Chapter I: HAD a little Scotchman, (1)

Who reached to my chin;
He was swift as an arrow,
And neat as a pin.

He ran on my errands,
And sang me a song;
Oh, he was as happy
As summer is long!

----------

TROTTERY, trottery, out of breath,
Nurse trots the baby 'most to death:
Sick or well, or cold or hot,
It's trottery, trottery, trottery-trot!

----------

LAZY LOU.

LAZY LOU, Lazy Lou,
What's the matter, child, with you?
Can't you work? Can't you play?

Can't you tuck your hair away?
If I were you, my Lazy Lou,
I'd change my ways. That's what I'd do.

----------

UP in the morning early--
Hi for my baby sweet!
Here's a gown for his body,
Here are shoes for his feet.
And here is his snowy tucker
Tied with ribbons fair,
And here is his little mammy
To curl his bonny hair.
Here is his little bath-tub,
And here is his little sponge,
Before the gown and the curling
My baby shall have a plunge.

----------

PINS in the carpet, tacks in the floor,
Needles in the drugget, wind through the door,
Fire in the fender! Oh, it beats all!
There isn't a place where our baby can crawl.

----------

IF Pussy were made of leather,
And Doggie were made of lead,
I'd tumble them both together,
And hammer them on the head.

But Pussy is warm and tender,
And Doggie is good and true;
So I'd rather far defend her,
And Doggie, too, wouldn't you?

----------

BE CAREFUL.

NEVER in a fool's mouth
Thrust your careless finger;
If you do, there's danger
It may chance to linger.

Never to the foolish
Tell your dearest thought;
Or you'll find your confidence,
Like your finger, "caught."

Never with the silly
Banter, sport, or jest;
Even for your frolics
Wise friends are the best.

----------

FARM LESSONS.

"HO! plowman Kelly! How does it feel
To get in a wagon by climbing the wheel?"
"Nay, nay, little master, don't try it, I beg,
For that is the way that I broke my leg."

"Kelly, Kelly! Come, show me the way
They turn this machine when they cut the hay!"
"No, no, little master, just let it be--
That hay-cutter cut off my thumb for me."

"Ho, Kelly! The well-curb is rimmed with moss.
Now look at me while I jump across!"
"Hold, hold, young master! 'T would be a sin!
I tried it once, and I tumbled in."

"Kelly, Kelly! Send me to jail,
But I'll pluck a hair from yon pony's tail."
"Oh, master, master! Come back! Don't try--
That's the very way that I lost my eye."

"Why, Kelly, man, how under the sun
Can you be so frisky and full of fun?--
With all your mishaps, you are never a spoon--
You're as brave as a lion and wise as a coon."

"Well, well, young master, maybe it's so,
And maybe it isn't. But this I know:
It just brings trouble and mischief and slaughter,
To be fussin' around where one hadn't ought ter."

----------

OUT OF THE GROUND.

A GLOW in the sunshine,
A pulse in the air,
A something of gladness--
We cannot tell where;
Blue, born of heaven,
Filling the sky;
A laugh in the brooklet
Hastening by;
A stirring of insects
Waking the wood;
Prayer breathed in secret:
"God, thou art good!"
Little birds humming;
Joy all around--
The flowers must be coming
Out of the ground!

They're coming! They're coming!
Daffodils sweet--
Hear the grass whisper
Under our feet!
Telling of daisies,
Telling of clover,
Telling of beauty
All the world over!
Looking up brightly
Where the sun shines,
Sending a message
Up to the vines:
"Wake from your slumbers,
Summon your powers,
Put forth your tendrils:
They're coming--the flowers!"

They're coming! They're coming!
'Tis writ on the air,
In incense and harmony
Breathed everywhere!
Winds murmur no longer
Their woe to the pines--
But spiders are spinning
Their gossamer lines.
Blue-birds are darting
The branches among,
Wild with a pleasure
Only half sung.
Herd-bells are tinkling--
Moonie, the cow,
Crops the young grasslets
Emerald now.
High on the roof-top
Sparrows look forth,
Watching for travellers
Flying to north--
Twittering sparrows!
Blithesome and true,
_You_ never left us
All winter through.
Brave little sparrows!
No tempest lowers--
Blest is your waiting:
They're coming--the flowers!

They're coming! They're coming!
The beautiful throng,
To sooth us and cheer us
The whole summer long.
By brook and in meadow,
Woodland and glade,
Through moonlight and starlight,
Sunshine and shade,
They're creeping, they're springing,
They're climbing the hill,
They're twining and clinging--
Though under ground still.
The blue-birds have called them--
(Praise God for it all!)
They have heard, and already
They answer the call!

O Snow-white and Purple,
Pink, Yellow, and Blue!
Lie close to their hearts
Till the day they come through.
O spirit of Beauty!
Spirit of Grace!
Still bide ye above them
Watching the place.
Fragrance and Loveliness!
Still hover near,
Soon shall your hosts
In their glory appear.
Surely the Spring-time
Is crowning its hours--
They're coming! They're coming!
The beautiful flowers!

----------

POOR CROW!

GIVE me something to eat,
Good people, I pray;
I have really not had
One mouthful to-day!

I am hungry and cold,
And last night I dreamed
A scarecrow had caught me--
Good land, how I screamed!

Of one little children
And six ailing wives
(No, one wife and six children),
Not one of them thrives.

So pity my case,
Dear people, I pray;
I'm honest, and really
I've come a long way.

----------

THE WOODEN HORSE.

A REAL horse is good,
But a horse made of wood
Is a much better horsey for me;
For he needn't be tied,
And he's steady beside,
And never gets lazy, you see.

When pulled, he will go;
And he stops when you "whoa!"
For he always is willing to please;
And though you may stay
By the water all day,
Not once for a drink will he tease.

Not a handful of feed,
All his life, does he need;
And he never wants brushing or combing:
And after a race
All over the place,
He never stands panting and foaming.

He doesn't heed flies,
Though they light on his eyes;
Mosquitoes and gnats he won't mind:
And he never will shy,
Though a train whizzes by,
But always is gentle and kind.

A real horse, some day,
Will be running away;
A donkey is _so_ apt to kick;
A goat will upset you,
A doggie will fret you--
Your wooden horse hasn't a trick!

