Where Do You Live
I knew a man, and his name was Horner,
He used to live at Grumble Corner,—
Grumble Corner, in Cross Patch Town,—
And he never was seen without a frown.
He grumbled at this, he grumbled at that;
He growled at the dog, he growled at the cat;
He grumbled at morning, he grumbled at night,
And to grumble and growl was his chief delight.
He grumbled so much at his wife, that she
Began to grumble as well as he;
And all the children wherever they went
Reflected their parents' discontent.
If the sky was dark and betokened rain,
Then Mr. Horner was sure to complain;
And if there was never a cloud about,
He'd grumble because of threatened drought.
One day, as I loitered along the street,
My old acquaintance I chanced to meet.
Whose face was without the look of care
And the ugly frown it used to wear.
"I may be mistaken, perhaps," I said.
As, after saluting, I turned my head;
"But it is, and it isn't, the Mr. Horner
Who lived so long at Grumble Corner."
I met him next day, and I met him again,
In melting weather, in pouring rain;
When stocks were up and when stocks were down;
But a smile, somehow, had replac'd the frown.
It puzzled me much, and so, one day,
I seized his hand in a friendly way,
And said "Mr. Horner, I'd like to know
What can have happened to change you so."
He laughed a laugh that was good to hear,
For it told of a conscience calm and clear,
And he said, with none of the old-time drawl,
"Why, I've changed my residence, that is all."
"Changed your residence?" "Yes," said Horner,
"It wasn't healthy at Grumble Corner,
And so I've moved: 'twas a change complete;
And you'll find me now at Thanksgiving Street."
And every day, as I move along
The streets, so filled with busy throng,
I watch each face, and can always tell
Where men, and women, and children dwell.
And many a discontented mourner
Is spending his days at Grumble Corner,
Sour and sad, whom I long to entreat
To take a house in Thanksgiving Street.
Temper
Bad temper, go,
You shall never stay with me;
Bad temper, go,
You and I shall never agree.
For I will always be kind, and mild,
And gentle pray to be,
And do to others as I wish
That they should do to me.
Temper bad
With me shall never stay;
Temper bad
Can never be happy and gay.

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Page 62—Pride Land

A Fine Lady
Did ever you see such wondrous airs!
Oh, oh! my Lady Jane!
Your airs will blow you quite away,
You'll go to Vanity-land to stay,
And ne'er come back again.
Pray, what's the price of your hat my dear?
And what'll you take for your gloves?
And how'll you sell each pink kid shoe?
And your wonderful dressed-up poodle, too?
You're a precious pair of loves.
You're all too fine for us, you know,
With your airs and stately tread,
From your pretty feet to your pretty dress,
And up to your ruffled neck, oh, yes,
And on to your feathered head.
So go your way, my Lady Jane,
Till you come from Vanity-land again.

To A Little Girl Who Liked To Look In The Glass

Why is my silly girl so vain,
Looking in the glass again?
For the meekest flower of spring
Is a gayer little thing.
Is your merry eye so blue
As the violet, wet with dew?
Yet it loves the best to hide
By the hedge's shady side.
Is your bosom half so fair
As the modest lilies are?
Yet their little bells are hung
Bright and shady leaves among.
When your cheek the brightest glows,
Is it redder than the rose?
But its sweetest buds are seen
Almost hid with moss and green.
Little flowers that open gay,
Peeping forth at break of day,
In the garden, hedge, or plain,
Have more reason to be vain.