Page 175—Piggy Land

Page 175—Piggy LandSchool Boy Pigs.Three Naughty PigsThree naughty pigs,All in one pen,Drank up the milkLeft by the men,Then all the threeFast as they could,Dug their way outTo find something good.Out in the gardenA maiden fairHad set some flowersOf beauty rare.Out in the gardenA merry boyHad planted seeds,With childish joy,One naughty pigRan to the bed;Soon lay the flowersDrooping and dead.To naughty pigsDug up the seeds,And left, for the boy,Not even weeds.Three naughty pigs,Back in the pen,Never could doSuch digging again.For, in their noses,Something would hurtWhenever they triedTo dig in the dirt.Little BiddyLittle Biddy O'Toole, on her three-legged stool,Was 'atin' her praties so hot;Whin up stepped the pig,Wid his appetite big,And Biddy got down like a shot.The Spectre PigIt was the stalwart butcher manThat knit his swarthy brow,And said the gentle pig must die,And sealed it with a vow.And oh! it was the gentle pigLay stretched upon the ground,And ah! it was the cruel knifeHis little heart that found.They took him then those wicked men,They trailed him all along;They put a stick between his lips,And through his heels a thong.And round and round an oaken beamA hempen cord they flung,And like a mighty pendulumAll solemnly he swung.Now say thy prayers, thou sinful manAnd think what thou hast done,And read thy catechism well,Thou sanguinary one.For if its sprite should walk by nightIt better were for thee,That thou were mouldering in the ground,Or bleaching in the sea.It was the savage butcher thenThat made a mock of sin,And swore a very wicked oath,He did not care a pin.It was the butcher's youngest son,His voice was broke with sighs,And with his pocket handkerchiefHe wiped his little eyes.All young and ignorant was he,But innocent and mild,And, in his soft simplicity,Out spoke the tender child—"Oh! father, father, list to me;The pig is deadly sick,And men have hung him by his heels,And fed him with a stick."It was the naughty butcher thenThat laughed as he would die,Yet did he soothe the sorrowing childAnd bid him not to cry."Oh! Nathan, Nathan, what's a pig,That thou shouldst weep and wail?Come bear thee like a butcher's child,And thou shalt have his tail."It was the butcher's daughter then,So slender and so fair,That sobbed as if her heart would breakAnd tore her yellow hair.And thus she spoke in thrilling tone—Fell fast the tear-drops big:"Ah! woe to me! Alas! alas!The pig! the pig! the pig!"Then did her wicked father's lipsMake merry wit her woe,And call her many a naughty name,Because she whimpered so.Ye need not weep, ye gentle ones,In vain your tears are shed,Ye cannot wash the crimson hand,Ye cannot sooth the dead.The bright sun folded on his breast,His robes of rosey flame,And softly over all the westThe shades of evening came.He slept, and troops of murdered pigsWere busy in his dreams;Loud rang their wild, unearthly shrieks,Wide yawned their mortal seams.The clock struck twelve; the dead hath heard;He opened both his eyes,And sullenly he shook his tailTo lash the feeding flies.One quiver of the hempen cord—One struggle and one bound—With stiffened limb and leaded eye,The pig was on the ground.And straight towards the sleeper's houseHis fearful way he wended;And hooting owl, and hovering bat,On midnight wing attended.Back flew the bolt, uprose the latch,And open swung the door,And little mincing feet were heardPat, pat, along the floor.Two hoofs upon the sanded floor,And two upon the bed;And they are breathing side by side,The living and the dead."Now wake, now wake, thou butcher man!What makes your cheeks so pale?Take hold! take hold! thou dost not fearTo clasp a spectre's tail?"Untwisted every winding coil;The shuddering wretch took hold,Till like an icicle it seemed,So tapering and so cold."Thou com'st with me, thou butcher man!"He strives to loose his grasp,But, faster than the clinging vine,Those twining spirals clasp.And open, open, swung the door,And fleeter than the wind,The shadowy spectre swept before,The butcher trailed behind.Fast fled the darkness of the night,And morn rose faint and dim;They called full loud, they knocked full longThey did not waken him.Straight, straight towards that oaken beam,A trampled pathway ran;A ghastly shape was swinging there—It was the butcher man.O. W. HolmesPrevious-Index-NextPage 176—Piggy LandLittle Dame CrumpLittle Dame Crump,With her little hair broom,One morning was sweepingHer little bedroom,When, casting he littleGrey eyes on the ground,In a sly little cornerA penny she found."Dear me!" cried the Dame,While she started with surprise,"How lucky I amTo find such a prize!To market I'll go,And a pig I will buy,And little John GrubbinsShall make him a sty."So she washed her face clean,And put on her gown,And locked up the house,And set off for town.Then to market she went,And a purchase she madeOf a little white pig,And a penny she paid.Having purchased the pig,She was puzzled to knowHow they both should get home;So fearing least piggieShould play her a trick,She drove him alongWith a little crab stick.Piggie ran till they cameTo the foot of a hill,Where a little bridge stoodO'er the stream of a mill;Piggie grunted and squeaked,But not further would go:Oh, fie! Piggie, fie!To serve little Dame so.She went to the mill,And she borrowed a sackTo put the pig in,And take him on her back:Piggie squeaked to get out,But the little Dame said,"If you won't go of yourself,You then must be made."At last when the endOf her journey had come,She was awfully gladShe had got the pig home:She carried him straightTo his nice little sty,And gave him some hayAnd some straw, nice and dry.With a handful of peasThen Piggie she fed,And put on her night-cap,And got into bed:Having first said her prayers,And put out the light;And being quite tired,We'll wish her good night.The Chinese PigOld Madam Grumph, the pig, had gotA pig-sty of her own;She is a most un-com-mon pig,And likes to live alone.A red-tiled roofing covers inThe one half of her sty;And, half sur-round-ed by a wall,Is open to the sky.There stands the trough, they keep it fill'dWith pig-wash and with parings;And all the other pigs declareDame Grumph has dainty fairings.They like to see what she's about,And poke their noses throughA great hole in the pig-sty door,From whence they get a view.The pigs, that run about the yard,Are very lean and tall,With long hind legs—but Madam GrumphIs round as any ball.One autumn day, when she awoke('Twas very cold and raw),She found a litter of young pigsHalf buried in the straw."Humph," said the dame, "now let me seeHow many have I got."She counted, "Six and four are ten,—Two dead ones in the lot."Eight—That's a nice round family;A black one and two white;The rest are spotted like myself,With prick ears—that's all right."What's to be done with those dead things,They'd better be thrown out,"Said she, and packed the litter roundThe others with her snout."What's that, old Grumphy?" said a pig,Whose snout peeped through the door;"There's something moving in the strawI never saw before.""I wish you'd mind your own affairs,"Said she, and stepp'd betweenThe young pigs and the pig-sty door,Not wishing to be seen."I hope you slept well," said the pig,"The wind was very high;You are most comfortably lodged—A most con-ve-ni-ent sty.""I thought I told you once beforeTo mind your own affairs,"Said she, and bristling up her back,She bit the lean pig's ears."Squeak," said the bitten pig, "sque-e-ak,Old Grumphy's biting hard;"And all the lean pigs scamp-ed'd upFrom all sides of the yard.They grumbled and they grunted loud,The squeak'd in every key;At last another pig peep'd through,To see what he could see.Dame Grumph was standing by her pigs,And looking very proud,And all the little piggy-wigsWere squeaking very loud."These lovely creatures," said old Grumph,"These lovely pigs are mine;There're fat and pink like human babes,Most pro-mi-sing young swine.""Indeed," ex-claim'd the peeping pig,"I never should have thought,They were so very promising."Old Grumphy gave a snort."They're of a most dis-tin-guished race;My mother and her brotherWere both im-por-ted from Pekin,—My pigs are like my mother."They never shall as-so-ci-ateWith long-legged pigs like you."Said she, ad-dress-ing the lean pig,Whose snout was peeping through."Begging your pardon, ma'amI really think," said he,"The dif-fer-ence is not so greatAs it appears to be."If you and I were bacon, ma'amThe dif-fer-ence betweenAn Irish and a Chinese pigWould hardly then be seen."Give me your comfortable sty,And some of your nice food,Our little fa-mi-lies might proveIn-dif-fer-ent-ly good."Aunt Effie's RhymesMadam Grump and Her Babies.Previous-Index-NextPage 177—Piggy LandThe Old Woman and Her PigOnce an old woman was sweeping her house, and found a crooked sixpence, and went to market to buy a pig. As she was coming home she came to a stile, and the pig would not get over it: so she went a little farther and met a dog, and said to the dog:—"Dog, dog, bite pig;Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the dog would not.She went a little farther and met a stick, and said:"Stick, stick, beat dog; dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the stick would not.She went a little farther and met a fire, and said:"Fire, fire, burn stick; stick won't beat dog,Dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the fire would not.She went a little farther and met some water, and said:"Water, water, quench fire,Fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the water would not.She went a little farther and met an ox, and said:"Ox, ox, drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the ox would not.She went a little farther and met a butcher, and said:"Butcher, butcher, kill ox,Ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the butcher would not.She went a little farther and met a rope, and said:"Rope, rope, hang butcher.Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the butcher would not.She went a little farther and met a rat, and said:"Rat, rat, gnaw rope;Rope won't hang butcher,Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the rat would not.She went a little farther and met a cat, and said:"Cat, cat, kill rat; rat won't gnaw rope,Rope won't hang butcher,Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the cat said to her, "If you will go to yonder cow, and fetch me a saucer of milk, I will kill the rat." So away went the old woman to the cow, and said:"Cow, cow, give me some milk, cat won't kill rat,Rat won't gnaw rope, rope won't hang butcher,Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the cow said to her, "If you will go to yonder haymakers and fetch me a wisp of hay, I'll give you the milk."So away the old woman went to the haymakers and said:"Haymakers, give me a wisp of hay;Cow won't give me milk, cat won't kill rat,Rat won't gnaw rope, rope won't hang butcher,Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the haymakers said to her, "If you will go and fetch us a bucket of water, we'll give you the hay." So away the old woman went; but she found the bucket was full of holes. So she covered the bottom with pebbles, and then filled the bucket with water, and away she went back with it to the haymakers; and they gave her a wisp of hay.As soon as the cow had eaten the hay, she gave the old woman the milk; and away she went with it in a saucer to the cat. As soon as the cat had drank the milk, the cat began to kill the rat, the rat began to gnaw the rope, the rope began to hang the butcher, the butcher began to kill the ox, the ox began to drink the water, the water began to quench the fire, the fire began to burn the stick, the stick began to beat the dog, the dog began to bite to pig, the pig in a great fright jumped over the stile, and so the old woman got home that night in time to boil some apple dumplings for her husband's supper.The Flying Pig.The Flying PigDickery, dickery dare,The pig flew up in the air,But Patrick Brown soon brought him down,Dickery, dickery, dare.The Story of the Three Little PigsOnce there was an old pig, who had three little pigs, and sent them out to seek their fortune. The first one went and built a house with straw, and soon after a wolf came and knocked at the door and said, "Little pig, let me come in." But the little pig said, "No, no by the hair of my chin." The wolf then said, "I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in." So he huffed, and he puffed, and blew the house in, and ate up the little pig.The next little pig built a house with sticks, and the old wolf came along and called out, "Little pig, let me come in." And the little pig answered, "No, no, by the hair of my chin." "Then," says the wolf, "I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in." So he huffed and he puffed, and blew the house down, and ate up the little pig also.The third little pig built a house with bricks. Just after along came the old wolf, and said, "Little pig, let me come in." The little pig said, "No, no, by the hair of my chin." "Then I'll huff and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house down." Well, he huffed and he puffed, and he huffed and he puffed, and he puffed and he huffed; but he could not get the house down.When he found he could not, with all his huffing and puffing, blow the house down, he said "Little pig, I know where there is a nice field of turnips." "Where?" said the little pig. "Oh, in Mr. Smith's home field, and if you will be ready to-morrow morning I will call for you, and we will go together, and get some for dinner.""Very well," said the little pig, "I will be ready. What time do you mean to go?" "Oh, at six o'clock." Well, the little pig got up at five, and got the turnips before the wolf came, which he did about six, and said, "Little pig, are you ready?" The little pig said, "Ready; I've been and come back again and got a nice potful for dinner."The wolf felt very angry at this, but thought that he would be up to the little pig somehow or other, so he said, "Little pig, I know where there is a nice apple tree." "Where?" said the little pig. "Down at Merry Garden," replied the wolf, "and if you will not deceive me I will come for you at five o'clock to-morrow, and we will go together and get some apples."Well, the pig bustled up the next morning at four o'clock, and went off for the apples, hoping to get back before the wolf came; but he had further to go, and had to climb the tree, so that just as he was coming down from it he saw the wolf coming, which, as you may suppose, frightened him very much. When the wolf came up he said, "Little pig, what; are you here before me? Are they nice apples?""Yes, very," said the little pig, "I will throw you down one." And he threw it so far that, while the wolf was gone to pick it up, the little pig jumped down and ran home. The next day the wolf came again, and said "Little pig, there is a fair at Shanklin this afternoon, will you go?" Oh, yes," said the pig, "I will go: what time shall you be ready?" "At three," said the wolf.So the little pig went off before the time as usual, got to the fair, and bought a butter-churn, which he was going home with, when he saw the wolf coming. Then he could not tell what to do. So he got into the churn to hide, and by doing so turned it around, and it rolled down the hill with the pig in it, which frightened the wolf so much that he ran home without going to the fair. He went to the little pig's house and told him how frightened he had been by a great round thing which came down the hill past him.Then the little pig said "Ha! I frightened you, then. I had been to the fair and bought a butter-churn, and when I saw you I got into it and rolled down the hill." Then the wolf was very angry indeed, and declared he would eat up the little pig, and that he would get down the chimney after him.When the little pig saw what he was about, he hung onto the pot full of water, and made up a blazing fire, and just as the wolf was coming down, took off the cover, and in fell the wolf; so the little pig put on the cover again in an instant, boiled him up, and ate him for supper, and lived happy ever afterwards.Previous-Index-NextPage 178—Rabbit LandGentlemen Rabbits.The Wild RabbitsAmong the sand-hills,Near by the sea,Wild young rabbitsWere seen by me.They live in burrowsWith winding-ways,And there they shelterOn rainy days.The mother rabbitsMake cosy nests,With hairy liningsFrom their breasts.The tender young onesAre nursed and fed,And safely hiddenIn this warm bed.And when they are older,They all come outUpon the sand-hillsAnd frisk about.They play and nibbleThe long, dry grass,But scamper awayWhenever you pass.Disobedient BunnyA pert little rabbit,Once lived in a hole,And just did whatever he pleased;His ways were so funny,His antics so droll,That his parents were terribly teased."Now, dear," said his mother,"You'd best stay at home,And try to be patient and good."But No! he was fullyDetermined to roamThrough the green and beautiful wood.So what did he do?On a fine summer day,When mother was not to be seen,He took to his heels,And scampered awayRight over the meadow so green.He shook his long ears,And he whisked up his tail,His eyes dancing with glee,As onward he ranThrough a beautiful vale,And oh! how delighted was he!'Twas not very longTill he found a haystack,Where of course there was shelter and food.Said he to himself,"Now, I'll never go backTo my stupid old home in the wood."I'll dig myself a nice denFor myself in the hay;How warm it will be and how nice!Why in my old burrowFull many a dayI've often felt colder than ice!"So bunny soon dug himA nice little hole,And made it as round as an O;And really he lookedSo exceedingly droll,You'd have laughed had you seen him, I know.But evening drew on,It was lonely and dark,So Bunny lay down in his den;Said he to himself,"I'll get up with the lark,And won't I be ravenous then!"For really this hay,Though it does for a nest,Is somewhat too dry for my food;At home there is clover,The thing I love best,And lettuce and carrots so good."I wish I had someAt this moment! but thenI'm out on my travels just now,And I greatly preferTo reside in this den,Than at home where there's often a row!"Ah, well! I feel sleepy,I'd best go to bed—But what is that noise that I hear?There seems to be someoneRight over my head,I hope that no wild beasts are near!"Meanwhile an old foxWith a great bushy tailWas prowling about and around,But poor little BunnyWas hidden so wellThat never a bit was he found!When morning had come,And the fox disappeared,Then Bunny came forth to the light,Said he to himself,"It was just as I feared,A fox has been here through the night."I think I had betterGo scampering homeTo the dear little home in the wood,And never, oh neverAgain will I roam,Or leave my dear mother so good."Away then he ran,Without once looking back,Till he saw the dear home he loved best.And mother came hoppingAlong the hard trackTo welcome him home to the nest.And, oh! such a breakfastBefore him there lay,Such clover and grass from the wood;And always I've heard,From that terrible day,That Bunny is patient and good.B. R. McKeanThe Pet RabbitI have a little BunnyWith his coat as soft as down,And nearly all of him is whiteExcept one bit of brown.The first thing in the morning,When I get out of bed,I wonder if my bunny's stillSafe in his shed.And then the next thing that I do,I daresay you have guessed;It's at once to go and see him,When I am washed and dressed.And every day I see him,I like him more and more,And each day he is biggerThan he was the day before.I feed him in the morningWith bran and bits of bread.And every night I take some strawTo make his little bed.What with carrots in the morningAnd turnip-tops for tea,If a bunny can be happy,I'm sure he ought to be.Then when it's nearly bed-timeI go down to his shed,And say "Good-night, you bunny!"Before I go to bed,I think there's only one thingThat would make me happy quite,If I could take my bunny dearWith me to bed at night.Robert MackA Working Rabbit.Previous-Index-NextPage 179—Hare LandMouse and Frog riding Hare.The Little HareBeyond the palings of the parkA Hare had made her form,Beneath a drooping fern, that madeA shelter snug and warm.She slept until the daylight came,And all thinks were awake,And then the Hare, with noiseless steps,Crept softly from the brake.She stroked her whiskers with her paws,Looked timidly aroundWith open eyes and ears erectThat caught the smallest sound.The Field-Mouse rustled in the grass,The Squirrel in the trees,But Puss was not at all afraidOf common sounds like these.She frisked and gambolled with delight,And cropped a leaf or twoOf clover and of tender grass,That glistened in the dew.What was it, then, that made her start,And run away so fast?She heard the distant sound of hounds,She heard the huntsman's blast.Tally-ho!-hoy tally-ho!The hounds are in full cry;Ehew! ehew—in scarlet coatsThe men are sweeping by.So off she set with a spring and a bound,Over the meadows and open ground,Faster than hunter and faster than houndAnd on—and on—till she lost the sound,And away went the little Hare.Aunt EffiePeter and the HareThoughtless little Peter,With his little gun,Went out by the woodsideFor a little fun;Saw a happy little hare,Who on clover fed—With his little gun took aimAnd shot him in the head.Thoughtful little Peter,Sad for what he'd done,Sat down on a stump, and thereBy it laid his gun;Wished that he could bring to lifeThat little hare so still;"Never more," said he, "will IA harmless creature kill."Epitaph on a HareHere lies whom hound did ne'er pursue,Nor swifter greyhound follow,Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dewNor ear heard huntsman's halloo.Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,Who, nursed with tender care,And to domestic bounds confined,Was still a wild Jack-hare.Though duly from my hand he tookHis pittance every night,He did it with a jealous look,And when he could he would bite.On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,On pippin's russet peel;And when his juicy salads fail'd,Sliced carrot pleased him well.A Turkey carpet was his lawn,Whereon he loved to bound,To skip and gambol like a fawn,And swing himself around.His frisking was at evening hoursFor then he'd lost his fear!But most before approaching showers,Or when a storm drew near.Eight years and five round-rolling moonsHe thus saw steal away,Dozing out all his idle noonsAnd every night at play.I kept him for his humour's sake,For he would oft beguileMy heart of thoughts that made it ache,And force me to a smile.But now, beneath this walnut shade,He finds his long last home,And waits, in snug concealment laidTill gentler puss shall come.He, still more aged, feels the shocksFrom which no care can save;And partner once of Tiney's box,Must soon partake his grave.William CowperPunch's Appeal for the Hunted HareAll on the bare and bleak hillside,One night this merry Christmastide,A shivering hunted hare did hide;Poor Pussy!Though we had hunted puss all day,The wind had blown her scent away,And balked the dogs, so there she lay,Poor Pussy!There to the earth she humbly crept,There brooding o'er her lot she wept,There, on her empty stomach she slept.Poor Pussy!And there, while frozen fell the dew,She dreamt an ugly dream or two,As starved, wet folk are apt to do,Did Pussy!Loud hungry hounds of subtle ken,And thundering steeds, and hard-eyed men,Are fast on Pussy's trail again,Poor Pussy!Onwards she strains, on, as they tearForemost amongst the foremost there,Are ruthless women's faces fair;Poor Pussy!One moment's check, to left, to right,In vain she spends her little might,Some yokel's eyes have marked her flight,Poor Pussy!What use her fine small wits to rack!Closer, and faster on her trackHurries the hydra-headed pack,Lost Pussy!"For pity's sake, kind huntsman, stop!Call off the dogs before I drop,And kill me with your heavy crop."Shrieks Pussy!With shuddering start and stifled scream,She wakes!