TICKLED BY A STRAW.
From his dreams of tops and marbles,
Where the soaring kites he saw,
Is that little urchin wakened,
Tickled by a wheaten straw.
How do you suppose he likes it,
Young one with annoying paw?
If I only were your mother,
I'd tickle you with birchen straw.
Soon enough, from pleasant dreaming,
You'll be wakened by the law,
Which provides for every vision
Some sort of provoking straw.
In dreams of play, or hope, or loving,
When plans of happiness you draw,
Underneath your nose may wiggle
Life's most aggravating straw
THE LIGHT IN THE CASTLE.
On a high hill, in a lonely part of Europe, there stood a ruined castle. No one lived there, for the windows were destitute of glass; there were but few planks left of the floors; the roof was gone; and the doors had long ago rotted off their hinges. So that any persons who should take up their residence in this castle would be exposed to the rain, when there was a storm; to the wind, when it blew; and to robbers, if they should come; besides running the risk of breaking their necks by falling between the rafters, every time they attempted to walk about the house.
It was a very solemn, lonely, and desolate castle, and for many and many a year no human being had been known to set foot inside of it.