Chapter M: E. S (2)

"What shall we do, what can we do?
The doctor made me well,
There's only one thing can be done,
We must the pet lamb sell;
We've nearly eaten all the bread,
And how can we get more,
Unless you call the butcher in
When he rides by the door?"

"Oh, do not sell my white pet lamb,"
Then little Mary said,
"And every night I'll go up stairs
Without my tea to bed;
Oh! do not sell my sweet pet lamb;
And if you let it live,
The best half of my bread and milk
I will unto it give."

The doctor at that very time
Entered the cottage door,
As, with her arms around her lamb,
She sat upon the floor.
"For if the butcher buys my lamb,
He'll take away its life,
And make its pretty white throat bleed
With his sharp cruel knife;

"And never in the morning light
Again it will me meet,
Nor come again to lick my hand,
Look up upon me and bleat."
"Why do you weep, my pretty girl?"
The doctor then did say.
"Because I love my little lamb,
Which must be sold to-day;

It lies beside my bed at night,
And, oh, it is so still,
It never made a bit of noise
When father was so ill.
"Oh do not let them sell my lamb,
And then I'll go to bed,
And never ask for aught to eat

But a small piece of bread."
"I'll buy the lamb and give it you,"
The kind, good doctor said,
"And with the money that I pay
Your father can buy bread.
"As for the bill, that can remain
Until another year."
He paid the money down, and said,
"The lamb is yours, my dear:

You have a kind and gentle heart,
And God, who made us all,
He loveth well those who are kind
To creatures great and small;
"And while I live, my little girl,
Your lamb shall not be sold,
But play with you upon the moor,
And sleep within the fold."

And so the white pet lamb was saved,
And played upon the moor,
And after little Mary ran
About the cottage-floor.
It fed upon cowslips tall,
And ate the grass so sweet,
And on the little garden-walk
Pattered its pretty feet;

And with its head upon her lap
The little lamb would lay
Asleep beneath the elm-tree's shade,
Upon the summer's day,
While she twined the flowers around its neck,
And called it her, "Sweet May."

Thomas Miller

[Page 174--Piggy Land]

The Pig, He is a Gentleman

The pig, he is a gentleman,
And never goes to work;
He eats the very best of food
Without knife or fork.

The pig, he is a gentleman,
And drinks the best of milk;
His clothes are good, and thick, and strong
And wear as well as silk.

The pig he, is a gentleman,
And covers up his head,
And looks at you with one eye,
And grunts beneath his bed.

He eats, and drinks, and sleeps all day
Just like his lady mother,
His father, uncle, and his aunt,
His sister, and his brother.

E. W. Cole

The Pigs

"Do look at those pigs, as they lie in the straw,"
Little Richard said to papa;
"They keep eating longer than ever I saw,
What nasty fat gluttons they are!"

"I see they are feasting," his father replied,
"They ear a great deal, I allow;
But let us remember, before we deride,
'Tis the nature, my dear, of a sow.

"But when a great boy, such as you my dear Dick,
Does nothing but eat all the day,
And keeps sucking good things till he makes himself sick,
What a glutton, indeed, we may say.

"When plumcake and sugar for ever he picks,
And sweetmeats, and comfits, and figs;
Pray let him get rid of his own nasty tricks,
And then he may laugh at the pigs."

J. T.

Five Little Pigs

Five lit-tle fingers
And five lit-tle pigs,
Of each I've a story to tell;
Look at their faces
And fun-ny curl-ed tails,
And hear what each one be-fell.

Ring-tail, that stead-y
And good lit-tle pig,
To mark-et set off at a trot;
And brought him his bas-ket
Quite full of nice things,
Con-tent-ed and pleas-ed with his lot.

Young Smil-er, the next,
Was a stay at home pig,
Lik-ed his pipe, and to sit at his ease;
He fell fast a-sleep,
Burned his nose with his pipe,
And a-woke with a ve-ry loud sneeze.

Num-ber three was young Long-snout
Who ate up the beef.
He was both greed-y and fat;
He made him-self ill
By eat-ing too much,
And then he was sor-ry for that.

And poor lit-tle Grun-ter--
You know he had none--
A pig-gy so hun-gry and sad!
He si-lent-ly wiped
The salt tears from his eyes,
I think it was real-ly too bad.

Young Squeak-er cried, "Wee, wee, wee,"
All the way home,
A pig-gy so fret-ful was he;
He got a good whip-ping,
Was sent off to bed,
And de-served it, I think you must see.

Oh, these five lit-tle pigs,
How they've made child-ren laugh
In ages and ages now past!
And they'll be quite as fun-ny,
In years yet to come,
While small toes and small fing-ers last.

The Self-willed Pig

It happened one day,
As the other pigs tell,
In the course of their walk
They drew near to a well,
So wide and so deep,
With so smooth a wall round,
That a pig tumbling in
Was sure to be drowned.

