We each took one, It did seem such excellent fun! Susan fed hers on milk and bread, Jem got wriggling worms for his instead. I gave mine meat, For, you know, I thought, "Poor darling pet! why shouldn't it have roast beef to eat?" But, oh dear! oh dear! oh dear! how we cried When in spite of milk and bread and worms and roast beef, the little birds died! It's a terrible thing to have heart-ache, I thought mine would break As I heard the mother-bird's moan, And looked at the grey-green, moss-coated, feather-lined nest she had taken such pains to make, And her three little children dead, and as cold as stone. Mother said, and it's sadly true, "There are some wrong things one can never undo." And nothing that we could do or say Would bring life back to the birds that day. The bitterest tears that we could weep Wouldn't wake them out of their stiff cold sleep. But then, We--Susan and Jem and I--mean never to be so selfish, and wilful, and cruel again. And we three have buried those other three In a soft, green, moss-covered, flower-lined grave at the foot of the willow tree. And all the leaves which its branches shed We think are tears because they are dead. DOLLY'S LULLABY. A NURSERY RHYME Hush-a-by, Baby! _Your_ baby, Mamma, No one but pussy may go where you are; Soft-footed pussy alone may pass by, For, if he wakens, your baby will cry. Hush-a-by, Dolly! My baby are you, Yellow-haired Dolly, with eyes of bright blue; Though I say "Hush!" because Mother does so, You wouldn't cry like her baby, I know! Hush-a-by, Baby! Mamma walks about, Sings to you softly, or rocks you without; If you slept sounder, then I might walk too, Sing to my Dolly, and rock her like you! Hush-a-by Dolly! Sleep sweetly, my pet! Dear Mamma made you this fine berceaunette, Muslin and rose-colour, ribbon and lace; When had a baby a cosier place? Hush-a-by, Baby! the baby who cries. Why, dear Mamma, don't you shut baby's eyes? Pull down his wire, as I do, you see; Lay him by Dolly, and come out with me. Hush-a-by, Dolly! Mamma will not speak; You, my dear baby, would sleep for a week. Poor Mamma's baby allows her no rest, Hush-a-by, Dolly, of babies the best! [Illustration] A HERO TO HIS HOBBY-HORSE. Hear me now, my hobby-horse, my steed of prancing paces! Time is it that you and I won something more than races. I have got a fine cocked hat, with feathers proudly waving; Out into the world we'll go, both death and danger braving.