Chapter 14

He looks, bedaubed with smear and stain, Just like some savage wild, His hands as forks are used, it's plain. For shame! You dirty child!

Selfishness

Look at the selfish man! see how he locks Tight in his arms his mortgages and stocks! While deeds and titles in his hand he grasps, And gold and silver close around he clasps. But not content with this, behind he drags A cart well-laden with ponderous bags; The orphan's wailings, and the widow's woe From mercy's fountain cause no tears to flow; He pours no cordial in the wounds of pain; Unlocks no prison, and unclasps no chain; His heart is like the rock where sun nor dew Can rear one plant or flower of heavenly hue. No thought of mercy there may have its birth, For helpless misery or suffering worth; The end of all his life is paltry pelf, And all his thoughts are centred on--himself: The wretch of both worlds; for so mean a sum, First starved in this, then damn'd in that to come.

[Page 66--Lying Land]

Bad Boy having broken a Vase told his Mother that the Dog did it, but when his Mother was going to beat the poor Innocent Dog he felt sorry, and told the truth.

Truthful Dottie; Or The Broken Vase

Nellie and Dottie Both here mamma say, "Pray from the drawing-room Keep away.

Don't take your toys there, Lest someone should call: Run out in the garden With rope, bat and ball."

The garden is lovely, This bright summer day; But Nellie and Dottie Too soon came away.

Into the drawing-room Dottie comes skipping, With her new rope All the furniture flipping:

Down goes the tall vase, So golden and gay, Smashed all to pieces, "What will mamma say?"

Cries Nell with her hands raised, "Oh Dottie, let's run; They'll think it was pussy, Who did it in fun."

Dot answers, through big tears, "But, Nell, don't you see, Though nobody watched us, God knows it was me.

Mamma always says, That, whatever we do, The harm's not so great, If we dare to be true.

So I'll go up and tell her It caught in my rope; Perhaps she won't scold much, At least, so I'll hope."

"That's right!" cries her mother, Who stands by the door, "I would rather have ten vases Were smashed on the floor

Than my children should once break The bright words of truth, The dearest possession Of age or of youth.

The vase can be mended, And scarce show a crack, But a falsehood once spoken Will never come back."

However much grieved for By young folks or old, An untruth once uttered, Forever is told.

The Liar Reclaimed

O! 'tis a lovely thing for youth To walk betimes in wisdom's way; To fear a lie, to speak the truth, That we may trust to all they say.

But liars we can never trust, Tho' they should speak the thing that's true, And he that does one fault at first, And lies to hide it, makes it two.

The Truth

Why should you fear the truth to tell? Does falsehood ever do you so well? Can you be satisfied to know There's something wrong to hide below No! let your fault be what it may, To own it is the happy way.

So long as you your crime conceal, You cannot light or gladsome feel; Your heart will ever feel oppressed, As if a weight were on your breast: And e'en your mother's eye to meet Will tinge your face with shame and heat.

False Alarms

Little Mary one day most loudly did call, "Mamma! oh, mamma, pray come here! A fall I have had--oh! a very sad fall." Mamma ran in haste and in fear; Then Mary jump'd up, and she laugh'd in great glee, And cried, "Why, how fast you can run! No harm has befallen, I assure you, to me, My screaming was only in fun."

Her mother was busy at work the next day, She heard from without a loud cry, "The big dog has got me! O help me! Oh! pray! He tears me--he bites me--I die!" Mamma, all in terror, quick to the court And there little Mary she found; Who, laughing, said, "Madam, pray how do you do!" And curtsey'd quite down to the ground.

That night little Mary, when long gone to bed, Shrill cries and loud shriekings were heard; "I'm on fire, O mamma, come up or I'm dead!" Mamma she believ'd not a word. "Sleep, sleep, naughty child," she call'd out from below, "How often have I been deceived? You're telling a story, you very well know: Go to sleep, for you can't be believed."

