Chapter I: AM the doll that Nancy broke!

Hadn’t been hers a week.
Punch me behind, and I sweetly spoke;
Rosy and fair was my cheek.
Now my head is rolled in a corner far,
My body lies here in another;
And if this is what human children are,
I never will live with another.

I am the book that Nancy read
For twenty minutes together.
Now I am standing here on my head,
While she’s gone to look at the weather.
My leaves are crushed in the cruellest way,
There’s jam on my opening page,
And I would not live with Miss Nancy Gay,
Though I should not be read for an age.

I am the frock that Nancy wore
Last night at her birthday feast.
I am the frock that Nancy tore
In seventeen places, at least.
My buttons are scattering far and near,
My trimming is torn to rags;
And if I were Miss Nancy’s mother dear,
I’d dress her in calico bags!

We are the words that Nancy said
When these things were called to her view.
All of us ought to be painted red,
And some of us are not true.
We splutter and mutter and snarl and snap,
We smoulder and smoke and blaze.
And if she’d not meet with some sad mishap,
Miss Nancy must mend her ways.

AMY’S VALENTINE.

“JOHN,” said little Amy, “did you ever send a valentine to anybody?”

John, the gardener, looked rather sheepish, and dug his spade into the geranium bed. “Well, miss,” he said, “I _have_ done such things when I were a lad. Most lads do, I suppose, miss.”

Oh, that sly old John! He knew perfectly well that he had a valentine in his pocket at that moment, a great crimson heart, in a lace-trimmed envelope, directed to Susan, the pretty housemaid. But there was no need of saying anything about that to little miss, he thought.

“If you were not so _very_ old, John,” continued Amy, looking seriously at him, “I should ask you to send me one, because my Papa is away, and I have no brothers, and I don’t know any lads, as you call them. But I suppose you are altogether _too_ old, aren’t you, John?”

John straightened his broad shoulders and looked down rather comically at the tiny mite at his feet. “Why, Miss Amy,” he said, “whatever does make you think I be so _very_ old? Your Papa is a good bit older than I be, miss.”

“My Papa!” cried Amy, opening her eyes very wide. “Why, John! you told me yourself that you were a hundred years old. And I _know_ my Papa isn’t _nearly_ so old as that!”

The gardener laughed. “More shame to me, miss,” he said, “for telling you what wasn’t true. Sure it’s only in fun I was, Miss Amy, dear, for I’m not forty years old yet, let alone a hundred. But I hear Mary calling you to your dinner; so run up to the house now, missy, and don’t think too much of what old John says to you.”

Away ran little Amy, and John, left alone with his geraniums, indulged in a quiet but hearty laugh.

“To think of that!” he said to himself. “A hundred years old! Sure I must take care what I say to that young one. But the pretty lass shall have her valentine, that she shall, and as pretty a one as I can make!” and John dug his spade into the ground with right good-will.

(It occurs to me that you children who live in the North may say here, “What was he doing to the geranium-bed in February?” but when I tell you that little Amy lives in Virginia, you will not think it so strange.)

Saint Valentine’s Day was bright and sunny, and Amy was up early, flying about the house like a bird, and running every five minutes to the front door “’Cause there _might_ be a valentine, Mamma!”

Presently she spied the postman coming up the gravel walk, and out she danced to meet him. Oh! such a pile of letters as he took out of his leather bag.

“Miss Amy Russell?” said the postman.

“Oh!” cried Amy, “she’s me! I mean me’s her! I mean—oh! oh! one, two, three, four, five! Oh, thank you, Mr. Postman! You’re the best postman in the whole world!” And in she danced again, to show her treasures to Mamma. Gold lace, silver arrows, flaming hearts! oh, how beautiful they were! But suddenly—ting! tingle! _ding!_ a tremendous peal at the front door-bell.

Down went the valentines in Mamma’s lap, and off flew the excited child again. But this time, when she opened the door, no sound escaped her lips. Her feelings were too deep for utterance.

There on the doorstep lay a valentine, but _such_ a valentine! A large flat basket entirely filled with white carnations, with a border of scarlet geraniums, and in the middle a huge heart of deep red carnations, with the words “My Valentine” written under it in violets.

Amy sat down on the doorstep, with clasped hands and wide-open eyes and mouth. She rocked herself backwards and forwards, uttering little inarticulate shrieks of delight.

And John the gardener, peeping round the corner of the house, chuckled silently, and squeezed the hand of Susan, the pretty housemaid, who happened, curiously enough, to be standing very near him.

“Humph!” said John the gardener, “I haven’t forgotten how to make valentines, if I _be_ a hundred years old!”

ONCE UPON A TIME.

ONCE upon a time there was a little girl, just like you, who couldn’t count two. And she had a dreadful time about it! She did not know she had two feet, so she sometimes forgot to put on both her shoes; she did not know she had two eyes, so she would sometimes go to sleep with one eye, and stay awake with the other; she did not know she had two ears, so she would sometimes hear half of what Mamma said, and not hear the other.

One day Mamma called to her and said, “Pet, I want you to take this syrup and put it in my closet!”

Now Pet was only listening with one ear, and so she only heard the first half of what Mamma said: “I want you to take this syrup.” That was what she heard.

She liked the syrup very much, for she had ten drops in a teaspoon whenever she had a sore throat, and she had always wished Mamma would give her more.

And now she was just to “take it.” That must mean to take the whole bottle, if she liked. She put the bottle to her lips and took a good long draught. It was more than half-empty when she stopped to take breath, and then,—the syrup did not seem to taste good any longer. She put the bottle down.

Oh—dear—me! In about ten minutes Pet was the very sickest little girl you ever saw in your life. Mamma put her to bed, and sent for the doctor, and she had to take four different kinds of medicine before she got well, not one of which tasted good at all.

So now, you see, it is a very good plan for little wee girls to learn to count two.

THE PATHETIC BALLAD OF CLARINTHIA JANE LOUISA.

