The Adventures of Meddlesome "Jacko"

These pictures we hope
Will our little folks please,
And also to each one
This moral convey:
"Be contented and happy,
Whatever your lot,
And don't try, as some do,
To have your own way."
Master Jacko, you see,
Had a very snug home,
With plenty to eat
That was wholesome and good;
But still he did not,
We are sorry to say,
Behave in a way
That a pet monkey should.
For one day he said,
"Come, I don't like at all
The life that I lead,
And I cannot see why
I should not live just
As my own master does;
This chain is not strong,
Can I break it? I'll try."
After some little time
Jacko snapped it in two;
Said he to himself,
"Well, now where shall I go?
To the larder, I think;
For my appetite's good,
And I'm sure to find
Something to eat there, I know."
He entered, and as he
Was looking about
A lobster just brought
From the shop seized his tail,
And pinched him, and nipped him,
Until our young friend
Jumped about, and set up
A most piteous wail.
Next he went to the kitchen,
And there he espied
A bottle of something—
"Ha, ha, I must taste!"
But he found it was curry,
Which burnt his poor throat,
So he let drop the bottle,
And he ran off in haste.
To the dining-room the
He repaired, and he said,
"Into master's tea-pot
The hot water I'll pour;"
But he upset the kettle,
And scalded himself,
And loudly screamed out
As he rolled on the floor.
Quoth Jacko, "the house
Doesn't suit me at all,
I had better go back
To the garden again,
And gather some peaches,
Or grapes, or some plums,
And try to forget
All my trouble and pain."
In the corner the rogue
Saw a bee-hive—"Why, here
Must be honey! Delicious!"
Said he; "Just the thing!"
So he put in his hand,
But he brought out the bees,
And they punished poor Jacko
With many a sting.
Pinched, scalded, and stung,
To his home he returned.
Reasoned he, "My past folly
I shall not regret;
For I'm sure the misfortunes
I've gone through to-day
Have taught me a lesson
I ne'er shall forget."
A Fruitless Sorrow
A little monkey,
Dusky, ugly, sad,
Sat hopeless, curled
Within his narrow cage;
Dark was the stifling room,
No joy he had;
The sick air rang
With tones of pain and rage.
From many a prisoned
Creature held for sale,
Stolen from the happy
Freedom of its life:
Dull drooping birds,
That uttered shriek and wail,
And beast and reptile
Full of woe and strife.
Into the place
A cheerful presence came,
And kind eyes lighted
On the monkey small;
Straightway the weary
World was not the same
Such fortune did
The little thing befall.
Safe in a basket
Fastened, he was sent
Across the city,
Trembling and afraid.
But once he saw his new home,
What sweet content
Was his, while petted
And caressed, he played.
A week of bliss,
Alas! that it should end!
He had forgotten
Darkness, pain, and all;
But there were monkeys
Finer than our friend,
His master's eyes
On such a one must fall!
So fate had ordered,
And the frisky sprite,
Dun-coloured, grey,
And streaked with cinnamon,
Born in far bright Brazil,
Was bought at sight,
And all the first
Poor pet's fortune won.
They brought into
The bright and cheerful room
The basket small
In which he had been borne
To such a happy life.
He saw his doom
At once, the misery
Of his lot forlorn.
The moment that
The basket met his sight,
He dropped his head,
And hid his sorrowing eyes
Against his arm,
Nor looked to left nor right,
As any thinking
Human creature wise.
They took him back
Into his noisome den,
His tiny face
Concealed as if he wept,
So helpless to resist.
Heroic men
Might such despairing
Patient calm have kept.
Poor little thing!
And if he lingers yet,
Or death has ended
Life so hard to bear
I know not;
But I never can forget
His brief rejoicing
And his mute despair.

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Page 166—Gee Gee Land

The Horse
 The horse, the brave.
The gallant Horse—
Fit theme for the minstrel's song!
He hath good claim
To praise and fame;
As the fleet, the kind, the strong.
Behold him free
In his native strength,
Looking fit for the sun-god's car;
With a skin as sleek
As a maiden's cheek,
And an eye like a Polar star.
Who wonders not
Such limbs can deign
To brook the fettering firth;
As we see him fly
The ringing plain,
And paw the crumbling earth?
His nostrils are wide
With snorting pride,
His fiery veins expand;
And yet he'll be led
With s silken thread,
Or soothed by and infant's hand.
He owns the lion's
Spirit and might,
But the voice he has learnt to love
Needs only be heard,
And he'll turn to the word,
As gentle as a dove.
The Arab is wise
Who learns to prize
His barb before all gold;
But us his barb
More fair than ours,
More generous, fast or bold?
A song for the steed,
The gallant steed—
Oh! grant him a leaf of bay;
For we owe much more
To his strength and speed,
Than man can ever repay.
Whatever his place—
The yoke, the chase,
The war-field, road, or course,
One of Creation's
Brightest and best
Is the Horse, the noble Horse!
Eliza Cook
The Wonderful Horse
I've a tale to relate.
Such a wonderful tale
That really I fear
My description must fail;
'Tis about a fine horse
Who had powers so amazing.
He lived without eating,
Or drinking, or grazing;
In fact this fine horse
Was so "awfully" clever.
That left to himself
He'd have lived on forever.
He stood in a room,
With his nose in the air,
And his wide staring eyes
Looking no one knows where.
His tail undisturbed
By the sting of a fly
One foot slightly raised
As if kicking he'd try,
This wonderful horse
Never slept or yet dozed,
At least if he did so,
His eyes never closed.
"Come, gee up, old Dobbin.
Look sharp, don't you see
I want to be there
And get back before tea?"
But this obstinate horse
Never offered to prance,
Or made an attempt
At the slightest advance;
Harry slashed him so hard.
That he slashed off one ear,
Then his mane tumbled off,
And poor Dobbin looked queer.
With spur, and with whip,
And with terrible blows,
He soon was deprived
Of one eye, and his nose,
While his slightly-raised foot
Found a place on the floor.
The tail once so handsome
Was handsome no more,
And Harry, the tears
Raining down as he stood,
Cried, "Bother the horse,
It is nothing but wood!"