Yet still the child scream'd--now the house fill'd with smoke. That fire is above Jane declares. Alas! Mary's words they soon found were no joke, When ev'ryone hastened upstairs. All burnt and all seam'd is her once pretty face, And how terribly mark'd are her arms, Her features all scarr'd, leave a lasting disgrace, For giving Mamma false alarms.

Adelaide Taylor

To A Little Girl That Has Told A Lie

And has my darling told a lie? Did she forget that God was by? That God who saw the thing she did, From whom no action can be hid; Did she forget that God could see, And hear, wherever she might be?

He made you eyes and can discern Whichever way you think to turn; He made your ears, and He can hear When you think nobody is near; In ev'ry place, by night or day, He watches all you do and say.

You thought, because you were alone, Your falsehood never could be known, But liars always are found out, Whatever ways they wind about; And always be afraid, my dear, To tell a lie,--for God can hear!

I wish, my dear, you'd always try To act as shall not need a lie; And when you wish a thing to do, That has been once forbidden to you, Remember that, and never dare To disobey--For God is there!

Why should you fear to tell me true? Confess, and then I'll pardon you: Tell me you're sorry, and you'll try To act the better by and bye, And then whate'er your crime has been, It won't be half so great a sin.

But cheerful, innocent, and gay, As passes by the smiling day, You'll never have to turn aside, From any one your faults to hide; Nor heave a sigh, nor have a fear, That either God or I should hear.

Ann Taylor

The Blind Man reading to the Deaf and Dumb Man after business hours, and their wicked Dog looking out.

[Page 67--Laziness Land]

Idle Mary

Oh, Mary, this will never do! This work is sadly done, my dear, And such little of it too! You have not taken pains, I fear.

On no, your work has been forgotten, Indeed you've hardly thought of that; I saw you roll your ball of cotton About the floor to please the cat.

See, here are stitches straggling wide, And others reaching down so far; I'm very sure you have not tried At all to-day to please mamma.

The little girl who will not sew Should never be allowed to play; But then I hope, my love, that you Will take more pains another day.

Lazy Sal

A lazy, lazy, lazy girl! Her hair forever out of curl, Her feet unshod, her hands unclean, Her dress in tatters always seen.

Lounging here and dawdling there, Lying out 'most anywhere About the barn-yard. Not a thought Of studying lessons as she ought;

But happiest when in sunny weather She and "the other pig" together Are playing tricks. No wonder, then, The farmer, jolliest of men,

Is apt to say, when tired out With seeing her sprawling round about, "Beats all what ails that lazy gal! Why, piggy's twice as smart as Sal!"

The Work-bag

To Jane her aunt a work-bag gave, Of silk with flowers so gay, That she a place might always have To put her work away.

And then 'twas furnished quite complete With cotton, silk and thread, And needless in a case so neat, Of all the sizes made.

A little silver thimble, too, Was there among the rest; And a large waxen doll, quite new, That waited to be dress'd.

But Jane was very fond of play, And loved to toss her ball; An I am quite ashamed to say, She scarcely worked at all.

But if at any time she did, 'Twas but a stitch or two; And though she often has been bid, But little more would do.

The pretty little bag, indeed, Was hung upon her chair; But cotton, needles, silk, and thread Were scattered here and there.

Her aunt, by chance, came in that day, And asked if the doll was dress'd; Miss Jane has been engaged in play, And careless of the rest.

The silk, to make her little dress, Was on the table laid, And, with an equal carelessness, The cap had also strayed.

With gauze and lace the floor was strewed, All in disorder lay, When, bounding in with gesture rude, Came Jane, returned from play.

She little thought her aunt to find, And blushed to see her there; It brought her carelessness to mind, And what her doll should wear.

"Well, Jane, and where's your doll, my dear? I hope you've dress'd her now; But there is such a litter here, You best know when and how."

So spoke her aunt, and, looking round The empty bag she spied; Poor Jane, who no excuse had found, Now hid her face and cried.

