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Title: Rhymes and Jingles

Author: Mary Mapes Dodge

Release date: August 3, 2014 [eBook #46486]

Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES AND JINGLES ***

Transcriber's Note: This cover has been created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR:

HANS BRINKER;

OR,

THE SILVER SKATES.

A STORY OF LIFE IN HOLLAND.

A New Edition, with Illustrations.

One vol, 12mo, cloth               $1.50.

Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers,

SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, AND COMPANY 745 Broadway, New York.

HOLLYHOCK, HOLLYHOCK, BEND FOR ME;

I WANT A CHEESE FOR MY DOLLY'S TEA.

RHYMES AND JINGLES

BY

MARY MAPES DODGE

AUTHOR OF "HANS BRINKER," ETC.

NEW YORK

SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, AND COMPANY

1875

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874,

BY SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, AND COMPANY,

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.

RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:

ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY

H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.

TO

THE CHILDREN.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

PAGE

ELFIN JACK

1

THE MAYOR OF SCUTTLETON

4

FIRE IN THE WINDOW

4

COUSIN JEREMY

5

THINKING ALOUD

6

"BYE, BABY, NIGHT IS COME"

8

SNOW

9

OH, WHERE ARE ALL THE GOOD LITTLE GIRLS?

9

CHRISTMAS BELLS

10

MY LADDIE

12

MARCH

12

GARDEN SONGS.

LITTLE GREEN HUMMER

14

GLUCK! GLUCK!

15

A LAD OF NANSOOK, A BALSAM-POD TOOK

16

I'D SEARCH THE WORLD OVER, FOR ONE FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER

16

FIND ME A STEM OF THE TIGER LILY

17

GOOD MISTRESS SUNDIAL

18

SOME ONE IN THE GARDEN

18

WIRE-LOCKS, CURLY-PATE, TANGLE, AND FLOSS

18

OLD BUM OF BUMBLEBY

19

UNDER THE WILLOW, OUT OF THE RAIN

19

LITTLE POLLY ALWAYS CLEVER

20

LIFT UP YOUR FACE, LITTLE DAISY!

21

I KNOW WHERE THERE'S A BEAUTIFUL SHOE

22

HOBBLEDY HOPS

23

BRIGHT LITTLE BUTTERCUP

24

THE ANTS

25

BURS

26

HOLLYHOCK, HOLLYHOCK, BEND FOR ME!

27

THE EVENING PRIMROSE

28

HO, DANDELION! MY LIGHTSOME FELLOW!

28

————————

SONG OF SUMMER

29

LITTLE BEGINNINGS

30

MOONEY AND BLACKY

31

THE MOON CAME LATE TO A LONESOME BOG

32

JOHNNY THE STOUT

32

A FARMER IN BUNGLETON HAD A COLT

34

THE DRINKING-PAN

35

THE SHREWD LAD OF COOLOO

36

THERE WAS A FINE YOUTH OF PIKE'S PEAK

36

STOCKING SONG ON CHRISTMAS EVE

37

IN TRUST

38

A SONG OF ST. NICHOLAS

39

FLOWERS

41

THE LITTLE MOTHER

43

AMONG THE ANIMALS

44

OLD DOCTOR PAFF

45

THE LITTLE GIRL WHO WOULDN'T EAT CRUSTS

46

POOR LITTLE TODDLEKINS

47

SONG OF THE DUCKS

49

THAT'S WHAT WE'D DO

50

LITTLE PIPKIN

52

AN APRIL MAIDEN

52

THERE'S A FRAGRANCE IN THE BLOSSOM

53

WAKE UP, BIRDIE!

54

THE DIFFERENCE (THREE OLD LADIES)

55

BILLY BOY

58

SHEPHERD JOHN

60

MY WEEK

62

BABY IN DREAMLAND

64

THANKSGIVING

66

BIRDIE'S BIRTHDAY

68

THE STAR FAMILY

69

AS I WAS GOING

70

TWO LITTLE FROGGIES

70

ONE AND ONE

72

BIRDIES WITH BROKEN WINGS

73

WILLIE'S LODGER

74

FOUR LITTLE PIGGIES BOUND FOR A FROLIC

76

SPINNING YOUR TOP

76

GOOD MORNING!

78

LADY BIRD AND DADDY LONGLEGS

79

WOULDN'T AND WOULD

80

NELL AND HER BIRD

82

THERE WAS AN OLD WEATHER-VANE

84

DUMPY DICKY

84

HAVE YOU HEARD THE NEWS, GOOD NEIGHBOR?

85

THE NEW SLATE

87

LITTLE POT SOON HOT

89

NELL'S NOTIONS

90

NEVER A NIGHT SO DARK AND DREAR

91

SNOW, SNOW, EVERYWHERE

92

SOME ONE WE CANNOT HEAR

93

A STRANGER IN THE PEW

93

THE QUEEN O' MAY

96

PUSSY'S CLASS

98

TWISTAN, TURNEM, LET ME SEE

100

WANDERING JOE

100

WHETHER FAIR, WHETHER FOUL

101

THE RATS

102

IN THE WOOD

106

COMB MUSIC

108

IN THE BASKET

110

COMING

110

THE DAINTY MISS ROSE

112

POOR LITTLE MOUSIE

115

WAITING FOR FATHER

117

WHAT SHALL I BUY?

118

RUT-A-TUT-TUTS

119

HALLOO, OLD SCUTTLE, WHERE'S YOUR COAL?

120

OH NO!

120

THE SANDMAN

122

TROUBLE IN THE GREENHOUSE

125

TEN KINDS

126

HAVE YOU APPLES, GOOD GROCER?

127

THE OLD WOMAN OF WIGG

128

THE BRAVE KNIGHT OF LORRAINE

128

THE OLD DOCTOR OF BRILLE

129

FAIRY TALES

130

OLD CAN AN' MUST

133

MOTHERLESS

133

OLD SIMON

137

THE LITTLE MOTE

138

WHEN I WAS LITTLE

138

WHAT MAKES BABY BRAVE AND BRIGHT?

139

THE ALPHABET

140

EARLY TO BED AND EARLY TO RISE

142

THE COOK'S LITTLE BOY

142

HARRY

144

THREE WAYS

145

TOM OF CLAPHAM

146

WHAT THEY SAY

146

ONE STEP, TWO STEP

147

MELONS

148

HOW MANY THINGS IN MY POCKET?

150

THE GALLANT OUTRIDERS

151

BUSY BEE! BUSY BEE!

153

DOBBIN'S FRIEND

155

THE WAY TO DO IT

156

WILLY AND HIS PIPE

158

I HAD A LITTLE SCOTCHMAN

160

TROTTERY, TROTTERY

161

LAZY LOU

161

UP IN THE MORNING EARLY

162

PINS IN THE CARPET, TACKS IN THE FLOOR

162

IF PUSSY WERE MADE OF LEATHER

163

BE CAREFUL

164

FARM LESSONS

165

OUT OF THE GROUND

166

POOR CROW!

170

THE WOODEN HORSE

171

TINKER, COME BRING YOUR SOLDER

173

THERE WAS A RARE BOY

173

TAKING TIME TO GROW

174

THE NAUGHTY BOY

176

LITTLE MISS LIMBERKIN

178

THE FROG WHO WOULDN'T A WOOING GO

179

THE STUBBORN BOOT

190

THE LITTLE DUTCHMAN

192

A BIRTHDAY

193

THE PIG AND THE LARK

196

THE WELL-MEANING FROG

196

THE FROST KING

199

AFTER THE WINTER

201

LITTLE WHIMPY

204

NIGHT AND DAY

206

AT THE WINDOW

206

OUT OF THE SHELL

208

BEES IN THE MANGER

209

BABY NELL

209

LEMONS FOR MOLLY

210

JAMIE'S TROUBLES

210

JEAN AND KITTY

211

DOGGIE'S TRICKS

212

A SONG FOR BERTIE

214

A COMMON MISTAKE

214

LITTLE MINNIE STOWE

215

LETTING THE OLD CAT DIE

216

WHAT SHALL WE TAKE TO BOSTON?

219

WASHING DAY

220

TROTTY MALONE

222

DON'T TRUST CHATTER

222

RED AND WHITE

223

THE THIRD OF JULY

227

WHEN I AM BIG

229

WIND FOR THE TREE TOP

229

HERE ARE PLENTY OF SHELLS

229

LITTLE BELL DREER AND THE DISH-COVER

230

MASTER TREMBLE'S ADVENTURE

232

HARK! MY CHILDREN

235

THE KITTEN PICTURE

236

SOME ARE STARVING

237

THE TERRIBLE BALL

238

A BIRTHDAY RHYME

243

THE GIRL ACROSS THE WAY

245

WILLIE

247

IF COWS WORE SATIN SLIPPERS

250

BUMBLE BRAMBLE

250

NOBODY NEAR HIM, ALL IN THE DARK

250

OH NO, 'TISN'T SO

251

THE SUN AND THE STARS

251

LEARNING TO PRAY

254

BENNY'S BUTTONS

256

WHAT WAS THE MOON A-SPYING?

257

A NURSERY RHYME FOR BIG FOLKS

257

FIRE FLIES

259

FULFILLMENT

261

RESOLUTION

262

HOW THE NEW YEAR CAME

264

THE WIND AND THE MOON

268

CHILDREN'S HYMN

270

RHYMES AND JINGLES.

ELFIN JACK, THE GIANT-KILLER.

DO not think the story

Of the giant-killer's glory

Is known and cherished only by yourselves,

O, my dears;

For his deeds so daring,

And his trick of scaring

All his foes, are quite familiar to the elves,

It appears.

In the starlight, tender—

In the moonlight's splendor

Do they gather and recount every deed,

It is said;

How he met a hornet,

Who was playing on a cornet,

Out of tune; and he slew him with a reed,—

Slew him dead!

How, growing ever bolder,

With his reed upon his shoulder,

And an acorn-shield upon his little arm

Well equipped—

He sought a mighty giant,

Who was known as "Worm, the pliant,"

And after giving battle, fierce and warm,

Left him whipped.

How he saw a spider

With her victim, dead, inside her,

Told her, in a voice of fury, to begone

From his sight;

How he killed her when she'd risen

To her cruel, fatal prison,

And nobly freed her captives, so forlorn,—

Gallant knight!

Ah, but the elves are proudest,

And ring his praises loudest,

When telling of a snail, grim and hoary,

In his mail.

With those fearful horns before him,

Jack gallantly upbore him,

And killed him with a thrust (to his glory)

In the tail!

List in the starlight, tender,—

List in the moonlight's splendor,—

For a whirring, like hurrahing, in the glen,

Far and near.

'Tis the elves who, looking back

To their giant-killer, Jack,

Tell his story to each other, funny men!

With a cheer.

————————

THE MAYOR OF SCUTTLETON.

THE Mayor of Scuttleton burned his nose

Trying to warm his copper toes;

He lost his money and spoiled his will

By signing his name with an icicle-quill;

He went bare-headed, and held his breath,

And frightened his grandame most to death;

He loaded a shovel, and tried to shoot,

And killed the calf in the leg of his boot;

He melted a snow-bird, and formed the habit

Of dancing jigs with a sad Welsh rabbit;

He lived on taffy, and taxed the town;

And read his newspaper upside down;

Then he sighed, and hung his hat on a feather,

And bade the townspeople come together;

But the worst of it all was, nobody knew

What the Mayor of Scuttleton next would do.

————————

FIRE in the window! flashes in the pane!

Fire on the roof-top! blazing weather-vane!

Turn about, weather-vane! put the fire out!

The sun's going down, sir, I haven't a doubt.

————————

HE came behind me, and covered my eyes,

"Who is this?" growled he, so sly,

"Why, Cousin Jeremy, how can I tell,

When my eyes are shut?" said I.

————————

LITTLE Jenny with a pail

Tripping to the spring;

Little Jack astride a rail

Laughed to hear her sing.

Little Jenny softly said,

"I'm tired as I can be."

But Jack was sure that the little maid

Said, "Carry my pail for me."

————————

BYE, baby, night is come,

And the sun is going home

Bye, baby, bye!

All the flowers have shut their eyes;

On the grass a shadow lies;

Bye, baby, bye!

Bye, baby, birds are sleeping;

One by one the stars are peeping;

Bye, baby, bye!

In the far-off sky they twinkle,

While the cows come tinkle, tinkle;

Bye, baby, bye!

Bye, baby, mother holds thee;

Loving, tender care infolds thee;

Bye, baby, bye!

Angels in thy dreams caress thee;

Through the darkness guard and bless thee;

Bye, baby, bye!

————————

SNOW.

LITTLE white feathers, filling the air—

Little white feathers! how came ye there?

"We came from the cloud-birds sailing so high;

They're shaking their white wings up in the sky."

Little white feathers, how swift you go!

Little white feathers, I love you so!

"We are swift because we have work to do;

But hold up your face, and we'll kiss you true."

————————

OH, where are all the good little girls,—

Where are they all to-day?

And where are all the good little boys?

Tell me, somebody, pray.

Safe in their fathers' and mothers' hearts

The girls are stowed away;

And where the girls are, look for the boys,—

Or so I've heard folk say.

————————

CHRISTMAS BELLS.

ONE Christmas Eve a little maid

Into a fire-lit parlor strayed;

And there on a chair lay the pretty song

Her sister had sung her,—Dingle-dong!

That rang like Christmas bells.

Dingle, dingle, ting, dong!

So sweet and clear, so warm and strong

Dingle, dingle, ting, dong!

Merry Christmas bells.

"I'll play it!" said the little maid;

"The blaze is bright, I'm not afraid!

I'll play it on the chair, and sing."

So down she sat, and dingle, ting,

The ready Christmas bells,

Dingle, dingle, ting, dong!

Sounded forth so sweet and long,—

Dingle, dingle, ting, dong!

Happy Christmas bells.

"It's darker!" thought the little maid;

"But never mind, I'm not afraid!

For Jesus once, in Galilee,

Was just a little child like me.

He loves the Christmas bells."

Dingle, dingle, ting, dong!

O baby voice! so sweet and strong!

Dingle, dingle, ting, dong!

Holy Christmas bells!

"'I'LL PLAY IT!' SAID THE LITTLE MAID."

————————

MY LADDIE.

OH! have you seen my laddie?

His heart is true and kind;

His cheeks are fresh and rosy,

His hair floats on the wind.

He's a brave and lightsome laddie,

On honest toil intent.

Oh! we had some words this morning,

And I don't know where he went.

You'll know if he's my laddie

By the twinkle in his ee

When you whisper to him softly

That he may come to me.

————————

MARCH.

IN the snowing and the blowing,

In the cruel sleet,

Little flowers begin their growing

Far beneath our feet.

Softly taps the Spring, and cheerly,—

"Darlings, are you here?"

Till they answer, "We are nearly,

Nearly ready, dear."

"Where is Winter, with his snowing?

Tell us, Spring," they say.

Then she answers, "He is going,

Going on his way.

Poor old Winter does not love you;

But his time is past;

Soon my birds shall sing above you,—

Set you free at last."

GARDEN SONGS.

LITTLE green Hummer

Was born in the summer;

His coat was as bright

As the emerald's light.

Short was his song,

Though his bill it was long;

His weight altogether

Not more than a feather.

From dipping his head

In the sunset red,

And gilding his side

In its fiery tide,

He gleamed like a jewel,

And darted around,

'Twixt sunlight and starlight,

Ne'er touching the ground.

Now over a blossom,

Now under, now in it;

Here, there, and everywhere,

All in a minute.

Ah! never he cared

Who wondered and stared,—

His life was completeness

Of pleasure and sweetness;

He revelled in lightness,

In fleetness and brightness,

This sweet little Hummer

That came with the summer.

————————

GLUCK! gluck! From under a log,

Squatting and leaping, comes Flucky the Frog.

Wide is his mouth, and spreading his toes;

Very elastic and shiny his clothes;

Though lofty his jumpings and brazen his stare,

He sees not the Hummer that flits in the air.

————————

A LAD of Nansook

A balsam-pod took,

And he pressed the ends with a will;

The sudden report

Was capital sport,

And the seeds they are flying still.

————————

OH, I'd search the world over

For one four-leaved clover!

Bend low, pretty grass, bend low!

Jump, little crickets! and tumble, you bees!

Green little grasshoppers, limber your knees!

There's one hidden somewhere, I know.

————————

SUNLIGHT or starlight,

Tilly, my nilly,

Find me a stem

Of the tiger-lily;

I'll fill it full

From the fountain there

And spirt the water

Over your hair!

————————

"GOOD Mistress Sundial, what's the hour?"

"Alack! to tell you I haven't power.

It rains; and I only can work, you see,

When the sun is casting his light upon me.

I'm nothing at all but a senseless block

Whenever his beautiful rays depart;

But ask my neighbor, the Four-o'clock;

She carries the time o' day in her heart."

————————

SOME one in the garden murmurs all the day;

Some one in the garden moans the night away;

Deep in the pine-trees, hidden from our sight,

He murmurs all day, and moans all the night.

————————

WIRE-LOCKS, Curly-pate, Tangle, and Floss,

To make some fine curls they were quite at a loss,

Till they found them a field of the bright dandelion,

And made the green ringlets with only half trying.

————————

OLD BUM of Bumbleby bumped his nose,

Trying to light on a damask rose;

He bumped his nose, but he didn't care

As he pitched about in the dizzy air.

Whenever he tried to his love to fly,

He would shoot ahead and pass her by;

So he tumbled at last on a larkspur near,

And buzzed his business into her ear.

————————

Under the willow, out of the rain,

We'll string us many a lilac chain,

Shining and sweet, and fair to see,

Some for my darling and some for me.

————————

LITTLE Polly, always clever,

Takes a leaf of live-forever;

Before you know it

You see her blow it,

A gossamer sack

With a velvet back.

How big it grows

As she puffs and blows!

But have a care,

It is full of air.

Ere Polly will stop

It'll crack with a pop;

And that's the end of the live-forever;

But little Polly is very clever.

————————

"LIFT UP YOUR FACE, LITTLE DAISY."

LIFT up your face, little daisy, pray;

I can't stand here in the grass all day.

Jamie sent me, and Jamie is sick.

He says you are far too sweet to pick,

But he gave me something to give to you;

So hold up your cheek, little daisy, do.

————————

I KNOW where there's a beautiful shoe,

Tiny and sweet, and ready for you;

It hides away in the balsam-flower,

But I'll find you a pair in less than an hour.

"Thank you, my laddie; now this I'll do,

I'll pluck a heart-flower just for you;

The hearts hang close on a bending spray,

And every heart hides a lyre away.

"How shall you find it? I'll tell you true:

You gently sunder the heart in two,

And under the color, as white as milk,

You'll find the lyre with its strings of silk."

————————

HOBBLEDY HOPS.

HOBBLEDY HOPS

He made some tops

Out of the morning-glory;

He used the seed,—

He did indeed;

And that's the end of my story.

————————

BRIGHT little buttercup, now you will show

Whether my darling likes butter or no.

Buttercup, buttercup, will you begin?

Shine me an answer under her chin.

————————

THE ANTS.

