The Baldwin Library

Rm B University

 
 
   
 
  

 
  

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AUDE Moopman
& BESSIE SImpSon
a “TIELENA” Ma@uires.
©Chns 6
is 2 Ep BLAND
“Fleuen MARION BuRNSIDED
TARTHUR. SGANES.

 

Designed atthe Studios in England RAPHAEL TUCK & SONS
and printed at the Fine Art Works in Germany. Lonpon, Paris & New York.

COPYRIGHT.
Oniteo day ti 0 le

Y\TEATH sunny skies of summer
days,

And by the glowing winter's
hearth,

By breezy sea, in woodland ways,

We oft, ere now, have shared your
mirth.

 

Dear children, whom again we meet—
Before whose eyes again we place
Our little book, which you will greet,
We trust, with glad and smiling face.

We know the things and people well
Of whom we tell you in our rhymes,
And such adventures that befell,

Have really happened scores of times.

And children sweet, we know you too,
Who read our little book to-day,
And think, and plan, and work for you,

And hold you in our hearts alway.

Flelen Marion Burnside.
 
Ble [ttle Pinger,

Lorre fingers gently tapping on the window pane, .
Little whispers, fondly uttered, soon come home again;
Little brown eyes fondly watching daddy down the street,

Little laughter as she turns their loving glance to meet.

Little sorrow stealing o'er her loving little breast,
Little teardrops glisten, little hands are pressed ;
But smiles soon follow tears, as on an April day,

Banishing the clouds, then all again is gay.
Arthur Scanes.

Sat @ ous.

YoreRE are many little children on this big sunshiny earth,
Little hearts that have their sorrows, and their fancies, and their mirth ;

But however many of them, big, or middle-sized, or small,

In the hearts of grown-up people there is room to hold them all.

   

. Though it’s years and years ago, dears, since we
‘ lived in children-land,
Once again along its valleys we will wander
hand in hand ;
And the sunshine and the showers take
together as they come,
If we find there’s April weather in the
way where we shall roam.

Flelen Marion Burnside.
 

Lit kLe. EINGsSeS
 

You better make haste home, Milly—you’d better hasten home,

It’s late, and mother’s wondering why ever you don’t come ;

There’s cake to make, and mother’s busy as can be,
There’s wood to chop, and tea to set, Granny’s come to tea.

So hurry home, run very fast, and help your mother dear,

You may be useful there—and oh, you're far from useful here.
Edith Bland.
 

 

Sing a song of winter—bees are gone
to sleep,

Roses all are buried where the snow
lies deep ;

Little children dancing round the
5 Christmas tree,

Laugh to see the snow where roses
used to be.

Ding-dong, summer, melt the snow;

Ding-dong, winter, go.
Edith Bland.

 

Ding Dong

ee a song of summer—bees are on the

wing,

Merry birds are singing as they ought
to sing.

Little children playing as they ought to
play,

In among the meadows all the happy day.
Ding-dong, winter, keep away ;

Ding-dong, summer, stay.

  

 
 

A PET FROM OVER THE SEA
 
 

‘use children had a monkey once,
Who had a curly tail,
And when he tried to crack a nut

He’d nearly always fail.

The reason why, I’m sure you'll guess—
If not, well, I will tell:
His teeth were not quite strong enough

To penetrate the shell.
Arthur Scanes.

 
 

DAY DREAMS.
Come ©ut-

Comer out, come out, to meadows
wide,
Your books and work forsaking ;

Along the brimming brooklet’s side
The daffodils are waking.

Forth they troop in gowns of green,
And don their caps of yellow,
And blithest dancers ever seen,

Each nods to nodding fellow.

They whisper, whisper, while the
breeze
Their dainty heads is swaying;

And you, and I, and birds, and
bees,
Can hear that they are saying

“Come out, come out, ye children
: sweet,
And chase the gleams and shadows

That fly, on gold and purple feet,
Across the fragrant meadows.”

flelen Marton Burnside.

 
o\Ke Cottare the Jorooks

HERE'S a little cottage by a little brook,
And in that little cottage, if you care to look,
Youll find a little boy, and a little girl,
With their eyes brim-full of fun, and little heads a-curl.

