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7

1. Part I. The Little Wreath.

9

A WELCOME TO YOUNG READERS

What children come with busy feet,
Rejoiced this little book to meet?
Here's Eliza, here is Sue
Here is bright-eyed Sarah too!
Here are Mary and Maria,
Here are Peter and Sophia,
Here are Thomas and Amelia,
Here is Charles and here Cornelia,
Isaac, with his laughing eye,
And pleasant Julius standing by.
Here is David, here is Arthur,
Here are Rosamond and Martha,
Here are Benjamin and James,
'Tis hard to think of all their names.
Here are Joe and Henrietta,
Here are George and Violetta,
10

Here are Catharine and Theresa,
Christiana and Louisa,
Esther, and young Margaret,
Emmeline and Harriet.
Frederic and Adeline,
Justina sweet, and Valentine.
Here are Nathan and Eugene,
While Archibald comes in between.
Here are Jane and Theodore,
Rosaline and Elenor,
Here are Lucy and Pamelia,
With Alonzo and Cecelia,
Here is Henry close to Sam,
You can't think how confused I am
Here come Virginia and Stephen,
And Mary Ann to make it even.
Here is Charlotte, here is Ellen,
Here is Francis, here is Helen;
Here's Rebecca next to Ruth,
The children puzzle me in truth!
Here is Clara with Susannah,
And Alexander following Hannah,
Here's Nathaniel come to meet me,
And Valeria runs to greet me,
Now Amanda trips before,
Daniel, and Emma, and some more;
Robert and Ephraim skipping too,
And Richard, with his “How d'ye do.”
Octavus hastens full of fun,—
Here Caroline and Julia run.
11

See William and young Lydia meet,
And Abby close on Frances' feet.
See Laura, Moses, Isabel,
Edward and John, I know them well,
Eugenia, Alwyn, Maurice too,
And Alfred all of them in view.
Augustus and Elizabeth,—
But stop and let me catch my breath;
Here are Louis and Floranthe,
Here are Agnes and Ianthe,
Here is blushing Adelaide,
And Clarissa, the pretty maid.
Joanna too, and Timothy,
'Tis fortunate they all agree.
But listen, listen, what a noise!
Here run another troop of boys;
Andrew and Edmond shouting loud,
And Christopher to swell the crowd,
Edwin and Gilbert following on,
With Gregory and Jonathan.
Humphrey, Lawrence, Jacob too,
And after Louis master Hugh,
Owen, and Patrick;—are these all?
Oh no; here Walter comes with Paul,
And hand in hand with little Annie,
My darling neighbour, black-eyed Fanny.
Now girls and boys, go read your book,
And on the pretty pictures look;
I hope you'll take as much delight in
Reading, as I have in writing.
12

INVITATION TO A BIRD.

Little bird come
Quick to my home,
I'll give you to eat,
Every thing sweet;
Sugar and cake,
I'll save for your sake;
Melon and plum,
You shall have some;
A peach and a pear,
And every thing rare;
Some straw for your nest,
And what you like best;
A nice little house,
As snug as a mouse.
Come away from the tree,
And live here with me;
I will give you a brush,
To smooth down each feather,
And brother shall hush,
While we sing together.
Come away from the tree,
And live here with me.
13

THE LITTLE BIRD'S ANSWER.

I thank you, my dear,
But I'd rather live here:
The skies they are fair
And I love the fresh air.
The trees they are green,
And I sit like a queen,
On a branch as it goes,
While the pleasant wind blows.
I have more on my table
To eat than I'm able,
For the very large field
My dessert does yield:
But come from your book,
With a good humour'd look,
When with care you have read,
And your lesson is said;
Sit under the tree,
With your sewing by me,
And this afternoon,
I'll sing you a tune.
14

THE BIRTH-DAY.

Try me, father, try me,
And mark me on the wall;
Let little Sis stand by me
And see if I'm not tall.
Hear me, mother, hear me,
How very well I read;
Ah, now, you need not fear me,
I know I can indeed.
Come, meet me, brother, meet me,
And let us run a race;
Last year you used to beat me,
In every little chase.
Oh nurse, you need not mind me,
I'm not so very small,
That you must walk behind me,
To catch me if I fall.
Why, what can make me grow so,
And talk in such a way?
I'm a man, and you must know so,
For I'm five years old to-day.
19

THE BEETLE.

[_]

A very cruel amusement among some children, is, to catch a kind of beetle sometimes called Fig-eater, tie it by the leg with a thread, and then let it fly to the length of it.

Who'll catch the Beetle?
“I,” says Peter Spring,
“I'll seize it by the wing,
“I'll catch the Beetle!”
Who'll get a piece of thread?
“I,” says Dicky Bluff,
“I'll do it quick enough,
“I'll tie it round his leg.”
Who'll run and hold the string?
“We'll all take turns to run,
‘And have some royal fun,
“We'll all hold the string.”
Who loves to hear him buzz?
“We do,” says Lu' and Dick,
“We like this funny trick,
“We love to hear him buzz!”
20

But who is coming along?
A Giant large and strong,
Ah, Peter, Dick and Lu'.
He's looking right at you!
Now towards you all he springs;
And ties your legs with strings;
He ties them one by one,
And tells you all to run—
He cries, “Run, run, Dick, Lucy and Peter,
“And, remember, just so you serv'd the Fig-eater!”
21

SUMMER.

