Cole's Funny Picture Book No. 1
Cole's Funny Picture Book No. 1
Written And Compiled By E.W. Cole (1832-1918) First Published 1879 By Cole Publications, Melbourne, Australia. 73rd Edition Totalling 920,000 copies. [*]
Cole's Funny Picture Book No. 1
Or Family Amuser And Instructor; To Delight The Children And Make Home Happier; The Best Child's Picture Book In All The World.
It Contains Also Choice Riddles, Games and pieces of reading for Adults. Look through it yourself.
Long ago the Rainbow was a Sign it is said, Now 'tis the Sign of Cole's Book Arcade. So, when in the sky a bow is displayed, Be sure that you think of the Book Arcade. Cole's Book Arcade strange as it looks, Contains more than a million books. New and second-hand, common and rare, Can get most any book you want there.
[*] BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE: The reprintings of this book since Cole's death in 1918 have involved very few changes, and in most cases it has been bibliographically misleading to term them "editions". Undoubtedly, somewhere in the past, the distinction between a "printing" and an "edition" has not been understood. However, with due cognisance of the irregularity, the practice of giving each reprint a new edition number accompanied by a running sales total is being maintained for statistical interest.
Edward William Cole
Born Woodchurch, Kent, England 4th January, 1832
Died Essendon, Victoria, Australia 16th December, 1918
[Page 1--Australia]
Australia Is The Best Country On Earth
Australia a Grand Country
I think that Australia, for it's size, is, all-round, the best country in the world. It's climate is pleasant and health-giving. It has no desolating blizzards, no frost bites, and few sunstrokes. In edible produce, for both size and quality, it stands very high, if not the highest. I have been in many lands, but never saw a country supply such a variety of products as Australia does--potatoes, onions, cabbages, carrots, peas, beans and scores of other vegetables in abundance. In fruits it produces apples, pears, plums, peaches, oranges, grapes, and Northern Australia also produces all the tropical fruits in abundance wherever cultivated. In corn Australia produces superior wheat, oats, barley, maize and all other kinds in abundance, especially when scientifically irrigated. As a milk, butter and meat country, it is one of the best in the world. It is the largest and best wool-producing country in the world. It contains the largest area in the world especially suitable for growing cotton, the most extensively-used clothing material. Flowers grow luxuriantly and beautifully whenever cultivated and watered. A few years ago when writing on the "White Australia" question, I stated that with high culture, water irrigation, and scientific irrigation, Australia was capable of supporting 400 millions of inhabitants. A high literary authority, in reviewing the book, remarked that this seemed like a "gross exaggeration"; but probably he had not thought so much on the subject as I had.
I will here concisely state the principle reasons for my opinion. The great want of Australia, to make it amazingly fruitful, is the complete conservation of water and it's scientific application to the soil. Water, warmth, and soil will grow anything in Australia, if rationally managed. Australia has abundance of water now running to waste. On thousands of house-roofs water enough is caught for the domestic use of the respective families. Over large areas of the country there are 30 inches of rainfall, and the average rainfall over vast areas is 24 inches, and could be made much greater by cultivation. Four-fifths of this water now runs to waste. Again surface-parched Australia has vast areas of underground water which only require to be tapped and brought to the surface, to irrigate and fertilise the soil.
Australia is also a country where timber grows well and fast, if planted in trenched ground and slightly irrigated. Hundreds of straight trees can be grown upon an acre of land if they are first planted thickly and some gradually thinned out. Many kinds of trees will grow upon very poor soil if they are properly planted and irrigated, as the bulk of their sustenance is derived from the air. One more remark about trees and their possibilities as food providers. Wherever any kind of tree will grow some kind of fruit tree will grow. There are hundreds of millions of gum trees growing in Australia. Where every one of these trees is, some kind of fruit tree would grow if properly planted and looked after.
Again, to utilise Australia to it's full extent the whole world should be sought through for the best plants and trees of every kind, and only the very best grown, and those in situations and soil best adapted for them.
One argument against Australia is that much of its surface is sandy, but experiments and developments in various countries show that the planting of marram grass, lupins, and other plants ties even the drifting sand together and gradually, through their decay, turns the sandy wastes into fertile soil. Besides, science can, in many other ways, utilise the elements in the air to enrich the soil.
Australia's Mineral Resources
It has been objected that in the above epitome no mention is made of the great mineral wealth of Australia. The reason is that minerals, exceedingly useful as they are in the arts, are not absolutely necessary (with the exception perhaps of iron) to the feeding, clothing, and housing of mankind. Vast multitudes have lived without them; but it may be remarked that Australia is a country very rich in minerals; some hold it the richest in the world. It possesses immense deposits of iron not yet utilised, and the most extensive gold-fields yet discovered. Australia and Tasmania have, according to the latest estimate of our Commonwealth Statistician, produced minerals to the value of £660,252,694--comprising in round numbers, Gold £474,000,000; Tin £24,000,000; and other kinds £8,000,000. The bulk of the above has been produced during the last 60 years, in a population rising from about 300,000 to 4,000,000 and it forecasts how vast the mineral-producing future of Australia is likely to be. Altogether Australia is a country as highly favoured by nature as any other of equal size upon earth, for the bountiful production of useful animals, vegetables, minerals, and men.
The Best Country On Earth--Unknown Australia
"'If we Australians took as much trouble to prepare for our summer as the Canadians take to forestall their winter, Australia would be THE MOST PROSPEROUS COUNTRY ON EARTH.'
The speaker was the Rev. A. R. Edgar, head of the Central Mission, Melbourne.
"'After circling the globe, then, you are still satisfied that Australia is not a bad country to live in?'
"'The best,' said Mr Edgar, emphatically. 'I have no hesitation in saying that Canada and America are not to be compared with Australia. Unfortunately, England doesn't know it. Australia herself doesn't half realise it, and as for America and Canada, they haven't the remotest ghost of a notion of it. In England they learn with regrettable slowness, and their knowledge is scanty indeed; but across the Atlantic the ignorance is deplorable. "Australia?" says the Canadian. "Oh yes! Let's see, that's the place where it's always droughty--yes, yes, to be sure, the place where y' can't get a drink of water." He laughs at the idea of Australia producing as much wool and wheat as Canada, and bluntly tells you there's no country on the face of the planet can grow wheat and wool like his. But the fact is, there isn't a bit of territory fit to compare with the Western District of Victoria, for example, and conditions are infinitely harder for the agriculturist than in Australia. Canada's western district is icebound in winter, and her eastern lands are strewn over with great boulders, between which the plough works laboriously in and out'."--From the "New Idea."
I often feel for the dweller in Canada; for notwithstanding his beautiful spring and autumn he has six months of ice and snow and freezing winds, and I feel selfishly grateful that my lot is cast in more genial Australia.
Let us well ponder Mr. Edgar's concise and forcible statement: "If we Australians took as much trouble to prepare for our summer as the Canadians take to forestall their winter, Australia would be the most prosperous country on earth."
This is quite true. The Canadian must thoughtfully and rationally prepare for his winter, or he would freeze and starve. We have no frigid climate to prepare against, but we have possible drought, and our first and greatest consideration should be the conservation of water for irrigation.
This water conservation is exceedingly important thing. Men do not think, and the waste is enormous. When the rain falls it runs into the gully, from the gully to the creek, from the creek to the river, from the river into the sea; and then in the dry season water is deplorably scarce.
I once asked a young squatter from the New South Wales side of the Murray "Have you got a garden?" He answered: "No: it is too dry up our way!" I said, "How do you get water for domestic purposes?" He answered, "We catch it off the roof; we catch it in 11 tanks and are never out of a supply." I asked, "How large an area have all your roofs put together?" He answered, "I think about 20 feet by 100 feet." This would be about a twentieth of an acre. Now just reflect! One acre of rainfall would supply, if caught, 20 establishments like that squatter's home, for the rain would fall fairly alike over that part of the country. A rainfall of 30 inches over an acre of ground measures about 680,000 gallons and weighs about 3000 tons, the bulk of which is allowed to run away every year!
A gentleman said to me the other day, "Since the water was brought to Coolgardie and Kalgoorlie, under Sir John Forrest's great scheme, they have very beautiful gardens right along the line of supply. Wherever the water touches the land the vegetation is splendid, and, what is more, the evaporation is bringing heavier rainfall." Of course, wherever cultivation and irrigation are carried on, more evaporation takes place, and, in most cases, causes additional rainfall.
When I affirmed that Australia was capable of supporting 400 millions of people I did not mean Australia as we now have it, but as it might be, and probably will be, when water is carefully conserved and its soil scientifically irrigated and cultivated.
E.W. Cole
[Page 2--Cole's Funny Picture Book]
[Page 3--Index]
This Is The Funniest Picture Book In The World For Children
If you search through the World you will not get a book that will so please a child, if you pay £100 or even £1000 for it. To parents, Grandparents, Uncles, Aunts, and Friends--Every Good Child should be given one of these Books for being Good. Every Bad Child should be given one to try to make it Good.
BABY RHYMES
Baby Going to Bed 4 Baby, Getting up 5 This Pig Went to Market 6 Baby Riding 6 Naughty Baby 7
LITTLE CHILDREN'S STORIES
Tom Thumb's Alphabet 8 Sing a Song-a-Sixpence 8 A Apple Pie 8 Captain Duck 8 Hey-Diddle-Diddle 9
GIRL LAND
Cry-Baby Belle 10 A Naughty Little Girl 10 Paulina Pry 10 Tearful Annie 10 Hattie's Birthday 11 Youth and Age 11 A Lost Child 11 Little Mary 11 Girl and Angel 11 Girl Who Wouldn't go to Bed 12 Girl That Beat Her Sister 12 The Sulky Girl 12 Girl Who Sucked Her Fingers 12 The Greedy Little Girl 12 Girl Who Played With Fire 12 The Vulgar Little Lady 12 Peggy Won't 13 The Wonderful Shadows 13 Little Bo-Peep 14 Pammy Was A Pretty Girl 14 The Little Husband 14 I'm Governess 14 Meddlesome Matty 15 Girl Who Spilled the Ink 15 Girl Who Was Always Tasting 15 Sally the Lazy Girl 15 Girl Who Wouldn't Comb Her Hair 15 The Nasty Cross Girls 15 Little Red Riding Hood 16 I'm Grandmama 16 The Babes in the Wood 16 Cinderella 17 The Three Bears 17 Bluebeard 17 My Girl 18 My Little Daughter's Shoes 18 The Old Cradle 18 A Little Goose 18 Girls 19 Girls Names 19 Vain Sarah 19 Several Kinds of Girls 19 Jumping Jennie 20 I Don't Care 20 Little Miss Meddlesome 20 Careless Matilda 20 Forty Little School Girls 21 Funny Monkeys 21 Tangle Pate 22 A Careless Girl 22 The Naughty Girl 22 Mopy Maria 22 Disobedient May 22 Sluttishness 22 Jane Who Bit Her Nails 22 Poking Fun 22 The Pin 23 Stupid Jane 23 Pouting Polly 23 Untidy Emily 23 Maidenhood 24 Girls That Are in Demand 24 Girls' Names 24 Name of Kate 24 Girl-Scolding Machine 25 Jenny Lee 26 Work Before Play 26 Lucy Grey 26 Mary Had a Little Lamb 26 We Are Seven 27 The poor But Blind Girl 27 Grace Darling 27 The Tidy Girl 27 Ruby Cole 28
BOY LAND
Vally Cole 29 Tom The Piper's Son 30 House That Jack Built 31 Simple Simon 31 Ten Little Niggers 31 Jack the Giant Killer 32 Jack and the Beanstalk 32 Hop-o-my-Thumb 33 Tom Thumb 33 Naughty Boys 34 Dirty Jack 35 Mischievous Fingers 35 Boy Stealing Apples 35 Playing With Fire 35 Wicked Willie 36 Rude, Bad, Naughty Boy 36 Little Chinky Chow 37 That Nice Boy 38 A Wicked Joking Boy 38 Jack the Glutton 39 Tom the Dainty Boy 39 A birds Nest Robber 39 A Cruel Boy 39 Boy Whipping Machine 40-41
DOLLY LAND
Puss's Doll 42 Pretty Doll 42 Dolly and I 43 Dolly's Broken Arm 43 Polly and Her Dolly 43 Singing to Dolly 44 My Dolly 44 Dolly's Asleep 44 Lost Dolly 45 Talking To Dolly 45 Darling Dolly 45 Ten Little Dollies 46 Washing-Day Troubles 47 New Tea Things 47 Doll Dress Making 48 Dolly Town 48 The Lost Doll 48 Dolly's Counterpane 48 Sewing For Dolly 48 My Little Doll Rose 48 The Wooden Doll 48 Buy My Dolls 48 Dolly's Doctor 49 Dolly's Broken Nose 49 The Dead Dolly 49 The Soldier Dolly 49 Christening Dolly 50 Maggie's Talk to Dolly 50 Minnie's Talk to Dolly 50 My Dolly 50 Dolly's Wedding 50 Grandmamma's Visit 51 Lucy's Dolls 51 The Doll Show 52 A Doll's Adventures 53 Story of a Doll 53 I'm Homesick Dolly Dear 54 A Thousand Names For Dollies and Babies 55, 56, 57
NAUGHTINESS LAND
Good Mamma 58 How They Made Up 58 Cross Patch 58 Sulky Sarah 58 A New Year's Gift 59 Angry Words 59 Love One Another 59 Anger 60 Girl That Beat Her Sister 60 Little Dick Snappy 60 Where Do You Live 61 Govern Your Temper 61 The Ragged Girl's Sunday 62 Foolish Fanny 62 Pride 63 Finery 63 A Fop 63 Greedy Ned 64 Greedy Girl 64 Greedy Richard 64 Story Of an Apple 64 The Plum Cake 65 The Glutton 65 Hoggish Henry 65 Selfishness 65 Truthful Dottie 66 False Alarms 66 Girl That Told A Lie 66 Idle Mary 67 Lazy Sal 67 The Work Bag 67 The Two Gardens 67 Doing Nothing 67 Lazy Sam 68 The Beggar Man 68 Lazyland 68 The Lazy Boy 69 The Sluggard 69 Idle Dicky and the Goat 69 Come and Go 69 The Cruel Boy 70 Story of Cruel Fred 70 The Worm 70 No One Will See Me 71 Boy and His Mother 71 Boys and the Apple Tree 72 Thou Shalt Not Steal 72 The Thief 72 The Thieves' Ladder 73
SANTA CLAUS LAND
Santa Claus Land 74 A Visit From St. Nicholas 75 What Santa Claus Brings 75 Little Mary 75 Christmas 75 Christmas Eve Adventure 76 Little Bennie 76 Old Santa Claus 77 Night Before Christmas 77 Annie and Willie's Prayer 78 Budd's Stocking 79 Christmas Morning 79 Nellie And Santa Claus 80 Hang Up Baby's Stocking 80
PLAY LAND
Rabbit on the Wall 81 Little Romp 81 Tired of Play 82 The Lost Playmate 82 In The Toy Shop 83 Playing Store 83 Neat Little Clara 83 Hide and Seek 83 Little Sailors 84 Come Out to Play 84 Mud Pies 84 Hay Making 84 Johnny the Stout 85 Training Time 86 Playtime 87 Romping 87 Nurse's Song 87 Swinging 88 Skating 88 The skipping Rope 88 The Baby's Debut 89
READING LAND
Reading 90 Mrs Grammar's Ball 90 Grammar in Rhyme 90 Reading Land 91
WRITING LAND
Little Flo's Letter 92 The First Letter 92 Baby's Letter to Uncle 92 Nell's Letter 92 Two Letters 92 Going to Write to Papa 93 Papa's Letter 93 Polly's Letter to Ben 94 The Sunday Fisherman 95 Essay on Pictures 96
DRAWING LAND
The New Slate 97 Learning to Draw 98 A Lesson in Drawing 99
OLD MEN TALES
Old Man and His Wife 100 John Ball Shot Them All 100 Funny Old Man 100 Strange Men 100 Jack Sprat 101 Cross Old Man 101 Very Funny Men 101 Utter Nonsense 102 History Of John Gilpin 103 Australian Native Choir 104
OLD WOMEN TALES
Woman Who Lived in a Shoe 106 Mother Goose 107 Old Women of Stepney 107 Funny Old Women 108 Old Woman Who Went Up in a Basket 108 Twenty-six Funny Women 109
TRAVELLING LAND
Forty Ways of Travelling 110-113 Flying Machines 114-117
NAME LAND
555 Boys' Names 118 555 Girls' Names 119
GAME LAND
Cole's Game of Hats and Bonnets 120-123 Riddles and Catches 124-127 Picture Puzzles 128-143 Shadows on the Wall 144 Deaf and Dumb Alphabet 145 Language of Flowers 146 Kindness to Animals 147 Funny Australian Natives 148-149
PUSSY LAND
My Pussy 150 Pussy-Cat and Mousey 150 Puss and the Monkey 150 Mary's Puss Drowned 150 Dame Trot's Puss 151 Daddy Hubbard's Cat 152 Story of a Little Mouse 153 Tom, Puss, and the Rats 154 Puss in Boots 155 Monkey and the Cats 155 Dick Whittington 155 More Pussy Land 156 The White Kitten 157 Little Pussy 158 Puss and the Crab 158 Puss in the Corner 159 Tabby 159 Old Puss 159 Dead Kitten 160 My Own Puss 161 Putting Kitty to Bed 161
DOGGY LAND
Mother Hubbard and Dog 162 Puss and Rover 163 No Breakfast for Growler 163 Poor Old Tray 163
GOAT LAND
O'Grady's Goat 164 The Goat and the Swing 164
MONKEY LAND
Meddlesome Jacko 165 A Fruitless Sorrow 165
GEE-GEE LAND
The Wonderful Horse 166 The Horse 166 Good Dobbin 166 Horse Sentenced to Die 167 The Arab and His Horse 167 Farmer John 168
DONKEY LAND
The Cottager's Donkey 169 Old Jack the Donkey 169 Poor Donkey's Epitaph 169
MOO-MOO LAND
The Cow and the Ass 170 The Cowboy's Song 171 That Calf 171
BA-BA LAND
The Lost Lamb 172 The Pet Lamb 172-173
PIGGY LAND
The Pig is a Gentleman 174 Five Little Pigs 174 The Self-willed pig 174 Three Naughty Pigs 175 The Spectre Pig 175 The Chinese Pig 176 Dame Crump and Her Pig 176 Old Woman and Her Pig 177 The Three Little Pigs 177
BUNNY LAND
Disobedient Bunny 178 The Wild Rabbits 178 The Pet Rabbit 178 The Little Hare 179 The Poor Hunted Hare 179 Epitaph on a Hare 179
RAT LAND
Pied Piper of Hamelin 180 Wicked Bishop Hatto 181
MOUSEY LAND
The Three Mice 182 The Foolish Mouse 182 Run, Mousey, Run! 182 The Gingerbread Cat 182 A Clever Mother Mouse 183 The Mouse's Call 183 The Foolish Mouse 183
FROGGY LAND
The Foolish Frogs 184 Marriage of Mr. Froggie 184 Frogs at School 184 Frog That Went a Wooing 185 Mixed Animal Land 186-187 The Squirrel 188 Wonderful Bird Nests 189 Cole's Poems on Books 190
COMIC ADVERTISER
Serious Sambo 191 Laughter as a Medicine 191 Man Made to Laugh 191 Josh Billings' Prayer 191 Fun Better Than Physic 192 Fun About Music 193 Going to Coles' Book Arcade 194-195 Wonderful Sea Serpent 196 Funny, Foolish and Useful Fashions 197-201 Boy Smoking 202-203 Narcotics and Intoxicants 204 Pipes of the World 205
READER--There are only 365 pieces mentioned in this index, but the Book contains 2,000 pieces and pictures, large and small. It is a complete cyclopoedia of child-lore, and first-class kindergarten book--to amuse and teach at the same time. No child's book ever published has been, nor is now, so great a favourite as this one.
[Page 4--Baby Rhymes]
A Piece of Poetry for Mother and Father to Read
I suppose if all the children, Who have lived through ages long, Were collected and inspected They would make a wondrous throng.
Oh the babble of the Babel! Oh, the flutter and the fuss; To begin with Cain and Abel, And to finish up with us!
Some have never laughed nor spoken, Never used their rosy feet; Some have even flown to heaven, Ere they knew that earth was sweet.
And indeed, I wonder whether, If we reckon every birth, And bring such a flock together, There is room for them on earth.
Think of all the men and women Who are now and who have been; Every nation since creation That this world of ours has seen.
And of all of them not any But was once a baby small; While of children, oh, how many Never have grown up at all.
[Page 5--Baby Rhymes]
Who will wash their smiling faces? Who their saucy ears will box? Who will dress them and caress them? Who will darn their little socks?
Where are arms enough to hold them? Hands to pat each smiling head? Who will praise them? who will scold them? Who will pack them off to bed?
Little happy Christian children, Little savage children too, In all stages of all ages, That our planet ever knew;
Little princes and princesses, Little beggars, wan and faint-- Some in very handsome dresses, Naked some, bedaubed with paint.
Only think of the confusion Such a motley crowd would make; And the clatter of their chatter, And the things that they won't break
Oh the babble of the Babel! Oh, the flutter and the fuss; To begin with Cain and Abel, And to finish up with us!
[Page 6--Children's Rhymes]
Children's Rhymes
1. This pig went to market: 2. This pig stayed at home: 3. This pig had meat: 4. This pig had none: 5. And this pig cried, "Wee, wee," all the way home.
Game of Child's Features
Here sits the Lord Mayor! (forehead) Here sits his two men! (eyes) Here sits the cock! (right cheek) Here sits the hen! (left cheek) Here sit the little chickens! (tip of nose) Here they run in; (mouth) Chinchopper, chinchopper, Chinchopper, chin! (chuck the chin)
Face Game
Ring the bell! (giving its hair a pull) Knock at the door! (tapping its forehead) Draw the latch! (pulling up it's nose) And walk in! (putting finger in mouth)
Face Game
(Eye) Bo Peeper! (Nose) Nose dreeper! (Chin) Chinchopper! (Teeth) White Lopper! (Mouth) little gap! (Tongue) and red rag!
Game on the Toes
1. Let us go to the wood, says this pig; 2. What to do there? says that pig; 3. Too look for my mother, says this pig; 4. What to do with her? says that pig; 5. Kiss her to death, says this pig.
Going to Market
To market, to market, to buy a fat pig; Home again, home again, jiggety-jig. To market, to market, to buy a fat hog; Home again, home again, joggety-jog.
Baby Riding
Ride baby, ride, pretty baby shall ride, And have a little puppy-dog tied to her side. And a little pussy-cat tied to the other, And away she shall ride to see her grand-mother, To see her grandmother.
Ride a Cock-Horse
Ride a cock-horse to banbury-cross, To see what Tommy can buy; A penny white loaf, a penny white cake, And a two-penny apple pie. Ride a cock-horse to banbury-cross, To see a young lady on a white horse, Rings on her fingers, and bells on her toes, And so she makes music wherever she goes.
Baby Riding
This is the way the ladies ride; Tre, tre, tree, This is the way the ladies ride; Tre, tre, tree. This is the way the gentlemen ride; Gallop-a-gallop-a-trot! This is the way the gentlemen ride; Gallop-a-gallop-a-trot! This is the way the farmers ride; Hobbledy-hobbledy-hoy! This is the way the farmers ride; Hobbledy-hobbledy-hoy!
Clap Hands
Clap hands, clap hands, Till father comes home; For father's got money, But mother's got none.
When Dad Comes Home
You shall have an apple, You shall have a plum, You shall have a rattle, When your dad comes home.
Pat-A-Cake
Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man! So I will, master, as fast as I can, Pat it, and prick it, and mark it with T, Put it in the oven for Tommy and me.
Come, Butter, Come
Churn, butter, churn! come, butter, come! Peter stands at the gate, Waiting for a butter cake; Come, butter, come!
Baby Crying
When Jacky's a very good boy, He shall have cakes and a custard; But when he does nothing but cry, He shall have nothing but mustard.
[Page 7--Children's Rhymes]
Hickup, go away.
Hickup, hickup, go away! Come again another day: Hickup, hickup, when I bake, I'll give to you a butter-cake.
Dance, Baby.
Dance, little baby, dance up high, Never mind, baby, mother is nigh; Crow and caper, caper and crow-- There, little baby, there you go! Up to the ceiling, down to the ground, Backwards and forwards, round and round. Dance, little baby, and mother will sing! Merrily, merrily, ding, dong, ding!
Dance, Little Baby.
Dance to your daddy, My little babby, Dance to your daddy, My little lamb. You shall have a fishy In a little dishy; You shall have a fishy When the boat comes in.
Danty Baby Diddy.
Danty baby diddy, What can a mammy do wid'e, But sit in a lap, And give 'un a pap? Sing danty baby diddy.
Hush-a-bye Baa Lamb.
Hush-a-bye, a baa lamb, Hush-a-by a milk cow, You shall have a little stick To beat the naughty bow-wow.
Bye, Baby Bunting.
Bye, baby bunting, Daddy's gone a hunting, To get a little rabbit skin To wrap a baby bunting in.
Hush-a-bye Baby.
Hush-a-bye baby, on the tree top, When the wind blows, the cradle will rock; When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall; Down will come baby, bough, cradle, and all. Hush-a-bye baby, Daddy is near: Mammy's a lady, and that's very clear.
Rock-a-bye Baby.
Rock-a-bye baby, thy cradle is green; Father's a nobleman, mother's a queen; And Betty's a lady, and wears a gold ring, And Johnny's a drummer, and drums for the king.
Kissing Baby.
My dear cockadoodle, my jewel, my joy, My darling, my honey, my pretty, sweet boy; Before I do rock thee with soft lullaby, Give me thy dear lips to be kiss'd, kiss'd, kiss'd.
Good-night Baby
Baby, baby, lay your head On your pretty cradle bed; Shut your eye-peeps, now the day And the light are gone away; All the clothes are tucked in tight, Little baby, dear, good night.
Lie still with Daddy.
Hush thee, my babby, Lie still with thy daddy, Thy mammy has gone to the mill, To grind thee some wheat, To make thee some meat, And so, my babby, lie still.
Monkey feeding Baby.
Oh, my lady! my lady! my lady! Here's that funny monkey Has put on your night-cap, And is feeding The baby! the baby! the baby!
Baby getting up
Baby, baby ope your eye, For the sun is in the sky, And he's peeping once again Through the pretty window pane: Little baby, do not keep Any longer fast asleep.
Washing Baby's Hands
Wash hands, wash, Daddy's gone to plough; If you want your hands wash'd, Have them washed now.
Combing Baby's Hair
Comb hair, comb, Daddy's gone to plough; If you want your hair comb'd Have it combed now.
Baby Brother
My pretty baby-brother Is six months old to-day, And though he cannot speak, He knows whate'er I say.
Whenever I come near, He crows for very joy; And dearly do I love him, The darling baby-boy.
Baby
He opens his mouth when he kisses you; He cries very loud when he misses you; He says "Boo! boo! boo!" for "How-do-you-do?" And he strokes down your face when he's loving you.
Learning to walk alone
Come, my darling, come away, Take a pretty walk to-day; Run along, and never fear, I'll take care of baby dear; Up and down with little feet, That's the way to walk, my sweet.
See-Saw
See-saw sacradown, Which is the way to London town, One foot up is the other down, That is the way to London town.
Naughty Baby
Baby, baby Charlie, Naughty in his play, Slapping little Annie, Pushing her away.
Patting with his soft hands, Laughing in his fun; Slapping with such good-will, That the tear-drops run.
Do not cry, dear Annie, Wipe away the tear; Keep away from Charlie, Do not come so near,
Or his little hands will Pull your curly hair; Peep at baby, Annie-- Peep behind the chair.
Kiss the baby, darling, Kiss the little one; He is only playing, In his baby fun.
[Page 8--Little Children's Stories]
Tom Thumb's Alphabet
A was an archer, who shot at a frog; B was a butcher, who had a great dog; C was a captain, all covered with lace; D was a drunkard, and had a red face; E was an esquire, with pride on his brow; F was a farmer, who followed the plough; G was a gamer, who had but ill luck; H was a hunter, and hunted a buck; I was an innkeeper, who loved to bouse; J was a joiner, and built up a house; K was King William, once governed this land; L was a lady, who had a white hand; M was a miser, and hoarded up gold: N was a nobleman, gallant and bold; O was an oyster girl, and went about town; P was a parson, and wore a black gown; Q was a queen, who wore a silk slip; R was a robber, and wanted a whip; S was a sailor, and spent all he got; T was a tinker, and mended a pot; U was an usurer, a miserable elf; V was a vintner, who drank all himself; W was a watchman, and guarded the door; X was expensive, and so became poor; Y was a youth, that did not love school; Z was a Zany, a poor harmless fool;
Sing a Song-a-Sixpence
Sing a song-a-sixpence, A pocket full of rye; Four-and-twenty blackbirds Baked in a pie; When the pie was opened The birds began to sing: Was that not a dainty dish To set before the king? The king was in his counting-house, Counting out his money, The queen was in the parlour, Eating bread and honey; The maid was in the garden, Hanging out the clothes; Down came a blackbird, And snapt off her nose.
Old Chairs to Mend
If I'd as much money as I could spend, I never would cry old chairs to mend; Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend; I never would cry old chairs to mend. If I'd as much money as I could tell, I never would cry old clothes to sell; Old clothes to sell, old clothes to sell; I never would cry old clothes to sell.
Dad's gane to Ploo
Cock-a-doodle-doo, My dad's gane to ploo; Mammy's lost her pudding-poke And knows not what to do.
Hot Cross Buns
Hot-cross buns! Hot-cross buns! One a penny, two a penny, Hot-cross buns! Hot-cross buns! Hot-cross buns! If you have no daughters, Give them to your sons.
Rabbit Pie
Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit-pie! Come, my ladies, come and buy; Else your babies they will cry.
A--Apple-Pie
A apple pie; B bit it; C cut it; D danced for it; E eat it; F fought for it; G got it; H had it; I ignored it; J jumped for it; K kept it; L longed for it; M mourned for it; N nodded at it; O opened it; P peeped in it; Q quartered it; R ran for it; S stole it; T took it; U uncovered it; V viewed it; W wanted it; X ax'ed for it; Y yawned for it: Z cried, "Zounds! let's eat it up."
Three Men in a Tub
Rub a dub, dub, Three men in a tub; And who do you think they were? The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, They all came out of a rotten potato.
Dinner
Hey ding a ding, what shall I sing? How many holes in a skimmer? Four-and-twenty, my stomach is empty; Pray mamma, give me some dinner.
The Barber
Barber, barber, shave a pig, How many hairs will make a wig? "Four-and-twenty, that's enough," Give the barber a pinch of snuff.
Punch and Judy
Punch and Judy fought for a pie; Punch gave Judy a blow on the eye.
Pease Pudding
Pease pudding hot, Pease pudding cold, Pease pudding in the pot, Nine days old.
Porridge
A little bit of powdered beef, And a great net of cabbage, The best meal I have to-day Is a good bowl of porridge.
Shaving
The barber shaved the mason, As I suppose cut of his nose, And popp'd it in a basin.
Captain Duck
I saw a ship a-sailing, A-sailing on the sea; And, oh! it was all laden With pretty things for thee. There were comfits in the cabin, And apples in the holds; The sails were made of silk, And the masts were made of gold. The four-and-twenty sailors That stood between the decks, Were four-and-twenty white mice, With chains about their necks. The captain was a duck, With a packet on his back; And when the ship began to move, The captain said "Quack quack!"
Little Tee Wee
Little Tee Wee' he went to sea In an open boat; and while afloat The little boat bended, And my story's ended.
[Page 9--Children's Rhymes]
Jack be Quick
Jack be nimble, and Jack be quick; And Jack jump over the candle-stick.
Jack Sprat
Jack Sprat had a cat, It had but one ear; It went to buy butter When butter was dear.
Jack Horner
Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, Eating a Christmas Pie; He put in his thumb, and he took out a plum, And said, "What a good boy am I!"
Tom Tucker
Little Tom Tucker Sings for his supper; What shall he eat? White bread and butter. How shall he cut it Without e'er a knife? How will he be married Without e'er a wife?
Georgie Porgie
Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie, Kissed the girls and made them cry. When the girls came out to play Georgie Porgie ran away.
See-Saw
See-saw, Margery Daw, Little Jacky shall have a new master; Little Jacky shall have but a penny a day, Because he can't work any faster.
Little Lad
Little lad, little lad, where wast thou born? Far off in Lancashire, under a thorn, Where they sup sour milk in a ram's horn.
Jack-a-Dandy
Handy Spandy, Jack-a-dandy, Loved plum-cake and sugar-candy; He bought some at a grocer's shop, And out he came, hop, hop, hop.
My Son John
Deedle, deedle, dumpling, my son John Went to bed with his stockings on; One shoe off, the other shoe on. Deedle, deedle, dumpling, my son John
Jack and Jill
Jack and Jill went up the hill, To fetch a pail of water; Jack fell down and broke his crown, And Jill came tumbling after.
Who Can Draw Best
Willie drew a little pig, Harry drew a mouse, Tommy drew a ladder tall Leaning on a house.
Baa, Baa Black Sheep
Baa, baa, black sheep, Have you any wool? Yes, marry have I, Three bags full: One for my master, And one for my dame, But none for the little boy Who cries in the lane.
Hey diddle diddle
Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon; The little dog laughed to see such sport, And the dish ran after the spoon.
The Quaker's Version
"Hey! diddle diddle, The cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped under the moon; The little dog barked to see such sport And the cat ran after the spoon!" [*]
[*] Our friend, the Quaker, holds that the last verse is the proper one, as it is the truest; but the wonderful is taken out of it, and children, accordingly, prefer the first. There is nothing wonderful in the cow jumping "under" the moon, but there is in the cow jumping "over" the moon, so with the black-birds baked in a pie. It is the fact of their singing when the pie is opened that pleases the children--'twas the wonder of the thing; so with the freaks of Mother Hubbard's Dog, etc. In nearly all nursery rhymes it is the ludicrous and wonderful that arrests the attention and pleases. E. W. Cole
Frightened Boy
There was a little boy, went into a barn, And lay down on some hay; An owl came out, and flew about, And the little boy ran away.
Frightened Boys
Tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee Resolved to have a battle, For tweedle-dum said tweedle-dee Had spoiled his nice new rattle. Just then flew by a monstrous crow, As big as a tar-barrel, Which frightened both the heroes so, They quite forgot their quarrel.
Baked in a Pie
Baby and I Were baked in a pie, The gravy was wonderful hot; We had nothing to pay To the baker that day And so we crept out of the pot.
Maid not at Home
High diddle doubt, my candle's out, My little maid is not at home; Saddle my hog, and bridle my dog, And fetch my little maid home.
Dame not at Home
Rowsty dowt, my fire's all out, My little dame is not at home; I'll saddle my goose and bridle my hen, And fetch my little dame home again; Home she came, tritty trot; And asked for the porridge she left in the pot.
All in the Dumps
We're all in the dumps, For diamonds are trumps; The kittens are gone to St. Paul's! The babies are bit, The moon's in a fit, And the houses are built without walls.
Hot Rolls
Blow, wind, blow! and go, mill, go! That the miller may grind his corn; That the baker may take it, And into rolls make it, And send us some hot in the morn. Rosemary green, And lavender blue, Thyme and sweet marjoram, Hyssop and rue.
Bed Time
Come, let's to bed, says Sleepy-head Tarry a while says Slow; Put on the pot, says Greedy-Jock, Let's sup before we go.
Go to Bed First
Go to bed first, A golden purse; Go to bed second, A golden Pheasant; Go to bed third, A golden bird.
[Page 10--Girl Land]
Cry-Baby Belle
Cry-baby Belle Is always in tears Nothing you can give her can ease her! Sugar and spice, And everything nice, Kisses and cakes will not please her.
She'll cry if she happens To get a slight fall, She'll cry if the naughty boys tease her; She'll cry for a spoon, And she'll cry for the moon; So there's no use in trying to please her.
If the food set before her Don't happen to suit-- Oh, then just as loud as she's able, This cry-baby Belle Will set up a yell, And scare all the folks at the table.
If she wants to go out In the street she will cry; If she wants to come in how she screeches! For nothing at all She will set up and bawl, Unmindful of comforting speeches,
She screams in the morning Because she's not dress'd; And at night when they want to undress her More loudly she'll roar, And roll over the floor As if she had pains to distress her.
She cries when she's sick, And she cries when she's well, And often cries when she's sleeping, So that heavy and red, And most out of her head Are her eyes, on account of such weeping.
She always is fretful, Unhappy, and cross, No matter what she may be doing, And cry-baby Belle Pleases nobody well Because of her constant boo-hooing.
For a Naughty Little Girl
My sweet little girl should be careful and mild, And should not be fretful, and cry! Oh! why is this passion? remember, my child, God sees you, who lives in the sky.
That dear little face, which I like so to kiss, How frightful and sad it appears! Do you think I can love you, so naughty as this, Or kiss you so wetted with tears?
Remember, tho' God is in heaven, my love, He sees you within and without, And he always looks down from His glory above, To notice what you are about.
If I am not with you, or if it be dark, And nobody is in the way, His eye is as able your doings to mark, In the night as it is in the day.
Then dry up your tears, and look smiling again And never do things that are wrong; For I'm sure you must feel it a terrible pain, To be naughty, and crying so long.
Paulina Pry
Paulina Pry Would eat nothing but pie; Pie was her daily diet; Apple or plum, She must have some Or else she wouldn't be quiet.
She would not eat Any bread or meat, Though plenty of these were handy, But would pout and cry For a piece of pie, Or a stick of sugar-candy.
They heard her cry In the Land of Pie, And sent her dozens and dozens, Both tender and tough, Till she'd had more than enough For her sisters, her aunts and her cousins.
Tearful Annie
Poor little Annie, you will find, Is very gentle, good, and kind, But soon a a fault appears. The slightest thing will give her pain, Her feelings she can ne'er restrain, But gives way to her tears.
The other day when Ferdinand-- And if you search throughout the land, No nicer boy you'll find-- Said something which he never meant To cause the slightest discontent, For hours she sobbed and whined.
Her father grieved, said: "This must cease We never have a moment's peace, She cries both day and night." A portrait painter then he paid, To paint his little tearful maid, Crying with all her might.
He set to work that very day, Directly he received his pay; The picture soon was done. Yes, there she was, all sobs and sighs, Large tear-drops streaming from her eyes. "How like!" said every one.
It was in truth a great success; Quite perfect, neither more nor less; Her father was so glad. He hung the portrait in her room; It filled her with the deepest gloom; She felt annoyed and sad.
With every relative who came, And saw the picture, 'twas the same, All startled with affright. Uncles, and aunts, and cousins too, Found it so striking, life-like, true That soon they took to flight.
Annie not long could this endure; It brought about a speedy cure, She ceased to cry and moan. Her father ceased to scold and frown, He had the picture taken down, And in the garret thrown.
[Page 11--Girl Land]
Hattie's Birthday
Oh! This is a happy, beautiful world! My heart is light and gay; The birds in the trees sing blithely to me And I'm six years old to-day.
Yes, six, and father has bought me a book, And mother, the sweetest doll, All dressed in white with blue eyes bright, And the nicest hat and shawl.
My kitty sat quietly near the fire As Dolly and I came by; Miss Dolly bowed, and pussy meowed, And opened her yellow eye.
Ah me! if Kit could only talk, And Dolly could but chat, We'd social be as any three-- Talk, sing, and all of that.
I dressed all up in grandma's cap, And put on her glasses too; "Why, Grandma!" I said, as I looked at myself, "I'm almost as old as you."
My mother softly kissed my cheek, And then she blessed me too, Praying that I, as years went by, Might be as good and true.
My birthday song is a merry one, And my heart is warm and light; Kind father, mother, and dear grandma, Sweet dolly and pussy, good night.
Youth and Age
A funny thing I heard to-day, I might as well relate. Our Lil is six, and little May Still lacks a month of eight.
And, through the open play-room door, I heard the elder say: "Lil, run downstairs and get my doll; Go quick, now--right away!"
And Lillie said--(and I agreed That May was hardly fair):-- "You might say 'please,' or go yourself-- I didn't leave it there."
"But, Lillie," urged the elder one, "Your little legs, you know, Are younger than mine are, child, And so you ought to go!"
Children
"I would not be a girl," said Jack, "Because they have no fun; They cannot go a-fishing, nor A-shooting with a gun; They cannot climb up trees for fruit, Nor bathe without a bathing dress, Which is no fun at all."
"I would not be a boy," said May, "For boys are nasty things, With pockets filled with hooks and knives, And nails, and tops and strings And when a boy becomes a man, He's got to buy girls rings;"
A Lost Child
"I'm losted! Could you find me, please?" Poor little frightened baby! The wind had tossed her golden fleece, The stones had scratched her dimpled knees, I stooped and lifted her with ease, And softly whispered "Maybe."
"Tell me your name, my little maid: I can't find you without it." "My name is Shiny-eyes," she said, "Yes; but your last name?" She shook her head: "Up to my house 'ey never said A single word about it."
"But, dear," I said, "what is your name?" "Why, didn't you hear me told you? Dust Shiny-eyes." A bright thought came: "Yes, when you're good. But when they blame You little one,--is it just the same When mamma has to scold you?"
"My mamma never scolds," she moans, A little blush ensuing, "'Cept when I've been a-frowing stones; And then she says (the culprit owns),-- Mehitabel Sapphira Jones. What has you been a-doing?"
Anna E. Burnham
Little Mary
Here stands little, little Mary, With her face of winning grace, Chattering tongue that runs apace, And her ways contrary
Who so gay as Mary? With her laughs of rippling glee Brimming o'er with melody,-- Bonny, blithesome Mary.
Household pet is Mary-- Such a merry, joyous sprite, Filling all our home with light-- Pretty winsome Mary!
Mischief-loving Mary, Busy as the busiest bee, Full of sunshine, life, and glee Is our heart's sweet Mary!
Girl and Angel
As Peter sat at Heaven's gate A maiden sought permission, And begged of him, if not too late, To give her free admission.
"What claim hast thou to enter here?" He cried with earnest mien. "Please sir," said she, 'twixt hope and fear, "I'm only just sixteen!"
"Enough," the hoary guardian said, And the gate wide open threw. "That is the age when every maid Is girl and angel too."
[Page 12--Naughty Girls]
Girl Who Wouldn't Go to Bed
Once I knew a little girl, Who wouldn't go to bed, And in the morning always had A very sleepy head.
At night she'd stop upon the stairs, And hold the railings tight Then with a puff she'd try to blow Out Mary Ann's rushlight.
The bed at last they tuck'd her in, The light she vow'd to keep; Left in the dark she roar'd and cried; Till tired she went to sleep.
Little Girl that Beat her Sister
Go, go, my naughty girl, and kiss Your little sister dear; I must not have such things as this, Nor noisy quarrels here.
What! little children scold and fight Who ought to be so mild; Oh! Mary, 'tis a shocking sight To see an angry child.
I can't imagine for my part, The reason of your folly, As if she did you any hurt By playing with your dolly.
Children Should not Quarrel
Let dogs delight to bark an bite, For God hath made them so; Let bears and lions growl and fight: For 'tis their nature to.
But children you should never let Such angry passions rise; Your little hands were never made To tear each other's eyes.
The Sulky Girl
Why is Mary standing there, Leaning down upon the chair, With pouting lip and frowning brow? I wonder what's the matter now.
Come here, my dear, and tell me true, Is it because I spoke to you About what you just now had done, That you are such a naughty one?
When, then, indeed, I'm grieved to see That you can so ill-tempered be: You make your faults a great deal worse By being sulky and perverse.
Oh! how much better it appears, To see you melting into tears, And then to hear you humbly say, "I'll not do so another day!"
The Little Girl that did not Like to be Washed
What! cry when I wash you! not love to be clean? There, go and be dirty, unfit to be seen; And till you leave off, and I see you have smiled, I'll not take the trouble to wash such a child.
The Girl who Sucked her Fingers
A little girl, named Mary Kate, Whom you may have chance to see, Would have been loved by small and great, But for one thing, which I'll relate; So listen now to me.
A silly habit she's acquired Of putting in her mouth, The pretty fingers of her hand, And sucking them, for hours she'd stand, In a manner most uncouth.
Her play-companions used to laugh, And jeeringly would say, "Oh, pray bring Mary Kate some crumbs, Poor thing! she's dining off her thumbs, She'll eat them all away."
Girl Stealing Treacle
This is Nelly Pilfer; I'll tell you what she earned By stealing off the treacle When Mary's back was turned.
They caught the greedy Nelly With treacle on her hand, They put her in the corner, And there they made her stand.
The Girl who Soiled her Clothes
Little Polly Flinders, Sat among the cinders, Warming her pretty toes; Her mother came and caught her, And scolded her little daughter, For spoiling her nice new clothes.
The Greedy Little Girl
I knew a greedy little girl, Who all day long did roar; Whatever toys were given her, She always wanted more.
Five dolls she had--one was black, A ball and battledore, But held them all so very tight, The roar'd and scream'd for more.
Now this was wicked of the child, As everyone must own; So for the whole of one long day They shut her up alone.
The Girl Who Played with Fire
Mamma, a little girl I met, Had such a scar, I can't forget! All down her arms and neck and face; I could not bear to see the place.
Poor little girl! and don't you know The shocking trick that made her so? 'Twas all because she went and did A thing her mother had forbid.
For once, when nobody was by her, This silly child would play with fire; And long before her mother came, Her pinafore was all in flame.
In vain she tried to put it out, Till all her clothes were burnt about; And then she suffer'd ten times more, All over with a dreadful sore.
For many months before 'twas cured, Both day and night the pain endured; And still you see, when passing by her, How sad it is to play with fire.
Little Miss Consequence
Little Miss Consequence strutted about, Turned up her nose, pointed her toes, And thought herself quite a grand person, no doubt. Gave herself airs; took many cares, To appear old; was haughty and cold. She spoke to the servants like a dog or a cat And fussed about this, and fussed about that.
The Vulgar Little Lady
"But, mamma, now," said Charlotte, "pray don't you believe That I'm better than Jenny my nurse? Only see my red shoes, and the lace on my sleeve; Her clothes are a thousand times worse.
"I ride in my coach, and have nothing to do. And the country folks stare at me so; And nobody dares to control me but you, Because I'm a lady, you know.
"Then servants are vulgar and I am genteel; So, really, 'tis out of the way, To think that I should not be better a deal Than maids, and such people as they."
"Gentility, Charlotte," her mother replied, "Belongs to no station or place; And nothing's so vulgar as folly and pride, Though dressed in red slippers and lace.
"Not all the fine things that fine ladies possess Should teach them the poor to despise; For 'tis in good manners, and not in good dress, That the truest gentility lies."
[Page 13--Naughty Girls]
Peggy Won't
"I won't be dressed, I won't, I won't!" Cried Peggy one morn to mamma. "Very well, dear," was quietly said, "I'll teach you how silly you are."
Peggy then frowned and set her lips Expecting a kiss as of old, But mother had gravely walked away, And Peggy was getting so cold.
The minutes passed, and Peggy sighed, For thoughts of her breakfast arose, And "Mammy, dear," she loudly wept, While stamping her bare little toes.
Then mother came, and firmly said, "I'm taking you, dear, at your word; 'I won't be dressed--I won't, I won't!' Has many times lately been heard.
"So now to bed, my little maid, For you will not be dressed to-day; Then Peggy will be taught to think Before acting in such a way."
Oh, for the tears that Peggy shed! But now every morn, I am told, A wee young maid is quietly dressed, And is always as good as gold.
The Shadows
"Mamma! I see something Quite dark on the wall;-- It moves up and down, And it looks very strange! Sometimes it is large, And sometimes it is small; Pray, tell me what it is, And why does it change?"
"It is Mamma's shadow That puzzles you so, And there is your own Close beside it, my love! Now run round the room, It will go where you go; It rests where you sit, When you rise it will move.
"These wonderful shadows Are caused by the light From fire and from candles Upon us that falls; If we were not here, All that place would be bright, But light can't shine Through us to lighten the wall.
"And when you are out Some fine day in the sun, I'll take you where shadows Of apple-trees lie; And houses and cottages too-- Every one Repose on their shadows Beneath the bright sky.
"Now hold up your mouth, And give me a sweet kiss; Our shadows kiss too!-- Don't you see it quite plain?" "O yes! and I thank you For telling me this, I'll not be afraid Of a shadow again."
Mary Lundie
[Page 14--Naughty Girls]
Little Bo-Peep
Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep, And can't tell where to find them; Leave them alone, and they'll come home And bring their tails behind them.
Little Bo-Peep fell fast asleep, And dreamed she heard them bleating, But when she awoke, 'twas all a joke-- Alas! they still were fleeting.
Then up she took her little crook, Determined for to find them; She found them, indeed, bit it made her heart bleed, They'd left their tails behind them.
It happened one day, as Bo-Peep did stray Over the meadows hard by, That there she espied their tails side by side, All hung on a tree to dry.
She heaved a sigh, and gave by-and-by Each careless sheep a banging; And as for the rest, she thought it was best Just to leave their tails a-hanging.
Mary's Little Lamb
Mary had a little lamb Whose fleece was white as snow, And everywhere that Mary went That Lamb it would not go;
So Mary took that little Lamb And put it on the spit, And soon it was so nicely done She ate it every bit.
Pemmy
Pemmy was a pretty girl, But Fanny was a better; Pemmy look'd like any churl, When little Fanny let her.
Pemmy had a pretty nose, But Fanny had a better; Pemmy oft would come to blows, But Fanny would not let her.
Pemmy had a pretty song, But Fanny had a better; Pemmy would sing all day long, But Fanny would not let her.
Little Husband
I had a little husband, No bigger than my thumb; I put him in a pint pot, And there I bid him drum.
I bought a little horse, That galloped up and down; I bridled him, and saddled him, And sent him out of town.
I gave him some garters, To garter up his hose, And a little handkerchief, To wipe his pretty nose.
I'm Governess
Now children dear, you all come near And do not make a noise; But listen here, just take and clear That desk of all those toys.
For now I'm Governess you'll find, That its myself will make you mind; So Alice Brown you do your sum, And Betty Snooks don't look so glum.
And Sarah White sit down at once, And Susan Black you are a dunce, And Annie Grey you needn't think I didn't see you spill the ink.
And find your thimble Maggie More, And mind your sewing Jennie Shore; And Linda Cole you know 'tis wrong To make a stitch two inches long.
And you Kate Ross, stop pinching there, Don't scratch! nor pull your sister's hair; And you, you naughty Lucy Moyes, Must not be talking to the boys.
And Bridget Mace don't make that face; And Norah Finn keep your tongue in. Don't be a Tom-boy Emma Pyke, You really must act lady-like.
Now I want all good children in my school, Don't want a single dunce, bad girl or fool, So I will kindly ask you to be brave, And try to very, very well behave.
Yes all be good and learn your lessons well, And then I'll ring the little bell to tell That school is over for the day, And you can all run out to play.
Little Governess
Little Nellie Nipkin, brisk, and clean, and neat, Keeps a little baby-school in the village street; Teaches little pupils all that she can find, And keeps a little birch that teaches them to mind.
My Mamma's Maid
Dingty diddledy, My mamma's maid, She stole oranges, I'm afraid; Some in her pockets, some in her sleeve, She stole oranges, I believe.
My Dolly
I have a little doll, I take care of her clothes; She has soft flaxen hair, and her name is Rose. She has pretty blue eyes, and a very small nose, And a funny little mouth, and her name is Rose.
Tommy Snooks
As Tommy Snooks and Bessy Brooks Were walking out one Sunday, Says Tommy Snooks to Bessy Brooks, "To-morrow will be Monday."
Little Betty Blue
Little Betty Blue, lost her left shoe, What can little Betty do? Give her another, to match the other, And then she may walk in two.
Cross Patch
Cross patch, draw the latch, Sit by the fire and spin; Take a cup, and drink it up, Then call your neighbours in.
Jumping Joan
Hinx, minx! the old witch winks, The fat begins to fry; There's nobody at home but jumping Joan, Father, mother, and I.
Princess Lost Her Shoe
Doodle, doodle, doo, The Princess lost her shoe; Her highness hopp'd The fiddler stopp'd Not knowing what to do.
Hobble Gobble
The girl in the lane that couldn't speak plain, Cried "Gobble, gobble, gobble;" The man on the hill that couldn't stand still, Went "Hobble, hobble, hobble."
Our Girl's Rabbits
Mary, Kate, and Maria went down as agreed, To the hutch in the garden, the rabbits to feed; There was the mother, a steady old bunny, Moving her nose in a manner so funny.
A young rabbit also, tho' seeming to dose, Kept munching his breakfast and moving his nose; Mary, Kate, and Maria gave the rabbits some food, And lovingly stroked them because they were good.
[Page 15--Naughty Girls]
Meddlesome Matty
One ugly trick has often spoiled The sweetest and the best; Matilda, though a pleasant child, One ugly trick possessed, Which, like a cloud before the skies, Hid all her better qualities.
Sometimes she'd lift the teapot lid To peep at what was in it; Or tilt the kettle, if you did But turn your back a minute. In vain you told her not to touch-- Her trick of meddling grew so much.
Her grandma went out one day, And by mistake she laid Her spectacles and snuff-box gay Too near the little maid; "Ah! well," thought she, "I'll try them on, As soon as grandmamma is gone,"
Forthwith she placed upon her nose The glasses large and wide; And looking round, as I suppose, The snuff box she too spied: "Oh! what a pretty box is that; I'll open it." said little Matt.
"I know grandmamma would say, 'Don't meddle with it, dear;' But then she's far enough away, And no one else is near; Besides, what can there be amiss In opening such a box as this?"
So thumb and finger went to work To move the stubborn lid; And presently a mighty jerk The mighty mischief did; For all at once, ah! woeful case, The snuff came puffing in her face.
Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth beside, A dismal sight presented; In vain, as bitterly she cried, Her folly she repented. In vain she ran about for ease; She could do nothing now but sneeze.
She dashed the spectacles away, To wipe her tingling eyes; And as in twenty bits they lay, Her grandmamma she spies. "Heyday! and what's the matter now?" Says grandmamma, with lifted brow.
Matilda, smarting with the pain, And tingling still and sore, Made many a promise to refrain From meddling evermore. And 'tis a fact, as I have heard, She ever since has kept her word.
The Girl who Spilled the Ink
"Oh! Lucy! Fanny! Make haste here! Mamma will be so vexed, I fear, For I've upset the ink! See, on my frock and pinafore, Such great black stains! And there are more Upon my socks, I think."
And Lucy cries, with open eyes, And hands extended in surprise, "Oh, naughty Mary Ann, Those stains can never be washed out; Whatever have you been about? Look at her, sister Fan!"
