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HERE was once a cock and a hen, who were very de
sirous to take a journey. So the cock built a beautiful carriage, and harnessing four little mice to it, took his seat, with the hen by his side, and they went away. Before long they met a cat, who inquired, "Where are you going ? The cock replied,
“ To Squire Korbes we are going,
For a visit is owing." "Take me with you!” entreated the cat. “Willingly,” replied the cock; "get up behind, and take care you do not fall off.” A millstone now came up, then an egg, a duck, afterwards a pin, and last a needle, and they all got into the carriage, and accompanied the cock and the hen. But when they reached the house, Squire Korbes was not at home, so the mice led the carriage into the barn, the cock flew with the hen up on a beam, the cat took her place on the hearth, the duck went to the spring, the egg wrapped itself in the towel, the pin placed itself in the chair-cushion, the needle jumped into bed, the millstone placing itself over the door.
When the Squire came home, he went to the stove to make a fire, when the cat flung some ashes in his face; he ran to the kitchen to wash it away, and the duck splashed him terribly. He took the towel to dry himself, and the egg broke and filled his eyes,
He sank into his chair, but sprang up instantly, for the pin pricked him. He threw himself on his bed; but the instant his head touched the pillow, the needle scratched him so, that, in a rage, he screamed loudly, and prepared to run out of doors. But, as he opened the housedoor, the millstone fell upon his head and killed him. Squire Korbes must have been a very bad man, to be so hardly used.
SIE AM sure I could not tell you how long ago it is since
old Mother Goose lived in a cottage with her son Jack. But I know very well that the cottage was as pretty as any that you
would ever wish to see. Woodbine and jessamine twined upwards in front of its walls, and roses bloomed there, in red and white beauty, for months together. It had a garden, too, and it was Jack's duty to attend to it all the year round. A very good lad was Jack, for he would work in this garden from morning till night, digging, pruning, and planting, till his arms ached, and till the sun scorched his face to
say that he was handsome, for when he laughed, he would open his mouth and eyes to their utmost stretch, and the sound he uttered did not show him to be very wise. But this was only in his early youth. Still, he was a strong, hardworking, good-tempered lad, and if his gardening had made his hands large and brown, his heart was tender and full of love towards his mother; so you will think, as I do, that Jack was a very good lad indeed. And if his hair would not curl, his skill in growing cabbages very fairly made up for the