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Title: Facts in Jingles
Author: Stoner, Winifred Sackville
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Facts in Jingles" ***

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[Illustration: Winifred, age twelve, with her trained bird, Okikusan]




  (Written Between the Ages of Five and Twelve)







  Miss Katharine O'Shea


  Madison, Wisconsin


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.




  Adam's Funny Bone                                         238

  After the Fourth Was Over                                  57

  All Dentists Go to Heaven                                  47

  All the World Cries                                        93

  Answers, Not Questions, Cause Trouble                      22

  Appeal to the Fairies, An                                 187

  Are All Angels Blonds?                                    304

  Armadillo, The                                            199

  At Easter                                                 242

  Autos Change Good Luck                                     85

  Autumn, Queen of Year                                      88

  Baa! Baa! Black Sheep                                     206

  Bach, Johann Sebastian                                    269

  Bachelor's Opinion of a Baby, A                           156

  Barber, Barber, Shave a Pig                               226

  Beethoven, Ludwig von                                     265

  Berlioz, Louis Hector                                     293

  Best Month of All, The                                    194

  Beware of Stings                                          181

  Beware of the Wet                                         144

  Birthday Wish, A                                          205

  B. O. K. Fairy, The                                       185

  Bony Song, A                                               17

  Book Mark, A                                              200

  Bo-Peep                                                   209

  Boy Who Was Hero and Villain, A                            84

  Boy's Complaint, A                                         31

  Boy's Description of a Goat, A                             87

  Brahms, Johannes                                          267

  Brick Versus Watch                                        148

  Bridget Makes Split Pea Soup                                2

  Brunettes All the Rage                                    121

  Butcher, Baker, Candle-Stick Maker                        221

  Careful Mother, The                                         3

  Cat Extincted the Canary, The                              16

  Cats a Kissin' (Catechism)                                122

  Children's Prayer, The                                    255

  Chopin, Frédéric François                                 261

  Christmas Wish for All My Friends,                         40

  Could Only Ask Questions                                  126

  Cultus Mitlite                                            127

  Curly Locks                                               230

  Czerny, Karl                                              303

  Dans Ma Cuisine                                           166

  Dans Ma Maison                                            163

  Dans Mon Joli Jardin                                      165

  Days of Chivalry, The                                     142

  Dickory Dock                                              226

  Doctor Foster                                             217

  Dux Femina Via                                            203

  Easter Greeting                                            65

  Easter Greeting to My Friend                               90

  Eatable Alphabet, An                                      241

  England's Kings in Rhyme                                  115

  Equal Franchise Valentine, An                             180

  Esperanto Grammar                                         198

  Esperanto Poem Plain to All, An                           154

  Fairy Centaphrase, The                                    254

  First Forks, The                                          110

  First Match, The                                           97

  First Metal Plow, The                                     106

  Five Best Fairies, The                                    177

  Five-Foot Shelf of Summer Books, A                         15

  Five Good Giants                                          200

  Five Little Pigs                                          231

  Franz, Robert                                             259

  Frog Who Would A-Wooing Go, A                             211

  Furs Lined with Kittens                                    12

  German Jinglette, A                                       236

  Ghost Story, A                                            153

