My Dear Little Maid

We must bid you good-by, For November is here, and it’s time we should fly To the South, where we have an engagement to sing, But, remember this, dear, we’ll return in the spring. And if, while abroad, we hear anything new, We’ll learn it, and sing it next summer to you In the same little tree on the lawn, if you’ll let us. So, good-by, little maiden! Please do not forget us. We’re sorry to leave you—too sorry for words, And we’ll always remain, Yours sincerely, “THE BIRDS.” P. S.—Please don’t mind if this letter sounds flat, And present our respectful regards to your cat.

“Really, Fly, you ought to know Better, surely, than to go Into Mr. Spider’s net. Luckily I’m here to set You free”; but ere I could have stirred, Mr. Spider’s voice I heard Crying in an angry tone: “Better let my lunch alone!

“One would think, for all you care, Spiders could subsist on air. Listen to this tale and see If you don’t agree with me!”