Lazy Sal
A lazy, lazy, lazy girl!
Her hair forever out of curl,
Her feet unshod, her hands unclean,
Her dress in tatters always seen.
Lounging here and dawdling there,
Lying out 'most anywhere
About the barn-yard. Not a thought
Of studying lessons as she ought;
But happiest when in sunny weather
She and "the other pig" together
Are playing tricks. No wonder, then,
The farmer, jolliest of men,
Is apt to say, when tired out
With seeing her sprawling round about,
"Beats all what ails that lazy gal!
Why, piggy's twice as smart as Sal!"
The Work-bag
To Jane her aunt a work-bag gave,
Of silk with flowers so gay,
That she a place might always have
To put her work away.
And then 'twas furnished quite complete
With cotton, silk and thread,
And needless in a case so neat,
Of all the sizes made.
A little silver thimble, too,
Was there among the rest;
And a large waxen doll, quite new,
That waited to be dress'd.
But Jane was very fond of play,
And loved to toss her ball;
An I am quite ashamed to say,
She scarcely worked at all.
But if at any time she did,
'Twas but a stitch or two;
And though she often has been bid,
But little more would do.
The pretty little bag, indeed,
Was hung upon her chair;
But cotton, needles, silk, and thread
Were scattered here and there.
Her aunt, by chance, came in that day,
And asked if the doll was dress'd;
Miss Jane has been engaged in play,
And careless of the rest.
The silk, to make her little dress,
Was on the table laid,
And, with an equal carelessness,
The cap had also strayed.
With gauze and lace the floor was strewed,
All in disorder lay,
When, bounding in with gesture rude,
Came Jane, returned from play.
She little thought her aunt to find,
And blushed to see her there;
It brought her carelessness to mind,
And what her doll should wear.
"Well, Jane, and where's your doll, my dear?
I hope you've dress'd her now;
But there is such a litter here,
You best know when and how."
So spoke her aunt, and, looking round
The empty bag she spied;
Poor Jane, who no excuse had found,
Now hid her face and cried.
"Since," said her aunt, "no work, you do,
But waste your time in play;
The work-bag, of no use to you,
I now shall take away."
But now, with self-conviction, Jane
Her idleness confessed,
And ere her aunt could come again,
Her doll was neatly dressed.
The Two Gardens
When Harry and Dick
Had been striving to please,
Their father (to whom it was known)
Made two little gardens,
And stocked them with trees,
And gave one to each for his own.
Harry thank'd his papa,
And with rake, hoe, and spade,
Directly began his employ;
And soon such a neat
Little garden was made,
That he panted with labour and joy.
There was always some bed
Or some border to mend,
Or something to tie or stick:
And Harry rose early
His garden to tend,
While snoring lay indolent Dick.
The tulip, the rose,
And the lily so white,
United their beautiful bloom!
And often the honey-bee
Stoop'd from his flight,
To sip the delicious perfume.
A neat row of peas
In full blossom was seen,
French beans were beginning to shoot!
And his gooseb'ries and currents,
Tho' yet they were green,
Foretold of plenty of fruit.
But Richard loved better
In bed to repose,
And snug as he curl'd himself round,
Forgot that not tulip,
Nor lily, nor rose,
Nor plant in his garden was found.
Rank weeds and tall nettles
Disfigur'd his beds,
Nor cabbage nor lettuce was seen,
The slug and the snail
Show'd their mischievous heads,
And eat ev'ry leaf that was green.
Thus Richard the idle,
Who shrank from the cold,
Beheld his trees naked and bare;
Whilst Harry the active
Was charmed to behold
The fruit of his patience and care.
Ann Taylor.
Doing Nothing
I asked a lad what he was doing;
"Nothing, good sir," said he to me.
"By nothing well and long pursuing,
Nothing," said I, "you'll surely be."
I asked a lad what he was thinking;
"Nothing," said he. "I do declare."
"Many," said I, "in vile inns drinking,
By idle minds were carried there."
There's nothing great, there's nothing wise,
Which idle hands and minds supply;
Those who all thought and toil despise,
Mere nothings live, and nothings die.
A thousand naughts are not a feather,
When in a sum they all are brought;
A thousand idle lads together
Are still but nothings joined to naught.
