Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

N.B.--Any little girl is invited to walk, run, jump, dance, skip, hop, swim, fly, or come into Cole's Book Arcade in any way she chooses, the same as the Forty Little School Girls.

Story Of The Funny Monkeys

Once there was a funny old monkey--and this old monkey had six young monkeys. There was one white monkey, and one black monkey, and one yellow monkey, and one red monkey, and one blue monkey, and one green monkey; and the white monkey's name was Linda, and the black monkey's name was Eddie, and the yellow monkey's name was Vally, and the red monkey's name was Ruby, and the blue monkey's name was Pearl, and the green Monkey's name was Ivy Diamond. And the white monkey liked apples, and the black monkey liked grapes, and the yellow monkey liked cherries, and the red monkey liked strawberries, and the blue monkey liked oranges, and the green monkey liked nuts, and that's all about these FUNNY MONKEYS. The names of any children can be told in this story instead of Linda, Eddie, Vally, Ruby, Pearl, and Diamond.

[Page 22--Girl Land]

Tangle Pate

There was a girl, named tanglepate,
She lived--I won't say where--
Who was not willing any one
Should comb or curl her hair.

She cried and made a dreadful fuss,
At morning, noon, or night,
And did not seem at all ashamed
Of looking like a fright.

Her hair stood out around her head
Just like a lion's mane,
And she was scolded, coaxed, and teased
About it--but in vain.

It caught on buttons, hooks, and boughs
As here and there she rushed,
And yet she would not consent
To have it combed or brushed.

And so she fell asleep one day
Within the woods, and there
Two birdies came and built a nest
Amid her tangled hair.

A Careless Girl

I know a very careless girl,
Her hair is always out of curl,
In rags and tatters are her clothes,
And she's a fright, you may suppose.

Her skirts she catches on a nail,
And leaves behind and ugly trail;
Her sashes always are untied,
Her dresses always gaping wide.

'Tis her delight to tear and rend,
She does not like to patch or mend,
And 'tis no wonder that she goes
So out at elbows and at toes.

Naughty Girl

The naughty girl
Never minds mamma,
Always says, "I won't!"
To dear papa!
Makes a great deal of noise
About the house.
When her mother wants her
As still as a mouse.

She pinches the cat,
She pulls her tail;
And takes the bird-cage
Down from the nail;
Teases her brothers,
And spoils her hair,
And reproved says,
"I don't care!"

She worries poor grandma,
Makes baby cry;
She cannot please him,
And I know why:--
She lets him lie
In the crib and moan,
While she is amusing
Herself alone.

At school she forgets
What the teacher said,
Sits idly leaning her hands
On her head;
She never learns
The task that's given,
And cannot tell even
Seven times seven.

At table she's careless,
And spills her drink,
Can never be taught
To "stop and think;"
Gets down from the table
And goes to play,
To do the same over
Another day.

Mopy Maria

Mopy Maria
Would sit by the fire,
It seemed to be
Her greatest desire;
Bent and bowed
As if wrapped in a shroud,
And her face as black
As a thunder-cloud.

She filled the room
So full of gloom,
The place was as
Dismal as a tomb;
And few would admire
Her, or desire
To spend much time
With Mopy Maria,

She moped and pined
Yet no-one could find
That any trouble
Disturbed her mind;
Nor reasons good
Why she should brood
An such a
Ridiculous attitude.

It wasn't her style
To laugh and smile
She didn't think
It was worth her while;
So dull and flat
She daily sat
Like a Chinese idol,
Or worse than that,

If the children came
To propose a game
Of any sort,
It was all the same;
She wouldn't play,
She wouldn't be gay,
But sat and pouted
The livelong day.

Her face grew thin;
And at length her chin
Grew long and sharp;
Oh! as sharp as a pin!
And one windy day
She blew away
Like a great big kite
That had gone astray.

The winds were high,
And she had to fly
Away at their bidding;
It made her cry;
But she couldn't get higher
Than the tall church spire,
So there she stuck--
Poor Mopy Maria!

Disobedient May

Naughty May will not obey,
But will always have her way
Every moment of the day.

If you say do this, or that,
She will be amazed thereat,
Show her claws like any cat.

O she is a naughty child!
Very fond of running wild,
Never gentle, meek, or mild.

Some fine day, I don't know when--
She'll be popp'd in piggy's pen,
And be most unhappy then.

Pigs are stubborn things indeed,
Will not go as you would lead,
Never words of counsel heed.

And pig-headed folks are they
Who will always have their way,
Spite of anything you say.

Sluttishness

Oh! Mary, my mary,
Why, where is your dolly?
Look here, I protest, on the floor:
To leave her about
In the dirt so is folly,
You ought to be trusted no more.

I thought you were pleas'd.
And receiv'd her quite gladly,
When on your birthday she came home;
Did I ever suppose
You would use her so sadly,
And strew her things over the room?

Her bonnet of straw
You once thought a great matter,
And tied it so pretty and neat;
Now see how 'tis crumpled,
No trencher is flatter,
It grieves your mamma thus to see't.

Suppose (you're my Dolly,
You know, little daughter,
Whom I love to dress neat, and see good),
Suppose in my care of you,
I were to falter,
And let you get dirty and rude!

