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Dedication

Children dear we have sung these songs to you,
Made these pictures for your delight;
Songs and pictures, they all belong to you,
May you love them and find them bright.
All things pretty and dear we have sought for you,
Some we have gathered and set them here;
Take the gift that our love has brought for you,
Take this picture book, children dear!

Manners

Manners, MANNERS! one at a time!
And all the rest of you wait!
I can't let all of you drink at once,
Or you would upset the plate.
I was always taught to wait my turn,
When I was little like you,
I had to learn many difficult things,
And you'll have to learn them too.
So don't be tiresome and make a fuss,
You'll all of you get your turn;
And waiting is one of the hardest things
A puppy dog has to learn.

The Hospitable Hostess.

Yes, certainly Tim! I'm delighted;
Whatever there is you may share;
There's not very much as it happens,
But I heartily wish that there were!
Oh! Tabbykins, don't be so horrid,
You greedy, unsociable cat!
Now don't arch up your back so crossly,
You look very ugly like that.
If you can't behave nicely, my kitten,
You'll have to be sent up to bed;
It's shameful of you to be angry,
That a poor fellow-creature is fed.
Don't mind her, dear Tim, I implore you!
She's not at all what I could wish;
Come begin! What? Oh dear me, I am sorry
There's nothing to eat in the dish!

The Concert

Tommy JONES has a penny whistle,
And when the sun shines bright
He sits on a doorstep out in the sun,
And blows with all his might.
And both the doggies from round the corner
They come to hear him play,
And they both agree that you cannot hear
Such music every day.
But the little birds who live in the trees
They turn away and sigh,
For they do not care for the penny whistle,
And oh! no more do I!

Dorothy's Dream

“What are you dreaming of Dorothy dear
Lying alone in the meadow here?
Are you dreaming of fairies'-land
Where dolls and pussies dance hand in hand,
Where all the beautiful things are true,
And every one does what they ought to do?”
“No, I wasn't dreaming of dolly or cat,
Or fairies, or story-book things like that,
But I've been playing about all day,
And sometimes you get tired, even of play;
So I'm resting here till nurse comes for me,
And wondering whether there's cake for tea.

What's that noise?

“Oh, listen do,” said Spot to Trim—
“Now did you ever, ever hear
Sounds like this thing upon the rim
Of our pan, is making here?”
“I wonder if the thing's alive,
I wonder how it makes that sound,
Let's go and ask the wise old dog,
Who in the yard is always found.”
So off they went to Solomon—
Some other visitors were there,
But Spot and Trim, though rather shy,
Asked him the question, then and there.
Said Solomon, “I take the thing
You speak of, children for a bird,
The saucy mites pretend to sing,
But such a noise I never heard
Proceed from throat of dog or puss,
Or any thing of decent size,”—
The callers curled their whiskers up,
And modestly cast down their eyes!

“Ah,” piped a bird upon a tree,
With an inviting fork,
“Good gracious me, good gracious me—
What rubbish dogs do talk!”
“Great awkward things that can but bark
At prowling cats—good lack—
To scoff at nightingale, or lark,
It takes one quite aback!”
“But that's the way of this big world—
Big people swagger round,
And talk big things about themselves,
And make a great big sound.”
“They think that size is everything—
You heard, wife, what they said—
You've often said—you know you have,
Their noise goes through your head.”
“Well—well—my dear, your voice is big—
You're bigger far than I,
And that you know what big things think,
I seek not to deny!”

The Invitation.

“Come down, you pretty puss, come down!
Why do you wave your tail and groan?
We only want a word or two.
Dear, pretty, charming cat, with you.”
“No thank you doggies, go away!
I shan't come down at all to-day;
I know what dreadful things you do
To cats who come and talk to you.
“My sister's husband's cousin's niece
Was saved from you by the police;
She told me, and I'm sure it's true,
I'd better keep away from you.”

Toby's Tail.

I was a gay fox-terrier dog,
And hunted every day,
I hunted every living thing
That chanced to run my way.
Until one day to the sea-side
The children made me go,
It is a salt and sandy place
Where dreadful creatures grow.
It was a creepy-crawly thing
That sideways hurried past,
I thought it was a thing to hunt
Because it went so fast.
I sniffed it as it hurried by,
I touched it with my toes,
And quick as thought it raised a claw
And held me by the nose.
The children parted nose and crab,
That parting who can paint?
They carried me the two miles home
Because I was so faint.
Since then I am an altered dog,
I sit at home and sigh;
I dare not even hunt a snail
So coward a thing am I!

