The Book of Joyous Children

I ist 'spect sometimes he hate

White cats' stupid ways:—

He won't hardly 'sociate

With 'em, lots o' days!

Mowg wants in where we air,—well,

He'll ist take his paw

An' ist ring an' ring his bell

There till me er Ma

Er somebody lets him in

Nen an' shuts the door.—

An', when he wants out ag'in,

Nen he'll ring some more.

Ort to hear our Katy tell!

She sleeps 'way up-stairs;

An' last night she hear Mowg's bell

Ringin' round somewheres...

Trees grows by her winder.—So,

She lean out an' see

Mowg up there, 'way out, you know,

In the clingstone-tree;—

I want to be a Soldier!—

A Soldier!—

A Soldier!—

I want to be a Soldier, with a sabre in my hand

Or a little carbine rifle, or a musket on my shoulder,

Or just a snare-drum, snarling in the middle of the band;

I want to hear, high overhead, The Old Flag flap her wings

While all the Army, following, in chorus cheers and sings;

I want to hear the tramp and jar

Of patriots a million,

As gayly dancing off to war

As dancing a cotillion.

I want to be a Soldier!—

A Soldier!—

A Soldier!—

I want to be a Soldier, with a sabre in my hand

Or a little carbine rifle, or a musket on my shoulder,

Or just a snare-drum, snarling in the middle of the band.

A little boy once played so loud

That the Thunder, up in a thunder-cloud,

Said, "Since I can't be heard, why, then

I'll never, never thunder again!"

And a little girl once kept so still

That she heard a fly on the window-sill

Whisper and say to a lady-bird,—

"She's the stilliest child I ever heard!"

Parunts knows lots more than us,

But they don't know all things,—

'Cause we ketch 'em, lots o' times,

Even on little small things.

One time Winnie ask' her Ma,

At the winder, sewin',

What's the wind a-doin' when

It's a-not a-blowin'?

Yes, an' 'Del', that very day,

When we're nearly froze out,

He ask' Uncle where it goes

When the fire goes out?

Nen I run to ask my Pa,

That way, somepin' funny;

But I can't say ist but "Say,"

When he turn to me an' say,

"Well, what is it, Honey?"

Summer or Winter or Spring or Fall,—

Which do you like the best of all?

When I'm dressed warm as warm can be,

And with boots, to go

Through the deepest snow,

Winter-time is the time for me!

Summer or Winter or Spring or Fall,—

Which do you like the best of all?

Soh! my lovelings and pretty dears,

You've each a favorite, it appears,—

Summer and Winter and Spring and Fall.—

That's the reason I send them all!

Tommy's alluz playin' jokes,

An' actin' up, an' foolin' folks;

An' wunst one time he creep

In Pa's big chair, he did, one night,

An' squint an' shut his eyes bofe tight,

An' say, "Now I 'm asleep."

An' nen we knowed, an' Ma know' too,

He ain't asleep no more 'n you!

An' wunst he clumbed on our back'fence

An' flop his arms an' nen commence

To crow, like he's a hen;

But when he failed off, like he done,

He didn't fool us childern none,

Ner didn't crow again.

An' our Hired Man, as he come by,

Says, "Tom can't crow, but he kin cry."

When Dicky was sick

In the night, and the clock,

As he listened, said "Tick-

Atty—tick-atty—tock!"

He said that it said,

Every time it said "Tick,"

It said "Sick," instead,

And he heard it say "Sick!"

And when it said "Tick-

Atty—tick-atty—tock,"

He said it said "Sick-

Atty—sick-atty—sock!"

And he tried to see then,

But the light was too dim,

Yet he heard it again—

And't was talking to him!

And then it said "Sick-

Atty—sick-atty—sick

You poor little Dick-

Atty—Dick-atty—Dick!—

Have you got the hick-

Atties? Hi! send for Doc"

Me an' Bert an' Minnie-Belle

Knows a joke, an' we won't tell!

No, we don't—'cause we don't know

Why we got to laughin' so;

But we got to laughin' so,

"We ist kep' a-laughin'.

Wind wuz blowin' in the tree—

An' wuz only ist us three

Playin' there; an' ever' one

Ketched each other, like we done,

Squintin' up there at the sun

Like we wuz a-laughin'.

Nothin' funny anyway;

But I laughed, an' so did they—

An' we all three laughed, an' nen

Squint' our eyes an' laugh' again:

Ner we didn't ist p'ten'—

We wuz shore-'nough laughin'.

