LITTLE BELL.

FROM "BERRIES AND BLOSSOMS."

Piped the Blackbird on the beechwood spray'Pretty maid, slow wandering this way,

What's your name?" quoth he

"What's your name? Oh! stop and straight unfold, Pretty maid, with showery curls of gold!" "Little Bell" said she.

Little Bell sat down beneath the rocksTossed aside her gleaming golden locks"Bonny bird?" quoth she

'Sing me your best song before I go." "Here's the very finest song I know, Little Bell," said he.

And the Blackbird piped-you never heard
Half so gay a song from any bird-
Full of quips and wiles,

Now so round and rich, now soft and slow,
All for love of that sweet face below,

Dimpled o'er with smiles.

Down the dell she tripped, and through the glade,— Peeped the Squirrel from the hazel shade,

And from out the tree

Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of fearWhile bold Blackbird piped, that all might hear— "Little Bell," piped he.

Little Bell sat down amid the fern-
Squirrel, Squirrel, to your task return-
"Bring me nuts!" quoth she.
Up, away! the frisky Squirrel hies-
Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes,—
And, adown the tree,

Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun,
In the little lap, drop, one by one-
Hark how Blackbird pipes to see the fun!
"Happy Bell," pipes he.

Little Bell looked up and down the glade,--
"Squirrel, Squirrel, from the nut-tree shade,
Bonny Blackbird, if you're not afraid

Come and share with me!"

Down came Squirrel, eager for his fare,
Down came bonny Blackbird, I declare,
Little Bell gave each his honest share-
Ah! the merry three!

2. Westwood.

TRUE STORY OF WEB-SPINNER. Web-Spinner was a miser old,

Who came of low degree;

His body was large, his legs were thin,
And he kept bad company;
And his visage had the evil look
Of a black felon grim;

To all the country he was known,
But none spoke well of him.
His house was seven stories high,
In a corner of the street,
And it always had a dirty look,

When other homes were neat;
Up in his garret dark he lived,
And from the windows high
Looked out in the dusky evening
Upon the passers by.

Most people thought he lived alone;
Yet many have averred,

That dismal cries from out his house
Were often loudly heard;

And that none living left his gate,
Although a few went in,

For he seized the very beggar old,
And stripped him to the skin;
And though he prayed for mercy,
Yet mercy ne'er was shown-
The miser cut his body up,

And picked him bone from bone.
Thus people said, and all believed
The dismal story true;

As it was told to me, in truth,
I tell it so to you.

There was an ancient widow

One Madgy de la Moth,

A stranger to the man, or she

Had ne'er gone there, in troth;

But she was poor, and wandered out

At nightfall in the street,

To beg from rich men's tables

Dry scraps of broken meat.

So she knocked at old Web-Spinner's door, With a modest tap, and low,

And down stairs came he speedily,

Like an arrow from a bow.

"Walk in, walk in, mother!" said he,

And shut the door behind

She thought for such a gentleman,
That he was wondrous kind;

But ere the midnight clock had tolled,
Like a tiger of the wood,

He had eaten the flesh from off her bones,
And drank of her heart's blood!

Now after this fell deed was done,
A little season's space,
The burly Baron of Bluebottle
Was riding from the chase:

The sport was dull, the day was hot
The sun was sinking down,
When wearily the Baron rode
Into the dusty town.

Says he, "I'll ask a lodging

At the first house I come to;"
With that the gate of Web-Spinner
Came suddenly in view:

Loud was the knock the Baron gave-
Down came the churl with glee,
Says Bluebottle, "Good sir, to-night
I ask your courtesy;

I'm wearied with a long day's chase-
My friends are far behind."

"You may need them all," said Web-spinner, "It runneth in my mind."

"A Baron am I," said Bluebottle;

"From a foreign land I come."

"I thought as much," said Web-Spinner, "Fools never stay at home!"

Says the Baron, "Churl, what meaneth this?

I defy ye, villain base!"

And he wished the while in his inmost heart
He was safely from the place.

Web-Spinner ran and locked the door,
And a loud laugh laughed he;
With that each one on the other sprang,
And they wrestled furiously.

