Part 2

(Written for Alfred Greene, Jr., Evansville, Indiana.)

When Alfred saw the baby wee the stork to him had brought, He stood quite silent for a while and thought and thought and thought Until he'd solved the problem about the CURIOUS ONE Who'd traveled far from Storkland, though she couldn't walk nor run. Then to his mother he declared in accents of dismay, "Dear mother we must send this kid back to her home to-day, 'Cause someone's cheated us I know and brought us an old child With bald head and without a tooth and like an Indian wild." Whenever it begins to cry it almost lifts the roof, So mother, dear, I think 'tis best for you to keep aloof From the old ugly Indian thing and send it to Stork-land, Then you and I'll be glad again and go to hear the band.

Woes Caused By Whooping Bugs

(Written for Cousin Harvey Stoner, Jr.)

If you don't believe that whooping cough causes lots of woe, Just catch a few of whooping germs and then I guess you'll know That whoopee-whoop! and wheepee-wheeps! are not one bit of fun, When you see others playing games where all must jump and run, For if you jump or if you run, you start the whoop-oop-oop! And even when you're tired you can't sleep for the croup, Caused by the awful whooping bugs, which lurk within your throat And make your voice sound hoarser than the singing of a goat.

For fear of spreading whooping-bugs you certainly can't go To Sunday-school or other school, or even to a show, But you must stay at home ALONE from three to six long weeks, And listen to your croaking voice, which whoops and sometimes squeaks. So therefore take the good advice of a little girl who knows, And stay away from WHOOPING-COUGH, which causes lots of woes.

How Simple Simon Became Wise

(Written for "St. Nicholas," February, 1909.)

Simple Simon met young Heiman reading from a book, Said Simple Simon to young Heiman, "Let me have a look?" Said young Heiman to Simple Simon, "I will not selfish be, My great delight, ST. NICHOLAS, I'll gladly let you see."

Then Simple Simon and young Heiman spent an hour or two Reading from this wondrous book, so full of all that's true, And when they'd finished Simon lad of Mother Goose's fame, By virtue of his knowledge great, WISE SIMON, he became.

Plate 2: [Illustration: AUTHOR AT TWO YEARS OLD]

Too Many Dolls

(Written for Wydie Webb, of Norfolk, Va.)

Miss Margaret Mary Elizabeth May, Had one hundred dollies with which she could play, There were bisque dolls and wax dolls and dolls with real hair, Red dolls and black dolls and dolls that were fair, Fat dolls and plump dolls and dolls in the style, Hipless and jointless and dressed in a smile; Rag dolls and wood dolls and celluloid boys, China and paper and Jumping Jack Joys; Irish and Scotch dolls and dolls from Paris, And all of the strange lands from over the sea; Japies and Chinese and dark Esquimos, Dutchies and Germans and cutest Dagoes; Dollies from Egypt and dollies from Spain, Hindoos and Hebrews and one little Dane. From Poland and Russia they'd traveled afar By railroad and steamer and also by car To join other dollies from Johnnie Bull's home, And lovely Italians from far away Rome. From Greenland and Iceland, Norway and Greece, The string of these dollies seemed never to cease. But Margaret Mary Elizabeth May Could never decide with which doll to play, So she was not happy as poor little Sue, Who in her doll family had only two Wretched rag dollies without any hair, But which she considered a most lovely pair, And these ugly dollies they gave her delight, As with them she played from morning 'till night.

The Cat Extincted The Canary

(Written for Josephine Greene, Evansville, Ind.)

"Josephine," asked the teacher, "can you tell to me Any bird that's now extinct, but used on earth to be?"

"Oh, yes, Miss Jane," said Josephine, "our sweet canary, Jim, Because the naughty pussy cat she quite extincted him."

A Boy's Complaint

(Written for John Speed Murphy, Evansville, Indiana.)

Grandma calls me Johnnie, father calls me John, My sweetheart calls me Buddy, and the boys call me Don, But mother, oh dear mother, whenever I come near, She calls me darling BABY and sometimes "BABY DEAR."

I like the name of Johnnie, I'm proud of my name John, I don't mind hearing Buddy and the shorter name of Don, But though I love dear mother far more than all the rest, Her name of DARLING BABY I thoroughly detest.

