OCTOBER THIRDHow, with a mother's ever anxious love,Still to retain him near her heart she strove.FirdausiOCTOBER FOURTHWindows of mansions in the skiesMust glow with infant faces,Or somewhere else in Paradise,The lovely laughter of their eyesLights up all heavenly places.Lucy LarcomOCTOBER FIFTHThat pitcher of mignonetteIs a garden in heaven setTo the little sick child in the basement.Henry Cuyler BunnerOCTOBER SIXTHWhen at morn I first awake,My mother's face I see,Smiling and all alight with loveAnd bending over me.Mary StanhopeOCTOBER SEVENTHWe need love's tender lessons taughtAs only weakness can;God hath his small interpreters:The child must teach the man.WhittierOCTOBER EIGHTHThen, while thy babes around thee cling,Shalt show us how divine a thingA woman may be made.WordsworthOCTOBER NINTHChild of the wavy locks, and brow of light—Then be thy conscience pure as thy face is brightMrs. BrowningOCTOBER TENTHThe thankful captive of maternal bonds.WordsworthOCTOBER ELEVENTHThe mother should consider herself as the child'ssun, a changeless and ever radiant world, whitherthe small restless creature, quick at tears andlaughter, light, fickle, passionate, full of storms, maycome for fresh stores of light, warmth and electricity,of calm and courage.AmielOCTOBER TWELFTHWhen grace is given us ever to beholdA child some sweet months old,Love, laying across our lips his finger, saith,Smiling with bated breath,"Hush, for the holiest thing that lives is here,And Heaven's own heart how near!"SwinburneOCTOBER THIRTEENTHSweet as the early song of birds,I heard those first delightful words,"Thou hast a child."HoodOCTOBER FOURTEENTHAnd a pretty boy was their best hope, next to theGod in heaven.WordsworthOCTOBER FIFTEENTHThe child soul is an ever bubbling fountain in theworld of humanity.FroebelOCTOBER SIXTEENTHBeware that he weepest, for the great throne ofGod keeps trembling when the orphan weeps.Sa'diOCTOBER SEVENTEENTHOne thing yet there is, that noneHearing, ere its chime be done,Knows not well the sweetest oneHeard of man beneath the sun,Hoped in heaven hereafter;Soft and strong and loud and light,Very sound of very light,Heard from morning's rosiest heightWhen the soul of all delightFills a child's clear laughter.SwinburneOCTOBER EIGHTEENTHEre thought lift up thy flower-soft lids to seeWhat life and love on earthBring thee for gifts at birth,But none so good as thine, who hast given us thee.SwinburneOCTOBER NINETEENTHChildhood had its litaniesIn every age and clime;The earliest cradles of the raceWere rocked to Poet's rhyme.WhittierOCTOBER TWENTIETHSweet little maid, with winsome eyesThat laugh all day through the tangled hair;Gazing with baby looks so wiseOver the arms of the oaken chair.Harry Thurston PeckOCTOBER TWENTY-FIRSTEverything in immortal nature is a miracle to thelittle child.Anatole FranceOCTOBER TWENTY-SECONDEven so this happy creature of herselfIs all-sufficient, solitude to herIs blithe society, who fills the airWith gladness and involuntary songs.WordsworthOCTOBER TWENTY-THIRDThe plays of childhood are the heart-leaves ofthe whole future life.FroebelOCTOBER TWENTY-FOURTHWhen e'er you are happy and cannot tell why,The Friend of the children is sure to be by.Robert Louis StevensonOCTOBER TWENTY-FIFTHSo brief and unsure, but sweeterThan ever a noon-dawn smiled,Moves, measured of no tune's meter,The song in the soul of a child.SwinburneOCTOBER TWENTY-SIXTHChildhood and its terrors rather than its raptures,take wings and radiance in dreams and sport likefireflies in the little night of the soul. Do not crushthese flickering sparks!RichterOCTOBER TWENTY-SEVENTHA child should always say what's trueAnd speak when he is spoken to,And behave mannerly at table:At least as far as he is able.Robert Louis StevensonOCTOBER TWENTY-EIGHTHBishop Thorold says that whenever a parentbegins to feel virtuous in sacrificing his sleep for hischild, he ceases to love his child. All I can say isthat the Bishop must have kept a night-nurse.From "The Finest Baby in the World"OCTOBER TWENTY-NINTHHe it was who bathed the little ones, who "buttonedup the backs" and tied careful "ribbin bows"here and there for the whole six; he who drilled themin "mannerly behavior" in court.Indeed he had always performed most of thesepersonal services, which were, so he generouslydistinguished them, "acts of love and not labor."Ruth McEnery StuartOCTOBER THIRTIETHO Wonderland of wayward Childhood! whatAn easy, breezy realm of summer calmAnd dreamy gleam and gloom and bloom and balmThou art!—The Lotus-land the poet sung,It is the Child-World while the heart beats young.James Whitcomb RileyFrom "A Child World." Copyright, 1897. Used by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company.OCTOBER THIRTY-FIRSTPeople who write about children should alwaystell the truth. For to translate even a child'ssimplest day into words is to narrate one of the SevenWonders of the world.From "The Finest Baby in the World"NOVEMBERNOVEMBER FIRSTSelf-government with tenderness, hereyou have the condition of all authority overchildren.AmielNOVEMBER SECONDHeigh ho! Daisies and buttercups!Mother shall weave them a daisy chain;Sing them a song of the pretty hedge sparrow,That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain:Sing, "Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow";Sing once and sing it again.Jean IngelowNOVEMBER THIRDFair little children, morning-bright,With faces grave, yet soft to sight,Expressive of restrained delight.Mrs. BrowningNOVEMBER FOURTHOur youth! Our childhood! That spring of springs!'T is surely one of the blessedest thingsThat nature ever intended.HoodNOVEMBER FIFTHAh how good a school is the school of home!Anatole FranceNOVEMBER SIXTHLoving she is and tractable, though wild;And innocence hath privilege in herTo dignify arch looks and laughing eyes.WordsworthNOVEMBER SEVENTHSweet baby, sleep; what ails my dear?What ails my darling thus to cry?Be still my child and lend thine earTo hear me sing thy lullaby.My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;Be still my dear: sweet baby, sleep.George WitherNOVEMBER EIGHTHThrough the soft, opened lips the airScarcely moves the coverlet.One little wandering arm is thrownAt random on the counterpane;And often the fingers close in haste,As if their baby owner chasedThe butterflies again.Matthew ArnoldNOVEMBER NINTHI saw her in childhood,A bright gentle thing,Like the dawn of the mornOr the dews of the spring:The daisies and