And the trap its teeth shut up, on chicky-biddy's shin.
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, chicky-bid is brought,
And her leg, so sore and big, we bathe with water hot.
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, here's a broken bone,
All so rough,--but close enough we bring the ends, right soon.
{139}
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, strips of paste-board cut,
We will place with care and grace, from thigh to trembling foot
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, softest cotton, too,
Just within the paste-board thin, to fit around so true.
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, now with tape or band,
Neatly wind, and closely bind, with deft and skillful hand.
Limpy-dimpy-dingle, nature'll do the rest,
And soon will knit the bone to fit, as good as very best.
{140}
_CASTLE WONDERFUL_.
I know a castle, curious,
Of lovely form and make;
That we may view the castle through,
A hasty peep we'll take.
{141}
The framework of my castle proud,
Is neither wood nor stone,
But earthy matter mixed with lime
And hardened into bone.
This frame, of oddments is composed,--
In mind, the number fix,--
Of long and short and thick and thin,
Two hundred just, and six.
And these are fastened each to each,
By hinges, like, or joints,
Which, with an oil so soft and pure,
The Builder wise, anoints.
For garnishing this goodly frame,
Quaint cushions, large and small,
Are fitly fashioned, each in place,
And pliant, one and all.
For cushion covers, deftly wrought,
A scarf so beautiful,
So pinkish-white, so loose yet tight,
So warm and yet so cool;
Upon the smoothly rounded roof
Is strewn the finest floss,
A filmy veil, as soft as silk,--
Or is it fairy moss?
{142}
Two windows hath this castle fair,
That shut and open wide,
With cords and pulleys, curtains fringed,
And fixtures fine beside.
These wondrous windows even smile
And speak and fairly dance,
And play at anger, hate, and love,
And mischief, too, perchance.
These windows, too, are marvelous
In that they let the light
Both in and out for him who dwells
Within, the lordly knight.
Two telephones of wondrous make,--
A door, with guards and bell,--
A ventilator, double-bored,
Aye does its duty well.
{143}
And ah! within, this castle grand,
Is fitted to a T,
With everything that's needful there
For serving you or me.
And strange to tell, this castle builds
Itself, if but supplies
Be placed within the open door,
With watchful care and wise.
{144}
It clears itself too of the dust
And ashes strewed within,
If but the alley-ways are free,
And outlets all a-kin.
And stranger still, this castle comes
And goes where'er the will
Of him who holds the rule within
Shall bid, his hest to fill.
And wondrous more than all beside,
This house the temple is,
Of Him the great designer, God,--
And "all the earth is his."
{145}
Now list, and of this castle grand
A further tale we'll tell,
In language plain, so plain that all
May read and heed it well.
The food we eat makes all our blood,
And makes us children grow;
And if we eat improper food
It harms from top to toe.
We all have teeth quite sharp and strong,
With which to chew our food,
And in the mouth are glands and glands--
Yes, quite a numerous brood.
These glands pour out saliva, free,
To moisten what we eat
And then a trap-door at the throat
Performs a wondrous feat
In guiding all the food along
Into the Esophagus,
And thence to stomach through a pass
Called Cardiac Orifice.
And here 'tis mixed with Gastric Juice,
And into chyme is churned
Then through the gateway, Pylorus,
As wiser ones have learned.
{146}
'Tis in the Duodenum now,
Where it is mixed with Bile,
And with the Pancreatic juice,
Which changes it to Chyle.
This Chyle flows on, and all that's fit
For nourishment and growth,
Is taken up by Lacteals,
Or "tubes with many a mouth."
These lead to the Thoracic Duct,
Which holds a spoonful large,
And from this Duct a pipe proceeds
Through which it may discharge.
Into the great Sub-clavian vein,
Which to the Heart doth lead,
Whence it is sent into the Lungs,
And into good blood made.
Then back into the Heart it flows,
The muscles there contract,
And pump it into Arteries,
Which wind to every part.
We'd like to tell about the Bones,
The Ribs and Vertebras,
The Clavicle, or Collar-bone,
Breast-bone, and Scapulae;
{147}
Of hinge, and ball-and-socket joints;
Of muscles, tendons, skin,
Of lungs and veins and arteries,
Of nerves and heart and brain.
