Children's Rhymes, Children's Games, Children's Songs, Children's Stories
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Title: Children's Rhymes, Children's Games, Children's Songs, Children's Stories
Author: Robert Ford
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CHILDREN'S RHYMES
CHILDREN'S GAMES
CHILDREN'S SONGS
CHILDREN'S STORIES
A Book for Bairns and Big Folk
by
ROBERT FORD
Author of "Thistledown," and Editor of
"Ballads of Bairnhood," "Vagabond Songs
and Ballads of Scotland" Etc., etc.
"_Auld rhymes and auld chimes
Gar us think on auld times_"
--_Proverb_
[Illustration: JINGO-RING.
DRAWN BY KATE T. HILL.]
Paisley: Alexander Gardner
Publisher to the late Queen Victoria: 1904
Second Edition
PREFACE.
In offering to the public this collection of Children's Rhymes,
Children's Games, Children's Songs, and Children's Stories--the
multitudinous items of which, or such, at least, as were not living in
my own memory, have been gathered with patient industry, albeit with
much genuine delight, from wide and varied sources--I anticipate for the
work a hearty and general welcome, alike from old and young. It is the
first really sincere effort to collect in anything like ample and
exclusive fashion the _natural literature_ of the children of Scotland,
and meets what has long appealed to me as decidedly a felt want. The
earlier pages are occupied with a commentary, textually illustrated, on
the generally puerile, but regularly fascinating Rhymes of the Nursery,
the vitality and universal use of which have been at once the wonder and
the puzzle of the ages. This is followed in turn by a chapter on
Counting-out Rhymes, with numerous examples, home and foreign; which is
succeeded, appropriately, by a section of the work embracing description
of all the well-known out-door and in-door Rhyme-Games--in each case the
Rhyme being given, the action being portrayed. The remaining contents
the title may be left to suggest. I may only add that the
Stories--including "Blue Beard," and "Jack the Giant Killer," and their
fellow-narratives--ten in all--are printed _verbatim_ from the old
chapbooks once so common in the country, but now so rare as to be almost
unobtainable.
Essentially a book about children and their picturesque and innocent,
though often apparently meaningless, frolics, by the young in the land,
I am assured, it will be received with open arms. From the "children of
larger growth"--those who were once young and have delight in
remembering the fact--the welcome, if less boisterous, should be not
less sincere. Commend to me on all occasions the man or woman who, "with
lyart haffets thin and bare," can sing with the poet--
"Och hey! gin I were young again,
Ochone! gin I were young again;
For chasin' bumbees owre the plain
Is just an auld sang sung again."
ROBERT FORD.
287 ~Onslow Drive~,
~Dennistoun~,
~Glasgow~.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
~Rhymes of the Nursery~, 9
~Counting-out Rhymes~, 38
~Children's Rhyme-Games~, 55
"Merry-ma-Tanzie," 56
"The Mulberry Bush," 57
"A Dis, a Dis, a Green Grass," 58
"Looby Looby," 59
"I Dree I Droppit it," 60
"Bab at the Bowster," 61
"The Wadds," 63
"The Wadds and the Wears," 65
"The Widow of Babylon," 68
"London Bridge," 69
"The Jolly Miller," 70
"Willie Wastle," 70
"Oats and Beans and Barley," 71
"Hornie Holes," 72
"The Craw," 73
"Neevie-neevie-nick-nack," 73
"Blind Man's Buff," 74
"Water Wallflower," 75
"The Emperor Napoleon," 75
"A' the Birdies i' the Air," 76
"Through the Needle-e'e, Boys," 76
"King Henry," 77
"The Blue Bird," 78
"When I was a Young Thing," 78
"Carry my Lady to London," 79
"A, B, C," 80
"My Theerie and my Thorie," 80
"Glasgow Ships," 81
"Airlie's Green," 83
"Het Rowes and Butter Cakes," 83
"Queen Mary," 84
"Whuppity Scoorie," 85
"Hinkumbooby," 85
"Three Brethren come from Spain," 87
"Here Comes a Poor Sailor from Botany Bay," 90
"Janet Jo," 91
"The Goloshans," 94
~Children's Songs and Ballads~, 101
Cock Robin, 101
The Marriage of Cock Robin and Jenny Wren, 104
The North Wind, 109
Little Bo-Peep, 110
The House that Jack Built, 111
Simple Simon, 114
Old Mother Hubbard, 114
Old Mother Goose, 115
The Old Woman and her Pig, 117
A Frog he would a-wooing go, 122
The Carrion Crow, 126
My Pretty Maid, 127
Can ye Sew Cushions? 127
Hush-a-ba Birdie, Croon, 129
Dance to your Daddie, 129
Katie Beardie, 132
The Miller's Dochter, 133
Hap and Row, 133
How Dan, Dilly Dow, 134
Crowdie, 135
Whistle, whistle, Auld Wife, 136
The Three Little Pigs, 137
Cowe the Nettle early, 138
The Wren's Nest, 140
Robin Redbreast's Testament, 141
~Children's Humour and Quaint Sayings~, 143
~Schoolroom Facts and Fancies~, 163
~Children's Stories~, 182
Blue Beard, 184
Jack and the Bean-Stalk, 191
The Babes in the Wood, 205
Jack the Giant Killer, 210
Little Red Riding Hood, 229
Cinderella; or, the Little Glass Slipper, 233
Puss in Boots, 243
Whittington and his Cat, 249
Beauty and the Beast, 259
The Sleeping Beauty, 274
RHYMES OF THE NURSERY.
Writing on the subject of nursery rhymes more than half a century ago,
the late Dr. Robert Chambers expressed regret because, as he said,
"Nothing had of late been revolutionised so much as the nursery." But
harking back on the period of his own childhood, he was able to say,
with a feeling of satisfaction, that the young mind was then "cradled
amidst the simplicities of the uninstructed intellect; and _she_ was
held to be the best nurse who had the most copious supply of song, and
tale, and drollery, at all times ready to soothe and amuse her young
charges. There were, it is true, some disadvantages in the system; for
sometimes superstitious terrors were implanted, and little pains were
taken to distinguish between what tended to foster the evil and what
tended to elicit the better feelings of infantile nature. Yet the ideas
which presided over the scene," he continues, "and rung through it all
the day in light gabble and jocund song, were simple, often beautiful
ideas, generally well expressed, and unquestionably suitable to the
capacities of children.... There was no philosophy about these gentle
dames; but there was generally endless kindness, and a wonderful power
of keeping their little flock in good humour. It never occurred to them
that children were anything but children--'Bairns are just bairns,' my
old nurse would say--and they never once thought of beginning to make
them men and women while still little more than able to speak." They did
not; and, in the common homes of Scotland, they do not to this hour. The
self-same rhymes and drollery which amused Dr. Chambers as a child are
amusing and engaging the minds and exercising the faculties of children
over all the land even now. I question if there is a child anywhere
north of the Tweed who has not been entertained by
Brow, brow, brinkie,
Ee, ee, winkie,
Nose, nose, nebbie,
Cheek, cheek, cherrie,
Mou, mou, merry,
Chin, chin, chuckie,
Curry-wurry! Curry-wurry! etc.
Or the briefer formula, referring only to the brow, the eye, the nose,
and the mouth, which runs:--
Chap at the door,
Keek in,
Lift the sneck,
Walk in.
And it was only the other evening that I saw a father with his infant
son on his knee, having a little hand spread out, and entertaining its
owner by travelling from thumb to little finger, and repeating the old
catch:--
This is the man that broke the barn,
This is the man that stole the corn,
This is the man that ran awa',
This is the man that tell't a',
And puir Pirly Winkie paid for a', paid for a'.
well as its fellow-rhyme:--
This little pig went to the market,
This little pig stayed at home;
This little pig got roast beef,
This little pig got none;
This little pig cried, Squeak! squeak!
I can't find my way home.
Than the nonsense rhymes and capers that have delighted the nursery life
of Scotland for many generations, none, of course, could be more
delectable--none more suitable. While charming the sense, they have
awakened imagination and developed poetic fancy in thousands who
otherwise might have blundered into old age proving stolid and
uninteresting men and women. They are, for this reason, part and parcel
of every properly-balanced life, and the healthy and happy mind can
never let them go.
Johnny Smith, my fallow fine,
Can you shoe this horse o' mine?
Yes, indeed, and that I can,
Just as weel as ony man.
Ca' a nail into the tae,
To gar the pownie climb the brae;
Ca' a nail into the heel,
To gar the pownie trot weel;
There's a nail, and there's a brod,
There's a pownie weel shod,
Weel shod, weel shod, weel shod pownie.
What pleasing recollections of his own early childhood many a father has
had when, sitting with his child on his knee, he has demonstrated and
chanted that rude rhyme by the fireside o' nights far, as often has
been the case, from the scene where he learned it! To know such is to
realise one, at least, of the various reasons why the old delight in the
frolics of the young.
Hush-a-by baby on the tree top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock;
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
And down will come cradle and baby and all.
This is a rhyme which "every child has joyed to hear." Its origin, as
told in the records of the Boston (U.S.) Historical Society, is not more
curious than beautiful and significant. "Shortly after our forefathers
landed at Plymouth, Massachusetts (I am quoting), a party were out in
the fields where the Indian women were picking strawberries. Several of
the women, or squaws as they were called, had papooses--that is
babies--and, having no cradle, they had them tied up in Indian fashion
and hung from the limbs of the surrounding trees. Sure enough, when the
wind blew these cradles would rock! A young man of the party observing
this, pulled off a piece of bark and wrote off the above words, which is
believed to be the first poetry written in America." Several have
curious histories.
Little Jack Horner
Sat in a corner
Eating his Christmas pie;
He put in his thumb
And pulled out a plum,
And said, What a good boy am I!
Master Horner, it appears, was not a myth, but a real personage.
Tradition tells that when Henry VIII. suppressed the monasteries, and
drove the poor old monks from their nests, the title-deeds of the Abbey
of Mells, including the sumptuous grange built by Abbot Bellwood, were
demanded by the Commissioners. The Abbot of Glastonbury determined
instead that he would send them to London; and, as the documents were
very valuable, and the road was infested by thieves, to get them to the
metropolis safely he ordered a pie to be made, as fine as ever smoked on
a refectory table, inside of which the precious documents were placed,
and this dainty he entrusted to a lad named Horner to carry up to London
and deliver into the hands of the party for whom it was intended. But
the journey was long, the day was cold, the boy was hungry, the pie was
tempting, and the chances of detection, the youth presumed, were small.
So he broke the crust of the pie, and behold the parchment! He pulled it
forth innocently enough, wondering by what chance it could have reached
there, and arrived in town. The parcel was delivered, but the
title-deeds of Mells Abbey estate were missing. Jack had them in his
pocket, and--now learning their value--he kept them there. These were
the juiciest plums in the pie. Great was the rage of the Commissioners,
heavy the vengeance they dealt out to the monks. But Jack kept his
secret and the documents, and when peaceful times were restored he
claimed the estates and received them. So goes the story; and it may be
true. But, then, in the light of its truth, whether Master Horner
deserved the title of "good boy" bestowed on him by the rhyme will be
more than doubtful.
