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[Simply and distinctly.]

A little boy was dreaming,
Upon his mother's lap,

That the pins fell out of all the stars,
And the stars fell in his cap!

So, when his dream was over,

What should this little boy do?

Why, he went and looked inside his cap,
And found it wasn't true!



[Imitating as much as possible the lisp of a little boy.]

Do you know what's in my pottet?

Such a lot of treasures in it;

Listen now while I bedin it;
Such a lot of sins it hold,

And all there is you shall be told;

Every sin dat's in my pottet,

And when, and where, and how I dot it.

First of all, here's in my pottet
A beauty shell-I picked it up;
And here's the handle of a tup
That somebody has broke at tea;
The shell's a hole in it, you see;
Nobody knows that I has dot it-
I keep it safe here in my pottet.

And here's my ball, too, in my pottet,
And here's my pennies-one, two, free-
That Aunty Josie gave to me.

To-morrow day I'll buy a spade,
When I'm out walking with the maid;
I can't put dat here in my pottet,
But I can use it when I've dot it.

Here's some more sins in my pottet;
Here's my top, and here's my string,
And once I had an iron ring,
But thro' a hole it lost one day;
And this is what I always say-
A hole's the worst sin in a pottet,
Have it mended when you've dot it!



[Naturally and earnestly.]

A curly, bright head, and perched upon it
Little rag-tag of a brown sun bonnet;
A pair of old shoes, forever untied,

Whose soles have holes, whose toes grin wide.
Come sun or come shade, come shine or come rain,

To little Rag-tag 'tis ever the same;

With an air of the most supreme content
She paddles and plays till the day is spent.

Why people complain she never can see,
When God is as good as ever can be.
She talks to herself, and laughs and sings
About the world and its beautiful things.
But tho' He is good to all of the rest,
She is very sure that he loves her best.
Oh, how much better this world would wag
If we all had hearts like little Rag-tag!



[To be spoken in a lively, off-hand way.]

I have got a new-born sister,
I was nigh the first that kissed her
When the nursing woman brought her
To papa, his infant daughter.

How papa's dear eyes did glisten!
She will shortly be to christen;
And papa has made an offer

I shall have the naming of her.

Now, I wonder what would please her?
Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa?

Ann and Mary, they're too common;
Joan's too formal for a woman:
Jane's a prettier name, beside.
But we had a Jane that died !
They would say, if 'twas Rebecca,
That she was a little Quaker.
Edith's pretty; but that looks
Better in old English books.
Ellen's left off long ago;
Blanche is out of fashion now.
None that I have named as yet
Are as good as Margaret.
Emily is neat and fine;
What do you think of Caroline?
Now, I'm puzzled and perplexed
What to choose or think of next!
I am in a little fever

Lest the name that I should give her
Should disgrace her or defame her.
I will leave papa to name her.



[Imitate as much as you can, by voice and gesture, the descriptions here


Jack Frost is a roguish little fellow;

When the wintry winds begin to bellow
He flies like a bird thro' the air,
And steals thro' the cracks everywhere.
He nips little children on the nose;

He pinches little children on the toes;
He pulls little children by the ears,
And draws from their eyes the big round tears.
He makes little girls cry, "Oh! oh! oh!"
He makes little boys say, "Boo-hoo-hoo!"
But when we kindle up a good warm fire
Then Jack Frost is compelled to retire;
So, up the chimney skips the roguish little boy,
And all the little children jump for joy!



[To be delivered in a tender, sympathetic manner.]

Down in the meadow, close by the lane,
Twining her hand in a daisy chain,
Sweet little Jessie kissed mother's face,
Earnestly asking, with childish grace:

"Mamma, are there daisies in heaven?"

Fondly but sadly the mother smiled,
Tenderly clasped to her heart her child,
Thinking of two of her darlings dead-
Flowers in the garden above-and said:

"Yes, love, there are daisies in heaven!"

Spring bloomed again and the daisies smiled
Over the grave of the gentle child;
Over the daisies the mother wept-
Under the daisies sweet Jessie slept,
To wake as a daisy in heaven.



[Recite very archly.]

I recollect a nurse called Ann,
Who carried me about the grass,
And one fine day a fine young man

Came up and kissed the pretty lass-
She did not make the least objection!

Thinks I, "Ah!

When I can talk I'll tell mamma,"
And that's my earliest recollection.



[Give in an animated style and tone of voice.]

Our old cat has kittens three

What do you think their names should be?

One is a tabby, with emerald eyes,

And a tail that's long and slender,
And into a temper she quickly flies
If you ever by chance offend her.

I think we shall call her this-
I think we shall call her that.

Now, don't you think "Pepperpot "
A nice name for a cat?

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