(_To be sung to the tune of “The Monkey married the Baboon’s Sister.”_)

THIS is Clarinthia Jane Louisa,
Holding her brother Ebenezer:
Here he sits on the post to please her,—
Happy little two!

Dog came by with a growl and a grumble,
Made Clarinthia start and stumble;
Poor Ebenezer got a tumble,
Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!

A DAY IN THE COUNTRY.

WE’RE spending the day,
In the pleasantest way,
With Uncle Eliphalet Brown:
We may run at our ease,
And do just what we please,
And we never can do that in town.

For “Quack!” says the duck,
And the hen says “Cluck!”
And the chickens say, “Peepity-wee!”
And John milks the cow,
Though he doesn’t know how,
And we’re happy as happy can be.

GOOSEY LUCY.

IT chanced one day that Lucy came into the kitchen just as Fido, her Aunt Mary’s little dog, was eating his dinner.

He had a good dinner, and he was making a great fuss over it, growling with pleasure, shaking his ears and wagging his tail.

His tail was a very funny one, with a little black bunch at the end of it, and it wiggled and waggled this way and that way.

“Fido,” said Lucy, “I don’t think you ought to wag your tail when you are eating. Mamma says we must sit very still at the table. To be sure, you are not sitting, and you are not at the table, but, all the same, I think you had better not wag your tail.”

Fido paid no attention to these sensible remarks, but continued briskly to wag the offending tail.

“Do you hear me Fido?” said Lucy. “I say, _don’t wag_ it!”

Fido gave a short bark of protest, but took no further notice.

“Then I must hold it for you!” Lucy continued, severely. “Mamma held my hands once when I would not stop cutting holes in my pinafore; but I was young then, and I thought the spots ought to be taken out. But you are not young, Fido, and I wonder at you, that I do!”

Then Lucy took hold of the tail, and tried to hold it; but Fido danced about, and pulled it away, and then wagged it all the harder, thinking she meant to play with him.

“Indeed!” said Lucy, “I am not playing, Master Fido. Now you shall see!”

So she got a piece of stout twine, and tied Fido’s tail to the leg of a chair.

“There!” she said, “now finish your dinner, like a good little dog, and don’t give me any more trouble.”

But Fido would not eat his dinner with his tail tied up. He threw back his head, and gave a piteous little howl. Lucy sat down on a stool beside him, and folding her hands, as she had seen her mother do, prepared to give the naughty pet “a good talking to,” as nurse used to say.

At that moment, however, her mother’s voice was heard, calling “Lucy! Lucy! Where are you?”

“Here, Mamma!” cried Lucy. “I am coming! I meant to pick them up before dinner, anyhow! yes I did!” And she flew up stairs, for she knew quite well that she had set out all her doll’s dishes, tea-set and dinner-set and kitchen things, on the nursery floor, and left them there.

And now nurse had come in with baby in her arms, and had walked right over the pretty French dinner-set, and there was very little of it left to tell the tale.

Dear! dear! it was not at all nice to pick up the pieces, even if nurse had not been scolding all the time, and Mamma standing by with that grave look, waiting to see that it was properly done.

But how about Fido? Oh, Lucy had quite forgotten about Fido. But Fido had not forgotten himself, and a very hard time the poor little fellow was having.

He ran round the chair several times, till he brought himself up close against it; then he tried to unwind himself again, but only became more and more entangled. He pushed the hateful chair backwards till it struck a little table on which was a tray full of dishes. Over went the table, down went the tray, crash went the dishes!

“Yow! yow! yo-o-o-_ow_!” howled Fido.

“Oh! oh! oh!” shrieked Bridget, the cook, who came in at that moment; and then—whack! whack! whack! went the broomstick over the poor doggie’s back.

The noise was so great that Mamma came flying down, and nurse and Lucy, too, with the broken soup tureen in her hand.

“Oh, don’t beat him!” cried Lucy, “don’t beat him, Bridget! It was my fault, for I tied him to the chair, and then forgot about him.”

“And why, for the pity’s sake, miss, did ye tie the baste to the chair?” said Bridget, still angry. “Look at every dish I have in the kitchen all broken in smithereens!”

“He _would_ wag his tail while he ate his dinner,” faltered Lucy, “and I wanted to teach him better manners; and so—and so—” But here poor Goosey Lucy broke down completely, and sat down among the shattered dishes, and hugged Fido and wept over him.

And Fido, who had the sweetest temper in the world, wagged the poor abused tail (which had been quickly released by nurse), and forgave her at once.

And Bridget and nurse laughed; and Mamma kissed her little foolish daughter, and bade her not cry any more.

But Lucy had to go to bed, all the same, for Mamma said it was the only proper place for a child who had broken (or caused to be broken, which amounted to the same thing), _seventy-two_ dishes, large and small, in less than half an hour. And I suppose Mamma was right, don’t you?

GOOSEY LUCY’S NEW YEAR’S CALLS.

“WHERE are you going, Uncle Fred?” asked Lucy.

“I am going to make New Year’s calls, little girl,” replied Uncle Fred.

“And how do you make them? What are they made of?” inquired Lucy.

“Oh—ah—my dear child!” said Uncle Fred, who was looking for his umbrella in a great hurry, “they are not _made of_ anything. You—ah—you just _call_, you know, on all the people you know. Oh, here it is! Good-by, little girl! I must be off.”

And off he hurried, leaving Lucy, mystified, in the hall.

“You just call!” she repeated. “Just call all the people you know. Why, that is easy enough, but what a funny thing to do!”

She pondered a few minutes and then continued, “I think _I_ will go and make New Year’s calls. It must be great fun! Perhaps I shall meet Uncle Fred, and then we can call together, and that will be just twice as loud.”

Away ran the little girl to her room. Blue coat, blue leggings, blue mittens, swan’s-down hood, all were on in three minutes’ time; and without a thought of Mamma or nurse or anybody else, Lucy slipped out of the door, and ran merrily down the street.

