"When our gate was shut, to prevent his following the postman, the dog always leaped a high wall to get after him. One day, when the postman was ill, or detained by some accidental circumstance, he sent a man in his place. Bass went up to the man, curiously scanning his face, whilst the man retired from the dog, by no means liking his appearance, and very anxious to decline all acquaintance with him. But as the man left the place, Bass followed him, showing strong symptoms that he was determined to have the post-bag. The man did all he could to keep the possession of it. But at length Bass, seeing that he had no chance of getting possession of the bag by civil entreaty, raised himself on his hind legs, and putting a great fore paw on each of the man's shoulders, he laid him flat on his back in the road, and quietly picking up the bag, he proceeded peaceably on his wonted way. The man, much dismayed, arose and followed the dog, making, every now and then, an ineffectual attempt to coax him to give it up.
"At the first house he came to he told his fears and the dilemma he was in; but the people comforted him by telling him that the dog always carried the bag. Bass walked with the man to all the houses at which he delivered letters, and along the road till he came to the gate of St. Margaret's, where he dropped the bag; and making his bow to the man, he returned home."
O wise little birds! how do you know The way to go Southward and northward, to and fro?
Far up in the ether piped they: "We but obey One who calleth us far away.
"He calleth and calleth year by year Now there, now here; Ever He maketh the way appear."
Dear little birds, He calleth me Who calleth ye: Would that I might as trusting be!
Come stand by my knee, little children, Too weary for laughter or song; The sports of the daylight are over, And evening is creeping along; The snow-fields are white in the moonlight, The winds of the winter are chill, But under the sheltering roof-tree The fire shineth ruddy and still.
You sit by the fire, little children, Your cheeks are ruddy and warm; But out in the cold of the winter Is many a shivering form. There are mothers that wander for shelter, And babes that are pining for bread; Oh, thank the dear Lord, little children, From whose tender hand you are fed.