No chance of a crash,
Or a runaway smash,
Though never so playful and free.
Oh! I like when I drive
To be brought home alive--
So a fine wooden horsey for me!

----------

TINKER, come bring your solder,
And mend this watch for me.
Haymaker, get some fodder,
And give my cat his tea.
Cobbler, my horse is limping,
He'll have to be shod anew;
While the smith brings forge and hammer
To make my daughter a shoe.
Bestir yourselves, my lazies!
I give you all fair warning:
You must do your work 'twixt twelve at night,
And an hour before one in the morning.

----------

THERE was a rare boy who fell ill,
And begged them to give him a pill;
"For my kind parents' sake,
The dose I will take,"
Said this rare little boy who fell ill.

----------

TAKING TIME TO GROW.

"MAMMA! mamma!" two eaglets cried,
"To let us fly you've never tried.
We want to go outside and play;
We'll promise not to go away."
The mother wisely shook her head:
"No, no, my dears. Not yet," she said.

"But, mother dear," they called again,
"We want to see those things called men,
And all the world so grand and gay,
Papa described the other day.
And--don't you know?--he told you then
About a little tiny wren,
That flew about so brave and bold,
When it was scarcely four weeks old?"

But still the mother shook her head;
"No, no, my dears, not yet," she said.
"Before you see the world below,
Far bigger you will have to grow.
There's time enough to look for men;
And as for wrens--a wren's a wren.
What if your freedom does come late?
An eaglet can afford to wait."

----------

THE NAUGHTY BOY.

"OCH, save us!" cried Betty, "I'm 'most driven wild;
Would you shtep here a moment, ma'am, please?
For the sowl of me, ma'am, I can't ready the child
While he keeps up such doin's as these.

"I might better be curlin' a porkerpine quill,
Or washin' the face of a eel,
Than be dressin' of him--for he never keeps still
'Less I howld him by neck an' by heel.

"It's three blissed times since I put on his clothes
That he's wriggled stret off o' the chair;
Not a moment ago he attack-ted me nose,
And it's twice he's been into me hair.

"If ye'll credit me, ma'am, wid his cryin' an' kickin',
He's brought tears to my eyes, ma'am, like rain--
If he wasn't so bad, ma'am, I wouldn't be speakin',
For I niver was one to complain."

Thus summoned, I went to the nursery-door,
There sat master Johnny, a-pout.
And I said, as I lifted him up from the floor,
"Why, Johnny, what's all this about?"

A scream was his answer. His flushed little face
Looked angrily up into mine;
"Oo hurt!" "Do I, Johnny? Where?--show me the place!"
But his cry only changed to a whine.

In a moment, I found out the cause of the trouble--
'Twas a pin, pricking deep in his side;
And she, in her roughness, had bent the thing double--
No wonder my darling had cried!

Poor Johnny! He sobbed on my shoulder awhile,
Then held up his face to be kissed;
(If Betty went back to the Emerald Isle,
I know where she wouldn't be missed.)

Soon, meek as a lamb when the tempest is whirling,
And the shepherd is deaf to his bleat,
Our Johnny submitted to washing and curling,
Till Betty proclaimed him "complete."

----------

In "righting" each other,
(As Betty would say),
If we find there's a bother
That stands in the way--

Perhaps 'twould be well,
Before crying, "Sin,"
And running to tell,
To look for the pin!

----------

LITTLE MISS LIMBERKIN.

LITTLE Miss Limberkin,
Dreadful to say,
Found a mouse in the cupboard
Sleeping away.
Little Miss Limberkin
Gave such a scream,
She frightened the little mouse
Out of its dream.

----------

THE FROG WHO WOULDN'T A-WOOING GO.

YE gentlemen far, and gentlemen near,
And ladies fair, and children dear,
Come, list to the mournful tale--heigho!--
Of the frog who wouldn't a-wooing go.

I.

Once on a time, when nations were few,
And whether the world stood still or flew,
Nobody cared and nobody knew,
A respectable pair,
By name of Gluck,
Lived in a pool
On the Isle of Muck.
Oh! very blest were this pair of frogs,
Their lot was cast in the softest of bogs.
Mrs. Gluck had an exquisite voice,
Their sky was serenest,
Their puddle the greenest
That ever bade heart of a froggy rejoice.

II.

But of all the blessings that came to this pair,
Most precious of all was a son and heir,
With the widest of mouths and the loveliest stare--
Their brisk little polliwog,
Hearty and hale;
Their own little frisky one,
All head and tail!
Ah! never were parents so happy as these,
Though their child, to be sure, wouldn't sit on their knees.
And this, let me say, was a very bad sign,
Though they didn't perceive it
And couldn't conceive it,
For it proved that he didn't to duty incline.

III.

Well, the days flew along, and their child grew apace,
Till at last a fine form came to balance his face;
And his legs grew so fast they seemed running a race.
Completed at last,
With his garment of green,
Just the handsomest froggy
That ever was seen,
He said to his mother: "Now, madam, I'm blown
If--ahem! I _should_ say, I am perfectly grown;
So in future I'd wish my own master to be,
Though I thank you most kindly
For loving me blindly."
(Such airs in a youngster were dreadful to see!)

IV.

"O son," quoth his mother, "you fill me with pain!"
And she sobbed and she sighed with her whole might and main,
And called to her husband in desperate strain.
"Pooh, pooh!" said old Gluck,
"The youngster is right,
So let him alone, ma'am,
Or you and I'll fight.
And, hark ye, my son, I have noticed of late
Yon puddle attracts you. Tis well. Find your mate.
The Gungs, as a family, seem to adore you.
Select your own waters,
Take one of the daughters,
And leap into life like your father before you."

V.

Alas for young puddledum! Proudly he scouted
The sire's good advice. He sulked and he pouted,
And the Gung girls, in turn, every one of them, flouted.
"What, choose me a wife!
Does he think I'm a fool?
No, my motto for life
Is: _one_ frog to a pool.
Shall I yield up my freedom--be tied to a log?
Not I, by my jumps!" quoth this prig of a frog.
"Miss Gung, sir, for all _I_'ll prevent, gug-a-loo!
May sing till they carry me,
'No one will marry me,
Nobody, nobody's coming to woo!'"