But Dolly's mere wood,
You are flesh and bone living,
And deserves better treatment and care;
That is true, my sweet girl,
'Tis the reason I'm giving
This lesson so sharp and severe.

'Tis not for the Dolly
I'm anxious and fearful,
Tho' she cost too much to be spoil'd;
I'm afraid lest yourself
Should get sluttish, not careful,
And that were a sad thing, my child.

Jane, who Bit her Nails

When I was living down in Wales,
I knew a girl who bit her nails;
Her finger-ends became so sore,
The blood flowed from them to the floor.

The more she bit the more they bled,
Until upon herself she fed;
And as she nibbled day by day,
The fingers slowly wore away.

See, here she is: she sadly stands
With only stumps instead of hands;
The silly girl can never play,
Yet she was cautioned every day.

Her father said, "You naughty thing,
Some wooden fingers I must bring,
And try to get them fastened to
Your hands with little bits of glue."

Poking Fun

When little Lizzie came across
A birdie, or a chick,
A duckling, or a gosling,
she would poke it with a stick.

She chased the dog, she chased the cat,
But when she saw a mouse
She gave a scream so very loud
It echoed through the house.

She poked the turtles and the frogs
And thought it was fine fun,
But when the geese poked out their necks
At her, she had to run.

One day she chanced to find a hive
With not a bee about,
And said, "Is any one at home?
"I'll very soon find out!"

And so she did. As soon as she
Had poked her stick inside,
The bees flew out and stung her so
She very nearly died.

[Page 23--Girl Land]

The Pin

"Dear me! what signifies a pin,
Wedg'd in a rotten board?
I'm certain that I won't begin,
At ten years old, to hoard!
I never will be called a miser;
That I'm determined," said Eliza.

So onward tripped the little maid,
And left the pin behind,
Which very snug and quiet lay,
To its hard fate resign'd;
Nor did she think (a careless chit)
'Twas worth her while to stoop for it.

Next day a party was to ride
To see an air balloon;
And all the company beside
Were dressed and ready soon:
But she a woful case was in,
For want of just a single pin.

In vain her eager eyes she brings
To ev'ry darksome crack,
There was not one! and yet her things
Were dropping off her back.
She cut her pincushion in two,
But no, not one had slidden through.

At last, as hunting on the floor,
Over a crack she lay,
The carriage rattled to the door,
Then rattled fast away:
But poor Eliza was not in,
For want of just a single pin.

There's hardly anything so small,
So trifling or so mean,
That we may never want at all,
For service unforseen;
And wilful waste, depend upon't
Brings, almost always, woful want!

Ann Taylor

Stupid Jane

Oh! she was such a stupid Jane,
They tried in vain
To make things plain,
But she would ask and ask again,
As if there wasn't any brain
Inside the head of stupid Jane.

If she was set to do a task,
So many questions she would ask,
'Twas easier far her teachers said
To do the work themselves instead,
Than try to make her understand
The lesson she had in hand.

If on an errand told to go,
And cautioned to do thus and so,
Turn here and there along the way,
Oh! Jane was sure to go astray;
For she hade such a crooked pate,
She could not do an errand straight.

She did not care for books or toys,
She could not play with girls or boys;
Because so oft she blocked their games,
They used to call her dreadful names,
And in loud, angry tones complain,
"Oh, what a horrid, Stupid Jane!"

Brought to the parlour nicely drest
To be presented to a guest,
With finger in her mouth she'd stand
And stare about on every hand,
Nor answer by a single word,
Nor even act as if she heard.

Oh! she was such a stupid Jane,
They tried in vain
To make things plain,
But she would ask and ask again,
As if there wasn't any brain
Inside the head of stupid Jane.

Little Girl who wouldn't eat Crusts

The awfullest times that ever could be
They had with a bad little girl of Dundee,
Who never would finish her crust
In vain they besought her,
And patiently taught her
And told her she must.
Her grandma would coax,
And so would the folks,
And tell her the sinning
Of such a beginning.
But no, she wouldn't.
She couldn't, she shouldn't,
She'd have them to know--
So they might as well go.
And what do you think came to pass?
This little girl of Dundee, alas!
Who wouldn't take crusts the regular way,
Sat down to a feast one summer's day;
And what did the people that little girl give?
Why, a dish of bread pudding--as sure as I live!

Pouting Polly

Polly was a little girl,
Pretty as a posy;
Rather straight, and rather tall;
Very round and rosy.

Other little girls and boys
Always were delighted,
So if to pretty Polly's house
They had been invited.

There they'd romp, and have great fun,
Frolicking and shouting;
But alas! they soon would find
Pretty Polly pouting!

What had any one done?
How had they displeased her?
Was she sad or mad because
Johnny Dean had teased her?

Why are you so cross and glum
When the rest are jolly?
With your under-lip thrust out,
Tell us, pouting Polly!

Polly loves to have her way;
Ah! no one can doubt it;
And whenever she's displeased
She will pout about it.

Such a funny under-lip!
You would like to grab it,
So that little Polly might
Break this naughty habit.

In the house or out-of-doors,
Little Polly Horner
You will find a dozen times
Pouting in a corner.

Once, when in the garden she
Stood thus melancholy,
On her under-lip a bee
Stung Miss Pouting Polly.

Then she danced, and then she screamed;
People heard her yelling
Half-a-mile or more away,
While her lip was swelling.

