Chapter 13

Ever remember in thy youth, That he who firmly tries To conquer an to rule himself, Is noble, brave and wise.

Eliza Cook

The Little Girl That Beat Her Sister

Go, go, my naughty girl, and kiss Your little sister dear; I must not have such things as this, Nor noisy quarrels here.

What! little children scold and fight, That ought to be so mild: Oh! Mary, 'tis a shocking sight To see an angry child.

I can't imagine, for my part, The reason of your folly, As if she did you any hurt By playing with your dolly.

See, see the little tears that run So quickly from her eye: Come, my sweet innocent, have done, 'Twill do no good to cry.

Go, Mary, wipe her tears away And make it up with kisses: And never turn a pretty play To such a pet as this is.

Home Peace

"Whatever brawls disturb the street There should be peace at home; Where sisters dwell and brothers meet Quarrels should never come."

Dr. Watts

Little Dick Snappy

Little Dick Snappy Was always unhappy Because he did nothing but fret; And when he once cried, 'Twas in vain that you tried To make him his troubles forget.

His mother once brought him A drum, which she bought him Hard by at a neighbouring fair, And gave such another To Edward his brother, And left them their pleasures to share.

Little Edward began, Like a nice little man, To play with his little new drum; But Dick, with a pout, Only turned his about In his hands, and looked sulky and glum.

"What's the matter, dear Dick? You look sad; are you sick? Come, march like a soldier with me: The enemy comes Let us beat on our drums, And mamma will out merriment see."

"No! I don't like my new toy," Said my ill-humoured boy, "And yours is the best and most new; If you'll give me yours, Then I'll go out of doors; But if not, I'll kick mine in two."

"Oh no! brother, no-- Pray do not say so Of a trifle, in anger and haste; Though they are equally new, Yet my drum I'll give you, But I've tied it in knots round my waist."

Then quarrelsome Dick Gave his brother a kick; But he did not give him another, But, saying no more, Edward walked to the door, Only giving one look at his brother.

Then, bursting with spite, With his utmost of might Master Dick trod his drum on the floor; The parchment did crack, When lo; Edward comes back, And his drum in his hands then he bore.

"The string is untied, Dearest brother," he cried-- "So now I with pleasure will change;" But when Dick's drum he found Lying broke on the ground, Oh! how did his countenance change.

"I'm really ashamed," Dick, sobbing, exclaimed, "At the difference between you and me; But continue my friend, And I'll try to amend, And a good-tempered fellow to be."

Which Shall It Be, Dear?

If fretting pays you, fret; And get into a pet, And slam and bang The doors with a whang, And flame and flare, And say "Don't care." And slip round sly, And make the baby cry, And thus get sent to bed, to sob it out.

But if it does not pay Why then, my dear, do pray Just do the other thing, And toot and sing, And whistle like a bird. Letting your voice be heard, From morn till night, In echoes bright, Sending the best of cheer into the home.

[Page 61--Naughtiness Land]

Govern Your Temper

Oh, Govern your temper! For music, the sweetest, Was never so sweet-- Nor one-half so divine, As a heart kept in tune, Which, the moment thou greetest, Breathes harmony dearer Than notes can combine!

Never say it is nature. And may not be cured; One tithe of the time, Which to music we yield Would render the conquest Of temper insured, And bring us more music Than a song e'er revealed.

Oh, govern your temper! For roses, the fairest, Were never so fair, Nor so rich in perfume, As the flowers, which e'en thou, Chilly winter sparest-- The flowers of the heart, Which unchangingly bloom!

Never think it is nature-- For oh! if it be, The sooner the spirit Of nature is shown That the spirit of heaven Is higher than she, The sooner, the longer, Will love be our own.

Where Do You Live

I knew a man, and his name was Horner, He used to live at Grumble Corner,-- Grumble Corner, in Cross Patch Town,-- And he never was seen without a frown. He grumbled at this, he grumbled at that; He growled at the dog, he growled at the cat; He grumbled at morning, he grumbled at night, And to grumble and growl was his chief delight.

