She grew a woman, and for life 'Twas time she should prepare, But still she said "there's time enough, If not, I do not care."

Duties neglected, warnings spurn'd, Her mother in despair; And though she saw the evil done, She said, "I do not care."

Still on she went from bad to worse, She spurned her father's prayer; Who feared she'd find an awful end, Because she would not care.

Afflictions came, and death in view, Which filled her with despair; Her God neglected, and she feared For her He would not care.

Could you have then Matilda seen, Or heard her broken prayer, She urged her friends never to use Those awful words—Don't Care.

Little Miss Meddlesome

Little Miss Meddlesome Scattering crumbs, Into the library Noisily comes— Twirls off her apron, Tilts open some books, And into a work-basket Rummaging, looks.

Out goes the spools spinning Over the floor, Beeswax and needle-case Stepped out before; She tosses the tape-rule And plays with the floss, And says to herself, "Now won't mamma be cross!"

Little Miss Meddlesome Climbs to the shelf, Since no-one is looking, And mischievous elf, Pulls down the fine vases, The cuckoo-clock stops, And sprinkles the carpet With damaging drops.

She turns over the ottoman, Frightens the bird, And sees that the chairs In a medley are stirred; Then creeps on the sofa, And, all in a heap, Drops out of her Frolicsome mischief asleep.

But here comes the nurse, Who is shaking her head, And frowns at the mischief Asleep on her bed. But let's hope when Miss Meddlesome's Slumber is o'er, She may wake from good dreams And do mischief no more.

Careless Matilda

"Again, Matilda, Is your work astray, Your thimble is gone! Your scissors, where are they?

Your needles, pins, your thread, And tapes all lost— Your housewife here, And there your work-bag tost.

Fie, fie, my child! Indeed this will not do, Your hair uncomb'd, Your frock in tatters too;

I'm now resolv'd No more delays to grant, This day I'll send you To your stern old aunt."

In vain Matilda wept, Repented, pray'd, In vain a promise Of amendment made.

Arriv'd at Austere Hall, Matilda sigh'd. By Lady Rigid, When severely eyed.

"You read, and write, And work well, as I'm told, Are gentle, kind, good-natur'd, Far from bold.

But very careless, Negligent, and wild— When you leave me, You'll be a different child."

The little girl Next morn a favour asks: "I wish to take a walk," "Go learn your tasks,"

The lady harsh replies, "Nor cry nor whine. Your room you leave not Till you're call'd to dine."

As thus Matilda sat, O'erwhelm'd with shame, A dame appear'd, Disorder was her name.

Her hair and dress neglected, Soil'd her face, She squinted leer'd, And hobbled in her pace.

"Here, child," she said, "My mistress sends you this, A bag of silks— A flow'r not work'd amiss—

A polyanthus bright, And wondrous gay; You'll copy it by noon, She bade me say." Disorder grinn'd, Then shuffling walk'd away.

Entangled were The silks of every hue, Confus'd and mix'd Were shades of pink, green, blue;

She took a thread, Compar'd it with the flow'r; "To finish this is Not within my pow'r.

Well-order'd silks Had Lady Rigid sent, I might have work'd, If such was her intent."

She sigh'd, and melted Into sobs and tears, She hears a noise And at the door appears

A pretty maiden, clean, Well-dress'd, and neat Her voice was soft, Her looks sedate, yet sweet.

"My name is Order, Do not cry my love; Attend to me, And thus you may improve."

She took the silks, And drew out shade for shade, In sep'rate skeins, Each hue with care she laid; Then smiling kindly, Left the little maid.

Matilda now resumed Her sweet employ, And sees the flow'r complete— How great her joy.

She leaves the room, "I've done my task," she cries. But soon her harshness The lady look'd With disbelieving eyes, Chang'd to glad surprise.

"Why this is well! A very pretty flow'r, Work'd clean, exact, And done within the hour!

And now amuse yourself, Ride, walk or play." Thus passed Matilda This much-dreaded day.

At all her tasks Disorder would attend At all her tasks Still Order stood her friend.

With tears and sighs Her studies oft began, These into smiles Were changed by Order's plan;

No longer Lady Rigid Seem'd severe, Her looks the negligent Alone need fear.

And when the day The wish'd-for day is come When young Matilda's Suffer'd to go home:

"You quit me, child, But oft to mind recall The time you spent With me at Austere Hall.

And now, my dear, I'll give you one of these, Your servant she will be; Take which you please."

"From me," Disorder asked, "Old friend, why start?" Matilda clasped Sweet Order to her heart. "My dearest girl," she cried, "We'll never part."

[Page 21—Girl Land]



Forty Little School Girls

Forty little school girls, running, but not flirty; Ten ran into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but thirty.

Thirty little school girls swimming the river Plenty; Ten swam into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but twenty.

Twenty little school girls jumping in velveteen; One jumped into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were nineteen.

Nineteen little school girls going out a-skating; One skated into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but eighteen.

Eighteen little school girls dancing with the queen; One danced into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were seventeen.

Seventeen little school girls driving a bullock team; One drove into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were sixteen.

Sixteen little school girls creeping out unseen; One crept into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were fifteen.

Fifteen little school girls hopping on the green; One hopped into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were fourteen.

Fourteen little schoolgirls floating down a stream; One floated into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were thirteen.

Thirteen little school girls leaping out to delve; One leaped into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but twelve.

Twelve little school girls racing out for leaven; One raced into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were eleven.

Eleven little school girls dodging a lion when— One dodged into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but ten.

Ten little school girls, all skipping in a line; One skipped into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but nine.

Nine little school girls swinging on a gate; One swung into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but eight.

Eight little school girls, trying to fly to heaven; One flew into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but seven.

Seven little school girls tripping out for sticks; One tripped into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but six.

Six little school girls, going for a dive; One dived into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but five.

Five little school girls, sailing to explore; One sailed into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but four.

Four little school girls steaming on the sea; One steamed into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but three.

Three little school girls, riding on a moo; One rode into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there were but two.

Two little school girls, sliding about for fun; One slid into Cole's Book Arcade, And then there was but one.

One little school girl, the nicest, last and best, She walked into Cole's Book Arcade, And read books with all the rest.

The following is the way that each girl went into Cole's Book Arcade:

Ada ran into it. Agnes ran into it. Alice ran into it. Amy ran into it. Annie ran into it. Angelina ran into it. Bessie ran into it. Bridget ran into it. Carrie ran into it. Clara ran into it. Edith swam into it. Eliza swam into it. Emily swam into it. Emma swam into it. Fanny swam into it. Florence swam into it. Hannah swam into it. Harriet swam into it. Jane swam into it. Jessie swam into it. Kate jumped into it. Lillie skated into it. Lizzie danced into it. Lottie drove into it. Louisa crept into it. Lucy hopped into it. Mary floated into it. Martha leaped into it. Matilda raced into it. Maggie dodged into it. Maria skipped into it. Mabel swung into it. Maude flew into it. May tripped into it. Minnie dived into it. Nellie sailed into it. Olive Steamed into it. Rose rode into it. Sarah slid into it. Tottie walked into it.

N.B.—Any little girl is invited to walk, run, jump, dance, skip, hop, swim, fly, or come into Cole's Book Arcade in any way she chooses, the same as the Forty Little School Girls.

Story Of The Funny Monkeys

Once there was a funny old monkey—and this old monkey had six young monkeys. There was one white monkey, and one black monkey, and one yellow monkey, and one red monkey, and one blue monkey, and one green monkey; and the white monkey's name was Linda, and the black monkey's name was Eddie, and the yellow monkey's name was Vally, and the red monkey's name was Ruby, and the blue monkey's name was Pearl, and the green Monkey's name was Ivy Diamond. And the white monkey liked apples, and the black monkey liked grapes, and the yellow monkey liked cherries, and the red monkey liked strawberries, and the blue monkey liked oranges, and the green monkey liked nuts, and that's all about these FUNNY MONKEYS. The names of any children can be told in this story instead of Linda, Eddie, Vally, Ruby, Pearl, and Diamond.

[Page 22—Girl Land]



Tangle Pate

There was a girl, named tanglepate, She lived—I won't say where— Who was not willing any one Should comb or curl her hair.

She cried and made a dreadful fuss, At morning, noon, or night, And did not seem at all ashamed Of looking like a fright.

Her hair stood out around her head Just like a lion's mane, And she was scolded, coaxed, and teased About it—but in vain.

It caught on buttons, hooks, and boughs As here and there she rushed, And yet she would not consent To have it combed or brushed.

And so she fell asleep one day Within the woods, and there Two birdies came and built a nest Amid her tangled hair.

A Careless Girl

I know a very careless girl, Her hair is always out of curl, In rags and tatters are her clothes, And she's a fright, you may suppose.

Her skirts she catches on a nail, And leaves behind and ugly trail; Her sashes always are untied, Her dresses always gaping wide.

'Tis her delight to tear and rend, She does not like to patch or mend, And 'tis no wonder that she goes So out at elbows and at toes.

Naughty Girl

The naughty girl Never minds mamma, Always says, "I won't!" To dear papa! Makes a great deal of noise About the house. When her mother wants her As still as a mouse.

She pinches the cat, She pulls her tail; And takes the bird-cage Down from the nail; Teases her brothers, And spoils her hair, And reproved says, "I don't care!"

She worries poor grandma, Makes baby cry; She cannot please him, And I know why:— She lets him lie In the crib and moan, While she is amusing Herself alone.

At school she forgets What the teacher said, Sits idly leaning her hands On her head; She never learns The task that's given, And cannot tell even Seven times seven.

At table she's careless, And spills her drink, Can never be taught To "stop and think;" Gets down from the table And goes to play, To do the same over Another day.

Mopy Maria

Mopy Maria Would sit by the fire, It seemed to be Her greatest desire; Bent and bowed As if wrapped in a shroud, And her face as black As a thunder-cloud.

