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Page 36

Wicked Willie
Willie was a wicked boy,
Snubbed his poor old mother;
Willie was a dreadful boy,
Quarrelled with his brother;
Willie was a spiteful boy,
Often pinched his sister,
Once he gave her such a blow,
Raised a great big blister!
Willy was a sulky boy,
Sadly plagued his cousins,
Often broke folks' window panes,
Throwing stones by dozens,
Often worried little girls,
Bullied smaller boys,
Often broke their biggest dolls,
Jumped upon their toys.
If he smelled a smoking tart,
Willie longed to steal it;
If he saw a pulpy peach,
Willie tried to peel it;
Could he reach a new plum-cake,
Greedy Willie picked it,
If he spied a pot of jam,
Dirty Willie licked it.
If he saw a poor old dog,
Wicked Willie whacked it;
If it had a spot of white,
Silly Willy blacked it,
If he saw a sleeping cat,
Horrid Willie kicked it;
If he caught a pretty moth,
Cruel Willie pricked it.
If his pony would not trot,
Angry Willie thrashed it;
If he saw a clinging snail,
Thoughtless Willie smashed it;
If he found a sparrow's nest,
Unkind Willie hit it.
All the mischief ever done,
Folks knew Willie did it.
No one liked that horrid boy,
Can you wonder at it?
None who saw his ugly head,
Ever tried to pat it.
No one ever took him for a ride—
Folks too gladly skipped him.
No one ever gave him bats or balls,
No one ever "tipped" him.
No one taught him how to skate,
Or to play at cricket;
No one helped him if he stuck
In a prickly thicket.
Oh no! for the boys all said
Willie loved to tease them,
And that if he had the chance,
Willie would not please them.
And they shunned him every one,
And they would not know him,
And their games and picture-books
They would never show him,
And their tops they would not spin,
If they saw him near them,
And they treated him with scorn
Till he learned to fear them.
They all left him to himself,
And he was so lonely,
But of course it was his fault,
Willie's own fault only.
If a boy's a wicked boy,
Shy of him folks fight then,
If it makes him dull and sad,
Why, it serves him right then!
This is the Naughty Boy
who would go making Mud
Pies, and get his nice new
clothes all over mud.
He said he would be Good,
but he got into the mud,
and was a Naughty, Bad,
Bad Boy!!!
The Wicked, Rude, Bad, Naughty, Cross, Nasty, Bold, Dirty-faced Boy
Boys, stop your noise! Girls, stop your jumping and skipping!
While I tell you about a bad boy, who often deserves a whipping.
If this boy to you were named, to speak to him you'd feel ashamed,
So to-day I'll only say—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
I won't tell you his age, nor the colour of his hair,
Nor say anything about the clothes he sometimes does wear;
You never see them neat and clean, and seldom without a tear,
Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
If he's sent on a message, such a long time he stops,
To pelt stones at Chinamen, and stare in the shops;
Running behind drays, and wastes time so many ways,
That when he gets home his mother says—
Oh you wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
If his mother gives him lolly, cake, piece of beef or mutton,
In a corner he'll eat it by himself, he's such a nasty, greedy glutton.
And he'll smug from his playmates a marble, top or button,
That scarcely any one can with him have any fun,
Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
He's been going to school for years, I can't tell you how long,
If you ask him to spell three words, two are sure to be wrong;
If you saw the dirty books and broken slate which to him belong,
You'd easily guess from such a mess that—
He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
You can't believe a word he says, he tells so many lies.
He's such a coward, he'll only hit a girl or boy much less than his size,
But if he gets a blow himself, he howls, bawls, yelps, and cries,
That anyone who sees him never tries to please him,
Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
He won't play any game without being always cheating,
I often wonder how he so many times escapes a beating,
And he never says grace before or after eating.
He's scarcely better in the least than a brute beast,
Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!
What school he goes to at present I won't tell,
But I mean to watch him, and if he don't mind and behave well,
I'll go to every school and ring a little bell,
I'll make a great noise, and show all the girls and boys
This wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

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Page 37

Little Chinkey Chow-Chow
 (The Boy That Ran Away)
There was a little Chinese Boy,
That ran away from home—
"Ha! ha!" he said, "I'll see the world
And through the streets I'll roam.
"I won't go any more to school,
Or go so soon to bed,
Nor yet be scolded if I choose
To stand upon my head."
So little Chinkey ran away,
His tail flew in the wind;
He thought not of his good mamma
Who was so very kind:
He knew she could not follow him
Along the crowded street,
Because mammas in China have
Such very tiny feet.
Now, as he went along he saw
Such strange and lovely sights,
Such pretty painted houses—
Such tops! and oh! such kites!
He saw so many gilded toys,
and ivory things so white,
That he forgot about the time,
Until he found it night.
Ah! then he saw such fireworks!
They glistened in his eyes;
The crackers and the lanterns too
Quite took him by surprise.
He listened to the music of
The fiddle and the gong,
And felt that it was jolly, though
He knew that it was wrong.
But after that he began to think
Things were not so bright;
The men were going, and there came
The watchman of the night;
And sleep was stealing over him,
He scarce could lift his head,
So he lay on the cold, cold stones,
Which served him for a bed.
Little Chinkey Chow-Chow
Woke up with early light,
And wandered far away from where
He passed the dreary night;
He was so very worn and cold,
And sadly wanted food,
So he sat upon a well
In not a pleasant mood.
He saw the well was very deep,
The water too was clear,
And soon he saw a golden fish
That looked so very near.
He stretched his hand to catch the fish;
But oh! how sad to tell,
He tumbled over and he sank
To the bottom of the well.
Some other boys were playing there
And saw him disappear,
And ran along the road to see
If anyone was near.
A Great BIG Market Gardener,
Was soon upon the ground,
And caught our little Chinkey up,
Who soon would have been drowned.
The boys began to jeer at him,
For he was very wet;
They pulled his dripping tail, and called
Him names that I forget.
One took his wooden shoes away,
Another took his hat,
And someone said, "It serves him right,"
Now only think of that!
When little Chinkey ran away,
His tail flew in the wind;
But when our Chinkey turned again
His tail hung down behind.
He wandered past the painted shops,
Where they put up the tea,
And I am sure the boys at school
Were happier than he.
Poor Chinkey Chow was very tired,
And very sore his feet,
When his mother saw him from
The corner of a street.
She said he was a wicked boy,
And ought to have a smack!
And yet I think she loved him more
Because she'd got him back.
Now when I see a Chinaman,
And that is every day,
I wonder if he is, grown up,
The boy that ran away.
But what I still think most about
When I this story tell,
Is the GREAT BIG Market Gardener
That raised him from the well
From Calvert's Australian Toy Books