Diamond had never heard of it. The moment they reached the top, North Wind stood still and turned her face toward London. The stars were still shining clear and cold overhead. There was not a cloud to be seen. The air was sharp, but Diamond did not find it cold.

"Now," said the lady, "whatever you do, do not let my hand go. I might have lost you the last time, only I was not in a hurry then; now I am in a hurry.'

Yet she stood still for a moment.

went to bed: He slept in the stable, over the horses. window a little hole in the wall through which the wind came in.

last time: The night before, Diamond had gone away with North Wind.

waiting for the turn: the turn of the tide.

in spirals: turning like screws.

Primrose Hill: a hill about 200 feet high, north of Regent's Park, London, which affords a fine view of the city.

L°

OUD wind, strong wind, sweeping o'er the mountains,

Fresh wind, free wind, blowing from the sea, Pour forth thy vials like streams from airy

fountains,

Draughts of life to me.

DINAH MULOCK CRAIK.

12. THE WIND IN A FROLIC

WILLIAM HOWITT

By William Howitt

WILLIAM HOWITT (1792March 3, 1879) was an English writer, who, in the course of a long life, wrote many volumes of both prose and poetry. He was a Quaker and passed much of his early life in the country, where he spent his leisure roaming through the woods and by the brook. He married a Quaker lady, Mary Botham, who as a poet and prose writer claims equal rank with her husband. The two wrote several historical works together, and also a book of poems entitled "The Forest Minstrel." Of all that Howitt has written, that which is most frequently read is his poetry on

subjects taken from nature. He knew the gardens and fields, the woods and meadows during every month of the year, and his poems have a brightness all his own.

HE wind one morning sprang up from sleep,

THE

Saying, "Now for a frolic! now for a leap!

Now for a madcap galloping chase!

I'll make a commotion in every place."

So it swept with a bustle right through the great

town,

Creaking the signs, and scattering down

Shutters, and whisking, with merciless squalls
Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls.

THE WIND IN A FROLIC

There never was heard a much lustier shout
As the apples and oranges trundled about,

95

And the urchins, which stand with their thievish

eyes

Forever on watch, ran off each with a prize.

Then away to the fields it went, blustering and humming,

And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming;
And tossed the colts' manes all over their brows
And pulled by their tails the matronly cows,
Till, offended at such a familiar salute,

They all turned their backs and stood suddenly

mute.

So on it went capering and playing its pranks,
Whistling with reeds on the broad river's banks,
Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray,
Or the traveler grave on the king's highway;
It was not too nice to hustle the bags

Of the beggar and flutter his dirty rags;

'Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke With the doctor's wig or the gentleman's cloak. Through the forest it roared and cried gayly, "Now, You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!"

And it made them bow without more ado,

And cracked their great branches through and through.

Then it rushed like a monster on cottage and farm,

And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm. There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps,

To see if their poultry were free from mishaps; The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud, And the hens crept to rest in a terrified crowd; There was raising of ladders and logs laying on, When the thatch of the roof threatened soon to be

gone,

But the wind had passed on and had met in a lane With a schoolboy who panted and struggled in vain,

For it tossed him and twirled him, then passed and he stood

With his hat in a pool, and his shoe in the mud.

There was a poor man, hoary and old,

Cutting the heath in the

open wold;

The strokes of his bill were faint and few

Ere this frolicsome wind upon him blew,

But behind him, before him, about him it came,
And the breath seemed gone from his feeble frame;
So he sat him down, with a muttering tone,
Saying, "Plague on the wind! was the like ever
known?

But nowadays every wind that blows.

Tells me how weak an old man grows.'

But away went the wind in its holiday glee,
And now it was far on the billowy sea,

And the lordly ship felt its staggering blow,
And the little boats darted to and fro;

But lo! it was night, and it sank to rest
On the sea-birds' rock, in the gleaming west,
Laughing to think in its fearful fun
How little of mischief it had done.

commotion: tumult, disturbance.

urchins: mischievous boys.

highway: a road free to all travelers.

nice particular.

thatch: the covering of a roof made of straw or rushes. heath: a plant growing in Great Britain upon waste land; it is used to thatch houses and to make brooms.

wold an open tract of country.

bill: a form of small hatchet used for cutting hedges and pruning trees.

WABUN THE EAST WIND

OUNG and beautiful was Wabun;

YOUNG

He it was who brought the morning,
He it was whose silver arrows

Chased the dark o'er hill and valley;
He it was whose cheeks were painted
With the brightest streaks of crimson,
And whose voice awoke the village,
Called the deer, and called the hunter.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW: Hiawatha.