Oh, how fresh and clear the air was! How the snow sparkled in the sunlight! What a fine thing it was to make New Year’s calls!

And now the question was, where she should call first. Why, at Grandma’s, of course! her house was in the square, just round the corner. And then she would go to Aunt Maria’s, and then,—well, she would think about the next place as she went along, but here was Grandmamma’s house now.

Lucy looked up at all the windows, but no one was in sight.

So much the better! She planted herself squarely on the curbstone, and opening her mouth to its fullest extent, shouted, “Grandmamma! Grandmamma! Grandmamma!! GrandMAMMA!!!”

Her grandmother, who was sitting quietly by the fire, reading, heard the piercing screams, and running to the window as fast as her dear old feet could carry her, saw Lucy, panting and crimson, with her mouth just opening for another shout.

Something had happened at home,—an accident, probably! No time must be lost. Grandmamma threw up the sash.

“Run and call the doctor!” she cried. “Quick, dear! Don’t stop to tell me about it, but run! I will be there in three minutes!” And she shut the window, and trembling with anxiety, hastened to put on her shawl and bonnet, and almost ran through the snow to her daughter’s house.

Meanwhile, Lucy ran on in high glee. “I hadn’t thought of the doctor!” she said, “but of course I will go there, as Grandmamma wishes it. What fun it is!”

The doctor’s house was soon reached, and Lucy’s shouts brought the good man quickly to the door.

“Bless me!” he said, “Mrs. Graham’s little girl! Baby ill again, I suppose? All right, my dear!” he cried to Lucy. “I’ll be there instantly. Run and tell them I’m coming!” and he shut the door and called for his boots.

Lucy danced along, enchanted with her new play, and soon reached Aunt Maria’s house, where she called again, with might and main. Now, Aunt Maria was slightly deaf, and when she heard her own name resounding in a clear, shrill scream, “Aunt Mari-i-i-i-_ia_!!” she thought it was a cry of _fire_!

Throwing up the window (she was a very nervous and excitable person), she shrieked, “Fire! fire! Police! watchman! Help! help! _Fire!!_ FIRE!!!” till everyone within a dozen blocks heard her, and came rushing to the rescue with buckets and fire extinguishers.

Lucy was rather frightened at all this, and thought, on the whole, she would not make any more calls that day.

So she went home. And there were Grandmamma and the doctor and Mamma, all waiting for her, with very grave faces.

The two first had arrived, breathless and agitated, inquiring what had happened, and who was ill.

Much perplexity followed. And now that the author of all the mischief had arrived, what should be done to her?

Lucy’s finger went into her mouth, and her head went down.

But she told her story truthfully; and it was such a funny one that the doctor burst into a roar of laughter, and Grandmamma laughed heartily, and even Mamma could not look grave.

So Goosey Lucy had a lecture, and a New Year’s cookie, and went to tell her dolls all about it, while Mamma and Grandmamma and the doctor went to see how Aunt Maria was.

THREE LITTLE BIRDS.

THREE little birds
Sat upon a tree.
The first said “Chirrup!”
The second said “Chee!”
The third said nothing,
(The middle one was he,)
But sat there a-blinking,
Because he was a-thinking.
“Pee-wit! pee-wit! Yes, that is it!
Pee-wip, pee-wop, pee-wee!”

Three little birds
Sat upon a bough.
The first said, “When is dinner-time?”
The second said, “Now!”
The third said nothing,
(The middle one was he,)
But sat there a-blinking,
Because he was a-thinking.
“Pee-wit! pee-wit! Yes, that is it!
Pee-wip! pee-wop! pee-wee!”

Three little birds
Flew down to the ground,
And soon, by working very hard,
A fine fat worm they found.
The third flew down between them,
(The middle one was he,)
And ate it up like winking
Because he had been thinking.
“Pee-wit! pee-wit! Yes, that is it!
Pee-wip! pee-wop! pee-wee!”

THE QUACKY DUCK.

THE Quacky Duck stood on the bank of the stream. And the
frogs came and sat on stones and insulted him. Now the words
which the frogs used were these,—

“Ya! ha! he hasn’t any hind-legs!
Ya! ha! he hasn’t any fore-legs!
Oh! what horrid luck
To be a Quacky Duck!”

These were not pleasant words. And when the Quacky Duck heard them, he considered within himself whether it would not be best for him to eat the frogs.

“Two good things would come of it,” he said. “I should have a savoury meal, and their remarks would no longer be audible.”

So he fell upon the frogs, and they fled before him. And one jumped into the water, and one jumped on the land, and another jumped into the reeds; for such is their manner. But one of them, being in fear, saw not clearly the way he should go, and jumped even upon the back of the Quacky Duck. Now, this displeased the Quacky Duck, and he said, “If you will remove yourself from my person, we will speak further of this.”

So the frog, being also willing, strove to remove himself, and the result was that they two, being on the edge of the bank, fell into the water. Then the frog departed swiftly, saying, “Solitude is best for meditation.”

But the Quacky Duck, having hit his head against a stone, sank to the bottom of the pond, where he found himself in the frogs’ kitchen. And there he spied a fish, which the frogs had caught for their dinner, intending to share it in a brotherly manner, for it was a savoury fish. When the Quacky Duck saw it, he was glad; and he said, “Fish is better than frog” (for he was an English duck)! And, taking the fish, he swam with speed to the shore.

Now the frogs lamented when they saw him go, for they said, “He has our savoury fish!” And they wept, and reviled the Quacky Duck.

But he said, “Be comforted! for if I had not found the fish, I should assuredly have eaten you. Therefore, say now, which is the better for you?” And he ate the fish, and departed joyful.

NEW YEAR THOUGHTS.

WHEN the new year’s come,
When the new year’s come,
Then I will be a soldier,
A-beating on a drum.
A-beating on a drum,
And a-tooting on a fife:
And the new year, the new year
Oh, that’s the best in life.