Oh, it swelled, and swelled, and swelled,
Like a great big blister,
And the pain was very great
Where the bee had kissed her.

Many days she kept her bed;
And there is no doubting
That the sorry little maid
Had her fill of pouting.

For the buzzing busy-bee
Cured her of her folly;
And the remedy will cure
Any pouting Polly.

Untidy Emily

Oh, here's a sad picture!
Pray carefully look!
As sad as was ever
Yet seen in a book.

'Tis Emily's portrait:
Not at all flattered.
Slovenly, dirty, untidy,
And tattered.

Her mother implores her,
Again and again,
To make herself tidy;
But all is in vain.

Her trimmings are torn;
There's a hole in her dress;
Another, still larger;
Her shoes in a mess;

Stockings down, buttons missing;
Shabby old hat,
Not for worlds would I
Wear it, battered and flat.

Her mother does nothing
But patch, darn and mend,
Till, saddened and weary,
She says, "This must end.

"All, all is in vain.
And now, happen what may,
I can do nothing more;
So go your own way."

A terrible thing
Very soon now befell,
Oh, horror! I shudder
The story to tell.

This girl ran quite wild;
Till at last she became
All tatters and rags,
With no feeling of shame.

A man, who was passing,
Then took her one day,
And in his field placed her,
To scare birds away.

She is still standing there;
Stands there day and night.
The sparrows fly round her,
And cry in affright:

"Look at this dreadful thing!
Take care now, take care!
Beware of the scarecrow!
Beware, now, beware!"

[Page 24--Girl Land]

Maidenhood

Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes,
In whose orbs a shadow lies,
Like a dusk in evening skies!

Thou, whose locks outshine the sun,
Golden tresses, wreathed in one,
As the braided streamlets run!

Standing, with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and river meet!
Womanhood and childhood fleet!

Gazing, with a timid glance,
On the brooklet's swift advance,
On the river's broad expanse!

Deep and still, that gliding stream
Beautiful to thee must seem,
As the river of a dream.

Then why pause with indecision,
When bright angels in thy vision
Beckon thee to fields of Elysian?

Seest thou shadows sailing by,
As the dove, with startled eye,
Sees the falcon's shadow fly?

Hearest thou voices on the shore,
That our ears perceive no more,
Deafen'd by the cataract's roar?

O, thou child of many prayers!
Life hath quicksands--Life hath snares!
Care and age come unawares!

Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon,
May glides onward into June

Childhood is the bough where slumber'd
Birds and blossoms many-number'd--
Age, that bough with snows encumber'd

Gather, then each flower that grows,
When the young heart overflows,
To embalm that tent of snows

Bear a lily in thy hand;
Gates of brass cannot withstand
One touch of that magic wand

Bear, through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
On thy lips the smile of truth.

Oh! that dew, like balm, shall steal
Into wounds, that cannot heal,
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal:

And that smile, like sunshine, dart
Into many a sunless heart,
For a smile of God thou art.

Longfellow

Girls that are in Demand

The girls that are wanted are good girls--
Good from the heart to the lips;
Pure as the lily is white and pure,
From it's heart to its sweet leaf tips.
The girls that are wanted are home girls--
Girls that are a mother's right hand,
That fathers and brothers can trust to,
And the little ones understand.

The girls that are fair on the hearthstone,
And pleasant when nobody sees;
Kind and sweet to their own folks,
Ready and anxious to please.
The girls that are wanted are wise girls,
That know what to do and to say;
That drive with a smile and soft word
The wrath of the household away.

The girls that are wanted are girls of sense,
Whom fashion can never deceive;
Who can follow whatever is pretty,
And dare what is silly to leave.
The girls that are wanted are careful girls,
Who count what a thing will cost.
Who use with a prudent generous hand,
But see that nothing is lost.

The girls that are wanted are girls with hearts,
They are wanted for mothers and wives,
Wanted to cradle in loving arms
The strongest and frailest lives.
The clever, the witty, the brilliant girl,
There are few who can understand,
But, oh! for the wise, loving home girls
There's a constant steady demand.

Girl's Names

Francis, is "unrestrained and free;"
Bertha, "pellucid, purely bright;"
Clara, "clear" as the crystal sea;
Lucy, a star of radiant "light;"
Catherine, is "pure" as mountain air;
Barbara, cometh "from afar;"
Mabel, is "like a lily fair;"
Henrietta, a soft, sweet "star;"
Felicia, is a "happy girl;"
Matilda, is a "lady true;"
Margaret, is a shining "pearl;"
Rebecca, "with the faithful few;"
Susan, is a "lily white;"
Jane has the "willow's" curve and grace;
Cecilia, dear, is "dim of sight;"
Sophia, shows "wisdom" on her face;
Constance, is firm and "resolute;"
Grace, a delicious "favour meet;"
Charlotte, "noble, of good repute;"
Harriet, a fine "odour sweet;"
Isabella, is "a lady rare;"
Lucinda, "constant" as the day;
Maria, means a "lady fair;"
Abigail, "joyful as the May;"
Elizabeth, "an oath of trust;"
Adeline, "nice princess, proud;"
Agatha, "is truly good and just;"
Leila, "a joy of love avowed;"
Jemima, "a soft sound in air;"
Caroline, "a sweet spirit, hale;"
Cornelia, "harmonious and fair;"
Selina, "a sweet nightingale;"
Lydia, "a refreshing well;"
Judith, "a song of sacred praise;"
Julia, "a jewel none excel;"
Priscilla, "ancient of days."

