Chapter 6

The awfullest times that ever could be They had with a bad little girl of Dundee, Who never would finish her crust In vain they besought her, And patiently taught her And told her she must. Her grandma would coax, And so would the folks, And tell her the sinning Of such a beginning. But no, she wouldn't. She couldn't, she shouldn't, She'd have them to know-- So they might as well go. And what do you think came to pass? This little girl of Dundee, alas! Who wouldn't take crusts the regular way, Sat down to a feast one summer's day; And what did the people that little girl give? Why, a dish of bread pudding--as sure as I live!

Pouting Polly

Polly was a little girl, Pretty as a posy; Rather straight, and rather tall; Very round and rosy.

Other little girls and boys Always were delighted, So if to pretty Polly's house They had been invited.

There they'd romp, and have great fun, Frolicking and shouting; But alas! they soon would find Pretty Polly pouting!

What had any one done? How had they displeased her? Was she sad or mad because Johnny Dean had teased her?

Why are you so cross and glum When the rest are jolly? With your under-lip thrust out, Tell us, pouting Polly!

Polly loves to have her way; Ah! no one can doubt it; And whenever she's displeased She will pout about it.

Such a funny under-lip! You would like to grab it, So that little Polly might Break this naughty habit.

In the house or out-of-doors, Little Polly Horner You will find a dozen times Pouting in a corner.

Once, when in the garden she Stood thus melancholy, On her under-lip a bee Stung Miss Pouting Polly.

Then she danced, and then she screamed; People heard her yelling Half-a-mile or more away, While her lip was swelling.

Oh, it swelled, and swelled, and swelled, Like a great big blister, And the pain was very great Where the bee had kissed her.

Many days she kept her bed; And there is no doubting That the sorry little maid Had her fill of pouting.

For the buzzing busy-bee Cured her of her folly; And the remedy will cure Any pouting Polly.

Untidy Emily

Oh, here's a sad picture! Pray carefully look! As sad as was ever Yet seen in a book.

'Tis Emily's portrait: Not at all flattered. Slovenly, dirty, untidy, And tattered.

Her mother implores her, Again and again, To make herself tidy; But all is in vain.

Her trimmings are torn; There's a hole in her dress; Another, still larger; Her shoes in a mess;

Stockings down, buttons missing; Shabby old hat, Not for worlds would I Wear it, battered and flat.

Her mother does nothing But patch, darn and mend, Till, saddened and weary, She says, "This must end.

"All, all is in vain. And now, happen what may, I can do nothing more; So go your own way."

A terrible thing Very soon now befell, Oh, horror! I shudder The story to tell.

This girl ran quite wild; Till at last she became All tatters and rags, With no feeling of shame.

A man, who was passing, Then took her one day, And in his field placed her, To scare birds away.

She is still standing there; Stands there day and night. The sparrows fly round her, And cry in affright:

"Look at this dreadful thing! Take care now, take care! Beware of the scarecrow! Beware, now, beware!"

[Page 24--Girl Land]

Maidenhood

Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies, Like a dusk in evening skies!

Thou, whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one, As the braided streamlets run!

Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet! Womanhood and childhood fleet!

Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse!

Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem, As the river of a dream.

Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields of Elysian?

Seest thou shadows sailing by, As the dove, with startled eye, Sees the falcon's shadow fly?

Hearest thou voices on the shore, That our ears perceive no more, Deafen'd by the cataract's roar?

O, thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands--Life hath snares! Care and age come unawares!

Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon, May glides onward into June

Childhood is the bough where slumber'd Birds and blossoms many-number'd-- Age, that bough with snows encumber'd

Gather, then each flower that grows, When the young heart overflows, To embalm that tent of snows

Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand

Bear, through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips the smile of truth.

Oh! that dew, like balm, shall steal Into wounds, that cannot heal, Even as sleep our eyes doth seal:

And that smile, like sunshine, dart Into many a sunless heart, For a smile of God thou art.

Longfellow

Girls that are in Demand

The girls that are wanted are good girls-- Good from the heart to the lips; Pure as the lily is white and pure, From it's heart to its sweet leaf tips. The girls that are wanted are home girls-- Girls that are a mother's right hand, That fathers and brothers can trust to, And the little ones understand.

The girls that are fair on the hearthstone, And pleasant when nobody sees; Kind and sweet to their own folks, Ready and anxious to please. The girls that are wanted are wise girls, That know what to do and to say; That drive with a smile and soft word The wrath of the household away.

