Chapter V (1)

Capture him! no we won't do it,
Or, in less than _no_ time, _how_ we'd rue it!

[Color Plate:]

Hippity hop
To the barber's shop
To buy a stick of candy.

BABY'S TROTTING SONG

[Transcriber's Note:
The bracketed text was written vertically as part of each
accompanying illustration.]

[Daintily]

Come, see how the ladies ride,
All so pretty, all so gay,
In their beauty, in their pride,
Down Broadway;
Prancing horses silver shod,
All so pretty, all so gay;
Princely feathers bend and nod,
Down Broadway.

[Roughly]

Jiggety-jog, jiggety-jog,
Over the mountain, through the bog--
That's the way the farmers go,
Hear the news and see the show;
Pumpkins round strapped on behind,
Eggs in baskets, too, you'll find,
Soon to change for calico--
That's the way the farmers go.

[Tea-Bell Accompaniment]

Bells a-jingle, fingers tingle,
Ditto toes, likewise nose.
The wind doth blow,
And all the snow
Around doth scatter;
Our teeth they chatter,
But that's no matter--
The song rings clear
With a Happy New Year,
And never a mutter,
As we fly in our cutter.

[Trot to Boston]

Jingle, jar, horse car,
Leave you near, or take you far.
Take a seat upon my lap,
Cling on, swing on by the strap;
Here a stop, and there a start--
Let me off, I'll take a cart!

[Boisterously]

Sword and pistols by their side,
And that's the way the officers ride!
Boots stretched out like a letter V,
we belong to the cavalry!
Over the hurdles after the hounds,
tirra-la! the hunting-horn sounds--
Dashaway, slashaway, reckless and fast!
Crashaway, smashaway, tumbled at last!

JOHN S. CROW.

All alone in the field
Stands John S. Crow;
And a curious sight is he,
With his head of tow,
And a hat pulled low
On a face that you never see.

His clothes are ragged
And horrid and old,
The worst that ever were worn;
They're covered with mold,
And in each fold
A terrible rent is torn.

They once were new
And spick and span,
As nice as clothes could be;
For though John hardly can
Be called a man,
They were made for men you see.

That old blue coat,
With a double breast
And a brass button here and there,
Was grandfather's best,
And matches the vest--
The one Uncle Phil used to wear.

The trousers are short;
They belonged to Bob
Before he had got his growth;
But John's no snob,
And, unlike Bob,
Cuts his legs to the length of his cloth.

The boots are a mystery:
How and where
John got such a shabby lot,
Such a shocking pair,
I do declare
Though he may know, I do not.

But the hat that he wears
Is the worst of all;
I wonder that John keeps it on.
It once was tall,
But now it is small--
Like a closed accordeon.

But a steady old chap
Is John S. Crow,
And for months has stood at his post;
For corn you know
Takes time to grow,
And 'tis long between seed and roast.

And it had to be watched
And guarded with care
From the time it was put in the ground,
For over there,
And everywhere,
Sad thieves were waiting around.

Sad thieves in black,
A cowardly set,
Who waited for John to be gone,
That they might get
A chance to upset
The plans of the planter of corn.

They were no kin to John,
Though they bore his name
And belonged to the family Crow;
He'd scorn to claim
Any part of the fame
That is theirs wherever you go.

So he has stuck to the field
And watched the corn,
And been watched by the crows from the hill;
Till at length they're gone,
And so is the corn--
They away, and it to the mill.

Now the work is done,
And it's time for play,
For which John is glad I know;
For though made of hay,
If he could he would say,
"It's stupid to be a scarecrow."

But though it is stupid,
And though it is slow,
To fill such an humble position;
To be a _good_ scarecrow
Is better I know
Than to scorn a lowly condition.

SILVER LOCKS AND THE BEARS.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

Silver Locks was a little girl,
Lovely and good;
She strayed out one day
And got lost in the wood,
And was lonely and sad,
Till she came where there stood
The house which belonged to the Bears.

She pulled the latch string,
And the door opened wide;
She peeped softly first,
And at last stepped inside;
So tired her little feet
Were that she cried,
And so hungry she, sobbed to herself.

She did not know
Whether to stay or to go;
But there were three chairs
Standing all in a row,
And there were three bowls
Full of milk white as snow,
And there were three beds by the wall.

But the Father Bear's chair
Was too hard to sit in it,
And the Mother Bear's chair
Was too hard to sit in it;
But the Baby Bear's chair
Was so soft in a minute
She had broken it all into pieces.

And the Father Bear's milk
Was too sour to drink,
And the Mother Bear's milk
Was too sour to drink;
But the Baby Bear's milk
Was so sweet, only think,
When she tasted she drank it all up.

And the Father Bear's bed
Was as hard as a stone,
And the Mother Bear's bed
Was as hard as a stone;
But the Baby Bear's bed
Was so soft she lay down,
And before she could wink was asleep.

By and by came the scratch
Of old Father Bear's claw,
And the fumbling knock
Of old Mother Bear's paw,
And the latch string flew up,
And the Baby Bear saw
That a stranger had surely been there.

Then Father Bear cried,
"Who's been sitting in my chair?"
And Mother Bear cried,
"Who's been sitting in _my_ chair?"
And Baby Bear smiled,
"Who's been sitting in my chair,
And broken it all into pieces?"

Then Father Bear growled,
"Who's been tasting of my milk?"
And Mother Bear growled,
"Who's been tasting of _my_ milk?"
And Baby Bear wondered,
"Who's tasted of my milk,
And tasting has drank it all up?"

And Father Bear roared,
"Who's been lying on my bed?"
And Mother Bear roared,
"Who's been lying on _my_ bed?"
And Baby Bear laughed,
"Who's been lying on my bed?
O, here she is, fast asleep!"