—She finds it all a dream;How kind the cold, cold earth doth seemTo Pussy!The Hare and the Tortoise.Previous-Index-NextPage 180—Rat LandA Gentleman Rat.The Pied Piper of Hamelin—or—The Vanished ChildrenHamelin Town's in BrunswickBy famous Hanover city;The river Weser, deep and wide,Washes its wall on the southern side.A pleasanter spot you never spied;But, when begins my ditty,Almost five hundred years ago,To see the townsfolk suffer soFrom vermin was a pity.Rats!They fought the dogs and killed the cats,And bit the babies in the cradles,And ate the cheeses out of the vats,And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,Split open the kegs of salted sprats,Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,And even spoiled the women's chats,By drowning their speaking,With shrieking and squeakingIn fifty different sharps and flats.At last the people in a bodyTo the Town Hall came flocking:"'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;And as for our Corporation—shockingTo think we buy gowns lined with ermineFor dolts that can't or won't determineWhat's best to rid us of our vermin!The mayor and Town Councillors were greatly perplexed what to do, when there entered a strange-looking piper, and offered to charm away all the rats for a thousand guilders. The council joyfully agreed to this, and at once:—Into the street the Piper swept,Smiling first a little smile,As if he knew what magic sleptIn his quiet pipe the while:Then, like a musical adept,To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkledLike a candle flame where salt is sprinkled;And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,You heard as if an army muttered;And the muttering grew to a grumbling;And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,Families by tens and dozens,Brothers, sisters, husbands wives—Followed the Piper for their lives.From street to street he piped advancing,Until they came to river WeserWherein all plunged and perished—Save one.You should have heard the Hamelin peopleRinging the bells till they rocked the steeple."Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles!Poke out the nests and block up the holes!Consult with carpenters and builders,And leave in our town not even a traceOf the rats!"—when suddenly up the faceOf the Piper perked in the market-place,With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"The mayor and Councillors abused the Piper, refused to pay him the thousand guilders, and offered him fifty and a drink, he refused to take less than they had offered, and said:"Folks who put me in a passionMay find me pipe to another fashion,""How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brookBeing worse treated than a crook?Insulted by a lazy ribaldWith idle pipe and vesture piebald?You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,Blow your pipe there till you burst!"Once more he stept into the street:And to his lips againLaid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;And ere he blew three notes (such sweetSoft notes as yet musicians cunningNever gave the enraptured air),There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustlingOf merry crowds pustling, at pitching and hustling,Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering,And like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering,Out came the children running,All the little boys and girls,With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,Tripping and skipping, ran merrily afterThe wonderful music with shouting laughter.The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stoodAs if they were carved into blocks of wood,Unable to move a step, or cryTo the children merrily skipping by—And could only follow with the eyeThat joyous crowd at the Piper's back.But how the Mayor was on the rack,And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,As the Piper turned from the High streetTo where the Weser rolled its watersRight in the way of their sons and daughters!However he turned from South to West,And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,And after him the children pressed;Great was the joy in every breast."He never can cross that mighty top!He's forced to let the piping drop,And we shall see out children stop!"When lo! as they reached the mountain's side,A wondrous portal opened wide,As if a cavern was suddenly hollowedAnd the Piper advanced and the children followed.And when all were in to the very last,The door in the mountain-side shut fast,Did I say all? No! one was lame,And could not dance the whole of the way!And in after years, if you would blameHis sadness, he was used to say—"It's dull in our town since my playmates left;I can't forget that I'm bereftOf all they pleasant sights they see,Which the Piper also promised me;For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,Joining the town and just at hand,Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew,And flowers put forth a fairer hue.Previous-Index-NextPage 181—Rat LandAnd everything was strange and new;The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,And their dogs outran our fellow deer,And honey-bees had lost their stings;And horses were born with eagles' wings,And just as I became assuredMy lame foot would be speedily cured,The music stopped, and I stood still,And found myself outside the Hill,Left alone against my will,To go now limping as before,And never hear of that country more!"Alas, alas for Hamelin!There came into many a burgher's pateA text which says, that Heaven's GateOpens to the Rich at as easy rateAs the needle's eye takes a camel in!The mayor sent East, West, North and South,To offer the Piper by word of mouth,Wherever it was men's lot to find him,Silver and gold to his heart's content,If he'd only return the way he went,And bring the children all behind him.But at length they saw 'twas a lost endeavour,For Piper and dancers were gone for ever.BrowningThe Wicked Bishop HattoThe summer and autumn had been so wetThat in winter the corn was growing yet;'Twas a piteous sight to see all aroundThe grain lie rotting on the ground.Every day the starving poorCrowded around Bishop Hatto's door,For all the neighbourhood could tellHis granaries were furnished well.At last Bishop Hatto appointed a dayTo quiet the poor without delay:He bade them to his great Barn repairAnd they should have food for the winter there.Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,The poor folk flocked from far and near;So the great Barn was full as it could holdOf women and children, and young and old.Then when he saw it could hold no more,Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;And while for mercy with shrieks they call,He set fire to the Barn and burnt them all,"A rare and excellent bonfire!" quoth he,"And the country is greatly obliged to me,For ridding it in these times forlornOf Rats that only consume the corn."So then to his palace returned he,And he sat down to supper merrily,And he slept that night like an innocent man;—But Bishop Hatto never slept again.In the morning as he entered the hall,Where his picture hung against the wall,A sweat like death all over him came,For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame.As he looked, there came a man from his farm,He had a countenance white with alarm;—"I opened your granaries this morn,And the Rats had eaten all the corn."Another came running presently,And he was pale as pale could be;—"Fly! my Lord Bishop, without delay,Ten thousand rats are coming this way.""I'll go to my tower on the Rhine," quoth he,"'Tis the safest place in Germany;The walls are high and the shores are steep,And the stream is long and the water deep."Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,And he crossed the Rhine without delay,And reached his tower, and barred with careAll the windows, doors, and loopholes there.He laid him down, and closed his eyes.But soon a scream made him arise:He started, and saw two eyes of flameOn his pillow, from whence the screaming came.He listened, and looked—it was only the cat;But the Bishop grew more fearful for that,For she sat screaming, mad with fear,At the army of rats that were drawing near.For they have swum over the river so deep,And they have climed the shores so steep,And up the tower their way is bent,To do the work for which they were sent.They are not to be told by the dozen or score—By the thousands they come, and by myriads, and more;Such numbers have never been heard of before,Such a judgement had never been witnessed of yore.Down on his knees the Bishop fell,And faster and faster his beads did tell,As louder and louder, drawing near,The gnawing by their teeth he could hear.And in at the windows, and in at the door,And through the walls helter-skelter they pour,And down from the ceiling, and up from the floor,From the right and the left, from behind and before,From within and without, from above and below;And all at once to the Bishop they go.They have whetted their teeth against the stones,And now they pick the Bishop's bones;They gnawed the flesh from every limb,For they were sent to do judgement on him.R. SoutheyWhat became of them!He was a rat, and she was a rat,And down in one hole they did dwell,And both were as black as a witch's cat,And they loved one another well.He had a tail, and she had a tail,Both long and curling and fine,And each said, "Yours is the finest tailIn the world, excepting mine."He smelt the cheese, and she smelt the cheese,And they both pronounced it good;And both remarked it would greatly addTo the charms of their daily food.So he ventured out, and she ventured out,And I saw them go with pain;But what befel them I never can tell,For they never came back again.Rats Carrying Home an Egg.Previous-Index-NextPage 182—Mousey LandThe Gingerbread Cat.The Gingerbread CatA baby-girl, on Christmas nightHad filled her little apron whiteWith all a happy child could takeOf Christmas toys and Christmas cake;But on the stairway she let fallThe chiefest treasure of them all—A little cat of gingerbreadAll frosted white from tail to head.Now in the moonlit midnight time,When merry mice do run and climb,A plump gray mouse come down the stairAnd saw the Christmas cake-cat there.She stood still in her cruel frightAnd gazed upon the monster whiteWho seemed to feel as great surprise,And stared with both his raisin eyes.Poor mousie dared not, could not stir!Her little brain was in a whirr!Five minutes—ten—but not a pawHad puss put forth! "I never sawA cat like this!" the poor mouse said.A brave bold thought came in her head—Her wee heart beating pit-a-pat,She moved her own paw—touched the cat—Then sprang upon it with a squealAnd made a most delicious meal"Ho! ho!" she cried, "Sugar! spice!And everything that's good and nice—That's what cats are made of,The cats that we're afraid of!"Then up the stairs she madly pranced,And o'er the attic floor she dancedAnd then she stood upon her headAnd to her 'stonished friends she said,"O, joy to every mouse and rat,For I have eaten up the cat!"The MiceThe mice are in their holes,And there they hide by day;But when 'tis still at night,They all come out to play.They climb up on the shelves,And taste of all they please;They drink the milk and cream,And eat the bread and cheese.But if they hear the cat,At once they stop their fun;In fright they seek their holesAs fast as they can run.Three MiceThree Mice went intoA hole to spin,Puss came by,Puss peeped in;What are you doing,My little old men?We're weaving coatsFor gentlemen.Shall I come and help youTo wind up your threads?Oh, no, Mrs. Pussy,You'd bite off our heads!Says Pussy, "You areSo wondrous wiseI love your whiskersAnd round black eyes;Your house is the prettiestHouse I see.And I think there is roomFor you and me."The mice were so pleasedThat they opened the door,And Pussy soon laid themAll dead on the floor."Run Mousey, Run!"I am sitting by the fireside,Reading, and very still,There comes a little sharp-eyed mouse,And run about he will.He flies along the mantelpieceHe darts beneath the fender;It's just as well that Jane's not here,Or into fits he'd send her.And now he's nibbling at some cakeShe left upon the table.He seems to think I'm somebodyTo hurt a mouse unable.Run, mousey, run! I hear the cat,She's scratching at the door,Once she comes in, you'll have no chanceBeneath her savage claw.Run, mousey, run! I hear Jane's foot,She's coming up to bed,If puss but makes a spring at you,Poor mousey, you'll be dead!A Mouse Caught in a CageI'm only a poor little mouse, ma'am!I live in the wall of your house, ma'am!With a fragment of cheese, and a very few peas,I was having a little carouse, ma'am!No mischief at all I intend, ma'am!I hope you will act as my friend, ma'am!If my life you should take, many hearts it would break,And the trouble would be without end, ma'am!My wife lives in there in the crack, ma'am!She's waiting foe me to come back, ma'am!She hoped I might find a bit of rind,Or the children their dinner will lack, ma'am!I never was given to strife, ma'am!(Don't look at that terrible knife, ma'am!)The noise overhead that disturbs you in bed,'T is the rats, I will venture my life, ma'am!In your eyes I see mercy I'm sure, ma'am!Oh, there's no need to open the door, ma'am!I'll slip through the crack, and I'll never come back,Oh I'll never come back any more, ma'am!The Foolish MouseIn a crack, near the cupboard,With dainties provided,A certain young mouseWith her mother resided;So securely they lived,In that snug, quiet spot,Any mouse in the landMight have envied their lot.But one day the young mouse,Which was given to roam,Having made an excursionSome way from her home,On a sudden returned,With such joy in her eyes,That her grey, sedate parentExpressed some surprise,"Oh mother," said she,"The good folks of this houseI'm convinced, have not anyIll-will to a mouse;And those tales can't be trueYou always are telling,For they've been at such painsTo construct us a dwelling."The floor is of wood,And the walls are of wiresExactly the size thatOne's comfort requires;And I'm sure that we thereShall have nothing to fear,If ten cats, with kittens,At once should appear."And then they have madeSuch nice holes in the wall,One could slip in and out,With no trouble at all;But forcing one throughSuch rough crannies as these,Always gives one's poor ribsA most terrible squeeze."But the best of all is,They've provided, as well,A large piece of cheese,Of most exquisite smell;'Twas so nice, I had putIn my head to go through,When I thought it my dutyTo come and fetch you.""Ah, child," said the mother,"Believe, I entreat,Both the cage and the cheeseAre a terrible cheat;Do not think all that troubleThey took for our good,They would catch us and kill usAll there if they could."Thus they've caught and killed scores,And I never could learn,That a mouse who once enteredDid ever return."Let young people mindWhat the old people say.And, when danger is near them,Keep out of the way.Previous-Index-NextPage 183—Mousey LandMice helping their comrade out of a trap.A Clever and Good Mother MouseOne Summer day the sun shone bright,Mid sweet flowers roved the bee,And I wandered in a garden oldBeside the deep blue sea.But close at hand, a shady path,Beneath some beech trees wound,And there. that sultry summer day,A pleasant seat I found.Suddenly, just beside my chair,A little sound I heard;A scratch upon the gravel path,As of a mouse or bird.I turned my head; there, on the path,What strange sight did I see!A little mouse, and in her mouthAnother still more wee.Softly she crept across the path,And then, her journey done,In a hole beneath the green grass vergeShe laid her little one.And back and forth from side to side,I watched her carry fiveSweet little mice, her own dear brood,Long tailed, and all alive.She never wearied in her work,Yet oh! so small was she!And thus, that bright, hot summer dayShe moved her nursery.Dear mother mouse! My verse has toldYour patient loving deed;Methinks our boys and girls may learnSome lessons as they read.Francis E. CookeThe True History of a Poor Little MouseA poor little mouseHad once made him a nest,And he fancied, the warmest,And safest, and best,That a poor little mouse could enjoy;So snug and convenient,So out of the way.This poor little mouseAnd his family lay,They fear'd neither pussy nor boy.It was in a storeThat was seldom in use,Where shavings and papersWere scattered in loose,That this poor little mouse made his hole,But alas! Master JohnnyHad seen him one day,As in a great frightHe had scampered away,With a piece of plum pudding he stole.As soon as young Johnny(Who, wicked and bad,No pitiful thoughtsFor dumb animals had)Descried the poor fellow's retreat,He crept to the shavingsAnd set them alight,And, before the poor mouseCould run off in its fright,It was smother'd to death in the heat!Poor mouse! how it squeak'dI can't bear to relate,Nor how its poor littleOnes hopp'd in the grate,And died, one by one, in the flame!I should not much wonderTo hear, that, some night,This wicked boy's bed-curtainsCatching alight,He suffered exactly the same.Ann TaylorThe Mouse's CallA little mouse crept out one day,When all was still about;To dollie's house he took his way,The lady being out.He skipped about with bead-bright eyesFrom table down to chair;He thought the house was just the sizeFor him to settle there.He found some jelly cake so nice,This naughty little mouse;He nibbled first, then in a trice'Twas gone from dollie's house.He curl'd himself upon the floor,To have a little nap,When suddenly upon the floorThere came a fearful rap.The mouse who had not left a crumb,With fear began to shake,For dollie's mistress back had comeTo get her piece of cake.She opened wide the little house,Her doll lay on her arm,And when she spied the trembling mouseShe cried out with alarm.She tumbled back upon the ground,Her dear doll falling too,While the mouse went rushing round,Not knowing what to do.At last he tumbled down the stair,Then to his hole he flew;And which did most the other scareThey never, never knew.Mouse reading 'How to Dodge the Cat'.Previous-Index-NextPage 184—Froggy LandKind frog carrying his wife.The Foolish FrogIn a tank at the foot of the hillLived Mr. and Mrs. Frog,At the head of the sparkling rill,By the side of a queachy bog;And they had children ten—All froggies as yellow as gold,Who loved to play on the fen,But they often were over-bold.Now it fell out one bright day,As it never had done before,When Father Frog was awayA stickleback sailed to the door."Oh! Mrs. Frog," said he,"Your sister is very ill;And much she wants to seeYou down at the water mill."Then Mother frog showed her griefIn such tears as you never saw;And, having no handkerchief,She wiped her eyes with a paw.Said she, "Now, froggies dear,You must not go to the fen:There is no danger here,And I'll soon come back again!"But the naughty little froggies,Disobeyed their mother and went.Then a duck, which had lazily swumFor hours in a reedy pool,Seeing the shadows come,And feeling the air grow cool.With a "Quack, quack, quack," came outShe meant, "It is time to sup!"So finding the froggies about,She gobbled them quickly up.So Mr. and Mrs. Frog,By the peeping stars made bold,Came back by the queachy bog,To their froggies all yellow as gold.They never saw them again—Alas! that it should be so.They were told not to go to the fen;But the did not obey, you know."Early Days"Marriage of Mr. FroggieThere was a FrogLived in a bog—A Frog of high degree—A stylish youth,And yet, forsooth,A bachelor was he.He had not wedBecause, he said,He'd ne'er in all his lifeSeen in the bogA pollywogHe cared to make his wife.But one fine day,When drest up gay,He passed a pretty house,And there besideThe window spiedA most attractive mouse.He raised his hat,And gazing atMiss Mouse, in suit of gray,He made a bow,Likewise a vowTo marry her straightway.When he was drestIn scarlet vest,And coat of velvet sheenWith frills of lace,And sword in place,His like was nowhere seen.His smile was bland,His style so grand,He said with pride, "I knowMiss Mouse so fair,Can find nowhereSo suitable a beau!"If she'll agreeTo live with me,And be my faithful wife,Oh, she shall dineOn dishes fine,And lead an easy life."When he went by,Miss Mouse so shy,Would hide her blushing face;But truth to tellCould see quite wellThrough curtains of thin lace.And from her nook,Ah! many a lookShe gave, with heart a-stir;And oft did sheConfess that heWas just the beau for her.At last so bluePoor froggie grew,He went up to the houseAnd rang the bell,In haste to tellHis love for Mistress Mouse.He passed the door,And on the floorHe knelt and kissed her hand,"Wilt marry me?"He asked, while sheHer burning blushes fanned.She answered "Yes,"As you may guess,To Mister Frog's delight;His arm he placedAround her waist,And joy was at its height.The wedding-dayWas set straightway,The town was all agog;And gifts, not few,Were sent untoMiss Mouse and Mister Frog.And never yetWas banquet set,In country or in town,With fare more richThan that to whichThe wedding guests sat down.And, after all,There was the ball,For which the band was hired,And frogs and miceWere up in a trice,And danced till their toes were tired.Frogs at SchoolTwenty froggies went to school,Down beside a rushy pool;Twenty little coats of green,Twenty vests all white and clean,"We must be in time," said they;"First we study, then we play;That is how we keep the ruleWhen we froggies go to school."Master Bullfrog, grave and stern,Called the classes in their turn;Taught them how to nobly strive,Likewise how to leap and dive;From his seat upon the logShowed them how to say, "Ker-chog!"Also, how to dodge a blowFrom the sticks which bad boys throw.Twenty froggies grew up fast;Bullfrogs they became at last;Not one dunce among the lot,Not one lesson they forgot.Polished in a high degree,As each froggie ought to be,Now they sit on other logs,Teaching other little frogs.Flying Frog.Previous-Index-Next

