've galloped madly home
He is not wet or flecked with foam.

He does not plunge against the rein,
Nor take a ditch nor clear a rail.
He does not toss his flowing mane,
He does not even switch his tail.
Oh, well, he does his best, of course;
He's nothing but a hobby-horse!

NANCY BYRD TURNER.

MAY-TIME

Sing a song of May-time,
And picnics in the park.
Such a happy playtime!
Birds are singing--hark!
Bluebird calls to bluebird,
Robins chirp between,
And little lads and lasses
Are dancing on the green.

Marigolds are golden
All along the brooks.
Violets are peeping
In the shady nooks.
Out into the fields now!
Choose your happy queen;
For all the lads and lasses
Are dancing on the green.

HANNAH G. FERNALD.

BOOKS

My father's books are made of words,
As long and hard as words can be,
They look so very dull to me!
No pictures there of beasts and birds,
Of dear Miss Muffet eating curds,
And things a child would like to see.

My books have pictures, large and small,
Some brightly colored, some just plain,
I look them through and through again.
Friends from their pages seem to call,
Jack climbs his bean-stalk thick and tall,
I know he will not climb in vain.

Here comes Red-Riding-Hood, and here
The Sleeping Beauty lies in state,
The prince will come ere 'tis too late!
And this is Cinderella dear.
The godmother will soon appear
And send her to her happy fate.

Oh, father's books are very wise,
As wise as any books can be!
Yet he wants stories, I can see;
For really, it's a great surprise
How many picture-books he buys,
And reads the fairy tales to me!

HANNAH G. FERNALD.

THE LITTLE BOOK PEOPLE

At half past eight I say "good night" and snuggle up in bed.
I'm never lonely, for it's then I hear the gentle tread
Of all the tiny book people. They come to visit me,
And lean above my pillow just as friendly as can be!
Sometimes they cling against the wall or dance about in air.
I never hear them speak a word, but I can see them there.
When Cinderella comes she smiles with happy, loving eyes,
And makes a funny nod at me when she the slipper tries.
Dear Peter Pan flies in and out. I see his shadow, too,
And often see his little house and all his pirate crew.
I think they know I love them and that's why they come at night,
Whe