The savage old Father Bear cried,
"Let us eat her!"
The savage old Mother Bear cried,
"Let us eat her!"
But the Baby Bear said,
"Nothing ever was sweeter.
Let's kiss her, and send her home!"

JACK AND THE BEAN-STALK.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

A lazy and careless boy was Jack,--
He would not work, and he would not play;
And so poor, that the jacket on his back
Hung in a ragged fringe alway;
But 'twas shilly-shally, dilly-dally,
From day to day.

At last his mother was almost wild,
And to get them food she knew not how;
And she told her good-for-nothing child
To drive to market the brindle cow.
So he strolled along, with whistle and song,
And drove the cow.

A man was under the wayside trees,
Who carried some beans in his hand--all white.
He said, "My boy, I'll give you these
For the brindle cow." Jack said, "All right."
And, without any gold for the cow he had sold,
Went home at night.

Bitter tears did the mother weep;
Out of the window the beans were thrown,
And Jack went supperless to sleep;
But, when the morning sunlight shone,
High, and high, to the very sky,
The beans had grown.

They made a ladder all green and bright,
They twined and crossed and twisted so;
And Jack sprang up it with all his might,
And called to his mother down below:
"_Hitchity-hatchet, my little red jacket,
And up I go!_"

High as a tree, then high as a steeple,
Then high as a kite, and high as the moon,
Far out of sight of cities and people,
He toiled and tugged and climbed till noon;
And began to pant: "I guess I shan't
Get down very soon!"

At last he came to a path that led
To a house he had never seen before;
And he begged of a woman there some bread;
But she heard her husband, the Giant, roar,
And she gave him a shove in the old brick oven,
And shut the door.

And the Giant sniffed, and beat his breast,
And grumbled low, "_Fe, fi, fo, fum!_"
His poor wife prayed he would sit and rest,--
"I smell fresh meat! I will have some!"
He cried the louder, "_Fe, fi, fo, fum!_
I will have some."

He ate as much as would feed ten men,
And drank a barrel of beer to the dregs;
Then he called for his little favorite hen,
As under the table he stretched his legs,--
And he roared "Ho! ho!"--like a buffalo--
"Lay your gold eggs!"

She laid a beautiful egg of gold;
And at last the Giant began to snore;
Jack waited a minute, then, growing bold,
He crept from the oven along the floor,
And caught the hen in his arms, and then
Fled through the door.

But the Giant heard him leave the house,
And followed him out, and bellowed "Oh-oh!"
But Jack was as nimble as a mouse,
And sang as he rapidly slipped below:
"_Hitchity-hatchet, my little red jacket,
And down I go!_"

And the Giant howled, and gnashed his teeth.
Jack got down first, and, in a flash,
Cut the ladder from underneath;
And Giant and Bean-stalk, in one dash,--
No shilly-shally, no dilly-dally,--
Fell with a crash.

This brought Jack fame, and riches, too;
For the little gold-egg hen would lay
An egg whenever he told her to,
If he asked one fifty times a day.
And he and his mother lived with each other
In peace alway.

LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

If you listen, children, I will tell
The story of little Red Riding-hood:
Such wonderful, wonderful things befell
Her and her grandmother, old and good
(So old she was never very well),
Who lived in a cottage in a wood.

Little Red Riding-hood, every day,
Whatever the weather, shine or storm,
To see her grandmother tripped away,
With a scarlet hood to keep her warm,
And a little mantle, soft and gay,
And a basket of goodies on her arm.

A pat of butter, and cakes of cheese,
Were stored in the napkin, nice and neat;
As she danced along beneath the trees,
As light as a shadow were her feet;
And she hummed such tunes as the bumble-bees
Hum when the clover-tops are sweet.

But an ugly wolf by chance espied
The child, and marked her for his prize.
"What are you carrying there?" he cried;
"Is it some fresh-baked cakes and pies?"
And he walked along close by her side,
And sniffed and rolled his hungry eyes.

"A basket of things for granny, it is,"
She answered brightly, without fear.
"Oh, I know her very well, sweet miss!
Two roads branch towards her cottage here;
You go that way, and I'll go this.
See which will get there first, my dear!"

He fled to the cottage, swift and sly;
Rapped softly, with a dreadful grin.
"Who's there?" asked granny. "Only I!"
Piping his voice up high and thin.
"Pull the string, and the latch will fly!"
Old granny said; and he went in.

He glared her over from foot to head;
In a second more the thing was done!
He gobbled her up, and merely said,
"She wasn't a very tender one!"
And then he jumped into the bed,
And put her sack and night-cap on.

And he heard soft footsteps presently,
And then on the door a timid rap;
He knew Red Riding-hood was shy,
So he answered faintly to the tap:
"Pull the string and the latch will fly!"
She did: and granny, in her night-cap,

Lay covered almost up to her nose.
"Oh, granny dear!" she cried, "are you worse?"
"I'm all of a shiver, even to my toes!
Please won't you be my little nurse,
And snug up tight here under the clothes?"
Red Riding-hood answered, "Yes," of course.

Her innocent head on the pillow laid,
She spied great pricked-up, hairy ears,
And a fierce great mouth, wide open spread,
And green eyes, filled with wicked leers;
And all of a sudden she grew afraid;
Yet she softly asked, in spite of her fears:

"Oh, granny! what makes your ears so big?"
"To hear you with! to hear you with!"
"Oh, granny! what make your eyes so big?"
"To see you with! to see you with!"
"Oh, granny! what makes your teeth so big?"
"To eat you with! to eat you with!"

And he sprang to swallow her up alive;
But it chanced a woodman from the wood,
Hearing her shriek, rushed, with his knife,
And drenched the wolf in his own blood.
And in that way he saved the life
Of pretty little Red Riding-hood.