You see when I am playing with boys in the street, And pitching ball or doing some extraordinary feat, It makes me feel so little to hear my mother call, "Watch out my darling BABY, be careful lest you fall!"

I'm not a darling baby, nor little baby dear, I'm quite a great big boy and have no baby fear, But I can't stand the guying the boys give to me, When mother starts to calling that hateful name--"BABEE."

Koppa After Pi

I've very little Latin and very little Greek Stored away in my small brain, which yet is very weak, But one thing I'll remember, I think until I die, And that is that the KOPPA follows after PI. And mother says perhaps this solves the very reason why The "Kops" they follow after cooks well trained in baking pie.

A Whingwang Sonnet Of An Easter Bonnet

(Written for Cousin Marian Stoner.)

Once there was a little girl, But she didn't have a curl, Though she had an Easter-bonnet With ostrich plumes and flowers on it, Since like her mother she aspired A la mode to be attired.

But when she rose on Easter morn With deepest grief her heart was torn, For oh, alas! the rain was falling In torrents great; to her appalling, As well she knew 'twould spoil her bonnet With ostrich plumes and flowers on it.

Her hair in papers she had worn The whole night through and tortures borne In hopes to have a curl or two To wear beneath her bonnet new. But now, alas, the horrid rain Would make her hair all straight again.

And so with fear of straightened hair, Which might cause folks to laugh and stare, And likewise to protect her bonnet With ostrich plumes and flowers on it, She thought it best to stay away From Sabbath school on Easter day.

The Giant Arithmos

This story was told to the author by her teacher, Mrs. A. R. Hornbrook, of the Hornbrook Correspondence School of Mathematics, 5622 Ellis Avenue, Chicago, Ill.

Great Jack-the-Giant-Killer brave, he killed all giants bad, But one good giant's life was spared by this bold warrior lad. ARITHMOS was this giant great, and all bright girls and boys Should love the famous Giant-King far more than all their toys. He's very old, and very great, and also wondrous wise, For he can count all things on earth and even tell their size. He knows how many birds there are; how high each bird can fly, But never does he boast, or brag, or stoop to tell a lie. He is so tall that he can reach up to the starry sky And count the stars and meteors bright as swiftly they go by. 'Tis he alone can tell you when a great eclipse will come And darken the moon's lady or the old man in the sun. He's always so good natured and obliging to us all; He'll help us with our lessons hard when for his aid we call, And tell us just the number of ripe apples on a plate, How far away Chicago is, and if the train is late. In fact he always answers us whene'er we ask "HOW MANY?" And for his work and trouble never thinks to ask a penny. All teachers and professors couldn't teach without his aid, And men in every business know through him they will be paid. We cannot sing in perfect time, nor even play a drum, Divide an apple, buy a doll nor do the smallest sum, And even BRIDGE by ladies fair cannot at all be played Unless this mighty GIANT-KING will kindly lend his aid. So as we cannot get along without "ARITHMOS LORE," We all should learn his wondrous truths and love him more and more.

Good Weather Assured

(Written for the Evansville Courier, February 3, 1909.)

When the second of February rolls around, Out of his hole in the cold, dark ground Comes Mr. Groundhog to look at the sky And see if the season of summer is nigh; So that he in the fields may merrily run And eat farmers' crops 'neath the light o' the sun. But if his own shadow he unfortunately sees, In the greatest of terror he falls on his knees, And quickly returns to his subterra home, Resolving that he will not again roam 'Till six stormy weeks have slowly gone by And then once again, perhaps he will try To put his flat head above the cold ground, And take a survey of the earth all around. So I made up my mind that during the year I'd keep him at home so he couldn't appear. And to bring wintry weather he hadn't a chance For of his own shadow he caught not a glance.

Roosevelt Complimented By Mama Lion

One day last week King Teddy arose with old King Sun, And seeing a huge lion, he seized his trusty gun And made the King of Jungle-land quickly homeward run, While Teddy followed after and thought it lots of fun. King Lion reached his cavern home, trembling in great fear, But when Queen Lion heard his tale, she simply scratched one ear, Then shrugged her shoulders a la hump and to her husband said, "In all the best newspapers, how often have I read, That Teddy loves all parents who large families possess, And I am sure with many cubs our happy den is blessed."

