In My Nursery

by Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards

The Phrisky Phrog

Now list, oh! list to the piteous tale
Of the Phrisky Phrog and the Sylvan Snayle;
Of their lives and their loves, their joys and their woes,
And all about them that any one knows.

The Phrog lived down in a grewsome bog,
The Snayle in a hole in the end of a log;
And they loved each other so fond and true,
They didn't know what in the world to do.

For the Snayle declared 'twas too cold and damp
For a lady to live in a grewsome swamp;
While her lover replied, that a hole in a log
Was no possible place for a Phrisky Phrog.

"Come down! come down, my beautiful Snayle!
With your helegant horns and your tremulous tail;
Come down to my bower in the blossomy bog,
And be happy with me," said the Phrisky Phrog.

"Come up, come up, to my home so sweet,
Where there's plenty to drink, and the same to eat;
Come up where the cabbages bloom in the vale,
And be happy with me," said the Sylvan Snayle.

But he wouldn't come, and she wouldn't go,
And so they could never be married, you know;
Though they loved each other so fond and true,
They didn't know what in the world to do.

---

[THE AMBITIOUS CHICKEN.]

It was an Easter chicken
So blithesome and so gay;
He peeped from out his plaster shell
All on an Easter Day.

His wings were made of yellow down,
His eyes were made of beads;
He seemed, in very sooth, to have
All that a chicken needs.

He winked and blinked and peeped about,
And to himself he said,
"When first a chicken leaves the shell,
Of course he must be fed.

"And though I may be young in years,
And this my natal morn,
I'm quite, quite old enough to know
Where people keep the corn."

He winked and blinked and peeped about,
Till in a corner sly
He saw a heap of golden corn
Piled on a platter high.

"Now, this is well!" the chicken cried;
"Now, this is well, in sooth.
This corn shall nourish and sustain
My faint and tender youth.

"And I shall grow and grow apace,
And come to high estate,
With mighty feathers in my tail,
And combs upon my pate.

"To see my beauty and my grace
The feathered race will flock,
And all will bow them low before
The mighty Easter Cock."

As thus the chicken proudly spake,
And stooped to snatch the prize,
His head fell off, and rolled away
Before his very eyes!!!!

It rolled into the dish of corn,
A sad and sombre sight,
While still upon its plaster legs,
His body stood upright.

And little Mary, when she came
With shining "popper" bright,
To pop the corn, and make the balls
Which were her heart's delight,

Gazed at the dish with wide blue eyes,
And "Oh! Mamma!" she said:
"One piece has gone and popped itself
Into a chicken's head!"

---

[THE BOY AND THE BROOK.]

Said the boy to the brook that was rippling away,
"Oh, little brook, pretty brook, will you not stay?
Oh, stay with me, play with me, all the day long,
And sing in my ears your sweet murmuring song."
Said the brook to the boy as it hurried away,
"And is't for my music you ask me to stay?
I was silent until from the hillside I gushed;
Should I pause for an instant, my song would be hushed."

Said the boy to the wind that was fluttering past,
"Oh, little wind, pretty wind, whither so fast?
Oh, stay with me, play with me, fan my hot brow,
And ever breathe softly and gently as now."
Said the wind to the boy as it hurried away,
"And is't for my coolness you ask me to stay?
'Tis only in flying you feel my cool breath;
Should I pause for an instant, that instant were death."

Said the boy to the day that was hurrying by,
"Oh, little day, pretty day, why must you fly?
Oh, stay with me, play with me, just as you are;
Let no shadow of evening your noon-brightness mar."
Said the day to the boy as it hurried away,
"And is't for my brightness you ask me to stay?
Know, the jewel of day would no longer seem bright,
If it were not clasped round by the setting of night."

---

[THE SHARK.]

Oh! blithe and merrily sang the shark,
As he sat on the house-top high:
A-cleaning his boots, and smoking cheroots,
With a single glass in his eye.

With Martin and Day he polished away,
And a smile on his face did glow,
As merry and bold the chorus he trolled
Of "Gobble-em-upsky ho!"

He sang so loud, he astonished the crowd
Which gathered from far and near.
For they said, "Such a sound, in the country round,
We never, no, never did hear."

He sang of the ships that he'd eaten like chips
In the palmy days of his youth.
And he added, "If you don't believe it is true,
Pray examine my wisdom tooth!"

He sang of the whales who'd have given their tails
For a glance of his raven eye.
And the swordfish, too, who their weapons all drew,
And swor'd for his sake they'd die.

And he sang about wrecks and hurricane decks
And the mariner's perils and pains,
Till every man's blood up on end it stood,
And their hair ran cold in their veins.

But blithe as a lark the merry old shark,
He sat on the sloping roof.
Though he said, "It is queer that no one draws near
To examine my wisdom toof!"

And he carolled away, by night and by day,
Until he made every one ill.
And I'll wager a crown that unless he's come down,
He is probably carolling still.

---

[THE EASTER HEN.]

Oh! children, have you ever seen
The little Easter Hen,
Who comes to lay her pretty eggs,
Then runs away again?

She only comes on Easter Day;
And when that day is o'er,
Till next year brings it round again,
You will not see her more.

Her eggs are not like common eggs,
But all of colors bright:
Blue, purple, red, with spots and stripes,
And scarcely one that's white.

She lays them in no special place,—
On this side, now on that.
And last year, only think! she laid
One right in Johnny's hat.

But naughty boys and girls get none:
So, children, don't forget!
And be as good as good can be—
It is not Easter yet!

---

[PUMP AND PLANET.]

With a hop, skip, and jump,
We went to the pump,
To fill our kettles with starch.
He gave us good day
In the pleasantest way,
With a smile that was winning and arch.

"Oh, Pump," said I,
"When you look up on high
To flirt with the morning star,
Does it make you sad,
Oh! Pumpy, my lad,
To think she's away so far?"

Said the Pump, "Oh no!
For we've settled it so
That but little my feelings are tried.
For every clear night
She slides down the moonlight,
And shines in the trough at my side."

PUMP AND PLANET.

---

[THE POSTMAN.]

Hey! the little postman,
And his little dog.
Here he comes a-hopping
Like a little frog;
Bringing me a letter,
Bringing me a note,
In the little pocket
Of his little coat.

Hey! the little postman,
And his little bag,
Here he comes a-trotting
Like a little nag;
Bringing me a paper,
Bringing me a bill,
From the little grocer
On the little hill.

Hey! the little postman,
And his little hat,
Here he comes a-creeping
Like a little cat.
What is that he's saying?
"Naught for you to-day!"
Horrid little postman!
I wish you'd go away!

---

[HOPSY UPSY.]

Hopsy upsy, Baby oh!
Into your bath you now must go;
Splash and dash, and paddle and plash,
That's what you like, my Baby oh!

Where is the sponge for Baby oh?
See the silvery fountains flow,—
Diamond drops so bright and clear,
Falling all over my Baby dear.

Now for the soap, my Baby oh!
Watch the bubbles that come and go;
Rainbow isles in a sea of foam,
Reflecting your smiles, they go and come.

Here is the towel for Baby oh!
Cannot stay in all day, you know;
Now scrub and rub, and rub and scrub,
And so good-by to the beautiful tub.

Now for the shirt, my Baby oh!
Soft and warm, and as white as snow.
Puffy white petticoats, fluffy white gown;
Why, what a great ball of thistle-down!

Last come the curls, my Baby oh!
Soft as silver they fall and flow.
Now toss him up and carry him down,
The bonniest Baby in Boston town!

---

[LITTLE BLACK MONKEY.]

Little black Monkey sat up in a tree,
Little black Monkey he grinned at me;
He put out his paw for a cocoanut,
And he dropped it down on my occiput.

The occiput is a part, you know,
Of the head which does on my shoulders grow;
And it's very unpleasant to have it hit,
Especially when there's no hair on it.

I took up my gun, and I said, "Now, why,
Little black Monkey, should you not die?
I'll hit you soon in a vital part!
It may be your head, or it may be your heart."

I steadied my gun, and I aimed it true;
The trigger it snapped and the bullet it flew;
But just where it went to I cannot tell,
For I never could find where that bullet fell.

Little black Monkey still sat in the tree,
And placidly, wickedly grinned at me.
I took up my gun and I walked away,
And postponed his death till another day.

---

[JIPPY AND JIMMY.]

Jippy and Jimmy were two little dogs.
They went to sail on some floating logs;
The logs rolled over, the dogs rolled in,
And they got very wet, for their clothes were thin.

Jippy and Jimmy crept out again.
They said, "The river is full of rain!"
They said, "The water is far from dry!
Ki-hi! ki-hi! ki-hi-yi! ki-hi!"

Jippy and Jimmy went shivering home.
They said, "On the river no more we'll roam;
And we won't go to sail until we learn how,
Bow-wow! bow-wow! bow-wow-wow! bow-wow!"

---

[MASTER JACK'S SONG.]

[Written after spending the Christmas Holidays at Grandmamma's.]

You may talk about your groves,
Where you wander with your loves.
You may talk about your moonlit waves that fall and flow.
Something fairer far than these
I can show you, if you please.
'Tis the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

Chorus. Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me,
On the land or on the sea,
Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

There the golden peaches shine
In their syrup clear and fine,
And the raspberries are blushing with a dusky glow.
And the cherry and the plum
Seem to beckon you to come
To the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

Chorus. Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me,
On the land or on the sea,
Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

There the sprightly pickles stand,
With the catsup close at hand,
And the marmalades and jellies in a goodly row.
While the quinces' ruddy fire
Would an anchorite inspire
To seek the little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

Chorus. Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me,
On the land or on the sea,
Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

Never tell me of your bowers
That are full of bugs and flowers!
Never tell me of your meadows where the breezes blow!
But sing me, if you will,
Of the house beneath the hill,
And the darling little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

Chorus. Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me,
On the land or on the sea,
Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

---

[MOTHER ROSEBUSH.]

There are roses that grow on a vine, on a vine,
There are roses that grow on a stalk;
But my little Rose
Grows on ten little toes,
So I'll take my Rose out for a walk.
Come out in the garden, Rosy Posy,
Come visit your cousins, child, with me!
If you are my daughter, it stands to reason
Your own Mother Rosebush I must be.

