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+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76648 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+                                   THE
+                             INFANT MORALIST
+
+                                   BY
+                          LADY HELENA CARNEGIE
+                                   AND
+                            MRS ARTHUR JACOB
+
+
+                                EDINBURGH
+                   R. GRANT & SON, 107 PRINCES STREET
+                       LONDON: R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON
+                                  1903
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                           CRUELTY TO ANIMALS
+
+
+    How, George! you’re in Disgrace once more,
+    What’s this? a tearful Eye,
+    The tell-tale Feathers on the Floor,
+    Show me the Reason why.
+
+    Why did you free Amelia’s Bird
+    Where Harriet’s Tabby pounced?
+    You selfish Boy, upon my Word
+    I’ll have you soundly trounced.
+
+    Your little Cousin’s Tears now see:
+    Her pretty Songster’s dead;
+    A Child so mischievous must be
+    Chastis’d, and sent to Bed.
+
+
+
+
+                           INSENSATE MISCHIEF
+
+
+    What a Commotion in the Town!
+    Now has the Steeple fallen down?
+      Some strange Event occurr’d?
+    Fresh Tidings of the War in France,
+    Or News of dire Import, perchance,
+      The Mayor may have heard.
+    See how the People run and point!
+    The Butcher, laden with a Joint,
+      Is brandishing his Knife;
+    The Chandler, with a Pot of Lard,
+    In tumbling from the Farrier’s Yard,
+      Upsets the Baker’s Wife.
+    The Parson hurries up the Street,
+    His Shoes half on, half off his Feet,
+      His Surplice flies behind,
+    And knocking ’gainst the Apple Stall,
+    Of Widow Clarke, the Apples fall,
+      He does not seem to mind!
+    Here comes the Guardian of the Laws!
+    Pray, tell us, Officer, the Cause
+      Of this tumultuous Scene?
+    Why, I declare, the Reason’s found,
+    ’Tis Master Percy, I’ll be bound,
+      At Mischief who has been.
+    How say you? that an Hour too Fast
+    He set the Town Hall Clock; and last,
+      On further Mischief bent,
+    Upon the Belfry Tower he climbed
+    And all the Bells he loudly chimed
+      Confusion to augment.
+    But Retribution’s fatal Sword
+    No long Delay will e’er afford
+      And soon did Percy smite.
+    His Footing slipp’d, some Time he hung
+    To treach’rous Roofs, but vainly clung
+      And fell a giddy Height.
+    And now upon a Couch of Pain
+    He lies with shattered Bones and Brain;
+      But, Pity tho’ we feel,
+    We all should strive to realise
+    That those whose Actions are not Wise
+      From Fate have no Appeal.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                            CHARITABLE LOUISA
+
+
+    Now Goody Brown and Widow Bond
+    Live in a Cottage near the Pond,
+      And so, Louisa, you
+    Must now this little Basket take
+    And put in it a Loaf, a Cake,
+      A Pound of Sugar too.
+
+    Nay! do not frown, ’tis surely good
+    That we the Agêd succour should?
+      Your Shawl and Bonnet don,
+    See, with you faithful Ponto comes,
+    Perhaps a liking for the Crumbs
+      Has urg’d him to go on.
+
+    So onward trips the little Maid,
+    All smiling sweet, and unafraid
+      Of Gipsies, Tramps and Cows.
+    Then back she comes, while Goody stands
+    And raising up her wither’d Hands
+      Calls down her Prayers and Vows.
+
+
+
+
+                                CREDULITY
+
+
+    What Consternation fills the Hall!
+    Young Master Frank is miss’d;
+    All Day for him they seek and call
+    Nor through the Night desist.
+
+    Repeatedly had Frank been warned
+    The Gipsies’ Camp to shun,
+    For Truth and Cleanliness they scorned
+    And left good Deeds undone.
+
+    Alas for Frank! the Gipsy Queen
+    Had met him by the Stile,
+    With Tales of Fortune she’d foreseen
+    She did the Youth beguile.