"Since," said her aunt, "no work, you do, But waste your time in play; The work-bag, of no use to you, I now shall take away."

But now, with self-conviction, Jane Her idleness confessed, And ere her aunt could come again, Her doll was neatly dressed.

The Two Gardens

When Harry and Dick Had been striving to please, Their father (to whom it was known) Made two little gardens, And stocked them with trees, And gave one to each for his own.

Harry thank'd his papa, And with rake, hoe, and spade, Directly began his employ; And soon such a neat Little garden was made, That he panted with labour and joy.

There was always some bed Or some border to mend, Or something to tie or stick: And Harry rose early His garden to tend, While snoring lay indolent Dick.

The tulip, the rose, And the lily so white, United their beautiful bloom! And often the honey-bee Stoop'd from his flight, To sip the delicious perfume.

A neat row of peas In full blossom was seen, French beans were beginning to shoot! And his gooseb'ries and currents, Tho' yet they were green, Foretold of plenty of fruit.

But Richard loved better In bed to repose, And snug as he curl'd himself round, Forgot that not tulip, Nor lily, nor rose, Nor plant in his garden was found.

Rank weeds and tall nettles Disfigur'd his beds, Nor cabbage nor lettuce was seen, The slug and the snail Show'd their mischievous heads, And eat ev'ry leaf that was green.

Thus Richard the idle, Who shrank from the cold, Beheld his trees naked and bare; Whilst Harry the active Was charmed to behold The fruit of his patience and care.

Ann Taylor.

Doing Nothing

I asked a lad what he was doing; "Nothing, good sir," said he to me. "By nothing well and long pursuing, Nothing," said I, "you'll surely be."

I asked a lad what he was thinking; "Nothing," said he. "I do declare." "Many," said I, "in vile inns drinking, By idle minds were carried there."

There's nothing great, there's nothing wise, Which idle hands and minds supply; Those who all thought and toil despise, Mere nothings live, and nothings die.

A thousand naughts are not a feather, When in a sum they all are brought; A thousand idle lads together Are still but nothings joined to naught.

And yet of merit they will boast, And sometimes pompous seem, and haughty, But still 'tis very plain to most, That "nothing" boys are mostly naughty.

[Page 68--Laziness Land]

Lazy Sam

There was a lazy boy named Sam, The laziest ever known, Who spent his time in idleness, Like any other drone. He loved to lie in bed till noon, With covers closely drawn, And when he managed to get up He'd yawn, and yawn, and yawn.

If asked to do a simple task He always would refuse, And say that he was lame or sick, His action to excuse, And over pretty picture-books-- Twas really very odd-- This lazy boy would soon begin To nod, and nod, and nod.

If on an errand forced to go, He'd slowly, slowly creep, Just like a snail; you might suppose That he was half asleep. And those who would despatch in haste A note, or telegram, Would chose a swifter messenger Than such a lazy Sam.

If he was caught out in a storm 'Twould drench him to the skin, Because he was too indolent To hurry to get in. Deep in his trouser's pockets he His idle hands would cram, And children crowded to the doors To look at lazy Sam.

This lazy boy would lounge about The docks, and often wish That he could carry home to cook A string of nice, fresh fish; But though he was provided with A reel extremely fine, Said Sam "I do not think 'twill pay To wet my fishing line!"

Oh, Sam was always late at meals, And always late at school, And everybody said that he Would be a first-class fool. For boys not half so old as he Above him swiftly pass, While Sam, the great big dunce! remains The lowest in the class.

In every way, and every day This lazy boy would shirk, And never lift his hand to do A bit of useful work. His clothes were always on awry, His shoe-strings left untied, His hair uncombed, his teeth uncleaned, Alas, he had no pride!

And so he went from bad to worse-- The good-for-nothing scamp!-- Until he settled down to be A ragged, dirty tramp. Through cities, towns, and villages, He begged his daily bread, And slept at night wherever he Could chance to find a bed.

