Oh! the Circus-Day parade! How the

bugles played and played!

Knows 'bout Giunts, an' Griffuns, an' Elves,

flossy manes and neighed,

therselves!

drummer's time

is got,

'At lives 'way deep in the ground, an' can Turn into me, er 'Lizabuth Ann!

Aint he a funny old Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! The Raggedy Man-one time when he Wuz makin' a little bow-'n'-orry fer me, Says "When you're big like your Pa is, Air you go' to keep a fine store like hisAn' be a rich merchunt-an' wear fine clothes?

Erwhat air you go' to be, goodness knows!" An' nen he laughed at 'Lizabuth Ann, An' I says "'M go' to be a Raggedy Man! I'm ist go' to be a nice Raggedy Man! Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!"

306

James Hogg (1770-1835) was a poet of Scotland and a contemporary of Sir Walter Scott. He was known as the Ettrick Shepherd, from the place of his birth and from the fact that as a boy he tended the sheep. He had little schooling and was a thoroughly self-made man. The strongly marked and energetic swing of the rhythm, fitting in so well with the vigorous out-ofdoor experiences suggested, has made "A Boy's Song" a great favorite. Other poems of his that are still read are "The Skylark" and the verse fairy tale called "Kilmeny."

A BOY'S SONG
JAMES HOGG
Where the pools are bright and deep,
Where the gray trout lies asleep,
Up the river and o'er the lea,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, Where the nestlings chirp and flee, That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the mowers mow the cleanest,
Where the hay lies thick and greenest,
There to track the homeward bee,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Where the hazel bank is steepest,
Where the shadow falls the deepest,
Where the clustering nuts fall free,
That's the way for Billy and me.

Why the boys should drive away
Little sweet maidens from the play,
Or love to banter and fight so well,
That's the thing I never could tell.

But this I know, I love to play,
Through the meadow, among the hay;
Up the river and o'er the lea,
That's the way for Billy and me.

307

Mary Howitt (1799-1888), an English author and translator, was the first to put Hans Christian Andersen's tales into English. She wrote on a great variety of subjects, and much of her work was useful and pleasing to a multitude of readers old and young. Besides the following poem, she is known well to young readers by her "The Fairies

of Caldon-Low."

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY

MARY HOWITT

"Will you walk into my parlor?" Said the Spider to the Fly; "'Tis the prettiest little parlor That ever you did spy.

"The way into my parlor

Is up a winding stair, And I have many curious things To show when you are there."

"Oh, no, no," said the little Fly, "To ask me is in vain; For who goes up your winding stair Can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, With soaring up so high;

Will you rest upon my little bed?" Said the Spider to the Fly.

"There are pretty curtains drawn around;

The sheets are fine and thin, And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"

"Oh, no, no," said the little Fly,

"For I've often heard it said, They never, never wake again, Who sleep upon your bed."

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly:
"Dear friend, what can I do
To prove the warm affection
I've always felt for you?

"I have within my pantry

Good store of all that's nice: I'm sure you're very welcomeWill you please to take a slice?"

"Oh, no, no," said the little Fly,

"Kind sir, that cannot be; I've heard what's in your pantry, And I do not wish to see."

'Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "You're witty and you're wise; How handsome are your gauzy wings! How brilliant are your eyes!

"I have a little looking-glass Upon my parlor shelf;

If you'll step in one moment, dear, You shall behold yourself."

brows;

Till, offended at such an unusual salute, They all turned their backs, and stood sulky and mute.

in a lane

With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain;

For it tossed him and twirled him, then passed, and he stood

pranks,

Whistling with reeds on the broad river's banks,

Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray, Or the traveller grave on the king's high

way.

It was not too nice to hustle the bags Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags;

'Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke

With the doctor's wig or the gentleman's cloak.

the mud.

Then away went the wind in its holiday glee,

And now it was far on the billowy sea, And the lordly ships felt its staggering blow,

And the little boats darted to and fro.

But lo! it was night, and it sank to rest On the sea-bird's rock in the gleaming West,

Laughing to think, in its fearful fun,

gaily, "Now,

You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!" And it made them bow without more ado, Or it cracked their great branches through and through.

Then it rushed like a monster on cottage and farm,

Striking their dwellers with sudden alarm; And they ran out like bees in a mid

summer swarm;

There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps,

To see if their poultry were free from mishaps;

The turkeys they gobbled, the geese

screamed aloud,

And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd;

There was rearing of ladders, and logs

laying on,

Where the thatch from the roof threatened

soon to be gone.

Ann Taylor (1782-1866) and Jane Taylor (1783-1824), English writers of verse and prose for children, have earned a permanent place in the history of juvenile literature on account of the real worth of their work and because they were among the first authors to write poetry especially for children. They published jointly three volumes of verse for children: Original Poems for Infant Minds, Rhymes for the Nursery, and Hymns for Infant Minds. Many of their poems seem a little too didactic, but they were genuine in their ethical earnestness and largely succeeded in putting things in terms of the child's own comprehension. The four poems given here represent them at their best, which was good enough to win the admiration of Sir Walter Scott.

309 THE COW

ANN TAYLOR

Thank you, pretty cow, that made Pleasant milk to soak my bread,

Every day and every night,
Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.

Do not chew the hemlock rank, Growing on the weedy bank; But the yellow cowslips eat, That will make it very sweet.

Where the purple violet grows, Where the bubbling water flows, Where the grass is fresh and fine, Pretty cow, go there and dine.

310

MEDDLESOME MATTY

ANN TAYLOR

One ugly trick has often spoiled
The sweetest and the best;
Matilda, though a pleasant child,

One ugly trick possessed,
Which, like a cloud before the skies,
Hid all her better qualities.

Sometimes she'd lift the tea-pot lid,
Το at what was in it;
peep
Or tilt the kettle, if you did

But turn your back a minute.
In vain you told her not to touch,
Her trick of meddling grew so much.

Her grandmamma went out one day
And by mistake she laid
Her spectacles and snuff-box gay
Too near the little maid;

"Ah! well," thought she, "I'll try them on,

As soon as grandmamma is gone."

Forthwith she placed upon her nose
The glasses large and wide;
And looking round, as I suppose,

The snuff-box too she spied:
"Oh! what a pretty box is that;
I'll open it," said little Matt.

"I know that grandmamma would say,
'Don't meddle with it, dear,'
But then, she's far enough away,

And no one else is near:
Besides, what can there be amiss
In opening such a box as this?"
So thumb and finger went to work
To move the stubborn lid,
And presently a mighty jerk

The mighty mischief did;
For all at once, ah! woeful case,
The snuff came puffing in her face.

Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth beside
A dismal sight presented;
In vain, as bitterly she cried,

Her folly she repented.

In vain she ran about for ease;
She could do nothing else but sneeze.
She dashed the spectacles away,

To wipe her tingling eyes,
And as in twenty bits they lay,

Her grandmamma she spies. "Heyday! and what's the matter now?" Says grandmamma with lifted brow. Matilda, smarting with the pain,

And tingling still, and sore,
Made many a promise to refrain

From meddling evermore.
And 'tis a fact, as I have heard,
She ever since has kept her word.

311

"I LIKE LITTLE PUSSY" JANE TAYLOR

I like little Pussy,

Her coat is so warm; And if I don't hurt her

She'll do me no harm. So I'll not pull her tail, Nor drive her away, But Pussy and I

Very gently will play;