IF~ r1 II
A BOOK OF
BY E. PORTER DYER.
FOURTH EDITION EILaRGED.
STONE, 21 CORNILL.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862,
BT C. STONE,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts
HOI AlT & ROBINS,
New England Type and Stereotype Foundary,
MT dear little readers, the moment you look
At the pictures and poems contained in this book,
You '11 see 'tis a volume intended for you,
To guide your young hearts to the good and the
Nor need you think strange, should these juvenile
Have something adapted to different ages;
For very large households of sisters and brother
Have always some in them much older than
Yet older or younger, from first to the last,
Each child will indulge his particular taste.
So, when a new book is brought home by the
And eagerly round it the children all gather,
In portico's shade or by winter's warm fire,
It should contain something which all may
And such we meant this should be, when we
A book for a child, not a treatise for man.
Though often it happens a juvenile poet,
Who thinks he has wit and knows where to
Might use his lone talent for teaching the young
To better advantage by holding his tongue,
There 's one point, however, where children who
With sensible people are nicely agreed, -
A child's book with naught but dull dignity in it
Is just like an owl in the nest of a linnet,
Or, rather (strict justice to render the fowl),
Resembles a linnet's nest full of an owl.
Not such is this book (though its moral is
For the children will like it, if all are like mine,
Who love a new book, and some prettier story
Than Little Jack Horner," or "Old Mother
So, when you're in BOSTON, and long to be find-
A neat little volume in beautiful binding,
Forget not, dear children, the book you are
Is called THz CHILD's KEEPSAKE," of whioh
I 've been speaking.
If you can persuade your dear father to buy it, he
Will find it contains quite a constant variety."
if some views are shady, some others are sunny,
And both in one volume are cheap for the money.
THE CHILDREN'S WELCOME, ......... 9
THE SAD BIRD, ............ .... 14
THE LITTLE DAUGHTER'S FIRST BIRTH-DAY, 15
THE MOTHER'S LULLABY, .......... 18
FILIAL REVERENCE, . . ... 21
THE NEW BONNET, ..............23
THE LITTLE NEST-BUILDER, . . 25
THE LITTLE PEDEE . . . ... 80
THE OLD BLIND BEGGAR,.. . . 33
THE CHILD'S PRAYER, . . ... 85
TO OUR ABSENT LITTLE MARY, . .. .
MY LITTLE PLAY-FELLOW, . . ...... 40
THE SABBATH-SCHOOL JUBILEE, ..... .43
THE PUPILS' FAREWELL, . . 45
THE BARNACLE, ..................46
MY LITTLE SISTER, ...............51
CRUEL FUN, .................. 64
WEb DEATH OP THE NAUGHTY HONEY-BEE, N
THE STRANGE VOICE ; OR, SAM AND BEN,.. 8
THE BRINDLED COW, ............. 60
SONG, . . .
THE INVITATION, .
THE STARS, .......
TIHE BIBLE, ......
TIE PET LAMB ....
THE SECRET WHISPER,
EVENING,. . .
THE MAPLE SISTERS, .
THil PADDOCK MOON,
THE CHILD'S WISH, .
. .... ..... ..
. . . .
. . . .89
. . . 70
.. ....... ..78
. . . 5
. . . .is
. . . .81
......... .. .S
. . . 0
THE SPIDER AT HOME, . . . 91
TRAINING DAY, OR THE LITTLE SMOKER, ..9
THE SPARROW, ................98
THE FOUR LITTLE BROTHERS, ...... ..100
THE DEATH OP POOR POLL . ... .105
THE FARMER'S FAREWELL TO HIS HORSE,. 108
THE SABBATH, ................ .18
THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY, ....... 11
HOW GREAT IS GOD! . . ....
MY lATHER, .......... ... .. .
ARUW LL,................... .I
THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
THE CHILDREN'S WELCOME.
The father sits in the old arm-chair in the parlor
It is Christmas morning. The parlor-door opens
and one son and three little daughters enter, with
smiling faces, all neatly dressed for Christmas. They
stand before their father in a row. One bows and
three courtesy, and then all shout together, We
wish you a merry Christmas, father I" while lose
behind stands the happy mother, holding in her
arms a little, giggling, crowing, capering baby, the
very image of herself; and all wait and watch, to
see what father will do, and hear what father will
say. They expect him to sing them a song, at
least; and in that song they have no doubt he will
make them some promises, and perhaps give them
some advice ; and they feel willing to listen to the
advice, for the sake of the promises. And so the
10 THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
father, perfectly delighted, raises both hands, and,
without any special regard to critics, comes down in
ORIGINAL SONG OF WELCOME.
WHAT lots of little children! Well,
I'm glad you're all alive;
Four.smiling little daughters see,
And one brave boy make five.
Well, 't is a pretty household this, -
Here's Peter 'most a man,
With little sisters Caroline,
Kate, Emeline and Ann.
And Peter goes to singing-school,
And tries to learn to sing;
While Caroline and sister Kate
Can spell like anything.
Dear Emma stays with us at home.
And helps her mother sew,
While little darling baby Ann
Drinks milk that she may grow.
Tim oMLD's K.EPsaK.
O, what a lovely family
Of children these would be,
If they were always good to mind,
And always could agree!
But sometimes naughty children tease
And worry one another;
And little sisters disagree,
While playing with their brother.
They sometimes strike each other, too;
But guilt soon brings detection,
And when it reaches father's ears,
They suffer sound correction.
For he employs a birchen rod,
To make his children wiser,
And thinks old-fashioned Solomon
About the best adviser.
But if they all behave themselves,
As well as they know how,
And keep their hands and faces clean,
And hair as neat as now,
12 TEB CHILD'S KFPSAKI.
I mean to buy them something new,
And something pretty queer,
At Boston, when I go again,
As presents for New Year.
But what to get I hardly know,
Unless I get for Peter
A sled, which, when he comes to coast,
Will be of all the beater."
And I must get a pretty book,
How pretty there's no telling,
But full of pictures nice and new,
And full of words for spelling,
Which Caroline and Kate must hav
Because they read so well;
And each beside shall have a book
That's full of words to spell.
And Emeline shall have a dress,
A doll and string of beads,
Some red and blue and yellow ones,
On gold and purple threaded.
TU N LD'U KPN.U.
And I must buy for little Ann,
That jumping baby-girl,
A little silver rattle-trap,
With handle made of pearl.
And 0 how happy they will be,
My little son and daughters,
And say to all the folks, Do see
The things dear father bought us !"
0 how delighted, and how bright
Those little eyes will shine!