Now, here is your cousin Damask, Rosy!
And, Rosy, here is your cousin Blush;
General Jacqueminot,
(Your uncle, you know,)
Salutes you hero with his crimson flush.
Here's Gloire de Dijon, a splendid fellow,
All creamy and dreamy and soft and sweet;
And Cloth-of-Gold, with his coat of yellow,
Is dropping rose-nobles here at your feet.

My Baltimore Belle, my Queen of the Prairie,
Now, why are your ladyships looking so cross?
Lord Butterfly, see!
And Sir Honey de Bee,
Have deserted them both for your sweet cousin Moss.
All! Maréchal Niel, I am glad to observe, sir,
You train up your buds in the way they should go,
All buttoned up close; while careless Niphetos
Lets her children go fluttering to and fro.

You whitest beauty, what is your name, now?
"Snow Queen?" Ay, and it suits you well!
And yonder, I see,
Is my friend Cherokee,
Who will not stop climbing, his name to tell;
And hero and there are blushing and blowing
Crimson and yellow and white and pink;
Pale or angry, gleaming or glowing.
The whole world's turning to roses, I think.

Oh! fair is the rose on the vine, on the vine,
And sweet is the rose on the tree;
But there's only one Rose
That has ten little toes,
And she is the Rose for me.
Come, put on your calyx, Rosy Posy,
Put on your calyx and come with me;
For if you are my daughter, it stands to reason,
Your own Mother Rosebush I must be.

---

[THE FIVE LITTLE PRINCESSES.]

Five little princesses started off to school,
Following their noses, because it was the rule;
But one nose turned up, and another nose turned down,
So all these little princesses were lost in the town.

Poor little princesses cannot find their way.
Naughty little noses, to lead them astray!
Poor little princesses, sadly they roam;
Naughty little noses, pray lead them home!

---

[THE HORNET AND THE BEE.]

Said the hornet to the bee,
"Pray you, will you marry me?
Will you be my little wife,
For to love me all my life?
You shall have a velvet cloak,
And a bonnet with a poke.
You shall sit upon a chair
With a cabbage in your hair.
You shall ride upon a horse,
If you fancy such a course.
You shall feed on venison pasty
In a manner trig and tasty;
Devilled bones and apple-cores,
If you like them, shall be yours.
You shall drink both rum and wine,
If you only will be mine.
Pray you, will you marry me?"
Said the hornet to the bee.

Said the bee unto the hornet,
"Your proposal, sir, I scorn it.
Marry one devoid of money,
Who can't make a drop of honey?
Cannot even play the fiddle,
And is pinched up in the middle?
Nay, my love is set more high.

Cockychafer's bride am I.
Cockychafer whirring loud,
Frisking free and prancing proud,
Cockychafer blithe and gay,
He hath stole my heart away.
Him alone I mean to marry,
So no longer you need tarry.
Not another moment stay!
Cockychafer comes this way.
Your proposal, sir, I scorn it!"
Said the bee unto the hornet.

So the cockychafer came,
Took the bee to be his dame.
Took the bee to be his wife,
For to love her all his life.
Wedding dress of goblin green,
Hat and feathers for a queen,
Worsted mittens on her feet,
Thus her toilet was complete.
Then when it was time to dine,
Cockychafer brought her wine,
Roasted mouse and bunny-fish,
Porridge in a silver dish;
Lobster-claws and scalloped beast.
Was not that a lovely feast?
But when it was time to sup,
Cockychafer ate her up.
Thus concludes the history
Of the hornet and the bee.

---

[THE THREE LITTLE CHICKENS WHO WENT OUT TO TEA, AND THE ELEPHANT.]

Little chickens, one, two, three,
They went out to take their tea,
Brisk and gay as gay could be,
Cackle wackle wackle!
Feathers brushed all smooth and neat,
Yellow stockings on their feet,
Tails and tuftings all complete,
Cackle wackle wackle!

"Very seldom," said the three,
"Like of us the world can see,
Beautiful exceedingly,
Cackle wackle wackle!
Such our form and such our face,
Such our Cochin China grace,
We must win in beauty's race,
Cackle wackle wackle!"

Met an elephant large and wise,
Looked at them with both his eyes:
Caused these chickens great surprise,
Cackle wackle wackle!
"Why," they said, "do you suppose
Elephant doesn't look out of his nose,
So very conveniently it grows?
Cackle wackle wackle!

"Elephant with nose so long,
Sing on now a lovely song,
As we gayly trip along,
Cackle wackle wackle!
Sing of us and sing of you,
Sing of corn and barley too,
Beauteous beast with eyes of blue,
Cackle wackle wackle!"

Elephant sang so loud and sweet,
Chickens fell before his feet;
For his love they did entreat,
Cackle wackle wackle.
"Well-a-day! and woe is me!
Would we all might elephants be!
Then he'd marry us, one, two, three,
Cackle wackle wackle!"

Elephant next began to dance:
Capered about with a stately prance
Learned from his grandmother over in France,
Cackle wackle wackle!
Fast and faster 'gan to tread,
Trod on every chicken's head,
Killed them all uncommonly dead,
Cackle wackle wackle!

MORAL.

Little chickens, one, two, three,
When you're walking out to tea,
Don't make love to all you see,
Cackle wackle wackle!
Elephants have lovely eyes,
But to woo them is not wise,
For they are not quite your size!
Cackle wackle wackle!

---

[A LEGEND OF LAKE OKEEFINOKEE.]

There once was a frog,
And he lived in a bog,
On the banks of Lake Okeefinokee.
And the words of the song
That he sang all day long
Were, "Croakety croakety croaky."

Said the frog, "I have found
That my life's daily round
In this place is exceedingly poky.
So no longer I'll stop,
But I swiftly will hop
Away from Lake Okeefinokee."

Now a bad mocking-bird
By mischance overheard
The words of the frog as he spokee.
And he said, "All my life
Frog and I've been at strife,
As we lived by Lake Okeefinokee.

"Now I see at a glance
Here's a capital chance
For to play him a practical jokee.
So I'll venture to say
That he shall not to-day
Leave the banks of Lake Okeefinokee."

So this bad mocking-bird,
Without saying a word,
He flew to a tree which was oaky.
And loudly he sang,
Till the whole forest rang,
"Oh! Croakety croakety croaky!"

As he warbled this song,
Master Frog came along,
A-filling his pipe for to smokee,
And he said, "'Tis some frog
Has escaped from the bog
Of Okeefinokee-finokee.

"I am filled with amaze
To hear one of my race
A-warbling on top of an oaky;
But if frogs can climb trees,
I may still find some ease
On the banks of Lake Okeefinokee."

So he climbed up the tree;
But alas! down fell he!
And his lovely green neck it was brokee;
And the sad truth to say,
Never more did he stray
From the banks of Lake Okeefinokee.

And the bad mocking-bird
Said, "How very absurd
And delightful a practical jokee!"
But I'm happy to say
He was drowned the next day
In the waters of Okeefinokee.

---

[GRANDPAPA'S VALENTINE.]

I may not claim her lovely hand,
My darling and my pride!
I may not ask her to become
My bright and beauteous bride;
The measure of my love for her
May not be said or sung;
And all because I'm rather old,
And she is rather young.

I may not clasp her slender waist,
And thread the mazy dance;
I may not drive her in the Park,
With steeds that neigh and prance.
I may not tempt her with my lands,
Nor buy her with my gold;
And all because she's rather young,
And I am rather old.

She leaves me for a younger swain,
A plump and beardless boy.
She slights me for a sugar-plum,
Neglects me for a toy.
And worst of all, this state of things
Can never altered be;
For I am nearly sixty-eight,
And she is only three.

---

[ALIBAZAN.]

All on the road to Alibazan,
A May Day in the morning,
'Twas there I met a bonny young man,
A May Day in the morning;
A bonny young man all dressed in blue,
Hat and feather and stocking and shoe,
Ruff and doublet and mantle too,
A May Day in the morning.

He made me a bow, and he made me three,
A May Day in the morning;
He said, in truth, I was fair to see,
A May Day in the morning.
"And say, will you be my sweetheart now?
I'll marry you truly with ring and vow;
I've ten fat sheep and a black-nosed cow,
A May Day in the morning.

"What shall we buy in Alibazan,
A May Day in the morning?
A pair of shoes and a feathered fan,
A May Day in the morning.
A velvet gown all set with pearls,
A silver hat for your golden curls,
A pot of pinks for my pink of girls,
A May Day in the morning."

All in the streets of Alibazan,
A May Day in the morning,
The merry maidens tripped and ran,
A May Day in the morning.
And this was fine, and that was free,
But he turned from them all to look on me;
And "Oh! but there's none so fair to see,
A May Day in the morning."

All in the church of Alibazan,
A May Day in the morning,
'Twas there I wed my bonny young man,
A May Day in the morning.
And oh! 'tis I am his sweetheart now!
And oh! 'tis we are happy, I trow,
With our ten fat sheep and our black-nosed cow,
A May Day in the morning.

---

[THE THREE FISHERS.]

John, Frederick, and Henry,
Had once a holiday;
And they would go a-fishing,
So merry and so gay.
They went to fish for salmon,
These little children three;
As in this pretty picture
You all may plainly see.

It was not in the ocean,
Nor from the river shore,
But in the monstrous water-butt
Outside the kitchen door.
And John he had a fish-hook,
And Fred a crooked pin,
And Henry took his sister's net,
And thought it was no sin.

They climbed up on the ladder,
Till they the top did win;
And then they perched upon the edge,
And then they did begin.
But how their fishing prospered,
Or if they did it well,
Or if they caught the salmon,
I cannot, cannot tell.

Because I was not there, you know,
But I can only say
That I too went a-fishing,
That pleasant summer day.
It was not for a salmon,
Or shark with monstrous fin,
But it was for three little boys,
All dripping to the skin.

---

[PEEPSY.]

[After the manner of Jane Taylor.]

Our Julia has a little bird,
And Peepsy is his name;
And now I'll sing a little song
To celebrate the same.

He's yellow all from head to foot,
And he is very sweet,
And very little trouble, for
He never wants to eat.

He never asks for water clear,
He never chirps for seed,
For cracker, or for cuttlefish,
For sugar or chickweed.

"Oh! what a perfect pet!" you cry,
But there's one little thing,
One drawback to the bonny bird,—
Our Peepsy cannot sing.