GOOD Mistress Ant, I pray, what is the matter?

Why this commotion without any clatter?

"Alack! alack! we're ruined, you see;

I've lost my children, and they've lost me!

Our houses have fallen, our city is gone,

And thousands are murdered or running forlorn.

Ah me! who would think that such power to destroy

Could lurk in the heel of a bare-footed boy?"

————————

BURS.

DEAR me!

What shall it be?

Such sticky affairs

Did ever you see?

Let's make a basket,

Let's make a mat,

Let's make a tea-board,

Let's make a hat;

Let's make a cottage,

Windows and doors;

You do the roof,

And I'll do the floors.

Let's make a pancake,—

Stick 'em together;

See how they fasten

Close to each other!

Tied to one's heel

They would answer for spurs;

Ah, how we love 'em,

These comical burs!

————————

HOLLYHOCK, hollyhock, bend for me;

I want a cheese for my dolly's tea.

I'll put it soon on an acorn plate,

And dolly and I shall feast in state.

————————

WHEN the sun is sinking low in the skies,

The evening primrose opens her eyes.

"Come back, dear Sun," she seems to say;

"I've been dreaming of you the live-long day."

————————

HO, Dandelion! my lightsome fellow!

What's become of all your yellow?

"My bonnie yellow it wouldn't stay,

It turned about and it went away,

Till nothing at all was left of me

But the misty, feathery ball you see;

Yet pluck me off, and blow me well,

The time o' day I'll surely tell."

Whiff! whiff! "Blow again,—

Blow with all your might and main."

Whiff! whiff! That is four.

Now I've but two feathers more.

Whiff! How tight the last one sticks!

Whiff! It's gone; and that makes six.

The sun is getting low, I see,

And we must hurry home to tea.

————————

SONG OF SUMMER.

UP in the tree top, down in the ground,

High in the blue sky, far, all around,—

Near by and everywhere creatures are living,

God in his bounty something is giving.

Up in the tree top, down in the ground,

High in the blue sky, far, all around,—

Near by and everywhere creatures are striving,

Labor is surely the price of their thriving.

Up in the tree top, down in the ground,

High in the blue sky, far, all around,—

Near by and everywhere, singing and humming,

Busily, joyfully, Summer is coming!

————————

LITTLE BEGINNINGS.

A LITTLE girl on a little bench

By a little window stood,

And a little trouble was in her heart—

"Ah! if I were but good!"

"Not very, very good," she thought,

"Like dear cousin Jane who died;

But only patient, true and kind,

And free from wicked pride.

"I'll pray for that at first," she said,

"Our Father will help me try.

And then, perhaps, He will show the way,

To be very good by and by."

Then upward rose the little prayer—

So earnestly it went,

That the little heart of the little maid

Was filled with a sweet content.

And standing there on the little bench,

She looked up into the sky:

"I'll try to be good right off," she said,

"And better yet, by and by."

————————

TO Mooney and her baby,

Shut in the corner lot,

I'll carry a cooling pailful,

For the day is close and hot.

But Blacky and Snow can help themselves

At the brook as well as not.

————————

THE Moon came late to a lonesome bog,

And there sat Goggleky Gluck, the frog.

"My stars!" she cried, and veiled her face,

"What very grand people they have in this place!"

————————

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 are ten of us freezing

Standing abreast."

Then up spoke an ear:

"My! but it's labor

Playing in winter. Eh,

Opposite neighbor?"

"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."

————————

A FARMER in Bungleton had a colt

That couldn't be taught to moo;

And he kept his cow under lock and bolt

Till the smith could make her a shoe.

His ducks wouldn't gobble, his geese wouldn't quack,

His cat couldn't bark at all.

"I'm clean discouraged!" he cried; "alack!

I'll give up my farm in the fall."

————————

THE DRINKING-PAN.

KIPPY! Kippy! what a pleasure!

Kippy! Kippy! such a treasure!

Here's a lake of water clear;

Little Polly put it here.

See, the water has a sky

Like the one that shines so high

All the other birds are there,

Playing in the sunny air.

Shall we ever sing and play

In the sky the livelong day?

Oh, no, no! such silly tricks

Would not do for downy chicks.

————————

THERE was a shrewd lad of Cooloo

Who thought baby's tooth wasn't through.

Says he, "Though I doubt,

I'se a-gwine to find out."

And he did—that shrewd lad of Cooloo.

————————

THERE was a fine youth of Pike's Peak

Who raised a moustache in a week.

When they called it "like down,"

Ah, how he would frown!—

This hairy young man of Pike's Peak.

————————

STOCKING SONG ON CHRISTMAS EVE.

WELCOME, Christmas! heel and toe,

Here we wait thee in a row.

Come, good Santa Claus, we beg,—

Fill us tightly, foot and leg.

Fill us quickly ere you go,—

Fill us till we overflow.

That's the way! and leave us more

Heaped in piles upon the floor.

Little feet that ran all day

Twitch in dreams of merry play;

Little feet that jumped at will

Lie all pink, and warm, and still.

See us, how we lightly swing;

Hear us, how we try to sing.

Welcome, Christmas! heel and toe,

Come and fill us ere you go.

Here we hang till some one nimbly

Jumps with treasure down the chimney.

Bless us! how he'll tickle us!

Funny old St. Nicholas!

————————

IN TRUST.

IT'S coming, boys,

It's almost here;

It's coming, girls,

The grand New Year!

A year to be glad in,

Not to be bad in;

A year to live in,

To gain and give in;

A year for trying,

And not for sighing;

A year for striving

And hearty thriving;

A bright new year.

Oh! hold it dear;

For God who sendeth

He only lendeth.

————————

A SONG OF SAINT NICHOLAS.

COME, ho! sing, ho! ye chimney sprites,

Come and a riddle unravel:

Tell us true, by the dancing lights,

Where does Saint Nicholas travel?

In the twinkling of an eye,

Hither, thither, doth he hie,—

North and south and east and west;

Not a moment doth he rest.

Speeding here and speeding there,

In an instant everywhere.

Valleys, hills, and mountain passes,

Sunny fields and drear morasses,

Silent plains and busy towns,

Yankee meadows, English downs,—

Whether crowded, lone or wild,

So it holds one little child,—

Every spot, he knows by heart;

What if half the world apart?

In the twinkling of an eye

Hither, thither, doth he hie.

Prythee, this riddle unravel:

How does Saint Nicholas travel?

How does he travel? This is the way:

Sun or storm or blue or gray,

Soon as he gathers his stock of toys,

Laughing and nodding, but never a noise,

Laughing and nodding, shaking his sides,

This is the way Saint Nicholas rides:

Not over mountains, not over streams,

But gliding swift through the children's dreams.

Soon as their eyelids in slumber close,

Hither and thither Saint Nicholas goes.

But how do the little ones go to him?

Sing, ho! When the winter waxeth dim,

And, Christmas over, the children say,

"Good Saint Nick! he has gone away,"

Oho! he strokes his jolly old nose,

And lays him down for a quiet doze.

"Ha, ha! the snow is a capital bed!"

And he pulls his nightcap over his head.

Asleep and resting, O good Saint Nick!

Now do the children play him a trick;

For, bright and rosy and lithe of limb,

They travel quick in his dreams, to him.

From every nook and possible place

There peeps a beautiful baby-face.

With joyous murmur and laughing hum,

From every quarter the children come.

Rosy, tender, and snow-flake soft,

They throng about him or float aloft;

Closer they nestle, a hundred thick,

And whisper, "We thank you, dear Saint Nick;

We've come to tell you we love you, dear."

And Nicholas laughs in his sleep to hear.

Oho! sing, ho! and now you know:

As soon as the Christmas lights are dim,

And the saint no more his rounds doth go,

The children flock, in his dreams, to him.

————————

FLOWERS.

MY little one came, and brought me a flower,

Never a sweeter one grew;

But it faded and faded in one short hour,

And lost all its pretty blue.

My little one stayed in the room and played;

And so my flower bloomed bright,—

My beautiful blossom that did not fade,

But slept in my arms all night.

————————

"NOW, DOLLY, DEAR, I'M GOING AWAY."

THE LITTLE MOTHER.

NOW, Dolly, dear, I'm going away,

And want you to be good all day.

Don't lose your shoes nor soil your dress,

Nor get your hair all in a mess;

But lie quite still, and up I'll come

To kiss you, soon as I get home.

I'd take you, dear, but then, you know,

It's wax Sabina's turn to go.

She's sick, I'm 'fraid. Her eyes don't work;

They open worse, the more I jerk;

She used to be so straight and stout,

But now her sawdust's running out.

Her kid is out of order, dear.

My papa says she's out of gear.

That's dreadful, isn't it? But then

The air may make her well again.

So, Dolly, won't you stay alone,

And be real good while I am gone?

Good-by, my precious! Yes, I'll come

And kiss you, soon as I get home.

————————

AMONG THE ANIMALS.

ONE rainy morning,

Just for a lark,

I jumped and stamped

On my new Noah's Ark:

I crushed an elephant,

Smashed a gnu,

And snapped a camel

Clean in two;

I finished the wolf

Without half tryin',

And wild hyena,

And roaring lion;

I knocked down Ham,

And Japhet, too,

And cracked the leg

Of the kangaroo;

I finished, beside,

Two pigs and a donkey,

A polar bear,

Opossum, and monkey;

Also the lions,

Tigers, and cats,

And dromedaries,

And tiny rats—

There wasn't a thing

That didn't feel,

Sooner or later,

The weight o' my heel;

I felt as grand

As grand could be—

But oh the whipping

My mammy gave me!

————————

OLD Doctor Paff, he used to laugh

Whenever he saw the brindle calf.

But Doctor Paff thought best to bow

When at last he met the brindle cow.

————————

THE LITTLE GIRL WHO WOULDN'T EAT CRUSTS.

THE awfulest 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.

Now what do you think soon came to pass?

This little girl of Dundee, alas!

Who wouldn't take crusts in the regular way,

Sat down to a feast one summer's day;

And what did the people that little girl give,

But a dish of bread pudding—as sure as I live!

————————

POOR little Toddlekins,

All full o' sketer-bites—

Bodder him awful,

Baby can't sleep o' nights.

Buzzing all over him,

Singing and tickling,

In and out, round about,

Nipping and prickling.

Poor little Toddlekins,

All full o' sketer-bites—

Bodder him awful,

Can't even sleep o' nights!

————————

SONG OF THE DUCKS.

ONE little black duck, one little gray,

Six little white ducks, running out to play;

One white lady-duck, motherly and trim,

Eight little baby ducks, bound for a swim!

One little white duck, holding up its wings,

One little bobbing duck, making water-rings,

One little black duck, turning round its head,

One big black duck—guess he's gone to bed.

One little white duck, running from the water,

One very fat duck—pretty little daughter!

One very brave duck, swimming off alone,

One little white duck, standing on a stone.

One little white duck, walking by its mother;

Look among the water-reeds, maybe there's another.

Not another anywhere? surely you are blind.

Push away the grass, dear; ducks are hard to find.

Bright little brown eyes! o'er the picture linger;

Point me all the ducks out, chubby little finger!

Make the picture musical, merry little shout!

Now, where's that other duck? What is he about?

I think the other duck's the nicest duck of all;

He hasn't any feathers, and his mouth is sweet and small;

He runs with a light step, and jumps upon my knee,

And though he cannot swim, he is very dear to me.

One white lady-duck, motherly and trim;

Eight little baby-ducks, bound for a swim;

One lazy black duck, taking quite a nap;

One little precious duck, here on mamma's lap!

————————

THAT'S WHAT WE'D DO.

IF you were an owl,

And I were an owl,

And this were a tree,

And the moon came out,

I know what we'd do.

We would stand, we two,

On a bough of the tree;

You'd wink at me,

And I'd wink at you;

That's what we'd do,

Beyond a doubt.

I'd give you a rose

For your lovely nose,

And you'd look at me

Without turning about.

I know what we'd do

(That is, I and you);

Why, you'd sing to me,

And I'd sing to you;

That's what we'd do,

When the moon came out.

"I'D GIVE YOU A ROSE."

————————

HOLLOA!

What's the matter?

Why this bustle,

Noise and clatter?

Mercy on us!

Don't you know

Little Pipkin's

Stubbed his toe!

What's that?

Some one knocks.

How the wind

Shakes the locks!

Run, quick!

How absurd—

Only a beggar,

Upon my word!

————————

AN APRIL MAIDEN.

WERE you ever heavy-hearted, little May?

She tossed her pretty head,

As right merrily she said,

"Heavy hearted? No, not I;

Yet a little makes me cry,

And a little less than half

Makes me laugh—

My mother often calls me 'April Day.'"

Were you ever very happy, little May?

Again she shook her head.

"I do not know," she said.

"Very happy? Who is so?

Not a single soul, you know;

Mother often tells me this,

With a kiss;

Our life, she says, is like an April day."

Were you ever very naughty, little May?

She flushed a rosy red,

As, right saucily, she said,

"Very naughty? Let me see:

Why, I have been bad—for me;

I have trod on, Pussy's toes,

And I've torn my Sunday clo'es;

And, oh!—now, don't you tell!—

I mean to—well,

Fool every one I know on April-day."

————————

THERE'S a fragrance in the blossom,

But the fruit is better still;

And the river rushes farther

Than ever could the rill.

————————

WAKE UP, BIRDIE!

BIRDIE with the folded wing,

Shall we never hear you sing?

Sleepy birdie, wake up quick!

Pretty birdie, are you sick?

Birdie, birdie! are you dead?

Birdie, birdie! lift your head!

Lift your head, and show your beak.

Naughty birdie! won't you speak?

Here is water for your cup;

Here is sugar—eat it up:

Here is sunshine warm and bright—

Now he sings with all his might!

————————

THE DIFFERENCE.

THE SOUR OLD LADY.

THERE was an old lady all dressed in silk,

Who lived upon lemons and buttermilk;

And, thinking this world was a sour old place,

She carried its acid all over her face;

THE OLD LADY WHO LIVED ON MATCHES.

Another old lady, all dressed in patches,

Lived upon nothing but Lucifer matches;

So the world, it made her strangle and cough,

And sure as you rubbed her you set her off.

Another old lady, all sunny and neat,

Who lived upon sugar, and every thing sweet;

Declared, when she heard of their troubles, she "never!"

For the world was so nice she could live on forever.

————

THE MORAL.

THE SUNNY OLD LADY

Now, children take your choice

Of the food your hearts shall eat;

There are sourish thoughts, and brimstone thoughts,

And thoughts all good and sweet;

And whatever the heart feeds on,

Dear children, trust to me,

Is precisely what this queer old world

Will seem to you to be.

————————

BILLY BOY.

POOR Billy boy was music mad,

Oh music mad was he;

And yet he was as blithe a lad

As any lad could be—

With a hi-de-diddle,

Bow and fiddle,

Rig-a-my, ho! sang he—

For Billy was as blithe a lad

As any lad could be.

"Nobody knows the joy I know,

Or sees the sights I see,

So play me high, or play me low,

My fiddle's enough for me.

It takes me here, it takes me there—

So play me low or high—

It finds me, binds me anywhere,

And lifts me to the sky."

With a hi-de-diddle,

Bow and fiddle,

Rig-a-my, ho! sang he—

For Billy was as blithe a lad

As any lad could be.

————————

SHEPHERD JOHN.

OH! Shepherd John is good and kind,

Oh! Shepherd John is brave;

He loves the weakest of his flock,

His arm is quick to save.

But Shepherd John to little John

Says: "Learn, my laddie, learn!

In grassy nooks still read your books,

And aye for knowledge burn.

Read while you tend the grazing flock:

Had I but loved my book,

I'd not be still in shepherd's frock,

Nor bearing shepherd's crook.

The world is wide, the world is fair,

There's muckle work to do.

I'll rest content a shepherd still,

But grander fields for you!"

————————

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."

————————

BABY IN DREAMLAND.

BABY'S dreams are very bright,

Though they come at dead of night,

When the house is still;

For a moonbeam comes to take her

Where the sweetest sounds shall wake her,

Where she'll play at will.

In the dreamland, far away,

There do sleeping babies play,

There they laugh and walk.

All the day their speech is gone—

Not a foot to stand upon—

There they leap and talk.

There the pretty candle-blaze,

When they clutch it, brightly stays;

There the stars so grand

Come to meet the outstretched arm,

Leap all sparkling to the palm

Of the little hand.

But in all that wondrous place,

Still is smiling, mother's face;

Mother's touch is there;

And like music sweet and low,

Though the baby does not know,

Breathes the mother's prayer.

So the baby laughs and plays

Through the happy dreamland ways

(Close to heaven, maybe),

Till the merry sunbeams take her

To her bed, and gently wake her.

—Now, come see to Baby!

————————

THANKSGIVING.

ALL their heads were bowed in prayer—

Father's, mother's, boys' and girls',

Grandma's, grandpa's—only Nelly,

Little Nelly, shook her curls.

Little Nelly shook her curls,

Smiling, gazing all intent,

Stared as ever at the sight—

Wondered what on earth it meant.

Busy firelight, flashing bright,

Shot its frisky flamelets out;

While the ship above the clock

Gayly tossed and pitched about.

Roasted turkey, on his back,

And the chickens, side by side,

Had a perky, jaunty air

Full of jollity and pride;

Tempting pies and puddings near,

Held their faces to the light;

While canary in his cage,

Piped and sang with all his might.

Flowery carpet under foot,

Hanging basket all a-bloom,

Pearly, picture-covered wall—

Drew the sunlight to the room.

Little Nelly felt it all,

Felt how blithe it was and fair;

Yet the moment seemed so long

That the heads were bowed in prayer.

If they only knew, she thought,

How the room was full of play,

They would never hide their faces

In that sober, solemn way.

Laughing, staring, puzzled Nell!

How could such a baby know

'Twas the cheery, sunny gladness

That had bowed their heads so low;

That the blithesome, happy home-life,

Birdie singing on the wall,

And the laughing little mischief,

Made them thank the God of all?

————————

LULU'S BIRTHDAY.

LULU'S Birthday—very queer!

Comes to her but once a year;

Comes when Winter snows are falling,

Comes when Ocean winds are squalling,

Comes when Nature's quite appalling,—

Every thing so cold and drear.

Lulu's Birthday—stranger still!

Has to climb to her up hill;

For the maiden is so knowing,

That she spends her time in growing,

Every year some change is showing,—

Growing head, and heart, and will.

Lulu's Birthday—it is clear—

Likes to meet her every year;

Likes to follow Lulu's scorning.

So, with fairest flowers adorning

All the home, we give it cheer.

And with prayer and watchful loving,

Though the little maid keep moving,

And the time be cold and drear,

Sure as comes the Birthday morning,

We shall try to have her here.

————————

THE STAR FAMILY.

THE Moon came late to the twinkling sky,

To see what the stars were about:

"Fair Night," quoth she, "are the family in?"

"Oh! no, they are, every one, out."

————————

AS I was a-going to market,

I met a man with a goose.

Says he: "Big boots with a boy!

I guess you came from Toulouse."

Says I: "Little goose with a man!

How did you leave your mother?

I guess you just came from home,

For I see you've brought your brother."