We all know the lines,
Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow;
And everywhere that Mary went,
The lamb was sure to go.
It followed her to school one day,
It was against the rule,
And made the children laugh and play,
To see a lamb at school.
These verses were founded, it appears, on an actual circumstance, and
the heroine Mary may be still living. Less than eighty years ago she was
a little girl, the daughter of a farmer in Worcester County,
Massachusetts, U.S. One spring her father brought a feeble lamb into the
house, and Mary adopted it as her especial pet. It became so fond of her
that it would follow her everywhere. One day it followed her to the
village school, and, not knowing well what to do with it there, the girl
put it under her desk and covered it over with her shawl. There it
stayed until Mary was called up with her class to the teacher's desk to
say her lesson; but then the lamb went quietly after her, and the whole
school burst out laughing. Soon after, John Rollstone, a fellow-student
with Mary, wrote a little rhyme commemorating the incident, and the
verses went rapidly from lip to lip, giving the greatest delight to all.
The lamb grew up to be a sheep, and lived many years; and when it died
Mary grieved so much that her mother took some of its wool, which was
"white as snow," and knitted for her a pair of stockings to wear in
remembrance of her pet. Some years after, Mrs. Sarah Hall composed
additional verses to those of John Rollstone, making the complete rhyme
as we know it.[A] Mary took such good care of the stockings made from
her lamb's fleece that when she was a grown-up woman she was able to
give one of them to a church bazaar in Boston. As soon as it became
known that the stocking was from the fleece of "Mary's little lamb,"
every one wanted a piece of it. So the stocking was unravelled, and the
yarn cut into short pieces. Each piece was fastened to a card on which
Mary wrote her full name, and those cards sold so well that they brought
the handsome sum of £28 to the Old South Church in Boston.
[Footnote A: The following are the added lines referred to:--
And so the teacher turned him out,
But still he lingered near,
And waited patiently about
Till Mary did appear.
And then he ran to her, and laid
His head upon her arm.
As if he said, "I'm not afraid,
You'll shield me from all harm."
"What makes the lamb love Mary so?"
The eager children cry.
"Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know,"
The teacher did reply.
]
Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall;
Not all the King's horses, nor all the King's men,
Could set Humpty-Dumpty up again.
Attempts have been made to show how that was suggested by the fall of a
bold bad baron who lived in the days of King John; but every child more
than ten years old knows that the lines present a conundrum, the answer
to which is--an egg. And yet, were it no conundrum, but only a nonsense
rhyme, its fascination for the budding intellect would be no less. It is
enough when, with the jingle of rhyme, the imagination, is tickled, as
in
Hey diddle dumplin' my son John,
Went to his bed with his trowsers on;
One shoe off and the other shoe on,
Hey diddle dumplin', my son John;
or--
Cripple Dick upon a stick,
And Sandy on a soo,
Ride away to Galloway
To buy a pund o' woo';
or yet again in--
Sing a sang o' saxpence,
A baggie fu' o' rye,
Four-and-twenty blackbirds,
Bakit in a pie.
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing;
And wasna that a dainty dish
To set before the King?
The King was in his counting-house
Counting out his money,
The Queen was in the parlour
Eating bread and honey,
The maid was in the garden
Hanging out the clothes,
When by came a blackbird
And snapped aff her nose.
For such supreme nonsense no historical origin need be sought, surely.
Yet part of the latter has been at least applied to a historical
personage in a way that is worth recalling. Dr. H. J. Pye, who was
created Poet Laureate in succession to Thomas Warton, in 1790, was, as
a poet, regularly made fun of. In his _New Year Odes_ there were
perpetual references to the coming spring: and, in the dearth of more
important topics, each tree and field-flower were described: and the
lark, and every other bird that could be brought into rhyme, were sure
to appear; and his poetical and patriotic _olla podrida_ ultimately
provoked the adaptation:--
When the Pye was opened,
The birds began to sing,
And was not that a dainty dish,
To set before a king?
But to take the rhymes only by themselves. Action rhymes, by reason of
their practical drollery, never fail to amuse. And among the very
earliest practised is the following. The nurse, with the child on her
knee, takes a little foot in either hand, and, making them go merrily up
and down, she sings:--
This is Willie Walker, and that's Tam Sim,
He ca'd him to a feast, and he ca'd him;
He sticket him on the spit, and he sticket him;
And he owre him, and he owre him,
And he owre him, and he owre him, etc.
Then, to keep up the diversion, may follow in the same manner:--
Twa little doggies gaed to the mill,
This way and that way, and this way and that way;
They took a lick out o' this wife's poke,
And a lick they took out o' that wife's poke,
And a loup in the lade, and a dip in the dam,
And hame they cam' wallopin', wallopin', wallopin', etc.
Or:--
Feetikin, feetikin,
When will ye gang?
When the nights turn short,
And the days turn lang,
I'll toddle and gang, toddle and gang.
Should more active entertainment be demanded, the child will be set bold
upright on one knee, and, suiting the action to the line, the rhyme will
be:--
This is the way the ladies ride,
Jimp and sma' jimp and sma';
This is the way the gentlemen ride,
Trotting a', trotting a';
This is the way the cadgers ride,
Creels and a'! creels and a'!!
Creels and a'!!!
For variety's sake, on an easier swing, may follow:--
A' the nicht owre and owre,
And a' the nicht owre again;
A' the nicht owre and owre
The peacock followed the hen.
The hen's a hungry beast,
The cock is hollow within;
But there's nae deceit in a puddin',
A pie's a dainty thing.
A' the nicht owre and owre.--_Da Capo._
Or, yet more to engage the intellect may come:--
Poussie, poussie, baudrons,
Whaur ha'e ye been?
I've been to London
Seeing the Queen.
Poussie, poussie, baudrons,
What gat ye there?
I gat a good fat mousikie,
Rinning up a stair.
Poussie, poussie, baudrons,
What did ye wi't?
I put it in my meal-poke
To eat it wi' my bread.
Or:--
Hushie-ba, birdie beeton,
Your mammie's gane to Seaton,
For to buy a lammie's skin
To row your bonnie boukie in.
And:--
Bye baby, buntin',
Daddie's gane a-huntin':--
Mammie's gane to buy a skin,
To row the baby buntin' in.
East Coast mothers sing:--
Ding dang, bell rang,
Cattie's in the well, man.
Fa' dang her in, man?
Jean and Sandy Din, man.
Fa' took her out, man?
Me and Willie Cout, man.
A' them that kent her
When she was alive,
Come to the burialie
Between four and five.
Again:--
Eezy ozy moolin's o' bread,
Kens na whaur to lay her head,
Atween the Kirkgate and the Cross
There stands a bonnie white horse,
It can gallop, it can trot,
It can carry the mustard-pot.
And yet again:--
Willie Warstle, auld Carle,
Dottered, dune, and doited bodie,
Feeds his weans on calfs' lugs,
Sowps o' brose, and draps o' crowdie.
In Arbroath and district, mothers, indicating the various parts of the
child's anatomy as they proceed, sing:--
Brow o' knowledge,
Eye o' life,
Scent bottle,
Penknife.
Cheek cherry,
Neck o' grace,
Chin o' pluck--
That's your face.
Shoulder o' mutton,
Breast o' fat,
Vinegar-bottle,
Mustard-pot--
That's my laddie.
Touching severally the various buttons on the child's dress during its
repetition, this sort of fortune-telling rhyme is common:--
A laird, a lord,
A rich man, a thief,
A tailor, a drummer,
A stealer o' beef.
Or supposing for the nonce that the child is a piece of cooper-work,
requiring to be mended, the following, accompanied by the supposed
process, may be sung:--
Donald Cooper, Carle, quo' she,
Can ye gird my coggie?
Couthie Carline, that I can,
As weel as ony bodie.
There's ane about the mou' o't,
And ane about the body o't,
And ane about the leggen o't,
And that's a girded coggie!
The next is lilted as an accompaniment to a pretended game of thumps:--
Bontin's man
To the town ran;
He coffed and sold,
And a penny down told;
The kirk was ane, and the choir was twa,
And a great muckle thump doon aboon a',
Doon aboon a', doon aboon a'.
The following (as Dr. Chambers remarks) explains its own theatrical
character:--
I got a little manikin, I set him on my thoomiken;
I saddled him, I bridled him, I sent him to the tooniken:
I coffed a pair o' garters to tie his little hosiken;
I coffed a pocket-napkin to dight his little nosiken;
I sent him to the garden to fetch a pund o' sage
And found him in the kitchen-neuk kissing little Madge.
While dandling the child on her knee the mother or nurse may sing:--
I had a little pony,
Its name was Dapple Grey:
I lent it to a lady,
To ride a mile away.
She whipped it, she lashed it,
She ca'd it owre the brae;
I winna lend my pony mair,
Though a' the ladies pray.
In the same manner the above may be followed by--
Chick! my naigie,
Chick! my naigie,
How many miles to Aberdaigy?
Eight and eight, and other eight;
Try to win there by candlelight.
Or:--
Cam' ye by the kirk?
Cam' ye by the steeple?
Saw ye our gudeman,
Riding on a ladle?
Foul fa' the bodie,
Winna buy a saddle,
Wearing a' his breeks,
Riding on a ladle!
Or again:--
The cattie rade to Passelet,
To Passelet, to Passelet,
The cattie rade to Passelet,
Upon a harrow-tine, O.
'Twas on a weetie Wednesday,
Wednesday, Wednesday:
'Twas on a weetie Wednesday,
I missed it aye sin syne, O.
Lighting a stick, and making it wave to and fro, so as to form a
semi-circle of red fire before the child's eyes, the nurse will sing or
croon:--
Dingle, dingle dousy,
The cat's at the well,
The dog's awa' to Musselbro'
To buy the bairn a bell.
Greet, greet bairnie,
And ye'se get a bell;
If ye dinna greet faster,
I'll keep it to mysel'.
Or again, dandling the child, the entertainment may be what some
Perthshire children know well:--
Riding on a horsie, never standing still,
Doun by St. Martins, and owre by Newmill,
In by Guildtown and round by Cargill,
Richt up Burstbane, and owre by Gallowhill,
Yont by the Harelaw, and doun to Wolfhill,
And that's the way to ride a horse and never stand still.
Or the universal favourite may ensue:--
Ride a Cock-Horse to Banbury Cross,
To see an old woman ride on a white horse;
Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes,
She shall have music wherever she goes.
Or:--
Hey diddle diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon;
The little dog laughed,
To see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
In a reposeful attitude, such rhymes as follow may be employed:--
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.
Shoo shuggie, owre the glen,
Mammie's pet, and daddie's hen.
Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?
Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full;
One for the master, one for the dame,
One for the little boy that lives in the lane.
Goosey, Goosey Gander,
Where shall I wander?
Upstairs, downstairs,
And in my lady's chamber.
There I met an old man
Who wouldn't say his prayers,
I took him by the left leg,
And threw him downstairs.
Old Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard,
To fetch her poor doggie a bone;
But when she got there, the cupboard was bare,
And so the poor doggie got none.