[Color Plate:]

Hark, hark
The dogs do bark
Beggars are coming to town;
Some in jags,
Some in rags,
And some in velvet gowns.

CINDERELLA.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

Poor, pretty little thing she was,
The sweetest-faced of girls,
With eyes as blue as larkspurs,
And a mass of tossing curls;
But her step-mother had for her
Only blows and bitter words,
While she thought her own two ugly crows,
The whitest of all birds.

She was the little household drudge,
And wore a cotton gown,
While the sisters, clad in silk and satin,
Flaunted through the town.
When her work was done, her only place
Was the chimney-corner bench.
For which one called her "Cinderella,"
The other, "Cinder-wench."

But years went on, and Cinderella
Bloomed like a wild-wood rose,
In spite of all her kitchen-work,
And her common, dingy clothes;
While the two step-sisters, year by year,
Grew scrawnier and plainer;
Two peacocks, with their tails outspread,
Were never any vainer.

One day they got a note, a pink,
Sweet-scented, crested one,
Which was an invitation
To a ball, from the king's son.
Oh, then poor Cinderella
Had to starch, and iron, and plait,
And run of errands, frill and crimp,
And ruffle, early and late.

And when the ball-night came at last,
She helped to paint their faces,
To lace their satin shoes, and deck
Them up with flowers and laces;
Then watched their coach roll grandly
Out of sight; and, after that,
She sat down by the chimney,
In the cinders, with the cat,

And sobbed as if her heart would break.
Hot tears were on her lashes,
Her little hands got black with soot,
Her feet begrimed with ashes,
When right before her, on the hearth,
She knew not how nor why,
A little odd old woman stood,
And said, "Why do you cry?"

"It is so very lonely here,"
Poor Cinderella said,
And sobbed again. The little odd
Old woman bobbed her head,
And laughed a merry kind of laugh,
And whispered, "Is that all?
Wouldn't my little Cinderella
Like to go to the ball?

"Run to the garden, then, and fetch
A pumpkin, large and nice;
Go to the pantry shelf, and from
The mouse-traps get the mice;
Rats you will find in the rat-trap;
And, from the watering-pot,
Or from under the big, flat garden stone,
Six lizards must be got."

Nimble as crickets in the grass
She ran, till it was done,
And then God-mother stretched her wand
And touched them every one.
The pumpkin changed into a coach,
Which glittered as it rolled,
And the mice became six horses,
With harnesses of gold.

One rat a herald was, to blow
A trumpet in advance,
And the first blast that he sounded
Made the horses plunge and prance;
And the lizards were made footmen,
Because they were so spry;
And the old rat-coachman on the box
Wore jeweled livery.

And then on Cinderella's dress
The magic wand was laid,
And straight the dingy gown became
A glistening gold brocade.
The gems that shone upon her fingers
Nothing could surpass;
And on her dainty little feet
Were slippers made of glass.

"Be sure you get back here, my dear,
At twelve o'clock at night,"
Godmother said, and in a twinkling
She was out of sight.
When Cinderella reached the ball,
And entered at the door,
So beautiful a lady
None had ever seen before.

The Prince his admiration showed
In every word and glance;
He led her out to supper,
And he chose her for the dance;
But she kept in mind the warning
That her Godmother had given,
And left the ball, with all its charm.
At just half after eleven.

Next night there was another ball;
She helped her sisters twain
To pinch their waists, and curl their hair,
And paint their cheeks again.
Then came the fairy Godmother,
And, with her wand, once more
Arrayed her out in greater splendor
Even than before.

The coach and six, with gay outriders,
Bore her through the street,
And a crowd was gathered round to look,
The lady was so sweet,--
So light of heart, and face, and mien,
As happy children are;
And when her foot stepped down,
Her slipper twinkled like a star.

Again the Prince chose only her
For waltz or _tete-a-tete_;
So swift the minutes flew she did not
Dream it could be late,
But all at once, remembering
What her Godmother had said,
And hearing twelve begin to strike
Upon the clock, she fled.

Swift as a swallow on the wing
She darted, but, alas!
Dropped from one flying foot the tiny
Slipper made of glass;
But she got away, and well it was
She did, for in a trice
Her coach changed to a pumpkin,
And her horses became mice;

And back into the cinder dress
Was changed the gold brocade!
The prince secured the slipper,
And this proclamation made:
That the country should be searched,
And any lady, far or wide,
Who could get the slipper on her foot,
Should straightway be his bride.

So every lady tried it,
With her "Mys!" and "Ahs!" and "Ohs!"
And Cinderella's sisters pared
Their heels, and pared their toes,--
But all in vain! Nobody's foot
Was small enough for it,
Till Cinderella tried it,
And it was a perfect fit.

Then the royal heralds hardly
Knew what it was best to do,
When from out her tattered pocket
Forth she drew the other shoe,
While the eyelids on the larkspur eyes
Dropped down a snowy vail,
And the sisters turned from pale to red,
And then from red to pale,

And in hateful anger cried, and stormed,
And scolded, and all that,
And a courtier, without thinking,
Tittered out behind his hat.
For here was all the evidence
The Prince had asked, complete,
Two little slippers made of glass,
Fitting two little feet.

So the Prince, with all his retinue,
Came there to claim his wife;
And he promised he would love her
With devotion all his life.
At the marriage there was splendid
Music, dancing, wedding cake;
And he kept the slipper as a treasure
Ever, for her sake.

DICK WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

Dick, as a little lad, was told
That the London streets were paved with gold.
He never, in all his life, had seen
A place more grand than the village green;
So his thoughts by day, and his dreams by night,
Pictured this city of delight,
Till whatever he did, wherever he went,
His mind was filled with discontent.

There was bitter taste to the peasant bread,
And a restless hardness to his bed;
So, after a while, one summer day,
Little Dick Whittington ran away.
Yes--ran away to London city!
Poor little lad! he needs your pity;
For there, instead of a golden street,
The hot, sharp stones abused his feet.

