The Project Gutenberg eBook ofA Jolly Jingle-Book

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofA Jolly Jingle-BookThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: A Jolly Jingle-BookCompiler: Laura ChandlerRelease date: March 21, 2007 [eBook #20952]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Al Haines*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A JOLLY JINGLE-BOOK ***

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: A Jolly Jingle-BookCompiler: Laura ChandlerRelease date: March 21, 2007 [eBook #20952]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Al Haines

Title: A Jolly Jingle-Book

Compiler: Laura Chandler

Release date: March 21, 2007 [eBook #20952]

Language: English

Credits: E-text prepared by Al Haines

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A JOLLY JINGLE-BOOK ***

E-text prepared by Al Haines

A JOLLY BOOKMR. TONGUEKISSESTRIALS OF TRAVELTHE QUARRELMY PLAYMATESA PUZZLING THINGHER NAMEGAME OF GOING-TO-BEDTHE BALLA VOYAGEAPPLE-TREE-INNAN OUTDOOR GIRLTHE BEDTIME STORY BOOKTHE BROWNIESHER ANSWERA TROUBLESOME DAUGHTERTHE RACEA BIG PLAYFELLOWHAYING TIMENOBODYMY GARDENMAMMA'S LITTLE HOUSEMAIDTOYSTHE BATHNAP-TIMECHUMSA TOUCH OF NATUREA LESSON IN NATURAL HISTORYPICTURE BOOK TIMETHE TOPSY-TURVY DOLLPOOR OLD BOOKSSYMPATHYA SPRING SONGSECRETSSOMEBODY DID ITIN SUMMEROUR LITTLE BROOKTHE PINEWOOD PEOPLETHE STUDENTSTHE LADY MOONTHE JOURNEYPRETENDINGA LITTLE APRIL FOOLFROST FIRESWHISTLING IN THE RAINTHE WOODEN HORSEAFTER SCHOOLA SLEEPY-HEAD TOPA CHRISTMAS TELEPHONEA LOST BABYVELOCIPEDEA RAINY DAY PLANTHE BIRTHDAY ONESA DUTCH WISHA SIGN OF SPRINGMY DOLLYONE MILE TO TOYLANDA BATH TUB JOKEHER OWN WAYTHE MONTH OF MAYTHE BIRTHDAYBABY'S PLAYTHINGSWHEN IT RAINSTHE SLEEPING TREESA SUMMER HOLIDAYTWO POCKETSMY HORSEMAY TIMEBOOKSTHE LITTLE BOOK PEOPLECHARLOTTE THE CONQUERORTHE SCARECROW

How can they put in black and whiteWhat little children think at night,When lights are out and prayers are said,And you are all tucked up in bed?

Such funny dreams go dancing throughYour head, of things nobody knew,Or saw, or ever half believes!—They're all inside these singing leaves.

And little children laugh and goA-ring-a-round-a-rosy-O;And birds sing gay—you'd almost thinkYou listened to a bobolink.

Look at the pictures, one by one!The rhymes are only half the fun.It laughs and bubbles like a brook—My pretty, jolly jingle-book!

A little red man in a little red houseWith gates of ivory!Hemightstay there, as still as a mouse,And nobody could see;But talk he will, and laugh he will,At everything you do;And come to the door and peep, untilI know his name—don't you?

"Here's a kiss for every year,And here is one to grow on!"Father says and mother saysAnd auntie says, and so on.

"Here's a pat and there's a pat!"If growing comes of kisses,I know how one girl found a wayTo grow as big as this is!

Boohoo, boohoo, boohoo, boohoo!My mother says I can't take SueAnd Grace and Maud and ClarabelAnd Ruth and Beth and sweet Estelle,Unless I pack them with our things.Oh dear! oh dear! my heart it wringsTo put them in that hot, dark place,With paper wrapped around each face.I'm sure they all would suffocateOr meet some other dreadful fate.I'd gladly take them on my armAnd keep them safe from every harm,But mother says that that won't do;She draws the line at more than two.I'd like to know what she would sayTo sending me packed in a tray.

REBECCA DEMING MOORE.

The Wooden Dog and the China CatFace to face in the doll-house sat,And they picked a quarrel that grew and grew,Because they had nothing else to do.Said the dog, "I really would like to hearWhy you never stir nor frisk nor purr,But sit like a mummy there."

Up spoke in a temper the china puss,Glad of an opening for a fuss:"Dear Mr. Puppy, I can't recallThat I ever heard you bark at all.Your bark is a wooden bark, 'tis true,But as to that," said the China Cat,"My mew is a china mew."

So they bristled and quarreled, more and more,Till the baby came creeping across the floor.He took the cat by his whiskers frail,He grasped the dog by his wooden tail,And banged them together—and after thatLeft them, a wiser Wooden DogAnd a sadder China Cat.

Now, children, just between you and me,Don't you think in the future they will agree?

