Chapter I: HAD a little Scotchman, (2)

You bear great likeness to my boy
I think, and--strange the whim!--
There's that in you which I have prayed
Might come in time to him.
Then if you'll stay, my dashing youth,
And love me, like the other,
I'll let him go, and, clasping you,
Be still a happy mother.

So hold me close, my bigger boy,
My larger-hearted Harry,
With broader shoulders, older head,
And more of life to carry;
Hold close, and whisper, heart to heart,
Our Lord has blessed us truly,
Since every year we love so well,
And find it out so newly.

With deepened joy and prayerful love
All in the autumn's splendor,
I hail you, boy of mine, and give
A welcome proud and tender.
'Tis grand to take the birthdays in,
If, while the years we're counting,
In heart and soul, in hope and aim,
We steadily keep mounting.

----------

THE GIRL ACROSS THE WAY.

A LITTLE BOY'S VALENTINE.

LITTLE girl across the way,
You are so very sweet,
I shouldn't be a bit surprised
If you were good to eat.

Some day, when all the blinds are shut,
And Sis is inside thrummin'
(She's takin' music-lessons now),
And horses aint a-comin',

I'll run across and turn your rope,
Or pull you in your wagon;
But don't you tell that I said so,
'Cause they might call it braggin.'

If you would only come to me
We'd play at "Catch and Toss;"
But then my Ma objects to girls,
And it might make her cross.

Now what I'd like, if you would too,
Would be to go and play--
Well, all the time, and all my life,
On your side of the way.

I don't know anybody yet
On your side of the street,
But often I look over there
And watch you--you're so sweet!

When I am big, I tell you what,
I won't care what they say,
I'll go across and stay there too,
On your side of the way.

----------

WILLIE.

THREE-YEAR-OLD Willie, bare-footed Willie,
Willie, with hair in a golden-thread tangle;
Tottering Willie, self-helping Willie,
Child in whom sweetness and poverty wrangle;
Willie, whose mother toils in my kitchen;
Willie, whose father carried a hod;
Willie, whose childish disdain is bolder
Than the pride of the emperor, favored of God--

Why dost thou knock at my heart, little pauper,
Bidding me love thee, entering there,
Sitting beside little cherubs who blessed me,
Thy manner half saucy, half debonair?
With garments all tattered and soiled, little Willie,
And face all begrimed? 'Tis not fitting, you know--
Velvets and laces are mine, naughty Willie,
And poor little boys should not come to me so.

The chubby intruder, still wickedly smiling,
And, ah! what a shout! (is he laughing at _me_?
He surely can't take in a word I am saying)
Now rushes upon me, and climbs to my knee.
And though he is silent, I hear him quite plainly--
To listening hearts a baby can speak--
He tells me (while velvet and rags are blending
And his unkempt hair is brushing my cheek):

"I'm a poor little fellow, with no one to teach me;
But my soul is a new one--fresh from God;
And he gave it something so brave and holy
It never can turn to an earthly clod.
What though the gifts of the purse are denied me,
Poverty need not look out of my eyes;
Though it surround me, the bright world beyond it
Neither its warmth nor its beauty denies.

"The birds never sing, 'Little Willie is ragged!'
Nor the flowers, 'He will soil us! Take him away!'
But they're glad when I happen to look and to listen,
And the sky is above me night and day.
Did God make you richer because you were better?
And what if my mother _does_ cook for you,
Isn't she cheerful? With half of her trials
Would you be as patient, and willing, and true?

"And what if my father, with hod and trowel,
Carried and toiled the whole day long,
Didn't he comfort my mother and love her?
Didn't he cheer her with joke and song?
I never saw him. One bright autumn morning,
Just three years ago, he went to the war--
Went out to battle for you and your country:
And then he never came home any more.

"Nevermore labored with hod and with trowel,
Never came back with his joke and his song.
Mother would know only working and weeping
If I were not sunny and careless, and strong.
She chides me and kisses me, beats me and blesses,
And prays to the saints that her boy may be good;
But for work, she would keep me as fresh as a daisy,
Not ragged and soiled, in my babyhood."--

Say no more, Willie! Mock me and love me!
Into my heart enter blithesomely still.
Bright little soldier's boy, poor little worker's boy,
Shame to the coward who uses thee ill!

----------

IF cows wore satin slippers,
And kits were dressed in silk,
We'd send the mice to dancing-school,
And beg our buttermilk.

----------

BUMBLE, bramble, which came first, sir,
Eggs or chickens? Who can tell?
I'll never believe that the first egg burst, sir,
Before its mother was out of her shell.