 

The little brook is shallow, and the little girl and boy

Sail’d a boat on it one day (’twas but a penny toy);
In they tumbled, flop—heels flying high o’erhead—

But that you cannot see, because they’ve gone to bed.

Flelen Marion Burnside.
Bunnie? Meat,

Sarw Bunny Jack to Bunny Jill,
“Are those things good to eat?”
Said Bunny Jill—“they’ll make us_ ill,

They’re not like Bunnies’ meat.”

 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 

A squirrel, peering from the brake,

Behind these Bunnies two,

Laughed “ Ha-ha-ha !—how wise you are ! Aah
6
Pil taste the meat for you!” wy

Said Bunny Jack and Bunny Jill,
“You really ave too sweet—
But if you would just be so good

As just to taste the meat.”

“ Delighted, friends, ’m sure—

no, thanks ”— a

Quoth Squg in honey’d ”
tones ;

Then closed an eye—that

Squirrel sly—

And nibbled up
the cones !
— She Qrofle
fp icky

Docey said to dickybird
“Do come down to me,”
Dickybird to doggy said

“T’m safer in the tree.”

 

Doggy said to dickybird
“Tm sure you'll tumble off,”
Dickybird to doggy said

“Don’t you try to chaff.”

So doggy left the dickybird
Still perched up in the tree,

Because the fun of being killed
He really failed to see.

Arthur Scanes.

 
IN THE -WOObps

 
   

Fowers to sell! flowers to
sell !
I roamed in the morning
early
By blossoming brake and by
hawthorn | dell,
While dews on the grass
hung pearly.

Flowers to sell! flowers to sell!

From Butterfly’s bower I reft
. them,
The one bees promised they
would not tell,

If honey enough I left them.

Flowers to sell! flowers to sell!
See where I pluck’d them yonder ;
A fairy peep’d out of her fox-glove cell,

And whispered me here to wander.

Flowers to sell! flowers to sell!
She knew you'd be here to buy them ;
The dew is yet bright on each bud and _ bell,
Come, pay me a kiss, and try them,
Helen Marton Burnside.
 

FEOwWERS | BING.
   
   

BL :
“CORat shall |
o) catch « / you |

Hy Waar shall I catch you,
Kind Sir, or sweet Madam—

Would you buy sword-fish,
Or pike, if I had ’em ?

What shall I catch you—
A dog-fish, or cat-fish,
A shark, or a mermaid,

A round fish, or flat fish ? ”

“ What shall you catch me ?—
Well, sword-fish might fight me ;
Your shark, or your pike, lad,

I’m fearful would bite me.

I'd rather you’d catch me
A sea-urchin bonnie—

As merry and brown as

   

1”

Your sweet self, my sonnie !
 

CAYCE wOW: ic

l

WHAT SHAVE
 
ae S.

] wisH that we could paint, Pussy,
Pictures that look true,

And not the horrid smudgy things
I sometimes show to you;

Bad as they are, though, Pussy, dear,

They’re more than you can do.

I wish that we could sing,
Pussy,

Could sing a whole song
through,

Not little, funny, purry songs,

Like those I hear from
you ;
But funny as your singing is,
It’s more than J could
do.

     

I wish that we could work, Pussy,
Like Dad and Mammy, too, |

Then they might sometimes rest an
As we do, I and you.

But useful, helpful things, Pussy,
Are more than we can do!

‘Edith Bland.
perenne
wo

 

Oot FOR kh WARK
 
 

K aking, ae

Come and take a walk with me
With US, I mean, for we are three,

Rover, Rough, and I, you see.

Rough won’t touch the birds I know,
But Rover wed a-hunting go,

After bunnies in the snow.