+
+    “I’ll crown you King, and you shall ride
+    In golden Coach,” said she,
+    “You’ll ne’er repent if you decide
+    To follow Gipsy Lee.”
+
+    The foolish boy went off to roam
+    In search of Wealth and Fame,
+    And all forgot were Friends and Home
+    To his eternal Shame.
+
+    And now with limping Feet he toils
+    Behind the Caravans,
+    With Tinker’s Tools his Hand he soils
+    And sells both Pots and Pans.
+
+    His Parents fond their Son with Tears
+    Distractedly deplore:
+    They sought him o’er the World for Years,
+    But saw him nevermore.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                        THE CONSEQUENCES OF GREED
+
+
+    Why, Edward! why this Cry of Pain?
+    This Jacket all besmirched?
+    Your strict Papa I’ll call again
+    And have you soundly birched.
+
+    This pastry, that indulgent Cook
+    Had filled for you with Jam,
+    With hasty Greed, and envious Look
+    You down your Throat did cram.
+
+    Now Gluttons! pray attend to me:
+    I’ll send for Doctor Bell,
+    A Child with Appetite too free
+    He always doses well.
+
+
+
+
+                                PROFANITY
+
+
+    A Sailor of the name of Park
+    Gave Nurse a Parrot gay;
+    I think I heard the Man remark
+    It came from Paraguay.
+
+    How strange a Sight in distant Lands,
+    Where Wonders meet the Eye,
+    To see the Works of Nature’s Hands
+    From ev’ry Tree-top fly.
+
+    But Oh! with Shame and Sorrow both,
+    I scarce can lisp the Tale,
+    Its brutal Jest and hideous Oath
+    My infant Cheek turn’d pale.
+
+    Alas! when all is bright and fair
+    That Wickedness should lurk,
+    Those sinful Words that filled the Air
+    Were Man’s ignoble work.
+
+    Nurse screamed aloud, the Sailor ran,
+    The Bird spoke yet more plain;
+    Oh! how I hope the shameless Man
+    Will not come back again.
+
+    How very careful we should be
+    ’Mong those alone to move
+    Who shunning, fly Profanity,
+    And who our Hearts approve.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                                  ENVY
+
+
+    Why, Ellen, such a pouting Face
+    Is quite against the Rule:
+    I fear you have incurr’d Disgrace,
+    Or done amiss at School.
+
+    What! Lucy Elton’s rich Pelisse
+    Your envious Thoughts inspire?
+    And Fanny Jones disturbs your Peace
+    When dress’d in gay Attire?
+
+    You foolish Child, did you but know
+    The Way their Wealth was gained
+    Your Cheeks with honest Shame would glow
+    While youthful Life remained.
+
+    For Lucy’s Father robb’d a Bank,
+    And Fanny’s Sire a Church:
+    Far from such Wealth you Heav’n may thank
+    Your Name can None besmirch.
+
+
+
+
+                            THE SCHOOL FEAST
+
+
+    Now Lady Emma at the Grange
+    A School Feast has at Heart,
+    And very kindly does arrange
+    That we shall all take Part.
+
+    Maria, to avert the Cold,
+    Her velvet Spencer wears,
+    And little Jane, of five Years old,
+    A Sun-shade gravely bears.
+
+    Edward, and Charles, and Sister Fan
+    In Joy their Accents raise,
+    And William Fry, the Garden man,
+    Puts Dobbin in the Chaise.
+
+    Papa assumes the Reins’ control,
+    Mama her Shawl, and so
+    Crack goes the Whip, the Wheels they roll,
+    And now, away we go!
+
+    How happy we, with Parents kind
+    And Clothes so clean and neat:
+    Oh! may we always bear in Mind
+    ’Twas Virtue earn’d this Treat.
+
+
+
+
+                                 COURAGE
+
+
+    Mervyn and Charles and little Ann
+    Rose early from their Rest;
+    Who should be First, as out they ran,
+    They joyfully contest.
+
+    Mervyn was Senior by one Year
+    To Charles, whose Summers six
+    Exceeded Ann’s, it would appear,
+    By Two, and Seven Weeks.
