THE FOOLISH LITTLE LAD.
BY MR. GRAY SQUIRREL.
Once on a time, the story goes,
A silly squirrel lad
One summer day did run away—
Which made his ma feel bad.
She hunted for him up and down
And round and round she ran—
Alas, that foolish squirrel boy
Was caught by Mr. Man.
For he had tried to climb a tree
As Mr. Man came past.
"I'll make you climb!" said Mr. Man,
And walked home pretty fast.
When he got there a boy came out
As Mr. Man went in.
That silly squirrel soon was put
Into a house of tin.
"Now you can climb!" said Mr. Man,
But when he did he found
That nice tin house, so bright and new,
Turned round and round and round.
And there he climbs and climbs all day
And never seems to stop,
And I have heard my mother say
He'll never reach the top.
When Mr. Squirrel sat down there wasn't a dry eye in the room, and even Mr. Dog outside was affected. He said he'd seen that poor little squirrel at Mr. Man's house turning and turning away in his tin wheel, and felt so sorry for him that two or three times he'd tried to get him out. He said, though, that Mr. Man had always caught him at it and that then they didn't get on well for a day or two. He was so tender-hearted, though, he said, that he couldn't help pitying the little fellow, climbing and climbing all day long and never getting anywhere. Mr. 'Possum shivered, and said it reminded him of bad dreams he'd had sometimes, when he'd eaten too much supper, and dreamed of climbing the rainbow. Then they all sat still and waited for Mr. Turtle, who came next.
MY SNUG HOUSE.
BY D'LAND TURTLE.
Oh, what do I care for your houses of wood,
Your houses of brick or of stone,
When I have a house that is cosy and good—
A beautiful house of my own?
And the doors will not sag and the roof will not crack
Of the house that I carry about on my back.
It is never too large and 'tis never too small,
It is with me wherever I roam.
In spring or in summer, in winter or fall,
I always can find my way home.
For it isn't so hard to remember the track
To the house that you carry about on your back.
Well, of course, everybody applauded that, and then it was Mr. 'Coon's time. Mr. 'Coon said he was like Mr. 'Possum. He wasn't much on poetry, and only had four lines. He said they were some like Mr. 'Possum's, too.
THE BEST THINGS.
BY Z. COON.