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• . 






Royal Gifts 


O UR youth should be educated in a stricter rule from the first, 
for if education becomes lawless, and the youths themselves 
become lawless, they can never grow up into well conducted and 
meritorious citizens, and the education must begin with their 
plays.— Plato . 



• • - ' ■ i HI 

. 


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SHE IS WORTH HEP WEIGHT IN GOLD 


Page 2 iq. 




Royal Gifts 

-FOR THE- 

KINDERGARTEN 


A MANUAL FOR SELF INSTRUCTION 

-IN- 

FRIEDRICH FRCEBEL’S PRINCIPLES OF EDUCATION. 

TOGETHER WITH A 

COLLECTION OF SONGS, GAMES, AND POEMS 

-FOR- 

The Home, The Kindergarten and The Primary Sehool. 

-by- 


FRANCES POST VAN NORSTRAND, B. A. 

Author of “Blossoms by the Wayside" “ Life’s Ideal," “Sunshine " 
“Social Dynamite" Etc. 

ASSISTED BY 

MRS. ALICE H. PUTNAM, 

Superintendent Chicago Frcebel Association. 


ELEGANTLY ILLUSTRATED. 


CHICAGO: 

STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY. 



Harrisburg, Pa.: Pennsylvania Publishing Co. 

Atchison, Kan.: L. A. Davis &. Co. 


Dayton, 0.: Historical Publishing Co. 
Oakland, Cal.: A. E. Whitney &, Co. 


1889 . 




4--13 

7*4 


Copyrighted By 

F. P. VAN NORSTRAND. 
1888. 



TO ALL 


LOVERS OF CHILDREN, 

THIS VOLUME IS 

AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 

BY THE 

AUTHOR. 



T HE right carrying out of this new idea of education will, more 
than anything else, help to conquer crude materialism, and 
to break the path for idealism to harmonize with the practical 
actuality, and bring the real and ideal life again into accord.— 
Friedrich Froebel . 


PUBLISHERS’ PREFACE. 


DEMAND for Kindergarten Education in our country has greatly increased 
during the past decade. One of the chief reasons for this is the fact that a correct 
knowledge of the system, has never, until recently, been generally promulgated. The 
remarkable enthusiasm created by the few lecturers upon the subject, and the great 
success of Kindergarten schools founded on this system, has called forth a more general 
inquiry concerning its merits. It is proposed in this volume to present an outline of the 
Kindergarten plan, as invented and developed by Friederich Frcebel, of Germany. It is 
conceded that no other system will so fully meet the requirements of the parent, teacher 
and child, when faithfully carried out in all of its important features. “Kindergarten 
culture,” says the author of “Moral Culture of Infancy,” is the adult mind entering 
into the child’s world, and appreciating nature’s intention, as displayed in every impulse 
of spontaneous life, so directing it that the joy of success may be ensured at every step, 
and artistic things be actually produced, which gives the self-reliance and conscious 
intelligence that ought to discriminate human power from blind force.” 

This work is specially designed for mothers, nurses and Kindergartners, precise and 
full descriptions being given. Its minuteness, thoroughness, and cl earness of direc¬ 
tion will, it is believed, make it the best manual for Kindergarten instruction published. 
It is just the work needed in the family, where the children are unable to attend a Kin¬ 
dergarten regularly. It teaches how to provide the children of three years and over 
with instructive, quiet amusement, how to quicken their intellect without wearying the 
brain; how to inculcate manual skill, artistic taste, a ready appreciation of results, and 
consequently a love of learning and application; the mind is trained through apparent 
play and recreation, and the children prepared for school, and home instruction is ren¬ 
dered easy and entertaining without requiring constant attention. 

For greater convenience the work has been arranged under appropriate subj ect 
headings or departments—such as “The Kindergarten,” “The Nursery,” “School Days,” 
“Babyland,” “Baby-Days and Baby-Plays,” “Lessons of Life,” “Animals,” “Birds,” 
“Trees,” “Flowers,” Nature’s Voice,” “Religion,” and “Anniversaries.” 

The “Kindergarten” Department contains explicit directions touching the introduc¬ 
tion and full instruction as to the use, of the several Gifts and Occupations of this ad¬ 
mirable system of education, presenting interesting explanatory exercises with each. 



publishers’ preface. 


The Songs and Physical plays are an essential feature of the Kindergarten. The se¬ 
lections given in this volume, accompanied by Music, have been carefully made by Mrs. 
Alice H. Putnam, the Principal and Superintendent of the Chicago Froebel Association. 
Her high social and intellectual position is a sufficient guarantee that her work has been 
well and conscientiously done, and that she has presented the latest and best songs in 
use. The language will be found childlike, as well as good, the rhyme perfect, and the 
accent in word and in music harmonious. 

The “Nursery” department presents in rhyme, facts concerning real things and truth 
in melodies that will be readily fixed in the memory of the very youngest long before the 
school age. It will be found unique, full of pictorial illustrations,teaching in a simple way 
truths which every child should know, and will remember. Under “School Days” the 
various school studies are taught in pleasing rhyme, such as Arithmetic, Grammar, Geo¬ 
graphy, History, Astronomy, Geometry, Physiology and Hygiene. 

“Baby Land” will be especially attractive to the mother and the delight of the “wee 
little ones,” containing as it does a choice selection of the brightest and most charming 
baby and cradle songs and lullabys in the English language. “Baby-Days and Baby- 
Plays” most pleasingly and studiously considers child-life in its interesting and various 
moods and phases with its diverging tastes. The child’s versatile nature is administere4 
to in his pastimes and in his mor3 thoughtful moments, that the cords of his tender 
and pure heart may find response, his little sorrows be soothed, his rejoicings 
entered into, his sympathies invited, and his willful outbreaks softened. 

In “Lessons of Life” and the several divisions following it, may be found the happiest 
thoughts and sweetest songs for childhood in the poetical realm of child literature. The 
vast field of poesy and current literature has been thoroughly searched, and only that 
which is pure, bright and fresh, admitted to these pages. The collection has been brought 
together with a special view to its refining and educating influences upon the child. 

Grateful thanks are due to the various publishers and owners of copyrights for their 
kind and generous courtesy in granting permission to use the same, and to the Milton 
Bradley Company, Springfield, Mass., for the use of the illustrations found on the pages 
of this work describing the “Gifts and Occupations” of the Kindergarten system. This 
firm carry the largest stock of Kindergarten supplies in the United States, and to them 
we most cordially refer all in want of helps and material in their Kindergarten work. 



THE MOTHER AMD THE KTHDERGARTEE 


U ZOOMING events cast tlieir shadows 
before, is an old saying, often 
proved true. 

Whoever looks into the horizon of 
events to-day, cannot fail to see the Kin¬ 
dergarten foreshadowed, wherever the lit¬ 
tle child is found. 

The world is not only growing more 
tender-hearted towards childhood, but 
wiser in methods of dealing with it. 
No royal road has led the world hither. 
It has been experience, dearly bought. 

The spirit of the world has been much 
the spirit of those who said, “ Take them 
away,” when the mothers came with then- 
children to the Master; and the rebuke 
given, “ Except ye become as little chil¬ 
dren, ye cannot enter the Kingdom of 
Heaven,” has been long years in being 
interpreted and acted upon. The little 
child has been misunderstood, condemned, I 
wrongfully trained; the men and women I 
over whom we sorrow are the results. 

The census-taker finds thousands of 
them in the prisons, almshouses and re¬ 
formatories. The State finds its shelter 
extended to the poor and unfortunate. 
State institutions mark so clearly and so 
strongly the extended work of the State. 
The auditor of accounts startles the tax¬ 
payer with the expenditure of money to 
these ends. Social Economics counts the 


horde of non-producers, and studies the 
causes. The Philanthropist studies the 
human being in the various institutions, 
also those in training for them. All unite 
in saying something is radically wrong. 

The tendency of the age to club organ¬ 
izations, etc., not only threatens the influ¬ 
ence of the home, but also proves that 
there is a social side to human nature, 
which must find expression somewhere. 
This social, co-operative spirit is felt to be 
the necessary basis upon which to secure 
the best results to society, and which 
ought to have been cultivated earlier in 
life, thus bringing about different results, 
and maintaining the family as the highest 
social club. 

How to help the poor ? How to care 
for the insane ? How to punish and re¬ 
form the criminal ? How to save young 
women ? How to rescue young men ? 
What to do with the increasing numbers 
of worse than motherless children ? How 
to prevent the 8,000,000 children, 
too young for the public school, from 
picking up in the street the education of 
the saloon ? How to claim the new gen¬ 
eration for purity and righteousness ? 
These are questions set all along the line of 
duties; by far the best part of the strength 
of the world is occupied with questions 
like these; from the Statesman to the Re- 


IX 








X. 


THE MOTHER AND THE KINDERGARTEN. 


former they are tossed- back and forth. 
The wise Creator, who has ever stored 
supplies for the recurring needs of man, 
and who never lacks a discoverer to bring 
the hidden treasures forth, has given to us 
a Friedrich Froebel, who brings the Kin¬ 
dergarten for every child, and the world, 
which has quite generally concluded “pre¬ 
vention is better than cure,” turns to the 
child more reverently, and apologizing for 
the past, promises to do better in the 
future. 

The teachings of Christ, the wisdom of 
Socrates, Plato, Rousseau, Pestalozzi and 
Froebel, concerning the value of the little 
child, and the importance of beginning the 
education, are being considered as worthy 
of acceptance. Shakespeare’s homely 
words, “As the twig is bent the tree is 
inclined,” holds a lesson on the nature of 
the child. We read, as the child is bent, 
the man’s inclined, and we are forced to 
admit man has received the wrong bent 
too often in childhood. 

But the mothers, as they gather the lit¬ 
tle ones in their arms to-day, can sing a 
lullaby of thanksgiving that they and all 
the world may know of this new gospel 
for the child. The Kindergarten is here,— 
it has come to stay; blessed are the little 
ones that have already entered into its 
Paradise! Women of great foresight, 
with warm and tender hearts, like Miss 
Peabody of Boston, the first apostle in 
America, and later Mrs. Horace Mann, her 
sister, together with Mrs. Shaw, daughter 
of Professor Agassiz, have tenderly and 
wisely watched over the Kindergarten, as 
it has multiplied and grown in the city of 


Boston. The genius and tact of these 
women, and the abundant means of Mrs. 
Shaw, have given to Boston one of the 
best examples of the Kindergarten. 

So strongly does the work appeal to 
the School Board of Boston, that the Su¬ 
perintendent of the Board of Education 
has recommended the adoption of the 
Kindergartens. The sentiment is begin- 
ing to prevail that the education which 
deals with the beginning of life should not 
be a charity, any more than that which 
begins later on. Also it is seen that the 
child gains time in education, that its play¬ 
time can be utilized for healthful training, 
that the earliest years are the best for cul¬ 
tivating preception, and for leading out 
all the faculties and senses. 

The Kindergarten is establishing its 
claim to develop the three-fold nature of 
the child harmoniously — to be a close 
student of the laws governing the growth 
and development of the child, ever en¬ 
deavoring to meet its requirements. 
Through the childish plays, it teaches the 
child to take posession of itself, and of its 
world , and lays the foundation of indus¬ 
trial training , also prepares children bet¬ 
ter than they have ever been for the pri¬ 
mary school. Answers to questions on 
this last point from the Boston teachers 
were given in the affirmative, 7 to 1. 
Miss Blow, in her Kindergarten work in 
St. Louis a few years ago, solved the 
same question, and St. Louis has sixty- 
five Kindergartens as sub-primary to the 
public school. In 1887, the free Kinder¬ 
gartens of Philadelphia were adopted by 
the Public Schools, and the course was 





THE MOTHER AND THE KINDERGARTEN. 


XI. 


added to the Normal School course, to be 
optional with pupils. This is also done 
in Chicago, in Cook County Normal 
School, in New York City, and in several 
others throughout the country. 

The University of the Pacific, at San 
Jose, California, has a chair of “Psychol¬ 
ogy of Childhood,” and a practical Kin¬ 
dergarten training class, with a Kinder¬ 
garten for practice and observation. San 
Francisco Free Kindergarten is the most 
popular educational enterprise on the 
coast; its numerous wealthy patrons, 
among whom are Mrs. Leland Stanford, 
Mrs. Charles Crocker, Mrs. George Hearst, 
Mrs. Charles Lux, are devoted to the in¬ 
terest of the work. Under the able su¬ 
pervision of Mrs. Sarah B. Cooper, whose 
Bible Class supports eight Free Kinder¬ 
gartens, the work thrives marvelously, and 
has so recommended itself to the Board 
of Education, that the teachers in the 
public schools are required to take a cer¬ 
tain number of weekly lessons at a Kin¬ 
dergarten training class, and to use the 
same in their primary work. 

The Kindergartens are still a private 
charity, but their influence is a public 
benefit, felt and appreciated especially in 
the public schools. No city in the Union 
has made such rapid strides in this work 
among the little children, as San Fran¬ 
cisco. Miss Peabody says, “ I think the 
report of the Golden Gate Kindergarten 
Association should be in the hands of 
every school committee man in the United 
States.” 

Mrs. Stanford has made a study of the 
Kindergarten in connection with the great 


plans contemplated by the Leland Stan¬ 
ford, Jr., University. Of the Kindergar¬ 
ten, Governor Stanford said “he believed 
the surest foundation upon which -any 
educational structure can rest, was the 
rock of thorough Kindergarten training, 
begun at the earliest possible age. At the 
age when moral and industrious habits 
are most easily formed, the taste improved, 
and the finer feelings, which give fiber to 
the will, are cultivated.” 

On the bed rock of such training the 
Stanford University is outlined to be “A 
university embracing the science of human 
life, in its varied industries, arts, sciences, 
literature, government, political economy, 
ethics, moral unfoldment, hygiene, and in 
fact all that goes to make up a perfected 
human life, a university where the school 
and the workshop clasp hands, where the 
body and mind are educated together, 
where the mechanic and the classical stu¬ 
dent will strike hands together, where the 
artist and the artisan wil eat at one com¬ 
mon board.” This is the influence of the 
Kindergarten expressing itself in Califor¬ 
nia. New York City has also entered into 
the spirit of the age. Grace L. Dodge, 
daughter of William E. Dodge, the nota¬ 
ble philanthropist, is a member of the 
New York City Board of Education. 

She, with three others, set about organ¬ 
izing a plan for technical training. Mr. 
Joseph Seligman, a member of the com¬ 
mittee, who not long ago gave $10,000 to 
the Kindergarten work of the city, has 
been watching its beneficial outcome with 
much interest. This fact, together with 
Miss Dodge’s previous interest in the In- 




XII. 


THE MOTHER AND THE KINDERGARTEN. 


dustrial Institution at G. University place, 
led the endeavor to establish the Kinder¬ 
garten as an integral part of the public 
school work. The city has made an ap¬ 
propriation, and the work has already 
begun. It includes carpentry and joinery 
in the five higher grades of the Boys’ 
Grammar School, cookery in the second 
and third grades of the Girls’ Schools, and 
sewing from the eighth to the fourth 
grade. Also, modeling, drawing from 
models, paper cutting. A teachers’ man¬ 
ual is put into the hands of the teacher 
from whom the training is required; with 
this and the teacher’s class at the Indus¬ 
trial Association on Saturday mornings, 
the teachers do the best they can. Spe¬ 
cial teachers are allowed in cookery, sew¬ 
ing, and in the boy’s workshop. 

The Kindergarten as a sub-primary, is 
not yet undertaken. But this work in the 
public schools is on the Kindergarten 
plan and derived from it. A pleasant 
conversation with Miss Dodge, and a 
course of lessons and lectures at the In¬ 
dustrial Association, and a visit to several 
of the schools, convince us that the Kin¬ 
dergarten is abroad in New York, in the 
educational work outside of the Kinder¬ 
garten. The excellent work done by the 
Free Kindergarten is solving the question 
of the Kindergarten as sub-primary work 
everywhere. 

Prof. Hailman, in La Porte, Indiana, is 
doing most excellent work for the cause. 
His new book, entitled “ Primary Meth¬ 
ods,” is the outgrowth of practical work 
done under his supervision, and will be 
very useful to primary teachers. Prof. 


Parker is also testing and trying the new 
education in the Normal School just out 
of Chicago. The Chicago Free Kinder¬ 
gartens are doing a great and influential 
work. The standard of the work is 
high, and the methods such as recom¬ 
mend themselves to those interested in 
the best work. 

Already is public attention given to 
the Kindergarten in the public school. 
Chicago is not wont to follow far behind, 
and there is every reason to believe it 
will not in this work. 

Thus in every section of the country 
the Kindergarten is establishing itself. 
One of the necessary points for Ameri¬ 
cans to guard, is haste for results , and 
carelessness in beginning. The chief ob¬ 
stacle which hinders the universal adop¬ 
tion of the Kindergarten is, that all the 
work has not been the best , hence the 
necessity for information among the 
people generally. Unless the very best 
Kindergarten work is done, the education 
of the children is hindered; a poor Kin¬ 
dergarten has often been a stumbling 
block. Great care is necessary in the 
selection of students for training as Kin- 
dergartners. Every day the standard is 
rising. Talent, tact, character, love for 
children, patience, sweetness, persever¬ 
ance, a religious nature, and I would add 
temperance principles, must be found in 
the coming Kindergartner. Those spe¬ 
cially interested in having temperance an 
organic part of every Kindergarten, 
would do well to interest young ladies 
possessing all the qualifications for suc¬ 
cess, including temperance, to study the 




THE MOTHER AND THE KINDERGARTEN. 


XIII. 


system. Every one who wishes to be 
intelligent on the work that is being 
done, the work which may be done for 
the little child, ought to read the Kin¬ 
dergarten literature; and every commu¬ 
nity which desires to do its best for the 
children, should become familiar with the 
methods of the Kindergarten. 

State Legislation is the next step, and 
one possible to be taken as soon as the 
Kindergarten is well known, and its bear¬ 
ings on industrial life, on crime, pauper¬ 
ism, insanity, intemperance and upon 
all questions of social economics, is un¬ 
derstood, this step will be taken. 

But best of all, this work recognizes 
the genius of the woman in education. 
It recognizes the work of the mother in the 
home. For the Kindergarten is only a 
model home, transplanted and given in 
charge of a person who assumes a 
mother’s relation as far as possible. 
Every intelligent mother is bound to 
have the best education the times afford 
her, in her duties toward the child, just 
as much as the State is bound to edu¬ 
cate the child. The mothers who longer 
neglect to accept the knowledge which 
knocks at their very doors, are inexcusa~ 
ble ; no other duties afford a valid excuse 
for this neglect. The question is, “Will 
women rise to the occasion? ” 

I have outlined the present condition 
of the Kindergarten in the country, have 
endeavored to show that it is coming 
rapidly into the public school work, that 
it is the best education for the little 
child; now, what ought the attitude of i 


every intelligent woman to be? Shall 
the training of the babies also pass out of 
the mother’s hands, and she be ignorant 
of what they are taught as she may be of 
Latin and Greek? or rather shall she 
come forward, and with ready tact inform 
herself upon this system, have a voice in 
its adoption, and take her child by the 
hand and stand side by side with the 
Kindergartners, who are ready to assist 
her. I think the mothers can and may 
claim the education of the babies, there¬ 
fore study the Kindergarten, make public 
sentiment for it among the mothers and 
young women who will become the Kin¬ 
dergartners. Interest every mother to 
use its methods in her home, to talk it to 
her neighbor. It is time the mothers 
and all women were aroused to the neces¬ 
sity for action. 

The Kindergarten will claim your child 
in time; would you not like to know what 
that is like which proposes to come into 
the mother’s kingdom and demand her 
babies? Seek to know of its doctrines, 
and you will be convinced that it is none 
too soon to awaken. You will be re¬ 
warded in the delight you will exper¬ 
ience, when you realize what the Kin¬ 
dergarten proposes to do for the child. 
Let us work to make a sentiment that 
shall hinder the children from becoming 
criminals, by turning their wills into new 
channels that shall take away abnormal 
tastes. 

Work, work, work, until we have the 
Kindergarten for every child! 





T HE object of all ambition should be to be happy at home. If 
we are not happy there, we certainly cannot be happy else¬ 
where. It is the best proof of the virtues of a family circle, to 
see a happy fireside. 


CONTENTS 


A BOY’S Birthdays. 320 

AA.E.I.O.U . 208 

All Aboard for Shut-eye-town. 251 

All Alone. 249 

All Have Work to Do. 381 

All is Not Gold. 211 

All Things Beautiful. 472 

Alphabet, The.157, 159, 206 

Alphabet, The Temperance. 166 

Alphabet of Maxims. 167 

America. 200 

Amusement. 299 

Animals. 441 

Annie. 271 

Answer to a Child’s Question. 408 

Another Little Wave. 220 

Another Year is Dawning. 526 

Apple Pie, Story of an. 158 

Apple Tree, The. 383 

Apple Tree, The Old. 475 

April Joke, An. 334 

Arab’s Farewell to His Horse, The. 449 

Arithmetic. 197 

Arithmetic, Lessons in. 195 

Arithmetic, Sum in. 197 

Arthur’s Talk. 430 

A Story. 340 

A Story for a Child. 347 

At School. 172 

At Set of Sun. 372 

At the Pump. 336 

Autumn. 504 

Axis, The. 139 


B aby Beil. 

Baby Boy’s Toys. 

Baby Brother. 

Baby Clara. 

Baby’s Complaint. 

Baby’s Dancing. 

Baby’s Day. 

Baby-Days and Baby-Plays 

Baby Fingers. 

Baby is Going to By-lo-town.. 

Baby Land. 

Baby Louise. 

Baby May. 

Baby Naughty. 

Baby Ned. 


... 238 
... 261 
... 225 
... 245 
... 235 
... 268 
... 255 
... 253 
... 242 
... 234 
£17-219 
... 248 
... 241 
... 252 
... 262 


Baby’s Reverie. 

Baby’s Shoes. 

Baby’s Skies. 

Baby, The. 

Ballad of the Tempest. 

Band of Mercy. 

Barcarole. 

Be Active. 

Be a Hero. 

Bear, The Grizzly. 

Beautiful Things. 

Beckon to the Chickens.. 

Beckon to the Pigeons. 

Be Careful What You Say.... 

Bedlam Town. 

Bees, The. 

Beggar-Boy, The. 

Beggar-Girl, The. 

Beggar-Man, The. 

Beginning of Vice. 

Be Glad and Thankful. 

Be Kind. 

Benny. 

Be Polite. 

Be True Boys. 

Bird and Its Mother, The ... 

Bird and the Maid. 

Birds Among the Greenwood 

Bird Song. 

Bird’s Eye View, A. 

Bird’s Nests. 

Birds of Passage. 

Bit of Pottery. 

Blackbird, The.. 

Blind Boy, The. 

Blind Man’s Buff. 

Blocks, My. 

Blue Bell, The. 

Bones, Lesson on. 

Bonnie Milk Cow, The. 

Boston Tea Party. 

Boy’s Song. 

Boy’s Troubles, The. 

Boys Wanted. 

Boy Who Told a Lie, The.. 

Brave Old Oak, The. 

Bright New Cent, The. 

Brook, Song of. 

Brook, The.. 


... 226 
... 306 
... 249 

226-250 
.... 335 
... 146 
... 128 
.... 284 
... 403 
.... 444 
... 336 
.... 86 
.... 87 

.... 335 
.... 310 
.... 101 
.... 318 
.... 349 
.... 352 
.... 338 
.... 375 
.... 363 
.... 527 

.373 

_ 338 

.... 270 

.... 417 
.... 103 
.143-154 
.... 423 
.137-427 
.... 92 

.... 328 
.... 418 
.357-358 
.... 284 
.... 188 
.... 486 
.... 208 
.... 452 
.... 201 
.... 518 

_ 209 

.... 319 


474 

354 

513 

514 







































































































XVIII 


CONTENTS. 


Little Dandelion, The. 

Little Dora’s Soliloquy. 

Little Drummer, The. 

Little Fingers. 

Little Games. 

Little Girl’s Letter, A. 

Little Goo-Goo. 

Little Goose, A. 

Little Hop-O’-My-Thumb. 

Little Jim. 

Little Kindergarten Girl, The. 

Little Maiden and the Little Bird, The 

Little Marian’s Pilgrimage. 

Little Missionary. 

Little Moments. 

Little Raindrops... 

Little Robin Redbreasts. .. 


Little Rogue. 

Little Things.325, 

Little White Lily. 

Looking Ahead. 

Love Your Enemies. 

Lullaby.131, 

Lulu’s Complaint. 


M AGPIE'S Lessons, The. 

Maidenhood. 

Make Your Mark. 

Making Mud Pies. 

Mamma Can’t Find Me. 

Mamma’s Kisses. 

Marching Song.. 

Marching Song, Music. 

May Song, The Child’s. 

Merry Band, The.. 

Milk Maid, The. 

Mill by the Rivulet, The. 

Mill Race, The.. 

Mollie Dutton. 

Moon, Oh! Look’at the. 

Moon. Is the Moon Made of Green Cheese?. 
Motherless Turkeys, The. 


Months, The.181, 

Morning.100, 


Morning Bright, The. 

Morning Hymn. 

Morning Prayer. 

Morning Ride, The. 

Mother Knows. 

Mother’s Eyes. 

Mother Singing, A. 

Mother’s Kisses. 

Mountain and the Squirrel, The. 

Music.85, 

Music Lesson, The. 

My Ball is Very Soft. 

My Blocks. 


My Good for Nothing. 263 

My Little Sister. 256 

My Pussy. 466 

N AMING The Baby. 221 

Nature’s Diamonds. 506 

Nature’s Voice.489, 491 

Naughty Cat, The. 463 

Naughty Little Girl, The. 309 

Never Out of Sight. 324 

Never Put Off. 329 

New Dresses. % .... 482 

New Moon, The. 298 

New Years’ Coming. 526 

Night. 494 

Nineteen Birds. 136 

Nineteenth Gift, The. 72 

Ninth Gift, The. 54 

No. 504 

No Baby in the House. 225 

Noontide.- 494 

Nothing to Do. 295 

Now the Day is Over. 110 

Now the Light Has Gone Away. 110 

Now the Sun is Sinking. 512 

Now the Time Has Come for Play. 114 

Number. 206 

Nursery Song.108, 453 

Nursery, The. 155 

O AK, The Brave Old. 474 

Ocean, The. 509 

O, Eyes That Open. 102 

Of What Are Your Clothes Made?. 212 

Oh, Birdie Dear. 85 

Oh, Look at the Moon. 513 

Old and New. 216 

Old Apple Tree, The. 475 

Old Gaelic Lullaby. 222 

Old Oak, The Brave. 474 

Old Watch to the Moon. 458 

Old Winter Come Again. 505 

Old Winter is Coming. 504 

One of His Names. 260 

One Little Chicken. 207 

One, Two, Three .. 171 

Only a Baby Small. 220 

Opening Song for School. 141 

Orphan Boy, The. 356 

Orphan Girl, The. 355 

Our Darling. 219 

Our Real Ruler. 238 

Ours. 243 

Over the Hill. 359 

T2)ANSY, Pretty Polly. 481 

Parts of Speech, The. 205 

Patient Joe. 373 


486 

243 

401 

305 

283 

266 

237 

279 

440 

313 

184 

416 

365 

376 

326 

300 

414 

288 

364 

487 

150 

391 

241 

228 

407 

322 

373 

292 

309 

259 

147 

98 

501 

285 

379 

120 

105 

176 

513 

511 

434 

182 

493 

94 

144 

93 

287 

362 

249 

263 

251 

448 

140 

363 

120 

188 




















































































































CONTENTS. 


XIX 


Patter of Little Feet. The. 

Peace of Night. 

Perseverance. 

Pet of the Household, The. 

Philip my King. 

Physical Plays, The. 

Picture, A. 

Planets, The. 

Playing Bo-peep With the Star.. 

Playing King. 

Playing Together. 

Play Time. 

Play With the Limbs. 

Plum Cake. 

Poor Dolly. 

Poor Little Jim. 

Prayer, A Child’s Evening. 

Prayer for a Young Child, Evening 

Prayer of a Little Child.. 

Prayer, The Unfinished. 

Pray, Never Forget to . 

Presidents of the United States.... 

Pretty is That Pretty Does. 

Pretty Sheep. 

Pride of Battery “B,” The. 

Proper Time, The. 

Proposal, The.. 

Pussies. 

Puss in the Clock. 

Puss Punished. 

Pussy’s Class.,. 


.... 311 
... 132 
.320,374 
... 310 
... 233 
.... 82 
... 297 
.... 199 
... 301 
... 268 
... 100 
... 257 
... 91 

387,388 
... 315 
... 354 
... 523 


522 

523 
522 
200 
300 
455 
397 
257 
290 
148 
290 
464 
461 


Q uarrelsome Kittens, The . 467 

Queer Little Stitches. 185 

R abbit on the Wail. . 295 

Railway Train, The. 149 

Rain and Snow. 143 

Rainbow and its Emblems, The. 145 

Rainbow, The. 506 

Rain? What Makes the. 211 

Rain, Wind and Snow, The. 505 

Rataplan. 124 ' 

Religion and Anniversaries. 519 

Remember. 207 

Reminding the Hen. 435 

Rest, My Baby, Rest. 232 

Rich Little Dolly, The. 264 

Rippling, Purling, Little River. 116 

River, The. 517 

Robert of Lincoln. 430 

Robin’s Song, The. 415 

Rural Nature. 492 


S AILING To-night. 392 

Sailor Boy and His Mother, The. 359 

Sailor Boy’s Dream, The. 399 


School Days. 191 

School, The. 215 

School Time ..169, 193 

Sea, The. 510 

Season’s Charms, The. 496 

Second Gift, The. 31 

See-Saw. 287 

See the Windmill. 105 

Seventh Gift, The. 47 

Seventeenth Gift, The. 68 

Seven Times One. 297 

Shadow, The. 377 

Shadows, The. 299 

Sing A, B. C,. 168 

Singing Lesson, The. 411 

Sisters at Work, The. 331 

Sixth Gift, The. 44 

Sixteenth Gift, The. 66 

Skipping. 307 

Sleep Baby Mine. *230 

Sleepy Little Sister, The. 278 

Slice of the New Moon, A. 300 

Snap the Whip. 285 

Snow Birds Song, The.?. 431 

Snowfall, • The. 507 

Snow-white. 126 

Snow, What Makes the. 211 

Soldier’s Dream, The. 400 

Solo for Little Girls. 145 

Some Bible B’s. 525 

Song of the Bee. The. 438 

Song of the Daisies, The. 149 

Song for Merry Harvest. 502 

Song for School. 142 

Songs and Physical Plays. 79 

Sorrows Shared. 339 

Sow, Sew and So. 187 

Sparrows Nest, The. 426 

Speak the Truth. 392 

Spelling Lesson., The.... 170 

Spring. 499 

Spring and the Flowers. 498 

Spring Voices. 499 

Squirrel, The.448, 451 

Step by Step. 189 

Stop, Stop, Pretty Water. 511 

Styrian Song. 138 

Summer. 498 

Summer Call, A. 500 

Summer Moods. 500 

Summer’s Nigh. 498 

Sunset. 494 

Sunshine and Showers. 326 

Suppose. 371 

Sweet and Low. 231 

Swing, Swing, Swing. 151 






















































































































XX 


CONTENTS 


'"TEDDY’S Choice. 

Temperance Alphabet. 

Ten Commandments, The. 

Ten True Friends. 

Ten Little Toes. 

Tenth Gift, The. 

Thanksgiving Day. 

Thank You Pretty Cow. 

The Dear Old Days. 

The Language of Birds. 

The Miller of Dee. 

The Richest Prince. 

The Seasons. 

The Stolen Top. 

The Trades-Birds. 

They Say!.. 

Third Gift, The. 

Thirteenth Gift, The. 

This Dog of Mine. 

Tliisds the Way the Snow Comes Down. 

Three Little Kittens. 

Thrush, The. 

Tiger, The. 

Time. 

Time Table, A New... 

Tired Mothers... 

’Tis Night on the Mountain. 

’Tis The Last Rose of Summer. 

To the Lady Bird. 

Trees and Flowers.. 

Tree, The. 

Tripple Pledge, The. 

True Love. 

Trust Your Mother. 

Truth. 

Twelfth Gift, The. 

Twelve Little Schoolmates. 

Twentieth Gift, The. 

Twenty Frogs at School.. 

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.134, 

Two. 

Two Friends, The. 

Two Little Girls.. 

Two Pictures. 


U NDER the leaves. 492 

Unfinished Prayer, The. 523 

Up Yonder Mountain. 130 

Up and Down. 283 

Use of Flowers, The. 480 

V ERY good girl, A. 310 

Violet, The.*.128,486 

Voyage in the Arm Chair. 260 

W ASP and the Bee, The. 439 

Waves of the Sea Shore, The. 511 

We Birds are Happy. 115 

Weighing the Baby. 224 

We’ve Got a Baby. 229 

What!. 293 

What are They Doing?. 421 

What God Sees. 521 

What is That Mother?. 413 

What Makes Me Happiest. 362 

What so Sweet?. 501 

What the Choir Sang. 386 

What the Sparrow Chirps. 425 

What Willie Said. 216 

When School is out. 141 

When the Morning Sun is Bright. 114 

Where Do All the Daisies Go?. 108 

Where Do the Wrinkles Come From?. 391 

Which is Your Lot?. 352 

Which Loved Best?. 330 

Who Has the Whitest Lambkins?. 97 

Who Stole the Bird’s Nest?. 423 

Why Birdie Builds High. 419 

Why Men Were Born. 212 

Willie and the Apple. 385 

Wind, The. 210 

Wind-mill, The. 105 

Winter Song. 504 

Winnie. 220 

Wishing. 313 

Woodman Spare that Tree. 472 

Work While You Work. . 326 

World, The. 471 


339 

166 

525 

305 

307 

56 

529 

452 

361 

409 

378 

387 

142 

383 

408 

389 

34 

60 

458 

108 

466 

413 

444 

179 

179 

337 

236 

488 

422 

469 

472 

389 

287 

342 

370 

58 

211 

76 

467 

303 

308 

456 

329 

392 



























































































The Kindergarten. 


I T is a tender thing to be a sculptor and to chisel marble into 
beautiful shapes and forms, but it is sweeter to mold in the 
clay of a child’s character .—Frances £. Willard. 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


GIFTS AHD OCCUPATIONS. 



HE fundamental idea of Froebel was to render the first schooling 
of the child attractive, to connect learning with pleasure, and 
to make mental food as much conducive to mental growth as 
bodily food is to bodily growth. The first condition thereto 
was, of course, association of children with children. The 
second condition was that the place of assembly should be attractive, 
inspiring and congenial to child-like instincts, “ a little garden, and ad¬ 
joining a large room, lofty, airy, adorned with greens, flowers, and, if 
possible, a fountain, nice pictures, etc.” The third and most indispensable 
condition is an effective lady Kindergartener who has studied the science and 
art formulated by Froebel. She should possess a habit of reflection, some 
energy, a cheerful, conscientious character, a true love for children, and a 
good common school education with some practical experience and theoretical 
knowledge in this branch of education; a tolerable voice, pure and strong, and 
some musical training. The fourth and last condition to successful Kinder¬ 
gartens are good toys, playthings and games, presented in a serial order. 

The child feels true attachment to the being by whom he is nursed, whether 
she be distinguished by the name of mother or nurse. These feelings can not 
be transferred to another who occupies a secondary relationship, and no amount 
of worldly adornment or gifts can have the power to establish that union 
which must spring from within; so, also, a child will always remember with 
deep interest those who have joined in his childish games, told him simple 








26 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


stories, held communion with his soul; while he will forget, or treat with 
indifference, those who have expended their last cent to supply him with the 
means of external gratification. To establish this close attachment we must 
commence early, while he feels himself in union with external objects, before 
he comprehends the idea of separation and distance. To accomplish this 
work successfully, an appropriate place is needed, where, free from the excite¬ 
ment of artificial life, secure from danger and surrounded by beings for whom 
the child has an affinity, he can exercise his bodily and mental faculties 
without undue restraint. 

A lesson worthy of imitation may be learned in our dealings with children 
by observing with what care a well kept garden is tended, how every plant is 
supplied with the proper amount of temperature, air, light, soil and moisture, 
and every effort is made to call forth the native beauty of the plants. If we 
think of how much greater worth is a human being than a plant, we will be 
inclined to ask — what can be done to provide a garden in which humanity 
may bloom and put forth all the excellence of which it is capable ? The 
object of the Kindergarten is to accomplish this and is designed to aid in 
securing the desirable union between the mother and the child — between God 
and the world. 

Froebel, in his admirable system of education, has designated all occupa¬ 
tions in the Kindergarten as plays, and the materials used in such 
occupations as gifts. He starts from the idea that all education should 
begin with the development of the “desire for activity in the child. ” 
Beginning with the simplest features, each step forward is but a logical 
sequence of the one preceding — concluding with the most difficult in all the 
varieties of occupation — as a whole satisfying all the natural demands of a 
child, both in mental and physical culture, and laying the surest foundation 
for all subsequent education in school or in life. The peculiarity of the 
Kindergarten is that the gifts, occupations and plays are always to be turned 
Io a useful account, slumbering faculties are to be awakened, drowsy inclinations 
to be enlivened, attention and reflection to be cultivated, and good habits to 



GIFTS AND OCCUPATIONS. 


27 


be fostered in the pupil. In this there is no end of learning, no acme oi 
perfection. The best of talent can not accomplish too much, while a conscien¬ 
tious and hearty energy will go a great way toward the aim. The means 
furnished to this end consist in object lessons, mental and physical gym¬ 
nastics, the charms of poetry and music, and interesting and entertaining 
conversation. 

The great varieties of plays invented by Froebel, with building blocks, 

colored papers, sticks, 
wires, soaked peas, wor¬ 
sted stitching, weaving of 
strips, etc., tend to de¬ 
velop the sense of form 
and proportion to such 
a degree that the invent¬ 
ive faculty is impercept¬ 
ibly developed so that 
the children may soon 
draw on slates or model 
in some pliable substance 
a great variety of objects. 

There are twenty Gifts according to Froebel’s general definition of the 
term, although the first six only, are usually designated by this name. These 
Gifts are:— 



1. Six Rubber Balls, covered with a net¬ 

work of Twine or Worsted of various 
colors. 

2. Sphere, Cube and Cylinder, made of 

Wood. 

3. Large Cube, consisting of eight Small 

Cubes. 

4. Large Cube, consisting of eight Oblong 

Parts. 

5. Large Cube, consisting of Whole, Half, 

and Quarter Cubes. 


6. Large Cube, consisting of Doubly Di¬ 

vided Oblongs. 

(The last four Gifts serve for building purposes.) 

7. Square and Triangular Tablets for 

Laying of Figures. 

8. Staffs for Laying of Figures. 

9. Whole and Half Rings for Laying of 

Figures. 

10. Material for Drawing. 

11. Material for Perforating. 











28 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


12. Material for Embroidering. 

13. Material for Cutting of Paper and 

Combining Pieces. 

14. Material for Braiding. 

15. Slats for Interlacing. 


16. The Slat with Many Links. 

17. Material for Intertwining. 

18. Material for Paper Folding. 

19. Material for Peas Work. 

20. Material for Modeling. 


Parents and teachers should endeavor to take a comprehensive view of 
the whole being of the child, and adopt such means as will develop all his 
faculties harmoniously. To do this it is necessary to employ occupations 
and amusements capable of being used as means of education. Two points 
should be especially considered; the nature of the child, • the state of 
'development, and the relation in which the plaything stands to the child 
as regards both quality and quantity. 

He quickly observes surrounding objects and retains the impression of 
them. He soon learns to distinguish the eye of his mother, and the cap and 
cloak in which he is clothed when taken into the open air, from others, though 
similar in appearance. So in regard to playthings, he will like such as are 
best calculated to call forth his slumbering faculties and enlarge the limits of 
his mind. For this purpose, the soft ball is the most convenient and best 
adapted for the first gift. 



The First Gift. 

The First Gift consists of a set of six worsted 
balls, of the rainbow or standard Kindergarten colors, 
with strings. These represent the three fundamental 
and three mixed colors. The aim by them is: 
1. To teach color—primary red, blue, yellow; and 
secondary, or mixed—purple, green, and orange. 2. To 
teach direction; forward and backward, right and left, 
up and down. 3. To train the eye. 4. To exercise 
the hands, arms and feet in various plays. The first and second Gifts 
are adapted to children on the mother’s lap, and small classes of very 
small children only. This Gift is chosen: 1. Because it is the simplest 





29 



PLATE I.—THE FIRST GIFT. 


























30 


GIFTS AND OCCUPATIONS. 


shape and the one from 



which all others may subsequently be derived. 

2. Because it is the most mobile of inanimate 
shapes; its elasticity too, brings it nearer to life, 
and hence to the child’s sympathy. Its softness 
renders it less liable to hurt the child, thus avoid¬ 
ing dislike or fear. The little hands are able 
to grasp it more readily and more lovingly, and 
lessen the possibility of startling noises, which 
would interfere with concentration by engaging 
the ear too intensely when the eye is busy. 

3. The various colors serve to distinguish the 
several playmates of the child. The balls are furnished with strings ^o as to 
be always under the control of the mother or nurse who manages the little 
playmates of the child. 

By using the ball the child exercises every muscle of his body as well as his 
intellectual faculties. All the energy of the child is required to follow and catch 
its bounding playfellow. All his manual strength is requisite to retain it when 
caught, and to send it forth again. Every play, if well directed, may be 
made to promote the child’s future good. In play, the first feelings of friend¬ 
ship are awakened, the first attachment formed, and the tenderest sympathies 
fostered. By the aid of the ball a vast number of games are played accom¬ 
panied by little songs adapted to the infant mind. It may be used in a 
variety of ways which cannot be described in a book, but can be easily 
managed. A few figures are given on Plate 1. In Fig. 1-2, the ball suspended 
by a string is swung to and fro, and the child is taught to understand the 
difference between “ here and there.” As it moves, the child repeats : Here, 
There. 

Fig. 3. It is held over a Cube or some other object. The child is asked, 
Where is it now ? Answer —Over. 4. It is swung to one side, then back again 
to the other. Question —Where now? On this side—or on that side. 5. The 
string is shortened and the ball is drawn nearer to the hand. Q. What do 





















THE KINDERGARTEN. 


3 r 


I do? A. Wind up. 6. The string is lengthened, and the ball lowered. 
Q. What now? A. Wind down. 7. The ball is allowed to tap on the table. 
Q. What does it say? A. Tip, tap, tap. 8. The ball is drawn up on the top 
of the Cube. As it rises, the child says, Up, up, up. When it reaches the 
top, Up on top. 

Fig. 9. The hall is made to bound on the table. Question — What does 
it do now? Answer —Jump, jump, jump. 10. The ball is caused to spring 
from one side of the Cube to the other. Q. What does it do now? A. Jump 
over. 11. It is drawn along the table. Q. What does it do now? A. Eoll, 
roll, roll. 12. The ball is sent against the Cube, and as it rebounds the child 
is asked, What does it do now? A. Eoll back. 13. The hall is swung round. 
Q. What does it do now? A. Turn round. 14 and 15. It is swung to the 
left, then to the right, and the child is taught to observe the difference, and, 
during the movements, to say, To the left, to the right. Other movements 
such as swinging the hall round forming a large curve, gradually causing the 
circles to become smaller, or a small curve—thence to a larger. The attention 
of the child may he directed to this and he says, Smaller, Smaller, or Larger, 
Larger. Higher and Lower, Quicker, Slower, Deeper, etc., may also be 
illustrated. 

Tliia Second Giron 

The Second Gift is a progressive advance upon the First in substance and 
form, although closely linked to it, and it requires a 
higher development of the child’s mind. The objects 
which it contains are the Ball, the Cylinder, and Cube, 
these being the primary forms of all objects. It offers 
a number of valuable contrasts to the preceding Gift 
as well as among its own members. The aim of this 
Gift is to teach and to direct the attention of the child 
to the similarity and dissimilarity existing between different objects. This is 
done by pointing out, explaining and counting the sides, corners and edges of 
the cube; by showing that the sphere, the cylinder and the cube differ from 
































32 


GIFTS AND OCCUPATIONS. 


one another in their several properties on account of their difference of shape ; 
by pointing out that the apparent form of the sphere is unchanged, however 
looked at, hut that the apparent forms -of both the cube and the cylinder vary 
according to the point from which they are viewed. The hall and sphere 
represent motion , the cube rest ; the former yielding readily to even the slightest 
impulse, the latter resisting quite stubbornly. The value of the cylinder lies 
in the fact that it is the connecting link between the sphere and cube. It pre¬ 
sents more faces than the first and less than the last named. One of these 
faces is curved in one of its dimensions and the others are plain. It has two 
curved edges, hut no corners. This Gift may be placed in the hands of the 
child during its first year, and should he used in connection with the First Gift. 

The amusements with this Gift are so simple that the weakest child can 
find delight in them; so instructive that the most scientific mind can derive 
information from them, and so capable of a surprising variety, that they 
afford inexhaustible pleasures. They teach a child a dumb language which he 
can understand before he can express his thoughts and impressions in words. 
To the child the simple and rough figure is the most intelligible. A child will 
arrange stones, cubes, etc., and call them sheep, chickens, or whatever else 
may he, at the time, his mental idea. The illustrations on Plate II., may aid 
the parent or teacher in the use of the Second Gift. During the different 
motions, the following words for each figure may be sung: 


Fig. 1 . Round, round, round, ’tis my de¬ 
light, 

From right to left, from left to right, 
To the child I am a pleasing sight. 

2. A Ball I am wherever I go, 

Whenever I turn myself, I show. 

3. The Cube is at rest; It is my will 
That it should lie still, quite still. 

4. It tumbles here, it tumbles there, 

It cannot be still on its edge, ’tis clear. 

5. It stands on one edge and does not fall; 
Why does it so?—Tell me all. 


6. How easily on one point I stand, 

When steadied by one little hand. 

Look here! and you will quickly learn, 
How easily on one point I turn. 

7. You see but one corner—where are all 

the others? 

Ask your little sisters, ask your little 
brothers. 

8. Two comers now, you only can see, 
What are the rest doing? Where can 
they be ? 




33 



PLATE II.—THE SECOND GIFT. 
































34 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


These forms and motions can be multiplied according to the taste and tact 
of the mother or nurse. The solids can be made to jump like a cat, creep like 
a mouse, pass to and fro like a pendulum, go round like a wind-mill, form cir¬ 
cles, ellipses, etc. All these motions will help to cultivate the powers of ob¬ 
servation and reflection, and prepare the way for the study of Mechanical 
Science later. 

The Third Gift. 


The Third Gift consists of a two-inch cube divided into eight smaller 
one-inch cubes, by being cut once in each of its three dimensions. This division 
will give the child, for the first time, the impression of measure. 
Out of the one is produced a number, like in form and equal 
among themselves. Thus, he receives the idea of whole, and 
part; of form, and of comparative size. A child, when first left 
with a fresh object of any kind, will first examine it, then take it to pieces 
and see what there is inside, and, lastly, try to unite its parts or repair the 
injury done. 

This Gift, designated as FrcebeTs First Building Box, will gratify this 
desire in a child. He is first taught to invert the box, after drawing out the 
lid a little way; secondly, to draw out the lid entirely and lift up the box. He 
then finds the cube complete, and is allowed to pursue the dictates of his 
mind. He may divide it into two, four, or eight equal parts, place them upon 
each other, lay them side by side, count them, or arrange them in different 
ways to suit his inclination. After a time, his attention should be called to 
their form, number of faces, edges, corners, as the whole, and taught to dis¬ 
tinguish their number, size, form, position and order, and the true meaning of 
up, down, here, there, this, that, these, those, above, below, under, over, upon, 
underneath, within, without, large, small, etc. Every day he will find some¬ 
thing new for himself. According to his development, he will vary his forms. 
These forms he will find infinite in variety; his powers of representation will 
be exercised, and his faculties of perception, reflection, and imagination will 










35 



PLATE III.—THE THIRD GIFT. 





































































































36 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


be cultivated. So long as the child is happy it is not well to interfere ; should 
additional aid be required, then let the teacher take her own box, and show 
one or more examples for the purpose of educing new ideas. The office of 
the mother or teacher in this, as in all other Gifts, is to aid the child in the 
expression of his own ideas, in an indirect manner, by little stories and 
something about the objects which will interest him, thereby associating the 
story with the form. 

This Gift will gratify the child’s desire for activity in constructing forms 
of life or utility, forms of beauty or symmetry, and forms of perception or 
knowledge. One or more of each of these three classes of exercises may be 
given during a lesson. 

The forms given on Plate III., and observations are intended to assist the 
parent or teacher by suggesting a course of exercises, which will be varied 
according to fancy. Let each form be accompanied by some pleasing tale. 

Fig. 1 . Frcebel designates this as the Cube or Kitchen Table. The 
teacher may say: Look, my dear children; what have I here ? Give me its. 
name, tell me how many parts it has. How many faces, edges and corners. 
What can it be used for ? Follow with other questions. 

Fig. 2. The Fire-Place. The names given for the several forms on this 
Plate are those designated by Froebel. Question —Who can tell me what this is 
like? What is it used for? Did any of you ever see a large, old-fashioned 
fire-place, with its great back log and huge brass andirons ? Who of you 
ever saw meals cooked over the fire in the fire-place ? Tell the children of 
how the fire-places were built in olden times. Fig. 3 and 4. Grandpa’s and 
Grandma’s Chair. What are these? Chairs. Oh, what a comfortable 
chair! Grandpa or Grandmamma must sit here when they come to see the 
little children, and tell them stories about little boys and kind little girls. 
Fig. 5. A Castle with two Towers. 6. A Strong Hold. 7. A Wall. 8. A 
High Wall. 11. A Sign Post. 12. A Cross. 13. Two Crosses. 14. Cross 
with a Pedestal. 15. Monument. Exercise. Did you ever see one? Where? 
What was the name of the Cemetery ? What was the writing on it ? It gave 




37 



PLATE IV.—THE THIRD GIFT. 











































































































































































38 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


the name of a good man who lived a long time ago, and tried to make every¬ 
body happy. Can you build a monument ? For whom ? 

Fig. 16. A Sentry-box. IT. A Well. Exercise. What is a Well? What 
is there in it ? Where does the water come from ? What is the use of it ? 
Do you like to bathe in the water ? Little children love to bathe, they always 
look so rosy, so nice and so cheerful after their bath. Little birds, too, like 
to bathe, it makes them so happy, so merry, and so healthful. The little 
flowers cannot bathe, so the dew bathes them, and they are lovely, and smell 
sweet after their hath. Oh, how useful is water! It refreshes the plants, 
quenches our thirst, etc. 18. City Gate. In old times, cities had walls 
built around them, and had large gates which were guarded for the purpose 
of keeping people out who might do harm. Only a few of the older cities of 
the world now have walls and gates. Sometimes the Church adjoined the 
city gate as in Fig. 20. 19. Triumphal Arch. This is built to record some 

great victory of one nation over another, etc. 

It is essential that all of the blocks should be used in the building of ea ch 
figure. Plate IV. shows the proper method of handling the several cubes in 
constructing the figures given on Plate III. and in the use of the right and 
left hand. This Gift may be given to the child at or about the age of two 
years, and forms, for a long period, an unfailing source for intellectual and 
emotional nature. The term forms of life , often used in the description of 
the various Gifts, are more or less suggestive representations of surrounding 
objects, and lead to a close observance of objects and to a knowledge of their 
practical uses in human society. The forms of beauty have special reference 
to symmetrical arrangement and cultivate sentiment and feeling, but do not 
refer to any special object. The mathematical forms address themselves to the 
mind and understanding, giving the ideas of number, size, shape, relation, 
etc. When children can build, it is well to give them each time, practice in 
each form; and in order to make them truly happy, to encourage them to 
sing songs appropriate to their employment. 

While it is the duty of parents and educators to develop freely the 



GIFTS AND OCCUPATIONS. 


39 


individuality of their children, they must not lose sight of the fact that man 
is a social being and cannot he properly educated without the assistance and 
co-operation of his fellow beings. This mutual influence is exercised by 
communion far more than by mere words, and kindly feelings are cultivated in 
children far more successfully in common play and properly directed action, 
than by moral precepts alone. To promote this in the Kindergarten, the 
children are allowed to build in union; this is generally done at the end of 
the lesson, and to render it still more interesting, let all Gifts be accompanied 
by song. 

* 

'Titei Fourth Gift. 



The Fourth Gift consists of a large cube, divided by one horizontal and 
three vertical cuts, into eight square oblong blocks, often called bricks. In aim, 
it is similar to that of the Third Gift, but it gives rise to the observation of 
similarity and dissimilarity in regard to length, breadth and height, bringing 
clearly to the mind of the child the dimensions of bodies. 
It contains the same number of parts as the previous Gift, but 
they admit of a greater variety of formations, not only filling 
IBBSiB^but enclosing space. Having studied the Third Gift with in¬ 
terest, the child will find increased delight in using the Fourth. The 
great object of these occupations is to lead to further development, and 
it must always be borne in mind that this can only be accomplished by lead¬ 
ing the child step by step—not allowing him to take one step before he is 
fully acquainted with the first. 

It will be perceived that, as the parts in this Gift contain a greater 
amount of surface than the cubes, and are capable of enclosing 
a still greater amount of space, a far greater variety of objects may be 
represented, illustrations of which are given on Plate V. The general 
remarks on the Third Gift apply equally to this. The twenty-five Forms 
of Life given on Plate V., are: 





40 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


1. The Cube. 

2. Part of a Floor, or Top of a Table. 

3. Two Large Boards. 

4. Four Small Boards. 

5. Eight Building Blocks. 

6. A Long Garden Wall. 

7. A City Gate. 

8. Another City Gate. 

9. A Bee Stand. 

10. A Colonnade. 

11. A Passage. 

12. A Bell Tower. 

13. Open Garden House. 

Lessons in number and form si 
I. Addition and Subtraction. 


14. Garden House with Doors. 

15. Shaft. 

16. Shaft. 

17. A Well with Coyer. 

18. Fountain. 

19. Closed Garden Wall. 

20. An Open Garden. 

21. An Open Garden. 

22. Watering Trough. 

23. Shooting Stand. 

24. Village. 

25. Triumphal Arch. 

d be given. 

ce the Cubes of a whole class round the 


table. Let the class march round the table point at each cube, and, if 
practicable, touch each, and sing in the ascending and descending scales, 
1, 2, 3, 4:, etc. 

II. Arrange them in twos. March round and sing 2, 4, 6, 8, etc., then 
arrange in threes, fours, etc. 

III. Pursue the same course as before, with this addition: When 
they have arrived at the end of each journey, let them turn round and 
count backwards. Suppose 48 to be the highest number, 47, 46, 45, 44, 43, 
42, etc. 

IV. Arrange as before,,but change the terms used: Say 1 and 1 are 2; 2 
and 1 are 3, up to the highest number; and, on returning, 100 less 1 leaves 
99, 99 less 1 leaves 98, 98 less 1 leaves 97, etc. Pursue this course through 
all the divisions into twos, threes, fours, and so on up to tens. 


V. Multiplication and Division. Arrange as before, and march, and 
point, and sing, twice one are 2; the ones in 2 are 2; 3 times 1 are 3; the 
ones in 3 are 3, and so on up to 10. Twice 2 are 4; the twos in 4 are 2; 3 
times 2 are 6; the twos in 6 are 3, and so on up to 10, taking in succession all 
numbers up to 10. In this manner, multiplication and division will be so 
connected in the mind that the one will always assist the other. Of course, a 
few exercises will be sufficient at one time. Let one number be well mastered 





PLATE V —THE EOURTH GIFT. 




















































42 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


before proceeding with another. In this way, the fundamental principles of 
mathematics may be taught before the mind is prepared to understand 
abstract rules. 

The Fifth Gift". 

The Fifth Gift, like those of the preceding Gifts, consists of a Cube, 
divided twice in all directions forming a whole, a half, and quarter cubes; 
thus the whole Gift consists of twenty-seven pieces. It is an extension of 
the Third Gift. Its peculiarity consists in the increased 
number of parts by which more extended operations can 
be carried on, and the introduction of a new element by 
the subdivision of the cubes in a slanting direction, 
presenting oblique lines and faces, thus forming trian¬ 
gular shapes. A greater variety of forms of life and 
beauty can be constructed, and more advanced exercises in number and form 
given. It is especially adapted for older children, who have mastered the 
previous Gifts, though cannot be used with profit before the fifth year. 

By the use of the triangle, the child can produce new results; he can dis¬ 
pense with sharp corners, give roofs to his houses, construct ground forms for 
his buildings, and perform many wonderful feats. It is natural for the child 
to construct objects with which he is most familiar, thus tables, chairs, etc., 
are the first objects he builds. From these simple forms, his ideas develop, 
and he constructs a house, with its several rooms, thence follow the church, 
school, or factory, and other buildings. All the lessons given under the Third 
Gift may be repeated with this, leaving the children to discover the increased 
power which the additional playthings give. 

After the children have exhausted all their own resources, the teacher may 
take her own box, commencing with Fig. 8, Plate VI., construct the ground 
form or lay the foundation of her building in accordance with the plan given; 
the children follow her example; this done, she examines every ground form 
to see that all are correct. The foundations being properly laid, she proceeds 









43 




































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































44 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


to raise her structure, during which time she makes such observations, rela¬ 
tive to the form, size, number of cubes required, etc., as she may deem advis¬ 
able. Any pleasing tale having a connection with the building may be profit¬ 
ably told, or the children may be induced to make their own observations. 

One new building is sufficient for one lesson, when it is deemed desirable to 
adapt the Gift to the still further development of the children the teacher may 
converse with the pupils, using every means in her power by pointing at parts 
referred to, or changing the form of her questions to enable the child to under¬ 


stand what she desires. An endless variety of pleasing instructive exercises, 
calculated to develop form, number, and order, may thus be produced whenever 


required, and, by a glance given at any of the combinations shown on the 
Plates, an ingenious teacher will never be in want of a different starting point. 


The Forms of life given on Plate VI., 

1. Cube. 

2. Flower Stand. 

3. Large Chair. 

4. Easy Chair with Foot Bench. 

5. Bed. 

6. Sofa. 6a. Sofa, ground plan. 

7. A Well. 7a. ground plan. 

8. Home with Yard. 8a. ground plan. 


are: 

9. Peasant’s Home. 9a. ground plan. 

10. School House. 10a. ground plan. 

11. Church. 11a. ground plan. 

12. Church with Two Steeples. 12a. 

ground plan. 

13. Factory with Chimney and Boiler 

House. 13a. ground plan. 


In giving lessons on Numbers, arrange the parts, and cause the child to 


count halves, quarters, three-quarters, one and a half, and two and three-quar¬ 
ters, etc., ascending and descending. Let each child demonstrate as he repeats 


4 x 2-J; J of 2-1, etc. After the lessons of the Gift, the above will be found 
easy, and great variety of similar lessons may be given, and each affirmation 
demonstrated by the child. It must also be borne in mind, that all the occu¬ 
pations of the Third Gift can be extended with this, and hence that any direc¬ 
tions given must refer to those who have mastered the instructions given under 
that Gift. 


Thh Sixth Gift. 


The Sixth Gift is an extension of, and a completement to the Fourth 
Gift, and, by its aid, all the exercises given under the Fourth may be carried out 




45 



PLATE VTT.—THE SIXTH GIFT. 



























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































46 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


to a far greater extent, teaching particularly the proportions, size of oblongs, 
squares, columns, and the number of each kind. It is inexhaustible in 
opportunities for inventing new forms. With the Sixth Gift, the two series of 
development given by Frcebel in the building blocks has been reached. In 
the Four Gifts described, the child has had to do with solids, with forms that 
extend prominently in the three dimensions. It con¬ 
sists of a large Cube with doubly divided oblongs, 
twenty-seven in number; six of these are bisected in 
the direction of their breadth and three in the direction 
of their length, into square prisms—making in all thirty- 
six pieces. After the children have exhausted their own resources, and, by 
the aid of the teacher, mastered the various artistic and mathematical forms, 
as well as those of utility given on Plate VII., questions may be asked of the 
pupils such as, Wherein does this Gift differ from the Fifth? Wherein does 
it resemble that Gift ? Answer —It has the same length, breadth, depth, the 
same number of faces, edges, and corners; the faces are all plain faces, and 
are bounded by straight lines, which all meet in points forming angles. It 
has six faces, twelve edges, eight corners, twenty-four right angles. Question — 
What are the contents of your box ? Q. Describe the blocks of the Fourth Gift. 
Now, describe the playthings which you have met for the first time. A. The 
long ones are square prisms, each having four rectangular faces, and two square 
faces; each of the rectangular faces is equal to four of the square faces. Each 
of the short ones have also two square faces and four rectangular faces ; 
but each square face is equal to two of the rectangular faces. The long ones and 
the short ones are equal to each other, and one long one and one short one, 
though different in form, are together equal to one of the eighteen oblongs. 

The children may now be required to build by dictation. Hitherto they 
have either followed the dictates of their own mind, or imitated the designs of 
others. An endless variety of dictation lessons may he given, according to 
the peculiar genius of the teacher and the capacities of the children. The 
selections of forms of life given on Plate VII., are designated by Froebel as: 














gifts and occupations. 


47 


1. House without roof. la. Ground plan. 

2. Colonnade. 2a. Ground plan. 

3. Hall with columns. 

4. Summer House. 4 a. Ground plan. 

5. Memorial Column of the Three Friends. 

5a. Ground plans. 

6. Monument in honor of some Fallen 

Hero. 6a. Ground plan. 


7. Fagade of a Large House. 7a. Ground 

plan. 

8. The Columns of the Three Heroes. 

8a. Ground plan. 

9. Entrance to Hall of Fame. 9a. 

Ground plan. 


"The Seventh Gift. 

The Seventh Gift consists of finely polished quadrangular and triangu¬ 
lar Tablets, of light and dark hard woods in their natural colors, and are used 
for the laying of figures. These tablets, as also the preceding Gifts, are 

designed for the instruction in shift¬ 
ing or reversing the composition of 
forms and combining them. The plane 
surfaces, for the first time, are now 
introduced in this Gift. The child 
cannot now produce the object itself, but may produce a form similar to it, 
by arranging the squares and triangles in a certain order. He should be 
taught the connection existing between this and the previous Gifts. The 
tablets are but the separated sides of the Cube or solid, and are for the pro¬ 
duction of images of objects, while the Cube produced or united the objects 
themselves. 

It would be impossible to explain in detail within the space allowed, the 
application of this invaluable Gift, as it would require a small volume to even 
hint at the various methods of its use; but the 
object is to call attention to its directly practi¬ 
cal nature, and how to use it in the Kindergar¬ 
ten. On Plate VIII., are given many forms pro¬ 
duced by the use of the tablets. The most popular sets now manufactured 
contain tablets composed of light and dark wood equal in number, leaving 
the natural colors of the wood with a finely polished surface. This 












4 8 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


furnishes material for designs in light and shade, without the introduction of 
the element of color, as the natural woods do not convey the idea of color of 
any kind, they are as thin as is consistent with strength and durability that 
they may represent surfaces only. The tablets for the Seventh Gift are also 
made of very heavy and solid paper board. They may also be obtained made 
of wood, in six assorted colors; red, yellow, blue, for the primary colors, and 
green, purple, or violet, and orange, for the secondary colors. 

The square tablet is the type of four-sided figures. It is the simplest 
form and is first presented. The square being divided from corner to corner, 
a new figure is presented which is found to have three sides, but which is 
not the type of three-sided figures; and the equilateral triangle is next pre¬ 
sented which is the typical and simplest triangle. If the equilateral triangle 
were divided through a line bisecting one angle as was the square, the result is 
two triangles of still different shape, the scalene. If these two are placed base to 
base, the result is still another, the obtuse-angled triangle, and we thus have 
all of the five forms of the Seventh Gift. The square educates the eye to 
judge correctly of a right angle, one of the first essentials of a skilled 
artisan. The division of the square gives the 45° triangle, thus educating 
the eye to measure that universal angle the miter, (45°), one-lialf the right 
angle. The equilateral triangle has three 60° angles, six of which form a 
complete circle; the divided equilateral or right-angled scalane has one angle 
of 90°, one of 60°, and one of 30°. These represent all the angles which 
may be termed standards and a child in the Kindergarten should become as 
familiar with them as with the size of the squares on his table. 

In presenting this Gift, a piece of apple or bread may be cut just the size 
and shape of a cube of the Third Gift, and then a slice cut from it to 
show how the square tablet, which should be first given, is a representative 
of the cube. The child will immediately want tablets enough to build up a 
cube, and when he is satisfied himself how many it takes for this purpose he 
will be interested to learn what can be done with the cube cut in so many 
slices. The right-angled isosceles follows the square and two may be given 



49 



PLATE VIII.—THE SEVENTH GIFT. 


















































































































































































































































































50 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


which will at once be seen to be the square tablet in halves. The equilateral 
is related to the isosceles triangle by its material and the number of its angles, 
and may be carefully observed. Give two of the forms and let one be placed 
on the top of the other, with the angles midway between the angles of the 
lower one and the indication of the circle is quite marked. Then follows 
the scalene, which is shown to be an equal division of the equilateral as the 
right-angled isosceles is half of the square and, united by its short sides, 
forms the obtuse-angled-triangle. These triangles may be two or more 
kinds together but it should not be forgotten that similarity with the 
previous step should be explained and felt, before opposite qualities are 
enlarged upon. As a Kindergarten Gift this material should not be used with¬ 
out a knowledge of its relation to the whole system, but it may be used as 
busy work to advantage independently of other Gifts, although such use should 
not be called Kindergarten. 

The Bjgiitii Girt. 


The Eighth Gift consists of sticks or staffs of varying length, about 
one-twelfth of an inch thick; they are used for the laying of figures, and are 
intended to teach numerical proportion and variety of form. They represent 
the embodied straight line, and are an excellent 
preparation for Drawing and other occupations; by 
its use, the pupil is advanced another step forward 
and secures material to draw the outline of objects 
by bodily lines. This occupation is in close connec¬ 
tion with the others already described. It is not an 
accidental one, but a necessary result of the Kinder¬ 
garten principle. Although connected with the others, 
it is distinct from them, and requires a higher degree of mental power than 
the others. The senses must be already much cultivated, especially the eyes 
and hands. In order to find the proportion of the distances, the child must 
have an idea of square, round, straight, right, left, horizontal, perpendicular. 





PLATE IX.—THE EIGHTH GIFT. 










































































































































5 * 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


oblique, parallel, though he may not be able to define them. By the use of 
the sticks, the child is introduced into the different employments and depart¬ 
ments of life. They increase the knowledge of variety, lead from the visible to 
the invisible, develop steadiness, are a means of uniting, and exercise the 
faculties generally. They teach that out of the simplest materials can be pro¬ 
duced that which is useful, beautiful and instructive. 

Whenever a new Gift is introduced for the first time, the Kindergartener 
must gather the children around a table, and devote some time to the expla¬ 
nation of the Gift or occupation by questions and answers, encouraging 
imagination and invention, by calling on the pupils to construct with the 
given forms, all other forms possible, and to tell what they look like in 
the outer world. It is presumed that the teacher, whose employment is to 
cultivate the young mind, has embraced the whole subject, and realized the 
good and the beautiful in her whole life. 

In introducing this Gift, the teacher gives out one stick to each; requires 
each to take it in the right hand, pass it to the left, hold it up, lay it down, 
let it rest on one end, lift it up, and let it fall on the table, so as to produce 
sound. After a few preparatory movements, according to the fancy of the 
teacher, she asks: What does this stick represent ? Each child will look 
at it and give the name of some familiar object, as a ruler, pencil, column. 
She requires them all to lay down their sticks, so as to form a line around 
the table, to give the idea of association. 

Two sticks may now be given with which a new series of questions may 
be proposed. Take one in each hand, both in one hand, lay them down, 
separate them, place them in different positions, illustrating the various lines 
and angles, and any object with which they are familiar. Make the letters I, 
L, T, V, X, etc., and arrange them in different ways. Exercise them with 
three, four, five, and any other number forming different figures—counting 
angles, etc. At the end of each exercise, cause them to form something in 
common, in order to cultivate the social feeling. Our Plate IX, gives repre¬ 
sentations of a large number of forms—Fig. 1-3, those formed with one 





PLATE X.—THE NINTH GIFT. 




54 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 



circles. They are intended, like the Eighth Gift, to teach form and proportion 
and represent rounded curve lines. All figures produced are, owing to the 
nature of the circular line, forms of beauty; hence the occupation with these 
rings is of great importance. The sticks of the Eighth Gift and the rings of 
this may be used together with very pleasing and profitable results as shown 
by our illustration. The teacher should not fail to call the attention of the 


staff—the perpendicular, horizontal, and slanting or oblique lines, are shown. 
Pig. 4-31, various forms produced with two staffs. Fig* 32-40, foims with 
three staffs. Fig. 41-52, combinations formed with four staffs. Fig. 53-59, 
the figures with five staffs. By the use of other staffs, these figures may be 
extended to produce an innumerable number of interesting and beautiful 
forms. 

* The Ninth Gift. 

The Ninth Gift consists of whole and half rings used for the laying of 
figures embodying circles. It is a continuation of the previous Gift 
and preparatory to drawing and designing. These rings are of two 
different sizes, made of wire and embrace twelve whole and twenty-four half 


Combination formed with the Eighth and Ninth Gifts. 















55 



PLATE XI.—THE TENTH GIFT. 





















































































































































56 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


children to the difference between this and the previous gifts. In the ring, 
there are no angles, as in all previous ones. Plate X., Fig. 1 represents the 
full circle in which there is neither a beginning nor end, and an absence of any 
angle. Fig. 2 shows the two-half rings or half-circles, each having two ends, 
the two forming one whole ring or a complete circle. In Fig. 4-14, are 
shown various forms of beauty produced by the use of a number of the 
rings and half rings. 

The Tenth Gift. 

The Tenth Gift is devoted to drawing. In all the Gifts previously intro¬ 
duced, the pupil has studied and represented forms and figures. The natural 
sequence has been the development of a desire to draw lines and plans that 

formed the objects of study. Froebel has 
most ingeniously satisfied this desire in the 
child. He gives the pupil a slate, one side 
of which is covered by a net-work of en¬ 
graved lines one-fourth of an inch apart, in 
two sets at right angles to each other and 
just deep enough to guide the child in mov¬ 
ing the pencil and greatly to assist in 

Marginal, Ruled Slate. n .. , 

measuring and comparing situation and 
position. The slates manufactured by Milton, Bradley & Co., Springfield, 
Mass., are superior to the ordinary Kindergarten slate, in that their slates are 
perfectly ruled by machinery and have a plain margin all around next to the 
frame so that each corner is a perfect square entirely separated from the 
frame. Children have always found a great inconvenience in drawing from dic¬ 
tation as they had no definite corner or margin from which to count; also, many 
times, the ruling has been imperfect, the squares being very unequal in size. 

The slate and pencil may be placed in the child’s hands as early as the 
third year of his life. The slate is first used, in that mistakes may be the 
more easily corrected and imperfect figures erased; drawing on the slate is 
























57 



PLATE XII.—THE TENTH GIFT. 











































































































































































































































58 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


followed by drawing on paper, the latter being ruled like the slates. The 
child is first exercised in drawing perpendicular lines of equal length, and of 
unequal length as illustrated on Plate XI. This may be followed by the hori¬ 
zontal and oblique lines, by the angles, right, acute, obtuse, equilateral, 
isosceles, scalene, right-angled scalene, obtuse-angled scalene, right-angled 
isosceles, acute-angled isosceles, obtuse-angled isosceles, followed by squares, 
pentagons, rhombs, trapezoids and other figures. As soon as the child has 
acquired some skill in making the straight lines, he will take delight in drawing 
upon the slate the various figures he has constructed with the sticks and 
tablets, and to invent forms of beauty with the pencil, and to verify them 
afterward with the tablets and sticks. The Tenth and Eleventh, and so on 
to the Nineteenth Gift inclusively, are appropriate to sub-classes from six to 
seven years, while the Twentieth and the drawing of things from memory in a 
recognizable style, require a sub-class of seven years on an average. 

The IAlhavienth i jatnd Twelfth Gifts. 

The Eleventh and Twelfth Gifts consist of material for perforating or 
pricking and embroidering or sewing. The material for these two occupa¬ 


tions consists of a piece of net paper placed upon 
layers of soft blotting paper, which should be of all 
the various shades and hues. Prepared lithographed 
paper is also used. A strong sewing needle, fastened in 
a holder so as to project about one-fourth of an inch, 
is used as the perforating tool, and, with which, the 
pupil pierces the representation on the paper, to 
which they subsequently give the natural colors of 



the objects by employing worsted or silk. The aim of these occupations are 
the production of the beautiful by the child’s own activity and its own inven¬ 
tion. Embroidering should not begin until the pupil has acquired consider¬ 
able skill in perforating. A careful and conscientious teacher will readily 




59 



PLATE XIII.—ELEVENTH AND TWELFTH GIFT. 




















































































































































































6o 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


note the direction in which the faculty of the pupil may be developed. Start¬ 
ing from the single point Fig. I., Plate XIII., the child gradually advances 
through the several grades as in drawing, forming the various lines, angles, and 
circles. The figures on Plate XIV., may be used for perforating and embroider¬ 



ing in course of time. The most beautiful representations of natural and. 
artificial objects may be produced, giving mute but eloquent proof of an early 
acquired taste in regard to form and color, and of manual dexterity and skill 
rarely witnessed in children of such tender age. 

The Thirteenth Gifts 

The Thirteenth Gift consists of Material for cutting paper and mounting 
pieces to produce figures and forms. The materials for this occupation are a 
square piece of paper of the size of one-sixteenth sheet, and suitable paper or 
card-board for mounting; for the latter purpose, stout manilla wrapping paper 
cut in pieces, seven to nine inches square, will be found quite serviceable, a pair 
of blunt-pointed scissors, a small dish or bottle of mucilage, a small, clean 
piece of cotton cloth and a camel-hair brush complete the outfit. 

Paper-cutting is an exercise by which an endless variety of forms are 
produced by cutting away a portion of the ground form, whereas, by paper- 







PLATE XIV.—ELEVENTH AND TWELFTH GIFT. 














62 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 



folding the figures are produced upon the ground form. By paper cutting, a 
greater variety of forms can be produced, especially forms of symmetry, the 
child’s inclination to use the scissors is here so ingeniously turned to account 

as to produce most gratifying results. 
There is no occupation in the Kindergar¬ 
ten which affords so wide a field for the 
gratification of the imagination, and the 
exercise of the artistic faculties. It may 
be commenced by very young children, and 
young ladies of any age may find in this 
employment an opportunity of exercising 
their taste for the beautiful. The ground 
form is made with a square piece of thin 
paper according to the following directions: 1. Lay all the papers straight 

on the table. 2. Unite two opposite corners so as to form two triangles. 

3. Hold the double corners in the fingers and unite the other two corners. 
By this means, a triangle is produced with one side closed and the other open 

4. Turn one of the folds to the right, the _ 

other to the left, keeping the corners where 
they are all united between the fore-finger 
and the thumb. 

It is most important that the pupils 
should be allowed to indulge their fancies at 
first in cutting. After they have attained 
some dexterity, they should be induced to 
cut out portions of the ground form without 
cutting through it. As in the other Gifts 
preceding, the teacher should not lose sight 
of the various lines, angles, and circles. The various forms given on Plate XV., 
will enable the teacher to accomplish an exactness in cutting if the dotted lines 
there shown are followed. The children may be trained to imitate leaves 
























1/- 

yfi 

\ J / 

— pV * / 

--t- 

\ 

_!_ 

• ! — Ji ^ i _ i _ i . _ _ 


A~ 

“t" 

n\ 

Z—l -1-1- 

r ^ >— ~j ~~— 

—[—t~ *-1* >r * t _ ■ 

'*T~ 

AX 



PLATE XV.—THE THIRTEENTH GIFT. 





























































































6 \ 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


flowers, combination of leaves and flowers, with an immense variety of 
beautiful forms which cannot be described. The results of this occupation 
can be used as patterns for embroidery, lace work, carpeting, calico, printing, 
etc. Common paper can be used for the first exercises, but, for the more 
delicate forms, the finest satin paper is required. 

Ti-IK FOTJR/TElErcT v H GlRT\ 

The Fourteenth Gift consists of Material for braiding and weaving. The 
materials used are strips of colored paper and a steel or wooden needle cf 

peculiar construction, as represented on Plate 
XYI. Braiding is produced by drawing with 
the needle a loose strip differently colored 
through the strips of the braiding sheet, the 
latter will appear alternately over and under, 
as shown by the illustration. The braiding 
sheet must be of some plain color, cut into 
strips throughout its entire surface, except a 
margin at the end. The greatest variety of designs are produced, and the 
inventive powers of teacher and pupils constantly increase the numbers. 
Glazed muslin, leather, silk or woolen ribbon, 
straw or any like material may be used instead 
of paper. Children of five years of age are 
much delighted with this work and anxious to 
manifest their skill in its use. 

As the imaginations of children are gener¬ 
ally very powerful, they invent patterns • by 
allowing the slips to cover one, two, or more in 
succession, as fancy dictates; by this means, 

they produce patterns so beautiful that persons who have not seen the opera 
tion can form no conception of them. 














































































PLATE XVI. —THE FOURTEENTH GIFT. 














66 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


In this occupation, not only the eyes and hands of the children are 
educated, hut the taste for beauty is developed—order, neatness and indus¬ 
trial habits are promoted; they exercise their inventive powers and prepare 
themselves for useful occupations. 

The Fifteenth Giktt 

The Fifteenth Gift consists of disconnected Slats, made of birch, or any 
tough wood, ten inches long, three-eighths of an inch broad and one-six¬ 
teenth of an inch thick; they are used to construct 
objects by interlacing them. This is a relief from 
those occupations that reqiure mental action and 
a greater amount of patience and perseverance. 
Children exercised in laying sticks and uniting sticks, 
will easily succeed in plaiting sticks. This occupa¬ 
tion also presents the various lines and angles which 
should never be lost sight of by the teacher, and 
impressed on the mind of the child; the con¬ 
stituent parts of each figure and their qualities, 
and the service each individual slat performs in 
it, should receive attention. To form a figure, 
four or more sticks are needful; as in other 
Gifts, the child is supplied with the material, 
and free exercise encouraged. When necessary, 
the teacher assists by forming first, simple, and 
afterward, complex combinations. Plate XVIII., illustrates forms produced 
with four, five and six slats respectively. 

Sixteenth Gift. 

The Sixteenth Gift consists of the J ointed or Connected Slats, with several 
links. This Gift represents the embodied edge of the figure, it is the outline 




















PLATE XVII.—THE FOURTEENTH GIFT. 

























68 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


form of the plane of which, owing to the breadth of the single slats, it is still a 
considerable part. It is used to represent different forms, geometrical or 
symmetrical, or into representations of objects, by changing the directions of 

the links. The Slat embraces four, six, 
eight, and sixteen links, which are intro¬ 
duced one after the other, when opportunity 
offers. The child, upon receiving the slat, 
should be asked to unfold all of the links of 
the slat, and to place it upon the table so 
as to represent the various lines; this may 
be followed by the square, and the different triangles. Exercises in the use of 
this occupation can be rendered exceedingly interesting and instructive to the 
children. The richness of the material afforded by this Gift cannot be over¬ 
estimated, on account of the simplicity of its application for educational 
purposes. 

The Giron 



The Seventeenth Gift consists of material for intertwining. This occu¬ 
pation is similar to that of the Fifteenth Gift, and, like the two last described 



Gifts, is used to represent a variety of geometrical as well as fancy forms, by 
bending, twisting, and interlacing them according to certain rules. The 
materials used are strips of Paper of various colors, lengths, and widths, folded 
























PLATE XVIII.—THE FIFTEENTH GIFT. 

































































































?o 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


lengthwise. Each strip is subdivided into smaller strips of three-quarters of an 
inch wide, which, by folding their long sides, are transformed to threefold 
strips, one-quarter of an inch wide. The main object of this occupation is to 
teach the pupil to be clean, neat and correct in the performance of every 
task. This is one of the most difficult of the several Gifts, and occupations, 
requiring a somewhat skilled hand. It should only be introduced to the more 
advanced pupils. On Plate XIX., are given a number of forms. It will not 
be very difficult to produce a great variety of similar figures, if one will act 
according to the motives obtained and derived from the occupation with the 
interlacing slats. 

