Childhood's Favorites and Fairy Stories Part 38

The polar bear will make a rug Almost as white as snow; But if he gets you in his hug, He rarely lets you go.

And Polar ice looks very nice, With all the colors of a pris-sum; But, if you'll follow my advice, Stay home and learn your catechis-sum.

ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH

LIMERICKS

There was an Old Man in a tree, Who was horribly bored by a Bee; When they said, "Does it buzz?" he replied, "Yes, it does!

It's a regular brute of a Bee."

There was an Old Man on some rocks, Who shut his Wife up in a box: When she said, "Let me out," he exclaimed, "Without doubt You will pa.s.s all your life in that box."

There was an Old Man who said "How Shall I flee from this horrible Cow?

I will sit on this stile, and continue to smile, Which may soften the heart of that Cow."

There was an Old Man who said, "Hus.h.!.+

I perceive a young bird in this bus.h.!.+"

When they said, "Is it small?" he replied, "Not at all; It is four times as big as the bus.h.!.+"

There was once an Old Man with a beard, Who said, "It is just as I feared!-- Two Owls and a Hen, Four Larks and a Wren Have all built their nests in my beard."

There was an old person of Ware Who rode on the back of a bear; When they said, "Does it trot?"

He said, "Certainly not, It's a Moppsikon Floppsikon bear."

There was a young lady in blue, Who said, "Is it you? Is it you?"

When they said, "Yes, it is," she replied only, "Whizz!"

That ungracious young lady in blue.

EDWARD LEAR

MORE LIMERICKS

There was a small boy of Quebec, Who was buried in snow to his neck; When they said. "Are you friz?"

He replied, "Yes, I is-- But we don't call this cold in Quebec."

RUDYARD KIPLING

There was a young lady of Niger Who smiled as she rode on a Tiger; They came back from the ride With the lady inside, And the smile on the face of the Tiger.

There was a young maid who said, "Why Can't I look in my ear with my eye?

If I give my mind to it, I'm sure I can do it-- You never can tell till you try."

ANONYMOUS

THE DEAD DOLL

You needn't be trying to comfort me--I tell you my dolly is dead!

There's no use in saying she isn't, with a crack like that in her head.

It's just like you said it wouldn't hurt much to have my tooth out, that day; And then, when the man 'most pulled my head off, you hadn't a word to say.

And I guess you must think I'm a baby, when you say you can mend it with glue: As if I didn't know better than that! Why, just suppose it was you?

You might make her look all mended--but what do I care for looks?

Why, glue's for chairs and tables, and toys and the backs of books!

My dolly! my own little daughter! Oh, but it's the awfullest crack!

It just makes me sick to think of the sound when her poor head went whack Against that horrible bra.s.s thing that holds up the little shelf.

Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me? I know that I did it myself!

I think you must be crazy--you'll get her another head!

What good would forty heads do her? I tell you my dolly is dead!

And to think I hadn't quite finished her elegant new spring hat!

And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night to tie on that horrid cat!

When my mamma gave me that ribbon--I was playing out in the yard-- She said to me, most expressly, "Here's a ribbon for Hildegarde."

And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde saw me do it; But I said to myself, "Oh, never mind, I don't believe she knew it!"

But I know that she knew it now, and I just believe, I do, That her poor little heart was broken, and so her head broke too.

Oh, my baby! my little baby! I wish my head had been hit!

For I've hit it over and over, and it hasn't cracked a bit.

But since the darling is dead, she'll want to be buried, of course: We will take my little wagon, Nurse, and you shall be the horse; And I'll walk behind and cry, and we'll put her in this, you see-- This dear little box--and we'll bury her there out under the maple-tree.

And papa will make me a tombstone, like the one he made for my bird; And he'll put what I tell him on it--yes, every single word!

I shall say: "Here lies Hildegarde, a beautiful doll, who is dead; She died of a broken heart, and a dreadful crack in her head."

MARGARET VANDERGRIFT