Young Lumpkin’s Hyæna.

IT was once on a time people said a hyæna Lived close by the village and had a snug lair; They were sure ’twas a real one, young Lumpkin had seen her, With a head like a wolf and a tail like a bear.
Old Gaffer moreover, who used to sit quaffing, One night heard a scuffle and found a goose dead; And dame Slipperslopper had often heard laughing, While folks were, or ought to have been, all abed.
So with common consent they determined to stop her, For hyænas they said were a mischievous race: So Gaffer and Lumpkin and Dame Slipperslopper Sallied forth one fine morning all girt for the chase.
They soon reach’d the hole where they reckon’d to find her, And all took their posts as they gather’d round close; And the Dame she peep’d in, though no mole could be blinder, As she settled her spectacles over her nose.
But just at that moment our old friend the fox, (For no more and no less was Young Lumpkin’s Hyæna) Was starting to visit old Gaffer’s fat cocks, And he brush’d past her face just as if he’d not seen her.
She started—her glasses fell into the hole; And backward she tumbled and shriek’d like a child. Young Lumpkin stood silent and look’d like a fool; Old Gaffer ran homeward, as if he was wild.
But before he got home he had lost a fine chicken, And Dame Slipperslopper came back in chagrin: But the Fox grinn’d with joy while his chops he sat licking, And put on the glasses, to pick the bones clean.
Moral.When a fool prates of wonders—a ghost or a dragon, Believe not his story, albeit he may swear; For be sure, that as usual the world will still wag on, And never a dragon nor ghost will be there.

The Young Thrushes.
A TRUE STORY.

A PRETTY thrush with speckled breast

Within a yew had made her nest,

And laid her five eggs there:

Five pretty eggs so smooth and blue,

And, like herself all speckled too,

She brooded with much care.

By day, by night, so close she sat,

No babbling dog, no crafty cat,

No boy her secret knew:

Nor bird—save one, who sat apart

And whistled to console her heart,—

Her gentle mate, and true.

Thus time pass’d cheerily away;

Meanwhile her bosom day by day

With kindling fondness yearn’d:

Till, on the morn when it befel

Her callow nestlings burst the shell,

With mother’s love it burn’d.

Now all seem’d brighter to her eye,

The earth more green, more blue the sky,

For all with love was dyed:

And while she flitted round for food,

And pick’d it for her helpless brood,

She wish’d no joy beside.

Alas, that joy so sweet and pure

Should be on earth so little sure!

But such is Heaven’s decree.

Puss mark’d where she was wont to fly,

And watch’d her with a yellow eye,

And noted well the tree.

Now stealthily she crept beneath,

And there she crouch’d as still as death,

Till home the thrush might go:

But mother’s eyes are open wide;

And soon the cautious parent spied

The ambush of her foe.

Wherefore she went not near the yew,

But quite another way she flew;

And Pussy’s game seem’d lost:

For all in vain she strove to find

The nest which lay so close and blind,

Where two thick stems were cross’d.

Then basking in the sunny ray,

She soon began to purr and play,

As all on love intent:

And mildness, like the velvet paw

Which cloked the terrors of her claw,

Belied her natural bent.

Twas thus, whenas the senseless brood,

Who miss’d awhile their custom’d food,

Began to chirp complaints;

As if their mother knew not best,

Or would not charge her careful breast

With all their little wants.

Full soon their folly did they rue;

(As foolish children always do;)

But ah! they rued too late:

For Pussy heard their silly wail,

And prick’d her ears, and lash’d her tail,

And grinn’d with scorn and hate.

Then up the tree amain she sprung,

From branch, to bough, she leapt, she clung,

Till right within the nook,

Where lay the nestlings snug and warm,

She planted her terrific form,

And all the yew-tree shook!

How then they trembled in despair,

And long’d to have their Mother there,

Most grievous is to tell:

And how Puss scorn’d such unripe meat,

And fiercely spurn’d them with her feet.

Till on the ground they fell!

Alas! poor birds! had they been still,

Nor chirp’d their little plaints of ill,

While all was for the best,

The unheeding cat had walk’d away;

And they had lived secure that day

Within their happy nest.