Mamma comes in: "Heyday! what's this? Why, Mary Ann, I told you, Miss, The inkstand ne'er to move; And little girls who won't obey, And mind each word their parents say, Good people ne'er will love."
The Naughty Girl
A naughty girl had got no toy, And didn't know what to do, So she rumpled her frock And tore her sock, And tried to eat her shoe.
The Girl who was Always Tasting
Little Miss Baster, of Sunnyside, Was known as a taster, far and wide; Picking and licking, spying and prying, Each bottle and dish with her fingers trying. Dangerous practice! dreadful little fact is! Once almost poisoned, and very near dying. Little Miss Baster, of Sunnyside, Has got some poison in paper tied; Harmless she deems it, yes, she must taste, Like sugar seems it, ah! but 'tis paste. Rat's-bane, the mixture. Oh! woe the day! Run for the doctor, bid him not stay. Dreadful her anguish--nearly she died, Did little Miss Baster, of Sunnyside.
Children Stealing Jam
Four naughty little children thought Some jam they'd try and steal; But see how nicely they were caught With a crash that made them squeal.
Their mother who was just next door, And heard the horrid noise, Came in and shook those naughty girls, And whipped those naughty boys.
Sally, the Lazy Girl
Her sister would come to the bedside and call, "Do you mean to sleep here all the day?" I saw Kitty Miles up two hours ago, A-washing and working away.
"The water is boiling, the table is spread, Your father is just at the door; If you are not quick, we shall eat all the bread, And you will not find any more."
Then Sally sat up and half opened her eyes, And gave both a grunt and a groan; And yawning she said, in a quarrelsome voice, "I wish you would let me alone."
But though she was lazy, she always could eat, And wished for a plentiful share, So tumbled her clothes on, and smeared her white face, Forgetting her hands and her hair.
Her frock was all crumpled and twisted away, Her hair was entangled and wild, Her stockings were down and her shoes were untied, She looked a most slovenly child.
She sauntered about till the old village clock Had sounded and then died away, Before she put on her torn bonnet and went To school without further delay.
But soon as she came to the little cake shop, She loitered with lingering eyes, Just wishing that she had a penny to spend, For one of the pretty jam pies.
Again she went on, and she loitered again In the same foolish way as before, And the clock in the school was just warning for ten, As she lifted the latch of the door.
The governess frowned as she went to her place, She had often so spoken in vain, And now only said, with a sorrowful sigh, "There's Sally the latest again!"
She hated her reading, and never would write, She neither could cypher nor sew, And little girls whispered, "We never will be So silly as Miss Sally Slow."
Girl who Wouldn't Comb her Hair
I tell you of a little girl, who would herself have been, As pretty a young lady as ever could be seen, But that about her little head she had no cleanly care. And never, never could be made to brush and comb her hair.
She would have been a pretty child, But, oh! she was a fright-- She looked just like a girl that's wild, Yes, quite as ugly, quite; She looked just like a girl that's wild-- A frightful ugly sight.
The Nasty, Cross Girls
The school was closed one afternoon, And all the girls were gone; Some walked away in company, And some walked on alone.
Some plucked the flowers upon the banks, Some chatted very fast, And some were talking secretly, And whispered as you passed.
And if, perchance, a girl came near, Then one of these would say, "Don't listen to our secrets, Miss, You'll please to go away."
As Nelly White ran home from school, Her work-bag in her hand, She chanced to pass near Lucy Bell, And her friend Susan Brand.
"We don't want you," said Lucy Bell, "You little tiresome chit; Our secrets are not meant for you, You little tell-tale-tit."
Then both girls cried, "Tell-tale-tit," And pushed her roughly by; Poor Nelly said, "I'm no such thing," And then began to cry.
[Page 16--Girl's Stories]
Little Red Riding Hood
Once upon a time there was a dear little girl whose mother made her a scarlet cloak with a hood to tie over her pretty head; so people called her (as a pet name) "Little Red Riding-Hood." One day her mother tied on her cloak and hood and said,
"I wish you to go to-day, my darling, to see your grandmamma, and take her a present of some butter, fresh eggs, a pot of honey, and a little cake with my love."
Little Red Riding-Hood loved her grandmother, and was very glad to go. So she ran gaily through the wood, gathering wild flowers and gambolling among the ferns as she went; and the birds all sang their sweetest songs to her, and the bluebells nodded their pretty heads, for everything loved the gentle child.
By and by a great hungry Wolf came up to her. He wished to eat her up, but as he heard the woodman Hugh's axe at work close by, he was afraid to touch her, for fear she should cry out and he should get killed. So he only asked her where she was going. Little Red Riding-Hood innocently told him (for she did not know he was a wicked Wolf) that she was going to visit her grandmother, who lived in a cottage on the other side of the wood. Then the Wolf made haste, and ran through the wood, and came to the cottage of which the child had told him. He tapped at the door.
"Who's there?" asked the old woman, who lay sick in bed.
"It is Little Red Riding-Hood, Grandmamma," answered the Wolf in a squeaky tone, to imitate the voice of her grandchild.
"Pull the string, and the latch will come up," said the old lady, "for I am ill and cannot open the door."
The cruel Wolf did so, and, jumping on the bed, ate the poor grandmother up.
Then he put on her night-cap and got into bed. By and by Little Red Riding-Hood, who had lingered gathering flowers as she came along, and so was much later than the Wolf, knocked at the door.
"Who's there?" asked the Wolf, mimicking her grandmother's voice. "It is Little Red Riding-Hood, dear Grandmamma," said the child. "Pull the string and the latch will come up," said the Wolf.
So Red Riding-Hood came in, and the Wolf told her to put down her basket, and come and sit on the bed. When Little Red Riding-Hood drew back the curtain and saw the Wolf, she began to be rather frightened and said,
"Dear Grandmamma, what great eyes you have got!" "All the better to see you with, my dear," said the Wolf, who liked a grim joke. "And what a large nose you have, Grandmamma!" cried the child. "All the better to smell you with, my dear." "And, oh! Grandmamma, what long white teeth you have!"
Alas! she reminded the greedy Wolf of eating.
"All the better to eat you with!" he growled; and, jumping out of bed, sprang at Red Riding-Hood.
But just at that moment Hugh the woodman, who had seen the sweet child go by, and had followed her, because he knew there was a Wolf prowling about the forest, burst the door open, and killed the wicked animal with his good axe. Little Red Riding-Hood clung round his neck and thanked him, and cried for joy; and Hugh took her home to her mother; and after that she was never allowed to walk in the greenwood by herself.
It was said at first that the Wolf had eaten the child, but that was not the case; and everybody was glad to hear that the first report was not correct, and that the Wolf had not really killed Little Red Riding-Hood.
Little Miss Jewel
Little Miss Jewel Sat on a stool, Eating of curds and whey; There came a little spider Who sat down beside her, And frightened Miss Jewel away.
Little Girl
Little girl, little girl, where have you been; Gathering Roses to give to the Queen. Little girl, little girl, what gave she you? She gave me a diamond as big as my shoe.
Little Betty Blue
Little Betty Blue lost her pretty shoe; What can Little Betty do? Give her another, to match the other, And then she can walk in two.
I'm Grandmamma
Last night when I was in bed, Such fun it seemed to me; I dreamt that I was Grandmamma, And Grandmamma was me.
But she was such a tiny girl, And dressed in baby clothes; And I thought I smacked her face, because She wouldn't blow her nose.
An I went walking up the street, And she ran by my side; And because I walked too quick for her, My goodness, hoe she cried.
And after tea I washed her face; And when her prayers were said, I blew the candle out, and left Poor Grandmamma in bed.
The Babes In The Wood
A long time ago there lived in an old mansion in the country a rich gentleman and his wife, who had two dear little children, of whom they were very fond. Sad to relate, the gentleman and lady were both taken ill, and, feeling they were about to die, sent for the uncle of the children, and begged him to take care of them till they were old enough to inherit the estates.
Now this uncle was a bad and cruel man, who wanted to take the house, the estates, and the money for himself,--so after the death of the parents he began to think how he could best get rid of the children. For some time he kept them till he claimed for them all the goods that should have been theirs. At last he sent for two robbers, who had once been his companions, and showing them the boy and girl, who were at play, offered them a large sum of money to carry them away and never let him see them more.
One of the two robbers began coaxing the little boy and girl, and asking them if they would not like to go out for a nice ride in the woods, each of them on a big horse. The boy said he should if his sister might go too, and the girl said she should not be afraid if her brother went with her. So the two robbers enticed them away from the house, and, mounting their horses, went off into the woods, much to the delight of the children, who were pleased with the great trees, the bright flowers, and the singing of the birds.
Now, one of these men was not so bad and cruel as the other, and he would not consent to kill the poor little creatures, as the other had threatened he would do. He said that they should be left in the woods to stray about, and perhaps they might then escape. This led to a great quarrel between the two, and at last the cruel one jumped off his horse, saying he would kill them, let who would stand in the way. Upon this the other drew his sword to protect the children, and after a fierce fight succeeded in killing his companion.
But though he had saved them from being murdered, he was afraid to take them back or convey them out of the wood, so he pointed out a path, telling them to walk straight on and he would come back to them when he had bought some bread for their supper; he rode away and left them there all alone, with only the trees, and birds and flowers. They loved each other so dearly, and were so bold and happy, that they were not much afraid though they were both very hungry.
The two children soon got out of the path, which led into the thickest part of the wood, and then they wandered farther and farther into the thicket till they were both sadly tired, but they found some wild berries, nuts and fruits, and began to eat them to satisfy their hunger. The dark night came on and the robber did not return. They were cold, and still very hungry, and the boy went about looking for fresh fruit for his sister, and tried to comfort her as they lay down to sleep on the soft moss under the trees.
The next day, and the next, they roamed about, but there was nothing to eat but wild fruits; and they lived on them till they grew so weak that they could not go far from the tree where they had made a little bed of grass and weeds. There they laid down as the shades of night fell upon them, and in the morning they were both in heaven, for they died there in the forest, and as the sun shone upon their little pale faces, the robins and other birds came and covered their bodies with leaves, and so died and were buried the poor Babes in the Wood.
[Page 17--Girl's Stories]
Cinderella
Cinderella's mother died while she was a very little child, leaving her to the care of her father and her step-sisters, who were very much older than herself; for Cinderella's father had been twice married, and her mother was his second wife. Now, Cinderella's sisters did not love her, and were very unkind to her. As she grew older they made her work as a servant, and even sift the cinders: on which account they used to call her in mockery "Cinderella." It was not her real name, but she became afterwards so well known by it that her proper one has been forgotten.
She was a sweet tempered, good girl, however, and everybody except her cruel sisters loved her. It happened, when Cinderella was about seventeen years old, that the King of that country gave a ball, to which all the ladies of the land, and among the rest the young girl's sisters were invited. So they made her dress them for this ball, but never thought of allowing her to go.
"I wish you would take me to the ball with you, sisters," said Cinderella, meekly.
"Take you, indeed!" answered the elder sister with a sneer, "it is no place for a cinder-sifter: stay at home and do your work."
When they were gone, Cinderella, whose heart was sad, sat down and cried; but as she sorrowful, thinking of the unkindness of her sisters, a voice called to her from the garden, and she went to see who was there. It was her godmother, a good old Fairy.
"Do not cry, Cinderella," she said; "you also shall go to the ball, because you are a kind, good girl. Bring me a large pumpkin."
Cinderella obeyed, and the fairy touched it with her wand, turned it into a grand coach. Then she turned a rat into a coach-man, and some mice into footmen; and touching Cinderella with her wand, the poor girl's rags became a rich dress trimmed with costly lace and jewels, and her old shoes became a charming pair of glass slippers, which looked like diamonds. The fairy told her to go to the ball and enjoy herself, but to be sure and leave the ball-room before the clock struck eleven. "If you do not," she said, "your fine clothes will all turn to rags again.
So Cinderella got into the coach, and drove off with her six footmen behind, very splendid to behold, and arrived at the King's Court, where she was received with delight. She was the most beautiful young lady at the ball, and the Prince would dance with no one else. But she made haste to leave before the hour fixed and had time to undress before her sisters came home. They told her a beautiful Princess had been at the ball, with whom the Prince was delighted. They did not know it was Cinderella herself.
Three times Cinderella went to royal balls in this manner, but the third time she forgot the Fairy's command, and heard eleven o'clock strike. She darted out of the ball-room and ran down stairs in a great hurry. But her dress all turned to rags before she left the palace and she lost one of her glass slippers. The Prince sought for her everywhere, but the guard said no one had passed the gate but a poor beggar girl. However, the prince found the slipper, and in order to discover where Cinderella was gone, he had it proclaimed that he would marry the lady who could put on the glass slipper. All the ladies tried to wear the glass slipper in vain, Cinderella's sisters also, but when their young sister begged to be allowed to try it also, it was found to fit her exactly, and to the Prince's delight, she drew the fellow slipper from her pocket, and he knew at once that she was his beautiful partner at the ball. So she was married to the Prince, and the children strewed roses in their path as they came out of church.
Cinderella forgave her sisters, and was so kind to them that she made them truly sorry for their past cruelty and injustice.
The Three Bears
Once upon a time three bears lived in a nice little house in a great forest.
There was Father Bear, Mother Bear, and Baby Bear.
They had each a bed to sleep in, a chair to sit on, and a basin and a spoon for eating porridge, which was their favourite food.
One morning the three bears went to take a walk before breakfast; but before they went out they poured the hot porridge into their basins, that it might get cool by the time they came back. Mr and Mrs Bear walked arm-in-arm, and Baby Bear ran by their side. Now, there lived in that same forest a sweet little girl who was called Golden Hair. She, also, was walking that morning in the wood, and happening to pass by the bear's house, and seeing the window open, she peeped in.
There was no one to be seen, but three basins of steaming hot porridge all ready to be eaten, seemed to say "Come in and have some breakfast." So Golden Hair went in and tasted the porridge in all the basins, then she sat down in Baby Bear's chair, and took up his spoon, and ate up all his porridge. Now this was very wrong. A tiny bear is only a tiny bear, still he has the right to keep his own things. But Golden Hair didn't know any better.
Unluckily, Baby Bear's chair was too small for her, and she broke the seat and fell through, basin and all.
Then Golden Hair went upstairs, and there she saw three beds all in a row. Golden Hair lay down on Father Bear's bed first, but that was too long for her, then she lay down on Mother Bear's bed, and that was too wide for her, last of all she lay down on Baby Bear's bed, and there she fell asleep, for she was tired.
By-and-by the bears came home, and Old Father Bear looked at his chair, and growled:
"Somebody has been here!" Mother Bear growled more softly: "Somebody has been here!"
Baby Bear, seeing his chair broken, squeeled out "Somebody has been here, and broken my chair right through!"
Then they went to the table, and looked at their porridge, and Father Bear Growled:
"Who has touched my basin?" And Mother Bear growled: "Who has touched my basin?" And Baby Bear squeaked: "Somebody has broken mine and eaten up all my porridge!" They went upstairs and Father Bear growled: "Who has been lying on my bed?" And Mother Bear growled: "Who has been lying on my bed?" And Baby Bear squeaked out: "O! here is a little girl in my bed; and it must be she who has eaten my breakfast and broken my chair and basin!" Then Father Bear growled: "Let us eat her up!" Then Mother Bear growled: "Let us eat her up!" And Tiny Bear squeaked: "Let us eat her up!"
But the noise they made awoke Golden Hair; she startled out of bed (on the opposite side) and jumped out of the window. The three bears all jumped out after her, but they fell one on the top of the other, and rolled over and over, and while they were picking themselves up, little Golden Hair ran home, and they were not able to catch her.
Bluebeard
Once there lived in a lovely castle a very rich man called Bluebeard. A short distance off lived an old gentleman with two lovely daughters, named Fatima and Annie. Bluebeard visited their house, and at length proposed to Fatima, was accepted by her, and they were married with great splendour. He took her home with him to his castle, and permitted her sister Annie to reside with her for company for a time.
She lived very happily in her new home, her new husband was very kind to her, and allowed her to have everything she wished for, but one day he suddenly told her that business called him away from home, that he should be away some days, and handed her the keys to his wardrobe, treasures, and all parts of the castle, he also gave her one key of a small closet, and told her that she might unlock every door in the castle, but not the closet door, for if she did so, she should not live an hour longer. He then left home fondly kissing her at the door.
Her sister and herself returned into the castle, and enjoyed themselves in unlocking room after room, looking over the curiosities, treasures, &c, until Annie became tired and lay down to rest on a rich sofa, and fell asleep. Fatima, as soon as she saw that her sister was asleep, felt a womanly curiosity, an irresistible temptation to unlock the forbidden closet, and take a peep.
She tripped lightly up to the door, turned the key in the lock, pushed the door open, and, oh! horror! there were five or six dead ladies lying in the closet, with their marriage rings on their fingers. She at once concluded that they were Bluebeard's previous wives, she let the key drop in her fright into the blood on the floor, she picked it up and attempted to wipe it, but the blood would not come off. She awoke her sister, and they both tried, but they could not get it off, and gave it up in despair.
Just then Bluebeard suddenly returned, and asked his wife if she could please to hand him the keys. She trembling did so. He said "How came the blood on the closet key? You have disobeyed me, and shall die at once."
She begged a few minutes to say her prayers and just as he was going to chop her head off, her two brothers arrived at the castle, burst open the door, killed the cruel wretch, and rescued their sisters.
[Page 18--Girl Land]
My Girl
A little corner with it's crib. A little mug, a spoon, a bib, A little tooth so pearly white, A little rubber-ring to bite.
A little plate all lettered round, A little rattle to resound, A little creeping--see! she stands! A little step 'twixt outstretched hands.
A little doll with flaxen hair. A little willow rocking chair, A little dress of richest hue, A little pair of gaiters blue.
A little school day after day, A little "schoolma'am" to obey, A little study--soon 'tis past-- A little graduate at last.
A little muff for wintry weather, A little jockey-hat and feather, A little sac with funny pockets, A little chain, a ring, and lockets.
A little while to dance and bow, A little escort homeward now, A little party somewhat late, A little lingering at the gate.
A little walk in leafy June, A little talk while shines the moon, A little reference to papa, A little planning with mamma.
A little ceremony grave, A little struggle to be brave, A little cottage on the lawn, A little kiss--my girl was gone!
Good and Bad
There was a little girl, And she had a little curl Right in the middle of her forehead When she was good She was very good, But when she was bad, she was horrible.
My little Daughter's Shoes
Two little rough-worn, stubbed shoes A plump, well-trodden pair; With striped stockings thrust within, Lie just beside my chair.
Of very homely fabric they, A hole is in each toe, They might have cost, when they were new, Some fifty cents or so.
And yet this little, worn-out pair Is richer far too me Than all the jewelled sandals are Of Eastern luxury.
This mottled leather, cracked with use, Is satin in my sight; These little tarnished buttons shine With all a diamond's light.
Search through the wardrobe of the world! You shall not find me there So rarely made, so richly wrought, So glorious a pair.
And why? Because they tell of her, Now sound asleep above, Whose form is moving beauty, and Whose heart is beating love.
They tell me of her merry laugh; Her rich, whole-hearted glee; Her gentleness, her innocence, And infant purity.
They tell me that her wavering steps Will long demand my aid; For the old road of human life Is very roughly laid.
High hills and swift descents abound; And, on so rude a way, Feet that can wear these coverings Would surely go astray.
Sweet little girl! be mine the task Thy feeble steps to tend! To be thy guide, thy counsellor, Thy playmate and thy friend!
And when my steps shall faltering grow, And thine be firm and strong, Thy strength shell lead my tottering age In cheerful peace along.
The Old Cradle
And this was your cradle? Why, surely, my Jenny, Such slender dimensions Go somewhat to show You were a delightfully Small picaninny Some nineteen or twenty Short summers ago.
Your baby-day flowed In a much troubled channel; I see you as then In your impotent strife, A tight little bundle Of wailing and flannel, Perplexed with that Newly-found fardel called Life,
To hint at an infantine Frailty is scandal; Let bygones be bygones-- And somebody knows It was bliss such a baby To dance and to dandle, Your cheeks were so velvet, So rosy your toes.
Ay, here is your cradle, And Hope, a bright spirit, With love now is watching Beside it, I know. They guard the small nest You yourself did inherit Some nineteen or twenty Short summers ago.
It is Hope gilds the future-- Love welcomes it smiling; Thus wags this old world, Therefore stay not to ask, "My future bids fair, Is my future beguiling?" If masked, still it pleases-- Then raise not the mask.
Is life a poor coil Some would gladly be doffing? He is riding post-haste Who their wrongs will adjust; For at most 'tis a footstep From cradle to coffin-- From a spoonful of pap To a mouthful of dust.
Then smile as your future Is smiling, my Jenny! Tho' blossoms of promise Are lost in the rose, I still see the face Of my small picaninny Unchang'd, for these cheeks Are as blooming as those.
Ay, here is your cradle! Much, much to my liking, Though nineteen or twenty Long winters have sped; But, hark! as I'm talking There's six o'clock striking, It is time Jennie's baby Should be in its bed.
Frederick Locker
A Little Goose
The chill November day was done, The working world home a-faring, The wind came roaring through the streets, And set the gas lamps flaring.
And hopelessly and aimlessly The seared old leaves were flying, When, mingled with the sighing wind, I heard a small voice crying,
And shivering on the corner stood A child of four or over; No hat nor cloak her small soft arms Or wind-blown curls to cover.
Her dimpled face was stained with tears; Her round blue eyes ran over; She crushed within her wee, cold hands A bunch of faded clover.
And one hand round her treasures, While she slipped in mine the other, Half-scared, half-confidential, said "Oh! please, I want my mother."
"Tell me your street name and number, pet; Don't cry, I'll take you to it," Sobbing, she answered, "I forget-- The organ made me do it."
"He came and played at Miller's steps; The monkey took the money; And so I followed down the street, That monkey was so funny.
I've walked about a hundred hours, From one street to another; The monkey's gone; I've spoiled my flowers: Oh! please, I want my mother."
"But what's your mother's name? And what's the street? now think a minute." "My mother's name is mamma dear, The street--I can't begin it."
"But what is strange about the house, Or new--not like the others?" I guess you mean my trundle bed-- Mine and my little brother's.
Oh! dear, I ought to be at home, to help him say his prayers; He's such a baby, he forgets, And we are both such players.
"And there's a bar between, to keep From pitching on each other; For Harry rolls when he's asleep-- Oh! dear, I want my mother."
The sky grew stormy, people passed, All muffled, homeward faring; "You'll have to spend the night with me," I said at last, despairing.
I spied a ribbon about her neck. "What ribbon's this, my blossom?" "Why, don't you know?" she smiling asked, And drew it from her bosom.
A card with number, street, and name! My eyes astonished, met it. "For," said the little one, "you see I might some tome forget it.
And so I wear a little thing That tells you all about it; For mother says she's very sure I might get lost without it.
Eliza S. Turner
[Page 19--Girl Land]
Girls
There's the pretty girl, And the witty girl, And the girl that bangs her hair; The girl that's a flirt, And the girl that is pert, And the girl with the baby stare.
There's the dowdy girl, And the rowdy girl, And the girl that's always late; There's the girl of style, And the girl of wile, And the girl with the mincing gaits
There's the tender girl, And the well-read girl, And the girl with the sense of duty There's the dainty girl And the fainty girl And the girl that has no beauty.
There's the lazy girl, And the daisy girl, And the girl that has two faces; There's the girl that's shy, And the girl that's fly And the girl that bets on races
There are many others, Oh! men and brothers, Than are named in this narration. There are girls and girls, Yet they're all of them pearls, Quite the best sorts in creation.
Girl's Names
There is a strange deformity Combined with countless graces, As often in the ladies' names, As in the ladies faces; Some names fit for every age, Some only fit for youth; Some passing sweet and musical, Some horribly uncouth; Some fit for dames of loftiest grades, Some only fit for scullery maids Ann is too plain and common, And Nancy sounds but ill; Yet Anna is endurable, And Annie better still, There is a grace in Charlotte, In Eleanor a state, An elegance in Isabel, A haughtiness in Kate; And Sarah is sedate and neat, And Ellen innocent and sweet Matilda has a sickly sound, Fit for a nurse's trade; Sophie is effeminate, And Esther sage and staid; Elizabeth's a matchless name, Fit for a queen to wear In castle, cottage, hut, or hall-- A name beyond compare; And Bess, and Bessie follow well, But Betsy is detestable. Maria is too forward, And Gertrude is too gruff, Yet, coupled with a pretty face, Is pretty name enough' And Adelaide is fanciful, And Laura is too fine, But Emily is beautiful, And Mary is divine Maud only suits a high-born dame, And Fanny is a baby name Eliza is not very choice, Jane is too blunt and Bold, And Martha somewhat sorrowful, And Lucy proud and cold; Amelia is too light and gay, Fit for only a flirt; And Caroline is vain and shy, And Flora smart and pert; Louisa is too soft and sleek But Alice--gentle, chaste and meek And Harriet is confiding, And Clara grave and mild. And Emma is affectionate, And Janet arch and wild! And Patience is expressive, And Grace is cold and rare, And Hannah warm and dutiful, And Margaret frank and fair And Faith, and Hope and Charity Are heavenly names for sisters three.
Sarah
Oh, Sarah mine, hark to my song Your slumbers soft invading. For here beneath your window-sill I come a-Sarah-nading.
You know my fond heart beats for you In tenderest adoration, And then, you know, I long to have You be my own Sal-vation.
The day's not far when you'll be mine-- The thought makes my soul merry; You'll be the pride of all my life, But not my adver-Sarey.
The tender fates shall crown your lot, And sweet contentment parcel; And while you're just the world to me, Love will be univer-Sal.
With bridal altar draped with flowers And everything so tony, In crowded church we will be wed With lots of Sarah-money.
There's nothing I'll not do for you Till life comes to an end, dear. I'd brave the battles of the world And fight a Sara-cen, dear.
I must to sleep, Sal, soda you, For here I must not dally, For that bull-dog I hear, like me, Is bound to have a Sally.
Several Kinds of Girls
A good girl to have--Sal Vation. A disagreeable girl--Anna Mosity. A fighting girl--Hittie Magginn. Not a Christian girl--Hettie Rodoxy. A sweet girl--Carrie Mel. A pleasant girl--Jennie Rosity. A sick girl--Sallie Vate. A smooth girl--Amelia Ration. A seedy girl--Cora Ander. One of the best girls--Ella Gant. A clear case of girl--E. Lucy Date. A geometrical girl--Rhoda Dendron. A musical girl--Sarah Nade. A profound girl--Mettie Physics. A star girl--Meta Oric. A clinging girl--Jessie Mine. A nervous girl--Hester Ical. A muscular girl--Callie Sthenici. A lively girl--Anna Mation. An uncertain girl--Eva Nescent. A sad girl--Ella G. A serene girl--Molly Fy. A great big girl--Ella Phant. A warlike girl--Millie Tary. The best girl of all--Your Own.
[Page 20--Girl Land]
Jumping-Jennie
Jennie has a jumping-rope As slender as a whip. And all about the street and house She'd skip, and skip, and skip.
She knocked the vases from the shelf, Upset the stools and chairs, And one unlucky day, alas! Went headlong down the stairs.
Against the wall, against the door Her head she often bumped, And stumbled here, and stumbled there, Yet still she jumped, and jumped.
She jumped so high, she jumped so hard, That--so the story goes-- She wore her shoes and stockings out, Likewise her heels and toes.
I Don't Care
Matilda was a pretty girl, And she had flaxen hair; And yet she used those naughty words "I'm sure I do not care."
She once her lessons would not learn, But talk'd about the fair, And lost her tickets, but she said, "I'm sure I do not care."
As she advanced to riper years, I'm sorry to declare, She still preserved those naughty words, "I'm sure I do not care."
She grew a woman, and for life 'Twas time she should prepare, But still she said "there's time enough, If not, I do not care."
Duties neglected, warnings spurn'd, Her mother in despair; And though she saw the evil done, She said, "I do not care."
Still on she went from bad to worse, She spurned her father's prayer; Who feared she'd find an awful end, Because she would not care.
Afflictions came, and death in view, Which filled her with despair; Her God neglected, and she feared For her He would not care.
Could you have then Matilda seen, Or heard her broken prayer, She urged her friends never to use Those awful words--Don't Care.
Little Miss Meddlesome
Little Miss Meddlesome Scattering crumbs, Into the library Noisily comes-- Twirls off her apron, Tilts open some books, And into a work-basket Rummaging, looks.
Out goes the spools spinning Over the floor, Beeswax and needle-case Stepped out before; She tosses the tape-rule And plays with the floss, And says to herself, "Now won't mamma be cross!"
Little Miss Meddlesome Climbs to the shelf, Since no-one is looking, And mischievous elf, Pulls down the fine vases, The cuckoo-clock stops, And sprinkles the carpet With damaging drops.
She turns over the ottoman, Frightens the bird, And sees that the chairs In a medley are stirred; Then creeps on the sofa, And, all in a heap, Drops out of her Frolicsome mischief asleep.
But here comes the nurse, Who is shaking her head, And frowns at the mischief Asleep on her bed. But let's hope when Miss Meddlesome's Slumber is o'er, She may wake from good dreams And do mischief no more.
Careless Matilda
"Again, Matilda, Is your work astray, Your thimble is gone! Your scissors, where are they?
Your needles, pins, your thread, And tapes all lost-- Your housewife here, And there your work-bag tost.
Fie, fie, my child! Indeed this will not do, Your hair uncomb'd, Your frock in tatters too;
I'm now resolv'd No more delays to grant, This day I'll send you To your stern old aunt."
In vain Matilda wept, Repented, pray'd, In vain a promise Of amendment made.
Arriv'd at Austere Hall, Matilda sigh'd. By Lady Rigid, When severely eyed.
"You read, and write, And work well, as I'm told, Are gentle, kind, good-natur'd, Far from bold.
But very careless, Negligent, and wild-- When you leave me, You'll be a different child."
The little girl Next morn a favour asks: "I wish to take a walk," "Go learn your tasks,"
The lady harsh replies, "Nor cry nor whine. Your room you leave not Till you're call'd to dine."
As thus Matilda sat, O'erwhelm'd with shame, A dame appear'd, Disorder was her name.
Her hair and dress neglected, Soil'd her face, She squinted leer'd, And hobbled in her pace.
"Here, child," she said, "My mistress sends you this, A bag of silks-- A flow'r not work'd amiss--
A polyanthus bright, And wondrous gay; You'll copy it by noon, She bade me say." Disorder grinn'd, Then shuffling walk'd away.
Entangled were The silks of every hue, Confus'd and mix'd Were shades of pink, green, blue;
She took a thread, Compar'd it with the flow'r; "To finish this is Not within my pow'r.
Well-order'd silks Had Lady Rigid sent, I might have work'd, If such was her intent."
She sigh'd, and melted Into sobs and tears, She hears a noise And at the door appears
A pretty maiden, clean, Well-dress'd, and neat Her voice was soft, Her looks sedate, yet sweet.
"My name is Order, Do not cry my love; Attend to me, And thus you may improve."
She took the silks, And drew out shade for shade, In sep'rate skeins, Each hue with care she laid; Then smiling kindly, Left the little maid.
Matilda now resumed Her sweet employ, And sees the flow'r complete-- How great her joy.
She leaves the room, "I've done my task," she cries. But soon her harshness The lady look'd With disbelieving eyes, Chang'd to glad surprise.
"Why this is well! A very pretty flow'r, Work'd clean, exact, And done within the hour!
And now amuse yourself, Ride, walk or play." Thus passed Matilda This much-dreaded day.
At all her tasks Disorder would attend At all her tasks Still Order stood her friend.
With tears and sighs Her studies oft began, These into smiles Were changed by Order's plan;
No longer Lady Rigid Seem'd severe, Her looks the negligent Alone need fear.
And when the day The wish'd-for day is come When young Matilda's Suffer'd to go home:
"You quit me, child, But oft to mind recall The time you spent With me at Austere Hall.
And now, my dear, I'll give you one of these, Your servant she will be; Take which you please."
"From me," Disorder asked, "Old friend, why start?" Matilda clasped Sweet Order to her heart. "My dearest girl," she cried, "We'll never part."
[Page 21--Girl Land]
Forty Little School Girls
Forty little school girls, running, but not flirty; Ten ran into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but thirty.
Thirty little school girls swimming the river Plenty; Ten swam into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but twenty.
Twenty little school girls jumping in velveteen; One jumped into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were nineteen.
Nineteen little school girls going out a-skating; One skated into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but eighteen.
Eighteen little school girls dancing with the queen; One danced into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were seventeen.
Seventeen little school girls driving a bullock team; One drove into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were sixteen.
Sixteen little school girls creeping out unseen; One crept into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were fifteen.
Fifteen little school girls hopping on the green; One hopped into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were fourteen.
Fourteen little schoolgirls floating down a stream; One floated into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were thirteen.
Thirteen little school girls leaping out to delve; One leaped into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but twelve.
Twelve little school girls racing out for leaven; One raced into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were eleven.
Eleven little school girls dodging a lion when-- One dodged into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but ten.
Ten little school girls, all skipping in a line; One skipped into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but nine.
Nine little school girls swinging on a gate; One swung into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but eight.
Eight little school girls, trying to fly to heaven; One flew into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but seven.
Seven little school girls tripping out for sticks; One tripped into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but six.
Six little school girls, going for a dive; One dived into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but five.
Five little school girls, sailing to explore; One sailed into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but four.
Four little school girls steaming on the sea; One steamed into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but three.
Three little school girls, riding on a moo; One rode into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but two.
Two little school girls, sliding about for fun; One slid into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there was but one.
One little school girl, the nicest, last and best, She walked into Cole's Book Arcade, And read books with all the rest.
The following is the way that each girl went into Cole's Book Arcade:
Ada ran into it. Agnes ran into it. Alice ran into it. Amy ran into it. Annie ran into it. Angelina ran into it. Bessie ran into it. Bridget ran into it. Carrie ran into it. Clara ran into it. Edith swam into it. Eliza swam into it. Emily swam into it. Emma swam into it. Fanny swam into it. Florence swam into it. Hannah swam into it. Harriet swam into it. Jane swam into it. Jessie swam into it. Kate jumped into it. Lillie skated into it. Lizzie danced into it. Lottie drove into it. Louisa crept into it. Lucy hopped into it. Mary floated into it. Martha leaped into it. Matilda raced into it. Maggie dodged into it. Maria skipped into it. Mabel swung into it. Maude flew into it. May tripped into it. Minnie dived into it. Nellie sailed into it. Olive Steamed into it. Rose rode into it. Sarah slid into it. Tottie walked into it.
N.B.--Any little girl is invited to walk, run, jump, dance, skip, hop, swim, fly, or come into Cole's Book Arcade in any way she chooses, the same as the Forty Little School Girls.
Story Of The Funny Monkeys
Once there was a funny old monkey--and this old monkey had six young monkeys. There was one white monkey, and one black monkey, and one yellow monkey, and one red monkey, and one blue monkey, and one green monkey; and the white monkey's name was Linda, and the black monkey's name was Eddie, and the yellow monkey's name was Vally, and the red monkey's name was Ruby, and the blue monkey's name was Pearl, and the green Monkey's name was Ivy Diamond. And the white monkey liked apples, and the black monkey liked grapes, and the yellow monkey liked cherries, and the red monkey liked strawberries, and the blue monkey liked oranges, and the green monkey liked nuts, and that's all about these FUNNY MONKEYS. The names of any children can be told in this story instead of Linda, Eddie, Vally, Ruby, Pearl, and Diamond.
[Page 22--Girl Land]
Tangle Pate
There was a girl, named tanglepate, She lived--I won't say where-- Who was not willing any one Should comb or curl her hair.
She cried and made a dreadful fuss, At morning, noon, or night, And did not seem at all ashamed Of looking like a fright.
Her hair stood out around her head Just like a lion's mane, And she was scolded, coaxed, and teased About it--but in vain.
It caught on buttons, hooks, and boughs As here and there she rushed, And yet she would not consent To have it combed or brushed.
And so she fell asleep one day Within the woods, and there Two birdies came and built a nest Amid her tangled hair.
A Careless Girl
I know a very careless girl, Her hair is always out of curl, In rags and tatters are her clothes, And she's a fright, you may suppose.
Her skirts she catches on a nail, And leaves behind and ugly trail; Her sashes always are untied, Her dresses always gaping wide.
'Tis her delight to tear and rend, She does not like to patch or mend, And 'tis no wonder that she goes So out at elbows and at toes.
Naughty Girl
The naughty girl Never minds mamma, Always says, "I won't!" To dear papa! Makes a great deal of noise About the house. When her mother wants her As still as a mouse.
She pinches the cat, She pulls her tail; And takes the bird-cage Down from the nail; Teases her brothers, And spoils her hair, And reproved says, "I don't care!"
She worries poor grandma, Makes baby cry; She cannot please him, And I know why:-- She lets him lie In the crib and moan, While she is amusing Herself alone.
At school she forgets What the teacher said, Sits idly leaning her hands On her head; She never learns The task that's given, And cannot tell even Seven times seven.
At table she's careless, And spills her drink, Can never be taught To "stop and think;" Gets down from the table And goes to play, To do the same over Another day.
Mopy Maria
Mopy Maria Would sit by the fire, It seemed to be Her greatest desire; Bent and bowed As if wrapped in a shroud, And her face as black As a thunder-cloud.
She filled the room So full of gloom, The place was as Dismal as a tomb; And few would admire Her, or desire To spend much time With Mopy Maria,
She moped and pined Yet no-one could find That any trouble Disturbed her mind; Nor reasons good Why she should brood An such a Ridiculous attitude.
It wasn't her style To laugh and smile She didn't think It was worth her while; So dull and flat She daily sat Like a Chinese idol, Or worse than that,
If the children came To propose a game Of any sort, It was all the same; She wouldn't play, She wouldn't be gay, But sat and pouted The livelong day.
Her face grew thin; And at length her chin Grew long and sharp; Oh! as sharp as a pin! And one windy day She blew away Like a great big kite That had gone astray.
The winds were high, And she had to fly Away at their bidding; It made her cry; But she couldn't get higher Than the tall church spire, So there she stuck-- Poor Mopy Maria!
Disobedient May
Naughty May will not obey, But will always have her way Every moment of the day.
If you say do this, or that, She will be amazed thereat, Show her claws like any cat.
O she is a naughty child! Very fond of running wild, Never gentle, meek, or mild.
Some fine day, I don't know when-- She'll be popp'd in piggy's pen, And be most unhappy then.
Pigs are stubborn things indeed, Will not go as you would lead, Never words of counsel heed.
And pig-headed folks are they Who will always have their way, Spite of anything you say.
Sluttishness
Oh! Mary, my mary, Why, where is your dolly? Look here, I protest, on the floor: To leave her about In the dirt so is folly, You ought to be trusted no more.
I thought you were pleas'd. And receiv'd her quite gladly, When on your birthday she came home; Did I ever suppose You would use her so sadly, And strew her things over the room?
Her bonnet of straw You once thought a great matter, And tied it so pretty and neat; Now see how 'tis crumpled, No trencher is flatter, It grieves your mamma thus to see't.
Suppose (you're my Dolly, You know, little daughter, Whom I love to dress neat, and see good), Suppose in my care of you, I were to falter, And let you get dirty and rude!
But Dolly's mere wood, You are flesh and bone living, And deserves better treatment and care; That is true, my sweet girl, 'Tis the reason I'm giving This lesson so sharp and severe.
'Tis not for the Dolly I'm anxious and fearful, Tho' she cost too much to be spoil'd; I'm afraid lest yourself Should get sluttish, not careful, And that were a sad thing, my child.
Jane, who Bit her Nails
When I was living down in Wales, I knew a girl who bit her nails; Her finger-ends became so sore, The blood flowed from them to the floor.
The more she bit the more they bled, Until upon herself she fed; And as she nibbled day by day, The fingers slowly wore away.
See, here she is: she sadly stands With only stumps instead of hands; The silly girl can never play, Yet she was cautioned every day.
Her father said, "You naughty thing, Some wooden fingers I must bring, And try to get them fastened to Your hands with little bits of glue."
Poking Fun
When little Lizzie came across A birdie, or a chick, A duckling, or a gosling, she would poke it with a stick.
She chased the dog, she chased the cat, But when she saw a mouse She gave a scream so very loud It echoed through the house.
She poked the turtles and the frogs And thought it was fine fun, But when the geese poked out their necks At her, she had to run.
One day she chanced to find a hive With not a bee about, And said, "Is any one at home? "I'll very soon find out!"
And so she did. As soon as she Had poked her stick inside, The bees flew out and stung her so She very nearly died.
[Page 23--Girl Land]
The Pin
"Dear me! what signifies a pin, Wedg'd in a rotten board? I'm certain that I won't begin, At ten years old, to hoard! I never will be called a miser; That I'm determined," said Eliza.
So onward tripped the little maid, And left the pin behind, Which very snug and quiet lay, To its hard fate resign'd; Nor did she think (a careless chit) 'Twas worth her while to stoop for it.
Next day a party was to ride To see an air balloon; And all the company beside Were dressed and ready soon: But she a woful case was in, For want of just a single pin.
In vain her eager eyes she brings To ev'ry darksome crack, There was not one! and yet her things Were dropping off her back. She cut her pincushion in two, But no, not one had slidden through.
At last, as hunting on the floor, Over a crack she lay, The carriage rattled to the door, Then rattled fast away: But poor Eliza was not in, For want of just a single pin.
There's hardly anything so small, So trifling or so mean, That we may never want at all, For service unforseen; And wilful waste, depend upon't Brings, almost always, woful want!
Ann Taylor
Stupid Jane
Oh! she was such a stupid Jane, They tried in vain To make things plain, But she would ask and ask again, As if there wasn't any brain Inside the head of stupid Jane.
If she was set to do a task, So many questions she would ask, 'Twas easier far her teachers said To do the work themselves instead, Than try to make her understand The lesson she had in hand.
If on an errand told to go, And cautioned to do thus and so, Turn here and there along the way, Oh! Jane was sure to go astray; For she hade such a crooked pate, She could not do an errand straight.
She did not care for books or toys, She could not play with girls or boys; Because so oft she blocked their games, They used to call her dreadful names, And in loud, angry tones complain, "Oh, what a horrid, Stupid Jane!"
Brought to the parlour nicely drest To be presented to a guest, With finger in her mouth she'd stand And stare about on every hand, Nor answer by a single word, Nor even act as if she heard.
Oh! she was such a stupid Jane, They tried in vain To make things plain, But she would ask and ask again, As if there wasn't any brain Inside the head of stupid Jane.
Little Girl who wouldn't eat Crusts
The awfullest times that ever could be They had with a bad little girl of Dundee, Who never would finish her crust In vain they besought her, And patiently taught her And told her she must. Her grandma would coax, And so would the folks, And tell her the sinning Of such a beginning. But no, she wouldn't. She couldn't, she shouldn't, She'd have them to know-- So they might as well go. And what do you think came to pass? This little girl of Dundee, alas! Who wouldn't take crusts the regular way, Sat down to a feast one summer's day; And what did the people that little girl give? Why, a dish of bread pudding--as sure as I live!
Pouting Polly
Polly was a little girl, Pretty as a posy; Rather straight, and rather tall; Very round and rosy.
Other little girls and boys Always were delighted, So if to pretty Polly's house They had been invited.
There they'd romp, and have great fun, Frolicking and shouting; But alas! they soon would find Pretty Polly pouting!
What had any one done? How had they displeased her? Was she sad or mad because Johnny Dean had teased her?
Why are you so cross and glum When the rest are jolly? With your under-lip thrust out, Tell us, pouting Polly!
Polly loves to have her way; Ah! no one can doubt it; And whenever she's displeased She will pout about it.
Such a funny under-lip! You would like to grab it, So that little Polly might Break this naughty habit.
In the house or out-of-doors, Little Polly Horner You will find a dozen times Pouting in a corner.
Once, when in the garden she Stood thus melancholy, On her under-lip a bee Stung Miss Pouting Polly.
Then she danced, and then she screamed; People heard her yelling Half-a-mile or more away, While her lip was swelling.
Oh, it swelled, and swelled, and swelled, Like a great big blister, And the pain was very great Where the bee had kissed her.
Many days she kept her bed; And there is no doubting That the sorry little maid Had her fill of pouting.
For the buzzing busy-bee Cured her of her folly; And the remedy will cure Any pouting Polly.
Untidy Emily
Oh, here's a sad picture! Pray carefully look! As sad as was ever Yet seen in a book.
'Tis Emily's portrait: Not at all flattered. Slovenly, dirty, untidy, And tattered.
Her mother implores her, Again and again, To make herself tidy; But all is in vain.
Her trimmings are torn; There's a hole in her dress; Another, still larger; Her shoes in a mess;
Stockings down, buttons missing; Shabby old hat, Not for worlds would I Wear it, battered and flat.
Her mother does nothing But patch, darn and mend, Till, saddened and weary, She says, "This must end.
"All, all is in vain. And now, happen what may, I can do nothing more; So go your own way."
A terrible thing Very soon now befell, Oh, horror! I shudder The story to tell.
This girl ran quite wild; Till at last she became All tatters and rags, With no feeling of shame.
A man, who was passing, Then took her one day, And in his field placed her, To scare birds away.
She is still standing there; Stands there day and night. The sparrows fly round her, And cry in affright:
"Look at this dreadful thing! Take care now, take care! Beware of the scarecrow! Beware, now, beware!"
[Page 24--Girl Land]
Maidenhood
Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies, Like a dusk in evening skies!
Thou, whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one, As the braided streamlets run!
Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet! Womanhood and childhood fleet!
Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse!
Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem, As the river of a dream.
Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields of Elysian?
Seest thou shadows sailing by, As the dove, with startled eye, Sees the falcon's shadow fly?
Hearest thou voices on the shore, That our ears perceive no more, Deafen'd by the cataract's roar?
O, thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands--Life hath snares! Care and age come unawares!
Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon, May glides onward into June
Childhood is the bough where slumber'd Birds and blossoms many-number'd-- Age, that bough with snows encumber'd
Gather, then each flower that grows, When the young heart overflows, To embalm that tent of snows
Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand
Bear, through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips the smile of truth.
Oh! that dew, like balm, shall steal Into wounds, that cannot heal, Even as sleep our eyes doth seal:
And that smile, like sunshine, dart Into many a sunless heart, For a smile of God thou art.
Longfellow
Girls that are in Demand
The girls that are wanted are good girls-- Good from the heart to the lips; Pure as the lily is white and pure, From it's heart to its sweet leaf tips. The girls that are wanted are home girls-- Girls that are a mother's right hand, That fathers and brothers can trust to, And the little ones understand.
The girls that are fair on the hearthstone, And pleasant when nobody sees; Kind and sweet to their own folks, Ready and anxious to please. The girls that are wanted are wise girls, That know what to do and to say; That drive with a smile and soft word The wrath of the household away.
The girls that are wanted are girls of sense, Whom fashion can never deceive; Who can follow whatever is pretty, And dare what is silly to leave. The girls that are wanted are careful girls, Who count what a thing will cost. Who use with a prudent generous hand, But see that nothing is lost.
The girls that are wanted are girls with hearts, They are wanted for mothers and wives, Wanted to cradle in loving arms The strongest and frailest lives. The clever, the witty, the brilliant girl, There are few who can understand, But, oh! for the wise, loving home girls There's a constant steady demand.
Girl's Names
Francis, is "unrestrained and free;" Bertha, "pellucid, purely bright;" Clara, "clear" as the crystal sea; Lucy, a star of radiant "light;" Catherine, is "pure" as mountain air; Barbara, cometh "from afar;" Mabel, is "like a lily fair;" Henrietta, a soft, sweet "star;" Felicia, is a "happy girl;" Matilda, is a "lady true;" Margaret, is a shining "pearl;" Rebecca, "with the faithful few;" Susan, is a "lily white;" Jane has the "willow's" curve and grace; Cecilia, dear, is "dim of sight;" Sophia, shows "wisdom" on her face; Constance, is firm and "resolute;" Grace, a delicious "favour meet;" Charlotte, "noble, of good repute;" Harriet, a fine "odour sweet;" Isabella, is "a lady rare;" Lucinda, "constant" as the day; Maria, means a "lady fair;" Abigail, "joyful as the May;" Elizabeth, "an oath of trust;" Adeline, "nice princess, proud;" Agatha, "is truly good and just;" Leila, "a joy of love avowed;" Jemima, "a soft sound in air;" Caroline, "a sweet spirit, hale;" Cornelia, "harmonious and fair;" Selina, "a sweet nightingale;" Lydia, "a refreshing well;" Judith, "a song of sacred praise;" Julia, "a jewel none excel;" Priscilla, "ancient of days."
Kate
There's something in the name of Kate Which many will condemn; But listen now while I relate The traits of some of them.
There's deli-Kate, a modest dame, She's worthy of your love! She's nice and beautiful a flame, And gentle as a dove,
Communi-Kate's intelligent, As we may well suppose; Her fruitful mind is ever bent On telling all she knows.
There's intri-Kate, she's so obscure 'Tis hard to find her out; For she is often very sure To put your wits to rout.
Prevari-Kate's a surly maid, She's sure to have her way; The cavilling, contrary jade, Objects to all you say.
There's alter-Kate, a perfect pest; Much given to dispute; Her prattling tongue can never rest, You cannot her refute.
Then dislo-Kate, is quite a fret, Who fails to gain her point; Her case is quite unfortunate And sorely out of joint.
Equivo-Kate no one will woo-- The thing would be absurd. She is so faithless and untrue, You cannot take her word.
There's vindi-Kate, she's good and true, And strives with all her might Her duty faithfully to do And battles for the right.
There's rusti-Kate, a country lass, Quite fond of rural scenes; She likes to ramble through the grass And through the evergreens.
Of all the maidens you can find, There's none like edu-Kate; Because she elevates the mind And aims at something great.
[Page 25--Girl Land]
Coles Electro-micro Scolding Machine For Scolding Naughty Girls
Cole's Electro-micro Scolding Machine is a combination of three instruments, the Phonograph, the Microphone, and the Wonderphone.
The Phonograph is an instrument that will preserve words for any length of time. Any person can speak, sing, whistle, or scold into a Phonograph, and months or years afterwards by simply turning a handle the same sounds can be reproduced a dozen, a hundred, or a thousand times in the exact voice of the person who spoke them in; so that if a man or a woman, who is a great scold, speak some good, loud, severe scolding into a Phonograph, the mildest teacher can then scold her pupils, or the kindest mother her children, just by turning the handle.
The Microphone is an instrument that magnifies sound in the same way as a microscope magnifies objects; a very powerful microphone magnifies the sound of a fly walking into a loud tramping footstep, the tick of a watch into a deafening clatter, and a whisper into a loud shout. Take a Microphone, then properly affix it to the Phonograph described above, and you have a good Scolding Machine; turn the handle, and as the Phonograph gives out the scoldings, the microphone part magnifies them so loudly that they are heard for a considerable distance.
The Wonderphone (Cole's own secret) is another remarkable instrument; it will cause sound to travel very distinctly, but frightfully and equally loud, for forty miles in all directions; by attaching this powerful instrument to the combination of the other two, Cole's Electro-micro Scolding Machine is formed--and which is the first Scolding Machine ever invented. If the machine is already charged by having had some scolding spoken, or even whispered into it, give the handle a turn, and forty miles to the east, forty miles to the west, forty to the north, forty to the south, forty up in the sky, and down in the mines forty miles deep, in fact forty miles in every direction, everybody can clearly hear every word being said to the girl being scolded. Suppose for instance, Hannah Maria Smith had done something wrong in school, the schoolmistress could give the handle of the machine a turn, and it would scold her so loudly that her mother, and father, and brothers, and sisters, and uncles, and aunts, and friends, and those she didn't like would all hear her scolded. The machine can be charged on the instant by anyone scolding into it. In fact the whole value of Cole's Scolding Machine lies in its power to repeat out exceedingly loud whatever is spoken into it.
If the schoolmistress chooses she can put the scolding into verse, so that all who hear it in the forty miles around, can more easily remember it. The machine that I have before me now, was charged this morning for an aristocratic school and speaks as follows:--Silence!! Attention!!!
Ada Alice Arabella Angelina Andal, Why do you talk for ever, such a tittle-tattling scandal? Betsy Bertha Bridget Belinda Bowing, Will you be quiet and go on with your sewing? Cora Caroline Christina Clarinda Clare, Now do look in the glass at your untidy hair. Dorah Dinah Dorothy Dorinda Dresson, You really must get on with your short drawing lesson. Edith Ellen Evelina Elizabeth Eadle, This makes this day your nineteenth broken needle. Fanny Florence Frederica Florinda Flynn, How cruel of you to prick Jane with a pin. Grace Gertrude Genevieve Georgina Grimble, You careless girl to lose your silver thimble. Hilda Hanna Harriet Henrietta Hawker, You really are a most inveterate talker. Ida Izod Irene Isabella Inching, You spiteful--stop that scratching and pinching. Jane Julia Josephine Jemima Jesson, Sit down at once and learn your music lesson. Kate Kester Katrina Kathleen Kent, You're vulgar, saucy, rude and insolent. Lizzie Letitia Lucretia Lorinda Loeries, You're the champion of the world for telling stories. Maud Mary Martha Matilda Moyes, Sends letters to, and flirts with, naughty boys. Nancy Nelly Ninette Naomi Nations, Shame of you to talk 'gainst other girls' relations. Olive Osberta Orphelia Octavia O'Dyke, Your conduct is outrageous and unladylike. Polly Patience Prudence Paulina Pitt, You really are our champion tell-tale-tit. Quilla Quintina Quinburga Quendrida Quirk, How very, very, dirty you have made your fancy-work. Rose Ruth Rachel Rebecca Ritting, Now stop that crying and get on with your knitting. Sarah Sophia Selina Susannah Stacies, Don't spoil your face by making those grimaces. Tilda Theresa Tabitha Theodora Tapping, You'd gain the prize if one was given for slapping. Una Ursula Urica Urania Urls, You'd gain the prize for teasing little girls. Venus Violet Victoria Veronica Vo-shi, Just learn your task and put away that crochet. Wilmett Walberg Winefride Wilhelmina Wriggling, Now once for all do stop that stupid giggling. Xenodice Xanthippe Xanthisa Xenophona X-cess, You think and talk of nothing else but dress! dress! Yana Yulga Yapeena Yestina Young, Will you behave yourself and just draw in your tongue. And lastly and worst of all, you, Zoe Zora Zillah Zenobia Zeen, How dare you! how dare you!! yes, how dare you!!! Sneer at the boy's new whipping Machine.
Notice To The Public
If a schoolmistress chooses to live a hundred or a thousand miles away from her school, she can use the Scolding Machine by means of a Telephone attached thereto.