He chirps no song at dawn or eve,
He makes no merry din;
But this one cannot wonder at,
For Peepsy's made of tin.

---

[MAY SONG.]

On a certain First of May,
So they say,
Came two merry little maids
Out to play.
Brown-haired Jeanie, sweet and wise,
Fair-haired Norah, with her eyes
Blue as are the morning skies.
Each in cap and kirtle gay,
Pretty little maids were they;
Light of heart and well content,
Through the fields they singing went,
On a merry First of May,
So they say.

On this merry First of May,
So they say,
Came two sturdy little lads
By that way.
Miller's Robin from the mill,
Shepherd's Johnnie from the hill;
Bonny little lads, I trow,
Sunny eyes and open brow,
Ruddy cheeks and curly hair,
Sturdy legs all brown and bare,
Through the fields they marched along,
Whistling each his cheery song,
On a merry First of May,
So they say.

On this merry First of May,
So they say,
Lads and lasses, there they met
On their way.
Said the lads, "We'll choose a queen!
May Day comes but once, I ween.
Search we all the country round,
Sweeter maids could not be found."
Laughed the lasses merrily,
"Ay! but which one shall it be?
John and Robin, tell us true,
Which is fairer of the two,
On this merry First of May?
Quickly say!"

On this merry First of May,
So they say,
Shepherd Johnnie hushed his whistle
Blithe and gay;
"Brown eyes are more fair," said he,
"For they shine so winsomely!"
"Nay!" quoth Robin, "'tis confessed
Blue eyes always are the best!
Fair-haired Norah wins the prize!"
"That she does not!" Johnnie cries;
"Norah's well enough, but Jean,
Brown and sweet, shall be the queen
On this merry First of May!
Choose my way!"

On this merry First of May,
So they say,
Soon to earnest turned their play.
Well-a-day!
Loud and angry words arose,
Angry words soon turned to blows;
John and Robin o'er the ground
Chase each other round and round,
Kicking, cuffing, here and there,
Shouting through the sweet May air:
"Jeanie!" "Norah!—is more fair!"
While the little maids aside,
Blue eyes, brown eyes, open wide
On this stormy First of May,
Well-a-day!

On this merry First of May,
So they say,
Jean and Norah stole away
From the fray.
"Silly lads!" they laughing cried,
"Let them as they will decide;
Shall we while they quarrel, pray,
Lose our pretty holiday?
Come away, and we may find
Other lads, who know their mind.
Or if not, why then, I ween,
Each will be the other's queen,
On this merry First of May.
Come away!"

---

[TWO LITTLE VALENTINES.]

[For two little girls.]

I.

Young Rosalind, she is my rose!
I care not who the secret knows;
So deep within my heart she grows,
Her constant bloom no winter knows;
Sweet Rosalind, she is my rose.

Alas! this rose hath yet a thorn,
Whereon my heart is daily torn.
The love I proffer her each morn,
That love she flings me back in scorn.
But shall I therefore idly mourn?
She'd be no rose without the thorn.

II.

When the ivory lily darkens,
When the jealous rose turns pale,
Then I say, "My Julia's coming!
'Tis a sign will never fail."

When the bobolink is silent,
When the linnet stays her trill,
Then I say, "My Julia's singing!
At her voice the birds are still."

When I feel two velvet rose-leaves
Touch my eyes on either lid,
Then I say, "My Julia kissed me!"
And she answers, "Yes, me did!"

---

[A HOWL ABOUT AN OWL.]

It was an owl lived in an oak,
Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!
He often smiled, but he seldom spoke,
And he wore a wig and a camlet cloak.
Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!
Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!

He fell in love with the chickadee,
Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!
He askèd her, would she marry he,
And they'd go and live in Crim Tartaree.
Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!
Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!

"'Tis true," says he, "you are far from big."
Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!
"But you'll look twice as well when I've bought you a wig,
And I'll teach you the Lancers and the Chorus Jig."
Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!
Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!

"I'll feed you with honey when the moon grows pale."
Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!
"I'll hum you a hymn, and I'll sing you a scale,
Till you quiver with delight to the tip of your tail!"
Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!
Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!

So he went for to marry of the chickadee,
Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!
But the sun was so bright that he could not see,
So he marrièd the hoppergrass instead of she.
And wasn't that a sad disappointment for he!
Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!
Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!

---

[OUR CELEBRATION.]

Off go the fire-crackers, bang! bang! bang!
Off go the fire-crackers, bang! bang! bang!
Popguns all a-snapping, and banners all a-flapping,—
Off go the fire-crackers, bang! bang! bang!

Off the torpedoes go, crack! crack! crack!
Off the torpedoes go, crack! crack! crack!
Fish-horns all a-tooting, and schoolboys all a-hooting,—
Off the torpedoes go, crack! crack! crack!

Off go the fireworks, fizz! fizz! fizz!
Off go the fireworks, fizz! fizz! fizz!
Pin-wheels all a-turning, and fingers all a-burning,—
Off go the fireworks, fizz! fizz! fizz!

Off goes our little Ned, boo-hoo-hoo!
Off goes our little Ned, boo-hoo-hoo!
Big hole in his jacket, and another in his pocket,
Half the hair singed off his head,
Off goes our little Ned,—
Mamma'll put him straight to bed, boo-hoo-hoo!

---

[THE SONG OF THE CORN-POPPER.]

Pip! pop! flippety flop!
Here am I, all ready to pop.
Girls and boys, the fire burns clear;
Gather about the chimney here.
Big ones, little ones, all in a row.
Hop away! pop away! here we go!

Pip! pop! flippety flop!
Into the bowl the kernels drop.
Sharp and hard and yellow and small;
Must say they don't look good at all.
But wait till they burst into warm white snow!
Hop away! pop away! here we go!

Pip! pop! flippety flop!
Don't fill me too full; shut down the top!
Rake out the coals in an even bed,
Topaz yellow and ruby red;
Shade your eyes from the fiery glow.
Hop away! pop away! here we go!

Pip! pop! flippety flop!
Shake me steadily; do not stop!
Backward and forward, not up and down;
Don't let me drop, or you'll burn it brown.
Never too high and never too low.
Hop away! pop away! here we go!

Pip! pop! flippety flop!
Now they are singing, and soon they'll hop.
Hi! the kernels begin to swell;
Ho! at last they are dancing well.
Puffs and fluffs of feathery snow,
Hop away! pop away! here we go!

Pip! pop! flippety flop!
All full, little ones? Time to stop!
Pour out the snowy, feathery mass;
Here is a treat for lad and lass.
Open your mouths now, all in a row;
Munch away! crunch away! here we go!

---

[WHAT BOBBY SAID.]

I don't think it's right!
I don't think it's fair!
I don't like Easter
At all! so there!

It's only because
I'm young, you see,
They think they can play
Their tricks upon me.

They brought me an egg,
And a beauty, too!
All golden yellow,
With stripes of blue.

They said 'twas a true egg,
A truly true!
And, of course, I supposed
It was so all through;

But when it was opened,
Just think what a shame!
'Twas just like the white ones,
Just 'zactly the same!

Part white and part yellow,
No bit of it blue,
And it tasted the same
As the other ones, too.

I don't think it's right,
And I don't think it's fair,
And I don't like Easter
At all! so there!

---

[MASTER JACK'S VIEWS.]

[After a lesson in astronomy.]

The merry old World goes round, goes round,
And round the old World does go;
Day in, day out, from west to east,
At a pace that is far from slow.

And he's never been known to change his pace,
Or swerve an inch from his course,
Though his journey so easily shortened might be,
By cutting his orbit across.

If I were you, you silly old World,
I know well what I 'd do:
Break loose from that tiresome orbit-track,
And go spinning the Universe through.

I'd startle the stars from their morning nap,
With a "How do you do to-day?"
And before any one could take off his night-cap,
I'd be millions of miles away.

I'd warm my hands at the gate of the Sun,
And cool them off at the Pole;
Then off and away down the Milky Way,
How merrily I would roll!

I'd steal from Saturn his golden rings,
From Mars his mantle of red;
And I'd borrow the sword of Orion the brave,
To cut off the Serpent's head.

I'd saddle the Bear, and ride on his back,
Nor dream of being afraid;
And maybe I'd stop at the Archer's shop,
To see how the rainbows are made.

I'd race with the comets, I'd flirt with the moon,
I'd waltz with the Northern Lights,
Till the whole Solar System should hold up its hands
And exclaim, "What remarkable sights!"

But stay! to all these delightful things
One slight objection I see;
For if the World should play these wonderful pranks.
Pray, what would become of me?

And what would become of papa and mamma?
And what would become of you?
And how should we like to go spinning about,
And careering the Universe through?

Well, the merry old World goes round, goes round,
And round the old World does go;
And a great deal better than you or I,
The wise old World must know!

---

[EMILY JANE.]

Oh! Christmas time is coming again,
And what shall I buy for Emily Jane?
O Emily Jane, my love so true,
Now what upon earth shall I buy for you?
My Emily Jane, my doll so dear,
I've loved you now for many a year,
And still while there's anything left of you,
My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!

My Emily Jane has lost her head,
And has a potato tied on instead;
A hole for an eye, and a lump for a nose,
It really looks better than you would suppose.
My Emily Jane has lost her arms,
The half of one leg's the extent of her charms;
But still, while there's anything left of you,
My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!

And now, shall I bring you a fine new head,
Or shall I bring you a leg instead?
Or will you have arms, to hug me tight,
When naughty 'Lizabeth calls you a fright?
Or I'll buy you a dress of satin so fine,
'Mong all the dolls to shimmer and shine;
For oh! while there's anything left of you,
My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!

Mamma says, "Keep all your pennies, Sue,
And I'll buy you a doll all whole and new;"
But better I love my dear old doll,
With her one half-leg and potato poll.
"The potato may rot, and the leg may fall?"
Well, then I shall treasure the sawdust, that's all!
For while there is anything left of you,
My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!

---

[SONG OF THE MOTHER WHOSE CHILDREN ARE FOND OF DRAWING.]

Oh, could I find the forest
Where the pencil-trees grow!
Oh, might I see their stately stems
All standing in a row!
I'd hie me to their grateful shade;
In deep, in deepest bliss;
For then I need not hourly hear
A chorus such as this:

Chorus. Oh, lend me a pencil, please, Mamma!
Oh, draw me some houses and trees, Mamma!
Oh, make me a floppy
Great poppy to copy,
And a horsey that prances and gees, Mamma!

