“Excuse the liberty I take,” Modestus said, with archness on his brow, “Pray, why did not your father make A gentleman of you?” —_Selleck Osborne._ Truth is the highest thing that man may keep. —_Geoffrey Chaucer._ LITTLE THINGS. [Illustration] Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean And the pleasant land. Thus the little minutes, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages Of eternity. —_Ebenezer Cobham Brewer._ THE BOY WHO NEVER TOLD A LIE. [Illustration] Once there was a little boy, With curly hair and pleasant eye— A boy who always told the truth, And never, never told a lie. And when he trotted off to school, The children all about would cry, “There goes the curly-headed boy— The boy that never tells a lie.” And everybody loved him so, Because he always told the truth, That every day, as he grew up, ’Twas said, “There goes the honest youth.” —_Anonymous._ _Saw, Sacradown._ See, saw, sacradown, Which is the way to London town? One foot up, the other foot down, And that is the way to London town. _Little Boy Blue._ Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn, The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn; Where’s the little boy that tends the sheep? He’s under the haycock, fast asleep. Go wake him, go wake him. Oh! no, not I; For if I wake him, he’ll certainly cry. _Once I Saw a Little Bird._ Once I saw a little bird Come hop, hop, hop; So I cried, “Little bird, Will you stop, stop, stop?” And was going to the window To say, “How do you do?” But he shook his little tail, And far away he flew. [Illustration] See, see, what shall I see? A horse’s head where his tail should be? _Jack and Jill._ Jack and Jill went up the hill, To fetch a pail of water; Jack fell down, and broke his crown, And Jill came tumbling after. _Dame, Get Up, and Bake Your Pies._ Dame, get up and bake your pies, Bake your pies, bake your pies, Dame, get up and bake your pies, On Christmas-day in the morning. Dame, what makes your maidens lie, Maidens lie, maidens lie; Dame, what makes your maidens lie, On Christmas-day in the morning? Dame, what makes your ducks to die, Ducks to die, ducks to die; Dame, what makes your ducks to die, On Christmas-day in the morning? Their wings are cut, and they cannot fly, Cannot fly, cannot fly; Their wings are cut, and they cannot fly, On Christmas-day in the morning. [Illustration] _Willy, Willy Wilkin._