The Lacemakers
In many a lowly cottage in FranceThe bobbins keep threading a mazy danceThe whole day long, from morning to night,Weaving the lace so pretty and light.How swiftly the nimble fingers twistThe threads on the pillow—not one is missed:Each bobbin would seem to rise from its placeTo meet the fingers that form the lace.How wondrously quick the pattern showsFrom the threads, as under our eyes it grows:—How quickly follow stem, leaves, and flower,As if under the spell of enchanter's power.Look at old Nannette—she can scarcely see,Yet none can make lovelier lace than she;And her grand-daughter Julie—just seven years old,Is learning already the bobbins to hold.Without drawings to follow, or patterns to trace,How can these poor cottagers fashion their lace?From the plant and the flower and unfolding fernAnd the frost on the pane their patterns they learn,—From gossamer web by the spider wove,—From natural taste and natural loveFor every form of beauty and grace,They've learned to fashion their wonderful lace.
In many a lowly cottage in FranceThe bobbins keep threading a mazy danceThe whole day long, from morning to night,Weaving the lace so pretty and light.How swiftly the nimble fingers twistThe threads on the pillow—not one is missed:Each bobbin would seem to rise from its placeTo meet the fingers that form the lace.How wondrously quick the pattern showsFrom the threads, as under our eyes it grows:—How quickly follow stem, leaves, and flower,As if under the spell of enchanter's power.Look at old Nannette—she can scarcely see,Yet none can make lovelier lace than she;And her grand-daughter Julie—just seven years old,Is learning already the bobbins to hold.Without drawings to follow, or patterns to trace,How can these poor cottagers fashion their lace?From the plant and the flower and unfolding fernAnd the frost on the pane their patterns they learn,—From gossamer web by the spider wove,—From natural taste and natural loveFor every form of beauty and grace,They've learned to fashion their wonderful lace.
Birds on a wire
Woman with horn
For Paris quite an early startThey made the following day,And out of windows every oneKept looking, all the way.And many a pretty road like thisThe train went whizzing past,Where gatekeeper, with flag and horn,Stood by the gates shut fast.That's Marie you see standing there:Now, do you wonder whyAwomanhas to blow the hornBefore the train goes by?—Her husband is a lazy man,He's in his cottage near,He would not stir a step, althoughThe train will soon be here.And Marie called him, "Paul, be quick—Go shut the gate," she cried—"Don't hurry me, there's time enough,"The lazy man replied.So Marie had to go, you see,And take the horn, and blow.—And every day it's just the same,She always has to go.
Clatter! clatter! on they go,Past stream and gentle valley,Until the engine wheels turn slow,And stop at length to dallyFor dinner-time full half-an-hourSpread in the dining-room at hand;Within a crowded station,And then, when that is finished,While hungry little mouths devourThe children sally in a band,The tempting cold collationWith appetites diminished,To look at all the folk they meet,—And all the other folk that makeThe engine puffs—away they fly,The porters in blue blouses,A crowd in France amusing:—And soon leave all behind them;The white-robed priests, the nuns so neat,Till hark! their places all must take,Now turn the page, and you and IThe farmers and their spouses,Without a minute losing.In Paris safe will find them.
Clatter! clatter! on they go,Past stream and gentle valley,Until the engine wheels turn slow,And stop at length to dally
For dinner-time full half-an-hourSpread in the dining-room at hand;Within a crowded station,And then, when that is finished,While hungry little mouths devourThe children sally in a band,The tempting cold collationWith appetites diminished,
To look at all the folk they meet,—And all the other folk that makeThe engine puffs—away they fly,The porters in blue blouses,A crowd in France amusing:—And soon leave all behind them;The white-robed priests, the nuns so neat,Till hark! their places all must take,Now turn the page, and you and IThe farmers and their spouses,Without a minute losing.In Paris safe will find them.
