Muzzle that Fitted too much.
Pity the sorrows of a Poor Little Dog.
How Pussy Caught her First Bird.
Wideawake Willy.
His real name was Willy. But because he was always on the look-out for any fun or mischief, Father and Mother called him “Wideawake” as well.
One sunny day he and his little friends went out to play cricket.
“I'm going to make a hundred runs!” cried Willy, as he took up the bat. But when he had made ten, Freddy bowled him out, and the other boys were glad it was their turn to go in.
In the winter, father made a big slide, and Willy and the boys went down it as fast as they could go. When he fell half way down, Willy thought it great fun, and called to his snowman as he glided past, “Look at me old fellow! Don't you wish you could slide?”
On his birthday he had a party. It was a merry time. They played “Blind Man's Buff,” and “Puss in the Corner,” and Willy always managed to catch the little girls by their long curls.
It was spring when Wideawake Willy went exploring. He shot his Teddy Bear, and tied it up in a scarlet handkerchief, for he knew explorers ate bears. Then he stuck a long feather in his hat, and strode gaily down the road. Presently he came to a big house. The door was open, and a lady asked him to go in. She showed him all sorts of wonderful things. What he liked best was Chin Chan, the Chinese boy, whose long pig-tail touched the floor. The lady told Willy that in China he lived in a boat, and helped his mother look after the chickens.
After seeing other Chinese people, he went home and told his mother what strange things he had seen.
The Little Old Woman.
There was an old Woman,
And what do you think?
She lived upon nothing but
Victuals and drink;
And though victuals and drink
Were the chief of her diet,
This little Old Woman could never be quiet.
This little Old Woman (the story so goes)
Had nothing to wear but
Abundance of clothes.
And, oh, let me weep
At the dismal news,
She would have been barefooted, but for her shoes.
This Little Old Woman,
Twas always the case,
Never looked in the glass
But she saw her own face;
And what was still worse,
Yet, we vouch for its truth,
By growing so old, she had lost all her youth.
This Little Old Woman,
The tale too declares,
Had nothing to sit on
But sofas and chairs.
No place to repose in
At night but her bed;
No pillows, but those made of down, for her head.
This Little Old Woman,
We here may remark,
Had no house to live in,
But one in the park,
And none to wait on her,
Poor soul, but her maids,
With some livery servants of different grades.
This Little Old Woman,
I'm sorry to tell,
Had always bad health,
When she was not quite well.
And hard was her lot,
For they tell me that she
Was ever in want
When she wanted her tea.
This Little Old Woman,
On dying, we find,
Left nothing—except