"We ist laugh' an' laugh', tel Bert

Say he can't quit an' it hurt.

Nen I howl, an' Minnie-Belle

She tear up the grass a spell

An' ist stop her yeers an' yell

Like she'd die a-laughin'.

Never sich fool-youngens yit!

Nothin' funny,—not a bit!—

But we laugh' so; tel we whoop'

Purt'-nigh like we have the croup—

All so hoarse we'd wheeze an' whoop

An' ist choke a-laughin'.

Sometimes I keep

From going to sleep,

To hear the katydids "cheep-cheep!"

And think they say

Their prayers that way;

But katydids don't have to pray!

I listen when

They cheep again

And so, I think, they're singing then!

But, no; I'm wrong,—

The sound's too long

And all-alike to be a song!

I think, "Well, there!

I do declare,

If it is neither song nor prayer,

It's talk—and quite

Too vain and light

For me to listen to all night!"

Ho! it's come, kids, come!

"With a bim! bam! bum!

Here's little Billy bangin' on his big bass drum!

He's a-marchin' round the room,

With his feather-duster plume

A-noddin' an' a-bobbin' with his bim! bom! boom!

Looky, little Jane an' Jim!

Will you only look at him,

A-humpin' an' a-thumpin' with his bam! bom! bim!

Has the Day o' Judgment come

Er the New Mi-len-nee-um?

Er is it only Billy with his bim! bam! bim!

I 'm a-comin'; yes, I am—

Jim an' Sis, an' Jane an' Sam!

We'll all march off with Billy an' his bom! bim! bam!

Come hurrawin' as you come,

Er they'll think you're deef-an'-dumb

Ef you don't hear little Billy an' his big bass drum!

O big old tree, so tall an' fine,

Where all us childern swings an' plays,

Though neighbers says you're on the line

Between Pa's house an' Mr. Gray's,—

Us childern used to almost fuss,

Old Tree, about you when we 'd play.—

We'd argy you belonged to us,

An' them Gray-kids the other way!

Till Elsie, one time she wuz here

An' playin' wiv us—Don't you mind,

Old Mister Tree?—an' purty near

She scolded us the hardest kind

Fer quar'llin' 'bout you thataway,

An' say she'll find—ef we'll keep still—

Whose tree you air fer shore, she say,

An' settle it fer good, she will!

So all keep still: An' nen she gone

An' pat the Old Tree, an' says she,—

"Whose air you, Tree?" an' nen let on

Like she's a-list'nin' to the Tree,—

An' nen she say, "It's settled,—'cause

The Old Tree says he's all our tree—

His trunk belongs to bofe your Pas,

But shade belongs to you an' me."

"When little 'Pollus Morton he's

A-go' to speak a piece, w'y, nen

Lay away the story,—

Though the theme is sweet,

There's a lack of something yet,

Leaves it incomplete:—

There's a nameless yearning—

Strangely undefined—

For a story sweeter still

Than the written kind.

Therefore read no longer—

I've no heart to hear

But just something you make up,

O my mother dear.—

With your arms around me,

Hold me, folded-eyed,—

Only let your voice go on—

I'll be satisfied.

We're The Twins from Aunt Marinn's,

Igo and Ago.

When Dad comes, the show begins!—

Iram, coram, dago.

Dad he says he named us two

Igo and Ago

For a poem he always knew,

Iram, coram, dago.

Then he was a braw Scotchman—

Igo and Ago.—

Now he's Scotch-Amer-i-can.

Iram, coram, dago.

"Hey!" he cries, and pats his knee,

"Igo and Ago,

My twin bairnies, ride wi' me—

Iram, coram, dago!"

"Here," he laughs, "ye've each a leg,

Igo and Ago,

Gleg as Tam O'Shanter's 'Meg'!

Iram, coram, dago!"

O The Little Lady's dainty

As the picture in a book,

And her hands are creamy-whiter

Than the water-lilies look;

Her laugh's the undrown'd music

Of the maddest meadow-brook.—

Yet all in vain I praise The Little Lady!

Her eyes are blue and dewy

As the glimmering Summer-dawn,—

Her face is like the eglantine

Before the dew is gone;

And were that honied mouth of hers

A bee's to feast upon,

He'd be a bee bewildered, Little Lady!

Her brow makes light look sallow;

And the sunshine, I declare,

Is but a yellow jealousy

Awakened by her hair—

For O the dazzling glint of it

Nor sight nor soul can bear,—

So Love goes groping for The Little Lady.