When the new year comes,
When the new year comes,
I sha’n’t have any joggraphy,
I sha’n’t have any sums.
I sha’n’t have any sums,
Nor any rule of three,
And the new year, the new year
Oh, that’s the time for me.

P.S.—When the new year came,
When the new year came,
I had to go to school
Just _exacketly_ the same!
Exacketly the same!
Do you think ’twas kind of mother?
And the new year, the new year
Is just like any other!

NONSENSE.

MARGERY MAGGOT,
She lighted a faggot,
To cook a repast for her cat.
But instead of a bone,
She made soup of a stone,
And gave the poor animal that.

Barney O’Groggan,
He bought a toboggan,
And went out to coast on the hill.
But he soon tumbled off,
And came home with a cough,
And his grandmother gave him a pill.

Triptolemus Tupper,
Came home to his supper,
And called for a pelican pie.
But ’twas covered with fat,
And when he saw that,
Poor Trippy was ready to die.

Peter Polacko
Was fond of tobacco,
And purchased a pipe for to smoke.
But against his desire
His whiskers caught fire,
And Peter was made into coke.

Prudence Pedantic,
She nearly went frantic
Because her small nephew said, “’Taint!”
But when her big brother
Said “Hain’t got none, nuther!”
She fell on the floor in a faint.

THE SINGULAR CHICKEN.

HAL woke up very early on Christmas morning, so early that it was still quite dark.

He crept out of bed and ran to the chimney, got his stocking, which had been hung there the night before, and carried it back to bed with him.

Oh, what a delightful fat, lumpy stocking it was! Why did not the daylight come, so that he might see what was in it?

This was an orange on top; he could tell that without seeing it. And this long, soft thing, which jingled as he pulled it out? Oh, a pair of reins! How nice! But what was this that came next?

Ah! little Hal must wait till daylight for that, for his tiny fingers refused to tell him what it was.

Wait he did, very impatiently, consoling himself with his orange.

But at last a little gray light came stealing in at the window, and two little bare feet went trotting across the floor, and two little hands held up a mysterious object to the light.

It was a chicken! a most beautiful yellow chicken, with bright black eyes and a little sharp beak, and,—oh! what was this? Why! why! the chicken’s head came off, and the chicken’s body was all full of sugar-plums!

“Oh! oh! oh!” cried little Hal. “Mammy! Mammy! come and look at dis chicken! _He can spit his head out!_”

THE CLEVER PARSON.

MY children, come tell me now if you have ever
Heard of the parson who was so clever.
So clever, so clever, so clever was he,
That never a cleverer parson could be.

The parson loved children; he also loved walking,
And off to the woods he was constantly stalking.
To hear the sweet birds, and to see the green trees,
And to do just exactly whate’er he might please.

The children they followed him once to the wood,—
(They loved the good parson, because he was good!)
They followed him on for many a mile
To list to his voice, and to look at his smile.

At length the children cried “Oh,—_dear me_!
We’re tired! as tired as tired can be!
’Tis supper time, too, while afar we thus roam;
Now please, dear parson, to carry us home!”

The children were six, and the parson was one.
Now, goodness gracious! what was to be done?
He sat himself down in the shade of a tree,
And pondered the matter most thoughtfully.

At length he exclaimed, “My dear little chicks,
I might carry one, but I can’t carry six!
Yet courage! Your parson’s good care will provide
That each of you home on his own horse shall ride!”

He drew out his jackknife so broad and so bright,
And fell to work slashing with main and with might;
Till ready there, one, two, three, four, five and six,
Lay smooth and well polished, some excellent sticks.

“Now mount your good horses, my children!” he cried.
“Now mount your good horses and merrily ride!
A pace, and a trot, and a gallop, away!
And we shall be there ere the close of the day!”

The children forgot they were “_dreadfully_ tired!”
They seized on the hobbies, with ardour inspired.
“Gee, Dobbin! whoa, Dobbin! come up, Dobbin, do!
Oh! Parson, dear Parson, won’t you gallop, too?”

Away went the children, in frolicsome glee:
Away went the parson, as pleased as could be.
And when they arrived at the village, they cried,
“Oh, dear! and oh, dear! what a _very_ short ride!”

THE PURPLE FISH.

SHALL I tell you what happened to Elsie one day? She was sitting on the beach in her green cart, which had lost both wheels, so that it was not of much use as a cart, though very nice to sit in. And presently, a purple fish, with a yellow tail, came and looked at her. And he said,—

“Little maiden fair to see,
Will you take a trip with me?”

Elsie smiled and answered,—

“Yes, I will, without a doubt,
If you will not tip me out.”

Then the purple fish took the string of the cart in his mouth and swam away. The cart bobbed up and down on the waves, and behaved quite like a boat, and Elsie clapped her hands, and laughed and sang. The fish swam on and on, till at length he came to a little island, all covered with purple hyacinths and yellow violets. Here he stopped and bade Elsie get out, saying,—

“Now, if you will marry me,
Here we’ll live and happy be.”

But Elsie did not like this at all, though the island was very beautiful. She shook her head resolutely, and replied,—

“If you please, I do not wish
For to marry any fish!”

Then the purple fish was angry, and his yellow tail quivered with vexation. He said, sternly,—

“If you will not be my wife,
You shall stay here all your life!”

And off he swam, taking the green cart with him. Poor Elsie was very unhappy, for she could not bear to think of spending her whole life on the island, and yet she did not want to marry a fish, even if her Mamma were willing, which she was quite sure she would not be. But, as she was sitting there, making a wreath of the yellow violets, two sea-gulls came flying by. They stopped when they saw Elsie, and one of them said,—

“Here, upon this purple island,
What do I see but a human chisland!”

“There isn’t any such word as ‘chisland!’” said Elsie. “It is ‘child,’ don’t you know?”