Now the pleasant Spring is past,
Here is Summer's scorching blast;
The linnet and the magpie sigh,
The verdant trees and flowerets die.
Ah! 'tis a long and dreary year
To wait, before sweet Spring is here;
Oh, then, the birds will softly sing,
Sweet Spring is here again, dear Spring!
25

ANNA NIVEN.

Mother,” Anna Niven cries,
Can Marion come and play?
“No, no, my dear,” her ma' replies,
She must her lessons say.”
ANNA.
Then do let Fanny come and string
Some corals for my doll,
While I sit in the airy swing,
And play with pretty poll.

MOTHER.
Anna, my child, why thus persist?
You must have heard me say,
That she has promised to assist
To make your frock to-day.

26

ANNA.
But Susan nothing has to do,
Except to sweep the stairs;
Mamma, do let her come, will you,
And help me gather pears?

MOTHER.
Susan must watch your little brother
Their nurse is sick to-day,
And sure am I, my dear, no other
Can leave her work to play.

ANNA.
Then, mother dear, suppose that I,
Do go and bring my book,
And little bench, and sit and read
And on the pictures look.

MOTHER.
That's the way my child should talk—
Go, bring your book to me,
And when you've read we'll take a walk,
On the beach beside the sea.

27

NEW YEAR'S DAY.

Wake and see the morning ray—
This is happy new year's day!
View your toys and presents gay,
This is happy new year's day!
Brother, sister, come and play,
This is happy new year's day!
Father, mother, hear me say,
A happy, happy, new year's day!
Waiting maids and nurses grey,
To you a happy new year's day!
Friends at home, and friends away,
May you enjoy your new year's day!
And while I laugh, and skip, and play,
I'll thank God for the new year's day.
32

THE SLEEPING BABY.

Hush, hush, with your noise,
What a talking you keep,
You rude little boys,
Now the baby's asleep!
Hushaby, baby.
Mamma has just told me
To stay quiet here,
And, oh, she will scold me,
If wakes baby dear.
Hushaby, baby.
How soft its white arm,
As it lies on its breast!
Little baby, no harm
Shall come here while you rest.
Hushaby, baby.
33

My task has been given,
And I will be true,
And sister and Heaven
Will watch over you.
Hushaby, baby.
34

FATHER TAKES ME UP.

I love my mother's gentle kiss,
I love to join my brother's play,
I love to walk with little sis,
And view the shops and pictures gay.
I love my toys and books to see,
I love god-mother's silver cup,
But the best thing of things to me,
Is when my my father takes me up.
Father, when I'm as tall as you,
And you are small like little sis,
I'll lay you on my shoulder too,
And let you feel how nice it is.
38

HENRY IN A PASSION.

Master Henry is angry
As angry can be;
Oh, what is the matter?
Let us go and see.
His lips they stick out
Like the nose of a pump,
And he's giving his brother
A very hard thump.
He is trotting his small foot
As fast as a mill;
Master Henry, dear Henry,
I beg you'd be still.
What! throw down the chairs,
And kick over the books?
Oh Henry, dear Henry,
Don't give me such looks!
39

You tell me you will,
And then give me a slap!
Oh fie, master Henry,
Get out of my lap.
I know some young readers
Will not treat me so;
Will you, masters and misses?
“Oh no, indeed, no.”
40

THE BOAT.

Oh, see my little boat,
How prettily it glides;
Like a bird it seems to float,
Press'd forward by the tides—
By the tides.
The sky is shining brightly,
The fishes dart below,
While my little boat so lightly
Leaps onward as I row—
As I row.
I would like to be a boat,
And live upon the sea;
So merrily I'd float,
With nought to trouble me—
Trouble me.
But should a storm come near,
And fill me with alarms,
I would row to mother dear—
My boat should be her arms—
Mother's arms.
43

TO THE ANT.

[_]

Two little girls carried a piece of sugar for some months, every day, from the breakfast table, to a family of ants, and one of them said thus:

Come here, little ant,
For the pretty bird can't.
I want you to come,
And live at my home;
I know you will stay,
And help me to play.
Stop making that hill,
Little ant, and be still.
Come, creep to my feet,
Here is sugar to eat.
Say, are you not weary,
My poor little deary,
44

With bearing that load,
Across the wide road?
Leave your hill now, to me,
And then you shall see,
That by filling my hand,
I can pile up the sand,
And save you the pains
Of bringing these grains.
45

THE ANT'S ANSWER.

Stop, stop, little miss,
No such building as this
Will answer for me,
As you plainly can see.
I take very great pains,
And place all the grains
As if with a tool,
By a carpenter's rule.
You have thrown the coarse sand
All out of your hand,
And so fill'd up my door,
That I can't find it more.
My King and my Queen
Are chok'd up within;
My little ones too,
Oh what shall I do?
46

You have smother'd them all,
With the sand you let fall.
I must borrow or beg,
Or look for an egg,
To keep under my eye,
For help by and by,
A new house I must raise,
In a very few days,
Nor stand here and pine,
Because you've spoilt mine.
For when winter days come,
I shall mourn for my home;
So stand out of my way,
I have no time to play.
 

When an ant's nest is disturbed, there may be seen processions of ants bearing little white eggs, for more than a day. Ants are divided into workers, sentinels, &c., like bees, and they have their King and Queen also.