harebellsHer playmates all day;Herself as light-heartedAnd artless as they.B. F. LyteNOVEMBER TENTHThy small steps faltering round our hearth,Thine een out-peering in their mirth,Blue een that, like thine heart, seemed givenTo be, forever, full of heaven.Mrs. BrowningNOVEMBER ELEVENTHDelight and liberty, the simple creedOf childhood, whether busy or at rest,With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast.WordsworthNOVEMBER TWELFTHI'd rock my own sweet childie to rest in a cradleof gold on a bough of the willow,To the cho-heen-ho of the wind of the west andthe lulla-lo of the soft sea billow.Sleep, baby dear,Sleep without fear:Mother is here beside your pillow.Alfred Percival GatesNOVEMBER THIRTEENTHYou too, my Mother, read my rhymes,For love of unforgotten times;And you may chance to hear once moreThe little feet along the floor.Robert Louis StevensonNOVEMBER FOURTEENTHAnd still to childhood's sweet appealThe heart of genius turns,And more than all the sages teach,From lisping voices learns.WhittierNOVEMBER FIFTEENTHThe wondrous child,Whose silver warble wildOut-valued every pulsing soundWithin the air's cerulean round.EmersonNOVEMBER SIXTEENTHHe saw his Mother's face, accepting itIn change for heaven itself, with such a smileAs might have well been learnt there.Mrs. BrowningNOVEMBER SEVENTEENTHHeaven lies about us in our infancy!Shades of the prison house begin to closeUpon the growing boy.WordsworthNOVEMBER EIGHTEENTHWhen children are happy and lonely and good,The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.Robert Louis StevensonNOVEMBER NINETEENTHAnd then, he sometimes interwoveFond thoughts about a father's love,"For there," said he, "are spunAround the heart such tender ties,That our own children to our eyesAre dearer than the sun."WordsworthNOVEMBER TWENTIETHMay we presume to say that at thy birth,New joy was sprung in Heaven, as well as here on earth.DrydenNOVEMBER TWENTY-FIRSTDear five-years-old befriends my passion,And I may write till she can spell.Matthew PriorNOVEMBER TWENTY-SECOND'T is thus, though wooed by flattering friends,And fed with fame (if fame it be),This heart, my own dear mother, bendsWith love's true instinct, back to thee.SwinburneNOVEMBER TWENTY-THIRDTo prayer, my child! And oh, be thy first prayerFor her, who many nights with anxious care,Rocked thy first cradle: who took thy infant soulFrom heaven and gave it to the world: then rifeWith love, still drank the gall of lifeAnd left for thy young lips the honeyed bowl.Victor HugoNOVEMBER TWENTY-FOURTHAbove the hills, along the blue,Round the bright air, with footing true,To please the child, to paint the rose,The Gardener of the World, he goes.Robert Louis StevensonNOVEMBER TWENTY-FIFTHChildren, aye, forsooth,They bring their own love with them when they come.Jean IngelowNOVEMBER TWENTY-SIXTHWe came uponA wildfowl sitting on her nest, so stillI reached my hand and touched her: she did not stir;The snow had frozen round her, and she sat,Stone-dead, upon a heap of ice-cold eggs,Look, how this love, this mother, runs through allThe world God made—even the beast, the bird!TennysonNOVEMBER TWENTY-SEVENTHIn your hearts are the birds and sunshine,In your thoughts, the brooklet's flow.LongfellowNOVEMBER TWENTY-EIGHTHNo flower bells that expand and shrinkGleam half so heavenly sweet,As shine, on life's untrodden brink,A baby's feet.SwinburneNOVEMBER TWENTY-NINTHSt. Augustine said finely: "A marriage withoutchildren is the world without the sun."LutherNOVEMBER THIRTIETHThe child, the seed, the grain of corn,The acorn on the hill,Each for some separate end is bornIn season fit, and stillEach must in strength arise to work the Almighty will.Robert Louis StevensonDECEMBERDECEMBER FIRSTAs children play, without to-morrow,Without Yesterday.Agnes RobinsonDECEMBER SECONDShall those smiles be calledFeelers of love, put forth as if to exploreThis untried world?WordsworthDECEMBER THIRDWhen children are playing alone on the green,In comes the playmate that never was seen.Robert Louis StevensonDECEMBER FOURTHRespect childhood and do not hastily judge of it,either for good or evil.RosseauDECEMBER FIFTHWhat does little baby say,In her bed at peep of day?Baby says, like little birdie,Let me rise and fly away.Baby sleep a little longer,Till the little limbs are stronger,If she sleeps a little longerBaby too, shall fly away.TennysonDECEMBER SIXTH"Mother," asked a child, "since nothing is everlost, where do all our thoughts go?""To God," answered the mother, "who remembersthem forever.""Forever!" said the child. He bent his head and,drawing closer to his mother, murmured, "I amfrightened!"Which of us has not felt the same?SelectedDECEMBER SEVENTHHappy little children, seek your shady places,Lark songs in their bosoms, sunshine in their faces.Lucy LarcomDECEMBER EIGHTHThe mother, with anticipated glee,Smiles o'er the child, that, standing by her chair,And flattening its round cheek upon her knee,Looks up and doth its rosy lips prepareTo mock the coming sounds: at the sweet sightShe hears her own voice with new delight.S. T. ColeridgeDECEMBER NINTHA babe, in lineament and limbPerfect, and prophet of the perfect man.TennysonDECEMBER TENTHIn the children lies the seed-corn of the future.FroebelDECEMBER ELEVENTHWhen the bedtime shadows fall,I'm always sure of this,Just as I'm drifting off to dreams,I feel my Mother's kiss.Mary StanhopeDECEMBER TWELFTHGrandma's PrayerI pray that, risen from the dead,I may in glory stand—A crown, perhaps, upon my headBut a needle in my hand.I've never learned to sing or play,So let no harp be mine;From birth unto my dying day,Plain sewing's been my line.Therefore, accustomed to the endTo plying useful stitches,I'll be content if asked to mendThe little Angels' breeches.Eugene FieldDECEMBER THIRTEENTHThe studying child has all the needs of a creatingartist. He must breathe pure air; his body must beat ease; he must have things to look at and be ableto change his thoughts at will by enjoying form andcolor.George SandDECEMBER FOURTEENTHAt one dear knee we proffered vows,One lesson from one book we learned,Ere childhood's flaxen ringlets turnedTo black and brown on kindred brows.Tennyson
OCTOBER THIRD
How, with a mother's ever anxious love,Still to retain him near her heart she strove.Firdausi
How, with a mother's ever anxious love,Still to retain him near her heart she strove.Firdausi
How, with a mother's ever anxious love,
Still to retain him near her heart she strove.