————————

TWO LITTLE FROGGIES.

TWO little froggies they sighed to one another:

"Our puddle is all liquor and no meat.

Let us sit upon the bank, where the lovely mud is shining,

And maybe we'll see something good to eat."

Forty little ants said gayly to their mother:

"O mother! we are going to the bogs;"

But the forty little ants never dreamed they were going

Just to make a dainty dinner for the frogs.

————————

ONE AND ONE.

TWO little girls are better than one

Two little boys can double the fun,

Two little birds can build a fine nest,

Two little arms can love mother best.

Two little ponies must go to a span;

Two little pockets has my little man;

Two little eyes to open and close,

Two little ears and one little nose,

Two little elbows, dimpled and sweet,

Two little shoes on two little feet,

Two little lips and one little chin,

Two little cheeks with a rose shut in;

Two little shoulders, chubby and strong,

Two little legs running all day long.

Two little prayers does my darling say,

Twice does he kneel by my side each day,—

Two little folded hands, soft and brown,

Two little eyelids cast meekly down,—

And two little angels guard him in bed,

"One at the foot, and one at the head."

————————

BIRDIES AND BABIES.

BIRDIES with broken wings,

Hide from each other;

But babies in trouble,

Can run home to mother.

————————

WILLIE'S LODGER.

TWO little boys, named Willie,

Live in the house with me.

One is as good a darling

As ever I wish to see;

His eyes are glad, his smile is sweet,

His voice is kind, his dress is neat,

And he is the boy for me.

This Willie says, "Good morning!"

Happy as any bird;

A merrier laugh, a lighter step,

No mortal ever heard.

"Thank you," he says, and "If you please?"

He will not pout, he will not tease—

Oh! he is the boy for me!

The other Willie, sad to say,

Is very, very bad;

I think he is as cross a child

As ever a mother had.

"Go 'way!" he shrieks. He squalls and cries,

The angry tears oft fill his eyes—

He is not the boy for me.

He lingers round my Willie,

And whispers evil things—

Oh! how we dread him! for we know

The sin and grief he brings!

Who keeps him, then? Why, Willie's self;

He keeps this wicked Willie-elf

Who is not the boy for me.

If I were you, my Willie,

I'd make him stay away,—

This boy who grieves your mother

And spoils your brightest day,—

For he lives in you where he doesn't belong;

So oust him, Willie! Send him along!

"Clear out!" I'd say, "old Fume and Fret!

This heart of mine is not to let,—

You're not the boy for me."

————————

FOUR little piggies, bound for a frolic,

Ate green apples till one got the colic.

One was so greedy he stuffed his maw;

One munched so hard that he cracked his jaw.

One had the toothache and couldn't chew a bit,

So he swallowed them whole and died in a fit.

————————

SPINNING your top,

Don't let it flop, boys;

Flying your kite,

Pull with your might, boys.

Rolling your hoop,

Never you stoop, boys;

Either stand still,

Or play with a will.

————————

GOOD-MORNING.

GOOD-MORNING, mamma! Good-morning, bright sun!

Good-morning, papa! The day is begun.

Good-morning to every one, pussy as well:

Does he sleep like the rest, till he hears the first bell?

Good-morning it is, for the sky is all blue,

The grass is just shining and sparkling with dew;

The birdies are singing their merriest song,

And the air through the window comes sunny and strong.

Good-morning it is, for dark was the night,

And chilly and still; but the morning is bright.

If God did not watch us and bring us the day,

We'd never be able to get up and play.

Good-morning, new day! I'm glad we're awake,

Your work and your sunshine and frolic to take;

And I'm glad we are able so gayly to call

Good-morning! good-morning! Good-morning to all!

————————

LADY-BIRD AND DADDY LONGLEGS.

LADY-BIRD, in gown so gay,

Came creeping from the clover;

Daddy Longlegs went that way,

And nearly knocked her over.

"I'll tell my ant!" she cried out quick.

"It beats the bugs!" said he.

"A tad-pole for your walking stick

Would suit you well," said she.

————————

WOULDN'T AND WOULD.

I WOULDN'T be a growler, I wouldn't be a bear;

I wouldn't be an owlet, always on a stare;

I wouldn't be a monkey, doing foolish tricks;

I wouldn't be a donkey, full of sullen kicks.

I wouldn't be a goose,

Nor a peacock full of pride,

But I would be a big boy,

With a pocket on each side.

————————

NELL AND HER BIRD.

GOOD-BY, little birdie!

Fly to the sky,

Singing and singing

A merry good-by.

Tell all the birdies,

Flying above,

Nell, in the garden,

Sends them her love.

Tell how I found you,

Hurt, in a tree;

Then, when they're wounded,

They'll come right to me.

I'd like to go with you

If I could fly;

It must be so beautiful

Up in the sky!

Why, little birdie!

Why don't you go?

You sit on my finger,

And shake your head, "No!"—

He's off! Oh! how quickly

And gladly he rose!

I know he will love me

Wherever he goes.

I know—for he really

Seemed trying to say,

"My dear little Nelly,

I can't go away."

But just then some birdies

Came flying along,

And sang as they neared us

A chirruping song;

And he felt just as I do

When girls come and shout

Right under the window,

"Come, Nelly! come out!"

It 's wrong to be sorry;

I ought to be glad;

But he's the best birdie

That ever I had.

————————

THERE was an old weather-vane high on a shed,

The wind came a courting and turned his head;

And all it could utter for lack of mouth

Was—East, and West, and North, and South.

————————

DUMPY DICKY said, "I can't;"

Joe said, "By and by;"

Grumpy Jacky said, "I shan't;"

Tommy said, "I'll try."

————————

"HAVE you heard the news, good neighbor?"

"No. What is the news, I pray?"

"Why the cat went down to a concert

And frightened the music away."

————————

THE NEW SLATE.

SEE my slate! I dot it new,

Tos I b'oke the other,

Put my 'ittle foot right froo,

Running after mother.

I tan make you lots o' sings,

Fass as you tan tell 'em,

T's and B's and big O rings,

Only I tan't spell 'em.

I tan make a funny pig

Wid a turly tail-y,

'Ittle eyes, and snout so big

Pokin' in a pail-y.

I tan make a 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-flyin' froo it.

I tan make a bu-ful house

Wid a tree behind it,

An' a 'ittle mousy-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?

I tan do me runnin' 'bout—

Mamma's 'ittle posset

(Slate's so dusty, rubbin' out,

Dess oo'd better wass it).

Now, then, s'all I make a tree

Wid a birdie in it?

All my picsurs 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's it tan?

Bet my slate is jolly!

————————

LITTLE POT SOON HOT.

FUME and fury! I have cause

To tear about and break the laws.

But, on the whole, I'd better not;

"Little pots are soon hot."

Little souls slights discover;

Big souls pass 'em over.

Big souls bear their trouble;

Little souls sizz and bubble.

Little souls oft ferment;

Big souls are content.

Big souls tumble slowly;

Little souls—roly poly!

Big souls, like as not,

When it's fitting, do get hot.

But "little pots" all grandeur spoil.

I'll think a bit before I boil!

————————

NELL'S NOTIONS.

THREE-YEAR-OLD Nell by the window-pane stood,

A good little girl, and as pretty as good,

Watching the snow come down—

Falling so lightly,

So swiftly and brightly,

It whitened all the town.

"See, Aunty!" she cried, in a joyous strain,

"Oh, Aunty, look out! and see the popped rain!

The air is as full as can be;

And it never stops,

But it jumps and hops,

Like the corn that you pop for me."

Winter passed on; and Spring-time was here—

Spring with its flowers, its brightness and cheer,

And the birds were wild with song.

Ah, sweet was the note

From each tiny throat!

Nell listened the whole day long.

"Tell me, dear Aunty, what do they eat,

These dear little birds, that they sing so sweet?"

Nell asked, in her wonder and glee.

"Oh, Aunty, I think

They have sky to drink,

And flowers for their breakfast and tea."

The quick, green-winged katydids filled her with awe,

Such wonderful creatures she'd ne'er seen before;

For hours she would question and tease,

Till, "They're leaves!" she said,

"With legs and a head,

And they're huntin' about for their trees.

"Why, Aunty, hold still! there's a girl in your eyes!"

And queer little Nell fairly screamed with surprise.

"Why, Aunty, it's Nell in there!

I can see it as plain—

There! I see it again!

Why, you're full of me everywhere!"

————————

NEVER a night so dark and drear,

Never a cruel wind so chill,

But loving hearts can make it clear,

And find some comfort in it still.

————————

SNOW, snow, everywhere!

Snow on frozen mountain peak,

Snow on Flippit's sunny hair,

Snow flakes melting on his cheek.

Snow, snow, wherever you go,

Shifting, drifting, driving snow.

But Flippit does not care a pin,

It's Winter without and Summer within.

So, tumble the flakes, or rattle the storm,

He breathes on his fingers and keeps them warm.

————————

SOME one we cannot hear,

Some one we cannot see,

Shakes the baby,

Wakes the baby,

Makes him laugh with glee.

————————

A STRANGER IN THE PEW.

POOR little Bessie! She tossed back her curls,

And, though she is often the sweetest of girls,

This was something she couldn't and wouldn't endure;

'Twas the meanest, most impolite act, she was sure,

And a thing, she declared, that she never would do:

To go to a church where one didn't belong,

Then walk down the aisle like the best in the throng,

And seat one's self plump in another one's pew.

Humph! Didn't her father own his out and out,

And didn't they fill it up full, just about,

When Mamma and Papa, and herself and the boys,

Were seated? And didn't their boots make a noise

In moving along to make room for a stranger?

And wasn't it cool, with the brazenest face,

To expect at each hymn Pa would find out the place

(If Ben didn't, or Bob, but there wasn't much danger)?

With such feelings at heart, and their print on her face,

Last Sunday our Bessie hitched out of her "place"

To make room for a girl, very shabby and thin,

Who had stood in the aisle till mamma asked her in.

The poor little thing tried her best not to crowd

And Bessie, forgetting, soon had the mishap

To slip from her drowsiness into a nap,

From which she soon wakened by crying aloud.

Poor Bessie sat upright, with cheeks all a-flame

At sleeping in church, and trembled with shame;

But 'twas strange at the close of the service to see

Our Bessie, now gentle as gentle could be,

Take the hand of the shabby young girl in the pew,

And walk with her out of the church with a smile

That shone through the tears in her eyes all the while,

And brightened her face with a radiance new.

"Good-by," whispered Bessie at parting, "and mind

Our pew's forty-five, with a pillar behind."

Then she stole to her mother: "Oh, Mother, I dreamed

Such a curious dream! 'Twas no wonder I screamed.

I thought I was sitting in church in this dress,

With a girl like a beggar-girl right in our pew—

We were sitting alone on the seat, just we two—

And I felt more ashamed than you ever could guess;

"When, all in a moment, the music grew loud,

And on it came floating a beautiful crowd;

They were angels, I knew, for they joined in the song,

And all of them seemed in the church to belong.

Slowly and brightly they sailed through the air;

The rays from the window streamed crimson and blue,

And lit them in turn as their forms glided through;—

I could feel their soft robes passing over my hair.

"One came to my side. Very sadly she said,

'There's a stranger in here.' I lifted my head,

And looked at the poor shabby girl with disdain.

'Tis not she,' said the angel; 'the haughty and vain

Are the strangers at church. She is humble and true.'

Then I cried out aloud, and the minister spoke,

And just as they floated away I awoke,

And there sat that dear little girl in our pew!"

————————

THE QUEEN O' MAY.

THE Queen o' May

Held court one day,—

The fields had nought to give her;

All in their best

Her maids were drest,

And they began to shiver.

"Now, never sneeze,

But warm your knees,

And look for daisies growing;

You'll find the air

Quite soft and fair,

Unless it fall a-snowing."

"Quite soft!" they said,

Each loyal maid.

"So fair!" the boys went chaffing;

But soon the May

Came down that way,

And set them all a-laughing.

THE QUEEN O' MAY.

————————

PUSSY'S CLASS.

"NOW children," said Puss, as she shook her head,

"It is time your morning lesson was said:"

So her kittens drew near with footsteps slow,

And sat down before her, all in a row.

"Attention, class!" said the cat-mamma,

"And tell me quick where your noses are."

At this all the kittens sniffed the air

As though it were filled with a perfume rare.

"Now what do you say when you want a drink?"

The kittens waited a moment to think,

And then the answer came clear and loud—

You ought to have heard how those kittens meow'd!

"Very well. 'Tis the same, with a sharper tone,

When you want a fish or a bit of bone.

Now what do you say when children are good?"

And the kittens purred as soft as they could.

"And what do you do when children are bad?

When they tease and pull?" each kitty looked sad.

"Pooh!" said their mother, "that isn't enough;

You must use your claws when children are rough!"

"And where are your claws? no, no, my dear,

(As she took up a paw) see! they're hidden here:"

Then all the kittens crowded about

To see their sharp little claws brought out.

They felt quite sure they never should need

To use such weapons—oh, no, indeed!

But their wise mamma gave a pussy's "pshaw!"

And boxed their ears with her softest paw.

"Now 'Stpisss!' as hard as you can," she said—

But every kitten hung down its head—

"Stpisss! I say," cried the mother cat,

But they said, "O mammy we can't do that!"

"Then go and play," said the fond mamma;

"What sweet little idiots kittens are!

Ah well, I was once the same, I suppose"—

And she looked very wise and rubbed her nose.

————————

TWISTAN TURNEM, let me see,

Which is the way to Tweedle-dee?

Why, turn about the way you've come,

And take the road to Tweedle-dum.

————————

WANDERING JOE.

TELL me, O wandering Joe!

How many miles did you go?

Why, one to my mother's,

And three to my brother's,

And just half a dozen

To hunt up a cousin;

And half a mile yonder

A hen-roost to plunder;

And three half miles back

To cover the track.

Then a half and a half

To water the calf,

And a half and a quarter

Before I found water;

Add a quarter to that,

When I chased a black bat;

Then two to town,

To see Jim Brown;

And two, and none,

And one for fun,

And one for luck,

And one for pluck;

And one for trouble,

And two for double;

And then 'twas best

To sit and rest.

And now, my friend, says Joe,

How many miles did I go?

————————

WHETHER fair, whether foul,

Be it wet or dry,

Cloudy time or shiny time

The sun's in the sky.

Gloomy-night, sparkle-night,

Be it glad or dread,

Cloudy time or shiny time,

Stars are overhead.

————————

THE RATS.

WHEN I'm sitting

At my knitting

After tea—

Deary me!

Such commotion,

Land o' Goshen!

And it's all

In the wall.

Rumble, tumble,

Flurry, scurry.

Now a rushing,

And a crushing;

Now a rattle,

And a battle;

Now a squeak

And a fall

So I sit

And I knit;

And I ponder

And wonder,

And scarcely know how,

In the racket and row,

My wits to recall.

But the clatter,

For that matter,

And the rumble

And tumble

And scratching

And catching

Keep on

Through it all.

Rats in dozens,

With their cousins,

Or in droves,

With their loves:

Now it's raps,

Now it's taps,

Or it's crunching,

Or munching;

Or a creak,

Or a shriek;

If I knew

What to do,

Or you'd show

Where to go,

I'd be off

Like a streak.

But no, I must stay

While they clamor away.

Traps, cats,

Sticks or rats—

Bane or gun,

It's all one.

No, it's fudge,

They won't budge!

Rat are rats,

Spite of cats

And the rest.

But—my star!—

Beginning or end

Or middle, depend

The things are a pest;

And they're all

In the wall,

So they are!

————————

IN THE WOOD.

"WHAT says the book, my lassie?

What says the book to thee?"

"It says the wood is beautiful,

The blossoms fair to see;

It says the brook tells merrily

A little tale of glee,

And birds, brimful of melody,

Do sing their songs for me."

"Then close the page, my lassie,

And lift thy pretty head,

And what the book would say to thee

The wood shall say instead.

The brook shall tell its merry tale,

The flowers their brightness shed,

And the birds shall sing—for life is life,

And printed words are dead.

"Hear what the bird sings, lassie:

'O little lady fair!

The breath of flowers is over thee,

The sunlight in thy hair;

The heart of a little maiden

Is free as birds in the air—

And God is good to thee and me,

O little lady fair!'"

————————

COMB MUSIC.

TWO children once sat in the twilight gray

Playing a tune in a comical way;

They both pressed a comb to their rosy red lips,

And little they cared for tickles and slips,

For wheezings, and paper that always would fall,

For oh! such loud music, or no note at all.

'Twas sweet to their ears, as fondly they heard

This musical strain coming forth, word for word:

"W-h-h-wome, w-h-h-wome, szzzeeet, zhhweet zome,

Bheet wev zo hhumble, therzzz nho blazzze liew zhhome!"

Now they are grown, and sing in the choir

Of their own village church with the beautiful spire;

So sweet are her notes, so perfect her skill,

Not a bird of the air but might envy her trill,

Not a wind of the night but right gladly would know

How to make his rich music so plaintive and low.

Together their voices in harmony blend,

And steep all their days in a joy without end;

And yet in their hearts they have always confessed

That lovely duet long ago was the best,

When they tingled their lips at the musical comb,

And told all the world there was "zno blaizzz liew zhome."

————————

IN THE BASKET.

SAY, do you hear my basket

Go "kippy! kippy! pe-ek"?

Maybe my funny basket

Is learning how to speak.

If you want to know the secret,

Go ask the speckled hen,

And tell her when I've warmed them

I'll bring them back again.

————————

COMING.

TWO fair ships are sailing,

Sailing over the sea,—

Willie's ship and my ship—

Full as full can be;

Side by side, my Willie says,

Like as pin to pin.

Oh, the happy, happy days

When our ships come in!

While our ships are sailing,

Sailing over the sea,—

Willie's ship and my ship,—

Full as full can be,

Sailing on the sunny tide,

Grieving would be sin:

Soon or late, and side by side,

Shall our ships come in.

————————

THE DAINTY MISS ROSE.

OH, a perfect nose,

And dainty toes,

And woolen hose,

Had Miss Rose!

A dog was she of high degree,

Born of an ancient family.

From her mother's side

Came her Spanish pride;

She had royal ways,

And her pedigree reckoned

From the glorious days

Of Charles the Second!

Well, she needed an escort

To a party of some sort,

One evening in May.

And to see her bother

'Twixt one dog and t'other,

Was good as a play.

Many pups came to say

They would be at her service,

But she sent them away

With a manner quite nervous.

In fact, I must own,

Of dogs fully grown,

She snubbed them by name

As fast as they came:

Sir Rover was coarse,

And Ponto was cruel;

Old Bounce was a horse,

Young Pip lived on gruel;

Spitz was a sneak,

Fido was surly;

Pomp was too sleek,

Carlo too curly;

Even elegant Pap,

Who wore a gold collar,

She said, with a snap,

Wasn't worth a lead dollar.

Then came a brave wight

For a desperate pull;

He had been in a fight,

Old Major de Bull.

He was cross as a bear,

And scanty of hair.

Also young Isle of Skye,

Rather down at the heel;

And the well-mannered Guy,

Who was sour, but genteel.