He grumbled so much at his wife, that she Began to grumble as well as he; And all the children wherever they went Reflected their parents' discontent. If the sky was dark and betokened rain, Then Mr. Horner was sure to complain; And if there was never a cloud about, He'd grumble because of threatened drought.

One day, as I loitered along the street, My old acquaintance I chanced to meet. Whose face was without the look of care And the ugly frown it used to wear. "I may be mistaken, perhaps," I said. As, after saluting, I turned my head; "But it is, and it isn't, the Mr. Horner Who lived so long at Grumble Corner."

I met him next day, and I met him again, In melting weather, in pouring rain; When stocks were up and when stocks were down; But a smile, somehow, had replac'd the frown. It puzzled me much, and so, one day, I seized his hand in a friendly way, And said "Mr. Horner, I'd like to know What can have happened to change you so."

He laughed a laugh that was good to hear, For it told of a conscience calm and clear, And he said, with none of the old-time drawl, "Why, I've changed my residence, that is all." "Changed your residence?" "Yes," said Horner, "It wasn't healthy at Grumble Corner, And so I've moved: 'twas a change complete; And you'll find me now at Thanksgiving Street."

And every day, as I move along The streets, so filled with busy throng, I watch each face, and can always tell Where men, and women, and children dwell. And many a discontented mourner Is spending his days at Grumble Corner, Sour and sad, whom I long to entreat To take a house in Thanksgiving Street.

Temper

Bad temper, go, You shall never stay with me; Bad temper, go, You and I shall never agree.

For I will always be kind, and mild, And gentle pray to be, And do to others as I wish That they should do to me.

Temper bad With me shall never stay; Temper bad Can never be happy and gay.

[Page 62--Pride Land]

A Fine Lady

Did ever you see such wondrous airs! Oh, oh! my Lady Jane! Your airs will blow you quite away, You'll go to Vanity-land to stay, And ne'er come back again.

Pray, what's the price of your hat my dear? And what'll you take for your gloves? And how'll you sell each pink kid shoe? And your wonderful dressed-up poodle, too? You're a precious pair of loves.

You're all too fine for us, you know, With your airs and stately tread, From your pretty feet to your pretty dress, And up to your ruffled neck, oh, yes, And on to your feathered head.

So go your way, my Lady Jane, Till you come from Vanity-land again.

To A Little Girl Who Liked To Look In The Glass

Why is my silly girl so vain, Looking in the glass again? For the meekest flower of spring Is a gayer little thing.

Is your merry eye so blue As the violet, wet with dew? Yet it loves the best to hide By the hedge's shady side.

Is your bosom half so fair As the modest lilies are? Yet their little bells are hung Bright and shady leaves among.

When your cheek the brightest glows, Is it redder than the rose? But its sweetest buds are seen Almost hid with moss and green.

Little flowers that open gay, Peeping forth at break of day, In the garden, hedge, or plain, Have more reason to be vain.

The Ragged Girl's Sunday

"Oh, dear Mamma, that little girl Forgets this is the day When children should be clean and neat, And read and learn and pray!

Her face is dirty and her frock, Holes in her stockings, see; Her hair is such a fright, oh, dear! How wicked she must be!

She's playing in the kennel dirt With ragged girls and boys; But I would not on Sunday touch My clean and pretty toys.

I go to church, and sit so still, I in the garden walk, Or take my stool beside the fire, And hear nice Sunday talk.

I read my bible, learn my hymns, My catechism say; That wicked little girl does not-- She only cares to play."

"Ah! hush that boasting tone, my love, Repress self-glorying pride; You can do nothing of yourself-- Friends all your actions guide."

Criminal Pride

Hark the rustle of a dress Stiff with lavish costliness! Here comes on whose cheek would flush But to have her garment brush 'Gainst the girl whose fingers thin Wove the weary 'broidery in, Bending backward from her toil, Lest her tears the silk might soil, And in midnight's chill and murk, Stitched her life into the work. Little doth the wearer heed Of the heart-break in the brede; A hyena by her side Skulks, down-looking--it is Pride.