Kate

There's something in the name of Kate
Which many will condemn;
But listen now while I relate
The traits of some of them.

There's deli-Kate, a modest dame,
She's worthy of your love!
She's nice and beautiful a flame,
And gentle as a dove,

Communi-Kate's intelligent,
As we may well suppose;
Her fruitful mind is ever bent
On telling all she knows.

There's intri-Kate, she's so obscure
'Tis hard to find her out;
For she is often very sure
To put your wits to rout.

Prevari-Kate's a surly maid,
She's sure to have her way;
The cavilling, contrary jade,
Objects to all you say.

There's alter-Kate, a perfect pest;
Much given to dispute;
Her prattling tongue can never rest,
You cannot her refute.

Then dislo-Kate, is quite a fret,
Who fails to gain her point;
Her case is quite unfortunate
And sorely out of joint.

Equivo-Kate no one will woo--
The thing would be absurd.
She is so faithless and untrue,
You cannot take her word.

There's vindi-Kate, she's good and true,
And strives with all her might
Her duty faithfully to do
And battles for the right.

There's rusti-Kate, a country lass,
Quite fond of rural scenes;
She likes to ramble through the grass
And through the evergreens.

Of all the maidens you can find,
There's none like edu-Kate;
Because she elevates the mind
And aims at something great.

[Page 25--Girl Land]

Coles Electro-micro Scolding Machine For Scolding Naughty Girls

Cole's Electro-micro Scolding Machine is a combination of three instruments, the Phonograph, the Microphone, and the Wonderphone.

The Phonograph is an instrument that will preserve words for any length of time. Any person can speak, sing, whistle, or scold into a Phonograph, and months or years afterwards by simply turning a handle the same sounds can be reproduced a dozen, a hundred, or a thousand times in the exact voice of the person who spoke them in; so that if a man or a woman, who is a great scold, speak some good, loud, severe scolding into a Phonograph, the mildest teacher can then scold her pupils, or the kindest mother her children, just by turning the handle.

The Microphone is an instrument that magnifies sound in the same way as a microscope magnifies objects; a very powerful microphone magnifies the sound of a fly walking into a loud tramping footstep, the tick of a watch into a deafening clatter, and a whisper into a loud shout. Take a Microphone, then properly affix it to the Phonograph described above, and you have a good Scolding Machine; turn the handle, and as the Phonograph gives out the scoldings, the microphone part magnifies them so loudly that they are heard for a considerable distance.

The Wonderphone (Cole's own secret) is another remarkable instrument; it will cause sound to travel very distinctly, but frightfully and equally loud, for forty miles in all directions; by attaching this powerful instrument to the combination of the other two, Cole's Electro-micro Scolding Machine is formed--and which is the first Scolding Machine ever invented. If the machine is already _charged_ by having had some scolding spoken, or even whispered into it, give the handle a turn, and forty miles to the east, forty miles to the west, forty to the north, forty to the south, forty up in the sky, and down in the mines forty miles deep, in fact forty miles in every direction, everybody can clearly hear every word being said to the girl being scolded. Suppose for instance, Hannah Maria Smith had done something wrong in school, the schoolmistress could give the handle of the machine a turn, and it would scold her so loudly that her mother, and father, and brothers, and sisters, and uncles, and aunts, and friends, and those she didn't like would all hear her scolded. The machine can be charged on the instant by anyone scolding into it. In fact the whole value of Cole's Scolding Machine lies in its power to repeat out exceedingly loud whatever is spoken into it.

If the schoolmistress chooses she can put the scolding into verse, so that all who hear it in the forty miles around, can more easily remember it. The machine that I have before me now, was charged this morning for an aristocratic school and speaks as follows:--Silence!! Attention!!!

