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[Speak this seriously.]

BABIES aint big enuf to lick, or you wude see me a pitchin into em, I can tell you, for I don't like em, but wen you luke at one and see em so little, you say, now if I was to take of my cote and give you a good thrashin you cudent help yourself, so may be you cant help being a nuisance, too. That's wot I say wen our baby puts its gummy hands onto my face wen Ime made to set and mind him, but you jest wait til he gets as big as me, so it wude be a fair fite, and then see wot Ile do, that's all! I spose I like that little

feller like Ime tole to, but wot does he put his gummy hands for in my face won I kiss him?

I no were there is a baby, wich is a lot older than ourn, but not morn half so big, and it cant wok, and it cant tok, but sech dresses as that baby wears wude make yure head swim. It is in a shop windo, and it is made of whax.

I spose babies is different from fokes cos they don't no no better, but if I was them you wudent cetch me puttin everything in this world into my mouth, I can tel you, like ourn does. Mary, thats the house maid, she was only a chile wen she was to home, and she use to have dols, but she never see a meat baby real close til she came to our house, and that girl was jes a stonish ol the time to see wot baby wude do, and it was morn munth fore she wud touch it. One day Mary she come a bustin in the dinin room wen it was dinner, wite like a sheet and hardly any breth, and she said, O, if you please, mum, baby has went and et the nursry dore every bit up, ol but jest the nob, but wen my mother she went to see wot was the matter it was only father had tuke of the dore to mend it, and baby was a suckin a round paper wate. Sech a girl!



[Slowly and with humor.]

Sniff, sniff, sniff!

Little May is in a tiff.

Snuff, snuff, snuff!

Don't you think she's cried enough?

Pout, pout, pout!

How her pretty lips stick out!

Drop, drop, drop!

Will the quick tears never stop?

Shade, shade, shade!

I am very much afraid

That she has forgotten quite

To be sunny, sweet and bright!

Creep, creep, creep1

A little smile begins to peep.
Oh, oh, oh!

Now she is ashamed, I know.
Fie, fie, fie!

Do not look so very shy.

Peek, peek, peek!

There's a dimple in her cheek.
Run, run, run,

Naughty clouds, before the sun!
Tears and trouble go away
From all little girls to day!


W. O. C.

[Exercise for a small boy and two young ladies. Young ladies take their places, and reply from the audience.]

Boy. Can anybody guess my conundrum?. I'll tell you pretty quick what it is. (Holds up a large potato.) Why is a little boy like a potato?

First Young Lady (rising.) Because he needs sprouting to keep him good.

Boy. I don't need sprouting to keep me good. I always mind my mother, and say "please," and she always can't say "no." Guess more.

Second Young Lady (rising.) Why is a little boy like a potato? Because you must wash the dirt off before you can see his skin.

Boy. That isn't any such thing. My face is washed, and washed, and washed; and there never's a bit of dirt on it. You can see how clean my hands are. (Holds up hands, which are black with dirt.) Guess more.

First Young Lady. I don't think we can guess. You will have to tell.

Boy. Why is a little boy like a potato? Because he has eyes. (Makes bow and retires.)




[Deliver in a lively manner.]

Don't forget to say "Good Morning!" Say it to your parents, your brothers and sisters, your schoolmates, your teachers; and say it cheerfully and with a smile. It will do you good and do your friends good. There's a kind of inspiration in every "Good Morning," heartily and smilingly spoken, that helps to make hope fresher and work lighter. It seems-really seems to make the morning good, and to be a prophecy of a good day to come after it!

And if this be true of the "Good Morning," it is true, also, of all kind, heartsome greetings. They cheer the discouraged; rest the tired one; and, somehow, make the wheels of life run smoothly. Never forget to say "Good Morning !"



[To be given in a descriptive manner.]

The dust is flying here and there
In funny little whirls;

The leaves are turning upside down-
The breeze among them swirls.
The cows are lowing in the lane,
And window shutters creak;
Rumble, rumble, rumble,

The clouds begin to speak.
A shiver runs along the brook,

And leaden grows the sky;
The sunshine falls a mile away,
Then shuts up like an eye.
You couldn't find a bird or bee
In upland, vale or plain.
Patter, patter, patter,

The bulging drops of rain.


The chickens hide beneath the shed

And wear their ruffled capes;
The very weather this for ducks

To show their waddling shapes.
From yonder farm a rooster gives

A dull, despairing crow;
It's raining, raining, raining
Over there, we know.

The grass has grown a deeper green,
The sky a darker blue;

And, O, we little know the good

A summer shower can do!

The birds are singing loud and clear-
And this is what they say:

"Come out, come out, come out again!
The clouds are gone away!"



[Render in a natural, conversational style.]

"How sad is my fate !" one day said the mayflower. "What benefit do I receive from these beautiful green leaves and my little silver bells, that sound and ring in the mild May air? My leaves will soon fall withered to the ground, the echo of my bells will cease, and I be gone, faded, lost, forgotten. But you, proud tree, can live centuries, and can wave your head in the mild spring air, as well as elevate it in a storm; years come and go, but you remain the same, firm and strong. Oh, that I too were a tree, how glad and happy should I be "

66 Go, foolish little flower," said the tree; "be content with thy destiny, as I also must try to be. Believe me, I have often envied the flowers, when gay and happy children have twined them into wreaths for their parents; or when I have seen you taken for decorating churches, and felt that you were indispensable at every festi

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