But dainty Miss Rose

Still tossed up her nose—

She oughtn't, she couldn't,

She wouldn't, she shouldn't

With one of them go,

She'd thank 'em to know.

By this time it was growing late,

And dainty Rose bemoaned her fate;

When, in the sky, there sprang in sight

A throbbing, sparkling thing of light.

"What's that," she cried, "I see afar?"

And Guy replied, "The great Dog Star—

Too Sirius, dear, for such as you,

And very much above you, too."

"Not so, indeed!" cried dainty Rose,

No longer tossing up her nose.

"Now, I am matched at last, you see,

The Dog Star shall my escort be!"

Then off she started, quite content,

And gallantly the Dog Star went.

For all the way he kept in sight,

And held her in his tender light,

Guiding her steps with steady rays,

And blinking when he met her gaze.

————————

POOR little mousie, what a mishap!

Why did you put your nose in the trap?

Hold still, mousie, and trust to me—

I'll touch the spring, and set you free!

————————

WAITING FOR FATHER.

In the gray of the twilight and glow of the fire,

A little girl sat on the rug.

She was warming a slipper; and pussy sat nigh her,

And also her friend, Mr. Pug.

And the song in the heart of the glad little girl,

As the light of the fire played over each curl,

Was, "Father is coming—hurrah! hurrah!

Father is coming—hurrah!"

She had spread out his soft woolen gown on the chair,

With its facings of beautiful blue;

Had picked up her playthings that lay here and there,

And arranged things as well as she knew.

"For the room must be tidy and pretty and bright,"

She said to herself, "when he comes, every night,

And soon he is coming—hurrah! hurrah!

Father is coming—hurrah!"

How rosy her cheeks, and how sparkling her eyes!

How dimpled her soft little hand!

While Pussy and Pug look as solemn and wise

As if the whole scene they had planned.

But you never would think, so demure are the three,

That the little maid's heart could be singing with glee,

"Father is coming—hurrah! hurrah!

Father is coming—hurrah!"

The sunlight has vanished, and bleak is the street,

And beggars are dreading the night.

The pavement is noisy with home-speeding feet,

And only the windows are bright;

When quickly the little maid springs from the rug,

Leaving Pussy half sleeping, but followed by Pug;

"Father is coming—hurrah! hurrah!

Father is coming—hurrah!"

————————

WHAT SHALL I BUY?[1]

I've got a penny,

What shall I buy?

I'll buy a—whistle,

That's what I'll buy.

I've got two pence,

What shall I buy?

I'll buy a—pop-gun,

That's what I'll buy.

I've got three pence,

What shall I buy?

I'll buy a—horsey,

That's what I'll buy.

[1] The charm of this thrilling ditty lies in allowing baby to suggest the last word of the third lines.

————————

RUT-A-TUT-TUTS!

Who can crack nuts?

Squirrels, can you?

"That we can, true—

Rut-a-tut-tuts,

We can crack nuts!"

Chicketty-chack,

Cracketty-crack.

"Pooh!" said the hammer,

"Silence your clamor,

Rut-a-tut-tuts—

Who can't crack nuts?"

————————

HALLOO, OLD SCUTTLE!

HALLOO, old scuttle! good old soul,

What's become of all your coal?

"Why the tongs he came with a gobbledy-gun,

And took my coals out, one by one;

And the blaze ran in with a tricksy-spire

And set the pretty things a-fire;

And the blower came with a roaring-roar,

And made them burn up more and more;

And then the poker with koppitty-hop,

He poked their ashes and made 'em drop—

And that, O Gobbledy-Koppitty-dole!

Is what's become of all my coal."

————————

OH, NO!

IF blue-birds bloomed like flowers in a row,

And never could make a sound,

How would the daisies and violets know

When to come out of the ground!

They would wait and wait the seasons round;

Never a flower could on earth be found.

And what would birds and butterflies do

If the flowers had wings to fly?

Why, birds and blossoms, and butterflies too,

Would stay far up in the sky;

And then the people would droop and sigh,

And all the children on earth would cry.

————————

THE SAND MAN.

OHO! but he travels the country over,

The queer little, kind little, elfish rover!

Lightly he bears in his tricksome hand

A silvery horn full of sleepy sand,

Shaking it here, and shaking it there,

Till the blossoms nod in the drowsy air;

Till the sunlight creeps up hill to bed,

Or slips through the sky where clouds are red;

Till the lambkins bleat a soft "good-night!"

And birds grow still in the tree-tops bright,

While sweet little eyelids, all over the land,

Droop with the weight of the silvery sand.

Oho! Oho! where the Sand Man goes

Every one wonders and nobody knows;

For just when the right time comes to peep,

Little and big are falling asleep.

He steals to the cradles, the cribs, the beds,

And sprinkles his sand over children's heads,

Till bright little faces lie warm and still,

Smiling or grave, at the Sand Man's will.

He catches them often at full midday,

And bids them stop in their merry play—

With a "Ho! my darling," "Hi! my dear,"

"I'll sing a dream-song into your ear."

Some on the carpet, some on the chairs,

Some curled up on the nursery stairs;

Some in the grass where the shadows play,

Some hidden deep in the fragrant hay,

And some who, folded in mother's embrace,

Float in a lullaby, pressing her face.

Oho! but he travels the country over,

The queer little, kind little, elfish rover!

And whence he comes, and whither he goes,

Every one wonders, and nobody knows;

For just when the right time comes to peep,

All the children are falling asleep.

————————

TROUBLE IN THE GREENHOUSE.

THREE big cats in a greenhouse.

Oh! they look so meek,

So sage and sleek,

That but for the clash

And the sudden crash,

And the broken pots

Of forget-me-nots,

And upset roses,

And dingy noses,

And draggled vines,

And tangled twines,

And broken pink,

You'd never think

What a fearful fuss

And hopeless muss

Could be made in a hurry

And velvet flurry

By three meek cats in a greenhouse.

————————

TEN KINDS.

WINNIE WHINEY, all things grieve her;

Fannie Fibber, who'd believe her?

Lotty Loozem, late to school, sir;

Albert Allplay, quite a fool, sir;

Kitty Kissem, loved by many,

Georgy Grump, not loved by any.

Ralphy Ruff—beware his fist, sir!

Tillie Tattle, like a blister,

Gus Goodaction, bright and cheery,

Sammy Selfish, sour and dreary.

Do you know them, as I've sung them?

Easy 'tis to choose among them.

————————

HAVE YOU APPLES?

"HAVE you apples, good grocer?"

"O yes, ma'am, how many?"

"How do you sell them, Sir?"

"Two for a penny."

"I'll have two, Mr. Grocer,

They're good for my baby;

Send 'em home in an hour, Sir."

"That I will, lady."

————————

THERE was an old woman of Wigg,

Who fattened her favorite pig.

"I'll eat him," she said,

"From his tail to his head"—

This greedy old woman of Wigg.

————————

THERE was a brave knight of Lorraine,

Who hated to give people pain.

"I'll skeer them," he said,

"But won't kill 'em dead"—

This noble young knight of Lorraine.

————————

THERE was an old doctor of Brille,

Who gave all his patients a pill.

"It will cure 'em," he said,

Or else kill 'em dead"—

This skillful old doctor of Brille.

————————

FAIRY TALES.

"'Et me see," thought little May,

Waking from her slumber,

"How many 'tories do I know?

Oh, a mons'rous number!

First Cin'rella with her shoe,

All d'essed up so sp'ended;

"'Es, an' naughty B'ue Beard too,

Always gettin' 'fended;

'Fended with his wives he was,

All account of keys,

Then a-comin' back to say

'DIE MA'AM! on your knees!'

Oh my! if she hadn't had

Her faithful sister Ann,

No one ever would have come

To kill that wicked man!

Then the Bean-stalk—that was nice!

Wis' I'd one this minute,

Guess, though, I'd be most af'aid—

Might be giants in it.

Wonder if I was to be

Jack the Giant-killer

Nursey'd be af'aid o' me?

Why, I wouldn't kill her!

Not unless she combed too hard—

Then I'd shake my axe

Jus' a 'ittle—wis' I had

A real one jus' like Jack's.

Wis' I had a pair o' boots

Like Puss, who went a-walkin'!

Wis' I had a Pussy too,

Sittin' up a-talkin'.

I wouldn't like to go get lost

Like 'ittle Hop my T'umb

'Way 'n the forest (don't I wish

My mamma'd only come!)

A'most makes me feel af'aid

T'inkin' 'bout 'em now;

Gettin' lef' that way I t'ink

Was dreffle, any how;—

But, oh, the chil'ren in the wood,

They must have been so f'ightened

A-list'nin, to the t'under, or

A-watchin' when it lighten'd.

Don't see why they didn't go;

Maybe, though, they couldn't—

My Uncle wouldn't t'eat me so,

Uncle Rodney wouldn't.

Maybe in the mornin', too,

They heard a lion roarin'—

Here comes Nursey! now I'll play

I'm fast as'eep, a-snorin'.

————————

OLD Can-an'-must is a giant bold,

But one thing scares him, I've been told;

"I'm afraid when a youngster wastes his crust,

He'll never be thrifty," says Can-an'-must.

Old Can-an'-must is a giant bold,

And only one thing makes him scold:

"If I catch a youngster leaving a crust,

I'll gobble him up!" says Can-an'-must.

————————

MOTHERLESS.

"I wish she had not died," she said,

The words were soft and low;

"Most little girls like me, papa,

Have dear mammas, you know.

"There's Lulu Hart, next door. I think

It's nice to live that way;

With some one sitting at the blinds

To watch you while you play;

"I often see her look up quick,

And smile at some one there;

And when she laughs and hides away,

She knows some one will care.

"Why didn't Doctor Bishop cure

My mother, dear papa?

That's what he did one time, you know,

For Lulu Hart's mamma.

"Say, papa, was God good to take

My own mamma away?

For I was just a baby then—

Papa, why don't you say?"

"Yes, always good," he sobbed. "Mamma

Is very happy, dear."

His little girl sprang up, nor cared

Another word to hear.

"Why, papa! crying? Please don't cry.

Do you feel sorry, too?

Now, papa, see; I never meant

I didn't care for you.

"If mamma's happy in the sky—

You told me so before—

We mustn't cry. I think it's wrong

To want her any more.

"Laugh, papa, quick! I'll pull your hair!

I'll kiss your funny nose;

Laugh, quick, for Minnie; else I'll try

To jump right on your toes.

"Poor eyes! all wet. I'll kiss them dry.

What's in your pocket? See.

Oh! where's your watch? Now, won't you please

Just make it tick for me?

"It's nice to have a dear papa.

(How big it is, and bright.

I hear it ticky, ticky, tick.

It's very loud to-night.)

"Ride me to Banbury Cross, papa!

Now, don't you let me fall.

When I was littler, how I slipped!

I couldn't keep on at all.

"Oh! there's the tea-bell. Now you've tossed

My hair like everything!

I'll toss yours too. Oho! Oho!

You look just like a king—

"For kings have crowns, you know, papa,

And your hair's standing straight.

I knew you'd laugh! There, now, you're good—

Come quick, and show Aunt Kate."

Aunt, at the table, glanced at one,

And then glanced at the other;

She could not guess what hidden thing

Had happened to her brother.

His shining hair stood like a crown,

His smile was warm and bright;

"Why, John," she said, "you really seem

Like your old self to-night."

————————

OLD SIMON.

OLD SIMON and his boys were glad,

To take the plainest fare;

They brightened everything they had,

With gratitude and prayer.

"Give thanks," said Simon, "when ye rise,

Give thanks when day is done."

And none than Simon were more wise,

Or happy, under the sun.

————————

THE LITTLE MOTE.

A LITTLE mote lived in a sunbeam,

And danced in its light all day;

But she jumped with surprise one morning,

At hearing the housemaid say:—

"Oh, the dust! How it keeps one a-working!

It settles all over the room—

And the air is so full, it is folly

To labor with duster and broom!"

"Poor thing!" sighed the mote, "well, I'm sorry.

I think I'll go hide in her hair—

I'm such a wee speck of a dustlet

She never will know I am there."

————————

WHEN I was little,

Thought I was big;

Now I'm a giant,

Don't care a fig.

When I was nobody,

Felt quite a chap;

Now that I'm somebody,

Don't care a snap.

————————

WHAT makes baby brave and bright?

Angels guard him day and night.

————————

THE ALPHABET.

LITTLE boys with pockets,

Little boys with none,

Little bright-eyed lassies

Gather, every one!

Crowd around me closely.

Would you master books?

You must first discover

How each letter looks.

A has a bar

Where a fairy might ride;

B is a post

With two loops at the side.

C might be round

If a piece you would lend;

D is a buck-saw

Standing on end.

E has a peg

In the middle, they say;

F is an E

With the bottom away.

G is like C,

With a block on one end;

H has a seat

That would hold you, depend.

I is so straight

It would do for a prop;

J is a crook

With a bar at the top.

K is a stick

With a crotch fastened to it.

L is a roost,

If the chickens but knew it.

M has four parts,

As you quickly may see;

N, the poor fellow!

Is made out of three.

O is so round

It would do for a hoop;

P is a stick

With a top like a loop.

Q to be curly

Is constantly trying;

R is like B,

With the bottom loop flying.

S is a snake,

All crooked and dread;

T is a pole

With a bar for a head.

U it is plain,

Would make a good swing;

V is as sharp

As a bumble-bee's sting.

W ought

To be called double-V;

X is a cross,

As you plainly can see;

Y is just formed

Like a V on a stand;

Z is the crookedest

Thing in the land!

————————

EARLY to bed and early to rise:

If that would make me wealthy and wise

I'd rise at daybreak, cold or hot,

And go back to bed at once. Why not?

————————

THE COOK'S LITTLE BOY.

A REAL apple-pudding for Mammy and me!

A-boiling as hard as I ever did see!

O Mammy! I'm going to jump up and look,

And tell the old pudding to hurry and cook.

Is it looking in, Mammy, that hinders the boil?

Well, I'd feel very bad for my pudding to spoil;

So I'll cover it up, like a good little son,

And play on the floor till you tell me it's done.

There's the chil'ren up-stairs—they're dressed up so fine,

But their pudding's no better than Mammy's and mine.

Oh! isn't it nice when your Mammy's the cook,

And whenever you want you can climb up and look!

"OH! ISN'T IT NICE!"

————————

HARRY.

HURRAH for the bouncer, exactly fourteen;

The blithest old schoolboy that ever was seen,

Hurrah for the Harry who went by, this way,

Last Valentine's eve, thirteen and a day!

There was Harry, aged twelve, I remember him well

A hawk from a hernshaw he always could tell;

And Harry, eleven—ah! how he would fiddle

And scrape with his bow from the end to the middle.

Then the bold boy of ten that my Harry appeared,

A few years ago, when the war-mists were cleared;

A chubby young fellow he flourished at nine,

A right chubby fellow, this Harry of mine.

At eight he was slender; at seven, quite fat;

At six he was saucy—depend upon that!

At five he put on his first trowsers and jacket;

At four who could match him for making a racket?

At three the young rascal was always in trouble;

At two he was teething (his front teeth, and double);

At one he was precious and something to carry,

And the year before that there was never a Harry!

————————

THREE WAYS.

"HOW sweet," said the swan,

"To glide and plash!

And not, like a frog,

To dive and dash."

"How fine," said the frog,

"To dive and dash!

And not, like a swan,

To glide and plash."

"But better than either

To float with grace,"

A pond lily whispered,

"Yet keep your place."

————————

TOM of Clapham used to say

He loved his mother dearly;

Yet he vexed her sorely every day—

Does that strike you queerly?

————————

WHAT THEY SAY.

WHAT does the drum say? "Rub-a-dub-dub!

Rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub! Pound away, bub!

Make as much racket as ever you can.

Rub-a-dub! rub-a-dub! Go it, my man!"

What does the trumpet say? "Toot-a-toot-too!

Toot-a-toot, toot-a-toot! Hurrah for you!

Blow in this end, sir, and hold me out, so.

Toot-a-toot! toot-a-toot! Why don't you blow?"

What does the whip say? "Snaperty-snap!

Call that a crack, sir—flipperty flap!

Up with the handle, and down with the lash.

Snaperty! snaperty! Done in a flash."

What does the gun say? "Put in my stick,

I'm a real pop-gun. Fire me quick!

See that you fire in nobody's eye.

Steady! my manikin. Now let it fly!"

What does the sword say? "Swishy-an-swish!

Flash in the sunlight, and give me a wish.

Wish I was real, sir—cut 'em in bits!

Wouldn't I scare all the world into fits!"

What do they all say, trumpet and gun,

Whip, sword, and drum-stick? "Hurrah for fun!

Babies no longer, but stout little men,

Racket forever! and racket again!"

————————

ONE step—two step,

Three step—four.

Who says my baby

Can't travel the floor?

Five step—six step—

Seven step—eight!

Now shall my baby

Rest him in state!

————————

MELONS.

MELONS! melons!

All day long

Joe's mother sits

Selling melons.

"Ho! ripe and rich!"

Is her song,

All day long

Selling melons.

Melons! melons!

All day long,

Joe walks the street

Selling melons.

"Ho! ripe and sweet!"

Is his song,

All day long

Selling melons.

————————

HOW MANY THINGS IN MY POCKET?

TAP at your brain and unlock it,

Then count all the things in my pocket:

A nail and a screw,

A screw-driver, too;

A cent and a dollar,

A tumbled-up collar;

A neck-tie and glove,

A note from my love;

Two peppermint-drops,

A couple of tops;

A buckle, a ball,

The head of a doll;

A top-snare, of course,

A six-penny horse;

Four pins, always handy,

And three sticks of candy;

Ten nuts and a pen,

A squirt—and what then?

Why, my knife, to be sure,

And an old wooden skewer;

That's all—oh! a string,

A galvanized ring;

A pistol (but no one could cock it),

And that's all I had in my pocket.

————————

THE GALLANT OUTRIDERS.

"WHERE have you been, my children;

Where have you been, I pray?"

"Oh, but we've been a-riding,

A-riding the live-long day."

"And how did you ride, my darlings;

And where did all of you go?"

"We all of us went on horseback,

A-galloping in a row.

"Jack had the whole of the saddle;

I held on to the tail;

And Leslie, under the fore-feet,

Managed to ride the rail;

"Jackey galloped and cantered,—

Played he galloped, I mean;

For Les. and I did the rocking,

And Jack just rode between.

"Oh, didn't our animal caper

As he hitched himself along!

We might have kept on forever,

If they'd only made him strong.

"But when I pitched on the carpet,

His tail so tight in my hand,

And Les. from the rail fell kicking,

Why, horsey came to a stand.

"If Les. had only kept quiet,

We might have played we were dead;

I don't see the sense in yelling

Because you have bumped your head.

"Jackey held on like a good one,

And looked as fine as a fiddle,—

But it's nothing to ride a-horseback

If a fellow is on the middle."

————————

"BUSY bee! busy bee!

Where is your home?"

"In truth, pretty maiden,

I live in a comb."

"And you, little Rabbit,

Where do you rush?"

"I rush to my home, dear,

Under the brush!"

