OH, MY!

Words and Music by MRS. JULIAN EDWARDS.

Once a fun ny, fat man, With a little, tin can, Ran to

fill it with bran With the help of a fan; When a

I have sympathy for the babies, but no knack of writing verses, so I fell back on my son, Charles, who is the family poet. I hope his verses will answer your good purpose.

-THOMAS A. EDISON.

PARENTAL DISCIPLINE

T night when I've been awful bad
And sent to bed by papa,

AT

I think of what I might have had
If I had acted proper.

The big folks got such queer ideas

Of just what's "good" or "naughty," 'Cause what is "good" for kids my age Is "bad" for folks that's forty.

So till they get things straightened out
There ain't much use to worry;
I'll get my lickin's "good" or "bad"
I wish they'd hurry.

But, gee,

SHYNESS

WHEN I was small, my blackest doom

Was strangers in the drawing-room;

I couldn't tell you how I used
To shrink when I was introduced.
My little hand went cold and limp,
I showed a painful lack of gimp!
And said each night upon my knees
"Don't let them introduce me, please!"
I never got it through my mind
That grown-ups were quite humbly kind,
And only wished they had the knack
To make me smile and like them back.

-JULIET WILBOR TOMPKINS.

TH

NAMES

HE little girls on our street,
When I go out to play,

Have lovely names like Marguerite
And Muriel and Mae,

And though my parents had them all
To choose from-names like these,
Of course they had to go and call
Me, Abigail Louise!

My mother smiles at pretty names
Like Ruby or like Rose,

She says that no colonial dames

Had names at all like those.

Why didn't they have lovely names? No wonder people tease

To hear her call me from our games, "Come, Abigail Louise!"

My mother says I should be proud
Of great-grandmother's fame.
How can I when I'm not allowed

NAMES (Continued)

To change her awful name?

When I have children they shall get
Whatever names they please,

Nice names like Pearl or Violet,

Not Abigail Louise.

-THEODOSIA GARRISON.

THE ROSE TO THE LILY

HAT of the rose

WHA

When the night wind blows?

She dreams little poems that nobody knows; And into the ear

Of the lily-bud near

She sings little melodies no one can hear.

-MRS. SCHUYLER Van Rensselaer.