
+    But you, dear boy, who know my ways, he bids me fly from you,
+    He says my life and liberty are lost unless I do;
+    That you, who fear the Doctor's cane, will fling big sticks at me,
+    And tear me from my forest home, and from my favourite tree.
+
+    The more we think of what he says, the more we're sure it's "chaff,"
+    We sit beneath the shadow of our bushy tails and laugh;
+    Hey, presto! Friend, come up, and let us hide and seek and play,
+    If you could spring as well as climb, what fun we'd have to-day!
+
+
+
+
+    LITTLE MASTER TO HIS BIG DOG.
+
+
+    Oh, how greedy you look as you stare at my plate,
+      Your mouth waters so, and your big tail is drumming
+    Flop! flop! flop! on the carpet, and yet if you'll wait,
+      When we have quite finished, your dinner is coming.
+
+    Yes! I know what you mean, though you don't speak a word;
+      You say that you wish that I kindly would let you
+    Take your meals with the family, which is absurd,
+      And on a tall chair like a gentleman set you.
+
+    But how little you think, my dear dog, when you talk;
+      You've no "table manners," you bolt meat, you gobble;
+    And how could you eat bones with a knife, spoon, and fork?
+      You would be in a most inconvenient hobble.
+
+    And yet, once on a time it is certainly true,
+      My own manners wanted no little refining;
+    For I gobbled, and spilled, and was greedy like you,
+      And had no idea of good manners when dining.
+
+    So that when I consider the tricks _you_ have caught,
+      To sit or shake paws with the utmost good breeding,
+    I must own it quite possible you may be taught
+      The use of a plate, and a nice style of feeding.
+
+    Therefore try to learn manners, and eat as I do;
+      Don't glare at the joint, and as soon as you're able
+    To behave like the rest, you shall feed with us too,
+      And dine like a gentleman sitting at table.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    A SWEET LITTLE DEAR
+
+
+    I always _was_ a remarkable child; so old for my age, and such a
+             sensitive nature!--Mamma often says so.
+    And I'm the sweetest, little dear in my blue ribbons, and quite a
+             picture in my Pompadour hat!--Mrs. Brown told her so on
+             Sunday, and that's how I know.
+    And I'm a sacred responsibility to my parents--(it was what the
+             clergyman's wife at the seaside said),
+    And a solemn charge, and a fair white page, and a tender bud, and
+             a spotless nature of wax to be moulded;--but the rest of
+             it has gone out of my head.
+    There was a lot more, and she left two books as well, and I think she
+             called me a Privilege, and Mamma said "Yes," and began to cry.
+    And Nurse came in with luncheon on a tray, and put away the books, and
+             said she was as weak as a kitten, and worried to
+             fiddlestrings, as any one with common sense could see with
+             half an eye.
+    I was hopping round the room, but I stopped and said, "My kitten's not
+             weak, and I don't believe anybody could see with only half an
+             eye. Could they, Mamma?"
+    And Nurse said, "Go and play, my dear, and let your Mamma rest;"
+             but Mamma said, "No, my love, stay where you are.
+    Dear Nurse, lift me up, and put a pillow to my back, I know
+             you mean to be kind;
+    But she does ask such remarkable questions, and while I've strength
+             to speak, don't let me check the inquiring mind.
+    If I should fail to be all a mother ought--oh, how my head throbs when
+             the dear child jumps!" and then Nurse said, "Ugh!
+    When you're worried into your grave, she'll have no mother at all,
+             and'll have to tumble up as other folks do.
+    There's the poor master at his wits' end--a child's not all a grown
+             person has to think of--and Miss Jane would do well enough if
+             she'd less of her own way;
+    But there's more children spoilt with care than the want of it, and
+             more mothers murdered than there's folks hanged for, and
+             that's what I say.
+    Children learns what you teach 'em, and Miss Jane's old enough to have
+             learned to wait upon you:
+    And if her mother thought less of her and she thought more of her
+             mother, it would be better for her too."
+    But Nurse is a nasty cross old thing--I hate her; and I hate the
+             doctor, for he wanted me to be left behind
+    When Mamma went to the sea for her health; but I begged and begged
+             till she promised I should go, for Mamma is always kind.
+    And she bought me a new wooden spade and a basket, and a red and green
+             ship with three masts, and a one-and-sixpenny telescope to
+             look at the sea;
+    But when I got on to the sands, I thought I'd rather be on the
+             esplanade, for there was a little girl there who was
+             looking at me,
+    Dressed in a navy-blue suit and a sailor hat, with fair hair tied
+             with ribbons; so I told Mamma,
+    And she got me a suit, ready-made (but she said it was dreadfully
+             dear), and a hat to match, in the Pebble Brooch Repository
+             and Universal Bazaar.
+    It faded in the sun, and came all to pieces in the wash; but I was
+             tired of it before.
+    For the esplanade is very dull, and the little girl with fair hair had
+             got sand-boots and a shrimping-net and was playing on
+             the shore.
+    And when my sand-boots came home, and I'd got a better net than hers,
+             she went donkey-riding, and I knew it was to tease me,
+    But Nurse was so cross, and said if they sent a man in a herring-boat
+             to the moon for what I wanted that nothing would please me.
+    So I said the seaside was a very disagreeable place, and I wished I
+             hadn't come,
+    And I told Mamma so, and begged her to try and get well soon, to take
+             us all home.
+    But now we've got home, it's very hot, and I'm afraid of the wasps;
+             and I'm sure it was cooler at the sea,
+    And the Smiths won't be back for a fortnight, so I can't even have
+             Matilda to tea.
+    I don't care much for my new doll--I think I'm too old for dolls now;
+             I like books better, though I didn't like the last,
+    And I've read all I have: I always skip the dull parts, and when you
+             skip a good deal you get through them so fast.
+    I like toys if they're the best kind, with works; though when I've had
+             one good game with them, I don't much care to play with
+             them again.
+    I feel as if I wanted something new to amuse me, and Mamma says it's
+             because I've got such an active brain.
+    Nurse says I don't know what I want, and I know I don't, and that's
+             just what it is.
+    It seems so sad a young creature like me should feel unhappy, and not
+             know what's amiss;
+    But Nurse never thinks of my feelings, any more than the cruel nurse
+             in the story about the little girl who was so good,
+    And if I die early as she did, perhaps then people will be sorry I've
+             been misunderstood.
+    I shouldn't like to die early, but I should like people to be sorry
+             for me, and to praise me when I was dead:
+    If I could only come to life again when they had missed me very much,
+             and I'd heard what they said--
+    Of course that's impossible, I know, but I wish I knew what to
+             do instead!
+    It seems such a pity that a sweet little dear like me should
+             ever be sad.
+    And Mamma says she buys everything I want, and has taught me
+             everything I will learn, and reads every book, and takes
+             every hint she can pick up, and keeps me with her all day,
+             and worries about me all night, till she's nearly mad;
+    And if any kind person can think of any better way to make me happy
+             we shall both of us be glad.
+
+
+
+
+    BLUE AND RED:
+    OR, THE DISCONTENTED LOBSTER.
+
+
+    Permit me, Reader, to make my bow,
+            And allow
+    Me to humbly commend to your tender mercies
+    The hero of these simple verses.
+    By domicile, of the British Nation;
+    By birth and family, a Crustacean.
+    One's hero should have a name that rare is;
+    And his was _Homarus_, but--_Vulgaris!_
+    A Lobster, who dwelt with several others,--
+        His sisters and brothers,--
+    In a secluded but happy home,
+    Under the salt sea's foam.
+            It lay
+    At the outermost point of a rocky bay.
+    A sandy, tide-pooly, cliff-bound cove,
+    With a red-roofed fishing village above,
+    Of irregular cottages, perched up high
+    Amid pale yellow poppies next to the sky.
+    Shells and pebbles, and wrack below,
+    And shrimpers shrimping all in a row;
+    Tawny sails and tarry boats,
+    Dark brown nets and old cork floats;
+    Nasty smells at the nicest spots,
+    And blue-jerseyed sailors and--lobster-pots.
+
+              "It is sweet to be
+    At home in the deep, deep sea.
+    It is very pleasant to have the power
+    To take the air on dry land for an hour;
+    And when the mid-day midsummer sun
+    Is toasting the fields as brown as a bun,
+    And the sands are baking, it's very nice
+    To feel as cool as a strawberry ice
+    In one's own particular damp sea-cave,
+    Dipping one's feelers in each green wave.
+    It is good, for a very rapacious maw,
+    When storm-tossed morsels come to the claw;
+    And 'the better to see with' down below,
+    To wash one's eyes in the ebb and flow
+    Of the tides that come and the tides that go."
+    So sang the Lobsters, thankful for their mercies,
+    All but the hero of these simple verses.
+              Now a hero--
+      If he's worth the grand old name--
+    Though temperature may change from boiling-point to zero
+      Should keep his temper all the same:
+    Courageous and content in his estate,
+    And proof against the spiteful blows of Fate.
+    It, therefore, troubles me to have to say,
+      That with this Lobster it was never so;
+    Whate'er the weather or the sort of day,
+      No matter if the tide were high or low,
+    Whatever happened he was never pleased,
+    And not himself alone, but all his kindred teased.
+
+            "Oh! oh!
+          What a world of woe
+    We flounder about in, here below!
+            Oh dear! oh dear!
+        It is too, too dull, down here!
+      I haven't the slightest patience
+      With any of my relations;
+      I take no interest whatever
+      In things they call curious and clever.
+      And, for love of dear truth I state it,
+      As for my Home--I hate it!
+    I'm convinced I was formed for a larger sphere,
+    And am utterly out of my element here."
+    Then his brothers and sisters said,
+    Each solemnly shaking his and her head,
+    "You put your complaints in most beautiful verse,
+          And yet we are sure,
+    That, in spite of all you have to endure,
+    You might go much farther and fare much worse.
+    We wish you could live in a higher sphere,
+    But we think you might live happily here."
+    "I don't live, I only exist," he said,
+    "Be pleased to look upon me as dead."
+    And he swam to his cave, and took to his bed.
+    He sulked so long that the sisters cried,
+    "Perhaps he has really and truly died."
+    But the brothers went to the cave to peep,
+    For they said, "Perhaps he is only asleep."
+    They found him, far too busy to talk,
+    With a very large piece of bad salt pork.
+    "Dear Brother, what luck you have had to-day!
+    Can you tell us, pray,
+    Is there any more pork afloat in the bay?"
+    But not a word would my hero say,
+    Except to repeat, with sad persistence,
+    "This is not life, it's only existence."
