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[Transcriber's notes] Page numbers in this book are indicated by numbers enclosed in curly braces, e.g. {99}. They have been located where page breaks occurred in the original book. Underscores indicate italics. Several pages have only pictures with no text. None of the images in the book have descriptions and most are abstract, so they are not mentioned in this txt file. View the HTML version to see the images. [End Transcriber's notes]
MOTHER TRUTH'S MELODIES.
COMMON SENSE FOR CHILDREN.
A KINDERGARTEN,
BY
MRS. E. P. MILLER,
AUTHOR OF "A FATHER'S ADVICE; A BOOK FOR EVERY BOY." AND "A MOTHER'S ADVICE; A BOOK FOR EVERY GIRL."
450 ILLUSTRATIONS.
NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION.
CHICAGO:
CRAM STANDARD BOOK CO.,
BOSTON, MASS., J. Q. ADAMS & Co
1896.
COPYRIGHTED 1887, BY STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY.
COPYRIGHTED BY STANDARD COLUMBIAN COMPANY, 1891, 1892.
COPYRIGHTED BY CRAM STANDARD BOOK COMPANY 1894
COPYRIGHTED BY GEORGE F. CRAM, 1895
{5}
To all who love the Children, This book, INSCRIBED, I bring,— Thus reaching forth to draw you Within my charmed ring, Where seeds and germs we'll nurture In babies, children, youth, Till every plant shall blossom, And bear the fruits of TRUTH.
{6}
INTRODUCTION.
Since little ones are geese no more, But knowing have become, It ill beseems that "Mother Goose" Should dwell in every home. So "Mother Truth" in "Melodies" For Babes, here lifts her voice, Assured that parents, children, all, Will welcome and rejoice.
{7}
NOTE.
Let no one suppose that the Author of these "Melodies" considers them poetry. They are simply rhymes, the jingle of which may be music in the children's ears, and the illustrations a delight to eager eyes. The Truths presented, even if not fully understood at first, will leave their impress, and in so far as they fill the little minds, will keep out falsehood and false ideas.
The putting of facts in such form as to attract the attention of the little ones, and be readily fixed in their memory, was first suggested to the writer of these rhymes by a valued friend, the well known philanthropist, MRS. ELIZABETH THOMPSON, and her interest in the "Melodies" is such that she has generously assisted in procuring illustrations for the same.
Thus "Mother Truth's Melodies" are introduced with the hope that this effort to entertain children with rhyming reason will meet with the approval of every lover of the young, and of Truth.
{8}
Poetry is the language of the imagination, while "facts are stubborn things," and, in the mass, refuse utterly to be poetized. Yet, even facts may be presented pleasingly and melodiously, and in such way that they will be easily impressed upon the minds of children. This the author of "Mother Truth's Melodies" sought to do, when the little book was first given to the public.
Now, however, in the revising and enlarging of the book, she has given wider play to the imagination, has enlarged the range of subjects, has embodied lessons for children of older growth, and feels that altogether, it will meet more fully the demands which its already large sales warrant her in believing to exist.
She can ask no more favorable reception than was first met; but, hoping for a continuance of the same, she trusts that as it becomes more widely distributed, its truths and teachings will be impressed upon household after household, till throughout the land, the little ones, and larger, too, shall be influenced thereby.
MRS. E. P. M.
{9}
CONTENTS
WHY FLY AWAY, MOTHER GOOSE, 13
TOSS THE BABY, 14
PAT-A-CAKE, PAT-A-CAKE, 15
HEY, MY KITTEN, MY KITTEN, 16
WINKUM, WINKUM, 17
BABY'S BELL, 18
WILLY-NILLY, 19
BABY'S RECORD, 20
SLEEP, LITTLE SWEETEY, 22
NEVER TELL A FIB, 23
HUMPTY-DUMPTY, 24
HUSH-A-BYE, 26
DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH, 30
BYE-BABY-BUNTING, 31
TO BED WITH THE CHICKENS, 32
DIVE ME SUDAR, 33
TAUSE I'M TROSS, 34
THE NEW BOOK 36
WHISKUM, WHISKUM, 37
THE JACK-HORSE, 38
HI-DIDDLE DIDDLE, 39
THE RAIN, 40
FEED THE BIRDIES, 41
ROCK-A-BYE, 42
THE SNOWBALL, 49
LITTLE BO-PEEP, 50
THE TEA PARTY, 51
TELL IT AGAIN, MOTHER, 52
LITTLE JACK HORNER, 54
LITTLE BOY BLUE, 55
MISS VELVET PAWS, 56
{10}
POLLY HOPKINS, 57
A, B, C, 58
C-A-T SPELLS CAT, 64
THE KITTEN, 67
DOLLY DIMPLE, 70
IF YOU PLEASE, 75
THE POOR LITTLE CHICK-A-DEES, 76
HEIGH-HO, DAISIES AND BUTTERCUPS, 80
THE PONY, 81
BABY'S RECKONING, 86
TWO LITTLE PINK SHOES, 88
BABY PEARL, 90
MY VALENTINE, 91
FEE-FI-FO-FUM, 92
THE OXEN, 100
THE BROKEN PITCHER, 104
THE ELEPHANTS, 105
THE WIND, THE FOG, THE RAIN, THE SNOW, 106
TRUTH, 110
HI DIDDLE, HO-DIDDLE, 112
WHAT IS THE AXIS, 116
HEAT AND COLD, 119
HARLEY'S DREAM, 120
OUR LANGUAGE KEY, 123
THE SPEECH FAMILY, 124
NUMBER AND GENDER, 126
ONE LITTLE CHICKEN, 127
LETTERS, 128
WORDS, 129
A SMILE, 131
TWINKLE, TWINKLE, 132
OLD SOL IN A JINGLE, 134
"ROBERT OF LINCOLN," 137
LIMPY-DIMPY-DINGLE, 138
CASTLE WONDERFUL, 140
THE RATTLE OF THE BONES 148
{11}
WHOLLY HOLE-Y, 153
THE BREATH O' LIFE, 156
THREE LITTLE GIRLS, 157
TEMPERANCE CHILD, 158
LISTEN, CHILDREN, 159
TICK-TOCK, TICK-TOCK, 160
CURIOUS TREES; THE COW TREE, THE SUGAR-PINE, THE BUTTER-TREE, THE BREAD-FRUIT TREE, THE CLOVE-TREE, 161
THE TREE VILLAGE, 166
NO EYES, 168
THE MAMMOTH CAVE, 170
THE CAMELS, 172
KEY NOTES, 177
THE BEARS, 178
THE BEAR, A BLESSING, 181
FRUITS, 183
THE RACCOON, 184
THE BANK SWALLOWS, 190
THE MOCKING BIRD, 194
THE BUSY BEES, 196
HONEY-SWEET, 205
WHAT THEY SAY, 208
BRITAIN'S RULERS, 215
OUR LAND, 218
SIGNS OF THE ZODIAC, 220
GRAPHO, 223
THE STOP FAMILY, 226
LITTLE MISCHIEF, 229
GRANDMA'S CANARY, 233
BABY'S FAITH, 236
THE MEADOW QUAILS, 238
THE LITTLE HOUSEWIFE, 240
MOTHER-LOVE, 242
IT SNOWS! IT SNOWS! 244
AN OLD SAW, 247
{12}
THE DANDELION BLOSSOM, 248
SUNSHINE, 250
OUR ETHEL, 250
LITTLE GIRL'S LETTER TO GOD, 254
GRANDMA'S LESSONS, 258
MY LITTLE FOUR YEAR OLD, 260
HANDSOME DICK, 261
BESSIE'S KISSES, 266
THE DINNER POT, 267
NANNY'S PLAY, 268
NANNY'S LESSON, 272
NANNY'S RIDE, 276
THE RACE, 283
OUR KENNETH, 284
MY TEN YEAR'S OLD, 287
DARE TO SAY NO, 288
ASK MOTHER; TELL MOTHER, 291
DON'T TELL A LIE, 292
LITTLE MOSES, 294
THE CHILDREN'S RAILROAD, 298
THE PHOEBE'S NEST IN THE OLD WELL WHEEL, 304
MABEL'S SNOW-FEATHERS 306
FOREST TREES, 310
CHILDHOOD FANCIES, 312
LIZZIE AND THE ANGELS, 317
CHILD MEMORIES, 324
NELLY AND NED, 326
THE CLAMBERERS, 329
THE NEW WHITE JATTET, 330
REMEMBER THE POOR, 331
THE LITTLE STREET SWEEPER, 332
THE HERE, THERE AND EVERYWHERE FAMILY, 338
QUIRKS, 345
SOMEBODY'S BOY, 346
THE LADDIE-AND LASSIE BIRDS, 348
THE GREAT WATCH FULL I, 352
{13}
MOTHER TRUTH'S MELODIES.
WHY FLY AWAY, MOTHER GOOSE?
"MOTHER GOOSE, Mother Goose, Why fly away?" "Because Mother Truth is A-coming to-day. She'll tell you funny things, But they'll be true; She'll bring you pictures So charming and new; She'll sing you Melodies, helping to show How, to true women and men, you may grow."
{14}
TOSS THE BABY.
Toss the baby high in air; Catch him though, with special care Lest his little back be strained, Lest his little joints be sprained, Lest his bones be bent or broken;
Lest through life he bear some token Of a careless toss or fall, That for sympathy shall call, And that must forever be Painful to our memory.
{15}
PAT-A-CAKE, PAT-A-CAKE.
Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, Mamma's boy, Laughing and crowing, And jumping with joy; Roll it, and pick it and mark it with B, And toss in the oven for Baby and me.
Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, Papa's girl, Springing in baby-glee, Shaking her curl; Roll it and pick it and mark it with G, And toss in the oven for Girly and me.
{16}
HEY, MY KITTEN, MY KITTEN.
Hey, my kitten, my kitten, Hey, my kitten, my deary; If Mamma should feed him too often, He never could be so cheery. Here we go up, up, up. And here we go down, down, down-y. If we never feed baby too much, He never will give us a frown-y.
Hey, my kitten, my kitten, Hey, my kitten, my deary; We'll put him to bed with the birdies, And that will make him so cheery! Here we go up, up, up, And here we go down, down, down-y; If we give him nothing but smiles, He will give us never a frown-y.
{17}
WINKUM, WINKUM.
Winkum, winkum, shut your eye, Sweet, my baby, lullaby; For the dew is falling soft, Lights are flickering up aloft, And the head-light's peeping over Yonder hill-top capped with clover; Chickens long have gone to rest, Birds lie snug within their nest, And my birdie soon will be Sleeping with the chick-a-dee, For with only half a try, Winkum, winkum, shuts her eye.
{18}
BABY'S BELL.
Jingle! jingle! baby's bell; What a tale its tongue might tell. Could it speak it sure would say, "When the baby's tired with play, And is getting cross, don't try To jingle bells, but hush-a-bye; All so still, now crooning low, Lull-a-bye, bye-o, bye-o,— Quiet down his quaking nerves, Soothe him as his state deserves;— Passing hand from head to feet, Sl-o-w-l-y, softly, loving, sweet, As to smooth the feathers down, Rumpled, from your birdling's crown;— {19} See, he sleeps, and in his dream Yours may hand of angel seem, Raveling out the tangled ills, Knitting up with restful thrills."
WILLY-NILLY.
Willy-Nilly, birdy sings, For he's running over With the music that he flings To his sweet bird-lover;— Willy-nilly, baby laughs, Gay and glad and gleeful; Brimming over high with health, She is always playful.
{20}
BABY'S RECORD.
New-born baby, soft and pink, Of the two worlds on the brink.
One month old,—eat and sleep; Precious little human heap.
Two months old,—tear and smile; Fists in mouth and eyes the while.
Three months old,—"goo-a-goo," Windows wide where soul looks through.
