Part 9

If he smelled a smoking tart, Willie longed to steal it; If he saw a pulpy peach, Willie tried to peel it; Could he reach a new plum-cake, Greedy Willie picked it, If he spied a pot of jam, Dirty Willie licked it.

If he saw a poor old dog, Wicked Willie whacked it; If it had a spot of white, Silly Willy blacked it, If he saw a sleeping cat, Horrid Willie kicked it; If he caught a pretty moth, Cruel Willie pricked it.

If his pony would not trot, Angry Willie thrashed it; If he saw a clinging snail, Thoughtless Willie smashed it; If he found a sparrow's nest, Unkind Willie hit it. All the mischief ever done, Folks knew Willie did it.

No one liked that horrid boy, Can you wonder at it? None who saw his ugly head, Ever tried to pat it. No one ever took him for a ride-- Folks too gladly skipped him. No one ever gave him bats or balls, No one ever "tipped" him.

No one taught him how to skate, Or to play at cricket; No one helped him if he stuck In a prickly thicket. Oh no! for the boys all said Willie loved to tease them, And that if he had the chance, Willie would not please them.

And they shunned him every one, And they would not know him, And their games and picture-books They would never show him, And their tops they would not spin, If they saw him near them, And they treated him with scorn Till he learned to fear them.

They all left him to himself, And he was so lonely, But of course it was his fault, Willie's own fault only. If a boy's a wicked boy, Shy of him folks fight then, If it makes him dull and sad, Why, it serves him right then!

[Illustration: Naughty Boy Covered In Mud.]

This is the Naughty Boy who would go making Mud Pies, and get his nice new clothes all over mud.

He said he would be Good, but he got into the mud, and was a Naughty, Bad, Bad Boy!!!

The Wicked, Rude, Bad, Naughty, Cross, Nasty, Bold, Dirty-faced Boy

Boys, stop your noise! Girls, stop your jumping and skipping! While I tell you about a bad boy, who often deserves a whipping. If this boy to you were named, to speak to him you'd feel ashamed, So to-day I'll only say--He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

I won't tell you his age, nor the colour of his hair, Nor say anything about the clothes he sometimes does wear; You never see them neat and clean, and seldom without a tear, Because--He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

If he's sent on a message, such a long time he stops, To pelt stones at Chinamen, and stare in the shops; Running behind drays, and wastes time so many ways, That when he gets home his mother says-- Oh you wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

If his mother gives him lolly, cake, piece of beef or mutton, In a corner he'll eat it by himself, he's such a nasty, greedy glutton. And he'll smug from his playmates a marble, top or button, That scarcely any one can with him have any fun, Because--He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

He's been going to school for years, I can't tell you how long, If you ask him to spell three words, two are sure to be wrong; If you saw the dirty books and broken slate which to him belong, You'd easily guess from such a mess that-- He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

You can't believe a word he says, he tells so many lies. He's such a coward, he'll only hit a girl or boy much less than his size, But if he gets a blow himself, he howls, bawls, yelps, and cries, That anyone who sees him never tries to please him, Because--He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

He won't play any game without being always cheating, I often wonder how he so many times escapes a beating, And he never says grace before or after eating. He's scarcely better in the least than a brute beast, Because--He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

What school he goes to at present I won't tell, But I mean to watch him, and if he don't mind and behave well, I'll go to every school and ring a little bell, I'll make a great noise, and show all the girls and boys This wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

[Page 37]

[Illustration: This is the Man who picked the Bad Boy out of the Mud.]

Little Chinkey Chow-Chow (The Boy That Ran Away)

There was a little Chinese Boy, That ran away from home-- "Ha! ha!" he said, "I'll see the world And through the streets I'll roam.

"I won't go any more to school, Or go so soon to bed, Nor yet be scolded if I choose To stand upon my head."

So little Chinkey ran away, His tail flew in the wind; He thought not of his good mamma Who was so very kind:

He knew she could not follow him Along the crowded street, Because mammas in China have Such very tiny feet.

Now, as he went along he saw Such strange and lovely sights, Such pretty painted houses-- Such tops! and oh! such kites!