NANCY BYRD TURNER.

When Willie comes to visit meWe play menagerie.He says, "Pretend that you're a lamb,And I'll a lion be."Then he begins to growl and roarAnd make a dreadful noise.I don't mind much when he goes home;It's hard to play with boys.

When Julia comes to visit meI am her waiting maid,While she's a lady, grand and stern.Of her I'm 'most afraid.She sends me for my mother's hat,Then takes her nicest skirt,And trails it all around the houseUntil it's full of dirt.

When Alice comes to play with meShe asks, "What shall we play?"I answer, "Anything you like."She coaxes, "Dopleasesay."Sometimes it's dolls, sometimes it's games,No matter what it be,I have the very nicest timeWhen Alice plays with me.

REBECCA DEMING MOORE.

Eight of us went to a party—The nicest ever given.There was apple fluff, and frosted stuff,And cake and candy and fruit enough,But seats for only seven!

Eight of us hurried homewardAfter the happy treat,With run and bound; yet there were foundOnly the tracks on the dusty groundOf seven pairs of feet!

Eight of us got back safely,And seven told with gleeOf all we'd done, and the feast and the fun—But one of us was a silent one.Now, which can that one be?

NANCY BYRD TURNER.

"I'm losted! Could you find me, please?"Poor little frightened baby!The wind had tossed her golden fleece;The stones had scratched her dimpled knees;I stooped and lifted her with ease,And softly whispered, "Maybe;

Tell me your name, my little maid—I can't find you without it.""My name is Shiny-eyes," she said."Yes, but your last?" She shook her head."Up to my house they never saidA single 'fing about it!"

"But, Dear," I said, "whatisyour name?""Why, di'n't you hear me told you?Dust Shiny-eyes!" A bright thought came."Yes, when you're good; but when they blameYou, little one—it's not the sameWhen mother has to scold you?"

"My mother never scolds!" she moans,A little blush ensuing;"'Cept when I've been a-frowing stones,And then she says (the culprit owns),'Mehitabel Sapphira Jones,Whathasyou been a-doing!'"

Says father, when the lamps are lit,"Now just five minutes you may sitDown-stairs, and then away you goTo play a little game I know!"

He gives a kiss and pulls a curl:"Let's play you were my little girl,And play you jump up on my back,And play we run!" And clackity-clack,

We both go laughing up the stair!(If I should fuss he'd say "No fair!")And then he says, "Night, Sleepyhead."It's fun, the game of Going-to-Bed.

The Game of Going-to-BedThe Game of Going-to-Bed

Close cuddled in my own two hands,My big round ball with yellow bands!They've filled my playroom up with toys—Dolls, horses, things to make a noise,Engines that clatter on a track,And tip-carts that let down the back;Arks, just like Noah's, with two and twoOf every animal he knew;Whole rows of houses built of blocks,A mouse that squeaks, a doll that talks,But when the Sleepy Man comes byAnd I'm too tired to want to tryTo think of anything at all,Here's my old, dear old, rubber ball.

Close cuddled in my own two hands,My big round ball with yellow bands.

The BallThe Ball

She rowed 'way out on the Daisy Sea,with a really-truly oar,Out of a really-truly boat, and whatcould you ask for more?Her sea and her boat were make-believe,but the daisy waves dashed high,And 'twas pleasant to know if the boatwent down that her frock would still be dry.

She rowed 'way out on the Daisy Sea, witha really-truly oar,Past the perilous garden gate where thefierce white breakers roar,Past the rocks where the mermaids sing asthey comb their golden hair,Past an iceberg grim and tall, and a great,white polar bear.

She rowed 'way out on the Daisy Sea, witha really-truly oar,Till she came to an island castle, where shebrought her boat ashore.She entered the castle boldly, and—wonderfulsight to see!—She had rowed straight home to the dining-roomand the table spread for tea.

HANNAH G. FERNALD.

It stands by the roadside, cool-shuttered and high,With cordial welcome for all who pass by;And here's how you enter—you make a quick dashAnd scale the steep stair with a bound, in a flash.You cross the clean threshold and find you a chair.There's room for all comers and plenty to spare.You can rock, you can rest, happy lodging you winWho stop for an hour at Apple-tree Inn.

The walls and the roof and the ceiling are green,With rifts of light blue that are painted between.The seats are upholstered in brown and dark gray,And yet, for it all, not a penny to pay.Then, when you are hungry, the table is spreadWith fare that is dainty, delicious, and red.Oh, hurry and come if you never have beenA guest in your travels at Apple-tree Inn!

NANCY BYRD TURNER.

The wind and the water and a merry little girl—Her yellow hair a-blowing and her curls all out of curl,Her lips as red as cherries and her cheeks like any rose,And she laughs to see the little waves come curling round her toes.

The breezes a-blowing and the blue sky overhead,A laughing little maiden,—and this is what she said:"Oh, what's the use of houses? I think it is a sinTo take a lot of boards and bricks and shut the outdoors in!"