VI.

I must tell you; old Gluck, with his puddle so fair,
Was known by the banks as mud-millionaire.
So, young Gluck (who you know, was his first son and heir),

Soon set up a team
Of sleek water-rats,
And covered his head
With the brightest of hats;
Then, with a phaeton and footman or two,
He drove forth to dazzle, to awe and subdue.
Oh! glum was his face, his heart icy cold!
And the seat of his car,
Though too wide by far
For one single frog, not another would hold.

VII.

But when did the heartless, disdainful, and flat
Live on, unrebuked by this world's tit for tat?
And why did our frog trust his fate to a rat?
One day, as he drove,
There came forth to stare--
Kingfisher and Duck--
A most comical pair.
The first was the proudest that ever was seen,
For the rod in his hand was the gift of his queen;
But the other--ah! never did duck so expand;
Yet strut as he could,
And strain as he would,
Poor Quack, for the life of him, couldn't look grand.

VIII.

Yet he took it amiss that his efforts were lost
To thaw with his splendor that armor of frost
(For our frog quite disdained any duck to accost),
And loudly he shouted,
"Come back, sir, come back!
You're spoiling our road
With your zig-zagging track,
Come back, or yon man, with his cat-o'-nine tails,
Will be after your team, till you whistle like quails--
Great Neptune! If there ain't the mischief to pay!
Just as sure as I waddle,
Or swim, dive, or paddle,
Those rats of young Gluck's are a-running away!"

IX.

Too true. They had heard the duck's dreadful appeal--
A cat with nine tails! why, the thought made them squeal.
And they ran for their holes, with poor Gluck, neck and heel.
But whether he lived,
Or whether he died,
Or whether the rats
Managed safely to hide,
Or whether his parents e'er saw him again,
Or whether Miss Gung always waited in vain,
'Neath her lily-pads green, for a lover, or no,
Are things that belong
To the rest of my song
Of the frog who wouldn't a-wooing go.

PART SECOND.

I.

Oh! moan, ye winds, by the green pool's brink!
And quickly, ye Glucks, in the deep mud sink;
Prepare all the dregs of affliction to drink!
The pride of the puddle,
Breath of thy breath,
Lies low in the marshes,
Fainting to death.
Oh! weep, poor Miss Gung! for there never shall be
In thy home of the lilies a lover for thee.
Thy sun goeth down with never a glow,
He hath frowned on thy fate,
On thy maiden estate,
And the one whom thou lovest is lying all low!

II.

Ha! what is this coming? what wreck do they spy?
What driverless rat-steeds are these rushing by?
"Our child!" cried the mother; "oh! fly to him, fly!"
These words to old Gluck,
And that mother fell dead;
She had burst with her grief,
And the vital spark fled.
Then madly in search leaped that father bereft,
And wildly those goggle-eyes peered right and left;
Till at last, where the bank lay a little aslant,
He saw his son lying,
Apparently dying,
For all he could do was to quiver and pant.

III.

"Oh! leap, little Eng" (this, Gluck said to his latest,
A froggy half-grown), "bring of doctors the greatest,
And look to thy speed, that thou never abatest.
Bring Tightskin, or Squatt,
Or my cousin Paff-Puff;
But don't bring them all--
One doctor's enough.
O horror! he fails! Be quick, Eng, be quick!
His eye-balls are sinking! his breath's growing thick.
Either Tightskin or Squatt will be better than Paff--"
But Eng never heard,
He had left at the word,
Bound, of course, for the third of that medical staff.

IV.

"Oh! look at me, son! Oh! lift up your head!
And don't lie so limp, for you fill me with dread
For pity's sake, hear me. Your mother is dead!"
"Dead!" gasped Master Gluck,
"And I lying here?
Oh! why will these mothers
Step out of their sphere?
If ever I needed good nursing 'tis now,
And your masculine paw, sir, it scratches my brow.
I need some one gentle--more gentle than air--
O father! I fear
I am injured in here."
And our frog pressed his heart in the deepest despair.

V.

"Now, bear up, my son," cried the sorrowing Gluck.
"See! the doctor is coming. He'll bring us good luck.
By my croak! but it's Paff, the conceited old buck."
Then, quick to the doctor,
"My child! Is he killed?
Oh! save me my son
From the phaeton spilled.
Haste! give me the lotion! I'll pour it on here."
"No, no," moaned the patient, "I can't have him near,
His rubbing is torture. I'd rather be hung.
Dear doctor, he's rough--
He's nursed me enough--
Oh! send little Eng for that oldest Miss Gung."

VI.

Then outspake the uncle, with wrath in his face,
And a grunt of denial that filled all the place,
"No, no, Master Gluck, _I'll_ attend to your case,
Humph! nursing indeed!
You've called me too late.
In less than an hour, sir,
We'll lay you out straight.
No Miss Gung shall you have. Her father's my friend.
If you'd done as you ought--Never mind. I intend
To have all my sons, cousin Gluck, marry early.
Had my patient seen fit
To wed, I'll admit
He might have been saved," said this doctor so surly.

VII.

And then, while our hero lay moaning with pain,
And his father kept rubbing and fussing in vain,
The doctor continued, in furious strain,
"This accident--humph!
Cousin Gluck, on my word,
With a family team, sir,
Would not have occurred.
This thinking and plotting for self all the while,
And frisking about, sir, in bachelor style,
With no one to nurse you when hurt, sir, don't pay."
"Good doctor," moaned froggy,
"It isn't too late,
Even now she'd consent
To soften my fate.
Oh Eng! dear, run off for Miss Gung, right away."

VIII.

These words were his last. He never moved more,
But lay through the starlight, all fainting and sore
(And those weary night-watchers, how rasping their snore)!
In the morning they found him
Stretched out stiff and stark--
He had died all alone
In the cold and the dark.
The chord of existence had snapt, they averred,
In trying to utter one sweet little word.
And, as over his body his weeping sire hung,
'Twas plain to be seen,
From that mouth's very mien,
That the last mournful sound of his life had been--Gung!

Oh! gentlemen far, and gentlemen near,
And striplings fair, and children dear,
Be warned by the mournful tale, heigho!
Of the frog who wouldn't a-wooing go.