She filled the room So full of gloom, The place was as Dismal as a tomb; And few would admire Her, or desire To spend much time With Mopy Maria,

She moped and pined Yet no-one could find That any trouble Disturbed her mind; Nor reasons good Why she should brood An such a Ridiculous attitude.

It wasn't her style To laugh and smile She didn't think It was worth her while; So dull and flat She daily sat Like a Chinese idol, Or worse than that,

If the children came To propose a game Of any sort, It was all the same; She wouldn't play, She wouldn't be gay, But sat and pouted The livelong day.

Her face grew thin; And at length her chin Grew long and sharp; Oh! as sharp as a pin! And one windy day She blew away Like a great big kite That had gone astray.

The winds were high, And she had to fly Away at their bidding; It made her cry; But she couldn't get higher Than the tall church spire, So there she stuck— Poor Mopy Maria!

Disobedient May

Naughty May will not obey, But will always have her way Every moment of the day.

If you say do this, or that, She will be amazed thereat, Show her claws like any cat.

O she is a naughty child! Very fond of running wild, Never gentle, meek, or mild.

Some fine day, I don't know when— She'll be popp'd in piggy's pen, And be most unhappy then.

Pigs are stubborn things indeed, Will not go as you would lead, Never words of counsel heed.

And pig-headed folks are they Who will always have their way, Spite of anything you say.

Sluttishness

Oh! Mary, my mary, Why, where is your dolly? Look here, I protest, on the floor: To leave her about In the dirt so is folly, You ought to be trusted no more.

I thought you were pleas'd. And receiv'd her quite gladly, When on your birthday she came home; Did I ever suppose You would use her so sadly, And strew her things over the room?

Her bonnet of straw You once thought a great matter, And tied it so pretty and neat; Now see how 'tis crumpled, No trencher is flatter, It grieves your mamma thus to see't.

Suppose (you're my Dolly, You know, little daughter, Whom I love to dress neat, and see good), Suppose in my care of you, I were to falter, And let you get dirty and rude!

But Dolly's mere wood, You are flesh and bone living, And deserves better treatment and care; That is true, my sweet girl, 'Tis the reason I'm giving This lesson so sharp and severe.

'Tis not for the Dolly I'm anxious and fearful, Tho' she cost too much to be spoil'd; I'm afraid lest yourself Should get sluttish, not careful, And that were a sad thing, my child.

Jane, who Bit her Nails

When I was living down in Wales, I knew a girl who bit her nails; Her finger-ends became so sore, The blood flowed from them to the floor.

The more she bit the more they bled, Until upon herself she fed; And as she nibbled day by day, The fingers slowly wore away.

See, here she is: she sadly stands With only stumps instead of hands; The silly girl can never play, Yet she was cautioned every day.

Her father said, "You naughty thing, Some wooden fingers I must bring, And try to get them fastened to Your hands with little bits of glue."

Poking Fun

When little Lizzie came across A birdie, or a chick, A duckling, or a gosling, she would poke it with a stick.

She chased the dog, she chased the cat, But when she saw a mouse She gave a scream so very loud It echoed through the house.

She poked the turtles and the frogs And thought it was fine fun, But when the geese poked out their necks At her, she had to run.

One day she chanced to find a hive With not a bee about, And said, "Is any one at home? "I'll very soon find out!"

And so she did. As soon as she Had poked her stick inside, The bees flew out and stung her so She very nearly died.

[Page 23—Girl Land]

The Pin

"Dear me! what signifies a pin, Wedg'd in a rotten board? I'm certain that I won't begin, At ten years old, to hoard! I never will be called a miser; That I'm determined," said Eliza.

So onward tripped the little maid, And left the pin behind, Which very snug and quiet lay, To its hard fate resign'd; Nor did she think (a careless chit) 'Twas worth her while to stoop for it.

Next day a party was to ride To see an air balloon; And all the company beside Were dressed and ready soon: But she a woful case was in, For want of just a single pin.

In vain her eager eyes she brings To ev'ry darksome crack, There was not one! and yet her things Were dropping off her back. She cut her pincushion in two, But no, not one had slidden through.

At last, as hunting on the floor, Over a crack she lay, The carriage rattled to the door, Then rattled fast away: But poor Eliza was not in, For want of just a single pin.

There's hardly anything so small, So trifling or so mean, That we may never want at all, For service unforseen; And wilful waste, depend upon't Brings, almost always, woful want!

Ann Taylor

Stupid Jane

Oh! she was such a stupid Jane, They tried in vain To make things plain, But she would ask and ask again, As if there wasn't any brain Inside the head of stupid Jane.

If she was set to do a task, So many questions she would ask, 'Twas easier far her teachers said To do the work themselves instead, Than try to make her understand The lesson she had in hand.

If on an errand told to go, And cautioned to do thus and so, Turn here and there along the way, Oh! Jane was sure to go astray; For she hade such a crooked pate, She could not do an errand straight.

She did not care for books or toys, She could not play with girls or boys; Because so oft she blocked their games, They used to call her dreadful names, And in loud, angry tones complain, "Oh, what a horrid, Stupid Jane!"

Brought to the parlour nicely drest To be presented to a guest, With finger in her mouth she'd stand And stare about on every hand, Nor answer by a single word, Nor even act as if she heard.

Oh! she was such a stupid Jane, They tried in vain To make things plain, But she would ask and ask again, As if there wasn't any brain Inside the head of stupid Jane.

Little Girl who wouldn't eat Crusts

The awfullest times that ever could be They had with a bad little girl of Dundee, Who never would finish her crust In vain they besought her, And patiently taught her And told her she must. Her grandma would coax, And so would the folks, And tell her the sinning Of such a beginning. But no, she wouldn't. She couldn't, she shouldn't, She'd have them to know— So they might as well go. And what do you think came to pass? This little girl of Dundee, alas! Who wouldn't take crusts the regular way, Sat down to a feast one summer's day; And what did the people that little girl give? Why, a dish of bread pudding—as sure as I live!

Pouting Polly

Polly was a little girl, Pretty as a posy; Rather straight, and rather tall; Very round and rosy.

Other little girls and boys Always were delighted, So if to pretty Polly's house They had been invited.

There they'd romp, and have great fun, Frolicking and shouting; But alas! they soon would find Pretty Polly pouting!

What had any one done? How had they displeased her? Was she sad or mad because Johnny Dean had teased her?

Why are you so cross and glum When the rest are jolly? With your under-lip thrust out, Tell us, pouting Polly!

Polly loves to have her way; Ah! no one can doubt it; And whenever she's displeased She will pout about it.

Such a funny under-lip! You would like to grab it, So that little Polly might Break this naughty habit.

In the house or out-of-doors, Little Polly Horner You will find a dozen times Pouting in a corner.

Once, when in the garden she Stood thus melancholy, On her under-lip a bee Stung Miss Pouting Polly.

Then she danced, and then she screamed; People heard her yelling Half-a-mile or more away, While her lip was swelling.

Oh, it swelled, and swelled, and swelled, Like a great big blister, And the pain was very great Where the bee had kissed her.

Many days she kept her bed; And there is no doubting That the sorry little maid Had her fill of pouting.

For the buzzing busy-bee Cured her of her folly; And the remedy will cure Any pouting Polly.

Untidy Emily

Oh, here's a sad picture! Pray carefully look! As sad as was ever Yet seen in a book.

'Tis Emily's portrait: Not at all flattered. Slovenly, dirty, untidy, And tattered.

Her mother implores her, Again and again, To make herself tidy; But all is in vain.

Her trimmings are torn; There's a hole in her dress; Another, still larger; Her shoes in a mess;

Stockings down, buttons missing; Shabby old hat, Not for worlds would I Wear it, battered and flat.

Her mother does nothing But patch, darn and mend, Till, saddened and weary, She says, "This must end.

"All, all is in vain. And now, happen what may, I can do nothing more; So go your own way."

A terrible thing Very soon now befell, Oh, horror! I shudder The story to tell.

This girl ran quite wild; Till at last she became All tatters and rags, With no feeling of shame.

A man, who was passing, Then took her one day, And in his field placed her, To scare birds away.

She is still standing there; Stands there day and night. The sparrows fly round her, And cry in affright:

"Look at this dreadful thing! Take care now, take care! Beware of the scarecrow! Beware, now, beware!"



[Page 24—Girl Land]



Maidenhood

Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies, Like a dusk in evening skies!

Thou, whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one, As the braided streamlets run!

Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet! Womanhood and childhood fleet!

Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse!

Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem, As the river of a dream.

Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields of Elysian?

Seest thou shadows sailing by, As the dove, with startled eye, Sees the falcon's shadow fly?

Hearest thou voices on the shore, That our ears perceive no more, Deafen'd by the cataract's roar?

O, thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands—Life hath snares! Care and age come unawares!

Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon, May glides onward into June

Childhood is the bough where slumber'd Birds and blossoms many-number'd— Age, that bough with snows encumber'd

Gather, then each flower that grows, When the young heart overflows, To embalm that tent of snows

Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand

Bear, through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips the smile of truth.

Oh! that dew, like balm, shall steal Into wounds, that cannot heal, Even as sleep our eyes doth seal:

And that smile, like sunshine, dart Into many a sunless heart, For a smile of God thou art.

Longfellow

Girls that are in Demand

The girls that are wanted are good girls— Good from the heart to the lips; Pure as the lily is white and pure, From it's heart to its sweet leaf tips. The girls that are wanted are home girls— Girls that are a mother's right hand, That fathers and brothers can trust to, And the little ones understand.

The girls that are fair on the hearthstone, And pleasant when nobody sees; Kind and sweet to their own folks, Ready and anxious to please. The girls that are wanted are wise girls, That know what to do and to say; That drive with a smile and soft word The wrath of the household away.

The girls that are wanted are girls of sense, Whom fashion can never deceive; Who can follow whatever is pretty, And dare what is silly to leave. The girls that are wanted are careful girls, Who count what a thing will cost. Who use with a prudent generous hand, But see that nothing is lost.

