They say I'm very naughty,
But I've nothing else to do
But sit here at the window;

I should like to play with you.

The little raindrops cannot speak,
But "pitter, patter pat"

Means, "We can play on this side:

Why can't you play on that?"

MR. NOBODY

Mrs. Hawkshaw

I know a funny little man,

As quiet as a mouse,

Who does the mischief that is done
In everybody's house!

There's no one ever sees his face,

And yet we all agree

That every plate we break was cracked
By Mr. Nobody.

'Tis he who always tears our books, Who leaves the door ajar,

He pulls the buttons from our shirts,

And scatters pins afar;

That squeaking door will always squeak
For, prithee, don't you see,

We leave the oiling to be done
By Mr. Nobody.

He puts damp wood upon the fire,
That kettles cannot boil;

His are the feet that bring in mud,
And all the carpets soil.

The papers always are mislaid,

Who had them last but he?
There's no one tosses them about
But Mr. Nobody.

The finger-marks upon the door
By none of us are made;

We never leave the blinds unclosed,
To let the curtains fade.

The ink we never spill, the boots
That lying round you see

Are not our boots; they all belong
To Mr. Nobody.

A MORTIFYING MISTAKE

I studied my tables over and over, and backward and for

ward, too;

But I couldn't remember six times nine, and I didn't know what to do,

Till sister told me to play with my doll, and not to bother my head.

"If you call her 'Fifty-four' for a while, you'll learn it by heart," she said.

So I took my favorite, Mary Ann (though I thought 'twas a dreadful shame

To give such a perfectly lovely child such a perfectly horrid name),

And I called her my dear little "Fifty-four" a hundred times, till I knew

The answer of six times nine as well as the answer of two times two.

Next day Elizabeth Wigglesworth, who always acts so proud,

Said, "Six times nine is fifty-two," and I nearly laughed aloud!

But I wished I hadn't when teacher said, "Now, Dorothy, tell if you can."

For I thought of my doll and-sakes alive!-I answered,

"Mary Ann!"

WISHING

Anna Maria Pratt

✓

Ring-ting! I wish I were a Primrose,
A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the Spring!
The stooping bough above me,

The wandering bee to love me,
The fern and moss to creep across,
And the Elm-tree for our King!

Nay, stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree,
A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay!
The winds would set them dancing,

The sun and moonshine glance in,
The Birds would house among the boughs,
And sweetly sing!

O-no! I wish I were a Robin,

A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go;
Through forest, field, or garden,
And ask no leave or pardon,
Till Winter comes with icy thumbs
To ruffle up our wing.

Well-tell! Where should I fly to,
Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell?

Before a day was over,

Home comes the rover,

For Mother's kiss, sweeter this

Than any other thing!

William Allingham

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY

"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to the Fly.

"Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy;

The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,

And I have many curious things to show when you are there."

"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain; For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;

Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.

"There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin;

And if you like to rest a while, I'll snugly tuck you in!" "Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said,

They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend, what can I do

To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you?
I have, within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome-will you please to take a
slice?"

"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, “kind sir, that cannot be, I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

"Sweet creature," said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise;

How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!

I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf;

If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."

"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say,

And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den, For well he knew the silly Fly would soon be back again; So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly,

And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly.

Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing, "Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver

wing;

Your robes are green and purple, there's a crest upon your head;

Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead."

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,

Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by: With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,

Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;

Thinking only of her crested head-poor foolish thing! At last,

Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den Within his little parlor-but she ne'er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed;
Unto an evil counsellor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

Mary Howitt