A Modern Invention
Old Santa Claus is up-to-date,And hereafter, rumors say,He’ll come with his pack of glittering toys,And visit the homes of girls and boys,In a new reindeerless sleigh.An April Joke
Oh, it was a merry, gladsome day,When the April Fool met the Queen of May;She had roguish eyes and golden hair,And they were a mischief-making pair.They planned the funniest kind of a jokeOn the poor, long-suffering mortal folk;And a few mysterious words he said,His fool’s cap close to her flower-crowned head.Then he laughed till he made his cap-bells ring,At the thought of the topsy-turvy Spring.“’Tis a fair exchange,” he said, with a wink—“It is!” she said, and what do you think?The flowers that should bloom in the month of MayEvery one of them came on an April day!And they looked for April showers in vain,But all through May it did nothing but rain!An Alice Alphabet
A is for Alice a-dressing the Queen.B is for Borogoves, mimsy and lean.C is the Cheshire Cat, wearing a grin.D is the Duchess who had a sharp chin.E is the Eaglet who barred out long words.F, the Flamingo, the queerest of birds.G is the Gryphon, loquacious and gay.H, Humpty Dumpty in gorgeous array.I is for Insects with curious names.J is the Jabberwock burbling with flames.K is the King who was whizzed through the air.L is the Lobster who sugared his hair.M, the Mock Turtle, whose tears freely flowed.N is for Nobody seen on the road.O is for Oysters who trotted so quick.P is the Puppy who played with a stick.Q is the Queen who ran very fast.R is the Rabbit who blew a great blast.S is the Sheep, on her knitting intent.T, Tweedledum, with his noisy lament.U is the Unicorn, valiant in feud.V is the Violet, saucy and rude.W, the Walrus, addicted to chat.X, Executioner, seeking the cat.Y is the Youth Father William surveyed.Z is the Zigzag the mouse’s tail made.The Funny Kittens
Once there were some silly kittens,And they knitted woolly mittensTo bestow upon the freezing Hottentots.But the Hottentots refused them,Saying that they never used themUnless crocheted of red with yellow spots.So the silly little kittensTook their blue and white striped mittensTo a Bear who lived within a hollow tree;The Bear responded sadly,“I would wear your mittens gladly,But I fear they are too gay for such as me.”Then the kittens, almost weeping,Came to where a Cow lay sleeping,And they woke her with this piteous request,“Won’t you wear our mittens furry?”Said the Cow, “My dears, don’t worry;I will put them on as soon as I am dressed.”Then the Cow put on her bonnetWith a wreath of roses on it,And a beautiful mantilla fringed with white;And she donned the pretty mittens,While the silly little kittensClapped their paws in admiration at the sight.The Strike of the Fireworks
’Twas the night before the Fourth of July, the people slept serene;The fireworks were stored in the old town hall that stood on the village green.The steeple clock tolled the midnight hour, and at its final stroke,The fire in the queer old-fashioned stove lifted its voice and spoke;“The earth and air have naught to do, the water, too, may play,And only fire is made to work on Independence Day.“I won’t stand such injustice! It’s wrong, beyond a doubt,And I shall take my holiday. Good-by, I’m going out!”Up spoke a Roman candle then, “The principle is right!Suppose we strike, and all agree we will not work to-night!”“My stars!” said a small sky-rocket. “What an awful time there’ll be,When the whole town comes together to-night, the great display to see!”“Let them come,” said a saucy pinwheel, “yes, let them come if they like,As a delegate I’ll announce to them that the fireworks are going to strike!”“My friends,” said a small cap-pistol, “this movement is all wrong,—Gunpowder, noise, and fireworks to Fourth of July belong.My great ancestral musket made Independence Day,I frown on your whole conspiracy, and you are wrong, I say!”And so they talked and they argued, some for and some against,—And they progressed no further than they were when they commenced.Until in a burst of eloquence a queer little piece of punkArose in his place and said, “I think we ought to show some spunk.And I for one have decided, although I am no shirk,That to-day is a legal holiday and not even fire should work.