ON GUARD.

Halt! Not a step farther! Don't move for your life! You're a very nice squirrel, I haven't a doubt (Although you've forgotten, I see, to put on Your kilt and your jacket before you came out), But where you now are you must stop for an hour Or two, and quite silent meanwhile you must keep, For a weary long way we have travelled to-day, And my dear little master lies there fast asleep. Of course you don't know—you've grown up in the woods, With no one to teach you—how fine 'tis to be Great artists as we are! You've heard but the birds, And seen only squirrels jump round in a tree. My master the sweetest of music can make (Sh! you rustled a leaf—he half-opened his eyes), And a gun I can handle, a drum I can beat, And I dance like a fairy—I tell you no lies. My dear little master! full oft he has shared, Bite for bite, with me, squirrel, his very last crust, And he's patiently carried me many a mile, And that now I guard him I am sure is but just. Curl your tail up still tighter, and don't let it fall Lest a noise it should make—it's remarkably big— And, if you are good, by-and-by we may all Have a right merry tune and a right merry jig.