47

POOR WILLY.

Poor Willy in play,
I am sorry to say,
His head did hit;
To his mother he ran,
Like a little man,
Not minding it.
Then she rubb'd it well,
And a story did tell,
And kiss'd him too;
Then back did he run,
To his little fun,
And so must you.
49

WHO IS THIS BOY?

I will write a little story,
About a little boy;
He is his father's comfort,
He is his mother's joy.
When we give a little errand,
He thinks of what is said,
Pulls down his little waistcoat,
And holds up his little head.
He holds his little fork
By the handle, as he should,
And never spills his coffee,
Nor drops about his food.
His face is very pleasant,
What he says is always true;
Now tell me, youngest reader,
If this little boy is you.
50

NANCY RAY.

My bird is dead,
Said Nancy Ray,
My bird is dead,
I cannot play.
He sang so sweetly
Every day—
He sings no more,
I cannot play.
Go put his cage
Far, far away,
I do not love
His cage to-day
She wiped her eyes,
Poor Nancy Ray,
And sat and sighed,
But could not play.
54

THE KITE.

Oh look at my kite,
In its airy flight;
How pretty it flies,
Right up to the skies,
With its white breast stirr'd,
Just like a bird!
Pretty kite, pretty kite,
In your airy flight,
What do you spy,
In the bright blue sky?
I wish I was you,
To be there too,
Oh, then, how soon
I would peep at the moon,
55

And see the man there,
Who gives me a stare,
When I look up at night,
At his beautiful light!
59

THE BIRD'S NEST.

On a bright and pleasant day,
John and James went out to play:
As they stopp'd a while to rest,
On a tree they spied a nest,
Pretty eggs were lying there,
Pretty eggs all placed with care.
“Come,” says Johnny, with a laugh,
“You and I will each take half.
And the rest we'll give to Ann.”
So towards the tree they ran.
Just then, upon a branch they heard
The fluttering of the mother-bird,
And a note that seem'd to say,
“Will you take my eggs away,
60

When I've made my nest with care,
And put them all so nicely there?
Oh! do not, pray, my nest destroy,
Have pity on me, little boy.
When you in the cradle lay,
No one took you far away,
Safe you were, and smil'd and smil'd,
A little bright and happy child.
And your mother lov'd you so,
Better than you e'er can know.
Then do not take my nest away,
Little boy, I beg and pray.”
John and James said not a word,
And their little hearts were stirr'd;
They wip'd their eyes and went to play,
And felt quite happy all that day.
61

THE LITTLE COLT.

For a Little Boy to Recite.

Pray how shall I, a little lad,
In speaking make a figure?
You are but jesting, I'm afraid,
Do wait till I am bigger.
But since you wish to hear my part,
And urge me to begin it,
I'll strive for praise with all my art,
Though small my chance to win it.
I'll tell a tale how farmer John
A little roan colt bred, sir,
And every night and every morn,
He watered and he fed, sir.
Said neighbour Jo, to farmer John,
You surely are a dolt, sir,
To spend such daily care upon
A little useless colt, sir.
62

The farmer answered wondering Jo,
“I bring my little roan up,
Not for the good he now can do,
But may do when he's grown up.”
The moral you may plainly see,
To keep the tale from spoiling;
The little colt you think is me,—
I know it by your smiling.
I now entreat you to excuse
My lisping and my stammers,
And, since you've learnt my Parents' views,
I'll humbly make my manners.
63

HYMN FOR A CHILD.

The glorious God who reigns on high,
Who formed the earth and built the sky,
Stoops from his throne in Heaven to hear
A little infant's prattling prayer.
Father of all! My Father too!
Oh make me good, and just, and true,
Make me delight to learn thy word,
And love to pray and praise thee, Lord,
Oh may thy gracious presence bless
And guard my childhood's helplessness;
Be with me, as I grow in years,
And guide me through this vale of tears.
64

GOOD NIGHT.

Good night, mamma; good night, papa;
I'm going now to sleep;
Your little boy will say his prayers,
And God his soul will keep.
66

A LITTLE BOY'S THOUGHTS.

[_]

A little boy, five years of age, said the following words. He had never seen the ocean, and had never lost a friend. His mother was astonished at his language, and wrote exactly as he spoke.

Oh, God, pray thee let me go to heaven!
I will be a good boy.
To the skies, to the skies I must go;
If I be a bad boy, I cannot go to heaven,
When I go to heaven, I'll be an angel,
And with the wings I'll fly where I please.
Oh, God, I wish I would be a good boy!
What do you see coming?
A boat—a boat—a boat, my friend!
Coming up? No—going down.
But, ah, I was mistaken!
67

Now it does not come to land,
And now I have no joy.
When I came from o'er the sea
I was so very glad,
But now I am so very sorry,
Because my friend is dead:
When did I come from the sandy sea?
In summer, when the flowers were springing up.
69

WHO MADE THE FLOWER?

A little child, who loves to see
The bright sun shining clear,
Is often asking, “Where is He
Who placed the bright sun here?”
She sees the moonlight's silver gleam,
And stars with twinkling ray,
And says, “Who made that gentle beam,
Almost more fair than day?”
She gathers for her mother dear
A blossom rich and fair,
70

And asks, “Who placed these colours here,
And mixed them with such care?”
'Tis God, my child, who will impart
More glorious objects still,
A temper mild, a feeling heart,
And strength to do His will.
73

ASKING ABOUT SORROW.

