Children of Our Town — Reading Companion

Produced by Jason Isbell, Christine D. and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

BY E. MARS AND M. H. SQUIRE

WITH VERSES BY CAROLYN WELLS

PICTURED BY E. MARS AND M. H. SQUIRE

WITH VERSES BY CAROLYN WELLS

PUBLISHED BY R. H. RUSSELL NEW YORK

Copyright, 1902, by ROBERT HOWARD RUSSELL

A blustering windy day's just right For boys who want to fly a kite; And it affords the greatest joy To make and use the pretty toy.

But Aged Duffers, do not try A large-sized paper kite to fly; You could not manage tail or string, And ten to one you'd spoil the thing.

A morning full of happiness any boy may find By sailing boats upon the lake, if he is so inclined; The wind it drives them out to sea, he pulls them back, and then They jerk and struggle to be free--away they go again! They wibble-wobble as they sail, and sometimes they upset,-- Of course he reaches out for them,--of course he gets quite wet.

But Aged Grandsires, if you must sail boats in Central Park, Play properly, don't splash yourself, and run back home ere dark.

See proud Belinda smartly dressed In all her flaunting Sunday best; With muslin hat and ruffles big She cannot comfortably dig.

Ask her if she would like to play,-- She will not answer either way; She'll only shake herself, and then, Just pout and grin and pout again.

Dear Grandams, meekly learn from this, How very ill-advised it is To don a costume fine and grand When you go playing in the sand.

Instead of your bespangled net, Or moire velvet edged with jet, Just wear a gingham, simply made, So you can tuck it up and wade.

In Central Park, along the Mall, We see the gay goat-carriage crawl; With little boys and girls inside, Enjoying their exciting ride.

Right willingly each nimble steed Exerts his very utmost speed; And o'er the smooth hard road they race At something like a turtle's pace.

But stout old men and portly dames, Pray, do not urge your rightful claims; And even though you have the price, Listen, I beg, to my advice.

Do not insist on getting in The little carriage for a spin; You'd not look picturesque at all Careering up and down the Mall.

'Tis taught by philosophic schools The human race is mostly fools. And once a year you see this truth Ably set forth by jocund youth, Who broach the tenets of the creed Plainly that he who runs may read.

But Aged Idiots, 'tis not meet For you to run along the street, And with a manner bold and sly Pin tags on ladies passing by, Or sit upon the curb and look For fools to snatch your pocket-book.

Lucinda's tastes are so depraved; She likes to play and romp With children poor and ill-behaved, Who boast no style or pomp.

Their costumes are not quite correct, They have no pretty tricks; Lucinda! pray be more select, In higher circles mix.

Ah, sweet Lucinda, best of girls, How quick to take advice. Behold her with unpapered curls, And frock so rich and nice!

Her haughty stare! Who would suppose That dress would change her so Oh, blessed influence of fine clothes, How much to thee we owe!

Dear lady-readers of whatever age, Look backward and with me enjoy this page. What happy moments have we often spent Thus to our frenzied anger giving vent. Ah, me, the long-lost joys of being young! To make up faces, and stick out one's tongue; How those occasions of Xantippish strife Gave zip and zest to our dull childish life.

Ah, truly, as the tree is bent the tiny twig's inclined, And in the very littlest girls we see The contradictious tendencies of woman's wayward mind Developed to a marvellous degree. For each small daughter of her mother Will say one thing and do the other.

For instance, when some little girls just hate to go to school And beg that they may stay at home and play; And then, permission given, these same children, as a rule, Delight in _playing school_ the livelong day! Ah, no wonder poets feature Woman as a captious creature.

Baby and Sis and me Stand by the fence and see Picnickers munch Lots o' good lunch, Jes' givin' nothin' to we.

Baby and Sis and me, Hungry as we can be, Haven't no right To be 'spectin' a bite,-- But we're glad lookin' is free.

The Bison, though he seems so grim, Is very sensitive; And when the children stare at him, He wants to cease to live.