Graded Memory Selections. Various

stays so close beside me, he’s a coward, you can see;

      I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

      One morning, very early, before the sun was up,

      I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;

      But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,

      Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

      —Robert Louis Stevenson.

      QUITE LIKE A STOCKING.

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      Just as morn was fading amid her misty rings,

      And every stocking was stuffed with childhood’s precious things,

      Old Kris Kringle looked round and saw on the elm tree bough

      High hung, an oriole’s nest, lonely and empty now.

      “Quite like a stocking,” he laughed, “hung up there in the tree,

      I didn’t suppose the birds expected a visit from me.”

      Then old Kris Kringle who loves a joke as well as the best,

      Dropped a handful of snowflakes into the oriole’s empty nest.

      —Anon.

      THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT.

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      The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea

      In a beautiful pea-green boat;

      They took some honey, and plenty of money

      Wrapped up in a five-pound note.

      The Owl looked up to the moon above,

      And sang to a small guitar,

      “O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love!

      What a beautiful Pussy you are—

      You are,

      What a beautiful Pussy you are!”

      Pussy said to the owl, “You elegant fowl!

      How wonderfully sweet you sing!

      Oh, let us be married—too long we have tarried—

      But what shall we do for a ring?”

      They sailed away for a year and a day

      To the land where the Bong-tree grows,

      And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood

      With a ring in the end of his nose—

      His nose,

      With a ring in the end of his nose.

      “Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling

      Your ring?” Said the piggy, “I will.”

      So they took it away, and were married next day

      By the turkey who lives on the hill.

      They dined upon mince and slices of quince,

      Which they ate with a runcible spoon,

      And hand in hand on the edge of the sand

      They danced by the light of the moon—

      The moon,

      They danced by the light of the moon.

      —Edward Lear.

      FORGET-ME-NOT.

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      When to the flowers so beautiful the Father gave a name

      Back came a little blue-eyed one, all timidly it came;

      And, standing at the Father’s feet and gazing in His face

      It said, in low and trembling tones and with a modest grace,

      “Dear God, the name Thou gavest me, alas, I have forgot.”

      The Father kindly looked Him down and said, “Forget-me-not.”

      —Anon.

      WHO STOLE THE BIRD’S NEST.

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      “To-whit! To-whit! To-whee!

      Will you listen to me?

      Who stole four eggs I laid,

      And the nice nest I made?”

      “Not I,” said the cow, “moo-oo!

      Such a thing I’d never do.

      I gave you a wisp of hay,

      But I did not take your nest away:

      Not I,” said the cow, “moo-oo!

      Such a thing I’d never do.”

      “Bob-o-link! Bob-o-link!

      Now, what do you think?

      Who stole a nest away

      From the plum tree to-day?”

      “Not I,” said the dog, “bow-wow!

      I wouldn’t be so mean, I vow.

      I gave some hairs the nest to make,

      But the nest I did not take.

      Not I,” said the dog, “bow-wow!

      I wouldn’t be so mean, I vow.”

      “Coo-oo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!

      Let me speak a word or two:

      Who stole that pretty nest,

      From little Yellow-breast?”

      “Not I,” said the sheep; “oh, no,

      I would not treat a poor bird so;

      I gave wool the nest to line,

      But the nest was none of mine.

      Baa! Baa!” said the sheep; “oh no;

      I wouldn’t treat a poor bird so.”

      “Caw! Caw!” cried the crow,

      “I should like to know

      What thief took away

      A bird’s nest to-day.”

      “Cluck! Cluck!” said the hen,

      “Don’t ask me again;

      Why, I haven’t a chick

      Would do such a trick.

      We all gave her a feather,

      And she wove them together.

      I’d scorn to intrude

      On her and her brood.

      Cluck! Cluck!” said the hen,

      “Don’t ask me again.”

      “Chirr-a-whirr! Chirr-a-whirr!

      All the birds make a stir.

      Let