The branches of the pencil-tree
Are pointed every one;
Ay! each one has a glancing point
That glitters in the sun.
The leaves are leaves of paper white,
All fluttering in the breeze;
Ah! could I pluck one rustling bough,
I'd silence cries like these:

Chorus. Oh, lend me a pencil, do, Mamma!
I've got mine all stuck in the glue, Mamma!
Oh, make me a pretty
Big barn and a city,
And a cow and a steam-engine too, Mamma!

The fruit upon the pencil-tree
Hangs ripening in the sun,
In clusters bright of pocket-knives,—
Three blades to every one.
Ah! might I pluck one shining fruit,
And plant it by my door,
The pleading cries, the longing sighs,
Would trouble me no more.

Chorus. Oh, sharpen a pencil for me, Mamma!
'Cause Johnny and Baby have three, Mamma!
And this isn't fine!
And Hal sat down on mine!
So do it bee-yu-ti-ful-lee, Mamma!

---

[THE SEVEN LITTLE TIGERS AND THE AGED COOK.]

Seven little tigers they sat them in a row,
Their seven little dinners for to eat;
And each of the troop had a little plate of soup,
The effect of which was singularly neat.

They were feeling rather cross, for they hadn't any sauce
To eat with their pudding or their pie;
So they rumpled up their hair, in a spasm of despair,
And vowed that the aged cook should die.

Then they called the aged cook, and a frying-pan they took,
To fry him very nicely for their supper;
He was ninety-six years old, on authority I'm told,
And his name was Peter Sparrow-piper Tupper.

"Mr. Sparrow-piper Tup, we intend on you to sup!"
Said the eldest little tiger very sweetly;
But this naughty aged cook, just remarking, "Only look!"
Chopped the little tiger's head off very neatly.

Then he said unto the rest, "It has always been confessed
That a tiger's better eating than a man;
So I'll fry him for you now, and you all will find, I trow,
That to eat him will be much the better plan."

So they tried it in a trice, and found that it was nice,
And with rapture they embracèd one another;
And they said, "By hook or crook, we must keep this aged cook;
So we'll ask him to become our elder brother."

[Which they accordingly did.]

---

[AGAMEMNON.]

About a king I have to tell,
Of all the woes that him befell
Through those who should have served him well,
Poor Agamemnon!
How he was huffed and cuffed about,
And tossed from windows, in and out,
With jest and gibe and eldritch shout,
Poor Agamemnon!

Of worsted was the monarch made,
Of gayest colors neatly laid
In each imaginable shade,
Poor Agamemnon!
His trousers were of scarlet hue,
His jacket of celestial blue,
With snow-white tunic peeping through,
Poor Agamemnon!

When he was young and in his prime,
On Christmas tree, in Christmas time,
He glowed like bird of tropic clime,
Poor Agamemnon!
His swarthy cheek, his beard of brown,
His gay attire and golden crown,
Showed him a king of high renown,
Poor Agamemnon!

The children, learning then to pore
O'er Father Homer's god-like lore,
Cried, "See! the king of men once more,
Great Agamemnon!
Now, when we play the siege of Troy,
Achilles, Hector, Ajax boy,
With us the fighting he'll enjoy,
Great Agamemnon!"

But well-a-day! the war began,
And Greek and Trojan, man to man,
In god-like fury raged and ran,
Poor Agamemnon!
'Twas Ajax seized the king, I trow,
And, using him as weapon now,
Did smite bold Hector on the brow,
Poor Agamemnon!

Then fierce and fell the contest grew;
From hand to hand the monarch flew,
Still clutched and hurled with fury new,
Poor Agamemnon!
His beaded eyes wept tears of shame,
His worsted cheeks with wrath did flame;
In vain he called each hero's name,
Poor Agamemnon!

At length great Hector seized the king
And gave his mighty arm a swing,
Then upward soared with sudden fling,
Poor Agamemnon!
Upon the high-pitched roof fell he,
And there, from Greek and Trojan free,
He lay for all the world to see,
Poor Agamemnon!

The fierce sun beat upon his head,
The rain washed white his trousers red,
The moon looked down on him and said,
"Poor Agamemnon!"
His gold and blue were gray and brown,
When Ajax, chief of high renown,
The roof-tree scaled, and brought him down,
Poor Agamemnon!

And now within the nursery,
In doll-house parlor you may see
His dim and faded majesty,
Poor Agamemnon!
And still each little naughty boy,
Ranging the cupboards for some toy,
Cries out, "Aha! the siege of Troy!
Poor Agamemnon!"

---

[THE WEDDING.]

Blue-bell, bonny bell, ring for the wedding!
Gallant young Hyacinth marries the Rose.
Here we all wait for the wedding procession,
Standing up high on our tippy-toe-toes.

Blue-bell, bonny bell, ring for the wedding!
First the three ushers on grasshoppers ride,—
Coxcomb, Larkspur, and gallant Sweet William,
Handsome young dandies as ever I spied.

Here in a coach come the bride's rich relations,—
Old Madam Damask and old Mr. Moss;
Greatly I fear they approve not the marriage,
Else they'd not look so uncommonly cross.

Here comes His Excellence Baron de Goldbug,
Leading the Dowager Duchess of Snail;
Feathers and fringe on the top of her bonnet,
Roses and rings on the end of her tail.

Blue-bell, bonny bell, ring for the wedding!
Here come the bridesmaids, by two and by two;
Gay little Primrose, fair little Snowdrop,
Peachblossom, Jasmine, and Eglantine too.

Last come the lovers, wrapped up in each other,
Thinking of love, and of little beside.
Blue-bell, bonny bell, ring for the wedding!
Health and long life to the beautiful bride!

---

[SWING SONG.]

As I swing, as I swing,
Here beneath my mother's wing,
Here beneath my mother's arm,
Never earthly thing can harm.
Up and down, to and fro,
With a steady sweep I go,
Like a swallow on the wing,
As I swing, as I swing.

As I swing, as I swing,
Honey-bee comes murmuring,
Humming softly in my ear,
"Come away with me, my dear!
In the tiger-lily's cup
Sweetest honey we will sup."
Go away, you velvet thing!
I must swing! I must swing!

As I swing, as I swing,
Butterfly comes fluttering,
"Little child, now come away
'Mid the clover-blooms to play;
Clover-blooms are red and white,
Sky is blue, and sun is bright.
Why then thus, with folded wing,
Sit and swing, sit and swing?"

As I swing, as I swing,
Oriole comes hovering.
"See my nest in yonder tree!
Little child, come work with me.

Learn to make a perfect nest,
That of all things is the best.
Come! nor longer loitering
Sit and swing, sit and swing!"

As I swing, as I swing,
Though I have not any wing,
Still I would not change with you,
Happiest bird that ever flew.
Butterfly and honey-bee,
Sure 'tis you must envy me,
Safe beneath my mother's wing
As I swing, as I swing.

---

[THE LITTLE COSSACK.]

The tale of the little Cossack,
Who lived by the river Don:
He sat on a sea-green hassock,
And his grandfather's name was John.
His grandfather's name was John, my dears,
And he lived upon bottled stout;
And when he was found to be not at home,
He was frequently found to be out.

The tale of the little Cossack,—
He sat by the river-side,
And wept when he heard the people say
That his hair was probably dyed.
That his hair was probably dyed, my dears,
And his teeth were undoubtedly sham;
"If this be true," quoth the little Cossàck,
"What a poor little thing I am!"

The tale of the little Cossack,—
He sat by the river's brim,
And he looked at the little fishes,
And the fishes looked back at him.
The fishes looked back at him, my dears,
And winked at him, which was wuss;
"If this be true, my friend," they said,
"You'd better come down to us."

The tale of the little Cossack,—
He said, "You are doubtless right,
Though drowning is not a becoming death
For it makes one look like a fright.
If my lovely teeth be crockery,
And my hair of Tyrian dye,
Then life is a bitter mockery,
And no more of it will I!"

The tale of the little Cossack,—
He drank of the stout so brown;
Then put his toes in the water,
And the fishes dragged him down.
And the people threw in his hassock
And likewise his grandfather John;
And there was an end of the family,
On the banks of the river Don.

---

[WHAT A VERY RUDE LITTLE BIRD SAID TO JOHNNY THIS MORNING.]

Thing with two legs, out on the lawn!
Stupid old thing!
Why don't you fly, or hop at least?
Why don't you sing?
There you stand with your great long legs
Stiff as a couple of giant pegs;
Have you a nest with five blue eggs?
Have you anything?

Thing with two legs, out on the lawn!
Stubborn old thing!
Is that your only song, that harsh,
Loud muttering?
Here! listen, and try to imitate me!
Chirr-a-wink! chirr-a-wink! pirrip-wip-wee!
It's just as easy as easy can be,
Stubborn old thing!

Thing with two legs, out on the lawn!
Ugly old thing!
I hear my little brown wife in the nest
Soft chirruping.
And if you think I've nothing else to do
But stay here and talk to the like of you,
You're greatly mistaken, I tell you true!
Good-by, old thing!

---

[THE MONKEYS AND THE CROCODILE.]

Five little monkeys
Swinging from a tree;
Teasing Uncle Crocodile,
Merry as can be.
Swinging high, swinging low,
Swinging left and right:
"Dear Uncle Crocodile,
Come and take a bite!"

Five little monkeys
Swinging in the air;
Heads up, tails up,
Little do they care.
Swinging up, swinging down,
Swinging far and near:
"Poor Uncle Crocodile,
Aren't you hungry, dear?"

Four little monkeys
Sitting in the tree;
Heads down, tails down,
Dreary as can be.
Weeping loud, weeping low,
Crying to each other:
"Wicked Uncle Crocodile,
To gobble up our brother!"

---

[Painted Ladies]

Oh, the pretty painted ladies!
Oh, the naughty painted ladies,
That go running, climbing, running,
All about my cottage door.
Would you have their story, Johnny?
Sit beside me, Sweet-and-bonny!
You shall hear a sadder story
Than you ever beard before.