+
+    One day there came to the fishing village
+    An individual bent on pillage;
+    But a robber whom true scientific feeling
+    May find guilty of picking, but not of stealing.
+      He picked the yellow poppies on the cliffs;
+      He picked the feathery seaweeds in the pools;
+      He picked the odds and ends from nets and skiffs;
+      He picked the brains of all the country fools.
+    He dried the poppies for his own herbarium,
+    And caught the Lobsters for a seaside town aquarium.
+
+      "Tank No. 20" is deep,
+      "Tank No. 20" is cool,
+      For clever contrivances always keep
+        The water fresh in the pool;
+    And a very fine plate-glass window is free to the public view,
+    Through which you can stare at the passers-by and the passers-by
+             stare at you.
+    Said my hero, "This is a great variety
+    From those dull old rocks, where we'd no society."
+
+    For the primal cause of incidents,
+      One often hunts about,
+    When it's only a coincidence
+      That matters so turned out.
+    And I do not know the reason
+      Or the reason I would tell--
+    But it may have been the season--
+      Why my hero chose this moment for casting off his shell.
+      He had hitherto been dressed[1]
+      (And so had all the rest)
+    In purplish navy blue from top to toe!
+      But now his coat was new,
+      It was of every shade of blue
+    Between azure and the deepest indigo;
+    And his sisters kept telling him, till they were tired,
+    There never was any one so much admired.
+
+    My hero was happy at last, you will say?
+    So he was, dear Reader--two nights and a day;
+    Then, as he and his relatives lay,
+    Each at the mouth of his mock
+    Cave in the face of a miniature rock,
+    They saw, descending the opposite cliff,
+    By jerks spasmodic of elbows stiff;
+    Now hurriedly slipping, now seeming calmer,
+    With the ease and the grace of a hog in armour,
+    And as solemn as any ancient palmer,
+              No less than nine
+              Exceedingly fine
+    And full-grown lobsters, all in a line.
+    But the worst of the matter remains to be said.
+    These nine big lobsters were all of them _red_.[2]
+    And when they got safe to the floor of the tank,--
+    For which they had chiefly good luck to thank,--
+    They settled their cumbersome coats of mail,
+    And every lobster tucked his tail
+    Neatly under him as he sat
+    In a circle of nine for a cosy chat.
+    They seemed to be sitting hand in hand,
+    As shoulder to shoulder they sat in the sand,
+    And waved their antennae in calm rotation,
+    Apparently holding a consultation.
+    But what were the feelings of Master Blue Shell?
+    Oh, gentle Reader! how shall I tell?
+
+    [Footnote 1: The colours of lobsters vary a good deal in various
+    localities. _Homarus vulgaris_, the common lobster, is spotted, and, on
+    the upper part, more or less of a bluish black. I once saw a lobster
+    that had just got a new shell, and was of every lovely shade of blue
+    and violet.]
+
+    [Footnote 2: _Palurinus vulgaris_, the spiny lobster, has no true
+    claws, but huge hairy antennae. These lobsters are red _during their
+    lifetime_! I have seen them (in the Crystal Palace Aquarium) seated
+    exactly as here described, with blue lobsters watching them from
+    niches of the rocky sides of the tank, where they looked like
+    blue-jerseyed smugglers at the mouths of caves.]
+
+    From the moment that those Nine he saw,
+    He never could bear his blue coat more.
+    "Oh, Brothers in misfortune!" he said,
+    "Did you ever see any lobsters so grand,
+    As those who sit down there in the sand?
+    Why were we born at all, since not one of us all was born red?"
+    "Dear Brother, indeed, this is quite a whim."
+    (So his brothers and sisters reasoned with him;
+    And, being exceedingly cultivated,
+    The case with remarkable fairness stated.)
+    "Red is a primary colour, it's true,
+            But so is Blue;
+    And we all of us think, dear Brother,
+    That one is quite as good as the other.
+    A swaggering soldier's a saucy varlet,
+    Though he looks uncommonly well in scarlet.
+    No doubt there's much to be said
+    For a field of poppies of glowing red;
+    For fiery rifts in sunset skies,
+    Roses and blushes and red sunrise;
+    For a glow on the Alps, and the glow of a forge,
+    A foxglove bank in a woodland gorge;
+    Sparks that are struck from red-hot bars,
+    The sun in a mist, and the red star Mars;
+    Flowers of countless shades and shapes,
+    Matadors', judges', and gipsies' capes;
+    The red-haired king who was killed in the wood,
+    Robin Redbreast and little Red Riding Hood;
+    Autumn maple, and winter holly,
+    Red-letter days of wisdom or folly;
+    The scarlet ibis, rose cockatoos,
+    Cardinal's gloves, and Karen's shoes;
+    Coral and rubies, and huntsmen's pink;
+    Red, in short, is splendid, we think.
+    But, then, we don't think there's a pin to choose;
+    If the Guards are handsome, so are the Blues.
+    It's a narrow choice between Sappers and Gunners.
+    You sow blue beans, and rear scarlet runners.
+    Then think of the blue of a mid-day sky,
+    Of the sea, and the hills, and a Scotchman's eye;
+    Of peacock's feathers, forget-me-nots,
+    Worcester china and "jap" tea-pots.
+    The blue that the western sky wears casually,
+    Sapphire, turquoise, and lapis-lazuli.
+          What can look smarter
+    Than the broad blue ribbon of Knights of the Garter?
+    And, if the subject is not too shocking,
+    An intellectual lady's stocking.
+          And who that loves hues
+            Could fail to mention
+          The wonderful blues
+            Of the mountain gentian?"
+    But to all that his brothers and sisters said,
+    He made no reply but--"I wish I were dead!
+    I'm all over blue, and I want to be red."
+    And he moped and pined, and took to his bed.
+    "That little one looks uncommonly sickly,
+    Put him back in the sea, and put him back quickly."
+    The voice that spoke was the voice of Fate,
+    And the lobster was soon in his former state;
+    Where, as of old, he muttered and mumbled,
+    And growled and grumbled:
+    "Oh dear! what shall I do?
+    I want to be red, and I'm all over blue."
+
+    I don't think I ever met with a book
+    The evil genius of which was a cook;
+            But it thus befell,
+    In the tale I have the honour to tell;
+    For as he was fretting and fuming about,
+    A fisherman fished my hero out;
+    And in process of time, he heard a voice,
+            Which made him rejoice.
+    The voice was the cook's, and what she said
+    Was, "He'll soon come out a beautiful red."
+
+            He was put in the pot,
+            The water was very hot;
+    The less we say about this the better,
+    It was all fulfilled to the very letter.
+    He did become a beautiful red,
+    But then--which he did not expect--he was dead!
+
+    Some gentle readers cannot well endure
+      To see the ill end of a bad beginning;
+    And hope against hope for a nicer cure
+      For naughty heroes than to leave off sinning.
+    And yet persisting in behaving badly,
+    Do what one will, does commonly end sadly.
+
+    But things in general are so much mixed,
+      That every case must stand upon its merits;
+    And folks' opinions are so little fixed,
+      And no one knows the least what he inherits--
+    I should be glad to shed some parting glory
+    Upon the hero of this simple story.
+
+    It seems to me a mean end to a ballad,
+    But the truth is, he was made into salad;
+    It's not how one's hero should end his days,
+          In a mayonnaise,
+    But I'm told that he looked exceedingly nice,
+    With cream-coloured sauce, and pale-green lettuce and ice.
+
+    I confess that if he'd been my relation,
+    This would not afford me any consolation;
+    For I feel (though one likes to speak well of the dead)
+    That it must be said,
+    He need not have died so early lamented,
+    If he'd been content to live contented.
+
+      P.S.--His claws were raised to very high stations;
+            They keep the earwigs from our carnations.
+
+
+
+
+    THE YELLOW FLY.
+
+    A TALE WITH A STING IN IT.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+                   Ah!
+            There you are!
+    I was certain I heard a strange voice from afar.
+    Mamma calls me a pup, but I'm wiser than she;
+    One ear cocked and I hear, half an eye and I see;
+    Wide-awake though I doze, not a thing escapes me.
+
+                   Yes!
+            Let me guess:
+    It's the stable-boy's hiss as he wisps down Black Bess.
+    It sounds like a kettle beginning to sing,
+    Or a bee on a pane, or a moth on the wing,
+    Or my master's peg-top, just let loose from the string.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+                   Well!
+            Now I smell,
+    I don't know who you are, and I'm puzzled to tell.
+    You look like a fly dressed in very gay clothes,
+    But I blush to have troubled my mid-day repose
+    For a creature not worth half a twitch of my nose.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+                   How now?
+            Bow, wow, wow!
+    The insect imagines we're playing, I vow!
+    If I pat you, I promise you'll find it too hard.
+    Be off! when a watch-dog like me is on guard,
+    Big or little, no stranger's allowed in the yard.
+
+                   Eh?
+            "Come away!"
+    My dear little master, is that what you say?
+    I am greatly obliged for your kindness and cares,
+    But I really can manage my own small affairs,
+    And banish intruders who give themselves airs.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+                   Snap!
+            Yap! yap! yap!
+    You defy me?--you pigmy, you insolent scrap!
+    What!--this to my teeth, that have worried a score
+    Of the biggest rats bred in the granary floor!
+    Come on, and be swallowed! I spare you no more!
+
+                   Help!
+            Yelp! yelp! yelp!
+    Little master, pray save an unfortunate whelp,
+    Who began the attack, but is now in retreat,
+    Having shown all his teeth, just escapes on his feet,
+    And is trusting to you to make safety complete.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+                   Oh!
+            Let me go!
+    My poor eye! my poor ear! my poor tail! my poor toe!
+    Pray excuse my remarks, for I meant no such thing.
+    Don't trouble to come--oh, the brute's on the wing!
+    I'd no notion, I'm sure, there were flies that could sting.
+
+                   Dear me!
+            I can't see.
+    My nose burns, my limbs shake, I'm as ill as can be.
+    I was never in such an undignified plight.
+    Mamma told me, and now I suppose she was right;
+    One should know what one's after before one shows fight.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    CANADA HOME.
+
+
+    Some Homes are where flowers for ever blow,
+      The sun shining hotly the whole year round;
+    But our Home glistens with six months of snow,
+      Where frost without wind heightens every sound.
+        And Home is Home wherever it is,
+        When we're all together and nothing amiss.
+
+    Yet Willy is old enough to recall
+      A Home forgotten by Eily and me;
+    He says that we left it five years since last Fall,
+      And came sailing, sailing, right over the sea.
