Page 89—Play Land

The Baby's Debut
My brother Jack was nine in May,
And I was eight on New Year's day;
So in Kate Wilson's shop
Papa (he's my papa and Jack's)
Bought me, last week, a doll of wax,
And brother Jack a top.
Jack's in the pouts, and this it is,
He thinks mine came to more than his;
So to my drawer he goes,
Takes out the doll, and, O, my stars!
He pokes her head between the bars,
And melts off half her nose!
Quite cross, a bit of string I beg,
And tie it to his peg-top's peg,
And bang with might and main,
It's head against the parlor door:
Off flies the head, and hits the floor,
And breaks a window-pane.
This made him cry with rage and spite:
Well, let him cry, it serves him right.
A pretty thing, forsooth!
If he's to melt, all scalding hot.
Half my doll's nose, and I am not
To draw his peg-top's tooth!
Aunt Hannah heard the window break,
And cried "O naughty Nancy Lake,
Thus to distress your aunt:
No Drury-lane for you to-day!"
And while papa said "Pooh, she may!"
Mamma said "No she sha'n't!"
Well, after many a sad reproach,
They got into a hackney coach,
And trotted down the street.
I saw them go: one horse was blind,
The tails of both hung down behind,
Their shoes were on their feet.
The chaise in which poor brother Bill
Used to be drawn to Pentonville,
Stood in the lumber-room:
I wiped the dust from off the top,
While molly mopp'd it with a mop,
And brush'd it with a broom.
My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes,
Came in at six to black the shoes,
(I always talk to Sam:)
So what does he, but takes, and drags
Me in the chaise among the flags,
And leaves me where I am.
My father's walls are made of brick,
But not so tall and not so thick
As these; and, goodness me!
My father's beams are made of wood,
But never, never half so good
As those that now I see.
What a large floor! 'tis like a town!
The carpet, when they lay it down,
Won't hide it, I'll be bound;
And there's a row of lamps!—my eye!
How they do blaze! I wonder why
They keep them on the ground.

Let the Child Play
He who checks a child with terror,
Stops its play and stills its song,
Not alone commits an error
But a great and grievous wrong.
Give it play, and never fear it;
Active life is no defect.
Never, never break its spirit;
Curb it only to direct.
Would you stop the flowing river,
Thinking it would cease to flow?
Onward in must flow forever;
Better teach it where to go.

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