These were maidens fair and slender,
Some with dove-eyes, brown and tender,
Some with black, and some with blue eyes,
Locks of auburn, locks of gold.
Rosy cheeks, and lips of cherry,
Voices glad and laughter merry,
Ever smiling, ever singing,
Over gay and over bold.

And these maids were ever running,
Watching going, watching coming,
Asking questions of each other
And of every one they knew.
Peeping, peeping, here and yonder,
Ready still to guess and wonder,
"Was it she?" "And did he do it?"
"Tell me quickly!" "Tell me true!"

Oh, the pretty painted ladies!
Oh, the naughty painted ladies!
When the king came riding, riding,
For to seek him out a bride,
How they whispered, how they chattered;
Each herself in secret flattered
She could win him, she could wed him,
In an hour, if she tried.

So they prinked and pranked them gayly,
So they crimped and curled them daily,
Trying ring and trying jewel,
All their beauty to complete.
Not content with Nature's roses,
Fie! their cheeks are painted posies;
And their lips are red and reddest,
But alas! they are not sweet.

Then the king came riding stately,
On his charger set sedately,
With his golden robe about him,
And his crown upon his head.
Oh! a royal port and presence,
Meet for courtly love and pleasance;
Happy, happy is the maiden
He shall woo and he shall wed.

Oh, the pretty painted ladies!
Oh, the naughty painted ladies!
How they leaned from door and window,
Flinging roses 'neath his feet;
Silken robes and jewels shining,
White arms waving, tossing, twining,
Lips that laughed and eyes that languished,
Over bold and over sweet.

But the king looked gravely on them;
Cast no answering glance upon them;
Coldly turned from where they waited
In their beauty, in their pride.
"Find me out some modest maiden,
Not with silks and jewels laden,
One whose pureness, one whose sweetness
Fit her for a royal bride."

Oh, the pretty painted ladies!
Oh, the naughty painted ladies!
Red with shame and white with anger,
Back they pressed against the wall.
As they drew their silks around them,
Lo! some sudden magic bound them,
While they whispered, while they clustered,
Into flowers changed them all.

Glowing cheek and snowy bosom
Changed to white and ruddy blossom;
Locks of gold and locks of auburn
Into tendrils curling green.
While for silk and satin's shimmer,
And for jewels' rainbow glimmer,
Leaves that whispered, leaves that clustered,—
Only these were to be seen.

But the pretty painted ladies,
But the naughty painted ladies,
Still are running, climbing, running,
At the window, at the door.
Peeping, peeping, here and yonder,
"Is the story true?" you wonder;
Sure, I heard it from themselves, dear,
For they tell it o'er and o'er.

---

[SOME FISHY NONSENSE.]

Timothy Tiggs and Tomothy Toggs,
They both went a-fishing for pollothywogs;
They both went a-fishing
Because they were wishing
To see how the creatures would turn into frogs.

Timothy Tiggs and Tomothy Toggs,
They both got stuck in the bogothybogs;
They caught a small minnow,
And said 'twas a sin oh!
That things with no legs should pretend to be frogs.

---

[LADY'S SLIPPER.]

MY lady she rose from her bower, her bower,
All under the linden tree.
'Twas midnight past, and the fairies' hour,
And up and away must she.

She's pulled on her slippers of golden yellow,
Her mantle of gossamer green;
And she's away to the elfin court,
To wait on the elfin queen.

Oh hone! my lady's slipper,
Oh hey! my lady's shoe.
She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow,
A-tripping it over the dew.

And now she flitted, and now she stepped,
Through dells of the woodland deep,
Where owls were flying awake, awake,
And birds were sitting asleep.

And now she flitted, and now she trod,
Where the mist hung shadowy-white;
And the river lay gleaming, sleeping, dreaming,
Under the sweet moonlight.

Oh hone! my lady's slipper,
Oh hey! my lady's shoe.
She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow,
A-tripping it over the dew.

And now she passed through the wild marsh-land,
Where the marsh-elves lay asleep;
And a heron blue was their watchman true,
Good watch and ward for to keep.

But Jack-in-the-Pulpit was wake, awake,
And saw my lady gay;
And he reached his hand as she fluttered past,
And caught her slipper away.

Oh hone! my lady's slipper,
Oh hey! my lady's shoe.
She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow,
A-tripping it over the dew.

Oh! long that lady she searched and prayed,
And long she wept and besought;
But all would not do, and with one wee shoe
She must dance at the elfin court.

But she might have found her slipper, her slipper,
It shone so golden-gay;
For I am no elf, yet I found it myself,
And I brought it home to-day.

Oh hone! my lady's slipper,
Oh hey! my lady's shoe.
She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow,
A-tripping it over the dew.

---

[A LITTLE SONG TO SING TO A LITTLE MAID IN A SWING.]

If I were a fairy king,
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
I would give to you a ring,
(Swinging oh!)
With a diamond set so bright
That the shining of its light
Should make morning of the night,
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
Should make morning of the night.
(Swinging oh!)

On each ringlet as it fell
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
I would tie a golden bell;
(Swinging oh!)
And the golden bells would chime
In a little merry rhyme,
In the merry summer-time,—
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
In the happy summer-time.
(Swinging oh!)

You should wear a satin gown
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
All with ribbons falling down;
(Swinging oh!)
And your little darling feet,
Oh, my Pretty and my Sweet,
Should be shod with silver neat,—
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
Shod with silver slippers neat.
(Swinging oh!)

All the flowers in the land
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
You should hold in either hand;
(Swinging oh!)
And the myrtle and the rose
Should spring up beneath your toes,
For to gratify your nose,—
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
For to gratify your nose.
(Swinging oh!)

But I'm not a fairy, Pet,
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
Am not even a king as yet;
(Swinging oh!)
So all that I can do
Is to kiss your little shoe,
And to make a queen of you,—
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
Make a fairy queen of you.
(Swinging oh!)

---

[BETTY IN BLOSSOM-TIME.]

Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees,
Pink and white drifting of petals sweet,
Kiss her and crown her, our Lady of Blossoming,
Here as she sits on the apple-tree seat.

Has she not gathered the summer about her?
Look, how it laughs from her lips and her eyes!
Think you the sun there would shine on without her?
Nay! 'tis her smile keeps the gray from the skies.

Fire of the rose and snow of the jessamine,
Gold of the lily-dust hid in her hair;
Day holds his breath and Night comes up to look at her,
Leaving their strife for a vision so rare.

Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees,
Pink and white drifting of petals sweet,
Kiss her and crown her, and flutter a-down her,
And carpet the ground for her dear little feet.

---

[BETTY'S SONG.]

Little Two-shoes,
Little Toddle-toes,
Like a little pretty pinky winky rose,
Come to me, now,
And we'll see, now,
How the rocking-chair away to By-land goes.

With a heigh ho,
And a by-low,
And a swinging, swinging softly to and fro;
With a sleepy croon,
All about the moon,
How she puts the sleepy stars to beddy oh!

With a hey-day,
And a rock-away,
And a patting down the hands that want to play;
With a swing swong
In the drowsy song,
That forgets the drowsy words it has to say.

Now the lids close,
Just when no one knows,
And the dimpled flush grows deeper, rose on rose.
Little Two-shoes,
Little Toddle-toes,
With the rocking-chair away to By-land goes.

---

[A NONSENSE TRAGEDY.]

Brown owl sat on a caraway tree,
Ruffly, puffly, great big owl;
Who so learned and wise as he?
Huffly, snuffly, eminent fowl.

Black bat hung by a twig of the tree,
Blinkety, winkety, blind old bat;
Paying his court to the bumble-bee,
Fuzzy bee, buzzy bee, yellow and fat.

"Oh!" said the owl, "but the sun is so bright.
Blazing, crazing, fiery sun,
How can I possibly wait till night?
Sweltering, meltering, not much fun!"

"Oh!" said the bat, "if a cloud would come,
Showery, lowery, nice gray cloud,
I'd take my love to my cavern home,
Happily, flappily, pleased and proud."

"Oh!" said the bee, "but if that be all,
Whimpering, simpering, blear-eyed bat,
Yonder's a cloud coming up at your call,
Scowling, growling, black as your hat."

"Oh!" said the owl and the bat together:
"Rollicky, jollicky, nice fat cloud,
Give us some good, black, thundery weather;
Roar away, pour away, can't be too loud!"

Up came the cloud, spreading far and wide,
Billowy, pillowy, black as night;
Brisk little hurricane sitting inside,
Blow away, strow away, out of sight.

Off went the owl like a thistle-down puff,
Ruffly, huffly, rolled in a ball;
Off went the bat like a candle-snuff,
Fly away, die away, terrible fall.

Off went the twig, and off went the tree,
Crashing, smashing, splintering round;
Nothing was left but the bumble-bee,
And who so merry, so merry as she,
As she laughed, "Ho! ho!" as she laughed, "He! he!
Creep away, sleep away, hole in the ground."

---

[FROM NEW YORK TO BOSTON.]

[Allegro con moto.]

Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail;
Conductor the tickets is clipping,
Boy has bananas for sale.
Raindrops outside are a-dripping,—
Dripping o'er meadow and vale.
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

Clankety clankety clank,
Clinkety clinkety cling;
Five little boys on a bank,
One little girl in a swing.
Fishhawk o'erhead in the distance,
Spreading his wings like a sail.
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

"Puck, Life, Frank Leslie, and Harper!
Latest editions, just out!"
Boy is an impudent sharper!
All are last week's, I've no doubt.
"Every new monthly and weekly,
Every new novel and tale!"
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

Jogglety jogglety joggle!
Jigglety jigglety jig!
Snuffy old man with a goggle,
Acid old dame with a wig,
Pretty girl peacefully sleeping
Under her gold-spotted veil.
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

Now we are duly admonished,
Hartford's the place we reach next;
Cow in the field looks astonished,
Sheep in the pasture perplexed.
Furious puppy pursues us,
Cocking a truculent tail.
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

"Lozenges, peanuts, and candy!
Apples and oranges sweet!"
Legs are so frightfully bandy,
Wonder he keeps on his feet.
"All the New York evening papers,—
Times, Tribune, World, Sun, and Mail!"
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

Engine goes "Whoosh!" at the station,
Engine goes "Whizz!" o'er the plain;
Horses express consternation,
Drivers remonstrate in vain.
Smoke-witches dancing about us,
Sparks in a fiery train.
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

Tinklety tinklety tink!
Tunklety tunklety tunk!
Nearing the station, I think.
Where is the check for my trunk?
"Boston!" and "Boston!" and "Boston!"
Home of my fathers, all hail!
Here we go joyfully jumping,
Away from the resonant rail.