The girls that are wanted are girls with hearts, They are wanted for mothers and wives, Wanted to cradle in loving arms The strongest and frailest lives. The clever, the witty, the brilliant girl, There are few who can understand, But, oh! for the wise, loving home girls There's a constant steady demand.

Girl's Names

Francis, is "unrestrained and free;" Bertha, "pellucid, purely bright;" Clara, "clear" as the crystal sea; Lucy, a star of radiant "light;" Catherine, is "pure" as mountain air; Barbara, cometh "from afar;" Mabel, is "like a lily fair;" Henrietta, a soft, sweet "star;" Felicia, is a "happy girl;" Matilda, is a "lady true;" Margaret, is a shining "pearl;" Rebecca, "with the faithful few;" Susan, is a "lily white;" Jane has the "willow's" curve and grace; Cecilia, dear, is "dim of sight;" Sophia, shows "wisdom" on her face; Constance, is firm and "resolute;" Grace, a delicious "favour meet;" Charlotte, "noble, of good repute;" Harriet, a fine "odour sweet;" Isabella, is "a lady rare;" Lucinda, "constant" as the day; Maria, means a "lady fair;" Abigail, "joyful as the May;" Elizabeth, "an oath of trust;" Adeline, "nice princess, proud;" Agatha, "is truly good and just;" Leila, "a joy of love avowed;" Jemima, "a soft sound in air;" Caroline, "a sweet spirit, hale;" Cornelia, "harmonious and fair;" Selina, "a sweet nightingale;" Lydia, "a refreshing well;" Judith, "a song of sacred praise;" Julia, "a jewel none excel;" Priscilla, "ancient of days."

Kate

There's something in the name of Kate Which many will condemn; But listen now while I relate The traits of some of them.

There's deli-Kate, a modest dame, She's worthy of your love! She's nice and beautiful a flame, And gentle as a dove,

Communi-Kate's intelligent, As we may well suppose; Her fruitful mind is ever bent On telling all she knows.

There's intri-Kate, she's so obscure 'Tis hard to find her out; For she is often very sure To put your wits to rout.

Prevari-Kate's a surly maid, She's sure to have her way; The cavilling, contrary jade, Objects to all you say.

There's alter-Kate, a perfect pest; Much given to dispute; Her prattling tongue can never rest, You cannot her refute.

Then dislo-Kate, is quite a fret, Who fails to gain her point; Her case is quite unfortunate And sorely out of joint.

Equivo-Kate no one will woo— The thing would be absurd. She is so faithless and untrue, You cannot take her word.

There's vindi-Kate, she's good and true, And strives with all her might Her duty faithfully to do And battles for the right.

There's rusti-Kate, a country lass, Quite fond of rural scenes; She likes to ramble through the grass And through the evergreens.

Of all the maidens you can find, There's none like edu-Kate; Because she elevates the mind And aims at something great.



[Page 25—Girl Land]



Coles Electro-micro Scolding Machine For Scolding Naughty Girls

Cole's Electro-micro Scolding Machine is a combination of three instruments, the Phonograph, the Microphone, and the Wonderphone.

The Phonograph is an instrument that will preserve words for any length of time. Any person can speak, sing, whistle, or scold into a Phonograph, and months or years afterwards by simply turning a handle the same sounds can be reproduced a dozen, a hundred, or a thousand times in the exact voice of the person who spoke them in; so that if a man or a woman, who is a great scold, speak some good, loud, severe scolding into a Phonograph, the mildest teacher can then scold her pupils, or the kindest mother her children, just by turning the handle.

The Microphone is an instrument that magnifies sound in the same way as a microscope magnifies objects; a very powerful microphone magnifies the sound of a fly walking into a loud tramping footstep, the tick of a watch into a deafening clatter, and a whisper into a loud shout. Take a Microphone, then properly affix it to the Phonograph described above, and you have a good Scolding Machine; turn the handle, and as the Phonograph gives out the scoldings, the microphone part magnifies them so loudly that they are heard for a considerable distance.

The Wonderphone (Cole's own secret) is another remarkable instrument; it will cause sound to travel very distinctly, but frightfully and equally loud, for forty miles in all directions; by attaching this powerful instrument to the combination of the other two, Cole's Electro-micro Scolding Machine is formed—and which is the first Scolding Machine ever invented. If the machine is already charged by having had some scolding spoken, or even whispered into it, give the handle a turn, and forty miles to the east, forty miles to the west, forty to the north, forty to the south, forty up in the sky, and down in the mines forty miles deep, in fact forty miles in every direction, everybody can clearly hear every word being said to the girl being scolded. Suppose for instance, Hannah Maria Smith had done something wrong in school, the schoolmistress could give the handle of the machine a turn, and it would scold her so loudly that her mother, and father, and brothers, and sisters, and uncles, and aunts, and friends, and those she didn't like would all hear her scolded. The machine can be charged on the instant by anyone scolding into it. In fact the whole value of Cole's Scolding Machine lies in its power to repeat out exceedingly loud whatever is spoken into it.

If the schoolmistress chooses she can put the scolding into verse, so that all who hear it in the forty miles around, can more easily remember it. The machine that I have before me now, was charged this morning for an aristocratic school and speaks as follows:—Silence!! Attention!!!

Ada Alice Arabella Angelina Andal, Why do you talk for ever, such a tittle-tattling scandal? Betsy Bertha Bridget Belinda Bowing, Will you be quiet and go on with your sewing? Cora Caroline Christina Clarinda Clare, Now do look in the glass at your untidy hair. Dorah Dinah Dorothy Dorinda Dresson, You really must get on with your short drawing lesson. Edith Ellen Evelina Elizabeth Eadle, This makes this day your nineteenth broken needle. Fanny Florence Frederica Florinda Flynn, How cruel of you to prick Jane with a pin. Grace Gertrude Genevieve Georgina Grimble, You careless girl to lose your silver thimble. Hilda Hanna Harriet Henrietta Hawker, You really are a most inveterate talker. Ida Izod Irene Isabella Inching, You spiteful—stop that scratching and pinching. Jane Julia Josephine Jemima Jesson, Sit down at once and learn your music lesson. Kate Kester Katrina Kathleen Kent, You're vulgar, saucy, rude and insolent. Lizzie Letitia Lucretia Lorinda Loeries, You're the champion of the world for telling stories. Maud Mary Martha Matilda Moyes, Sends letters to, and flirts with, naughty boys. Nancy Nelly Ninette Naomi Nations, Shame of you to talk 'gainst other girls' relations. Olive Osberta Orphelia Octavia O'Dyke, Your conduct is outrageous and unladylike. Polly Patience Prudence Paulina Pitt, You really are our champion tell-tale-tit. Quilla Quintina Quinburga Quendrida Quirk, How very, very, dirty you have made your fancy-work. Rose Ruth Rachel Rebecca Ritting, Now stop that crying and get on with your knitting. Sarah Sophia Selina Susannah Stacies, Don't spoil your face by making those grimaces. Tilda Theresa Tabitha Theodora Tapping, You'd gain the prize if one was given for slapping. Una Ursula Urica Urania Urls, You'd gain the prize for teasing little girls. Venus Violet Victoria Veronica Vo-shi, Just learn your task and put away that crochet. Wilmett Walberg Winefride Wilhelmina Wriggling, Now once for all do stop that stupid giggling. Xenodice Xanthippe Xanthisa Xenophona X-cess, You think and talk of nothing else but dress! dress! Yana Yulga Yapeena Yestina Young, Will you behave yourself and just draw in your tongue. And lastly and worst of all, you, Zoe Zora Zillah Zenobia Zeen, How dare you! how dare you!! yes, how dare you!!! Sneer at the boy's new whipping Machine.

Notice To The Public

If a schoolmistress chooses to live a hundred or a thousand miles away from her school, she can use the Scolding Machine by means of a Telephone attached thereto.

One great advantage of the Electro-micro Scolding Machine is, that after it has been in use a short time the girls will all have been shamed into good behaviour; but the Machine will not become useless, as it can, without a farthing outlay, be turned into a Praising Machine, for it can be made to praise in a gentle voice as well as scold in a harsh one. In fact, as said above it will repeat in exact tones, anything that is recited, preached, sung, whistled, whispered, shouted, scolded or praised into it—and any of which will be heard for forty miles around.

Cole can supply Scolding Machines from L5 to L50. A very good one (The Excelsior), price L10, can be charged in one minute, and set going like a musical box, and will sing, whistle, recite, preach, or scold away for a full hour without stopping. Cole would particularly recommend this one to the ladies, it would make a fine ornament for their own table.

Final Notice Extraordinary—If the champion male scold of the world, and the champion female scold of the world, will call on Professor Cole, at the Book Arcade, Melbourne, he will give them both good wages, and find them constant employment at charging Scolding Machines. If any wife has got the champion male scold for a husband, she will please to let me know. If any husband has got the champion female scold for a wife, he will please to let me know—L10 bonus for information in each case.

E.W. Cole

[Page 26—Good Girls]

Jenny Lee

An orphan child was Jenny Lee; Her father, he was dead. And very hard her mother worked; To get the children bread.

In winter time, she often rose Long ere the day was light, And left her orphan family, Till dark again at night.

And she would always say to Jane, Before she went away; "Be sure you mind the little ones, And don't go out to play.

"Keep baby quiet in his bed, As long as he will lie; Then take him up, and dance him well, Don't leave him there to cry.

"And don't let little Christopher, Get down into the street, For fear he meets an accident Beneath the horse's feet.

"And mind about the fire, child, And keep a tidy floor; We never need be dirty, Jane, Although we may be poor.

"Good-by my precious comforter, For all the neighbours say, That I can trust my little maid, Whenever I'm away."

Then Jenny she was quite as proud As England's noble Queen, And she resolved to do the work, And keep the dwelling clean.

She did not stop to waste her time, But very brisk was she, And worked as hard and cheerfully As any busy bee.

If down upon the cottage floor Her little brother fell, She stroked the places tenderly, And kissed and made them well.