So tired he was he was fit to fall,--
Yet nobody cared for him at all;
He wandered here, and he wandered there,
With a heavy heart, for many a square.
And at last, when he could walk no more,
He sank down faint at a merchant's door.
And the cook--for once compassionate--
Took him in at the area-gate.

And she gave him bits of broken meat,
And scattered crusts, and crumbs, to eat;
And kept him there for her commands
To pare potatoes, and scour pans,
To wash the kettles and sweep the room;
And she beat him dreadfully with the broom;
And he staid as long as he could stay,
And again, in despair, he ran away.

Out towards the famous Highgate Hill
He fled, in the morning gray and chill;
And there he sat on a wayside stone,
And the bells of Bow, with merry tone,
Jangled a musical chime together,
Over the miles of blooming heather:
"Turn, turn, turn again, Whittington,
Thrice Lord Mayor of London town!"

And he turned--so cheered he was at that--
And, meeting a boy who carried a cat,
He bought the cat with his only penny,--
For where he had slept the mice were many.
Back to the merchant's his way he took,
To the pans and potatoes and cruel cook,
And he found Miss Puss a fine device,
For she kept his garret clear of mice.

The merchant was sending his ship abroad,
And he let each servant share her load;
One sent this thing, and one sent that,
And little Dick Whittington sent his cat.
The ship sailed out and over the sea,
Till she touched at last at a far country;
And while she waited to sell her store,
The captain and officers went ashore.

They dined with the king; the tables fine
Groaned with the meat and fruit and wine;
But, as soon as the guests were ranged about,
Millions of rats and mice came out.
They swarmed on the table, and on the floor,
Up from the crevices, in at the door,
They swept the food away in a breath,
And the guests were frightened almost to death!

To lose their dinners they thought a shame.
The captain sent for the cat. She came!
And right and left, in a wonderful way,
She threw, and slew, and spread dismay.
Then the Moorish king spoke up so bold:
"I will give you eighteen bags of gold,
If you will sell me the little thing."
"I will!" and the cat belonged to the king.

When the good ship's homeward voyage was done,
The money was paid to Dick Whittington;
At his master's wish 'twas put in trade;
Each dollar another dollar made.
Richer he grew each month and year,
Honored by all both far and near;
With his master's daughter for a wife,
He lived a prosperous, noble life.

And the tune the Bow-bells sang that day,
When to Highgate Hill he ran away,--
"Turn, turn, turn again, Whittington,
Thrice Lord Mayor of London town,"--
In the course of time came true and right,
He was Mayor of London, and Sir Knight;
And in English history he is known,
By the name of Sir Richard Whittington!

PUSS IN BOOTS.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

A miller had three sons,
And, on his dying day,
He willed that all he owned should be
Shared by them in this way:
The mill to this, and the donkey to that,
And to the youngest only the cat.

This last, poor fellow, of course
Thought it a bitter fate;
With a cat to feed, he should die, indeed,
Of hunger, sooner or late.
And he stormed, with many a bitter word,
Which Puss, who lay in the cupboard, heard.

She stretched, and began to purr,
Then came to her master's knee,
And, looking slyly up, began:
"Pray be content with me!
Get me a pair of boots ere night,
And a bag, and it will be all right!"

The youth sighed heavy sighs,
And laughed a scornful laugh:
"Of all the silly things I know,
You're the silliest, by half!"
Still, after a space of doubt and thought,
The pair of boots and the bag were bought.

And Puss, at the peep of dawn,
Was out upon the street,
With shreds of parsley in her bag,
And the boots upon her feet.
She was on her way to the woods, for game,
And soon to the rabbit-warren came.

And the simple rabbits cried,
"The parsley smells like spring!"
And into the bag their noses slipped,
And Pussy pulled the string.
Only a kick, and a gasp for breath,
And, one by one, they were choked to death.

So Sly Boots bagged her game,
And gave it an easy swing
Over her shoulder; and, starting off
For the palace of the king,
She found him upon his throne, in state,
While near him his lovely daughter sate.

Puss made a graceful bow
No courtier could surpass,
And said, "I come to your Highness from
The Marquis of Carabas.
His loyal love he sends to you,
With a tender rabbit for a stew."

And the pretty princess smiled,
And the king said, "Many thanks."
And Puss strode off to her master's home,
Purring, and full of pranks.
And cried, "I've a splendid plan for you!
Say nothing, but do as I tell you to!

"To-morrow, at noon, the king
And his beautiful daughter ride;
And you must go, as they draw near,
And bathe at the river side."
The youth said "Pooh!" but still, next day,
Bathed, when the king went by that way.

Puss hid his dingy clothes
In the marshy river-grass.
And screamed, when the king came into sight,
"The Marquis of Carabas--
My master--is drowning close by!
Help! help! good king, or he will die!"

Then servants galloped fast,
And dragged him from the water.
"'Tis the knight who sent the rabbit stew,"
The king said, to his daughter.
And a suit of clothes was brought with speed,
And he rode in their midst, on a royal steed.

Meanwhile Puss, in advance,
To the Ogre's palace fled,
Where he sat, with a great club in his hand,
And a monstrous ugly head.
She mewed politely as she went in,
But he only grinned, with a dreadful grin.

"I have heard it said," she purred,
"That, with the greatest ease,
You change, in the twinkling of an eye,
Into any shape you please!"
"Of course I can!" the Ogre cried,
And a roaring lion stood at her side.

Puss shook like a leaf, in her boots,
But said, "It is very droll!
Now, please, if you can, change into a mouse!"
He did. And she swallowed him whole!
Then, as the king and his suite appeared,
She stood on the palace porch and cheered.