Tt ie Eighths tin th Giron 

The Eighteenth Gift teaches Paper-Folding. The material used in this 
occupation consists of square, rectangular and triangular pieces, with which 
variously shaped objects are formed, and the elements of Geometry are taught 

in a practical manner. The variety is end¬ 
less, and prepares the child for many similar 
and useful manual performances in practical 
life. This occupation has a close connection 
with the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Gifts. When children have formed parts 
into a combined whole, they proceed to manufacture upon a ground form, new 
and different objects of various shapes. For this occupation, the children 
must have a previous conception of the different objects which they have 
to form. 

The material used is a square piece of paper. Each child, haying received 
this paper, is allowed, at first, to form any object at pleasure, as in the other 
occupations. This being done the teacher commences her development by 
giving illustrations of different forms, such as a box, basket, ship, stars, etc. 
The mathematical forms which can he made, are especially important and 
practical as a means of conveying an idea of many important jtruths in 
geometry. The following are a few examples with the triangular form: 





















PLATE XIX.—THE SEVENTEENTH GIFT. 
































































































72 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


1. Fold the papey so that the two opposite corners unite, forming two 
right-angled isosceles triangles. By this means, it is clearly seen that such a 
triangle is exactly one-half of a 'square, having the same base and perpen¬ 
dicular. 

2. Fold the square in the middle, and two equal parallelograms are 
formed; and, on opening the paper, we find two equal right-angled triangles 
joining each other at the vertices, and two trapezoids equal to each other. 

3. Fold the square in the middle the other way, so as to form two equal 
parallelograms as before, and, on opening it, we find two equal squares, and 
four equal isosceles triangles, which are equal to two other squares, or one of 
the parallelograms. 

4. Fold the paper as at first; but unite the two contrary corners, and, when 
opened, we find the whole square divided into eight equal right-angled isosceles 
triangles, having all their vertices meeting in the center. 

5. Fold the same paper into four equal squares, then unite the two 
corners which have not been before united, and eight equal triangles will be 
produced. On opening the paper, we find a square in the center, divided into 
eight equal triangles, and, on each side of the square, one right-angled triangle 
divided into two equal triangles; the whole square contains sixteen equal, 
right-angled isosceles triangles. By further foldings, a greater variety may be 
produced. 

By these foldings, it will be clearly seen that the base of each of these 
triangles is longer than either of its sides, and that thn two acute angles of 
each triangle are tog her equal to one right angle. Fig. 1, Plate XX. 
represents a half sheet of paper placed upon the table, the several folds are 
clearly shown in the figures that follow, showing lines, angles, squares, 
mathematical, and symmetrical forms. 

The Nineteenth Girt. 

The Nineteenth Gift embraces Peas and Cork work. When a child has 
acquired dexterity in Laying sticks, for the purpose of representing different 



73 



PLATE XX.—THE EIGHTEENTH GIFT. 













































74 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


objects, a desire naturally arises to unite tliem in some way or other, so that 
they may have a distinct independent existence; thus stick laying leads to 
stick combining. This practice requires greater skill, care, and delicacy, and 



can be usefully employed as a means of development after the child is too old 
for the Kindergarten. The material used consists of peas, soaked in water 
for 8 or 12 hours, and pieces of wire of the thickness of a hair pin, of various 
lengths, and pointed at the ends. The ends of the wire are stuck into the 
peas for the purpose of imitating real objects and the various geometrical 
figures; skeletons which can be moved about in a satisfactory manner are 
thus produced, which train the eye most successfully for perspective drawing. 
Wooden sticks, similar to those used in stick laying, but thinner, may be used 
in place of wire, and small cubes of cork in place of peas. The first step in 
this work is, as usual, the most simple. A certain number of sticks and peas 
are given each child, and the question is asked: What can you form ? In 
order to ascertain the children’s ideas, they are allowed freely to express their 
thoughts, attention being always given to such regulations as are needful to 
preserve order. Having ascertained the peculiar individuality of the child, she 
gives such examples as she may deem necessary, always commencing with the 
most simple forms. Plate XXI., shows a number of skeleton forms that can be 
produced from these simple materials. Care must be taken to point out, 
kindly, all defects in form, size, position, proportion, or arrangement, and every 











75 



PLATE XXI.—THE NINETEENTH GIFT. 


























































































































76 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


encouragement should be given to those who are unable to produce harmo¬ 
nious forms. 

The Twentietth Girt\ 

The Twentieth Gift teaches the art of modeling, or working in clay. 
This Gift was held by Froebel as an essential part of his means of education; 
he claimed that the first exercises in modeling should represent the fourteenth 
stereometric fundamental forms of crystallization which he presents in a box 
by themselves. Starting from the cube, the cylinder, sphere, pyramid, and 
others follow. This work follows drawing. It is different, but it is developed 
from drawing. Modeling is a wider field for the exercise of the child’s 
executive and observing faculties. Children take to it with avidity, and the 
results of their labors are by no means common-place. 

For the occupation of modeling, the child is provided with a piece of 
plastic clay or wax, a wooden modeling knife, a small board, and a piece of 
oiled paper or cloth, on which to perform the work. A simple, round ball is 
the first thing that should be attempted, because this form must be first made, 



whether a flower, or a pyramid, or other elementary object is to be modeled. 
When the simple ball can be made with perfection (Fig. 1. Plate XXII.), other 
forms may be imitated. The ball can easily be changed by attaching a stem 












*7 *7 



PLATE XXII.—THE TWENTIETH GIFT. 

























































































7 § 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


to it and producing the cherry as shown in Fig. 2. Depressing and elevating it 
the young artist lias an apple. See Fig. 3. A nut, potato, pear, egg* etc., may 
also be readily produced. From the hall is derived the cylinder (Fig. 6) 
and the cube (Fig. 11), which furnish central points for a variety of forms of 
life and beauty. When any object js well formed, it should be preserved as a 
model. A child will persevere in trying to accomplish what another child has 
done, with far better determination than if the same object had been produced 
by an adult, in this, more than in any other employment. In this occupa¬ 
tion, as in others, the chief object is to develop creative powers, imitation 
being a secondary consideration. 

Kindergarten Materials. —All the appliances referred to in the foregoing 
pages of this book for instructing and interesting children in the Kindergarten and 
in the home are furnished by Milton Bradley Company, Springfield, Mass. Thomas 
Charles, Western Agent, 75 and 77 Wabash Avenue, Chicago, Ill. 








Songs 

AND Physical 


Plays. 


T O teach by play is not to spare the child exertion or relieve 
him from it r but to awaken in him a passion which forces on 
him, and renders easy, the strongest effort.***In childish play deep 
meaning lies.***Play is the child’s first poetry .—-Jean Paul. 


KINDERGARTEN SONGS. 



■$R 


^ T for the expression of feeling and thoughts common to childhood. 


N selecting the following songs for school, home, and Kindergarten 
care has been taken to choose those, which, in music, and rhythm 
of words are in child-like, yet correct idiom, and seem best adapted 


Much beauty is necessarily lost in the translation of the poetic 


German verse and spirit in our own language. This poetry and 


rhythm in all of its forms our American children greatly need, and perhaps no 
phase of Froebers work appeals more directly to the hearts of mothers and teach¬ 
ers than do his songs and games. Yet, of all the work of the Kindergarten, this 
is most left to chance, or is unscientifically taught. Froebel has taken such high 
ground in the presentation of the aim, toward which all development should 
tend, that we have no right to be satisfied with any but the best and truest 
ideal. I believe we are only on the threshold of the knowledge necessary to 
guide children in music. In form, and in color, far more progress has been 
made; surely music and movement are not of less importance, especially when 
one realizes that it is pre-eminently the means by which the very center of the 
being, the affections, may find an avenue of expression. This matter cannot 
be too carefully studied, and all that is done should be on the side of science 
and art, although the child may and should be wholly unconscious of it. 

There is not the slightest doubt that so soon as we demand good music 
and good verse for our children, it will be forthcoming. Let us, therefore, lay 
aside, as soon as possible, all that is a hindrance—all that is not the best, and 
study those principles by means of which a true judgment may be formed. 

Alice H. Putnam. 


Englewood, III. 


81 







THE PHYSICAL PLAYS. 



HE active instincts of childhood, which, rightly directed, develop 
into the determined energy of manhood, show themselves mostly 
in play, which also brings to light indications of character, ten¬ 
derness and capacities of various kinds. Play takes every form, 
from mere boisterous exercise of limbs and voice, to trials of skill 
and mimic representation of whatever belongs to the older life, in 
the midst of which the children live. In every form, it is full of instruction 
and interest to educators, and, to Froebel, it was the book in which he studied 
child nature, while, through play, he brought his educational principles power¬ 
fully into action. In the Kindergarten, the motion plays are conceded to be 
the most valuable, as well as the most delightful. The songs introduced in 
this volume possess educational value of a high order. In them, the pupil 
reveals himself; a sympathizing and watchful teacher or parent will be able to 
discover his weak points and to check the growth of faulty traits, and encour¬ 
age the development of the good traits of character. When the play of 
children is rightly directed and understood, a sweet, unselfish spirit, habits of 
order, system, energy and grace of motion can be cultivated. In the exercise 
of their muscles, strength and health is increased, nervousness disappears, 
cheerfulness and a desire for social intercourse is advanced. Children, in the 
Kindergarten, should be taught to sing by ear, and not by note; the pupil 
should stand erect, the mouth opened, carefully avoiding the straining of the 
voice, as stated in the explanation of the Eighth Gift. The teacher, when 
introducing a new Gift for the first time, must gather the little ones round a 
table, and devote some time to the explanation of the object by questions and 





SONGS AND PHYSICAL PLAYS. 


^3 


answers. Before one of the pieces of Music is taken up she should recite the 
little poem entire, explaining all expressions that may be new to the pupils, 
carefully avoiding the fault of having the children commit to memory that 
which is beyond their conception, or which is not sufficiently brought home to 
their reflection and understanding. After having recited the piece several 
consecutive times, until the class can correctly repeat the piece from memory, 
she should sing for them three or four times with the words, till a number of 
her pupils can correctly imitate it. The singing is always a great feast to the 
children, if the tune is not stale. Singing exercises should open and conclude 
each session of the school, as also other exercises, when they threaten to be 
wearisome, may be interrupted by singing. 

The Kindergarten is not unreasonable in its claim that all instruction, 
and even all play whatsoever, shall be made an Object Lesson. The five senses 
are first cultivated, thereby furnishing the mind with correct and complete 
impressions of the outer world. The attention of the child must first be called 
to these senses by questions and answers before he will see, hear, feel, smell 
and taste all the features of the object. Once having learned to examine all 
objects for new impressions on its senses, it will perceive and observe a hun¬ 
dred features about even familiar objects, which other children and even adults 
do not find out. 

Kindergarten plays are divided into five classes, namely: 1. Is represent¬ 
ative of symbols, some of the ball games, the windmill, etc. 2. Represent¬ 
atives of nature; as, the fishes, the bees, etc. 3. Representatives of industries; 
such as the farmer, miller, etc. 4. Gymnastic exercises and marches; 
such as the marching and finger plays. 5. Conversational and moral songs ; 
the latter may be used daily, a3 it includes opening and closing songs. Perfect 
time and precision in the movement games are necessary, or the chief 
charm is lost on the child. 

Miss E. P. Peabody, of Boston, who, years ago, became interested in the 
subject, and has, in lectures, conversations, and writings given glimpses of 
Froebel’s ideas, says of his physical plays: 



8 4 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


“ In this study into the divine meaning of the instinctive, spontaneous 
plays of childhood, it was Frcebel’s purpose to elevate the mother’s instinct 
into insight , and thereby purify it from idiosyncratic infirmities, so that she 
might see, in the unconscious play of the child, the same laws working that 
make the archangel in his heavenly sphere; even as the same laws that whirl 
the planets in their vast orbits guide the stone flung from a child’s hand. 
Thus she would see that, to make the child’s play hearty and enjoyable, it 
must be kept so by her companionship and sympathy; and compass the 
childish aim successfully by her suggesting the laws of order which are not 
yet evolved in the child’s own mind; but which orderly playing will develop, to 
guide the life forever after, into communion with the wisdom, love, and power 
of God. When this lesson is fully learned, and faithfully applied in education 
by mothers and their assistant Kindergarteners, who build the bridge between 
the mother’s nursery and the schools of instruction, the demoralizing chaos, 
in which we seem to have been living for ages, will give way to a paradise 
more than regained, because glorified by that union of Love and Thought, as 
companions using the highway of human life.” 




THE LIGHT BIRD 


Child. 


(M.ir. ^ = 116 .) 



ft 

j T 

"F 

-t - w—%~ 


r—^-\—N-M 

--■i———!-- 

-4 — £ —^—f' 

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r—*—- 

L_y- u . 0 J 

L •• • ■ j.--'- J 

L # - j.. V-,J 

y=±jj 

=*=tt 


dance a - boat and play so, 0 
Mother. 


birdie dear, 0 birdie dear, Hold still now while I calL 



fin - gers tight, It flies on the wall jnst to please the sight; It shines to 



-1-ivn 

—^--J 

J 1 


-t-N-N-N- 

—fe#-i-+ w--« - 

i ■ r-s-P- 

: -£—4 

Nrr^ 


; H*- 


— >9 —♦ 

—H—,-1-j- 

- L —•-*-*-•- J 


the heart de - light. So is it in life with ful’ ma - ny a 



no - bier 
























































































































































































BECKON TO THE PIGEONS 


(m.m. J — 69.). 



The pigeons are com - ing, dear love, to meet yon, Beckon, then say, “sweet pigeons, I greet you! 


FISHES IN THE BROOK. 


(m.m. J^= 72.) 



Es±ET 


mt 


^ y ' ~ '9 

Mer-ri-ly in.... the brook - let clear, Swim the bright fish - es far and near, Now 


WM 


^3: 


M 




g:J— 




9 J ^ 

darting, now floating, ever they go, Some of them straight, some bent like a bow. 


I 


LENGTHWISE, CROSSWISE, or the Target. 


M.M. J=69.) 


m 






m 


This piece of wood I length - wise lay, This piece across the oth - er way, Through 

4 - 


J. » 


T~»~r - 


i 


both 1 bore now a good round hole, A wood - en nail drive through the whole, This board will for the 

-- »- 


mm 


T: 






disc avail, The target is ready now for sale! What costs it? 

^ (m.m. J= 100.) 


Three half pennies; 


'i n 

Why three half 



nrt 


pennies? That’s one too many! 

N N 


it- •~TT 

One half penny pays for the frame of wood, One half penny pays for the 


---N~Ni 

» N — w — S - 





3 5 f J J 

i J 

2 «r 


1 I 

!—L— V -£—£- 

LJ—J—c—J—J j 

— ft-J—J-7- 

C—J-J-4-*-*—CJ 

-f-f—* J J~II 


r V v V 

little smooth board, One half penny pays for the work a - bout it, who cannot pay it may go without it I 

86 













































































































































































































































GRASS MOWING 




4 ■ 





=*t==f=^=3± 




en to tbo meadow, 


ter. Mow the grass, what conld be sweet- cr? 


m 




m 


® r k i r ^ J* * 


Bring ns home the rra - grant fodder, For the cow, for milk and bat - ter. Cow is in the 


m 




1 




barn * yard straying, Milk her now. with * ont de - lay - ing; Cow the good rich milk is giv - ing, 

- - f- - , jy- i— » -h— N.-t- 


~ c, r i 


m 


Seep 


SE&E3 


1- 

Milk and bread are ba • by’s liv - ing; Let os grate- ful be for la - bors, Bring -ing ns so 




t r 


ma - ny fa-vors;Let us grate-ful be for la - bors, Bringing ns so ma - ny fa-vors. 



j 

-j——-f- 

* s *** - N 

—1—I s —1—*1 

A 4=*=J=?=i 

^_Lcz 

* • * 

±=i=?=il 


i t * i 

i k r, 


Hast - en to the meadow, Pe - ter, Mow the grass, what can be sweeter? Thank thee, Pe-ter, 


» ^1 'r^ THF * * 


i ' fr fr- 

for me mowing, Thank the cow, the milk be-stow-ing, for the milking thank onr Mol - ly 


fr V 1 


F#it j-r -J=?l 


# i n 

-*-*—€-a 

n—*—Vi 

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j ^ k 


U — l ffM 

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( M.M. # '= 7G.) 


BECKON TO THE CHICKENSI 
























































































































































































































































PLAY WITH THE LIMBS 


i 


h 


(m.m. J = 120.) 


m 






i 


-*-1-#- 

' . V ? * 


How the lit - tie limbs fly out. 


r . . 

Tos - sing, rol - lick - ing all 


Tf 


* 


i 




bont! 


i± 


-1 


* 


w* 


f 


;* 




Thus they gain their health and strength. Stamp the flax seed out at length. 


V 

To 




i 


call - ing, Laughs he now in frol - ic glee, Laughs so safe - ly there jo 


h=* 


± 


i 


i 




-r 


lie, 


Sure 


r 


he knows no harm be - falls him, While his lov - mg moth - er 


9 


1 —;*== 

T—(-V, 

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■ -|— 15'. 

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LL. 

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a 

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calls him, Down he goes, now fall • ing, fall - ing! Cp he springs at mother’s 


. i=JF 








43 

=0 









call - ing, Soul and bod - y thus on - folding, Moth-er’s love Is ev - er 

QO 


rr r T 


moulding. 



























































































































































































































































Play with the Limbs. 

“ When first the child delights to try' 

What strength within his limbs may lie, 

The mother’s nursery-play begins. 

It is a hint from heaven 

Unto the mother given, 

Through outward, inner life to waken : 






















































































































Birds of Passage. 

































































































































































Morning'-Prayer. 



93 














































































































THE MORNING BRIGHT. 


ipi 




=sJ= 




= p = r 




7^~ 




■r—p 


r 


1. The morn * ing bright with ro - sy light Has wak’d me from my sleep, 

I 





F3- 

. . — 1 - ■ 


r^> 

F ?— 

— 1 - 

r f' {2 

— 



4 L =±=.^-.-zd= 

®— 


~t—- 

] 

I-- ,r= 

— &—-- 



LET US WITH A GLADSOME MIND. 



-1-f - 

1 - i—-I 


1 " 

-1-1-1 —1 

-)-— 



1 it t 1 1 n 

1 . .! 





1 * m 




l rh * l / 






_ : P 

1 



1 V'J 


dJ 



22„2 

J■ 

Pi ^ 



/ 1. Let us with a glad-some mind, Praise the Lord for He is kind, 

1 ^ «« « 

1 fmv tt ft r* r = ' 



t-' 

?ZJ 



(TJ r .# 

r p 



I rr 7 - 67 * 7?1 








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tt 


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r 1 1 r-i 1 1 


dfcfe 


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izs: 



—& 1 — 

For 

—- 

His 

_ 

ruer - cies 

shall 

rz> 

en • 

g2 

-&- 

dure, 

! 1 

Ev - er 

f P 

faith 

- ful, 

ev 

ih* 

- er 

*<s>- 

sure. 


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—to 

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1- 


• ' <12. 


2 . 

Children, come extol His might, 
Join with saints and angels bright,. 
For His mercies, &c. 

3. 

All onr wants He doth supply, 
Loves to hear our humble cry, 

For His mercies, &c. 


4. 

All things living He doth feed, 
His full hand supplies their need, 
For His mercies, &c. 

6 . 

Let us then with gladsome mind, 
Praise the Lord for He is kind, 
For His mercies, &c. 


94 























































































































































ERRILY 


j -in the brooklet clear 

Swiir the bright fishes far and 
Now darting, now floating, ever the 
Some of them straight, some ber 
bow. 























































Who has the whitest lambkins? 


(UulTmami von Fallcrskben.) 


























































































































97 















































































































Marching song. 

(Fi'*/lili«!») 




98 















































































































































99 



































































































































Playing together. 


Popular Air, 


? 1 1 

---j-j— 

—i- 1 -r? 

H n n —r 



1 ! 

. J j □_t 

Jr'S a w * 


m m m 


+J — 

p m - m — 

—-—j- — 

- & j -% 


We’re mer - ri - jy play - ing To ■ ge - ther with 


d 


-- L -|- 

~W Hzzz^z 


- zp 


■v 

A J 

i 4=- 

-1— 

- m — 0 -#-*— 

-- 1 --| — 

- 0 - 0 — 

nsL J 


glee ; If a - lone we were playing, How dull we should be. 

2 . 


Do you hear by the sound. 

Who is gone from the gaine ? 

After list’ning all round, 

Tell the missing one’s name. 

A. B. 

The children either sit.on their forms or stand in a circle. One child 
is blindfolded and placed in the centre. When the song has begun , the 
teacher beckons to a second child , who comes forward and stands near the 
first. Between the 1st and 2nd verses the second child utters a musical 
sound. The circle now sing the 2nd verse , at the end of which the frst 
child has to guess which of the others came out. 



Dark - ness 


Morning. 


—X-S- 

:*=:*— 


German Melody. 


is ban - islied and morn - ing 


is 



here; Gild - ing the heavens the sun- beams ap - pear. 

2 . 


Songs of thanksgiving arise in the air; 
Blossoms their beauty and perfume prerare 

3 . 

Dewdrops like diamonds flash on the grass 
Bees in the meadows all hum as they pass. 

4 . 

Nature awaketh to gladden our bean. 

For in her joyfulness all take a part. 

ioo 




























































Equal Measure. 

German Air. 



----- 

—i-- -. 


JL-h. P —.. 

1-1-1-j 




& ’J i i 

AIL/ 

.. jj .— jd — 0 0 - ■ 

- -- d !_- 





Our fa • ces bright with plea - sure, We 


1 K 1 1 1 ! 

-1-:- 

m ■ 0 m .. *_. 

rzr i , 1 1 . 


w r m 0 m _ 

v t -! r ' » r. . c# 

vm/ w m m w 

-*- 

^ c r v - 


step with e - qual mea-sure, La la la la la la la la 


J-IN;—f--— m~ 

—0 - 0 - 0 - 9 - 0— 9 — 


4 ®; d — J—J —u 


-— 11 - 


la la la la, La la la la la la la la la- 


2 . 

Thus hand in hand our ring 
Shall dance and gently sing 

La, la. la. 

A. B. 

The children move round in a circle to the right and left alternately , 
stepping in strict time to the song . When the number of children is very 
large , they may be placed in two circles , the outer and inner moving in 
opposite directions* 


The Bees. 



1 st to 4th. 



Hum, 


hum, 


hum; 


Austrian Melody. 


v V 


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lit - tie bees say, “ hum-’* 


-N- v . —kH 


at —j i 3 ok— 

j N -* m 



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Fear us not, but fly to gether O’er the ^pleasant wood and heather, 



-1-Ni- 

K S V 

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fe fcz* J ^ 

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_ 


y- B 


Hum, hum, hum, 


lit - tie bees hum, hum- 


IOI 

































































































The Circle. 


Einer. 


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. 

. —1 " j— 

- —j j - - — 



i | | .0 

0 Z--1— 

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We help to form the cir-cle here, Make haste and find your 

■■ \j • - — 


. V- 

ZJL --j---;- 

— 1 -j- j - j — 

-(-1-—-j ---j 

W -- 5 -- i- 

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place, my dear; A * bove your head your hands must be, And 


-t t -—- 



—i-1—- 

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when I clap, run 

•0 ~-cq 

- 0 - 

af - ter me; A >■ 1 

0 0 

bove your head your 

i 11 


zmj zj| 

l = d.=i^3^:U- 
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w=z— 2=3.—3F 

L »— *— d—d-- 


hands must be, And when I clap, run af - ter me. 

All the children hut one stand close in a circle, and begin .singing , 
their hands behind them. At the xvords “ above your heads" their hands 
are raised. The child left outside has been moving round , and at “ wjien 
I clap," touches one of his companions. Both children run in opposite 
directions round the outside of the ring, trying which can first reach the 
vacant place. The unsuccessful one stays out for the next round. 


O eyes that open. 

Popular Melody. 





-1 

>—v— =N F“ 

T-N. d\ 


-Ps- 

— IS — -J— 

-|N_ 

— at — 

— 0 —— 

r- 



" 1 ■- w 

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0 eyes 

that 

o - 

pen to the light, Look straight to 


* 


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| 

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w - ? 

-i - 0 - 0 - 0— 

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Heav’n with glances bright, And beam out thanks to God a • 


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bove That He has blessed us with His love, And beam out 


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thanks to God a - bove That He has blessed us with His love. 

102 







































































































































0 little hands be quick to share 

The praise, and fold yourselves in prayer. 

An infant’s prayer must ever rise, 

A grateful incense to the skies. 

0 little mind, so weak, distraught, 

Choose thou for subjoct of thy thought 


The loving God, who through the night 
Has kept His little child in sight. 

Open, 0 little lips, proclaim 
The Father’s love, and bless His namo, 
And then a glad “ good morning ” sound 
To all the dear companions round. 


Birds among the Greenwood. 


Anselm Weber. 
—N—ins 


m 






Birds a- mong the green- wood, Sing so full and 



clear: Warb - ling in the green - wood, 



’Tis their joy we hear. La la la la la la la la 


J 

Ate 

14 

=S=~ V 

-f s •—s- 

1st time. 

1 h* ♦ 

2nd time. 

-] p ~ T} 



a* * S J 9 

—! F . 

\—&—i - 



la la la. La la la la la. la. 


2 . 

Birds among the greenwood 
Build tlieh’ little nest; 
Leave it in the greenwood 
Beady for their rest. 

La la la, la la la, &c. 


3 . 

Birds among the greenwood 
Sing themselves to sleep, 
Slumber in the greenwood 
Must be sweet and deep. 
La la la, lada la, &c. 

A. B. 


Some of the children represent trees. They stand in a ring with 
their arms up to form boughs. Four others chosen to make the nests 
stoop down tivo and two inside the ring holding hands, 1st verse. 
Four or five more represent birds and fly in and out among the trees , 
moving their arms like wings, 2nd verse. The birds are flying to 
and from their nests picking up materials for building . Vrd verse. 
The birds enter their nests and sing themselves to sleep. 


103 






























































Cradle Song. 


" Q , «T~ 1 ~ V ... V 




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It 

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Sleep, ba * by, sleep, In slum * ber sweet and 



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deep, While mo • ther plies her nee - die, dear, And 


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sits be - side your era - die here. Sleep, ba - by, sleep! 


2 . 

Sleep, baby, sleep. The shepherds fold their sheep. 
Young birds are ’neath their mothers’ wing 
And I alone am left to sing, 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

3 . 

Sleep, baby, sleep. The fleecy cloudlets creep 
Across the moon tn float in space 
And lightly shade your placid face. 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

4 . 

Sleep, baby, sleep. How tranquilly you sleep I 
A passing smile is on your cheek 
Perhaps you dream that you can speak. 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 


Farewell to Winter. 


ItfH 

—1 

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-1 

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Winter, farewell! gone is your spell. Late are you leaving us, 


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Yet without grieving us. Winter, fare-well I gone is your spell. 

104 












































































The Mill-race. 


a 


See 



liow the stream-let scam-pers And leaps a - down the 



hill, ’Tis he who lifts the stamp - ers Of 



yon - der full - ing mill, Clip clap, clip 



zSi 

WF 

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clap, 

w 

clip 

— WL - 

clap, clip 

-# 

clap 

clip 

—«_~±1 l 

clap. 

E. H. N. 


The children move in a circle and mark the time with their feet . At 
“ Clip clap” they clap their hands . The game should he played thrice ; 
each time faster than before . 


The Windmill. 








ji. 

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See the mill how well it goes, While the 





it 


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wind so stead - y blows, Round and round, and 




F—*— r- 


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ne - ver still Goes the twirl-ing, twist-ing mill. 


2, 

Lively breeze is our dehght, 

Then our sails are taut and tight; 

Merrily time slips away 
Oh, we are so brisk and gay. 

E. H. N. 

Four, eight , or twelve children form a cross which turns round on its 
axis. The 1st verse should he sung slowly , the 2 nd quickly. 

io 5 


































































































































| jrab a iilllc goggii. 






















































































































































































I HAD A LITTLE DOGGY. 



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try to make you well; And you shall have a collar with a pret-ty lit-tle bell. 

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Second and Third Verses. 


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Ah! Dog-gy, don’t you think you should ve - ry faith -ful be, For 
But, Dog-gy, you must pro - mise (and mind vour word you keep) Not 








cres. 








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hav-ing such a lov-ing friend to comfort you as me. And when your leg is bet - ter, and 
once toteazethe lit-tle lambs, or run among the sheep. And then the yel-low “chicks," that 

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you can run and play,We’ll have a scamper in the fields, and see them making hay. 
play up-on the grass. You must not e-ven wag your tail to scare them as you pass. 






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A NURSERY SONG. 




_ 

?7 - N -^->T- 

—h— n— 

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Un der-neath the snow they creep, Nod theit lit « tie heads and sleep; 

Far a - way from win - ter snow, To the fair, warm South they go, 

In the glanc-iug fire - light warm, Safe ly shel • ter’d from all harm, 




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In 

There 

Soft 

the Spring-time 
they 6tay till 
they lie on 

—1 & ad —1 ~=f—h 

out they peep; 
dai - sies blow; 
moth-er’s arm; 

That is where they 

That i9 where they 

That is where they 

•o. 

go- 

go- 

— S525I—S553—^ 


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Copyright, 1884, by Oliver Ditson & Co. 

ioS 

































































































































































































A NURSERY SONG. Concluded. 



THIS IS THE WAY THE SNOW COMES DOWN. 



r; 

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This is the wav the snow comes down, Soft • ly, soft • ly fall » ing. 

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109 













































































































































































































NOW THE DAY IS OVER. 


-A-g—-IS-|S-w-w— 


-c- b-n 

-1-■ ■ — 


—i- 

-k -—*—d— 


1 rrr——•- m , - 00 

-2- 



e r 




m m m 

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\ 1 Now the day is 

o - ver, 

Night is draw - ing 

nigh. 

1 ---;-— 

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1 

- 


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r i r 

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— - ■ -- 

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2 . 

Now the darkness gathers, 
Stars begin to peep ; 

Birds, and beasts, and flowers 
Soon will be asleep. 

3 . 

Jesus, give the weary 
Calm and sweet repose; 

With thy tenderest blessing 
May our eyelids close. 

4 . 

Grant to little children, 
Visions bright of Thee; 

Guard the sailors, tossing 
On the deep blue sea. 


6 . 

Comfort every suff’rer 
Watching late in pain. 

Those who plan some evil 
From their sin restrain. 

6 . 

Through the long night-watches, 
May thine angels spread 

Their white wings above me, 
Watching round my bed. 

7 . 

When the morning wakens, 
Then may I arise 

Pure, and fresh, and sinless 
In Thy holy eyes. 


LET US HAVE A DRILL TO-DAY. 


L. B. 



—^ 

c—si—r— 






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1 tj -0- r r r 

j 1. Let us have a drill to - day, March a-long in grand ar - ray; And who-ev - er 

\ 2. Step-ping all in time we go, Sol- diers marching in a row; As we gai - ly 

1 _* * *_'S'_ 4 4 ___S g g' 


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N - N I s i - ^ ^ 


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steps 

move 


best, 
long, 

1-M 


the 

a - 


Shall 

Sing- 


be cap-tain 
ing still our 


o’er the 
mer - ry 


rest; 

song, 


Lead us 
March-ing 


on 

to 


our 

and 


way. 

fro., 


£ — 


m 




3 . 

Active feet and ready rhyme, 

Steps and voices well must chime; 
Left foot, right foot, forward all, 
March on, children, great and small, 
March away in time. 


4 . 

In two ranks let us divide, 

March along on either side; 

And soon marching as before, 

Each his partner has once more, 
Then our drill is o’er. 


HO 


































































































































<f lobe little Ihtssji. 

Andante non troppo. ^ 

With tenderness. 


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I love lit - tie Pus - sy, her coat is so warm, A 

nd. 

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if I don’t hurt her, she’ll do me no harm. I’ll sit by the- 


and 



w' eves. ^ dim. e ritard. 


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give he 

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r some food, A 

nd Pus - sy will love me, be - cause I am good. 




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Ill 































































































































































































FLOWERS. 






112 































































































































































































































* 


FLOWERS. Concluded. 









: 5^ :: =n=:zi— 

-* (Ey-kaW-1- 


= 3 =*: 






^zztfcip: 




Strength and fresh-ness God sup - plies. He who sends the gen - tie dew, 

Si * lent songs of word- less praise, Hears your an - them sweet and true, 



-G--1———■ ■ — 

a -q 4 * 

--- 

•-■- 

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^ Cares for lit - tie 

Hears the lit - tie < 

J/-4-2V- 1 -1-1 P—j j —1“ 

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chil - dren too. 

;hil * dren too- 

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NOW THE TIME HAS COME FOR PLAY 


L. R. 



WHEN THE MORNING SUN SO BRIGHT. 

R. L. R. 


/ 

-j*—^ 





l# 



hf C'-r-d 



1 ° 

When 

the morn - ing 

sun so bright, 

r ' i — 

La, la, la, 

la, la, la, i 

L>—0-* L 

Sheds on us ita 




* 


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RIPPLING, PURLING LITTLE RIVER. 


W. W. Gilchrist. 


: j ■■■■ 

—g -tp--h~ : ■ "i | -1 

Eip - pling, purl • ing lit -- tie riv - 

er. A1 - wavs flow - lug 

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RIPPLING, PURLING LITTLE RIVER. Concluded. 


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Wat- 'ring flow - ers. turn- ing mill wheels, Giv « ing joy wber • e’er you go. 

it 

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rail. 




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Giv - ing joy wher-e’er you go. 

IT"! . _ _fe_J* _J 

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EVENING PRAYER 



P m 


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1. Now the 

2. Jo • 8U8,’ 

ll^ht has gone a • 
Sa - vionr, wash a - 

way . 

way, . 

.. Sa - viour, 

.♦ All that 

u,——|— t — 


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EVENING PRAYER. Concluded. 






























































































































































































































































































THE MILL BY THE HIYULET. 




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Clip, clap, 

And grinds up the Corn which the farmer has sown, 

. Clip, clap, 

The baker then bakes us fine biscuits and cake, 

Ob, darling good baker, such nice things to make, 

Clip, clap. 


3 . 

And when the rich harvest is safely got in, 

Clip, clap, 

Then quickly the sounds of the mill-wheel begin, 

, Clip, clap, 

And tell me, dear children, what more need ye want* 
So long as good bread our kind Father will grant ? 

La, la. 


MY BALL IS VERY SOFT. 




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120 




























































































































































IF WISHES WERE HORSES 


W. E. C. SeeboecR. 





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bring them a message of comfort, And whisper a word of cheer,.... Oh, 


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Copyright, 1884, by Oliver Ditson & Co. 
121 

































































































































































































































Christmas-song*. 

(Popular.) 



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Snowwhite. 

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127 


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Voice. 


Allegretto. 


Tlie Violet 


(Ai|i*If Sehnlt.s.) 



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1. Oli Yio - let! dar _ llu: 

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pray thee tell to 
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Pianoforte. 




128 
































































































































Barcarole. 


Andantino. 








































































































UP YONDER MOUNTAIN. 


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dim, 









































































































































































































LULLABY. 

TWO-PART SONG, 


TAUBERT. 

Words by A. J. Fox well. Arrauged by W. C. E. 




fall - ing fast, Wind and storm are driv-ing past! Hark 1 the dog, with an - gry growling, 

clam-or rude. Pain or trou-bie now in-trude! While the hare, the hun - ter fear - ing, 

pig - eon flies, Seek-ing here and there sup-plies; In the nest her fledgings ly - ing 






35 * 


i 


Chides the beggar, homeless prowling; Here with peace and comfort blest,Rest,my ba-by, rest. 
Tim’rous thro’ the grass is peering, Love its watch will o’er thee keep; Sleep,my darling, 6leep! 
Wea-d-ly for food are cry-ing; No such sorrowsshalt thou share;Rest,myba*by fair! 












































































































































































Peace of night. 

(G. Srhwr.j 












































































































































The Evening 1 Star. 









































































































































duhihlc, tlmnhlc, little star. 



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are! Up a - bove the world so high, Like a _dia-mond in the sky. 

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I 34 





















































































































































































TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR. 



m 


Fourth and Fifth Verses. 
„ - —K 










a 


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In the dark blue sky you 
As your bright apd ti nv 


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keep, Of - ten through my cur • tains 
spark Lights the traveller in the 


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poco rit. 






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peep, For you ne - ver shut your 
dark, Though I know not what you 


eye, Till the sun is in the 6ky. 
are, Twin-kle, twin-kle, lit - tie star. 


*35 



































































































































































Nineteen: |hri)s. 


Moderato e marcato. 



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You have made up twenty-three. 

4. If you like these clever tricks. 
Add three more-for twenty-six. 


6. Then three more, if you have time; 
Now you’ve got to twenty-nine. 

6. Twenty-nine now quickly take— 
Add one more and Thirty make. 





















































































































STYRIAN SONG, 


TWO-PART SONG. 


Words by A. J. Foxwell. 


Arranged by W. C. E. 






























































































































































STYRIAN SONG. Concluded. 




/ 



[l s n *C 37 

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y Alp I touch the glow « tog skies. La 


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140 





























SONGS AND PHYSICAL PLAYS. 


OPENING SONG FOR SCHOOL. 

Tune.—' “ What a Friend We Have in Jesus." 

Here we gather every morning, 

In this place to us so dear; 

To the fount of knowledge coming; 

We will gladly hasten here. 

Happy school-room, happy school¬ 
room, 

Here we meet with friends so true; 
Here we walk in wisdom’s footsteps, 
Daily learning something new. 

But our school-days now are fleeting, 
Like the by-gone days of yore; 
Soon these happy words of greeting, 
Will be sung by us no more; 

We’ll remember, we’ll remember, 
Those with whom we often meet; 
And we hope again to see them, 

In a home of love complete. 

There we hope to stand with loved ones, 
On that bright celestial shore; 
There to sing sweet songs of worship, 
And be parted nevermore; 

Happy home, our home in heaven, 

In that city bright and fair; 

There we’ll join the heavenly chorus, 
With our loved ones over there. 


A CHRISTMAS SONG. 

Tune .— ’Lightly How." 

Christmas bells ! Christmas bells, 
How their merry music swells, 


141 


Loud they ring, loud they ring! 
Santa-Claus a welcome bring. 

See his sleigh, how packed with toys, 
Dolls for girls, and drums for boys. 
Bells ring clear, bells ring clear, 
Santa-Claus is here. 

Christmas tree! Christmas tree, 
Ready now for you and me, 

Full of toys, full of toys, 

Gifts for girls and boys, 

Something here for every one, 
Homeward now, his work all done. 
Hear him cry, hear him cry, 

Little folks “Good-by.” 

WHEN SCHOOL IS OUT. 

Tune .— 1 11 When Johnny Comes Marching Home 
Again.” 

When school is out, the children sing 
Hurrah! hurrah! 

How sweet their happy voices ring, 
Hurrah! hurrah! 

The girls all sing, the boys all shout, 
And laugh and play for school is out. 
And they hop and skip 
As they go singing home, 

And they hop and skip 
As they go singing home. 

How happy every lad and lass, 
Hurrah! hurrah! 

As home from school they gaily pass, 
Hurrah! hurrah! 






142 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


Their work is over, now for play, 
They love a long, glad holiday, 

So they laugh “ Ha, ha,” 

And all go singing home. 

So they laugh, “Ha, ha,” 

And all go singing home. 

THE SEASONS. 

Tune—' ''Prithee, Pretty Maiden” From 
"Patience.” 

Summer days are coming 
Happy children we: 

Bees are humming 
Busy and free. 

Pleasant winds are blowing 
All the summer day, 

Just like children 
Loving their play. 

Summer days are coming, 

Busy bees are humming, 
Breezes are playing, 

So are we. 

Autumn days are coming, 
Pleasant are the hours: 
Bright leaves glowing, 

Lovely as flowers. 

Maple, oak and willow 
Stand in colors gay, 

Greeting the children 
Dressed for holiday. 

Maple, oak and willow, 

Bed, and brown and yellow, 
Bright leaves are glowing 
Everywhere. 


Winter days are coming, 
Merry children we: 

Jack Frost is roaming, 
Busy is he. 

Ice and snow all round us, 
Sleigh-bells ringing clear, 
Jack Frost has found us, 
Meet him with a cheer. 
While the bells are ringing 
Let him find us singing, 
Sweet music winging 
Through the air. 


SONG FOR SCHOOL 

Tune.—' "Hold the Fort” 

Oh, the flag of our own country, 

Let it wave on high: 

May the stars and stripes ne’er perish 
And no foe come nigh. 

Chorus.— Floating o’er the heads of 
May it wave above : [ freemen, 

O’er the homes we prize so dearly, 
And the land we love. 

Once it waved in time of bloodshed, 
O’er the battle plain : 

Now above a land united, 

Free from slavery’s stain. 

[Chorus.] 

May we ever love its colors, 

Red and white and blue: 

May we one and all prove faithful, 
Faithful, kind and true. [Chorus.] 
Sylvia Manning. 






SONGS AND PHYSICAL PLAYS. 


M 3 


RAIN AND SNOW. 

Tune.— “ Oh, See the Farmer in His Field /” 

0 Tell ns how the mists arise, 

The mists arise, the mists arise, 

And floating to the far-off skies, 

Come falling down in rain-drops. 

We’ll tell you how the mists go up, 
The mists go up, the mists go up, 

The sun stoops down with shining cup, 
And lifts the sparkling water. 

And when the drops are in the sky, 
Are in the sky, are in the sky, 

Does ev’ry one go sailing by 
Like wind-blown downy thistles ? 

0, each wee drop when in the sky, 
When in the sky, when in the sky, 
Can find another hast’ning by 
And so the clouds all gather. 

Now see they come, an army grand, 
An army grand, an army grand, 

0! all the clouds a soldiers’ band 
Come downward, bravely marching. 

Yes, down they come in snow and rain, 
In snow and rain, in snow and rain, 
And glad to reach the earth again, 
They fill the rushing rivers. 

So God who made the sea and land, 
The sea and land, the sea and land, 
And holds them in his hollowed hand, 
Shall send the patt’ring raindrops. 

Lizzie M. Hadley. 


BIRD SONG. 

Tune.“ Coming Thro' the Rye." 

Oh! what joy to be a wild-bird, 
Always free from care; 

Tilting in the sunny meadow 1 
Flitting thro the air. 2 
All the flowers know and greet him 
With a graceful bow. 3 
All the green leaves whisper to him 
Secrets soft and low. 

Now his dainty bill he’s dipping 4 
In the running brook 
Now the water he is sipping 
With an upward look. 5 
Hark a rustle, chirp, a flutter, 6 
See he flies away, 7 
Now he’s back again a swinging 8 
On a bending spray. 

High above us he is circling, 

Swiftly round and round 9 
All the while his song is ringing, 

What a joyous sound! 

Oh what joy to be a wild bird 
Always free from care; 

Tilting in the sunny meadows ; 4 
Flitting thro the air. 2 

Motions.— 1 Tilting on tiptoe throughout line 
keeping time to the music. 2 Waving hands with 
a floating upward movement, (diagonally). 3 Bow 
4 Bend heads forward. 5 Bend heads backward 
looking up. 6 Rubbing hands together to make 
rustling sound. 7 Same as 2 . 8 Like 1 . 9 Moving 

hands in circles. 

Annie C. Chase. 





144 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


MORNING HYMN. 

Tune.—“ Home Sweet Home " 

Dear Jesus, our Savior , 1 
We know thou art near; 

Our humble petition 
Art ready to hear; 

We beg thy tender mercy 2 
To guide us thro the day; 

Oh keep us all from sinning , 3 
In all we do and say. 

Chorus. -Hear, hear, hear, our prayer ; 4 

Oh turn not away from us 5 
Thy loving care. 

And when with school and lessons, 
We are forever done; 

When life with all its trials, 

In earnest has begun; 

Oh! teach our feet to walk, Lord , 6 
In thine appointed ways; 

Oh teach our hearts to love thee ; 7 
Our tongues to speak thy praise . 8 

[Chorus.] 

Motions.— 1 Look up. 2 Look up and lift hands 
imploringly. 3 Clasp uplifted hands. 4 Same as 
2 . 5 Same as 3 . 6 Point toward feet; look up. 7 Hands 
on hearts. 8 Finger tips on lips. 

Annie C. Chase. 


FROM A MAN TO A JUG. 

Tune.—' "Little Brown Jug." 

Give ear, we beg you, to our song 
We’ll try not to make it very long, 


About a man who loves strong drink, 
A very silly man we think. 

Chorus. —Oh! no, no, no, no drink for 
me 1 

Unless it’s water, pure and free. 

Oh! no, no, no, no drink for me 
Unless it’s water, pure and free. 

This man was a brute, at home, abroad; 
He loved not man, he loved not God. 
He’d make his children to him bring 
His jug of cider, then he’d sing:— 
“Ha! ha! ha! you and me , 2 
Little brown jug, don’t I love thee.” 

[ Chorus.] 

He drank and drank, so people said, 
Till his hair grew white 3 and his nose 
grew red ; 4 

His ways were coarse, his voice was 
gruff, 

Still he drank but he couldn’t drink 
enough. 

[ Chorus.] 

A sad, sad fate they say befell 
Just like a jug he soon did swell. 

His arms were stiff like handles too , 5 
His head to a wooden stopper grew . 6 

[ Chorus.] 

Motions.— Repeat last two strains of music. 
1 Move heads from side. 2 Throw back heads and 
smile. 3 Touch hair with right hand. 4 Touch nose 
with right hand. 5 Arms stiffly curved, elbows out¬ 
ward at sides. 6 Touch heads, making slight bow. 

Annie C. Chase. 






SONGS AND PHYSICAL PLAYS. 


145 


SOLO FOR LITTLE GIRLS. 

Tune.—“ Annie Lyle." 

Down where the trees were bending, 
In an orchard gay, 

Robin her young birds was tending, 
One bright summer day. 

Chorus. —Wave tree tops, 1 ripple 
In the summer air, [waters, 
Glimmer sunshine 2 ’mid the daisies, 
Robin’s free from care. 

Just where the path winds narrow, 
’Mong the flowers gay, 

Harry with his bow and arrow, 

Came from school one day. 

[Chorus. ] 

Harry spied the merry birdie, 

Flitting to and fro, 

He bent his bow, 3 his cruel arrow 
Laid poor robin low. 

[Chorus, softly.'] 

Wave tree tops, ripple waters, 

Patter summer rain, 

Birds, nor bees, nor sun can waken 
Robin’s song again. 


Motions .— 1 Children wave hands gently to and 
fro. 2 Raise hands above heads moving the fingers 
rapidly. 3 Make motion as of drawing bow. 



THE RAINBOW AND ITS EM¬ 
BLEMS. 

Concert. 

Beautiful bow in heaven above, 
Token of promise, emblem of 
love:— 

What is thy lesson? We’re wait¬ 
ing to know:— 

Tell us thy meaning, beautiful bow. 

First Child. Violet—Modesty. 

Spring’s warm sun and balmy air 
Bring the flower whose name I 
bear. 

Modest, blue eyed floweret, 

Name and color, violet. 

Second Child. Indigo—Sincekity. 

Deep and clear the tint I show, 

Rich and perfect indigo. 

Like this color, I would be 
Known by my sincerity* 

Third Child. Blue—Truth. 

In the sunny days of youth, 

What so sweet and dear as truth! 
Emblem of the good and true 
Shines in heaven’s unclouded blue. 

Fourth Child. Green—Immortality. 

As the fields are clothed in green 
again 

After Winter’s dreary reign, 

So when earth’s shadows all shall 
flee 

Comes immortal life to me. 









146 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


Fifth Child. Yellow—Worth. 

Far above the gems of earth 
Shines the gem of moral worth. 
Never shown in monarch’s crown, 
One so rare as I may own. 

Sixth Child. Orange—Fruitfulness. 

When the autumn comes again, 
And the fields are ripe with grain, 
This, my color, you’ll confess 
Tells the harvest’s fruitfulness. 

Seventh Child. Ked—Love. 

When the Winter’s blast so shrill, 
Blows o’er river, vale and hill, 

In the fireside’s ruddy glow 
Live the loves of long ago. 

Concert. 

Bow of promise, bow of light, 

Have we read thy lines aright ? 
Written in the heavens above, 

“ God is wisdom, God is love.” 

[The parts are to be taken by seven little girls 
dressed in white and wearing sashes of the color 
they represent, passing from the right shoulder, 
and fastening at the waist on the left side. The 
sashes may be of cambric or of tissue paper. It is 
easier to get the right colors in paper. 


BAND OF MERCY. 

I’m first of a band of brothers 
Whom you all will quickly see, 
Our names are in golden letters, 
And mine is the letter B. 

I saw that my brother was coming, 
So I left my work and my play. 


I, too, am written in gold, 

And I am the letter A. 

We are just like a band of soldiers 
Trying to march with care. 

I am the third in the company 
And N is the name I bear. 

I’ll try to be honest and truthful 
Whatever else I may be, 

Dare to do right is my motto, 

And I am the letter D. 

The fifth in this grand procession, 

My name you soon will know, 

Round and shining, a golden ring, 

I’m called the letter 0. 

Faithful, friendly and fearless, 

I will always try to be. 

Now, as I turn my card around, 

The letter F you see. 

Cowards are mean and cruel, 

I suppose you have all seen them; 

I mean to be brave and gentle, 

And I am the letter M. 

Kind and tender and loving, 

I will always try to be, 

Helping the weak and feeble, 

And I’m called the letter E. 

Never a braver company, 

Marched to the sound of drums. 

There are always wrongs to be righted 
And R is the next that comes. 





SONGS AND PHYSICAL PLAYS. 


M7 


I’m one of this valiant company, 
Merry and happy are we. 

I look like a golden crescent 
And am called the letter C. 

I’m last in this band of brothers, 

And to do my best I’ll try. 

I’ll stand in line with the others, 

And here is my letter, Y. 

All. 

And now if you will read our names 
with care 

A Band of Mercy you’ll find. 

That means, to all harmless creatures 
We’ve agreed to be good and kind. 

We’ll protect them from cruel usage, 
Their rights we’ll try to defend; 
And wherever you chance to see us, 
You will find us the animal’s friend. 

Lizzie M. Hadley. 

[Each child should hold a card with his letter up 
on it. Those letters may be cut from gilt paper and 
pasted on red or black card-board. As the letter is 
named, the card should be turned so that at the 
close of the exercise the words “Band of Mercy,” 
may be easily read.J 


SONG OF THE BUBBLES. 

Up and up we go, 

And we shine and glow; 

Though our life lasts not a minute, 
We reflect all colors in it. 


MARCHING. 

Tune.—' “Marcking Through Georgia.'' 

Boys and girls, attention all, 

With faces front and eyes; 

Slowly now we’re turning, 

Softly all together rise. 

Hands above our heads now clasping, 
So we’ll exercise 
While we go marching together. 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

We’re marching to and fro. 

Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah! 

See how happily we go. 

Let’s sing a merry chorus 
While we all keep step, just so, 

As we go marching together. 

Hands upon our shoulders now, 

See what a pretty sight, 

See the time we’re keeping 

Left and right with step so light. 
While adown the isles we’re going 
Faces gay and bright 
As we go marching together. 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

We’er marching to and fro. 

Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! 

See how happily we go. 

Let’s sing a merry chorus, 

While we all keep step, just so, 

As we go marching together. 






148 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


Now we’re back beside our seats 
‘Tis bey for work once more; 

See our hands together, 

Touching heads and sides and floor, 
Then so straight and tall we’re stand¬ 
ing, 

Play time now is o’er. 

Hurrah! Hurrah! 

We’ll do our very best. 

Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah! 
Study gives to a play a zest. 

So let’s study with a will 
Till ’tis time again to rest, 

Then we’ll go marching together. 


PUSSIES. 

Tune.— “ Prairie Flower .” 

Dainty Pussie Willow, on the swaying 
bough, 

Sang a while to spring time, soft and 
low; 

What we heard them telling thro’ the 
plashing rain 

We will sing to you again: 

Yes we are pussies tho’ we never purr; 

See we’re dressed in softest fur; 

Children reach to gather us with lov¬ 
ing care 

Where we gently sway in air . 1 

Come the gentle blue birds when the 
warm winds blow; 


Do we ever catch them ? Oh, no, no, 
no, no ! 2 

We are no such pussies; sad would 
be the spring 

Did the dear birds never sing. 

Long we’ve been rocking, here on the 
bough 1 

All curled in our cradles so ; 3 
Thro’ the months of winter with their 
cold and storm 

We were sleeping snug and warm . 4 

(Repeat last to strains of music.) 

By and by the rain came, knocking 
at the door . 5 

Sunbeams coaxed us “ Sleep no more 
Out we sprang delighted , 6 now we 
gaily swing 7 

Thro’ the sunny hours of spring. 

Motions .— 1 Sway arms gently to and fro. 2 Shake 
heads. 3 Arms folded, heads bent, eyes shut. 4 Same 
as 3 . 5 Drumming softly with finger tips. 6 Sitting 
up quickly and opening eyes. 


HOW NARCISSUS’ NECK BECAME 
BENT. 

Tune. — “We Roam Through Forest Shades.” 

Beside a rippling streamlet, 

A sweet narcissus grew, 

Within a mossy dell, 

With violets white and blue. 

Chorus.— Tra, la, la, la, la, la, la, 
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, 

Tra, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. 






SONGS AND PHYSICAL, PLAYS. 


149 


Over all the trees were bending, bend¬ 
ing, bending, bending; 

Pretty birds were singing, singing 
all the day; 

Grasses were Rvaving, waving, wav¬ 
ing, waving; 

Sunbeams were dancing, dancing 
in their merry way. 

Chorus— Tra, la, la, etc. 

One day Narcissus thought 
She’d like to take a look, 

Upon her pretty face 

Within the running brook. 

Chorus— Tra, la, la, etc. 

She bent her neck just so 3 , 

But when she tried again 
To lift her pretty head 
She tried alas, in vain. 

Chorus—T ra, la, la, etc. 

Motions .— 1 Children hold both hands in front and 
wave them—not too rapidly. 2 Raise hands above 
heads moving fingers rapidly. 3 Bend heads grace¬ 
fully. 


THE RAILWAY TRAIN. 

The railway train is starting off, 

The engine gives a hasty puff, 

The bell is rung, the whistle blows, 
The agent says “ Right!” and off it goes. 

Chorus.— Ring, a-ding! a-ding! a- 
Puff! puff! puff! [ding ! 


Over the bridge, it shoots away, 
Though the tunnel, dark all day, 
Through the cutting or the plain, 

Till it comes to the depot again! 

Chorus— Ring, a ding! etc. 

The agent calls out Boston train, 

Take your seats we’re off again; 

Now, be quick with the baggage there, 
The signal shows the line is clear, 
Time and train for no men wait, 

Off, off, ’tis getting late. 

Chorus— Ring, a-ding! etc. 

Motions.—I n the chorus, the chldren imitate the 
action of ringing a bell, and clap their hands at puff, 
puff, puff. 

Suitable actions should accompany each verse, 
and be performed by every child at the same mo¬ 
ment. 


SONG OF THE DAISIES. 

Tune—' "Over the River , the River Wide." 

Boy Sings — 

Comes the cold March with his drift¬ 
ing snows, 

Low all the daisies are buried ; 1 

Boy— 

Blusters about with his boisterous 
blows. 

School— 

Low all the daisies are buried; 

Girl — 

Comes the mild April with sunshine 
and rain. 







THE KINDERGARTEN. 


150 


Still all the daisies are sleeping ; 2 

Girl— 

Calls to them softly again and 
again; 

School— 

Still all the daisies are sleeping. 

Comes pretty May with her violets 
blue ; 3 

Finds all the daisies a-sleeping, 

Calls to them gaily, It’s high time 
for you. 

Lo ! daisies’ buds are a-peeping . 4 

Comes merry June singing, blue 
are my skies , 5 

Come little daisies be waking; 

Green are the meadows, come open 
your eyes. 

See daisies’ bright heads a-shaking . 6 

Hurrah! we’re a wake from our long 
winter sleep , 7 

Down in the grasses we’re growing; 

Butter-cups with us the summer 
days keep 

Where the warm breezes are blow¬ 
ing. 

Come little children, away, away, 

Clovers are doning their bonnets; 

Columbines wear their best “boots” 
every day, 

Bobolink’s singing his sonnets. 

Motions .— 1 School with heads bent down on 
desk, sing softly. 2 School keeping same position* 


3 Second Girl with bunch of violets. 4 School lean¬ 
ing, with eyes closed, showing hands with buds in 
them, sings. 5 School remain in last named posi¬ 
tion while the third little girl sings. 6 School sit¬ 
ting up with eyes wide open and showing hands 
filled with daisies, and shaking them gently. 
7 School, adding grasses, buttercups, etc., to the 
bouquet as they are mentioned—sings. 


LOOKING AHEAD. 

(For Any Number of Boys and Girls.) 

BOYS. 

We now are but boys, 

Yet soon we’ll be men, 

And what, do you think, 

Our work will be then ? 

Some shall use hammer, and plane 
and saw ; 1 

Others shall read weighty books of the 
law ; 2 

Some shall be farmers and drive the 
plow , 3 

Earning our bread by the sweat of our 
brow, 

Scattering seeds and raking the hay, 

Busy and happy, day after day. 

Some shall be doctors, and with well- 
balanced skill 

Shall heal all your aches, and send in 
our bill . 5 

Some dentists shall be, and your mo¬ 
lars pull out ; 6 

And aldermen, some, capaciously 
stout . 7 

Some shall use awl, and waxed-end 
and last , 8 





SONGS AND PHYSICAL PLAYS. 


Sewing your shoes so strong and so 
fast. 

Some shall be bakers, and knead the 
soft dough ; 9 

Others clear glass in this manner shall 
blow ; 10 

Some with the hammer and anvil shall 
work , 11 

And there is not among us, one who 
will shirk. 

For work is man’s portion, and all 
must agree 

Without it, unhappy and useless we’d 
be. 

GIRLS. 

We’re growing up too, 

And as you have heard 
What the boys mean to do, 

We’ll now say our word. 

Some shall be weavers, and with shut¬ 
tle or spool , 12 

Weave beautiful fabrics, of silk, cotton, 
or wool; 

Some shall use needles, and stitch with 
such art , 13 

That the sewing we do, will ne’er rip 
apart; 

Some shall use yard-sticks and meas¬ 
ure off well 14 

Silks, muslins, or laces, which also 
we’ll sell; 

Some shall be teachers, and teach all 
we can 15 

To our eager young pupils—on the 
latest new plan; 


*5* 


Some shall do housework and scrub, 
sweep, and broil , 16 

Making home pleasant, for some son 
of toil. 

Motions .— 1 The three motions of pounding, and 
planing, and sawing in quick succession. 2 Left 
hand up, as if holding a book to read. 3 Both 
hands closed lightly, and held out in front—hands 
bent down. 4 Right hand makes the two motions 
of sowing and raking. 5 Right hand held at quite 
a distance above the left, as though holding a 
long bill. 5 Motion of extracting a tooth. 7 Hands 
clasped and held out in front, forming with the arms 
a semicircle. 8 Motion with both hands of draw¬ 
ing in and out the waxed end. 0 Double fists— 
kneading. 10 Motion of blowing through a tube. 
11 Vigorous motion of striking the blacksmith’s 
hammer on anvil. 12 Motion of pushing shuttle- 
left and right. 13 Movement of stitching with thumb 
and finger of right hand. 14 A measuring move¬ 
ment, full length of the arms. 15 Right hand half¬ 
way raised, with the forefinger out. 16 Movements 
of scrubbing and sweeping in quick succession. 


SWING, SWING, SWING. 


Come, come, come, come, 

Fancy come play awhile; 

Come, dear fairy, come, 

With your pleasant smile. 

Come, little fairy, whom we love, 
Change our school-room to a grove, 
Where the old trees arch above, 
While we swing. 

Swing, swing, swing, swing , 1 
Light is the summer breeze; 
Swing, swing, swing, swing , 1 
Under the swaying trees . 2 
Soft green grasses ’neath our feet , 3 






THE KINDERGARTEN. 


152 


Overhead the birds sing sweet, 4 
All around the flowers greet, 5 
Swing, swing, swing. 1 

Swing, swing, swing, swing, 1 
Merrily to and fro, 1 
Sing, sing, sing, sing, 

Gaily as we go. 

Now we swing up very high, 1 
Watch the white clouds floating by, 
Now we “let the old cat die,” 6 
Swing, swing, swing. 6 

Motions. — 1 Hands at sides, swing them alter¬ 
nately backward and forward. 2 Arms in front, 
slightly curved; sway them gracefully toward right 
and left. 3 Looking and pointing downward. 4 Look¬ 
ing and pointing gracefully upward. 5 Having 
brought the arms outward and together in front of 
body, hands with palms upward, move them slowly 
apart, the right hand to the right and the left hand 
toward the left. °Same as J , moving gradually 
siower, stopping all motion at last word of song. 


LET’S PLAY. 

Tune.—" When Puss With Soft and Velvet Paw." 

1 Let’s play we’re little birdies, flying 

here and there, 

Perched upon a leafy tree, sailing in 
the air. 

Hark ! ev’ry birdie sings. 

Sweet, sweet the music rings. 

2 Let’s play we’re little ponies, ready 

for a race, 

Trot! trot! each pony tries to win the 
foremost place. 

Trot, trotting ? 0, what fun! 

Trot, trot! the race is won. 


3 Let’s play we’re little boxes standing 
in a row, 

Some behind and some before, just 
this way we go. 

Turn the key, each unlocks, 

Up, pops “Jack-in-the-box.” 

4 Let’s play we’re little soldiers, see 
our fifes and drums, 

5 Marcli, march with Tanners waving, 
so our army comes; 

March on, keep step just so, 

Moot, toot, the trumpets go. 

Let’s be little carpenters, 8 up our 
houses go, 

9 Saw the boards, 10 then plane them 
well, "nail and hammer so. 

"Knock l knock ! a sturdy blow, 

12 Tap, tap ! the hammers go. 

13 Let’s play we’re little children, jump¬ 
ing high and low, 

Now, in air, nowon the ground, see our 
jump-ropes go, 

Swing, swinging in the air, 

Swing swinging free from care. 

13 Now our play-time’s over and here 

we are in school. 

Sit erect and study well, mind the 
teacher’s rule. 

Then when our work is done 
Happy we’ll homeward run. 

Motions.— 1 [Children stand, and move hands and 
arms to imitate flying. 2 [Arms akimbo. Move the 
feet to imitate the trotting of horses .] 3 [All stoop 








SONGS AND PHYSICAL PLAYS. 


*53 


until the last line, when they start up quickly, each 
like a real ” Jack-in-the-box.”] 4 Play the fife and 
beat the drum. 5 Move the feet as if marching. 
6 Move hands as if waving flags. 7 Left hand at the 
mouth to imitate a trumpet. s Move hands as if build¬ 
ing a wall. 0 Imitate sawing. 10 Imitate planing. 
11 Drive in the nails with the clenched fist. 12 Drive 
nails with tips of the fingers. 13 [Swing the hands 
and move the feet to imitate jumping rope.] 13 [All 
sit and fold their arms.] 


DAISY FAIR. 

Have you heard the song of the daisy 
fair? 

Oh the daisy fair she has not a care; 
A sweet little face has daisy fair, 
She’s smiling all the day. 

Now see her buds peep 1 where the 
grasses wave, 2 

Where the grasses wave, 2 the grasses 
wave, 

Now see her buds peep, where the 
grasses wave, 2 

This way 2 above her head. 

Chorus.— Oh the heads of nodding 
clover 3 

Oh the boughs that sway above her 4 
Oh the butterflies dancing over 5 
Love the daisy fair. 

Now her bright eyes open to the sun ; ,J 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, what fun! 
Now daisy’s playtime has begun; 

Gay little daisy fair. 

Our daisy always moves with grace 7 
While she bends this way, 7 this way 7 
this way. 7 


She looks the bright sun in the face, 8 
Brave little daisy fair. 

[ Chorus.] 

At morn she turns her head this way 9 
For she loves the sun, the sun they say, 
And watches for its first bright ray, 
Wise little daisy fair. 

At noon she smiles up at the sky 10 
Tra la la la la la la la la, 

While the sun smiles back from his 
place so high. 

Happy daisy fair. 

[ Chorus.] 

When the earth is dry beneath her 
feet, 11 

Lowly droops her head in the blinding 
heat. 12 

She clasps her fingeis, 13 hear how 
sweet 

Daisy breathes a prayer. 

Come, pretty white cloud, pray send 
the rain, 

Send rain, the rain, the rain, the rain, 
0 pretty white cloud, I pray send rain 
That I may bloom again. 

[ Chorus.] 

Now the cooling drops come, spark¬ 
ling 14 down, 

Tra la la la la la la la la la. 

Now daisy has a bran new crown, 
Proud little daisy fair. 







J 54 


THE KINDERGARTEN. 


All night, when the dear sun goes to 
sleep, 

And all the dews around her weep, 
She turns this way 15 for one more peep. 

Good night little daisy fair. 

[Chorus. ] 

Motions.— 1 Show hands—held gracefully and not 
too high—with fingers closed. 2 Hands open palms 
downward, wave gracefully up and down moving 
from elbows. 3 Nod gracefully. 4 Arms held at full 
length slightly and naturally curved, palms down¬ 
ward, wave gently to and fro. 6 Retaining position 
( 4 ) of arms, move upward diagonally, moving all the 
fingers. 6 Looking up, hands in position, ( J ) fingers 
spread apart. 7 Bend body slightly forward. 8 Look 
up .. 9 Looking toward the East. 10 Look up. 11 Look¬ 
ing and pointing toward feet. 12 Droop heads. 
13 Folding hands. Retain positions 12 and 13 through¬ 
out the seventh stanza. 14 Holding hands above 
heads, move downward in front of body, moving 
fingers. 10 Turn to West. 


BIRD SONG. 


Tune.—“ Coming Thro' the Rye." 


Oh! what joy to be a wild bird, 
Always free from care ; 

Tilting in the sunny meadow, 1 
Flitting tliro’ the air. 2 
All the flowers know and greet him 
With a graceful bow. 3 


All the green leaves whisper to him 
Secrets soft and low. 

Now his dainty bill lie’s dipping 4 
In the running brook. 

Now the water he is sipping 
With an upward look. 5 

Hark a rustle, chirp, a flutter 6 
See he flies away ; 7 

Now he’s back again a swinging 8 
On a bending spray. 

High above us he is circling, 

Swiftly round and round 9 

All the while his song is ringing; 

What a joyous sound ! 

Oh what joy to be a wild bird 
Always free from care ; 

■l 

■Tilting in the sunny meadows, 1 
Flitting thro’ the air. 2 

Motions .— 1 Tilting on tiptoe throughout line 
keeping time to the music. 2 Waving hands with 
a floating upward movement, (diagonally.) 3 Bow. 
4 Bend heads forward. 5 Bend heads backward look¬ 
ing up. c Rubbing hands together to make rustling 
sound. 7 Same as 2 . 8 Like 1 . 9 Moving hands in 

circles. 












The Nursery. 


C HILDREN are the poetry of the world, the fresh flowers of our 
hearts and homes, little conjurors, with their “natural magic,” 
evoking by their spells what delights and enriches all ranks, and 
equalizes the different classes of society. 


THE HURSERY. 


THE APHABET. 

A B C D E F G 
H I J K LMN 
O PQR S T U 
V W X Y Z & 

abcdefghi 
j k lmnopqr 
stuvw xyz 

Note, _Let the child copy the above Alphabet, on a slate or piece of paper, 

until the forms get thoroughly fixed in his mind. 


157 



STORY OF AN APPLE-PIE. 


A was an apple-pie; 
B bit it ; 

C cut it; 

D dealt it; 

E eat it; 

F fought for it; 

G got it; 

H had it; 

J joined it; 

K kept it; 

L longed for it; 


M mourned for it; 
N nodded at it; 

O opened it; 

P peeped in it; 

Q quartered it; 

R ran for it; 

S stole it; 

T took it; 

V viewed it; 

W wanted it; 

X, Y, Z and & 


All wished for a piece in hand; 



FRUIT AND FLOWER ALPHABET. 


J 59 


FRUIT AND FLOWER ALPHABET. 



A stands for Apples, 
Right off from the tree, 
So nice to be eaten 
By yon and by me. 


B stands for Berries, 

Of dark and bright hue, 
So handsome to look at, 
And good to eat, too. 



D is the Date-Palm, 

A tall, graceful tree; 
The fruit in big bundles 
You often may see. 



C stands for Cherries, 
That grow up so high, 

So sweet when we get them, 
So rich in a pie. 









i6o 


THE NURSERY. 


E is the Evergreen, 
Explained by its name, 
In Summer and Winter 
Exactly the same. 


F is the Fern plant, 

So graceful it looks, 
Which many girls gather, 
And press in their books. 


G is the Grape fruit, 
That grows on a vine ; 
We eat it in clusters. 
And drink it in wine. 


H is the Holey, 

Whose leaves are so green, 
And red are its berries, 






As ever were seen. 










FRUIT AND FLOWER ALPHABET. 


161 


I is the Ivy, 

stone walls it grows, 

And there it clings closely, 
Though hard the wind blows. 


J is the Jasmine, 

So fair and so sweet, 
That covers onr porches, 
And shuts out the street. 


K stands for Kidney, 
A kind of a bean, 
To cook for the table, 
And fatten the lean. 


L is the Lily, 

So graceful and white, 
May we, like the lily, 

Be pure in God’s sight! 

















162 


THE NURSERY. 
















FRUIT AND FLOWER ALPHABET. 


163 


Q stands for Quinces, 

Sohard on the trees, 

When mother preserves them 
The children they please. 

R is the Rose, girls, 

The queen of all flowers, 

With beauty and fragrance 
It brightens the hours. 

S stands for Strawberries," 
So red and so sweet; 

With cream and with sugar, 
How luscious to eat l 


T is the Tomato, 

So useful for food ; 

’Tis juicy and pulpy, 

And wholesome and good. 











THE NURSERY. 


164 


U is the root of 

The Unicorn plant, 

And sometimes, when sick, 
’Tis just what yon want. 

V is for one of 

Our beautiful Vines, 

Which climbs by its tendrils, 

And lovingly twines. 

W is the grain, 

Grown now to Wheat, 
Giving the flour 
That all of us eat. 


X is the Xanthus, 

A new and queer word, 
With blossoms as yellow 
As Dickey the bird. 












FRUIT AND FTOWER AEPHABET. 
























i66 


THE NURSERY. 


TEMPERANCE ALPHABET. 


A STANDS for Alcohol, a fluid of 
fire, 

Which often brings death to the seller 
and buyer. 

B stands for Beer, sometimes sold 
by the barrel, 

Most all who love it love also to 
quarrel. 

C is for Cider, in these latter days 
It is called “ Satan’s Kindling,” 
it can make a big blaze. 

D stands for Drunkard, 0 help 
him, who can, 

To reform, be converted, and live like 
a man. 


E stands for Egg-nog, called an 
“innocent drink,” 

Made of milk, eggs and brandy. Is it 
innocent, think? 


F stands for Fight, which is easy 
for those 

Who of brandy or beer take a liberal 
dose. 


G stands for Gutter, and also for 
Gin. 

Who use much of the latter th e former 
get in. 


H stands for Hops, a vine much 
abused 

By those who make ale, beer and 
porter, ’tis used. 


j is for Idler, no work will he do. 

J is for Jug, his companion and foe. 

K is for Kindness, how little is 
shown 

To those who through liquor have 
desperate grown. 

L is for Loafer, who after much 
drinking 

Stands on a corner, apparently think¬ 
ing. 


M stands for Maniac, his reason all 
gone, 

His family heart-broken; pray who 
did the wrong ? 


N 

0 


is for Night, the time for dark 
deeds. 

is for Outcast, who on crumbs 
and husks feeds. 


P stands for Pipes, which you always 
will find 

In places where liquor is sold — any 
kind. 


Q Questions us whether it’s prudent 
or wise 

To smoke and to drink. There can 
be no disguise — 


R um shows itself sooner or later in 
all, 

Flee the tempter ! Oh, how he’d re¬ 
joice in your fall. 




TEMPERANCE ALPHABET. 


S stands for Station-House, where 
in sad plight, 

Poor drunkards are frequently taken 
at night. 

np for Tobacco, used in various ways 
To rob men of strength and 
shorten their days. 

U stands for Usury, this adds to the 
woes 

Of rum’s victims, when to the pawn¬ 
broker ne goes. 

is for Vine, and it’s innocent 
fruit 

Is made to help man sin below the 
poor brute. 

for Whiskey, a very mean drink ? 
When one takes to this, he 
surely will sink. 

X ’s one, two and three, are used to 
describe 

A drink, by which many thousands 
have died. 

Y stands for Youth, 0 be wise and 
beware, 

Yield not to the tempter and die in 
despair. 

Z stands for Zeal, which can help 
us to win 

Many souls from the power of Satan 
and sin. 


' 167 

ALPHABET OF MAXIMS. 

Attend carefully to details of your 
business. 

Be prompt in all things. 

Consider well, then decide positively. 
Dare to do right, fear to do wrong. 
Endure trials patiently. 

Fight life’s battles bravely, manfully. 
Go not into the society of the vicious. 
Hold integrity sacred. 

Injure not another’s reputation nor 
business. 

Join hands only with the virtuous. 
Keep your mind from evil thoughts. 
Lie not for any consideration. 

Make few acquaintances. 

N ever try to appear what you are not. 
Observe good manners. 

Pay your debts promptly. 

Question not the veracity of a friend- 
Respect the counsel of your parents. 
Sacrifice money rather then principle. 
Touch not, taste not, handle not in¬ 
toxicating drinks. 

Use your leilsure time for improve, 
ment. 

Venture not upon the threshold of 
wrong. 

Watch carefully over your passions. 
’Xtend to every one a kindly saluta¬ 
tion. 

Yield not to discouragement. 
Zealously labor for the right: 

And success is certain. 

Baron Rothschild. 







THE NURSERY. 


168 


A, B, C. 

The A, B, C, 

Is pleasant to me, 

I’m learning it all the day; 
Whenever I look 
In a printed book, 

I see nothing but A, B, C, 
Sing A, B, C, 


Sing A, B, C, 

I see nothing but A, B, C, 

I’m glad to know 
The fine little row 
Of letters, both great and small; 
The D, E, F, G, 

The L, M, N, 0, P, 

And the X, Y, Z, and all. 


Sing A, B, C, 

Sing E, S, T, 

Sing X, Y, Z, and all. 

If I can fix 

These marks twenty-six 
In this little careless head, 
I’ll read' every book, 

As soon as I look 


At the letters all over it spread. 
Sing A, B, C, 

Sing X, Y, Z, 

And the letters all over it spread. 

I now will learn 
Them all in turn, 

The big letters and the small; 

For how can I spell, 


























A, B, C. 


169 


Or pronounce them well. 

Till I shall have learned them all*? 
Sing A, B, C, 

Sing X, Y, Z, 

For I am going to learn them all. 

The bees and the flies 
Have nice little eyes, 

But never can read like me; 

They crawl on the book, 

And they seem to look, 

But they never know A, B, C; 

Sing A, B, C, 

Sing X, Y, Z, 

They never can know A, B, C. 

—Hastings’ “ Nursesy Songs." 


They look like crooked sticks — oh 
dear! 

Ma counted six, and twenty more; 
What do they have so many for ? 


SCHOOL TIME. 

Now, Jenny, and Mollie, and Robert, 
and John, 

Attend to your letters, I pray; 

For if with your reading you do not 
get on, 

You’ll never be ready for play. 

Attention to lessons brings laughter 
at play, 


LEARNING THE LETTERS. 

I wish I knew my letters well, 

So I might learn to read and 
spell; 

I’d find them on my pretty 
card, 

If they were not so very hard. 

Now S is crooked — don’t 
you see? 

And G is making mouths at 
me, 

And 0 is something like a 
ball,— 

It lias n’t any end at all. 

And all the rest are — my! 
so queer! 




















i7o 


THE NURSERY. 


Glad faces, with merriment bright, 

Good temper, and hearts full of sun¬ 
shine by day, 

And sweet, peaceful slumbers at 
night. 

Then on with your letters, a, e, i, o, 
u — 

The dullest can honestly try; 

And who would not work with the 
prospect in view 

Of reading bright books by-and-by ? 

M. H. F. Donne. 


SPELLING LESSON. 

C-a-t, cat; B-a-t, bat; 

And so two words we spell; 



But if the bat should hit the cat, 
Then we would hear a yell. 


H-o-g, hog; D-o-g, dog; 

And two more words are here: 
But if the dog should bite the hog, 
The bite would spoil his ear. 



T-o-y, toy; B-o-y, boy; 

And two more words we spy; 
But if the boy should break his toy, 
The little chap would cry. 

B-a-g, bag; B-a-g, rag; 

We spell them like a flash; 

But when the rag goes in the bag, 
Then both are sold for cash. 

B-i-g, big; P-i-g, pig; 

Two more words here w^e give. 

A little pig may yet be big, 

If he shall grow and live. 

V-a-t, vat; H-a-t, hat; 

Two easy words, no doubt, 

But if the hat falls in the vat, 

Then who can get it out ? 









ONE, TWO, THREE. 


M-e-n, men; P-e-n, pen; 

These words yon ought to know. 
It is the pen that rules the men, 
And has since long ago. 


171 


One, two, three! 

The riddle tell to me. 

The moon afloat is the bonny boat, 
The sun-set is the sea. 



D-a-m, dam; E-a-m, ram; 

And here are two words more. 

But if the ram falls in the dam, 

How will he get ashore ? 

M-a spells ma; P-a spells pa; 

Two good and sweet words here. 

If it were not for pa and ma, 

What would you do, my dear? 

G-o-o-d, you know, spells good, 

• And you are good to-day. 

While you are good, your daily food 
Goes with your daily play. 


ONE, TWO, THREE! 

One, two, three! 

A bonny boat I see. 

A silver boat, and all afloat, 
Upon a rosy sea. 


KNOWLEDGE. 

Beneath the oak tree’s cooling shade 
This boy and girl have often played; 



But now at study they take a turn, 
Their lessons well they try to learn:— 
Here is a truth for everybody. 
Knowledge domes by earnest study. 







172 


THE NURSERY. 



AT SCHOOL. 

“ Spell ‘cat,’” says the teacher,May, 
“P-u-s-s,” says Ted. 

“ Oh, stupid child, that’s not the way. 
You’ll have to go down foot to-day,” 
With a solemn shake of her head. 

“ You spell it, Susie, now.” 

“M-e-o-u, meou! ” 

“ Oh, what a stupid! Susie, you. 
Must go down foot, I tell you, too ! ” 
With a frown upon her brow. 


“ Now, Katie, you spell ‘ cat,’ 

You’re clever enough for that.” 

“ S-c-r-a-t-c-li,” she said, 

With a comical droop of her curly 
head. 

And then she, too, “ down foot ” 
was sent, 

And the teacher’s patience all was 
spent, 

“For you’re all at the foot of the 
class,” she said, 

“And I am the only girl ‘up head.” 



























TEN LITTLE CJIIC-A-DEES. 


!73 


THE LITTLE CHIC-A-DEES. 



but NINE. 



Nine little chick-a-dees,—one without a mate,— 

A sparrow-hawk cought one , then there were but EIGHT. 



Eight little chic-a-dees, by a ’possum driven,— 

He caught one and slaughtered it, then there were but SEVEN. 






I 74 


THE NURSERY. 



Seven little chic-a-dees hopping round the ricks,— 

A weasel came and captured one , then there were but Six. 



Six little chic-a-dees watching Rover dive,— 

He sprang ashore and seized one , and then there were but FIVE. 



Five little chic-a-dees pecking at the door, 
Kitty-cat caught one , then there were but FOUR. 