J. R. Lowell

Foolish Fanny

Oh! Fanny was so vain a lass, If she came near a looking-glass, She'd stop right there for many a minute To see how pretty she looked in it.

She'd stand and prink, and fix her hair Around her forehead with great care; And take some time to tie a bow That must, to please her, lie just so.

Her mother's bonnet she'd put on, And all her richest dresses don, And up and down the room parade, And much enjoy her promenade.

She always liked to wear the best She had, and being so much dress'd Could not enjoy the romps with those Who wore much less expensive clothes.

Each day she grew so fond of dress It gave her great unhappiness If every day, and all the while, She wasn't in the latest style.

If asked to turn the jumping-rope Her pretty parasol she'd ope, Lest she should freckle in the sun: And that was her idea of fun!

She didn't dare to take the cat Or poodle-dog from off the mat, Lest they should catch their little toes In laces, frills, or furbelows.

The very things that gave her joy, Her peace and comfort would destroy, For oft an ugly nail would tear The costly dress she chose to wear.

The foolish girl turned up her nose At those who dressed in plainer clothes, And lived in quiet style, for she With wealthy people chose to be

She never was the least inclined With knowledge to enrich her mind; And all the mental food she ate Was served upon a fashion-plate.

As this was so, you'll see at once That Fan grew up a silly dunce: An there was nothing to admire About her, but her fine attire.

[Page 63--Pride Land]

Pride

Come, come, Mr. Peacock, You must not be so proud, Although you can boast such a train, For there's many a bird Far more highly endowed, And not half so conceited and vain.

Let me tell you, gay bird, That a suit of fine clothes Is a sorry distinction at most, And seldom much valued Excepting by those Who only such graces can boast.

The nightingale certainly Wears a plain coat, But she cheers and delights with her song; While you, though so vain, Cannot utter a note To please by the use of your tongue.

The hawk cannot boast Of a plumage so gay, But more piercing and clear is her eye; And while you are strutting About all the day, She gallantly soars in the sky.

The dove may be clad In a plainer attire, But she is not so selfish and cold; And her love and affection More pleasure inspire Than all your fine purple and gold.

So, you see, Mr. Peacock, You must not be proud, Although you can boast such a train, For many a bird Is more highly endowed, And not half so conceited and vain.

Sinful Pride

How proud we are, how fond to shew Our clothes, and call them rich and new, When the poor sheep and silkworm wore That very clothing long before!

The tulip and butterfly Appear in gayer coats than I; Let me be dress'd as fine as I will, Flies, worms, and flowers exceed me.

Dr. Watts

Finery

In a frock richly trimm'd With a beautiful lace, And hair nicely dress'd Hanging over her face, Thus deck'd, Harriet went To the house of a friend, With a large little party The ev'ning to spend.

"Ah! how they will all Be delighted, I guess, And stare with surprise At my elegant dress!" Thus said the vain girl, And her little heart beat, Impatient the happy Young party to meet.

But, alas! they were all To intent on their fun, To observe the gay clothes This fine lady had on; And thus all her trouble Quite lost its design, For they saw she was proud, But forgot she was fine.

'Twas Lucy, tho' only In simple white clad, (Nor trimmings, nor laces, Nor jewels she had,) Whose cheerful good nature Delighted them more, Than all the fine garments That Harriet wore.

'Tis better to have A sweet smile on one's face, Than to wear a rich frock With an elegant lace, For the good-natur'd girl Is lov'd best in the main, If her dress is but decent, Tho' ever so plain.

T I

A Fop

A little cane, A high-crowned hat, A fixed impression, Rather flat.

A pointed shoe, A scanty coat, A stand-up collar Round his throat

A gorgeous necktie Spreading wide, A small moustache-- Nine on a side.

Arms at right angles, Curved with ease, A stilted walk And shaky knees.

A languid drawl, The "English" swing, An air of knowing Everything.

A vacant stare, Extremely rude, And there you have The perfect dude.