----------

THE STUBBORN BOOT.

BOTHER! was all John Clatterby said.
His breath came quick, and his cheek was red,
He flourished his elbows, and looked absurd,
While, over and over, his "Bother!" I heard.

Harder and harder the fellow worked,
Vainly and savagely still he jerked;
The boot, half on, _would_ dangle and flap--
"Oh bother!" and then he broke the strap.

Redder than ever his hot cheek flamed;
Harder than ever he fumed and blamed;
He wriggled his heel, and tugged at the leather
Till knees and chin came bumping together.

"My boy!" said I, in a voice like a flute,
"Why not--ahem!--try the mate of that boot;
Or the other foot?"--"I'm a goose," laughed John,
As he stood, in a flash, with his two boots on.

In half the affairs
Of this busy life
(As that same day
I said to my wife),
Our troubles come
From trying to put
The left-hand shoe
On the right-hand foot,
Or _vice versa_
(Meaning, reverse, sir).
To try to force,
As quite of course,
Any wrong foot
In the right shoe,
Is the silliest thing
A man can do.

----------

THE LITTLE DUTCHMAN.

OH I'm a little Tuchman,
My name is Van der Dose,
An' vat I cannot get to eat,
I smells it mit my nose.

An' ven dey vill not let me blay,
I takes it out in vork;

And ven dey makes me vork too hard,
I soon de jop will shirk.

An' ven dey sends me off to ped,
I lays avake all night;
An' ven dey comes to vake me up,
I shuts my eyes up tight.

For I'm a little Tuchman,
My name is Van der Dose,
An' vat I do not know myself,
I never vants to knows.

----------

A BIRTHDAY.

OLD man with the hour-glass, halt! halt! I pray--
Don't you see you are taking my children away?
My own little babies who came long ago,
You stole them, old man with the beard white as snow!

My beautiful babies, so bonny and bright!
Where have you carried them far out of sight?
Oh, dimpled their cheeks were, and sunny their hair!
But I cannot find them; I've searched everywhere.

My three-year-old toddlers, they shouted in glee;
They sported about me; they sat on my knee.
Oh, their prattle and laughter were silvery rain!
Old man, must I list for their voices in vain?

They were here; they were gone while their kisses were warm.
I scarce knew the hour when they slipped from my arm--
Oh! where was I looking when peerless and sweet,
They followed the track of your echoless feet?

My brave little school-boys who ran in and out,
And lifted the air with their song and their shout;
My boys on the coldest days ever aglow,
My dear, romping school-boys who bothered me so.

There were two of them then; and one of the two--
Ah! I never was watchful enough--followed you.
My chubby-faced darling, my kite-flying pet--
Alack! all his playthings are lying here yet.

And the other. O Time! do not take him away!
For a few precious years, I implore, let him stay.
I love him--I need him--my blessing and joy!
You have had all the rest: leave me one little boy!

He halts! He will stop! No; the fall of the sand
In the hour-glass deceived me. It seemed at a stand.
But whom have we here? Jamie! Harry! how? why
Just as many as ever--and Time passing by?

I can hardly believe it. But surely it's clear
My babies, my toddlers, my school-boys are here!
And I've two great big fellows (one lithe and one tall)
Besides all the rest--and more precious than all,

Jamie, my bouncer, my man-boy, my pride!
Harry, my sunbeam, whatever betide;
Both of them, all of them, dozens in two--
Crowds of my children are standing in view!

Move on, then, O Time! I have nothing to say,
You have left me far more than you've taken away.
And yet I would whisper a word ere you go:
You've a year of my Harry's--the last one, you know--

How does it rank among those that have flown?
Was it worthily used when he called it his own?
God filled it with happiness, comfort, and health--
Did my darling use rightly its Love-given wealth?

No answer in words. Yet it really did seem
That the sand sparkled lightly--the scythe sent a gleam.
Is it answer and promise? God grant it be so,
From that silent old man with the beard white as snow.

----------

THE PIG AND THE LARK.

A PIG scrambled up from his slumbers,
And grunted with rage at the lark:
"Why must you begin your loud carol
Before we are out of the dark?"

"Good sir," said the lark, as he flitted
Right gayly from blossom to bud,
"Look up to the sky for your morning--
It never begins in the mud!"

----------

THE WELL-MEANING FROG.

'TWAS a lonely bog,
With a boy and frog
On the marsh's brink.
"I'll kill him!" cried the boy. In fact
He leaned to do the dreadful act,--
When lo! a splash!
And in a flash
Did froggie think:

Too true
He meant to do
Some harm to me,
But then, you see
To mock him now would not be kind,
Lest he should drown.
I'll just go down
And tickle his ears
To calm his fears
And let him know that I didn't mind.

Soon, a dripping, sobbing, muddy boy
Ran home across that lonesome bog;
While placidly smiling on the shore
Squatted that thoroughly well-meaning frog.

----------

THE FROST-KING.

OHO! have you seen the Frost-King,
A-marching up the hill?
His hoary face is stern and pale,
His touch is icy chill.
He sends the birdlings to the South,
He bids the brooks be still;
Yet not in wrath or cruelty
He marches up the hill.

He will often rest at noontime,
To see the sunbeams play;
And flash his spears of icicles,
Or let them melt away.
He'll toss the snow-flakes in the air,
Nor let them go nor stay;
Then hold his breath while swift they fall,
That coasting boys may play.

He'll touch the brooks and rivers wide,
That skating crowds may shout;
He'll make the people far and near
Remember he's about.
He'll send his nimble, frosty Jack--
Without a shade of doubt--
To do all kinds of merry pranks,
And call the children out;

He'll sit upon the whitened fields,
And reach his icy hand
O'er houses where the sudden cold
Folks cannot understand.
The very moon, that ventures forth
From clouds so soft and grand,
Will stare to see the stiffened look
That settles o'er the land.

And so the Frost-King o'er the hills,
And o'er the startled plain,
Will come and go from year to year
Till Earth grows young again--
Till Time himself shall cease to be,
Till gone are hill and plain:
Whenever Winter comes to stay,
The hoary King shall reign.

----------

AFTER THE WINTER.

THE summer is coming--hurrah!
Old winter has gone for good.
The summer is coming--hurrah! hurrah!
The birdies are in the wood.

