FACTS IN JINGLES

Winifred, age twelve, with her trained bird, Okikusan

FACTS IN JINGLES

By

WINIFRED SACKVILLE STONER, JR.

(Written Between the Ages of Five and Twelve)

INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright 1915
The Bobbs-Merrill Company

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOK MANUFACTURERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.

Dedicated
to
Miss Katharine O'Shea
of
Madison, Wisconsin

INTRODUCTION

These jingles were written by a child for children. The young author does not expect that any one will imagine they were intended to be a contribution to poetry or literature. They will be of interest to adults principally as an illustration of the way a child's mind views some of the every-day situations of life. Grown people will also be interested to see how easily a young child can put facts into the jingle form when freedom of expression is acquired early.

Those who have read Mrs. Stoner's Natural Education will recall that Winifred learned almost as a babe to use the typewriter. This helped her in her spelling and composition, so that she gained ease and freedom in expressing herself on any topic that she understood. She wrote out everything she learned so that she might the better get a grasp of it and remember it. And she found that when some kinds of facts were put together in a jingle they could be fixed with less effort and retained more securely than if they were learned in the ordinary way—by rote and without any method of organization.

Rhyme and rhythm seem to furnish to the young mind an easy and effective method of relating and expressing facts ordinarily dissociated from anything of interest to a child. As long as such facts are presented to the young in home and school, the jingle will prove of service to teachers and parents, and of interest and value to children. In addition, some of these jingles will delight the young merely because of their rhythmical quality, while others will afford amusement because of the humorous interpretation they put on many of the events that are daily experienced by children everywhere.

Any adult who may read these jingles should be informed that many of them were written when Winifred was hardly more than a babe. And all of them were dashed off without effort to achieve poetic merit. One characteristic that makes them of interest is their spontaneity. As an illustration of the readiness with which Winifred can construct a jingle, I may say that when she was twelve years of age, I happened one day to read her the following essay on Bones written by a pupil:

"Bones is the framework of the body. If I had no bones in me, I should not have so much shape as I have now. If I had no bones my brain, heart, lungs, and larger blood vessels would be lying around in me, and might get hurt. If my bones were burned I should be brittle, because it would take the animal out of me. If I was soaked in acid I should be limber. I'd rather be soaked than burned. Some of my bones don't grow close to my others snug like the branches to the trunk of a tree. The reason why they don't grow that way is because they have joints. Joints is good things to have in bones. All my bones put together make a skeleton. Some animals have their skeleton on the outside. I am glad I am not them animals, for my skeleton like it is on the chart would not look very well on my outside."

I asked her if she would put the essay into a rhyme. She ran off to her typewriter, and in twelve minutes came back with the jingle, I'm glad I'm not an Exo. It is published exactly as she handed it to me, without change in content or in form.

Mrs. Stoner's Natural Education describes in detail how Winifred has been educated up to this point in her career. This book of jingles presents some concrete evidence of the results of Mrs. Stoner's method of teaching freedom of expression, and her many devices for assisting a child to retain more or less formal facts in history, the sciences, and so on. The book will prove of interest and help to children, and parents and teachers should be able to get suggestions and practical teaching devices from it.

M. V. O'Shea.

Madison, Wisconsin.

Ever since I was five years old my dear friends, the fairies, have whispered jingles to me as keys to Memory's storehouse. As these jingles have been of great assistance in my studies, I have asked my good publishers to put them in book form with the hope that they may help, or at least amuse, many girls and boys.

Winifred Sackville Stoner, Jr.

CONTENTS

FACTS IN JINGLES

A GREAT SURPRISE

On the nineteenth day of August, in the year of nineteen two,

Most kind and gracious Madame Stork right over Norfolk flew,

And brought to my dear mother there a wonderful surprise,

A little red-brown baby girl with large blackberry eyes.

Now mother, she had asked the stork to bring her greatest joy

And drop a bundle at her door containing a wee boy;

But when the stork made a mistake and brought just little me,

She thought that I was better far than any boy could be,

And wrapped me in the blanket which she'd planned for my wee brother

And which my dear "Ma Mie" had knit to help my busy mother.

She changed the name of Lionel to little Winifred,

And all the things for brother planned, she gave to me instead.

BRIDGET MAKES SPLIT PEA SOUP

"Bridget," asked the mistress, "whatever is the matter,

Nothing ready for our lunch excepting pancake batter?

Why, I invited guests to come for lunch at half-past one,

And they've been waiting all this time and yet there's nothing done."

"Well, mum," replied Miss Bridget, "the fault is all your own,

For split pea soup you ordered and, workin' here alone,

It's took me just two hours while tryin' just to split

Three hundred of these blarsted peas, which give me most a fit,

And as there's still three hundred, 'twill take two hours more

To split the pesky little things, shure as me name's MAHORE!"

THE CAREFUL MOTHER

Now come, dear John, and go to school,

I hope you know your every rule.

No, do not kiss me, Johnnie dear,

My mouth is full of germs I fear.

Love, as you walk along the street,

You must not pat each dog you meet.

Alas! you naughty, careless lad,

You've touched the cat, how sad, how sad!

For I must sterilize again

Your hands and face and books and pen.

Now, take each antiseptic glove

And quickly into each one shove

Your fingers which are prone to be

From dreaded germs—ah, never free.

Here's "SURE-GERM-KILLER" in a case.

Put some at once on hands and face,

For, oh, I fear those dreadful GERMS

May some day make you food for worms!

GROWING THINGS

My dearest friend, John M—, and I, at least our mothers say,

Are growing just as weeds will grow in April and in May.

John's legs they grow so very fast his pants they leave his knees,

His jackets get so very tight they burst if he dare sneeze.

His head grows large and larger, I suppose because of brains,

So when he wears his last year's cap, it causes lots of pains.

And I am such a growing thing, my dresses they won't last

More than a month before the spot marked by my knees is passed.

And when I had the measles and had to stay in bed,

You scarcely can believe me, but I grew from foot to head.

So everyone who saw me said that I had grown an inch,

And when I tried to wear my shoes, oh, my, but they did pinch!

But generally my shoes don't last until they are too small,

Because I kick the toes right out while playing at football.

GRANDPA'S HEAD TUMS FREW HIS HAIR

When Margaret was a youngster scarcely two years old,

At climbing chairs and tables this lass was very bold.

And one day when her grandpa was seated in his chair,

She climbed upon the rounded rungs as if they were a stair,

And looking at her grandpa's head, which fast was growing bald,

She cried out, "Dearest Grandpa, one time you must hab failed,

Or maybe you've been naughty and dot an awful scare,

Which taused the top ob yu's round head to tum right frew de hair."

SUSAN REWARDED FOR TWENTY YEARS' SERVICE

Professor Theophilus Socrates Snook

One day paid a visit to Susan, his cook,

And, beaming upon her with kindliest look,

Said, "Susan, my dear, please gaze at this book.

In here you may learn of elephantiasis,

And also the hookworm, uncinariasis;

Of craw-craw and chiggers, of ainhum and sprue,

And all that I've written about them is true.

Now, Susan, to me you've been faithful, my dear,

In keeping my house for many a year;

For years nearly twenty you've been now with me,

Cooking my victuals just as they should be,

And truly I think a reward I should pay

To one who has labored from day unto day.

So when I discovered a wondrous new germ,

Which causes young children to wiggle and squirm,

I thought that this bug for you I would name

And bring you great glory and honor and fame.

It's a wondrous discovery, this ungomariasis,

And so we will call it the SUSANBONPIASIS."

"No, thank you, your honor," said Susan Bawben,

"I had the bugs once and don't want 'em again.

And if you onsist upon callin' me BUGS,

I'll lave you alone wid your books and your drugs."

A WONDROUS GROWING BABY

FIRST LADY:

"Just now I heard a story, which sister says is true,

About a lovely baby which grew and grew and grew,

Because its mother fed it on full gallons of good milk,

So that it gained ten pounds a day and looked as fine as silk."

SECOND LADY:

"I don't believe the story, such diet it would kill

A poor wee darling baby—at least, 'twould make it ill."

FIRST LADY:

"'Tis true, most little babies would have burst and died—

But not so with this baby—'Ma Elephant's fond pride.'"

A JOKE ON ONKLO KARLO

Onklo Karlo, he's a duck, and I love him dearly,

'Cause he loves all little girls, amusing them so queerly

By catching in his mouth the nuts which he hurls in the air,

And making paper cones to stand just almost anywhere;

Or holding apples on a pole stuck right upon his nose,

And balancing the little girls just straight upon his toes.

He always has good candy—the kind I love to eat—

Made of delicious goodies that taste so nice and sweet.

He tells most wondrous stories of sky and land and sea,

And never seems to weary of pleasing little me;

And jokes, he knows so many his store will ne'er give out,

They make me laugh and giggle and sometimes even shout;

But here's a joke on Onklo—I wonder if he knows

That nails are hidden in his socks—of course, they're on his toes.

THE PEARL OF LAKES

Of all good Uncle Sam's great lakes,

LAKE ERIE is the best;

She is a pearl among all lakes

Of north, south, east or west

Her waters on a pleasant day

Dance gaily in the sun,

And ever seem to smile at me

And say, "Come, have some fun

Within my cool refreshing spray

Of waters bright and clear,

Oh, little girl, come right away,

And never have a fear!

There are no dread sea monsters here

Within my wide domain,

Where only best of 'Finny-kind'

Are e'er allowed to reign."

My little friend, sweet Jean, and I

Say, "Thank you, gracious Lake,

Well don our bathing suits and caps

And then a plunge will take

Right into your fresh cooling fount,

And then we'll be so clean

That not a soul would ever think

That PITTSBURGH we had seen."

THE MUSEUM'S FAT LADY

TEACHER TO TOMMY:

"Now, Tommy, please answer, and tell me at once,

Who is your father, you silly young dunce?"

TOMMY TO TEACHER:

Said Tommy, with tears gushing forth from his eyes,

"I know you're a lady w'at's most wondrous wise,

But I hates like the mischief to tell on poor Pa,

'Cause he's always good to both me and Ma,

But he is the fat lady w'at you may see

By goin' to Barnum's and payin' a fee."

PATTI LOU AT THE ZOO

My little Cousin Patti Lou

One day went to the Highland Zoo,

And there she saw an old ZEBU

Who looked at her and said, "Moo—moo!"

And ended with an awful "Oooooooooh!"

She saw also a funny GNU,

And said to him, "Well, how are you?"

But he would nothing say or do,

Not even grant, nor bray, nor mew.

She saw a polly as it flew,

And showed gay feathers, pink and blue,

But when she came this bird to woo,

Poll bit her finger almost through.

Near to this wicked Polly Chew

There lived a handsome, large HIBOU,

Which came from some fine foreign zoo,

And worked its head round like a screw.

The camel and the kangaroo,

With polar bears and brown bears, too,

And many birds to me quite new,

All made their home in this great zoo.

With elephants and tigers, too,

And a huge lion named KING FOO,

He paced his cage and said, "Grr—roo!"

As if he meant, "I will eat you!"

Near him a dove all pink and blue

So sweetly sang of love, "Coo—coo,"

While across the way MONK SNOOPLE SNOO

Swung by his tail and sneezed "Ca—choo!"

FURS LINED WITH KITTENS

Said a rich little girl, who was boasting one day,

"I'ze too many furs, so I throws them away;"

But her poor little friend, who fine furs had none,

In braggadocia could not be outdone,

And proudly she showed her little fur mittens

And said, "I'ze sum odders, do deys lined wid kittens."

MUCH LEARNING SAVES IGNATIUS

"Father," said learned Ignatius, as the strap was preparing to fall

Down on his trousersless bare-skin, "I don't mind a whipping at all,

But are you quite certain, dear father, the strap has been well sterilized?

For virulent germs in old leather are often concealed and disguised;

And surely by violent impact with textile and soft porous skin,

But lately exposed to the street's dust there's danger of entering in

Upon my most delicate system, and then comes the big doctor's fee,

So, dear father, show you're a wise man and touch not the strap upon me."

While the learned youth plead, lo! his father upon that dread strap loosed his hold,

And thus he escaped from a whipping, Ignatius the wise and the bold.

TWILIGHT

Of all the hours of day or night

Give me the twilight hour,

When little birds hide out of sight

And every sylvan bower

Is filled with their sweet good night song,

While darkness creeps apace

O'er all the bright blue sky along

And hides the sun's gold face.

That is the hour when Mother dear

Says, "Come, sweetheart," to me,

"And of the earth's great heroes hear

While sitting on my knee."

Upon her arm I rest my hand

And wondrous stories hear,

Until it's time to go to bed,

Tucked in by Mother dear.

A FIVE-FOOT SHELF OF SUMMER BOOKS

Whenever you're perspiring like a Gruyère cheese,

List to this list of cooling works which cannot fail to please:

Great Isaac Hayes's noted work upon the POLAR SEA,

How much with him this broiling day we all would like to be!

Or maybe in the SNOWBOUND realms we'd find still more delight

If Whittier, the poet great, would take us there to-night.

With Nansen in his tales of weird and far-off frozen lands,

Where no one needs be tortured by electric buzzing fans;

And Barrows' wondrous voyages in icy ARCTIC REGIONS,

Meeting monstrous icebergs each hour by the legions.

While each and all would love to get a nice big cooling box

Of the ARCTIC SUNBEAMS that are mentioned by S. Cox,

And ICY LANDS by Perry, Kane, Atkinson and Hall,

Sound so mighty tempting to us one and all.

Exploring parties to the North led by the hero Schley,

Oh, such a summer voyage how we would like to try!

And follow after Wrangell with snow up to our knees

Across Siberia's lonely plains to far-off NORTHERN SEAS.

While reading of the ICE FLOATS from Kennan and from Hohn,

We feel that we should have a shelf all of our very own,

And on it all these chilly works we there should keep on hand,

To take us when we're hot and cross to some cool northern land.

THE CAT EXTINCTED THE CANARY

"Josephine," asked the teacher, "can you tell to me

Any bird that's now extinct, but used on earth to be?"

"Oh, yes, Miss Jane," said Josephine, "our sweet canary, Jim,

Because the naughty pussy cat, she quite extincted him."

A BONY SONG

Eight and twenty bones, 'tis said,

Are located in my head.

In my trunk are fifty-four

That I add to my bone store;

While my limbs have plenty more—

Full one hundred twenty-four.

In my skull, the strong round box

Which protects my brains from knocks,

There are eight bones in its wall—

Glad I have them when I fall!

Occipital there is but one;

One ethmoid and wedge sphenoid one,

One frontal bone not very long—

Compared with oak just twice as strong.

Parietals there are but two,

Two temporals will also do.

Fourteen bones are in my face,

To know them not is a disgrace.

One lower jaw and upper two

Help me each day when I must chew.

Two turbinated shaped like cones,

Two nasal, malar, palate bones,

Two lachrymals and vomer one,

But very large bones there are none.

The smallest bones are in my ear

And help me when I wish to hear.

These bones so small, are hard to see—

The mallet, anvil, stapes wee.

My bony trunk it takes good care

Of all the organs hidden there.

Its spinal column very long

Has six and twenty bones so strong.

Small bones just seven it doth take

A neck or cervical to make,

With dorsals twelve and lumbars five,

I surely need if I would thrive;

With sacrum one and lots of ribs,

Fourteen true and ten called "fibs,"

One coccyx, sternum, hyoid small,

With two big hip bones—that is all.

Now in my limbs, just let me see,

I own a clavicle or key,

A scapula or shoulder blade,

And which for gold I wouldn't trade,

A humerus not meant for fun,

A radius and ulna one.

Eight carpals help to form my wrists.

Five metacarpals in my fist,

While all my fingers have each three

Phalanges that are strong but wee,

But my poor thumbs can only boast

Of two phalanges at the most.

My lower limbs are proud to own

A sturdy thigh or femur bone.

This useful bone is very long

And joined by a patella strong

To two stout bones within my leg,

One like a flute, one like a peg,

One as the fibula is known,

The other's called tibia bone.

My instep has just seven tarsals,

Shaped à la the eight wrist carpals,

While the five bones in my feet

With fourteen more the toes complete.

Thus each perfect person owns

Just two hundred and six bones.

LET THE BUMBLE BE

One day I saw a bumble bee bumbling on a rose,

And as I stood admiring him, he stung me on the nose.

My nose in pain it swelled so large it looked like a potato,

So Daddy said, though Mother thought 'twas more like a tomato.

And now, dear children, this advice, I hope you'll take from me,

And when you see a bumble bee, just let that bumble be.

GRANDMA TURKEY'S LAMENT

"Oh! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Oh!

The Turkey-world is full of woe!"

So Grandma Turkey sadly gobbles

As in her coop she lamely wobbles.

"This woe is caused by people's germs

Which are much smaller than wee worms

Yet cause great trouble on this earth

And drive away all joy and mirth.

"When I was young the turkeys then

They lost their turklettes now and then

When wintry winds came howling round

And chilly snow fell on the ground

From one disease, DECAPIDITIS,

But now we have appendicitis

While it is pleasant summer weather

And we should scarcely lose a feather.

"Our poor weak throats are the receiver

For children's ills, as scarlet fever

And many a diphtheratic germ

Which causes us in pain to squirm,

Extincting all of our fine race

So common birds must take our place."

ANSWERS, NOT QUESTIONS, CAUSE TROUBLE

MOTHER:

"Don't bother your father with questions, Ervane,

He's tired of hearing you ask to explain

Why fishes can't walk or ride on the land?

How lizards and fleas can live in the sand?

What causes the sun to set in the west

And always to sleep in one golden nest?

When will the time come for children to fly

And play in the clouds with the birds in the sky?

Such foolish, vain questions, they trouble your dad

And sometimes I fear they make him quite sad."

"No, Mother," replied the inquisitive lad,

"It's the answers, not questions, that trouble poor Dad."

ROOSEVELT COMPLIMENTS MAMA LION

One day last year King Teddy arose with old King Sun

And, seeing a huge lion, he seized his trusty gun

And made the King of Jungle-land quickly homeward run,

While Teddy followed after and thought it lots of fun.

King Lion reached his tavern home, trembling in great fear,

But when Queen Lion heard his tale, she simply scratched one ear,

Then shrugged her shoulders à la hump and to her husband said,

"In all the best newspapers how often have I read

That Teddy loves all parents who large families possess,

And I am sure with many cubs our happy den is blessed."

Then grave and proud Queen Lion she carried out each babe,

And placed it in the doorway of her Afro-jungle cave;

And there she proudly waited for King Teddy to appear,

For of his teeth and of his gun she hadn't any fear.

The coward King of Jungle-land, he hid himself inside,

And when he heard King Teddy's voice his bones shook in his hide;

But soon he knew his fears were vain when Teddy, laughing, said:

"As mother of fine sextets, you surely rank ahead

Of all the lions I have met in circus tent or den,

To meet you I'm DEE-LIGHTED, and I hope we'll meet again."

WEE WILLIE'S FIRST HAIR CUT

Last Friday, for the first time, wee Willie went with me

To the colored barber, who bowed most graciously,

And asked the little fellow how should he crop his curls,

Close to his head, in medium length, or bobbed like little girls'?

Wee Willie answered promptly. "My hair, please, barber, crop

Like my own dear Daddy's, wif a small round hole on top."

THE TIME OF HIS LIFE

There are many schools of learning and also schools of game,

But the school with largest members bears KING HIPPO'S name,

And big and little people, yes, even EVANS' FLEET,

Would think it quite unpleasant a Hippo school to meet.

But Bwana Tumbo Teddy, who knows no thought of fear,

Laughed in joyous pleasure as the SCHOOL drew near,

And smiling at the leader, he made her stiff with fright,

As from his parted mouthpiece his white teeth came in sight.

Then Bwana seized his rifle and, taking steady aim,

He fired at Queen Hippo and made her front legs lame,

Then shooting at her sisters, and brothers left and right,

He scattered all the mighty beasts and drove them out of sight.

All those he killed, this hunter brave, then quickly towed ashore,

Saying, "I'M DEE-LIGHTED, and I hope to meet some more

SCHOOLS OF HIPPOPOTAMI that feel inclined to strife,

As in this Hippo-battle I'd the time of my whole life."

THE WINKING STAR

There's a winking star in the sky above,

At least so I've been told;

A veritable little flirt of a star,

But he surely can't be bold,

As he's some million miles from here

In Pegasus, the steed,

And if we wish to see him wink

A telescope we need.

TOO MANY DOLLS

Miss Margaret Mary Elizabeth May,

Had one hundred dollies with which she could play.

There were bisque dolls and wax dolls and dolls with real hair,

Red dolls and black dolls and dolls that were fair,

Fat dolls and plump dolls and dolls in the style,

Hipless and jointless and dressed in a smile;

Sag dolls and wood dolls and celluloid boys,

China and paper and Jumping Jack Joys;

Irish and Scotch dolls and dolls from Paree,

And all of the strange lands from over the sea;

Jappies and Chinese and dark Esquimos,

Dutchies and Germans and cutest Dagoes;

Dollies from Egypt and dollies from Spain,

Hindoos and Hebrews and one little Dane.

From Poland and Russia they'd traveled afar

By railroad and steamer and also by car

To join other dollies from Johnnie Bull's home,

And lovely Italians from far away Rome.

From Greenland and Iceland, Norway and Greece,

The string of these dollies seemed never to cease.

But Margaret Mary Elizabeth May

Could never decide with which doll to play,

So she was not happy as poor little Sue,

Who in her doll family had only two

Wretched rag dollies without any hair,

But which she considered a most lovely pair.

And these ugly dollies they gave her delight,

As with them she played from morning till night.

LAST OF MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB

Mary had a little lamb;

She also had a little ham,

A pie, a cake, an ice-cream cone,

Which caused the maiden loud to groan.

And now poor Mary and her lamb

And pie and cake and cone and ham

Are resting in the cold, dark tomb—

For Mary met dyspeptic's doom.

WOES CAUSED BY WHOOPING BUGS

If you don't believe that whooping-cough causes lots of woe,

Just catch a few whooping germs and then I guess you'll know

That whoopee-whoops! and wheepee-wheeps! are not one bit of fun,

When you see others playing games where all must jump and run;

For if you jump or if you run, you start the whoop-oop-oop!

And even if you're tired you can't sleep for the croup,

Caused by the awful whooping bugs, which lurk within your throat

And make your voice sound hoarser than the singing of a goat.

For fear of spreading whooping bugs you certainly can't go

To Sunday-school or other school, or even to a show,

But you must stay at home ALONE from three to six long weeks,

And listen to your croaking voice, which whoops and sometimes squeaks.

So therefore take the good advice of a little girl who knows,

And stay away from WHOOPING-COUGH, which causes lots of woes.

GOOD B'S AND BAD T'S

The most precious treasures in all this good earth,

The givers of JOY of only true worth

Are good books and babies, the two little B's

That are gifts of the FAIRIES for mortals to please.

The most dreaded tortures in all this wide earth

That to all greatest SORROWS are prone to give birth

Are bad tears and temper, the two ugly T's

Invented by GOBLINS for mortals to tease.

A BOY'S COMPLAINT

Grandma calls me Johnnie, father calls me John,

My sweetheart calls me Buddy, and the boys call me Don,

But Mother, oh, dear Mother, whenever I come near,

She calls me darling Baby and sometimes "BABY DEAR."

I like the name of Johnnie, I'm proud of my name John,

I don't mind hearing Buddy and the shorter name of Don,

But, though I love dear Mother far more than all the rest,

Her name of DARLING BABY I thoroughly detest.

You see when I am playing with boys in the street,

And pitching ball or doing some extraordinary feat,

It makes me feel so little to hear my mother call,

"Watch out, my darling BABY, be careful lest you fall!"