The girls that are wanted are girls of sense, Whom fashion can never deceive; Who can follow whatever is pretty, And dare what is silly to leave. The girls that are wanted are careful girls, Who count what a thing will cost. Who use with a prudent generous hand, But see that nothing is lost.

The girls that are wanted are girls with hearts, They are wanted for mothers and wives, Wanted to cradle in loving arms The strongest and frailest lives. The clever, the witty, the brilliant girl, There are few who can understand, But, oh! for the wise, loving home girls There's a constant steady demand.

Girl's Names

Francis, is "unrestrained and free;" Bertha, "pellucid, purely bright;" Clara, "clear" as the crystal sea; Lucy, a star of radiant "light;" Catherine, is "pure" as mountain air; Barbara, cometh "from afar;" Mabel, is "like a lily fair;" Henrietta, a soft, sweet "star;" Felicia, is a "happy girl;" Matilda, is a "lady true;" Margaret, is a shining "pearl;" Rebecca, "with the faithful few;" Susan, is a "lily white;" Jane has the "willow's" curve and grace; Cecilia, dear, is "dim of sight;" Sophia, shows "wisdom" on her face; Constance, is firm and "resolute;" Grace, a delicious "favour meet;" Charlotte, "noble, of good repute;" Harriet, a fine "odour sweet;" Isabella, is "a lady rare;" Lucinda, "constant" as the day; Maria, means a "lady fair;" Abigail, "joyful as the May;" Elizabeth, "an oath of trust;" Adeline, "nice princess, proud;" Agatha, "is truly good and just;" Leila, "a joy of love avowed;" Jemima, "a soft sound in air;" Caroline, "a sweet spirit, hale;" Cornelia, "harmonious and fair;" Selina, "a sweet nightingale;" Lydia, "a refreshing well;" Judith, "a song of sacred praise;" Julia, "a jewel none excel;" Priscilla, "ancient of days."

Kate

There's something in the name of Kate Which many will condemn; But listen now while I relate The traits of some of them.

There's deli-Kate, a modest dame, She's worthy of your love! She's nice and beautiful a flame, And gentle as a dove,

Communi-Kate's intelligent, As we may well suppose; Her fruitful mind is ever bent On telling all she knows.

There's intri-Kate, she's so obscure 'Tis hard to find her out; For she is often very sure To put your wits to rout.

Prevari-Kate's a surly maid, She's sure to have her way; The cavilling, contrary jade, Objects to all you say.

There's alter-Kate, a perfect pest; Much given to dispute; Her prattling tongue can never rest, You cannot her refute.

Then dislo-Kate, is quite a fret, Who fails to gain her point; Her case is quite unfortunate And sorely out of joint.

Equivo-Kate no one will woo-- The thing would be absurd. She is so faithless and untrue, You cannot take her word.

There's vindi-Kate, she's good and true, And strives with all her might Her duty faithfully to do And battles for the right.

There's rusti-Kate, a country lass, Quite fond of rural scenes; She likes to ramble through the grass And through the evergreens.

Of all the maidens you can find, There's none like edu-Kate; Because she elevates the mind And aims at something great.

[Page 25--Girl Land]

Coles Electro-micro Scolding Machine For Scolding Naughty Girls

Cole's Electro-micro Scolding Machine is a combination of three instruments, the Phonograph, the Microphone, and the Wonderphone.

The Phonograph is an instrument that will preserve words for any length of time. Any person can speak, sing, whistle, or scold into a Phonograph, and months or years afterwards by simply turning a handle the same sounds can be reproduced a dozen, a hundred, or a thousand times in the exact voice of the person who spoke them in; so that if a man or a woman, who is a great scold, speak some good, loud, severe scolding into a Phonograph, the mildest teacher can then scold her pupils, or the kindest mother her children, just by turning the handle.

The Microphone is an instrument that magnifies sound in the same way as a microscope magnifies objects; a very powerful microphone magnifies the sound of a fly walking into a loud tramping footstep, the tick of a watch into a deafening clatter, and a whisper into a loud shout. Take a Microphone, then properly affix it to the Phonograph described above, and you have a good Scolding Machine; turn the handle, and as the Phonograph gives out the scoldings, the microphone part magnifies them so loudly that they are heard for a considerable distance.

