Chapter V (2)

As I was going o’er Westminster Bridge,
I met with a Westminster scholar;
He pulled off his cap _an’ drew_ off his glove,
And wished me a very good morrow.
What is his name?

_Margery Mutton-pie._

Margery Mutton-pie and Johnny Bo-peep,
They met together in Gracechurch-street;
In and out, in and out, over the way,
Oh! says Johnny, ’tis chop-nose day.

_Simple Simon Met a Pieman._

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 your 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.

FABLE.

The mountain and the squirrel
Had a quarrel,
And the former called the latter “Little Prig.”
Bun replied:
“You are doubtless very big;
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together
To make up a year
And a sphere;
And I think it no disgrace
To occupy my place.
If I am not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry.
I’ll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track;
Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;
If I cannot carry forests on my back
Neither can you crack a nut!”

—_Ralph Waldo Emerson._

_Solomon Grundy._

Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday.
This is the end
Of Solomon Grundy.

_Baa, Baa, Black Sheep._

Baa, baa, black sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes, marry, have I,
Three bags full;
One for my master,
And one for my dame,
But none for the little boy
Who cries in the lane.

_Bell-Horses, Bell-Horses._

Bell-Horses, bell-horses,
What time of day?
One o’clock, two o’clock,
Off and away.

THE FIELD MOUSE AND THE TOWN MOUSE.

A Field Mouse had a friend who lived in a house in town. Now the Town Mouse was asked by the Field Mouse to dine with him, and out he went and sat down to a meal of corn and wheat.

“Do you know, my friend,” said he, “that you live a mere ant’s life out here? Why, I have all kinds of things at home; come and enjoy them.”

So the two set off for town, and there the Town Mouse showed his beans and meal, his dates, too; his cheese and fruit and honey. And as the Field Mouse ate, drank, and was merry, he thought how rich his friend was and how poor he was.

But as they ate, a man all at once opened the door, and the mice were in such fear that they ran into a crack.

Then when they would eat some nice figs, in came a maid to get a pot of honey or a bit of cheese; and when they saw her, they hid in a hole.

Then the Field Mouse would eat no more, but said to the Town Mouse: “Do as you like, my good friend; eat all you want, have your fill of good things, but you are always in fear of your life. As for me, poor Mouse, who have only corn and wheat, I will live on at home, in no fear of any one.”

—_Aesop._

A DUTCH WINTER.

The windmills of Holland are silent and stilled,
Their whirling has ceased, for their long arms are chilled.
The ice-prisoned boats are hung with a lace
Of Flemish design of most delicate grace.
While the watchman calls out, with a voice like a bell,
The time by the tower, and adds, “All is well.”

The tulips are hid ’neath a rug of soft white,
They’re dreaming of spring, and the sun warm and bright.
The rollicking lads, with the lassies in wake,
Sweep by on their ice skates of old Friesian make,
While the watchman calls out, with a voice like a bell,
The time by the tower, and adds, “All is well.”

In the land of the windmills, the stars one by one
Slowly people the heavens, for night has begun.
The rosy-cheeked babies, in nightcap and gown,
Are asleep in their cradles with curtains hung down,
While the watchman calls out with a voice like a bell,
The time by the tower, and adds, “All is well.”

—_Ella Broes van Heekeren._

He that complies against his will
Is of the same opinion still.

—_Samuel Butler._

IF I WERE A COBBLER.

If I were a cobbler, I would make it my pride
The best of all cobblers to be;
If I were a tinker, no tinker beside
Should mend an old kettle like me.

THANKSGIVING DAY.

Over the river and through the wood,
To grandfather’s house we go;
The horse knows the way
To carry the sleigh
Through the white and drifted snow.
Over the river and through the wood—
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes
And bites the nose,
As over the ground we go.

Over the river and through the wood,
To have a first-rate play.
Hear the bells ring,
“Ting-a-ling-ding!”
Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river and through the wood,
Trot fast, my dapple-gray!
Spring over the ground,
Like a hunting hound!
For this is Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river and through the wood,
And straight through the barn-yard gate.
We seem to go
Extremely slow—
It is so hard to wait!
Over the river and through the wood—
Now grandmother’s cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun!
Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

—_Lydia Maria Child._

HALLUCINATIONS.