I'm not a darling baby, nor little baby dear,

I'm quite a great big boy and have no baby fear,

But I can't stand the guying the boys give to me,

When Mother starts to calling that hateful name—"BABEE."

KING TEDDY, THE FEARLESS

King Teddy has much courage to fight both beasts and men

With pistols and with broadswords and with the mighty pen.

And now in Afric jungles he's busy fighting fleas,

Mosquitoes, and big tigers and monstrous bumble bees;

Huge elephants, gorillas and awful Guinea-worms,

Sloughing phagedæna, and sleeping sickness germs,

Tinea imbricata, piedra, and goundou,

Malaria and the ainhum, pinta and the sprue,

Chyluria, mycetonia, leprosy and yaws,

Afric dysentery and maybe lions' claws,

Bubonic plague and dengue and dreadful tropic-boils,

Fevers black and yellow and sometimes serpents' coils,

Tinea Madagascar, Dhobie itch, screw worms,

Beri-beri and craw-craw and all the Afric germs;

With dread sun-traumatism, and abscess of the liver,

Yet none of these great terrors can make King Teddy shiver.

THE GROUCH-BUG

Of all the dreaded bugs and germs

That in this earth abound,

No bugs in greater number

Have ever yet been found,

Nor looked upon with terror more

By big folks and by small

Than GROUCH-BUGS, which are awful pests.

That come to one and all.

They make us, oh, so cranky

That we would like to yell,

And hunt up all the meanest things

About our friends to tell.

When other folks are smiling

The GROUCH-BUG'S victim cries,

While other folks are dancing

The GROUCH-SICK heave big sighs.

A great and noted doctor says

The GROUCH-BUG is but found

Within the torrid climate

Where heat waves will abound,

And that the bug will never live

In woman, boy or child,

But always seeks a man's stout frame

And makes him cross and wild.

But though I'm young, I truly think

That this is not quite true,

For well I know some little girls,

And boys and ladies, too,

Who have the awful GROUCHES

And get quite fiercely mad

So that they act like demons

Who never can be glad.

My daddy says the only cure

Which he would always use

For folks who get the GROUCHES

And other folks abuse,

Would be to give a ducking

With water freezing cold

So that they'd be so chilly

They couldn't even scold.

But for the kiddies of my age

Who let this bad bug in,

He recommends the touching

Of peach limb to bare skin.

KIND HEARTS

There are no bigger hearts for their bodies

And no kinder hearts on this earth

Than the big juicy red hearts of melons,

To mortals fair jewels of worth.

The "King Water Melon," the big heart,

Of all earthly melons the best,

He clings to the earth, his good mother,

And never once leaves her warm breast.

And so when he's grown he's a big heart,

Which helps both the great and the small,

When fevers are burning our parched throats

Or if we are thirsty at all.

These kind hearts are always so cooling

And taste, oh, so good and so sweet,

I'm sure that they once grew in Eden

For our Father Adam to eat.

HENS

What curious birds are common hens!

They make good broth and even pens.

They have no teeth, no hair, no nose,

But sport a comb red as a rose.

They have no arms or funny bones

That causes folks to let forth groans,

Their victuals they all swallow whole

And use a craw for a chopping bowl.

They have no hands, they have no wrists,

And without hands they can't make fists,

But for one thing they should rejoice

And cluck aloud with cheerful voice;

Not having hands, they have no nails,

Which are the cause of many wails,

For once a week we girls and boys

Must put aside our games and toys

And all our nice exciting tales,

While mother trims our finger nails.

NISSEN, THE SANTA CLAUS OF NORWAY

How glad I am that I was born in this land very dear,

Where children have a Santa Claus of whom they have no fear;

A Santa who is always kind, remembering one and all

When every year at Christmas time, he pays us all a call.

In far away chill Norway, there NISSEN is the name

Of the Christmas visitor who bears good Santa's fame;

But he's a naughty brownie so short and very small,

Not a bit like Santa who pays us all a call.

But, like our good gift giver, his beard is long and white,

And he wears a coat of furs and many colors bright.

But instead of bringing goodies to good girls and to boys,

Nice new clothes and books and games and lots of wondrous toys,

He expects that all big folks and also little ones

Should leave his favorite dishes, such as puddings, cakes and buns,

Outside of every doorway so that he may eat at will

Of these luscious dainties until he has had his fill.

Then after eating all the cakes his "tummy-tum" can hold,

He milks the cows and splits the wood (at least, so I've been told),

But never thinks to bring nice gifts to little girls and boys

Whose parents have to trim their trees and buy them all their toys.

Besides, this naughty NISSEN is cross at times and bad,

And does all sorts of horrid tricks which I think very sad

At Christmas when we all should be so kind to one another,

And treat each person whom we meet as if he were our brother.

But NISSEN steals away the cows and even horses fleet,

From all the people who forget to bake him puddings sweet;

And if above a whisper one should dare to speak or sing

About this cranky fellow, then this evil he will bring

Upon the one who dared to throw his name upon the breeze,

Now in our land we sing loud praise of Santa all the time,

And tell about his goodness great, in prose and jingling rhyme;

And yet it seems the more we sing about the jolly elf,

But children in far Norway are better girls and boys

Than we who live in this fair land and think so much of toys

That we forget about the pets while feeding our own selves

While Norway children in the fall they work to gather corn

And save it for the birds they feed on every Christmas morn;

So we should follow in their steps and feed the wee birds crumbs

A CHRISTMAS WISH FOR ALL MY FRIENDS

While Christmas bells are chiming, oh, may there come to you

A dear sweet little fairy, who's always good and true;

The little happy fairy, who drives away dull care,

And makes all things upon the earth seem ever bright and fair.

She'll whisper to good Santa to bring what you most wish;

So if you have been longing for a fine pudding dish,

She will not, as in by-gone years, forget and bring to you

Something that you do not want, though beautiful and new.

SANTA'S REINDEER IN THE SKY

Long, long ago before this earth had any girls and boys

To hang their stockings on the shelf expecting Christmas toys,

Good Santa was a big white cloud that floated in the sky;

If you had lived in those old days, you'd seen him floating by.

But when the children came to rule upon good Mother Earth,

She took kind Santa from the sky and made him God of Mirth;

To bring at every Christmas time good gifts to girls and boys

And make them all so happy with a lot of lovely toys.

Far, far among the icebergs, in the cold and freezing zone,

She built for him a palace, where he lives almost alone,

With only good old Mrs. Claus to keep him company,

And sometimes Cousin Nicholas for two days or for three.

Wise Mother Earth she knew this clime would suit good Santa well,

For here no foolish, idle folks would ever come to dwell;

Nor pay the good Saint visits which would waste his precious time,

While he could work much faster here than in a warmer clime.

But never did he suffer from the icebergs at the Pole,

As fairies kept his fireplace all full of red-hot coal;

Or heaped bright burning logs on it as full as it could hold,

So Santa never felt a tweak of Jack Frost's biting cold.

Likewise the fairies brought to him and his most faithful spouse,

Just everything that they could need to keep a cozy house.

And even cooked their victuals and brought them every day

Exactly at the proper time, upon a huge hot tray.

And after they had eaten all the dainties on the tray,

The good kind fairies quickly came and took the tray away;

So Mrs. Claus had no excuse for being cross or sad,

Since no experience she had had with Bridgets getting mad.

When Santa finished all his toys, he put them in a sack,

Where he intended carrying them just like a pedler's pack,

But Mother Earth surprised the Saint and to his palace led

Eight lovely prancing reindeer and a large commodious sled.

These reindeer were the cousins of swift Pegasus, the steed

Who helped the hero Perseus when he was in great need;

And, like the flying hero horse, they lived up in the sky,

Till Mother Earth had need of them to help old Santa fly.

And so on every Christmas eve for full ten hundred years,

Good Santa and his reindeer fleet have banished children's tears

By bringing them most all the gifts their little hearts could wish,

And filling stockings, shoes and plates, and even puddin dish.

But when last Christmas came around, good Mother Earth, she said,

"Dear Santa, I have something fine for you to use instead

Of your good, faithful reindeer and your big old-fashioned sled,

For here's a lovely aeroplane, all painted shining red."

The wise old lady then declared that he could safely fly

With this machine most anywhere away up in the sky,

And travel far, far faster than the reindeer who were fleet

But stumbled sometimes on the roofs made slippery with sleet.

The aeroplane could carry well a larger load of toys,

So he could visit more good girls and also little boys,

Who live in far off heathen lands where everyone's a sinner,

But that's no reason each should do without a Christmas dinner.

With this machine he'd save some time to look out for each pet

Of all the little girls and boys, as they so oft forget

To treat their pets most kindly upon the Christmas morn

In memory of the Saviour who on this day was born.

And likewise all the horses, the cows and pigs and sheep,

For men so seldom think of them when Christmas time they keep;

And even wild, fierce animals, and fishes in the sea,

Should all be made quite happy at Christmas time to be.

"I do not like this plan at all of giving up my sled

And my good faithful reindeer," so good old Santa said.

But Mother Earth she laughed at him and said she would repay

The reindeer, whom she would send home straight to the Milky Way.

But Santa was old-fashioned and had great fears to fly

Without his sled and reindeer, he'd used in years gone by,

And begged that on his maiden trip these true old friends to take

To help him should the aeroplane prove but a wicked fake.

The laughing Earth then granted him this very small request,

And early on glad Christmas eve (the eve of all most blest)

He started forth upon his trip, did good old Santa dear,

Guiding his Wright aeroplane with feelings of great fear.

But Mother Earth showed she was wise and knew just what was best

To help the good old tired saint while on his children quest;

And fast the good Wright aeroplane it flew both low and high,

So Santa took the Earth's advice, and though he heaved a sigh,

He dropped the poor old worn-out sled as he was passing by,

And people said, who saw it fall, "A meteor from the sky!"

Then, kissing each good reindeer, he bade them all farewell,

And left them in the Milky Way, forever there to dwell.

And you, my little playmates, who have heard the tiny hoofs

Of the wondrous flying steeds pattering on the roofs,

If you would like to catch a glimpse of Santa's good reindeer,

Then wait until it's dark some night, and when the sky is clear,

You'll see them very plainly in the broad light Milky Way,

And there, for all the time to come, these steeds will romp and play.

ALL DENTISTS GO TO HEAVEN

I don't like dentists, because they hurt me

With horrid bad pinchers as sharp as can be.

They pick at my teeth and scratch in my head

Until I begin to wish I were dead.

But I read in the paper (so I suppose it's so)

That all of the dentists to Heaven will go,

Because they are needed away up there

To make gold crowns for the angels fair.

MABEL AT THE BUTCHER SHOP

When Mabel went with Mother

To buy some chops for tea,

She gazed in awestruck horror

At sawdust she could see,

Sprinkled over all the floor,

To north, south, east and west,

And as wee Mabel saw it

Her heart was sore oppressed.

She hated all the butchers

And yearned to be at home,

Where she could guard her dolly

And teach her not to roam

Afar to shops of butchers,

As now wee Mabel knew

That butchers hurt poor dollies

And stab them through and through,

So all their nice warm stuffings

Would flow from every pore

And cover well with sawdust

The butcher's dirty floor.

THANKSGIVING IN 20,000 A. D.

"Oh, how the ways have changed with men

Since the good days of nineteen ten,

When I was living on the earth

And joining in Thanksgiving mirth!"

A nineteen hundred spirit cried

As many people he espied

While gazing on old Mother Earth

Years twenty thousand since her birth.

Long, long ago, as poets say,

For good Thanksgiving holiday

A feast was spread of nice mince pies.

Of turkeys of tremendous size,

Cranberry sauce, and giblet stew,

Potatoes, corn and ice cream, too,

With salads, raisins, nuts and cake,

And all the pastry "Ma" could bake.

These days, alas! they don't believe

That any stomach should receive

A mixture of such tasty things,

And as folks float upon their wings

They take some predigested pills,

Which, so they say, keep off all ills.

And now on good Thanksgiving Day

There is no feasting, as folks say—

"We wish to live for many years,

And of all eating we have fears.

The doctors say corn's full of worms

Known as pellagra's awful germs,

That turkeys cause appendicitis,

Scarlet fever, stomachtitis;

That products of the frying pan

Cause great distress to every man;

That puddings bring us naught but woe,

And therefore we should let them go.

We ne'er will sit around a table

And eat as long as we are able,

Then put it in the daily paper

That Mrs. X. cut such a caper

As to invite fair Madame P.

To dine with her or drink some tea.

'Tis vulgar, common, so we think,

To go about and eat and drink,

While people watch us taking food

Which we consider very rude;

So to dark closets we retire

When NATURE calls for more food-fire,

And there on this Thanksgiving Day

We all will go, though not to pray,

But predigested powders take

Instead of turkey, pie and cake."

ON THANKSGIVING

Before you eat good turkey, rich mince and pumpkin pies

On that great feast of feast days when "tum-tums" grow in size,

The good old day THANKSGIVING, the best day in the year,

When all should be so thankful around the board of cheer.

Then don't forget the poor ones, the hungry, cold and sad,

Go fill their empty tables and make the whole world glad

THE PETS' CHRISTMAS CAROL

"Tweet—tweet—tweet!" sang the canary,

Which meant that he was very merry,

Because his little mistress, Nell,

On Christmas eve had fed him well.

"Bow—wow—wow!" sang the gay young pup,

"My master's gone away to sup,

But though he won't be here for tea,

Just see the meal he left for me!"

"Mew—mew—mew!" sang the mama cat,

"Such milk as this will make me fat,

And, oh, I feel so very gay

This cold and frosty Christmas day."

Each mama cow sang "Moo—moo—moo!"

And gentle dove sang—"Coo—coo—coo."

And every horse and sheep and pig,

And duck and chicken, small and big,

A carol sang on Christmas eve,

Because a feast each did receive.

ONLY NAUGHTY CHILDREN SEE "SPOOKS" ON HALLOWE'EN

Witches and goblins, spooks and elves,

With sprites and gnomes from elf-land delves,

To-night are flying here and there,

Yes, up and down and everywhere.

For this one night in all the year

They rule the earth and bring great fear

To all the naughty little boys

Who tease good girls and break their toys.

These spooks they also make girls sad

When they are selfish, cross and bad;

So when it's dark, bad boys and maids.

They see these awful fearsome shades,

And that is why with covered heads,

They trembling lie in their warm beds.

But even there they goblins see,

Spooks and gnomes, and all that be

Abroad upon weird Hallowe'en

When all the wizards may be seen

By naughty kids and grown-up folks

Who like to play most wicked jokes.

But good young girls and gentle boys,

The kids who are their mothers' joys,

They like the dark just as the light,

For spooks ne'er come within their sight,

And in their dreams the lovely elves

Show them bright scenes from fairy delves.

So, if to-night you are afraid

Of any spook or any shade,

Well know you are a naughty child,

So cross and wilful, rude and wild.

MY EASTER WISH

May flowers of JOY

At EASTER bloom

Within your heart,

Where weeds of gloom

Will fail to find

A place to grow

While JOY remains

As gloom-weeds' foe.

A WHINGWANG SONNET OF AN EASTER BONNET

Once there was a little girl,

But she didn't have a curl,

Though she had an Easter bonnet

With ostrich plumes and flowers on it,

Since like her mother she aspired

À la mode to be attired.

But when she rose on Easter morn

With deepest grief her heart was torn,

For, oh, alas! the rain was falling

In torrents great; to her appalling,

As well she knew 'twould spoil her bonnet

With ostrich plumes and flowers on it.

Her hair in papers she had worn

The whole night through and tortures borne

In hopes to have a curl or two

To wear beneath her bonnet new.

But now, alas, the horrid rain

Would make her hair all straight again.

And so with fear of straightened hair,

Which might cause folks to laugh and stare,

And likewise to protect her bonnet

With ostrich plumes and flowers on it,

She thought it best to stay away

From Sabbath school on Easter day.

MIDSUMMER JOYS

Give me the joys of summer,

Of SUMMER QUEEN so fair,

With wealth of lovely flowers

And fruits and sun-kissed air!

Talk not to me of winter

With ice and frost and snow,

Nor changing spring and autumn

When howling winds will blow.

No, I will take the joys

Of SUMMER every time,

So to this Queen of Seasons

I dedicate my rhyme.

AFTER THE FOURTH WAS OVER

After the Fourth was over, after the play was done,

Poor little John and Willie forgot that they'd had some fun;

John, with his eyes all bandaged, Willie with one eye gone,

Had changed from joyous boys, who rose with the FOURTH'S bright dawn,

Determined to shoot great cannons and frighten some silly girls,

To tie big crackers to dogs' tails, and make the pin wheels whirl.

Tommy with one hand bound up and with a bepowdered face,

Alex with two burned fingers and bones nearly all out of place;

Edgar with one leg broken and poor little Peter with two,

Thought that they'd had enough sorrow to last them a whole life through,

But Mother, who heard them crying, while soothing her darlings to sleep,

Was thankful that some of the pieces she yet was able to keep,

And sad for the weeping mother of poor naughty, unlucky Jim,

As the booming JULY CELEBRATION blew the whole head off of him.

TO MY VALENTINE

I love you now, and come what may,

I'll always love you night and day.

E'en should you grow both poor and old

And so unhappy that you'd scold;

My love for you would ne'er grow cold,

Because I truly love you.

If evil spirits come your way

And tempt you from straight paths to stray,

And every so-called loving friend

No helping hand to you would lend,

To me, dear friend, for help then send,

Because I truly love you.

THE WONDERLAND OF MATEMATIKO

[Written for my teacher, Professor A. R. Hornbrook, of the San Jose Normal School.]

In MATEMATIKO, the wonderful land,

Ruled over by Giants, a most worthy band;

Where all live together in kindness and peace

While helping Earth's mortals whose works never cease.

And also I think that a strong helping hand

Is tendered Mars' children by this goodly band.

But if from these GIANTS their help we would seek

We should be very patient and humble and meek,

And go to their lands over roads smoothed in part

By labors of numerous foregoers' art.

Then back to the Daily-Life-Store-House to stay,

Bring all goodly treasures we found on our way.

The first province reached when we go to this land

Is ruled by ARITHMOS with firm kindly hand.

His regions are traveled by all little ones

When counting their candies or apples or buns;

Or when Baby's mother cuts apples in two

And gives him "one-half" and one-half to Sue,

His sister, who travels each day in the week

In realms of ARITHMOS for knowledge to seek.

The lands of ARITHMOS then being explored

And the wealth thereby gained being carefully stored,

Wise travelers go on following many a band

Of Pilgrims for Knowledge now seeking the land

Where if they search earnestly surely they'll find

TRUTHS known by QUEEN ALGEBRA, gracious and kind,

Whose roads are far shorter than Arithmos King owns

And freer from troublesome MAD-HASTY-STONES

That fall from MT. ERROR right down on our path

And so often cause us to court DEMON WRATH.

When first viewing GUIDE-BOOKS of ALGEBRA-LAND,

New travelers fear that they can't understand

The queer little figures and x, y's and z's

Mixed up with the numbers and a, b, c, d's.

But after becoming acquainted with these

Good Algebra-Helpers who help and who please,

All seekers for knowledge most gladly resolve

To use these assistants their problems to solve.

Not far from Queen Algebra's realms may be found

King GEOMETRÍO'S rich lands, which abound

With REASON'S clear rivers that flow everywhere,

While watering the EARTH and while cooling the air.

There are many high mountains where travelers will fall

Who heed not the warning that's given to all

By GEOMETRÍO, the giant benign,

Who near to the rugged cliffs puts up this sign—

"To all who are traveling—BEHOLD! now, TAKE HEED!

If walking, go slowly, be fearful of speed.

Be sure to inquire at my palace door

For smooth winding pathways trod often before;

But if you would ride in haste to the top

Then take my good auto which never will stop.

There's none like INTENSE CONCENTRATION, my car

Which carries you safely sans skidding or jar."

To travelers obeying this Giant's advice,

No "Haste-Wasting-Goblins" will ever entice

To climb ERROR'S MOUNTAIN from which they may fall

To SLOUGH of DESPOND that is dreaded by all;

Or maybe be led by VAIN CONFIDENCE ELVES

Through seeming short byways and flowery delves

To dread DOUBTING CASTLE where cruellest of fates

Through GIANT DESPAIR the traveler awaits.

In GEOMETRÍO'S most wondrous GUIDE-BOOKS

At first one is puzzled if he only looks

At Guides of this Giant who many forms wear,

Some angular figures and others quite square;

Some round like a bullet or like cubes or cones,

But each of these figures some great power owns.

And Geometrío will tell all who ask

How each may be used for a wonderful task—

As making dress patterns for ladies so fair;

Or likewise for ribbons to bind up their hair;

We meet them each day in the rugs at our feet,

And on the stone carvings we see in the street,

Are subjects of GEOMETRÍO'S wise land,

For their useful service we mortals demand.

Near Geometrío's broad regions there lies

The spacious rich country of GOOD GIANT WISE,

Broad-minded, and powerful builder and king,

TRIGONOMETRIO'S loud praises we sing.

From his brother "GEO" materials he takes

From which with his help frail mortal man makes

Tall wonderful buildings which, reaching so high,

We call them "sky-scrapers" as touching the sky.

He also builds churches, cathedrals and schools,

And beautiful mansions are formed by his rules,

Through knowledge man found in this great Giant's home

He has built wondrous spires and many a dome,

And bridges o'er rivers, and tunnels through rocks,

And e'en chained the waters with wonderful locks.

And now with his help a marvelous feat

Of great engineering will soon be complete

In building at Panama as you all know,

A wondrous canal by which we may go

From Father Atlantic to Pacific's sands

Without traveling over Mother Earth's lands.

Near ALGEBRA-LAND a great GIANT lives

And to earnest students much knowledge he gives,

'Tis good KALKULUSO, abstruse thinking King,

To him all astronomers loud praises sing,

For only through his aid they go to the fount

Of cause and effect that will teach them to count

The days that will pass before all men may see

A coming eclipse on the great STELLAR SEA,

Or comets, or new stars, or maybe new worlds,

To true knowledge seekers this Giant unfurls

Wide forecasting standards as things are to be

In days yet to come upon both land and sea,

And ever this Giant-Wise carries in hand

The banner of TRUTH which he floats o'er his land.

Now, some people say that the great GIANTS' lands

In MATEMATIKO are mere barren sands

Where all travelers find it so hard to advance,

But we who have had even this little glance

At these wondrous regions described by the pen

Of "INSTRUISTINO"[A] will go there again.

She gives us to guide us a good fairy's wand

Through MATEMATIKO to bright realms beyond.

This wand helps us journey so that we may see

Each road and each crossing and always may be

On straightest of pathways, the PERFECT TRUTH'S WAY,

From which glorious highway we never must stray,

For TRUTH leads to GOD in His bright realms above,

Surrounded by light of the INFINITE LOVE.

[A] My teacher in mathematics, Mrs. A. R. Hornbrook.

EASTER GREETING

May EASTER RABBIT in your heart's nest

Lay the golden egg upon whose quest

All knights and ladies plain and fair,

Are seeking, seeking everywhere.

The longed-for GOLDEN EGG of PEACE,

Which makes all earthly woes to cease

By filling hearts with LOVE FOR OTHERS,

So self's forgot as we help our brothers.

A SKILLET IN SOCIETY (ALIAS A CHAFING DISH)

I heard my mother, just to-day, asking dear old dad

To buy her a nice chafing dish, and make her very glad;

Though he declared its cooking was a waste of alcohol.

Causing indigestion and perhaps a doctor's call.

I never saw a chafing dish and so I longed to know

How it looked and what 'twas for, and so and so and so;

But Mother would not answer and Daddy went away.