  Giant Arithmos, The                                        67

  Girls' Alphabet, The                                      243

  Glorious O, The                                           237

  Glück, Christopher Willibald                              292

  Good B's and Bad T's                                       30

  Good-Bye to Teddy Bears                                    99

  Good People Everywhere                                    305

  Good Weather Assured                                       92

  Goosey, Goosey Gander                                     212

  Gottschalk, Louis Moreau                                  298

  Grammar in a Nutshell                                     183

  Grandma Turkey's Lament                                    21

  Grandpa's Head Turns Frew His Hair                          5

  Great A, Little A                                         234

  Great Surprise, A                                           1

  Greatest Kings of Music Land, The                         262

  Greedy Imps                                               157

  Greetings to Norfolk                                      158

  Grouch-Bug, The                                            33

  Growing Things                                              4

  Handel, George Frederick                                  263

  Hark! Hark! the Dogs Do Bark                              228

  Haydn, Franz Joseph                                       271

  Hens                                                       36

  Her Turn Coming                                           128

  Hope                                                       94

  Hot Cross Buns                                            230

  How Mother Learned Natural History                        141

  How Simple Simon Became Wise                              184

  How to Be Happy                                           136

  Humpty Dumpty                                             231

  In India                                                  189

  Information by Phone                                      123

  I'm Glad I'm Not an Exo                                   245

  I Prefer a Lazy Bee                                       169

  It Takes a Cigar a Long Time to Wear Out                  105

  Jack and Jill                                             226

  Jack, Be Nimble                                           217

  Jack Spratt                                          214, 229

  Job Smarter Than Modern Babies                             80

  Johnnie's Conundrum                                       130

  Joke on Onklo Karlo, A                                      8

  Kind Hearts                                                35

  King Teddy the Fearless                                    32

  King's Questions, The                                     111

  Kitten Gone to Waste, A                                    78

  Kitty, Where Have You Been?                               213

  Koppa After Pi                                            148

  Last of Mary Had a Little Lamb                             28

  Lazy White Men Sit While Flying Through the Air           104

  Learning the French Alphabet                              161

  Legend of Westminster Abbey                               140

  Legends of the Coronation Stone                           107

  Let Ma Vote                                               173

  Let the Bumble Be                                          20

  Liszt, Franz                                              288

  Little Boy and the Little Sparrow, The                    223

  Little Boy Blue                                           215

  Little Girl with the Little Curl, The                     236

  Little Man with the Little Gun, The                       209

  Little Mary with Her Canary                               220

  Little Miss Muffet                                        212

  Little Tommy Tucker                                       228

  Mabel at the Butcher Shop                                  48

  Man in the Moon, The                                      233

  Marjory Daw                                               233

  Mary Had a Lamb Song                                      234

  Mary Had a Little Lamb                                    235

  Mary, Quite Contrary                                      220

  Memory Jogger for Your Desk, A                            249

  Mendelssohn, Jakob Ludwig Felix                           296

  Midsummer Joys                                             56

  Miller on the Dee, The                                    206

  Mother Hubbard                                            215

  Mother Wotsat, of Wanamakerland                           252

  Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus                                  273