Little Polly Flinders
Sat among the cinders,
Warming her pretty little toes,
Her mother came and caught her,
And whipped her little daughter
For spoiling her nice new clothes.
Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
Stole a pig and away he run;
Pig was eat, and Tom was beat,
And Tom went roaring down the street.
Little Betty Blue
Has lost her holiday shoe,
Give her another
To match the other,
And then she will walk in two.
Three blind mice; three blind mice;
See how they run; see how they run;
They all ran after the farmer's wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did ever you see such fools in your life?
Three blind mice!
Mary, Mary,
Quite contrairy,
How does your garden grow?
Silver bells,
And cockle shells,
And pretty-maids all in a row.
Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man!
Bake a cake as fast as you can;
Prick it, and pat it, and mark it with T,
And put it in the oven for Tommy and me.
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
There came a great spider
And sat down beside her,
And frightened Miss Muffet away.
Jack Sprat could eat no fat,
His wife could eat no lean;
And so, betwixt them both, you see,
They licked the platter clean.
Little Tom Tucker
Sang for his supper.
What shall we give him?
Brown bread and butter.
How shall he cut it
Without any a knife?
How shall he marry
Without any wife?
See-saw, Margery Daw,
Jenny shall have a new master;
She shall have but a penny a day,
Because she can't work any faster.
Roun', roun' rosie, cuppie, cuppie shell,
The dog's awa' to Hamilton, to buy a new bell;
If you don't tak' it, I'll tak' it to mysel',
Roun', roun' rosie, cuppie, cuppie shell.
There was a little man, and he had a little gun,
And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead;
He shot Johnnie Twig through the middle of his wig,
And knocked it right off his head, head, head.
Hickety, pickety, my black hen,
Lays eggs for gentlemen,
Whiles ane, whiles twa,
Whiles a bonnie black craw.
For slightly more matured wits will be provided:--
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children, she didn't know what to do;
She gave them some broth, without any bread,
And whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.
Doctor Foster, went to Glo'ster
In a shower of rain;
He stepped in a puddle,
Up to the middle,
And never went there again.
This is another version of one that has been given earlier:--
Ding, dong, bell, Pussy's in the well.
Who put her in? Little Tommy Thin.
Who pulled her out? Little Tommy Stout.
What a naughty boy was that,
Thus to drown poor Pussy Cat.
Little Boy Blue, come, blow your horn,
The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn;
Where is the boy that looks after the sheep?
He's under the haycock, fast asleep!
Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief,
Taffy came to my house, and stole a piece of beef;
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not at home;
Taffy came to my house, and stole a marrow-bone.
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was in bed,
I took up a broomstick and flung it at his head.
The lion and the unicorn
Fighting for the crown;
Up jumps a wee dog
And knocks them both down.
Some got white bread,
And some got brown:
But the lion beat the unicorn
All round the town.
There was a wee wifie row'd up in a blanket,
Nineteen times as high as the moon;
And what she did there I canna declare,
For in her oxter she bure the sun.
Wee wifie, wee wifie, wee wifie, quo' I,
O what are ye doin' up there so high?
I'm blawin' the cauld clouds out o' the sky.
Weel dune, weel dune, wee wifie, quo' I.
What ca' they you?
They ca' me Tam Taits!
What do ye do?
I feed sheep and gaits!
Where feed they?
Doun in yon bog!
What eat they?
Gerse and fog!
What gie they?
Milk and whey!
Wha sups that?
Tam Taits and I!
The laverock and the lintie,
The robin and the wren;
Gin ye harry their nests,
Ye'll never thrive again.
During a hail-storm country children sing:--
Rainy, rainy rattle-stanes,
Dinna rain on me;
But rain on Johnnie Groat's House,
Far owre the sea.
Again, when snow is falling:--
Snaw, snaw, flee awa'
Owre the hills and far awa'.
Towards the yellow-hammer, or yellow-yite--bird of beautiful plumage
though it be--because it is the subject of an unaccountable
superstitious notion, which credits it with drinking a drop of the
devil's blood every May morning, the children of Scotland cherish no
inconsiderable contempt, which finds expression in the rhyme:--
Half a puddock, half a taed,
Half a yellow yorling;
Drinks a drap o' the deil's blood
Every May morning.
On the East Coast, when the seagulls fly inland in search of food, the
children, not desiring their appearance--because probably of the old
superstition that they are prone to pick out the eyes of people--cry to
them:--
Seamaw, seamaw, my mither's awa'
For pouther an' lead, to shoot ye dead--
Pit-oo! pit-oo! pit-oo!
To the lark's song the young mind gives language, in a kindly way,
thus:--
Larikie, larikie, lee!
Wha'll gang up to heaven wi' me?
No the lout that lies in his bed,
No the doolfu' that dreeps his head.
Interpreting similarly the lapwing's cry, they retaliate with:--
Peese-weep! Peese-weep!
Harry my nest, and gar me greet!
Of the cuckoo they have this common rhyme:--
The cuckoo is a bonnie bird,
He sings as he flies;
He brings us good tidings;
He tells us no lies.
He drinks the cold water
To keep his voice clear;
And he'll come again
In the Spring of the year.
The lady-bird, or "Leddy Lanners," is a favourite insect with children,
and is employed by them to discover their future partners in life. When
a boy or girl finds one, he, or she, as the case may be, places it on
the palm of his, or her, hand, and repeats, until it flies off, the
lines:--
Leddy, Leddy Lanners,
Leddy, Leddy Lanners,
Tak' up yer cloak about yer head
An' flee awa' to Flann'ers;
Flee ower firth, an' flee ower fell,
Flee ower pool, an' rinnin' well,
Flee ower hill, an' flee ower mead,
Flee ower livin', flee ower dead,
Flee ower corn, an' flee ower lea,
Flee ower river, flee ower sea,
Flee ye East, or flee ye West,
Flee to the ane that loves me best.
The following rhyme, old and curious, and still not unknown to the young
in Scotland and England alike, has many varieties:--
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,
Bless the bed that I lie on;
Four posties to my bed,
Six angels are outspread:
Two to bottom, two to head,
One to watch me while I pray,
One to bear my soul away.
After the first two lines it goes sometimes:--
Four corners to my bed,
Four angels round my head;
One to read and one to write,
Two to guard my bed at night.
And often the closing lines run:--
One to watch and two to pray,
One to keep all fears away.
In an old MS. by Aubrey, in the British Museum, he states that this was
a prayer regularly used by people when they went to bed. Then Ody, in
his _Candle in the Dark_, 1656, tells that it was frequently used by old
people as a charm, and was repeated three times before going to bed.
Launcelot Sharpe, in his _Towneley Mysteries_, 1838, relates that he had
often, when a boy, heard similar words used in Kent as a prayer.
Since about the time of the Crimean War--and more immediately after then
than now--the children of Glasgow have shouted in the streets:--
Saw ye the Forty-Second?
Saw ye them gaun awa'?
Saw ye the Forty-Second
Marching to the Broomielaw?
Some o' them had boots an' stockin's,
Some o' them had nane ava;
Some of them had tartan plaidies,
Marching to the Broomielaw.
At an earlier period they had:--
Wha saw the Cotton-spinners?
Wha saw them gaun awa'?
Wha saw the Cotton-spinners
Sailing frae the Broomielaw?
Some o' them had boots an' stockin's,
Some o' them had nane ava;
Some o' them had umbrellas
For to keep the rain awa'.
There are many similar entertainments which these suggest. But to follow
in extent the out-door rhymes of the bairns would carry us beyond the
prescribed limits of this chapter. None have been cited, so far, that do
not belong absolutely to the nursery; and the collection of these even,
though fairly ample, is not so full as it might be. We will conclude
with a few, each of which forms a puzzle or conundrum--some of them, in
all conscience, gruesome enough, and full of terrible mystery--but,
individually, well calculated to awaken thought and stir imagination in
any youthful circle.
As I gaed owre the Brig o' Perth
I met wi' George Bawhannan;
I took aff his head, and drank his bluid,
And left his body stannin'.
[A bottle of wine.]
As I looked owre my window at ten o'clock at nicht,
I saw the dead carrying the living.
[A ship sailing.]
Hair without and hair within,
A' hair, and nae skin. [A hair rope.]
Three feet up, cauld and dead,
Twa feet doun, flesh and bluid;
The head o' the livin' in the mouth o' the dead:
An auld man wi' a pot on his head.
[Last line is the answer.]
There was a man o' Adam's race,
Wha had a certain dwellin' place;
It was neither in heaven, earth, nor hell,
Tell me where this man did dwell.
[Jonah in the whale's belly.]
A ha'penny here, an' a ha'penny there,
Fourpence-ha'penny and a ha'penny mair;
A ha'penny weet, an' a ha'penny dry,
Fourpence-ha'penny an' a ha'penny forby--
How much is that?
[A shilling.]
There was a prophet on this earth,
His age no man could tell;
He was at his greatest height
Before e'en Adam fell.
His wives are very numerous,
Yet he maintaineth none;
And at the day of reckoning
He bids them all begone.
He wears his boots when he should sleep,
His spurs are ever new;
There's no a shoemaker on a' the earth
Can fit him wi' a shoe.
[A cock.]
Riddle me, riddle me, rot-tot-tot,
A wee, wee man in a red, red coat;
A staff in his hand and a stane in his throat,
Riddle me, riddle me, rot-tot-tot.
[A cherry.]
There was a man made a thing,
And he that made it did it bring;
But he 'twas made for did not know
Whether 'twas a thing or no.
[A coffin.]
Pease-porridge het, pease-porridge cauld,
Pease-porridge in a pot ten days auld;
Spell me that in four letters.
[T-H-A-T.]
I sat wi' my love, and I drank wi' my love,
And my love she gave me light;
I'll give any man a pint o' wine
To read my riddle right.
[He sat in a chair made of his mistress's bones, drank out of her skull,
and was lighted by a candle made of the substance of her body.]
Mouth o' horn, and beard o' leather;
Ye'll no guess that were ye hanged in a tether.
[A cock.]
Bonnie Katie Brannie stands at the wa',
Gi'e her little, gi'e her muckle, she licks up a':
Gi'e her stanes, she eats them--but water, she'll dee,
Come, tell this bonnie riddleum to me.
[The fire.]
Down in yon meadow
There sails a boat;
And in that boat
The King's son sat.
I'm aye telling ye,
But ye're no calling,
Hoo they ca' the King's son
In the boat sailing.
[Hoo, or Hugh.]
As I gaed owre Bottle-brig,
Bottle-brig brak';
Though ye guess a' day,
Ye winna guess that. [The ice.]
If Dick's father is John's son,
What relation is Dick to John?
[His grandson.]
The brown bull o' Baverton,
Gaed owre the hill o' Haverton;
He dashed his head atween twa stanes
And was brought milk-white hame.
[Corn sent to the mill and ground.]
A beautiful lady in a garden was laid,
Her beauty was fair as the sun;
In the first hour of her life she was made a man's wife,
And she died before she was born.
[Eve.]
The minister, the dominie, and Mr. Andrew Lang,
Went to the garden where three pears hang:
Each one took a pear--how many pears then?
[Two: the three persons were one.]