One great advantage of the Electro-micro Scolding Machine is, that after it has been in use a short time the girls will all have been shamed into good behaviour; but the Machine will not become useless, as it can, without a farthing outlay, be turned into a Praising Machine, for it can be made to praise in a gentle voice as well as scold in a harsh one. In fact, as said above it will repeat in exact tones, anything that is recited, preached, sung, whistled, whispered, shouted, scolded or praised into it--and any of which will be heard for forty miles around.
Cole can supply Scolding Machines from £5 to £50. A very good one (The Excelsior), price £10, can be charged in one minute, and set going like a musical box, and will sing, whistle, recite, preach, or scold away for a full hour without stopping. Cole would particularly recommend this one to the ladies, it would make a fine ornament for their own table.
Final Notice Extraordinary--If the champion male scold of the world, and the champion female scold of the world, will call on Professor Cole, at the Book Arcade, Melbourne, he will give them both good wages, and find them constant employment at charging Scolding Machines. If any wife has got the champion male scold for a husband, she will please to let me know. If any husband has got the champion female scold for a wife, he will please to let me know--£10 bonus for information in each case.
E.W. Cole
[Page 26--Good Girls]
Jenny Lee
An orphan child was Jenny Lee; Her father, he was dead. And very hard her mother worked; To get the children bread.
In winter time, she often rose Long ere the day was light, And left her orphan family, Till dark again at night.
And she would always say to Jane, Before she went away; "Be sure you mind the little ones, And don't go out to play.
"Keep baby quiet in his bed, As long as he will lie; Then take him up, and dance him well, Don't leave him there to cry.
"And don't let little Christopher, Get down into the street, For fear he meets an accident Beneath the horse's feet.
"And mind about the fire, child, And keep a tidy floor; We never need be dirty, Jane, Although we may be poor.
"Good-by my precious comforter, For all the neighbours say, That I can trust my little maid, Whenever I'm away."
Then Jenny she was quite as proud As England's noble Queen, And she resolved to do the work, And keep the dwelling clean.
She did not stop to waste her time, But very brisk was she, And worked as hard and cheerfully As any busy bee.
If down upon the cottage floor Her little brother fell, She stroked the places tenderly, And kissed and made them well.
And when the little babe was cross, As little babes will be, She nursed and danced it merrily, And fed it on her knee.
But when they both were safe in bed, She neatly swept the hearth, And waited until her mother's step Came sounding up the path.
Then open flew the cottage door, The weary mother smiled. "Ah! Jenny dear, what should I do, Without my precious child!"
Work Before Play
"Mother has sent me to the well, To fetch a jug of water, And I am very glad to be A useful little daughter; That's why I cannot play With you and Mary Ann to-day.
"Some afternoon I'll come with you, And make you wreaths and posies; I know a place where blue-bells grow, And daisies and primroses; But not to-day, for I must go And help my mother, dears, you know.
"She says, that I am nearly eight, So I can fill the kettle, And sweep the room and clean the grate, And even scrub a little; Oh! I'm so very glad to be A little useful girl, you see.
"So Johnny, do not ask to-day-- Perhaps I'll come to morrow; But you'd not wish me now to stay, And give my mother sorrow. When she can spare me, she will say, 'Now, Susan, you may go and play.'"
Lucy Gray
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray; And, when I crossed the wild, I managed to see at break of day The solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wide moor,-- The sweetest thing that ever grew Besides a human door!
You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen.
"To-night will be a stormy night-- You to the town must go; And take a lantern, child, to light Your mother through the snow."
"That, father, will I gladly do! 'Tis scarcely afternoon-- The minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon."
At this the father raised his book And snapped a faggot band; He piled his work,--and Lucy took The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe; With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before it's time; She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb, But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide, But there was neither sound or sight To serve them for a guide.
At day-break on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood A furlong from their door.
And, turning homeward, now they cried "In heaven we shall meet!" When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet.
Then downwards from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn edge, And by the long stone wall.
And then an open field they crossed-- The marks were still the same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost; And to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bank The footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none!
Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.
Mary's Little Lamb
Mary had a little lamb, It's fleece was white as snow; And everywhere that Mary went The lamb was sure to go.
He followed her to school one day-- That was against the rule; It made the children laugh and play, To see a lamb at school.
The teacher therefore turned him out; But still he lingered near, And on the grass he played about Till Mary did appear.
At once he ran to her, and laid His head upon her arm, As if to say, I'm not afraid-- You'll keep me from all harm.
"What makes the lamb love Mary so?" The little children cry; "Oh! Mary loves the lamb you know," The teacher did reply.
[Page 27--Girl Land]
We are Seven
I met a little cottage girl; She was eight years old, she said; Her head was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were fair, and very fair, Her beauty made me glad.
"Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering, looked at me.
"And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea.
"Two of us in the churchyard lie-- My sister and my brother; And in the churchyard cottage I Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea; Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell, Sweet maid how this may be?"
Then did the little maid reply, Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree."
"You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive! If two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five."
"Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied; "Twelve steps or more, from my mother's door, And they are side by side.
"My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit, I sit and sing to them.
"And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there.
"The first that died was little Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain, And then she went away.
"So in the churchyard she was laid; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I.
"And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side."
"How many are you then? said I, "If they two are in heaven!" The little maiden did reply "O master! we are seven."
"But they are dead; those two are dead; Their spirits are in heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away; for still The little maid would have her will, And say, "Nay, we are seven."
The Poor, but Kind Girl
Young Lucy Payne lives on the Village Green; Mary, you know the cottage, I am sure, Under the hawthorn! 'Tis so neat and clean, Though Widow Payne, alas! is blind and poor.
She plies her needles, and she plies them well, And Lucy never spends an idle hour; On market days their mits and socks they sell, And thus their balls of worsted turn to flour.
I pass'd one morning by their cottage door; Lucy was talking to a little child, A ragged thing that lives upon the moor; It's parents leave it to run rude and wild.
Hanger had tamed the little wilding thing, It's cheeks were hollow, but it's air was light; Young Lucy did not know I saw her bring That porringer she kept so clean and bright.
It was her breakfast--all the darling had; But oh! she gave it with a heart so glad.
Grace Darling
"Over the wave, the stormy wave, Hasten, dear father, with me, The crew to save from a wat'ry grave, Deep in the merciless sea. Hear ye the shriek, the piercing shriek, Hear ye the cry of despair? With courage quick the wreck we'll seek; Danger united we'll dare.
"Out with the boat, the gallant boat; Not a moment to be lost; See! she's afloat, proudly afloat, And high on the waves we're tossed; Mother, Adieu, a short adieu; Your prayers will rise to heaven; Father to you--your child and you-- Power to save is given.
"I have no fear, no maiden fear; My heart is firm to the deed, I shed no tear, no coward tear; I've strength in time of need. Hear ye the crash, the horrid crash? Their mast over the side is gone; Yet on we dash, 'mid lightning flash, Safe through the pelting storm.
"The wreck we near, the wreck we near, Our bonny boat seems to fly, List to the cheer, their welcome cheer, They know that succour is nigh." And on that night, that dreadful night, The father and daughter brave, With strengthened might they both unite, And many dear lives they save.
Hail to the maid, the fearless maid, The maid of matchless worth; She'll e'er abide the cherished pride Of the land that gave her birth. The send her gold, her name high uphold, Honour and praise to impart; But, with true regard, the loved reward Is the joy of her own brave heart.
The Tidy Girl
Who is it each day in the week may be seen, With her hair short and smooth, and her hands and face clean; In a stout cotton gown, of dark and light blue, Though old, so well mended, you'd take it for new; Her handkerchief tidily pinned o'er her neck. With a neat little cap, and an apron of check; Her shoes and her stockings all sound and all clean? She's never fine outside and dirty within.
Go visit her cottage, though humble and poor. 'Tis so neat and so clean you might eat off the floor; No rubbish, no cobwebs, no dirt can be found, Though you hunt every corner, and search all around. Who sweeps it so nicely, who makes all the bread, Who tends her sick mother, and works by her bed? 'Tis the neat, tidy girl--she needs no other name; Abroad or at home, she is always the same.
I Will be Good To-Day
"I will be good, dear mother," I heard a sweet child say; "I will be good; now watch me-- I will be good all day."
Oh, many, many, bitter tears 'Twould save us, did we say, Like that dear child, with earnest heart, "I will be good to-day."
My Own Dear Little Sister
I have a little sister, She's only three years old; I do most dearly love her, She's worth her weight in gold. We often play together And I begin to find, To make my sister happy, I must be very kind.
[Page 28--Ruby Cole And Her Clever Frog]
What Our Ruby Did
She danced like a Fairy, She sung like a Frog, She squeaked like a Pig, She barked like a dog.
Oh yes! Oh yes! She did! She Did! And Frog-gy played a tune.
She mooed like a Bullock, She baaed like a Ram, She leaped like a Goat, She skipped like a Lamb--Oh yes!
She brayed like a Donkey, She cried like a Hare, She neighed like a Horse, She growled like a Bear!--Oh yes!
She munched like a Rabbit, She gnawed like a Rat, She popped like a Mouse, She flew like a Bat--Oh yes!
She talked like a Parrot, She quacked like a Drake, She mewed like a Cat, She hissed like a Snake--Oh yes!
She climbed like a Squirrel, She flopped like a Seal, She ran like a Deer, She slid like an Eel--Oh yes!
She crept like a Tortoise, She soared like a Lark, She drank like a Fish, She ate like a Shark--Oh yes!
She roared like a Lion, She dived like a Whale, She swam like a Goose, She crawled like a Snail--Oh yes!
She croaked like a Raven, She screeched like an Owl, She cawed like a Crow, She crowed like a Fowl--Oh yes!
She grinned like a Monkey, She hummed like a Bee, She buzzed like a Fly, She jumped like a Flea--Oh yes!
Our dear little daughter once went to a children's ball dressed as a fairy. She was proud of being a fairy, and looked so nice that I put together the above nursery doggerel to please her, and in honour of the event, little thinking that she would soon leave this world. It might be considered better by some to remove this page, but as children like it I venture to let it stand with this explanation.
E. W. C.
Sacred to the Memory of our dear LITTLE RUBY, who departed this life March 27th, 1890, aged 8 years. She was intelligent, industrious, affectionate and sociable, and is deeply regretted by all who knew her.
There is no flock, however watched and tended But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoever defended But has one vacant chair!
There is no death! what seems so is transition This life of mortal breath, Is but a suburb of life Elysian Whose portal we call death.
She is not dead--the child of our affection-- But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection And GOD himself doth rule.
[Page 29--Vally Cole And His Clever Dog]
Our Vally had a Clever Dog, whose name was EBENEZER. Sometimes this dog was very good, At other times a TEASER.
One day they went to take a bath, And both sat on a rail; Our Vally hung his legs right down, The dog hung down his tail.
This funny Dog one Christmas day, Directly after dinner, Just lean'd his sleepy head against Old Tom, our snoozing sinner.
[Page 30--Boy's Stories]
Tommy Trot, a man of law, Sold his bed and lay upon straw; Sold the straw and slept on grass, To buy his wife a looking-glass.
---
Little Jack Jingle, He used to live single; But when he got tired of this kind of life, He left off being single, and lived with his wife.
---
I'll tell you a story About Jack Nory,-- And now my story's begun: I'll tell you another About Jack his brother,-- And now my story's done.
---
Poor old Robinson Crusoe! Poor old Robinson Crusoe! They made him a coat Of an old nanny-goat, I wonder how they could do so! With a ring and a ting tang, And a ring and a ting tang, Poor old Robinson Crusoe!
---
"John, come sell thy fiddle, And buy thy wife a gown." "No; I'll not sell my fiddle For any wife in town."
---
Jacky, come give me thy fiddle If ever thou mean'st to thrive; Nay, I'll not give my fiddle To any man alive. If I should give my fiddle, They'll think that I'm gone mad, For many a joyful day My fiddle and I have had.
---
Jack was a fisherman Who went out one day, But couldn't catch a single fish, And so he came away. And then he came home, This angler so bold, And found he'd caught something-- For he'd caught a cold.
---
The Queen of Hearts, She made some tarts, All on a summer day; The Knave of Hearts He stole those tarts And took them clean away.
The King of Hearts Called for the tarts, And beat the knave full sore; The Knave of Hearts Brought back the tarts, And vowed he'd steal no more.
---
Charley Wag Ate the pudding and left the bag.
---
Tom, The Piper's Son
Tom, Tom, the piper's son, Stole a pig and away did run! The pig he eat, and Tom they beat, And Tom went roaring down the street.
Tom, he was a piper's son: He learned to play when he was young: But all the tunes that he could play Was, "Over the hills and far away; Over the hills and a great way off, And the wind will blow my topknot off."
Now Tom with his pipe made such a noise, That he pleased both the girls and the boys, And they stopped to hear him play "Over the hills and far away."
Tom with his pipe did play with such skill, That those who heard him could never keep still: Whenever they heard they began for to dance, Even the pigs on their hind legs would after him prance.
As Dolly was milking her cow one day, Tom took out his pipe and began for to play; So Doll and the cow danced "the Cheshire round," Till the pail they broke and the milk ran on the ground.
He met old Dame Trot with a basket of eggs, He used his pipe and she used her legs; She danced about till all the eggs she broke, She began for to fret, but he laughed at the joke.
He saw a cross fellow beating an ass, Heavily laden with pots, pans, dishes and glass; He took out his pipe and played them a tune, And the jackass did kick off his load very soon.
Tom met the parson on his way, Took out his pipe, began to play A merry tune that led his grace Into a very muddy place.
The mayor then said he would not fail To send poor Tommy off to gaol. Tom took his pipe, began to play, And all the court soon danced away.
'Twas quite a treat to see the rout, How clerks and judges hopped about; While Tommy still kept playing the tune, "I'll be free this afternoon."
The Policeman Grab, who held him fast, Began to dance about at last; Whilst Tom, delighted at the fun, Slipped out of court and off did run.
---
Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief, Taffy came to my house, and stole a piece of beef. I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not at home; Taffy came to my house and stole a marrow-bone. I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not in. Taffy came to my house, and stole a silver pin. I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was in bed. I took up a poker and flung it at his head.
---
Old King Cole Was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he; He called for his pipe, And he called for his bowl, And he called for his fiddlers three.
---
Peter White will ne'er go right; Would you know the reason why? He follows his nose where'er he goes, And that stands all awry.
[Page 31--Boy Land]
The House That Jack Built
This is the house that Jack built.
This is the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the cock that crowed in the morn, That awaked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the farmer sowing his corn, That kept the cock that crowed in the morn, That awaked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.
Simple Simon
Simple Simon met a pieman Going to the fair; Says Simple Simon to the pieman: "Let me taste your ware."
Says the pieman to Simple Simon, "Show me first the penny." Says Simple Simon to the pieman: "Indeed I have not any."
Simple Simon went a-fishing For to catch a whale-- All the water he had got Was in his mother's pail.
Simple Simon went to look If plums grew on a thistle; He pricked his fingers very much, Which made poor Simon whistle.
He went to catch a dicky bird, And thought he could not fail Because he'd got a little salt To put upon it's tail.
Then Simple Simon went-a-hunting, For to catch a hare. He rode on a goat about the street, But could not find one there.
Simon made a great snowball, And brought it in to roast; He laid it down before the fire, And soon the ball was lost.
Simple Simon went a-skating When the ice was thin, And Simon was astonished quite To find he tumbled in.
And Simon he would honey eat Out of the mustard pot; He bit his tongue until he cried: "That was all the good he got."
Ten Little Niggers
Ten little Niggers going out to dine, One choked his little self, and then there were Nine.
Nine little Niggers crying at his fate, One cried himself away, and then there were Eight.
Eight little Niggers to travelling were given. But one kicked the bucket, and then there were Seven.
Seven little Niggers playing at their tricks, One cut himself in halves, and then there were Six.
Six little Niggers playing with a hive, A bumble bee killed one, and then there were Five.
Five little Niggers went in for law, One got into Chancery, and then there were Four.
Four little Niggers going out to sea, A ref herring swallowed one, and then there were Three.
Three little Niggers walking in the Zoo, A big bear cuddled one, and then there were Two.
Two little Niggers sitting in the sun, One got frizzled up, and then there was One.
One little Nigger living all alone, He got married, and then there were None.
[Page 32--Boy Land]
Jack the Giant Killer
Once upon a time there lived in Cornwall, England, a lad whose name was Jack, and who was very brave and knowing. At the same time there was a great Giant, twenty feet high and nine feet round, who lived in a cave, on an island near Jack's house. The Giant used to wade to the mainland and steal things to live upon, carrying five or six bullocks at once, and stringing sheep, pigs, and geese around his waist-band; and all the people ran away from him in fear, whenever they saw him coming.
Jack determined to destroy this Giant; so he got a pickaxe and shovel, and started in his boat on a dark evening; by the morning he had dug a pit deep and broad, then covering it with sticks and strewing a little mould over, to make it look like plain ground, he blew his horn so loudly that the Giant awoke, and came roaring towards Jack, calling him a villain for disturbing his rest, and declaring he would eat him for breakfast. He had scarcely said this when he fell into the pit. "Oh! Mr. Giant," says Jack, "where are you now? You shall have this for your breakfast." So saying, he struck him on the head so terrible blow with his pickaxe that the Giant fell dead to the bottom.
Just at this moment, the Giant's brother ran out roaring vengeance against Jack; but he jumped into his boat and pulled to the opposite shore, with the Giant after him, who caught poor Jack, just as he was landing, tied him down in his boat, and went in search of his provisions. During his absence, Jack contrived to cut a large hole in the bottom of the boat, and placed therein a piece of canvas. After having stolen some oxen, the Giant returned and pushed off the boat, when, having got fairly out to sea, Jack pulled the canvas from the hole, which caused the boat to fill and quickly capsize. The Giant roared and bellowed as he struggled in the water, but was very soon exhausted and drowned, while Jack dexterously swam ashore.
One day after this, Jack was sitting by a well fast asleep. A Giant named Blundebore, coming for water, at once saw and caught hold of him, and carried him to his castle. Jack was much frightened at seeing the heaps of bodies and bones strewed about. The Giant then confined him in an upper room over the entrance, and went for another Giant to breakfast off poor Jack. On viewing the room, he saw some strong ropes, and making a noose at one end, he put the other through a pulley which chanced to be over the window, and when the Giants were unfastening the gate he threw the noose over both their heads, and pulling it immediately, he contrived to choke them both. Then releasing three ladies who were confined in the castle, he departed well pleased.
About five or six months after, Jack was journeying through Wales, when, losing his way, he could find no place of entertainment, and was about giving up all hopes of obtaining shelter during the night when he came to a gate, and, on knocking, to his utter astonishment it was opened by a Giant, who did not seem so fierce as the others. Jack told him his distress, when the Giant invited him in, and, after giving him a hearty supper, showed him to bed. Jack had scarcely got into bed when he heard the Giant muttering to himself:
"Though you lodge with me this night, You shall not see the morning light; My club shall dash your brains out quite."
"Oh, Mr. Giant, is that your game?" said Jack to himself; "then I shall try and be even with you." So he jumped out of bed and put a large lump of wood there instead. In the middle of the night the Giant went into the room, and thinking it was Jack in the bed, he belaboured the wood most unmercifully; he then left the room, laughing to think how he had settled poor Jack. The following morning Jack went boldly into the Giant's room to thank him for the night's lodging. The Giant was startled at his appearance, and asked him how he slept, or if anything had disturbed him in the night? "Oh, no," says Jack, "nothing worth speaking about: I believe that a rat gave me a few slaps with his tail, but, being rather sleepy, I took no notice of it." The Giant wondered how Jack survived the terrific blows of his club, yet did not answer a word, but went and brought in two monstrous bowls of hasty pudding, placed one before Jack, and began eating the other himself. Determined to be revenged on the Giant somehow, Jack unbuttoned his leather provision bag inside his coat, and slyly filling it with hasty pudding, said, "I'll do what you can't." So saying, he took up a large knife, and ripping up the bag, let out the hasty pudding. The Giant, determined not to be outdone, seized hold of the knife, and saying, "I can do that," instantly ripped up his belly, and fell down dead on the spot.
After this Jack fought and conquered many giants, married the king's daughter and lived happily.
Jack and the Beanstalk
At some distance from London, in a small village, lived a widow and her son, whose name was Jack. He was a bold, daring fellow, ready for any adventure which promised fun or amusement. Jack's mother had a cow, of which she was very fond, and which, up to this time, had been their chief support. But as she had for some time past been growing poorer every year, she felt that now she must part with the cow. So she told Jack to take the cow to be sold, and he was to be sure to get a good round sum for her. On the road to market Jack met a butcher, who was carrying in his hat some things which Jack thought to be very pretty. The butcher saw how eagerly Jack eyed his beans, and said, "If you want to sell your cow, my fine fellow, I will give you this whole hatful of beans in exchange for her."
Jack was delighted; he seized the hat, and ran back home. Jack's mother was surprised to see him back so soon, and at once asked him for the money. But when Jack said he had sold the cow for a hatful of beans, she was so angry that she opened the window and threw them all out into the garden. When Jack rose up next morning he found that one of the beans had taken root, and had grown up, up, up, until its top was quite lost in the clouds. Jack resolved instantly to mount the Beanstalk. So up, up, up, he went till he had reached the very top. Looking round he saw at a distance a large house. Tired and weary, he crawled towards it and knocked on the door. The door was opened by a timid looking woman who started when she saw him, and besought him to run away as her husband was a cruel Giant who would eat him up if he found him there. But Jack begged so earnestly to be admitted that the woman, who was very kind-hearted, had pity on him, and so she brought him into the kitchen, and set before him on a table some bread, meat, and ale. Jack ate and drank, and soon felt quite refreshed. Presently the woman started and said, "My husband! quick, quick! he comes--he comes!" and opened the door to the oven and bid Jack jump in. The Giant was in a dreadful passion when he came in, and almost killed his wife by a blow which he aimed at her. He then began to sniff and smell--at last he roared out:
"Fee, fa, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman! Be he alive, or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make me bread!"
His wife gave him an evasive answer, and proceeded to lay before him his supper. When the Giant could swallow no more, he called out to his wife to bring him his hen, which, after being brought, whenever the Giant said "Lay," the hen laid a golden egg. The Giant soon fell asleep, and Jack crept out softly and seized the hen, and made off without disturbing the Giant. Away ran Jack till he came to the Beanstalk; he was much sooner at the bottom of it now than at the top in the morning; and running to his mother he told all his adventure.
The hen laid as many golden eggs as Jack liked, and his mother before long had another cow and everything which she desired. A second time Jack climbed the Beanstalk, when he ran away with the Giant's bag of money. A third time Jack climbed the Beanstalk, and again gained admission to the Giant's house. He saw the Giant's wife, and asked her for a night's lodging. She at first said she could not let him into the house, but Jack begged so hard that at last she consented, and gave him some supper and put him to sleep in the copper boiler near the kitchen fireplace, where she thought the Giant would not find him.
When the Giant came in, his good nose served him in a moment: for he cried out "I smell fresh meat." Jack laughed at this, but it was no laughing matter; for the Giant looked all around the room, and even put his finger on the lid of the copper, till it seemed as if a stone of a hundredweight had fallen upon the lid. Just then his wife came in with a whole roasted bullock smoking hot, which the Giant sat down and ate for his supper, and then went down into the cellar, and drank about six gallons of Jamaica rum. The Giant now sat down and went to sleep, and Jack tried to run away with his golden harp, an instrument which, when the Giant said "play," played the most beautiful tunes. Now the harp was a fairy, and as soon as he touched it, it called out "Master! Master!" so loud that the Giant awoke, but he was some time before he could understand what was the matter. He tried to run after Jack, but Jack got to the top of the beanstalk first. When he had descended a little way he looked up, and how great was his horror to see the huge hand of the Giant stretched down to seize him by the hair of the head! He slid and scrambled down the Beanstalk, hardly knowing how, and seeing the Giant just putting his feet over the top, he called out, "Quick, mother! A hatchet, a hatchet!" Jack seized it and chopped away at the beanstalk, when down it fell, bringing along with it the Giant. Jack instantly cut off his head. After this Jack and his mother lived very happily, and Jack was a great comfort to her in her old age.
[Page 33--Boy Land]
Hop O' My Thumb
Once upon a time there was a woodman and his wife who had so many children that they did not know how to find food for them. So one night, when they were all in bed, the father told his wife that he thought they had better take them into the forest and lose them there. The youngest child, who was so very small that he was called Hop o' my Thumb, overheard his father, and as he was a very clever boy he made up his mind to find his way home again. So he went down to the brook very early the next morning, and filled his pocket with large smooth pebbles as white as snow. Bye-and-bye the woodman and his wife told the children that they might go with them into the wood to have a good game of play. They were all glad except Hop o' my Thumb who knew what his father intended. So they set out; the woodman and his wife first, then the boys, and last Hop o' my Thumb, who sprinkled pebbles all the way they went.
They spent a merry day; but bye-and-bye the parents stole away, and left the children all by themselves. They were very much frightened when they missed their father and mother, and called loudly for them; but when Hop o' my Thumb told them what he had heard, and how they could find their way home by following the track of the pebbles, which marked the way they had come, they set out, and reached home safely, and their father and mother pretended to be very glad to see them back.
But soon after they again resolved to lose their children, if possible, in the forest. This time all the boys feared that they should be left behind, and the eldest brother said he would take some peas to sprinkle, to mark the pathway that led home. By-and-bye the cruel parents stole away, and left the little ones in the dark wood. At first they did not care, for they thought that they could easily find their way home; but, alas! when they looked for the line of peas which they had sprinkled, they found they were all gone--the wood-pigeons had eaten them up, and the children were lost in the wood. Holding each-others' hands and crying sadly they walked on to seek a place to sleep in. By-and-bye they came to a giant's castle, where they were taken in, and told that they might sleep in the nursery with the seven baby daughters of the giant, who were lying all in a row in one bed, with gold crowns on their heads. Hop o' my Thumb thought it was strange that the giant should be so kind, as he had been told that the ogres eat children. So in the night he got up softly and took off the little giantesses' crowns and put them on his brothers' heads and his own, and lay down again. It was lucky for him that he did so, for in the night the giant came up in the dark to kill the boys, that they might be ready for the next day's breakfast. He felt the beds, and finding the crowns on the boy's heads took them for his own children, left them and went to the other bed and cut off the heads of his daughters instead. Then he went back to bed. Directly he was gone, Hop o' my Thumb and his brothers got up, stole down stairs, opened the door and fled away from the castle. But they did not go far. Hop o' my Thumb knew that the giant would come after them in his seven-league boots. So they got into a hole in the side of a hill and hid. Very soon after, they saw the giant coming at a great pace in his wonderful boots; but he took such long steps that he passed right over their heads. They were afraid to move out till they had seen him go home again. So they remained quietly where they were.
By-and-bye the giant, who had been many miles in an hour, came back tired, and lay down on the hill-side and fell asleep. Then Hop o' my Thumb got out of the hole, and pulled off the giant's seven-league boots, and put them on his own feet. They fitted him exactly, for being fairy boots they would grow large or small just as one liked. He then got his brothers out of the hole, took them in his boots, marched for home, and although it was a great distance, got there in almost no time, but when he arrived at the house his father and mother were not there. He then hastened to make inquiries for them, and found they had been suspected of murdering their children,--who had all disappeared suddenly--that they had owned to leaving them in the wood, and that they were to be put to death for their crime. "We must go and save them," he said. So he took his brothers into the seven-league boots, and set out to the place where their parents were in prison. They arrived only just in time, for the guards were bringing out the woodsman and his wife to put them to death. Hop o' my Thumb took off the boors, and all the children called out, "We are alive! we are alive! Do not kill our mother and father."
Then there was great joy. The woodman and his wife were set free, and embraced their children. They had repented their wickedness, and were never unkind and cruel any more; and Hop o' my Thumb kept them all in comfort by going on errands for the king in his seven-league boots.
Tom Thumb
In the days of good King Arthur there lived a ploughman and his wife who wished very much to have a son; so the man went to Merlin, the enchanter, and asked him to let him have a child, even, if it were "no bigger than his thumb." "Go home and you will find one," said Merlin; and when the man came back to his house he found his wife nursing a very, very, wee baby, who in four minutes grew to the size of the ploughman's thumb, and never grew any more. The fairy queen came to his christening and named him "Tom Thumb." She then dressed him nicely in a shirt of spider's web, and a doublet and hose of thistledown.
One day, while Tom's mother was making a plum-pudding, Tom stood on the edge of the bowl, with a lighted candle in his hand, that she might see to make it properly. Unfortunately, however, while her back was turned, Tom fell into the bowl, and his mother not missing him, stirred him up in the pudding, and put it and him into the pot. Tom no sooner felt the hot water than he danced about like man; the woman was nearly frightened out of her wits to see the pudding come out of the pot and jump about, and she was glad to give it to a tinker who was passing that way.
The tinker was delighted with his present; but as he was getting over a style, he happened to sneeze very hard, and Tom called out from the middle of the pudding, "Hallo, Pickens!" which so terrified the tinker that he threw the pudding into the field, and scampered away as fast as he could. The pudding tumbled to pieces in the fall, and Tom, creeping out, went home to his mother, who was in great affliction because she could not find him. A few days afterwards Tom went with his mother into the fields to milk the cows, and for fear he should be blown away by the wind, she tied him to a thistle with a small piece of thread. Very soon after a cow ate up the thistle and swallowed Tom Thumb. His mother was in sad grief again; but Tom scratched and kicked in the cow's throat till she was glad to throw him out of her mouth again.
One day Tom Thumb went ploughing with his father, who gave him a whip made of barley straw, to drive the oxen with; but an eagle, flying by, caught him up in his beak, and carried him to the top of a great giant's castle. The giant would have eaten Tom up; but the fairy dwarf scratched and bit his tongue and held on by his teeth till the giant in a passion took him out again and threw him into the sea, when a very large fish swallowed him up directly. The fish was caught soon after and sent as a present to King Arthur, and when the cook opened it there was Tom Thumb inside. He was carried to the king, who was delighted with the little man.
The king ordered a little chair to be made, in order that Tom might sit on his table, and also a palace of gold a span high, with a door an inch wide, for little Tom to live in. He also gave him a coach drawn by six small mice.
This made the queen angry, because she had no a new coach too; therefore, resolving to ruin Tom, she complained to the king that he had spoken insolently to her. The king sent for him. Tom, to escape his fury, crept into an empty snail shell, and lay there till he was almost starved; when peeping out of the shell he saw a fine butterfly settled on the ground: he now ventured out, and getting on it, the butterfly took wing, and mounted into the air with little Tom on his back. Away he flew from field to field, from tree to tree, till at last he flew to the king's court. The king, queen, and nobles all strove to catch the butterfly but could not. At length poor Tom, having neither bridle or saddle, slipped from his seat and fell into a pool of water, where he was found nearly drowned. The queen vowed he should be beheaded, and while the scaffold was getting ready, he was secured in a mouse-trap; when the cat seeing something stir supposing it to be a mouse, patted the trap about till she broke it, and set Tom at liberty.
Sometimes Tom rode out on a mouse for a horse. One day a big black met him along the road, and wanted to kill the mouse. Tom jumped off the mouse's back, drew his sword, and fought the cat, and made her run away.
In order to show his courage and please the queen, the new knight undertook a terrible adventure.
In one corner of the palace garden there was found a great black spider, of which the lady was very much afraid.
Tom undertook to kill this insect; so he took a gold button for a shield, and his sharp needle-sword, and went out to attack the spider; the knights went also, to witness the combat.
Tom drew his sword and fought valiantly, but the spider's poisonous breath overcame him.
King Arthur and his whole Court went into mourning for little Tom Thumb. They buried him under a rose-bush, and raised a nice white marble monument over his grave.
[Page 34--Naughty Boys]
Mr. Brown, the grocer, having nearly emptied a cask of sugar in front of his shop, a number of naughty boys, seeing his back turned, commenced to steal some. Mr. Brown, spying them through the window, came out, and the reader can see what happened--A bystander informs us that muttered howls of agony arose from the cask, and all the boys' interest in sugar was at an end.
Boy Who Stole Out Without Leave
I remember, I remember, When I was a little Boy, One fine morning in September Uncle brought me home a toy.
I remember how he patted Both my cheeks in his kindliest mood; "Then," said he, "you little Fat-head, There's a top because you're good."
Grandmamma--a shrewd observer-- I remember gazed upon My new top, and said with fervour, "Oh! how kind of Uncle John."
While mamma, my form caressing-- In her eyes the tear-drop stood, Read me this fine moral lesson, "See what comes of being good."
I remember, I remember, On a wet and windy day, One cold morning in December, I stole out and went to play.
I remember Billy Hawkins Came, and with his pewter squirt Squibbed my pantaloons and stockings Till they were all over dirt.
To my mother for protection I ran, quaking every limb; She exclaim'd, with fond affection, "Gracious goodness! look at him!"
Pa cried, when he saw my garment, 'Twas a newly purchased dress-- "Oh! you nasty little varment, How came you in such a mess?"
Then he caught me by the collar, --Cruel only to be kind-- And to my exceeding dolour, Gave me--several slaps behind.
Grandmamma, while I yet smarted, As she saw my evil plight, Said--'twas rather stony-hearted-- "Little rascal! serve him right!"
I remember, I remember, From that sad and solemn day, Never more in dark December Did I venture out to play.
And the moral which they taught, I Well remember: thus they said-- "Little Boys, when they are naughty, Must be whipp'd and sent to bed!"
[Page 35--Boy Land]
Dirty Jack
There was one little Jack, Not very long back, And 't is said to his lasting disgrace, That he never was seen With his hands at all clean, Nor yet ever clean was his face.
His friends were much hurt To see so much dirt And often and well did they scour, But all was in vain, He was dirty again Before they had done it an hour.
When to wash he was sent, He reluctantly went With water to splash himself o'er, But he left the black streaks Running down both his cheeks, And made them look worse than before.
The pigs in the dirt Could not be more expert Than he was, in grubbing about; And people have thought This gentleman ought To be made with four legs and a snout.
The idle and bad May, like to this lad, Be dirty and black, to be sure. But good boys are seen To be decent and clean, Although they be ever so poor.
Throwing Stones
Johnny Jones, why do you do it? Those who throw stones Surely will rue it; Little of pleasure, evil may flow, Mischief past measure comes of a blow.
Yes, yes! stone flinging. Laugh as you may, Woe may be bringing Upon you some day.
Someone is watching, Armed by the law, Truncheon from pocket Soon he will draw. Off he will march you-- Dreadful to think!--to a dark prison: Light through a chink, Bread without butter, water for drink.
Dirty Dick
Dirty, noisy, mischievous Dick, Struggled and tore, and wanted to fight Susan, the nurse, who in the bath Began to wash him on Saturday night.
Her hair he tried to pull up by the roots, The water he splashed all over the floor, Which ran downstairs, and one night made A terrible slop at the parlour door.
To give him advice was a waste of time, So his father resolved to try a stick, And never since then has he been called Dirty, noisy, mischievous Dick.
Boy That Stole the Apples
A boy looked over a wall, And spied some lovely apples; "But," says he "the tree is tall, And belongs to 'Grumpie Chapples!' Still, I think some could be got By a climbing lad like me: I'll try and steal a lot, So here goes up the tree."
The wall he then got over, And up the tree he went; But Chapples, mowing clover, Espied the wicked gent. He let him fill his school-bag-- Get over the wall again; Rushed up and played at touch-tag, Which surprised him much, and then:--
Look at the Picture!!!
Mischievous Fingers
Pretty little fingers, Wherefore were they made? Like ten smart young soldiers, All in pink arrayed.
Apt and quick obedient To your lightest thought, Doing in an instant Everything they're taught.
'T was for play or study, Pen to wield or ball; Kite, top, needle, pencil, Prompt at parents' call.
Picking, poking, soiling Costly things and dear, Wrecking, cracking, spoiling All that they come near.
Thus 't was with Robert Chivers, Brandishing a swish, Broke a vase to shivers Filled with silver fish.
"Tick, tick" says the Dutch clock. Robert fain would know How it's pendulum swinging Made it's wheels go.
Who not ask? No! foolish Robert takes a stick, Pokes and breaks the clock, which Ceases soon to tick.
"Puff, puff," sighs the bellows. Robert wants to find, Yet he will not ask, whence Comes it's stock of wind.
With a knife upripping, Finds them void and flat. Ah! be sure a whipping Robert caught for that.
The Boy who Played with Fire
Listen about a naughty boy Who might have been a parent's joy, But that he had a strong desire To always meddle with fire.
One day when his mamma went out, She said "Mind, dear, what you're about: With your nice books and playthings stay, And with the fire, oh! do not play."
But as soon as his mamma was gone, And this bad boy left all alone, Thought he, "In spite of all ma says, Now we'll have a glorious blaze.
"No one is by, 't is quickly done, And oh! 't will be such famous fun." Quick then about the hearth he strewed Some scraps of paper and of wood.
Then lighted them and drew them out, And with them, laughing, ran about. But soon he changed his merry note-- The flames, alas, had caught his coat, And every moment, mounting higher, His body soon was all on fire; And though he screamed with shriek and shout, No one came near to put it out: So it happened, sad to say, That boy was burned to death that day.
[Page 36]
Wicked Willie
Willie was a wicked boy, Snubbed his poor old mother; Willie was a dreadful boy, Quarrelled with his brother; Willie was a spiteful boy, Often pinched his sister, Once he gave her such a blow, Raised a great big blister!
Willy was a sulky boy, Sadly plagued his cousins, Often broke folks' window panes, Throwing stones by dozens, Often worried little girls, Bullied smaller boys, Often broke their biggest dolls, Jumped upon their toys.
If he smelled a smoking tart, Willie longed to steal it; If he saw a pulpy peach, Willie tried to peel it; Could he reach a new plum-cake, Greedy Willie picked it, If he spied a pot of jam, Dirty Willie licked it.
If he saw a poor old dog, Wicked Willie whacked it; If it had a spot of white, Silly Willy blacked it, If he saw a sleeping cat, Horrid Willie kicked it; If he caught a pretty moth, Cruel Willie pricked it.
If his pony would not trot, Angry Willie thrashed it; If he saw a clinging snail, Thoughtless Willie smashed it; If he found a sparrow's nest, Unkind Willie hit it. All the mischief ever done, Folks knew Willie did it.
No one liked that horrid boy, Can you wonder at it? None who saw his ugly head, Ever tried to pat it. No one ever took him for a ride-- Folks too gladly skipped him. No one ever gave him bats or balls, No one ever "tipped" him.
No one taught him how to skate, Or to play at cricket; No one helped him if he stuck In a prickly thicket. Oh no! for the boys all said Willie loved to tease them, And that if he had the chance, Willie would not please them.
And they shunned him every one, And they would not know him, And their games and picture-books They would never show him, And their tops they would not spin, If they saw him near them, And they treated him with scorn Till he learned to fear them.
They all left him to himself, And he was so lonely, But of course it was his fault, Willie's own fault only. If a boy's a wicked boy, Shy of him folks fight then, If it makes him dull and sad, Why, it serves him right then!
This is the Naughty Boy who would go making Mud Pies, and get his nice new clothes all over mud.
He said he would be Good, but he got into the mud, and was a Naughty, Bad, Bad Boy!!!
The Wicked, Rude, Bad, Naughty, Cross, Nasty, Bold, Dirty-faced Boy
Boys, stop your noise! Girls, stop your jumping and skipping! While I tell you about a bad boy, who often deserves a whipping. If this boy to you were named, to speak to him you'd feel ashamed, So to-day I'll only say--He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
I won't tell you his age, nor the colour of his hair, Nor say anything about the clothes he sometimes does wear; You never see them neat and clean, and seldom without a tear, Because--He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
If he's sent on a message, such a long time he stops, To pelt stones at Chinamen, and stare in the shops; Running behind drays, and wastes time so many ways, That when he gets home his mother says-- Oh you wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
If his mother gives him lolly, cake, piece of beef or mutton, In a corner he'll eat it by himself, he's such a nasty, greedy glutton. And he'll smug from his playmates a marble, top or button, That scarcely any one can with him have any fun, Because--He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
He's been going to school for years, I can't tell you how long, If you ask him to spell three words, two are sure to be wrong; If you saw the dirty books and broken slate which to him belong, You'd easily guess from such a mess that-- He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
You can't believe a word he says, he tells so many lies. He's such a coward, he'll only hit a girl or boy much less than his size, But if he gets a blow himself, he howls, bawls, yelps, and cries, That anyone who sees him never tries to please him, Because--He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
He won't play any game without being always cheating, I often wonder how he so many times escapes a beating, And he never says grace before or after eating. He's scarcely better in the least than a brute beast, Because--He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
What school he goes to at present I won't tell, But I mean to watch him, and if he don't mind and behave well, I'll go to every school and ring a little bell, I'll make a great noise, and show all the girls and boys This wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
[Page 37]
Little Chinkey Chow-Chow (The Boy That Ran Away)
There was a little Chinese Boy, That ran away from home-- "Ha! ha!" he said, "I'll see the world And through the streets I'll roam.
"I won't go any more to school, Or go so soon to bed, Nor yet be scolded if I choose To stand upon my head."
So little Chinkey ran away, His tail flew in the wind; He thought not of his good mamma Who was so very kind:
He knew she could not follow him Along the crowded street, Because mammas in China have Such very tiny feet.
Now, as he went along he saw Such strange and lovely sights, Such pretty painted houses-- Such tops! and oh! such kites!
He saw so many gilded toys, and ivory things so white, That he forgot about the time, Until he found it night.
Ah! then he saw such fireworks! They glistened in his eyes; The crackers and the lanterns too Quite took him by surprise.
He listened to the music of The fiddle and the gong, And felt that it was jolly, though He knew that it was wrong.
But after that he began to think Things were not so bright; The men were going, and there came The watchman of the night;
And sleep was stealing over him, He scarce could lift his head, So he lay on the cold, cold stones, Which served him for a bed.
Little Chinkey Chow-Chow Woke up with early light, And wandered far away from where He passed the dreary night;
He was so very worn and cold, And sadly wanted food, So he sat upon a well In not a pleasant mood.
He saw the well was very deep, The water too was clear, And soon he saw a golden fish That looked so very near.
He stretched his hand to catch the fish; But oh! how sad to tell, He tumbled over and he sank To the bottom of the well.
Some other boys were playing there And saw him disappear, And ran along the road to see If anyone was near.
A Great BIG Market Gardener, Was soon upon the ground, And caught our little Chinkey up, Who soon would have been drowned.
The boys began to jeer at him, For he was very wet; They pulled his dripping tail, and called Him names that I forget.
One took his wooden shoes away, Another took his hat, And someone said, "It serves him right," Now only think of that!
When little Chinkey ran away, His tail flew in the wind; But when our Chinkey turned again His tail hung down behind.
He wandered past the painted shops, Where they put up the tea, And I am sure the boys at school Were happier than he.
Poor Chinkey Chow was very tired, And very sore his feet, When his mother saw him from The corner of a street.
She said he was a wicked boy, And ought to have a smack! And yet I think she loved him more Because she'd got him back.
Now when I see a Chinaman, And that is every day, I wonder if he is, grown up, The boy that ran away.
But what I still think most about When I this story tell, Is the GREAT BIG Market Gardener That raised him from the well
From Calvert's Australian Toy Books
[Page 38--Boy Land]
That Nice Boy
"Nice child--very nice child," observed an old gentleman, crossing to the other side of the car and addressing the mother of the boy who had just hit him in the eye with a wad of paper. "How old are you, my son?"
"None of your business," replied the youngster, taking aim at another passenger.
"Fine boy," smiled the old man, as the parent regarded her offspring with pride. "A remarkably fine boy. What is your name, my son?"
"Puddin' Tame!" shouted the youngster, with a giggle at his own wit.
"I thought so," continued the old man, pleasantly. "If you had given me three guesses at it, that would have been the first one I would have struck on. Now, Puddin', you can blow those things pretty straight, can't you?"
"You bet!" squealed the boy, delighted at the compliment. "See me take that old fellow over there!"
"No, no!" exclaimed the old gentleman, hastily. "Try it on the old woman I was sitting with. She has boys of her own, and she won't mind."
"Can't you hit the lady for the gentleman, Johnny?" asked the fond parent.
Johnny cleverly landed the pellet on the end of the old woman's nose.
But she did mind it, and rising in her wrath soared down on the small boy like a hawk. She put him over the line, reversed him, ran him backwards, till he didn't know which end of him was front, and finally dropped him into the lap of the scared mother, with a benediction whereof the purport was that she'd be back in a moment to skin him alive.
"She didn't seem to like it, Puddin'," smiled the old gentleman, softly. "She's a perfect stranger to me; but I understand she is the matron of an Orphans' Home, and I thought she would like a little fun; but I was mistaken."
And the old man smiled sweetly as he went back to his seat. He was sorry for the poor little boy, but he couldn't help it.
A Wicked Boy
Of all the small boys in our town That Jones boy was the worst, And if the "bad man" came around He'd take that Jones boy first.
One day he slipped away from home And went out for a skate Down on a deep and dangerous pond Beyond the garden gate.
His mother missed him after a while, And thought he'd gone to skate; And running to the fatal pond, She found she was too late.
For there, upon the cruel ice, Beyond an air-hole wide, She saw his pretty little hat, And a mitten by it's side.
He was her boy, and all the love That fills a mother's heart Came forth in tears and sobs and moans Beyond the strength of art.
She called the neighbours quick to come, They scraped along the ground; Beneath the water and the ice-- The boy could no be found.
At last their search was given up Until a thaw should come; The mother's sobs began afresh, Her sorrow was not dumb.
They turned to leave the fatal pool, A voice came clear and free-- "Hallo! If you want Frankie Jones, You'll find him up this tree."
And so it was--the mother's tears Were changed to smiles of joy; But gracious heaven, how she spanked Her darling, fair-haired boy!
L'Envoi
Cooley's Boy
The boy not only preys on my melon-patch and fruit trees, and upon those of my neighbours, but he has an extraordinary aptitude for creating a disturbance in whatever spot he happens to be. Only last Sunday he caused such a terrible commotion in church that the services had to be suspended for several minutes until he could be removed. The interior of the edifice was painted and varnished recently, and I suppose one of the workers must have left a clot of varnish upon the back of Cooley's pew, which is directly across the aisle from mine. Cooley's boy was the only representative of the family at church upon that day, and he amused himself during the earlier portions of the service by kneeling upon the seat and communing with Dr. Jones' boy, who occupied the pew immediately in the rear. Sometimes, when young Cooley would resume a proper position, Jones's boy would stir him up afresh by slyly pulling his hair, whereupon Cooley would wheel about and menace Jones with his fist in a manner which betrayed utter indifference to the proprieties of the place and the occasion, as well as the presence of the congregation. When Cooley finally sank into a condition of repose, he placed his head, most unfortunately, directly against the lump of undried varnish, while he amused himself by reading the commandments and the other scriptural texts upon the wall behind the pulpit.
In a few moments he attempted to move, but the varnish had mingled with his hair, and it held him securely. After making one or two desperate but ineffectual efforts to release himself, he became very angry; and supposing that Jones's boy was holding him, he shouted:
"Leg go o' my hair! Leg go o' my hair, I tell you!"
The clergyman paused just as he was entering upon consideration of "secondly," and the congregation looked around in amazement, in time to perceive young Cooley, with his head against the back of the pew, aiming dreadful blows over his shoulder with his fist at some unseen person behind him. And with every thrust he exclaimed:
"I'll smash yer nose after church! I'll go for you, Bill Jones, when I ketch you alone! Leg go o' my hair, I tell you, or I'll knock the stuffin' out o' yer," etc, etc.
Meanwhile, Jones's boy sat up at the very end of his pew, far away from Cooley, and looked as solemn as if the sermon had made a deep impression upon him.
Max Adeler
[Page 39--Boy Land]
Jack The Glutton
"Do look at those pigs, as they lay in the straw," Little Richard said to his papa; "They keep eating longer than ever I saw, What nasty fat gluttons they are!"
"I see they are feasting" his father replied, "They eat a great deal I allow; But let us remember, before we deride, 'Tis the nature, my dear, of a sow.
"But when a great boy, such as you, my dear Dick, Does nothing but eat all day And keeps sucking things till he makes himself sick, What a glutton! indeed, we may say.
"When plumcake and sugar forever he picks, And sweetmeats, and comfits, and figs; Pray let him get rid of his own nasty tricks, And then he may laugh at the pigs."
Tom the Dainty Boy
Never be dainty and throw food away; 'Tis sinful, as you must have heard many say; Besides, you yourself may require food some day, Though well fed.
So don't smell your plate and turn over your food, And doubt if it's wholesome, or pleasant, or good; Such conduct is not only senseless,--but rude And ill-bred.
There was a young boy, who so dainty became, That whether his dinner was fish, flesh or game, He turned up his nose at them all, just the same, And would cry,
"I cannot eat this,"--and, "I do not like that;"-- "This chicken's too lean,"--and "That mutton's too fat; The dog he may eat it up all, or the cat, But not I.
The consequence was that he soon became thin; His bones they stuck out, and his cheeks they sunk in, And his hands were not stronger nor thicker than tin, If so strong.
And his legs grew as slender as little hat-pegs, And almost as small was his waist as his legs; And he looked like the laths that are fastened round kegs, Thin and long.
And thinner, and thinner, and thinner he grew, A shadow had been rather fat, of the two; In fact, you might easily look him right through, If you tried.
And when he was quite the skeleton grown, As weak as a reed, and as cold as a stone He fell all to pieces, and with a faint groan, So he died.
Boy that robbed the Bird's nest
"To-whit! To-whit! To-whee! Will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made?"
"Not I," said the cow. "Oh, no; Such a thing I'd never do; I gave you a wisp of hay, But didn't take your nest away."
"Coo, coo! said the dove, I'll speak a word my love; Who stole that pretty nest From a little red-breast?"
"Not I," said the sheep. "Oh, no. I wouldn't treat a poor bird so; I gave wool the nest to line, But the nest was none of mine."
"Caw! Caw!" cried the crow, "I should like to know What thief took away A bird's nest to-day."
"Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen, Don't ask me again! Why I hav'nt a chick Would do such a trick.
We all gave her a feather, And she wove them together; I'd scorn to intrude On her and her brood."
"Chirr-a-whirr! Chirr-a-whirr! We will make a great stir; Let us find out his name, And all cry for shame!"
"I would not rob a bird," Said little Mary Green; "I think I never heard Of anything so mean."
"'Tis very cruel too," Said little Alice Neil: "I wonder if he knew How sad the bird would feel?"
A little boy hung down his head, And hid his face, so crimson red; For he stole that pretty nest From little robin redbreast; And he felt so full of shame, I do not like to tell his name.
But during next week Dressed in his Sunday best This boy set out to seek All for another nest.
He robbed a nest up high, Suspended in a tree; Two birds came through the sky, What happened you can see.
Cruel Boy
What! go to see the kittens drowned On purpose in the yard! I did not think there could be found A little heart so hard.
Poor kittens! No more pretty play With pussy's wagging tail: Why! I'd go far enough away Before I'd see the pail.
Poor things! the little child that can Be pleased to go and see, Most likely, when he grows a man, A cruel man will be.
And many a wicked thing he'll do Because his heart is hard: A great deal worse than killing you, Poor kittens in the yard.
Tyrannical Pat
What became of tyrannical Pat, Who pelted the dog, and beat the cat, Why, puss scratched his face and tore his hat; And Dash knocked him over as flat as a mat. Mind that!
The little boy who bit his Nails
See here a naughty boy, John Thales, Who had a shocking way Of picking at his finger nails, And biting them all day. And though he had, like other boys, Both soldiers, kites and drums, He liked, much better than these toys, His fingers and his thumbs.
Boy who tore his Hat
Above on a chair, a little boy sat, For he had torn his nice new hat; And so was punished for doing that.
Thief Charley
Charley, Charley, stole the barley Out of the baker's shop; The baker came out, and gave him a clout, And made that Charley hop.
[Page 40--Whipping Machine]
Snook's Patent Whipping Machine for Flogging Naughty Boys in School "The Snooks' Whipping Machine has proved a total failure." --"Times."
Declaration of a Distracted Schoolmaster.
A year ago I took charge of a school of 1000 boys. They were a very bad lot indeed, and I could do nothing with them. Being of a mild disposition, I attempted to reason with them; but I might as well have reasoned with the pigs. I then thought of punishing them, but that was a big task, and, besides, what mode of punishment should I adopt? In my utmost perplexity I wrote to Professor Wilderspin--a great authority on the management of boys--and he wrote as follows:
"Nearly all boys can be managed by an intelligent schoolmaster without punishment, but in a few cases it seems impossible to do without it. In every large school in England, Ireland, and Scotland some corporal punishment is used, and some must continue to be used as long as very vicious children continue to exist, or as long as parents spoil their children by over indulgence or by wilful criminal neglect before they send them to school. --Yours truly, Professor Wilderspin."
I then wrote to twenty-seven of the principal headmasters in the world, and the following are the replies:--
From the High School of Eton wrote head-master, Mr. Squeers: "If they don't behave as they should do, why, soundly box their ears." From the Grammar School of Harrow wrote head-master, Mr. Phfool: "If they do not behave themselves, expel them from the school." From the Training School of Rugby wrote head-master, Mr Wist: "Just take a handful of their hair, and give a sharp, short twist." From the College School of Oxford wrote Professor Rarey Hook: "Instead of nearly killing, overawe them with a look." From the Bible School of Cambridge wrote Professor William Brying: "Well whip them with a birchen rod, and never mind their crying." From the Blue Coat School of London wrote Professor Rupert Gower: "At arm's length make them hold a book the space of half-an-hour." From the Naval School of Liverpool wrote head-master Mr. Jointer: "Just rap them on the knuckles with a common teacher's pointer." From the People's School of Manchester wrote head-master Mr. Flowers: "Make them kneel down as still as death for just about two hours." From the Infant School of Birmingham wrote Professor Dory Heller: "Just put on them a fool's cap, marked 'dunce,' 'thief,' or 'story-teller'." From the Charity school of Sheffield wrote head-master, Mr. Clay: "If the boys are disobedient, do not let them out to play." From the Gentleman's School at Brighton wrote Professor Robert Flask: "If the boys will act unruly, why, just make them do a task." From the National School of Bristol wrote Professor Mark Groom: "If the boys are extra naughty, shut them in a dark room." From the District School of Edenburgh wrote head-master, Mr. Glass: "The naughty boys should all be sent to the bottom of the class." From the Mixed School of Glasgow wrote Professor Duncan Law: "To keep a proper kind of school, just use the three-tailed taw." From the Latin School of Dublin wrote Professor Patrick Clayrence: "If the boys are very bad boys, write a letter to their parents." From the Mission School, Calcutta, wrote the Rev. Mr. Mac Look: "Try them by a boy jury, write the verdict in a black-book." From the Lyceum of New York wrote Professor Henry Bothing: "Take your delinquent boys one hour and make them sit on nothing." From the Public School, Chicago, wrote head-master, Mr. Norrids: "If they will not behave themselves, why, just you slap their foreheads." From, the Academy of San Francisco wrote head-master, Mr. Power: "Make them stoop and hold their fingers on the floor for just an hour." From the Mormon School of Utah wrote Professor Orson Pratt: "First strip and make them fast, and then just use the little cat." From the King's College, Lisbon, wrote Professor Don Cassiers: "If you want to make them good boys, pull, pinch, and twist their ears." From the Cadet's School of Paris wrote Professor Monsieur Sour: "Just make them hold their hands above their heads for one full hour." From the Royal School of Amsterdam wrote Professor Vander Tooler: "If they will not behave themselves, just trounce them with a ruler." From the Model School of Pekin wrote Professor Cha Han Coo: "Just put their hands into the stocks and beat with a bamboo." From the Normal School of Moscow wrote Professor Ivan Troute: "To make your boys the best of boys, why, just use the knout." From the Muslim School of Cairo wrote the Mufti, Pasha Saido: "Upon the bare soles of their feet give them the bastinado." From the Common School of Berlin wrote Professor Von de Rind: "There's nothing like the old, old way that ever could I find; Just lay them right across your knee and cane them well behind. I've only just been speaking mit mine goot frien', Doctor Whistim, And he says that it does no harm, but is felt throughout the system." At last, as I was thinking deep how puzzling all this looks, I received a tempting offer from a certain Mr. Snooks. His "great machine to whip with speed" I brought with flusteration, But to see just how it did succeed you view the illustration.