And when the little babe was cross, As little babes will be, She nursed and danced it merrily, And fed it on her knee.

But when they both were safe in bed, She neatly swept the hearth, And waited until her mother's step Came sounding up the path.

Then open flew the cottage door, The weary mother smiled. "Ah! Jenny dear, what should I do, Without my precious child!"

Work Before Play

"Mother has sent me to the well, To fetch a jug of water, And I am very glad to be A useful little daughter; That's why I cannot play With you and Mary Ann to-day.

"Some afternoon I'll come with you, And make you wreaths and posies; I know a place where blue-bells grow, And daisies and primroses; But not to-day, for I must go And help my mother, dears, you know.

"She says, that I am nearly eight, So I can fill the kettle, And sweep the room and clean the grate, And even scrub a little; Oh! I'm so very glad to be A little useful girl, you see.

"So Johnny, do not ask to-day— Perhaps I'll come to morrow; But you'd not wish me now to stay, And give my mother sorrow. When she can spare me, she will say, 'Now, Susan, you may go and play.'"



Lucy Gray

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray; And, when I crossed the wild, I managed to see at break of day The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wide moor,— The sweetest thing that ever grew Besides a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night— You to the town must go; And take a lantern, child, to light Your mother through the snow."

"That, father, will I gladly do! 'Tis scarcely afternoon— The minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon."

At this the father raised his book And snapped a faggot band; He piled his work,—and Lucy took The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe; With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before it's time; She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb, But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide, But there was neither sound or sight To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood A furlong from their door.

And, turning homeward, now they cried "In heaven we shall meet!" When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn edge, And by the long stone wall.

And then an open field they crossed— The marks were still the same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost; And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank The footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none!

Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.

Mary's Little Lamb

Mary had a little lamb, It's fleece was white as snow; And everywhere that Mary went The lamb was sure to go.

He followed her to school one day— That was against the rule; It made the children laugh and play, To see a lamb at school.

The teacher therefore turned him out; But still he lingered near, And on the grass he played about Till Mary did appear.

At once he ran to her, and laid His head upon her arm, As if to say, I'm not afraid— You'll keep me from all harm.

"What makes the lamb love Mary so?" The little children cry; "Oh! Mary loves the lamb you know," The teacher did reply.

[Page 27—Girl Land]

We are Seven

I met a little cottage girl; She was eight years old, she said; Her head was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were fair, and very fair, Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering, looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the churchyard lie— My sister and my brother; And in the churchyard cottage I Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea; Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell, Sweet maid how this may be?"

Then did the little maid reply, Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree."

"You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive! If two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied; "Twelve steps or more, from my mother's door, And they are side by side.

"My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit, I sit and sing to them.

"And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was little Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain, And then she went away.

"So in the churchyard she was laid; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I.

"And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side."

"How many are you then? said I, "If they two are in heaven!" The little maiden did reply "O master! we are seven."

"But they are dead; those two are dead; Their spirits are in heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away; for still The little maid would have her will, And say, "Nay, we are seven."

The Poor, but Kind Girl

Young Lucy Payne lives on the Village Green; Mary, you know the cottage, I am sure, Under the hawthorn! 'Tis so neat and clean, Though Widow Payne, alas! is blind and poor.

She plies her needles, and she plies them well, And Lucy never spends an idle hour; On market days their mits and socks they sell, And thus their balls of worsted turn to flour.

I pass'd one morning by their cottage door; Lucy was talking to a little child, A ragged thing that lives upon the moor; It's parents leave it to run rude and wild.

Hanger had tamed the little wilding thing, It's cheeks were hollow, but it's air was light; Young Lucy did not know I saw her bring That porringer she kept so clean and bright.

It was her breakfast—all the darling had; But oh! she gave it with a heart so glad.



Grace Darling

"Over the wave, the stormy wave, Hasten, dear father, with me, The crew to save from a wat'ry grave, Deep in the merciless sea. Hear ye the shriek, the piercing shriek, Hear ye the cry of despair? With courage quick the wreck we'll seek; Danger united we'll dare.

"Out with the boat, the gallant boat; Not a moment to be lost; See! she's afloat, proudly afloat, And high on the waves we're tossed; Mother, Adieu, a short adieu; Your prayers will rise to heaven; Father to you—your child and you— Power to save is given.

"I have no fear, no maiden fear; My heart is firm to the deed, I shed no tear, no coward tear; I've strength in time of need. Hear ye the crash, the horrid crash? Their mast over the side is gone; Yet on we dash, 'mid lightning flash, Safe through the pelting storm.

"The wreck we near, the wreck we near, Our bonny boat seems to fly, List to the cheer, their welcome cheer, They know that succour is nigh." And on that night, that dreadful night, The father and daughter brave, With strengthened might they both unite, And many dear lives they save.

Hail to the maid, the fearless maid, The maid of matchless worth; She'll e'er abide the cherished pride Of the land that gave her birth. The send her gold, her name high uphold, Honour and praise to impart; But, with true regard, the loved reward Is the joy of her own brave heart.

The Tidy Girl

Who is it each day in the week may be seen, With her hair short and smooth, and her hands and face clean; In a stout cotton gown, of dark and light blue, Though old, so well mended, you'd take it for new; Her handkerchief tidily pinned o'er her neck. With a neat little cap, and an apron of check; Her shoes and her stockings all sound and all clean? She's never fine outside and dirty within.

Go visit her cottage, though humble and poor. 'Tis so neat and so clean you might eat off the floor; No rubbish, no cobwebs, no dirt can be found, Though you hunt every corner, and search all around. Who sweeps it so nicely, who makes all the bread, Who tends her sick mother, and works by her bed? 'Tis the neat, tidy girl—she needs no other name; Abroad or at home, she is always the same.

I Will be Good To-Day

"I will be good, dear mother," I heard a sweet child say; "I will be good; now watch me— I will be good all day."

Oh, many, many, bitter tears 'Twould save us, did we say, Like that dear child, with earnest heart, "I will be good to-day."

My Own Dear Little Sister

I have a little sister, She's only three years old; I do most dearly love her, She's worth her weight in gold. We often play together And I begin to find, To make my sister happy, I must be very kind.

[Page 28—Ruby Cole And Her Clever Frog]



What Our Ruby Did

She danced like a Fairy, She sung like a Frog, She squeaked like a Pig, She barked like a dog.

Oh yes! Oh yes! She did! She Did! And Frog-gy played a tune.

She mooed like a Bullock, She baaed like a Ram, She leaped like a Goat, She skipped like a Lamb—Oh yes!

She brayed like a Donkey, She cried like a Hare, She neighed like a Horse, She growled like a Bear!—Oh yes!

She munched like a Rabbit, She gnawed like a Rat, She popped like a Mouse, She flew like a Bat—Oh yes!

She talked like a Parrot, She quacked like a Drake, She mewed like a Cat, She hissed like a Snake—Oh yes!

She climbed like a Squirrel, She flopped like a Seal, She ran like a Deer, She slid like an Eel—Oh yes!

She crept like a Tortoise, She soared like a Lark, She drank like a Fish, She ate like a Shark—Oh yes!

She roared like a Lion, She dived like a Whale, She swam like a Goose, She crawled like a Snail—Oh yes!

She croaked like a Raven, She screeched like an Owl, She cawed like a Crow, She crowed like a Fowl—Oh yes!

She grinned like a Monkey, She hummed like a Bee, She buzzed like a Fly, She jumped like a Flea—Oh yes!



Our dear little daughter once went to a children's ball dressed as a fairy. She was proud of being a fairy, and looked so nice that I put together the above nursery doggerel to please her, and in honour of the event, little thinking that she would soon leave this world. It might be considered better by some to remove this page, but as children like it I venture to let it stand with this explanation.

E. W. C.



Sacred to the Memory of our dear LITTLE RUBY, who departed this life March 27th, 1890, aged 8 years. She was intelligent, industrious, affectionate and sociable, and is deeply regretted by all who knew her.

There is no flock, however watched and tended But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoever defended But has one vacant chair!

There is no death! what seems so is transition This life of mortal breath, Is but a suburb of life Elysian Whose portal we call death.

She is not dead—the child of our affection— But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection And GOD himself doth rule.

[Page 29—Vally Cole And His Clever Dog]



Our Vally had a Clever Dog, whose name was EBENEZER. Sometimes this dog was very good, At other times a TEASER.



One day they went to take a bath, And both sat on a rail; Our Vally hung his legs right down, The dog hung down his tail.



This funny Dog one Christmas day, Directly after dinner, Just lean'd his sleepy head against Old Tom, our snoozing sinner.

[Page 30—Boy's Stories]

Tommy Trot, a man of law, Sold his bed and lay upon straw; Sold the straw and slept on grass, To buy his wife a looking-glass.

—-

Little Jack Jingle, He used to live single; But when he got tired of this kind of life, He left off being single, and lived with his wife.

—-

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

—-

Poor old Robinson Crusoe! Poor old Robinson Crusoe! They made him a coat Of an old nanny-goat, I wonder how they could do so! With a ring and a ting tang, And a ring and a ting tang, Poor old Robinson Crusoe!

—-

"John, come sell thy fiddle, And buy thy wife a gown." "No; I'll not sell my fiddle For any wife in town."

—-

Jacky, come give me thy fiddle If ever thou mean'st to thrive; Nay, I'll not give my fiddle To any man alive. If I should give my fiddle, They'll think that I'm gone mad, For many a joyful day My fiddle and I have had.

—-

Jack was a fisherman Who went out one day, But couldn't catch a single fish, And so he came away. And then he came home, This angler so bold, And found he'd caught something— For he'd caught a cold.

—-

The Queen of Hearts, She made some tarts, All on a summer day; The Knave of Hearts He stole those tarts And took them clean away.

The King of Hearts Called for the tarts, And beat the knave full sore; The Knave of Hearts Brought back the tarts, And vowed he'd steal no more.

—-

Charley Wag Ate the pudding and left the bag.