Firdausi
Firdausi
OCTOBER FOURTH
Windows of mansions in the skiesMust glow with infant faces,Or somewhere else in Paradise,The lovely laughter of their eyesLights up all heavenly places.Lucy Larcom
Windows of mansions in the skiesMust glow with infant faces,Or somewhere else in Paradise,The lovely laughter of their eyesLights up all heavenly places.Lucy Larcom
Windows of mansions in the skies
Must glow with infant faces,
Or somewhere else in Paradise,
The lovely laughter of their eyes
Lights up all heavenly places.
Lucy Larcom
Lucy Larcom
OCTOBER FIFTH
That pitcher of mignonetteIs a garden in heaven setTo the little sick child in the basement.Henry Cuyler Bunner
That pitcher of mignonetteIs a garden in heaven setTo the little sick child in the basement.Henry Cuyler Bunner
That pitcher of mignonette
Is a garden in heaven set
To the little sick child in the basement.
Henry Cuyler Bunner
Henry Cuyler Bunner
OCTOBER SIXTH
When at morn I first awake,My mother's face I see,Smiling and all alight with loveAnd bending over me.Mary Stanhope
When at morn I first awake,My mother's face I see,Smiling and all alight with loveAnd bending over me.Mary Stanhope
When at morn I first awake,
My mother's face I see,
Smiling and all alight with love
And bending over me.
Mary Stanhope
Mary Stanhope
OCTOBER SEVENTH
We need love's tender lessons taughtAs only weakness can;God hath his small interpreters:The child must teach the man.Whittier
We need love's tender lessons taughtAs only weakness can;God hath his small interpreters:The child must teach the man.Whittier
We need love's tender lessons taught
As only weakness can;
God hath his small interpreters:
The child must teach the man.
Whittier
Whittier
OCTOBER EIGHTH
Then, while thy babes around thee cling,Shalt show us how divine a thingA woman may be made.Wordsworth
Then, while thy babes around thee cling,Shalt show us how divine a thingA woman may be made.Wordsworth
Then, while thy babes around thee cling,
Shalt show us how divine a thing
A woman may be made.
Wordsworth
Wordsworth
OCTOBER NINTH
Child of the wavy locks, and brow of light—Then be thy conscience pure as thy face is brightMrs. Browning
Child of the wavy locks, and brow of light—Then be thy conscience pure as thy face is brightMrs. Browning
Child of the wavy locks, and brow of light—
Then be thy conscience pure as thy face is bright
Mrs. Browning
Mrs. Browning
OCTOBER TENTH
The thankful captive of maternal bonds.Wordsworth
The thankful captive of maternal bonds.Wordsworth
The thankful captive of maternal bonds.
Wordsworth
Wordsworth
OCTOBER ELEVENTH
The mother should consider herself as the child'ssun, a changeless and ever radiant world, whitherthe small restless creature, quick at tears andlaughter, light, fickle, passionate, full of storms, maycome for fresh stores of light, warmth and electricity,of calm and courage.Amiel
The mother should consider herself as the child'ssun, a changeless and ever radiant world, whitherthe small restless creature, quick at tears andlaughter, light, fickle, passionate, full of storms, maycome for fresh stores of light, warmth and electricity,of calm and courage.Amiel
The mother should consider herself as the child's
sun, a changeless and ever radiant world, whither
the small restless creature, quick at tears and
laughter, light, fickle, passionate, full of storms, may
come for fresh stores of light, warmth and electricity,
of calm and courage.
Amiel
Amiel
OCTOBER TWELFTH
When grace is given us ever to beholdA child some sweet months old,Love, laying across our lips his finger, saith,Smiling with bated breath,"Hush, for the holiest thing that lives is here,And Heaven's own heart how near!"Swinburne
When grace is given us ever to beholdA child some sweet months old,Love, laying across our lips his finger, saith,Smiling with bated breath,"Hush, for the holiest thing that lives is here,And Heaven's own heart how near!"Swinburne
When grace is given us ever to behold
A child some sweet months old,
Love, laying across our lips his finger, saith,
Smiling with bated breath,
"Hush, for the holiest thing that lives is here,
And Heaven's own heart how near!"
Swinburne
Swinburne
OCTOBER THIRTEENTH
Sweet as the early song of birds,I heard those first delightful words,"Thou hast a child."Hood
Sweet as the early song of birds,I heard those first delightful words,"Thou hast a child."Hood
Sweet as the early song of birds,
I heard those first delightful words,
"Thou hast a child."Hood
"Thou hast a child."
Hood
Hood
OCTOBER FOURTEENTH
And a pretty boy was their best hope, next to theGod in heaven.Wordsworth
And a pretty boy was their best hope, next to theGod in heaven.Wordsworth
And a pretty boy was their best hope, next to the
God in heaven.
Wordsworth
Wordsworth
OCTOBER FIFTEENTH
The child soul is an ever bubbling fountain in theworld of humanity.Froebel
The child soul is an ever bubbling fountain in theworld of humanity.Froebel
The child soul is an ever bubbling fountain in the
world of humanity.
