Down in the pond, where willows grow
Along the shore in a golden row,
Is a single rock with its mossy ridge,
And a log as mossy, resting there
Half in the water, and half in the air,
From shore to islet a beautiful bridge;
And the lily-pads on either side
Might tempt the little green frogs to ride;
And the lily-blooms, so purely made,
Do tempt the little white feet to wade.
What do you think I saw one day
In the month of June, as I passed that way?
Five little turtles, all in a row,
On the top of the log,—a funny show,—
For they carried their houses on their backs,
And tucked their toes out through the cracks
Under the eaves! while their heads and tails
Played hide-and-seek behind the scales.
They had golden dots on every shell;
And they stood so still, and "dressed" so well,
You might think they were called up to spell;
And a "master" turtle, big and brown,
On the top of the rock sat looking down
In a learned way, as you might say
To "put out words,"—and perhaps 'twas so,
Though I heard no word,—but this, I know,
The five little heads looked so very wise
With their little bead eyes, they must have heard
If ever the master pronounced a word.
In school or not, it was getting hot;
And by and by, as the sun rose high,
With the June-like drowsiness it sheds,
They could not keep from going to sleep;
And what do you think they did with their heads?
Swallowed them! Oh, then, laugh, if you will;
But true it is, still:
Into their necks, as a sailor would slide
His spy-glass into its leathern hide,
They slid their five little heads away
From the sight of man and the light of day.
While I stood watching them, still as a mouse,
Pleased at their comical way to keep house,
I heard a terrible splash and croak,
As a great bull-frog leapt up on the log,
In a way to frighten such simple folk.
Five little turtles, quick as a wink,
Into the water slip and sink;
And one big turtle, just as quick,
Off from the log goes down like a brick.
Ah, well! my turtles are not like boys,
They can live in the pond, and they do hate noise!
GEORGE S. BURLEIGH.
THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP.
ITTLE Mary in the picture is afraid of Jacob, the chimney-sweep. He does look black and ugly; but he is a good boy, for all that, and Mary ought not to be afraid of him.
His parents died when he was very small, and he was bound out to a master, who taught him how to clean chimneys. Jacob did not like the work at first, and was afraid to go up the chimney; but now that he has got used to it, he likes it quite well. He sometimes sings a merry song while he is at work.