Four months old,—finds his toes, Tries to fix them on his nose.
{21}
Five months old,—first wee pearl; All the household in a whirl.
Six months old,—sits alone; Wishes swaddling clothes were gone.
Seven months old,—creep and crawl, Wonder-eyed, a charm to all.
Eight months old,—confiscate Pussy's tail and papa's pate.
Nine months old,—roguish eyes Deepening daily; wilful, wise.
Ten months old,—witching ways Wind us in; the baby pays!
Eleven months old,—finger-tip Guides the elfin on his trip.
Year old,—lots of mischief done; Walking, talking, just for fun.
{22}
SLEEP, LITTLE SWEETEY.
Sleep now, my sweetey, Dear one, and pretty! Weary with playing, Weary with straying, Stop little thinkers, Shut little winkers; Sleep, little sweetey, Precious and pretty.
Sleep now, my sweetey, Dear One, and pretty! Stop little thinkers, Shut little winkers, Angels a-watching Sleep-doors unlatching; Slip in, my sweetey, Precious and pretty!
Sleeping, my sweetey, Dear one, and pretty! Stopped, little thinkers, Shut, little winkers, Angels a-watching, Sleep-doors are latching; Slipped in, my sweetey, Precious and pretty!
{23}
NEVER TELL A FIB.
If mamma says she'll punish, She must do it, or she tells A fib, as Sister Annie Told "a story" 'bout the bells; And if mamma tells a fib, Then surely children will, And what a fearful thing, Our home with fibs to fill!
{24}
HUMPTY—DUMPTY.
Humpty-Dumpty, hip-o'-to-hop, Baby is crying, why doesn't he stop? What does he cry for? his clothing is tight; No wonder such things make baby a fright.
Humpty-dumpty, hip-o'-to-hop, Baby was crying, but now he will stop; What did he cry for? his clothing was wet; No wonder such things should make babies fret.
Humpty-dumpty, hip-o'-to-hop, Baby is crying, oh, when will he stop? What does he cry for? his feet are a-cold; No wonder such things should make baby scold.
{25}
Humpty-dumpty, hip-o'-to-hop, Baby is crying, but soon he will stop; What does he cry for? he had too much food; No baby in this way can ever be good.
Humpty-dumpty, hip-o'-to-hop, Baby is laughing and scarcely will stop; What does he laugh for? Oh, when he feels well, He always is happy,—'tis thus we can tell.
{26}
HUSH-A-BYE.
Hush-a-bye, baby, On Grandmother's lap; Hush-a-bye, baby, And take a nice nap; Hush-a-bye, baby, What is it you say? Your "teeth are a-coming," You're "ten months to-day;" Well, babies must cry, And Grandmothers must try To comfort and hush them, but never forget The little gums ache, And little nerves quake, Till little lips quiver, and babies must fret.
Hush-a-bye, baby, We'll cool his hot gums, Hush-a-bye, baby, With tiny ice-crumbs; Hush-a-bye, baby, We'll rub hard and long With icy-cold finger,— See him list to my song!
{27}
Ah, babies are sweet If their wants we but meet, So why should we blame them when fretful and cross? Let us find what is wrong, And remove it ere long, And we'll see that time thus spent is never a loss.
Hush-a-bye, baby, What more can we do Hush-a-bye, baby, That will comfort you? Hush-a-bye, baby, We'll lay you down flat, On your stomach, dear baby, On Grandmother's lap.
{28}
Nor trot you a mite, No matter how slight, But, sure that your clothing is all dry and neat, We'll loosen each band, And with soft and warm hand, Gently rub you all over from head to your feet.
Hush-a-bye, baby, We will not forget, Hush-a-bye, baby, That hands may be wet, Hush-a-bye, baby, And soothe you sometimes, When dry hands won't do it, Hush, list to my rhymes!
{29}
And now we'll not nurse Till the nursing's a curse; Nor dose you, nor drug you, nor feed with sweet-meats; Nor to soothe, will we try, With old "Dame Winslow" by, For our hopes for the babies, she ever defeats.
Hush-a-bye, baby, We'll quiet his nerves, Hush-a-bye, baby, The truth it deserves— Hush-a-bye, baby— Even here to be known: We will quiet his nerves By just calming our own! And our baby will feel The sweet hush o'er him steal, That brings with it soothing and comfort and rest; And to slumber so soft, His spirit we'll waft, And then lay him away in his own baby nest.
{30}
DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH.
Dear Mamma, I've been laughing For Uncle Ben and Pa, And then for sister Lizzie I talked "ar-g o-o" and "gar;" And then a "little story" For Dick and Cousin Jane,— And now you, Mamma, want me To laugh and talk again.
I'd like to do it, Mamma, but if I even try, I am so weary with it, I'm sure I'd only cry! Don't let them try, dear Mamma, to make me laugh and crow, I'll do it when I'm able, for babies always do.
{31}
BYE-BABY-BUNTING.
BYE-BABY-BUNTING, The Indians live by hunting, And bring home many a beaver-skin To wrap the little pappoose in. And mother-squaw the baby'll tie Fast on a board, and swinging high, Will hang it up among the trees To rock-a-bye with every breeze; But our dear baby, snug and warm, Shall rock-a-bye on mother's arm.
{32}
TO BED WITH THE CHICKENS.
Oh, put me in my bed, Mamma, When chickens go to rest, For I'm your little chick-a-dee, So put me in my nest.
Yes, when the birds forget to sing, And lambs forget to play, You'll put your birdy in his nest, Your lamb you'll fold away.
{33}
DIVE ME SUDAR.
Papa, when you dive me tandy, Dive me only white,— 'Tause there's poison in the tolored, Which my health will blight; But you better dive me sudar, Let the tandy be,— 'Tause I shall not want so much, And that is best for me.
{34}
'TAUSE I'M TROSS
Mamma, 'tause I'm tross don't whip me; I tan't help it, not a bit! 'Tis the tandy hurts my stomat, And that mates me whine and fret. Sometimes, too, I'm whipped for trossness When the trossness tomes from meat; {35} Thint how tiders drowl and drumble, And then dive me food to eat That will mate me well and happy,— Wheat and oat-meal, rice and truit, These will mate me dood and gentle, 'Stead of mating me a brute.
{36}
THE NEW BOOK.
COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO, A picture-book for you,— Keep it nice, and in a trice Sing Cock-a-doodle-doo.
{37}
WHISKUM, WHISKUM.
Whiskum, whiskum, over the house, Scud the cloudlets, still as a mouse; Whiskum, whiskum, by-and-by They'll pour rain-drops from the sky.
{38}
THE JACK-HORSE.
We will ride our Jack-horse All the meadows across; Oh no, do not whip him, But feed him, my dear! A handful of grass In his mouth as we pass, Will make him trot gaily, And give us good cheer!
{39}
HI-DIDDLE-DIDDLE.
HI-DIDDLE-DIDDLE Mother duck's in the middle, Her baby-ducks swimming around; With bills like a ladle, And feet like a paddle, No danger that they will be drowned
{40}
THE RAIN.
Come, rain, come, That the water may run, That the meadow grass may grow; That the fruit and grain O'er hill and plain, May greet us as we go.
Come, rain, come, That the water may run, That the mill may make our meal;— 'Twill grind our wheat, And corn so sweet, When it turns the old mill-wheel.
{41}
FEED THE BIRDIES.
Feed the birdies, darling, When the snow is here, When there are no berries On the bushes, dear;— Scatter food out for them, And they'll quickly come, Hopping, singing, chirping "Thank you for the crumb."
{42}
ROCK-A-BYE.
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;— Rock-a-bye, baby, Don't tremble with fear, For that tends to make His slight illness severe.
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill. Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;— Rock-a-bye, baby. Don't coax him to nurse, For urging to eat Only makes matters worse.
{43}
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;— Rock-a-bye, baby, No company 'round, Not even the dear ones, To make a loud sound.
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;— Rock-a-bye, baby, Don't rattle the papers Nor whisper around, Little nerves cut such capers.
{44}
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby We'll soon have him well;— Rock-a-bye, baby, Whatever is wrong, Attend to his bowels, Neglected too long,
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;— Rock-a-bye, baby, If he is too hot, Undress him and bathe him; But, ah! he is not.
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;— Rock-a-bye, baby, There is cough with unrest, So we'll wring out hot flannels, And cover his chest,
{45}
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill; Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;— Rock-a-bye, baby, He's perspiring, to pour! We will keep up this treatment A full hour more.
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;— Rock-a-bye, baby, Now dry him off neat, And wrap him up warm, And to-morrow, repeat.
{46}
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;— Rock-a-bye, baby, 'Tis not in his chest? Then place the hot flannels Where he feels the unrest.
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;— Rock-a-bye, baby, He is moaning with pain, And rolling his head, And we pet him in vain.
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill; Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;— Rock-a-bye, baby, We will wring out from ice, Linen cloths for his head, All so cooling and nice.
{47}
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill; Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well; Rock-a-bye, baby, If cold don't relieve, Use hot and then cold, And then hot, you perceive.
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill; Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;— Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll see that his feet Are kept warm all the time, And his clothes dry and neat.
{48}
Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling was ill Rock-a-bye, baby, But now he is well; Rock-a-bye, baby, No drugs, not a dose! Yet he's over it finely, Just hear how he crows
{49}
THE SNOWBALL.
Have ever you seen how a wee bit of snow, To a big bouncing ball, just by rolling, will grow? 'Tis thus our wee sins, children, let to roll on, Will grow big, bigger, biggest, till Satan has won.
{50}
LITTLE BO-PEEP.
Co' Nan, co' Nan, says little Bo-peep, Co' Nan, co' Nan, up come the sheep; They jump the ditch and scale the wall, Where one sheep goes, they follow, all.
Co' dea', co' dea', says little Bo-peep, Co' dea', co' dea', I'll shear my sheep; Their wool so fine will make my coat, My blankets and my hose to boot.
{51}
THE TEA-PARTY.
Ah! little ones, I'm sure there's not A drop of tea in your weeny pot. For water bright and milk so pure, Alone will bring you health, be sure; And health is beauty, health is cheer, Health is happiness so dear.
{52}
TELL IT AGAIN, MOTHER.
"Tell it again, Mother, Tell it again,"— No matter what story she told We children, would cry, In the days gone by. Before our years were old.
"Tell it again, Mother, Tell it again,"— No matter how weary and worn. For we children knew naught Of the care we brought, Before our sense was born.
{53}
"Tell it again, Mother, Tell it again,"— And she, patient, and kind, and wise, The tale would repeat, Or the song so sweet, And 'twas ever a glad surprise.
"Tell it again, Mother, Tell it again,"— Ah! you children, when children no more, Will go back to the days Of sweet babyhood lays, And Mother's sage sayings con o'er.
{54}
LITTLE JACK HORNER.
LITTLE JACK HORNER Sat in the corner, Eating a morsel of nice brown bread; "Have some pie, or some cake?" "Nay, not I," with a shake And a toss of his wise little head. "For this bread will make bone, And white teeth like a stone, That will neither grow soft nor decay; But rich cake and rich pie Sure will break, bye and bye, My good health, and that never will pay."
{55}
LITTLE BOY BLUE.
"Little Boy Blue, may I go with you now?" "Yes, down to the pasture to drive up the cow."
"Little boy blue, what then may I have?" A nice cup of milk as ever cow gave.
"Little boy blue, the milk must be set;" "Yes, for 'tis thus the nice cream we shall get."
"Little boy blue, what will we do then?" "We'll skim it and dash it, with 'churn, butter, churn.'"
"Little boy blue, what else can we make?" "O, cheese, tempting cheese, and the dainty cheese cake."
"Little boy blue, is there anything more?" "O, yes, puddings, custards and dainties, a store."
"Little boy blue, shall we eat of all these?" "Simple food is far better for us, if you please."