Mother, how sad is Emma Gray,
How mournfully she sighs!
She will not laugh, or talk, or play,
And tears are in her eyes.
“I know that God is very great,
And it is strange to me,
That on his royal throne of state,
He should not Emma see.
“And mother, if our God is good,
How can he let her cry?
I wish all this I understood—
Say, will you tell me why?”
Daughter, come let us take a walk,
Where yesterday we went;
And have a little quiet talk,
To soothe your discontent.
74

How bright, my love, the garden glows,
How balmy is the air,
And look upon your favourite rose,
The blossoms cluster fair!
Do you remember how each leaf
Seem'd withering yesternoon,
And you were full of childish grief
That it must die so soon!
And when at night the wind and rain
Come bursting from the sky,
You for your flow'ret mourned again,
And thought that it must die?
Perhaps our tears are sent like showers,
But to refresh the heart,
And sighs like winds in summer hours,
Will make new virtues start.
“Oh, yes, mamma! I see it now—
You think that Emma's tears
Will make her good, and clear her brow
For many sunny years.”
78

FANNY.

There's not a little girl I meet,
Not even Sue or Annie,
That seems to me more fair and sweet
Than my young neighbour, Fanny.
'Tis not because her eyes are black,
And look so bright and funny;
'Tis not because her breath is pure,
As new mown hay or honey.
'Tis not because at dancing school
Her step is light and airy,
Or that she skips about the house
Just like a little fairy.
'Tis not because in Carpenter
She learns a “monstrous” column,
79

Nor that she sits in company
Sometimes quite still and solemn.
Nor is it that her little hands
She waves about so gaily,
When telling every artless thought
That fills her bosom daily.
It is because good-nature comes
To light each limb and feature,
That Fanny always seems to me
A charming little creature.
80

THE LITTLE BOY PLEADS FOR MOUSE.

LITTLE BOY.
Oh, ma', speak to pussy and kitty,
They are dragging all over the house,
Without any mercy or pity,
A poor little innocent mouse.
I hate to see such wicked cunning,
For pussy allows it to go,
And just as the mouse thinks of running
She catches and teases it so.

MOTHER.
My son, our old puss cannot reason,
And therefore she is not a sinner;
Perhaps this is not hungry season,
And this teasing is cooking her dinner.
81

But when children, my darling, are cruel,
And injure the brutes heaven made,
They sully the beautiful jewel,
That with a kind heart is inlaid.

84

“JESUS WEPT.”

Mamma, you say I must not cry—
Why do you tell me so?
If Jesus wept, why may not I?
He could not sin, you know.”
“He wept, my dear, for human sin—
Not at a trifling wound,
You almost cry to lose a pin—
Or at the thunder's sound.
“You oft have wept for foolish things,
And have from anger cried,
He mourned a sister's sufferings,
And wept when Laz'rus died.
“He wept the tears the Scriptures bless—
Tears for another's woe;
Such sorrow I would ne'er repress,
Nor chide its overflow.
85

“Be good—and banish idle fears,
Nor even fear to die,
For God himself will wipe such tears
From every human eye.”
86

THE INFANT'S GRAVE.

Come, mother, will you go and see
Where little brother lies?
“I cannot, love, for if I should,
The tears would dim my eyes.
“Not yet, not yet—I cannot gaze
Upon that chilly clod!
Better it is for me to think
That he is with his God.
“A few short months, and grass will grow
Over his little grave,
And then perhaps the church-yard flower
Will spring and gently wave.
87

“Then will we go, and I will see
Where my sweet baby lies;
For God will soothe my breaking heart,
And dry my weeping eyes.”
91

“AND JESUS TOOK LITTLE CHILDREN IN HIS ARMS.”

I will go to Jesus now,
His arms are open still for youth,
He will hear my early vow,
He will lead my heart to truth.
When I wake with morning light,
I will seek his blessed voice,
And when fall the shades of night,
He shall be my happy choice.
He will teach me how to pray,
He will teach me what to do;
How to pass a holy day,
How to keep my God in view.
When my heart is faint and weak,
And some foolish fear alarms,
I my Saviour's word will seek,
He will hold me in his arms.
92

When a sinful thought comes by,
Or angry passions move my breast,
I will bid the tempter fly;
In His arms again I'll rest.
Then happy will the moment prove,
When God shall call me up to Heaven,
When Jesus folds me in his love,
And faults repented are forgiven.
93

TO A BUTTERFLY AT CHURCH.

Butterfly, butterfly, why come here,
This is no bower for you!
Go sip the honey-drop sweet and clear,
Or bathe in the morning dew.
This is the place to think of Heaven
This is the place to pray;
You have no sins to be forgiven,—
Butterfly, go away.
I see God has touch'd you with beautiful dyes,
And your motion is graceful and light,
But the heart is the thing open now to His eyes;
The heart must be pure in his sight.
94

He has made us to love what is airy and gay,
And I will not despise your bright wings;
But I must not be thinking about you to-day,—
It was given for holier things.
96

THE BOY IS COLD.