Four little chic-a-dees full of birdy glee,— 

One was tangled in a ne^ then there were but three. 






TEN LITTLE CHIC-A-DEES. 



Three little chic-a-dees dabbling in the dew,— 

A stone fell and crushed one , then there were but two. 



Two little chic-a-dees peeping just for fun,— 

A hungry kite caught one, then there were but one. 



One little chic-a-dee, mourning all alone, 

Flew away to find a mate, and then there was none. 


Mrs E. P Miller. 













176 


THE NURSERY 



MOLLIE DUTTON. 

Mollie Dutton, just for fun, 
Stands to show us she is ONE. 


Mollie and her sister Lue 
Show that ONE and ONE make 
TWO. 




Mollie, Lue, and Fannie Lea 
Show that one with two make 
THREE. 


Moll, Lue, Fan, and Little 
Noah, 

Show that ONE with THREE 
make FOUR. 



























MOEEIE DUTTON. 


177 


Moll, I/ue, Fan, Noah, 
and Will Shrive, 

Show that one with four 
make fiv£. 



Now all these with 
Clara Ricks 
Show that one 
with five make 
Six. 























THE NURSERY. 


178 


With these girls and 
boys put Kate, 
And the ONE with 
SEVEN make 
EIGHT. 
















COUNTING. 


1 79 


V,- - , 4 



COUNTING. 

12 5 

One, Two, Three, 

Come to the woods with me. 

4 5 6 

Four, Five, Six. 

We’ll knock down cherries with sticks. 


A NEW TIME-TABLE. 


Sixty seconds make a minute: 

How much good can I do in it ? 
Sixty minutes make an hour,— 

All the good that’s in my power. 
Twenty hours and four, a day,— 
Time for work, and sleep, and play. 
Days, three hundred sixty-five 
Make a year for me to strive 
Eight good things for me to do, 
That I wise may grow and true. 


TIME. 


7 8 9 

Seven, Eight, Nine, 
To fill this new basket of mine. 

10 11 12 

Ten, Eleven, Twelve, 
We’ll all be as happy as elves. 


“ Sixty seconds make a minute, 
Sixty minutes make an hour; ” 

If I were a little linnet, 

Hopping in her leafy bower, 

Then I should not have to sing it: 
“Sixty seconds make a minute.” 









i8o 


THE NURSERY. 


Twenty-four hours make a day, 

Seven days will make a week; 

And while we all at marbles play, 

Or run at cunning “ hide and seek,” 
Or in the garden gather flowers, 

We’ll tell the time that makes the 
hours. 

In every month the weeks are four, 
And twelve whole months will make 
a year; 

Now t I must say it o’er and o’er, 

Or else it never will be clear; 

So once again I will begin it: 

“ Sixty seconds make a minute. ” 


THE CLOCK. 

I hear the clock strike, and what does 
it say? 

One, two, three, four, five, six! A 
beautiful day! 

Again it strikes", Seven! and brightly 
the sun 

Is shining, and work for the day has 
begun, 

I hear it at Eight, as clear as a bell; 

It says, “ I have wonderful things to 
tell. 

Don’t waste any moments; they’re 
not yours, nor mine; 

See how quickly they pass. (I hear 
it strike nine!) 

Not slothful in business! hear this, 
idle men! 


Four hours are lost! (And then it 
strikes Ten!) 


No lazy ones enter the kingdom of 
heaven; ” 



And it rings out in warning the num¬ 
ber Eleven! 


Why it’s noon , I declare, and while 
we all rest, 























CHILDREN OF THE WEEK. 


181 


I hear the clock ticking and ticking its 
best, 

It never gets tired, its work’s never 
done; 

But it does rest a little ; hark, it only 
strikes One! 

0,1 can’t keep np with it, whatever I do; 

Just while I am talking, again it 
strikes Two! 

Then quickly comes Three, and then 
it is Four! 

The hours seem shorter and shorter, 
I’m sure. 

These moments are precious; 0, how 
we should strive 

To ring out the hours, for pleasure 
and pain. 

To improve each one faithfully! One 
Two , Three , Four , Five ! 

As through the day, so all through 
the night, 

The clock ticks and strikes, till again 
it is light; 

And then at the dawn begins over 
again. 


CHILDREN OF THE WEEK. 

The child that is born on the Sabbath 
day 

Is blithe and bonny, and good, and 

gay; 

Monday’s child is fair of face; 
Tuesday’s child is full of grace; 
Wednesday’s child is merry and glad; 


Thursday’s child is sour and sad; 
Friday’s child is loving and giving; 
And Saturday’s child must work for 
its living. 


DAYS OF THE WEEK. 

Seven bright jewels our Father above 

Hath given His children, in mercy 
and love: 

Beautiful jewels set in gold 

For the rich and poor, the young and 
the old. 

But one He asks may to Him be given, 

That each may have some treasure in 
Heaven. 

These jewels are days, and we are 
blest 

With hours for labor and hours for 
rest. 

Let us work with all zeal, be fervent 
in spirit, 

That we may the kingdom of Heaven 
inherit. 

S-aviour of sinners, 0, hear while we 
pray! 

M-aster, 0 lead us and guide us 
alway! 

T-he Lord is my Shepherd, and He 
will provide; 

W-atchful and prayerful, I’ll keep by 
His side. 

T-here is room for no idler in the 
vineyard to wait— 







182 


THE NURSERY. 


F-aithful workers are needed, the 
harvest is great— 

S-nch only shall enter the beautiful 
gate. 

DAYS IN THE MONTH. 

January has thirty-one, 

Snow and ice, and lots of fun. 

February has twenty-eight, 

In which to slide, and sleigh, and 
skate; 

But every fourth year the records 
incline 

To add to the number, and make 
twenty-nine. 

March has also thirty-one, 

In which we have more wind than fun. 

April, with its sun and showers, 

Has thirty for its leaves and flowers. 

May, with frolic and with fun, 

Fills up the number thirty-one. 

Only thirty we have in June ; 

Its roses and sunshine are gone so 
soon! 

July again brings thirty-one, 

And we toss the hay ’neath the sum¬ 
mer sun. 

August has thirty-one as well; 

Hear the harvest chorus swell! 


September; with thirty, is calm and 
still, 

And does its work in the busy mill. 

Of days to climb, and jump, and run, 
October contributes thirty-one. 

November is so dreary and cold, 

I’m glad it has only thirty all told. 

Hurrah! for Christmas comes in 
December, 

And it has thirty-one, I remember. 


THE MONTHS. 

First is the month of January, 

When pleasant fires make young folks 
merry. 

Next comes the month of February, 

When snow and rain the weather vary. 

The month of March comes next, you 
know, 

When cold and strong the breezes 
blow. 

The month of April then comes in, 

When warm and pleasant days begin, 

Then comes the merry month of May, 

When lambs and children love to play. 

Next comes the summer month of 
June, 

And then the sun is hot at noon. 








THE MONTHS. 


i8 3 


Then follows in its turn July, 

When all the land is hot and dry. 

Next sultry August takes its turn, 
And hotter yet the sunbeams bum. 

Then comes September, sweet and 
mild, 

With cooler days to suit a child. 

Then ripe October comes in suit, 

To tempt the taste with pleasant fruit. 

November, next, is bleak and rough, 
And every day is cold enough. 



Then come the snows of harsh 
December ; 

But Christmas also comes, remember. 


THE MONTHS. 

Thirty days hath September, 

April, June, and November; 

February has twenty-eight alone, 

All the rest have thirty-one, 
Excepting Leap-year, that’s the time 
When February’s days are twenty- 
nine. 


ALL ABOUT A FROG. 

This is an egg: 
Watch it, I beg. 

Out of this egg 
(no arm or leg) 
Comes this 
strange thing, 

The legs now 
spring. 

Both front 

and rear. 
Now this 

is queer, 
The tail 

plays flop. 
And goes 

off pop! 
And soon it 
hops about 
the bog, 
A happy, timid, 
little frog. 


FACTS FOR LITTLE FOLKS. 

Tea is prepared from the leaf of a tree; 
Honey is gathered and made by the bee. 
Butter is made from the milk of the cow; 
PorS is the flesh of the pig or the sow. 
Oil is obtained from fish and from flax; 
Candles are made of tallow and wax. 
Worsted is made from wool, soft and 
warm; 

Silk is prepared and spun by a worm. 






















184 


THE NURSERY. 



KNITTING SOCKS. 


Well-a-day! How queer to say 
Our Kitty’s knitting socks to-day! 
Twirling worsted round about, 
Clicking needles in and out, 
Spectacles on nose to see,— 

Our Kitty is our Busy Bee. 


GRANDMA’S UMBRELLA 

Twa‘s a boisterous day, and this fool¬ 
ish little fellow 


Went out all alone with his grand¬ 
ma’s umbrella. 



When he opened it, the wind 

Took him up, and sent him flying 
Till it soused him in a pond, 

Where his father found him cry¬ 
ing. 


THE LITTLE KINDERGARTEN 
GIRL. 

If I sew, sew, sew, and pull, pull, pull. 

The pattern will come, and the card 
be full; 

So it’s criss, criss, criss, and it’s 
cross, cross, cross; 

If we have some pleasant work to do 
we’re never at a loss. 
























QUEER LITTLE STITCHES. 


i8 5 


Oh, dear! I pulled too roughly,—I’ve 
broken through my card. 

I feel like throwing all away, and cry¬ 
ing real hard. 

But no, no, no,— for we never should 
despair, 

So I’ll rip, rip, rip, and I’ll tear, tear, 
tear. 


QUEER LITTLE STITCHES. 

Oh, queer little stitches, 

You surely are witches, 

To bother me so ! 

I’m trying to plant you: 

Bo stay where I want you, 

All straight in a row. 



There! you pretty, purple worsted, 
I’ve saved you, every stitch 
(Because if we are wasteful we never 
can get rich). 

Now I’ll start another tablet, and I’ll 
make it perfect yet, 

And mother’ll say: “ Oh, thank you, 
my precious little pet! ” 


Now keep close together! 

I never know whether 
You’ll do as I say. 

Why can’t you be smaller ? 

You really grow taller. 

Try hard as I may! 

There! now my thread’s knotted, 
My finger is dotted 

With sharp needle-pricks! 

I mean to stop trying, 

I can not help crying; 

Oh, dear what a fix! 

Yes, yes, little stitches, 

I know you are witches — 

I’m sure of it now — 

Because you don’t bother 
Grown people like mother 
When they try to sew. 

You love to bewilder, 

Us poor little “ childer” 

(As Bridget would say), 

By jumping and dancing, 

And leaping and prancing, 

And losing your way. 









186 


THE NURSERY. 


Hear the bees in the clover! 
Sewing “over and over” 

They don’t understand. 

I wish I was out there, 

And playing about there 

In that great heap of sand! 


The afternoon’s going; 
I must do my sewing 
Before I can play. 



Now behave, little stitches, 
Like good-natured witches, 
The rest of the day. 


I’d almost forgotten 
About waxing my cotton, 

As good sewers do; 

And — oh, what a memory ! — 
Here is my emery 

To help coax it through. 


I’m so nicely provided 
I’ve really decided 

To finish the things. 

There’s nothing like trying; 

My needle is flying 

As if it had wings. 

There, good-bye, little stitches ! 
You obstinate witches, 

You’re punished, you know. 
You’ve been very ugly, 

But now you sit snugly 
Along in a row. 


LEARNING TO SEW. 

“ I am learning how to sew,” said an 
eager little maid; 

“ I push the needle in and out, and 
make the stitches strong; 

I’m sewing blocks of patchwork for 
my dolly’s pretty bed, 

And mamma says, the way I work 
it will not take me long. 

It’s over and over—do you know 
How over-and-over stitches go ? 

“I have begun a handkerchief: 
Mamma turned in the edge, 

And basted it with a pink thread to 
show me where to sew. 

It has Greenaway children on it 
stepping staidly by a hedge; 

I look at them when I get tired, or 
the needle pricks, you know 

And that is the way I learn to hem 








SOW, SEW, AND SO 


I8 7 


With hemming stitches — do you 
know them ? 



“ Next I shall learn to run, and darn, 
and back-stitch, too, I guess, 

It wouldn’t take me long, I know, 
if ’twasn’t for the thread; 

But the knots keep coming, and be¬ 
sides — I shall have to confess— 
Sometimes I slip my thimble off, 
and use my thumb instead! 

When your thread knots, what do 
you do ? 

And does it turn all brownish, too ? 

“ My papa, lie’s a great big man, as 
much as six feet high; 

He’s more than forty, and his hair 
has grey mixed with the black: 

Well, he can’t sew! he can’t begin to 
sew as well as 1. 


If he loses off a button, mamma has 
to set it back! 

You mustn’t think me proud, you 
know, 

But I am seven, and I can sew ! ” 


SOW, SEW, AND SO. 

Sow, sow, sow. 

So the farmers sow ! 

Busy, busy, all the day, 

While the children are at play, 
Stowing, stowing close away 
Baby wheat and rye in bed, 

So the children may be fed, 

So, so, so. 



Sew, sew, sew, 

So the mothers sew! 

































THE NURSERY. 


188 


Busy, busy, all the day, 

While the children are at play, 
Sewing, sewing fast away, 

So the children may have frocks, 
Trowsers, coats, and pretty socks 
So, so, so. 

Sow, sew, so, 

So they sow and sew! 

S, and 0, and W, 

This is what the farmers do; 

Put an E, in place of 0, 

This is how the mothers sew,— 
So they sow and sew for you, 

So without the W, 

So, so, so. 


MY BLOCKS. 

A block which is round like the baby’s 
ball, 

I have learned to call a sphere. 

I can roll it about and make it stand, 
Though a touch will move it, I fear. 

A half a sphere is a hemi-sphere, 

Like an orange cut for two. 

I can slide it on this side, and rock it 
on that, 

And roll it; what else will it do ? 

This square-faced block which has six 
sides, 

Is a cube,—how easy to say! 

It will stand upright and slide about, 
If I push it a little way. 


A rolling-pin block is a cylinder, 

A pencil is called the same. 

It will stand, and slide, and roll 
around, 

But it has a long, hard name. 

The surface is the part I touch, 

It is curved in a marble or ball; 

But it’s plane in the ceiling, it’s plane 
in the door, 

Also in the floor of the hall. 



That part of the surface we see at once 

Is called the face of the block; 

Around it are edges, which may be 
curved, 

Or as straight as the hands of a 
clock. 

The end of an edge is called a point, 

This I show on my slate by a dot. 

The edges themselves, whether curved 
or straight. 

Are shown by lines ,—that I nearly 
forgot. 

This is all I have learned about my 
blocks 

To tell you of to-day, 

And now, if you’ll stay and watch me 
awhile, 

You’ll see me make them of clay. 











BUILDING CASTLES 


189 



BUILDING CASTLES. 

Maidens three with smiling faces, 
Seated on the floor, 

Fitting blocks into their places, 
Windows, roof and door. 


So we are building, ever building 
Structures grand and rare; 

And with fond hopes, weTe ever 
gilding, 

. Castles in the air. 

Still we build them high and highe 
And call it not unwise; 

Besult may not fulfill desire, 

But happy he who tries. 


STEP BY STEP. 


One step and then another, 

And the longest walk is ended ; 
One stitch and then another, 

And the largest rent is mended; 
One brick upon another, 

And the highest wall is made; 
One flake upon another, 

And the deepest snow is laid. 


\'*p? 


r 


Long before it is completed, 

The house is sure to fall; 

But patiently remain they seated, 
Building castles tall. 


So the little coral workers, 

By their slow and constant motion, 
Have built those pretty islands 






























190 


THE NURSERY. 


In the distant dark-blue ocean; 
And the noblest undertakings 
Man’s wisdom hath conceived, 
By oft-repeated effort 
Have been patiently achieved. 


LEARNING TO WRITE. 


Our Frankie has her lessons to learn 
and to write, 



Though the wind’s in the west, and 
the sun’s shining bright. 


Her sister’s her teacher, who fondly 
guides her hand 

And makes her the very best writer 
in the land. 

ARTHUR’S TALK. 

Little Arthur, full of fun, 

Sporting in the summer sun; 

Now he soils his dainty hand; 

Now he fills his shoes with sand. 

“Arthur, what do piggies do?” 

“Grunt, grunt, grunt; moo, moo, moo; 
Bow, wow, wow; peep, peep, peep ; 
Cock-a-doodle; t’weet, t’weet, t’weet.” 

Pigs and cows and dogs at once ! 

Can you call this babe a dunce ? 

Like a colt he neighs and prances 
Then with nimble feet he dances. 

“Who loves little Arthur boy?” 

“Da, da, da!” he shouts with joy. 
Papa clasps him to his breast; 

Busy brain and feet will rest. 













School-Days. 


F you make children happy now, you will make them happy 
twenty years hence by the memory of it .—Sydney Smith. 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 





SCHOOL TIME. 


SCHOOL-TIME. 

School time. 

Children dear. 

Hasten here, 

When the lesson-time is near; 
Hurry fast, 

Don’t be last; 
Minutes now are flying fast. 


HALF-PAST EIGHT, HALF-PAST 
FOUR. 

Half-past eight, half-past eight! 
School-bell’s ringing—don’t be late ! 
Get your books, and pens, and paper; 
Don’t be cutting truant capers. 
Half-past eight, half-past eight! 
School-bell’s ringing—don’t be late ! 


193 

















i 9 4 


SCHOOL DAYS. 


Half-past eight, half-past weight! 

Who is he for whom we wait ? 

Lazy Jack!—why this folly! 

Why d’ye look so melancholy ? 

Don’t hang hack—march out straight, 
School-bell’s ringing—school won’t 
wait! 



Half-past four, half-past four! 

Bell is ringing—school is o’er! 
Master Jack is blithe and ready: 
Needn’t hurry, Jack—march steady. 
See the rogue, he runs about; 


He’s the very first boy out. 
Half-past four, half-past four! 
Bell is ringing—school is o’er. 


EARLY AT SCHOOL. 

Through pathways green and very cool 

Miss Daisy trips along to school; 

She is in haste for she would hate 

To stop and play, and be marked “late’ 5 

All children should learn well this 
rule 

And never be late at their school. 

NOT READY FOR SCHOOL. 

Pray, where is my hat ? It is taken 
away, 

And my shoe-strings are all in a knot, 

I can’t find a thing where it should be 
to-day, 

Though I’ve hunted in every spot. 

Do, Rachel, just look for my speller 
up-stairs— 

My reader is somewhere there, too; 

And, sister, just brush down these 
troublesome hairs, 

And, mother, just fasten my shoe. 

And, sister, beg father to write an 
excuse;— 

But stop ! he will only say “ No; ” 

And go on with a smile and keep 
reading the news, 

While everything bothers me so» 









LESSON IN ARITHMETIC. 


T 95 


My satchel is heavy and ready to 
fall, 

This old pop-gun is breaking nay 
map; 

I’ll have nothing to do with the pop¬ 
gun or ball. 

There’s no playing for such a poor 
chap. 


I wish I’d not lingered at breakfast the 
last, 

Though the toast and the butter were 
fine; 

I think that our Edward must eat 
pretty fast, 

To be off when I haven’t done 
mine. 



The town-clock will strike in a min¬ 
ute, I fear, 

Then away to the foot I will sink; 
There ! look at my Carpenter tumbled 
down here, 

And my Worcester covered with 
ink. 


Now Edward and Henry 
protest they wont wait, 

And beat on the door with 
their sticks; 

I suppose they will say I 
was dressing too late; 

To-morrow, Til be up at six. 

Caroline Gilman. 


LESSON IN ARITHMETIC 

Four robin redbreasts on 
the old apple tree, 
Whose pink and white blos¬ 
soms are as thick as 
can be — 

If two of those birds should 
quick fly away, 

How many redbreasts would 
be left ? tell me, pray. 

(ANSWER.) 

Only two would be left, but they would 
not stay, 

For they never will — I have watched 
them to-day. 

Tom’s six frisky kittens are chasing 
their tails, 




















196 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


As the milkmaid passes with over¬ 
flowing pails — 

If two of the kittens remain at their 
play v 

Then how many have followed the 
milkmaid; say? 

(ANSWER.) 

Four dear little kittens have followed 
the maid, 

And — the others will follow, if they’re 
not afraid. 

Eight fleecy white lambkins yonder 
are seen 

Just over the brook, in the 
pasture green— 

If eight of them leap over 
the low, stone wall, 

Then, how many lambkins do 
not jump at all? 

(ANSWER.) 

Were they Bo-Peep’s lamb¬ 
kins, mamma ? 0, I 

know, 

If one lamb leaped the wall, 
all the rest would go. 

If out of the water and dark 
mud below, 

Bise ten water lilies as white 
as the snow, 

And five laddies row out to 
gather the ten, 

How many apiece have the 
brave little men? 

(ANSWER.) 

They would have two apiece, if Tom 
had his way. 


But Arcliie’d have more — lie’s so 
mean, Archie Gray. 

Suppose I am forty and you are but 
five, 

In ten sunny years — if we still keep 
alive — 

Winter and summer, in all sorts of 
weather,— 

Pray, how many years can we count 
together ? 

(answer, counting slowly.) 

Why you would be f-f-fifty and I’d be 
— f-if teen. 


There’d be ever so many years between. 
Count them together ? Mamma, wait 
till I grow! 



MULTIPLICATION IS VEXATION. 



























arithmetic. 


197 


Then, then, I could count them so 
easy, you know. 

Would I then wear long dresses, and 
you a white cap ? 

And — couldn’t I sit any more on 
your lap ? 0 — 0 dear ? 


ARITHMETIC. 

Multiplication is vexation, 

Division is as bad; 

The Rule of Three doth puzzle me, 
And Practice drives me mad. 


A SUM IN ARITHMETIC. 

There came into our school one day 
A white-haired man, with pleasant 
smile; 

He greeted us, and, sitting down, 

Said he would like to rest awhile. 

’Twas time to have Arithmetic. 

The teacher said, “Now all give 
heed! 

Put up your books, and take your 
slates, 

And do the sum which I will read.” 

Our books went in, our slates came 
out, 

And the teacher read the sum. 

We tried and tried, and tried again, 
And couldn’t make the answer 
come. 


And then the old man said to us, 
With kindness twinkling in his eyes, 
“ Who gets the answer first shall have 
A silver shilling for a prize.” 

Then Tommy Dole resolved to cheat; 

And slyly taking out his book, 
When he supposed he was not seen, 

A hasty glance inside he took. 

At once, the answer Tommy finds, 
And, “Now I’ve got it, sir,” he 
cries. 

The teacher thinks Tom worked the 
sum, 

And tells him he has won the prize. 

But that old man had seen it all, 
Those twinkling eyes had watched 
the trick. 

“ Well done, my boy! you seem 
‘To understand arithmetic. 

“But now, before I give the prize, 

I’ll let you try a harder one. 
Another, shilling you shall have, 

If you can tell how that is done.” 

And then, with kindest voice and look, 
He gently said to Tommy Dole, 

“ What shall it profit you, my lad, 

To gain the world, and lose your 
soul? ” 

Then Tommy Dole hung down his 
head, 

And tears began to fill his eyes; 
And all the scholars wondered why 
He would not take the silver prize. 








198 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


THE CARDINAL POINTS. 

I’m only a little laddie, 

Just learning to read you see, 

And something else that I think 
Is funny as it can be. 

And I’m sure you’ll think as I do, 
For I don’t believe you’ve heard 

Of this funny thing I’m learning, 

So I’ll tell you every word. 

0, I love in the early morning 
To hear the twitter and trill 

Of birds, as the sun comes peeping 
O’er the top of the far-off hill. 

Big, and round, and golden, 

He lifts his shining face; 

If I point to where I see him, 

Why East I must call the 
place. 

And all through the summer 
morning, 

He is climbing the sky’s 
blue hill, 

And the air grows hot and drowsy, 
And the singing birds grow still. 

Till he reaches the highest summit, 
Then slowly he goes to rest, 

And the place where last I see him, 

I must always call the West. 

Now here is my little right hand, 
And it points to the East you see : 

If I stretch out my tiny left hand, 
Then this side West must be. 


And the North will be before me, 
While the South behind me lies, 
Don’t you think it queer 

That a little girl can be so very 
wise? 

Well, one thing more I will tell you, 
And then you have heard it all, 

’Tis this, East , West, and South, and 
North, ■ s 

The Cardinal Points we call. 

Lizzie M. Hadeey. 

GEOGRAPHY. 

The earth is round, and like a ball 
Seems swinging in the air; 


The sky extends around it all, 

And stars are shining there. 

Water and land upon the face 
Of this round world we see; 

The land is man’s safe dwelling place, 
But fish swim in the sea. 

Two mighty continents there are, 

And many islands, too; 

And mountains, hills, and valleys there 
With level plains we view. 












THE AXIS. 


199 


THE AXIS. 

Child you ask, “ What is the Axis ? ” 
With an apple I will show; 

Place your thumb upon the stem- 
place, 

And your finger at the blow;— 
Now we’ll just suppose the apple 
Has a stem that passes through, 
And this stem would be the Axis; 
Now we’ll whirl the apple, true. 

Holding fast ’twixt thumb and finger,— 
That’s the way the Earth goes 
round 

On its Axis, as we call it, 

Though no real stem is found. 

And the two ends of the Axis 

Have been called the Poles, my 
dear; 

Yes, the North Pole and the South 
Pole, 

Where ’tis very cold and drear. 

Now we’ll hold a bigger apple 
At a distance, for the Sun; 

Tip the smaller one a little, 

And then slowly wheel it round 
All around the larger apple, 

And it represents the Earth 
Circling round the Sun that holds it, 
Ceaseless, in its yearly path. 

Wondrous is the strong attraction 
Of the Sun which holds in place 
All the Planets in their turnings, 


All the Stars that see his face; 

But more wondrous far, the power 
That created Sun and us, 

And that gave a form and being, 

To this mighty Universe. 

44 The Universe ! ” now you exclaim; 
44 By the Universe, what do you 
mean?” 

44 ’Tis the Sun and the Planets, and 
everything known, 

That we call by this Universe name. 

Now the 44 Planets,” you ask, 

“What are Planets?” They’re 
globes, 

Some larger, some smaller than 
Earth,— 

Which are swinging in space, 

And are held in place, 

By the God-power that first gave 
them birth. 

From Mother Truths’ Melodies. 


THE PLANETS. 

Mercury is next to the Sun, 

While Venus, so bright, 

Seen at morning, or night, 

Comes second to join in the fun. 

And thixd in the group is our Earth, 
While Mars, with his fire 
So warlike and dire, 

Swings around to be counted the 
fourth . 








200 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


While Jupiter’s next after Mars, 

And his four moons at night 
Show the speed of the light; 

Next golden-ringed Saturn appears. 



After Saturn comes Uranus far;— 
And his antics so queer, 

Led Astronomers near 

To old Neptune, who drives the 
last car. 


AMERICA. 

A ship sailed over the blue, salt sea 
For a man, Columbus called, 

Had thought that the world was 
round, and he 
Of the old ideas had palled. 

So, in fourteen hundred and ninety- 
two, 

He sailed across from Spain, 

And found our continent so new— 
The ‘‘land beyond the main.” 

But jealousies and rivalries 
And bickerings begun, 

And Christopher Columbus now 
With grief was overborne. 


Americus Yespucius soon 

Our shores came sailing round, 
And stole the naming of the land 
Columbus sought and found; 



While he, Columbus, lay in chains, 
And died in sore distress; 

Yet won for us who tread his land, 
A lasting blessedness. 


PRESIDENTS OF THE UNITED 
STATES. 

First stands the lofty Washington, 
The noble, great, immortal one. 

The elder Adams next we see, 

And Jefferson comes number three. 






















THE BOSTON TEA PARTY. 


201 


The fourth is Madison, you know, 
The fifth one on the list, Monroe. 

The sixth an Adams comes again, 
And Jackson seventh in the train. 
Yan Buren is eighth upon the line, 
And Harrison is number nine. 

The tenth is Tyler in his turn, 

And Polk eleventh as we learn. 

The twelfth is Taylor that appears; 
The thirteenth, Fillmore, fills his 
years. 

Then Pierce comes fourteenth into 
view, 

Buchanan is the fifteenth due. 

Now Lincoln comes two terms to fill, 
But God o’er-rules the people’s will;— 
And Johnson fills his appointed time, 
Cut short by an assassin’s crime. 

Next Grant assumes the lofty seat— 
The man who never knew defeat. 

Two terms to him, then Hayes 
succeeds, 

And quietly the Nation leads. 

Heroic Garfield our choice; 

But soon ascends a mourning voice 
From every hamlet in the land— 

A brutal wretch with murderous hand 
Strikes low the country’s chosen chief; 
And anxious millions, plunged in 
grief, 

Implore in vain Almighty aid, 

That Death’s stern hand might still 
be stayed. 

Then Arthur served the people well, 
And Cleveland next as all can tell. 


THE BOSTON TEA PARTY. 

King George the Third sent out a 
decree, 

In seventeen hundred and seventy- 
three, 

That three pence on every pound of 
tea 

The very moderate tax should be 

For the infant American colony. 

Though some protested, the King said 
“ Gammon,” 

For he was a royal disciple of mam¬ 
mon, 

And declared that taxation 
Was good for a Nation 

That needed some lessons in subjuga¬ 
tion. 

No tax on snuff! and no tax on tea ! 

Such a state of things could no longer 
be! 

And those who indulged in such lux¬ 
uries, must, 

Said the loyal monarch, come down 
with the dust. 

So the word went forth, and, in Boston 
town, 

It swept like a hurricane fiercely 
down; 

And men and women were greatly 
stirred 

By this imposition of George the 
Third. 




202 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


Trouble was brewing. Their tete-a- 
tete 

Lover and sweetheart abbreviate; 
There was hurrying here 
And hurrying there, 

And ominous mutterings in the air, 
The bells were rung in the Old South 
steeple 

To the great alarm of the nervous 
people, 

And a meeting was held, where the 
proclamation 

Was read, that had caused all this 
perturbation. 

Invitations were posted up 
For the consignees to take a cup 
Of the very best tea—Oolong or Bonea, 
At high noon under the Liberty Tree. 
And the notice beneath, in every word, 
Was a sort of menace to George the 
Third, 

For it said (what an insult to the 
crown!) 

“ Show me the man that dare take 
this down!” 

Honor and liberty were at stake ! 

But the consignees refused to take 
Their cup of tea on the terms sug¬ 
gested, 

Or do as the council of war requested, 
’Twas the only topic of conversation, 
Nothing was thought of but this taxa¬ 
tion, 

And the easiest way of liquidation. 

T—A—X 


’Twas enough to vex 

The souls of the men of Boston town, 

To read this under the seal of the 
crown, 

They were loyal subjects of George 
the Third; 

So they believed, and so they averred, 

But this bristling, offensive placard 
set 

On the walls, was worse than a bayo¬ 
net, 

For it aimed at a principle dearer 
than life; v 

Three pence a pound on tea 

Not much of a tax would be ! 

But it proved the beginning of mighty 
strife. 

And lovers of freedom with dignity 
broke 

Away from the weight of King 
George’s yoke. 

A burden of tacks 
Upon their backs 

They might have borne in an easy 
way, 

But the iron had entered their souls, 
and they 

Declared in a state of great fermenta¬ 
tion 

’Twas a wantonly cruel, unjust taxa¬ 
tion. 

What was to be done ? There were 
those indeed, 

Who were bound to have the perni¬ 
cious weed. 





THE BOSTON TEA PARTY. 


203 


Rheumatic old chaps, 

Who would sip between naps; 

And maidens who’d never agree 

To give up an afternoon tea; 

And likewise the gossipy dames who 
were willing 

For the sake of such comfort, to spend 
their last shilling. 

And so it was decided to lay an 
embargo 

On vessels that brought over tea as 
their cargo; 

For, if once they were landed, then 
trouble would follow, 

And neither the tax nor the tea would 
they swallow! 

With artful disguise, and grotesque 
decoration. 

Like sons of the forest, a poor imita¬ 
tion 

A score or more men on a night in 
December, 

Went forth to a deed the world would 
remember. 

In exhilaration, 

They took up their station, 

On board the vessels awaiting demur¬ 
rage, 

And no one could question their share 
of “ Dutch Courage.” 

Soon others joined in with an interest 
hearty 

Increasing the size of the famous tea 
party, 


Declaring with war-whoops of savage 
delight, 

“ Boston harbor shall furnish the 
tea-pot to-night.” 

They boarded the ships 
That were then in their slips, 
Indignantly seizing the boxes of tea, 
And many a chest of the Chinaman’s 
best 

Slipped quickly overboard into the 
sea. 

If any attempted to carry off booty, 
Which he might secure without pay¬ 
ment of duty, 

His thievish endeavors most certainly 
failed. 

Through a summary docket 
That cut off the pocket, 

Containing the tea, and the coat was 
curtailed. 

King George the Third who made the 
decree 

To relieve the East India Company, 
Would have sworn right royally, I 
opine, 

Could he have beheld that fleet in 
line, 

That never had given a countersign! 
Four or five hundred boxes of tea 
Sailing so jauntily out to sea. 

The word the colonists sent, was not 
At the mercy of any highwayman’s 
shot: 

Nor were there telegraphs to convey 
The people’s message with less delay; 





204 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


But tediously slow 
The ships must go 
On the homeward track, 

Only taking back 

America’s envoy, who on landing, 
straight 

Presented himself at the palace gate. 

Demanding an audience there and 
then; 

With the first of English gentlemen, 

Who thought he’d a right a tax to 
impose, 

On all his subjects whenever he chose. 

He was ready to burst with rage, no 
doubt, 

When the clerk in a loud voice read 
about 

The Boston Tea Party;—for then the 
King 

Perceived he had not done just the 
thing 

To please the American colony, 

The injured party who went out to tea 

In Seventeen-hundred and seventy- 
three. 


THE CHILD’S CENTENNIAL. 

Around the purple clover-flowers, 
The butterflies were flitting; 
And on a stone beside the road 
A little boy was sitting. 

The fragrant air his yellow hair 
Around his face was blowing, 
And down his pretty rosy cheeks, 


The great,’round tears were flowing. 
His breeches were of coarse, brown 
cloth; 

His frock was made of tow; 

For little Ebenezer lived 
A hundred years ago. 

Along the road, upon a horse, 

Two men came, riding double; 

And one spoke out, “My pretty lad, 
Pray tell me what’s the trouble.” 
But, at his friendly words, the boy 
Began to sob the louder: 

“0 sir! ” he said, “ my father took 
His gun, and horn of powder, 

And rode away this very morn 
To help to fight the foe ! ” 

For there was war within the land 
A hundred years ago. 

The foremost man drew in his rein 
(His horse was somewhat skittish.) 
And said, “ My dear, I would not fear: 

We hope to beat the British. 

And when the Yankees win the day, 
And send the Bed-coats flying, 

And home again your father comes, 
You will not feel like crying: 

You’ll be a happy fellow then.” 

“ Oh, that I shall, I know!” 

Poor little Ebenezer said 
A hundred years ago. 

“ But, if he should not come at all, 
And we should find, instead, sir, 

A musket-ball had shot him down, 

A sword cut off his head, sir ? ” 





NIN£ parts op speech. 


205 


“Oh, even then,” the man replied, 

“ You’d proudly tell his story, 

And say, i He died for freedom’s 
sake. 

And for his country’s glory.’ 

But brave must be the little son 
Whose father fights the foe : 

We need stout hearts.” And so 
they did, 

A hundred years ago. 

The man rode on, and home 
again 

Ban little Ebenezer; 

“Now I must share my mother’s 
care,” 

He said, “ and try to please 
her; 

And I must work in every way,— 
Bake hay, and feed the cattle, 

And hoe the corn, since father’s 
gone 

To give the British battle.” 

Oh! looking backward, let us not 
Forget the thanks we owe 

To those good little boys who lived 
A hundred years ago ! 

Marian Douglas 



NINE PARTS OF SPEECH. 

Three little words you often see 
Are Articles — a, an , and the. 

A Noun’s the name of anything, 

As school , or garden, hoop, or swing. 


THE CHILD’S CENTENNIAL. 

Adjectives tell the kind of Noun, 

As great, small, pretty, ivhite, or brown. 

Instead of Nouns the Pronouns 
stand— 

Her head, his face, your arm, 7 ny 
hand. 

Verbs tell of something to be done— 

To read, count, sing, laugh, jump, or 
run. 

How things are done the Adverbs tell, 

As slowly, quickly, ill, or well. 










206 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 



NUMBER. 

A noun or name that means 
but one, 

Is called in the singular 
number; 

But when it stands for more 
than one, 

’Tis plural, child, remember. 


GENDER. 


is 


the name of 


join the words 
together, 

As man and wo¬ 
man, wind or 
weather. 

The Preposition stands before 
Noun, as at or through the door. 

The Interjection shows surprise, 

As Ah! how pretty, Oh! how wise. 


A noun that 
males, 

As ox, or horse, or father, 
Is masculine in gender , dear; 

While cow, and mare, and mother, 
And all the names of females, child, 
Are feminine , ’tis true; 

Now tell me all the names you know, 
And tell their gender, too. 

But you will find there’s many a noun 
Not male, nor female either, 

As chair, and book; and such we call 
In neuter gender —neither. 


The whole are called Nine Parts of 
Speech, 

Which reading, writing, speaking 
teach. 


A word of three syllables children, 
now find, 

That holds the whole twenty-six let¬ 
ters combined.* 

♦Alphabet. 


FUNNY, ISN’T IT? 

The pipers are not made of pipes, 
And cowards are not made of cows; 
And lyres are not made of lies, 

While bowers are not made of bows. 
The wickets are not made of wicks, 
And candles are not made of cans; 
And tickets are not made of ticks, 
While panels are not made of pans. 































ONE LITTLE CHICKEN. 


207 


The cattle are not made of cats, 

While willows are not made of wills, 
And battles are not made of hats, 
And pilgrims are not made of k 
grim pills. 

The cornets are not made of corns, 

A hotel is not made of a hoe; 

And hornets are not made of horns, 
While all poets can not be Poe. 


ONE LITTLE CHICKEN. 

One little chicken, two little chickens, 
three little chickens, dear; 

Don’t you see we add s, when more 
than one is here ? 

And this we do with almost all the 
nouns that may appear. 



One little birdy, two little birdies, 
three little birdies soar; 

The y is changed to i-e-s for birdies 
two or more; 

And this, when a word shall end in y 
with a consonant before. 

One little donkey, two little donkeys, 
three little donkeys bray. 


But here the y remains unchanged, 
and s is called in play; 



And this, when a word shall end in y, 
where a vowel leads the way. 


REMEMBER. 

Remember, though box in the plural 
makes boxes, 

The plural of ox should be oxen, not 
oxes; 

And remember, though fleece in the 
plural is fleeces, 

That the plural of goose isn’t gooses 
nor geeses; 

And remember, though house in the 
plural is houses, 

The plural of mouse should be mice, 
not mouses. 

Mouse, it is true, in the plural is mice ; 

But the plural of house should be 
houses, not hice. 

And foot, it is true,in the plural,is feet; 

But the plural of root should be roots, 
and not reet. 


Didn’t-think is a heedless lad 
And never takes the prize; 
Remember-well wins every time, 
For he is quick and wise. 









208 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


A, E, I, 0, U. 

A, E, I, 0, U, 

The vowels we may call; 

W, Y are vowels, too, 

Whenever they chance to fall 
To the end of syllable or word. 
And this we all may know 
That all the rest are Consonants 
Just nineteen in a row. 


LESSON ON THE BONES. 

In my little face, so plainly seen, 

If you count the hones, you will find 
fourteen. 

And, beside all these, somebody has 
said 

You will find eight more in my curly 
head. 

On both sides of my head is a little 
pink ear 

With three bones in each to help me 
hear. 

And locked together, a long white line, 

Are the twenty-six bones that make 
my spine. 

If you look at my shoulders, you there 
will find, 

A hone in front, and a bone behind. 


While my twenty-four ribs together 
combine 

To make this stout little chest of mine. 

The hones of my arms you see are hut 
few, 

Here is one in my arm, in each fore¬ 
arm, two. 



The hones in my wrist are bound snug 
and tight, 

Eight in my left wrist, and eight in my 
right. 

There are five in each hand, and five 
in each foot, 

And twenty-eight in fingers and toes, 
are put. 











A little boy’s troubles. 


209 


One bone in my hip, and it looks like 
a cup, 

The end of my thigh-bone will just fill 
it up. 

This bone in my thigh has a very queer 
name, 

Femur or thigh-bone, it means the 
same. 

My knee-pan covers the joint at my 
knee, 

And, from this to my ankle, 
two bones you see. 

The seven short bones in 
my ankle found 

By strong white cords to¬ 
gether are bound. 

If an apple or pear I wish 
to bite, 

Fve thirty-two teeth so 
strong and white. 

And I’ll always remember, in spite of 
my play, 

With water and brush, to cleanse them 
each day. 

Since the way that I sit, my bones 
must affect, 

I’ll try, while I’m young, to sit very 
erect. 

And when I grow older, you’ll every 
one see, 

What a straight man or woman I then 

♦ shall be. 


A LITTLE BOY’S TROUBLES. 

I thought when I’d learned my letters, 
That all of my troubles were done; 
But I find myself much mistaken — 
They only have just begun. 
Learning to read was awful, 

But nothing like learning to write; 
I’d be sorry to have you tell it, 


The ink gets over my fingers; 

The pen cuts all sorts of shines, 
And won’t do at all as I bid it; 

The letters won’t stay on the lines; 
But go up and down and all over 
As though they were dancing a jig— 
They are there in all shapes and sizes, 
Medium, little, and big. 

The tails of the g’s are so contrary, 
The handles get*on the wrong side 
Of the d’s, and the k’s, and the h’s, 
Though I have certainly tried and 
tried 



Lizzie M. Hadley. 



























210 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


To make them just right; it is dread¬ 
ful, 

I really don’t know what to do, 

I’m getting almost distracted — 

My teacher says she is, too. 

There’d be some comfort in learning 
If one could get through; instead 
Of that, there are books awaiting, 
Quite enough to craze my head. 
There’s the multiplication table, 

And cannot bear up all the mists, 

And then ’tis foggy, quite; 

And grammar, and — oh, dear me, 
There’s no good place for stopping, 
When one has begun, I see. 

My teacher says, little by little 
To the mountain-tops we climb, 

It isn’t all done in a minute, 

But only a step at a time. 

She says that all the scholars, 

All the wise and learned men, 

Had each to begin as I do; 

If that’s so, where’s my pen ? 

But I’d like to know if ever 
Any you learned folks, 

Had the ink get over your fingers, 

Or blots in your copy-books. 

If your letters would sort o’ straggle, 
Wherever they chose to go — 
’Twould be a very great comfort, 

If some of you’d let me know. 


THE WIND. 

“ What is the wind, mamma ? ’ 

“ ’Tis air in motion, child; ” 

“ Why can I never see the wind 
That blows so fierce and wild ? ” 

“Because the gases, dear, 

Of which the air is made, 

Are quite transparent, that is, we 
See through, but see no shade. ” 

“And what are gases, ma ? ” 

“ Fluids, which, if we squeeze 

In space too small, will burst with 
force; ”— 

“ And what are fluids , please ? ” 

“Fluids are what will flow, 

And gases are so light 

That when we give them room enough, 
They rush with eager flight. ” 

“What gases, dear mamma, 

Make up the air or wind ? ” 

“ ’Tis oxygen and nitrogen 
That chiefly there we find; 

“And, when the air is full 
Of oxygen, we’re gay; 

But when there is not quite enough 
We’re dull, or faint away. ” 

“ What is the fog, mamma ? ” 

“ Sometimes the air is light 




TWELVE little school-mates. 


2 11 


“But, when air heavier grows, 

The fog is borne above, 

And floated off, the cloudy stuff,— 
Just see it, graceful, move.” 



“ What makes the rain, mamma ? ” 
“The mists and vapors rise 
From land, and stream, and rolling 
sea, 

Up toward the distant skies; 

“And there they form the clouds 
Which, when they’re watery, dear, 
Pour all the water down to earth, 

And rain afar or near.” 

“ What makes the snow, mamma ? ” 

“ When very cold above, 

The mists are frozen high in air, 

And fall as snow, my love. ” 

“And hail?” “’Tis formed the same; 

Cold streams of air have come 
And frozen all the water-drops, 

And thus the liail-stones form.” 


TWELVE LITTLE SCHOOL-MATES 

The roses had fallen, and the weather 
was cool, 

And twelve little lassies, returning 
from school, 

I thought were so pretty, and tidy, 
and neat, 

To my house I would ask them, just 
over the street. 

They played, and they danced, and 
they skipped, and they sang, 

And the porches and parlors with 
laughter they rang, 

And sweet as a picture the beautiful 
sight 

Of my twelve little ladies so happy 
and bright. 

I called them my lambs, and the 
garden my fold; 

And precious as silver, as good as the 
gold, 

Were the twelve pretty maidens, so 
tidy and neat, 

Whom I asked to my house just over 
the street; 

Though autumn be sad, and winter be 
wild, 

’Tis summer for all in the heart of a 
child. 


“All is not gold that glitters;” 

Yet think not, children mine, 
That all that glitters is not gold; 
The true must ring and shine. 







212 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


OF WHAT ARE YOUR CLOTHES 
MADE? 

Come here to mamma, and I’ll tell 
you, dear boy— 

For I think you never have guessed— 


How many poor animals we must 
employ 

Before little George can be dressed. 

The pretty sheep gives you the wool 
from his sides, 

To make you a jacket to use; 


The goat or the calf must be stripped 
of their hides, 

To give you these nice little shoes. 

And then the shy beaver contributes 
his share, 

With the rabbit, to give 
you a hat, 

For this must be made of 
their delicate hair; 
And so you may thank 
them for that. 

All these I have mentioned, 
and many more, too, 
Each willingly gives us . a 
share; 

One sends us a hat, and 
another a shoe, 

That we may have plenty 
to wear. 

Then, as the poor creatures 
thus suffer to give 
So much for the comfort 
of man, 

I think ’tis but right that, 
as long as they live, 
We should treat them 
as kind as we can. 


WHY MEN WERE BORN. 

Some men were born for great things, 
Some men were born for small; 
Some, it is not recorded 

Why they were born at all. 
























IDLE JOE. 


213 


IDLE JOE. 

What do I know ? Oh! lots of things; 

I’ll tell yon in a minute 
How to carve a boat, and make atop— 
a humming-top—and spin it; 
How to climb the walls as quick as the 
best of all the raccoons, 

How to trap the birds, catch eels and 
fish, and fly the toy balloons, 
And everything like that; why, all the 
school and village know 
There’s not another in the place with 
half such wit as Joe. 

What is it I don’t know ? you ask. I 
don’t know—let me see— 

Well, I shan’t want desks when I 
grow up, nor dates, nor Buie of 
Three— 

And I don’t know why some stupid- 
heads go learning all that stuff; 
Or, if one wants the rubbish—why, 
there’s always time enough. 

But I’ll tell you now what puzzles me 
—I really do not know 
Why, when I sit and fish for hours, 
they say, “ There’s Idle Joe.” 


THE LAZY BOY. 

The lazy lad ! and what’s his name ? 

I should not like to tell; 

But don’t you think it is a shame 
That he can’t read nor spell ? 

He’d rather swing upon a gate, 

Or paddle in the brook, 


Than take his pencil and his slate, 

Or try to con his book. 

There! see, he’s lounging down the 
street, 

His hat without a rim; 


He rather drags than lifts his feet— 
His face unwashed and grim. 



He’s lolling now against a post, 

But if you’ve seen him once, 

You’ll know the lad anlongst a host; 
For what he is—a dunce. 

Don’t ask me what’s the urchin’s 
name,— 

I do not choose to tell; 

But this you’ll know—it is the same 
As his who does not blush for 
shame that he don’t read or spell. 




















214 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 



Again we see the dunce’s row, 

The boys who never try to know; 

Who application always shirk, 

And never set their wits to work. 

Yet George looks grave, his earnest face 
Seems fitted for a better place. 


GOOD COMPANY. 

“I’ll Try !” is a soldier; 

“I will” is aking; 

Be sure they are near 

When the school-hells ring. 


Oh, boys ! be wise; the precious hours 
Are going fast, like fading flowers; 
Oh, seek to learn in early days, 

Walk carefully in wisdom’s ways; 


When school-days are over, 
And hoys are men, 
“I’ll Try!” and “I Will!” 
Are good things then. 
















— 


THE SCHOOL. 


215 


THE SCHOOL. 

“ Little girl,where do you go to school, 
And when do you go, little girl ? 
Over the grass, from dawn till dark, 
Your feet are in a whirl; 

You and the cat jump here and there, 


And stops to twitter and swing,— 

1 “When the daisies’eyes are a-twinkle 
! With happy tears of dew; 

When swallows waken in the eaves, 
And the lamb bleats to the ewe; 

| When the lawns are golden-barred, 

! And the kiss of the dew is cool; 



You and the robins sing; 

But what do you know in the spelling- 
book? 

Have you ever learned anything ?” 

Thus the little girl answered,— 

Only stopping to cling | 

To my fingers a minute, 

As a bird on the wing 
Catches a twig of sumach, 


When morning’s breath blows out the 
stars,— 

Then do I go to school! 

“My school-roof is the dappled sky; 

And the bells that ring for me there 
Are all the voices of morning 
Afloat in the dewy air. 

Kind Nature is the Madame, 

And the book whereout I spell 



























2 l6 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


Is dog’s-eared by the brooks and glens 
Where I know the lesson well.” 

Thus the little girl answered, 

In her musical out-door tone: 

She was up to my pocket, 

I was a man full-grown; 

But the next time that she goes to 
school, 

She will not go alone ! 

Fitz Hugh Ludlow. 


OLD AND NEW. 

We are passing another mile-stone, 
Another school-year’s done; 

One more chapter of life is written 
A few more threads are spun. 

life’s a journey, a school, a story, 
Our best it doth demand; 

’Tis a fabric; it should be woven 
With steadfast heart and hand. 

Bnt we’ve faltered, half learned our 
lessons, 

The story who will read ? 

And we’ve carelessly marred life’s 
texture, 

A record poor indeed. 

Yet our errors, our failures shall be 
At length our best success; 


If we store up their choicest teach¬ 
ings' 

For future helpfulness. 

We have trodden the old year’s 
pathway, 

We enter on the new; 

God hath brightened them both with 
mercies, 

To Him all praise is due. 

Let us study the matchless story, 

The life-work of His son, 

Till the volume of life is finished, 

Until the web is spun. 

Joubnal or Education. 


WHAT WILLIE SAID. 

Hear what a little child would say, 
Who comes to school each pleasant 
day, 

And tries to learn his lessons well, 

A good report at home to tell. 

I love the school, and teacher dear, 
And all the scholars gathered here; 

To each I say in simple rhyme, 

Be careful, and not waste your time. 

For moments spent in life’s young day, 
In useless or in thoughtless play, 

Will cast a shade o’er future years, 
And cause you many sighs and 
tears. 







Baby Land. 












BABY-LAUD. 


BABY-LAND. 

How many miles to Baby-Land ? 
Any one can tell; 

Up one flight, 

To yonr right— 

Please to ring the bell. 



What can you see in Baby-Land ? 
Little folks in white, 

Downy heads, 

Cradle beds, 

Faces pure and bright. 

What do they do in Baby-Land ? 
Dream, and wake, and play, 
Laugh and crow, 

Shout and grow; 

Jolly times have they. 


What do they say in Baby-Land ? 
Why, the oddest things; 

Might as well 
Try to tell 
What a birdie sings. 

Who is the queen of Baby-Land? 
Mother, kind and sweet; 

And her love, 

Born above, 

Guides the little feet. 

George Cooper. 


OUR DARLING. 

See Frontispiece. 

She is fairer than the light, 

She is lovelier than the rose, 
More precious in my sight 
Than any flower that grows. 

Her voice is sweeter, far, 

Upon my listening ears, 

Than the song of morning star, 
Than the music of the spheres. 

She is worth her weight in gold, 

In rubies and in pearls,— 

She is only two years old, 

With a head of yellow curls. 

Mary N. Prescott. 


219 









220 


BABY-LAND. 


ONLY A BABY SMALL. 

Only a baby small, 

Dropped from the skies; 

Only a laughing face, 

Two sunny eyes; 

Only two cherry lips, 

One chubby nose; 

Only two little hands 
Ten little toes. 

Only a golden head, 

Curly and soft; 

Only a tongue that wags 
Loudly and oft; 

Only a little brain, 

Empty of thought; 

Only a little heart, 

Troubled with nought. 

Only a tender flower 
Sent us to rear; 

Only a life to love 
While we are here; 

Only a baby small, 

Never at rest; 

Small, but how dear to us, 
God knoweth best. 

Matthias Baku. 


WINNIE. 

Bless me ! here’s another baby, 
Just as cunning as can be, 
Eyes as blue as bonnie blue-bells, 
Breath as sweet as rosemary. 


Smile—a tiny, flashing sunbeam, 
Hair of purest, fairest gold, 

Hands and shoulders full of dimples, 
Little Winnie, eight months old. 

Making funny, cooing speeches 
Nobody can understand— 

Such a quaint and pretty language, 
Only spoke in Baby-Land. 

Should I sing all day about her, 

All her sweetness were not told: 
She’s a bud, a bird, a fairy, 

Little Winnie, eight months old. 


ANOTHER LITTLE WAVE. 

Another little wave 
Upon the sea of life; 

Another soul to save 
Amid its toil and strife. 

Two more little feet 

To walk the dusty road; 

To choose where two paths meet— 
The narrow and the broad. 

Two more little hands 
To work for good or ill; 

Two more little eyes, 

Another little will. 

Another heart to love, 

Receiving love again; 

And so the baby came, 

A thing of joy and pain. 

Lucy Evelina Ackerman. 








CHOOSING A NAME. 


221 


CHOOSING A NAME. 

I have got a new-born sister; 

I was nigh the first that kissed her. 
When the nursing-woman brought her 
To papa, his infant daughter, 

How papa’s dear eyes did glisten! 

She will shortly be to christen; 

And papa has made the offer, 

I shall have the naming of her. 

Now I wonder what would please her; 
Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa? 

Ann and Mary, they’re too common. 
Joan’s too formal for a woman; 

Jane’s a prettier name beside; 

But we had a Jane that died. 

They would say, if ’twas Rebecca 
That she was a little Quaker. 

Edith’s pretty, but that looks 
Better in old English books; 

Ellen’s left off long ago; 

Blanche is out of fashion now. 

None that I have named as yet 
Are so good as Margaret; 

Emily is neat and fine; 

What do you think of Caroline ? 

How I’m puzzled and perplexed 
What to choose or think of next! 

I am in a little fever 
Lest the name that I should give her 
Should disgrace her or defame her— 
I will leave papa to name her. 

Maky Lamb. 


NAMING THE BABY. 

What shall we name the darling, 

Who came to us one day ? 

Shall we call her our little Mary, 
Estelle, or Ida, or May ? 

Mabel, or Saxon Edith, 

Or Margaret, fairest pearl ? 

Will Isabelle, tall and stately, 

Be fitting our little girl ? 

Shall we call her gentle Alice, 

Or Madge, for her dark brown hair ? 
Is she like a Rose just opening, 

Or a Lily pure and fair? 

Shall we name her Helen, or Laura, 
Sweet Hope, or darling Grace ? 

Will Belle, Louise, or Anna 

Match best with the baby’s face ? 

Lottie, or Hattie, or Jennie, 

Winnie, or romping Kate, 
Josephine, proud and stately, 

Or Bertha, grave and sedate ? 

No name that just fits you, dearie. 

Then what shall the little one do ? 
Must she wander, forlorn and name¬ 
less, 

The years of her life all through ? 

We will call you all sweet names, dar¬ 
ling, 

That are found in household lore; 





222 


BABY-LAND. 


Should they be too small a number, 
We will study to make them more. 

We will call you our brown Snow- 
birdie, 

Fairy, and Daisy, and Elf, 

Darling, and Dottie, and Dimple, 
Names fitting your own sweet self. 

Some morn or propitious even’ 

Shall bring you a name to bear; 
Some name with a musical cadence 
Shall our little baby wear. 

Mrs. E. C. Bates. 


OLD GAELIC LULLABY. 

Hush! the waves are rolling in, 

White with foam, white with foam; 

Father toils amid the din; 

But baby sleeps at home. 

Hush! the winds roar hoarse and 
deep— 

On they come, on they come ! 
Brother seeks the wandering sheep; 
But baby sleeps at home. 

Hush! the rain sweeps o’er the knowes, 
Where they roam, where they roam; 
Sister goes to seek the cows; 

But baby sleeps at home. 


CRADLE SONG. 

Sleep, baby, sleep! 

Thy father’s watching the sheep, 

Thy mother’s shaking the dreamland 
tree, 

And down drops a little dream for thee. 
Sleep, baby, sleep! 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

The large stars are the sheep, 

The little stars are the lambs, I guess, 
The bright moon is the shepherdess. 
Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

Sleep, baby, sleep! 

And cry not like a sheep, 

Else the sheep - dog will bark and whine, 
And bite this naughty child of mine. 
Sleep, baby, sleep! 

Sleep, baby, sleep! 

Thy Saviour loves His sheep; 

He is the Lamb of God on high 
Who, for our sakes, came down to die. 
Sleep, baby, sleep! 

Sleep, baby, sleep! 

Away to tend the sheep, 

Away, thou sheep-dog fierce and wild, 
And do not harm my sleeping child! 
Sleep, baby, sleep! 

Elizabeth Prentiss. 







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223 





























































































224 


BABY-LAND. 


WEIGHING THE BABY. 

“How many pounds does the baby 
weigh— 

Baby who came but a month ago ? 



curl 


To the rosy point of the restless toe ? 


Grandfather ties the ’kerchief’s knot, 
Tenderly guides the swinging weight, 

And carefully over his glasses peers 
To read the record, “ Only eight.” 

Softly the echo goes around; 

The father laughs at the tiny girl, 

The fair young mother sings the words, 
While grandmother smooths the 
golden curl, 

And stooping above the precious thing, 
Nestles a kiss within a prayer, 

Murmuring softly, “Little one, 

Grandfather did not weigh you fair.” 

Nobody weighed the baby’s smile, 

Or the love that came with the help¬ 
less one; 

Nobody weighed the threads of care 
From which a woman’s life is spun. 

No index tells the mighty worth 
Of little Baby’s quiet breath, 

A soft, unceasing metronome, 

Patient and faithful unto death. 

Nobody weighed the baby’s soul, 

For here on earth no weight may be 

That could avail; God only knows 
Its value in eternity. 

Only eight pounds to hold a soul 
That seeks no angel’s silver wing, 

But shines beneath this human guise, 
Within so small and frail a thing! 

0 mother, laugh your merry note; 

Be gay and glad, but don’t forget 






NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 


225 


From baby eyes looks out a soul 
That claims a home in Eden yet. 

Ethel. Lynn Beers. 


NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. 

No baby in the house I know, 

’Tis far too nice and clean. 

No toys, by careless fingers strewn, 
Upon the floors are seen. 

No finger-marks are on the panes, 
No scratches on the chairs; 

No wooden men set up in rows, 

Or marshalled off in pairs; 

No little stockings to be darned, 

All ragged at the toes; 

No pile of mending to be done, 

Made up of baby-clothes; 

No little troubles to be soothed; 

No little hands to fold; 

No grimy fingers to be washed; 

No stories to be told; 

No tender kisses to be given; 

No nicknames — “Dove,” and 
“Mouse;” 

No merry frolics after tea— 

No baby in the house! 

Clara G. Dolliver. 


BABY BROTHER. 

Right into our house one day, 

A dear little angel came; 

I ran to him, and said softly, 

“ Little angel, what is your name ? ” 


He said not a word in answer, 

But smiled a beautiful smile, 

Then I said, “May I go home with 
you? 

Shall you go in a little while ? ” 



But mamma said, “Dear little angel, 
Don’t leave us ! Oh, always stay! 
We will all of us love you dearly! 
Sweet angel! Oh, don’t go away! ” 

So he staid, and he staid, and we 
loved him, 

As we could not have loved another, 

































226 


BABY-LAND. 


Do you want to know what his name is ? 
His name is —My little brother. 


THE KING OF THE NURSERY. 

Who is the king of the nursery ? 

Why, our darling baby boy. 

And every one tires to bring him 
Blessings of mirth and joy. 
Rowland and May are his subjects, 
Who are always ready to bring 
Homage and smiles and good service 
To the darling baby-king. 

They will gather the toys he has 
scattered, 

And bring them again to his hand; 
x\nd never think of withholding 
What the bahy-king may demand. 


THE BABY’S REYERY. 

An exquisite little maiden 

With a head like a golden flower, 
She soberly stood at the window 
In the still, white twilight hour. 

“And what are you thinking, sweet¬ 
heart?” 

She was such a little child 
She could not answer the question; 
She only dimpled and smiled. 

But I wondered, as she frolicked, 

Her mystic revery o’er, 


Was she a rose-shade less a child 
Than she had been before ? 

V/as she pausing, as a rosebud 
Seems pausing while it grows ? 
Had I caught the blooming minute 
Of a little human rose ? 

Mary E. Wilkins. 


THE BABY. 

Where did you come from, baby dear ? 
Out of the everywhere into the here. 

Where did you get your eyes so blue ? 
Out of the sky, as I came through. 

What makes the light in them sparkle 
and spin? 

Some of the starry spikes left in. 

Where did you get that little tear ? 

I found it waiting when I got here. 

What makes your forehead so smooth 
and high ? 

A soft hand stroked it as I went by. 

What makes your cheek like a warm, 
white rose ? 

Something better than any one knows. 

Whence that three-cornered smile of 
bliss ? 

Three angels gave me at once a kiss. 

Where did you get that pearly ear ? 
God spoke, and it came out to hear. 








THE KING OF THE NURSERY. 


kiudL 











































228 


BABY-LAND. 


Where did you get those arms and 
hands ? 

Love made itself into hooks and bands. 

Feet, whence did you come, darling 
things ? 

From the same box as the cherub’s 
wings. 

How did they all just come to he you ? 

God thought about me, and so I grew. 

But how did you come to us, you dear ? 

God thought of you, and so I am here. 

George MacDonald. 


LULU’S COMPLAINT. 


My titten has scatched my fin’er, 

And Dolly won’t say her p’ayers. 

I hain’t seen my bootiful mamma 
Since ever so long ado; 

An’ I ain’t her tunninest baby 
No londer, for Bidget says so. 

Mamma’s dot anoder new baby; 

Dod dived it—he did—yes’erday; 
And it kies, it kies—oh, so defful! 

I wis’ He would tate it away. 

I don’t want no “sweet ’ittle sister;” 

I want my dood mamma, I do; 

I want her to tiss me, and tiss me, 
An’ tall me her p’ecious Lulu. 


I’se a poor ’ittle sorrowful baby, 
For Bidget is ’way down stairs; 


I dess my dear papa will bin’ me 
A ’ittle dood titten some day; 



















WE’VE GOT A BABY 


229 


Here’s nurse wid my mamma’s new 
baby; 

I wis’ slie would tate it away. 

Ob, oh ! wliat tunnin’ red fin’ers ! 

It sees me ’ite out of its eyes; 

I dess we will teep it, and dive it 
Some can’y whenever it kies. 

I dess I will dive it my dolly 
To play wid ’mos’ every day; 

And I dess, I dess—Say, Bidget, 

Ask Dod not to tate it away. 


WE’VE GOT A BABY. 

We’ve got a baby! I should like you 
to come 

Just to see the baby that we have at 
home: 

Oh, it is such a baby! with the bluest 
little eyes! 

And its mouth! you should only see 
its mouth when it cries ! 

Then it has such a hand !—like mine, 
only smaller; 

And it cannot walk yet, and our Pon- 
to is taller! 

It has the queerest little feet, with 
the funniest little toes, 

And something which papa declares 
will grow into a nose. 

I saw it this morning—how it sucked 
its little thumb! 


Oh, it is such a baby!—now do, 
Charlie, come. 

Mother says you may see it, if you 
will not make a noise; 

Just wait till nurse has gone down 
stairs; you know she hates us 
boys. 

Did you ever have a baby we have 
had ours a week; 

Nurse says it soon will talk, but I 
never heard it speak. 

And what is strange, they let it cry 
and scream just when it pleases, 

And the more it cries, it seems to me 
the less mamma it teases. 

I know they make me creep about as 
quiet as a mouse : 

I tell you what, it’s something—a' 
baby in the house ! 

In ma’s own room I scarcely dare to 
run across the floor, 

It’s “Do be still, ” or “ Harry, hush, ” 
or else, “Do shut the door. ” 

I don’t like nurse—she’s always there, 
and says, “ Now, Harry, go, ” 

Because I want to kiss mamma; but 
I should like to know 

If she is not as much my ma, now, 
as a month ago! 

She lets the baby have its way— 
blesses its little eyes— 

Coaxes and pets it all the more, the 
more it screams and cries. 






230 


BABY-LAND. 


But it is just reversed with me ! I know 
if I should take 

Such airs on me as baby does the 
moment it’s awake, 

I should be sure to find myself in 
bed an hour too soon, 

Or have my hobby-horse locked up 
and kept an afternoon. 

You have a brother ? What of that ? 
wait till you have a sister! 

I wish you had been at our house the 
first time that I kissed her ! 

Such a warm little mouth! standing 
wide open so. 

A boy’s no great things—I’m one—I 
ought to know! 

* I’m glad she’s a girl—I know all my 
toys 

Would last as long again but for 
rough little boys! 

But it’s well you have one, since you 
can’t have the other, 

Though I would not change my sister 
for any little brother. 

Perhaps a boy-baby is better than no 
baby at all, 

But our baby’s a girl. Did you hear 
father call ? 

There he is, over yonder—just cross¬ 
ing the street; 

We can go up-stairs with him. Oh, 
Charlie, wipe your feet! 


For nurse looks at footmarks with a 
frown as black as thunder, 

And mutters to herself, “ What are 
mats for, I wonder ? ” 

Now you must not make a noise— 
please, Charlie, don’t forget. 

Papa can let us in—I am his boy yet. 

Elizabeth W. Townsend. 


SLEEP, BABY MINE. 

Sleep, little baby of mine, 

Night and the darkness are near; 
But Jesus looks down 
Through the shadows that frown, 
And baby has nothing to fear. 

Shut, little sleepy blue eyes, 

Dear little head be at rest; 

Jesus, like you, 

Was a baby once, too, 

And slept on His own mother’s 
breast. 

Sleep, little baby of mine, 

Soft on your pillow so white; 

Jesus is here 

To watch over you, dear, 

And nothing can harm you to-night. 

0 ! little darling of mine, 

What can you know of the bliss, 
The comfort I keep, 

Awake and asleep, 

Because I am certain of this? 






SWEET AND EOW. 


23I 



SWEET AND LOW. 

Sweet and low, sweet and low, 

Wind of the Western Sea, 

Low, low, breathe and blow, 

Wind of the Western Sea ! 

Over the rolling waters go; 

Come from the dying moon and blow, 
Blow him again to me; 

While my little one, while my pretty 
one, sleeps. 


Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, 

Father will come to thee soon; 

Rest, rest, on mother’s breast, 

Father will come to thee soon; 
Father will come to his bed in the nest. 
Silver sails all out of the west 
Under the silver moon; 

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty 
one, sleep. 


Alfred Tennyson. 



























































232 


baby-land 


CRADLE SONG. 

What is the little one thinking about ? 
Very wonderful things, no doubt; 
Unwritten history! 

Unfathomed mystery! 

Yet he laughs and cries, and eats, and 
drinks, 

And chuckles, and crows, and nods, 
and winks, 

As if his head were as full of kinks 
And curious riddles as any sphinx! 
Warped by colic, and wet by tears, 
Punctured by pins, and tortured 
by fears, 

Our little nephew will lose two 
years; 

And he’ll never knew 
Where the summers go; 

He need not laugh, for he’ll find it so. 

Who can tell what a baby thinks ? 
Who can follow the gossamer links 
By which the manikin feels his way 
Out from the shore of the great 
unknown. 

Blind, and wailing, and alone 
Into the light of day ? 

Out from the shore of the unknown sea, 

Tossing in pitiful agony; 

Of the unknown sea that reels and 
rolls, 

Specked with the barks of little souls— 
Barks that were launched on the 
other side, 


And slipped from heaven on an ebbing 
tide! 

What does he think of his mother’s 
eyes? 

What does he think of his mother’s 
hair? 

What of the cradle-roof that flies 
Forward and backward through the 
air? 

What does he think of his mother’s 
breast, 

Bare and beautiful, smooth and 
white, 

Seeking it ever with fresh delight, 
Cup of his life, and couch of his rest ? 

What does he think when her quick 
embrace 

Presses his hand and buries his face 
Deep where the heart-throbs sink and. 
swell, 

With a tenderness she can never tell, 
Though she murmur the words 
Of all the birds— 

Words she has learned to murmur 
well? 

Now he thinks he’ll go to sleep ! 

I can see the shadow creep 
Over his eyes in soft eclipse, 

Over his brow and over his lips, 

Out to his little finger-tips! 

Softly sinking, down he goes 
Down he goes ! down he goes ! 

See ! he’s hushed in sweet repose. 

Josiah Gilbert Holland. 






PHILLIP, MY KING. 


233 



PHILIP, MY KING. 


“ Who bears upon his baby brow the round 
And top of sovereignty.” 

Look at me with thy large brown 
eyes, 

Philip, my king! 

Pound whom the enshadowing purple 
lies 

Of babyhood’s royal dignities : 

Lay on my neck thy tiny hand, 

With Love’s invisible sceptre laden; 

I am thine Esther to command 


Till thou shalt find a queen-liand- 
maiden, 

Philip, my king! 

Oh, the day when thou goest a-woo- 
ing, 

Philip, my king! 

When those beautiful lips ’gin suing, 

And, some gentle heart’s bars undo¬ 
ing, 

Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and 
there 

Sittest, love glorified !—Pule kindly, 
















234 


BABY-LAND. 


Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair; 

For we that love, ah! we love so 
blindly, 

Philip, my king! 

Up from thy sweet mouth up to thy 
brow, 

Philip, my king! 

The spirit that there lies sleeping now 

May rise like a giant, and make men 
bow 

As to one heaven-choosen amongst his 
peers. 

My Saul, than thy brethren taller 
and fairer 

Let me behold thee in future years! 

Yet thy head needeth a circlet 
rarer, 

Philip, my king— 

A wreath not of gold, but palm. 

One day, 

Philip, my king! 

Thou, too, must tread, as we trod, a 
way 

Thorny, and cruel, and cold, and 
grey; 

Rebels within thee and foes without 

Will snatch at thy crown. But march 
on, glorious, 

Martyr, yet monarch! till angels 
shout, 

As thou sitt’st at the feet of God 
victorious, 

“ Philip, the king ! ” 

Dinah Maria Mulock Craik. 


BABY IS GOING TO BYLO-TOWN. 

Baby is going to Bylo-land 
Guided by mamma’s own loving hand; 
He needs no money his fare to pay, 
For babies go free to Nod-away. 
Cuddle down, darling, cuddle down, 
We’re going to Bylo-town. 

Mamma is holding him snug and warm, 
Resting his little head on her arm; 
Dimpled white hands still grasping his 

toy, 

Now fold them to rest, my baby boy. 
Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, gently and 
slow 

While mamma sings to him soft and 
low; 

Dainty white eyelids begin to droop 
down 

Over the laughing eyes, bonny and 
brown. 

Cuddle down, darling, cuddle down, 
We’re going to Bylo-town. 

Lower they droop, and at last they 
close, 

Just like the soft petals of a rose; 
Hushed now and quiet, the face so 
fair, 

No trace of sorrow or sin is there. 

Now he shall go to his little bed, 

Over him gently the soft cover spread; 
Cosy and warm in his downy nest, 
Sweet be his dreams and quiet his 
rest. 





baby’s complaint. 


235 


Cuddle down., darling, cuddle down, 
We’re going to Bylo-town. 

Father in Heaven, so loving and mild, 
I pray thee, look down on my little 
child; 

Bless him, and keep him from evil 
free, 

Till at last thou shalt say, 

“ Come home to me.” 

Clara Smith Colton. 


BABY’S COMPLAINT. 

Oh, mother, dear mother, no wonder I 
cry! 

More wonder by far that your baby 
don’t die. 

No matter what ails me, no matter 
who’s here, 

No matter how hungry the “ poor little 
dear,” 

No matter if full or all out of breath, 

She trots me, and trots me, and trots 
me to death! 

I love my dear nurse, but I dread that 
great knee; 

I like all her talk, but, woe unto me! 

She can’t be contented with talking so 
pretty, 

And washing, and dressing, and doing 
her duty; 

And that’s very well; I can bear soap 
and water, 

But, mother, she is an unmerciful 
trotter! 


Pretty ladies, I do want to look at your 
faces; 

Pretty cap ! pretty fire ! let me see how 
it blazes; 

How can I, my head is going bibity- 
bob? 

And she trots me the harder, the harder 
I sob. 

Oh, mother, do stop her; I’m inwardly 
sore! 

I hiccough and cry, and she trots me 
the more, 

And talks about wind, when ’tis she 
makes me ache; 

Wish ’twould blow her away for poor 
Baby’s sake! 

Thank goodness, I’m still! Oh blessed 
be quiet! 

I’m glad my dear mother is willing to 
try it. 

Of foolish old customs, my mother’s no 
lover, 

And the wisdom of this she can never 
discover. 

I’ll rest me a while, and just look 
about, 

And laugh up at Sally, who peeps in 
and out, 

And pick up some notions as soon as 
I can, 

To fill my small noddle before I’m a 
man. 

Oh, dear! is that she ? Is she coming 
so soon? 





236 


BABY-LAND. 


She’s bringing my dinner with tea-cup 
and spoon; 

She’ll hold me with one hand, in 
t’other the cup, 

And, as fast as it’s down, she’ll just 
shake it up. 

And thumpity-thump ! with the great¬ 
est delight, 

Her head is going from morning to 
night; 

All over the house you may hear it, I’m 
sure, 

Trot! Trotting ! Just think what I am 
to endure! 

L. J. H. 


’TIS NIGHT. 

’Tis night on the mountain, 

’Tis night on the sea, 

Mild dew drops are kissing 
The bloom-covered lea; 

Like plumes gently waving, 
The soft zephyrs creep; 

The birds are all dreaming, 
Then sleep, darling, sleep. 

’Tis night on the mountain, 

’Tis night on the sea, 

Away in the distance, 

The stars twinkle free; 

O’er all of His creatures, 

His watch He will keep, 

* Who guardeth the sparrows— 
Then sleep, darling, sleep. 

Mary M. Bowen. 


HUSH-A-BY BABY. 

Hush-a-by, baby, the bees in the 
clover-— 

The red, red clover — have fallen 
asleep, 

Swaying and swinging, now under, 
now over, 

In the red, red clover, 

So sweet and so deep. 

Hush-a-by, baby, the cows from the 
meadows— 

The green, green meadows — are loiter¬ 
ing home; 

Their bells tinkle softly as through 
dew and shadows, 

From the green, green meadows, 

They loitering come. 

Hush-a-by, baby, the birds and the 
flowers — 

The sweet, sweet flowers—have fallen 
asleep; 

They sway and they swing through 
the soft, dewy hours, 

The sweet, sweet flowers, 

In meadows so deep. 

Hush-a-by, baby, ’tis time you were 
sleeping, 

So sweet, sweetly sleeping in dream¬ 
land afar; 

Low over the meadows the night mists 
are creeping, 

’Tis time you were sleeping. 

My baby, my star! 

J. K. Ludlum. 






little goo-goo. 


237 


LITTLE GOO-GOO. 

We have in our house a brave little 
chap, 

Who loves to be in his dear mamma’s 
lap; 

He is laughing and singing the whole 
day long, 

And “Goo-goo-goo! ” is all of his 
song. 

In his nice little cradle-bed he 
lies, 

Staring about with great, bright eyes; 

“ Baby, dear! what are you singing 
about?” 

But “ Goo-goo-goo ” is all I make 
out. 

He shakes his fists, and kicks his feet, 

Because he is waiting for something 
to eat; 

And then speaks up, very loud and 
strong, 

And his “ Goo-goo ” means “ I can’t 
wait long. ” 

I catch up the darling and throw 
him high, 

And he reaches his hands to touch the 
sky; 

But all that he says, to show his 
delight, 


Is “ Goo-goo-goo! ” with his baby 
might. 

“ Dear little pitkin! what is your 
name ? ” 

But all the answer I get is the same. 

“ Oh! what a name for a boy like 
you! ” 

And he giggles and shouts his sweet 
“ Goo-goo! ” 

He crows “ Goo-goo! ” before it is 
light, 

And sings “ Goo-goo ! ” in the dead of 
the night; 

It is “ Goo-goo-goo! ” the whole day 
long, 

And I think “ Goo-goo! ”is a beautiful 
song. 

The little birdies say “ Cheep ! cheep ! ” 

“ Ba ! Ba ! Ba ! ” says the baby-sheep; 

But the sweetest song, I think—don’t 
you?— 

Is our little darling’s “ Goo-goo-goo ! ” 

Oh, how precious is little Goo-goo! 

And, oh, how we love him, little 
Goo-goo! 

I pray that angels will guard him— 
don’t you ? 

And Father in Heaven bless little 
Goo-goo! 

Scott Campbell. 





238 


BABY-LAND. 


OUR REAL RULER. 

This a free country? 

Well, may be, 

So long as you haven’t 
A baby. 

Young or old, tho’ golden 
Or gray be 

Our heads, we’re all ruled by 
A baby. 

Fond and foolish the words that 
We say be 

When we bow to that tyrant, 

The baby. 

The wise man’s a fool and 
A gaby 

And a hobby-horse for his 
Own baby. 

But, of light in our homes, where’d 
A ray be 

Without the bright cherub, 

The baby ? 

Then hallowed and blest let 
The day be 

That brought that dear despot, 

The baby! 


BABY BELL. 

Have you not heard the poets tell 
How came the dainty Baby Bell 
Into this world of ours ? 

The Gates of Heaven were left ajar; 
With folded hands and dreamy eyes, 


Wandering out of Paradise, 

She saw this planet, like a star, 

Hung in the glistening depths of even,- 
Its bridges, running to and fro, 

O’er which the white-winged angels go, 
Bearing the holy dead to heaven. 

She touched a bridge of flowers,—those 
feet, 

So light they did not bend the bells 
Of the celestial asphodels, 

They fell like the dews upon the 
flowers: 

Then all the air grew strangely sweet! 
And thus came dainty Baby Bell! 

Into this world of ours. 

She came, and brought delicious 
May. 

The swallows built beneath the eaves; 
Like sunlight, in and out the leaves 
The robins went the livelong day; 

The lily swung its noiseless bell; 

And o’er the porch the trembling vine 
Seem’d bursting with its veins of wine. 
How sweetly, softly, twilight fell! 

Oh, earth was full of singing birds 
And opening spring-tide flowers, 

When the dainty Baby Bell 
Came to this world of ours. 

Oh, Baby, dainty Baby Bell, 

How fair she grew from day to day! 
What woman-nature fill’d her eyes, 

So full of meaning, pure and bright 
As if she stood in the light 
Of those oped gates of Paradise. 

And so we loved her more and more: 







BABY BELL, 


o ° ■ 

— tj . 


























































































































































240 


BABY-LAND. 


All, never in our hearts before 
Was love so lovely born; 

We felt we had a link between 
This world and that unseen— 

The land beyond the morn; 

And for the love of those dear eyes, 
The love of her whom God led forth, 
(The mother’s being ceased on earth 
When Baby came from Paradise),— 
For love of Him who smote our lives, 
And woke the chords of joy and pain, 
We said, Dear Christ !—our hearts 
bent down 

Like violets after rain. 

And now the orchards, which were 
white 

And red with blossoms when she came, 
Were rich in autumn’s mellow prime ; 
And cluster’d apples burnt like flame, 
The soft-cheek’d peaches blush’d and 
fell, 

The ivory chestnut burst its shell, 

The grapes hung purpling in the 
grange; 

And time wrought just as rich a change 
In little Baby Bell. 

