LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF

H, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,

Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright; The woods and the glens from the tower which we see, They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.

Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,
Ere the step of a foeman draw near to thy bed.

Oh, hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come, When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum; Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

I

MY SHADOW

HAVE a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to

grow

Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.

He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see;
I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks
to me!

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

OBEDIENCE

IF you're told to do a thing,
And mean to do it really;
Never let it be by halves;
Do it fully, freely!

Do not make a poor excuse,
Waiting, weak, unsteady;

All obedience worth the name,
Must be prompt and ready.

PHOEBE CARY.

ONE, TWO, THREE

T was an old, old, old, old lady,

IT

And a boy that was half-past three; And the way that they played together Was beautiful to see.

She couldn't go running and jumping,
And the boy, no more could he,
For he was a thin little fellow,
With a thin little twisted knee.

They sat in the yellow sunlight,
Out under the maple tree;

And the game that they played I'll tell you,
Just as it was told to me.

It was Hide-and-Go-Seek they were playing, Though you'd never have known it to beWith an old, old, old, old lady,

And a boy with a twisted knee.

The boy would bend his face down
On his one little sound right knee,
And he'd guess where she was hiding
In guesses, One, Two, Three!

do

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ONE, TWO, THREE

"You are in the china closet!"

He would cry, and laugh with glee—
It wasn't the china closet;

But still he had Two and Three.

"You are up in Papa's big bedroom,
In the chest with the queer old key!"
And she said: "You are warm and warmer,
But you're not quite right," said she.

"It can't be the little cupboard

Where Mamma's things used to be
So it must be the clothes press, Grandma!"
And he found her with his Three.

Then she covered her face with her fingers,
That were wrinkled and white and wee,
And she guessed where the boy was hiding,
With a One and a Two and a Three.

And they had never stirred from their places,
Right under the maple tree—

This old, old, old, old lady,

And the boy with the lame little knee

This dear, dear, dear old lady,

And the boy who was half-past three.

H. C. BUNNER.

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