WE

VE the Fairies, blithe and antic,
Of dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.

Stolen sweets are always sweeter,
Stolen kisses much completer,
Stolen looks are nice in chapels,
Stolen, stolen be your apples.

When to bed the world are bobbing,
Then's the time for orchard-robbing;
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling
Were it not for stealing, stealing.

A writer in St. Nicholas explains why the cuckoo says only its own name from morning to night :—

NCE from the town a starling flew,

ONCE

And on the road there met his view
A cuckoo, who to him did say:
"What is the news from town to-day?"
Said he "The nightingale's sweet lays
Receive from all the greatest praise.
The thrush, the blackbird, and the wren,
Are slightly mentioned now and then."
Then said the cuckoo anxiously:

"Pray tell me what they say of me."
The starling faltered, then replied,
What greatly hurt the cuckoo's pride:
"That is a thing I cannot do,
Because none ever speak of you."
The cuckoo tossing, then, his head,
In anger to the starling said:

"I'll be revenged, and will from spite
Sing of myself from morn till night."

The complete piece, of which these lines are a portion, is to be found in the late Jean Ingelow's Poems, published by Messrs. Longmans and Co.

Page 76.

"The Burial of the Linnet "

From the late Mrs. Ewing's Papa Poodle and other Pets, published by the S.P.C.K. It is also in Songs for Music, by Four Friends, published by Messrs. King and Co.

Page 87. "The Ballad of Jenny the Mare"

From Euphranor, by Edward Fitzgerald.

Page 91.

"Epitaph on a Hare”

In one of his letters, written on 21st August 1780, Cowper tells how Puss, his other hare, of which he speaks in the last two stanzas, ran away and was brought back again. This is the story:

escape.

"Last Wednesday night, while we were at supper, between the hours of eight and nine, I heard an unusual noise in the back parlour, as if one of the hares was entangled, and endeavouring to disengage herself. I was just going to rise from the table, when it ceased. In about five minutes, a voice on the outside of the parlour door inquired if one of my hares had got away. I immediately rushed into the next room, and found that my poor favourite Puss had made her She had gnawed in sunder the strings of a latticework, with which I thought I had sufficiently secured the window, and which I preferred to any other sort of blind, because it admitted plenty of air. From thence I hastened to the kitchen, where I saw the redoubtable Thomas Freeman, who told me, that having seen her, just after she had dropped into the street, he attempted to cover her with his hat, but she screamed out, and leaped directly over his head. I then desired him to pursue as fast as possible, and added Richard Coleman to the chase, as being nimbler, and carrying less weight than Thomas; not expecting to see her again, but desirous to learn, if possible, what became of her. In something less than an hour, Richard returned, almost breathless, with the following account. That soon after he began to run, he left Tom behind him and came in sight of a most numerous hunt of men, women, children, and dogs; that he did his best to keep back the dogs, and presently outstripped the crowd, so that the race was at last disputed

between himself and Puss;-she ran right through the town, and down the lane that leads to Dropshort; a little before she came to the house, he got the start and turned her; she pushed for the town again, and soon after she entered it, sought shelter in Mr. Wagstaff's tan-yard, adjoining to old Mr. Drake's. Sturge's harvest-men were at supper, and saw her from the opposite side of the way. There she encountered the tan-pits full of water; and while she was struggling out of one pit and plunging into another, and almost drowned, one of the men drew her out by the ears and secured her. She was then well washed in a bucket, to get the lime out of her coat, and brought home in a sack at ten o'clock.

This frolic cost us four shillings, but you may believe we did not grudge a farthing of it. The poor creature received only a little hurt in one of her claws, and in one of her ears, and is now almost as well as ever."

Page 97.

"Birds, Beasts, and Fishes"

This piece, together with all those signed Ann and Jane Taylor, is from the Original Poems, by the two sisters whose verses for children have been more widely read and remembered than those of any writer. I have put both names to every extract, for although not all of them were written jointly, the sisters must always have considered them together. The Original Poems were published first in 1805, and since then there have been very many editions. A selection, illustrated by Miss Kate Greenaway, came out in 1883, under the title Little Ann and Her Mother. Ann Taylor, who was born in 1782, afterwards became Mrs. Gilbert, and lived until 1866; Jane died

unmarried in 1824, at the age of forty-one.

She began to

rhyme quite early. When only eight she asked her father for

a garden of her own in the following manner:—

AH, dear papa, did you but know
Α The trouble of your Jane,

I'm sure you would relieve me now,
And ease me of my pain.

Although your garden is but small,
And more, indeed, you crave,
There's one small bit not used at all,
And this I wish to have.

A pretty garden I would make

That you would like to know; Then pray, papa, for pity's sake This bit of ground bestow.

Page 110. "The Three Little Pigs"

In Aunt Judy's Song Book, from which this piece is taken, it has a musical setting by Mr. Scott-Gatty. "The Burial of the Linnet" (p. 76), in the same work, is also arranged as a song.

Page 123. "Jemima "

Some people prefer the following version of the same piece. The other seems to me to be better. It was surely much finer