Her lissome form more perfect grew, 
And in her features we could trace 
In soften’d curves, her mother’s face. 
Her angel-nature ripen’d, too : 

We thought her lovely when she came, 
But she was holy, saintly now:— 
Around her pale, angelic brow 
We saw a slender ring of flame ! 

God’s hand had taken away the seal 


That held the portals of her speech; 
And oft she said a few strange words 
Whose meaning lay beyond our reach. 
She never was a child to us, 

We never held her being’s key; 

We could not teach her holy things; 
She was Christ’s self in purity. 

It came upon us by degrees, 

We saw its shadow ere it fell,— 

The knowledge that our God had sent 
His messenger for Baby Bell. 

We shuddered with unlanguaged pain. 
And all our hopes were changed to fears, 
And all our thoughts ran into tears 
Like sunshine into rain. 

We cried aloud in our belief, 

“ Oh, smite us gently, gently, God ! 
Teach us to bend and kiss the rod, 
And perfect grow through grief. ” 

Ah, how we love her, God can tell; 
Her heart was folded deep in ours. 
Our hearts are broken, Baby Bell! 

At last he came, the messenger, 

The messenger from unseen lands: 
And what did dainty Baby Bell ? 

She only cross’d her little hands, 

She only looked more meek and fair! 
We parted back her silken hair, 

We wove the roses round her brow,— 
White buds, the summer’s drifted 
snow,— 

Wrapt her from head to foot in flowers! 
And thus went dainty Baby Bell 
Out of this world of ours! 

Thomas Bally Aldrich. 





LULLABY. 


241 


LULLABY. 

A song for the baby, sweet little Bo- 
peep; 

Come, wee Willie Winkie, and sing 
him to sleep. 

Come toss her high up, and trot her 
low down; 

This is the road to Brinklepeeptown. 

Come, press down her eyelids, and 
sing in her ear 

The wonderful songs that in Dream¬ 
land we hear, 

The chime of the waters, the drone of 
the bees, 

The tales that the blossoms are tell¬ 
ing the breeze. 

For, spite of her crowing and cooing, 
I see 

The baby is sleepy as sleepy can he. 

Down flutter the eyelids—dear little 
Bopeep, 

Now whist! Willie Winkie, she’s gone 
fast asleep. 

Shirley Dare. 


BABY MAY. 

Cheeks as soft as July peaches; 

Lips whose velvet scarlet teaches 
Poppies paleness; round, large eyes 
Ever great with new surprise; 
Minutes filled with shadeless glad¬ 
ness; 


Minutes just as brimmed with sad¬ 
ness ; 

Happy smiles and wailing cries, 
Crows and laughs and tearful eyes, 
Lights and shadows, swifter horn 
Than on wind-swept autumn corn; 
Ever some new tiny notion, 

Making every limb all motion, 
Catching up of legs and arms, 
Throwing back and small alarms, 
Clutching fingers — straightening 
jerks, 

Twining feet whose each toe works, 
Kicking up and straining risings, 
Mother’s ever new surprisings; 

Hands all wants, and looks all won¬ 
der 

At all things the heavens under; 

Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings 
That have more of love than lovings; 
Mischiefs done with such a winning 
Archness that we prize such sinning; 
Breakings dire of plates and glasses, 
Graspings small at all that passes; 
Pullings off of all that’s able 
To be caught from tray or table; 
Silence—small meditations 
Deep as thoughts of cares for na¬ 
tions— 

Breaking into wisest speeches 
In a tongue that nothing teaches, 

All the thoughts of whose possessing 
Must be wooed to light by guess¬ 
ing; 

Slumbers—such sweet angel—seem- 
ings 






242 


BABY-LAND. 



That we’d ever have such dreamings, 
Till from sleep we see thee breaking, 
And we’d always have thee waking; 
Wealth for which we know no 
measure, 

Pleasure high above all pleasure, 
Gladness brimming over gladness, 

Joy in care—delight in sadness, 
Loveliness beyond completeness, 
Sweetness distancing all sweetness, 


Beauty all that beauty be, 

That’s May Bennett; that’s my baby. 

William C. Bennett. 


BABY FINGERS. 

Ten little fat fingers so rosy and sweet! 
Ten fat little fingers so taper and neat; 
Eagerly reaching for all that comes 
near, 















little dora’s soliloquy. 


243 


Now poking your eyes out, and pulling 
your hair, 

Soothing and patting with velvet-like 
touch, 

Then digging your cheek with a mis¬ 
chievous clutch; 

Gently waving good-by with infantile 
grace, 

Then dragging your bonnet down over 
your face. 

Beating pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, slow 
and sedate, 

Then tearingyour book at afuriousrate; 

Gravely holding them out, like a king 
to be kissed, 

Then thumping the window with 
tightly-closed fist; 

Now lying asleep, all dimpled and 
warm, 

On the white cradled pillow, secure 
from all harm. 

0, dear baby hands ! how much love 
you enfold 

In the weak, careless sleep of those 
fingers’ soft hold! 

Keep spotless as now, through the 
world’s evil ways 

And bless with fond care our last 
weariful days! 

Mrs. Richard Grant White. 


OURS. 

Bright in the early morning 
His brown eyes open wide, 

And there’s never a wink more slumber 
To be thought of at his side, 


LITTLE DORA’S SOLILOQUY. 

I tan’t see what our baby boy is dood 
for anyway; 

He don’t know how to walk or talk, 
he don’t know how to play; 

He tears up ev’ry single zing he pos- 
ser-bil-ly tan, 

An’ even tried to break, one day, my 
mamma’s bestes fan. 

He’s al’ays tumblin’ ’bout ze floor, 
an’ gives us awful scares, 

An’ when he goes to bed at night, he 
never says his prayers. 

On Sunday, too, he musses up my 
go-to-meetin’ clothes, 

An’ once I foun’ him hard at work 
a-pinc’in’ Dolly’s nose; 

An’ ze ozzer day zat naughty boy (now 
what you s’pose you zink ?) 

Upset a dreat big bottle of my papa’s 
writin’ ink; 

An’ ’stead of kyin’ dood an’ hard, as 
course he ought to done, 

He laughed, and kicked his head ’most 
off, as zough he zought ’t was 
fun. 

He even tries to reach up high, an’ 
pull zings off ze shelf, 

An’ he’s al’ays wantin’ you , of course, 
jus’ when you wants you’self. 

I rather dess, I really do, from how he 
pulls my turls, 





244 


A MOTHER’S DIARY, 



Zey all was made a-purpose for to ’noy 
us little dirls; 

An’ I wish zere wasn’t no such zing as 
naughty baby boys- 

Why—why, zat’s him a-kyin’ now; 
he makes a drefful noise. 

I dess I better run and see, for if he 
has —boo-hoo! — 

Failed down ze stairs and killed his- 
self, whateverss-s’all I do ! 


A MOTHER’S DIARY. 

Morning! Baby on the floor, 
Making for the fender; 

Sunlight seems to make it sneeze; 
Baby on a “ bender ! ” 

All the spools upset and gone, 
Chairs drawn into file, 

Harness strings all strung across, 
Ought to make one smile. 



















BABY CLARA. 


245 


Apron clean, curls smooth, eyes blue; 

(How these charms will dwindle !) 
For I rather think — don’t you — 
Baby “ is a swindle ? ” 

Noon ! A tangled silken floss 
Getting in blue eyes; 

Aprons never will keep clean 
If a baby tries ! 

One blue shoe untied, and one 
Underneath the table; 

Chairs gone mad, and blocks and toys 
Well as they are able. 

Baby in a high-chair, too, 

Waiting for his dinner, 

Spoon in mouth; I think — don’t 
you— 

Baby “is a sinner?” 

Night! Chairs all set back again, 
Blocks and spools in order; 

One blue shoe beneath a mat 
Tells of a marauder; 

Apron folded on a chair, 

Plaid dress torn and wrinkled; 

Two pink feet kicked partly bare, 
Little fat knees crinkled; 

In his crib, and conquered, too, 

By sleep, heaven’s best evangel. 
Now I surely think — don’t you — 
“Baby is an angel?” 


BABY CLARA. 

Baby Clara, dressed so warm, 

What cares she for wind and storm ? 
Sleigh-bells jingling as we go 
Skimming o’er the ice and snow. 



Baby Clara laughs in glee, 

As we glide so merrily. 

Jolly fun, she thinks, to ride, 

With her brother by her side. 

Baby Clara, sister mine, 

Whose soft arms my neck entwine, 
On my cheeks so lovingly 
Sweetest kisses gives to me. 

Rosy lips and golden hair, 

Dark blue eyes, and cheeks so fair; 
To us all her smile brings bliss, 
Darling Clara, baby sis. 








246 


BABY-LAND, 



IF I COULD KEEP HER SO. 

Just a little baby, lying in my arms— 

Would that I could keep you with 
your baby charms; 

Helpless, clinging fingers, downy, 
golden hair, 

Where the sunshine lingers, caught 
from otherwhere; 


Blue eyes asking questions, lips that 
cannot speak, 

Rolly-polly shoulders, dimple on your 
cheek; 

Dainty little blossom in a world of 
woe, 

Thus I fain would keep you, for I love 

you so. 










IE I COULD KEEP HER SO. 


247 


Roguish little damsel, scarcely six 
years old— 

Feet that never weary, hair of deeper 
gold; 

Restless, busy fingers, all the time at 
play, 

Tongue that never ceases talking all 
the day; 

Blue eyes learning wonders of the 
world about, 

Here you come to tell them—what an 
eager shout! 

Winsome little damsel, all the neigh¬ 
bors know; 

Thus I long to keep you, for I love 
you so. 

Sober litfle school-girl, with your bag 
of books, 

And such grave importance in your 
puzzled looks; 

Solving weary problems, poring over 
sums, 

Yet with tooth for sponge-cake, and for 
sugar-plums; 

Reading books of romance in your bed 
at night, 

Waking up to study with the morning 
light; 

Anxious as to ribbons, deft to tie a 
bow, 

Full of contradictions—I would keep 
you so. 


Sweet and thoughtful maiden, sitting 
by my side, 

All the world’s before you, and the 
world is wide; 

Hearts are there for winning, hearts 
are there to break, 

Has your own, shy maiden, just begun 
to wake ? 

Is that rose of dawning glowing on your 
cheek 

Telling us in blushes what you will 
not speak ? 

Shy and tender maiden, I would fain 
forego 

All the golden future, just to keep 
you so. 

Ah ! the listening angels saw that she 
was fair, 

Ripe for rare unfolding in the upper 
air; 

Now the rose of dawning turns to lily 
white, 

And the close-shut eyelids veil the 
eyes from sight; 

All the past I summon as I kiss her 
brow— 

Babe and child and maiden, all are 
with me now. 

Oh! my heart is breaking; but God’s 
love I know— 

Safe among the angels, He will keep 
her so. 

Louise Chandler Moulton, 




248 


BABY-LAND. 


BABY LOUISE. 

Are you trying to think of some angel- 

— 

taught prayer 

I’m in love with you, Baby Louise ! 
With your silken hair, and soft blue 

You learned above, Baby Louise ? 

eyes, 

I’m in love with you, Baby Louise ! 

And the dreamy wisdom that in them 

Why! you never raise your beautiful 

lies, 

head! 



And the faint, sweet smile you brought 
from the skies— 

God’s sunshine, Baby Louise. 

When you fold your hands, Baby 
Louise, 

Your hands, like a fairy’s, so tiny and 
fair, 

With a pretty, innocent, saint-like air, 


Some day, little one, your cheek will 
grow red 

With a flush of delight, to hear the 
words said, 

“I love 3^ou,” Baby Louise. 

Do you hear me, Baby Louise ? 

I have sung your praises for nearly an 
hour, 







baby’s skies. 


249 


And your laslies keep drooping lower 
and lower, 

And—you’ve gone to sleep, like a 
weary flower, 

Ungrateful Baby Louise! 

M. E. 


BABY’S SKIES. 

A Word to Mother. 

Would you know the baby’s skies ? 
Baby’s skies are Mother’s eyes. 
Mother’s eyes and smile together 
Make the baby’s pleasant weather. 

Mother, keep your eyes from tears, 
Keep your heart from foolish fears, 
Keep your lips from dull complain¬ 
ing 

Lest the baby think ’fc is raining. 


ALL ALONE. 

Two pink feet, 

Wee chubby toes, 
A mouth as sweet 
As any rose. 

Fat, dimpled cheek, 
Twin eyes of gray, 
That seem to speak 
In helpless way. 

Without the power 
To tell its need 


Which every hour 

True love must heed; 

’Mid smiles and tears, 
And many a mood — 
So pass the days 
Of babyhood. 


JUST AS FAT. 

Just as fat 
Is my little man, 

Who eats and sleeps 
And does all that. 

With dimpled chin 
And cheeks like bubbles, 

He knows no care, 

And has no troubles. 

Yes, he’s fat, 

Is my little man, 

Who winks and blinks 
And does all that. 

With double chin 
And cheeks like bubbles, 

He’s far too fat 
For baby troubles. 

Just as fat! 

How pretty his cheeks ! 

So jolly plump, 

And pink at that. 

Tickle his chin 
And touch those bubbles, 
And you’ll see why 
He has no troubles. 

Wm, B. Oleson. 








250 


BABY-LAND. 



THE BABY. 

No shoe to hide her tiny toes, 

No stockings on her feet; 

Her supple ankles white as snow 
Of early blossoms sweet. 

Her simple dress of sprinkled pink, 
Her double, dimpled chin; 

Her puckered lip and bonnie mouth, 
With not one tooth between. 

Her eye so like her mother’s eye, 
Two gentle, liquid things; 

Her face is like an angel’s face— 
We’re glad she has no wings. 

Hugh Miller. 


BABY’S SHOES. 

0 !, those little, those little blue shoes ! 
Those shoes that no little feet use. 

0 !, the price were high 
That those shoes would buy, 

Those little blue, unused shoes ! 

For they hold the small shape of feet 
That no more their mother’s eyes meet, 
That, by God’s good will, 

Years since, grew still, 

And ceased from their totter so sweet. 

And 0!, since that baby slept, 

So hushed, how the mother lias kept, 
With a tearful pleasure, 

That little dear treasure, 

And o’er them thought and wept! 

















mother’s kisses. 


251 


For they mind her forevermore 
Of a patter along the floor; 

And blue eyes she sees 
Look up from her knees 
With the look that in life they wore. 

As they lie before her there, 

There babbles from chair to chair 
A little sweet face 
That’s a gleam in the place, 

With its little gold curls of hair. 

Then, 0 wonder not that her heart 
From all else would rather part 
Than those tiny blue shoes 
That no little feet use, 

And whose sight makes such fond tears 
start! 

William C. Bennett. 


MOTHER’S KISSES. 

Kisses for the lovely dimples, 

Two wee lily-cups are they; 

Kisses for the mouth so precious, 
Sweeter than the new-mown hay. 

Kisses for the eyes so merry, 
Violet’s all dipped in dew; 

Kisses for the pink-white fingers, 
Prettier the earth ne’er knew. 

Kisses for the head so silken, 

With its little bird-like ways ; 

Kisses for the brow so snowy, 
Where a shadow never strays. 



Kisses,— one wide world of kisses! 

Could I have enough, dear, say, 
Though I kissed you, kissed you, 
kissed you, 

Yes, forever and a day ? 

George Cooper. 


ALL ABOARD FOR SHUT-EYE 
TOWN. 

Ho ! ho ! there,—all aboard for “Shut- 
Eye-Town! ” 

The brakes are all up, the signals 
pulled down; 

How silvery and soft the conductor’s 
last note, 











252 


BABY-LAND. 


As over the ear the sweet syllables 
float: 

Bye-lo, bye-loto “ Shut-Eye-Town.” 

Oh! a wonderful city is “Shut-Eye- 
Town.” 

Then haste in your dainty white 
travelling gown; 

No baskets of luncheon or wraps will 
you need, 

For this train’s going through with 
lightning-like speed. 

Bye-lo ! bye-lo to “Shut-Eye-Town.” 

Fairies and brownies are waiting us 
there, 

Jewels and rainbows, and blossoms so 
rare, 

Soft summer breezes, and bright sing¬ 
ing-birds, 


Friends with caresses and sweet, lov¬ 
ing words; 

Bye-lo,bye-lo to “Shut-Eye-Town.” 

Oh! never was city so sunny as this; 

Be quick, or its pleasures you surely 
will miss, 

And never, I know, was conductor so fair 

As the one who is waiting to usher us 
there. 

Bye-lo, bye-lo to “Shut-Eye-Town.” 


MY NAUGHTY. 

Oh dear! oh dear ! what have we here ? 

A very ugly sight! 

Mamma’s own little baby boy 
Kicking with all his might! 

In temper doll and bells and toys 
Are thrown to left and right. 










Baby Days 

AND 

Baby Blays. 










BABY DAYS and BABY PLAYS 



BABY’S DAY. 


BABY’S DAY. 

The reason I call it “Baby’s Day” is 
funny enough to tell; 


The first thing she did was give 
“syrup of squills” to Dolly to 
make her well; 


255 



































































256 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PDAYS. 


And then when I told her how wrong 
it was, she said, with a quivering 
sigh, 

“ I’m sorry I made her so sticky, 
mamma, hut I couldn’t let dolly 
die.” 

Then comforted wholly she went 
away, and was just as still as a 
mouse, 

And I thought to be sure I should find 
her at once in the nursery play¬ 
ing “ house”; 

But, lo! on the way as I started to 
look, a queer little piece I found, 

Just like a center of snowy lawn that 
the scissors had scalloped round. 

I cried “ 0, baby! what have you 
done ? You have been to some¬ 
body’s drawer, 

And taken from out of the handker¬ 
chief pile the most beautiful one 
that you saw!” 

And then the dear little head went 
down pathetic as it could be, 

While she sobbed, “ There was noth¬ 
ing for me to cut, and I thought 
I’d take two or three ! ” 

It was only a little later on, that the 
water began to splash, 

And I jumped and found she was 
rubbing away on her sister’s holi¬ 
day sash; 

But, catching a look of utter dismay, 
as she lifted her innocent eyes, 


She whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll wash 
it all clean , and hang it up till it 
dries.” 

But the funny mishaps of that won¬ 
derful day I could not begin to 
relate; 

The boxes of buttons and pins she 
spilled, like a cherub pursued by 
fate! 

And still, all the while, the dear little 
dove was fluttering ’round her 
nest, 

And the only thing I really could do 
was to smooth out her wings on 
my breast. 

But the day drifted on till it came to 
an end, and the great moon rose 
in sight, 

And the dear soft lids o’er the dear 
soft eyes dropped tenderly their 
good night. 

And I thought, as I looked on her 
lying asleep, I was glad (for once 
in a way), 

That my beautiful child was human 
enough for a mischievous “Baby 
Day.” 


MY LITTLE SISTER. 

I have a little sister, 

She’s only two years old, 

But she’s a little darling, 

And worth her weight in gold. 







PLAY TIME. 


257 


She often runs to kiss me 
When I’m at work or play, 

Twining her arms about me 
In such a pretty way; 

And then she’ll say so sweetly, 

I 11 innocence and joy, 

“ Tell me a story, sister dear, 

About the little boy.” 

Sometimes when I am knitting 
She’ll pull my needles out, 

And then she’ll skip and dance around 
With such a merry shout. 

It makes me laugh to see her, 

Though I’m not very glad 
To have her take my needles out, 

And make my work so bad; 

But then if I would have her 
To see what she has done, 

I must be very gentle 

While telling her the wrong. 

PLAY TIME. 

The rain is falling fast to-day, 

So we must stay up here and play; 
Mamma says we must not go out, 
She’ll give us all our toys, no doubt, 

Our dollies will make one nice game; 
We’ll play they’re ill, one shall be lame, 
And you shall be the doctor, Kate, 
And carefully shall operate. 


Then we will feed the fishes, dear, 

Or make us each a little spear, 

And play we’re in the Northern Sea 
Harpooning whales. Do you agree ? 



Johnnie can have his ball and string, 
To play with puss, the cunning thing. 
So we shall all be bright and gay, 
Though it is such a rainy day. 


THE PROPER TIME. 

“Will you play with me? Will you 
play with me ?” 

A little girl said to the birds on a tree. 

“Oh, we have our nests to build,” said 
they: 

“There’s a time for work, and a time 
for play.” 

Then meeting a dog, she cried, “Hal¬ 
loo! 

Come play with me, Jip, and do as I 
do.” 










258 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


Said he, “I must watch the orchard 
to-day: 

There’s a time for work, and a time 
for play.” 

A boy she saw; and to him she cried, 

“Come, play with me, John, by the 
greenwood side.” 

“Oh, no !” said John, “I’ve my lesson 
to say: 

There’s a time for work, and a time 
for play.” 



Then thoughtful a while stood the 
little miss, 

And said, “It is hard, on a day like 
this, 

To go to work; but, from what they 
all say, 

’Tis a time for work, and not for play.” 

So homeward she went, and took her 
book, 

And first at the pictures began to look; 

Then said, “I think I will study to-day: 

There’s a time for work, and a time 
for play.” 

Emily Carter. 


FATHER AT PLAY. 

Such fun as we had one rainy day, 

When father was home and helped us 

play 

And made a ship and hoisted sail, 

And crossed the sea in a fearful gale 1 

But we hadn’t sailed into London 
town, 

When the captain and crew, and ves¬ 
sel went down, 

Down, down in a jolly wreck, 

With the captain rolling under the 
deck. 

But he broke out again with a lion’s 
roar, 

And we on two legs, he on four, 

Ban out of the parlor and up the 
stair, 

And heightened mamma and the baby 
there. 

So mamma said she would be p’lice- 
man now, 

And tried to ’rest us. She didn’t 
know how. 

Then the lion laughed, and forgot to 
roar, 

Till we chased him out of the nursery 
door; 

And then he turned to a pony gay, 

And carried us all on his back away. 

Whippsty, lickity, kickity, ho! 

If we hadn’t fun, then I don’t know. 







2 59 


mamma’ 


Till we tumbled off, and lie cantered 
on, 

Never stopping to see if his load was 
gone. 

And I couldn’t tell any more than he 

Which was Charlie and which was 
me, 

Or which was Towser, for, all in a 
mix, 

You’d think three people had turned 
to six, 

Till Towser’s tail had caught in the 
door; 

He wouldn’t hurrah with us any 
more; 

And mamma came out the rumpus to 
quiet, 

And told us a story to break up the 
riot. 

Hannah More Johnson. 


MAMMA’S KISSES. 

A kiss when I awake in the morning, 
A kiss when I go to bed, 

A kiss when I burn my fingers, 

A kiss when I bump my head. 

A kiss when my bath is over, 

A kiss when my bath begins; 

Mv mamma is full of kisses, 

ft/ 

As full as nurse is of pins. 


KISSES. 



* 


A kiss when I play with a rattle, 
A kiss when I pull her hair; 


MAMMA'S KISSES. 





















































BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


260 


She covered me over with kisses 
The day that I fell down stairs. 

A kiss when I give her trouble, 

A kiss when I give her joy; 

There’s nothing like mamma’s kisses 
To her own little baby-boy. 

ONE OF HIS NAMES. 

Never a boy had so many names; 
They called him Jimmy, and Jim, and 
James, 

Jeems and Jamie; and well he knew 
Who it was that wanted him, too. 

The boys in the street ran after him, 
Shouting out loudly, “Jim! Hey, 
J-i-m-m! ” 

Until the echoes, little and big, 

Seemed to be dancing a Jim Crow jig. 

And little Mabel out in the hall 
“Tim-my! Jim-my/” would sweetly call, 
Until he answered, and let her know 
Where she might find him; she loved 
him so. 

Grandpapa, who was so dignified, 

And held his head with an air of pride, 
Didn’t believe in abridging names, 

And made the most that he could of 
“J-a-m-e-s. ” 

But if papa ever wanted him, 

Crisp and curt was the summons 
“Jim! ” 


That would make the boy on his er¬ 
rands run 

Much faster than if he had said “ My 
son.” 

Biddy O’Flynn could never, it seems, 

Call him anything else but “Jeems,” 

And when the nurse, old Mrs. McVyse, 

Called him “Jamie,” it sounded nice. 

But sweeter and dearer than all the 
rest, 

Was the one pet name that he liked 
the best; 

“ Darling! ” —he heard it whate’er he 
was at, 

For none but his mother called him 
that. 

Josephine Pollard . 


VOYAGE IN THE ARM CHAIR. 

Oh, papa! dear papa ! we’ve had such 
a fine game, 

We played at a sail on the sea; 

The old arm-chair made such a beau¬ 
tiful ship, 

And it sailed, oh, as nice as could be. 

We made Mary the captain, and Bob 
was the boy 

Who cried, “Ease her,” and “Back 
her,” and “Slow;” 

And Jane was the steersman who 
stands at the wheel, 

And I watched the engines below. 








26 i 



baby-boy’s toys. 


But oil! only think, dear papa, when 
halfway 

Tom overboard j umped to the floor, 
And though we cried out, “Tom, come 
back, don’t be drowned,” 

He galloped right out of the door. 


But papa, dear papa, listen one mo¬ 
ment more, 

Till I tell you the end of the sail: 

From the sideboard we went at five 
minutes past three, 

And at four o’clock saw such a 
whale! 


The whale was the sofa, and it, dear 
papa, 

Is at least twice as large as our ship; 

Our captain called out, “Turn the 
ship round about! 

Oh, I wish we had not come on this 
trip!” 


And we all cried, “Oh yes, let us get 
away home, 

And hide in some corner quite snug 
So we sailed for the fireside as quick 
as we could, 

And we landed all safe on the rug. 


For I’m so high and they’re so low. 
Look at my socks ! I’ve only one on— 
The other the blue knitted one, has 
gone: 

It has dropped on the floor with all 
my toys: 


We had for a passenger grandmam¬ 
ma’s cat, 

And as Tom couldn’t pay, he went 
free; 

From the fireside we sailed at half-, 
past two o’clock, 

And we got to the sideboard at three. 


BABY-BOY’S TOYS. 

“All tumbled down ! my doll, my horse : 
So I’m angry about it all, of course; 
And how to get them I don’t know, 





262 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


So I’m going to cry and to make a 
noise, 

Then mother and nurse will run to see 
What the matter with baby-boy can be.” 
So said master baby, and set up a roar 
That soon brought mother and nurse 
to the door. 


DOCTOR’S VISIT. 

LITTLE MAMMA, WITH A SICK DOLL. 

Come and see my baby dear; 

Doctor she is ill, I fear. 

Yesterday, do what I would, 

She would touch no kind of food, 

And she tosses, moans, and cries. 
Doctor, what do you advise ? 

DOCTOR. 

Hum ! ha ! Good madam, tell me, pray, 
What have you offered her to-day ? 
Ah yes, I see—a piece of cake ; 

The worst thing you could make her 
take. 

Just let me taste. Yes, yes, I fear 
Too many plums and currants here; 
But stop ! I will just taste again, 

So as to make the matter plain. 

LITTLE MAMMA. 

But, doctor, pray excuse me; oh, 
You’ve eaten all my cake up now! 

I thank you kindly for your care, 

But do you think ’twas hardly fair ? 

DOCTOR. 

Oh, dear me ! Did I eat the cake ? 
Well, it was for dear baby’s sake. 


But keep her in her bed, well warm, 
And you will see she’ll take no harm. 
At night and morning use, once more, 
Her drink and powder as before; 

•And she must not be over-fed, 

But may just have a piece of bread. 
To-morrow, then, I dare to say, 

She’ll be quite right. Good-day! good 
day! 


BABY NED. 

Never still a minute, 

Busy baby Ned; 
Brimming full of mischief 
Is his curly head. 



Once he took his kitten 
Out to play with him, 
To a stream of water;— 
“ Dus’ to see her ’fim. ” 









MY GOOD FOR NOTHING. 


263 


“You mils’ mind me, Tabby, 
What I say to you; 

Doin’ to teach you somefin’.” 
Kitty answered, “ mew. ” 

“ When I frow you over, 

You mus’ ’fim right out. 

Now I’s dettin ready,— 

0 ! you’s awful ’tout.” 

Floolish little Neddie,— 

Kitty made a dash, 

Caught him on his apron, 

In they both went,— splash ! 

Kitty scratched and scrambled; 

Baby screamed and cried; 
Both were taken dripping 
To the fire, and dried. 

“Naughty tat,” said Neddie, 

“ I’s as’amed of you; 

Now, you’s dettin’ punis’ed.” 
Kitty answered, “mew.” 


MY-GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 

“What are you good for, my brave 
little man ? 

Answer that question for me, if you 
can— 

Y r ou, with your fingers as white as a 
nun, 

You, with your ringlets as bright as 
the sun. 

All the day long, with your busy con¬ 
triving, 


Into all mischief and fun you are 
driving; 

See if your wise little noddle can tell 
What you are good for. Now ponder 
it well.” 



Over the carpet the dear little feet 

Came with a patter to climb on my seat; 

Two merry eyes, full of frolic and 
glee, 

Under their lashes looked up unto me ; 

Two little hands, pressing soft on my 
face, 

Drew me down close in a loving em¬ 
brace ; 

Two rosy lips gave the answer so true, 

“Good to love you, mamma—good to 
love you.” 

Emily Huntington Miller. 


A MOTHER SINGING. 

I heard a mother singing, 

Music soft and sweet, 

’Twas “Father, keep my darling, 
Guide his little feet.” 










264 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


DOLL-HOUSE TROUBLES. 

My dear sister Nina 
You’ll find here a letter 
From sister Regina; 

I wish it were better. 

Arabella Anastatia 

Is a very naughty doll. 

I really can’t take care of her— 
She won’t behave at all. 

This morning when I called her 
And told her she must dress, 

She began to cry for mamma; 

You must come back, I guess ! 

I don’t see what possessed her 
To act in such a manner, 

She nearly drove me crazy; 

In fact, I had to fan her! 

I couldn’t put her shoes on; 

She kicked ! — The naughty girl, 
She woudn’t let me wash her, 

Or put her hair in curl. 

I told her that I loved her; 

But she would not mind a bit, 

So I put her in the corner, 

And there I made her sit. 

You know when one is naughty 
The others act so, too; 

And Mary Ann, Aunt Nancy, 

And Pansy cried for you. 

Oh, dear! I cannot stand it, 
They’re making such a noise; 


They’re tearing up their dresses, 
And breaking all the toys. 

Don’t stay another minute, 

But pack your trunk, my dear, 
And hasten to your dollies; 
They’ll all be sick, I fear! 


THE RICH LITTLE DOLLY. 

Her hair was yellow, her cheeks were 
red, 

But “you mustn’t touch her,” they 
always said, 

—This rich little dolly. 

Over her dress of satin and silk 
She wore a necklace as white as milk, 
— This rich little dolly. 

Her foot (like the foot of a Cinderella) 
Was daintily shod, as becomes full 
well a 

Rich little dolly. 

But nobody asked her out to dine, 

She was by far too fair and fine, 

—This rich little dolly. 

Nobody sent, to a birthday party, 
Invitations old-fashioned and hearty 
To this little dolly. 

Nobody, when her heart was “ b’oke,” 
Cuddled close up to it under her cloak, 
This rich little dolly. 







THE DOLL-BABY SHOW. 


265 


But up in a mouldy, musty drawer, 
Where nobody kissed her and nobody 
saw her, 

Stayed the poor, poor dolly. 

Anna F. Burnham. 


THE DOLL-BABY SHOW. 

Our doll-baby show, it was something 
quite grand; 

You saw there the loveliest doll in the 
land. 


Some came in rich purple, some lilac, 
some white, 

With ribbons and laces —a wonderful 
sight! 

Now, there was one dolly so tall and 
so proud 

She put all the others quite under a 
cloud; 

But one of us hinted, in so many 
words, 

That sometimes fine feathers did not 
make fine birds. 



Each girl brought her own in its pret¬ 
tiest dress; 

Three pins bought a ticket, and not a 
pin less. 

For the doll that was choicest we of¬ 
fered a prize; 

There were wee mites of dollies, and 
some of great size; 


We sat in a row with our dolls in our 
laps; 

The dolls behaved sweetly, and met 
no mishaps. 

No hoys were admitted—for hoys will 
make fun; 

Now which do you think was the dolly 
that won ? 






266 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


Soon all was commotion to hear who 
would get 

The prize ; for the dollies’ committee 
had met; 

We were the committee; and which do 
you think 

Was the doll we decided on, all in a 
wink ? 

Why, each of us said that our own 
was the best, 

The finest, the sweetest, the prettiest 
drest; 

So we all got the prize. We’ll invite 
you to go 

The next time we girls have our doll- 
baby show. 

George Cooper. 


A LITTLE GIRL’S LETTER. 

Dear Grandma, I will try to write 
A very little letter: 

If I don’t spell the words all right, 
Why, next time I’ll do better. 

My little rabbit is alive, 

And likes his milk and clover; 

He likes to see me very much, 

But is afraid of Rover. 

I’ve got a dove, as white as snow, 
I call her “ Polly Feather; ” 

She flies and hops about the yard 
In every kind of weather. 


I think she likes to see it rain, 

For then she smoothes her jacket, 

And seems to be so proud and vain, 
The turkeys make a racket. 

The hens are picking off the grass, 
And singing very loudly; 

While our old peacock struts about, 
And shows his colors proudly. 

I guess I’ll close my letter now, 

I’ve nothing more to tell; 

Please answer soon, and come to see 
Your loving little Nell! 

Wisconsin Farmer. 


THE DEAD DOLL, 

You needn’t be trying to comfort me— 
I tell you my dolly is dead ! 

There’s no use in saying she isn’t— 
with a crack like that in her head. 

It’s just like you said it wouldn’t hurt 
much to have my tooth out that 
day; 

And then when the man most pulled 
my head off, you hadn’t a word to 
say. 

And I guess you must think I’m a ba¬ 
by, when you say you can mend 
it with glue! 

As if I didn’t know better than that! 
Why, just suppose it was you ? 

You might make her look all mended— 
but what do I care for looks ? 







THE DEAD DOLL. 


267 


Why, glue’s for chairs and tables, and 
toys, and the backs of books ! 

My dolly ! my own little daughter! Oh, 
but it’s the awfullest crack ! 

It just makes me sick to think of the 
sound when her poor head went 
whack 

Against that horrible brass thing that 
holds up the little shelf. 



Now, Nursey, what makes you remind 
me ? I know that I did it myself ! 

I think you must be crazy—you’ll get 
her another head! 

What good would forty heads do her ? 
I tell you my dolly is dead ! 


And to think I hadn’t quite finished 
her elegant New Year’s hat! 

And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last 
night to tie on that horrid cat! 

When my mamma gave me that rib¬ 
bon—I was playing out in the 
yard— 

She said to me most expressly: “Here’s 
a ribbon for Hildegarde.” 

And I went and put it on Tabby, and 
Hildegarde saw me do it; 

But I said to myself, “Oh, never mind, 
I don’t believe she knew it!” 

But I know that she knew it now, and 
I just believe, I do, 

That her poor little heart was broken, 
and so her head broke too. 

Oh, my baby! my little baby ! I wish 
my head had been hit; 

For I’ve hit it over and over, and it 
hasn’t cracked a bit. 

But since the darling is dead, she’ll 
want to be buried, of course ; 

We will take my little wagon, Nurse, 
you shall be the horse; 

And I’ll walk behind and cry; and 
we’ll put her in this—you see, 

This dear little box—and we’ll bury 
them under the maple tree. 

And papa will make a tombstone, like 
the one he made for my bird ; 

And he’ll put what I tell him on it— 
Yes, every single word ! 






268 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


I shall say: “Here lies Hildegarcle, a 
beautiful doll who is dead; 

She died of a broken heart, and a 
dreadful crack in her head.” 

Margaret Vandebglft. 


BABY’S DANCING. 

Ding, dong, come along, 

Here’s our baby dancing; 

Ding, dong, come along, 

Here’s our baby dancing. 

Play a pretty tune to-day 
Mamma plays while darling May, 
Mamma plays while darling May 
Merrily is dancing. 

Ding, dong, come along, 

Here’s our baby dancing: 

When the bass plays brown, brown, 
May goes skipping up and down 
May goes skipping up and down, 
Frocks and curls are flying. 

She plays diddle, dum, dee, 

Now go lightly, one, two, three, 
Now go lightly, one, two, three. 

Soft in grasses we’re lying; 

Ding, dong, come along, 

Here’s our baby dancing. 

JENNIE AND BENNIE. 

Oh fie, little Jennie, 

And you, too, my Bennie, 

To treat your pretty book so. 

It will easily tear, 


If not handled with care, 

And it will not be fit to show. 

If you treat your dolly 
With such simple folly, 

She will not last you a day; 

Her dress and her things 
Will be all torn to strings, 

And your mamma will throw her away. 

Your doll and your book 
Should all the time look 
Just as neat as when they were new; 
No good girl or boy 
Will ever destroy 

Their playthings as bad children do. 


PLAYING KING. 

Ho ! I’m a king, a king! A crown is 
on my head, 

A sword is at my side, and regal is my 
tread; 

Ho, slave! proclaim my will to all 
the people round; 

The schools are hereby closed; hence¬ 
forth must fun abound. 

Vacation shall not end; all slates I 
order smashed; 

The man who says “arithmetic” must 
be soundly thrashed; 

All grammars shall be burnt, the 
spellers we will tear; 

Any boy who spells correctly, a fool’s 
cap he shall wear. ^ 










BABY’S DANCING. 


2G9 
















































































































































































' 270 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


No dolls shall be allowed, for dolls are 
what I hate; 

The girls must give them up, and 
learn to swim and skate; 

Confectioners must charge only a cent 
a pound 

For all the plums and candy that in 
the shops are found. 

That man who asks a dime for any 
pear or peach, 

I’ll have him hung so high that none 
his feet can reach; 

No baker is allowed hereafter to bake 
bread — 

He must bake only pies and cake and 
ginger snaps instead. 

All lecturers must quit our realm 
without delay; 

The circus-men and clowns, on pain 
of death must stay; 

All folks who frown on fun, at once 
must banished he. 

Now, fellow, that you know my will, 
to its fulfillment see ! 

Alfred Selwyn. 


THE BIRD AND ITS MOTHER. 

(A Kindergarten Dialogue for Baby to Learn 
with Mamma.) 

Mam-ma. Here we are in our nice 
warm nest—I and my lit-tle 
birds. I wonder if they are 
a-wake ? I must list-en. 

Ba-by. Peep ! peep ! 


Mam-ma. Oh, yes. They are wide 
a-wake. What do you want, lit¬ 
tle birds ? 

Ba-by. Peep ! peep ! peep ! 

Mam-ma. Oh, you want your break¬ 
fast, do you ? Well, I must fly 
a-way and find you some-thing 
nice. 


Ba-by. Peep ! peep ! peep ! peep ! 



Mam-ma. Wliat! Do you wish to go, 
too? 


Ba-by. Peep! 

Mam-ma. Yer-y well. The sky is 
blue, and it is a nice, bright day. 
Let me see if your lit-tle wings 
are strong. (. Mam-ma works Ba¬ 
by's arms gent-ly up and down.) 
Yes, the wings are strong. Now, 
come! (. Mam-ma takes hold of 

Ba-by’s hands and lets him skip 
with her a-cross the room.) 





FIRST LESSON IN WHISTLING. 


271 


FIRST LESSON IN WHISTLING. 


Our boy is learning to whistle; 

It’s always something new: 

He begins first thing in the morning, 



And he stops last thing at bed-time, 
And he keeps it up at intervals, 

The day through. 


And pray who is his teacher? 

We haven’t decided quite 
Whether it is the thrushes, 


The bobolinks in the meadow, 

Or the swallows round the barn eaves, 
Or Bob White. 

What is the tune he likes best ? 

Well, ’tis between a call 
And the shriek of the wind in the 
chimney, 

Or a gale in the tops of the pine-trees, 
For, in fact (don’t tell) it is no 
Tune at all! 

Go ask the little playmates, 

And ask the housemaid, too, 

If they like that sort of music, 

They’ll sigh, “ Oh, dear! ” “ Good 
gracious! ” 

Now ask me if I like it — 

Yes, I do. 

Mrs. Clara Doty Bates. 


ANNIE. 

I’ve a sweet litte pet; she is up with 
the lark, 

And at eve she’s asleep when the val¬ 
leys are dark, 

And she chatters and dances the 
blessed day long, 

Now laughing in gladness, now sing¬ 
ing a song. 

She never is silent; the whole sum¬ 
mer day 

She is off on the green with the blos¬ 
soms at play, 






272 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


Now seeking a buttercup, plucking a 
rose, 

Or laughing aloud at the thistle she 
blows. 

She never is still; now at some 
merry elf 

You’ll smile as you watch her, in 
spite of yourself; 

You may chide her in vain, for those 
eyes, full of fun, 

Are smiling in mirth at the mischief 
she’s done; 

And whatever you do, that same 
thing, without doubt, 

Must the mischievous Annie be busied 
about. 

She’s as brown as a nut, but a beauty 
to me, 

And there’s nothing her keen little 
eyes cannot see. 

She dances and sings, and has many 
sweet airs, 

And to infant accomplishments add¬ 
ing her prayers. 

I have told everything that the dar¬ 
ling can do, 

For ’twas only last summer her years 
numbered two. 

She’s the picture of health, and a 
Southern-born thing, 

Just as ready to weep as she’s ready 
to sing; 

And I fain would be foe to lip that 
hath smiled 


At this wee bit of song of the dear 
little child. 


GOLDEN HAIR. 

Golden Hair climbed upon Grand¬ 
papa’s knee, 

Dear little Golden Hair! tired was she, 

All the day busy as busy could be. 

Up in the morning as soon as ’twas 
light. 

Out with the birds and the butterflies 
bright, 

Skipping about till the coming of 
night. 

Grandpapa toyed with the curls on 
her head: 

“What has my baby been doing, ” he 
said, 

“ Since she arose, with the sun, from 
her bed ? ” 

“Pitty much,” answered the sweet lit¬ 
tle one; 

“ I cannot tell so much things I have 
done— 

Played with my dolly, and feeded my 
Bun. 

“And then I have jumped with my 
little jump-rope, * 

And then I made, out of some water 
and soap, 

Bootiful worlds, mamma’s castles of 
hope. 






GOLDEN HAIR. 


273 



I afterward have readed in my picture- 
book, 

And Bella and I, we went down to 
look 

For smooth little stones by the side 
of the brook. 

“ Then I corned home, and I eated 
my tea, 

And then I climbed up on Grand¬ 
papa’s knee. 

And I jes’ as tired as tired can be.” 

Lower and lower the little head 
pressed, 

Until it drooped upon Grandpapa’s 
breast; 



Dear little Golden Hair! sweet be thy 
rest. 


We are but children; the things that 
we do 

Are as sports of the baby to the in¬ 
finite view. 

That marks all our weakness, and 
pities it, too. 

God grant that when night over¬ 
shadows our way, 

And we shall be called to account for 
our day, 

It shall find us as guiltless as Golden- 
Hair’s lay. 





























274 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PDAYS. 


And, oh, when a-weary, may we be so 
blest 

As to sink, like the innocent child, to 
onr rest, 

And feel ourselves clasped to the in¬ 
finite breast! 

F. Bubge Smith. 


LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS. 

I haf von funny leedle poy 
Vot gomes schust to my knee,— 

Her queerest schap, der createst rogue 
As efer you dit see. 

He runs, und schumps, und schmash- 
es dings 

In all barts off der house. 

But vot off dot ? He vas mine son, 
Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

He get der measles und der mumbs, 
Und eferyding dot’s oudt; 

He sbills mine glass ob lager bier, 
Poots schnuff indo mine kraut; 

He fills mine pipe mit Limburg 
cheese— 

Hot vas der roughest chouse. 

I’d dake dot vrom no oder poy 
But leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, 
Und cuts mine cane in dwo 
To make der schticks to beat it mit— 
Mine cracious, dot vas drue ! 

I dinks mine head vas schplit abart 
He kicks oup such a touse; 


But nefer mind, der poys vas few 
Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. 

He asks me questions sooch as 
dese— 

Who baints mine nose so red ? 

Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace 
out 

Yrom der hair ubon mine hed ? 

Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der 
lamp 

Yene’er der glim I douse ? 

How gan I all dese dings eggsblain 
To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss ? 

I somedimes dink I schall go vild 
Mit sooch a grazy poy, 

Und vish vonce more I gould have 
rest 

Und beaceful dimes enshoy. 

But ven he vas ashleep in ped, 

So quiet as a mouse, 

I brays der Lord, “ Hake any dings, 
But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss.” 

Chabbes F. Adams. 


IN THE SWING. 

Up, little Gracie ! Swing up high, 

As if you were going to touch the sky; 
Only take care, my darling pet— 
Hold the two ropes, and don’t forget. 

“Upagain, Gracie ! there—that’sright, 
Laughing away, but holding tight; 
While little Hottie waits below, 

And Harry sends you to and fro. 






letting the old cat die. 


275 



“Stop, Harry, now, ’tis time for 
Grace 

To yield to little Dot her place. 

Be gentle, dear, for Dot’s so small— 
If you’re not careful she may fall.” 

The children change; for all the three 
Are fair in play, and well agree; 

And now the youngest laughing pet 
Begs for a “little higher yet!” 

LETTING THE OLD CAT DIE. 

Not long ago I wandered near 
A play-ground in the wood; 

And there heard words from a young¬ 
ster’s lips 

That I never quite understood. 


“Now let the old cat die!” he laughed; 

I saw him give a push, 

Then gayly scamper away as he spied 
A face peep over the bush. 

But what he pushed, or where he 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; 
























































276 


baby days and baby plays. 


And what did I find but a swinging 
child, 

With her bright hair brushing her 
cheek! 


But the liveliest thing of all, I 
thought, 

Was the gleam of her laughing 
eye. 













grandpa’s pet. 


277 


“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 look¬ 
ing back 

With merriment in her eye, 

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

A-letting the old cat die. 

Maey Mapes Dodge. 


And ne’er to one thing could be 
holden. 

Such a lump of fun as eyes never met, 
And the whole went by the name of 
grandpa’s pet. 

He’s up in the morning when daylight 
breaks, 



GRANDPA’S PET. 

A bundle of sweetness rolled up in 
blue— 

A round curly head that was gold¬ 
en, 

Two wee, chubby hands that came 
peeping through 


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!” 





278 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


And every one knows all about it; 

The day begins j ust when Roger awakes, 
And none are so hardy as doubt it. 

An autocrat he, whose wish must be 
met. 

All must bow to the reign of grandpa’s 
pet. 

Does he want a crown ? He’ll have 
grandpa’s hat— 

The coal-scuttle serves him to fish 
in. 

When he chooses to ride he’ll ride the 
cat, 

And pussy must bend in submis¬ 
sion. 

He cannot do wrong—he never did 
yet— 

Why the whole world was made just 
for grandpa’s pet. 

When he makes a crow’s nest of grand¬ 
pa’s wig, 

Then the old man is ready to kiss 
him. 

He draws his snuff-box about for a gig, 

And the worst word that’s said is 
God bless him. 

All clocks in the house to his time are 
set— 

Well, there’s nobody there but grand¬ 
pa’s pet. 

What pity we cannot be always young 
And rule like a king in his glory ; 

What pity that Time, with his iron 
tongue, 


Must change the sweet tune of 
life’s story. 

Alas! that we lose in flurry and fret 
The dream of the time we were 
grandpa’s pet! 

William Lyle 


THE SLEEPY LITTLE SISTER. 

I sat, one evening, watching 
A little golden head 
That was nodding o’er a picture-book, 
And pretty soon I said, 

“Come, darling, you are sleepy, 

Don’t you want to go to bed ?” 
“No,” she said, “I isn’t sleepy, 

But I can’t hold up my head. 

“Just now it feels so heavy 
There isn’t any use; 

Do let me lay it down to rest 
On dear old Mother Goose. 

I shan’t shut up my eyes at all. 

And so you need not fear; 

I’ll keep them open all the while, 

To see this picture here.” 

And then, as I said nothing, 

She settled for a nap; 

One curl was resting on the frill 
Of the old lady’s cap ; 

Her arms embraced the children small 
Inhabiting the shoe; 

“Oh deary” thought I, “what shall 1 
say? 

For this will never do.” 





THE FORTUNE. 


279 


I sat a while in silence, 

Till the clock struck its “ding, 
ding,” 

And then I went around and kissed 
The cunning little thing. 

The violets unfolded 

As I kissed her, and she said, 

“I isn’t sleepy, sister, 

But I guess I’ll go to bed.” 

Georgiana McNiell. 



THE FORTUNE. 

Let’s tell our fortune, 
And then we will see 


Whom Tot is to marry; 

Or, will it be me ? 

I’ll toss it three times 
Just over my head, 

Then I’ll send it flying, 

And see if it’s Ned. 

“N” stands for the “Ned,” 
And that’s me, you know; 

But what a strange letter, 

It must be an 0. 

0 stands for Olive, 

Our own mother dear; 

That’s whom we’ll marry 
On every New Year. 


A LITTLE GOOSE. 

The chill November day was done, 
The working-world home faring; 
The wind came roaring through the 
streets, 

And set the gas-lights flaring, 

And hopelessly and aimlessly 

The scared old leaves were flying, 
When, mingled with the soughing 
wind, 

I heard a small voice crying; 

And shivering 011 the corner stood 
A child of four, or over; 

No cloak or hat her small, soft arms 
And wind-blown curls to coyer; 

Her dimpled face was stained with 
tears, 








28 o 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


Her round blue eyes ran over; 
She cherished in her wee, cold hand 
A bunch of faded clover. 

And, one hand round her treasure, 
while 

She slipped in mine the other, 

Half scared, half confidential, said, 
“Oh, please, I want my mother!” 
“Tell me your street and number, pet. 

Don’t cry! I’ll take you to it.” 
Sobbing, she answered, “I forget! 

The organ made me do it. 

“He came and played at Miller’s step, 
The monkey took the money; 

I followed down the street because 
That monkey was so funny, 

I’ve walked about a hundred hours, 
From one street to another; 

The monkey’s gone; I’ve spoiled my 
flowers; 

Oh*, please, I want my mother!” 

“But what’s your mother’s name, and 
what 

The street? Now think a minute,” 
“My mother’s name is Mother Dear. 

The street—I can’t begin it.” 

“But what is strange about the house, 
Or new— not like the others ?” 

“I guess you mean my trundle-bed— 
Mine and my little brother’s. 

“Oh dear! I ought to be at home 
To help him say his prayers— 

He’s such a baby, he forgets, 


And we are both such players ! 

And there’s a bar between to keep 
From pitching on each other, 

For Harry rolls when he’s asleep; 

Oh dear! I want my mother! ” 

The sky grew stormy; people passed, 
All muffled, homeward faring. 
“You’ll have to spend the night with 
me,” 

I said, at last, despairing. 

I tied a kerchief round her neck: 

“What ribbon’s this, my blossom ?” 
“Why, don’t you know?” she smiling 
said, 

And drew it from her bosom. 

A card with number, street, and name, 
My eyes astonished met it. 

“For,” said the little one, “you see 
I might some time forget it, 

And so I wear a little thing 
What tells you all about it; 

For mother says she’s very sure 
I should get lost without it.” 

Eliza Sproat Turner. 


THE CHILDREN’S HOUR. 

Between the dark and the daylight, 
When the night is beginning to 
lower, 

Comes a pause in the day’s occupa¬ 
tions, 

That is known as the Children’s 
Hour. 






THE CHILDREN’S HOUR. 


28l 


I hear in the chamber above me 
The patter of little feet, 

The sound of a door that is opened, 
And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamplight, 
Descending the broad hall stair, 
Grave Alice and laughing Allegra, 
And Edith with golden hair. 


They climb up into my turret 

O’er the arms and back of my chair; 
If I try to escape, they surround me; 
They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 
Their arms about me entwine, 
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen, 
In his Mouse-Tower on the Bhine ! 



A whisper, and then a silence; 

Yet I know by their merry eyes 
They are plotting and planning together 
To take me by surprise. 


Do you think, 0 blue-eyed banditti, 
Because you have scaled the wall, 
Such an old moustache as I am 
Is not a match for you all ? 


A sudden rush from the stairway, 
A sudden raid from the hall! 
By three doors left unguarded 
They enter my castle wall! 


I have you fast in my fortress, 

And will not let you depart, 

But put you down into the dungeon 
In the round-tower of my heart. 



































282 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


And there will J keep you forever, 
Yes, forever and‘a day, 

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 
And moulder in dust away. 

Henby W. Longfellow. 


HIDE AND SEEK. 

Hide, hide, hide! under the great oak 
tree — 

Little Mary, Isabel, Tom and Willie 
and me, 

And baby, grave as a judge, and still 
as a bumble-bee. 


Peep, peep, peep! but let not a sound 
be heard, 

Except the buzz of flies in the leaves, 
or the flutter of startled birds— 

They’d find us out in a minute if any¬ 
body stirred. 

Hush, bush, bush! they are seeking 
us every-where: 


And Tray will wag bis wicked old tail 
and leap up high in the air— 

If you don’t lie down, like a good dumb 
dog, I will shoot you, I declare ! 

Hide, hide, hide! creep lower, close to 
the ground— 

Tom, pull Tray into the hollow tree, 
and— there they come with a bound, 

“All six at once ! I10 ! ho ! ha ! ha ! so 
the game’s up— we’re found ! 

GAME AT MARBLES. 

I “Just have a game at marbles, there’s 
plenty of time to spare; 
Here’s a capital bit of ground, 
by the railings of the 
square. 

There’s no policeman near, 
and very few people about, 
And no one will interfere;” 
and Bob turned his mar¬ 
bles out. 

Then the idle school-boys 
began to play, and all 
about school forgot; 

And the butcher’s lad and the baker’s 
boy came sauntering up to the 
spot. 

And the butcher’s hoy forgot his meat, 
and the baker’s hoy his bread; 

And there they stayed to watch the 
game: 

“ There’s plenty of time, ” they said. 




















UP AND DOWN. 


UP AND DOWN. 


See-saw! 

High, then low; 
There, little brother. 
Up yon go! 


LITTLE GAMES. 

“Ring—a—round—a—rosy!” 
Cheeks just like a posy; 

Eyes that twinkle with delight, 
Could there he a fairer sight ? 
Little feet that dance in glee; 
Voices singing merrily. 

Won’t you stop a little while ? 
At my questions you will smile 


But time fled fast, although they took 
of it no heed; 

An(J when they heard eleven strike, 
they were surprised indeed. 


UP AND DOWN. 


See-saw! 

Don’t be afraid; 

Up and down 

In the nice cool shade. 


See-saw! 

On the old tree; 
See, the apple 
Will fall to me. 























284 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


“ Eosy 1 have never seen,— 

Tell me, is she some fair queen ? 
Have your lily hands now crowned 
her, 

While you form a ring around her? 

“ Why draw £ buckets of water 
For my lady’s daughter’ ? 

Has she spoiled her pretty dress ? 

Ah! to wash her face, I guess ! 

Very hard ’tis to unravel 
What is meant, dears, by 
‘green gravel.’ 

Then you say, ‘How barley 
grows 

You, nor I, nor nobody 
knows;’ 

Oats, peas, beans, too, you 
include; 

If the question he not rude 
Darlings, tell me why this is done.” 
Ha ! Ha ! laugh they “It’s such fun !” 

George Cooper. 

BLIND-MAN’S BUFF. 

“I can’t sit still any more to-day, 
And I’m much too tired for quiet play; 
How can I possibly keep alive 
Till nurse comes in with the tea at 
five?” 

“ I want you all for a game of play, 
This terrible rainy winter’s day; 
Something that’s sure to keep you 
alive 


Till nurse comes in with the tea at 
five.” 

“ Dolls and visiting ?” “ Oh, dear, no. 

That would, indeed, be dreadfully 
slow.” 

“Football?” “P’raps that’s a little 
rough; 

But what do you say to Blind-man’s 
Buff?” 


Every one shouted directly “Yes !” 
And“Blind me first,’’begged sister Bess. 
Such a splendid game of play as they 
had, 

Poor nurse thought her flock must 
have all gone mad. 


BE ACTIVE. 

Be active,be active, find something to do 

In digging a clam-hank or tapping a 
shoe, 

Dont stop at the corner to drag out the 
day, 

Be active, he active and work while 
you may. 











A MERRY BAND. 


285 


A MERRY BAND. 


SNAP THE WHIP. 



“ Oh, we’re a merry band, sir, as ever 
you shall see; 

Our tunes are all quite foreign, and 
sweet as sweet can be ! 

Oh, we’re a happy band, sir, as ever 
you shall see, 

And please, if you’ve a penny, you 
may give it, sir, to me ! ” 


Off we go 
In a row, 

Gallant Tom’s our leader; 

Now hold fast; 

Lily’s last, 

Strength and courage speed her! 
Lightly skip, 

Do not trip; 

Snip , snap , goes the whip ! 


DON’T WAKE THE BABY. 

Baby sleeps, so we must tread 
Softly round her little bed, 

And be careful that our toys 
Do not fall and make a noise. 

Play and talk, but whisper low: 
Mother wants to work, we know, 
That when father comes to tea 
All may neat and cheerful be. 


Lily’s down! 

Do not frown, 

Let us all be jolly! 

Lend a hand, 

. She can stand; 

Next in turn comes Molly. 
Lightly skip, 

Do not trip: 

Snip , snap, goes the whip ! 

Jo and Ben, 

Little men, 










286 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


They can foot it faster; 

That Uncle John had given: 

Off they dash, 

How can he read the papers there, 

Like a flash, 

Or find his hickory staff ? 

Fearing no disaster; 

He’ll put his coat on wrong side out, 

Lightly skip, 

And make the people laugh. 

Do not trip, 

And when he takes the Bible down, 

Snip , snap , goes the whip ! 

And wipes the dusty lid, 



Try again! 

Now and then 
Some one gets a tumble; 

Never mind, 

We shall find 
It’s to make us humble; 

Lightly skip, 

Do not trip; 

Snip , snap , goes the whip ! 

Emily Shaw Forman. 

GRANDPAPA’S SPECTACLES. 

Oh, mamma, what will grandpa do ? 

He’s gone away to heaven, 
Without the silver spectacles 


He’ll never find his spectacles 
Within its cover hid; 

There won’t be any little girl 
He likes as well as me, 

To run and hunt them up for him 
And put them on his knee. 

Oh dear! he’ll never find the place 
About “ the wicked flee,” 

And how the bears ate children up, 
(That used to frighten me;) 

So, mamma, if you’ll dress me up, 
Just like an angel bright, 

I’ll fix our ladder ’gainst the sky, 
And take them up to-night. 

Mbs. M. L. Rayne. 











THE MORNING RIDE. 


287 



THE MORNING RIDE. 


Beford nurse was awake, Claude slip¬ 
ped out of bed, 

And then, with a paper cocked hat on 
his head, 

He got on the stool which stood by its 
side, 

And mounted his horse to take a nice 
ride: 

And thought he was galloping up and 
down hill, 

Although all the time he was standing 
quite still. 

SEE SAW. 

See Saw, up and down, 

I can see all over town. 


TRUE LOVE. 

“How much Hove you, mother dear! ” 
A little prattler said: 

“I love yoii in the morning bright, 
And when I go to bed.” 

“I love you when I’m near to you, 
And when I’m far away: 

I love you when I am at work, 

And when I am at play.” 



And then she slyly, sweetly raised 
Her lovely eyes of blue: 

“ I love you when you love me best, 
And when you scold me, too.” 











288 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 




The mother kissed her darling child, 
And stooped a tear to hide: 

“ My precious one, I love you most 
When I am forced to chide.” 


“ Why, what are you doing, my child ?” 
she said. 

He answered: “ I’s pulling a basting 
thread! ” 


“ I could not let my darling child 
In sin and folly go, 

And this is why I sometimes chide, 
Because I love you so.” 


A LITTLE ROGUE. 


I’d always let you have your 
way; 

I’d never frown at you, and say: 
‘You are behaving ill to-day; 
Such conduct will not do.’ 


Grandma was nodding, I rather think: 

Harry was sly and quick as wink : 

He climbed on the back of her great 
armchair, 

And nestled himself very snugly there. 

Grandma’s dark locks were mingled 
with white, 

And quick this little fact came to his 
sight: 


A sharp twinge soon she felt at her 
hair, 

And awoke to find Harry there. 


“I’d always give you jelly-cake 
For breakfast, and I’d never 
shake 

My head, and say: ‘My dear, I trust 
You will not make me say you must 


COULDN’T YOU, MAMMA? 


“ Dear mamma, if you just could be 
A tiny little girl like me, 

And I your mamma, you would 

see 

How nice I’d be to you. 








grandpapa’s SPECTACLES. 


289 


Eat up your oat-meal’; or ‘The crust 
You’ll find is very nice.’ 

“ I’d buy you candy every day; 

I’d go down-town with you, and say: 
‘What would my darling like? You 
may 

Have anything you see.’ 

I’d never say: ‘My pet, you know 
‘Tis bad for health and teeth, and so 
I cannot let you have it. No; 

It would be wrong in me.’ 

“ And every day I’d let you wear 
Your nicest dress, and never care 
If it should get a great big tear; 

I’d only say to you : 

‘My precious treasure, never mind, 
For little clothes will tear, I find.’ 
Now, mamma, wouldn’t that be kind ? 
That’s just what I should do. 

“I’d never say : ‘Well just a few!' 

I’d let you stop your lessons, too; 

I’d say: ‘they are too hard for you, 
Poor child, to understand.' 

I’d put the books and slates away; 
You shouldn’t do a thing but play, 
And have a party every day. 

Oh-h-h, wouldn’t that be grand ! 

“ But, mamma dear, you cannot grow 
Into a little girl, you know, 

And I can’t be your mamma; so 
The only thing to do, 

Is just for you to try and see 


How very, very nice ’twould be 
For you to do all this for me. 
Now, mamma, couldn't you! ” 


GRANDPAPA’S SPECTACLES. 

Grandpapa’s spectacles cannot be 
found; 

He has searched all the rooms, high 
and low, round and round; 

Now he calls to the young ones, and 
what does he say ? 

“Ten cents to the child who will find 
them to-day.” 

Then Henry, and Nelly, and Edward 
all ran, 

And a most thorough hunt for the 
glasses began, 

And dear little Nell, in her generous 
way, 

Said, “I’ll look for them, grandpa, 
without any pay.” 

All through the big Bible she searches 
with care, 

That lies on the table by grandpapa’s 
chair; 

They feel in his pockets, they peep 
in his hat, 

They pull out the sofa, they shake out 
the mat. 

Then down on all-fours, like two good- 
natured bears, 

Go Harry and Ned under tables and 
chairs, 







290 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


Till, quite out of breath, Ned is heard 
to declare 

He believes that those glasses are not 
anywhere. 

But Nelly, who, leaning on grandpapa’s 
knee, 

Was thinking most earnestly where 
they could be, 

Looked suddenly up in the kind, faded 
eyes, 

And her own shining brown ones grew 
big with surprise. 

She clapped both her hands—all her 
dimples came out,— 

She turned to the boys with a bright, 
roguish shout: 

“You may leave off your looking, both 
Harry and Ned, 

For there are the glasses on grand¬ 
papa’s head! ” 

Elizabeth Sill. 


THE PROPOSAL. 

“Oh, will you be my little wife? 

My little wife ?” he said. 

She only pulled the rose to bits, 

And gravely shook her head. 

“I’ll give you my tops and balls, 

My beautiful new kite.” 

But still she pulled the rose to bits, 
So the butterflies took flight. 

“I’ll buy a great big waxen doll, 
With real eyes and hair.” 

But still she pulled the rose to bits, 
And said she did not care. 


“Oh, look how even doggie begs 
He cannot talk, and so 
He sits upon his hinder legs, 

And thinks he’s quite a beau ! ” 

Then Lawrence said “ Good-bye,” and 
went 

And left her sitting there. 

The moon was watching all the time, 
Then she began to care. 



PUSS IN THE CLOCK. 

It’s dickory, dickory, dock! 

Some one has stopped the clock! 
Why here’s pussy inside, 

As though trying to hide ! 

Dickory, dickory, dock! 

It is puss who has stopped the clock ! 























gran’ma ag’us does. 


291 



GRAN’MA AL’US DOES. 

I wants to mend my wagon, 
And has to have some nails; 


Jus’ two, free will be plenty, 
We’re going to haul our rails. 
The splendidest cob fences, 
We’re makin’ ever was; 
















BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


292 


I wis’ you’d help us find ’em. 
Gran’ma al’us does. 

My horse’s name is Betsy; 

She jumped andhrokedher head, 

I put her in the stable, 

And fed her milk and bread. 

The stable’s in the parlor; 

We didn’t make no muss— 

I wis’ you’d let us stay there, 
Gran’ma al’us does. 

I’s goin’ to the corn-field, 

To ride on Charlie’s plow; 

I ’spect he’d like to have me; 

I wants to go right now. 

Oh, won’t I gee up awful, 

And whoa like Charlie whoas ? 

I wis’ you wouldn’t bozzer; 

Gran’ma never does. 

I wants some bread and butter: 

I’s hungry, worstest kind: 

But Taddie mustn’t have none, 
’Cause he wouldn’t mind. 

Put plenty sugar on it: 

I tell you what, I knows 
It’s right to put on sugar: 

Gran’ma al’us does. 

MAKING MUD-PIES. 

Under the apple tree, spreading and 
thick, 

Happy with only a pan and a stick, 


On the soft grass in the shadow that 
lies, 

Our little Fanny is making mud-pies. 

On her brown apron and bright droop¬ 
ing head 

Showers of pink and white blossoms 
are shed; 

Tied to a branch that seems meant 
just for that, 

Dances and flutters her little straw 
hat. 

Dash, full of joy in the bright sum¬ 
mer day, 

Zealously chases the robins away, 

Barks at the squirrels or snaps at the 
flies, 

All the while Fanny is making mud- 
pies. 

Sunshine and soft summer breezes 
astir 

While she is busy are busy with her; 

Cheeks rosy glowing and bright spark¬ 
ling eyes 

Bring they to Fanny while making 
mud-pies. 

Dollies and playthings are all laid 
away, 

Not to come out till the next rainy 
day; 

Under the blue of these sweet sum¬ 
mer skies 

Nothing’s so pleasant as making mud- 
pies. 








WHAT. 


293 


Gravely she stirs, with a serious look 

“Making believe’’ she’s a true pastry 
cook; 

Sundry brown splashes on forehead 
and eyes 

Show that our Fanny is making mud- 
pies. 


WHAT. 

What was it that Charlie saw, to¬ 
day, 

Down in the pool where the cattle he ? 
A shoal of the spotted trout at play ? 
Or a sheeny dragon-fly ? 



But all the soil of her innocent play 
Soap and clean water will soon wash 
away; 

Many a pleasure in daintier guise 
Leaves darker traces than Fanny’s 
mud-pies. 


The fly and the fish were there indeed; 
But as for the puzzle,—guess 
again! 

It was neither a shell, nor flower, nor 
reed, 

Nor the nest of a last year’s wren. 










294 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


Some willows droop to the brooklet’s 
bed;— 

Who knows but a bee had fallen 
down? 

Or a spider, swung from his broken 
thread, 

Was learning the way to drown ? 

You have not read me the riddle yet, 
Not even the wing of a wounded bee, 

Nor the web of a spider, torn and wet, 
Did Charlie this morning see. 

Now answer, you w T ho have grown so 
wise,— 

What could the wonderful sight have 
been, 

But the dimpled face and great blue eyes 
Of the rogue who was looking in ? 

Kate Putnam Osgood. 


“LITTLE CHILDREN, LOVE ONE 
ANOTHER.” 

A little girl, with a happy look, 

Sat slowly reading a ponderous book 

All bound with velvet and edged with 
gold, 

And its weight was more than the 
child could hold; 

Yet dearly she loved to ponder it o’er, 

And every day she prized it more; 

For it said—and she looked at her 
smiling mother— 

It said, “Little children, love one 
another.” 


She thought it was beautiful in the 
book, 

And the lesson home to her heart she 
took; 

She walked on her way with a trust¬ 
ing grace, 

And a dove-like look in her meek 
young face, 

Which said, just as plain as words 
could say, 

“The Holy Bible I must obey; 

So, mamma, I’ll be kind to my dar¬ 
ling brother, 

For “ Little children must love each 
other.” 

“I’m sorry he’s naughty, and will 
play; 

But I’ll love him still, for I think the 
way 

To make him gentle and kind to me 

Will be better shown if I let him see 

I strive to do what I think is right; 

And thus, when I kneel in prayer to¬ 
night, 

I will clasp my hands around my 
brother, 

And say, ‘Little children love one 
another.’ ” 

The little girl did as her Bible taught, 

And pleasant indeed was the change 
it wrought; 

For the boy looked up in glad sur¬ 
prise, 

To meet the light of her loving eyes : 





THE RABBIT ON THE WALE. 


295 


His heart was full, he could not 
speak, 

But he pressed a kiss on his sister's 
cheek; 

And God looked down on that happy 
mother 

Whose little children loved each other. 


THE RABBIT ON THE WALL. 

The cottage work is over, 

The evening meal is done; 

Hark! through the starlit stillness 
You hear the river run; 

The cotter’s children whisper, 

Then speak out one and all: 

“ Come, father, make for Johnny 
A rabbit on the wall.” 

He smilingly assenting, 

They gather round his chair: 

“Now, grandma, you hold Johnny; 
Don’t let the candle flare. ” 

So speaking, from his fingers 
He throws a shadow tall, 

That seems the moment after 
A rabbit on the wall, 

The children shout with laughter, 
The uproar louder grows, 

E’en grandma chuckles faintly, 

And Johnny chirps and crows. 

There ne’er was gilded painting 
Hung up in lordly hall, 

Gave half the simple pleasure, 

As this rabbit on the wall. 


Ah ! who does not remember 
When humble sports like these, 
Than many a costlier pastime, 
Had greater power to please ? 
When o’er life’s autumn pathway, 
The sere leaves thickly fall, 
How oft we sigh, recalling 
The rabbit on the wall. 


NOTHING TO DO. 

I have sailed my boat, and spun my 
top, 

And handled my last new ball ; 

I trundled my hoop till I had to stop, 

And I swung till I got a fall; 

I tumbled my books all out of the 
shelves, 

And hunted the pictures through; 

I’ve flung them where they may sort 
themselves, 

And now—I have nothing to do. 

The Tower of Babel I built of blocks 

Came down with a crash to the floor; 

My train of cars ran over the rocks— 

I’ll warrant they’ll run no more ; 

I have raced with Grip till I’m out of 
breath; 

My slate is broken in two, 

So I can’t draw monkeys. I’m tired 
to death 

Because I have nothing to do. 

I can see where the boys have gone 
to fish; 






296 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


They bothered me, too, to go, 

But for fun like that I hadn’t a wish, 
For I think it’s mighty “slow” 

To sit all day at the end of a rod 
For the sake of a minnow or two, 
Or to land, at the farthest, an eel on 
the sod: 

I’d rather have nothing to do. 


“I was thinking you’d relish a canter,” 
said he, 

“Because you have nothing to do.” 

I wish I was poor Jim Foster’s son, 
For he seems so happy and gay, 
When his wood is chopped and his 
work all done, 



Maria has gone to the woods for 
flowers, 

And Lucy and Rose are away 
After berries. I’m sure they’ve been 
out for hours; 

I wonder what makes them stay ? 
Ned wanted to saddle Brunette for me, 
But riding is nothing new; 


With his little half hour of 
play; 

He neither has books nor top nor 
ball, 

Yet he’s singing the whole day 
through; 

But then he is never tired at all 
Because he has nothing to do. 
















A PICTURE, 


297 


A PICTURE. 

The farmer sat in his easy-chair 
Smoking his pipe of clay, 

While his hale old wife, with busy 
care, 

Was clearing the dinner away; 

A sweet little girl with fine blue eyes, 
On her grandfather’s knee was 
catching flies. 

The old man laid his hand on her 
head, 

With a tear on his wrinkled face; 

He thought how often her mother 
dead 

Had sat in the selfsame place. 

As the tear stole down from his half¬ 
shut eye, 

“Don’t smoke !” said the child, “how 
it makes you cry !” 

The house-dog lay stretched out on 
the floor, 

Where the shade after noon used to 
steal; 

The busy old wife, by the open door, 
Was turning the spinning-wheel; 

And the old brass clock on the man¬ 
tle-tree 

Had plodded along to almost three. 

Still the farmer sat in his easy-chair, 
While close to his heaving breast 

The moistened brow and the cheek so 
fair 


Of his sweet grandchild were 
pressed; 

His head, bent down, on her soft hair 
lay: 

Fast asleep were they both that sum¬ 
mer day! 

Charles G. Eastman. 

SEVEN TIMES ONE. 

There’s no dew left on the daisies and 
clover, 

There’s no rain left in heaven: 



I’ve said my “seven times” over and 
over, 

Seven times one are seven. 


I am old, so old I can write a letter; 
My birthday lessons are done; 







298 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


The lambs play always, they know no 
better; 

They are only one times one. 

0, moon, in the night I have seen you 
sailing 

And shining so round and low; 

You were bright—ah bright! but your 
light is failing; 

You are nothing now but a bow. 

You moon, have you done something 
wrong in heaven, 

That God has hidden your face ? 

I hope, if you have, you will soon be 
forgiven, 

And shine again in your place. 

0, velvet bee, you’re a dusty fellow, 

You’ve powdered your legs with gold ! 

0, brave marsh-mary buds, rich and 
yellow, 

Give me your money to hold! 

0,columbine, open your folded wrapper, 

Where two twin turtle-doves dwell! 

0, cuckoo-pint, toll me the purple clap¬ 
per 

That hangs in your clear green bell! 

And show me the nests with the young 
ones in it; 

I will not steal them away: 

I am old ! You may trust me, linnet, 
linnet, 

I am seven times one to-day. 

Jean Ingelow. 


THE NEW MOON. 

Dear mother, how pretty 
The moon looks to-night! 

She was never so cunning before; 
Her two little horns 
Are so sharp and so bright, 

I hope she’ll not grow any more. 

If I were up there 
With you and my friends, 

I’d rock in it nicely, you’d see ; 

I’d sit in the middle, 

And hold by both ends; 

Oh, what a bright cradle ’twould be! 



I would call on the stars 
To keep out of the way, 

Lest we should rock over their toes; 
And then I.would rock 
Till the dawn of the day, 

And see where the pretty moon goes. 

And there we would stay 
In the beautiful skies, 

And through the bright clouds we 
would roam; 

We would see the sun set, 

And see the sun rise, 

And on the next rainbow come home. 

Mrs. Follen. 




THE SHADOWS. 


299 



THE SHADOWS. 

My little boy with pale, round 
cheeks, 

And large, brown, dreamy 
eyes, 

Not often, little wise head, 
speaks, 

But yet will make replies. 

His sister, always glad to show 

Her knowledge, for its 
praise, 

Said yesterday: “God’s here, 
you know; 

He’s everywhere, always.” 

“He’s in this room.” His large 
brown eyes 

Went wandering round for 
God; 

In vain he looks, in vain he 
tries, 

His wits are all abroad. 


“He is not here, mamma ? No, no ; 

I do not see Him at all, 

He’s not the shadows, is he ? So 
His doubtful accents fall. 


While every shadow lying there, 
Slow remnant of the night, 

Is but an aching, longing prayer, 
For Thee, 0 Lord, the Light, 


_ . . ... 1 George Macdonald. 

Fall on my heart, like precious seed, 

Grow up to flowers of love; 

For as my child, in love and need, AMUSEMENT. 

Am I to Him above. 


How oft before the vapors break, 
And day begins to be, 

In our dim-lighted rooms we take 
The shadows, Lord, for Thee;— 


“’Tis well to be amused; 

But when amusement does instruc 
tion bring, 

‘Tis better.—” 


Wm. Shakespeare. 







3 °° 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


A SLICE OF THE MOON. 


* Where are you going, my little man ? 

“ Going to the moon, sir, if I can. ” 
“When you get there, what will you ' 
do?” 

“ With my big knife I’ll cut him in 
two.” 


A slice of the cheese so rich and so 
green, 

The best and the biggest that ever 
was seen.” 





“How will you get there, my little j 
man?” 

“By bean-stalk train, sir, if I can, 

I’ll take to the rail, and keep to the 
track 

Securely laid down by the world- 
renowned Jack.” 

“I wish you success, then, my little 
man; 

Pray bring me a moonbeam, if you 
can, 


LITTLE RAIN-DROPS. 

Where do you come from, 

You little drops of rain, 
Pitter patter, pitter patter, 
Down the window-pane ? 

They won’t let me walk, 

And they won’t let me play 
And they won’t let me go 
Out-of-doors at all to-day. 

They put away my plaything 
Because I broke them all, 
And then they locked up all 
my bricks, 

And took away my ball. 

Tell me, little rain-drops. 

Is that the way you play— 
Pitter patter, pitter patter 
All the rainy day ? 


They say I’m very naughty, 

But I’ve nothing else to do 
But sit here at the window: 

I should like to play with you. 

The little rain-drops cannot speak; 

But “pitter patter pat” 

Means, “ We can play on this side, 
Why can’t you play on that?” 

Aunt Effie’s Rhymes, 









PLAYING BO-PEEP WITH THE STAR. 


3 01 


“ Or else you would answer my ques¬ 
tion to-night. 

We whisper and talk to each other 
down here; 

I think you could speak, if you chose 
to, my dear.” 

What do you think the little star did ? 

It willfully slipped out of sight, and 
was hid 



PLAYING BO-PEEP WITH THE 
STAR. 

4 ‘Who are you winking at, bright 
little star? 

Hanging alone, ’way up ever so far; 

Trembling and flashing aloft in the 
blue— 

Answer my question, and answer 
me true.” 


She stood by the window, all ready for 
bed, 

Yet lingered to hear what the little 
star said; 

But naught would it do but wink its 
bright eye, 

Alone by itself in the depths of the 
sky. 

“I fear you are dumb,” said the wee 
little sprite, 


By a snip of a cloud that floated 
close by, 

And never vouchsafed her a wink or 
reply. 

But after a while, when she woke in 
the night, 

The first thing she saw was that lit¬ 
tle star’s light; 

It twinkled and twinkled, and roused 
her from sleep. 













































3°2 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PDAYS. 


“Aha!” laughed the child, “we can 
both play bo-peep! ” 


GOING INTO BREECHES. 

Joy to Philip ! he this day 
Has his long coats cast away, 
And (the childish season gone) 
Puts the manly breeches on. 



Officer on gay parade, 

Red-coat in his first cockade, 
Bridegroom in his wedding trim, 
Birthday beau surpassing him, 
Never did with conscious'gait 
Strut about in half the state, 

Or the pride (yet free from sin), 
Of my little manikin : 

Never was there pride, or bliss, 
Half so rational as his. 


Sashes, frocks, to those that need 
’em— 

Philip’s limbs have got their freedom. 
He can run, or he can ride, 

And do twenty things beside, 

Which his petticoats forbade: 

Is he not a happy lad ? 

Now he’s under other banners, 

He must leave his former manners, 
Bid adieu to female games, 

And forget their very names— 
Puss-in-corners, hide-and-seek, 

Sports for girls and punies weak ! 
Baste-the-bear he now may play at; 
Leap-frog, foot-ball sport away at; 
Show his strength and skill at cricket, 
Mark his distance, pitch his wicket: 
Run about in winter’s snow 
Till his cheeks and fingers glow; 

Climb a tree, or scale a wall, 

Without any fear to fall. 

If he get a hurt or bruise, 

To complain he must refuse, 

Though the anguish and the smart 
Go unto his little heart. 

He must have his courage ready, 

Keep his voice and visage steady, 
Brace his eyeballs stiff as drum, 

That a tear may never come; 

And his grief must only speak 
From the color in his cheek. 

This and more he must endure— 
Hero he in miniature ! 

This and more must now be done, 
Now the breeches are put on. 

Mary Lamb. 


















twinkle! twinkle! little star. 


303 


TWINKLE! TWINKLE! LITTLE 
STAR! 

Twinkle ! twinkle ! little star! 

How I wonder what you are: 

Up above the world so high, 

Like a diamond in the sky. 



When the blazing sun is gone, 
When he nothing shines upon; 


Then you show your little light; 
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. 