He thought he saw an Elephant,
That practiced on a fife.
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
“At length I realize,” he said,
“The bitterness of life!”

He thought he saw a Buffalo,
Upon the chimney piece.
He looked again, and found it was
His sister’s husband’s niece.
“Unless you leave this house,” he said,
“I’ll send for the police!”

He thought he saw a Rattlesnake,
That questioned him in Greek.
He looked again, and found it was
The middle of next week.
“The one thing I regret,” he said,
“Is that it cannot speak!”

He thought he saw a Banker’s Clerk,
Descending from the ’bus.
He looked again, and found it was
A hippopotamus.
“If this should stay to dine,” he said,
“There won’t be much for us.”

—_Lewis Carroll._

LET US HAVE FAITH.

Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it.

—_Abraham Lincoln._

LUCY’S BALLOON.

Little Donald was one day taken by his father to see the circus procession. His little sister Lucy was obliged to stay at home. While they were standing on the sidewalk, the father bought two balloons, saying, “One of these is for you, Donald, and the other we will take home to Lucy.” On account of the dense crowd, the father was carrying the balloons, holding them high above his head, when suddenly one of them exploded. Donald looked at it in dismay for a moment. Then his little face brightened, and he said cheerfully, “It’s too bad that _Lucy’s_ balloon is spoiled, but I will let her play with mine sometimes.”

—_Kate Upson Clark._

_London Bridge is Broken Down._

London Bridge is broken down,
Dance o’er my lady Lee;
London Bridge is broken down,
With a gay lady.

How shall we build it up again?
Dance o’er my lady Lee;
How shall we build it up again?
With a gay lady.

Silver and gold will be stole away,
Dance o’er my lady Lee;
Silver and gold will be stole away,
With a gay lady.

Build it up again with iron and steel,
Dance o’er my lady Lee;
Build it up with iron and steel,
With a gay lady.

Iron and steel will bend and bow,
Dance o’er my lady Lee;
Iron and steel will bend and bow,
With a gay lady.

Build it up with wood and clay,
Dance o’er my lady Lee;
Build it up with wood and clay,
With a gay lady.

Wood and clay will wash away,
Dance o’er my lady Lee;
Wood and clay will wash away,
With a gay lady.

Build it up with stone so strong,
Dance o’er my lady Lee;
Huzza! ’twill last for ages long,
With a gay lady.

_See a Pin and Pick It Up._

See a pin and pick up,
All the day you’ll have good luck;
See a pin and let it lay,
Bad luck you’ll have all the day!

_Pussy-Cat, Wussy-Cat._

Pussy-cat, wussy-cat, with a white foot,
When is your wedding? for I’ll come to ’t.
The beer’s to brew, the bread’s to bake.
Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, don’t be too late.

_The Man in the Wilderness._

The man in the wilderness asked me,
How many strawberries grew in the sea.
I answered him, as I thought good,
As many red herrings as grew in the wood.

_Poor Dog Bright._

Poor Dog Bright
Ran off with all his might,
Because the cat was after him—
Poor Dog Bright!

Poor Cat Fright
Ran off with all her might,
Because the dog was after her—
Poor Cat Fright!

_Johnny Shall Have a New Bonnet._

Johnny shall have a new bonnet,
And Johnny shall go to the fair,
And Johnny shall have a blue ribbon
To tie up his bonny brown hair.

And why may not I love Johnny?
And why may not Johnny love me?
And why may not I love Johnny
As well as another body?

And here’s a leg for a stocking,
And here’s a leg for a shoe;
And he has a kiss for his daddy,
And two for his mammy, I trow.

And why may not I love Johnny?
And why may not Johnny love me?
And why may not I love Johnny
As well as another body?

CHOOSING A NAME.

I have got a new-born sister;
I was nigh the first that kissed her.
When the nursing woman brought her
To papa, his infant daughter,
How papa’s dear eyes did glisten!—
She will shortly be to christen:
And papa has made the offer,
I shall have the naming of her.

Now, I wonder what would please her—
Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa?
Ann and Mary, they’re too common;
Joan’s too formal for a woman;
Jane’s a prettier name beside;
But we had a Jane that died.
They would say, if ’twas Rebecca,
That she was a little Quaker.
Edith’s pretty, but that looks
Better in old English books;
Ellen’s left off long ago;
Blanche is out of fashion now.