I think I might get near the grate,
My toes they grow colder and colder;
I am sure I wish, early and late,
That I could be bigger and older.
There's grandma' stowed close by the fire,
And she's managed to squeeze in my brother;
Aunt Polly has got her desire,
And sits like a toast next to mother.
My teeth they all shake in my head,
And my hands are like skim'd milk so blue;
And my feet feel as if they were dead,
And I'm sure I can't tell what to do.
97

I have tried once or twice to go near,
And they cry out “Oh don't be a baby,
Run about and you'll warm yourself, dear;”
They think I've no feeling then, may be.
I just wish that from now till to-morrow
They and I could change fingers and toes,
And then they'd find out to their sorrow,
How a fellow must feel when he's froze.
102

THE BOY'S COMPLAINT ABOUT BUTTER.

Oh, mother won't you speak to Kate?
I have not had enough to eat:
And when she spreads a little bread,
She thinks she gives me such a treat.
I only wish I was a man,
To have my butter an inch thick,
And not be talking all the time,
How this and that will make me sick.
Poor little boys are sadly used,
They cannot have the thing they wish;
While grown up people help themselves
To what they like from every dish.
As soon as I become a man,
I'll have a pie as tall as you,
103

With door and windows like a house,
And lin'd with plums all through and through.
And I'll go in whene'er I choose,
And sit as snug as Jacky Horner;
And even Katey, though she's cross,
Shall sometimes come and eat a corner.
My windows all with jelly made,
Like Boston glass shall glisten bright,
And sugar candy for the frames,
At every turn shall meet my sight.
My floors shall be of ginger-bread,
Because that's pretty hard, you know,
Sanded all o'er with sugar plums,
Rolling about where'er I go.
And mother, Kate, my cellaret
Shall be all butter, shap'd with ice,
And then we'll see if I must fret
Because I want a little slice.
And mother—Oh she's gone away!
And Katey—What—you've left me too?
I won't stand talking to the walls,
But go and find some work to do.
106

REMONSTRANCE ABOUT THE DRUMSTICK.

It seems very strange, and I can't make it out,
Why the drumstick is given to me;
I think I deserve a nice part of the fowl,
Yet forever the drumstick I see.
I pass the white meat to Miss Anderson's plate,
And old Mr. Rich takes the thighs;
The side-bones go off at a terrible rate,
And the pinion to sister Ann flies.
If I were to count all the drumsticks I've had
Since the pap spoon was taken away,
And I've sitten at table with women and men,
You would hardly believe what I say.
107

'Tis said that a part helps a part, and I'm sure,
If that is the state of the case,
I think I can enter before very long
With “Bonnets of Blue” for a race.
I'm sure I'm not greedy, but really, papa,
If you give me the drumstick again,
Your son, in the place of a leg like your own,
Will exhibit the shank of a crane.
108

THE NEW BOOTS.

Come, mother, and look at these beautiful boots,
Just hear what an elegant creak!
I declare there's no word so sweet in the world,
As that which a new boot can speak.
Take care, sister Anna, don't come in my way,
Run further, you troublesome chit,—
You would look at my boots? Oh very well, dear,
Come and see how completely they fit.
Why, really the child has a share of good taste
Just see her admiring gaze!
Come, come, sister Nanny, and sit in my lap.
Little children have such pretty ways.
109

Pray mamma, don't look anxiously down at my toes,
I assure you they don't hurt at all;
They only look tight, as is often the case,
I would not have bought them too small.
Young Loring and I chose our boots at one store,—
His foot is the size of my own;
But really, mamma, he bought his so large,
That he looks like a clown overgrown.
Hark! Toney is coming,—now don't say a word,
Just see how his white eyes will shine.
Hear, Toney, my boy, what an elegant creak
Proceeds from these new boots of mine!
Did you ever behold a fit more complete?
Why turn your big eyes to the wall?
“He new, and he bright, Massa Johnny, for true,
And pride neber feel pain at all.”
110

THE TIGHT BOOTS.

Oh, mamma, I am mortified, hurt and asham'd,
And scarce can look up in your face:
Young Loring, who never could beat me before,
Has beat me to-day in a race.
You laugh! I would thank you ma' never to laugh
As you do when I speak in this style;
I think I would sometimes prefer to be whipped,
Than to see that half-comical smile.
Well, mamma, we were walking just out of the town,
When Loring proposed we should run;
111

You know what a fellow I am for a race,
And I thought to have excellent fun.
So we started together, the boys looking on,
My boots felt as tight as a vice;
I hobbled and stumbled, just ready to fall,
While Loring was off in a trice.
The boys shouted, “New boots, run, new boots, hurra!”
Their ridicule went to my soul;
I hopped like a turkey, and was not half way,
When Loring was safe at the goal.
My toes were all cramp'd, and my ankles were sore,
And I made such a shocking grimace,
That Loring, though he's such a gentleman, ma',
Could not help laughing out in my face.
And big Billy Blackford took out his hair comb,
And said, as he sat on the grass,
“Though your boots spoil your racing, they'll serve a good turn,
And answer right well for a glass.”
112

Pray hand me my old boots, dear ma', if you please;
And Toney, do stretch these a bit.
No grinning, you rogue, they are scarcely too small;
Just stretch them—I know they will fit.
115

THE BOY IN TROUBLE ABOUT HIS OLD HAT.