Froebel
Froebel
OCTOBER SIXTEENTH
Beware that he weepest, for the great throne ofGod keeps trembling when the orphan weeps.Sa'di
Beware that he weepest, for the great throne ofGod keeps trembling when the orphan weeps.Sa'di
Beware that he weepest, for the great throne of
God keeps trembling when the orphan weeps.
Sa'di
Sa'di
OCTOBER SEVENTEENTH
One thing yet there is, that noneHearing, ere its chime be done,Knows not well the sweetest oneHeard of man beneath the sun,Hoped in heaven hereafter;Soft and strong and loud and light,Very sound of very light,Heard from morning's rosiest heightWhen the soul of all delightFills a child's clear laughter.Swinburne
One thing yet there is, that noneHearing, ere its chime be done,Knows not well the sweetest oneHeard of man beneath the sun,Hoped in heaven hereafter;Soft and strong and loud and light,Very sound of very light,Heard from morning's rosiest heightWhen the soul of all delightFills a child's clear laughter.Swinburne
One thing yet there is, that none
Hearing, ere its chime be done,
Knows not well the sweetest one
Heard of man beneath the sun,
Hoped in heaven hereafter;
Soft and strong and loud and light,
Very sound of very light,
Heard from morning's rosiest height
When the soul of all delight
Fills a child's clear laughter.
Swinburne
Swinburne
OCTOBER EIGHTEENTH
Ere thought lift up thy flower-soft lids to seeWhat life and love on earthBring thee for gifts at birth,But none so good as thine, who hast given us thee.Swinburne
Ere thought lift up thy flower-soft lids to seeWhat life and love on earthBring thee for gifts at birth,But none so good as thine, who hast given us thee.Swinburne
Ere thought lift up thy flower-soft lids to see
What life and love on earth
Bring thee for gifts at birth,
But none so good as thine, who hast given us thee.
Swinburne
Swinburne
OCTOBER NINETEENTH
Childhood had its litaniesIn every age and clime;The earliest cradles of the raceWere rocked to Poet's rhyme.Whittier
Childhood had its litaniesIn every age and clime;The earliest cradles of the raceWere rocked to Poet's rhyme.Whittier
Childhood had its litanies
In every age and clime;
The earliest cradles of the race
Were rocked to Poet's rhyme.
Whittier
Whittier
OCTOBER TWENTIETH
Sweet little maid, with winsome eyesThat laugh all day through the tangled hair;Gazing with baby looks so wiseOver the arms of the oaken chair.Harry Thurston Peck
Sweet little maid, with winsome eyesThat laugh all day through the tangled hair;Gazing with baby looks so wiseOver the arms of the oaken chair.Harry Thurston Peck
Sweet little maid, with winsome eyes
That laugh all day through the tangled hair;
Gazing with baby looks so wise
Over the arms of the oaken chair.
Harry Thurston Peck
Harry Thurston Peck
OCTOBER TWENTY-FIRST
Everything in immortal nature is a miracle to thelittle child.Anatole France
Everything in immortal nature is a miracle to thelittle child.Anatole France
Everything in immortal nature is a miracle to the
little child.
Anatole France
Anatole France
OCTOBER TWENTY-SECOND
Even so this happy creature of herselfIs all-sufficient, solitude to herIs blithe society, who fills the airWith gladness and involuntary songs.Wordsworth
Even so this happy creature of herselfIs all-sufficient, solitude to herIs blithe society, who fills the airWith gladness and involuntary songs.Wordsworth
Even so this happy creature of herself
Is all-sufficient, solitude to her
Is blithe society, who fills the air
With gladness and involuntary songs.
Wordsworth
Wordsworth
OCTOBER TWENTY-THIRD
The plays of childhood are the heart-leaves ofthe whole future life.Froebel
The plays of childhood are the heart-leaves ofthe whole future life.Froebel
The plays of childhood are the heart-leaves of
the whole future life.
Froebel
Froebel
OCTOBER TWENTY-FOURTH
When e'er you are happy and cannot tell why,The Friend of the children is sure to be by.Robert Louis Stevenson
When e'er you are happy and cannot tell why,The Friend of the children is sure to be by.Robert Louis Stevenson
When e'er you are happy and cannot tell why,
The Friend of the children is sure to be by.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Robert Louis Stevenson
OCTOBER TWENTY-FIFTH
So brief and unsure, but sweeterThan ever a noon-dawn smiled,Moves, measured of no tune's meter,The song in the soul of a child.Swinburne
So brief and unsure, but sweeterThan ever a noon-dawn smiled,Moves, measured of no tune's meter,The song in the soul of a child.Swinburne
So brief and unsure, but sweeter
Than ever a noon-dawn smiled,
Moves, measured of no tune's meter,
The song in the soul of a child.
Swinburne
Swinburne
OCTOBER TWENTY-SIXTH
Childhood and its terrors rather than its raptures,take wings and radiance in dreams and sport likefireflies in the little night of the soul. Do not crushthese flickering sparks!Richter
Childhood and its terrors rather than its raptures,take wings and radiance in dreams and sport likefireflies in the little night of the soul. Do not crushthese flickering sparks!Richter
Childhood and its terrors rather than its raptures,
take wings and radiance in dreams and sport like
fireflies in the little night of the soul. Do not crush
these flickering sparks!
Richter
Richter
OCTOBER TWENTY-SEVENTH
A child should always say what's trueAnd speak when he is spoken to,And behave mannerly at table:At least as far as he is able.Robert Louis Stevenson
A child should always say what's trueAnd speak when he is spoken to,And behave mannerly at table:At least as far as he is able.Robert Louis Stevenson
A child should always say what's true
And speak when he is spoken to,
And behave mannerly at table:
At least as far as he is able.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Robert Louis Stevenson
OCTOBER TWENTY-EIGHTH
Bishop Thorold says that whenever a parentbegins to feel virtuous in sacrificing his sleep for hischild, he ceases to love his child. All I can say isthat the Bishop must have kept a night-nurse.From "The Finest Baby in the World"
Bishop Thorold says that whenever a parentbegins to feel virtuous in sacrificing his sleep for hischild, he ceases to love his child. All I can say isthat the Bishop must have kept a night-nurse.From "The Finest Baby in the World"
Bishop Thorold says that whenever a parent
begins to feel virtuous in sacrificing his sleep for his
child, he ceases to love his child. All I can say is
that the Bishop must have kept a night-nurse.