+
+    Among the Flowers that smell so sweet
+    They pluck’d a Posy gay,
+    To give Mama a pleasant Treat
+    Upon her Natal Day.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    But oh! from off a blooming Rose
+    Ann gather’d with Delight,
+    A cruel Wasp upon her Nose
+    Did suddenly alight.
+
+    She loudly scream’d, and Mervyn seiz’d
+    The Insect in his Clasp,
+    Nor loosed his Hold ere it was squeez’d
+    And crush’d within his Grasp.
+
+    Though painful Stings his Hand inflam’d
+    He did not Cry nor Quail,
+    And kind Mama with Pride exclaim’d
+    When Charles told her the Tale.
+
+    Such Youths grow up as Soldiers brave,
+    Or Sailors bold and free;
+    And thus Britannia’s Flag shall wave
+    Supreme on every Sea.
+
+
+
+
+                             HEARTLESS FOLLY
+
+
+    Pray, Richard, do you think it right
+    To act as you did Tuesday Night
+      And make of Age a Mock?
+    The Admiral, whose Legs you tied
+    Whilst he was sitting by my side,
+      Is indisposed from Shock.
+
+    As he fell prone upon the Floor
+    I saw you spying through the Door
+      With pert and shameless Smile;
+    His Daughters kind, who tend his Couch,
+    With one accord do freely vouch
+      They marked your Purpose vile.
+
+    E’en barbarous Turk or Cariboo,
+    Or poor idolatrous Hindoo
+      Before such Act would pause;
+    What should you feel if Admiral Bligh
+    Were taken from us to the Sky
+      And you should be the Cause?
+
+    Oh! wretched Boy, Elisha’s Bears
+    May even now be on the Stairs
+      Your Punishment to give:
+    For those the Aged who offend
+    Are like to come to fearful End,
+      Or else in Chains to live.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                               POLITENESS
+
+
+    What! do I apprehend aright,
+    My Boy, my Herbert impolite?
+      Oh say! oh say not so.
+    I did not see you doff your Hat
+    To Lady Charlotte Merton, that
+      Is not genteel you know.
+
+    See how polite young Frankie hies
+    To ope the Door for General Wyse,
+      And take from him his Cane.
+    In later times, when Frank’s extoll’d,
+    Your Manner, deemed uncouth and bold,
+      Will give you bitter Pain.
+
+
+
+
+                       THE RESULT OF HEEDLESSNESS
+
+
+    Behold that speechless, aged Dame
+    Who totters on the Arm
+    Of Thomas Brown, his sturdy Frame
+    Supporting her from Harm.
+
+    Sad is the Tale that I must tell,
+    The Cause that struck her Dumb,
+    For to the Shock which her befell
+    She nearly did succumb.
+
+    Her Nephew Paul a little Mouse
+    Within the Barn had caught,
+    And in his Pocket to the House
+    The tiny Creature brought.
+
+    How wrong was Paul, for with Dismay
+    His Aunt a Rodent viewed,
+    How wickedly did he repay
+    Her Kindness oft renewed.
+
+    The Work Box on the Table stood,
+    He quickly rais’d the Lid,
+    And ’mongst the Silks it did include
+    The Mouse securely hid.
+
+    She oped the Box, her Pins to seek,
+    Out sprang the nimble Mouse,
+    Oh Mercy! what a dreadful Shriek
+    Resounded through the House.
+
+    Twas her last Cry, for ne’er again
+    Aunt Fanny’s Voice was heard:
+    Depriv’d was she, by Shock and Pain,
+    Of Pow’r to speak a Word.
+
+    Paul’s Penitence was no avail,
+    The horrid Deed was done,
+    Though Good might through his Life prevail,
+    With Wrong it was begun.
+
+    How dread to think the Innocent
+    Must suffer for his Crime:
+    Mark how each Fault, though we repent,
+    Bears Consequence through Time.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                           LAWLESS DISRESPECT
+
+
+    Come, James, you well deserve the Cane,
+    Your Acts my Ire have gained,
+    To frown I am obliged again
+    And dear Mama is pained.