So I sought the kitchen, where Bridget holds her sway,

And asked her if she ever saw, since she began to cook,

A chafing dish on pantry shelf or pictured in a book?

Then Bridget turned her pug nose up with a "contemshus" air,

And gave a twist to her small knot of brick-dust colored hair,

And said, "A chafing dish, my dear, so says Miss B. Moriety,

Is but a common skillet pan that's got in High Society."

THE GIANT ARITHMOS

Great Jack the Giant Killer brave, he killed all giants bad,

But one good giant's life was saved by this bold warrior lad.

ARITHMOS was this giant great and all bright girls and boys

Should love the famous Giant-King far more than all their toys.

He's very old, and very great and also wondrous wise,

For he can count all things on earth and even tell their size.

He knows how many birds there are; how high each bird can fly,

But never does he boast or brag or stoop to tell a lie.

He is so tall that he can reach up to the starry sky

And count the stars and meteors bright as swiftly they go by.

'Tis he alone can tell you when a great eclipse will come

And darken the moon's lady or the old man in the sun.

He's always so good-natured and obliging to us all

And makes our number work mere play when for his aid we call.

He tells us just the number of ripe apples on a plate,

How far away Chicago is, and if the train be late.

In fact, he always answers us whene'er we ask "How many?"

And for his work and trouble never thinks to ask a penny.

All teachers and professors couldn't teach without his aid,

And men in every business know through him they will be paid.

We cannot sing in perfect tune, nor even play a drum,

Divide an apple, buy a doll, nor do the smallest sum;

And even BRIDGE by ladies fair cannot at all be played

Unless this mighty Giant-King will kindly lend his aid.

So, as we cannot get along without ARITHMOS-LORE,

We all should learn his wondrous truths and love him more and more.

THE PURE-BLOODED PUP

Once there was a little pup who lived in far-off Kent,

Where he was born some years ago in kennels of Lord Dent;

His mother was of purest blood and likewise was his pa,

So he arrived upon this earth without a single flaw.

His tail was just the proper size and so was each small ear,

His shapely legs and nose and paws, they pleased his mother dear;

And with her soft and scarlet tongue she kissed her baby pup,

And loved him, oh, so dearly that she almost ate him up.

The keeper of the kennels when he saw this terrier pup,

Declared, "It's just a beauty and will surely win 'THE CUP,'

For being a fox terrier of very purest breed,

And now to my dear master I'll go with greatest speed.

"And tell him of this puppy who will bring our kennels fame,

And ask him what he thinks will be a truly proper name

For the most perfect terrier that ever came to Kent;

It seems to me he should be called for my great master 'Dent.'"

The master when he heard the news that a new pup had come,

Left off his game of playing cards and drinking pints of rum,

And hastened to the kennels to behold the wondrous pup,

Who at the coming dog show was to win the great prize cup.

The mother dog she wagged her tail, with pride she was puffed up,

As her great master stood right near and smiled upon her pup,

While saying, "Higgens, listen well to what I have to say,

And care for this good mother dog and her fine pup each day.

"I'll name him for my ancestor, the great and famous Kent,

And in that name to the dog show next year he shall be sent,

Where I am sure he'll win the prize above all others there,

For he is perfect in his shape and has fine silky hair."

So little Kent was tended well and petted every day,

He never had to seek for bones and only had to play,

And having nothing else to do on mischief he was bent,

Was this aristocratic pup, owned by the great Lord Dent.

And when a year had passed around, one day the master came

To take him to the London show, where he would win great fame;

But Kent was very naughty, as he did not wish to go

Away from his good kennel home to any prize dog show.

At last his master whipped Pup Kent and, oh, but he did swear,

Because Kent snapped at Higgens, who was combing his fine hair

And putting on a collar with a chain of golden beads;

Such ornaments Kent could not see that any puppy needs.

At last the royal pup was dressed in pupdom regal style,

And drove in a fine carriage, oh, for many a weary mile,

Until he came to London town, where nothing he could see,

Because all things were hidden with a fog as thick as could be.

Before he'd even time to think, this 'ristocratic pup,

He found himself in a small cage with all the doors shut up,

And many men were standing round and gazing long at him,

While passing comments on his shape of head, and tail, and limb.

Kent glared at them in silence and he would not wag his tail,

In fact, just like a good young boy who might be put in jail

When he had never done a thing to break the country's law,

So felt this little terrier, this pup without a flaw.

And when the judges thought that he should have the ribbon blue

Because of his most perfect blood shown by the records true,

He snapped and barked and even bit at those who came quite near

To tie the lovely ribbon on the neck of "PUPPY DEAR."

So they decided that despite his wondrous pedigree

There yet was something in his blood that ought not there to be,

And gave the prize, a silver cup, to a more common dog,

Who lay so still and quiet that he might have been a log.

But when that evening our Lord Dent beheld with great surprise

That a less blooded terrier had won the noble prize,

He felt so very angry that he wished to beat Pup Kent,

And ordered that the beastly dog should quickly home be sent.

But while poor Kent was going home so sad and in disgrace,

He got away from Higgens and he found another place

Far, far away from kennels of the great and wealthy Dent,

Near to a peaceful village, the runaway he went.

Here he lay down so tired and thought of many a bone,

Which now was being gnawed each day by his good ma alone,

Since Kent, her darling puppy boy, was, oh, so far away,

Oh, how he wished to gnaw a bone with his good ma this day!

But as he lay a-dreaming of lovely things to eat,

Quite suddenly a large gray rat ran right across his feet,

And after it there followed an Irishman named Pat,

Who sought to make a timely end of bad old Mister Rat.

Big Pat was armed with a huge club and called to his old dog,

"Now, come along, ye lazy baste, before he's in the bog!"

Then Kent he jumped and in one bound he seized poor Mister Rat,

Shook him about till he was dead and then brought him to Pat.

Big Pat he gazed in wonder at the clever little dog,

And sitting down upon a large and green, moss covered log,

Said, "Shure, ye bate this lazy hound that kennot catch a rat,

And if ye'll stay right here, me boy, I'll trate ye well," says Pat.

Then proudly Kent he wagged his tail and tried so hard to smile

Upon the good old Irishman, who patted him a while,

Then coaxed the stranger after him right through a broad green lane,

Which led to the fine country home of good Sir Michael Kane.

And here Pat introduced the pup to all the family,

And they were all so very kind as any folks could be.

They patted his soft silky hair and praised him to the sky,

And gave him a big gravy dish all filled with nice meat pie,

And likewise a huge saucer, which was full of real sweet cream,

Which made the hungry doggie think that he was in a dream.

So here Dog Kent decided was the best place for to dwell,

And here he still is living and is feeling' very well.

He goes each morning to the barn and helps his good friend Pat

To catch the naughty rodents, who are called the name of RAT.

The cook she feeds him daily, and he captures all the mice,

Which love to haunt the kitchen of the cleanly Bridget Bryce.

While little Mikey loves dear Kent far more than all his toys,

And says that he'd rather play with him than any girls or boys,

Because he never minds a bit to jump right in the pond

And bring to land a stick or stone or weeping willow wand.

He always acts politely to all who may come near,

And so all strangers pet him and think he is a dear.

They like his soft and silky hair, which proves he has good blood,

And never does he make folks mad by tracking floors with mud.

He's wiser than most common dogs, whose hair is rough and coarse,

His bark is always pleasant, and 'tis never loud nor hoarse;

He's swifter also than slow dogs who cannot catch a rat,

Because they always eat too much and get so very fat.

Moral:

This story proves that good, pure blood is a fine thing to own,

But it can't help the puppies or the children all alone,

Unless these youthful puppies and the children, very small,

Learn to keep quite busy and to have a smile for all.

A KITTEN GONE TO WASTE

When little Mary Alice was only three years old,

She went upon a visit to Aunt Maria Hold,

A lady who was noted for saving everything,

From gold and silver dollars down to a turkey wing.

She soon taught Mary Alice to never throw away

A single bit of anything which might be used "some day,"

And Alice, who was clever, soon learned to put away

All bits of ribbon, cloth and lace, and chicken feathers gay.

Each day she kept quite busy hunting something more

Which she could take to Auntie or add to her own store;

And one day in excitement, she ran in great haste,

Crying, "Oh, dear Auntie, sumfin's don to waste!

A perfectlee dood kitty is thrown out on the dump

Of the kitchen ash-pile, behind the garden pump."

PRIDE

The Bible says that pride's the cause of people falling down,

And an example of this truth I once saw in our town,

When we were driving on the street and watching passers-by.

From out a store stepped a fine dude, all dressed in silk hat high,

And pants so tight he could not take a single manly stride,

His mustache curled, and round his neck a ribbon pink and wide,

While in his hand a gold-head cane, which he twirled round and round,

So that the people all would know a great man was in town;

But, being filled with pride of self, he did not know his heel

Had come in contact with a part of a banana peel

Until it felled him to the earth and smashed his silk hat's crown,

And even then he did not know 'twas PRIDE that knocked him down.

JOB SMARTER THAN MODERN BABIES

"Mother," said Lida, "why can't brother speak,

Is he so stupid or only just weak,

Like poor ancient Grandma, when she has a cold,

And loses her voice so she can't even scold?"

"No, darling," said Mother, "your brother can't talk,

Eat sugar candy, nor even yet walk,

As he is a baby the size of your doll,

And babies can't talk when they are so small."

"Then, Mother," said Lida, "the kids nowadays

Are not half so smart in all of their ways

As babies who lived in the long, long ago,

For dear teacher told me (so, course it is so),

That Job in the Bible cursed the day he was born,

I 'spose like big Tom, when he can't play his horn."

THE NEW YEAR BABE

The "New Year Babe" is always hailed with shouts of greatest joy,

Though no one seems to really know if it's a girl or boy.

Good Mother Earth opes wide her arms and takes the baby in

While big and little people help to raise an awful din.

And just as soon as "New Year Babe" has made its grand début,

Then all the folks make big resolves and say what they will do

Before the Baby Year has grown quite old and worn with time,

When it must leave us while the bells for a new year will chime.

But all resolves are very hard to always keep in mind,

And somehow they get broken and the pieces we can't find;

So that when "Baby New Year" grows hoary with old age,

We're glad to turn a fresh new leaf and close our last year's page.

NERVOUS JELLY

One day when there was company, wee greedy Lillie May

Took the jelly nearly all when it was passed her way;

And in great haste she ate it up with her small silver spoon,

But oh, alas, the Piggiewig! she was discovered soon

By Mother, who was greatly shocked to see her naughty elf

Eating like a greedy boy from off the kitchen shelf.

But Mother couldn't scold aloud for fear the guests would hear,

And so she softly whispered, "Don't eat that way, my dear."

Then Mrs. Dean, the company, she patted Lillie's head,

And smiling at the jellied face, she to the culprit said,

"I've always liked the jelly good which makes my bread so sweet,

And surely it tastes better still when with a spoon we eat

This lovely, wobbling dainty, which is loved by one and all,

From little girls and tiny boys to great men, large and tall."

This speech encouraged little May, who nodded her wise head

And said, "Besides dis jelly is too nervous for to spread."

A BOY WHO WAS HERO AND VILLAIN

One day in a big meeting held by a MERCY BAND,

The leader asked each little boy to hold up his right hand

If he could tell of any deed of kindness he had done

In saving some poor animal or helping any one.

Then Ernest held his hand on high and pride suffused his face,

As from his seat he quickly rose and took the speaker's place,

While speaking loud in accents clear, "I saved a little pup

Who had his tail in a tin can all tied securely up.

I took the can from off his tail and made him bark with joy.

So Mother said and so said Dad—I was a darling boy."

"And so say I," the leader said, while calling him her "DEAR,"

"But how I wish the wicked boy who did the deed were here."

ERNEST:

"Well, here he is, for I'm the boy who did that deed as well,

So I could take the tin can off and of my goodness tell."

AUTOS CHANGE GOOD LUCK

Poor Uncle Zeke, he's very sad, and says the whole world's wrong,

For when he was a little boy it was a common song,

To sing about the luck which came from finding a horseshoe,

And in those good old lucky days the sign was always true.

But Sunday when poor Uncle Zeke was walking on the street,

He saw a lucky horseshoe which was lying at his feet,

And as he stooped to seize the prize which lay before him there,

Along an automobile came and whizzed him in the air.

To-day I saw him lying still and pale upon his couch,

And oh, my goodness gracious, but he had an awful grouch!

His hands and arms in bandages were tied securely up,

And on his forehead was a bump like Aunt Mariah's cup.

He told me I should listen well and take his counsel sage,

And never try to get good luck in this fierce auto age,

By picking up a horse's shoe in street or country road

No more than I would stoop to seize a common green back toad.

MY CHRISTMAS WISH

When gladly ring the Christmas chimes,

Then come our reminiscent times

And even cold hearts—slow to beat—

Feel something of the love thought heat

That emanates from one and all

And to our far off loved ones call.

Then YOU must feel all through and through

The tingling of my thoughts of you.

These are my messengers so true

Who bear this message, "I love you,

And wish you on this Christmas day

A joyful heart that comes to stay,

Not only for a day or two,

But for your whole life's journey through."

A BOY'S DESCRIPTION OF A GOAT

When the teacher asked young Leo to write a little rhyme

Describing some strange animal he'd seen at any time,

He seized his long slate pencil and this is what he wrote

About the common animal, which children call a goat:

A goat is stronger than a pig,

But often it is not as big.

It has four legs just like a horse,

But never runs on a race-course.

It gives good milk, though not as much

As cows and elephants and such,

But more than any bull or ox,

Rooster, ram, or sly old fox.

Like any mule, a goat likes hay

And all tin cans we throw away.

He's useful and I'm fond of him,

But some good folks have a strange whim

To hold their noses when he's near,

And act as if they greatly fear

To touch his fur which has the smell

Of something I know very well,

The odor I'd know anywhere,

It's like Dad's tonic for his hair.

AUTUMN, QUEEN OF YEAR

When the pumpkins are so yellow

And the vines with grapes abound,

When the melons are so mellow

And the nuts fall to the ground;

When persimmons lose their bitters,

And the apples are so red;

When we love to eat corn fritters

Since the roasting ears have fled;

When vacation days are over

And the children go to school,

They no longer play in clover,

But must learn "Arithmos-rule,"

When weird Hallowe'en's most naughty elves

With gnomes and sprites appear,

While fat Thanksgiving fills the shelves—

'Tis AUTUMN, QUEEN OF YEAR.

THE TERSEST BATHING SUIT

When to the sea shore Robert went, with Ma and Sister Nell,

He met a wise professor, who soon taught him to spell,

Likewise to read of fairy lore and use a real steel pen

To write to his own father dear, who like most all the men

Must ever stay at home and work to earn the cents to pay

For wife and children's outing till the summer slips away.

Now all the strange, uncommon words which little Bob could find,

He stored away and tried to keep in his small, active mind

So as to use in writing notes to his dear fat old Dad,

And when the big folks used strange words it made him very glad.

So one day when of something TERSE he heard his sister tell,

He asked her for its meaning and he thus rewarded Nell

By writing to his father dear, "Oh, Daddy, you should see

Nell's awful TERSEST bathing suit, which won't reach to her knee."

EASTER GREETING TO MY FRIEND

If you haven't any Easter clothes on Easter morn to wear

Then don't you care.

If the EASTER RABBIT passes by and leaves no gift behind,

Then don't you mind.

Just smile at every one you meet and do some kindly act,

For it's a fact,

By doing any kindly deed one's heart is filled with JOY

Which will destroy

All pain that one may suffer from ENVY'S cruel sting;

So you can sing—

"Fulfilled will be my wishes for gifts and raiment fair—

Some day—somewhere."

TAKE THAT GUM FROM YOUR MOUTH AND PUT YOUR FEET RIGHT IN

Young Susie was quite noted for having great large feet,

And for working both her jaws, this maid could not be beat.

Her wad of gum she always bore with her unto the school,

Though well she knew she might be spanked, for 'twas against the rule,

But skillfully she hid this gum, did naughty little Sue.

Though oft behind her little book she took a little chew,

But once when she was building up a castle in the air,

And thought she was a lady rich and most entrancing fair,

While stretching out her legs and feet into the narrow aisle

And thinking of sweet Bobby Jones, the maid began to smile.

Then suddenly the teacher cried, above the school room's din,

"Take that gum from out your mouth and put your feet right in."

GOOD WEATHER ASSURED

When the second of February rolls around,

Out of his hole in the cold, dark ground

Comes Mr. Groundhog to look at the sky

And see if the season of summer is nigh;

So that he in the fields may merrily run

And eat farmers' crops 'neath the light o' the sun.

But if his own shadow he unfortunately sees,

In the greatest of terror he falls on his knees,

And quickly returns to his subterra home,

Resolving that he will not again roam

Till six stormy weeks have slowly gone by,

And then once again, perhaps he will try

To put his flat head above the cold ground,

And take a survey of the earth all around.

So I made up my mind that during the year

I'd keep him at home so he couldn't appear.

And to bring wintry weather he hadn't a chance,

For of his own shadow he caught not a glance.

ALL THE WORLD CRIES

"Quack-quack-quack-quack!" cries Auntie Duck,

While Mother Hen goes "Cluck-cluck-cluck!"

And Papa Dog cries, "Bow-wow-wow,"

And Sister Cat, "Me-ow, me-ow!"

"Eek-eek-eek-eek!" squeals Grandma Pig,

"I'm growing, oh, so far and big;"

While "Cackle-cackle" all the day,

The little goslings like to say.

Proud Grandpa Turkey struts along

With his eternal gobble-song;

Sir Horse he whinnies, "Hee-hee-hee!"

And "Buzzey-buzzey" goes Miss Bee.

Sis Maud, the Mule, cries, "Hee-hee-haw!"

And Missy Crow goes "Caw-caw-caw!"

Good Madam Cow cries, "Moo-moo-moo!"

And gentle Doves they "Coo-coo-coo!"

The Baby Lambs cry, "Baa-baa-baa!"

And little Kids squeal, "Ma-ma-ma!"

HOPE

Hope is the name of the dear little sprite,

Who banishes grief and makes life bright.

Thanks to Pandora—'twas she shut the lid

Of that wondrous jar where good Hope was hid,

And kept him to cheer us when we are so sad

Fearing a scolding because we've been bad;

Then this little whisper of Hope makes us say—

"Maybe you won't get a scolding to-day."

Likewise being tortured with measles and croup

And that dread disease which makes us to whoop!

Chicken pox, fevers and diptheric germs,

And the worst of diseases just common plain worms,

Which causes our "tum-tums" to feel mighty bad

And no doubt would make us most dreadfully sad,

If 'twere not for HOPE which whispers to us—

"Be patient, dear children, and don't make a fuss

Because all the pain will soon pass away

And then you'll be healthy and happy all day."

THE YOUNG MAIL CARRIER

Young Billy from his lovely home disappeared one day,

And when his mother missed her lad she thought he'd run away,

But soon the sprightly little chap came quickly running back,

Bearing on his shoulders small, a large round leather sack,

And said, "Dear mother, I have been a very good, kind boy,

Trying like the Bible says, to bring our neighbors joy.

I played I was a postman and I paid each one a call,

And to the people in this block, I gave them letters all."

MOTHER:

"But where, my precious little lad, my darling honey pet,

Where in the name of goodness these letters did you get?"

BILLY:

"I found them with no trouble; they were the ones that you

Kept 'way up in your bureau drawer, all tied with ribbons blue."

A RIDDLE

One night 'neath the light of a silvery moon

There sat on a log pile a very fat coon

And also a little most cunning brown fellow

Eating of melon so juicy and mellow.

The large robust coon and the wee little one

Thought they were having a bushel of fun,

And laughed very loudly in notes of pure glee,

For they were as happy as happy could be.

So here is a riddle I'll give now to you,

Guess the relation there was 'twixt the two.

ANSWER

Most everyone answers, "Why, father and son."

Not so—'twas a mammy and her little one.

THE FIRST MATCH

In the days of great Grandmother

People often worked each other

When they sought a little light

At the coming of the night,

Or to bake their bread and meat

As fire making was a feat

Quite difficult and very slow.

So oft without a light they'd go

Instead of spending e'en an hour

With flint and steel exerting power

To make a little fiery spark

Which would produce light in the dark.

But in eighteen twenty-seven

Some good man earned fame from Heaven

By inventing a real match

Which one needed but to scratch

On its sulphur head so small

When forth came fire for us all.

THE NEW BABY

When Alfred saw the baby wee the stork to him had brought,

He stood quite silent for a while and thought and thought and thought

Until he'd solved the problem about the CURIOUS ONE

Who'd traveled far from Storkland, though she couldn't walk nor run.

Then to his mother he declared in accents of dismay,

"Dear Mother, we must send this kid back to her home to-day,

'Cause someone's cheated us I know and brought us an old child

With bald head and without a tooth and like an Indian wild.

Whenever it begins to cry it almost lifts the roof,

So, Mother, dear, I think 'tis best for you to keep aloof

From the old ugly Indian thing and send it to Storkland,

Then you and I'll be glad again and go to hear the band."

GOOD-BYE TO TEDDY BEARS

Good-bye to all the Teddy Bears, both big and small!

The "Billy Possums" are in style for one and all.

We little girls, like older folks, are bound to keep in style,

And so we have to change our toys 'most every little while.

When Roosevelt or "Teddy," was ruler o'er this land,

All stylish girls and clever boys kept bears on hand

To play with and to walk with and to put to bed at night,

As "Teddy Bears" were symbols of the Rooseveltian light.

But when King Teddy left his throne, Taft got his seat,

And soft brown Teddies disappeared from home and street,

While "Billy Possum" came to rule for two years or for three,

When "Bryan Kittens" will be hatched and all the rage will be.

SLEEPERS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY

Within Westminster Abbey, which stands on Thorney Isle

Are burled many people of every age and style.

There's Edward the Confessor, who founded this great church

And Henry Third who sent his men to Italy to search

For beautiful mosaics which brilliantly would shine

All round about and high above the great Confessor's shrine.

Here great Shaftesbury's buried, who worked to his life's end

For poor down trodden children whose rights he did defend.

Sir Isaac Newton, very wise, who thought he was a child

Picking up the sea-shells beside life's ocean wild.

And noble Sir James Outram known as a man most brave,

Who at the siege of Lucknow the English corps did save.

Great Livingstone of world-wide fame who Africa explored

And whose sad death in Afric wilds by all men was deplored;

The blind postmaster Fawcett who tried so hard to mend

All foolish laws of England and English rights defend.

A monument we here may see to Sir John Franklin bold

Who lost his life while he explored in far off Arctic

cold.

Within the poet's corner full many a grave is found,

Behold good Geoffrey Chaucer as Father Poet crowned,

And great and good Lord Tennyson whose "CROSSING OF THE BAR"

It seems to me in Heaven above should win a shining star.

Will Shagspur's monument is here, where he is called the chief

Of all the greatest writers known, though I call him a thief

Because I think he stole his rhymes from many learned men

And then pretended all were writ just by his goose quill pen.

Great Handel the musician, born in a German town

But who in merry England won all his great renown;

The orator George Canning, a statesman good and great

And with whose son, Earl Canning, he lies in regal state.

Here's Gladstone, greatest statesman perhaps the world has known

Who's buried in this abbey 'neath monumental stone.

Great Wilberforce and two great Pitts who likewise won their fame

Within this ancient abbey we see each brilliant name.

And many kings both good and bad and with their royal wives

Were brought to this old abbey when they had spent their lives.

Strong Edward First, the warrior who brought the "Stone of Scone"

And placed it in the abbey to crown the KINGS alone.

Then Richard Second who is known as "The Westminster King"

So called as in the abbey he did most everything;

For he was crowned and married and also buried here—

No wonder that the abbey stones to him were very dear.