Page 175—Piggy LandSchool Boy Pigs.Three Naughty PigsThree naughty pigs,All in one pen,Drank up the milkLeft by the men,Then all the threeFast as they could,Dug their way outTo find something good.Out in the gardenA maiden fairHad set some flowersOf beauty rare.Out in the gardenA merry boyHad planted seeds,With childish joy,One naughty pigRan to the bed;Soon lay the flowersDrooping and dead.To naughty pigsDug up the seeds,And left, for the boy,Not even weeds.Three naughty pigs,Back in the pen,Never could doSuch digging again.For, in their noses,Something would hurtWhenever they triedTo dig in the dirt.Little BiddyLittle Biddy O'Toole, on her three-legged stool,Was 'atin' her praties so hot;Whin up stepped the pig,Wid his appetite big,And Biddy got down like a shot.The Spectre PigIt was the stalwart butcher manThat knit his swarthy brow,And said the gentle pig must die,And sealed it with a vow.And oh! it was the gentle pigLay stretched upon the ground,And ah! it was the cruel knifeHis little heart that found.They took him then those wicked men,They trailed him all along;They put a stick between his lips,And through his heels a thong.And round and round an oaken beamA hempen cord they flung,And like a mighty pendulumAll solemnly he swung.Now say thy prayers, thou sinful manAnd think what thou hast done,And read thy catechism well,Thou sanguinary one.For if its sprite should walk by nightIt better were for thee,That thou were mouldering in the ground,Or bleaching in the sea.It was the savage butcher thenThat made a mock of sin,And swore a very wicked oath,He did not care a pin.It was the butcher's youngest son,His voice was broke with sighs,And with his pocket handkerchiefHe wiped his little eyes.All young and ignorant was he,But innocent and mild,And, in his soft simplicity,Out spoke the tender child—"Oh! father, father, list to me;The pig is deadly sick,And men have hung him by his heels,And fed him with a stick."It was the naughty butcher thenThat laughed as he would die,Yet did he soothe the sorrowing childAnd bid him not to cry."Oh! Nathan, Nathan, what's a pig,That thou shouldst weep and wail?Come bear thee like a butcher's child,And thou shalt have his tail."It was the butcher's daughter then,So slender and so fair,That sobbed as if her heart would breakAnd tore her yellow hair.And thus she spoke in thrilling tone—Fell fast the tear-drops big:"Ah! woe to me! Alas! alas!The pig! the pig! the pig!"Then did her wicked father's lipsMake merry wit her woe,And call her many a naughty name,Because she whimpered so.Ye need not weep, ye gentle ones,In vain your tears are shed,Ye cannot wash the crimson hand,Ye cannot sooth the dead.The bright sun folded on his breast,His robes of rosey flame,And softly over all the westThe shades of evening came.He slept, and troops of murdered pigsWere busy in his dreams;Loud rang their wild, unearthly shrieks,Wide yawned their mortal seams.The clock struck twelve; the dead hath heard;He opened both his eyes,And sullenly he shook his tailTo lash the feeding flies.One quiver of the hempen cord—One struggle and one bound—With stiffened limb and leaded eye,The pig was on the ground.And straight towards the sleeper's houseHis fearful way he wended;And hooting owl, and hovering bat,On midnight wing attended.Back flew the bolt, uprose the latch,And open swung the door,And little mincing feet were heardPat, pat, along the floor.Two hoofs upon the sanded floor,And two upon the bed;And they are breathing side by side,The living and the dead."Now wake, now wake, thou butcher man!What makes your cheeks so pale?Take hold! take hold! thou dost not fearTo clasp a spectre's tail?"Untwisted every winding coil;The shuddering wretch took hold,Till like an icicle it seemed,So tapering and so cold."Thou com'st with me, thou butcher man!"He strives to loose his grasp,But, faster than the clinging vine,Those twining spirals clasp.And open, open, swung the door,And fleeter than the wind,The shadowy spectre swept before,The butcher trailed behind.Fast fled the darkness of the night,And morn rose faint and dim;They called full loud, they knocked full longThey did not waken him.Straight, straight towards that oaken beam,A trampled pathway ran;A ghastly shape was swinging there—It was the butcher man.O. W. HolmesPrevious-Index-NextPage 176—Piggy LandLittle Dame CrumpLittle Dame Crump,With her little hair broom,One morning was sweepingHer little bedroom,When, casting he littleGrey eyes on the ground,In a sly little cornerA penny she found."Dear me!" cried the Dame,While she started with surprise,"How lucky I amTo find such a prize!To market I'll go,And a pig I will buy,And little John GrubbinsShall make him a sty."So she washed her face clean,And put on her gown,And locked up the house,And set off for town.Then to market she went,And a purchase she madeOf a little white pig,And a penny she paid.Having purchased the pig,She was puzzled to knowHow they both should get home;So fearing least piggieShould play her a trick,She drove him alongWith a little crab stick.Piggie ran till they cameTo the foot of a hill,Where a little bridge stoodO'er the stream of a mill;Piggie grunted and squeaked,But not further would go:Oh, fie! Piggie, fie!To serve little Dame so.She went to the mill,And she borrowed a sackTo put the pig in,And take him on her back:Piggie squeaked to get out,But the little Dame said,"If you won't go of yourself,You then must be made."At last when the endOf her journey had come,She was awfully gladShe had got the pig home:She carried him straightTo his nice little sty,And gave him some hayAnd some straw, nice and dry.With a handful of peasThen Piggie she fed,And put on her night-cap,And got into bed:Having first said her prayers,And put out the light;And being quite tired,We'll wish her good night.The Chinese PigOld Madam Grumph, the pig, had gotA pig-sty of her own;She is a most un-com-mon pig,And likes to live alone.A red-tiled roofing covers inThe one half of her sty;And, half sur-round-ed by a wall,Is open to the sky.There stands the trough, they keep it fill'dWith pig-wash and with parings;And all the other pigs declareDame Grumph has dainty fairings.They like to see what she's about,And poke their noses throughA great hole in the pig-sty door,From whence they get a view.The pigs, that run about the yard,Are very lean and tall,With long hind legs—but Madam GrumphIs round as any ball.One autumn day, when she awoke('Twas very cold and raw),She found a litter of young pigsHalf buried in the straw."Humph," said the dame, "now let me seeHow many have I got."She counted, "Six and four are ten,—Two dead ones in the lot."Eight—That's a nice round family;A black one and two white;The rest are spotted like myself,With prick ears—that's all right."What's to be done with those dead things,They'd better be thrown out,"Said she, and packed the litter roundThe others with her snout."What's that, old Grumphy?" said a pig,Whose snout peeped through the door;"There's something moving in the strawI never saw before.""I wish you'd mind your own affairs,"Said she, and stepp'd betweenThe young pigs and the pig-sty door,Not wishing to be seen."I hope you slept well," said the pig,"The wind was very high;You are most comfortably lodged—A most con-ve-ni-ent sty.""I thought I told you once beforeTo mind your own affairs,"Said she, and bristling up her back,She bit the lean pig's ears."Squeak," said the bitten pig, "sque-e-ak,Old Grumphy's biting hard;"And all the lean pigs scamp-ed'd upFrom all sides of the yard.They grumbled and they grunted loud,The squeak'd in every key;At last another pig peep'd through,To see what he could see.Dame Grumph was standing by her pigs,And looking very proud,And all the little piggy-wigsWere squeaking very loud."These lovely creatures," said old Grumph,"These lovely pigs are mine;There're fat and pink like human babes,Most pro-mi-sing young swine.""Indeed," ex-claim'd the peeping pig,"I never should have thought,They were so very promising."Old Grumphy gave a snort."They're of a most dis-tin-guished race;My mother and her brotherWere both im-por-ted from Pekin,—My pigs are like my mother."They never shall as-so-ci-ateWith long-legged pigs like you."Said she, ad-dress-ing the lean pig,Whose snout was peeping through."Begging your pardon, ma'amI really think," said he,"The dif-fer-ence is not so greatAs it appears to be."If you and I were bacon, ma'amThe dif-fer-ence betweenAn Irish and a Chinese pigWould hardly then be seen."Give me your comfortable sty,And some of your nice food,Our little fa-mi-lies might proveIn-dif-fer-ent-ly good."Aunt Effie's RhymesMadam Grump and Her Babies.Previous-Index-NextPage 177—Piggy LandThe Old Woman and Her PigOnce an old woman was sweeping her house, and found a crooked sixpence, and went to market to buy a pig. As she was coming home she came to a stile, and the pig would not get over it: so she went a little farther and met a dog, and said to the dog:—"Dog, dog, bite pig;Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the dog would not.She went a little farther and met a stick, and said:"Stick, stick, beat dog; dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the stick would not.She went a little farther and met a fire, and said:"Fire, fire, burn stick; stick won't beat dog,Dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the fire would not.She went a little farther and met some water, and said:"Water, water, quench fire,Fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the water would not.She went a little farther and met an ox, and said:"Ox, ox, drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the ox would not.She went a little farther and met a butcher, and said:"Butcher, butcher, kill ox,Ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the butcher would not.She went a little farther and met a rope, and said:"Rope, rope, hang butcher.Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the butcher would not.She went a little farther and met a rat, and said:"Rat, rat, gnaw rope;Rope won't hang butcher,Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the rat would not.She went a little farther and met a cat, and said:"Cat, cat, kill rat; rat won't gnaw rope,Rope won't hang butcher,Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the cat said to her, "If you will go to yonder cow, and fetch me a saucer of milk, I will kill the rat." So away went the old woman to the cow, and said:"Cow, cow, give me some milk, cat won't kill rat,Rat won't gnaw rope, rope won't hang butcher,Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the cow said to her, "If you will go to yonder haymakers and fetch me a wisp of hay, I'll give you the milk."So away the old woman went to the haymakers and said:"Haymakers, give me a wisp of hay;Cow won't give me milk, cat won't kill rat,Rat won't gnaw rope, rope won't hang butcher,Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the haymakers said to her, "If you will go and fetch us a bucket of water, we'll give you the hay." So away the old woman went; but she found the bucket was full of holes. So she covered the bottom with pebbles, and then filled the bucket with water, and away she went back with it to the haymakers; and they gave her a wisp of hay.As soon as the cow had eaten the hay, she gave the old woman the milk; and away she went with it in a saucer to the cat. As soon as the cat had drank the milk, the cat began to kill the rat, the rat began to gnaw the rope, the rope began to hang the butcher, the butcher began to kill the ox, the ox began to drink the water, the water began to quench the fire, the fire began to burn the stick, the stick began to beat the dog, the dog began to bite to pig, the pig in a great fright jumped over the stile, and so the old woman got home that night in time to boil some apple dumplings for her husband's supper.The Flying Pig.The Flying PigDickery, dickery dare,The pig flew up in the air,But Patrick Brown soon brought him down,Dickery, dickery, dare.The Story of the Three Little PigsOnce there was an old pig, who had three little pigs, and sent them out to seek their fortune. The first one went and built a house with straw, and soon after a wolf came and knocked at the door and said, "Little pig, let me come in." But the little pig said, "No, no by the hair of my chin." The wolf then said, "I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in." So he huffed, and he puffed, and blew the house in, and ate up the little pig.The next little pig built a house with sticks, and the old wolf came along and called out, "Little pig, let me come in." And the little pig answered, "No, no, by the hair of my chin." "Then," says the wolf, "I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in." So he huffed and he puffed, and blew the house down, and ate up the little pig also.The third little pig built a house with bricks. Just after along came the old wolf, and said, "Little pig, let me come in." The little pig said, "No, no, by the hair of my chin." "Then I'll huff and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house down." Well, he huffed and he puffed, and he huffed and he puffed, and he puffed and he huffed; but he could not get the house down.When he found he could not, with all his huffing and puffing, blow the house down, he said "Little pig, I know where there is a nice field of turnips." "Where?" said the little pig. "Oh, in Mr. Smith's home field, and if you will be ready to-morrow morning I will call for you, and we will go together, and get some for dinner.""Very well," said the little pig, "I will be ready. What time do you mean to go?" "Oh, at six o'clock." Well, the little pig got up at five, and got the turnips before the wolf came, which he did about six, and said, "Little pig, are you ready?" The little pig said, "Ready; I've been and come back again and got a nice potful for dinner."The wolf felt very angry at this, but thought that he would be up to the little pig somehow or other, so he said, "Little pig, I know where there is a nice apple tree." "Where?" said the little pig. "Down at Merry Garden," replied the wolf, "and if you will not deceive me I will come for you at five o'clock to-morrow, and we will go together and get some apples."Well, the pig bustled up the next morning at four o'clock, and went off for the apples, hoping to get back before the wolf came; but he had further to go, and had to climb the tree, so that just as he was coming down from it he saw the wolf coming, which, as you may suppose, frightened him very much. When the wolf came up he said, "Little pig, what; are you here before me? Are they nice apples?""Yes, very," said the little pig, "I will throw you down one." And he threw it so far that, while the wolf was gone to pick it up, the little pig jumped down and ran home. The next day the wolf came again, and said "Little pig, there is a fair at Shanklin this afternoon, will you go?" Oh, yes," said the pig, "I will go: what time shall you be ready?" "At three," said the wolf.So the little pig went off before the time as usual, got to the fair, and bought a butter-churn, which he was going home with, when he saw the wolf coming. Then he could not tell what to do. So he got into the churn to hide, and by doing so turned it around, and it rolled down the hill with the pig in it, which frightened the wolf so much that he ran home without going to the fair. He went to the little pig's house and told him how frightened he had been by a great round thing which came down the hill past him.Then the little pig said "Ha! I frightened you, then. I had been to the fair and bought a butter-churn, and when I saw you I got into it and rolled down the hill." Then the wolf was very angry indeed, and declared he would eat up the little pig, and that he would get down the chimney after him.When the little pig saw what he was about, he hung onto the pot full of water, and made up a blazing fire, and just as the wolf was coming down, took off the cover, and in fell the wolf; so the little pig put on the cover again in an instant, boiled him up, and ate him for supper, and lived happy ever afterwards.Previous-Index-NextPage 178—Rabbit LandGentlemen Rabbits.The Wild RabbitsAmong the sand-hills,Near by the sea,Wild young rabbitsWere seen by me.They live in burrowsWith winding-ways,And there they shelterOn rainy days.The mother rabbitsMake cosy nests,With hairy liningsFrom their breasts.The tender young onesAre nursed and fed,And safely hiddenIn this warm bed.And when they are older,They all come outUpon the sand-hillsAnd frisk about.They play and nibbleThe long, dry grass,But scamper awayWhenever you pass.Disobedient BunnyA pert little rabbit,Once lived in a hole,And just did whatever he pleased;His ways were so funny,His antics so droll,That his parents were terribly teased."Now, dear," said his mother,"You'd best stay at home,And try to be patient and good."But No! he was fullyDetermined to roamThrough the green and beautiful wood.So what did he do?On a fine summer day,When mother was not to be seen,He took to his heels,And scampered awayRight over the meadow so green.He shook his long ears,And he whisked up his tail,His eyes dancing with glee,As onward he ranThrough a beautiful vale,And oh! how delighted was he!'Twas not very longTill he found a haystack,Where of course there was shelter and food.Said he to himself,"Now, I'll never go backTo my stupid old home in the wood."I'll dig myself a nice denFor myself in the hay;How warm it will be and how nice!Why in my old burrowFull many a dayI've often felt colder than ice!"So bunny soon dug himA nice little hole,And made it as round as an O;And really he lookedSo exceedingly droll,You'd have laughed had you seen him, I know.But evening drew on,It was lonely and dark,So Bunny lay down in his den;Said he to himself,"I'll get up with the lark,And won't I be ravenous then!"For really this hay,Though it does for a nest,Is somewhat too dry for my food;At home there is clover,The thing I love best,And lettuce and carrots so good."I wish I had someAt this moment! but thenI'm out on my travels just now,And I greatly preferTo reside in this den,Than at home where there's often a row!"Ah, well! I feel sleepy,I'd best go to bed—But what is that noise that I hear?There seems to be someoneRight over my head,I hope that no wild beasts are near!"Meanwhile an old foxWith a great bushy tailWas prowling about and around,But poor little BunnyWas hidden so wellThat never a bit was he found!When morning had come,And the fox disappeared,Then Bunny came forth to the light,Said he to himself,"It was just as I feared,A fox has been here through the night."I think I had betterGo scampering homeTo the dear little home in the wood,And never, oh neverAgain will I roam,Or leave my dear mother so good."Away then he ran,Without once looking back,Till he saw the dear home he loved best.And mother came hoppingAlong the hard trackTo welcome him home to the nest.And, oh! such a breakfastBefore him there lay,Such clover and grass from the wood;And always I've heard,From that terrible day,That Bunny is patient and good.B. R. McKeanThe Pet RabbitI have a little BunnyWith his coat as soft as down,And nearly all of him is whiteExcept one bit of brown.The first thing in the morning,When I get out of bed,I wonder if my bunny's stillSafe in his shed.And then the next thing that I do,I daresay you have guessed;It's at once to go and see him,When I am washed and dressed.And every day I see him,I like him more and more,And each day he is biggerThan he was the day before.I feed him in the morningWith bran and bits of bread.And every night I take some strawTo make his little bed.What with carrots in the morningAnd turnip-tops for tea,If a bunny can be happy,I'm sure he ought to be.Then when it's nearly bed-timeI go down to his shed,And say "Good-night, you bunny!"Before I go to bed,I think there's only one thingThat would make me happy quite,If I could take my bunny dearWith me to bed at night.Robert MackA Working Rabbit.Previous-Index-NextPage 179—Hare LandMouse and Frog riding Hare.The Little HareBeyond the palings of the parkA Hare had made her form,Beneath a drooping fern, that madeA shelter snug and warm.She slept until the daylight came,And all thinks were awake,And then the Hare, with noiseless steps,Crept softly from the brake.She stroked her whiskers with her paws,Looked timidly aroundWith open eyes and ears erectThat caught the smallest sound.The Field-Mouse rustled in the grass,The Squirrel in the trees,But Puss was not at all afraidOf common sounds like these.She frisked and gambolled with delight,And cropped a leaf or twoOf clover and of tender grass,That glistened in the dew.What was it, then, that made her start,And run away so fast?She heard the distant sound of hounds,She heard the huntsman's blast.Tally-ho!-hoy tally-ho!The hounds are in full cry;Ehew! ehew—in scarlet coatsThe men are sweeping by.So off she set with a spring and a bound,Over the meadows and open ground,Faster than hunter and faster than houndAnd on—and on—till she lost the sound,And away went the little Hare.Aunt EffiePeter and the HareThoughtless little Peter,With his little gun,Went out by the woodsideFor a little fun;Saw a happy little hare,Who on clover fed—With his little gun took aimAnd shot him in the head.Thoughtful little Peter,Sad for what he'd done,Sat down on a stump, and thereBy it laid his gun;Wished that he could bring to lifeThat little hare so still;"Never more," said he, "will IA harmless creature kill."Epitaph on a HareHere lies whom hound did ne'er pursue,Nor swifter greyhound follow,Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dewNor ear heard huntsman's halloo.Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,Who, nursed with tender care,And to domestic bounds confined,Was still a wild Jack-hare.Though duly from my hand he tookHis pittance every night,He did it with a jealous look,And when he could he would bite.On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,On pippin's russet peel;And when his juicy salads fail'd,Sliced carrot pleased him well.A Turkey carpet was his lawn,Whereon he loved to bound,To skip and gambol like a fawn,And swing himself around.His frisking was at evening hoursFor then he'd lost his fear!But most before approaching showers,Or when a storm drew near.Eight years and five round-rolling moonsHe thus saw steal away,Dozing out all his idle noonsAnd every night at play.I kept him for his humour's sake,For he would oft beguileMy heart of thoughts that made it ache,And force me to a smile.But now, beneath this walnut shade,He finds his long last home,And waits, in snug concealment laidTill gentler puss shall come.He, still more aged, feels the shocksFrom which no care can save;And partner once of Tiney's box,Must soon partake his grave.William CowperPunch's Appeal for the Hunted HareAll on the bare and bleak hillside,One night this merry Christmastide,A shivering hunted hare did hide;Poor Pussy!Though we had hunted puss all day,The wind had blown her scent away,And balked the dogs, so there she lay,Poor Pussy!There to the earth she humbly crept,There brooding o'er her lot she wept,There, on her empty stomach she slept.Poor Pussy!And there, while frozen fell the dew,She dreamt an ugly dream or two,As starved, wet folk are apt to do,Did Pussy!Loud hungry hounds of subtle ken,And thundering steeds, and hard-eyed men,Are fast on Pussy's trail again,Poor Pussy!Onwards she strains, on, as they tearForemost amongst the foremost there,Are ruthless women's faces fair;Poor Pussy!One moment's check, to left, to right,In vain she spends her little might,Some yokel's eyes have marked her flight,Poor Pussy!What use her fine small wits to rack!Closer, and faster on her trackHurries the hydra-headed pack,Lost Pussy!"For pity's sake, kind huntsman, stop!Call off the dogs before I drop,And kill me with your heavy crop."Shrieks Pussy!With shuddering start and stifled scream,She wakes!