“I am not very familiar with English,” replied the sea-gull. “The other word rhymes better; but I am not prejudiced. What are you doing here, child?”

“Nothing!” replied Elsie. “If you please, did you ever marry a fish?”

Both the sea-gulls showed strong signs of disgust at this, and said,—

“We eat fish, but never marry them. Why do you ask?”

“Because the purple fish with the yellow tail said I must stay here all my life unless I would marry him. And he has taken away my green cart, so that I cannot get home.”

“As to that,” said the sea-gulls, “we can easily manage to get you home. Put your arms around our necks and hold on tight!”

So the sea-gulls flew away with Elsie, and brought her safely home. She kissed them and thanked them.

“What can I give you, dear sea-gulls,” she asked, “in return for your saving me from that horrid fish?”

“Could you give us your golden curls?” asked the sea-gulls. “We think they would become us, and they are a thing not often seen in our society.”

No, Elsie could not do that.

“But,” she said, “I can give you each a necklace of glass beads, fastened with a rosette of peach-coloured ribbon. I made them yesterday for my dolls, but you are welcome to them.”

“Just the thing!” said the sea-gulls.

So Elsie put the necklaces round their necks, and they thanked her, and flew away. I have been told that they flew straight to the island, and spent the whole afternoon in making rude remarks to the purple fish with the yellow tail, but one need not believe all one hears.

MR. SOMEBODY.

MY little one came to me weeping, weeping,
Over her cheeks the bright tears creeping:
“Oh, Mammy! ’tis raining and pouring away;
We cannot go to the picnic to-day!”

I took the darling up in my lap,
And tried to make light of the great mishap.
“Be patient, child, with the rain, for oh,
It makes Mr. Somebody’s garden grow!”

_Chorus._—Garden grow, garden grow!
It makes Mr. Somebody’s garden grow!

My little one came to me sighing, sighing,
Almost ready again for crying.
“Oh, Mammy! the sun is so blazing hot,
The flowers I planted are dead on the spot!”

I took the darling up on my knee,
And kissed, and spoke to her cheerily.
“Be glad, my child, of the sun to-day!
It helps Mr. Somebody make his hay.”

_Cho._—Make his hay! make his hay!
It helps Mr. Somebody make his hay.

My little one came to me panting, panting,
Hair a-flutter, and bonnet a-wanting.
“Oh, Mammy! the wind came roaring at me,
And blew my bonnet right up in a tree!”

I took the darling up on my arm,
And soon the poor bonnet was out of harm.
“Be glad, my child, of the wind, for you know,
It makes Mr. Somebody’s windmill go!”

_Cho._—Windmill go! windmill go!
It makes Mr. Somebody’s windmill go.

There’s many a thing that seems “just too bad!”
To this little lass or that little lad;
But, dears, that which hardest to you may be,
May fill Mr. Somebody’s heart with glee.

_Cho._—Heart with glee! heart with glee!
May fill Mr. Somebody’s heart with glee.

A CHRISTMAS RIDE.

THE sleigh had just driven from the door, with a great jingling and shouting, and the little boy was left at home, with his foot up on the sofa, for he had a sprained ankle. “I wish I could have gone!” said the little boy.

“You shall go!” said Sister Sunshine. “We will go together, you and I!”

She brought a great book, with bright pictures in it, and sat down by the little boy’s side.

“First, we must choose our carriage!” she said. There was a whole page of carriage pictures, all very splendid, and after some thought they chose a gilded shell, with the front turning over into a swan’s neck. An Empress of Russia had driven in this, the book said, and so they thought it was good enough for them. The horses were coal-black, and there were six of them, four more than Papa and the other children had. Sister Sunshine tucked the little boy well up, and it appeared that the robes were all of ermine and sable, whereas, he had been thinking that they were only a striped afghan. One does not always know things till one is told.

“Here we go!” cried Sister Sunshine. “How the horses dash along! It takes my breath away! We are going to St. Petersburg to see the ice palace on the Neva. The Empress has sent her own private sleigh to take the little boy, and I can go, too, because I belong to him.”

She turned the page, and there, sure enough, was the ice palace. The sun shone splendidly on it, and it looked as if the fairies had built it.

“There is the Empress waiting for us!” said Sister Sunshine. “I suppose it would be polite to go in, wouldn’t it?” The little boy thought it would, decidedly, so they took the Empress’s hand and went in, through one grand room after another. The Empress gave them each a lovely little porcelain stove to carry under their arm, for the ice halls were cold.

“I am used to it,” she said, “and do not mind it.” She showed them all her jewels, which shone and sparkled like living flames; and then she brought them long sticks of candy, striped red and white, and cream walnuts, and barley sugar lions, just the things the little boy liked best; and they both said, how funny it was that she should know all about it, when the people at home so often forgot and gave him horehound, which he could not abide, and then said it was good for his cold.

After that they drove a long way over the ice, and the little boy thought he would like to go to Egypt and see if they knew their lessons about Moses there, because he sometimes forgot his. And there was Egypt, just a few pages off, with lots of pyramids, and the Sphinx, and all the right Egypty things. They got on camels and went to find some children, and there, to be sure, were plenty of them, all looking just exactly like the pictures in the Bible; but not a single one of them knew anything about Moses, which made the little boy feel more puffed up than he had any reason to be.

They left the carriage and got into a Nile boat, because they wanted to go over the Cataracts, and Sister Sunshine thought the horses might not like it; but before they got to the very first one the little boy was sound asleep, and he never woke up till the others came home from their sleigh ride. He was quite sure that they could not possibly have had so good a time as he had; and, anyhow, nobody had given them so much as a single bite of candy; they said that themselves.

A FUNNY FELLOW.

A GREAT many queer things happen in this world, and this morning I saw one of them. We have a little aquarium,—just a long glass box, with some stones arranged in it to form a pretty little rock-work, and plenty of bladder-wort for the fish to feed on.

