knee
Like a very eel.

That has with sleep a battle,
Before he's done with play,
A wee, wee, dumpy, toddling lad
That runs the livelong day.

[Illustration]

COME WHEN YOU ARE CALLED.

Where's Susan, and Kitty, and Jane?
Where's Billy, and Sammy, and Jack?
O, there they are down in the lane;
Go, Betty, and bring them all back.

But Billy is rude and won't come,
And Sammy is running too fast;
Come, dear little children come home,
And Billy is coming at last.

I'm glad he remembers what's right,
For though he likes sliding on ice,
He should not be long out of sight,
And never want sending for twice.

[Illustration]

DOG POMPEY.

Come hither little Dog to play,
And do not go so far away,
But stand and beg for food;
And if your tail I chance to touch,
You must not snarl so very much,
Pray Pompey don't be rude.

The Dog can eat and drink and sleep,
And help to bring the Cows and Sheep,
O, hear how Pompey barks:
Hark! hark! he says, "Bow Wow! bow wow!"
Then run away good Pompey now,
You'll tire us with your noise.

[Illustration]

MISS PEGGY.

As Peggy was crying aloud for a cake,
Which her mother had said she was going to make,
A gentleman knock'd at the door!
He enter'd the parlor and show'd much surprise,
That it really was Peggy who made all the noise,
For he never had heard her before.

Miss Peggy asham'd, and to hide her disgrace,
Took hold of her frock, and quite cover'd her face,
For she knew she was naughty just then
And, instantly wiping the tears from her eyes,
She promis'd her mother to make no more noise,
And kiss'd her again and again.

[Illustration]

THE BIRD.

Look, what a pretty Bird I've got!
In yonder island field 'twas caught;
Just see its breast and painted wings,
And listen, John, how sweet it sings.

Do let me keep it, I'll engage
To mind it safely in this cage;
And not a moment will I ask
To idle from my school or task.

I'll feed you well, my pretty Bird,
With worms and crumbs of bread and seed,
And no ill-natured cat is here
To fill your little breast with fear.

Said kind Mama, O do not so,
But haste, Maria, let it go
And then among the feathered throng,
'Twill treat you with its pretty song.

THE SETTING SUN.

Papa, the Sun is setting now
I see him in the west,
And all this weary world below
May now retire to rest:

Whilst in those countries far beyond,
The day begins