But, Ah! we should your patience tire,
Were we the whole to tell,
So, waiting till another time,
We bid you now, farewell.
{148}
_THE RATTLE OF THE BONES_.
How many bones in the human face?
FOURTEEN, when they're all in place.
How many bones in the human head?
EIGHT, my child, as I've often said.
How many bones in the human ear?
THREE in each; and they help to hear.
[Footnote: Standard authorities give three, though latest works say four.]
How many bones in the human spine?
TWENTY-SIX; like a climbing vine.
How many bones of the human chest?
TWENTY-FOUR ribs and TWO of the rest.
How many bones the shoulders, bind?
Two in _each_; one before, one behind.
How many bones in the human arm?
In _each_ arm, ONE; TWO in _each_ fore-arm.
{149}
{150}
How many bones in the human wrist?
EIGHT in _each_, if none are missed.
How many bones in the palm of the hand?
FIVE in _each_, with many a band.
{151}
How many bones in the fingers ten?
TWENTY-EIGHT, and by joints they bend.
How many bones in the human hip?
ONE in _each_; like a dish they dip.
How many bones in the human thigh?
ONE in _each_, and deep they lie.
How many bones in the human knees?
ONE in _each_, the knee-pan, please.
How many bones in the leg from knee?
Two in _each_, we can plainly see.
How many bones in the ankle strong?
SEVEN in _each_, but none are long.
{152}
How many bones in the ball of the foot?
FIVE in _each_; as in palms were put.
How many bones in the toes half-a-score?
TWENTY-EIGHT, and there are no more.
And now, all together, these many bones, fix,
And they count in the body TWO HUNDRED and Six.
And then we have, in the human mouth,
Of upper and under, THIRTY-TWO TEETH.
And we now and then have a bone, I should think
That forms on a joint, or to fill up a chink.
A Sesamoid bone, or a Wormian, we call,
And now we may rest, for we've told them all.
{153}
_WHOLLY HOLE-Y_.
SEVEN million little openings,
God has made upon your skin;
Mouths of tiny little sewers
That run everywhere, within.
And along these numerous sewers
All impurities must go,
That are not by other outlets,
Carried off with active flow.
{154}
When these many little openings.
We call PORES, get shut quite close,
Through your frame the poison wanders,
Making you feel dull and cross.
It will make your lungs grow tender,
And they'll soon be sore, and cough;
It will make your stomach feeble,
And your head ache hard enough.
Then your heart can not be joyous,
And your other organs, too,
Will get weak, and be unable
For the work they ought to do;
Quaking nerves will groan and quiver,
Weary bones be racked with pain,
And you'll all the time be saying:
"How can I be well again?"
HEAT and BATHING widely open
All the pores, when discords dire,
Quick flow out in perspiration,
Quenching all the fever-fire.
Raveling out the tangled tissues,
Setting free the life-blood's flow,
Pouring forth the pent-up poisons,
Wakening thus a healthful glow.
{155}
{156}
_THE BREATH O' LIFE_.
Our lungs are formed of curious cells,
And tubes to draw in air,--
And if we breathe quite deep and full
And take our needful share,
'Twill keep our blood so red and pure,
Our health so firm and true,
We scarce shall know what suffering means,
But joyous feel, and new.
But if we wear our clothing tight,
The little cells will close,
And then they cannot do their work,
And thus our health we lose;
Or if we breathe the air impure,
'T will give us tainted blood,
While plenty, pure, sun-ripened air
Will make us glad and good.
{157}
_THE GIRLS._
Three little girls with their sun-bonnets on,
Wandered out for a walk in the dew;
And they tip-toed about, full of frolic and fun,
While their aprons around them they drew.
But their little wet feet brought fever and cough,
And their little red lips grew so thin;
And their little round faces were haggard enough,
O, I'm sure they'll not do it again!
Not do it, I mean, without boots that shall guard
Their ankles and feet from the wet;
For the care of the health brings a joyous reward,
The neglect, brings us pain and regret.