The Wonderphone (Cole's own secret) is another remarkable instrument; it will cause sound to travel very distinctly, but frightfully and equally loud, for forty miles in all directions; by attaching this powerful instrument to the combination of the other two, Cole's Electro-micro Scolding Machine is formed--and which is the first Scolding Machine ever invented. If the machine is already _charged_ by having had some scolding spoken, or even whispered into it, give the handle a turn, and forty miles to the east, forty miles to the west, forty to the north, forty to the south, forty up in the sky, and down in the mines forty miles deep, in fact forty miles in every direction, everybody can clearly hear every word being said to the girl being scolded. Suppose for instance, Hannah Maria Smith had done something wrong in school, the schoolmistress could give the handle of the machine a turn, and it would scold her so loudly that her mother, and father, and brothers, and sisters, and uncles, and aunts, and friends, and those she didn't like would all hear her scolded. The machine can be charged on the instant by anyone scolding into it. In fact the whole value of Cole's Scolding Machine lies in its power to repeat out exceedingly loud whatever is spoken into it.

If the schoolmistress chooses she can put the scolding into verse, so that all who hear it in the forty miles around, can more easily remember it. The machine that I have before me now, was charged this morning for an aristocratic school and speaks as follows:--Silence!! Attention!!!

Ada Alice Arabella Angelina Andal, Why do you talk for ever, such a tittle-tattling scandal? Betsy Bertha Bridget Belinda Bowing, Will you be quiet and go on with your sewing? Cora Caroline Christina Clarinda Clare, Now do look in the glass at your untidy hair. Dorah Dinah Dorothy Dorinda Dresson, You really must get on with your short drawing lesson. Edith Ellen Evelina Elizabeth Eadle, This makes this day your nineteenth broken needle. Fanny Florence Frederica Florinda Flynn, How cruel of you to prick Jane with a pin. Grace Gertrude Genevieve Georgina Grimble, You careless girl to lose your silver thimble. Hilda Hanna Harriet Henrietta Hawker, You really are a most inveterate talker. Ida Izod Irene Isabella Inching, You spiteful--stop that scratching and pinching. Jane Julia Josephine Jemima Jesson, Sit down at once and learn your music lesson. Kate Kester Katrina Kathleen Kent, You're vulgar, saucy, rude and insolent. Lizzie Letitia Lucretia Lorinda Loeries, You're the champion of the world for telling stories. Maud Mary Martha Matilda Moyes, Sends letters to, and flirts with, naughty boys. Nancy Nelly Ninette Naomi Nations, Shame of you to talk 'gainst other girls' relations. Olive Osberta Orphelia Octavia O'Dyke, Your conduct is outrageous and unladylike. Polly Patience Prudence Paulina Pitt, You really are our champion tell-tale-tit. Quilla Quintina Quinburga Quendrida Quirk, How very, very, dirty you have made your fancy-work. Rose Ruth Rachel Rebecca Ritting, Now stop that crying and get on with your knitting. Sarah Sophia Selina Susannah Stacies, Don't spoil your face by making those grimaces. Tilda Theresa Tabitha Theodora Tapping, You'd gain the prize if one was given for slapping. Una Ursula Urica Urania Urls, You'd gain the prize for teasing little girls. Venus Violet Victoria Veronica Vo-shi, Just learn your task and put away that crochet. Wilmett Walberg Winefride Wilhelmina Wriggling, Now once for all do stop that stupid giggling. Xenodice Xanthippe Xanthisa Xenophona X-cess, You think and talk of nothing else but dress! dress! Yana Yulga Yapeena Yestina Young, Will you behave yourself and just draw in your tongue. And lastly and worst of all, you, Zoe Zora Zillah Zenobia Zeen, How dare you! how dare you!! yes, how dare you!!! Sneer at the boy's new whipping Machine.

Notice To The Public

If a schoolmistress chooses to live a hundred or a thousand miles away from her school, she can use the Scolding Machine by means of a _Telephone_ attached thereto.

One great advantage of the Electro-micro Scolding Machine is, that after it has been in use a short time the girls will all have been shamed into good behaviour; but the Machine will not become useless, as it can, without a farthing outlay, be turned into a Praising Machine, for it can be made to praise in a gentle voice as well as scold in a harsh one. In fact, as said above it will repeat in exact tones, anything that is recited, preached, sung, whistled, whispered, shouted, scolded or praised into it--and any of which will be heard for forty miles around.

Cole can supply Scolding Machines from £5 to £50. A very good one (The Excelsior), price £10, can be charged in one minute, and set going like a musical box, and will sing, whistle, recite, preach, or scold away for a full hour without stopping. Cole would particularly recommend this one to the ladies, it would make a fine ornament for their own table.

