Willy, Willy Wilkin Kissed the maids a-milking, Fa, la, la! And with his merry daffing, He set them all a-laughing, Ha, ha, ha! _Thirty Days Hath September._ Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November; February has twenty-eight alone, All the rest have thirty-one, Excepting leap-year—that’s the time When February’s days are twenty-nine. _Come, Dance a Jig._ Come, dance a jig To my granny’s pig, With a raudy, rowdy, dowdy; Come, dance a jig To my granny’s pig, And pussy-cat shall crowdy. _March Winds._ March winds and April showers Bring forth many flowers. [Illustration: IT TAKES TWO TO MAKE A QUARREL] THE FROG AND THE OX. “Oh, father,” said a little frog to a big frog, sitting by the side of a pool, “I have seen such a terrible monster! It was as big as a mountain, with horns on its head. It had a long tail, and hoofs divided in two.” “Tush, child, tush,” said the old frog, “that was only Farmer White’s ox. I can easily make myself as big; just you see.” And he blew himself out. “Was he as big as that?” he asked. “Oh, much bigger than that,” said the young frog. Again the old frog blew himself out, and asked the young one if the ox was as big. “Bigger, father,” was the reply, “much bigger.” Then the old frog took a very deep breath, and blew and swelled, and swelled and blew—until he burst! [Illustration] Chippy, chippy, chirio, Chippy, chippy, chirio, Not a man in Dario, Can catch a chippy, chippy chirio. —_John Burroughs._ A CHILD’S LAUGHTER. [Illustration] All the bells of heaven may ring, All the birds of heaven may sing, All the wells on earth may spring, All the winds on earth may bring All sweet sounds together; Sweeter far than all things heard, Hand of harper, tone of bird, Sound of woods at sundown stirred, Welling water’s winsome word, Wind in warm, wan weather. One thing yet there is that none Hearing, ere its chime be done, Knows not well the sweetest one Heard of man beneath the sun, Hoped in heaven hereafter; Soft and strong and loud and light, Very sound of very light, Heard from morning’s rosiest height, When the soul of all delight Fills a child’s clear laughter. Golden bells of welcome rolled Never forth such note, nor told Hours so blithe in tones so bold, As the radiant month of gold Here that rings forth heaven. If the golden-crested wren Were a nightingale—why, then Something seen and heard of men Might be half as sweet as when Laughs a child of seven. —_Algernon Charles Swinburne._ THE BOY AND THE SHEEP.