+        But Home is Home wherever it is,
+        When we're all together and nothing amiss.
+
+    Our other Home was for ever green,
+      A green, green isle in a blue, blue sea,
+    With sweet flowers such as we never have seen;
+      And Willy tells all this to Eily and me.
+        But Home is Home wherever it is,
+        When we're all together and nothing amiss.
+
+    He says, "What fine fun when we all go back!"
+      But Canada Home is very good fun
+    When Pat's little sled flies along the smooth track,
+      Or spills in the snowdrift that shines in the sun.
+        For Home is Home wherever it is,
+        When we're all together and nothing amiss.
+
+    Some day I should dearly love, it is true,
+      To sail to the old Home over the sea;
+    But only if Father and Mother went too,
+      With Willy and Patrick and Eily and me.
+        For Home is Home wherever it is,
+        When we're all together and nothing amiss.
+
+
+
+
+    THE POET AND THE BROOK.
+
+    A TALE OF TRANSFORMATIONS.
+
+
+    A little Brook, that babbled under grass,
+              Once saw a Poet pass--
+    A Poet with long hair and saddened eyes,
+    Who went his weary way with woeful sighs.
+              And on another time,
+    This Brook did hear that Poet read his rueful rhyme.
+            Now in the poem that he read,
+              This Poet said--
+    "Oh! little Brook that babblest under grass!
+    (_Ah me! Alack! Ah, well-a-day! Alas!_)
+            Say, are you what you seem?
+    Or is your life, like other lives, a dream?
+    What time your babbling mocks my mortal moods,
+            Fair Naiad of the stream!
+            And are you, in good sooth,
+    Could purblind poesy perceive the truth,
+              A water-sprite,
+    Who sometimes, for man's dangerous delight,
+    Puts on a human form and face,
+    To wear them with a superhuman grace?
+
+    "When this poor Poet turns his bending back,
+    (_Ah me! Ah, well-a-day! Alas! Alack!_)
+    Say, shall you rise from out your grassy bed,
+    With wreathed forget-me-nots about your head,
+              And sing and play,
+    And wile some wandering wight out of his way,
+          To lead him with your witcheries astray?
+    (_Ah me! Alas! Alack! Ah, well-a-day!_)
+              Would it be safe for me
+              That fateful form to see?"
+    (_Alas! Alack! Ah, well-a-day! Ah me!_)
+
+    So far the Poet read his pleasing strain,
+            Then it began to rain:
+            He closed his book.
+    "Farewell, fair Nymph!" he cried, as with a lingering look
+          His homeward way he took;
+          And nevermore that Poet saw that Brook.
+
+    The Brook passed several days in anxious expectation
+              Of transformation
+    Into a lovely nymph bedecked with flowers;
+    And longed impatiently to prove those powers--
+    Those dangerous powers--of witchery and wile,
+    That should all mortal men mysteriously beguile;
+    For life as running water lost its charm
+    Before the exciting hope of doing so much harm.
+              And yet the hope seemed vain;
+              Despite the Poet's strain,
+    Though the days came and went, and went and came,
+    The seasons changed, the Brook remained the same.
+
+    The Brook was almost tired
+    Of vainly hoping to become a Naiad;
+    When on a certain Summer's day,
+    Dame Nature came that way,
+              Busy as usual,
+              With great and small;
+    Who, at the water-side
+    Dipping her clever fingers in the tide,
+          Out of the mud drew creeping things,
+    And, smiling on them, gave them radiant wings.
+    Now when the poor Brook murmured, "Mother dear!"
+          Dame Nature bent to hear,
+    And the sad stream poured all its woes into her sympathetic ear,
+    Crying,--"Oh, bounteous Mother!
+    Do not do more for one child than another;
+    If of a dirty grub or two
+            (Dressing them up in royal blue)
+    You make so many shining Demoiselles,[3]
+    Change me as well;
+    Uplift me also from this narrow place,
+    Where life runs on at such a petty pace;
+    Give me a human form, dear Dame, and then
+    See how I'll flit, and flash, and fascinate the race of men!"
+
+    [Footnote 3: The "Demoiselle" Dragon-fly, a well-known slender
+    variety (_Libellula_), with body of brilliant blue.]
+
+    Then Mother Nature, who is wondrous wise,
+    Did that deluded little Brook advise
+    To be contented with its own fair face,
+        And with a good and cheerful grace,
+    Run, as of yore, on its appointed race,
+    Safe both from giving and receiving harms;
+    Outliving human lives, outlasting human charms.
+    But good advice, however kind,
+    Is thrown away upon a made-up mind,
+    And this was all that babbling Brook would say--
+    "Give me a human face and form, if only for a day!"
+
+    Then quoth Dame Nature:--"Oh, my foolish child!
+        Ere I fulfil a wish so wild,
+        Since I am kind and you are ignorant,
+        This much I grant:
+    You shall arise from out your grassy bed,
+    And gathered to the waters overhead
+              Shall thus and then
+    Look down and see the world, and all the ways of men!"
+              Scarce had the Dame
+        Departed to the place from whence she came,
+        When in that very hour,
+        The sun burst forth with most amazing power.
+              Dame Nature bade him blaze, and he obeyed;
+        He drove the fainting flocks into the shade,
+        He ripened all the flowers into seed,
+        He dried the river, and he parched the mead;
+    Then on the Brook he turned his burning eye,
+    Which rose and left its narrow channel dry;
+    And, climbing up by sunbeams to the sky,
+    Became a snow-white cloud, which softly floated by.
+
+          It was a glorious Autumn day,
+    And all the world with red and gold was gay;
+          When, as this cloud athwart the heavens did pass,
+    Lying below, it saw a Poet on the grass,
+          The very Poet who had such a stir made,
+    To prove the Brook was a fresh-water mermaid.
+            And now,
+    Holding his book above his corrugated brow--
+            He read aloud,
+    And thus apostrophized the passing cloud:
+                "Oh, snowy-breasted Fair!
+    Mysterious messenger of upper air!
+    Can you be of those female forms so dread,[4]
+    Who bear the souls of the heroic dead
+    To where undying laurels crown the warrior's head?
+    Or, as you smile and hover,
+    Are you not rather some fond goddess of the skies who waits a mortal
+             lover?
+                And who, ah! who is he?
+   --And what, oh, what!--your message to poor me?"--
+    So far the Poet. Then he stopped:
+                His book had dropped.
+    But ere the delighted cloud could make reply,
+    Dame Nature hurried by,
+    And it put forth a wild beseeching cry--
+    "Give me a human face and form!"
+    Dame Nature frowned, and all the heavens grew black with storm.
+
+    [Footnote 4: The Walkyrie in Teutonic mythology, whose office it is to
+    bear the souls of fallen heroes from the field of battle.]
+
+                But very soon,
+    Upon a frosty winter's noon,
+    The little cloud returned below,
+                Falling in flakes of snow;
+    Falling most softly on the floor most hard
+    Of an old manor-house court-yard.
+    And as it hastened to the earth again,
+    The children sang behind the window-pane:
+        "Old woman, up yonder, plucking your geese,
+         Quickly pluck them, and quickly cease;
+    Throw down the feathers, and when you have done,
+         We shall have fun--we shall have fun."
+    The snow had fallen, when with song and shout
+            The girls and boys came out;
+        Six sturdy little men and maids,
+    Carrying heather-brooms, and wooden spades,
+    Who swept and shovelled up the fallen snow,
+    Which whimpered,--"Oh! oh! oh!
+            Oh, Mother, most severe!
+            Pity me lying here,
+    I'm shaken all to pieces with that storm,
+    Raise me and clothe me in a human form."
+
+    They swept up much, they shovelled up more,
+        There never was such a snow-man before!
+    They built him bravely with might and main,
+        There never will be such a snow-man again!
+    His legs were big, his body was bigger,
+    They made him a most imposing figure;
+    His eyes were large and as black as coal,
+    For a cinder was placed in each round hole.
+    And the sight of his teeth would have made yours ache,
+    Being simply the teeth of an ancient rake.
+    They smoothed his forehead, they patted his back,
+    There wasn't a single unsightly crack;
+    And when they had given the final pat,
+    They crowned his head with the scare-crow's hat.
+
+              And so
+    The Brook--the Cloud--the Snow,
+    Got its own way after so many days,
+    And did put on a human form and face.
+              But whether
+    The situation pleased it altogether;
+              If it is nice
+        To be a man of snow and ice;
+              Whether it feels
+        Painful, when one congeals;
+              How this man felt
+        When he began to melt;
+    Whether he wore his human form and face
+        With any extraordinary grace;
+        If many mortals fell
+        As victims to the spell;
+              Or if,
+        As he stood, stark and stiff,
+        With a bare broomstick in his arms,
+    And not a trace of transcendental charms,
+              That man of snow
+              Grew wise enough to know
+    That the Brook's hopes were but a Poet's dream,
+    And well content to be again a stream,
+              On the first sunny day,
+              Flowed quietly away;
+    Or what the end was--You must ask the Poet,
+              I don't know it.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    A SOLDIER'S CHILDREN.
+
+
+    Our home used to be in a hut in the dear old Camp, with lots of bands
+             and trumpets and bugles and Dead Marches, and three times
+             a day there was a gun,
+    But now we live in View Villa at the top of the village, and it isn't
+             nearly such fun.
+    We never see any soldiers, except one day we saw a Volunteer, and we
+             ran after him as hard as ever we could go, for we thought he
+             looked rather brave;
+    But there's only been one funeral since we came, an ugly black thing
+             with no Dead March or Union Jack, and not even a firing party
+             at the grave.
+    There is a man in uniform to bring the letters, but he's nothing like
+             our old Orderly, Brown;
+    I told him, through the hedge, "Your facings are dirty, and you'd
+             have to wear your belt if my father was at home," and oh,
+             how he did frown!
+    But things can't be expected to go right when Old Father's away, and
+             he's gone to the war;
+    Which is why we play at soldiers and fighting battles more than ever
+             we did before.
+    And I try to keep things together: every morning I have a parade of
+             myself and Dick,
+    To see that we are clean, and to drill him and do sword-exercise with
+             poor Grandpapa's stick.
+    Grandpapa's dead, so he doesn't want it now, and Dick's too young for
+             a real tin sword like mine:
+    He's so young he won't make up his mind whether he'll go into the
+             Artillery or the Line.
+    I want him to be a gunner, for his frock's dark blue, and Captain
+             Powder gave us a wooden gun with an elastic that shoots
+             quite a big ball.