To "Madcap Harry," Henry Fifth, Westminster was his pride

So he was buried 'neath its walls—though in far France he died.

King Henry Seventh and his wife Elizabeth the kind,

Close, side by side, their royal tombs we easily may find.

Queen Mary called "The Bloody," with Bess "The Virgin Queen,"

Beside Queen Mary of the Scots, their tombs may now be seen.

It was at Mary's funeral when she was lying dead

That in the abbey Catholic mass for a last time was said.

King Henry Fifth the murdered King and Edward Sixth the boy,

Who while he lived no sorrow gave but brought to England joy,

And many other kings and queens and men of wondrous fame

Both good and bad their bodies lie in restful sleep the same.

LAZY WHITE MEN SIT WHILE FLYING THROUGH THE AIR

Poor Lo, the Indian, disrespects his brothers wise and fair,

Who now on aeroplanes are wont to make trips through the air.

He watches them go circling like birds up in the skies,

Then grunts, "Heap lazy white man, he sits down when he flies."

TOO TICKLISH TO COUNT HIS RIBS

In the class of physiology the teacher asked one day,

"How many ribs have you, my boy, tell me, Dickie Gray?"

And wiggling, giggling Dickie very promptly made reply,

"Dear teacher, I must tell the truth, for I could never lie,

But as for ribs I cannot say how many I possess,

For I'm too awful ticklish to count them, I confess."

IT TAKES A CIGAR A LONG TIME TO WEAR OUT

When Harry Warren was a boy only five years old,

He wasn't then as he is now, so very big and bold,

But he was very much afraid of bad tobacco smoke,

Which seems to those who know him now to be a funny joke.

He had an uncle on whose knee he loved to sit each day

And listen to exciting tales about the Pixies gay,

But when his uncle had a light upon a long cigar,

Then little Harry used to sit away from it as far

As he could manage well to get upon his uncle's knee,

Since Harry feared tobacco smoke more than a bumble bee.

One day while sitting way far out upon his uncle's knee,

He grew so very tired as he waited there to see

The end of the long smoker which made smoke all about

And said, "It takes that big cigar a long time to wear out."

A PICKERINO—THE COOK'S FATE

Should COOK permit Sir Lemon squeezer,

Would virtuous Pepper box her, potato masher?

Would bakers baker in a heater,

And tell the saucy strong egg beater?

Would they then wax yet even bolder

While Mr. Tongs so well would holder

And then unto the pancake turner

Who would allow the cruel gas burner?

THE FIRST METAL PLOW

The metal plow so I've been told

First was made in days of old

By Grecian farmers and we know

That great Ulysses used to go

Behind the plow and play insane

By tilling sand to plant his grain

So that he need not leave his wife

And march away to dreadful strife.

LEGENDS OF THE CORONATION STONE

In Bible stories we have read

Of Jacob whose uncovered head,

Rested once on BETHEL-STONE

While round his head a vision shone.

The stone was then to Egypt carried,

From there to Spain by one who married

Great Pharaoh's daughter who was good—

For Hebrews' rights she always stood.

To Ireland with this same stone

The King Hiberus sailed alone

And placed it on fair Tara Hill,

No doubt the stone would be there still

If Fergus had not come along

With many warriors bold and strong

And bore it to his native land

Of bonnie Scotland there to stand.

Within the Castle Dunstaffrage

And here it stood for many an age

Until as a most sacred stone

'Twas placed within the Church of Scone.

And the good kings of Scotland fair

For years and years were all crowned there

Till Edward Langshanks seized this stone

Of which 'twas said 'twould always groan

If any worthless king or queen

Upon its seat were ever seen.

He brought it to dear England's shore

And willed that it should move no more

And in Westminster it was placed

Within a wooden chair encased.

PLEASE, GRANDPA, CROAK

"Grandaddy," said young Harry, "do a good turn for me,

By croaking like a big bull frog so I can plainly see

If Daddy told the honest truth or only cracked a joke

Because he said I'd have some 'dough' if you would only croak."

TO SAVE HIM FROM A WHIPPING

When Mrs. Hall, who had spent the day

With Mrs. Green, was going away,

Wee curly headed, naughty Joe

Begged so hard that she wouldn't go.

Now all the day this roguish lad

Had disobeyed and been quite bad,

So Mrs. Hall, in great surprise,

Paused and looked in his brown eyes,

While saying, "I'm so glad to know

You love me truly, dearest Joe."

"Oh, 'tisn't that," said honest Joe,

"I wouldn't mind for you to go

Except my mother said to-day,

She'd whip me when you went away."

THE FIRST FORKS

In the days of good Queen Bess

How sad it is we must confess

That the English ate their food

In a fashion very rude.

Great William Shakespeare like the rest

And Walter Raleigh richly dressed

Both ate their meat just with a knife—

The same they used to settle strife.

'Twas the Italians who first made

The useful fork which surely paid

Its wise inventors who could eat

Of sauces and most juicy meat

And never have to wash their hands

As straight knife eating oft demands.

THE KING'S QUESTIONS

Once on a time, long, long ago, in a far-off foreign land,

A certain king who loved to roam with his chosen courtly band,

Was riding abroad one early morn through streets of a city fair

When a curious sign above a door caused him to pause and stare.

This sign board plainly read to all that here was Wisdom's college

With a Professor at its head of UNIVERSAL KNOWLEDGE.

"Ha! Ha!" loud laughed the wily king while rapping on the door,

"'Tis true above all other men I need a goodly store

Of UNIVERSAL KNOWLEDGE so that I may wisely rule

And never say a foolish thing nor act the silly fool."

But when the great (?) Professor X— appeared within the door,

With trembling hands and downcast eyes, while bowing to the floor

The king gazed at the coward and this is what he said,

"You answer my three questions or you will lose your head.

Now first since you know everything please tell me what I'm worth,

And second tell the number of baskets of good earth

That one may find by digging within that mountain there

Reaching with its snow capped crown away up in the air.

And when you've rightly answered these questions given you

Then you must tell me of my thoughts to prove your wisdom true.

Three days is all I'll give you to answer me or go

To realms where wisdom surely dwells and something you must know."

And then the King departed and left the wise man sad,

For though he had some wisdom his little knowledge had

But given him the swelled head so foolishly he thought

Through painted signs of wisdom his knowledge would be sought.

And as this foolish wise man bemoaned his coming doom,

His good but unlearned servant walked into the room,

And told his master not to mourn as he would take his place

And answer the King's questions while gazing in his face.

So when three days had passed away the Royal Master came

And Jim the servant greeted him as if he were the same

As he himself or any man who lived upon the earth,

And to the world's good Mother Earth was debtor for his birth.

Then spake this servant to the King—"I'm glad my Sire to see

And now with pleasure I'll proceed to answer questions three.

You're worth how much—not surely more than one wee bit of gold

For as you know the Saviour King for thirty bits was sold.

And as to baskets of good earth in yonder mountain high

Think not your foolish question has made me sleepless lie.

It doesn't even take a man who could be called quite wise

To tell you that this all depends upon the basket's size.

For if the basket's mountain size of course but one will do

But if it's only half as large then we must needs have two."

Delighted with these answers the King shook Jim's rough hand,

While smiling as he looked at him and gave his last command,

"Now tell me what I'm thinking of, you wizard of the earth,

And if you answer truly, yours is this pearl of worth."

"Oh, that is very simple," Jim quickly answered him,

"You think me the professor, but I'm his servant Jim."

This answer was so pleasing unto the mighty King,

He made him his favored courtier, wearing his signet ring.

ENGLAND'S KINGS IN RHYME

There were many kings of England in ancient Saxon days,

But little to remember except their rude wild ways.

There was Egbert and King Ethelwolf and also Ethelbald,

Ethelbert and Ethelred and Alfred Great so called.

There was Edward and King Athelstan followed by three kings

Edmund and King Edgar and one whose praise we sing—

The good and kindly Edward who won a martyr's crown;

Then came a second Ethelred, who never won renown;

And as this king was always known just by the name "Unready,"

So his successor well was called—"Strong Edmund ever steady."

And last of all the Saxon kings decreeing England's fate

Came the Confessor Edward whom we all consider great.

And now we come to William, the Norman cruel but brave,

And who the throne of England to Norman monarchs gave,

But the royal line he founded had rulers only four,

Two Williams and one Henry, one Stephen and no more.

Plantagenets just fourteen then came to rule this land,

They formed the longest kingly line and made a goodly band.

Though they were not all very good and some were very bad,

While some were truly gay old sports and others very sad.

The founder was King Henry the second Henry king,

For cruelty to Becket, no praise to him we sing.

Then Richard the Plantagenet, who had a lion heart

And whose brave deeds are greatly praised in history and art.

Then came the trembling coward, the hated ruler John,

How glad are we that from this earth he long ago hath gone!

And after followed Henry Third a silly royal goose,

Within whose head I sadly fear there were some sutures loose.

Then came the first King Edward who with his warrior band,

Laid bare the minstrels' country and their dear mountain land.

A second Edward, then a third directly followed after,

Then came poor Richard Second who had small cause for laughter;

Then Henry Fourth who conquered all the lands of goodly Wales

As we have often heard in rhyme and in historic tales,

And Henry Fifth feared by the French, it was within his reign

Fair Joan d'Arc's brave blood was shed the English swords to stain.

King Henry Sixth spent his last days in mourning in the Tower

While Edward Fourth by might of will possessed the kingly power.

The little lad, poor Edward Fifth, was never duly crowned,

But in the Tower cold in death the poor young king was found.

'Tis said that he was murdered by one who then did rule

His uncle the third Richard, hump-backed and very cruel.

This wicked monster lost his life at Bosworth's bloody field,

Then came the Tudor family their scepters strong to wield.

Through Henry Seventh and his son King Henry Eighth, the bold,

Then Edward Sixth, the wise young king who ne'er grew to be old,

And monstrous blood-soaked Mary at whose dread bloody name,

All noble English subjects should feel a blush of shame;

Elizabeth, her sister, the red-haired maiden queen,

Who sometimes was quite gracious but had a lot of spleen.

With this great queen the Tudor line came to a glorious end

Then to the Stuarts, six in all, the English knee did bend.

First came the learned James the First, and Charles the First, his son,

Who through the warrior Cromwell forever was undone.

This warrior styled "Protector" knew how to rule all men,

If not with his good broadsword, why, then with stroke of pen.

And after him the second Charles returned to England fair,

And claimed that to her glorious crown he was the lawful heir.

Then after him the bigot James, the second of his name,

Who was deposed from England's throne and earned a crown of shame;

Then good King William called the Third, and Mary, his good wife,

They ruled o'er happy England and banished horrid strife,

But leaving no good children to whom the throne could fall

Poor sickly Anne, whose heart was big but brains so very small,

As James's second daughter succeeded to the crown

And did her best to rule the land but never won renown.

To seventeen fair children she in her life gave birth

But as death claimed them every one she had no cause for mirth.

The Stuart line was ended with Anne, unhappy queen,

Then came four kings called Georges, with wits not very keen,

Hanover's line they founded, which line rules England now,

And to this line all Englishmen on loyal knee would bow.

And after all the Georges had had their rule and died,

Then William Fourth, the brother of George the Third, he tried

To rule o'er England's country with kind and steady hand,

But when his brother's daughter succeeded to this land

She made a better ruler than any queen or king

And to VICTORIA, great VICTORIA, loudest praises ring.

She ruled o'er England's empire for years full sixty-four,

And her great crown with queenly grace and kindliness she wore.

Her son, King Edward Seventh, the ever tactful king,

Ruled for a few short seasons until by Death's cruel sting

His happy reign was ended and George the Fifth, his heir,

Was made the kingly ruler of England's lands so fair.

BRUNETTES ALL THE RAGE

Great Byron sang of ladies fair

With bright blue eyes and golden hair;

But Major Woodruff says—;"Beware—;

Of those whose skin is very fair,

As naughty maidens have blue eyes

And seldom are they good and wise."

He urges men like Moses great

To choose a brunette for a mate,

Whose eyes and hair have the dark hue

Which proves that she'll be wise and true.

CATS A KISSIN' (CATECHISM)

Last week my cousin Patti, who isn't yet quite three,

Went to our good Sunday School with Mother and with me.

She sat quite still and listened well to all the teacher said,

Until I thought she stowed away much knowledge in her head.

But when that evening Auntie asked, "What did my darling hear

When she went to Sunday School; tell me, won't you, dear?"

She shrugged her little shoulders and said, "Not anyfing

Except dey said some funny words and den began to sing;

Though 'bout de cats a kissin', well, the teacher said you should

Teach me ev'ry evenin' and den I'd be so dood."

INFORMATION BY PHONE

Little brilliant Nellie, whose Ma thought she was ill,

Took her to the doctor, who gave her a big bill,

For sounding with a stethoscope young Nellie's narrow chest

And making her scream "Ninety-nine" with her utmost zest.

Next day a friend asked Nellie, "What did the doctor think

Is the matter with you? Are you on Death's brink?"

"Not much," said little Nellie, "no bugs could doctor find;

In fact he said that all my ills were just in mother's mind."

"But how did he discover this, he couldn't see through you,

And maybe what this doctor said is anything but true?"

"Of course the doctor told the truth," most scornfully said Nell,

"I heard him phone to my insides, and they said I was well."

OUR PRESIDENTS

George Washington, Adams and Jefferson three

First rulers of Uncle Sam's land of the free:

Then Madison, Monroe and Adams again

All clever and upright and good honest men;

Then Jackson, Van Buren and Harrison first,

Tyler and Polk whose terms were so curst

By war with the Greasers who lost in the fray—

Then Taylor and Fillmore and Pierce held their sway.

Buchanan and Lincoln, Johnson and Grant,

Then Hayes, martyred Garfield, despiser of cant,

Arthur and Cleveland, Harrison (Ben)

McKinley the martyr, beloved by all men;

Then most energetic and strenuous Teddy

And plump William Taft for a second term ready

When Wilson was placed in this nation's great chair

And promised to always rule wisely and fair.

SIX IN THE CEMETERY

Oh, the kiddie-de-kees in the Wiggs' house,

They're thick as bees, but ne'er like a mouse,

For they've never been known to keep the least quiet,

And wherever they go there's always a riot.

One day, Mrs. Wiggs and her husband Pat

Made a trip to the city to rent a flat

And left their six kiddies at home to play

On the graveyard green across the way.

The two elder Wiggs they found a man,

With flats he would rent on most any plan,

But concerning one thing he said he must know

If kiddies they owned—the rent man's foe.

"Yes, six little ones," said Pa Wiggs the wary,

"But they are all in the cemetery."

Said the landlord, "Better there than here,"

And he drew up a lease without any fear.

And that's how the Wiggs got their lease

In a so-called kidless flat of PEACE.

COULD ONLY ASK QUESTIONS

"Madeline," asked her mother, when home she came at noon,

"How did you like your teacher, or can't you tell so soon?"

MADELINE:

"Oh, yes, I formed my 'pinion long 'fore I started home,

She's rather pleasant, looks quite wise, and wears a lovely comb,

But surely she is stupid in spite of her wise looks,

'Cause she only asked us questions from out of a lot of books."

SEEKING BARGAINS

When Mother told Tommy five cents she would pay

If he would be good and "damn" never say,

The wary young Yankee, he made this reply—

"To be sure, I won't, Mother, not once if I die;

But I know another, a word worser still,

If damn's worth a nickel, it's worth a whole bill."

CULTUS MITLITE

(Chinook Indian for Rest)

One of the greatest of pleasures to me

Whenever I happen to be near the sea,

Is clam digging to go upon the broad beach

And get all the clams that my shovel can reach.

Along Puget Sound I was clamming one day,

When a poor Indian squaw and child came my way.

The mother was digging up clams with her toes,

And was dressed very poorly in very few clothes.

But her face seemed so kind as she smiled at her child,

A wee Indian warrior, who seemed very wild.

He turned over stones and he ran to and fro

And drove out poor crabbies as their fiercest foe.

But at last he grew weary and to the squaw came,

While limping so slowly as if he were lame,

And crying, "Ho, mama, ho nika, ho til!"

Which meant of crab sporting that he'd had his fill.

That squaws are so cross I have read in a book,

But not so this mother, who gently did look

Upon her wee torment, while patting his head,

And "Cultus Mitlite," so sweetly she said.

This meant that the warrior might take a long rest,

The pleasure of pleasures that red men like best.

HER TURN COMING

A wee little girlie aged scarcely six

One day watched her mother playing with Trix,

A cunning French poodle that oft got a kiss

Belonging by rights to this dear little miss.

She was jealous of Trix curled up on the lap

Of her lovely mother where SHE wished to nap.

So she sat very still while she gave a big sigh

And questioned her mother "How soon do dogs die?"

The mother replied as she petted Trix's ears,

"They rarely live longer than nine or ten years."

"Oh, goodie!" cried Girlie. "In six years next May

There won't be a Trixie and I'll have my way."

WHEN WILL WE BE OLD ENOUGH?

"Little children should be seen

And not heard," folks say.

We must scarcely speak aloud

When company comes to stay

For breakfast or for dinner

Or for a cup of tea,

So solemn and so quiet

We little folks must be.

We must not tell that Daddy

Once used an awful word

The very, very worstest

That ever could be heard.

Nor how our mother curls her hair

And powders well her nose

And sometimes takes an hour or more

To put on her best clothes.

We dare not tell how sister

Was spanked for being rude

And how our baby brother

Was choked upon his food.

In fact we must not speak at all

Except words no and yes

And when we swallow all our thoughts

They cause us great distress.

So we are wondering how much more

We kiddies yet must grow

Ere we can speak out what we think

And tell all things we know.

JOHNNIE'S CONUNDRUM

Once Johnnie to his brother said—

"Here's a conundrum for you, Fred,

They say all nuts on trees must grow

What tree bears doughnuts, do you know?"

"Oh, yes," Fred promptly made reply,

"I'll answer dat de firstest try,

Dey grows on Bridget's nice pantry.

Tum right wid me and you tan see."

TITANIC'S NOBLE BAND

O'er great Atlantic's waters,

Old Father Neptune's pride,

On a starry night in April,

Oh, see Titanic ride!

This spacious Queen of steamers

Holds high her masted head

For she believes all waters

Are conquered by her tread.

"Alas, vain Queen, you're speeding

Unto a watery tomb!"

So telegraphed the breezes

To save her from her doom.

But she no heed gave to them

And faster forged ahead

When suddenly before her—

Great tombstone for the dead—

Old Neptune's giant iceberg

Shone white beneath the sky

His icy breath gave warning

"Don't touch me or you die."

But heedless to this warning

The ship steered on her way

And struck the icy monster

For which her life did pay.

With his great strength this giant

Then rent her sides in twain

And left her floundering helpless

Upon the boundless main.

Her passengers in terror

Rushed to the upper deck

And there her Captain told them

"Titanic is a wreck.

"And all the little children

And women in great haste

Must go aboard the life boat,

No moments are to waste."

But when these little children

Held to their fathers' hand

And wives clung to their husbands

They heard this dread command—

"The boats are but for women,

All men on deck must stay

And wait till help comes to us—

There is no other way."

But those who loved their husbands

And were most loyal wives

Refused to leave the men they loved

To save their own poor lives.

Then rough hands tore asunder

The arms of love entwined,

And threw the wives into the boats

And left the men behind.

But while the cries of parting

With grief all hearts did tear,

The band of the Titanic

Struck up a lively air

Of jolly ragtime music

And glad notes of good cheer,

As if to tell the people

There was no cause to fear.

Since aid would soon come flying

And all would rescued be,

So why should hearts be saddened

When bandmen played with glee.

Down, down Titanic's going,

But still the band plays on,

The brave men know they're sinking

That they will soon be gone.

But how can they die better

Than giving helping cheer

To those who from Death's waters

Are trembling in great fear.

So as the water covers

The deck just at their feet,

They play with solemn fervor

A hymn majestic sweet.

And, "Nearer, oh, my God, to Thee,

And nearer yet to Thee,"

Gave courage to the drowning men

Who struggled in the sea.

For Colonel Astor, Major Butt

And learned William Stead,

And many other noble men

We mourn Titanic's dead.

And with them we all honor

The band who cheered their way

To meet the ever-dreaded King

To whom all lives must pay.

Concerning this jingle Elbert Hubbard said: "Dear Little Friend: This is your masterpiece of word painting descriptive of courage, anguish and man's helplessness."

HOW TO BE HAPPY

One night as I slept there came to me

A dear little sprite from o'er the sea,

And sweetly smiling, whispered to me:

"Shall I tell you how to happy be?"

Of course I asked for the recipe

Which worked its magic soon on me,

And as I'm happy as one can be

I'd like to tell the news to thee.

It's not advice we might call new,

But it gives us joy that's pure and true;

It's simply the "MUSE OF SMILES" to woo,

And whate'er we have each day to do—

Tasks that are pleasant and sad ones too—

With a smiling face our work go through,

Forgetful of self and "HOPEBEAMS" strew

For those who see not the brightest view.

REVENGE ON AN ACHING TOOTH

One time I had an awful pain

Which made me groan and cry;

It felt like daggers in my head

Which stabbed at my right eye.

It was the toothache, mother said,

And as she petted me,

She quite agreed with Bobby Burns

That nothing worse could be.

Not even chiggers, ainhum, yaws,

Or leprosy and sprue,

With craw-craw and the Dhobie itch,

Piedra and goundou.

Beriberi and pinta, too,

With cholera and boils,

And dengue and bubonic plague

Or dreadful serpents' coils.

With fevers scarlet, yellow, black

And measles and the mumps,

Green apple-colic, whooping cough,

And chicken-pox's bumps.

In Mother's sympathy for me

No comfort could I find,

And so I sought the dentist's aid,

Where forceps cruel but kind

Removed the sore and aching tooth,

And freed me from the pang,

Which by the noted Bobby Burns

Was called "A venomed stang."

And when the dentist gave to me

The very little thing

Which for so long had tortured me

With joy I longed to sing.

And I resolved to sugar it

And watch it every day,

While it was having dreadful pangs

And I could laugh and play.

AN OLD-TIME AND A MODERN SONG

"Baby Bye,

Here's a fly;

Let us watch him, you and I.

How he crawls

Up the walls;

Yet he never falls!

I believe with six such legs

You and I could walk on eggs.

There he goes

On his toes

Tickling baby's nose."

Daddy, dear,

Oh, come here,

For I fear a fly is near!

There he goes

On his toes

Touching baby's nose!

Oh, alas, our child may die,

Come and quickly swat this fly!

Baby's ill,

Get a pill

And the fly germs kill!

LEGEND OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY

Sebert the first East Saxon king,

Who of our Christ did preach and sing

He built the first church on the ground

Where fair Westminster now is found.

And to this church 'tis often said

Came good St. Peter from the dead

And with the angels sweet and fair

Descending on a golden stair

Reaching from the Heavens above

And bringing to this earth pure love.

He consecrated and he blest

This Christian church above the rest

Of churches in old England's Isle

And on this site the saints still smile.

HOW MOTHER LEARNED NATURAL HISTORY

One day while sitting on the beach

Talking of child training

With a most learned pedagogue

From whose lips were raining

Great torrents of most wondrous lore

Upon most subjects known,

My Mother learned one little fact

This wise man did not own—

And this through making a most sad

Acquaintance with a bee,

Who wore a yellow jacket suit

To show his family.

This stinging warrior with his stings

Felt nothing of alarm

And boldly marched beneath the lace

That covered Mother's arm.

And when she tried to let him out

He stung her o'er and o'er

As if he had a warrior band

Well armed with stings galore.