'Twas a grand old palace indeed,
Builded of stone and brass.
"Welcome, most noble ladies and lords,
To the Castle of Carabas!"
Puss said, with a sweeping courtesy;
And they entered, and feasted royally.

And the Marquis lost his heart
At the beautiful princess' smile;
And the very next day the two were wed,
In wonderful state and style.
And Puss in Boots was their favorite page,
And lived with them to a good old age.

GOLD-LOCKS' DREAM OF PUSSIE WILLOW.

By Clara Doty Bates.

One sunny day, in the early spring,
Before a bluebird dared to sing,
Cloaked and furred as in winter weather,--
Seal-brown hat and cardinal feather,--
Forth with a piping song,
Went Gold-Locks "after flowers."
"Tired of waiting so long,"
Said this little girl of ours.

She searched the bare brown meadow over,
And found not even a leaf of clover;
Nor where the sod was chill and wet
Could she spy one tint of violet;
But where the brooklet ran
A noisy swollen billow,
She picked in her little hand
A branch of pussie-willow.

She shouted out, in a happy way,
At the catkins' fur, so soft and gray;
She smoothed them down with loving pats,
And called them her little pussie-cats.
She played at scratch and bite;
She played at feeding cream;
And when she went to bed that night,
Gold-Locks dreamed a dream.

Curled in a little cosy heap,
Under the bed-clothes, fast asleep,
She heard, although she scarce knew how,
A score of voices "_M-e-o-w! m-e-o-w!_"
And right before her bed,
Upon a branching tree,
Were kittens, and kittens, and kittens,
As thick as they could be.

Maltese, yellow, and black as ink;
White, with both ears lined with pink;
Striped, like a royal tiger's skin;
Yet all were hollow-eyed, and thin;
And each one wailed aloud,
Once, and twice, and thrice:
"We are the willow-pussies;
O, where are the willow-mice!"

Meanwhile, outside, through branch and bough,
The March wind wailed, "_M-e-o-w! m-e-o-w!_"
'Twas dark, and yet Gold-Locks awoke,
And softly to her mother spoke:
"If they were fed, mamma,
It would be very nice;
But I _hope_ the willow-pussies
Won't find the willow-mice!"

[Color Plate:]

Little girl,
Little girl,
Where have you been?
Gathering roses to give to the queen.

TONY.

By Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

Whisk!--away in the sun
His little flying feet
Scamper as softly fleet
As ever the rabbits run.
He is gone like a flash, and then
In a breath is back again.

The silky flosses shine
Down to his very toes:
Tipped with white is his nose:
And his ears are fleeces fine,
Blowing a shadow-grace
Breeze-like about his face.

Quick to a whistled call
Hearkens his ready ear,
Scarcely waiting to hear;
Silk locks, white feet, all
Rush, like a furry elf
Tumbling over himself.

How does he sleep? He winks
Twice with his mischief eyes;
Dozes a bit; then lies
Down with a sigh; then thinks
Over some roguish play,
And is up and away!

CAMPING OUT.

By Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

Dame Spider had spun herself lank and thin
With trying to take her neighbors in;
Grasshopper had traveled so far and so fast
That he found he must give up at last;
And the maiden Ant had bustled about
The village till she was all worn out.

Old Bumble Bee had lived on sweet
Till he couldn't help but overeat;
Miss Worm had measured her puny length
Till she had no longer any strength;
And Mr. Beetle was shocked to find
His eyes were failing and almost blind.

So they all decided that they must seek
Their health in the country for a week.
And they made a mixed but a merry throng,
For those who had children took them along.
They pitched their tent and made their camp,
Shelter from possible cold and damp.

'Twas novel, and each in his own way
Sought to make happy the holiday.
Grasshopper took his youngest daughter
Out for a stroll along the water;
She shrieked with joy, "O, see the cherries!"
When they found some low-bush huckleberries.

Dame Spider, with mischief in her eye,
Thought she would angle for a fly;
So, spinning a silk thread, long and fine,
With wicked skill she cast the line;
While Bumble Bee, in his gold-laced clothes,
In the shade of a clover leaf lay for a doze.

Miss Worm, who was full of sentiment,
With the maiden Ant for a ramble went;
Here was a flower, and there a flower--
But suddenly rose a thunder shower.
They screamed; but they got on very well,
For they found what the Ant called an "umberell."

A leaf on the water lay afloat,
Which the blundering Beetle thought a boat.
Far down in his heart his dearest wish
Was to find some hitherto unfound fish.
He never came back from that fatal swim,
So 'twas always thought that a fish found him.

At night when the cheery fire was lit
They heaped dry branches over it,
And in the light of the crackling blaze
Told funny stories of other days,
And smoked, till the Ant yawned wide and said:
"'Tis time we folks were all abed!"

But scarce was each to his slumber laid,
When the country folks came to serenade;
With twang of fiddle, and toot of horn,
And shriek of fife, they stayed till morn!
Poor Campers! never a wink got they!
So they started for home at break of day.

DAME SPIDER.

By Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

Little Dame Spider had finished her spinning,
Just as the warm summer day was beginning,
And the white threads of her beautiful curtain
Tied she and glued she to make them more certain.

Dressed in her old-fashioned feathers and fringes,
Then she sat down to wait; on silken hinges
Swung the light fleece with a moonshiny glisten;
Nothing for her but to watch and to listen.

Presently, going off early to labor,--
Bowing politely, as neighbor to neighbor,
When he caught sight of this little old woman,--
Sailed by a honey-bee, serge-clad and common.

"Are you so scornful because I am humble?
Many a time your rich relatives, Bumble,
Pause in their flying to chat for an hour!"
She called out after him, half gay, half sour.

"O, no," he cried. "I am off to discover
What I can find fresh in the way of white clover;
But since your window is cosy and shady,
I _will_ sit down half a minute, dear Lady."