The chickens are coming--hurrah!
Hear how the old hen clucks:
The chickens are coming--hurrah! hurrah!
And the queer little turkeys and ducks.

The tad-poles are coming--hurrah!
With their comical, wriggling tails:
The tad-poles are coming--hurrah! hurrah!
Like little mites of whales.

The crickets are coming--hurrah!
And katydids always so funny:
And fire-flies too--hurrah! hurrah!
And bumble-bees laden with honey.

The ant-hills are coming--hurrah!
What fun to see them rise:
The ant-hills are coming--hurrah! hurrah!
They're growing before our eyes.

The daisies are coming--hurrah!
We'll weave them in many a chain:
The daisies are coming--hurrah! hurrah!
The daisies are coming again!

The cherries are coming--hurrah!
And apples and peaches and plums:
The fruit is a-coming--hurrah! hurrah!
We'll feast on it when it comes.

The swallows are coming--hurrah!
There'll be lots of birds in the sky;
The swallows are coming--hurrah! hurrah!
We'll whoop at them as they fly.

The corn-fields are coming--hurrah!
So green and waving and high:
The corn-fields are coming--hurrah! hurrah!
We'll hide in them by-and-by.

The summer is coming--hurrah!
We can bathe and swim and dive:
The summer is coming--hurrah! hurrah!
Oh! it's jolly to be alive!

It's jolly to live--hurrah!
Let us all be good and glad:
It's the grandest world--hurrah! hurrah!
That ever we children have had.

----------

LITTLE WHIMPY.

WHIMPY, little Whimpy
Cried so hard one day,
His Grandma couldn't stand it,
And his mother ran away;
His sister climbed the hay-mow,
His father went to town,
And cook flew to the neighbor's,
In her shabby, kitchen gown.

Whimpy, little Whimpy
Stood out in the sun
And cried until the chickens
And ducks began to run;
Old Towser in his kennel
Growled in an angry tone;
Then burst his chain, and Whimpy
Was left there, all alone.

Whimpy, little Whimpy
Cried, and cried, and cried;
Soon the sunlight vanished,
Flowers began to hide,
Birdies ceased their singing,
Frogs began to croak,
Darkness came; and Whimpy
Found crying was no joke.

Whimpy, little Whimpy,
Never'll forget the day
When his Grandma couldn't stand it,
And his mother ran away;
He was waiting by the window
When they all came home to tea--
And a gladder boy than Whimpy
You never need hope to see.

----------

NIGHT AND DAY.

WHEN I run about all day,
When I kneel at night to pray,
God sees.

When I'm dreaming in the dark,
When I lie awake and hark,
God sees.

Need I ever know a fear?
Night and day my Father's near:--
God sees.

----------

AT THE WINDOW.

IN and out, in and out,
Through the clouds heaped about,
Wanders the bright moon.

What she seeks, I do not know;
Where it is, I cannot show.

I am but a little child,
And the night is strange and wild.

In and out, in and out,
Wanders the bright moon;
In and out, in and out,
She will find it soon.

There she comes! as clear as day,--
Now the clouds are going away.
She is smiling, I can see,
And she's looking straight at me.

Pretty moon, so bright and round,
Won't you tell me what you found?

----------

OUT OF THE SHELL.

WELL, I'm out, after all!
And I'll say, on my word,
That's a pretty mean house
For a duck of a bird!

Why, I couldn't stand up,
And I couldn't sit down,
But I lay in a cramp
From my toes to my crown.

My good mammy and dad
May have thought me a spoon,
But they'll not get me back
In that thing very soon.

----------

BEES in the manger--
Poor Dobbin's nose!
Boys in the garden;--
Hide, pretty rose!
Cats in the dairy--
Woe to the cream!
Spiders on the ceiling--
Hear Mollie scream!

----------

BABY NELL.

BABY NELL had ten little toes,
Baby Nell had two little hose,
She always stared when the hose went on,
And thought her ten little toes were gone.

----------

LEMONS for Molly;
Molly is sour.
Roses for Polly;
Polly's a flower.
Ginger for Willie;
Willie is quick.
Powders for Tillie;
Tillie is sick.

----------

JAMIE'S TROUBLES.

MAMMA, what's zis on my ap'on?
Nassy ap'on make me ky;
Naughty ap'on awfu' 'ticky--
Puttin' 'lasses in my eye.

Go 'way, B'idget! P'ease don't wass me
(Don't want on no pooty d'esses),
Dim me nudder piece of tandy,
_Den_ I be oor 'ittle pres-sus.

Mamma, see, zis naughty soo-string
Make poor Damie tumble down,
It's all b'oke--I want my Pop-pa
Buy me nudder, 'way down town.

Mamma, see zis funny tup!
Damie hit it wiz his hammer.
Dess it's b'oke. Don't yip me, Mamma,
If oo do, I tell my Damma.

Mamma, dess I dettin s'eepy;
Don't make Damie tate a nap;
Tell me pooty 'tory, Mamma--
Tate poor Damie on oor lap.

Pooty Mamma, b'essed Mamma--
(Want a d'ink out Damie's mug?)
O dat button hurt me dreffel!
Dat's yight, Mamma--dim me hug!

----------

JEAN AND KITTY.

HOW did they learn that their ways were small?
Jean and Kitty--
How did they know they were scorned by all?
Jean and Kitty.
Why, they listened one day, at a neighbor's blinds,
And heard the family speak their minds--
What a pity!

----------

DOGGIE'S TRICKS.

WHAT'S this coming? Baby, hark!
It's the doggie--hear him bark--
Bow, wow, wow, wow--
Don't you frighten Baby now!

Pussy hears him. See her hide,
Now her eyes are open wide:
Meouw, Meouw--_sptisss, sptisss_!
Oh how angry pussy is!

Go 'way, doggie--run off, quick;
Moonie cow has found your stick--
Moo, moo, moo, moo;
Moonie cow is calling you.

Now he's off. He's in the yard,
All the sheep are running hard.
Ba-a, ba-a, ba-a, ba-a!
(What a naughty dog you are!)

Up, old rooster! doggie's coming;
He will catch you--see him running!
Ech-ka cock-a-doodle doo--
Go 'way, dog! Who cares for you?