But a perverse little brother,
Foolish as ever,
Still boasting himself
Very cunning and clever,
Now made up his mind
That, whatever befell,
He would run on before
And jump over the well.

Then away he ran fast
To one side of the well,
Climbed up on the wall,
Slipped, and headlong he fell;
And now from the bottom
His pitiful shout
Was, "Oh mother! I'm in;
Pray do help me out!"

She ran to the side
When she heard his complaint,
And she then saw him struggling,
Weakly and faint,
Yet no help could she give!
But, "My children," cried she,
"How often I've feared
A sad end his would be!"

"Oh, mother, dear mother;"
The drowning pig cried,
"I see all this comes
Of my folly and pride!"
He could not speak more,
But he sank down and died,
Whilst his mother and brothers
Wept round the well-side!

[Page 175--Piggy Land]

Three Naughty Pigs

Three naughty pigs,
All in one pen,
Drank up the milk
Left by the men,
Then all the three
Fast as they could,
Dug their way out
To find something good.

Out in the garden
A maiden fair
Had set some flowers
Of beauty rare.

Out in the garden
A merry boy
Had planted seeds,
With childish joy,

One naughty pig
Ran to the bed;
Soon lay the flowers
Drooping and dead.

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

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

For, in their noses,
Something would hurt
Whenever they tried
To 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 man
That knit his swarthy brow,
And said the gentle pig must die,
And sealed it with a vow.

And oh! it was the gentle pig
Lay stretched upon the ground,
And ah! it was the cruel knife
His 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 beam
A hempen cord they flung,
And like a mighty pendulum
All solemnly he swung.

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

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

It was the savage butcher then
That 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 handkerchief
He 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 then
That laughed as he would die,
Yet did he soothe the sorrowing child
And 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 break
And 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 lips
Make 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 west
The shades of evening came.

He slept, and troops of murdered pigs
Were 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 tail
To 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 house
His 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 heard
Pat, 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 fear
To 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 long
They 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

[Page 176--Piggy Land]

Little Dame Crump

Little Dame Crump,
With her little hair broom,
One morning was sweeping
Her little bedroom,
When, casting he little
Grey eyes on the ground,
In a sly little corner
A penny she found.

"Dear me!" cried the Dame,
While she started with surprise,
"How lucky I am
To find such a prize!
To market I'll go,
And a pig I will buy,
And little John Grubbins
Shall 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 made
Of a little white pig,
And a penny she paid.

Having purchased the pig,
She was puzzled to know
How they both should get home;
So fearing least piggie
Should play her a trick,
She drove him along
With a little crab stick.

Piggie ran till they came
To the foot of a hill,
Where a little bridge stood
O'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 sack
To 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 end
Of her journey had come,
She was awfully glad
She had got the pig home:
She carried him straight
To his nice little sty,
And gave him some hay
And some straw, nice and dry.

With a handful of peas
Then 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 got
A pig-sty of her own;
She is a most un-com-mon pig,
And likes to live alone.

A red-tiled roofing covers in
The 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'd
With pig-wash and with parings;
And all the other pigs declare
Dame Grumph has dainty fairings.

They like to see what she's about,
And poke their noses through
A 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 Grumph
Is round as any ball.

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

"Humph," said the dame, "now let me see
How 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 round
The others with her snout.

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

"I wish you'd mind your own affairs,"
Said she, and stepp'd between
The 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 before
To 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 up
From 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-wigs
Were 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 brother
Were both im-por-ted from Pekin,--
My pigs are like my mother.

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

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

"If you and I were bacon, ma'am
The dif-fer-ence between
An Irish and a Chinese pig
Would hardly then be seen.

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

Aunt Effie's Rhymes

[Page 177--Piggy Land]

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:

"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

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.

[Page 178--Rabbit Land]

The Wild Rabbits

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

They live in burrows
With winding-ways,
And there they shelter
On rainy days.

The mother rabbits
Make cosy nests,
With hairy linings
From their breasts.

The tender young ones
Are nursed and fed,
And safely hidden
In this warm bed.

And when they are older,
They all come out
Upon the sand-hills
And frisk about.

They play and nibble
The long, dry grass,
But scamper away
Whenever 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 fully
Determined to roam
Through 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 away
Right over the meadow so green.

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

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

"I'll dig myself a nice den
For myself in the hay;
How warm it will be and how nice!
Why in my old burrow
Full many a day
I've often felt colder than ice!"

So bunny soon dug him
A nice little hole,
And made it as round as an O;
And really he looked
So 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 some
At this moment! but then
I'm out on my travels just now,
And I greatly prefer
To 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 someone
Right over my head,
I hope that no wild beasts are near!"