Now look at this hat! is it fit to be seen,
All batter'd and tattered and torn?
I can't go to King-street to get an ice-cream—
I declare it is not to be borne.
Nay, mother, you need not be shaking your head,
And looking as much as to say,
That you think I am careless, and all about that,
In your solemn, but good-natur'd way.
I am sure that American hats are not strong,
Or they would never wear out so fast,—
116

And here I must worry till Christmas, you say—
I don't think this old thing will last.
To be sure I have kick'd it about for a ball,
And stuff'd it with ginger cake too;
And once I let it drop into Bennett's mill pond
While paddling in William's canoe.
And once, I remember, I felt very dry,
And just fill'd it up at the pump;
And once I was hunting with Dinah for eggs.
And gave it a terrible thump.
I confess the two kittens did make it their bed,
But then they were white as the snow,
And puss laid them carefully into the hat,
So I could not refuse her, you know.
This dent on the top was an accident, ma,'
And that cut on the edge was another;
And this stain with the physic you gave me one day,
And that hole, I got playing with brother.
Master Robert call'd yesterday, dress'd quite in style,
And ask'd me to go out to ride,
117

But I had to say, no, for a terrible sight
My old hat would have been by his side.
And Miss Emma came also, that sweet little girl,
And I wanted to see her home so,
With her little straw bonnet all trimm'd up with blue,
But how shabby I look'd for a beau.
Oh, dear! I must wait as I have done before,
Since dollars appear very few,
But I tell you when once I get rid of this hat,
I mean to take care of the new.
122

NOT READY FOR SCHOOL.

Pray, where is my hat—it is taken away,
And my shoe-strings are all in a knot!
I can't find a thing where it should be to-day,
Though I've hunted in every spot.
My slate and my pencil no where can be found,
Though I placed them as safe as can be;
While my books and my maps are all scattered around,
And hop about just like a flea.
Do, Rachel, just look for my Atlas up stairs,
My Æsop is somewhere there too
And sister, just brush down these troublesome hairs,
And mother, just fasten my shoe.
123

And sister, beg father to write an excuse,
But stop, he will only say “No;”
And go on with a smile, and keep reading the news,
While every thing bothers me so.
My satchel is heavy, and ready to fall,
This old pop-gun is breaking my map;
I'll have nothing to do with the pop-gun or ball,
There's no playing for such a poor chap.
The town clock will strike in a minute, I fear,
Then away to the foot I must sink;
There—look at my Carpenter tumbled down here,
And my Worcester covered with ink.
I wish I'd not lingered at breakfast the last,
Though the toast and the butter were fine;
I think that our Edward must eat pretty fast,
To be off when I haven't done mine.
Now Edward and Harry protest they won't wait,
And beat on the door with their sticks;
I suppose they will say I was dressing too late;
To-morrow, I'll be up at six.
133

ATTEMPT TO WRITE POETRY.

My paper is ruled very neat,
Father 's made me an elegant pen;
I sit quite upright on my seat,
And have every thing ready; what then?
I have scratched my head several times,
And nothing comes out of it yet;
For my life I can't make out the rhymes;
Not a word can I think of but—fret.
Dear mother, do help me a bit,
I'm puzzled—no matter—here goes—
But how the right measure to hit,—
I have a good subject—I know-s.
There once was a widow in trouble,
She was aged, and old, and advanced;
134

Not a word can I think of but bubble,
And it won't do to say that she danced.
A widow she was of great feeling,
Of great feeling this widow was she;
'Twill be shocking to speak of her squealing,
And how can I lug in a flea?
This widow to woe was a votary,
Oh, mother! you laugh at her woes,
And say I had better quit poetry,
Until I know how to write prose.
138

WISHES.

ANNA.
I wish I was a small bird,
Among the leaves to dwell,
To scale the sky in gladness
Or seek the lonely dell.
My matin song should wake amid
The chorus of the earth,
And my vesper hymn ring gladly
The trill of careless mirth.

ELLEN.
I wish I was a floweret
To blossom in the grove,
I'd spread my opening leaflets
Among the plants I love.
No hand would roughly cull me
As I looked up to the sky,
I silently should ope to life,
And quietly should die.

139

MARY.
I wish I was a gold-fish
To seek the sunny wave,
To part the gentle ripple,
And amid its coolness lave.
I would glide alone delighted
Amid the coral way,
And when night came on in softness
Beneath the star-beam play.

MOTHER.
Hush, hush, romantic prattlers,
You know not what you say,
When soul, the crown of mortals.
You would lightly throw away.
What is the songster's warble,
Or the floweret's blush refin'd
To the noble thought of Deity
Within your opening mind?

144

THE BOY IS IN TOO GREAT A HURRY TO BUY A HAT.

Now, mother, don't laugh, because I 've returned
Without a new hat on my head;
I am sure I am weary as weary can be,
And puzzled enough, as you said.
In the first place, I went to those big-looking stores,
Where the hats all so splendidly shine;
But the caps looked so stylish I could not decide,
If a hat or a cap should be mine.
An elegant blue cap delighted me first,
Which I felt quite determined to buy;
But just as I found that it fitted my head,
A brown one attracted my eye.
145

I put on the brown, and it set like a T,
So I took out the money to pay;
When Johnny came in, I said, “Don't be in haste,
You have not been to Smith's store to-day.”
I looked at the pretty brown cap as he spoke.
John urged, though I wanted to linger;
“Why the fashion at Smith's is as handsome again,”
And he snapt at my brown with his finger.
So, mother, I thought I would look at his choice,
For 'tis right to look out for the best;
And an elegant sight I confess was displayed,
There were black, brown, and blue, and the rest.
I first tried on one, and then tried another,
One was large, and the other too small;
The clock then struck three, and I had to come home
Without bringing any at all.
I know I was stubborn, and said I would go,
But I've tried it enough to my sorrow;
So I hope you'll forgive me, this time, mother dear,
And I'll take what you choose me to-morrow.
157

A LITTLE GIRL IS SHUT UP FOR TALKING PERTLY.