Little Dame Spider arose with a rustle,
Welcomed him with ceremonious bustle;
Quick as a flash threw her long arms around him,
Heeded no buzzing, but held him and bound him;

Tied knots so tight that he could not undo them;
Wove snares so strong that he could not break through them;
Then, with a relish, stood chuckling and grinning,
"This is to pay me for my early spinning!"

At the home-hive the bees going and coming
Kept up all day their industrious humming,
Nor did it one of their busy heads bother
That Madame Spider had dined off their brother.

HICKORY DICKORY DOCK.

by

Clara Doty Bates

Tick-Tack! tick-tack!
This way, that way, forward, back,
Swings the pendulum to and fro,
Always regular, always slow.
Grave and solemn on the wall,--
Hear it whisper! hear it call!
Little Ginx knows naught of Time,
But has heard the mystic rhyme,--
"Hickory, dickory, dock!
The mouse ran up the clock!"

Tick-tack! tick-tack!
White old face with figures black!
So when dismal, stormy days
Keep him from his out-door plays,
Most that he cares for is to sit
Watching, always watching it.
And when the hour strikes he thinks,--
(A dear, wise head has the little Ginx!)
"The clock strikes one,
The mice ran down!"

Tick-tack! tick-tack!
This way, that way, forward, back!
Though so measured and precise,
Ginx believes it full of mice.
A mouse runs up at every tick,
But when the stroke comes, scampering quick,
Mice run down again; so they go,
Up and down, and to and fro!
Hickory, dickory, dock,
Full of mice is the clock!

DAME FIDGET AND HER SILVER PENNY.

Versified by Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

A Wee, wee woman
Was little old Dame Fidget,
And she lived by herself
In a wee, wee room,
And early every morning,
So tidy was her habit,
She began to sweep it out
With a wee, wee broom.

To sweep for the cinders,
Though never were there any,
She whisked about, and brushed about,
Humming like a bee;
When, odd enough, one day
She found a silver penny,
Shining in a corner,
As bright as bright could be.

She eyed it, she took it
Between her thumb and finger;
She put it in the sugar bowl
And quickly shut the lid;
And after planning over carefully
The way to spend it,
She resolved to go to market
And to buy herself a kid.

And that she did next day; but, ah,
The kid proved very lazy!
And it moved toward home so slowly
She could scarcely see it crawl;
At first she coaxed and petted it,
And then she stormed and scolded,
Till at last, when they had reached the bridge,
It would not go at all.

Just then Dame Fidget saw a dog run by,
And whistled to him,
And cried:--"Pray dog bite kid,
Kid won't go!
I see by the moonlight
'Tis almost midnight,
And time kid and I were home
Half an hour ago!"

But no, he said he wouldn't;
So to the stick she pleaded:--
"Pray stick beat dog, dog won't bite kid,
Kid won't go!
I see by the moonlight
'Tis almost midnight,
And time kid and I were home
Half an hour ago!"

But the stick didn't stir,
So she called upon the fire:--
"Pray fire burn stick, stick won't beat dog,
Dog won't bite kid,
Kid won't go!
And I see by the moonlight
'Tis almost midnight,
And time kid and I were home
Half an hour ago!"

But the fire only smoked,
So she turned and begged the water:--
"Pray water quench fire, fire won't burn stick,
Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite kid,
Kid won't go!
I see by the moonlight
'Tis already midnight,
And time kid and I were home
An hour and a half ago!"

"Ha, ha!" the water gurgled,
So to the ox appealing:--
"Pray ox drink water, water won't quench fire,
Fire won't burn stick, stick won't beat dog,
Dog won't bite kid,
Kid won't go!
And I see by the moonlight
'Tis already midnight,
And time kid and I were home
An hour and a half ago!"

But the ox bellowed "no!"
So she shouted to the butcher:--
"Pray butcher kill ox, ox won't drink water,
Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,
Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite kid,
Kid won't go!
I see by the moonlight
'Tis getting past midnight,
And time kid and I were home
An hour and a half ago!"

But the butcher only laughed at her,
And to the rope she hurried:--
"Pray rope hang butcher, butcher won't kill ox,
Ox won't drink water, water won't quench fire,
Fire won't burn stick, stick won't beat dog,
Dog won't bite kid,
Kid won't go!
And I see by the moonlight
'Tis getting past midnight,
And time kid and I were home
An hour and a half ago."

The rope swayed round for "nay!"
So to the rat she beckoned:--
"Pray rat gnaw rope, rope won't hang butcher,
Butcher won't kill ox, ox won't drink water,
Water won't quench fire, fire won't burn stick,
Stick won't beat dog, dog won't bite kid,
Kid won't go!
And I see by the moonlight
'Tis long past midnight,
And time kid and I were home
A couple of hours ago!"

A scornful squeak was all he deigned,
And so she called the kitten:--
"Pray cat eat rat, rat won't gnaw rope,
Rope won't hang butcher, butcher won't kill ox,
Ox won't drink water, water won't quench fire,
Fire won't burn stick, stick won't beat dog,
Dog won't bite kid,
Kid won't go!
And I see by the moonlight
'Tis long past midnight,
And time kid and I were home
Hours and hours ago!"

Now pussy loved a rat,
So she seized him in a minute:
And the cat began to eat the rat,
The rat began to gnaw the rope,
The rope began to hang the butcher,
The butcher began to kill the ox,
The ox began to drink the water,
The water began to quench the fire,
The fire began to burn the stick,
The stick began to beat the dog,
The dog began to bite the kid,
And the kid began to go!
And home through the moonlight,
Long after midnight,
The little dame and little kid
Went trudging--oh, _so_ slow!

[Color Plate:]

The little Boy in the Barn,
Lay down on some hay.
The Owl came out,
And flew about,
And the little Boy ran away.