Mou'd like the mill-door, luggit like the cat;
Though ye guess a' day, ye'll no guess that.
[An old-fashioned kail-pot.]
There stands a tree at our house-end,
It's a' clad owre wi' leather bend:
It'll fecht a bull, it'll fecht a bear,
It'll fecht a thousand men o' wear.
[Death.]
Lang man legless,
Gaed to the door staffless:
Goodwife, put up your deuks and hens;
For dogs and cats I carena.
[A worm.]
As I gaed to Falkland to a feast,
I met me wi' an ugly beast:
Ten tails, a hunder nails,
And no a fit but ane.
[A ship.]
As I cam' owre the tap o' Trine,
I met a drove o' Highland swine:
Some were black, and some were brawnet,
Some o' them was yellow tappit.
Sic a drove o' Highland swine
Ne'er cam' owre the tap o' Trine.
[A swarm of bees.]
Infir taris, inoknonis;
Inmudeelis, inclaynonis.
Canamaretots?
[In fir tar is, in oak none is;
In mud eel is, in clay none is.
Can a mare eat oats?]
Wee man o' leather
Gaed through the heather,
Through a rock, through a reel,
Through an auld spinning-wheel,
Through a sheep-shank bane.
Sic a man was never seen.
Wha had he been?
[A beetle.]
The robbers cam' to our house
When we were a' in;
The house lap out at the windows,
And we were a' ta'en.
[Fish caught in a net.]
COUNTING-OUT RHYMES.
The use of doggerel rhymes by children in playing their out-of-door
games, to decide by the last word which of their number shall be "it" or
"takkie," in games like "Hide and Seek" and "I Spy," must be familiar to
every reader who has had any youth worthy of being so called. What is
not well known, however, is the fact that some of them--the rhymes, I
mean--that very common one in particular, beginning--"One-ery, two-ery,
tickery, seven," and its fellow in like respect, with the opening
line--"Eeny, meeny, manny, mo"--have, in almost identical form, been in
active use by the wee folks for hundreds of years, as they are still, in
nearly every country of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America. That the
pastime has been common among the children of civilized and
semi-civilized races alike is certainly of curious interest, and yet
investigation has proved this to be the case. Not only so, but the form
of use is nearly always identical. A leader, as a rule self-appointed,
having engaged the attention of the boys and girls about to join in a
proposed game, arranges them either in a row or in a circle around him.
He then repeats the rhyme, fast or slow, as he is capable or disposed,
pointing with the hand or forefinger to each child in succession, not
forgetting himself, and allotting to each one word of the mysterious
formula. It may be, for example:--
Eeny, meeny, manny, mo,
Catch a nigger by the toe;
When he hollers, let him go,
Eeny, meeny, manny, mo.
Having completed the verse, the child on whom the last word falls is
said to be "out," and steps aside. At each repetition one in like manner
steps aside, and the one who survives the ordeal until all the rest have
been "chapped" or "titted" out is declared "it" or "takkie," and the
game proceeds forthwith. Sometimes the formula employed in certain parts
of Scotland, as I recollect, was for each boy to insert his finger into
the leader's cap, around which all the company stood. The master of the
ceremonies then with his finger allotted a word to each "finger in the
pie." It might be:--
Eenity, feenity, fickety, feg,
El, del, domen, egg,
Irky, birky, story, rock,
Ann, Dan, Toosh, Jock.
With the pronouncement of the word "Jock," the M.C.'s finger came down
with a whack which made the one "chapped out" be withdrawn in a "hunder
hurries." In some parts of America a peculiar method obtains. The
alphabet is repeated by the leader, who assigns one letter to each child
in the group, and when a letter falls to a child which is the same as
the initial of his last name, that child falls out, and this is
continued, observing the same plan, until only one child remains, who is
"it." There are other forms, too, but none strikingly dissimilar. Where
the little ones have been in haste to proceed with the game, and in no
mood to waste time in counting out each one to the last, they have taken
the sharper process of saying--
Red, white, yellow, blue,
All out but you,
and by the first reading fixed the relationship of parties.
Now, a very important and interesting feature of these rhymes and their
application, as I have said, is found in the fact that they prevail in a
more or less identical form all over the world. When this is so, their
common origin is placed almost beyond dispute. The question only, which
perhaps no one can answer, is--Whence come they? It would not be
hazarding too much to say, I think, that Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in
their turn as boys, with other boys of their time, each used a form of
counting-out rhyme in the manner and for the purpose for which they are
still in vogue by the boys and girls of the present day. Undoubtedly
they found a precedent, if they did not actually themselves exercise a
part, in the very ancient custom of casting lots, which prevailed among
the heathen as well as among the chosen people of God in very early
times. From sacred history we learn that lots were used to decide
measures to be taken in battle; to select champions in individual
contests; to determine the partition of conquered or colonised lands; in
the division of spoil; in the appointment of Magistrates and other
functionaries; in the assignment of priestly offices; and in criminal
investigations, when doubt existed as to the real culprit. Among the
Israelites, indeed, the casting of lots was divinely ordained as a
method of ascertaining the Holy will, and its use on many interesting
occasions is described in the Holy Scriptures. The simplicity of the
process, and its unanswerable result, were appreciated by Solomon, who
says: "The lot causeth contentions to cease, and parteth between the
mighty" (Prov. xviii. 18). In New Testament times, again, Matthias was
chosen by lot to "take the place in this ministry and apostleship from
which Judas fell away" (Acts i. 24-26). The Babylonians, when about to
wage war against another nation, were wont to determine which city
should be attacked first by casting lots in a peculiar manner. The names
of the cities were written on arrows. These were shaken in a bag, and
the one drawn decided the matter (see Ezekiel xxi. 21-22). A like method
of divination, called _belomany_, was current among the Arabians before
Mahomet's rise, though it was afterwards prohibited by the Koran. By
imitation of their elders, to which children are constantly prone--in
the making of "housies," in nursing of dolls, etc. etc.--doubtless there
came the counting-out rhyme. What is not so easily understood is their
existence in so many identical forms in so many widely distant lands. As
an example of how cosmopolitan some of them are, let us track a familiar
enough one for a fair distance and see how it appears in the national
garb of the various countries in which it has found bed, board, and
biding. All over Britain and America it goes:--
One, two, buckle my shoe,
Three, four, open the door,
Five, six, pick up the sticks,
Seven, eight, lay them straight,
Nine, ten, a good fat hen,
Eleven, twel', bake it well,
Thirteen, fourteen, maids a-courting,
Fifteen, sixteen, maids a-kissing,
Seventeen, eighteen, maids a-waiting,
Nineteen, twenty, my stomach's empty.
In Germany it is found in various forms, but one will suffice:--
1, 2, Polizei,
3, 4, Offizier,
5, 6, Alte Hex,
7, 8, Gute Nacht,
9, 10, Auf Wiedersehen,
11, 12, Junge Wölf,
13, 14, Blaue Schürzen,
15, 16, Alte Hexen,
17, 18, Mädle Wachsen,
19, 20, Gott Verdanzig.
In France it also appears in various forms, and the children of Paris,
not disposed to waste time and energy, cut it briefly, as follows:--
Un, deux, trois,
Tu ne l'es pas,
Quatre, cinq, six,
Va t'en d'ici.
In Italy a form goes:--
Pan uno, pan duo,
Pan tre, pan quattro,
Pan cinque, pan sei,
Pan sette, pan otto,
Pancotto!
And versions, all revealing a common origin, might be quoted in the
languages of many more countries, but we can employ our space to better
purpose. With regard to the rhyme already quoted, beginning, "Eenity,
feenity, fickety, feg," it has been asked whether the second line, "El,
del, domen, egg," would not warrant the conclusion that it sprang into
existence on the streets, and among the children, of Ancient Rome.
Perhaps it did; for who may say it did not? There is that very common
one all over Scotland, which, it will be remembered, that wonderful
child, Marjorie Fleming, played off on Sir Walter Scott:--
One-ery, two-ery, tickery, seven,
Alibi, crackaby, ten and eleven;
Pin, pan, musky dan;
Tweedle-um, twoddle-um, twenty-one;
Eerie, orie, ourie. You are out!
A similar formula, only in slightly varying words, is found in the
folk-lore of almost every country in the world. Commenting on the
opening line, the late Mr. Charles G. Leland, author of the _Hans
Breitmann_ ballads, and an acknowledged authority on the language and
customs of the Eastern Gypsies, sets against it a Romany stanza, used as
a spell, beginning:--
Ekkeri, akai-ri, you kiar-an,
and remarks that "Ekkeri, akai-ri," literally translated, just gives the
familiar "One-ery, two-ery," which is etymologically analogous to
"Hickory, dickory," in the all-pervading nursery rhyme:--
Hickory, dickory, dock,
The mouse ran up the clock;
The clock struck one, and down the mouse ran,
Hickory, dickory, dock.
An American version of which, by the bye, goes:--
Hiddlety, diddlety, dumpty,
The cat ran up the plum tree;
Half-a-crown to fetch her down,
Hiddlety, diddlety, dumpty.
But still, before leaving the familiar chapping-out rhyme of Marjorie
Fleming, let us see how it occurs again in Scotland and among the
children of some of the other English-speaking nations, to go no
further. Charles Taylor, in the _Magpie; or Chatterings of the Pica_,
published at Glasgow in 1820, gives it thus:--
Anery, twaery, duckery, seven,
Alama, crack, ten am eleven;
Peem, pom, it must be done,
Come teetle, come total, come twenty-one;
and remarks:--"This is reported to have originated with the Druids; the
total number of words is twenty-one, and it seems to be a mixture of
words put into rhyme." In the streets and lanes and open spaces of
Aberdeen it runs:--
Enery, twa-ery, tuckery, taven,
Halaba, crackery, ten or eleven;
Peen, pan, musky dan,
Feedelam, Fadelam, twenty-one.
In the county of Wexford, in Ireland, it goes:--
One-ery, two-ery, dickery, Davy,
Hallabone, crackabone, tenery, Navy;
Discome, dandy, merry-come-tine,
Humbledy, bumbledy, twenty-nine,
O-U-T, out. You must go out!
In the Midlands of England:--
One-ery, two-ery, dickery, dee,
Halibo, crackibo, dandilee;
Pin, pan, muskee dan,
Twiddledum, twaddledum, twenty-one;
Black fish, white trout,
Eeny, meeny, you go out.
In Massachusetts, U.S., America:--
Ena, deena, dina, dust,
Catler, wheeler, whiler, whust;
Spin, spon, must be done,
Twiddleum, twaddleum, twenty-one.
In the island of Guernsey:--
Eena, deena, dina, duss,
Catalaweena, wina, wuss;
Tittle, tattle, what a rattle,
O-U-T spells out!
Another Scotch version:--
One-ery, two-ery, tickery, ten,
Bobs of vinegar, gentlemen;
A bird in the air, a fish in the sea;
A bonnie wee lassie come singing to thee.
One, two, three!
Of the "Eeny, feenity, fickety, feg" rhyme, we find these evident
varieties. This, said to be used in the West of Scotland:--
Zeeny, meeny, fickety, fick,
Deal, doll, dominick;
Zarity-panty, on a rock, toosh!