+    It's nonsense Dick's saying he'd like to be a Chaplain, for that's
+             not being a soldier at all.
+    Besides, he always wants to be Drum-Major when we've funerals, to
+             stamp the stick and sing RUM--TUM--TUM--
+    To the Dead March in _Saul_ (that's the name of the tune, and you play
+             it on a drum).
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    Mary is so good, she might easily be a Chaplain, but of course she
+             can't be anything that wants man;
+    She likes nursing her doll, but when we have battles she moves the
+             lead soldiers about, and does what she can.
+    She never grumbles about not being able to grow up into a General,
+             though I should think it must be a great bore.
+    I asked her what she would do if she were grown up into a woman,
+             and belonged to some one who was wounded in the war,--
+    She said she'd go out and nurse him: so I said, "But supposing you
+             couldn't get him better, and he died; how would you behave?"
+    And she said if she couldn't get a ship to bring him home in, she
+             should stay out there and grow a garden, and make wreaths
+             for his grave.
+    Nurse says we oughtn't to have battles, now Father's gone to battle,
+             but that's just the reason why!
+    And I don't believe one bit what she said about its making Mother cry.
+    Only she does like us to put away our toys on Sunday, so we can't
+             have the soldiers or the gun;
+    But yesterday Dick said, "I was thinking in church, and I've thought
+             of a game about soldiers, and it's a perfectly Sunday one;
+    It's a Church Parade: you'll have to be a lot of officers and men,
+             Mary'll do for a few wives and families, and I'll be Chaplain
+             to the Forces and pray for everyone at the war."
+    So he put his nightgown over his knickerbocker suit, and knelt on the
+             Ashantee stool, and Mary and I knelt on the floor.
+    I think it was rather nice of Dick, for he said what put it into
+             his head
+    Was thinking they mightn't have much time for their prayers on active
+             service, and we ought to say them instead.
+    I should have liked to parade the lead soldiers, but I didn't, for
+             Mother says, "What's the good of being a soldier's son if
+             you can't do as you're bid?"
+    But we thought there'd be no harm in letting the box be there if we
+             kept on the lid.
+    Dick couldn't pray out of the Prayer-book, because he's backward with
+             being delicate, and he can't read;
+    So he had to make a prayer out of his own head, and I think he did it
+             very well indeed.
+    He began, "GOD save the Queen, and the Army and the Navy, and the
+             Irregular Forces and the Volunteers!
+    Especially Old Father (he went out with the first draft, and he's a
+             Captain in the Royal Engineers").
+    But I said, "I don't think 'GOD save the Queen' is a proper prayer,
+             I think it's only a sort of three cheers."
+    So he said, "GOD bless the Generals, and the Colonels, and the Majors,
+             and the Captains, and the Lieutenants, and the
+             Sub-lieutenants, and the Quartermasters, and the
+             non-commissioned officers, and the men;
+    And the bands, and the colours, and the guns, and the horses and the
+             wagons, and the gun-carriage they use for the funerals; and
+             please I should like them all to come home safe again.
+    (Don't, Mary! I haven't finished; it isn't time for you to say Amen.)
+    I haven't prayed for the Chaplains, or the Doctors who help the poor
+             men left groaning on the ground when the victories are won;
+    And I want to pray particularly for the very poor ones who die of fever
+             and miss all the fighting and fun.
+    GOD bless the good soldiers, like Old Father, and Captain Powder,
+             and the men with good-conduct medals; and please let the
+             naughty ones all be forgiven;
+    And if the black men kill our men, send down white angels to take
+             their poor dear souls to Heaven!
+    _Now_ you may both say Amen, and I shall give out hymn four hundred
+             and thirty-seven."
+    There are eight verses and eight Alleluias, and we can't sing very
+             well, but we did our best,
+    Only Mary would cry in the verse about "Soon, soon to faithful
+             warriors comes their rest!"
+    But we're both very glad Dick has found out a Sunday game about
+             fighting, for we never had one before;
+    And now we can play at soldiers every day till Old Father comes
+             home from the war.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    "TOUCH HIM IF YOU DARE."
+
+    A TALE OF THE HEDGE.
+
+
+    HEDGE-PLANTS.
+
+    "Beware!
+       We advise you to take care.
+    He lodges with us, so we know him well,
+               And can tell
+       You all about him,
+    And we strongly advise you not to flout him."
+
+
+    DANDELION.
+
+    "At my time of life," said the Dandelion,
+                "I keep an eye on
+    The slightest sign of disturbance and riot,
+    For my one object is to keep quiet
+    The reason I take such very great care,"
+    The old Dandy went on, "is because of my hair.
+    It was very thick once, and as yellow as gold;
+              But now I am old,
+              It is snowy-white,
+              And comes off with the slightest fright.
+              As to using a brush--
+              My good dog! I beseech you, don't rush,
+              Go quietly by me, if you please
+              You're as bad as a breeze.
+    I hope you'll attend to what we've said;
+    And--whatever you do--don't touch my head,
+    In this equinoctial, blustering weather
+    You might knock it off with a feather."
+
+
+    THISTLE.
+
+    Said the Thistle, "I can tickle,
+    But not as a Hedgehog can prickle;
+    Even my tough old friend the Moke
+    Would find our lodger no joke."
+
+
+    DOG-ROSE.
+
+    "I have thorns," sighed the Rose,
+    "But they don't protect me like those;
+    He can pull his thorns right over his nose."
+
+
+    NETTLE.
+
+    "My sting," said the Nettle,
+    "Is nothing to his when he's put on his mettle.
+    No nose can endure it,
+    No dock-leaves will cure it."
+
+
+    DOG.
+
+    "Bow-wow!" said the Dog:
+    "All this fuss about a Hedgehog?
+    Though I never saw one before--
+               There's my paw!
+    Good-morning, Sir! Do you never stir?
+               You look like an overgrown burr.
+    Good-day, I-say:
+    Will you have a game of play?
+    With your humped-up back and your spines on end,
+    You remind me so of an intimate friend,
+               The Persian Puss
+               Who lives with us.
+               How well I know her tricks!
+               The dear creature!
+    Just when you're sure you can reach her,
+    In the twinkling of a couple of sticks
+    She saves herself by her heels,
+    And looks down at you out of the apple-tree, with eyes like catherine
+             wheels.
+               The odd part of it is,
+    I could swear that I could not possibly miss
+    Her silky, cumbersome, traily tail,
+    And that's just where I always fail.
+    But you seem to have nothing, Sir, of the sort;
+    And I should be mortified if you thought
+               That I'm stupid at sport;
+    I assure you I don't often meet my match,
+    Where I chase I commonly catch.
+               I've caught cats,
+               And rats,
+    And (between ourselves) I once caught a sheep,
+    And I think I could catch a weasel asleep."
+
+
+    HEDGE-PLANTS.
+
+    From the whole of the hedge there rose a shout,
+    "Oh! you'll catch it, no doubt!
+    But remember we gave you warning fair,
+              Touch him if you dare!"
+
+
+    DOG.
+
+    "If I dare?" said the Dog--"Take that!"
+    As he gave the Hedgehog a pat.
+    But oh, how he pitied his own poor paw;
+    And shook it and licked it, it was so sore.
+
+
+    DANDELION.
+
+    "It's much too funny by half,"
+    Said the Dandelion; "it makes me ill,
+    For I cannot keep still,
+    And my hair comes out if I laugh."
+
+    The Hedgehog he spoke never a word,
+            And he never stirred;
+    His peeping eyes, his inquisitive nose,
+            And his tender toes,
+    Were all wrapped up in his prickly clothes.
+    A provoking enemy you may suppose!
+    And a dangerous one to flout--
+    Like a well-stocked pin-cushion inside out.
+
+    The Dog was valiant, the Dog was vain,
+    He flew at the prickly ball again,
+    Snapping with all his might and main,
+            But, oh! the pain!
+    He sat down on his stumpy tail and howled,
+    Then he laid his jaws on his paws and growled.
+
+
+    DANDELION.
+
+    With laughter the Dandelion shook--
+    "It passes a printed book;
+    It's as good as a play, I declare,
+    But it's cost me half my back hair!"
+    The Dog he made another essay,
+    It really and truly was very plucky--
+    But "third times," you know, are not always lucky--
+    And this time he ran away!
+
+
+    HEDGE-PLANTS.
+
+    Then the Hedge-plants every one
+    Rustled together, "What fun! what fun!
+                The battle is done,
+                The victory won.
+    Dear Hedge-pig, pray come out of the Sun."
+
+    The Hedge-pig put forth his snout,
+    He sniffed hither and thither and peeped about;
+    Then he tucked up his prickly clothes,
+    And trotted away on his tender toes
+    To where the hedge-bottom is cool and deep,
+    Had a slug for supper, and went to sleep.
+    His leafy bed-clothes cuddled his chin,
+    And all the Hedge-plants tucked him in.
+
+    But the hairs and the tears that we shed
+                Never can be recalled;
+    And when _he_ too went off, in hysterics, to bed,
+                DANDELION was bald.
+
+
+
+
+    MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY REVIEW.
+
+    BROTHER BILL.
+
+
+    To have a good birthday for a grown-up person is very difficult indeed;
+    We don't give it up, for Mother says the harder things are, the harder
+             you must try till you succeed.
+    Still, _our_ birthdays are different; we want so many things, and
+             choosing your own pudding, and even half-holidays are treats;
+    But what can you do for people who always order the dinner, and never
+             have lessons, and don't even like sweets?
+    I know Mother does not. Baby put a big red comfit in her mouth, and I
+             saw her take it out again on the sly;
+    I don't believe she even enjoys going a-gypseying, for she gets
+             neuralgia if she stands about where it isn't dry.
+    And how can you boil the kettle if you're not near the brook? But it's
+             the last time she shall go there,
+    I told her so; I said, "What's the good of having five sons, except to
+             mount guard over you, you Queen of all Mothers that
+             ever were?"
+    But she's not easy to manage, and she shams sometimes, and shamming is
+             a thing I can't bear.
+    She shammed about the red comfit, when she didn't think Baby could
+             see her;
+    And (because they're the only things we can think of for birthday
+             presents for her) she shams wearing out a needle-book and a
+             pin-cushion every year.
+    The only things we can think of for Father are paper-cutters; but
+             there's no sham about _his_ wearing _them_ out;
+    He would always lose them, long before his next birthday, if Mother
+             did not keep finding them lying about.
