ANON.

* * * * *

AN INSECT.

    Only an insect; yet I know
    It felt the sunlight’s golden glow,
    And the sweet morning made it glad
    With all the little heart it had.

    It saw the shadows move; it knew
    The grass-blades glittered, wet with dew;
    And gayly o’er the ground it went;
    It had its fulness of content.

    Some dainty morsel then it spied,
    And for the treasure turned aside;
    Then, laden with its little spoil,
    Back to its nest began to toil.

    An insect formed of larger frame,
    Called man, along the pathway came. 
    A ruthless foot aside he thrust,
    And ground the beetle in the dust.

    Perchance no living being missed
    The life that there ceased to exist;
    Perchance the passive creature knew
    No wrong, nor felt the deed undue;

    Yet its small share of life was given
    By the same hand that orders heaven. 
    ’Twas for no other power to say,
    Or should it go or should it stay.

ANON.

* * * * *

THE CHIPMUNK.

    I know an old couple that lived in a wood—­
      Chipperee, chipperee, chip! 
    And up in a tree-top their dwelling it stood—­
      Chipperee, chipperee, chip! 
    The summer it came, and the summer it went—­
      Chipperee, chipperee, chip! 
    And there they lived on, and they never paid rent—­
      Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

    Their parlor was lined with the softest of wool—­
      Chipperee, chipperee, chip! 
    Their kitchen was warm, and their pantry was full—­
      Chipperee, chipperee, chip! 
    And four little babies peeped out at the sky—­
      Chipperee, chipperee, chip! 
    You never saw darlings so pretty and shy—­
      Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

    Now winter came on with its frost and its snow—­
      Chipperee, chipperee, chip! 
    They cared not a bit when they heard the wind blow—­
      Chipperee, chipperee, chip! 
    For, wrapped in their furs, they all lay down to sleep—­
      Chipperee, chipperee, chip! 
    But oh, in the spring, how their bright eyes will peep—­
      Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

UNKNOWN.

* * * * *

MOUNTAIN AND SQUIRREL.

    The mountain and the squirrel
    Had a quarrel;
    And the former called the latter “Little Prig.” 
    Bun replied,
    “You are doubtless very big;
    But all sorts of things and weather
    Must be taken in together
    To make up a year
    And a sphere;
    And I think it no disgrace
    To occupy my place. 
    If I’m not so large as you,
    You are not so small as I,
    And not half so spry. 
    I’ll not deny you make
    A very pretty squirrel track. 
    Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;
    If I cannot carry forests on my back,
    Neither can you crack a nut.”