—She finds it all a dream;How kind the cold, cold earth doth seemTo Pussy!The Hare and the Tortoise.Previous-Index-NextPage 180—Rat LandA Gentleman Rat.The Pied Piper of Hamelin—or—The Vanished ChildrenHamelin Town's in BrunswickBy famous Hanover city;The river Weser, deep and wide,Washes its wall on the southern side.A pleasanter spot you never spied;But, when begins my ditty,Almost five hundred years ago,To see the townsfolk suffer soFrom vermin was a pity.Rats!They fought the dogs and killed the cats,And bit the babies in the cradles,And ate the cheeses out of the vats,And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,Split open the kegs of salted sprats,Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,And even spoiled the women's chats,By drowning their speaking,With shrieking and squeakingIn fifty different sharps and flats.At last the people in a bodyTo the Town Hall came flocking:"'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;And as for our Corporation—shockingTo think we buy gowns lined with ermineFor dolts that can't or won't determineWhat's best to rid us of our vermin!The mayor and Town Councillors were greatly perplexed what to do, when there entered a strange-looking piper, and offered to charm away all the rats for a thousand guilders. The council joyfully agreed to this, and at once:—Into the street the Piper swept,Smiling first a little smile,As if he knew what magic sleptIn his quiet pipe the while:Then, like a musical adept,To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkledLike a candle flame where salt is sprinkled;And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,You heard as if an army muttered;And the muttering grew to a grumbling;And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,Families by tens and dozens,Brothers, sisters, husbands wives—Followed the Piper for their lives.From street to street he piped advancing,Until they came to river WeserWherein all plunged and perished—Save one.You should have heard the Hamelin peopleRinging the bells till they rocked the steeple."Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles!Poke out the nests and block up the holes!Consult with carpenters and builders,And leave in our town not even a traceOf the rats!"—when suddenly up the faceOf the Piper perked in the market-place,With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"The mayor and Councillors abused the Piper, refused to pay him the thousand guilders, and offered him fifty and a drink, he refused to take less than they had offered, and said:"Folks who put me in a passionMay find me pipe to another fashion,""How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brookBeing worse treated than a crook?Insulted by a lazy ribaldWith idle pipe and vesture piebald?You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,Blow your pipe there till you burst!"Once more he stept into the street:And to his lips againLaid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;And ere he blew three notes (such sweetSoft notes as yet musicians cunningNever gave the enraptured air),There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustlingOf merry crowds pustling, at pitching and hustling,Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering,And like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering,Out came the children running,All the little boys and girls,With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,Tripping and skipping, ran merrily afterThe wonderful music with shouting laughter.The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stoodAs if they were carved into blocks of wood,Unable to move a step, or cryTo the children merrily skipping by—And could only follow with the eyeThat joyous crowd at the Piper's back.But how the Mayor was on the rack,And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,As the Piper turned from the High streetTo where the Weser rolled its watersRight in the way of their sons and daughters!However he turned from South to West,And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,And after him the children pressed;Great was the joy in every breast."He never can cross that mighty top!He's forced to let the piping drop,And we shall see out children stop!"When lo! as they reached the mountain's side,A wondrous portal opened wide,As if a cavern was suddenly hollowedAnd the Piper advanced and the children followed.And when all were in to the very last,The door in the mountain-side shut fast,Did I say all? No! one was lame,And could not dance the whole of the way!And in after years, if you would blameHis sadness, he was used to say—"It's dull in our town since my playmates left;I can't forget that I'm bereftOf all they pleasant sights they see,Which the Piper also promised me;For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,Joining the town and just at hand,Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew,And flowers put forth a fairer hue.Previous-Index-NextPage 181—Rat LandAnd everything was strange and new;The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,And their dogs outran our fellow deer,And honey-bees had lost their stings;And horses were born with eagles' wings,And just as I became assuredMy lame foot would be speedily cured,The music stopped, and I stood still,And found myself outside the Hill,Left alone against my will,To go now limping as before,And never hear of that country more!"Alas, alas for Hamelin!There came into many a burgher's pateA text which says, that Heaven's GateOpens to the Rich at as easy rateAs the needle's eye takes a camel in!The mayor sent East, West, North and South,To offer the Piper by word of mouth,Wherever it was men's lot to find him,Silver and gold to his heart's content,If he'd only return the way he went,And bring the children all behind him.But at length they saw 'twas a lost endeavour,For Piper and dancers were gone for ever.BrowningThe Wicked Bishop HattoThe summer and autumn had been so wetThat in winter the corn was growing yet;'Twas a piteous sight to see all aroundThe grain lie rotting on the ground.Every day the starving poorCrowded around Bishop Hatto's door,For all the neighbourhood could tellHis granaries were furnished well.At last Bishop Hatto appointed a dayTo quiet the poor without delay:He bade them to his great Barn repairAnd they should have food for the winter there.Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,The poor folk flocked from far and near;So the great Barn was full as it could holdOf women and children, and young and old.Then when he saw it could hold no more,Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;And while for mercy with shrieks they call,He set fire to the Barn and burnt them all,"A rare and excellent bonfire!" quoth he,"And the country is greatly obliged to me,For ridding it in these times forlornOf Rats that only consume the corn."So then to his palace returned he,And he sat down to supper merrily,And he slept that night like an innocent man;—But Bishop Hatto never slept again.In the morning as he entered the hall,Where his picture hung against the wall,A sweat like death all over him came,For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame.As he looked, there came a man from his farm,He had a countenance white with alarm;—"I opened your granaries this morn,And the Rats had eaten all the corn."Another came running presently,And he was pale as pale could be;—"Fly! my Lord Bishop, without delay,Ten thousand rats are coming this way.""I'll go to my tower on the Rhine," quoth he,"'Tis the safest place in Germany;The walls are high and the shores are steep,And the stream is long and the water deep."Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,And he crossed the Rhine without delay,And reached his tower, and barred with careAll the windows, doors, and loopholes there.He laid him down, and closed his eyes.But soon a scream made him arise:He started, and saw two eyes of flameOn his pillow, from whence the screaming came.He listened, and looked—it was only the cat;But the Bishop grew more fearful for that,For she sat screaming, mad with fear,At the army of rats that were drawing near.For they have swum over the river so deep,And they have climed the shores so steep,And up the tower their way is bent,To do the work for which they were sent.They are not to be told by the dozen or score—By the thousands they come, and by myriads, and more;Such numbers have never been heard of before,Such a judgement had never been witnessed of yore.Down on his knees the Bishop fell,And faster and faster his beads did tell,As louder and louder, drawing near,The gnawing by their teeth he could hear.And in at the windows, and in at the door,And through the walls helter-skelter they pour,And down from the ceiling, and up from the floor,From the right and the left, from behind and before,From within and without, from above and below;And all at once to the Bishop they go.They have whetted their teeth against the stones,And now they pick the Bishop's bones;They gnawed the flesh from every limb,For they were sent to do judgement on him.R. SoutheyWhat became of them!He was a rat, and she was a rat,And down in one hole they did dwell,And both were as black as a witch's cat,And they loved one another well.He had a tail, and she had a tail,Both long and curling and fine,And each said, "Yours is the finest tailIn the world, excepting mine."He smelt the cheese, and she smelt the cheese,And they both pronounced it good;And both remarked it would greatly addTo the charms of their daily food.So he ventured out, and she ventured out,And I saw them go with pain;But what befel them I never can tell,For they never came back again.Rats Carrying Home an Egg.Previous-Index-NextPage 182—Mousey LandThe Gingerbread Cat.The Gingerbread CatA baby-girl, on Christmas nightHad filled her little apron whiteWith all a happy child could takeOf Christmas toys and Christmas cake;But on the stairway she let fallThe chiefest treasure of them all—A little cat of gingerbreadAll frosted white from tail to head.Now in the moonlit midnight time,When merry mice do run and climb,A plump gray mouse come down the stairAnd saw the Christmas cake-cat there.She stood still in her cruel frightAnd gazed upon the monster whiteWho seemed to feel as great surprise,And stared with both his raisin eyes.Poor mousie dared not, could not stir!Her little brain was in a whirr!Five minutes—ten—but not a pawHad puss put forth! "I never sawA cat like this!" the poor mouse said.A brave bold thought came in her head—Her wee heart beating pit-a-pat,She moved her own paw—touched the cat—Then sprang upon it with a squealAnd made a most delicious meal"Ho! ho!" she cried, "Sugar! spice!And everything that's good and nice—That's what cats are made of,The cats that we're afraid of!"Then up the stairs she madly pranced,And o'er the attic floor she dancedAnd then she stood upon her headAnd to her 'stonished friends she said,"O, joy to every mouse and rat,For I have eaten up the cat!"The MiceThe mice are in their holes,And there they hide by day;But when 'tis still at night,They all come out to play.They climb up on the shelves,And taste of all they please;They drink the milk and cream,And eat the bread and cheese.But if they hear the cat,At once they stop their fun;In fright they seek their holesAs fast as they can run.Three MiceThree Mice went intoA hole to spin,Puss came by,Puss peeped in;What are you doing,My little old men?We're weaving coatsFor gentlemen.Shall I come and help youTo wind up your threads?Oh, no, Mrs. Pussy,You'd bite off our heads!Says Pussy, "You areSo wondrous wiseI love your whiskersAnd round black eyes;Your house is the prettiestHouse I see.And I think there is roomFor you and me."The mice were so pleasedThat they opened the door,And Pussy soon laid themAll dead on the floor."Run Mousey, Run!"I am sitting by the fireside,Reading, and very still,There comes a little sharp-eyed mouse,And run about he will.He flies along the mantelpieceHe darts beneath the fender;It's just as well that Jane's not here,Or into fits he'd send her.And now he's nibbling at some cakeShe left upon the table.He seems to think I'm somebodyTo hurt a mouse unable.Run, mousey, run! I hear the cat,She's scratching at the door,Once she comes in, you'll have no chanceBeneath her savage claw.Run, mousey, run! I hear Jane's foot,She's coming up to bed,If puss but makes a spring at you,Poor mousey, you'll be dead!A Mouse Caught in a CageI'm only a poor little mouse, ma'am!I live in the wall of your house, ma'am!With a fragment of cheese, and a very few peas,I was having a little carouse, ma'am!No mischief at all I intend, ma'am!I hope you will act as my friend, ma'am!If my life you should take, many hearts it would break,And the trouble would be without end, ma'am!My wife lives in there in the crack, ma'am!She's waiting foe me to come back, ma'am!She hoped I might find a bit of rind,Or the children their dinner will lack, ma'am!I never was given to strife, ma'am!(Don't look at that terrible knife, ma'am!)The noise overhead that disturbs you in bed,'T is the rats, I will venture my life, ma'am!In your eyes I see mercy I'm sure, ma'am!Oh, there's no need to open the door, ma'am!I'll slip through the crack, and I'll never come back,Oh I'll never come back any more, ma'am!The Foolish MouseIn a crack, near the cupboard,With dainties provided,A certain young mouseWith her mother resided;So securely they lived,In that snug, quiet spot,Any mouse in the landMight have envied their lot.But one day the young mouse,Which was given to roam,Having made an excursionSome way from her home,On a sudden returned,With such joy in her eyes,That her grey, sedate parentExpressed some surprise,"Oh mother," said she,"The good folks of this houseI'm convinced, have not anyIll-will to a mouse;And those tales can't be trueYou always are telling,For they've been at such painsTo construct us a dwelling."The floor is of wood,And the walls are of wiresExactly the size thatOne's comfort requires;And I'm sure that we thereShall have nothing to fear,If ten cats, with kittens,At once should appear."And then they have madeSuch nice holes in the wall,One could slip in and out,With no trouble at all;But forcing one throughSuch rough crannies as these,Always gives one's poor ribsA most terrible squeeze."But the best of all is,They've provided, as well,A large piece of cheese,Of most exquisite smell;'Twas so nice, I had putIn my head to go through,When I thought it my dutyTo come and fetch you.""Ah, child," said the mother,"Believe, I entreat,Both the cage and the cheeseAre a terrible cheat;Do not think all that troubleThey took for our good,They would catch us and kill usAll there if they could."Thus they've caught and killed scores,And I never could learn,That a mouse who once enteredDid ever return."Let young people mindWhat the old people say.And, when danger is near them,Keep out of the way.Previous-Index-NextPage 183—Mousey LandMice helping their comrade out of a trap.A Clever and Good Mother MouseOne Summer day the sun shone bright,Mid sweet flowers roved the bee,And I wandered in a garden oldBeside the deep blue sea.But close at hand, a shady path,Beneath some beech trees wound,And there. that sultry summer day,A pleasant seat I found.Suddenly, just beside my chair,A little sound I heard;A scratch upon the gravel path,As of a mouse or bird.I turned my head; there, on the path,What strange sight did I see!A little mouse, and in her mouthAnother still more wee.Softly she crept across the path,And then, her journey done,In a hole beneath the green grass vergeShe laid her little one.And back and forth from side to side,I watched her carry fiveSweet little mice, her own dear brood,Long tailed, and all alive.She never wearied in her work,Yet oh! so small was she!And thus, that bright, hot summer dayShe moved her nursery.Dear mother mouse! My verse has toldYour patient loving deed;Methinks our boys and girls may learnSome lessons as they read.Francis E. CookeThe True History of a Poor Little MouseA poor little mouseHad once made him a nest,And he fancied, the warmest,And safest, and best,That a poor little mouse could enjoy;So snug and convenient,So out of the way.This poor little mouseAnd his family lay,They fear'd neither pussy nor boy.It was in a storeThat was seldom in use,Where shavings and papersWere scattered in loose,That this poor little mouse made his hole,But alas! Master JohnnyHad seen him one day,As in a great frightHe had scampered away,With a piece of plum pudding he stole.As soon as young Johnny(Who, wicked and bad,No pitiful thoughtsFor dumb animals had)Descried the poor fellow's retreat,He crept to the shavingsAnd set them alight,And, before the poor mouseCould run off in its fright,It was smother'd to death in the heat!Poor mouse! how it squeak'dI can't bear to relate,Nor how its poor littleOnes hopp'd in the grate,And died, one by one, in the flame!I should not much wonderTo hear, that, some night,This wicked boy's bed-curtainsCatching alight,He suffered exactly the same.Ann TaylorThe Mouse's CallA little mouse crept out one day,When all was still about;To dollie's house he took his way,The lady being out.He skipped about with bead-bright eyesFrom table down to chair;He thought the house was just the sizeFor him to settle there.He found some jelly cake so nice,This naughty little mouse;He nibbled first, then in a trice'Twas gone from dollie's house.He curl'd himself upon the floor,To have a little nap,When suddenly upon the floorThere came a fearful rap.The mouse who had not left a crumb,With fear began to shake,For dollie's mistress back had comeTo get her piece of cake.She opened wide the little house,Her doll lay on her arm,And when she spied the trembling mouseShe cried out with alarm.She tumbled back upon the ground,Her dear doll falling too,While the mouse went rushing round,Not knowing what to do.At last he tumbled down the stair,Then to his hole he flew;And which did most the other scareThey never, never knew.Mouse reading 'How to Dodge the Cat'.Previous-Index-NextPage 184—Froggy LandKind frog carrying his wife.The Foolish FrogIn a tank at the foot of the hillLived Mr. and Mrs. Frog,At the head of the sparkling rill,By the side of a queachy bog;And they had children ten—All froggies as yellow as gold,Who loved to play on the fen,But they often were over-bold.Now it fell out one bright day,As it never had done before,When Father Frog was awayA stickleback sailed to the door."Oh! Mrs. Frog," said he,"Your sister is very ill;And much she wants to seeYou down at the water mill."Then Mother frog showed her griefIn such tears as you never saw;And, having no handkerchief,She wiped her eyes with a paw.Said she, "Now, froggies dear,You must not go to the fen:There is no danger here,And I'll soon come back again!"But the naughty little froggies,Disobeyed their mother and went.Then a duck, which had lazily swumFor hours in a reedy pool,Seeing the shadows come,And feeling the air grow cool.With a "Quack, quack, quack," came outShe meant, "It is time to sup!"So finding the froggies about,She gobbled them quickly up.So Mr. and Mrs. Frog,By the peeping stars made bold,Came back by the queachy bog,To their froggies all yellow as gold.They never saw them again—Alas! that it should be so.They were told not to go to the fen;But the did not obey, you know."Early Days"Marriage of Mr. FroggieThere was a FrogLived in a bog—A Frog of high degree—A stylish youth,And yet, forsooth,A bachelor was he.He had not wedBecause, he said,He'd ne'er in all his lifeSeen in the bogA pollywogHe cared to make his wife.But one fine day,When drest up gay,He passed a pretty house,And there besideThe window spiedA most attractive mouse.He raised his hat,And gazing atMiss Mouse, in suit of gray,He made a bow,Likewise a vowTo marry her straightway.When he was drestIn scarlet vest,And coat of velvet sheenWith frills of lace,And sword in place,His like was nowhere seen.His smile was bland,His style so grand,He said with pride, "I knowMiss Mouse so fair,Can find nowhereSo suitable a beau!"If she'll agreeTo live with me,And be my faithful wife,Oh, she shall dineOn dishes fine,And lead an easy life."When he went by,Miss Mouse so shy,Would hide her blushing face;But truth to tellCould see quite wellThrough curtains of thin lace.And from her nook,Ah! many a lookShe gave, with heart a-stir;And oft did sheConfess that heWas just the beau for her.At last so bluePoor froggie grew,He went up to the houseAnd rang the bell,In haste to tellHis love for Mistress Mouse.He passed the door,And on the floorHe knelt and kissed her hand,"Wilt marry me?"He asked, while sheHer burning blushes fanned.She answered "Yes,"As you may guess,To Mister Frog's delight;His arm he placedAround her waist,And joy was at its height.The wedding-dayWas set straightway,The town was all agog;And gifts, not few,Were sent untoMiss Mouse and Mister Frog.And never yetWas banquet set,In country or in town,With fare more richThan that to whichThe wedding guests sat down.And, after all,There was the ball,For which the band was hired,And frogs and miceWere up in a trice,And danced till their toes were tired.Frogs at SchoolTwenty froggies went to school,Down beside a rushy pool;Twenty little coats of green,Twenty vests all white and clean,"We must be in time," said they;"First we study, then we play;That is how we keep the ruleWhen we froggies go to school."Master Bullfrog, grave and stern,Called the classes in their turn;Taught them how to nobly strive,Likewise how to leap and dive;From his seat upon the logShowed them how to say, "Ker-chog!"Also, how to dodge a blowFrom the sticks which bad boys throw.Twenty froggies grew up fast;Bullfrogs they became at last;Not one dunce among the lot,Not one lesson they forgot.Polished in a high degree,As each froggie ought to be,Now they sit on other logs,Teaching other little frogs.Flying Frog.Previous-Index-Next