From "The Finest Baby in the World"
From "The Finest Baby in the World"
OCTOBER TWENTY-NINTH
He it was who bathed the little ones, who "buttonedup the backs" and tied careful "ribbin bows"here and there for the whole six; he who drilled themin "mannerly behavior" in court.Indeed he had always performed most of thesepersonal services, which were, so he generouslydistinguished them, "acts of love and not labor."Ruth McEnery Stuart
He it was who bathed the little ones, who "buttonedup the backs" and tied careful "ribbin bows"here and there for the whole six; he who drilled themin "mannerly behavior" in court.
He it was who bathed the little ones, who "buttoned
up the backs" and tied careful "ribbin bows"
here and there for the whole six; he who drilled them
in "mannerly behavior" in court.
Indeed he had always performed most of thesepersonal services, which were, so he generouslydistinguished them, "acts of love and not labor."Ruth McEnery Stuart
Indeed he had always performed most of these
personal services, which were, so he generously
distinguished them, "acts of love and not labor."
Ruth McEnery Stuart
Ruth McEnery Stuart
OCTOBER THIRTIETH
O Wonderland of wayward Childhood! whatAn easy, breezy realm of summer calmAnd dreamy gleam and gloom and bloom and balmThou art!—The Lotus-land the poet sung,It is the Child-World while the heart beats young.James Whitcomb Riley
O Wonderland of wayward Childhood! whatAn easy, breezy realm of summer calmAnd dreamy gleam and gloom and bloom and balmThou art!—The Lotus-land the poet sung,It is the Child-World while the heart beats young.James Whitcomb Riley
O Wonderland of wayward Childhood! what
An easy, breezy realm of summer calm
And dreamy gleam and gloom and bloom and balm
Thou art!—The Lotus-land the poet sung,
It is the Child-World while the heart beats young.
James Whitcomb Riley
James Whitcomb Riley
From "A Child World." Copyright, 1897. Used by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company.
OCTOBER THIRTY-FIRST
People who write about children should alwaystell the truth. For to translate even a child'ssimplest day into words is to narrate one of the SevenWonders of the world.From "The Finest Baby in the World"
People who write about children should alwaystell the truth. For to translate even a child'ssimplest day into words is to narrate one of the SevenWonders of the world.From "The Finest Baby in the World"
People who write about children should always
tell the truth. For to translate even a child's
simplest day into words is to narrate one of the Seven
Wonders of the world.
From "The Finest Baby in the World"
From "The Finest Baby in the World"
NOVEMBER
NOVEMBER FIRST
Self-government with tenderness, hereyou have the condition of all authority overchildren.Amiel
Self-government with tenderness, hereyou have the condition of all authority overchildren.Amiel
Self-government with tenderness, here
you have the condition of all authority over
children.
Amiel
Amiel
NOVEMBER SECOND
Heigh ho! Daisies and buttercups!Mother shall weave them a daisy chain;Sing them a song of the pretty hedge sparrow,That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain:Sing, "Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow";Sing once and sing it again.Jean Ingelow
Heigh ho! Daisies and buttercups!Mother shall weave them a daisy chain;Sing them a song of the pretty hedge sparrow,That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain:Sing, "Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow";Sing once and sing it again.Jean Ingelow
Heigh ho! Daisies and buttercups!
Mother shall weave them a daisy chain;
Sing them a song of the pretty hedge sparrow,
That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain:
Sing, "Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow";
Sing once and sing it again.
Jean Ingelow
Jean Ingelow
NOVEMBER THIRD
Fair little children, morning-bright,With faces grave, yet soft to sight,Expressive of restrained delight.Mrs. Browning
Fair little children, morning-bright,With faces grave, yet soft to sight,Expressive of restrained delight.Mrs. Browning
Fair little children, morning-bright,
With faces grave, yet soft to sight,
Expressive of restrained delight.
Mrs. Browning
Mrs. Browning
NOVEMBER FOURTH
Our youth! Our childhood! That spring of springs!'T is surely one of the blessedest thingsThat nature ever intended.Hood
Our youth! Our childhood! That spring of springs!'T is surely one of the blessedest thingsThat nature ever intended.Hood
Our youth! Our childhood! That spring of springs!
'T is surely one of the blessedest things
That nature ever intended.
Hood
Hood
NOVEMBER FIFTH
Ah how good a school is the school of home!Anatole France
Ah how good a school is the school of home!Anatole France
Ah how good a school is the school of home!
Anatole France
Anatole France
NOVEMBER SIXTH
Loving she is and tractable, though wild;And innocence hath privilege in herTo dignify arch looks and laughing eyes.Wordsworth
Loving she is and tractable, though wild;And innocence hath privilege in herTo dignify arch looks and laughing eyes.Wordsworth
Loving she is and tractable, though wild;
And innocence hath privilege in her
To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes.
Wordsworth
Wordsworth
NOVEMBER SEVENTH
Sweet baby, sleep; what ails my dear?What ails my darling thus to cry?Be still my child and lend thine earTo hear me sing thy lullaby.My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;Be still my dear: sweet baby, sleep.George Wither
Sweet baby, sleep; what ails my dear?What ails my darling thus to cry?Be still my child and lend thine earTo hear me sing thy lullaby.My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;Be still my dear: sweet baby, sleep.George Wither
Sweet baby, sleep; what ails my dear?
What ails my darling thus to cry?
Be still my child and lend thine ear
To hear me sing thy lullaby.
My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
Be still my dear: sweet baby, sleep.
George Wither
George Wither
NOVEMBER EIGHTH
Through the soft, opened lips the airScarcely moves the coverlet.One little wandering arm is thrownAt random on the counterpane;And often the fingers close in haste,As if their baby owner chasedThe butterflies again.Matthew Arnold
Through the soft, opened lips the airScarcely moves the coverlet.One little wandering arm is thrownAt random on the counterpane;And often the fingers close in haste,As if their baby owner chasedThe butterflies again.Matthew Arnold
Through the soft, opened lips the air
Scarcely moves the coverlet.