+    Last year's paper-cutter was as big as a sword (not as big as Father's
+             sword, but as big as a wooden one, like ours),
+    And he left it behind in a railway-carriage, when he'd had it just
+             thirty-six hours;
+    So we knew he was ready for another. It was Mother's birthday that
+             bothered us so;
+
+    [Illustration: Review of the Household Troops
+                   The Cavalry]
+
+    And if it hadn't been for Dolly's Major (he's her Godfather, and she
+             calls him "my Major"), what we should have done I really
+             don't know!
+    He said, "What's the matter?" And Dolly said,
+    "Mother's birthday's the matter." And I said, "We can't think what
+             to devise
+    To give her a birthday treat that won't give her neuralgia, and will
+             take her by surprise.
+    Look here, Major! How can you give people treats who can order what
+             they wish for far better than you?
+    I wonder what they do for the Queen!--her birthday must be the hardest
+             of all." But he said, "Not a bit of it! They have a review:
+    Cocked hats and all the rest of it; and a salute, and a _feu de joie_,
+             and a March-Past.
+    That's the way we keep the Queen's Birthday; and every year the same
+             as the last."
+    So I settled at once to have a Mother's Birthday Review; and that she
+             should be Queen, and I should be the General in command.
+    I thought she couldn't come to any harm by sitting in a fur cloak and
+             a birthday wreath at the window, and bowing and waving
+             her hand.
+    We did not tell her what was coming, we only asked for leave to have
+             all the seven donkeys for an hour and a half;
+    (We always hire them from the same old man)--two for the girls, and
+             five for me and my brothers--I told him, "for me and
+             my Staff."
+    We could have managed with five, if the girls would only have been
+             Maids of Honour, and stayed indoors with the Queen.
+    Maggie would if I'd asked her; but Dolly will go her own way, and
+             that's into the thick of everything, to see whatever there
+             is to be seen.
+    She's only four years old, but she's ridiculously like the picture
+             of an ancient ancestress of ours
+    Who defended an old castle in Cornwall, against the French, for
+             hours and hours.
+    Her husband was away, so she was in command, and all her household
+             obeyed her;
+    She made them strip the lead off the roofs, and they did, and she
+             boiled it down and gave it very hot indeed to the
+             French invader.[5]
+    Maggie would have let the French in; she doesn't like me to say so,
+             but I know she would,--you can get anything out of Maggie
+             by talking.
+
+    [Illustration: The Spectators.]
+
+    She likes to hire a donkey, and then sham she'd rather not ride, for
+             fear of being too heavy; and to take Spike out for a run,
+             and then carry him to save him the trouble of walking.
+    But she's very good; she made all our cocked hats, and at the review
+             she and Dolly and Spike were the loyal crowd.
+    Dick and Tom and Harry were the troops, and I was the General, and
+             Mother looked quite like a Queen at the window, and bowed.
+    The donkeys made very good chargers on the whole, and especially mine;
+    Jem's was the only one that gave trouble, and neither fair means nor
+             foul would keep him in line.
+    Just when I'd dressed all their noses to a nice level (you can do
+             nothing with their ears), then back went Jem's brute,
+    And Jem caught him a whack with the flat of his sword (a thing you
+             never see done on the Staff), and it rather spoilt the salute;
+    But the spirit of the troops was excellent, and we'd a _feu de joie_
+             with penny pistols (Jem's donkey was the only one that shied),
+             and Dolly's Major says that, all things considered, he never
+             saw a better March-Past;
+    And Mother was delighted with her first Birthday Review, and she is
+             none the worse for it, and says she only hopes that it won't
+             be the last.
+
+    [Footnote 5: Dame Elizabeth Treffry (_temp._ Henry VI.) defended Place
+    House, Fowey, Cornwall, in the circumstances and with the
+    vigorous measures described. On his return her husband wisely
+    "Embattled all the walls of the house, and in a manner made it
+    a Castelle, and unto this day it is the glorie of the town building
+    in Faweye."--_Carew_. The beauties of Place Castle remain to
+    this day also.]
+
+
+    DOLLY.
+
+    They call me Dolly, but I'm not a doll, and I'm not a baby, though
+             Baby is sometimes my name;
+    I behave beautifully at meals, and at church, and I can put on my
+             own boots, and can say a good deal of the Catechism, and ride
+             a donkey, and play at any boys' game.
+    I've ridden a donkey that kicks (at least I rode him as long as I was
+             on), and a donkey that rolls, and an old donkey that
+             goes lame.
+    I mean to ride like a lady now, but that's because I ought, not because
+             I easily can;
+    For what with your legs and your pommels (I mean the saddle's pommels),
+             it would be much easier always to ride like a man.
+    Boys _look_ braver, but I think it's really more dangerous to ride
+             sideways, because of the saddle slipping round.
+    (I didn't cry; I played at slipping round the world, and getting to
+             New Zealand with my head upside down on the ground.)
+    The reason the saddle is slippery is not because it's smooth,
+             for it's rather rough; and there's a hard ridge behind,
+    And the horse's hair coming through the donkey's back (I mean through
+             his saddle) scratches you
+    dreadfully; but I tuck my things under me, and pretend I don't mind.
+    They work out again though, particularly when they are starched, and
+             I think frocks get shorter every time they go to the wash;
+    But I don't complain; if it's very uncomfortable, I make an ugly face
+             to myself, and say, "Bosh!"
+    We've all of us had a good deal of practice, so we ought to know
+             how to ride;
+    We've ridden a great deal since we came to live on the Heath, and we
+             rode a good deal when Father was stationed at the sea-side.
+    My Major taught me to ride sideways, and at first he would hold me on;
+    But I don't like being touched; and I don't call it riding like a lady
+             if you're held on by an officer, and I'd rather tumble off if
+             I can't stick on by myself; so I sent him away, and the nasty
+             saddle slipped round directly he was gone.
+    I only crushed my sun-bonnet, and the donkey stood quite still. (We
+             always call that one "the old stager.")
+    I wasn't frightened, except just the tiniest bit; but he says he was
+             dreadfully frightened. So I said, "Then you ought to be
+             ashamed of yourself, considering all your medals, and that
+             you're a Major."
+    He likes me very much, and I like him, and when my fifth birthday
+             comes, he says I'm to choose a donkey, and he'll buy it for
+             me, but the saddle and bridle shall be quite new;
+    So I've made up my mind to choose the one Brother Bill had for his
+             charger at Mother's Birthday Review;
+    And Maggie is so glad, she says her life is quite miserable with
+             thinking how miserable other lives are, if only we knew.
+    Maggie loves every creature that lives; she won't confess to black
+             beetles, but she can't stamp on them (I've stamped out lots
+             in my winter boots), and she doesn't even think a donkey
+             ugly when he brays;
+    And she says she shall buy a brush, out of her pocket-money, and brush
+             my donkey every day till he looks like a horse, and that it
+             shan't be her fault if there isn't one poor old brute beast
+             who lives happily to the end of his days.
+
+
+    JACK ASS.
+
+    The dew falls over the Heath, Brother Donkeys, and the darkness falls,
+             but still through the gathering night
+    All around us spreads the Heath Bed-straw[6] in glimmering sheets of
+             white.
+    Dragged and trampled, and plucked and wasted, it patiently spreads
+             and survives;
+    Kicked and thwacked, and prodded and over-laden, we patiently cling
+             to our lives.
+    Hee-haw! for the rest and silence of darkness that follow the labours
+             of light.
+    Hee-haw! for the hours from night to morning, that balance the hours
+             from morning to night.
+    Hee-haw! for the sweet night air that gives human beings cold in
+             the head.
+    Hee-haw! for the civilization that sends human beings to bed.
+    Rest, Brother Donkeys, rest, from the bit, the burden, the blow,
+    The dust, the flies, the restless children, the brutal roughs, the
+             greedy donkey-master, the greedier donkey-hirer, the
+             holiday-maker who knows no better, and the holiday-makers
+             who ought to know!
+    When the odorous furze-bush prickles the seeking nose, and the short
+             damp grass refreshes the tongue,--lend, Brother Donkeys, lend
+             a long and attentive ear!
+                Whilst I proudly bray
+                Of the one bright day
+            In our hard and chequered career.
+    I've dragged pots, and vegetables, and invalids, and
+    fish, and I've galloped with four costermongers to the races;
+    I've carried babies, and sea-coal, and sea-sand, and sea-weed in
+             panniers, and been sold to the gypsies, and been bought back
+             for the sea-side, and ridden (in a white saddle-cloth with
+             scarlet braid) by the fashionable visitors. (There was always
+             a certain distinction in my paces,
+    Though I say it who shouldn't) I've spent a summer on the Heath, and
+             next winter near Covent Garden, and moved the following year
+             to the foot of a mountain, to take people up to the top to
+             show them the view.
+    But how little we know what's before us! And how little I guessed I
+             should ever be chief charger at a Queen's Birthday Review!
+    Did I triumph alone? No, Brother Donkeys, no! You also took your place
+             with the defenders of the nation;
+    Subordinate positions to my own, but meritoriously filled, though a
+             little more style would have well become so great an occasion.
+    That malevolent old Moke--may his next thistle choke him!--disgraced us
+             all with his jibbing--the ill-tempered old ass!
+    Young Neddy is shaggy and shy, but not amiss, if he'd held his ears up,
+             and not kept his eyes on the grass.
+    Nothing is more je-june (I may say vulgar) than to seem anxious to eat
+             when the crisis calls for public spirit, enthusiasm, and an
+             elevated tone;
+    And I wish, Brother Donkeys, I wish that all had felt as I felt, the
+             responsibility of a March-Past the Throne!
+    Respect and self-respect delicately blended; one ear up, and the other
+             lowered to salute, as I passed the window from which we
+             were seen
+    (Unless I grievously misunderstood the young General this morning,) by
+             no less a personage than her Most Gracious Majesty THE QUEEN.
+    Sleep, Brother Donkeys, sleep! But I fancy you're sleeping already,
+             for you make no reply;
+    Not a quiver of your ears, not a sign from your motionless drooping
+             noses, dark against the dusky night sky.
+    As black and immovable as the silent fir-trees you solemnly
+             slumber beneath,
+    Whilst I wakefully meditate on a glorious past, and painfully ponder
+             the future, as the dews fall over the Heath.
+
+    [Footnote 6: Heath bed-straw (_Galium Saxatile_). This white-flowered
+    bed-straw grows profusely on Hampstead Heath.]
+
+
+
+
+    THE PROMISE.
+
+
+    CHILD.
+
+            Five blue eggs hatching,
+            With bright eyes watching,
+    Little brown mother, you sit on your nest.
