The Nursery, June 1873, Vol. XIII.

A-MAYING

 
When the wild March winds were blowing,
                Not so very long ago,
And it still kept snowing, snowing,
                Piling, drifting,
                Heaping, sifting,
                Snow on snow,
Faithless Fanny said, "Spring never
Will be here; 'twill snow forever;
And I don't believe I ever
Shall again a-Maying go!"
 
 
April pleased her little better:
Now 'twas rain as well as snow;
Every day was wet and wetter,
                Drifting, dropping,
                Soaking, sopping,
                Raining so,
That poor Fanny feared the showers
Would quite drown her precious flowers;
And for what, in May's bright hours,
Could she then a-Maying go?
 
 
Now the gay May sun is shining,
Pink and sweet the Mayflowers blow;
And forgetting her repining,
                Her complaining
                Of the raining
                And the snow,
With its fitful, frosty flurries,
Fanny lingers not, nor worries,
But to field and greenwood hurries;
For she must a-Maying go.
 

Fenno Hayes.

LITTLE MISCHIEF

XV

What now? Will this child never be out of hot water? What is Bessie doing now? I will tell you. She found in one of her mother's drawers a box; and, on opening it, she found some little round things something like sugar-plums.

She began putting the little round things in her mouth, and swallowing them. They were not quite so pleasant as she had expected, or she would have taken more. "I wonder what makes them taste so bitter?" thought Bessie.

She will find that out by and by, to her sorrow.

XVI

"What makes me feel so?" thought Bessie as she sat in the big arm-chair in mother's best chamber, rubbing her eyes, and feeling very uncomfortable.

She had not sat there long, before she began to cry. Her mother, who had been wondering who could have been meddling with her pill-box, came in. "Have you been swallowing these pills?" she asked.

"Yes; but I didn't know they were pills," said Bessie.

"Well, you will be well punished for your fault," said her mother. "The pills will make you quite sick."

And so it happened.

THE SEASONS

 
                    MARY.
How I love the blooming Spring,
When the birds so gayly sing!
 
 
                    JOHN.
More the Summer me delights,
With its lovely days and nights.
 
 
                    EMILY.
Autumn is the best of all,
With its fruits for great and small.
 
 
                    RICHARD.
Nay! old Winter is the time!
Jolly then the sleigh-bells' chime!
 
 
                    GRANDMOTHER.
Every season will be bright,
Children, if you'll live aright.