"WHAT is the Mammoth Cave?"
    I hear the Children say,
  Where fishes have no eyes nor sight,
    And where 'tis dark by day?

  You all have seen a ledge
    Of big rocks piled, or stone?--
  Now just suppose a door-way made,
    Or entrance to go in.   {171}
  And when you're in, a path
    Leads on, right under ground,
  And by-and-by you come to a place
    Like a room with walls around.

  'Tis jagged and rough and rude,
    'Tis dark and damp as a grave,
  But whether 'tis large or small,
    'Tis always called a cave.

  Now, Mammoth means monstrous big,
    And the Mammoth cave, we claim
  As the largest known in the world,
    And that's what gives the name.

  And it has many a room,
    Quite large and wondrous grand,
  And it has springs and streams and lakes,
    All dark, you understand.

  And here are fishes, too,
    Yes, fishes with no eyes,
  That have lived in the dark for ages past,
    As learned men surmise.

  The Camels live in desert lands;
  Their feet are made to walk on sands;
  They carry burdens far and near,
  Where neither grass nor trees appear;

  Where there's no rain, no rivers, brooks,
  No water anywhere for folks;--
  But God has made in Camels' chest
  Peculiar sacs, for He knew best

  What they must do, and that they'd die,
  If He did not their drink supply.
  Before they start they drink and drink,
  Till every sac is full, I think;--

  And at the mouth of every sac,
  A muscle strong, but loose and slack,
  Will tighten up when it is filled,
  So that no drink can e'er be spilled.

  And when on journey, last or first,
  The camel wants to slake his thirst,
  A bag-string loosens, and out-pours
  Enough to satisfy for hours.

  The laden camels, in a row,
  Are called a Caravan, you know;--
  Sometimes a caravan is lost,
  Being buried deep in sand and dust.

  A storm of wind, a Simoon named,
  Will sweep across the desert sand,
  When camels, men, and every one
  Must throw themselves their knees upon,

  And bury faces in the earth,
  For thus alone they save their breath;
  A fearful thing, but 'tis the best
  That they can do,--now hear the rest.

  Sometimes they're buried deep, and find
  When they dig out they're almost blind
  And cannot tell which way to go,
  And thus are lost, a serious woe!

  Sometimes, when lost, the drink for men
  Gets short; is gone; they thirst, and then
  They kill a camel just for lack
  Of what he carries in his sac.

  In deserts bare and bleak and drear,
  The sun shines hot through all the year,
  But many an Oasis is found,
  Or spot where grass and trees abound.

  And here is drink, and here they rest,
  And take their fill of what is best;
  Then travel on in thankful mood,
  With song and shout! "Allah is good!"

  L  M  N  R


  LIGHTLY flowing LIQUIDS, we,--
    Tethered with our brothers.
  Make we music, melody,
    More than all the others;
  Lulling, mellowy, nimble, rare,
    Reveling in rhythm,
  Running here and everywhere,
    Make me merry with 'em.

  Wild bears are found all over,
    From Northern lands to South,
  But largest, strongest, where 'tis cold
    And fiercest farthest North.

  All bears are fond of honey,
    Of berries, too, and roots;
  They hug or squeeze their prey to death,
    As this their nature suits.

  They mate in June-y weather;
    Their little ones are cubs;
  They sadly mourn when mates are killed,
    You'd almost hear their sobs.

  They'll try to feed a cub
    That's lying cold and dead,
  And will not flee, but stand and take
    The fatal knife instead.

  They sleep through winter-time,
    But prowl in wildest storms,
  With hope to find some creature killed,
    Or struck with death's alarms.

  The bears are white, or black,
    Or brown or grizzly gray,
  The white 'mong polar snows are found,
    Where half the year is day.

  Their fur is used for robes,
    For coats, sometimes a muff,--
  Their meat is prized by some as food,
    While some would call it "stuff."   {181}
  They nimbly climb a tree,
    But "back down," for their frame
  Is made so lungs would forward press,
    If they head-foremost, came.