“And I am of some importance,”—here he gave a pretentious cough,“For without my assistance none of you could very well be put off.”“You are right,” said the Roman candle, “and I think we are all agreedTo strike for our rights and our liberty. Hurrah! we shall succeed!”The dissenters cried with one accord, “Our objections we withdraw.Hurrah, hurrah for the fireworks’ strike!” and they cried again, “Hurrah!”Then a match piped up with a tiny voice, “Your splendid scheme I like.I agree with all your principles and so I, too, will strike!”Suiting the action to the word, the silly little dunceClambered down from his matchsafe and excitedly struck at once.He lost his head, and he ran around among the fireworks dry,And he cried, “Hurrah for the fireworks’ strike! Hurrah for the Fourth of July!”With his waving flame he lit the punk—a firecracker caught a spark,—Then rockets and wheels and bombs went off—no longer the place was dark!The explosions made a fearful noise, the flames leaped high and higher,The village folk awoke and cried, “The town hall is on fire!”So the strike of the fireworks ended in a wonderful displayOf pyrotechnic grandeur on Independence Day!The Arch Armadillo
There once was an arch ArmadilloWho built him a hut ’neath a willow;He hadn’t a bedSo he rested his headOn a young Porcupine for a pillow.A Dream Lesson
Once there was a little boy who wouldn’t go to bed,When they hinted at the subject he would only shake his head,When they asked him his intentions, he informed them pretty straightThat he wouldn’t go to bed at all, and Nursey needn’t wait.As their arguments grew stronger, and their attitude more strict,I grieve to say that naughty boy just yelled and screamed and kicked.And he made up awful faces, and he told them up and downThat he wouldn’t go to bed for all the nurses in the town.Then Nursey lost her patience, and although it wasn’t right,Retorted that for all she cared he might sit up all night.He approved of this arrangement, and he danced a jig for joy,And turned a somersault with glee; he was a naughty boy.And so they all went off to bed and left him sitting there,Right in the corner by the fire in Grandpa’s big armchair.He read his books and played his games,—he even sang a songAnd thought how lovely it would be to sit up all night long.But soon his games grew stupid, and his puzzleswouldn’t work;He drew himself up stiffly with a sudden little jerk,And he said, “I am not sleepy, and I love toplay alone—And—I—think—” the rest was mumbled ina drowsy monotone.He leaned back on the cushions like that nighthe had the croup;His head began to wobble and his eyes beganto droop;He closed them for a minute, just to see howit would seem,And straightway he was sound asleep, and dreamed this awful dream!He thought he saw a garden filled with flowers and roses gay,A great big gardener with a hoe came walking down his way;“Ah, ha!” exclaimed the gardener, as he clutched him by the head,“Here’s a fine specimen I’ve found; I’ll plant him in this bed!”He held the boy in one big hand, unheeding how he cried,And with the other dug a hole enormous, deep, and wide.He jammed the little fellow in, and said in gruffest tone,“This is the bed for naughty boys who won’t go to their own.”And then the dirt was shovelled in,—it covered up his toes,His ankles, knees, and waist and arms, and higher yet it rose.For still the gardener shovelled on, not noticing his cries;It came up to his chin and mouth—it almost reached his eyes;Just then he gathered all his strength and gave an awful scream,And woke himself, and put an end to that terrific dream.And he said, as Nursey tucked him up and bade him snugly rest,“When I am planted in a bed, I like my own the best.”The Rivals
