Unseen I would come where the tired ants tug At a heavy slug, With my rye-beard lance I'd push it along, And they'd think, "All at once we are wondrous strong!" In the nest of the robin, under the eaves Of the apple-leaves, I'd drop a worm in the gaping throats That answer my chirp of the mother's notes. When bonny Miss Harebell thirsts in vain For a drop of rain, I would fill at the brook my shining cap, And lay it all dripping in her lap. Oh, what would I do as a fairy small? I cannot tell all; But I would do much with a right good will: To all things good, and to nothing ill. And I'd laugh and skip, like a bird on wing, Twitter and sing, And make boys and girls, and birds and flowers, All say, "What a lovely world is ours!" Well, what if I am not quite so small? I can do it all In my own sweet home by the same good will, No fairy, but something nobler still. GEORGE S. BURLEIGH. [Illustration: If I Were a Fairy.] A CHILD FASCINATING BIRDS. [Illustration: A Child Fascinating Birds.] There is a little girl in Ohio, five years old, who has the power of charming birds at will. Her mother was the first to notice the exercise of this strange power. The little Girl was playing in the yard where some snowbirds were hopping about. When she spoke to them, they would come, twittering with glee, and light upon her shoulders. On her taking them in her hands and stroking them, the birds did not care to get away. They seemed to be highly pleased, and, when let loose, would fly a short distance, and soon return to the child again. She took several of them into the house to show to her mother. The mother, thinking the little girl might hurt the birds, put them out of doors. But the little birds were not to be cheated in this way. No sooner was the door opened than they flew into the room again, and alighted upon the girl's head, and began to chirp. The birds staid about the house all winter. Whenever the door was opened, they would fly to the little girl. The parents feared that this might be a bad omen, and that the little girl would die. But she kept her health, and did not die. She still makes pets of the birds, and they come and play with her. She handles them so gently, that even a humming-bird has been known to come to her several times. Last winter a whole flock of birds kept near the house all the season. She would feed them, and then play with them for hours at a time. Every morning the birds would fly to her window, and chirp, as much as to say, "Good-morning, little mistress! Wake up, wake up!" I think the child must be a near relation of that "Little Bell," of whom the poet Westwood sang,--