  To people of Kamtschatka,
    The bear a blessing proves;
  His skin forms beds and coverlets,
    And bonnets, shoes, and gloves.

  His flesh and fat are dainties,
    And of his intestine,
  Is made a mask for warding off
    The glare of Sun in Spring.

  'Tis also used for windows,
    As substitute for glass;
  Of shoulder-blade a tool is made,
    That's used for cutting grass.

  Norwegians think the Bear is
    More sensible than men;
  While Laplands call him "Dog of God,"
    And dare not him offend.

  The fruits of the orchard and garden
    Are beautiful, luscious and good,
  Partake of them freely, dear children,
    But eat them at meals with your food.

  Come, child, and see our pet Raccoon,--
  The Raccoons live in the woods, you know;
    But ours was caught,
    And caged, and brought
  From old Virginia, long ago.

  Oh, no, you need not be afraid.
  See, he is fastened with a chain;
    For ropes enough
    He has gnawed off,
  And he is hard to catch again.

  He e'en will climb this ten-foot fence,
  And, careless where his feet may strike,
    He tumbles, bang!
    And there will hang,
  His rope being caught by vine or spike.

  And once the rascal ran away;
  Was gone for days, and maybe weeks ;
    When children came,
    And charging blame,
  Said, "Your Raccoon has caught our chicks."

  "He's on our roof a-making mouth,
  And chatters when we would go near.
    We wish you'd come
    and take time home,
  So that our chick need not fear."   {187}
  So now he's chained; yet up he'll climb
  The stake to which he's fastened tight,
    And mutter low,
    So pleading, Oh!
  'T would make you sorry for him, quite.

  Just see his nose, so pointed, sharp,--
  His ears as keen as keen can be,--
    His eyes so bright,
    So full of light,
  And see him leap right merrily!

  His fur, you see, is yellowish gray,--
  And he is nearly two feet long;
    He lives on roots,
    And nuts and fruits,
  When he's his native woods among.

  But here we give him bread and milk;
  He never eats like dogs or lambs,
    But takes it up
    From out the cup
  With his fore-foot, as we use hands.

  You'd laugh to see him, I am sure;
  Of strawberries, too, he's very fond;
    Will poke around
    Till he has found
  Each one among the hulls out-thrown.

  Then, too, he's fond of nice clean clothes,
  Will spring for sheet hung out to dry;
    And children dressed
    In very best,
  Are sure to please his dainty eye.

  No matter where his feet have been,
  He'll spring and plant them, little pest,
    On something white,
    And then will fight
  To hold, and hide it in his nest.

* * * * *   {189}
  You've "come again to see our Coon"?
  Well, he is gone; he plagued us so,
    We sent the "Rac"
    To Central Park,
  Where you can see him when you go.

  Oh yes, they're glad to get him, there;
  They have no clothes hung out to dry;
    And children aye
    Must stand away,
  For there a keeper's always nigh.

  A "Yes" and "No" are common, hard,
    But "yes'm," "no-sir," choice;--
  Let none but sweet and gentle words
    Flow from your gift of voice.

  In a village of Bank-Swallows,
    You will find so many a nest,
  "That you scarce can tell their number
    Nor which one of them is best."   {191}
  In the sand-hill, see the openings,
    Round or oval odd-shaped, some,
  Size and form depending often,
    On how loose the sand become.

  When with their short bills they pecked it,
    Clinging fast with claws the while,
  Till they made an open door-way
    Suiting them in size and style.

  Once within, they peck and peck it,--
    Sometimes quite a yard or more,
  While the nest is snugly builded,
    Farthest from the outer door.

  But, so wise are they, this archway
    From the entrance to the nest,
  Is inclining ever upward,
    That no rain within may rest.

  So the pink-white eggs are laid there,
    Safe from harm, till baby-birds
  Chirrup forth to take their places,
    'Mongst the self-sustaining herds.   {192}
  Smallest of the swallow species,
    Homeliest, too, yet favorites dear,
  For their graceful, airy movements,
    And their simple, social cheer.

  Found are they from North to South-land,
    Known of every tribe and race;--
  Swift in flight, yet swinging, swaying,
    Skimming low from place to place.

