THE WATER WAGTAIL. THE smallest bird that walks am I, You know me by my wagging tail, And my piercing round black eye;

Through frost, through snow, through rain or hail, I stay here all the Winter through, And that is more than some birds do.

Where water is, there you'll find me,
For insects are in plenty there;
And no bird can them sooner see.
The coldest day in all the year
I can contrive to find a meal,
When the black frost cuts like steel.

You never see me "hop, hop, hop,"
As if my legs were tied together,
But one foot at a time I drop,

As if I wore real patent leather.
I stride out like a grenadier,

Right, left, quick march, and I am here.

I often peck about a pump,

And laugh to see the birds hop round;
Like men tied in a sack they jump,

With both their stiff legs off the ground,
Whilst I step out with my one, two,
And time my steps as well as you.

We Wagtails oft turn out for drill,
And are put in the awkward squad
If we do our duty ill;

“Eyes right, toes out, heels in, my lad,” Is our old drill-sergeant's cry,

And if we don't keep time, oh my!

Won't he in a passion fly!

M

MABEL ON MIDSUMMER-DAY.

PART I.

ARISE, my maiden, Mabel,"
The mother said; "arise,
For the golden sun of Midsummer
Is shining in the skies.

"Arise, my little maiden,

For thou must speed away,
To wait upon thy grandmother,
This livelong summer day.

"And thou must carry with thee
This wheaten cake so fine,
This new-made pat of butter,

This little flask of wine.

"And tell the dear old body
This day I cannot come,

For the good man went out yestermorn,
And is not yet come home.

"And more than this, poor Amy
Upon my knee doth lie;

I fear me, with this fever-pain,
The little child will die.

"And thou canst help thy grandmother; The table thou canst spread;

Canst feed the little dog and bird;
And thou canst make her bed;

"And thou canst fetch the water
From the Lady-well hard by;

And thou canst gather from the wood
The fagots brown and dry;

66

Canst

go
down to the lonesome glen,
To milk the mother ewe:

This is the work, my Mabel,

That thou wilt have to do.

"But listen now, my Mabel, This is Midsummer-day,

When all the fairy people

From elf-land come away.

"And when thou'rt in the lonesome glen, Keep by the running burn,

And do not pluck the strawberry-flower, Nor break the lady-fern.

"But think not of the fairy folk,

Lest mischief should befall;

Think only of the Saviour,

And how He loves us all.

"Yet keep good heart, my Mabel,
If thou the fairies see,
And give them kindly answer,
If they should speak to thee.

"And when into the fir-wood
Thou goest for fagots brown,
Do not, like idle children,
Run wandering up and down.

“But fill thy little apron,

My child, with earnest speed;
And that thou break no living bough
Within the wood, take heed.

"For they are spiteful brownies
Who in the wood abide;

So be thou careful of this thing,
Lest evil should betide.