Part 16

Cried Tommy, I'll mind What my good mamma says, And take the advice of a friend; I never will steal To the end of my days, I've been a bad boy, but I'll mend."

Adelaide

Honesty

With honest heart go on your way, Down to your burial sod, And never for a moment stray Beyond the path of God; And everything along your way In colours bright shall shine; The water from the jug of clay Shall taste like costly wine!

Holte

Thou Shalt Not Steal

On the goods that are not thine, Little child, lay not a finger; Round thy neighbour's better things Let no wistful glances linger.

Pilfer not the smallest thing; Touch it not, howe'er thou need it, Though the owner have enough, Though he know it not, nor need it.

Taste not the forbidden fruit, Though resistance be a trial; Grasping hand and roving eye, Early teach them self-denial.

Upright heart and honest name To the poorest are a treasure; Better than ill-gotten wealth, Better far than pomp and pleasure.

Poor and needy though thou art, Gladly take what God has given; With clean hands and humble heart, Passing through this world to heaven.

The Thief

Why should I deprive my neighbour Of his goods against his will? Hands were meant for honest labour, Not to plunder, nor to steal.

'Tis a foolish self-deceiving By such tricks to hope for gain: All that's ever got by thieving Turns to sorrow, shame, and pain.

Oft we see the young beginner Practice little pilfering ways, Till grown up a hardened sinner, Then the gallows ends his days.

Theft will not be always hidden, Though we fancy none can spy; When we take a thing forbidden, God holds it with His eye.

Guard my heart, O God of heaven, Lest is covet what's not mine; Lest I take what is not given, Guard my heart and hands from sin.

Watts

[Illustration: Highway Robbery.]

[Page 73--Stealing Land]

The Thieves' Ladder

The girls were helping in the house, With bustle and with show, And told the boys to go away, And not disturb them so. And the boys went whistling down the streets, And looking in the shops At tempting heaps of oranges, And piles of sugar-drops.

"Here, Willie, to the grocer's run; Be sharp, now--there's a man, And bring me home a pound of plums As quickly as you can! "Don't touch a plum--be sure you don't; To-morrow you shall eat." "I won't." he said, and, like a top, Went spinning down the street.

The grocer weigh'd them in his scales, And there was one too much; He took it out, and all was right, The scale was to a touch. He wrapp'd them up in whitey-brown, And tied them with a string, And put the money in the till, As 'twere a common thing.

Young Willie watched, with greedy eyes, As this affair went on. The plums--they look'd so very nice! He wouldn't take but _one_. So going quick behind a post, He tore the paper so That he could take out two or three, And nobody would know.

There was a little voice that said, Close by, in Willie's heart, "Don't tear the hole--don't take the plum-- Don't play a thievish part!" The little voice--it spoke in vain! He reach'd his mother's door; She did not see the hole he'd made, His trouble then was o'er.

And what a trifling thing it seem'd, To take one single plum! A little thing we hold between Our finger and out thumb. And yet upon that Christmas eve, That period so brief, Young Willie set his foot upon "The ladder of the thief!"

And as he lay awake that night, He heard his parents speak; He heard distinctly what they said, The blood rush'd to his cheek. He lay and listn'd earnestly; They might have found him out, And he might get a flogging too, 'Twas that he thought about.

A guilty person cannot rest, He always is in fear; Not knowing what may happen next To make his guilt appear. So, when he heard his mother speak, He rose up in his bed, And did not lose a syllable Of every word she said:--

"We have not any turnips, John, I could not spare the pence; But you can go and get us some Through Farmer Turner's fence. "There's nobody to see you now, The folks are off the road; The night looks dark and blustering, And no one is abroad.

"It is not far--you'll soon be back-- I'll stand outside to hear; The watchman now is off his track, And won't be coming near." The father he went softly out, And down the lane he crept, And stole some turnips from the field Whilst honest people slept!

'Tis not the words that parents say, It is their very deed; Their children know the difference, And follow where they lead. How often, if their lives are good, Their children's are the same; Whilst, if they're thievish, drunken, Their children come to shame!

Now, Willie laid him down in bed, His conscience found relief; "I'm not the only one," he said-- "My father is a thief! "How foolish 'twas to be afraid About a little plum!" He pull'd the bed-clothes o'er his head, And dream'd of feasts to come.