And then look at "Professor Cole's Gentle Persuader." next page.
[Page 41--Whipping Machine]
Cole's Patent Whipping Machine for Flogging Naughty Boys in School
Testimonial from a Schoolmaster (To Mr. Cole, Book Arcade, Melbourne)
SIR--Your Patent Flogger is a "keen" Success as a labor-saving machine; 'Twill yet be held in great esteem, Already 'tis the Poet's theme; It's the greatest patent that's ever been In or out of a schoolroom seen; And as you have got it to go by steam, School-life will now be all serene.
I have not had a bad boy remaining now, but before I used your machine they used to be a frightful lot of young scamps. For instance, in my school of 1000, the first day the machine was introduced, 741 were punished for various misdeeds, and 103 for single offences, were flogged as follows:--
John Hawking, for talking William Winning, for grinning George Highing, for crying Edward Daring, for swearing Henry Wheeling, for stealing Peter Bitting, for spitting Robert Hocking, for smoking Frederick Mention, for inattention Joseph Footing, for pea-shooting Luke Jones, for throwing stones Matthew Sauter, for squirting water Nicholas Storms, for upsetting forms Reuben Wrens, for spoiling pens Samuel Jinks, for spilling ink Simon McLeod, for laughing aloud Timothy Stacies, for making faces Victor Bloomers, for taking lunars Vincent James, for calling names Caleb Hales, for telling tales Daniel Padley, for writing badly David Jessons, for cribbing lessons Edmond Gate, for coming late Ezra Lopen, for leaving the door open Edwin Druent, for playing the truant Charles Case, for leaving his place Ernest Jewell, for eating during school Coo Ah Hi, for using a shanghai Francis Berindo, for breaking a window Harold Tate, for breaking his slate Isaac Joys, for making noise Jacob Crook, for tearing his book Christopher Moyes, for teasing other boys Elisha Sewell, for bolting from school Conrad Draper, for throwing chewed paper Ebenezer Good, for telling a falsehood Felix Snooks, for coming without books Cyril Froude, for speaking too loud Elijah Rowe, for speaking too low Gregory Meek, for refusing to speak Hannibal Hartz, for throwing paper darts Horace Poole, for whistling in school Hubert Shore, for slamming the door Jesse Blane, for hiding the cane Jonah Platts, for hiding boys' hats Aaron Esk, for cutting the desk Abner Rule, for sleeping in school Adam Street, for changing his seat Albert Mayne, for splitting the teacher's cane Alexander Tressons, for reading during other lessons Alfred Hoole, for eating lollies in school Ambrose Hooke, for blotting his copy-book Amos Blair, for not combing his hair Andrew Grace, for not washing his face Anthony Sands, for not washing his hands Arnold Cootz, for coming in with dirty boots Benjamin Guess, for coming with untidy dress Clarence Hyneman, for annoying a stray Chinaman Michael McToole, for bringing stones to school Cuthbert Flindow, for climbing through the window Edgar Gasking, for going without asking Eric Grout, for kicking boys' hats about Enoch McKay, for pinching the next boy Gabriel Cook, for tearing a boy's book Hyram Pope, for pulling the bell rope Humphrey Proof, for getting on the roof Jonah Earls, for chasing school-girls Jonathan Spence, for climbing over the fence Phillip Cannister, for sliding down the bannister Lambert Hesk, for sliding on a desk Lawrence Storm, for standing on a form Lazarus Beet, for stamping with his feet Leopold Bate, for swinging on the gate Lewis Lesks, for kicking legs of desks Mark Vine, for overstepping the toe-line Nathan Corder, for not marching in order Norman Hall, for scribbling on the wall James Mace, for hitting a boy in the face Thomas Sayers, for pushing boys down the stairs Oswald Hook, for losing a school-book Ralph Chesson, for not knowing his lesson Sampson Skinner, for eating another boy's dinner Solomon Brook, for scribbling in his book Stephen Platt, for chasing the master's cat Neal M'Kimney, dropping a brick down the chimney Theodore Le Soof, for throwing stones on the roof Valentine Rapp, for turning on the water-tap Walter Hope, for climbing up the bell-rope Joshua Gail, for catching flies on the wall Raymond Esk, for sticking pins in the desk Julian State, for drawing pictures on his slate Gerald Astor, for being impudent to the master Augustus Roff, for not taking his hat off Rupert Keats, for fixing pens in boys' seats Maurice Took, for having a dirty copybook Esau Klaster, for drawing caricatures of the master Paul Bhool, for letting a bird loose in school Jabez Breeding, for not knowing the place at reading Levi Stout, for stopping too long when let out Guy M'Gill, sharpening a knife on the window-sill Duncan Heather, pinning two boys' coat-tails together Ezekiel Black, pinning paper on another boy's back Patrick O'Toole, for bursting a paper-bag in school Eli Teet, for putting cobbler's wax on master's seat
[Page 42--Dolly Land]
My Lady Doll
My Lady-doll is pretty, My Lady-doll is sweet; I like to show my Lady-doll To every one I meet
My Sweet Dolly Rose
O sweet, so sweet, Is my Dolly Rose! Just all that I know My Dolly knows; And when I am glad The darling is glad And when I am sad The darling is sad. How dear she is, O, nobody knows, No, no, not even My precious Rose
Polly's Dolly
Shining eyes, very blue, Opened very wide; Yellow curls, very stiff, Hanging side by side; Chubby cheeks, very pink, Lips red as holly; No ears, and only thumbs-- That's Polly's Dolly.
Pretty Doll
Oh dear! what a beautiful doll My sister has bought at the fair She says I must call it Miss Poll, And make it a bonnet to wear.
Oh pretty new doll, it looks fine! It's cheeks are all covered with red. But pray will it always be mine? And please may I take it to bed?
How kind was my sister to buy This dolly with hair that will curl; Perhaps, if you want to know why, It's because I've been a good girl.
POEMS FOR CHILDREN
Puss's Doll
Now Puss had a doll That Dame Trot bought to please her, And gave it the beautiful Name of Louisa And when Kitty was lonesome Or wanted to play, She'd cry for Loo! Loo! In a comical way.
The dolly was petted, Was kissed and caressed, Though often quite roughly It must be confessed And so pleased was Miss Puss With Louisa's fair charms, She took her cat's meat, With the doll in her arms
Pussy and Doggy Fighting for Dolly
And once, I remember, Oh, sad was the day, The cat answered back In an impudent way. And tray was so jealous, The two had a fight, And between them the doll Was a terrible fright
[Page 43--Dolly Land]
Dolly Tumbled out of Bed
'Tis very well to smile--now, But you gave me such a fright, When I missed you, darling Dolly, In the middle of the night.
I thought we played together, And you fell into a stream; Yet I said--just half awaking-- "'Tis nothing but a dream.
"For safe upon my pillow Lies her curly golden hair," Then I reached my hand to touch you, But I couldn't find you there.
I felt so sad and lonely That I cried, but all in vain; So to see if I could find you, I went off to sleep again.
Now, fancy! in the morning There you were, all safe and right; And nurse said, "Here's poor Dolly, Been upon the floor all night!"
Your pretty curls are tangled, They were so nice and smooth before; So promise, Dolly darling, You will tumble out no more!
Dolly and I
I love my dear dolly; I'll tell you her name, I called her "Sweet Polly" The day that she came.
My Uncle John brought her From over the sea; And no one shall part us, My dolly and me.
She has cheeks like red roses, And eyes blue and bright, That open with daylight, And close with the night.
She cries, and says, "Mam-ma, Mam-mam-ma," so well, That it is not a baby You scarcely can tell.
You know, I'm her own ma; A small one, you'll say, But just right for dolly, Who wants nought but play.
No teaching, no training, Few clothes and no food; And I like being her ma, Because she's so good.
Dolly's Broken Arm
Mamma, do send for Doctor Man, And tell him to be quick, My dolly fell and broke her arm, So she is very sick.
I thought that she was fast asleep, And laid her on her bed, But down she dropped upon the floor; O dear! she's almost dead!
Poor dolly! she was just as brave, And did not cry at all; Do you suppose she ever can Get over such a fall?
But when the doctor mends her arm, And wraps it up so tight, Then I will be her little nurse, And watch her all the night.
And if she only will get well, And does not lose her arm, I'll never let her fall again, Nor suffer any harm.
Little Polly
Little Polly, Had a dolly, With a curly wig; And Miss Polly And her dolly, Often danced a jig.
Also Polly had a collie, A fine dog was he; Blithe and jolly, Jumped round Polly, Barking loud with glee.
One day Polly Knocked her dolly, Broke its pretty head. "Oh, fie, Polly! Don't hurt dolly," Said her brother Ned.
Then did Polly Take up Dolly, Throw it on the floor. Said Miss Polly, In her folly "I will play no more."
Up ran collie, Seized poor dolly, Ran off to a friend. Friend helped collie To tear up dolly-- That was poor dolly's end.
[Page 44--Dolly Land]
A Little Girl's Song to Her Dolly
Lie down, little Dolly. Lie still on my lap, It's time now to put on Your night dress and cap; You have not been to sleep All through this long day Oh, what a long time For a Dolly to play!
The bright sun went down More than two hours ago; It is long past your bedtime, You very well know: The stars are now peeping From out the blue skies; Then go to sleep, Dolly! Come, shut your blue eyes.
Mamma says the flowers Were asleep long ago-- Sweet roses and lilies, Their heads bending low; She says 'tis a lesson For me and for you-- That children and dollies Should be asleep too.
Hark! Susan is calling-- Now out goes the light; I will tug you up snugly, And kiss you good night. It is time you were sleeping For do you not know The dear little birds Went to sleep long ago?
Don't Cry My Dolly
Hushy, baby, my dolly, I pray you don't cry, And I'll give you some bread And some milk by and by; Or perhaps you like custard, Or maybe a tart,-- Then to either you're welcome, With all my whole heart.
The Little Girl and Her Doll
There, got to sleep, Dolly, In own mother's lap, I've put on your nightgown And neat little cap. So sleep, pretty baby, And shut up your eye, Bye-bye, little Dolly, Lie still, and bye-bye. I'll lay my clean handkerchief Over your head, And then make believe That my lap is your bed; So hush, little dear, And be sure you don't cry. Bye-bye, little Dolly, Lie still, and bye-bye.
There, now it is morning And time to get up, And I'll give you some milk In my doll's china cup. So wake up, little baby And open your eye, For I think it high time To have done with bye-bye.
Jane Taylor
Sleep, Dolly Sleep
Sleep, Dolly, sleep. You must not, must not weep. Now close your eyes so brown, And let me lay you down. Sleep, Dolly, sleep. Wake, Dolly, wake, Too long a nap you take; It's time to make the tea, And you must help, you see. Wake, Dolly, wake. Run, Dolly, run, Run out in golden sun; Run up the hill with me, And then to the apple-tree. Run, Dolly, run.
Mrs Hibbert
My Dolly
Shut your eyes, my darling! When the shadows creep, When the flowers are closing Little ones must sleep.
Don't be frightened, Dolly! In my arms you lie; Nestle down and slumber To my lullaby
Dolly is so active, Always full of fun, Wakeful still and smiling E'en when day is done
Hush thee now, my dearest, To my slumber-song; Children lose their roses, Sitting up too long.
My Dolly
I must go home to dolly, And put her to bed; I know she's so tired, She can't raise her head.
Some dolls are so old, They can sit up till eight, But mine gets quite ill If she stays up so late!
Dolly's Asleep
Tell me a story Just one, mother dear. Candles are coming Bedtime is near There is my hand to hold Bend down your head, Don't speak too loud, mother, Dolly's in bed
No! not the story Of old Jack and Jill They were so stupid To tumble down the hill. I'm tired of Jack Horner And Little Bo-peep.-- Stay! let me see If Dolly's asleep.
Hush, Dolly darling! I'm watching, you know No one shall hurt you; I will not go. You are so warm,-- Like a bird in it's nest. Go to sleep, darling,-- Rest, Dolly, rest.
Ah! there is Mary Just come in with a light: Now there is no time For a story to-night, Please make the boys, mother, Mind how they tread. Their boots are so heavy, And--Dolly's in bed.
Good night, dear mother! Ask papa, please, When he comes home, Not to cough or to sneeze Give me your hand, Mary Hush! softly creep; We must not wake her,-- Dolly's asleep.
If at all restless Or wakeful she seems, Don't be to anxious; I fancy she dreams. Say to her softly, Just shaking your head; "Go to sleep, Dolly,-- Adie's in bed."
[Page 45--Dolly Land]
Lost Dolly
The sunflowers hang their heavy heads And wish the sun would shine; The clouds are grey; the wind is cold. "Where is that doll of mine? The dark is coming fast," said she. "I'm in a dreadful fright. I don't know where I left my doll, And she'll be out all night
"Twice up and down the garden-walks I looked; but she's not there, Oh! yes, I've hunted in the hay; I've hunted everywhere. I must have left her out of doors, But she is not in sight. No Dolly in the summer-house, And she'll be out all night.
"The dew will wet her through and through And spoil her dear best dress; And she will wonder where I am And be in such distress; The dogs may find her in the grass, And bark or even bite; And all the bats will frighten her That fly about at night.
"I've not been down into the woods Or by the brook to-day. I'm sure I had her in my arms When I came out to play, Just after dinner; then I know, I watched Tom make his kite. Will anybody steal my doll If she stays out all night.
"I wonder where Papa has gone? Why, here he comes; and see He's bringing something in his hand; That's Dolly certainly! And so you found her in the chaise, And brought her home all right? I'll take her to the baby-house. I'm glad she's home tonight."
Sarah O. Jewett
Talking To Dolly
Well, Dolly, what are you saying, When you blink and wink your eyes? I'm sure your thoughts are straying, For you look so very wise.
I wonder what you think about, And why you never talk, And how it is you never shout, And never try to walk!
I wonder if you're ever sad, And if you ever weep; I wonder if you're ever glad When I rock you off to sleep.
I wonder if you love me well-- As well as I love you. I do so wish you'd try and tell; Come, Dolly, darling, do!
Darling Dolly
Darling Dolly's house shall be High as lofty apple-tree; It shall have a door inlaid, Of the sweetest light and shade.
It shall have for pictures fair Fancies that are rich and rare; It shall have a golden roof, And tapestry with stars for woof.
And it shall have a dome of blue With the moonlight streaming through, And stately pillars, straight as firs, Bending to each wind that stirs.
Darling Dolly's house shall be High as a lofty apple-tree; It shall have a door inlaid, Of the sweetest light and shade.
Sour Grapes
"Such a doll! I wouldn't have it, With its trailing baby dress! Pooh! a dolly twice as handsome I could have for asking, Bess. Needn't ask me if it's pretty, No, I do not care to wait, I am in an awful hurry, If you keep me, I'll be late."
Off went Nannie, proud lip curling, Head uplifted in disdain, Bessie hugged her dolly closely, Laughing over truth so plain. "Nan was envious, Dolly darling, 'Twasn't aught of wrong in you, But the trouble lay in Nannie, She would like to own you too."
[Page 46--Dolly Land]
Ten Little Dollies
Ten little dollies Standing in a line, One tumbled down, And then there were nine.
Nine little dollies Sitting up so late, One went to sleep Then there were eight.
Eight little dollies-- All their ages even, One grew up tall And then there were seven.
Seven little dollies, Full of funny tricks, One snapt her head off Then there were six.
Six little dollies-- Looked almost alive, One lost her "pin-back," Then there were five.
Five little dollies, Walking by a door, One got her nose pinched, Then there were four.
Four little dollies On their mamma's knee, One cried her eyes out, Then there were three.
Three little dollies, Didn't know what to do, One tore her bows off, Then there were two.
Two little dollies, Very fond of fun, One melts her nose off, Then there was one.
One little dolly, Living all alone, Died broken-hearted, Then there were none.
[Page 47--Dolly Land]
My Week
On Monday I wash my dollies' clothes, On Tuesday smoothly press 'em, On Wednesday mend their little hose, On Thursday neatly dress 'em.
On Friday I play they're taken ill, On Saturday something or other; But when Sunday comes, I say, "Lie still, I'm going to church with mother."
Dirty Dolly
Naughty Miss Dolly played out in the mud, And got all her clothes quite black; And now such a rubbing, and scrubbing and tubbing As we have to give them, good lack!
'Tis hard to be mothers and laundresses too, And nurses and cooks beside. Grown people don't know all we chicks have to do, For how can they tell till they've tried?
Washing Day Troubles
I know a little girl who tried, To wash her dolly's clothes, one day, In Bridget's great, big tub, and cried Because mamma sent her away
To find her own small dolly-tub, More fit for little girls to use. But naughty Sally shook her head And all suggestions did refuse.
And when she found herself alone, She went to Bridget's tub again, But, as is sure to be the case, Her disobedience brought her pain.
For, what do you think? she tumbled in, And gave herself an awful fright, And no one pitied her; in fact, They all laughed at her in her plight.
Washing Dolly
Miss Mary standing at the tub Giving dolly a thorough scrub. Trying to make her nice and sweet Before she dresses for the street. If health an happiness you'd glean Remember always to keep clean.
Doll Rosy's Bath
'Tis time Doll Rosy had a bath, And she'll be good, I hope; She likes the water well enough, But she doesn't like the soap.
Now soft I'll rub her with a sponge, Her eyes and nose and ears, And splash her fingers in the bowl And never mind the tears.
There now--oh, my! what have I done? I've washed the skin off--see! Her pretty pink and white are gone Entirely! oh, dear me!
The New Tea-Things
Come, Dolly, come quick, For I want you to see The present mamma Has just given to me; A set of new tea-things That really hold tea.
A dear little teapot To keep the tea hot, And tiny white cups With a pretty blue spot, And a glass sugar-basin. How nice, is it not?
And I am to use them This same afternoon; So Dolly I'll give you Some tea very soon In a little white cup, With a saucer and spoon.
[Page 48--Dolly Land]
Doll Dress-making
Making Dolly's dresses, Don't you think it's fun? Here is one already, That I've just begun
Oh, how many stitches! And such a tangly thread! When I pricked my finger I just guess it bled
There! the needle's broken-- Bending all about-- That's a sign my dolly'll Wear the dresses out
Youth's Companion
Dolly Town
Have you ever been down to Dolly Town? The sight would do you good There the dollies walk, And the dollies talk, And they ride about In a grand turn-out, With a coachman thin Who is made of tin, And a footman made of wood
There are very fine houses in Dolly Town, Red, and green and blue; And a doctor, too, Who has much to do, Just to mend their toes And their arms and nose, When they tumble down And crack their crown And the stuff they take is glue
But the finest sight in Dolly Town That place to children dear-- Is no dolly at all, Though so neat and small If you've time to spare, Go on tiptoe there, See the pretty girl, the rose, the pearl, Who is Queen of Dolly Town
My Little Doll Rose
I have a little doll, I take care of her clothes She has soft flaxen hair, And her name is Rose
She has pretty blue eyes, And a very small nose, And a cunning little mouth, And her name is Rose
I have a little sofa Where my dolly may repose, Or sit up like a lady; And her name is Rose
My doll can move her arms, And can stand upon her toes, She can make a pretty curtsey My dear little Rose
How old is your dolly? Very young I suppose, For she cannot go alone, My pretty little Rose
Indeed I cannot tell In poetry or prose How beautiful she is, My darling little Rose.
E. Follen
Sewing For Dolly
Such a busy little mother! Such a pretty little "child"! Did you ever see a dolly With a face more sweet and mild?
Such a comfort to her mother, Who is busy all the day, And who never finds a moment With her little girl to play
There are dresses to be altered, There are aprons to be made, "For my child in wardrobe matters Must not be thrown in shade"
Says the busy little mother, As she clips and works away, And a brand new dress for Dolly Will be made this very day
The Lost Doll
I once had a sweet little doll, dears, The prettiest doll in the world; Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears, And her hair was so charmingly curled.
But I lost my poor little doll, dears, As I played in the heath one day; I cried for her more than a week, dears, But I could never find where she lay.
Folks say she is terribly changed, dears, For her paint is all washed away, And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears, And her hair is not the least bit curled; Yet for old sake's sake she is still, dears, The prettiest doll in the world.
Charles Kingsley
Dolly's Patchwork Counterpane
Oh, Mary, see what the nurse has found, Such store of pieces in my box! Some green, and some with lilac ground. They'll make such lovely blocks
She says she'll teach me how to make A counterpane for Dolly's bed, This lovely piece I first will take, With sprays of roses white and red
And thin this piece with purple spots Will look so pretty next to that! I'll keep my cotton free from knots, And make my stitches neat and flat
And "when I've finished it," she says She'll line it with a square of white. Oh, Dolly dear! your little bed Will be a most enchanting sight!
The Wooden Doll
I'm but a wooden doll, Have neither wit nor grace; And very clumsy in my joints And yet I know my place.
Most people laugh at a wooden doll, And wooden I may be, But little children love me much And that's enough for me.
When I am dressed in fine long clothes, In fur, and silk, and lace, I think myself I'm not so bad And yet I know my place.
Let people laugh--I know I'm wood: Wax I can never be; But little children think I'm grand-- That's quite enough for me.
Buy My Dolls
Come buy my dolls, my pretty dolls: Come buy my dolls, I pray: I've such a heap, And I sell so cheap, I almost give them away.
I've waxen dolls, and china dolls, And dollies made of gum, Some are small, And some are tall, Some talk and some are dumb.
Bald head dolls, and dolls with hair, All beauties in their way-- So very nice, So low in price, Please buy my dolls to-day.
Laughing dolls, and crying dolls; Dolls of various ages, Infant dolls, And lady dolls, Dolls in all the stages.
Go where you may, you will not find Such bargains as are these Make my heart light, Buy them to night, To grace your Christmas trees.
[Page 49--Dolly Land]
Doctor Charlie and His Patient
Run for the doctor! Dolly's very sick! Mary, you'll have to go, I cannot leave her; Tell him to pack his bottles And come quick; I think she has got A very dangerous fever."
In stalks a hat and cane; If you look close, You'll see Doctor Charlie, Somewhere under; He takes a pinch of snuff And blows his nose, While poor sick Dolly Seems to stare in wonder.
He feels her pules, he Gravely shakes his head: His hat dropped o'er his eyes With the shake he gave it; He says poor dolly Must be put to bed And have her head shaved-- He, in fact, will shave it.
Poor mamma sober looks, But says at once That "Dolly's head shall Not be shaved! I guess not! Her hair would never grow Again, you dunce!" "It shall!" "It shan't!" "She'll die then, if it's not!"
But Mary, ere the quarrel Gets too grave (Already in her hand A bowl of gruel), Says, "Don't you know That doctors do not shave? And then besides, It really would be cruel!"
"I'll give her pills, then, When she's safe in bed, Plenty and sweet--of sugar I will make them; As dolly cannot eat, 'Twill do instead For you and me and Mary here to take them."
Dollies' Broken Noses
Two little babies In carriages two, Two little nurses With duty to do.
Both little nurses Were careful at first, Soon both grew careless-- Which was the worst.
O what a pitiful Wail from the street! One broken rail Trips four little feet.
Over went carriages, Babies and all, And two china noses Were cracked in the fall.
The Soldier Dolly
There once was a sweet tiny maiden, A wee little woman of four, Who scarce could reach up to the table, Or open the nursery door;
And this poor little maid, she was crying-- Her dolly had such a fall! Yes there on the ground he was lying-- Her darling, the best of them all.
This dolly had been a brave soldier, With uniform, sabre, and all, And worshipp'd a doll in the doll's-house, That stood by the side of the wall.
She was only a poor tiny maiden, A wee little woman of four, And she sat with her heart nearly breaking, With the doll in her lap on the floor.
And the poor, tiny, sorrowful maiden, The wee little woman of four, Now lies with her dead soldier dolly, Asleep on the nursery floor.
The Dead Doll
You needn't be trying to comfort me-- I tell you my dolly is dead! There's no use saying she isn't-- With a crack like that on her head. It's just like you said it wouldn't hurt Much to have my tooth out that day. And then when they most pulled My head off, you hadn't a word to say.
And I guess you must think I'm a baby, When you say you can mend it with glue! As if I didn't know better than that! Why, just suppose it was you? You might make her look all mended-- But what do I care for looks? Why, glue's for chairs and tables, And toys, and the backs of books!
My dolly! my own little daughter! Oh, but it's the awfullest crack! It just makes me sick to think of the sound When her poor head went whack Against this horrible brass thing That holds up the little shelf. Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me? I know that I did it myself?
I think you must be crazy-- You'll get her another head! What good would forty heads do her? I tell you my dolly is dead! And to think that I hadn't quite finished Her elegant New Year's hat! And I took a sweet ribbon of hers List night to tie on that horrid cat!
When my mamma gave me that ribbon-- I was playing out in the yard-- She said to me most expressly: "Here's a ribbon for Hildegarde." And I went and put it on Tabby, And Hildegarde saw me do it; But I said to myself, "Oh, never mind, I don't believe she knew it!"
But I know that she knew it now, And I just believe, I do, That her poor little heart was broken, And so her head broke too. Oh, my baby! my little baby! I wish my head had been hit! For I've hit it over and over, And it hasn't cracked a bit.
But since the darling is dead, She'll want to be buried of course; We will take my little wagon, Nurse, And you shall be the horse; And I'll walk behind and cry; And we'll put her in this--you see, This dear little box--and we'll bury Them under the maple tree.
And papa will make a tombstone, Like the one he made for my bird; And he'll put what I tell him on it-- Yes, every single word! I shall say: "Here lies Hildegarde, A beautiful doll that is dead; She died of a broken heart, And a dreadful crack in her head."
Margaret Vandegrift
Dolly's Doctor
Dolly, my darling, is dreadfully sick; Oh, dear! what shall I do? Despatch to the doctor a telephone quick To bring her a remedy new.
Hush! that is the doctor's tap! tap! tap! Don't make such a terrible noise-- Don't you see how the darling lies still on my lap, And never looks up at you boys!
Come, doctor, and tell me now just what you think Would be best for my darling so sweet. 'Give dolly a bucket of water to drink, In a bowl of hot gruel put her feet.'
[Page 50--Dolly Land]
Christening Dolly
See, this is my Christmas dolly, Two weeks ago she came; And, oh! the trouble I have had To find a pretty name.
At first I thought of Marguerite-- A French name, meaning "pearl"-- But Nellie said, "Oh! that's too stiff For such a graceful girl."
And then I mentioned, one by one, Susanna, Ruth, and Poll, "But they are too old-fashioned names Said Nell, "to suit your doll."
So the next day I got a great big book, And searched it through and through, Then shook my head and sadly said: "There's not one name will do."
My brother Tom was sitting near, He raised his eyes and smiled; "Why, Pussy dear," he kindly said, "Suppose I name your child."
"Oh! will you Brother Tom?" I cried, And then I hugged him, so; (hugging her doll.) "We'll play you are the parson That christens folks, you know."
So then, he took her in his arms And solemnly and slow He said: "This baby's name shall be Miss Josephine, or Jo."
And there, before I knew it, My baby had a name; And what I like about it, is, That mine is just the same.
E.C. and J.T. Rook
The Dollies Visit
Three little girls brought each a doll, To pass an afternoon; The dresses all were soon displayed, Their bangles made a tune; And when they parted to go home, One young girl shrewdly said: "Our dollies have behaved real nice-- They have no scandal spread." W.
The Little Girl Over The Way
Whenever I'm tired of reading, Or lonely in my play, I come to the window here, and watch The little girl over the way.
But she will not look nor listen, Nor stand for a moment still; And though I watch her the livelong day, I'm afraid she never will.
For some day some one will buy her, And carry her quite away;-- She is only a doll in a great glass-case, The little girl over the way.
Maggie's Talk to Doll
My dolly dear, Come sit up here! And say why you don't cry. I've struck your head Against the bed, And cracked your pretty eye,
My dolly dear, Do sit up here, And let me see your face; And say, my pet, Why you don't fret Now Pug has got your place.
My pretty Poll My dear, dear doll, Why don't you eat or talk? Like sister Jane, And Sally Blane, And then go for a walk?
You have an eye, But never cry, And lips, but never prattle; You've fingers ten, Like brother Ben, But never shake the rattle.
You never eat, Nor drink, nor sleep, Nor move unless you're carried: And when I pinch, You never flinch, Nor say that you are worried.
Minnie to Dolly
Your hair is so pretty, Your eyes are so blue, Your cheeks are so rosy, Your frock is so new, You're the prettiest dolly I ever did see. Though your hair is so pretty, And your eyes are so blue, I'd rather be Minnie Than I would be you,
For you can't see the flowers When they come up in spring; You can't hear the birdies, How sweetly they sing; Nor run out of doors To look in the sky, And see the white clouds As they pass swiftly by.
You've no kind of papa Or mamma to be near, To love you and teach you; So, dolly, my dear, Though your cheeks are so rosy, And your dress is so new, I'd rather be Minnie Than I would be you.
My Dolly
My Dolly, Polly Angelina Brown, Has a pretty little bonnet, And a pretty little gown; A pretty little bonnet, With a lovely feather on it; Oh, there's not another like it To be found in all the town!
My Dolly, Polly, is a precious little pet; Her eyes are bright as jewels, And her hair is black as jet; I hug her, and I kiss her! And oh, how I should miss her If she were taken from me; Oh how I should grieve and fret!
My little brother Charley, Says my Dolly is "a muff," And he calls her other horrid names Though that is bad enough; And though he's very clever, I never, no, I never Let him handle her or dandle her, For boys, you know, are rough.
My Dolly's always smiling; She was never known to frown. And she looks so very charming In her Sunday hat and gown. You really ought to see her To get a good idea Of the beauty of my Dolly, Polly Angelina Brown.
Dolly's Wedding
Come along; come along; The rain has gone away. Dingle-dong! dingle dong; It is Dolly's wedding-day!
Charley has got his night-gown on. Mary has put the chairs: Charley is the clergyman Who'll marry them up-stairs. Come along; come along; The rain has gone away. Dingle-dong! dingle dong; It is Dolly's wedding-day!
Sambo has got an old white hat, And a coat with but one tail; Sambo's face is very black, Dolly's is rather pale. Come along; come along; The rain has gone away. Dingle-dong! dingle dong; It is Dolly's wedding-day!
Sambo has got a woolly pate, Dolly has golden hair. When Sambo marries Dolly, They'll be a funny pair! Come along; come along; The rain has gone away. Dingle-dong! dingle dong; It is Dolly's wedding-day!
[Page 51--Dolly Land]
My Doll
I found my old dolls In the attic to-day, In a box where I long ago Laid them away. It was silly, I know, But 'twas such a surprise, The sight of their faces Brought tears to my eyes.
There was poor little Flossie, With azure eyes closed. For many a month She had quietly dozed, In the little silk gown In which I last dressed her-- That time was brought back So I stopped and caressed her;
And then, as I raised her, She opened her eyes, And stared at her mother In such sad surprise That I kissed her and laid Her again in her place To keep her reproachful Blue eyes off my face.
And next I uncovered My little bisque Mabel, To meet whose brown eyes I was still more unable. There gaze was surprised, But exceedingly mild, My poor little, dear little, Led-away child!
And I kissed her, her face Looked so childish and sweet, And I held for a moment Her little kid feet, For her stockings were scattered, And so were her shoes, And then, when I found them, They gave me the blues.
I kissed her, and laid her Back in the box, but She looked at me still (For her eyes would not shut) And hastily covering Her face from my sight, I searched till wax Elsie I brought to the light.
Now, that poor little doll Was only my niece, Her eyes were dark blue And her curls white as fleece But her nose was so flat, 'Twas no longer a nose, And her wax cheeks had faded And lost all their rose.
From losing her sawdust Her body was slender, Yet for those very reasons My kiss was more tender, And I laid the poor thing Away with a sigh, And feeling, I must say, Like having a cry.
One big doll was missing,-- My dear Rosabel,-- How much I did love her, I really can't tell. It is painful, indeed, To be talking about, But I loved her so much That I quite wore her out.
Well, well, I am older, But I'm sure I'm not glad. The thought of those old times, In fact makes me sad. And, although the feeling Is silly, I know, I cannot help sighing: "Oh! why did I grow?"
Bertha Gerneaux Davis
Mistress Of Four Dollies
This little girl, I'm glad to say, Is eight years old this very day. She makes a hat for the little "Doll," And puts in it a feather tall.
One doll is large, and one is small, Another short another tall. She talks to them. They won't obey, And then she says, "You cannot play."
Grandmamma's Visit
With grandma's cap upon her head, And spectacles on her nose, And grandma's shawl upon her back, Grace to her sister goes.
"My dear grandchild, although I am Now getting very old, I've toddled all this way to ask About your Dolly's cold."
"Dear Grandmamma, I thank you much, And I am glad to say She had a good sound sleep last night, And is quite well to-day."
Lucy's Dolls
Five little dolls To claim my care To fix their clothes And comb their hair;
Five little dolls To dress and keep And put away Each night to sleep.
I don't think grown Folks ever know What troubles small Folks undergo;
I have to cook To please all five-- I wonder much That I'm alive!
[Page 52--Dolly Land]
Dolly Is Dead
I can't help crying! Oh dear! My doll is dead, I fear, Yes, she must be dead, For she's lost her head, And she looks so horribly queer. But they say our doctor's a clever man, I'll get him to put on her head if he can.
The Doll Show
(For seven little girls--six with dolls. The seventh to be the judge.)
First girl enters, with doll in her arms.
We're going to have a dolly show, This very afternoon-- The little girls will bring their dolls, (I think they'll be here soon),
And then we'll have such lots of fun, We'll place them in a row, And the one the judge declares the best Will take the prize, you know.
My dolly is all ready, I've dressed her as a bride; Don't she look sweet; She'll take the prize, Of that I'm satisfied.
Places her doll on a bench or chair, and takes a seat.
Second Girl
Oh, such a time as I have had, I thought I would be late; I took so very, very long To dress my little Kate,
But here she is, my infant doll, So white, and clean, and pure, Oh, yes, my precious darling, You'll take the prize, I'm sure.
Places doll next to doll No. 1 and takes a seat.
Third Girl--Carrying a handsome French Doll.
My dolly came from Sunny France, Her name is Antoinette, She's two years old on Christmas day, And she's my dearest pet.
Her feet and hands are very small, Her hair is soft and light, Her eyes the deepest, darkest blue, And very large and bright.
This handsome dress from Paris came, Also this stylish hat, Why, she of course will take the prize, I'm positive of that.
Places her doll by doll No. 2, and takes a seat.
Fourth Girl
I hope they've saved a little space For Jack, my sailor lad, The bravest, best, and nicest son A mother ever had.
He wears a suit of navy blue-- I've brought him to the show Because he looks so very nice, He'll take the prize, I know.
Places it by doll No. 3, and sits down.
Fifth Girl--a very small girl holding by the arm a large rag baby with a long dress.
My mamma's writing letters, And told me--"run away," And so I brought my dolly To the baby show, to-day.
She isn't very pretty, But she's very nice, I think, Her eyes, and nose, and little mouth, My mamma made with ink.
I love my Dolly, 'cause she's good-- She never never cries, So don't you think she'll be the one To carry off the prize?
Places her doll by doll No. 4, and takes a seat.
Sixth Girl
They mustn't crowd my baby out, Although she's black as night. I think she'll stand as good a chance As babies that are white.
She's very neat, and nice, and clean, Her lips are cherry red, She wears a gay bandanna Tied round her curly head.
She's a very handsome lady, And if the judge be wise, I do not have the slightest doubt That she will take the prize.
Places her doll by doll No. 5, and sits down.
First Girl--to the girls
Do not open your mouths, Nor shut your eyes! For here comes the judge To award the prize.
Seventh Girl--Enters carrying a wand. She views each doll in turn with critical eyes, then pointing to the first doll, says--
Number one is very pretty, But I think she's rather tall.
Points to No. 2
And this cunning little baby, Is a little bit too small.
No. 3
Number three--a fine French lady, Too Frenchy is, I fear.
Points to No. 4
And Master Jack, I like your looks, But I think you dress too queer.
No. 5
And this old-fashioned baby doll, I guess lived in the ark;
No. 6
No, no, Miss Dinah, no prize for you, Your skin is much too dark.
Then turning to the little girls, she continues:
And now, dear anxious mothers, I find I can't decide Which doll shall have the premium, But I'll be satisfied
If you'll call another meeting To-morrow afternoon, I need more time to settle this-- To-day is much too soon.
So, mothers, now I give these babies Back to your loving care; And I thank you much for bringing them To our famous Baby Fair.
Hands each doll to it's owner.
Exit all.
[Page 53--Dolly Land]
A Doll's Adventures Round the World
All round the world and back again Dolly and I have been; By sea and land we've travelled far, The strangest sights have seen.
To Greenland first we sailed away To see the snow and ice, But Dolly's nose--it nearly froze-- Oh, dear! that wasn't nice!
So off we tripp'd to Canada, There 'twas not quite so cold-- But there the Indians in the woods Rushed after us so bold.
We ran away to Montana, O'er Rocky Mountains high, To picnic in wild Oregon, Famous for pumpkin pie.
Then down to California, Through many a field of gold, And over ancient Mexico, Past temples manifold.
The Sandwich Isles we visited, Where grew such radiant flowers, And pretty girls danced all the day In fragrant, rosy bowers.
We crossed the Equatorial Seas, And, sailing round and round The lovely islands of the main, Sweet coral groves we found.
New Zealand's shores we landed at, The country of strange things-- Cherries that carried the stones out-side, And flowers with butterflies' wings.
Oh, when we reach Australia-- What heaps and heaps of gold! And a million sheep and lambs we saw Straying from fold to fold.
To buy some tea-pots and some trays, We called at quaint Japan, Where a very polite old Japanese Gave Dolly an ivory fan.
We took a trip to Chinese land To take a cup of tea, But neither sugar nor cream was given, Which didn't suit Dolly and me.
Then travelling to Hindustan, We met a tiger there, Who looked as though he would eat us up-- So off we flew elsewhere.
And found ourselves in the Khyber Pass, In the midst of a Caravan, With which we travelled night and day To reach Afghanistan.
Across the Red Sea next we sail'd And through the Suez Canal, To purchase a camel at old Cairo, With a trot most magical,
Across the Desert we rode apace, No water was there to drink, Ah, oh!--while climbing a Pyramid Dolly dropped down a chink.
An Arab kindly rescued her-- (She did so ruffle her hair; If ever she plays that trick again She'll have to be left down there.)
At last we left the Desert drear, To sail upon the Nile, In the Pasha's beautiful diabeheh Past many a crocodile.
We saw no end of wonders now In Africa's strange land-- Forests full of lions fierce, And many a savage band.
Our steamer on the Congo sank-- We were in a dreadful plight Until we met with Stanley true, And then we steered aright.
We said good-bye to Africa, And, though winds proved contrary, Northward our wondrous way we took To the Isles of sweet Canary.
Thence favouring gales conveyed us far Beyond the Spanish shore; Fast by the coast of France we sped To our own land once more.
And now we're safe at home again, And wise as wise can be; For seeing all the world's wonders Improves my Doll and me.
Sabina
The Story of a Doll
I stood in the semi-darkness And watched a child at her play; Her cares were of multiform nature, And the daylight was speeding away.
Her dolly demanded attention, To be petted and kissed and be fed; To have on its little nightgown, And then to be put in its bed.
All this with a motherly yearning She had learned by the instinct of love; And the dolly but faintly presented A gift from the heaven above.
The dear little creature had finished And was just about turning to go, When the scene all changed in a moment And turned into weeping and woe.
A boy, almost reaching to manhood, Dashed wildly from the room, And seizing the doll from the cradle Rushed out again into the gloom.
There was one wild scream from the maiden, A clasp of the hands and a chase; But the boy thought the thing was funny And was in for a brotherly race.
But soon, when the screaming was louder And he saw all the pain he had caused. He threw down the doll on the flooring, And sneering, he suddenly paused.
"I wouldn't be such a cry-baby," he said, With a half-mocking drawl; "I can buy plenty more that's just like it, "It's only a plaster doll.
"Why don't you get one made of china, Instead of that plaster thing? An then I would try to respect it," And he took himself off with a fling.
"Oh, my dolly, my dolly is broken," And quick in her bosom she hid The maimed little bit of her sunshine, "I Loved it, I loved it, I did.
"I don't care if it was only plaster; 'Twas my dolly, my dolly, my own." And she knelt by the mangled plaything. "And now I am left all alone."
Ten years from that very evening, I stood by the couch of a child, While a man knelt and wept beside it, With a face both haggard and wild.
'Twas the old scene of the dolly repeated, The boy had to manhood grown; A hand crushed his plaster idol And left him to mourn all alone.
Ah me! how the world is repeated, The work of each day o'er and o'er. We all have our broken dollies Away on the golden shore. Did he think, I wonder, of that one He threw on the carpetless floor.
Watson
[Page 54--Dolly Land]
I am homesick, Dolly Dear
Dolly knows what's the matter-- Dolly and I. It isn't the mumps nor the measles-- Oh! dear, I shall die! It's the mothering we want, Dolly, The--what shall I call it? And grandpa says he has sent-- He put the 'spatch safe in his wallet.
I know well enough that he dropped That telegraph 'spatch in the fire, If mother just knew, she'd come If 'twas on the telegraph wire! She'd take my poor head, That is splitting this very minute, And she'd sing "There's a Happy Land," And the hymn that has "Darling" in it.
Course, I like grandpa's house; It's the splendidest place to stay, When there's all the outdoors to live in, And nothing to do but to play; Somehow you forget your mother-- That is, just the littlest bit, Though if she were here, I suppose That I shouldn't mention it.
But oh! there's a difference, Dolly, When your head is so full of pains That ('cepting the ache that's in 'em) There's nothing left of your brains, Remember how nice it feels, Dolly, To have your head petted and "poored." Ache? Why I ache all over, And my bed is as hard as a board.
Nurse says "It's a sweet, lovely morning." It may be for all that I care; There's just one spot in this great wide world That is pretty--I wish I was there! I can see the white roses climbing All over the low porch door, And the daisies and buttercups growing-- I never half loved them before.
And mother--let's see! she's standing In that very same door, no doubt; She loves to look out in the morning And see what the world is about, In a pale-blue something-or-other-- A loose sort of wrapper, I guess; As if a few yards of sky Had been taken to make a dress.
And up from the pine woods yonder Comes a beautiful woodsy smell, And the breeze keeps a hinting of May flowers-- The real-pink arbutus bell; And I think most likely the robins Have built in the cherry tree; And by and by there'll be birdies-- And I shall not be there to see!
Did you hear any noise, Dolly! Speak, Dolly, you little witch! As if someone was laughing--or crying! I couldn't tell which! We've kept from crying, so far; We've choked but we wouldn't cry; I've just talked it out to you, dear; I had to, or else I'd die.
But if that is you, mother-- And I know by your lips that it is-- I'll just squeeze your head off!-- You think that all I want is a kiss! O mother! to papa and Tom You needn't got mention it, But you know it was homesickness Almost killed your poor little Kit!
[Page 55--A Lady Making Dolls]
Every Dolly Should Have A Name
A Thousand Names For Dollies And Babies
Adam and Madam, Hagar and Jagar, Lottie and Tottie, Dinah and Nina, Hebe and Phoebe, Claude and Maude, Connell and Donnell, Dove and Love, Are all good names for dolls.
Ruth and Truth, Ducie and Lucy, Casper and Jasper, Mercy and Percy, Angeletta and Vangeletta, Gilliam and William, Luby and Ruby, Ada and Saida, Are all good names for dolls.
Abihu and Elihu, Becky and Jacky, Alf and Ralph, Giles and Miles, Colin and Rollin, Lubin and Reuben, Arthur and Marthur, Marybella and Sarybella, Are all good names for dolls.
Hubert and Rupert, Nice and Rice, Bryan and Ryan, Alpin and Galpin, Duke and Luke, Mulic and Ulic, Bessy and Hessy, Hildalene and Tildalene, Are all good names for dolls.
Mose and Rose, Gordon and Jordan, Donald and Ronald, Ervin and Mervin, Mirzah and Tirzah, Alick and Gallic, Handel and Randal, Fredelena and Tedelena, Are all good names for dolls.
Bridget and Midget, Louisa and Theresa, Hillah and Zillah, Milfred and Wilfred, Larkin and Martyn, Horam and Joram, Jael and Shaul, Fannyette and Nannyette, Are all good names for dolls.
Abisha and Elisha, Abitub and Ahitub, Crissylene and Sissylene, Averil and Daveril, Botolph, and Rodolph, Lilian and Milian, Maynard and Reynard, Kizzylene and Lizzylene, Are all good names for dolls.
Prichard and Richard, Darian and Marian, Dowzabel and Rosabel, Artemus and Bartemus, Dathan and Nathan, Germaine and Hermaine, Abelard and Ermengarde, Dovelene and Loyelene, Are all good names for dolls.
Nicodemus and Polyphemous, Marianne and Sarianne, Lucylena and Nucylena, Edmond and Redmond, Nebulon and Zebulon, Jeanette and Mynette, Apollyon and Napoleon, Jinnylene and Winnylene, Are all good names for dolls.
Coralius and Doralius, Horatius and Ignatius, Agnes and Dagnes, Eldred and Meldred, Obijah and Orijah, Adriel and Gabriel, Ivan and Sivan, Claudelius and Maudelius, Are all good names for dolls.
Brunius an Junius, Simon and Timon, Bobab and Hobab, Darnell and Parnell, Jirah and Sirah, Marylena and Sarylena, Faban and Laban, Lilianette and Millianette, Are all good names for dolls.
Lubylene and Rubylene, Manuel and Samuel, Herodicus and Herodotus, Ella and Zella, Flavius and Zavius, Grace and Mace, Borgia and Georgia, Dinalene and Minalene, Are all good names for dolls.
Ira and Myra, Claudia and Maudia, Laymond and Raymond, Gisborn and Lisborn, Fernando and Hernando, Paul and Saul, Hulia and Julia, Lancylene and Nancylene, Are all good names for dolls.
Barret and Garret, Diamond and Simund, Bathilda and Matilda, Charissa and Clarissa, Minnielene and Tinnielene, Abinoam and Ahinoam, Clarice and Paris, Bessielene and Jessielene, Are all good names for dolls.
Josiah and Sophia, Bariah and Mariah, Jeziah and Keziah, Amariah and Amaziah, Josibiah and Josiphia, Uriah and Jeremiah, Obadiah and Zachariah, Are all good names for dolls.
Florence and Laurence, Athaliah and Jocaliah, Abira and Sapphira, Donetta and Johnetta, Biddy and Liddy, Janette and Nanette, Dometta and Tometta, Agrippa and Phillippa, Are all good names for dolls.
Lucretia and Venetia, Criscilla and Priscilla, Belinda and Selinda, Dara and Hara, Ambrose and Lambrose, Frances and Nances, Bertie and Gertie, Ruthelene and Truthelene, Are all good names for dolls.
Dorna and Lorna, German and Herman, Josanna and Johanna, Alfred and Talfred, Hamar and Tamar, Ashur and Jasher, Baruch and Saruch, Mollyetta and Pollyetta, Are all good names for dolls.
Angelena and Vangelena, Cherubima and Seraphima, Bede and Reid, Josabad and Rosabad, Lulia and Tulia, Harold and Jarold, Jeroboam and Rehoboam, Paulina and Saulina, Are all good names for dolls.
Tunice and Unice, Sambrose and Vambrose, Meshach and Sheshach, Bertram and Gertram, Amon and Samon, Claudius and Maudius, Borelius and Horelius, Bonalene and Monalene, Are all good names for dolls.
[Page 56--Name Land]
The Reading over of these 1000 Names, all different, will give splendid Exercise in Spelling and Pronunciation.
Gomer and Homer, Selah and Telah, Rasman and Tasman, Barak and Sarak, Janet and Nanet, Heavenbella and Sevenbella, Ahaz and Azaz, Antimeg and Antineg, Are all good names for dolls.
Allon and Fallon, Abdiel and Zabdiel, Andronicus and Veronicus, Anthony and Vanthony, Amery and Zamery, James and Kames, Antonius and Santonius, Mattylene and Pattylene, Are all good names for dolls.
Bedrodach and Nedrodach, Festus and Vestus, Geoffrey and Zeffrey, Henry and Kenry, Gilbert and Hilbert, Anim and Banim, Noah and Joah, Mercylene and Percylene, Are all good names for dolls.
Dovetta and Lovetta, Azel and Bazel, Corinda and Dorinda, Besar and Cesar, Doram and Horam, Ananiah and Apia, Floralius and Horalius, Marionette and Sarionette, Are all good names for dolls.
Coralene and Doralene, Floralene and Noralene, Dathan and Nathan, Abiram and Ahiram, Imon and Dimon, Cornelius and Aurelius, Ethelene and Bethelene, Jera and Terah, Are all good names for dolls.
Ben and Glen, Neziah and Tiziah, Madoc and Zadoc, Pauline and Sauline, Abihud and Ahihud, Kiza and Liza, Dius and Pius, Nucy and Sucy, Are all good names for dolls.
Alfric and Salfric, Frank and Hank, Kobina and Rosina, Florinda and Laurinda, Deborah and Ketorah, Shebaniah and Shecaniah, Sherariah and Shemariah, Are all good names for dolls.
Abia, Beriah and Neriah, Alberic, Almeric & Alperic, Volinda, Wolinda & Zolinda Abijah, Ahijah and Elijah, Dida, Ida and Fida, Dias, Elias and Tobias, Quick, Vic and Zic, Hugh, Leu and Pugh, Are all good names for dolls.
Cora, Dora and Flora, Lora, Nora and Zora, Biram, Hiram and Miram, Vessie, Wessie and Zessie, Barrat, Jarrat and Garrat, Ham, Lam and Zam, Adelia, Afelia and Amelia, Dugo, Hugo and Nugo, Are all good names for dolls.
Ivy, Livy and Zivy, Betty, Hetty and Letty, Netty, Petty and Zetty, Linny, Winny and Zinny, Hester, Lester and Nestor, Helena, Serena and Sabina, Mab, Nab and Rab, Dottielene, Lottielene & Tottielene Are all good names for dolls.
Bruno, Juno and Uno, Eugene, Nugene and Sugene, Dorman, Gorman and Norman, Jean, Vean and Zean, Hew, Seu and Zue, Azur, Kazur and Nazur, Davia, Flavia and Pavia, Apulias, Julius and Tulias, Are all good names for dolls.
Biram, Hiram and Piram, Katline, Matline and Patline, Seba, Sheba, and Zebah, Aubrey, Daubrey and Vaubrey, Nebo, Nego and Necho, Andrew, Mandrew and Vandrew, Dalwin, Talwin and Zalwin, Abi, Ahi and Ami, Are all good names for dolls.
Larissa, Narissa and Varrissa, Di, Guy and Nie, Dot, Lot and Tot, Delicia, Felicia and Letitia, Bona, Jonah and Mona, Queenie, Teenie and Weenie, Edward, Nedward, Tedward, Dom, Pom and Tom, Are all good names for dolls.
Muric, Uric and Zurich, Doddard, Goddard and Stoddard, Heggie, Meggie and Peggie, Darvey, Harvey and Jarvey, Haddox, Maddox and Zaddox, Joel, Loel and Noel, Aaron, Saron and Zaron, Bilhah, Hillah and Zillah, Are all good names for dolls.
Anneline, Fannylene & Nannylene, Albina, Aldina and Alvina, Annie, Fannie and Nanny, Elim, Phelim and Selim, Bobbie, Robbie & Zobbie, Alma, Palma and Talma, Gillis, Phillis and Willis, Bettylene, Hettylene & Lettylene, Are all good names for dolls.
Bennet, Jennet and Kennet, Dobe, Job and Robe, Bruce, Druce and Pruce, Lillybella, Millybella & Tillybella, Baruch, Karuch and Saruch, Kilbert, Wilbert and Zilbert, Leo, Neo and Zeo, Dosabel, Josabel and Rosabel, Are all good names for dolls.
Darion, Marion and Sarion, Devalene, Evalene and Nevalene, Josephine, Mosephine & Rosephine, Ezra, Dezra and Kezra, Dollybella, Mollybella & Pollybella, Halena, Kalena and Salena, Byra, Dyra and Lyra, Iralene, Liralene and Miralene, Are all good names for dolls.
Lavinia, Savinia and Vavinia, Duckylene, Luckylene and Zuckylene, Tiglath-Pileser and Tilgath-Pilneser, Abinadab, Ahinadab and Aminadab, Abimelech, Ahimelech and Elimelech, Felix, Kelix and Selix, Alpheus, Dalpheus and Ralpheus, Balak, Halak and Lamech, Are all good names for dolls.
Randal, Sandal and Vandal, Arabella, Carrabella and Clarabella, Harriet, Marriet and Varriet, Abilene, Mabilene and Rabilene, Erwin, Kirwin and Mirwin, Agar, Dagar and Zagar, Alice, Dalice and Zalice, Bab, Tab and Zab, Are all good names for dolls.
Emmeline, Femmeline and Jemmeline, Lemmeline, Pemmeline and Zemmeline, Haggylene, Maggylene and Peggylene, Hilda, Kilda and Lilda, Milda, Tilda and Zilda, B--etta, C--etta and D--etta, E--etta, G--etta and V--etta, Catalina, Matalina and Patalina, Are all good names for dolls.