---

[SANDY GODOLPHIN.]

Sandy Godolphin sat up on the hill,
And up on the hill sat he;
And the only remark he was known to make,
Was "Fiddledy diddledy dee!"

He made it first in the high Hebrew,
And then in the Dutch so low,
In Turkish and Russian and Persian and Prussian,
And rather more tongues than I know.

He made this remark until it was dark,
And he could no longer see;
Then he lighted his lamp, because it was damp,
And gave him the neuralgeë.

Sandy Godolphin came down from the hill,
And moaned in a dark despair:
"I've finished," said he, "with my fiddledy dee,
For nobody seems to care."

---

[MY CLOCK.]

My little clock, my little clock,
He lives upon the shelf;
He stands on four round golden feet,
And so supports himself.

His face is very white and clean,
His hands are very black;
He has no soap to wash them with,
And suffers from the lack.

He holds them up, his grimy hands,
And points at me all day;
"Make haste, make haste, the moments waste!"
He always seems to say.

"Tick tock! tick tock! I am a clock;
I'm always up to time.
Ding dong! ding dong! the whole day long
My silver warnings chime.

"Tick tock! tick tock! 'tis nine o'clock,
And time to go to school;
Don't loiter 'mid the buttercups,
Or by the wayside pool.

"Ding dong! tick tock! 'tis two o'clock.
The dinner's getting cold;
You'd better hurry down, you child,
Or your mamma will scold.

"Tick tock! tick tock! 'tis six o'clock.
You've had the afternoon
To play and romp, so now come in;
Your tea'll be ready soon.

"Tick tock! tick tock! 'tis nine o'clock.
To bed, to bed, my dear!
Sleep sound, until I waken you,
When day is shining clear."

So through the night and through the day,
My busy little clock,
He talks and talks and talks away,
With ceaseless "tick" and "tock."

But warning others on his shelf,
All earnest as he stands,
He never thinks to warn himself;
He'll never wash his hands.

---

[MY UNCLE JEHOSHAPHAT.]

My Uncle Jehoshaphat had a pig,—
A pig of high degree;
And he always wore a brown scratch wig,
Most beautiful for to see.

My Uncle Jehoshaphat loved this pig,
And the piggywig he loved him;
And they both jumped into the lake one day,
To see which best could swim.

My Uncle Jehoshaphat he swam up,
And the piggywig he swam down;
And so they both did win the prize,
Which the same was a velvet gown.

My Uncle Jehoshaphat wore one half,
And the piggywig wore the other;
And they both rode to town on the brindled calf,
To carry it home to its mother.

---

[ROSY POSY.]

There was a little Rosy,
And she had a little nosy;
And she made a little posy,
All pink and white and green.
And she said, "Little nosy,
Will you smell my little posy?
For of all the flowers that growsy,
Such sweet ones ne'er were seen."

So she took the little posy,
And she put it to her nosy,
On her little face so rosy,
The flowers for to smell;
And which of them was Rosy,
And which of them was nosy,
And which of them was posy,
You really could not tell!

---

[SICK-ROOM FANCIES.]

I.

MY WALL-PAPER.

The paper roses, blue and red,
That climbing go about my bed,
All up and down my chamber wall,
A-quarrelling one day did fall;
And as with half-shut eyes I lay,
'Twas thus I heard the roses say:

"You vulgar creature!" cried the Red,
"I wonder you dare raise your head,
Much less go flaunting here and there
With such a proud and perky air.
I am a rose indeed; but you!
Who ever heard of roses blue?
Your sense of truth, Ma'am, must be small,
To call yourself a rose at all."

The Blue Rose proudly raised her head;
"Your humble servant, Ma'am!" she said.
"My family, I own, is far
From being such as you, Ma'am, are.
We blossomed lately in the sky,
A fairy plucked us, floating by,
And flung us down to earth, that we
Might show what roses ought to be.
So, while we still adorn the earth,
Our hue attests our skyey birth."

Just then my Rose came through the room;
And in her hand, in wondrous bloom,
A lovely snow-white bud she bore,
With diamond dew-drops sprinkled o'er.
She laid it in my hand, and "See,"
She said, "how fair a rose may be!"
The paper roses, Blues and Reds,
For shame hung down their silly heads.
I watched them, laughing, as I lay,
But not another word said they.

II.

MY JAPANESE FAN.

I have a friend, a little friend,
Who lives upon a fan;
Perhaps he is a woman,
Perhaps she is a man.
His clothes they are so very queer,
So very queer, in sooth,
I sometimes call him "lovely maid,"
And sometimes "gentle youth."

Her hair is combed up straight and smooth
Above his pretty face.
His looks are full of friendliness;
Her attitude, of grace.
And every morning when I wake,
And every evening too,
She greets me with his pleasant smile,
And friendly "How-d'ye-do?"

She wonders why I lie in bed;
He thinks my wisest plan
Would be to come and live with her
Upon a paper fan.
But that, alas! can never be;
And so I never can
Know whether he's a woman,
Or whether she's a man.

---

[MARJORIE'S KNITTING.]

In the chimney-corner our Marjorie sits,
Softly singing the while she knits.
The fire-light, flickering here and there,
Plays on her face and her shining hair;

And glimmering bright in the fitful glow,
Backward and forward her needles go,—
Backward and forward, swift and true,—
And hark! the needles are singing too.

"One and two and three and four,
Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er;
Knit and rib and seam and purl.
Clickety clackety, good little girl!"

And what is our Marjorie knitting, I pray?
A soft, warm scarf, for a wintry day,
A pair of mittens for schoolboy Fred,
Or some reins for toddling Baby Ned?

I cannot see, in the twilight gray,
How many needles are working away;
But I see them flickering in and out,
And they know exactly what they are about.

"One and two and three and four
Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er;
Knit and rib and seam and purl.
Clickety clackety, good little girl!"

The fire is whispering, "Marjorie mine,
'Tis a positive pleasure on you to shine,
From your pretty brown hair, all shining and neat,
Down to your dainty, trim-slippered feet."

The kettle is murmuring, "Marjorie dear,
'Tis all for your sake that I'm bubbling here;
But though I have bubbled both loud and long,
You've ears for nought save those needles' song."

"One and two and three and four,
Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er;
Knit and rib and seam and purl.
Clickety clackety, good little girl!"

Marjorie cheerily works away,
Nor ever her thoughts from her knitting stray.
Whatever it is, 'twill be sure to fit,
For loving thoughts in the web are knit.

The kettle may bubble, the fire may burn,
But Marjorie's thoughts they cannot turn;
And I think my heart must be working too,
For it seems to sing as the needles do.

"One and two and three and four,
Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er;
Knit and rib and seam and purl.
Clickety clackety, dear little girl!"

---

[HE AND HIS FAMILY.]

His father was a whale,
With a feather in his tail,
Who lived in the Greenland sea;
And his mother was a shark,
Who kept very dark
In the Gulf of Caribbee.
His uncles were a skate,
And a little whitebait,
And a flounder, and a chub beside;
And a lovely pickerèl,
Both a beauty and a belle,
Had promised for to be his bride.
You may think these things are strange,
And they are a little change
From the ordinary run, 'tis true;
But the queerest thing (to me)
Of all appeared to be,
That he was a kangaroo!

---

[EASTER-TIME.]

The little flowers came through the ground,
At Easter-time, at Easter-time;
They raised their heads and looked around,
At happy Easter-time.
And every pretty bud did say,
"Good people, bless this holy day;
For Christ is risen, the angels say,
This happy Easter-time."

The scarlet lily raised its cup,
At Easter-time, at Easter-time;
The crocus to the sky looked up,
At happy Easter-time.
"We hear the song of heaven!" they say;
"Its glory shines on us to-day,
Oh! may it shine on us alway,
At happy Easter-time."

'Twas long and long and long ago,
That Easter-time, that Easter-time;
But still the scarlet lilies blow
At happy Easter-time.
And still each little flower doth say,
"Good Christians, bless this holy day;
For Christ is risen, the angels say,
At blessed Easter-time."

---

[EASTER.]

Give flowers to all the children,
This blessed Easter Day,—
Fair crocuses and snowdrops,
And tulips brave and gay;

Bright nodding daffodillies,
And purple iris tall,
And sprays of silver lilies,
The loveliest of all.

And tell them, tell the children,
How in the dark, cold earth,
The flowers have been waiting
Till spring should give them birth.

All winter long they waited,
Till the south wind's soft breath
Bade them rise up in beauty,
And bid farewell to death.

Then tell the little children
How Christ our Saviour, too,
The flower of all eternity,
Once death and darkness knew.

How, like these blossoms, silent,
Within the tomb he lay;
Then rose in light and glory,
To live in heaven alway.

So take the flowers, children,
And be ye pure as they;
And sing of Christ our Saviour,
This blessed Easter Day.

---

[JACKY FROST.]

Jacky Frost, Jacky Frost,
Came in the night;
Left the meadows that he crossed
All gleaming white.
Painted with his silver brush
Every window-pane;
Kissed the leaves and made them blush,
Blush and blush again.

Jacky Frost, Jacky Frost,
Crept around the house,
Sly as a silver fox,
Still as a mouse.
Out little Jenny came,
Blushing like a rose;
Up jumped Jacky Frost,
And pinched her little nose.

---

[SUBTRACTION.]

Six from four leaves two, Mamma,
Six from four leaves two.
Surely that is right, Mamma,—
Don't you think 'twill do?

Please don't shake your head, Mamma!
Well, it's nearly right;
And what difference does it make
If it isn't quite?

Hark! the boys are there, Mamma,
Out upon the lawn;
If I don't go soon, Mamma,
They will all be gone.

I would let you go, Mamma,
Were I teaching you.
Six from four leaves two—oh dear!

Four from six leaves two, Mamma!
Now I have it right.
Well! upon my word, I think
I wasn't very bright.

Dear Mamma, before I go,
Here's a kiss for you.
Four from six leaves two, hurrah!
Four from six leaves two!

