Our Aunt 'Mandy thinks that boys
Never ought ter make a noise,
Or go swimming or play ball,
Or have any fun at all;
Thinks a boy had ought ter be
Dressed up all the time, and she
Hollers jest as if she's hurt
At the littlest mite er dirt
On a feller's hands or face,
Or his clothes, or any place.
Then at dinner-time she's there,
Sayin', "Mustn't kick the chair!"
Or "Why don't yer sit up straight?"
"'Tain't perlite to drum yer plate."
An' yer got ter eat as slow,
'Cause she's dingin' at yer so.
Then, when Chris'mus comes, she brings
Nothin', only useful things:
Han'kershi'fs an' gloves an' ties,
Sunday stuff yer jest despise.
She's a ole maid, all alone,
'Thout no children of her own,
An' I s'pose that makes her fuss
'Round our house a-bossin' us.
If she 'd had a boy, I bet,
'Tween her bossin' and her fret
She'd a-killed him, jest about;
So God made her do without,
For he knew no boy could stay
With Aunt 'Mandy every day.
THE STORY-BOOK BOY
Oh, the story-book boy! he's a wonderful youth,
A prodigy reeking with goodness and truth;
As brave as a lion, as wise as a sage,
And sharp as a razor, though twelve years of age.
His mother is good and she's awfully poor,
But he says, "Do not fret, I'll provide for you, sure!"
And the hard grasping landlord, who comes to annoy,
Is braved to his teeth by the story-book boy.
Oh, the story-book boy! when he sees that young churl.
The Squire's spoiled son, kick the poor crippled girl,
He darts to the rescue as quick as he can,
And dusts the hard road with the cruel young man;
And when he is sought by the vengeful old Squire,
He withers the latter with tongue-lashing ire;
For the town might combine his young nerve to destroy,
And never once shake him—the story-book boy.
Oh, the story-book boy! when the Judge's dear child
Is dragged through the streets by a runaway wild,
Of course he's on hand, and a "ten-strike" he makes,
For he stops the mad steed in a couple of "shakes";
And he tells the glad Judge, who has wept on his hat,
"I did but my duty!" or something like that;
And the very best place in the Judge's employ
Is picked out at once for the story-book boy.
Oh, the story-book boy! all his troubles are o'er,
For he gets to be Judge in a year or two more;
And the wicked old landlord in poverty dies,
And the Squire's son drinks, and in gutters he lies;
But the girl whom he saved is our hero's fair bride,
And his old mother comes to their home to abide;
In silks and sealskins, she cries, in her joy:
"Thank Heaven, I'm Ma of a story-book boy!"