  Much Learning Saves Ignatius                               13

  Multiplication Is Vexation                                216

  Museum's Fat Lady, The                                     10

  Music                                                     258

  My Black Hen                                              234

  My Christmas Wish                                          86

  My Country                                                156

  My Easter Wish                                             54

  My Impression of Newspaper Men                            151

  My Son John                                               225

  Nature's Music                                            260

  'Neath Niagara Falls                                      182

  Nervous Jelly                                              82

  New Baby, The                                              98

  New Year Babe, The                                         81

  Nissen the Santa Claus of Norway                           37

  North Pole Jingle                                         240

  Ode to a Faithful Dog Dubbed Pickles, An                  256

  Oh, Pretty Little Girl, Where Are You Going?              232

  Old Garden, An                                            171

  Old King Cole                                             225

  Old Mother Goose                                          227

  Old-Time and a Modern Song, An                            139

  Old Woman in a Shoe, The                                  222

  Old Woman, Mother Goose, The                              207

  On Midsummer Night                                        143

  On Thanksgiving                                            51

  One, Two, Three, Four, Five                               236

  Only Naughty Children See Spooks on Hallowe'en             53

  Oriental Metaphor                                         159

  Our Presidents                                            124

  Papa's Sainted Leg                                        186

  Past and Present Eve, The                                 149

  Patti Cake                                                224

  Patti Lou at the Zoo                                       11

  Peace Forerunner--"Love Mankind"                          257

  Pearl of Lakes, The                                         9

  Peas Pudding Hot                                          219

  Peter Pumpkin Eater                                       216

  Peter Visits an Episcopal Church                          152

  Pets' Christmas Carol, The                                 52

  Pickerino--The Cook's Fate, A                             106

  Plea to Editors, A                                        196

  Plea to Knights and Ladies Fair, A                        194

  Please, Grandpa, Croak                                    108

  Pretty Little Maid with Pretty Little Bonnet              235

  Pretty Maid, Where Are You Going?                         210

  Pride                                                      79

  Pure-Blooded Pup, The                                      69

  Pussy in the Well                                         218

  Queen of Flowerhood                                       239

  Rain, Rain, Go Away                                       221

  Revenge on an Aching Tooth                                137

  Riddle, A                                                  96

  Rock-a-Bye, Baby                                          213

  Roosevelt Compliments Mama Lion                            23

  Rubinstein, Anton                                         289

  Santa's Reindeer in the Sky                                41

  Saying His Speech                                         195

  Scarlatti, Alessandro                                     302

  Schubert, Franz Peter                                     277

  Schumann, Robert                                          279

  Seeking Bargains                                          126

  Simple Simon                                              214

  Sing a Song of Sixpence                                   222

  Sing Joyfully on Your Way                                 218

  Six in the Cemetery                                       125

  Six Little Mice Sat Down to Spin                          208

  Skillet in Society, A                                      66

  Sleepers in Westminster Abbey                             100

  Snail, Snail, Come Out of Your Hole                       223

  Song of Home, A                                           175

  Song of the Woods, A                                      147

  Soul of a Miser, The                                      160

  Spelling Wrong "Rong"                                     172

  Strauss, Johann                                           300

  Susan Rewarded for Twenty Years' Service                    6

  Taffy Was a Thief                                         229

  Take That Gum from Your Mouth and Put Your Feet Right In   91

  Tasmania                                                  197

  Tersest Bathing Suit, The                                  89

  Thanksgiving in 20,000 A. D.                               49

  Then and Now                                              176

  Three Blind Mice                                          224

  Three Cheers for Typewriters!                             247

  Three Wise Men of Gotham                                  208

  Time of His Life, The                                      25

  Titania's Toyland                                         253

  Titanic's Noble Band                                      131

  To Friends Who Remembered Me When I Was Ill               158

  To Market                                                 232

  To Modern Knights                                         145

  To My Leap Year Valentine                                 244

  To My Valentine                                            58

  To Save Him from a Whipping                               109

  Tom the Piper's Son                                       219

  Too Many Dolls                                             27

  Too Ticklish to Count His Ribs                            104

  Torpid Liver 'Sploded Him, A                              160

  Twilight                                                   14

  Uncle Sam's Pittsburgh Arsenal                            201

  Un Petit Barbare Pou                                      167

  Verdi, Giuseppe                                           281

  Wagner, Wilhelm Richard                                   275

  Weber, Karl Maria Friedrich Ernst von                     295

  Wee Willie's First Hair Cut                                24

  When Will We Be Old Enough?                               129

  When Women Vote                                           170

  Whingwang Sonnet of an Easter Bonnet, A                    55

  Who Is Mother Goose                                       233

  Wilmington's Good Fairy                                   251

  Wilmington's Santa Claus                                  250

  Winds of March, The                                       155

  Winking Star, The                                          26

  Wise Replies                                              168

  Woes Caused by Whooping Bugs                               29

  Wonderland of Matematiko, The                              59

  Wondrous Growing Baby, A                                    7

  World's a Mirror, The                                     248

  Young Mail Carrier, The                                    95



  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," 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!"


  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!


  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.


  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."


  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."



  "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."


  "I don't believe the story, such diet it would kill
  A poor wee darling baby--at least, 'twould make it ill."


  "'Tis true, most little babies would have burst and died--
  But not so with this baby--'Ma Elephant's fond pride.'"


  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.


  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."



  "Now, Tommy, please answer, and tell me at once,
  Who is your father, you silly young dunce?"


  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."


  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!"


  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."


  "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
  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
  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.


  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.


  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.


  "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."


  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.


  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.


  "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."



  "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."


  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."


  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."


  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."


  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.


  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.


  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.


  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.


  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.


  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 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.


  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.


  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.


  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.


  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, As from that
time the guilty one must sneeze and sneeze and sneeze.

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, The more he brings each year to
us upon the mantel shelf.

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 Like thoughtless, greedy little pigs
or naughty selfish elves.