  Parent-birds care less for young ones,
    Than do other swallow-kind;--
  Push them off half-fledged and timid,
    Each his food and home to find.

  Thus they, many a time, fall prey to
    Hawks and crows, their enemies;--
  Even the nest sometimes is entered
    By the snakes and fleas and flies.

  Swallows migrate in the Winter,
    From the cold to warmer climes,
  Flying back as Spring approaches,
    To the haunts of former times.

  "Ne'er one swallow makes a Summer,"
    Is a saying everywhere;--
  But when swallows come in myriads,
    Blessed Summer-time is here.

  The New World boasts the Mocking-bird
    And whether caged or free,
  His wondrous voice pours forth in songs
    Of rarest melody.

  His notes swell out and die away,
    As if a joyous soul
  Were wrought to highest ecstacy,
    All music to control.

  His native notes are bold and full,
    And then he'll imitate,
  Till it would seem the feathered tribe
    Were all arrayed in state.

  He'll whistle for the dog or cat,
    Will squeak like chicken, hurt,
  And cluck and crow and bark and mew,
    So comical and curt.

  While blue-birds warble, swallows scream,
    Or hens will cackle clear.
  In robin's song, the whip-poor-will
    Pours forth his plaint so near.   {196}
  Canaries, hang-birds, nightingales,
    He echoes loud and long;
  While they stand silent, mortified,
    He triumphs in his song.

  Why do the little busy bees
    So dearly love their queen,
  And wait upon and pay respect,
    With watchful care and mien?

  Because the queen lays all the eggs,
    And mothers all the young,
  While every father-bee that's hatched
    Is nothing but a drone.

  The working bees might all be queens,
    If cared for and well-fed
  When they are in the larvae state,
    But they're half-starved instead,--

  While those intended for young queens
    Are fattened overmuch,
  And nursed and petted every hour,
    That they full growth may reach.

  For every different kind of egg
    That makes the different bees,
  A different kind of cell is made,
    The queen directing these.

  For drones or males, six-sided cells,
    Quite neat, and smooth, and nice;
  For working-bees a smaller cell,
    Uncouth, and rough, and coarse;

  While those for queens are large and free,
    And fashioned fine with care,
  And lined with softest, silken shreds
    So daintily they fare.

  The queen-bee lays the worker-eggs,
    A dozen days, I ween,
  And then the drones as many more,
    Then workers, then the queen.

  Eggs, two or three, and sometimes four
    Are laid in worker-cell;
  While drones and queens have each but one,
    As oft is proven well.

  The bluish eggs so close and warm,
    Hatch out with three days passed;    {199}  When larvae, white, as little worms,
    Are watched and fed and nursed.

  These larvae, when some six days old,
    Close in their cells are shut,
  And there at once begin to weave
    A silken web about.

  They turn and twist till all around
    Themselves 'tis woven quite,
  And then they rest for twenty days,--
    'Tis such a pretty sight.

  The small cocoons of working-bees,
    The larger ones of drones,
  The large and plump and perfect ones
    Of all the coming queens.   {200}
  In twenty days they now burst forth,
    Equipped from tip to toe,
  The working-bees and drones, I mean,
    For queens come forth more slow.

  The queen cocoons ope from behind,
    And I will tell you why,
  'Tis that the reigning queen may sting
    The others till they die.

  If mother queen leads off a swarm,
    A young queen they release,
  And she may take another swarm,
    And leave the hive in peace.

  Another queen is then let out,
    Perhaps a third and fourth,
  As many as can raise a swarm,
    To follow them, not loath;

  But when no more can swarm and go,
    Because not bees enough,
  As I have said, the reigning queen
    Stings all the rest to death.

  For in each hive and everywhere,
    One queen alone will reign,
  And any interloper meets
    With sure and sharp disdain.

  Of workers, some are strong to fly,
    While some are weak and small,
  Unfitted quite, for load or flight,
    Or outside work at all.

  These last complete the larvae-cells,
    And nurse and feed the young;
  They mix the bee-bread, cleanse the hive,
    And care for every drone.

