Harry can’t touch the peg,
      All he can do;
    Though he may stretch his leg
      Out of his shoe!

    What can we do for him? 
      This much, of course: 
    Let down the rider—­or
      Let down the horse.

    Many a hobby-horse
      Small boys must ride,
    Ere such a steed as this
      They can bestride

    So, little Harry dear,
      Don’t look so cross
    When you are taken down
      From a high horse.

Josephine Pollard.

CELEBRATING GRANDMOTHER’S BIRTHDAY.

There were three little sisters and one little brother; and their names were Emma, Ruth, Linda, and John.  And these children had a grandmother, whose seventieth birthday was near at hand.

“What shall we do to celebrate our dear grandmother’s birthday?” asked Emma, the eldest.

“Get some crackers and torpedoes, and fire them off,” said Johnny.

“Oh, that will never do!” cried Linda.  “Let us give her a serenade.”

“But we none of us sing well enough,” said Ruth; “and grandmother, you know, is a very good musician.  Let us do this:  Let us come to her as the ‘Four Seasons,’ and each one salute her with a verse.”

“Yes:  that’s a very pretty idea,” cried Linda.  “And I’ll be Spring; for they say my eyes are blue as violets.”

“Then I’ll be Summer,” cried Emma.  “I like summer best.”

“I’ll be Autumn,” said Johnny; “for, if there’s any thing I like, it is grapes.  Peaches, too, are not bad; and what fun it is to go a-nutting!”

“There’s but one season left for me,” said Ruth.  “I must be Winter.  No matter!  Winter has its joys as well as the rest.”

“But who’ll write the verses for us?” asked Emma.  “There must be a verse for every season.”

“Oh, the teacher will write them for us!” cried Ruth.  “No one could do it better.”

And so, on the morning of grandmother’s birthday, as she sat in her large armchair, with her own pussy on a stool at her side, the “Four Seasons” entered the room, one after another, and formed a semicircle in front of her.  Grandmother was not a bit frightened.  She smiled kindly; and then the “Seasons” spoke as follows:—­

[Illustration:  Celebrating Grandmother’s Birthday]

SPRING.

    I am the Spring:  with sunshine see me coming;
    Birds begin to twitter; hark! the bees are humming: 
    Green to field and hillside, blossoms to the tree,
    Joy to every human heart are what I bring with me.

SUMMER.

    See my wealth of flowers!  I’m the golden Summer: 
    Is there for the young or old a more welcome comer? 
    Come and scent the new-mown grass; by the hillside stray;
    And confess that only June brings the perfect day.