————————

DOBBIN'S FRIEND.

DOBBIN has a little friend,

Spotted white and sable;

Every day she goes to him,

In his lonely stable.

Not a might of dread has she,

Not a thought of danger;

Lightly runs between his hoofs,

Jumps upon his manger;

Lays her soft, warm cheek to his,

Purrs her meek "Good morning!"

Gives the flies that hover near,

Such a look of warning!

"Dobbin, dear," she sometimes says,

"Feel my winter mittens;

Nice and warm, you see, and made

Purposely for kittens.

"Dobbin, dear, such times at home!

Mother has caught a rat!

Brought it home to show to us—

What do you think of that?"

"Dobbin!" she whispers, purring still,

"You often get so weary,

Why don't you balk or run away,

And get your freedom, dearie?"

Then Dobbin gives his head a toss,

And says, "For shame, Miss Kitty!

If I could do so mean a thing,

'Twould be a monstrous pity.

"No, no; my master's good and kind;

I'll never vex him, never!"

And pussy, pleased, still rubs his cheek,

And likes him more than ever.

————————

THE WAY TO DO IT.

I'LL tell you how I speak a piece:

First, I make my bow;

Then I bring my words out clear

And plain as I know how.

Next, I throw my hands up so!

Then I lift my eyes—

That's to let my hearers know

Something doth surprise.

Next, I grin and show my teeth,

Nearly every one;

Shake my shoulders, hold my sides:

That's the sign of fun.

Next I start and knit my brow,

Hold my head erect:

Something's wrong, you see, and I

Decidedly object.

Then I wabble at my knees,

Clutch at shadows near,

Tremble well from top to toe:

That's the sign of fear.

Now I start, and with a leap

Seize an airy dagger.

"WRETCH!" I cry. That's tragedy,

Every soul to stagger.

Then I let my voice grow faint,

Gasp and hold my breath;

Tumble down and plunge about:

That's a villain's death.

Quickly then I come to life,

Perfectly restored;

With a bow my speech is done.

Now you'll please applaud.

————————

WILLY AND HIS PIPE.

WILLY lay by the dimpling brook,

Where the sun had lain before;

And, strange to say, when its place he took,

The spot just brightened the more.

The birds were singing in the blue,

A song that was like a hymn;

While the baby ducklings, two by two,

Strayed into the water to swim.

"Heigho!" sighed Willy, "I cannot fly,

Nor even so much as float;

And as for singing like robins, why,

I never could raise a note.

"But I can play on my pipe," said he;

And soon the music came—

So clear and sweet, so blithesome free,

That it put the birds to shame.

The baby ducklings softly splashed,

The robins yet harder tried,

The sprinkled grass in sunlight flashed,

As it nodded by Willy's side.

And, before he knew, he was floating free

On a sparkling river of thought;

While the birds in the air came down to see

What wonder the pipe had wrought.

And still the music softly rose,

Still Willy was floating free;

And the little ducks with their funny toes,

Were happy as happy could be.

————————

I HAD a little Scotchman,

Who reached to my chin;

He was swift as an arrow,

And neat as a pin.

He ran on my errands,

And sang me a song;

Oh, he was as happy

As summer is long!

————————

TROTTERY, trottery, out of breath,

Nurse trots the baby 'most to death:

Sick or well, or cold or hot,

It's trottery, trottery, trottery-trot!

————————

LAZY LOU.

LAZY LOU, Lazy Lou,

What's the matter, child, with you?

Can't you work? Can't you play?

Can't you tuck your hair away?

If I were you, my Lazy Lou,

I'd change my ways. That's what I'd do.

————————

UP in the morning early—

Hi for my baby sweet!

Here's a gown for his body,

Here are shoes for his feet.

And here is his snowy tucker

Tied with ribbons fair,

And here is his little mammy

To curl his bonny hair.

Here is his little bath-tub,

And here is his little sponge,

Before the gown and the curling

My baby shall have a plunge.

————————

PINS in the carpet, tacks in the floor,

Needles in the drugget, wind through the door,

Fire in the fender! Oh, it beats all!

There isn't a place where our baby can crawl.

————————

IF Pussy were made of leather,

And Doggie were made of lead,

I'd tumble them both together,

And hammer them on the head.

But Pussy is warm and tender,

And Doggie is good and true;

So I'd rather far defend her,

And Doggie, too, wouldn't you?

————————

BE CAREFUL.

NEVER in a fool's mouth

Thrust your careless finger;

If you do, there's danger

It may chance to linger.

Never to the foolish

Tell your dearest thought;

Or you'll find your confidence,

Like your finger, "caught."

Never with the silly

Banter, sport, or jest;

Even for your frolics

Wise friends are the best.

————————

FARM LESSONS.

"HO! plowman Kelly! How does it feel

To get in a wagon by climbing the wheel?"

"Nay, nay, little master, don't try it, I beg,

For that is the way that I broke my leg."

"Kelly, Kelly! Come, show me the way

They turn this machine when they cut the hay!"

"No, no, little master, just let it be—

That hay-cutter cut off my thumb for me."

"Ho, Kelly! The well-curb is rimmed with moss.

Now look at me while I jump across!"

"Hold, hold, young master! 'T would be a sin!

I tried it once, and I tumbled in."

"Kelly, Kelly! Send me to jail,

But I'll pluck a hair from yon pony's tail."

"Oh, master, master! Come back! Don't try—

That's the very way that I lost my eye."

"Why, Kelly, man, how under the sun

Can you be so frisky and full of fun?—

With all your mishaps, you are never a spoon—

You're as brave as a lion and wise as a coon."

"Well, well, young master, maybe it's so,

And maybe it isn't. But this I know:

It just brings trouble and mischief and slaughter,

To be fussin' around where one hadn't ought ter."

————————

OUT OF THE GROUND.

A GLOW in the sunshine,

A pulse in the air,

A something of gladness—

We cannot tell where;

Blue, born of heaven,

Filling the sky;

A laugh in the brooklet

Hastening by;

A stirring of insects

Waking the wood;

Prayer breathed in secret:

"God, thou art good!"

Little birds humming;

Joy all around—

The flowers must be coming

Out of the ground!

They're coming! They're coming!

Daffodils sweet—

Hear the grass whisper

Under our feet!

Telling of daisies,

Telling of clover,

Telling of beauty

All the world over!

Looking up brightly

Where the sun shines,

Sending a message

Up to the vines:

"Wake from your slumbers,

Summon your powers,

Put forth your tendrils:

They're coming—the flowers!"

They're coming! They're coming!

'Tis writ on the air,

In incense and harmony

Breathed everywhere!

Winds murmur no longer

Their woe to the pines—

But spiders are spinning

Their gossamer lines.

Blue-birds are darting

The branches among,

Wild with a pleasure

Only half sung.

Herd-bells are tinkling—

Moonie, the cow,

Crops the young grasslets

Emerald now.

High on the roof-top

Sparrows look forth,

Watching for travellers

Flying to north—

Twittering sparrows!

Blithesome and true,

You never left us

All winter through.

Brave little sparrows!

No tempest lowers—

Blest is your waiting:

They're coming—the flowers!

They're coming! They're coming!

The beautiful throng,

To sooth us and cheer us

The whole summer long.

By brook and in meadow,

Woodland and glade,

Through moonlight and starlight,

Sunshine and shade,

They're creeping, they're springing,

They're climbing the hill,

They're twining and clinging—

Though under ground still.

The blue-birds have called them—

(Praise God for it all!)

They have heard, and already

They answer the call!

O Snow-white and Purple,

Pink, Yellow, and Blue!

Lie close to their hearts

Till the day they come through.

O spirit of Beauty!

Spirit of Grace!

Still bide ye above them

Watching the place.

Fragrance and Loveliness!

Still hover near,

Soon shall your hosts

In their glory appear.

Surely the Spring-time

Is crowning its hours—

They're coming! They're coming!

The beautiful flowers!

————————

POOR CROW!

GIVE me something to eat,

Good people, I pray;

I have really not had

One mouthful to-day!

I am hungry and cold,

And last night I dreamed

A scarecrow had caught me—

Good land, how I screamed!

Of one little children

And six ailing wives

(No, one wife and six children),

Not one of them thrives.

So pity my case,

Dear people, I pray;

I'm honest, and really

I've come a long way.

————————

THE WOODEN HORSE.

A REAL horse is good,

But a horse made of wood

Is a much better horsey for me;

For he needn't be tied,

And he's steady beside,

And never gets lazy, you see.

When pulled, he will go;

And he stops when you "whoa!"

For he always is willing to please;

And though you may stay

By the water all day,

Not once for a drink will he tease.

Not a handful of feed,

All his life, does he need;

And he never wants brushing or combing:

And after a race

All over the place,

He never stands panting and foaming.

He doesn't heed flies,

Though they light on his eyes;

Mosquitoes and gnats he won't mind:

And he never will shy,

Though a train whizzes by,

But always is gentle and kind.

A real horse, some day,

Will be running away;

A donkey is so apt to kick;

A goat will upset you,

A doggie will fret you—

Your wooden horse hasn't a trick!

No chance of a crash,

Or a runaway smash,

Though never so playful and free.

Oh! I like when I drive

To be brought home alive—

So a fine wooden horsey for me!

————————

TINKER, come bring your solder,

And mend this watch for me.

Haymaker, get some fodder,

And give my cat his tea.

Cobbler, my horse is limping,

He'll have to be shod anew;

While the smith brings forge and hammer

To make my daughter a shoe.

Bestir yourselves, my lazies!

I give you all fair warning:

You must do your work 'twixt twelve at night,

And an hour before one in the morning.

————————

THERE was a rare boy who fell ill,

And begged them to give him a pill;

"For my kind parents' sake,

The dose I will take,"

Said this rare little boy who fell ill.

————————

TAKING TIME TO GROW.

"MAMMA! mamma!" two eaglets cried,

"To let us fly you've never tried.

We want to go outside and play;

We'll promise not to go away."

The mother wisely shook her head:

"No, no, my dears. Not yet," she said.

"But, mother dear," they called again,

"We want to see those things called men,

And all the world so grand and gay,

Papa described the other day.

And—don't you know?—he told you then

About a little tiny wren,

That flew about so brave and bold,

When it was scarcely four weeks old?"

But still the mother shook her head;

"No, no, my dears, not yet," she said.

"Before you see the world below,

Far bigger you will have to grow.

There's time enough to look for men;

And as for wrens—a wren's a wren.

What if your freedom does come late?

An eaglet can afford to wait."

"NO, NO, MY DEARS, NOT YET," SHE SAID.

————————

THE NAUGHTY BOY.

"OCH, save us!" cried Betty, "I'm 'most driven wild;

Would you shtep here a moment, ma'am, please?

For the sowl of me, ma'am, I can't ready the child

While he keeps up such doin's as these.

"I might better be curlin' a porkerpine quill,

Or washin' the face of a eel,

Than be dressin' of him—for he never keeps still

'Less I howld him by neck an' by heel.

"It's three blissed times since I put on his clothes

That he's wriggled stret off o' the chair;

Not a moment ago he attack-ted me nose,

And it's twice he's been into me hair.

"If ye'll credit me, ma'am, wid his cryin' an' kickin',

He's brought tears to my eyes, ma'am, like rain—

If he wasn't so bad, ma'am, I wouldn't be speakin',

For I niver was one to complain."

Thus summoned, I went to the nursery-door,

There sat master Johnny, a-pout.

And I said, as I lifted him up from the floor,

"Why, Johnny, what's all this about?"

A scream was his answer. His flushed little face

Looked angrily up into mine;

"Oo hurt!" "Do I, Johnny? Where?—show me the place!"

But his cry only changed to a whine.

In a moment, I found out the cause of the trouble—

'Twas a pin, pricking deep in his side;

And she, in her roughness, had bent the thing double—

No wonder my darling had cried!

Poor Johnny! He sobbed on my shoulder awhile,

Then held up his face to be kissed;

(If Betty went back to the Emerald Isle,

I know where she wouldn't be missed.)

Soon, meek as a lamb when the tempest is whirling,

And the shepherd is deaf to his bleat,

Our Johnny submitted to washing and curling,

Till Betty proclaimed him "complete."

————

In "righting" each other,

(As Betty would say),

If we find there's a bother

That stands in the way—

Perhaps 'twould be well,

Before crying, "Sin,"

And running to tell,

To look for the pin!

————————

LITTLE MISS LIMBERKIN.

LITTLE Miss Limberkin,

Dreadful to say,

Found a mouse in the cupboard

Sleeping away.

Little Miss Limberkin

Gave such a scream,

She frightened the little mouse

Out of its dream.

————————

THE FROG WHO WOULDN'T A-WOOING GO.

YE gentlemen far, and gentlemen near,

And ladies fair, and children dear,

Come, list to the mournful tale—heigho!—

Of the frog who wouldn't a-wooing go.

I.

Once on a time, when nations were few,

And whether the world stood still or flew,

Nobody cared and nobody knew,

A respectable pair,

By name of Gluck,

Lived in a pool

On the Isle of Muck.

Oh! very blest were this pair of frogs,

Their lot was cast in the softest of bogs.

Mrs. Gluck had an exquisite voice,

Their sky was serenest,

Their puddle the greenest

That ever bade heart of a froggy rejoice.

II.

But of all the blessings that came to this pair,

Most precious of all was a son and heir,

With the widest of mouths and the loveliest stare—

Their brisk little polliwog,

Hearty and hale;

Their own little frisky one,

All head and tail!

Ah! never were parents so happy as these,

Though their child, to be sure, wouldn't sit on their knees.

And this, let me say, was a very bad sign,

Though they didn't perceive it

And couldn't conceive it,

For it proved that he didn't to duty incline.

III.

Well, the days flew along, and their child grew apace,

Till at last a fine form came to balance his face;

And his legs grew so fast they seemed running a race.

Completed at last,

With his garment of green,

Just the handsomest froggy

That ever was seen,

He said to his mother: "Now, madam, I'm blown

If—ahem! I should say, I am perfectly grown;

So in future I'd wish my own master to be,

Though I thank you most kindly

For loving me blindly."

(Such airs in a youngster were dreadful to see!)

IV.

"O son," quoth his mother, "you fill me with pain!"

And she sobbed and she sighed with her whole might and main,

And called to her husband in desperate strain.

"Pooh, pooh!" said old Gluck,

"The youngster is right,

So let him alone, ma'am,

Or you and I'll fight.

And, hark ye, my son, I have noticed of late

Yon puddle attracts you. Tis well. Find your mate.

The Gungs, as a family, seem to adore you.

Select your own waters,

Take one of the daughters,

And leap into life like your father before you."

V.

Alas for young puddledum! Proudly he scouted

The sire's good advice. He sulked and he pouted,

And the Gung girls, in turn, every one of them, flouted.

"What, choose me a wife!

Does he think I'm a fool?

No, my motto for life

Is: one frog to a pool.

Shall I yield up my freedom—be tied to a log?

Not I, by my jumps!" quoth this prig of a frog.

"Miss Gung, sir, for all I'll prevent, gug-a-loo!

May sing till they carry me,

'No one will marry me,

Nobody, nobody's coming to woo!'"

VI.

I must tell you; old Gluck, with his puddle so fair,

Was known by the banks as mud-millionaire.

So, young Gluck (who you know, was his first son and heir),

Soon set up a team

Of sleek water-rats,

And covered his head

With the brightest of hats;

Then, with a phaeton and footman or two,

He drove forth to dazzle, to awe and subdue.

Oh! glum was his face, his heart icy cold!

And the seat of his car,

Though too wide by far

For one single frog, not another would hold.

VII.

But when did the heartless, disdainful, and flat

Live on, unrebuked by this world's tit for tat?

And why did our frog trust his fate to a rat?

One day, as he drove,

There came forth to stare—

Kingfisher and Duck—

A most comical pair.

The first was the proudest that ever was seen,

For the rod in his hand was the gift of his queen;

But the other—ah! never did duck so expand;

Yet strut as he could,

And strain as he would,

Poor Quack, for the life of him, couldn't look grand.

VIII.

Yet he took it amiss that his efforts were lost

To thaw with his splendor that armor of frost

(For our frog quite disdained any duck to accost),

And loudly he shouted,

"Come back, sir, come back!

You're spoiling our road

With your zig-zagging track,

Come back, or yon man, with his cat-o'-nine tails,

Will be after your team, till you whistle like quails—

Great Neptune! If there ain't the mischief to pay!

Just as sure as I waddle,

Or swim, dive, or paddle,

Those rats of young Gluck's are a-running away!"

IX.

Too true. They had heard the duck's dreadful appeal—

A cat with nine tails! why, the thought made them squeal.

And they ran for their holes, with poor Gluck, neck and heel.

But whether he lived,

Or whether he died,

Or whether the rats

Managed safely to hide,

Or whether his parents e'er saw him again,

Or whether Miss Gung always waited in vain,

'Neath her lily-pads green, for a lover, or no,

Are things that belong

To the rest of my song

Of the frog who wouldn't a-wooing go.

PART SECOND.

I.

Oh! moan, ye winds, by the green pool's brink!

And quickly, ye Glucks, in the deep mud sink;

Prepare all the dregs of affliction to drink!

The pride of the puddle,

Breath of thy breath,

Lies low in the marshes,

Fainting to death.

Oh! weep, poor Miss Gung! for there never shall be

In thy home of the lilies a lover for thee.

Thy sun goeth down with never a glow,

He hath frowned on thy fate,

On thy maiden estate,

And the one whom thou lovest is lying all low!

II.

Ha! what is this coming? what wreck do they spy?

What driverless rat-steeds are these rushing by?

"Our child!" cried the mother; "oh! fly to him, fly!"

These words to old Gluck,

And that mother fell dead;

She had burst with her grief,

And the vital spark fled.

Then madly in search leaped that father bereft,

And wildly those goggle-eyes peered right and left;

Till at last, where the bank lay a little aslant,

He saw his son lying,

Apparently dying,

For all he could do was to quiver and pant.

III.

"Oh! leap, little Eng" (this, Gluck said to his latest,

A froggy half-grown), "bring of doctors the greatest,

And look to thy speed, that thou never abatest.

Bring Tightskin, or Squatt,

Or my cousin Paff-Puff;

But don't bring them all—

One doctor's enough.

O horror! he fails! Be quick, Eng, be quick!

His eye-balls are sinking! his breath's growing thick.

Either Tightskin or Squatt will be better than Paff—"

But Eng never heard,

He had left at the word,

Bound, of course, for the third of that medical staff.

IV.

"Oh! look at me, son! Oh! lift up your head!

And don't lie so limp, for you fill me with dread

For pity's sake, hear me. Your mother is dead!"

"Dead!" gasped Master Gluck,

"And I lying here?

Oh! why will these mothers

Step out of their sphere?

If ever I needed good nursing 'tis now,

And your masculine paw, sir, it scratches my brow.

I need some one gentle—more gentle than air—

O father! I fear

I am injured in here."

And our frog pressed his heart in the deepest despair.

V.

"Now, bear up, my son," cried the sorrowing Gluck.

"See! the doctor is coming. He'll bring us good luck.

