Down the chimney, Master Wind,

You may rumble and hoot,

And I wish you joy, good Master Wind,
Of the company of the soot.

NOVEMBER 3D.

I tell you what, you Bumble-bee,
In your coat of rusty yellow,

'Tis a queer day for you to be out,
You are a belated fellow.

NOVEMBER 4TH.

Put in some butter, do,

And some fine sugar too.

The clock is striking eight,

NOVEMBER 5TH.

"This little pig went to market."

Terrible times had he!

Sold to a horrible butcher,

For sausage meat was he!

NOVEMBER 6TH.

She had blue buttoned boots on her dear

little feet,

Her hat had a curly white feather,

And her little kid gloves they were perfectly

sweet

She was sweet as a rose altogether.

NOVEMBER 7TH.

And just because I'm only seven,
Should be so teased, yes, almost driven
Soon as I've supped my milk and bread
To that old drowsy, frowsy bed!

NOVEMBER 6TH.

NOVEMBER 8TH.

NOVEMBER 9TH.

"Grandpa, what do they make books of?

Inside of them, you know?

Well, where do letters come from? When

they're little do they grow?

There! I scratched one! Can he feel it?

Grandpa, do they ever cry?

Will they stay shut up there always? Don't

they ever have to die?"

There was a brown owl who lived in a wood;
All alone was the wood by a marsh,
He had for his wife another brown owl,