—-

Tom, The Piper's Son

Tom, Tom, the piper's son, Stole a pig and away did run! The pig he eat, and Tom they beat, And Tom went roaring down the street.

Tom, he was a piper's son: He learned to play when he was young: But all the tunes that he could play Was, "Over the hills and far away; Over the hills and a great way off, And the wind will blow my topknot off."

Now Tom with his pipe made such a noise, That he pleased both the girls and the boys, And they stopped to hear him play "Over the hills and far away."



Tom with his pipe did play with such skill, That those who heard him could never keep still: Whenever they heard they began for to dance, Even the pigs on their hind legs would after him prance.

As Dolly was milking her cow one day, Tom took out his pipe and began for to play; So Doll and the cow danced "the Cheshire round," Till the pail they broke and the milk ran on the ground.

He met old Dame Trot with a basket of eggs, He used his pipe and she used her legs; She danced about till all the eggs she broke, She began for to fret, but he laughed at the joke.

He saw a cross fellow beating an ass, Heavily laden with pots, pans, dishes and glass; He took out his pipe and played them a tune, And the jackass did kick off his load very soon.

Tom met the parson on his way, Took out his pipe, began to play A merry tune that led his grace Into a very muddy place.

The mayor then said he would not fail To send poor Tommy off to gaol. Tom took his pipe, began to play, And all the court soon danced away.

'Twas quite a treat to see the rout, How clerks and judges hopped about; While Tommy still kept playing the tune, "I'll be free this afternoon."

The Policeman Grab, who held him fast, Began to dance about at last; Whilst Tom, delighted at the fun, Slipped out of court and off did run.

—-

Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief, Taffy came to my house, and stole a piece of beef. I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not at home; Taffy came to my house and stole a marrow-bone. I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not in. Taffy came to my house, and stole a silver pin. I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was in bed. I took up a poker and flung it at his head.

—-

Old King Cole Was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he; He called for his pipe, And he called for his bowl, And he called for his fiddlers three.

—-

Peter White will ne'er go right; Would you know the reason why? He follows his nose where'er he goes, And that stands all awry.

[Page 31—Boy Land]

The House That Jack Built

This is the house that Jack built.

This is the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cock that crowed in the morn, That awaked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the farmer sowing his corn, That kept the cock that crowed in the morn, That awaked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.



Simple Simon

Simple Simon met a pieman Going to the fair; Says Simple Simon to the pieman: "Let me taste your ware."

Says the pieman to Simple Simon, "Show me first the penny." Says Simple Simon to the pieman: "Indeed I have not any."

Simple Simon went a-fishing For to catch a whale— All the water he had got Was in his mother's pail.

Simple Simon went to look If plums grew on a thistle; He pricked his fingers very much, Which made poor Simon whistle.

He went to catch a dicky bird, And thought he could not fail Because he'd got a little salt To put upon it's tail.

Then Simple Simon went-a-hunting, For to catch a hare. He rode on a goat about the street, But could not find one there.

Simon made a great snowball, And brought it in to roast; He laid it down before the fire, And soon the ball was lost.

Simple Simon went a-skating When the ice was thin, And Simon was astonished quite To find he tumbled in.

And Simon he would honey eat Out of the mustard pot; He bit his tongue until he cried: "That was all the good he got."

Ten Little Niggers

Ten little Niggers going out to dine, One choked his little self, and then there were Nine.

Nine little Niggers crying at his fate, One cried himself away, and then there were Eight.

Eight little Niggers to travelling were given. But one kicked the bucket, and then there were Seven.

Seven little Niggers playing at their tricks, One cut himself in halves, and then there were Six.

Six little Niggers playing with a hive, A bumble bee killed one, and then there were Five.

Five little Niggers went in for law, One got into Chancery, and then there were Four.

Four little Niggers going out to sea, A ref herring swallowed one, and then there were Three.

Three little Niggers walking in the Zoo, A big bear cuddled one, and then there were Two.

Two little Niggers sitting in the sun, One got frizzled up, and then there was One.

One little Nigger living all alone, He got married, and then there were None.

[Page 32—Boy Land]

Jack the Giant Killer

Once upon a time there lived in Cornwall, England, a lad whose name was Jack, and who was very brave and knowing. At the same time there was a great Giant, twenty feet high and nine feet round, who lived in a cave, on an island near Jack's house. The Giant used to wade to the mainland and steal things to live upon, carrying five or six bullocks at once, and stringing sheep, pigs, and geese around his waist-band; and all the people ran away from him in fear, whenever they saw him coming.

Jack determined to destroy this Giant; so he got a pickaxe and shovel, and started in his boat on a dark evening; by the morning he had dug a pit deep and broad, then covering it with sticks and strewing a little mould over, to make it look like plain ground, he blew his horn so loudly that the Giant awoke, and came roaring towards Jack, calling him a villain for disturbing his rest, and declaring he would eat him for breakfast. He had scarcely said this when he fell into the pit. "Oh! Mr. Giant," says Jack, "where are you now? You shall have this for your breakfast." So saying, he struck him on the head so terrible blow with his pickaxe that the Giant fell dead to the bottom.

Just at this moment, the Giant's brother ran out roaring vengeance against Jack; but he jumped into his boat and pulled to the opposite shore, with the Giant after him, who caught poor Jack, just as he was landing, tied him down in his boat, and went in search of his provisions. During his absence, Jack contrived to cut a large hole in the bottom of the boat, and placed therein a piece of canvas. After having stolen some oxen, the Giant returned and pushed off the boat, when, having got fairly out to sea, Jack pulled the canvas from the hole, which caused the boat to fill and quickly capsize. The Giant roared and bellowed as he struggled in the water, but was very soon exhausted and drowned, while Jack dexterously swam ashore.

One day after this, Jack was sitting by a well fast asleep. A Giant named Blundebore, coming for water, at once saw and caught hold of him, and carried him to his castle. Jack was much frightened at seeing the heaps of bodies and bones strewed about. The Giant then confined him in an upper room over the entrance, and went for another Giant to breakfast off poor Jack. On viewing the room, he saw some strong ropes, and making a noose at one end, he put the other through a pulley which chanced to be over the window, and when the Giants were unfastening the gate he threw the noose over both their heads, and pulling it immediately, he contrived to choke them both. Then releasing three ladies who were confined in the castle, he departed well pleased.

About five or six months after, Jack was journeying through Wales, when, losing his way, he could find no place of entertainment, and was about giving up all hopes of obtaining shelter during the night when he came to a gate, and, on knocking, to his utter astonishment it was opened by a Giant, who did not seem so fierce as the others. Jack told him his distress, when the Giant invited him in, and, after giving him a hearty supper, showed him to bed. Jack had scarcely got into bed when he heard the Giant muttering to himself:

"Though you lodge with me this night, You shall not see the morning light; My club shall dash your brains out quite."

"Oh, Mr. Giant, is that your game?" said Jack to himself; "then I shall try and be even with you." So he jumped out of bed and put a large lump of wood there instead. In the middle of the night the Giant went into the room, and thinking it was Jack in the bed, he belaboured the wood most unmercifully; he then left the room, laughing to think how he had settled poor Jack. The following morning Jack went boldly into the Giant's room to thank him for the night's lodging. The Giant was startled at his appearance, and asked him how he slept, or if anything had disturbed him in the night? "Oh, no," says Jack, "nothing worth speaking about: I believe that a rat gave me a few slaps with his tail, but, being rather sleepy, I took no notice of it." The Giant wondered how Jack survived the terrific blows of his club, yet did not answer a word, but went and brought in two monstrous bowls of hasty pudding, placed one before Jack, and began eating the other himself. Determined to be revenged on the Giant somehow, Jack unbuttoned his leather provision bag inside his coat, and slyly filling it with hasty pudding, said, "I'll do what you can't." So saying, he took up a large knife, and ripping up the bag, let out the hasty pudding. The Giant, determined not to be outdone, seized hold of the knife, and saying, "I can do that," instantly ripped up his belly, and fell down dead on the spot.

After this Jack fought and conquered many giants, married the king's daughter and lived happily.



Jack and the Beanstalk

At some distance from London, in a small village, lived a widow and her son, whose name was Jack. He was a bold, daring fellow, ready for any adventure which promised fun or amusement. Jack's mother had a cow, of which she was very fond, and which, up to this time, had been their chief support. But as she had for some time past been growing poorer every year, she felt that now she must part with the cow. So she told Jack to take the cow to be sold, and he was to be sure to get a good round sum for her. On the road to market Jack met a butcher, who was carrying in his hat some things which Jack thought to be very pretty. The butcher saw how eagerly Jack eyed his beans, and said, "If you want to sell your cow, my fine fellow, I will give you this whole hatful of beans in exchange for her."

Jack was delighted; he seized the hat, and ran back home. Jack's mother was surprised to see him back so soon, and at once asked him for the money. But when Jack said he had sold the cow for a hatful of beans, she was so angry that she opened the window and threw them all out into the garden. When Jack rose up next morning he found that one of the beans had taken root, and had grown up, up, up, until its top was quite lost in the clouds. Jack resolved instantly to mount the Beanstalk. So up, up, up, he went till he had reached the very top. Looking round he saw at a distance a large house. Tired and weary, he crawled towards it and knocked on the door. The door was opened by a timid looking woman who started when she saw him, and besought him to run away as her husband was a cruel Giant who would eat him up if he found him there. But Jack begged so earnestly to be admitted that the woman, who was very kind-hearted, had pity on him, and so she brought him into the kitchen, and set before him on a table some bread, meat, and ale. Jack ate and drank, and soon felt quite refreshed. Presently the woman started and said, "My husband! quick, quick! he comes—he comes!" and opened the door to the oven and bid Jack jump in. The Giant was in a dreadful passion when he came in, and almost killed his wife by a blow which he aimed at her. He then began to sniff and smell—at last he roared out:

"Fee, fa, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman! Be he alive, or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make me bread!"