Two well-built men, neither giant nor dwarf,Were Monsieur Elims and Mynheer Nworf.They lived in a town not far away,And spent their time in work and play.Now Monsieur Elims was loved by all—By rich and poor, by great and small.And Mynheer Nworf remarked one day,“Brother, explain to me, I pray,Why no one likes me as well as you,No matter what I may say or do.I have stores of knowledge packed in my head;I am learned and wise and very well read;I can dance, I can sing, I’m extremely polite;I am worth a large fortune all in my own right.But still,—and this question has caused me much thought,—While I am neglected, you’re everywhere sought.”Monsieur Elims replied: “My dear sir, that is true,But you see, I am I, and you see, you are you.If I receive praises and you receive blame,’Tis doubtless because each lives up to his name.”You’ll find his defence rather puzzling, I fear;But read their names backward—the meaning is clear.The New Cup
“I’ve a lovely new cup from Uncle John,”Said Dorothy; “only see—It has beautiful golden letters on,And they spell ‘Remember Me.’”“Oho!” laughed Fred. “Why, Dorothy dear,They put that on mugs and plates:I’ve studied jography ’most a year,And I know the names of the States.And when you see that anywhere,—At least, since this fuss with Spain,—It’s the President who puts it there,And it means ‘Remember the Maine’!”A Photographic Failure
Mr. Hezekiah HinkleSaw a patient PeriwinkleWith a kodak, sitting idly by a rill.Feeling a desire awakenFor to have his picture taken,Mr. Hezekiah Hinkle stood stock-still.Mr. Hezekiah HinkleFelt his brow begin to wrinkle,And his pose assume a sad and solemn style;But the Periwinkle trusted,As the focus he adjusted,That his customer would kindly try to smile.Mr. Hezekiah HinkleFelt his eyes begin to twinkle,And his mouth took on a broad and open grin;Said the Periwinkle, sadly,“If you stretch your jaw so madly,I fear perhaps that I shall tumble in.”Mr. Hezekiah HinkleFelt his hair begin to crinkle,As it rose up on his forehead in affright;Though his comrade spoke so mildly,Mr. Hinkle wondered wildly,How he could escape this dire and awful plight.Mr. Hezekiah HinkleSaid, “I fear it’s going to sprinkle,And really for a storm I’m not prepared.”Then without a further warningHe politely said, “Good morning,”And the patient Periwinkle stood and stared.Christmas Gifts
Ten Christmas presents standing in a line;Robert took the bicycle, then there were nine.Nine Christmas presents ranged in order straight;Bob took the steam engine, then there were eight.Eight Christmas presents—and one came from Devon;Robbie took the jackknife, then there were seven.Seven Christmas presents direct from St. Nick’s;Bobby took the candy box, then there were six.Six Christmas presents, one of them alive;Rob took the puppy dog, then there were five.Five Christmas presents yet on the floor;Bobbin took the soldier cap, then there were four.Four Christmas presents underneath the tree;Bobbet took the writing desk, then there were three.Three Christmas presents still in full view;Robin took the checker board, then there were two.Two Christmas presents, promising fun,Bobbles took the picture book, then there was one.One Christmas present—and now the list is done;Bobbinet took the sled, and then there were none.And the same happy child received every toy,So many nicknames had one little boy.Young America
Wee Willie sat a-thinking,And he shook his curly head.Around him on the nursery floorHis treasures lay outspread.Firecrackers and torpedoes,Trumpet and flag and drum,Rockets and pinwheels and paper caps,For Fourth of July had come.“But it makes me sort o’ sorry,”Wee Willie said with a sigh,“To think of those poor little English boysWithout any Fourth of July.”A Bicycle built for Two
There was an ambitious young eelWho determined to ride on a wheel;But try as he might,He couldn’t ride right,In spite of his ardor and zeal.If he sat on the saddle to rideHis tail only pedalled one side;And I’m sure you’ll admitThat an eel couldn’t sitOn a bicycle saddle astride.Or if he hung over the top,He could go, but he never could stop;For of course it is clearHe had no way to steer,And under the wheel he would flop.His neighbor, observing the fun,Said, “I think that the thing can be done,If you’ll listen to me,You’ll quickly agreeThat two heads are better than one.“And this is my project, old chap,Around our two waists I will wrapThis beautiful beltOf bottle-green feltAnd fasten it firm with a strap.”This done, with a dignified mienThe two squirmed up on the machine,And rode gayly away,Or at least, so they say,Who witnessed the wonderful scene.Dorothy’s Opinion