This in Cumberland:--
Eeny, pheeny, figgery, fegg,
Deely, dyly, ham and egg.
Calico back, and stony rock,
Arlum, barlum, bash!
In the United States:--
Inty, minty, tippity, fig,
Dinah, donah, norma, nig,
Oats, floats, country notes;
Dinah, donah, tiz,
Hulla-ballop-bulloo,
Out goes you!
This curious one in Edinburgh:--
Inty, tinty, tethery, methery,
Bank for over, Dover, ding,
Aut, taut, toosh;
Up the Causey, down the Cross,
There stands a bonnie white horse:
It can gallop, it can trot,
It can carry the mustard pot.
One, two, three, out goes she!
Again, in Scotland:--
Inky, pinky, peerie-winkie,
Hi domin I.
Arky, parky, tarry rope,
Ann, tan, toozy Jock.
This is truly American--the first line of which, by the bye, is derived
from, or is borrowed by, the College song, "King of the Cannibal
Islands":--
Hoky poky, winky wum,
How do you like your 'taters done?
Snip, snap, snorum,
High popolorum,
Kate go scratch it,
You are out!
That this also is from beyond the "pond" is evident:--
As I was walking down the lake,
I met a little rattlesnake.
I gave him so much jelly-cake,
It made his little belly ache.
One, two, three, out goes she!
In the West of Scotland they sometimes say:--
Ease, ose, man's nose;
Cauld parritch, pease brose.
Forfarshire bairns say:--
Eemer-awmer, Kirsty Gawmer,
Doon i' Carnoustie, merchant-dale.
Leddy Celestie, Sandy Testie,
Bonnie poppy-show.
You--are--out!
And elsewhere, but still in Scotland:--
Eatum, peatum, potum, pie,
Babylonie, stickum, stie,
Dog's tail, hog's snout,
I'm in, you're out.
Or:--
Eerie, orie, owre the dam,
Fill your poke and let us gang;
Black fish and white trout,
Eerie, orie, you are out.
Another goes:--
A ha'penny puddin', a ha'penny pie,
Stand you there, you're out by.
The last appears in Chambers' _Popular Rhymes of
Scotland_, which interesting collection embraces also the
next two. First:--
My grandfather's man and me fell out,
How will we bring the matter about?
We'll bring it about as weel as we can,
And a' for the sake o' my grandfather's man.
Second:--
Master Foster, very good man,
Sweeps his college now and than,
After that he takes a dance
Up from London down to France,
With a black bonnet and a white snout,
Stand you there, you are out.
In Glasgow, I am told, the next one used to be common:--
As I gaed up the apple tree
A' the apples fell on me;
Bake a puddin', bake a pie,
Send it up to John Mackay;
John Mackay is no in,
Send it up to the man i' the mune;
The man i' the mune's mendin' his shoon,
Three bawbees and a farden in.
Also this:--
As I went up the apple tree,
All the apples fell on me;
Bake a puddin', bake a pie,
Did you ever tell a lie?
Yes I did, and many times.
O-U-T, out goes she
Right in the middle of the deep blue sea.
And this:--
Eerie, orie, ickery, am,
Pick ma nick, and slick ma slam.
Oram, scoram, pick ma noram,
Shee, show, sham, shutter,
You--are--out!
In England and Scotland alike this has been used, with slight
variations, for at least a hundred years:--
As I went up the brandy hill,
I met my father, wi' gude will;
He had jewels, he had rings,
He had mony braw things;
He'd a cat and nine tails,
He'd a hammer wantin' nails.
Up Jock, doun Tam,
Blaw the bellows, auld man.
The auld man took a dance,
First to London, then to France.
Another:--
Queen, Queen Caroline,
Dipped her hair in turpentine;
Turpentine made it shine,
Queen, Queen Caroline.
And yet another:--
Tit, tat, toe,
Here I go,
And if I miss,
I pitch on this.
The following have long been in active use all over Scotland, if not
also elsewhere:--
Zeenty, teenty, halligo lum,
Pitchin' tawties doun the lum.
Wha's there? Johnnie Blair.
What d'ye want? A bottle o' beer.
Where's your money? In my purse.
Where's your purse? In my pocket.
Where's your pocket? I forgot it.
Go down the stair, you silly blockhead.
You--are--out.
Zeenty, teenty, alligo, dan,
Bobs o' vinegar, gentleman,
Kiss, toss, mouse, fat,
Bore a needle, bum a fiddle,
Jink ma jeerie, jink ma jye,
Stand you there, you're out bye.
One, two, three, four,
Jenny at the cottage door,
Eating cherries aff a plate,
Five, six, seven, eight.
Zeenty, teenty, feggerie fell,
Pompaleerie jig.
Every man who has no hair
Generally wears a wig.
Mistress Mason broke a basin,
How much will it be?
Half-a-crown. Lay it down.
Out goes she!
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,
All good children go to heaven;
When they die their sin's forgiven,
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,
All good children go to heaven:
A penny by the water,
Tuppence by the sea,
Threepence by the railway,
Out goes she!
Me and the minister's wife coost out.
Guess ye what it was about?
Black puddin', dish-clout,
Eerie, orrie, you are out!
Master Monday, how's your wife?
Very sick, and like to die.
Can she eat? O yes,
As much as I can buy.
She makes the porridge very thin,
A pound of butter she puts in,
Black puddin', white clout,
Eerie, orrie, you are out!
Inky pinky, my black hen
Lays eggs for gentlemen;
Whiles ane, whiles twa,
Whiles a bonnie black craw.
One--two--three,
You--are--out!
Eeny, meeny, clean peeny,
If you want a piece and jeely,
Just walk out!
John says to John,
How much are your geese?
John says to John,
Twenty cents a-piece.
John says to John,
That's too dear;
John says to John,
Get out of here!
Ching, Ching, Chinaman,
How do you sell your fish?
Ching, Ching, Chinaman,
Six bits a dish.
Ching, Ching, Chinaman,
Oh! that's too dear;
Ching, Ching, Chinaman,
Clear out of here!
Lemons and oranges, two for a penny,
I'm a good scholar that counts so many.
The rose is red, the leaves are green,
The days are past that I have seen.
I doot, I doot,
My fire is out,
And my little dog's not at home:
I'll saddle my cat, and I'll bridle my dog,
And send my little boy home.
Home, home again, home!
Jenny, good spinner,
Come down to your dinner,
And taste the leg of a roasted frog!
I pray ye, good people,
Look owre the kirk steeple,
And see the cat play wi' the dog!
Matthew, Mark, Luke, John,
Haud the horse till I win on;
Haud him siccar, haud him fair,
Haud him by a pickle hair.
One, two, three,
You are out!
Around the house, arickity-rary,
I hope ye'll meet the green canary:
You say ay, I say no,
Hold fast--let go!
Scottie Malottie, the king o' the Jews,
Sell't his wife for a pair o' shoes;
When the shoes began to wear
Scottie Malottie began to swear.
In Dundee these lines are added to the "Eenity feenity" rhyme:--
Jock out, Jock in,
Jock through a hickle-pin.
Eetle-ottle, black bottle;
Eetle-ottle, out!
This, more commonly used as a test of truth-telling (little fingers
being linked while it is uttered), is also used on the East Coast as a
counting-out rhyme:--
I ring, I ring, a pinky!
If I tell a lie
I'll go to the bad place
Whenever I die.
White pan, black pan,
Burn me to death,
Tak' a muckle gully
And cut my breath.
Ten miles below the earth.
Amen!
But these all, of course, as already stated, have been delivered and
acted, as they are still, rather as a prelude to the more elaborate
games designed to follow than as a part of them, and to afford
designedly the opportunity of deciding emphatically who shall be "it" or
"takkie."
CHILDREN'S RHYME-GAMES.
When by the aid of the "chapping-out" rhyme it has been decided who
should be "it," the game to follow may be "Single Tig," "Cross Tig,"
"Burly Bracks Round the Stacks," "Pussie in the Corner," "Bonnety," "The
Tod and the Hounds," "I Spy," "Smuggle the Keg," "Booly Horn," "Dock,"
"Loup the Frog," "Foot and a Half," "Bools," "Pitch and Toss," or any
one of another dozen, all of which are essentially boys' games, and have
no rhymes to enliven their action. But if it is to be a game in which
both sexes may equally engage, or a game for girls alone, then almost
certainly there is a rhyme with it. Somehow girls have always been more
musical than boys, even as in their maturer years they are more
frequently the subject of song than their confreres of the sterner sex.
"Peever," "Tig," and "Skipping Rope," are indeed, so far as I can recall
at the moment, about all of the girls' commoner games which are played
without the musical accompaniment of line and verse. Their rhyme-games,
on the other hand, are legion, and embrace "A Dis, a Dis, a Green
Grass," "The Merry-Ma-Tanzie," "The Mulberry Bush," "Carry My Lady to
London," "I Dree I Droppit It," "Looby-Looby," and ever so many more.
Like the counting-out rhymes, the game-rhymes are found in only slightly
differing forms in widely divided countries and places. But ever alike,
they are never quite the same. The "Merry-Ma-Tanzie," for instance,
though always the same in name, will be found with varying lines in
almost every town and village in Scotland even. There are variants
equally, I suppose, of all.
"~Merry-ma-Tanzie~" is solely a girls' game, of which boys, however, may
be interested spectators. The counting-out rhyme having put one in the
centre, the rest join hands in a ring about her, and moving slowly
round, they sing:--
Here we go round the jingo-ring,
The jingo-ring, the jingo-ring,
Here we go round the jingo-ring,
About the merry-ma-tanzie.
Twice about and then we fa',
Then we fa', then we fa',
Twice about and then we fa',
About the merry-ma-tanzie.
Choose your maidens all around,
All around, all around,
Choose your maidens all around,
About the merry-ma-tanzie.
Replying to this invitation, the one in the centre chooses two from the
circle, and retires with them a short distance away. During their
absence the ring-band proceeds as before, and sing with imitating
gesture:--
Sweep the house ere the bride comes in,
The bride comes in, the bride comes in,
Sweep the house ere the bride comes in,
About the merry-ma-tanzie.
When those who left return, the one who was in the centre takes up her
original position, as also do the others, and the ring moves on again
with:--
Here's a bride new come hame,
New come hame, new come hame;
Here's a bride new come hame,
About the merry-ma-tanzie.
Then follows "Mary Anderson is her name," with the usual repeats, and
"Guess ye wha is her true love," "A bottle o' wine to tell his name,"
"Andrew Wilson is his name," "Honey is sweet and so is he," (or "Apples
are sour and so is he,") "He's married her wi' a gay gold ring," "A gay
gold ring's a cank'rous thing," "But now they're married we wish them
joy," "Father and mother they must obey," "Loving each other like sister
and brother," "We pray this couple may kiss together," all, of course,
sung with their repeats as above; and the game may be played until every
little girl has revealed her little sweetheart's name, which, to be
sure, is the _motif_ of the play.