The poor traveler in the dark 
Thanks God for your tiny spark, 
Could he tell which way to go 
If you did not twinkle so ? 

In the dark blue sky you keep, 
Sweetly through my curtain peep ; 
And you never shut your eye 
Till the sun is in the sky. 

Up above the world so high, 

Like a diamond in the sky, 

Though I know not what you are, 
Twinkle ! twinkle ! little star ! 

Jane Taylob. 


THE FIRST POCKET. 

What is this tremendous noise ? 

What can be the matter ? 

Willie’s coming up the stairs 
With unusual clatter. 

Now he bursts into the room, 

Noisy as a rocket: 

“ Auntie ! I am five years old— 

And I’ve got a pocket!” 

Eyes as round and bright as stars; 
Cheeks like apples glowing; 

Heart that this new treasure fills 
Quite to overflowing. 

“Jack may have his squeaking boots; 
Kate may have her locket: 

I’ve got something better yet,— 

I have got a pocket!” 







304 


BABY DAYS . AND BABY PLAYS. 


All too fresh the joy to make 
Emptiness a sorrow: 

Little hand is plump enough 
To fill it—till to-morrow. 

And e’er many days were o’er, 
Strangest things did stock it: 
Nothing ever came amiss 
To this wondrous pocket. 

Leather, marbles, bits of string, 
Licorice-sticks and candy, 

Stones, a hall, his pennies too: 

It was always handy. 

And, when Willie’s snug in bed, 
Should you chance to knock it, 
Sundry treasures rattle out 
From this crowded pocket. 

Sometimes Johnny’s borrowed knife 
Found a place within it: 

He forgot that he had said, 

“I want it just a minute” 

Once the closet-key was lost; 

No one could unlock it: 

Where do you suppose it was ?— 
Down in Willie’s pocket. 

Elizabeth Sill. 


THE FIRST PAIR OF BREECHES. 

Iv’e got a pair of breeches now, 

And I’ll have to be a man, 

I know I can if just I try, 

My mamma says I can! 

I’m going to school now very soon, 
And learn my A, B, C; 


My mamma says I’m too young yet, 
But I am way past three. 

And I’ve got pockets in my pants, 

To put my pencil in; 

For mamma says that I must write 
In school when I begin. 

I’ll soon be tall as papa—now 
I’ll grow fast as I can, 

And don’t you think that very soon 
I’ll be a full-grown man ? 

THE FIRST RUBBER BOOTS. 

That precious pair of rubber boots, 

So tall, so black, so shining! 
They’re just the things, the very 
things, 

For which our Ned’s been pining. 

And now he calls them all his own, 

A happy thought comes o’er him, 
And when he kneels to say his prayers, 
He sets the boots before him. 

Then into bed our darling goes, 

His treasures near him keeping; 
For on the pillow one small head 
Between two boots is sleeping. 

Through snow, through slush, and in 
the rain, 

—0 never mind the weather! 

The rubber boots, the little Ned, 
They trudge along together. 

His feet go dabbling in the brook, 

| Just like two little fishes, 








HERE SITS THE LORD MAYOR. 


305 


And then he runs to tell mamma 
The funniest of wishes. 

‘‘I wish I was a puss-tat, ma, 

Just like our old gray Molly, 

Then I could wear four rubber boots, 
Oh, wouldn’t that be jolly !” 


HERE SITS THE LORD MAYOR. 

Here sits the Lord Mayor. Forehead. 

Here sits his two men. . Eyes. 

Here sits the cock. . .... .Right cheek 

Here sits the hen. Left cheek. 

Here sit the little chickens Tip of nose. 

Here they run in. Mouth. 

Chin-chopper, chin-chop¬ 
per, chin-chopper, 
chin !. Chuck the chin. 


TEN TRUE FRIENDS. 

Ten true friends you have, 
Who, five in a row, 

Upon each side of you 
Go where you go. 

Suppose you are sleepy, 
They help you to bed; 

Suppose you are hungry, 
They see that you are fed. 

They wake up your dolly 
And put on your clothes, 

And trundle her carriage 
Wherever she goes. 


And these ten tiny fellows, 

They serve you with ease; 
And they ask nothing from you, 
But work hard to please. 

Now, with ten willing servants 
So trusty and true, 

Pray who would be lazy 
Or idle—would you ? 


LITTLE FINGERS. 

Busy little fingers, 

Everywhere they go, 

Rosy little fingers, 

The sweetest that I know! 

Now into my work-box, 

All the buttons finding, 

Tangling up the knitting, 

Every spool unwinding! 

Now into the basket 

Where the keys are hidden, 

Full of mischief looking, 

Knowing it forbidden. 

Then in mother’s tresses, 

Now her neck enfolding, 

With such sweet caresses 
Keeping off a scolding. 

Daring little fingers, 

Never, never still! 

Make them, Heavenly Father, 
Always do Thy will. 

Apples of Gold. 













3°6 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAY'S. 



COUNTING BABY’S TOES 

Dear little bare feet, 
Dimpled and white, 

In your long night-gown 
Wrapped for the night, 
Come, let me count all 
Your queer little toes, 


Pink as the heart 
Of a shell or a rose. 
One is a lady 

That sits in the sun ; 
Two is a baby, 

And three is a nun ; 
Four is a lily 

With innocent breast; 


















THE FIVE PIGS. 


307 


And five is a birdie 
Asleep on her nest. 


THE FIVE PIGS. 

1. This pig went to market ; 

2. This pig stayed at home; 

3. This pig had a bit of meat; 

4. And this pig had none; 

5. This pig said, wee, wee, wee! 

I can’t find my way home. 

TEN LITTLE TOES. 

Baby is clad in his night-gown white, 
Pussy-cat purrs a soft good-night, 
And somebody tells, for somebody 
knows, 

The terrible tale of ten little toes. 

RIGHT FOOT. 

This big toe took a small boy Sam 
Into the cupboard after the jam; 

This little toe said, “ 0 no ! no ! ” 

This little toe was anxious to go; 

This little toe said, “ ’ Tisn’t quite 
right 

This little tiny toe curled out of sight. 

LEFT FOOT. ' 

This big toe got suddenly stubbed; 
This little toe got ruefully rubbed; 
This little frightened toe cried out, 

“ Bears!” 


This little timid toe, “ Run up stairs ! ” 
Down came a jar with a loud slam! 
slam! 

This little tiny toe got all the jam! 

Clara G. Dolliner. 



Airily, airily, skip away: 

Set to work, all of you, trip away! 
Over your head, and under your 
toes, 

That’s the way the merry rope goes ! 
Aprons flap in the breezy air; 

Fly away, lessons, this holiday fair! 








3°8 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


THE FIRST OF IT’S KIND. 

“ Oil, ’tis time weTe up and doing !” it 
said, . 

“ Come out of your lazy beds ! 

I’m going to see what the world is 
like; 

I’m tired of you, sleepy heads!” 

“ Who knows what’s going on there 
above ? 

There’s/many a laugh and shout, 
Somewhere they’re having a jolly good 
time, 

I’ll find what’s it’s all about.” 

“ Come with me, don’t sleep any more, 
There’s nothing at all to fear, 

I’m sure there’s room enough up there, 
And I’m awfully crowded here. ” 

So up in the world it flashed its way, 
And stood there dainty and white, 
While its comrades prepared to leave 
their beds, 

And follow it up to the light. 

What was it ? was it a snowdrop fair ? 

Not quite; for to tell you the truth, 
It wasn’t a brave little flower at all, 

It was just the baby’s first tooth! 

Bessie Chandler. 


TWO. 

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 lias 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.” 







“mamma can’t find me!” 


309 


“MAMMA CANT FIND ME!’ 

No little step do I hear in the hall, 

Only a sweet little laugh, that is all; 

No dimpled arms ’round my neck hold 
me tight; 

I’ve but a glimpse of two eyes very 
bright, 

Two little hands a wee face try to 
screen, 

Baby is hiding, that’s plain to be seen. 

“ Where is my precious, I’ve missed 
so all day?” 

“Mamma can’t find me !” the pretty 
lips say. 

“Dear me, I wonder where baby can 
be?” 

Then I go by and pretend not to see. 

“Not in the parlor, and not on the 
stairs, 

Then I must peep under sofa and 
chairs.” 

The dear little rogue is now laughing 
outright, 

Two little arms ’round my neck clasp 
me tight. 

Home will, indeed, be sad, weary and 
lone, 

When mamma can’t find you, my 
darling, my own. 


THE NAUGHTY LITTLE GIRL. 

She is cunning, she is tricky, 

I am greatly grieved to tell, 


And her hands are always sticky 
With chocolate caramel; 

Her dolly’s battered features 
Tell of many a frantic hurl, 
She’s the terror of her teachers— 
That naughty little girl! 



She dotes upon bananas, 

And she smears them on my knees, 
And she peppers my havanas, 

And she laughs to hear me sneeze; 
And she steals into my study 
And she turns my books a-whirl, 
And her boots are always muddy— 
This naughty little girl! 







3 IQ 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


When she looks as she were dreaming 
Of the angels in the air, 

I know she’s only scheming 

How to slyly pull my hair; 

Yet—why, I can’t discover— 

Spite of every tangled curl, 

She’s a darling, and I love her— 

That naughty little girl! 

Samuel Mintubn Peck. 



A VERY GOOD GIRL. 


Our merry little daughter 
Was climbing out of bed— 

“Don’t you think that I’m a good girl ?” 

Our little daughter said, 

“For all day long this lovely day, 
And all day long to-morrow, 


I havn’t done a single thing, 

To give my mother sorrow!” 

St. Nicholas Magazine. 


THE PET OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 

Thou art so very sweet and fair, 

With such a heaven in thine eyes, 
It almost seems an over-care 
To ask thee to be good or wise; 

As if a little bird were blamed 

Because its song, unthinking flows; 
As if a rose should be ashamed 
Of being nothing but a rose. 


BEDLAM TOWN. 

Do you want to peep into Bedlam 
town ? 

Then come with me as the day swings 
down. 

Into the cradle, whose rocker’s rim 

Some people call the horizon dim. 

All the mischief of all the fates 

Seems to center in four little pates. 

Just an hour before we say 

“It is time for bed now, stop your 
play.” 

Oh the racket and noise and roar, 

As they prance like a caravan over 
the floor. 






THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET. 


3 11 


With never a thought of the head that 
aches, 

And never a heed to the “mercy sakes,” 

And “pity save us,” and “Oh, dear, 
dear,” 

That all the culprits plainly hear. 

A monkey, a parrot, a guinea hen, 

Warriors, elephants, Indian men, 

A salvation army, a grizzly bear, 

Are all at once in the nursery there. 

And when the clock in the hall strikes 
seven, 

It sounds to us like a voice from Hea¬ 
ven. 

And each of the elves in a warm night¬ 
gown, 

Marches away out of Bedlam Town. 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 


THE PATTER OF LITTLE 
FEET. 

Up with the sun in the morn¬ 
ing, 

Away to the garden he hies,, 
To see if the sleeping blossoms 
Have begun to open their* 
eyes. 

Running a race with the wind, 
With a step as light and fleet, 
Under my window I hear 
The patter of little feet. 


Now to the brook he wanders, 

In swift and noiseless flight, 
Splashing the sparkling ripples 
Like a fairy water-sprite. 

No sand under fabled river 

Has gleams like his golden hair, 
No pearly sea-shell is fairer 


Than his slender ankles bare. 

And watches the “poor man’s blessing’ 
I cannot envy his lot. 

He has pictures, books, and music, 
Bright fountains, and noble trees, 
Rare store of blossoming roses, 










312 


EABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


Birds from beyond the seas. 

Nor the rosiest stem of coral, 

That blushes in ocean’s bed, 

Is sweet as the flash that follows 
Our darling’s airy tread. 

From a broad window my neighbor, 
Looks down on our-little cot, 

But never does childish laughter 
His homeward footsteps greet; 

His stately halls ne’er echo 
To the tread of innocent feet. 

This child is our 4 ‘sparkling picture,” 
A birdling that chatters and sings, 

Sometimes a sleeping cherub, 

(Our other one has wings). 

His heart is a charmed casket, 

Full of all that’s cunning and sweet, 

And no harpstring holds such music 
As follows his twinkling feet. 

When the glory of sunset opens 
The highway by angels trod, 

And seems to unbar the city 
Whose builder and maker is God- 

Close to the crystal portal, 

I see by the gates of pearl, 

The eyes of our other angel— 

A twin-born little girl. 

And I ask to be taught and directed, 
To guide his footsteps aright; 

So to live that I may be ready 
To walk in sandals of light— 


And hear, amid songs of welcome, 
From messengers trusty and fleet, 
On the starry floor of heaven, 

The patter of little feet. 


THE GAMBOLS OF CHILDREN. 

Down the dimpled greensward dancing 
Bursts a flaxen-headed bevy,— 

Bud-lipt boys and girls advancing, 
Love’s irregular little levy. 

Bows of liquid eyes in laughter, 

How they glimmer, how they 
quiver! 

Sparkling one another after, 

Like bright ripples on a river. 

Tipsy band of rubious faces, 

Flushed with Joy’s ethereal spirit, 

Make your mocks and sly grimaces 
At Love’s self, and do not fear it. 

George Darl. 


LITTLE JIM. 

Our little Jim 
Was such a limb 

His mother scarce could master him; 
His eyes were blue 
And looked you through, 

And seemed to say: 

“I’ll have my w&y! ” 

His age was six, 

His saucy tricks 
But made you smile, 






WISHING. 


313 


Though all the while 
You said : “You limb, 

You wicked Jim, 

Be quiet, do!” 

Poor little Jim! 

Our eyes are dim 

When soft and low we speak of him. 
No clattering shoe 
Goes running through 
The silent room, 

Now wrapped in gloom. 

So still he lies, 

With fast shut eyes, 

No need to say: 

Alas! to-day: 

“You little limb. 

You baby Jim, 

Be quiet, do!” 

Geokge R. Sims. 


WISHING. 

Where the grass grows sweet and tall, 
And the shallow waters fall 
Over pebbles, smooth and bright, 
Once I saw a lovely sight.— 

Seven little ones at play, 

Telling what they’d do some day, 
When “ grown up.” What they’d be, 
What they’d have. Oh, fair to see, 

Was rollicking Teddy and blue-eyed 
Joe, 

Close where the tallest grasses 
grow; 


Rosy-cheeked Jennie, and dimple¬ 
cheeked Nan, 

Listening to Teddy’s “When I’m a 
man.” 

There were “two and two, and then 
three, ” 

They counted themselves in glee, 

And the “ three ” were Katie and Nell, 
And Johnny, poor wee Johnny Bell. 

Jennie wished for a house so fine, 
And Nan in a silk dress to shine; 

While Ted “a ship, its captain to he,” 
And Joe said low, “ while you’re at 


sea. 



A home for Jennie, tall and grand.” 
They laughed at this right merrily, 
The children four and the children 
three. 

“An artist I’ll be,” said Nellie then, 
“When Teddy and Joe are grown 
to men, 







3M 


BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


I’ll paint this bank and grasses fair, 
And the moon a-rising over there.” 

Poor little Johnny I could not see, 

But he made the kindest wish to me • 
“ I’ll work, I’ll work, as hard as I can, 
To help my mother, when I’m a 
man.” 

Katie had listened to all the rest, 
With brave thoughts battling in 
her breast, 

“ When I’m a woman, I’d rather be 
Useful , than anything else ,” said she. 


THE CHILDREN’S BED TIME. 

The clock strikes seven in the hall, 
The curfew of the children’s day, 
That calls each little pattering foot 
From dance and song and lively 
play; 

Their day that in a wider light 
Floats like a silver day-moon white, 
Nor in our darkness sinks to rest, 

But sets within a golden west. 

Ah, tender hour that sends a drift 
Of children’s kisses through the 
house, 

And cuckoo notes of sweet “Good 
night,” 

That thoughts of heaven and home 
arouse 

And a soft stir to sense and heart, 

As when the bee and blossom part; 
And little feet that patter slower, 

Like the last droppings of a shower. 


And in the children’s room aloft, 
What blossom shapes do gaily slip 
Their daily sheaths, and rosy run 
From clasping hand and kissing lip, 
A naked sweetness to the eye— 
Blossom and babe and butterfly 
In witching one, so dear a sight! 

An ecstasy of life and light. 

Then lily-drest, in angel white, 

To mother’s knee they trooping 
come. 

The soft palms fold like kissing shells, 
And they and we go singing home— 
Their bright heads bowed and worship¬ 
ing, 

As though some glory of the spring, 
Some daffodil that mocks the day, 
Should fold his golden palms and pray. 

The gates of paradise swing wide 
A moment’s space in soft accord, 
And those dread angels, Life and 
Death, 

A moment veil the flaming sword, 
As o’er this weary world forlorn 
From Eden’s secret heart is borne 
That breath of Paradise most fair, 
Which mothers call “the children’s 
prayer.” 

Then kissed, on beds we lay them 
down, 

As fragrant white as clover’d sod, 
And all the upper floors grow hushed 
With children’s sleep, and dews of 
God. 






POOR DOLLY. 


315 


And as our stars their beams do hide, 
The stars of twilight, opening wide, 
Take up the heavenly tale at even, 
And light us on to God and heaven. 


I could cry; but I’m really ashamed 
to, 

Since you haven’t cried,—not a 
wink; 



POOR DOLLY. 

0 baby, my beautiful baby! 

My own little, dear little Sue ! 

It is dreadful, just perfectly dreadful, 
To think what has happened to you! 


But I know in my heart, precious baby, 
What very sad thoughts you must 
think. 

And break your poor arm, dear, and 
hurt you. 










BABY DAYS AND BABY PLAYS. 


3 l6 


And scratch your sweet rose-cheeks 
and all. 

I’m ’fraid you will never believe me, 
But I truly did not mean to fall. 

I’ve torn a big hole in my stocking, 
And got a deep scratch in my arm; 

But I don’t care for anything, dolly, 
Except that I’ve done you such 
harm. 

Oh, dear! it has spoiled all your 
beauty, 


And you were so handsome before ! 

I’m ’fraid—please excuse me, my 
darling— 

You’ll be “Queen of Beauty” no 
more. 

But oh, I shall love my poor baby 

Far better than ever, I know, 

If she weren’t ’most an angel, she 
never 

Would lie here and smile at me so. 

Mary D. Brine. 





Lessons of Life. 







































* 







































































































































i 

























LESSONS OF LIFE. 



BOYS WANTED. 

Boys of spirit, boys of will, 

Boys of muscle, brain and power, 


Fit to cope with anything— 

These are wanted every hour. 

Not the weak and whining drones, 
That all trouble magnify; 


319 









320 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


Not the watchword of “I can’t.” 
But the nobler one “I’ll try.” 

Do whate’er you have to do 
With a true and earnest zeal; 
Bend your sinews to the task; 
Put your shoulder to the wheel. 

In the counting-house or store, 
Wheresoever you may be, 

From your future efforts, boys, 
Comes a nation’s destiny. 


A GOOD NAME. 


No bread on his board, and no meal 
in his bag, 

His house is a ruin, his coat is a 
rag. 

“I can” is a worker; he tills the 
broad fields, 

And digs from the earth all the 
wealth that it yields; 

The hum of his spindles begins with 
the light, 

And the fires of his forges are blaz¬ 
ing all night. 

W. A. Butler. 


Children, choose it, 

Don’t refuse it, 

’Tis a precious diadem; 

Highly prize it, 

Don’t despise it, 

You will need it when you’re men. 

Love and cherish, 

Keep and nourish, 

’Tis more precious far than gold; 
Watch and guard it, 

Don’t discard it, 

You will need it when you’re old. 


I CANT AND I CAN. 

“I can’t” is a sluggard, too lazy to 
work; 

From duty he srinks, every task he 
will shirk; 


A BOY’S BIRTHDAY. 

Once upon a winter night, 

When the snow lay cold and white, 



Dropped a baby from the skies 
With a pair of big brown eyes; 







A boy’s birthday. 


321 


Without clothes, or food, or name, 
Right into our hearts it came, 

And we loved it from that minute 
As if there were “millions in it.” 



Soon a happy year had flown; 

He could creep and stand alone, 

Now mamma and Rob and Fritz, 

Do a hundred pretty tricks; 

He was sweet, but still a tartar, 

So we called him little Arthur, 

“Pet” and “ Darling,” “Love,” and 
“ Pride,” 

And a hundred names beside. 

When another year went by, 

Could I tell if I should try 
Half how lovely he had grown ?— 
Walking, like a man, alone; 

Talking with such babbling words, 


Like the cooing of the birds, 

With a tangled crop of curls 
Hanging round him—like a girl’s. 

Three years old; now look for squalls, 
Trials, troubles, cries and falls ! 

Up and down like any rocket! 

In his dress a little pocket 

Filled with tops and nails and strings, 

And some fifty other things ; 

Three feet tall, or taller maybe— 

Can this be my little baby ? 

Still another birthday, dear, 

What a four-year colt is here ! 
Leaping, running, skipping, prancing, 
In and out on swift feet dancing, 
Handling marbles, spinning tops, 
Spending cents in candy-shops; 

In kilted skirt and buttoned jacket, 
Always ripe for fun and racket! 

Now as sure as I’m alive, 

That outrageous boy is five ! 

Send him off to school at once— 

We don’t want to own a dunce! 

Full of tricks as any marten— 

Get him to a kindergarten; 

There he’ll learn to use his wits, 
Without any ugly fits. 

Six and what do I behold! 

No more waving curls of gold, 

But a little wig of brown, 

Closely cropped about the crown. 

No more skirts, but little breeches 







322 


LESSONS OE LIFE. 


Full of many seams and stitches; 
Growing, every single day, 

In the most surprising way. 


Seven to-day: a hoy at last! 

Time and tide have traveled fast; 
There he lies so fine and tall, 

Jacket, trousers, boots and all; 

He can spell, and read, and write, 

He is good and gay and bright, 

And his life goes bravely on, 

But where is my baby gone ! 

So now I hope—what clo I hope ? Oh, 
scores and scores of things: 

I hope he’ll learn to comb his hair, 
and tie his own shoe strings; 

I hope he’ll never catch a cold in hail 
or snow or rain, 

And grow to be full six feet high 
without one growing pain. 


MAIDENHOOD. 

Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes, 
In whose orbs a shadow lies 
Like the dusk in evening skies ! 


Thou whose locks outshine the sun, 
Golden tresses wreathed in one, 

As the braided streamlets run ! 

Standing, with reluctant feet, 
Where the brook and river meet, 
Womanhood and childhood 
fleet! 

Gazing, with a timid glance, 

On the brooklet’s swift ad¬ 
vance 

On the river’s broad expanse! 

Deep and still, that gliding stream 
Beautiful to thee must seem, 

As the river of a dream. 

Then why pause with indecision, 
When bright angels in thy vision 
Beckon thee to fields Elysian ? 

Seest thou shadows sailing by, 

As the dove, with startled eye, 

Sees the falcon’s shadow fly? 

Hearest thou voices on the shore, 

That our ears perceive no more, 
Deafened by the cataract’s roar ? 

Oh, thou child of many prayers ! 

Life hath quicksands—life hath snares \ 
Care and age come unawares ! 

Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
Morning rises into noon, 

May glides onward into June. 

Childhood is the bough where slum¬ 
bered 









MAIDENHOOD 



MAIDENHOOD. 


Birds and blossoms many numbered; 
Age that bough with snows encumbered. 

Gather, then, each flower that grows, 
When the young heart overflows, 

To embalm that tent of snows. 

Bear a lily in thy hand; 

Gates of brass can not withstand 
One touch of that magic wand. 

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 


In thy heart the dew of youth, 

On thy lips the smile of truth. 

Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal 
Into wounds that cannot heal, 

Even as sleep our eyes doth seal! 

And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
Into many a sunless heart, 

For a smile of God thou art. 

Henby Wadsworth Longfellow. 












324 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 



NEVER OUT OF SIGHT. 

I know a little saying, 

That is altogether true; 

My little boy, my little girl, 

The saying is for you. 

’Tis this, 0 blue and black eyes, 
And gray—so deep and bright— 
No child in all this careless world 
Is ever out of sight. 

No matter whether fields or glen, 

Or city’s crowded way, 

Or pleasure’s laugh or labor’s hum. 
Entice your feet to stay, 

Some one is always watching you; 

And, whether wrong or right, 

No child in all this busy world 
Is ever out of sight. 


Someone is always watching 
you, 

And marking what you do, 
To see if all your childhood’s 
acts 

Are honest, brave, and 
true; 

And, watchful more than 
mortal kind, 

God’s angels pure and 
white, 

In gladness or in sorrowing, 
Are keeping you in sight. 

0, bear in mind, my little 
one, 

And let your mark be high ! 
You do whatever thing you do, 
Beneath some seeing eye. 

0, bear in mind, my little ones, 

And keep your good name bright, 
No child upon this round, round earth 
Is ever out of sight. 


HIS WISH. 

My seven-year-old by the window 
stood, 

When the rain was falling the other 
day,— 

A perfect picture of boyish mirth, 

A dainty breath of life’s early May; 

His eyes as blue as the azure skies, 
His mouth like an angel’s when he 
smiled: 






little things. 


325 


And I said, “What beautiful thoughts 
arise 

In the sinless mind of a little child ?” 

Does he hear the sound of spirit 
wings ? 

Does he see a vision of heaven’s 
own joy? 

Is he listening while the angels sing ? 

“What are you thinking about my 
boy?” 

I felt presumptuous to break the spell, 

He seemed so perfect—my tiny 
bud— 

But he said: “Mamma, I’d just as lief 
tell: 

I wish I was digging out in the 
mud.” 

Marie L. Ritter 


LITTLE THINGS. 

A cup of water timely brought, 

An offered easy chair, 

A turning of the window-blind, 

That all may feel the air; 

An early flower bestowed unasked, 

A light and cautious tread, 

A voice to softest whispers hushed 
To spare an aching head— 

Oh, things like these, though little 
things, 

The purest love disclose, 

As fragrant atoms in the air 
Beveal the hidden rose. 


A LITTLE BUILDER. 

I’m a little builder, 

And I mean to try 
Hard, to build a mansion 
’Way up in the sky. 



Not like that big tower 
Mr. Babel made, 
’Cause he was so wicked, 
And so awful ’fraid. 

But when I feel naughty, 
I am going to say 









326 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


Little prayers that mamma 
Taught me how to pray. 

And when baby’s fretful, 

I shall let him see 
What a patient sister 
Susie’s learned to be. 

That’s the way I’ll build it, 
Mamma told me how; 
Guess I’ll stop my talking, 
And begin it now. 

LITTLE MOMENTS. 

Little moments make an hour; 

Little thoughts, a book; 
Little seeds, a tree or flower; 

Water drops, a brook; 
Little deeds of faith and love, 
Make a home for you above. 


PERSEVERANCE. 

The boy who does a stroke, and stops— 
Will ne’er a great man be; 

’Tis the aggregate of single drops 
That makes the sea the sea. 

Not all at once the morning streams 
Its gold above the gray, 

It takes a thousand little beams 
To make the day the day 

The farmer needs must sow and till 
And wait the wlieaten head, 


Then cradle, thresh, and go to mill, 
Before his bread is bread. 

Swift heels may get the early shout, 
But, spite of all the din, 

It is the patient holding out 
That makes the winner win. 

WORK WHILE YOU WORK. 

Work while you work, 

And play while you play, 

That is the way 

To be cheerful and gay. 

All that you do, 

Do with your might, 

Things done by halves 
Are never done right; 

One thing at once, 

And that done well, 

Is a very good rule, 

As wise men tell. 

Moments are useless, 

Trifled away— 

Work while you work, 

And play while you play. 


SUNSHINE AND SHOWERS. 

Two children stood at their father’s 
gate. 

Two girls with golden hair, 

And their eyes were bright, and their 
voices glad, 

Because the morn was fair; 







SUNSHINE AND SHOWERS. 


327 



For they said, “We will take that long, 
long walk 

To the hawthorn copse to-day, 

And gather great bunches of lovely 
flowers 

From off the scented way; 

And oh ! we shall be so happy there, 
’Twill be sorrow to come away!” 

As the children spoke a little cloud 
Passed slowly across the sky. 

And one looked up in her sister’s face 
With a tear-drop in her eye. 

But the other said, “Oh ! heed it not, 
’Tis far too fair to rain, 

That little cloud may search the sky 
For other clouds in vain.” 

And soon the children’s voices rose 
In merriment again. 


But ere the morning hours had waned 
The sky had changed its hue, 

And that one cloud had chased away 
The whole great heaven of blue. 
The rain fell down in heavy drops, 
The wind began to blow, 

And the children, in their nice, warm 
room. 

Went fretting to and fro; 

For they said, “When we have aught 
in store, 

It always happens so!” 

























328 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


Now these two fair-haired sisters 
Had a brother out at sea, 

A little midshipman, aboard 
The gallant Victory; 

And on that self-same morning 
When they stood beside the gate 
His ship was wrecked, and on a raft 
He stood all desolate, 

With the other sailors round him, 
Prepared to meet their fate. 

Beyond, they saw the cool, green land, 
The land with the waving trees, 
And her little brooks, that rise and 
fall 

Like butterflies to the breeze. 

But above them the burning noontide 
sun, 

With scorching stillness shone; 
Their throat were parched with bitter 
thirst, 

And they knelt down one by one, 
And prayed to God for a drop of rain, 
And a gale to waft them on. 

And then that little cloud was sent, 
That shower in mercy given, 

And as a bird before the breeze 
Their bark was landward driven. 
And some few mornings after, 

When the children met once more, 
And their brother told the story, 

They knew it was the hour 
When they had wished for sunshine, 
And God had sent the shower! 


THE NARROW PATH. 

We get back our mete as we meas¬ 
ure— 

We cannot do wrong and feel right ; 
Nor can we give pain and gain pleas-. 
ure, 

For justice avenges each slight. 

The air for the wings of the sparrow, 
The bush for the robin and wren, 
But always the path that is narrow 
And straight for the children of 
men. 


A BIT OF POTTERY. 

The potter stood at his daily work, 
One patient foot on the ground, 

The other with never-slacking speed. 
Turning his swift wheel round. 
Silent we stood beside him there 
Watching the restless knee, 

Till my friend said low, in pitying 
voice, 

“ How tired his foot must be !” 

The potter never paused in his work, 
Shaping the wondrous thing; 

’Twas only a common flower-pot, 

But perfect in fashioning. 

Slowly he raised his patient eyes, 
With homely truth inspired: 

“No, marm, it isn’t the foot that 
kicks— 

The one that stands gets tired.” 





DO IT NOW. 


329 


DO IT NOW. 

Whene’er a duty waits for thee, 
With sober judgment view it, 
And never idly wish it done; 
Begin at once, and do it. 


For Sloth says falsely, “ By and by 
Is just as well to do it 



But present strength is surest strength ; 
Begin at once, and do it. 


And find not lions in the way, 

Nor faint if thorns bestrew it; 

But bravely try, and strength will come, 
For God will help thee to it. 


NEVER PUT OFF. 

“ Never put off till to-morrow, 

What should be done to-day; ” 

This is a motto for those who work, 
Not more than for those who play! 


TWO LITTLE GIRLS. 

I know a little girl 
(You? 0, no!) 

Who, when she’s asked to go to bed, 
Does just so: 

She brings a dozen wrinkles out 
And takes the dimples in; 

She puckers up her pretty lips, 

And then she does begin:— 

“ Oh, dear me ! I don’t see why— 
All the others sit up late, 

And why can’t I?” 

Another little girl I know, 

With curly pate, 

Who says: “ When I’m a great big 
girl, 

I’ll sit up late; 

But mamma says ’twill make me grow 
To be an early bird.” 

So she and dolly trot away 
Without another word. 

Oh, the sunny smile and the eyes so 
blue! 

And—and—why, yes, now I think 
of it, 

She looks like you! 






























33° 


lessons of life. 


GET UP EARLY. 

The sun is uprising, the flowers are 
upspringing, 

And the birds are so happy that they 
cannot help singing: 

So wake, little children, you’ve had 
enough slumber; 

Out of doors you will find there are 
joys without number. 

The trees and the grass in the sun 
shine are gleaming; 

In the fresh morning air the 
waters are streaming: 

Oh! waste not in sleep all these 
tiful hours: 

Early rising is health; ask the 
and the flowers! 


Till her mother rejoiced when she 
went to play. 

“I love you, mother,” said little Fan; 
“ To-day I’ll help you all I can.” 

To the cradle then she did softly creep, 
And rocked the baby till it fell asleep. 


WHICH LOVED BEST. 

“ I love you, mother,” said 
little John. 

Then, forgetting work, his cap 4^ 
went on, ^ 

And he was off to the garden 
swing, 

Leaving his mother the wood 
to bring. 

“I love you, mother,” said rosy Nell; 

“I love you better than tongue can 
tell.” 

Then she teased and pouted full half 
the day, 



Then, stepping softly, she took the 
broom, 

And swept the floor, and dusted the 
room; 

Busy and happy all day was she, 
Helpful and cheerful as child could be. 








DARE TO SAY NO. 


33 1 


“I love you, mother,” again they said— 
Three little children going to bed: 
How do you think that mother guessed 
Which of them really loved her best ? 

Joy Allison. 


DARE TO SAY NO. 

Dear children, you are sometimes led 
To sorrow, sin, and woe, 

Because you have not courage quite, 
And dare not answer, No. 

When playmates tell you this, or that 
Is “very nice to do,” 

See first what mamma says, or if 
You think ’tis wrong, say No. 

Be always gentle, but he firm, 

And wheresoe’er you go, 

If you are asked to do what’s wrong, 
Don’t fear to answer, No. 

False friends may laugh and sneer at 
you, 

Temptations round you flow, 

But prove yourself both brave and 
true, 

And firmly tell them, No. 

Sometimes a thing that’s not a sin, 
You might be asked to do,— 

But when you think it is not best, 

Don’t yield, but answer, No. 

• 

True friends will honor you the more, 
Ah, yes, and false ones too, 


When they have learned you’re not 
afraid 

To stand and answer, No. 

And when temptations rise within, 
And plead to “come,” or “go,” 

And do a wrong for “just this once” 
Be sure you answer, No. 

For when you once have done a 
Wrong, 

The Right receives a blow,— 

And Wrong will triumph easier now, 
So haste and answer, No. 

There’s many a little boy and girl, 
And man and woman too, 

Have gone to ruin and to death 
For want of saying, No ! 

So, young or old, or great or small, 
Don’t fail, whate’eryou do, 

To stand for Right and nobly dare 
To speak an honest No. 


THE SISTERS AT WORK. 

Laura. I want to be out in the 
garden so pleasant; 

There’s no time for play, sister mine, 
like the present. 

Edith. The best time for play and 
for healthy enjoyment, 

Believe me, dear Laura, is after em¬ 
ployment. 







332 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


Laura. Where the sunshine is smil¬ 
ing on trees and on flowers, 

Let us go far away from this dull 
room of ours. 

Edith. As for flowers, see those I 
have put in the pitcher: 

In flowers I’m sure that we 
need not be richer. 

Laura. Ah! stupid it is, 
when the soft breeze is 
blowing, 

Shut up in the house, to he 
kept at our sewing. 

Edith. But after our sew¬ 
ing, my dear, is well 
ended, 

A walk in the garden and 
grove will be splendid. 

Laura. By the way you 
keep on with your 
stitching and stitching, 

One would say you must find it a task 
quite bewitching. 

Etith. So I do; and I’ll tell you the 
rule I’m pursuing,— 

’Tis to put my best work into what I 
am doing. 


FUNNY UNCLE PHIL. 

I Heard the grown folks talking, last 
night when I lay abed, 


So I shut my eyes and listened to 
everything they said; 

And first they said that Polly and 
Phil were coming here, 

And a good, good soul was Polly, but 
Phil was always queer; 


And they never, never, never in all 
their lives could see 
How Polly came to marry him, nor 
how they could agree; 

For she was just as bright and sweet 
as any flower in May, 

But he was tight as a drum-head, and 
as black as a stormy day. 

And his nose was always poking into 
other folk’s affairs, 

And he was altogether too fond of 
splitting hairs; 









FUNNY UNCLE PHIL. 


333 



And he had so many corners you 
never could come near 
Without your hitting some of them, 
or being in constant fear. 

Well, I listened very hard, and I 
’membered every word, 


But Oh ! what stories grown folks tell! 

He wasn’t black at all! 

And he hadn’t any corners, but was 
plump and fair and small; 

His nose turned up a little, but then 
it was so wee, 

How it could poke so very much I 
realty couldn’t see. 


And when he saw me staring 
he nodded hard, and 
smiled; 

And then he asked them 
softly if I was Elsie’s 
child; 

And when grandma said I 
was he took me gently 
on his knee, 

And wound my longest curl 
about his finger care¬ 
fully. 


He took me gently on his knee, 

A nd wound my longest curl about his finger carefully. 


And I thought it was the queerest 
thing a body ever heard: 

And in the evening, when I heard the 
chaise come down the hill, 

I almost couldn’t wait to see my funny 
Uncle Phil. 


And he told ’bout my 
mamma when she was 
a little girl, 

And all the time he talked 
he kept his fingers on 
that curl: 

Till at last I couldn’t stand 
it, and I slipped down 
by his chair. 

And asked him how he came to be so 
fond of splitting hair. 

My! how he. stared! and Jimmy 
laughed, and grandma shook her 
head, 






334 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


And grandpa had his awful look, and 
Uncle Sam turned red; 

And then the clock ticked very loud, 
the kitchen was so still, 

And I knew ’twas something dreadful 
I had said to Uncle Phil. 

But I couldn’t help it then, so I told 
him every word, 

And he listened very quietly; he 
never spoke nor stirred, 

Till I told him ’bout the corners, and 
said I didn’t know 
How he could have so many when 
there didn’t any show; 

And then he laughed and laughed, till 
the kitchen fairly shook • 

And he gave the frightened grown 
folks such a bright and funny 
look, 

And said, “ ’Tis true, my little girl, 
when Polly married me 
I was full of ugly corners, but she’s 
smoothed them down, you see.” 

And then they all shook hands again, 
and Jimmy gave three cheers, 
And Uncle Sam said little pitchers 
had most monstrous ears; 

And grandma kissed Aunt Polly; but 
then she looked at me, 

And said I’d better “ meditate ” while 
she was getting tea, 

That means that I must sit and think 
what naughty things I’ve done; 


It must be ’cause I’m little yet,—they 
seemed to think ’twas fun. 

I don’t quite understand it all; well, 
by and by I will 

Creep softly up to him, and ask my 
funny Uncle Phil. 


AN APRIL JOKE. 

Master Ned on the doorstep sat, 
Busily thinking away; 

“Now, what shall I plan for a clever 
trick, 

For an April-fool to play ? 

There’s Tom, he’s mean as a boy can 
be, 

And he never can pass me by 
Without a word that is rude and cross, 
And maybe a punch on the sly.” 

“Some trick I’ll find that’ll pay him 
off, 

And teach him a lesson too.” 

So Master Ned he pondered a while, 
Till the dimples grew and grew; 
And he laughed at last as away he ran, 
“I’ll make him sorry,” thought he, 
“For the many times he has done his 
best 

To tease and to trouble me.” 

On April first, with the early dawn, 
Was found at Tommy’s door 
A package tied, and “Master Tom” 
Was the only address it bore. 






BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST. 


335 


“Tis only a trick of Ned’s,” said 
Tom, 

“He owes me many a one; 

But I’ll match him yet—he’d better 
beware— 

Before the day is done.” 

Then Tom peeped in at his package. 

Oh, what a shamefaced fellow was he ! 

A handsome book, and a line which 
read, 

“Accept this, Tom, from me.” 

And this is the way in which Tom was 
“fooled;” 

And afterward, meeting Ned, 

“Your trick has beaten all mine for 
good: 

Forgive me, old fellow,” he said. 


BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST. 

We were crowded in the cabin, 

Not a soul would dare to sleep; 

It was midnight on the waters, 

And a storm was on the deep. 

’Tis a fearful thing in winter 
To be shattered by the blast, 

And to hear the rattling trumpet 
Thunder, “Cut away the mast! ” 

As thus we sat in darkness, 

Each one busy with his prayers, 

“We are lost! ” the captain shouted, 
As he staggered down the stairs. 


But his little daughter whispered, 

As she took his icy hand, 

“Isn’t God upon the ocean, 

Just the same as on the land?” 

Then we kissed the little maiden, 
And we spoke in better cheer, 

And we anchored safe in harbor 
When the morn was shining clear. 

James T. Fields. 


BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU SAY. 

In speaking of a person’s faults, 

Pray don’t forget your own; 
Remember those in houses, glass, 
Should never throw a stone. 

If we have nothing else to do 
But talk of those who sin, 

’Tis better we commence at home, 

And from that point begin. 

We have no right to judge a man, 
Until he’s fairly tried; 

Should we not like his company, 

We know the world is wide. 

Some may have faults—and who has 
not? 

The old as well as young; 

We may, perhaps, for ought we 
know, 

Have fifty to their one. 

I’ll tell you of a better plan, 

And find it works full well; 

To try my own defects to cure, 






336 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


Before of others tell; 

And though I sometimes hope to 
be 

No worse than some I know, 

My own shortcomings bid me let 
The faults of others go. 

Then let us all, when we commence 
To slander friend or foe, 

Think of the harm one word may 
do, 

To those we little know; 

Bemember curses, sometimes, like 
Our chickens, “roost at home 
Don’t speak of other’s faults until 
We have none of our own. 


BEAUTIFUL THINGS. 

0 many things are beautiful! 

The bird that sings and flies; 
The setting sun 
When day is done; 

The rainbow in the skies. 

The gentle lamb, so innocent, 

The dove, so tender, true, 

The violets, 

With dew drops wet, 

So sweet and fair to view. 

But there is one more beautiful, 

More tender, sweet and mild:— 
The girl or boy, 

A parent’s joy,— 

The loved and loving child. 


AT THE PUMP. 

Pump away, pump away, sister of 
ours! 

Water’s the thing for us and the flowers; 

Roses and children would droop, day 
by day, 

Had they no water: so Jane, pump 
away. 



Water for washing, and water for 
drinking; 

There’s nothing like water, fresh wa¬ 
ter, I’m thinking: 






TIRED MOTHERS. 


337 


Put nothing but water in cup and in 
pitcher, 

And then, merry men, you’ll be wiser 
and richer. 


TIRED MOTHERS. 

A little elbow leans upon your knee, 

Your tired knee that has so much to 
bear; 

A child’s dear eyes are looking lov¬ 
ingly 

From underneath a thatch of tangled 
hair, 

Perhaps you do not heed the velvet 
touch 

Of warm, moist fingers, folding yours 
so tight; 

You do not prize this blessing over¬ 
much,— 

You almost are too tired to pray to-night. 

But it is blessedness ! A year ago 

I did not see it as I do to-day— 

We are so dull and thankless; and 
too slow 

To catch the sunshine till it slips away. 

And now it seems surpassing strange 
to me, 

That, while I wore the badge of moth¬ 
erhood, 

I did not kiss more oft and tenderly 

The little child that brought me only 
good. 

And if some night when you sit down 
to rest, 


You miss this elbow from your tired 
knee,— 

This restless curling head from off 
your breast,— 

This lisping that chatters constantly; 
If from your own the dimpled hands 
had slipped 

And ne’er would nestle in your palm 
again; 

If the white feet into their grave had 
tripped, 

I could not blame you for your heart¬ 
ache then. 

I wonder so that mothers ever fret 
At little children clinging to their gown ; 
Or that the footprints, when the days 
are wet, 

Are ever black enough to make them 
frown. 

If I could find a little muddy boot, 

Or cap, or jacket, on my chamber 
floor,— 

If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot, 
And hear it patter in my house once 
more,— 

If I could mend a broken cart to-day, 
To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky, 
There is no woman in God’s world 
could say 

She was more blissfully content than I. 
But ah ! the dainty pillow next my own 
Is never rumpled by a shining head, 
My singing birdling from its nest has 
flown, 

The little boy I used to kiss is dead. 

May Riley Smith. 





33§ 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 



Ripe, red apples,—Oh, how nice ! 
Buttered bread,—a precious slice ! 
Little Nelly, good and fair, 

Will her joy with Johnny share. 

BE TRUE, BOYS. 

Whatever you are, be brave, boys! 
The liar’s a coward and slave, boys ! 
Though clever at ruses 
And sharp at excuses, 

He’s a sneaking and pitiful knave, boys! 


Whatever you are, be frank, hoys ! 

’Tis better than money and rank, boys! 
Still cleave to the right, 

Be lovers of light; 

Be open, above hoard, and frank, boys! 

Whatever you are, be kind, boys! 

Be gentle in manners and mind, hoys ! 
Leave to others the shamming, 
The “greeting” and “cramming;” 
In fun and in earnest, be true, boys! 


BEGINNING OF VICE. 

A little theft, a small deceit, 

Too often leads to more; 

’Tis hard at first, hut tempts the feet 
As through an open door. 

Just as the broadest rivers run 
From small and distant springs, 
The greatest crimes that men have 
done 

Have grown from little things. 


LITTLE ACTS OF KINDNESS. 

Little acts of kindness 
Trifling though they are, 

How they serve to brighten 
This dark world of care! 

Little acts of kindness, 

Oh, how potent they, 

To dispel the shadows 
Of life’s cloudy day! 













SORROW SHARED. 


339 


Little acts of kindness, 

How they cheer the heart! 

What a world of gladness, 
Will a smile impart! 

How a gentle accent 

Calms the troubled soul, 

When the waves of passion 
O’er it wildly roll! 

You may have around you 
Sunshine if you will, 

Or a host of shadows, 

Gloomy, dreary, chill. 

If you want the sunshine, 
Smile, though sad at heart; 

To the poor and needy 
Kindly aid impart. 

To the soul-despairing 
Breathe a hopeful word; 

From your lips be only 
Tones of kindness heard. 

Even give for anger 
Love and tenderness; 

And in blessing others 
You yourself will bless. 

Little acts of kindness, 
Nothing do they cost; 

Yet, when they are wanting, 
Life’s best charm is lost. 

Little acts of kindness, 
Bichest gems of earth, 

Though they seem but trifles, 
Priceless is their worth. 



SORROW SHARED. 


Every joy must have an end: 
Tears will not a pitcher mend; 
Yet, while fast they overflow, 
Nelly shares in Johnny’s woe. 


TEDDY’S CHOICE. 

I’d like to be a fish, dear mother, 

And go swimming all the time. 

I’d like to be a squirrel, mother, 

The tallest trees to climb. 

I think, though I’m not sure, dear 
mother, 












340 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 



I’d like to be a whale; 

I shouldn’t care to be a peacock; 

I wouldn’t be a snail. 

I know I’d like to be a lion; 

Just fancy how I’d roar! 

How nice to be an ant, dear mother, 
And never shut the door. 

I’d like to be a meadow lily, 

To freckle all I please; 

Among those copy-books and papers, 
What fun to be a breeze! 

I’d like to be a brook, dear mother, 

A noisy one you know; 

With rush and leap and splash and 
tumble 

Upon my way I’d go. 


And yet the best and brightest 
Of fun and life and joy, 

I think, if I must choose, dear 
mother, 

I’d like to be a boy. 

Ruth Mariner. 


A STORY. 

Little Ann and her mother were walk¬ 
ing one day 

Through London’s wide city so 
.fair, 

And business obliged them to go by 
the way 

That led them through Cavendish 
Square. 







A STORY. 


341 


And as they passed by the great house 
of a lord, 

A beautiful chariot came 

To take some most elegant ladies 
abroad, 

Who straightway got into the same. 

The ladies in feathers and jewels were 
seen, 

The chariot was painted all o’er; 

The footmen behind were in silver and 
green, 

And fine horses trotted before. 

Little Ann by her mother walked si¬ 
lent and sad, 

A tear trickled down from her eye; 

Then her mother said, “Ann, I should 
be very glad 

To know what it is makes you cry.” 

“Ah look!” said the child, “at that 
carriage, mamma, 

All covered with varnish and gold • 

Those ladies are riding so charmingly 
there, 

While we have to walk in the cold. 

“You say, ‘God is kind to the folks 
that are good/ 

But surely it cannot be true; 

Or else I am certain, almost, that He 
would 

Give such a fine carriage to you.” 

“Look there, little girl,” said her 
mother, “and see 

What stands at the very coach- door; 


A poor ragged beggar, and listen how she 

A halfpenny stands to implore. 

“All pale is her face, and deep sunk is 
her eye; 

Her hands look like skeleton bones; 

She has got a few rags just about her 
to tie, 

And her naked feet bleed on the 
stones. 

“ ‘Dear ladies’ she cries—and tears 
trickle down— 

‘Relieve a poor beggar, 1 pray; 

I’ve wandered all hungry about this 
wide town, 

And not ate a morsel to-day. 

“ ‘My father and mother are long ago 
dead, 

My brother sails over the sea; 

And I’ve not a rag nor a morsel of 
bread, 

As plainly, I’m sure, you may see. 

“ ‘A fever I caught which was terribly 
bad, 

But no nurse nor physic had I; 

An old dirty shed was the house that 
I had, 

And only on straw could I lie. 

“ ‘And now that I’m better, yet feeble 
and faint, 

A.nd famished, naked, and cold, 

I wander about with my grievous com¬ 
plaint, 

And seldom get aught but a scold. 







342 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


“ ‘Some will not attend to my pitiful 
call; 

Some think me a vagabond cheat, 

And scarcely a creature believes me, of 
all 

The thousands that traverse the 
street. 

“ ‘Then ladies, dear ladies, your pity 
bestow!” 

Just then a tall footman came round, 

And, asking the ladies which way they 
would go, 

The chariot turned off with a bound. 

“Ah see, little girl!” then her mother 
replied, 

“How foolish it was to complain! 

If you would have looked at the con¬ 
trary side, 

Your tears would have dried up 
again. 

“Your house, and your friends, and 
your victuals, and bed, 

’Twas God in His mercy that gave : 

You did not deserve to be covered and 
and fed, 

And yet all these blessings you have. 

“This poor little beggar is hungry and 
cold, 

No father nor mother has she ; 

And while you can daily such objects 
behold, 

You ought quite contented to be. 

“A coach and a footman, and gaudy 
attire, 


Can’t give true delight to the breast; 
To be good is the thing you should 
chiefly desire, 

And then leave to God all the rest.” 

Ann Taylor. 


TRUST YOUR MOTHER. 

Trust your mother, little one ! 

In life’s morning just begun, 

You will find some grief, some fears, 
Which perhaps may cause you tears; 
But a mother’s kiss can heal 
Many griefs that children feel. 

Trust your mother; seek to prove 
Grateful for her thoughtful love. 

Trust your mother, noble youth, 
Turn not from the path of truth; 

In temptation’s evil hour, 

Seek her, ere it gains new power. 

She will never guide you wrong; 

Faith in her will make you strong. 
Trust your mother; aim to prove 
Worthy of her fondest love. 

Trust your mother, maiden fair! 

Love will guide your steps with care, 
Let no cloud e’er come between— 
Let no shadow e’er be seen 
Hiding from your mother’s heart 
What may prove a poisoned dart. 
Trust your mother; seek to prove 
Worthy of her faithful love. 

Trust your mother to the end, 

She will prove your constant friend; 





GRANDMOTHERS. 


343 



If ’tis gladness wmgs the hour, 
Share with her the joyful shower; 
Or if sorrow should oppress, 

She will smile and she will bless. 
Oh! be trustful, loving, true, 

That she may confide in you. 


GRANDMOTHERS. 

Grandmothers are very nice folks, 
They beat all the aunts in creation ; 
They let a chap do what he likes, 

And don’t worry about education. 








































344 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


I am sure I can’t see it at all, 

What a poor fellow ever could do 

For apples and pennies and cakes, 
Without a grandmother or two. 

And if he is bad now and then, 

And makes a great racketing noise, 

They only look over their ’specs 
And say, “Ah, boys will be boys ! 

“Life is only short at the best; 

Let the children be happy to-day.” 

Then they look for a while at the sky, 
And the hills that are far, far away. 

Quite often, as twilight comes on, 
Grandmothers sing hymns very low 

To themselves, as they rock by the fire, 
About heaven, and where they shall 

go- 

And then a boy, stopping to think, 
Will find a hot tear in his eye, 

To know what will come at the last— 
For grandmothers all have to die. 


GRANDFATHER’S CHAIR. 


I love, when the evenings are balmy 
and still, 

And summer is smiling on valley and 
hill, 

To see in the garden the little ones 
there, 

All happy and smiling round grand¬ 
father’s chair. 


Such stories he tells them,—such tales 
of delight,— 

Such wonders to dream of by day and 
by night, 

It’s little they’re thinking of sorrow 
and care, 

Their bright faces beaming round 
grandfather’s chair. 

And words, too, of wisdom, fall oft 
from his tongue; 

Dear lessons to cherish and treasure 
while young; 

Bright things to remember when white 
is their hair, 

And some of them sit in a grandfather’s 
chair. 

Ah! little ones, love him, be kind 
while you may, 

For swiftly the moments are speeding 
away; 

Not long the kind looks and the -love 
you may share, 

That beam on you now from grand¬ 
father’s chair. 

Matthias Barr. 


CRUEL FUN. 


Can any one say what fun there is 
In the thoughtless use of a gun ? 
Which takes its aim at an innocent 
life] 

And lo ! that life is done. 








HOW WE CAN MAKE OURSELVES FAIR. 


345 


When I was a boy I banged away 
With no thought of the pain I gave— 
At many a deer whose life I now 
Would make an effort to save. 


Oh, boys, be kind to the little 
birds, 

Nor use your brand-new gun 
To take the life of bird or beast, 

Only for cruel “fun.” 


HOW WE CAN MAKE OUR¬ 
SELVES FAIR. 

Here is a question the maidens are 
asking: 

How can we make ourselves fair? 

One thinks that her cheeks are a little 
too red; 

Another is puzzling her pretty head 
To know how to curl her straight 
hair. 


This lassie’s cheeks are a little too pale; 

How can she make them red ? 

And this little lady’s hands are not 
quite 

As smooth and slender 
and soft and white 
“As a lady’s hand 
should be,” she said. 
And this one thinks she’s 
a trifle too plump; 
Another one thinks 
she’s too small; 

Her teeth are not quite 
as pretty as pearls ! 
And what shall we do for 
these poor, poor 
girls 

That cannot be happy 

And I, who look at them, cannot see 
Why they are dissatisfied, 

They look like a garden of roses in 
bloom, 

Yet over them all there is resting the 
gloom 

Of some fancied beauty denied. 

The mystical secret is mine to 
impart; 

Listen, all who covet the power 
Of beauty’s magic. The wonderful 
art 

Lies down in the depths of a gentle 
heart 

And shines from the eyes every hour. 



at all ? 









346 


lessons of life. 


The hands that do charity’s gentle 
deeds, 

Are white as the angels above; 

And whether the cheeks he rosy or 
fair, 

If innocent blushes and health be 
there, 

They are pretty enough to love. 

If over the beautiful lips, dear girls, 

But gentle words are said; 

And whether the form be plump or 
slight, 

If only your heart be pure and 
bright, 

You are pretty enough to wed. 

Abbe Kinnie. 


GOOD FOR EVIL. 

“Mother, mother! Oh! Oh! Oh! 
Here’s a great dog barking so! 

Come, come quickly; don’t you see 
We’re as frightened as can be ! 

Now he’s growling—snapping too ! 
Mother dear, oh, where are you ? 

We’re alone, and he can swim ! 
Come let’s join and sing to him. 

It may calm him—touch his heart, 
Now begin, each do her part. 

Why ! He smiles ! He’s gentle now ! 
Foral in line and make a bow. 


Now this dog and little we 
Are firm friends because you see, 

When he growled we growled not back, 
But sang sweetly quack-quack-quack. 

Learn from this, our simple tale, 
Gentle actions never fail 

To bring smiles to any face 
On which frowns have held a place. 

We small ducks have found this true, 
Little readers, so will you. 


JEANNETTE AND JO. 

Two girls I know—Jeannette and Jo, 
And one is always moping; 

The other lassie, come what may, 

Is ever bravely hoping. 

Beauty of face and girlish grace 
Are theirs, for joy or sorrow; 
Jeannette takes brightly every day, 
And Jo dreads each to-morrow. 

One early morn they watched the 
dawn— 

I saw them stand together; 

Their whole day’s sport, ’twas very 
plain, 

Depended on the weather. 

“’Twill storm !” cried Jo. Jeannette 
spoke low, 

“Yes, but ’twill soon be over.” 






A STORY FOR A CHILD. 


347 


And, as she spoke, the sudden shower 
Came beating down the clover. 

“I told you so!” cried angry Jo; 

“It always is a-raining!” 

Then hid her face in dire despair, 
Lamenting and complaining. 

But sweet Jeannette, quite hopeful 


yet— 

I tell it to her honor— 



Looked up and waited till the sun 
Came streaming in upon her. 


The broken clouds sailed off in crowds 
Across a sea of glory. 

Jeannette and Jo ran, laughing, in— 
Which ends my simple story. 

Joy is divine. Come storm, come 
shine, 

The hopeful are the gladdest; 


And doubt and dread, dear girls, be¬ 
lieve, 

Of all things are the saddest. 

In morning’s light let youth be bright, 
Take in the sunshine tender; 

Then, at the close, shall life’s decline 
Be full of sunset splendor. 

And ye who fret, try, like Jeannette, 
To shun all weak complaining; 

And not, like Jo, cry out too soon, 

“It always is a-raining!” 

Mary Mapes Dodge. 


A STORY FOR A CHILD. 

j|| Little one, come to my knee; 

Hark, how the rain is pouring 

Over the roof, in the pitch-black night, 
And the winds in the woods a-roar- 
ing. 

Hush, my darling, and listen, 

Then pay for the story with kisses : 

Father was lost in the pitch-black 
night, 

In just such a storm as this is. 

High up on the lonely mountains, 
Where the wild men watched and . 
waited; 

Wolves in the forest, and bears in the 
bush, 

And I on my path belated, 







348 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


The rain and the night together 

Came down, and the wind came 
after, 

Bending the props of the pine-tree roof 
And snapping many a rafter. 

I crept along in the darkness, 

Stunned, and bruised, and blinded— 
Crept to a fir with thick-set houghs, 
And a sheltering rock behind it. 

There from the blowing and raining 
Crouching, I sought to hide me; 
Something rustled, two green eyes 
shone, 

And a wolf lay down beside me. 

Little one, be not frightened; 

I and the wolf together, 

Side by side, through the long, long 
night, 

Hid from the awful weather. 

His wet fur pressed against me; 

Each of us warmed the other; 

Each of us felt, in the stormy dark, 
That beast and man were brother. 

And when the falling forest 
No longer crashed in warning, 

Each of us went from our hiding-place 
Forth in the wild, wet morning. 

Darling, kiss me payment! 

Hark, how the wind is roaring ! 
Father’s house is a better place 
When the stormy rain is pouring. 

Bayard Taylor. 


THE DARLING LITTLE GIRL. 

Who’s the darling little girl 
Everybody loves to see ? 

She it is whose sunny face 

Is as sweet as sweet can be. 



Who’s the darling little girl 
Everybody loves to hear ? 

She it is whose pleasant voice 
Falls like music on the ear. 

Who’s the darling little girl 
Everybody loves to know ? 

She it is whose acts and thoughts 
All are pure as whitest snow. 


THE BEGGAR BOY. 

A poor boy went by with his raiment 
all torn; 

He looked, too, so dirty and very for¬ 
lorn ; 








THE BEGGAR GIRL. 


349 


His coat was in tatters, no shoes on 
his feet, 

And they ached with the cold on the 
stones of the street. 

Poor boy! no kind father or mother 
has he, 

Nor has he a nice house at home as 
have we; 



He begs all the day for a morsel of 
bread, 

And perhaps sleeps at night in a com¬ 
fortless shed. 

He has no kind friends to instruct him 
and guide, 

And he hears what is sinful, and sees 
it beside; 


Oh, how good and how thankful I then 
ought to be 

To the God who has given these good 
things to me! 


THE BEGGAR GIRL. 

There’s a poor beggar going by; 

I see her looking in; 

She’s just about as big as I, 

Only so very thin. 

She has no shoes upon her feet, 

She is so very poor; 

And hardly anything to eat; 

I pity her, I’m sure. 

But I have got nice clothes, you know, 
And meat and bread and fire; 

And dear mamma, that loves me so, 
And all that I desire. 

If I was forced to stroll so far, 

Oh dear! what should I do ? 

I wish she had a kind mamma, 

Just such a one as you. 

Here, little girl, come back again, 
And hold that ragged hat, 

And I will put a penny in; 

There! buy some bread with that. 


THE CHILD-JUDGE. 

Where hast thou been toiling all day, 
sweetheart, 

That thy brow is burdened and sad ? 
























350 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


The Master’s work may make weary 
feet, 

But it leaves the spirit glad. 

“Was thy garden nipped with the 
midnight frost, 

Or scorched with the midday glare ? 

Were thy vines laid low, or thy lilies 
crushed, 

That thy face is so full of care ?” 

“No pleasant garden-toils were mine ! 

I have sat on the judgment-seat, 

Where the Master sits at eve and calls 

The children around his feet.” 

“How earnest thou on the judgment- 
seat, 

Sweetheart ? who set thee there ? 

’Tis a lonely and lofty seat for thee, 

And well might fill thee with care.” 

“I climbed on the judgment-seat my¬ 
self, 

I have sat there alone all day; 

For it grieved me to see the children 
around 

Idling their life away. 

“They wasted the Master’s precious 
seed; 

They wasted the precious hours; 

They trained not the vines, nor gath¬ 
ered the fruits, 

And they trampled the sweet, meek 
flowers.” 


“And what hast thou done on the 
judgment-seat, 

Sweetheart? what didst thou there? 

Would the idlers heed thy childish 
voice ? 

Did the garden mend for thy care ? 

“Nay, that grieved me more ! I called 
and I cried, 

But they left me there forlorn, 

My voice was weak, and they heeded 
not, 

Or theylaughedmy words to scorn.” 

“Ah, the judgment-seat was not for 
thee, 

The servants were not thine ! 

And the eyes which adjudge the 
praise and the blame 

See further than thine or mine. 

“The voice that shall sound at eve, 
sweetheart, 

Will not raise its tones to be heard: 

It will hush the earth and hush the 
hearts, 

And none will resist its word.” 

“Should I see the Master’s treasures 
lost, 

The stores that should feed his poor, 

And not lift my voice, be it weak as it 
may, 

And not be grieved sore ?” 

“Wait till the evening falls, sweet¬ 
heart,— 





THE CHILD-JUDGE. 


4 ‘Go make thy garden fair 
as thou canst, 

Thou workest never alone; 

Perchance he whose plot is 
next to thine 

Will see it, and mend his 
own. 


“And the next may copy his, 
sweet-heart, 

Till all grows fair and 
sweet; 

And when the Master comes 
at eve, 

Happy faces his coming will 
greet. 


“Nay that is the saddest of all to me ! 
That is the saddest of all! 


Hearts, like doors, will ope with ease, 
To very, very little keys. 


Wait till the evening falls; 

The Master is near and knowetli all, 
Wait till the Master calls. 

“But how fared thy garden-plot, 
sweet-heart, 

Whilst thou sat’st on the judgment- 
seat? 


Who watered thy roses, and trained 
thy vines, 

And kept them from careless feet ?” 


My vines are trailing, my roses are 
parched, 

My lilies droop and fall.” 


“Go back to thy garden-plot, sweet¬ 
heart, 

Go back till the evening falls ! 

And bind thy lilies, and train thy vines, 
Till for thee the Master calls. 


“Then shall thy joy be full, 
sweet-heart, 

In the garden so fair to see, 
In the Master’s words of praise 
for all, 

In a look of his own for thee.” 


KEYS. 















































352 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 




THE BEGGAR MAN. 

Around the fire, one wintry night, 

The farmer’s rosy children sat; 

The fagot lent its blazing light, 

And jokes went round and careless 
chat. 


“My eyes are weak and dim with age ; 

No road, no path, can I descry; 
And these poor rags ill stand the rage 
Of such a keen, inclement sky. 

“So faint I am, these tottering feet 
No more my feeble frame can bear; 


WHICH IS YOUR LOT. 

Some children roam the fields and hills, 
And others work in noisy mills; 

Some dress in silks, and dance and 
play, 

While others drudge their lives away; 
Some glow with health and bound 
with song, 

And some must suffer all day long. 


When hark! a gentle hand they hear 
Low tapping at the bolted door; 
And thus, to gain their willing ear, 

A feeble voice was heard t’implore: 

“Cold blows the blast across the moor; 
The sleet drives hissing in the wind ; 
; Yon toilsome mountain lies before, 

A dreary, treeless waste behind. 


Which is your lot, my girl and boy ? 
Is it a life of ease and joy? 

Ah, if it is, its glowing sun 
The poorer life should shine upon. 
Make glad one little heart to-day, 
And help one burdened child to play. 







THE COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. 


353 


My sinking heart forgets to beat, 

And drifting snows my tomb pre¬ 
pare. 

“Open your hospitable door, 

And shield me from the biting 
blast; 

Cold, cold it blows across the moor, 
The weary moor that I have passed.” 

With hasty steps the farmer ran, 

And close beside the fire they place 
The poor, half-frozen beggar man, 
With shaking limbs and pallid face. 

The little children flocking came, 

And warmed his stiff’ning hand in 
theirs; 

And busily the good old dame 
A comfortable mess prepares. 

Their kindness cheered his drooping 
soul, 

And slowly down his wrinkled cheek 
The big round tears were seen to roll, 
And told the thanks he could not 
speak. 

The children, too, began to sigh, 

And all their merry chat was o’er, 
And yet they felt, they knew not why, 
More glad than they had done be¬ 
fore. 

Lucy Aiken. 

THE COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. 

“And wherefore do the poor com¬ 
plain ?” 


The rich man asked of me; 

“Come walk abroad with me,” I said, 
“And I will answer thee.” 

’Twas evening, and the frozen streets 
Were cheerless to behold; 

And we were wrapped and coated well, 
And yet we were a-cold. 

We met an old, bareheaded man, 

His locks were thin and white; 

I asked him what he did abroad 
In that cold winter’s night. 

The cold was keen indeed, he said— 
But at home no fire had he ; 

And therefore he had come abroad 
To ask for charity. 

We met a young bare-footed child 
And she begged loud and bold; 

I asked her what she did abroad 
When the wind it blew so cold. 

She said her father was at home, 

And he lay sick abed; 

And therefore was it she was sent 
Abroad to beg for bread. 

We saw a woman sitting down 
Upon a stone to rest; 

She had a baby at her back, 

And another at her breast. 

I asked her why she loitered there, 
When the night-wind was so chill; 

She turned her head, and bade the child 
That screamed behind, be still— 





354 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


Then told ns that her husband served 
A soldier, far away; 

And therefore to her parish she , 
Was begging back her way. 

We met a girl—her dress was loose, 
And sunken was her eye— 

Who with a wanton’s hollow voice 
Addressed the passers-by. 

I asked her what there was in guilt 
That could her heart allure 

To shame, disease, and late remorse; 
She answered she was poor. 

I turned me to the rich man then, 

For silently stood he : 

“You asked me why the poor complain; 
And these have answered thee !” 

Robert Southey. 

A BRIGHT NEW CENT. 

It is a bright and shining thing, 

That some good things ’twill buy; 

I’ll therefore not despise the coin, 

This birthday gift—not I. 

’T would buy a pen, wherewith to write 
A volume for the press; 

’Twould buy a tract, with truth enough 
Some erring soul to bless, 

’Twould buy a pencil, to work out 
Great problems on the slate; 

’Twould buy an egg, wherewith a boy 
Might make a fortune great. 

’Twould buy a nail to stop a leak 
And save a sinking boat; 


’Twould buy a stick, by grasping which 
Some drowning boy might float, 

’Twould buy a piece of wholesome bread 
Some starving child to bless; 
’Twould buy a pin, wherewith to save 
Some article of dress. 

’Twouldbuy, ’twould buy, I cannot say 
How many things ’twould buy ; 

I’ll therefore not despise the gift 
Of a bright new cent—not I. ' 


POOR LITTLE JIM. 

The cottage was a thatched one, the 
outside old and mean, 

But all within that, little cot was won¬ 
drous neat and clean; 

The night was dark and stormy, the 
wind was howling wild, 

As a patient mother sat beside the 
death-bed of her child, 

A little worn-out creature, his once 
bright eyes grow dim. 

It was a collier’s wife and child; they 
called him little Jim; 

And oh, to see the briny tears fast hur¬ 
rying down her cheek, 

As she offered up the prayer in thought 
she was afraid to speak, 

Lest she might waken one she loved 
far better than her life, 

For she had all a mother’s heart, had 
that poor collier’s wife. 

With hands uplifted, see, she kneels 
beside the sufferer’s bed, 







POOR LITTLE JIM. 


355 



And prays that He would spare her 
boy, and take herself instead. 

She gets her answer from her child; 
soft fall the words from him: 

“Mother, the angels do so smile, and 
beckon little Jim. 

I have no pain, dear mother, now, but 
oh, I am so dry ! 

Just moisten poor Jim’s lips again, 
and, mother, don’t you cry.” 

With gentle, trembling haste she held 
the liquid to his lip; 

He smiled to thank her as he took 
each little, tiny sip. 

“Tell father, when he comes from 
work, I said good-night to him; 

And mother, now I’ll go to sleep.” 
Alas ! poor little Jim ! 

She knew that he was dying—that the 
child she loved so dear, 

Had uttered the last words she might 
ever hope to hear. 


The cottage-door is opened, the collier’s 
step is heard, 

The father and the mother meet, yet 
neither speaks a word. 

He felt that all was over, he knew his 
child was dead; 

He took the candle in his hand and 
walked toward the bed; 

His quivering lips gave token of the 
the grief he’d fain conceal, 

And see, his wife has joined him—the 
stricken couple kneel; 

With hearts bowed down by sadness 
they humbly ask of Him 

In heaven once more to meet again 
their own poor little Jim. 

THE ORPHAN GIRL. 

0 world, how sad and lonely thou! 

How cold and dim thou shin’st, 0 sun ! 






356 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 



THE ORPHAN BOY. 

Stay, lady, stay, for mercy’s 
sake, 

And hear a helpless 
orphan’s tale; 

Ah, sure my looks must 
pity wake— 

’Tis want that makes my 
cheek so pale; 

Yet I was once a mother’s 
pride, 

And my brave father’s 
hope and joy; 

But in the Nile’s proud 
fight he died, 

And I am now an orphan 
boy! 


THE ORPHAN GIRL. 

The leaves of hope are dead and gone ; | 
No peace, even when in prayer I 
bow. 

My father and my mother lie 
In the still churchyard’s holy soil; 
Their child must turn to weary toil, 
Whose heart was glad when they 
were by. 

No friend is near my hand to take 
My dark and troubled soul to raise; 
Only the distance meets my gaze, 

And the low clouds above the lake. 

0 God ! be gracious to thy child, 

Let the soft beams of hope appear, 
And in the zephyr let me hear 

The evening bells so clear and mild. 


Poor, foolish child! how 
pleased was I, 

When news of Nelson’s victory 
came, 

Along the crowded streets to fly, 

To see the lighted windows flame ! 
To force me home my mother sought— 
She could not bear to hear my 

joy, 

For with my father’s life ’twas bought— 
And made me a poor orphan boy!' 

The people’s shouts were long and loud; 
My mother, shuddering, closed her 
ears; 

“Rejoice! Rejoice!” still cried the 
crowd,— 

My mother answered with her tears* 






THE BLIND BOY. 


357 


“Oh, why do tears steal down your 
cheek,” 

Cried I, “while others shout for 
joy?” 

She kissed me, and in accents weak 

She called me her poor orphan boy ! 

“ What is an orphan boy ?” I said; 

When suddenly she gasped for 
breath, 

And her eyes closed! I shrieked for 
aid, 

But ah! her eyes were closed in 
death. 

My hardships since I will not tell; 

But now, no more a parent’s joy, 

Ah, lady, I have learned too well 

What ’tis to be an orphan boy! 

Oh, were I by your bounty fed!— 

Nay, gentle lady, do not chide; 

Trust me, I mean to earn my bread; 

The sailor’s orphan boy has pride. 

, Lady, you weep; what is’t you say? 

You’ll give me clothing, food, em¬ 
ploy? 

Look down, dear parents! look and 
see 

, Your happy, happy orphan boy ! 

Amelia Opie. 


THE BLIND BOY. 

It was a blessed summer day, 

The flowers bloomed—the air was 
mild, 


The little birds poured forth their lay, 
And everything in nature smiled. 

In pleasant thought I wandered on 
Beneath the deep wood’s ample 
shade, 

Till suddenly I came upon 

Two children who had thither 
strayed. 

Just at an aged birch tree’s foot 
A little boy and girl reclined; 

His hand in hers she kindly put, 

And then I saw the boy was blind. 

The children knew not I was near— 
A tree concealed me from their 
view— 

But all they said I well could hear, 
And I could see all they might do. 

“Dear Mary,” said the poor blind 
boy, 

“ That little bird sings very long; 

“ Say, do you see him in his joy? 

And is he pretty as his song ? ” 

‘ Yes, Edward, yes,” replied the maid, 
“ I see the bird on yonder tree.” 
The poor boy sighed, and gently said, 
“ Sister, I wish that I could see ! 

“ The flowers, you say, are very fair, 
And bright green leaves are on the 
trees, 

And pretty birds are singing there— 
How beautiful for one who sees ! 





358 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


“Yet I the fragrant flower can smell, 
And I can feel the green leafs 
shade, 

And I can hear the notes that swell 
From those dear birds that God has 
made. 

“ So, sister, God to me is kind, 

Though sight, alas! He has not 
given; 

But tell me, are there any blind 
Among the children up in heaven ?” 

“No, dearest Edward; there all see; 
But why ask me a thing so odd?” 

“Oh, Mary, He’s so good to me, 

I thought I’d like to look at God.” 

Ere long disease his hand had laid 
On that dear boy, so meek and mild; 

His widowed mother wept and prayed 
That God would spare her sightless 
child. 

He felt her warm tears on his face, 
And said, “ Oh never weep for me; 

I’m going to a bright, bright place, 
Where Mary says I God shall see. 

“And you’ll be there, dear Mary, too; 
But, mother, when you get up there, 

Tell Edward, mother, that ’tis you— 
You know I never saw you here.” 

He spoke no more, but sweetly smiled 
Until the final blow was given, 


When God took up the poor blind 
child, 

And opened first his eyes in heaven. 

Rrv. Dr. Hawks, 


THE BLIND BOY. 

Oh, tell me of the soft summer air, 

That tosses / so gently the curls of my 
hair; 

It breathes on my lips and it fans my 
warm cheek, 

But gives me no answer, though often 
I speak. 

I feel it play o’er me refreshing and 
. Lglit, 

And yet cannot touch it, because I’ve 
no sight. 

And music, what is it? and where 
does it dwell ? 

I sink and I mount with its cadence 
and swell, 

While thrilled to my heart with the 
deep-going strain, 

Till pleasure excessive seems turning 
to pain. 

Now, what the bright colors of music 
may be 

Will anyone tell me, for I cannot see ? 

The odors of flowers that are hovering 
nigh, 

What are they ? on what kind of wings 
do they fly ? 





HE SAILOR BOY AND HIS MOTHER. 


359 


Are these shining angels, who come to 
delight 

A poor little child that knows nothing 
of sight? 

The face of the snn never comes to 
my mind— 

Oh, tell me what light is, because I 
am blind. 

Hannah F, Gould. 

THE SAILOR BOY AND HIS 
MOTHER. 

Hark to the thunder! 

List to the rain ! 

See the fierce lightning 
Flashing again! 

See, at yon window, 

Gleaming afar, 

Shines a pale taper, 

Like a lone star! 

There a lone mother, 

Bending the knee, 

Prays for her darling, 

Far, far at sea. 

0 God in heaven, 

Hear Thou her prayer! 

Still Thou the tempest, 

Calm her despair! 

Out on the waters, 

Where the winds roar, 

Tossed by the billows, 

Miles from the shore, 


In his rude hammock, 
Rocked by the deep, 

Lies a young sailor 
Buried in sleep. 

Sweetly he’s smiling, 
Dreaming of home, 

Far in green England, 
Over the foam. 

She who is praying 
Stands by him now, 

Parting his tresses, 
Kissing his brow. 

God send him safely 
To her again! 

God grant her watching 
Be not in vain ! 


OYER THE HILL. 

Traveler, what lies over the hill ? 

Traveler, tell to me: 

I am only a child — from the window¬ 
sill 

Over I cannot see.” 

“ Child, there’s a valley over there, 
Pretty and wooded and shy, 

And a little brook that says, 1 Take 
care, 

Or I’ll drown you by and by.’” 

“ And what comes next ?” “ A little 

. town, 







360 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


And a towering hill again; 

Those hills and valleys, up and down, 
And a river now and then/’ 

“ x\nd what comes next ?” “A lonely 
moor 

Without a beaten way; 

And gray clouds sailing slow before 
A wind that will not stay.” 

“And then?” “Dark rocks and yel¬ 
low sand, 

And a moaning sea beside.” 

“And then?” “More sea, more sea, 
more land, 

And rivers deep and wide.” 

“And then?” “0, rock and moun¬ 
tain and vale, 

Rivers and fields and men, 

Over and over—a weary tale — 

And round to your home again,” 

“And that is all? Have you told the 
best?” 

“ No, neither the best nor the end. 

On summer eves, away in the west, 
You will see a stair ascend. 

“ Built of all colors of lovely stones, — 
A stair up into the sky, 

Where no one is weary, and no one 
morose, 

Or wants to be laid by.” 

“ I will go.” “ But the steps are very 
steep; 


If you would climb up there, 

You must lie at the foot, as still as 
sleep, 

A very step of the stair.” 

— George MacDonald. 


PRETTY IS THAT PRETTY DOES. 

The spider wears a plain brown dress, 
And she is a steady spinner; 

To see her, quiet as a mouse, 

Going about her silver house, 

You would never, never, never guess 
The way she gets her dinner. 

She looks as if no thought of ill 
Inwall her life had stirred her; 

But while she moves with careful 
tread, 

And while she spins her silken thread, 
She is planning, planning, planning 
still 

The way to do some murder! 

My child, who reads this simple lay 
With eyes down-dropt and tender, 
Remember, the old proverbs say 
That pretty is that pretty does, 

And that worth does not go nor stay 
For poverty or splendor. 

! ’Tis not the house, and not the dress, 
That makes the saint or sinner; 

To see the spider sit and spin, 

Shut with her webs of silver in, 

You would never, never, never guess 
1 The* way she gets her dinner. 









DEAR OLD DAYS. 


361 



THE DEAR OLD DAYS. 

I remember, I remember 
The dear old sunny days, 

When beside the bright old fountain 


I remember, I remember 
The games we used to 
plan: 

How Jenny played the fairy, 
And Tom the blind old man. 


We had our merry plays; 
Around it grew the bushes, 

While the water pure and white 
Streamed down to fill our pitchers, 
It was a pleasant sight! 


And once a giant took us, 

And dragged us to his den; 
But while the rogue was sleep¬ 
ing, 

We all ran home again. 

















362 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


I remember, I remember 

How we’d play at keeping shop; 
And one would come to buy a 
doll, 

And one to buy a top. 

What piles of money we took 
in! 

Ah! shall we ever be 
As rich again as we were then 
Beneath that old oak tree ! 

I remember, I remember 

The fields of new-mown hay, 

The strawberries we used to pick 
In childhood’s jocund day; 

Ah ! will there come another time 
As blithesome and as bright ? 

Yes! Youth and all its joy, be 
sure, 

Shall never perish quite. 

— Emily Carter. 


WHAT MAKES ME HAPPIEST. 

What is it makes me happiest ? 

Is it my last new play ? 

Is it pussy, ball, or hoop ? 

Can you, dear mamma, say ? 

. Is it my puzzles or my blocks, 

My pleasant solitaire, 

My dolls, my kittens, or my books, 
Or flowers fresh and fair ? 

What it is makes me happiest ? 

It is not one of these, 


Yet they are pretty things I love, 
And never fail to please. 