Lerman, Merman and Zerman, Ariel, Dariel and Zariel, Gibeon, Tibeon and Zibeon, Jessie, Kessie and Sessie, Dias, Pius, Thias and Zius, Doll, Moll, Poll and Noll, A--etta, J--etta, K--etta and Mayetta, Annabella, Fannybella and Nannybella, Are all good names for dolls.
Boy, Foy, Joy and Moy, A--, J--, K--and May, Eliza, Ebiza, Ediza, and Egisa, Ehiza, Eniza, Eriza and Etiza, Bell, Nell, Val and Zell, Bem, Em, Sem and Zem, Arc, Clark, Mark and Park, Kat, Nat, Mat and Pat, Are all good names for dolls.
Celia, Delia, Melia and Zelia, Phil, Till, Will and Zill, Binny, Dinny, Finny and Jinny, Birza, Girza, Mirza and Tirza, Edwin, Fredwin, Nedwin, and Tedwin, Jorah, Korah, Nora and Zorah, Boswald, Goswald, Oswald and Roswald, Carley, Charley, Harley and Varley, Are all good names for dolls.
Clara, Lara, Sara and Zara, Florace, Horace, Morris and Norris, Cary, Fairy, Mary and Sary, Barry, Carrie, Harry and Larry, Crissy, Kissy, Sissy and Melissy, Harman, Darman, Jarman and Sharman, Ubenia, Igenia, Ulenia and Uphemia, Birene, Irene, Mirene and Sirene, Are all good names for dolls.
Acelius, Adelius, Afelius and Amelius, Anelius, Apelius, Arelius and Avelius, Dannah, Hannah, Jannah and Mannah, Aram, Naram, Saram and Zaram, Benny, Denny, Jenny and Kenny, Albert, Dalbert, Falbert and Salbert, Barlo, Carlo, Marlo and Varlo, Jemuel, Kemuel, Lemuel and Shemuel, Are all good names for dolls.
Bon, Con, Don and John, Cain, Jane, Mayne and Payne, Jimmy, Mimmy, Simmy and Timmy, Dick, Hick, Mick and Nick, Ally, Lally, Sally and Vally, Bill, Hill, Lill, Mill and Phil, Bolo, Molo, Polo, Rollo and Solo, Levi, Nevi, Sevi, Vevi and Zevi, Are all good names for dolls.
Hatty, Katty, Matty, Natty and Patty, Billy, Lily, Milly, Tilly and Willy, Dolly, Jolly, Molly, Nolly and Polly, Dizzy, Kizzy, Lizzy, Sizzy and Tizzy, Eddy, Freddy, Neddy, Ready and Teddy, Beric, Deric, Eric, Leric and Zeric, Eva, Deva, Neva, Seva and Zeva, Addi, Daddi, Laddi, Vaddi and Zaddi, Are all good names for dolls.
Dina, Mina, Nina, Vina and Zina, Adar, Badar, Kadar, Nadar and Zadar, Bira, Ira, Kira, Lira, Mira and Sira, Chloe, Floe, Joey, Loe, Moe and Zoe, Agg, Dagg, Greig, Mag, Peg and Zag, Bell, Hal, Lal, Mell, Nell and Sal, Jim, Kim, Nim, Sim, Tim, Vim and Zim, Ann, Dan, Fan, Jan, Nan, Pan and San, Are all good names for dolls.
E. W. Cole
[Page 57--Name Land] All Old Dollies should be hunted up and Named.
Three Hundred more Names for Dollies, Doggies, Pussies, and Babies.
Abigail and Abihail, Allamlech & Anammelech, Azariah and Hezekiah, Boyetta and Joyetta, Hosea and Josea, Baxter and Dexter, Deleus and Peleus, Borcas and Dorcas, Are all good names for dolls.
Dickylene and Mickylene, Dicketta and Micketta, Bennylene and Rennielene, Billyetta and Willyetta, Daddylene and Laddilene, Dinahlene and Ninalene, Claudelene and Maudelene, Ruthetta and Truthetta, Are all good names for dolls.
Ducylene and Lucylene, Jinnyetta and Winnyetta, Fidalene and Idalene, Adalene and Saidalene, Beckylene and Jackylene, Arthuretta & Marthuretta, Claudelena and Maudelena, Marianetta and Sarianetta, Are all good names for dolls.
Elizalene and Erizalene, Coraetta and Doraetta, Millylene and Tillylene, Simonetta and Timonetta, Lucyetta and Nucyetta, Marylene and Sarylene, Lubyetta and Rubyetta, Claralene and Sarahlene, Are all good names for dolls.
Bennyetta and Jennyetta, Gladdilena and Paddylena, Maryetta and Sarietta, Borgialene and Georgialene, Cyliene and Lyliene, Maxalene and Rexaline, Maxetta and Rexetta, Maxabella and Rexabella, Are all good names for dolls.
Selina and Serena, Sallyetta and Vallyetta, Iralena and Myralena, Bessielena and Jessielena, Honeylene and Moneylene, Bertielina and Gertielina, Gilbertine and Wilbertine, Julietta and Tulietta, Are all good names for dolls.
Biddylene and Liddylene, Edwardetta & Tedwardetta, Bertielene and Gertieline, Henryetta and Kenryetta, Carrielene and Harrylene, Bennylene and Glennylene, Nellyetta and Sellyetta, Bobbielene and Robbielene, Are all good names for dolls.
Cornelia and Cordelia, Sundaylena & Mondaylena, Hellen and Tellin, Angelus and Vangelus, Saletta and Valetta, Irene and Ilene, Kittylene and Mytilene, Iralius and Myralius, Are all good names for dolls.
Southetta and Louthetta, Melbalena and Selbalena, Lidneylena & Sydneylena, Adelena and Madelena, Mirthelena and Perthalena, Brisbanetta and Lisbonetta, Rasmanetta & Tasmanetta, Lowrylena and Maorilena, Are all good names for dolls.
Dollybel, Mollybel and Pollybel, Catilius, Matilius, and Patilius, Cinalene, Hinalene and Linalene, Bess, Chess, Hess and Zess, Didas, Fidas and Midas, Linalene, Winalene and Zinalene, Dillius, Millius and Fillius, Hestor, Lestor and Nestor, Are all good names for dolls.
Dollyus, Mollyus and Pollyus, Lene, Mene, Tene and Vene, Basalene, Masalene and Vasalene, Lucia, Mucia and Nucia, Danope, Fanope and Panope, Hero, Nero, Pero and Thero, Ida, Sida, Vida and Zida, Hictor, Rictor and Victor, Are all good names for dolls.
Belus, Helus, Nelus and Zelus, Eno, Leno and Zeno, Daniel, Ananial and Nathaniel, Abel, Jabel, Mabal and Nabal, Kish, Mish and Wish, Dolletta, Molletta and Polletta, Haletta, Naletta and Saletta, Barryetta, Harryetta & Larryetta, Are all good names for dolls.
Abeletta, Mabeletta & Nabeletta, Lilyetta, Millyetta and Tillyetta, Bonalene, Jonahlene & Monalene, Deolene, Neolene and Leolene, Jimmylene, Simmylene, Timmylene, Ino, Dino, Kino and Mino, Dana, Hana, Jana and Nana, Are all good names for dolls.
Annetta, Fanetta and Nanetta, Edicus, Tedicus and Fredicus, Eddyetta, Teddyetta & Freddyetta, Emilus, Remilus and Zemilus, Faula, Paula and Saula, Callio, Sallio and Vallio, Delios, Helios and Melios, Deo, Leo, Neo and Zeo, Are all good names for dolls.
Dollian, Mollian and Pollian, Dorabella, Florabella, Norabella, Lilo, Milo, Philo, Silo and Tilo, Bella, Kella, Nella and Stella, Dollyetta, Lollyetta & Nollyetta, Sunnylena, Honeylena, Moneylena, Moonelena, Noonelena, Doonelena, Stellalena, Bellalena & Ellalena, Are all good names for dolls.
E.W.C.
P.S. Nebuchadnezzar and Nebuchadrezzar, Wandiligong & Croajingoalong, Are four good names for pussies.
[Page 58--Temper Land]
Good Mamma
Love, come and sit upon my knee, And give me kisses, one, two, three, And tell me whether you love me. My baby.
For this I'm sure, that I love you, And many, many things I do, And many an hour I sit and sew For baby.
And then at night I lie awake, Thinking of things that I can make, And trouble that I mean to take For baby.
An when you're good and do not cry, Nor into angry passions fly, You can't think how papa and I Love baby.
But if my little child should grow To be a naughty child, I know 'Twould grieve mamma to serve her so, My baby.
And when you saw me pale and thin, By grieving for my baby's sin, I think you'd wish that you had been A better baby.
How They Made Up
Two naughty little people Had a quarrel one sad day, Each said that with the other, She never more would play.
And so upon each other Their little backs they turned, And all the old time fondness Alas! they coldly spurned.
But oh! their angry hearts grew weary, The anger died away, Each hoped that soon the other Would have a word to say.
Each waited, oh! how sadly! Each moved a little near, And each "around the corner" Began, at last, to peer.
Then Nellie held her dolly To Annie with a smile: "You may have it if you want to. An play with it awhile."
Then Annie quickly followed The rule she knew was right: "I've got an apple, Nellie, I'll give you a big bite." And somehow the sweet faces Met fair and square at last, And kisses sweet and loving Sent the quarrel flying fast.
Little Whimpy
Whimpy, little Whimpy, Cried so much one day; His grandma couldn't stand it, And his mother ran away! He was waiting by the window When they all came home to tea. And a gladder boy than Whimpy, You never need hope to see!
Master Cross Patch
Cross Patch, cross Patch, What's the matter now? Why that wail of fretfulness, And a scowl upon your brow?
Milk upset and wasted! Water in your plate, No one's sorry, old cross Patch, For your wretched fate.
You began the morning With a frown, my lad And every word that you have said Has made your mother sad.
And by your pettish temper, You've spoiled your breakfast, too. Cross Patch, cross Patch, No one pities you.
Sulky Sarah
Why is Sarah standing there, Leaning down upon a chair, With such an angry lip and brow? I wonder what's the matter now.
Come here my dear and tell me true, It is because I spoke to you About the work you'd done so slow, That you are standing fretting so?
Why then, indeed, I'm grieved to see, That you can so ill-tempered be: You make your fault a great deal worse By being angry and perverse.
Oh! how much better 'twould appear, To see you shed a humble tear, And then to hear you meekly say, "I'll not do so another day."
Jane Taylor
[Page 59--Temper Land]
A New Year's Gift
A charming present comes from town, A baby-house quite neat; With kitchen, parlours, dining-room, And chambers, all complete.
A gift to Emma and to Rose, From grandpa it came; The little Rosa smil'd delight, And Emma did the same.
They eagerly examin'd all-- The furniture was gay; And in the rooms they plac'd their dolls, When dress'd in fine array.
At night, their little candles lit, And as they must be fed, To supper down the dolls were plac'd, And then were put to bed.
Thus Rose and Emma pass'd each hour Devoted to their play; And long were cheerful, happy, kind-- No cross disputes had they.
Till Rose in baby-house would change The chairs which were below "This carpet they would better suit; I think I'll have it so."
"No, no indeed," her sister said, "I'm older, Rose, than you; And I'm the pet--the house is mine: Miss, what I say is true."
The quarrel grew to such a height, Mamma she heard the noise, And coming in, beheld the floor All strew'd with broken toys.
"O fie, my Emma! naughty Rose! Say, why this sulk and pout? Remember this is New Year's Day, And both are going out."
Now Betty calls the little girls To come upstairs and dress: They still revile, with threats And angry rage express.
But just prepar'd to leave their room, Persisting yet in strife, Rose sick'ning fell on Betty's lap. As void of sense or life.
Mamma appear'd at Betty's call-- John for the doctor goes; The measles, he begins to think, Dread symptoms all disclose.
"But though I stay, my Emma, you May go and spend the day." "O no, mamma," replied the child, "Do suffer me to stay.
"Beside my sister's bed I'll sit, And watch her with such care, "No pleasure can I e'er enjoy, Till she my pleasure share.
"How silly now seems our dispute, Not one of us she knows; How pale she looks, how hard she breathes, Poor pretty little Rose!"
Adelaide Taylor
Quarrelling
Let dogs delight to bark and bite, For God hath made them so Let bears and lions growl and fight, For 'tis their nature too.
Dr Watts
Angry Words
Poison-drops of care and sorrow, Bitter poison-drops are they, Weaving for the coming morrow, Saddest memories of to-day.
Angry words, oh! let them never From the tongue unbridled slip; May the heart's best impulse ever Check them ere they soil the lip.
Love is much too pure and holy, Friendship is too sacred far, For a moment's reckless folly Thus to desolate and mar.
Angry words are lightly spoken, Bitterest thoughts are rashly stirred, Brightest links of life are broken, By a single angry word.
The Tear And The Smile
A little tear and a little smile Set out to run a race; We watched them closely all the while-- Their course was baby's face.
The little tear he got the start We really feared he'd win, He ran so fast and made a dart Straight for her dimpled chin.
But somehow, it was very queer, We watched them all the while-- The little, shining, fretful tear Got beaten by the smile.
Love One Another
Silly little Mary, Sulking all the day, While the other children Run about and play.
Silly little Mary Wears a peevish look, When she sees the others Laughing at the brook.
Silly little Mary, Will not skip or swing, Won't at puss-in-corner play, Won't do anything.
Silly little Mary Hides behind the bank, In among the roots and weeds, All so thick and rank.
Mary hears a footstep O'er the velvet moss, Sees a roguish little face It is Willie Ross.
I have found you, Mary. Won't you come play too? And with cheeks all crimsoned, Whispers--I love you.
Ah! but love has conquered Fall the tears like rain, Then our little Mary Is herself again.
Where are sulks and tears now? All are fled away. And our little Mary Will both laugh and play.
[Page 60--Naughtiness Land]
Anger
Oh! anger is an evil thing And spoils the fairest face; It cometh like a rainy cloud Upon a sunny place.
One angry moment often does What we repent for years: It works the wrong we ne'er make right By sorrow or tears.
It speaks the rude and cruel word That wounds a feeling breast: It strikes the reckless sudden blow-- It breaks the household rest.
We dread the dog that turns in play, All snapping, fierce and quick; We shun the steed whose temper shows In strong and savage kick.
But how much more we find to blame, When passion wildly swells In hearts where kindness has been taught, And brains where reason dwells!
The hand of peace is frank and warm And soft as a ring-dove's wing; And he who quells an angry thought Is greater than a king.
Shame to the lips that ever seek To stir up jarring strife, When gentleness would shed so much Of Christian joy through life!
Ever remember in thy youth, That he who firmly tries To conquer an to rule himself, Is noble, brave and wise.
Eliza Cook
The Little Girl That Beat Her Sister
Go, go, my naughty girl, and kiss Your little sister dear; I must not have such things as this, Nor noisy quarrels here.
What! little children scold and fight, That ought to be so mild: Oh! Mary, 'tis a shocking sight To see an angry child.
I can't imagine, for my part, The reason of your folly, As if she did you any hurt By playing with your dolly.
See, see the little tears that run So quickly from her eye: Come, my sweet innocent, have done, 'Twill do no good to cry.
Go, Mary, wipe her tears away And make it up with kisses: And never turn a pretty play To such a pet as this is.
Home Peace
"Whatever brawls disturb the street There should be peace at home; Where sisters dwell and brothers meet Quarrels should never come."
Dr. Watts
Little Dick Snappy
Little Dick Snappy Was always unhappy Because he did nothing but fret; And when he once cried, 'Twas in vain that you tried To make him his troubles forget.
His mother once brought him A drum, which she bought him Hard by at a neighbouring fair, And gave such another To Edward his brother, And left them their pleasures to share.
Little Edward began, Like a nice little man, To play with his little new drum; But Dick, with a pout, Only turned his about In his hands, and looked sulky and glum.
"What's the matter, dear Dick? You look sad; are you sick? Come, march like a soldier with me: The enemy comes Let us beat on our drums, And mamma will out merriment see."
"No! I don't like my new toy," Said my ill-humoured boy, "And yours is the best and most new; If you'll give me yours, Then I'll go out of doors; But if not, I'll kick mine in two."
"Oh no! brother, no-- Pray do not say so Of a trifle, in anger and haste; Though they are equally new, Yet my drum I'll give you, But I've tied it in knots round my waist."
Then quarrelsome Dick Gave his brother a kick; But he did not give him another, But, saying no more, Edward walked to the door, Only giving one look at his brother.
Then, bursting with spite, With his utmost of might Master Dick trod his drum on the floor; The parchment did crack, When lo; Edward comes back, And his drum in his hands then he bore.
"The string is untied, Dearest brother," he cried-- "So now I with pleasure will change;" But when Dick's drum he found Lying broke on the ground, Oh! how did his countenance change.
"I'm really ashamed," Dick, sobbing, exclaimed, "At the difference between you and me; But continue my friend, And I'll try to amend, And a good-tempered fellow to be."
Which Shall It Be, Dear?
If fretting pays you, fret; And get into a pet, And slam and bang The doors with a whang, And flame and flare, And say "Don't care." And slip round sly, And make the baby cry, And thus get sent to bed, to sob it out.
But if it does not pay Why then, my dear, do pray Just do the other thing, And toot and sing, And whistle like a bird. Letting your voice be heard, From morn till night, In echoes bright, Sending the best of cheer into the home.
[Page 61--Naughtiness Land]
Govern Your Temper
Oh, Govern your temper! For music, the sweetest, Was never so sweet-- Nor one-half so divine, As a heart kept in tune, Which, the moment thou greetest, Breathes harmony dearer Than notes can combine!
Never say it is nature. And may not be cured; One tithe of the time, Which to music we yield Would render the conquest Of temper insured, And bring us more music Than a song e'er revealed.
Oh, govern your temper! For roses, the fairest, Were never so fair, Nor so rich in perfume, As the flowers, which e'en thou, Chilly winter sparest-- The flowers of the heart, Which unchangingly bloom!
Never think it is nature-- For oh! if it be, The sooner the spirit Of nature is shown That the spirit of heaven Is higher than she, The sooner, the longer, Will love be our own.
Where Do You Live
I knew a man, and his name was Horner, He used to live at Grumble Corner,-- Grumble Corner, in Cross Patch Town,-- And he never was seen without a frown. He grumbled at this, he grumbled at that; He growled at the dog, he growled at the cat; He grumbled at morning, he grumbled at night, And to grumble and growl was his chief delight.
He grumbled so much at his wife, that she Began to grumble as well as he; And all the children wherever they went Reflected their parents' discontent. If the sky was dark and betokened rain, Then Mr. Horner was sure to complain; And if there was never a cloud about, He'd grumble because of threatened drought.
One day, as I loitered along the street, My old acquaintance I chanced to meet. Whose face was without the look of care And the ugly frown it used to wear. "I may be mistaken, perhaps," I said. As, after saluting, I turned my head; "But it is, and it isn't, the Mr. Horner Who lived so long at Grumble Corner."
I met him next day, and I met him again, In melting weather, in pouring rain; When stocks were up and when stocks were down; But a smile, somehow, had replac'd the frown. It puzzled me much, and so, one day, I seized his hand in a friendly way, And said "Mr. Horner, I'd like to know What can have happened to change you so."
He laughed a laugh that was good to hear, For it told of a conscience calm and clear, And he said, with none of the old-time drawl, "Why, I've changed my residence, that is all." "Changed your residence?" "Yes," said Horner, "It wasn't healthy at Grumble Corner, And so I've moved: 'twas a change complete; And you'll find me now at Thanksgiving Street."
And every day, as I move along The streets, so filled with busy throng, I watch each face, and can always tell Where men, and women, and children dwell. And many a discontented mourner Is spending his days at Grumble Corner, Sour and sad, whom I long to entreat To take a house in Thanksgiving Street.
Temper
Bad temper, go, You shall never stay with me; Bad temper, go, You and I shall never agree.
For I will always be kind, and mild, And gentle pray to be, And do to others as I wish That they should do to me.
Temper bad With me shall never stay; Temper bad Can never be happy and gay.
[Page 62--Pride Land]
A Fine Lady
Did ever you see such wondrous airs! Oh, oh! my Lady Jane! Your airs will blow you quite away, You'll go to Vanity-land to stay, And ne'er come back again.
Pray, what's the price of your hat my dear? And what'll you take for your gloves? And how'll you sell each pink kid shoe? And your wonderful dressed-up poodle, too? You're a precious pair of loves.
You're all too fine for us, you know, With your airs and stately tread, From your pretty feet to your pretty dress, And up to your ruffled neck, oh, yes, And on to your feathered head.
So go your way, my Lady Jane, Till you come from Vanity-land again.
To A Little Girl Who Liked To Look In The Glass
Why is my silly girl so vain, Looking in the glass again? For the meekest flower of spring Is a gayer little thing.
Is your merry eye so blue As the violet, wet with dew? Yet it loves the best to hide By the hedge's shady side.
Is your bosom half so fair As the modest lilies are? Yet their little bells are hung Bright and shady leaves among.
When your cheek the brightest glows, Is it redder than the rose? But its sweetest buds are seen Almost hid with moss and green.
Little flowers that open gay, Peeping forth at break of day, In the garden, hedge, or plain, Have more reason to be vain.
The Ragged Girl's Sunday
"Oh, dear Mamma, that little girl Forgets this is the day When children should be clean and neat, And read and learn and pray!
Her face is dirty and her frock, Holes in her stockings, see; Her hair is such a fright, oh, dear! How wicked she must be!
She's playing in the kennel dirt With ragged girls and boys; But I would not on Sunday touch My clean and pretty toys.
I go to church, and sit so still, I in the garden walk, Or take my stool beside the fire, And hear nice Sunday talk.
I read my bible, learn my hymns, My catechism say; That wicked little girl does not-- She only cares to play."
"Ah! hush that boasting tone, my love, Repress self-glorying pride; You can do nothing of yourself-- Friends all your actions guide."
Criminal Pride
Hark the rustle of a dress Stiff with lavish costliness! Here comes on whose cheek would flush But to have her garment brush 'Gainst the girl whose fingers thin Wove the weary 'broidery in, Bending backward from her toil, Lest her tears the silk might soil, And in midnight's chill and murk, Stitched her life into the work. Little doth the wearer heed Of the heart-break in the brede; A hyena by her side Skulks, down-looking--it is Pride.
J. R. Lowell
Foolish Fanny
Oh! Fanny was so vain a lass, If she came near a looking-glass, She'd stop right there for many a minute To see how pretty she looked in it.
She'd stand and prink, and fix her hair Around her forehead with great care; And take some time to tie a bow That must, to please her, lie just so.
Her mother's bonnet she'd put on, And all her richest dresses don, And up and down the room parade, And much enjoy her promenade.
She always liked to wear the best She had, and being so much dress'd Could not enjoy the romps with those Who wore much less expensive clothes.
Each day she grew so fond of dress It gave her great unhappiness If every day, and all the while, She wasn't in the latest style.
If asked to turn the jumping-rope Her pretty parasol she'd ope, Lest she should freckle in the sun: And that was her idea of fun!
She didn't dare to take the cat Or poodle-dog from off the mat, Lest they should catch their little toes In laces, frills, or furbelows.
The very things that gave her joy, Her peace and comfort would destroy, For oft an ugly nail would tear The costly dress she chose to wear.
The foolish girl turned up her nose At those who dressed in plainer clothes, And lived in quiet style, for she With wealthy people chose to be
She never was the least inclined With knowledge to enrich her mind; And all the mental food she ate Was served upon a fashion-plate.
As this was so, you'll see at once That Fan grew up a silly dunce: An there was nothing to admire About her, but her fine attire.
[Page 63--Pride Land]
Pride
Come, come, Mr. Peacock, You must not be so proud, Although you can boast such a train, For there's many a bird Far more highly endowed, And not half so conceited and vain.
Let me tell you, gay bird, That a suit of fine clothes Is a sorry distinction at most, And seldom much valued Excepting by those Who only such graces can boast.
The nightingale certainly Wears a plain coat, But she cheers and delights with her song; While you, though so vain, Cannot utter a note To please by the use of your tongue.
The hawk cannot boast Of a plumage so gay, But more piercing and clear is her eye; And while you are strutting About all the day, She gallantly soars in the sky.
The dove may be clad In a plainer attire, But she is not so selfish and cold; And her love and affection More pleasure inspire Than all your fine purple and gold.
So, you see, Mr. Peacock, You must not be proud, Although you can boast such a train, For many a bird Is more highly endowed, And not half so conceited and vain.
Sinful Pride
How proud we are, how fond to shew Our clothes, and call them rich and new, When the poor sheep and silkworm wore That very clothing long before!
The tulip and butterfly Appear in gayer coats than I; Let me be dress'd as fine as I will, Flies, worms, and flowers exceed me.
Dr. Watts
Finery
In a frock richly trimm'd With a beautiful lace, And hair nicely dress'd Hanging over her face, Thus deck'd, Harriet went To the house of a friend, With a large little party The ev'ning to spend.
"Ah! how they will all Be delighted, I guess, And stare with surprise At my elegant dress!" Thus said the vain girl, And her little heart beat, Impatient the happy Young party to meet.
But, alas! they were all To intent on their fun, To observe the gay clothes This fine lady had on; And thus all her trouble Quite lost its design, For they saw she was proud, But forgot she was fine.
'Twas Lucy, tho' only In simple white clad, (Nor trimmings, nor laces, Nor jewels she had,) Whose cheerful good nature Delighted them more, Than all the fine garments That Harriet wore.
'Tis better to have A sweet smile on one's face, Than to wear a rich frock With an elegant lace, For the good-natur'd girl Is lov'd best in the main, If her dress is but decent, Tho' ever so plain.
T I
A Fop
A little cane, A high-crowned hat, A fixed impression, Rather flat.
A pointed shoe, A scanty coat, A stand-up collar Round his throat
A gorgeous necktie Spreading wide, A small moustache-- Nine on a side.
Arms at right angles, Curved with ease, A stilted walk And shaky knees.
A languid drawl, The "English" swing, An air of knowing Everything.
A vacant stare, Extremely rude, And there you have The perfect dude.
Pride
Hark the rustle of a dress Stiff with lavish costliness! Here comes on whose cheek would flush But to have her garment brush 'Gainst the girl whose fingers thin Wove the weary 'broidery in, Bending backward from her toil, Lest her tears the silk might soil, And in midnight's chill and murk, Stitched her life into the work. Shaping from her bitter thought, Heart's-ease and forget-me-not, Satirizing her despair With the emblems woven there, Little doth the wearer heed Of the heart-break in the blede; A hyena by her side Skulks, down-looking--it is Pride.
J. R. Lowell
Vain Lizzie
It surely is not good to see, Lizzie so full of vanity, So fond of dress and show. For when a fine new frock she wears, She gives herself most silly airs, Wherever she may go.
She thinks herself a charming girl; But when folks see her twist and twirl, They stop in every street, They smile, or fairly laugh outright, And say: "She's really quite a sight, Was ever such conceit?"
[Page 64--Naughtiness Land]
Greedy Ned
Mamma gave our Nelly an apple, So round, and big, and red; It seemed, beside dainty wee Nelly, To be almost as large as her head.
Beside her young Neddie was standing-- And Neddie loves apples, too, "Ah! Nelly!" said Neddie, "give brother A bite of your apple--ah! do!"
Dear Nelly held out the big apple; Ned opened his mouth very wide-- So wide, that the startled red apple Could almost have gone inside!
And oh! what a bite he gave it! The apple looked small, I declare, When Ned gave it back to his sister, Leaving that big bite there.
Poor Nelly looked frightened a moment, Then a thought made her face grow bright; "Here, Ned, you can take the apple-- I'd rather have the bite!"
Eva L. Carson, In "St. Nicholas"
The Biggest Piece Of Pie
Once, when I was a little boy, I sat me down to cry, Because my little brother had The biggest piece of pie.
They said I was a naughty boy, But I have since seen men Behave themselves as foolishly As I behaved then.
For we are often thankless for Rich blessings when we sigh, To think some lucky neighbour has A "bigger piece" of pie.
The Greedy, Impatient Girl
"Oh! I am so hungry, I'm sure I can't wait, For my apple-pudding to cool, So, Mary, be quick now And bring me a plate, For waiting for dinner I always did hate, Tho' forced oft to do it at school.
"But at home, when mamma Is not in the way, I surely will do as I choose; And I do not care for What you please to say-- The pudding won't burn me-- No longer I'll stay. What business have you to refuse?"
And now a large slice Of the pudding she got, And, fearful she should have no more, She cramm'd her mouth full Of the apple so hot, Which had but a minute Come out of the pot, But quickly her triumph was o'er.
Her mouth and her tongue Were so dreadfully sore, And suffer'd such terrible pain, Her pride and her consequence Soon were all o'er, And she said, now unable To eat any more, "Oh! I never will do so again!"
And thus, by not minding What she had been told, Young Ellinor lost all her treat; Too greedy to wait Till the pudding was cold, By being impatient, Conceited, and bold, Not a mouthful at last could she eat.
C. Horwood.
A Story Of An Apple
Little Tommy, and Peter, and Archie, and Bob Were walking, one day, when they found An apple: 'twas mellow, and rosy, and red, And lying alone on the ground.
Said Tommy: "I'll have it." Said peter: "'Tis mine." Said Archie: "I've got it; so there!" Said Bobby: "Now, let us divide it in four parts And each of us boys have a share."
"No, no!" shouted Tommy, "I'll have it myself." Said Peter: "I want it, I say." Said Archie: "I've got it, and I'll have it all, I won't give a morsel away."
Then Tommy he snatched it, and Peter he fought, ('Tis sad and distressing to tell!) And Archie held on with his might and his main, Till out from his fingers it fell.
Away from the quarrelsome urchins it flew And then, down a green little hill That apple it roll'd, and it roll'd, and it roll'd As if it would never be still.
A lazy old brindle was nipping the grass, And switching her tail at the flies, When all of a sudden the apple rolled down And stopped just in front of her eyes.
She gave but a bite and a swallow or two-- That apple was seen nevermore! "I wish," whimpered Archie, and Peter, and Tom, "We'd kept it and cut it in four."
Sydney Dyer
Greedy Richard
"I think I want some pies this morning" Said Dick, stretching himself and yawning; So down he threw his slate and books, And saunter'd to the pastry-cook's.
And there he cast his greedy eyes Round on the jellies and the pies, So to select, with anxious care, The very nicest that was there.
At last the point was thus decided: As his opinion was divided 'Twixt pie and jelly, he was loth Either to leave, so took them both.
Now Richard never could be pleas'd To stop when hunger was appeas'd, But he'd go on to eat and stuff, Long after he had had enough.
"I shan't take any more," said Dick, "Dear me, I feel extremely sick: I cannot eat this other bit; I wish I had not tasted it."
Then slowly rising from his seat, He threw the cheesecake in the street, And left the tempting pastry-cook's With very discontented looks.
Jane Taylor
[Page 65--Greediness Land]
The Plum Cake
"Oh! I've got a plum cake, And a rare feast I'll make, I'll eat, and I'll stuff, and I'll cram; Morning, noontime, and night, It shall be my delight;-- What a happy young fellow I am."
Thus said little George, And, beginning to gorge, With zeal to his cake he applied; While fingers and thumbs, For the sweetmeats and plums, Were hunting and digging besides.
But, woeful to tell, A misfortune befell, Which ruin'd this capital fun! After eating his fill, He was taken so ill, That he trembled for what he had done.
As he grew worse and worse, The doctor and nurse, To cure his disorder were sent; And rightly, you'll think, He had physic to drink, Which made him his folly repent.
And while on his bed He roll'd his hot head, Impatient with sickness and pain; He could not but take This reproof from his cake, "Don't be such a glutton again!"
Another Plum Cake
"Oh! I've got a plum cake, And a feast let us make, Come, school-fellows, come at my call; I assure you 'tis nice, And we'll each have a slice, Here's more than enough for us all."
Thus said little Jack, As he gave it a smack, And sharpen'd his knife for the job! While round him a troop, Formed a clamorous group, And hail'd him the king of the mob.
With masterly strength He cut thro' it at length, And gave to each playmate a share; Dick, William, and James, And many more names, Partook of his benevolent care.
And when it was done, And they'd finish'd their fun, To marbles or hoop they went back, And each little boy Felt it always a joy To do a good turn for good Jack.
In his task and his book, His best pleasures he took, And as he thus wisely began, Since he's been a man grown, He has constantly shown That a good boy will make a good man.
Ann Taylor
The Great Glutton
'Twas the voice of the glutton, I heard him complain: My waistcoat unbutton, I'll eat once again.
The Glutton
The voice of the glutton I heard with disdain-- "I've not eaten this hour, I must eat again; Oh! give me a pudding, A pie, or a tart, A duck or a fowl, Which I love from my heart.
"How sweet is the picking Of capon or chicken! A turkey and chine Are most charming and fine; To eat and to drink All my pleasure is still, I care not who wants So that I have my fill."
Oh! let me not be, Like a glutton, inclined In feasting my body And starving my mind, With moderate viands Be thankful, and pray That the Lord may supply me With food the next day.
Not always a-craving With hunger still raving; But little and sweet Be the food that I eat. To learning and wisdom Oh let me apply. And leave to the glutton His pudding and pie.
J. Taylor
Selfish Edith
Selfish Edith, not to give Her sister one, when she has two! I wouldn't and I couldn't love A selfish girl like her, could you?
Hear Bessie ask in plaintive tone, "Please, Edith, let me play with one!" While naughty Edith shakes her head: I fear she'll have but little fun
With toys unshared so selfishly; But when she tires of lonely play, Perhaps she'll secretly resolve To be more kind another day.
Hoggish Henry
Oh! Henry eats like any pig; He drives his mother mad. She scolds. He does not care a fig, It's really very sad.
She says: "Your sister, little dear, Is always clean and neat; And though she's younger by a year, How nicely she can eat."
It's all in vain. He does not care; He's shocking to behold. The table-cloth and napkin there Are smeared in every fold.
Upon the floor, crumbs thickly lie, As though for chickens laid, Around his mouth and nose, oh fie! Is dirt of every shade.
He looks, bedaubed with smear and stain, Just like some savage wild, His hands as forks are used, it's plain. For shame! You dirty child!
Selfishness
Look at the selfish man! see how he locks Tight in his arms his mortgages and stocks! While deeds and titles in his hand he grasps, And gold and silver close around he clasps. But not content with this, behind he drags A cart well-laden with ponderous bags; The orphan's wailings, and the widow's woe From mercy's fountain cause no tears to flow; He pours no cordial in the wounds of pain; Unlocks no prison, and unclasps no chain; His heart is like the rock where sun nor dew Can rear one plant or flower of heavenly hue. No thought of mercy there may have its birth, For helpless misery or suffering worth; The end of all his life is paltry pelf, And all his thoughts are centred on--himself: The wretch of both worlds; for so mean a sum, First starved in this, then damn'd in that to come.
[Page 66--Lying Land]
Bad Boy having broken a Vase told his Mother that the Dog did it, but when his Mother was going to beat the poor Innocent Dog he felt sorry, and told the truth.
Truthful Dottie; Or The Broken Vase
Nellie and Dottie Both here mamma say, "Pray from the drawing-room Keep away.
Don't take your toys there, Lest someone should call: Run out in the garden With rope, bat and ball."
The garden is lovely, This bright summer day; But Nellie and Dottie Too soon came away.
Into the drawing-room Dottie comes skipping, With her new rope All the furniture flipping:
Down goes the tall vase, So golden and gay, Smashed all to pieces, "What will mamma say?"
Cries Nell with her hands raised, "Oh Dottie, let's run; They'll think it was pussy, Who did it in fun."
Dot answers, through big tears, "But, Nell, don't you see, Though nobody watched us, God knows it was me.
Mamma always says, That, whatever we do, The harm's not so great, If we dare to be true.
So I'll go up and tell her It caught in my rope; Perhaps she won't scold much, At least, so I'll hope."
"That's right!" cries her mother, Who stands by the door, "I would rather have ten vases Were smashed on the floor
Than my children should once break The bright words of truth, The dearest possession Of age or of youth.
The vase can be mended, And scarce show a crack, But a falsehood once spoken Will never come back."
However much grieved for By young folks or old, An untruth once uttered, Forever is told.
The Liar Reclaimed
O! 'tis a lovely thing for youth To walk betimes in wisdom's way; To fear a lie, to speak the truth, That we may trust to all they say.
But liars we can never trust, Tho' they should speak the thing that's true, And he that does one fault at first, And lies to hide it, makes it two.
The Truth
Why should you fear the truth to tell? Does falsehood ever do you so well? Can you be satisfied to know There's something wrong to hide below No! let your fault be what it may, To own it is the happy way.
So long as you your crime conceal, You cannot light or gladsome feel; Your heart will ever feel oppressed, As if a weight were on your breast: And e'en your mother's eye to meet Will tinge your face with shame and heat.
False Alarms
Little Mary one day most loudly did call, "Mamma! oh, mamma, pray come here! A fall I have had--oh! a very sad fall." Mamma ran in haste and in fear; Then Mary jump'd up, and she laugh'd in great glee, And cried, "Why, how fast you can run! No harm has befallen, I assure you, to me, My screaming was only in fun."
Her mother was busy at work the next day, She heard from without a loud cry, "The big dog has got me! O help me! Oh! pray! He tears me--he bites me--I die!" Mamma, all in terror, quick to the court And there little Mary she found; Who, laughing, said, "Madam, pray how do you do!" And curtsey'd quite down to the ground.
That night little Mary, when long gone to bed, Shrill cries and loud shriekings were heard; "I'm on fire, O mamma, come up or I'm dead!" Mamma she believ'd not a word. "Sleep, sleep, naughty child," she call'd out from below, "How often have I been deceived? You're telling a story, you very well know: Go to sleep, for you can't be believed."
Yet still the child scream'd--now the house fill'd with smoke. That fire is above Jane declares. Alas! Mary's words they soon found were no joke, When ev'ryone hastened upstairs. All burnt and all seam'd is her once pretty face, And how terribly mark'd are her arms, Her features all scarr'd, leave a lasting disgrace, For giving Mamma false alarms.
Adelaide Taylor
To A Little Girl That Has Told A Lie
And has my darling told a lie? Did she forget that God was by? That God who saw the thing she did, From whom no action can be hid; Did she forget that God could see, And hear, wherever she might be?
He made you eyes and can discern Whichever way you think to turn; He made your ears, and He can hear When you think nobody is near; In ev'ry place, by night or day, He watches all you do and say.
You thought, because you were alone, Your falsehood never could be known, But liars always are found out, Whatever ways they wind about; And always be afraid, my dear, To tell a lie,--for God can hear!
I wish, my dear, you'd always try To act as shall not need a lie; And when you wish a thing to do, That has been once forbidden to you, Remember that, and never dare To disobey--For God is there!
Why should you fear to tell me true? Confess, and then I'll pardon you: Tell me you're sorry, and you'll try To act the better by and bye, And then whate'er your crime has been, It won't be half so great a sin.
But cheerful, innocent, and gay, As passes by the smiling day, You'll never have to turn aside, From any one your faults to hide; Nor heave a sigh, nor have a fear, That either God or I should hear.
Ann Taylor
The Blind Man reading to the Deaf and Dumb Man after business hours, and their wicked Dog looking out.
[Page 67--Laziness Land]
Idle Mary
Oh, Mary, this will never do! This work is sadly done, my dear, And such little of it too! You have not taken pains, I fear.
On no, your work has been forgotten, Indeed you've hardly thought of that; I saw you roll your ball of cotton About the floor to please the cat.
See, here are stitches straggling wide, And others reaching down so far; I'm very sure you have not tried At all to-day to please mamma.
The little girl who will not sew Should never be allowed to play; But then I hope, my love, that you Will take more pains another day.
Lazy Sal
A lazy, lazy, lazy girl! Her hair forever out of curl, Her feet unshod, her hands unclean, Her dress in tatters always seen.
Lounging here and dawdling there, Lying out 'most anywhere About the barn-yard. Not a thought Of studying lessons as she ought;
But happiest when in sunny weather She and "the other pig" together Are playing tricks. No wonder, then, The farmer, jolliest of men,
Is apt to say, when tired out With seeing her sprawling round about, "Beats all what ails that lazy gal! Why, piggy's twice as smart as Sal!"
The Work-bag
To Jane her aunt a work-bag gave, Of silk with flowers so gay, That she a place might always have To put her work away.
And then 'twas furnished quite complete With cotton, silk and thread, And needless in a case so neat, Of all the sizes made.
A little silver thimble, too, Was there among the rest; And a large waxen doll, quite new, That waited to be dress'd.
But Jane was very fond of play, And loved to toss her ball; An I am quite ashamed to say, She scarcely worked at all.
But if at any time she did, 'Twas but a stitch or two; And though she often has been bid, But little more would do.
The pretty little bag, indeed, Was hung upon her chair; But cotton, needles, silk, and thread Were scattered here and there.
Her aunt, by chance, came in that day, And asked if the doll was dress'd; Miss Jane has been engaged in play, And careless of the rest.
The silk, to make her little dress, Was on the table laid, And, with an equal carelessness, The cap had also strayed.
With gauze and lace the floor was strewed, All in disorder lay, When, bounding in with gesture rude, Came Jane, returned from play.
She little thought her aunt to find, And blushed to see her there; It brought her carelessness to mind, And what her doll should wear.
"Well, Jane, and where's your doll, my dear? I hope you've dress'd her now; But there is such a litter here, You best know when and how."
So spoke her aunt, and, looking round The empty bag she spied; Poor Jane, who no excuse had found, Now hid her face and cried.
"Since," said her aunt, "no work, you do, But waste your time in play; The work-bag, of no use to you, I now shall take away."
But now, with self-conviction, Jane Her idleness confessed, And ere her aunt could come again, Her doll was neatly dressed.
The Two Gardens
When Harry and Dick Had been striving to please, Their father (to whom it was known) Made two little gardens, And stocked them with trees, And gave one to each for his own.
Harry thank'd his papa, And with rake, hoe, and spade, Directly began his employ; And soon such a neat Little garden was made, That he panted with labour and joy.
There was always some bed Or some border to mend, Or something to tie or stick: And Harry rose early His garden to tend, While snoring lay indolent Dick.
The tulip, the rose, And the lily so white, United their beautiful bloom! And often the honey-bee Stoop'd from his flight, To sip the delicious perfume.
A neat row of peas In full blossom was seen, French beans were beginning to shoot! And his gooseb'ries and currents, Tho' yet they were green, Foretold of plenty of fruit.
But Richard loved better In bed to repose, And snug as he curl'd himself round, Forgot that not tulip, Nor lily, nor rose, Nor plant in his garden was found.
Rank weeds and tall nettles Disfigur'd his beds, Nor cabbage nor lettuce was seen, The slug and the snail Show'd their mischievous heads, And eat ev'ry leaf that was green.
Thus Richard the idle, Who shrank from the cold, Beheld his trees naked and bare; Whilst Harry the active Was charmed to behold The fruit of his patience and care.
Ann Taylor.
Doing Nothing
I asked a lad what he was doing; "Nothing, good sir," said he to me. "By nothing well and long pursuing, Nothing," said I, "you'll surely be."
I asked a lad what he was thinking; "Nothing," said he. "I do declare." "Many," said I, "in vile inns drinking, By idle minds were carried there."
There's nothing great, there's nothing wise, Which idle hands and minds supply; Those who all thought and toil despise, Mere nothings live, and nothings die.
A thousand naughts are not a feather, When in a sum they all are brought; A thousand idle lads together Are still but nothings joined to naught.
And yet of merit they will boast, And sometimes pompous seem, and haughty, But still 'tis very plain to most, That "nothing" boys are mostly naughty.
[Page 68--Laziness Land]
Lazy Sam
There was a lazy boy named Sam, The laziest ever known, Who spent his time in idleness, Like any other drone. He loved to lie in bed till noon, With covers closely drawn, And when he managed to get up He'd yawn, and yawn, and yawn.
If asked to do a simple task He always would refuse, And say that he was lame or sick, His action to excuse, And over pretty picture-books-- Twas really very odd-- This lazy boy would soon begin To nod, and nod, and nod.
If on an errand forced to go, He'd slowly, slowly creep, Just like a snail; you might suppose That he was half asleep. And those who would despatch in haste A note, or telegram, Would chose a swifter messenger Than such a lazy Sam.
If he was caught out in a storm 'Twould drench him to the skin, Because he was too indolent To hurry to get in. Deep in his trouser's pockets he His idle hands would cram, And children crowded to the doors To look at lazy Sam.
This lazy boy would lounge about The docks, and often wish That he could carry home to cook A string of nice, fresh fish; But though he was provided with A reel extremely fine, Said Sam "I do not think 'twill pay To wet my fishing line!"
Oh, Sam was always late at meals, And always late at school, And everybody said that he Would be a first-class fool. For boys not half so old as he Above him swiftly pass, While Sam, the great big dunce! remains The lowest in the class.
In every way, and every day This lazy boy would shirk, And never lift his hand to do A bit of useful work. His clothes were always on awry, His shoe-strings left untied, His hair uncombed, his teeth uncleaned, Alas, he had no pride!
And so he went from bad to worse-- The good-for-nothing scamp!-- Until he settled down to be A ragged, dirty tramp. Through cities, towns, and villages, He begged his daily bread, And slept at night wherever he Could chance to find a bed.
Men shuddered as they passed him by, And murmured sadly, "Oh! How can a human being sink So very, very low?" And e'en the jackass pricks his ears, And brays aloud "I am Not such a donkey, I declare As yonder lazy Sam!"
The Beggar Man
Abject, stooping, old, and wan, See you wretched beggar-man; Once a father's hopeful heir, Once a mother's tender care. When too young to understand, He but scorched his little hand, By the candle's flaming light Attracted--dancing, spiral, bright. Clasping fond her darling round, A thousand kisses healed the wound, Now abject, stooping, old and wan, No mother tends the beggar-man.
Then nought too good for him to wear, With cherub face and flaxen hair, In fancy's choicest gauds arrayed, Cap of lace with rose to aid, Milk-white hat and feather blue, Shoes of red, and coral too, With silver bells to please his ear, And charm the frequent ready tear. Now abject, stooping, old, and wan, Neglected is the beggar-man.
See the boy advance in age, And learning spreads her useful page; In vain! for giddy pleasure calls, And shows the marbles, tops, and balls, What's learning to the charms of play? The indulgent tutor must give way. A heedless, wilful dunce, and wild, The parents' fondness spoil'd the child; The youth in vagrant courses ran; Now abject, stooping, old, and wan, Their fondling is the beggar-man.
Lamb
Good-for-nothing Lazy Man
A good for nothing lazy lout, Wicked within and ragged without. Who can bear to have him about? Turn him out! Turn him out!
The Old Beggar Man
I see an old man sitting there, His withered limbs are almost bare, And very hoary is his hair.
Old man, why are you sitting so? For very cold the wind doth blow: Why don't you to your cottage go?
Ah, master, in the world so wide, I have no home wherein to hide, No comfortable fire-side.
When I, like you, was young and gay, I'll tell you what I used to say, That I would nothing do but play.
And so, instead of being taught Some useful business as I ought, To play about was all I sought.
An now that I am old and grey, I wander on my lonely way, And beg my bread from day to day.
But oft I shake my hoary head, And many a bitter tear I shed, To think the useless life I've led.
J. T.
Lazyland
Three travellers wandered along the strand, Each with a staff in his feeble hand; And they chanted low: "We are go-o-o- Ing slow-o-ow- Ly to Lazyland.
"They've left off eating and drinking there; They never do any thinking there; They never walk, And they never talk, And they fall asleep without winking there.
"Nobody's in a hurry there; They are not permitted to worry there; 'Tis a wide, still place And not a face Shows any symptom of flurry there.
"No bells are rung in the morning there, They care not at all for adorning there; All sounds are hushed, And a man who rushed Would be treated with absolute scorning there.
"They do not take any papers there; No politicians cut capers there; They have no 'views,' And they tell no news, And they burn no midnight tapers there.
"No lovers are ever permitted there; Reformers are not admitted there; They argue not In that peaceful spot, And their clothes all come ready-fitted there.
"Electricity has not been heard of there; And steam has been spoken no word of there; They stay where they are, And a coach or a car They have not so much as a third of there.
"Oh, this world is a truly crazy land; A worrying, hurrying, mazy land; We cannot stay, We must find the way-- If there is a way--to Lazyland."
[Page 69--Laziness Land]
Lazy Willie
Oh! Willie is a lazy boy, A "Sleepy Head" is he, "Wake up!" his little sister cries, "Wake up and talk to me."
The birds are singing in the trees, The sun is shining bright, But sleepy Willie slumbers on As though it yet were night.
Oh! lazy boys will never grow To clever manhood, you must know, So lift your eyelids, sleepy head, Wake up, and scramble out of bed.
The Lazy Boy
The lazy boy! and what's his name? I should not like to tell; But don't you think it is a shame, That he can't read or spell.
He'd rather swing upon a gate, Or paddle in a brook, Than take his pencil and his slate, Or try to con a book.
There, see! he's lounging down the street, His hat without a brim, He rather drags than lifts his feet-- His face unwashed and grim.
He's lolling now against a post; But if you've seen him once, You'll know the lad among a host For what he is--a dunce.
Don't ask me what's the urchin's name; I do not choose to tell; But this you'll know--it is the same As his who does not blush for shame That he don't read or spell.
The Sluggard
'Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain, "You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again." As the door on it's hinges, So he on his bed Turns his sides, and his shoulders, And his heavy head.
"A little more sleep And a little more slumber;" Thus he wastes half his days And his hours without number, And when he gets up He sits folding his hands, Or walking about sauntering, Or trifling he stands.
I pass'd by his garden, And saw the wild brier, The thorn and the thistle Grow broader and higher; The clothes that hung on him Are turning to rags, And his money still wastes Till he starves or he begs.
I made him a visit, Still hoping to find That he took better care For improving his mind; He told me his dreams, Talked of eating and drinking, But he scarce reads his Bible, And never loves thinking.
Said I then to my heart, "Here's a lesson for me; This man's but a picture Of what I might be; But thanks to my friends For their care in my breeding, Who taught me bedtimes To love working and reading."
Watts
Idle Dicky And The Goat
John Brown is a man Without houses or lands, Himself he supports By the work of his hands. He brings home his wages Each Saturday night, To his wife and his children, A very good sight.
His eldest boy, Dicky, On errands when sent, To loiter and chatter Was very much bent; The neighbours all call'd him An odd little trout, His shoes they were broke, And his toes they peep'd out.
To see such old shoes All their sorrows were rife; John Brown he much grieved, And so did his wife, He kiss'd his boy Dicky, And stroked his white head, "You shall have a new pair, My dear boy," he then said.
"I've here twenty shillings, And money has wings; Go first get this note changed, I want other things." Now here comes the mischief-- This Dicky would stop At an ill-looking, mean-looking Greengrocer's shop.
For here lived a chattering Dunce of a boy; To prate with this urchin Gave Dicky great joy. And now, in his boasting, He shows him his note, And now to the green-stall Up marches a goat.
The laughed, for it was This young nanny-goat's way With those who pass'd by her To gambol and play. All three they went on In their frolicsome bouts, Till Dick dropt the note On a bunch of green sprouts.
Now what was Dick's wonder To see the vile goat, In munching the green sprouts, Eat up his bank note! He crying ran back To John Brown with the news, And by stopping to idle He lost his new shoes.
Adelaide Taylor
Idleness and Mischief
How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower.
How skilfully she builds her cell; How neat she spreads the wax; And labours hard to store it well; With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labour or of skill I would be busy too; For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play Let my first years be passed; That I may give you every day Some good account at last.
Watts
Come and Go.
Dick Dawdle had land Worth two hundred a year, Yet from debt and from dunning He never was free, His intellect was not Surprisingly clear, But he never felt satisfied How it could be.
The raps at his door, And the rings at his gate. And the threats of a gaol He no longer could bear: So he made up his mind To sell half his estate, Which would pay all his debts, And leave something to spare.
He leased to a farmer The rest of his land For twenty-one years; And on each quarter-day The honest man went With his rent in his hand, His liberal landlord Delighted to pay.
Before half the term Of the lease had expired, The farmer, one day With a bagful of gold, Said, "Pardon me, sir, But I long have desired To purchase my farm, If the land can be sold.
"Ten years I've been blest With success and with health, With trials a few-- I thank God, not severe-- I am grateful. I hope, Though not proud of my wealth, But I've managed to lay By a hundred a year."
"Why how," exclaimed Dick, "Can this possibly be?" (With a stare of surprise, And a mortified laugh,) "The whole of my farm Proved too little for me, And you it appears, Have grown rich upon half."
"I hope you'll excuse me," The farmer replies, "But I'll tell you the cause, If your honor would know; In two little words All the difference lies, I always say Come, And you used to say Go."
"Well, and what does that mean, My good fellow?" he said. "Why this, sir, that I Always rise with the sun; You said 'Go' to your man, As you lay in your bed, I say 'Come, Jack, with me,' And I see the work done."
R. S. Sharpe
[Page 70--Cruelty Land]
The Tables turned--Instead of the Bad Boys setting the poor Dogs fighting, the bad Dogs are setting the poor Boys fighting.
The Cruel Boy
Tom sat at the kitchen window Watching the folks go by, But what he was really doing Was pulling the legs from a fly.
Yes, there he sat in the twilight, Tormenting the tiny things; First pulling their legs from their sockets, And afterwards pulling their wings.
He knew not that his father Was standing behind his back; And very much wished to be giving His cruel young fingers a crack.
But he waited till after dinner, When Tommy was having a game; Then he thought he would give him a lesson, And treat him a little the same.
So catching his son of a sudden, And giving his elbow a twist; He pulled his two ears till he shouted, Then hit him quite hard with his fist.
And did he not roll on the carpet? And did he not cry out in pain? But, when he cried out "Oh, you hurt me!" His father would hit him again.
"Why, Tom, all this is quite jolly, You don't seem to like it, my boy; And yet, when you try it on others, You always are singing with joy;
"It seems very strange," said his father, And this time his nose had a pull; But Tommy could stand it no longer; He bellowed and roared like a bull.
"Hush! hush! while I pull your right leg off, And scrape off the flesh from your shin; What you often yourself do to others, Sure you do not think harm or a sin.
"Now, Tommy, my boy," said his father, "You'll leave these poor things alone, If not, I go on with my lesson." "I will," cried poor Tom, with a groan.
But hark! from the woodlands the sound of a gun, The wounded bird flutters and dies; Where can be the pleasure for nothing but fun, To shoot the poor thing as it flies?
Or you, Mr. Butcher, and Fisherman, you May follow your trades, I must own: So chimneys are swept when they want it--but who Would sweep them for pleasure alone?