Ada Alice Arabella Angelina Andal,
Why do you talk for ever, such a tittle-tattling scandal?
Betsy Bertha Bridget Belinda Bowing,
Will you be quiet and go on with your sewing?
Cora Caroline Christina Clarinda Clare,
Now do look in the glass at your untidy hair.
Dorah Dinah Dorothy Dorinda Dresson,
You really must get on with your short drawing lesson.
Edith Ellen Evelina Elizabeth Eadle,
This makes this day your nineteenth broken needle.
Fanny Florence Frederica Florinda Flynn,
How cruel of you to prick Jane with a pin.
Grace Gertrude Genevieve Georgina Grimble,
You careless girl to lose your silver thimble.
Hilda Hanna Harriet Henrietta Hawker,
You really are a most inveterate talker.
Ida Izod Irene Isabella Inching,
You spiteful--stop that scratching and pinching.
Jane Julia Josephine Jemima Jesson,
Sit down at once and learn your music lesson.
Kate Kester Katrina Kathleen Kent,
You're vulgar, saucy, rude and insolent.
Lizzie Letitia Lucretia Lorinda Loeries,
You're the champion of the world for telling stories.
Maud Mary Martha Matilda Moyes,
Sends letters to, and flirts with, naughty boys.
Nancy Nelly Ninette Naomi Nations,
Shame of you to talk 'gainst other girls' relations.
Olive Osberta Orphelia Octavia O'Dyke,
Your conduct is outrageous and unladylike.
Polly Patience Prudence Paulina Pitt,
You really are our champion tell-tale-tit.
Quilla Quintina Quinburga Quendrida Quirk,
How very, very, dirty you have made your fancy-work.
Rose Ruth Rachel Rebecca Ritting,
Now stop that crying and get on with your knitting.
Sarah Sophia Selina Susannah Stacies,
Don't spoil your face by making those grimaces.
Tilda Theresa Tabitha Theodora Tapping,
You'd gain the prize if one was given for slapping.
Una Ursula Urica Urania Urls,
You'd gain the prize for teasing little girls.
Venus Violet Victoria Veronica Vo-shi,
Just learn your task and put away that crochet.
Wilmett Walberg Winefride Wilhelmina Wriggling,
Now once for all do stop that stupid giggling.
Xenodice Xanthippe Xanthisa Xenophona X-cess,
You think and talk of nothing else but dress! dress!
Yana Yulga Yapeena Yestina Young,
Will you behave yourself and just draw in your tongue.
And lastly and worst of all, you,
Zoe Zora Zillah Zenobia Zeen,
How dare you! how dare you!! yes, how dare you!!!
Sneer at the boy's new whipping Machine.

Notice To The Public

If a schoolmistress chooses to live a hundred or a thousand miles away from her school, she can use the Scolding Machine by means of a _Telephone_ attached thereto.

One great advantage of the Electro-micro Scolding Machine is, that after it has been in use a short time the girls will all have been shamed into good behaviour; but the Machine will not become useless, as it can, without a farthing outlay, be turned into a Praising Machine, for it can be made to praise in a gentle voice as well as scold in a harsh one. In fact, as said above it will repeat in exact tones, anything that is recited, preached, sung, whistled, whispered, shouted, scolded or praised into it--and any of which will be heard for forty miles around.

Cole can supply Scolding Machines from L5 to L50. A very good one (The Excelsior), price L10, can be charged in one minute, and set going like a musical box, and will sing, whistle, recite, preach, or scold away for a full hour without stopping. Cole would particularly recommend this one to the ladies, it would make a fine ornament for their own table.

Final Notice Extraordinary--If the champion male scold of the world, and the champion female scold of the world, will call on Professor Cole, at the Book Arcade, Melbourne, he will give them both good wages, and find them constant employment at charging Scolding Machines. If any wife has got the champion male scold for a husband, she will please to let me know. If any husband has got the champion female scold for a wife, he will please to let me know--L10 bonus for information in each case.

E.W. Cole

[Page 26--Good Girls]

Jenny Lee

An orphan child was Jenny Lee;
Her father, he was dead.
And very hard her mother worked;
To get the children bread.

In winter time, she often rose
Long ere the day was light,
And left her orphan family,
Till dark again at night.

And she would always say to Jane,
Before she went away;
"Be sure you mind the little ones,
And don't go out to play.

"Keep baby quiet in his bed,
As long as he will lie;
Then take him up, and dance him well,
Don't leave him there to cry.

"And don't let little Christopher,
Get down into the street,
For fear he meets an accident
Beneath the horse's feet.

"And mind about the fire, child,
And keep a tidy floor;
We never need be dirty, Jane,
Although we may be poor.

"Good-by my precious comforter,
For all the neighbours say,
That I can trust my little maid,
Whenever I'm away."

Then Jenny she was quite as proud
As England's noble Queen,
And she resolved to do the work,
And keep the dwelling clean.

She did not stop to waste her time,
But very brisk was she,
And worked as hard and cheerfully
As any busy bee.

If down upon the cottage floor
Her little brother fell,
She stroked the places tenderly,
And kissed and made them well.

And when the little babe was cross,
As little babes will be,
She nursed and danced it merrily,
And fed it on her knee.

But when they both were safe in bed,
She neatly swept the hearth,
And waited until her mother's step
Came sounding up the path.

Then open flew the cottage door,
The weary mother smiled.
"Ah! Jenny dear, what should I do,
Without my precious child!"

Work Before Play

"Mother has sent me to the well,
To fetch a jug of water,
And I am very glad to be
A useful little daughter;
That's why I cannot play
With you and Mary Ann to-day.

"Some afternoon I'll come with you,
And make you wreaths and posies;
I know a place where blue-bells grow,
And daisies and primroses;
But not to-day, for I must go
And help my mother, dears, you know.

"She says, that I am nearly eight,
So I can fill the kettle,
And sweep the room and clean the grate,
And even scrub a little;
Oh! I'm so very glad to be
A little useful girl, you see.

"So Johnny, do not ask to-day--
Perhaps I'll come to morrow;
But you'd not wish me now to stay,
And give my mother sorrow.
When she can spare me, she will say,
'Now, Susan, you may go and play.'"

Lucy Gray

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray;
And, when I crossed the wild,
I managed to see at break of day
The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wide moor,--
The sweetest thing that ever grew
Besides a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night--
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, child, to light
Your mother through the snow."

"That, father, will I gladly do!
'Tis scarcely afternoon--
The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon."

