Along the lines that people laid
To give the weak and timid aid.

It was a sight one should behold,
When o'er the crowd the breakers rolled;--
One took a header through the wave,
One floated like a chip or stave,
While others there, at every plunge,
Were taking water like a sponge.

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But while the surf they tumbled through,
They reckoned moments as they flew,
And kept in mind their homeward race
Before the sun should show his face.

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For sad and painful is the fate
Of those who roam abroad too late;
And well may Brownies bear in mind
The hills and vales they leave behind,
When far from native haunts they run,
As oft they do, in quest of fun.
But, ere they turned to leave the strand,
They made a vow with lifted hand
That every year, when summer's glow
Had warmed the ocean spread below,
They'd journey far from grove and glen
To sport in rolling surf again.

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THE BROWNIES AND THE SPINNING-WHEEL.

[Illustration]

ONE evening, with the falling dew,
Some Brownies 'round a cottage drew.
Said one: "I've learned the reason why
We miss the 'Biddy, Biddy!' cry,
That every morning brought a score
Of fowls around this cottage door;
'T is rheumatism most severe
That keeps the widow prisoned here.
Her sheep go bleating through the field,
In quest of salt no herb can yield,
To early roost the fowls withdraw
While each bewails an empty craw.
And sore neglect you may discern
On every side, where'er you turn.
If aid come to the widow's need,
From Brownies' hands it must proceed."
Another said: "The wool, I know,
Went through the mill a month ago.
I saw them when they bore the sack
Tip yonder hill, a wondrous pack
That caught the branches overhead,
And round their heels the gravel spread.
Her spinning-wheel is lying there
In fragments quite beyond repair.
A passing goat, with manners bold,
Mistook it for a rival old,

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