And when at last my Mother brave

Killed this most wicked bee

Her arm was, oh, so very sore,

With ten lumps I could see.

Said the professor solemnly

While gazing at her arm,

"I thought my Natural History said

That bees can do no harm;

If they but use their stingers once,

They ne'er can sting again.

But you've been stung by some insect

That carriers stingers ten."

"Oh, no," said Mother, with a smile,

"It had one stinger wee,

But now I call a yellow jacket,

'Sting ad finem bee.'"

THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY

In days of chivalry, so I've been told,

All knights were gallant, kind and bold,

But ladies though ever so modest and sweet

Made the bold knights kneel down at their feet.

ON MIDSUMMER NIGHT

On midsummer night or St. John's eve

Is fairies' night when they receive

All their friends and all their slaves,

The goblins, witches, trollish knaves.

And if the olden tales be true,

All men and maids have cause to rue,

Who on this night dare go abroad

And touch a foot to fairy sod;

For naught will save them but to jump

Right o'er a fire or blazing stump.

But if you're brave and do not fear

That for your rashness you'll pay dear,

Then stand beneath an elder tree

And King of Fairies you may see.

Should you then wish to ride afar

With him to some far distant star,

Then quickly tread St. John's wort flower

And he will show you "Fairies' Bower,"

And also carry you all night

To many lands, until the light

Comes with Aurora's face so fair,

When he will drop you anywhere,

It matters not where he may be,

On mountain, desert, or the sea.

And therefore few men whom I know

Are brave enough with him to go.

And think it best to bide at home

And not with fairies far to roam.

BEWARE OF THE WET

Johnnie Jones, you'd bettah stop

Paddlin' in de wet,

Lest you grow to be a duck

Or somethin' worser yet

With a pudgy mushroom head

Shaped like an umbrella,

Which would make you, handsome lad,

Such an ugly fellah.

TO MODERN KNIGHTS

What would you do, oh, my good brothers,

Should anyone insult your mothers,

Your sisters, sweethearts or your wives

By saying they lived worthless lives

Because they could not go to fight

In cruel war with men of might?

The one who slandered women so,

Ah, you would treat him as your foe.

What would you do, oh, my good brothers,

Should anyone insult your mothers,

Your sisters, sweethearts or your wives,

Declaring they lived worthless lives

And classing them with lunatics

Or, even worse, with fierce convicts?

The one who slandered women so,

Ah, you would treat him as your foe.

What would you do, oh, my good brothers,

Should anyone insult your mothers,

Your sisters, sweethearts or your wives

By saying they are worthless lives,

And that all women are inferiors,

And even black men are superiors?

The one who slandered women so,

Ah, you would treat him as your foe.

What would you do, oh, my good brothers,

Should anyone insult your mothers,

Your sisters, sweethearts or your wives

By calling them mere worthless lives

Because all men now take the lead,

E'en though they cannot write or read?

The one who slandered women so,

Ah, you would treat him as your foe.

Awake! Arise! Oh, my good brothers,

Your country's law insults your mothers,

Your sisters, sweethearts and your wives,

And classes them as worthless lives,

Declaring that no vote have they

As to who rules this U. S. A.

So, modern knights, now make new laws

That bear an equal franchise clause.

A SONG OF THE WOODS

"My leaves are turning crimson," the giant oak tree said,

"It's almost time these children should seek their winter's bed,

But how they still cling to me and gleam with crimson hue,

They truly are more lovely than cirrus clouds of blue.

"And now throughout the forest—list! hear their voices ring,

But 'tis in tones of sadness and sighing they now sing—

'Alas! 'tis gone, fair summer, and winter's reign is near,

He cruelly strips the forest of all her summer cheer

By killing all her lovely leaves and likewise flowers gay

And driving all her fairy folk to homes of far away.'"

BRICK VERSUS WATCH

"Nursie, dear, oh, I'ze afraid

I haz breakt a brick

In de big old fireplace.

Please to mend it quick

'Fore dear Muzzie tums along

And sees w'at I haz done,

Poundin' with my Daddy's watch

Ter make it fasser run."

KOPPA AFTER PI

I've very little Latin and very little Greek

Stored away in my small brain, which yet is very weak,

But one thing I'll remember, I think until I die,

And that is that the KOPPA follows after Pi.

And mother says that perhaps this solves the very reason why

The "Kops" they follow after cooks well trained in baking pie.

THE PAST AND PRESENT EVE

Where is the maid of the long ago

Who stayed at home and knit?

And where is she who won her way

Having a fainting fit?

Where is the maid who sat all day

Waiting a lover to call

So she might wed and ride away

Unto his manor hall?

And where is she who always blushed

And giggled "Tee-hee-hee!"

Whene'er a noble "Adamite"

She even chanced to see?

Where is she with the wasp-like waist

And Chinese hobbling feet,

The maiden fair with light bleached hair

Who thought she was too sweet?

Where is the dame who left her babes

Unto a servant's care,

While she reposed or tried to make

Herself look wondrous fair?

And where is she who wouldn't vote

And did not care to know

Who guided this great ship of state

And saved it from the foe?

She's gone away to "Has-been-realms,"

And now we have instead

Our glorious type of womankind

Who forges fast ahead.

Our brothers who now make the laws

Of this great country fair,

'Tis they alone who power have

Their franchise rights to share.

I pray you show your chivalry,

Oh, all you worthy knights,

And vote for equal franchise laws,

Which are your sisters' rights!

MY IMPRESSIONS OF NEWSPAPER MEN

[Written by request of a newspaper man.]

Newspaper men, so I believe,

Have tongues that roll around

As if well oiled with labial grease,

The slickest to be found.

Most of these men are very nice

And have a pleasant look,

But if I utter one wee word

They make it fill a book.

Some one has said that simple smiles

For length can't be surpassed;

Because there is a whole big mile

'Twixt letters first and last.

But I believe newspaper men

Can make words longer still,

With oceans rolling in between

Made out of little rills.

And as for questioning people

No Eves would dare compete

With skilful news reporters

In any question feat.

But of all men I most adore

Are these newspaper men,

And I would now most loudly cheer

THESE BRAVE KNIGHTS OF THE PEN.

PETER VISITS AN EPISCOPAL CHURCH

When Peter who was a country jake

A visit to a church did make

He sat with pleased look on his face

As if indeed in Heaven's place.

And after service when his Ma

Praised him aloud to his kind Pa

He said, "Of course I sat quite still

And watched the preacher's wives so ill

All dressed in nighties, though their hair

Was primped and curled as for a fair."

A GHOST STORY

On a dreadful stormy night

My dear Tommy had a fight

With great Peter Snookum Snee,

Cat of fighting pedigree.

In this battle, sad to tell,

My poor Tom, alas, he fell,

Ending thus his earthly life

Through the wicked God of Strife.

On the next night while in bed,

Sleepless and with aching head,

For my Tom, my precious pet,

My poor eyes with tears were wet.

Suddenly his voice I heard,

And in ghostly whispers purred,

"I am coming, mistress, dear,

Yes, 'tis true I'm very near.

"Good cat heaven have I left,

I would comfort you, bereft

For your precious Tommy pet,

I would teach you not to fret.

"Do you hear me in the hall

With my ghostly soft footfall?

Up the stairs I bound to thee,

Jumping steps from one to three.

"Now my paw is on your door,

I turn the knob one-two-three-four,

And you may see your Tommy now—

Me-ow! Me-ow! Me-ow! ow! ow!"

AN ESPERANTO POEM PLAIN TO ALL

Hundido krias—"Bow-wow-wow!"

Katido krias—"Meow-meow!"

Bovido krias—"Moo-moo-moo!"

Kolombo krias—"Coo-coo-coo!"

Shafido krias—"Baa-baa-baa!"

Infano krias—"Ma-ma-ma!"

THE WINDS OF MARCH

[Awarded Gold Medal in April (1912) Issue of St. Nicholas Magazine.]

Last March, "Imp March Winds" teased me so, I had no peace of mind,

For when I took a little walk, these imps came close behind,

And plucked my hat from off my head and hurled it to the ground,

Or blew my handkerchief so far it never could be found.

So, thinking of the Tangu rug, I asked it to appear

And carry me away to Mars, where I need have no fear

Of being tortured by these imps who love to tease and tease,

And never let the big or small feel perfectly at ease.

Then on the magic rug I flew away up in the air,

And landed on the planet Mars. Alas, the imps were there!

And working greater havoc far than they had done on earth,

For 'twas indeed the warlike Mars that gave these bad imps birth.

A BACHELOR'S OPINION OF A BABY

Said Auntie to a bachelor—

"Do look at my fine boy!

Oh, isn't he a cunning dear—

His mother's greatest joy."

"Ah, really," said the bachelor,

While blushing rosy red,

"And can he sit on his hind legs

And beg when he is fed?"

MY COUNTRY

In this dear land we need not sigh

And fear as orphans we may die,

As long as we can look on high

And see the starry banner fly

Above the children passing by,

Who gaze above, salute and cry,

"MY COUNTRY!"

GREEDY IMPS

Nine goblins, ten witches, and bad imps galore

Danced round me last night and made me so sore.

They pricked and they stabbed, they stung and they clawed

At my poor "tum-tum," oh, my, how they gnawed.

I struggled against them while trembling with fear

And crying out loudly, "Oh, Mother, come here!"

Just like a good fairy she came to my aid

And made the bad goblins so quickly to fade

Away in the darkness of "I-know-not-where,"

I'm sure that no children would like to go there.

And as Mother petted my poor aching head

She looked at me sadly and softly she said,

"The imps you have seen came but at your call

As you were so greedy and ate nearly all

The rich candied cherries your uncle sent you

Instead of obeying and eating a few."

TO FRIENDS WHO REMEMBERED ME WHEN I WAS ILL

I thank you for the Fairies, you sent from KINDNESS BOWER,

Bearing healing messages through thought, or deed, or flower,

While wicked pains were troubling me and I felt very sad,

Your loving little messengers, they came and made me glad

By telling cheerful stories of flowering shrub and tree,

And driving through forgetfulness the horrid pains from me.

GREETINGS TO NORFOLK

Greetings to the city of my birth, Norfolk town,

Proud am I to claim this birthplace of renown,

In Virginia's realms whose glory antedates

That of all our country's other states.

ORIENTAL METAPHOR

Anysing just suits me,

Makes me happy be,

All I needs to trinkee

Is few leaves of tea

With a drop of water

No more than you meet

In ze little holelets

Made by chickens' feet.

And as to my eatin'

Weenty sings suffice,

All I needs for dinner

Iz a grain ob rice.

Oh, I eat so little

For my biggish size,

I'ze just like a hound dog

Only munchin' flies.

A TORPID LIVER 'SPLODED HIM

Johnnie's father's gone to Heaven

So his mother told my ma

Doctor said a torpid liver

Killed poor Johnnie's sickly pa.

'Spose it 'sploded and then shot him

Way up in the clouds above,

Where his pieces were united

By the angels' songs of love.

THE SOUL OF A MISER

'Tis said that the soul of a miserly man,

So small it becomes that any one can

Blow it right through a tiny round pill

Thence through the top of a humming bird's bill

Into the eye of a wee little bug,

Which wouldn't cause it to wink or to shrug.

LEARNING THE FRENCH ALPHABET

PROFESSOR GROS TO HIS PUPILS:

Répétez, s'il vous plaît,

Les bonnes lettres a, b, c.

MAÎTRE CORBEAU:

Non, ces lettres je n'aime pas,

Je crie seulement k-k-k.

PROFESSOR GROS:

Répétez, s'il vous plaît,

Les bonnes lettres, a, b, c.

MAÎTRE COCHON:

Non, non, non, je seulement dis

La jolie lettre i-i-i.

PROFESSOR GROS:

Répétez, s'il vous plaît,

Les bonnes lettres, a, b, c.

MÉCHANT GARCON:

Non, non, non, je seulement dis

La comique lettre j-j-j.

PROFESSOR GROS:

Répétez, s'il vous plaît,

Les bonnes lettres, a, b, c.

LA MÉCHANTE FILLETTE:

Non, non, non, pour faire bons mots

Je préfére la grande lettre O——

PROFESSOR GROS:

Répétez, s'il vous plaît,

Les bonnes lettres, a, b, c.

LA VIELLE FILLE: FRANÇAISE:

Non, non, non, je seulement sais

La douce bonne lettre t-t-t.

DANS MA MAISON

Dans ma maison jolie j'ai

Un cheval, un perroquet,

Un crocodile et un taureau,

Une grande puce et un chevreau,

Une vache, un âne et une brebis,

Un papillon, des chauves-souris.

Dans ma maison jolie j'ai

Une tigresse, un terrier,

Un épagneul et un agneau,

Une girafe et un beau veau,

Un phoque, un bouc et un chameau,

Un singe, un boeuf et un corbeau.

Dans ma maison jolie j'ai,

Une ânesse, un lévrier,

Une alouette et un lièvre,

Une linotte et une bonne chèvre,

Un boule-dogue et un moineau,

Mon caniche si bon si beau.

Dans ma maison jolie j'ai

Une cigogne, des araignées,

Une grande chenille, un léopard,

Une tortue et un canard,

Un aigle, une taupe, des lionceaux,

Et un grand Monsieur Crapaud.

Dans ma maison jolie j'ai

Une baleine, un fier geai,

Un éléphant et un bon chat,

Un renard, beaucoup des rats,

Une loutre, un tigre et un mulet,

Un coq, une poule et des poulets.

Dans ma maison jolie j'ai

Une perruche, un bélier,

Une jument et un hibou

Un vautour et un loulou,

Une pie, une mouche et une belette,

Des autruches et une fauvette.

Dans ma maison jolie j'ai

Un serpent, un sanglier,

Une sauterelle et Madame Oie

Et un grand chien Danois

Tout le mond vit chez nous

Bêtes et gens-excepté vous!

DANS MON JOLI JARDIN

Dans mon joli jardin j'ai

De belles roses et des oeillets

Des hyacinthes et des pensées

Du chevrefeuille, des tulipes gaies

Des passe-roses, de l'oranger

De blancs lilacs parfumés.

Dans mon joli jardin j'ai

Des muguets et des bluets

Des campanules très coquettes

La simple et modeste violette,

Des marguerites, de rouges pavots

De beaux arbres si grands et haut!

DANS MA CUISINE

AS AN AID IN MEMORIZING THE ARTICLES IN THE KITCHEN

Dans ma cuisine joilie j'ai

Une poèle, et l'évier.

Des cuilliers, et des couteaux

Un balai, un fourneau,

Une bouilloire, et une théière

Et ma bonne cuisinière.

Dans ma cuisine jolie j'ai

Des casseroles et un pass-thé,

Des porcelaines, un joli moule,

Beaucoup de plats et une grande boule,

Des soucoupes une cafetière

Et ma bonne cuisinière.

Dans ma cuisine jolie j'ai

De belles tasses, un pot à lait;

Beaucoup de sucre et de farine

Sont toujours dans ma cuisine;

Et la reine de ma pauvre mère

Qui est notre cuisinière.

Dans ma cuisine jolie j'ai

Une grande armoire, une horloge vraie

Beaucoup d'eau et bon café

Du chocolat, aussi du thé,

Du vin, du lait, et la bìere

Pour notre bonne cuisinière.

UN PETIT BARBARE POU

[Written to remember that pou, genou, hibou, joujou, caillou, bijou and chou take X in the plural.]

Une fois un petit barbare pou,

A donné grand mal au genou

Du très sage et vieux hibou

Qui a jeté son joujou

(Un petit, mais dur caillou)

Qui etait son cher bijou

À la tête du méchant pou

Faisant lui un brisé chou.

WISE REPLIES

"Joan of Arc, and who was she?"

Asked the teacher of little Leigh.

"Wife of Noah, of course," said she,

"Who sailed the ark upon the sea."

"John's so wise he laughed at Leigh

When she tried to answer me,

So in the future for replies

We'll always go to John the wise.

Now what is lava, Johnnie, dear,

Can it be found in places near?"

"Why, certainly," said smiling John,

"Most everyday Dad puts it on,

And covers nearly his whole face

With lava thick in every place."

I PREFER A LAZY BEE

Once I saw a little bee

Sitting very quietly

On a baby elder tree.

Coming near to the young bee

I reproached him scornfully,

Saying, "You're not busy, bee."

Instantly the wicked bee

Made himself to busy be

By most cruelly stinging me.

Since that time I never see

Any busy buzzing bee

But I wish he'd lazy be.

WHEN WOMEN VOTE

[Written for the Evansville, Indiana, Courier.]

When women vote

On high will float

The banner of true worth.

No more Sir Graft

Or Wily Craft

Shall rule good Mother Earth.

Then peace will be

On land and sea,

The goddess we adore.

Not e'en a germ

Or ugly worm

Will dare molest us more.

This jingle may be sung to the air of Auld Lang Syne.

AN OLD GARDEN

In my old Savannah garden,

There roses and jasmine grew

And many sweet for-get-me-nots

Of lovely shades of blue.

Japonica's waxen blossoms

Of purest white and pink,

Wistarias with honey cups

From which the bees could drink.

Sweet old-time shrubs whose odors

Filled all the sun-kissed air

And many another beauty

Of "Flora" was found there;

So one would think that garden

A place of pure delight,

But, alas, not so since Tom Cat

Sang ditties there each night.

SPELLING WRONG "RONG"

To-day I got a lickin'

And teacher called me bad,

But I can't see the reason—

I guess it's just her fad.

For when in class she asked me,

"The word wrong will you spell?"

"R-O-N-G," I quickly cried,

And thought that I did well.

"That's wrong!" she cried out fiercely,

"I know it," I replied,

While beaming with a pleasant grin

So very broad and wide.

And then to think she seized me

And called me "sassy boy"

While lashing me with a peach limb

And blasting all my joy.

LET MA VOTE

(Spoken at U. S. Arsenal Park on July the Fourth, 1912.)

Ma can sew and Ma can bake—

Every sort of thing can make

Out of thread and wool and yarns,

And, besides, 'tis she who darns

All the rents in all our clothes,

And the holes made by our toes—

But our Ma she cannot vote

Any more than Bill, our goat.

Ma it is who keeps us neat

From our head down to our feet;

Watches o'er us night and day

When we work or when we play;

Nurses us when we are ill,

Saving Pa a doctor's bill—

But our Ma has naught to say

Who will rule this U. S. A.

Ma helps Pa, too, with his work.

For the good soul ne'er will shirk

From whatever's to be done—

Our brave Ma will never run.

But will always do her best,

And she rarely takes a rest,

Like our Pa, with pipe alight,

When he comes from work at night.

Ma has taught us kids to read—

In all things our Ma we need.

The good "Queen of Home" is Ma,

Though U. S. thinks more of Pa,

Since he gives him power to rule

O'er affairs of state and school;

While concerning laws Ma may

Ne'er a word have right to say.

All you boys must truly love

Your good mother far above

Anyone upon this earth,

For 'twas she who gave you birth;

And you noble, youthful knights,

Should not wish for any rights

That your mother does not share—

Which is only right and fair.

Won't you work for more just laws,

With an equal franchise clause,

So ere one more Fourth has passed

Ma will win her rights at last,

And may help to rule this land,

Which for equal rights will stand?

Rah! Rah! Rah! Three cheers for Ma

When she'll vote next year with Pa!

A SONG OF HOME

There's but one place on this great earth

Where I can happy be,

And that is in my own dear home

Perched on my mother's knee,

For there I find all that I seek

Of comfort, love and joy,

May no dread sorrow come to me

And my dear home destroy!

THEN AND NOW

[Published in a suffrage booklet, "A Plea to Gallant Knights."]

THEN—

In ancient days, so I've been told,

Knights were gallant, kind and bold,

But ladies e'en though fair and sweet,

Made the knights kneel at their feet.

NOW—

The modern ladies quite compare

In beauty with these dames so fair,

But they no longer wish to see

Bold knights so humbly bending knee,

They ask only to keep beside

The modern knight in his bold stride.

THE FIVE BEST FAIRIES

The joyous CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

Is flying through the air,

He's in our homes and in our hearts,

About us everywhere.

We see him in the night time

When we have gone to bed,

Sitting on our pillow,

Or floating round our head.

We hear him in the morning

As soon as we arise,

"Don't forget the aged

And little ones," he cries.

"If you are well and happy

Still happier you'll be,

If you will open wide your heart

And say 'COME IN' to me.

I'll tell you of your neighbors

Who are both ill and sad,

But who by deeds of kindness

You may make very glad.

And for your Christmas presents

Oh, how I hope and pray

That Earth's five best good fairies

To you will come and stay."

"The first is GOOD HEALTH FAIRY,

Whose aid all mortals seek,

For he is life's elixir

And gives strength to the weak.

Without this gracious fairy

No one can ever know

A single hour of perfect peace

Away from GOBLIN WOE.

So treasure this good fairy

And keep him safe with you,

For he will be a faithful friend

And one that's ever true.

"I'll ask GOOD COMFORT FAIRY

To all your wants give heed,

So you may never suffer

From dreaded SPECTER NEED.

"A third most precious fairy

I know will stay with you

If you have HEALTH to make you smile

And MEANS so you may do

The little deeds of kindness

And little acts of love

Which bring true gladness to this earth

From radiant realms above.

"With health and comfort and true love,

No fairies, it would seem,

Would be quite necessary

To make this life a dream,

But as most every mortal

Has hopes of great success,

Reaching high for certain goals

Toward which they go in quest.

I pray SUCCESS, the fairy,

Will help to win your part

In everything you undertake,

In finance, science, art.

"Now, with good health and comfort

And love and great success,

There always travels side by side

THE FAIRY HAPPINESS.

Oh, may these five good fairies

Forever dwell with thee,

And then you'll be as happy

As any one can be."

AN EQUAL FRANCHISE VALENTINE

[Published on valentine cards by the Norfolk, Virginia, Equal Franchise Association.]

Oh, noble knight, you oft have said

That when a maiden you would wed,

In everything you both should share

And make a truly happy pair.

Now, as you vow your love is mine.

And that I am your Valentine,

Oh, prove these loving words of thine,

And make the right of franchise mine!

BEWARE OF STINGS

Once I heard a Christian Science lady who was very wise,

Say that love is all about us in all things of every size,

And if we each day would utter "God is love" to everything

Not a thing on earth would hurt us with its claws, or horns, or sting.

So believing what she told me, when a hornet I did meet,

Graciously I smiled upon him and with words of love did greet

This most wicked of all insects who refused good friends to be

But rewarded my advances by most cruelly stinging me.

So, my little friends, take warning and of love though you may sing

I am sure you'll never find it in an insect with a sting.

'NEATH NIAGARA FALLS

[These lines came to me as I stood in the underground tunnel beneath the Horse Shoe Falls and watched the mighty volumes of water pouring down upon the rocks beneath.]

While standing 'neath Niagara Falls

A voice to me from Heaven calls

And asks me in deep, thundering tone,

Mortal, can you stand alone?

Do you believe there is no God

Who made these waters at His nod?

Are works like these but tricks of earth?

Did nature only give them birth?

Or was there an immortal hand

Brought them to life by His command?

The roaring waters seem to say—

"To God, our Maker, homage pay."

GRAMMAR IN A NUTSHELL

The ARTICLES are, oh, so wee,

These little words are A, AN, THE.

The nouns are names of anything

As BOOK or PLAYGROUND, BALL or RING.

PRONOUNS are used for NOUNS instead—

MY face, HER hand, YOUR feet, HIS head.

All adjectives just tell the kind

Of everything that we may find,

As GOOD and BAD, and SOFT and SWEET,

RUDE and NAUGHTY, WISE and NEAT.

While of manner ADVERBS tell

As SWEETLY, NEATLY, ILL or WELL.

