When some one's been naughty, and some one is sad,
When the new walking bear will not go,
When the kitten is lost or the puppy is bad,
When Mary hates learning to sew,
Then up to the nursery book-shelves we climb,
For trouble time's always a picture-book time!
And there in the pictures the world seems so gay,
And everything always goes right.
The gardens are sunny, the children at play,
There's seldom a picture-book night.
No wonder we love to sit cosily curled,
Forgetting our woes in the picture-book world.
The dear, merry pages! we know them so well,
And when they are folded away,
Our troubles have vanished as if by a spell,
And nothing is wrong with the day.
The nursery book-shelves are easy to climb,
And no time is better than picture-book time!
HANNAH G. FERNALD.
THE TOPSY-TURVY DOLL
Topsy-Turvy came to me
On our last year's Christmas tree.
She is just the queerest doll,
Much the strangest of them all.
Now you see her, cheeks of red,
Muslin cap upon her head,
Bright blue eyes and golden hair,
Never face more sweet and fair.
Presto! change! She's black as night,
Woolly hair all curling tight,
Coal-black eyes, thick lips of red,
Bright bandanna on her head.
She's not two, as you'd suppose,
When Topsy comes, Miss Turvy goes.
Perhaps it's as it is with me.
Sometimes another child there'll be,
And mother says, "Where is my Flo?
I wish that naughty girl would go."
REBECCA DEMING MOORE.