An Outdoor GirlAn Outdoor Girl

There's something very, very queerAbout a story-book,No matter what's the time of year,Nor where you chance to look;

No matter when it is begun,How many pages read,The very best of all the funComes just the time for bed,

When mother whispers in your ear:"'Tis almost eight—just look!Now finish up your chapter, dear,And put away your book."

The minutes almost seem to raceWhen it is growing late;The very most exciting placeIs just half after eight.

The Bedtime Story-BookThe Bedtime Story-Book

The little Bad Luck Brownies,They cry and pout and frown;They pucker up a crying-mouth,And pull the corners down;They blot the smile from every faceAnd hush the happy song—The little Bad Luck BrowniesThat make the world go wrong!

The little Good Luck Brownies,They sing and laugh and shout;If any cloud of trouble comes,They turn it inside outTo show the silver liningThat's always, always there,—The little Good Luck BrowniesThat make the world so fair!

Bad Luck and Good Luck BrowniesBad Luck and Good Luck Brownies

It was an easy question and Margie thought it so,An easy one to answer, as any one would know.She smiled and smiled again as it hung upon the wall:"In going to school what do you like the very best of all?"Then grew a little sober as she began to write,With wrinkles on her forehead and lips a little tight.She wrote her answer carefully, with look so grave and wise,She minded all her capitals and dotted all her I's,She crossed her T's precisely, she smiled a little moreAt all the pleasant images the pleasant question boreOf all the merry, laughing hours, and all the joyous play—"The thing I like the best of all in school—a holiday."

SIDNEY DAYRE.

Angelica Sue is the carelessest child!The trouble she makes me is perfectly fearful.I told her this morning, but she only smiled,And swung in her hammock, and looked just as cheerful.I'm sure I should feel I had nothing to do,If some one adopted Angelica Sue.

It's always Angelica falls in the dust,Angelica's frock that gets torn on the fences,The other dolls sit as I tell them they must,But when she comes out, then the trouble commences.Wherever I go, or whatever I do,She's sure to be with me—Angelica Sue.

Oh, nobody knows how I work for that child!But once, when I spoke of her ways to my brother,He said, and he looked at us both, and he smiled,"Angelica Susan takes after her mother!"I've wondered since then if it really can beAngelica Sue is a little like me.

HANNAH G. FERNALD.

Across the field and down the hillI ran a race with Cousin Will,And lost my shoe, I ran so fast,And that is why I came in last.

But Cousin Will would try once moreAcross the field down to the shore.This time all would have ended well,Only I stubbed my toe and fell.

And then we raced across the yard,And though I ran as swift and hardAs Cousin Will, yet some way heGot to the place ahead of me.

Will says to lose is no disgrace,That trying really makes a race.Twas trying, he says, made the fun,That all we wanted was the run.

ALICE TURNER CURTIS.

It's lots of fun down in the grass,A-watching all the things that pass!You won't come too? I wonder whyIt's fun a-playing with the sky!

I guess you are too tall to see;If you would come down here with me,And justungrowa little, youCould see just what you wanted to.

Such big cloud-ships with sails spread outTo catch the breeze that's all about!And big gray birds with soft cloud-wings,And wolves and bears and tiger things!

Just lying down here in the grass,I've seen about a million pass;They creep and run and sail and fly—It's fun a-playing with the sky!

A Big PlayfellowA Big Playfellow

In haying-time my grandpa saysI'm lots of use to him;I take my nice new wheelbarrowand fill it to the brim;The big team comes out, too, andtakes the hay-cocks one by one,And that and my new wheelbarrowsoon get the haying done.

F. LILEY-YOUNG.

"Nobody b'oke it! It cracked itself;It was clear 'way up on the toppest shelf.I—p'rhaps the kitty-cat knows!"Says poor little Ned,With his ears as redAs the heart of a damask rose.

Nobodylost it. I carefullyPut my cap just where it ought to be(No, 'tisn't ahind the door),And it went and hid,Why, of course it did,For I've hunted an hour or more.

"Nobody tore it! You know things willTear if you're sitting just stock stone still!I was just jumping over the fence—There's some spikes on top,And you have to dropBefore you can half commence."

Nobody! Wicked Sir Nobody!Playing such tricks on my children three!If I but set eyes on you,You should find what you've lost!—But that, to my cost,I never am like to do!

NobodyNobody

I have a little gardenAll edged with four-o'clocks;And some of it is sunflowers,And some is hollyhocks.

And all around the borderI've planted little stones—A lot of round beach pebbles—To keep out Rover's bones.

And then, as plain as daylight,A sign, "Keep off the grass,"Warns hens and everybodyThat here they shouldn't pass.

But Rover makes his pantryRight in that garden patch;And all the hens and chickensThink that's the place to scratch.

ANNA BURNHAM BRYANT.

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