We have a good many fish,—three stickle-backs, and a lot of dace, the pretty silver dace, and some minnows and a crayfish; but the pride of the aquarium is the newt. Did you ever see a newt? He is a little creature, like a lizard, about two inches long; in color, light brown, with black spots. He is quite tame, and not in the least afraid of us. Well, yesterday morning I was watching the fish, and seeing that the greedy ones did not get more than their share of breakfast, when Master Newt came up out of the water and seated himself on the top of the rock-work, which projects an inch or two above the surface. He sat quite still for a few minutes, and I made no motion, thinking he had come to take a look at the upper world, and would prefer to be left to himself. Presently he began to move his little paws about (they are just like tiny hands, with long, thin fingers), and to rub himself, and wriggle about in a very queer way. I had watched him for some minutes before I realized what he was doing, but suddenly it flashed upon me that he was going to change his skin. I knew that newts often changed their skin, but I never expected to see one do it. Presently it was loose enough, and my little friend began to draw it off, slowly, beginning with the paws. The skin came off in perfect shape, and in a moment there was a pair of fairy gloves floating in the water, the prettiest things that ever were seen. Next, Master Newt began to unbutton his waistcoat, so to speak, and then to take off coat, waistcoat, breeches and all. He did look very fine in his new coat, which shone with lovely colours, and was as soft and smooth as gossamer. I thought I should like to have a new dress every day if I could manage it with no more trouble than this. But what was he going to do with his old clothes? There were no closets in the aquarium, no clothes-bags, no obliging old-clothes-fish who would take it off his hands and give him a trifle for it. What would he do with the old suit?

I was soon to see. Master Newt sat still for a few minutes after his great feat, seeming to enjoy the change, waving his delicate crest with evident satisfaction; then he took up the old suit of skin, which lay on the rock beside him. And then,—who can guess what he did next? Mind, I saw this with my own two eyes, the very ones that are looking down on this paper as I write. Why, he rolled it up carefully, made a ball of it, and then ate it up!

WOFFSKY-POFFSKY.

WOFFSKY-POFFSKY, Woffsky-Poffsky,
Once he was a Cossack hetman:
But he fell into the Dnieper,
And became a Cossack wet-man.

APRIL AND THE CHILDREN.

BRING your basket, Molly Miller,
Tie your kerchief, Susan Gray!
Come, while still the dewdrops twinkle,
O’er the hill with us away.
Every field is sunning, sunning
Broad its breast in morning’s blue;
Every brook is running, running,
Shall not we be running, too?

April calls from hill and valley,
Clad in fairy gold and green;
Bring your posies, Kate and Sally!
Gather round our maiden Queen!
Hark! the woods are ringing, ringing,
Thrushes trill and wood-doves coo;
All the birds are singing, singing,
Shall not we be singing, too?

Columbine, the airy lady,
Nods a greeting, light and free;
Where the leaves are cool and shady,
Violets spring for you and me;
Clover-top his red is showing,
Daisies peep in white and gold,
Tulips in the garden glowing,
Flaunt their scarlet brave and bold.

Look! the orchard’s all in flower,
And the white and rosy bloom
Turns it to a royal bower,
Fairy April’s tiring-room.
Peach and apple, plum and cherry,
All the air with fragrance woo;
Since the world is making merry,
Shall not we be merry, too?

Leave your book now, Peter Ponder;
Leave your lambkin, Betty Brown!
Jack and Willy, Maud and Milly,
Tie the cap and kilt the gown!
When the sunbeams gay and glancing
Throw their golden smiles to you,
When the leaves are dancing, dancing,
Shall not we be dancing, too?

Ring-around-a-rosy-posy!
Hands across and back again!
Drop your courtesy, Jess and Josie;
Swing your partner, Mary Jane!
Trip and skip, and down the middle,
Till the Echo cries, “Halloo!
Since ’tis April plays the fiddle,
I will come and dance with you!”

THE SNOWBALL.

IT was a perfect snowball day! There had been a heavy snowstorm, and then the sky had cleared and the weather turned soft and warm. What could be more delightful?

Rita was too little to go to school, but she was not too little to make snowballs.

So Mammy put on the little girl’s coat and hood, and leggings and overshoes and mittens, and turned her out of doors in the sunshine.

Oh, how bright it was! How the world sparkled and twinkled and laughed! Rita laughed, too, and at first could only jump up and down for pure joy, and sing,—

“Ho! ho! ho!
Pretty white snow!”

A song of her own composition, of which she was justly proud.

But presently she said to herself, “snowballs!” and from that moment she had no time for singing or jumping.

First she made some dumplings, and set them in a row on the piazza to bake in the sun; then she saw three little birds in a tree, and threw the dumplings at them, in case they might be hungry.

Then she made a pudding, and stirred it with a large icicle, which made the best possible pudding stick; then she made some eggs, and pelted Rover with them till that good dog fairly yelled with excitement.

At last she said, “_I_ know what I will do! I’ll make a Great Snowball, like the Great Sausage in my German picture book.”

So the little girl set to work, and rolled and patted and pressed till she had a well-shaped ball to begin with. Then she laid it on the smooth snow table-cloth of the lawn, and began to roll it in good earnest, here and there, over and over and over.

The snow was in perfect condition, soft and moist; every particle clung to the ball, which grew bigger and _bigger_ and BIGGER and BIGGER!

At last Rita’s arms were tired, and she stopped to rest and to look about her. She was at the end of the lawn, where the bank sloped up to the stone wall. How nice it would be if she could roll the Great Snowball up the bank, and push it to the top of the wall!

Then Papa would see it when he came home to dinner, and he would be _so_ ’stonished! he would say, “Who—upon—_yerth_—put that great, hugeous snowball _there_?” And Rita would say, “_I_ did, Pappy! just ’cisely all my own pitickiler self.”

And then Papa would say, “Why-ee! what a great, big girl my Rita is! I must take her to town to-morrow-day, and buy her a muff, and a doll with wink eyes, and a squeaky dog, and a prayer-book, and a nalbum, and big boots, and a gold watch and a stick of striped candy! and then—” But by this time Rita was quite ready to go to work again.