+
+    That you to such a Deed should stoop,
+    And impiously should dare
+    At Auntie’s Legs to bowl your Hoop
+    And hurl her through the Air.
+
+    That Lawlessness should stalk abroad
+    Offends each righteous Heart,
+    And Children, till Respect’s restor’d,
+    Must very rightly smart.
+
+
+
+
+                         INEVITABLE RETRIBUTION
+
+
+    “It is a Shame,” said Albert Gore,
+    “That I my Top may spin no more,
+      But to my Book must go;
+    Whilst James, although the Clock strikes Three,
+    Still plies his Marbles busily
+      With Uncle’s Gardener, Joe.”
+
+    “Nay, quit your Sport, your Hand refrain,”
+    Cried the Preceptor once again;
+      But, oh! to tell I grieve
+    That Albert, when he turn’d his Face,
+    Made so repellent a Grimace
+      That you would scarce believe.
+
+    And ah! the Wind, at Heav’n’s behest
+    Changed from the East into the West,
+      Alas! for Albert Gore,
+    His Countenance, his glaring Eye,
+    His Nose outspread, his Mouth awry
+      Were set to turn no more.
+
+    Oh! what a Warning this should be
+    For every little Child to see,
+      For all from Albert run.
+    The Author of his own Disgrace,
+    He weeps to think how wry a Face
+      He’ll wear till Life is done.
+
+
+
+
+                                 REVENGE
+
+
+    When Ferdinand was sent to School
+    It was his great delight
+    To pause and plague the Village Fool
+    ’Gainst whom he had a Spite.
+
+    The poor afflicted Creature dwelt
+    Alone, hard by a Wood,
+    Forlorn and desolate he felt,
+    Oft destitute of Food.
+
+    But Ferdinand for him could feel
+    No gentle Pity flow,
+    Nor from his daily plenteous Meal
+    Would e’en one Crumb bestow.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    From Vanity came all the Blame:
+    How oft we may remark
+    What fiercely burning Faults will flame
+    From one small sinful Spark.
+
+    One Sunday morning it had chanced,
+    As to the Church he went,
+    That Ferdinand around had glanced
+    On Admiration bent.
+
+    His Vest was frill’d, his Jacket too
+    In Fashion’s last Conceit,
+    His Nankeen Pants, of yellow hue,
+    Scarce reach’d his Slippers neat.
+
+    A tassell’d Cane swung in his Hand,
+    He strutted proudly by,
+    His whole Demeanour a Demand
+    For Wonder’s envious Eye.
+
+    But oh! what Rage possess’d his Heart
+    When laughter caught his Ear,
+    What Pangs of Anger, like a Dart,
+    Pierc’d him at every Jeer.
+
+    What did he see? with mincing Tread
+    The Idiot walked behind,
+    And aped his Gestures, wagged his Head
+    And smiled with vacant Mind.
+
+    A clumsy Bludgeon took the place
+    Of Ferdinand’s smart Cane,
+    And pert young Master’s easy Grace
+    The poor Fool tried to feign.
+
+    Though Weeks had pass’d, and all should strive
+    Offences to forget,
+    Ferdinand’s Soul could but derive
+    Fresh Cause to fume and fret.
+
+    An evil Thought one Morning leapt
+    Into his jaundic’d Mind,
+    And with a Saw he stealthy crept
+    To where the Stream did wind.
+
+    And through and through he sawed the Plank
+    That bridg’d the Waters’ play,
+    Then ’neath a Bush upon the Bank
+    Concealed and still he lay.
+
+    The Idiot came, he took one Stride,
+    Fell through, and Heels o’er Head
+    He sank, and loud for Help he cried,
+    But guilty Ferd’nand fled.
+
+    Now had the wicked Boy returned
+    And straight confest his Crime
+    The guilt of Murder, he had learned,
+    Had not been his this Time.
+
+    Attracted by the Idiot’s Roars,
+    At his sad Plight appalled,
+    His dripping Body to the Shores
+    A Passer-by had hauled.
