Then, contented with my state, Where true pleasure may be seen Let me envy not the great, On a cheerful village green. [Illustration] MISCHIEF. Let those who're fond of idle tricks, Of throwing stones, and hurling bricks, And all that sort of fun, Now hear a tale of idle Jim, That warning they may take by him, Nor do as he has done. In harmless sport or healthful play He did not pass his time away, Nor took his pleasure in it; For mischief was his only joy: No book, or work, or even toy, Could please him for a minute. A neighbour's house he'd slyly pass, And throw a stone to break the glass, And then enjoy the joke! Or, if a window open stood, He'd throw in stones, or bits of wood, To frighten all the folk. If travellers passing chanced to stay, Of idle Jim to ask the way, He never told them right; And then, quite harden'd in his sin, Rejoiced to see them taken in, And laugh'd with all his might. He'd tie a string across the street, Just to entangle people's feet, And make them tumble down: Indeed, he was disliked so much, That no good boy would play with such A nuisance to the town. At last the neighbours, in despair, This mischief would no longer bear: And so--to end the tale, This lad, to cure him of his ways, Was sent to spend some dismal days Within the county jail. [Illustration] ABOUT THE LITTLE GIRL THAT BEAT HER SISTER. Go, go, my naughty girl, and kiss Your little sister dear; I must not have such things as this, And noisy quarrels here. [Illustration] What! little children scratch and fight, That ought to be so mild; Oh! Mary, it's a shocking sight To see an angry child. I can't imagine, for my part, The reason of your folly; She did not do you any hurt By playing with your dolly. See, see, the little tears that run Fast from her watery eye: Come, my sweet innocent, have done, 'Twill do no good to cry. Go, Mary, wipe her tears away, And make it up with kisses: And never turn a pretty play To such a pet as this is. THE APPLE-TREE. Old John had an apple-tree, healthy and green, Which bore the best codlins that ever were seen, So juicy, so mellow, and red; And when they were ripe, he disposed of his store, To children or any who pass'd by his door, To buy him a morsel of bread. Little Dick, his next neighbour, one often might see, With longing eye viewing this fine apple-tree, And wishing a codlin might fall: One day as he stood in the heat of the sun, He began thinking whether he might not take one, And then he look'd over the wall.