The snowball was very big by this time, quite as big as she was; and the bank, though not high, was very steep. But Rita’s short arms were sturdy, and her courage knew no measure; so at it she went, pushing the great ball up, inch by inch; puffing, panting, her cheeks growing redder and redder, but with no thought of giving up.

Now, by this time the snowball began to have its own ideas. Just at what point of bigness a snowball begins to have a mind of its own I cannot tell you, so you must ask some one wiser than I; but this snowball had reached the point.

At this moment it was saying to itself, “What fun this child is having! but I do not enjoy it at all. It is the pushing that is the fun, apparently. Why should not I push the child? I am bigger than she; it would be very pleasant to roll down the bank, and push her before me. I might try! I think I will! There!”

Down went the snowball! Down went little Rita! roly-poly, rumble-tumble, ruffle-puffle, _flop_!

When Papa drove into the yard, two minutes later, he saw a great mound of soft snow, with two little black legs sticking out of it.

“Never mind!” said Rita, shortly, when Papa had pulled her out, and she stood shaking the snow from her wet, rosy face, “the old thing didn’t hurt me a bit, and it broke its old self all—to pieces!”

A GREAT FIGHT.

THE first I heard of it was when Fred came rushing into the house after breakfast.

“The enemy!” he cried. “The enemy is upon us!”

“Where?” cried the rest of us, jumping up.

“In the battle-field, of course!” he said; and he seized his flag and rushed out again.

We followed as quickly as we could. I put on the helmet, and Max took the drum, and we let Toddles have the bugle this time, because he had just tumbled down; and he had the hearth-broom, too, so he was all right. We ran into the field, and found that the enemy had taken up a strong position behind the old cannon. (Ours is a _real_ battle-field, you know, and has been there ever since the war.) We formed in line, and Fred made a flank movement, meaning to take the enemy in the rear; but when he heard Fred coming, he charged on our line, and Toddles ran away, but Max and I retreated in good order, and formed again behind a rock, and began to shell him with green apples. He stopped to eat the apples, and meanwhile Fred completed his flank movement, and falling on the enemy’s rear, whacked it violently with a stick, waving his flag all the time, and shouting, “Yield, caitiff! Yield, craven hound!” (I tell him that nowadays people don’t _say_ those things in war, but he says that Roland and Bayard did, and that what suited them will suit him.)

Well, the enemy turned suddenly on Fred, and drove him back against the cannon: but by that time we had advanced again, and Toddles was blowing the bugle as hard as he could, which seemed to disconcert the foe. Fred took a flying leap from the cannon right over his back, and putting himself at our head, rallied us for a grand charge. We rushed forward, driving the enemy before us. A panic seized him, and he fled in disorder; we pursued him as far as the fence, and he got through a hole and escaped, but not before we each had a good whack at him. It was a glorious victory! Fred made us a speech afterward from the top of the cannon, and we all waved everything we had to wave, and vowed to slay the invader if ever he dared to show his nose on our side of the fence again.

So that was all!

“Who was the enemy?” Why, didn’t I say? Farmer Thurston’s pig, of course!

HALLELUJAH!

THE trees were still bare, and the grass brown and sere in the Northern city; but the sky was blue and cloudless, and the air warm and soft. On a bench under one of the leafless trees in the park sat an old man, gray-haired and poorly clad. His eyes were fixed on the ground, and he was thinking of many sorrowful things. Suddenly he heard a little clear voice saying, “Didn’t they give you any flowers?”

He looked up and saw a little wee girl standing before him, with her hands full of flowers. She had a round, rosy face and round blue eyes, and a little round rosebud of a mouth; and she was looking at him very seriously indeed. “Didn’t they give you any flowers?” she repeated.

“No, dear,” said the old man, gently; “nobody gave me any flowers. Where did you get your pretty posies?”

“In church, of course,” said the child. “The minister gives us all flowers. You shall have some of mine,” and she took some sprays of lily of the valley and a red rose and laid them in the old man’s withered hand. “Does that make you glad?” she asked, anxiously. “The minister says everybody _must_ be glad to-day.”

“Why must everybody be glad, my little angel?” asked the old man, sadly.

“Because Christ the Lord is risen,” said the child. “Didn’t you know that? Don’t you know that this is Easter Day?”

The old man smiled, and raised the flowers to his lips and kissed them. “I have been ill, my little angel,” he said, “but you have made me almost well again, and I _will_ be glad! Christ the Lord is risen indeed.”

“Hallelujah!” cried the child, eagerly.

“Hallelujah!” echoed the old man, reverently.

“Hallelujah!” sang the bluebird in the leafless tree.

“Hallelujah!” said the whole wide world.

LULLABY.

LULLABY, little lad!
Shut thine eyes gay and glad;
Make thy mouth a folded rose,
Tilt not up thy tiny nose!
Little heart must beat, beat,
Little head must slumber sweet.
Lullaby, little boy,
Mother’s love, Mother’s joy!

MERRY CHRISTMAS.

“I AM going to be merry all day long!” announced Wilfrid over his baked potato. “It is Merry Christmas and I’m going to show you how to be merry.”

“How?” queried Ben and Kitty.

“Why, it’s just—just to _be_ merry!” replied Wilfrid, loftily. “No matter what happens, all day long, we must laugh. If you fall down stairs, Ben, as you did yesterday, instead of howling, just laugh! You’ll see—ow! this potato is awfully hot. I’ve burned my finger like fun.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” shouted Ben and Kitty, as loud as they could.

“What are you laughing at, I should like to know?” cried their brother, looking up rather savagely from the finger he was nursing. “I don’t see the joke! Guess if it was _your_ finger—”

“Merry Christmas!” cried Ben.