As each one says, What pretty gifts!
0, do just look at mine!"
And what a mess of kisses, too,
They'll give their father then,
And hug and kiss, and kiss and hug,
And hug and kiss again!
0, won't we be so happy, should
These little children live,
Till father has a chance to get
These pretty things to give!
14 Tim CMny,'s KEEPlaSAC
THE BAD BIRD.
Coxr, sing me a song now,
Thou sweet little bird!
Fear not, I'11 not hurt thee,
I pledge thee my word.
Just give me one solo!
Why silent thy voice ?
Because thou art captive,
Canst thou not rejoice .
Dost thou, like the old Jew,
By proud Babel's stream,
Of kindred and country
Incessantly dream ?
Is thy throat thus tuneless,
Thy bosom all woe,
Because thou art prisoned ?-
Well, go, then, bird, go!
For I will not wrong thee,
Sweet child of the air,
THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
With voice once so pleasant,
With plumage still fair!
I give thee thy freedom;
Fly, pretty bird, fly!
Go sing to thy young brood
Their sweet lullaby.
THE LITTLE DAUGHTER'S FIRST BIRTH-
DnR little darling daughter,
Whom rosy sleep has chained,
Since first we hailed thy person,
Twelve moons have waxed and waned.
Twelve happy months we 've loved thee,
Thou canst not know how well;
With each our love has strengthened,
Yet deeper grows the spell.
We saw thee frail and helpless,
We heard thy weeping voice,
When first our God bestowed thee,
Yet could not but rejoice.
16 THE CHLD S KEEHPSAE.
To some thou wert a stranger;
To us an angel-guest.
For we might call thee daughter,
And clasp thee to our breast.
Day unto day succeeded, -
Thy form grew plump and fair,
And we esteemed our baby
A beauty somewhat rare.
We placed thee in the balance,
Against a five-pound weight;
'But found the beam uneven,
Thou couldst not match it yet:
We warmed and clothed and fed thee,
We let thee drink and sleep;
We bade thy nurse one fortnight
Strict vigil o'er thee keep;
Because thy feeble mother
Could not as yet go through
What thy dear health and comfort
Required some one to do.
TIM COLD'5 KUMlh .
She took thee to her bosom,
With her returning health,
And joyed that one more jewel
Was added to our wealth.
And daily we have watched thee,
And nourished thee with care,
And given thee up in baptism,
And prayed for thee our prayer.
Till thou art now just able
To stand up in thy stool,
And laugh to see thy brother
Come running home from school.
Thy little blue eyes sparkle
Thy bonny brow beneath,
And twixtt thy red lips parting
Shine twice two tiny teeth.
Scarce two feet high thou standeet,
And yet we love thee well,
And bless our God, who gave thee,
Dear child, with us to dwell.
"SLEEP, BABY DARLING."
COMPOSED FOR THE KEEAKE, BY J.C. JOHNSON.
Soft and slow. WORDS DY REV. E. P. DYER.
1. Sleep, baby darling, Here on my breast;
Calm be thy slum-ber, Peaceful thy rest:
Soft is thy pil-low,Closed thy bright eye.
Gone is thy sorrow. Hushed is thy c.
K-._, v J lit 1
ITB CHILD'S KEPSAKE.
While thou art sleeping,
Fond vigils long.
Thy mother 's keeping,
Humming her song.
That lock she's watching,
Which on thy brow,
Stirred by her rocking,
Waves to and fro.
Why art thou smiling ?
Is Fancy yet
Thy heart beguiling,
My darling pet?
Babe of my bosom,
First pledge of love,
Say, do they whisper,
Why that smile wreathing
Thy rosy lip ?
Who holds with thee now
20 THEl CILD'I KUEPSXEL.
Would I knew whether
Pass now before thee,
Or freaks of thine !
Joy swells my fond heart,
For hope can see,
Bright in the future,
Triumphs for thee.
Conquests shall crown thee,
Where'er thou roam;
Welcome thee home.
While I am keeping
Fond vigil here,
Why am I weeping ?
Wherefore this tear
Will hope deceive me !
Ay, but she may!
Then I '1 not trust her,
No, not a day.
Tin mHI 'a IrKUsA.
For should the tempter
These dear feet snare,
Mine would be anguish
No heart could bear.
Father of mercies,
Guard her and guide;
Ne'er let such evil
Her feet betide.
LITTLE children must be good, -
That is always understood.
Good to father, good to mother,
Good to sister, good to brother.
Little children, when they play,
Naughty words should never say;
Naughty actions never do, -
Never speak a word untrue.
In the book of Kings 't is told,
How to Bethel's city old
22 THE CHILD'S KEPSAKE.
Once a holy prophet came
(GQod Elisha was his name).
Saucy children rudely then
Made the air resound again.
Bethel's little children said,
Mocking, Go up, thou bald head !"
Wicked children all were they,
Thus to halloo in their play.
For, though they were young and small,
That good prophet cursed them all
God for all his prophets cares,
So He sent forth two she-bears,
Which, as it is told us true,
Tore in pieces forty-two!
Now, my little children, when
You shall chance to meet such men,
This remember God has said,
Rise before the hoary head,
Nor forget, in any case,
Reverence for the aged face."
Thus, when you yourselves are old,
This may then of you be told,
You revered old age when young,
THE CHILD'S KEPSAE.
Kept a bridle on your tongue,
Honored God, for I," says He,
" Honor those who honor Me."
God no richer boon can give,
Children none so rich receive.
A NEW BONNET FOR CATHARINE.
I'VE bought my little Kate, to-day,
A very pretty bonnet,
Which has within some tasty tabs,
And purple ribbon on it.
And now my daughter will, I hope,
Be very kind to me,
And keep her. little bonnet neat.
And nice as nice can be.
And when she goes with me to church,
Will sit as still's a mouse,
Nor ever whisper, laugh, or.play,
While in the meeting-house.
2S T~H CmILD'S KIPRSAKU.
And should I see her thus behave,
As well as e'er she can,
I dare say I shall buy her soon
A cunning little fan.
One word, however, of advice,
A father well may say,
So, daughter, listen to his voice,
Ay, listen while you may.
Prize not too high, my darling child,
This fashionable bonnet,
Nor much about its linings think,
Or showy ribbon on it.
But let your heart be humble still,
Avoiding vain display;
For soon the fashion of this world
Will change, and pass away.
But think of Christ, the blessed Lord,
When in the house of prayer;
And think not of your bonnet, dear, -
Remember God is there.
TIu CMILD'S KMPWAXU.
Be modest, humble, holy, meek,
That he your soul may bless,
Who looks upon your heart, my child,
And not upon your dress.