None that I have named as yet
Are so good as Margaret.
Emily is neat and fine.
What do you think of Caroline?
How I’m puzzled and perplext
What to choose or think of next!
I am in a little fever
Lest the name that I should give her
Should disgrace her or defame her.
I will leave papa to name her.

—_Charles Lamb._

Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as ever you can.

—_John Wesley._

A LITTLE NEGLECT MAY BREED MISCHIEF.

A little neglect may breed mischief: For want of a nail the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe the horse was lost; and for want of a horse the rider was lost.

—_Benjamin Franklin._

RULES OF BEHAVIOR.

Every action in company ought to be with some sign of respect to those present.

Think before you speak, pronounce not imperfectly, nor bring your words too hastily, but orderly and distinctly.

Associate yourself with men of good quality, if you esteem your own reputation; for it is better to be alone than in bad company.

—_George Washington._

When we are alone, we have our thoughts to watch, in the family our tempers, in company our tongues.

—_Hannah More._

THE LOST DOLL.

I once had a sweet little doll, dears,
The prettiest doll in the world;
Her cheeks were so red and white, dears,
And her hair was so charmingly curled.
But I lost my poor little doll, dears,
As I played on the heath one day;
And I cried for her more than a week, dears,
But I never could find where she lay.

I found my poor little doll, dears,
As I played on the heath one day;
Folks say she is terribly changed, dears,
For her paint is all washed away,
And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears,
And her hair not the least bit curled;
Yet for old sake’s sake, she is still, dears,
The prettiest doll in the world.

—_Charles Kingsley._

OLD SANTA CLAUS.

Old Santa Claus sat alone in his den,
With his leg crossed over his knee;
While a comical look peeped out of his eyes,
For a funny old fellow was he.

His queer little cap was tumbled and torn,
And his wig it was all awry;
But he sat and mused the whole day long,
While the hours went flying by.

He had been as busy as busy could be,
In filling his pack with toys;
He had gathered his nuts and baked his pies,
To give to the girls and boys.

There were dolls for the girls, and whips for the boys,
With wheelbarrows, horses and drays,
And bureaus and trunks for Dolly’s new clothes;
All these in his pack he displays.

Of candy, too, both twisted and striped,
He had furnished a plentiful store;
While raisins and figs, and prunes and grapes,
Hung up on a peg by the door.

“I’m almost ready,” quoth he, quoth he,
“And Christmas is almost here;
But one thing more—I must write a book,
And give to each one this year.”

So he clapped his specks on his little round nose,
And seizing the stump of a pen,
He wrote more lines in one little hour
Than you ever could read in ten.

He told them stories all pretty and new,
And wrote them all out in rhyme;
Then packed them away with his box of toys
To distribute one at a time.

And Christmas Eve when all were in bed,
Right down the chimney he flew;
And stretching the stocking leg out at the top,
He clapped in a book for you.

—_Unknown._

Such is the patriot’s boast where’er we roam.
His first, best country ever is at home.

—_Oliver Goldsmith._

A RIDDLE.

(A book.)

I’m a strange contradiction; I’m new, and I’m old,
I’m often in tatters and oft decked with gold.
Though I never could read, yet lettered I’m found;
Though blind, I enlighten; though loose, I am bound;
I’m always in black, and I’m always in white;
I’m grave and I’m gay, I am heavy and light—
In form, too, I differ—I’m thick and I’m thin,

I’ve no flesh and no bones, yet I’m covered with skin;
I’ve more points than the compass, more stops than the flute;
I sing without voice, without speaking confute.
I’m English, I’m German, I’m French, and I’m Dutch;
Some love me too fondly, some slight me too much;
I often die soon, though I sometimes live ages,
And no monarch alive has so many pages.

—_Hannah More._

A BOY’S SONG.

Where the pools are bright and deep,
Where the gray trout lies asleep,
Up the river and o’er the lea,
That’s the way for Billy and me.

Where the blackbird sings the latest,
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,
Where the nestlings chirp and flee,
That’s the way for Billy and me.

Where the mowers mow the cleanest,
Where the hay lies thick and greenest,
There to trace the homeward bee,
That’s the way for Billy and me.