Now he's at the ducks--O look!
See them waddle to the brook.
Quack! quack! quack! quack!
Doggie cannot drive them back.

Turkey gobbler, chase him now;
Chase him, turkeys! Bow, wow, wow!
Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble!
Bow, wow, wow--gobble, gobble!

Sting him, bees! The naughty doggie!
Jump upon him, great big froggie!
Buzz, buzz, gluck, gluck:
Now, old doggie, where's your pluck?

There, they've bothered you enough--
And you're sorry, poor old Buff?
Bow, wow, wow, wow,
Come and play with Baby now.

----------

A SONG FOR BERTIE.

BABY BUFFETTY met a cow--
_Moo, moo!_ How d'ye do?
Baby Buffetty made a bow--
_Moo, moo!_ How d'ye do?
Baby Buffetty met a sheep--
_Baa, baa!_ How's your ma?
Baby Buffetty gave a leap--
_Baa, baa!_ How's your ma?
Baby Buffetty met a lion--
_Roar, G-r-r-rooo!_ Go away!
Baby Buffetty ran off crying,
_Roar, G-r-r-rooo!_ Go away!

----------

A COMMON MISTAKE.

THE wisest thing
For any man,
Is to get from others
All he can.
The meanest thing
A man can do,
Is to get his gains
From me or you.

----------

LITTLE MINNIE STOWE.

THE fairest and the merriest,
The kindest girl I know,
The brightest and the cheeriest,
Is little Minnie Stowe.

Little Minnie Stowe it is--
Little Minnie Stowe;
I'll marry her when I am big--
The sweetest girl I know!

----------

LETTING THE OLD CAT DIE.

NOT long ago, I wandered near
A play-ground in the wood,
And there heard a thing from youthful lips
That I've never understood:

"Now let the old cat die!" he laughed;
I saw him give a push,
Then gayly scamper away as he spied
My face peep over the bush.

But what he pushed, or where it went,
I could not well make out,
On account of the thicket of bending boughs
That bordered the place about.

"The little villain has stoned a cat,
Or hung it upon a limb,
And left it to die all alone," I said;
"But I'll play the mischief with _him_."

I forced my way between the boughs,
The poor old cat to seek,
And what did I find but a swinging child,
With her bright hair brushing her cheek.

Her bright hair floated to and fro,
Her red little dress flashed by,

But the liveliest thing of all, I thought,
Was the gleam of her laughing eye.

Swinging and swaying back and forth,
With the rose-light in her face,
She seemed like a bird and a flower in one,
And the wood her native place.

"Steady! I'll send you up, my child,"
But she stopped me with a cry:
"Go 'way! go 'way! Don't touch me, please--
I'm letting the old cat die!"

"_You_, letting him die?" I cried, aghast;
"Why, where is the cat, my dear?"
And lo! the laughter that filled the woods
Was a thing for the birds to hear.

"Why, don't you know," said the little maid,
The flitting, beautiful elf,
"That we call it 'letting the old cat die'
When the swing stops all itself?"

Then floating and swinging, and looking back
With merriment in her eye,
She bade me "good-day," and I left her alone,
A-letting the old cat die.

----------

WHAT shall we take to Boston?
Tell me, my baby, pray,
We must take our eyes to see with,
And take our ears to hear with,
And take our feet to run with,
And take our arms to hug with,
And a how d'ye do?
How _do_ you do?
And how are you all to-day?

----------

WASHING-DAY.

WHILE mother is tending baby,
We'll help her all we can,
For I'm her little toddlekins,
And you're her little man.
And Nell will bring the basket,
For she's the biggest daughter,
And I'll keep rubbing, rubbing,
And you'll pour in the water--

And now we'll have to hurry
Because it's getting late--
Poor dolly isn't dressed yet,
But dolly'll have to wait.
I'll pour, and you can rub 'em,
Whichever you had rather--
But seems to me, if I keep on,
We'll get a quicker lather.
Maybe, when mother sees us
Takin' so much troubles,
She'll let us put our pipes in
And blow it full of bubbles:
But now we'll have to hurry,
Because it's getting late--
And dolly isn't dressed yet,
But dolly'll have to wait.

----------

TROTTY MALONE.

BOYS and girls, come riddle and ravel,
Tell us how you would like to travel.

Crispy, crackly, snow and tingle,
"Give me sleighs!" said Jenny Jingle.

Stony, bumpty, bang and bolter,
"Give me carts!" said Johnny Jolter.

Slidy, glidy, jerky whiff-ter,
"Give me cars!" cried Sally Swifter.

Flipetty, cricketty, elegant go,
"Give me a buggy!" said Benjamin Beau.

"A fig for them all!" cried Trotty Malone,
"Give me a stout pair of legs of my own!"

----------

DON'T trust Chatter, who whispers low,
And tells you stories of Prue and Joe.
Be sure when he whispers to Joe and Prue,
He'll tell them many a tale of you.

----------

RED AND WHITE.

ONCE on a still December night,
In the freezing, wintry weather,
Two little stockings, red and white,
Were softly talking together.

Firelight flashed in the darkened room,
Shadows were sliding and creeping
Over the beds where, half in the gloom,
Two little children were sleeping.

"Hark ye!" said White in a whisper low,
"I fancy, Red, by your bulging so,
You come from some plump little baby-leg--
If I'm mistaken, your pardon I beg."

"That's so," said Red, "for she kicked me off
This very day (and she'll have a cough,
As sure as I'm knit, for her careless ways--
A cough that may trouble her all her days).

"But you? Ah! you look so fair and trim,
You came from some little royal limb,
With your dainty heading of daisy pink--
At least so an humble sock would think."

"Hoho!" said White. "Don't you know me, Red?
Why, there's my owner in yonder bed--
Yours in the cradle and mine in the crib;
And mine is the bigger, or else I fib.

"But bless me, Red, I care not a fig,
Though yours be little and mine be big;
Soon shall we hang in equal pride
From yonder mantel side by side.

"Down the chimney a figure will bound--
Old Saint Nicholas, funny and round;
And, stuffing as though he never would stop,
He'll fill us with good things up to the top."