{56}
MISS VELVET-PAWS.
Little Miss Velvet-paws, Raveling out her yarn, Catches mice, in a trice, In everybody's barn.
Look out for velvet paws, Do not trust them far, For velvet paws cover claws That will leave a scar.
{57}
POLLY HOPKINS.
Now little Polly Hopkins Must surely know great A, And B, and C, and D, and E, F, G, H, I, J, K; And L, and M, and N, and O, And P, and Q, R, S, And T, U, V, and W, X, And Y, & Z, I guess.
{58}
A, B, C.
A Stands for Alligator,
B Stands for Ball,
C Stands for Cat in a cream-pot,
D Stands for Doll.
{59}
E Stands for East, or Ellen.
F Stands for Fay,
G Stands for Goat, a Pen in,
H Stands for Hay,
I Stands for Indigestion,
{60}
J Stands for Jar,
K Stands for King, or Keepsake,
L Stands for La,
M Stands for Man, or Thousand,
N Stands for Nail,
{61}
O Stands for Oaken bucket,
P Stands for Pail,
Q Stands for Queen, or Question.
R Stands for Rose,
S Stands for Christmas Stocking,
{62}
T Stands for Toes,
U Stands for Urn, or Ulster,
V Stands for Vane,
W Stands for West, or Winter.
{63}
X Stands for Ten.
Y Stands for Yoke, (with Oxen).
Z Stands for Zero.
& when you've learned your LETTERS, You'll be a Hero.
{64}
C-A-T spells CAT, That brought the kittens here;
D-O-G spells DOG, That does, the puppies, rear.
C-O-W, Cow, The mother of the calf;
O-X spells the Ox, That's bigger, yes, by half.
{65}
B-O-Y spells BOY, That's little brother Lou;
G-I-R-L, GIRL, And that is sister Sue.
B-I-R-D, BIRD, Just hear canary sing;
G-O-L-D, GOLD, That makes a handsome ring
B-O-O-K, BOOK, In which we learn to read;
C-O-O-K, COOK, Supplies the food we need.
{66}
S-E-E-D, SEED, From which we raise the plant;
S-I-N-G, SING, Just hear the children chant.
B-A, BA, B-Y, BY, And that spells BABY, love;
L-A, LA, D-Y, DY, And that spells LADY, dove.
M-A, MA, R-Y, RY, And that spells MARY, child,
E-D, ED, D-Y, DY, That's EDDY, sweet and mild.
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THE KITTEN.
ONE, two, (1, 2,) Here's a kitten for you;
THREE, four, (3, 4,) She will open the door,
FIVE, six, (5, 6,) And your cream she will mix,—
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SEVEN, eight, (7, 8,) If you are too late,
NINE, ten, (9, 10,) To cover the pan;
ELEVEN, twelve, (11, 12,) And then you must delve,—
THIRTEEN, fourteen, (13, 14,) To cover her sporting;
FIFTEEN, Sixteen, (15, 16,) But while you are fixing,—-
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SEVENTEEN, eighteen, (17, 18,) Remember I'm waiting,
NINETEEN, twenty, (19, 20,) For butter a plenty.
* * * * *
To those who serve you, children, all, Be gentle and polite,— For thus are gentle-women known, Or gentle-men, at sight.
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DOLLY DIMPLE.
DOLLY DIMPLE, just for fun, Stands to show us she is ONE.
Dolly and her sister Sue Show that ONE and ONE make Two.
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Dolly, Sue, and Nanny Lee, Show that ONE with TWO make THREE.
Doll, Sue, Nan, and little Noah, Show that ONE with THREE make FOUR
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Doll, Sue, Nan, Noah, and Ben Brive Show that ONE with FOUR make FIVE.
Now all these with Jenny Hicks Show that ONE with FIVE make SIX.
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One more, Ned, a baby, even, Shows that ONE with SIX make SEVEN.
With these girls and boys, put Kate, And the ONE with SEVEN make EIGHT.
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All these eight, with Adaline Show that ONE with EIGHT make NINE.
Now with these put Dick, and then You'll see that ONE with NINE make TEN.
{75}
IF YOU PLEASE.
I hope my children never will Say, "Give me" this or that,— But, "If you please," I'd like a bun, Or, "Thank you" for a pat.
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THE POOR LITTLE CHICK-A-DEES.
TEN little chick-a-dees clinging to a vine,— A speckled snake charmed one, then there were but NINE.
NINE little chick-a-dees,—one without a mate,— A Sparrow-hawk caught one, then there were but EIGHT.
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EIGHT little chick-a dees, by a 'possum driven,— He caught one and slaughtered it, then there were but SEVEN.
SEVEN little chick-a-dees hopping round the ricks,— A Weasel came and captured one, then there were but six.
SIX little chick-a-dees watching Rover dive,— He sprang ashore and seized one, then there were but FIVE.
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FIVE little chick-a-dees pecking at the door, Kitty-cat caught one, then there were but FOUR.
FOUR little chick-a-dees full of birdy glee, One was tangled in a net, then there were but THREE.
THREE little chick-a-dees dabbling in the dew, A stone fell and crushed one, then there were but TWO.
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TWO little chick-a-dees peeping just for fun, A hungry Kite caught one, then there was but ONE.
ONE little chick-a-dee, mourning all alone, Flew away to find a mate, and then there was NONE,
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HEIGH-HO, DAISIES AND BUTTER-CUPS.
HEIGH-HO, daisies and butter-cups Grow in the meadows for children to gather; But cattle will shun them, And farmers will burn them, Because in their fields they are only a bother.
Heigh-ho, red-top and clover-bloom, Filling the air with their sweetness and beauty, Will yield without measure, Their wealth of rich treasure, Rewarding the farmer for doing his duty.
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THE PONY.
Once 2 is 2, Here's a pony for you;
Two 2s are 4, But be careful the more,—
THREE 2s are 6, For perhaps pony kicks;
FOUR 2s are 8, And if so we must wait,
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FIVE 2s are 10, Till he's trained by the men;—
Six 2s are 12, Before trusting ourselves,
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SEVEN 2s are 14, To ride him out sporting;
EIGHT 2s are 16, But we can be fixing
NINE 2s are 18, His food while we're waiting;
TEN 2s are 20, Oh, yes, give him plenty,—
ELEVEN 2s are 22, For then he will be gentle to—
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TWELVE 2s are 24, Us who feed and pet him more.
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{86}
BABY'S RECKONING.
One little head, Ah! but what does it hold? No matter,—it's worth its whole weight in pure gold.
Two big brown eyes, soft with Heaven's own dew; No diamonds so precious, so sparkling, so true.
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Three cunning dimples, one deep in her chin, And one in each cheek—Ah! they're just twin and twin.
Four little fingers to clutch mamma's hair, But sweeter than honeycomb, even when there.
Five, we may call it, with little Tom Thumb, And that fist in her mouth is as sweet as a plum.
Six wonderful pearls her bright coral lips hide, And the Kohinoor's nothing these pure pearls beside.
Seven brown wavelets are ever in motion, And silken floss to them is naught, to our notion.
Eight little giggles run over with glee— And more if you call them, so merry is she.
Nine songs, (they're Greek tho' to all but mamma), Make us think she is destined, an Opera Star.
Ten toddling steps, but to us full of grace, For our babe in our hearts ever holds the first place.
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TWO LITTLE PINK SHOES.
Two little pink shoes standing by the head Of our Nanny sleeping in the trundle-bed;
On the little table, waiting for the morn, Two little pink shoes, our Nanny to adorn.
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Two little bright eyes, peeping open wide, Spied the little table, and the pink shoes spied.
Two little fat hands climbing up to catch; Two little fat feet following to match.
Two little fat arms hug them to her breast; Two little fat legs run to show the rest.
Never more a treasure can our Nancy choose, That will give such pleasure as these two pink shoes.
* * * * *
In your work or your play, When you read, talk, or write, Sit always, my child, With your back to the light,
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BABY PEARL.
Now listen while I tell you, child, That I am quite a grown-up girl, For I can read, and spell my name, While you,—why, you're just Baby Pearl.
I help mamma to "house-keep," too, Although she says I make a whirl! But I can wipe the forks and spoons, While you, Ah, you're just Baby Pearl.
And then I dress myself, you see, And comb my hair when not in curl, And I can make my dolly's clothes, While you, you're only Baby Pearl.
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Tis true, mamma says I must be "A very pattern little girl," Just all for you, and I shall try Because, because, you're Baby Pearl.
* * * * *
MY VALENTINE.
Dearest little lover mine, Sweetest, pertest valentine; "Desht I'm two years old," he says,— Blessings on his pretty ways,— "'Tan't I be your valentine?" Yes forever, lover mine, Shalt thou be my valentine.
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FEE-FI-FO-FUM.
FEE-FI-FO-FUM, From the Spruce-tree comes the gum; From the Pine the turpentine, Tar and pitch, And timber which Is very choice and fine.
Fee-fi-fo-fum, How from Spruce-tree comes the gum? Soft enough;—the sticky stuff, From seam and cleft, Both right and left, Flows out, and hardens, rough.
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Fay-fi-fo-fee, Nut-galls grow on the Oak-tree; By tiny worms the nut-gall forms, Like little ball; And from Nut-gall The Gallic Acid comes.
Fee-fi-fo-fade, From Nut-galls, too, the Tannin's made; While Acorns grow in group or row;— And Live-oak long, Makes ship-knees, strong, That round the world may go.
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Fee-fi-fo-fap, We tap the Maples, and the sap We find as sweet as sugar-beet, Then boiling hard, Our sure reward, The maple-sugar treat.
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Fay-fi-fo-fee, See the graceful White-Birch tree, With bark so light, so tough and tight That Indians wrought Canoes we're taught, And paddled out of sight.
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Fee-fi-fo-fap, Hark and hear the Hemlock snap;— Little spine so full of wind, Heated, hops, And jumping, pops, And makes the bright eyes shine.
Fee-fi-fo-fur, See the curious chestnut-burr; Green and round, then turning brown. Frost opens wide Each prickly side, And out the chestnuts bound.
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Fee-fi-fo-fay, Now the farmer makes his hay; Grasses grow, which workmen mow,— Toss every-wise, Till sunshine dries, Then into stacks, they stow.
Fay-fee-fi-fo, See the farmer wield his hoe, Lettuce, greens, then corn and beans, With pumpkin-vines Along the lines, Where many a weed o'er-leans.
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Fee-fi-fo-fog, See the wriggling pollywog,*— With funny tail; but without fail This pollywog Will grow a frog, And lose his wiggle-tail.
[Footnote: Pollywog—Common name for poll wig, or tadpole.]
Fee-fi-fo-faint, Colors, seven, the Rainbow paint; Violet bright is first in sight— Then indigo, Blue, green, yellow, Orange and Red,—the seven, WHITE.
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Fay-fee-fi-fo, Now you ask, "What makes Rainbow?" It is the sun, my darling one, Shines through the rain, O'er hill and plain, But see, the beauty's flown.
Fay-fi-fo-fear, Don't you understand it, dear? Raindrops fall, Sun shines through all, Reflects beyond, This beauteous wand Which we the Rainbow call.
{100}
THE OXEN.
The oxen are such clever beasts, They'll drag the plough all day; They're very strong and tug along Great loads of wood or hay.
They feed on grass, when green or dry; Their flesh is beef, for food; Their lungs are "lights," their stomach, "tripe," Their skin for leather's good.
Their hair men use in mortar, too, Lime, water, sand and hair, They nicely mix and smoothly fix, For plastering, so fair.
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For making soap their bones are used; Their horns for combs we group; Their feet are boiled for "neat's-foot-oil," Their tails for ox-tail soup.
Their heart-case forms a money-bag; Their tallow, candles, white; Their intestine, gold-beater's skin, With which gold-leaf we smite.