Where the hazel bank is steepest,
Where the shadow falls the deepest,
Where the clustering nuts fall free,
That’s the way for Billy and me.

Why the boys should drive away,
Little sweet maidens from the play,
Or love to banter and fight so well,
That’s the thing I never could tell.

But this I know, I love to play,
Through the meadow, among the hay,
Up the water and o’er the lea,
That’s the way for Billy and me.

—_James Hogg._

LET DOGS DELIGHT TO BARK AND BITE.

Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so;
Let bears and lions growl and fight,
For ’tis their nature to.

But, little children, you should never let
Such angry passions rise;
Your little hands were never made
To tear each other’s eyes.

—_Isaac Watts._

_Bless You, Bless You._

Bless you, bless you, burnie bee;
Say, when will your wedding be?
If it be to-morrow day,
Take your wings and fly away.

_Ding Dong Bell._

Ding dong bell, pussy’s in the well!
Who put her in?—Little Johnny Green.
Who pulled her out?—Big Johnny Stout.
What a naughty boy was that
To drown poor pussy cat,
Who never did him any harm,
But killed the mice in his father’s barn!

_Leg Over Leg._

Leg over leg, as the dog went to Dover,
When he came to a stile, hop he went over.

_A Little Cock-Sparrow._

A little cock-sparrow sat on a tree,
Looking as happy as happy could be,
Till a boy came by, with his bow and arrow.
Says he, “I will shoot the little cock-sparrow.
His body will make me a nice little stew,
And his giblets will make me a little pie, too.”
Says the little cock-sparrow, “I’ll be shot if I stay,”
So he clapped his wings, and flew away.

MY SHIP AND I.

O it’s I that am the captain of a tidy little ship,
Of a ship that goes a-sailing on the pond;
And my ship it keeps a-turning all around and all about;
But when I’m a little older, I shall find the secret out
How to send my vessel sailing on beyond.

For I mean to grow as little as the dolly at the helm,
And the dolly I intend to come alive;
And with him beside to help me, it’s a-sailing I shall go,
It’s a-sailing on the water, when the jolly breezes blow
And the vessel goes a divie-divie-dive.

O it’s then you’ll see me sailing through the rushes and the reeds,
And you’ll hear the water singing at the prow;
For beside the dolly sailor, I’m to voyage and explore,
To land upon the island where no dolly was before,
And to fire the penny cannon in the bow.

—_Robert Louis Stevenson._

Never leave that till tomorrow which you can do today.

—_Benjamin Franklin._

THE PUSSY WILLOWS.

The Pussy Willows, far and near,
Give warning when the spring is here;
And every little child I know
Can tell where Pussy Willows grow.

While winter snows are whirling ’round
No Pussy Willows can be found;
But, dreaming in their beds, they hear
The first awakening of the year.

Then soon through frosty windows peep
The downy Pussies, roused from sleep.
“The spring is here!” they softly purr—
And out they pop to welcome her.

—_Sara Tawney Lefferts._

_The Babes in the Wood._

My dear, do you know,
How a long time ago,
Two poor little children,
Whose names I don’t know,
Were stolen away,
On a fine summer’s day,
And left in the wood,
As I’ve heard people say.

And when it was night,
So sad was their plight,
The sun it went down,
And the moon gave no light!
They sobbed, and they sighed
And they bitterly cried,
And the poor little things,
They lay down and died.

And when they were dead,
The Robins so red
Brought strawberry leaves,
And over them spread;
And all the day long,
They sung them this song:
“Poor babes in the wood! poor babes in the wood!
And don’t you remember the babes in the wood?”

A DUTCH LULLABY.

Far over the water so blue and so deep,
The little Dutch babies are going to sleep;
Bright yellow tulips are nodding their heads
And fluffy young ducks are safe in their beds,
While slowly the windmills go whirling around—
Go whirling around—go whirling around.

Far over the water the sails are furled
And the stars peep out on a sleepy world;
The moo cows moo softly beneath the trees
And the white sheep drowse in the evening breeze,
While slowly the windmills go whirling around—
Go whirling around—go whirling around.

