DOBBIN'S FRIEND.
Dobbin has a little friend,
Spotted white and sable;
Every day she goes to him,
In his lonely stable.
Not a might of dread has she,
Not a thought of danger;
Lightly runs between his hoofs,
Jumps upon his manger;
Lays her soft, warm cheek to his,
Purrs her meek "Good morning!"
Gives the flies that hover near,
Such a look of warning!
"Dobbin, dear," she sometimes says,
"Feel my winter mittens;
Nice and warm, you see, and made
Purposely for kittens.
"Dobbin, dear, such times at home!
Mother has caught a rat!
Brought it home to show to us—
What do you think of that?"
"Dobbin!" she whispers, purring still,
"You often get so weary,
Why don't you balk or run away,
And get your freedom, dearie?"
Then Dobbin gives his head a toss,
And says, "For shame, Miss Kitty!
If I could do so mean a thing,
'Twould be a monstrous pity.
"No, no; my master's good and kind;
I'll never vex him, never!"
And pussy, pleased, still rubs his cheek,
And likes him more than ever.
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THE WAY TO DO IT.
I'll tell you how I speak a piece:
First, I make my bow;
Then I bring my words out clear
And plain as I know how.
Next, I throw my hands up so!
Then I lift my eyes—
That's to let my hearers know
Something doth surprise.
Next, I grin and show my teeth,
Nearly every one;
Shake my shoulders, hold my sides:
That's the sign of fun.
Next I start and knit my brow,
Hold my head erect:
Something's wrong, you see, and I
Decidedly object.
Then I wabble at my knees,
Clutch at shadows near,
Tremble well from top to toe:
That's the sign of fear.
Now I start, and with a leap
Seize an airy dagger.
"Wretch!" I cry. That's tragedy,
Every soul to stagger.
Then I let my voice grow faint,
Gasp and hold my breath;
Tumble down and plunge about:
That's a villain's death.
Quickly then I come to life,
Perfectly restored;
With a bow my speech is done.
Now you'll please applaud.
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WILLY AND HIS PIPE.
Willy lay by the dimpling brook,
Where the sun had lain before;
And, strange to say, when its place he took,
The spot just brightened the more.
The birds were singing in the blue,
A song that was like a hymn;
While the baby ducklings, two by two,
Strayed into the water to swim.
"Heigho!" sighed Willy, "I cannot fly,
Nor even so much as float;
And as for singing like robins, why,
I never could raise a note.
"But I can play on my pipe," said he;
And soon the music came—
So clear and sweet, so blithesome free,
That it put the birds to shame.
The baby ducklings softly splashed,
The robins yet harder tried,
The sprinkled grass in sunlight flashed,
As it nodded by Willy's side.
And, before he knew, he was floating free
On a sparkling river of thought;
While the birds in the air came down to see
What wonder the pipe had wrought.
And still the music softly rose,
Still Willy was floating free;
And the little ducks with their funny toes,
Were happy as happy could be.