On Christmas-day they had the pies. The turnips, and the beef; And Willie's foot was firm upon The ladder of the thief. And ere the snow was on the plain, And Christmas-day came round, And boys were sliding, once again, Upon the frozen ground,

He, step by step, had further gone Upon that dreadful road That brings a man to misery, And takes him far from God. He cheated with his marbles first, And then at other play; He pilfered any little thing That came within his way.

His parents did not punish him; He went from bad to worse, Until he grew so confident, He stole a lady's purse. Then he was seized, and brought before The city magistrate; And the police and lady came The robbery to state.

And Willie he was proved a thief, And nothing had to say; So to the dreadful prison-house He soon was led away. In vain he cried, and pleaded hard They would not take him there; He would not do such things again If they would hear his prayer.

It was too late! The prison door, With bolt, and bar, and chain, Was opened to take Willie in, And then was shut again. He saw the handcuffs on the wall, The fetters on the floor; And heavy keys with iron rings To lock the dungeon door.

He saw the little, lonely cells Where prisoners were kept, And all the dreary passages, And bitterly he wept. And through the strong-barred iron grate, High up and far away, He saw a piece of clear blue sky Out in the blessed day.

And "Oh!" he said, "my brothers now Are out of school again, And playing marbles on the path, Or cricket on the plain. "And here am I, shut up so close Within this iron door; If ever I get out again I'll give this business o'er."

And Willie went to sleep that night In his dark cell alone; But often in his troubled dreams He turned with heavy moan. What sound is that at early morn That breaks upon his ear? A funeral bell is tolling slow, It tolls so very near.

And in the court he sees a crowd, So haggard and so pale, And they are whispering fearfully A sad and awful tale. And all seem looking at a man Who stands with fetters bound, And guards and executioner Are gathered close around.

And he beheld that wretched man, Who trembled like a leaf: His foot no more would stand upon The ladder of the thief. For he had climbed it step by step, Till murder closed the whole; The hangman came to take his life, But where would be his soul?

And still the bell went tolling on; It tolled so heavily As that young man went up the stairs, Out to the gallows-tree. It tolled--it tolled--Oh! heavy sound! It stopped--the deed is o'er; And that young man upon the earth Will now be seen no more:

Oh! parents watch your little ones, Lest you have such a grief; Help not their tender feet to climb The ladder of the thief. I have not heard young Willie's end, I hope he learned that day; But 'tis a thing most difficult To leave a wicked way.

Sewell

[Illustration: The Prisoner's Van.]

[Page 74--Santa Claus Land]

I have given no Fairy Tales in this Childland. For in this _matter-of-fact_ age belief in Fairy Tales and all kinds of wonderful fictions is fast vanishing. Santa Claus, the "bestest" "goodest" fairy of all alone remains: and even he is gradually being doubted by all but the most innocent children, but as he as a personality is still largely amongst us, I give his popular history culled from many sources.

Santa Claus Land

At the top of the earth, which they call the North Pole, Is where Santa Claus lives, a right jolly old soul! And the ice and the snow lie so thick on the ground The sun cannot melt them the whole summer round.

All wrapped up in furs from his head to his toes, No feeling of coldness dear Santa Claus knows, But travels about with a heart full of joy, As happy as if he were only a boy.

His cheeks are like roses; his eyes are as bright As stars that shine out overhead in the night, And they twinkle as merrily too all the while, And broad as a sunbeam is Santa Claus' smile.

He never is idle except when asleep, And even in dreams at his labours will keep, And all thro' the day and the night, it is true, He is working and planning, dear children, for you.

On top of his tower with spy-glass in hand, He goes every morning to look o'er the land, And though there are hills all around, I suppose, He sees, oh, much further than any one knows.

He peeps into houses whose doors are tight shut; He looks through the palace, and likewise the hut; He gazes on cities, and villages small, And nothing, no, nothing is hidden at all.

He knows where the good children live beyond doubt, He knows where the bad boys and girls are about, And writes down their names on a page by themselves; In a book that he keeps on his library shelves.

For good little children, the gentle and kind, The prettiest presents of toys are designed, And when Christmas comes round, as it does once a year, 'Tis certain that Santa Claus then will appear.