Mamma has bought a calendar,And every single pageHas pictures on of little girls’Most just about my age.And when she bought it yesterday,Down at the big bazaar,She said, “What lovely little girls,How true to life they are.”But I don’t think they’re true to life,And I’ll just tell you why;They never have a rumpled frockOr ribbon bow awry.And though they play with cats and dogs,And rabbits and white mice,And sail their boats and fly their kites,They always look so nice.And I am sure no little girlThat ever I have seen,Could play with dogs or sail a boatAnd keep her frock so clean.The Roll of Roly Poly Roy
Once on a time a lad I knew—His sister called him Bubby;His cheeks were red, his eyes were blue,And he was plump and chubby.Indeed, he was so stout a boy,Some called him Roly Poly Roy;They called him thatFor he was fatAnd very plump and chubby.He caused his father grief profound,And made his mother worry,Because he’d roll along the groundWhen he was in a hurry.For as he couldn’t see his toes,He often tumbled on his nose;So, on the whole,’Twas best to rollWhen he was in a hurry.“Get up!” the people urged, but heReplied, “There’s no use talking;I roll around because, you see,It’s easier than walking.”And though it looked extremely drollTo see the lad lie down and roll,It was, forsooth,For that fat youthFar easier than walking.One day he thought he’d try to ride;Alas, he was so bulky,He tumbled off the other side,Which made him rather sulky.He heard his comrades jeer and scoff,Again he tried and tumbled off,And when he fellThey’d shout and yell—Of course it made him sulky.Just out of town there was a placeWith rolling ground and hilly,And here Roy started for a raceWith Dick and Tom and Willy.You’ll know of course before you’re toldThat Roy just laid him down and rolled;And so, you see,He easilyBeat Dick and Tom and Willy.That day two giants came alongFrom Huncamunca Valley,Seeking some tenpins good and strongFor their new bowling alley.They reached the hilly sort of placeJust as our hero won the race;“Look at him roll!”They said. “He’ll bowlOn our new bowling alley.“The other boys are squarely built;For tenpins they’ll do finely!No matter if a few get kilt,”And then they smiled benignly.Quickly they kidnapped ten small boys,All howling with a fearful noise;They took them all,And Roy for ball,And then they smiled benignly.They hurried to their home and thenBegan their barbarous bowling.They set in rows the children tenAnd then set Roy a-rolling.But as the giants were strong and great,They shot poor Roy at such a rate,And with such might,That out of sightPoor Roy was set a-rolling.He rolled and rolled and rolled and rolled,But soon, his fears dispelling,With happiness he did beholdHe’d safely reached his dwelling.Secure and safe from further harms,His mother caught him in her arms,And said with joy,“My darling boy,You’ve safely reached your dwelling.”Now rolling seems to him to beMore dangerous than walking.And Roly Poly Roy you’ll seeAlong the sidewalks stalking.He’ll always have a certain fearThat giants may be lurking near,And so he’ll goWith motion slowAlong the sidewalk stalking.My Barometer
My little maid with golden hairComes each morning for a kiss;And I know the day will be fine and fairWhen Polly looks like this.Or I know the clouds will frown and lower,The skies will be dull and gray,And perhaps there’ll be a passing shower,When Polly looks this way.But a violent storm of rain or snowI can prognosticate,For the sign will never fail, I know,When this is Polly’s pate.The Butter Betty Bought
Betty Botta bought some butter;“But,” said she, “this butter’s bitter!If I put it in my batterIt will make my batter bitter.But a bit o’ better butterWill but make my batter better.”Then she bought a bit o’ butterBetter than the bitter butter,Made her bitter batter better.So ’twas better Betty BottaBought a bit o’ better butter.A Marvel
