Part 2 (1/2)

Bless us, and save us! What's here?

Pop!

At a bound, A tiny brown creature, grotesque in his grace, Is sitting before us, and was.h.i.+ng his face With his little fat paws overlapping; Where does he hail from? Where?

Why, _there_, Underground, From a nook just as cosey, And tranquil, and dozy, As e'er wooed to Sybarite napping (But none ever caught _him_ a-napping).

Don't you see his burrow so quaint and queer?

II.

Gone! like the flash of a gun!

This oddest of chaps, Mercurial, Disappears Head and ears!

Then, sly as a fox, Swift as Jack in his box, Pops up boldly again!

What does he mean by thus frisking about, Now up and now down, and now in and now out, And all done quicker than winking?

What does it mean? Why, 'tis plain--fun!

Only Fun! or, perhaps, The pert little rascal's been drinking?-- There's a cider-press yonder all say on the run!

III.

Capture him! no, we won't do it, Or, be sure in due time we would rue it!

IV.

Such a piece of perpetual motion, Full of bother And pother, Would make paralytic old Bridget A Fidget.

So you see (to _my_ notion), Better leave our downy Diminutive browny Alone, near his ”diggings;”

Ever free to pursue, Rush round, and renew His loved vaulting Unhalting, His whirling, And curling, And twirling, And swirling, And his ways, on the whole So unsteady!

'Pon my soul, Having gazed Quite amazed, On each wonderful antic And summersault frantic, For just a bare minute, My head, it feels whizzy; My eyesight's grown dizzy; And both legs, unstable As a ghost's tipping table, Seem waltzing, already!

V.

Capture him! no we won't do it, Or, in less than _no_ time, _how_ we'd rue it!

[Color Plate:]

Hippity hop To the barber's shop To buy a stick of candy.

BABY'S TROTTING SONG

[Transcriber's Note: The bracketed text was written vertically as part of each accompanying ill.u.s.tration.]