School Boy Pigs.

Three Naughty PigsThree naughty pigs,All in one pen,Drank up the milkLeft by the men,Then all the threeFast as they could,Dug their way outTo find something good.Out in the gardenA maiden fairHad set some flowersOf beauty rare.Out in the gardenA merry boyHad planted seeds,With childish joy,One naughty pigRan to the bed;Soon lay the flowersDrooping and dead.To naughty pigsDug up the seeds,And left, for the boy,Not even weeds.Three naughty pigs,Back in the pen,Never could doSuch digging again.For, in their noses,Something would hurtWhenever they triedTo dig in the dirt.Little BiddyLittle Biddy O'Toole, on her three-legged stool,Was 'atin' her praties so hot;Whin up stepped the pig,Wid his appetite big,And Biddy got down like a shot.The Spectre PigIt was the stalwart butcher manThat knit his swarthy brow,And said the gentle pig must die,And sealed it with a vow.And oh! it was the gentle pigLay stretched upon the ground,And ah! it was the cruel knifeHis little heart that found.They took him then those wicked men,They trailed him all along;They put a stick between his lips,And through his heels a thong.And round and round an oaken beamA hempen cord they flung,And like a mighty pendulumAll solemnly he swung.Now say thy prayers, thou sinful manAnd think what thou hast done,And read thy catechism well,Thou sanguinary one.For if its sprite should walk by nightIt better were for thee,That thou were mouldering in the ground,Or bleaching in the sea.It was the savage butcher thenThat made a mock of sin,And swore a very wicked oath,He did not care a pin.It was the butcher's youngest son,His voice was broke with sighs,And with his pocket handkerchiefHe wiped his little eyes.All young and ignorant was he,But innocent and mild,And, in his soft simplicity,Out spoke the tender child—"Oh! father, father, list to me;The pig is deadly sick,And men have hung him by his heels,And fed him with a stick."It was the naughty butcher thenThat laughed as he would die,Yet did he soothe the sorrowing childAnd bid him not to cry."Oh! Nathan, Nathan, what's a pig,That thou shouldst weep and wail?Come bear thee like a butcher's child,And thou shalt have his tail."It was the butcher's daughter then,So slender and so fair,That sobbed as if her heart would breakAnd tore her yellow hair.And thus she spoke in thrilling tone—Fell fast the tear-drops big:"Ah! woe to me! Alas! alas!The pig! the pig! the pig!"Then did her wicked father's lipsMake merry wit her woe,And call her many a naughty name,Because she whimpered so.Ye need not weep, ye gentle ones,In vain your tears are shed,Ye cannot wash the crimson hand,Ye cannot sooth the dead.The bright sun folded on his breast,His robes of rosey flame,And softly over all the westThe shades of evening came.He slept, and troops of murdered pigsWere busy in his dreams;Loud rang their wild, unearthly shrieks,Wide yawned their mortal seams.The clock struck twelve; the dead hath heard;He opened both his eyes,And sullenly he shook his tailTo lash the feeding flies.One quiver of the hempen cord—One struggle and one bound—With stiffened limb and leaded eye,The pig was on the ground.And straight towards the sleeper's houseHis fearful way he wended;And hooting owl, and hovering bat,On midnight wing attended.Back flew the bolt, uprose the latch,And open swung the door,And little mincing feet were heardPat, pat, along the floor.Two hoofs upon the sanded floor,And two upon the bed;And they are breathing side by side,The living and the dead."Now wake, now wake, thou butcher man!What makes your cheeks so pale?Take hold! take hold! thou dost not fearTo clasp a spectre's tail?"Untwisted every winding coil;The shuddering wretch took hold,Till like an icicle it seemed,So tapering and so cold."Thou com'st with me, thou butcher man!"He strives to loose his grasp,But, faster than the clinging vine,Those twining spirals clasp.And open, open, swung the door,And fleeter than the wind,The shadowy spectre swept before,The butcher trailed behind.Fast fled the darkness of the night,And morn rose faint and dim;They called full loud, they knocked full longThey did not waken him.Straight, straight towards that oaken beam,A trampled pathway ran;A ghastly shape was swinging there—It was the butcher man.O. W. Holmes

Three Naughty Pigs

Three naughty pigs,All in one pen,Drank up the milkLeft by the men,Then all the threeFast as they could,Dug their way outTo find something good.

Out in the gardenA maiden fairHad set some flowersOf beauty rare.

Out in the gardenA merry boyHad planted seeds,With childish joy,

One naughty pigRan to the bed;Soon lay the flowersDrooping and dead.

To naughty pigsDug up the seeds,And left, for the boy,Not even weeds.

Three naughty pigs,Back in the pen,Never could doSuch digging again.

For, in their noses,Something would hurtWhenever they triedTo dig in the dirt.

Little Biddy

Little Biddy O'Toole, on her three-legged stool,Was 'atin' her praties so hot;Whin up stepped the pig,Wid his appetite big,And Biddy got down like a shot.

The Spectre Pig

It was the stalwart butcher manThat knit his swarthy brow,And said the gentle pig must die,And sealed it with a vow.

And oh! it was the gentle pigLay stretched upon the ground,And ah! it was the cruel knifeHis little heart that found.

They took him then those wicked men,They trailed him all along;They put a stick between his lips,And through his heels a thong.

And round and round an oaken beamA hempen cord they flung,And like a mighty pendulumAll solemnly he swung.

Now say thy prayers, thou sinful manAnd think what thou hast done,And read thy catechism well,Thou sanguinary one.

For if its sprite should walk by nightIt better were for thee,That thou were mouldering in the ground,Or bleaching in the sea.

It was the savage butcher thenThat made a mock of sin,And swore a very wicked oath,He did not care a pin.

It was the butcher's youngest son,His voice was broke with sighs,And with his pocket handkerchiefHe wiped his little eyes.

All young and ignorant was he,But innocent and mild,And, in his soft simplicity,Out spoke the tender child—

"Oh! father, father, list to me;The pig is deadly sick,And men have hung him by his heels,And fed him with a stick."

It was the naughty butcher thenThat laughed as he would die,Yet did he soothe the sorrowing childAnd bid him not to cry.

"Oh! Nathan, Nathan, what's a pig,That thou shouldst weep and wail?Come bear thee like a butcher's child,And thou shalt have his tail."

It was the butcher's daughter then,So slender and so fair,That sobbed as if her heart would breakAnd tore her yellow hair.

And thus she spoke in thrilling tone—Fell fast the tear-drops big:"Ah! woe to me! Alas! alas!The pig! the pig! the pig!"

Then did her wicked father's lipsMake merry wit her woe,And call her many a naughty name,Because she whimpered so.

Ye need not weep, ye gentle ones,In vain your tears are shed,Ye cannot wash the crimson hand,Ye cannot sooth the dead.

The bright sun folded on his breast,His robes of rosey flame,And softly over all the westThe shades of evening came.

He slept, and troops of murdered pigsWere busy in his dreams;Loud rang their wild, unearthly shrieks,Wide yawned their mortal seams.

The clock struck twelve; the dead hath heard;He opened both his eyes,And sullenly he shook his tailTo lash the feeding flies.

One quiver of the hempen cord—One struggle and one bound—With stiffened limb and leaded eye,The pig was on the ground.

And straight towards the sleeper's houseHis fearful way he wended;And hooting owl, and hovering bat,On midnight wing attended.

Back flew the bolt, uprose the latch,And open swung the door,And little mincing feet were heardPat, pat, along the floor.

Two hoofs upon the sanded floor,And two upon the bed;And they are breathing side by side,The living and the dead.

"Now wake, now wake, thou butcher man!What makes your cheeks so pale?Take hold! take hold! thou dost not fearTo clasp a spectre's tail?"

Untwisted every winding coil;The shuddering wretch took hold,Till like an icicle it seemed,So tapering and so cold.

"Thou com'st with me, thou butcher man!"He strives to loose his grasp,But, faster than the clinging vine,Those twining spirals clasp.

And open, open, swung the door,And fleeter than the wind,The shadowy spectre swept before,The butcher trailed behind.

Fast fled the darkness of the night,And morn rose faint and dim;They called full loud, they knocked full longThey did not waken him.

Straight, straight towards that oaken beam,A trampled pathway ran;A ghastly shape was swinging there—It was the butcher man.

O. W. Holmes

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Little Dame CrumpLittle Dame Crump,With her little hair broom,One morning was sweepingHer little bedroom,When, casting he littleGrey eyes on the ground,In a sly little cornerA penny she found."Dear me!" cried the Dame,While she started with surprise,"How lucky I amTo find such a prize!To market I'll go,And a pig I will buy,And little John GrubbinsShall make him a sty."So she washed her face clean,And put on her gown,And locked up the house,And set off for town.Then to market she went,And a purchase she madeOf a little white pig,And a penny she paid.Having purchased the pig,She was puzzled to knowHow they both should get home;So fearing least piggieShould play her a trick,She drove him alongWith a little crab stick.Piggie ran till they cameTo the foot of a hill,Where a little bridge stoodO'er the stream of a mill;Piggie grunted and squeaked,But not further would go:Oh, fie! Piggie, fie!To serve little Dame so.She went to the mill,And she borrowed a sackTo put the pig in,And take him on her back:Piggie squeaked to get out,But the little Dame said,"If you won't go of yourself,You then must be made."At last when the endOf her journey had come,She was awfully gladShe had got the pig home:She carried him straightTo his nice little sty,And gave him some hayAnd some straw, nice and dry.With a handful of peasThen Piggie she fed,And put on her night-cap,And got into bed:Having first said her prayers,And put out the light;And being quite tired,We'll wish her good night.The Chinese PigOld Madam Grumph, the pig, had gotA pig-sty of her own;She is a most un-com-mon pig,And likes to live alone.A red-tiled roofing covers inThe one half of her sty;And, half sur-round-ed by a wall,Is open to the sky.There stands the trough, they keep it fill'dWith pig-wash and with parings;And all the other pigs declareDame Grumph has dainty fairings.They like to see what she's about,And poke their noses throughA great hole in the pig-sty door,From whence they get a view.The pigs, that run about the yard,Are very lean and tall,With long hind legs—but Madam GrumphIs round as any ball.One autumn day, when she awoke('Twas very cold and raw),She found a litter of young pigsHalf buried in the straw."Humph," said the dame, "now let me seeHow many have I got."She counted, "Six and four are ten,—Two dead ones in the lot."Eight—That's a nice round family;A black one and two white;The rest are spotted like myself,With prick ears—that's all right."What's to be done with those dead things,They'd better be thrown out,"Said she, and packed the litter roundThe others with her snout."What's that, old Grumphy?" said a pig,Whose snout peeped through the door;"There's something moving in the strawI never saw before.""I wish you'd mind your own affairs,"Said she, and stepp'd betweenThe young pigs and the pig-sty door,Not wishing to be seen."I hope you slept well," said the pig,"The wind was very high;You are most comfortably lodged—A most con-ve-ni-ent sty.""I thought I told you once beforeTo mind your own affairs,"Said she, and bristling up her back,She bit the lean pig's ears."Squeak," said the bitten pig, "sque-e-ak,Old Grumphy's biting hard;"And all the lean pigs scamp-ed'd upFrom all sides of the yard.They grumbled and they grunted loud,The squeak'd in every key;At last another pig peep'd through,To see what he could see.Dame Grumph was standing by her pigs,And looking very proud,And all the little piggy-wigsWere squeaking very loud."These lovely creatures," said old Grumph,"These lovely pigs are mine;There're fat and pink like human babes,Most pro-mi-sing young swine.""Indeed," ex-claim'd the peeping pig,"I never should have thought,They were so very promising."Old Grumphy gave a snort."They're of a most dis-tin-guished race;My mother and her brotherWere both im-por-ted from Pekin,—My pigs are like my mother."They never shall as-so-ci-ateWith long-legged pigs like you."Said she, ad-dress-ing the lean pig,Whose snout was peeping through."Begging your pardon, ma'amI really think," said he,"The dif-fer-ence is not so greatAs it appears to be."If you and I were bacon, ma'amThe dif-fer-ence betweenAn Irish and a Chinese pigWould hardly then be seen."Give me your comfortable sty,And some of your nice food,Our little fa-mi-lies might proveIn-dif-fer-ent-ly good."Aunt Effie's RhymesMadam Grump and Her Babies.

Little Dame Crump

Little Dame Crump,With her little hair broom,One morning was sweepingHer little bedroom,When, casting he littleGrey eyes on the ground,In a sly little cornerA penny she found.

"Dear me!" cried the Dame,While she started with surprise,"How lucky I amTo find such a prize!To market I'll go,And a pig I will buy,And little John GrubbinsShall make him a sty."

So she washed her face clean,And put on her gown,And locked up the house,And set off for town.Then to market she went,And a purchase she madeOf a little white pig,And a penny she paid.

Having purchased the pig,She was puzzled to knowHow they both should get home;So fearing least piggieShould play her a trick,She drove him alongWith a little crab stick.

Piggie ran till they cameTo the foot of a hill,Where a little bridge stoodO'er the stream of a mill;Piggie grunted and squeaked,But not further would go:Oh, fie! Piggie, fie!To serve little Dame so.

She went to the mill,And she borrowed a sackTo put the pig in,And take him on her back:Piggie squeaked to get out,But the little Dame said,"If you won't go of yourself,You then must be made."

At last when the endOf her journey had come,She was awfully gladShe had got the pig home:She carried him straightTo his nice little sty,And gave him some hayAnd some straw, nice and dry.

With a handful of peasThen Piggie she fed,And put on her night-cap,And got into bed:Having first said her prayers,And put out the light;And being quite tired,We'll wish her good night.

The Chinese Pig

Old Madam Grumph, the pig, had gotA pig-sty of her own;She is a most un-com-mon pig,And likes to live alone.

A red-tiled roofing covers inThe one half of her sty;And, half sur-round-ed by a wall,Is open to the sky.

There stands the trough, they keep it fill'dWith pig-wash and with parings;And all the other pigs declareDame Grumph has dainty fairings.

They like to see what she's about,And poke their noses throughA great hole in the pig-sty door,From whence they get a view.

The pigs, that run about the yard,Are very lean and tall,With long hind legs—but Madam GrumphIs round as any ball.

One autumn day, when she awoke('Twas very cold and raw),She found a litter of young pigsHalf buried in the straw.

"Humph," said the dame, "now let me seeHow many have I got."She counted, "Six and four are ten,—Two dead ones in the lot.

"Eight—That's a nice round family;A black one and two white;The rest are spotted like myself,With prick ears—that's all right.

"What's to be done with those dead things,They'd better be thrown out,"Said she, and packed the litter roundThe others with her snout.

"What's that, old Grumphy?" said a pig,Whose snout peeped through the door;"There's something moving in the strawI never saw before."

"I wish you'd mind your own affairs,"Said she, and stepp'd betweenThe young pigs and the pig-sty door,Not wishing to be seen.

"I hope you slept well," said the pig,"The wind was very high;You are most comfortably lodged—A most con-ve-ni-ent sty."

"I thought I told you once beforeTo mind your own affairs,"Said she, and bristling up her back,She bit the lean pig's ears.

"Squeak," said the bitten pig, "sque-e-ak,Old Grumphy's biting hard;"And all the lean pigs scamp-ed'd upFrom all sides of the yard.

They grumbled and they grunted loud,The squeak'd in every key;At last another pig peep'd through,To see what he could see.

Dame Grumph was standing by her pigs,And looking very proud,And all the little piggy-wigsWere squeaking very loud.

"These lovely creatures," said old Grumph,"These lovely pigs are mine;There're fat and pink like human babes,Most pro-mi-sing young swine."

"Indeed," ex-claim'd the peeping pig,"I never should have thought,They were so very promising."Old Grumphy gave a snort.

"They're of a most dis-tin-guished race;My mother and her brotherWere both im-por-ted from Pekin,—My pigs are like my mother.

"They never shall as-so-ci-ateWith long-legged pigs like you."Said she, ad-dress-ing the lean pig,Whose snout was peeping through.

"Begging your pardon, ma'amI really think," said he,"The dif-fer-ence is not so greatAs it appears to be.

"If you and I were bacon, ma'amThe dif-fer-ence betweenAn Irish and a Chinese pigWould hardly then be seen.

"Give me your comfortable sty,And some of your nice food,Our little fa-mi-lies might proveIn-dif-fer-ent-ly good."

Aunt Effie's Rhymes

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The Old Woman and Her PigOnce an old woman was sweeping her house, and found a crooked sixpence, and went to market to buy a pig. As she was coming home she came to a stile, and the pig would not get over it: so she went a little farther and met a dog, and said to the dog:—

The Old Woman and Her Pig

Once an old woman was sweeping her house, and found a crooked sixpence, and went to market to buy a pig. As she was coming home she came to a stile, and the pig would not get over it: so she went a little farther and met a dog, and said to the dog:—

"Dog, dog, bite pig;Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the dog would not.

She went a little farther and met a stick, and said:

"Stick, stick, beat dog; dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the stick would not.

She went a little farther and met a fire, and said:

"Fire, fire, burn stick; stick won't beat dog,Dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the fire would not.

She went a little farther and met some water, and said:

"Water, water, quench fire,Fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the water would not.

She went a little farther and met an ox, and said:

"Ox, ox, drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the ox would not.

She went a little farther and met a butcher, and said:

"Butcher, butcher, kill ox,Ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the butcher would not.

She went a little farther and met a rope, and said:

"Rope, rope, hang butcher.Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the butcher would not.

She went a little farther and met a rat, and said:

"Rat, rat, gnaw rope;Rope won't hang butcher,Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."But the rat would not.

She went a little farther and met a cat, and said:

"Cat, cat, kill rat; rat won't gnaw rope,Rope won't hang butcher,Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."

