[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.