PRETTY POLLY PRIMROSE. (3)

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Out here papa finds her,
Lifts her tenderly,
Carries her safe home again,—
Never once wakes she.
Polly asleep under a tree
When the breakfast all is o’er
Polly opes her eyes.
“Surely, mamma, I did dream,”
Says she in surprise,
“That I went out to the Park,
Where the birdies sing.”
Mamma smiles; how can she chide
The winsome little thing!

AMANDA M. DOUGLAS.

A pair of birds

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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