He saw so many gilded toys, and ivory things so white, That he forgot about the time, Until he found it night.

Ah! then he saw such fireworks! They glistened in his eyes; The crackers and the lanterns too Quite took him by surprise.

He listened to the music of The fiddle and the gong, And felt that it was jolly, though He knew that it was wrong.

But after that he began to think Things were not so bright; The men were going, and there came The watchman of the night;

And sleep was stealing over him, He scarce could lift his head, So he lay on the cold, cold stones, Which served him for a bed.

Little Chinkey Chow-Chow Woke up with early light, And wandered far away from where He passed the dreary night;

He was so very worn and cold, And sadly wanted food, So he sat upon a well In not a pleasant mood.

He saw the well was very deep, The water too was clear, And soon he saw a golden fish That looked so very near.

He stretched his hand to catch the fish; But oh! how sad to tell, He tumbled over and he sank To the bottom of the well.

Some other boys were playing there And saw him disappear, And ran along the road to see If anyone was near.

A Great BIG Market Gardener, Was soon upon the ground, And caught our little Chinkey up, Who soon would have been drowned.

The boys began to jeer at him, For he was very wet; They pulled his dripping tail, and called Him names that I forget.

One took his wooden shoes away, Another took his hat, And someone said, "It serves him right," Now only think of that!

When little Chinkey ran away, His tail flew in the wind; But when our Chinkey turned again His tail hung down behind.

He wandered past the painted shops, Where they put up the tea, And I am sure the boys at school Were happier than he.

Poor Chinkey Chow was very tired, And very sore his feet, When his mother saw him from The corner of a street.

She said he was a wicked boy, And ought to have a smack! And yet I think she loved him more Because she'd got him back.

Now when I see a Chinaman, And that is every day, I wonder if he is, grown up, The boy that ran away.

But what I still think most about When I this story tell, Is the GREAT BIG Market Gardener That raised him from the well

_From Calvert's Australian Toy Books_

[Page 38--Boy Land]

That Nice Boy

"Nice child--very nice child," observed an old gentleman, crossing to the other side of the car and addressing the mother of the boy who had just hit him in the eye with a wad of paper. "How old are you, my son?"

"None of your business," replied the youngster, taking aim at another passenger.

"Fine boy," smiled the old man, as the parent regarded her offspring with pride. "A remarkably fine boy. What is your name, my son?"

"Puddin' Tame!" shouted the youngster, with a giggle at his own wit.

"I thought so," continued the old man, pleasantly. "If you had given me three guesses at it, that would have been the first one I would have struck on. Now, Puddin', you can blow those things pretty straight, can't you?"

"You bet!" squealed the boy, delighted at the compliment. "See me take that old fellow over there!"

"No, no!" exclaimed the old gentleman, hastily. "Try it on the old woman I was sitting with. She has boys of her own, and she won't mind."

"Can't you hit the lady for the gentleman, Johnny?" asked the fond parent.

Johnny cleverly landed the pellet on the end of the old woman's nose.

But she did mind it, and rising in her wrath soared down on the small boy like a hawk. She put him over the line, reversed him, ran him backwards, till he didn't know which end of him was front, and finally dropped him into the lap of the scared mother, with a benediction whereof the purport was that she'd be back in a moment to skin him alive.

"She didn't seem to like it, Puddin'," smiled the old gentleman, softly. "She's a perfect stranger to me; but I understand she is the matron of an Orphans' Home, and I thought she would like a little fun; but I was mistaken."

And the old man smiled sweetly as he went back to his seat. He was sorry for the poor little boy, but he couldn't help it.

A Wicked Boy

Of all the small boys in our town That Jones boy was the worst, And if the "bad man" came around He'd take that Jones boy first.

One day he slipped away from home And went out for a skate Down on a deep and dangerous pond Beyond the garden gate.

His mother missed him after a while, And thought he'd gone to skate; And running to the fatal pond, She found she was too late.

For there, upon the cruel ice, Beyond an air-hole wide, She saw his pretty little hat, And a mitten by it's side.

He was her boy, and all the love That fills a mother's heart Came forth in tears and sobs and moans Beyond the strength of art.