At this the father raised his book
And snapped a faggot band;
He piled his work,--and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe;
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before it's time;
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb,
But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide,
But there was neither sound or sight
To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood
A furlong from their door.

And, turning homeward, now they cried
"In heaven we shall meet!"
When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn edge,
And by the long stone wall.

And then an open field they crossed--
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank
The footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none!

Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.

Mary's Little Lamb

Mary had a little lamb,
It's fleece was white as snow;
And everywhere that Mary went
The lamb was sure to go.

He followed her to school one day--
That was against the rule;
It made the children laugh and play,
To see a lamb at school.

The teacher therefore turned him out;
But still he lingered near,
And on the grass he played about
Till Mary did appear.

At once he ran to her, and laid
His head upon her arm,
As if to say, I'm not afraid--
You'll keep me from all harm.

"What makes the lamb love Mary so?"
The little children cry;
"Oh! Mary loves the lamb you know,"
The teacher did reply.

[Page 27--Girl Land]

We are Seven

I met a little cottage girl;
She was eight years old, she said;
Her head was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad;
Her eyes were fair, and very fair,
Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said,
And wondering, looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the churchyard lie--
My sister and my brother;
And in the churchyard cottage I
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea;
Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell,
Sweet maid how this may be?"

Then did the little maid reply,
Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree."

"You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive!
If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little maid replied;
"Twelve steps or more, from my mother's door,
And they are side by side.

"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
I sit and sing to them.

"And often after sunset, sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was little Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain,
And then she went away.

"So in the churchyard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

"And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."

"How many are you then? said I,
"If they two are in heaven!"
The little maiden did reply
"O master! we are seven."

"But they are dead; those two are dead;
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little maid would have her will,
And say, "Nay, we are seven."

The Poor, but Kind Girl

Young Lucy Payne lives on the Village Green;
Mary, you know the cottage, I am sure,
Under the hawthorn! 'Tis so neat and clean,
Though Widow Payne, alas! is blind and poor.

She plies her needles, and she plies them well,
And Lucy never spends an idle hour;
On market days their mits and socks they sell,
And thus their balls of worsted turn to flour.

I pass'd one morning by their cottage door;
Lucy was talking to a little child,
A ragged thing that lives upon the moor;
It's parents leave it to run rude and wild.

Hanger had tamed the little wilding thing,
It's cheeks were hollow, but it's air was light;
Young Lucy did not know I saw her bring
That porringer she kept so clean and bright.

It was her breakfast--all the darling had;
But oh! she gave it with a heart so glad.

Grace Darling

"Over the wave, the stormy wave,
Hasten, dear father, with me,
The crew to save from a wat'ry grave,
Deep in the merciless sea.
Hear ye the shriek, the piercing shriek,
Hear ye the cry of despair?
With courage quick the wreck we'll seek;
Danger united we'll dare.

"Out with the boat, the gallant boat;
Not a moment to be lost;
See! she's afloat, proudly afloat,
And high on the waves we're tossed;
Mother, Adieu, a short adieu;
Your prayers will rise to heaven;
Father to you--your child and you--
Power to save is given.

"I have no fear, no maiden fear;
My heart is firm to the deed,
I shed no tear, no coward tear;
I've strength in time of need.
Hear ye the crash, the horrid crash?
Their mast over the side is gone;
Yet on we dash, 'mid lightning flash,
Safe through the pelting storm.

"The wreck we near, the wreck we near,
Our bonny boat seems to fly,
List to the cheer, their welcome cheer,
They know that succour is nigh."
And on that night, that dreadful night,
The father and daughter brave,
With strengthened might they both unite,
And many dear lives they save.

Hail to the maid, the fearless maid,
The maid of matchless worth;
She'll e'er abide the cherished pride
Of the land that gave her birth.
The send her gold, her name high uphold,
Honour and praise to impart;
But, with true regard, the loved reward
Is the joy of her own brave heart.

The Tidy Girl

Who is it each day in the week may be seen,
With her hair short and smooth, and her hands and face clean;
In a stout cotton gown, of dark and light blue,
Though old, so well mended, you'd take it for new;
Her handkerchief tidily pinned o'er her neck.
With a neat little cap, and an apron of check;
Her shoes and her stockings all sound and all clean?
She's never fine outside and dirty within.

Go visit her cottage, though humble and poor.
'Tis so neat and so clean you might eat off the floor;
No rubbish, no cobwebs, no dirt can be found,
Though you hunt every corner, and search all around.
Who sweeps it so nicely, who makes all the bread,
Who tends her sick mother, and works by her bed?
'Tis the neat, tidy girl--she needs no other name;
Abroad or at home, she is always the same.

I Will be Good To-Day

"I will be good, dear mother,"
I heard a sweet child say;
"I will be good; now watch me--
I will be good all day."

Oh, many, many, bitter tears
'Twould save us, did we say,
Like that dear child, with earnest heart,
"I will be good to-day."

My Own Dear Little Sister

I have a little sister,
She's only three years old;
I do most dearly love her,
She's worth her weight in gold.
We often play together
And I begin to find,
To make my sister happy,
I must be very kind.

[Page 28--Ruby Cole And Her Clever Frog]

What Our Ruby Did

She danced like a Fairy,
She sung like a Frog,
She squeaked like a Pig,
She barked like a dog.