  All bees have stings except the drones,
    And these, when Autumn nears,
  Are stung to death with furious wrath,
    As by the book appears.   {202}
  And now I hope you children all,
    Will use your wondrous power
  To "gather honey all the day,
    From every opening flower."

BBB R YYY
B U YY

[Footnote: Bees are wises; Be you wise.]

  "Ah, but how do bees make honey?"
    Now the children, eager, ask;
  And we'll try to give them answer,
    If we're able for the task.

  See, the under-lip is lengthened,
    Like a trunk or proboscis,
  Ending by a kind of button,
    Fringed with tiny moving hairs.

  All along its length, too, fringes,
    Just the same, are growing forth;
  And by means of these, the honey
    Is conveyed from flowers to mouth.

  Then the bee has two small stomachs,
    In the first of which is stored
  All the honey it can gather,
    But, when home, 'tis quick out-poured.   {206}
  Bees have six legs; and in hindmost,
    There are baskets found, or bags,
  Into which the pollen gathered,
    Is brushed off by the other legs.

  And this pollen, for the bee-bread
    And as food for young, they use,
  Mixed with honey and with water,--
   Swallowed and disgorged like juice

  By the nurses, who digest it
    Partly, for the larvae-food,
  Taking care that each shall have it,
    Just according to the brood.

  Now we'll watch and see them working;
    See them brush off pollen-dust;
  See them, too, disgorge the honey,
    Into cells the sweetness thrust.

  Children, with your useful fingers,
    Hands and arms and feet and head,
  Do not let the bees surpass you,
    Making honey, nay, nor bread.

  Those creatures that chew the cud,
    The "RUMINANTS" we call,
  From "Rumen," or the stomach-pouch,
    In which their food doth fall.

  A "SPECIES" is a kind
    Of animals or plants;--
  Each species has a different name,
    And differing traits and wants,--

  And species may unite
    To form a RACE we know,
  For race from root is always drawn,
    And roots must spread and grow.

  That men and women are
    The race most choice and fine,
  We plainly see, and sometimes call,
    The Human Race Divine.

  The noble Horse neighs out,
    "I am the race Equine,
  And nearest seem, and dearest to
    The 'human race, divine.'"

  The Ox and Cow l-o-o, l-o-o,
    "We are the race Bovine;
  And we most useful are, unto
    The 'human race, divine.'"

  The Ass and Mule bray out,
    "Our race is Assinine,
  And very like us seem some of
    The 'human race, divine.'"

  The Dog bow-wows as race
    Canine, Canine, Canine;           {212}  While Tigers, Cats and Catamounts,
    G-r-o-w-l, growl, as race Feline.

  The Lion, king of beasts
    (Feline), roars "Leonine;"--
  The Lamb that's to lie down with him,
    Ba-a, ba-as for race Ovine.

  Fishes in lakes or seas
    or rivers Sport Piscine;
  While birds in air or cages close,
    Sing, "race Avine, Avine."

  All bees in hives or wild,
    Hum out the race Apine;           {214}  And reptiles all rejoicing crawl
    In race Reptilian.

  I've a name that's made up of three letters alone,--
    That reads backwards and forwards the same;
  I speak without sound,--yes, I talk without tongue.
    And to beauty I lay the first claim.

* * * * *

  A word of three syllables, children, now find,
  That holds the whole twenty-six letters combined. [1]

  The B ing m t, John put some:  [2]

  Old Britain was under the Romans
    From fifty-five years before Christ (55 B. C.)
  To four hundred fifty-five (455 A. D.)
    Then her eight States on home-rule insist.   {216}
  For many a year now they wrangle,
    Ah! yes, for quite three seventy-two,
  Being ruled now by this king, now that one,
    As each might the former o'erthrow.

  But ever since eight-twenty-seven (827),
    Britain's rulers have reigned by descent,
  From Egbert, first "Monarch of England,"
    To Victoria, daughter of Kent.

  A score reigned and fell.--Second Harold
    In ten-sixty-six (1066), proud; usurps,
  But soon in fierce battle is conquered
    By William of Normandy's troops.