There, I’m sure he sees one now,
How it scampers to and fro,

On that little hillock’s -brow. ©»

He has never caught one yet
(That’s a fact I don’t regret),

But some fun you're sure to see,
If you take a walk with me.

Helen Marion Burnside
rivale d Conftd ential.

Oaw mother sheep to daughter lamb
“Come over, child, come over.”
(ONO: no, Aes nicer where lam,

Amongst the rosy clover.”

“Come, daughter lamb,” said mother sheep,
“Across the silver shallows.”

Said daughter lamb, “I think, I'll keep

     
 

Amongst the golden mallows.”

“Well, be it so, my lazy lamb;
Just keep your tail behind you;
Pll go to lunch with father ram,

And then come back to find

you.”

Flelen Marion Burnside.
 

lercby) Lo ay.

a DEAR little girl sat

 
  
 
  
    
 
 
 
   
  
 
 

sipping her milk
At the foot of some steps,
one day,
there came by a goat and
peeped over the wall,

xt, in a coat of grey.

“Come, Nannie,” she cried—“ come, and
share my milk,
And then we can take a walk,

For you look very wise about hundreds
of things ;
Oh, Nannie, why can’t you talk!”

 

“Not talk!” answered Nan—“why, I
chatter all day ;
My Billy will tell you so:

I’ve got plenty to say in my own
sort of way,
Which you don’t understand,

you know.”
Flelen Marion Burnside.
ae

a (nce Uporto
oe

VAe..

Once upon a time, Jack

I knew a little sailor,
(The story’s told in rhyme,
Jack,)

Whose ship was called a
whaler.

Now listen to my tale, Jack,

This sailor went a-sailing,

He went to catch a whale
Jack,
He really went a-whaling.

   
 

A pocket-knife he took, Jack,
My little friend, the sailor,

To stick—so says the book—
Jack,
Into the fish’s tail,-er—

Er—yes, it’s written here, Jack,
Then home he came a-sailing,

And vowed with many a tear,
Jack,
He’d go no more a-whaling.

Helen Marion Burnside... ..
 

Nae Ale Ae
 

Als happy as a king is Roy, ae
When on his mother’s knee he sits;
Far better than a book or toy ;

Or, even than his cat or kits.

He loves that quiet resting place ;
He loves to feel her gentle kiss ;

He loves to gaze into her face,

And feel how sweet a mother is.

She sings him songs, or tells him tales
Of “when she was a girl,” you know ;

And with delight that never fails,

Roy hears her talk of “long ago.”

  
    

“Some day,” says Roy, “when I’m a man, :
Dear mother, I'll take care cf you ;
And every single thing I can,
To please you, I will always do.”

fTelen Marion Burnside.
 
 

Lee.

  

wo )deN

rere were two little mice, two grey little mice
(Not those of the nursery clock),

Who once on a time, if there’s truth in a rhyme,
Did “diccory diccory dock.”

These were guzte other mice, one foolish, one wisc,
Aye, one, dear, was wiser by far

Than the other, who went—on marauding bent—
Round the rim of a blue china jar.

For he sat on a shelf by his own little self,
And squeaked—* Little brother, it’s plain—

There—just as I said, gone—heels over head !

He will ne’er go a-hunting again.”
Helen Marion Burnside.

 
5 Zoro

 

Tas very kind to leave behind,

For me that cosy shelter.
In growing old, I’ve got a cold,

And O! the rain does pelt-a

Fellow so,” croak’d father
frog—

“How sore my throat is
getting,

It must have been that fog,
I ween,

That gave me such a wet-
ting.”

 

Then, just as he slept cosily,
A sad mishap befell, a
Boy came by, and shouted Hi!

Here’s mother’s lost umbrella ! ”
Helen Marion Burnside.
 

WAL ARE 1m SEAGCULES SAVING =
af

© Che Deaaulla

Wruar do the great seagulls see
When they fly far, far away?
Other small children like me,

Digging and wading all day?

All sorts of children at play

See their wide wings shining white,
Thats in the sunshiny day,

What do the gulls do at night?

