Look, what a nice new coat is mine,
Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee."

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life,

Broods in the grass, while her husband sings, "Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Brood, kind creature; you need not fear
Thieves and robbers, while I am here.
Chee, chee, chee."

Modest and shy as a nun is she,
One weak chirp is her only note,
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he,
Pouring boasts from his little throat,
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Never was I afraid of man,

Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can!
Chee, chee, chee.”

Six white eggs on a bed of hay,
Flecked with purple, a pretty sight!

There as the mother sits all day,

Robert is singing with all his might:

'Bob-o'-link, bob-o'link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Nice good wife, that never goes out,
Keeping house, while I frolic about.
Chee, chee, chee."

Soon as the little ones chip the shell,
Six wide mouths are open for food,
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood;
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;

This new life is likely to be

Hard for a gay young fellow, like me.
Chee, chee, chee."

Robert of Lincoln at length is made
Sober with work and silent with care;

Off is his holiday garment laid,

Half forgotten that merry air;

"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Nobody knows, but my mate and I,
Where our nest and our nestlings lie.
Chee, chee, chee."

Summer wanes; the children are grown;
Fun and frolic no more he knows,
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone;
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes,
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'link,

Spink, spank, spink;

When you can pipe that merry old strain,
Robert of Lincoln, come back again.

Chee, chee, chee."

- William Cullen Bryan.

B

Apples in the orchard

Mellowing one by one; Strawberries upturning

Soft cheeks to the sun; Roses faint with sweetness,

Lilies fair of face,

Drowsy scents and murmurs
Haunting every place;
Lengths of golden sunshine,

Moonlight bright as day, Don't you think that summer's Pleasanter than May?

Roger in the corn-patch
Whistling negro songs;
Pussy by the hearth-side
Romping with the tongs;

Chestnuts in the ashes

Bursting through the rind;
Red leaf and gold leaf
Rustling down the wind;
Mother "doin' peaches"

All the afternoon,

Don't you think that autumn's
Pleasanter than June?

Little fairy snow-flakes
Dancing in the flue;
Old Mr. Santa Claus,
What is keeping you?
Twilight and firelight

Shadows come and go;
Merry chime of sleigh-bells

Tinkling through the snow;
Mother knitting stockings
(Pussy's got the ball),-
Don't you think that winter's

Pleasanter than all?

- Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

THE MONKEY.

ONKEY, little merry fellow,

MONI

Thou art Nature's Punchinello!

Full of fun as Puck could be,
Harlequin might learn of thee!

Look now at his odd grimaces!
Saw you ever such queer faces?

Now like learned judge sedate,
Now with nonsense in his pate.

Look now at him! gently peep!
He pretends to be asleep, -
Fast asleep upon his bed,

With his arm beneath his head.

Now that posture is not right,
And he is not settled quite;
There! that's better than before,
And the knave pretends to snore.

Ha! he is not half asleep;
See, he slyly takes a peep!

Monkey, though your eyes were shut,
You could see this little nut.

You shall have it, pigmy brother!
What! another? and another?
Nay, your cheeks are like a sack;
Sit down, and begin to crack.

There! the little ancient man
Cracks as fast as crack he can;
Now good-by, you merry fellow,
Nature's primest Punchinello.

-Mary Howitt.