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 Before we start to feast
ourselves on Christmas sugar plums.


  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.


  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.


  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.


  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.


  "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."


  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


  "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.


  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.


  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.


  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.


  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 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.


  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.


[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.

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


  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.


  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."


  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.


  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.


  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.


  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."


  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.


  "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" 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.


  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."


  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."


  "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."


  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.


  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."


  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.


  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--


  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."


  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."


  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."


  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.


  "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 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."


  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."


  "But where, my precious little lad, my darling honey pet,
  Where in the name of goodness these letters did you get?"


  "I found them with no trouble; they were the ones that you
  Kept 'way up in your bureau drawer, all tied with ribbons blue."


  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.


  Most everyone answers, "Why, father and son."
  Not so--'twas a mammy and her little one.


  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.


  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 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.


  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

  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.


  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."


  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."


  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."


  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 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.


  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.


  "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."


  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."


  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.


  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.


  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.


  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.


  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."


  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."


  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.


  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.


  "Madeline," asked her mother, when home she came at noon,
  "How did you like your teacher, or can't you tell so soon?"


  "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."


  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."


(_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.


  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."


  "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.


  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."


  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."_


  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.


  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.


  "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!


  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.


  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.'"


  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 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.


  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.


  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.


  "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.'"


  "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."


  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.


  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!


[_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


  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."


  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!"


  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!"


[_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.


  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?"


  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!"


  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."


  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 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.


  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.


  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.


  '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.



  Répétez, s'il vous plaît,
  Les bonnes lettres a, b, c.


  Non, ces lettres je n'aime pas,
  Je crie seulement k-k-k.


  Répétez, s'il vous plaît,
  Les bonnes lettres, a, b, c.


  Non, non, non, je seulement dis
  La jolie lettre i-i-i.


  Répétez, s'il vous plaît,
  Les bonnes lettres, a, b, c.


  Non, non, non, je seulement dis
  La comique lettre j-j-j.


  Répétez, s'il vous plaît,
  Les bonnes lettres, a, b, c.


  Non, non, non, pour faire bons mots
  Je préfére la grande lettre O----


  Répétez, s'il vous plaît,
  Les bonnes lettres, a, b, c.


  Non, non, non, je seulement sais
  La douce bonne lettre t-t-t.


  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 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 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.


[_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.


  "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."


  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.


[_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_.


  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.


  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.


(_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!


  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!


[_Published in a suffrage booklet, "A Plea to Gallant Knights."_]


  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.


  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.


    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.

    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
  Oh, may these five good fairies
    Forever dwell with thee,
  And then you'll be as happy
    As any one can be."


[_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!


  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.


[_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."


  The ARTICLES are, oh, so wee,
  These little words are A, AN, THE.
  The nouns are names of anything
  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,
  While of manner ADVERBS tell
  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.


  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.



  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.

[Footnote B: _The Book of Knowledge._]

[Footnote C: _Natural Education._]


  "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.


[_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.


[_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.


  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.



  Would you be classed with lunatics,
  Or, even worse, with fierce convicts?
  Then work for equal franchise laws.


  Do you wish rights, oh, my good brothers,
  Denied your sisters, wives and mothers?
  Then give them equal franchise laws.


  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."


  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?


[_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.


  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.


  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!


  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.


  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.


[_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.


  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,
    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.


  "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.


  Sur la DE-O rivereto,
  Pitoreska en dometo,
  Loĝis bona muelisto
  Kiu estas fabrikisto
  De feliĉa vera ĝojo
  En la grandanima koro.

  Cxiutage li kantadis,
  Ke por ĉiam li rabados
  Bedaŭregojn de kun-homoj
  Kaj metos ĝojon en la domoj.


  Bleku, bleku, nigra ŝafo!
  Cxu 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.


  La maljuna virino,
  Patrino Anserino,
  Loĝis en domego
  En granda arbarego.
  Tie je pordego
  Estas la strigego,
  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.


  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!"


  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.


  Dolĉa Bo-Peepo estis knabineto
  Kiu kun lerta kaj sprita hundeto
  Cxiam gardadis pri belaj ŝafetoj,
  Kiujn ŝi nomis siaj amatoj.
  Sed unufoje perdinte la vojon
  Ili ekrompis de Bo-Peep' la koron.