FOOLISH BOBOLINK.

By Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.

What a silly bobolink,
Down in the meadow grasses!
What can the noisy fellow think,
When, to everyone who passes,
He calls out cheerily,
"Here, here is my nest! See! see!"

He could hide the summer through
In the thick, sweet-smelling clover,
Nor could anyone from dawn to dew,
His little house discover,
Did he not make so free
With the secret--"Here! see! see!"

Little Ted has ears and eyes,
And how can he keep from knowing
Just where the cosy treasure lies,
When bobolink, coming, going,
Shouts, plain as plain can be,
"Here, here is a nest! See! see!"

And Teddy would like to creep
Tip-toe across the meadow,
And for just one minute stoop and peep
Under the clover shadow.
He would do no harm--not he!
But would only see, see, see!

And what would he find below
The sheltering grass, you wonder?
Why, a nest, of course, and an egg or so,
A mother's dark wings under.
But bobolink--he would flee
In a fright--"A boy! see! see!"

So Teddy, whose heart is kind,
Though he longs to venture near him,
Sighs to himself, "Ah, never mind!"
And listens, glad to hear him
Shouting, in tireless glee,
"Here, here is my nest! See! see!"

[Color Plate:]

Green gravel, Green gravel,
The grass is so green,
The fairest young maiden, that ever was seen,
Oh Mary, oh Mary, your true love is dead.
He's sent you a green bough
To tie round your head.

ALADDIN

Versified by Clara Doty Bates

I see a little group about my chair,
Lovers of stories all!
First, Saxon Edith, of the corn-silk hair,
Growing so strong and tall!

Then little brother, on whose sturdy face
Soft baby dimples fly,
As fear or pleasure give each other place
When wonders multiply;

Then Gold-locks--summers nine their goldenest
Have showered on her head,
And tinted it, of all the colors best,
Warm robin-red breast red;

Then, close at hand, on lowly haunches set,
With pricked up, tasseled ear,
Is Tony, little cleared-eyed spaniel pet,
Waiting, like them, to hear.

I say I have no story--all are told!
Not to be daunted thus,
They only crowd more confident and bold,
And laugh, incredulous.

And so, remembering how, once on a time,
I, too, loved such delights,
I choose this one and put it into rhyme,
From the "Arabian Nights."

A poor little lad was Aladdin!
His mother was wretchedly poor;
A widow, who scarce ever had in
Her cupboard enough of a store
To frighten the wolf from the door.

No doubt he was quite a fine fellow
For the country he lived in--but, ah!
His skin was a dull, dusky yellow,
And his hair was as long as 'twould grow.
('Tis the fashion in China, you know.)

But however he looked, or however
He fared, a strange fortune was his.
None of you, dears, though fair-faced and clever,
Can have anything like to this,
So grand and so marvelous it is!

Well, one day--for so runs the tradition--
While idling and lingering about
The low city streets, a Magician
From Africa, swarthy and stout,
With his wise, prying eyes spied him out,

And went up to him very politely,
And asked what his name was and cried:
"My lad, if I judge of you rightly,
You're the son of my brother who died--
My poor Mustafa!"--and he sighed.

"Ah, yes, Mustafa was my father,"
Aladdin cried back, "and he's dead!"
"Well, then, both yourself and your mother
I will care for forever," he said,
"And you never shall lack wine nor bread."

And thus did the wily old wizard
Deceive with his kindness the two
For a deed of dark peril and hazard
He had for Aladdin to do,
At the risk of his life, too, he knew.

Far down in the earth's very centre
There burned a strange lamp at a shrine;
Great stones marked the one place to enter;
Down under t'was dark as a mine;
What further--no one could divine!

And that was the treasure Aladdin
Was sent to secure. First he tore
The huge stones away, for he had in
An instant the strength of a score;
Then he stepped through the cavern-like door.

Down, down, through the darkness so chilly!
On, on, through the long galleries!
Coming now upon gardens of lilies,
And now upon fruit-burdened trees,
Filled full of the humming of bees.

But, ah, should one tip of his finger
Touch aught as he passed, it was death!
Not a fruit on the boughs made him linger,
Nor the great heaps of gold underneath.
But on he fled, holding his breath,

Until he espied, brightly burning,
The mystical lamp in its place!
He plucked the hot wick out, and, turning,
With triumph and joy in his face,
Set out his long way to retrace.

At last he saw where daylight shed a
Soft ray through a chink overhead,
Where the crafty Magician was ready
To catch the first sound of his tread.
"Reach the lamp up to me, first!" he said.

Aladdin with luck had grown bolder,
And he cried, "Wait a bit, and we'll see!"
Then with huge, ugly push of his shoulder,
And with strong, heavy thrust of his knee,
The wizard--so angry was he--

Pried up the great rock, rolled it over
The door with an oath and a stamp;
"Stay there under that little cover,
And die of the mildew and damp,"
He shouted, "or give me the lamp!"

Aladdin saw darkness fall o'er him;
He clutched at the lamp in his hand,
And, happening to rub it, before him
A Genius stood, stately and grand.
Whence he came he could not understand.

"I obey you," it said, "and whatever
You ask for, or wish, you shall have!
Rub the lamp but the least bit soever,
It calls me, for I am its slave!"
Aladdin said, "Open this cave!"

He was freed from the place in a minute;
And he rubbed once again: "Take me home!"
Home he was. And as blithe as a linnet
Rubbed again for the Genius with: "Come,
I am dying for food; get me some!"

Thus at first he but valued his treasure
Because simple wants it supplied.
Grown older it furnished him pleasure;
And then it brought riches beside;
And, at last, it secured him his bride.