{158}
_THE TEMPERANCE CHILD._
Mamma, if you'd have me
Be a temperance child,
You must give me only
Food that's pure and mild.
Highly-seasoned dishes
Make the stomach crave
Stronger things; and often
Lead to drunkard's grave.
{159}
_LISTEN, CHILDREN!_
Listen, children! when your head aches,
Do not eat, but wait a meal;
This will oftentimes relieve you,
Making you right joyous feel.
Listen, children! when your stomach
Rolls and tumbles, wait awhile;
Do not eat, but drink warm water,
And you'll soon be glad and smile.
Listen, children! in hot water
Put your feet when you've "a cold;"
Into bed now, wrapped in blankets,
And you'll soon be well, we're told.
Listen, children! perspiration
Is a saving from much sin:
Wash and rub, and dry well after;
Thus we quell disease within.
Listen, children! when you're hungry
Do not stuff you like a pig,
But eat slowly and chew thorough,
Lest your teeth your grave shall dig.
{160}
_TICK-TOOK, TICK-TOCK_.
Tick-tock, tick-tock,
Sings the pretty cuckoo clock;
Tick-tack, tick-tack,
Time flies on, but ne'er comes back.
Tick-tock, tick-tock,
Sings the dainty crystal clock;
Tick-tack, Tick-tack,
Work and wait, and never lack.
Tick-tock, Tick-tock,
Sings the old grandfather's clock,
Tick-tack, tick-tack,
Take and keep, the better track.
{161}
_CURIOUS TREES._
THE COW-TREE.
South America's soil
Yields the towering Cow-tree,
With sweet milk in its cells
For you or for me;
Its sap is the Milk,--
Cut the tree and it flows;
Like leather its leaves,
And its branches like bows.
{162}
THE SUGAR-PINE.
Then, too, my dear children,
The sweet Sugar-pine,
On Pacific's wild coast,
In our own soil we find;
Cut or scoop out the trunk,
And the juices ooze forth,
And harden, for sugar,
Like icicles, North.
* * * * *
THE BUTTER-TREE.
And, funny enough,
There's a Butter-tree, too;
Its seeds, when boiled down,
Will make butter for you.
In India and Africa
The Butter-tree grows,
With coffee and spices,
As every one knows.
{163}
THE BREAD-FRUIT TREE,
And listen, dear children,
In hot countries too,
The Bread-fruit tree grows,
Most delicious for you;
Its great roasted nuts,
Like soft, sweet loaves of bread,
Form most of the food
On which natives are fed.
{164}
And further, its fibres
Of bark, will make cloth;
Its wood, boats and houses;--
Its leaves are not loath
To be used for a towel,
A table-cloth, napkin;
Its juice will make bird-lime,
And tinder, its catkin.
THE CLOVE-TREE.
And, children, one more,
Here's a spicy Clove-tree,
Growing forty feet high,
Ornamental, you see;
The little round drop,
Fixed the four prongs between,
Forms the blossom or flower,
When it's not picked too green.
Now list, while I tell you,
Clove-trees will not grow
Except in hot climates,
Moluccas, or so,
{165}
Where they bloom the year round,
In the sunshine or storm,
With their trunks straight and smooth,
And their pyramid form.
And lastly, dear children,
Clove-trees never flower
Till a half-dozen years
They have grown, maybe more;
Then the buds, picked by hand,
And dried quickly, are best;--
Trees a hundred years old
Often yield with the rest.
{166}
_THE "TREE VILLAGE."_
{167}
In the Solomon Group in the great Southern Sea,
And on Isabel Island alone,
A tree village is found, up the steep, rocky ground,
On the top of a mountain of stone.
So gigantic the trees that it is not with ease
That the houses of natives are built,
For the stems are six score of our feet, maybe more,
And you'd think they must live on a stilt.
By a ladder facade the ascent must be made,
Formed of pliable trees, or a creeper
Resembling the vine, which the natives entwine,--
And the ladder's drawn up by the sleeper;
For these houses are made but to sleep in, 'tis said,
When some enemy threatens;--to guard
'Gainst surprise in the night, they are fortified quite,
With great stones, to be thrown at a pard.