  Foje estis juna homo,
  Kiu logis en la domo;
  Kiu havis pafileton
  Kaj rondan plumban kugleton.

  Li ekiris rivereton,
  Tie vidis anaseton;
  Gxin li pafis je l' kapeto,
  Donis ĝin al Joaneto,
  Ordonante, "Rostu vi
  L' anaseton nun por mi."


  "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."

  "Cxu 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,
  "Cxar tion neniam mi petis de vi."


  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.
  Sxi ne havas bonon sangon
  Cxar ŝi manĝas buterpanon,
  Kaj ne ŝatas bonajn vermojn,
  Muŝojn, cimojn kaj la herbojn.

  "Kaj se vi kun ŝi edziĝos
  Tre malĝoja vi fariĝos."


  Anserino, anserego,
  Unufoje en ĉambrego
  Estis viro, kaj al li
  "Preĝu, preĝu" diris mi.
  Sed li ne obeis min
  Kaj mi tuj elĵetis lin.


  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.


  Katino, katino, kien vi iris?
  Sciigon pri tio mi certe deziras.
  "Mi iris Londonon
  (Cxar 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."


  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.


  "Sole la grason donu al mi,"
  Jako Spratt petegis al ni,
  "Cxar mia edzino ne kuiros ĝin,
  Kvankam humile mi petas ŝin."


  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."


  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.


  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.


  Malbona estas MULTOBLIGADO,
  Gxi estas ĉagrenigo;
  Simile malbona
  Kaj PRAKTIKO faras min
  Frenezul' sen sentoj kvin.


  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.


  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'
  Cxar la koto plutis lin,
  Kiel diris saĝa virin'.


  Estu lerta, Jako mia,
  Kaj agema, knabo mia,
  Kandelingon ho transsaltu,
  Nun do! Nun do! Ne, ne haltu!


  Skuiru ĝojege malglatajn vojegojn,
  Transsaltu ĝojege la altajn montegojn,
  Cxar estas neniam lacega la koro
  En kiu ekzistas multe da ĝojo.
  La gajkoraj viroj estas karuloj,
  Sed malĝojaj viroj estas teduloj.


  Katido en la puto!
  Kiu enmetis ŝin?
  Malgrando Tomaso Green.

  Kiu eltiris ŝin?
  Bonvole sciigu nin.
  Tomaso "Trout" estis li;
  "Bona knabo" diris ni.


  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.


  Tomaso la filo de Kantosakisto,
  Ho certe le estis tre granda rabisto.
  Cxar 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.


  Tiu ĉi kanarieto
  Apartenas al Manjeto;
  Bona kiel eĉ knabeto,
  Kun la nomo "Birdeto,"
  Kaj li kantas dolĉan kanton
  Cxar li havas bonan sanon.
  Tial juna bela Manjo
  Amon havas por "Birdeto."


  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.


  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!"


  Pluvo, foriru de tie ĉi,
  Krias Johaneto nun de vi:
  Je Aprila tago, tiam al ni
  Venu, bona pluvo, tien ĉi.


  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.


  Jam de longe loĝis en ŝuego
  Tre maljuna grasa virinego,
  Kiu havis multajn infanetojn
  Dek knabinojn kaj knabetojn.
  Certe la geinfanetoj
  Estas ofte turmentetoj.

  Cxiunokte al la geinfana grupo
  Estis donata la senpana supo;
  Tiam forte batis ŝi la infanetojn
  Gxis kuris ili en siajn litetojn.


  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.


  Limako, ho limako mia,
  Elvenu do el truo via!
  Se vi ne obeis min
  Tiam mi ja batos vin.


  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.


  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.


  Maljuna Reĝo-KOL,
  De Reĝlando Gxojo,
  Animon gajan ja posedas,
  Almenaŭ tiel ni mem kredas.

  Pipo kaj pelvo da vin'
  Cxiam multe plaĉas lin,
  Ankaŭ la belaj sonoj
  De la tri violonoj--
  _Tui, diddel, diddel, di!_
  Dins la violonoj tri.