If men would but think of the torture they give To creatures that cannot complain, They surely would let the poor animals live, And not make a sport of their pain.
The Worm
Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside, Nor crush that helpless worm The frame thy wayward looks decide Required a God to form.
The common Lord of all that move, From whom thy being flow'd, A portion of His boundless love On that poor worm bestow'd.
The sun, the moon, the stars He made To all the creatures free; And spreads o'er earth the grassy blade For worms as well as thee.
Let them enjoy their little day, Their lowly bliss receive; Oh, do not lightly take away The life thou canst not give.
Gisborne
Story Of Cruel Frederick
Here is cruel Frederick, see! A horrid wicked boy was he: He caught the flies, poor little things, And tore off their tiny wings;
He kill'd the birds, and broke the chairs, And threw the kitten down the stairs; And Oh! far worse than all beside, He whipp'd his Mary till she cried.
The trough was full, and faithful Tray Came out to drink one sultry day; He wagg'd his tail, and wet his lip, When cruel Fred snatch'd up a whip, And whipp'd poor Tray till he was sore, And kick'd and whipp'd him more and more.
At this, good Tray grew very red, And growl'd and bit him till he bled; Then you should only have been by, To see how Fred did scream and cry!
So Frederick had to go to bed, His leg was very sore and red! The doctor came and shook his head And made a very great to-do, And gave him nasty physic too.
Don't Throw Stones
Boys, don't throw stones! That kitten on the wall, Sporting with leaves that fall, Now jumping to and fro, Now crouching soft and low, Then grasps them with a spring, As if some living thing. As happy as can be, Why cause her misery? It is foolish stones to fling Boys, do as you'd be done by.
Boys, don't throw stones! That squirrel in the tree, Frisking in fun and glee, Is busy in his way, Although it looks all play, Picking up nuts--a store Against the winter hour Frisking from tree to tree, So blithe and merrily, It is cruel stones to fling, Boys, do as you'd be done by.
Boys, don't throw stones! That bird upon the wing, How sweet its song this Spring, Perchance it seeks the food, To feed its infant brood, Whose beaks are open wide, Until they are supplied; To and fro to and fro, The parent bird must go. It is sinful stones to throw Boys, do as you'd be done by.
Boys, don't throw stones! That stray dog in the street, Should with your pity meet, And not with shout and cry, And brick-bat whirling by: The dog's a friend to man, Outvie him if you can: So faithful, trusty, true, A pattern unto you; It is wicked stones to throw, Boys, do as you'd be done by.
Boys, don't throw stones! It can no pleasure give To injure things that live; That beauteous butterfly, The bird that soars on high, The creatures every day That round our pathway play; If you thought of your cruelty; You wouldn't wish even one to die. Only cowards stones will throw Boys, do as you'd be done by.
Instead of the Bad Boys Beating the Poor Dog, the Bad Dogs are beating the poor Boy.
[Page 71--Stealing Land]
No One Will See Me
"No one will see me," Said little John Day, For his father and mother Were out of the way, And he was at home All alone;
"No one will see me," So he climbed on a chair, And peeped in the cupboard To see what was there, Which of course he ought Not to have done.
There stood in the cupboard, So sweet and so nice, A plate of plum-cake In full many a slice, And apples so ripe, And so fine;
"Now no one will see me," Said John to himself, As he stretched out his arm To reach up to the shelf; "This apple, at least, Shall be mine."
John paused and put back The nice apple so red, For he thought of the words His kind mother had said, When she left all these Things in his care;
"And no one will see me," Thought he, "'tis not true; For I've read that God sees us In all that we do, And is with us Everywhere."
Well done, John; Your father and mother obey, Try ever to please them; And mind what they say, Even when they Are absent from you;
And never forget that, Though no one is nigh, You cannot be hid from The Glance of God's eye, Who notices all That you do.
Principle Put To The Test
A youngster at school, More sedate than the rest, Had once his integrity Put to the test:-- His comrades had plotted The orchard to rob, And asked him to go And assist in the job.
He was very much shocked, And answered, "Oh no! What! rob our poor neighbour! I pray you don't go; Besides, the man's poor, His orchard's his bread; Then think of his children, For they must be fed."
"You speak very fine, And you look very grave, But apples we want, And apples we'll have; If you will go with us, We'll give you a share, If not, you shall have Neither apple nor pear."
They spoke, and Tom pondered-- "I see they will go; Poor man! What a pity To injure him so! Poor man! I would save him His fruit if I could, But staying behind Will do him no good.
"If this matter depended Alone upon me, His apples might hang Till they dropped from the tree; But since they will take them, I think I'll go too, He will lose none by me, Though I get a few."
His scruples this silenced, Tom felt more at ease, And went with his comrades The apples to seize; He blamed and protested But joined in the plan, He shared in the plunder, But pitied the man.
Cowper
Advice
Who steals a pin Commits a sin Who tells a lie Has cause to sigh.
When ask'd to go And sin, say, No! The guilty breast Is ne'er at rest.
You must not sin A world to win Why should you go The way to woe.
The Boy And His Mother
In Aesop, we are told, a boy, Who was his mother's pride and joy, At school a primer stole one day, And homeward then did wend his way.
He told his mother of the theft, While she, of principle bereft, Patted him on the head and smil'd. And said, "You are my own dear child."
She praised him for the cunning feat, And gave him a nice apple sweet. In course of years the boy grew fast, Till he became a man at last;
But all the time he slyly stole-- Sometimes a piece--sometimes the whole, Till, finally, he grew so bold, He kill'd a man and took his gold.
The day on which he had to swing Did a large crowd together bring. Among the rest his mother came, And called him fondly by his name.
The sheriff gave him leave to tell The broken-hearted dame farewell! About his neck her arms she flung, And cried, "Why must my child be hung?"
He answered, "Call me not your dear." And by one stroke bit off her ear; While all the crowd cried, "Oh! for shame! Not satisfied to blast her name.
You add this violence to one Whose happiness you have undone!" "Good people," he replied, "I'll vow I would not be a felon now.
If my mother had only tried To win me to the better side. But when in infancy I took What was not mine, a small torn book,
Instead of punishing the feat She gave to me an apple sweet; She prais'd me too, and softly smil'd, And said, 'You are my own dear child!'
I tell you here, both foe and friend, This is the cause of my sad end."
[Page 72--Stealing Land]
The Boys And The Apple Tree
As Billy and Tommy Were walking one day, They came by a fine orchard side; They'd rather eat apples Than spell, read, or play, And Tommy to Billy then cried,
"O brother, look! see What fine clusters hang there, I'll jump and climb over the wall; I will have an apple, I will have a pear, Or else it shall cost me a fall."
Said Billy to Tommy, "To steal is a sin, Mamma has oft told this to thee; O never yet stole, Nor now will begin, So red apples hang on the tree."
"You are a good boy, As you ever have been," Said Tommy; let's walk on, my lad; We'll call on our school-fellow Little Bob Green, And to see us I know he'll be glad."
They came to a house, And they rang at the gate, And asked, "Pray, is Bobby at home?" But Bobby's good manners Did not let them wait; He out of the parlour did come.
Bob smil'd, and he laughed, And he caper'd with joy, His little companions to view. "We call'd in to see you," Said each little boy. Said Bobby, "I'm glad to see you.
"Come walk in our garden, So large and so fine; You shall, for my father gives leave; And more, he insists That you'll stay here to dine: A rare jolly day we shall have!"
But when in the garden, They found 'twas the same They saw as they walk'd in the road; And near the high wall, When these little boys came, They started, as if from a toad.
"That large ring of iron, Which lies on the ground, With terrible teeth like a saw," Said Bobby, "the guard Of our garden is found; It keeps wicked robbers in awe.
"The warning without, If they should set an nought, This trap tears their legs--O! so sad!" Said Billy to Tommy, "So you'd have been caught, A narrow escape you have had."
Cried Tommy, I'll mind What my good mamma says, And take the advice of a friend; I never will steal To the end of my days, I've been a bad boy, but I'll mend."
Adelaide
Honesty
With honest heart go on your way, Down to your burial sod, And never for a moment stray Beyond the path of God; And everything along your way In colours bright shall shine; The water from the jug of clay Shall taste like costly wine!
Holte
Thou Shalt Not Steal
On the goods that are not thine, Little child, lay not a finger; Round thy neighbour's better things Let no wistful glances linger.
Pilfer not the smallest thing; Touch it not, howe'er thou need it, Though the owner have enough, Though he know it not, nor need it.
Taste not the forbidden fruit, Though resistance be a trial; Grasping hand and roving eye, Early teach them self-denial.
Upright heart and honest name To the poorest are a treasure; Better than ill-gotten wealth, Better far than pomp and pleasure.
Poor and needy though thou art, Gladly take what God has given; With clean hands and humble heart, Passing through this world to heaven.
The Thief
Why should I deprive my neighbour Of his goods against his will? Hands were meant for honest labour, Not to plunder, nor to steal.
'Tis a foolish self-deceiving By such tricks to hope for gain: All that's ever got by thieving Turns to sorrow, shame, and pain.
Oft we see the young beginner Practice little pilfering ways, Till grown up a hardened sinner, Then the gallows ends his days.
Theft will not be always hidden, Though we fancy none can spy; When we take a thing forbidden, God holds it with His eye.
Guard my heart, O God of heaven, Lest is covet what's not mine; Lest I take what is not given, Guard my heart and hands from sin.
Watts
[Page 73--Stealing Land]
The Thieves' Ladder
The girls were helping in the house, With bustle and with show, And told the boys to go away, And not disturb them so. And the boys went whistling down the streets, And looking in the shops At tempting heaps of oranges, And piles of sugar-drops.
"Here, Willie, to the grocer's run; Be sharp, now--there's a man, And bring me home a pound of plums As quickly as you can! "Don't touch a plum--be sure you don't; To-morrow you shall eat." "I won't." he said, and, like a top, Went spinning down the street.
The grocer weigh'd them in his scales, And there was one too much; He took it out, and all was right, The scale was to a touch. He wrapp'd them up in whitey-brown, And tied them with a string, And put the money in the till, As 'twere a common thing.
Young Willie watched, with greedy eyes, As this affair went on. The plums--they look'd so very nice! He wouldn't take but one. So going quick behind a post, He tore the paper so That he could take out two or three, And nobody would know.
There was a little voice that said, Close by, in Willie's heart, "Don't tear the hole--don't take the plum-- Don't play a thievish part!" The little voice--it spoke in vain! He reach'd his mother's door; She did not see the hole he'd made, His trouble then was o'er.
And what a trifling thing it seem'd, To take one single plum! A little thing we hold between Our finger and out thumb. And yet upon that Christmas eve, That period so brief, Young Willie set his foot upon "The ladder of the thief!"
And as he lay awake that night, He heard his parents speak; He heard distinctly what they said, The blood rush'd to his cheek. He lay and listn'd earnestly; They might have found him out, And he might get a flogging too, 'Twas that he thought about.
A guilty person cannot rest, He always is in fear; Not knowing what may happen next To make his guilt appear. So, when he heard his mother speak, He rose up in his bed, And did not lose a syllable Of every word she said:--
"We have not any turnips, John, I could not spare the pence; But you can go and get us some Through Farmer Turner's fence. "There's nobody to see you now, The folks are off the road; The night looks dark and blustering, And no one is abroad.
"It is not far--you'll soon be back-- I'll stand outside to hear; The watchman now is off his track, And won't be coming near." The father he went softly out, And down the lane he crept, And stole some turnips from the field Whilst honest people slept!
'Tis not the words that parents say, It is their very deed; Their children know the difference, And follow where they lead. How often, if their lives are good, Their children's are the same; Whilst, if they're thievish, drunken, Their children come to shame!
Now, Willie laid him down in bed, His conscience found relief; "I'm not the only one," he said-- "My father is a thief! "How foolish 'twas to be afraid About a little plum!" He pull'd the bed-clothes o'er his head, And dream'd of feasts to come.
On Christmas-day they had the pies. The turnips, and the beef; And Willie's foot was firm upon The ladder of the thief. And ere the snow was on the plain, And Christmas-day came round, And boys were sliding, once again, Upon the frozen ground,
He, step by step, had further gone Upon that dreadful road That brings a man to misery, And takes him far from God. He cheated with his marbles first, And then at other play; He pilfered any little thing That came within his way.
His parents did not punish him; He went from bad to worse, Until he grew so confident, He stole a lady's purse. Then he was seized, and brought before The city magistrate; And the police and lady came The robbery to state.
And Willie he was proved a thief, And nothing had to say; So to the dreadful prison-house He soon was led away. In vain he cried, and pleaded hard They would not take him there; He would not do such things again If they would hear his prayer.
It was too late! The prison door, With bolt, and bar, and chain, Was opened to take Willie in, And then was shut again. He saw the handcuffs on the wall, The fetters on the floor; And heavy keys with iron rings To lock the dungeon door.
He saw the little, lonely cells Where prisoners were kept, And all the dreary passages, And bitterly he wept. And through the strong-barred iron grate, High up and far away, He saw a piece of clear blue sky Out in the blessed day.
And "Oh!" he said, "my brothers now Are out of school again, And playing marbles on the path, Or cricket on the plain. "And here am I, shut up so close Within this iron door; If ever I get out again I'll give this business o'er."
And Willie went to sleep that night In his dark cell alone; But often in his troubled dreams He turned with heavy moan. What sound is that at early morn That breaks upon his ear? A funeral bell is tolling slow, It tolls so very near.
And in the court he sees a crowd, So haggard and so pale, And they are whispering fearfully A sad and awful tale. And all seem looking at a man Who stands with fetters bound, And guards and executioner Are gathered close around.
And he beheld that wretched man, Who trembled like a leaf: His foot no more would stand upon The ladder of the thief. For he had climbed it step by step, Till murder closed the whole; The hangman came to take his life, But where would be his soul?
And still the bell went tolling on; It tolled so heavily As that young man went up the stairs, Out to the gallows-tree. It tolled--it tolled--Oh! heavy sound! It stopped--the deed is o'er; And that young man upon the earth Will now be seen no more:
Oh! parents watch your little ones, Lest you have such a grief; Help not their tender feet to climb The ladder of the thief. I have not heard young Willie's end, I hope he learned that day; But 'tis a thing most difficult To leave a wicked way.
Sewell
[Page 74--Santa Claus Land]
I have given no Fairy Tales in this Childland. For in this matter-of-fact age belief in Fairy Tales and all kinds of wonderful fictions is fast vanishing. Santa Claus, the "bestest" "goodest" fairy of all alone remains: and even he is gradually being doubted by all but the most innocent children, but as he as a personality is still largely amongst us, I give his popular history culled from many sources.
Santa Claus Land
At the top of the earth, which they call the North Pole, Is where Santa Claus lives, a right jolly old soul! And the ice and the snow lie so thick on the ground The sun cannot melt them the whole summer round.
All wrapped up in furs from his head to his toes, No feeling of coldness dear Santa Claus knows, But travels about with a heart full of joy, As happy as if he were only a boy.
His cheeks are like roses; his eyes are as bright As stars that shine out overhead in the night, And they twinkle as merrily too all the while, And broad as a sunbeam is Santa Claus' smile.
He never is idle except when asleep, And even in dreams at his labours will keep, And all thro' the day and the night, it is true, He is working and planning, dear children, for you.
On top of his tower with spy-glass in hand, He goes every morning to look o'er the land, And though there are hills all around, I suppose, He sees, oh, much further than any one knows.
He peeps into houses whose doors are tight shut; He looks through the palace, and likewise the hut; He gazes on cities, and villages small, And nothing, no, nothing is hidden at all.
He knows where the good children live beyond doubt, He knows where the bad boys and girls are about, And writes down their names on a page by themselves; In a book that he keeps on his library shelves.
For good little children, the gentle and kind, The prettiest presents of toys are designed, And when Christmas comes round, as it does once a year, 'Tis certain that Santa Claus then will appear.
His work-shop is, oh! such a wonderful place, With heaps of gay satins, and ribbons, and lace; With houses and furniture, dishes and pans, And bracelets and bangles, and all sorts of fans.
There are horses that gallop, and dollies that walk, And some of the pretty doll-babies can talk. There are pop-guns, and marbles, and tops for the boys, And big drums and trumpets that make a big noise.
There are games for all seasons, the base-ball and kite, And books which the children will seize with delight, And the skates and the sleds, far too many to count, And the bicycles ready for wheelmen to mount.
There are farm-yards in plenty, with fences and trees, And cows, sheep, and oxen, all taking their ease, And turkeys and ducks, and fine chickens and hens, And dear little piggies to put in their pens.
There are gay Noah's Arks, just as full as can be Of animals, really a wonder to see; There are lions and tigers, and camels and bears, And two of each kind, for they travel in pairs.
There are elephants stretching their noses quite long; And reindeer and elks with their antlers so strong, And queer kangaroos all the others amid, With their dear little babies in pockets well hid.
Is Santa Claus happy? There's no need to ask, For he finds such enjoyment indeed in his task, That he bubbles with laughter, and whistles and sings, While making and planning the beautiful things.
He's a jolly good fellow, but ever so shy, And likes to do all his good deeds on the sly, So there's no use spoiling a good winter's nap For you'll not catch a glimpse of the jolly old chap.
When Christmas Eve comes, into bed you must creep, And late in the night when you are asleep, He is certain to come; so your stockings prepare, And hang them up close by the chimney with care.
The baby's wee stockings you must not forget, For Santa will have something nice for the pet, And those who are thoughtful for others will find The good saint at Christmas time has them in mind.
There is Tommy, who tended the baby with care, A nice train of cars he shall have for his share, And how happy will Eliza be when she looks For her presents, and finds such a budget of books.
For dear little Mary, a doll there will be; And for Alice and Jenny a gay Christmas tree; And wee little Georgie, the baby, will find A big stick of candy, just suiting his mind.
Oh, a jolly good sight is this funny old chap When he's dressed in his bear-skin and fur-bordered cap, All ready to start on his way through the cold, In a sleigh covered over with jewels and gold.
While his deer from the mountains all harnessed with care, Like race-horses prance through the clear frosty air; 'Tis fun just to watch them, and hear the bells ring, And the stars seem to think it a comical thing.
For old Santa is bundled so close to the chin, That there is not a chance for the cold to get in, His cheeks are so rosy, his eyes how they flash! No horses nor driver e'er cut such a dash!
He cracks his long whip, and he whistles a tune, While he winks at the stars, and he bows to the moon, And over the tree-tops he drives like the wind, And leaves all the night-birds a long way behind.
His steeds speed away on a journey so fleet, That they seem to have wings to their swift-flying feet, For there's work to be done by a cheery old man, And his coursers will help him as well as they can.
His sleigh is with toys and trinkets well packed, You never beheld one with pleasures so stacked; And though of good children he has such a list, Not one is forgotten, not one will be missed.
An army he gives to the boy who is neat, And never is rude in the house or the street; And a farm to the lad who goes smiling to school, Who knows all his lessons and minds every rule.
And if you would please him--dear Bertie and Jack--; And win a nice prize from the old fellow's pack, Be good little children, your parents obey, And strive to be happy at work or at play.
At Christmas old Santa Claus toils like a Turk, For the cheery old fellow is fond of his work. With his queer looking team through the air he will go, And alight on the house-tops all covered in snow.
Then down through the chimneys he'll dart without noise And fill up the stockings with candy and toys. There'll be presents for Julia, and Nellie, and Jack, And plenty more left in the old fellow's pack.
And if Frank behaves well, and minds what is said, Quits teasing the cat and goes early to bed; He'll find for his present a sled or a gun, A ready companion in frolic and fun.
On Santa Claus hurries, and works with a will, For many tall Christmas trees he has to fill, And loads them with treasures from out his rich store, Till they blossom as trees never blossomed before.
Though round as a dumpling, and ever so fat, In running and climbing he's spry as a cat, And if the long ladder should happen to break, And he should fall down, what a crash it would make!
I told you his home was up North by the Pole, In a palace of hives lives this worthy old soul, And though out of doors it may furiously storm, Indoors as we know, it is sunny and warm.
When Christmas is over old Santa Claus goes To his home in the North, and his well-earned repose, And when he is rested and feeling tip-top, The good-natured workman goes back to his shop.
And there he will labor from morning till night, To make others happy his aim and delight, And if his good-will the dear children would earn, They must strive to be happy and good in return.
He comes like an angel of light from above, To do on the earth sweetest errands of love; And our hearts and our homes to so fill with good cheer That we cannot help knowing when Christmas is near.
Then let us be glad, so that Christmas may be A real Merry Christmas to you and to me! And now that the story is ended we'll give Three cheers for old Santa Claus! Long may he live!
[Page 75--Santa Claus Land]
A Visit From St. Nicholas
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in there beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced through their heads; And mamma in her kerchief and I in my cap Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out in the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash; The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave a lustre of midday to objects below;
When what to my wondering eyes should appear But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver so lively and quick I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled and shouted and called them by name; "Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So up to the housetop the coursers they flew, With a sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too; And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound, He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack, His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
He was chubby and plump--a right jolly old elf-- And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle; But I heard him exclaim ere he drove out sight; "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night."
Clement C. Moore
What Santa Claus Brings
Lovely little girls and boys, Santa brings all sorts of toys. Boxes filled with wooden bricks, Monkeys climbing yellow sticks.
Dollies' houses painted red, Tiny soldiers made of lead, Noah's Arks, and Ninepins too, Jack in boxes, painted blue.
Cups and Saucers, Pots and Pans, China figures, Chinese fans, Railway trains, with Tops and Tables, Fairy Tales and Aesop's Fables,
Clockwork Mice, and Coloured Marbles Painted Bird that sweetly warbles, Dolls of every age and size, With flaxen hair and moving eyes.
Cows and horses, Chickens, Cats, Rattles, Windmills, Boats and Bats, Ducks and Geese, and golden Fishes, Skipping ropes and copper Dishes.
Books and coloured pictures, too, And a thousand other things for you; Dainty maidens, merry boys, Santa brings all sorts of toys.
Little Mary
Dear little Mary, With eyes so blue, What has Santa Claus Brought for you?
He has brought me a cup, And a curly sheep, And a cradle where dolly May go to sleep.
The best of all Is this funny box That winds with a key Just like the clocks.
And when you've wound The spring up tight, The monkey dances With all his might,
And Fido barks And the puppies play: We're all very happy This Christmas day.
Christmas
Dainty little stockings Hanging in a row, Blue, and grey, and scarlet, In the firelight's glow.
Curly-pated sleepers Safely tucked in bed; Dreams of wondrous toy-shops Dancing through each head.
Funny little stockings Hanging in a row Stuffed with sweet surprises, Down from top to toe.
Skates, and balls, and trumpets, Dishes, tops, and drums, Books and dolls and candles, Nuts and sugar-plums.
Little sleepers waking: Bless me, what a noise! Wish you merry Christmas, Happy girls and boys!
The Nursery
[Page 76--Santa Claus Land]
Christmas
When the children have been good, That is, be it understood, Good at meal-times, good at play, Good all night and good all day,-- They shall have the pretty things Merry Christmas always brings.
A Christmas Eve Adventure
Once on a time, in a queer little town, On the shore of the Zuyder Zee, When all the good people were fast asleep, A strange thing happened to me.
Alone, the night before Christmas, I sat by the glowing fire, Watching the flame as it rose and fell, While the sparks shot high and higher.
Suddenly one of these sparks began To flicker and glimmer and wink Like a big bright eye, till I hardly knew What to do or to say or to think.
Quick as a flash, it changed to a face, And what in the world did I see But dear old Santa Claus nodding his head, And waving his hand to me!
"Oh! follow me, follow me!" soft he cried,-- And up through the chimney with him I mounted, not daring to utter a word Till we stood on the chimney's rim.
"Now tell me, I beg you, dear Santa Claus, Where am I going with you?" He laughingly answered, "Why, don't you know? To travel the whole world through!
"From my crystal palace, far in the North, I have come since dark,--and see These curious things for the little folk Who live on the Zuyder Zee."
Then seating himself in his reindeer sledge, And drawing me down by his side, He whistled, and off on the wings of the wind We flew for our midnight ride.
But first, such comical presents he left For the little Dutch girls and boys,-- Onions and sausages, wooden-faced dolls, Cheeses and gingerbread toys!
Away we hurried far to the South, To the beautiful land of France; And there we showered the loveliest gifts,-- Flaxen-haired dolls that could dance.
Soldiers that marched at the word of command, Necklaces, bracelets and rings, Tiny gold watches, all studded with gems, And hundreds of exquisite things.
Crossing the Channel, we made a short call In Scotland and Ireland, too; Left a warm greeting for England and Wales, Then over the ocean we flew
Straight to America, where by myself, Perched on a chimney high, I watched him scramble and bustle about Between the earth and the sky.
Many a stocking he filled to the brim, And numberless Christmas trees Burst into bloom at his magical touch! Then all of a sudden a breeze
Caught us and bore us away to the South, And afterwards blew us "out West;" And never till dawn peeped over the hills Did we stop for a moment's rest.
"Christmas is coming!" he whispered to me, "You can see his smile in the sky,-- I wish Merry Christmas to all the world! My work is over,--good-bye!"
Like a flash he was gone, and I was alone,-- For all of this happened to me Once on a time, in a queer little town On the shore of the Zuyder Zee!
M. M.
Little Bennie
I had told him, Christmas morning, As he sat upon my knee, Holding fast his little stockings, Stuffed as full as can be, And attentive listening to me, With a face demure and mild, That old Santa Claus, who filled them, Did not love a naughty child.
"But we'll be good, won't we, moder?" And from off my lap he slid, Digging deep among the goodies In his crimson stockings hid. While I turned me to my table, Where a tempting goblet stood, Brimming high with a dainty custard, Sent me by a neighbour good.
But the kitten, there before me, With his white paw, nothing loth, Sat, by way of entertainment, Lapping off the shining froth; And, in not the gentlest humour At the loss of such a treat, I confess I rather rudely Thrust him out into the street.
Then how Bennie's blue eyes kindled; Gathering up the precious store He had busily been pouring In his tiny pinafore, With a generous look that shamed me Sprang he from the carpet bright, Showing, by his mien indignant, All a baby's sense of right.
"Come back Harney," called he loudly, As he held his apron white, "You shall have my candy wabbit;" But the door was fastened tight. So he stood, abashed and silent, In the centre of the floor, With defeated look, alternate Bent on me and on the door.
Then, as by some sudden impulse, Quickly ran he to the fire, And while eagerly his bright eyes Watched the flames grow high and higher, In a brave, clear key he shouted, Like some lordly little elf, "Santa Kaus, come down the chimney, Make my mother 'have herself."
"I'll be a good girl, Bennie," Said I, feeling the reproof; And straightway recalled poor Harney, Mewing on the galley roof. Soon the anger was forgotten, Laughter chased away the frown, And they gambolled 'neath the live oaks, Till the dusky night came down.
In my dim, fire-lighted chamber Harney purred beneath my chair, And my play-worn boy beside me Knelt to say his evening prayer: "God bess fader, God bess moder, God bess sister," then a pause, And the sweet young lips devoutly Murmured "God bess Santa Kaus."
He is sleeping: brown and silken Lie the lashes, long and meek, Like caressing, clinging shadows, On his plump and peachy cheek; And I bend above him, weeping, Thankful tears; O undefiled; For a woman's crown of glory, For the blessing of a child.
Annie C. Ketchum
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Old Santa Claus
Old Santa Claus sat alone in his den, With his leg crossed over his knee; While a comical look peeped out at his eyes, For a funny old fellow was he.
His queer little cap was tumbled and torn, And his wig it was all awry; But he sat and mused the whole day long, While the hours went flying by.
He had been busy as busy can be, In filling his pack with toys; He had gathered his nuts and baked his pies, To give to the girls and boys.
There were dolls for the girls, and whips for the boys, With wheelbarrows, horses and drays, And bureaus and trunks for Dolly's new clothes; All these in his pack he displays.
Of candy too, both twisted and striped, He had furnished a plentiful store, While raisins and figs, and prunes and grapes, Hung up on a peg by the door.
"I am almost ready," quoth he, quoth he, "And Christmas is almost here; But one thing more--I must write a book, And give to each one this year."
So he clapped his specs on his little round nose, And seizing the stump of a pen, He wrote more lines in one little hour Than you ever could write in ten.
He told them stories all pretty and new, And wrote them all out in rhyme; Then packed them away with his box of toys To distribute one at a time.
And Christmas Eve, when all were in bed, Right down the chimney he flew; And stretching the stocking-leg out at the top, He clapped in a book for you.
Santa Claus and the Mouse
One Christmas Eve, when Santa Claus Came to a certain house, To fill the children's stockings there, He found a little mouse.
"A merry Christmas, little friend," Said Santa, good and kind. "The same to you, sir!" said the mouse, "I thought you wouldn't mind
If I should stay awake to night, And watch you for a while." "You're very welcome, little mouse," Said Santa, with a smile.
And then he filled the stockings up, Before the mouse could wink,-- From toe to top, from top to toe, There wasn't left a chink.
"Now, they won't hold another thing," Said Santa Claus with pride. A twinkle came in mousie's eyes, But humbly he replied:
"It's not nice to contradict-- Your pardon I implore,-- But in the fullest stocking there, I could put one thing more."
"Oh, ho!" laughed Santa, "silly mouse! Don't I know how to pack? By filling stockings all these years, I should have learned the knack."
And then he took the stocking down From where it hung so high, And said: "Now put in one thing more; I give you leave to try."
The mousie chuckled to himself, And then he softly stole Right to the stocking's crowded toe, And gnawed a little hole!
"Now, if you please, good Santa Claus, I've put in one thing more; For you will own, that little hole Was not in there before."
How Santa Claus did laugh and laugh; And then he gaily spoke; "Well, you shall have a Christmas cheese, For that nice little joke."
A Nice Little Present
"Our Santa Claus," cried Bettie, "Is nice as any other; He brought the nicest present To me and to my mother.
"It was--oh, you can't guess it-- A darling little brother. He kicks and cries, and shuts his eyes, And he's sweet enough to eat.
"I'd rather have my baby brother Than dolls or candy--so would my mother."
The Night Before Christmas
Curly heads, so softly pillowed; Chubby arms outspread; Thousand fancies swiftly flying Through each little head.
Clasping treasures newly garnered, Dolly, book, and ball, Still they dream of coming pleasures Greater than them all.
Christmas-trees of gorgeous beauty, Filled with presents rare; Toys unheard of, joys unnumbered, All delights are there.
Angel forms, with smiling faces, Hover round the bed; Angel feet make echoing music As they lightly tread.
Angel voices, softly thrilling, Chant a lullaby: "Darlings, dream, and sweetly slumber, We are watching by."
Who from dreams like these would waken To a world of pain? "Hush, then, dear ones! Have we roused you? Turn and dream again."
[Page 78--Santa Claus Land]
Annie And Willie's Prayer
'Twas the eve before Christmas; good night had been said, And Annie and Willie had crept into bed. There were tears on their pillows, and tears in their eyes, And each little bosom was heaving with sighs;
For to-night their stern father's command had been given, That they should retire precisely at seven Instead of at eight; for they had troubled him more With questions unheard of than ever before.
He had told them he thought this delusion a sin; No such creature as "Santa Claus" ever had been; And he hoped, after this, he should never more hear How he scrambled down chimneys with presents each year.
And this was the reason that two little heads So restlessly tosses on their soft, downy beds. Eight, nine, and the clock on the steeple tolled ten; Not a word had been spoken by either till then;
When Willie's sad face from the blanket did peep, And he whispered: "Dear Annie, is 'ou fast asleep?" "Why, no, Brother Willie," a sweet voice replies; "I've long tried in vain, but I can't shut my eyes;
"For somehow it makes me so sorry because Dear Papa has said there is no Santa Claus. Now we know there is, and it can't be denied For he came every year before dear mamma died;
"But then, I've been thinking, that she used to pray,-- And God would hear everything dear mamma would say,-- And, maybe, she asked him to send Santa Claus here With the sack full of presents he brought every year."
"Well, why tannot we p'ay, dust as mamma did, den, And ask Dod to send him with presents aden?" "I've been thinking so, too;" and without a word more Four little bare feet bounded out on the floor,
And four little knees on the soft carpet pressed, And two tiny hands were clasped close to each breast, "Now, Willie, you know, we must firmly believe That the presents we ask for we're sure to receive;
"You must wait just as still till I say the 'Amen,' And by that you will know that your turn has come then.-- "Dear Jesus, look down on my brother and me, And grant us the favours we're asking of Thee.
"I want a wax dolly, a tea-set and a ring, And an ebony work-box that shuts with a spring. Bless papa, dear Jesus, and cause him to see That Santa Claus loves us as much as does he.
"Don't let hem get fretful and angry again, At dear brother Willie and Annie. Amen." "Dear Desus, 'et Santa Taus tum down to night And bring us some p'esents before it is 'ight;
"I want he sood div' me a nice little sled, Wid bight shinin' 'unners, and all painted 'ed A box full of tandy, a book, and a toy, Amen. And den, Desus, I'll be a dood boy."
Their prayers being ended, they raised up their heads, And with hearts light and cheerful again sought their beds; They were soon lost in slumber both peaceful and deep, And with fairies in dreamland were roaming in sleep.
Eight, nine, and the little French clock had struck ten Ere the father had thought of his children again; He seems now to hear Annie's self-suppressed sighs, And to see the big tears stand in Willie's blue eyes.
"I was harsh with my darlings," he mentally said, "And should not have sent them so early to bed: But then I was troubled: My feelings found vent; For the bank-stock to-day has gone down two percent.;
"But of course they've forgotten their troubles ere this, And that I denied them the thrice-asked-for kiss; But just to make sure I'll steal up to their door-- To my darlings I have never spoke harshly before."
So saying, he softly ascended the stairs, And arrived at the door to hear both of their prayers; His Annie's "Bless papa" drew forth the big tears, And Willie's grave promise fell sweet on his ears.
"Strange, strange! I'd forgotten," he said with a sigh, "How I longed when a child to have Christmas draw nigh I'll atone for my harshness," he inwardly said, "By answering their prayers ere I sleep in my bed."
Then he turned to the stairs, and softly went down, Threw off velvet slippers and silk dressing gown. Donned hat, coat and boots, and was out in the street, A millionaire facing the cold, driving sleet!
Nor stopped he until he had bought everything, From the box full of candy to the tiny gold ring: Indeed, he kept adding so much to his store, That the various presents outnumbered a score.
Then homeward he turned, when his holiday load, With Aunt Mary's help, in the nursery was stow'd. Miss Dolly was seated beneath a pine tree, And the side of a table spread out for her tea;
A work-box, well-filled, in the centre was laid, And on it the ring for which Annie had pray'd. A soldier in uniform stood by a sled, With bright shining runners, and all painted red.
There were balls, dogs, horses; books pleasing to see; And birds of all colours were perched in the tree; While Santa Claus, laughing, stood up in the top, As if getting ready more presents to drop.
Now, as the fond father the picture surveyed, He thought for his trouble he'd amply been paid; As he said to himself, as he brushed off a tear, "I'm happier to night than I have been for a year;
"I've enjoyed more true pleasure than ever before; What care I if bank-stock fell two per cent. more! Henceforward I'll make it a rule, I believe, To have Santa Clause visit us each Christmas-eve."
So thinking, he gently extinguished the light, And, slipping downstairs, retired for the night. As soon as the beams of the bright morning sun Put the darkness to flight, and the stars one by one,
Four little blue eyes out of sleep opened wide, And at the same moment the presents espied. Then out of their beds they sprang with a bound, And the very gifts prayed for were all of them found.
And they laughed and they cried in their innocent glee, And shouted for papa to come quick and see What presents old Santa Claus brought in the night (Just the things they wanted!), and left before light.
"And now," added Annie, in a voice soft and low, "You'll believe there's a Santa Claus, papa, I know;" While dear little Willie climbed up on his knee, Determined no secret between them should be;
And told, in soft whispers, how Annie had said That their blessed mamma, so long ago dead, Used to kneel down and pray by the side of her chair, And that God up in heaven had answered her prayer.
"Den we dot up and p'ayed just as well as we tood, And Dod answered our p'ayer, now wasn't He dood?" "I should say that He was, if He sent you all these, And knew just what presents my children would please."
("Well, well, let them think so, dear little elf! 'Twould be cruel to tell him I did it myself.")
Blind father! who caused your stern heart to relent, And the hasty words spoken so soon to repent? 'Twas the Being who bade you steal softly upstairs And made you His agent to answer their prayers.
Mrs. Sophia P. Snow
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Budds' Christmas Stocking
It was Christmas-time, as all the world knew; It stormed without, and the cold wind blew, But within all was cheerful, snug, and bright, With glowing fires and many a light.
Budd B. was sent quite early to bed, His stocking was hung up close to his head, And he said to himself "When all grows still I will find a big stocking for Santy to fill."
Now, good, honest Hans, who worked at the house, Had gone to his bed as still as a mouse; The room where he slept was one story higher Than Budd's little room, with gaslight and fire.
Now, Hans loved "the poy," and petted him too, And often at night, when his task was all through, He would tell him strange stories of over the sea, While Budd listened gravely or laughed out in glee.
This night Hans had promised to wake Budd at four; He would softly come down and open his door; But suddenly Budd bounded out of his bed, And stole softly up to the room overhead.
On his hands and his knees he crept softly in, "I'll borrow Han's stocking," he said, with a grin; Old Santy will fill it up to the top, And Hans--oh, such fun! will be mad as a hop."
He moved very slowly, and felt near the bed; No stocking was there, but down on his head Came a deluge of water, well sprinkled with ice, While honest Hans held him as if in a vice.
"Vat is dat?" he cried out; "von robber I find, Den I pound him, and shake him, so much as I mind" "It's me," called out Budd; "Stop, Hans! oh, please do; I'm only a boy; I could not rob you."
But Hans did not pause--his temper was hot-- And he dragged the young robber at once from the spot, When he reached the hall light great was his surprise To find his young master with tears in his eyes.
"I wanted your stocking," muttered Budd B.; It is bigger than mine; boo hoo! I can't see, And I'm all wet and cold." thus cried Budd aloud, Until guests and his parents ran up in a crowd.
He was wrapped up with care and taken to bed, But, strangest of all, not a harsh word was said. He flattered himself as he fell asleep That Hans and his friends the secret would keep.
Next morning, when Christmas songs filled all the air, Budd found, to his grief and boyish despair, That his neck was so stiff that he could not turn his head, And must spend the whole day alone in his bed.
What was worse, his own stocking hung limp on a chair, And on it these words were written most fair: "To him who is greedy I leave less than all; The world is so large and my reindeer so small.
"My pack is elastic when children are kind, But it shuts with a snap and leaves nothing behind, When a boy or girl is selfish or mean. Good-bye, little Budd, I am off with my team. (Signed) Santa Claus."
Christmas
Again the Christmas holidays have come, We soon will hear the trumpet and the drum; We'll hear the merry shout of the girls and boys Rejoicing o'er their gifts of books and toys.
Old Santa Claus comes by at dead of night, And down the chimney creeps--a funny sight; He fills the stockings full of books and toys, But puts in whips for naughty girls and boys.
One Christmas-eve the moon shone clear and bright; I thought I'd keep awake and watch all night, But it was silent all around and stilled, Yet in the morn I found my stockings filled.
Christmas Morning
They put me in a square bed, and there they bade me sleep; I must not stir; I must not wake; I must not even peep; Right opposite that lonely bed, my Christmas stocking hung; While near it, waiting for the morn, my Sunday clothes were flung.
I counted softly, to myself, to ten and ten times ten, And went through all the alphabet, and then began again; I repeated that Fifth-Reader piece--a poem called "Repose," And tried a dozen various ways to fall into a dose--
When suddenly the room grew light. I heard a soft, strong bound, 'Twas Santa Claus, I felt quite sure, but dared not look around. 'Twas nice to know that he was there, and things were going rightly, And so I took a little nap, and tried to smile politely.
"Ho! Merry Christmas!" cried a voice; I felt the bed a-rocking; Twas daylight--brother Bob was up! and oh, that splendid stocking!
St. Nicholas
[Page 80--Santa Claus Land]
Little Nellie's Visit From Santa Claus
Santa Claus is coming to-night, papa; Please let me sit up and see him, mamma; Loaded with presents, I'm sure he'll be. He'll have something nice for you and for me.
"Mamma, do find something fresh and quite new, For dear old Santa Claus, when he comes through, I'll give it myself; I'll keep wide awake; I know he'll be glad my present to take.
"Now all go to bed as quick as you please, I'll wait for him," said the bright little tease, "He surely will ring, no doubt about that, I'll bid him come in and then have a chat."
Soon came a quick step on the piazza floor, Just then a loud ring was heard at the door. The little miss rose with dignified air, Quick ushered him in, and set him a chair.
All covered o'er with little bells tinkling, Shaking and laughing, twisting and wriggling, A funny old man, with little eyes blinking, Looking at Nellie, what was he thinking?
Not a word did he say--tired of waiting, Nellie arose, her little heart quaking, Held out her present, courage most failing, "Santa Claus, take this"--now she is smiling.
"His furry old hand, twisting and trembling, Took the sweet gift--"You dear little darling," Uttered quite softly, tenderly kissing, The bright little face, ne'er a bit shrinking.
Lots of presents quickly bestowing, Thanking her kindly--he must be going, Shaking and laughing, his little bells jingling, Down the steps, hastening off in a twinkling.
Brave little lady! all are now saying, Santa Claus truly! bright eyes are asking; See her dear papa, secretly laughing At her true faith in Santa Claus' coming.
Yes! she believes it, ever so truly, Dear precious darling! rob her not surely, Of childhood's sweet faith, now in its glory, While she's relating her own simple story.
Mrs. C. E. Wilbur
Christmas Stockings
'Tis Christmas day, And little May Peeps from her bed in the morning grey.
She looks around, But not a sound Breaks on the quietness profound.
So, heaving sighs, She shuts her eyes, And hard to go to sleep she tries.
But sleep has fled That little bed. And weary moves the curly head,
Until the light (Oh, welcome sight!) Has banished every trace of night.
Then out of bed, With hurried tread, She runs to waken brother Fred;
For oh, what joys, In the shape of toys, Does Christmas bring to girls and boys!
Fred gives a groan, Or a sleepy moan, And mutters, "Do let me alone!"
But bonnie May Will not have nay; She whispers, "It is Christmas day!"
Oh, magic sound! For Fred turns round, And in a trice is on the ground.
"Our stockings, where?" "They're on that chair." "Oh, what has Santa Claus put there?"
May laughs with glee, The sight to see, Of stockings filled from toe to knee
With parcels queer, That stick out here, Before, behind, in front and rear.
"Oh, Fred! a dolly! I'll call her Molly." "Why, may, a penknife here; how jolly!"
"A necktie blue! A paintbox too!" "Oh, Fred, a pair of kid gloves new!"
"May, here's a gun! Won't we have fun, Playing at soldiers!--You'll be one."
"Now that is all. No; here's a ball; Just hold it, or these things will fall."
"What's in the toe, May, do you know? Biscuits and figs!--I told you so."
"I think," said May, That Christmas day Should come at least every second day."
And so say we; But then you see That Santa Claus would tired be.
And all his toys And Christmas joys Would vanish then from girls and boys.
From "The Prize"
Hang Up Baby's Stocking
Hang up the baby's stocking: Be sure you don't forget: The dear little dimpled darling Has never seen Christmas yet.
But I told him all about it, And he opened his big blue eyes; I'm sure he understood it, He looked so funny and wise.
Ah, what a tiny stocking; It doesn't take so much to hold Such little toes as baby's Safe from the frost and cold.
But then, for the baby's Christmas It never will do at all; For Santa Claus wouldn't be looking For anything half so small.
I know what will do for baby; I've thought of a first-rate plan; I'll borrow a stocking of grandma-- The longest that I ever can.
And you shall hang it by mine, mother, Right here in the corner--so; And write a letter for baby. And fasten it on the toe.
"Old Santa Claus, this is a stocking Hung up for our baby dear; You never have seen our darling, He has not been with us a year,
"But he is a beautiful baby; And now, before you go, Please cram this stocking with presents, From the top of it down to the toe.
"Put in a baby's rattle, Also a coral ring, A bright new ribbon for his waist; Some beads hung on a string
"And mind a coloured ball please, And a tiny pair of shoes; You'll see from this little stocking, The size you have to choose."
Santa Claus
A health to good old Santa Claus, And to his reindeer bold, Whose hoofs are shod with elder-down, Whose horns are tipped with gold.
Ho comes from utmost fairyland Across the wintry snows; He makes the fir-tree and the spruce To blossom like the rose.
Over the quaint old gables, Over the windy ridge, By turret wall and chimney tall, He guided his fairy sledge;
He steals upon the slumbers Of little rose-lipped girls, And lays his waxen dollies down Beside their golden curls.
He scatters blessings on his way, And sugar-coated plums; He robs the sluggard from his rest With trumpets, guns, and drums.
Small feet, before the dawn of day, Are marching to and fro, Drums beat to arms through all the house, And penny trumpets blow.
A health to brave old Santa Claus, And to his reindeer bold, Whose hoofs are shod with elder-down, Whose horns are tipped with gold.
S. H. Whitman
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The Rabbit on the Wall
The children shout with laughter, The uproar louder grows; Even grandma chuckles faintly, And Johnny chirps and crows. There ne'er was gilded painting, Hung up in lordly hall, Gave half the simple pleasure As this rabbit on the wall.
The cottage work is over, The evening meal is done; Hark! thro' the starlight stillness You hear the river run. The little children whisper, Then speak out one and all; "Come, father, make for Johnny, The rabbit on the wall."
He--smilingly assenting, They gather round his chair; "Now, grandma, you hold Johnny; Don't let the candle flare." So speaking, from his fingers He throws a shadow tall, That seems, a moment after, A rabbit on the wall.
Holiday Time
With these three little girls and two little boys There is sure to be plenty of laughter and noise; But nobody minds it, because don't you see, At school they are quiet with lessons to say-- But when the holidays come they can play the whole day.
The Fairy Queen
Let us laugh and let us sing, Dancing in a merry ring; We'll be fairies on the green, Sporting round the Fairy Queen.
Like the seasons of the year, Round we circle in a sphere; I'll be Summer, you'll be Spring, Dancing in a fairy ring.
Harry will be Winter wild; Little Annie, Autumn mild; Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring, Dancing in a fairy ring.
Spring and Summer glide away, Autumn comes with tresses grey; Winter, hand in hand with Spring, Dancing in a fairy ring.
Faster! faster! round we go While our cheeks like roses glow; Free as birds upon the wing, Dancing in a fairy ring.
Come and Play in the Garden
Little sister, come away, And let us in the garden play, For it is a pleasant day.
On the grassplot let us sit, Or, if you please, we'll play a bit, And run about all over it.
But the fruit we will not pick, For that would be a naughty trick, And, very likely, make us sick.
Nor will we pluck the pretty flowers That grow about the beds and bowers, Because, you know, they are not ours.
We'll pluck the daisies, white and red, Because mamma has often said, That we may gather them instead.
And much I hope we always may Out very dear mamma obey, And mind whatever she may say.
Little Romp
I am tired to death of keeping still And being good all day. I guess my mamma's company Forgot to go away, I've wished and wished they'd think of it, And that they would get through; But they must talk for ever first, They almost always do.
I heard Tom calling to me once, He's launched his boat, I know; I wanted to get out and help, But mamma's eyes said no. The ladies talk such stuff to me, It makes me sick to hear-- "How beautiful your hair curls!" or, "How red your cheeks are, dear!"
I'd ten times rather run a race, Then play my tunes and things; I wouldn't swop my dogs and balls For forty diamond rings. I've got no 'finement, aunty says, I 'spect she knows the best; I don't need much to climb a tree, Or hunt a squirrel's nest.
"Girls are like berries," papa says, "Sweeter for running wild," But Aunt Melissa shakes her head, And calls me "Horrid child!" I'll always be a romp she knows-- But sure's my name is Sadie, I'll fool 'em all some dreadful day, By growing up a lady.
Hide and Seek
"We will have a game of hide and seek, Now mind you do not look." And Willie went and hid himself In a dark and lonely nook.
Then the children went to find him; They hunted all about. It was a funny way in which At last they found him out.
Just as they got where he was hid, In his nose he felt a tickling That made him sneeze, and so you see They found him in a twinkling.
[Page 82--Play Land]
Tired of Play
Tired of play! tired of play! What hast thou done this livelong day? The birds are silent, and so is the bee; The sun is creeping up temple and tree;
The doves have flown to the sheltering eves And the nests are dark with the drooping leaves. Twilight gathers and day is done, How hast thou spent it, restless one?
Playing? But what has thou done beside, To tell thy mother at eventide? What promise of morn is left unbroken? What kind word to thy playmate spoken?
Whom hast thou pitied and whom forgiven, How with thy faults has duty striven, What hast thou learned by field and hill? By greenwood path, and singing rill?
Well for thee if thou couldst tell, A tale like this of a day spent well, If thy kind hand has aided distress, And thou pity hast felt for wretchedness;
If thou hast forgiven a brother's offence, And grieved for thine own with penitence; If every creature has won thy love From the creeping worm to the brooding dove, Then with joy and peace on the bed of rest, Thou wilt sleep as on thy mother's breast.
Sea-side Play
Two little boys, all neat and clean, Came down upon the shore: They did not know old Ocean's ways-- They'd ne'er seen him before.
So quietly they sat them down, To build a fort of sand; Their backs were turned to the sea, Their faces toward the land.
They had just built a famous fort-- The handkerchief flag was spread-- When up there came a stealthy wave, And turned them heels over head.
After School Hours
School is closed and tasks are done, Flowers are laughing in the sun; Like the songsters in the air, Happy children, banish care!
Riding on a Gate
Sing, sing, What shall we sing, A gate is a capital Sort of thing.
If you have not a horse, Or haven't a swing, A gate is a capital Sort of thing.
Cry, cry, Finger in eye, Go home to mother And tell her why;
You've been riding, And why not I? Each in turn, isn't that the rule For work or play, at home or school.
Walking Song
Come, my children, come away, For the sun shines bright to-day; Little children, come with me, Birds, and brooks, and posies see; Get your hats and come away, For it is a pleasant day.
Bring the hoop and bring the ball, Come with happy faces all, Let us make a merry ring, Talk, and laugh, and dance, and sing Quickly, quickly come away, For it is a pleasant day.
The Lost Playmate
The old school-house is still to day, The rooms have no gay throng; No ringing laugh is on the air, There is no snatch of song. The white-haired master sits upon The seat beneath the tree, And thinks upon the vanished face, With all its boyish glee.
But a few short days ago, the lad Was gayest of the gay, Quick at the page of knowledge, and The heartiest in play. The pride of the home beside the stream, With his pigeons in their cots, And finding life a very dream, In pleasant homely spots.
His school companions loving him, And old folks speaking praise, Of the well-loved boy, with frankest eyes, And cheery, happy ways. All in the village knew the boy, From parson down to clerk, And his whistle in the village street Was clear as the song of lark.
But like a dream he's passed away, And from the chamber dim, In the fair light of summer day, The peasants carry him. And playmates gather at the grave, The old schoolmaster there, While blossomed boughs wave over-head, And all around is fair.
True is the grief that brings the tear, There is no empty show; The simple neighbours see their loss, And there is heart-felt woe. They talk of the bright and lively lad, Cut down in boyish prime, And old folks think how strange is life, More strange with passing time!
Oh! simple sight on green hill-side, Away from pomp and power; Here are the truths so oft denied To the imperial hour. Dear child, how precious are the tears, Suffusing friendly eyes! Sublimity is in their gleam, A light from God's own skies.
[Page 83--Play Land]
In the Toy Shop
Cups and saucers, pots and pans, China figures, Chinese fans, Railway trains, with tops and tables, Fairy tales, and Aesop's fables.
Clockwork mice, and colored marbles, Painted bird that sweetly warbles, Dolls of every age and size, With flaxen curls and moving eyes.
Cows and horses, chickens, cats, Rattles, windmills, boats and bats, Ducks and geese, and golden fishes, Skipping ropes, and copper dishes.
Books with coloured pictures, too, And a thousand other things for you; Dainty maidens, merry boys, Here you are, all sorts of toys.
Neat Little Clara
"Little Clara, come away, Little Clara, come and play; Leave your work, Maria's here, So come and play with me, my dear."
"I will come, and very soon, For I always play at noon; But must put my work away, Ere with you I come and play.
First my bodkin I must place With my needles in their case; I like to put them by with care, And then I always find them there.
There's my cotton, there's my thread Thimble in its little bed; All is safe--my box I lock, Now I come--'tis twelve o'clock."
Playing Store
"Ting-a-ling!" Now they Have opened the store, Never was such An assortment before; Mud pies in plenty, And parcels of sand, Pebbles for sugar plums, Always on hand.
Plenty of customers Coming to buy, "Brown sugar, white sugar Which will you try? Paper for money; Their wealth, too, is vast; In spite of the plenty, They scatter it fast.
Quick little hands Tie bundles with care, Summer's glad music Is filling the air; Birdies fly over, And wonder, no doubt, What all these gay little folks are about.
Fishing
He took a stick, he took a cord, He took a crooked pin, And went a-fishing in the sand And almost tumbled in. But just before he tumbled in, By chance it came about, He hooked a whiting and a sole, And made them tumble out.
Hide and Seek
When the clean white cloth is laid, And the cups are on the table, When the tea and toast are made, That's a happy time for Mabel.
Stealing to her mother's side, In her ear she whispers low, "When papa comes I'll hide; Don't tell him where I go,"
On her knees upon the floor, In below the sofa creeping; When she hears him at the door, She pretends that she is sleeping.
"Where is Mabel?" father cries, Looking round and round about. Then he murmurs in surprise, "Surely Mabel can't be out."
First he looks behind his chair, Then he peers beneath the table, Seeking, searching everywhere All in vain for little Mabel;
But at last he thinks he knows, And he laughs and shakes his head, Says to mother, "I suppose Mabel has been put to bed."
But when he sits down to tea, From beneath the sofa creeping, Mabel climbs upon his knee, Clasps her hands: "I was not sleeping."
When he asks, "Where is my girl's Very secret hiding-place?" Mabel only shakes her curls, Laughing, smiling, in his face.
[Page 84--Play Land]
Little Sailors
Now, Harry, pull the chairs up, And, Fanny, get the shawl; We'll play that we are sailors, And that we're in a squall.
The fire will be a lighthouse, To warn us off the shore; And we will place the footstools For rocks, out on the floor.
Now this chair is the stern And that one is the bow; But there, you must be careful, And not lean hard, you know.
Now, sailors, pull that sail up, And tuck the corners in-- Well if you want it tighter, Ask mother for a pin.
Now couldn't we sing something About the "Ocean Blue"? Well, never mind, "By-baby" Or anything will do.