Oh, it is looks and tones of love, 
From those I love the best, 

That follow me when I do right— 
These makes me happiest. 

MOTHER KNOWS. 

Nobody knows of the work it makes 
To keep the home together; 

Nobody knows of the steps it takes, 
Nobody knows—but mother. 

Nobody listens to childish woes 
Which kisses only smother; 
Nobody’s pained by naughty blows, 
Nobody—only mother. 

Nobody knows of the sleepless 
care 

Bestowed on baby brother; 

Nobody knows of the tender pray’r, 
Nobody—only mother. 

Nobody knows of the. lessons taught 
Of loving one another; 

Nobody knows of the patience sought, 
Nobody—only mother. 

Nobody knows of the anxious fears 
Lest darlings may not weather 
The storm of life in after years: 
Nobody knows—but mother. 

H. C. Dodge. 







•THE MUSIC LESSON. 


363 



THE MUSIC LESSON. 

Touch the keys lightly , 
Nellie, my dear: 

The noise makes Johnnie 
Impatient, I fear. 

He looks very cross, 

I am sorry to see— 


BE KIND. 


Be kind to thy father, for when thou 
wast young. 

Who loved thee as fondly as he ? 

He caught the first accents that fell 
from thy tongue, 

And joined in thine innocent glee. 
Be kind to thy father, for now he is old, 
His locks intermingled with gray, 
His footsteps are feeble, 
once fearless and bold; 
Thy father is passing 
away. 


Be kind to thy mother, for 
lo ! on her brow 
May traces of sorrow be 
seen: 

Oh, well may’st thou cherish 
and comfort her now, 
For loving and kind hath 
she been. 

Remember thy mother, for 
thee will she pray 
As long as God giveth her 
breath; 

With accents of kindness 
then cheer her lone 


Not looking at all 

As a brother should be. 


way, 

E’en to the dark valley of death. 


Whatever you’re doing, 

Bear this always in mind: 

In all little things 

Be both thoughtful and kind. 


Be kind to thy brother, his heart will 
have dearth, 

If the smile of thy love be withdrawn ; 
The flowers of feeling will fade at their 
birth, 




































364 


LESSONS OF LIFE. * 


If the dew of affection be gone. 

Be kind to your brother, wherever you 
are, 

The love of a brother shall be 
An ornament, purer and richer by far, 

Than pearls from the depths of the 
sea. 

Be kind to thy sister, not many may 
know 

The depth of true sisterly love; 

The wealth of the ocean lies fathoms 
below 

The surface that sparkles above. 
Thy kindness shall bring to thee many 
sweet hours, 

And blessings thy pathway to crown, 
Affection shall weave thee a garland 
of flowers, 

More precious than wealth or re¬ 
nown. 

LITTLE THINGS. 

Little drops of water, 

Little grains of sand, 

Make the mighty ocean, 
f And the pleasant land. 

Thus the little minutes, 
Humble though they be, 

Make the mighty ages 
Of eternity. 

Thus our little errors 
Lead the soul away 


From the path of virtue, 
Off in sin to stray. 

Little deeds of kindness, 
Little words of love, 
Make our earth an Eden, 
Like the heaven above. 


I MEANT TO. 

“I did not rise at the breakfast bell, 
But why so sleepy—I can’t tell— 

I meant to. 

“The wood’s not carried in, I know; 
But there’s the school-hell, I must go. 

I meant to. 

“My lesson I forgot to write, 

But nuts and apples were so nice. 

I meant to. 

“I forgot to walk on tiptoe, 

Oh, how the baby cries, Oh ! Oh ! 

I meant to. 

“There, I forgot to shut the gate, 

And put away my hook and slate. 

I meant to. 

“The cattle trampled down the corn, 
My slate is broken, book is torn. 

I meant to.” 

Thus drawls poor idle Jimmy White, 
From morn till noon, from noon till 
night. 

“I meant to.” 






LITTLE MARIAN’S PILGRIMAGE. 


365 


And when he grows to be a man 
He’ll heedlessly mar every plan 
With that poor plea, 

“I meant to.” 


LITTLE MARIAN’S PILGRIMAGE. 

In a large house, with two kind aunts, 
The little Marian dwelt, 

And a happy child she was, I ween, 
For though at times she felt 

That playmates would be better far 
Than either birds or flowers, 

Yet with kind aunts and story-books 
She passed few lonely hours. 

IJer favorite haunt in summer time 
Was a large old apple tree, 

And oft amid its boughs she sat, 

With her pet book on her knee. 

The “Prilgrim’s Progress” it was called, 
And Marian loved it much ; 

It is indeed a wondrous book: 

There are not many such. 

She read it in her little bed, 

And by the winter fire, 

And in the large old apple tree, 

As if she ne’er would tire. 

But, unexplained, ’tis just the book 
To puzzle a young brain, 

And this poor child had no kind friend 
Its meaning to explain. 


For though her aunts were very kind, 
They were not very wise; 

They only said, “Don’t read so, child, 
For sure you’ll hurt your eyes.” 

But Marian still went reading on; 

And visions strange and wild 
Began to fill the little head 
Of the lonely, dreaming child. 

For she thought that Christian and his 
wife, 

And all his children too, 

Had left behind their pleasant home; 
And so she too must do. 

“I’ll take my Bible,” said the child, 
“And seek the road to heaven; 

I’ll try to find the wicket-gate, 

And have my sins forgiven. 

“I wish my aunts would go with me, 
But ’tis in vain to ask: 

They are so old and deaf and lame, 
They’d think it quite a task. 

“No, I must go alone, I see; 

And I’ll not let them know, 

Or, like poor Christian’s friends, they’ll 
say, 

‘My dear, you must not go.’ 

“But I must wait till some great thing 
Shall all their thoughts engage, 

And then I’ll leave my pleasant home, 
And go on pilgrimage.” 





366 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


She had not waited long before, 

One fine, autumnal day, 

She saw the large old coach arrive 
To take her aunts away. 

“We’re going out to spend the day,” 
The two old ladies said; 

“We mean to visit Mrs. Blair: 

She’s very sick in bed. 

“But, Marian, you must stay at home, 
And happy you will he, 

To have your book and dinner too 
In the large old apple tree. 

“And in the garden you may play 
While you can be content.” 

A few more parting words were said, 
And off the aunties went. 

The servants, too, were now engaged. 
“The day is come at last,” 

Said Marian ; “but oh! how I wish 
My pilgrimage were past!” 

Kneeling beneath her apple tree, 

For God’s kind help she prayed; 

Then, with her basket in her hand, 
Went forth the little maid. 

Behind the house where Marian dwelt, 
At a long, long distance, lay 

A high, steep hill, which morning suns 
Tinged with their earliest ray. 

That “Difficulty” was its name 
The child had often thought, 


And toward that hill she turned her 
head, 

With hopeful visions fraught. 

All nature seemed to welcome her 
In that bright autumnal morn; 

The joyous lark sang merrily 
Above the waving corn. 

Ah! little lark, you sing,” she said, 
“On your early pilgrimage ; 

I too will sing, for pleasant thoughts 
Shall now my mind engage.” 

In sweet, clear strains she sang a 
hymn, 

Then tripped along her way, 

Till to a miry pool she came 

Through which her pathway lay. 

• 

“This is the ‘Slough Despond,” she 
cried; 

And, bravely venturing through, 

She safely reached the other side, 
Leaving behind a shoe. 

On a moss-clad stone she sat her down, 
And ate some fruit and bread; 

Then took her little Bible out, 

And a cheering Psalm she read. 

Now with fresh hope she wandered on 
For many miles away, 

And reached the bottom of a hill 
Before the close of day. 

She clambered up the steep ascent, 
Though faint and weary too, 





LITTLE MARIAN’S PILGRIMAGE. 


367 


But firmly did our Marian keep 
Her purpose still in view. 

“I’m glad to find the Arbor’s gone,” 
Said the little tired soul; 

“I’m sure I should have laid me down, 
And maybe, lost my roll.” 

On the high hill-top she stands at last, 
And our weary pilgrim sees 
A porter’s lodge of ample size, 

Half hid by sheltering trees. 

She clapped her hands with joy, and 
cried, 

“Oh ! there’s the ‘Wicket-Gate !’ 
And I must seek admittance now, 
Before it is too late.” 

Gently she knocks, ’tis answered soon, 
And at the open door 
Stands a tall man. Poor Marian felt 
As she never felt before. 

With tearful eyes and trembling heart, 
Flushed cheek and anxious brow, 
She said, “I hopeyour’e Watchful , sir; 
I want Discretion now.” 

“Oh yes, I’m watchful,” said the man, 
“As a porter ought to be; 

I fear you’ve lost your way, young 
miss; 

You’ve lost your shoe, I see.” 

“Mistress,” cried he to his wife within, 
“Here’s a queer child at our door; 


You’ll never see the like again, 

If you live to be fourscore. 

“She wants discretion , as she says; 

And indeed I think ’tis so, 

Though I know of some who want it 
more, 

And seek it less, I trow.” 

“Go to the Hall,” his wife replied, 
“And take the child with you; 

The ladies there are all so wise, 
They’ll soon know what to do.” 

The man complied, and led the child 
Through many a flowery glade, 

“Is this the Palace Beautiful?” 

The little wanderer said. 

“There, to the left, among the trees? 

Why, miss, ’tis very grand; 

Call it a palace, if you please; 

’Tis the finest in the land. 

“But here we are at the grand old 
porch 

And the famous marble hall; 

Here, little lady, you must wait, 
While I the servants call.” 

With heavy heart he left the child, 
But quickly reappeared, 

And with him came a lady too, 

And Marian’s heart was cheered. 

“My little girl,” the lady said, 

In accents soft and kind, 




3 68 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


“I’m sure you need your limbs to rest, 
And rest you soon shall.find.” 

To a room where three young ladies sat 
The child was quickly led; 

“Piety, Prudence, Charity,” 

To herself she softly said. 

“What is your name, my little dear?” 

Said the eldest of the three, 

Whom Marian, in her secret thought, 
Had marked for Piety. 

“We’ll send a servant to your friends, 
And tell them you are here; 

Your absence from your happy home 
Will fill their hearts with fear.” 

Around her bright and lovely face 
Fell waves of auburn hair, 

And modestly she told her name, 

With whom she lived, and where. 

“How did you lose your way, my love ?” 

She gently raised her head, 

“I do not think I’ve lost my way,” 
The little Pilgrim said. 

“This is the Palace Beautiful; 

May I stay here to-night ?” 

They smiled and said, “We’re glad 
our home 

Is pleasant in your sight. 

“Yes, gladly we will lodge you here, 
For many nights to come.” 

“Thank you,’’she said, “but I must soon 
Go toward my heavenly home. 


“The Valley of the Shade of Death 
Is near your house, I know.” 
Surprised, she saw her artless words 
Had caused their tears to flow. 

She knew not that her new-found 
friends 

A little while before 
Had buried one they dearly loved, 

But could love, on earth, no more. 

Their brother had been called away 
In the unseen world to dwell, 

But why her words should grief 
excite 

Poor Marian could not tell. 

Sobs only for a while were heard; 

At length the mother said, 

“My child, your words reminded us 
Of our loved and early dead. 

“But this you could not know, my 
dear; 

And it indeed is true— 

We all are near to death’s dark door— 
Even little girls like you.” 

“Yes,” said the timid, trembling ch'.ld, 
“I know it must be so; 

But, ma’am, I hope that Piety 
May be with me when I go. 

“And I will see your Armory, 

When you have time to spare; 

I hope you have some small enough 
For a little girl to wear.” 




LITTLE MARIAN’S PILGRIMAGE. 


369 


No more she said, for Piety 
(As Marian called her) threw 
Her arms around the Pilgrim’s neck, 
Whose secret now she knew. 

“Your words and ways were strange,” 
said she, 

“But now ’tis plain you’ve read 
That wondrous book, which, unex¬ 
plained, 

Has turned your little head. 

“How dearty, when a little child, 

I loved that Pilgrim’s tale ! 

But then ’twas all explained to me ; 
And if we can prevail. 

“On your kind aunts to let you stay 
Some time with us, my dear, 

We’ll talk about that precious book, 
And try to make it clear.” 


And now we’ll turn to Marian’s home, 
And see what’s passing there. 

The servants all had company, 

And a merry group there were. 

They had not miss’d our Pilgrim long, 
For they knew she oft would play 

In that old garden with a book 
The livelong summer day. 

At last said one, with wondering eyes, 
“Where can Miss Marian be? 

Dinner was in her basket packed, 

But sure she’ll come to tea.” 


They sought her here, they sought her 
there, 

But could not find the child: 

And her old aunts, when they came 
home, 

With grief were nearly wild. 

The servants, and the neighbors too, 
In different ways were sent, 

But none thought of the narrow ivay 
By which our Pilgrim went. 

“Perhaps she followed us to town,” 
One of her aunts then said; 

“I wish we had not left our home; 

I fear the child is dead.” 

So to the town some one was sent, 
For they knew not what to do ; 

And night came on, when a country 
boy 

Brought Marian’s little shoe. 

Taking the shoe, the housekeeper 
Into the parlor ran: 

“Oh, mistress, this is all that’s left 
Of poor Miss Marian! 

“ ’Twas found in that deep miry slough 
Just above Harlan’s Chase— 

Poor child! I fear she’s smothered 
For ’tis a frightful place.” 

Then louder grew the general grief; 

But soon their hearts were cheered, 
For a footman now with note in hand 
From the distant Hall appeared. 





370 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


One aunt then read the note, and 
cried, 

“Oh, sister, all is well— 

The child is safe at Brooklawn Hall, 
With Lady Arundel. 

“She wants to keep her fora month, 
And sure I think she may; 

A friend like Lady Arundel 
Is not found every day. 

“Our compliments and thanks to her 
When you return, young man; 

We’ll call to-morrow at the Hall, 

And see Miss Marian.” 

Then came a burst of grateful joy, 
Which could not be suppressed; 
With thankful hearts and many tears 
They went that night to rest. 

Oh, that happy month at Brooklawn 
Hall! 

How soon it passed away! 

Faithful and kind were Marian’s 
friends, 

And well she loved to stay. 

With earnest diligence and prayer 
They daily sought ta bring 
The little lamb to that safe fold 
Where dwells the Shepherd King. 

Yes, many a lesson, ne’er forgot, 

The little Marian learned; 

A thoughtful and a happy child 
She to her home returned. 


Years rolled away. The scene is 
changed; 

A wife and mother now, 

Marian has found the Wicket-gate— 
Herself and children too. 

And oh! how pleasant ’tis to see 
This little Pilgrim band, 

As on, toward their heavenly home, 
They travel hand in hand. 

When cloudy days fall to their lot, 
They see a light afar— 

The light that shone on Bethlehem’s 
plain, 

The Pilgrim’s guiding star. 

And now, dear reader, ponder well 
This tale—though strange, yet true ? 
And let our Pilgrim’s history 
Its lesson read to you. 

If to your young and trustful hearts 
The grace of God is given, 

Be earnest, as our Marian was, 

To seek the road to heaven. 


TRUTH. 

Boy, at all times tell the truth, 

Let no lie defile thy mouth; 

If thou’rt wrong, be still the same — 
Speak the truth and bear the blame. 

Truth is honest, truth is sure; 

Truth is strong and must endure; 





SUPPOSE. 


37 1 


Falsehood lasts a single day, • 
Then it vanishes away. 

Boy, at all times tell the truth, 

Let no lie defile thy mouth; 

Truth is steadfast, sure and fast — 
Certain to prevail at last. 


SUPPOSE. 

Suppose, my little lady, 

Your doll should break her head, 
Could you make it whole by crying 
Till your eyes and nose are red ? 



And wouldn’t it be pleasanter 
To treat it as a joke, 

And say you’re glad “ ’twas Dolly’s, 
And not your head that broke ? ” 

Suppose you’re dressed for walking, 
And the rain comes pouring down, 


Will it clear off any sooner 
Because you scold and frown ? 

And wouldn’t it be nicer 
For you to smile than pout, 

And so make sunshine in the house 
When there is none without. 

Suppose your task, my little man, 

Is very hard to get, 

Will it make it any easier 
For you to sit and fret ? 

And wouldn’t it be wiser 
Than waiting, like a dunce, 

To go to work in earnest 

And learn the thing at once ? 

Suppose that some hoys have a 
horse 

And some a coach and pair, 

Will it tire you less while walking 
To say “ It isn’t fair?” 

And wouldn’t it be nobler 
To keep your temper sweet, 

And in your heart be thankful 
You can walk upon your feet ? 

And suppose the world don’t please 
you, 

Nor the way some people do, 

Do you think the whole creation 
Would be altered just for you ? 

And isn’t it, my boy or girl 
The wisest, bravest plan, 

Whatever comes or doesn’t come. 

To do the best you can ? 

Phcebe Caey. 






372 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


AT SET OF SUN. 


That helped some 
cost, 


soul, and nothing 



If we set down at set of sun 
And count the things that we have 
done, 

And counting, find 
One self-denying act, one word 
That eased the heart of him who 
heard; 

One glance most kind, 

That felt like sunshine where it 
went, 

Then we may count the day well 
spent. 

But if, through all the live-long 
day, 


We’ve eased no heart by yea or nay; 

If through it all 

We’ve done no thing that we can trace, 
rhat brought the sunshine to a 
face; 

No act, most small, 


Then count that day 
lost. 


as worse than 










BE POLITE. 


373 


BE POLITE. 

Good boys and girls should never say 
“I will” and “ Give me these /” 

Oh, no; that never is the way, 

But, “ Mother, if you please ” 

And, “ If you please , ” to sister Ann, 
Good boys to say are ready; 

And “ Yes, sir,” to a gentleman, 

And “ Yes, ma'am, ” to a lady. 

MAKE YOUR MARK. 

In the quarries should you toil, 
Make your mark; 

Do you delve upon the soil ? 

Make your mark. 

In whatever path you go, 

In whatever place you stand, 
Moving swift or moving slow, 

With a firm and honest hand, 
Make your mark. 


DARE. 

Dare to be honest, good and sincere, 
Dare to please God, and you never 
need fear. 

Dare to be brave in the cause of the 
right, 

Dare with the enemy ever to fight. 
Dare to be loving and patient each day, 


Dare speak the truth, whatever you 
say. 

Dare to be gentle, and orderly too, 
Dare shun the evil, whatever you do. 

Dare to speak kindly, and ever be 
true, 

Dare to do right, and you’ll find your 
way through. 

Denton. 

KATIE’S WAY OF WORKING. 

Little Katie sought to do 
Something for the Savior, too. 

“Old folks work for him,” she thought ; 
“So can I, and so I ought. 

“I have heard my teacher say, 

‘Where there’s a will there’s a way.’ 

“Surely I have got the will, 

Yet the way I see not still. 

“I’m so small, I don’t know how 
I can do very much now. 

“Perhaps I better wait a while 
Then o’er her face broke a smile. 

“Satan whispered that,” she said; 

“He put that thought in my head; 

“But I’ll not heed him; ah, no ! 

I’ll in prayer to Jesus go, 

“And ask him to teach me how 
I may show my love just now; 

“And not till I am older wait, 

Lest it then should be too late.” 







374 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


Next Sabbath in the Sabbath school 
Katie learned how by rule, 

The Jews of old, with hearts glad, 
Gave one-tentli of all they had. 

Into her mind the thought came : 
“Why can not I do the same ?” 

The prayer was heard; from that 
day 

Katie knew she’d found the way. 

Of toys, and books, and pennies, too, 
She laid aside not a few. 

When was formed the mission band, 
Katie lent a helping hand. 

When the Christmas-time came round, 
To her great delight she found 

She had a store, small, but sure, 

Out of which to cheer the poor. 

Thus she worked and thus she gave, 
In hope thereby some soul to save. 


PERSEVERANCE. 

Here’s a lesson all should heed— 
Try, try, try again. 

If at first you don’t succeed, 

Try, try, try again. 
Let your courage well appear; 

If you only persevere, 

You will conquer, never fear— 

Try, try, try again. 
Twice or thrice though you should fail, 
Try again. 


If at last you would prevail, 

Try again. 

When you strive, there’s no disgrace, 
Though you fail to win the race; 
Bravely then, in such a case, 

Try, try, try again 
Let the thing be e’er so hard, 

Try again. 



Time will surely bring reward— 
Try again. 


That which other folks can do, 

Why, with patience, may not you ? 
Why, with patience, may not you ? 

Try, try, try again. 





















375 


BE GLAD AND THANKFUL. 


BE GLAD AND THANKFUL. 

Little children, are you tempted, 
Sometimes, to be cross and fret, 

Just because you cannot always 
Have your selfish wishes met ? 

Did you ever for a moment, 

Think how very rich you are, 

In that little hand so clever, 

Full of grace and beauty rare? 

Close those eyes so full of sunshine; 
Let them never see the light; 

Grope your way here ever after; 

Let your life be one long night. 

Or let sickness touch your body; 

Lay you on a bed of pain; 

Bid those little feet so active, 

Never run and play again. 

Now, dear children, tell me truly, 

For your hands, or eyes, or health, 

Shall I give you gold or silver, 

Till you are increased in wealth ? 

Shall it be ten million dollars, 

In your coffers I will pay, 

And from out this three-fold blessing, 
You will give one strand away ? 

0, no, no ! not for one moment, 

Would you hesitate to choose; 

You would quickly spurn my offer 
Rather than these blessings lose. 

Learn then to be glad and thankful, 
And with all things be content; 


For behind each little trial 
Is a needful lesson sent. 


IDLE ANNA. 

On, Anna, this will never do ; 

This work is sadly done, my dear, 
And then so little of it, too ! 

You have not taken pains, I fear. 



Oh, no, your task has been forgotten; 

Indeed, you hardly thought of that: 
I saw you roll your spool of cotton 
About the floor to please the cat. 

See, here are stitches straggling wide; 

And others stretching down so far; 
I’m very sure you have not tried 
In this, at least, to please mamma. 

The little girl who will not sew 
Must neither be allowed to play; 
And now I hope, my love, that you 
Will take more pains another day. 









376 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


THE LITTLE MISSIONARY. 

If I were only big enough, 

And mamma would go to, 

I’d like to visit India-land 
And tell the bad Hindoo 

That it is very wrong 
To treat the babies so, 


Then next I’d go to China-land, 

And I would make them take 
Those bindings off the children’s 
feet, 

And stop that pain and ache. 

And I would burn those dreadful 
things 

To which they kneel and pray, 

And tell them that the road to 
heaven is by another way. 
Then I would go to that dark 
land, 

Where they make people 
slaves; 

I’d break the chains right off 
their feet, 

And tell them, Jesus saves. 
And that he loves them all, and 
died 

For them as well as me; 

But they must be, 0, very good, 
If Jesus they would see. 

It almost makes me cry some¬ 
times, 

To think these things are so, 
And see big people stay at home ; 
Why don’t they want to go ? 



And throw them to the crocodile; 
Then they would stop, I know. 

But if they didn’t I’d run so quick 
Oh, wouldn’t it be fun ! 

And catch them all and bring them 
home, 

Yes, every single one. 


When I ask mamma, she just says, 

“ 0, you’re the oddest fairy;” 

But don’t you think I’m big enough 
to be a missionary ? 

Keep a watch on your words, my 
darling, 

For words are wonderful things ; 



























THE SHADOW. 


377 


THE SHADOW. 

The candles are lighted, the fire blazes 
bright, 

The curtains are drawn to keep out 
the cold air; 

“What makes you so grave, little dar¬ 
ling, to-night? 

And where is your smile, little quiet 
one, where?” 

“Mamma, I see something so dark on 
the wall; 

It moves up and down, and it looks 
very strange; 

Sometimes it is large, and sometimes 
it is small; 

Pray tell me what is it, and why 
does it change ? ” 

“It’s only my shadow that puzzles you 
so; 

And there is your own close beside 
it, my love: 

Now run round the room, it will go 
where you go; 

When you sit’t will be still, when 
you rise it will move. 

“These wonderful shadows are caused 
by the light, 

From fire and from candles, upon 
us that falls; 

Were we not sitting here all that place 
would he bright, 

But the light can’t shine through 
us, you know, on the walls. 


“And when you are out some fine day 
in the sun, 

I’ll take you where shadows of apple 
trees lie; 

And houses and cottages, too, every 
one 

Casts a shade when the sun’s shin¬ 
ing bright in the sky. 

“Now hold up your mouth and give me 
a sweet kiss — 

Our shadows kiss too ! don’t you see 
it quite plain?” 

“ Oh, yes ; and I thank you for telling 
me this: 

I’ll not be afraid of a shadow again.” 

M. L. Duncan. 


LEARN YOUR LESSON.’ 

You’ll not learn your lesson by crying, 
my man, 

You’ll never come at it by crying, my 
man ; 

Not a word can you spy 
For the tear in your eye; 

Then set your heart to it, for surely 
you can. 

If you like your lesson, it’s sure to 
like you, 

The words then so glibly would jump 
into view; 

Each one to its place 
All the others would chase, 

Till the laddie would wonder how 
clever he grew. 






37 § 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


You’ll cry till you make yourself 
stupid and blind, 

And then not a word can you keep in 
your mind; 

But cheer up your heart, 

And you’ll soon have your part, 
Bor all things grow easy when bairns 
are inclined. 

Alexander Smart. 

THE MILLER OF THE DEE. 

There dwelt a miller, hale and bold, 
Beside the river Dee; 

He worked and sang from morn till 
night, 

No lark more blithe than he; 

And this the burden of his song 
For ever used to be: 

“I envy nobody, no, not I, 

And nobody envies me.” 

“Thou’rt wrong, my friend, said good 
King Hal— r 

“As wrong as wrong can be— 

For could my heart be light as thine, 
I’d gladly change with thee; 

And tell me now, what makes thee 
sing, 

With voice so loud and free, 

While I am sad, though I’m the king, 
Beside the river Dee.” 

The miller smiled and doffed his cap: 

“ I earn my bread,” quoth he; 

■“ I love my wife, I love my friend, 


I love my children three; 

I owe no penny I cannot pay; 

I thank the river Dee, 

That turns the mill that grinds the 
corn 

That feeds my babes and me.” 

“ Good friend,” said Hal, and sighed 
the while, 

“Farewell and happy be ; 

But say no more, if tliou’dst be true, 
That no one envies thee : 

Thy mealy cap is worth my crown, 
Thy mill, my kingdom’s fee; 

Such men as thou are England’s 
boast, 

0 miller of the Dee ! ” 

Charles Mackat. 


PATIENT JOE; 

Or, The Newcastle Collier . 

Have you heard of a collier of honest 
renown, 

Who dwelt on the borders of Newcas¬ 
tle town ? 

His name it was Joseph—you better 
may know 

If I tell you he always was called Pa¬ 
tient Joe. 

Whatever betided, he thought it was 
right, 

And Providence still he kept ever in 
sight; 






THE MILKMAID. 


379 


To those who love God, let things turn 
as they would, 

He was certain that all worked together 
for good. 

How sincere was the gratitude Joseph 
expressed! 

How warm the compassion that glowed 
in his breast! 

Thus events, great and small, if aright 
understood, 

Will be found to be working together 
for good. 

“When my meat,” Joseph cried, “was 
just stolen away, 

And I had no prospect of eating to- 
day, 

How could it appear to a short¬ 
sighted sinner 

That my life would be saved by the 
loss of my dinner ? ” 

Hannah Moee. 


THE MILKMAID. 

A milkmaid who poised a full pail on 
her head, 

Thus mused on her prospects in life, 
it is said: 

“ Let’s see — I should think that this 
milk will procure 

One hundred good eggs, or fourscore, 
to be sure. 

“ Well, then—stop a bit—it must not 
be forgotten 


Some of these may be broken, and 
some may be rotten; 

But if twenty for accident should be 
detached, 

It will leave me just sixty sound eggs 
to be hatched. 

“ Well, sixty sound eggs—no, sound 
chickens, I mean; 

Of these some may die—we’ll suppose 
seventeen. 

Seventeen ? not so many—say ten at 
the most, 

Which will leave fifty chickens to boil 
or to roast. 

“ But then there’s their barley; how 
much will they need ? 

Why, they take but one grain at a time 
when they feed; 

So that’s a mere trifle ; now, then, let 
us see 

At a fair market price how much 
money there’ll be. 

“ Six shillings a pair—five—four— 
three-and-six; 

To prevent all mistakes, that low price 
I will fix; 

Now what will that make ? fifty chick¬ 
ens I said; 

Fifty times three-and-six-pence—I’ll 
ask brother Ned. 

“ Oh ! but stop—three-and-sixpence 
a pair I must sell ’em; 

Well, a pair is a couple—now, then, 
let us tell ’em; 







380 


lessons of life. 


A couple in fifty will go—(my poor 
brain!) 

Why, just a score times, and five pair 
will remain. 

“Twenty-five pairs of fowls—now, liow 
tiresome it is 

That I cannot reckon up such money 
as this! 

Well, there’s no use in trying, so let’s 
give a guess— 

I’ll say twenty pounds, and it cannot 
be less. 

“ Twenty pounds, I am certain, will 
buy me a cow, 

Thirty geese and two turkeys, eight 
pigs and a sow: 

Now, if these turn out well, at the end 
of the year 

I shall fill both my pockets with 
guineas, ’tis clear.” 

Forgetting her burden when this she 
had said, 

The maid superciliously tossed up her 
head; 

When, alas for her prospects!—her 
milk-pail descended, 

And so all her schemes for the future 
were ended. 

This moral, I think, may be safely 
. attached: 

Reckon not on your chickens before 
they are hatched. 

Jeffreys Taylor. 


THE CHATTERBOX. 

From morning till night it was Lucy’s 
delight 

To chatter and talk without stop¬ 
ping ; 

There was not a day but she rattled 
away, 

Like water forever a-dropping. 

As soon as she rose, while she put on 
her clothes, 

’Twas vain to endeavor to still 
her; 

Nor once did she lack to continue her 
clack, 

Till again she lay down on her pil¬ 
low. 

You’ll think now, perhaps, there 
would have been gaps 

If she hadn’t been wonderful 
clever— 

That her sense was so great, and so 
witty her pate, 

That it would be forthcoming for¬ 
ever ; 

But that’s quite absurd ! for have you 
not heard 

That much tongue and few brains 
are connected ?— 

That they are supposed to think least 
who talk most, 

And their wisdom is always sus¬ 
pected ? 





ALL HAVE WORK TO DO. 


381 



“ I cannot stay, I must 
away, 

And gather in my 
store, 

For winter drear will 
soon be here, 

When I can work no 
more.” 


She heard a pigeon coo¬ 
ing soft 

High in the bough 
above— 

“ Come down, and play 
a while with me, 
My pretty, gentle 
dove.” 


“ I cannot come and 
play with thee, 

For I must guard my 
nest, 

ALL HAVE WORK TO DO. 1 And keep my sleepmg chlldren 

- warm 

A child went wandering through a wood Beneath my downy breast.” 

Upon a summer day; 

She hoped to meet some pretty thing She saw a squirrel gathering nuts 
To join her in her play. Upon a tall beech tree— 


While Lucy was young, had she bri¬ 
dled her tongue 

With a little good sense and exer¬ 
tion, 

Who knows but she might now have 
been our delight, 

Instead of our jest and aversion? 

Jane taylor. 


The cloudless sky above was blue, 

The grass beneath was green, 

And all around were lovely flowers, 
The brightest ever seen. 

A honey-bee went humming by— 

“ Stay, little bee ! ” she cried, 

“ Oh, do come back and play with me.” 
And thus the bee replied: 




382 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


“ I love to see you bound and leap; 
Come down and play with me.” 

“ I dare not play, I must away, 

And quickly homeward hie; 

Were I to stay, my little ones 
For want of food must die.” 

She came unto a stream that leaped 
Between its rocky banks— 

“ Stay, pretty stream, and play with 
me, 

And you shall have my thanks.” 

The stream replied, while in the pool 
A moment it stood still, 

“ I cannot play, I must away 
And drive the village mill.” 

The child sat down upon a stone, 

And hung her little head: 

She wept a while, and sobbed a while, 
Then to herself she said: 

“ The stream, the squirrel, dove and 
bee 

Have all got work to do; 

I must not play my hours away— 

I must be busy too.” 

A BOY THAT TOLD A LIE. 

The mother looked pale, and her face 
was sad; 

She seemed to have nothing to make 
her glad; 


She silently sat with the tears in her 
eye, 

For her dear little boy had told a lie. 

He was a gentle, affectionate child; 

His ways were winning, his temper 
was mild; 

There was love and joy in the soft 
blue eye, 

But the dear little boy had told a lie. 

He stood alone by the window within, 

For he felt that his soul was stained 
with sin; 

And his mother could hear him sob 
and cry, 

Because he had told her that wicked 
lie. 

Then he came and stood by his moth¬ 
er’s side, 

And asked for a kiss, which she de¬ 
nied ; 

While he promised with many a peni¬ 
tent sigh, 

That he never would tell another lie. 

So she bade him before her kneel 
gently down, 

And took his soft hands within her 
own, 

And she kissed his cheek as he looked 
on high 

And prayed to be pardoned for telling 
that lie. 







THE APPLE TREE. 


383 


THE APPLE TREE. 

Old John had an apple tree, healthy 
and green, 

Which bore the best Baldwins that 
ever were seen, 

So juicy, and mellow, and red; 

And when they were ripe, as Johnny 
was poor, 

He sold them to children that passed 
by his door, 

To buy him a morsel of bread. 

Little Hick, his next neighbor, one 
often might see 

With longing eye viewing this nice 
apple tree, 

And wishing an apple would fall. 

One day, as he stood in the heat of 
the sun, 

He began thinking whether he might 
not take one, 

And then he looked over the wall. 

And as he again cast his eye on the 
tree, 

He said to himself, “Oh, how nice 
they would be, 

So cool and refreshing to-day! 

The tree is so full, and I’d only take 
one; 

And old John won’t see, for he is not 
at home, 

And nobody is in the way.” 

But stop, little boy; take your hand 
from the bough; 


Kemember, though old John can’t see 
you just now, 

And no one to chide you is nigh, 

There is One who by night, just as 
by day, 

Can see all you do, and can hear all 
you say, 

From His glorious throne in the sky. 

Oh, then, little boy, come away from 
the tree, 

Content, hot or weary, or thirsty to be, 

Or anything rather than steal! 

For the great God, who even through 
darkness can look, 

Writes down every crime we commit 
in His book. 

However we think to conceal. 

Jane Taylor. 


THE STOLEN TOP. 

“ Edward, come here; how pale you 
are! 

What makes you look so wild ? 

And you’ve been crying sadly too * 

What’s happened to my child ?” 

“You know, mamma, you sent me 
down 

To neighbor Brightman’s shop 

With ninepence in my hand, to buy 

A little humming-top. 

“ Well, neighbor Brightman handed 
down 

A dozen tops or more, 










384 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


For me to make a choice of one; 
Then stepped toward the door. 

“ So then I caught one slyly up, 

And in my pocket slid it; 

And no one would suspect the thing, 
So cunningly I hid it. 

“ And so I bought another top 
And laid my ninepence down, 

Then laughed to think I owned them 
both, 

But paid for only one. 

“ But when I turned and left the shop 
I felt most dreadfully, 

For all the time I was in fear 
That he would follow me. 

“ Surely, thought I, he’ll find it out; 

The angry man will come, 

And I shall never see mamma, 

And never more go home. 

“ He’ll tie a rope around my neck, 
And hang me up on high; 
And'leave the little wicked thief 
To hang there till he die. 

“And then I screamed, and ran so 
fast 

Adown the nearest lane; 

And then I turned and looked behind, 
Then screamed and ran again. 

“Trembling, at last I reached my 
home, 

And straight I went to bed, 


But 0 I 1 , in such a shocking fright 
That I was almost dead. 

“No rest, nor comfort could I get, 
And not a wink of sleep; 

All I could do was toss and turn 
From side to side, and weep. 

“ And what was worst of all, mamma, 
I could not say my prayers; 

And then I thought my heart would 
burst 

And I was drowned in tears. 

“ ‘No, no,’ I cried ; ‘God will not hear 
A child so wicked pray; 

I dare not hope He’ll let me live 
To see another day.’ 

“ Thus did I mourn till morning’s 
dawn, 

And yet found no relief; 

For oh, what comfort can there be, 

Or pleasure, for a thief ?” 

“Go, my poor, wretched, guilty child— 
Go, take the top you stole, 

And give it to the man you’ve wronged, 
And own to him the whole. 

“Then on your knees before your God 
Confess how wrong you’ve been; 
Beg Him to save you, and forgive 
This great and dreadful sin. 

“ And never, while you live, again 
To such a deed consent, 

Lest He should take away your life 
Before you can repent.” 

“Lullabies and Ditties.” 




WILLIE AND THE APPLE. 


385 


WILLIE AND THE APPLE. 

Little Willie stood under an apple tree 
old; 

The fruit was all shining with crimson 
and gold, 

Hanging temptingly low; how he 
longed for a bite, 

Though he knew if he took one it 
wouldn’t be right! 

Said he, “ I don’t see why my father 
should say, 

* Don’t touch the old apple tree, Wil¬ 
lie, to-day; ’ 

I shouldn’t have thought—now they’re 
hanging so low— 

When I asked for just one, he should 
answer me ‘No.’ 

“ He would never find out if 1 took 
but just one, 

And they do look so good, shining out 
in the sun; 

There are hundreds and hundreds, 
and he wouldn’t miss 

So paltry a little red apple as this.” 

He stretched forth his hand, but a low 
mournful strain 

Came wandering dreamingly over his 
brain; 

In his bosom a beautiful harp had 
long laid, 

That the angel of conscience quite fre¬ 
quently played. 


And he sung, “ Little Willie, beware, 
oh, beware! 

Your father has gone, but your Maker 
is there; 

How sad you would feel if you heard 
the Lord say, 


‘ This dear little boy stole an apple 
to-day’!” 



Then Willie turned round, and, as 
still as a mouse, 


Crept slowly and carefully into the 
house; 

In his own little chamber he knelt 
down to pray 

That the Lord would forgive him and 
please not to say, 

“ Little Willie almost stole an apple 
to-day.” 

COMFORT. 

In the hour of my distress, 

When temptations me oppress, 

And when I my sins confess, 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 






386 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


WHAT THE CHOIR SANG ABOUT 
THE NEW BONNET. 

A foolish little maiden bought a fool¬ 
ish little bonnet, 



With a ribbon and a feather, and a 
bit of lace upon it; 

And that the other maidens of the lit¬ 
tle town might know it, 


She thought she’d go to meeting the 
next Sunday just to show it. 

But though the little bonnet was scarce 
larger than a dime, 

The getting of it settled, proved to be 
a work of time; 

So, when it was fairly tied, all the 
bells had stopped their ringing, 

And when she came to meeting, sure 
enough the folks were singing. 

So this foolish little maiden stood and 
waited at the door, 

And she shook her ruffles out behind, 
and smoothed them down before. 

“Hallelujah! hallelujah!” sang the 
choir above her head; 

“Hardly knew you ! hardly knew you ! ” 
were the words she thought they 
said. 

This made the little maiden feel so 
very, very cross 

That she gave her little mouth a twist 
and her head a little toss, 

For she thought the very hymn they 
sang was all about her bonnet. 

With a ribbon and a feather and a bit 
of lace upon it. 

And she did not wait to listen to the 
sermon or the prayer, 

But pattered down the silent street 
and hurried up the stair. 

















HE RICHEST PRINCE. 


387 


’Till she’d reached her little bureau, 
and in a bandbox on it 

Had hidden, safe from critic’s eye, her 
foolish little bonnet. 

Which proves, my little maidens, that 
each of you will find 

In every Sabbath service but an echo 
of your mind; 

And the little head that’s filled with 
silly airs 

Will never get a blessing from sermons 
or from prayers. 

Alice C. Hammond. 


THE RICHEST PRINCE. 

Once, as many German princes 
Feasting sat at knightly board, 
Each began to boast the treasures 
He within his lands had stored. 

Cried the Saxon: “Great and mighty 
Is the wealth, the power I wield, 
For within my Saxon mountains 
Sparkling silver lies concealed.” 

“ Mine’s the land that glows with 
beauty!” 

Cried the ruler of the Rhine; 

“ In the valleys yellow corn fields, 

On the mountains noble wine !” 

“Wealthy cities, spacious castles,” 
Lewis said, Bavaria’s lord, 

“ Make my land to yield me treasures 
Great as those your fields afford.” 


Wurtemberg’s beloved ruler, 

Everard, called “ the Bearded,” 
cries, 

“ I can boast no splendid cities, 

In my hills no silver lies ; 

“But I still can boast one jewel: 

Through my forests, wandering on, 
All my subjects know me—love me— 
I am safe with every one.” 

Then the princes, all together, 

Rose within that lofty hall: 
“Bearded count, thou’rt rich,” they 
shouted, 

“ Thou art wealthiest of us all! ” 


THE PLUM CAKE. 

“Oli, I’ve got a plum cake, and a rare 
feast I’ll make; 

I’ll eat, and I’ll stuff, and I’ll cram ; 

Morning, noontime, and night, it shall 
be my delight; 

What a happy young fellow I am!” 

Thus said little George, and, begin¬ 
ning to gorge, 

With zeal to his cake he applied; 

While fingers and thumbs, for the 
sweetmeats and plums, . 

Were hunting and digging beside. 

But, woeful to tell, a misfortune be¬ 
fell, 

Which ruined his capital fun; 






3 88 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


After eating his fill, he was taken so 

ill, 

That he trembled for what be had 
done. < 

As he grew worse and worse, the doc¬ 
tor and nurse 



To cure his disorder were sent, 

And rightly, you’ll think, he had phy¬ 
sic to drink, 

Which made him his folly repent. 

And while on his bed he rolled his hot 
head, 

Impatient with sickness and pain, 
He could not hut take this reproof for 
his cake: 

“ Don’t be such a glutton again.” 

Ann Taylob. 


ANOTHER PLUM CAKE. 

“ Oh, I’ve got a plum cake, and a feast 
let us make; 

Come, school-fellows, come at my call; 

I assure you ’tis nice, and we’ll each 
have a slice— 

Here’s more than enough for us 
all.” 

Thus said little Jack, as he gave it a 
smack, 

And sharpened his knife for the 
job; 

While round him a troop formed a 
clamorous group, 

And hailed him the king of the 
mob. 

With masterly strength he cut through 
it at length, 

And gave to each playmate a share; 

Dick, William, and James, and many 
more names, 

And a blind man partook of his 
care. 

And when it was done, and they’d fin¬ 
ished their fun, 

To marbles or hoops they went 
back, 

And each little boy felt it always a 
joy 

To do a good turn for good Jack. 

In his task and his book his best 
pleasure he took, 






THE TRIPLE PLEDGE. 


389 


And as lie thus wisely began, 

Since he’s been a man grown he has 
constantly shown 

That a good boy will make a good 
man. 

Ann Taylor. 


THE TRIPLE PLEDGE. 

We will not buy, 

We will not make, 

We will not use; 

We will not take 

Wine, cider, beer, 

; 

Rum, whiskey, gin; 
Because they lead 
Mankind to sin. 

We will not smoke 
The smoker’s pets, 
Those little things 
Called cigarettes. 

We will not chew; 

We will not snuff, 

Or waste our time 
In playing puff. 

We w r ill not curse, 
Though many dare 
Open their lips 

To curse and swear. 
Our words shall be 
Both pure and plain ; 
We will not take 
God’s name in vain. 


THEY SAY. 

The subject of my speech is one 
We hear of every day— 

’Tis simply all about the fear 
We have of what “they say!” 



How happy all of us could be, 

If—as we go our way— 

We did not stop to think and care 
So much for what i( they say .” 














390 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


We never dress to go outside, 

To church, to ball, to play, 

But everything we wear or do 
Is ruled by what “they say” 

Half of the struggles we each make 
To keep up a display, 

Might be avoided, were it not 
For dread of what “they say” 

The half of those who leave their 
homes 

For Long Branch and Cape May 
Would never go, if it were not 
For fear of what “they say ” 

One reason why I’m now so scared 
(Pardon the weakness, pray!) 

Is that I’m thinking all the while, 

“Of me what will ‘they say’? ” 

But so’t will be, I judge, as long 
As on the earth folks stay— 
There’ll always be, with wise and fools, 
That dread of what “they say ” 


DON’T. 

Don’t worry nor fret 

About what people think 
Of your ways or your means, 
Of your food or your drink. 

If you know you’re doing 
Your best every day, 

With the right on your side, 
Never mind what “they” say. 


LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. 

Angry looks can do no good, 

And blows are dealt in blindness; 

YVords are better understood, 

If spoken out in kindness. 

Simple love far more hath wrought, 
Although by childhood muttered, 

Than all the battles ever fought, 

Or oaths that men have uttered. 

Friendship oft would longer last, 

And quarrels be prevented, 

If little words were let go past, 
Forgiven—not resented. 

Foolish things are frowns and sneers, 
For angry thoughts reveal them ; 

Rather drown them all in tears, 
Than let another feel them. 


HOW DO THEY GROW. 

This is only a blade of grass; 

But how does it grow ? 

Does any one know? 

The seasons come, and the seasons 
pass, 

And with every year 
The grass we have here, 

So green and bright in the sun and rain; 
And then it is brown 
When the snow comes down, 

But young and fresh in the Spring again. 









WHERE DO THE WRINKLES COME FROM? 


39 1 


This is only a little girl; 

But how does she grow? 

Does any one know ? 

With her hair of gold and her teeth of 
pearl ? 

From a baby so wee 
She will grow to be 


“ Where do the wrinkles come from ? 

Why first, dear, I suppose, 

The heart lets in a sorrow, 

And then a wrinkle grows. 

“ Then anger comes a-tapping, 

^And the heart’s door opens wide; 



A maiden as fair as a blooming rose; 
But no one can say, 

As day follows day, 

How a blade of grass or a little girl 
grows.. 

WHERE DO THE WRINKLES 
COME FROM? 

“ Where do the wrinkles come from ?” 

And joyous little Grace 
Looked gravely in the mirror 
At her rose-tinted face. 


Then hasten naughty envy 
And discontent and pride. 

“ And the wrinkles follow slowly; 

For the face has for its part 
To tell just what is doing 
Down in the secret heart. 

“ And the red lips lose their sweetness, 
And draw down so,” said Grace, 

“ And the lovely youthful angel 
Goes slowly from the face. 

“ Watch the gate of the heart, my 
darling, 








39 2 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


For the heart is the dwelling-place 
Of the magical angel of beauty, 
Whose smile is seen in the face. ,, 


SPEAK THE TRUTH. 

Speak the truth! 

Speak it boldly, never fear; 
Speak it so that all may hear; 
In the end it shall appear 
Truth is best in age and youth. 
Speak the truth. 


TWO PICTURES. 

An old farm-house, with meadows wide, 
And sweet with clover on each side; 
A bright-eyed boy, who looks from 
out 

The door, with woodbine wreathed 
about, 

And wishes his one thought all day: 

“ Oh, if I could but fly away 
From this dull spot, the world to see, 
How happy, happy, happy, 

How happy I should be ! ” 

Amid the city’s constant din, 

A man who round the world has been, 
Who, ’mid the tumult and the throng, 
Is thinking, thinking, all day long, 

“ Oh, could I only tread once more 
The field-path to the farm-house door, 
The old green meadows could I see, 
How happy, happy, happy, 

How happy I should be !” 

Marian Douglass. 


SAILING TO-NIGHT. 

There’s a ship on the sea. It is sail 
ing to-night— 



Sailing to-night;— 

And father’s aboard, and the moon is 
all bright— 

Shining and bright. 














BUSY LITTLE HUSBANDMAN. 


393 


Dear Moon, he’ll be sailing for many 
a night— 

Sailing from mother and me; 
Oh, follow the ship with your silvery 
light, 

As father sails over the sea ! 


BUSY LITTLE HUSBANDMAN. 

I’m a little husbandman, 

Work and labor hard I can; 

I’m as happy all the day 
At my work as if ’twere play; 
Though I’ve nothing fine to wear, 
Yet for that I do not care. 

When to work I go along, 

Singing loud my morning song, 
With my wallet on my back, 

And my wagon-whip to crack, 

Oh, I’m thrice as happy then 
As the idle gentleman. 

I’ve a hearty appetite, 

And I soundly sleep at night; 
Down I lie content, and say 
I’ve been useful all the day; 

I’d rather be a ploughboy than 
A useless little gentleman. 


DONT BE CONTENT TO RUST. 

Come, rouse and shake yourself, my 
friend! 

Shake off the sluggard’s dust; 


Unfold your hands and wake your 
eyes; 

Don’t be content to rust. 



Away with indolence, and rise 
Above the brutish sloth, 

And health and ease will come if thou 
Be not to labor loth. 













394 


lessons of life. 



Come out> and show your better self, 
Nor lag while others run; 

There’s not an hour, or day, hut hath 
Something that may he done— 
Something, my friend, 
that you can do, 

If hut to earn a crust, 

And better that than sit 
and mope, 

And he content to rust. 


“Co’,'boss ! co’ boss ! co’! co’! co’! ” 
Farther, farther over the hill, 

Faintly calling, calling still,— 

“Co’ boss ! co’ boss ! co’! co’!” 


FARM-YARD SONG. 


Over the hill the farm- 
boy goes; 

His shadow lengthens 
along the land, 

A giant staff in a giant 
hand ; 

In the poplar tree, above 
the spring, 

The katydid begins to 
sing; 

The early dews are 
falling 

Into the stone-lieap darts 
the mink, 

The swallows skim the 
river’s brink; 

And home to the wood¬ 
land by the crows, 

When over the hill the 
goes, 

Cheerily calling,— 


farm-boy | Into the yard the farmer goes, 

i With grateful heart at the close of day; 
[ Harness and chain are hung away; 

























grandmother’s farm. 


395 


In the wagon-shed stand yoke and 
plough; 

The straw’s in the stack, the hay in 
the mow, 

The cooling dews are falling:— 
The friendly sheep his welcome bleat, 
The pigs come grunting to his feet, 
The whinnying mare her master knows 
When into the yard the farmer goes, 
His cattle calling— 

“Co’ boss ! co’ boss ! co’! co’!” 
While still the cow-boy, far away, 
Goes seeking those that have gone 
astray— 

“Co’ boss ! co’ boss ! co’! co’!” 

Now to her task the milkmaid goes. 
The cattle come crowding through, the 
Lowing, pushing, little and great; 
About the trough, by the farm-yard 
pump, 

The frolicsome yearlings frisk and 
jump, 

While the pleasant dews are falling, 
But the old cow waits with tranquil eye ; 
And the white stream into the bright 
pail flows, 

When to her task the milkmaid goes, 
Soothingly calling,— 

“So boss ! so boss ! so ! so ! so !” 

The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool, 
And sits and milks in the twilight cool, 
Saying “So ! so, boss ! so ! so !” 

To supper at last the farmer goes, 

The apples are pared, the paper read, 


The stories are told, then all to bed. 
Without, the cricket’s ceaseless song 
Makes shrill the silence all nightlong: 

The heavy dews are falling,— 

The housewife’s hand has turned the 
lock; 

Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock ; 

But still in sleep the farm-boy goes 
Singing, calling,— 

“ Co’ boss ! co’ boss ! co’! co’! co’! ” 
And the milkmaid in her dreams 
Drums in the pail with the flashing 
streams, 

Murmuring, “So boss ! so !” 

John Townsend Trowbridge. 


GRANDMOTHER’S FARM. 

My grandmother lives on a farm 
Just twenty miles from town; 

She’s sixty-five years old, she says; 
Her name is Grandma Brown. 

Her farm is very large and fine; 

There’s meadow, wood and field. 
And orchards which all kinds of fruits 
Most plentifully yield. 

Butter she churns, and makes nice 
cheese; 

They are so busy there, 

If mother should stay with me too, 
I’d like to do my share. 

I go out with the haymakers, 

And tumble on the hay ; 






396 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


They put me up upon the load, 

And home we drive away. 

I go into the pleasant fields 
And gather berries bright; 

They’ve many, many thousands there, 
All fresh and sweet and ripe. 


I think I’ll save all that I get, 

And earn all that I can 
And buy me such a pleasant farm 
When I grow up a man. 


CHOICE OF OCCUPATIONS. 


A pretty brook runs 
through the farm, 
Singing so soft and 
sweet: 

I sit upon the grassy 
bank, 

And bathe my little 
feet. 



A farmer I would like to be, 

They live so pleasantly; 

They must be happy while they work, 
Singing so cheerfully. 


JOHN. 

I mean to be a soldier, 

With uniform quite new; 

I wish they’d let me have a 
drum, 

And be a captain too : 

I would go amid the battle, 

With my broadsword in my 
hand, 

And hear the cannon rattle, 

And the music all so grand. 

MOTHER. 

! My son, my son! what if that sword 
Should strike a noble heart, 

And bid some loving father 
From his little ones depart ? 

What comfort would your waving 
plumes 

And brilliant dress bestow, 

When you thought upon his widow’s 
tears, 

And her orphans’ cry of woe ? 

WILLIAM. 

I mean to be a President, 

And rule each rising state, 

And hold my levees once a week 
For all the gay and great; 













the pride of battery b. 


397 


I’ll be a king, except a crown— 

For that they won’t allow— 

And I’ll find out what the Tariff is, 
That puzzles me so now. 

MOTHER. 

My son, my son! the cares of state 
Are thorns upon the breast, 

That ever pierce the good man’s heart 
And rob him of his rest; 

The great and gay to him appear 
As trifling as the dust, 

For he knows how little they are worth, 
How faithless is their trust. 

LOUISA. 

I mean to be a cottage-girl, 

And sit behind a rill, v. 

And morn and eve my pitcher there 
With purest water fill; 

And I’ll train a lovely woodbine 
Around my cottage-door, 

And welcome to my winter hearth 
The wandering and the poor. 

MOTHER. 

Louisa, dear, a humble mind 
’Tis beautiful to see, 

And you shall never hear a word 
To check that mind from me; 

But ah ! remember pride may dwell 
Beneath the woodbine’s shade, 

And discontent, a sullen guest, 

The cottage-hearth invade. 

CAROLINE. 

I will be gay and courtly, 

And dance away the hours; 


Music and sport and joy shall dwell 
Beneath my fairy bowers; 

No heart shall ache with sadness 
Within my laughing hall, 

But the note of love and gladness 
Ke-echo to my call. 

MOTHER. 

Oh, children! sad it makes my soul 
To hear your playful strain; 

I cannot bear to chill your youth 
With images of pain; 

Yet humbly take what God bestows, 
And, like His own fair flowers, 
Look up in sunshine with a smile, 
And gently bend in showers. 

Caroline Gilman. 


THE PRIDE OF BATTERY B. 

[This poem is a “gem of the purest ray serene.’” 
It recounts an incident of the late civil war. A lit¬ 
tle orphan child, a war waif, adopted by a battery 
of the Southern troops, is so distressed by the 
failure of the tobacco supplies of her whilom guar¬ 
dians, that she escapes from her tent, and, crossing 
to the enemy’s entrenchment, begs a supply from 
the Yankee soldiers. The latter send her back well 
supplied with the weed so dear to the soldier’s 
heart, and during the rest of the engagement the 
gunners on the Yankee side refuse to direct their 
shells in the vicinity of the child’s detachment. 
This poem has enjoyed remarkable popularity, and 
has been widely copied in England and elsewhere.] 

South Mountain towered on our right, 
far off the river lay, 

And over on the wooded height we 
held their lines at bay. 

At last the mutt’ring guns were 
stilled; the day died slow and 
wan; 










398 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


At last the gunners’ pipes were filled, 
the Sergeant’s yarns began. 
When,—as the wind a moment blew 
aside the fragrant flood 
Our brierwoods raised,—within our 
view a little maiden stood. 

A tiny tot of six or seven, from fire¬ 
side fresh she seemed 
(Of such a little one in heaven one 
soldier often dreamed). 

And, as we stared, her little hand 
went to her curly head 
In grave salute : “ And who are you ?” 

at length the Sergeant said. 

“ And where’s your home ?” he growled 
again. Shelispedout,“Who isme? 
Why, don’t you know? I’m little 
Jane, the Pride of Battery ‘B.’ 
My home? Why, that was burned 
away, and pa and ma are dead, 
And so, so I ride the guns all day 
along with Sergeant Ned. 

And I’ve a drum that’s not a toy, a cap 
with feathers, too, 

And I march beside the drummer boy 
on Sundays at review; 

But now our ’bacca’s all give out, the 
men can’t have their smoke, 

And so they’re cross—why, even Ned 
won’t play with me and joke, 

And the big Colonel said to-day—I 
hate to hear him swear— 

He’d give a leg for a good pipe like 
the Yanks had over there 
And so I thought when beat the drum 
and the big guns were still, 


I’d creep beneath the tent and come 
out here across the hill, 

And beg, good Mister Yankee men, 
you’d give me some tobac; 

Please do—when we get some again 
I’ll surely bring it back. 

Indeed I will, for Ned—says he—if I 
do what I say, 

I’ll be a general yet, maybe, and ride 
a prancing bay. ” 

We brimmed her tiny apron o’er; you 
should have heard her laugh 
As each man from his scanty store 
shook out a generous half. 

To kiss the little mouth stooped down 
a score of grimy men, 

Until the Sergeant’s husky voice said 
“ ’Tention, squad and then 
We gave her escort, till good night the 
pretty waif we bid. 

And watched her toddle out of sight— 
or else ’twas tears that hid 
Her tiny form—nor turned about a 
man, nor spoke a word, 

’Till after while a far, hoarse shout 
upon the wind was heard! 

We sent it hack—then cast sad eye 
upon the scene around, 

A baby’s hand had touched the tie 
that brothers once had bound. 
That’s all—save when the dawn awoke 
again the work of hell, 

And through the sullen clouds of 
smoke the screaming missiles fell; 
Our General often rubbed his glass 
and marveled much to see 





THE SAILOR BOY’S DREAM. 


399 


Not a single shell that whole day fell 
in the lines of Battery “ B ” 

Fbank H. Gassaway. 


THE SAILOR BOY’S DREAM. 

In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy 

lay, 

His hammock swung loose at the 
sport of the wind; 

But, watchworn and weary, his cares 
flew away, 

And visions of happiness danced 
o’er his mind. 

He dreamed of his home, of his dear 
native bowers, 

And pleasures that waited on life’s 
merry morn, 

While Memory stood sideways, half 
covered with flowers, 

And restored every rose, but se¬ 
creted its thorn. 

Then Fancy her magical pinions 
spread wide, 

And bade the young dreamer in ec¬ 
stasy arise; 

Now, far, far behind him the green 
waters glide, 

And the cot of his forefathers blesses 
his eyes. 

The jessamine clambers in flower o’er 
the thatch, 

And the swallow sings sweet from 
her nest in the wall; 


All trembling with transport, he raises 
the latch, 

And the voices of loved ones reply 
to his call. 

A father bends o’er him, with looks 
of delight, 

His cheek is impearled with a moth¬ 
er’s warm tear, 

And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss 
unite 

With the lips of the maid whom his 
bosom holds dear. 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in 
his breast; 

Joy quickens his pulses—his hard¬ 
ships seem o’er; 

And a murmur of happiness steals 
through his rest— 

“Kind Fate, thou hast blest me ! I 
ask for no more.” 

Ah! what is that flame which now 
bursts on his eye ? 

Ah ! what is that sound which now 
’larums his ear? 

’Tis the lightning’s red glare, painting 
hell on the sky, 

’Tis the crashing of thunders, the 
groan of the sphere ! 

He springs from his hammock, he flies 
to the deck— 

Amazement confronts him with im¬ 
ages dire; 

Wild winds and mad waves drive the 
vessel a wreck— 






400 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


The masts fly in splinters—the 
shrouds are on fire ! 

Like mountains the billows tremen¬ 
dously swell; 

In vain the lost wretch calls on 
Mercy to save; 

Unseen hands of spirits are ringing 
his knell; 

And the death-angel flaps his broad 
wing o’er the wave ! 

Oh, sailor boy! woe to thy dream of 
delight! 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost¬ 
work of bliss; 

Where now is the picture that Fancy 
touched bright, 

Thy parents’ soft pressure and 
love’s honeyed kiss ? 

Oh, sailor boy ! sailor boy ! never again 

Shall home, love, or kindred thy 
wishes repay; 

Unblessed and unhonored, down deep 
in the main, 

Full many a fathom thy frame shall 
decay. 

No tomb shall e’er plead to remem¬ 
brance for thee, 

Or redeem form or frame from the 
merciless surge; 

But the white foam of waves shall thy 
winding-sheet be, 

And winds, in the midnight of win¬ 
ter, thy dirge! 


On beds of green sea-flowers thy limbs 
shall be laid, 

Around thy white bones the red 
coral shall grow; 

Of thy fair yellow locks threads of 
amber be made, 

And every part suit to thy mansion 
below. 

Days, months, years, and ages shall 
circle away, 

And still the vast waters above thee 
shall roll; 

Earth loses thy pattern forever and 
aye! 

Oh, sailor boy ! sailor boy ! peace 
to thy soul! 

William Dimond. 


THE SOLDIER’S DREAM. 

Our bugles sang truce, for the night 
had lowered, 

And the sentinel stars set their 
watch in the sky, 

And thousands had sunk on the ground 
overpowered— 

The. weary to sleep, and the wound¬ 
ed to die. 

When reposing at night on my pallet 
of straw, 

By the wolf-scaring fagot that guard - 
the slain, 

At the dead of the night a sweet vision 
I saw, 






THE LITTLE DRUMMER. 


401 


And thrice ere the morning I dreamt 
it again. 

Methought from the battlefield’s dread¬ 
ful array 

Far, far I had roamed on a desolate 
track; 

’Twas autumn, and sunshine arose on 
the way 

To the home of fathers, that wel¬ 
comed me back. 

I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed 
so oft 

In life’s morning march, when my 
bosom was young; 

I heard my own mountain-goats bleat¬ 
ing aloft, 

And knew the sweet strain that the 
corn-reapers sung. 

Then pledged we the wine cup, and 
fondly I swore 

From my home and my weeping 
friends never to part; 

My little ones kissed me a thousand 
times o’er, 

And my wife sobbed aloud in her 
fulness of heart. 

4 ‘Stay, stay with us ! rest; thou art 
weary and worn!” 

And fain was their war-broken sol¬ 
dier to stay; 

But sorrow returned with the dawning 
of morn, 


And the voice in my dreaming ear 
melted away. 

Thomas Campbell 


THE LITTLE DRUMMER. 

’Tis of a little drummer 
The story I shall tell— 

Of how he marched to battle, 

And all that there befell, 

Out in the West with Lyon 

(For once that name was true), 

For whom the little drummer beat 

His rat-tat-too. 

Our army rose at midnight, 

Ten thousand men as one, 

Each slinging on his knapsack 
And snatching up his gun; 

“ Forward !” and off they started, 

As all good soldiers do, 

When the little drummer beats for 
them 

The rat-tat-too. 

Across a rolling country, 

Where the mist began to rise, 

Past many a blackened farm-house, 
Till the sun was in the skies; 

Then we met the rebel pickets, 

Who skirmished and withdrew, 
While the little drummer beat and 
beat 

The rat-tat-too . 

Along the wooded hollows 
The line of battle ran; 





402 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


Our centre poured a volley, 

And the fight at once began; 

For the rebels answered, shouting, 
And a shower of bullets flew; 

But still the little drummer beat 
His rat-tat-too. 

He stood among his comrades, 

As they quickly formed in line, 

And when they raised their muskets 
He watched the barrels shine. 

When the volley broke, he started, 
For war to him was new; 

But still the little drummer beat 
His rat-tat-too. 

It was a sight to see them, 

That early autumn day— 

Our soldiers in their blue coats, 

And the rebel ranks in gray, 

The smoke that rolled between them, 
The balls that whistled through, 
And the little drummer as he beat 
His rat-tat-too. 

His comrades dropped around him— 
By fives and tens they fell— 

Some pierced by Minnie bullets, 

Some torn by shot and shell. 

They played against our cannon, 

And a caisson’s splinters flew, 

But still the little drummer beat 
His rat-tat-too. 

The right, the left, the centre— 

The fight was everywhere ; 

They pushed us here—we wavered; 


We drove and broke them there. 
The gray-backs fixed their bayonets, 
And charged the coats of blue, 
But still the little drummer beat 
His rat-tat-too. 

“Where is our little drummer?” 

His nearest comrades say 
When the dreadful fight is over 
And the smoke has cleared away. 
As the rebel corps were scattering, 
He urged them to pursue, 

So furiously he beat and beat 
The rat-tat-too. 

He stood no more among them; 

A bullet, as it sped, 

Had glanced and struck his ankle, 

And stretched him with the dead. 

He crawled behind a cannon, 

And pale and paler grew, 

But still the little drummer beat 
% 

His rat-tat-too. 

They bore him to the surgeon— 

A busy man was he; 

“A drummer boy? what ails him?” 

His comrades answered, “See !” 
As they took him from the stretcher 
A heavy breath he drew 
And his little fingers strove to beat 
The rat-tat-too. 

The ball had spent its fury; 

“A scratch,” the surgeon said 
As he wound the snowy bandage 
Which the lint was staining red; 





how’s my boy ? 


403 


“Oh, take me back with you, 

For I know the men are missing me 
And the rat-tat-too !” 

Upon his comrade’s shoulder 
They lifted him so grand, 

With his dusty drum before him 
And his drumsticks in his hand, 
To the fiery front of battle, 

That nearer, nearer drew, 

And evermore he beat and beat 
His rat-tat-too. 

The wounded, as he passed them, 
Looked up and gave a cheer, 

And one in dying blessed him, 
Betweon a smile and tear. 

And the gray-backs, they are flying 
Before the coats of blue, 

For whom the little drummer beats 
His rat-tat-too. 

When the West was red with sunset 
The last pursuit was o’er; 

Brave Lyon rode the foremost, 

And looked the name he bore; 
And before him on his saddle, 

As a weary child would do, 

Sat the little drummer fast asleep, 
With his rat-tat-too. 

Richard Henry Stoddard. 

BE A HERO. 

In the world’s broad field of battle, 
In the bivouac of Life, 

Be not like dumb, driven cattle! 

Be a hero in the strife. 

H. W, Longfellow. 


HOW’S MY BOY? 

“Ho, sailor of the sea ! 

How’s my boy, my boy?” 

“What’s your boy’s name, good wife, 
And in what ship sailed he ? ” 

“My boy John— 

He that went to sea— 

What care I for the ship sailor ? 

My boy’s my boy to me. 

“You come back from sea, 

And not know my John ? 

I might as well have asked some lands¬ 
man 

Yonder down in the town. 

There’s not an ass in all the parish 
But he knows my John. 

“How’s my boy—my boy? 

And unless you let me know, 

I’ll swear you are no sailor, 

Blue jacket or no, 

Brass buttons or no, sailor, 

Anchor and crown or no! 

Sure his ship was the Jolly Briton —” 
“Speak low, woman, speak low!” 
“And why should I speak low, sailor, 
About my own boy, John? 

If I was loud as I am proud, 

I’d sing him over the town ! 

Why should I speak low, sailor ?” 
“That good ship went down !” 

“How’s my boy—my boy? 

What care I for the ship, sailor ? 

“I must leave you now, old fellow” 







404 


LESSONS OF LIFE. 


I was never aboard her. 

Be she afloat, or be she aground, 
Sinking or swimming, I’ll be bound, 
Her owners can afford her! 

I say, how’s my John?” 

“Every man on board went down, 
Every man aboard her,” 

“How’s my boy—my boy? 

What care I for the men, sailor? 
I’m not their mother— 

How’s my boy—my boy ? 

Tell me of him, and no other! 
How’s my boy—my boy ?” 

Sidney Dobell. 


A FAREWELL. 

My fairest child, I have no song to 
give you; 

No lark could pipe to skies so dull 
and gray; [you 

Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave 
For every day: 

Be good, sweet maid, and let who will 
be clever; 

Do noble things, not dream them, 
all day long; 

And so make life, death, and that vast 
Forever 

One grand, sweet song. 

Charles Kingsley. 






On The Wing. 












































































































. 




























































































































01 THE WING. 


THE MAGPIE’S LESSON. 

In early times, the story says, 

When birds could talk and lecture, 
A Magpie called her feathered friends 
To teach them architecture : 

“ To build a nest, my courteous 
friends,”— 

They all began to chatter: 

“ No need to teach us that, good ‘Mag,’ 
’Tis such an easy matter! ” 

“ To build a nest,”—Professor “Mag” 
Resumed her speech demurely,— 

“ First choose a well-forked bough, 
wherein 

The nest may sit securely.” 

“ Of course,” said Jenny Wren. “Now 
cross 

'Two sticks for the foundation.” 
“Oh, all know that, ” quoth Mr. “Rook,” 
“ Without this long oration.” 

“ Now bend some slender twigs to form 
The round sides of the dwelling.” 

“ A fool knows that,” exclaimed the 
thrush, 

“ Without a Magpie’s telling.” 


“ Next take some wool and line the 
nest, 

And hind it well together.” 

“Why, that’s as clear,” exclaimed the 
owl, 

“ As stars in frosty weather! ” 



While thus they talked, Professor 
“Mag” 

Her nest had half completed! 

And, growing quite indignant now, 

To see how she was treated, 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, 

“ I see you are all so clever, 

My lessons are superfluous,— 

I leave you then forever.” 


407 






408 


ON THE WING. 


Away she flew, and left the birds 
Their folly to discover, 

Who now can build but half a nest, 
And cannot roof it over. 

The magpie sits beneath her roof, 

No rain nor hail can pelt her; 

The others, brooding o’er their young, 
Themselves enjoy no shelter. 

No better fate do men deserve, 

When self-conceit can lead them 

Friendly instructions to despise, 

And think they do not need them. 


ANSWER TO A CHILD’S QUES¬ 
TION. 


That he sings and he sings, and for 
ever sings he, 

“ I love my lpve, and my love loves 
me.” 

Samuel T. Coleridge. 


THE TRADES-BIRDS. 



HE swallow is a 
mason; 

And underneath the 
eaves 

He builds a nest, 
and plasters it 

With mud, and, hay 
and leaves. 


Do you ask what the birds say ? The 
sparrow, the dove, 

The linnet, and thrush, say “ I love 
and I love!” 

In the winter they’re silent, the wind 
is so strong; 

What it says I don’t know, but it sings 
a loud song. 

But green leaves and blossoms and 
sunny warm weather, 

And singing and loving, all come 
back together. 

But the lark is so brimful of gladness 
and love, 

The green fields below him, the blue 
sky above, 


The woodpecker is 
hard at work: 

A carpenter is he; 

And you may find 
him hammering 
His house high up 

The bullfinch knows 
and practices 
The basketmaker’s 
trade: 

See what a cradle 
for his young 
The little thing has 
made! 












4°9 


the language of birds. 


Of all the weavers 
that I know, 

The chaffinch is the 
best: 

High on the apple- 
tree he weaves 

A cosy little nest. 

The goldfinch is a 
fuller: 

A skillful workman 
he! 

Of wool and threads 
he makes a nest 
That you would like 
to see. 

The cuckoo laughs 
to see them work : 

‘‘Not so,” he says, 

“we do: 

My wife and I take 
others’ nests, 

And live at ease—cuckoo !” 

Julius Stuem. 


THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 

A thousand and twenty singing birds 
Are chanting a matin-song, 

In the happy tones and the unknown 
words 

That to Swiss little birds belong. 

Yet, shutting our eyes, we never would 
know 


If the woods of this far-away land 

Were other than ours, while musical so 

With a rapturous singing hand. 

We’d never imagine a foreign tongue 

Is sounding such clear, sweet notes; 

But rather be sure that the strains 
are sung 

By our own little songsters’ throats. 

You wouldn’t suspect that the meadow¬ 
lark, 

With his wings to the heavens set, 

Would only give heed to your voice, 
and hark 

If you called him an alouette. 

That the rossignol’s song in the Switz¬ 
er’s vale, 

With its melody pure and free, 

Would faint in the speech of the night¬ 
ingale ; 

l 7 ou wouldn’t believe it could be ! 

Nor would it, my darlings. Y 7 ou’re 
right! you’re right! 

One language the birds have— one; 

They use it by day, and they use it 
by night, 

They use it in shadow and sun. 

’Tis the language of love, the same, 
the same, 

Wherever its harmony grows; 

The language of music that hasn’t a 
name 

Save that which the whole world 
knows! 












THE LANGUAGE OF BIROS 


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THE SINGING-LESSON. 


411 


So we’ll listen together, with wonted And she hid from the moon. 
ear > She wrung her claws, poor thing! 

To the spring that is fully awake ; But was far too proud to weep; 
And our souls shall be wafted now She tucked her head under her 
there, now here— j wing, 

At home, or on Leman’s Lake. And pretended to be asleep. 



THE SINGING-LESSON. A lark, arm in arm with a thrush, 

-- j Came sauntering up to the place ; 

A nightingale made a mistake; I The nightingale felt herself blush, 

She sang a few notes out of tune ; Though feathers hid her face. 

Her heart was ready to break, She knew they had heard her song> 








412 


ON THE WING. 


She felt them snicker and sneer; 

She thought this'life was too long, 
And wished she could skip a year. 

“ Oh, Nightingale, ” cooed a dove— 
“Oh, Nightingale, what’s the use ? 

You bird of beauty and love, 

Why behave like a goose ? 

Don’t skulk away from our sight, 

Like common, contemptible fowl; 

You bird of joy and delight, 

Why behave like an owl ? 

“ Only think of all you have done, 
Only think of all you can do; 

A false note is really fun 
From such a bird as you. 

Lift up your proud little crest, 

Open your musical beak; 

Other birds have to do their best— 
You need only to speak.” 

The nightingale shyly took 

• Her head from under her wing, 

And, giving the dove a look, 
Straightway began to sing. 

There was never a bird could pass; 
The night was divinely calm, 

And the people stood on the grass 
To hear that wonderful psalm. 

The nightingale did not care; 

She only sang to the skies; 

Her song ascended there, 

And there she fixed her eyes. 

The people that stood below 


She knew but little about; 

And this story’s a moral I know, 

If you’ll try to find it out. 

Jean Ingelow. 



High on the cliff, and feasts his young 
with blood: 


On Snowdon rocks, or Orkney’s wide 
domain, 

Whose beetling cliffs o’er hang the 
Western main, 

The royal bird his lonely kingdom 
forms, 






THE THRUSH. 


413 


Amidst the gathering clouds and sullen 
storms; * 

Through the wide waste of air he 
darts his sight, 

And holds his sounding pinions poised 
for flight; 

With cruel eye premeditates the war, 

And marks his destined victim from 
afar: 

Descending in a whirlwind to the 
ground, 

His pinions like the rush of waters 
sound: 

The fairest of the fold he bears away, 

And to his nest compels the struggling 
prey; 

He scorns the game by meaner hun¬ 
ters tore, 

And dips his talons in no vulgar gore. 

Anna Letitia Barbauld. 


THE THRUSH. 

Songster of the russet coat, 

Full and liquid is thy note; 

Plain thy dress, but great thy skill, 
Captivating at thy will. 

Small musician of the field, 

Near my bower thy tribute yield, 
Little servant of the ear, 

Ply thy task, and never fear. 

I will learn from thee to praise 
God, the Author of my days; 

I will learn from thee to sing, 



Christ, my Saviour and my King; 
Learn to labor with my voice, 
Make the sinking heart rejoice. 


WHAT IS THAT, MOTHER? 

‘‘What is that, mother ?” 

The lark, my child. 

The morn has but just looked out and 
smiled 

When he starts from his humble grassy 
nest, 

And is up and away, with the dew on 
his breast, 

And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, 
bright sphere, 

To warble it out in his Maker’s ear. 

Ever, my child, be thy morn’s first 
lays 

Tuned, like the lark’s, to thy Maker’s 
praise. 









414 


ON THE WING. 


“What is that, mother?” 


The dove my son; 

And that low, sweet voice, like a wid¬ 
ow’s moan, 



'Constant and pure by that lonely nest, 
As the wave is poured from some crys¬ 
tal urn, 


For her distant dear one’s quick re¬ 
turn. 

Ever, my son, be thou like the dove— 

In friendship as faithful, as constant 
in love. 

“What is that, mother?” 

The eagle, boy, 

Proudly careering his course with joy, 

Firm on his own mountain vigor re¬ 
lying, 

Breasting the dark storm, the red holt 
defying; 

His wing on the wind, and his eye on 
the sun, 

He swerves not a hair, hut bears on¬ 
ward, right on. 

Boy, may the eagle’s flight ever be 
thine— 


Onward and upward, and true to the 
line! 

“What is that, mother?” 

The swan, my love; 

He is floating down from his native 
grove. 

No loved one now, no nestling nigh, 

He is floating down by himself to die; 

Death darkens his eye and unplumes 
his wings, 

Yet the sweetest song is the last he 
sings. 

Live so, my child, that when death 
shall come, 

Swanlike and sweet it may waft thee 
home. 

George Washington Doane. 

ROBIN-REDBREASTS. 

Two robin-redbreasts built their nest 
Within a hollow tree; 

The hen sat quietly at home, 



The cock sang merrily; 

And all the little young ones said, 
“Wee-wee! wee-wee ! wee-wee !” 








COME HERE, LITTLE ROBIN. 


One day the sun was warm and 
bright, 

And shining in the sky; 

Cock Robin said, “My little dears, 

’Tis time you learned to fly.” 

And all the little young ones said, 
“I’ll try ! I’ll try ! I’ll try !” 

I know a child, and who she is 
I’ll tell you by-and-by, 

When mamma says “Do this” or 
“that,” 

She says, “Whatfor?” and “Why?” 
She’d be a better child by far 
If she would say, “I’ll try.” 

Aunt Effie’s Rhymes. 


COME HERE, LITTLE ROBIN. 

Come here, little Robin, and don’t be 
afraid, 

I would not hurt even a feather; 

Come here, little Robin, and pick up 
some bread, 

To feed you this very cold weather. 

I don’t mean to hurt you, you poor 
little thing; 

And Pussy-cat is not behind me; 

So hop about pretty, and put down 
your wing, 

And pick up the crumbs, and don’t 
mind me: 

Cold winter is come, but it will not 
last long, 


415* 


And summer we soon shall be greet¬ 
ing; 

Then remember, sweet Robin, to sing 
me a song 

In return for the breakfast you’re 
eating. 

THE ROBIN’S SONG. 

I asked a sweet robin, one morning in 
May, 

Who sung in the apple tree over the 
way, 

What it was he was singing so sweetly 
about. 

For I’d tried a long while, and could 
not find out. 

“ Why, I’m sure,” he replied, “ you 
cannot guess wrong; 

Don’t ye know I am singing a tem¬ 
perance song? 

4 Teetotal,’ oh ! that’s the first word of 
my lay; 

And then don’t you see how I twitter 
away? 

“’Tis because I have just dipped my 
back in the spring, 

And brushed the fair face of the lake 
with my wing; 

Cold water! cold water! yes, that is 
my song, 

And I love to keep singing it all the 
day long!” 






416 


ON THE WING. 


THE BOY AND THE ROBIN. 

So now, pretty Robin, you’ve come to 
my door, 

I wonder you never have ventured 
before! 

’Tis likely you thought I would do 
you some harm, 

But pray, sir, what cause could there 
be for alarm ? 

You seem to be timid — I’d like to 
know why; 

Did I ever hurt you ? what makes you 
so shy? 

You shrewd little rogue ! I’ve a mind, 
ere you go, 

To tell you a thing it concerns you to 
know. 

You think I have never discovered 
your nest; 

’Tis hid pretty snugly, that must be 
confessed; 

Ha ! ha ! how the boughs are entwined 
all around! 

No wonder you thought it would never 
be found. 

You’re as cunning a rogue as ever I 
knew; 

And yet—ha ! ha ! ha !—I’m as cun¬ 
ning as you ? 

I know all about your, nice home on 
the tree— 

’Twas nonsense to try and conceal it 
from me. 


Go home, where your mate and your 
little ones dwell; 

Though I know where they are, yet I 
never will tell; 

Nobody shall injure the leaf-covered 
nest, 

For sacred to me is the place of your 
rest. 

