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FLYING KITES
A blustering windy day's just rightFor boys who want to fly a kite;And it affords the greatest joyTo make and use the pretty toy.But Aged Duffers, do not tryA large-sized paper kite to fly;You could not manage tail or string,And ten to one you'd spoil the thing.BOATS ON THE LAKE
A morning full of happiness any boy may findBy sailing boats upon the lake, if he is so inclined;The wind it drives them out to sea, he pulls them back, and thenThey jerk and struggle to be free – away they go again!They wibble-wobble as they sail, and sometimes they upset, —Of course he reaches out for them, – of course he gets quite wet.But Aged Grandsires, if you must sail boats in Central Park,Play properly, don't splash yourself, and run back home ere dark.AT CONEY ISLAND
See proud Belinda smartly dressedIn all her flaunting Sunday best;With muslin hat and ruffles bigShe cannot comfortably dig.Ask her if she would like to play, —She will not answer either way;She'll only shake herself, and then,Just pout and grin and pout again.Dear Grandams, meekly learn from this,How very ill-advised it isTo don a costume fine and grandWhen you go playing in the sand.Instead of your bespangled net,Or moire velvet edged with jet,Just wear a gingham, simply made,So you can tuck it up and wade.IN CENTRAL PARK
In Central Park, along the Mall,We see the gay goat-carriage crawl;With little boys and girls inside,Enjoying their exciting ride.Right willingly each nimble steedExerts his very utmost speed;And o'er the smooth hard road they raceAt something like a turtle's pace.But stout old men and portly dames,Pray, do not urge your rightful claims;And even though you have the price,Listen, I beg, to my advice.Do not insist on getting inThe little carriage for a spin;You'd not look picturesque at allCareering up and down the Mall.THE FIRST OF APRIL
'Tis taught by philosophic schoolsThe human race is mostly fools.And once a year you see this truthAbly set forth by jocund youth,Who broach the tenets of the creedPlainly that he who runs may read.But Aged Idiots, 'tis not meetFor you to run along the street,And with a manner bold and slyPin tags on ladies passing by,Or sit upon the curb and lookFor fools to snatch your pocket-book.PLEBEIAN
Lucinda's tastes are so depraved;She likes to play and rompWith children poor and ill-behaved,Who boast no style or pomp.Their costumes are not quite correct,They have no pretty tricks;Lucinda! pray be more select,In higher circles mix.PATRICIAN
Ah, sweet Lucinda, best of girls,How quick to take advice.Behold her with unpapered curls,And frock so rich and nice!Her haughty stare! Who would supposeThat dress would change her soOh, blessed influence of fine clothes,How much to thee we owe!QUARRELSOMENESS
Dear lady-readers of whatever age,Look backward and with me enjoy this page.What happy moments have we often spentThus to our frenzied anger giving vent.Ah, me, the long-lost joys of being young!To make up faces, and stick out one's tongue;How those occasions of Xantippish strifeGave zip and zest to our dull childish life.THE ETERNAL FEMININE
Ah, truly, as the tree is bent the tiny twig's inclined,And in the very littlest girls we seeThe contradictious tendencies of woman's wayward mindDeveloped to a marvellous degree.For each small daughter of her motherWill say one thing and do the other.For instance, when some little girls just hate to go to schoolAnd beg that they may stay at home and play;And then, permission given, these same children, as a rule,Delight in playing school the livelong day!Ah, no wonder poets featureWoman as a captious creature.WISTFULNESS
Baby and Sis and meStand by the fence and seePicnickers munchLots o' good lunch,Jes' givin' nothin' to we.Baby and Sis and me,Hungry as we can be,Haven't no rightTo be 'spectin' a bite, —But we're glad lookin' is free.KINDNESS TO ANIMALS
The Bison, though he seems so grim,Is very sensitive;And when the children stare at him,He wants to cease to live.He hears them wonder why he's there,And why he can't break through;And why he has such funny hair,And why he doesn't moo.At this, the suffering BuffaloCan scarce restrain to weep;Their caustic comments hurt him so, —They haunt him in his sleep.But, Grown-Up people, let me prayYou'll not behave like this;The Bison pet, – and, when you may,Give him a friendly kiss.A COLD DAY
In winter time when ice and sleetMake slidy places on the street,The children early leave their bedsAnd rush out with their skates and sleds.All merrily the little dearsThrow snowballs in each other's ears;And thus with pretty playful waysBeguile the white and wintry days.Oh, Venerable Veterans,I hate to disarrange your plans;But truly, if you try this gameYou will go home all stiff and lame.SKATES
A blithesome boy this picture shows;He has a true Mercurian pose,Like winged heels his roller-skatesSend him fast-flying past his mates.When one is young, 'tis very niceTo skate on rollers or on ice.But Ancient Gaffers, do not tryWith active boys like this to vie.For if you get a skate on, youAcquire a rolling gait, 'tis true.But soon this proverb you'll endorse, —A rolling gait gathers remorse.THE EXCURSION BOAT
