Journeys Through Bookland, Volume 3 | Page 6

As a duck with its eyelids, so he with
his nose Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes."

"That's different from what I used to say when I was a child," said the
Gryphon.
"Well, I never heard it before," said the Mock Turtle; "but it sounds
uncommon nonsense."
Alice said nothing; she had sat down again with her face in her hands,
wondering if anything would ever happen in a natural way again.
"I should like to have it explained," said the Mock Turtle.
"She can't explain it," said the Gryphon hastily. "Go on with the next
verse."
"But about his toes?" the Mock Turtle persisted. "How COULD he turn
them out with his nose, you know?"
"It's the first position in dancing," Alice said; but she was dreadfully
puzzled by the whole thing, and longed to change the subject.
"Go on with the next verse," the Gryphon repeated impatiently; "it
begins 'I passed by his garden.'"
Alice did not dare to disobey, though she felt sure it would all come
wrong, and she went on in a trembling voice:
"I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye, How the owl and
the oyster were sharing the pie."
"What IS the use of repeating all that stuff," the Mock Turtle
interrupted, "if you don't explain it as you go on? It's by far the most
confusing thing I ever heard."
"Yes, I think you'd better leave off," said the Gryphon, and Alice was
only too glad to do so.
"Shall we try another figure of the Lobster-Quadrille?" the Gryphon
went on. "Or would you like the Mock Turtle to sing you a song?"
"Oh, a song, please, if the Mock Turtle would be so kind," Alice replied,
so eagerly that the Gryphon said, in a rather offended tone, "Hm! No
accounting for tastes! Sing her 'Turtle Soup,' will you, old fellow?"
The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and began, in a voice sometimes
choked with sobs, to sing this: "Beautiful Soup, so rich and green,
Waiting in a hot tureen! Who for such dainties would not stoop? Soup
of the evening, beautiful Soup! Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
Beau--ootiful Soo--oop! Beau--ootiful Soo--oop! Soo--oop of the
e--e--evening, Beautiful, beautiful Soup!
"Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish, Game, or any other dish? Who
would not give all else for two p ennyworth only of beautiful Soup?

Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup? Beau--ootiful Soo--oop!
Beau--ootiful Soo--oop! Soo--oop of the e--e--evening, Beautiful,
beauti--FUL SOUP!"

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
By MARY HOWITT
"Will you walk into my parlor?" Said a spider to a fly: 'Tis the prettiest
little parlor That ever you did spy. The way into my parlor Is up a
winding stair, And I have many pretty things To show when you are
there." "Oh, no, no!" said the little fly, "To ask me is in vain; For who
goes up your winding stair Can ne'er come down again."
"I'm sure you must be weary With soaring up so high; Will you rest
upon my little bed?" Said the spider to the fly. "There are pretty
curtains drawn around, The sheets are fine and thin; And if you like to
rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in." "Oh, no, no!" said the little fly,
"For I've often heard it said, They never, never wake again Who sleep
upon your bed."
Said the cunning spider to the fly, "Dear friend, what shall I do To
prove the warm affection I've always felt for you? I have within my
pantry Good store of all that's nice; I'm sure you're very welcome--
Will you please to take a slice?" "Oh, no, no!" said the little fly; "Kind
sir, that cannot be; I've heard what's in your pantry, And I do not wish
to see."
"Sweet creature," said the spider, "You're witty and you're wise; How
handsome are your gauzy wings, How brilliant are your eyes. I have a
little looking-glass Upon my parlor shelf; If you'll step in one moment,
dear, You shall behold yourself." "I thank you, gentle sir," she said,
"For what you're pleased to say, And bidding you good morning, now,
I'll call another day."
The spider turned him round about, And went into his den, For well he
knew the silly fly Would soon be back again; So he wove a subtle
thread In a little corner sly, And set his table ready To dine upon the fly.
He went out to his door again, And merrily did sing, "Come hither,
hither, pretty fly, With the pearl and silver wing; Your robes are green
and purple, There's a crest upon your head; Your eyes are like the
diamond bright, But mine are dull as lead."
Alas, alas! how very soon This silly little fly, Hearing