Thus every part is useful made; The same is true of cows,— Except their ilk gives luscious milk Instead of dragging ploughs.
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Oxen and cows are "cattle" called; They go in "herds," when wild; But when they're tame, by other name,— A "drove," en masse, they're styled.
Their little ones are "calves,"—and cows' Rich milk produces cream, Which butter makes, and nice cheese-cakes, With curd, whey, and caseine.
And now 'tis funny, but 'tis true, Some children young and mazy, Have thought their eyes were used some-wise, To make the ox-eyed daisy!
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This cannot be, yet creatures' bones Placed round trees, plants and bowers, Will serve to feed just what they need, To grow fine fruits and flowers.
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THE BROKEN PITCHER.
"Sweet, my love, I'm sorry That you did not tell, When you broke the pitcher Coming from the well."
"Oh, I thought you'd whip me, Just as Betty did; Then when she would ask me, I would tell a fib."
"Sweet, my child, I never Punish any one For an accidental Thing that may be done.
"Tell me always, darling, Everything you do; This will help to make you Thoughtful, brave and true."
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THE ELEPHANTS.
THE ivory for our combs, From elephants' tusks is made; The handles, too for many a knife, And for paper-knives the blade.
The elephant knows a friend,— And well remembers, too, A kindly act, but ne'er forgets The teasing of a foe.
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THE WIND.
"What is the wind, Mamma?" "Tis air in motion, child;" "Why can I never see the wind That blows so fierce and wild?"
"Because the Gases, dear, Of which the air is made, Are quite transparent, that is, we See through, but see no shade."
"And what are Gases, Ma?" "Fluids, which, if we squeeze In space too small, will burst with force;"— "And what are fluids, please?"
"Fluids are what will flow, And gases are so light That when we give them room enough, They rush with eager flight."
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"What gases, dear Mamma, Make up the air or wind?" "'Tis Oxygen and Nitrogen That chiefly there we find; And when the air is full Of Oxygen we're gay, But when there is not quite enough, We're dull, or faint away."
THE FOG.
"What is the fog, Mamma?" "Sometimes the air is light And cannot bear up all the mists, And then 'tis foggy, quite;
But when air heavier grows, The fog is borne above, And floated off, the cloudy stuff,— Just see it, graceful, move."
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THE RAIN.
"What makes the rain, Mamma?" "The mists and vapors rise From land and stream and rolling sea, Up toward the distant skies; And there they form the clouds, Which, when they're watery, dear, Pour all the water down to earth, And rain afar or near."
THE SNOW.
"What makes the Snow, Mamma?" "When very cold above, The mists are frozen high in air, And fall as snow, my love."
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"And Hail?" "Tis formed the same; Cold streams of air have come And frozen all the water-drops, And thus the hail-stones form.
"Now do not question more, Dear child, but run and play, I'll tell you of the Water, Fire, And Light, another day." "Oh yes, and dear Mamma, Of Thunder, Lightning, too, For I shall want to know it all, So tell me, Mamma, do."
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TRUTH.
Do not let "Mother Truth" find a falsehood all over,— Amongst all her children, no, never a lie; Stand for Truth, ye wee babies, for Truth, ye who're older, For Truth while you live, and for Truth till you die.
All ye myriads of children this little book talks to, Form now in each household a band for the Truth, Do not let even a "white lie," and still less a "whopper," Find a place in your hearts, nor your heads, nor your mouth.
You know God is Truth;—and as you are His children, You want to be like Him as near as you can; Speak the Truth, live the Truth, be the Truth with Him, And Heaven will have come, as Christ taught in his plan.
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{112}
HI-DIDDLE, HO-DIDDLE.
HI-DIDDLE, HO-DIDDLE, Pop-diddle-dee, This Earth of ours, on which we live, Is round as it can be. Pray, then, what is a Mountain, valley, hill? They are but like little warts, And pores, on orange-peel.
Hi-diddle, ho-diddle, Pop-diddle-dee,— Our Earth is swinging in the air, As you can plainly see;— {113} Pray, then, what keeps it Hanging up in space? The Sun, my child, attracts the Earth And holds it in its place.
Hi-diddle, ho-diddle, Pop-diddle-dee, A lovely Moon is shining for This Earth of ours, you see,— Held in its cradle Ever since its birth, Because our globe attracted it, As the Sun attracts the Earth.
Hi-diddle, ho-diddle, Pop-diddle-dee, What I mean by globe, child, You're wondering now, I see. {114} A globe or a ball, dear, Is what is round and true, And that is why I'm calling it, This Earth, a globe, to you.
Hi-diddle, ho-diddle, Pop-diddle-dee, Instead of globe I might have said A sphere for you and me; For all the same, in truth, Are sphere and globe and ball, And hemi's half so half this Earth, A hemisphere, we call.
Hi-diddle, ho-diddle, Pop-diddle-dee, 'T was once supposed the Earth stood still, While Sun went round it, free;— But now we've learned it well, That 't is the Earth doth turn Upon its Axis, as it's called; And also round the Sun.
{115}
Hi-diddle, ho-diddle, Pop-diddle-dee, Our Earth in turning round, How long may she be? She turns on her axis In a day, and a night, But to go around the Sun Takes a year for the flight.
{116}
WHAT IS THE AXIS?
Now you ask, "What is the Axis?" With an apple I will show; Place your thumb upon the stem-place, And your finger at the blow;— Now we'll just suppose the apple Has a stem that passes through, And this stem would be the Axis; Now we'll whirl the apple, true,
Holding fast 'twixt thumb and finger,— That's the way the Earth goes round On its Axis, as we call it, Though no real stem is found. {117} And the two ends of the Axis Have been called the Poles, my dear; Yes, the North Pole and the South Pole, Where 'tis very cold and drear.
Now we'll hold a bigger apple At a distance, for the Sun; Tip the smaller one a little, And then slowly wheel it round All around the larger apple, And it represents the Earth Circling round the Sun that holds it, Ceaseless, in its yearly path.
Wondrous is the strong attraction Of the Sun which holds in place All the Planets in their turnings, All the Stars that see his face; But more wondrous far the power That created Sun and us, And that gave a form and being, To this mighty Universe.
"The Universe!" now you exclaim: "By the Universe, what do you mean?" {118} 'Tis the Sun and the Planets, and every thing known, That we call by this Universe name.
Now the "Planets," you ask, "What are Planets?" They're globes, Some larger, some smaller than Earth,— Which are swinging in space, And are all held in place, By the God-power that first gave them birth.
{119}
HEAT AND COLD.
Our earth has a North Pole, Where 'tis very cold; It also has a South Pole, That's just the same, we're told. But half-way between, And all the way around, We call it the Equator, And heat doth there abound. For there the sun shines always, Though it goes north or south Some twenty-three degrees or more, And sometimes causes drouth. The sun goes north, we call it. But 'tis the earth instead, That tips, and makes it seem the sun Comes higher overhead. And when the sun is northward 'Tis summer here, you see; And when it's to the southward 'Tis there in same degree.
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HARLEY'S DREAM.
I know a little brown-eyed boy, His name is Harley Hart; And with a naughty boy or girl, Our Harley has no part.
He cons his lessons o'er and o'er, And once he fell asleep, With finger marking A, B, C, As 'twere the place to keep.
And then he dreamed a funny dream— The page jumps up to dance, The letters laugh, and by and by, Like imps they leap and prance.
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Now Harley oft had wondered whence The letters first had come; And I'm afraid he sometimes wished They all had staid at home,
Instead of teasing him with quirks, And bothering him with names That seemed to help him hardly more In learning words than games.
One little imp squeaked: "I am A; You could not be a man Without me." Then another cried: "I am E" and quickly ran,
Exclaiming: "And without us both You could not have a head." Another says: "You'd have no limbs If I were lost or dead."
Then O, "You'd have no nose nor toes, If it were not for me;" "And what is more, were I not here," Says U, "you could not be."
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And thus they each and all lay claim To parcel and to part Of what he was, or what should do With hand, or head, or heart.
They hung a ladder 'gainst the tree, And clambered up and down; They played a thousand pranks as wild As any gipsey clown.
They whispered that they came from Rome, And that, if rightly placed, They'd serve our Harley with a feast A king would joy to taste.
So when he woke and knew they were The little mystic keys That open Learning's gates so wide, He loved his A, B, C's.
{123}
OUR LANGUAGE KEY.
A E I O U Y
We are small, and we are few, But we're wondrous mighty, too,— For no word can language wear, Save in it we hold a share. One of us in May is met,— One is caught in every net; One is in the clambering vine, One, in Moon, must ever shine; One's in you,—and all so shy, The last is hiding in your eye.
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THE SPEECH FAMILY.
The name of everything we know, as slate, or book, or toy, Is called a Noun. All names are nouns; remember this, my boy.
A word that means to be, to act, or to be acted on, Is called a Verb; as is, or eat, or sing; or he is gone.
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A word that tells the color, form, or quality of things, Is called an Adjective; as, bright, or round, or softest wings.
A word that tells how things are done, as quickly, bravely, well. Is called an Adverb; and I'm sure you many more can tell.
A word that's used in place of nouns, a Pronoun we may call; As, I for mother; you, for James; this, that, for hoop or ball
A Preposition's placed before a noun, and serves to show Relation to some other word; as, Rover's in the snow.
And then Conjunctions join two words or sentences together; As, man and boy, or birds will fly and winds blow o'er the heather.
Then Interjections, Oh! and Ah! Behold! and many another, Express surprise, delight; dismay, far more than every other.
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And these the Parts of Speech we call; Eight parts as you may tell; And all the language you will know, when these you've studied well.
NUMBER AND GENDER.
A NOUN or name that means but one, Is called in the singular number; But when it stands for more than one, 'Tis plural, child, remember.
* * * * *
A NOUN that is the name of males, As ox, or horse, or father, Is masculine in gender, dear; While cow, and mare, and mother, And all the names of females, child, Are feminine, 'tis true; Now tell me all the names you know, And tell their gender, too. But you will find there's many a noun Not male, nor female either, As chair, and book; and such we call In neuter gender—neither.
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ONE LITTLE CHICKEN.
ONE little chicken, two little chickens, three little chickens, dear; Don't you see we add s, when more than one is here? And this we do with almost all the nouns that may appear.
One little birdy, two little birdies, three little birdies soar; The y is changed to i-e-s for birdies two or more; And this, when a word shall end in y with a consonant before.
One little donkey, two little donkeys, three little donkeys bray. But here the y remains unchanged, and s is called in play; And this, when a word shall end in y, where a vowel leads the way.
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LETTERS.
A, E, I, O, U, The vowels we may call; W, Y, are vowels too, Whene'er they chance to fall To the end of syllable or word. And this we well may know That all the rest are consonants; Just nineteen in a row.
K, P, and T are called the mutes, Because they interrupt All voice or sound; while B and D Can only intercept; Hence these are partial mutes, my child; And H is aspirate; And th, too, in think and throne, But vocal in this, that.
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Then lip-letters, or labials, And dentals, or tooth letters, With palatals and sibilants Seem wondrously like fetters. But, ah! instead of prisoning, They open wide the way That leads to Learning's loftiest heights; Press on, and win the day.
* * * * *
WORDS.
TELL me the name of something, dear; As book, or ball, or kite; Now tell some quality of each, As big, or round, or light. And now some word that means to be Yes, is, my child, you're right.
The ink is black, The snow is white, The ice is hard—is cold: The sky is blue, The air is light, Sometimes the child is bold. {130} And thus let names of everything Afar or near be told; And Qualities of each and all Let memory infold.
* * * * *
NOW give one name, and tell me all Its qualities as well; As, coal is black, and coal is hard, And coal's inflammable.
And now, you children should be taught That we need not repeat The name, with every word that tells Its qualities complete.