Then brave and proud Queen Lion she carried out each babe, And placed it in the doorway of her Afro-Jungle cave; And there she proudly waited for King Teddy to appear, For of his teeth and of his gun she hadn't any fear. The coward King of Jungle Land, he bid himself inside, And when he heard King Teddy's voice his bones shook in his hide; But soon he knew his tears were vain when Teddy laughing said, "As mother of fine sextets, you surely rank ahead Of all the lions I have met in circus tent or den, To meet you I'm DEE-LIGHTED, and I hope we'll meet again."

All Dentists Go To Heaven

(Written for Dr. Richard Morris, Evansville, Ind.)

I don't like dentists, because they hurt me With horrid bad pinchers as sharp as can be. They pick at my teeth and scratch in my head Until I begin to wish I were dead. But I read in the paper (so I suppose it's so) That all of the dentists to Heaven will go, Because they are needed away up there To make gold crowns for the angels fair.

The Time Of His Life

(Written after seeing a cartoon by Mr. Karl Kae Knecht in the Evansville Courier.)

There are many schools of learning and also schools of game, But the school with largest members bears KING HIPPO'S name, And big and little people, yes even EVANS' FLEET, Would think it quite unpleasant a Hippo school to meet.

But Bwana Tumbo Teddy, who knows no thought of fear, Laughed in joyous pleasure as the SCHOOL drew near, And smiling at the leader, he made her stiff with fright, As from his parted mouthpiece his white teeth came in sight.

Then Bwana seized his rifle and taking steady aim, He fired at Queen Hippo and made her front legs lame, Then shooting at her sisters, and brothers left and right, He scattered all the mighty beasts and drove them out of sight.

All those he killed, this hunter brave, then quickly towed ashore, Saying, "I'M DE-LIGHTED, and I hope to meet some more SCHOOLS OF HIPPOPOTAMI that feel inclined for strife, As in this Hippo-battle I'd the time of my whole life."

King Teddy, The Fearless

The names of tropical diseases mentioned in this rhyme were given to the author by a young doctor who thought they could not be made to rhyme.

King Teddy has much courage to fight both beasts and men With pistols and with broadswords and with the mighty pen. And now in Afric jungles he's busy fighting fleas, Mosquitoes, and big tigers and monstrous bumble bees; Huge elephants, gorillas, and awful Guinea-worms, Sloughing phagedaena, and sleeping sickness germs, Tinea imbricata, piedra and goundou, Malaria and the ainhum, pinta and the sprue, Chyluria, mycetoma, leprosy and yaws, Afric dysentery and maybe lions' claws, Bubonic plague and dengue and dreadful tropic-boils, Fevers black and yellow and sometimes serpents' coils, Tinea Madagascar, Dhobie itch, screw worms, Beri-beri and craw-craw and all the Afric-germs; With dread sun-traumatism, and abscess of the liver, Yet none of these great terrors can make King Teddy shiver.

Good Bye To Teddy Bears

Good-bye to all the Teddy Bears, both big and small! The "Billy Possums" are in style for one and all, We little girls, like older folks, are bound to keep in style, And so we have to change our toys most every little while.

When Roosevelt or "Teddy," was ruler o'er this land, All stylish girls and clever boys kept bears on hand To play with and to walk with and to put to bed at night, As "Teddy Bears" were symbols of the Rooseveltian light.

But when King Teddy left his throne, Taft got his seat, And soft brown teddies disappeared from home and street, While "Billy Possums" came to rule for two years or for three, When "BRYAN KITTENS" will be hatched and all the rage will be.

Cats A Kissin (Catechism)

(Written for Cousin Patricia Rehn.)

Last week my cousin Patti, who isn't yet quite three, Went to our good Sunday School with mother and with me. She sat quite still and listened well to all the teacher said, Until I thought she stowed away much knowledge in her head. But when that evening Auntie asked, "What did my darling hear When she went to Sunday school; tell me, won't you, dear?" She shrugged her little shoulders and said, "Not anyfing Except dey said some funny words and den began to sing; Though 'bout de cats a kissin', well, the teacher said you should Teach me ev'ry evenin' and den I'd be so dood."

Hens

(Written for Aunt Mary Helena Rehn.)