Men shuddered as they passed him by, And murmured sadly, "Oh! How can a human being sink So very, very low?" And e'en the jackass pricks his ears, And brays aloud "I am Not such a donkey, I declare As yonder lazy Sam!"

The Beggar Man

Abject, stooping, old, and wan, See you wretched beggar-man; Once a father's hopeful heir, Once a mother's tender care. When too young to understand, He but scorched his little hand, By the candle's flaming light Attracted--dancing, spiral, bright. Clasping fond her darling round, A thousand kisses healed the wound, Now abject, stooping, old and wan, No mother tends the beggar-man.

Then nought too good for him to wear, With cherub face and flaxen hair, In fancy's choicest gauds arrayed, Cap of lace with rose to aid, Milk-white hat and feather blue, Shoes of red, and coral too, With silver bells to please his ear, And charm the frequent ready tear. Now abject, stooping, old, and wan, Neglected is the beggar-man.

See the boy advance in age, And learning spreads her useful page; In vain! for giddy pleasure calls, And shows the marbles, tops, and balls, What's learning to the charms of play? The indulgent tutor must give way. A heedless, wilful dunce, and wild, The parents' fondness spoil'd the child; The youth in vagrant courses ran; Now abject, stooping, old, and wan, Their fondling is the beggar-man.

Lamb

Good-for-nothing Lazy Man

A good for nothing lazy lout, Wicked within and ragged without. Who can bear to have him about? Turn him out! Turn him out!

The Old Beggar Man

I see an old man sitting there, His withered limbs are almost bare, And very hoary is his hair.

Old man, why are you sitting so? For very cold the wind doth blow: Why don't you to your cottage go?

Ah, master, in the world so wide, I have no home wherein to hide, No comfortable fire-side.

When I, like you, was young and gay, I'll tell you what I used to say, That I would nothing do but play.

And so, instead of being taught Some useful business as I ought, To play about was all I sought.

An now that I am old and grey, I wander on my lonely way, And beg my bread from day to day.

But oft I shake my hoary head, And many a bitter tear I shed, To think the useless life I've led.

J. T.

Lazyland

Three travellers wandered along the strand, Each with a staff in his feeble hand; And they chanted low: "We are go-o-o- Ing slow-o-ow- Ly to Lazyland.

"They've left off eating and drinking there; They never do any thinking there; They never walk, And they never talk, And they fall asleep without winking there.

"Nobody's in a hurry there; They are not permitted to worry there; 'Tis a wide, still place And not a face Shows any symptom of flurry there.

"No bells are rung in the morning there, They care not at all for adorning there; All sounds are hushed, And a man who rushed Would be treated with absolute scorning there.

"They do not take any papers there; No politicians cut capers there; They have no 'views,' And they tell no news, And they burn no midnight tapers there.

"No lovers are ever permitted there; Reformers are not admitted there; They argue not In that peaceful spot, And their clothes all come ready-fitted there.

"Electricity has not been heard of there; And steam has been spoken no word of there; They stay where they are, And a coach or a car They have not so much as a third of there.

"Oh, this world is a truly crazy land; A worrying, hurrying, mazy land; We cannot stay, We must find the way-- If there is a way--to Lazyland."

[Page 69--Laziness Land]

Lazy Willie

Oh! Willie is a lazy boy, A "Sleepy Head" is he, "Wake up!" his little sister cries, "Wake up and talk to me."

The birds are singing in the trees, The sun is shining bright, But sleepy Willie slumbers on As though it yet were night.

Oh! lazy boys will never grow To clever manhood, you must know, So lift your eyelids, sleepy head, Wake up, and scramble out of bed.

The Lazy Boy

The lazy boy! and what's his name? I should not like to tell; But don't you think it is a shame, That he can't read or spell.

He'd rather swing upon a gate, Or paddle in a brook, Than take his pencil and his slate, Or try to con a book.

There, see! he's lounging down the street, His hat without a brim, He rather drags than lifts his feet-- His face unwashed and grim.