Adieu ! for you want to be flying away, 

And it would be too cruel to ask you 
to stay; 

But come in the morning—come early, 
and sing; 

You shall see what I’ll give you, sweet 
warbler of spring. 

Rev. F. C. Woodworth. 


THE LITTLE MAIDEN AND THE 
LITTLE BIRD. 

“ Little bird! little bird ! come to me ! 

I have a green cage ready for thee ; 

Beauty-bright flowers I’ll bring anew, 

And fresh, ripe cherries all wet with 
dew.” 

“ Thanks, little maiden, for all thy 
care, 

But I love dearly the clear, cool air, 

And my snug little nest in the old oak 
tree.” 

“Little bird! little bird! stay with me.” 

“ Nay, little damsel; away I’ll fly 

To greener fields and warmer sky; 






THE BIRD AND THE MAID. 


417 


When spring returns with pattering 
rain, 

You’ll hear my merry song again.” 


I will be free as the rushing air, 

And sing of sunshine everywhere.” 

Lydia Maeia Child. 



“ Little bird ! little bird ! who’ll guide 
thee 

Over the hills and over the sea ? 


THE BIRD AND THE MAID. 

There sat a bird on the elder-bush 

One beauteous morn in May, 
And a little girl ’neath the 
elder-bush 

That beauteous morn in May. 


The bird was still, while the 
maiden sang, 

And when she had done his 
song out-rang; 

And thus in the rays of the 
bright spring sun 

The bird and the maid sang 
on and on, 

That beauteous morn in May. 


And what, I pray, sang the 
bright bird there, 

That beauteous morn in 
May? 

And what was the song of the 
maiden fair, 

That beauteous morn in May ? 


Foolish one ! come in the house to . They were singing their thanks to God 
stay, above 

For I’m very sure you’ll lose your way.” For the bounteous gifts of His price- 


“Ah no, little maiden! God guides 
me 

Over the hills and over the sea ;* 


less love. 

Oh, such songs of praise 
Should be sung always, 

Each bounteous morning in May. 












4 iS 


ON THE WING. 


DUMPLING AND SPECKLE. 

Two downy little chickens, beneath 
their mother’s wing, 

In Farmer Thrifty’s barnyard came 
ont one day in spring; 



Golden, fluffy Dumpling minded well 
her mother, 


And if she found a dainty, shared it 
with her brother. 


One night he ate so much, he scarce 
could move at all, 

With slow and painful steps he walked 
beside the orchard wall. 

A rush—a bound—a snap ! and 
Speckle—where was he ? 

Ask of the yellow pussy, who ate him * 
up for tea! 

Annabel C. Andrews. 


THE BLACKBIRD. 

Come ye, come ye, to the green, green 
wood; 

Loudly the blackbird is singing, 

The squirrel is feasting on blossom 
and bud, 


She never ran away beyond her 
mother’s call, 

And she never chased the flies, 
where she knew the grass was 
tall. 

When slanting shadows fell she scam¬ 
pered home to bed, 

And safe beneath her mother’s wing, 
she hid her little head. 

Speckle, greedy Speckle, ate all that 
he could find; 

His mother warned and warned him, 
but that he didn’t mind, 

Each night he stayed out late, nor 
sought his home until 

He heard afar off in the woods, the 
call of Whip-poor-will. 



And the curling fern is springing: 
Here ye may sleep 
In the moss so deep, 

While the moon is so warm and so 


jveary, 









WHY BIRDIE BUILT HIGH. 


419 



WHY BIRDIE BUILT 
HIGH. 

A wee little nest you could 
hold in your hand, 

Why so high, so dizzy a 
height was chosen, 

Is just the question for 
baby and me. 

Baby thinks’twas the safest place that And at times in the dark, when the 
could be, j wind parts the leaves 

Away from the dreadful things of That like curtains hang above o’er 
the night, I the nest, 


And sweetly awake, 

As the sun through the brake 
Bids the fauvette and white-throat 
sing cheery. 

The quicken is tufted with 
blossom of snow, 

And is throwing its per¬ 
fume around it; 

The wryneck replies to the 
cuckoo’s halloo, 

For joy that again she has 
found it; 

The jay’s red breast 
Peeps over her nest, 

In the midst of the crab- 
blossoms blushing; 

And the call of the pheas¬ 
ant 

Is frequent and pleasant, 

When all other calls are 
hushing. 

William Howitt. 


And the limbs are too weak for pussy 
to dare 

Risk her fat little self, so downy 
and white; 

















420 


ON THE WING. 


The birdies can see all the stars in the 
sky 

As they, shining, pass from the east to 
the west. 

And was not that the happiest baby 
of all, 

Who rocked on the top of the lofty 
tree ? 

And the birds have no fear that the 
•bough will break, 

With only a nestful of birdies wee. 

But I see the danger of tempest and 
blast, ^ 

Of slight brittle limbs, and the deep 
fearful fall 

Those birdies may get when the little 
wings grow, 

And they all get too large and the 
nest is too small. 

So I think that the mother-bird wanted 
to hold 

Her own little cares close up to 
God’s eye. 

High up in the limbs as we would a 
prayer, 

And this is the reason and this is 
the why 

That she builded her nest in the high 
tree-top 

Not knowing He’s everywhere over 
the land, 


And holdeth the stars and the lives of 
men 

And her own wee nest in the palm 
of His hand. 


THE EMPTY NEST. 

We found it under the apple-tree, 

Torn from the bough where it used 
to swing, 

Softly rocking its babies three, 

Nestled under the mother’s wing. 

This is a leaf, all shrivelled and dry, 
That once was a canopy overhead ; 

Doesn’t it almost make you cry 

To look at the poor, little, empty 
bed ? 

All the birdies have flown away: 

Birds must fly, or they wouldn’t 
have wings; 

Don’t you hope they’ll come hack some 
day?— 

Nests without birdies are lonesome 
things. 

Deep in the mother’s listening heart 
Drops the prattle with sudden sting, 

For lips may quiver and tears may 
start; 

But birds must fly, or they wouldn’t 
have wings. 

Emily Huntington Miller. 






WHAT ARK THEY DOING. 


421 


WHAT ARE THEY DOING. 

“Little sparrow, come here and say 
• What you’re doing all the day.” 

“Oh, I flyover hedges and ditches to 
find 

A fat little worm or a fly to my mind; 

And I carry it back to my own pretty 
nest 

F or the dear little pets that I warm 
with my breast; 

For until I can teach them the way 
how to fly, 



If I did not feed them my darlings 
would die. 

How glad they all are when they see 
me come home! 

And each of them chirps, “Give me 
some ! give me some !” 

“Little lamb, come here and say 
What you’re doing all the day.” 

“Long enough before you wake 
Breakfast I am glad to take 
In the meadow, eating up 


Daisy, cowslip, buttercup; 

Then about the fields I play, 

Frisk and scamper all the day. 
When I’m thirsty I can drink 
Water at the river’s brink; 

When at night 1 go to sleep, 

By my mother I must keep: 

I am safe enough from cold 
At her side within the fold.” 

“Little bee, come here and say 
What you’re doing all the day.” 

“Oh, every day, and all day long, 
Among the flowers you hear my song • 
I creep in every bud I see, 

And all the honey is for me. 

I take it to the hive with care, 

And give it to my brothers there, 

That when the winter-time comes on, 
And all the flowers are dead and gone, 
And the wild wind is cold and rough 
The busy bees may have enough.” 

“Little fly, come here and say 
What you ’re doing all the day.” 

“Oh, I am a gay and merry fly; 

I never do anything—no, not I. 

I go where I like, and I stay where I 
please, 

In the heat of the sun or the shade of 
the trees, 

On the window-pane or the cupboard 
shelf, 

And I care for nothing except myself. 






422 


ON THE WING. 


I cannot tell, it is very true, 

When the winter conies what I mean 
to do; 

And I very much fear, when I’m get¬ 
ting old, 

I shall starve with hunger or die with 
cold.” 


Lady-bird, lady-bird ! fly away home ! 

The field-mouse has gone to her 
nest, 

The daisies have shut up their sleepy 
eyes, 

And the bees and the birds are at 
rest, 

Lady-bird, lady-bird ! fly away home ! 

The glow-worm is lighting her lamp, 


The dew’s falling fast, and your fine 
speckled wings 

Will flag with the close-clinging 
damp. 

Lady-bird, lady-bird ! fly away home ! 
Good luck if you reach it last! 

The owl’s come abroad, 
and the bat’s on the 
roam, 

Sharp set from a 
Ramazan fast. 

Lady-bird, lady-bird! fly 
away home! 

The fairy bells tinkle 
afar! 

Make haste, or they’ll 
catch you, and har¬ 
ness you fast 
With a cobweb to 
Oberon’s car. 

Lady-bird, lady-bird! fly 
away home. 

To your house in the old willow tree, 
Where your children so dear have in¬ 
vited the ant 

And a few cosy neighbors to tea. 

Lady-bird, lady-bird ! fly away home ! 

And if not gobbled up on the way, 
Nor yoked by the fairies to Oberon’s 
car, 

You’re in luck !—and that’s all I’ve 
to say. 

Caroline Bowles Southey. 



TO THE LADY BIRD. 







A bird’s-eye view. 


423 


A BIRD’S-EYE VIEW. 

Quoth the hoy: “I’ll climb that tree, 
And bring down a nest I know.” 
Quoth the girl: “ I will not see 
Little birds defrauded so! 

Cowardly their nests to take, 

And their little hearts to break, 

And their little nests to steal. 

Leave them happy for my sake; 
Surely little birds can feel!” 

Quoth the boy: “ My senses whirl; 

Until now I never heard 
Of the wisdom of a girl 
Or the feelings of a bird ! 

Pretty Mrs. Solomon, 

Tell me what you reckon on 

When you prate in such a strain; 
If I wring their necks anon, 

Certainly they might feel—pain.” 

Quoth the girl: “I watch them talk, 
Making love and making fun, 

In the pretty ash tree walk, 

When my daily task is done; 

In their little eyes I find 
They are very fond and kind. 

Every change of song or voice 
Plainly proveth to my mind 
They can suffer and rejoice.” 

And the little Robin-bird 

(Nice brown back and crimson 
breast,) 

All the conversation heard, 

Sitting trembling in his nest. 


“ What a world,” he cried, “of bliss— 
Full of birds and girls—were this ! 

Blithe we’d answer to their call; 
But a great mistake it is 
Boys were ever made at all.” 


WHO STOLE THE BIRD’S NEST? 

“ To-wliit! to-whit! to-whee ! 

Will you listen to me ? 

Who stole four eggs I laid, 

And the nice nest I made ?” 



Such a thing I’d never do. 

I gave you a wisp of hay, 

But didn’t take your nest away. 
Not I,” said the cow, “M00-00! 
Such a thing I’d never do.” 

“ To-whit! to-whit! to-whee 
Will you listen to me ? 

Who stole four eggs I laid, 

And the nice nest I made ?” 

“ Bob-o-link ! Bob-o-link ! 

Now what do you think ? 






424 


ON THE WING. 


Who stole a nest away 
From the plum tree to-day ?” 

“ Not I,” said the dog, “Bow, wow ! 
I would not be so mean, I vow! 

I gave hairs the nest to make, 

But the nest I did not take. 

Not I,” said the dog, “Bow, wow! 

I would not be so mean, I vow!” 

“ To-whit! to-whit! to-whee ! 

Will you listen to me ? 

Who stole four eggs I laid, 

And the nick nest I made ?” 

“ Bob-o-link ! Bob-o-link ! 

Now what do you think ? 

Who stole a nest away 
From the plum tree to-day?” 

“ Coo, coo ! coo, coo ! coo, coo ! 

Let me speak a word too; 

Who stole that pretty nest 
From little Yellow-breast ?” 

“ Not I,” said the sheep; “ oh no ! 

I wouldn’t treat a poor bird so; 

I gave wool the nest to line, 

But the nest was none of mine. 
“Baa! baa!” said the sheep ; “oh no, 
I wouldn’t treat a poor bird so.” 

“ To-whit! to-whit! to-whee ! 

Will you listen to me ? 

Who stole four eggs I laid, 

And the nice nest I made ?” 

“ Bob-o-link! Bob-o-link! 

Now what do you think? 


Who stole a nest away 
From the plum tree to-day ?” 

“ Coo, coo ! coo, coo! coo, coo! 
Let me speak a word too ; 

Who stole that pretty nest 
From little Yellow-breast ?” 

“ Caw! caw!” cried the crow, 

“ I should like to know 
What thief took away 
A bird’s nest to-day ?” 

“ Cluck ! cluck !” said the hen; 

“ Don’t ask me again. 

Why, I haven’t a chick 
That would do such a trick. 

We all gave her a feather, 

And she wove them together; 

I’d scorn to intrude 
On her and her brood. 

Cluck! cluck!” said the hen; 
“Don’t ask me again.” 

“Chirr-a-whirr ! chirr-a-whirr! 
We will make a great stir! 

Let us find out his name, 

And all cry ‘for shame !”’ 

“I would not rob a bird,” 

Said little Mary Green; 

“I think I never heard 
Of anything so mean.” 

“’Tis very cruel, too,” 

Said little Alice Neal; 

“ I wonder if he knew 

How sad the bird would feel ?” 





WHAT THE SPARROW CHIRRUPS. 


425 


A little boy hung down his head, 
And went and hid behind the bed; 
For he stole that pretty nest 
From poor little Yellow-breast: 
And he felt so full of shame 
He didn’t like to tell his name. 

Lydia Maria Child. 


WHAT THE SPARROW CHIRPS. 

I am only a little sparrow, 

A bird of low degree; 



My life is of little value, 

But the dear Lord cares for me. 
He gave me a coat of feathers; 

It is very plain, I know, 

With never a speck of crimson, 
For it was not made for show. 


But it keeps me warm in winter, 

And it shields me from the rain; 
Were it bordered with gold or purple 
Perhaps it would make me vain. 

By and by, when spring-time comes, 
I’ll build myself a nest, 

With many a chirp of pleasure, 

In the spot I like the best. 

And He will give me wisdom 

To build it of leaves most brown; 
Soft it must be for my birdies, 

And so I will line it with down. 

1 have no barn or storehouse, 

I neither sow nor reap; 

God gives me a sparrow’s portion, 

But never a seed to keep. 

If my meal is sometimes scanty, 

Close picking makes it sweet; 

I have always enough to feed me, 

And “life is more than meat.” 

I know there are many sparrows— 

All over the world we are found— 
But our heavenly Father knoweth 
When one of us falls to the ground. 

Though small, we are never forgotten; 

Though weak, we are never afraid; 
For we know that the dear Lord keep- 
eth 

The life of the creatures he made. 

I fly through the thickest forests, 

I light on many a spray; 

I have no chart or compass, 

But I never lose my way. 









426 


ON THE WING. 


And I fold my wings at twilight, 
Wherever I happen to be; 

For the Father is always watching, 
And no harm will come to me. 

I am only a little sparrow, 

A bird of low degree, 

But I know that the Father loves me. 
Have you less faith than we ? 

THE SPARROW’S NEST. 

Nay, only look what I have found ! 

A sparrow’s nest upon the ground— 
A sparrow’s nest, as you may see, 
Blown out of yonder old elm tree. 



And what a medley thing it is ! 

I never saw a thing like this— 

Not neatly wove with tender care 
Of silvery moss and shining hair; 

But put together—odds and ends 
Picked up from enemies and friends; 
See ! bits of thread and bits of rag, 
Just like a little rubbish-bag! 


Here is a scrap of red and brown, 

Like the old washer-woman’s gown, 
And here is muslin pink and green, 
And bits of calico between. 

Oh, never thinks the lady fair, 

As she goes by with dainty air, 

How the pert sparrow overhead 
Has robbed her gown to make its 
bed! 

See ! hair of dog and fur of cat, 

And rovings of a worsted mat, 

And shreds of silk, and many a 
feather, 

Compacted cunningly together! 

Well, here has hoarding been, and 
hiving, 

And not a little good contriving, 
Before a home of peace and ease 
Was fashioned out of things like these ! 

Think, had these odds and ends been 
brought 

To some wise man renowned for 
thought— 

Some man, of men a very gem— 
Pray, what could he have done with 
them ? 

If we had said, “Here, sir, we bring 
You many a worthless little thing, 
Just bits and scraps, so very small 
That they have scarcely size at all; 

“And out of these you must contrive 
A dwelling large enough for five, 





bird’s nests. 


427 


Neat, warm, and snug, with comfort 
stored, 

Where five small things may lodge 
and board 

How would the man of learning vast 
Have been astonished and aghast! 
And vowed that such a thing had been 
ne’er heard of, thought of, much 
less seen! 

Ah ! man of learning, you are wrong! 
Instinct is more than wisdom strong; 
And He who made the sparrow taught 
This skill beyond your reach of thought. 

And here, in this uncostly nest, 

Five little creatures have been blest; 
Nor have kings known, in palaces, 
Half their contentedness in this, 

Poor, simple dwelling as it is! 

Mary Howitt. 

BIRDS’ NESTS. 

The skylark’s nest among the grass 
And waving corn is found; 

The robin’s on a shady bank, 

With oak-leaves strewed around. 

The wren builds in an ivied thorn 
Or old and ruined wall; 

The mossy nest, so covered in, 

You scarce can see at all. 

The martins build their nests of clay 
In rows beneath the eaves; 

The silvery lichens, moss and hair 
The chaffinch interweaves. 


The cuckoo makes no nest at all, 

But through the wood she strays 
Until she finds one snug and warm, 
And there her eggs she lays. 

The sparrow has a nest of hay, 

With feathers warmly lined; 

The ring-dove’s careless nest of sticks 
On lofty trees we find. 



Rooks build together in a wood, 

And often disagree; 

The owl will build inside a barn 
Or in a hollow tree. 

The blackbird’s nest of grass and mud 
In bush and bank is found; 

The lapwing’s darkly-spotted eggs 
Are laid upon the ground. 

The magpie’s nest is made with thorns 
In leafless tree or hedge; 





428 


ON THE WING. 


The wild-duck and the water-hen 
Build by the water’s edge. 

Birds build their nests from year to 
year 

According to their kind— 

Some very neat and beautiful; 

Some simpler ones we find. 

The habits of each little bird, 

And all its patient skill, 

Are surely taught by God Himself, 
And ordered by His will. 


THE CROW’S CHILDREN. 

A huntsman, bearing his gun afield, 
Went whistling merrily. 

When he heard the blackest of black 
crows 

Call out from a withered tree : 

“You are going to kill the thievish 
birds, 

And I would if I were you; 

But you mustn’t touch my family, 
Whatever else you do.” 

“I’m only going to kill the birds 
That are eating up my crop; 

And if your young ones do such things, 
Be sure they’ll have to stop.” 

“Oh,” said the crow, “my children 
Are the best ones ever born; 

There isn’t one among them all 
Would steal a grain of corn.” 


“ But how shall I know which ones 
they are? 

Do they resemble you ?” 

“ Oh no, ” said the crow; “they’re the 
prettiest birds, 

And the whitest that ever flew!” 

So off went the sportsman whistling, 
And off, too, went his gun; 

And its startling echoes never ceased 
Again till the day was done. 



And the old crow sat untroubled, 
Cawing away in her nook, 

For she said, “He’ll never kill my 
birds, 

Since I told him how they look. 

“Now there’s the hawk, my neigh¬ 
bor; 

She’ll see what she will see soon; 
And that saucy whistling blackbird 
May have to change his tune!” 








THE GREAT OWL. 


429 


When, lo! she saw the hunter 

Taking his homeward track, 

With a string of crows as long as his 
gun 

Hanging down his back. 

“Alack! alack ! ” said the mother, 

“What in the world have you done ? 

You promised to spare my pretty 
birds, 

And you’ve killed them every one !” 

“Your birds!” said the puzzled hun¬ 
ter; 

“Why, I found them in my corn; 


THE GREAT BROWN OWL. 

The brown owl sits in the ivy-bush, 
And she looketh wondrous wise, 
With a horny beak beneath her cowl, 
And a pair of large round eyes. 

She sat all day on the self-same spray 
From sunrise till sunset; 

And the dim gray light it was all too 
bright 

For the owl to see in yet. 

“Jenny Owlet, Jenny Owlet,” said a 
merry little bird, 



And besides, they are black and ugly 
As any that ever were born!” 

“Get out of my sight, you stupid!” 

Said the angriest of crows; 

“How good and fair her children are 
There’s none but a parent knows!” 

“Ah! I see, I see,” said the hunter, 
“But not as you do, quite; 

It takes a mother to be so blind 
She can’t tell black from white !” 

Phcebe Cary. 


“They say you’re wondrous wise; 

But I don’t think you see, though 
you’re looking at me 

With your large, round shining eyes.” 

But night came soon, and the pale 
white moon 

Rolled high up in the skies; 

And the great brown owl flew away in 
her cowl, 

With her large, round, shining eyes. 

Au ( nt Effie’s Rhymes. 











430 


ON THE WING. 


ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 

Merrily swinging on brier and weed, 
Near to the nest of his little dame, 
Over the monntain-side or mead, 
Robert of Lincoln is telling his 
name: 

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink, 

Snug and safe is that nest of ours, 
Hidden among the summer flowers. 
Chee, chee, chee. 



Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, 
Wearing a bright black wedding- 
coat; 


White on his shoulders, and white his 
crest; 

Hear him call in his merry note, 
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink, 

Look what a nice new coat is mine! 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 
Chee, chee, chee. 


Robert of Lincoln’s Quaker wife, 
Pretty and quiet, with plain brown 
wings, 

Passing at home a patient life, 

Broods in the grass while her hus¬ 
band sings, 

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink, 

Brood, kind creature ! you need not 
fear 

Thieves and robbers while I am here. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Modest and shy as a nun is she; 

One weak chirp is her only, note; 

Braggart, and prince of braggarts is 
he, 

Pouring boasts from his little 
throat, 

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink, 

Never was I afraid of man; 

Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you 
can! 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, 
Flecked with purple, a pretty 
sight! 

There, as the mother sits all day, 
Robert is singing with all his 
might, 

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink, 

Nice good wife that never goes out, 

Keeping house while I frolic about! 

Chee, chee, chee. 








THE SNOW-BIRD’S SONG. 


431 


Soon as the little ones chip the shell, 
Six wide mouths are open for food; 
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, 
Gathering seeds for the hungry 
brood: 

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink, 

This new life is likeW to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like 
me. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln at length is made 
Sober with work and silent with 
care; 

Off is his holiday garment laid, 

Half forgotten that merry air, 
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink, 

Nobody knows, but my mate and I, 
Where our nest and our nestlings 
lie. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Summer wanes; the children are 
grown; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows; 
Robert of Lincoln’s a humdrum 
crone; 

Off he flies, and we sing as he goes, 
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink, 

When you can pipe that merry old 
strain, 

Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

William Cullen Bryant. 


THE SNOW-BIRD’S SONG. 

The ground was all covered with snow 
one day, 

And two little sisters were busy at 

play, 

When a snow-bird was sitting close by 
on a tree, 

And merrily singing his chick-a-dee- 
dee, 

Cliick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, 

And merrily singing his chick-a-dee- 
dee. 

He had not been singing that tune 
very long 

Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his 
song: 

“Oh, sister, look out of the window!” 
said she, 

“Here’s a dear little bird singing 
chick-a-dee-dee; 

Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, 

Here’s a dear little bird singing chick- 
a-dee-dee. 

“Oh, mother, do get him some stock¬ 
ings and shoes, 

And a nice little frock, and a hat if 
he choose; 

I wish he’d come into the parlor and 
see 

How warm we would make him, poor 
chick-a-dee-dee! 

Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, 

How warm we would make him, poor 
chick-a-dee-dee! ” 






432 


ON THE WING. 


“There is One, my dear child, though 
I cannot tell who, 

Has clothed me already, and warm 
enough too ; 

Good morning!—Oh, who are so 
happy as we ?” 

And away he went, singing his chick- 
a-dee-dee; 

Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee, 

And away he went, singing his chick- 
a-dee-dee. 

F. C . Woodworth. 


THE CLOCKING HEN. 

“Will you take a walk with me, 

My little wife, to-day ? 

There’s barley in the barley-field, 

And hay-seed in the hay.” 

‘Oh, thank you!” said the clocking 
hen, 

“I’ve something else to do; 

I’m busy sitting on my eggs— 

I cannot walk with you.” 

“Clock, clock, clock, clock!” 

Said the clocking hen; 

“My little chicks will soon be hatched; 

I’ll think about it then.” 

The clocking hen sat on her nest— 
She made it in the hay— 

And warm and snug beneath her breast 
A dozen white eggs lay. 

Crack, crack, went all the eggs— 

Out dropt the chickens small. 
“Clock!” said the clocking hen ; 


“Now I have you all. 

Come along, my little chicks ! 

I’ll take a walk with you.” 
“Hollo!” said the barn-door cock, 
“Cock-a-doodle-do!” 


Aunt Effie’s Rhymes. 



Pretty doves, so blithely ranging 
Up and down the street; 

Glossy throats all bright hues changing 
Little scarlet feet! 

Pretty doves! among the daisies 
They should coo and flit! 

All these toilsome, noisy places 
Seem for them unfit. 





THE CHICKENS. 


433 


Yet amidst our human plodding, 
They must love to be; 

With their little heads a-nodding, 

o“ 

Busier than we. 

Close to hoof and wheel they. hover, 
Glancing right and left, 

Sure some treasure to discover; 
Rapid, shy, and deft. 

Friendliest of feathered creatures, 

In their timid guise ; 

Wisdom’s little silent teachers, 
Praying us be wise. 

Fluttering at footsteps careless, 
Banger swift to flee, 

Lowly, trusting, faithful, fearless,— 
Oh, that such were we! 

In the world and yet not of it, 

Ready to take wing,— 

By this lesson could we profit 
It were everything! 


THE CHICKENS. 

See! the chickens round the gate 
For their morning portion wait; 
Fill the basket from the store, 

Let us open wide the door; 

Throw out crumbs and scatter seed, 
Let the hungry chickens feed. 

Call them; now how fast they run, 
Gladly, quickly, every one ! 

Eager, busy hen and chick, 

Every little morsel pick; 


See the hen, with callow brood, 

To her young how kind and good ! 
With what care their steps she 
leads! 

Them, and not herself, she feeds, 
Picking here and picking there, 
Where the morsels nicest are. 

As she calls they flock around, 
Bustling all along the ground; 

When their daily labors cease, 

And at night they rest in peace, 

All the little things 



Nestle close beneath her wings; 

There she keeps them safe and 
warm, 

Free from fear and free from harm. 

Now, my little child, attend : 

Your almighty Father, Friend, 
Though unseen by mortal eye, 
Watches o’er you from on high; 

As the hen her chickens leads, 
Shelters, cherishes, and feeds, 

So by Him your feet are led, 

Over you His wings are spread. 







434 


ON THE WING. 


THE MOTHERLESS TURKEYS. 

The white turkey was dead ! the white 
turkey was dead! 

How the news through the barnyard 
went flying! 

Of a mother bereft, four small turkeys 
were left, 

And their case for assistance was cry¬ 
ing. 

E’en the peacock respectfully folded 
his tail 

As a suitable symbol of sorrow, 

And his plainer wife said, “ Now the 
old bird is dead, 

Who will tend her poor chicks on the 
morrow ? 

And when evening around them comes 
dreary and chill, 

Who above them will watchfully 
hover ? ” 

“Two each night I will tuck ’neath 
my wings,” said the duck, 

“Though I’ve eight of my own I must 
cover.” 

“I have so much to do ! For the bugs 
and the worms 

In the garden ’tis tiresome pickin’; 

I have nothing to spare—for my own 
I must care,” 

Said, the hen with one chicken. 

“How I wish,” said the goose, “I could 
be of some use, 


For my heart is with love over-brim¬ 
ming ! 

The next morning that’s fine they 
shall go with my nine 

Little yellow-backed goslings out. 
swimming.” 

“I will do what I can,” the old Dork¬ 
ing put in, 

“And for help they may call upon me 
too, 

Though I’ve ten of my own that are 
only half grown, 

And a great deal of trouble to see to. 

But those poor little things, they are 
all heads and wings, 

And their bones through their feathers 
are stickin’! ” 

“Very hard it may be, but oh don’t 
come to me ! ” 

Said the hen with one chicken. 

“Half my care, I suppose, there is 
nobody knows— 

I’m the most overburdened of mothers ! 

They must learn, little elves, how to 
scratch for themselves, 

And not seek to depend upon others. ” 

She went by with a cluck, and the 
goose to the duck 

Exclaimed, in surprise,“Well, I never !” 

Said the duck, “I declare, those who 
have the least care, 

You will find, are complaining for¬ 
ever ! 




REMINDING THE HEN. 


435 


And when all things appear to look 
threatening and drear, 

And when troubles your pathway are 
thick in, 

For aid in your woe, oh beware how 
you go 

To a hen with one chicken!” 

Marian Douglas. 


REMINDING THE HEN. 

“It’s well Iran into the garden,” 

Said Eddie, his face all aglow; 

“For what do you think, mamma, 
happened ? 

You never will guess it, I know. 

The little brown hen was there cluck¬ 
ing; 

‘Cut-cut!’ she’d say, quick as a wink, 

Then ‘Cut-cut’ again, only slower; 

And then she would stop short and 
think. 

“And then she would say it all over— 

She did look so mad and so vext; 

For, mamma, do you know, she’d for¬ 
gotten 

The word she ought to cluck next. 

So I said ‘Ca-daw-cut,’ ‘Ca-duw-cut,’ 

As loud and as strong as I could. 

And she looked ’round at me very 
thankful 

I tell you, it made her feel good. 

“Then she flapped, and said, ‘Cut- 
cut—ca-daw-cut!’ 


She remembered just how it went, 
then, 

But it’s well I ran into the garden,— 
She might never have clucked right 
again!” 



BUTTERFLIES. 


Two golden butterflies, hither, thither 

%ing, 

Zig-zag and round about, every blos¬ 
som trying; 

Flitting now together, now awhile they 
sever; 

Pretty golden butterflies, will you play 
forever ? 

My little Goldenhair, almost like a 
fairy, 

Rivals the butterflies in their Sittings 
airy; 










436 


ON THE WING. 


All their flying follows, through the 
nodding daisies, 

Still cannot catch them in their pretty 
mazes. 

Dear Golden-butterfly, through the 
meadow dancing, 

With your flying tangled curls in the 
sunshine glancing, 

Keep time with the butterflies, gold¬ 
winged, moving ever,— 

Play on, all three dearies ! Your now 
is forever. 

Little know the butterflies of what 
comes to-morrow, 

Little knows my Butterfly of a thought 
of sorrow. 

God sees that each childhood has its 
time of daisies 

And of golden butterflies in their 
pretty mazes. 


THE FLY. 

Baby bye, 

Here’s a fly; 

Let us watch him, you and I 
How he crawls 
Up the walls! 

Yet he never falls. 

I believe, with six such legs, 
You and I could walk on eggs! 
There he goes 
On his toes, 

Tickling baby’s nose! 


Spots of red 
Dot his head, 

Rainbows on his back are spread ! 
That small speck 
Is his neck: 

See him nod and beck. 

I can show you, if you choose, 
Where to look to find his shoes— 
Three small pairs 
Made of hairs; 

These he always wears ! 

Black and brown 
Is his gown; 

He can wear it upside down. 

It is laced 
Round his waist: 

I admire his taste. 

Yet, though tight his clothes are 
made, 

He will lose them, I’m afraid, 

If to-night 
He gets a sight 
Of the candle-light. 

In the sun 
Webs are spun: 

What if he gets into one ? 

When it rains, 

He complains 
On the window-panes. 

Tongues to talk have you and I; 
God has given the little fly 
No such things; 

So he sings 

With his buzzing wings. 






THE SONG OF THE BEE. 


437 


He can eat 
Bread and meat: 

There’s a mouth between his feet! 
On his back 
Is a sack 

Like a peddler’s pack. 

Does the baby understand ? 

Then the fly shall kiss her hand! 
Put a crumb 
On her thumb; 

Maybe he will come. 

Catch him? No! 

Let him go; 

Never hurt an insect so. 

But, no doubt, 

He flies out 
Just to gad about. 

Now you see his wings of silk 
Drabbled in the baby’s milk. 

Fie ! oh fie ! 

Foolish fly! 

How will he get dry ? 

All wet flies 
Twist their thighs; 

Then they wipe their heads and 
eyes. 

Cats, you know, 

Wash just so; 

Then their whiskers grow. 
Flies have hair too short to comb ; 
So they fly bareheaded home; 

But the gnat 
Wears a hat; 

Do you believe that ? 


Flies can see 
More than we; 

So, how bright their eyes must 
be! 

Little fly, 

Ope your eye; 

Spiders are near by ! 

For a secret I can tell: 

Spiders never treat flies well! 

Then away! 

Do not stay; 

Little fly, good-day! 

Theodore Tilton. 


THE SONG OF THE BEE. 

Buzz-z-z-z-z-z, buzz! 

This is the song of the bee; 

• His legs are of yellow, 

A jolly good fellow 
And yet a great worker is he. 

In days that are sunny 
He’s getting his honey; 

In days that are cloudy 
He’s making his wax; 

On pinks and on lilies, 

And gay daffodillies, 

And columbine blossoms 
He levies a tax. 

Buzz-z-z-z-z-z, buzz ! 

The sweet-smelling clover 
He, humming, hangs over; 
The scent of the roses 

Makes fragrant his wings; 






43§ 


ON THE WING. 


He never gets lazy: 

From thistle and daisy, 

And weeds of the meadow, 

Some treasure he brings. 

Buzz-z-z-z-z-z, buzz! 

From morning’s first gray light, 
Till fading of daylight, 

He’s singing and toiling 
The summer day through. 

Oh! we may get weary, 

And think work is dreary; 

’Tis harder by far 

To have nothing to do ! 

—Marian Douglas. 


A COBWEB MADE TO ORDER. 

A hungry spider made a web 
Of thread so very fine, 

Your tiny fingers scarce could feel 
The little tender line. 

Round about and round about, 

And round about it spun, 

Straight across, and back again, 
Until the web was doner 

Oh, what a pretty, shining web 
It was when it was done ! 

The little flies all came to see 
It hanging in the sun. 

Round about and round about, 

And round about they danced, 
Across the web, and back again, 
They darted and they gleamed. 


The hungry spider sat and watched 
The happy little flies; 

It saw all round about its head, 

It had so many eyes. 

Round about and round about, 

And round about they go, 

Across the web, and back again, 

Now high—now low. 

“I’m hungry, very hungry,” 

Said the spider to a fly. 

“If you were caught within the web 
You very soon should die.” 

But round about and round about, 
And round about once more, 

Across the web, and back again, 

They flitted as before. 

For all the flies were much too wise 
To venture near the spider; 

They flapped their little wings and 
flew 

In circles rather wider. 

Round about and round about, 

And round about went they, 

Across the web, and back again, 

And then they flew away. 

Aunt Effie’s Bhymes. 


THE BEES. 

Oh, mother dear, pray tell me where 
The bees in winter stay ? 

The flowers are gone they feed upon, 
So sweet in summer’s day. 







THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE ANT. 


439 


My child, they live within the hive, 
And have enough to eat; 

Amid the storm they’re clean and 
warm, 

Their food is honey sweet. 

Say, mother dear, how came it there ? 

Did father feed them so ? 

I see no way in winter’s day 
That honey has to grow. 

No, no, my child; in summer mild 
The bees laid up their store 
Of honey-drops in little cups, 

Till they would want no more. 

In cups, you said—how are they 
made ? 

Are they as large as ours ? 

Oh, no; they’re all made nice and 
small, 

Of wax found in the flowers. 

Our summer’s day, to work and play, 
Is now in mercy given, 

And we must strive, long as we live, 
To lay up stores in heaven. 

Hastings’ Nursery Songs. 


THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE 
ANT. 

A grasshopper having sung 
The summer long, 

When the wintry wind blew 
Pound her comforts few— 

No house from the snow and sleet 
To guard her • 


Not a single hit to eat 
In her larder. 

Neither worm-chop nor fly-leg; 

The dainty dame must starve or beg. 
Hungry, she goes to her neighbor ant 
With her sad tale of want: 

“Pray lend me from your store, 

Till the winter is o’er: 

On my faith, I will pay 
Round interest, besides the loan.” 

The ant—bad lender, I must own— 
Doubting much of the pay day, 

Asks of the borrowing lady, 

“What did you do last summer?” 

“Night and day to every comer 
I sang, if you please.” 

“Sang!—do you say? 

Then finish out your play— 

Dance now at your ease. ” 


THE WASP AND THE BEE. 

A wasp met a bee that was buzzing by, 

And he said, “Little cousin, can you 
tell me why 

You are loved so much better by peo¬ 
ple than I ? 

“My back shines as bright and yellow 
as gold, 

And my shape is most elegant, too, to 
behold; 

Yet nobody likes me for that, I am 
told.” 








440 


ON THE WING. 


Ah, cousin,” the bee said, “’tis all“ 
very true; 

But if I had half as much mischief 
to do, 

Indeed they would love me no better 
than you. 

‘‘You have a fine shape and a deli¬ 
cate wing; 

They own you are handsome ; but 
then there’s one thing 

They cannot put up with, and that is 
your sting. 

“My coat is quite homely and plain, 
as you see, 

Yet nobody ever is angry with me, 

Because I’m a humble and innocent 
bee.” 

From this little story let people be¬ 
ware, 

Because, like the wasp, if ill-natured 
they are, 

They will never be loved if they’re 
ever so fair. 

LITTLE HOP-O’-MY THUMB. 

Two little midgets hard at play; 

Hop-a-way! skip-a-way! all the day. 


Into the grass and the honey-sweet 
clover, 

Jumping and dancing, over and over, 

Now in the sun, and now back in the 
shade, 

Two happy sprites—of nothing afraid. 

Pussy sits watching them out in the 
sun. 

“Let ’em hop now —but I’ll catch one !” 

Winks she, and blinks, yet watches the 
hopping to see— 

Poor little Hop-o’-my-thumbs — Oh, 
dear me!— 

Till one little grasshopper skips off on 
his toes, 

And his long legs just carry him to 
pussy-cat’s nose! 

Snap ! and a swallow!—he’s gone 
from our view! 

Jump, little brother, or she’ll have 
you too! 

No more frisking together out in the sun, 

Only solitary hops, unhappy and 
alone, 

Cruel old cat! I’ll shut her in the 
house— 

But then, I suppose, she’ll eat up a 
mouse. 


\ru~z 








Animals 


























































































































'* 














































































































































. 



















ANIMALS. 



THE LION. 

Lion, thou are girt with might! 
King by uncontested right; 
Strength and majesty and pride 
Are in thee personified ! 

Slavish doubt or timid fear 
Never come thy spirit near; 

What it is to fly, or bow 
To a mightier than thou, 

Never has been known to thee, 
Creature terrible and free ! 

Power the Mightiest gave the lion 
Sinews like to bands of iron; 

Gave him force which never failed, 
Gave him heart that never quailed; 


I Triple-mailed coat of steel, 

I Plates of brass from head to heel, 
Less defensive were in wearing 
Than the lion’s heart of daring; 

Nor could towers of strength impart 
Trust like that which keeps his heart. 

What are things to match with him ? 
Serpents old, and strong, and grim, 
Seas upon a desert shore, 
Mountain-wildernesses hoar, 

Night and storm, and earthquakes dire 
Thawless frost and raging fire— 

All that’s strong and stern and dark, 
All that doth not miss its mark, 

All that makes man’s nature tremble, 
Doth the desert king resemble ! 


443 














444 


ANIMALS. 


When he sends his roaring forth, 
Silence falls upon the earth; 

For the creatures, great and small, 
Know his terror-breathing call 
And, as if death pursued, 

Leave to him a solitude. 

Lion, thou art made to dwell, 

In hot lands intractable, 

And thyself, the sun, the sand, 

Are a tyrannous triple-band. 
Lion-king and desert throne, 

All the region is your own. 


THE TIGER. 

Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 

What immortal hand or eye 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry! 

In what distant deeps or skies 
Burnt the fires of thine eyes ? 

On what wings dare he aspire? 

What the hand dare seize thy fire ? 

And what shoulder, and what art, 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart ? 
And when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand formed thy dread 
feet ? 

What the hammer, what the chain ? 
In what furnace was thy brain ? 

What the anvil ? what dread grasp 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp ? 


When the stars threw down their 
spears, 

And watered heaven with their tears, 
Did He smile his work to see ? 

Did he who made the lamb make thee ? 

Tiger, tiger, burning bright, 

In the forests of the night, 

What immortal hand or eye 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ? 

William Blake. 


GRIZZLY BEAR. 

Coward, of heroic size, 

In whose lazy muscles lies 
Strength we fear, and yet despise ; 
Savage,—whose relentless tusks 
Are content with acorn husks; 

| Robber,—whose exploits ne’er soared 
O’er the bee’s or squirrel’s hoard; 
Whiskered chin, and feeble nose, 
Claws of steel, on baby toes,— 

Here, in solitude and shade, 
Shambling, shuffling, plantigrade, 

Be thy courses undismayed ! 

Here, where Nature makes thy bed, 
Let thy rude, half-human tread 
Point to hidden Indian springs. 
Lost in fern and fragrant grasses 
Hovered o’er by timid wings. 

Where the wood-duck lightly passes, 
Where the wild bee holds her sweets— 
Epicurean retreats, 

Fit for thee, and better than 
Fearful spoils of dangerous man. 







THE CAMEE. 


445 


In thy fat-jowled deviltry, 

Friar Tuck shall live in tliee; 

Thou may’st levy tithe and dole ; 
Thou shalt spread the woodland 
cheer, 

From the pilgrim taking toll; 

Match thy cunning with his fear, 
Eat and drink and have thy fill; 

Yet remain an outlaw still! 

Burt Harte. 


Thou dost lend to him thy speed, 

And through wilds of trackless sand 
In the hot Arabian land, 

Where no rock its shadow throws, 
Where no pleasant water flows, 

Where the hot air is not stirred 
By the wing of singing bird,— 

There thou goest, untired and meek, 
Day by day, and week by week, 
Bearing freight of precious things— 



THE CAMEL. 

Camel, thou art good and mild, 
Mightst be guided by a child; 

Thou wast made for usefulness, 

Man to comfort and to bless; 

Thou dost clothe him, thou dost feed. 


Silks for merchants, gold for kings, 
Pearls of Ormuz, riches rare, 
Damascene and Indian ware— 
j Bale on bale, and heap on heap, 
Freighted like a costly ship ! 

When the red simoon comes near, 
Camel, dost thou know no fear ? 














446 


ANIMALS. 


When the desert sands uprise, 
Flaming crimson to the skies, 

And, like pillared giants strong, 

Stalk the dreary waste along, 
Bringing Death unto his prey, 

Does not thy good heart give way ? 
Camel, no ! thou dost for man 
All thy generous nature can; 

Thou dost lend to him thy speed 
In that awful time of need; 

And when the simoon goes by 
Teachest him to close his eye, 

And bow down before the blast, 

Till the purple death has passed! 

And when week by week is gone, 
Atid the traveler journeys on 
Feebly—when his strength is fled, 
And his hope and heart seem dead, 
Camel, thou dost turn thine eye 
On him kindly, soothingly, 

As if cheeringly to say, 

“Journey on for this one day ! 

Do not let thy heart despond; 

There is water yet beyond, 

I can scent it in the air; 

Do not let thy heart despair! ” 

And thou guid’st the traveler there. 

Camel, thou art good and mild, 
Mightst be guided by a child; 

Thou wast made for usefulness, 

Man to comfort and to bless; 

And these desert wastes must be 
Untracked regions but for thee ! 

Mary Howitt. 


THE ELEPHANT AND THE CHILD. 

The arching trees above a path 
Had formed a pleasant shade, 

And here to screen him while he slept, 
An infant boy was laid. 

His mother near him gathered fruit, 
But soon with fear she cried, 

For, slowly moving down the path, 

An elephant she spied. 

The sticks he crushed beneath his 
feet 

Had waked the sleeping child, 

Who pushed aside the waving curls, 
And looked at him and smiled. 

The mother could not reach the spot— 
With fear she held her breath— 
And there in agony she stood 
To see him crushed to death. 

His heavy foot the monster held 
A while above the boy, 

Who laughed to see it moving there, 
And clapped his hands with joy. 

The mother Saw it reach the ground, 
Beyond her infant son, 

And watched till every foot was safe 
Across the little one. 

She caught the infant from the ground, 
For there, unharmed, he lay, 

And could have thanked the noble 
beast, 

Who slowly stalked away. 




THE DYING STAG. 


447 


THE DYING STAG. 

Low in a grassy dingle he was laid, 

With wild wood primroses befreckled 
low. 

Over his head the wanton shadows 
play’d 

Of a young olive, that her boughs so 
spread, 

As with her leaves she seem’d to 
crown his head. 

And here he came, pierced by a fatal 
blow, 

As in a wood he walk’d, securely feed¬ 
ing; 

And feeling death swim in his endless 
bleeding, 

His heavy head his fainting strength 
exceeding, 

Bade farewell to the woods that round 
him wave, 

While tears from drooping flowers be¬ 
dew his turfy grave. 

Giles Fletcher. 


THE LITTLE HARE. 

Beyond the palings of the park 
A hare had made her form, 
Beneath a drooping fern, that gave 
A shelter snug and warm. 

She slept until the daylight came, 
And all things were awake, 

And then the hare, with noiseless step, 
Crept softly from the brake. 


She stroked her whiskers with her 
paws, 

Looked timidly around 
With open eyes, and ears erect 
That caught the smallest sound. 

The field-mouse rustled in the grass, 
The squirrel in the trees, 

But Puss was not at all afraid 
Of common sounds like these. 



She frisked and gambolled with de¬ 
light, 

And cropped a leaf or two 
Of clover, and of tender grass, 

That glistened in the dew. 

What was it, then, that made her start, 
And run away so fast ? 

She heard the distant sound of hounds, 
She heard the huntman’s blast. 








448 


ANIMALS. 


Hoy!—tally-ho !—hoy!—tally-ho ! 

The hounds are in full cry; 

Ehew! ehew!—in scarlet coats 
The men are sweeping by. 

So off she set with a spring and a 
bound, 

Over the meadows and open ground, 
Faster than hunter and faster than 
hound, 

And on and on, till she lost the sound, 
And away went the little hare. 

Aunt Effie’s Rhymes. 



THE SQUIRREL. 


Drawn from his refuge in some lonely 
elm, 

That age or injury has hollowed deep, 
Where, on his bed of wool and matted 
leaves, 


He has outslept the winter, ventures 
forth, 

To frisk a while and bask in the warm 
sun, 

The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full 
of play; 

He sees me, and at once, swift as a 
bird, 

Ascends the neighboring beech, there 
whisks his brush, 

And perks his ears, and stamps and 
cries aloud, 

With all the prettiness of feign’d alarm, 

And anger insignificantly fierce. 

William Cowpeb. 


THE MOUNTAIN AND THE 
SQUIRREL. 

The mountain and the squirrel 
Had a quarrel, 

And the former called the latter “Little 
prig!” 

Bun replied, 

“ You are doubtless very big, 

But all sorts of things and weather 
Must be taken in together 
To make up a year 
And a sphere, 

And I think it no disgrace 
To occupy my place. 

If I’m not as large as you, 

You are not so small as I, 

And not half so spry; 

I’ll not deny you make 






the Arab’s farewell, to his horse. 


449 


A very pretty squirrel track. 

Talents differ; all is well and wisely 
put; 

If I cannot carry forests on my back, 
Neither can you crack a nut.” 

Ralph Waldo Emerson. 


The farther that thou fliest now, so far 
am I behind; 

The stranger hath thy bridle-rein— 
thy master hath his gold— 
Fleet-limbed and beautiful, farewell; 
thou’rt sold, my steed, thou’rt sold. 



THE ARAB’S FAREWELL TO HIS 
HORSE. 

My beautiful! My beautiful! that 
standest meekly by, 

With thy proudly-arched and glossy 
neck and dark and fiery eye, 
Fret not to roam the desert now, with 
all thy winged speed; 

I may not mount on thee again— 
thou’rt sold, my Arab steed! 

Fret not with that impatient hoof— 
snuff not the breezy wind— 


Farewell! those free, untired limbs 
full many a mile must roam 
To reach the chill and wintry sky 
which clouds the stranger’s home; 
Some other hand, less fond, must now 
thy corn and bed prepare, 

Thy silky mane, I braided once, must 
be another’s care! 

The morning sun shall dawn again, 
but never more with thee 
Shall I gallop through the desert paths 
where we were wont to be; 












450 


ANIMALS. 


Evening shall darken on the earth, 
and o’er the sandy plain 
Some other steed, with slower step, 
shall bear me home again. 

Yes, thou must go! the wild, free 
breeze, the brilliant sun and sky, 
Thy master’s home,—from all of these 
my exiled one must fly; 

Thy proud dark eye will grow less 
proud, thy step become less fleet, 
And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck 
thy master’s hand to meet. 

Only in sleep shall I behold that dark 
eye, glancing bright;— 

Only in sleep shall hear again that 
step so firm and light; 

And when I raise my dreaming arm 
to check or cheer thy speed, 

Then must I, starting, wake to feel,— 
thou’rt sold, my Arab steed! 

Ah! rudely then, unseen by me, 
some cruel hand may chide, 

Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested 
waves, along thy panting side: 
And the rich blood that’s in tliee 
swells, in thy indignant pain, 

Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, 
may count each started vein. 

Will they ill-use thee ? If I thought 
—but no, it cannot be— 

Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed; so 
gentle, yet so free: 

And yet, if haply, when thou’rt gone, 
my lonely heart should yearn— 


Can the hand which casts thee from 
it now command thee to return ? 

Return! Alas ! my Arab steed! what 
shall tliy master do 
When thou, who wast his all of joy, 
hast vanished from his view ? 
When the dim distance cheats mine eye, 
and through the gathering tears 
Thy bright form, for a moment, like 
the false mirage appears; 

Slow and unmounted shall I roam, 
with weary footsteps alone, 
Wliere ; with fleet step and joyous 
bound, thou oft hast borne me on; 
And, sitting down by that green well, 
I’ll pause and sadly think, 

“It was here he bowed his glossy neck 
when last I saw him drink!” 

When last I saw thee drink ! Away ! 

the fevered dream is o’er— 

I could not live a day and know that 
we should meet no more ! 

They tempted me, my beautiful! for 
hunger’s power is strong— 

They tempted me, m3' beautiful! but 
I have loved too long. 

Who said I had given thee up ? 

Who said that thou wast sold ? 
’Tis false, ’tis false! my Arab steed, 
I fling them back their gold! 
Thus, thus , I leap upon thy back 
and scour the distant plains; 
Away! who overtakes us now shall 
claim thee for his pains! 

Caroline Nortno. 





THE SQUIRREL. 


451 


THE SQUIRREL. 

Little brown squirrel, pray what do 
you eat ? 

What had you for dinner to-day *? 

“Nuts, beautiful nuts, so nice and so 
sweet, 

I gather them off the tall trees in the 
wood, 

And eat all the kernels I find that 
are good, 

And then throw the hard shells 
away.” 

“Little brown squirrel, but what do 
you do 

When the season for nuts is o’er ?” 

“I gather ripe nuts all the long sum¬ 
mer through, 

And hide them so deep in a hole in 
the ground; 

Then when the dark winter again has 
come round 

1 have plenty still laid up in store.” 

Dear little reader, I wonder if 
you 

Are laying in food for your mind ? 

You should seek what is good and in¬ 
structive and true, 

You should gain all the knowledge 
that ought to be known, 

That when the bright days of your 
childhood are flown 

You may be of some use to man¬ 
kind. 


THE BLOOD HORSE. 

Gamarra is a dainty steed, 

Strong, black, and of a noble breed, 
Full of fire, and full of bone, 

With all his line of fathers known ; 
Fine his nose, his nostrils thin, 

But blown abroad by the pride 
within! 

His mane is like a river flowing, 

And his eyes like embers glowing 
In the darkness of the night, 

And his pace as swift as light. 

Look—how round his straining throat 
Grace and shifting beauty float; 
Sinewy strength is in his reins, 

And the red blood gallops through his 
veins,— 

Richer, redder, never ran 
Through the boasting heart of man. 
He can trace his lineage higher 
Than the Bourbon dare aspire,— 
Douglas, Guzman, or the Guelph, 

Or O’Brien’s blood itself! 

He, who hath no peer, was born 
Here, upon a red March morn; 

But his famous fathers dead 
Were Arabs all, and Arab-bred, 

And the last of that great line 
Trod like one of a race divine! 

And yet—he was but friend to one, 
Who fed him at the set of sun 
By some lone fountain fringed with 
green; 






Jl\il 


452 


ANIMALS. 


With him, a roving Bedouin, 

He lived (none else would he obey 
Through all the hot Arabian day), 
And died untamed upon the sands 
Where Balkh amidst the desert stands ! 

Barry Cornwall. 

THE BONNIE MILK COW. 

“Moo ! moo ! pretty lady!” 

Bairnies want their supper now, 


Lowing in the twilight hour, 

Comes my bonnie cow. 

Buttercups and clover green, 

All day long her feast has been; 

She comes laden home at e’en— 

She is coming now. 

Bairnies for their porridge fret— 
“Proo, Hawkie! proo!” 

And milk must have their mouths to 
wet 

Sweet and warm from you. 


Other cows go dry, they tell; 

Hawkie ne’er was known to fail, 

But aye she fills the foaming pail— 
“Proo ! Hawkie ! proo !” 

Best of butter, best of cheese, 

“Proo ! Hawkie ! proo !” 

That well the daintiest may please, 
Yields my gentle cow; 

When the good wife stirs the tea, 
Sweeter cream there cannot be— 

Such curds and whey 
you’ll seldom see; 
“Proo ! Hawkie ! proo !” 

Alexander Smart. 

THANK YOU, PRETTY 
COW. 

Thank you, pretty cow, 
that made 

Pleasant milk to soak my 
bread, 

Every day and every night, 
Warm and sweet and 
fresh and white. 

Do not chew the hemlock rank 
Growing on the weedy bank, 

But the yellow cowslips eat; 

They will make it very sweet. 

Where the bubbling water flows, 
Where the purple violet grows, 

Where the grass is fresh and fine, 
Pretty cow, go there and dine. 

Jane Taylor. 








THE COW-BOY’S SONG. 


453 


THE COW-BOY’S SONG. 

“Mooly cow, mooly cow, home from 
the wood, 

They sent me to fetch you as fast as 
I could. 

The sun has gone down: it is time to 
go home; 

Mooly cow, mooly cow, why don’t 
you come? 

Your udders are full, and the milk¬ 
maid is there, 

And the children all waiting their sup¬ 
per to share. 

I have let the long bars down; why 
don’t you pass through ?” 

The mooly cow only said, “Moo-o-o!” 

“Mooly cow, mooly cow, have you 
not been 

Regaling all day where the pastures 
are green ? 

No doubt it was pleasant, dear mooly, 
to see 

The clear-running brook and the wide- 
spreading tree, 

The clover to crop and the streamlet 
to «vade, 

To drink the cool water and lie in the 
shade; 

But now it is night: they are waiting 
for you.” 

The mooly cow only said, “Moo-o-o !” 

“Mooly cow, mooly cow, where do you 

go 


When all the green pastures are cov¬ 
ered with snow? 

You go to the barn, and we feed you 
with hay, 

And the maid goes to milk you there 
every day; 

She pats you, she loves you, she 
strokes your sleek hide, 

She speaks to you kindly and sits by 
your side; 

Then come along home, pretty mooly 
cow, do!” 

The mooly cow only said, ‘‘Moo-o-o !” 

“Mooly cow, mooly cow, whisking your 
tail, 

The milkmaid is waiting, I say, with 
her pail; 

She tucks up her petticoats, tidy and 
neat, 

And places the three-legged stool for 
her seat. 

What can you be staring at, mooly ? 
You know 

That we ought to have gone home an 
hour ago. 

How dark it is growing! Oh, what 
shall I do?” 

The mooly cow only said, “Moo-o-o !” 

Anna M. Wells. 


NURSERY SONG. 

As I walked over the hill one day, 

I listened, and heard a mother sheep 
say, 






454 


ANIMALS. 



“In all the green world there is nothing 
so sweet 

As my little lammie with his nimble 
feet; 

With his eye so bright, 

And his wool so white, 

Oh, he is my darling, my heart’s de¬ 
light !” 


“My kittens, with tails so cunningly 
curled, 

Are the prettiest things that can be in 
the world. 

The bird on the tree, 

And the old ewe she, 

May love their babies exceedingly; 
But I love my kittens there, 

Under the rocking chair. 

I love my kittens with all my might, 

I love them at morning, noon and 
night. 


And the mother sheep and her little 
one 

Side by side lay down in the sun; 

And they went to sleep on the hillside 
warm, 

While my little lammie lies here on 
my arm. 

I went to the kitchen, and what did I 
see 

But the old gray cat with her kittens 
three! 

I heard her whispering soft; said 
she, 


| Now I’ll take up my kitties, the kit¬ 
ties I love, 

And we’ll lie down together beneath 
the warm stove.” 

Let the kittens sleep under the stove 
so warm, 

While my little darling lies here on 
my arm. 

I went to the yard, and I saw the old 
hen 

Go clucking about with her chickens 
ten; 





pretty sheep. 


455 


She clucked and she scratched and 
she bustled away, 

And what do you think I heard the 
hen say ? 

I heard her say, “The sun never did 
shine 

On anything like to these chickens of 
mine. 

You may hunt the full moon and the 
stars, if you please, 

But you never will find ten such 
chickens as these. 

My dear, downy darlings, my sweet 
little things, 

Come, nestle now cosily under my 
wings.” 

So the hen said r 
And the chickens all sped 
As fast as they could to their nice 
feather bed. 

And there let them sleep, in their 
feathers so warm, 

While my little chick lies here on my 
arm. 

Mrs. Carter. 

PRETTY SHEEP. 

“Pretty sheep, now tell me why 
In the sunny field you lie, 

Doing nothing all the day ?— 

Make yourself of use, I pray.” 

“Don’t you see the wool that grows 
On my back to make your clothes ? 
Cold, ah, very cold you’d be 
If you had no wool from me. 


“Soon the merry spring is past, 
And the farmer comes at last; 
Cuts my woolly fleece away 



For your coat in wintry day. 
Little master, this is why 
In the pleasant field I lie.” 


THE LITTLE BOY AND THE 
SHEEP. 

Lazy sheep, pray tell me why 
In the pleasant field you lie, 

Eating grass and daisies white 
From the morning till the night: 
Everything can something do, 

But what kind of use are you? 

Nay, my little master, nay, 

Do not serve me so, I pray; 

Don’t you see the wool that grows 
On my back to make your clothes ? 
Cold, ah, very cold, you’d be 
If you had not wool from me. 

True, it seems a pleasant thing 
Nipping daisies in the spring, 

But what chilly nights I pass 






456 


ANIMALS. 


On the cold and dewy grass, 

Or pick my scanty dinner where 
All the ground is brown and bare ! 

Then the farmer comes at last, 

When the merry spring is past, 

Cuts my woolly fleece away 
For your coat in wintry day. 

Little master, this is why 
In the pleasant fields I lie. 

Ann Taylob. 


Little lamb, I’ll tell thee; 

Little lamh, I’ll tell thee: 

He is called by thy name, 

For He calls himself a lamb. 

He is meek and He is mild; 

He became a little child: 

I a child, and thou a lamb, 

We are called by his name. 

Little lamb, God bless thee ! 

Little lamb, God bless thee ! 

William Blake 



THE LAMB. 


THE TWO FRIENDS. 


Little lamb, who made thee ? 
Dost thou know who made thee, 
Gave thee life, and made thee feed 
By the stream and o’er the mead ? 
Gave thee clothing of delight,— 
Softest clothing, woolly, bright ? 
Gave thee such a tender voice, 
Making all the vales rejoice? 

Little lamb, who made thee ? 
Dost thou know who made thee ? 


My dog and I are faithful friends; 

We read and play together; 

We tramp across the hills and fields, 
When it is pleasant weather. 

And when from school with eager 
haste 

I come along the street, 

He hurries on with bounding step, 

My glad return to greet. 











f 











































































































45 8 


ANIMALS. 


Then liow he frisks along the road, 
And jumps up in my face ! 

And if I let him steal a kiss, 

I’m sure it’s no disgrace. 

Oh, had he hut the gift of speech 
But for a single day, 

How dearly should I love to hear 
The funny things he’d say ! 


And if I live when you have gone, 
I’ll write your history too. 

Susan Jewett. 


THIS DOG OF MINE. 

This dog of mine is kind and true, 

His honest eyes with friendship 
shine; 



Yet, though he cannot say a word 
As human beings can, 

He knows and thinks as much as I, 

Or any other man. 

And what he knows, and thinks, and 
feels 

Is written in his eye; 

My faithful dog cannot deceive, 

And never told a lie. 

Come here, good fellow, while I read 
What other dogs can do; 


A better dog you never knew, 

Believe me, than this dog of mine. 
My will to him is more than law— 
He is my subject, I his king; 

At my command he’ll shake a paw, 
Fetch, carry, beg, do anything. 


OLD WATCH TO THE MOON. 

Bow, wow, wow ! 

Out to their posts the stars come now, 
And we must begin—the Moon and I— 










OLD WATCH TO THE MOON. 


459 


Our still night watch; she in the silver 
sky, 

While down low in the dewy grass I lie. 

Bow, wow, wow! 

Within the dark house the dear ones 
sleep now— 

And close I sit all through the silent 
night 


But, tell me, Moon, are faith and love 
in vain ? 

Will there not come a time when all 
is plain ? 

Bow, wow, wow! 

I hear the dear ones talking soft and low 

Of some fair land where they journey 
soon, 



With my heart as full as the Moon’s 
of light— 

They trust old Watch and sleep, and 
they do right. 


Where all shall gain some longed-for 
boon— 

And shall I not he with them there, 
O, Moon ? 


Bow, wow, wow! 

0, Moon so near to heaven, 0, 
you 

Must know! — I have no words to 
speak my pain— 


Bow, wow, wow! 

I shall tell them there that I loved 
them so! 

What if I did wrong in the Old-Time 
Land, 







































460 


ANIMALS. 



His eyes were dim with 
weariness, 

His steps were short and 
slow; 

At length he laid him down 
to sleep 

Upon a bed of snow. 


Before he closed his aching 
eyes, 

He heard a cheerful bark; 

A faithful dog was by his 
side 

To guide him through the 
dark. 


CHOOSING A KITTEN. 

There were five, and they found them 
in the hay— 

Five little kittens, stowed away 
So snug and warm 
And far from harm 
That, had it not been for the chil¬ 
dren’s play, 

They’d have lived in secret to this day. 


And soon beside the fire he 
stood, 

And earnestly he prayed 
For ‘those who trained that 
dog 

And sent him to his aid. 


noble 


Jack put the yellow one in his hat; 
The black one nimble, the white one 
fat, 

He claimed beside. 


Where they used to blame me with 
word and hand? 

It was only —I could not under¬ 
stand. 


THE DOG OF ST. BERNARD’S. 


One stormy night, upon the Alps, 
A traveler weak and old, 
Walked sadly on through 
ice and snow, 

And shivered with the 
cold. 














pussy’s class. 


461 



Then Teddy cried: 

“I speak for this!” and “I speak for 
that!”' 

(None left, you see, for the poor old 
cat!) 

Old Pussy had thought herself so wise, 

But what can you hide from the chil¬ 
dren’s eyes ? 


“ So beautiful!” said 
The breathless Ted, 

“They’re all asleep, and all of a size !” 

And they bore to the house the won¬ 
drous prize. 

Did mamma smile? Ah, no! she 
frowned; 

And the rest of the children gathered 
round; 


And Teddy heard 
The dreadful word: 

“ ’Tis very fortunate they were found— 
Keep one; but the others must be 
drowned!” 

Then each would choose! So down 
they sat 

’Twas this one first, and 
then ’twas that; 

Each making choice 
With an eager voice, 

Of the white or the gray, 
the slim or the fat — 
Just which he chanced to 
be looking at. 

Ted said, at last: “We 
can’t spare none!” 
(His grammar was poor, 
but his tactics won.) 
“We’ll hide them away 
Again in the hay ! 

Put two in your hat and 
run, Jack, run! 

We’ll save them all!” And 
it was done. 


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, 









462 


ANIMALS. 


And sat down before her, all in a 
row. 

“Attention, class !” said the cat-mam¬ 
ma, 

“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 meowed! 

“Very well. ’Tis the same, with a 
sharper tone, 

When you want a fish or a hit of bone ; 

Now what do you say Vhen 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 chil¬ 
dren 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 should never * 
need 

To use such weapons—oh, no indeed! 

But their wise mamma gave a pussy’s 
“Phsaw!” 

And boxed their ears with her softest 
paw. 

“Now, ‘Sptiss!’ as hard as you can,” 
she said; 

But every kitten hung down its head; 

“ ‘Sptiss!’ I say,” cried the mother cat, 

But they said “Oh, 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 sup¬ 
pose.” 

And she looked very wise and rubbed 
her nose. 

Mapes Dodge. 


THE NAUGHTY CAT. 

LITTLE JACK. 

’Tis such a naughty, naughty cat! 

Old Tab, that’s owned by aunty Gray; 
She growls, and spits, and shows her 
claws, 






THE NAUGHTY CAT. 


463 


As sharp as needles in her paws; 
And, if I try with her to play, 

She always seems so full of spite, 
She’s sure to scratch me or to bite. 


Now, when I see her, “ Scat, scat, scat! 
I mean to say, “you naughty cat!” 

LITTLE JANE. 

What, call my poor old Tabby cross ! 



My hands,—they were a frightful sight 
When I came home last Saturday. 

I’m sure that she would be no loss, 

If she were killed, she is so cross; 


I’m sure she’s very good with me; 
For, when I go to aunty Gray’s, 
She always close beside me stays. 
If I sit down, she climbs my knee, 











464 


ANIMALS. 


And rubs her head against my cheek, 
And acts as though she’d like to 
speak, 

And say she wants my friend to be. 

I’d rather have her for my own 
Than all the cats I’ve ever known; 
Black, yellow, Maltese, large and 
small 

Old Tab’s the nicest of them all. 

JAMES. 

Yes, Tabby is a knowing cat. 

When you have been at aunty Gray’s, 
She’s proved you both, and learned 
your ways; 

She finds that Jack would never fail 
To try and swing her by the tail, 
While Jane will softly stroke her fur; 
So she will answer by a purr, 

To show Jane’s gentle touch she likes, 
But Jack, with her sharp claws, she 
strikes. 

My mother says we ought to treat 
With love each living thing we meet, 
And even pussy-cats can tell 
Who are the ones that use them well. 

Marian Douglas. 


PUSS PUNISHED. 

Oh, naughty puss ! you must not play 
And romp with Susie thus, I say; 
And spoil her clothes and ruffles too, 
And make her quite a fright—you do. 

Shame ! puss, to treat Susie so ! 

The simple thing that cannot sew, 


And mend her clothes when they 
are torn, 

Or run away when thus forlorn. 

My mother tells me ’tis unkind 
To treat the helpless thus; so mind 
If you repeat your tricks, old cat, 
Your ears shall pay for it—that’s 
flat. 

I LIKE LITTLE PUSSY. 

I like little Pussy, 

Her coat is so warm; 

And if I don’t hurt her 
She’ll do me no harm. 

So I’ll not pull her tail, 

Nor drive her away, 

But Pussy and I 

Very gently will play; 

She shall sit by my side, 

And I’ll give her some food; 
And she’ll love me because 
I am gentle and good. 

I’ll pat little Pussy, 

And then she will purr, 

And thus show her thanks 
For my kindness to her; 

I’ll not pinch her ears, 

Nor tread on her paw, 

Lest I should provoke her 
To use her sharp claw; 

I never will vex her, 

Nor make her displeased, 

For Pussy don’t like 

To be worried or teased. 

Jane Taylor. 









PUSS PUNISHED. 


465 





























































































































466 


ANIMALS. 


MY PUSSY. 

Oh, here is Miss Pussy; 

She’s drinking her milk; 
Her coat is as soft 
And as glossy as silk. 

She sips it all up 

With her little lap-lap ; 
Then, wiping her whiskers, 
Lies down for a nap. 

My kittie is gentle, 

She loves me right well; 
And how funny her play is 
I’m sure I can’t tell. 


THREE LITTLE KITTENS. 

Three little,kittens lost their mittens ; 
And they began to cry, 

“0 mother dear, 

We very much fear 
That we have lost our mittens!” 

“Lost your mittens! 

You naughty kittens! 

Then you shall have no pie.” 

Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow! 
“No, you shall have no pie.” 

Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow! 

The three little kittens found their 
mittens; 

And they began to cry, 

“0 mother dear, 

See here, see here ! 

See, we have found our mittens!” 


“Put on your mittens, 

You silly kittens, 

And you may have some pie.” 

Purr-r, purr-r, purr-r! 
“Oh, let us have the pie!” 

Purr-r, purr-r, purr-r! 

The three little kittens put on their 
mittens, 

And soon ate up the pie. 

“0 mother dear, 

We greatly fear 



“Soiled your mittens! 

You naughty kittens!” 

Then they began to sigh, 

Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow! 
Then they began to sigh, 

Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow! 

The three litttle kittens washed their 
mittens, 

And hung them out to dry. 

“0 mother dear, 

Do you not hear 

That we have washed our mittens?” 
“Washed your mittens! 






THE QUARRELSOME KITTENS. 


467 


Oil, you’re good kittens ! 

But I smell a rat close by.” 
Hush! hush! mee-ow, mee-ow ! 
We smell a rat close by. 

Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow! 

Mbs. Follen. 


THE QUARRELSOME KITTENS. 

Two little kittens, 

One stormy night, 

Began to quarrel, 

And then to fight. 

One had a mouse, 

And the other had none; 

And that’s the way 
The quarrel begun. 

“I’ll have that mouse,” 

Said the biggest cat. 

“You’ll have that mouse ? 

We’ll see about that!” 

“I will have that mouse,” 

Said the tortoise-shell; 

And, spitting and scratching, 
On her sister she fell. 

The old lady took 
The sweeping broom, 

And swept them both 
Right out of the room. 

The ground was covered 
Thick with snow; 

They had lost the mouse, 

And had nowhere to go. 


So they lay and shivered 
Beside the door, 

Till the old lady finished 
Sweeping the floor. 

And then they crept in 
As quiet as mice, 

All wet with snow, 

And cold as ice; 

And found it much better, 
That stormy night, 

To lie by the fire, 

Than quarrel and fight. 



TWENTY FROGS AT SCHOOL. 

Twenty froggies went to school, 
Down beside a rushy pool; 

Twenty little coats of green, 

Twenty vests all white and clean. 
“We must be in time,” said they; 
“First we study then we play; 

That is how we keep the rule 
When we froggies go to school.” 







468 


ANIMALS. 


Master bull-frog, grave and stern, 
Called the classes in their turn; 
Taught them how to nobly strive, 
Likewise how to leap and dive; 

From his seat upon the log 

Showed them how to say “Ker-chog!” 

Also, how to dodge a blow 

From the sticks which bad boys throw. 


Twenty froggies grew up fast ; 
Bull-frogs they became at last ; 
Not one dunce among the lot, 
Not one lesson they forgot. 
Polished in a high degree, 

As each froggie ought to be, 
Now they sit on other logs, 
Teaching other little frogs. 





Trees and Flowers. 


( 







. 
















































































































TREES ahd FLOWERS. 



THE WORLD. 

Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful 
World, 

With the wonderful water around you 
curled, 

And the wonderful grass on your 
breast— 

World, you are beautifully dressed. 

The wonderful air is over me, 

And the wonderful wind is shaking 
the tree; 

It walks on the water, and whirls the 
mills, 

And talks to itself on the tops of the 
hills. 


You friendly Earth, how far do you go 
With the wheat-fields that nod and the 
rivers that flow, 

With cities, and gardens, and cliffs, 
and isles, 

And people upon you for thousands 
of miles ? 

Ah ! you are so great, and I am so small, 
I tremble to think of you, World, at all; 
And yet, when I say my prayers to- day, 
A whisper inside me seemed to say, 
“You are more than the Earth, though 
you are such a dot: 

You can love and think, and the Earth 
cannot!” 

Lilliput Lectures. 


471 





472 


TREES AND FLOWERS. 


ALL THINGS BEAUTIFUL 

All things bright and beautiful, 

All creatures great and small, 

All things wise and wonderful,— 
The Lord God made them all. 

Each little flower that opens, 

Each little bird that sings,— 

He made their glowing colors, 

He made their tiny wings. 

The purple-headed mountain, 

The river running by, 

The morning and the sunset 
That lighteth up the sky; 

The tall trees in the greenwood, 

The pleasant summer sun, 

The ripe fruits in the garden,— 

He made them every one. 

He gave us eyes to see them, 

And lips, that we might tell 
How great is God Almighty, 

Who hath made all things well. 

John Keble. 


THE TREE. 

The Tree’s early leaf-buds were burst¬ 
ing their brown: 

“Shall I take them away?” says the 
Frost sweeping down. 

“No, leave them alone 
Till the blossoms have grown.” 
Prayed the Tree, while he trembled 
from rootlet to crown. 


The Tree bore his blossoms, and all 
the birds sung: 

“Shall I take them away?” said the 
Wind as he swung. 

“No, leave them alone 

Till the berries have grown,” 

Said the Tree, while his leaflets quiv¬ 
ering hung. 

The Tree bore his fruit in the mid¬ 
summer glow: 

Said the girl, “May I gather thy ber¬ 
ries now?” 

“Yes, all thou canst see: 

Take them : all are for thee,” 

Said the Tree, while he bent down his 
laden boughs low. 

Bjoknstjerne Bjornson. 


WOODMAN SPARE THAT TREE. 

Woodman spare that tree ! 

Touch not a single bough! 

In youth it sheltered me, 

And I’ll protect it now, 

’Twas my forefather’s hand 
That placed it near his cot; 

There, woodman, let it stand, 

Thy axe shall harm it not. 

That old familiar tree, 

Whose glory and renown 
Are spread o’er land and sea— 

And wouldst thou hew it down ? 
Woodman, forbear thy stroke ! 

Cut not its earth-bound ties; 







ALL THINGS BEAUTIFUI 


473 







































































































474 


TREES AND FLOWERS. 



Oh, spare that aged oak, 

Now towering to the skies. 

When hut an idle boy 

I sought its grateful shade; 
In all their gushing joy 

Here, too, my sisters played. 


And still thy branches bend. 

Old tree ! the storm still brave ! 

And, woodman, leave the spot ; 
While I’ve a hand to save, 

Thy axe shall harm it not! 

George P. Morris. 


My mother kissed me here, 

My father pressed my hand— 
Forgive this foolish tear, 

But let that old oak stand ! 

My heart strings round thee cling 
Close as thy bark, old friend! 
Here shall the wild bird sing, 


Then here’s to the oak, the 
brave old oak, 

Who stands in his pride 
alone; 

And still flourish he, a hale, green tree, 
When a hundred years are gone ! 

In the days of old, when the spring 
with cold 

Had brightened his branches gray, 
Through the grass at his feet crept 
maidens sweet, 


THE BRAVE OLD OAK. 

A song to the oak, the brave 
old oak, 

Who hath ruled in the green¬ 
wood long; 

Here’s health and renown to 
his broad, green crown, 
And his fifty arms so strong. 

There’s fear in his frown when 
the sun goes down, 

And the fire in the west 
fades out; 

And he showeth his might on 
a wild midnight, 

When the storm through his 
branches shout. 











THE OLD APPLE TREE. 


475 


To gather the dew of May. 

And on that day to the rebeck gay 
They frolicked with lovesome swains; 
They are gone, they are dead, in 
the church-yard laid, 

But the tree it still remains. 

Then here’s, &c. 



He saw the rare times when the Christ¬ 
mas chimes 

Was a merry sound to hear, 

When the squire’s wide hall and the 
cottage small 

Were filled with good English cheer. 
Now gold hath the sway we all obey, 
And a ruthless king is he; 

But he never shall send our ancient 
friend 

To be tossed on the stormy sea. 
Then here’s, &c. 

H. F. Chorley. 

THE OLD APPLE TREE 

I’m fond of the good apple tree ; 

A very good-natured friend is he, 

For, knock at his door when e’er you 
may, 

He’s always something to give away. 


Shake him in winter: on all below 

He’ll send down a shower of feathery 
snow; 

And when the spring sun is shining 
bright, 

He’ll fling down blossoms pink and 
white. 

And when the summer comes so warm, 

He shelters the little birds safe from 
harm; 

And shakeliimin autumn, hewillnot fail 

To send you down apples thick as hail. 

Therefore, it cannot a wonder he 

That we sing hurrah for the apple tree ! 


IN THE ORCHARD. 

Apples red and apples green, 

Apples rich and ripe are seen 
In the orchard near the road,— 
Apples, apples, by the load! 

In the spring the trees were white. 
Apple-blossoms, such a sight! 

Little apples filled the trees, 

Fanned all summer by the breeze. 

Little apples grew and grew, 

Living on the rain and dew; 

Now the fruit in great, rich stores. 
Harvest in the orchard pours. 

Glad the farmer’s swelling heart! 
Glad the little children start 
For the orchard, where they play 
“ Picking apples” all the day. 













476 


trees and flowers. 


CHERRY BLOSSOM. 

Little Cherry Blossom 
Lived up in a tree, 

And a very happy 
Little thing was she. 

Clad all through the winter 
In a dress of brown, 

Warm she was though living 
In a northern town. 

But one sunny morning, 
Thinking it was May, 

"I’ll not wear,” said Blossom, 
“This old dress to-day.” 

Mr. Breeze, this hearing, 
Yery kindly said, 

"Do be careful, Blossom: 
Winter has not fled.” 

Blossom would not listen; 
For the sky was bright, 

And she wished to glisten 
In her robe of white. 

So she let the brown one 
Drop and blow away, 

Leaving her the white one, 
All so fine and gay! 

By and by the sunshine 
Faded from her view: 

How poor Blossom shivered 
As it colder grew ! 

Oh for that warm wrapper 
Lying on the ground ! 


Ah ! Jack Frost will nip her: 

He is prowling round. 

Yes, he folds poor Blossom 
In his arms of ice, 

And her white robe crumples,— 
Robe so fine and nice! 

Ah! poor Cherry Blossom ! 

She, in foolish pride, 

Changed her wonted clothing, 
Took a cold, and died. 

All ye little blossoms, 

Hear me, and take care : 

Go not clad too thinly, 

And of pride beware. 

S. M. Day. 

CHERRIES ARE RIPE. 

Cherries are ripe, 

Cherries are ripe, 

Oh give the baby one; 

Cherries are ripe, 

Cherries are ripe, 

But baby shall have none; 
Babies are too young to choose, 
Cherries are too sour to use. 

But by and by, 

Made in a pie, 

No one will then refuse. 

Up in the tree 
Robin I see, 

Picking one by one; 

Shaking his bill, 

Getting his fill, 






HOW SPRING MADE HER FLOWERS. 


477 


Down his throat they run: 
Eobins want no cherry pie ; 

Quick they eat, and off they fly; 
My little child, 

Patient and mild, 

Surely will not cry. 

Cherries are ripe, 

Cherries are ripe, 

But we will let them fall; 
Cherries are ripe, 

Cherries are ripe, 

But bad for babies small; 

Gladly follow mother’s will, 

Be obedient, kind, and still; 
Waiting a while, 

Delighted you’ll smile, 

And joyful eat your fill. 

Hastings’ Nubsery Songs. 


HOW SPRING MADE HER 
FLOWERS. 

Little Spring sat out on the hills one day 

When Winter was sweeping his snows 
away; 

Mother Nature came by and whis¬ 
pered low, 

“ My daughter, I’m sorry you idle so ! 

If you lazily pass the fleeting hours, 

When, you naughty Spring, will you 
make your flowers ?” 

Spring looked not up nor a word re¬ 
plied, 

But her sweet lips quivered, and soon 
she cried, 


“It is hard to work, and I am too 
small, 

And too young to do anything at all!” 

Down her hot tears fell on a bank of 
snow, 

Which winter forgot, it was hidden so. 