The PREPOSITIONS help each day

IN our work and AT our play.

When relationship is shown

They must do the work alone.

Good CONJUNCTIONS join together

Man AND woman; plume OR feather.

INTERJECTIONS will exclaim—

"OH, ALAS! AH, what a shame!"

But we cannot get along

In conversation or in song

Without the VERB, the subject's fate,

Expressing action, being, state.

HOW SIMPLE SIMON BECAME WISE

Simple Simon met young Heiman reading from a book.

Said Simple Simon to young Heiman, "Let me have a look?"

Said young Heiman to Simple Simon, "I will not selfish be,

My great delight, ST. NICHOLAS, I'll gladly let you see."

Then Simple Simon and young Heiman spent an hour or two

Reading from this wondrous book, so full of all that's true,

And when they'd finished, Simon lad of Mother Goose's fame,

By virtue of his knowledge great, WISE SIMON, he became.

THE B. O. K. FAIRY

BRINGER OF JOY

In far away Persia of long, long ago

Lived GOOD FAIRY BOK, BAD TROUBLE'S great foe.

Wherever he went there was sunshine and joy

For all of the grown-ups and each girl and boy.

He knew that the secrets of happiness lay

In knowing just how one should work and should play;

And he taught big and little how they could well use

Their minds and their bodies with no time to lose.

Then "TROUBLE" at last drove GOOD BOK from the earth

But wise men revived this great giver of mirth

In THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE which points out the way

To lead useful lives and be happy all day,

Since this wholesome fairy is the dreaded foe

Of IDLENESS, first cause of all earthly woe;

So one never finds a bad girl or boy

In homes where BOK FAIRY radiates joy.

And in every home where BOK has a shelf[B]

He brings as his helper N. E., goodly elf,[C]

Who knows how to open all good parents' eyes

And help them make kiddies glad, wealthy and wise.

[B] The Book of Knowledge.

[C] Natural Education.

PAPA'S SAINTED LEG

"My papa has one wicked leg,

Which troubles him with aches.

He has also a second leg,

He calls "a wooden fake,"

And still another sainted leg

Which he most gladly gave

When fighting in the cruel war

His country's flag to save.

AN APPEAL TO THE FAIRIES

[This poem was written in the hope of saving a beautiful forest near my home in Evansville, Indiana.]

Good Fairies, save the lovely trees, which live on Coal Mine Hill!

Their home has been your home so long, your hearts with grief would fill

Should stout men armed with axes come and fell them to the earth,

These monarchs of the forest, these jewels of great worth.

The giant oaks and stately elms, the rulers of this wood

Have watched the growth of Evansville and helped it as they could.

They gave their shade and soft bright leaves to make a downy nest

To shelter the first baby boy that Evansville possessed.

Before this city had a church in which both bad and good

Could ask forgiveness of the Lord, they worshipped in this wood;

And those who love the beautiful and lovely scenes to see

They climb upon this grassy hill and stand beneath some tree,

While gazing far as eye can reach to fair Kentucky's lands,

Or looking at the river shore on which our city stands.

Above their heads the bright blue sky, green grass beneath their feet,

And all around a lovely scene such as we seldom meet;

Green pastures with cows grazing, broad river flowing by,

And many tall church spires lifted toward the sky,

No fitter place for children nor grown-up folks could be

Than on this lovely Coal Mine Hill where NATURE we can see.

'Tis here the little orphans and poor children all around

Find the greatest pleasures which in this woods abound.

So dearest, kindest FAIRIES, please rescue these grand trees,

And save them for the children, we ask you on our knees.

IN INDIA

[To the air of "We Won't Go Home Till Morning."]

To India we now will go

To India we now will go

To India we now will go

To see a monkey show.

To see a monkey show.

To see a monkey show.

We cannot travel there by rail,

We cannot travel there by rail,

We cannot travel there by rail.

And so we'll have to sail.

And there Mount Everest we'll see

And there Mount Everest we'll see

And there Mount Everest we'll see

And lowly bend the knee.

In India the sun's so hot

In India the sun's so hot

In India the sun's so hot

We may melt on the spot.

And when it rains great torrents fall

And when it rains great torrents fall

And when it rains great torrents fall

To soak the great and small.

In India we'll have a fright

In India we'll have a fright

In India we'll have a fright

If cobras try to bite.

Or maybe a cruel tiger beast

Or maybe a cruel tiger beast

Or maybe a cruel tiger beast

Upon our bones will feast.

Or even worse a crocodile

Or even worse a crocodile

Or even worse a crocodile

May come too close and smile.

If we escape his awful jaws

If we escape his awful jaws

If we escape his awful jaws

We may feel the leopard's claws.

But I am glad as I can be

But I am glad as I can be

But I am glad as I can be

No juggernaut we'll see.

And no harm will come our way

And no harm will come our way

And no harm will come our way

If fairies with us stay.

Agra, Calcutta, old Delhi,

Agra, Calcutta, old Delhi,

Agra, Calcutta, old Delhi,

And Bombay we will see.

But I'm so sad we won't behold

But I'm so sad we won't behold

But I'm so sad we won't behold

The peacock throne of gold.

Still we may see the Taj Mahal

Still we may see the Taj Mahal

Still we may see the Taj Mahal

Called beautiful by all.

Indigo, cotton, tobacco and tea

Indigo, cotton, tobacco and tea

Indigo, cotton, tobacco and tea

In India we will see.

Well find in Burma rubies red

Well find in Burma rubies red

Well find in Burma rubies red

And copper, tin and lead.

Mahogany and teakwood too,

Mahogany and teakwood too,

Mahogany and teakwood too,

And plenty of bamboo,

With ebony and sandalwood

With ebony and sandalwood

With ebony and sandalwood

And other trees as good.

And here we find the humped zebu

And here we find the humped zebu

And here we find the humped zebu

Which makes a funny moo.

And in this pearl of the far East

And in this pearl of the far East

And in this pearl of the far East

On mangoes we will feast.

And lots of sugar we will eat,

And lots of sugar we will eat,

And lots of sugar we will eat,

Our rice we'll make so sweet.

And lovely silken robes we'll wear

And lovely silken robes we'll wear

And lovely silken robes we'll wear

With turbans round our hair.

But in the Ganges we'll not wash

But in the Ganges we'll not wash

But in the Ganges we'll not wash

For that is silly bosh.

Instead we'll take an elephant ride

Instead we'll take an elephant ride

Instead we'll take an elephant ride

Upon his trunk astride.

THE BEST MONTH OF ALL

Of flowery spring

The poets sing,

Or else of bright September,

But girls and boys

Who love nice toys

Will always praise December;

For that's the time

In every clime

Us Santa doth remember.

A PLEA TO KNIGHTS AND LADIES FAIR

TO LADIES FAIR:

Would you be classed with lunatics,

Or, even worse, with fierce convicts?

Then work for equal franchise laws.

TO GALLANT KNIGHTS:

Do you wish rights, oh, my good brothers,

Denied your sisters, wives and mothers?

Then give them equal franchise laws.

SAYING HIS SPEECH

One day last week good Mrs. Jones

Sat making a new gown

When home from school her young son came

And strode first up, then down.

He waved his arms and muttered much

And frightened the pet cat

And every time he neared the fire

Right into it he spat.

"Why, Jimmie," said his frightened ma,

"Oh, what makes you act so?

And if you do not soon behave

Right straight to bed you'll go!"

"Ah, mother," said the wise young lad,

"I'm neither bad nor bold.

I'm just rehearsing a short speech

So don't begin to scold.

To-day at school the teacher gave

These lines to every one

And bade us all learn them to-night

Or else the stick would come."

"Well, Jimmie, dear," his mother said,

Recite these lines to me.

And why do you when by the fire

Spit out so furiously?"

"The reason, Ma," said Jimmie Jones,

"You very soon shall see.

When I recite these lines to you

You'll know that act must be.

'The embers glow, the fire burns

The kid turns on the spit!'

And now you see, my mother dear,

That gesture well does fit."

A PLEA TO EDITORS

Mary Jane's so lachrymosy

She won't laugh and she won't sing

Since the cruel newspaper people

Would not print her poem SPRING.

Won't you be more tender-hearted

To the rhymesters who must sing,

E'en though they fill your waste baskets

Full of poems on sweet spring?

TASMANIA

[To the air of "Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush."]

To Tasmania, we will go, we will go, we will go,

And there we will not see much snow, see much snow, see much snow.

To Tasmania we will sail, we will sail, we will sail

And catch a kangaroo's big tail, his big tail, his big tail.

To Tasmania we will fly, we will fly, we will fly

And see the wheat which grows this high, grows this high, grows this high.

In Tasmania we have heard, we have heard, we have heard

Lives the funny penguin bird, penguin bird, penguin bird.

In Tasmania we will spy, we will spy, we will spy

An emu bird which cannot fly, cannot fly, cannot fly.

In Tasmania we will see, we will see, we will see

Many a eucalyptus tree, 'lyptus tree, 'lyptus tree.

In Tasmania we are told, we are told, we are told

There are heaps and heaps of gold, heaps of gold, heaps of gold.

In Tasmania we will keep, we will keep, we will keep

A big flock of lovely sheep, lovely sheep, lovely sheep.

ESPERANTO GRAMMAR

All the nouns must end in O,

Akvo (water), Banto (bow),

While adjectives all end in A,

Bona patro (good papa),

And adverbs end in letter E,

Rapide in a rapid way.

Soon I'll teach the vowels to you,

Saying, "Pa, may we go too?"

And the diphthongs au, aj, oj

We pronounce as "Thou, my boy."

Best of all the charming verbs,

They can never wreck our nerves

With exceptions cruel, unkind,

For the same you'll always find

Blessed AS, IS, OS, US, U,

Endings that are ever true.

THE ARMADILLO

If I would fight on land and sea,

And all my armor take with me,

An ARMADILLO I would be.

Then I could wear as my best clothes

To cover me from tail to nose,

Strong armor to ward off my foes.

And dig, ah, my, but I could dig!

Much swifter than a rooting pig,

With my sharp claws so strong and big.

And eat, ah, yes, but I would eat

All things bitter and all things sweet,

For feasting would be my best feat!

FIVE GOOD GIANTS

ARITHMETIC GIANT, most wise, never slumbers;

His is the science which teaches of numbers.

His cousin GEOGRAPHY treats of Ma Earth

And all of her children to whom she gave birth.

His aunt PHYSIOLOGY brings to us wealth,

Describing our bodies and how to have health.

His grandma called GRAMMAR tells how to use

Good language at all times in spreading the news.

Great LITERATURE teaches of many a work

Written by authors who never would shirk

From learning a little just day after day

By listening to what the wise giants would say

Who led them to drink from the great Knowledge Fount

And thus to FAME'S LADDER helped them to mount.

A BOOK MARK

So very happy I shall be,

If you'll permit poor humble me

To keep your place by my poor art

Within your bookfriend's gracious heart.

UNCLE SAM'S PITTSBURGH ARSENAL

[Spoken at the Centenary Celebration, April 17th.]

These hoary walls if they could speak

What wondrous tales they'd tell!

Of many strange encounters

That long ago befell

Good Pittsburgh folks who laid these stones

One hundred years ago

When Uncle Sam looked at John Bull

As his most hated foe.

The builders in those good old days,

Who fashioned this old wall

Knew naught of graft or cheap cement:

They built things not to fall.

And so we see the magazines

And walls are just as good

As when in days of Lafayette

These sturdy bulwarks stood

And frowned on him as he passed by

As if they wished to say,

"Your day will pass but we will stand

Till centuries roll away."

They heard the dread explosion

That shook their very ground

But firm they stood as bulwarks

When stones fell all around.

Again when dreadful RIOT

Brought bloodshed in its path

These walls though dyed with crimson

Looked coldly on man's wrath.

Not even blood of soldiers

Could make them shed a tear

And that is why these sturdy walls

Have reached their hundredth year.

The moral of this little tale

Is that we should not weep and wail

But ever put away all fears

So we may live a hundred years.

DUX FEMINA VIA

My wise Professor Kurniker

Has not quite wisely said

That masculines in German

Will ever rank ahead.

But how about good Mother Earth,

The sun, air and the sea,

Without which not a single soul

Could in existence be?

Depending on the masculines

We could not even speak

For we would have no lips, lung, tongue

Or voices strong or weak.

What sights we'd be without our skin

And none of us could write

Sans pen and hand and without fists

We could not even fight.

What freaks we'd be without our cheeks,

Our shoulders, chest and nose

And how could we walk all about

Unless we had our toes?

We'd have no milk to keep us well,

No butter for our bread.

On most of the delicious fruits

We could not then be fed.

But few sweet flowers we would have

To cheer the sick and sad;

No lovely pearls of greatest price

To make the ladies glad.

We would not have a church or bank

Post-office or good school;

No linen, silk or wool to wear

When Jack Frost makes us cool.

We could not patriotic be

With no flag for our own

And without a good naval fleet

We could not stand alone.

Without a purse or library,

Without a cup for tea,

Sans the ETERNAL FEMININE

What would this poor world be?

Without the seasons and the week,

Without the night and stars,

We'd better leave this mundane sphere

And fly right up to Mars.

A BIRTHDAY WISH

"Long years, full seven score and ten,"

The gods have said, "we give to men!"

Though since Methuselah was here

No one has reached this age, I fear.

On this, your birthday, I invoke

The wondrous little fairy folk

And ask them that they give to you

A chance to live man's whole life through.

One hundred fifty years or more

Be kept for you in Long-Life-Shop.

THE MILLER ON THE DEE

Sur la DE-O rivereto,

Pitoreska en dometo,

Loĝis bona muelisto

Kiu estas fabrikisto

De feliĉa vera ĝojo

En la grandanima koro.

Ĉiutage li kantadis,

Ke por ĉiam li rabados

Bedaŭregojn de kun-homoj

Kaj metos ĝojon en la domoj.

BAA! BAA! BLACK SHEEP

Bleku, bleku, nigra ŝafo!

Ĉu lanon havas vi?

Jes Sinjoro, jes Sinjor', mi havas sakojn tri.

Por la bona mastro kaj la mastrineto

Ankaŭ por la knab' kiu loĝas en vojeto.

THE OLD WOMAN, MOTHER GOOSE

La maljuna virino,

Patrino Anserino,

Loĝis en domego

En granda arbarego.

Tie je pordego

Estas la strigego,

Gardostarantino

De la Anserino.

La maljuna virino,

Patrino Anserino,

Ofte tre deziris

Vojaĝi, kaj ekiris

For de la domego;

Sur bona anserego

Rajdis ŝi trans la ĉielojn

Vidis ĉiujn brilajn stelojn.

SIX LITTLE MICE SAT DOWN TO SPIN

Por ŝpini sidis ses musetoj

Sur siaj belaj ses seĝetoj;

Malbona venis katinego

Terure ruĝa ĉe buŝego:

Diris ŝi, "Permesu min

Ke mi nun' vizitu vin!"

Musetoj kriis—"Savu nin!

Ho, ni ne deziras vin!"

THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM

En Gotham' estas tri saĝuloj,

Kiuj estis ja kunuloj;

Unufoje en pelvego

Iris ili sur marego.

Jen fino de la tri kunuloj,

Kiuj estis saĝeguloj.

BO-PEEP

Dolĉa Bo-Peepo estis knabineto

Kiu kun lerta kaj sprita hundeto

Ĉiam gardadis pri belaj ŝafetoj,

Kiujn ŝi nomis siaj amatoj.

Sed unufoje perdinte la vojon

Ili ekrompis de Bo-Peep' la koron.

THE LITTLE MAN WITH THE LITTLE GUN

Foje estis juna homo,

Kiu logis en la domo;

Kiu havis pafileton

Kaj rondan plumban kugleton.

Li ekiris rivereton,

Tie vidis anaseton;

Ĝin li pafis je l' kapeto,

Donis ĝin al Joaneto,

Ordonante, "Rostu vi

L' anaseton nun por mi."

PRETTY MAID, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

"Ho bela knabino, mi multe deziras

Lerni de vi kien vi iras."

"Por melki" respondis la juna fraŭlino,

La bela kaj dolĉa kaj lerta knabino.

La Sinjoro diris—"Ho, donos al mi

Tre grandan plezuron iri kun vi!"

Tiam ŝi diris, "Ho jes, se vi volas,

Permeson al vi kuniri mi donas."

"Ĉu grandan riĉaĵon posedas do vi?"

De tiu knabino demandis nun li.

"Jen estas la sola riĉaĵo la mia,

Nur la vizaĝo," respond' estis sia.

"Do nepre mi ne edziĝos kun vi."

La mono-serĉisto diris al ŝi.

"Ho ne, certe ne," respondis ŝi,

"Ĉar tion neniam mi petis de vi."

A FROG WHO WOULD A-WOOING GO

Unufoje estis rano,

Kiu estis la infano

De tre bona Patrineto

Kiu loĝis en marĉeto.

Patrineto al li diris—;

"Ranideto, mi deziras,

Ke ne estu vi amanto

De Fraŭlino Musobanto.

Ŝi ne havas bonon sangon

Ĉar ŝi manĝas buterpanon,

Kaj ne ŝatas bonajn vermojn,

Muŝojn, cimojn kaj la herbojn.

"Kaj se vi kun ŝi edziĝos

Tre malĝoja vi fariĝos."

GOOSEY, GOOSEY GANDER

Anserino, anserego,

Unufoje en ĉambrego

Estis viro, kaj al li

"Preĝu, preĝu" diris mi.

Sed li ne obeis min

Kaj mi tuj elĵetis lin.

LITTLE MISS MUFFET

Fraŭlineto Muffet sidis

Sur herbaĵo, kaj ekridis,

Dum ŝi manĝis el pelveto

Multe da la kazeaĵo

Kun selakto kaj fruktaĵo.

Sed ŝi sentis teruregon

Ekvidinte aranegon

Kaj rapide kuris ŝi

Tiam for de tie ĉi.

KITTY, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?

Katino, katino, kien vi iris?

Sciigon pri tio mi certe deziras.

"Mi iris Londonon

(Ĉar mi havis monon)

Kaj vidis feinon,

La bonan reĝinon."

"Kaj tie, katino, kion vi faris,

Dum apud la trono fiere vi staris?"

"Mi havis plezuron timigi museton,

Kiu forkuris sub la seĝeton."

ROCK-A-BYE, BABY

Ho dormu nun, dormu, infano mia,

En la supro de alta arbo via;

Kiam blovos dolca vento suda,

Tiam lulos via lulilo kruda;

Kiam blovos norda ventego terura,

Tiam falos vi de l' arb-lito velura.

JACK SPRATT

"Sole la grason donu al mi,"

Jako Spratt petegis al ni,

"Ĉar mia edzino ne kuiros ĝin,

Kvankam humile mi petas ŝin."

SIMPLE SIMON

Malsaĝa Simono iris foiron,

Kaj je la foiro renkontis la viron,

Kiu al knaboj vendis pasteĉojn

Ankaŭ aliajn bonajn aĉetojn.

Malsaĝa Simono ne havis "Bon-senson"

Ankaŭ ne havis unu "Bon-pencon"

Sed al la viro tre brave li diris,

"Bonvolu, pasteĉon mi multe deziras."

La viro respondis ĝentile al li.

"Unue, vi montru la pencon al mi."

MOTHER HUBBARD

Maljuna Patrino Hubbard', laŭ bona singardo,

Enmetis en ŝrankon pecon da lardo,

Por doni al sia tre bona hundido,

Kaj ankaŭ al sia tre bela katido.

Sed tre malfeliĉe por tiuj dorlotitoj

Estis en ŝranko musoj ne timigitaj;

Kaj ĉar la ŝrank-pordo ne havis fortecon,

La malbonaj musoj formanĝis la lardpecon.

LITTLE BOY BLUE

Ho veku, ho veku, Bluvesta Knabeto,

Ho venu, ho venu kun via korneto:

En nia herbejo jen estas bovinoj,

Kaj en la grenejo estas ŝafinoj.

Veku, ho veku, dormema knabeto,

Kaj blovu tre laŭte per via korneto.

MULTIPLICATION IS VEXATION

Malbona estas MULTOBLIGADO,

Ĝi estas ĉagrenigo;

Simile malbona

Estas DIVIDADO

Kaj PRAKTIKO faras min

Frenezul' sen sentoj kvin.

PETER PUMPKIN EATER

Petro, Petro, Manĝanto de kukurbo,

Edzinon havis, sed en sia urbo

Por edzino ne havis domon,

Nek la buterpanon, nek eĉ pomon.

Tiam de la bela Esperanto

Petro ekfarigis ameganto;

Tiam Kukurb-Petro havis domon,

Ankaŭ buterpanon, kaj eĉ pomon.

DOCTOR FOSTER

Sinjorino Cikonio

Kiu loĝis en tilio

Unufoje tre deziris

Ke iu kium ŝi admiris

(La senhara Doktor' Foster')

Venu helpi ŝin ĉe Gloucester.

Porti sakon da infanoj,

Por du bonaj samurbanoj;

Sed malĝoje, Doktor' Foster'

Ne povis veni eĉ al Gloucester'

Ĉar la koto plutis lin,

Kiel diris saĝa virin'.

JACK BE NIMBLE

Estu lerta, Jako mia,

Kaj agema, knabo mia,

Kandelingon ho transsaltu,

Nun do! Nun do! Ne, ne haltu!

SING JOYFULLY ON YOUR WAY

Skuiru ĝojege malglatajn vojegojn,

Transsaltu ĝojege la altajn montegojn,

Ĉar estas neniam lacega la koro

En kiu ekzistas multe da ĝojo.

La gajkoraj viroj estas karuloj,

Sed malĝojaj viroj estas teduloj.

PUSSEY IN THE WELL

"DINGA-dongo-duto!"

Katido en la puto!

Kiu enmetis ŝin?

Malgrando Tomaso Green.

Kiu eltiris ŝin?

Bonvole sciigu nin.

Tomaso "Trout" estis li;

"Bona knabo" diris ni.

PEAS PUDDING HOT

Pizpudingo varma,

Aŭ malvarma ĝi,

Aŭ eĉ de naŭ tagoj

En poto tiu ĉi.

Kelkaj varma ŝatas ĝin,

Malvarma kelkaj volas ĝin;

"En la poto," iuj diras

Ke ĝin ili ja deziras.

TOM THE PIPER'S SON

Tomaso la filo de Kantosakisto,

Ho certe le estis tre granda rabisto.

Ĉar li unufoje la porkon deziris

Li ŝtelis la porkon kaj tiam foriris.

La malĝoja pork' tuj estis manĝata

Kaj tiam Tomaso li estis batata,

De lia kolera sed tre bona patro.

Kaj tiam ekkriis Tomas' laŭ la strato.

LITTLE MARY WITH HER CANARY

Tiu ĉi kanarieto

Apartenas al Manjeto;

Bona kiel eĉ knabeto,

Kun la nomo "Birdeto,"

Kaj li kantas dolĉan kanton

Ĉar li havas bonan sanon.

Tial juna bela Manjo

Amon havas por "Birdeto."

MARY, QUITE CONTRARY

Via ĝardeno, kiel kreskas ĝi?

Kontraŭema Mario, diru al ni!

Kun arĝentaj sonoriloj,

Kaj kun konkoj por bariloj

Kaj la kokeloj de belaj konketoj.

En rekta linio, ankaŭ fraŭlinoj

Tiel belegaj kiel feinoj.

BUTCHER, BAKER, CANDLE-STICK MAKER

"RUBO-dubo-dubo!"

Viroj tri en kuvo.

Mi petas nun' de vi

Nomojn de la tri.

Jen estas la buĉisto,

Kune kun la panbakisto,

Ankaŭ tiu kandelisto

Kiu estas ja rabisto.