In the park
TreeParis, gay Paris! so bright and so fair,Your sun is all smiles, and there's mirth in your air.The children, though tired with their travelling, foundThat the first night in Paris one's sleep is not sound,For the hum of the streets makes one dream all the nightOf the wonderful sights that will come with the light.The morning was fine, and—breakfast despatched—They soon made their way to the Gardens attachedTo the old Royal Palace, and there met a throngOf French children, and joined in their games before long.One boy lent his hoop, and gave Bertie a bun.And—talking quite fast—seemed to think it great funWith nice English girls like our Nellie to play,Though not understanding a word she might say.On leaving the Gardens, the party were seatedOutside of acafé, and there Papa treatedThem all to fine ices and chocolate too;They could hardly tell which was the nicer—could you?Paris, gay Paris,So bright and so fair!Your sun is all smiles,And there's mirth in your air!Cafe in Paris
IN THE TUILERIES GARDENS.In the Tuileries gardens, each afternoon,A little old man comes walking along:Now watch what happens! for just as soonAs they see him, the birds begin their song,And flutter about his hands and head,And perch on his shoulder quite at their ease,For he fills his pockets with crumbs of breadTo feed his friends who live in the trees,And well they know he loves them soThat into his pockets they sometimes go.But hark to what's going on over there!'Tis surely a Punch-and-Judy man,Making old Judy, I do declare,Talk French as fast as ever she can!And I think, from the looks of poor Mr. P.,He's getting it hot from his scolding wife;But just wait a minute, and then you'll seeHe'll beat her within an inch of her life.Walk in! take a seat and you'll see her beat,And a penny is all you pay for the treat.
At Punch and Judy
Where shall we go to next? they still would say,And still they found new pleasures every day.At times Miss Earle took Bertie for a ride,With little Rose and Mabel side by side;And then their father took the elder twoTo see the picture galleries, and viewHistoric buildings, where they sometimes rested,And many a bit of history was suggested.They saw a wedding at the Madeleine,Then went to "Notre Dame," close by the Seine,And climbed the lofty tower, to see the viewWhich cannot be surpassed the whole world through.One day their father took them all to seeA great museum, full as full could beOf rare old furniture, of every kindThe artists of the "Middle Age" designed;—And precious things in silver and in gold,Made by the best artificers of old.Now while another way the party's eyesAre turned, "King Henry's Staircase" Bertie spies,And climbing up, with help from sister May,He calls to Dennis, when he gets half-way,"Come catch me quick!"—and then runs off, with pealsOf merry laughter,—Dennis at his heels.
Where shall we go to next? they still would say,And still they found new pleasures every day.At times Miss Earle took Bertie for a ride,With little Rose and Mabel side by side;And then their father took the elder twoTo see the picture galleries, and viewHistoric buildings, where they sometimes rested,And many a bit of history was suggested.They saw a wedding at the Madeleine,Then went to "Notre Dame," close by the Seine,And climbed the lofty tower, to see the viewWhich cannot be surpassed the whole world through.One day their father took them all to seeA great museum, full as full could beOf rare old furniture, of every kindThe artists of the "Middle Age" designed;—And precious things in silver and in gold,Made by the best artificers of old.Now while another way the party's eyesAre turned, "King Henry's Staircase" Bertie spies,And climbing up, with help from sister May,He calls to Dennis, when he gets half-way,"Come catch me quick!"—and then runs off, with pealsOf merry laughter,—Dennis at his heels.
At the Musee
Bertie was first. "I've won the race," he cried;But soon upon his lips the triumph died,And Bertie back in fear to Dennis ran:—"Oh Dennis, look! I ran against that man!He shook and rattled so, and wagged his head,And gave me such a fright!" "Pooh!" Dennis said,"He will not hurt!" And then he made a bow:—Good-bye, old soldier, we must leave you now.Next afternoon, while at the Zoo', a little tale they heardOf the elephant that's there, and you shall hear it word for word.Bertie and the Knight
Zoo ticketMumbo and Jumbo, two elephants great,From India travelled, and lived in state,In Paris the one, and in London the other:Now Mumbo and Jumbo were sister and brother.A warm invitation to Jumbo came,To cross the Atlantic and spread his fame.Said he, "I really don't want to go—But then, they're so pressing!—I can't say No!"
At the zoo
So away to America Jumbo went,But his sister Mumbo is quite contentTo stay with the children of Paris, for sheIs as happy an elephant as could be:"I've a capital house, quite large and airy,Close by live the Ostrich and Dromedary,And we see our young friends every day," said she:"Oh, where is the Zoo' that would better suit me?"Tram ticket
A Steady steed is Mumbo, if just a trifle slow;Upon her back you couldn't well a-steeple-chasing go:But other opportunities there are to have a ride,For there's a stud of ponies, and a camel to bestride—A cart that's drawn by oxen can accommodate a few,
Led by Mumbo
And if such queer conveyances don't please you at the Zoo',There are little tramway cars too, with seats on either side,Which will take you through the gardens, and through theBoisbeside:—Take the ticket on the other page, and with it you may goFrom the lake within the garden to the gate that's calledMaillot.