NOBODY near him, all in the dark.
Hear how fierce our dog can bark!
Somebody coming, by light of day,
See how doggie scampers away!

OH! no,
'Tisn't so!
Papa's watch
Won't go?

It _must_ go--
Guess I know!
Last night
I wound it tight,
And greased it nice
With camphor-ice.

THE SUN AND THE STARS.

ONE day, when the sun was going down,
He said to a star hard by:
"Sparkle your best; for you see, my friend,
I'm going out of the sky."

Now, the little star was old as the sun,
Though rather small of his age,
So he kept quite still in the yellow light,
And looked as wise as a sage.

"I'm going, you see!" cried the sun again,
"Going right out of the sky!"
And he slid away, but not out of sight
Of that little star hard by.

The little star, peeping, saw him go
On his gorgeous western way;
And twinkled with fun, as he said, "O Sun!
You're in for another day!

"And as for going out of the sky,
Your majesty knows you can't;
You are shining somewhere, full and strong,
In spite of your rays aslant."

No answer. Then the star grew bright,
And sparkled as neighbors came;
He told the joke to the twinkling crowd,
And they laughed the sun to shame.

One gay little star was so amused,
That he shot across the sky;
And all the others bobbed and blinked
To see him go speeding by.

But after awhile, a rosy light
Appeared on the eastern side;
And, one by one, the stars grew shy,
And tried in the sky to hide.

"Ho! ho!" the sun broke forth. "Ho! ho!
Just stay where you are, my dears,
And shine away, for you can't be seen
When all of my light appears.

"The people below will say you are gone,
Though you're shining. Think of that!
Well, they thought all night I had left the sky,
So it's only tit for tat."

----------

LEARNING TO PRAY.

KNEELING, fair, in the twilight gray,
A beautiful child was trying to pray;
His cheek on his mother's knee,
His bare little feet half hidden,
His smile still coming unbidden,
And his heart brimful of glee.

"I want to laugh. Is it naughty? Say,
O mamma! I've had such fun to-day,
I hardly can say my prayers--
I don't feel just like praying;
I want to be out-doors playing,
And run, all undressed, down stairs.

"I can see the flowers in the garden bed,
Shining so pretty and sweet and red;
And Sammy is swinging, I guess.
Oh! everything is so fine out there,
I want to put it all in my prayer,
(Do you mean I can do it by 'Yes'?)

"When I say, 'Now I lay me,' word for word,
It seems to me as if nobody heard.
Would 'Thank you, dear God,' be right?
He gave me my mother,
And papa, and brother--
O mamma! you nodded I might."--

Clasping his hands and hiding his face,
Unconsciously yearning for help and grace,
The little one now began.
His mother's nod and sanction sweet
Had led him close to the dear Lord's feet,
And his words like music ran.

"Thank you for making this home so nice,
The flowers, and folks, and my two white mice
(I wish I could keep right on).
I thank you too for every day--
Only I'm 'most too glad to pray
Dear God, I think I am done.

"Now, mamma, rock me--just a minute--
And sing the hymn with 'darling' in it.
I wish I could say my prayers!
When I get big, I know I can,
Oh! won't it be nice to be a man,
And stay all night down stairs!"

The mother, singing, clasped him tight,
Kissing and cooing her fond "Good night,"
And treasured his every word;
For well she knew that the artless joy
And love of her precious, innocent boy
Were a prayer that her Lord had heard.

----------

BENNY'S BUTTONS.

HOW many buttons has Benny,
Counting 'em six for a penny?
Why, five on his sacque,
And two on the back,
And--would you believe?--
A pair on each sleeve;
And six on his trowsers,
Yes, regular rousers!
And eight on his vest--
A grand double-breast--
All eight in full sight
When buttoned up tight.
Then three on one shoe,
While the mate has but two;
And one at the end
Of his top-snare, depend.
And, ah! there's the strap
On his regiment-cap,
It begins with a button
And ends with a button;
And really that's all
I now can recall.
So, counting them six for a penny,
How many buttons has Benny?

----------

WHAT was the moon a-spying
Out of her half-shut eye?
One of her stars went flying
Across the broad blue sky.

----------

A NURSERY RHYME FOR BIG FOLKS.

NOT only the little toddlers,
Perched high on papa's toe,
Bound for a ride to London town,
On childish journeys go--
For we all go up, up, up,
And all go down, down, down-y,
And all go backward and forward,
And all go round, round, round-y.

Still do we reach for sunbeams,
And learn the rattle's trick.
The great big watch of Father Time--
How we love to hear it tick!

To pat a cake for our Tommy,
And pat a cake for ourself--
For that alone we labor and strive,
And hoard up our golden pelf.

