"Alas! and alack!"

"We're all of a pack!

For no matter how we walk, Or what folk say to our face, our back Is sure to breed gossip and talk."

H. PYLE

[Ill.u.s.tration: A victim to Science. This is a full page ill.u.s.trated poem depicting the two physicians walking, the two finding the crow, and the crow feet up on the path as they continue to argue.]

A VICTIM TO SCIENCE

Th're were two wise physicians once, of glory and renown, Who went to take a little walk nigh famous Concord town.

Oh! very, very great and wise and learned men were they, And wise and learned was th'r talk, as they walked on th'r way.

And as they walked and talked and talked, they came to wh're they found A Crow as black as any hat, a-sitting on ye ground.

Ye Crow was very, very sick, as you may quickly see By just looking at ye picture th't is drawn h're by me.

Now wh'n ye doctors came to him they mended of th'r pace, And said one unto ye other, "H're's an interesting case, A case th't sh'ld be treated, and be treated speedily.

I have--yes, here it is--a pill th't has been made by me.

Now, I have had occasion--" Said ye other, "In most cases Your pills are excellently good, but h're, my friend, are traces Of a la.s.situde, a languor, th't your pills c'ld hardly aid; In short, they're rather violent for th's, I am afraid.

_I_ have a tincture--" Said ye first, "Your tincture cannot touch A case as difficult as th's, my pills are better much."

"Your pills, sir, are too violent." "Your tonic is too weak."

"As I have said, sir, in th's case--" "Permit me, sir, to speak."

And so they argued long and high, and on, and on, and on, Until they lost their tempers, and an hour or more had gone.

But long before their arguments ye question did decide, Ye Crow, not waiting for ye end, incontinently died.

YE MORAL

(_is apparent_.)

H. Pyle

[Ill.u.s.tration: Play & Earnest. This is a full page ill.u.s.trated poem depicting the wind in fairy form first playing with the tree and then as a tempest.]

PLAY & EARNEST

Over dewy hill and lea Merrily Rushed a mad-cap breeze at play, And the daisies, like the bright Stars at night, Danced and twinkled in its way.

Now, a tree called to the breeze, "Little breeze, Will you come and have a play?"

And the wind upon its way Stopped to play.

Then the leaves, with sudden s.h.i.+ver, Sudden quiver, Met the light Mad-cap breeze With delight.

Presently the breeze grew stronger, For it cared to play no longer.

So it flung the limbs about, And it tossed the leaves in rout, Till it roared, as though with thunder.

Then the poor tree groaned and bent, And the breeze,--a tempest,--rent Leaves and branches from its crowns Till, at last, it flung it down, Stripped, and bare, and torn asunder.

H. Pyle

[Ill.u.s.tration: The accident of birth. This is a full page ill.u.s.trated poem with pictures of: "Ye King" praying, "Ye Saint" holding the baby with stork standing by, "Ye Stork" with baby in flight, and "Ye Cobbler"

at work.]

THE ACCIDENT OF BIRTH.

_Saint Nicholas_ used to send, so I am told, All new-born babes by storks, in days of old.

1 King Friedrich Max of Stultzenmannenkim, For many years unto the Saint did pray, That he would send unto his Queen and him, A baby boy, to be the King some day.

At last the Saint the King's pet.i.tion heard, And called to him a sober long-legged bird.

2 Quoth he, "Good Wilhelm Stork (such was its name), Here is a baby boy to take away.

It is for Fritz; so bear him to the same, Or rather to his Queen, without delay.

For one grows weary when one always hears The same words daily dinning in one's ears."

3 Now Wilhelm Stork was old, and dull of wits, For age not always sharpens wisdom much, So what does he but bear the gift to Fritz The cobbler, who had half a score of such.

And so the baby, through a blunder, pa.s.sed From being first of all, unto--_ye last_.

4 From this I gather that a new-born Prince, From new-born cobbler's somewhat hard to know, For which of us could tell the difference, since One thus experienced was mistaken so?

Also, perhaps, _I_ should be great, instead Of writing thus, to earn my daily bread.

H.P. MDCCCLx.x.xIII

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CLEVER PETER & THE TWO BOTTLES

"Yes, Peter is clever." So said his mother; but then every goose thinks her own gosling a swan.

The minister and all of the people of the village said Peter was but a dull block. Maybe Peter _was_ a fool; but, as the old saying goes, never a fool tumbles out of the tree but he lights on his toes. So now you shall hear how that Peter sold his two baskets of eggs for more than you or I could do, wise as we be.

"Peter," said his mother.

"Yes," said Peter, for he was well brought up, and always answered when he was spoken to.

"My dear little child, thou art wise, though so young now; how shall we get money to pay our rent?"

"Sell the eggs that the speckled hen has laid," said Peter.

"But when we have spent the money for them, what then?"

"Sell more eggs," said Peter, for he had an answer for everything.

"But when the speckled hen lays no more eggs, what shall we do then?"