"Hurrah!" cried Red, "and well for me
That I bulge in the ankle and foot, you see."
"And well for me," said White, "that I,
Though narrow and slim, am long and high.

"But, Red, after all, we needn't care,
Though in shape and room we're not a pair;
For the cradle and crib hold sisters, you see,
And the crib will give to the cradle from me.

"If I hold more and you hold less,
The babies'll make it even, I guess."
"That's so," said Red, "but I quite despair
When you hang so grand on the back of a chair."

"Pooh, pooh!" said White, "don't think of that--
Think of the hours that I'm folded flat;
And how often, when shoe-pegs pierce me through,
I long to be woolen and thick like you."

"That's so," said Red--'twas his pet reply--
"But then I take so long to dry!
It's very unpleasant to be so thick--
Besides, I'm just as red as a brick."

"My friend," said White, with an anxious sigh,
"How quickly your troubles multiply!
I really think" (here he gave a cough)
"It affects your spirits--to be kicked off."

"That's so," said Red again--"I feel
Just good for nothing from toe to heel.
She kicks me off, till I'm almost dead,
I'd die of the blues if I wasn't so red."

"Come, neighbor, cheer up!" said White in distress;
"We're only stockings, I must confess;
Yet we suit the feet that are wearing us out,
So there really is nothing to worry about.

"The worst that stockings or children can do
Is to hold the dark side always in view.
This fretting and fussing, dear Red, is shocking.
I _know_ it is; though I'm only a stocking.

"And think how grand it will be, dear Red--
Or how glad we shall feel, I should have said--
When on Christmas morning, after their sleep,
Our dear little owners into us peep."

"That's so!" cried the other. "Away with folly,
For the rest of my days I mean to be jolly.
She may kick me off--the dear little tot--
Whenever she pleases; I'll mind it not.

"Christmas is coming! that's so! that's so!
And _then_ I'll be somebody--won't I, though?
By the way, old White, I wish it were day,
So she'd put me on, and frolic and play."

White laughed with joy, and said, "All right.
You've come to your senses now. Good-night."
And so all quiet and peaceful they lay
Till the children awoke at break of day.

----------

THE THIRD OF JULY.

HA, ha! little toddlekins--cash did you say?
You shall have it, my boys.
For racket and noise,
Crackers and powder,
Louder and louder,
Shall bang and resound on the glorious day!

Here's a dollar for Johnny, a dollar for Paul.
And you, little Dick,
Come to father my chick!
Now _that's_ for a pack,
And _that's_ for a pack,
And _that's_ for torpedoes and snappers and all!

Now Robbie and Willie,--you boys with "real" pockets;
Ha, ha! I declare.
Shall I put it in there?
Hear it dropping, co-chunk!
What! you want more for punk?
Here it is. And _I'll_ see to the pin-wheels and rockets.

Of course, you all know of the great Declaration
That made us as free
As a country could be.
On that glorious Fourth,
East, West, South, and North
Were proclaimed a United American Nation!

How our forefathers bled,--they, the mighty and wroth!
To make us all free,--
Yes, _you_, boys, and me.
Though you can't understand
How they wrestled and planned,
You can honor them, boys, and remember the Fourth.

Be off with your money! To-morrow's the word!
Hold, Johnny, here's more
To divide 'twixt you four.
And Dick, here's a dime,--
Hurrah! What a time!
We'll have such a racket as never was heard!

----------

WHEN I am big, I mean to buy
A dozen platters of pumpkin-pie,
A barrel of nuts, to have 'em handy,
And fifty pounds of sugar-candy.

When I am big, I mean to wear
A long-tailed coat, and crop my hair;
I'll buy a paper, and read the news,
And sit up late whenever I choose.

----------

WIND for the tree-top, sun for the spear;
Johnny will be a big boy in a year.
When he is big he can battle the storm;
While he is little, we'll wrap him up warm.

----------

"HERE'S plenty of shells and clay and water,
Make me some nice mud-pies, my daughter."
"Oh! yes, mamma--and the sun is hot,
I can heat my oven as well as not.
If you will take, why, I will make--
Pit 'em and pat 'em and set 'em to bake."

----------

LITTLE BELL DREER AND THE DISH-COVER.

O MAMMA! look, cried little Bell Dreer;
There's a girl in the cover like me;
And whenever I move she looks so queer;
It's so funny--I never did see!

Why, she makes a face if I turn my cheek;
She makes a face if I wink.
Oh! her hair runs off, and she tries to speak;
Why, she's frightened at me, I think!

Come out little girl, and see my doll;
Come out of the shine and play.
I haven't a bit of a sister at all,
And my dolly is sick to-day.

My dolly is sick, and my book is torn,
And my hair has got to be curled;
And mother is reading. It's real forlorn
To be all alone in the world.

Come out, little girl. Oh! I wish you would.
[You _mustn't_ make faces that way.]
I'd lift you out of the shine if I could,
And play with you all the whole day.

----------

MASTER TREMBLE'S ADVENTURE.

AS soon as I take my degree
As a classical scholar perfected,
No sharp politician I'll be,
Asking favors of all the elected.
No learned profession my plan,
Nor trade, till my courage is blunter;
For surely, deny it who can?
The greatest of men is the hunter!

There's Cummings the bold lion-tamer,
And fearless, undaunted Gérard,
And Baldwin, by tigers made lamer,
And Speke with his cámelopard.
And one of those days 't will be Tremble,--
Most famous of all, I'll be bound,--
The great lion-crusher, young Tremble,
None equal to him the world round.

Already, I've tested my mettle:
No cat but will flee at my tread;
And let a mosquito but settle
And nip me--that instant he's dead!
Know also that only this morning
A terrible peril I met,
While taking a ramble--no warning--
(That hour shall I ever forget?)

I was longing at heart for a rifle,
And a chance for some wonderful shot
(A lion seemed then a mere trifle,
I would rather encounter than not),
When, _presto!_ a horrible creature
Came buzzing and diving at me,
Aiming straight at my favorite feature--
A horrible, black bumble-bee!

A horrible black humble bumble,
Bound straight for my beautiful nose;
For an instant (I'll own) I did tumble,
But quickly in majesty rose.
Each childish emotion I swallowed,
Moving onward as fast as I could;
The great buzzing monster, he followed
Till we came to a shadowy wood.

Ha! what was that sharp thrill of anguish,
And what the great swelling that came?
And why was I rushing and shouting--
The whole of my face in a flame?
I knew that the buzzing was louder,
That my nose was as big as my head;
I wanted to grind him to powder;
I wished him a thousand times dead!

Blind battle! my ev'ry-day jacket
Was tighter than steel coat of mail,
And the monster kept up such a racket,
I scarce knew his head from his tail.
He, plunging and wheeling and darting
And pitching and screeching at me;
I, maddened with burning and smarting--
What wonder I dodged by a tree!

What wonder that soon, in his frenzy,
My murderous foe bumped his head!
The tree never tumbled nor tottered,
But _he_ fell co-chunk in its stead.
Then I turned, in a terrible passion,
And stamped with my full might and main:
I stamped in the sledge-hammer fashion,--
My bee never bumbled again!

Then why should I _not_ be a hunter,
So gallant and fearless and spry?
What other vocation would answer
For such a brave fellow as I?
Ah! woe to the beasts of the forest!
And woe to all monsters with wings!
As soon as my studies are over,
I mean to do terrible things.

----------

HARK! hark! O my children, hark!
When the sky has lost its blue
What do the stars sing in the dark?
"We must sparkle, sparkle, through."

What do leaves say in the storm,
Tossed in whispering heaps, together?
"We can keep the violets warm
'Till they wake in fairer weather."

What do happy birdies say,
Flitting through the gloomy wood?
"We must sing the gloom away--
Sun or shadow, God is good."

----------

THE KITTEN PICTURE.

TWO little sisters, one little brother,
Five little kittens, and one cat mother.
One little kit is tossed up overhead,
One little kit is put upon the bed;
One very little cat, solemn as a fish,
One great big cat is feeding from a dish.
Two little kitty-kits seated on the floor,
Each little kitty-kit washing his own paw.

One little pig-tail. Now, where is that?
One little crown-piece; cap, is it, or hat?
Four little blue eyes, and three little chicks;
Five little kittens full of pretty tricks.
Kitty-kits, pig-tail, blue eyes, and bed;
Chicks, cat, and crown-piece top of baby's head;
Dish, tricks, and downy paws being licked so clean,
All, in the picture, are plainly to be seen.

----------

SOME are starving, some are filling,
Some are lazy, and some are willing,
Some are frowzy, and others are curled,
It takes all kinds, sir, to make a world.

----------

THE TERRIBLE BALL.

GIVE me your ear, good children all,
I'm going to set up a terrible ball--
A terrible ball that began to grow
From only the least little speckle of snow.
And, to make the lesson pointed and plain,
I'll just remark that life, in the main,
Is, etcet'ra--you know; and I hope you'll be good
In future to show that you've understood.

Three lovely, little artless boys,
All of them being mothers' joys,
One day decided, in innocent mirth,
To make a snow-ball as big as the earth.
What makes the story more touching still,
The big-eyed school-house on the hill
Was in session, under the cross Miss Stookey,
And these little boys were "playing hookey."

Hookey from Stookey, they worked with a will,
And, from making a ball like a tiny pill,
They rolled and rolled, till, no longer small,
'Twas big as Miss Stookey's waterfall.
Then, like a pumpkin fair and round,
They kept it rolling on the ground--
Bigger, bigger, bigger, bigger,
Bigger, bigger, bigger, bigger!
The boys could hardly push it along,
It grew so mighty stout and strong.

Now, this mammoth ball that began as a pill,
Was made, you must know, on top of a hill;
This hill was so wonderful steep and high,
That even the coasters would pass it by;
And, saving a road by the cattle made,
It sloped right down, at a fearful grade,
To the meadow where stood a cottage red
Where these little children were born and bred.

"Halloo!" they cried, "let's have some fun,
There's Stookey's pig as sure as a gun!"
"Hooray! hooray!" cried the children three,
Thus giving vent to their youthful glee.
When--what do you think?--this ungrateful pill,
That they'd made so big on top of the hill,
With an air that said, "Now, I think I've got 'em!"
Resolved to roll all the way to the bottom.

The ball was swift, the ball was big,
Alas for Stookey's innocent pig!
Alas for lovers who walked that way,
They ne'er in their lives forgot the day!

Alas for the learn'd Professor Gath
Who happened to stroll in the snow-ball's path!
And alas, alas for those children three,
Who shouted and cheered in their pretty glee!

Rolling, growing, demolishing all,
On and on went the terrible ball;
It left the cattle down on their knees,
It crushed the fences and bent the trees;
Even the hay-stacks went ker-flop.
It wouldn't turn, nor it wouldn't stop,
But still rolled on in steady motion,
Making a bee-line for the ocean!

With laugh and shout and merry hoot,
Those children followed in glad pursuit.
"Hooray! hooray!" they cried again,
And gave the chase with might and main;
They gave the chase with main and might,
But the terrible ball rolled out of sight.

And now comes the saddest part of all.
(Oh! that cruel, wicked, terrible ball!)
When at last the three little artless boys,
Tired of running and making a noise,
Resolved to go home to their little bed,
Where, oh! where was that cottage red?
Where, oh! where? Ask the terrible ball--
Never a home had those children small.
Gone, clean gone! with picket and paling--
And all their joy was turned to wailing!

MORAL.

Hence it is, and so we see
Thus and so, it seems to me,
As I'm sure you'll all agree.

----------

A BIRTHDAY RHYME.

TELL me, O youth so straight and tall,
So glad with eager thought!
Have you seen of late a bouncing boy
Brimful of merry sport?
Brimful of merry sport is he,
A lad of fifteen summers,
With velvet lip still smooth and fair,
But a fist that awes all comers.

He used to laugh with unconcern
Whene'er a school-girl met him,
Unconscious quite what wondrous power
She'd have in time to fret him.
He only cared for "fellows" then,
And ball, and "tag," and "shinny,"
And thought a chap who brushed his hair
Was just a fop or ninny.

Somehow, I loved this bouncing boy,
Because he was my own;
I had him here a year ago,
And don't know where he's flown.
I don't know where he's flown, and yet
Whenever you are near--
It's very odd!--I'm reconciled,
Because you grow so dear.