Rough and unpolished was he, albeit
He constantly aimed to shine.

As proud as a king, on his box he sat,
Munching an apple red;

While the boys of his set looked wistfully on,
And "Give us a bite!" they said.

But the bootblack smiled a lordly smile;
"No free bites here!" he cried.
Then the boys they sadly walked away,
Save one who stood at his side.

"Bill, give us the core?" he whispered low.
That bootblack smiled once more,

And a mischievous dimple grew in his cheek: "There ain't goin' to be no core!"

THAT'S BABY.

One little row of ten little toes,
To go along with a brand-new nose,
Eight new fingers and two new thumbs,
That are just as good as sugar-plums-

That's baby.

One little pair of round new eyes,
Like a little owl's, so old and wise,
One little place they call a mouth,

Without one tooth from north to south

That's baby.

Two little cheeks to kiss all day,

Two little hands, so in his way,

A brand-new head, not very big,

That seems to need a brand-new wig—

That's baby.

Dear little row of ten little toes,

How much we love them nobody knows;

Ten little kisses on mouth and chin,

What a shame he wasn't a twin!

That's baby.

THE FIRST PAIR OF BREECHES.

449

WORDS OF WELCOME.

Kind friends and dear parents, we welcome you here
To our nice pleasant school-room, and teacher so dear;
We wish but to show how much we have learned,
And how to our lessons our hearts have been turned.

But hope you'll remember we all are quite young.
And when we have spoken, recited, and sung,
You will pardon our blunders, which, as all are aware,
May even extend to the President's chair.

Our life is a school-time, and till that shall end,
With our Father in heaven for teacher and friend,
Oh, let us perform well each task that is given,
Till our time of probation is ended in heaven.

THE FIRST PAIR OF BREECHES.

I've got a pair of breeches now,

And I'll have to be a man;

I know I can if just I try,

My mamma says I can!

I'm going to school now very soon,
And learn my A, B, C;

My mamma says I'm too young yet,
But I am 'way past three.

And I've got pockets in my pants,

To put my pencil in;

For mamma says that I must write
In school when I begin.

I'll soon be tall as papa-now
I'll grow as fast as I can,

And don't you think that very soon
I'll be a full-grown man?

WHEN MAMMA WAS A LITTLE GIRL.

When mamma was a little girl

(Or so they say to me)

She never used to romp and run,

Nor shout and scream with noisy fun,

Nor climb an apple tree.

She always kept her hair in curl,—
When mamma was a little girl.

When mamma was a little girl
(It seems to her, you see)

She never used to tumble down,
Nor break her doll, nor tear her gown,

Nor drink her papa's tea.

She learned to knit, "plain," "seam," and "purl,”—
When mamma was a little girl.

But grandma says-it must be true-
"How fast the seasons o'er us whirl!
Your mamma, dear, was just like you,
When she was grandma's little girl.”

THE WATERMILLION.

There were a watermillion
Growing on a vine,
And there were a pickaninny
A-watching it all the time.

And when that watermillion
Were a-ripening in the sun,
And the stripes along its jacket
Were coming one by one,

That pickaninny hooked it,
And toting it away,
He ate that entire million

Within a single day.

Said the first little chicken, with a queer little squirm, "I wish I could find a fat little worm."

Said the next little chicken, with an odd little shrug, "I wish I could find a fat little slug."

Said the third little chicken, with a sharp little squeal,

"I wish I could find some nice yellow meal."

Said the fourth little chicken, with a small sigh of grief,

"I wish I could find a little green leaf."

Said the fifth little chicken, with a faint little moan,

"I wish I could find a wee gravel stone."

451

"Now, see here," said the mother, from the green garden patch, "If you want any breakfast, just come here and scratch."

FUNNY, ISN'T IT?

The pipers are not made of pipes,
And cowards are not made of cows;
And lyres are not made of lies,

While bowers are not made of bows.
The wickets are not made of wicks,
And candles are not made of cans;
And tickets are not made of ticks,
While panels are not made of pans.
The cattle are not made of cats,

While willows are not made of wills;
And battles are not made of bats,
And pilgrims not made of grim pills.
The cornets are not made of corns,
A hotel is not made of a hoe;
And hornets are not made of horns,
While all poets cannot be Poe.

452

BABY HAS GONE TO SCHOOL.

AMONG THE ANIMALS.

One rainy morning, just for a lark,

I jumped and stamped on my new Noah's ark:
I crushed an elephant, smashed a gnu,
And snapped a camel clean in two;

I finished the wolf without half tryin',
The wild hyena and roaring lion;

I knocked down Ham, and Japheth, too,
And cracked the legs of the kangaroo.

I finished, besides, two pigs and a donkey,
A polar bear, opossum, and monkey;
Also the lions, tigers, and cats,
And dromedaries and tiny rats.

There wasn't a thing that didn't feel,
Sooner or later, the weight o' my heel;

I felt as grand, as grand could be,

But oh, the whipping my mammy gave me!

A LITTLE BOY'S LECTURE.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: Nearly four hundred years ago the mighty mind of Columbus, traversing unknown seas, clasped this new continent in its embrace.

A few centuries later arose one here who now lives in all our hearts as the Father of his Country. An able warrior, a sagacious statesman, a noble gentleman. Yes, Christopher Columbus was great. George Washington was great. But here, my friends, in this glorious nineteenth century is—a grater! (Exhibiting a large, bright tin grater. The large kind used for horse-radish could be most easily distinguished by the audience.)

BABY HAS GONE TO SCHOOL.

The baby has gone to school; ah, me!
What will the mother do?

With never a call to button or pin,
Or tie a little shoe?