At the foot, of these trees are the day-huts for ease
And for eating and dancing and play,
Yet the huts up so high have a goodly supply
Of the needful for night or for day.
{168}
_NO EYES._
Those Creatures that live in the dark,
And have no use for eyes,
Are made without these organs bright,
Which we so highly prize.
The fish in the Mammoth cave,--
Some species of the Ant,
Have only a trace where eyes should be,
Yet never know the want.
{169}
Who knows but girls and boys,
Kept always in the dark,
Might come to have but little sight,
And finally not a spark.
God meant us to live in the light,
He has poured it all about;
Oh, let us not ourselves destroy,
By shutting His sunshine out.
{170}
_THE MAMMOTH CAVE._
"WHAT is the Mammoth Cave?"
I hear the Children say,
Where fishes have no eyes nor sight,
And where 'tis dark by day?
You all have seen a ledge
Of big rocks piled, or stone?--
Now just suppose a door-way made,
Or entrance to go in.
{171}
And when you're in, a path
Leads on, right under ground,
And by-and-by you come to a place
Like a room with walls around.
'Tis jagged and rough and rude,
'Tis dark and damp as a grave,
But whether 'tis large or small,
'Tis always called a cave.
Now, Mammoth means _monstrous big_,
And the Mammoth cave, we claim
As the largest known in the world,
And that's what gives the name.
And it has many a room,
Quite large and wondrous grand,
And it has springs and streams and lakes,
All dark, you understand.
And here are fishes, too,
Yes, fishes with no eyes,
That have lived in the dark for ages past,
As learned men surmise.
{172}
_THE CAMELS_.
The Camels live in desert lands;
Their feet are made to walk on sands;
They carry burdens far and near,
Where neither grass nor trees appear;
Where there's no rain, no rivers, brooks,
No water anywhere for folks;--
But God has made in Camels' chest
Peculiar sacs, for He knew best
What they must do, and that they'd die,
If He did not their drink supply.
Before they start they drink and drink,
Till every sac is full, I think;--
And at the mouth of every sac,
A muscle strong, but loose and slack,
Will tighten up when it is filled,
So that no drink can e'er be spilled.
And when on journey, last or first,
The camel wants to slake his thirst,
A bag-string loosens, and out-pours
Enough to satisfy for hours.
{173}
{174}
The laden camels, in a row,
Are called a Caravan, you know;--
Sometimes a caravan is lost,
Being buried deep in sand and dust.
A storm of wind, a Simoon named,
Will sweep across the desert sand,
When camels, men, and every one
Must throw themselves their knees upon,
And bury faces in the earth,
For thus alone they save their breath;
A fearful thing, but 'tis the best
That they can do,--now hear the rest.
{175}
Sometimes they're buried deep, and find
When they dig out they're almost blind
And cannot tell which way to go,
And thus are lost, a serious woe!
Sometimes, when lost, the drink for men
Gets short; is gone; they thirst, and then
They kill a camel just for lack
Of what he carries in his sac.
{176}
In deserts bare and bleak and drear,
The sun shines hot through all the year,
But many an Oasis is found,
Or spot where grass and trees abound.
And here is drink, and here they rest,
And take their fill of what is best;
Then travel on in thankful mood,
With song and shout! "Allah is good!"
{177}
_KEY-NOTES._
L M N R
LIGHTLY flowing LIQUIDS, we,--
Tethered with our brothers.
Make we music, melody,
More than all the others;
Lulling, mellowy, nimble, rare,
Reveling in rhythm,
Running here and everywhere,
Make me merry with 'em.
{178}
_THE BEARS._
Wild bears are found all over,
From Northern lands to South,
But largest, strongest, where 'tis cold
And fiercest farthest North.
All bears are fond of honey,
Of berries, too, and roots;
They hug or squeeze their prey to death,
As this their nature suits.
They mate in June-y weather;
Their little ones are cubs;
They sadly mourn when mates are killed,
You'd almost hear their sobs.