Coal's black, hard, and inflammable, We say; but all so fast, A comma follows after each, With and before the last.
And now use iron, chalk, and clay, Use water, snow, and ice, Use thread and needle, pin and pen, Use every word that's nice.—
{131}
ANOTHER lesson now attend— We'll find some quality Embraced by several different things, As you will plainly see.
Snow is cold, ice is cold, Salt is cold as well; Snow, ice, and salt are cold, my child, As every one can tell.
* * * * *
A SMILE.
"SHE smiled on me, she smiled on me!" In ecstacy exclaimed A little waif in tattered gown, With form so halt and maimed. Remember, even a smile may cheer, A cup of water, bless; A kindly word, sow seeds of joy, Whose fruit is happiness.
{132}
TWINKLE, TWINKLE.
"Twinkle, twinkle, little star, Up above the world so far, Whisper now and tell me, pray, What you are, and how you stay."
"Some of us away so far, Planets like your own Earth, are; And we shine with borrowed light, Borrowed from the Sun, so bright.
"Some of us are silvery moons, Shining all the nightly noons; Some of us are jelly, soft, Shooting, falling, from aloft.
{133}
Some of us are Nebulae,— Faint and misty stars we be;— Some are Suns to other worlds; Here and there a Comet whirls.
"Having each our time and place, Swinging in the wondrous space; Held in line by Him who planned, And who holds you in His hand."
{134}
OLD SOL IN A JINGLE.
Hi-diddle-diddle, The Sun's in the middle, And planets around him so grand, Are swinging in space, Held forever in place, In the Zodiac girdle or band.
Hi-diddle-diddle, The Sun's in the middle, And Mercury's next to the Sun While Venus, so bright, Seen at morning or night, Comes Second, to join in the fun.
Hi-diddle-diddle, The Sun's in the middle, And Third in the group is our Earth; While Mars with his fire, So warlike and dire, Swings around to be counted the Fourth.
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{136}
Hi-diddle-diddle, The Sun's in the middle, While Jupiter's next after Mars,— And his four moons at night Show the speed of the light; Next golden-ringed Saturn appears,
Hi-diddle-diddle, The Sun's in the middle, After Saturn comes Uranus far;— And his antics so queer, Led Astronomers near To old Neptune, who drives the last car.
[Footnote: Other planets are as yet too little known to claim place.]
{137}
"ROBERT OF LINCOLN."
"Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, reed-bird, butter-bird, All through the country his jingle is gaily heard; Reveling in rice-fields he sweeps through the South, While wheat, corn, and barley-fields welcome him North, And Bobby is wild with his singing and chatter, So saucily calling with rattle and clatter, Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, Tom-denny, Tom-denny, Come-now-and-pay-me-that-two-shillings-one-penny, No,-I'll-not-wait-for-a-day-nor-a-minute, So-pay-me-up-quick-or-you'll-get-your-foot-in-it;— Chink-a-chee, chink-a-chee, chink-a-chee, chin-it, Yes,-pay-me-up-quick,-or-you'll-get-your-foot-in-it."
{138}
LIMPY-DIMPY-DINGLE.
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, chicky-bid would stray To the trap that had been set for weasels, many a day,
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, chicky-bid walked in, And the trap its teeth shut up, on chicky-biddy's shin.
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, chicky-bid is brought, And her leg, so sore and big, we bathe with water hot.
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, here's a broken bone, All so rough,—but close enough we bring the ends, right soon.
{139}
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, strips of paste-board cut, We will place with care and grace, from thigh to trembling foot
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, softest cotton, too, Just within the paste-board thin, to fit around so true.
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, now with tape or band, Neatly wind, and closely bind, with deft and skillful hand.
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, nature'll do the rest, And soon will knit the bone to fit, as good as very best.
{140}
CASTLE WONDERFUL.
I know a castle, curious, Of lovely form and make; That we may view the castle through, A hasty peep we'll take.
{141}
The framework of my castle proud, Is neither wood nor stone, But earthy matter mixed with lime And hardened into bone.
This frame, of oddments is composed,— In mind, the number fix,— Of long and short and thick and thin, Two hundred just, and six.
And these are fastened each to each, By hinges, like, or joints, Which, with an oil so soft and pure, The Builder wise, anoints.
For garnishing this goodly frame, Quaint cushions, large and small, Are fitly fashioned, each in place, And pliant, one and all.
For cushion covers, deftly wrought, A scarf so beautiful, So pinkish-white, so loose yet tight, So warm and yet so cool;
Upon the smoothly rounded roof Is strewn the finest floss, A filmy veil, as soft as silk,— Or is it fairy moss?
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Two windows hath this castle fair, That shut and open wide, With cords and pulleys, curtains fringed, And fixtures fine beside.
These wondrous windows even smile And speak and fairly dance, And play at anger, hate, and love, And mischief, too, perchance.
These windows, too, are marvelous In that they let the light Both in and out for him who dwells Within, the lordly knight.
Two telephones of wondrous make,— A door, with guards and bell,— A ventilator, double-bored, Aye does its duty well.
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And ah! within, this castle grand, Is fitted to a T, With everything that's needful there For serving you or me.
And strange to tell, this castle builds Itself, if but supplies Be placed within the open door, With watchful care and wise.
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It clears itself too of the dust And ashes strewed within, If but the alley-ways are free, And outlets all a-kin.
And stranger still, this castle comes And goes where'er the will Of him who holds the rule within Shall bid, his hest to fill.
And wondrous more than all beside, This house the temple is, Of Him the great designer, God,— And "all the earth is his."
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Now list, and of this castle grand A further tale we'll tell, In language plain, so plain that all May read and heed it well.
The food we eat makes all our blood, And makes us children grow; And if we eat improper food It harms from top to toe.
We all have teeth quite sharp and strong, With which to chew our food, And in the mouth are glands and glands— Yes, quite a numerous brood.
These glands pour out saliva, free, To moisten what we eat And then a trap-door at the throat Performs a wondrous feat
In guiding all the food along Into the Esophagus, And thence to stomach through a pass Called Cardiac Orifice.
And here 'tis mixed with Gastric Juice, And into chyme is churned Then through the gateway, Pylorus, As wiser ones have learned.
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'Tis in the Duodenum now, Where it is mixed with Bile, And with the Pancreatic juice, Which changes it to Chyle.
This Chyle flows on, and all that's fit For nourishment and growth, Is taken up by Lacteals, Or "tubes with many a mouth."
These lead to the Thoracic Duct, Which holds a spoonful large, And from this Duct a pipe proceeds Through which it may discharge.
Into the great Sub-clavian vein, Which to the Heart doth lead, Whence it is sent into the Lungs, And into good blood made.
Then back into the Heart it flows, The muscles there contract, And pump it into Arteries, Which wind to every part.
We'd like to tell about the Bones, The Ribs and Vertebras, The Clavicle, or Collar-bone, Breast-bone, and Scapulae;
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Of hinge, and ball-and-socket joints; Of muscles, tendons, skin, Of lungs and veins and arteries, Of nerves and heart and brain.
But, Ah! we should your patience tire, Were we the whole to tell, So, waiting till another time, We bid you now, farewell.
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THE RATTLE OF THE BONES.
How many bones in the human face? FOURTEEN, when they're all in place.
How many bones in the human head? EIGHT, my child, as I've often said.
How many bones in the human ear? THREE in each; and they help to hear.
[Footnote: Standard authorities give three, though latest works say four.]
How many bones in the human spine? TWENTY-SIX; like a climbing vine.
How many bones of the human chest? TWENTY-FOUR ribs and TWO of the rest.
How many bones the shoulders, bind? Two in each; one before, one behind.
How many bones in the human arm? In each arm, ONE; TWO in each fore-arm.
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How many bones in the human wrist? EIGHT in each, if none are missed.
How many bones in the palm of the hand? FIVE in each, with many a band.
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How many bones in the fingers ten? TWENTY-EIGHT, and by joints they bend.
How many bones in the human hip? ONE in each; like a dish they dip.
How many bones in the human thigh? ONE in each, and deep they lie.
How many bones in the human knees? ONE in each, the knee-pan, please.
How many bones in the leg from knee? Two in each, we can plainly see.
How many bones in the ankle strong? SEVEN in each, but none are long.
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How many bones in the ball of the foot? FIVE in each; as in palms were put.
How many bones in the toes half-a-score? TWENTY-EIGHT, and there are no more.
And now, all together, these many bones, fix, And they count in the body TWO HUNDRED and Six.
And then we have, in the human mouth, Of upper and under, THIRTY-TWO TEETH.
And we now and then have a bone, I should think That forms on a joint, or to fill up a chink.
A Sesamoid bone, or a Wormian, we call, And now we may rest, for we've told them all.
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WHOLLY HOLE-Y.
SEVEN million little openings, God has made upon your skin; Mouths of tiny little sewers That run everywhere, within. And along these numerous sewers All impurities must go, That are not by other outlets, Carried off with active flow.
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When these many little openings. We call PORES, get shut quite close, Through your frame the poison wanders, Making you feel dull and cross. It will make your lungs grow tender, And they'll soon be sore, and cough; It will make your stomach feeble, And your head ache hard enough.
Then your heart can not be joyous, And your other organs, too, Will get weak, and be unable For the work they ought to do; Quaking nerves will groan and quiver, Weary bones be racked with pain, And you'll all the time be saying: "How can I be well again?"
HEAT and BATHING widely open All the pores, when discords dire, Quick flow out in perspiration, Quenching all the fever-fire. Raveling out the tangled tissues, Setting free the life-blood's flow, Pouring forth the pent-up poisons, Wakening thus a healthful glow.
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THE BREATH O' LIFE.
Our lungs are formed of curious cells, And tubes to draw in air,— And if we breathe quite deep and full And take our needful share, 'Twill keep our blood so red and pure, Our health so firm and true, We scarce shall know what suffering means, But joyous feel, and new.
But if we wear our clothing tight, The little cells will close, And then they cannot do their work, And thus our health we lose; Or if we breathe the air impure, 'T will give us tainted blood, While plenty, pure, sun-ripened air Will make us glad and good.
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THE GIRLS.
Three little girls with their sun-bonnets on, Wandered out for a walk in the dew; And they tip-toed about, full of frolic and fun, While their aprons around them they drew.
But their little wet feet brought fever and cough, And their little red lips grew so thin; And their little round faces were haggard enough, O, I'm sure they'll not do it again!
Not do it, I mean, without boots that shall guard Their ankles and feet from the wet; For the care of the health brings a joyous reward, The neglect, brings us pain and regret.
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THE TEMPERANCE CHILD.
Mamma, if you'd have me Be a temperance child, You must give me only Food that's pure and mild. Highly-seasoned dishes Make the stomach crave Stronger things; and often Lead to drunkard's grave.
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LISTEN, CHILDREN!
Listen, children! when your head aches, Do not eat, but wait a meal; This will oftentimes relieve you, Making you right joyous feel.
Listen, children! when your stomach Rolls and tumbles, wait awhile; Do not eat, but drink warm water, And you'll soon be glad and smile.
Listen, children! in hot water Put your feet when you've "a cold;" Into bed now, wrapped in blankets, And you'll soon be well, we're told.
Listen, children! perspiration Is a saving from much sin: Wash and rub, and dry well after; Thus we quell disease within.
Listen, children! when you're hungry Do not stuff you like a pig, But eat slowly and chew thorough, Lest your teeth your grave shall dig.
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TICK-TOOK, TICK-TOCK.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, Sings the pretty cuckoo clock; Tick-tack, tick-tack, Time flies on, but ne'er comes back.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, Sings the dainty crystal clock; Tick-tack, Tick-tack, Work and wait, and never lack.
Tick-tock, Tick-tock, Sings the old grandfather's clock, Tick-tack, tick-tack, Take and keep, the better track.
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CURIOUS TREES.