THE LITTLE NEST-BUIDER.
A swET little robin,
With red-feathered breast,
Flew into our peach-tree,
And built him a nest.
Each day he was building,
We watched where he flew,
And marvelled and wondered
At how much he knew.
Without hands or fingers,
He picked up a string,
Then flew to the peach-tree,
And there stopped to sing.
26 THE CHILU'S KMIPUSaKE
His song was delicious,
We heard him- begin it,
Ay sweet as ten thousand
Thanksgivings were in it.
His melody finished,
His string he made fiat;
Then flew to the meadow
In silence and haste.
At length he came, bringing
Some mud in his bill,
Which, glued to his palace,
Looked just like a pill.
He fetched flying feathers
SFrom farm-yard and field;
Straws, sticks, twigs and splinters,
His mansion to build.
And so he kept doing,
For many a day
Till he had completed
A palace of lay.
Ma, CMw'),s KEPSAn.
With joy on that morning,
Joy mingled with pride,
His dwelling-house finished,
He welcomed his bride.
Her breast swelled with pleasure,
As long she surveyed it,
And blushed with new ardor
For Robin who made it.
She laid four eggs in it,
With shells of deep blue,
And sat on them whole weeks,
Ere one was pecked through.
Then out came young robins,
One, two, three and four;
And having no bedsteads,
They slept on the floor.
And she, their dear mother,
* Spreads o'er them her wings;
With them in the tree-top
All night long she swings.
S THu CHILD'S KBPSAKu .
And when, in the morning,
Her little ones squirm,
She flies to the garden,
And gets them a worm.
My dear mamma,
What makes you slumber soI
'T is broad day-light,
The fields are white
With newly-fallen snow.
The God who kept
Us while we slept
Must be a wondrous God,
Who moulds and makes
These little flakes,
And flings them all abroad.
M OMC's XCUP5A.
The posts and rails.
The hills and vales,
Each roof and every tree,
With all the ground
For miles around,
Are white as white can be.
We laid our'head
Upon our bed,
And slept a quiet sleep;
We dreamed not then
To wake again
And find the snow so deep.
But here we are,
And fast and far
The snow keeps coming down,
As if 't were sent
With pure intent
To whitewash all the town.
THE LITTLE PEDEE.
COMPOSED FOR THE KEEPSAKE, BY L.H.SOUTHARD.
Leggiero. WORDS BY RBV. E. P. DYER.
Flew in to our appletreeJust before noon.
So hot was the sun, And so shady the tree,
That he felt jusittle Pedeeging Pe-de mornindee, dJun-dee.
,- ,11_ _A_
j Flew in-to our npple-tree,Just before noon.
So hot wvas the sun, And so shady the tree,
That he felt justlike singing Pe-dee-dee, de-dee.
~---C-f -t 9-
TUB CHILD 8 KXEPbSAS.
Some brown feathers covered
His wings and his back .
His breast was pearl-colored,
His head was all black.
Yet seemed he as happy
As 'happy could be,
Sitting swinging and singing,
"Pedee, dee, dee, deg."
I suppose little Pedee
Has somewhere a nest;
On what twig he hung it,
He doubtless knows best.
If naughty boys rob it,
How sorry he '11 be,
And then he can't sing his
"Pede6, dee, dee, de6."
I guess little Pedee
Has somewhere a mate,
He loves very much, though
He 's not very great.
a2 Ta CHIXl'S KUrS"MI.
And I should n't wonder
If little birds tease,
When home comes their father,
To sit on his knees.
Or may be they cry,
As experience has taught us,
" 0 father, dear father,
Pray what have you bought us!
No, smiling quite gladly,
Their father to see,
They thank him to sing them,
"Pedee, dee, dee, de6."
The Pedee sings sweetly;
Our old apple-tree
Is alive with his music,
"Pede6, dee, dee, de "
Hark! pray, don't you hear himl
Come here, child, to me;
There, now don't you see him,
Right up in the tree?
T w CMM's rsRAW .
He's a beautiful songster
As often you '11 see ;
His voice clear and softly
Sings ever Peded.
And when his dear boys learn
To sing like their father,
They '11 make merry music
All singing together.
THE OLD BLIND BEGGAR.
A BLIND man once came to our cottage-door;
He had been before ;
Be was poor he said;
So we never refused him a morsel of bread.
W6 need him with pleasure his path to find
Because he was blind;
And we did not know
But it might fall to us to be smitten just so.
We pity the aged, whose eyes are dim,
But specially him;
34 Tim cnILm's KEPs&Kz.
For he 's lame and old,
And his temples are gray, and his hovel is
The blind man, however, is understood
To be kind and good;
And we '1l be the same; -
We 'll be eyes to the blind, and be feet to
For God does regard when the needy poor
Stand long at our door;
His agents are they,
And He tells us to give them, and He will
So when the blind man, who craves only
To our cottage comes,
We are happy to give;
We esteem it more blest than 't would be to
Excuse from such deeds would doubtless be
Had we lost our sight.
2M CmLD'S IZEPBAKU.
Yet scarce would it pay,
Our eyes to put out to save giving away.
Then let our blind friend come oft as he will,
And we 'll give him still
Wood, raiment and bread,
Ere we '11 dare to say, Go, be thou warmed,
clothed and fed."
Dear children, is not this a beautiful way 1
Doth not Jesus say,
"Though least he may be,
Unto whom ye did this, ye have done it to
THE CHILD'S PRAYER.
OuR Father and our God,
Who dwellest in the heaven
We thank Thee for the precious gifts
Thy grace to us hath given.
36 THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE
For, Lord, thy gifts are rich,
And new from day to day;
In number more than we can count,
Or ever can repay.
Forgive our various sins,
Wash out their guilty stains,
In that dear purple stream which flowed
From Jesus' dying veins.
Remove these hearts of stone,
Create us wholly thine,
And make our bosoms thine abode,
A dwelling-place divine.
Keep us, 0 Lord, this night;
Bless all for whom we pray,
And fill our hearts with thankfulness
When morning brings the day.
Grant us all needed grace,
Guide us till death be past,
And be it our great happiness
To dwell with Thee at last
TRE CHILD'S KEZPSA.K.
TO OUR ABSENT LITTLE MARY, ON A
VISIT TO HER UNCLE'S.
Tnou art gone, little Mary, my dear,
And we miss thee at morning and night;
With thy little pug-nose and thy cheeks full
And thy two eyes so blue and so bright.
We often are wishing
That we might be kissing.
