London Town | Page 3

from door to door?Capers along with his followers four.?As May Day mummers are seldom seen,?Let us all give a copper to Jack-in-the-Green.
St. James's Park
What a countrified scene we have here!?Who would think London Town was so near,?That its murmur comes borne on the breeze?To the listener under the trees?
To this spot, to buy biscuits or buns,?Each city child joyously runs.?But the Park's greatest treat, they all vow,?Is a glass of new milk from the cow.
Cried the drake to the ducks, "Here's a boy with a bun, Come, make haste! we shall have quite a feast!"?"Would you mind," said a swan, "if we shared in the fun?" "O dear no!" said he; "not in the least!"?It was surely through fear, not politeness at all,?That the drake made so civil a speech,?For that one penny bun, after all, was so small,?There was hardly a mouthful for each!
From the ducks and the swans on the lake, to next page-- A much quieter scene--you may pass:?Though Westminster Cloisters are hoary with age,?Yet green is their velvety grass,?And cheerily bright are their gables and peaks,?As they glow in the westering sun:?'Tis some house in the Cloisters yon schoolboy seeks--?Don't you wonder, now, which is the one?
[Illustration: The Inner Cloisters Westminster]
Westminster Abbey
In all the land?A pile so grand?Is scarcely found?As this. Around?Its old grey walls?The shadow falls?Of bygone years,?And so one fears?To raise one's tone,?When one is shown?Some ancient tomb,?Half hid in gloom.?Beneath such stones?There rest the bones?Of monarchs bold,?Whose story's told?For you and me?In history.
From kings of men?We wander; then?We're quickly brought?To kings of thought,?For poets lie?Interred hard by.?Here, too, repose?The bones of those?Who fought the foe?Long, long ago.?Brave knights were they;?And in the fray?They kept from shame?The English name,?And proved in fight?Great Britain's might.?Where they are laid?Their rest is made?As sweet as prayer?By music rare:?Over their head?The sleeping dead?Can daily hear?The anthem clear?Floating along?Like angel's song,?Until it dies?Like angel's sighs.
On the way to the British Museum
Not far from the British Museum there stands?An apple stall, painted bright green,?Whence a penny may buy from the stall-keeper's hands?Three apples, all rosy and clean.
Now the girls of St. George's great Charity School?Very often are passing that way,?For their governors wise make this very good rule--?They must go for a walk every day.
How wistful the glances they cast as they pass,?How they long for an apple to eat;?But their pockets are quite without pennies, alas!?To purchase so dainty a treat.
These maidens have cheeks that are rosy and sweet?As the choicest of fruit on the stall,?And the very next time that we meet in this street,?I'll buy apples enough for them all.
Goodness gracious! What a noise?Baby Bunting's bent on making;?It is quite enough to set?All the heads around him aching.?Still we're sure that Baby has?Many griefs if we could see 'em,?For with other babes he's come?Miles and miles to the Museum.?Baby Bunting thought, of course,?When he said good bye to mother,?That he'd pass in through the gates?With big sister and big brother.?But poor Baby finds, alas,?That his little hopes have flitted,?For the nasty notice says?"Babes in arms are not admitted."
[Illustration: In the British Museum NORTH WEST EDIFICE NIMROUD]
In the British Museum
If you want to see all sorts of wonderful things,?Stuffed crocodiles, mammoths, and sloths,?Hairy ducks with four feet, and fishes with wings,?Fat beetles, and strange spotted moths;
And enormous winged bulls with long beards, carved in stone, Dug up from Assyria's sand,?And old blackened mummies as dry as a bone,?Discovered in Egypt's lone land,
And beautiful statues from Greece and from Rome,?And other fine things without end,--?You will find you can see half the world here at home,?If a day in this place you will spend.
The Underground Railway
Who is this in the Weighing Chair??Why, little Dot, I do declare!?Three stone five! "So much as that?"?Calls out Miss Dot; "then I _must_ be fat!"
On this and the opposite page you see?Dot's mother, and brother, and sisters three.?They wait for an underground train to come?And carry them swiftly back to their home.
Wonderful trains! From morn till night,?Clattering through tunnels without daylight,?Hither and thither they run, up and down,?Beneath the streets of London Town.
Many prefer these trains instead?Of the cabs and "Busses" overhead,?For they run much faster than horses can.?Miss Dot's papa is a busy man,
And goes to the City every day?By the "Underground,"--the quickest way:?And One Hundred Millions of people, 'tis found,?Are carried each year by the "Underground."
The Zoological Gardens
Away we go to the famous Zoo'?With Bertie, and Nellie, and Dick, and Sue.?And we feel quite ready to jump for glee?When the wonderful birds and beasts we see.?The pelican solemn with monster beak,?And the plump little penguin round and sleek,?Have set us laughing--Ha, ha! Ho! ho!?And you'll laugh too, if you look below.?To the monkey-house then we make our way,?Where the monkeys chatter, and climb, and play;?At the snakes we peep, then onward