Pride

Hark the rustle of a dress Stiff with lavish costliness! Here comes on whose cheek would flush But to have her garment brush 'Gainst the girl whose fingers thin Wove the weary 'broidery in, Bending backward from her toil, Lest her tears the silk might soil, And in midnight's chill and murk, Stitched her life into the work. Shaping from her bitter thought, Heart's-ease and forget-me-not, Satirizing her despair With the emblems woven there, Little doth the wearer heed Of the heart-break in the blede; A hyena by her side Skulks, down-looking--it is Pride.

J. R. Lowell

Vain Lizzie

It surely is not good to see, Lizzie so full of vanity, So fond of dress and show. For when a fine new frock she wears, She gives herself most silly airs, Wherever she may go.

She thinks herself a charming girl; But when folks see her twist and twirl, They stop in every street, They smile, or fairly laugh outright, And say: "She's really quite a sight, Was ever such conceit?"

[Page 64--Naughtiness Land]

Greedy Ned

Mamma gave our Nelly an apple, So round, and big, and red; It seemed, beside dainty wee Nelly, To be almost as large as her head.

Beside her young Neddie was standing-- And Neddie loves apples, too, "Ah! Nelly!" said Neddie, "give brother A bite of your apple--ah! do!"

Dear Nelly held out the big apple; Ned opened his mouth very wide-- So wide, that the startled red apple Could almost have gone inside!

And oh! what a bite he gave it! The apple looked small, I declare, When Ned gave it back to his sister, Leaving that big bite there.

Poor Nelly looked frightened a moment, Then a thought made her face grow bright; "Here, Ned, you can take the apple-- _I'd rather have the bite!_"

Eva L. Carson, In "St. Nicholas"

The Biggest Piece Of Pie

Once, when I was a little boy, I sat me down to cry, Because my little brother had The biggest piece of pie.

They said I was a naughty boy, But I have since seen men Behave themselves as foolishly As I behaved then.

For we are often thankless for Rich blessings when we sigh, To think some lucky neighbour has A "bigger piece" of pie.

The Greedy, Impatient Girl

"Oh! I am so hungry, I'm sure I can't wait, For my apple-pudding to cool, So, Mary, be quick now And bring me a plate, For waiting for dinner I always did hate, Tho' forced oft to do it at school.

"But at home, when mamma Is not in the way, I surely will do as I choose; And I do not care for What you please to say-- The pudding won't burn me-- No longer I'll stay. What business have you to refuse?"

And now a large slice Of the pudding she got, And, fearful she should have no more, She cramm'd her mouth full Of the apple so hot, Which had but a minute Come out of the pot, But quickly her triumph was o'er.

Her mouth and her tongue Were so dreadfully sore, And suffer'd such terrible pain, Her pride and her consequence Soon were all o'er, And she said, now unable To eat any more, "Oh! I never will do so again!"

And thus, by not minding What she had been told, Young Ellinor lost all her treat; Too greedy to wait Till the pudding was cold, By being impatient, Conceited, and bold, Not a mouthful at last could she eat.

C. Horwood.

A Story Of An Apple

Little Tommy, and Peter, and Archie, and Bob Were walking, one day, when they found An apple: 'twas mellow, and rosy, and red, And lying alone on the ground.

Said Tommy: "I'll have it." Said peter: "'Tis mine." Said Archie: "I've got it; so there!" Said Bobby: "Now, let us divide it in four parts And each of us boys have a share."

"No, no!" shouted Tommy, "I'll have it myself." Said Peter: "I want it, I say." Said Archie: "I've got it, and I'll have it all, I won't give a morsel away."

Then Tommy he snatched it, and Peter he fought, ('Tis sad and distressing to tell!) And Archie held on with his might and his main, Till out from his fingers it fell.

Away from the quarrelsome urchins it flew And then, down a green little hill That apple it roll'd, and it roll'd, and it roll'd As if it would never be still.

A lazy old brindle was nipping the grass, And switching her tail at the flies, When all of a sudden the apple rolled down And stopped just in front of her eyes.

She gave but a bite and a swallow or two-- That apple was seen nevermore! "I wish," whimpered Archie, and Peter, and Tom, "We'd kept it and cut it in four."