The dear one that's missing,
The dear little daughter, whose eyes are so
We are sad, little Mary, my dear,
At the void which your absence has made
In our home and our hearts, and we wish
you were here,
As you were when with baby you played;
For you used to be clever,
You disobeyed never,
But wept soon as ever
The least mite of blame to your motive was
88 THE CMLD'S KPSAKGE.
We are glad, little Mary, my dear,
To believe you contented away;
And should you find flowers quite as pretty as
We presume you '11 be willing to stay.
We are sure you won't borrow
Much care from to-morrow,
Or suffer from sorrow,
While mid blooming roses you 've freedom to
Does your uncle, sweet Mary, my dear,
At your infantile womanhood smile,
Till his eyes overflow with a merrimade tear,
And yourself look quite honest the while !
You need not be frighted,
Supposing you 're slighted.
He 's merely delighted
With matronly airs in your miniature style.
Your dear aunt, little Mary, my dear,
Will supply your immediate wants;
T= CHILD'S EnAPSiKZ.
And bestow on your wardrobe more taste and
than as if you wore jacket and pants.
And you must endeavor
To be good and clever,
That she may have ever
Good cause to be one of the kindest of aunts
We must say, little Mary, my dear,
That we miss you at table and prayers;
We have no little girl (when the rest are not
To pry into all our affairs.
We've no little Mary
To feed our canary,
To run in the dairy,
To ask for a cookie, or put back the chair.
You must come, little Mary, my dear,
And see us again, pretty soon;
For we hardly feel right when you do not
40 TiD CWILD's KEPUL.
Either morning, or evening, or noon.
You are one of a tissue,
Your sisters all miss you,
Your brothers would kiss you,
And all of us wish you to come home in June.
MY LITTLE PLAY-FELLOW.
My gentle boy, come hither, now, -
I love thy pleasant smile,
The tender genuine friendship, too,
Of spirits free from guile.
Come, stand here by thy father, child.
Come, sit upon my knee,
Unbosom all thy sorrows, dear,
Thy pleasures tell to me.
Say, now, art thou a happy boy,
To rove among the flowers,
Content to chase the butterfly,
Amid thy childish hours
THE CBIHl'S 's PXaKE.
And spend the long, long summer's day
With kite and hoop and ball,
Or watch thy tiny water-wheel
Beside the waterfall ?
Dost know it makes me happy, son,
To see thee at thy play,
And that my heart is troubled when
Thou wanderest away ?
For 0 temptations multiply
With thy increasing years,
And seeing-what thou canst not see, -
'T is this alarms my fears.
Give now thy heart to Jesus Christ,
My loved and loving boy,
And mine will be that father's lot
Whose cup is filled with joy.
And thine, such portion thine shall.be,
Amid thy childish play,
As earthly parents cannot give,
And none can take away.
____k 4__t$ -
TH CHILD'S KEEPSAK.
THE SABBATH-SCHOOL JUBILEE.
MERRsY, merrily ring the bells,
Over the city and over the sea,
And every tongue with its music tells
Of citizens keeping a jubilee.
Go forth, go forth, from the dusty street;
Inhale the balmy and bracing air,
In the shady woodland's cool retreat,
By the murmuring brooks that sparkle
Come hither, come hither, ye children, come,
And enjoy a sail on the dustless sea,
And visit the flowers in their summer bloom,
And rove where the butterfly's path may
Hura, hurra, for the valley and hill!
Hurra, hurra, for the woodland glade!
Where the frolicksome lambkins frisk at will,
bAnd the herds repose in the old elm's shade.
THE CHILD'S MOePSAKN.
We here may run, and jump, and play,
And tumble about on the grassy plain,
And make the most of our holiday,
For we never can hope to be young again.
And when the sport of the day is done,
And our moments of pastime all are o'er,
We '11 banish again all thoughts of fun,
And cheerful return to our school once
But now for the present our hearts are free,
And mirth and frolic engage the hour;
We '11 wander forth like the diligent bee,
To sip the breath of each balmy flower,
And bless the God who hath made the hills,
And the flowery fields, and the forest glade,
And the summer brooks, and the sparkling
And the mossy fount in the maple shade.
For he is Governor over all,
And the wise delight in his holy rule.
THW ACILD'S KEEPSAKE.
Without him not even a sparrow can fall,
While his smile is the joy of the Sabbath-
THE PUPILS' FAREWELL.
FAREWELL, Miss Anna,
Good times and many,
We 've had m your beautiful school.
We shall cry when we part,
But the love in our heart
It can never, no, never, grow cool.
We feel very bad,
The first teacher we had,
We must part with so soon in regret;
But we truly declare,
Little girls as we are,
That we cannot, we will not, forget.
We wish now to kiss you,
We hope God will bless you,
46 THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
And Helen and Sarah will pray
We may meet you above,
In the kingdom of love,
Not to part as we part, ma'am, to-day.
THE Barnacle clung
To the good ship's side;
Now, now," said he,
For a famous ride.
I will sail with this ship
On the fathomless main,
To the end of the ocean,
And back again."
The ship set sail
On that very day,
And soon was afloat
In the briny bay.
Her sails all white
To the breeze were spread,
2= CWT'S KEMPSAKE.
And she soon lost sight
Of each mountain-head.
The Barnacle floats
As fast as she,
Far down in the depths
Of the azure sea.
He loves to traverse
Those fields of blue,
Which the singing keel"
Of the ship ploughs through.
He passed the cells
Where the mermaids keep
Their bright treasures hid
In the vasty deep;"
Where the coral hills
Uplift their heads,
And the gold-fish sleep
On their amber beds.
Had a Franklin gone
Where the Barnacle went,
48 THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
He would have explored,
With a sage intent,
A thousand things
In the depths below,
Which the dwellers at home
Would be glad to know.
But the Barnacle seemed
Not a sage to be,
But merely an outside
His eyes, wide open,
No marvels saw,
Save the fin of a shark
And a lobster's claw.
For weeks he cruised
In the Spanish main,
Yet nothing he learned
Of the coast of Spain.
He doubled the Cape,
To the Indian sea,
Yet his head obtained
Not a new idee "
TEIE CMLD 'S KMOAP5AU.
Across both tropics
The proud ship passed,
And still to her side
Clung the Barnacle fast,
Till he 'd sailed under water
Clear round the world,
And the ship's proud sails
In the port were furled.
But he knew no more
Of the voyage he 'd been,
And could tell no more
Of the sights he'd seen,
Than as if he had been
But the clinging shell,
That had emptied itself
Of its Barnacle.