His wife gave him an evasive answer, and proceeded to lay before him his supper. When the Giant could swallow no more, he called out to his wife to bring him his hen, which, after being brought, whenever the Giant said "Lay," the hen laid a golden egg. The Giant soon fell asleep, and Jack crept out softly and seized the hen, and made off without disturbing the Giant. Away ran Jack till he came to the Beanstalk; he was much sooner at the bottom of it now than at the top in the morning; and running to his mother he told all his adventure.

The hen laid as many golden eggs as Jack liked, and his mother before long had another cow and everything which she desired. A second time Jack climbed the Beanstalk, when he ran away with the Giant's bag of money. A third time Jack climbed the Beanstalk, and again gained admission to the Giant's house. He saw the Giant's wife, and asked her for a night's lodging. She at first said she could not let him into the house, but Jack begged so hard that at last she consented, and gave him some supper and put him to sleep in the copper boiler near the kitchen fireplace, where she thought the Giant would not find him.

When the Giant came in, his good nose served him in a moment: for he cried out "I smell fresh meat." Jack laughed at this, but it was no laughing matter; for the Giant looked all around the room, and even put his finger on the lid of the copper, till it seemed as if a stone of a hundredweight had fallen upon the lid. Just then his wife came in with a whole roasted bullock smoking hot, which the Giant sat down and ate for his supper, and then went down into the cellar, and drank about six gallons of Jamaica rum. The Giant now sat down and went to sleep, and Jack tried to run away with his golden harp, an instrument which, when the Giant said "play," played the most beautiful tunes. Now the harp was a fairy, and as soon as he touched it, it called out "Master! Master!" so loud that the Giant awoke, but he was some time before he could understand what was the matter. He tried to run after Jack, but Jack got to the top of the beanstalk first. When he had descended a little way he looked up, and how great was his horror to see the huge hand of the Giant stretched down to seize him by the hair of the head! He slid and scrambled down the Beanstalk, hardly knowing how, and seeing the Giant just putting his feet over the top, he called out, "Quick, mother! A hatchet, a hatchet!" Jack seized it and chopped away at the beanstalk, when down it fell, bringing along with it the Giant. Jack instantly cut off his head. After this Jack and his mother lived very happily, and Jack was a great comfort to her in her old age.

[Page 33—Boy Land]

Hop O' My Thumb

Once upon a time there was a woodman and his wife who had so many children that they did not know how to find food for them. So one night, when they were all in bed, the father told his wife that he thought they had better take them into the forest and lose them there. The youngest child, who was so very small that he was called Hop o' my Thumb, overheard his father, and as he was a very clever boy he made up his mind to find his way home again. So he went down to the brook very early the next morning, and filled his pocket with large smooth pebbles as white as snow. Bye-and-bye the woodman and his wife told the children that they might go with them into the wood to have a good game of play. They were all glad except Hop o' my Thumb who knew what his father intended. So they set out; the woodman and his wife first, then the boys, and last Hop o' my Thumb, who sprinkled pebbles all the way they went.

They spent a merry day; but bye-and-bye the parents stole away, and left the children all by themselves. They were very much frightened when they missed their father and mother, and called loudly for them; but when Hop o' my Thumb told them what he had heard, and how they could find their way home by following the track of the pebbles, which marked the way they had come, they set out, and reached home safely, and their father and mother pretended to be very glad to see them back.

But soon after they again resolved to lose their children, if possible, in the forest. This time all the boys feared that they should be left behind, and the eldest brother said he would take some peas to sprinkle, to mark the pathway that led home. By-and-bye the cruel parents stole away, and left the little ones in the dark wood. At first they did not care, for they thought that they could easily find their way home; but, alas! when they looked for the line of peas which they had sprinkled, they found they were all gone—the wood-pigeons had eaten them up, and the children were lost in the wood. Holding each-others' hands and crying sadly they walked on to seek a place to sleep in. By-and-bye they came to a giant's castle, where they were taken in, and told that they might sleep in the nursery with the seven baby daughters of the giant, who were lying all in a row in one bed, with gold crowns on their heads. Hop o' my Thumb thought it was strange that the giant should be so kind, as he had been told that the ogres eat children. So in the night he got up softly and took off the little giantesses' crowns and put them on his brothers' heads and his own, and lay down again. It was lucky for him that he did so, for in the night the giant came up in the dark to kill the boys, that they might be ready for the next day's breakfast. He felt the beds, and finding the crowns on the boy's heads took them for his own children, left them and went to the other bed and cut off the heads of his daughters instead. Then he went back to bed. Directly he was gone, Hop o' my Thumb and his brothers got up, stole down stairs, opened the door and fled away from the castle. But they did not go far. Hop o' my Thumb knew that the giant would come after them in his seven-league boots. So they got into a hole in the side of a hill and hid. Very soon after, they saw the giant coming at a great pace in his wonderful boots; but he took such long steps that he passed right over their heads. They were afraid to move out till they had seen him go home again. So they remained quietly where they were.

By-and-bye the giant, who had been many miles in an hour, came back tired, and lay down on the hill-side and fell asleep. Then Hop o' my Thumb got out of the hole, and pulled off the giant's seven-league boots, and put them on his own feet. They fitted him exactly, for being fairy boots they would grow large or small just as one liked. He then got his brothers out of the hole, took them in his boots, marched for home, and although it was a great distance, got there in almost no time, but when he arrived at the house his father and mother were not there. He then hastened to make inquiries for them, and found they had been suspected of murdering their children,—who had all disappeared suddenly—that they had owned to leaving them in the wood, and that they were to be put to death for their crime. "We must go and save them," he said. So he took his brothers into the seven-league boots, and set out to the place where their parents were in prison. They arrived only just in time, for the guards were bringing out the woodsman and his wife to put them to death. Hop o' my Thumb took off the boors, and all the children called out, "We are alive! we are alive! Do not kill our mother and father."

Then there was great joy. The woodman and his wife were set free, and embraced their children. They had repented their wickedness, and were never unkind and cruel any more; and Hop o' my Thumb kept them all in comfort by going on errands for the king in his seven-league boots.



Tom Thumb

In the days of good King Arthur there lived a ploughman and his wife who wished very much to have a son; so the man went to Merlin, the enchanter, and asked him to let him have a child, even, if it were "no bigger than his thumb." "Go home and you will find one," said Merlin; and when the man came back to his house he found his wife nursing a very, very, wee baby, who in four minutes grew to the size of the ploughman's thumb, and never grew any more. The fairy queen came to his christening and named him "Tom Thumb." She then dressed him nicely in a shirt of spider's web, and a doublet and hose of thistledown.

One day, while Tom's mother was making a plum-pudding, Tom stood on the edge of the bowl, with a lighted candle in his hand, that she might see to make it properly. Unfortunately, however, while her back was turned, Tom fell into the bowl, and his mother not missing him, stirred him up in the pudding, and put it and him into the pot. Tom no sooner felt the hot water than he danced about like man; the woman was nearly frightened out of her wits to see the pudding come out of the pot and jump about, and she was glad to give it to a tinker who was passing that way.

The tinker was delighted with his present; but as he was getting over a style, he happened to sneeze very hard, and Tom called out from the middle of the pudding, "Hallo, Pickens!" which so terrified the tinker that he threw the pudding into the field, and scampered away as fast as he could. The pudding tumbled to pieces in the fall, and Tom, creeping out, went home to his mother, who was in great affliction because she could not find him. A few days afterwards Tom went with his mother into the fields to milk the cows, and for fear he should be blown away by the wind, she tied him to a thistle with a small piece of thread. Very soon after a cow ate up the thistle and swallowed Tom Thumb. His mother was in sad grief again; but Tom scratched and kicked in the cow's throat till she was glad to throw him out of her mouth again.

One day Tom Thumb went ploughing with his father, who gave him a whip made of barley straw, to drive the oxen with; but an eagle, flying by, caught him up in his beak, and carried him to the top of a great giant's castle. The giant would have eaten Tom up; but the fairy dwarf scratched and bit his tongue and held on by his teeth till the giant in a passion took him out again and threw him into the sea, when a very large fish swallowed him up directly. The fish was caught soon after and sent as a present to King Arthur, and when the cook opened it there was Tom Thumb inside. He was carried to the king, who was delighted with the little man.

The king ordered a little chair to be made, in order that Tom might sit on his table, and also a palace of gold a span high, with a door an inch wide, for little Tom to live in. He also gave him a coach drawn by six small mice.

This made the queen angry, because she had no a new coach too; therefore, resolving to ruin Tom, she complained to the king that he had spoken insolently to her. The king sent for him. Tom, to escape his fury, crept into an empty snail shell, and lay there till he was almost starved; when peeping out of the shell he saw a fine butterfly settled on the ground: he now ventured out, and getting on it, the butterfly took wing, and mounted into the air with little Tom on his back. Away he flew from field to field, from tree to tree, till at last he flew to the king's court. The king, queen, and nobles all strove to catch the butterfly but could not. At length poor Tom, having neither bridle or saddle, slipped from his seat and fell into a pool of water, where he was found nearly drowned. The queen vowed he should be beheaded, and while the scaffold was getting ready, he was secured in a mouse-trap; when the cat seeing something stir supposing it to be a mouse, patted the trap about till she broke it, and set Tom at liberty.

Sometimes Tom rode out on a mouse for a horse. One day a big black met him along the road, and wanted to kill the mouse. Tom jumped off the mouse's back, drew his sword, and fought the cat, and made her run away.

In order to show his courage and please the queen, the new knight undertook a terrible adventure.

In one corner of the palace garden there was found a great black spider, of which the lady was very much afraid.

Tom undertook to kill this insect; so he took a gold button for a shield, and his sharp needle-sword, and went out to attack the spider; the knights went also, to witness the combat.

Tom drew his sword and fought valiantly, but the spider's poisonous breath overcame him.

King Arthur and his whole Court went into mourning for little Tom Thumb. They buried him under a rose-bush, and raised a nice white marble monument over his grave.