---

[GRANDFATHER DEAR.]

[Written for Decoration Day.]

Jonquil and daffodil mine,
Lift me your golden-crowned heads!
Cockscomb and peony fine,
Lend me your lordliest reds!
Tying my posy up here,
I must have flowers at will;
They are for Grandfather dear,
There where he sleeps on the hill.

Grandfather dear was a soldier,
Gallant and handsome and young.
Flowers, I'll show you his picture,
Over the shelf where 'tis hung.
Yes, and his sword hangs beneath it,
The sword that he waved as he fell,
Fighting on Winchester Field,—
The field he was holding so well.

So when the year's at the sweetest,
Mother and Grandmother dear
And I, we go gathering flowers,
So sweet as they're blossoming here.
And when Grandfather looks down from heaven,
As he looks, and looks lovingly still,
He smiles as he sees his own flowers,
All shining and sweet on the hill.

---

[GATHERING APPLES.]

Down in the orchard, down in the orchard,
Under the gold-apple tree,
One little maid and two little maids
Frolic, merry and free.
Brown as a berry, red as a rose,
Sweeter maidens nobody knows.
"What are you doing, Marjorie?
Marjorie, tell to me?"
Up she lifted her curly head,
(Oh, but her cheeks were rosy-red!)
Shaking her curls right saucily,
"I'm gathering apples!" said she, said she,
"I'm gathering apples!" said she.

Down in the orchard, down in the orchard,
Under the gold-apple tree,
Softly treading, the farmer came,
Peeping so warily.
Six feet high from his head to his toes;
A jollier farmer nobody knows.
"What are you doing, farmer, pray?
Jolly old farmer, say!"
Up he caught them both in his arms;
Oh, the shrieks, the merry alarms!
Closer clasping them lovingly,
"I'm gathering apples!" said he, said he,
"I'm gathering apples!" said he.

---

[THE BALLAD OF THE BEACH.]

"Take off thy stockings, Samuel!
Now take them off, I pray;
Roll up thy trousers, Samuel,
And come with me to play.

"The ebbing tide has left the sand
All hard and smooth and white,
And we will build a goodly fort,
And have a goodly fight."

Then Samuel he pullèd off
His hose of scarlet hue,
And Samuel he rollèd up
His breeches darkly blue.

And hand-in-hand with Reginald,
He hied him to the beach;
Each little boy a shovel had,
And eke a pail had each.

Then down upon the shining sand
Right joyfully they sat;
And far upon the shining sand
Each tossed his broad-brimmed hat.

Then valiantly to work they went,
Like sturdy lads and true;
And there they built a stately fort,
The best that they might do.

"Now sit we down within the walls,
Which rise above our head,
And we will make us cannon-balls
Of sand, as good as lead."

Now as they worked, these little boys,
Full glad in heart and mind,
The creeping tide came back again,
To see what it could find.

The creeping tide came up the sand,
To see what it could do;
And there it found two broad-brimmed hats,
With ribbons red and blue.

And "See now!" said the creeping tide;
"These hats belong, I trow,
To Reginald and Samuel;
I saw them here but now."

And "See now!" said the creeping tide;
"What hinders me to float
These hats out to the boys' mamma,
Is sailing in a boat?"

Then up there came two little waves,
All rippling so free;
They lifted up the broad-brimmed hats,
And bore them out to sea.

The ribbons red and ribbons blue
Streamed gallantly away;
The straw did glitter in the sun,
Were never craft so gay!

The mother of these little lads
Was sailing on the sea;
And now she laughed, and now she sang,
And who so blithe as she?

And "Look!" she said; "what things be these
That dance upon the wave,
All fluttering and glittering
And sparkling so brave?

"Now row me well, my brethren, twain,
Now row me o'er the sea!
For we will chase these tiny craft,
And see what they may be."

They rowed her fast, they rowed her well,—
Too well, those gallants true;
For when she reached the broad-brimmed hats,
Right well those hats she knew.

"Alas!" she cried; "my little lads
Are drownèd in the sea!"
Then down she sank in deadly swoon,
As pale as she might be.

They rowed her well, those gallants gay,
They rowed her to the land;
They lifted up that lady pale,
And bore her up the strand.

But as they bore her up the beach,
The balls began to fly,
And hit those gallants on the nose,
And hit them in the eye.

They lookèd here, they lookèd there,
To see whence this might be;
And soon they spied a stately fort,
Beside the salt, salt sea.

And straight from out the stately fort
The balls were flying free;
Each gallant rubbed his smitten nose,
And eke his eye rubbed he.

They looked within the stately fort,
To see who aimed so well;
And there was little Reginald,
And youthful Samuel.

They lifted up those little lads,
Each by his waisty-band;
And down beside that lady pale
They set them on the sand.

And first that lady waxed more pale,
And syne she waxed full red;
And syne she kissed those little boys,
But not a word she said.

Then up and spoke those gallants gay,
"You naughty little chaps,
Your poor mamma you've frightened sore,
And made her ill, perhaps.

"And if you are not shaken well,
And if you are not spanked,
It will not be your uncles' fault;
So they need not be thanked."

Then up and spoke those little lads,
All mournful as they sat;
And each did cry, "Ah, woe is me!
I've lost—my nice—new—hat!"

Then up and spoke that lady fair,
"Nay, nay, my little dears,
You sha'n't be spanked! so come with me,
And wipe away your tears.

"There be more hats in Boston town,
For little boys to wear;
And as for those that you have lost,
I pray their voyage be fair.

"For since I have my little lads,
The hats may sail away
Around the world and back again,
Forever and a day!"

---

[THE BOOTS OF A HOUSEHOLD.]

[After Mrs. Hemans.]

They came in beauty, side by side,
They filled one house with noise;
And now they're trotting far and wide,
On feet of girls and boys.

The self-same shoemaker did bend
O'er every heel and toe;
Shaped all their upper leathers fair,—
Where are those leathers now?

One pair is kicking 'gainst the bench,
The patient bench, at school;
And two are wading through the mud,
And splashing in the pool.

"The sea, the blue, lone sea," hath one.
He left it on the beach;
A merry wave came dancing up,
And bore it out of reach.

One sleeps where depths of slimy bog
Are glossed with grasses o'er;
One hasty plunge—it loosed its hold,
And sank to rise no more.

One pair—aha! I see them now,
And know them past all doubt;
For through each leather, gaping wide,
A rosy toe peeps out.

And parted thus, old, dusty, torn,
They travel far and wide,
Who in the shop, in shining rows,
Sat lately side by side.

And thus they frolic, frolic there,
And thus they caper here;
But great and small, and torn and all,
To mother's heart are dear.

[N. B.—Also to father's purse.]

---

[THE PALACE]

It's far away under the water,
And it's far away under the sea,
There's a beautiful palace a-waiting
For my little Rosy and me.

The roof is made of coral,
And the floor is made of pearl,
And over it all the great waves fall
With a terrible tumble and whirl.

The fishes swim in at the window,
And the fishes swim out at the door,
And the lobsters and eels go dancing quadrilles
All over the beautiful floor.

There's a silver throne at on end,
And a golden throne at the other;
And on them you see, as plain as can be,
"Queen Rosy" and "Queen Mother."

And I will sit on the silver throne,
And Rosy shall sit on the gold;
And there we will stay, and frolic and play,
Until we're a thousand years old.

---

[BUNKER HILL MONUMENT.]

Do you see that stately column,
Children dear,
Lifting its gray head to heaven,
Year by year?
Telling of the battle fought,
Telling of the good work wrought,
Telling of the victory bought,
Bought so dear!

Oh! the costly blood that flowed,
Children mine!
Fast as from the purple grapes
Flows the wine!
Oh! the heroes lying dead!
Oh! the women's hearts that bled!
Oh! the bitter tears they shed,
Children mine!

Long ago the tears were dried,
Children dear!
Long ago the weepers died,
Year by year.
But the column old and gray
Tells the story day by day.
"Victory!" it seems to say.
"Victory's here!"

---

[MAY.]

Is there anything new to sing about you,
May, my dear?
Any unhackneyed thing about you,
Pray, my dear?
Anything that has not been sung
Long ago, when the world was young,
By silver throat and golden tongue?
Say, my dear!

So many have said that your eyes are blue,
May, my dear;
It must be a tiresome fact, though true,
May, my dear.
And if I, for one, my gracious Queen,
Should boldly assert that your eyes are green,
'Twould be a relief to you, I ween.
Eh, my dear?

We know, at the touch of your garment's fold,
May, my dear,
The daisies come starring with white and gold
The way, my dear;
We know that the painted blossoms all
Come starting up at your gentle call,
By dale and meadow and garden wall,
May, my dear.

We know that your birds have the sweetest tune,
May, my dear;
And lovers love best beneath your moon,
They say, my dear.
And I might add that your perfumed kiss
Is considered productive of highest bliss;
But you must be so tired of hearing this.
Eh, my dear?

No, I really don't think there's anything fresh
Or new, my dear;
For life is short, and available rhymes
Are few, my dear.
So if I say nought about vernal bowers,
And forbear to mention the sunlit showers,
I think I shall make the best use of my powers.
Don't you, my dear?

And yet—yet I cannot help loving you so,
May, my dear,
That the old words, whether I will or no,
I say, my dear.
And how you are fair, and how you are sweet,
My loving lips forever repeat,—
And is this the reason you pass so fleet?
Ah, stay, my dear!

---

[GREGORY GRIGGS.]

Gregory Griggs, Gregory Griggs,
Had forty-seven different wigs;
He wore them up, and he wore them down,
To please the people of Boston town.
He wore them east, and he wore them west,
But he never could tell which he liked the best.

---

[A NURSERY TRAGEDY.]

It was a lordly elephant,
His name, his name was Sprite;
He stood upon the nursery floor,
All ready for a fight.

He looked upon the rocking-horse,
Who proudly prancing stood:
"O rocking-horse! O shocking horse!
I'm thirsting for your blood!

"How dare you stand and look at me,
You ugly snorting thing?
Know, that of every living beast,
The elephant is king!

"And if a person looks at me,
Unless I give him leave,
He's very apt to meet his death
Too swiftly for reprieve.

"You are the most unpleasant beast
I e'er have looked on yet;
Although the stupid children here
Will make of you a pet.