She called the neighbours quick to come, They scraped along the ground; Beneath the water and the ice-- The boy could no be found.

At last their search was given up Until a thaw should come; The mother's sobs began afresh, Her sorrow was not dumb.

They turned to leave the fatal pool, A voice came clear and free-- "Hallo! If you want Frankie Jones, You'll find him up this tree."

And so it was--the mother's tears Were changed to smiles of joy; But gracious heaven, how she spanked Her darling, fair-haired boy!

L'Envoi

Cooley's Boy

The boy not only preys on my melon-patch and fruit trees, and upon those of my neighbours, but he has an extraordinary aptitude for creating a disturbance in whatever spot he happens to be. Only last Sunday he caused such a terrible commotion in church that the services had to be suspended for several minutes until he could be removed. The interior of the edifice was painted and varnished recently, and I suppose one of the workers must have left a clot of varnish upon the back of Cooley's pew, which is directly across the aisle from mine. Cooley's boy was the only representative of the family at church upon that day, and he amused himself during the earlier portions of the service by kneeling upon the seat and communing with Dr. Jones' boy, who occupied the pew immediately in the rear. Sometimes, when young Cooley would resume a proper position, Jones's boy would stir him up afresh by slyly pulling his hair, whereupon Cooley would wheel about and menace Jones with his fist in a manner which betrayed utter indifference to the proprieties of the place and the occasion, as well as the presence of the congregation. When Cooley finally sank into a condition of repose, he placed his head, most unfortunately, directly against the lump of undried varnish, while he amused himself by reading the commandments and the other scriptural texts upon the wall behind the pulpit.

In a few moments he attempted to move, but the varnish had mingled with his hair, and it held him securely. After making one or two desperate but ineffectual efforts to release himself, he became very angry; and supposing that Jones's boy was holding him, he shouted:

"Leg go o' my hair! Leg go o' my hair, I tell you!"

The clergyman paused just as he was entering upon consideration of "secondly," and the congregation looked around in amazement, in time to perceive young Cooley, with his head against the back of the pew, aiming dreadful blows over his shoulder with his fist at some unseen person behind him. And with every thrust he exclaimed:

"I'll smash yer nose after church! I'll go for you, Bill Jones, when I ketch you alone! Leg go o' my hair, I tell you, or I'll knock the stuffin' out o' yer," etc, etc.

Meanwhile, Jones's boy sat up at the very end of his pew, far away from Cooley, and looked as solemn as if the sermon had made a deep impression upon him.

Max Adeler

[Illustration: Three White Boys Dressed in Sunday Best.]

[Illustration: Three Black Boys Dressed in Sunday Best.]

[Page 39--Boy Land]

Jack The Glutton

"Do look at those pigs, as they lay in the straw," Little Richard said to his papa; "They keep eating longer than ever I saw, What nasty fat gluttons they are!"

"I see they are feasting" his father replied, "They eat a great deal I allow; But let us remember, before we deride, 'Tis the nature, my dear, of a sow.

"But when a great boy, such as you, my dear Dick, Does nothing but eat all day And keeps sucking things till he makes himself sick, What a glutton! indeed, we may say.

"When plumcake and sugar forever he picks, And sweetmeats, and comfits, and figs; Pray let him get rid of his own nasty tricks, And then he may laugh at the pigs."

Tom the Dainty Boy

Never be dainty and throw food away; 'Tis sinful, as you must have heard many say; Besides, you yourself may require food some day, Though well fed.

So don't smell your plate and turn over your food, And doubt if it's wholesome, or pleasant, or good; Such conduct is not only senseless,--but rude And ill-bred.

There was a young boy, who so dainty became, That whether his dinner was fish, flesh or game, He turned up his nose at them all, just the same, And would cry,

"I cannot eat this,"--and, "I do not like that;"-- "This chicken's too lean,"--and "That mutton's too fat; The dog he may eat it up all, or the cat, But not I.

The consequence was that he soon became thin; His bones they stuck out, and his cheeks they sunk in, And his hands were not stronger nor thicker than tin, If so strong.