And many a youth
Who is sent for knowledge,
To spend four years
At a notable college,
Can give us no better
Account of his stay,
50 THE CHILD'S EMPShU.
Than this, that he entered,
And came away.
And travellers too,-
For there are some such,
Who travel unwisely,
Or travel too much, -
Who can tell us no more
Of a trip world-wide,
Than the Barnacle could
Of his famous ride.
But you, little children,
Who mean to be wise,
Must shut up your mouths,
And then open your eyes;
And observe all you can,
Both at home and abroad,
Which can benefit man,
Or bring glory to God.
Ts m CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
MY LITTLE SISTER.
I HAD a little sister once,
'T was long, long years ago,
Whose name I never mention now,
Because I loved her so.
And that dear sister, she loved me
As I've no words to tell,
While her gentle presence bound my heart,
As with a fairy's spell.
I loved to count her ringlets fair,
I loved to catch her smile,
And always would her soothing voice
My weariness beguile.
Her modesty, her mirthfulness,
Her heart so full of love,
Made her happy as an angel is,
And gentle as a dove.
With flowers of early spring-time, then,
She used to wreath my hair;
She with me to the meeting went,
To school and everywhere.
STHE CHILD'S KEEPSHAE.
She was, in short, my idol girl;
Her little silvery tongue
Had music in its lisping tones,
When I was very young.
Six summers scarcely numbered she,
Ere sickness unto death
Removed the rose-tint from her cheek,
And took away her breath.
They laid her, mute as marble, then
In her little coffin-bed;
And told me they must bury her,
For sister dear was dead !
In her coffin when I saw her lie,
Bright flowers were on her breast,
And closely to her bosom cold
Her little hands were pressed.
One said, Where hath her spirit now
From its tabernacle flown ?
And I wept when echo made reply
From its tabernacle flown!"
THE CHILD'S KEAEPSAB. 53
I remember my great anguish, when
They lowered the coffin down,
And I learned that we must leave her there
In that dark grave alone.
For there seemed a mountain pressing down
With full weight on my heart,
And I asked my sobbing mother thus,
With spirit void of art:
"Dear mother, will not sister here
Quite cold and hungry be,
And will she not at evening time
Come home and sleep with me?"
"No, child," replied my mother's voice,
"Your sister will not wake."
And she almost choked with grief, until
I thought her heart would break.
4 iuuL C"MLD'S KPSAE.V
I WONDER I thought there could be any fun
In the murderous business of firing a gun!
This poor little robin, just see what I 've
I 've killed him; ah, yes he is dead !
He never hurt me, I confess it with shame ;
I feel in my conscience I 'm greatly to blame,
Advantage to take of a robin so tame,
Who built in our meeting-house shed.
What could have induced me a gunning to go,
Poor birds to be shooting, I 'm sure I don't
This robin was harmless, he was n't my foe;
Yet bloody he lies at my feet.
O, could I succeed, I would soon do my best
To restore his dear life to his beautiful breast;
But ah! he is cold, and the young in his nest
I 'm afraid will have nothing to eat.
TEB CHILD'S KUBPSAKU. 65
Poor robin is murdered! By firing a shot
I 've brought on my conscience a terrible
And all I can say is, I wish I had not, -
How wickedly cruel I 've been !
To think I should murder that poor little
Whose beautiful songs I so often have heard!
O, could I effect it by speaking the word,
No gun should be loaded again.
But, ah! wicked boys, and men wicked as
Oft make little robins their murderous prey;
Yet could they but feel what I've suffered to-
I 'm sure they 'd allow them to live,
Nor aim with a shot to disable their wings,
Nor silence the throat which exultingly sings,
Nor take from the poor, little innocent things
The life which God only can give.
66 TE CHILD'S -ERPSAM.
THE DEATH OF THE NAUGHTY HONEY-
ONE day a honey-bee, that came
Into our garden plot,
Saw there that lovely flower whose name
They call Forget-me-not.
He thought it looked a pretty place
To fold his weary wing;
But, O,.how could he find a face
To do a naughty thing ?
He saw our little Katy dear
To that sweet floweret come,
And, more in anger than in fear,
He stung her on the thumb.
Poor Kate, in pain, impatient seemed;
She stamped down that sweet flower,
And in her anguish cried and screamed
For nearly half an hour.
THM CHILD'S KIEPSAKE.
But when her thumb got almost well,
And she went out to play,
That little bee, 0, sad to tell!
Dead in the garden lay!
His eyes were dim, his hum was hushed,
His wings were all bent back,
His leg was broke, his head was crushed,
His body blue and black.
Alas! for him no bell was rung,
No coffin for him made,
Because the little villain stung
Our pretty little maid.
For him no tears bedew the spot,
For him no mourner grieves,
Who lit on our Forget-me-not,
And perished in its leaves.
58 THE CBEID'S 1EPSABI.
THE STRANGE VOICE;
OR, SAM AND BEN.
Two little brothers, Sam and Ben,
Who minded not the weather,
At school were always punctual,
And always went together.
It chanced one morning, in a storm,
That little Sam was muddy,
His spelling-book so wet and torn
It was not fit to study.
"Now, what's the matter, Master Sam ?"
The teacher kindly said ;
"What makes you look so wet and sad l
You're naughty, I 'm afraid."
No no!" said little Sam, "not I;
But, as we came to school,
Ben stopped to play, but I ran on,
Acording to the rule.
TMB CHILD'S KEEPSAt. 8B
"So Ben got angry at me then,
And chased me on the road,
And overtook me pretty soon,
And pushed me in the mud.
" And when he saw what he had done,
Poor Benny sadly cried;
He said he 'did it just for fun,'
But something said, he lied.'
SHe told me something in his breast, -
A voice which sounded strange, -
Kept whispering, 'Benny, 't was n't fun,
T was nothing but revenge.' "
.0 29 C KU3PSAXU.
THE BRINDLED COW.
SQumE WATKINS had a brindled cow;.
Her hair was soft as silk,
And every night and every morn
She gave a pail of milk.
No osl in all the region round
Received such constant care;
The pasture where she roamed was large,
The feed was sweet and fair.
Each night, returning to the barn,
The cow had meal and hay,
And yet'the discontented beast
Tried hard to go astray.
Her pasture on the northern side
Was bordered by a ditch,
Designed to keep the adjoining field
Beyond old Brindle' resoh.
THE CHILD'S KREPSAKE.
But when the summer brooks were dry,
And all the springs were low,
SOld Brindle thought across the ditch
She might presume to go.
She longed to try the grass which grew
Upon its further bank;
She made a leap, her foot-hold failed,
And in the mud she sank.