One little wandering arm is thrown
At random on the counterpane;
And often the fingers close in haste,
As if their baby owner chased
The butterflies again.
Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
NOVEMBER NINTH
I saw her in childhood,A bright gentle thing,Like the dawn of the mornOr the dews of the spring:The daisies and harebellsHer playmates all day;Herself as light-heartedAnd artless as they.B. F. Lyte
I saw her in childhood,A bright gentle thing,Like the dawn of the mornOr the dews of the spring:The daisies and harebellsHer playmates all day;Herself as light-heartedAnd artless as they.B. F. Lyte
I saw her in childhood,
A bright gentle thing,
Like the dawn of the morn
Or the dews of the spring:
The daisies and harebells
Her playmates all day;
Herself as light-hearted
And artless as they.
B. F. Lyte
B. F. Lyte
NOVEMBER TENTH
Thy small steps faltering round our hearth,Thine een out-peering in their mirth,Blue een that, like thine heart, seemed givenTo be, forever, full of heaven.Mrs. Browning
Thy small steps faltering round our hearth,Thine een out-peering in their mirth,Blue een that, like thine heart, seemed givenTo be, forever, full of heaven.Mrs. Browning
Thy small steps faltering round our hearth,
Thine een out-peering in their mirth,
Blue een that, like thine heart, seemed given
To be, forever, full of heaven.
Mrs. Browning
Mrs. Browning
NOVEMBER ELEVENTH
Delight and liberty, the simple creedOf childhood, whether busy or at rest,With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast.Wordsworth
Delight and liberty, the simple creedOf childhood, whether busy or at rest,With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast.Wordsworth
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast.
Wordsworth
Wordsworth
NOVEMBER TWELFTH
I'd rock my own sweet childie to rest in a cradleof gold on a bough of the willow,To the cho-heen-ho of the wind of the west andthe lulla-lo of the soft sea billow.Sleep, baby dear,Sleep without fear:Mother is here beside your pillow.Alfred Percival Gates
I'd rock my own sweet childie to rest in a cradleof gold on a bough of the willow,To the cho-heen-ho of the wind of the west andthe lulla-lo of the soft sea billow.Sleep, baby dear,Sleep without fear:Mother is here beside your pillow.Alfred Percival Gates
I'd rock my own sweet childie to rest in a cradle
of gold on a bough of the willow,
of gold on a bough of the willow,
To the cho-heen-ho of the wind of the west and
the lulla-lo of the soft sea billow.Sleep, baby dear,Sleep without fear:Mother is here beside your pillow.Alfred Percival Gates
the lulla-lo of the soft sea billow.
Sleep, baby dear,Sleep without fear:Mother is here beside your pillow.Alfred Percival Gates
Sleep, baby dear,
Sleep without fear:
Mother is here beside your pillow.
Alfred Percival Gates
Alfred Percival Gates
NOVEMBER THIRTEENTH
You too, my Mother, read my rhymes,For love of unforgotten times;And you may chance to hear once moreThe little feet along the floor.Robert Louis Stevenson
You too, my Mother, read my rhymes,For love of unforgotten times;And you may chance to hear once moreThe little feet along the floor.Robert Louis Stevenson
You too, my Mother, read my rhymes,
For love of unforgotten times;
And you may chance to hear once more
The little feet along the floor.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Robert Louis Stevenson
NOVEMBER FOURTEENTH
And still to childhood's sweet appealThe heart of genius turns,And more than all the sages teach,From lisping voices learns.Whittier
And still to childhood's sweet appealThe heart of genius turns,And more than all the sages teach,From lisping voices learns.Whittier
And still to childhood's sweet appeal
The heart of genius turns,
And more than all the sages teach,
From lisping voices learns.
Whittier
Whittier
NOVEMBER FIFTEENTH
The wondrous child,Whose silver warble wildOut-valued every pulsing soundWithin the air's cerulean round.Emerson
The wondrous child,Whose silver warble wildOut-valued every pulsing soundWithin the air's cerulean round.Emerson
The wondrous child,
Whose silver warble wild
Out-valued every pulsing sound
Within the air's cerulean round.
Emerson
Emerson
NOVEMBER SIXTEENTH
He saw his Mother's face, accepting itIn change for heaven itself, with such a smileAs might have well been learnt there.Mrs. Browning
He saw his Mother's face, accepting itIn change for heaven itself, with such a smileAs might have well been learnt there.Mrs. Browning
He saw his Mother's face, accepting it
In change for heaven itself, with such a smile
As might have well been learnt there.
Mrs. Browning
Mrs. Browning
NOVEMBER SEVENTEENTH
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!Shades of the prison house begin to closeUpon the growing boy.Wordsworth
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!Shades of the prison house begin to closeUpon the growing boy.Wordsworth
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison house begin to close
Upon the growing boy.
Wordsworth
Wordsworth
NOVEMBER EIGHTEENTH
When children are happy and lonely and good,The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.Robert Louis Stevenson
When children are happy and lonely and good,The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.Robert Louis Stevenson
When children are happy and lonely and good,
The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Robert Louis Stevenson
NOVEMBER NINETEENTH
And then, he sometimes interwoveFond thoughts about a father's love,"For there," said he, "are spunAround the heart such tender ties,That our own children to our eyesAre dearer than the sun."Wordsworth
And then, he sometimes interwoveFond thoughts about a father's love,"For there," said he, "are spunAround the heart such tender ties,That our own children to our eyesAre dearer than the sun."Wordsworth
And then, he sometimes interwove
Fond thoughts about a father's love,
"For there," said he, "are spun
Around the heart such tender ties,
That our own children to our eyes
Are dearer than the sun."
Wordsworth
Wordsworth
NOVEMBER TWENTIETH
May we presume to say that at thy birth,New joy was sprung in Heaven, as well as here on earth.Dryden
May we presume to say that at thy birth,New joy was sprung in Heaven, as well as here on earth.Dryden
May we presume to say that at thy birth,
New joy was sprung in Heaven, as well as here on earth.