Far over the water comes down the night,
Fading and fading the silvery light,
While storks on their nests stand white and tall,
And over the tree-tops the shadows fall.
While slowly the windmills go whirling around—
Go whirling around—go whirling around.

—_Ella Broes van Heekeren._

IF WE WORK UPON MARBLE.

If we work upon marble, it will perish; if we work upon brass, time will efface it; if we rear temples, they will crumble into dust! but if we work upon our immortal minds, if we imbue them with principles—with the just fear of God and our fellowmen—we engrave on those tablets something which will brighten to all eternity.

—_Daniel Webster._

THE DUEL.

The gingham dog and the calico cat
Side by side on the table sat;
’Twas half-past twelve, and (what do you think!)
Not one nor t’other had slept a wink!
The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate
Appeared to know as sure as fate
There was going to be a terrible spat
(_I wasn’t there; I simply state_
_What was told to me by the Chinese plate!_)

The gingham dog went “bow-wow-wow!”
And the calico cat replied “mee-ow!”
The air was littered an hour or so,
With bits of gingham and calico;
While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-place,
Up with its hands before its face,
For it always dreaded a family row!
(_Now mind: I’m only telling you_
_What the old Dutch clock declares is true!_)

The Chinese plate looked very blue,
And wailed, “Oh, dear! what shall we do!”
But the gingham dog and the calico cat
Wallowed this way and tumbled that,
Employing every tooth and claw
In the awfullest way you ever saw—
And, Oh! how the gingham and calico flew!
(_Don’t fancy I exaggerate!_
_I got my views from the Chinese plate!_)

Next morning where the two had sat
They found no trace of dog or cat;
And some folks think unto this day
That burglars stole that pair away!
But the truth about that cat and pup
Is this: They ate each other up!
Now what do you really think of that!
(_The old Dutch clock it told me so,_
_And that is how I came to know._)

—_Eugene Field._

O wad some power the giftie gie us
To see ourselves as others see us,
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,
And foolish notion.

—_Robert Burns._

THE ANT AND THE CRICKET.

A silly young cricket, accustomed to sing
Through the warm sunny months of gay summer and spring,
Began to complain, when he found that at home
His cupboard was empty and winter was come.
Not a crumb to be found
On the snow-covered ground;
Not a flower could he see,
Not a leaf on a tree:
“Oh, what will come,” says the cricket, “of me?”

At last by starvation and famine made bold,
All dripping with wet and all trembling with cold,
Away he set off to a miserly ant,
To see if, to keep him alive he would grant
Him a shelter from rain:
A mouthful of grain
He wished only to borrow,
He’d repay it to-morrow:
If not, he must die of starvation and sorrow.

Says the ant to the cricket, “I’m your servant and friend,
But we ants never borrow, we ants never lend;
But tell me, dear sir, did you lay nothing by
When the weather was warm?” Said the cricket, “Not I.
My heart was so light
That I sang day and night,
For all nature looked gay.”
“You _sang_, sir, you say?
Go then,” said the ant, “and _dance_ winter away.”

Thus ending, he hastily lifted the wicket
And out of the door turned the poor little cricket.
Though this is a fable, the moral is good;
If you live without work, you must live without food.

—_Unknown._

A GOOD LISTENER.

It is the Listener who is just now in far greater demand than the Talker.

Let us all learn the Fine Art of Good Listening.

—_Kate Upson Clark._

_There Was a Crooked Man._

There was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile:
He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.

_Little Bo-Peep._

Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep,
And can’t tell where to find them;
Leave them alone, and they’ll come home,
And bring their tails behind them.

Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep,
And dreamed she heard them bleating;
But when she awoke, she found it a joke,
For they were still a-fleeting.

Then up she took her little crook,
Determined for to find them;
She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed,
For they’d left all their tails behind ’em.

_Peter Piper._

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers;
A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked;
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,
Where’s the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?

EMPLOYMENT.

Who’ll come and play with me here under the tree,
My sisters have left me alone;
My sweet little sparrow, come hither to me,
And play with me while they are gone.

O no, little lady, I can’t come, indeed,
I’ve no time to idle away,
I’ve got all my dear little children to feed,
And my nest to new cover with hay.

Pretty Bee, do not buzz about over the flower,
But come here and play with me, do:
The sparrow won’t come and stay with me an hour,
But stay, pretty Bee—will not you?