“We are laughing ’cause you told us to, Willy!” said Kitty. “Oh, isn’t it funny, brother burned his finger! Why don’t you laugh, too, Willy?”

Wilfrid was silent a moment; then he gave a forced laugh. “Of course!” he said, glancing rather sheepishly in the direction of Papa, who sat quiet behind his newspaper, and appeared to be taking no notice. (“But you never can tell whether he really is or not,” he reflected.) “Of course! I didn’t say I should laugh if _you_ hurt yourselves, children, but it’s all right. You see I laugh, though I really hurt myself _very much indeed_” (with another glance at Papa)! “Come, now! what shall we play till it’s time to get ready for church? I vote for ‘Old Man I’m on your Castle!’ We can play right on the hearth-rug here, and I’ll be ‘Old Man.’”

“I want to be ‘Old Man!’” protested little Kitty. “You’s always ‘Old Man,’ Willy!”

“’Cause I’m the oldest!” responded her brother, promptly. “Come on, Kitty, and laugh, you know! Don’t look as if I had trodden on your toes just because you want to be ‘Old Man.’ We must laugh all the more when we don’t get the things we want, don’t you see?”

The game went on merrily, and all three were laughing with right good-will, when Wilfred caught his foot in a corner of the rug and fell, striking his head pretty sharply against the table. He was dazed for a moment, but as the children’s laughter rang out, he started to his feet with looks of fury.

“You hateful little things!” he began, crimson with rage.

But at this moment another laugh was heard. Papa put down his newspaper and began, “Ha! ha! ha! ho! ho! ho! this is Merry Christmas, indeed! Why don’t you laugh, Wilfrid, my boy? Ho! ho! this is remarkably funny. Why don’t you laugh? Why, this is the best joke I have heard to-day. Go to your mother, dear, and ask her to put some arnica on your head, but don’t forget to laugh all the way.”

“That is the worst of Papa,” said Wilfrid to himself, as he went slowly up stairs, rubbing his head, and casting baleful glances at the two little laughing children.

“He always makes you do things—when you say you are going to—even if they don’t turn out a bit the way you thought they would.”

THE LITTLE DOG WITH THE GREEN TAIL.

AN UNTRUE STORY.

ONCE upon a time there came to the town where all the little dogs live a strange little dog, whose tail was of a most beautiful bright green color,—so bright that it shone like an emerald. Now, when all the other little dogs saw this, they were filled with admiration and envy, and they ran to the strange little dog and said,—

“Oh, little dog! what makes your tail so beautifully green? Pray tell us, that we may make ours green too, for we never saw anything so lovely in all our lives.”

But the strange little dog laughed and said, “There are many things greener than my tail. There is the grass down in the meadow; go and ask that what makes it green, and perhaps it will tell you.”

So all the little dogs ran down into the meadow where the grass was growing, and they said, “Oh, grass, grass! what makes you so green? Pray tell us, that we may all get green tails, like the tail of the strange little dog.”

But all the little blades of grass shook their heads, and said, “We can tell you nothing about that. All we know is that we were down under the ground last winter, and that when we came up this spring, we were all green. You might try that, and perhaps it would make you green, too.”

So all the little dogs went to work as fast as they could, and dug holes in the ground; and then they got into them and covered themselves up with earth. But they very soon found they could not breathe; so they were all obliged to come up again. And when they looked at each other, they saw to their sorrow that they were not green at all, but just the same colours that they were before,—some black, some brown, and some spotted. Then they all went again to the little dog, and said,—

“Oh, little dog, little dog! we have been to the grass, and it has not helped us at all. Now, do please tell us what makes your tail so beautifully green, for we never can be happy till ours are like it.”

But the strange little dog only laughed again and answered, “My tail is not the only green thing in the world. There are the leaves on the great oak-tree; they are very green indeed. Go ask them what makes them so, and perhaps they will tell you.”

So all the little dogs ran as fast as they could to the great oak-tree, and called out to the little leaves, “Oh, little leaves! what makes you so beautifully green? Do tell us, that we may all get green tails, like the tail of the strange little dog.”

But the leaves all shook their heads, and said, “We know nothing about that. We came out of our buds last spring, and then we were very pale. But we danced about, and the more we danced the greener we grew. Perhaps if you come up here and dance, you will grow green, too.”

So all the little dogs climbed up the tree as fast as they could, and tried to dance about on the branches. But they were not fastened on like the little leaves, so they fell down and hurt themselves very much; and when they got up and looked at each other, they were not any greener than before. So then they all cried bitterly, and they ran once more to the strange little dog, and said, “Oh, little dog, little dog! we have tried the way that the leaves told us, and we have only hurt ourselves dreadfully, and have not got green at all. And now, if you do not tell us, we shall die of grief, for we never can rest again till our tails are green.”

But the strange little dog only laughed more than ever, and said, “What stupid creatures you are, to think that there is nothing green in the world except my tail. There is the Sea; he is twenty times as green as my tail. Go and ask him, and he will surely tell you all about it, for he is very wise and knows everything.”

So all the little dogs ran as fast as they could down to the shore; and there was the great hungry Sea, prowling up and down, twirling his white moustaches and tossing his white hair, and looking very green and very fierce. The little dogs were very much frightened, but they took courage when they thought of the beautiful green tail, and they said, trembling,—

“Oh, great Sea! the strange little dog told us that you were wise and knew everything, and that you would tell us how to make our tails green like his.”

The great Sea smiled, wickedly, and answered, “Oh, yes, my children, I can tell you! I am green myself, and I make everything green that touches me. So let me take you in my arms a moment, and you will become beautifully green, just like me.”

So the great hungry Sea held out his long, green arms, and beckoned to them with his white hands; and the poor little dogs all shut their eyes and jumped in, and in less than a minute the Sea gobbled them all up, so that not one was left. And there was an end of all the little dogs.

And the strange little dog went back to the place he came from, with his green tail curled up behind him; and he was never seen or heard of again.

NAUGHTY.