  Then came William the Conqueror, a Norman,
    Then William the Second, his son;
  Then Henry and Stephen and Henry,
    Then Richard (Coeur de Lion), and John.

  Next Henry the Third, and First Edward,
    Edward Second and Third, Richard, two (II).
  Henrys Fourth, Fifth and Sixth, and Fourth Edward
    Fifth Edward,--Third Richard, they rue.

  Henry Seventh and Eighth, and Sixth Edward,
    Then Mary, Bess, James, and Charles First,--
  Eleven years then with no monarch;
    Second Charles, Second James, not the worst.   {217}
  Then William and Mary, then Anne,
    Four Georges, Fourth William, until
  Came Victoria, long live her queenship,
    For she wields her proud scepter with skill.

  A ship sailed over the blue, salt sea,
    For a man, Columbus called,
  Had thought that the world was round, and he
    Of the old ideas had palled.

  So, in fourteen hundred and ninety-two,
    He sailed across from Spain,
  And found our continent so new--
    The "land beyond the main."      {219}
  But jealousies and rivalries
    And bickerings begun,
  And Christopher Columbus now
    With grief was overborne.

  Americus Vespucius soon
    Our shores came sailing round,
  And stole the naming of the land
    Columbus sought and found;

  While he, Columbus, lay in chains,
    And died in sore distress;
  Yet won for us who tread his land,
    A lasting blessedness.

* * * * *

  Young I-know is saucy and pert,
    And thinks himself wondrously wise;
  But I-know, the second, steps in all so curt,
    And you'd think that each might lose his eyes.

  THE annual path of the Sun,
    The Ecliptic is called, as we see,--
  And a belt, eight degrees, on each side,
    The Zodiac ever will be.

  The principal planets all seem
    To move in the zodiac lines,
  While the belt, of itself, is cut up
    Into twelve equal parts, called the Signs.

  And these signs were first named, we are told,
    From their fancied resemblance to beasts,
  Which astronomers thought they could see
    In the stars, from the West to the East.

  There is Aries, the Ram, then the Bull,
    Which is Taurus,--then Gemini, Twins;
  Then Cancer, a Crab and then Leo,
    A Lion, and Virgo, Virgin.

  Next Libra, the Balance or Scales,
    And Scorpio, a Scorpion (with sting),--
  Sagittarius, the Archer or Arrow,--
    Capricornus, a Goat's horn we bring.

  Aquarius, the Bearer of Water,--
    And Pisces, or Fish from the sea,--
  All together make twelve, and a wonder
    It is, that these fancies should be.

  Children, you ought to know
    That Grapho can but mean
  To picture out, or tell about,
    Some object or some thing.

  Now Geo means the earth;
    And so Geography
  Means picturing out or telling about
    This earth of ours, you see.

  As Phono means a sound,
    Phonography so terse,
  Just pictures out or tells about
    The sounds of the human voice.   {224}
  As Photo means the light,
    Photography must mean
  A picturing of the light that falls
    Upon a thing, I ween.

  Now Astro means the stars;
    And hence Astrography
  Means to describe or tell about
    The stars we all may see.

  And then Astronomy
    Tells all the various laws
  That govern or relate to stars;
    Of their motions tells the cause.

  Now Bios means a life;
    And so Biography
  Means writing out the life of one,
    Which we may often see.

  Zoos means animal;
    And your Zoography
  Describes the animals that live
    On land or in the sea.   {225}
  Then there's Stenography,
    A writing narrow, small,
  Or, as so many call it now,
    "Short-hand," which tells it all.

  And then Xylography--
    Engraving upon wood;
  And Crystallography as well,
    That tells of crystals good.

  But these are ographies    Enough for now, you think;
  Yet when you're older, wiser grown,
    You many more will link.

  "I'm a dot with a quirk," whispers little Miss Comma,
    "And you'll please not to pause long for me."
  "I'm a dot over Comma," says Miss Semicolon,
    "And you'll pause twice as long where I be."

