E. W. Cole

“ Is Santa Claus happy? There's no need to ask,
For he finds such enjoyment indeed in his task,
That he bubbles with laughter, and whistles and sings,
While making and planning the beautiful things.
He's a jolly good fellow, but ever so shy,
And likes to do all his good deeds on the sly,
So there's no use spoiling a good winter's nap
For you'll not catch a glimpse of the jolly old chap.
When Christmas Eve comes, into bed you must creep,
And late in the night when you are asleep,
He is certain to come; so your stockings prepare,
And hang them up close by the chimney with care. ”

“ Old Puss
Don't hurt the poor old cat,
There can be no fun in that;
And it would be cruel too—
She never tried to injure you.
She, for years, has kept the house
Free from thievish rat and mouse;
Puss has always faithful been,
And has kept herself so clean.
True, she now is getting old,
Though she once was strong and bold;
At her prey she cannot leap,
And, if caught, can scarcely keep.
Poor old puss! 'Twould be a shame
Thee for uselessness to blame;
When though canst not active be—
Useless through infirmity. ”

“ If not, I go on with my lesson."
"I will," cried poor Tom, with a groan.
But hark! from the woodlands the sound of a gun,
The wounded bird flutters and dies;
Where can be the pleasure for nothing but fun,
To shoot the poor thing as it flies?
Or you, Mr. Butcher, and Fisherman, you
May follow your trades, I must own:
So chimneys are swept when they want it—but who
Would sweep them for pleasure alone?
If men would but think of the torture they give
To creatures that cannot complain,
They surely would let the poor animals live,
And not make a sport of their pain. ”

“ And his whistle in the village street
Was clear as the song of lark.
But like a dream he's passed away,
And from the chamber dim,
In the fair light of summer day,
The peasants carry him.
And playmates gather at the grave,
The old schoolmaster there,
While blossomed boughs wave over-head,
And all around is fair.
True is the grief that brings the tear,
There is no empty show;
The simple neighbours see their loss,
And there is heart-felt woe.
They talk of the bright and lively lad,
Cut down in boyish prime,
And old folks think how strange is life,
More strange with passing time! ”

“ And you will hear about the cow;
You'll find her useful, alive or dead,
Whether she's black, or white, or red.
When milkmaids milk her morn and night
She gives them milk so fresh and white,
And this we, little children, think
Is very nice for us to drink.
The curdled milk they press and squeeze,
And so they make it into cheese;
The cream they skim and shake in churns,
And then it soon to butter turns.
And when she's dead, her flesh is good,
For beef is a very wholesome food,
But though 'twill make us brave and strong,
To eat too much, you know, is wrong. ”

“ The chiefest treasure of them all—
A little cat of gingerbread
All frosted white from tail to head.
Now in the moonlit midnight time,
When merry mice do run and climb,
A plump gray mouse come down the stair
And saw the Christmas cake-cat there.
She stood still in her cruel fright
And gazed upon the monster white
Who seemed to feel as great surprise,
And stared with both his raisin eyes.
Poor mousie dared not, could not stir!
Her little brain was in a whirr!
Five minutes—ten—but not a paw
Had puss put forth! "I never saw
A cat like this!" ”

“ If every creature has won thy love
From the creeping worm to the brooding dove,
Then with joy and peace on the bed of rest,
Thou wilt sleep as on thy mother's breast.
Sea-side Play
Two little boys, all neat and clean,
Came down upon the shore:
They did not know old Ocean's ways—
They'd ne'er seen him before.
So quietly they sat them down,
To build a fort of sand;
Their backs were turned to the sea,
Their faces toward the land.
They had just built a famous fort—
The handkerchief flag was spread—
When up there came a stealthy wave,
And turned them heels over head. ”

“ Throwing stones by dozens,
Often worried little girls,
Bullied smaller boys,
Often broke their biggest dolls,
Jumped upon their toys.
If he smelled a smoking tart,
Willie longed to steal it;
If he saw a pulpy peach,
Willie tried to peel it;
Could he reach a new plum-cake,
Greedy Willie picked it,
If he spied a pot of jam,
Dirty Willie licked it.
If he saw a poor old dog,
Wicked Willie whacked it;
If it had a spot of white,
Silly Willy blacked it,
If he saw a sleeping cat,
Horrid Willie kicked it;
If he caught a pretty moth,
Cruel Willie pricked it. ”

“ All wrapped up in furs from his head to his toes,
No feeling of coldness dear Santa Claus knows,
But travels about with a heart full of joy,
As happy as if he were only a boy.
His cheeks are like roses; his eyes are as bright
As stars that shine out overhead in the night,
And they twinkle as merrily too all the while,
And broad as a sunbeam is Santa Claus' smile.
He never is idle except when asleep,
And even in dreams at his labours will keep,
And all thro' the day and the night, it is true,
He is working and planning, dear children, for you. ”

“ That little bed.
And weary moves the curly head,
Until the light
(Oh, welcome sight!)
Has banished every trace of night.
Then out of bed,
With hurried tread,
She runs to waken brother Fred;
For oh, what joys,
In the shape of toys,
Does Christmas bring to girls and boys!
Fred gives a groan,
Or a sleepy moan,
And mutters, "Do let me alone!"
But bonnie May
Will not have nay;
She whispers, "It is Christmas day!"
Oh, magic sound!
For Fred turns round,
And in a trice is on the ground.
"Our stockings, where?"
"They're on that chair."
"Oh, what has Santa Claus put there?" ”