And his legs grew as slender as little hat-pegs, And almost as small was his waist as his legs; And he looked like the laths that are fastened round kegs, Thin and long.

And thinner, and thinner, and thinner he grew, A shadow had been rather fat, of the two; In fact, you might easily look him right through, If you tried.

And when he was quite the skeleton grown, As weak as a reed, and as cold as a stone He fell all to pieces, and with a faint groan, So he died.

Boy that robbed the Bird's nest

"To-whit! To-whit! To-whee! Will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made?"

"Not I," said the cow. "Oh, no; Such a thing I'd never do; I gave you a wisp of hay, But didn't take your nest away."

"Coo, coo! said the dove, I'll speak a word my love; Who stole that pretty nest From a little red-breast?"

"Not I," said the sheep. "Oh, no. I wouldn't treat a poor bird so; I gave wool the nest to line, But the nest was none of mine."

[Illustration: Boy Carried Away By Crows.]

"Caw! Caw!" cried the crow, "I should like to know What thief took away A bird's nest to-day."

"Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen, Don't ask me again! Why I hav'nt a chick Would do such a trick.

We all gave her a feather, And she wove them together; I'd scorn to intrude On her and her brood."

"Chirr-a-whirr! Chirr-a-whirr! We will make a great stir; Let us find out his name, And all cry for shame!"

"I would not rob a bird," Said little Mary Green; "I think I never heard Of anything so mean."

"'Tis very cruel too," Said little Alice Neil: "I wonder if he knew How sad the bird would feel?"

A little boy hung down his head, And hid his face, so crimson red; For he stole that pretty nest From little robin redbreast; And he felt so full of shame, I do not like to tell his name.

But during next week Dressed in his Sunday best This boy set out to seek All for another nest.

He robbed a nest up high, Suspended in a tree; Two birds came through the sky, What happened you can see.

Cruel Boy

What! go to see the kittens drowned On purpose in the yard! I did not think there could be found A little heart so hard.

Poor kittens! No more pretty play With pussy's wagging tail: Why! I'd go far enough away Before I'd see the pail.

Poor things! the little child that can Be pleased to go and see, Most likely, when he grows a man, A cruel man will be.

And many a wicked thing he'll do Because his heart is hard: A great deal worse than killing you, Poor kittens in the yard.

Tyrannical Pat

What became of tyrannical Pat, Who pelted the dog, and beat the cat, Why, puss scratched his face and tore his hat; And Dash knocked him over as flat as a mat. Mind that!

The little boy who bit his Nails

See here a naughty boy, John Thales, Who had a shocking way Of picking at his finger nails, And biting them all day. And though he had, like other boys, Both soldiers, kites and drums, He liked, much better than these toys, His fingers and his thumbs.

Boy who tore his Hat

Above on a chair, a little boy sat, For he had torn his nice new hat; And so was punished for doing that.

Thief Charley

Charley, Charley, stole the barley Out of the baker's shop; The baker came out, and gave him a clout, And made that Charley hop.

[Page 40--Whipping Machine]

[Illustration: Snooks' Patent Whipping Machine.]

Snook's Patent Whipping Machine for Flogging Naughty Boys in School "The Snooks' Whipping Machine has proved a total failure." --"Times."

Declaration of a Distracted Schoolmaster.

A year ago I took charge of a school of 1000 boys. They were a very bad lot indeed, and I could do nothing with them. Being of a mild disposition, I attempted to reason with them; but I might as well have reasoned with the pigs. I then thought of punishing them, but that was a big task, and, besides, what mode of punishment should I adopt? In my utmost perplexity I wrote to Professor Wilderspin--a great authority on the management of boys--and he wrote as follows:

"Nearly all boys can be managed by an intelligent schoolmaster without punishment, but in a few cases it seems impossible to do without it. In every large school in England, Ireland, and Scotland some corporal punishment is used, and some must continue to be used as long as very vicious children continue to exist, or as long as parents spoil their children by over indulgence or by wilful criminal neglect before they send them to school. --Yours truly, Professor Wilderspin."

I then wrote to twenty-seven of the principal headmasters in the world, and the following are the replies:--