Into the boat the breeze blows fair,It blows across the deck;It blows the little children's hair, —They get it in the neck.And in this picture you may seeThe happy girls and boys,So true to life, – but thankful beYou cannot hear the noise.The great steam-whistle's fearful squeaks.The band, ill-tuned and loud;The babies with their screams and shrieks,The bustle of the crowd.Grown People, you'd prefer, afloat,A private yacht, I'm sure;Then shun the gay excursion boatUnless you're very poor.EVOLUTIONARY FAME
These merry children, I'll be boundIn careless pleasure ride around;Unthinking as they onward go,What pedigree their horses show.But, Graybeard, you learned when a boyAbout the Wooden Horse of Troy;And you assume these steeds to beThe Trojan Sire's posterity.Well, there you're wrong! you have forgot.They're Flying Horses, are they not?And, scions of a noble name,From Pegasus descent they claim.But, Graybeards, curb your mad desiresTo mount upon these whizzing flyers.For there's the very strongest chanceYou'd go home in an ambulance.PIETY
With new, ill-fitting gloves,With frocks as white as snow,By two and two these little lovesTo First Communion go.I watch them as they pass, —Somehow, I shrewdly guessEach child thinks little of her massAnd much about her dress.But you, dear Aged Saint,Whose eyeballs upward roll,I trust you have no worldly taintUpon your gentle soul.WEALTH
Joe Munn who has a pennyHas friends and friends a-many;They hang around him eagerly and offer him advice.Tim Lanigan states clearlyThat he loves taffy dearlyAnd butterscotch is awful good and chocolates is nice.Jane said, but no one heard her,"An orange would go furder,"While Billy Barlow's heart beat high inside his chubby shape.It needs no divinationTo see the application, —Until your purse is empty from your friends you can't escape.THE SKIPPING-ROPE
This picture (as you can see, I hope)Shows a fat little maiden skipping rope.She can jump "highwater" and "pepper" too,But, fat old ladies, let me tell you,If you jump "highwater" you'll lose your breath,And to jump "pepper" might cause your death.MUSIC'S MIGHT
On the East Side any day,When the street pianos playYou can see the children dancing witha rhythmic whirl and sway.All untaught their native grace,Joy in every grinning face,To the music they are gaily keepingperfect time and pace.But, infirm and aged crones,Do not risk your ancient bones;Your old nerves would suffer sadlyjarred and jolted by the stones.A BALL GAME
There never was a place so badBut one redeeming trait it had.Now Harlem is no good at allSave as a place for playing ball.But there the boys will run and playTheir favorite game 'most every day.But, Reverend sir, 'twould foolish beTo play, with your rheumatic knee.And, Deacon, do not try, I beg,To play the game with your game leg.THE RIVAL QUEENS
Now wasn't this ridiculous?Essie and Mamie had a fuss,And each declared she wouldn't playUnless she could be Queen of May."You think you're smart!" Miss Essie said,And Mamie sneered and tossed her head.And each one angrily declaredThere'd be no queen for all she cared!Mamie was mad as she could be,And Essie pouted sulkily;With angry looks they onward stalked,While no one 'neath the May-bower walked.Oh! social Queens, this lesson learnIf for supremacy you yearn,And of your fitness there is doubt,See that your rival too's kept out.LITTLE MOTHERS
The Little Mothers of the poorThey lead a jolly life, I'm sure;For without being gray and old,They've all a mother's right to scold.As eagerly each day they meetTo pass the gossip of the street,Her baby-cart, each states with pride,Is finest on the whole East side.And each, her small charge will declareThe handsomest baby anywhere.Oh, Grown-up Mothers, learn to praiseYour children and their pretty ways.OTHER LITTLE MOTHERS
The Little Mothers of the richAre really works of art,They are dressed up to such a pitchIn frocks so fine and smart.They do not have to take the chargeOf baby boys or girls;No, they have dolls exceeding largeWith silky, flaxen curls.Ah, Mothers in Society,Accept this reasoning sound;Dolls far less troublesome would beThan children bothering round.FOURTH OF JULY
These boisterous boys, with bang and fizz,They make such noisy noise;But, then, perhaps the reason is,They are such boysy boys.The girls as well, – from early mornThey shoot and shoot and shoot;And on a trumpet or a hornThey toot and toot and toot.But you, whose locks are bleached by Time,(Or by the Chemist's aid),Heed my admonitory rhyme,Nor join the gay parade.THANKSGIVING-DAY
When Autumn brings around the dayDevoted to thanksgiving,The children scream with laughter gayFor very joy of living.And every sort of escapadeReceives their commendation;But all agree a masqueradeIs best for celebration.The boys and girls all swarm aroundThe crowd is hourly growing;Straw hatted and grotesquely gowned, —With tin horns loudly blowing.But dear old dames with snowy puffs,Tulle caps and Mechlin laces,Don't scramble out and join the toughsIn boys' clothes and false faces.ICE-CREAM
To Bob and Sue, who have ice-cream,Life is a glowing, halcyon dream,While Tom stands empty by;And says, "Gee! fellers, ain't it prime?Say, I had ice-cream too, one time,And it was great! Oh, my!"Ah, beaux and belles at rout or ball,Does ice-cream on your palate pall?Is it to you no treat?You never ate it from the can,Come, patronize the Ice-Cream Man,Come down to Mulberry Street!