billow,
Or him, less wise,
Who chose rough bramble-bushes for a pillow,
And scratched his eyes,--_

_It may be, while she sings, that through the portal
Soft footsteps glide,
And, all invisible to grown-up mortal,
At cradle side_

_Sits Mother Goose herself, the dear old mother,
And rocks and croons,
In tones which Baby hearkens, but no other,
Her old-new tunes!_

_I think it must be so, else why, years after,
Do we retrace
And mix with shadowy, recollected laughter
Thoughts of that face;_

_Seen, yet unseen, beaming across the ages,
Brimful of fun
And wit and wisdom, baffling all the sages
Under the sun?_

_A grown-up child has place still, which no other
May dare refuse;
I, grown up, bring this offering to our Mother,
To Mother Goose;_

_And, standing with the babies at that olden,
Immortal knee,
I seem to feel her smile, benign and golden,
Falling on me._

[Illustration]

CONTENTS.

CHAP PAGE
I. CURLY LOCKS 1
II. GOOSEY, GOOSEY GANDER 40
III. LITTLE BO-PEEP 65
IV. MISTRESS MARY 101
V. LADY BIRD 137
VI. ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE 165
VII. RIDE A COCK-HORSE 197
VIII. LADY QUEEN ANNE 228
IX. UP, UP, UP, AND DOWN, DOWN, DOWN-Y 259

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CURLY LOCKS.

WHEN a little girl is six and a little boy is six, they like pretty much
the same things and enjoy pretty much the same games. She wears an
apron, and he a jacket and trousers, but they are both equally fond of
running races, spinning tops, flying kites, going down hill on sleds,
and making a noise in the open air. But when the little girl gets to be
eleven or twelve, and to grow thin and long, so t