[Page 34—Naughty Boys]



Mr. Brown, the grocer, having nearly emptied a cask of sugar in front of his shop, a number of naughty boys, seeing his back turned, commenced to steal some. Mr. Brown, spying them through the window, came out, and the reader can see what happened—A bystander informs us that muttered howls of agony arose from the cask, and all the boys' interest in sugar was at an end.

Boy Who Stole Out Without Leave

I remember, I remember, When I was a little Boy, One fine morning in September Uncle brought me home a toy.

I remember how he patted Both my cheeks in his kindliest mood; "Then," said he, "you little Fat-head, There's a top because you're good."

Grandmamma—a shrewd observer— I remember gazed upon My new top, and said with fervour, "Oh! how kind of Uncle John."

While mamma, my form caressing— In her eyes the tear-drop stood, Read me this fine moral lesson, "See what comes of being good."

I remember, I remember, On a wet and windy day, One cold morning in December, I stole out and went to play.

I remember Billy Hawkins Came, and with his pewter squirt Squibbed my pantaloons and stockings Till they were all over dirt.

To my mother for protection I ran, quaking every limb; She exclaim'd, with fond affection, "Gracious goodness! look at him!"

Pa cried, when he saw my garment, 'Twas a newly purchased dress— "Oh! you nasty little varment, How came you in such a mess?"

Then he caught me by the collar, —Cruel only to be kind— And to my exceeding dolour, Gave me—several slaps behind.

Grandmamma, while I yet smarted, As she saw my evil plight, Said—'twas rather stony-hearted— "Little rascal! serve him right!"

I remember, I remember, From that sad and solemn day, Never more in dark December Did I venture out to play.

And the moral which they taught, I Well remember: thus they said— "Little Boys, when they are naughty, Must be whipp'd and sent to bed!"

[Page 35—Boy Land]

Dirty Jack

There was one little Jack, Not very long back, And 't is said to his lasting disgrace, That he never was seen With his hands at all clean, Nor yet ever clean was his face.

His friends were much hurt To see so much dirt And often and well did they scour, But all was in vain, He was dirty again Before they had done it an hour.

When to wash he was sent, He reluctantly went With water to splash himself o'er, But he left the black streaks Running down both his cheeks, And made them look worse than before.

The pigs in the dirt Could not be more expert Than he was, in grubbing about; And people have thought This gentleman ought To be made with four legs and a snout.

The idle and bad May, like to this lad, Be dirty and black, to be sure. But good boys are seen To be decent and clean, Although they be ever so poor.

Throwing Stones

Johnny Jones, why do you do it? Those who throw stones Surely will rue it; Little of pleasure, evil may flow, Mischief past measure comes of a blow.

Yes, yes! stone flinging. Laugh as you may, Woe may be bringing Upon you some day.

Someone is watching, Armed by the law, Truncheon from pocket Soon he will draw. Off he will march you— Dreadful to think!—to a dark prison: Light through a chink, Bread without butter, water for drink.

Dirty Dick

Dirty, noisy, mischievous Dick, Struggled and tore, and wanted to fight Susan, the nurse, who in the bath Began to wash him on Saturday night.

Her hair he tried to pull up by the roots, The water he splashed all over the floor, Which ran downstairs, and one night made A terrible slop at the parlour door.

To give him advice was a waste of time, So his father resolved to try a stick, And never since then has he been called Dirty, noisy, mischievous Dick.

Boy That Stole the Apples

A boy looked over a wall, And spied some lovely apples; "But," says he "the tree is tall, And belongs to 'Grumpie Chapples!' Still, I think some could be got By a climbing lad like me: I'll try and steal a lot, So here goes up the tree."



The wall he then got over, And up the tree he went; But Chapples, mowing clover, Espied the wicked gent. He let him fill his school-bag— Get over the wall again; Rushed up and played at touch-tag, Which surprised him much, and then:—

Look at the Picture!!!

Mischievous Fingers

Pretty little fingers, Wherefore were they made? Like ten smart young soldiers, All in pink arrayed.

Apt and quick obedient To your lightest thought, Doing in an instant Everything they're taught.

'T was for play or study, Pen to wield or ball; Kite, top, needle, pencil, Prompt at parents' call.

Picking, poking, soiling Costly things and dear, Wrecking, cracking, spoiling All that they come near.

Thus 't was with Robert Chivers, Brandishing a swish, Broke a vase to shivers Filled with silver fish.

"Tick, tick" says the Dutch clock. Robert fain would know How it's pendulum swinging Made it's wheels go.

Who not ask? No! foolish Robert takes a stick, Pokes and breaks the clock, which Ceases soon to tick.

"Puff, puff," sighs the bellows. Robert wants to find, Yet he will not ask, whence Comes it's stock of wind.

With a knife upripping, Finds them void and flat. Ah! be sure a whipping Robert caught for that.

The Boy who Played with Fire

Listen about a naughty boy Who might have been a parent's joy, But that he had a strong desire To always meddle with fire.

One day when his mamma went out, She said "Mind, dear, what you're about: With your nice books and playthings stay, And with the fire, oh! do not play."

But as soon as his mamma was gone, And this bad boy left all alone, Thought he, "In spite of all ma says, Now we'll have a glorious blaze.

"No one is by, 't is quickly done, And oh! 't will be such famous fun." Quick then about the hearth he strewed Some scraps of paper and of wood.

Then lighted them and drew them out, And with them, laughing, ran about. But soon he changed his merry note— The flames, alas, had caught his coat, And every moment, mounting higher, His body soon was all on fire; And though he screamed with shriek and shout, No one came near to put it out: So it happened, sad to say, That boy was burned to death that day.

[Page 36]

Wicked Willie

Willie was a wicked boy, Snubbed his poor old mother; Willie was a dreadful boy, Quarrelled with his brother; Willie was a spiteful boy, Often pinched his sister, Once he gave her such a blow, Raised a great big blister!

Willy was a sulky boy, Sadly plagued his cousins, Often broke folks' window panes, Throwing stones by dozens, Often worried little girls, Bullied smaller boys, Often broke their biggest dolls, Jumped upon their toys.

If he smelled a smoking tart, Willie longed to steal it; If he saw a pulpy peach, Willie tried to peel it; Could he reach a new plum-cake, Greedy Willie picked it, If he spied a pot of jam, Dirty Willie licked it.

If he saw a poor old dog, Wicked Willie whacked it; If it had a spot of white, Silly Willy blacked it, If he saw a sleeping cat, Horrid Willie kicked it; If he caught a pretty moth, Cruel Willie pricked it.

If his pony would not trot, Angry Willie thrashed it; If he saw a clinging snail, Thoughtless Willie smashed it; If he found a sparrow's nest, Unkind Willie hit it. All the mischief ever done, Folks knew Willie did it.

No one liked that horrid boy, Can you wonder at it? None who saw his ugly head, Ever tried to pat it. No one ever took him for a ride— Folks too gladly skipped him. No one ever gave him bats or balls, No one ever "tipped" him.

No one taught him how to skate, Or to play at cricket; No one helped him if he stuck In a prickly thicket. Oh no! for the boys all said Willie loved to tease them, And that if he had the chance, Willie would not please them.

And they shunned him every one, And they would not know him, And their games and picture-books They would never show him, And their tops they would not spin, If they saw him near them, And they treated him with scorn Till he learned to fear them.

They all left him to himself, And he was so lonely, But of course it was his fault, Willie's own fault only. If a boy's a wicked boy, Shy of him folks fight then, If it makes him dull and sad, Why, it serves him right then!



This is the Naughty Boy who would go making Mud Pies, and get his nice new clothes all over mud.

He said he would be Good, but he got into the mud, and was a Naughty, Bad, Bad Boy!!!

The Wicked, Rude, Bad, Naughty, Cross, Nasty, Bold, Dirty-faced Boy

Boys, stop your noise! Girls, stop your jumping and skipping! While I tell you about a bad boy, who often deserves a whipping. If this boy to you were named, to speak to him you'd feel ashamed, So to-day I'll only say—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

I won't tell you his age, nor the colour of his hair, Nor say anything about the clothes he sometimes does wear; You never see them neat and clean, and seldom without a tear, Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

If he's sent on a message, such a long time he stops, To pelt stones at Chinamen, and stare in the shops; Running behind drays, and wastes time so many ways, That when he gets home his mother says— Oh you wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

If his mother gives him lolly, cake, piece of beef or mutton, In a corner he'll eat it by himself, he's such a nasty, greedy glutton. And he'll smug from his playmates a marble, top or button, That scarcely any one can with him have any fun, Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

He's been going to school for years, I can't tell you how long, If you ask him to spell three words, two are sure to be wrong; If you saw the dirty books and broken slate which to him belong, You'd easily guess from such a mess that— He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

You can't believe a word he says, he tells so many lies. He's such a coward, he'll only hit a girl or boy much less than his size, But if he gets a blow himself, he howls, bawls, yelps, and cries, That anyone who sees him never tries to please him, Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

He won't play any game without being always cheating, I often wonder how he so many times escapes a beating, And he never says grace before or after eating. He's scarcely better in the least than a brute beast, Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

What school he goes to at present I won't tell, But I mean to watch him, and if he don't mind and behave well, I'll go to every school and ring a little bell, I'll make a great noise, and show all the girls and boys This wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

[Page 37]



Little Chinkey Chow-Chow (The Boy That Ran Away)

There was a little Chinese Boy, That ran away from home— "Ha! ha!" he said, "I'll see the world And through the streets I'll roam.

"I won't go any more to school, Or go so soon to bed, Nor yet be scolded if I choose To stand upon my head."

So little Chinkey ran away, His tail flew in the wind; He thought not of his good mamma Who was so very kind:

He knew she could not follow him Along the crowded street, Because mammas in China have Such very tiny feet.

Now, as he went along he saw Such strange and lovely sights, Such pretty painted houses— Such tops! and oh! such kites!

He saw so many gilded toys, and ivory things so white, That he forgot about the time, Until he found it night.