+
+
+    BIRD.
+
+            Oh! pass me blindly,
+            Oh! spare me kindly,
+    Pity my terror, and leave me to rest.
+
+
+    CHORUS OF CHILDREN.
+
+            Hush! hush! hush!
+            'Tis a poor mother thrush.
+    When the blue eggs hatch, the brown birds will sing--
+    This is a promise made in the Spring.
+
+
+    CHILD.
+
+            Five speckled thrushes
+            In leafy bushes
+    Singing sweet songs to the hot Summer sky.
+            In and out twitting,
+            Here and there flitting,
+    Happy is life as the long days go by.
+
+
+    CHORUS.
+
+          Hush! hush! hush!
+          'Tis the song of the thrush:
+    Hatched are the blue eggs; the brown birds do sing--
+    Keeping the promise made in the Spring.
+
+    Published in _Aunt Judy's Magazine_, July 1866, with music by
+    Alexander Ewing.
+
+
+
+
+    CONVALESCENCE.
+
+
+    Hold my hand, little Sister, and nurse my head, whilst I try to
+             remember the word,
+    What was it?--that the doctor says is now fairly established both
+             in me and my bird.
+    C-O-N-_con_, _with a con_, S-T-A-N-_stan_, _with a stan_--No! That's
+             Constantinople, that is
+    The capital of the country where rhubarb-and-magnesia comes from, and
+             I wish they would keep it in that country, and not send
+             it to this.
+    C-O-N-_con_--how my head swims! Now I've got it!
+             C-O-N-V-A-L-E-S-C-E-N-C-E.
+    _Convalescence!_ And that's what the doctor says is now fairly
+             established both in my blackbird and me.
+    He says it means that you are better, and that you'll be well
+             by and by.
+    And so the Sea-captain says, and he says we ought to be friends,
+             because we're both convalescents--at least we're all three
+             convalescents, my blackbird, and the Captain and I.
+    He's a sea-captain, not a land-captain, but, all the same, he was
+             in the war,
+    And he fought,--for I asked him,--and he's been ill ever since, and
+             that's why he's not afloat, but ashore;
+    And why somebody else has got his ship; and she behaved so beautifully
+             in the battle, and he loves her quite as much as his wife,
+             and rather better than the rest of his relations, for I asked
+             him; and now he's afraid she will never belong to him
+             any more.
+    I like him. I've seen him three times out walking with two sticks, when
+             I was driving in the bath-chair, but I never talked to him
+             till to-day.
+    He'd only one stick and a telescope, and he let me look through it at
+             the big ship that was coming round the corner into the bay.
+    He was very kind, and let me ask questions. I said, "Are you a
+             sea-captain?" and he said, "Yes." And I said, "How funny it
+             is about land things and sea things!
+    There are captains and sea-captains, and weeds and sea-weeds, and
+             serpents and sea-serpents. Did you ever meet one, and is it
+             really like the dragons on our very old best blue tea-things?"
+    But he never did. So I asked him, "Have you got convalescence? Does
+             your doctor say it is fairly established? Do your eyes ache
+             if you try to read, and your neck if you draw, and your back
+             if you sit up, and your head if you talk?
+    Don't you get tired of doing nothing, and worse tired still if you do
+             anything; and does everything wobble about when you walk?
+    Wouldn't you rather go back to bed? I think I would. Don't you wish
+             you were well? Wouldn't you rather be ill than only better?
+             I do hate convalescence, don't you?"
+    Then I stopped asking, and he shut up his telescope, and sat down on
+             the shingle, and said, "When you come to my age, little chap,
+             you won't think 'What is it I'd rather have?' but, 'What is
+             it I've got to do?'
+    'What have I got to do or to bear; and how can I do it or bear
+             it best?'
+    That's the only safe point to make for, my lad. Make for it, and
+             leave the rest!"
+    I said, "But _wouldn't_ you rather be in battles than in bed, with
+             your head aching as if it would split?"
+    And he said, "Of course I would; so would most men. But, my little
+             convalescent, that's not it.
+    What would _you_ think of a man who was ordered into battle, and went
+             grumbling and wishing he were in bed?"
+    "What should I think of the fellow? Why, I should know he was a
+             coward," I said.
+    "And if he were confined to bed," said the Sea-captain, "and lay
+             grumbling and wishing he were in battle, I should give
+             him no better a name;
+    For the courage that dares, and the courage that bears, are really
+             one and the same."
+    Hold my hand, little Sister, and nurse my head, for I'm thinking, and
+             I very much fear
+    You've had no good of being well since I was ill; I've led you such a
+             life; but indeed I am obliged to you, dear!
+    Is it true that Nurse has got something the matter with her legs, and
+             that Mary has gone home because she's worn out with nursing,
+    And won't be fit to work for months? (will _she_ be convalescent,
+             because it was such hard work waiting on _me_?) and did Cook
+             say, "So much grumbling and complaining is nigh as big a sin
+             as swearing and cursing"?
+    I wish I hadn't been so cross with poor Mary, and I wish I hadn't given
+             so much trouble about my medicine and my food.
+    I didn't think about her. I only thought what a bother it was. I wish
+             I hadn't thought so much about being miserable, that I never
+             thought of trying to be good.
+    I believe the Sea-captain is right, and I shall tell him so to-morrow,
+             when he comes here to tea;
+    He's going to look at my blackbird's leg, and if it is really set, he
+             wants me to let it go free.
+    He says captivity is worse than convalescence, and so I should think
+             it must be.
+    Are you tired, little Sister? You feel shaky. Don't beg my pardon; I
+             beg yours. I've not let you go out of my sight for weeks.
+             Get your things on, and have a gallop on Jack.
+    Ride round this way and let me see you. I won't say a word about
+             wishing I was going too; and if my head gets bad whilst
+             you're away, I will bear it my very best till you come back.
+    Tell me one thing before you start. If I learn to be patient, shall I
+             learn to be brave, do you think? The Sea-captain says so.
+    He says, "Self-command is the making of a man," and he's a finely-made
+             man himself, so he ought to know.
+    Perhaps, if I try hard at Convalescence now, I may become a brave
+             sea-captain hereafter, and take my beautiful ship into battle,
+             and bring her out again with flying colours and fame,
+    If the courage that dares, and the courage that bears, _are_ really
+             one and the same.
+
+
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    THE ADVENTURES OF AN ELF.
+
+    A PICTURE POEM FOR THE LITTLE ONES.
+
+    _By Fedor Flinzer. Freely translated by J.H. Ewing._
+
+
+    I.
+
+    Dear children, listen whilst I tell
+    What to a certain Elf befell,
+    Who left his house and sallied forth
+    Adventure seeking, south and north,
+    And west and east, by path and field,
+    Resolved to conquer or to yield.
+    A thimble on his back he carried,
+    With a rose-twig his foes he parried.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    II.
+
+    It was a sunny, bright, spring day,
+    When to the wood he took his way;
+    He knew that in a certain spot
+    A Bumble Bee his nest had got.
+    The Bee was out, the chance was good,
+    But just when grabbing all he could,
+    He heard the Bee behind him humming,
+    And only wished he'd heard him coming!
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    III.
+
+    In terror turned the tiny man,
+    And now a famous fight began:
+    The Bee flew round, and buzzed and stung,
+    The Elf his prickly rose-staff swung.
+    Now fiercely here, now wildly there,
+    He hit the Bee or fought the air.
+    At last one weighty blow descended:
+    The Bee was dead--the fight was ended.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    IV.
+
+    Exhausted quite, he took a seat.
+    The honey tasted doubly sweet!
+    The thimble-full had been upset,
+    But still there were a few drops yet.
+    He licked his lips and blessed himself,
+    That he was such a lucky Elf,
+    And now might hope to live in clover;
+    But, ah! his troubles were not over!
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    V.
+
+    For at that instant, by his side,
+    A beast of fearful form he spied:
+    At first he thought it was a bear,
+    And headlong fell in dire despair.
+    He lost one slipper in the moss,
+    And this was not his only loss.
+    With paws and snout the beast was nimble,
+    And very soon cleared out the thimble.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    VI.
+
+    This rifling of his honey-pot
+    Awoke our Elfin's wrath full hot.
+    He made a rope of linden bast,
+    By either end he held it fast,
+    And creeping up behind the beast,
+    Intent upon the honey feast,
+    Before it had the slightest inkling,
+    The rope was round it in a twinkling.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    VII.
+
+    The mouse shrieked "Murder!" "Fire!" and "Thieves!"
+    And struggled through the twigs and leaves.
+    It pulled the reins with all its might,
+    Our hero only drew them tight.
+    Upon the mouse's back he leapt,
+    And like a man his seat he kept.
+    His steed was terribly affrighted,
+    But he himself was much delighted.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    VIII.
+
+    "Gee up, my little horse!" he cried,
+    "I mean to have a glorious ride;
+    So bear me forth with lightning speed,
+    A Knight resolved on doughty deed.
+    The wide world we will gallop round,
+    And clear the hedges at one bound."
+    The mouse set off, the hero bantered,
+    And out into the world they cantered.
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    IX.
+
+    At last they rode up to an inn:
+    "Good Mr. Host, pray who's within?"
+    "My daughter serves the customers,
+    Before the fire the Tom-cat purrs."
+    For further news they did not wait--
+    The mouse sprang through the garden-gate--
+    They fled without a look behind them.
+    The question is--Did Thomas find them?
+
+
+
+
+    SONGS FOR MUSIC
+
+
+
+
+    SERENADE.
+
+
+    I would not have you wake for me,
+      Fair lady, though I love you!
+    And though the night is warm, and all
+      The stars are out above you;
+    And though the dew's so light it could
+      Not hurt your little feet,
+    And nightingales in yonder wood
+      Are singing passing sweet.
+
+    Yet may my plaintive strain unite
+      And mingle with your dreaming,
+    And through the visions of the night
+      Just interweave my seeming.
+    Yet no! sleep on with fancy free
+      In that untroubled breast;
+    No song of mine, no thought of me,
+      Deserves to break your rest!
+
+
+
+
+    MAIDEN WITH THE GIPSY LOOK.
+
+
+    Maiden with the gipsy look,
+    Dusky locks and russet hue,
+    Open wide thy Sybil's book,
+    Tell my fate and tell it true;
+    Shall I live? or shall I die?
+    Timely wed, or single be?
+    Maiden with the gipsy eye,
+    Read my riddle unto me!
+
+    Maiden with the gipsy face,
+    If thou canst not tell me all,
+    Tell me thus much, of thy grace,
+    Should I climb, or fear to fall?
