THE BROWNIES AT THE SEASIDE.
ithin a forest dark and wide, Some distance from the ocean side, A band of Brownies played around On mossy stone or grassy mound, Or, climbing through the branching tree, Performed their antics wild and free. |
When one, arising in his place
With sparkling eyes and beaming face
Soon won attention from the rest,
And thus the listening throng addressed:
"For years and years, through heat and cold,
Our home has been this forest old;
The saplings which we used to bend
Now like a schooner's masts ascend.
|
Yet here we live, content to ride A springing bough with childish pride, Content to bathe in brook or bog Along with lizard, leech, and frog; We're far behind the age you'll find If once you note the human kind. |
The modern youths no longer lave
Their limbs beneath the muddy wave
Of meadow pool or village pond,
But seek the ocean far beyond.
If pleasure in the sea is found
Not offered by the streams around,
The Brownie band at once should haste
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These unfamiliar joys to taste; No torch nor lantern's ray we'll need To show our path o'er dewy mead, The ponds and pitfalls in the swale, The open ditch, the slivered rail, The poison vine and thistle high Show clear before the Brownie's eye." —Next evening, as their plan they'd laid, The band soon gathered in the shade. All clustered like a swarm of bees They darted from the sheltering trees; And straight across the country wide Began their journey to the tide. And when they neared the beach at last,— The stout, the lean, the slow, the fast,— |
'T was hard to say, of all the lot,
Who foremost reached the famous spot.
"And now," said one with active mind.
"What proper garments can we find?
In bathing costume, as you know,
The people in the ocean go."
Another spoke, "For such demands,
The building large that yonder stands,
As one can see on passing by,
Is full of garments clean and dry.
There every fashion, loose or tight,
We may secure with labor light."
Though Brownies never carry keys,
They find an entrance where they please;
And never do they chuckle more
Than when some miser bars his door;
For well they know that, spite of locks,
Of rings and staples, bolts and blocks, Were they inclined to play such prank He'd find at morn an empty bank. So now the crafty Brownie crew Soon brought the bathing-suits to view; Some, working on the inner side, The waiting throng without supplied.— |
| 'Twas busy work, as may be guessed, Before the band was fully dressed; Some still had cloth enough to lend, Though shortened up at either end; Sortie ran about to find a pin, While others rolled, and puckered in, |
And made the best of what they found,
However strange it hung around.
Then, when a boat was manned with care
To watch for daring swimmers there,—
| Lest some should venture, over-bold, And fall a prey to cramp and cold,— A few began from piers to leap And plunge at once in water deep, But more to shiver, shrink, and shout |
As step by step they ventured out;
While others were content to stay
In shallow surf, to duck and play
Along the lines that people laid
To give the weak and timid aid.
| It was a sight one should behold, When o'er the crowd the breakers rolled;— One took a header through the wave, One floated like a chip or stave, While others there, at every plunge, Were taking water like a sponge. |
| But while the surf they tumbled through, They reckoned moments as they flew, And kept in mind their homeward race Before the sun should show his face. |
For sad and painful is the fate
Of those who roam abroad too late;
And well may Brownies bear in mind
The hills and vales they leave behind,
When far from native haunts they run,
As oft they do, in quest of fun.
| But, ere they turned to leave the strand, They made a vow with lifted hand That every year, when summer's glow Had warmed the ocean spread below, They'd journey far from grove and glen To sport in rolling surf again. |
THE BROWNIES AND THE
SPINNING-WHEEL.
| One evening, with the falling dew, Some Brownies 'round a cottage drew. Said one: "I've learned the reason why We miss the 'Biddy, Biddy!' cry, That every morning brought a score Of fowls around this cottage door; 'T is rheumatism most severe That keeps the widow prisoned here. Her sheep go bleating through the field, In quest of salt no herb can yield, To early roost the fowls withdraw While each bewails an empty craw. And sore neglect you may discern On every side, where'er you turn. If aid come to the widow's need, From Brownies' hands it must proceed." |
Another said: "The wool, I know,
Went through the mill a month ago.
I saw them when they bore the sack
Tip yonder hill, a wondrous pack
That caught the branches overhead,
And round their heels the gravel spread.
Her spinning-wheel is lying there
In fragments quite beyond repair.
A passing goat, with manners bold,
Mistook it for a rival old,
| And knocked it 'round for half an hour With all his noted butting power. They say it was a striking scene, That twilight conflict on the green; The wheel was resting on the shed, The frame around the garden spread, Before the goat had gained his sight, And judged the article aright." A third remarked: "I call to mind Another wheel that we may find. Though somewhat worn by use and time, It seems to be in order prime; Now, night is but a babe as yet, The dew has scarce the clover wet; By running fast and working hard We soon can bring it to the yard; Then stationed here in open air The widow's wool shall be our care." This suited all, and soon with zeal They started off to find the wheel; Their course across the country lay Where great obstructions barred the way; But Brownies seldom go around However rough or wild the ground. O'er rocky slope and marshy bed, With one accord they pushed ahead, |
Across the tail-race of a mill,
And through a churchyard on the hill.
They found the wheel, with head and feet,
And band and fixtures, all complete;
And soon beneath the trying load
Were struggling on the homeward road.
They had some trouble, toil, and care,
Some hoisting here, and hauling there;
At times, the wheel upon a fence
Defied them all to drag it thence,
As though determined to remain
And serve the farmer, guarding grain.
But patient head and willing hand
Can wonders work in every land;
And cunning Brownies never yield,
But aye as victors leave the field.
Some ran for sticks, and some for pries,
And more for blocks on which to rise,
That every hand or shoulder there,
In such a pinch might do its share.
Before the door they set the wheel,
And near at hand the winding reel,
That some might wind while others spun,
And thus the task be quickly done.
| No time was wasted, now, to find What best would suit each hand or mind. Some through the cottage crept about To find the wool and pass it out; With some to turn, and some to pull, And some to shout, "The spindle's full!" The wheel gave out a droning song,— The work in hand was pushed along. Their mode of action and their skill With wonder might a spinster fill; For out across the yard entire They spun the yarn like endless wire,— | |
| Beyond the well with steady haul, Across the patch of beans and all, Until the walls, or ditches wide, A greater stretch of wool denied. The widow's yarn was quickly wound In tidy balls, quite large and round. |
And ere the night began to fade,
The borrowed wheel at home was laid;
And none the worse for rack or wear,
Except a blemish here and there,
A spindle bent, a broken band,—
'T was ready for the owner's hand.