* * * * *
"~The Mulberry Bush~," which goes to the same air as "Merry-Ma-Tanzie,"
and is in some places called "The Mulberry Tree," and in others "The
Gooseberry Bush," is yet more of an action game. The arrangement is
again in a ring, and, moving round hand-in-hand, all sing:--
Here we go round the mulberry bush,
The mulberry bush, the mulberry bush;
Here we go round the mulberry bush,
On a cold and frosty morning.
Stopping short with a curtsey at the conclusion and disjoining hands,
they stand, and imitating the process of hand-washing, they sing:--
This is the way we wash our hands,
Wash our hands, wash our hands,
This is the way we wash our hands,
On a cold and frosty morning.
All joining hands again, they go round as before, singing--"Here we go
round the mulberry bush," and so on, which is repeated regularly after
each action-verse on to the end. The opening lines of the action-verses
alone may be given here to suggest the whole. They are:--
"This is the way we lace our stays."
"This is the way we comb our hair."
"This is the way we walk to school."
"This is the way we return from school."
"This is the way the ladies walk."
"This is the way the gentlemen walk."
"~A Dis, a Dis, a Green Grass~," is so simple it is a favourite
generally with very little ladies. And there are different forms of the
game, both in Scotland and England, if not also in other countries. The
more common way, however, is for the children to stand all in a row,
and, when the counting-out rhyme has been applied once and again, the
two who have been "hit out" face up together hand-in-hand in front, and,
advancing and retiring, sing:--
A dis, a dis, a green grass,
A dis, a dis, a dis;
Come all ye pretty fair maids,
And dance along with us.
For we are going a-roving,
A-roving o'er the land;
We'll take this pretty fair maid,
We'll take her by the hand.
This sung, they select a girl from the group, who joins on either side,
as she is directed, and the song continues, bearing now the comforting
assurance to the one chosen:--
Ye shall have a duck, my dear,
And ye shall have a beau;
And ye shall have a young prince
By chance to marry you.
And if this young prince he should die,
Then ye will get another;
And the birds will sing and the bells will ring,
And we'll all clap hands together.
Having all joined in the last two verses, all clap hands together. And
the same process is repeated again and again until the last of the
"pretty fair maids" is taken over from the row, when the game is
ended--though it may be but to begin again as the desire is expressed
and supported.
* * * * *
Some one, to be sure, may suggest "~Looby-Looby~," which has but to be
named when all are ready and eager. A ring is formed, when all join
hands and dance round singing:--
Here we go looby-looby,
Here we go looby light;
Here we go looby-looby
Every Saturday night.
Why on Saturday nights only I don't know, and it would be futile, I
suppose, to inquire. Anyway, with the expression of the last word they
all instantly disjoin hands, and, standing each in her place, they sing
the next verse, suiting the action to the word:--
Put your right hand in,
Take your right hand out;
Shake it, and shake it, and shake it,
And turn yourself about.
As the last line is being sung each one wheels rapidly round by herself,
then hands are joined again, and they scurry round in a ring as before,
singing:--
Here we go looby-looby,
Here we go looby light;
Here we go looby-looby
Every Saturday night,
and so on, the "looby-looby" coming in regularly between each of the
action-verses, which are varied by "left hand in" and "out," and "right
foot in" and "out," and "left foot in" and "out," "noses," "ears," etc.,
etc., the game finishing only when the anatomy of the players has been
exhausted.
* * * * *
"~I Dree I Droppit It~" calls for a mixture of the sexes, and when the
numbers are even--or as nearly as chance affords--the players are ranged
in a ring, a boy and girl alternately facing inwards with a space
between each. The one who is "chapped out"--say it is a girl--goes
tripping round the others' backs, with a handkerchief dangling in her
hand, singing the while:--
I sent a letter to my love,
And by the way I droppit it,
I dree, I dree, I droppit it,
I dree, I dree, I droppit it;
I sent a letter to my love,
And by the way I droppit it.
There's a wee, wee doggie in our cot-neuk,
He'll no bite you, he'll no bite you;
There's a wee, wee doggie in our cot-neuk,
He'll no bite you--nor you--nor you--nor you,
and so forth, until at length she drops the handkerchief stealthily at
the heel of one of the little boys, saying "but you," and bolts round
this player, round that one, in here, out there, and away! And the boy,
who has first to pick up the handkerchief, gives chase, pursuing her
exactly in the course which she may choose to take. If he makes a wrong
turn, by that fact he is "out," and must take her place; but if he
pursues her correctly and overtakes her, he may claim a kiss for his
pains, for which heroism he will receive the applause of the crowd; and
the girl--suffused with blushes, as it may be--must try and try
again--indeed, try until she proves herself more agile than her pursuer,
whom, of course, she is always free to choose. When at length--as come
it will some time--her effort is successful, she takes her victim's
place in the ring, and he takes hers on the outside of it. And thus the
play may go on--boy and girl about--as long as time and energy will
permit.
* * * * *
As for "~Bab at the Bowster~" (more generally pronounced "Babbity
Bowster"), I am not sure but that grown people have engaged in it more
than wee folks have. Indeed, it is not improbable that the young
borrowed this originally from the old, by observation. Now-a-days,
undoubtedly, we know it exclusively as a child's play. But yet, within
the memory of living men, it was the regular custom in country places
nearly over all Scotland to wind up every dancing-ball with "Bab at the
Bowster." No wedding dance, no Handsel Monday ball, would have been
esteemed complete without it; and I have seen it performed at both, less
than forty years ago. Performed by old or young, however, the mode is
the same. The girls sit down on one side of the barn or square, the boys
on the other. A boy takes a handkerchief--it is regularly a male who
starts this play--and while dancing up and down before the girls, all
sing:--
Wha learned you to dance,
Bab at the bowster, bab at the bowster;
Wha learned you to dance,
Bab at the bowster brawly?
My minnie learned me to dance,
Bab at the bowster, bab at the bowster;
My minnie learned me to dance,
Bab at the bowster brawly.
Wha ga'e you the keys to keep,
Bab at the bowster, bab at the bowster;
Wha ga'e you the keys to keep,
Bab at the bowster brawly?
My minnie ga'e me the keys to keep,
Bab at the bowster, bab at the bowster;
My minnie ga'e me the keys to keep,
Bab at the bowster brawly.
Kneel down and kiss the ground,
Kiss the ground, kiss the ground;
Kneel down and kiss the ground,
Kiss the bonnie wee lassie.
By the time the last verse has been reached the boy has fixed on his
partner, and at the command to "kneel down and kiss the ground" he
spreads the handkerchief on the floor at the girl's feet, on which both
immediately kneel. A kiss ensues, even though it should be obtained
after a struggle; then the boy marches away round and round followed by
the girl, while all again sing the song. By the time the last verse is
again reached, the girl in turn has selected the next boy, but does not
kneel down before him. She simply throws the handkerchief in his lap,
and immediately joins her own partner by taking his arm. If, however,
she can be overtaken before she joins her partner, a penalty kiss may be
enforced. Second boy selects second girl as the first did the first
girl, and pair after pair is formed in the same fashion until all are up
and marching arm-in-arm round the room, or square, when the game is
finished. At adult assemblies, I should state, even as the company
paired in this dance, they departed for home.
* * * * *
"~The Wadds~" is another game in which grown folks no less than children
may engage, and which, like "Bab at the Bowster," is essentially a house
game. Its mode is for the players to be seated round the hearth, the
lasses on one side and the lads on the other. One of the lads first
chants:--
O, it's hame, and its hame, it's hame, hame, hame,
I think this nicht I maun gang hame.
To which one of the opposite party responds:--
Ye had better licht, and bide a' nicht,
And I'll choose ye a partner bonnie and bricht.
The first speaker again says:--
Then wha wad ye choose an' I wad bide?
Answer:--
The fairest and best in a' the countryside.
At the same time presenting a female and mentioning her name. If the
choice is satisfactory, the male player will say:--
I'll set her up on the bonnie pear tree,
It's straucht and tall and sae is she;
I wad wauk a' nicht her love to be.
If, however, the choice is not satisfactory, he may reply:--
I'll set her up on the auld fael dyke,
Where she may rot ere I be ripe;
The corbies her auld banes wadna pyke.
Or (if the maiden be of surly temper):--
I'll set her up on the high crab-tree,
It's sour and dour, and sae is she;
She may gang to the mools unkissed for me.
But he may decline civilly, by saying:--
She's for another, she's no for me,
I thank ye for your courtesie.
A similar ritual is gone through with respect to one of the gentler sex,
where such rhymes as the following are used. In the case of acceptance
the lady will say:--
I'll set him up at my table-head,
And feed him there wi' milk and bread.
Whereas, if the proposal is not agreeable, her reply may be:--
I'll put him on a riddle, and blaw him owre the sea,
Wha will buy [Jamie Paterson] for me?
Or:--
I'll set him up on a high lum-heid,
And blaw 'im in the air wi' poother and lead.
A refusal on either side must, of course, be atoned for by a "wadd," or
forfeit--which may consist of a piece of money, a knife, a thimble, or
any little article which the owner finds convenient for the purpose.
Then, when a sufficient number of persons have made forfeits, the
business of redeeming them commences, which may afford any amount of
amusement. He, or she, as the case happens, may be ordered to "kiss the
four corners of the room;" "bite an inch off the poker;" "kneel to the
prettiest, bow to the wittiest, and kiss the one he (or she) loves
best," or any one of a dozen similarly silly ordeals, as the doomster
proposes, may have to be gone through. When the forfeits have all been
redeemed the game is ended.
* * * * *
Similar to the foregoing, in some respects, is "~The Wadds and the
Wears~," which John Mactaggart, the writer of _The Gallovidian
Encyclopædia_, describes as (in his day) "the most celebrated amusement
of the ingle-ring" in the south-west of Scotland. As in the "Wadds,"
the players are seated round the hearth. One in the ring (says
Mactaggart), speaks as follows:--
I hae been awa' at the wadds and the wears,
These seven lang years;
And's come hame a puir broken ploughman;
What will ye gie me to help me to my trade?
He may either say he's a "puir broken ploughman," or any other trade;
but since he has chosen that trade, some of the articles belonging to it
must always be given or offered, in order to recruit him. But the
article he most wants he privately tells one of the party, who is not
allowed, of course, to offer him anything, as he knows the thing, which
will throw the _offerer_ in a _wadd_, and must be avoided as much as
possible--for to be in a _wadd_ is a very serious matter, as shall
afterwards be explained. Now the one on the left hand of the poor
ploughman makes the first offer, by way of answer to what above was
said: "I'll gie ye a _coulter_ to help ye to your trade."
The ploughman answers, "I don't thank ye for your _coulter_, I hae ane
already." Then another offers him another article belonging to the
ploughman's business, such as the _mool-brod_, but this also is refused;
another, perhaps, gives the _sock_, another the _stilts_, another the
_spattle_, another the _naigs_, another the _naig-graith_, and so on;
until one gives the _soam_, which was the article he most wanted, and
was the thing secretly told to one, and is the thing that throws the
giver in a _wadd_, out of which he is relieved in the following
manner:--
The ploughman says to the one in the _wadd_, "Whether will ye hae three
questions and twa commands, or three commands and twa questions, to
answer or gang on wi', sae that ye may win oot o' the _wadd_?" For the
one so fixed has always the choice which of these alternatives to take.