By my croak! but it's Paff, the conceited old buck."

Then, quick to the doctor,

"My child! Is he killed?

Oh! save me my son

From the phaeton spilled.

Haste! give me the lotion! I'll pour it on here."

"No, no," moaned the patient, "I can't have him near,

His rubbing is torture. I'd rather be hung.

Dear doctor, he's rough—

He's nursed me enough—

Oh! send little Eng for that oldest Miss Gung."

VI.

Then outspake the uncle, with wrath in his face,

And a grunt of denial that filled all the place,

"No, no, Master Gluck, I'll attend to your case,

Humph! nursing indeed!

You've called me too late.

In less than an hour, sir,

We'll lay you out straight.

No Miss Gung shall you have. Her father's my friend.

If you'd done as you ought—Never mind. I intend

To have all my sons, cousin Gluck, marry early.

Had my patient seen fit

To wed, I'll admit

He might have been saved," said this doctor so surly.

VII.

And then, while our hero lay moaning with pain,

And his father kept rubbing and fussing in vain,

The doctor continued, in furious strain,

"This accident—humph!

Cousin Gluck, on my word,

With a family team, sir,

Would not have occurred.

This thinking and plotting for self all the while,

And frisking about, sir, in bachelor style,

With no one to nurse you when hurt, sir, don't pay."

"Good doctor," moaned froggy,

"It isn't too late,

Even now she'd consent

To soften my fate.

Oh Eng! dear, run off for Miss Gung, right away."

VIII.

These words were his last. He never moved more,

But lay through the starlight, all fainting and sore

(And those weary night-watchers, how rasping their snore)!

In the morning they found him

Stretched out stiff and stark—

He had died all alone

In the cold and the dark.

The chord of existence had snapt, they averred,

In trying to utter one sweet little word.

And, as over his body his weeping sire hung,

'Twas plain to be seen,

From that mouth's very mien,

That the last mournful sound of his life had been—Gung!

Oh! gentlemen far, and gentlemen near,

And striplings fair, and children dear,

Be warned by the mournful tale, heigho!

Of the frog who wouldn't a-wooing go.

————————

THE STUBBORN BOOT.

BOTHER! was all John Clatterby said.

His breath came quick, and his cheek was red,

He flourished his elbows, and looked absurd,

While, over and over, his "Bother!" I heard.

Harder and harder the fellow worked,

Vainly and savagely still he jerked;

The boot, half on, would dangle and flap—

"Oh bother!" and then he broke the strap.

Redder than ever his hot cheek flamed;

Harder than ever he fumed and blamed;

He wriggled his heel, and tugged at the leather

Till knees and chin came bumping together.

"My boy!" said I, in a voice like a flute,

"Why not—ahem!—try the mate of that boot;

Or the other foot?"—"I'm a goose," laughed John,

As he stood, in a flash, with his two boots on.

In half the affairs

Of this busy life

(As that same day

I said to my wife),

Our troubles come

From trying to put

The left-hand shoe

On the right-hand foot,

Or vice versa

(Meaning, reverse, sir).

To try to force,

As quite of course,

Any wrong foot

In the right shoe,

Is the silliest thing

A man can do.

————————

THE LITTLE DUTCHMAN.

OH I'm a little Tuchman,

My name is Van der Dose,

An' vat I cannot get to eat,

I smells it mit my nose.

An' ven dey vill not let me blay,

I takes it out in vork;

And ven dey makes me vork too hard,

I soon de jop will shirk.

An' ven dey sends me off to ped,

I lays avake all night;

An' ven dey comes to vake me up,

I shuts my eyes up tight.

For I'm a little Tuchman,

My name is Van der Dose,

An' vat I do not know myself,

I never vants to knows.

————————

A BIRTHDAY.

OLD man with the hour-glass, halt! halt! I pray—

Don't you see you are taking my children away?

My own little babies who came long ago,

You stole them, old man with the beard white as snow!

My beautiful babies, so bonny and bright!

Where have you carried them far out of sight?

Oh, dimpled their cheeks were, and sunny their hair!

But I cannot find them; I've searched everywhere.

My three-year-old toddlers, they shouted in glee;

They sported about me; they sat on my knee.

Oh, their prattle and laughter were silvery rain!

Old man, must I list for their voices in vain?

They were here; they were gone while their kisses were warm.

I scarce knew the hour when they slipped from my arm—

Oh! where was I looking when peerless and sweet,

They followed the track of your echoless feet?

My brave little school-boys who ran in and out,

And lifted the air with their song and their shout;

My boys on the coldest days ever aglow,

My dear, romping school-boys who bothered me so.

There were two of them then; and one of the two—

Ah! I never was watchful enough—followed you.

My chubby-faced darling, my kite-flying pet—

Alack! all his playthings are lying here yet.

And the other. O Time! do not take him away!

For a few precious years, I implore, let him stay.

I love him—I need him—my blessing and joy!

You have had all the rest: leave me one little boy!

He halts! He will stop! No; the fall of the sand

In the hour-glass deceived me. It seemed at a stand.

But whom have we here? Jamie! Harry! how? why

Just as many as ever—and Time passing by?

I can hardly believe it. But surely it's clear

My babies, my toddlers, my school-boys are here!

And I've two great big fellows (one lithe and one tall)

Besides all the rest—and more precious than all,

Jamie, my bouncer, my man-boy, my pride!

Harry, my sunbeam, whatever betide;

Both of them, all of them, dozens in two—

Crowds of my children are standing in view!

Move on, then, O Time! I have nothing to say,

You have left me far more than you've taken away.

And yet I would whisper a word ere you go:

You've a year of my Harry's—the last one, you know—

How does it rank among those that have flown?

Was it worthily used when he called it his own?

God filled it with happiness, comfort, and health—

Did my darling use rightly its Love-given wealth?

No answer in words. Yet it really did seem

That the sand sparkled lightly—the scythe sent a gleam.

Is it answer and promise? God grant it be so,

From that silent old man with the beard white as snow.

————————

THE PIG AND THE LARK.

A PIG scrambled up from his slumbers,

And grunted with rage at the lark:

"Why must you begin your loud carol

Before we are out of the dark?"

"Good sir," said the lark, as he flitted

Right gayly from blossom to bud,

"Look up to the sky for your morning—

It never begins in the mud!"

————————

THE WELL-MEANING FROG.

'TWAS a lonely bog,

With a boy and frog

On the marsh's brink.

"I'll kill him!" cried the boy. In fact

He leaned to do the dreadful act,—

When lo! a splash!

And in a flash

Did froggie think:

Too true

He meant to do

Some harm to me,

But then, you see

To mock him now would not be kind,

Lest he should drown.

I'll just go down

And tickle his ears

To calm his fears

And let him know that I didn't mind.

Soon, a dripping, sobbing, muddy boy

Ran home across that lonesome bog;

While placidly smiling on the shore

Squatted that thoroughly well-meaning frog.

————————

THE FROST-KING.

OHO! have you seen the Frost-King,

A-marching up the hill?

His hoary face is stern and pale,

His touch is icy chill.

He sends the birdlings to the South,

He bids the brooks be still;

Yet not in wrath or cruelty

He marches up the hill.

He will often rest at noontime,

To see the sunbeams play;

And flash his spears of icicles,

Or let them melt away.

He'll toss the snow-flakes in the air,

Nor let them go nor stay;

Then hold his breath while swift they fall,

That coasting boys may play.

He'll touch the brooks and rivers wide,

That skating crowds may shout;

He'll make the people far and near

Remember he's about.

He'll send his nimble, frosty Jack—

Without a shade of doubt—

To do all kinds of merry pranks,

And call the children out;

He'll sit upon the whitened fields,

And reach his icy hand

O'er houses where the sudden cold

Folks cannot understand.

The very moon, that ventures forth

From clouds so soft and grand,

Will stare to see the stiffened look

That settles o'er the land.

And so the Frost-King o'er the hills,

And o'er the startled plain,

Will come and go from year to year

Till Earth grows young again—

Till Time himself shall cease to be,

Till gone are hill and plain:

Whenever Winter comes to stay,

The hoary King shall reign.

————————

AFTER THE WINTER.

THE summer is coming—hurrah!

Old winter has gone for good.

The summer is coming—hurrah! hurrah!

The birdies are in the wood.

The chickens are coming—hurrah!

Hear how the old hen clucks:

The chickens are coming—hurrah! hurrah!

And the queer little turkeys and ducks.

The tad-poles are coming—hurrah!

With their comical, wriggling tails:

The tad-poles are coming—hurrah! hurrah!

Like little mites of whales.

The crickets are coming—hurrah!

And katydids always so funny:

And fire-flies too—hurrah! hurrah!

And bumble-bees laden with honey.

The ant-hills are coming—hurrah!

What fun to see them rise:

The ant-hills are coming—hurrah! hurrah!

They're growing before our eyes.

The daisies are coming—hurrah!

We'll weave them in many a chain:

The daisies are coming—hurrah! hurrah!

The daisies are coming again!

The cherries are coming—hurrah!

And apples and peaches and plums:

The fruit is a-coming—hurrah! hurrah!

We'll feast on it when it comes.

The swallows are coming—hurrah!

There'll be lots of birds in the sky;

The swallows are coming—hurrah! hurrah!

We'll whoop at them as they fly.

The corn-fields are coming—hurrah!

So green and waving and high:

The corn-fields are coming—hurrah! hurrah!

We'll hide in them by-and-by.

The summer is coming—hurrah!

We can bathe and swim and dive:

The summer is coming—hurrah! hurrah!

Oh! it's jolly to be alive!

It's jolly to live—hurrah!

Let us all be good and glad:

It's the grandest world—hurrah! hurrah!

That ever we children have had.

————————

LITTLE WHIMPY.

WHIMPY, little Whimpy

Cried so hard one day,

His Grandma couldn't stand it,

And his mother ran away;

His sister climbed the hay-mow,

His father went to town,

And cook flew to the neighbor's,

In her shabby, kitchen gown.

Whimpy, little Whimpy

Stood out in the sun

And cried until the chickens

And ducks began to run;

Old Towser in his kennel

Growled in an angry tone;

Then burst his chain, and Whimpy

Was left there, all alone.

Whimpy, little Whimpy

Cried, and cried, and cried;

Soon the sunlight vanished,

Flowers began to hide,

Birdies ceased their singing,

Frogs began to croak,

Darkness came; and Whimpy

Found crying was no joke.

Whimpy, little Whimpy,

Never'll forget the day

When 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.

————————

NIGHT AND DAY.

WHEN I run about all day,

When I kneel at night to pray,

God sees.

When I'm dreaming in the dark,

When I lie awake and hark,

God sees.

Need I ever know a fear?

Night and day my Father's near:—

God sees.

————————

AT THE WINDOW.

IN and out, in and out,

Through the clouds heaped about,

Wanders the bright moon.

What she seeks, I do not know;

Where it is, I cannot show.

I am but a little child,

And the night is strange and wild.

In and out, in and out,

Wanders the bright moon;

In and out, in and out,

She will find it soon.

There she comes! as clear as day,—

Now the clouds are going away.

She is smiling, I can see,

And she's looking straight at me.

Pretty moon, so bright and round,

Won't you tell me what you found?

————————

OUT OF THE SHELL.

WELL, I'm out, after all!

And I'll say, on my word,

That's a pretty mean house

For a duck of a bird!

Why, I couldn't stand up,

And I couldn't sit down,

But I lay in a cramp

From my toes to my crown.

My good mammy and dad

May have thought me a spoon,

But they'll not get me back

In that thing very soon.

————————

BEES in the manger—

Poor Dobbin's nose!

Boys in the garden;—

Hide, pretty rose!

Cats in the dairy—

Woe to the cream!

Spiders on the ceiling—

Hear Mollie scream!

————————

BABY NELL.

BABY NELL had ten little toes,

Baby Nell had two little hose,

She always stared when the hose went on,

And thought her ten little toes were gone.

————————

LEMONS for Molly;

Molly is sour.

Roses for Polly;

Polly's a flower.

Ginger for Willie;

Willie is quick.

Powders for Tillie;

Tillie is sick.

————————

JAMIE'S TROUBLES.

MAMMA, what's zis on my ap'on?

Nassy ap'on make me ky;

Naughty ap'on awfu' 'ticky—

Puttin' 'lasses in my eye.

Go 'way, B'idget! P'ease don't wass me

(Don't want on no pooty d'esses),

Dim me nudder piece of tandy,

Den I be oor 'ittle pres-sus.

Mamma, see, zis naughty soo-string

Make poor Damie tumble down,

It's all b'oke—I want my Pop-pa

Buy me nudder, 'way down town.

Mamma, see zis funny tup!

Damie hit it wiz his hammer.

Dess it's b'oke. Don't yip me, Mamma,

If oo do, I tell my Damma.

Mamma, dess I dettin s'eepy;

Don't make Damie tate a nap;

Tell me pooty 'tory, Mamma—

Tate poor Damie on oor lap.

Pooty Mamma, b'essed Mamma—

(Want a d'ink out Damie's mug?)

O dat button hurt me dreffel!

Dat's yight, Mamma—dim me hug!

————————

JEAN AND KITTY.

HOW did they learn that their ways were small?

Jean and Kitty—

How did they know they were scorned by all?

Jean and Kitty.

Why, they listened one day, at a neighbor's blinds,

And heard the family speak their minds—

What a pity!

————————

DOGGIE'S TRICKS.

WHAT'S this coming? Baby, hark!

It's the doggie—hear him bark—

Bow, wow, wow, wow—

Don't you frighten Baby now!

Pussy hears him. See her hide,

Now her eyes are open wide:

Meouw, Meouw—sptisss, sptisss!

Oh how angry pussy is!

Go 'way, doggie—run off, quick;

Moonie cow has found your stick—

Moo, moo, moo, moo;

Moonie cow is calling you.

Now he's off. He's in the yard,

All the sheep are running hard.

Ba-a, ba-a, ba-a, ba-a!

(What a naughty dog you are!)

Up, old rooster! doggie's coming;

He will catch you—see him running!

Ech-ka cock-a-doodle doo—

Go 'way, dog! Who cares for you?

Now he's at the ducks—O look!

See them waddle to the brook.

Quack! quack! quack! quack!

Doggie cannot drive them back.

Turkey gobbler, chase him now;

Chase him, turkeys! Bow, wow, wow!

Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble!

Bow, wow, wow—gobble, gobble!

Sting him, bees! The naughty doggie!

Jump upon him, great big froggie!

Buzz, buzz, gluck, gluck:

Now, old doggie, where's your pluck?

There, they've bothered you enough—

And you're sorry, poor old Buff?

Bow, wow, wow, wow,

Come and play with Baby now.

————————

A SONG FOR BERTIE.

BABY BUFFETTY met a cow—

Moo, moo! How d'ye do?

Baby Buffetty made a bow—

Moo, moo! How d'ye do?

Baby Buffetty met a sheep—

Baa, baa! How's your ma?

Baby Buffetty gave a leap—

Baa, baa! How's your ma?

Baby Buffetty met a lion—

Roar, G-r-r-rooo! Go away!

Baby Buffetty ran off crying,

Roar, G-r-r-rooo! Go away!

————————

A COMMON MISTAKE.

THE wisest thing

For any man,

Is to get from others

All he can.

The meanest thing

A man can do,

Is to get his gains

From me or you.

————————

LITTLE MINNIE STOWE.

THE fairest and the merriest,

The kindest girl I know,

The brightest and the cheeriest,

Is little Minnie Stowe.

Little Minnie Stowe it is—

Little Minnie Stowe;

I'll marry her when I am big—

The sweetest girl I know!

————————

LETTING THE OLD CAT DIE.

NOT long ago, I wandered near

A play-ground in the wood,

And there heard a thing from youthful lips

That I've never understood:

"Now let the old cat die!" he laughed;

I saw him give a push,

Then gayly scamper away as he spied

My face peep over the bush.

But what he pushed, or where it went,

I could not well make out,

On account of the thicket of bending boughs

That bordered the place about.

"The little villain has stoned a cat,

Or hung it upon a limb,

And left it to die all alone," I said;

"But I'll play the mischief with him."

I forced my way between the boughs,

The poor old cat to seek,

And what did I find but a swinging child,

With her bright hair brushing her cheek.

Her bright hair floated to and fro,

Her red little dress flashed by,

But the liveliest thing of all, I thought,

Was the gleam of her laughing eye.

Swinging and swaying back and forth,

With the rose-light in her face,

She seemed like a bird and a flower in one,

And the wood her native place.

"Steady! I'll send you up, my child,"

But she stopped me with a cry:

"Go 'way! go 'way! Don't touch me, please—

I'm letting the old cat die!"

"You, letting him die?" I cried, aghast;

"Why, where is the cat, my dear?"

And lo! the laughter that filled the woods

Was a thing for the birds to hear.

"Why, don't you know," said the little maid,

The flitting, beautiful elf,

"That we call it 'letting the old cat die'

When the swing stops all itself?"

Then floating and swinging, and looking back

With merriment in her eye,

She bade me "good-day," and I left her alone,

A-letting the old cat die.

————————

WHAT shall we take to Boston?

Tell me, my baby, pray,

We must take our eyes to see with,

And take our ears to hear with,

And take our feet to run with,

And take our arms to hug with,

And a how d'ye do?

How do you do?

And how are you all to-day?

————————

WASHING-DAY.

WHILE mother is tending baby,

We'll help her all we can,

For I'm her little toddlekins,

And you're her little man.

And Nell will bring the basket,

For she's the biggest daughter,

And I'll keep rubbing, rubbing,

And you'll pour in the water—

And now we'll have to hurry

Because it's getting late—

Poor dolly isn't dressed yet,

But dolly'll have to wait.

I'll pour, and you can rub 'em,

Whichever you had rather—

But seems to me, if I keep on,

We'll get a quicker lather.

Maybe, when mother sees us

Takin' so much troubles,

She'll let us put our pipes in

And blow it full of bubbles:

But now we'll have to hurry,

Because it's getting late—

And dolly isn't dressed yet,

But dolly'll have to wait.

————————

TROTTY MALONE.

BOYS and girls, come riddle and ravel,

Tell us how you would like to travel.

Crispy, crackly, snow and tingle,

"Give me sleighs!" said Jenny Jingle.

Stony, bumpty, bang and bolter,

"Give me carts!" said Johnny Jolter.

Slidy, glidy, jerky whiff-ter,

"Give me cars!" cried Sally Swifter.

Flipetty, cricketty, elegant go,

"Give me a buggy!" said Benjamin Beau.

"A fig for them all!" cried Trotty Malone,

"Give me a stout pair of legs of my own!"

————————

DON'T trust Chatter, who whispers low,

And tells you stories of Prue and Joe.

Be sure when he whispers to Joe and Prue,

He'll tell them many a tale of you.

————————

RED AND WHITE.

ONCE on a still December night,

In the freezing, wintry weather,

Two little stockings, red and white,

Were softly talking together.

Firelight flashed in the darkened room,

Shadows were sliding and creeping

Over the beds where, half in the gloom,

Two little children were sleeping.