When the sun sinks round and red,
_ Then colours all disappear,

All the good gulls go to bed, :

Just like good children, my dear.

Lidith Bland.

 
 

He

 

You, -flov. ets, are mother’s nosegay,

 
 
  

She's. going to a ball to-night, ca
And you will hear music, and see the fun cae

And enjoy yourselves in the light.

And I shall lie in the dark, tucked up,
And see nothing pretty at all as
Oh! I wish I could be a nosegay,

For then I could go to the ball.
Edith Bland,

 
 

MOTHER S NOSEGAY.
 

ke oa eld Su Owe, ©

i Wuen I was young,” the old swan said,
“TI took into my silly head,

The notion that a swan should go

And see the world, and | did so,
I saw some curious things, no doubt,
As I walked painfully about ;
And oh, believe me, ’tis the case,

The world’s a dry and dreadful place.

I passed through woods and fields of grass,
Where not a drop of water was ;
And in the parks and lanes beyond

There wasn’t even.a.common pond.

When that eventful day began,

I thought I was a clever swan

But long before the day was done

I knew I was a foolish one.

And when I reached a cornfield dry,
With prickly sheaves that stood up high,
1 cried The ‘world no more I'll roam,’

For 1 was better off at home.

1 ran—I stopped not
breath to take,
Until I plunged into
the lake ;
Don’t seek the world,
but learn content—
You wouldn’t like it if
you went.”
Edith Bland.

 
~ Gke Dell

own goes the bucket, rattles off the chain;

What will there be in it, when it’s up again ?

  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Water from the well so deep,
Water bright and clear.
Mind you do not tumble in ;
Do not go so near.
Many fathoms far below, springs are welling deep.

Hold my hand, dear, now you're safe! only just a peep.

What can these two dickies be ?
Surely they don’t think

Of plunging in the depths below,
To take a cooling drink,

Better far content themselves

With puddles from the rain ;

e you or me, if they fall in,

 

They’d ne’er come up again.

Arthur Scanes.
 

BY “THE WELL.
iwnkina.
king

I hear the blackbirds singing ;

.The leaves upon the tree

Stand still awhile to listen,

Then clap their hands in glee.

 

 

1 think thé birds are
happy

Because the grass is
green,

Now all the rain is
over

That's made the leaves
so clean.

They sparkle in the
sunshine,

And all the air is
sweet

With flowers, whose
fresh lips open,

The sun’s warm kiss
to meet.

Helen Marion
Burnside.
SAR. [is > ACKkerRbDS

 
 
 

Dossies [eoven

You must sit till half-past four,
But not a minute more,

For that’s when dogs and children
have their tea—
There'll be half a bun for you,

. And some milk and water too,

And two buns and jam and real milk for me.

You don’t like sitting so ?

But it must be done, you know:

I hate my lessons just as much as you—
But you'll get no milk or bun
Till the lessons are all done—

And sitting still’s the lesson you must do.

Sit steady as a rock,

And never mind the clock,

That naughty clock is very, very wrong—
I’ve a comfortable chair,

So I really do not care

If you find your lesson very much too long.

Edith

  
  
 

Bland.
 

i ING.

CPA Ey

N
 

Qn CHARITY bent, and hand in hand,
Two fairies went, though they’d no wand,

Nor wings had they of a dazzling hue,

But dressed like me, or just like you.

’Tis Christmas morn, the snow lies deep, \

  
 
 
 
 
  
  

And all around seems hushed in sleep ;
But as they take their way along,

A Christmas peal rings out ding-dong !

And every note of the village chime
Appears to sing in merry rhyme;

Good cheer shall enter every home, _.

  
  
 

Where’er these fairies sweet shall

come !
Arthur Scane.

  
 

Evie a

es ILIGHT is falling o’er sea and sky, Each little daisy has closed its eye—

Under its wing is each birdie’s head, And here is the candle to light us to bed,

Helen Marion Burnside.
 
 
ares
ae