THE SWANS."Ho! pretty swans,Do you know, in our Zoo'The swans of old EnglandAre just like you?""Don't tell me!"Said a cross old bird;"I know better,The thing's quite absurd."Their figures, I'm sure,Are not worth a glance:If you want to see style,Youmustcome to France."With a scornful whiskThe swan turned tail,Spread its wings to the breeze,And was off full-sail."Ho! pretty swan,Do you know, in our Zoo'The swans are not halfSo conceited as you?"Swans
A Flower Stall OnAt the flower stallTHE BOULEVARDSLook at Mère VictorineAt her stall in the street,With the lily and rose,And the whitemarguerite,She makes prettybouquétsThe whole of the day:There are buyers in plentyWho pass by that way.Little Basil and Amélie,Watching her, stand:Up to Mère VictorineBasil stretches his hand,"Can't you spare me," says he,"A morsel of green,Oronesweet little flower,Good Mère Victorine?""If you come for a flower,Pray where is yoursou?"Answers Mère Victorine,"I can'tgiveone to you—Such flowers as mineAre for selling, you know;You must go to the country,Wherewildflowers grow."
A DAY AT VERSAILLES.At Versailles, as perhaps you have heard,Countless pictures of fightsForm the chief of the sights:Could so many great battles have ever occurred?
At Versailles, as perhaps you have heard,Countless pictures of fightsForm the chief of the sights:Could so many great battles have ever occurred?
At Versailles
No wonder our children the gardens preferred:—For the fountains were really so pretty a sight,That Bertie declared—and I think he was right—It was better to playLike the fountains all day,Than such terrible battles to fight.
No wonder our children the gardens preferred:—For the fountains were really so pretty a sight,That Bertie declared—and I think he was right—It was better to playLike the fountains all day,Than such terrible battles to fight.
Baby feeding birds
La Fontaine Des InnocentsRound this pretty fountain hereSparrows gather all the year;In its sparkling waters dip,From its basin freely sip,Round about their fountain play,Safe and happy all the day;—Little "innocents" are they.That is Antoine, bread in hand;See him by his mother stand:Saucy little birdies spyAntoine's bread, and at it fly,Trying each to get a share,Frightening little Antoine there.Antoine does notwishto share,Thinks the bread is allhisright,Just to suit his appetite.Mother says, "Be kind, my son,There is more when this is done;Bread enough for thee at home:—Let the pretty sparrows come;Give them each a little crumb."Here our little familyNear the fountain too, we see,Walking through the open spaceTo the covered market-place.Bird
Market in Paris
Here from morning till night they are selling and buying,And from morning till night their market wares crying:All around you will find there is food of each kind;There are flesh, fowl, and fish here for every dish.The fish-market you see on the opposite page:On this stall that is nearest, the shell-fish appear;But were I to begin, it would take me an ageTo tell you the names of the fish you find here.See! there's puss looking out for what she can get,And that little boy who is laughing is Paul,—The girl with the lobster is sister Lisette,And he's watching to see if it nips her at all.Madame Blaise, there, tells Nellie her mussels are good,But Nellie smiles sweetly and goes on her way,And I venture to doubt if she quite understoodAll the funny French things Madame Blaise had to say.Other parts of the market contain butchers meat,And poultry, and fruit, and salads, and greens,And here, if you want them, quite young, fresh and sweet,Are theharicóts vertswhich we know as "French beans."For, from morning till night here they're selling and buying,And from morning till night their market wares crying.
Here from morning till night they are selling and buying,And from morning till night their market wares crying:All around you will find there is food of each kind;There are flesh, fowl, and fish here for every dish.The fish-market you see on the opposite page:On this stall that is nearest, the shell-fish appear;But were I to begin, it would take me an ageTo tell you the names of the fish you find here.See! there's puss looking out for what she can get,And that little boy who is laughing is Paul,—The girl with the lobster is sister Lisette,And he's watching to see if it nips her at all.Madame Blaise, there, tells Nellie her mussels are good,But Nellie smiles sweetly and goes on her way,And I venture to doubt if she quite understoodAll the funny French things Madame Blaise had to say.Other parts of the market contain butchers meat,And poultry, and fruit, and salads, and greens,And here, if you want them, quite young, fresh and sweet,Are theharicóts vertswhich we know as "French beans."For, from morning till night here they're selling and buying,And from morning till night their market wares crying.
