PETER.--Why, when I think of it now, it makes me quite vexed; I went into the garden, just to look about To see, if the green peas were ready, or the scarlet-lychnis come out; And there, what should I clap my eyes on but the old sow, And seven little pigs, making a pretty row! And of all places in the world, as if for very spite, They had gone into my garden, and spoiled and ruined it quite! The old sow, she had grubbed up my rosemary and old-man by the root, And my phlox and my sunflowers, and my hollyhocks that were as black as soot; And every flower that I set store on was ruined for ever; I never was so mortified in all my life--never! ZEDEKIAH.--You sent them off, I should think, with a famous swither! PETER.--Grunting and tumbling one over the other, I cared not whither. Well, as I was just then standing, grieving over the ruin, I heard Thomas call, “Master Peter, come and see what the rats have been doing-- They’ve eaten all the guinea-pigs’ heads off!” ZEDEKIAH.--Oh, Peter, was it true? PETER.--Away I ran, not knowing what in the world to do!-- And there--I declare it makes me quite shudder to the bone-- Lay all my pretty little guinea-pigs as dead as a stone! “It’s no matter of use,” says Thomas, “setting traps; for you see They no more care for a trap, than I do for a pea; I’ll lay my life on’t, there are twenty rats now down in that hole, And we can no more reach ’em, than an underground mole!” I declare, Zedekiah, I never passed such a day before--not I; It makes me quite low-spirited, till I’m ready to cry. All those pretty guinea-pigs! and I’ve nothing left at all, Only the hawk, and I’ve just set his cage on the wall. ZEDEKIAH.--Hush! hush, now! for Thomas is saying something there, PETER.--What d’ye say, Thomas? THOMAS.--The hawk’s soaring in the air! The cage-door was open, and he’s flown clean away! PETER.--There now, Zedekiah, is it not an unfortunate day? I’ve lost all my favourites--I’ve nothing left at all, And my garden is spoiled, and I’ve had such a dreadful fall! I wish I had been up this morning as early as the sun, And then I should have gone to Canonley, nor have had all this mischief done! I’m sure its quite enough to make me cry for a year-- Let’s go into the house, Zedekiah; what’s the use of sitting here? THE YOUNG MOURNER. Leaving her sports, in pensive tone, ’Twas thus a fair young mourner said, “How sad we are now we’re alone,-- I wish my mother were not dead! “I can remember she was fair; And how she kindly looked and smiled, When she would fondly stroke my hair, And call me her beloved child. “Before my mother went away, You never sighed as now you do; You used to join us at our play, And be our merriest playmate too.