Enforced pursuit of silver eagles fleet Gave early haste to my reluctant feet, And so it chanced I hurried--I and Care-- At sunrise down a city thoroughfare; But by the grace of some directing fay I met a sight that gladdened me all day. I saw a beer-plump Saxon--Bacchus’ son-- His red, round face the symbol of slow fun; Unconscious he of all ’twixt sky and earth Except one soul-engrossing cause of mirth: He dragged a painted sled, and, perched thereon, Sat snug a three-years’ maiden, bright as dawn, And happy as the sparrows chirping round, Crumb-hunting near her on the snowy ground. A sudden turn! a laughing cry, and lo! The sled upsets, and Mädchen prints the snow. She laughs; I laugh; loud ha-ha’s Bacchus’ son;-- Then gravely he,--“By yolly! dot vas fun.” THE SCHOOL GIRL. From some sweet home the morning train Brings to the city, Five days a week, in sun or rain, Returning like a song’s refrain, A school girl pretty. A violet’s unaffected grace Is dainty miss’s, Yet, in her shy, expressive face, The touch of urban arts I trace, And artifices. No one but she and Heaven knows Of what she’s thinking; It may be either books or beaux, Fine scholarship or stylish clothes, Per cents or prinking. How happy must the household be This morn who kissed her; Not every one can make so free; Who sees her, inly wishes she Were his own sister. How favored is the book she cons, The slate she uses, The hat she lightly doffs and dons, The orient sunshade that she owns, The desk she chooses. Is she familiar with the wars Of Julius Caesar? Do crucibles, and Leyden jars, And Browning, and the moons of Mars, And Euclid, please her? She studies music, I opine; O day of knowledge! And other mysteries divine Of imitation or design, Taught in the college. A charm attends her everywhere, A sense of beauty; Care smiles to see her free of care; The hard heart loves her unaware; Age pays her duty. Her innocence is panoply, Her weakness, power; The earth her guardian, and the sky; God’s every star is her ally, And every flower. THE READERS. Come hither, my ten years’ maiden; O’er what do you ponder so much? “I am reading in Tanglewood Stories, The tale of the Golden Touch.” Ah! Hattie, my flax-haired darling, How buried in study you seem. “I am reading in Tales from Shakespeare, Of Puck in Midsummer Night’s Dream.” And there on the sofa is Mayo; My laddie, what pleases you so? “This picture and fable in Æsop,-- See here,--of the Pitcher and Crow.”