His work-shop is, oh! such a wonderful place, With heaps of gay satins, and ribbons, and lace; With houses and furniture, dishes and pans, And bracelets and bangles, and all sorts of fans.

There are horses that gallop, and dollies that walk, And some of the pretty doll-babies can talk. There are pop-guns, and marbles, and tops for the boys, And big drums and trumpets that make a big noise.

There are games for all seasons, the base-ball and kite, And books which the children will seize with delight, And the skates and the sleds, far too many to count, And the bicycles ready for wheelmen to mount.

There are farm-yards in plenty, with fences and trees, And cows, sheep, and oxen, all taking their ease, And turkeys and ducks, and fine chickens and hens, And dear little piggies to put in their pens.

There are gay Noah's Arks, just as full as can be Of animals, really a wonder to see; There are lions and tigers, and camels and bears, And two of each kind, for they travel in pairs.

There are elephants stretching their noses quite long; And reindeer and elks with their antlers so strong, And queer kangaroos all the others amid, With their dear little babies in pockets well hid.

Is Santa Claus happy? There's no need to ask, For he finds such enjoyment indeed in his task, That he bubbles with laughter, and whistles and sings, While making and planning the beautiful things.

He's a jolly good fellow, but ever so shy, And likes to do all his good deeds on the sly, So there's no use spoiling a good winter's nap For you'll not catch a glimpse of the jolly old chap.

When Christmas Eve comes, into bed you must creep, And late in the night when you are asleep, He is certain to come; so your stockings prepare, And hang them up close by the chimney with care.

The baby's wee stockings you must not forget, For Santa will have something nice for the pet, And those who are thoughtful for others will find The good saint at Christmas time has them in mind.

There is Tommy, who tended the baby with care, A nice train of cars he shall have for his share, And how happy will Eliza be when she looks For her presents, and finds such a budget of books.

For dear little Mary, a doll there will be; And for Alice and Jenny a gay Christmas tree; And wee little Georgie, the baby, will find A big stick of candy, just suiting his mind.

Oh, a jolly good sight is this funny old chap When he's dressed in his bear-skin and fur-bordered cap, All ready to start on his way through the cold, In a sleigh covered over with jewels and gold.

While his deer from the mountains all harnessed with care, Like race-horses prance through the clear frosty air; 'Tis fun just to watch them, and hear the bells ring, And the stars seem to think it a comical thing.

For old Santa is bundled so close to the chin, That there is not a chance for the cold to get in, His cheeks are so rosy, his eyes how they flash! No horses nor driver e'er cut such a dash!

He cracks his long whip, and he whistles a tune, While he winks at the stars, and he bows to the moon, And over the tree-tops he drives like the wind, And leaves all the night-birds a long way behind.

His steeds speed away on a journey so fleet, That they seem to have wings to their swift-flying feet, For there's work to be done by a cheery old man, And his coursers will help him as well as they can.

His sleigh is with toys and trinkets well packed, You never beheld one with pleasures so stacked; And though of good children he has such a list, Not one is forgotten, not one will be missed.

An army he gives to the boy who is neat, And never is rude in the house or the street; And a farm to the lad who goes smiling to school, Who knows all his lessons and minds every rule.

And if you would please him--dear Bertie and Jack--; And win a nice prize from the old fellow's pack, Be good little children, your parents obey, And strive to be happy at work or at play.

At Christmas old Santa Claus toils like a Turk, For the cheery old fellow is fond of his work. With his queer looking team through the air he will go, And alight on the house-tops all covered in snow.

Then down through the chimneys he'll dart without noise And fill up the stockings with candy and toys. There'll be presents for Julia, and Nellie, and Jack, And plenty more left in the old fellow's pack.

And if Frank behaves well, and minds what is said, Quits teasing the cat and goes early to bed; He'll find for his present a sled or a gun, A ready companion in frolic and fun.

On Santa Claus hurries, and works with a will, For many tall Christmas trees he has to fill, And loads them with treasures from out his rich store, Till they blossom as trees never blossomed before.

Though round as a dumpling, and ever so fat, In running and climbing he's spry as a cat, And if the long ladder should happen to break, And he should fall down, what a crash it would make!

I told you his home was up North by the Pole, In a palace of hives lives this worthy old soul, And though out of doors it may furiously storm, Indoors as we know, it is sunny and warm.

