And so, as all tired people do,
  They’ve gone to lay their sleepy heads
  Deep, deep in warm and happy beds. 
  The sun has shut his golden eye,
  And gone to sleep beneath the sky;
  The birds, and butterflies, and bees
  Have all crept into flowers and trees,
  And all lie quiet, still as mice,
  Till morning comes, like father’s voice. 
  So Phyllis, Owen, Geoffrey, you
  Must sleep away till morning too;
  Close little eyes, lie down little heads,
  And sleep, sleep, sleep in happy beds.

As the Reader has not been afflicted with a great deal of verse in these pages, I shall also venture to copy here another little song which, as his brains have grown older, George has been fond of singing to them at bedtime, and with which the Reader is not likely to have enjoyed a previous acquaintance:—­

  REST.[1]

  When the Sun and the Golden Day
  Hand in hand are gone away,
  At your door shall Sleep and Night
  Come and knock in the fair twilight;
      Let them in, twin travellers blest;
      Each shall be an honoured guest,
      And give you rest.

  They shall tell of the stars and moon,
  And their lips shall move to a glad sweet tune,
  Till upon your cool, white bed
  Fall at last your nodding head;
      Then in dreamland fair and blest,
      Farther off than East and West,
      They give you rest.

  Night and Sleep, that goodly twain,
  Tho’ they go, shall come again;
  When your work and play are done,
  And the Sun and Day are gone
      Hand in hand thro’ the scarlet West,
      Each shall come, an honoured guest,
      And bring you rest.

  Watching at your window-sill,
  If upon the Eastern hill
  Sun and Day come back no more,
  They shall lead you from the door
      To their kingdom calm and blest,
      Farther off than East or West,
      And give you rest.

Arriving down to breakfast earlier than expected next morning, we discovered George busy at some more of his loving ingenuity.  He half blushed in his shy way, but went on writing in this wise, with chalk, upon a small blackboard:  ’Thursday—­Thor’s-day—­Jack the Giant Killer’s day’.  Then, in one corner of the board, a sun was rising with a merry face and flaming locks, and beneath him was written, ’Phoebus-Apollo’; while in the other corner was a setting moon, ’Lady Cynthia.  There were other quaint matters, too, though they have escaped my memory; but these hints are sufficient to indicate George’s morning occupation.  Thus he endeavoured to implant in the young minds he felt so sacred a trust an ever-present impression of the full significance of life in every one of its details.  The days of the week should mean for them what they did mean, should come with a veritable personality, such as the sun and the moon