Take care, you careless sailors, And mind what you are about, You know the sea will drown you, If you should tumble out.
Brother Playing
Up and down the play-room, Then behind the door, Now upon the sofa, Now upon the floor.
In below the table, Round the big arm-chair, Goes my little brother, Crying "Are you there?"
And when brother sees me, Then away I run; And he follows after, Merry with the fun.
So at hide and seek we play. And pass the happy hours away.
Girls and Boys, Come Out to Play
Girls and boys, Come out to play, The sun is shining Away, away.
Into the meadow Over the way, Tumbling and tossing The new-mown hay.
Into the hedgerow Picking the May; Over the hills And far away.
Down by the brook Where the ripples play, Whirling and winding Their silvery way,
Then home again By a different way, Picking an armful Of wildflowers gay.
For mother dear To gladden her way, And wake in her heart A cheerful lay.
For every leaf Has it's sunny ray; All nature is happy And seems to say:
Girls and boys, Come out to play. The sun is shining Away, away.
Two Merry Men
Two merry men, One summer day, Forsook their toys, And forgot their play.
Two little faces, Full of fun, Two little hearts That beat as one.
Four little hands, At work with a will, Four little legs That can't keep still.
For labour is sweet, And toil is fun, When mother wants Any work to be done.
Mud Pies
Tell me little ladies, Playing in the sun, How many minutes Till the baking's done?
Susy gets the flour, All of golden dust; Harry builds the oven, Lily rolls the crust.
Pat it here, and pat it there; What a dainty size! Bake it on a shelf of stone, Nice mud pies!
Now we want a shower-- For we need it so-- It would make a roadside, Such a heap of dough.
Turn them in, and turn them out, How the morning flies! Ring the bell for dinner-- Hot mud pies!
The Playful Girl
I know a little girl, Who is very fond of play: And if her ma would let her, Would do nothing else all day.
She has a little doll, And another one quite large. She plays she has a little home, And house cares to discharge.
But when her mamma calls her, Some real work to do, She does not like to leave her play, And pouts till she is through.
Hay Making
In the hay, in the hay, Toss we and tumble; No one to say us nay, All through this Summer's day! No one to grumble.
In the hat, in the hay, Arthur we'll smother; Bring armfuls, heap them high, Pile them up--now good-bye, Poor little brother!
In the hay, in the hay, Snugly reclining, Shaded from the noontide heat, Smelling the clover sweet, See us all dining;
While the haymakers sit Under the willows, Each with his bread and cheese Spread out upon his knees, Hay for their pillows.
Hark! how the laugh and chat, Happy, light hearted! Now to their work they go, Raking up one long row, Fit to be carted.
Now comes the wagon near, Quickly they're loading; Rake away! rake away! While it's fine make the hay-- Rain is foreboding.
Now that the sunset ray Says the day's over, Homeward we make our way, In the cart strewn with hay, Smelling of clover.
Mrs. Hawtrey
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Johnny the Stout
"Ho! for a frolic!" Said Johnny the stout; "There's coasting and sledding; I'm going out."
Scarcely had Johnny Plunged in the snow, When there came a complaint Up from his toe:
"We're cold" said the toe, "I and the rest; There's ten of us freezing, Standing abreast."
Then up spoke an ear; "My, but it's labor-- Playing in winter. Eh! Opposite neighbour!"
"Pooh!" said his nose, Angry and red; "Who wants to tingle? Go home to bed!"
Eight little fingers, Four to a thumb, All cried together-- "Johnny, we're numb!"
But Johnny the stout Wouldn't listen a minute; Never a snow-bank But Johnny was in it.
Tumbling and jumping, Shouting with glee, Wading the snow-drifts Up to his knee.
Soon he forgot them, Fingers and toes, Never once thought of The ear and the nose.
Ah! What a frolic! All in a glow, Johnny grew warmer Out in the snow.
Often his breathing Came with a joke; "Blaze away, Johnny! I'll do the smoke."
"And I'll do the fire," Said Johnny the bold. "Fun is the fuel For driving off cold."
[Page 86--Play Land]
Training Time
Supper is over, Now for fun, This is the season Children must run;
Papa is reading; Says, of these boys; "Pray did you ever Hear such a noise?"
Riding on "camels" Over the floor, See, one's a squirrel Climbing the door;
There goes the baby Flat on his nose, Brother was trying To tickle his toes.
Little he minds it, Though he would cry, Changed it to laughter As Lyn galloped by;
Order is nowhere, Fun is the rule; Think, they are children Just out of school.
Home is their palace; They are the kings Let them be masters, Of just a few things;
Only one short hour Out of all day, Give them full freedom; Join in their play.
Do not be angry Do not forget You liked to make noise Sometimes do yet;
Home will be sweeter Till life is done If you will give them An hour of fun.
[Page 87--Play Land]
Playtime
Play-time, play-time, hurrah! Out in the fields together! Don't let us lose a moment's time, This fine, bright, glorious weather.
Run, boys! Run, boys! faster! Ball and the bats for cricket; Jack, you're the fastest runner here, Be off, and pitch the wicket.
Football for those who choose-- The goal stick--go, Jim, fix it; Give us the ball; who's won the toss? Now, for the first who kicks it.
No lazy ones today; Off, stretch your legs running! Now for the hip, hip, hip, hurrah! And let the noise be stunning.
Hear how it echoes round! Another and another! No fear of noise, it won't disturb Old granny and poor mother.
Hullo there! no foul play! Dick, what is that you're saying? No bad words and no cruel sport; We're come for fun and playing.
Romping
Why now, my dear boys, this is always the way, You can't be contented with innocent play; But this sort of romping, so noisy and high, Is never left off till it ends in a cry.
What! are there no games you can take a delight in, But kicking and knocking, and tearing, and fighting? It is a sad thing to be forced to conclude That boys can't be merry, without being rude.
Now what is the reason you never can play Without snatching each other's playthings away? Would it be any hardship to let them alone, When every one of you has toys of his own?
I often have told you before, my dear boys, That I do not object to your making a noise; Or running and jumping about, anyhow, But fighting and mischief I cannot allow.
So, if any more of these quarrels are heard, I tell you this once, and I'll keep to my word, I'll take every marble, and spintop and ball, And not let you play with each other at all.
Nurse's Song
When the voices of children are heard on the green, And laughing is heard on the hill, My heart is at rest within my breast, And everything else is still.
"Then come home my children, the sun is gone down And the dews of the night arise; Come, come, leave off play, and let us away, Till the morning appears in the skies."
"No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, And we cannot go to sleep; Besides in the sky the little birds fly, And the hills are covered with sheep."
"Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, And then go home to bed." The little ones leaped, and shouted and laughed, And all the hills echoed.
W. Blake
[Page 88--Play Land]
Swinging
Here we go on the garden swing, Under the chestnut tree. Up in the branches birdies sing Songs to Baby and me, Baby and Kitty and me. Then up, high up, for the ropes are long, And down, low down, for the branch is strong.
And there's room on the seat for three, Just Baby and Kitty and me Merrily swinging, Merrily singing, Under the chestnut tree.
Up to the clustering leaves we go, Down we sweep to the grass, Touching the daisies there below, Bowing to let us pass, Smiling to us as we pass. Then up, high up, for the ropes are long, And down, low down, for the branch is strong.
And there's room on the seat for three, Just Baby and Kitty and me Merrily swinging, Merrily singing, Under the chestnut tree.
Skating
One day it chanced that Miss Maud did meet The poet's little son, "I'm going skating, Sir," she said; "And so am I," said John.
"If you can skate and I can skate, Why let me skate with you, We'll go the whole world round and round, And skate the whole year through."
They skated left, and skated right, Miss Maud and little John, That is--as long as there was ice For them to skate upon.
And then they did unstrap their skates Like other girls and men, And never used them once--until They put them on again!
The Skipping Rope
Lessons now at last are over, Books and slates are put away; Hymns attentively repeated, Copy without a blot completed, Now's the time for fun and play.
Lessons done with cheerful spirit Bring the sure reward of merit, Smiling face and heart so gay; In this bright and smiling weather, Merrily they all together, With the skipping rope will play;
And if only Tom and Polly Will come too, it will be jolly! Here they are now, foot it lightly, Hand in hand they skip so sprightly, Bees are humming, Summer's coming.
Birds are singing as they're bringing Twigs from many a distant tree; Lined with down, and moss, and feather, Where they'll sit and chirp together, Oh! how snug those homes will be!
O'er the ropes so lightly skipping, O'er the grass so lightly tripping, The children are as glads as they. Lessons are done with cheerful spirit, Bring the sure reward of merit;
And remember, too, that they Who work hardest day by day, Always most enjoy their play.
[Page 89--Play Land]
The Baby's Debut
My brother Jack was nine in May, And I was eight on New Year's day; So in Kate Wilson's shop Papa (he's my papa and Jack's) Bought me, last week, a doll of wax, And brother Jack a top.
Jack's in the pouts, and this it is, He thinks mine came to more than his; So to my drawer he goes, Takes out the doll, and, O, my stars! He pokes her head between the bars, And melts off half her nose!
Quite cross, a bit of string I beg, And tie it to his peg-top's peg, And bang with might and main, It's head against the parlor door: Off flies the head, and hits the floor, And breaks a window-pane.
This made him cry with rage and spite: Well, let him cry, it serves him right. A pretty thing, forsooth! If he's to melt, all scalding hot. Half my doll's nose, and I am not To draw his peg-top's tooth!
Aunt Hannah heard the window break, And cried "O naughty Nancy Lake, Thus to distress your aunt: No Drury-lane for you to-day!" And while papa said "Pooh, she may!" Mamma said "No she sha'n't!"
Well, after many a sad reproach, They got into a hackney coach, And trotted down the street. I saw them go: one horse was blind, The tails of both hung down behind, Their shoes were on their feet.
The chaise in which poor brother Bill Used to be drawn to Pentonville, Stood in the lumber-room: I wiped the dust from off the top, While molly mopp'd it with a mop, And brush'd it with a broom.
My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes, Came in at six to black the shoes, (I always talk to Sam:) So what does he, but takes, and drags Me in the chaise among the flags, And leaves me where I am.
My father's walls are made of brick, But not so tall and not so thick As these; and, goodness me! My father's beams are made of wood, But never, never half so good As those that now I see.
What a large floor! 'tis like a town! The carpet, when they lay it down, Won't hide it, I'll be bound; And there's a row of lamps!--my eye! How they do blaze! I wonder why They keep them on the ground.
Let the Child Play
He who checks a child with terror, Stops its play and stills its song, Not alone commits an error But a great and grievous wrong.
Give it play, and never fear it; Active life is no defect. Never, never break its spirit; Curb it only to direct.
Would you stop the flowing river, Thinking it would cease to flow? Onward in must flow forever; Better teach it where to go.
[Page 90--Reading Land]
Reading
"And so you do not like to spell, Mary, my dear, oh, very well: 'Tis dull and troublesome,' you say, And you had rather be at play.
"Then bring me all your books again; Nay, Mary, why do you complain? For as you do not choose to read, You shall not have your books, indeed.
"So, as you wish to be a dunce, Pray go and fetch me them at once; For if you will not learn to spell, 'Tis vain to think of reading well.
"Do you not think you'll blush to own When you become a woman grown, Without one good excuse to plead, That you have never learnt to read?"
"Oh, dear mamma," said Mary then, "Do let me have my books again; I'll not fret any more indeed, If you will let me learn to read."
Jane Taylor
Mrs Grammar's Ball
Mrs Grammar once gave a fine ball To the nine different parts of our speech; To the short and the tall, To the stout and the small, There were pies, plums and puddings for each.
And first little Articles came, In a hurry to make themselves known-- Fat A, An, and The; But none of the three Could stand for a minute alone.
The Adjectives came to announce That their dear friends the Nouns were at hand, Rough, rougher and roughest, Tough, tougher and toughest, Fat, merry, good-natured and grand.
The Nouns were indeed on their way, Tens of thousands, and more, I should think; For each name we could utter, Shop, shoulder, or shutter, Is a noun: lady, lion or link.
The Pronouns were hastening fast To push the Nouns out of their places: I, thou, he, and she, You, it, they, and we, With their sprightly intelligent faces.
Some cried out, "Make way for the Verbs! A great crowd is coming in view!" To light and to smile, To fight and to bite, To be, and to have, and to do.
The Adverbs attended on the Verbs, Behind as their footmen they ran; As this, "to fight badly," And "run away gladly," Shows how fighting and running were done.
Prepositions came in, by, and near; With Conjunctions, a wee little band, As either you or he, But neither I nor she; They held their great friends by the hand.
Then, too, with a hip, hip, hurrah! Rushed in Interjections uproarious; Dear me! well-a-day! When they saw the display, "Ha! Ha!" they all shouted out, "glorious!"
But, alas! what misfortunes were nigh! While the fun and the feasting pleased each, Pounced on them at once A monster--a Dunce! And confounded the nine parts of speech!
Help! friends! to the rescue! on you For aid Verb and Article call; Oh! give your protection To poor Interjection, Noun, Pronoun, Conjunction, and all!
Grammar In Rhyme
Three little words we often see, And Article, a, an, the.
Noun's the name of anything, As school or garden, hoop or string.
Adjective tells the kind of noun, As great, small, pretty, white or brown.
Instead of nouns, the Pronoun stand John's head, his face, my arm, your hand.
Verbs tell us of something being done, To read, write, count, sing, jump, or run.
How things are done, the Adverbs tell, As slowly, quickly, ill, or well.
A Preposition stands before A noun, as in or through a door.
Conjunctions join the nouns together as men and children, wind and weather.
The Interjection shows surprise, As Oh, how pretty! Ah, how wise!
The whole are called nine parts of speech, Which reading, writing, speaking teach.
Value of Reading
The poor wretch who digs the mine for bread, Or ploughs so that others may be fed,-- Feels less fatigue, than that decreed To him that cannot think or read!
Hannah More
[Page 91--Reading Land]
[Page 92--Writing Land]
Little Flo's Letter
A sweet little baby brother Had come to live with Flo, And she wanted it brought to the table, That it might eat and grow. "It must wait a while," said grandma, In answer to her plea, "For a little thing that hasn't teeth Can't eat like you and me."
"Why hasn't it got teeth, grandma?" Asked Flo in great surprise, "O my, but isn't it funny?-- No teeth, but nose and eyes. "I guess," after thinking gravely, They must have been forgot. Can't we buy him some like grandpa's? I'd like to know why not."
That afternoon, to the corner, With paper, and pen, and ink, Went Flo, saying, "Don't talk to me; If you do, it'll 'sturb my think. I'm writing a letter, grandma, To send away to-night, An' 'cause it's very 'portant, I want to get it right."
At last the letter was finished, A wonderful thing to see, And directed to "God, in Heaven." Please read it over to me," Said little Flo to her grandma, "To see if it's right, you know." And here is the letter written To God by little Flo:--
"Dear God: The baby you brought us Is awful nice and sweet, But 'cause you forgot his tooffies The poor little thing can't eat. That's why I'm writing this letter, A purpose to let you know. Please come and finish the baby, That's all--From Little Flo."
Eben. E. Rexford
Exercise Makes Perfect
True ease in writing Comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest Who have learned to dance.
Pope
Hurrah for the Postman
Hurrah for the postman Who brings us the news! What a lot it must take To pay for his shoes.
For he walks many miles Each day of the week, And though he would like to, Must not stay to speak.
Red stripes round his blue cap, With clothing to match it; If he lost any letters, Oh, wouldn't he catch it!
Two Letters
FIRST
Dear Grandmamma--I write to say (And you'll be glad, I know,) That I am coming, Saturday, To spend a week or so.
I'm coming, too, without mamma, You know I'm eight years old! And you shall see how good I'll be, To do as I am told.
I'll help you lots about your word-- There's so much I can do-- I'll weed the garden, hunt for eggs, And feed the chickens, too.
And maybe I will be so good You'll keep me there till fall; Or, better still, perhaps you'll say I can't go home at all!
Now grandmamma, please don't forget To meet me at the train, For I'll be sure to come--unless It should cloud up and rain!
SECOND
Dear Mamma--Please put on your things, And take the next express; I want to go back home again-- I'm very sick, I guess!
My grandma's very good to me, But grandma isn't you; And I forgot, when I came here, I'd got to sleep here, too!
Last night I cried myself to sleep, I wanted you so bad! To day, I cannot play or eat, I feel so very sad.
Please, mamma, come, for I don't see How I can bear to wait! You'll find me, with my hat and sack Out by the garden gate.
And grandma will not care a bit If you should come, I know; Because I am your own little girl, And I do love you so.
Nell's Letter
Dear Grandmamma, I will try to write A very little letter; If I don't spell the words all right, Why next time I'll do better.
My little rabbit is alive, And likes his milk and clover, He likes to se me very much, But is afraid of Rover.
I have a dove as white as snow, I hall her "Polly Feather"; She flies and hops about the yard, In every kind of weather.
The hens are picking off the grass, And singing very loudly; While our old peacock struts about, And shows his feathers proudly.
I think I'll close my letter now, I've nothing more to tell; Please answer soon, and come to see Your loving, little Nell.
Baby's Letter to Uncle
Dear Old Uncle--I dot oor letter; My dear mamma, she ditten better; She every day a little bit stronger, Don't mean to be sick very much longer.
Dear little baby had a bad colic; Had to take three drops of nassy palagolic. Toot a dose of tatnip--felt worse as ever; Shan't tate no mors tytnip, never!
Wind on tomit, felt pooty bad; Worse fit of sickness ever I had! Ever had stomit ate, ole uncle Bill? Ain't no fun, now, say what oo will.
I used to sleep all day, and cry all night; Don't do it now, 'cause it ain't yite. Got a head of hair jess as black as night And big boo eyes, yat look very bright.
My mamma say, never did see Any ozzer baby half as sweet as me. Grandma come often, aunt Sarah, too; Baby loves zem, baby loves oo.
Baby sends a pooty kiss to his uncles all, Aunties and cousins, big folks and small. Can't say any more, so dood by-- Bully old uncle wiz a glass eye!
The First Letter
"Did you ever get a letter? I did the other day. It was in a real envelope, And it came a long, long way.
A stamp was in the corner And some printing when it came, And the one that wrote the letter Had put 'Miss' before my name.
Then there came a lot more written, I forget now what it read, But it told the office people Where I lived, mamma said.
Don't you s'pose those letter-persons, If they hadn't just been told, Would have thought 'twas for a lady Who was awful, awful old?
For it looked real big and heavy, The outside was stuck with glue, So they couldn't know I'm little, I don't think they could. Do you?"
Youth's Companion
[Page 93--Writing Land]
I'm Going to Write to Papa
I'm going to write to papa, I guess he'd like to hear What his little girl is doing, The same as when he is near;
I'll tell him how I miss him, And how I'd wish he'd come, And never, never, leave us, But always stay at home.
I'll tell him 'bout my dolly, She's sleeping on the floor, I fear that noise will wake her, Oh! please don't slam the door.
For I must not be bothered, That's just what ma would say, When she begins a letter, And sends me off to play.
I'll send him lots of kisses, And one bright shining curl, I'll ask him to remember His lonely little girl;
I want so much to see him, But I won't cry a wink, Cause when I write my letter, The tears would blot my ink.
I'm going to write to papa, And oh! how glad he'll be. To get a little letter That was written all by me.
Old Letters
I gaze upon ye, once again, Old records of the past, And o'er the dim and faded lines My tears are falling fast;
I deem'd not there was a power yet, In these few simple words, To stir within my quiet heart Such old familiar chords.
Ye bring me back mine early dreams-- Oh, but to dream them now, With childhood's fresh, unwearied heart, And pure unsadden'd brow!
The loved--the lost--the changed-- The dead--all these we conjure up, And mingled in the draught That lies in memory's magic cup.
Old letters--sad mementoes ye, Of friendship's shatter'd chain, Oh! that the hand these pages traced, My own might clasp again.
They tell me yet of early love, Of feelings glad and gay, Of childhood's April hopes and fears-- The writers, where are they?
Time's changes are for deeper things Than folly's vain pursuit, Spring blossoms fade, to leave a place For autumn's ripen'd fruit.
Look back upon the buried past, But not with vain regret, Be grateful for the many joys That bloom around thee yet.
Bend heavenward thine onward course, That years of coming age May leave an impress in life's book, Pure as its opening page!
Papa's Letter
I was sitting in my study, Writing letters, when I heard: "Please, dear mamma, Mary told me That you mustn't be disturbed.
But I'se tired of the kitty, Want some ozzer thing to do. Writing letters is 'ou mamma? Tan't I write a letter, too?"
"Not now, darling, mamma's busy; Run and play with kitty now." "No--no mamma; me wite letter, Ten you will show me how."
I would paint my darling's portrait, As his sweet eyes searched my face-- Hair of gold and eyes of azure, Form of childish witching grace.
But the eager face was clouded, As I slowly shook my head, Till I said: "I'll make a letter, Of you, darling boy, instead."
So I parted back the tresses From his forehead high and white, And a stamp in sport I pasted, 'Mid its waves of golden light.
Then I said: "Now, little letter, Go away and bear good news," And I smiled as down the staircase Clattered loud the little shoes.
Leaving me, the darling hurried Down to Mary in his glee: "Mamma's witting lots of letters; I'se a letter, Mary, see."
No one heard the little prattler, As once more he climbed the stair. Reached his little cap and tippet, Standing on the table there.
No one heard the front door open, No one saw the golden hair, As it floated o'er his shoulders On the crisp October air.
Down the street the baby hastened, Till he reached the office door: "I'se a letter, Mr. Postman, Is there room for any more?
'Cause this letter's going to papa; Papa lives with God, 'ou know: Mamma sent me for a letter; Does 'ou fink at I tan do?"
But the clerk in wonder answered, "Not to-day, my little man;" "Den I'll find anozzer office, 'Cause I must go if I tan."
Fain the clerk would have detained him, But the pleading face was gone, And the little feet were hastening, By the busy crowd swept on.
Suddenly the crowd was parted, People fled to left and right, As a pair of maddened horses At that moment dashed in sight.
No one saw the baby figure, No one saw the golden hair, Till a voice of frightened sweetness Rang out on the autumn air.
'Twas too late: a moment only Stood the beauteous vision there: Then the little face lay lifeless Covered o'er with golden hair.
Rev'rently they raised my darling, Brushed away the curls of gold, Saw the stamp upon the forehead Growing now so icy cold.
Not a mark left the face disfigured, Showing where a hoof had trod; But the little life was ended-- "Papa's letter" was with God.
Bessie's Letter
I have got a letter, A letter of my own, It has my name upon it, Miss Bessie L. Stone.
My papa sent it to me, He's away from home--you see I guess the postman wondered Who Bessie Stone could be.
I'd like to send an answer, But I don't know how to spell; I'll get mamma to do it, And that will do as well.
A Little Boy's Valentine
Little girl across the way, You are so very sweet, I shouldn't be a bit surprised If you were good to eat.
Now what I'd like if you would too, Would be to go and play-- Well, all the time, and all my life, On your side of the way.
I don't know anybody yet On your side of the street, But often I look over there And watch you--you're so sweet.
When I am big, I tell you what, I don't care what they say, I'll go across--and stay there, too, On your side of the way.
Letter Writing
Heaven first taught letters For some wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, Or some captive maid.
They live, they speak, They breathe what love inspires, Warm from the soul, And faithful to its fires;
The virgin's wish Without her fears impart, Excuse the blush, And pour out all the heart--
Speed the soft intercourse From soul to soul, And waft a sigh From Indus to the pole.
Boil it Down
Whatever you have to say my friend, Whether witty, grave, or gay, Condense as much as ever you can, And that is the readiest way; And whether you write of rural affairs, Or particular things in town, Just take a word of friendly advice-- "Boil it down."
Letters from Home
Letters from home! How musical to the ear Of the sailor-boy on the far-off main, When, from the friendly vessel drawing near, Across the billow floats the gentle strain, The words the tear-drops of his memory move; They tell a mother's or a sister's love; And playmates, friends, and sweetheart to him come Out to him on the sea, in letters from his home. How warmly there the tender home-light shines! What household music lives in those dear tender lines.
[Page 94--Writing Land]
Polly's Letter to Brother Ben
Dear Brother Ben, I take my pen To tell you where, And how, and when, I found the nest Of our speckled hen. She would never lay, In a sensible way, Like other hens, In the barn or the hay;
But here and there And everywhere, On the stable floor, And the wood-house stair, And once on the ground Her eggs I found. But yesterday I ran away, With mother's leave, In the barn to play.
The sun shone bright On the seedy floor, And the doves so white Were a pretty sight As they walked in and out Of the open door, With their little red feet And their features neat, Cooing and cooing More and more.
Well, I went out To look about On the platform wide, Where side by side I could see the pig-pens In their pride; And beyond them both, On a narrow shelf, I saw the speckled hen Hide herself
Behind a pile Of hoes and rakes And pieces of boards And broken stakes. "Ah! ha! old hen, I have found you now, But to reach your nest I don't know how, Unless I could creep Or climb or crawl Along the edge Of the pig-pen wall."
And while I stood In a thoughtful meed, The speckled hen cackled As loud as she could, And flew away, As much as to say, "For once my treasure Is out of your way." I did not wait A moment then: I couldn't be conquered By that old hen!
But along the edge Of the slippery ledge I carefully crept, For the great pigs slept, And I dared not even look to see If they were thinking Of eating me But all at once, Oh, what a dunce!
I dropped my basket Into the pen, The one you gave me, Brother Ben; There were two eggs in it, By the way, That I found in the manger Under the hay. Then the pigs got up And ran about With a noise between A grunt and a shout.
And when I saw them, Rooting, rooting, Of course I slipped And lost my footing, And tripped, And jumped, And finally fell Right down among The pigs pell-mell. For once in my life I was afraid; For the door that led Out to the shed
Was fastened tight With and iron hook, And father was down In the fields by the brook, Hoeing and weeding His rows of corn, And here was his Polly So scared and forlorn, But I called him, and called him, As loud as I could. I knew he would hear me-- He must and he should.
"O father! O father! (Get out, you old pig). O father! oh! oh!" For their mouths are so big. Then I waited a minute And called him again, "O father! O father! I am in the pig pen!" And father did hear, And he threw down his hoe, And scampered as fast As a father could go.
The pigs had pushed me Close to the wall, And munched my basket, Eggs and all, And chewed my sun-bonnet Into a ball. And one had rubbed His muddy nose All over my apron, Clean and white;
And they sniffed at me, And stepped on my toes, But hadn't taken The smallest bite, When father opened The door at last, And oh! in his arms He held me fast.
E. W. Denison
Writing
Little pens of metal, Little drops of ink, Make the wicked tremble, And the people think.
Value of Writing
Blest be that gracious power Who taught mankind To stamp a lasting image On the mind:
Beasts may convey, And tuneful birds may sing Their mutual feelings In the opening spring;
But man alone has skill And power to send The heart's warm dictates To the distant friend:
Tis his also to please, Instruct, advise, Ages remote, And nations yet to rise.
Crabbe
Use the Pen
Use the pen! there's magic in it, Never let it lag behind; Write thy thought, the pen can win it From the chaos of the mind.
Many a gem is lost forever By the careless passer-by, But the gems of thought should never On the mental pathway lie.
Use the pen! reck not that others Take a higher flight than thine. Many an ocean cave still smothers Pearls of price beneath the brine.
So thy words and thoughts securing Honest praise from wisdom's tongue, May, in time, be as enduring As the strains which Homer sung.
J. E. Carpenter
Power of the Pen
Beneath the rule of men entirely great, The pen is mightier than the sword.
Lord Lytton
Letters
Such a little thing--a letter, Yet so much it may contain: Written thoughts and mute expressions Full of pleasure, fraught with pain.
When our hearts are sad at parting, Comes a gleam of comfort bright, In the mutual promise given: "We will not forget to write."
Plans and doings of the absent; Scraps of news we like to hear, All remind us, e'en though distant, Kind remembrance keeps us near.
Yet sometimes a single letter Turns the sunshine into shade; Chills our efforts, clouds our prospects, Blights our hopes and makes them fade.
Messengers of joy or sorrow, Life or death, success, despair, Bearers of affection's wishes, Greetings kind or loving prayer.
Prayer or greeting, were we present, Would be felt, but half unsaid; We can write--because our letters-- Not our faces--will be read?
Who has not some treasured letters, Fragments choice of other's lives; Relics, some, of friends departed, Friends whose memory still survives?
Touched by neither time nor distance, Will their words unspoken last? Voiceless whispers of the present, Silent echoes of the past!
The Right Method of Composition
Never be in haste in writing: Let that thou utterest be of nature's flow, Not art's, a fountain's, not a pump's. But once Begun, work thou all things into thy work: And set thyself about it, as the sea About the earth, lashing it day and night: And leave the stamp of thine own soul in it As thorough as the fossil flower in clay: The theme shall start and struggle in thy breast, Like to a spirit in its tomb at rising, Rending the stones, and crying--Resurrection.
P. J. Bailey
[Page 95--Drawing Land]
[Page 96--Drawing Land]
Just cast your beautiful, your sparkling, your penetrating, your discriminating
Over this page, and read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest its Contents.
THE two greatest educating powers in the ancient world were Pictures and Poetry--the two greatest educating powers are pictures and poetry still, and pictures and poetry blended in an interesting manner is the intended educating feature of this PLEASANT-LEARNING-LAND, but my object in this place is to speak of pictures only, as perhaps the greatest of all educating powers, and to demonstrate that they are not sufficiently used for educational purposes. Firstly: pictures are in a universal language--when they are true to nature every person on the earth can understand them. Show a picture of a person or a bird, a horse or a house, a ship, a tree, or a landscape, and everyone knows what is meant, and this is why most of the peoples of the ancient world conveyed their ideas in picture language. FLETCHER, in his Cyclopedia of Education, says:-- "It has long been accepted as an axiom that the best explanation of a thing is the sight and study of the thing itself, and the next best a true picture of the thing." DRYDEN, speaking of poetry and painting says:--
"The poets are confined to narrow space, To speak the language of their native place; The painter widely stretches his command, His pencil speaks the tongue of every land."
Many writers, ancient and modern, have taught the great educational power of pictures. HORACE says:--A picture is a poem without words". SYDNEY SMITH says:--"Every good picture is the best of sermons and lectures." O. S. FOWLER says:--"A single picture often conveys more than volumes." W. M. HUNT says:--"From any picture we can learn something." HENRY WARD BEECHER says:--"A picture that teaches any affection or moral sentiment will speak in the language which men understand, without any other education than that of being born and of living." GARRICK, speaking of Hogarth, says:--
"His pictured morals mend the mind, And through the eye improve the heart."
But pictures are not only a means of education, for they bring pleasure, comfort, and education combined. STEELE says:--"Beautiful pictures are the entertainment of pure minds." G. P. PUTMAN says:-- "How many an eye and heart have been fascinated by an enchanting picture." CICERO says:--"The eyes are charmed by pictures, and the ears by music." JOHN GILBERT says:--"Pictures are consolers of loneliness; they are a sweet flattery to the soul, they are a relief to the jaded mind; they are windows to the imprisoned thought; they are books, they are histories and sermons, which we can read without the trouble of turning over the leaves." UGO FOSCOLIO says:-- "Pictures are the chickweed to the gilded cage, and make up for the want of many other enjoyments to those whose life is mostly passed amid the smoke and din, the bustle and noise of an overcrowded city." PANDOLFINI says:--Many an eye has been surprised into moisture by pictured woe and heroism; and we are mistaken if the glow of pleasure has not lighted in some hearts the flame of high resolve, or warmed into life the seeds of honorable ambition."
Many pictures, particularly portraits, by bringing up reminiscences, are a great source of consolation. In millions of houses the most-loved and treasured possession is the photographic album containing the likenesses of dear absent or departed friends. SHEE, writing of the soothing influences of the portrait, says:--
"Mirror divine! which gives the soul to view, Reflects the image, and retains it too! Recalls to friendship's eye the fading face, Revives each look, and rivals every grace: In thee the banished lover finds relief, His bliss in absence, and his balm in grief: Affection, grateful, owns thy sacred power, The father feels thee in affliction's hour; When catching life ere some lov'd cherub flies. To take its angel station in the skies, The portrait soothes the loss it can't repair, And sheds a comfort, even in despair." Or-- "The widow'd husband sees his sainted wife In pictures warm, and smiling as in life,-- And-- While he gazes with convulsive thrill, And weeps, and wonders at the semblance still, He breathes a blessing on the pencil's aid, That half restores the substance in the shade."
But it is more particularly with pictures as a direct means of education that I have to speak. MR. STEAD holds that in the coming education of the world the magic lantern will play a very great part, for through its aid you can portray any object you wish--pictures of scenery, of buildings, of distant countries, of the microscopic world, and in fact any kind of pictures you choose, in a most beautiful, life-like, interesting, and educational manner. I think and earnestly hope that MR. STEAD'S prediction will be fulfilled.
There are two other ways which I think that pictures should be used for educational purposes. Firstly, in books, as in this one, and secondly, on the walls of buildings--outside and inside if you like --but I will speak only of the inside in this paper. Why should not every room of every house be covered with pictures where it is not covered with furniture? In millions of rooms there is a great waste of opportunity. Many times I have thought why do they not have varying patterns of different scenery, etc, in the different rooms of the houses instead of the wall paper, with its uninteresting pattern perpetually repeated. There is no reason why a house of twelve rooms should not represent on its walls twelve different countries, or twelve histories of striking events, etc. Possibly this may take place later on. With respect to hanging pictures everywhere on the walls, it may be objected that it would be too expensive--so it would if they were costly pictures--but really good pictures are produced by the million now so cheaply, that the objection of expense vanishes. The walls can be covered now almost as cheaply with intellectual pictures as with unintellectual wall paper. SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS says:--"A room hung with pictures, is a room hung with thoughts." JOHN GILBERT says:--"A room with pictures in it, and a room without pictures, differ by nearly as much as a room with windows and a room without windows; for pictures are loopholes of escape to the soul, leading it to other scenes and to other spheres, as it were, through the frame of an exquisite picture, where the fancy for a moment may revel, refreshed and delighted."
I was convinced many years ago of the almost criminal waste of wall space, and issued the following doggerel lines, partly from trade and partly from sentimental motives:--
Every cottage, Two-roomed cottage, Should contain full Twenty PICTURES.
Every cottage, Four-roomed cottage, Should contain full Forty PICTURES.
Every cottage, Six-roomed cottage, Should contain full Sixty PICTURES.
Every villa, Eight-roomed villa, Should contain full Eighty PICTURES.
Every mansion, Ten-roomed mansion, Should contain a Hundred PICTURES.
Every large school For instruction Should contain a THOUSAND PICTURES.
Walls are made to Keep out weather And also to Display PICTURES.
Count your PICTURES All your walls on. See if you have Quite the number, You will want more You will wish more, You will get more Shouldn't wonder.
PICTURES they are Made to please you-- First to please you When you buy them; Next to please your Own dear children, Pictures please and Teach them too. Next to please your Friends and neighbours When they kindly Call on you.
They'll admire them, Then they'll praise them. Then that pleases You again. PICTURES please and Teach for ever, All the Children, Women, Men.
Even in the poorest houses pictures must always be a blessing. Many a poor man's cheerless home would be made much more comfortable and endurable if a few shilling's worth of good pictures were posted or hung round its bare walls. If houses were universally decorated with true speaking pictures what an immense influence for good it would bring them. What intellectual and refined tastes it would create and nurture. One most important thing in selecting pictures to cover the walls it to always choose good subjects. A poor picture takes up as much room as a good one, and generally costs as much. Always choose live speaking pictures that will interest and instruct. There is an immense multitude of poor, tame, an uninteresting pictures produced in the world, and which in millions of instances keep out the good ones. If these poor ones could be kept back or destroyed, and the best ones only take their place, the world would be better for it. In choosing materials to build up a bright, happy home, always select the best--the best books--the best music--the best pictures. In conclusion, there is one more suggestion I would make on the picture question, and I think it is the most important of all; it is that a good clear map of the world should be hung in every house in the world, to give every person an idea of the world they live in. For it is a most deplorable fact that ninety-nine out of every hundred of the inhabitants, even of the civilized world, have a very poor conception of the geography and ethnology of the world. And this should not be, for every person ought to have a clear idea of their world-fatherland, and of their fellow creatures, and a knowledge of the map of the world is the first lesson to be learned in that most desirable direction.
E W COLE, Book Arcade, Melbourne.
[Page 97--Drawing Land]
The New Slate
See my slate. I dot it new Cos I b'oke the other, Put my 'ittle foot right froo, Runnin' after modder.
I tan make you lots of sings, Fass as you tan tell 'em, T's and B's and O rings, Only I tan't spell 'em
I tan make an elephant, Wid his trunk a hangin'; An' a boy--who says I tan't? Wid his dun a bangin'
An' the smoke a tummin' out; (Wid my t'umb I do it, Rubbin' all the white about,) Sparks a flying froo it.
I tan make a pretty house, Wid a tree behind it, And a 'ittle mousey-mouse Runnin' round to find it.
I tan put my hand out flat On the slate and draw it; (Ticklin' is the worst of that!) Did you ever saw it?
Now, then, s'all I make a tree Wid a birdie on it? All my pictures you s'all see If you'll wait a minute.
No, I dess I'll make a man Juss like Uncle Rolly, See it tummin', fass it tan! Bet my slate is jolly!
[Page 98--Drawing Land]
Learning to Draw
Come, here is a slate, And a pencil, and string. And now sit you down, dear, And draw pretty thing; A man and a cow, And a horse and a tree, And when you have finished Pray show them to me.
What! cannot you do it? Shall I show you how? Come, give me your pencil; I'll draw you a cow. You've made the poor creature Look very forlorn! She has but three legs, dear, And only one horn.
Now look, I have drawn you A beautiful cow; And see, here's a dicky-bird, Perched on a bough, And there are some more Flying down from above; There now, is not that Very pretty, my love?
Oh, yes, very pretty! Now make me some more-- A house with a gate, And a window, and a door, And a little boy flying His kite with a string; Oh, thank you, mamma, Now I'll draw pretty thing.
[Page 99--Drawing Land]
A Lesson in Drawing
I.
Take a pencil, black or red. Draw a little loaf of bread On a piece of paper white-- Make the bread extremely light.
II.
Then, before your work you stop, Draw a little loop on top, And a satchel will be found Such as ladies carry round.
III.
Then you may, my pretty dears, Add a pair of little ears; And, if Art is not in fault, There's a bag of extra salt.
IV.
Pause, and in rapture fine, Contemplate the great design-- Add a flowing tail, and that Makes a perfect pussy cat.
[Page 100--Old Men Tales]
Old Man and His Wife
There was an old man who lived in a wood, As you may plainly see, He said he could do as much work in a day As his wife could do in three.
"With all my heart," the old woman said, "If that you will allow; To-morrow you'll stay at home in my stead, And I'll go drive the plough.
"But you must milk the Tidy cow, For fear she may go dry. And you must feed the little pigs That are within the sty;
"And you must mind the speckled hen, For fear she lay away; And you must reel the spool of yarn That I spun yesterday."
The old woman took a whip in her hand, And went to drive the plough; The old man took a pail in his hand, And went to milk the cow.
But Tidy hinched and Tidy flinched, And Tidy broke his nose, And Tidy gave him such a blow That the blood ran down to his toes.
"Hi! Tidy! Ho! Tidy! Hi! Tidy! do stand still! If ever I milk you, Tidy, again, 'Twill be sore against my will."
He went to feed the little pigs, That were within the sty; He hit his head against the beam And he made the blood to fly.
He went to mind the speckled hen, For fear she'd lay away; And he forgot the spool of yarn His wife spun yesterday.
So he swore by the sun, the moon, the stars, And the green leaves on the tree, If his wife didn't do a day's work in her life, She should never be ruled by he.
John Ball Shot Them All
John Ball shot them all. John Scott made the shot, But John Ball shot them all.
John Wyming made the priming, And John Brammer made the rammer, And John Scott made the shot, But John Ball shot them all.
John Block made the stock, And John Wyming made the priming, And John Brammer made the rammer, And John Scott made the shot, But John Ball shot them all.
John Crowder made the powder, And John Block made the stock, And John Wyming made the priming, And John Brammer made the rammer, And John Scott made the shot, But John Ball shot them all.
John Puzzle made the muzzle, And John Crowder made the powder, And John Block made the stock, And John Wyming made the priming, And John Brammer made the rammer, And John Scott made the shot, But John Ball shot them all.
John Clint made the flint, And John Puzzle made the muzzle, And John Crowder made the powder, And John Block made the stock, And John Wyming made the priming, And John Brammer made the rammer, And John Scott made the shot, But John Ball shot them all.
John Patch made the match, John Clint made the flint, John Puzzle made the muzzle, John Crowder made the powder, John Block made the stock, John Wyming made the priming, John Brammer made the rammer, John Scott made the shot, But John Ball shot them all.
The Funny Old Man
There was an old man, and though 'tis not common, Yet if he said true, his mother was a woman; And though it's incredible, yet I've been told He was a mere infant, but age made him old. Whene'er he was hungry he wanted some meat, And if he could get it, 'twas said he could eat; When thirsty he'd drink, if you gave him a pot, And his liquor most commonly ran down his throat. He seldom or never could see without light, And yet I've been told he could hear in the night. He has oft been awake in the daytime 'tis said, And has fall'n fast asleep as he lay in his bed. 'Tis reported his tongue always moved when he talked, And he stirred both his arms and his legs when he walk'd, And his gait was so odd, had you seen him you'd burst, For one leg or t'other would always be first. His face was the saddest that ever was seen, For if 'twere not washed it was seldom quite clean; He showed most his teeth when he happened to grin, His mouth stood across 'twixt his nose and his chin. At last he fell sick, as old chronicles tell, And then, as folk said, he was not very well! And what is more strange, in so weak a condition, As he could not give fees, he could get no physician. What a pity he died; yet 'tis said that his death Was occasioned at last by the want of his breath. But peace to his bones, which in ashes now moulder, Had he lived a day longer he'd been a day older.
Piper and His Cow
There was and old piper who had a cow, But he had no hay to give her, So he took his pipes and played her a tune "Consider, old cow, consider."
Old John Brown
Poor old John Brown is dead and gone, We ne'er shall see him more; He used to wear an old brown coat, All button'd down before.
Three Wise Men
Three wise men of Gotham, Went to sea in a bowl; If the bowl it had been stronger, My song would have been longer.
Frightened Old Man
There was a man and he had nought, And robbers came to rob him; He crept up the chimney pot, And then they thought they had him; But he got down on t'other side, And so they could not find him; He ran fourteen miles in fifteen days, And never look'd behind him.
A Man with a Wife
I had a little wife, the prettiest ever seen, She washed up the dishes, and kept the house clean; She went to the mill to fetch me some flour, She brought it home in less than an hour; She baked me my bread, she brewed me my ale, She sat by the fire and told me many a fine tale.
Crooked Old Man
There was a crooked man, And he went a crooked mile, He found a crooked sixpence, Against a crooked stile. He bought a crooked cat, Which caught a crooked mouse, And they all lived together In a little crooked house.
King Arthur
When good King Arthur ruled this land, He was a goodly King; He stole three pecks of barley meal, To make a bag pudding. A bag pudding the King did make, And stuffed it well with plums; And in it put great lumps of fat, As big as my two thumbs. The King and Queen did eat thereof, And noblemen beside; And what they could not eat that night The Queen next morning fried.
Barney Bodkin
Barney Bodkin broke his nose, Without feet we can't have toes, Crazy folks are always mad, Want of money makes us sad.
Funny Man
A man of words and not of deeds, Is like a garden fill of weeds; And when the weeds begin to grow, It's like a garden full of snow; And when the snow begins to fall, It's like a bird upon the wall; And when the bird away does fly, It's like an eagle in the sky; And when the sky begins to roar, It's like a lion at the door; And when the door begins to crack, It's like a stick across your back; And when your back begins to smart, It's like a penknife in your heart; And when your heart begins to bleed, You're dead, and dead, and dead indeed.
Strange Man
There was a man and he was mad, And he jumped into a pea-pod; The pea-pod was over-full, So he jumped into a roaring bull; The roaring bull was over-fat, So he jumped into a gentleman's hat; The gentleman's hat was over-fine, So he jumped into a bottle of wine; The bottle of wine was over-dear, So he jumped into a bottle of beer; The bottle of beer was over-thick, So he jumped into a club-stick; The club-stick was over-narrow, So he jumped into a wheel-barrow; The wheel-barrow began to crack, So he jumped into a hay-stack; The hay-stack began to blaze, So he did nothing but cough and sneeze.
[Page 101--Old Men Tales]
Jack Sprat
Jack Sprat could eat no fat, His wife could eat no lean, And so between them both They licked the platter clean. Jack ate all the lean, Joan ate all the fat, The bone they both picked clean, Then gave it to the cat.
When Jack Sprat was young, He dressed very smart, He courted Joan Cole, And soon gained her heart; In his fine leather doublet And old greasy hat, Oh! what a smart fellow Was little Jack Sprat.
Joan Cole had a hole In her petticoat, Jack Sprat, to get a patch, Gave her a groat. The groat bought a patch Which stopped the hole, "I thank you, Jack Sprat," Says little Joan Cole.
Jack Sprat was the bridegroom, Joan Cole was the bride, Jack said from the church His Joan home should ride. But no coach could take her, The road was so narrow; Said Jack, "Then I'll take her Home in a wheelbarrow."
Jack Sprat was wheeling His wife by a ditch, Then the barrow turned over, And in she did pitch. Says Jack, "She'll be drown'd!" But Joan did reply, "I don't think I shall, For the ditch is quite dry."
Jack brought home his Joan, And she sat in a chair, When in came his cat, That had got but one ear. Says Joan "I've come home, Puss, Pray how do you do?" The cat wagg'd her tail And said nothing but "mew."
Jack Sprat took his gun, And went to the brook; He shot at the drake, But he killed the duck. He bought it home to Joan, Who a fire did make, To roast the fat duck While Jack went for the drake.
The drake was swimming With his curly tail, Jack Sprat came to soot him, But happened to fail. He let off his gun, But missing the mark, The drake flew away Crying "Quack, quack, quack."
Jack Sprat to live pretty Now bought him a pig, It was not very little, It was not very big; It was not very lean, It was not very fat, "It will serve for a grunter," Said little Jack Sprat.
Then Joan went to market To buy her some fowls, She bought a jackdaw And a couple of owls; The owls were white, The jackdaw was black, "They'll make a rare breed," Says little Joan Sprat.
Jack Sprat bought a cow, His Joan to please, For Joan could make Both butter and cheese; Or pancakes or puddings Without any fat; A notable housewife Was little Joan Sprat.
Joan Sprat went to brewing A barrel of ale, She put in some hops That it might not turn stale; But as for the malt-- She forgot to put that; "This is a brave sober liquor." Said little Jack Sprat.
Jack Sprat went to market And bought him a mare, She was lame of three legs, An as blind as she could stare. Her ribs they were bare, For the mare had no fat; "She looks like a racer," Said little Jack Sprat.
Jack and Joan went abroad, Puss looked after the house; She caught a large rat, And a very small mouse, She caught a small mouse, And a very large rat, "You're an excellent hunter," Said little Jack Sprat.
Now I've told you the story Of little Jack Sprat, Of sweet Joan Cole And the poor one-ear'd cat; Now Jack he loved Joan, And good things he taught her, Then she gave him a son, Then after a daughter.
Now Jack has got rich, And has plenty of pelf; If you know any more you may tell it yourself.
Cross Old Man
There was a cross old man and what do you think, He lived on nothing but victuals and drink; Victuals and drink were his principal diet, Yet this crabbed old man would never be quiet.
He teased a poor monkey, who lived in a cage, Till the animal got in a terrible rage, And seized on his nose with finger so strong, That it stretched it until it was quite a yard long.
Old Man in the Moon
The man in the moon came tumbling down, And asked his way to Norwich, He went by the south, and burnt his mouth, With supping cold pease-porridge.
A Funny Man
There was a man of Newington, And he was wondrous wise, He jump'd into a quickset hedge And scratch'd out both his eyes. But when he saw his eyes were out With all his might and main He jump'd into another hedge. And scratched them in again.
Dr. Faustus
Doctor Faustus was a good man, He whipt his scholars now and then. When he did he made them dance Out of Scotland into France; Out of France into Spain, And then he whipped them back again.
If! If! If!
If all the would was apple pie, And all the seas were ink, And all the trees were bread and cheese, What would we have to drink? It's enough to make an old man Scratch his head and think.
Funny Men
Alderman Absolute Always Adjudicated with Astonishing Ability After he had read some books from Cole's Book Arcade.
Benjamin Bouncer Banged a Brown Bear with a Blunderbuss, In a lane at the back of Cole's Book Arcade.
Christopher Crabstick was Cross, Captious, Cutting, and Caustic, Whenever he could not get a book brought from Cole's Book Arcade.
Francis Fizgig Ferociously Fought and Frightened a Fiddler, At midday, right in front of Cole's Book Arcade.
Gregory Gimcrack Grinned and Gaped at the Geese and Ganders Exposed for sale in the Eastern Market, just above Cole's Book Arcade.
Horatio Headstrong Hurled a Hatchet at the Head of a Hawk Which sat on top of Cole's Book Arcade.
Isaac Ichabod Inhabited an Isolated and Inhospitable Indian Island, At an enormous and disheartening distance from Cole's Book Arcade.
Lugubrious Longface Loved Learning and Literary Lore, Which he always got out of the books he bought at Cole's Book Arcade.
Marmaduke Meddlesome Munificently Meted out Mercy to a Miserable Man Who stole a book at Cole's Book Arcade.
Obadiah Orpheus Opened an Original Overture Outrageously Oddly, With a small whistle and a big drum, in front of Cole's Book Arcade.
Quinton Querulous Queerly Questioned a Quibbling and Querulous Quidnunc, And asked Quizzingly if he had ever seen the inside of Cole's Book Arcade.
Reuben Ramble Ran a Ridiculous Rattling Race on a Railway, And beat the train in hasting to get a book at Cole's Book Arcade.
Theodore Thunderbolt Told Terrible and Tremendous Tales of Travelling, Which were afterwards printed in books and sold at Cole's Book Arcade.
Valentine Valiana Valorously Vanquished a Vapouring Villager, Who spoke ignorantly and slightingly of Cole's Book Arcade.
Xenophon Xenocles eXhibited eXtraordinary and eXcessive eXcitability Whenever he was not calmed down by books from Cole's Book Arcade.
Young Yokel, a Youthful Yorkshire Yeoman Yawned at York, For want of a few interesting and entertaining books from Cole's Book Arcade.
Zachariah Zany Zealously studied Zoology Out of the works which he bought at Cole's Book Arcade.
[Page 102--Old Men Tales]
Utter Nonsense
There was an Old Person of Prague, Who was suddenly seized with the plague, But they gave him some butter, which caused him to mutter, And cured that Old Person of Prague.
There was an Old Man with a gong, Who bumped at it all the day long, But they called out, "Oh, law! you're a horrid old bore!" So they smashed that Old Man with a gong.
There was an Old Man of the Isles, Whose face was pervaded with smiles, He sang "Hi dum diddle," played on the fiddle, That amiable Old Man of the Isles.
There was an Old Person of Dover, Who rushed through a field of blue clover; But some very large Bees stung his nose and his knees, So he very soon went back to Dover.
There was an Old Man of Quebec,-- A beetle ran over his neck: But he cried, "With a needle I'll slay you, O beetle!" That angry Old Man of Quebec.
There was an Old Man of Vesuvius, Who studied the works of Vitruvius; When the flames burned his book, to drinking he took, That morbid Old Man of Vesuvius.
There was an Old Person of Buda, Whose conduct grew ruder and ruder, Till at last with a hammer they silenced his clamour, By smashing that Old Person of Buda.
There was an Old Man of Marseilles, Whose daughters wore bottle-green veils, They caught several fish which they put in a dish, And sent to their Pa at Marseilles.
There was an Old Man of Coblenz, The length of whose legs was immense, He went with one prance from Turkey to France, That surprising Old Man of Coblenz.
There was an Old Person of Gretna, Who rushed down the crater of Etna; When they said, "Is it hot?" he replied, "No, it's not!" That mendacious Old Person of Gretna.
There was an Old Person of Bangor, Whose face was distorted with anger; He tore off his boots and subsisted on roots, That borascible Person of Bangor.
There was an Old Person of Spain, Who hated all trouble and pain; So he sat on a chair, with his feet in the air, That umbrageous Old Person of Spain.
There was an Old Man of the West, Who never could get any rest; So they set him to spin on his nose and his chin, Which cured that Old Man of the West.
There was an Old Man in a tree, Who was horribly bored by a bee; When they said, "Does it buzz?" he replied, "Yes it does! It's a regular brute of a bee!"
There was an Old Man who said, "How, Shall I flee from this horrible Cow? I will sit on this stile and continue to smile, Which may soften the heart of this Cow."
There was an Old Man of Calcutta, Who perpetually ate bread and butter, Till a great bit of muffin, on which he was stuffing, Choked that horrid Old Man of Calcutta.
There was an Old Man of the South, Who had an immoderate mouth; But in swallowing a dish that was quite full of fish, He was choked, that Old Man of the South.
There was an Old Person of Dutton, Whose head was as small as a button; So to make it look big, he purchased a wig, And rapidly rushed about Dutton.
There was an Old Man of some rocks, Who shut his wife up in a box; When she said, "Let me out," he exclaimed, "Without doubt You will pass all your life in that box,"
There was an Old Person of Rheims, Who was troubled with horrible dreams; So to keep him awake they fed him with cake, Which amused that Old Person of Rheims.
There was an Old Man with a flute, A "sarpent" ran into his boot; But he played day and night, till the "sarpent" took flight, And avoided that Man with a flute.
There was an Old Man of Berlin, Whose form was uncommonly thin; Till he once, by mistake, was mixed up in a cake, So they baked that Old Man of Berlin.
There was an Old Man of the Hague, Whose ideas were excessively vague; He built a balloon to examine the moon, That deluded Old Man of the Hague.
A horrid Old Gentleman from Monaghan, Sat down and refused to go on again, Till they gave him a crown for leaving the town, That wretched old humbug of Monaghan.
There was an Old Man if Nepaul, From his horse had a terrible fall; But, though split quite in two, with some very strong glue They mended that Man of Nepaul.
There was an Old Man of Aoster, Who possessed a large cow, but he lost her; But they said, "Don't you see she has rushed up a tree? You invidious Old Man of Aosta!"
There was an Old Man of the Nile, Who sharpened his nails with a file, Till he cuts of his thumbs, and said calmly, "This comes Of sharpening one's nails with a file!"
There was an Old Person of Rhodes, Who strongly objected to toads; He paid several cousins to catch them by dozens, That futile Old Person of Rhodes.
There was an Old Man of Cape Horn, Who wished he had never been born; So he sat on a chair until he died of despair, That dolorous Man of Cape Horn.
There was an Old Person whose habits Induced him to feed upon rabbits; When he'd eaten eighteen, he turned perfectly green, Upon which he relinquished those habits.
There was an Old Man with a nose, Who said, "If you choose to suppose That my nose is too long, you are certainly wrong!" That remarkable Man with a nose.
There was an Old Man of Apulia, Whose conduct was very peculiar; He fed twenty sons upon nothing but buns, That whimsical Man of Apulia.
There was an Old Man of Madras, Who rode on a cream-coloured ass; But the length of its ears so promoted his fears That it killed that Old Man of Madras.
There was an Old Person of Sparta, Whose had twenty-five sons and one daughter; He fed them snails, and weighed them on scales, That wonderful Person of Sparta.
There was an Old Person of Chilli, Whose conduct was painful and silly; He sat on the stairs, eating apples and pears, That imprudent Old Person of Chilli.
There was an Old Man of the East, Who gave all his children a feast; But they all ate so much, and their conduct was such That it killed that Old Man of the East.
There was an Old Man of Peru, Who never knew what he should do; So he tore off his hair, and behaved like a bear, That intrinsic Old Man of Peru.
There was an Old Man in a boat, Who said, "I'm afloat! I'm afloat!" When they said, "No you a'int!" he was ready to faint, That unhappy Old Man in a boat.
There was an Old Man of Bohemia, Whose daughter was christened Euphemia, But one day, to his grief, she married a thief, Which grieved that Old Man of Bohemia.
There was an Old Person of Basing, Whose presence of mind was amazing; He purchased a steed, which he rode at full speed And escaped from the people of Basing.
There was an Old Man on a hill, Who seldom if ever stood still; He ran up and down in his Grandmother's gown, Which adorned that Old Man on a hill.
There was an Old Man of Kilkenny, Who never had more than a penny, He spent all that money on onions and honey, That wayward Old Man of Kilkenny.
There was an Old Person of Perth, The stingiest fellow on earth; He fed--oh! 'twas cruel--on seaweed and gruel, This stingy Old Person of Perth.
A dogmatic Old Fellow of Shoreham, Would snub his companions and bore 'em, By flat contradiction, which was an affliction To the friends of this party of Shoreham.
There was an Old Person of Ischia, Whose conduct grew friskier and friskier; He danced hornpipes and jigs, and ate thousands of figs, That lively Old Person of Ischia.
There was an Old Person of Hurst, Who drank when he was not athirst; When they said, "You'll grow fatter!" he answered, "What matter?" That globular Person of Hurst.
[Page 103--Old Men Tales]
The Diverting History Of John Gilpin
John Gilpin was a citizen Of credit and renown, A train-bound Captain eke was he Of famous London town. John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, Though we have wedded been, These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen.
To-morrow is our wedding-day, And we then will repair Unto the "Bell" at Edmonton, All in a chaise and pair, My sister and my sister's child, Myself and children three, Will fill the chaise, so you must ride On horse-back after we.
He soon replied--I do admire Of womankind but one, And you are she, my dearest dear, Therefore it shall be done, I am a linen-draper bold, As all the world doth know, And my good friend the Calender, Will lend his horse to go.
Quoth Mrs Gilpin--That's well said; And for that wind is dear, We will be furnished with our own, Which is both bright and clear; John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife, O'erjoyed was he to find That, though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind.
The morning came, the chaise was brought, And yet was not allow'd To drive up to the door, lest all Should say that she was proud; So three doors off the post was stayed, Where they did all get in, Six precious souls, and all agog To dash through thick and thin.
Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, Were never folks so glad, The stones did rattle underneath As if Cheapside were mad; John Gilpin at his horse's side Seized fast the flowing mane, And up he got in haste to ride, But soon came down again.
For saddle-tree scarce reached had he, His journey to begin, When turning round his head, he saw Three customers come in; So down he came--for loss of time, Although it grieved him sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble him much more.
'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty, screaming, came down the stairs, "The wine is left behind." Good lack! quoth he, yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword When I do exercise.
Now, Mistress Gilpin, careful soul, Had two stone bottles found, To hold the liquor that she loved, And keep it safe and sound, Each bottle had a curling ear, Through which the belt he drew, And hung a bottle on each side, To make his balance true.
Then over all, that he might be Equipp'd from top to toe, His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, He manfully did throw, Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed, Full slowly pacing o'er the stones With caution and good heed.
But, finding soon a smoother road Beneath his well-shod feet, The snorting beast began to trot, Which gall'd him in his seat, So, "Fair and softly," John, he cried, But John, he cried in vain; That trot became a gallop soon, In spite of curb and rein.
So, stooping down, as needs he must, Who cannot sit upright, He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, And eke with all his might, His horse, who never in that sort, Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more.
Away went Gilpin, neck or nought, Away went hat and wig, He little dreamt when he set out Of running such a rig; The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, Like streamer long and gay, Till, loop and button failing both, At last it flew away.
Then might people well discern The bottles he had slung, A bottle swinging at each side, As had been said or sung, The dogs did bark, the children scream'd, Up flew the windows all, And ev'ry soul cried out, Well done! As loud as he could bawl.
Away went Gilpin--who but he, His fame soon spread around-- He carries weight, he rides a race! 'Tis for a thousand pound! And still as fast as he drew near, 'Twas wonderful to view How in a trice the turnpike men Their gates wide open flew.
And now as he went bowing down His reeking head full low, The bottles twain behind his back Were shatter'd at a blow; Down ran the wine into the road, Most piteous to be seen, Which made his horses flanks to smoke, As they had basted been.
But still he seemed to carry weight, With leathern girdle braced, For all might see the bottle-necks Still dangling at his waist; Thus all through merry Islington These gambols did he play, And till he came into the Wash Of Edmonton so gay.
And there he threw the wash about On both sides of the way, Just like unto a trundling mop, Or a wild goose at play. At Edmonton his loving wife From the balcony spied Her tender husband, wond'ring much To see how he did ride.
Stop, stop, John Gilpin!--Here's the house-- They all at once did cry, The dinner waits, and we are tired-- Said Gilpin--So am I; But yet this horse was not a whit Inclined to tarry there-- For why? His owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware.
So, like an arrow, swift he flew, Shot by an archer strong; So did he fly--which brings me to The middle of my song. Away went Gilpin, out of breath, And sore against his will, Till at his friend the Calender's His horse at last stood still.
The Calender, amazed to see His neighbour in such trim, Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, And thus accosted him:-- What news? what news? your tidings tell! Tell me you must and shall-- Say why bare-headed you are come, Or why you come at all?
Now, Gilpin had a pleasant wit, And loved a timely joke, And thus unto the Calender, In merry guise he spoke-- I came because your horse would come, And if I well forbode, My hat and wig will soon be here, They are upon the road.
The Calender, right glad to find His friend in merry pin, Return'd him not a single word, But to the house went in. When straight he came with hat and wig-- A wig that flow'd behind; A hat not much the worse of wear-- Each comely in its kind.
He held them up, and in its turn Thus showed his ready wit-- My head is twice as big as yours, They therefore needs must fit. But let me scrape the dirt away That hangs upon your face, And stop and eat, for well you may Be in a hungry case.
Said John, It is my wedding-day, And all the world would stare, If wife should dine at Edmonton, And I should dine at Ware. So, turning to his horse, he said-- I am in haste to dine, 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, You shall go back for mine.
Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast, For which he paid full dear; For while he spake, a braying ass Did sing most loud and clear, Whereat his horse did snort as he Had heard a lion's roar, And gallop'd off with all his might, As he had done before.
Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig; He lost them sooner than the first, For why? they were too big. Now, Mistress Gilpin when she saw Her husband posting down Into the country, far away, She pulled out half-a-crown.
And thus unto the youth she said That drove them to the "Bell"-- This shall be yours when you bring back My husband safe and well; The youth did ride, and soon did meet John coming back again, Whom in a trice, he tried to stop By catching at his rein.
But, not performing what he meant, And gladly would have done, The frightened steed he frightened more, And made him faster run; Away went Gilpin, and away Went post-boy at his heels-- The post-boy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road, Thus seeing Gilpin fly, With post-boy scamp'ring in the rear, They raised the hue and cry:-- Stop thief! stop thief!--a highwayman! An all and each that pass'd the way Did join in the pursuit.
And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space-- The toll-men thinking as before, That Gilpin rode a race; And so he did, and won it, too, For he got first to town: Nor stopp'd till, where he had got up, He did again get down,
Now let us sing: Long live the king, And Gilpin, long live he; And when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see.
[Page 104--Song Of The Book Arcade]
Books teach the children of men in many million schools; Books make the difference between earth's learned and its fools.
Song Of The Book Arcade
Cole's Book Arcade, Cole's Book Arcade It is in Melbourne town, Of all the book stores in the land It has the most renown,
It was the first, first Book Arcade That in the world was found; It's still the finest Book Arcade In all the world around.
A lovely rainbow sign appears Above the Book Arcade And 'tis the very grandest sign Was ever yet displayed.
Full forty thousand sorts of books Are stored within its walls, Which can be seen, looked at or bought, By anyone that calls.
The book you wish, the book you want, Is almost sure to be Found somewhere in the Book Arcade, If you will call and see.
(Our Australian Choir has Cockatoos, Laughing Jackasses, Native Bears, Platypusses, Black Swans, Emus, Magpies, Opossums, and Lyre Birds, also a BUNYIP to sing deep bass, all the other Animals in the World sing the chorus, each in his natural voice. The tune is "MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB.")
Value Of Books
BOOKS should be found in every house To form and feed the mind; They are the best of luxuries 'Tis possible to find.
For all the books in all the world Are man's greatest treasure; They make him wish, and bring to him His best, his choicest pleasure.
BOOKS make his time pass happily Through many weary hours; Amuse, compose, instruct his mind, Enlarge his mental powers.
BOOKS give to him the history Of each and every land; BOOKS show him human action's past-- The bad, the good, the grand.
BOOKS show him arts, laws, learnings, faiths Of every time and place; BOOKS show him how each thing is made Used by the human race.
[Page 105--Value Of Books]
BOOKS give to him descriptions of The world in which we live, Of the universe around us, And better still they give.
BOOKS give to him the greatest thoughts Of all the good and wise; BOOKS treasure human knowledge up, And so it never dies.
BOOKS show him all that men have done, What they have thought and said; BOOKS show the deeds and wisdom of The living and the dead.
BOOKS show him all the hopes and fears Of every race and clan; BOOKS clearly prove beyond a doubt The brotherhood of man.
BOOKS give him hopes beyond the grave Of an immortal life; BOOKS teach that right and truth and love Shall banish every strife.
BOOKS teach and please him when a child In youth and in his prime; BOOKS give him soothing pleasure when His health and strength decline.
BOOKS please him in his lonely hours, Wherever he may roam: BOOKS please when read aloud among His loving friends at home.
BOOKS like strong drink will drown his cares, But do not waste his wealth; BOOKS leave him better, drink the worse, In character and health.
BOOKS therefore, are, of all man buys, The choicest thing on earth, BOOKS have, of all his household goods, The most intrinsic worth.
BOOKS are the greatest blessing out, The grandest thing we sell, BOOKS bring more joy, BOOKS do more good Than mortal tongue can tell.
E. W. Cole
[Page 106--Old Woman Tales]
The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, She had so many children--such naughty ones too! She cried, "Oh, dear me, I don't know what to do, Who would be an old woman and live in a shoe?"
Once ninety little fellows sat down on the floor And lustily screamed, "We won't cry any more!" "Then stop crying now," the old woman said, "The noise you are making goes right through my head."
"Then she gave the boys broth without any bread, And whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed. She scolded the girls, and said, "Don't make a noise, Or you shall be served just the same as the boys."
[Page 107--Old Woman Tales]
Mother Goose
Old Mother Goose, when She wanted to wander, Would ride through the air On a very fine gander.
Mother Goose had a house, 'Twas built of wood, Where an owl at the door For sentinel stood.
She had a son Jack, A plain-looking lad, He was not very good, Nor yet very bad.
She sent him to market; A live goose he bought; Here, mother, says he, It will not go for nought.
Jack's goose and her gander They grew very fond; They'd both eat together, Or swim in one pond.
Jack found one morning, As I have been told, His goose had laid him An egg of pure gold.
Jack rode to his mother, The news for to tell, She call'd him a good boy, And said it was well.
Hack sold his gold egg To a rogue of a Jew, Who cheated him out of The half of his due.
Then Jack went a-courting A lady so gay, As fair as the lily, And sweet as the May.
The Jew and the Squire Came behind his back, And began to belabour The sides of poor Jack.
Then old Mother Goose That instant came in, And turned her son Jack Into fam'd Harlequin.
She then with her wand Touch'd the lady so fine, And turn'd her at once Into sweet Columbine.
The gold egg in the sea Was quickly thrown, when Jack gave a quick dive, And soon got it again.
The Jew got the goose, Which he vow'd he would kill, Resolving at once His pockets to fill.
Jack's mother came in, And caught the goose soon, And mounting its back, Flew up to the moon.
Old Woman under a Hill
There was an old woman lived under a hill, Put a mouse in a bag, and sent it to mill; The Miller declar'd by the point of his knife, He ne'er saw such a big mouse in his life.
Old Woman under a Hill
There was an old woman lived under a hill; And if she's not gone, she lives there still.
Old Woman and Three Sons
There was an old woman had three sons; Jerry, and James, and John. Jerry was hung, James was drowned; John was lost, and never was found; And there was an end of the three sons, Jerry, and James, and John.
Old Woman who Lived in a Shell
A little old woman, as I've heard tell, Lived near the sea, in a nice little shell; She was well off, if she wanted her tea-- She'd plenty of water from out of the sea.
Then if for her dinner she had the least wish, Of course she had nothing to do but to fish; So, really, this little old woman did well, As she didn't pay any rent for the use of the shell.
Old Woman Swallowed
There was an old woman called Nothing-at-all, Who rejoiced in a dwelling exceedingly small; A man stretched his mouth to its utmost extent, And down at one gulp house and old woman went.
Old Woman's Calf
There was an old woman sat spinning, And that's the first beginning; She had a calf, and that's half; She took it by the tail, And threw it over the wall, and that's all.
Old Woman Drowned
There was an old woman, her name it was Peg; Her head was of wood, and she wore a cork-leg. The neighbours all pitched her into the water, Her leg was drown'd first, and her head followed a'ter.
Old Woman of Stepney
At Stepney there lived, As every one knows, An old woman who had A plum tree on her nose!
The boys, while she slept, Would cautiously take The plums from her tree Before she could wake.
This old woman went One day to the lawn Of my Lord Cockagee, And there saw a fawn.
Having shot him, she tied His hind legs to her tree, And so quitted the lawn Of my Lord Cockagee.
She'd nearly reached home, When the constable came, And put her in prison For killing the game.
While locked in her cell, She thought again and again Of how to escape, But kept thinking in vain.
She considered each plan, Till she found out a way Of escaping the prison In the course of the day.
She cut the plum tree close off from her nose, And made a scarecrow, Dress'd up in her clothes;
This she set on a stool, With it's back to the wall, And watch'd near the door For fear it would fall.
Soon the jailor came in With her water and bread; He stared at the figure, While from prison she fled.
The old woman reached home, Singing diddle-dee-dee; And again on her nose There grew a plum tree.
[Page 108--Old Woman Tales]
Funny Old Women
There was an old person of Smyrna, Whose Granny once threatened to burn her; But she seized on the cat, And said "Granny, burn that! You incongruous old woman of Smyrna!"
There was an old lady of Bute, Who played on a silver-gilt flute; She played several jigs To her Uncle's white pigs, That amusing old lady of Bute.
There was an old lady of Ryde, Whose shoe-strings were seldom untied, She purchased some clogs, And some small spotted dogs, And frequently walked about Ryde.
There was an old lady of Parma, Whose conduct grew calmer and calmer, When they said "Are you dumb?" She merely said "Hum!" That provoking old lady of Parma.
There was an old lady of Troy, Whom several large flies did annoy; Some she killed with a thump, Some she drowned at the pump, And some she took with her to Troy.
There was an old person of Crete, Whose toilet was far from complete, She dressed in a sack Spickle-speckled with black, That ombliferous old person of Crete.
There was an old lady of Wales, Who caught a large fish without scales; When she lifted her hook, She exclaimed "Only look!" That ecstatic old lady of Wales.
There was an old lady of Clare, Who was sadly pursued by a bear; When she found she was tired, She abruptly expired, That unfortunate lady of Clare.
There was an old lady of Dorking, Who bought a large bonnet for walking; But it's colour and size, So bedazzled her eyes, That she very soon went back to Dorking.
There was an old lady of Russia, Who screamed so that no one could hush her; Her screams were extreme, No one heard such a scream, As was screamed by that lady of Russia.
There was an old lady of Norway, Who casually sat in a doorway; When the door squeezed her flat, She exclaimed, "What of that?" That courageous old lady of Norway.
There was an old lady of Chertsey, Who made a remarkable curtsey; She twirled round and round, Till she sank underground, Which distressed all the people of Chertsey.
There was an old woman of Anerley, Whose conduct was strange and unmannerly. She rushed down the Strand, With a pig in each hand, But returning in the evening to Anerley.
There was an old lady of Welling, Whose praise all the world was a-telling; She played on the harp, And caught several carp, That accomplished old lady of Welling.
There was an old lady of Turkey, Who wept when the weather was murky; When the day turned out fine, She ceased to repine, That capricious old lady of Turkey.
Old Woman who went up in a Basket
There was an old woman went up in a basket, Ninety-nine times as high as the moon; What she did there I could not but ask it, For in her hand she carried a broom.
"Old woman, old woman, old woman," quoth I, "O whither, O whither, O whither, so high?" "To sweep the cobwebs off the sky,-- And I shall be back again by and by!"
-----
There was an old woman of Prague, Whose ideas were horribly vague, She built a balloon, To examine the moon, That deluded old woman of Prague.
There was an old woman of Hull, Who was chased by a virulent bull; But she seized on a spade, And called out "Who's afraid?" Which distracted that virulent bull.
There was an old lady of Poole, Whose soup was excessively cool; So she put it to boil, By the aid of some oil, That ingenious old lady of Poole.
There was an old lady of Burton, Whose answers were rather uncertain; When they said "How d'ye do?" She replied "Who are you?" That distressing old person of Burton.
There was an old lady of Lucca, Whose lovers completely forsook her; She ran up a tree, And said "Fiddle-de-dee!" Which embarrassed the people of Lucca.
There was an old woman of Norwich, Who lived on nothing but porridge; Parading the town, She turned cloak into gown, That thrifty old woman of Norwich.
There was an old woman of Leeds, Who spent all her time in good deeds; She worked for the poor, Till her fingers were sore, That pious old woman of Leeds.
There was an old woman in Surrey, Who was morn, noon, and night in a hurry; Called her husband a fool, Drove the children to school, That worrying old woman in Surrey.
There was an old lady whose bonnet Came untied when the birds sat upon it; But she said "I don't care! All the birds in the air Are welcome to sit on my bonnet!"
There was an old lady whose nose Was so long that it reached to her toes; So she hired an old lady, Whose conduct was steady, To carry that wonderful nose.
There was an old lady whose chin Resembled the point of a pin; So she had it made sharp, And purchased a harp, On which to play tunes with her chin.
There was an old lady whose eyes, Were unique as to colour and size; When she opened them wide, People all turned aside, And started away in surprise.
There was a young lady of Hexham, Contradicted her friends just to vex 'em; She talked about horses, And rode on racecourses, This forward young lady of Hexham.
[Page 109--Strange History of Twenty-Six Funny Women]
Strange History of Twenty-Six Funny Women
Angelina Armstrong Abruptly Asked an Advertising Agent About an Alliterating Advertisement Appearing, Announcing An Astonishing, Admirable, Attractive, Agreeable, Artistic, And Advanced Australian Arcade. Meaning Cole's Book Arcade.
Bridget Bradshaw Bamboozled the Barber's Beautiful Baby By Bouncing it into Believing a Bandbox to Be a Big Book. From Coles Book Arcade.
Clarissa Cox Cautiously Crept & Caught with a Candle extinguisher a Congregation of Catterwauling Cats Conducting a Confounded Corroboree. On the roof of Coles Book Arcade.
Dorothy Dwight in the Dark Drew a Decidedly Delightful Drawing, Depicting a Dictating, Domineering Despot; a Desperate Despoiling Demogogue; a Disdainful Duchess Dowager; a Dainty, Dressy Dandy, and a Downright Double-Dealing Dodger. Which drawing can be inspected at Cole's Book Arcade by anyone who can see clearly in the Dark.
Eudocia Emul, the Eccentric Epicurian Empress of Ethiopia, Electrified the East End of Egypt by Eagerly and Easily Eating, as an Experiment, an Egg, an Eagle, an Emu, and Electrical Eel, and an Enormous Elephant, larger than the one Exhibited next to Cole's Book Arcade.
Fanny Fagan's Fine, Flossy, Fashionable Feathers Frequently Flopped, Flirted, and Flounced Forcibly From Fun. When she read some of the lively books from Cole's Book Arcade.
Georgina Gubbins Gently, Gracefully, Gravely, Grammatically, Graphically, and Grandiloquently Grumbled at her Great-Grandmother. Because she so seldom went to Cole's Book Arcade.
Harriet Hopkins Had an Habitual, Haughty, Harsh, Hasty, Huffy, Hateful, Hideous, Horrid, Headstrong, Heedless, Hysterical, Habit of Henpecking Her Husband at Home. When he would not take her to Cole's Book Arcade, to get a book on Saturday night.
Isabella Ingram Ironically Inquired of the Illustrious Imperial Indian If Idleness, Ignorance, Impudence, Intemperance, Intolerance, Inhumanity, and Infamy. Were the seven cardinal virtues. She was referred for an answer to the Instructive books in Cole's Book Arcade.
Jemima Jenkins, the Jerusalem Jewess, Judiciously Jotted Jokes in her Journal in June on her Journey through Judea to Jericho, beyond Jordan. [N.B.--Jericho, beyond Jordan, is about 10,000 miles from Cole's Book Arcade.]
Kate Kearney Kidnapped a Knave, a Knight, a Khan, a Kaiser and a King, and Kindly Kept them upon Ketchup, Kale, Kidneys, Kingfishes, Kittens and Kangaroos. She did not buy her cookery book at Cole's Book Arcade: he doesn't sell books showing how to cook Kittens.
Lucy Larkins Lately Let a Lovely, Lonely Lady Look Leisurely at a Large Live Lobster by the aid of a Lucid Little Lime-Light, Borrowed from Cole's Book Arcade.
Mary Muggin's Mother Made a Mighty, Monstrous, Mammoth, Monument of Marmalade jars; Mounted up, and Minutely Minced the Moon into a Multitude of Magnificent stars. [N.B.--About 300 bushels of said stars fell on top of Cole's Book Arcade and may be seen on application.]
Nancy Nuttall was a Nonsensical, Noodlesome, Nincompoopish, Namby-pamby, Numskulled, Needle-woman; Nevertheless, at Ninety-Nine she Neatly and Nimbly Nabbed in the Nuptial Noose a Notable Noble Nabob of Nagpoor. And directly after the marriage Nagged him into sending for books to Cole's Book Arcade.
Olivia Oliphant, of Omeo, ordered an Obstinate Old Organ-grinding Ostrich to Overwhelm with Oil an Olive, an Onion, an Orange, an Onion, an Orange, an Ocean, and an Oat. And then go to Cole's Book Arcade and get a book.
Papline Potts, a Poor, Penniless Peasant, Prettily, Pleasantly, Pathetically and Perfectly Played a Piece of music in a Parlour at a Pleasure-Palace to a Picked, Packed Party of Particular Personages, consisting of Peers, Peeresses, Princes and Princesses. The piece of music was bought Quarter-Price at Cole's Book Arcade.
Quintina Quirk Quarrelled with the Queer, Quaint, Quadroon Queen of Quito, and Quizzingly Questioned her Quivering, Quaking Quartermaster. If he was Quite sure he bought all his pens and pencils at Cole's Book Arcade.
Ruth Robertson's Rich Rival, Regardless of Right, Rhyme, or Reason, Recently Ran a Rapid, Rattling Race Round a Regiment of Royal Russian Red Republicans, Instead of Running into Cole's Book Arcade.
Seraphina Susanna Selina Sally Snooks, a Sober, Serious, Staid, Seraphic, and Sentimental Sailoress, Solicited a Situation as Superior Saloon Stewardess on the Splendid Spanish Steamship Salamanca, and Straightway Stipulated with the Sprightly Supercargo to Slyly and Suddenly Sail Southward at Sunrise for Six Shillingsworth of Select Stationery to Cole's Book Arcade.
Theresa Toodles Thatched a Trumpery Tipperary Theatre Three Thousand and Thirty-Three Times, and Then Took To Table-Turning and Table-Talking. But never Turned into nor Talked about Cole's Book Arcade until afterwards.
Urania Upton was Uncouth, Ungraceful, Unfashionable, Unladylike, Uninteresting, Unpresentable, and Ugly. She was Unpoetical, Unmusical, Unlearned, Uncultured, Unimproved, Uninformed, Unknowing, Unthinking, Unwitty and Unwise. She was Unlively, Undersized, Unwholesome and Unhealthy. She was Unlovely, Ungentle, Uncivil, Unsociable, Untameable, and altogether Unendurable. She was Unkind, Unfeeling, Unloving, Unthankful, Ungrateful, Unwilling, Unruly, Unreasonable, Unwomanly, Unworthy, Unmotherly, Undutious, Unmerciful, Untruthful, Unfair, Unjust and Unprincipled. She was Unpunctual, Unthrifty, Unskilful, Unready, Unsafe, Unfit, and totally Unprofitable. She was Unknown, Unnoticed, Unheeded, Unobeyed, Unloved, Unfriended, Unemployed, Unvalued, Unpopular, and actually Unpitied. She was Unsuccessful, Unfortunate, Unlucky, Unpaid, Unshod, Unfed, Unquiet, Unsettled, Uncertain, Undecided, Unhinged, Uneasy, Upset, Unhappy, and Utterly Useless. Until, by chance, she went to Cole's Book Arcade, and got some good instructive books, and now she is the very best person in Australia, and the best but two in the world.
Victoria Vincent Valiantly Vaccinated a Vapouring, Verbose Varmit of a Vulgar Villainous Vagabond, who Very Verdantly Ventured on a Versatile, Veteran, Valueless Velocipede to Visit the Viceroy of Venice, instead of Visiting Cole's Book Arcade.
Wilhelmina Wilkins Was a Worthy, Witty, Widow Washerwoman, Who Washed Woollen Waistcoats, Worsted Waistbands, and Water-proof Wrappers With a Washing-Machine, and lived Well upon Water-gruel; Whereupon William Watson, a Wide-awake Widowed Waterman, Wisely Walked With her--Whispered, Winked, Wooed, Won, Wedded, and Wafted her across the Wide Waste of Water Waves, and got her a Weird Waltz. Quarter-Price at Cole's Book Arcade.
Xantippe Xman, the eXiled eXqueen of the eXquimaux, eXceedingly eXcelled in eXerting an eXquisite eXactness in eXpense in general; but eXhibited the most eXceptional, eXtensive, eXtraordinary, eXcessive, eXtravagant, but eXcusable eXuberance. When she visited Cole's Book Arcade, to buy books.
Yellena Yellat, the Yellow Yahoo of Yokohama, Yawned Yesterday at Yon Yelping Yokel of the Yankee Yeomanry. And told him that he, being ignorant, should go at once and get educated at Cole's Book Arcade.
Zenobian Zoziman, the Zouave Zemindaress of Zululand, was no Zany, but rode on a Zanzibar Zebra, resided in a Zing-Zag Zenana, Zealously studied Zanyism, Zealotism, Zoology, Zoonomy, Zoophytology, Zoolatry, Zymology, Zincography And many other 'isms, 'ologies, 'olatries, 'ographies, etc., out of the works she bought at Cole's Book Arcade.
[Page 110--Forty Ways Of Travelling]
A Wonderful Search Journey by the 40 principal modes of travelling in The World, and a Prize of £1000 offered for a Flying Machine.
I have always been a man of one idea at a time, and that one idea I have followed with unwavering determination until success has rewarded my efforts. Now listen to my story:--A short time ago, much desiring to obtain a particular article, I determined to get it if it was possible to do so in this world, and so started on my search journey. I ran into Melbourne and asked
His Excellency the GOVERNOR of Victoria if he knew where I could get it, he said he did not but I might ask the RAJAH of Sarawak. I took ship to Sarawak, asked the Rajah, he said he did not know, but referred me to the MIKADO of Japan. I jumped into a boat, pulled to Jedo, asked His Dual Majesty, Lord Paramount of Japan, and head of the Sintoo Faith, he said he did not know, but perhaps the TYCOON of Japan did. I got into a jimriksha and was trotted away to the house of the unfortunate Tycoon, he said he could not help me, but referred me to the GREAT CHAM of Tartary. I jumped into a Chinese junk, bore away to Pekin and saw the Great Cham of the Celestials, "Son of Heaven," "Brother to the Sun, Moon and Stars," "Father of Mankind," "Governor of the World" and head of the Confucian Faith. He condescendingly said he did not know, but maybe the TIANG of Nankin could inform me; I took a sailing wheelbarrow to the Centre of Wise Learning, saw the head of the Taoist Faith, he could not tell me where to get it but perhaps the GRAND LAMA of Thibet could, I jumped on the back of a Yak, rode to Lassa, interviewed the head of the Buddhist Faith he said he wanted one himself, but did not know where to get it, go, says he, to the CZAR of Russia, present my compliments and ask him for one for yourself and one for me. I took passage in a reindeer sleigh to St.
Petersburg, saw the CZAR, he referred me to his brother monarch the KEIZAR of Austria. I jumped on a horse, galloped away to Vienna, saw the Keizar, he did not know, but I could try the QUEEN of England, I jumped into an electric train, made for the metropolis of the world, saw Her Royal, Imperial, and Republican Majesty the "Queen of England," "Empress of India," Sovereign of Canada, Australia, and forty other countries, the most powerful and beloved ruler of the finest race of men, and the largest, mightiest, and grandest Empire the world ever saw. I now said to myself I surely shall get the article I want from the vast resources of Her Majesty, but in answer to my query she politely remarked that she did not think I should get in her dominions, but was almost certain that I could get it from the CHIEF of the Greenland Esquimeaux, I rose up in a balloon, flew through the air across the Atlantic, saw the Chief, he could not say, but referred me to the VICEROY of the Dominion, I jumped on the back of a reindeer, trotted away to Ottawa, saw the Viceroy, he was positively ignorant on the subject and referred me to the Mormon PROPHET. Got into an ice ship,
[Page 111--Forty Ways Of Travelling]
slid away over the snow to Utah, saw the Prophet, he had heard of it but did not know where I should get it, but I might at least ask the SACHAM of the Flat-Head Indians, I jumped into a dog-sleigh, scampered away, hailed the
Sachem, but he did not know, but perhaps the PRESIDENT of Peru did, rode on a one-man sedan to the City of Earthquakes, saw the President, he did not know, but would I be so good as ask the EMPEROR of Brazil, I sprang on to the back of a llama, flopped away to Rio; the American Emperor said he did not know himself, but surely the SHEIKH of Timbuctoo ought to tell. I jumped into a canoe, crossed the Atlantic, reached the Negro city, asked the Sheikh, he said it was like my impudence asking him, how should he know such a thing? none of the traditions of the negro continent mentioned it, but if I thought such a thing existed I had better ask his Sublime Mightiness the SULTAN of Zanzibar, I jumped on the back of an ostrich, strode away to the
Isle of Beauty, saw the Sultan, he shook his head and referred me to the NEGUS of Abyssinia, I was carried rapidly in a head palenkeen on the heads of four negroes to Magdala, spoke to the Negus, he referred me to the KHEDIVE of Egypt, I got into a water-velocipede, trod away up the Red Sea to the city of the Pyramids, saw the Khedive, he referred me to the SHERIF of Mecca, I at once bestrode a donkey, cantered away to the Sacred City, asked the custodian of the Precious Tomb of the Great Prophet, the query nonplussed him, and he desired me to wait on the IMAUN of Muscat, I mounted a camel, ambled across to the hot city of the Imaun, he could not say but referred me to the RAO of Cutch, I made for Bhooj on a raft, spoke to the Rao, he had not got one, but referred me to the GUICOWAR of Gujerat and considerately lent me a pair of ten-feet stilts for the journey. I waded from the City of Dismal Swamps and finally reached Baroda on my stilts, saw the Guicowar, he had never heard of the article, but referred me to the HIGH PRIEST of the Parsees, I got into a sedan, was borne to Bombay, saw the head of the Parsee Faith, he had not the article, did not believe that it existed, as it was not mentioned in any of the sacred books of the Parsees, but finally referred me to the BIBY of Canonore, I mounted an Elephant stamped down the coast, addressed the Biby, she said it was the first time she had heard of the article, but the MAHARAJAH of Mysore might have one. I stepped into a palenkeen
[Page 112--Forty Ways Of Travelling] and four men trotted away to Mysore, the Great Rajah said he had not got one, perhaps the NIZAM of Hyderabad could assist me. I got into a horse-sedan, went to Hyderabad, saw the Nizam, he did not know and suggested the GRAND MAHUNT of Benares. I got into a horse-palenkeen, made straight for the
City of the Sacred Shrines, saw the head of the Hindoo Faith, he did not know where it could be got, but had I asked the THACKOOR of Bhrownnuggar? No!--or the Swat of Ackoond, or the Mudor of Cassala, or the Hospodar of Wallachia, or the Aboona of Gondar or the Patriarch of Constantinople, or the Archbishop of Canterbury? I said most decidedly not--that I would not waste my time consulting such insignificant magnates, then, says he, just you ask the GURO of the Sikhs. I jumped astride of a Bramah Bull, and trotted away to Amritsar; saw the head of the Sikh Faith, he had not got the article, had not heard of it, but advised me to apply to the AMEER of Afghanistan. I got into an ox dooly and at length reached Cabul, saw the Ameer, he had not got it, had not seen it, nor heard of it, did not believe the article existed, but the KHAN of Bokhara could speak more positively about it. I got into a Tocan or Hamockeen and was carried by two men to Bokhara, interviewed the Khan, he said it was absurd for the Ameer to send to him, he knew nothing about it, but the SHAH of Persia probably did. I got into a mule sleigh, glided away to Teheran, enquired of the Shah, could get no satisfaction, he never heard of it, was I sure there was such an article in existence? I told him that I wanted to find out, but I thought there must be somewhere. Oh, then, said he, try the CHIEF RABBI of Jerusalem. I got into a coach, tore away to the Holy City of the Jews, asked the head of the Jewish Faith, he had not one, I had better ask the PASHA of Damascus. I jumped astride of a bicycle, trundled away to the oldest city in the world; asked the Pasha, he could not say, I had better ask the EMIR of the Druses. I creeped up the Lebanon in a bullock-waggon, saw and asked the head of the Druse Faith, he referred me to the BEY of Tunis. I got on to a tricycle, rode to Tunis, saw the Bey, he could not tell, perhaps the POPE of Rome could. I jumped into a ship, made for the Eternal City, asked the head of the Christian Church, His Holiness could not tell, perhaps the GRAND SEIGNEUR of Turkey might. I stepped into a railway steam carriage, swept around to the Golden Horn; saw His Sublime Mightiness the PADISHAW, he
[Page 113--Forty Ways Of Travelling]
said that he had not got one and never heard of it; but when I described to him, in clear, concise and glowing terms, the real value of the article to the whole human race, he said that every person black or white, or brown, or yellow, or red, or any other colour whatever, in the world, should have one and that it was the duty of all Kings and Queens and Emperors, and Sultans, and Czars, and Keizars, and Khedives and Khans, and Shahs, and Ameers, and Deys, and Beys, and Great Chams, and Grand Lamas, to see that every one of their subjects obtained one without delay. I said those were exactly my sentiments; but where was it to be got. He again graciously assured me that he did not know, bit I might ask the GRAND MUFTI of Turkey, the fountain of all human knowledge, and custodian of the sacred Koran. I tore along in a goat-carriage, interviewed the head of the Mahometan Faith; but in answer to my query this Mighty Spiritual Magnate seemed taken aback; he affirmed that the Koran did not mention the article, and, therefore, he believed that it could not exist, but had I made a thorough search for it; had I tried the Dey of Algiers. I answered no! Had I tried the Doge of Venice--the Elector of Saxony--the Begum of Oude--the Stadholder of Holland-- the Peishwa of Poona--the Nabob of Bengal--the Caliph of Bagdad-- the Inca of Peru, or the great Mogul. I looked at the Grand Mufti in speechless astonishment; he might as well have asked me if I had enquired of Pharaoh or Nebuchadnezzer. I shook my head and rushed from his presence, completely nonplussed, bewildered, frantic. Where on earth was I to get the article? I had asked, and asked, and asked again, and was tired of asking. I had travelled fifty thousand miles by forty different modes of conveyance; consulted in their own capitals with thirty secular monarchs, governing three-fourths of the world; and I had with earnest, respectful enquiry approached the sacerdotal thrones of the spiritual monarchs of the eleven principal religions of mankind, and yet I could get no tidings of it. What was I to do? I was now standing in front of the great Mosque at Constantinople almost frantic with perplexity; some one approached and handed me a printed announcement. I read it! It sent an inexpressible thrill through me. I immediately took a steamer for Melbourne, landed there, jumped into a cab, went straight to Cole's Book
Arcade, and saw a drawing of the very article I had ransacked the world over to obtain, and what do you think it was? It was a FLYING MACHINE! I wanted a flying machine, Mr. Cole informed me that he had not got his machine to fly yet, and that in all the world a machine was not yet invented that would fly, but that, through the active and progressive ingenuity of the human intellect, such a machine was certain to be invented in the future, and as an earnest of his strong conviction he handed me a document, which ran as follows:--
October 31st. 1882
I, the undersigned, firmly believe that as man has already made machines to run over the land and float over the water faster than the swiftest animal, so shortly he will make machines to fly through the air as fast, and finally faster, than the swiftest birds do now. And I hereby offer a bonus of £1,000 to any person who shall (in consequence of said bonus) within the next two years invent a flying machine, to go by Electrical, Chemical, Mechanical, or any other means, except by gas, a distance of 100 miles, and shall come and stop in front of the Book Arcade, Bourke Street, Melbourne, Australia, as easily and as safely as a carriage stops there now.
--E. W. Cole
Cole's Flying Machine
A workable flying machine would be the grandest invention of the age. My offer may not bring it about, but suppose a shilling subscription was made throughout the civilised world; say twenty million people gave 1/- each. That would be one million pounds, and offer that as a bonus for a useful flying machine, that bonus, I am sure, would produce the article. The shillings would be well spent, and it would immortalise the twenty million people who put their names down.
[Page 114--Miss Cole's Aerial Flight in a Flying Machine]
My prophecy with regard to flying machines, as may well be seen by the original statement herewith, was made twenty-eight years before the French aviator brought his machine to Australia which was on 2nd November, 1910, or two weeks before his successful flight.
Subsequently Mr. Hammond flew over the city. He remarked: "I was to early for breakfast, and just thirty years too late to claim E. W. Cole's prize of £1,000."
I believe that the advance of flying machines will be so rapid that within the next decade they will be used with as much ease and safety as any other means of present locomotion.
I will further state that their utility will be so great as to enable China, with her three hundred millions, to succeed in taking correct statistics.
And eventually the velocity with which they will fly may materially assist in establishing the peace of the world and the Parliament of Man.
My prophecy with regard to flying machines was made in 1868, and the bonus of £1,000 (see previous page) was offered in 1882.
--E. W. Cole
The above are facsimiles of 16 of 50 of E. W. Cole's World Federation Motto-Medals.
Mr. H. Hawker, The Man Who Flew.
Mr. Hawker was born at Brighton, Victoria, on 22nd January, 1889. He went to England in 1911, returning to Victoria in 1914, after three years experience of aviation in England. He just missed the £5000 prize given by the "Daily Mail" for a flight around the British Isles, meeting with an accident off the coast of Ireland.
Miss Linda Cole
Whose Flight with Mr. Hawker attained 4000 ft.
Mr. E. W. COLE
Prophesied Flying Machines and lived to see one of his daughters fly, and thus fulfilled his prophecy.
Miss Cole Entering The Sopwith Biplane Preparatory To Flying
[Page 115--Miss Cole's Aerial Flight in a Flying Machine]
Miss Cole And Mr. Harry Hawker
Companions In Space
Our World surrounded by one of the latest Inventions of man--"The Flying Machine."
Aviation In Melbourne Passengers Accompany Harry Hawker To The Clouds.
It was Mr. E. W. Cole's enthusiasm and belief in the ultimate success of aerial navigation that induced Miss Linda Cole to fly with Mr. Hawker, the daring young aviator, at Elsternwick recently. Miss Cole was perfectly calm and collected when entering the biplane, and showed no signs of "nerviness." During the flight around St. Kilda, Brighton and Sandringham, and across the waters of Hobson's Bay, she conversed freely with Mr. Hawker, and commented on the panoramic views which unfolded themselves below. Miss Cole, having heard that Mr. Hawker had some intention of flying on a non-stop journey from Sydney to Melbourne--a distance of 500 miles--was most anxious to accompany him, provided the Sopwith biplane would carry two persons in addition to the tank of petrol which would, of course, be indispensable. Mr. Hawker, however, says he would not take a passenger should he undertake the journey. Miss Cole is most anxious for another sea flight, as she is of opinion that the power to see through the water to the bottom of the ocean is one of the utmost importance, as it would, in warfare, enable aviators to locate with accuracy mines in harbours and any other submerged dangers. Her most ardent wish is to become a lady aviator, and she is contemplating a trip to Europe to obtain up-to-date instruction in the aerial art.
The reason Miss Cole went up was because her father has always taken a great interest in aviation, and many years ago offered substantial prizes to constructors of airships. He has ever evinced great faith in the ultimate triumph of aerial navigation, and she is glad that his dreams are being realised. Miss Cole went up on Friday, on the thirteenth of the month. Friday and the number 13 are considered unlucky; but all big events in her life have been associated with the number 13.
Miss Cole Leaves The Aeroplane
After Having Experienced Her First Trip in the Art of Flying, at Elsternwick, on Friday, 13th February, 1914.
Minister Of Defence (Mr. Millen) Soars Aloft.
[Page 116--Various Early Types of Aeroplanes]
[Page 117--Various Early Types of Aeroplanes]
[Page 118--Girls Names]
This is perhaps the Choicest Collection of Girls' Names in the English Language
To the Reader.--I beg to make one very important remark upon this immense variety of girl's names, and that is:--Be sure and preserve the list carefully, as it will serve from which to choose names for your daughters up to the number of 555, without using the same name over again. P.S.--If you should be very, very lucky, and have more than 555 daughters, and want more names, call on Professor Cole, at the Book Arcade, Melbourne, Australia, and he will give you an extra list.
555 NAMES
Abigail, my father's joy Ada, happiness, rich gift Adah, ornament Adamena, red earth Adela, noble cheer Adelaide, noble cheer Adeleve, noble gift Adelia, of noble birth Adelina, noble manner Adeline, noble snake Agatha, good or honest Agnes, pure, holy, chaste Agneta, pure Alberta, female Albert Albina, white Aldgitha, noble gift Alethea, truth Alexandra, helper Alexandrina, helper Alice, a princess Alicia, noble cheer Alison, holy fame Almira, lofty Althea, wholesome Amabel, lovable Amalia, work, industry Amanda, worthy of love Amata, she that is loved Amelia, busy, energetic Amice, beloved Amicia, beloved Amy, beloved Anastasia, shall rise again Andromache, heroic fight Angel, angel Angela, angel Angelica, lovely, angelic Angelina, angel Angelletta, a messenger Angelot, angel Anisia, complete Ann, grace Anna, grace Annabel, grace Annabella, grace Annaple, grace Anne, grace Annette, grace Annice, grace Annor, grace Annora, eagle of Thor Annie, grace Anstace, resurrection Antoinette, small Antonia Antonia, inestimable Antonina, inestimable Arabella, eagle heroine Arbella, God hath avenged Athaliah, time for God Auda, rich Augusta, female Augustus Aurelia, golden Aureola, little, pretty Aurora, fresh, brilliant Averil, battle-maid Avice, war refuge Avis, war refuge Barbara, stranger Basilia, kingly Bathilda, battle-maid Bathsheba, 7th daughter Beata, blessed Beatrix, making happy Becky, noosed cord Bega, life Belinda (uncertain) Belle, oath of Baal Bellona, warlike Bernice, bringing victory Bertalda, bright warrior Bertha, bright, beautiful Bessie, God's oath Bessy, God's oath Bethia, life Beatrice, making happy Benedicta, making happy Betsy, oath of God Biddulph, ruling wolf Biddy, strength Blanche, white Bona, good Brenda, sword Bride, strength Bridget, shining bright Camilla, sacrificer Caroline, noble-spirited Carrie, noble-spirited Cassandra, love-inflaming Catharina, pure Catherine, pure Cecil, blind Cecilia, blind Cecily (or Cicily), blind Celia, female Coelius Celestine, heavenly Charissa, love Charley, man-girl Charlotte, noble-spirited Cherry, love Chloe, blooming Christabel, fair Christian Christiana, Christian Christina, Christian Clare, she that is fair Claribel, brightly fair Clarissa, rendering famous Clara, bright, fair Clarice, light Clara Clarinda, brightly fair Claudia, female Claude Clemeney, merciful, gentle Clementina, merciful Clementine, merciful Cleopatra, father's fame Colinette, Columba, dove Columbine, dove Constancia, firm, constant Constancia, firm Cora, maiden Cordelia, warm-hearted Cornelia, born Corinda, fair-maiden Custance, firm Cynthia, of Cynthus Cyrilla, lordly Damaria, little wife Deborah, bee Delia, of Delos Delicia, delightful Delilah, poor, small Di, goddess Diana, goddess Dinah, judgement Dionetta, of Dionysos Dolly, gift of God Dora, gift of God Doralice, gift Dorothea, divine gift Dorothy, divine gift Dowsabel, sweet, fair Drusilla, dew-sprinkled Dicia, sweet Dulce, sweet Duleibella, sweet, fair Dye, goddess Edeva, rich, gift Edith, happiness Edna, pleasure Effie, fair speech Ela, holy Elaine, light Elayne, light Elenor, light Elenora, light Elfleda, hail increase Elfrida, elf threatener Elinor, light Eliza, God's oath Elizabeth, God's oath Ella, elf friend Ellen, light Ellinor, light Ellis, God the Lord Elsie, noble cheer Elspeth, God's oath Emelin, work ruler Emily, work, industry Emlyn, work, serpent Emm, grandmother Emma, diligent nurse Emmeline, industrious Emmott, grandmother Enaid, the soul Enid, soul Eppie, soul Ermengarde, public guard Ernestine, earnest, serious Essa, nurse Essie, star Esther, good fortune Estienne, crown Ethel, noble, noble lady Ethelburga, protector Etheired, threatener Ethelind, noble snake Ethelinde, noble snake Etta, home rule Eucaria, happy hand Eucharis, happy grace Eudora, happy gift Eugenia, well-born Eugenie, well-born Eulalia, fair speed Eunice, happy victory Euphemia, fair fame Euphrasia, mirth Eva, life Evangeline, happy herald Eve, life-giving Eveleen, pleasant Evelina, little Eve Eveline, pleasant Eveline, little Eve Everhilda, battle-maid Fanny, free, liberal Faith, faith Faustina, lucky Felicia, happy Fenella, white-shouldered Fidelia, faithful Flora, flowers Florence, flourishing Florinda, pretty flower Frances, free, liberal Frederica, peace ruler Frediswid, peace, strength Frewissa, strong peace Gabrielle, God's hero Ganore, white wave Gatty, spear maid Genevieve, white wave Georgina, thrifty wife Georgiana, thrifty wife Geraldine, spear power Gerda, enclosure Gertrude, spear maiden Gill (or Gillet), downy Gillespie, bishop's servant Gillian, downy Gladuse, lame Godiva, divine gift Grace, grace, favour Griselda, stone heroine Guda, divine Gundrada, war council Gundred, war council Gunhilda, war heroine Gunnilda, war battle-maid Gunnora, war protection Gwendolen, white-browed Gytha, happy Hagar, a stranger Hannah, grace, gracious Harriet, a rich lady Hatty, home rule Havisia, war refuge Helaine, light Helen, light Helewise, famous holiness Henrietta, little Henry Henny, home rule Hepsy, my delight in her Hermione, of Hermes Hester, good fortune Hetty, little Henry Hilaria, cheerful, merry Hilda, battle-maid Honor, honour Honora, honourable Honoria, honourable Hope, hope Hortensia, gardener Huldah, a weasel Ida, happy, godlike Inez, chaste, pure Irene, peaceful Isa, iron Isabel, fair Eliza Isabella, fair Eliza Isadora, strong gift Isbel, God's oath Isobel, oath if God Isolde, fair Isolt, fair Izod, fair Jacintha, purple Jacobina, supplanter Jaquetta, supplanter Jacqueline, beguiling Jamesina, supplanter Jane, grace of God Janet, little Jane Jeanette, beguiling Jean, grace of God Jemima, a dove Jenny, grace of God Jessica, grace of God Jessie, grace of God Jezebel, oath of Baal Joan, the Lord's grace Jodoca, sportive Johanna, the Lord's grace Joletta, violet Joscelind, just Josephine, addition Josepha, addition Joy, joy Joyce, sportive, merry Judith (or Judy), praise Julia, soft-hearted Juliana, downy-bearded Juliet, downy-bearded Justina, just Kate, pure Katharine, pure Katherine, pure Kathleen, pure Katrina, pure Katie, pure Katrina Kester, Christ bearer Keturah, sweet perfume Kezia, Cassia Kissy, Cassia Kitty, Pure Laurinda, a laurel Laura, laurel Laurentia, laurel Lavinia, of Latium Leah, weary Leonora, light Letitia, gladness or mirth Lettiee, gladness Letty, truth Lilian, lily Lilly, lily Lizzie, oath of God Lora, laurel Lorinda, a laurel Lottie, noble-spirited Lotty, man Louisa, famous holiness Louise, an Amazon Love, love Loys, famous holiness Lucia, shining Lucilla, light Lucinda, light Lucrece, gain Lucretia, gain Lucy, light-shining Lydia, born in Lydia Mab, mirth Mabel, beloved Mabella, my fair maiden Madeline, magnificent Madge, pearl Margaret, pearl Maria, bitter Marian, bitter grace Marianne, bitter grace Marion, bitter Marjorie or Marjory, pearl Martha, becoming bitter Martina, of Mars, warlike Mary, bitter Matilda, battle-maid Matty, becoming bitter Maud (or Maud), noble May, pearl Melania, black Melicent, work, strength Melissa, bee Melony, dark Melva, chief Menie, bitter Mercy, compassion Mercia, work rule Meriel, nymph Milcah, queen Mildred, mild threatener Millicent, work, strength Milly, work, strength Minella, resolute Mingala, soft and fair Minna, memory Minnie, little Miranda, to be admired Miriam, bitter Moina, soft Mencha, adviser Monica, adviser Moore, great Morgana, sea dweller Morna, beloved Moroli, sea protection Mynette, resolute Myra, a weeper Mysie, pearl Nancy (or Nanny), grace Naomi, pleasant Nelly, light Nellie, light Ninon (or Ninette), grace Nora, honourable Norah, honourable Octavia, eighth-born Olive, olive Olympis, heavenly Ophelia, serpent Osberga, divine pledge Osberta, divinely bright Osyth, divine strength Parnel, a little stone Patience, bearing up Patricia, noble Patty, becoming batter Paulina, little Paul Pauline, little Paul Paula, little Peace, peace Peggy, pearl Penelope, weaver Pernel, stone Petrina, stone Petronella, stone Phebe, light of life Phemie, fair fame Philadelphia, fraternal Philippa, lover of horses Phillis, a little leaf Phoebe, shining Piety, piety Polly, bitter Portia, of the pigs Priscilla, ancient Prudence, prudent Quenburga, queen of pledge Rachel, ewe Rebecca, full fed Rebekah, enchanting Rhoda, rose Robina, bright fame Rose, a rose Rosabel, fair rose Rosabella, fair rose Rosalia, blooming rose Rosalie, blooming rose Rosalind, like a rose Rosaline, famed serpent Rosamond, protection Rosamuad, rose of peace Rosanne, rose Rose, rose Rosecleer, fair rose Rosina, rose Rowena, white skirt Roxana, dawn of day Ruth, watered or filtered Sabina, religious Sabrina, the Severn Sally, princess Sarah, princess Sarai, lady or princess Selina, moon or parsley Selma, fair Serena, serene Sibella, wise old woman Sidonia, of Sidon Sigismunda, conquering Sissie, little sister Soloma, peace Sophia, wisdom Sophronia, of sound mind Stella, star Stephana, crown Stratonice, army victory Susie, a lily Susan, a rose or lily Susannah, lily Sylvia, living in a weed Tabitha, gazelle Tamar, palm Tamasine, twin Temperance, moderation Thalia, bloom Thecla, divine fame Theobalda, people's prince Theodora, divine gift Theophila, divinity-loved Theresa, carrying corn Thomasine, twin Thyrza, pleasantness Tibelda, people's prince Tilda, mighty battle-maid Timothea, fear God Tirzah, pleasantness Tracy, carrying corn Trix, blessed Tryphena, dainty Tryphosa, dainty Ulrica, noble ruler Una, famine Urania, heavenly Ursula, she bear Valeria, female Valerius Vanora, white wave Vashti, one that drinks Venetia, blessed Venice, blessed Veronica, a true image Verosa, true Vevina, melodious woman Victoria, conqueror Vida, life Violet, violet Viola, a violet Virginia, flourishing Walburg, gracious Wenefride, white wave Werburgha, protection Wilfred, white stream Wilhelmina, defendress Williamina, defendress Wilmett, cap of resolution Winefride, lover of peace Winifrid, white stream Zenobia, sire's ornament Zerah, rising of light Zillah, shadow Zoe, life Zora, dawn
BE SURE AND PICK A NICE NAME FOR THE BABY
[Page 119--Boys Names]
This is perhaps the Choicest Collection of Boys' Names in the English Language
To the Reader.--I beg to make one very important remark upon this immense variety of boy's names, and that is:--Be sure and preserve the list carefully, as it will serve from which to choose names for your sons up to the number of 555, without using the same name over again. P.S.--If you should be very, very lucky, and have more than 555 sons, and want more names, call on Professor Cole, at the Book Arcade, Melbourne, Australia, and he will give you an extra list.
555 NAMES