And yet of merit they will boast,
And sometimes pompous seem, and haughty,
But still 'tis very plain to most,
That "nothing" boys are mostly naughty.

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Page 68—Laziness Land

Lazy Sam
There was a lazy boy named Sam,
The laziest ever known,
Who spent his time in idleness,
Like any other drone.
He loved to lie in bed till noon,
With covers closely drawn,
And when he managed to get up
He'd yawn, and yawn, and yawn.
If asked to do a simple task
He always would refuse,
And say that he was lame or sick,
His action to excuse,
And over pretty picture-books—
Twas really very odd—
This lazy boy would soon begin
To nod, and nod, and nod.
If on an errand forced to go,
He'd slowly, slowly creep,
Just like a snail; you might suppose
That he was half asleep.
And those who would despatch in haste
A note, or telegram,
Would chose a swifter messenger
Than such a lazy Sam.
If he was caught out in a storm
'Twould drench him to the skin,
Because he was too indolent
To hurry to get in.
Deep in his trouser's pockets he
His idle hands would cram,
And children crowded to the doors
To look at lazy Sam.
This lazy boy would lounge about
The docks, and often wish
That he could carry home to cook
A string of nice, fresh fish;
But though he was provided with
A reel extremely fine,
Said Sam "I do not think 'twill pay
To wet my fishing line!"
Oh, Sam was always late at meals,
And always late at school,
And everybody said that he
Would be a first-class fool.
For boys not half so old as he
Above him swiftly pass,
While Sam, the great big dunce! remains
The lowest in the class.
In every way, and every day
This lazy boy would shirk,
And never lift his hand to do
A bit of useful work.
His clothes were always on awry,
His shoe-strings left untied,
His hair uncombed, his teeth uncleaned,
Alas, he had no pride!
And so he went from bad to worse—
The good-for-nothing scamp!—
Until he settled down to be
A ragged, dirty tramp.
Through cities, towns, and villages,
He begged his daily bread,
And slept at night wherever he
Could chance to find a bed.
Men shuddered as they passed him by,
And murmured sadly, "Oh!
How can a human being sink
So very, very low?"
And e'en the jackass pricks his ears,
And brays aloud "I am
Not such a donkey, I declare
As yonder lazy Sam!"
The Beggar Man
Abject, stooping, old, and wan,
See you wretched beggar-man;
Once a father's hopeful heir,
Once a mother's tender care.
When too young to understand,
He but scorched his little hand,
By the candle's flaming light
Attracted—dancing, spiral, bright.
Clasping fond her darling round,
A thousand kisses healed the wound,
Now abject, stooping, old and wan,
No mother tends the beggar-man.
Then nought too good for him to wear,
With cherub face and flaxen hair,
In fancy's choicest gauds arrayed,
Cap of lace with rose to aid,
Milk-white hat and feather blue,
Shoes of red, and coral too,
With silver bells to please his ear,
And charm the frequent ready tear.
Now abject, stooping, old, and wan,
Neglected is the beggar-man.
See the boy advance in age,
And learning spreads her useful page;
In vain! for giddy pleasure calls,
And shows the marbles, tops, and balls,
What's learning to the charms of play?
The indulgent tutor must give way.
A heedless, wilful dunce, and wild,
The parents' fondness spoil'd the child;
The youth in vagrant courses ran;
Now abject, stooping, old, and wan,
Their fondling is the beggar-man.
Lamb
Good-for-nothing Lazy Man
A good for nothing lazy lout,
Wicked within and ragged without.
Who can bear to have him about?
Turn him out! Turn him out!
The Old Beggar Man
I see an old man sitting there,
His withered limbs are almost bare,
And very hoary is his hair.
Old man, why are you sitting so?
For very cold the wind doth blow:
Why don't you to your cottage go?
Ah, master, in the world so wide,
I have no home wherein to hide,
No comfortable fire-side.
When I, like you, was young and gay,
I'll tell you what I used to say,
That I would nothing do but play.
And so, instead of being taught
Some useful business as I ought,
To play about was all I sought.
An now that I am old and grey,
I wander on my lonely way,
And beg my bread from day to day.
But oft I shake my hoary head,
And many a bitter tear I shed,
To think the useless life I've led.
J. T.