And yet she's neither Nymph nor Fay,

Nor yet of Angelkind:—

She's but a racing school-girl, with

Her hair blown out behind

And tremblingly unbraided by

The fingers of the Wind,

As it wildly swoops upon The Little Lady.

When Bess gave her Dollies a Tea, said she,—

"It's unpolite, when they's Company,

To say you've drinked two cups, you see,—

But say you've drinked a couple of tea."

Picnics is fun 'at's purty hard to beat.

I purt'-nigh ruther go to them than eat.

I purt'-nigh ruther go to them than go

With our Charlotty to the Trick-Dog Show.

When we hear Uncle Sidney tell

About the long-ago

An' old, old friends he loved so well

When he was young—My-oh!—

Us childern all wish we'd 'a' bin

A-livin' then with Uncle,—so

We could a-kindo' happened in

On them old friends he used to know!—

The good, old-fashioned people—

The hale, hard-working people—

The kindly country people

'At Uncle used to know!

They was God's people, Uncle says,

An' gloried in His name,

An' worked, without no selfishness,

An' loved their neighbers same

As they was kin: An' when they biled

Their tree-molasses, in the Spring,

Er butchered in the Fall, they smiled

An' sheered with all jist ever'thing!—

The good, old-fashioned people—

The hale, hard-working people—

The kindly country people

'At Uncle used to know!

He tells about 'em, lots o' times,

Till we'd all ruther hear

About 'em than the Nurs'ry Rhymes

Er Fairies—mighty near!—

Only sometimes he stops so long

An' then talks on so low an' slow,

It's purt'-nigh sad as any song

To listen to him talkin' so

Of the good, old-fashioned people—

The hale, hard-working people—

The kindly country people

'At Uncle used to know!

When Old Folks they wuz young like us

An' little as you an' me,—

Them wuz the best times ever wuz

Er ever goin' to be!

When two little boys—renowned but for noise—

Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!—

May hurt a whole school, and the head it employs,

Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!

Such loud and hilarious pupils indeed

Need learning—and yet something further they need,

Though fond hearts that love them may sorrow and bleed.

Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!

O the schoolmarm was cool, and in no wise a fool;

Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!

And in ruling her ranks it was her rule to rule;

Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!

This trick seemed so neat and so safe a conceit,—

Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!—

They played it three times—though the third they were beat;

Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!

For the teacher, she righted her desk—raised the lid

And folded and packed away each little kid—

Closed the incident so—yes, and locked it, she did—

Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!

Pa he bringed me here to stay

'Til my Ma she's well.—An' nen

He's go' hitch up, Chris'mus-day,

An' come take me back again

Wher' my Ma's at! Won't I be

Tickled when he comes fer me!

My Ma an' my A'nty they

'Uz each-uvver's sisters. Pa—

A'nty telled me, th' other day,—

He comed here an' married Ma....

A'nty said nen, "Go run play,

I must work now!" ... An' I saw,

When she turn' her face away,

She 'uz cryin'.—An' nen I

'Tend-like I "run play"—an' cry.

This-here house o' A'nty's wher'

They 'uz borned—my Ma an' her!—

An' her Ma 'uz my Ma's Ma,

An' her Pa 'uz my Ma's Pa—

Ain't that funny?—An' they're dead:

An' this-here's "th' ole Homestead."—

An' my A'nty said, an' cried,

It's mine, too, ef my Ma died—

Don't know what she mean—'cause my

Ma she's nuvver go' to die!

When Pa bringed me here 't 'uz night—

'Way dark night! An' A'nty spread

Me a piece—an' light the light

An' say I must go to bed.—

I cry not to—-but Pa said,

"Be good boy now, like you telled

Mommy 'at you're go' to be!"

An', when he 'uz kissin' me

My good night, his cheeks' all wet

An' taste salty.—An' he held

Wite close to me an' rocked some

An' langhed-like—'til A'nty come

Git me while he's rockin' yet.

A'nty he'p me, 'til I be

Purt'-nigh strip-pud—nen hug me

In bofe arms an' lif' me 'way

Up in her high bed—an' pray

Wiv me,—'bout my Ma—an' Pa—

An' ole Santy Claus—an' Sleigh—

An' Reindeers an' little Drum—

Yes, an' Picture-books, "Tom Thumb,"

An' "Three Bears," an' ole "Fee-Faw"—