He's lolling now against a post; But if you've seen him once, You'll know the lad among a host For what he is--a dunce.

Don't ask me what's the urchin's name; I do not choose to tell; But this you'll know--it is the same As his who does not blush for shame That he don't read or spell.

The Sluggard

'Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain, "You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again." As the door on it's hinges, So he on his bed Turns his sides, and his shoulders, And his heavy head.

"A little more sleep And a little more slumber;" Thus he wastes half his days And his hours without number, And when he gets up He sits folding his hands, Or walking about sauntering, Or trifling he stands.

I pass'd by his garden, And saw the wild brier, The thorn and the thistle Grow broader and higher; The clothes that hung on him Are turning to rags, And his money still wastes Till he starves or he begs.

I made him a visit, Still hoping to find That he took better care For improving his mind; He told me his dreams, Talked of eating and drinking, But he scarce reads his Bible, And never loves thinking.

Said I then to my heart, "Here's a lesson for me; This man's but a picture Of what I might be; But thanks to my friends For their care in my breeding, Who taught me bedtimes To love working and reading."

Watts

Idle Dicky And The Goat

John Brown is a man Without houses or lands, Himself he supports By the work of his hands. He brings home his wages Each Saturday night, To his wife and his children, A very good sight.

His eldest boy, Dicky, On errands when sent, To loiter and chatter Was very much bent; The neighbours all call'd him An odd little trout, His shoes they were broke, And his toes they peep'd out.

To see such old shoes All their sorrows were rife; John Brown he much grieved, And so did his wife, He kiss'd his boy Dicky, And stroked his white head, "You shall have a new pair, My dear boy," he then said.

"I've here twenty shillings, And money has wings; Go first get this note changed, I want other things." Now here comes the mischief-- This Dicky would stop At an ill-looking, mean-looking Greengrocer's shop.

For here lived a chattering Dunce of a boy; To prate with this urchin Gave Dicky great joy. And now, in his boasting, He shows him his note, And now to the green-stall Up marches a goat.

The laughed, for it was This young nanny-goat's way With those who pass'd by her To gambol and play. All three they went on In their frolicsome bouts, Till Dick dropt the note On a bunch of green sprouts.

Now what was Dick's wonder To see the vile goat, In munching the green sprouts, Eat up his bank note! He crying ran back To John Brown with the news, And by stopping to idle He lost his new shoes.

Adelaide Taylor

Idleness and Mischief

How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower.

How skilfully she builds her cell; How neat she spreads the wax; And labours hard to store it well; With the sweet food she makes.

In works of labour or of skill I would be busy too; For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.

In books, or work, or healthful play Let my first years be passed; That I may give you every day Some good account at last.

Watts

Come and Go.

Dick Dawdle had land Worth two hundred a year, Yet from debt and from dunning He never was free, His intellect was not Surprisingly clear, But he never felt satisfied How it could be.

The raps at his door, And the rings at his gate. And the threats of a gaol He no longer could bear: So he made up his mind To sell half his estate, Which would pay all his debts, And leave something to spare.

He leased to a farmer The rest of his land For twenty-one years; And on each quarter-day The honest man went With his rent in his hand, His liberal landlord Delighted to pay.

Before half the term Of the lease had expired, The farmer, one day With a bagful of gold, Said, "Pardon me, sir, But I long have desired To purchase my farm, If the land can be sold.

"Ten years I've been blest With success and with health, With trials a few-- I thank God, not severe-- I am grateful. I hope, Though not proud of my wealth, But I've managed to lay By a hundred a year."

"Why how," exclaimed Dick, "Can this possibly be?" (With a stare of surprise, And a mortified laugh,) "The whole of my farm Proved too little for me, And you it appears, Have grown rich upon half."

"I hope you'll excuse me," The farmer replies, "But I'll tell you the cause, If your honor would know; In two little words All the difference lies, I always say Come, And you used to say Go."