dropping,
And coat of chestnut pale;
He was so fat and lazy
He scarce could wag his tail.

Poor Dash is dead, and buried
Under the lilac-tree;
And Betty's old,--as, children,
We all may one day be.

I hope no child will vex us,
As we vexed Betty then,
With winding up the draw-well,
Or hunting the old hen.

And teasing, teasing, teasing,
Till afternoon wore round,
And shaken pears came tumbling
In showers upon the ground.

O how we jumped and shouted!
O how we plunged amid
The long grass, where the treasures,
Dropped down and deftly hid;

Long, slender-shaped, red-russet,
Or yellow just like gold;
Ah! never pears have tasted
Like those sweet pears of old!

We ate--I'd best not mention
How many: paused to fill
Big basket after basket;
Working with right good-will;

Then hunted round the orchard
For half-ripe plums--in vain;
So, back unto the pear-tree,
To eat, and eat again.

I'm not on my confession,
And therefore need not say
How tired, and cross, and sleepy,
Some were ere close of day;

For pleasure has its ending,
And eke its troubles too;
Which you'll find out, my children,
As well as we could do.

But yet this very minute,
I seem to see it all--
The pear-tree's empty branches
The gray of evening-fall;

The children's homeward silence,
The furnace fires that glowed,
Each mile or so, out streaming
Across the lonely road;

And high, high set in heaven,
One large bright, beauteous star,
That shone between the curtains
Of old Llewellyn's car.

THE WONDERFUL APPLE-TREE.[A]

COME here, my dear boys, and I'll tell you a fable,
Which you may believe as much as you're able;
It isn't a