"Hark ye!" said White in a whisper low,

"I fancy, Red, by your bulging so,

You come from some plump little baby-leg—

If I'm mistaken, your pardon I beg."

"That's so," said Red, "for she kicked me off

This very day (and she'll have a cough,

As sure as I'm knit, for her careless ways—

A cough that may trouble her all her days).

"But you? Ah! you look so fair and trim,

You came from some little royal limb,

With your dainty heading of daisy pink—

At least so an humble sock would think."

"Hoho!" said White. "Don't you know me, Red?

Why, there's my owner in yonder bed—

Yours in the cradle and mine in the crib;

And mine is the bigger, or else I fib.

"But bless me, Red, I care not a fig,

Though yours be little and mine be big;

Soon shall we hang in equal pride

From yonder mantel side by side.

"Down the chimney a figure will bound—

Old Saint Nicholas, funny and round;

And, stuffing as though he never would stop,

He'll fill us with good things up to the top."

"Hurrah!" cried Red, "and well for me

That I bulge in the ankle and foot, you see."

"And well for me," said White, "that I,

Though narrow and slim, am long and high.

"But, Red, after all, we needn't care,

Though in shape and room we're not a pair;

For the cradle and crib hold sisters, you see,

And the crib will give to the cradle from me.

"If I hold more and you hold less,

The babies'll make it even, I guess."

"That's so," said Red, "but I quite despair

When you hang so grand on the back of a chair."

"Pooh, pooh!" said White, "don't think of that—

Think of the hours that I'm folded flat;

And how often, when shoe-pegs pierce me through,

I long to be woolen and thick like you."

"That's so," said Red—'twas his pet reply—

"But then I take so long to dry!

It's very unpleasant to be so thick—

Besides, I'm just as red as a brick."

"My friend," said White, with an anxious sigh,

"How quickly your troubles multiply!

I really think" (here he gave a cough)

"It affects your spirits—to be kicked off."

"That's so," said Red again—"I feel

Just good for nothing from toe to heel.

She kicks me off, till I'm almost dead,

I'd die of the blues if I wasn't so red."

"Come, neighbor, cheer up!" said White in distress;

"We're only stockings, I must confess;

Yet we suit the feet that are wearing us out,

So there really is nothing to worry about.

"The worst that stockings or children can do

Is to hold the dark side always in view.

This fretting and fussing, dear Red, is shocking.

I know it is; though I'm only a stocking.

"And think how grand it will be, dear Red—

Or how glad we shall feel, I should have said—

When on Christmas morning, after their sleep,

Our dear little owners into us peep."

"That's so!" cried the other. "Away with folly,

For the rest of my days I mean to be jolly.

She may kick me off—the dear little tot—

Whenever she pleases; I'll mind it not.

"Christmas is coming! that's so! that's so!

And then I'll be somebody—won't I, though?

By the way, old White, I wish it were day,

So she'd put me on, and frolic and play."

White laughed with joy, and said, "All right.

You've come to your senses now. Good-night."

And so all quiet and peaceful they lay

Till the children awoke at break of day.

————————

THE THIRD OF JULY.

HA, ha! little toddlekins—cash did you say?

You shall have it, my boys.

For racket and noise,

Crackers and powder,

Louder and louder,

Shall bang and resound on the glorious day!

Here's a dollar for Johnny, a dollar for Paul.

And you, little Dick,

Come to father my chick!

Now that's for a pack,

And that's for a pack,

And that's for torpedoes and snappers and all!

Now Robbie and Willie,—you boys with "real" pockets;

Ha, ha! I declare.

Shall I put it in there?

Hear it dropping, co-chunk!

What! you want more for punk?

Here it is. And I'll see to the pin-wheels and rockets.

Of course, you all know of the great Declaration

That made us as free

As a country could be.

On that glorious Fourth,

East, West, South, and North

Were proclaimed a United American Nation!

How our forefathers bled,—they, the mighty and wroth!

To make us all free,—

Yes, you, boys, and me.

Though you can't understand

How they wrestled and planned,

You can honor them, boys, and remember the Fourth.

Be off with your money! To-morrow's the word!

Hold, Johnny, here's more

To divide 'twixt you four.

And Dick, here's a dime,—

Hurrah! What a time!

We'll have such a racket as never was heard!

————————

WHEN I am big, I mean to buy

A dozen platters of pumpkin-pie,

A barrel of nuts, to have 'em handy,

And fifty pounds of sugar-candy.

When I am big, I mean to wear

A long-tailed coat, and crop my hair;

I'll buy a paper, and read the news,

And sit up late whenever I choose.

————————

WIND for the tree-top, sun for the spear;

Johnny will be a big boy in a year.

When he is big he can battle the storm;

While he is little, we'll wrap him up warm.

————————

"HERE'S plenty of shells and clay and water,

Make me some nice mud-pies, my daughter."

"Oh! yes, mamma—and the sun is hot,

I can heat my oven as well as not.

If you will take, why, I will make—

Pit 'em and pat 'em and set 'em to bake."

————————

LITTLE BELL DREER AND THE DISH-COVER.

O MAMMA! look, cried little Bell Dreer;

There's a girl in the cover like me;

And whenever I move she looks so queer;

It's so funny—I never did see!

Why, she makes a face if I turn my cheek;

She makes a face if I wink.

Oh! her hair runs off, and she tries to speak;

Why, she's frightened at me, I think!

Come out little girl, and see my doll;

Come out of the shine and play.

I haven't a bit of a sister at all,

And my dolly is sick to-day.

My dolly is sick, and my book is torn,

And my hair has got to be curled;

And mother is reading. It's real forlorn

To be all alone in the world.

Come out, little girl. Oh! I wish you would.

[You mustn't make faces that way.]

I'd lift you out of the shine if I could,

And play with you all the whole day.

"COME OUT, LITTLE GIRL."

————————

MASTER TREMBLE'S ADVENTURE.

AS soon as I take my degree

As a classical scholar perfected,

No sharp politician I'll be,

Asking favors of all the elected.

No learned profession my plan,

Nor trade, till my courage is blunter;

For surely, deny it who can?

The greatest of men is the hunter!

There's Cummings the bold lion-tamer,

And fearless, undaunted Gérard,

And Baldwin, by tigers made lamer,

And Speke with his cámelopard.

And one of those days 't will be Tremble,—

Most famous of all, I'll be bound,—

The great lion-crusher, young Tremble,

None equal to him the world round.

Already, I've tested my mettle:

No cat but will flee at my tread;

And let a mosquito but settle

And nip me—that instant he's dead!

Know also that only this morning

A terrible peril I met,

While taking a ramble—no warning—

(That hour shall I ever forget?)

I was longing at heart for a rifle,

And a chance for some wonderful shot

(A lion seemed then a mere trifle,

I would rather encounter than not),

When, presto! a horrible creature

Came buzzing and diving at me,

Aiming straight at my favorite feature—

A horrible, black bumble-bee!

A horrible black humble bumble,

Bound straight for my beautiful nose;

For an instant (I'll own) I did tumble,

But quickly in majesty rose.

Each childish emotion I swallowed,

Moving onward as fast as I could;

The great buzzing monster, he followed

Till we came to a shadowy wood.

Ha! what was that sharp thrill of anguish,

And what the great swelling that came?

And why was I rushing and shouting—

The whole of my face in a flame?

I knew that the buzzing was louder,

That my nose was as big as my head;

I wanted to grind him to powder;

I wished him a thousand times dead!

Blind battle! my ev'ry-day jacket

Was tighter than steel coat of mail,

And the monster kept up such a racket,

I scarce knew his head from his tail.

He, plunging and wheeling and darting

And pitching and screeching at me;

I, maddened with burning and smarting—

What wonder I dodged by a tree!

What wonder that soon, in his frenzy,

My murderous foe bumped his head!

The tree never tumbled nor tottered,

But he fell co-chunk in its stead.

Then I turned, in a terrible passion,

And stamped with my full might and main:

I stamped in the sledge-hammer fashion,—

My bee never bumbled again!

Then why should I not be a hunter,

So gallant and fearless and spry?

What other vocation would answer

For such a brave fellow as I?

Ah! woe to the beasts of the forest!

And woe to all monsters with wings!

As soon as my studies are over,

I mean to do terrible things.

————————

HARK! hark! O my children, hark!

When the sky has lost its blue

What do the stars sing in the dark?

"We must sparkle, sparkle, through."

What do leaves say in the storm,

Tossed in whispering heaps, together?

"We can keep the violets warm

'Till they wake in fairer weather."

What do happy birdies say,

Flitting through the gloomy wood?

"We must sing the gloom away—

Sun or shadow, God is good."

————————

THE KITTEN PICTURE.

TWO little sisters, one little brother,

Five little kittens, and one cat mother.

One little kit is tossed up overhead,

One little kit is put upon the bed;

One very little cat, solemn as a fish,

One great big cat is feeding from a dish.

Two little kitty-kits seated on the floor,

Each little kitty-kit washing his own paw.

One little pig-tail. Now, where is that?

One little crown-piece; cap, is it, or hat?

Four little blue eyes, and three little chicks;

Five little kittens full of pretty tricks.

Kitty-kits, pig-tail, blue eyes, and bed;

Chicks, cat, and crown-piece top of baby's head;

Dish, tricks, and downy paws being licked so clean,

All, in the picture, are plainly to be seen.

————————

SOME are starving, some are filling,

Some are lazy, and some are willing,

Some are frowzy, and others are curled,

It takes all kinds, sir, to make a world.

————————

THE TERRIBLE BALL.

GIVE me your ear, good children all,

I'm going to set up a terrible ball—

A terrible ball that began to grow

From only the least little speckle of snow.

And, to make the lesson pointed and plain,

I'll just remark that life, in the main,

Is, etcet'ra—you know; and I hope you'll be good

In future to show that you've understood.

Three lovely, little artless boys,

All of them being mothers' joys,

One day decided, in innocent mirth,

To make a snow-ball as big as the earth.

What makes the story more touching still,

The big-eyed school-house on the hill

Was in session, under the cross Miss Stookey,

And these little boys were "playing hookey."

Hookey from Stookey, they worked with a will,

And, from making a ball like a tiny pill,

They rolled and rolled, till, no longer small,

'Twas big as Miss Stookey's waterfall.

Then, like a pumpkin fair and round,

They kept it rolling on the ground—

Bigger, bigger, bigger, bigger,

Bigger, bigger, bigger, bigger!

The boys could hardly push it along,

It grew so mighty stout and strong.

Now, this mammoth ball that began as a pill,

Was made, you must know, on top of a hill;

This hill was so wonderful steep and high,

That even the coasters would pass it by;

And, saving a road by the cattle made,

It sloped right down, at a fearful grade,

To the meadow where stood a cottage red

Where these little children were born and bred.

"Halloo!" they cried, "let's have some fun,

There's Stookey's pig as sure as a gun!"

"Hooray! hooray!" cried the children three,

Thus giving vent to their youthful glee.

When—what do you think?—this ungrateful pill,

That they'd made so big on top of the hill,

With an air that said, "Now, I think I've got 'em!"

Resolved to roll all the way to the bottom.

The ball was swift, the ball was big,

Alas for Stookey's innocent pig!

Alas for lovers who walked that way,

They ne'er in their lives forgot the day!

Alas for the learn'd Professor Gath

Who happened to stroll in the snow-ball's path!

And alas, alas for those children three,

Who shouted and cheered in their pretty glee!

Rolling, growing, demolishing all,

On and on went the terrible ball;

It left the cattle down on their knees,

It crushed the fences and bent the trees;

Even the hay-stacks went ker-flop.

It wouldn't turn, nor it wouldn't stop,

But still rolled on in steady motion,

Making a bee-line for the ocean!

With laugh and shout and merry hoot,

Those children followed in glad pursuit.

"Hooray! hooray!" they cried again,

And gave the chase with might and main;

They gave the chase with main and might,

But the terrible ball rolled out of sight.

And now comes the saddest part of all.

(Oh! that cruel, wicked, terrible ball!)

When at last the three little artless boys,

Tired of running and making a noise,

Resolved to go home to their little bed,

Where, oh! where was that cottage red?

Where, oh! where? Ask the terrible ball—

Never a home had those children small.

Gone, clean gone! with picket and paling—

And all their joy was turned to wailing!

MORAL.

Hence it is, and so we see

Thus and so, it seems to me,

As I'm sure you'll all agree.

————————

A BIRTHDAY RHYME.

TELL me, O youth so straight and tall,

So glad with eager thought!

Have you seen of late a bouncing boy

Brimful of merry sport?

Brimful of merry sport is he,

A lad of fifteen summers,

With velvet lip still smooth and fair,

But a fist that awes all comers.

He used to laugh with unconcern

Whene'er a school-girl met him,

Unconscious quite what wondrous power

She'd have in time to fret him.

He only cared for "fellows" then,

And ball, and "tag," and "shinny,"

And thought a chap who brushed his hair

Was just a fop or ninny.

Somehow, I loved this bouncing boy,

Because he was my own;

I had him here a year ago,

And don't know where he's flown.

I don't know where he's flown, and yet

Whenever you are near—

It's very odd!—I'm reconciled,

Because you grow so dear.

You bear great likeness to my boy

I think, and—strange the whim!—

There's that in you which I have prayed

Might come in time to him.

Then if you'll stay, my dashing youth,

And love me, like the other,

I'll let him go, and, clasping you,

Be still a happy mother.

So hold me close, my bigger boy,

My larger-hearted Harry,

With broader shoulders, older head,

And more of life to carry;

Hold close, and whisper, heart to heart,

Our Lord has blessed us truly,

Since every year we love so well,

And find it out so newly.

With deepened joy and prayerful love

All in the autumn's splendor,

I hail you, boy of mine, and give

A welcome proud and tender.

'Tis grand to take the birthdays in,

If, while the years we're counting,

In heart and soul, in hope and aim,

We steadily keep mounting.

————————

THE GIRL ACROSS THE WAY.

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.

Some day, when all the blinds are shut,

And Sis is inside thrummin'

(She's takin' music-lessons now),

And horses aint a-comin',

I'll run across and turn your rope,

Or pull you in your wagon;

But don't you tell that I said so,

'Cause they might call it braggin.'

If you would only come to me

We'd play at "Catch and Toss;"

But then my Ma objects to girls,

And it might make her cross.

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 won't care what they say,

I'll go across and stay there too,

On your side of the way.

————————

WILLIE.

THREE-YEAR-OLD Willie, bare-footed Willie,

Willie, with hair in a golden-thread tangle;

Tottering Willie, self-helping Willie,

Child in whom sweetness and poverty wrangle;

Willie, whose mother toils in my kitchen;

Willie, whose father carried a hod;

Willie, whose childish disdain is bolder

Than the pride of the emperor, favored of God—

Why dost thou knock at my heart, little pauper,

Bidding me love thee, entering there,

Sitting beside little cherubs who blessed me,

Thy manner half saucy, half debonair?

With garments all tattered and soiled, little Willie,

And face all begrimed? 'Tis not fitting, you know—

Velvets and laces are mine, naughty Willie,

And poor little boys should not come to me so.

The chubby intruder, still wickedly smiling,

And, ah! what a shout! (is he laughing at me?

He surely can't take in a word I am saying)

Now rushes upon me, and climbs to my knee.

And though he is silent, I hear him quite plainly—

To listening hearts a baby can speak—

He tells me (while velvet and rags are blending

And his unkempt hair is brushing my cheek):

"I'm a poor little fellow, with no one to teach me;

But my soul is a new one—fresh from God;

And he gave it something so brave and holy

It never can turn to an earthly clod.

What though the gifts of the purse are denied me,

Poverty need not look out of my eyes;

Though it surround me, the bright world beyond it

Neither its warmth nor its beauty denies.

"The birds never sing, 'Little Willie is ragged!'

Nor the flowers, 'He will soil us! Take him away!'

But they're glad when I happen to look and to listen,

And the sky is above me night and day.

Did God make you richer because you were better?

And what if my mother does cook for you,

Isn't she cheerful? With half of her trials

Would you be as patient, and willing, and true?

"And what if my father, with hod and trowel,

Carried and toiled the whole day long,

Didn't he comfort my mother and love her?

Didn't he cheer her with joke and song?

I never saw him. One bright autumn morning,

Just three years ago, he went to the war—

Went out to battle for you and your country:

And then he never came home any more.

"Nevermore labored with hod and with trowel,

Never came back with his joke and his song.

Mother would know only working and weeping

If I were not sunny and careless, and strong.

She chides me and kisses me, beats me and blesses,

And prays to the saints that her boy may be good;

But for work, she would keep me as fresh as a daisy,

Not ragged and soiled, in my babyhood."—

Say no more, Willie! Mock me and love me!

Into my heart enter blithesomely still.

Bright little soldier's boy, poor little worker's boy,

Shame to the coward who uses thee ill!

————————

IF cows wore satin slippers,

And kits were dressed in silk,

We'd send the mice to dancing-school,

And beg our buttermilk.

————————

BUMBLE, bramble, which came first, sir,

Eggs or chickens? Who can tell?

I'll never believe that the first egg burst, sir,

Before its mother was out of her shell.

NOBODY near him, all in the dark.

Hear how fierce our dog can bark!

Somebody coming, by light of day,

See how doggie scampers away!

————————

OH! no,

'Tisn't so!

Papa's watch

Won't go?

It must go—

Guess I know!

Last night

I wound it tight,

And greased it nice

With camphor-ice.

————————

THE SUN AND THE STARS.

ONE day, when the sun was going down,

He said to a star hard by:

"Sparkle your best; for you see, my friend,

I'm going out of the sky."

Now, the little star was old as the sun,

Though rather small of his age,

So he kept quite still in the yellow light,

And looked as wise as a sage.

"I'm going, you see!" cried the sun again,

"Going right out of the sky!"

And he slid away, but not out of sight

Of that little star hard by.

The little star, peeping, saw him go

On his gorgeous western way;

And twinkled with fun, as he said, "O Sun!

You're in for another day!

"And as for going out of the sky,

Your majesty knows you can't;

You are shining somewhere, full and strong,

In spite of your rays aslant."

No answer. Then the star grew bright,

And sparkled as neighbors came;

He told the joke to the twinkling crowd,

And they laughed the sun to shame.

One gay little star was so amused,

That he shot across the sky;

And all the others bobbed and blinked

To see him go speeding by.

But after awhile, a rosy light

Appeared on the eastern side;

And, one by one, the stars grew shy,

And tried in the sky to hide.

"Ho! ho!" the sun broke forth. "Ho! ho!

Just stay where you are, my dears,

And shine away, for you can't be seen

When all of my light appears.

"The people below will say you are gone,

Though you're shining. Think of that!

Well, they thought all night I had left the sky,

So it's only tit for tat."

————————

LEARNING TO PRAY.

KNEELING, fair, in the twilight gray,

A beautiful child was trying to pray;

His cheek on his mother's knee,

His bare little feet half hidden,

His smile still coming unbidden,

And his heart brimful of glee.

"I want to laugh. Is it naughty? Say,

O mamma! I've had such fun to-day,

I hardly can say my prayers—

I don't feel just like praying;

I want to be out-doors playing,

And run, all undressed, down stairs.