This little pig goes to market;
This little pig stays at home;
And we all cry "Wee!" for our mammy
Wherever we chance to roam.

We seek our bed with Sleepyhead,
We stay a while with Slow;
And fill the pot with Greedy, glad
To sup before we go.

When Jack and Jill go up the hill
To fetch their pail o' water,
As sure as Jack comes tumbling down
Poor Jill comes tumbling arter.

Mistress Marys are still contrary,
Marjorie Daws still sell;
Mother Hubbards ransack their cupboards
For bones for their ne'er-do-well.

Jack Horners in their corners still
Do ply their busy thumb,
And, "What a big boy!" we always cry
Whenever we see the plum.

"What do you want?" "A pot o' beer."
Alack the bitter wrong!
That grenadier an army hath
How many million strong!

Our wise men into brambles still
Do jump with might and main;
And those who go to sea in bowls
Rarely come back again.

And don't some hearts, deploring
The things that gnaw and harrow,
Let fall the wheelbarrow, wife and all,
When lanes are rough and narrow?

Ah yes! the old rhymes suit us
As well as ever they did;
For the gist of our lives, from first to last,
Is under their jingle hid--
As we all go up, up, up,
And all go down, down, down-y,
And all go backward and forward,
And all go round, round, round-y.

----------

FIRE-FLIES.

SEE the air filling near by and afar--
A shadowy host--how brilliant they are!

Silently flitting, spark upon spark,
Gemming the willows out in the dark;

Waking the night in a twinkling surprise,
Making the starlight pale where they rise;

Snowing soft fire-flakes into the grass,
Lighting the face of each daisy they pass;

Dancing like jewels high up in the pines;
Drowsily poised on the low-swinging vines;

Startling the darkness, over and over,
Where the sly pimpernel kisses the clover;

Suddenly setting their tapers around,
Now on the fences, now on the ground,

Now on the bushes and tree-tops, and then
Pitching them far into darkness again;

There like a shooting-star, slowly on wing,
Here like the flash of a dowagers ring;

Playing their pranks of living and dying
All in an instant, merrily flying;

Setting the dark, croaking hollows a-gleam,
Spangling the gloom of the ghoul-haunted stream;

Sweet in their gentleness, daring, and cheer,
No depth too dark for them, no place too drear;

They pulse and they sparkle, they glimmer and glow,
Teaching a lesson wherever they go:

Ever in gentle souls shineth a light--
Trusting it ever, no gloom can affright.

----------

FULFILLMENT.

WAKING in May, the peach-tree thought:
"Idle and bare, and weaving naught!
Here have I slept the winter through--
I, with my Master's work to do!"

Started the buds. The blossoms came,
Till all the branches were a-flame.
She rocked the birds and wove the green,
A busy tree as ever was seen.

Busy and blithe, she drank the dew,
She caught the sunbeams gliding through,
She drew her wealth from sky and soil,
And rustled gayly in her toil.

* * * * *

Now, see the peach-tree's drooping head,
With all her fruit a-blushing red;
Knowing her Master's work is done,
She meekly resteth in the sun.

----------

RESOLUTION.

IF you've any task to do,
Let me whisper, friend, to you,
Do it.

If you've any thing to say,
True and needed, yea or nay,
Say it.

If you've any thing to love,
As a blessing from above,
Love it.

If you've any thing to give,
That another's joy may live,
Give it.

If some hollow creed you doubt,
Though the whole world hoot and shout,
Doubt it.

If you know what torch to light,
Guiding others through the night,
Light it.

If you've any debt to pay,
Rest you neither night nor day--
Pay it.

If you've any joy to hold,
Next your heart, lest it grow cold,
Hold it.

If you've any grief to meet,
At the loving Father's feet,
Meet it.

If you're given light to see
What a child of God should be,
See it.

Whether life be bright or drear,
There's a message, sweet and clear,
Whispered down to every ear--
Hear it!

----------

HOW THE NEW YEAR CAME.

THE sun was sinking out of sight.
"Bessie," said Herbert, "have you heard?
It's really true, upon my word.
This year is going away to-night.
Its time is up, they say, and so
At midnight it will have to go.
And, right away, another year
Will come along, a real new year,
As soft as any mouse--
So soft, we'll hardly hear it creep--
Yes, come right to this very house,
While every one's asleep!"

Now, Bessie's eyes grew wide, to hear.
"Let's keep awake," she cried, "and so
We'll see one come and see one go--
Two years at once! Won't that be queer?
Let's tell the New Year it is bad,
We want the one we've always had,
With birds and flowers and things, you know,
And funny ice and pretty snow.
It had my birthday, too, in May,
And yours--when was it? and you know
How it had Fourth o' July one day,
And Christmas. Oh! it _mustn't_ go!"

"Ha! ha!" laughed Herbert, "what a Bess
This year was new when first it came.
The next one will be just the same
As this that's going now, I guess.
That's nothing. But what bothers me
Is how the change is going to be.
I can't see how one year can go
And one can come at midnight, so
All in a minute--_that's_ the bother!
I've heard them say 'the rolling year':
You'd think they'd roll on one another,
Unless they knew just how to steer."

The speck of time 'twixt night and day
Was close at hand. Herbert and Bess
Had won their parents' smiling "yes"
To watch the old year go away.
Nurse on the lounge found easy rest,
Till Bess should come to be undrest;
All but the children were asleep,
And years might roll, or years might creep,
For all they cared; while Bess and Bert,
Who never stirred and scarcely spoke,
Watched the great clock, awake, alert,
All breathless for the coming stroke.

Soon Bessie whispered, "Moll don't care."
Moll was her doll. And Herbert said,
"The clock's so far up overhead
It makes me wink to watch it there,
The great tall thing! Let's look inside!"
And so its door they opened wide:

----------

TICK-A-TICK! How loud it sounded!
Bessie's heart with wonder bounded.
How the great round thing that hung
Down the middle, swung and swung!
_Tick, a-tick, a-tick, a-tick_--
Dear, how loud it was, and quick!
_Tick-a, tick-a, tick-a, tick-a!_
Surely it was growing quicker!
While the swinging thing kept on,
Back and forth, and never done.

There! It's coming! Loud and clear,
Each ringing stroke the night alarms.
Bess, screaming, hid in Herbert's arms.
"The year!" he cried, "the year! the year!"
"Where?" faltered Bessie, "which? where'bouts?"
But still "The year!" glad Herbert shouts;
And still the steady strokes rang on
Until the banished year was gone.
"We've seen the Old Year out--hurrah!"
"Oh! oh!" sobbed Bessie, "call mamma.
I don't like years to racket so;
It frightens me to hear 'em go!"
But Herbert kissed away her tears,
And, gently soothing all her fears,
He heard the New Year coming quick,
_Tick, a-tick, a-tick, a-tick!_

----------

THE WIND AND THE MOON.

THE wind drove the moon
To a cloud-built cave,
And shut her in
As it were her grave;

The cave threw wide
A silver portal--
And forth she came,
Serene, immortal!

He piled great clouds
With angry might,
Till lost in gloom
Was all her light;

The clouds a moment
Held her under,
Then, glorified,
They burst asunder!

The wind that night
Bemoaned and whistled
Till all the forest
Groaned and bristled,--

While moonbeams stole
To tear-wet pillows,
And chased the gloom
From graveyard willows.

----------

CHILDREN'S HYMN.

AIR, "_Little Drops of Water_."

FROM the sunny morning
To the starry night,
Every look and motion
Meets our Father's sight.

From our earliest breathing
To our latest year,
Every sound we utter
Meets our Father's ear.

Through our earthly journey,
Wheresoe'er we go,
Every thought and feeling
Doth our Father know.

Let us then be careful
That our looks shall be
Brave and kind and cheerful,
For our Lord to see.

Let us guard each accent
With a holy fear,
Fit our every saying
For our Lord to hear.

Let no thought within us,
Hidden or confessed,
Ever bring a sorrow
To our dear Lord's breast.

Help us, O our Father!
Hear our earnest plea--
Teach thy little children
How to live for Thee!

HANS BRINKER;

OR, THE SILVER SKATES.

By MRS. MARY MAPES DODGE,
_Author of "Rhymes and Jingles," &c., and Editress of St. Nicholas_.

----------

One vol., 12mo, cloth, with Eight Illustrations, $1.50.

----------

_Hans Brinker; or, The Silver Skates_ is one of those stories which is destined to be a source of perennial delight to generation after generation of children. It tells of life in Holland--a country which changes so little that a story of people who lived there twenty years ago might be told of to-day as well, and it is marked throughout by a vivacity, a freshness, and a healthy vigor which goes straight to the heart of every reader whether he be old or young.

----------

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----------

_From the Atlantic Monthly._

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----------

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----------

_From the Watchman and Reflector._

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----------

_From the Cleveland Leader._

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----------

_From Appleton's Journal._

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_Sent postpaid on receipt of the price by the Publishers_,
SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO.,
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THE

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Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation errors repaired. Some of the titles of the poems were in the page headers. These have been added to the text above the poems. Varied hyphenation was retained for example as in live-long and livelong.

Page 247, "litttle" changed to "little" (And poor little)