Hafich and Hattich;

OK,

A BIRD IN THE HAND'S WORTH TWO IN THE BUSHI.

THERE are two little songsters well known in the land,

Their names are I-have" and O-had-I;"

"I-have will come tamely, and perch on your

hand;

But "O-had-I" will mock you most sadly.

"I-have" at first sight is less fair to the eye;
But his worth is by far most enduring
Than a thousand "O-had-Is," that sit far and high
On roofs and on trees so alluring.

Full many a golden egg this bird will lay,
And sing you "Be cheery! be cheery!"
O, merrily then will the day glide away,
And sweet shall your sleep be when weary.

But let an 66 O-had-I" once take your eye,

And a longing to catch him once seize you, He'll give you no comfort nor rest till you die, Life long he'll torment you and tease you.

He'll keep you all day running up and down hill; Now racing, now panting choice and creeping; While far overhead, this sweet bird at his will With his golden plumage is sweeping.

Then every wise man who attends to my song, Will count his "I-have" a choice treasure; And whene'er an "O-had-I" comes flying along, Will just let him f'y at his pleasure.

LANGBEIN,

To J. H.,

FOUR YEARS OLD.-A NURSERY SONG.

AH! little ranting Johnny!
For ever blithe and bonny,
And singing "nonny, nonny,"
With hat just thrown upon ye;
Or whistling like the thrushes
With voice in silver gushes;
Or twisting random posies
With daisies, weeds, and roses;
And strutting in and out so,
Or dancing all about so,

With cock-up nose so lightsome,
And sidelong eyes so brightsome,
And cheeks as ripe as apples,
And head as rough as Dapple's,
And mouth that smiles so truly,
Heav'n seems t' have made it newly,
It breaks into such sweetness,
With merry-tipped completeness.
One cannot turn a minute,

But mischief-there, you're in it!

A getting at my books, John,
With mighty bustling looks, John,
Or poking at the roses,

In midst of which your nose is;
Or climbing on a table,

No matter how unstable;

And turning up your quaint eye

And half-shut teeth, with "Mayn't I?"
Or else you're off at play, John,
Just as you'd be all day, John,
With hat or not, as happens,

And there you dance, and clap hands,

Or on the grass go rolling,

Or plucking flowers, or bowling,

And getting me expenses

With losing balls o'er fences;

Or, as the constant trade is,-
Are fondled by the ladies
With "What a young rogue this is!"
Reforming him with kisses;
Till suddenly you cry out,
As if you had an eye out,
So desperately tearful,
The sound is really fearful;
When lo! directly after,
It bubbles into laughter.

Ah, rogue! and do you know, John,
Why 'tis we love you so, John?
And how it is they let ye

Do what they like, and pet ye,
Though all who look upon ye
Exclaim, "Ah, Johnny, Johnny!"

It is because you please 'em

Still more, John, than you tease 'em ;
Because, too, when not present,
The thought of you is pleasant;
Because, though such an elf, John,
They think that if yourself, John,
Had something to condemn too,
You'd be as kind to them too:
In short, because you're very
Good-temper'd, Jack, and merry,
And are as quick at giving
As easy at receiving;

And in the midst of pleasure
Are certain to find leisure
To think, my boy, of ours,
And bring us lumps of flowers.

But see the sun shines brightly;
Come, put your hat on rightly,
And we'll among the bushes,
And hear your friends, the thrushes,
And see what flowers the weather
Has render'd fit to gather;

And when we home must jog, you
Shall ride my back, you rogue, you;
Your hat adorn'd with fine leaves,
Horse-chestnut, oak, and vine-leaves;
And so, with green o'erhead, John,
Shall whistle home to bed, John.

LEIGH HUNT.

N

The Ass and the Flute.

You must know that this ditty,

This little romance, Be it dull, be it witty,

Arose from mere chance.

Near a certain inclosure,

Not far from my manse,
An ass with composure
Was passing by chance.

As he went along prying,
With sober advance,
A shepherd's flute lying,
He found there by chance.

Our amateur started,

And eyed it askance, Drew nearer, and snorted Upon it by chance.

The breath of the brute, sir,

Drew music for once;

It entered the flute, sir,
And blew it by chance.

"Ah!" cried he, in wonder, "How comes this to pass? Who will now dare to slander The skill of an ass ?''