Once there was a little boy who wouldn’t go to bed,
When they hinted at the subject he would only shake his head,
When they asked him his intentions, he informed them pretty straight
That he wouldn’t go to bed at all, and Nursey needn’t wait.

As their arguments grew stronger, and their attitude more strict,
I grieve to say that naughty boy just yelled and screamed and kicked.
And he made up awful faces, and he told them up and down
That he wouldn’t go to bed for all the nurses in the town.

Then Nursey lost her patience, and although it wasn’t right,
Retorted that for all she cared he might sit up all night.
He approved of this arrangement, and he danced a jig for joy,
And turned a somersault with glee; he was a naughty boy.

And so they all went off to bed and left him sitting there,
Right in the corner by the fire in Grandpa’s big armchair.
He read his books and played his games,—he even sang a song
And thought how lovely it would be to sit up all night long.

But soon his games grew stupid, and his puzzles
wouldn’t work;
He drew himself up stiffly with a sudden little jerk,
And he said, “I am not sleepy, and I love to
play alone—
And—I—think—” the rest was mumbled in
a drowsy monotone.

He leaned back on the cushions like that night
he had the croup;
His head began to wobble and his eyes began
to droop;
He closed them for a minute, just to see how
it would seem,
And straightway he was sound asleep, and dreamed this awful dream!

He thought he saw a garden filled with flowers and roses gay,
A great big gardener with a hoe came walking down his way;
“Ah, ha!” exclaimed the gardener, as he clutched him by the head,
“Here’s a fine specimen I’ve found; I’ll plant him in this bed!”

He held the boy in one big hand, unheeding how he cried,
And with the other dug a hole enormous, deep, and wide.
He jammed the little fellow in, and said in gruffest tone,
“This is the bed for naughty boys who won’t go to their own.”
And then the dirt was shovelled in,—it covered up his toes,
His ankles, knees, and waist and arms, and higher yet it rose.
For still the gardener shovelled on, not noticing his cries;
It came up to his chin and mouth—it almost reached his eyes;
Just then he gathered all his strength and gave an awful scream,
And woke himself, and put an end to that terrific dream.
And he said, as Nursey tucked him up and bade him snugly rest,
“When I am planted in a bed, I like my own the best.”

The Rivals

Two well-built men, neither giant nor dwarf,
Were Monsieur Elims and Mynheer Nworf.
They lived in a town not far away,
And spent their time in work and play.
Now Monsieur Elims was loved by all—
By rich and poor, by great and small.
And Mynheer Nworf remarked one day,
“Brother, explain to me, I pray,
Why no one likes me as well as you,
No matter what I may say or do.
I have stores of knowledge packed in my head;
I am learned and wise and very well read;
I can dance, I can sing, I’m extremely polite;
I am worth a large fortune all in my own right.
But still,—and this question has caused me much thought,—
While I am neglected, you’re everywhere sought.”
Monsieur Elims replied: “My dear sir, that is true,
But you see, I am I, and you see, you are you.
If I receive praises and you receive blame,
’Tis doubtless because each lives up to his name.”

You’ll find his defence rather puzzling, I fear;
But read their names backward—the meaning is clear.

The New Cup

“I’ve a lovely new cup from Uncle John,”
Said Dorothy; “only see—
It has beautiful golden letters on,
And they spell ‘Remember Me.’”

“Oho!” laughed Fred. “Why, Dorothy dear,
They put that on mugs and plates:
I’ve studied jography ’most a year,
And I know the names of the States.

And when you see that anywhere,—
At least, since this fuss with Spain,—
It’s the President who puts it there,
And it means ‘Remember the Maine’!”

A Photographic Failure

Mr. Hezekiah Hinkle
Saw a patient Periwinkle
With a kodak, sitting idly by a rill.
Feeling a desire awaken
For to have his picture taken,
Mr. Hezekiah Hinkle stood stock-still.

Mr. Hezekiah Hinkle
Felt his brow begin to wrinkle,
And his pose assume a sad and solemn style;
But the Periwinkle trusted,
As the focus he adjusted,
That his customer would kindly try to smile.

Mr. Hezekiah Hinkle
Felt his eyes begin to twinkle,
And his mouth took on a broad and open grin;
Said the Periwinkle, sadly,
“If you stretch your jaw so madly,
I fear perhaps that I shall tumble in.”

Mr. Hezekiah Hinkle
Felt his hair begin to crinkle,
As it rose up on his forehead in affright;
Though his comrade spoke so mildly,
Mr. Hinkle wondered wildly,
How he could escape this dire and awful plight.

Mr. Hezekiah Hinkle
Said, “I fear it’s going to sprinkle,
And really for a storm I’m not prepared.”
Then without a further warning
He politely said, “Good morning,”
And the patient Periwinkle stood and stared.

Christmas Gifts

Ten Christmas presents standing in a line;
Robert took the bicycle, then there were nine.
Nine Christmas presents ranged in order straight;
Bob took the steam engine, then there were eight.
Eight Christmas presents—and one came from Devon;
Robbie took the jackknife, then there were seven.
Seven Christmas presents direct from St. Nick’s;
Bobby took the candy box, then there were six.
Six Christmas presents, one of them alive;
Rob took the puppy dog, then there were five.
Five Christmas presents yet on the floor;
Bobbin took the soldier cap, then there were four.
Four Christmas presents underneath the tree;
Bobbet took the writing desk, then there were three.
Three Christmas presents still in full view;
Robin took the checker board, then there were two.
Two Christmas presents, promising fun,
Bobbles took the picture book, then there was one.
One Christmas present—and now the list is done;
Bobbinet took the sled, and then there were none.
And the same happy child received every toy,
So many nicknames had one little boy.

Young America

Wee Willie sat a-thinking,
And he shook his curly head.
Around him on the nursery floor
His treasures lay outspread.

Firecrackers and torpedoes,
Trumpet and flag and drum,
Rockets and pinwheels and paper caps,
For Fourth of July had come.

“But it makes me sort o’ sorry,”
Wee Willie said with a sigh,
“To think of those poor little English boys
Without any Fourth of July.”

A Bicycle built for Two

There was an ambitious young eel
Who determined to ride on a wheel;
But try as he might,
He couldn’t ride right,
In spite of his ardor and zeal.

If he sat on the saddle to ride
His tail only pedalled one side;
And I’m sure you’ll admit
That an eel couldn’t sit
On a bicycle saddle astride.

Or if he hung over the top,
He could go, but he never could stop;
For of course it is clear
He had no way to steer,
And under the wheel he would flop.

His neighbor, observing the fun,
Said, “I think that the thing can be done,
If you’ll listen to me,
You’ll quickly agree
That two heads are better than one.

“And this is my project, old chap,
Around our two waists I will wrap
This beautiful belt
Of bottle-green felt
And fasten it firm with a strap.”

This done, with a dignified mien
The two squirmed up on the machine,
And rode gayly away,
Or at least, so they say,
Who witnessed the wonderful scene.

Dorothy’s Opinion

Mamma has bought a calendar,
And every single page
Has pictures on of little girls
’Most just about my age.

And when she bought it yesterday,
Down at the big bazaar,
She said, “What lovely little girls,
How true to life they are.”

But I don’t think they’re true to life,
And I’ll just tell you why;
They never have a rumpled frock
Or ribbon bow awry.

And though they play with cats and dogs,
And rabbits and white mice,
And sail their boats and fly their kites,
They always look so nice.

And I am sure no little girl
That ever I have seen,
Could play with dogs or sail a boat
And keep her frock so clean.