Ah! then he saw such fireworks! They glistened in his eyes; The crackers and the lanterns too Quite took him by surprise.

He listened to the music of The fiddle and the gong, And felt that it was jolly, though He knew that it was wrong.

But after that he began to think Things were not so bright; The men were going, and there came The watchman of the night;

And sleep was stealing over him, He scarce could lift his head, So he lay on the cold, cold stones, Which served him for a bed.

Little Chinkey Chow-Chow Woke up with early light, And wandered far away from where He passed the dreary night;

He was so very worn and cold, And sadly wanted food, So he sat upon a well In not a pleasant mood.

He saw the well was very deep, The water too was clear, And soon he saw a golden fish That looked so very near.

He stretched his hand to catch the fish; But oh! how sad to tell, He tumbled over and he sank To the bottom of the well.

Some other boys were playing there And saw him disappear, And ran along the road to see If anyone was near.

A Great BIG Market Gardener, Was soon upon the ground, And caught our little Chinkey up, Who soon would have been drowned.

The boys began to jeer at him, For he was very wet; They pulled his dripping tail, and called Him names that I forget.

One took his wooden shoes away, Another took his hat, And someone said, "It serves him right," Now only think of that!

When little Chinkey ran away, His tail flew in the wind; But when our Chinkey turned again His tail hung down behind.

He wandered past the painted shops, Where they put up the tea, And I am sure the boys at school Were happier than he.

Poor Chinkey Chow was very tired, And very sore his feet, When his mother saw him from The corner of a street.

She said he was a wicked boy, And ought to have a smack! And yet I think she loved him more Because she'd got him back.

Now when I see a Chinaman, And that is every day, I wonder if he is, grown up, The boy that ran away.

But what I still think most about When I this story tell, Is the GREAT BIG Market Gardener That raised him from the well

From Calvert's Australian Toy Books

[Page 38—Boy Land]

That Nice Boy

"Nice child—very nice child," observed an old gentleman, crossing to the other side of the car and addressing the mother of the boy who had just hit him in the eye with a wad of paper. "How old are you, my son?"

"None of your business," replied the youngster, taking aim at another passenger.

"Fine boy," smiled the old man, as the parent regarded her offspring with pride. "A remarkably fine boy. What is your name, my son?"

"Puddin' Tame!" shouted the youngster, with a giggle at his own wit.

"I thought so," continued the old man, pleasantly. "If you had given me three guesses at it, that would have been the first one I would have struck on. Now, Puddin', you can blow those things pretty straight, can't you?"

"You bet!" squealed the boy, delighted at the compliment. "See me take that old fellow over there!"

"No, no!" exclaimed the old gentleman, hastily. "Try it on the old woman I was sitting with. She has boys of her own, and she won't mind."

"Can't you hit the lady for the gentleman, Johnny?" asked the fond parent.

Johnny cleverly landed the pellet on the end of the old woman's nose.

But she did mind it, and rising in her wrath soared down on the small boy like a hawk. She put him over the line, reversed him, ran him backwards, till he didn't know which end of him was front, and finally dropped him into the lap of the scared mother, with a benediction whereof the purport was that she'd be back in a moment to skin him alive.

"She didn't seem to like it, Puddin'," smiled the old gentleman, softly. "She's a perfect stranger to me; but I understand she is the matron of an Orphans' Home, and I thought she would like a little fun; but I was mistaken."

And the old man smiled sweetly as he went back to his seat. He was sorry for the poor little boy, but he couldn't help it.

A Wicked Boy

Of all the small boys in our town That Jones boy was the worst, And if the "bad man" came around He'd take that Jones boy first.

One day he slipped away from home And went out for a skate Down on a deep and dangerous pond Beyond the garden gate.

His mother missed him after a while, And thought he'd gone to skate; And running to the fatal pond, She found she was too late.

For there, upon the cruel ice, Beyond an air-hole wide, She saw his pretty little hat, And a mitten by it's side.

He was her boy, and all the love That fills a mother's heart Came forth in tears and sobs and moans Beyond the strength of art.

She called the neighbours quick to come, They scraped along the ground; Beneath the water and the ice— The boy could no be found.

At last their search was given up Until a thaw should come; The mother's sobs began afresh, Her sorrow was not dumb.

They turned to leave the fatal pool, A voice came clear and free— "Hallo! If you want Frankie Jones, You'll find him up this tree."

And so it was—the mother's tears Were changed to smiles of joy; But gracious heaven, how she spanked Her darling, fair-haired boy!

L'Envoi

Cooley's Boy

The boy not only preys on my melon-patch and fruit trees, and upon those of my neighbours, but he has an extraordinary aptitude for creating a disturbance in whatever spot he happens to be. Only last Sunday he caused such a terrible commotion in church that the services had to be suspended for several minutes until he could be removed. The interior of the edifice was painted and varnished recently, and I suppose one of the workers must have left a clot of varnish upon the back of Cooley's pew, which is directly across the aisle from mine. Cooley's boy was the only representative of the family at church upon that day, and he amused himself during the earlier portions of the service by kneeling upon the seat and communing with Dr. Jones' boy, who occupied the pew immediately in the rear. Sometimes, when young Cooley would resume a proper position, Jones's boy would stir him up afresh by slyly pulling his hair, whereupon Cooley would wheel about and menace Jones with his fist in a manner which betrayed utter indifference to the proprieties of the place and the occasion, as well as the presence of the congregation. When Cooley finally sank into a condition of repose, he placed his head, most unfortunately, directly against the lump of undried varnish, while he amused himself by reading the commandments and the other scriptural texts upon the wall behind the pulpit.

In a few moments he attempted to move, but the varnish had mingled with his hair, and it held him securely. After making one or two desperate but ineffectual efforts to release himself, he became very angry; and supposing that Jones's boy was holding him, he shouted:

"Leg go o' my hair! Leg go o' my hair, I tell you!"

The clergyman paused just as he was entering upon consideration of "secondly," and the congregation looked around in amazement, in time to perceive young Cooley, with his head against the back of the pew, aiming dreadful blows over his shoulder with his fist at some unseen person behind him. And with every thrust he exclaimed:

"I'll smash yer nose after church! I'll go for you, Bill Jones, when I ketch you alone! Leg go o' my hair, I tell you, or I'll knock the stuffin' out o' yer," etc, etc.

Meanwhile, Jones's boy sat up at the very end of his pew, far away from Cooley, and looked as solemn as if the sermon had made a deep impression upon him.

Max Adeler



[Page 39—Boy Land]

Jack The Glutton

"Do look at those pigs, as they lay in the straw," Little Richard said to his papa; "They keep eating longer than ever I saw, What nasty fat gluttons they are!"

"I see they are feasting" his father replied, "They eat a great deal I allow; But let us remember, before we deride, 'Tis the nature, my dear, of a sow.

"But when a great boy, such as you, my dear Dick, Does nothing but eat all day And keeps sucking things till he makes himself sick, What a glutton! indeed, we may say.

"When plumcake and sugar forever he picks, And sweetmeats, and comfits, and figs; Pray let him get rid of his own nasty tricks, And then he may laugh at the pigs."

Tom the Dainty Boy

Never be dainty and throw food away; 'Tis sinful, as you must have heard many say; Besides, you yourself may require food some day, Though well fed.

So don't smell your plate and turn over your food, And doubt if it's wholesome, or pleasant, or good; Such conduct is not only senseless,—but rude And ill-bred.

There was a young boy, who so dainty became, That whether his dinner was fish, flesh or game, He turned up his nose at them all, just the same, And would cry,

"I cannot eat this,"—and, "I do not like that;"— "This chicken's too lean,"—and "That mutton's too fat; The dog he may eat it up all, or the cat, But not I.

The consequence was that he soon became thin; His bones they stuck out, and his cheeks they sunk in, And his hands were not stronger nor thicker than tin, If so strong.

And his legs grew as slender as little hat-pegs, And almost as small was his waist as his legs; And he looked like the laths that are fastened round kegs, Thin and long.

And thinner, and thinner, and thinner he grew, A shadow had been rather fat, of the two; In fact, you might easily look him right through, If you tried.

And when he was quite the skeleton grown, As weak as a reed, and as cold as a stone He fell all to pieces, and with a faint groan, So he died.

Boy that robbed the Bird's nest

"To-whit! To-whit! To-whee! Will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made?"

"Not I," said the cow. "Oh, no; Such a thing I'd never do; I gave you a wisp of hay, But didn't take your nest away."

"Coo, coo! said the dove, I'll speak a word my love; Who stole that pretty nest From a little red-breast?"

"Not I," said the sheep. "Oh, no. I wouldn't treat a poor bird so; I gave wool the nest to line, But the nest was none of mine."



"Caw! Caw!" cried the crow, "I should like to know What thief took away A bird's nest to-day."

"Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen, Don't ask me again! Why I hav'nt a chick Would do such a trick.

We all gave her a feather, And she wove them together; I'd scorn to intrude On her and her brood."

"Chirr-a-whirr! Chirr-a-whirr! We will make a great stir; Let us find out his name, And all cry for shame!"

"I would not rob a bird," Said little Mary Green; "I think I never heard Of anything so mean."

"'Tis very cruel too," Said little Alice Neil: "I wonder if he knew How sad the bird would feel?"

A little boy hung down his head, And hid his face, so crimson red; For he stole that pretty nest From little robin redbreast; And he felt so full of shame, I do not like to tell his name.

But during next week Dressed in his Sunday best This boy set out to seek All for another nest.

He robbed a nest up high, Suspended in a tree; Two birds came through the sky, What happened you can see.

Cruel Boy

What! go to see the kittens drowned On purpose in the yard! I did not think there could be found A little heart so hard.

Poor kittens! No more pretty play With pussy's wagging tail: Why! I'd go far enough away Before I'd see the pail.

Poor things! the little child that can Be pleased to go and see, Most likely, when he grows a man, A cruel man will be.

And many a wicked thing he'll do Because his heart is hard: A great deal worse than killing you, Poor kittens in the yard.