What curious birds are common hens! They make good broth and even pens. They have no teeth, no hair, no nose, But sport a comb red as a rose. They have no arms or funny bones That causes folks to let forth groans, Their victuals they all swallow whole And use a craw for a chopping bowl. They have no hands, they have no wrists, And without hands they can't make fists, But for one thing they should rejoice And cluck aloud with cheerful voice; Not having hands, they have no nails, Which are the cause of many wails, For once a week we girls and boys Must put aside our games and toys And all our nice exciting tales, While mother trims our finger nails.

Plate 3: [Illustration: AUTHOR AT THREE YEARS OLD]

Please Grandpa, Croak

"Grandaddy," said young Harry, "do a good turn for me, By croaking like a big bull frog so I can plainly see If Daddy told the honest truth or only cracked a joke Because he said I'd have some "dough" if you would only croak."

Wee Willie's First Hair Cut

Last Friday, for the first time, wee Willie went with me To the colored barber, who bowed most graciously And asked the little fellow how should he crop his curls, Close to his head, in medium length, or bobbed like little girls? Wee Willie answered promptly, "My hair, please, barber, crop Like my own dear Daddy's, wif a small round hole on top."

Wise Replies

(Written for Uncle Thomas Cresswell, London, Eng.)

"Joan of Arc, and who was she?" Asked the teacher of little Leigh. "Wife of Noah, of course," said she, "Who sailed the ark upon the sea."

"John's so wise he laughed at Leigh When she tried to answer me, So in the future for replies We'll always go to John the wise. Now what is lava, Johnnie, dear, Can it be found in places near?"

"Why, certainly," said smiling John, "Most every day Dad puts it on, And covers nearly his whole face With lava thick in every place."

It Takes A Cigar A Long Time To Wear Out

(Written for Mr. Harry Warren, Cincinnati, Ohio.)

When Harry Warren was a boy only five years old, He wasn't then as he is now, so very big and bold, But he was very much afraid of bad tobacco smoke, Which seems to those who know him now to be a funny joke.

He had an uncle on whose knee he loved to sit each day And listen to exciting tales about the Pixies gay, But when this uncle had a light upon a long cigar, Then little Harry used to sit away from it as far As he could manage well to get upon his uncle's knee, Since Harry feared tobacco smoke more than a bumble bee.

One day while sitting way far out upon his uncle's knee, He grew so very tired as he waited there to see The end of the long smoker which made smoke all about And said, "It takes that big cigar a long time to wear out."

An Esperanto Poem Plain To All

(Written for Prof Macloskie, Princeton University.)

Hundido krias--"Bow-wow-wow!" Katido krias--"Meow-meow!" Bovido krias--"Moo-moo-moo!" Kolombo krias--"Coo-coo-coo!" Shafido krias--"Baa-baa-baa!" Infano krias--"Ma-ma-ma!"

Answers, Not Questions, Cause Trouble

This story was told to the author by Mrs. Frederick Guthrie, of Chicago, Ill.

MOTHER.

"Don't bother your father with questions, Ervane, He's tired of hearing you ask to explain Why fishes can't walk or ride on the land? How lizards and fleas can live in the sand? What causes the sun to set in the west And always to sleep in one golden nest? When will the time come for children to fly And play in the clouds with the birds in the sky? Such foolish, vain questions, they trouble your dad And sometimes I fear they make him quite sad."

"No, mother," replied the inquisitive lad, "It's the ANSWERS not QUESTIONS that trouble poor Dad."

The Pure Blooded Pup

(Written for Mrs. Anna Chase Brainard, of Buffalo, N. Y.)

Once there was a little pup who lived in far off Kent, Where he was born some years ago in kennels of Lord Dent; His mother was of purest blood and likewise was his Pa, So he arrived upon this earth without a single flaw.

His tail was just the proper size and so was each small ear, His shapely legs and nose and paws, they pleased his mother dear; And with her soft and scarlet tongue she kissed her baby pup And loved him, oh, so dearly, that she almost ate him up.

The keeper of the kennels when he saw this terrier pup, Declared, "It's just a beauty and will surely win "THE CUP" For being a fox terrier of very purest breed And now to my dear master I'll go with greatest speed

And tell him of this puppy who will bring our kennels fame And ask him what he thinks will be a truly proper name For the most perfect terrier that ever came to Kent; It seems to me he should be called for my great master "Dent."