THE COW-TREE.
South America's soil Yields the towering Cow-tree, With sweet milk in its cells For you or for me; Its sap is the Milk,— Cut the tree and it flows; Like leather its leaves, And its branches like bows.
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THE SUGAR-PINE.
Then, too, my dear children, The sweet Sugar-pine, On Pacific's wild coast, In our own soil we find; Cut or scoop out the trunk, And the juices ooze forth, And harden, for sugar, Like icicles, North.
* * * * *
THE BUTTER-TREE.
And, funny enough, There's a Butter-tree, too; Its seeds, when boiled down, Will make butter for you. In India and Africa The Butter-tree grows, With coffee and spices, As every one knows.
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THE BREAD-FRUIT TREE,
And listen, dear children, In hot countries too, The Bread-fruit tree grows, Most delicious for you; Its great roasted nuts, Like soft, sweet loaves of bread, Form most of the food On which natives are fed.
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And further, its fibres Of bark, will make cloth; Its wood, boats and houses;— Its leaves are not loath To be used for a towel, A table-cloth, napkin; Its juice will make bird-lime, And tinder, its catkin.
THE CLOVE-TREE.
And, children, one more, Here's a spicy Clove-tree, Growing forty feet high, Ornamental, you see; The little round drop, Fixed the four prongs between, Forms the blossom or flower, When it's not picked too green.
Now list, while I tell you, Clove-trees will not grow Except in hot climates, Moluccas, or so,
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Where they bloom the year round, In the sunshine or storm, With their trunks straight and smooth, And their pyramid form.
And lastly, dear children, Clove-trees never flower Till a half-dozen years They have grown, maybe more; Then the buds, picked by hand, And dried quickly, are best;— Trees a hundred years old Often yield with the rest.
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THE "TREE VILLAGE."
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In the Solomon Group in the great Southern Sea, And on Isabel Island alone, A tree village is found, up the steep, rocky ground, On the top of a mountain of stone.
So gigantic the trees that it is not with ease That the houses of natives are built, For the stems are six score of our feet, maybe more, And you'd think they must live on a stilt.
By a ladder facade the ascent must be made, Formed of pliable trees, or a creeper Resembling the vine, which the natives entwine,— And the ladder's drawn up by the sleeper;
For these houses are made but to sleep in, 'tis said, When some enemy threatens;—to guard 'Gainst surprise in the night, they are fortified quite, With great stones, to be thrown at a pard.
At the foot, of these trees are the day-huts for ease And for eating and dancing and play, Yet the huts up so high have a goodly supply Of the needful for night or for day.
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NO EYES.
Those Creatures that live in the dark, And have no use for eyes, Are made without these organs bright, Which we so highly prize.
The fish in the Mammoth cave,— Some species of the Ant, Have only a trace where eyes should be, Yet never know the want.
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Who knows but girls and boys, Kept always in the dark, Might come to have but little sight, And finally not a spark.
God meant us to live in the light, He has poured it all about; Oh, let us not ourselves destroy, By shutting His sunshine out.
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THE MAMMOTH CAVE.
"WHAT is the Mammoth Cave?" I hear the Children say, Where fishes have no eyes nor sight, And where 'tis dark by day?
You all have seen a ledge Of big rocks piled, or stone?— Now just suppose a door-way made, Or entrance to go in.
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And when you're in, a path Leads on, right under ground, And by-and-by you come to a place Like a room with walls around.
'Tis jagged and rough and rude, 'Tis dark and damp as a grave, But whether 'tis large or small, 'Tis always called a cave.
Now, Mammoth means monstrous big, And the Mammoth cave, we claim As the largest known in the world, And that's what gives the name.
And it has many a room, Quite large and wondrous grand, And it has springs and streams and lakes, All dark, you understand.
And here are fishes, too, Yes, fishes with no eyes, That have lived in the dark for ages past, As learned men surmise.
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THE CAMELS.
The Camels live in desert lands; Their feet are made to walk on sands; They carry burdens far and near, Where neither grass nor trees appear;
Where there's no rain, no rivers, brooks, No water anywhere for folks;— But God has made in Camels' chest Peculiar sacs, for He knew best
What they must do, and that they'd die, If He did not their drink supply. Before they start they drink and drink, Till every sac is full, I think;—
And at the mouth of every sac, A muscle strong, but loose and slack, Will tighten up when it is filled, So that no drink can e'er be spilled.
And when on journey, last or first, The camel wants to slake his thirst, A bag-string loosens, and out-pours Enough to satisfy for hours.
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The laden camels, in a row, Are called a Caravan, you know;— Sometimes a caravan is lost, Being buried deep in sand and dust.
A storm of wind, a Simoon named, Will sweep across the desert sand, When camels, men, and every one Must throw themselves their knees upon,
And bury faces in the earth, For thus alone they save their breath; A fearful thing, but 'tis the best That they can do,—now hear the rest.
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Sometimes they're buried deep, and find When they dig out they're almost blind And cannot tell which way to go, And thus are lost, a serious woe!
Sometimes, when lost, the drink for men Gets short; is gone; they thirst, and then They kill a camel just for lack Of what he carries in his sac.
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In deserts bare and bleak and drear, The sun shines hot through all the year, But many an Oasis is found, Or spot where grass and trees abound.
And here is drink, and here they rest, And take their fill of what is best; Then travel on in thankful mood, With song and shout! "Allah is good!"
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KEY-NOTES.
L M N R
LIGHTLY flowing LIQUIDS, we,— Tethered with our brothers. Make we music, melody, More than all the others; Lulling, mellowy, nimble, rare, Reveling in rhythm, Running here and everywhere, Make me merry with 'em.
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THE BEARS.
Wild bears are found all over, From Northern lands to South, But largest, strongest, where 'tis cold And fiercest farthest North.
All bears are fond of honey, Of berries, too, and roots; They hug or squeeze their prey to death, As this their nature suits.
They mate in June-y weather; Their little ones are cubs; They sadly mourn when mates are killed, You'd almost hear their sobs.
They'll try to feed a cub That's lying cold and dead, And will not flee, but stand and take The fatal knife instead.
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They sleep through winter-time, But prowl in wildest storms, With hope to find some creature killed, Or struck with death's alarms.
The bears are white, or black, Or brown or grizzly gray, The white 'mong polar snows are found, Where half the year is day.
Their fur is used for robes, For coats, sometimes a muff,— Their meat is prized by some as food, While some would call it "stuff."
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They nimbly climb a tree, But "back down," for their frame Is made so lungs would forward press, If they head-foremost, came.
* * * * *
THE BEAR A BLESSING.
To people of Kamtschatka, The bear a blessing proves; His skin forms beds and coverlets, And bonnets, shoes, and gloves.
His flesh and fat are dainties, And of his intestine, Is made a mask for warding off The glare of Sun in Spring.
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'Tis also used for windows, As substitute for glass; Of shoulder-blade a tool is made, That's used for cutting grass.
Norwegians think the Bear is More sensible than men; While Laplands call him "Dog of God," And dare not him offend.
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FRUITS
The fruits of the orchard and garden Are beautiful, luscious and good, Partake of them freely, dear children, But eat them at meals with your food.
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THE RACCOON.
Come, child, and see our pet Raccoon,— The Raccoons live in the woods, you know; But ours was caught, And caged, and brought From old Virginia, long ago.
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Oh, no, you need not be afraid. See, he is fastened with a chain; For ropes enough He has gnawed off, And he is hard to catch again.
He e'en will climb this ten-foot fence, And, careless where his feet may strike, He tumbles, bang! And there will hang, His rope being caught by vine or spike.
And once the rascal ran away; Was gone for days, and maybe weeks; When children came, And charging blame, Said, "Your Raccoon has caught our chicks."
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"He's on our roof a-making mouth, And chatters when we would go near. We wish you'd come and take time home, So that our chick need not fear."
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So now he's chained; yet up he'll climb The stake to which he's fastened tight, And mutter low, So pleading, Oh! 'T would make you sorry for him, quite.
Just see his nose, so pointed, sharp,— His ears as keen as keen can be,— His eyes so bright, So full of light, And see him leap right merrily!
His fur, you see, is yellowish gray,— And he is nearly two feet long; He lives on roots, And nuts and fruits, When he's his native woods among.
But here we give him bread and milk; He never eats like dogs or lambs, But takes it up From out the cup With his fore-foot, as we use hands.
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You'd laugh to see him, I am sure; Of strawberries, too, he's very fond; Will poke around Till he has found Each one among the hulls out-thrown.
Then, too, he's fond of nice clean clothes, Will spring for sheet hung out to dry; And children dressed In very best, Are sure to please his dainty eye.
No matter where his feet have been, He'll spring and plant them, little pest, On something white, And then will fight To hold, and hide it in his nest.
* * * * *
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You've "come again to see our Coon"? Well, he is gone; he plagued us so, We sent the "Rac" To Central Park, Where you can see him when you go.
Oh yes, they're glad to get him, there; They have no clothes hung out to dry; And children aye Must stand away, For there a keeper's always nigh.
* * * * *
A "Yes" and "No" are common, hard, But "yes'm," "no-sir," choice;— Let none but sweet and gentle words Flow from your gift of voice.
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THE BANK-SWALLOWS.
In a village of Bank-Swallows, You will find so many a nest, "That you scarce can tell their number Nor which one of them is best."
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In the sand-hill, see the openings, Round or oval odd-shaped, some, Size and form depending often, On how loose the sand become.
When with their short bills they pecked it, Clinging fast with claws the while, Till they made an open door-way Suiting them in size and style.
Once within, they peck and peck it,— Sometimes quite a yard or more, While the nest is snugly builded, Farthest from the outer door.
But, so wise are they, this archway From the entrance to the nest, Is inclining ever upward, That no rain within may rest.
So the pink-white eggs are laid there, Safe from harm, till baby-birds Chirrup forth to take their places, 'Mongst the self-sustaining herds.
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Smallest of the swallow species, Homeliest, too, yet favorites dear, For their graceful, airy movements, And their simple, social cheer.
Found are they from North to South-land, Known of every tribe and race;— Swift in flight, yet swinging, swaying, Skimming low from place to place.
Parent-birds care less for young ones, Than do other swallow-kind;— Push them off half-fledged and timid, Each his food and home to find.
Thus they, many a time, fall prey to Hawks and crows, their enemies;— Even the nest sometimes is entered By the snakes and fleas and flies.
Swallows migrate in the Winter, From the cold to warmer climes, Flying back as Spring approaches, To the haunts of former times.
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"Ne'er one swallow makes a Summer," Is a saying everywhere;— But when swallows come in myriads, Blessed Summer-time is here.
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THE MOCKING-BIRD.
The New World boasts the Mocking-bird And whether caged or free, His wondrous voice pours forth in songs Of rarest melody.
His notes swell out and die away, As if a joyous soul Were wrought to highest ecstacy, All music to control.
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His native notes are bold and full, And then he'll imitate, Till it would seem the feathered tribe Were all arrayed in state.
He'll whistle for the dog or cat, Will squeak like chicken, hurt, And cluck and crow and bark and mew, So comical and curt.
While blue-birds warble, swallows scream, Or hens will cackle clear. In robin's song, the whip-poor-will Pours forth his plaint so near.
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Canaries, hang-birds, nightingales, He echoes loud and long; While they stand silent, mortified, He triumphs in his song.
THE BUSY BEES.
Why do the little busy bees So dearly love their queen, And wait upon and pay respect, With watchful care and mien?
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Because the queen lays all the eggs, And mothers all the young, While every father-bee that's hatched Is nothing but a drone.
The working bees might all be queens, If cared for and well-fed When they are in the larvae state, But they're half-starved instead,—
While those intended for young queens Are fattened overmuch, And nursed and petted every hour, That they full growth may reach.