The Baron was a man of might,

A swordsman of renown;

But the miser had the stronger arm,

And kept the Baron down:

Then out he took a little cord,

From a pocket at his side,

And with many a crafty, cruel knot
His hands and feet he tied;

And bound him down unto the floor.

And said in savage jest,

"There's heavy work in store for you;
So, Baron, take your rest!"

Then up and down his house he went,
Arranging dish and platter,

With a dull and heavy countenance,
As if nothing were the matter.
At length he seized on Bluebottle,
That strong and burly man,

And with many and many a desperate tug,
To hoist him up began:

And step by step, and step by step,

He went with heavy tread;

But ere he reached the garret door,
Poor Bluebottle was dead!

Now all this while, a Magistrate,
Who lived the house hard by,
Had watched Web-Spinner's cruelty
Through a window privily:

So in he bursts, through bolts and bars,
With a loud and thundering sound,
And vowed to burn the house with fire,
And level it with the ground;

But the wicked churl, who all his life
Had looked for such a day,

Passed through a trap-door in the wall,
And took himself away:

But where he went no man could tell;
"Twas said that underground,

He died a miserable death,

But his body ne'er was found.

They pulled his house down stick and stone,-
"For a caitiff vile as he,'

Said they, "within our quiet town

Shall not a dweller be!"

Mary Howitt.

Mrs. Howitt adds in a note-"The actions of the Spider above described were told me by a very intelligent man, who permitted the web to remain for a considerable time in his counting-house window, that he might have the means of closely observing its occupier's way of life. The web was, as described above under the semblance of a dwelling-house, seven stories high, and in each story was a small circular hole by which the spider ascended and descended at pleasure; serving, in fact, all the purposes of a staircase. His usual abode was in his seventh, or garret story, where he sat in a sullen sort of patience waiting for his prey. The small downywinged moth was soon taken; she was weak, and made but little resistance, and was always eaten on the spot. His behaviour towards a heavy and noisy bluebottle-fly was exactly as related. The fly seemed bold and insolent; and hurled himself, as if in defiance, against the abode of his enemy. The spider descended in great haste, and stood before him, when an angry

parley seemed to take place. The bluebottle appeared highly affronted, and plunged about like a wild horse; but his efforts were generally unsuccessful; the spider, watching an unguarded moment, darted behind him, and falling upon him with all his force, drew a fine thread from his side, with which he so completely entangled his prostrate victim, that it was impossible he could move leg or wing. The spider then set about making preparations for the feast, which, for reasons best known to himself, he chose to enjoy in his upper story. The staircase, which would admit his body, was too strait for that of his victim; he accordingly set about enlarging it with a delicate pair of shears with which his head was furnished, and then, with great adroitness, he hoisted the almost exhausted Bluebottle to the top of his dwelling, where he fell upon him with every token of satisfaction."

TO A LADY-BIRD IN THE HOUSE.

Oh! lady-bird, lady-bird, why do you roam
So far from your children, so far from your home?
Why do you, who can revel all day in the air,

And the sweets of the grove and the garden can share,
In the fold of a leaf who can find a green bower,
And a palace enjoy in the tube of a flower,-
Ah! why, simple lady-bird, why do you venture
The dwellings of men so familiar to enter?
Too soon you may find that your trust is misplaced,
When by some cruel child you are wantonly chased;
And your bright scarlet coat, so bespotted with black,
Is torn by his barbarous hands from your back:
Ah! then you'll regret you were tempted to rove
From the tall climbing hop, or the hazel's thick grove,
And will fondly remember each arbour and tree,
Where lately you wandered contented and free:-
Then fly, simple lady-bird!-fly away home,

No more from your nest and your children to roam.
Charlotte Smith.

WATER AND WINE.

FROM THE GERMAN.

Said Wine to Water, So fine I be,
They carry me far over land and sea,
They call me both porto and sherry,
I cause every heart to be merry.
Then answer'd Water, So fine I be,
Round the wide world I wander free;
Look where by the mill I am winding,
'Tis I set the mill-stone a grinding.