"BALLAD OF THE LOST HARE."
NOW all you Pansies who have grown too old to enjoy sweet cunning things written on purpose for five and six and seven-year-old Blossoms, may skip this article.
The gray-headed fathers and mothers, and the dear sweet grandmothers who never grow old, will enjoy it as much as the darlings themselves; but I am aware that there is an age somewhere between ten and sixteen when almost everything that the babies can enjoy is "too young!" All those are requested not to listen, while I tell about the "Ballad Of The Lost Hare." A big book, with a bright cover, and with a great many colored pictures large and bright, and with the cunningest little story running all through the book, about a poor little, dear little, naughty little hare.
Yes, I am going to copy just a bit of the introduction for you. Listen:
Far from wild, far from wood,
In a field rich and good;
Near to hill and winding glade,
Lived the naughtiest Hare, ever was made.
Father scolded, mother whipped,
But every day away he slipped.
Brothers three, and sisters two,
Cried and cried, as off he flew.
Sore-sore-sore was the sobbing,
Wild-wild-wild was his race;
Only the woods to echo his footsteps,
Only the winds his hiding place.
After the introduction, come the stories of his adventures; and the pictures of them. Oh! but you would be so sorry for him if you could see the cow, and the goat, and the pony that scared him nearly out of his small wits!
And then the conclusion! Ah me, the sad ending of it all!
Do you suppose he wishes his home to see,
His sisters two, and his brothers three?
Would he like to lie down in his own little bed?
And does he recall what his father said?