Oh yes! Oh yes! She did! She Did!
And Frog-gy played a tune.

She mooed like a Bullock,
She baaed like a Ram,
She leaped like a Goat,
She skipped like a Lamb--Oh yes!

She brayed like a Donkey,
She cried like a Hare,
She neighed like a Horse,
She growled like a Bear!--Oh yes!

She munched like a Rabbit,
She gnawed like a Rat,
She popped like a Mouse,
She flew like a Bat--Oh yes!

She talked like a Parrot,
She quacked like a Drake,
She mewed like a Cat,
She hissed like a Snake--Oh yes!

She climbed like a Squirrel,
She flopped like a Seal,
She ran like a Deer,
She slid like an Eel--Oh yes!

She crept like a Tortoise,
She soared like a Lark,
She drank like a Fish,
She ate like a Shark--Oh yes!

She roared like a Lion,
She dived like a Whale,
She swam like a Goose,
She crawled like a Snail--Oh yes!

She croaked like a Raven,
She screeched like an Owl,
She cawed like a Crow,
She crowed like a Fowl--Oh yes!

She grinned like a Monkey,
She hummed like a Bee,
She buzzed like a Fly,
She jumped like a Flea--Oh yes!

Our dear little daughter once went to a children's ball dressed as a fairy. She was proud of being a fairy, and looked so nice that I put together the above nursery doggerel to please her, and in honour of the event, little thinking that she would soon leave this world. It might be considered better by some to remove this page, but as children like it I venture to let it stand with this explanation.

E. W. C.

Sacred to the Memory of our dear LITTLE RUBY, who departed this life March 27th, 1890, aged 8 years. She was intelligent, industrious, affectionate and sociable, and is deeply regretted by all who knew her.

There is no flock, however watched and tended
But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside, howsoever defended
But has one vacant chair!

There is no death! what seems so is transition
This life of mortal breath,
Is but a suburb of life Elysian
Whose portal we call death.

She is not dead--the child of our affection--
But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection
And GOD himself doth rule.

[Page 29--Vally Cole And His Clever Dog]

Our Vally had a Clever Dog,
whose name was EBENEZER.
Sometimes this dog was very good,
At other times a TEASER.

One day they went to take a bath,
And both sat on a rail;
Our Vally hung his legs right down,
The dog hung down his tail.

This funny Dog one Christmas day,
Directly after dinner,
Just lean'd his sleepy head against
Old Tom, our snoozing sinner.

[Page 30--Boy's Stories]

Tommy Trot, a man of law,
Sold his bed and lay upon straw;
Sold the straw and slept on grass,
To buy his wife a looking-glass.

---

Little Jack Jingle,
He used to live single;
But when he got tired of this kind of life,
He left off being single, and lived with his wife.

---

I'll tell you a story
About Jack Nory,--
And now my story's begun:
I'll tell you another
About Jack his brother,--
And now my story's done.

---

Poor old Robinson Crusoe!
Poor old Robinson Crusoe!
They made him a coat
Of an old nanny-goat,
I wonder how they could do so!
With a ring and a ting tang,
And a ring and a ting tang,
Poor old Robinson Crusoe!

---

"John, come sell thy fiddle,
And buy thy wife a gown."
"No; I'll not sell my fiddle
For any wife in town."

---

Jacky, come give me thy fiddle
If ever thou mean'st to thrive;
Nay, I'll not give my fiddle
To any man alive.
If I should give my fiddle,
They'll think that I'm gone mad,
For many a joyful day
My fiddle and I have had.

---

Jack was a fisherman
Who went out one day,
But couldn't catch a single fish,
And so he came away.
And then he came home,
This angler so bold,
And found he'd caught something--
For he'd caught a cold.

---

The Queen of Hearts,
She made some tarts,
All on a summer day;
The Knave of Hearts
He stole those tarts
And took them clean away.

The King of Hearts
Called for the tarts,
And beat the knave full sore;
The Knave of Hearts
Brought back the tarts,
And vowed he'd steal no more.

---

Charley Wag
Ate the pudding and left the bag.

---

Tom, The Piper's Son

Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
Stole a pig and away did run!
The pig he eat, and Tom they beat,
And Tom went roaring down the street.

Tom, he was a piper's son:
He learned to play when he was young:
But all the tunes that he could play
Was, "Over the hills and far away;
Over the hills and a great way off,
And the wind will blow my topknot off."

Now Tom with his pipe made such a noise,
That he pleased both the girls and the boys,
And they stopped to hear him play
"Over the hills and far away."

Tom with his pipe did play with such skill,
That those who heard him could never keep still:
Whenever they heard they began for to dance,
Even the pigs on their hind legs would after him prance.

As Dolly was milking her cow one day,
Tom took out his pipe and began for to play;
So Doll and the cow danced "the Cheshire round,"
Till the pail they broke and the milk ran on the ground.

He met old Dame Trot with a basket of eggs,
He used his pipe and she used her legs;
She danced about till all the eggs she broke,
She began for to fret, but he laughed at the joke.

He saw a cross fellow beating an ass,
Heavily laden with pots, pans, dishes and glass;
He took out his pipe and played them a tune,
And the jackass did kick off his load very soon.

Tom met the parson on his way,
Took out his pipe, began to play
A merry tune that led his grace
Into a very muddy place.

