To supper at last the farmer goes.
The apples are pared, the paper read,
The stories are told, then all to bed.
Without, the crickets' ceaseless song
Makes shrill the silence all night long;
The heavy dews are falling.
The housewife's hand has turned the lock;
Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock;
The household sinks to deep repose;
But still in sleep the farm-boy goes.
Singing, calling,--
"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!"
And oft the milkmaid, in her dreams,
Drums in the pail with the flashing streams,
Murmuring, "So, boss! so!"

J.T. TROWBRIDGE.


TO A MOUSE,

ON TURNING UP HER NEST WITH THE PLOW, NOVEMBER, 1785

"To a Mouse" and "To a Mountain Daisy," by Robert Burns (1759-96), are
the ineffable touches of tenderness that illumine the sturdy plowman.
The contrast between the strong man and the delicate flower or creature
at his mercy makes tenderness in man a vital point in character.

The lines "To a Mouse" seem by report to have been composed while Burns
was actually plowing. One of the poet's first editors wrote: "John