For every different kind of egg That makes the different bees, A different kind of cell is made, The queen directing these.
For drones or males, six-sided cells, Quite neat, and smooth, and nice; For working-bees a smaller cell, Uncouth, and rough, and coarse;
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While those for queens are large and free, And fashioned fine with care, And lined with softest, silken shreds So daintily they fare.
The queen-bee lays the worker-eggs, A dozen days, I ween, And then the drones as many more, Then workers, then the queen.
Eggs, two or three, and sometimes four Are laid in worker-cell; While drones and queens have each but one, As oft is proven well.
The bluish eggs so close and warm, Hatch out with three days passed; {199} When larvae, white, as little worms, Are watched and fed and nursed.
These larvae, when some six days old, Close in their cells are shut, And there at once begin to weave A silken web about.
They turn and twist till all around Themselves 'tis woven quite, And then they rest for twenty days,— 'Tis such a pretty sight.
The small cocoons of working-bees, The larger ones of drones, The large and plump and perfect ones Of all the coming queens.
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In twenty days they now burst forth, Equipped from tip to toe, The working-bees and drones, I mean, For queens come forth more slow.
The queen cocoons ope from behind, And I will tell you why, 'Tis that the reigning queen may sting The others till they die.
If mother queen leads off a swarm, A young queen they release, And she may take another swarm, And leave the hive in peace.
Another queen is then let out, Perhaps a third and fourth, As many as can raise a swarm, To follow them, not loath;
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But when no more can swarm and go, Because not bees enough, As I have said, the reigning queen Stings all the rest to death.
For in each hive and everywhere, One queen alone will reign, And any interloper meets With sure and sharp disdain.
Of workers, some are strong to fly, While some are weak and small, Unfitted quite, for load or flight, Or outside work at all.
These last complete the larvae-cells, And nurse and feed the young; They mix the bee-bread, cleanse the hive, And care for every drone.
All bees have stings except the drones, And these, when Autumn nears, Are stung to death with furious wrath, As by the book appears.
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And now I hope you children all, Will use your wondrous power To "gather honey all the day, From every opening flower."
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BBB R YYY B U YY
[Footnote: Bees are wises; Be you wise.]
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HONEY-SWEET.
"Ah, but how do bees make honey?" Now the children, eager, ask; And we'll try to give them answer, If we're able for the task.
See, the under-lip is lengthened, Like a trunk or proboscis, Ending by a kind of button, Fringed with tiny moving hairs.
All along its length, too, fringes, Just the same, are growing forth; And by means of these, the honey Is conveyed from flowers to mouth.
Then the bee has two small stomachs, In the first of which is stored All the honey it can gather, But, when home, 'tis quick out-poured.
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Bees have six legs; and in hindmost, There are baskets found, or bags, Into which the pollen gathered, Is brushed off by the other legs.
And this pollen, for the bee-bread And as food for young, they use, Mixed with honey and with water,— Swallowed and disgorged like juice
By the nurses, who digest it Partly, for the larvae-food, Taking care that each shall have it, Just according to the brood.
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Now we'll watch and see them working; See them brush off pollen-dust; See them, too, disgorge the honey, Into cells the sweetness thrust.
Children, with your useful fingers, Hands and arms and feet and head, Do not let the bees surpass you, Making honey, nay, nor bread.
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WHAT THEY SAY.
Those creatures that chew the cud, The "RUMINANTS" we call, From "Rumen," or the stomach-pouch, In which their food doth fall.
A "SPECIES" is a kind Of animals or plants;— Each species has a different name, And differing traits and wants,—
And species may unite To form a RACE we know, For race from root is always drawn, And roots must spread and grow.
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That men and women are The race most choice and fine, We plainly see, and sometimes call, The Human Race Divine.
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The noble Horse neighs out, "I am the race Equine, And nearest seem, and dearest to The 'human race, divine.'"
The Ox and Cow l-o-o, l-o-o, "We are the race Bovine; And we most useful are, unto The 'human race, divine.'"
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The Ass and Mule bray out, "Our race is Assinine, And very like us seem some of The 'human race, divine.'"
The Dog bow-wows as race Canine, Canine, Canine; {212} While Tigers, Cats and Catamounts, G-r-o-w-l, growl, as race Feline.
The Lion, king of beasts (Feline), roars "Leonine;"— The Lamb that's to lie down with him, Ba-a, ba-as for race Ovine.
{213}
Fishes in lakes or seas or rivers Sport Piscine; While birds in air or cages close, Sing, "race Avine, Avine."
All bees in hives or wild, Hum out the race Apine; {214} And reptiles all rejoicing crawl In race Reptilian.
* * * * *
I've a name that's made up of three letters alone,— That reads backwards and forwards the same; I speak without sound,—yes, I talk without tongue. And to beauty I lay the first claim.
* * * * *
A word of three syllables, children, now find, That holds the whole twenty-six letters combined. [1]
The B ing m t, John put some: [2]
stand take to taking ——- —— — ——— [3] I you throw my
[Footnote 1: Alphabet]
[Footnote 2: The grate being empty, John put some coal on.]
[Footnote 3: I understand you undertake to overthrow my undertaking.]
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BRITAIN'S RULERS.
Old Britain was under the Romans From fifty-five years before Christ (55 B. C.) To four hundred fifty-five (455 A. D.) Then her eight States on home-rule insist.
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For many a year now they wrangle, Ah! yes, for quite three seventy-two, Being ruled now by this king, now that one, As each might the former o'erthrow.
But ever since eight-twenty-seven (827), Britain's rulers have reigned by descent, From Egbert, first "Monarch of England," To Victoria, daughter of Kent.
A score reigned and fell.—Second Harold In ten-sixty-six (1066), proud; usurps, But soon in fierce battle is conquered By William of Normandy's troops.
Then came William the Conqueror, a Norman, Then William the Second, his son; Then Henry and Stephen and Henry, Then Richard (Coeur de Lion), and John.
Next Henry the Third, and First Edward, Edward Second and Third, Richard, two (II). Henrys Fourth, Fifth and Sixth, and Fourth Edward Fifth Edward,—Third Richard, they rue.
Henry Seventh and Eighth, and Sixth Edward, Then Mary, Bess, James, and Charles First,— Eleven years then with no monarch; Second Charles, Second James, not the worst.
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Then William and Mary, then Anne, Four Georges, Fourth William, until Came Victoria, long live her queenship, For she wields her proud scepter with skill.
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OUR LAND.
A ship sailed over the blue, salt sea, For a man, Columbus called, Had thought that the world was round, and he Of the old ideas had palled.
So, in fourteen hundred and ninety-two, He sailed across from Spain, And found our continent so new— The "land beyond the main."
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But jealousies and rivalries And bickerings begun, And Christopher Columbus now With grief was overborne.
Americus Vespucius soon Our shores came sailing round, And stole the naming of the land Columbus sought and found;
While he, Columbus, lay in chains, And died in sore distress; Yet won for us who tread his land, A lasting blessedness.
* * * * *
Young I-know is saucy and pert, And thinks himself wondrously wise; But I-know, the second, steps in all so curt, And you'd think that each might lose his eyes.
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SIGNS OF THE ZODIAC.
THE annual path of the Sun, The Ecliptic is called, as we see,— And a belt, eight degrees, on each side, The Zodiac ever will be.
The principal planets all seem To move in the zodiac lines, While the belt, of itself, is cut up Into twelve equal parts, called the Signs.
And these signs were first named, we are told, From their fancied resemblance to beasts, Which astronomers thought they could see In the stars, from the West to the East.
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There is Aries, the Ram, then the Bull, Which is Taurus,—then Gemini, Twins; Then Cancer, a Crab and then Leo, A Lion, and Virgo, Virgin.
Next Libra, the Balance or Scales, And Scorpio, a Scorpion (with sting),— Sagittarius, the Archer or Arrow,— Capricornus, a Goat's horn we bring.
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Aquarius, the Bearer of Water,— And Pisces, or Fish from the sea,— All together make twelve, and a wonder It is, that these fancies should be.
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GRAPHO.
Children, you ought to know That Grapho can but mean To picture out, or tell about, Some object or some thing.
Now Geo means the earth; And so Geography Means picturing out or telling about This earth of ours, you see.
As Phono means a sound, Phonography so terse, Just pictures out or tells about The sounds of the human voice.
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As Photo means the light, Photography must mean A picturing of the light that falls Upon a thing, I ween.
Now Astro means the stars; And hence Astrography Means to describe or tell about The stars we all may see.
And then Astronomy Tells all the various laws That govern or relate to stars; Of their motions tells the cause.
Now Bios means a life; And so Biography Means writing out the life of one, Which we may often see.
Zoos means animal; And your Zoography Describes the animals that live On land or in the sea.
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Then there's Stenography, A writing narrow, small, Or, as so many call it now, "Short-hand," which tells it all.
And then Xylography— Engraving upon wood; And Crystallography as well, That tells of crystals good.
But these are ographies Enough for now, you think; Yet when you're older, wiser grown, You many more will link.
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THE STOP FAMILY.
"I'm a dot with a quirk," whispers little Miss Comma, "And you'll please not to pause long for me." "I'm a dot over Comma," says Miss Semicolon, "And you'll pause twice as long where I be."
"I am dot over dot," Master Colon speaks out, "You'll pause longer for me than they say:" "I am one dot alone," Period says with a tone That means: "Stop when you see me obey!"
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"I'm a hook over dot," says Dame Interrogation, "I ask questions; but answer? O, nay!" "I'm a splash over dot," says old Sir Exclamation; "I show wonder, delight, or dismay!"
"I'm a line east and west," says Miss Dash, "and I'm best At changing of subjects, you know."— "I am Dash's small sister," says Hyphen, and kissed her; "I unite words, or syl-la-bles, so."
Then said Marks of Parenthesis (carefully curved), "We inclose what you well may omit; But we're often displaced by Miss Dash (in your haste), Whom you sadly mistake for a wit."
Now Apostrophe, Caret, Quotation, exclaimed: "We are commas and hyphens combined; We leave out, or put in, or reveal to your kin What you've said, when their backs you're behind."
Then Star, Daggers, Parallels, Paragraph too, Started up, staring wildly about, {228} With "We rise to explain on the margin, 'tis plain, Or to point a new paragraph out."
Of the whole Punctuation, each knew his own station. Each did his own duty, we see; If we do ours as well, and of their's, too, can tell, We shall soon learn good readers to be.
* * * * *
"All is not gold that glitters;" Yet think not, children mine, That all that glitters is not gold; The true must ring and shine.
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LITTLE MISCHIEF.
Little Master Mischief Lives in Nellie's eye, Sitting in the corner, Peeping out so sly; Now he's crossed the snow-ground And in chamber blue, Thinking he is hidden, Peek-a-boos at you.
Now he drops the curtain, Sure that he is hid, But you see him dancing Even on the lid. Now, the curtains lifting, You can see he's crept To the inner chamber, Where the love-light slept.
Watching now his moment He pops out, and see, Mamma's spools and thimble Quickly disagree.
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Shall we punish Mischief? Better teach the child How to hold and lead him, Running now so wild.
Would she like her playthings Scattered here and there, When she had arranged them? Would she think it fair? Would she like her puzzle Portions of it, lost? Would she like her dishes Everywhere uptossed? Would she like her apron With a missing string, Mamma hunting, meanwhile, Thread and everything?
Nellie, learn the lesson: Be to others true, Always do as you would Have them do to you.
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This the dear Lord's precept,— This the Golden Rule,— This the highest lesson In our Nellie's school.
* * * * *
Be gentle and loving, Be kind and polite; Be thoughtful for others, Be sure and do right.
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GRANDMA'S CANARY.
Grandma loves her birdy, And when he gaily sings, She will laugh and chat with him, At which he hops and springs.
Fearing though, that birdy Might not understand, Grandma from the toy-shop, Brought a whistle grand.
