REMEMBER, remember

The Fifth of November.
Bonfire Night-
We want a faggot

To make it alight.
Hatchets and duckets,

Beetles and wedges,
If you don't give us some,

We'll pull your old hedges;
If you don't give us one,

We'll take two: The better for us

And the worse for you!

WILLOW and cane is all I am, with a wisp of waxen

thread, Cane and willow, willow and cane, fondly, perfectly wed; But never wood for a bounding yacht was picked with a

nicer thought, And nothing planned by human hand ever was deftlier

wrought. Willow and cane is all I am ; but here is a wondrous thing: Willow and cane is all I am, yet also am I a king!

a

The flower of the earth my subjects are, and the throne

of the cricket bat Is the rich, green turf of a level mead, and who has a

throne like that?

A century old is the crown I hold; nothing disturbs my

reign ; And men to me will bend the knee while centuries more

shall wane;

The Sword is great, but he rules by hate, rules with a

bloody hand : Honesty, peace, and comradeship are features of my

command! Scour the earth and you shall not find the like of the

power I wield, For the home of the brave, the strong, the free, is the

elm-girt cricket-field; Both man and boy they thrill with joy to speed the ball

awayWillow and cane is all I am, yet look at the hosts I sway!

From “ Songs of the Bat.”

Golden Rules for the Young

IN batting, hold your bat upright, ,

Play every ball with all your might.

In bowling, never exceed your strength,
Keep straight, but vary pace and length.

In fielding, put two hands to the ball :
A butter-fingers is worst of all.

From “ The Boy's Own Paper.”

A Hunting Song

THE
HE dusky night rides down the sky,

And ushers in the morn;
The hounds all join in glorious cry,
The huntsman winds his horn.

Then a-hunting we will go.

The wife around her husband throws

Her arms, and begs him stay; “My dear, it rains, it hails, it snows, You will not hunt to-day?”

But a-hunting we will go.

A brushing fox in yonder wood,

Secure to find we seek :
For why, I carried, sound and good,
A cartload there last week.

And a-hunting we will go. .

Away he goes, he flies the rout,

Their steeds all spur and switch,
Some are thrown in, and some thrown out,
And some thrown in the ditch.

But a-hunting we will go.

At length his strength to faintness worn,

Poor Reynard ceases fight;
Then hungry, homeward we return,
To feast away the night.
Then a-drinking we do go.

Henry Fielding

A Skating Song

AWAY! away! our fires stream bright

Along the frozen river;
And their arrowy sparkles of frosty light

On the forest branches quiver.
Away! away! for the stars are forth,

And on the pure snows of the valley,
In a giddy trance, the moonbeams dance-

Come, let us our comrades rally!

Away! away! o'er the sheeted ice,

Away, away we go;
On our steel-bound feet we move as fleet

As deer o'er the Lapland snow.
What though the sharp north winds are out,

The skater heeds them not-
'Midst the laugh and shout of the jocund rout,

Gray winter is forgot. *

Let others choose more gentle sports,

By the side of the winter hearth; Or 'neath the lamps of the festal halls,

Seek for their share of mirth; But as for me, away! away!

Where the merry skaters beWhere the fresh wind blows, and the smooth ice glows, There is the place for me.

Ephraim Peabody.