They'll try to feed a cub
That's lying cold and dead,
And will not flee, but stand and take
The fatal knife instead.
{179}
{180}
They sleep through winter-time,
But prowl in wildest storms,
With hope to find some creature killed,
Or struck with death's alarms.
The bears are white, or black,
Or brown or grizzly gray,
The white 'mong polar snows are found,
Where half the year is day.
Their fur is used for robes,
For coats, sometimes a muff,--
Their meat is prized by some as food,
While some would call it "stuff."
{181}
They nimbly climb a tree,
But "back down," for their frame
Is made so lungs would forward press,
If they head-foremost, came.
* * * * *
_THE BEAR A BLESSING._
To people of Kamtschatka,
The bear a blessing proves;
His skin forms beds and coverlets,
And bonnets, shoes, and gloves.
His flesh and fat are dainties,
And of his intestine,
Is made a mask for warding off
The glare of Sun in Spring.
{182}
'Tis also used for windows,
As substitute for glass;
Of shoulder-blade a tool is made,
That's used for cutting grass.
Norwegians think the Bear is
More sensible than men;
While Laplands call him "Dog of God,"
And dare not him offend.
{183}
_FRUITS_
The fruits of the orchard and garden
Are beautiful, luscious and good,
Partake of them freely, dear children,
But eat them at meals with your food.
{184}
_THE RACCOON._
Come, child, and see our pet Raccoon,--
The Raccoons live in the woods, you know;
But ours was caught,
And caged, and brought
From old Virginia, long ago.
{185}
Oh, no, you need not be afraid.
See, he is fastened with a chain;
For ropes enough
He has gnawed off,
And he is hard to catch again.
He e'en will climb this ten-foot fence,
And, careless where his feet may strike,
He tumbles, bang!
And there will hang,
His rope being caught by vine or spike.
And once the rascal ran away;
Was gone for days, and maybe weeks;
When children came,
And charging blame,
Said, "Your Raccoon has caught our chicks."
{186}
"He's on our roof a-making mouth,
And chatters when we would go near.
We wish you'd come
and take time home,
So that our chick need not fear."
{187}
So now he's chained; yet up he'll climb
The stake to which he's fastened tight,
And mutter low,
So pleading, Oh!
'T would make you sorry for him, quite.
Just see his nose, so pointed, sharp,--
His ears as keen as keen can be,--
His eyes so bright,
So full of light,
And see him leap right merrily!
His fur, you see, is yellowish gray,--
And he is nearly two feet long;
He lives on roots,
And nuts and fruits,
When he's his native woods among.
But here we give him bread and milk;
He never eats like dogs or lambs,
But takes it up
From out the cup
With his fore-foot, as we use hands.
{188}
You'd laugh to see him, I am sure;
Of strawberries, too, he's very fond;
Will poke around
Till he has found
Each one among the hulls out-thrown.
Then, too, he's fond of nice clean clothes,
Will spring for sheet hung out to dry;
And children dressed
In very best,
Are sure to please his dainty eye.
No matter where his feet have been,
He'll spring and plant them, little pest,
On something white,
And then will fight
To hold, and hide it in his nest.
* * * * *
{189}
You've "come again to see our Coon"?
Well, he is gone; he plagued us so,
We sent the "Rac"
To Central Park,
Where you can see him when you go.
Oh yes, they're glad to get him, there;
They have no clothes hung out to dry;
And children aye
Must stand away,
For there a keeper's always nigh.
* * * * *
A "Yes" and "No" are common, hard,
But "yes'm," "no-sir," choice;--
Let none but sweet and gentle words
Flow from your gift of voice.
{190}
_THE BANK-SWALLOWS._
In a village of Bank-Swallows,
You will find so many a nest,
"That you scarce can tell their number
Nor which one of them is best."
{191}
In the sand-hill, see the openings,
Round or oval odd-shaped, some,
Size and form depending often,
On how loose the sand become.
When with their short bills they pecked it,
Clinging fast with claws the while,
Till they made an open door-way
Suiting them in size and style.
Once within, they peck and peck it,--
Sometimes quite a yard or more,
While the nest is snugly builded,
Farthest from the outer door.
