OUR DOMESTIC ANIMALS. 43 



THE CALF PATH. 



A calf walked home as good calves should 



But made a trail all bent askew. 



A crooked trail, as all calves do. 



Since then three hundred years have fled, 



And I infer the calf is dead. 



But still he left behind his trail, 



And thereby hangs my mortal tale. 



The trail was taken up next day 



By a lone dog that passed that way, 



And then a wise bellwether sheep 



Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep; 



And drew the flock behind him, too, 



As good bellwethers always do. 



And from that day, o'er hill and glade 



Through those old woods a path was made. 



And many men wound in and out, 



And dodged and turned and bent about. 



And uttered words of righteous wrath 



Because 'twas such a crooked path; 



But still they followed — do not laugh — 



The first migrations of that calf. 



And through the winding wood way stalked. 



Because he wobbled when he walked. 



This forest path became a lane 

 That bent and turned and turned again: 

 This crooked lane became a road. 

 Where many a poor horse with his load 

 Toiled on beneath the burning sun. 

 And traveled some three miles in one. 

 And thus a century and a half 

 They trod the footsteijs of that calf. 



The years passed on in swiftness fleet, 

 The road became a village street; 

 And this, before men were aware, 

 A city's crowded thoroughfare. 

 And soon the central street was this 

 Of a renowned metropolis. 

 And men two centuries and a half 

 Trod in the footsteps of that calf. 



Each day a hundred thousand rout 

 Followed the zigzag calf about. 

 And o'er his crooked journey went 

 The traffic of a continent. 

 A hundred thousand men were led 

 By one calf near three centuries dead. 

 They followed still his crooked way. 

 And lost one hundred years a day ; 

 For thus such reverence is lent 

 To well-established precedent. 



