Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 December 1891 — LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS. [ARTICLE]

LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS.

THIS IS THEIR DEPARTMENT OF THE PAPER. Quaint Saying* and Doing* of Little One* Gathered and Printed Here for Other Little Folks to Head. A Complaint. I think it really mean—don’t you?— To leave us nothing at all to do: In a world all made to order so A modern boy has no earthly show. Columbus sailed across the sea. Which might have been done by you o: me, And now they call him great and wise, They praise his genius and enterprise. Allhough when he fouud our native laud He took It for India’s coral strand! There’s Newton, too, saw an apple fall Down from the branch, ami that was all— Yet they talk of his great imagination And say he discovered gravitation. Goodness mo!—why, I could have told Him all about It; at ten years old 1 knew why things fell, and I studied tho rule For “falling bodies,” In grammar-school! There’s noble George, who wouldn’t lie— Perhaps ho couldn’t. He didn’t try. But If 1 should cut down a cherry-tree My father would only laugh at me. Benjamin Franklin—what did he do? Flow a big kite: on Sunday, too, Standing out In a heavy showerGetting soaked for half an hour. Fishing fur lightning with a string To see if ho couldn't bottlo the thing. Suppose I should fly my kite in the rain? People would sav that 1 wasn’t sane. Why should there such a difference bo Between Ben Franklin, Esq., and me? I can see steam move a kettle-lid Quito as well as James Watt did. And I can explain about engines, 100. Bigger and better than Watt ever knew; But somehow he took all the praise, And I’m neglected now adays. Then there’s Napoleon First, ol Franco— Suppose that we had had his chance, No doubt wo’d have boon emperors, too: But wo’d have conquered at Waterloo. I wouldn't have had old Grouchy muke Such a stupid and grave mistake; I should havo sent hint tho proper wuy To arrive In time to save tho day! Still, what makes me feel tho worst Is Adam's renown for being first. That was easy enough, you know; It, was just a thing that happened so. And my sister says, “If It had been me, I wouldn’t have touched that applo-tree.” That’s so. If she sees a snake to-day Sho gives a scroant and sho scoots tvwuy. To write such things as Shakspeare's plays Was not so hard In Queen Bess’ days. But now, when everything has been done, I cannot think of a single one To bring a boy to wealth and fame. It's a regular downright burning shame! P. S. When it’s flue, I shall play busobiv.ll; For you know It never would do at all To forgot about “Jack” who becomes, they sav, A very dull boy, without plonty of play. But wait!—when a rainy Saturday comes, As soon as I’vo finished Monday’s sums I’m going to build a groat flying-machine That will mako T. Edison look poa-groon.' —St. Nicholas. A Quaker Boy of Long Ago. Little Moses W. was a worthy member of “the people called Quakers,” says Anna Carpenter in the Housekeepers’ Weekly. Itarely is a name so fittingly bestowed as was his. The most gracious patience and sweetness characterized the child. Like the Moses of the bulrushes and the exodus, however, beneath the gentleness a quick spirit and a firm will were hidden, which on rare occasions would flash forth or stand Arm. The youngest of a houseful of hoys, Moses was the recipient not only of a wealth of affection, but, it cannot be denied, of an occasional embarrassment of riches in the shape of suggestion, advice, and dictation. One bright day the little fellow sat on the porch, surrounded by pretty, clean blocks from the great barn at which the carpenters were hammering away, and bright smooth cornstalks, gravely building a barn. Various criticisms by his elders upon his unique style of architecture had been answered in the loveliest way. At last his brother Benjamin settled down at his side. “Now, Mosie, I wouldn’t make such small stable doors; thy horses can't get in.” “Oh, yes, Benjie, they can; my horses are such wee little horses.” Then: “Why, Mosie, that overshoot isn’t right; that’s not like father’s barn.” “No, Benjie, hut ’is isn’t father’s barn; ’is mines own barn.” But soon Benjie began to change a block here and a cornstalk there, and to take liberties with threatened radical changes to the precious structure and havoc to all the devices of 1 the busy little brain. The pleadings “It don’t go’at way,” I and “P’ease don’t Benjie,” were met by “Now just wait a minute, Mosie, and see what a big, nice ham we will have directly.” At last the dark eyes began to flash; the small man rose, advanced one foot,-and shaking a mite of a finger at his brother, exclaimed: “I tell thee, Benjamin, I wish thee would just mind thee own biddie; it’s much as thee can do, an’ more an’ thee poss’bly can do right.”

Bonos’ Ducks. Bones was a shaggy, fat Skye terrier with a short tail. Just why these serubby-looking Skye terriers always find luxurious homes and fond admirers,l don’t know, but they seem to do it. Bones was no exception. He was the household pet. Every member of the family cuddled and kissed him, and he returned their affection with equal ardor. When any one came home after a short absence, Bones showed extravagant delight, and his demonstrations were usually rewarded with candy or cake. He had a trick of catching up any small object which came handy, and bringing it to lay at the returned one’s feet, as If to display the generosity of his heart. Sometimes he overshot the mark, like the rest of us. One day the lady of the house returned, and Bones, dashing out to find some token of affection to .present to her, fell over three unfortunate little ducks walking primly behind their mamma. He caught one up in his mouth, and with joyful haste rushed back to the parlor. Poor duck! Poor Bones.! The duck struggled. Bones took a firmer grip. The duck struggled harder. Bones ?ave a hurried gulp, and to his own dismay as well as to the duck’s the luck went down Bones’ throat and never came up again. The shout of laughter which greetsd his exploit was too much for Bones. He ran out faster than he came in. His stomach and his conscience both troubled him for long after. It was

only necessary to say, “Duck, Bones!' to see him slink away with the funniest expressson of doggish shame, caused by the remembrance of his unintentional dinner.—Harper’s Young People.