"I can see the flowers in the garden bed,

Shining so pretty and sweet and red;

And Sammy is swinging, I guess.

Oh! everything is so fine out there,

I want to put it all in my prayer,

(Do you mean I can do it by 'Yes'?)

"When I say, 'Now I lay me,' word for word,

It seems to me as if nobody heard.

Would 'Thank you, dear God,' be right?

He gave me my mother,

And papa, and brother—

O mamma! you nodded I might."—

Clasping his hands and hiding his face,

Unconsciously yearning for help and grace,

The little one now began.

His mother's nod and sanction sweet

Had led him close to the dear Lord's feet,

And his words like music ran.

"Thank you for making this home so nice,

The flowers, and folks, and my two white mice

(I wish I could keep right on).

I thank you too for every day—

Only I'm 'most too glad to pray

Dear God, I think I am done.

"Now, mamma, rock me—just a minute—

And sing the hymn with 'darling' in it.

I wish I could say my prayers!

When I get big, I know I can,

Oh! won't it be nice to be a man,

And stay all night down stairs!"

The mother, singing, clasped him tight,

Kissing and cooing her fond "Good night,"

And treasured his every word;

For well she knew that the artless joy

And love of her precious, innocent boy

Were a prayer that her Lord had heard.

————————

BENNY'S BUTTONS.

HOW many buttons has Benny,

Counting 'em six for a penny?

Why, five on his sacque,

And two on the back,

And—would you believe?—

A pair on each sleeve;

And six on his trowsers,

Yes, regular rousers!

And eight on his vest—

A grand double-breast—

All eight in full sight

When buttoned up tight.

Then three on one shoe,

While the mate has but two;

And one at the end

Of his top-snare, depend.

And, ah! there's the strap

On his regiment-cap,

It begins with a button

And ends with a button;

And really that's all

I now can recall.

So, counting them six for a penny,

How many buttons has Benny?

————————

WHAT was the moon a-spying

Out of her half-shut eye?

One of her stars went flying

Across the broad blue sky.

————————

A NURSERY RHYME FOR BIG FOLKS.

NOT only the little toddlers,

Perched high on papa's toe,

Bound for a ride to London town,

On childish journeys go—

For we all go up, up, up,

And all go down, down, down-y,

And all go backward and forward,

And all go round, round, round-y.

Still do we reach for sunbeams,

And learn the rattle's trick.

The great big watch of Father Time—

How we love to hear it tick!

To pat a cake for our Tommy,

And pat a cake for ourself—

For that alone we labor and strive,

And hoard up our golden pelf.

This little pig goes to market;

This little pig stays at home;

And we all cry "Wee!" for our mammy

Wherever we chance to roam.

We seek our bed with Sleepyhead,

We stay a while with Slow;

And fill the pot with Greedy, glad

To sup before we go.

When Jack and Jill go up the hill

To fetch their pail o' water,

As sure as Jack comes tumbling down

Poor Jill comes tumbling arter.

Mistress Marys are still contrary,

Marjorie Daws still sell;

Mother Hubbards ransack their cupboards

For bones for their ne'er-do-well.

Jack Horners in their corners still

Do ply their busy thumb,

And, "What a big boy!" we always cry

Whenever we see the plum.

"What do you want?" "A pot o' beer."

Alack the bitter wrong!

That grenadier an army hath

How many million strong!

Our wise men into brambles still

Do jump with might and main;

And those who go to sea in bowls

Rarely come back again.

And don't some hearts, deploring

The things that gnaw and harrow,

Let fall the wheelbarrow, wife and all,

When lanes are rough and narrow?

Ah yes! the old rhymes suit us

As well as ever they did;

For the gist of our lives, from first to last,

Is under their jingle hid—

As we all go up, up, up,

And all go down, down, down-y,

And all go backward and forward,

And all go round, round, round-y.

————————

FIRE-FLIES.

SEE the air filling near by and afar—

A shadowy host—how brilliant they are!

Silently flitting, spark upon spark,

Gemming the willows out in the dark;

Waking the night in a twinkling surprise,

Making the starlight pale where they rise;

Snowing soft fire-flakes into the grass,

Lighting the face of each daisy they pass;

Dancing like jewels high up in the pines;

Drowsily poised on the low-swinging vines;

Startling the darkness, over and over,

Where the sly pimpernel kisses the clover;

Suddenly setting their tapers around,

Now on the fences, now on the ground,

Now on the bushes and tree-tops, and then

Pitching them far into darkness again;

There like a shooting-star, slowly on wing,

Here like the flash of a dowagers ring;

Playing their pranks of living and dying

All in an instant, merrily flying;

Setting the dark, croaking hollows a-gleam,

Spangling the gloom of the ghoul-haunted stream;

Sweet in their gentleness, daring, and cheer,

No depth too dark for them, no place too drear;

They pulse and they sparkle, they glimmer and glow,

Teaching a lesson wherever they go:

Ever in gentle souls shineth a light—

Trusting it ever, no gloom can affright.

————————

FULFILLMENT.

WAKING in May, the peach-tree thought:

"Idle and bare, and weaving naught!

Here have I slept the winter through—

I, with my Master's work to do!"

Started the buds. The blossoms came,

Till all the branches were a-flame.

She rocked the birds and wove the green,

A busy tree as ever was seen.

Busy and blithe, she drank the dew,

She caught the sunbeams gliding through,

She drew her wealth from sky and soil,

And rustled gayly in her toil.

————

Now, see the peach-tree's drooping head,

With all her fruit a-blushing red;

Knowing her Master's work is done,

She meekly resteth in the sun.

————————

RESOLUTION.

IF you've any task to do,

Let me whisper, friend, to you,

Do it.

If you've any thing to say,

True and needed, yea or nay,

Say it.

If you've any thing to love,

As a blessing from above,

Love it.

If you've any thing to give,

That another's joy may live,

Give it.

If some hollow creed you doubt,

Though the whole world hoot and shout,

Doubt it.

If you know what torch to light,

Guiding others through the night,

Light it.

If you've any debt to pay,

Rest you neither night nor day—

Pay it.

If you've any joy to hold,

Next your heart, lest it grow cold,

Hold it.

If you've any grief to meet,

At the loving Father's feet,

Meet it.

If you're given light to see

What a child of God should be,

See it.

Whether life be bright or drear,

There's a message, sweet and clear,

Whispered down to every ear—

Hear it!

————————

HOW THE NEW YEAR CAME.

THE sun was sinking out of sight.

"Bessie," said Herbert, "have you heard?

It's really true, upon my word.

This year is going away to-night.

Its time is up, they say, and so

At midnight it will have to go.

And, right away, another year

Will come along, a real new year,

As soft as any mouse—

So soft, we'll hardly hear it creep—

Yes, come right to this very house,

While every one's asleep!"

Now, Bessie's eyes grew wide, to hear.

"Let's keep awake," she cried, "and so

We'll see one come and see one go—

Two years at once! Won't that be queer?

Let's tell the New Year it is bad,

We want the one we've always had,

With birds and flowers and things, you know,

And funny ice and pretty snow.

It had my birthday, too, in May,

And yours—when was it? and you know

How it had Fourth o' July one day,

And Christmas. Oh! it mustn't go!"

"Ha! ha!" laughed Herbert, "what a Bess

This year was new when first it came.

The next one will be just the same

As this that's going now, I guess.

That's nothing. But what bothers me

Is how the change is going to be.

I can't see how one year can go

And one can come at midnight, so

All in a minute—that's the bother!

I've heard them say 'the rolling year':

You'd think they'd roll on one another,

Unless they knew just how to steer."

The speck of time 'twixt night and day

Was close at hand. Herbert and Bess

Had won their parents' smiling "yes"

To watch the old year go away.

Nurse on the lounge found easy rest,

Till Bess should come to be undrest;

All but the children were asleep,

And years might roll, or years might creep,

For all they cared; while Bess and Bert,

Who never stirred and scarcely spoke,

Watched the great clock, awake, alert,

All breathless for the coming stroke.

Soon Bessie whispered, "Moll don't care."

Moll was her doll. And Herbert said,

"The clock's so far up overhead

It makes me wink to watch it there,

The great tall thing! Let's look inside!"

And so its door they opened wide:

————————

TICK-A-TICK! How loud it sounded!

Bessie's heart with wonder bounded.

How the great round thing that hung

Down the middle, swung and swung!

Tick, a-tick, a-tick, a-tick—

Dear, how loud it was, and quick!

Tick-a, tick-a, tick-a, tick-a!

Surely it was growing quicker!

While the swinging thing kept on,

Back and forth, and never done.

There! It's coming! Loud and clear,

Each ringing stroke the night alarms.

Bess, screaming, hid in Herbert's arms.

"The year!" he cried, "the year! the year!"

"Where?" faltered Bessie, "which? where'bouts?"

But still "The year!" glad Herbert shouts;

And still the steady strokes rang on

Until the banished year was gone.

"We've seen the Old Year out—hurrah!"

"Oh! oh!" sobbed Bessie, "call mamma.

I don't like years to racket so;

It frightens me to hear 'em go!"

But Herbert kissed away her tears,

And, gently soothing all her fears,

He heard the New Year coming quick,

Tick, a-tick, a-tick, a-tick!

————————

THE WIND AND THE MOON.

THE wind drove the moon

To a cloud-built cave,

And shut her in

As it were her grave;

The cave threw wide

A silver portal—

And forth she came,

Serene, immortal!

He piled great clouds

With angry might,

Till lost in gloom

Was all her light;

The clouds a moment

Held her under,

Then, glorified,

They burst asunder!

The wind that night

Bemoaned and whistled

Till all the forest

Groaned and bristled,—

While moonbeams stole

To tear-wet pillows,

And chased the gloom

From graveyard willows.

————————

CHILDREN'S HYMN.

AIR, "Little Drops of Water."

FROM the sunny morning

To the starry night,

Every look and motion

Meets our Father's sight.

From our earliest breathing

To our latest year,

Every sound we utter

Meets our Father's ear.

Through our earthly journey,

Wheresoe'er we go,

Every thought and feeling

Doth our Father know.

Let us then be careful

That our looks shall be

Brave and kind and cheerful,

For our Lord to see.

Let us guard each accent

With a holy fear,

Fit our every saying

For our Lord to hear.

Let no thought within us,

Hidden or confessed,

Ever bring a sorrow

To our dear Lord's breast.

Help us, O our Father!

Hear our earnest plea—

Teach thy little children

How to live for Thee!

HANS BRINKER;

OR, THE SILVER SKATES.

By MRS. MARY MAPES DODGE,

Author of "Rhymes and Jingles," &c., and Editress of St. Nicholas.

————————

One vol., 12mo, cloth, with Eight Illustrations, $1.50.

————————

Hans Brinker; or, The Silver Skates is one of those stories which is destined to be a source of perennial delight to generation after generation of children. It tells of life in Holland—a country which changes so little that a story of people who lived there twenty years ago might be told of to-day as well, and it is marked throughout by a vivacity, a freshness, and a healthy vigor which goes straight to the heart of every reader whether he be old or young.

————————

From the Nation.

"The authoress has shown, in her former works for the young, a very rare ability to meet their wants; but she has produced nothing better than this charming tale—alive with incident and action, adorned rather than freighted with useful facts, and moral without moralization."

————————

From the Atlantic Monthly.

"'Hans Brinker' is a charming domestic story, which is addressed, indeed, to young people, but which may be read with pleasure and profit by their elders. * * The lessons inculcated, elevated in tone, are in the action of the story and the feelings and aspirations of the actors."

————————

From the Congregationalist.

"For children what could be better as a Christmas gift than a copy of Mrs. Dodge's Hans Brinker; or, the Silver Skates, of which we are now given a new and beautiful edition? This is one of the most charming of juvenile stories, dealing with fresh scenes and a strange life, and told with sweet simplicity and great beauty."

————————

From the Watchman and Reflector.

"It has fine wit and natural pathos, and abounds in sentiments which are inspiring to the heart of any reader, young and old. * * * The character and incidents are of unusual interest. The plot is somewhat intricate, but is managed with a master's skill. The tone is remarkably pure, and the lesson which the story itself presses home on the reader is in the highest degree significant."

————————

From the Cleveland Leader.

"Mrs. Dodge never permits her story to lag, and the bright eyes which have scanned its opening pages will not be content till they have followed the fascinating romance to its close."

————————

From Appleton's Journal.

"A better present to a youngster of the right mind we should find it hard to select."

Sent postpaid on receipt of the price by the Publishers,

SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO.,

743 & 745 Broadway, New York.

"Infinite riches in a little room."—MARLOWE.

THE

BRIC-A-BRAC SERIES.

Personal Reminiscences of Famous Poets and Novelists, Wits and

Humorists, Artists, Actors, Musicians, and the like.

EDITED BY

RICHARD HENRY STODDARD.

The volumes already issued have insured the BRIC-A-BRAC SERIES wide and permanent popularity. New volumes quite as interesting and valuable as those already published will be issued at intervals. It is the aim to gather up in this collection, from the numerous biographies, autobiographies, and memoirs that have lately appeared, all the reminiscences worth preservation of the men and women who have done so much to make this century one of the most brilliant in the annals of English Literature. Occasionally, too, place will be found in the volumes for some of the more notable papers regarding distinguished men and women, which form so important a part of the magazine literature of the day. Each volume will be complete in itself. A careful index will furnish a ready guide to the contents of the different volumes, in which, under the capable editorship of MR. R. H. STODDARD, it may safely be asserted there will be brought together a fund of choice and fresh anecdote and gossip, enough not only to justify the general title of the Series, but the line of Marlowe which has been selected as its motto, "Infinite riches in a little room."

Just issued:

PERSONAL REMINISCENCES BY O'KEEFFE, KELLY, AND TAYLOR.

PERSONAL REMINISCENCES BY CORNELIA KNIGHT AND THOMAS RAIKES.

PERSONAL REMINISCENCES BY MOORE AND JERDAN.

THE GREVILLE MEMOIRS: A JOURNAL OF THE REIGNS OF KINGS GEORGE THE FOURTH AND WILLIAM THE FOURTH.

PERSONAL REMINISCENCES BY BARHAM, HARNESS, AND HODDER.

PROSPER MÉRIMÉE'S LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA; WITH RECOLLECTIONS BY LAMARTINE AND GEORGE SAND.

ANECDOTE BIOGRAPHIES OF THACKERAY AND DICKENS.

PERSONAL REMINISCENCES BY CHORLEY, PLANCHÉ, AND YOUNG.

Each one volume, square 12mo, cloth, $1.50.

Sent to any address, post-paid, upon receipt of the price, by

SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, & CO.

New York      .

Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation errors repaired. Some of the titles of the poems were in the page headers. These have been added to the text above the poems. Varied hyphenation was retained for example as in live-long and livelong.

Page 247, "litttle" changed to "little" (And poor little)

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Table of Contents

RHYMES AND JINGLES

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

ELFIN JACK, THE GIANT-KILLER.

THE MAYOR OF SCUTTLETON.

SNOW.

CHRISTMAS BELLS.

MY LADDIE.

MARCH.

GARDEN SONGS.

"LIFT UP YOUR FACE, LITTLE DAISY."

HOBBLEDY HOPS.

THE ANTS.

BURS.

LITTLE BEGINNINGS.

JOHNNY THE STOUT.

THE DRINKING-PAN.

STOCKING SONG ON CHRISTMAS EVE.

IN TRUST.

A SONG OF SAINT NICHOLAS.

FLOWERS.

THE LITTLE MOTHER.

AMONG THE ANIMALS.

THE LITTLE GIRL WHO WOULDN'T EAT CRUSTS.

SONG OF THE DUCKS.

THAT'S WHAT WE'D DO.

AN APRIL MAIDEN.

WAKE UP, BIRDIE!

THE DIFFERENCE.

THE MORAL.

BILLY BOY.

SHEPHERD JOHN.

MY WEEK.

BABY IN DREAMLAND.

THANKSGIVING.

LULU'S BIRTHDAY.

THE STAR FAMILY.

TWO LITTLE FROGGIES.

ONE AND ONE.

BIRDIES AND BABIES.

WILLIE'S LODGER.

GOOD-MORNING.

LADY-BIRD AND DADDY LONGLEGS.

WOULDN'T AND WOULD.

NELL AND HER BIRD.

THE NEW SLATE.

LITTLE POT SOON HOT.

NELL'S NOTIONS.

A STRANGER IN THE PEW.

THE QUEEN O' MAY.

PUSSY'S CLASS.

WANDERING JOE.

THE RATS.

IN THE WOOD.

COMB MUSIC.

IN THE BASKET.

COMING.

THE DAINTY MISS ROSE.

WAITING FOR FATHER.

WHAT SHALL I BUY?[1]

HALLOO, OLD SCUTTLE!

OH, NO!

THE SAND MAN.

TROUBLE IN THE GREENHOUSE.

TEN KINDS.

HAVE YOU APPLES?

FAIRY TALES.

MOTHERLESS.

OLD SIMON.

THE LITTLE MOTE.

THE ALPHABET.

THE COOK'S LITTLE BOY.

HARRY.

THREE WAYS.

WHAT THEY SAY.

MELONS.

HOW MANY THINGS IN MY POCKET?

THE GALLANT OUTRIDERS.

DOBBIN'S FRIEND.

THE WAY TO DO IT.

WILLY AND HIS PIPE.

LAZY LOU.

BE CAREFUL.

FARM LESSONS.

OUT OF THE GROUND.

POOR CROW!

THE WOODEN HORSE.

TAKING TIME TO GROW.

THE NAUGHTY BOY.

LITTLE MISS LIMBERKIN.

THE FROG WHO WOULDN'T A-WOOING GO.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

PART SECOND.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

THE STUBBORN BOOT.

THE LITTLE DUTCHMAN.

A BIRTHDAY.

THE PIG AND THE LARK.

THE WELL-MEANING FROG.

THE FROST-KING.

AFTER THE WINTER.

LITTLE WHIMPY.

NIGHT AND DAY.

AT THE WINDOW.

OUT OF THE SHELL.

BABY NELL.

JAMIE'S TROUBLES.

JEAN AND KITTY.

DOGGIE'S TRICKS.

A SONG FOR BERTIE.

A COMMON MISTAKE.

LITTLE MINNIE STOWE.

LETTING THE OLD CAT DIE.

WASHING-DAY.

TROTTY MALONE.

RED AND WHITE.

THE THIRD OF JULY.

LITTLE BELL DREER AND THE DISH-COVER.

MASTER TREMBLE'S ADVENTURE.

THE KITTEN PICTURE.

THE TERRIBLE BALL.

MORAL.

A BIRTHDAY RHYME.

THE GIRL ACROSS THE WAY. A LITTLE BOY'S VALENTINE.

WILLIE.

THE SUN AND THE STARS.

LEARNING TO PRAY.

BENNY'S BUTTONS.

A NURSERY RHYME FOR BIG FOLKS.

FIRE-FLIES.

FULFILLMENT.

RESOLUTION.

HOW THE NEW YEAR CAME.

THE WIND AND THE MOON.

CHILDREN'S HYMN. Air, "Little Drops of Water."

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE