Sweet little, neat little Miss Jenny Wren,
On a white hawthorn spray,
In the bright month of May,
Sat chirping so sweet,—
"Pewhit and pewheet,"
Where daisies unfold.
And kingcups of gold
Shine out on a glad May morning.
Down-crested, brown-breasted Timothy Wren,
As he fluttered along,
Trilled the snatch of a song;
Then chirruped her name
As near her he came,
And told of his love,
As meek as a dove,
To Jenny, that bright May morning.
"Hear, Jenny, dear Jenny, sweet Jenny Wren:
If you'll be my own wife,
I will love you through life;
We'll gather the moss,
Soft feathers, and floss;
And build us a nest,
The neatest and best,
And sing through the bright May mornings."
May blossoms, gay blossoms, curtained their nest:
Through the tiny mouse-hole,
Little Jenny she stole;
There, of no one afraid,
Ten fine eggs she laid,
While Timothy dear
Sang blithely and clear,
"How sweet are the bright May mornings!"
George Bennett.
WHAT MAMIE DID.
Mamie is a little girl five years old, with bright black eyes, and rosy red cheeks.
She is very fond of "The Nursery," as are a great many other Mamies.
Now, which Mamie is this story about? They are all wondering, but cannot tell certainly, till they have heard it read.
Well, one cold winter's day, this little Mamie came to her mother with a very urgent request. What do you suppose it was? To go out coasting? No.
To go to visit her little friend Nellie? No.