“ In running and climbing he's spry as a cat,
And if the long ladder should happen to break,
And he should fall down, what a crash it would make!
I told you his home was up North by the Pole,
In a palace of hives lives this worthy old soul,
And though out of doors it may furiously storm,
Indoors as we know, it is sunny and warm.
When Christmas is over old Santa Claus goes
To his home in the North, and his well-earned repose,
And when he is rested and feeling tip-top,
The good-natured workman goes back to his shop. ”

“ He is not over-nice with meat,
For thorns and thistles he will eat.
He drinks no water but what's clean;
His nose he puts not in the stream;
His feet he does not like to wet,
But out of dirty roads will get.
Poor Donkey's Epitaph
Down in this ditch poor donkey lies,
Who jogg'd with many a load;
And till the day death clos'd his eyes,
Brows'd up and down this road.
No shelter had he for his head,
Whatever winds might blow;
A neighb'ring commons was his bed,
Tho' drest in sheets of snow.
In this green ditch he often stray'd
To nip the dainty grass ”

“ Dick, William, and James,
And many more names,
Partook of his benevolent care.
And when it was done,
And they'd finish'd their fun,
To marbles or hoop they went back,
And each little boy
Felt it always a joy
To do a good turn for good Jack.
In his task and his book,
His best pleasures he took,
And as he thus wisely began,
Since he's been a man grown,
He has constantly shown
That a good boy will make a good man. ”

“ These pictures we hope
Will our little folks please,
And also to each one
This moral convey:
"Be contented and happy,
Whatever your lot,
And don't try, as some do,
To have your own way."
Master Jacko, you see,
Had a very snug home,
With plenty to eat
That was wholesome and good;
But still he did not,
We are sorry to say,
Behave in a way
That a pet monkey should.
For one day he said,
"Come, I don't like at all
The life that I lead,
And I cannot see why
I should not live just
As my own master does;
This chain is not strong,
Can I break it? I'll try." ”

“ He peeps into houses whose doors are tight shut;
He looks through the palace, and likewise the hut;
He gazes on cities, and villages small,
And nothing, no, nothing is hidden at all.
He knows where the good children live beyond doubt,
He knows where the bad boys and girls are about,
And writes down their names on a page by themselves;
In a book that he keeps on his library shelves.
For good little children, the gentle and kind,
The prettiest presents of toys are designed,
And when Christmas comes round, as it does once a year,
'Tis certain that Santa Claus then will appear. ”

“ Lazy Willie
Oh! Willie is a lazy boy,
A "Sleepy Head" is he,
"Wake up!" his little sister cries,
"Wake up and talk to me."
The birds are singing in the trees,
The sun is shining bright,
But sleepy Willie slumbers on
As though it yet were night.
Oh! lazy boys will never grow
To clever manhood, you must know,
So lift your eyelids, sleepy head,
Wake up, and scramble out of bed.
The Lazy Boy
The lazy boy! ”

“ There cannot be.
He knows the Cottager's
Wife and child,
And he loves to play
With that dog so wild;
And though sometimes
So staid and still,
He can roll in the meadow
With right good will.
He knows the road
To the market well,
Where garden vegetables
He goes to sell:
And though it is hilly,
And far, and rough,
He thinks—for a donkey,
It's well enough.
So he trudges along,
And little he cares
How hard he works,
Or how ill he fares!
Content when his home
Appears in sight,
If his kindly master
Smiles at night.
S. V. Dodds
The Donkey
Poor Donkey! ”

“ Who is Queen of Dolly Town
My Little Doll Rose
I have a little doll,
I take care of her clothes
She has soft flaxen hair,
And her name is Rose
She has pretty blue eyes,
And a very small nose,
And a cunning little mouth,
And her name is Rose
I have a little sofa
Where my dolly may repose,
Or sit up like a lady;
And her name is Rose
My doll can move her arms,
And can stand upon her toes,
She can make a pretty curtsey
My dear little Rose
How old is your dolly? ”

“ For to catch a whale—
All the water he had got
Was in his mother's pail.
Simple Simon went to look
If plums grew on a thistle;
He pricked his fingers very much,
Which made poor Simon whistle.
He went to catch a dicky bird,
And thought he could not fail
Because he'd got a little salt
To put upon it's tail.
Then Simple Simon went-a-hunting,
For to catch a hare.
He rode on a goat about the street,
But could not find one there.
Simon made a great snowball,
And brought it in to roast;
He laid it down before the fire,
And soon the ball was lost. ”

“ Jack laughed at this, but it was no laughing matter; for the Giant looked all around the room, and even put his finger on the lid of the copper, till it seemed as if a stone of a hundredweight had fallen upon the lid. Just then his wife came in with a whole roasted bullock smoking hot, which the Giant sat down and ate for his supper, and then went down into the cellar, and drank about six gallons of Jamaica rum. The Giant now sat down and went to sleep, and Jack tried to run away with his golden harp, an instrument which, when the Giant said "play," played the most beautiful tunes. ”