Tuning now the whistle, To his sweet bird-note, He in singing back to her, Nearly burst his throat,
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Birdy, free outflying, Often comes to light On Grandma's tip-of-finger Or chair-back, pretty sight!
From her hand she feeds him, And he oft will take From her mouth the sugar, With a merry shake.
Yester-morn the window Being open wide, Birdy thought it brighter On the outer side.
Grandma mourning sadly, Shed of tears a few, Then she prayed the Father, "Show me what to do."
Soon she set his cage out On the window-sill, Saying, "Birdy'll come now, Oh, I'm sure he will!"
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Then she, hopeful, praying, "Bring my birdy home," Took the sweet bird-whistle, Playing "Birdy, come."
And the birdy hearing, Quickly came and lit On the cage, and shortly Flitted into it.
Thankful now was Grandma, To the dear Lord, who, Listening to her prayer Taught her what to do.
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A BABY'S FAITH.
Our Maude was dancing with her doll, In childhood's chattering glee; A brimming bucket standing by, The maiden failed to see, And skipping, tripped; the bucket tipped; The water, cool and clear, {237} Was rudely swayed, but, undismayed, And quickly kneeling near, Both little hands she spread above The water's merry surge. "And what's she doing there," we ask? No answer, till we urge, And then, "Why mamma, don't you know God stilled the waves so wild, With His great hand? And so I thought, Although I'm but a child, That I might still these little waves With my two hands so small; And mamma, see, they're quiet now! But where's my baby-doll?"
* * * * *
HEALTH AND HAPPINESS.
Mamma keeps her children In the happiest mood When she feeds them only With the simplest food. Viands clog and pain them, Then they fret and cry, And then when she whips them, Everything's awry.
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THE MEADOW QUAILS.
Over in the meadow where the men make hay, In an elm-tree shadow on a bright summer day, Two speckled quails ponder as to what will be best, Should the stout mower blunder on their pretty home-nest.
But a cloud in a minute from her great white bed Threw a big silver bonnet o'er the sun's golden head And the quails, though they wondered would their home be beset, Cried aloud, and it thundered: "More wet! more wet!"
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Then the great sturdy yeoman coming close to the nest, With the heart of a true man beating soft in his breast, Saw the parent-quails watching, with what fear who can tell? Saw the baby-quails hatching, hardly out of the shell.
And who knows but he thought of his own precious baby His dear little daughter in her mother's arms, maybe? For he quickly made over that portion of meadow With the sweetest of clover, and the softest of shadow.
To the quails who all summer lived alongside the lane, Ever warning the farmer of the forth-coming rain; For long ere it thundered and I hear the cry yet They would call as they wandered, "More wet! More wet!"
* * * * *
DIDN'T-THINK is a heedless lad And never takes the prize: Remember-well wins every time. For he is quick and wise.
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THE LITTLE HOUSEWIFE.
This little girl knows how to make A batch of bread, or loaf of cake; She helps to cook potatoes, beets, To boil or bake the fish and meats. She knows to sweep and make a bed, Can hem a handkerchief for Ned; In short, a little housewife she, As busy as the busy bee.
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Let every girl learn how to do All things that help to make life true; That serve to keep the home-hearth bright; That o'er life's burdens throw a light. And then if she may never need Herself to labor, she may lead Her household in the better way, That eft shall bring a brighter day.
The boys, too, let them learn to know Of household duties, and to sew; For oft a button, oft a rip, By sewing they may save a "fip." Yes, let them know that "woman's work" With many a turn and many a quirk, Is not "a play with straws," as some. Would seem to think. 'Tis making home.
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MOTHER-LOVE.
"AR-G-O-O, ar-g-o-o," is the song of songs, To the loving mother's ear; "Ar-g-o-o, ar-g-o-o," these baby notes Fill all the house with cheer.
The baby's laugh, the baby's coo. The baby's every move, Is music, joy, and grace to her, Who is rich in mother-love.
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The precious pearl that is first unlocked By Nature's mystic key, From out the baby's jewel-box, Makes mamma's jubilee.
The day of baby's mastership To raise himself upright, An era marks along the way, By mother-love made light.
Her mother-voice lures on his step, Her care protects from harm; While deeper into her heart he glides, With every opening charm.
And when he "ma-ma" sweetly says, Or "pa-pa," in her breast His throne is fixed forevermore, This prince of babes confessed.
When threads of thought begin to spin, And webs of mind to weave, When kindling soul looks out at eyes That know not to deceive,—
The mother's holiest task to keep Her darling pure and true; Her constant care, her watchful prayer, Alone can guide him through
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The maze his youthful feet must tread, And if perchance he fall, Her baby still in him she sees, Her love can cover it all.
O, the wondrous love the baby brings, Is far beyond our ken! We only know that the fount once oped, Can never be dry again.
* * * * *
IT SNOWS! IT SNOWS!
It snows! yes, it snows! and the children are wild, At thought of the fun in the snow-drifts up-piled; The boy with his first new boots is in sight, And the wee baby-girl, with her mittens so bright. They are tramping and tossing the snow as they run, And laughing and shouting, so brimful of fun; While the ten-year-old twins, in a somersault mood, Have measured their length from the barn to the wood. A dozen times, yes, or it may be a score, Till their cheeks are as red as the roses, and more; Then the elfin of twelve and the boy of fifteen, Are pelting each other with snowballs so keen, That we, who are older, forget to be staid, {245} And shout, each with each, as the youngsters, arrayed In feathery garments, press on or retreat, Determined to win, nor acknowledge defeat, And the snow tumbles down with such beauty and grace That the air seems filled up with soft, bridal-veil lace, Through whose meshes the sunbeams shall kiss Mother Earth, Till the buds and the blossoms are bred into birth. But the children, at length, tired out with their play, And stamping the snow from their feet by the way, Come slipping and stumbling and scrambling along, While the big brother catching the baby-girl's song, "Oh, my finders are told!" gives her now a gay toss, The golden hair streaming like distaff of floss; And so cheery the group that is ranged round the board, That for snow, blessed snow! we all thank the good Lord.
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AN OLD SAW.
"If you'll break the first brake And will kill the first snake, You'll be sure to go through With what you undertake."
Thus our Grandma, quaint but queenly, Taught us grand-bairns one by one; And the lesson relished keenly Filled each spring-time full of fun.
For the watchful eyes were eager, And the flying feet must roam Till they every nook beleaguer Round the old ancestral home.
* * * * *
But 'twas not the broken brakelet That wrought good for after years; Not the killing of the snakelet, But the conquering of fears,
And the patient, wistful watching, Educating thought and eye, Made the brakelet and the snakelet Types of weal for bye and bye.
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THE DANDELION BLOSSOM.
In the spring when the grass Had sprung up in the pass, And the meadows with velvet were green, We children would tease, "O, dear mother, please Let us doff shoes and stockings, (Ah! naught gave us shockings), And barefooted run o'er the leas, Aye, barefooted run o'er the leas."
And mother, so wise, Looking into our eyes,— {249} "There's a snowdrift down under the hill! But when you will bring me, Yes, when you will fling me A dandelion blossom To wear on my bosom You may barefooted run as you will, Aye, barefooted run as you will."
So for "guineas of gold," O'er the dandelion-wold, We hunted afar and anear; And with shouts of delight We all greeted the sight Of the fully-blown flower Presaging the shower Of bright blossoms that brought us such cheer, Aye, the blossoms that brought us such cheer.
* * * * *
FEAR naught save that which slimes thee o'er With falsity or fraud:— Let thine own soul stand clean and white Before its maker, God.
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SUNSHINE.
The sun shines on forever Though clouds may hide his face; His brightness and his glory The whole wide world may trace For clouds are naught but vapor Whose fleecy veils unfold, And softest silver lining We then with joy behold.
* * * * *
OUR ETHEL.
Our Ethel was not always, As people may have thought, A goody-goody little girl Who never mischief wrought.
Oh, no, our darling Ethel, The precious little woman, Although so very dear to us, Was most intensely human.
She waded into mischief Like ducklets into water, And kept us ever on the watch With, "Daughter!" "Oh, my Daughter!"
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She took the ribbon from her hair The kitten to bedeck, Then brought its tail between its legs And tied it tail and neck.
She took her dolly to the pump And pinned it on the spout, And then with all her might and main She pumped the water out.
"Oh, little Haynth tho' thelfith,' She cried, because her cousin {252} Besought one pillow, while she hugged Them all, a half a dozen.
She found a bell that tinkled, And fastened it, for fun, 'Round kitty's neck then clapped her hands, And cried, run! Kitty, run!
She fain would pick the eyes out, Of little baby-brother, "To find the pretty balls like those In fishes' eyes, and other."
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And then she'd fold her little hands So quaintly and demurely, You'd think she must be quite a saint, Or not a sinner, surely.
And thus her pranks from day to day And hour to hour repeated, Would bring the thought, "Tis all for naught, Our aims are all defeated."
* * * * *
Nay, nay, not so, the years roll by, And Ethel's baby-mischief Becomes the power that leads her kind, For by her force she is chief.
* * * * *
THE SIX SISTERS.
ONE of us e'er lives in dates, One in every peach awaits; One in pine-apple is found, One in orange, bright and round, One in plum, so luscious sweet, And our last in strawberry—treat.
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THE LITTLE GIRLS' LETTER TO GOD.
Now Susy's such a naughty dirl, And I ain't any better, And so we thought we just would wite The dear dood Dod a letter.
And tell him all about our bad, Betause he'd have to know, Or else he touldn't mate us dood, And so we told him how,
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Once when I spit on Susy's dwess Then Susy spit on me; And when I bwote her dolly's arm She smashed my Twistmas-twee.
Then when I pushed her off the wall, She spattered me with mud; When I pulled up her tolumbine, She snapped my wed wose-bud
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I talled her "old dwanmother Dwill" And she tailed me "old maid,"— And then we stwatched each others' eyes Down in the darden shade.
And then my ma and Susy's ma Both said the only way Would be to teep us little dirls Apart in all our play.
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And so the bid, brown date was shut, And that was such a bother,— 'Tause Susy's yard was on one side And mine was on the other.
But we tould peet thwough all the twats, And tiss us thwough the hole Where the bid, udly knot tame out, As bid as Susy's bowl,
For I love Susy awful much, And Susy she loves me, And so we told the dear, dood Dod We'd twy dood dirls to be.
So now when we just feel the bad A-tomin' in our heart, We both wun home and shut the date And teep ourselves apart.
And in a minute all the dood Tomes bat,—and then our plays Seem nicer yet, and we fordet The naughty,—naughty—ways.
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GRANDMA'S LESSONS.
"Tis guilt to wear the garb of sin, Though all be innocent within," These little girls heard grandma say, And wondered if 'twere half in play. But when they're wiser, older grown, And when the world to them is known, They'll learn to shun even seeming ill; They'll learn with grace their lives to fill, And thank dear grandma o'er and o'er, For this, and many lessons more. "'Tis guilt to wear the garb of sin, Though all be innocent within."
"If you do well by others' ills, You'll do right well," she said, When we would come and tell about The naughtiness of Ned. "Now children, if you shun the bad You may in others find, And never let yourself be rude, Or naughty, or unkind, You'll learn to do by others' ills Right well," dear grandma said, "And in the way that's good and true, Your youthful feet shall tread."
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MY LITTLE FOUR-YEARS-OLD
Telling Dolly what she will say to her birthday friends
I'm four years old to-day, and I Can talk enough for ten birth-days, And I shan't rhyme it, neither;— For little girls can't do it nice. No matter what they think, and so They needn't try, no, never.
I'm glad you all are here, and now, With all our dollies in a row, I'm sure we'll have good times; And when we have our apples, grapes, And nuts and figs and patty-cakes, Who'll care for silly rhymes! |
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