The Book of Joyous Children | Page 3

O I have followed me, o'er and o'er,
From the flagrant drowse on the
parlor-floor,
To the pleading voice of the mother when
I even
doubted I heard it then--
To the sense of a kiss, and a moonlit room,

And dewy odors of locust-bloom--
A sweet white cot--and a
cricket's cheep.--
But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: "NO BOY KNOWS WHEN HE GOES TO SLEEP."]

WHEN WE FIRST PLAYED "SHOW"
Wasn't it a good time,
Long Time Ago--
When we all were little tads
And first played "Show"!--
When every newer day
Wore as bright a glow
As the ones we laughed away--
Long Time Ago!
Calf was in the back-lot;
Clover in the red;
Bluebird in the pear-tree;
Pigeons on the shed;
Tom a-chargin' twenty pins
At the barn; and Dan
Spraddled out just like "The
'Injarubber'-Man!"
Me and Bub and Rusty,
Eck and Dunk and Sid,
'Tumblin' on the sawdust
Like the A-rabs did;
Jamesy on the slack-rope
In a wild retreat,

Grappling back, to start again--
When he chalked his feet!
[Illustration]

Wasn't Eck a wonder,
In his stocking-tights?

[Illustration: "JAMESY ON THE SLACK-ROPE."]

Wasn't Dunk--his leaping lion--
Chief of all delights!
Yes, and
wasn't "Little Mack"
Boss of all the Show,--
Both Old Clown and
Candy-Butcher--
Long Time Ago!
Sid the Bareback-Rider;
And--oh-me-oh-my!--
Bub, the spruce
Ring-master,
Stepping round so spry!--
In his little
waist-and-trousers
All made in one,
Was there a prouder youngster

Under the sun!
And NOW--who will tell me,--
Where are they all?
Dunk's a
sanatorium doctor,
Up at Waterfall;
Sid's a city street-contractor;

Tom has fifty clerks;
And Jamesy he's the "Iron Magnate"
Of "The
Hecla Works."
And Bub's old and bald now,
Yet still he hangs on,--
Dan and Eck
and "Little Mack,"
Long, long gone!
But wasn't it a good time,
Long Time Ago--
When we all were little tads
And first played "Show"!

A DIVERTED TRAGEDY
[Illustration]
Gracie wuz allus a careless tot;
But Gracie dearly loved her doll,


An' played wiv it on the winder-sill
'Way up-stairs, when she ought to
not,
An' her muvver telled her so an' all;
But she won't mind_ what
_she say--till,
First thing she know, her dolly fall
Clean spang out o'
the winder plumb
Into the street! An' here Grace come
Down-stairs,
two at a time, ist wild
An' a-screamin', "Oh, my child! my child!"
[Illustration]
Jule wuz a-bringin' their basket o' clo'es
Ist then into their hall down
there,--
An' she ist stop' when Gracie bawl,
An' Jule she say "She ist
declare
She's ist in time!" An' what you s'pose?
She sets her basket down in the hall,
An' wite on top o' the snowy
clo'es
Wuz Gracie's dolly a-layin' there
An' ist ain't bu'st ner hurt
a-tall!
[Illustration]
Nen Gracie smiled--ist sobbed an' smiled--
An' cried, "My child! my
precious child!"

THE RAMBO-TREE
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree--
It's a long, sweet way across
the orchard!--
The bird sings low as the bumble-bee--
It's a long,
sweet way across the orchard!--
The poor shote-pig he says, says he:

"When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree
There's enough for you and
enough for me."--
It's a long, sweet way across the orchard.
For just two truant lads like we,
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree

There's enough for you and enough for me--
It's a long, sweet way
across the orchard.
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree--
It's a long, sweet way across

the orchard!--
The mole digs out to peep and see--
It's a long, sweet
way across the orchard!--
The dusk sags down, and the moon swings
free,
There's a far, lorn call, "Pig-gee_! 'Pig-_gee!"
And two
boys--glad enough for three.--
It's a long, sweet way across the
orchard.
For just two truant lads like we,
When Autumn shakes the rambo-tree

There's enough for you and enough for me--
It's a long, sweet way
across the orchard.

[Illustration: "ACROSS THE ORCHARD."]

FIND THE FAVORITE
Our three cats is Maltese cats,
An' they's two that's white,--
An'
bofe of 'em's deef--an' that's
'Cause their eyes ain't right.--
[Illustration]
Uncle say that Huxley say
Eyes of white Maltese--
When they don't
match thataway--
They're deef as you please!
Girls, they like our white cats best,
'Cause they're white as snow,

Yes, an' look the stylishest--
But they're deef, you know!
They don't know their names, an' don't
Hear us when we call

"Come in, Nick an' Finn!"--they won't
Come fer us at all!
But our other_ cat, _he knows
Mister Nick an' Finn,--
Mowg's his_
name,--an' when _he goes
Fer 'em, they come in!
Mowgli's all his name--the same
Me an' Muvver took
Like the
Wolf-Child's other name,
In "The Jungul Book."

I bet Mowg's the smartest cat
In the world!--He's not
White, but
mousy-plush, with that
Smoky gloss he's got!
All's got little bells to ring,
Round their neck; but none
Only Mowg
knows anything--
He's the only one!
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