/ Uprose, ere long, a freshening breeze,
Which made the forests shake,
And heavy clouds with tempests lowered,
And threatened soon to break.
The cow-boy searched the pasture through,
But naught of Brindle found;
He never dreamed the cow could be
Half buried in the ground.
Soon came dark night; the lighting flaaI
The crashing thunder roared;
In cataracts the sweeping rain
Upon the meaedipoure.
82 THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
Yet al night long old Brindle lay
And bore the drenching flood,
With her four hoofs full two feet deep
Immersed in meadow mud.
When morning dawned, how glad was she!
And glad the squire, to find
That Brindle's lodging in the ditch
Had much improved her mind.
For never, if they tell me true,-
No, never, from that day,
Have they who 've known her history
Found Brindle prone to stray.
But always, when the cow-boy comes,
As if she dreaded mud,
She stands beside the pasture-bars,
And calmly chews her cud.
She thought, confined within one field,
Her freedom was abused,
Nor realized until that day
How kindly she was used.
T I CHILD'S KEPSAKR.
But now, whene'er she calls to nV
That night of mud and storm,
Her gratitude she can't express,
For meal and, shelter warm.
Nor can my little readers know,
When weary of their home,
How many dangers throng their way,
Wherever they may roam.
'T is never safe to overleap
Their play-ground's proper bound,
Lest they, in some dark, evil hour
Be lost, and never found.
A OTHR sat at evening
Beside her cottage-door;
The summer's sun was setting,
Her babe was on the floor.
A hundred flowers were bloom
Beside the gasden.P-t,
.4 TUe canD'a 5K San.
The very air perfuming
With odors rich and sweet.
Within her cottage standeth
A table neatly spread
With few plain, simple dishes; -
Milk, butter, cheese and bread,
To healthy youthful hunger
May earnestly appeal;
But wherefore now stands waiting
That frugal evening meal
Why at her door, at evening,
: Sits she, and seems to wait!
Why watches she intently
The little garden gate 1
Her husband, comes he homewuts
From daily toil to rest ?
And waits she him to welcome,
And clasp him to her breast 1
'T isnot for him she watches,
Though of him she often thinks,
Till the first intstar of evening
With its modest beauty blinks.
m Mlam's EPmsaK.
T is not for him she listens,
Though her heart, while sitting there,
Sends up its strong petitions
For him in fervent prayer.
But a mother's lot is on her,
And beyond the woody hill,
Where play allured her children,
Those children linger still.
The evening dews are falling,
The darkness coming on,
And their path lies through the forest,
So dark when day is done.
And therefore site that mother,
At summer's sunset hour,
And breathes the air sweet-scented
With breath of many a flower.
But, hark! what merry voices
Through the sounding pine-woods ring,
While quick the mother rises,
Her youngest born to bring!
66 TEE CHILD'S KRUAPB .
All now is joy ecstatic!
How sweet to mother's hearts,
When infancy exhibits
Its skill in infant arts !
So this, its little brothers
No sooner does it see,
Than the quiet of the sunset
Is broken by its glee.
The mother, who has waited
With a mother's patience long,
Away the care-cloud brushes,
And breaks forth into song;
A song whose cheerful burden
Seemed then so sweet to me,
Its sentiment I copy,
Though not its melody.
"Come, come now, my darlings
The table is spread,
With milk fresh and plenty,
And butter and bread.
TJM CMULD'S KMEZFAKS.
Your father, dear father,
Though far, far away,
Of us now is thinking;
For us he will pray.
"For, oft as the sunset
Comes down on the earth,
His spirit revisits
The land of his birth.
And now round this table
For him let us pray,
And thank the dear Saviour
Who's blessed us to-day.
"I 'm glad my dear children
Have come home so soon,
For darkness quick follows
The sunset in June.
Nor know I what evil
My boys might befall,
Too long should they linger
At cricket and ball."
T THE CHILD'S KePSAII.
Thus cheerful that mother
Her melody sang,
Till the bells of the village
For nine o'clock rang.
And I, who had listened,
This inference drew,
Which, just for a moral,
I '1 write here for you.
'T is safer and better,
And wiser, by far,
For Porter and Helen,
And Sarah and Ma,
And Mary and Esther,
And sweet little Ned,
to be early to supper,
And early to bed.
lla ObLD'S KmBPSAKU. 0
NEVER be angry; there's none but a fool
That will cherish his anger; the wise let it
And allow me, my dear youthful readers, to
That this, in my judgment, is far the best
I never have known one so happy, by half
(Though he lived to be gray-haired, and
walked with a staff),
Who often got angry, as he who, in peace,
When contentions arise, is the first one to
MUSIC BY L. MARSHALL,
SI o! little tltirstin oine,Como to the waters, come!.
--* ----- 4----- .- --
-= -. -\ 1 ... ...-g --- --F
I g- "g --
1Tho' moneM y thou hast none,IThe Saviour bids thee
/ -- .. _...
": --- -1-- ----- ,S--- 7-----
Whiile Love Divine Makes both nost sweot.
I-- L.' '
i -' -'llL.[LL-, I'.7- -=-.fi
TM3 CHILD'S MEPSAKI.
Why wilt thou money spend
For that which is not bread 1
Why toil till life shall end,
Yet leave thy soul unfed
Eat that is good,
And let delight
Thy soul invite
To heavenly food.
Incline thy willing ear,
And early come to me;
For if thy soul shall hear,
Its portion life shall be;
A portion this
Which shall endure,
And will insure
The dawn of bliss.
THE stars are very bright to-night,
And shine with modest beauty;
72 Tas aCLxD'S KEPSAK .
And though they give so white a light,
They seem to do their duty.
The stars, which so combine to shine,
And show their little faces,
Appear to us divinely fine,
Because they know their places.
The beams those stars do send and lend
Seem half possessed of reason,
Because they ne'er contend, but blend
To cheer the darkest season.
So children, one and all, though small,
Should live to cheer and bless us,
As lovely starbeams fall, and all
To comfort, not distress us.
In household circles they who play,
Who never once have striven,
Harmonious shine from day to day,
Like stars in yonder heaven.
How blest is the Bible divine,
A volume of wisdom and truth !
My mother presented me mine
To make it the guide of my youth.
A volume how precious, indeed&!
'T was made to enlighten-the eyes
Of children who prayerfully read,
And point them the path to the asies.
Then let me the Bible revere,
Whoever its truths may deride !
I know that God's wisdom is here,
And therefore I 'U1 make it my guide.
It tells me that he who came down,
And then did from Olivet rise,
Now offers a cross and a crown
To him who would dwell in the skes.