But the cat said to her, "If you will go to yonder cow, and fetch me a saucer of milk, I will kill the rat." So away went the old woman to the cow, and said:

"Cow, cow, give me some milk, cat won't kill rat,Rat won't gnaw rope, rope won't hang butcher,Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."

But the cow said to her, "If you will go to yonder haymakers and fetch me a wisp of hay, I'll give you the milk."So away the old woman went to the haymakers and said:

So away the old woman went to the haymakers and said:

"Haymakers, give me a wisp of hay;Cow won't give me milk, cat won't kill rat,Rat won't gnaw rope, rope won't hang butcher,Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite pig,Piggy won't get over the stile,And I shan't get home to-night."

But the haymakers said to her, "If you will go and fetch us a bucket of water, we'll give you the hay." So away the old woman went; but she found the bucket was full of holes. So she covered the bottom with pebbles, and then filled the bucket with water, and away she went back with it to the haymakers; and they gave her a wisp of hay.As soon as the cow had eaten the hay, she gave the old woman the milk; and away she went with it in a saucer to the cat. As soon as the cat had drank the milk, the cat began to kill the rat, the rat began to gnaw the rope, the rope began to hang the butcher, the butcher began to kill the ox, the ox began to drink the water, the water began to quench the fire, the fire began to burn the stick, the stick began to beat the dog, the dog began to bite to pig, the pig in a great fright jumped over the stile, and so the old woman got home that night in time to boil some apple dumplings for her husband's supper.The Flying Pig.

As soon as the cow had eaten the hay, she gave the old woman the milk; and away she went with it in a saucer to the cat. As soon as the cat had drank the milk, the cat began to kill the rat, the rat began to gnaw the rope, the rope began to hang the butcher, the butcher began to kill the ox, the ox began to drink the water, the water began to quench the fire, the fire began to burn the stick, the stick began to beat the dog, the dog began to bite to pig, the pig in a great fright jumped over the stile, and so the old woman got home that night in time to boil some apple dumplings for her husband's supper.

The Flying PigDickery, dickery dare,The pig flew up in the air,But Patrick Brown soon brought him down,Dickery, dickery, dare.The Story of the Three Little PigsOnce there was an old pig, who had three little pigs, and sent them out to seek their fortune. The first one went and built a house with straw, and soon after a wolf came and knocked at the door and said, "Little pig, let me come in." But the little pig said, "No, no by the hair of my chin." The wolf then said, "I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in." So he huffed, and he puffed, and blew the house in, and ate up the little pig.The next little pig built a house with sticks, and the old wolf came along and called out, "Little pig, let me come in." And the little pig answered, "No, no, by the hair of my chin." "Then," says the wolf, "I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in." So he huffed and he puffed, and blew the house down, and ate up the little pig also.The third little pig built a house with bricks. Just after along came the old wolf, and said, "Little pig, let me come in." The little pig said, "No, no, by the hair of my chin." "Then I'll huff and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house down." Well, he huffed and he puffed, and he huffed and he puffed, and he puffed and he huffed; but he could not get the house down.When he found he could not, with all his huffing and puffing, blow the house down, he said "Little pig, I know where there is a nice field of turnips." "Where?" said the little pig. "Oh, in Mr. Smith's home field, and if you will be ready to-morrow morning I will call for you, and we will go together, and get some for dinner.""Very well," said the little pig, "I will be ready. What time do you mean to go?" "Oh, at six o'clock." Well, the little pig got up at five, and got the turnips before the wolf came, which he did about six, and said, "Little pig, are you ready?" The little pig said, "Ready; I've been and come back again and got a nice potful for dinner."The wolf felt very angry at this, but thought that he would be up to the little pig somehow or other, so he said, "Little pig, I know where there is a nice apple tree." "Where?" said the little pig. "Down at Merry Garden," replied the wolf, "and if you will not deceive me I will come for you at five o'clock to-morrow, and we will go together and get some apples."Well, the pig bustled up the next morning at four o'clock, and went off for the apples, hoping to get back before the wolf came; but he had further to go, and had to climb the tree, so that just as he was coming down from it he saw the wolf coming, which, as you may suppose, frightened him very much. When the wolf came up he said, "Little pig, what; are you here before me? Are they nice apples?""Yes, very," said the little pig, "I will throw you down one." And he threw it so far that, while the wolf was gone to pick it up, the little pig jumped down and ran home. The next day the wolf came again, and said "Little pig, there is a fair at Shanklin this afternoon, will you go?" Oh, yes," said the pig, "I will go: what time shall you be ready?" "At three," said the wolf.So the little pig went off before the time as usual, got to the fair, and bought a butter-churn, which he was going home with, when he saw the wolf coming. Then he could not tell what to do. So he got into the churn to hide, and by doing so turned it around, and it rolled down the hill with the pig in it, which frightened the wolf so much that he ran home without going to the fair. He went to the little pig's house and told him how frightened he had been by a great round thing which came down the hill past him.Then the little pig said "Ha! I frightened you, then. I had been to the fair and bought a butter-churn, and when I saw you I got into it and rolled down the hill." Then the wolf was very angry indeed, and declared he would eat up the little pig, and that he would get down the chimney after him.When the little pig saw what he was about, he hung onto the pot full of water, and made up a blazing fire, and just as the wolf was coming down, took off the cover, and in fell the wolf; so the little pig put on the cover again in an instant, boiled him up, and ate him for supper, and lived happy ever afterwards.

The Flying Pig

Dickery, dickery dare,The pig flew up in the air,But Patrick Brown soon brought him down,Dickery, dickery, dare.

The Story of the Three Little Pigs

Once there was an old pig, who had three little pigs, and sent them out to seek their fortune. The first one went and built a house with straw, and soon after a wolf came and knocked at the door and said, "Little pig, let me come in." But the little pig said, "No, no by the hair of my chin." The wolf then said, "I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in." So he huffed, and he puffed, and blew the house in, and ate up the little pig.

The next little pig built a house with sticks, and the old wolf came along and called out, "Little pig, let me come in." And the little pig answered, "No, no, by the hair of my chin." "Then," says the wolf, "I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in." So he huffed and he puffed, and blew the house down, and ate up the little pig also.

The third little pig built a house with bricks. Just after along came the old wolf, and said, "Little pig, let me come in." The little pig said, "No, no, by the hair of my chin." "Then I'll huff and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house down." Well, he huffed and he puffed, and he huffed and he puffed, and he puffed and he huffed; but he could not get the house down.

When he found he could not, with all his huffing and puffing, blow the house down, he said "Little pig, I know where there is a nice field of turnips." "Where?" said the little pig. "Oh, in Mr. Smith's home field, and if you will be ready to-morrow morning I will call for you, and we will go together, and get some for dinner."

"Very well," said the little pig, "I will be ready. What time do you mean to go?" "Oh, at six o'clock." Well, the little pig got up at five, and got the turnips before the wolf came, which he did about six, and said, "Little pig, are you ready?" The little pig said, "Ready; I've been and come back again and got a nice potful for dinner."

The wolf felt very angry at this, but thought that he would be up to the little pig somehow or other, so he said, "Little pig, I know where there is a nice apple tree." "Where?" said the little pig. "Down at Merry Garden," replied the wolf, "and if you will not deceive me I will come for you at five o'clock to-morrow, and we will go together and get some apples."

Well, the pig bustled up the next morning at four o'clock, and went off for the apples, hoping to get back before the wolf came; but he had further to go, and had to climb the tree, so that just as he was coming down from it he saw the wolf coming, which, as you may suppose, frightened him very much. When the wolf came up he said, "Little pig, what; are you here before me? Are they nice apples?"

"Yes, very," said the little pig, "I will throw you down one." And he threw it so far that, while the wolf was gone to pick it up, the little pig jumped down and ran home. The next day the wolf came again, and said "Little pig, there is a fair at Shanklin this afternoon, will you go?" Oh, yes," said the pig, "I will go: what time shall you be ready?" "At three," said the wolf.

So the little pig went off before the time as usual, got to the fair, and bought a butter-churn, which he was going home with, when he saw the wolf coming. Then he could not tell what to do. So he got into the churn to hide, and by doing so turned it around, and it rolled down the hill with the pig in it, which frightened the wolf so much that he ran home without going to the fair. He went to the little pig's house and told him how frightened he had been by a great round thing which came down the hill past him.

Then the little pig said "Ha! I frightened you, then. I had been to the fair and bought a butter-churn, and when I saw you I got into it and rolled down the hill." Then the wolf was very angry indeed, and declared he would eat up the little pig, and that he would get down the chimney after him.

When the little pig saw what he was about, he hung onto the pot full of water, and made up a blazing fire, and just as the wolf was coming down, took off the cover, and in fell the wolf; so the little pig put on the cover again in an instant, boiled him up, and ate him for supper, and lived happy ever afterwards.

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Gentlemen Rabbits.

The Wild RabbitsAmong the sand-hills,Near by the sea,Wild young rabbitsWere seen by me.They live in burrowsWith winding-ways,And there they shelterOn rainy days.The mother rabbitsMake cosy nests,With hairy liningsFrom their breasts.The tender young onesAre nursed and fed,And safely hiddenIn this warm bed.And when they are older,They all come outUpon the sand-hillsAnd frisk about.They play and nibbleThe long, dry grass,But scamper awayWhenever you pass.Disobedient BunnyA pert little rabbit,Once lived in a hole,And just did whatever he pleased;His ways were so funny,His antics so droll,That his parents were terribly teased."Now, dear," said his mother,"You'd best stay at home,And try to be patient and good."But No! he was fullyDetermined to roamThrough the green and beautiful wood.So what did he do?On a fine summer day,When mother was not to be seen,He took to his heels,And scampered awayRight over the meadow so green.He shook his long ears,And he whisked up his tail,His eyes dancing with glee,As onward he ranThrough a beautiful vale,And oh! how delighted was he!'Twas not very longTill he found a haystack,Where of course there was shelter and food.Said he to himself,"Now, I'll never go backTo my stupid old home in the wood."I'll dig myself a nice denFor myself in the hay;How warm it will be and how nice!Why in my old burrowFull many a dayI've often felt colder than ice!"So bunny soon dug himA nice little hole,And made it as round as an O;And really he lookedSo exceedingly droll,You'd have laughed had you seen him, I know.But evening drew on,It was lonely and dark,So Bunny lay down in his den;Said he to himself,"I'll get up with the lark,And won't I be ravenous then!"For really this hay,Though it does for a nest,Is somewhat too dry for my food;At home there is clover,The thing I love best,And lettuce and carrots so good."I wish I had someAt this moment! but thenI'm out on my travels just now,And I greatly preferTo reside in this den,Than at home where there's often a row!"Ah, well! I feel sleepy,I'd best go to bed—But what is that noise that I hear?There seems to be someoneRight over my head,I hope that no wild beasts are near!"Meanwhile an old foxWith a great bushy tailWas prowling about and around,But poor little BunnyWas hidden so wellThat never a bit was he found!When morning had come,And the fox disappeared,Then Bunny came forth to the light,Said he to himself,"It was just as I feared,A fox has been here through the night."I think I had betterGo scampering homeTo the dear little home in the wood,And never, oh neverAgain will I roam,Or leave my dear mother so good."Away then he ran,Without once looking back,Till he saw the dear home he loved best.And mother came hoppingAlong the hard trackTo welcome him home to the nest.And, oh! such a breakfastBefore him there lay,Such clover and grass from the wood;And always I've heard,From that terrible day,That Bunny is patient and good.B. R. McKeanThe Pet RabbitI have a little BunnyWith his coat as soft as down,And nearly all of him is whiteExcept one bit of brown.The first thing in the morning,When I get out of bed,I wonder if my bunny's stillSafe in his shed.And then the next thing that I do,I daresay you have guessed;It's at once to go and see him,When I am washed and dressed.And every day I see him,I like him more and more,And each day he is biggerThan he was the day before.I feed him in the morningWith bran and bits of bread.And every night I take some strawTo make his little bed.What with carrots in the morningAnd turnip-tops for tea,If a bunny can be happy,I'm sure he ought to be.Then when it's nearly bed-timeI go down to his shed,And say "Good-night, you bunny!"Before I go to bed,I think there's only one thingThat would make me happy quite,If I could take my bunny dearWith me to bed at night.Robert MackA Working Rabbit.

The Wild Rabbits

Among the sand-hills,Near by the sea,Wild young rabbitsWere seen by me.

They live in burrowsWith winding-ways,And there they shelterOn rainy days.

The mother rabbitsMake cosy nests,With hairy liningsFrom their breasts.

The tender young onesAre nursed and fed,And safely hiddenIn this warm bed.

And when they are older,They all come outUpon the sand-hillsAnd frisk about.

They play and nibbleThe long, dry grass,But scamper awayWhenever you pass.

Disobedient Bunny

A pert little rabbit,Once lived in a hole,And just did whatever he pleased;His ways were so funny,His antics so droll,That his parents were terribly teased.

"Now, dear," said his mother,"You'd best stay at home,And try to be patient and good."But No! he was fullyDetermined to roamThrough the green and beautiful wood.

So what did he do?On a fine summer day,When mother was not to be seen,He took to his heels,And scampered awayRight over the meadow so green.

He shook his long ears,And he whisked up his tail,His eyes dancing with glee,As onward he ranThrough a beautiful vale,And oh! how delighted was he!

'Twas not very longTill he found a haystack,Where of course there was shelter and food.Said he to himself,"Now, I'll never go backTo my stupid old home in the wood.

"I'll dig myself a nice denFor myself in the hay;How warm it will be and how nice!Why in my old burrowFull many a dayI've often felt colder than ice!"

So bunny soon dug himA nice little hole,And made it as round as an O;And really he lookedSo exceedingly droll,You'd have laughed had you seen him, I know.

But evening drew on,It was lonely and dark,So Bunny lay down in his den;Said he to himself,"I'll get up with the lark,And won't I be ravenous then!

"For really this hay,Though it does for a nest,Is somewhat too dry for my food;At home there is clover,The thing I love best,And lettuce and carrots so good.

"I wish I had someAt this moment! but thenI'm out on my travels just now,And I greatly preferTo reside in this den,Than at home where there's often a row!

"Ah, well! I feel sleepy,I'd best go to bed—But what is that noise that I hear?There seems to be someoneRight over my head,I hope that no wild beasts are near!"

Meanwhile an old foxWith a great bushy tailWas prowling about and around,But poor little BunnyWas hidden so wellThat never a bit was he found!

When morning had come,And the fox disappeared,Then Bunny came forth to the light,Said he to himself,"It was just as I feared,A fox has been here through the night.

"I think I had betterGo scampering homeTo the dear little home in the wood,And never, oh neverAgain will I roam,Or leave my dear mother so good."

Away then he ran,Without once looking back,Till he saw the dear home he loved best.And mother came hoppingAlong the hard trackTo welcome him home to the nest.

And, oh! such a breakfastBefore him there lay,Such clover and grass from the wood;And always I've heard,From that terrible day,That Bunny is patient and good.

B. R. McKean

The Pet Rabbit

I have a little BunnyWith his coat as soft as down,And nearly all of him is whiteExcept one bit of brown.The first thing in the morning,When I get out of bed,I wonder if my bunny's stillSafe in his shed.

And then the next thing that I do,I daresay you have guessed;It's at once to go and see him,When I am washed and dressed.And every day I see him,I like him more and more,And each day he is biggerThan he was the day before.

I feed him in the morningWith bran and bits of bread.And every night I take some strawTo make his little bed.What with carrots in the morningAnd turnip-tops for tea,If a bunny can be happy,I'm sure he ought to be.

Then when it's nearly bed-timeI go down to his shed,And say "Good-night, you bunny!"Before I go to bed,I think there's only one thingThat would make me happy quite,If I could take my bunny dearWith me to bed at night.

Robert Mack

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Mouse and Frog riding Hare.

The Little HareBeyond the palings of the parkA Hare had made her form,Beneath a drooping fern, that madeA shelter snug and warm.She slept until the daylight came,And all thinks were awake,And then the Hare, with noiseless steps,Crept softly from the brake.She stroked her whiskers with her paws,Looked timidly aroundWith open eyes and ears erectThat caught the smallest sound.The Field-Mouse rustled in the grass,The Squirrel in the trees,But Puss was not at all afraidOf common sounds like these.She frisked and gambolled with delight,And cropped a leaf or twoOf clover and of tender grass,That glistened in the dew.What was it, then, that made her start,And run away so fast?She heard the distant sound of hounds,She heard the huntsman's blast.Tally-ho!-hoy tally-ho!The hounds are in full cry;Ehew! ehew—in scarlet coatsThe men are sweeping by.So off she set with a spring and a bound,Over the meadows and open ground,Faster than hunter and faster than houndAnd on—and on—till she lost the sound,And away went the little Hare.Aunt EffiePeter and the HareThoughtless little Peter,With his little gun,Went out by the woodsideFor a little fun;Saw a happy little hare,Who on clover fed—With his little gun took aimAnd shot him in the head.Thoughtful little Peter,Sad for what he'd done,Sat down on a stump, and thereBy it laid his gun;Wished that he could bring to lifeThat little hare so still;"Never more," said he, "will IA harmless creature kill."Epitaph on a HareHere lies whom hound did ne'er pursue,Nor swifter greyhound follow,Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dewNor ear heard huntsman's halloo.Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,Who, nursed with tender care,And to domestic bounds confined,Was still a wild Jack-hare.Though duly from my hand he tookHis pittance every night,He did it with a jealous look,And when he could he would bite.On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,On pippin's russet peel;And when his juicy salads fail'd,Sliced carrot pleased him well.A Turkey carpet was his lawn,Whereon he loved to bound,To skip and gambol like a fawn,And swing himself around.His frisking was at evening hoursFor then he'd lost his fear!But most before approaching showers,Or when a storm drew near.Eight years and five round-rolling moonsHe thus saw steal away,Dozing out all his idle noonsAnd every night at play.I kept him for his humour's sake,For he would oft beguileMy heart of thoughts that made it ache,And force me to a smile.But now, beneath this walnut shade,He finds his long last home,And waits, in snug concealment laidTill gentler puss shall come.He, still more aged, feels the shocksFrom which no care can save;And partner once of Tiney's box,Must soon partake his grave.William CowperPunch's Appeal for the Hunted HareAll on the bare and bleak hillside,One night this merry Christmastide,A shivering hunted hare did hide;Poor Pussy!Though we had hunted puss all day,The wind had blown her scent away,And balked the dogs, so there she lay,Poor Pussy!There to the earth she humbly crept,There brooding o'er her lot she wept,There, on her empty stomach she slept.Poor Pussy!And there, while frozen fell the dew,She dreamt an ugly dream or two,As starved, wet folk are apt to do,Did Pussy!Loud hungry hounds of subtle ken,And thundering steeds, and hard-eyed men,Are fast on Pussy's trail again,Poor Pussy!Onwards she strains, on, as they tearForemost amongst the foremost there,Are ruthless women's faces fair;Poor Pussy!One moment's check, to left, to right,In vain she spends her little might,Some yokel's eyes have marked her flight,Poor Pussy!What use her fine small wits to rack!Closer, and faster on her trackHurries the hydra-headed pack,Lost Pussy!"For pity's sake, kind huntsman, stop!Call off the dogs before I drop,And kill me with your heavy crop."Shrieks Pussy!With shuddering start and stifled scream,She wakes!—She finds it all a dream;How kind the cold, cold earth doth seemTo Pussy!The Hare and the Tortoise.