Final Notice Extraordinary--If the champion male scold of the world, and the champion female scold of the world, will call on Professor Cole, at the Book Arcade, Melbourne, he will give them both good wages, and find them constant employment at charging Scolding Machines. If any wife has got the champion male scold for a husband, she will please to let me know. If any husband has got the champion female scold for a wife, he will please to let me know--£10 bonus for information in each case.

E.W. Cole

[Page 26--Good Girls]

Jenny Lee

An orphan child was Jenny Lee; Her father, he was dead. And very hard her mother worked; To get the children bread.

In winter time, she often rose Long ere the day was light, And left her orphan family, Till dark again at night.

And she would always say to Jane, Before she went away; "Be sure you mind the little ones, And don't go out to play.

"Keep baby quiet in his bed, As long as he will lie; Then take him up, and dance him well, Don't leave him there to cry.

"And don't let little Christopher, Get down into the street, For fear he meets an accident Beneath the horse's feet.

"And mind about the fire, child, And keep a tidy floor; We never need be dirty, Jane, Although we may be poor.

"Good-by my precious comforter, For all the neighbours say, That I can trust my little maid, Whenever I'm away."

Then Jenny she was quite as proud As England's noble Queen, And she resolved to do the work, And keep the dwelling clean.

She did not stop to waste her time, But very brisk was she, And worked as hard and cheerfully As any busy bee.

If down upon the cottage floor Her little brother fell, She stroked the places tenderly, And kissed and made them well.

And when the little babe was cross, As little babes will be, She nursed and danced it merrily, And fed it on her knee.

But when they both were safe in bed, She neatly swept the hearth, And waited until her mother's step Came sounding up the path.

Then open flew the cottage door, The weary mother smiled. "Ah! Jenny dear, what should I do, Without my precious child!"

Work Before Play

"Mother has sent me to the well, To fetch a jug of water, And I am very glad to be A useful little daughter; That's why I cannot play With you and Mary Ann to-day.

"Some afternoon I'll come with you, And make you wreaths and posies; I know a place where blue-bells grow, And daisies and primroses; But not to-day, for I must go And help my mother, dears, you know.

"She says, that I am nearly eight, So I can fill the kettle, And sweep the room and clean the grate, And even scrub a little; Oh! I'm so very glad to be A little useful girl, you see.

"So Johnny, do not ask to-day-- Perhaps I'll come to morrow; But you'd not wish me now to stay, And give my mother sorrow. When she can spare me, she will say, 'Now, Susan, you may go and play.'"

Lucy Gray

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray; And, when I crossed the wild, I managed to see at break of day The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wide moor,-- The sweetest thing that ever grew Besides a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night-- You to the town must go; And take a lantern, child, to light Your mother through the snow."

"That, father, will I gladly do! 'Tis scarcely afternoon-- The minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon."

At this the father raised his book And snapped a faggot band; He piled his work,--and Lucy took The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe; With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before it's time; She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb, But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide, But there was neither sound or sight To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood A furlong from their door.

And, turning homeward, now they cried "In heaven we shall meet!" When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn edge, And by the long stone wall.

And then an open field they crossed-- The marks were still the same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost; And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank The footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none!

Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.

Mary's Little Lamb

Mary had a little lamb, It's fleece was white as snow; And everywhere that Mary went The lamb was sure to go.

He followed her to school one day-- That was against the rule; It made the children laugh and play, To see a lamb at school.

The teacher therefore turned him out; But still he lingered near, And on the grass he played about Till Mary did appear.

At once he ran to her, and laid His head upon her arm, As if to say, I'm not afraid-- You'll keep me from all harm.

"What makes the lamb love Mary so?" The little children cry; "Oh! Mary loves the lamb you know," The teacher did reply.

[Page 27--Girl Land]

We are Seven

I met a little cottage girl; She was eight years old, she said; Her head was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were fair, and very fair, Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering, looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the churchyard lie-- My sister and my brother; And in the churchyard cottage I Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea; Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell, Sweet maid how this may be?"

Then did the little maid reply, Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree."

"You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive! If two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied; "Twelve steps or more, from my mother's door, And they are side by side.

"My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit, I sit and sing to them.

"And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was little Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain, And then she went away.

"So in the churchyard she was laid; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I.

"And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side."

"How many are you then? said I, "If they two are in heaven!" The little maiden did reply "O master! we are seven."

"But they are dead; those two are dead; Their spirits are in heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away; for still The little maid would have her will, And say, "Nay, we are seven."

The Poor, but Kind Girl