  _Didel, pudingeto_
  Iris en liton, ŝtrumpojn portante,
  Sur la piedoj unu ŝuon havante,
  _Didel, pudingeto_, mia filo Johan'.


  _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!


  Ho, barbiro, razu vi,
  Tiun porkon nun por mi,
  Cxar 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.


  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.


  Sinjorino Anserino,
  Ho vi estas papagino!
  Cxu 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.


  Tomaseto florojn kantis?
  Por akiri manĝon;
  Cxu li florojn plantis?
  Cxu li portis franĝon?

  Kion vere manĝos li?
  Tion ja demandas ni.
  Eble bonan buterpanon
  Ankaŭ dolĉgustan bananon.


  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.


  Jako Spratt' porketon havis,
  Grandegecon ĝi ne havis;
  Ne grasa estas ĝi
  Kaj Jako diris li
  "Mezampleksa porketo
  Vi estas ja grunteto!"


  "Taffy" estis Kimro kaj granda rabisto,
  Eble li deziris esti la buĉisto,
  Cxar 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.


  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.


  Vasmegaj krucaj bulketoj,
  Unu por nur du pencetoj,
  Donu ilin al la filoj,
  Se ne manĝos la filinoj.


  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!_"


  Humpto-Dumpto sur la muro sidis,
  Sed Humpto-Dumpto sendube ne vidis
  Ke la muro havis nenian forton
  Gxis 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.


  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!


  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'."


  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.


  Kun Margarito Daŭ
  Sur la balancilo,
  Mi sidas babilante,--
  Kiel bela veturilo!


  Patrino Anserino
  Sxi estas la diino
  De la geknabetoj
  Kaj la infanetoj


  Manjo kun la bela saf', bela saf', bela saf'
  Manjo kun la bela ŝaf' mi tre amas vin.

  Cxu vi amas, amas min? amas min? amas min?
  Cxu vi vere amas min, mia belulin'?


  _Hiketi, Piketi_, nigra kokino
  Ovojn demetis por la fraŭlino.
  Kaj ĉiutage la riĉa Sinjoro
  Volas aĉeti per multe da oro.


  Granda kaj malgranda A,
  Kaj saltanta Bo:
  El la ŝrank' mi volas ke
  Iru katino.


  Sxafidineton 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.


  La bela ĉapeleto
  De la knabineto
  Tre malsaĝa faris sin
  Cxar ŝi sole ŝatis ĝin.


  Unu, du, kun la tri, kvar, kvin,
  La kaptita fiŝo mordis min.
  Kaŭze de tio liberigis ĝin
  Mi pro tim' ke ĝi elmordos min.


  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.


  Dieser Hund ist ja so klein
  Er sollt virklich grosser sein
  Aber er sagt; "Nein! nein! nein!"


  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.


  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.


  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.


[_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.


  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,
  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,
  O for ONIONS that won't spoil,
  Q QUEEN OLIVES we adore,
  R for RELISH we cry more,
  T TOMATO SAUCE we shout!
  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.


  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.


  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.


  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?


[_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! 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.


  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.


  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.


  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.


  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.


  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,
  Is at her hand, great truths to tell.


  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.


  If you would learn to speak good French
    Without each awful rule
  That all the would-be Frencheys use
    When they attend French school,
    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.


  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


[_Best Friend of Mr. Thomas Shipp, Washington, D. C._]

  Not half so cute is any maid
  He puts us all deep in the shade,
  For though he boasts of years not four
  To canine heights he well can soar
  On wings he's found in Knowledge-Store,

  He always has a wagging tail,
  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


  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,
  Paves the way for sweet Peace Dove.

  Then, sweet bird, help me to bear
  Your good message everywhere,
  Begging friends to keep in mind


[_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.



  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.


  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.


[_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 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.


[_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.


[_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.



  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.


[_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.


[_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."


[_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.


[_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.


[_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."


[_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.


[_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.


[_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.


[_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.


[_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.



  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.


[_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.


[_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.


[_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.



  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."


[_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.


[_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.


  "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?


  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.


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