+
+    But Ferdinand ran off to Sea
+    And fought great Bonaparte;
+    He perish’d soon, by Fate’s Decree,
+    And broke his Mother’s Heart.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                           UNSUITABLE JESTING
+
+
+    It grieves me, Emma, much to see
+    How Pert and Rude you are;
+    Sure, everybody must agree
+    From Courtesy you’re far.
+
+    What wicked Rudeness thus to jest
+    On Mister Barton’s Toes:
+    Poor Gentleman, he’s Uncle’s Guest,
+    And Gout gives painful Throes.
+
+    How very ill does it beseem
+    A Child to play such Part:
+    The Prisons of the World do teem
+    With those of unkind Heart.
+
+
+
+
+                             THE CHATTERBOX
+
+
+    I needs must beg you, Caroline,
+    To cease your Chatter whilst I dine,
+      It deafens every Ear.
+    John Footman cannot hear my Words,
+    And I have asked him twice for Curds
+      And still he cannot hear.
+
+    When Uncle Wilmot, from Malay,
+    Comes here, to make his usual Stay,
+      He surely will suppose
+    That he is back in savage Lands,
+    Where Heathens roam in impious Bands
+      And feast upon their Foes.
+
+    We all should learn to curb our Speech,
+    Last Week we heard the Rector preach
+      Upon this Rule; ’tis true
+    If he your giddy Talk could hear
+    His Sermons would be more severe,
+      And he would preach on You.
+
+
+
+
+                               SOLICITUDE
+
+
+    Come Matthew! set your Book aside,
+    And Ann your Shawl put on,
+    For in the Carriage we will ride
+    To visit Uncle John.
+
+    The Way is long so Bread we’ll take,
+    And then, with Cups to fill,
+    We will alight our Thirst to slake
+    By some pellucid Rill.
+
+    “Thanks, dear Papa,” the Youth did say,
+    “But shall we ask Mama
+    Her kindly Fears aside to lay
+    Before we ride so far?”
+
+    Yes, thoughtful Boy, his Sire replied,
+    Your Words I now commend;
+    Solicitude should be our Guide
+    With Parent, as with Friend.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                            ILL-TIMED LEVITY
+
+
+    I scarce can speak, Bartholomew,
+    I am so much displeased with you
+      For all that has occur’d:
+    Aunt Porter, who had come to stay,
+    Has in her Chariot roll’d away
+      Without a parting Word.
+
+    Last Night, when all were sent to Dine,
+    You took a Fish-hook and some Twine
+      And, leaning o’er the Stair,
+    When honour’d Guests went by Below
+    Let slyly down the Hook, and so
+      Secured it in her Hair.
+
+    Alas! Aunt Porter, long denied
+    That Crown which is a Woman’s Pride,
+      And thinking, sure, no Ill,
+    At Table duly took her Seat
+    With seasoned Majesty replete
+      And amiable Good-will.
+
+    At last she rais’d her Hand appall’d
+      And sudden found that she was Bald,
+    And for her Speech did strive:--
+    The Scene I cannot now pursue,
+    It has been given to very Few
+      Such Moments to survive.
+
+    Ah me! you cannot understand
+    What Pow’r may lie in childish Hand
+      E’en at such tender Age.
+    Our Relative in high Disgust
+    Will make Resentment, deep and just,
+      Our only Heritage.
+
+
+
+
+                          THOMAS AND THE BEGGAR
+
+
+    Come, Thomas come, your Mother called,
+    She saw you in the Street,
+    And of that Beggar, blind and bald
+    She watch’d you trip the Feet.
+
+    His little Dog, with Jaws agape,
+    An angry Protest raised:
+    But all too late, his Master’s Shape
+    The Pavement’s Edge had grazed.
+
+    Swift running came Policeman Joe
+    And, threat’ning, spoke of Jail:
+    For those who Others overthrow
+    May deep in Dungeons wail.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                            OFFENSIVE MANNERS
+
+
+    How nicely little Cecil sits
+    And eats his Cake in careful Bits,
+      A Warning, John, to you
+    Whose Mouth is filled with Beef and Egg,
+    The Remnants of a Turkey’s Leg,
+      And half a Dumpling too.