The Little Hare

Beyond the palings of the parkA Hare had made her form,Beneath a drooping fern, that madeA shelter snug and warm.

She slept until the daylight came,And all thinks were awake,And then the Hare, with noiseless steps,Crept softly from the brake.

She stroked her whiskers with her paws,Looked timidly aroundWith open eyes and ears erectThat caught the smallest sound.

The Field-Mouse rustled in the grass,The Squirrel in the trees,But Puss was not at all afraidOf common sounds like these.

She frisked and gambolled with delight,And cropped a leaf or twoOf clover and of tender grass,That glistened in the dew.

What was it, then, that made her start,And run away so fast?She heard the distant sound of hounds,She heard the huntsman's blast.

Tally-ho!-hoy tally-ho!The hounds are in full cry;Ehew! ehew—in scarlet coatsThe men are sweeping by.

So off she set with a spring and a bound,Over the meadows and open ground,Faster than hunter and faster than houndAnd on—and on—till she lost the sound,And away went the little Hare.

Aunt Effie

Peter and the Hare

Thoughtless little Peter,With his little gun,Went out by the woodsideFor a little fun;Saw a happy little hare,Who on clover fed—With his little gun took aimAnd shot him in the head.

Thoughtful little Peter,Sad for what he'd done,Sat down on a stump, and thereBy it laid his gun;Wished that he could bring to lifeThat little hare so still;"Never more," said he, "will IA harmless creature kill."

Epitaph on a Hare

Here lies whom hound did ne'er pursue,Nor swifter greyhound follow,Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dewNor ear heard huntsman's halloo.

Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,Who, nursed with tender care,And to domestic bounds confined,Was still a wild Jack-hare.

Though duly from my hand he tookHis pittance every night,He did it with a jealous look,And when he could he would bite.

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,On pippin's russet peel;And when his juicy salads fail'd,Sliced carrot pleased him well.

A Turkey carpet was his lawn,Whereon he loved to bound,To skip and gambol like a fawn,And swing himself around.

His frisking was at evening hoursFor then he'd lost his fear!But most before approaching showers,Or when a storm drew near.

Eight years and five round-rolling moonsHe thus saw steal away,Dozing out all his idle noonsAnd every night at play.

I kept him for his humour's sake,For he would oft beguileMy heart of thoughts that made it ache,And force me to a smile.

But now, beneath this walnut shade,He finds his long last home,And waits, in snug concealment laidTill gentler puss shall come.

He, still more aged, feels the shocksFrom which no care can save;And partner once of Tiney's box,Must soon partake his grave.

William Cowper

Punch's Appeal for the Hunted Hare

All on the bare and bleak hillside,One night this merry Christmastide,A shivering hunted hare did hide;Poor Pussy!

Though we had hunted puss all day,The wind had blown her scent away,And balked the dogs, so there she lay,Poor Pussy!

There to the earth she humbly crept,There brooding o'er her lot she wept,There, on her empty stomach she slept.Poor Pussy!

And there, while frozen fell the dew,She dreamt an ugly dream or two,As starved, wet folk are apt to do,Did Pussy!

Loud hungry hounds of subtle ken,And thundering steeds, and hard-eyed men,Are fast on Pussy's trail again,Poor Pussy!

Onwards she strains, on, as they tearForemost amongst the foremost there,Are ruthless women's faces fair;Poor Pussy!

One moment's check, to left, to right,In vain she spends her little might,Some yokel's eyes have marked her flight,Poor Pussy!

What use her fine small wits to rack!Closer, and faster on her trackHurries the hydra-headed pack,Lost Pussy!

"For pity's sake, kind huntsman, stop!Call off the dogs before I drop,And kill me with your heavy crop."Shrieks Pussy!

With shuddering start and stifled scream,She wakes!—She finds it all a dream;How kind the cold, cold earth doth seemTo Pussy!

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A Gentleman Rat.

The Pied Piper of Hamelin—or—The Vanished ChildrenHamelin Town's in BrunswickBy famous Hanover city;The river Weser, deep and wide,Washes its wall on the southern side.A pleasanter spot you never spied;But, when begins my ditty,Almost five hundred years ago,To see the townsfolk suffer soFrom vermin was a pity.Rats!They fought the dogs and killed the cats,And bit the babies in the cradles,And ate the cheeses out of the vats,And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,Split open the kegs of salted sprats,Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,And even spoiled the women's chats,By drowning their speaking,With shrieking and squeakingIn fifty different sharps and flats.At last the people in a bodyTo the Town Hall came flocking:"'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;And as for our Corporation—shockingTo think we buy gowns lined with ermineFor dolts that can't or won't determineWhat's best to rid us of our vermin!

The Pied Piper of Hamelin—or—The Vanished Children

Hamelin Town's in BrunswickBy famous Hanover city;The river Weser, deep and wide,Washes its wall on the southern side.A pleasanter spot you never spied;But, when begins my ditty,Almost five hundred years ago,To see the townsfolk suffer soFrom vermin was a pity.

Rats!They fought the dogs and killed the cats,And bit the babies in the cradles,And ate the cheeses out of the vats,And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,Split open the kegs of salted sprats,Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,And even spoiled the women's chats,By drowning their speaking,With shrieking and squeakingIn fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a bodyTo the Town Hall came flocking:"'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;And as for our Corporation—shockingTo think we buy gowns lined with ermineFor dolts that can't or won't determineWhat's best to rid us of our vermin!

The mayor and Town Councillors were greatly perplexed what to do, when there entered a strange-looking piper, and offered to charm away all the rats for a thousand guilders. The council joyfully agreed to this, and at once:—

Into the street the Piper swept,Smiling first a little smile,As if he knew what magic sleptIn his quiet pipe the while:Then, like a musical adept,To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkledLike a candle flame where salt is sprinkled;And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,You heard as if an army muttered;And the muttering grew to a grumbling;And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,Families by tens and dozens,Brothers, sisters, husbands wives—Followed the Piper for their lives.From street to street he piped advancing,Until they came to river WeserWherein all plunged and perished—Save one.You should have heard the Hamelin peopleRinging the bells till they rocked the steeple."Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles!Poke out the nests and block up the holes!Consult with carpenters and builders,And leave in our town not even a traceOf the rats!"—when suddenly up the faceOf the Piper perked in the market-place,With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,Families by tens and dozens,Brothers, sisters, husbands wives—Followed the Piper for their lives.From street to street he piped advancing,Until they came to river WeserWherein all plunged and perished—Save one.

You should have heard the Hamelin peopleRinging the bells till they rocked the steeple."Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles!Poke out the nests and block up the holes!Consult with carpenters and builders,And leave in our town not even a traceOf the rats!"—when suddenly up the faceOf the Piper perked in the market-place,With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

The mayor and Councillors abused the Piper, refused to pay him the thousand guilders, and offered him fifty and a drink, he refused to take less than they had offered, and said:

"Folks who put me in a passionMay find me pipe to another fashion,""How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brookBeing worse treated than a crook?Insulted by a lazy ribaldWith idle pipe and vesture piebald?You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,Blow your pipe there till you burst!"Once more he stept into the street:And to his lips againLaid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;And ere he blew three notes (such sweetSoft notes as yet musicians cunningNever gave the enraptured air),There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustlingOf merry crowds pustling, at pitching and hustling,Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering,And like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering,Out came the children running,All the little boys and girls,With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,Tripping and skipping, ran merrily afterThe wonderful music with shouting laughter.The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stoodAs if they were carved into blocks of wood,Unable to move a step, or cryTo the children merrily skipping by—And could only follow with the eyeThat joyous crowd at the Piper's back.But how the Mayor was on the rack,And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,As the Piper turned from the High streetTo where the Weser rolled its watersRight in the way of their sons and daughters!However he turned from South to West,And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,And after him the children pressed;Great was the joy in every breast."He never can cross that mighty top!He's forced to let the piping drop,And we shall see out children stop!"When lo! as they reached the mountain's side,A wondrous portal opened wide,As if a cavern was suddenly hollowedAnd the Piper advanced and the children followed.And when all were in to the very last,The door in the mountain-side shut fast,Did I say all? No! one was lame,And could not dance the whole of the way!And in after years, if you would blameHis sadness, he was used to say—"It's dull in our town since my playmates left;I can't forget that I'm bereftOf all they pleasant sights they see,Which the Piper also promised me;For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,Joining the town and just at hand,Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew,And flowers put forth a fairer hue.

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stoodAs if they were carved into blocks of wood,Unable to move a step, or cryTo the children merrily skipping by—And could only follow with the eyeThat joyous crowd at the Piper's back.But how the Mayor was on the rack,And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,As the Piper turned from the High streetTo where the Weser rolled its watersRight in the way of their sons and daughters!However he turned from South to West,And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,And after him the children pressed;Great was the joy in every breast.

"He never can cross that mighty top!He's forced to let the piping drop,And we shall see out children stop!"When lo! as they reached the mountain's side,A wondrous portal opened wide,As if a cavern was suddenly hollowedAnd the Piper advanced and the children followed.And when all were in to the very last,The door in the mountain-side shut fast,Did I say all? No! one was lame,And could not dance the whole of the way!

And in after years, if you would blameHis sadness, he was used to say—"It's dull in our town since my playmates left;I can't forget that I'm bereftOf all they pleasant sights they see,Which the Piper also promised me;For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,Joining the town and just at hand,Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew,And flowers put forth a fairer hue.

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And everything was strange and new;The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,And their dogs outran our fellow deer,And honey-bees had lost their stings;And horses were born with eagles' wings,And just as I became assuredMy lame foot would be speedily cured,The music stopped, and I stood still,And found myself outside the Hill,Left alone against my will,To go now limping as before,And never hear of that country more!"Alas, alas for Hamelin!There came into many a burgher's pateA text which says, that Heaven's GateOpens to the Rich at as easy rateAs the needle's eye takes a camel in!The mayor sent East, West, North and South,To offer the Piper by word of mouth,Wherever it was men's lot to find him,Silver and gold to his heart's content,If he'd only return the way he went,And bring the children all behind him.But at length they saw 'twas a lost endeavour,For Piper and dancers were gone for ever.BrowningThe Wicked Bishop HattoThe summer and autumn had been so wetThat in winter the corn was growing yet;'Twas a piteous sight to see all aroundThe grain lie rotting on the ground.Every day the starving poorCrowded around Bishop Hatto's door,For all the neighbourhood could tellHis granaries were furnished well.At last Bishop Hatto appointed a dayTo quiet the poor without delay:He bade them to his great Barn repairAnd they should have food for the winter there.Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,The poor folk flocked from far and near;So the great Barn was full as it could holdOf women and children, and young and old.Then when he saw it could hold no more,Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;And while for mercy with shrieks they call,He set fire to the Barn and burnt them all,"A rare and excellent bonfire!" quoth he,"And the country is greatly obliged to me,For ridding it in these times forlornOf Rats that only consume the corn."So then to his palace returned he,And he sat down to supper merrily,And he slept that night like an innocent man;—But Bishop Hatto never slept again.In the morning as he entered the hall,Where his picture hung against the wall,A sweat like death all over him came,For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame.As he looked, there came a man from his farm,He had a countenance white with alarm;—"I opened your granaries this morn,And the Rats had eaten all the corn."Another came running presently,And he was pale as pale could be;—"Fly! my Lord Bishop, without delay,Ten thousand rats are coming this way.""I'll go to my tower on the Rhine," quoth he,"'Tis the safest place in Germany;The walls are high and the shores are steep,And the stream is long and the water deep."Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,And he crossed the Rhine without delay,And reached his tower, and barred with careAll the windows, doors, and loopholes there.He laid him down, and closed his eyes.But soon a scream made him arise:He started, and saw two eyes of flameOn his pillow, from whence the screaming came.He listened, and looked—it was only the cat;But the Bishop grew more fearful for that,For she sat screaming, mad with fear,At the army of rats that were drawing near.For they have swum over the river so deep,And they have climed the shores so steep,And up the tower their way is bent,To do the work for which they were sent.They are not to be told by the dozen or score—By the thousands they come, and by myriads, and more;Such numbers have never been heard of before,Such a judgement had never been witnessed of yore.Down on his knees the Bishop fell,And faster and faster his beads did tell,As louder and louder, drawing near,The gnawing by their teeth he could hear.And in at the windows, and in at the door,And through the walls helter-skelter they pour,And down from the ceiling, and up from the floor,From the right and the left, from behind and before,From within and without, from above and below;And all at once to the Bishop they go.They have whetted their teeth against the stones,And now they pick the Bishop's bones;They gnawed the flesh from every limb,For they were sent to do judgement on him.R. SoutheyWhat became of them!He was a rat, and she was a rat,And down in one hole they did dwell,And both were as black as a witch's cat,And they loved one another well.He had a tail, and she had a tail,Both long and curling and fine,And each said, "Yours is the finest tailIn the world, excepting mine."He smelt the cheese, and she smelt the cheese,And they both pronounced it good;And both remarked it would greatly addTo the charms of their daily food.So he ventured out, and she ventured out,And I saw them go with pain;But what befel them I never can tell,For they never came back again.Rats Carrying Home an Egg.

The mayor sent East, West, North and South,To offer the Piper by word of mouth,Wherever it was men's lot to find him,Silver and gold to his heart's content,If he'd only return the way he went,And bring the children all behind him.But at length they saw 'twas a lost endeavour,For Piper and dancers were gone for ever.

Browning

The Wicked Bishop Hatto

The summer and autumn had been so wetThat in winter the corn was growing yet;'Twas a piteous sight to see all aroundThe grain lie rotting on the ground.

Every day the starving poorCrowded around Bishop Hatto's door,For all the neighbourhood could tellHis granaries were furnished well.

At last Bishop Hatto appointed a dayTo quiet the poor without delay:He bade them to his great Barn repairAnd they should have food for the winter there.

Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,The poor folk flocked from far and near;So the great Barn was full as it could holdOf women and children, and young and old.

Then when he saw it could hold no more,Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;And while for mercy with shrieks they call,He set fire to the Barn and burnt them all,

"A rare and excellent bonfire!" quoth he,"And the country is greatly obliged to me,For ridding it in these times forlornOf Rats that only consume the corn."

So then to his palace returned he,And he sat down to supper merrily,And he slept that night like an innocent man;—But Bishop Hatto never slept again.

In the morning as he entered the hall,Where his picture hung against the wall,A sweat like death all over him came,For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame.

As he looked, there came a man from his farm,He had a countenance white with alarm;—"I opened your granaries this morn,And the Rats had eaten all the corn."

Another came running presently,And he was pale as pale could be;—"Fly! my Lord Bishop, without delay,Ten thousand rats are coming this way."

"I'll go to my tower on the Rhine," quoth he,"'Tis the safest place in Germany;The walls are high and the shores are steep,And the stream is long and the water deep."

Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,And he crossed the Rhine without delay,And reached his tower, and barred with careAll the windows, doors, and loopholes there.

He laid him down, and closed his eyes.But soon a scream made him arise:He started, and saw two eyes of flameOn his pillow, from whence the screaming came.

He listened, and looked—it was only the cat;But the Bishop grew more fearful for that,For she sat screaming, mad with fear,At the army of rats that were drawing near.

For they have swum over the river so deep,And they have climed the shores so steep,And up the tower their way is bent,To do the work for which they were sent.

They are not to be told by the dozen or score—By the thousands they come, and by myriads, and more;Such numbers have never been heard of before,Such a judgement had never been witnessed of yore.

Down on his knees the Bishop fell,And faster and faster his beads did tell,As louder and louder, drawing near,The gnawing by their teeth he could hear.

And in at the windows, and in at the door,And through the walls helter-skelter they pour,And down from the ceiling, and up from the floor,From the right and the left, from behind and before,From within and without, from above and below;And all at once to the Bishop they go.

They have whetted their teeth against the stones,And now they pick the Bishop's bones;They gnawed the flesh from every limb,For they were sent to do judgement on him.

R. Southey

What became of them!

He was a rat, and she was a rat,And down in one hole they did dwell,And both were as black as a witch's cat,And they loved one another well.

He had a tail, and she had a tail,Both long and curling and fine,And each said, "Yours is the finest tailIn the world, excepting mine."

He smelt the cheese, and she smelt the cheese,And they both pronounced it good;And both remarked it would greatly addTo the charms of their daily food.

So he ventured out, and she ventured out,And I saw them go with pain;But what befel them I never can tell,For they never came back again.

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The Gingerbread Cat.

The Gingerbread CatA baby-girl, on Christmas nightHad filled her little apron whiteWith all a happy child could takeOf Christmas toys and Christmas cake;But on the stairway she let fallThe chiefest treasure of them all—A little cat of gingerbreadAll frosted white from tail to head.Now in the moonlit midnight time,When merry mice do run and climb,A plump gray mouse come down the stairAnd saw the Christmas cake-cat there.She stood still in her cruel frightAnd gazed upon the monster whiteWho seemed to feel as great surprise,And stared with both his raisin eyes.Poor mousie dared not, could not stir!Her little brain was in a whirr!Five minutes—ten—but not a pawHad puss put forth! "I never sawA cat like this!" the poor mouse said.A brave bold thought came in her head—Her wee heart beating pit-a-pat,She moved her own paw—touched the cat—Then sprang upon it with a squealAnd made a most delicious meal"Ho! ho!" she cried, "Sugar! spice!And everything that's good and nice—That's what cats are made of,The cats that we're afraid of!"Then up the stairs she madly pranced,And o'er the attic floor she dancedAnd then she stood upon her headAnd to her 'stonished friends she said,"O, joy to every mouse and rat,For I have eaten up the cat!"The MiceThe mice are in their holes,And there they hide by day;But when 'tis still at night,They all come out to play.They climb up on the shelves,And taste of all they please;They drink the milk and cream,And eat the bread and cheese.But if they hear the cat,At once they stop their fun;In fright they seek their holesAs fast as they can run.Three MiceThree Mice went intoA hole to spin,Puss came by,Puss peeped in;What are you doing,My little old men?We're weaving coatsFor gentlemen.Shall I come and help youTo wind up your threads?Oh, no, Mrs. Pussy,You'd bite off our heads!Says Pussy, "You areSo wondrous wiseI love your whiskersAnd round black eyes;Your house is the prettiestHouse I see.And I think there is roomFor you and me."The mice were so pleasedThat they opened the door,And Pussy soon laid themAll dead on the floor."Run Mousey, Run!"I am sitting by the fireside,Reading, and very still,There comes a little sharp-eyed mouse,And run about he will.He flies along the mantelpieceHe darts beneath the fender;It's just as well that Jane's not here,Or into fits he'd send her.And now he's nibbling at some cakeShe left upon the table.He seems to think I'm somebodyTo hurt a mouse unable.Run, mousey, run! I hear the cat,She's scratching at the door,Once she comes in, you'll have no chanceBeneath her savage claw.Run, mousey, run! I hear Jane's foot,She's coming up to bed,If puss but makes a spring at you,Poor mousey, you'll be dead!A Mouse Caught in a CageI'm only a poor little mouse, ma'am!I live in the wall of your house, ma'am!With a fragment of cheese, and a very few peas,I was having a little carouse, ma'am!No mischief at all I intend, ma'am!I hope you will act as my friend, ma'am!If my life you should take, many hearts it would break,And the trouble would be without end, ma'am!My wife lives in there in the crack, ma'am!She's waiting foe me to come back, ma'am!She hoped I might find a bit of rind,Or the children their dinner will lack, ma'am!I never was given to strife, ma'am!(Don't look at that terrible knife, ma'am!)The noise overhead that disturbs you in bed,'T is the rats, I will venture my life, ma'am!In your eyes I see mercy I'm sure, ma'am!Oh, there's no need to open the door, ma'am!I'll slip through the crack, and I'll never come back,Oh I'll never come back any more, ma'am!The Foolish MouseIn a crack, near the cupboard,With dainties provided,A certain young mouseWith her mother resided;So securely they lived,In that snug, quiet spot,Any mouse in the landMight have envied their lot.But one day the young mouse,Which was given to roam,Having made an excursionSome way from her home,On a sudden returned,With such joy in her eyes,That her grey, sedate parentExpressed some surprise,"Oh mother," said she,"The good folks of this houseI'm convinced, have not anyIll-will to a mouse;And those tales can't be trueYou always are telling,For they've been at such painsTo construct us a dwelling."The floor is of wood,And the walls are of wiresExactly the size thatOne's comfort requires;And I'm sure that we thereShall have nothing to fear,If ten cats, with kittens,At once should appear."And then they have madeSuch nice holes in the wall,One could slip in and out,With no trouble at all;But forcing one throughSuch rough crannies as these,Always gives one's poor ribsA most terrible squeeze."But the best of all is,They've provided, as well,A large piece of cheese,Of most exquisite smell;'Twas so nice, I had putIn my head to go through,When I thought it my dutyTo come and fetch you.""Ah, child," said the mother,"Believe, I entreat,Both the cage and the cheeseAre a terrible cheat;Do not think all that troubleThey took for our good,They would catch us and kill usAll there if they could."Thus they've caught and killed scores,And I never could learn,That a mouse who once enteredDid ever return."Let young people mindWhat the old people say.And, when danger is near them,Keep out of the way.

