o was the Sparrow,
Who fetched in a hurry
His bow and his arrow.

His aim then he took,
But he took it not right,
His skill was not good,
Or he shot in a fright;

For the Cuckoo he missed,
But Cock Robin he killed!
And all the birds mourned
That his blood was so spilled.

Yet another song of the Robin which has moistened the eyes of many a
youthful vocalist. I don't know that it ever had a title, but we will
call it

THE NORTH WIND.

The North wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will the Robin do then, poor thing?

He will sit in the barn,
And keep himself warm,
With his little head under his wing, poor thing!

It is not claimed for these pieces that they belong to any high order of
verse--though really, in more senses than one, they belong to the very
first. In point of popularity alone, they are not surpassed by "Paradise
Lost," nor by the plays of Shakespeare, or the songs of Burns. Then,
they have so thoroughly commanded the interest and engaged the
affections of the wee folks, that, with old and young alike--for the
young so soon grow into the old, alas!--there are no compositions in
the world better secured for the honour and glory of immortal fame. They
have not been very often printed, I have said--not often in recent
years, at least--and the reason, I suppose, is because it was not deemed
necessary to set out in print what everybody knows so well by heart. It
must be refreshing for the eye, however, to scan what is so familiar to
the ear, and I make no apology--yea, I hope to be thanked for their
appearance in this little book for bairns and big folk. Let the next be

LITTLE BO-PEEP.

Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep,
And doesn't know where to find them;
Let them alone, and they'll come home,
Bringing their tails behind them.

Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep.
And dreamt she heard them bleating;
But when she awoke, she found it a joke,
For still they all were fleeting.

Then up she took her little crook,
Determined for to find them;
She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed.
For they'd left their tails behind them.

It happen'd one day, as Bo-peep did stray
Under a meadow hard by,
That she espied their tails, side by side,
All hung on a tree to dry.

She heaved a sigh, and wiped her eye,
And over the hillocks went stump