But, so wise are they, this archway
From the entrance to the nest,
Is inclining ever upward,
That no rain within may rest.
So the pink-white eggs are laid there,
Safe from harm, till baby-birds
Chirrup forth to take their places,
'Mongst the self-sustaining herds.
{192}
Smallest of the swallow species,
Homeliest, too, yet favorites dear,
For their graceful, airy movements,
And their simple, social cheer.
Found are they from North to South-land,
Known of every tribe and race;--
Swift in flight, yet swinging, swaying,
Skimming low from place to place.
Parent-birds care less for young ones,
Than do other swallow-kind;--
Push them off half-fledged and timid,
Each his food and home to find.
Thus they, many a time, fall prey to
Hawks and crows, their enemies;--
Even the nest sometimes is entered
By the snakes and fleas and flies.
Swallows migrate in the Winter,
From the cold to warmer climes,
Flying back as Spring approaches,
To the haunts of former times.
{193}
"Ne'er one swallow makes a Summer,"
Is a saying everywhere;--
But when swallows come in myriads,
Blessed Summer-time is here.
{194}
_THE MOCKING-BIRD._
The New World boasts the Mocking-bird
And whether caged or free,
His wondrous voice pours forth in songs
Of rarest melody.
His notes swell out and die away,
As if a joyous soul
Were wrought to highest ecstacy,
All music to control.
{195}
His native notes are bold and full,
And then he'll imitate,
Till it would seem the feathered tribe
Were all arrayed in state.
He'll whistle for the dog or cat,
Will squeak like chicken, hurt,
And cluck and crow and bark and mew,
So comical and curt.
While blue-birds warble, swallows scream,
Or hens will cackle clear.
In robin's song, the whip-poor-will
Pours forth his plaint so near.
{196}
Canaries, hang-birds, nightingales,
He echoes loud and long;
While they stand silent, mortified,
He triumphs in his song.
_THE BUSY BEES._
Why do the little busy bees
So dearly love their queen,
And wait upon and pay respect,
With watchful care and mien?
{197}
Because the queen lays all the eggs,
And mothers all the young,
While every father-bee that's hatched
Is nothing but a drone.
The working bees might all be queens,
If cared for and well-fed
When they are in the larvae state,
But they're half-starved instead,--
While those intended for young queens
Are fattened overmuch,
And nursed and petted every hour,
That they full growth may reach.
For every different kind of egg
That makes the different bees,
A different kind of cell is made,
The queen directing these.
For drones or males, six-sided cells,
Quite neat, and smooth, and nice;
For working-bees a smaller cell,
Uncouth, and rough, and coarse;
{198}
While those for queens are large and free,
And fashioned fine with care,
And lined with softest, silken shreds
So daintily they fare.
The queen-bee lays the worker-eggs,
A dozen days, I ween,
And then the drones as many more,
Then workers, then the queen.
Eggs, two or three, and sometimes four
Are laid in worker-cell;
While drones and queens have each but one,
As oft is proven well.
The bluish eggs so close and warm,
Hatch out with three days passed; {199}
When larvae, white, as little worms,
Are watched and fed and nursed.
These larvae, when some six days old,
Close in their cells are shut,
And there at once begin to weave
A silken web about.
They turn and twist till all around
Themselves 'tis woven quite,
And then they rest for twenty days,--
'Tis such a pretty sight.
The small cocoons of working-bees,
The larger ones of drones,
The large and plump and perfect ones
Of all the coming queens.
{200}
In twenty days they now burst forth,
Equipped from tip to toe,
The working-bees and drones, I mean,
For queens come forth more slow.
The queen cocoons ope from behind,
And I will tell you why,
'Tis that the reigning queen may sting
The others till they die.
If mother queen leads off a swarm,
A young queen they release,
And she may take another swarm,
And leave the hive in peace.
Another queen is then let out,
Perhaps a third and fourth,
As many as can raise a swarm,
To follow them, not loath;
{201}
But when no more can swarm and go,
Because not bees enough,
As I have said, the reigning queen
Stings all the rest to death.