Meanwhile an old fox
With a great bushy tail
Was prowling about and around,
But poor little Bunny
Was hidden so well
That 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 better
Go scampering home
To the dear little home in the wood,
And never, oh never
Again 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 hopping
Along the hard track
To welcome him home to the nest.

And, oh! such a breakfast
Before 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 Bunny
With his coat as soft as down,
And nearly all of him is white
Except one bit of brown.
The first thing in the morning,
When I get out of bed,
I wonder if my bunny's still
Safe 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 bigger
Than he was the day before.

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

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

Robert Mack

[Page 179--Hare Land]

The Little Hare

Beyond the palings of the park
A Hare had made her form,
Beneath a drooping fern, that made
A 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 around
With open eyes and ears erect
That caught the smallest sound.

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

She frisked and gambolled with delight,
And cropped a leaf or two
Of 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 coats
The 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 hound
And 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 woodside
For a little fun;
Saw a happy little hare,
Who on clover fed--
With his little gun took aim
And shot him in the head.

Thoughtful little Peter,
Sad for what he'd done,
Sat down on a stump, and there
By it laid his gun;
Wished that he could bring to life
That little hare so still;
"Never more," said he, "will I
A 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 dew
Nor 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 took
His 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 hours
For then he'd lost his fear!
But most before approaching showers,
Or when a storm drew near.

Eight years and five round-rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out all his idle noons
And every night at play.

I kept him for his humour's sake,
For he would oft beguile
My 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 laid
Till gentler puss shall come.

He, still more aged, feels the shocks
From 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 tear
Foremost 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 track
Hurries 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 seem
To Pussy!

[Page 180--Rat Land]

The Pied Piper of Hamelin
--or--
The Vanished Children

Hamelin Town's in Brunswick
By 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 so
From 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 squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body
To the Town Hall came flocking:
"'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;
And as for our Corporation--shocking
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can't or won't determine
What'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 slept
In 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 twinkled
Like 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 Weser
Wherein all plunged and perished
--Save one.

You should have heard the Hamelin people
Ringing 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 trace
Of the rats!"--when suddenly up the face
Of 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 passion
May find me pipe to another fashion,"
"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brook
Being worse treated than a crook?
Insulted by a lazy ribald
With 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 again
Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;
And ere he blew three notes (such sweet
Soft notes as yet musicians cunning
Never gave the enraptured air),
There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling
Of 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 after
The wonderful music with shouting laughter.

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood
As if they were carved into blocks of wood,
Unable to move a step, or cry
To the children merrily skipping by--
And could only follow with the eye
That 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 street
To where the Weser rolled its waters
Right 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 hollowed
And 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 blame
His sadness, he was used to say--
"It's dull in our town since my playmates left;
I can't forget that I'm bereft
Of 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.

[Page 181--Rat Land]

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 assured
My 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 pate
A text which says, that Heaven's Gate
Opens to the Rich at as easy rate
As 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.

Browning

The Wicked Bishop Hatto

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

Every day the starving poor
Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door,
For all the neighbourhood could tell
His granaries were furnished well.

At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day
To quiet the poor without delay:
He bade them to his great Barn repair
And 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 hold
Of 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 forlorn
Of 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 care
All 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 flame
On 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 tail
In 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 add
To 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.

[Page 182--Mousey Land]

The Gingerbread Cat

A baby-girl, on Christmas night
Had filled her little apron white
With all a happy child could take
Of Christmas toys and Christmas cake;

But on the stairway she let fall
The chiefest treasure of them all--
A little cat of gingerbread
All 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 stair
And saw the Christmas cake-cat there.

She stood still in her cruel fright
And gazed upon the monster white
Who 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 paw
Had 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 squeal
And 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 head
And 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 holes
As fast as they can run.

Three Mice

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

Says Pussy, "You are
So wondrous wise
I love your whiskers
And round black eyes;
Your house is the prettiest
House I see.
And I think there is room
For you and me."
The mice were so pleased
That they opened the door,
And Pussy soon laid them
All 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 mantelpiece
He 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 cake
She left upon the table.
He seems to think I'm somebody
To 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 chance
Beneath 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 mouse
With her mother resided;
So securely they lived,
In that snug, quiet spot,
Any mouse in the land
Might have envied their lot.

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

"Oh mother," said she,
"The good folks of this house
I'm convinced, have not any
Ill-will to a mouse;
And those tales can't be true
You always are telling,
For they've been at such pains
To construct us a dwelling.

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

"And then they have made
Such nice holes in the wall,
One could slip in and out,
With no trouble at all;
But forcing one through
Such rough crannies as these,
Always gives one's poor ribs
A 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 put
In my head to go through,
When I thought it my duty
To come and fetch you."

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

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

[Page 183--Mousey Land]

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 old
Beside 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 mouth
Another still more wee.

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