Mamma, I've lost my thimble,
And my spool has roll'd away;
My arms are aching dreadfully,
And I want to go and play.
I 've spent the livelong morning,
Picking out this endless seam,
So many pieces in a shirt,
Is quite a foolish scheme.
If I could set the fashion,
I know what I would do;
I 'd not be troubling people,
And make them sit and sew.
I 'd put some homespun on their necks,
And sew it all around;
And make them look like cotton bags,
Placed endwise on the ground.
158

I hate to make these button holes,
I do not love to stitch;
My threads keep breaking all the time,
With just a little twitch.
There 's Johnny playing marbles,
And Susan skipping rope,
They have finished all their easy tasks,
While I must sit and mope.
I think, mamma, 't is very hard,
That you should keep me here,
When the blue sky looks so temptingly,
And the sun is shining clear.
Mamma! She's gone and left me,
And closely shut the door;
Mamma! mamma! come back again,
I will not grumble more.
Oh, dear! how foolish I have been—
From dinner I must stay;
Mamma, mamma, come back again,
Forgive your child, I pray.
Alas, she 's reached the balcony,
And means not to return;
Oh, what a look she cast on me,
So sad and yet so stern.
159

CALL TO SABBATH SCHOOL.

Wake, sister, wake, 'tis a holy day,
We must not linger here;
The birds are up, and have soared away,
And are singing their anthems clear.
Young flowers have open'd their lovely eyes,
And their rich perfume have given;
And they fix their looks on the distant skies,
As if they knew something of Heaven.
We will go to the house of praise and prayer,
The altar of youthful love;
And Jesus in spirit will meet us there,
And bear our off'ring above.
Then wake, sister, wake, 'tis a happy day;
Perchance from his blessed throng,
Some youthful seraph has winged his way,
To join in our Sabbath song.
165

THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE IN RHYME.

1. PART FIRST.

COME AND LEARN.

Twice one are two—2
I will teach you something new.
Twice two are four—4
Repeat it o'er and o'er.
Twice three are six—6
Be they apples, nuts, or sticks.
Twice four are eight—8
I teach without a slate.
Twice five are ten—10
Nor shall I use a pen.
166

Twice six are twelve—12
It will do you good to delve.
Twice seven are fourteen—14
But we'll have a little sporting.
Twice eight are sixteen—16
Your mind let that be fix'd in.
Twice nine are eighteen—18
Don't be tired of waiting.
Twice ten are twenty—20
You soon shall learn a plenty.
Twice eleven are twenty-two—22
Patient steps will lead you through.
Twice twelve are twenty-four—24
To-morrow come and learn some more.

HOW TO BEHAVE.

Three times one are three—3
At home be gay and free,
Three times two are six—6
But keep from teazing tricks.
Three times three are nine—9
Don't make the kitten whine.
Three times four are twelve, I know—12
In reading, be distinct and slow.
Three times five are fifteen—15
Let not your mind be shifting.
167

Three times six are eighteen—18
Keep not people waiting.
Three times seven are twenty-one—21
Rude and wicked children shun.
Three times eight are twenty-four—24
Be not fretful any more.
Three times nine are twenty-seven—27
Keep your writing fair and even.
Three times ten are thirty—30
Let not your hands be dirty.
Three times eleven are thirty-three—33
Let your manners gentle be.
Three times twelve are thirty-six—36
How rude the child that contradicts.

LITTLE JANE.

Four times one are four—4
Little Jane was poor;
Four times two are eight—8
And on others had to wait.
Four times three are twelve—12
In the garden she would delve;
Four times four are sixteen—16
And was handy in the kitchen;
Four times five are twenty—20
And not always had a plenty.
168

Four times six are twenty-four—24
Of learning she had little store.
Four times seven are twenty-eight—28
But bore quite patiently her fate.
Four times eight are thirty-two—32
And glad was she for work to do;
Four times nine are thirty-six—36
And made us laugh with merry tricks;
Four times ten are forty—40
And was gentle to the haughty.
Four times eleven are forty-four—44
At length she prospered more and more;
Four times twelve are forty-eight—48
And is now a good man's happy mate.

TAKING CARE OF FLOWERS.

Five times one are five—5
Are our flowers all alive?
Five times two are ten—10
They will soon be bright again.
Five times three are fifteen—15
The earth requires shifting.
Five times four are twenty—20
Give them water plenty.
Five times five are twenty-five—25
Look, how the lovely roses thrive.
169

Five times six are thirty—30
Take care the thorns will hurt ye.
Five times seven are thirty-five—35
Fresh and fair they all revive.
Five times eight are forty—40
Dear children I exhort ye.
Five times nine are forty-five—45
For brighter flowers than these to strive.
Five times ten are fifty, know—50
On virtue's living tree they grow.
Five times eleven are fifty-five—55
And the coldest storm survive.
Five times twelve are sixty, dear—60
And bloom through an eternal year.
170

2. SECOND PART.

SPRING.