Emfaze diru al la tri,

"Iru, iru for de ni!"

RAIN, RAIN, GO AWAY

Pluvo, foriru de tie ĉi,

Krias Johaneto nun de vi:

Je Aprila tago, tiam al ni

Venu, bona pluvo, tien ĉi.

SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE

Kantu kanton de sespenco

Kaj pri peco de sensenco;

De sekalo en saketoj,

Kaj bakado de merletoj;

En la reĝaj pudingetoj

Ili kantas ĉe festetoj.

THE OLD WOMAN IN A SHOE

Jam de longe loĝis en ŝuego

Tre maljuna grasa virinego,

Kiu havis multajn infanetojn

Dek knabinojn kaj knabetojn.

Certe la geinfanetoj

Estas ofte turmentetoj.

Ĉiunokte al la geinfana grupo

Estis donata la senpana supo;

Tiam forte batis ŝi la infanetojn

Ĝis kuris ili en siajn litetojn.

THE LITTLE BOY AND THE LITTLE SPARROW

Unufoje pasereto

Sidis bele sur branĉeto:

Venis tre malbona knabo,

Kun pafarko kaj la sago,

Dins li—"Vin pafos mi;

Pasteĉ' nun fariĝos vi!

Pasereto, tie ĉi."

"Per knabeto mortos mi,

Se mi restus sur la branĉo

Apud tre malbona knabo."

Tial for de la branĉeto

Li forflugis de knabeto.

SNAIL, SNAIL, COME OUT OF YOUR HOLE

Limako, ho limako mia,

Elvenu do el truo via!

Se vi ne obeis min

Tiam mi ja batos vin.

PATTI CAKE

Ho Sinjoro Panbakisto, mi petegas vin,

Faru bonan kuketon nun por mi!

Frapetu kaj piku, kaj marku ĝin per I,

Kaj enmetu ĝin en fornon por Petro kaj mi.

THREE BLIND MICE

Tri blindaj musoj!

Tri blindaj musoj!

Per dek-du kruroj,

Per dek-du kruroj,

Kuris post virino

Kiu estis edzino

De la bona farmmastro

Aprobita de l' pastro.

Tiam ŝia filo

Per granda tranĉilo

Mallongigis la vostojn

Kaj ricevis ties kostojn.

OLD KING COLE

Maljuna Reĝo-KOL,

De Reĝlando Ĝojo,

Animon gajan ja posedas,

Almenaŭ tiel ni mem kredas.

Pipo kaj pelvo da vin'

Ĉiam multe plaĉas lin,

Ankaŭ la belaj sonoj

De la tri violonoj—

Tui, diddel, diddel, di!

Dins la violonoj tri.

MY SON JOHN

Didel, pudingeto

Iris en liton, ŝtrumpojn portante,

Sur la piedoj unu ŝuon havante,

Didel, pudingeto, mia filo Johan'.

DICKORY DOCK

Dikeri, dikeri

Supren flugis la porketo.

Tiam vir' en aerŝipo

Flugis post la pork' kun vipo;

Kaptis voston de porkido,

Jen por ni tre gaja rido!

BARBER, BARBER, SHAVE A PIG

Ho, barbiro, razu vi,

Tiun porkon nun por mi,

Ĉar tre multe mi deziras

Antaŭ ol la pork' foriras,

Havi nigrajn harojn liajn,

Dankojn vi ricevos miajn:

Kaj pinĉprenon donos mi

De la flartabak' al vi;

Perukon por la senharulo

Faru vi, ho bonegulo.

JACK AND JILL

Grimpante sur monteton Jako kaj Jilo,

Portante la akvon en akvoĉerpilo;

Havis renverson Jakoto kaj Jilo,

Kune kun la akvo en akvoĉerpilo;

Kaj tre granda ŝtono rompis la verton

De juna, Jako, kiu timis tiun sperton.

OLD MOTHER GOOSE

Sinjorino Anserino,

Ho vi estas papagino!

Ĉu la plumojn havas vi,

Por donaci nun al mi?

Jes mi havas, knabineto,

Plumojn por flugilplumeto,

Kaj por via fratineto

Plumojn por l'ark-pafileto.

LITTLE TOM TUCKER

Tomaseto florojn kantis?

Por akiri manĝon;

Ĉu li florojn plantis?

Ĉu li portis franĝon?

Kion vere manĝos li?

Tion ja demandas ni.

Eble bonan buterpanon

Ankaŭ dolĉgustan bananon.

HARK! HARK! THE DOGS DO BARK

Ho aŭskultu geknabetoj

Je bojado de hundetoj!

Almozuloj kun kuraĝo

Venas nun al la vilaĝo;

Kelkaj en la ĉifonetoj

Aliaj en velurrobetoj

Jen la kaŭzo de bojado,

La maldolĉa hund-kantado.

JACK SPRATT

Jako Spratt' porketon havis,

Grandegecon ĝi ne havis;

Ne grasa estas ĝi

Kaj Jako diris li

"Mezampleksa porketo

Vi estas ja grunteto!"

TAFFY WAS A THIEF

"Taffy" estis Kimro kaj granda rabisto,

Eble li deziris esti la buĉisto,

Ĉar se mi ne restus ĉiufoje ĉe mi

Tre kviete venus fripono tiu ĉi;

Li forŝtelis pecon de l' ostinternaĵo;

Kaj malgrandan pecon de bona bovaĵo.

Tiam iris mi al ties eta domo:

Dormis en la lito la kanajla homo.

Kaj mi multe batis lin sur la kapo lia,

Per armilo bona, bovost' en mano mia.

CURLY LOCKS

Ho Bukloharuleto,

Mia dolĉa knabineto,

Estu mia edzineto;

Kaj nenia ĉagrenajo

Venos por turmenti vin

Se vi nur akceptos min.

Tiam vi ne pladojn lavos

Nek aliajn taskojn havos,

Sur kuseno mola sidos

Sole min vi ĉiam vidos,

Kaj vi manĝos fragoberojn

Kaj la kremon kaj sukeron.

HOT CROSS BUNS

Vasmegaj krucaj bulketoj,

Unu por nur du pencetoj,

Donu ilin al la filoj,

Se ne manĝos la filinoj.

FIVE LITTLE PIGS

Unu porketo, vendejon iris li,

La dua porket' restas hejme ĉe si,

Tria ja havis bonan rostbefon,

Kvara porko havis, ho nenion;

Sed la malbona infaneto,

Kiu estas grasa porketo,

Ciutage krias li,

"Pi-vi, pi-vi, pi-vi, pi-vi-vi!"

HUMPTY DUMPTY

Humpto-Dumpto sur la muro sidis,

Sed Humpto-Dumpto sendube ne vidis

Ke la muro havis nenian forton

Ĝis post li enfalis en la ŝtonan korton.

Mi malĝoje diras ĝin:

Neniu povis levi lin,

Neniu el la grandaj reĝoj

Nek la multaj longaj preĝoj.

TO MARKET

Vendejon, vendejon, iru vi,

Kaj aĉetu, kaj aĉetu, ho por mi!

Grasan porketon, grasan porketon

Ho alportu en dometon!

Vendejon, vendejon iru vi,

Kaj aĉetu, kaj aĉetu, ho por mi!

Grasan porkegon, grasan porkegon,

Ho alportu en domegon!

OH, PRETTY LITTLE GIRL, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

Ho bela knabineto, kien iras vi?

"Mi iras al ĝardeno kaj laboros mi

Tranĉante belajn rozojn por reĝino kara

Kiu estas dolĉa, ankaŭ tre bonfara.

Grandan kiel ŝuo diamanton donos ŝi.

Tiam mi salutos ŝin, dirante 'dank' al vi'."

THE MAN IN THE MOON

La Viro en la Luno, malsupren falis li,

Kaj la vojon al Norwich' demandis li de mi.

Mi plezure lin direktis trans la belan sudon

Kaj la Viro de la Luno tie brulis sian buŝon,

Kun apetit' manĝante de la bona avensupo,

Kiu estas la manĝeto tre malvarma por la pupo.

MARJORY DAW

Kun Margarito Daŭ

Sur la balancilo,

Mi sidas babilante,—

Kiel bela veturilo!

WHO IS MOTHER GOOSE?

Patrino Anserino

Ŝi estas la diino

De la geknabetoj

Kaj la infanetoj

MARY HAD A LAMB SONG

Manjo kun la bela saf', bela saf', bela saf'

Manjo kun la bela ŝaf' mi tre amas vin.

Ĉu vi amas, amas min? amas min? amas min?

Ĉu vi vere amas min, mia belulin'?

MY BLACK HEN

Hiketi, Piketi, nigra kokino

Ovojn demetis por la fraŭlino.

Kaj ĉiutage la riĉa Sinjoro

Volas aĉeti per multe da oro.

GREAT A, LITTLE A

Granda kaj malgranda A,

Kaj saltanta Bo:

El la ŝrank' mi volas ke

Iru katino.

MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB

Ŝafidineton havis Mario,

La kapridineton Mario,

Kaj ĉie kaj ĉiam kiam ŝi foriris

La ŝafidineto tre multe deziris

Veni kun ŝi al la eta lernejo;

Ankaŭ kun ŝi al la bona preĝejo.

PRETTY LITTLE MAID WITH PRETTY LITTLE BONNET

La bela ĉapeleto

De la knabineto

Tre malsaĝa faris sin

Ĉar ŝi sole ŝatis ĝin.

ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE

Unu, du, kun la tri, kvar, kvin,

La kaptita fiŝo mordis min.

Kaŭze de tio liberigis ĝin

Mi pro tim' ke ĝi elmordos min.

THE LITTLE GIRL WITH THE LITTLE CURL

Estis knabineto, kiu portis belan bukleton,

Ankaŭ belan falbaleton kaj veluran kapoteton.

Kiam ajn ŝi estas bona, bonega estas ŝi;

Sed tre ofte malbonega estas ŝi al ni.

A GERMAN JINGLETTE

Dieser Hund ist ja so klein

Er sollt virklich grosser sein

Aber er sagt; "Nein! nein! nein!"

THE GLORIOUS O

How plain the sound of common tea,

And plainer still LE THE,

But TEO, lovely TEO

All linguists love to say!

How common sounds—cup coffee.

Le café floats in air

With Kafo, Bona Kafo

No drink can quite compare.

How vulgar the word butter

Le beurre is just as bad,

But the good word butero

Will always make us glad.

We Esperantists modest are,

But this one thing we know:

That all earth's wisest children

Adore our letter O.

ADAM'S FUNNY BONE

When Solomon Eusebius Josephus Alfred Jones

Was asked to give a lecture on the origin of bones

He solemnly declared to all the story was not true

That Eve was made from Adam's rib, since he, the learned, knew

That woman, who is all the cause of trouble on the earth

Yet rules the world and all mankind lo, from her very birth,

Was made by the Creator great from Adam's funny bone,

And that is why she giggles so when men are wont to groan.

QUEEN OF FLOWERHOOD

Ah, rose, sweet rose, majestic flower,

To rule as queen thou hast the power.

Within the realms of Flowerhood

In gardens, fields and in the wood.

Your sweetest perfume, Mother Earth,

For your first gift gave at your birth.

Your velvet touch she gave to you,

Your graceful form and varied hue.

But for thy beauty thou dost pay

By bringing joy on life's pathway.

You cheer the sick, console the sad

And make us mortals all feel glad.

NORTH POLE JINGLE

[To the Tune of "London Bridge Is Falling Down."]

To the North Pole we will go, we will go, we will go,

On a dog sledge o'er the snow, over the white snow.

There we'll see an Esquimau, Esquimau, Esquimau,

Sitting in his house of snow, in his house of snow.

And maybe a big polar bear, polar bear, polar bear,

With huge claws and long white hair, huge claws and white hair.

Walrus, reindeer, seal live there, seal live there, seal live there,

They think their land is wondrous fair, oh, so wondrous fair.

AN EATABLE ALPHABET

A for APPLE BUTTER stands,

B for BEANS known in all lands,

C for CHOW-CHOW, oh, how good!

D for DILL has ever stood,

E for EUCHRED PICKLES fine,

F for FIGS for which we pine,

G for GHERKINS to our taste,

H HORSERADISH none would waste,

I for INDIA RELISH sweet,

J for JELLIES none can beat,

K for KETCHUP for gods fit,

L for LADIES who make it.

M for MINCEMEAT that doth please,

N for NEW VARIETIES,

O for ONIONS that won't spoil,

P for PUREST OLIVE OIL.

Q QUEEN OLIVES we adore,

R for RELISH we cry more,

S for SOUP and SAUERKRAUT,

T TOMATO SAUCE we shout!

U for ALL WHO LOVE TO EAT

HEINZ DISHES NON COMPETE.

V for VINEGAR, the boss,

W WORCESTERSHIRE'S great sauce.

All the letters used you see

Except L, N, U, X, Y, Z.

And soon these letters Heinz will seize

To use for NEW VARIETIES.

The FIFTY-SEVENS' home will then

Give place to GREAT ONE HUNDRED TEN.

AT EASTER

As Easter breathes hope for a joyous to-morrow

E'en out of the depths of despair,

So may this day banish from you every sorrow

And make you feel free as the air.

While hearing grand anthems that swell to the sky,

And breathing sweet lilies' perfume,

May you feel assured that your soul will not die

As life does not end in the tomb.

THE GIRLS' ALPHABET

A for Adaline, so neat,

B for Bess, so clean and neat

C for Clara, always gay,

D for Doris, full of play.

E for Edith, with blue eyes

F for Flora, very wise.

G for Gertrude, called the good,

H for Helen, ever stood.

I for Ida, laughing maid,

J for Jenny, staunch and staid.

K for Kate, with golden locks,

L for Lucy, who wears socks.

M for Margaret, so straight,

N for Nell, who's never late.

O for Olive, always clean,

P for Polly, full of spleen.

Q for Queenie, who rules all,

R for Rhoda, straight and tall.

S for Sally, naughty girl,

T for Thelma, mother's pearl.

U for Ursula, the fair,

V for Vida, with black hair.

W for Winnie stands,

X for Xenia, of far lands.

Y for Yoda, funny name,

Z for Zoe, who ends our game.

TO MY LEAP YEAR VALENTINE

Saint Bridget in the long ago

Won for all maids the right to go

Once in four years and seek a beau.

This year is leap year, as you know,

But as I've many a lovely bow

In quest of one I will not go.

But your dear image I enshrine

Within my heart, sweet valentine.

Have you a little place for mine?

I'M GLAD I'M NOT AN EXO

[One of Doctor M. V. O'Shea's Stories Jingled.]

The framework of the body is

The bones, so teachers say;

And if we didn't have 'em

Our shape it wouldn't stay.

Besides sans bones my liver

And brains and even heart

Would get some awful hurtin's

And maybe come apart.

If my poor bones were badly burned

All brittle I would be,

Since flames will kill the animal

That was born in me;

If I were soaked in acid

No tender sapling tree

Would be one-half so limber

As just poor little me.

But, thinking it all over,

If I should choose my fate

I'd rather soak in acid

Than burn in a hot grate.

Some of my bones, the wise men say,

Are very far apart,

While others cling together

Like jelly in a tart.

That is because the bones have joints,

And joints are good to have,

They help me be a pitcher

And save me lots of salve.

When all my bones are gathered

And put in their right place

They make a so-called skeleton,

A grinnin' in his face.

But if you leave out one small bone

Or put one in not right,

It won't be any skeleton,

But a big bony fright.

The Exo critters' skeletons

Are placed on the outside,

I'm glad I'm not an EXO,

For if my Jane espied

Me lookin' like the skeleton

That's shown on teacher's chart,

I know she'd turn her nose right up

And say that we must part.

THREE CHEERS FOR TYPEWRITERS

Three cheers! the joyful children cried

When fierce and raging flames they spied

Destroying spellers, cause of woes,

And grammars, children's hated foes!

Three cheers again we hear them say,

The typewriters have come to stay,

To teach us all to read and spell

And punctuate so very well.

THE WORLD'S A MIRROR

If to the world we give our best

Of heart and soul and mind,

The world will render back to us

The best of every kind

Of thoughts and words and deeds of love

Which let us live on plains above

The sordid, ugly roads of life

Befouled with mud of hate and strife.

For life is but a mirror bright

Which smiles when we would smile

And tells us with a happy face

That everything's worth while,

But if we frown she frowns at us

And stirs up such a dreadful fuss

In all our ether rays around

That JOY for us cannot be found.

If we but fill our aura round

With brightest rays of love

For every little living thing

Then we will win Peace Dove,

To safely guard us where we go

So we can never have a foe,

Since all will see our bright rays shine

As part of the Great Love Divine.

A MEMORY JOGGER FOR YOUR DESK

The wicked IMP called I FORGOT

To mortals ever woes has brought

By washing from their mental slate

Engagement dates—until too late,

These mortals waken in dismay

And we won't quote the things they say.

But if you'll keep ME ever near,

Bad "I FORGOT" cannot appear

For I will help you to remember

From January through December

Every promise, every date,

So "I FORGOT" can't make you late.

WILMINGTON'S SANTA CLAUS

In far away Alaska

By all it is believed

That Santa is a big white bear

From whom gifts are received.

And Wilmington's wee kiddies

Begin to think the same,

That a good BEAR is Santa—

At least that's Santa's name.

For when they need a playground,

A school, or book, or toy,

'Tis SAMUEL BEAR who grants each wish

And makes kids dance for joy.

So let all of us children

Invoke the powers above

To grant him long life, health and wealth,

And gratitude and love.

WILMINGTON'S GOOD FAIRY

There's a Santy in good Wilmington,

And a good fairy too,

Who brings all comforts to the poor

And proves a friend so true

To all the poor and needy,

Both the big and small.

He's always willing, ready

To help them one and all—

With kind words and with money,

With deeds of love and smiles

He helps men on Life's journey

To cross old Trouble's stiles.

And to this real live Fairy

The noble knight JAMES SPRUNT

Living in old Wilmington

On the street called Front

I dedicate this little song

And wish him every joy

In the melting pot of life

Without dread Woe's alloy.

MOTHER WOTSAT, OF WANAMAKERLAND

Of MOTHER WOTSAT you've heard tell

And if you've met this lovely belle,

You know she is not an old dame

Wrinkled, humpbacked, sadly lame.

Ah, no, she is a fine young maid

Who puts her sisters in the shade

With sparkling eyes and sylph-like form,

No wonder for her heart men storm.

But best of all, she has the art

To win each naughty kiddie's heart

By telling tales in rhyme and prose

Such tales as only WOTSAT knows.

And she is, oh, so very wise;

She answers kids of every size

When they call out, "Wotsat, and why?"

She never passes questions by.

For she knows well just how to find

Answers for each thirsty mind,

And BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE FAIRY WELL

Is at her hand, great truths to tell.

TITANIA'S TOYLAND

Of fairies I've heard since the day of my birth,

Toystore makers, and givers of mirth;

But ne'er have I gazed on a real fairy-land

Till I came to Sterns' store—Titania's stand.

And there, as I entered, there burst on my view

A wonderful, marvelous, gigantic zoo

With camels and horses and elephants big,

Monkeys and donkeys, and even a pig,

Lions and tigers and great woolly bears

Looking as real as if in their lairs.

There were dolls of all nations and dolls of each size,

With black, brown and hazel, and even gray eyes.

There were balls big and little, wonderful toys

To please all the children, both good girls and boys;

For within Sterns' fairy-land we can all find

Titania's toys—of just every kind.

THE FAIRY CENTAPHRASE

If you would learn to speak good French

Without each awful rule

That all the would-be Frencheys use

When they attend French school,

Then seek the FAIRY CENTAPHRASE

He'll teach you how to say

Just everything you want to know

And in the proper way.

Through his delightful training box

Almost within a week

The best of French expressions

You will learn to speak

And ask for all the goodies

On menu cards we see

With just the proper accent

For breakfast, dinner, tea.

Through CENTAPHRASE, great system,

You may make your own

The ever dreaded idioms

To a Frenchman known,

By carrying in your pocket

Within a small neat case

A few for your digestion

As you go any place.

THE CHILDREN'S PRAYER

GODDESS PEACE, most gracious,

Give heed unto the prayer

Of all the little children

Who cry from everywhere,

And beg that you come quickly

To banish hateful WAR,

Whose bloody deeds barbaric

The children all abhor!

Oh, gladly we'll work with you

By loving one and all

Dear children of all races,

Of nations great and small.

And we all hope to bring on earth

Your messenger, PEACE-DOVE,

Through throwing out our ether rays

OF UNIVERSAL LOVE.

AN ODE TO A FAITHFUL DOG DUBBED PICKLES

[Best Friend of Mr. Thomas Shipp, Washington, D. C.]

Not half so cute is any maid

As PICKLES.

He puts us all deep in the shade,

Does PICKLES.

For though he boasts of years not four

To canine heights he well can soar

On wings he's found in Knowledge-Store,

Wise PICKLES.

He always has a wagging tail,

KIND PICKLES.

His Master Shipp he'll never fail,

Staunch PICKLES.

And that is why all folks who meet

This clever dog in home or street

Declare there is no one so sweet

AS PICKLES.

PEACE FORERUNNER—"LOVE MANKIND."

Little birdie, whispering here,

Tell me, does sweet peace draw near?

Little girl, I sadly fear

Peace will not bring Christmas cheer

While you mortals are so blind

To love your country, not your kind,

Peace can never dwell on earth,

Bringing comfort, joy and mirth,

Until UNIVERSAL LOVE

Paves the way for sweet Peace Dove.

Then, sweet bird, help me to bear

Your good message everywhere,

Begging friends to keep in mind

PEACE FORERUNNER—"LOVE MANKIND."

MUSIC

[These musical jingles were written for my teacher, Miss Matilda Orr Hays, of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.]

There's music, music everywhere

On sea and land and in the air.

It sounds from all things far and near

And brings the weary rest and cheer.

'Tis in the rose and every flower;

'Tis in the storm and gentle shower;

'Tis in the waters of the brook

And every pleasant shady nook.

We hear its notes within the trees

And in the hum of busy bees.

'Tis in the song of every bird

And in the voice of woman heard.

But best of all 'tis in our hearts

And there Love's message it imparts,

For MUSIC is the tongue of Love,

The fairest gift from realms above.

ROBERT FRANZ

[1815-1892.]

By sweet love, the angel's gift,

Was Robert Franz inspired

To write sweet songs of home and love

Of which we're never tired.

Since Schubert's time no other man

Produced sweet songs so many

And for a number of these songs

He did not get a penny.

Songs two hundred seventy-nine

This music genius wrote

But ere he died like Beethoven

He could not hear a note.

And with his right arm paralyzed

He could not even play

And Liszt for him gave concerts

To keep the wolf away.

He died in abject poverty,

From grief almost insane

But left his songs to cheer us

And drive away our pain.

NATURE'S MUSIC

Where is Nature's music heard?

In hum of insect, song of bird,

In wailing of the wind at night,

In splashing of the wavelets bright

In angry howls when breakers roar

Against the rocks upon the shore.

'Tis in the Storm God's tearful moan;

In human voices' every tone.

When Jupiter his thunder rolls

'Tis Nature's music bell that tolls,

But only those with perfect ear

True sounds of Nature's Music hear.

FRÉDÉRIC FRANÇOIS CHOPIN

[Born at Zelazowa-Wola, near Warsaw, Poland—1809-1849.]

Though French blood flowed in Chopin's veins

His music was of Polish strains

As he was born in a Polish town,

Which for its name should win renown;

And Zelazowa-Wola stood

Above all cities great and good

In favor with great Chopin who

Was to his birthplace ever true.

When scarcely eight great Fame began

To court him ere he was a man.