Hesitation.

Is it good she thinks for eating
Kitty is uncertain how
Now advancing, now retreating
She shall meet this thing unknown.

Unappreciated.

But the horses said that its song was silly
And weak compared with a neigh;
And the donkey wouldn't hear nightingales
When it could hear itself bray.
And the puppies declared that the song it sang
Was nothing like their bark;
And the stable cat said he could sing better
On a slanting roof in the dark!
So the nightingale sadly returned to the quest
And sang to the moonlit sky;
And as it sat there singing its sweetest
A pair of lovers went by.
“Do you hear the nightingale,” said the maiden,
“Oh yes,” he answered, “I hear;
But the nightingale's voice isn't half as sweet
As somebody else's dear.”
Then the nightingale flew in despair to the coverts
Where only wild wood-birds be;
But he told the moon this poor little story,
And the kind moon told it to me.

The Squirrel.

I am a little squirrel and I live up in a tree,
And I have a precious little wife who keeps my house for me;
And we gather nuts in autumn when the woods are dressed in gold,
And hide them in our little house until the days are cold.
We both have handsome tails, and both have pretty coats of fur,
I do look nice in mine, but still I can't compare with her;
And our eyes are bright like beads—at least I know her eyes are bright,
And mine can always see her in the very darkest night.
Come children and be squirrels too! we have no scales to play,
No grammar and geography, and history to say;
We look down on the finest trees upon the finest flowers,
And tailors never make your coats to fit so well as ours.

The Poor Dolly.

My dolly was young and fair,
With beautiful flaxen hair,
And all her things could take off and on,
And she had real shoes to wear.
She was made by the toy-shop man,
Her body was stuffed with bran,
And she could open and shut her eyes:
And none of Jane's dollies can.
And I lent her to Jane one day,
While I went in the garden to play,
And when Jane wasn't looking the cat and dog
Both happened to pass that way.
The story's too sad to tell
In the kind of words I can spell;
But the picture will tell you better than I.
Or, at any rate, just as well.

Waiting

Please little bird will you fly away
To master, and tell him I've been all day
Waiting, because he told me to wait
Till he should come out of the parson's gate.
I've waited and waited; I almost fear
That he has forgotten that I am here;
I've had no dinner, and you can't think
How glad I shall be when I get a drink!
He hasn't come through the gate I know,
For if he had I'd have seen him go;
And I'm certain he wouldn't stop there all day,
Do you think he has gone out the other way?
A good dog waits wherever its told,
And I've often heard I'm as good as gold;
And till master comes I must sit on here,
But I wish you'd remind him, birdie dear!

The Morning Call

The two fox-terrier puppies went
To call upon the cat;
They climbed her front-door step with pain
Because they were so fat.
The stable pussy was not pleased:
'Twas not her “day at home,”
The puppies knew that very well,
But yet they chose to come.
People who call on any day
But the one day you set,
If they should have cold shoulder,
Deserve the fare they get.
The pussy scratched, and bit, and fought,
And pushed the puppies away;
I wish I could treat callers so
Who disregard my day!

The Chase.

It's very wrong, we know,
To chase a pussy so,
But oh! it is a merry thing
To see that pussy go!
She is the favourite cat,
Well, dear me, what of that?
It ought to do the favourite good:
She's much too round and fat.
Hi, hi, you pussy, fly!
The other dogs and I
Will get you into training, now,
Or know the reason why!
Hark, forward! hi, away!
Why she's got out of reach in the hay;
Come out, come out, you silly puss:
Don't you know it was only play?

The Flower Girl.

I know a little flower girl,
Her name is Jessie Brown,
She sells her bonny woodland flowers
To folk who live in town;
Her mother's sick, and lies alone
While Jessie is away,
So Jessie always makes haste home,
And never stops to play.
It's Jessie earns the weekly rent,
And buys the things to eat,
It's Jessie sweeps and dusts, and cooks,
And keeps the cottage neat;
She knows a thousand useful things
Rich children never know,
She found them out herself, because
She loved her mother so!

The Flying Lesson.

My dears you must learn to fly!
It's time you learned, indeed;
You know that if you never try
You never will succeed.
Now see your father flap his wings,
And make them move him on,
You must observe these little things
And see the way they're done.
Now spread your wings and follow me,
And just do what I do!
Quickly at first, dears, one, two, three!
Now slowly—so! one, two!
That's beautiful! now children come
Back to the nest with me;
I have a lovely worm at home
Which we will have for tea!