An old astronomer there wasWho lived up in a tower,Named Ptolemy CopernicusFlammarion McGower.He said: “I can prognosticateWith estimates correct;And when the skies I contemplate,I know what to expect.When dark’ning clouds obscure my sight,I think perhaps ’twill rain;And when the stars are shining bright,I know ’tis clear again.”And then abstractedly he scannedThe heavens, hour by hour,Old Ptolemy CopernicusFlammarion McGower.An Alphabet Zoo
A was an apt Alligator,Who wanted to be a head-waiter;He said, “I opineIn that field I could shine,Because I am such a good skater.”B was a beggarly Bear,Who carefully curled his front hair;He said, “I would buyA red-spotted tie,—But I haven’t a penny to spare.”C was a cool Chimpanzee,Who went to an afternoon tea.When they said, “Will you takeA caraway cake?”He greedily took twenty-three!D was a diligent Doe,In summer she shovelled the snow;In the spring and the fallShe did nothing at all,And in winter the grass she would mow.E was an erudite Ermine,Who tried very hard to determineIf he should earn a cent,How it ought to be spent,And decided to purchase a sermon.F was a fussy Flamingo,Who remarked to his family, “By jingo!I think I would goTo that animal show,But they all talk such barbarous lingo.”G was a giddy Gazelle,Who never could learn how to spell;But she managed to passTo the head of her class,Because she did fractions so well.H was a haughty young Hawk,Who affected society talk;But when introducedAt a large chicken roostHe excitedly screamed out, “Oh, Lawk!”I was an idle Iguana,Who lived upon curried banana;With tears he’d protestThat he never could restTill he learned to sing “Eileen Alanna.”J was a jimp Jaguar,Who purchased a Spanish guitar;He played popular airsAt fêtes and at fairs,And down at the Fancy Bazaar.K was a kind Kangaroo,Whose bonnet was always askew;So they asked her to waitWhile they put it on straightAnd fastened it firmly with glue.L was a lachrymose Leopard,Who ate up twelve sheep and a shepherd,But the real reason whyHe continued to cryWas his food was so lavishly peppered.M was a mischievous Marten,Who went to the Free Kindergarten;When they asked him to platA gay-colored mat,He tackled the job like a Spartan.N was a naughty Nylghau,Who wandered too near a buzz saw.It cut off his toes,And the shrieks that aroseFilled all of the neighbors with awe.O was an ossified Oyster,Who decided to enter a cloister.He could not return,So continued to yearnFor his home in the sea, which was moister.P was a poor old Poll Parrot,Who had nothing to eat but a carrot,And nothing to wearBut a wig of red hair,And nowhere to live but a garret.Q was a querulous QuabWho at every trifle would sob;He said, “I detestTo wear a plaid vest,And I hate to eat corn from the cob!”R was a rollicking Ram,Attired in an old pillow sham.When asked if he’d callAt the masquerade ball,He said, “I’ll go just as I am.”S was a shy Salamander,Who slept on a sunny veranda.She calmly reposed,But, alas! while she dozedThey caught her and killed her and canned her.T was a tidy young Tapir,Who went out to bring in the paper;And when he came backHe made no muddy track,For he wiped his feet clean on the scraper.U was a young Unicorn,The bravest that ever was born.They bought him a boatAnd they set him afloat,And straightway he sailed for Cape Horn.V was a vigorous Vulture,Who taught animals physical culture;When a pupil dropped dead,The kind teacher said,“You needn’t consider sepulture.”W was a wild Worm,All day he did nothing but squirm.They sent him to school,But he broke every rule,And left at the end of the term.X was a Xiphias brave,Who lived on the crest of the wave.To each fish he would say,“Good day, sir, good day!”And then a polite bow he gave.Y was a young Yellowhammer,Who raised a ridiculous clamor;And he chattered untilAn owl said, “Keep still!I’m trying to study my grammar.”Z was a zealous old Zibet,Toboggans he tried to prohibit.If any one triedTo take a sly slide,He ordered him hanged on a gibbet.