But Fate was cruel as well as kind.

In love affairs he did not find

The comfort that his great soul sought

And which to him could have been brought

By only one, a lady wise,

George Sand, with "hazel, big cow eyes."

Oft when we hear his waltzes sweet,

"Come dance, come dance," call to our feet

'Tis hard indeed for us to think

That Chopin oft stood on the brink

Of dreadful Melancholy's lair,

Where in great anguish and despair,

So sick in body, mind and soul,

With only Death as his sure goal,

Sweet and lively airs he wrote

And filled with joy his every note.

For ten long years the white plague sought

To take his life—for health he fought,

But when his sweetheart left his side

He ceased his fight and soon he died.

THE GREATEST KINGS OF MUSIC LAND

The six greatest kings of sweet Music Land

Are Beethoven, Mozart and Wagner the grand;

Great Handel and Bach and Haydn as well,

Who cast o'er the earth its musical spell.

GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL

[Born at Halle in Saxony—1685-1759.]

Of all music masters of whom you've heard tell

Great Handel was happiest for he was well,

Tall, handsome and wealthy, generous and kind,

Cheerful in heart and clever in mind.

Pinching dread poverty he never knew;

Surrounded by comforts from childhood he grew;

Though early in life as a very small lad

He wasn't content nor yet very glad

Because his stern father treated with scorn

His belief that for music he had been born.

Alone in an attic he practised each day;

Without any teacher he learned how to play

Until he was heard by a good kindly duke,

Who gave to Herr Handel a stinging rebuke

And made him consent, this father so stern,

That technique of music the young son should learn.

To England George went when to manhood grown,

Adopting this country as his very own.

He was loved by the people of most every clime

And busy and happy just all of the time.

In days scarcely fifteen he wrote his great Saul,

And in nineteen more he had finished all

Of Israel in Egypt in whose every tone

The work of a master of music is shown.

And in but two weeks 'tis said that he wrote

His wondrous Messiah complete in each note.

But work without rest from morning till night

Deprived him, like Bach, of precious eye-sight.

For seven long years great Handel was blind,

But lost not his genius nor bright cheerful mind.

He worked every hour until his last breath

Was taken away by the cold Angel Death.

His body in Westminster Abbey was laid,

But the works of his genius will no, never fade.

LUDWIG VON BEETHOVEN

[Born in Bonn, Germany—1770-1827.]

Life is a blossom of sorrow and fun

And Beethoven's sorrow was early begun.

His father was cruel, no pleasure he had,

No wonder that much of his music is sad.

He lived in Vienna, which seldom he left;

Of most earthly joys this poor soul bereft.

The gods had deprived him of beauty of face,

His manners atrocious brought him disgrace.

No money had he and for many a year

Of music he loved no sound could he hear.

No wife to adore him, no children had he

To bring to his home "The Good Fairy Glee."

In rags and in sorrow and always alone

He walked in the fields where, with pitying moan,

He prayed he might hear the song of the trees

And sweet fairy whispers as borne on the breeze.

His prayers were not answered and no sound he heard

Of brooklets or breezes or sweet singing bird.

No wonder from earth he was glad to depart,

Dying, 'tis said, from a real broken heart.

JOHANNES BRAHMS

[Germany—1833-1897.]

Wagner once said "There are but three B's

In musical circles known,

Beethoven, Bach and Brahms the good

As masters stand alone."

Brahms's mother was a real old maid

Whom his young father wed.

In years full seventeen or more

She well could rank ahead.

But peace and love reigned in this home

And so Johannes grew

Into a gentle kindly lad

Who loved all whom he knew.

When Schumann heard this boy play

In rapture he cried out—

"Behold our new Messiah,

For him the world should shout!"

For many years this good man stood

At Clara Schumann's side

While she was fighting poverty

When her dear husband died.

He helped her rear her children,

With her in concerts played

And loved her with a pure true love

By the immortal made.

And when she died he had no wish

To live his life alone

And welcomed Death to come his way

And claim him as his own.

JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH

[Born at Eisenbach in Germany—1685-1750.]

In sixteen hundred eighty-five

Long, long before you were alive,

In the town of Eisenbach

Was born Johann Sebastian Bach.

From his father ever kind

And his brother he did find

The key to enter Music Land,

Which he found so sweet and grand.

No more industrious lad could be

Than Johann, who loved "Industry."

"The Mighty Master" he is known

Of the organ's every tone.

Twice this music master wed

And he was happy so 'tis said;

But he worked both day and night

Until at last he lost his sight.

Though he was blind he cheerful kept

And o'er his sorrow never wept,

And when he died he left a son,

To shine for him when his work was done.

FRANZ JOSEPH HAYDN

[Born in Rohrau, Austria—1732-1809.]

How often when a little chap

On Haydn's shoulders fell the strap.

E'er he was six as if a man

His struggles with the world began.

His parents could not write nor read.

A cousin said, "I'll gladly feed

And clothe young Joseph, who can sing

And to my pockets money bring."

But little food he gave to him

And plenty of the sharp peach limb.

When Joe then lost his tuneful voice

His cousin gave to him no choice

But turned him out to earn his way—

'Tis said he worked both night and day,

And, working thus, young Haydn rose

Far, far above his friends and foes.

Rich he became and gained great fame

While all musicians love his name.

His greatest work was The Creation

And artists of most every nation

Ever bow down at his knee

As "Father of the SYMPHONY."

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART

[Born in Salzburg, Austria—1756-1791.]

Mozart, "The Glorious Boy", Rubenstein named him well,

Was born with the gift of music, on him the mantel fell

Of many great composers, who justly won a name,

Though Mozart soared above them on pinnacles of fame.

When as a tiny kiddie with birthdays not yet five

He played his little violin as if it were alive,

Composing wondrous music which was so grand and sweet

That even queens and princes would fall down at his feet.

His music flowed as easily as waters in a brook,

And sparkled as bright sunbeams peeping in a nook.

An opera he finished before his thirteenth year

And when he was but fourteen musicians came to hear

La Scala, greatest orchestra, which the world then had,

As it was well directed by this inspired lad.

The Pope conferred upon him the order "Golden Spur."

Until he reached his sixteenth year nothing did deter

This clever lad from mounting to highest realms of fame,

Flowers rained upon him and life seemed but a game.

And then came years of suffering when through Envy's stings

And malice of musicians, who wished to clip his wings,

He saw the dark and dreary and rocky road of life

And soon he grew awearied of sickness, hunger, strife

And discontent within his home, for Constance whom he wed,

Was ever cross and ailing and spent her days in bed.

And though he was still youthful, not more than thirty-five,

When most of earthly children are glad to be alive,

Poor Mozart, worn by constant work and worried by his wife,

One dreary, dark December day to Death gave up his life.

This great soul's earthly castle not one friend tried to save

From an ignoble burial within a pauper's grave;

And no one put a marker to show where it was laid,

But the glory of great Mozart's works will never, never fade.

WILHELM RICHARD WAGNER

[Born in Leipsic, Germany—1813-1883.]

In the midst of tumult and mixed up with strife

The world renowned great Wagner spent most all his life.

All around his birthplace the day that he was born

Many thousand soldiers lay bleeding, cut and torn

By the fiendish war god, who delights to slay.

And after him came "Pestilence," who bore with her away

The father of young Wagner, and as his mother had

Seven other children no wonder that this lad

Should grow up just like Topsy without a guiding hand,

With no one to direct his steps and no one to command.

Then Fever wracked his body and he was very ill,

But fairies came to comfort, sweet music to instil

Into his wondrous fingers and in his kindly heart,

Henceforth of all his life work to take the biggest part;

Although in spite of music in rebel plans he mixed,

And exile to Herr Wagner's name for long years was affixed.

Twice he sailed on Hymen's sea, and I have heard it said

His first wife, Wilhelmina, proposed that he should wed.

With her he knew no happiness in all his married life,

For she was ever brewing the noxious stew of strife.

But when Liszt's lovely daughter, the fair Casima, came,

She filled his home with joy and also brought him fame.

From her sweet inspiration his greatest work was made,

The soul inspiring Parsifal, whose fame will never fade.

Death took him from the arms of his adoring wife.

He passed away so peacefully, but left behind him strife

Concerning the real merit of all he ever wrote.

Some class him with divinities, some put him with the goat;

Some love his mimic thunder and sighing of the breeze,

While others say his music is but a bang and wheeze.

FRANZ PETER SCHUBERT

[Born in Vienna, Austria—1797-1828.]

A poor schoolmaster was his pa,

A common cook his scolding ma,

Who was not one bit glad to see

Her thirteenth child a boy wee,

Who came one blustering wintry day

Within her crowded house to stay.

Though Franz was cold and hungry too

The Music Sprites his soul would woo

And oft he wrote as in a trance

Some lovely song in which perchance

The singer seemed as blithe could be

And filled with joyful ecstasy.

He loved a maid of high degree

With whom he could not married be

And while for this maid Caroline

His beating heart with love did pine

In one short year this song bird wrote

Two symphonies in every note,

Five operas and many more

Airs that stamp of genius bore,

One hundred thirty-seven songs

Depicting hopes, and joys and wrongs.

Of these immortal songs 'tis said

Six were sold for a loaf of bread.

Full ten great symphonies he made

But no one to them honor paid

While he was yet upon this earth,

And never courted by True Mirth,

But ever hungry, weak and ill

Though working with his great soul's will

Until the age of thirty-one

When Death said "Rest, your work is done."

ROBERT SCHUMANN

[Born in Zwickau, Germany—1810-1856.]

To most great music makers

The fates have been unkind

And in the life of Schumann

Few joys we can find

Except in the great love

Of Clara, his dear wife,

Who helped him in his struggles

Throughout his married life.

He lost the power of playing

Through dread paralysis.

But Clara said, "Don't worry

For nothing you need miss

Since you can write sweet lovely airs

And I'll play them for you

And thus we two together

The Music Muse can woo."

One hundred songs and thirty-eight

He wrote in one short year,

Inspired by his loving wife

Who brought him hope and cheer.

And when he died at forty-six

And left her very poor

With her eight children Clara went

Upon a concert tour.

And with her wondrous playing

Of airs her husband made

She earned her bread and butter

And glory ne'er to fade,

For Schumann's magic music

And songs that reach the heart,

Showing they are tempered

With great Apollo's art.

GIUSEPPE VERDI

[Born in Duchy of Parma, Italy—1813-1901.]

The life of Verdi reads as well

As any fairy tale;

To interest a girl or boy

I'm sure it could not fail.

The stork brought him to Mother Earth

In time of dreadful strife.

Hid in an ancient church belfry

His mother saved his life.

And in this church which sheltered him

From cruel blood-thirsty men

He played as the church organist

When he was only ten.

The imps of evil troubled him

But fairies came along

To help him in his sorrows

And fill his heart with song.

Like the proverbial mother cat

Nine lives he seemed to have

And for each injury received

There always was some salve.

Into the water once he fell

And down he went times three

Then some one rescued this young lad

As if by Fate's decree.

The poor child yearned for music land

And also longed for bread.

And for a girdle round his waist

He often wore, 'tis said,

A bit of rope which he pulled taut

When hunger did assail.

And yet this lad all poorly clad

And weak and wan and pale

Forgot his hunger and his wants

When Music's tones he heard

In rippling of the waters bright,

In songs of every bird.

Close to the fence of a rich man

Whose daughter played each night

Verdi when only six years old

Would listen with delight.

This hungry lad prayed often there

That some day he might own

A lovely spinet in whose keys

Were fairies' magic tones.

One night while it was raining hard

O'er the high fence he crawled

Of an Italian wealthy man,

Signor Barezzi called.

He heard the daughter sweetly play

A grand Beethoven air

And while he lay enraptured there

A coachman found his lair

And beat the poor starved youngster whom

He called a "dirty thief,"

And drove him from the music's reach

Despite the poor child's grief.

But on the next night Verdi went

Though filled with quaking fear

And crawled again beneath the fence

Sweet music there to hear.

And here Barezzi found the lad

As by the fence he lay

And took the boy into his home

To hear his daughter play.

He took an interest in this child

And placed him in a school

Where he could learn of music

Each necessary rule.

But disappointed he became

When all the teachers said

This boy who plays so queerly

Will never rank ahead;

As a musician of true worth

He cannot hold his own

And in Apollo's circle

He never will be known.

And so discouraged, this poor lad

Became a grocer boy

Though every night he practised hard—

This was his only joy.

And then quite foolishly alas

The grocer's daughter wed

And two small children came to him;

For them there was no bread,

And his young wife and children too

From dreadful hunger died

Just when his first great opera

Most loudly was decried

And he himself hissed off the stage.

No wonder that he thought

This life for him with sorrow's face

Forever would be fraught,

And it were better now to cross

The Border-Land's dark path

Through Suicide's short awful route

Than live 'neath dark Fate's wrath.

But after two sad dreary years

Of darkness and despair

His operas succeeded

And life seemed much more fair.

He married a good second wife

And wealthy he became;

Legion of Honor given him

Was added to his fame.

In the Italian parliament

Verdi received a seat

And many other honors great

Were cast down at his feet.

While his Il Trovatore great

When first 'twas sung in Rome

Became so very popular

'Twas heard in every home,

And e'en to-day in every land

This opera is played

And glory for its author

Will never, never fade.

The name Giuseppe Verdi

Stands for composer great

And one whose heart was ever filled

With love instead of hate.

But one bad fault this genius had

Of flying into fits,

And in great anger once he broke

A spinet into bits.

And when he taught his pupils

He often boxed their ears,

So of the music master

Their hearts were filled with fears.

But he was always good and kind

To all the poor and weak,

And to help his fellow men

He would ever seek.

And when his works brought fame and wealth

Barezzi's house he bought,

Tore down the fence and made the grounds

Into a music lot.

And there this benefactor

Invited one and all

To come on every pleasant night

And hear Apollo's call.

FRANZ LISZT

[Born in Raiding, Hungary—1811-1886.]

Like Goddess Minerva so it is said

Liszt sprang fully armed from Jupiter's head.

Master of every silvery note

Of the hum of the bee or the human throat.

Ere he was nine, on the ladder of fame

He climbed, never stumbling and never once lame,

Until he had reached the rung at the top

When Death interfered with "Time now to stop."

Wealth flowed to this genius from his symphonies

His teachings, his concerts, and grand rhapsodies.

And as he went lauded on many a tour

He scattered his money to those who were poor.

Neat in his dress and with manners polite

Courting sweet friendship, avoiding a fight,

This great man was loved by one and by all,

The rich and the poor and the great and the small.

ANTON RUBINSTEIN

[Born in Volhynia, Russia—1829-1894.]

When precious gifts gods give to men,

A great price they require,

As we have seen in all the lives

Of those they did inspire

With Music's wondrous magic charm

That all true men adore

Be they of wild and savage state

Or wise men full of lore.

And so with Anton Rubinstein

Who many sorrows had

Not only when to manhood grown

But when he was a lad.

His parents were of Jewish birth

Though Christians they became

When cruelly persecuted

Alas! in Christ's good name.

His mother gave unto her boys

In music their first start,

And trained their minds to travel

In realms of Music-Art.

And later on she took her sons

To Paris, there to learn

To bring forth the great music

Which in their souls did burn.

When but a very little chap

Anton wrote wondrous songs

Describing joys and sorrows

And depicting wrongs,

Which when he played in public

Made all his hearers sigh,

Laugh aloud or clap their hands

And sometimes even cry.

Young Nicholas, his brother,

Composed almost as well

For both these music lovers

Had touched Apollo's shell.

But white plague took poor Nicholas

Ere he could finish quite

The songs the fairies whispered

Oft in the stilly night.

While Anton worked for many a year

And on the ladder FAME

As a sensation player

Securely placed his name.

To every realm of music

Some work this master gave

And o'er his Ocean Symphony

All of the nations rave.

But all his thoughts were not of love,

And Liszt and Wagner airs

Were classed by him as discords

Not fit for country fairs.

He hated also our good land,

Though when upon our shore

He gathered in the golden streams

And held his hand for more.

He traveled in most every land,

Was steeped in music lore,

And his great songs in number

Will almost make eight score.

But he was never happy

As in his heart was "Hate,"

Which shut out Fairy Happiness

All mortals' proper mate.

CHRISTOPHER WILLIBALD GLÜCK

[Born in Weidenwang, Germany—1714-1787.]

Though Glück himself lived a peaceful life

His Iphigénie caused much strife

As on its merits Frenchmen fought

Against Italians who had sought

To down the so-called Glucist school

And call each follower a fool.

The Picinists and Glucists then

Agreed to a great contest when

Each faction said that it would show

The 'tother ought to Lethe go

But after all harsh words were spent

Both factions gladly gave consent

That Glück's dramatic opera grand

Ruled then o'er all great Music Land.

LOUIS HECTOR BERLIOZ

[France—1803-1869.]

A prophet without honor

In his own country known

Was Louis Hector Berlioz

Who yearned but for a bone

Of French approval for his works

Which strangers always praised

But which in his own country

No great applause would raise.

"A doctor you must be, my son,"

His father sternly said,

But Louis tried to prove to him

That music ranks ahead

Of all this life's professions

And he would like to try

To win the famous Prix de Rome—

Oh, he would aim so high!

His father laughed his son to scorn,

His teachers quarreled with him,

They said he was eccentric

And music was a whim.

Then poor and hungry he left home

And three times bravely tried

To win the longed for Prix de Rome

For which ambition cried,

The third time proved to him a charm

And with his laurels crowned

He hastened to his much loved France

But there no praise he found.

An English actress he adored

And made her his first wife—

But little happiness she brought—

Naught but complaints and strife,

As a sad accident befell

This one time actress great

And as she lay so ill and cross

She ever cursed her fate.

A baby came into this home;

The hunger wolf came too,

And when the mother left this home

He knew not what to do.

He married then a second time

And sorrows thicker came

And soon he lost his only boy

In War God's awful game.

As he was born 'neath planet Mars

For him there was no peace,

His life was one fierce conflict

Where troubles never cease.

KARL MARIA FRIEDRICH ERNST VON WEBER

[Born at Eutin, near Lubeck, in Germany—1786-1826.]

To ancestors all of a musical race

The genius of Weber we easily trace.

And from early training in babyhood days

His thoughts were all turned to musical lays.

At fourteen an opera little Karl wrote,

Finished completely in its every note.

Creator of "ROMANTIC OPERA," he

Gained a position on Life's Stellar Sea.

Like other great artists he never was blessed

With habits of knowing just how to take rest.

While writing Der Freischutz, his great masterpiece,

He cut many years from Nature's life lease.

And when working constantly without a rest,

Despite every signal of health in distress,

The wonderful Oberon opera he wrote,

He sounded, alas, his Death calling note.

JAKOB LUDWIG FELIX MENDELSSOHN

[Born at Hamburg, Germany—1809-1847.]

By the composer Mendelssohn

Cruel poverty was never known.

A genius born and with great wealth

With loving parents and good health

And with his heart so full of fun

We christen him "The happy one."

When as a baby very small

His family he delighted all

By cooing sweetly in each key

Of a or b or c or d.

Ere he had passed his ninth milestone

He played in public all alone.

As a composer he won fame

And for himself an artist's name.

His genius showed in his brown eyes

Large and lustrous, deep and wise,

And all who saw him loved him well;

On each he cast a happy spell.

His "Songs Without Words" we all love;

They carry us to realms above.

LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK

[New Orleans—1829-1869.]

When I'm playing The Last Hope

It carries me away

To other realms than Mother Earth,

And sometimes I would stay

In Music Land with its sweet tones

That banish from our hearts

All petty horrid troubled cares

That stab us with their darts.

Gottschalk, I'm very proud to own,

Was a real Dixie lad,

And as I am a Dixie girl

This makes me very glad.

When he was only twelve years old

He went abroad to learn

How to make sweet music sounds

For which his soul did yearn.

And while abroad his parents lost

Their filthy lucre all,

And on his talents this young lad

Was then compelled to call

And ask their aid to earn his bread

And help his parents dear.

And he then traveled, so 'tis said,

In lands both far and near

Far more than any other man

In music circles known.

He gave his life to those who called,

No minutes were his own.

And so he wore out the good frame

Which nature to him gave

And when he was but forty

Was claimed by the cruel grave.

JOHANN STRAUSS

[Austria—1804-1849.]

Oh, the good bandmaster Strauss

He is loved in every house

As he makes us, oh, so merry

With his cunning waltzing fairy,

And he drives away the blues

Putting dance sprites in our shoes.

When he was a little lad

He was neither good nor bad

But he ran away from home

And for years and years did roam.

When but fourteen years of age

He was loved by dunce and sage,

And great kings would kiss his hand

When they heard his wondrous band.

When dread Fever sealed his doom

Bandmen stood above his tomb

Playing farewell songs of love

Which they thought would go above,

To that far off mystic land

Where they hoped there was "a band."

ALESSANDRO SCARLATTI

[Born in Sicily—1659-1725.]

Scarlatti dwelt upon this earth

Before the masters came.

In Sicily he had his birth

And gained an artist's name.

The Order of the Golden Spur

The Pope gave unto him,

And princes often did bestir

To satisfy his whim.

His famous work, The Cat's Fugue dubbed,

He named for his pet cat.

One night her fur by dogship rubbed

The right way for a spat,

Upon the spinet keys she sprang,

Wild music made her feet;

And in Scarlatti's soul their rang

The tones for music sweet.

KARL CZERNY

[Born in Vienna, Austria—1791-1857.]

Born in seventeen ninety-one,

Karl Czerny early honor won

As a master of technique

And to help those who are weak

And of striking notes afraid,

Many an exercise he made.

At nine he won an artist's name

Beethoven added to his fame,

From all artists of his day

Electing him his works to play.

King of teachers he is known,

Master of each fairy tone.

At fourteen he began to teach

And many pupils he saw reach

To heights of music masters' fame

As Liszt, who won a glorious name

When at sixty-six he died

All great music lovers cried,

But as a gift he left behind

Works of his great heart and mind,

Full nine hundred forty-nine

And every one the world calls fine.

ARE ALL ANGELS BLONDS?

"I want to be an angel and with the angels stand,"

So loudly sang the children in our church mission band,

But as I chanted with them this lovely little strain

I wished to ask the teacher if she could quite explain

Why all the angel pictures are painted with light hair,

And blue eyes soft and tender and skin so very fair,

While half the little children and grown-up people, too,

Have hair and eyes and even skin of very darkest hue?

And as I have such dark brown eyes and also dark brown hair,

Most naturally I feel quite sad to learn that only fair

And blue-eyed little children can ever angels be,

So now, alas, I'm thinking—what will become of me?

GOOD PEOPLE EVERYWHERE

Since coming to earth it has been my fate

Not to be able to cling to one state.

My birthplace, Virginia, we all know is fair

And when a wee kiddie I was happy there.

But when my good UNCLE sent us away

To Delaware's pastures, I was still gay.

And then to dear Hoosierland I went to dwell,

And, oh, how I loved it—alas too well.

I wept when I left my Evansville home

To Washington State I longed not to roam.

But there fairies helped me always to find

Flowers and friends both sweet and kind.

And so in "God's Country," the land of the rose

A real earthly heaven as everyone knows.

Again in far Georgia and Florida too

Pleasure were mine in landscapes quite new;

And though to Penn's country I wended my way

With dreadful misgivings in Pittsburgh to stay.

I found that sweet music and kindest of deeds

Conquered the smoke as salt kills the weeds.

In New York I found all life's stirring joys

For each of the grown-ups and all girls and boys.

And North Carolina, my present home state,

Proves to me truly that kind MOTHER FATE

Places good people in each spot on earth

To radiate kindness and sunshine and mirth.

FINIS