+    Should I dare, or dread to dare?
+    Should I speak, or silent be?
+    Maiden with the gipsy hair,
+    Read my riddle unto me!
+
+    Maiden with the gipsy hair,
+    Deep into thy mirror look,
+    See my love and fortune there,
+    Clearer than in Sybil's book:
+    Let me cross thy slender palm,
+    Let me learn my fate from thee;
+    Maiden with the gipsy charm,
+    Read my riddle unto me.
+
+
+
+
+    AH! WOULD I COULD FORGET.
+
+
+    The whispering water rocks the reeds,
+    And, murmuring softly, laps the weeds;
+    And nurses there the falsest bloom
+    That ever wrought a lover's doom.
+      Forget me not! Forget me not!
+        Ah! would I could forget!
+      But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
+        Her image haunts me yet.
+
+    We wander'd by the river's brim,
+    The day grew dusk, the pathway dim;
+    Her eyes like stars dispell'd the gloom,
+    Her gleaming fingers pluck'd the bloom.
+      Forget me not! Forget me not!
+        Ah! would I could forget!
+      But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
+        Her image haunts me yet.
+
+    The pale moon lit her paler face,
+    And coldly watch'd our last embrace,
+    And chill'd her tresses' sunny hue,
+    And stole that flower's turquoise blue.
+      Forget me not! Forget me not!
+        Ah! would I could forget!
+      But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
+        Her image haunts me yet.
+
+    The fateful flower droop'd to death,
+    The fair, false maid forswore her faith;
+    But I obey a broken vow,
+    And keep those wither'd blossoms now!
+      Forget me not! Forget me not!
+        Ah! would I could forget!
+      But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
+        Her image haunts me yet.
+
+    Sweet lips that pray'd--"Forget me not!"
+    Sweet eyes that will not be forgot!
+    Recall your prayer, forego your power,
+    Which binds me by the fatal flower.
+      Forget me not! Forget me not!
+        Ah! would I could forget!
+      But, crying still, "Forget me not,"
+        Her image haunts me yet.
+
+
+
+
+    MADRIGAL.
+
+
+    Life is full of trouble,
+      Love is full of care,
+    Joy is like a bubble
+      Shining in the air,
+        For you cannot
+      Grasp it anywhere.
+
+    Love is not worth getting,
+      It doth fade so fast.
+    Life is not worth fretting
+      Which so soon is past;
+        And you cannot
+      Bid them longer last.
+
+    Yet for certain fellows
+      Life seems true and strong;
+    And with some, they tell us,
+      Love will linger long;
+        Thus they cannot
+      Understand my song.
+
+
+
+
+    THE ELLEREE.[7]
+
+    A SONG OF SECOND SIGHT.
+
+
+    Elleree! O Elleree!
+    Seeing what none else may see,
+    Dost thou see the man in grey?
+    Dost thou hear the night hounds bay?
+      Elleree! O Elleree!
+    Seventh son of seventh son,
+    All thy thread of life is spun,
+    Thy little race is nearly run,
+      And death awaits for thee!
+
+    Elleree! O Elleree!
+    Coronach shall wail for thee;
+    Get thee shrived and get thee blest,
+    Get thee ready for thy rest,
+      Elleree! O Elleree!
+    That thou owest quickly give,
+    What thou ownest thou must leave,
+    And those thou lovest best shall grieve,
+      But all in vain for thee!
+
+    "Bodach Glas!"[8] the chieftain said,
+    "All my debts but one are paid,
+    All I love have long been dead,
+    All my hopes on Heaven are stay'd,
+      Death to me can bring no dole;"
+    Thus the Elleree replied;--
+    But with ebbing of the tide
+    As sinks the setting sun he died;--
+      May Christ receive his soul!
+
+    [Footnote 7: "Elleree" is the name of one who has the gift of second
+    sight.]
+
+    [Footnote 8: "Bodach Glas," the Man in Grey, appears to a Highland
+    family with the gift of second sight, presaging death.]
+
+
+
+
+    OTHER STARS.
+
+
+    The night is dark, and yet it is not quite:
+      Those stars are hid that other orbs may shine;
+    Twin stars, whose rays illuminate the night,
+      And cheer her gloom, but only deepen mine;
+        For these fair stars are not what they do seem,
+        But vanish'd eyes remember'd in a dream.
+
+    The night is dark, and yet it brings no rest;
+      Those eager eyes gaze on and banish sleep;
+    Though flaming Mars has lower'd his crimson crest,
+      And weary Venus pales into the deep,
+        These two with tender shining mock my woe
+        From out the distant heaven of long ago.
+
+    The night is dark, and yet how bright they gleam!
+      Oh! empty vision of a vanish'd light!
+    Sweet eyes! must you for ever be a dream
+      Deep in my heart, and distant from my sight?
+        For could you shine as once you shone before,
+        The stars might hide their rays for evermore!
+
+
+
+
+    FADED FLOWERS.
+
+
+    My love she sent a flower to me
+    Of tender hue and fragrance rare,
+    And with it came across the sea
+    A letter kind as she was fair;
+    But when her letter met mine eyes,
+    The flower, the little flower, was dead:
+    And ere I touched the tender prize
+    The hues were dim, the fragrance fled.
+
+    I sent my love a letter too,
+    In happy hope no more to roam;
+    I bade her bless the vessel true
+    Whose gallant sails should waft me home.
+    But ere my letter reach'd her hand,
+    My love, my little love, was dead,
+    And when the vessel touch'd the land,
+    Fair hope for evermore had fled.
+
+
+
+
+    SPEED WELL.
+
+
+    What time I left my native land,
+      And bade farewell to my true love,
+    She laid a flower in my hand
+      As azure as the sky above.
+        "Speed thee well! Speed well!"
+      She softly whispered, "Speed well!
+          This flower blue
+          Be token true
+      Of my true heart's true love for you!"
+
+    Its tender hue is bright and pure,
+      As heav'n through summer clouds doth show,
+    A pledge though clouds thy way obscure,
+      It shall not be for ever so.
+        "Speed thee well! Speed well!"
+      She softly whisper'd, "Speed well!
+          This flower blue
+          Be token true
+      Of my true heart's true love for you!"
+
+    And as I toil through help and harm,
+      And whilst on alien shores I dwell,
+    I wear this flower as a charm,
+      My heart repeats that tender spell:
+        "Speed thee well! Speed well!"
+      It softly whispers, "Speed well!
+          This flower blue
+          Be token true
+    Of my true heart's true love for you!"
+
+
+
+
+    HOW MANY YEARS AGO?
+
+
+    How many years ago, love,
+      Since you came courting me?
+    Through oak-tree wood and o'er the lea,
+      With rosy cheeks and waistcoat gay,
+      And mostly not a word to say,--
+        How many years ago, love,
+        How many years ago?
+
+    How many years ago, love,
+      Since you to Father spoke?
+    Between your lips a sprig of oak:
+      You were not one with much to say,
+      But Mother spoke for you that day,--
+        How many years ago, love,
+        How many years ago?
+
+    So many years ago, love,
+      That soon our time must come
+    To leave our girl without a home;--
+      She's like her mother, love, you've said:
+     --At her age I had long been wed,--
+        How many years ago, love,
+        How many years ago?
+
+    For love of long-ago, love,
+      If John has aught to say,
+    When he comes up to us to-day,
+      (A likely lad, though short of tongue,)
+      Remember, husband, we were young,--
+        How many years ago, love,
+        How many years ago?
+
+
+
+
+    "WITH A DIFFERENCE."
+
+
+    I'm weary waiting here,
+      The chill east wind is sighing,
+    The autumn tints are sere,
+      The summer flowers are dying.
+    The river's sullen way
+      Winds on through vacant meadows,
+    The dying light of day
+      Strives vainly with the shadows.
+
+    A footstep stirs the leaves!
+      The faded fields seem brighter,
+    The sunset gilds the sheaves,
+      The low'ring clouds look lighter.
+    The river sparkles by,
+      Not all the flowers are falling,
+    There's azure in the sky,
+      And thou, my love, art calling.
+
+
+
+
+    THE LILY OF THE LAKE.
+
+
+    Over wastes of blasted heather,
+    Where the pine-trees stand together,
+    Evermore my footsteps wander,
+    Evermore the shadows yonder
+                Deepen into gloom.
+    Where there lies a silent lake,
+    No song-bird there its thirst may slake,
+    No sunshine now to whiteness wake
+                The water-lily's bloom.
+
+    Some sweet spring-time long departed,
+    I and she, the simple-hearted,
+    Bride and bridegroom, maid and lover,
+    Did that gloomy lake discover,
+                Did those lilies see.
+    There we wandered side by side.
+    There it was they said she died.
+    But ah! in this I know they lied!
+                She will return to me!
+
+    Never, never since that hour
+    Has the lake brought forth a flower.
+    Ever harshly do the sedges
+    Some sad secret from its edges
+                Whisper to the shore.
+    Some sad secret I forget.
+    The lily though will blossom yet:
+    And when it blooms I shall have met
+                My love for evermore.
+
+
+
+
+    FROM FLEETING PLEASURES.
+
+    A REQUIEM FOR ONE ALIVE.
+
+
+    From fleeting pleasures and abiding cares,
+    From sin's seductions and from Satan's snares,
+    From woes and wrath to penitence and prayers,
+                        Veni in pace!
+
+    Sweet absolution thy sad spirit heal;
+    To godly cares that end in endless weal,
+    To joys man cannot think or speak or feel,
+                        Vade in pace!
+
+    From this world's ways and being led by them,
+    From floods of evil thy youth could not stem,
+    From tents of Kedar to Jerusalem,
+                        Veni in pace!
+
+    Blest be thy worldly loss to thy soul's gain,
+    Blest be the blow that freed thee from thy chain,
+    Blest be the tears that wash thy spirit's stain,
+                        Vade in pace!
+
+    Oh, dead, and yet alive! Oh, lost and found!
+    Salvation's walls now compass thee around,
+    Thy weary feet are set on holy ground.
+                        Veni in pace!
+
+    Death gently garner thee with all the blest,
+    In heavenly habitations be thou guest;
+    To light perpetual and eternal rest,
+                        Vade in pace!
+
+
+
+
+    THE RUNAWAY'S RETURN.
+
+
+        It was on such a night as this,
+          Some long unreal years ago,
+        When all within were wrapp'd in sleep,
+          And all without was wrapp'd in snow,
+        The full moon rising in the east,
+          The old church standing like a ghost,
+        That, shivering in the wintry mist,
+          And breathless with the silent frost,
+    A little lad, I ran to seek my fortune on the main;
+    I marvel now with how much hope and with how little pain!