Sydney Dyer

Greedy Richard

"I think I want some pies this morning" Said Dick, stretching himself and yawning; So down he threw his slate and books, And saunter'd to the pastry-cook's.

And there he cast his greedy eyes Round on the jellies and the pies, So to select, with anxious care, The very nicest that was there.

At last the point was thus decided: As his opinion was divided 'Twixt pie and jelly, he was loth Either to leave, so took them both.

Now Richard never could be pleas'd To stop when hunger was appeas'd, But he'd go on to eat and stuff, Long after he had had enough.

"I shan't take any more," said Dick, "Dear me, I feel extremely sick: I cannot eat this other bit; I wish I had not tasted it."

Then slowly rising from his seat, He threw the cheesecake in the street, And left the tempting pastry-cook's With very discontented looks.

Jane Taylor

[Page 65--Greediness Land]

The Plum Cake

"Oh! I've got a plum cake, And a rare feast I'll make, I'll eat, and I'll stuff, and I'll cram; Morning, noontime, and night, It shall be my delight;-- What a happy young fellow I am."

Thus said little George, And, beginning to gorge, With zeal to his cake he applied; While fingers and thumbs, For the sweetmeats and plums, Were hunting and digging besides.

But, woeful to tell, A misfortune befell, Which ruin'd this capital fun! After eating his fill, He was taken so ill, That he trembled for what he had done.

As he grew worse and worse, The doctor and nurse, To cure his disorder were sent; And rightly, you'll think, He had physic to drink, Which made him his folly repent.

And while on his bed He roll'd his hot head, Impatient with sickness and pain; He could not but take This reproof from his cake, "Don't be such a glutton again!"

Another Plum Cake

"Oh! I've got a plum cake, And a feast let us make, Come, school-fellows, come at my call; I assure you 'tis nice, And we'll each have a slice, Here's more than enough for us all."

Thus said little Jack, As he gave it a smack, And sharpen'd his knife for the job! While round him a troop, Formed a clamorous group, And hail'd him the king of the mob.

With masterly strength He cut thro' it at length, And gave to each playmate a share; Dick, William, and James, And many more names, Partook of his benevolent care.

And when it was done, And they'd finish'd their fun, To marbles or hoop they went back, And each little boy Felt it always a joy To do a good turn for good Jack.

In his task and his book, His best pleasures he took, And as he thus wisely began, Since he's been a man grown, He has constantly shown That a good boy will make a good man.

Ann Taylor

The Great Glutton

'Twas the voice of the glutton, I heard him complain: My waistcoat unbutton, I'll eat once again.

The Glutton

The voice of the glutton I heard with disdain-- "I've not eaten this hour, I must eat again; Oh! give me a pudding, A pie, or a tart, A duck or a fowl, Which I love from my heart.

"How sweet is the picking Of capon or chicken! A turkey and chine Are most charming and fine; To eat and to drink All my pleasure is still, I care not who wants So that I have my fill."

Oh! let me not be, Like a glutton, inclined In feasting my body And starving my mind, With moderate viands Be thankful, and pray That the Lord may supply me With food the next day.

Not always a-craving With hunger still raving; But little and sweet Be the food that I eat. To learning and wisdom Oh let me apply. And leave to the glutton His pudding and pie.

J. Taylor

Selfish Edith

Selfish Edith, not to give Her sister one, when she has two! I wouldn't and I couldn't love A selfish girl like her, could you?

Hear Bessie ask in plaintive tone, "Please, Edith, let me play with one!" While naughty Edith shakes her head: I fear she'll have but little fun

With toys unshared so selfishly; But when she tires of lonely play, Perhaps she'll secretly resolve To be more kind another day.

Hoggish Henry

Oh! Henry eats like any pig; He drives his mother mad. She scolds. He does not care a fig, It's really very sad.

She says: "Your sister, little dear, Is always clean and neat; And though she's younger by a year, How nicely she can eat."

It's all in vain. He does not care; He's shocking to behold. The table-cloth and napkin there Are smeared in every fold.

Upon the floor, crumbs thickly lie, As though for chickens laid, Around his mouth and nose, oh fie! Is dirt of every shade.