Dryden
Dryden
NOVEMBER TWENTY-FIRST
Dear five-years-old befriends my passion,And I may write till she can spell.Matthew Prior
Dear five-years-old befriends my passion,And I may write till she can spell.Matthew Prior
Dear five-years-old befriends my passion,
And I may write till she can spell.
Matthew Prior
Matthew Prior
NOVEMBER TWENTY-SECOND
'T is thus, though wooed by flattering friends,And fed with fame (if fame it be),This heart, my own dear mother, bendsWith love's true instinct, back to thee.Swinburne
'T is thus, though wooed by flattering friends,And fed with fame (if fame it be),This heart, my own dear mother, bendsWith love's true instinct, back to thee.Swinburne
'T is thus, though wooed by flattering friends,
And fed with fame (if fame it be),
This heart, my own dear mother, bends
With love's true instinct, back to thee.
Swinburne
Swinburne
NOVEMBER TWENTY-THIRD
To prayer, my child! And oh, be thy first prayerFor her, who many nights with anxious care,Rocked thy first cradle: who took thy infant soulFrom heaven and gave it to the world: then rifeWith love, still drank the gall of lifeAnd left for thy young lips the honeyed bowl.Victor Hugo
To prayer, my child! And oh, be thy first prayerFor her, who many nights with anxious care,Rocked thy first cradle: who took thy infant soulFrom heaven and gave it to the world: then rifeWith love, still drank the gall of lifeAnd left for thy young lips the honeyed bowl.Victor Hugo
To prayer, my child! And oh, be thy first prayer
For her, who many nights with anxious care,
Rocked thy first cradle: who took thy infant soul
From heaven and gave it to the world: then rife
With love, still drank the gall of life
And left for thy young lips the honeyed bowl.
Victor Hugo
Victor Hugo
NOVEMBER TWENTY-FOURTH
Above the hills, along the blue,Round the bright air, with footing true,To please the child, to paint the rose,The Gardener of the World, he goes.Robert Louis Stevenson
Above the hills, along the blue,Round the bright air, with footing true,To please the child, to paint the rose,The Gardener of the World, he goes.Robert Louis Stevenson
Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air, with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The Gardener of the World, he goes.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Robert Louis Stevenson
NOVEMBER TWENTY-FIFTH
Children, aye, forsooth,They bring their own love with them when they come.Jean Ingelow
Children, aye, forsooth,They bring their own love with them when they come.Jean Ingelow
Children, aye, forsooth,
They bring their own love with them when they come.
Jean Ingelow
Jean Ingelow
NOVEMBER TWENTY-SIXTH
We came uponA wildfowl sitting on her nest, so stillI reached my hand and touched her: she did not stir;The snow had frozen round her, and she sat,Stone-dead, upon a heap of ice-cold eggs,Look, how this love, this mother, runs through allThe world God made—even the beast, the bird!Tennyson
We came uponA wildfowl sitting on her nest, so stillI reached my hand and touched her: she did not stir;The snow had frozen round her, and she sat,Stone-dead, upon a heap of ice-cold eggs,Look, how this love, this mother, runs through allThe world God made—even the beast, the bird!Tennyson
We came upon
We came upon
A wildfowl sitting on her nest, so still
I reached my hand and touched her: she did not stir;
The snow had frozen round her, and she sat,
Stone-dead, upon a heap of ice-cold eggs,
Look, how this love, this mother, runs through all
The world God made—even the beast, the bird!
Tennyson
Tennyson
Tennyson
NOVEMBER TWENTY-SEVENTH
In your hearts are the birds and sunshine,In your thoughts, the brooklet's flow.Longfellow
In your hearts are the birds and sunshine,In your thoughts, the brooklet's flow.Longfellow
In your hearts are the birds and sunshine,
In your thoughts, the brooklet's flow.
Longfellow
Longfellow
NOVEMBER TWENTY-EIGHTH
No flower bells that expand and shrinkGleam half so heavenly sweet,As shine, on life's untrodden brink,A baby's feet.Swinburne
No flower bells that expand and shrinkGleam half so heavenly sweet,As shine, on life's untrodden brink,A baby's feet.Swinburne
No flower bells that expand and shrink
Gleam half so heavenly sweet,
As shine, on life's untrodden brink,
A baby's feet.
Swinburne
Swinburne
NOVEMBER TWENTY-NINTH
St. Augustine said finely: "A marriage withoutchildren is the world without the sun."Luther
St. Augustine said finely: "A marriage withoutchildren is the world without the sun."Luther
St. Augustine said finely: "A marriage without
children is the world without the sun."
Luther
Luther
NOVEMBER THIRTIETH
The child, the seed, the grain of corn,The acorn on the hill,Each for some separate end is bornIn season fit, and stillEach must in strength arise to work the Almighty will.Robert Louis Stevenson
The child, the seed, the grain of corn,The acorn on the hill,Each for some separate end is bornIn season fit, and stillEach must in strength arise to work the Almighty will.Robert Louis Stevenson
The child, the seed, the grain of corn,
The acorn on the hill,
Each for some separate end is born
In season fit, and still
Each must in strength arise to work the Almighty will.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Robert Louis Stevenson
DECEMBER
DECEMBER FIRST
As children play, without to-morrow,Without Yesterday.Agnes Robinson
As children play, without to-morrow,Without Yesterday.Agnes Robinson
As children play, without to-morrow,
Without Yesterday.
Agnes Robinson
Agnes Robinson
DECEMBER SECOND
Shall those smiles be calledFeelers of love, put forth as if to exploreThis untried world?Wordsworth
Shall those smiles be calledFeelers of love, put forth as if to exploreThis untried world?Wordsworth
Shall those smiles be called
Feelers of love, put forth as if to explore
This untried world?
Wordsworth
Wordsworth
DECEMBER THIRD
When children are playing alone on the green,In comes the playmate that never was seen.Robert Louis Stevenson
When children are playing alone on the green,In comes the playmate that never was seen.Robert Louis Stevenson
When children are playing alone on the green,
In comes the playmate that never was seen.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Robert Louis Stevenson
DECEMBER FOURTH
Respect childhood and do not hastily judge of it,either for good or evil.Rosseau
Respect childhood and do not hastily judge of it,either for good or evil.Rosseau
Respect childhood and do not hastily judge of it,
either for good or evil.
