"Bask!" said the mother;
"We bask," said the eight :
So they basked in the sun

On the old mossy gate.

Over in the meadow,

Where the clear pools shine, Lived a green mother-frog

And her little froggies nine. "Croak!" said the mother; "We croak," said the nine : So they croaked, and they plashed, Where the clear pools shine.

Over in the meadow,
In a sly little den,
Lived a gray mother-spider
And her little spiders ten.
"Spin!" said the mother;
"We spin," said the ten :
So they spun lace webs

In their sly little den.

Over in the meadow,

In the soft summer even,

Lived a mother-fire-fly

And her little flies eleven. "Shine!" said the mother;

"We shine," said the eleven:

So they shone like stars

In the soft summer even.

Over in the meadow,

Where the men dig and delve,

Lived a wise mother-ant

And her little anties twelve,

RING-TING! I wish I were a Primrose,

A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring!
The stooping boughs above me,

The wandering bee to love me,

The fern and moss to creep across,
And the Elm-tree for our king!

Nay-stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree,
A great, lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay!
The winds would set them dancing,

The sun and moonshine glance in,
The birds would house among the boughs,
And sweetly sing.

0-no! I wish I were a Robin,

A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go;

Through forest, field, or garden,
And ask no leave or pardon,
Till winter comes with icy thumbs
To ruffle up our wing!

Well-tell! Where should I fly to,

Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell?

Before a day was over,

Home comes the rover,

For mother's kiss-sweeter this

Than any other thing.

William Allingham.

STOP, STOP, PRETTY WATER.

"STOP, stop, pretty water!"

Said Mary, one day,

To a frolicsome brook,

That was running away.

CHILD'S WISH IN JUNE.

MOTHER, mother, the winds are at play,
Prithee let me be idle to-day,

Look, dear mother, the flowers all lie
Languidly under the bright blue sky.

See how slowly the streamlet glides;
Look how the violet roguishly hides;
Even the butterfly rests on the rose,
And scarcely sips the sweets as he goes.

Poor Tray is asleep in the noonday sun,
And the flies go about him one by one;
And Pussy sits near with a sleepy grace,
Without ever thinking of washing her face.

There flies a bird to a neighboring tree,
But very lazily flutters he ;

And he sits and twitters a gentle note,
That scarcely ruffles his little throat.

You bid me be busy; but, mother, hear,
The hum-drum Grasshopper droning near;
And the soft west wind is so light in its play,
It scarcely moves a leaf on the spray.

I wish, oh! I wish, I was yonder cloud,
That sails about with its misty shroud;
Books and work I no more should see,
But I'd come and float, dear mother, o'er thee.
- Mrs. Gilman.

UNDER MY WINDOW.

UNDER my window, under my window,
All in the midsummer weather,
Three little girls, with fluttering curls,

Flit to and fro together :

There's Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen,
And Maud with her mantle of silver-green,
And Kate with her scarlet feather.

Under my window, under my window,
Leaning stealthily over,

Merry and clear, the voice I hear
Of each glad-hearted rover.

Ah! sly little Kate, she steals my roses,
And Maud and Bell twine wreaths and posies,
As merry as bees in clover.

Under my window, under my window,
In the blue midsummer weather,
Stealing slow, on a hushed tip-toe,
I catch them all together:
Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen,
And Maud with her mantle of silver-green,
And Kate with the scarlet feather.

Under my window, under my window,
And off through the orchard closes ;
While Maud she flouts, and Bell she pouts,
They scamper, and drop their posies;
But dear little Kate takes naught amiss,
And leaps in my arms with a loving kiss,
And I give her all my roses.

T. Westwood.