See, it melts a little at each warm 
tear, 

And where it had lain the green leaves 
appear. 

Spring played in the snow with her 
fingers pink— 

The color came off a little, I think. 

Rounded bits she placed on each stem 
so brown, 

And, pleased with the sight, she 
stooped softly down, 

And kissed into life the pure waxen 
leaves, 

While each from her breath a per¬ 
fume receives. 

Made of tears and kisses and warmth 
and snow. 

What wonder we love the May-Flower 
so! 

Then, laughing and singing, she wan¬ 
dered down 

To the fields which lay just beyond 
the town. 

’Twixt her finger and thumb the sun¬ 
beams pass, 

And they fall in rings on the freshened 
grass. 






478 


TREES AND FLOWERS. 



The light has died out of the 
twilight sky; 

Night smiles upon Spring as 
she passes by— 

She is going to pierce the 
curtain blue, 

To let the light of heavens 
shine through. 

Spring gathers the fragments of deep- 
blue sky, 

And soon all over the meadows they 
lie. 


She carries them down to the orchards 
bare, 

And, with many a deft touch here 
and there, 

Round each little twig she fastens 
them tight, 

To her own, the trees’ and the world’s 
delight, 

‘•Fine prospect for fruit!” 
says the owner proud; 

And how should he know ’tis 
a sunset cloud? 


“ Dandelions!” the children shout at 
play, 

When they run from school at close of 
the day; 

But Spring and you and I know very 
well, 

They were bits of sunshine caught as 
they fell. 


As she dances on, Spring suddenly sees 

How forlornly bare are the orchard 
trees. 

Already the sun is going to rest; 

He paints as he goes, the clouds in 
the west; 

And Spring flies up to the white and 
the pink, 

And, quicker than anyone else could 
think, 


It must have been so, else how should 
there be 

Violets as many as stars that you 
see ? 

“ Does Spring always make her flow¬ 
ers this way ?” 

The wreathed and garlanded children 
say. 

I can only tell what she did that 
day. 






A LITTLE CHILD’S FANCIES. 


479 


A LITTLE CHILD’S FANCIES. 

I think that the world was finished at 
night, 

Or the stars would not have been 
made; 

For they wouldn’t have thought of 
having the light, 

If they hadn’t first seen the shade. 

And then, again, I alter my mind, 
And think perhaps it was day, 

And the starry night was 
only designed 
For a little child tired of 
play. 

And I think that an angel, 
when nobody knew, 

With a window pushed 
up very high, 

Let some of the seeds of 
the flowers fall through 
From the gardens they 
have in the sky. 

For they couldn’t think 
here of lilies so white, 

And such beautiful roses 
I know; 

But I wonder when falling from such 
a height, 

The dear little seeds should grow! 

And then, when the face of the angel | 
has turned, I 

I think that the birds flew by, 

Right close to the door where the chil¬ 
dren go, 


And are singing to us the songs they 
learned 

On the opposite side of the sky. 

And a rainbow must be the shining 
below 

Of a place in Heaven’s floor that is 
thin, 

When the dear Lord lets them in. 

And I think that the clouds that float 
in the skies 


Are the curtains that they drop down, 
For fear when we look we should daz¬ 
zle our eyes, 

As they each of them put on their 
crown. 

I do not know why the water was sent, 
Unless, perhaps, it might be 













480 


TREES AND FLOWERS. 


God wanted us all to know what it 
meant 

. When we read of the “Jasper Sea.” 

Oh ! the world where we live is a love¬ 
ly place, 

But it oftentimes makes me sigh, 

For I’m always trying causes to trace, 
And keep thinking “Wherefore ?” 
and “Why?” 

Ah ! dear little child, the longing you 
feel 

Is the stir of immortal wings, 

But infinite Love one day will reveal 
The most hidden and puzzling 
things. 

You have only your duty to try and do, 
To be happy, and rest content; 

For by being good and by being true 
You will find out all that is meant! 

Mrs. L. C. Whiton. 


FLOWERS. 

With what a lavish hand 
God beautifies the earth, 

When everywhere, all o’er the land, 
Sweet flowers are peeping forth ! 

Down by the babbling brook, 

Up in the silent hills, 

The glen, the bower, the shady nook, 
Their breath with fragrance fills. 
They creep along the hedge, 

They climb the rugged height, 


And, leaning o’er the water’s edge, 
Blush in their own sweet light. 

They seem to breathe and talk, 

They pour into my ear, 

Where’er I look, where’er I walk, 

A music soft and clear. 

They have no pride of birth, 

No choice of regal bower; 

The humblest, lowliest spot on earth 
May claim the fairest flower. 


THE USE OF FLOWERS. 

God might have bade the earth bring 
forth 

Enough for great and small, 

The oak tree and the cedar tree, 
Without a flower at all. 

We might have had enough, enough, 
For every want of ours, 

For luxury, medicine, and toil, 

And yet have had no flowers. 

Then wherefore, wherefore were they 
made, 

All dyed with rainbow light, 

All fashioned with supremest grace, 
Upspringing day and night— 
Springing in valleys green and low, 
And on the mountain high, 

And in the silent wilderness 
Where no man passes by? 

Our outward life requires them not— 
Then wherefore had they birth ? 








PRETTY POLEY PANSY. 


481 





And so, all unnoticed, 

The long summer thro’, 
She sipped of the sunshine, 
She drank of the dew. 


Till the frail, snowy lilies 
Were wind-torn and tossed, 
The pink-petaled roses 
All nipped by the frost. 


When the gay flowers 
Were every one dead, 
Pretty Polly Pansy 
Lifted her head. 


To minister delight to man, 

To beautify the earth; 

To comfort man—to whisper hope 
Whene’er his faith is dim, 

For Who so careth for the flowers 
Will care much more for him! 

Maky Howitt. 


“The garden is empty— 
Plenty of room,” 

She laughed, nodded gaily, 
“Time I should bloom. 

They’ll still miss the lilies 
And mourn for the rose ; 

I can’t take the place of 
The least flower that grows. 


PRETTY POLLY PANSY. 

Pretty Polly Pansy 
Came in the spring; 

The gay garden posies 
Were all blossoming. 

Nobody noticed her, 

Small, shy and sweet, 
She hid in the grasses 
Close under their feet. 


“But Pll brighten my corner!” 

I think I would do, 

If I were a pansy, 

The same, wouldn’t you ? 













4$2 


trees and flowers. 


NEW DRESSES. 

New dresses ? Ay, this is the season ! 

For opening day is close by: 
Already I know the“ Spring fashions”— 
Can tell you, I think, if I try. 

Of colors, the first thing to mention, 
There’s a great variety seen; 

But that which obtains the most favor 
Is surely a very bright green. 

True, the elderly portion are plainer, 
And choose, both in country and 
town, 

To appear in the shades which are 
sombre, 

And keep on the garments of brown. 

Miss Snow-drop, the first of the season, 
Comes out in such very good taste— 
Pure white, with her pretty green 
trimmings; 

How charming she is! and how 
chaste! 

Miss Crocus, too, shows very early 
Her greetings of love for the sun, 
And comes in her white, blue, or yel¬ 
low; 

All dresses of hers are home-spun. 

And who is this handsome young 
master, 

A friend to Miss Crocus so true ? 

He comes dressed in purple or yellow, 
And sometimes in pink, white and 
blue. 


In form he is tall and majestic; 

Ah ! the Spring has just whispered 
his name: 

“Hyacinthus,” the beau of the season, 
And sweet and widespread is his 
fame.. 

Madame Tulip, a dashing gay lady, 
Appears in a splendid brocade; 

She courts the bright sunbeams, which 
give ft her 

All colors, of every shade. 

She came to us o’er the wide ocean, 
Away from her own native air, 

But if she can dress as she chooses, 
She can be quite at home anywhere. 

Narcissus, a very vain fellow, 

Has a place in the Spring fashions 
too— 

Appears in his green, white, and yel¬ 
low; 

In his style, though, there’s nothing 
that’s new. 

Miss Daisy wears white, with fine flut¬ 
ing; 

A sweet little creature is she, 

But she loves the broad fields and 
green meadows, 

And cares not town fashions to see. 

Another style, pretty and tasteful— 
Green, dotted with purple or blue— 

Is worn by Miss Myrtle, whose beauty 
In shade and retirement grew. 






NEW DRESSES. 


483 

























































































































































































































































































































































































484 


TREES AND FLOWERS. 


I’ve borrowed these styles from Dame 
Nature, 

Whose children are always well 
dressed: 

In contrast and blending of colors 
She always knows what is the best. 

Already her hand is arranging 

More elaborate trimmings for May; 

In silence unseen it is working, 
Accomplishing much every day. 

Her “full dress” and festive occasion 
Will take place quite early in June, 

Ushered in by low notes of sweet 
music, 

Which her song-birds alone can at¬ 
tune. 

S. H. Baker. 

BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. 

Buttercups and Daisies— 

Oh, the pretty flowers ! 

Coming ere the spring-time, 

To tell of sunny hours. 

While the trees are leafless, 

While the fields are bare, 
Buttercups and Daisies 
Spring up everywhere. 

Ere the snow-drop peepeth, 

Ere the crocus bold, 

Ere the early primrose 
Opes its paly gold, 

Somewhere on a sunny bank 
Buttercups are bright, 


Somewhere ’mongthe frozen grass 
Peeps the daisy white. 

Little hardy flowers, 

Like to children poor, 

Playing in their sturdy health 
By their mother’s door; 

Purple with the north wind, 

Yet alert and bold, 

Fearing not, and caring not, 
Though they be a-cold. 



What to them is weather? 

% What are stormy showers ? 
Buttercups and Daisies 
Are these human flowers ! 

He who gave them hardship 
And a life of care, 

Gave them likewise hardy strength, 
And patient hearts to bear. 

Welcome, yellow Buttercups, 
Welcome, Daisies white! 









THE BLUEBELL. 


485 



THE BLUEBELL. 


There is a story I have heard,— 
A poet learned it of a bird, 

And kept its music every word,— 

A story of a dim ravine 
O’er which the towering 
tree-tops lean, 

With one blue rift of sky 
between; 

And there two thousand 
years ago, 

A little flower as white as 
snow 

Swayed in the silence to 
and fro. 


Day after day, with longing 
eye, 

The floweret watched the 
narrow sky, 

And fleecy clouds that 
floated by. 

And through the darkness, night by 
night, 

One gleaming star would climb the 
height, 

And cheer the lonely floweret’s sight. 


For softly o’er its petals white 
There crept a blueness, like the 
light 

Of skies upon a summer night; 


Ye are in my spirit 
Visioned, a delight! 

Coming ere the spring-time 
Of sunny hours to tell, 
Speaking to our hearts of Him 
Who doeth all things well. 

Maby Ho WITT. 


Thus watching the blue heavens afar, 
And the rising of its favorite star, 

A slow change came,— but not too 
near, 








486 


TREES AND FLOWERS. 


And in its chalice, I am told, 

The bonny bell was formed to hold 
A tiny star, that gleamed like gold. 

Now, little people sweet and true, 

I find a lesson here for you, 

Writ in the floweret’s bell of blue : 

The patient child whose watchful eye 
Strives after all things pure and high, 
Shall take their image by and by. 


LITTLE DANDELION. 

Gay little Dandelion 
Lights up the meads, 
Swings on her slender foot, 
Telleth her beads, 

Lists to the robin’s note 
Poured from above: 

Wise little Dandelion 
Asks not for love. 

Cold lie the daisy banks 
Clothed but in green, 
Where, in the days a gone, 
Bright hues were seen. 
Wild pinks are slumbering; 

Violets delay; 

True little Dandelion 
Greeteth the May. 

Brave little Dandelion! 

Fast falls the snow, 
Bending the daffodil’s 
Haughty head low. 

Under that fleecy tent. 


Careless of cold, 

Blithe little Dandelion 
Counteth her gold. 

Meek little Dandelion 
Groweth more fair, 

Till dies the amber dew 
Out from her hair. 

High rides the thirsty sun, 
Fiercely and high; 

Faint little Dandelion 
Closeth her eye. 

Pale little Dandelion, 

In her white shroud, 

Heareth the angel-breeze 
Call from the cloud ! 

Tiny plumes fluttering 
Make no delay! 

Little winged Dandelion 
Soareth away. 

Helen B. Bostwick. 

THE VIOLET. 

Down in the green and shady bed 
A modest violet grew; 

Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, 
As if to hide from view. 

And yet it was a lovely flower, 

Its color bright and fair; 

It might have graced a rosy bower 
Instead of hiding there. 

Yet there it was content to bloom, 

In modest tints arrayed, 

And there it spread its sweet perfume 
Within the silent shade. 






LITTLE WHITE LILY. 


487 


Then let me to the village go 
This pretty flower to see, 

That I may also learn to grow 
In sweet humility. 

Jane Taylor. 


LITTLE WHITE LILY. 

Little white Lily 
Sat by a stone, 

Drooping and waiting 
Till the sun shone. 

Little white Lily 
Sunshine has fed; 

Little white Lily 
Is lifting her head 

Little white Lily 
Said, “It is good; 

Little white Lily’s 
Clothing and food.” 

Little white Lily, 

Drest like a bride, 

Shining with whiteness, 
And crowned beside! 

Little white Lily 
Droopeth with pain, 

Waiting and waiting 
For the wet rain. 

Little white Lily 
Holdeth her cup; 

Eain is fast falling, 

And filling it up. 


Little white Lily 
Said, “Good again— 

When I am thirsty 
To have fresh rain! 

Now I am stronger; 

Now I am cool; 

Heat cannot burn me, 

My veins are so full.” 

Little white Lily 
Smells very sweet; 

On her head sunshine, 

Eain at her feet. 

“Thanks to the sunshine, 
Thanks to the rain I 

Little white Lily 
Is happy again!” 

George McDonald. 


THE FLOWER 

Once in a golden hour 
I cast to earth a seed. 

Up there came a flower, 

The people said a weed. 

To and fro they went 
Thro’ my garden bower, 

And muttering discontent 
Cursed me and my flower. 

Then it grew so tall 

It wore a crown of light, 

But thieves from o’er the wall 
Stole the seed by night. 

Sow’d it far and wide 

By every town and tower, 






488 


TREES AND FLOWERS. 


Till all the people cried, 
“Splendid is the flower.” 

Read my little fable; 

He that runs may read; 

Most can raise the flowers now, 
For all have got the seed. 

And some are pretty enough, 

And some are poor indeed; 

And now again the people 
Call it but a weed. 

Alfred Tennyson. 


’TIS THE LAST ROSE OF 
SUMMER. 

’Tis the last rose of summer, 

Left blooming alone; 

All her lovely companions 
Are faded and gone; 

No flower of her kindred, 


No rosebud, is nigh 
To reflect back her blushes, 

Or give sigh for sigh. 

I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one* 
To pine on the stem; 

Since the lovely are sleeping, 

Go, sleep thou with them; 

Thus kindly, I scatter 
Thy leaves o’er the bed 
Where thy mates of the garden 
Lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may I follow, 

When friendships decay, 

And from loves shining circle 
The gems drop away; 

When true hearts lie withered, 

And fond ones are flown, 

0, who would inhabit 

This bleak world alone ? 

Thomas Moore. 







Nature’s Voice. 




































































































































































































NATURE’S YOICE. 



NATURE’S VOICE. 

Whatever mine ears can hear, 
Whatever mine eyes can see, 

In Nature so bright 
With beauty and light, 

Has a message of love for me. 

Glorious clouds ! as ye sail 
Over the clear, blue sky, 

Ye tell of the hour 
When the Lord of power 
In clouds shall descend from on high! 


Ye sheep that on pastures green 
Beside the still waters feed, 

Ye bring to my mind 
The Shepherd so kind 
Who supplies all His people’s 
need. 

The birds as they soar aloft, 

The flowers as they bloom 
below, 

His praises declare 
Who made all so fair,— 

His wisdom and love they show. 


491 


















492 


nature’s voice. 


Lord, give me a tongue to praise; 
Ob, give me a heart to love! 

Till at last I come 
To a brighter home, 

A still fairer world above ! 

a. l. o. E. 

RURAL NATURE. 

Where art thou lovliest, 0 Nature, tell! 

Oh, where may be thy Paradise ? 
Where grow 

Thy happiest groves ? And down what 
woody dell 

Do thy most fancy-winning waters 
flow? 

Tell where thy softest breezes longest 
blow? 

And where thy ever blissful mountains 
swell 

Upon whose sides the cloudless sun 
may throw 

Eternal summer, while the air may 
quell 

His fury. Is it ’neath his morning 
car, 

Where jeweled palaces, and golden 
thrones, 

Have awed the Eastern nations through 
all time ? 

Or o’er the Western seas, or where 
afar 

Our winter sun warms up the south¬ 
ern zones 

With summer? Where can be the 
happy climes ? 

William Baenes. 


UNDER THE LEAVES. 

Oft have I walked these woodland 
paths, 

Without the blest foreknowing 
That underneath the withered leaves 
The fairest buds were growing. 

To-day the south wind sweeps away 
The types of autumn’s splendor, 
And shows the- sweet arbutus flowers, 
Spring’s children, pure and tender. 

0 prophet-flowers !—with lips of bloom, 
Out-vying in your beauty 
The pearly tints of ocean shells,— 

Ye teach me faith and duty! 

“Walk life’s dark ways,” ye seem to 
say, 

“With love’s divine foreknowing, 
That where man sees but withered 
leaves, 

God sees sweet flowers growing.” 

Albebt Laighton. 


DAYBREAK. 

A wind came up out of the sea, 

And said, “0 mists, make room for 
me!” 

It hailed the ships, and cried, “Sail 
on, 

Ye mariners, the night is gone.” 

And hurried landward far away, 
Crying, “Awake! it is the day.” 








MORNING. 


493 



It said unto the forest, “Shout! 

Hang all your leafy banners out!” 

It touched the wood-bird’s folded wing, 
And said, “0 bird, awake and sing!” 

And o’er the farms, “0 chanticleer, 
Your clarion blow; the day is near !” 

It whispered to the fields of corn, 
“Bow down, and hail the coming 
morn!” 

It shouted through the belfry-tower, 
“Awake, 0 hell! proclaim the hour.” 

It crossed the church-yard with a sigh, 
And said, “Not yet! in quiet lie.” 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 


MORNING. 

FROM “THE MINSTREL.” 

But who the melodies of morn can tell ? 
The wild brook babbling down the 
mountain side; 

The lowing herd; the sheepfold’s 
simple bell; 

The pipe of early shepherd dim descried 


In the lone valley; echoing far and 
wide 

The clamorous horn along the cliffs 
above; 

The hollow murmur of the ocean tide. 

The hum of bees, the linnet’s lay of love. 

And the full choir that wakes the un¬ 
iversal grove. 

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark ; 

Crowned with her pail the tripping 
milkmaid sings; 

The whistling ploughman stalks 
afield; and, hark! 

Down the rough slope the ponderous 
wagon rings; 

Through rustling corn the hare aston¬ 
ished springs; 

Slow tolls the village-clock the 
drowsy hour; 

The partridge bursts away on whir¬ 
ring wings; 

Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered 
bower, 

And shrill lark carols clear from her 
aerial tower. 

James Brattie. 



















494 


nature’s voice. 


NOONTIDE. 

Beneath a shivering canopy reclined, 

Of aspen-leaves that wave without a 
wind, 

I love to lie, when lulling breezes stir 

The spiry cones that tremble on the 

fir; 

Or wander mid the dark-green fields 
of broom, 

When peers in scattered tufts the 
yellow bloom ; 

Or trace the path with tangling furze 
o’errun, 

When bursting seed-bells crackle in 
the sun, 

And pittering grasshoppers, confus’d- 
ly shrill, 

Pipe giddily along the glowing hill: 

Sweet grasshopper, who lov’st at 
noon to lie 

Serenely in the green-ribbed clover’s 
eye, 

To sun thy filmy wings and emerald 
vest, 

Unseen thy form, and undisturbed 
thy rest, 

Oft have I listened, mused the sultry 
day, 

And wandered what thy chirping 
song might say, 

When naught was heard along the 
blossomed lea, 

To join thy music, save the listless 
bee. 

Dr. John Leyden. 


SUNSET. 

We stood upon the ragged rocks, 
When the long day was nearly 
done; 

The waves had ceased their sullen 
shocks, 

And lapped our feet with murmur¬ 
ing tone, 

And o’er the bay in streaming locks, 
Blew the red tresses of the sun. 

Along the west the golden bars 
Still to a deeper glory grew; 

Above our heads the faint, few stars 
Looked out from the unfathomed 
blue; 

And the fair city’s clamorous jars 
Seemed melted in that evening 
hue. 

0 sunset sky! 0 purple tide ! 

0 friends to friends that closer 
pressed! 

Those glories have in darkness died, 
And ye have left my longing 
breast. 

I could not keep you by my side 
Nor fix that radiance in the west. 

W. B. Glazier. 


NIGHT. 

Night is the time for rest; 

How sweet, when labors close, 
To gather round an aching breast 
The cuitain of repose, 





NIGHT. 


495 


Stretch the tired limbs and lay the head 
Down on our own delightful bed! 

Night is the time for dreams: 

The gay romance of life, 

When truth that is, and truth that 
seems, 

Mix in fantastic strife; 

Ah ! visions, less beguiling far 
Than waking dreams by daylight are ! 


Those graves of Memory, where sleep 
The joys of other years; 

Hopes, that were Angels at their birth, 
But died when young, like things 
of earth. 

Night is the time to watch: 

O’er ocean’s dark expanse, 

To hail the Pleiades, or catch 
The full moon’s earliest glance, 



Night is the time for toil: 

To plough the classic field, 

Intent to find the buried spoil 
Its wealthy furrows yield; 

Till all is ours that sages taught, 
That poets sang, and heroes 
wrought. 

Night is the time to weep; 

To wet with unseen tears 


That brings into the homesick mind 
All we have loved and left behind. 

Night is the time for care: 

Brooding on hours misspent, 

To see the spectre of Despair 
Come to our lonely tent; 

Like Brutus, midst his slumbering 
host, 

Summoned to die by Caesar’s ghost. 






496 


NATURE’S voice. 


Night is the time to think; 

When, from the eye, the soul 
Takes flight; and on the utmost 
brink 

Of yonder starry pole 
Discerns beyond the ahyss of night 
The dawn of uncreated light. 

Night is the time to pray ; 

Our Savior oft withdrew 
To desert mountains far away ; 

So will his follower do, 

Steal from the throng to haunts un¬ 
trod, 

And commune there alone with 
God. 

Night is the time for Death; 

When all around is peace. 

Calmly to yield the weary breath, 
From sin and suffering cease; 
Think of heaven’s bliss and give the 
sign 

To parting friends;—such death be 
mine. 

James Montgomery. 

THE SEASON’S CHARMS. 

The Spring has many charms for me, 
And many pleasant hours 
To ramble, unrestrained and free, 
Among her blooming flowers. 

And Summer, when she visits earth, 
In leafy garb arrayed, 


I bless her for her cooling showers, 
Her sunshine and her shade. 

And Autumn, laden with the fruits 
Of diligence and toil, 

Is welcome as the sky that glows 
Above the sunny soil. 

The Winter, too, has many joys 
The cheerful only know, 

For love and hope and happiness 
May bloom amid the snow. 

I love the seasons as they pass, 

God’s blessings as they fall, 

The joys that sparkle in life’s glass— 
I love, I love them all. 


THE FOUR SEASONS. 

SPRING. 

Spring day ! happy day ! 

God hath made the earth so gay! 
Every little flower He waketh, 

Every herb to grow He maketh. 

When the pretty lambs are springing, 
When the little birds are singing, 
Child, forget not God to praise, 

Who hath sent such happy days. 

SUMMER. 

Summer day! sultry day! 

Hotly burns the noontide ray; 

Gentle drops of summer showers 
Fall on thirsty trees and flowers ; 

On the cornfield rain doth pour, 







GOOD-NIGHT. 


497 


Ripening grain for winter store. 

Child’ to God thy thanks should be, 
Who in summer thinks of thee. 

AUTUMN. 

Autumn day! fruitful day ! 

See what God hath given away! 
Orchard trees with fruit are bending, 
Harvest wains are homeward wend¬ 
ing, 

And the Lord all o’er the land 
Opens wide His bounteous hand. 
Children, gathering fruits that fall, 
Think of God, who gives them all. 

WINTER. 

Winter day ! frosty day ! 

God a cloak on all doth lay; 

On the earth the snow He sheddetli, 
O’er the lamb a fleece He spreadeth, 
Gives the bird a coat of feather 
To protect it from the weather, 

Gives the children home and food— 
Let us praise Him—God is good ! 


GOOD-NIGHT. 

“Good-night!” said the plough to the 
weary old horse; 

And Dobbin responded, “ Good¬ 
night !” 

Then, with Tom on his back, to -the 
farm-house he turned, 

With a feeling of quiet delight. 

“Good-night!” said the ox, with a 
comical bow, 

As he turned from the heavy old cart, 


Which laughed till it shook a round 
wheel from its side, 

Then creaked out, “Good-night, 
from my heart!” 

“Good-night!” said the hen, when her 
supper was done, 

To Fanny, who stood, in the door; 
“Good-night!” answered Fanny; 
“come back in the morn, 

And you and your chicks shall have 
more. ” 

“Quack, quack!” said the duck; “I 
wish you all well, 

Though I cannot tell what is polite.” 
“The will for the deed,” answered 
Benny the brave; 

“Good-night, Madam Ducky, good¬ 
night !” 

CHILD’S SONG IN SPRING. 

Yes, little girl, 

Out in the wheat, 

Daisies are springing 
White as your feet; 

Growing for you 
Out in the wheat, 

Only because 
You are so sweet. 

Yes, little girl, 

Down in the wood, 

Violets are blowing 
Blue as your hood; 

Blooming for you, 

Down in the wood, 

Only because 






498 


NATURE’S VOICE. 


You are so good. 
Yes, little girl, 
Under tlie mere, 
Lilies laugh up 



Where the water is clear; 
Smile up at you 

From under the mere, 
Only because 
You are so dear. 


SPRING AND THE FLOWERS. 

In the snowing and the blowing, 

In the cruel sleet, 

Little flowers begin their growing 
Far beneath our feet. 

Softly taps the Spring, and cheerily: 

“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. 


SUMMER. 

The seeds we sowed in spring-time 
Have blossomed into flowers ; 
The budding boughs of spring-time 
Are thick-wove summer bowers; 

The water-lily lies at rest 
Upon the quiet pool; 

The happy year is idle now, 

Like children out of school. 


SUMMER’S NIGH. 

How do I know? 
Why, this very day 
A robin sat 



On a tilting spray, 
And merrily sang 
A song of May. 
Jack Frost has fled 









SPRING VOICES. 


499 


From the rippling brook, 
And a trout peeped out 
From his shady nook. 

A butterfly too 
Flew lazily by, 

And the willow catkins 
Shook from on high 
Their yellow dust 
As I passed by. 

And so I know 
That Summer is nigh. 


SPRING VOICES. 

“Caw! caw!” says the 
Crow, 

“Spring has come again 
I know; 

For, as sure as I am 
born, 

There’s a farmer plant- 
mgeorn; || 

I shall breakfast there, I ^ 
trow, 

Long before his corn can mV/® 
grow.” 

“Quack, quack !” says the Duck, 

“Was there ever such good luck ! 

Spring has cleared the pond of ice, 

And the day is warm and nice, 

Just as I and Goodman Drake 

Thought we’d like a swim to take.” 

<‘Croak, croak!” says the Frog, 

As he leaps out from the bog; 

“Spring is near, I do declare, 



For the earth is warm and fair: 

Croak ! croak ! croak ! I love the spring, 
When the little birdies sing.” 


SPRING. 


River and fountain, brook and rill, 
Bespangled o’er with livery gay 
Of silver droplets, wind their way. 
All in their new apparel vie, 

For Time hath laid his mantle by. 










5 °° 


nature’s voice. 


A SUMMER CALL. 

Girls and boys, come out to play, 
Trees are green and fields are gay, 
While little birds carol on every spray— 


Girls and boys, come out to play. 



Leave your slates, and close your 
books, 


Come explore my pleasant nooks, 

And see your shadows in mirroring 
brooks— 

Girls and boys, come out to play. 

Tread the springy sward again, 
Gather hawthorn down the lane, 


And’ link the delicate daisy chain— 
Girls and boys, come out to play. 

Come in quest of violets rare, 

Twine the primrose in your hair, 

And seek the hyacinth fresh and fair— 
Girls and boys, come out to play. 


SUMMER MOODS. 

I love at eventide to walk alone, 

Down narrow glens, o’erhung with 
dewy thorn, 

Where, from the long grass under¬ 
neath, the snail, 

Jet black, creeps out, and sprouts his 
timid horn. 

I love to muse o’er meadows newly 
mown, 

Where withering grass perfumes the 
sultry air; 

Where bees search round, with sad 
and weary drone, 

In vain, for flowers that bloomed but 
newly there; 

While in the juicy corn the hidden quail 

Cries, “Wet my foot;” and, hid as 
thoughts unborn, 

The fairy-like and seldom-seen land¬ 
rail 

Utters “Craik, craik,” like voices un¬ 
der ground, 

Right glad to meet the evening’s dewy 
veil, 

And see the light fade into gloom 
around. 





THE CHILD’S MAY SONG. 


501 



THE CHILD’S MAY SONG 


A merry little maiden, 

In the merry month of May, 
Came tripping o’er the meadow, 
As she sang this merry lay:— 


“I’m a merry little maiden, 
My heart is light and gay; 


And I love the sunny 
weather 

In the merry month of 
May. 


“I love the pretty lambkins 
That gayly sport and 
play, 

And make such frolic gam¬ 
bols 

In the merry month of 
May. 


“I love the little birdies 
That sit upon the spray, 
And sing me such a blithe 
song 

In the merry month of 
May. 


“ I love the blooming flowers 
That grow on bank and 
brae, 

And with them weave my 
garlands 

In the merry month of 
May. 

“I love my little sisters 
brothers every day, 

And I seem to love them better 
In the merry month of May.” 


WHAT SO SWEET? 


What so sweet as summer, 

When the sky is blue, 

And the sunbeams’ arrows 

Pierce the green earth through ? 







502 


NATURE’S voice. 



HARVEST HYMN. 


Now Autumn strews on every plain 
His mellow fruits and fertile grain; 
And laughing Plenty crowned with 
sheaves, 

With purple grapes, and spreading 
leaves, 

In rich profusion pours around, 

Her flowing treasures on the ground. 
Oh! mark the great, the liberal hand, 
That scatters blessings o’er the 
land; 

And to the God of Nature raise 
The grateful song, the hymn of 
praise. 


The sounds from every woodland borne, 
The sighing winds that bend the corn, 
The yellow fields around proclaim 
His mighty, everlasting name. 

To Nature’s God united raise 

The grateful song, the hymn of praise. 


A SONG FOR MERRY HARVEST. 

Bring forth the harp, and let us sweep 
its fullest, loudest string; 


The infant corn in vernal hours, 

He nurtured with his gentle 
showers, 

And bade the summer clouds 
diffuse 

Their balmy store of genial 
dews. 

He marked the tender stem arise 

Till ripened by the glowing skies; 

And now, matured, his work 
behold, 

The cheering harvest waves in 
gold. 

To Nature’s God with joy we raise 

The grateful song, the hymn of praise. 


The valleys echo to the strains 
Of blooming maids and village swains; 
To Him they tune the lay sincere, 
Whose bounty crowns the smiling year. 


| The bee below, the bird above, are 
teaching us to sing 

A song for merry harvest; and the 
one who will not bear 
His grateful part, partakes a boon he 
ill deserves to share. 







INDIAN SUMMER. 


503 


The grasshopper is pouring forth his 
quick and trembling notes; 

The laughter of the gleaner’s child, 
the heart’s own music, floats. 

Up ! up ! I say, a roundelay from every 
voice that lives 

Should welcome merry Harvest, and 
bless the hand that gives. 

The buoyant soul that loves the bowl 
may see the dark grapes shine; 

And gems of melting ruby deck the 
ringlets of the vine; 

Who prizes more the foaming ale, 
may gaze upon the plain ; 

And feast his eye with yellow hops 
and sheets of bearded grain. 

The kindly one whose bosom aches to 
see a dog unfed, 

May bend the knees in thanks to see 
the ample promised bread: 

Awake, then, all! ’tis Nature’s call; 
and every voice that lives 

Shall welcome merry Harvest, and 
bless the hand that gives. 

INDIAN SUMMER. 

From gold to gray 
Our mild, sweet day 

Of Indian summer fades too soon; 

But tenderly 
Above the sea 

Hangs, white and calm, the hunter’s 
moon. 


In its pale fire, 

The village spire 

Shows like the zodiac’s spectral lance; 
The painted walls 
Whereon it falls 

Transfigured stand in marble trance ! 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 


NO! 

No sun—no moon ! 

No morn—no noon— 

No dawn—no dust—no proper time of 
day— 

No sky—no earthly view— 

No distance looking blue— 

No road—no street—no “t’other side 
the way”— 

No end to any Row— 

No indications where the Crescents 
go— 

No top to any steeple— 

No recognitions of familiar people— 
No courtesies for showing ’em— 
No knowing ’em! 

No travelling at all—no locomotion, 
No inkling of the way—no notion— 
“No go”—by land or ocean— 

No mail—no post— 

No news from any foreign coast— 
No park—no ring— no afternoon gen¬ 
tility— 

No company—no nobility— 

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no 
healthful ease, 







5°4 


NATURE’S VOICE. 


No comfortable feel in any mem¬ 
ber— 

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no 
bees, 

No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no 
birds, 

November! 

Thomas Hood. 

WINTER SONG. 

Summer joys are o’er; 

Flowerets bloom no more, 

Wintry winds are sweeping; 
Through the snow-drifts peeping, 
Cheerful evergreen 
Rarely now is seen. 

Now no plumed throng 
Charms the wood with song; 
Ice-bound trees are glittering; 
Merry snow-birds twittering, 

Fondly strive to cheer 
Scenes so cold and drear. 

Winter, still I see 
Many charms in thee,— 

Love thy chilly greeting, 
Snow-storms fiercely beating, 

And the dear delights 
Of the long, long nights. 

Ludwig Holty (German). Translation of 
Charles T. Brooks. 

AUTUMN. 

The autumn is old; 

The sear leaves are flying; 

He hath gathered up gold, 


And now he is dying; 

Old age, begin sighing! 

The vintage is ripe; 

The harvest is heaping; 

But some that have sowed 
Have no riches for reaping:— 
Poor wretch, fall a-weeping ! 

The year’s in the wane; 

There is nothing adorning; 

The night has no eve, 

And the day has no morning; 
Cold winter gives warning. 

The rivers run chill; 

The red sun is sinking; 

And I am grown old, 

And life is fast shrinking^; 
Here’s enow for sad thinking ! 

Thomas Hood. 


OLD WINTER IS COMING. 

Old Winter is coming; alack, alack ! 

How icy and cold is he ! 

He’s wrapped to his heels in a snowy- 
white sack, 

The trees he lias laden till ready to 
crack; 

He whistles his trills with a wonderful 
knack, 

For he comes from a cold countree. 

A funny old fellow is Winter, I trow, 

A merry old fellow for glee; 

He paints all the noses a beautiful 
hue, 








OLD WINTER COME AGAIN. 


5°5 


He counts all our fingers, and pinches 
them too; 

Our toes he gets hold of through stock¬ 
ing and shoe, 

For a funny old fellow is he. 

Old Winter is blowing his gusts 
along 

And'merrily shaking the tree ; 

From morning till night he will sing 
us his song, 

Now moaning and short, now boldly 
and long;' 

His voice it is loud, for his lungs are 
so strong, 

And a merry old fellow is he. 

Old winter’s a rough old chap to 
some 

As rough as ever you’ll see. 

“I wither the flowers whenever I come, 

I quiet the brpok that went laughing 
along, 

I drive all the birds off to find a new 
home; 

Fm as rough as rough can be.” 

A cunning old fellow is Winter, they 
say— 

A cunning old fellow is he; 

He peeps in the crevices day by day 

To see how we’re passing our time 
away, 

And mark all our doings from sober 
to gay; 

I’m afraid he is peeping at me ! 


OLD WINTER COME AGAIN. 

I love old blustering winter, 

Though loud its winds may blow; 
I love to chat around the fire, 

Or frolic in the snow. 

Upon the ice, for pastime, 

Early I slide and late; 

And when the ponds are frozen, 

How merrily I skate ! 

I think cold weather is so nice, 

It brings such games upon the ice— 
Skating, sliding, frolic, fun; 

Winter time, make haste and come ! 



THE RAIN, WIND AND SNOW. 

Rain ! rain! April rain ! 

Bring the flowers back again; 

Yellow cowslip and violet blue, 
Buttercups and daisies too. 

Rain! rain ! April rain! 

Bring the flowers back again. 

Wind ! wind! autumn wind ! 

He the leafless trees has thinned; 







nature’s voice. 


5° 6 


Lonclly doth he roar and shout; 

Bar the door and keep him out. 
Wind ! wind ! autumn wind ! 

He the leafless trees has thinned. 

Snow ! snow ! pure, white snow ! 

O’er the fields thy covering strow; 
Cover up the seed so warm, 

Through the winter safe from harm. 
Snow ! snow ! pure, white snow ! 

O’er the fields thy covering strow. 

Rain ! wind ! snow! all three, 

Each in turn shall welcome be; 
Each and all in turn are sent 
On the earth with good intent. 

Rain, wind, snow, all three, 

Each in turn shall welcome be. 

Rhyme and Reason. 


NATURE’S DIAMONDS. 

A million little diamonds 
Twinkle on the trees, 

And all the little maidens said, 

“A jewel, if you please !” 

But while they held their hands out¬ 
stretched, 

To catch the diamonds gay, 

A million little sunbeams came 
And stole them all away. 


THE RAINBOW. 

My heart leaps up when I behold 
A rainbow in the sky; 

•So was it when my life began, 


So is it now I am a man; 

So be it when I shall grow old, 

Or let me die ! 

The Child is father of the man; 

And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety. 

William Wordsworth. 


THE RAINBOW. 

The rainbow, how glorious it is in the 
sky! 

And yet its bright colors are soft to 
the eye; 

There the violet, and blue, and 
bright yellow are seen, 

And orange, and red, and such beau¬ 
tiful green. 

Oh, I wonder what paints the bright 
bow in the sky ! 

See it spreads out so wide, and it 
arches so high; 

But now at one end ’tis beginning to 
fade, 

And now nothing is seen but a cloud’s 
misty shade. 

’Tis God who thus paints the fair 
heavenly bow, 

And sets it on high, His great mercy 
to show; 

He bids men look on it, and call then 
to mind 

His promise once graciously made to 
mankind. 







the frost. 


507 


The sea it may swell and the clouds 
roll on high, 

But God rules the sea and the wild, 
stormy sky; 

And ever again shall the sea its 
bounds know, 

Nor o’er the dry land in a wide del¬ 
uge flow. 

Then, when in the sky is the wide 
spanning bow, 

It shall teach me God’s goodness and 
mercy to know; 

And that glorious God it shall teach 
me to love 

Who his mercy thus paints in such 
colors above. 

Clayton. 


THE FROST. 


The frost looked forth one still, clear 
night, 

And whispered, “Now I shall be out 
of sight; 

So through the valley and over the 
height 

In silence I’ll take my way ; 

I will not go on like that blustering 
train, 

The wind and the snow, the hail and 
the rain, 

Who make so much bustle and noise 
in vain, 

But I’ll be as busy as they.” 


Then he flew to the mountain, and 
powdered its crest; 

He lit on the trees and their boughs 
he dressed 

In diamond beads; and over the 
breast 

Of the quivering lake he spread 

A coat of mail that it need not fear 

The downward point of many a 
spear 

That he hung on its margin far and 
near, 

Where a rock could rear its head. 


THE SNOWFALL. 

Old Winter comes forth in his robe 
of white, 

He sends the sweet flowers far out of 
sight, 

He robs the trees of their green 
leaves quite, 

And freezes the pond and the river; 

He has spoiled the butterfly’s pretty 
vest, 

And ordered the birds not to build 
their nest, 

And banished the frog to a four 
month’s rest, 

And makes all the children shiver. 

Yet he does some good with his icy 
tread, 

For he keeps the corn-seeds warm in 
their bed; 









5 o 8 


nature’s voice. 



He dries up the damp which the rain 
has spread, 

And renders the air more healthy; 

He taught the boys to slide, and he 
flung 

Rich Christmas gifts o’er the old and 
young, 

And when cries for food from the 
poor were wrung, 

He opened the purse of the wealthy. 

We like the Spring with its fine, fresh 
air; 


We like the Summer with flowers so fair 

We like the fruits we in Autumn 
share, 

And we like, too, old Winter’s greet¬ 
ing; 

His touch is cold, but his heart is 
warm; 

So, though he brings to us snow and 
storm, 

We look with a smile on his well- 
known form, 

And ours is a gladsome meeting. 









THE OCEAN. 


509 


THE OCEAN. 

.Roll on, thou deep and dark -blue 
ocean,—roll! 

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee 
in vain; 

Man marks the earth with ruin,—his 
control 

Stops with the shore;—upon the 
watery plain 

The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth 
remain 

A shadow of man’s ravage save his 
own, 

When, for a moment, like a drop of 
rain. 

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling 
groan, 

Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, 
and unknown. 

His steps are not upon thy paths,—thy 
fields 

Are not a spoil for him,—thou dost 
arise 

And shake him from thee; the vile 
strength he wields 

For earth’s destruction thou dost all 
despise, 

Spurning him from thy bosom to the 
skies, 

And send’st him, shrivering in thy 
playful spray 

And howling, to his gods, where haply 
lies 


His petty hope in some near port or 
bay, 

And dashest him again to earth;— 
there let him lay. 

The armaments which thunderstrike 
the walls 

Of rock-built cities, bidding nations 
quake 

And monarchs tremble in their capi¬ 
tals, 

The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs 
make 

Their clay creator the vain title take 

Of lord of thee and arbiter of war,— 

These are thy toys, and, as the snowy 
flake. 

They melt into thy yeast of w r aves, 
which mar 

Alike the Armada’s pride or spoils of 
Trafalgar. 

Thy shores are empires, changed in 
all save thee; 

Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what 
are they ? 

Thy waters washed them power while 
they were free, 

And many a tyrant since; their shores 
obey 

The stranger, slave, or savage; their 
decay 

Has dried up realms to deserts: not 
so thou; 

Unchangeable save to thy wild waves’ 
play, 





nature’s voice. 


5 IQ 


Time writes no wrinkles on thine azure 
brow; 

Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou 
rollest now. 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Al¬ 
mighty’s form 

Glasses itself in tempests; in all 
time, 

Calm or convulsed,—in breeze, or gale, 
or storm, 

Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 

Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and 
sublime, 

The image of Eternity,—the throne 

Of the Invisible! even from out thy 
slime 

The monsters of the deep are made; 
each zone 

Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, 
fathomless, alone. 

And I have loved thee, Ocean! and 
my joy 

Of youthful sports was on thy breast 
to be 

Borne, like thy bubbles, onward; from 
a boy 

I wantoned with thy breakers,—they 
to me 

Were a delight; and if the freshening 
sea 

Made them a terror, ’twas a pleasing 
fear; 

For I was, as it were, a child of 
thee, 


And trusted to thy billows far and 
near, 

And laid my hand upon thy mane,—as 
I do here. 

Lord Byron. 


THE SEA. 

Beautiful, sublime, and glorious; 

Mild, majestic, foaming, free,— 
Over time itself victorious, 

Image of eternity! 

Sun and moon and stars shine o’er 
thee, 

See thy surface ebb and flow, 

Yet attempt not to explore thee 
In thy soundless depths below. 

Whether morning’s splendors steep 
thee 

With the rainbow’s glowing grace, 
Tempests rouse, or navies sweep thee, 
’Tis but for a moment’s space. 

Earth,—her valleys and her moun¬ 
tains, 

Mortal man’s behests obey; 

The unfathomable fountains 

Scoff his search and scorn his sway. 

Such art thou, stupendous ocean! 

But, if overwhelmed by thee, 

Can we think, without emotion, 

What must thy Creator be ? 


Bernard Barton. 







STOP, STOP, PRETTY WATER. 


STOP, STOP, PRETTY WATER. 

“Stop, stop, pretty water!” 

Said Mary one day. 

To a frolicsome brook 
That was running away; 

“You run on so fast! 

I wish you would stay; 

My boat and my flowers 
You will carry away. 

“But I will run after; 

Mother says that I may; 

For I would know where 
You are running away.” 

So Mary ran on 

But I have heard say 
That she never could find 
Where the brook ran away. 

Eliza Follen. 


THE WAVES ON THE SEA¬ 
SHORE. 

Boll on, roll on, you restless waves. 
That toss about and r6ar * 

Why do you run all back again 

When you have reached the shore ? 
Boll on, roll on, you noisy waves, 

Boll higher up the strand; 

How is it that you cannot pass 
That line of yellow sand ? 

Make haste, or else the tide will turn; 

Make haste, you noisy sea; 

Boll quite across the bank, and then 


5 rl 


Far on across the lea. 

“We must not dare,” the waves reply: 

“That line of yellow sand 
Is laid along the shore to bound 
The waters and the land; 

“And all should keep to time and place,. 
And all should keep to rule— 

Both waves upon the sandy shore. 
And little boys at school. 

Thus freely on the sandy beach 
We dash and roll away; 

While you, when study-time is o’er. 
May come with us atid play.” 

Aunt Effie’s Rhymes.. 


IS THE MOON MADE OF GREEN 
CHEESE ? 

“Say, papa, I want you to listen 
So lay down your newspaper 
please; 

Sister Mary has just been a-saying 
That the moon is made out of' 
green cheese. 

“I told her ’twould get awful mouldy; 
And she said there’s a man with a 
hoe 

Who lives there, and scrapes all th& 
mould off; 

But I do not believe it is so.” 

Papa laughed a little at Jennie 

As he stroked down the curls on 
her head; 








5 1 * 


nature’s voice. 


u 


And why now, my dear little daugli- 


NOW THE SUN IS SINKING. 


ter, 

Don’t you trust what your sister 
has said?” 


Now the sun is sinking 
In the golden west; 

Birds and bees and children 



“Because—why, of course she knows 
nothing 

Of the moon, for it’s off very far; 

There’s not any green cheese about it; 

Why, of course not—now is there, 
papa ?” 

“You must not ask me such 
hard questions.” 

Then papa gave Jennie a 
kiss: 

“Now go and find out your¬ 
self Jennie, 

Then come and tell me 
how it is.” 

Then Jennie went right to 
her Bible, 

Where it tells how the world had 
its birth, 

And she read all about the creation, 

How God made the heavens and 
earth. 


And soon she ran laughing to papa, 
And her laughter ran all through 
the house— 

“Oh, papa, there’s no green cheese in 
it, 

For the moon was made before 
cows.” 

Nicholas Nichols. 


All have gone to rest; 
And the merry streamlet, 
As it runs along, 

With -a voice of sweetness 
Sings its evening song. 

Cowslip, daisy, violet, 

In their little beds, 

All among the grasses, 








OH, LOOK AT THE MOON. 


5*3 


Hide their heavy heads; 

There they’ll all, sweet darlings,! 

Lie in happy dreams 
Till the rosy morning 

Wakes them with its beams. 


OH, LOOK AT THE MOON! 

Oh, look at the moon! 

She is shining np there; 
Oh, mother, she looks 
Like a lamp in the air! 



Last week she was smaller, 
And shaped like a bow; 
But now she’s grown bigger, 
And round as an 0. 


Pretty moon, pretty moon, 

How you shine on the door, 

And make it all bright 
On my nursery floor l 

You shine on my playthings, 

And show me their place; 

And I love to look up 

At your pretty bright face. 

And there is a star 

Close by you, and may be 

That small twinkling star 
Is your little baby. 

Eliza Follen. 

SONG OF THE BROOK. 

I come from haunts of coot and hern: 
I make a sudden sally, 

And sparkle out among the fern, 

To bicker down a valley. 

By thirty hills I hurry down, 

Or slip between the ridges; 

By twenty thorps, a little town, 

And half a hundred bridges. 

Till last by Philip’s farm I flow 
To join the brimming river; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

I chatter over stony ways, 

In little sharps'and trebles; 

I bubble into eddying bays, 

I babble on the pebbles. 






5 H 


nature’s voice. 


With many a curve my banks I fret 
By many a field and fallow, 

And many a fairy foreland set 
With willow-weed and mallow. 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
To join the brimming river; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

I wind about, and in and out, 

With here a blossom sailing, 

And here and there a lusty trout, 

And here and there a grayling. 

And here and there a foamy flake 
Upon me, as I travel, 


With many a silvery waterbreak 
Above the golden gravel; 



And draw them all along, and flow 
To join the brimming river; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 


I steal by lawns and grassy plots; 

I slide by hazel covers; 

I move the sweet forget-me-nots 
That grow for happy lovers. 

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 
Among my skimming swallows, 

I make the netted sunbeams dance 
Against my sandy shallows. 



I murmur under moon and stars 


In brambly wildernesses; 

I linger by my shingly bars; 

I loiter round my cresses; 

And out again I curve and flow 
To join the brimming river; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

Alfred Tennyson. 


THE BROOK. 

A little brook went surging 
O’er golden sands along, 

And as I listened to it 
It whispered in its song. 

“Beneath the steady mountain, ” 
I thought I- heard it say, 










THE BROOK. 

515 




































































NATURE S VOICE. 


5^ 


“My crystal waters started 
Upon their winding way. 

“I fondly hoped that flowers 
Would bloom upon each side, 

And sunshine always cheer me 
Wherever I might glide. 

“Through grassy meadows flowing, 
And birds on every tree, 

I hoped that each hour passing 
Would pleasure bring to me. 

“But hopes once bright have perished; 
But rarely have I seen 

The lovely birds and flowers, 

The meadows soft and green. 

“Through barren heaths and lonely 
My way has often led, 

Where golden sunshine never 
Has cheered my gloomy bed. 

“O’er rocks I’ve had to travel, 

O’er precipices steep 

I onward have been driven, 

And madly made to leap. 

“The winds have sighed around me, 
The clouds in darkness hung, 

And sadness has been mingled 
With music I have sung. 

“But still, wherever running, 

My life has not been vain; 

I’ve helped to grow the forests 
That wave across the plain. 

“The forests build the cities, 

And ships that sail the sea, 


And the mighty forests gather 
Their nourishment from me. 

“So onward ! onward ever! 

With singing I will go, 

However dark and dreary 

The scenes through which I flow.”' 

A higher law than pleasure 
Should guide me in my way; 

Thus ’mid the rocks and forests 
Comes music every day. 


CHARLEY AND HIS FATHER. 

The birds are flown away, 

The flowers are dead and gone, 

The clouds look cold and gray 
Around the setting sun. 

The trees with solemn sighs 
Their naked branches swing; 

The winter winds arise, 

And mournfully they sing. 

Upon his father’s knee 

Was Charley’s happy place, 

And very thoughtfully 
He looked up in his face; 

And these his simple words : 

“Father, how cold it blows ! 

What ’comes of all the birds 
Amidst the storms and snows ?” 

“They fly far, far away 

From storms, and snows, and rain ; 

But, Charley dear, next May 
They’ll all come back again.” 






THE RIVER. 


517 


'“And will my flowers come too ?” 

The little fellow said, 

“And all be bright and new 

That now looks cold and dead?” 

“Oh yes, dear; in the spring 
The flowers will all revive, 

The birds return and sing, 

And all be made alive.” 

“Who shows the birds the way, 
Father, that they must go, 

And brings them back in May, 
When there is no more snow ? 


“Father, when people die, 

Will they come back in May?” 
Tears were in Charley’s eye : 
“Will they, dear father, say?” 

“No, they will never come; 

We go to them, my boy, 

There in our heavenly home 
To meet in endless joy.” 

Upon his father’s knee 

Still Charley kept his place, 
And very thoughtfully 
He looked up in his face. 



“And when no flower is seen 
Upon the hill and plain, 

Who’ll make it all so green, 

And bring the flowers again ?” 

“ My son, there is a Power 
That none of us can see, 

Takes care of every flower, 

Gives life to every tree. 

"‘He, through the pathless air, 
Shows little birds their way; 

And we, too, are His care— 

He guards us day by day.” 


THE RIVER. 

0 grandly flowing River! 

0 silver-gliding River! 

Thy springing willows shiver 
In the sunset -as of old; 

They shiver in the silence 
Of the willow-whitened islands, 

While the sun-bars and the sand-bars 
Fill air and wave with gold. 

0 gray, oblivious River! 

0 sunset-kindled River! 














nature’s voice. 


518 


Do you remember ever 
The eyes and skies so blue 
On a summer day that shone here, 
When we were all alone here, 

And the blue eyes were too wise 
To speak the love they knew? 

0 stern, impassive River! 

0 still unanswering River! 

The shivering willows quiver 

As the night-winds moan and rave. 
From the past a voice is calling, 

From Heaven a star is falling, 

And dew swells in the bluebells 
Above the hillside grave. 

John Hay. 


BOY’S SONG. 

Where the pools are bright and deep, 
Where the gray trout lies asleep, 

Up the river and over the lea, 

That’s the way for Billy and me. 


Where the blackbird sings the latest, 
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweet¬ 
est, 

Where the nestlings chirp and flee, 
That’s the way for Billy and me. 

Where the hazel-bank is steepest, 
Where the shadow falls the deepest. 
Where the clustering nuts fall 
free, 

That’s the way for Billy and me. 

Why the boys should drive away 
Little sweet maidens from the play, 
Or love to banter and fight so well, 
That’s the thing I never could tell. 

But this I know, I love to play 
Through the meadow, among the 
hay, 

Up the water and over the lea; 

That’s the way for Billy and me. 

James Hogg. 






Religion 

and 


Anniversaries. 


. 




' 











,1 



















































































































































































































































RELIGION and ANNIVERSARIES 


WHAT GOD SEES. 

When the winter snow-flakes fall, 
God in heaven can count them all; 
When the stars are shining bright, 
Out upon a frosty night, 

God can tell them all the same, 
God can give each star its name. 

God in heaven can also see 
Children in their play agree, 

Never rude, or cross, or wild, 
Always kind, forbearing, mild. 
Angels from their homes of light 
Gladly look on such a sight. 


THE EYES OF THE ANGELS. 

A little girl was disappointed when her mother 
told her what the stars were. She said, “I thought 
they were the eyes of the angels.” 

“Mother, what are those little things 
That twinkle from the skies ?” 

“The stars, my child.”—I thought, 
mother, 

They were the angels’ eyes. 

“They look down on me so like yours, 
As beautiful and mild, 

When by my crib you used to sit, 

And watch your feverish child. 


“And, always, when I shut my eyes, 
And said my little prayers, 



I felt so safe, because I knew 
That they had opened theirs.” 

Geobge Washington Doane. 


JESUS SEES YOU. 

Little child, when you’re at play 
Do you know that Jesus sees 
you ? 

He it is who made the day, 

Sunshine, birds, and flowers, to 
please you. 

Oh then thank Him much, and pray 
To be grateful every day. 


521 









522 


religion and anniversaries. 


Little child, when you’re afraid, 

Do you know that Christ is by you ? 
Seek His care then! He has said, 
“Ask, and I will not deny you.” 
And He never fails to hear; 

He will keep you—do not fear. 

Little child, when you are bad, 

Do you think that Jesus knows it? 
Yes ! and oh, it makes him glad 
When you’re sorry and disclose it. 
Oh, then, tell Him quick, and pray 
To grow better every day. 


PRAYER FOR A LITTLE CHILD. 

Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, 

Look upon a little child ; 

Pity my simplicity, 

Suffer me to come to Thee. 

Fain I would to Thee be brought; 
Gracious God, forbid it not: 

In the kingdom of Thy grace 
Give a little child a place. 

Oh, supply my every want, 

Feed the young and tender plant; 
Day and night my keeper be, 

Every moment watch o’er me. 

NEVER FORGET TO PRAY. 

Never, my child, forget to pray, 
Whate’er the business of the day. 

If happy dreams have blessed thy 
sleep, 


If startling fears have made thee 
weep, 

With holy thoughts begin the day, 

And ne’er my child, forget to pray. 

The time will come when thou wilt 
miss 

A father’s and a mother’s kiss, 

And then my child, perchance thou’lt 
see 

Some who in prayer ne’er bend the 
knee; 

From such examples turn away, 

And ne’er, my child forget to pray. 


CHILD’S MORNING PRAYER. 

Tune—'Home Sweet Home.” 

Our Father in Heaven 
We hallow thy name ! 

May thy Kingdom holy 
On earth be the same. 

Oh! give to us daily, 

Our portion of bread, 

It is from Thy bounty 
That all must be fed. 

Forgive our transgressions 
And teach us to know 

That humble compassion 
Which pardons each foe.; 

Keep us from temptation, 

From weakness and sin, 

And Thine be the glory, 

Forever—Amen. 

Sarah J. Hale. 








EVENING PRAYER FOR A YOUNG CHILD. 


523 


EVENING PRAYER FOR A YOUNG 
CHILD. 

Now I lay me down to sleep; 

1 pray the Lord my soul to keep; 

If I should die before I wake, 

I pray the Lord my soul to take; 

And this I beg for Jesus’ sake. 


THE UNFINISHED PRAYER. 

“Now I lay”—repeat it, darling— 
“Lay me,” lisped the tiny lips 


Of my daughter, kneeling, bending 
O’er her folded finger-tips. 


“Down to sleep;” “To sleep,” she 
murmured, 

And the curly head bent low; 

“I pray the Lord” I gently added; 
“You can say it all, I know.” 

“Pray the Lord”—the sound came 
faintly, 

Fainter still, “My soul to keep;” 
Then the tired head fairly nodded, 
And the child was fast sleep. 

But the dewy eyes half opened 

When I clasped her to my breast* 
And the dear voice softly whispered, 
“Mamma, God knows all the rest.” 


A CHILD’S EVENING PRAYER. 

The following simple and beautiful lines were 
composed by the great poet named below for the 
use of his little girl. 

Ere on my bed my limbs I lay, 

God grant me grace my prayers to 
say. 

0 God, preserve my mother dear 
In strength and health for many a 
year; 

And oh ! preserve my father too, 

And may I pay him reverence due— 
And may I my best thoughts employ 
To be my parents’ hope and joy. 

And oh ! preserve my brothers both 
From evil doings and from sloth; 

And may we always love each other* 
Our friends, our father and our 
mother. 










524 


RELIGION AND ANNIVERSARIES. 


And still, 0 Lord, to me impart 
An innocent and grateful heart, 
That after my last sleep I may 
Awake to Thy eternal day! Amen. 

£amuel Taylor Coleridge. 


GOOD NIGHT. 

‘‘Good-night, dear mamma,” a little 
girl said, 

“I’m going to sleep in my trundle- 
bed ; 


“Good-night, little darling,” her fond 
mother said; 

“But remember, before you lie down 
in your bed, 

With a heart full of love, and a tone 
soft and mild, 

To breathe a short prayer to Heaven, 
dear child.” 

“Oh yes, dear mother!” said the 
child, with a nod, 

“I love, oh, I love to say good-night 
to God!” 



Kneeling down, “My 
father in heaven,” 
she said, 

“I thank Thee for giv¬ 
ing me this nice lit¬ 
tle bed; 

For though mamma 
told me she bought 
it for me, 

She says that every¬ 
thing good comes 
from Thee; 

I thank Thee for keep¬ 
ing me safe through 
the day; 

I thank Thee for 
teaching me, too, 
how to pray;” 

Then bending her 
sweet little head 
with a nod, 

Good-night, dear papa, little brother “Good-night, my dear Father, my 
and sis !” Maker, and God; 

And to each one the innocent gave a Should I never again on earth open 
sweet kiss. mine eyes, 



















THE TEN COMMANDMENTS. 


525 


“I pray Thee to give me a home in 
the skies!” 

’Twas an exquisitive sight as she 
meekly knelt there, 

With her eyes raised to heaven, her 
hands clasped in prayer; 

And I thought of the time when the 
Saviour, in love, 

Said, “Of such is the kingdom of 
heaven above 

And I inwardly prayed that my own 
heart the while 

Might be cleansed of its bitterness, 
freed from its guile. 

Then she crept into bed that beauti¬ 
ful child, 

And was soon lost in slumber, so 
calm and so mild 

That we listened in vain for the sound 
of her breath 

As she lay in the arms of the emblem 
of death. 


THE TEN COMMANDMENTS. 

EXOD. CHAP. XX. 

1. Thou shalt have no more gods but 
me; 

2. Before no idol bow thy knee. 

3. Take not the name of God in vain. 

4. Nor dare the Sabbath-day profane. 

5. Give both thy parents honor due. 

6. Take heed that thou no murder do. 

7. Abstain from words and deeds un¬ 
clean. 


8. Nor steal, though thou art poor 
and mean, 

9. Nor make a wilful lie, nor love it. 

10. What is thy neighbor’s, do not 

covet. * 


SOME BIBLE “B’S.” 

“B strong in the Lord.” 

“B gentle unto all men.” 

‘ B quiet and do your own business.” 
“B glad and rejoice, for the Lord 
will do great things.” 

“B kind one to another.” 

“B merciful, even as your Father 
also is merciful.” 

“B contented with such things as 
you have.” 

“B wise ; B instructed.” 

“B sure your sin will find you 
out.” 

“B sober.” “Bdiligent.” “Bready.” 
“B perfect.” “B steadfast.” 

“B faithful unto death, and I will 
give thee a crown of life. 

A CHILD’S THOUGHT OF GOD. 

They say that God lives very high; 

But if you look above the pines 
You cannot see our God; and why ? 

And if you dig down in the mines, 
You never see Him in the gold, 
Though from Him all that’s glory 
shines. 







526 


RELIGION AND ANNIVERSARIES. 


Gocl is so good, He wears a fold 
Of heaven and earth across His face, 

Like secrets kept for love untold. 

But still I feel that His embrace 
Slides down by thrills through all 
things made, 

Through sight and sound of every 
place; 

As if my tender mother laid 

On my shut lips her kisses’ pres¬ 
sure, 

Half waking me at night, and said, 
“Who kissed you through the dark, 
dear guesser ?” 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 


NEW YEAR’S COMING. 

Tune—“IFe&b.” 

0 boys! the New Year’s coming, 

The time when folks begin 
To make a cleaner record 
By leaving off each sin. 

We’d better all get ready, 

And make a brand-new start 
To drive out every error 

And blemish from each heart. 

Let’s save our spending-money 
For books and useful things, 

Not waste it in such foolish trash 
As balls, and toys, and rings. 
Economy is learned in youth; 

The thoughts we have to-day 
Take root and strengthen with our 
strength, 

And follow all the way. 


No one ofus, I’m very sure, 

Would touch a drop of drink, 

Not one would touch a cigarette— 
We’re all right there, I think. 

But we will strengthen others, 

And lead them in the right; 

And now clasp hands, my boys, upon 
Resolves we’ve made to-night. 

* Ella Wheeler. 


ANOTHER YEAR IS DAWNING. 

Another year is dawning! 

Dear Master, let it be, 

In working or in waiting, 

Another year with Thee. 

Another year in leaning 
Upon Thy loving breast, 

Of ever-deepening trustfulness, 

Of quiet, happy rest. 

Another year of mercies, 

Of faithfulness and grace; 

Another year of gladness, 

In the shining of Thy face. 

Another year of progress, 

Another year of praise; 

Another year of proving 

Thy presence “all the days.” 

Another year of service, 

Of witness for Thy love; 

Another year of training 
For holier works above. 

Another year is dawning! 

Dear Master, let it be 

On earth, or else in heaven, 

Another year for thee ! 

Frances R. Hayergal. 







CHRISTMAS EVE. 


527 


CHRISTMAS EYE. 

Shine, gentle stars, to-night, 
With pure and tender light! 

And wintry winds, lie low: 

Let softer breezes blow! 

And moonbeams trembling on the air, 
Glitter with sheen most wondrous fair, 
For this is Christmas eve. 

Blaze, faggots, on the hearth; 
And children, shout with mirth; 
And let the song go round 
With merry, joyful sound; 

While gentle hands the gifts display, 
Which wait the dawn of Christmas day, 
For this is Christmas eve. 

Ring, ring, ye silver bells, 

Till all the deepest wells 
Of melody break forth 
And roll from South to North ; 
Ring till each grand cathedral aisle 
Resounds with sweetest chimes the 
while, 

For this is Christmas eve. 

Bow down, our hearts in love 
To Him who from above 
Found to our world His way, 
And in a manger lay; 

While angels sang of peace on earth, 
To crown with joy His hours of birth. 
Aye ! this is Christmas eve. 

Forget ye not the poor, 

Who stand outside your door, 

Or shiver at the gate 


Where no warm welcomes wait; 
But, like the Saviour, fly with speed 
To scatter gifts where there is need, 
Aye! this is Christmas eve. 

Emily Putnam Williams. 


BENNY. • 

I had told him Christmas morning, 
As he sat upon my knee, 

Holding fast his little stockings, 
Stuffed as full as full could be, 

And attentive, listening to me, 

With a face demure and mild, 

That old Santa Claus, who filled them, 
Did not love a naughty child. 

“But we’ll be good, won’t we, Moder ?” 

And from off my lap he slid, 
Digging deep among the goodies 
In his crimson stockings hid, 

While I turned me to my table, 
Where a tempting goblet stood, 
With a dainty drink brimmed over, 
Sent me by a neighbor good. 

But the kitten, there before me, 

With his white paw, nothing loth, 
Sat by way of entertainment, 
Slapping off the shining froth; 

And in not the gentlest humor 
At the loss of such a treat, 

I confess, I rather rudely 

Thrust him out into the street. 

Then how Benny’s blue eyes kindled! 

Gathering up the precious store, 
He had busily been pouring 





528 


RELIGION AND ANNIVERSARIES. 


In his tiny pinafore. 

With a generous look that shamed me, 
Sprang he from the carpet bright, 
Showing by his mein indignant 
All a baby’s sense of right. 

“Comeback, Harney,” called he loudly, 
As he held his apron white, 

“You sail have my candy wabbit!” 

But the door was fastened tight; 

So he stood, abashed and silent, 

In the centre of the floor, 

With defeated look alternate 
Bent on me and on the door. 

Then, as by some sudden impulse, 
Quickly ran he to the fire, 

And while eagerly his bright eyes 
Watched the flames go high and 
higher, 

In a brave, clear key, he shouted, 
Like some lordly little elf, 

“Santa Kaus, come down de chimney, 
Make my moder ’have herself!” 

“I will be a good girl, Benny,” 

Said I, feeling the reproof; 

And straightway recalled poor Harney 
Mewing on the gallery roof. 

Soon the anger was forgotten, 

Laughter chased away the frown, 
And they gambolled ’neath the live- 
oaks 

Till the dusky night came down. 

In my dim, fire-lighted chamber, 
Harney purred beneath my chair, 
And my play-worn boy beside me, 


Knelt to say his evening prayer: 
“God bess fader, God bess moder, 
God bess sister”—then a pause, 
And the sweet young lips devoutly 
Murmured—, “God bess Santa 
Kaus.” 

He is sleeping; brown and silken 
Lie the lashes, long and meek, 

Like caressing, clinging shadows 
On his plump and peachy cheek; 
And I bend above him weeping 
Thankful tears, Oh Undefiled! 

For a woman’s crown of glory, 

For the blessing of a child. 


HANGING THE STOCKINGS. 

Three little worsted stockings hang¬ 
ing all in a row, 

And I have patched two scarlet heels, 
and darned a crimson toe. 

Over the eyes of azure, over the eyes 
of brown, 

Seemed as though the eyelids could 
never be coaxed down. 

I sang for a good long hour before 
they were shut quite tight; 

For to-morrow will be Christmas, and 
St. Nick comes to-night; 

We laughed as we dropped the can¬ 
dies into heel and toe, 

For not one little stocking was miss¬ 
ing from the row. 





THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY, 1622. 


529 


And when our work was ended, we 
stood a little apart, 

Silently praying the Father to soothe 
that mother’s heart 
Who looks on her unworn stockings 
amid her falling tears, 

Whose darling is keeping Christmas 
in Christ’s eternal years. 


THE FIRST THANKSGIVING 
DAY, 1622. 

4 ‘And now,” said the governor, gaz¬ 
ing abroad o’er neatly piled-up 
store 

Of the sheaves that dotted the clear¬ 
ings, and covered the meadows 
o’er, 

“’Tis meet that we render praise be¬ 
cause of this yield of grain; 

’Tis meet that the Lord of the harvest 
be thanked for his sun and rain. 

“And therefore, I, William Bradford, 
(by the grace of God to-day, 

And the franchise of this good peo¬ 
ple) governor, of Plymouth, say— 

Through virtue of vested power—ye 
shall gather with one accord, 

And hold, in the month of November, 
thanksgiving unto the Lord. 

“He hath granted us peace and 
plenty, and the quiet we’ve 
sought so long; 


He hath thwarted the wily savage, 
and kept him from doing us 
wrong; 

And unto our feast the sachem shall 
be bidden, that he may know 

We worship his own Great Spirit who 
maketh the harvest grow. 

“So shoulder your matchlocks, mas¬ 
ters ; there is hunting of all de¬ 
grees ; 

And, fishermen, take your tackle, and 
scour for spoil the seas; 

And maidens and dames of Plymouth, 
your delicate crafts employ 

To honor our first Thanksgiving, 
and make it a feast of joy! 

“We fail of the fruits and dainties so 
close to our hand in Devon; 

Ah! they are the lightest losses we 
suffer for sake of Heaven! 

But see in our open clearing, how 
golden the melons lie; 

Enrich them with sweets and spices, 
and give us the pumpkin pie! ” 

So, bravely the preparations went on 
for the autumn feast; 

The deer and the bear were slaughtered; 
wild game from the greatest to 
least 

Was heaped in the colony cabins- 
brown homebrew served for wine; 

And the plum and the grape of the 
forest, for orange and peach and 
pine. 








530 


RELIGION AND ANNIVERSARIES. 


At length came the day appointed, 
the snow had begun to fall, 

But the clang from the meeting-house 
belfry rang merrily out for all, 
And summoned the folk of Plymouth, 
who hastened with glad accord 
To listen to Elder Brewster as he fer¬ 
vently thanked the Lord. 

In his seat sat Governor Bradford; 

men, matrons and maidens fair; 
Miles Standish and his soldiers, with 
corslet and sword were there; 
And sobbing and tears and gladness 
had each in its turn the sway, 
For the grave of the sweet Bose Stand¬ 
ish o’ershadowed Thanksgiving 
day. 

And when Massasoit, the sachem, sat 
down with his hundred braves, 
And ate of the varied riches of garden 
and woods and waves, 

And looked on the granaried harvest— 
with a blow on his brawny chest, 
He muttered, “The good, Great Spirit 
loves his white children best! ” 

And then, as the feast was ended, 
with gravely official air, 

The governor drew his broad sword 
from out of its scabbard there, 
And smiting the trencher near him, 
he cried in a heroic way, 

“Hail, Pie of the pumpkin! I dub 
thee Prince of Thanksgiving 
day!” 


CLUSTER OF EASTER LILIES. 

“I’ll carry lilies,” sweet Elsie said, 
Tossing the curls of her flaxen head, 
Lifting her eyes of winsomest blue, 
“I’ll carry lilies, mamma, for you.” 

The Easter-tide was children’s day, 
And about the altar they held sway, 
With their pearly clusters of Easter 
bloom 

To herald the victory over the tomb. 

Sweet Elsie had heard the story old 
Of the angels bright and the stone 
that rolled 

Away at their bidding; of the Christ 
who came 

And called the little ones all by name. 

And close she sat by her mother’s feet, 
Holding her cluster of lilies sweet, 
While the minister prayed for the 
children dear, 

Calling each name, so soft and clear. 

As Elsie looked at the face so mild, 
With the innocent love of a little 
child, 

A sunbeam strayed to his snow-white 
hair, 

And left a golden radiance there. 

Pure was the brow, and light was the 
eye, 

As the summer cloudlets floating by; 
And the voice with gathering sweet¬ 
ness fell, 

Like the far away tones of a silvery bell. 





By Permission. 


A CLUSTER OF EASTER LILIES. 


531 


















532 


RELIGION AND ANNIVERSARIES. 


A heavenly thought to Elsie came, 

As he called the children all by name : 

“Mamma, it is Jesus!” and the lilies 
fair 

Shadowed the gold of her sunny hair. 

Oh, cluster of lilies, divinely sweet! 

So iit at the altar place to meet! 

The saint whose life was a prayer to 
God, 

The lilies that sprang from the dark¬ 
some sod. 

The child whose soul was a mirror 
bright, 

Where the angels wrote in lines of 
light, 

The dearest words to mortals given: 

“Of such, of such, is the Kingdom of 
Heaven!” 

Esther T. Housh. 


DECORATION DAY. 

Down in the evergreen valley of 
Peace, 

Waiting the hour when earth’s war¬ 
fare shall cease, 

Waiting in silence, nor weary, nor 
worn, 

Rest the brave heroes our loyal hearts 
mourn. 

Come with bright garlands sweet- 
scented and rare, 

Cover these mounds while you whis¬ 
per a prayer 


For the dear friends who know not 
where they lie 

Resting to-day ’neath the clear vault¬ 
ed sky; 

Over these hearts once so fervent and 
true, 

Scatter sweet roses, and violets blue; 

Never a flower for their graves was 
too fair, 

Twining them lovingly—drape them 
with care. 

When the first battle-call thrilled 
through the land, 

When every heart by the shock was 
unmanned; 

All else forgotten, their country to 
save, 

Firmly they marched to the brink of 
the grave; 

Heedless of danger, of shot and of 
shell; 

Now they are sleeping where bravely 
they fell; 

Sweet rest, sweet rest crowneth each 
martyred brow. 

Birds of the woodland, your joyous 
notes raise, 

Singing your beautiful songs to their 
praise. 

Flag of the Nation they died to up¬ 
hold, 

Wave in their honor your every bright 
fold! 

Stars of the firmament, shining on 
high, . 





CHILDREN’S EASTER. 


533 


Bend to these heroes whose deeds 
cannot die! 

Many the loved ones who mourn them 
to-day, 

Poor, childless mothers grown wrink¬ 
led and gray, 

Hearts that still listen their voices to 
hear, 

Eyes that have watched for them year 
after year. 

When we all meet at the judgment of 
souls, 

When the great scroll of God’s record 
unrolls, 

Their’s shall be written in letters of 
gold 

High with the names of the heroes of 
old. 

Come with bright blossoms that grew 
in the wild-wood, 

Wreathe for them roses, sweet roses, 
and lilies, 

Fair lilies they loved in their child¬ 
hood; 

Deck them with roses, with violets 
blue, 

Sure their reward, for Jehovah is true. 

Miss M. E. Seevoss. 


CHILDREN'S EASTER 

Breaks the joyful Easter dawn, 
Clearer yet, and stronger; 
Winter from the world has gone; 
Death shall be no longer. 


Far away good angels drive 
Night and sin and sadness; 

Earth awakes in smiles, alive 
With her dear Lord’s gladness. 

Rousing them from dreary hours 
Under snowdrifts chilly, 

In His hand He brings the flowers, 
Brings the rose and lily. 

Every little buried bud 
Into life He raises; 

Every wild flower of the wood 
Chants the dear Lord’s praises. 

Open, happy buds of spring, 

For the sun has risen! 

Through the sky sweet voices ring, 
Calling you from prison. 

Little children, dear, look up! 
Towards His brightness pressing, 

Lift up every heart, a cup 
For the dear Lord’s blessing! 

Lucy Laecom. 


EASTER MORNING. 

Let joy bells be ringing! 

All nature upspringing, 

Feels new life through every 
vein; 

For Christ has arisen, 

Has broken death’s prison, 

On earth He will evermore reign! 

Come, children, bring showers 
Of loveliest flowers! 









534 


RELIGION AND ANNIVERSARIES. 


No offering for Easter more sweet; 
With grateful adoring, 

And humble imploring, 

Oh! cast them at Jesus’ dear feet! 

Fanny E. Newberry. 


THE FIRST BIRTHDAY. 

One little year with its changeful 
hours, 

Blossoming meadows and wintry 
showers, 

Shadow and sun. 

Shadow and sun, and rain and snow; 

Morning splendor and evening glow; 

The flying minutes,—liow fast they 
go!— 

And the little year is done. 

What has it brought to the baby, pray— 


The princess who holds our hearts in 
sway? 

A queenlier air, 

A merrier laugh from lips and eyes, 

A deeper frown of grave surprise, 

A hundred ways that prove her wise, 
And sweet as she is fair. 

Kiss her once for the year that is 
done, 

And once for the year that is just 
begun, 

And softly sing,— 

“The years that are coming so fast— 
so fast— 

Each brighter and happier be than 
the last; 

And every hour that goes hurrying past, 
New gifts to our baby bring!” 

Margaret Johnson. 






Milton Bradley Cos 

Kindergarten Materials. 


A FULL LIKE COMPRISING, IN PART, 

Freshens First , Second , Third Fourth , Fifth and Sixth Gifts; 
Seventh Gift Parquetry and Tablets; Sticks for Stick Bay¬ 
ing , Assorted Lengths and Colors; New Dotted Draw¬ 
ing Paber and Dotted Drawing Books; Embroidery 
Design Cards; Assorted Colored Papers for 
Folding , Cutting , Weaving and Interlacing; 
and a large list of articles that are used 
for “Busy Work ” z’/z Primary 
Schools. Also ) Kindergarten 
Tables , Chairs and Black¬ 
boards. Address , 


THOMAS CHARLES, 

Western 4gent, 

75 AND 77 WABASH AVENUE, 
CHICAGO, ILL. 


MILTON BRADLEY CO. 

Springfield, Mass. 



Kindergarten Books. 


Paradise of Childhood. By Edward Wiebe. Illustrated. Paper, $1.50. Cloth... $2.00 


A Complete Guide to the Kindergarten Work. 

Songs, Games and Rhymes. By Mrs. W. N. Hailman. Paper. 1.25 

“ “ “ “ “ “ Cloth. 1.75 

Songs for Little Children. By Eleanor Smith. Paper..90 

“ “ “ “ “ Cloth.. 1.30 

A Kindergartener’s Manual of Drawing. By N. Moore. Paper. ... .50 

The Kindergarten and the School. By Four Active Workers... 1.00 

Memoir of Froebel. 1.25 

Reminiscences of Froebel. 1.50 

Kindergarten Culture in the Family and Kindergarten. By W. N. Hailman.75 

Primary Methods and Kindergarten Instruction. By W. N. Hailman. 75 

Froebel’s Education of Man. Translated by W. N. Hailman. 1.50 

The Kindergarten Guide. By Maria Kraus Boelte and John Kraus. Paper 2.00 

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ Cloth. 2.75 

Mother Play and Nursery Songs. 2.00 

Merry Songs and Games. By Clara Beeson Hubbard. 2.00 

Kindergarten Chimes. By Kate Douglas Wiggin. Boards. 1.00 

Cloth. 1.50 

National Kindergarten Songs and Plays. By Louisa Pollock..50 

Conscious Motherhood. By Emma Marwedel. 1 65 

The Child. By H. Kriege. Cloth. 1.00 

Kindergarten and Child Culture. By Dr, Henry Barnard. Cloth. 3.50 

Rhymes and Tales for the Kindergarten and Nursery. Collected by Alma L. 

Kriege. Cloth. 1.00 

Songs for Little Folks in the Home and in the School. By Crafts and Merrill. 35 

Little Pilgrims Songs. By Crafts and Merrill. 35 

135 Kindergarten Songs and Games. By Berry and Michaelis. Cloth. 75 

Plays for the Kindergarten. By Henrietta Noa. Paper. 30 

The Little Diadem, or Little Songs for Little Singers. ByWrn. Tillinghast. Flex¬ 
ible Covers. 25 

Calisthenic Songs. By Flora L. Parsons. 35 

Cheerful Echoes. A New Collection. By Louise Pollock. .59 


THOMAS CHARLES, 

Western Agent, 

75 AND 77 WABASH AVENUE, 
CHICAGO, ILL. 


MILTON BRADMY CO. 

Springfield, Mass. 



































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