O no, little lady, for do not you see
Those must work who would prosper and thrive,
If I play, they would call me a sad idle bee—
And perhaps turn me out of the hive.

Stop! stop! little Ant—do not run off so fast,
Wait with me a little and play:
I hope I shall find a companion at last,
You are not so busy as they.

O no, little lady, I can’t stay with you,
We’re not made to play, but to labor:
I always have something or other to do,
If not for myself, for my neighbor.

Why then, have they all employment but me,
Who lie lounging here like a dunce?
O then, like the Ant, and the Sparrow, and Bee,
I’ll go to my lesson at once.

—_Jane Taylor._

_Pat-a-Cake, Pat-a-Cake._

Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man!
So I will, master, as fast as I can:
Pat it, and prick it, and mark it with T,
Put it in the oven for Tommy and me.

Three straws on a staff,
Would make a baby cry and laugh.

_Great A, Little a._

Great A, little a,
Bouncing B!
The cat’s in the cupboard,
And she can’t see.

_Jack Sprat._

Jack Sprat could eat no fat,
His wife could eat no lean;
Betwixt them both, they cleared the plate,
And licked the platter clean.

_As I Went to Bonner._

As I went to Bonner,
I met a pig
Without a wig,
Upon my word and honour.

_A Riddle, a Riddle._

A riddle, a riddle, as I suppose,
A hundred eyes, and never a nose.

(_A cinder-sifter._)

_Is John Smith Within?_

Is John Smith within?—
Yes, that he is.
Can he set a shoe?—
Ay, marry, two;
Here a nail, and there a nail,
Tick, tack, too.

A CHILD’S THOUGHT OF GOD.

They say that God lives very high!
But if you look above the pines
You cannot see our God. And why?

And if you dig down in the mines
You never see him in the gold,
Though from him all that’s glory shines.

God is so good, He wears a fold
Of heaven and earth across His face—
Like secrets kept, for love, untold.

But still I feel that His embrace
Slides down by thrills, through all things made.
Through sight and sound of every place:

As if my tender mother laid
On my shut lids, her kisses’ pressure,
Half-waking me at night, and said:
“Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?”

—_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._

SONG.

Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies;—
Hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower—but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.

—_Alfred, Lord Tennyson._

Dare to be true.... Nothing can need a lie;
A fault, which needs it most, grows two thereby.

—_George Herbert._

LADY MOON.

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
“Over the sea.”
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
“All that love me.”

Are you not tired with rolling, and never
Resting to sleep?
Why look so pale and so sad, as forever
Wishing to weep?

“Ask me not this, little child, if you love me:
You are too bold:
I must obey my dear Father above me,
And do as I’m told.”

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
“Over the sea.”
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
“All that love me.”

—_Lord Houghton._

IN A CHILD’S ALBUM.

Small service is true service while it lasts;
Of humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not one;
The Daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dew-drop from the sun.

—_William Wordsworth._

_Mistress Mary._

Mistress Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With cockle-shells, and silver bells,
And pretty maids all in a row.

_Handy Spandy._

Handy Spandy, Jack-a-dandy,
Loved plum cake and sugar candy;
He bought some at a grocer’s shop,
And out he came, hop, hop, hop.

_About the Bush, Willy._

About the bush, Willy,
About the bee-hive,
About the bush, Willy,
I’ll meet thee alive.
Then to my ten shillings
Add you but a groat,
I’ll go to Newcastle,
And buy a new coat.
Five and five shillings
Five and a crown;
Five and five shillings,
Will buy a new gown.
Five and five shillings,
Five and a groat;
Five and five shillings
Will buy a new coat.

_Little Jack Horner._

Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner,
Eating a Christmas pie;
He put in his thumb,
And he took out a plum,
And said, “What a good boy am I!”

_If I’d as Much Money._

If I’d as much money as I could spend,
I never would cry old chairs to mend;
Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend;
I never would cry old chairs to mend.

If I’d as much money as I could tell,
I never would cry old clothes to sell;
Old clothes to sell, old clothes to sell;
I never would cry old clothes to sell.

_Pretty John Watts._

Pretty John Watts,
We are troubled with rats,
Will you drive them out of the house?
We have mice too, in plenty,
That feast in the pantry;
But let them stay
And nibble away
What harm in a little brown mouse?