Six times three are eighteen—18
The youth no more are skating.
Six times four are twenty-four—24
Wintry winds have ceased to roar.
Six times five are thirty—30
Jack Frost no more will hurt ye
Six times six are thirty-six—36
See the hen protect her chicks.
Six times seven are forty-two—42
How clear the robin's whistle, too.
Six times eight are forty-eight—48
See nature's carpet spread in state.
Six times nine are fifty-four—54
View the rain-bow arching o'er.
Six times ten are sixty—oh! 60
How the western clouds do glow.
Six times eleven are sixty-six—66
Your thoughts on the Creator fix,
171

Six times twelve are seventy-two—72
Who clothes this happy world anew.

SUMMER.

Seven times three are twenty-one—
How fierce and high the noontide sun.
Seven times four are twenty-eight—28
The labourer toils till evening late.
Seven times five are thirty-five—35
The fields, the groves, are all alive.
Seven times six are forty-two—42
The panting herds the shade pursue.
Seven times seven are forty-nine—49
The angler throws his trembling line.
Seven times eight are fifty-six—56
The squirrel chirps and plays his tricks.
Seven times nine are sixty-three—63
How cool the stream beneath the tree.
Seventy, are seven times ten—70
But look, how changed the scene again!
Seven times eleven are seventy-seven—77
Dark clouds obscure the blue of heaven.
Seven times twelve are eighty-four—84
Deep thunders roll from shore to shore.
172

AUTUMN.

Eight times three are twenty-four—24
Summer's brilliant reign is o'er.
Eight times four are thirty-two—32
Sportsmen now their game pursue.
Eight times five are forty, dear—40
In beauty fades the passing year.
Eight times six are forty-eight—48
The trees their doom with smiles await;
Eight times seven are fifty-six—56
Their hues like dying dolphins mix.
Eight times eight are sixty-four—64
Golden harvest crowns our store.
Eight times nine are seventy-two—72
The gleaners search the corn fields through.
Eight times ten are eighty, sure—80
Let us not forget the poor;
Eight times eleven are eighty-eight—88
For all should share our happier fate,
Eight times twelve are ninety-six—96
Whom woe or poverty afflicts.

WINTER.

Nine times three are twenty-seven—27
Now softly falls the snow from Heaven.
Nine times four are thirty-six—36
The youth in active gambols mix.
173

Nine times five are forty-five—45
With skates or gliding sleighs they drive.
Nine times six are fifty-four—54
The merry bells approach the door.
Nine times seven are sixty-three—63
Come in, our hearth will cheerful be.
Nine times eight are seventy-two—72
We'll talk, and write, and read, and sew.
Nine times nine are eighty-one—81
And when our evening task is done,
Nine times ten are ninety, child—90
Thank God, who on our home has smiled;
Nine times eleven are ninety-nine—99
Then on our pillow soft recline.
Nine times twelve are hundred and eight—108
Pity the traveller wandering late.
Ten times one are ten—10
Ten times two are twenty. 20
Ten times three are thirty—30
Ten times four are forty. 40
Ten times five are fifty—50
Ten times six are sixty. 60
Ten times seven are seventy—70
Ten times eight are eighty. 80
Ten times nine are ninety—90
Ten times ten are one hundred. 100
174

Ten times eleven are one hundred and ten—110
Ten times twelve are one hundred and twenty. 120
Eleven times one are eleven—11
Eleven times two are twenty-two. 22
Eleven times three are thirty-three—33
Eleven times four are forty-four. 44
Eleven times five are fifty-five—55
Eleven times six are sixty-six. 66
Eleven times seven are seventy-seven—77
Eleven times eight are eighty-eight. 88
Eleven times nine are ninety-nine—99
Eleven times ten are one hundred and ten. 110
Eleven times eleven are one hundred and twenty-one—121
Eleven times twelve are one hundred and thirty-two. 132

GOOD RESOLUTIONS FOR A YOUNG PERSON.

Twelve times two are twenty-four—24
My useful task is nearly o'er.
Twelve times three are thirty-six—36
Let me my thoughts a moment fix,
Twelve times four are forty-eight—48
And on my duties meditate.
175

Twelve times five must sixty be—60
Oh! may I live from error free!
Twelve times six are seventy-two—72
Let me all knowledge thus pursue,
Twelve times seven are eighty-four—84
As I have conned these lessons o'er,
Twelve times eight are ninety-six—96
Where toil and pleasure intermix.
Twelve times nine are one hundred and eight—108
Thus pressing onward fair and straight,
Twelve times ten are one hundred and twenty—120
That I, dear teacher, may content ye,
Twelve times eleven are one hundred and thirty-two—132
And keep some noble aim in view,
Twelve times twelve are one hundred and forty-four—144
Nor rest till time and numbers are no more.
176

MORNING HYMN.

This is earth's waking hour,
And beautiful to see;
The sun beams out with glorious power,
And kindling majesty.
Oh, what have I to do
With slothful visions now?
Let me my early prayers renew
With bright and happy brow.
For God has blessed my night,
And nerved my youthful frame,
And I will seek him with delight
Through Jesus' blessed name.
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