  "I am dot over dot," Master Colon speaks out,
    "You'll pause longer for me than they say:"
  "I am one dot alone," Period says with a tone
    That means: "Stop when you see me obey!"    {227}
  "I'm a hook over dot," says Dame Interrogation,
    "I ask questions; but answer? O, nay!"
  "I'm a splash over dot," says old Sir Exclamation;
    "I show wonder, delight, or dismay!"

  "I'm a line east and west," says Miss Dash, "and I'm best
    At changing of subjects, you know."--
  "I am Dash's small sister," says Hyphen, and kissed her;
    "I unite words, or syl-la-bles, so."

  Then said Marks of Parenthesis (carefully curved),
    "We inclose what you well may omit;
  But we're often displaced by Miss Dash (in your haste),
    Whom you sadly mistake for a wit."

  Now Apostrophe, Caret, Quotation, exclaimed:
    "We are commas and hyphens combined;
  We leave out, or put in, or reveal to your kin
    What you've said, when their backs you're behind."

  Then Star, Daggers, Parallels, Paragraph too,
    Started up, staring wildly about,             {228}  With "We rise to explain on the margin, 'tis plain,
    Or to point a new paragraph out."

  Of the whole Punctuation, each knew his own station.
    Each did his own duty, we see;
  If we do ours as well, and of their's, too, can tell,
    We shall soon learn good readers to be.

  "All is not gold that glitters;"
    Yet think not, children mine,
  That all that glitters is not gold;
    The true must ring and shine.

  Little Master Mischief
    Lives in Nellie's eye,
  Sitting in the corner,
    Peeping out so sly;
  Now he's crossed the snow-ground
    And in chamber blue,
  Thinking he is hidden,
    Peek-a-boos at you.

  Now he drops the curtain,
    Sure that he is hid,
  But you see him dancing
    Even on the lid.
  Now, the curtains lifting,
    You can see he's crept
  To the inner chamber,
    Where the love-light slept.

  Watching now his moment
    He pops out, and see,
  Mamma's spools and thimble
    Quickly disagree.

  Shall we punish Mischief?
    Better teach the child
  How to hold and lead him,
    Running now so wild.

  Would she like her playthings
    Scattered here and there,
  When she had arranged them?
    Would she think it fair?
  Would she like her puzzle
    Portions of it, lost?
  Would she like her dishes
    Everywhere uptossed?
  Would she like her apron
    With a missing string,
  Mamma hunting, meanwhile,
    Thread and everything?

  Nellie, learn the lesson:
    Be to others true,
  Always do as you would
    Have them do to you.   {232}
  This the dear Lord's precept,--
    This the Golden Rule,--
  This the highest lesson
    In our Nellie's school.

  Be gentle and loving,
    Be kind and polite;
  Be thoughtful for others,
    Be sure and do right.

  Grandma loves her birdy,
    And when he gaily sings,
  She will laugh and chat with him,
    At which he hops and springs.

  Fearing though, that birdy
    Might not understand,
  Grandma from the toy-shop,
    Brought a whistle grand.

  Tuning now the whistle,
    To his sweet bird-note,
  He in singing back to her,
    Nearly burst his throat,

  Birdy, free outflying,
    Often comes to light
  On Grandma's tip-of-finger
    Or chair-back, pretty sight!

  From her hand she feeds him,
    And he oft will take
  From her mouth the sugar,
    With a merry shake.

  Yester-morn the window
    Being open wide,
  Birdy thought it brighter
    On the outer side.

  Grandma mourning sadly,
    Shed of tears a few,
  Then she prayed the Father,
    "Show me what to do."

  Soon she set his cage out
    On the window-sill,
  Saying, "Birdy'll come now,
    Oh, I'm sure he will!"   {235}
  Then she, hopeful, praying,
    "Bring my birdy home,"
  Took the sweet bird-whistle,
    Playing "Birdy, come."

  And the birdy hearing,
    Quickly came and lit
  On the cage, and shortly
    Flitted into it.

  Thankful now was Grandma,
    To the dear Lord, who,
  Listening to her prayer
    Taught her what to do.