Luxembourg Gardens
Rose and Bertie have a ride;Mabel, walking at their side,Carries both the dolls, and soBy the Luxembourg they go.IN THELUXEMBOURG GARDENS.Over in that Palace soon—For the clock is marking noon—The "Senate" will together come(Like our "House of Lords" at home).Hear that woman, "Who will buyWindmill, ball, or butterfly"—Josephine and Phillipe, see,Eager as they both can be.Charles before her, silent stands,With no money in his hands,No moresous—he spent them allOn that big inflated ball.Be content, my little friend,Money spent you cannot spend;With your good St. Bernard play,Buy more toys another day.
At the gardens
A Merry-go-roundHere all the day long,Are race-horses for hire,That never go wrong.And besides, never tire.Here all the day long,Are race-horses for hire.Who will come for a ride?Horses, lions, all ready!Bear or tiger astride,You shall sit safe and steady.Who will come for a ride?Lions, horses, all ready!
At the Merry-go-round
Round and round they canter slow—soon they fast and faster go;Look at Louis, all in white, Gaspard, almost out of sight,Rose and Mabel side by side;—Bertie watching while they ride.Dennis waits till they have done,—much too big to join the fun;Brother Paul, with serious air, minds his little sister Claire,Thinking ifhehad a sou,sheshould have some pleasure too.in the Champs Elysees
Now, with regret, they've said Good-bye to Paris bright and gay;To Calais they are drawing nigh—you see them on their way.To travel thus, all through the night, at first they thought was fun.But by degrees they grew less bright, as hours passed one by one.Then Nellie to her sisters said, "Let's have an extra rug.And make-believe we're home in bed, and cuddle close and snug,And try, until the night has passed, which can most quiet keep."Then all were tucked up warm and fast, and soon fell sound asleep.camera bag
Asleep on the Train
Train lightThe happy time abroad, again in dreams is all gone o'er—Again in Paris, as it seems, they watch the crowd once more.The "Elysian Fields," beneath the trees, are peopled with a throngOf loveliest dolls, which at their ease converse, or ride along;And wondrous "Easter Eggs" in nests, abundant lie around,And "April Fish" with golden vests and silver coats, abound!Such fleeting fancies Dreamland lends to pass the time awayUntil the railway journey ends, just at the break of day.
PORTE DE LA MER, CALAIS.
The last place where they stopped abroad was Calais, which, you know,Belonged to England once—though that was many a year ago:It has a beautiful old Tower, all weatherworn and brown,And here's the Sea-Gate, opening from the walls that guard the town.But now Farewell to Merry France! the vessel ready waitsTo take our party back again across the Dover Straits.
The Port
HOMEWARD BOUND.
Hurrah! we're afloat, and away speeds the boat as fast as its paddles can go,With the wind on its back, and a broad foaming track behind it, as white as the snow.On board, every eye is strained to descry the white cliffs of our own native land,And brightly they gleam, as onward we steam, till at length they are close at hand.The sun shines with glee on the rippling sea, and the pennant strung high on the mast.But at length it sinks down behind the grey town, and tells us the day is nigh past.See, there is the port, and near it a fort, and the strong old Castle of Dover—We're close to the shore—just five minutes more, and the Channel Crossing is over.Then all safe and sound upon English ground, we bid farewell to the sea—Jump into the train, and start off again as fast as the engine can flee.We run up to town, and thence travel down to the home in the country, at night;Then, I'm sorry to say, dear Nellie and May, Rose, Dennis, and Bertie bright,We must leave in their home till next holidays come, when, let all of us hope, it may chanceThat our trip will, next Spring, be as pleasant a thing as our swallow-flight over to France.
Afloat
· Bon Rétour ·Now that at last we're safely back again,And as upon the railway bridge the trainIs stayed some moments, let us say Good-bye,And ask if you've enjoyed the trip, and tryTo think that soon again we're sure to meet,On country road or in the crowded street,And ere we part, still linger for a while,Viewing this tranquil scene with pensive smile,—The evening glow, the river's falling tide,Saint Paul's familiar dome and London's pride.
Now that at last we're safely back again,And as upon the railway bridge the trainIs stayed some moments, let us say Good-bye,And ask if you've enjoyed the trip, and tryTo think that soon again we're sure to meet,On country road or in the crowded street,And ere we part, still linger for a while,Viewing this tranquil scene with pensive smile,—The evening glow, the river's falling tide,Saint Paul's familiar dome and London's pride.
Transcriber's Notes:Obvious punctuation errors repaired.The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text willappear.
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text willappear.