When Christmas is over old Santa Claus goes To his home in the North, and his well-earned repose, And when he is rested and feeling tip-top, The good-natured workman goes back to his shop.

And there he will labor from morning till night, To make others happy his aim and delight, And if his good-will the dear children would earn, They must strive to be happy and good in return.

He comes like an angel of light from above, To do on the earth sweetest errands of love; And our hearts and our homes to so fill with good cheer That we cannot help knowing when Christmas is near.

Then let us be glad, so that Christmas may be A real Merry Christmas to you and to me! And now that the story is ended we'll give Three cheers for old Santa Claus! Long may he live!

[Page 75--Santa Claus Land]

[Illustration: Children Praying for Christmas Presents.]

A Visit From St. Nicholas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in there beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced through their heads; And mamma in her kerchief and I in my cap Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out in the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash; The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave a lustre of midday to objects below;

When what to my wondering eyes should appear But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver so lively and quick I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled and shouted and called them by name; "Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So up to the housetop the coursers they flew, With a sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too; And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound, He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack, His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.

He was chubby and plump--a right jolly old elf-- And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle; But I heard him exclaim ere he drove out sight; "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night."

Clement C. Moore

What Santa Claus Brings

Lovely little girls and boys, Santa brings all sorts of toys. Boxes filled with wooden bricks, Monkeys climbing yellow sticks.

Dollies' houses painted red, Tiny soldiers made of lead, Noah's Arks, and Ninepins too, Jack in boxes, painted blue.

Cups and Saucers, Pots and Pans, China figures, Chinese fans, Railway trains, with Tops and Tables, Fairy Tales and Aesop's Fables,

Clockwork Mice, and Coloured Marbles Painted Bird that sweetly warbles, Dolls of every age and size, With flaxen hair and moving eyes.

Cows and horses, Chickens, Cats, Rattles, Windmills, Boats and Bats, Ducks and Geese, and golden Fishes, Skipping ropes and copper Dishes.

Books and coloured pictures, too, And a thousand other things for you; Dainty maidens, merry boys, Santa brings all sorts of toys.

Little Mary

Dear little Mary, With eyes so blue, What has Santa Claus Brought for you?

He has brought me a cup, And a curly sheep, And a cradle where dolly May go to sleep.

The best of all Is this funny box That winds with a key Just like the clocks.

And when you've wound The spring up tight, The monkey dances With all his might,

And Fido barks And the puppies play: We're all very happy This Christmas day.

Christmas

Dainty little stockings Hanging in a row, Blue, and grey, and scarlet, In the firelight's glow.

Curly-pated sleepers Safely tucked in bed; Dreams of wondrous toy-shops Dancing through each head.

Funny little stockings Hanging in a row Stuffed with sweet surprises, Down from top to toe.

Skates, and balls, and trumpets, Dishes, tops, and drums, Books and dolls and candles, Nuts and sugar-plums.

Little sleepers waking: Bless me, what a noise! Wish you merry Christmas, Happy girls and boys!

The Nursery

[Illustration: Santa Claus making Toys.]

[Page 76--Santa Claus Land]

[Illustration: Santa Claus looking up names of Good Boys and Girls.]

Christmas

When the children have been good, That is, be it understood, Good at meal-times, good at play, Good all night and good all day,-- They shall have the pretty things Merry Christmas always brings.

[Illustration: Santa Claus starting to distribute Toys.]

A Christmas Eve Adventure

Once on a time, in a queer little town, On the shore of the Zuyder Zee, When all the good people were fast asleep, A strange thing happened to me.

Alone, the night before Christmas, I sat by the glowing fire, Watching the flame as it rose and fell, While the sparks shot high and higher.

Suddenly one of these sparks began To flicker and glimmer and wink Like a big bright eye, till I hardly knew What to do or to say or to think.

Quick as a flash, it changed to a face, And what in the world did I see But dear old Santa Claus nodding his head, And waving his hand to me!

"Oh! follow me, follow me!" soft he cried,-- And up through the chimney with him I mounted, not daring to utter a word Till we stood on the chimney's rim.

"Now tell me, I beg you, dear Santa Claus, Where am I going with you?" He laughingly answered, "Why, don't you know? To travel the whole world through!