In the great green woods around us,
Free from care, she loves to play,
Never fear can touch our treasure,
Little May.

There she watches, lightly tripping,
Hunts the moth and lizard grey,
Nimble fingers, nimbler feet has
Little May.

Quick they must be to escape her,
Quick to speed their onward way,
Or her dimpled hands will clutch them,
Little May.

Sullen Norway looked its brightest,
On one lovely summer's day,
When she wooed the early sunning,
Little May.

All around the dewy flowers
Sparkling in the sunlight lay,

And she pulled them up by handfuls,
Little May.

Now a butterfly flits by her,

Decked with eyes and colours gay,
And she longs to catch the treasure,
Little May.

Swiftly through the tangled thicket,
Heedless from her home to stray,
She pursues the painted beauty,
Little May.

Deeper, deeper in the forest,
Further from her home away;

Oh! when wilt thou stay thy wand'ring,
Little May?

Soon we missed her from our cottage,
Missed her where she loved to play,
Vainly called, and vainly sought for
Little May.

Lost amid that mighty forest,
Now with none to show the way;
Can you find the home you fled from,
Little May?

All that morn in vain we sought her,
Sought her all the livelong day,
Late into the evening sought her,
Little May.

When the pine tree summits glittered
With the evening's golden ray,

Still we sought, though nigh despairing,
Little May.

Then at length we stopped to listen—

Why we did it, who can say—

Heard the sound of childish laughter,
Little May.

Yes, we knew her gentle accents,
Hurried then our flagging way,

Pushed aside the boughs, and saw our
Little May.

On a verdant plot reclining,

At his length a brown bear lay,
Near him stood in mirthful pleasure
Little May.

Garlands she had wreathed about him,
Placing, in her childish way,

One upon his shaggy forehead,
Little May.

With her dimpled hand she stroked him,
Pulled his ears in gentle play,

Called him Pretty Bear, and kissed him,
Little May.

Then she saw us, cried, "O father,
I'm so glad you're come; but say,
Does not the poor bear look pretty?"
Little May.

Like a shadow, all our terror,

All our sorrow fled away;

You had tamed the savage monster,

Little May.

E. N. N.

EVENING XV.

DOGS.

Alice. Now, Edmund, we are to have dogs tonight.

Edmund. More shame for you not to have had them before.

Aunt C. Strange to say, much as dogs are loved, I do not find so many interesting verses about them as some other far less favourite animals; and those that exist are chiefly melancholy-either the faithful dog or his master dying.

Edmund. I shall go, if you read anything doleful.

Aunt C. Will you listen to this fearful tragedy, then, of a dog and a rabbit? It is from Little Folks, for February, 1880.

THE ADVENTURES OF A SKYE-TERRIER AND A RABBIT.

It was a fluffy rabbit;

It had a horrid stare;

Cluas saw it on the table,

And said, "How came you there?"

Young Cluas was a petted dog,

A petted dog was he;

And he said, "No love shall come between
My master dear and me."

His master was a boy named Ned;

And he went to the fair,

And bought a fine morocco ball

And the fluffy rabbit there.

Then Cluas pricked his ears and growled ;

His eyes were all aflame;

He spied a string, the which he jerked,
And down the rabbit came.

And motionless poor Bunny sat

Upon the parlour floor,

And stared at Cluas, which enraged

Young Cluas more and more.

And Cluas howled and growled and barked;

But silent Bunny sat.

Said Cluas, "You provoke me more

Than even Spot, the cat.