“What matters it how far we go?” his scaly friend replied, “There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.” The further off from England, the nearer is to France— Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance. Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance? Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance? —_Lewis Carroll._ THE TAX-GATHERER. “And pray, who are you?” Said the violet blue To the Bee, with surprise At his wonderful size, In her eye-glass of dew. “I, madam,” quoth he, “Am a publican Bee, Collecting the tax Of honey and wax. Have you nothing for me?” —_John B. Tabb._ [Illustration] THE BAREFOOT BOY. [Illustration] Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy with cheek of tan! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lips, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brims jaunty grace: From my heart I give thee joy— I was once a barefoot boy! Prince thou art—the grown-up man Only is republican. Let the million-dollared ride! Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy In the reach of ear and eye— Outward sunshine, inward joy: Blessings on thee, barefoot boy! O, for boyhood’s painless play, Sleep that wakes in laughing day, Health that mocks the doctor’s rules, Knowledge never learned of schools, Of the wild bees’ morning chase, Of the wild-flower’s time and place, Flight of fowl and habitude Of the tenants of the wood; How the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell And the ground-mole sinks his well; How the robin feeds her young, How the oriole’s nest is hung; Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries grow, Where the groundnut trails its vine, Where the wood-grapes’ clusters shine; Of the black wasp’s cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans! For eschewing books and tasks, Nature answers all he asks; Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy— Blessings on the barefoot boy.