The master when he heard the news that a new pup had come, Left off his game of playing cards and drinking pints of rum, And hastened to the kennels to behold the wondrous pup, Who at the coming dog show was to win the great prize cup.

The mother dog she wagged her tail, with pride she was puffed up, As her great master stood right near and smiled upon her pup, While saying, "Higgens, listen well to what I have to say, And care for this good mother dog and her fine pup each day.

I'll name him for my ancestor, the great and famous Kent, And in that name to the dog show next year he shall be sent, Where I am sure he'll win the prize above all others there For he is perfect in his shape and has fine silky hair."

So little Kent was tended well and petted every day, He never had to seek for bones and only had to play, And having nothing else to do on mischief he was bent, Was this aristocratic pup, owned by the great Lord Dent.

And when a year had passed around, one day the master came To take him to the London show, where he would win great fame; But Kent was very naughty, as he did not wish to go Away from his good kennel home to any prize dog show.

At last his master whipped Pup Kent and oh, but he did swear Because Kent snapped at Higgens, who was combing his fine hair And putting on a collar with a chain of golden beads; Such ornaments Kent could not see that any puppy needs.

At last the royal pup was dressed in pupdom regal style, And drove in a fine carriage, oh, for many a weary mile, Until he came to London town, where nothing he could see, Because all things were bidden with a fog as thick as could be.

Before he'd even time to think, this 'ristocratic pup, He found himself in a small cage with all the doors shut up, And many men were standing round and gazing long at him, While passing comments on his shape of head, and tail, and limb.

Kent glared at them in silence and he would not wag his tail, In fact just like a good young boy who might be put in jail When he had never done a thing to break the country's law, So felt this little terrier, this pup without a flaw.

And when the judges thought that he should have the ribbon blue Because of his most perfect blood shown by the records true, He snapped and barked and even bit at those who came quite near To tie the lovely ribbon on the neck of "PUPPY DEAR."

So they decided that despite his wondrous pedigree There yet was something in his blood that ought not there to be And gave the prize, a silver cup, to a more common dog, Who lay so still and quiet that he might have been a log.

But when that evening our Lord Dent beheld with great surprise That a less blooded terrier had won the noble prize, He felt so very angry that he wished to beat Pup Kent, And ordered that the beastly dog should quickly home be sent.

But while poor Kent was going home so sad and in disgrace, He got away from Higgens and he found another place Far, far away from kennels of the great and wealthy Dent, Near to a peaceful village, the runaway he went.

Here he lay down so tired and thought of many a bone, Which now was being gnawed each day by his good ma alone, Since Dent, her darling puppy boy, was oh, so far away, Oh, how he wished to gnaw a bone with his good ma this day!

But as he lay a dreaming of lovely things to eat, Quite suddenly a large gray rat ran right across his feet, And after it there followed an Irishman named Pat, Who sought to make a timely end of bad old Mister Rat.

Big Pat was armed with a huge club and called to his old dog, "Now, come along ye lazy baste, before he's in the bog!" Then Kent he jumped and in one bound he seized poor Mister Rat, Shook him about 'till he was dead and then brought him to Pat.

Big Pat he gazed in wonder at the clever little dog, And sitting down upon a large and green moss covered log, Said, "Shure, ye bate this lazy hound that kennot catch a rat, And if ye'll stay right here, me boy, I'll trate ye well," says Pat.

Then proudly Kent he wagged his tail and tried so hard to smile Upon the good old Irishman, who patted him awhile, Then coaxed the stranger after him right through a broad green lane, Which led to the fine country home of good Sir Michael Kane.

And here Pat introduced the pup to all the family, And they were all so very kind as any folks could be, They patted his soft silky hair and praised him to the sky, And gave him a big gravy dish all filled with nice meat pie, And likewise a huge saucer, which was full of real sweet cream, Which made the hungry doggie think that he was in a dream.

So here Dog Kent decided was the best place for to dwell, And here he still is living and is feeling very well. He goes each morning to the barn and helps his good friend Pat To catch the naughty rodents, who are called the name of RAT.