"I hate your tail of waving hair!
I hate your bits of brass!
But more, oh, more than all, I hate
Your gleaming eyes of glass!

"Were you of cotton-flannel made,
As nursery beasts should be,
With eyes of good black boot-buttons,
You then might look at me.

"I might forgive your want of tusks,
Your lack of trunk forgive;
But that wild, goggling, glassy glare—
No! never, while I live!

"So get you gone, you rocking-horse!
Go to your closet-shed,
And there, behind the wood-basket,
Conceal your ugly head!"

But as the elephant thus did scold
And rage and fume and roar,
The rocking-horse rocked over him,
And crushed him to the floor.

---

[THE UMBRELLA BRIGADE]

"Pitter patter!" falls the rain
On the school-room window-pane.
Such a plashing! such a dashing!
Will it e'er be dry again?
Down the gutter rolls a flood,
And the crossing's deep in mud;
And the puddles! oh, the puddles
Are a sight to stir one's blood!

Chorus. But let it rain
Tree-toads and frogs,
Muskets and pitchforks,
Kittens and dogs!
Dash away! plash away!
Who is afraid?
Here we go,
The Umbrella Brigade!

Pull the boots up to the knee!
Tie the hoods on merrily!
Such a hustling! such a jostling!
Out of breath with fun are we.
Clatter, clatter, down the street,
Greeting every one we meet,
With our laughing and our chaffing,
Which the laughing drops repeat.

Chorus. So let it rain
Tree-toads and frogs,
Muskets and pitchforks,
Kittens and dogs!
Dash away! plash away!
Who is afraid?
Here we go,
The Umbrella Brigade!

---

[THE PRINCESS IN SATURN AND THE RED MAN IN MARS.]

There once was a princess both fair and tall,
Who did not live on this earth at all.
She lived up in Saturn,
And she was a pattern
Of every accomplishment, great and small;
The graces and virtues, she had them all.

Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, she had them pat;
And she played on the sackbut! think of that!
And she sang so sweet,
All the birds at her feet
With envy and sorrow fell down quite flat;
I've been told they fell down quite remarkably flat.

Now all the princes and all the kings
Who lived in Saturn and all his rings,
They came and knelt
Where the princess dwelt;
And they brought her all sorts of beautiful things,—
Oh! quite an assortment of elegant things.

For one king brought her a diamond hat;
And another presented a two-legged cat;
While another one said,
"When my uncle is dead,
I will give you his monkey. Be sure of that!
His talented monkey; depend upon that!"

One powerful prince, with a haughty stride,
Came forward and said, "If you'll be my bride,
You shall have the Great Bear
To powder your hair,
And the small one to lace up your boots beside,—
To lace up your boots, and to shine them beside."

But the princess sighed; and softly she said,
"Alas! not one of you all can I wed.
'Tis my positive plan
To marry a man
Who lives up in Mars, and is painted red,—
From his head to his feet, quite a violent red.

"I have often looked through my opera-glass,
And up and down I have seen him pass;
And so bright was his hue,
And so lovely to view,
I felt that in him lay my fate, alas!
I read in his red my own fate, alas!

"So now, if you love me as fond and true
As all of you think that all of you do,
You will help me to wed
My 'Study in Red.'
Oh, kings and princes, now pray you, do!
You dear kings and princes, I beg of you, do!"

The kings and princes arose with a frown,
And first they looked up, and then they looked down.
Not a man of them spoke
Till he'd straightened his cloak,
And settled his wig, and adjusted his crown.

THE PRINCESS IN SATURN.

And then, "If you honestly wish," they said,
"To marry a man who is painted red"
(In Saturn, I ween,
All the people are green),
"We don't know that there's anything more to be said,—
Your Highness, there seems nothing more to be said."

So they called a comet, and told him to go
To the Red Man in Mars, and give him to know
That a princess in Saturn,
Of virtues the pattern,
Desired to marry him, whether or no,—
Was determined to marry him, whether or no.

Away whizzed the comet, and soon he came
To the Red Man in Mars, and called him by name.
And telling his news,
Begged him not to refuse
To send back an answer at once to the same,—
"Just you make up your mind in regard to the same!"

But the Red Man sighed, and mournfully said,
"My friend, 'tis our law that all wives must be red;
And if I should be seen
With a wife who is green,
Our king would be apt at removing my head,—
Not a moment he'd lose in removing my head.

"But if the young lady (who's surely most kind),
Could in any way make up her princessly mind
To turn herself red,
It need hardly be said
That a lover devoted in me she would find,—
That a husband adoring in me she would find."

The comet whizzed back with the answer again,
And the kings and the princes received it with pain.
"Sure, the princess's green
Has so brilliant a sheen,
That the thought of a change is exceedingly vain,—
The idea of a change is prepost'rously vain."

But when the princess this message heard,
She said, "I see nothing in this that's absurd."
Then to blush she began;
And she blushed till the Man
In Mars was less ruddy by half, on my word,—
Less red by a generous half, on my word!

She blushed over cheek and lip and brow,
From her fair little head to her trim little toe.
And her hat and her shoe,
And her farthingale too,
They blushed just as red as herself, I vow,—
They blushed for the love of herself, I vow.

She blushed till the Northern Lights grew pale;
And the Scorpion danced on the tip of his tail;
And the Red Man came
In a fiery flame,
And cried, "My bee-yutiful bride, all hail!
My blushing, bee-yutiful bride, all hail!"

And so they were married, both he and she,
And the color of both was quite scarlet to see.
And they lived, the tale says,
To the end of their days,
As happy, as happy, as happy could be:
Sure, no other couple so happy could be.

For she loved him in Hebrew, and likewise in Greek,
And the Latin tongue also she freely did speak.
And the sackbut she'd play
Every hour in the day,
Till the Red Man in Mars would with ecstasy squeak,—
Till her cochineal husband with rapture would squeak.

But the people in Saturn were sad, I ween,
And evermore greener they grew, and more green;
And the princes and kings
Said such heartbreaking things,
In these mirth-loving pages they must not be seen:
I really must stop,
And the subject must drop,
For it won't do at all for such things to be seen.

---

[WIGGLE AND WAGGLE AND BUBBLE AND SQUEAK.]

Wiggle and Waggle and Bubble and Squeak,
They went their fortunes for to seek;
They went to sea in a chicken-coop,
And they lived on mulligatawney soup.

Wiggle and Waggle and Bubble and Squeak,
They cooked their soup every day in the week;
They cooked their soup in a chimney-pot,
For there the water was always hot.

Wiggle and Waggle and Bubble and Squeak,
Each gave the other one's nose a tweak;
They tweaked so hard that it took their breath,
And so they met an untimely death.

---

[Gret Gran'f'ther.]

What! take Gret Gran'f'ther's musket,
Thet he kerried at Bunker Hill,
An' go a-gunnin' fer sparrers
With Solomon Judd an' Bill?

You let thet musket alone, Dan'l!
An' git down from thet air stool.
You've just time enough to hold this yarn
Afore ye go off to school.

Thar! don't ye wriggle an' twist, sonny!
The yarn's fer yer own new socks;
It's safer to hold than muskets,
With their triggers an' riggers an' locks.

A musket to shoot at sparrers!
Wal, boys is up to sech tricks!
An' thet old un, too, thet ain't ben tetched
Sence seventeen seventy-six!

But I set more store by its rusty stock,
Than the finest money could buy;
An' if you'll stan' stiddy, Dan'l,
I'll tell ye the reason why.

You never seed Gret Gran'f'ther,
But you've seed his pictur, boy,
With the smilin' mouth, an' the big brown eyes
Jes' brimmin' with life and joy.

Wal! he war'n't like thet when I seed him,
But his sperrit was lively still,
Fer all his white hair an' empty sleeve,
As it was at Bunker Hill.

An' many's the time he's told me,
Settin' here in this very cheer,
Of the fust time he shouldered thet musket,
In the Continental year.

How out in the field a-mowin',
He seed the bay'nets glance,
An' ran fer his gun with a lighter heart
Than ever he went to a dance.

Jest as he was,—in his shirt-sleeves
(Fer the day was warm and bright),
An' no hat,—but shoulderin' his musket,
Gret Gran'f'ther went to the fight.

An' thar upon Bunker hillside,
Whar the smoke hung thick an' gray,
He went a-gunnin' fer redcoats,
As you'd go fer sparrers to-day.

Hey! but the balls were whistlin'!
An' the flashes kem thick an' fast;
But whose-ever musket hed fust word,
Gret Gran'f'ther's hed the last.

Then a gunner was shot beside him,
Thet handled a six-pound gun,
An' they called fer a man to tend her;
An' Gran'f'ther said he was one.

"I ain't never fired a gun," said he,
"But I'll do my prideful best;
An' ef all you want is a man, Colonel,
Mebbe I'm as good as the rest."

An' I reckon he was! fer he stood thar,
An' fired thet six-pound gun,
Till every redcoat within his range
Hed either dropped or run.

Then all of a suddent thar kem a crack,
A flash an' a twinge an' a thrill,
An' Gran'f'ther's right arm dropped by his side,
An' hung thar, limp an' still.

Jest fer a moment, I've heard him say,
The hull world seemed to reel;
An' a hummin' sound went through his ears,
Like Gran'm'ther's spinnin'-wheel.

But he hedn't no time for faintin',
Nor he hedn't no time for pain;
"It's well I'm left-handed!" says Gran'f'ther,
An' he fired the gun again.

Bimeby, when the Colonel found him,
Arter the fight was done,
He was lyin', all black like a nigger,
An' senseless, along by his gun.

Then the boys made a kind o' stretcher,
An' jest as they laid him a-top,
"The balls was all gone," he says, "Colonel,
So I was obleeged to stop."

Yes! thet was the way Gret Gran'f'ther fit,
An' the way he lost his arm;
But he shot with his left till the land was free,
An' then he kem back to the farm.

An' he laid his musket acrost them hooks,
An' thar it's laid to this day;
An' spite o' you an' the sparrers, Dan'l,
Thar's whar it's a-goin' to stay.

The school-bell! run now, sonny boy!
An' thank ye fer standin' still.
What's thet? Ay! Hurrah fer Gret Gran'f'ther!
An' hurrah fer Bunker Hill!

---