Rosseau
Rosseau
DECEMBER FIFTH
What does little baby say,In her bed at peep of day?Baby says, like little birdie,Let me rise and fly away.Baby sleep a little longer,Till the little limbs are stronger,If she sleeps a little longerBaby too, shall fly away.Tennyson
What does little baby say,In her bed at peep of day?Baby says, like little birdie,Let me rise and fly away.
What does little baby say,
In her bed at peep of day?
Baby says, like little birdie,
Let me rise and fly away.
Baby sleep a little longer,Till the little limbs are stronger,If she sleeps a little longerBaby too, shall fly away.Tennyson
Baby sleep a little longer,
Till the little limbs are stronger,
If she sleeps a little longer
Baby too, shall fly away.
Tennyson
Tennyson
DECEMBER SIXTH
"Mother," asked a child, "since nothing is everlost, where do all our thoughts go?""To God," answered the mother, "who remembersthem forever.""Forever!" said the child. He bent his head and,drawing closer to his mother, murmured, "I amfrightened!"Which of us has not felt the same?Selected
"Mother," asked a child, "since nothing is everlost, where do all our thoughts go?"
"Mother," asked a child, "since nothing is ever
lost, where do all our thoughts go?"
"To God," answered the mother, "who remembersthem forever."
"To God," answered the mother, "who remembers
them forever."
"Forever!" said the child. He bent his head and,drawing closer to his mother, murmured, "I amfrightened!"
"Forever!" said the child. He bent his head and,
drawing closer to his mother, murmured, "I am
frightened!"
Which of us has not felt the same?Selected
Which of us has not felt the same?
Selected
Selected
DECEMBER SEVENTH
Happy little children, seek your shady places,Lark songs in their bosoms, sunshine in their faces.Lucy Larcom
Happy little children, seek your shady places,Lark songs in their bosoms, sunshine in their faces.Lucy Larcom
Happy little children, seek your shady places,
Lark songs in their bosoms, sunshine in their faces.
Lucy Larcom
Lucy Larcom
DECEMBER EIGHTH
The mother, with anticipated glee,Smiles o'er the child, that, standing by her chair,And flattening its round cheek upon her knee,Looks up and doth its rosy lips prepareTo mock the coming sounds: at the sweet sightShe hears her own voice with new delight.S. T. Coleridge
The mother, with anticipated glee,Smiles o'er the child, that, standing by her chair,And flattening its round cheek upon her knee,Looks up and doth its rosy lips prepareTo mock the coming sounds: at the sweet sightShe hears her own voice with new delight.S. T. Coleridge
The mother, with anticipated glee,
The mother, with anticipated glee,
Smiles o'er the child, that, standing by her chair,
And flattening its round cheek upon her knee,
Looks up and doth its rosy lips prepare
To mock the coming sounds: at the sweet sight
She hears her own voice with new delight.
S. T. Coleridge
S. T. Coleridge
S. T. Coleridge
DECEMBER NINTH
A babe, in lineament and limbPerfect, and prophet of the perfect man.Tennyson
A babe, in lineament and limbPerfect, and prophet of the perfect man.Tennyson
A babe, in lineament and limb
Perfect, and prophet of the perfect man.
Tennyson
Tennyson
DECEMBER TENTH
In the children lies the seed-corn of the future.Froebel
In the children lies the seed-corn of the future.Froebel
In the children lies the seed-corn of the future.
Froebel
Froebel
DECEMBER ELEVENTH
When the bedtime shadows fall,I'm always sure of this,Just as I'm drifting off to dreams,I feel my Mother's kiss.Mary Stanhope
When the bedtime shadows fall,I'm always sure of this,Just as I'm drifting off to dreams,I feel my Mother's kiss.Mary Stanhope
When the bedtime shadows fall,
I'm always sure of this,
Just as I'm drifting off to dreams,
I feel my Mother's kiss.
Mary Stanhope
Mary Stanhope
DECEMBER TWELFTH
Grandma's Prayer
I pray that, risen from the dead,I may in glory stand—A crown, perhaps, upon my headBut a needle in my hand.I've never learned to sing or play,So let no harp be mine;From birth unto my dying day,Plain sewing's been my line.Therefore, accustomed to the endTo plying useful stitches,I'll be content if asked to mendThe little Angels' breeches.Eugene Field
I pray that, risen from the dead,I may in glory stand—A crown, perhaps, upon my headBut a needle in my hand.I've never learned to sing or play,So let no harp be mine;From birth unto my dying day,Plain sewing's been my line.Therefore, accustomed to the endTo plying useful stitches,I'll be content if asked to mendThe little Angels' breeches.Eugene Field
I pray that, risen from the dead,
I may in glory stand—
A crown, perhaps, upon my head
But a needle in my hand.
I've never learned to sing or play,
So let no harp be mine;
From birth unto my dying day,
Plain sewing's been my line.
Therefore, accustomed to the end
To plying useful stitches,
I'll be content if asked to mend
The little Angels' breeches.
Eugene Field
Eugene Field
DECEMBER THIRTEENTH
The studying child has all the needs of a creatingartist. He must breathe pure air; his body must beat ease; he must have things to look at and be ableto change his thoughts at will by enjoying form andcolor.George Sand
The studying child has all the needs of a creatingartist. He must breathe pure air; his body must beat ease; he must have things to look at and be ableto change his thoughts at will by enjoying form andcolor.George Sand
The studying child has all the needs of a creating
artist. He must breathe pure air; his body must be
at ease; he must have things to look at and be able
to change his thoughts at will by enjoying form and
color.
George Sand
George Sand
DECEMBER FOURTEENTH
At one dear knee we proffered vows,One lesson from one book we learned,Ere childhood's flaxen ringlets turnedTo black and brown on kindred brows.Tennyson
At one dear knee we proffered vows,One lesson from one book we learned,Ere childhood's flaxen ringlets turnedTo black and brown on kindred brows.Tennyson
At one dear knee we proffered vows,
One lesson from one book we learned,
Ere childhood's flaxen ringlets turned
To black and brown on kindred brows.
Tennyson
Tennyson