_The Fairies' Shopping_

Where do you think the Fairies go To buy their blankets ere the snow?

When Autumn comes, with frosty days The sorry shivering little Fays

Begin to think it's time to creep Down to their caves for Winter sleep.

But first they come from far and near To buy, where shops are not too dear.

(The wind and frost bring prices down, So Fall's their time to come to town!)

Where on the hill-side rough and steep Browse all day long the cows and sheep,

The mullein's yellow candles burn Over the heads of dry sweet fern:

All summer long the mullein weaves His soft and thick and woolly leaves.

Warmer blankets were never seen Than these broad leaves of fuzzy green--

(The cost of each is but a shekel Made from the gold of honeysuckle!)

To buy their sheets and fine white lace (With which to trim a pillow-case),

They only have to go next door, Where stands a sleek brown spider's store,

And there they find the misty threads Ready to cut into sheets and spreads;

Then for a pillow, pluck with care Some soft-winged seeds as light as air;

Just what they want the thistle brings, But thistles are such surly things--

And so, though it is somewhat high, The clematis the Fairies buy.

The only bedsteads that they need Are silky pods of ripe milk-weed,

With hangings of the dearest things-- Autumn leaves, or b.u.t.terflies' wings!

And dandelions' fuzzy heads They use to stuff their feather beds;

And yellow snapdragons supply The nightcaps that the Fairies buy,

To which some blades of gra.s.s they pin, And tie them 'neath each little chin.

Then, shopping done, the Fairies cry, "Our Summer's gone! oh sweet, good-bye!"

And sadly to their caves they go, To hide away from Winter's snow--

And then, though winds and storms may beat, The Fairies' sleep is warm and sweet!

Margaret Deland.

_Fable_

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!"

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

_A Midsummer Song_

Oh, father's gone to market-town: he was up before the day, And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay, And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill, While mother from the kitchen-door is calling with a will, "Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!

Oh, where's Polly?"

From all the misty morning air there comes a summer sound, A murmur as of waters, from skies and trees and ground.

The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo; And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo: "Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!

Oh, where's Polly?"

Above the trees, the honey-bees swarm by with buzz and boom, And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom.

Within the farmer's meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows, And down at the edge of the hollow a red and th.o.r.n.y rose.

But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!

Oh, where's Polly?

How strange at such a time of day the mill should stop its clatter!

The farmer's wife is listening now, and wonders what's the matter.

Oh, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill, While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill.

But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!

Oh, where's Polly!

Richard Watson Gilder.

_The Fairies of the Caldon-Low_