The Gingerbread Cat

A baby-girl, on Christmas nightHad filled her little apron whiteWith all a happy child could takeOf Christmas toys and Christmas cake;

But on the stairway she let fallThe chiefest treasure of them all—A little cat of gingerbreadAll frosted white from tail to head.

Now in the moonlit midnight time,When merry mice do run and climb,A plump gray mouse come down the stairAnd saw the Christmas cake-cat there.

She stood still in her cruel frightAnd gazed upon the monster whiteWho seemed to feel as great surprise,And stared with both his raisin eyes.

Poor mousie dared not, could not stir!Her little brain was in a whirr!Five minutes—ten—but not a pawHad puss put forth! "I never saw

A cat like this!" the poor mouse said.A brave bold thought came in her head—Her wee heart beating pit-a-pat,She moved her own paw—touched the cat—

Then sprang upon it with a squealAnd made a most delicious meal"Ho! ho!" she cried, "Sugar! spice!And everything that's good and nice—

That's what cats are made of,The cats that we're afraid of!"Then up the stairs she madly pranced,And o'er the attic floor she danced

And then she stood upon her headAnd to her 'stonished friends she said,"O, joy to every mouse and rat,For I have eaten up the cat!"

The Mice

The mice are in their holes,And there they hide by day;But when 'tis still at night,They all come out to play.

They climb up on the shelves,And taste of all they please;They drink the milk and cream,And eat the bread and cheese.

But if they hear the cat,At once they stop their fun;In fright they seek their holesAs fast as they can run.

Three Mice

Three Mice went intoA hole to spin,Puss came by,Puss peeped in;What are you doing,My little old men?We're weaving coatsFor gentlemen.Shall I come and help youTo wind up your threads?Oh, no, Mrs. Pussy,You'd bite off our heads!

Says Pussy, "You areSo wondrous wiseI love your whiskersAnd round black eyes;Your house is the prettiestHouse I see.And I think there is roomFor you and me."The mice were so pleasedThat they opened the door,And Pussy soon laid themAll dead on the floor.

"Run Mousey, Run!"

I am sitting by the fireside,Reading, and very still,There comes a little sharp-eyed mouse,And run about he will.

He flies along the mantelpieceHe darts beneath the fender;It's just as well that Jane's not here,Or into fits he'd send her.

And now he's nibbling at some cakeShe left upon the table.He seems to think I'm somebodyTo hurt a mouse unable.

Run, mousey, run! I hear the cat,She's scratching at the door,Once she comes in, you'll have no chanceBeneath her savage claw.

Run, mousey, run! I hear Jane's foot,She's coming up to bed,If puss but makes a spring at you,Poor mousey, you'll be dead!

A Mouse Caught in a Cage

I'm only a poor little mouse, ma'am!I live in the wall of your house, ma'am!With a fragment of cheese, and a very few peas,I was having a little carouse, ma'am!

No mischief at all I intend, ma'am!I hope you will act as my friend, ma'am!If my life you should take, many hearts it would break,And the trouble would be without end, ma'am!

My wife lives in there in the crack, ma'am!She's waiting foe me to come back, ma'am!She hoped I might find a bit of rind,Or the children their dinner will lack, ma'am!

I never was given to strife, ma'am!(Don't look at that terrible knife, ma'am!)The noise overhead that disturbs you in bed,'T is the rats, I will venture my life, ma'am!

In your eyes I see mercy I'm sure, ma'am!Oh, there's no need to open the door, ma'am!I'll slip through the crack, and I'll never come back,Oh I'll never come back any more, ma'am!

The Foolish Mouse

In a crack, near the cupboard,With dainties provided,A certain young mouseWith her mother resided;So securely they lived,In that snug, quiet spot,Any mouse in the landMight have envied their lot.

But one day the young mouse,Which was given to roam,Having made an excursionSome way from her home,On a sudden returned,With such joy in her eyes,That her grey, sedate parentExpressed some surprise,

"Oh mother," said she,"The good folks of this houseI'm convinced, have not anyIll-will to a mouse;And those tales can't be trueYou always are telling,For they've been at such painsTo construct us a dwelling.

"The floor is of wood,And the walls are of wiresExactly the size thatOne's comfort requires;And I'm sure that we thereShall have nothing to fear,If ten cats, with kittens,At once should appear.

"And then they have madeSuch nice holes in the wall,One could slip in and out,With no trouble at all;But forcing one throughSuch rough crannies as these,Always gives one's poor ribsA most terrible squeeze.

"But the best of all is,They've provided, as well,A large piece of cheese,Of most exquisite smell;'Twas so nice, I had putIn my head to go through,When I thought it my dutyTo come and fetch you."

"Ah, child," said the mother,"Believe, I entreat,Both the cage and the cheeseAre a terrible cheat;Do not think all that troubleThey took for our good,They would catch us and kill usAll there if they could.

"Thus they've caught and killed scores,And I never could learn,That a mouse who once enteredDid ever return."Let young people mindWhat the old people say.And, when danger is near them,Keep out of the way.

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Mice helping their comrade out of a trap.

A Clever and Good Mother MouseOne Summer day the sun shone bright,Mid sweet flowers roved the bee,And I wandered in a garden oldBeside the deep blue sea.But close at hand, a shady path,Beneath some beech trees wound,And there. that sultry summer day,A pleasant seat I found.Suddenly, just beside my chair,A little sound I heard;A scratch upon the gravel path,As of a mouse or bird.I turned my head; there, on the path,What strange sight did I see!A little mouse, and in her mouthAnother still more wee.Softly she crept across the path,And then, her journey done,In a hole beneath the green grass vergeShe laid her little one.And back and forth from side to side,I watched her carry fiveSweet little mice, her own dear brood,Long tailed, and all alive.She never wearied in her work,Yet oh! so small was she!And thus, that bright, hot summer dayShe moved her nursery.Dear mother mouse! My verse has toldYour patient loving deed;Methinks our boys and girls may learnSome lessons as they read.Francis E. CookeThe True History of a Poor Little MouseA poor little mouseHad once made him a nest,And he fancied, the warmest,And safest, and best,That a poor little mouse could enjoy;So snug and convenient,So out of the way.This poor little mouseAnd his family lay,They fear'd neither pussy nor boy.It was in a storeThat was seldom in use,Where shavings and papersWere scattered in loose,That this poor little mouse made his hole,But alas! Master JohnnyHad seen him one day,As in a great frightHe had scampered away,With a piece of plum pudding he stole.As soon as young Johnny(Who, wicked and bad,No pitiful thoughtsFor dumb animals had)Descried the poor fellow's retreat,He crept to the shavingsAnd set them alight,And, before the poor mouseCould run off in its fright,It was smother'd to death in the heat!Poor mouse! how it squeak'dI can't bear to relate,Nor how its poor littleOnes hopp'd in the grate,And died, one by one, in the flame!I should not much wonderTo hear, that, some night,This wicked boy's bed-curtainsCatching alight,He suffered exactly the same.Ann TaylorThe Mouse's CallA little mouse crept out one day,When all was still about;To dollie's house he took his way,The lady being out.He skipped about with bead-bright eyesFrom table down to chair;He thought the house was just the sizeFor him to settle there.He found some jelly cake so nice,This naughty little mouse;He nibbled first, then in a trice'Twas gone from dollie's house.He curl'd himself upon the floor,To have a little nap,When suddenly upon the floorThere came a fearful rap.The mouse who had not left a crumb,With fear began to shake,For dollie's mistress back had comeTo get her piece of cake.She opened wide the little house,Her doll lay on her arm,And when she spied the trembling mouseShe cried out with alarm.She tumbled back upon the ground,Her dear doll falling too,While the mouse went rushing round,Not knowing what to do.At last he tumbled down the stair,Then to his hole he flew;And which did most the other scareThey never, never knew.Mouse reading 'How to Dodge the Cat'.

A Clever and Good Mother Mouse

One Summer day the sun shone bright,Mid sweet flowers roved the bee,And I wandered in a garden oldBeside the deep blue sea.

But close at hand, a shady path,Beneath some beech trees wound,And there. that sultry summer day,A pleasant seat I found.

Suddenly, just beside my chair,A little sound I heard;A scratch upon the gravel path,As of a mouse or bird.

I turned my head; there, on the path,What strange sight did I see!A little mouse, and in her mouthAnother still more wee.

Softly she crept across the path,And then, her journey done,In a hole beneath the green grass vergeShe laid her little one.

And back and forth from side to side,I watched her carry fiveSweet little mice, her own dear brood,Long tailed, and all alive.

She never wearied in her work,Yet oh! so small was she!And thus, that bright, hot summer dayShe moved her nursery.

Dear mother mouse! My verse has toldYour patient loving deed;Methinks our boys and girls may learnSome lessons as they read.

Francis E. Cooke

The True History of a Poor Little Mouse

A poor little mouseHad once made him a nest,And he fancied, the warmest,And safest, and best,That a poor little mouse could enjoy;So snug and convenient,So out of the way.This poor little mouseAnd his family lay,They fear'd neither pussy nor boy.

It was in a storeThat was seldom in use,Where shavings and papersWere scattered in loose,That this poor little mouse made his hole,But alas! Master JohnnyHad seen him one day,As in a great frightHe had scampered away,With a piece of plum pudding he stole.

As soon as young Johnny(Who, wicked and bad,No pitiful thoughtsFor dumb animals had)Descried the poor fellow's retreat,He crept to the shavingsAnd set them alight,And, before the poor mouseCould run off in its fright,It was smother'd to death in the heat!

Poor mouse! how it squeak'dI can't bear to relate,Nor how its poor littleOnes hopp'd in the grate,And died, one by one, in the flame!I should not much wonderTo hear, that, some night,This wicked boy's bed-curtainsCatching alight,He suffered exactly the same.

Ann Taylor

The Mouse's Call

A little mouse crept out one day,When all was still about;To dollie's house he took his way,The lady being out.

He skipped about with bead-bright eyesFrom table down to chair;He thought the house was just the sizeFor him to settle there.

He found some jelly cake so nice,This naughty little mouse;He nibbled first, then in a trice'Twas gone from dollie's house.

He curl'd himself upon the floor,To have a little nap,When suddenly upon the floorThere came a fearful rap.

The mouse who had not left a crumb,With fear began to shake,For dollie's mistress back had comeTo get her piece of cake.

She opened wide the little house,Her doll lay on her arm,And when she spied the trembling mouseShe cried out with alarm.

She tumbled back upon the ground,Her dear doll falling too,While the mouse went rushing round,Not knowing what to do.

At last he tumbled down the stair,Then to his hole he flew;And which did most the other scareThey never, never knew.

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Kind frog carrying his wife.

The Foolish FrogIn a tank at the foot of the hillLived Mr. and Mrs. Frog,At the head of the sparkling rill,By the side of a queachy bog;And they had children ten—All froggies as yellow as gold,Who loved to play on the fen,But they often were over-bold.Now it fell out one bright day,As it never had done before,When Father Frog was awayA stickleback sailed to the door."Oh! Mrs. Frog," said he,"Your sister is very ill;And much she wants to seeYou down at the water mill."Then Mother frog showed her griefIn such tears as you never saw;And, having no handkerchief,She wiped her eyes with a paw.Said she, "Now, froggies dear,You must not go to the fen:There is no danger here,And I'll soon come back again!"But the naughty little froggies,Disobeyed their mother and went.Then a duck, which had lazily swumFor hours in a reedy pool,Seeing the shadows come,And feeling the air grow cool.With a "Quack, quack, quack," came outShe meant, "It is time to sup!"So finding the froggies about,She gobbled them quickly up.So Mr. and Mrs. Frog,By the peeping stars made bold,Came back by the queachy bog,To their froggies all yellow as gold.They never saw them again—Alas! that it should be so.They were told not to go to the fen;But the did not obey, you know."Early Days"Marriage of Mr. FroggieThere was a FrogLived in a bog—A Frog of high degree—A stylish youth,And yet, forsooth,A bachelor was he.He had not wedBecause, he said,He'd ne'er in all his lifeSeen in the bogA pollywogHe cared to make his wife.But one fine day,When drest up gay,He passed a pretty house,And there besideThe window spiedA most attractive mouse.He raised his hat,And gazing atMiss Mouse, in suit of gray,He made a bow,Likewise a vowTo marry her straightway.When he was drestIn scarlet vest,And coat of velvet sheenWith frills of lace,And sword in place,His like was nowhere seen.His smile was bland,His style so grand,He said with pride, "I knowMiss Mouse so fair,Can find nowhereSo suitable a beau!"If she'll agreeTo live with me,And be my faithful wife,Oh, she shall dineOn dishes fine,And lead an easy life."When he went by,Miss Mouse so shy,Would hide her blushing face;But truth to tellCould see quite wellThrough curtains of thin lace.And from her nook,Ah! many a lookShe gave, with heart a-stir;And oft did sheConfess that heWas just the beau for her.At last so bluePoor froggie grew,He went up to the houseAnd rang the bell,In haste to tellHis love for Mistress Mouse.He passed the door,And on the floorHe knelt and kissed her hand,"Wilt marry me?"He asked, while sheHer burning blushes fanned.She answered "Yes,"As you may guess,To Mister Frog's delight;His arm he placedAround her waist,And joy was at its height.The wedding-dayWas set straightway,The town was all agog;And gifts, not few,Were sent untoMiss Mouse and Mister Frog.And never yetWas banquet set,In country or in town,With fare more richThan that to whichThe wedding guests sat down.And, after all,There was the ball,For which the band was hired,And frogs and miceWere up in a trice,And danced till their toes were tired.Frogs at SchoolTwenty froggies went to school,Down beside a rushy pool;Twenty little coats of green,Twenty vests all white and clean,"We must be in time," said they;"First we study, then we play;That is how we keep the ruleWhen we froggies go to school."Master Bullfrog, grave and stern,Called the classes in their turn;Taught them how to nobly strive,Likewise how to leap and dive;From his seat upon the logShowed them how to say, "Ker-chog!"Also, how to dodge a blowFrom the sticks which bad boys throw.Twenty froggies grew up fast;Bullfrogs they became at last;Not one dunce among the lot,Not one lesson they forgot.Polished in a high degree,As each froggie ought to be,Now they sit on other logs,Teaching other little frogs.Flying Frog.

The Foolish Frog

In a tank at the foot of the hillLived Mr. and Mrs. Frog,At the head of the sparkling rill,By the side of a queachy bog;And they had children ten—All froggies as yellow as gold,Who loved to play on the fen,But they often were over-bold.

Now it fell out one bright day,As it never had done before,When Father Frog was awayA stickleback sailed to the door."Oh! Mrs. Frog," said he,"Your sister is very ill;And much she wants to seeYou down at the water mill."

Then Mother frog showed her griefIn such tears as you never saw;And, having no handkerchief,She wiped her eyes with a paw.Said she, "Now, froggies dear,You must not go to the fen:There is no danger here,And I'll soon come back again!"

But the naughty little froggies,Disobeyed their mother and went.

Then a duck, which had lazily swumFor hours in a reedy pool,Seeing the shadows come,And feeling the air grow cool.With a "Quack, quack, quack," came outShe meant, "It is time to sup!"So finding the froggies about,She gobbled them quickly up.

So Mr. and Mrs. Frog,By the peeping stars made bold,Came back by the queachy bog,To their froggies all yellow as gold.They never saw them again—Alas! that it should be so.They were told not to go to the fen;But the did not obey, you know.

"Early Days"

Marriage of Mr. Froggie

There was a FrogLived in a bog—A Frog of high degree—A stylish youth,And yet, forsooth,A bachelor was he.

He had not wedBecause, he said,He'd ne'er in all his lifeSeen in the bogA pollywogHe cared to make his wife.

But one fine day,When drest up gay,He passed a pretty house,And there besideThe window spiedA most attractive mouse.

He raised his hat,And gazing atMiss Mouse, in suit of gray,He made a bow,Likewise a vowTo marry her straightway.

When he was drestIn scarlet vest,And coat of velvet sheenWith frills of lace,And sword in place,His like was nowhere seen.

His smile was bland,His style so grand,He said with pride, "I knowMiss Mouse so fair,Can find nowhereSo suitable a beau!

"If she'll agreeTo live with me,And be my faithful wife,Oh, she shall dineOn dishes fine,And lead an easy life."

When he went by,Miss Mouse so shy,Would hide her blushing face;But truth to tellCould see quite wellThrough curtains of thin lace.

And from her nook,Ah! many a lookShe gave, with heart a-stir;And oft did sheConfess that heWas just the beau for her.

At last so bluePoor froggie grew,He went up to the houseAnd rang the bell,In haste to tellHis love for Mistress Mouse.

He passed the door,And on the floorHe knelt and kissed her hand,"Wilt marry me?"He asked, while sheHer burning blushes fanned.

She answered "Yes,"As you may guess,To Mister Frog's delight;His arm he placedAround her waist,And joy was at its height.

The wedding-dayWas set straightway,The town was all agog;And gifts, not few,Were sent untoMiss Mouse and Mister Frog.

And never yetWas banquet set,In country or in town,With fare more richThan that to whichThe wedding guests sat down.

And, after all,There was the ball,For which the band was hired,And frogs and miceWere up in a trice,And danced till their toes were tired.

Frogs at School

Twenty froggies went to school,Down beside a rushy pool;Twenty little coats of green,Twenty vests all white and clean,"We must be in time," said they;"First we study, then we play;That is how we keep the ruleWhen we froggies go to school."

Master Bullfrog, grave and stern,Called the classes in their turn;Taught them how to nobly strive,Likewise how to leap and dive;From his seat upon the logShowed them how to say, "Ker-chog!"Also, how to dodge a blowFrom the sticks which bad boys throw.

Twenty froggies grew up fast;Bullfrogs they became at last;Not one dunce among the lot,Not one lesson they forgot.Polished in a high degree,As each froggie ought to be,Now they sit on other logs,Teaching other little frogs.

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