Suppose he takes the first, two commands and three questions, then a
specimen of these may run so:--
"I command ye to kiss the _crook_," says the ploughman, which must be
completely obeyed by the one in the _wadd_--his naked lips must salute
the _sooty_ implement.
"Secondly," saith the ploughman, "I command ye to stand up in that neuk,
and say--
'Here stan' I, as stiffs a stake,
Wha'll kiss me for pity's sake?'"
Which must also be done; in a corner of the house must he stand and
repeat that couplet, till some tender-hearted lass relieves him. Now for
the questions which are most deeply laid, or so _touching_ to him, that
he finds much difficulty to answer them.
"Firstly, then, Suppose ye were sittin' aside Maggie Lowden and Jennie
Logan, your twa great sweethearts, what ane o'm wad ye ding ower, and
what ane wad ye turn to and clap and cuddle?" He makes answer by
choosing Maggie Lowden, perhaps, to the great mirth of the party.
"Secondly, then, Suppose you were standin' oot i' the cauld, on the tap
o' Cairnhattie, whether wad ye cry on Peggie Kirtle or Nell o'
Killimingie to come wi' your plaid?"
He answers again in a similar manner.
"Lastly, then, Suppose you were in a boat wi' Tibbie Tait, Mary Kairnie,
Sallie Snadrap, and Kate o' Minnieive, and it was to cowp wi' ye, what
ane o'm wad ye _sink_? what ane wad ye _soom_? wha wad ye bring to lan'?
and wha wad ye marry?" Then he answers again, to the fun of the
company, perhaps, in this way, "I wad sink Mary Kairnie, soom Tibbie
Tait, bring Sallie Snadrap aneath my oxter to lan', and marry sweet Kate
o' Minnieive."
And so ends that bout at the _wadds and the wears_.
* * * * *
But the games engaged in exclusively by the "wee folks" are the really
delightsome ones. Such is "~The Widow of Babylon~," the ritual of which,
less elaborate, resembles that of "Merry-Ma-Tanzie," though the rhymes
are different. Girls only play here. One is chosen for the centre. The
others, with hands joined, form a ring about her, and move round
briskly, singing:--
Here's a poor widow from Babylon,
With six poor children all alone;
One can bake, and one can brew,
One can shape, and one can sew.
One can sit at the fire and spin,
One can bake a cake for the king;
Come choose you east, come choose you west,
Come choose the one that you love best.
The girl in the middle chooses one from the ring, naming her, and
sings:--
I choose the fairest that I do see,
[Jeanie Anderson] come to me.
The girl chosen enters the ring, communicating the name of her
sweetheart, when those in the ring resume their lightsome motion, and
sing:--
Now they are married, I wish them joy,
Every year a girl or boy;
Loving each other like sister and brother,
I pray this couple may kiss together.
The girls within the ring kiss. The one who first occupied the circle
then joins the ring, while the last to come in enacts the part of
mistress; and so on the game goes until all have had their turn.
* * * * *
"~London Bridge~" is a well-known and widely played game, though here
and there with slightly differing rhymes. Two children--the tallest and
strongest, as a rule--standing face to face, hold up their hands, making
the form of an arch. The others form a long line by holding on to each
other's dresses, and run under. Those running sing the first verse,
while the ones forming the arch sing the second, and alternate verses,
of the following rhyme:--
London bridge is fallen down,
Fallen down, fallen down;
London bridge is fallen down,
My fair lady.
_Question._--What will it take to build it up?
(With repeats.)
_Answer._--Needles and preens will build it up.
_Question._--Needles and preens will rust and bend.
_Answer._--Silver and gold will build it up.
_Question._--Silver and gold will be stolen away.
_Answer._--Build it up with penny loaves.
_Question._--Penny loaves will tumble down.
_Answer._--Bricks and mortar will build it up.
_Question._--Bricks and mortar will wash away.
_Answer._--We will set a dog to bark.
_Question._--Here's a prisoner we have got.
At the words "a prisoner," the two forming the arch apprehend the
passing one in the line, and, holding her fast, the dialogue resumes:--
_Answer._--Here's a prisoner we have got.
_Question._--What's the prisoner done to you?
_Answer._--Stole my watch and broke my chain.
_Question._--What will you take to set him free?
_Answer._--A hundred pounds will set him free.
_Question._--A hundred pounds I have not got.
_Answer._--Then off to prison you must go.
Following this declaration, the prisoner is led a distance away from the
rest by her jailers, where the questions are put to her, whether she
will choose "a gold watch," or "a diamond necklace." As she decides she
goes to the one side or the other. When, in like manner, all in the line
have chosen, a tug-of-war ensues, and the game is ended.
* * * * *
"~The Jolly Miller.~"--In this the players take partners--all except the
miller, who takes his stand in the middle, while his companions walk
round him in couples, singing:--
There was a jolly miller, who lived by himself,
As the wheel went round he made his wealth;
One hand in the hopper, and the other in the bag,
As the wheel went round he made his grab.
At the word "grab," every one must change partners. The miller then has
the opportunity of seizing one: and if he succeeds in so doing, the one
necessarily left alone must take his place, and so on.
* * * * *
"~Willie Wastle~" is essentially a boy's game. One standing on a hillock
or large boulder, from which he defies the efforts of his companions to
dislodge him, exclaims, by way of challenge:--
I, Willie Wastle,
Stand on my castle,
And a' the dogs o' your toun,
Will no ding Willie Wastle doun.
The boy who succeeds in dislodging him takes his place, and so on.
* * * * *
"~Oats and Beans and Barley~," a simple but pretty game, is played all
over England, as well as in most parts of Scotland, with varying rhymes.
In Perthshire the lines run:--
Oats and beans and barley grows,
Oats and beans and barley grows;
But you nor I nor nobody knows
How oats and beans and barley grows.
First the farmer sows his seeds,
Then he stands and takes his ease;
Stamps his feet, and claps his hands,
Then turns around to view his lands.
Waiting for a partner,
Waiting for a partner;
Open the ring and take one in,
And kiss her in the centre.
The players form a ring by joining hands. One child--usually a
boy--stands in the middle. The ring moving round, sing the first four
lines. These completed, the ring stands, and still singing, each player
gives suitable action to the succeeding words; showing how the "farmer
sows his seeds," and how he "stands and takes his ease," etc. At the
tenth line all wheel round. They then re-join hands, still singing, and
at the words, "Open the ring and take one in," the child in the middle
chooses from the ring a partner (a girl, of course), whom he leads to
the centre and kisses as requested. The two stand there together, while
the ring, moving again, sing the marriage formula:--
Now you're married, you must obey,
Must be true to all you say;
You must be kind, you must be good,
And help your wife to chop the wood.
* * * * *
"~Hornie Holes~" is a boys' game in which four play, a principal and
assistant on either side. A stands with his assistant at one hole, and
throws what is called a "cat" (a piece of stick, or a sheep's horn),
with the design of making it alight into another hole at some distance,
at which B stands, with his assistant, to drive it aside with his rod
resembling a walking-stick. The following unintelligible rhyme is
repeated by a player on the one side, while they on the other are
gathering in the "cats." This is attested by old people as of great
antiquity:--
Jock, Speak, and Sandy,
Wi' a' their lousie train,
Round about by Edinbro',
Will never meet again.
Gae head 'im, gae hang 'im,
Gae lay him in the sea;
A' the birds o' the air
Will bear 'im companie.
With a nig-nag, widdy--(or worry) bag,
And an e'endown trail, trail,
Quo' he.
* * * * *
~The Craw~ admits of a good deal of lively exercise, involving, as Dr.
Chambers remarks, no more than a reasonable portion of violence. One boy
is selected to be craw. He sits down upon the ground, and he and another
boy then lay hold of the two ends of a long strap or twisted
handkerchief. The latter also takes into his right hand another
hard-twisted handkerchief, called the _Cout_, and runs round the craw,
and with the cout defends him against the attack of the other boys, who,
with similar couts, use all their agility to get a slap at the craw.
But, before beginning, the guard of the craw must cry out:--
Ane, twa, three--my craw's free.
And the first whom he strikes becomes craw, the former craw then
becoming guard. When the guard wants respite, he must cry:--
Ane, twa, three--my craw's no free.
* * * * *
"~Neevie-neevie-nick-nack.~"--A lottery game, and confined to boys, is
of simple movement, but convenient in this--that only two players are
required. They stand facing each other, the leader whirling his two
closed fists, one containing a prize, the other empty, while he cajoles
his opponent with the rhyme--
Neevie-neevie-nick-nack,
Whilk hand will ye tak'--
The richt are or the wrang,
I'll beguile ye gin I can?
If he guesses correctly, he gains the prize. If he misses, he has to
equal the stake. Until success falls to the second, the original player
continues the lead.
* * * * *
"~Blind Man's Buff~," though not a rhyme-game, is yet so well known it
is worth mentioning for the mere purpose of telling its story. Like many
more such--if we only knew how--it is based on fact. It is of French
origin, and of very great antiquity, having been introduced into Britain
in the train of the Norman conquerors. Its French name, "Colin
Maillard," was that of a brave warrior, the memory of whose exploits
still lives in the chronicles of the Middle Ages.
In the year 999 Liége reckoned among its valiant chiefs one Jean Colin.
He acquired the name Maillard from his chosen weapon being a mallet,
wherewith in battle he used literally to crush his opponents.
In one of the feuds which were of perpetual recurrence in those times,
he encountered the Count de Lourain in a pitched battle, and--so runs
the story--in the first onset Colin Maillard lost both his eyes.
He ordered his esquire to take him into the thickest of the fight, and,
furiously brandishing his mallet, did such fearful execution that
victory soon declared itself for him.
When Robert of France heard of these feats of arms, he lavished favour
and honours upon Colin, and so great was the fame of the exploit that it
was commemorated in the pantomimic representations that formed part of
the rude dramatic performances of the age. By degrees the children
learned to act it for themselves, and it took the form of a familiar
sport.
The blindfold pursuer, as with bandaged eyes and extended hands he
gropes for a victim to pounce upon, seems in some degree to repeat the
action of Colin Maillard, the tradition of which is also traceable in
the name, "blind man's buff."
* * * * *
"~Water Wallflower.~"--All should know this game, which is more commonly
played by very small misses.
Forming a ring, all join hands and dance, or move slowly round,
singing:--
Water, water wallflower, growing up so high,
We are all maidens, and we must all die,
Excepting [Nellie Newton], the youngest of us all,
She can dance and she can sing, and she can knock us all down.
Here all clap hands, with the exception of the one named, who stands
looking abashed, while the others sing:--
Fie, fie, fie, for shame,
Turn your back to the wall again.
At the command, she who has been named turns, so that she faces outwards
now, with her back to the centre of the ring; though she still clasps
hands with those on either side, and continues in the movement, singing
with the others. When all in like manner have been chapped out, and are
facing the open, the game is finished.