_This Pig Went to Market._

1. This pig went to market;
2. This pig stayed at home;
3. This pig had a bit of meat;
4. And this pig had none;
5. This pig said, “Wee, wee, wee!
I can’t find my way home.”

_The Rose is Red._

The rose is red, the grass is green;
And in this book my name is seen.

LOVE BETWEEN BROTHERS AND SISTERS

Whatever brawls disturb the street,
There should be peace at home.
Where sisters dwell and brothers meet,
Quarrels should never come.

Birds in their little nests agree;
And ’tis a shameful sight,
When children of one family
Fall out and chide and fight.

—_Isaac Watts._

BE GOOD.

Little children, we must seek
Rather to be good than wise;
For the thoughts we do not speak,
Shine out in our cheeks and eyes.

OLD RHYME.

Whichever way the wind doth blow,
Some heart is glad to have it so;
Then blow it East or blow it West,
The wind that blows—that wind is best.

THE CHRISTMAS STOCKING.

An ancient Italian legend tells how Good St. Nicholas of Padua first gave presents on Christmas Eve by throwing purses in at the open windows of needy people. Purses in those days were knitted of yarn and tied with strings at the open ends. They were not unlike stockings, except that they had no feet. People began to hang these long empty purses of yarn on their window-sills on Christmas Eve, so that St. Nicholas, as he passed by, could put money into them. When money became scarce the long purses were filled with presents instead—useful things for the big people, and books and toys for the children.

In cold countries, where the windows could not be left open, folks hung their purses near the fireplace, believing that St. Nicholas would come down the chimney and leave his presents for them. And after the knitted purses went out of fashion they hung up their stockings, which closely resembled the old-time purses, so that there would be plenty of room for the Christmas presents, and old St. Nicholas (Santa Claus), who lived on through all the ages, would know he had been expected.

That is how the Christmas stocking came to be used, and why it will be used for many generations to come in thousands of homes on each succeeding Christmas Eve....

—_L. Frank Baum._

_I’ll Tell You a Story._

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

_One, Two, Buckle My Shoe._

One, two,
Buckle my shoe;
Three, four,
Shut the door;
Five, six,
Pick up sticks;
Seven, eight,
Lay them straight;
Nine, ten,
A good fat hen;
Eleven, twelve,
Who will delve?
Thirteen, fourteen,
Maids a-courting;
Fifteen, sixteen,
Maids a-kissing;
Seventeen, eighteen,
Maids a-waiting;
Nineteen, twenty,
My stomach’s empty.

THE EAGLE.

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

—_Alfred, Lord Tennyson._

THE BEE AND THE FLOWER.

The bee buzz’d up in the heat.
“I am faint for your honey, my sweet.”
The flower said, “Take it, my dear;
For now is the spring of the year.
So come, come!”
“Hum!”
And the bee buzz’d down from the heat.

And the bee buzz’d up in the cold
When the flower was withered and old.
“Have you still any honey, my dear?”
She said, “It’s the fall of the year,
But come, come!”
“Hum!”
And the bee buzzed off in the cold.

—_Alfred, Lord Tennyson._

THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT.

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat;
They took some honey, and plenty of money
Wrapped in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the moon above,
And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,—
You are,
What a beautiful Pussy you are!”

Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl!
How wonderful sweet you sing!
O let us be married,—too long we have tarried,—
But what shall we do for a ring?”
They sailed away for a year and a day
To the land where the Bong tree grows
And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,—
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for a shilling
Your ring?” Said the piggy, “I will.”
So they took it away and were married next day
By the turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined upon mince and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon,
And hand in hand on the edge of the sand
They danced by the light of the moon,—
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

—_Edward Lear._

I would not enter on my list of friends,
Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility, the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.

—_William Cowper._

MAKING EXCUSES.

A young American who had broken an appointment with Dr. Franklin, came to him the following day prepared to make his peace with an apology. He was making a tiresome excuse when Dr. Franklin stopped him, saying, “My dear boy, say no more. You have, indeed, said too much already. For he who is good at making an excuse, is seldom good at anything else.”

—_Benjamin Franklin._

EXTREMES.