Let me, though a child, then, improve
The moments afforded me now,
Tat d mLD'S kftI SAn.
74 THI CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
And learn my Redeemer to love,
And humbly before him to bow.
For O, if I squander my days,
And wisdom's sweet counsels despise,
I know I must fade in my ways,
And fail of a home in the skies.
THE PET LAMB.
My lamb is dead, my pretty lamb!
Nobody knows how sad I am;
I feel that I must surely cry,
To think that pretty lamb should die !
I cannot read, or smile, or play, -
I think about my lamb all day !
She was so gentle and so mild,
I loved her like another child.
And now my pretty lamb is dead! "
So little Lucy weeping said,
And down her cheeks the big tears fell,
Because she loved her lamb so well.
THE CHILD'S K rPSAKE.
Her father saw her infant grief,
And sought to yield her some relief.
He bought his dear another lamb;
She, jumping, cried, How glad I am!"
She loved her new lamb; but, they say,
She learned this too might pass away.
Nor dared renew an idol-trust,
Since God had taken away her first.
THE SECRET WHISPER.
"And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee,
sying, This is the way, walk ye in it." ISA.
WHEN, straying in forbidden paths,
With folly for his guide,
The young man suffers more of ill
Than half the world beside,
E'en then a voice he will not hear
Is whispering kindly in his ear.
And all along his chosen way,
And mid the motley throng,
76 THE CHIID'S KaIsa3.
While folly shows, from day to day,
Ten thousand paths to wrong,
He knows not that a voice behind
Reveals the way he longs to find.
I saw a child, in careless glee,
Grow pale at sudden fears,
His eye now lighted up with smiles,
Now gleaming through his tears;
In sad vicissitude he changed,
But met with thorns where'er he ranged.
And when at length to youth he grew,
And learned the ways of men,
ile still sought out more flowery paths,
But sought them out in vain.
He found a thorn on every flower,
And 0, too well he proved its power!
lie rose to manhood's strength and pride,
And thence to age declined,
Yet never found the narrow path,
Although the voice behind
s2t CmILD'B KEPSAKX.
Did ceaselessly its tale repeat, -
" This is the way, here plant thy feet."
Then let the youth, whoe'er he be,
Who joins life's noisy crowd,
Remember wisdom's winning voice
Is neither shrill nor loud;
It bids the heart from sorrow cease,
And calls to pleasantness and peace.
And deaf are they who have no ear
To hear the voice within;
Who cannot, for they will not, hear
The word which warns of sin;
For ah no fears their hearts appal,
While speaks that voice so still and small.
Through life, until a dying hour,
Still follows where we go
That whisper, with its silent power,
To call on all below.
Dear youth, whatever thy name may be,
That still small voice is calling thee.
78 THE CRILD'S KEEPSAKE.
THE day is now done, and my dear little
Are weary with running about;
They had better come in and get ready for
And not any longer stay out.
It ij tine, when they see all the birds and the
Begin to retire for the night,
For the dear little children to think of their
Who mean to rise early and bright.
They must think of their slumbers, and
The God who hath made them so blest,
And kneel by their bed-side to thank Him for
And pray for forgiveness and rest.
THE CH1='8 KEEPIMAK.
They must never be selfish, but pray for their
And ask him in mercy to keep
Both them and all others, through Jesus the
Before they may venture to sleep.
Come now, then, dear daughters; the sun is
'T is time you should leave off your play;
You may put on your bonnets and pick up
And put them all neatly away.
For to-morrow, to-morrow, I dare say to-mor-
Will then give you sweeter delight,
Than it would should you take cold and
bring on a fever,
By staying out later to-night.
TIUE CHILD S KEI'SAKE.
THE -MAPLE SISTERS.
As I roamed, one morn, through a mkple
I counted nine trees on a single stump;
Nine beautiful trees, all straight and fair,
Which stood like affectionate sit;'rs there,
Proudly tall, with a conscious grace,
As if born of the blood of a noble race.
To brace themselves against wind and weather,
Their feet were planted quite close, to gthr ;
And seldom has sweeter delight bc-n mini
Than I felt on beholding the sisterly nine
All combined in a single clump,
And standing firm on their native stump.
The fierce winds rushed down the forest glade.
And desolate track through the woodlands
82 THE CHILD'S KlPSMAXR.
They ripped their way through the waving
Where now the sun in his fervor shines;
They tore up trees by each woodland path,
And hurled them down in their terrible
The 1iirch leaned back, and the single trees
Bent a;n bowed to the passing breeze;
But the beautiful nine in their union stood,
.A graceful and elegant sisterhood,
I)cking their arms in a sweet embrace,
And keeping unmoved their accustomed
Methought-to the maples my feet should turn,
Tho acret of all their strength to learn.
So I cauie to'the spot, and this joy was mine;
At t'e root of the maple there grew a vine,
Which seemed intent on its giant stem
To climb aloft by encircling them,
Aud it coiled its folds so adroitly round
That the nine as one in its coils were bound.
And then I learned why the terrible breeze,
Which hurls to ruin a thousand trees,
TRE CHILD'S KnEEPAKE.
This beautiful sisterhood never harms:
Of maids interlocking their maple arms.
With habits of nature, and not of art,
They never remove from their parent's heart.
'T is doubtless a wise and a just decree
Which binds them together just where they
For a moral gleams from their union there,
Which 't is proper, dear reader, I now de-
There cannot a lovelier spectacle be
Than households exhibit which always agree;
Where the members are all very fond of each
And children all honor their father and
When brothers and sisters united are so,
They're strong in their concord to meet
Though young, they may buffet adversity's
And survive when her terrible tempest
8 THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
As the albatross rides the south sea in a storm,
And exhibits through darkness her beautiful
Now mounting the billows, now sinking
So, moved by the tempests, those maples are
As that bird cannot possibly sink in the
As the gale leaves those trees standing just
where they stood,
So nothing on earth can those children o'er-
Whose mutual loves, like the roots of the elm,
Reach forth from the bosoms of sons and
And gather fresh strength from perennial
Or encircle their hearts and their destinies
As were those of the maples entwined by tbh
THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
THERE 's a month in the year, from the middle
(So, at least, the sage Oliver Goldsmith
Which is known by the name of the PADDOCK-
When the earth is made warm by the sun's
Did ever I tell you, my children, the reason
They gave such a name to this roseate
O, no, sir ; you never have told us a word,"
Little Catharine cried, but we all want to
For, father, we never so much as have heard
That there was such a month, or one
named so queer.