+
+        It is of such a night as this,
+          In all the lands where I have been,
+        That memory too faithfully
+          Has painted the familiar scene.
+        By all the shores, on every sea,
+          In luck or loss, by night or day,
+        My highest hope has been to see
+          That home from which I ran away.
+    For this I toil'd, to this I look'd through many a weary year,
+    I marvel now with how much hope, and with how little fear.
+
+        On such a night at last I came,
+          But they were dead I loved of yore.
+        Ah, Mother, then my heart felt all
+          The pain it should have felt before!
+        I came away, though loth to come,
+          I clung, and yet why should I cling?
+        When all have gone who made it home,
+          It is the shadow, not the thing.
+    A homeless man, once more I seek my fortune on the main:
+    I marvel with how little hope, and with what bitter pain.
+
+
+
+
+    FANCY FREE.
+
+    A GIRL'S SONG.
+
+
+    With bark and bound and frolic round
+      My dog and I together run;
+    While by our side a brook doth glide,
+      And laugh and sparkle in the sun.
+    We ask no more of fortune's store
+      Than thus at our sweet wills to roam:
+    And drink heart's ease from every breeze
+      That blows about the hills of home.
+                      As, fancy free,
+                      With game and glee,
+                      We happy three
+                      Dance down the glen.
+
+    And yet they say that some fine day
+      This vagrant stream may serve a mill;
+    My doggy guard a master's yard;
+      My free heart choose another's will.
+    How this may fare we little care,
+      My dog and I, as still we run!
+    Whilst by our side the brook doth glide,
+      And laugh and sparkle in the sun.
+                      For, fancy free,
+                      With game and glee,
+                      We happy three
+                      Dance down the glen.
+
+
+
+
+    MY LOVE'S GIFT.
+
+
+    You ask me what--since we must part--
+    You shall bring home to me;
+    Bring back a pure and faithful heart,
+    As true as mine to thee.
+      I ask not wealth nor fame,
+      I only ask for thee,
+      Thyself--and that dear self the same--
+    My love, bring back to me!
+
+    You talk of gems from foreign lands,
+    Of treasure, spoil, and prize.
+    Ah, love! I shall not search your hands,
+    But look into your eyes.
+      I ask not wealth nor fame,
+      I only ask for thee,
+      Thyself--and that dear self the same--
+    My love, bring back to me!
+
+    You speak of glory and renown,
+    With me to share your pride,
+    Unbroken faith is all the crown
+    I ask for as your bride.
+      I ask not wealth nor fame,
+      I only ask for thee,
+      Thyself--and that dear self the same--
+    My love, bring back to me!
+
+    You bid me with hope's eager gaze
+    Behold fair fortune come.
+    I only dream I see your face
+    Beside the hearth at home.
+      I ask not wealth nor fame,
+      I do but ask for thee!
+      Thyself--and that dear self the same--
+    May God restore to me!
+
+
+
+
+    ANEMONES.
+
+
+    If I should wish hereafter that your heart
+    Should beat with one fair memory of me,
+    May Time's hard hand our footsteps guide apart,
+    But lead yours back one spring-time to the Lea.
+               Nodding Anemones,
+               Wind-flowers pale,
+             Bloom with the budding trees,
+             Dancing to every breeze,
+             Mock hopes more fair than these,
+               Love's vows more frail.
+
+    For then the grass we loved grows green again,
+    And April showers make April woods more fair;
+    But no sun dries the sad salt tears of pain,
+    Or brings back summer lights on faded hair,
+               Nodding Anemones,
+               Wind-flowers pale,
+             Bloom with the budding trees,
+             Dancing to every breeze,
+             Mock hopes more frail than these,
+               Love's vows more frail.
+
+
+
+
+    AUTUMN LEAVES.
+
+
+    The Spring's bright tints no more are seen,
+    And Summer's ample robe of green
+        Is russet-gold and brown;
+    When flowers fall to every breeze
+    And, shed reluctant from the trees,
+        The leaves drop down.
+
+    A sadness steals about the heart,
+   --And is it thus from youth we part,
+        And life's redundant prime?
+    Must friends like flowers fade away,
+    And life like Nature know decay,
+        And bow to time?
+
+    And yet such sadness meets rebuke,
+    From every copse in every nook
+        Where Autumn's colours glow;
+    How bright the sky! How full the sheaves!
+    What mellow glories gild the leaves
+        Before they go.
+
+    Then let us sing the jocund praise,
+    In this bright air, of these bright days,
+        When years our friendships crown;
+    The love that's loveliest when 'tis old--
+    When tender tints have turned to gold
+        And leaves drop down.
+
+
+
+
+    HYMNS.
+
+
+
+
+    CONFIRMATION.
+
+
+    Long, long ago, with vows too much forgotten,
+      The Cross of Christ was seal'd on every brow,
+    Ah! slow of heart, that shun the Christian conflict;
+      Rise up at last! The accepted time is now.
+           Soldiers of Jesus! Blest who endure;
+           Stand in the battle; the victory is sure.
+
+    Hark! hark! the Saviour's voice to each is calling--
+      "I bore the Cross of Death in pain for thee;
+    On thee the Cross of daily life is falling:
+      Children! take up the Cross and follow Me."
+           Soldiers of Jesus! &c.
+
+    Strive as God's saints have striven in all ages;
+      Press those slow steps where firmer feet have trod:
+    For us their lives adorn the sacred pages,
+      For them a crown of glory is with God.
+           Soldiers of Jesus! &c.
+
+    Peace! peace! sweet voices bring an ancient story,
+      (Such songs angelic melodies employ,)
+    "Hard is the strife, but unconceived the glory:
+      Short is the pain, eternal is the joy."
+           Soldiers of Jesus! &c.
+
+    On! Christian souls, all base temptations spurning,
+      Drown coward thoughts in Faith's triumphant hymn;
+    Since Jesus suffer'd, our salvation earning,
+      Shall we not toil that we may rest with Him?
+           Soldiers of Jesus! &c. Amen.
+
+
+
+
+    WHITSUNTIDE.
+
+
+    Come down! come down! O Holy Ghost!
+      As once of old Thou didst come down
+    In fiery tongues at Pentecost,
+      The Apostolic heads to crown.
+
+    Come down! though now no flame divine,
+      Nor heaven-sent Dove, our sight amaze;
+    Our Church still shows the outward sign,
+      Thou truly givest inward grace.
+
+    Come down! come down! on infancy,
+      The babes whom Jesus deign'd to love;
+    God give us grace by faith to see,
+      Above the Font, the mystic Dove.
+
+    Come down! come down! on kneeling bands
+      Of those who fain would strength receive;
+    And in the laying on of hands
+      Bless us beyond what we believe.
+
+    Come down! not only on the saint,
+      Oh! struggle with the hard of heart,
+    With wilful sin and inborn taint,
+      Till lust, and wrath, and pride depart.
+
+    Come down! come down! sweet Comforter!
+      It was the promise of the Lord.
+    Come down! although we grieve Thee sore,
+      Not for our merits--but His Word.
+
+    Come down! come down! not what we would,
+      But what we need, O bring with Thee.
+    Turn life's sore riddle to our good;
+      A little while and we shall see. Amen.
+
+
+
+
+    CHRISTMAS WISHES.
+
+    A CAROL.
+
+
+      Oh, happy Christmas, full of blessings, come!
+          Now bid our discords cease;
+          Here give the weary ease;
+          Let the long-parted meet again in peace;
+          Bring back the far-away;
+          Grant us a holiday;
+          And by the hopes of Christmas-tide we pray--
+      Let love restore the fallen to his Home;
+    Whilst up and down the snowy streets the Christmas minstrels sing;
+    And through the frost from countless towers the bells of
+             Christmas ring.
+
+      Ah, Christ! and yet a happier day shall come!
+          Then bid our discords cease;
+          There give the weary ease;
+          Let the long-parted meet again in peace;
+          Bring back the far-away;
+          Grant us a holiday;
+          And by the hopes of Christmas-tide we pray--
+      Let love restore the fallen to his Home;
+    Whilst up and down the golden streets the blessed angels sing,
+    And evermore the heavenly chimes in heavenly cadence ring.
+
+
+
+
+    TEACH ME.
+
+    _Translated from the Danish of Oehlenschlaeger._
+
+
+    Teach me, O wood, to fade away,
+    As autumn's yellow leaves decay
+        A better spring impends,--
+    Then green and glorious shall my tree
+    Take deep root in eternity,--
+        Whose summer never ends!
+
+    Teach me, O bird of passage, this,
+    To seek, in faith a better bliss
+        On other unknown shores!
+    When all is winter here and ice,
+    There ever-smiling Paradise
+        Unfolds its happy doors.
+
+    Teach me, thou summer butterfly,
+    To break the bonds which on me lie.
+        With fetters all too firm.
+    Ah, soon on golden purple wing
+    The liberated soul shall spring,
+         Which now creeps as a worm!
+
+    Teach me, O Lord, to yonder skies
+    To lift in hope these weary eyes
+         With earthly sorrows worn.
+    Good Friday was a bitter day,
+    But bright the sun's eternal ray
+         Which broke on Easter morn.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay._
+
+
+_The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorized,
+complete, and uniform Edition published._
+
+_It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. per vol.,
+issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these will
+appear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Series
+will be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover was
+specially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing._
+
+_The following is a list of the books included in the Series_--
+
+
+    1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES.
+
+    2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES.
+
+    3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY TALES.
+
+    4. A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING.
+
+    5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES.
+
+    6. SIX TO SIXTEEN.
+
+    7. LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES.
+
+    8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL.
+
+    9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS.
+
+    10. THE PEACE EGG--A CHRISTMAS MUMMING
+    PLAY--HINTS FOR PRIVATE
+    THEATRICALS, &c.
+
+    11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND  OTHER TALES.
+
+    12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES
+    OF BEASTS AND MEN.
+
+    13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I.
+
+    14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II.
+
+    15. JACKANAPES--DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOTE--THE
+    STORY OF A SHORT LIFE.
+
+    16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES
+    OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS.
+
+    17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the
+    Bloody Hand--Wonder Stories--Tales of the
+    Khoja, and other translations.
+
+    18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER
+    BOOKS, with a selection from Mrs. Ewing's
+    Letters.
+
+
+S.P.C.K., NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, LONDON, W.C.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Verses for Children, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
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