+
+    It really makes me feel quite hurt
+    To see the Way that you insert
+      Your Fingers in the Dish;
+    Such Mouthfuls too have ceased to be
+    Since Prophet Jonah marv’llously
+      Was swallowed by the Fish.
+
+    Pray from the Joint remove your Fist,
+    And do not stubbornly persist
+      Good Manners to offend.
+    Some Day you’ll choke upon a Slice,
+    Or suffocate from too much Rice
+      And that will be your End.
+
+
+
+
+                        CONTUMACIOUS CONSTANTINE
+
+
+    Come, Constantine! this sulky Face
+    I can no more excuse:
+    Entreat for Pardon, beg for Grace,
+    My Patience you abuse.
+
+    Your Donkey, Ned, you emulate:
+    Because Creation’s Plan
+    Has formed the dumb Beast obstinate
+    It is not so with Man.
+
+    Your Tongue was giv’n, with contrite Speech,
+    To own when you offend;
+    Your Soul Intelligence to teach
+    And Virtue recommend.
+
+    Your Conduct you can not defend:
+    It surely was not kind
+    To throw the Pepper o’er your Friend,
+    And risk his going Blind?
+
+    Despite his burning, tearful Eye,
+    Despite convulsive Sneeze,
+    If ask’d to Pardon he’d comply
+    With your Desire to Please.
+
+    What! silent still? Then go away:
+    Until Contrition’s shown
+    In Solitude upstairs you stay,
+    For Meals dry Bread alone.
+
+    All stubborn, naughty Children know
+    That Jam, and Cake, and Pies
+    Are only meant for those who show
+    A Nature Mild and Wise.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                            DISOBEDIENT EMILY
+
+
+    When Emily her Task had done
+    It was her Nurse’s Rule
+    To stern forbid her Charge to run
+    Near Miller Jones’s Pool.
+
+    But Emily did not incline
+    Kind Nursey to obey,
+    She saw the Water Lilies shine
+    That on the Water lay.
+
+    “La!” she exclaimed, “what Nurse desired
+    She idly spoke in Haste,
+    Those Plants would fitly be admired
+    If on the Table placed.”
+
+    And so, with bold, presumptuous Mien
+    And disobedient Pride,
+    She hies her to the Meadows green
+    Wherein the Waters glide.
+
+    To reach the Flowers she plies each Art,
+    And, in the very Deed,
+    A Victim to her wilful Heart,
+    She sinks beneath the Weed.
+
+    Nurse Sukey, from her Window high,
+    The dire Misfortune views,
+    Her deaf’ning Scream and frenzied Eye
+    Proclaim the fatal News.
+
+    Dragged by the Miller and his Wife,
+    Who haste their Aid to lend,
+    Young Emily, restored to Life,
+    Makes Promise to amend.
+
+    “Ah me!” she cries, “tho’ crowned with Slime
+    And choked with Mud and Leaves,
+    My Heart may profit, in its Time,
+    By what my Fault receives.”
+
+
+
+
+                                VIOLENCE
+
+
+    Pause, Robert, pause: remember Cain!
+    What’s this you say, Adolphus Bain
+      Has struck you with his Fist?
+    Nay, your Resentment lay aside,
+    Your Playmate you should gently chide
+      And ask him to desist.
+
+    If he has kicked you in the Chest,
+    Him you should pleasantly request
+      His Anger to postpone
+    Till you have warn’d him how such Deed
+    May injure Health, and Sickness breed,
+      And shake Religion’s Throne.
+
+    The Reverend Mister Somerville
+    Has brought you up extremely ill
+      If you he has not taught
+    To know that they who raise the Hand
+    May come to bear Cain’s awful Brand:
+      Now Profit by the Thought.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s Note:
+
+A stanza break was added after the sixth line of “Inevitable
+Retribution.”
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76648 ***