Yet if, sir, you know one, and only one such,
We should all be delighted to hear of it
86 TIE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE
So, willing his dear little children to please,
And afford them some little instruction
The father sits down, with a pair on his
Whom he holds with both arms, lest they
happen to fill;
And while the rest listen with giggles and
His historical song thus the father begins:
"' The Paddock, you know, often sings in his
(For they always taught singing when he
went to school),
Yet whether he learned much, I 'm sure I
For his teacher knew nothing of singing by
Yet one tune he did learn, and always sings
To these swaggering words, I am bigger
THE CHILD'S KEPSIK. 87
"You may hear him at eventide, early in
From the fens and the marshes, the pools
and the bogs;
For then, most of all, 't is his pleasure to
Those familiar old tunes so peculiar to
And that dampness of feet, which would make
me or you sick,
Awakens the frogs' most melodious music.
"But I started to tell my dear children the
Not so much why the frogs croak in spring-
time so soon,
But rather why people distinguish one season
From others, by calling its name Paddock-
It is not that the Paddock is such an astron-
But rather because he 'a a perfect barom-
B THE CHILD'S KEUPSASE.
" He croaks in the spring-time from meadow
When the shadows of eve o'er his bosom
Because in an atmosphere muggy and damp
There is something which suits his am-
He's as happy a chap as you 'll well come
When the spring lets him sing in the moist
"The bright summer's sun is too hot for his
And it makes him so sick when it beats on
If he 's out of the water he quickly plumps in,
And, leaping head-foremost, goes lickely-
lie seems not so fearful of getting a tanning;
But, O, he can't bear to be fainting and
THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE. 85
"He is always aware when there 's coming a
And prophesies proudly, 'ugbue !' -' ug-
But when there comes drought, he 's chop-
And seems as if burdened with nothing to
For he cannot then sing with that grace he
Because the dry weather oppresses his spirits.
" And since there's a spell of dry weather in
When the streets are all dust, and the sun
The people have nicknamed that month Pad-
Not so much that frogs sing then as that
they do not.
And so, my dear children, I 've given the
Why Paddock-moon comes at this beautiful
90 THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
THE CHILD'S WISH.
I wisr I were a little bird,
With little wings to fly ;
I wish I were a little star,
To shine in yonder sky.
I wish I were a little flower
To yield a sweet perfume,
And show to every passer by
The beauty of my bloom.
But since I am a little child,
And neither bird nor star,
I 'll lift my little heart above
To where the angels are.
The sinner's Saviour shall'be mine,
I '11 follow where he trod,
And in his kingdom fly and shine.
Or bloom before my God.
THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
THE SPIDER AT HOME.
O, Do see that poor little spider up there,
How lonesome he looks and how sober and
Yet patient he sits in foul weather and
And watches for something to eat.
He has built him a palace with wonderful
And he 's ready to work, and to work with
But as nobody wants him he has to lie still,
And wait till God sends him his meat.
I pity the spider, I do from my heart;
He is forced.so to dwell from his kindred
Contriving by net-work, and cunning, and
For fear he by famine shall die,
92 THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKB.
A web, which he stands on, where best he
Ihe touch of whatever might make him a
And then how light-hearted across it he 'll
In the hope he may dine on a fly !
through fasting how lean have his little legs
Who knows the sad hours of this king on
his throne ?
What he thinks about daily while sitting
I wish that I really knew.
For a very wise heart with a very long
As the spider must have, thus his carpet to
By the rules of geometry guiding each
Is a talent intrusted to few.
THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
He came to this country nobody knows
But he's had a hard time of it ever since
For often he builds in the dwellings of men.
And perhaps in the very best room;
And when the good woman discovers his
She gives him a hint that he must not lodge
And the first spider knows, if he does n't
He is mauled with her merciless broom.
TRAINING-DAY, OR THE LITTLE SMOKER.
NIE years had passed over young William-
And he thought he was almost a man; .
He tended the store, and he sold ginger-
And on errands of consequence ran.
94 THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
'T was a long time ago, when rum, brandy
Were as constantly kept in a store -
Where the good country people were fre-
quently in -
As molasses- perhaps rather more.
'T was a long time ago, for.I recollect well
That a training, with music and noise,
Was a wonderful day, for the traders could
Lots of liquor such days to the boys.
I remember one time, the first Tuesday in
The militia appeared on the green,
With their new uniforms -'t was a wonder-
And the boys in great numbers were seen.
The company knew, for 't was well under-
That their officers all would resign,
THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
And they should choose others, in right
Who would ask them to liquor and dine.
That day Mr. Williamson, sick in his bed,
Could neither manoeuvre nor work,.
But the captain resigned, and they chose him
For he 'd long been the company's clerk.
The captain of course was expected to treat,
'T was the custom; what else could he
think ? -
Seven pailsful of punch were mixed up at a
And they had what they wanted to drink.
They drank and they swore, and they stag-
gered and reeled,
Yet still from the punch-bowl they quaffed;
And some got so tipsy they called them "high
And some got so drunk that they laffed."
96 THE CHILD'S KEEPSAKE.
T was a horrible day, as I look at it now;
So awfully wicked, I think,
That my dear little readers would do well to
That they never will meddle with drink.
Young Williamson dealt out that day to the
What candy, and cake, and cigars
They could manage, with crackers to keep
up a noise,
Till the moon rose and some of the stars.
He himself took a notion that evening to
But why I could never divine
fe thought it would be a most capital
For a merchant to take a "long-nine."
So.out in the street, when the training was
And the soldiers all acting like fools,
M CHILD'S KKEPSAKE. 97
Young Williamson hastened for frolic and
With the boys of the neighboring schools.
His long-nine he lighted, the smoke he
Then puffed it, man-fashioned, away.
Alas! for a lad when he dares to begin,
For alas 't is a terrible day.
He smoked but a monient, then, dizzy and
And sick at his stomach, indeed,
He found that his strength was beginning to
And all for that pestilent weed.
So he crawled and lay down by the side of a
Till the clock had struck ten, it is said,
When they found him and sent the old ioew
tor to call,
And put the young smoker to bed.
90Trim cOMMw's RzxM1A5
His friends were alarmed, but the dosto be
He had seen just such oases before;
"What a fuss! he exclaimed ; "I have
nothing to do,
Only don't let him smoke any more.
"And when he gets better, just take a
And tie him up fast to a tree,
And whip him for smoking, and I pledge
It will cure him !-and that will pay me.'
I saw a Sparrow in my tree,
Who sat and sang and looked at me,
And all the morning seemed to be
In wondrous spirits;
His heart was full of that wild glee
This bird inherits.