Now the Princess most lovely of any
Was Badroulboudour, (what a name!)
Who, though sought for and sued for by many,
No matter how grandly they came,
Yet merrily laughed them to shame,

Until with his riches and splendor,
Aladdin as lover enrolled!
For the first thing he did was to send her
Some forty great baskets of gold,
And all the fine gems they would hold.

Then he built her a palace, set thickly
With jewels at window and door;
And all was completed so quickly
She saw bannered battlements soar
Where was nothing an hour before.

There millions of servants attended,
Black slaves and white slaves, thick as bees,
Obedient, attentive, and splendid
In purple and gold liveries,
Fine to see, swift to serve, sure to please!

Him she wedded. They lived without trouble
As long as the lamp was their own;
But one day, like the burst of a bubble,
The palace and Princess were gone;
Without wings to fly they had flown!

And Aladdin, dismayed to discover
That the lamp had been stolen away,
Bent all of his strength to recover
The treasure, and day after day,
He journeyed this way and that way;

And at last, after terrible hazard,
After many a peril and strife,
He found that the vengeful old wizard,
Who had made the attempt on his life,
Had stolen lamp, princess and wife.

With a shrewdness which would have done credit
To even a Yankee boy, he
Sought the lamp where the wizard had hid it,
And, turning a mystical key,
Brought it forth, and then, rubbing with glee,

"Back to China!" he cried. In a minute
The marvellous palace uprose,
With the Princess Badroulboudour in it
Unruffled in royal repose,
With her jewels and cloth-of-gold clothes;

And with gay clouds of banners and towers,
With its millions of slaves, white and black.
It was borne by obedient Powers,
As swift as the wind on its track,
And ere one could count ten it was back!

And ever thereafter, Aladdin
Clung close to the lamp of his fate,
Whatever the robe he was clad in,
Or whether he fasted or ate;
And at all hours, early and late!
Right lucky was Lord Aladdin!

BLUE BEARD

Once on a time there was a man so hideous and ugly
That little children shrank and tried to hide when he appeared;
His eyes were fierce and prominent, his long hair stiff like bristles,
His stature was enormous, and he wore a long blue beard--
He took his name from that through all the country round about him,--
And whispered tales of dreadful deeds but helped to make him feared.

Yet he was rich, O! very rich; his home was in a castle,
Whose turrets darkened on the sky, so grand and black and bold
That like a thunder-cloud it looked upon the blue horizon.
He had fertile lands and parks and towns
and hunting-grounds and gold,
And tapestries a queen might covet, statues, pictures, jewels,
While his servants numbered hundreds,
and his wines were rare and old.

Now near to this old Blue-beard's castle lived a lady neighbor,
Who had two daughters, beautiful as lilies on a stem;
And he asked that one of them be given him in marriage--
He did not care which one it was, but left the choice to them.
But, oh, the terror that they felt, their efforts to evade him,
With careless art, with coquetry, with wile and stratagem!

He saw their high young spirits scorned him, yet he meant to conquer.
He planned a visit for them,--or, 'twas rather one long fête;
And to charming guests and lovely feasts, to music and to dancing,
Swung wide upon its hinges grim the gloomy castle gate.
And, sure enough, before a week was ended, blinded, dazzled,
The youngest maiden whispered "yes," and yielded to her fate.

And so she wedded Blue-beard--like a wise and wily spider
He had lured into his web the wished-for, silly little fly!
And, before the honeymoon was gone, one day he stood beside her,
And with oily words of sorrow, but with evil in his eye,
Said his business for a month or more would call him to a distance,
And he must leave her--sorry to--but then, she must not cry!

He bade her have her friends, as many as she liked, about her,
And handed her a jingling bunch of something, saying, "These
Will open vaults and cellars and the heavy iron boxes
Where all my gold and jewels are, or any door you please.
Go where you like, do what you will, one single thing excepted!"
And here he look a little key from out the bunch of keys.

"This will unlock the closet at the end of the long passage,
But that you must not enter! I forbid it!"--and he frowned.
So she promised that she would not, and he went upon his journey.
And no sooner was he gone than all her merry friends around
Came to visit her, and made the dim old corridors and chambers
With their silken dresses whisper, with laugh and song resound.

Up and down the oaken stairways flitted dainty-footed ladies,
Lighting up the shadowy twilight with the lustre of their bloom;
Like the varied sunlight streaming through an old cathedral window
Went their brightness glancing through the unaccustomed gloom,
But Blue-beard's wife was restless, and a strong desire possessed her
Through it all to get a single peep at that forbidden room.

And so one day she slipped away from all her guests, unnoted,
Down through the lower passage, till she reached the fatal door,
Put in the key and turned the lock, and gently pushed it open--
But, oh the horrid sight that met her eyes! Upon the floor
There were blood-stains dark and dreadful,
and like dresses in a wardrobe,
There were women hung up by their hair, and dripping in their gore!

Then, at once, upon her mind the unknown fate that had befallen
The other wives of Blue-beard flashed--'twas now no mystery!
She started back as cold as icicles, as white as ashes,
And upon the clammy floor her trembling fingers dropped the key.
She caught it up, she whirled the bolt to, shut the sight behind her,
And like a startled deer at sound of hunter's gun, fled she!

She reached her room with gasping breath,--behold, another terror!
Upon the key within her hand; she saw a ghastly stain;
She rubbed it with her handkerchief, she washed in soap and water,
She scoured it with sand and stone, but all was done in vain!
For when one side, by dint of work, grew bright, upon the other
(It was bewitched, you know,) came out that ugly spot again!

And then, unlooked-for, who should come
next morning, bright and early,
But old Blue-beard himself who hadn't been away a week!
He kissed his wife, and, after a brief pause, said, smiling blandly:
"I'd like my keys, my dear." He saw a tear upon her cheek,
And guessed the truth. She gave him all
but one. He scowled and grumbled:
"I want the key to the _small room_!"
Poor thing, she could not speak!