THE CRICKETS' SOCIABLE.

Each cricket was invited, 'twas after twelve at night; The fire was burning brightly, and not a puss in sight, When out popped twenty couples, all chirping loud and clear: The moon peeped in the window, as if it paused to hear. The band stood on a table,—a fiddle and a harp; The former was a trifle flat, the latter rather sharp: But, oh the jolly dancing, the capers queer and gay! Why, pigeon-wings were nothing, and double-shuffles, play. The belles reclined in corners, and chatted to the beaux, Who looked so neat and graceful, each turning out his toes; And all the daddy-crickets were happy as could be, Their little baby-crickets they dandled on their knee. A Daddy Longlegs handed a lady out to dance,— 'Twas said he was a baron,—quite modest was her glance; He kissed her hand politely, his style they all admired; He bowed to her sedately; she courtesied and retired. A dozen tiny crickets then tried a minuet, And many other dances whose names you would forget. The fiddler scraped up louder, a mouse peeped out to see; But laughed his head off nearly to mark such jollity! The supper, oh, that supper! From brimming cups of dew They sipped, and luscious goodies were spread out,—not a few. They handed round in slices a dainty Christmas cake That very much resembled a tiny snowy flake. They didn't stop till morning; they heard a rooster crow, And then the merry fiddler put away his bow; And twenty jolly couples with weary legs retire As Bridget pops in lively to make the kitchen-fire.

GEORGE COOPER.