A Clever Feat.

Our master is an artist
And clever, people say;
We kitties thought him clever
Until the other day,
When we were in the studio
And master was away.
We thought that painting pictures
Meant cleverness it's true,
Until we tried to paint one
And then we painted two:
Both of them much more lovely
Than any he can do.
There's one upon the canvass
All splodgy and complete;
And one upon the palette
And that is still more sweet:
We clever kitties did them,
We did them with our feet!

Is Spring Coming?

The wind is very strong to-day,
The woods are very brown,
And on us little feathered folk
Thin flakes of snow fall down;
Oh! is it true the tale they tell
That we again shall sing,
And build our nests in warm green woods
Just as we did last spring?”
“Oh yes! I think the tale is true
That old birds talk about;
I saw a violet yesterday,
And here's a primrose out!
And sweet flowers come my little mate,
Sweet promises to bring:
Of days when we shall build our nests
Just as we did last spring.”

The New Cook.

What is it mother, mother dear?
What kind of dinner have we got here?
What a terrible thing a new cook is
To feed little doggies on things like this!
This is the time when we're used to find
A plateful of dinner just to our mind;
They couldn't do less if you were a cat
Than to give your family food like that!
Mother, tell her to take it away
And bring us a dinner like yesterday!
We had bones, and gravy, and lumps of cheese,
Not nasty uneatable things like these;
Tell the new cook that we're used to food:
Plenty of it, and always good;
She could eat such things herself if she chose,
But she mustn't feed us upon things like those.

The Dog that told Stories.

There really wasn't enough for three,
And that was plain to pussy and me;
We saw there was really plenty for two,
And so we decided what we would do.
We said to Rover, “Your master has gone
Across the meadow—and all alone;
It's nothing to us, but we saw him go
And we thought perhaps you would like to know.”
Rover was off, like a hurried rat,
And I shared the dinner with pussy-cat;
But I don't like to think what Rover will say,
When he finds his master not gone that way.
I think perhaps we had better go
To leave plenty of room for Rover, you know,
For he'll want some room, when he finds he's late,
So we'll leave him alone with the empty plate!

A Warning.

Young TIM, the pup, went out one day
And stood by Toby's kennel-bed,
Where Toby gently dozing lay;
And naughty Tim, he barked and said:
“I know you hate to see me here,
I know that if you could, you'd bite,
But as you're chained I have no fear,
I mean to stand here, just for spite.
“You never let me cross the yard,
To cross it is my only joy;
Your chain won't break—pull hard, pull hard,
You do amuse me dear old boy!”
Toby did pull—but never spoke,
While Tim stood jeering close to him,
Till, all at once, the strong chain broke,
And now there's nothing left of Tim.

The Vain Puppy.

These are my three little brothers,
Each in his proper place;
Each believes he's as good as I am
And has as handsome a face,
But it must be perfectly plain to you
That this is not the case.

Why We Work.

Tell me mother,” the little foal said,
“When I grow up what shall I do?”
“You'll wear a bridle on your head,
And heavy people will ride on you.”
“Mother, tell me, did you do so?
Did heavy people ride you too?”
“Yes my dear, and in time you grow
Really pleased and glad that they do.”
“Mother, tell me, what is the way
They take to make us work for them so?”
“If they pet us and work for us every day,
We love them and work for them too, you know.”

Which?

The Boy Speaks.

Let me hold your horse, sir,
I am three years old,
And I'm strong and able
Any horse to hold?
“Mother's in the orchard,
Father's in the shed,
And your horse looks quiet,
Let me hold his head?”

The Horse Speaks.

“Let me hold the boy, sir,
He is very small,
And I will not kick him—
Will not bite at all?
“It will give me something,
Though not much, to do,
Let me hold the boy sir
While I wait for you?

French & English.

Oh! please, sir, this is where I live!
Oh let me, please, come by;
It would not be the thing to bite
So small a dog as I.
Besides you are so great and grand,
And I so young and small;
You could not fight me, I am sure,
It would not do at all.
I see you're foreign by your air,
So different, sir, to mine;
I do not know the foreign bark,
Only the native whine.
My halting, poor, inferior speech
I hope you comprehend;
Oh! don't disdain the English pup,
The small admiring friend.
You may not know our English ways,
But this, dear sir, is one:
Big dogs do not fight little dogs,
Believe me, it's not done.
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