The mayor then said he would not fail
To send poor Tommy off to gaol.
Tom took his pipe, began to play,
And all the court soon danced away.

'Twas quite a treat to see the rout,
How clerks and judges hopped about;
While Tommy still kept playing the tune,
"I'll be free this afternoon."

The Policeman Grab, who held him fast,
Began to dance about at last;
Whilst Tom, delighted at the fun,
Slipped out of court and off did run.

---

Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief,
Taffy came to my house, and stole a piece of beef.
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not at home;
Taffy came to my house and stole a marrow-bone.
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not in.
Taffy came to my house, and stole a silver pin.
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was in bed.
I took up a poker and flung it at his head.

---

Old King Cole
Was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe,
And he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.

---

Peter White will ne'er go right;
Would you know the reason why?
He follows his nose where'er he goes,
And that stands all awry.

[Page 31--Boy Land]

The House That Jack Built

This is the house that Jack built.

This is the malt
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the maiden all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cock that crowed in the morn,
That awaked the priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the farmer sowing his corn,
That kept the cock that crowed in the morn,
That awaked the priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

Simple Simon

Simple Simon met a pieman
Going to the fair;
Says Simple Simon to the pieman:
"Let me taste your ware."

Says the pieman to Simple Simon,
"Show me first the penny."
Says Simple Simon to the pieman:
"Indeed I have not any."

Simple Simon went a-fishing
For to catch a whale--
All the water he had got
Was in his mother's pail.

Simple Simon went to look
If plums grew on a thistle;
He pricked his fingers very much,
Which made poor Simon whistle.

He went to catch a dicky bird,
And thought he could not fail
Because he'd got a little salt
To put upon it's tail.

Then Simple Simon went-a-hunting,
For to catch a hare.
He rode on a goat about the street,
But could not find one there.

Simon made a great snowball,
And brought it in to roast;
He laid it down before the fire,
And soon the ball was lost.

Simple Simon went a-skating
When the ice was thin,
And Simon was astonished quite
To find he tumbled in.

And Simon he would honey eat
Out of the mustard pot;
He bit his tongue until he cried:
"That was all the good he got."

Ten Little Niggers

Ten little Niggers going out to dine,
One choked his little self, and then there were Nine.

Nine little Niggers crying at his fate,
One cried himself away, and then there were Eight.

Eight little Niggers to travelling were given.
But one kicked the bucket, and then there were Seven.

Seven little Niggers playing at their tricks,
One cut himself in halves, and then there were Six.

Six little Niggers playing with a hive,
A bumble bee killed one, and then there were Five.

Five little Niggers went in for law,
One got into Chancery, and then there were Four.

Four little Niggers going out to sea,
A ref herring swallowed one, and then there were Three.

Three little Niggers walking in the Zoo,
A big bear cuddled one, and then there were Two.

Two little Niggers sitting in the sun,
One got frizzled up, and then there was One.

One little Nigger living all alone,
He got married, and then there were None.

[Page 32--Boy Land]

Jack the Giant Killer

Once upon a time there lived in Cornwall, England, a lad whose name was Jack, and who was very brave and knowing. At the same time there was a great Giant, twenty feet high and nine feet round, who lived in a cave, on an island near Jack's house. The Giant used to wade to the mainland and steal things to live upon, carrying five or six bullocks at once, and stringing sheep, pigs, and geese around his waist-band; and all the people ran away from him in fear, whenever they saw him coming.

Jack determined to destroy this Giant; so he got a pickaxe and shovel, and started in his boat on a dark evening; by the morning he had dug a pit deep and broad, then covering it with sticks and strewing a little mould over, to make it look like plain ground, he blew his horn so loudly that the Giant awoke, and came roaring towards Jack, calling him a villain for disturbing his rest, and declaring he would eat him for breakfast. He had scarcely said this when he fell into the pit. "Oh! Mr. Giant," says Jack, "where are you now? You shall have this for your breakfast." So saying, he struck him on the head so terrible blow with his pickaxe that the Giant fell dead to the bottom.

Just at this moment, the Giant's brother ran out roaring vengeance against Jack; but he jumped into his boat and pulled to the opposite shore, with the Giant after him, who caught poor Jack, just as he was landing, tied him down in his boat, and went in search of his provisions. During his absence, Jack contrived to cut a large hole in the bottom of the boat, and placed therein a piece of canvas. After having stolen some oxen, the Giant returned and pushed off the boat, when, having got fairly out to sea, Jack pulled the canvas from the hole, which caused the boat to fill and quickly capsize. The Giant roared and bellowed as he struggled in the water, but was very soon exhausted and drowned, while Jack dexterously swam ashore.

One day after this, Jack was sitting by a well fast asleep. A Giant named Blundebore, coming for water, at once saw and caught hold of him, and carried him to his castle. Jack was much frightened at seeing the heaps of bodies and bones strewed about. The Giant then confined him in an upper room over the entrance, and went for another Giant to breakfast off poor Jack. On viewing the room, he saw some strong ropes, and making a noose at one end, he put the other through a pulley which chanced to be over the window, and when the Giants were unfastening the gate he threw the noose over both their heads, and pulling it immediately, he contrived to choke them both. Then releasing three ladies who were confined in the castle, he departed well pleased.