* * * * *
"~The Emperor Napoleon~" is a little game which affords, invariably, a
good deal of fun. Again, as so commonly, the form is in a ring, and all
go round, singing:--
The Emperor Napoleon has a hundred thousand men,
The Emperor Napoleon has a hundred thousand men,
The Emperor Napoleon has a hundred thousand men,
As he goes marching along.
In each successive singing of the verse, one syllable after another in
the main line, beginning at the far end, is left out--or at least is not
spoken--the blank, or blanks, as it happens latterly, having to be
indicated merely by nods of the head. As each player makes a mistake, by
speaking, instead of nodding, or _vice versa_, she pays a forfeit and
drops out. The play goes on till all have fallen.
* * * * *
"~A' the Birdies i' the Air~," purely Scotch, is a simpler form merely
of "London Bridge." Two players, facing each other, hold up their hands
to form an arch, and call the formula:--
A' the birdies i' the air
Tick-to to my tail.
The others, who may be running about indifferently, decide in time which
side they will favour, and when each and all have chosen which champion
they will support, and have taken their places at her back, a tug-of-war
ensues. Afterwards the victors chase the vanquished, calling, "Rotten
eggs! rotten eggs!" and the game is ended; to be followed perhaps by
* * * * *
"~Through the Needle-e'e, Boys~," played also to some extent in the form
of "London Bridge," and much resembling "Barley Break," a pastime of
highborn lords and ladies in the time of Sir Philip Sydney, who
describes it in his _Arcadia_. The boys first choose sides. The two
chosen leaders join both hands, and raising them high enough to let the
others pass through below, they sing:--
Brother [John], if ye'll be mine,
I'll gie you a glass o' wine:
A glass o' wine is good and fine,
Through the needle-e'e, boys.
Letting their arms fall, they enclose a boy, and ask him to which side
he will belong, and he is disposed according to his own decision. The
parties being at length formed, are separated by a real or imaginary
line, and place at some distance behind them, in a heap, their jackets,
caps, etc. They stand opposite to each other, the object being to make a
successful incursion over the line into the enemy's country, and bring
off part or whole of the heap of clothes. It requires address and
swiftness of foot to do so without being taken prisoner by the foe. The
winning of the game is decided by which party first loses all its men or
all its property. At Hawick, where this legendary mimicry of old Border
warfare peculiarly flourishes, the boys are accustomed to use the
following lines of defiance:--
King Covenanter, come out if ye daur venture!
Set your feet on Scots ground, English, if ye daur!
* * * * *
"~King Henry~" somewhat resembles "I dree I droppit it;" only, instead
of standing, the girls forming the ring sit, or rather crouch in a sort
of working-tailor attitude. One girl, occupying the centre, is "it." A
second girl is on the outside. Immediately the ring begins singing the
rhyme:--
King Henry, King Henry,
Run, boys, run;
You, with the red coat,
Follow with the drum,
The one on the outside is pursued by the girl from the centre. The rhyme
may be repeated as often as the ring decides; but the object of the one
who is "it" is to overtake and "tig" the other before the singing
ceases. Otherwise she remains unrelieved, and must try, and try, until
she succeeds in getting out, and putting another in her place; and so
on.
* * * * *
"~The Blue Bird~," played by very small children, is rather pretty. The
rhyme is:--
Here comes a [blue] bird through the window,
Here comes a [blue] bird through the door;
Here comes a [blue] bird through the window,
Hey, diddle, hi dum, day.
Take a little dance and a hop in the corner,
Take a little dance and a hop in the floor;
Take a little dance and a hop in the corner,
Hey, diddle, hi dum, day.
The players dance round in a ring. One previously, by the process of a
chapping-out rhyme, being made "it," goes first outside, then into the
centre. Her business now is to decide who shall succeed her; and
according as the colour-word in the rhyme--red, blue, green, or yellow,
etc.--corresponds with the dress of all the individual players in the
successive singing, the ones spotted successively take their place in
the centre, and the process goes on, of course, until all have shared
alike in the game.
* * * * *
"~When I was a Young Thing~," of simple though pretty action, has had a
wide vogue. Its rhyme goes:--
When I was a young thing,
A young thing, a young thing;
When I was a young thing,
How happy was I.
'Twas this way, and that way,
And this way, and that way;
When I was a young thing,
Oh, this way went I.
When I was a school-girl, etc.
When I was a teacher, etc.
When I had a sweetheart, etc.
When I had a husband, etc.
When I had a baby, etc.
When I had a donkey, etc.
When I took in washing, etc.
When my baby died, oh died, etc.
When my husband died, etc.
The players, joining hands, form a ring, and dance or walk round singing
the words, and keeping the ring form until the end of the fourth line in
each successive verse, when they unclasp, and stand still. Each child
then takes hold of her skirt and dances individually to the right and
left, making two or three steps. Then all walk round singly, singing the
second four lines, and making suitable action to the words as they sing
and go: the same form being continued throughout.
* * * * *
Still simpler is "~Carry my Lady to London~." In this game two children
cross hands grasping each other's wrists and their own as well--thus
forming a seat, on which a third child can be carried. When hoisted and
in order, the bearers step out singing:--
Gie me a needle to stick i' my thoom
To carry my lady to London;
London Bridge is broken down,
And I must let my lady down.
Each child is thus carried in turn.
* * * * *
"A B C" is a spirited game, admirably adapted for indoor practice on a
wet day, which is played by children seated round a table, or at the
fireside. One sings a solo--a verse of some nursery rhyme. For instance:--
Hey, diddle, diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon;
The little dog laughed
To see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
The chorus of voices takes up the tune, and the solo is repeated; after
which the alphabet is sung through, and the last letter, Z, is sustained
and repeated again and again, to bother the next child, whose turn it
now is to sing the next solo. The new solo must be a nursery rhyme not
hitherto sung by any of the company. If unable to supply a fresh rhyme
within a fixed limit, the player stands out of the game and pays a
forfeit. Less brain-taxing entertainments often engage adult wits.
* * * * *
"~My Theerie and my Thorie~," with a political significance, is a game
widely played. In one place it is known as "Cam a teerie arrie ma
torry;" in another, "Come a theory, oary mathorie;" in yet another,
"Come a theerie, Come a thorie;" or it may be, as in Perthshire, "My
theerie and my thorie." And even as the refrain varies, so do the
rhymes. But the action is generally the same. The players divide into
two sides of about equal number, in lines facing each other. Moving
forwards and backwards the sides sing verse about of the following
rhyme:--
_Question._--Have you any bread and wine,
Bread and wine, bread and wine;
Have you any bread and wine,
My theerie and my thorie?
_Answer._--Yes, we have some bread and wine,
Bread and wine, bread and wine,
Yes, we have some bread and wine,
My theerie and my thorie.
_Question._--We shall have one glass of it, etc.
_Answer._--One glass of it you shall not get, etc.
_Question._--We are all King George's men, etc.
_Answer._--What care we for King George's men, etc.
_Question._--How many miles to Glasgow Lee? etc.
_Answer._--Sixty, seventy, eighty-three, etc.
_Question._--Will I be there gin candle-licht? etc.
_Answer._--Just if your feet be clean and slicht, etc.
_Question._--Open your gates and let me through, etc.
_Answer._--Not without a beck and a boo.
_Reply._--There's a beck and there's a boo,
Open your gates and let me through.
A struggle ensues to break through each other's lines, and reach a fixed
goal on either side--the first to arrive being the victors.
* * * * *
"~Glasgow Ships~" is a simple but pretty game. All join hands, forming a
ring, and, moving round, sing:--
Glasgow ships come sailing in,
Come sailing in, come sailing in;
Glasgow ships come sailing in
On a fine summer morning.
You daurna set your fit upon,
Your fit upon, your fit upon;
You daurna set your fit upon,
Or Gentle John will kiss you.
Three times will kiss you;
Four times will bless you;
Five times butter and bread
Upon a silver salver.
Who shall we send it to?
Send it to, send it to;
Who shall we send it to?
To Mrs. [Thomson's] daughter.
Take her by the lily-white hand,
Lead her o'er the water;
Give her kisses, one, two, three,
She's the favourite daughter.
Braw news is come to town,
Braw news is carried;
Braw news is come to town,
[Maggie Thomson's] married.
First she got the kail-pot,
Syne she got the ladle;
Syne she got a dainty wean,
And syne she got a cradle.
The girl named turns her back to the centre of the ring, and the game is
resumed. When all in like manner have been named and have turned, the
"soo's race" ensues: a hurry-scurry round--which continues until some
one falls, and the game ends by all tumbling in a confused heap.
* * * * *
"~Airlie's Green~," played by boys and girls alike, has perhaps had its
greatest vogue in Strathmore. A space is set apart for the "green," upon
which he, or she, who is "Airlie" takes his, or her, stand. The play
begins by the crowd encroaching on the "green," when all but "Airlie"
sing:--
I set my fit on Airlie's green,
And Airlie canna tak' me:
I canna get time to steer my brose
For Airlie trying to catch me.
"Airlie's" object is to "tig" one within the boundary. The player
touched takes his, or her, place, and the game may proceed thus as long
as desired.
* * * * *
"~Het Rowes and Butter Cakes~," in some places called "Hickety,
Bickety," is a purely boy's game. One stands with his eyes bandaged, and
his hands against a wall or post, with his head resting upon them. One
after another his fellows come up unnamed behind him, laying hands on
his back; and the rhyme is repeated by all in chorus:--
Launchman, launchman, lo,
Where shall this poor Scotchman go?
Will he gang east, or will he gang west,
Or will he gang to the hoodiecraw's nest?
The "hoodiecraw's nest" is the space between the blindfolded one's feet
and the wall. When all have been sent to different places around, he who
is "it" removes the bandage from his eyes; and when all are ready he
gives the call--"Het rowes and butter cakes!" when all rush back to the
spot whence despatched. The last to arrive is "it;" and the game goes on
as before. Where played as "Hickety, Bickety," the rhyme is:--
Hickety, bickety, pease scone,
Where shall this poor Scotchman gang?
Will he gang east, or will he gang west;
Or will he gang to the craw's nest?
* * * * *
"~Queen Mary.~" In this game the rhyme goes:--
Queen Mary, Queen Mary, my age is sixteen,
My father's a farmer on yonder green,
With plenty of money to dress me fu' braw,
But nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa'.
One morning I rose, and I looked in the glass,
Says I to myself I'm a handsome young lass;
My hands by my side and I gave a ha! ha!
Yet there's nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa'.
It is played by girls only, who stand in a row, with one in front alone
to begin with, who sings the verses, and chooses another from the line.
The two then join hands and advance and retire, repeating together the
verses, with suitable action, as the one had done before alone. At the
close they select a third from the line; and the game proceeds thus
until all are taken over.
* * * * *
"~Whuppity Scoorie~," though a game peculiar to Lanark, and to the boys
of Lanark, and played only once a year, is yet worth mentioning. Its
origin, like so many of the Lanark celebrations, is lost in the mists of
antiquity, nevertheless, it is still regularly played, and creates a
sensation on its annual recurrence, affecting the old scarcely less than
the young in the community. From the month of October till the month of
February, inclusive, the bells in the Parish Church steeple there cease
to ring at six o'clock in the evening, but resume on the first day of
March. At the first peal of the bell then the children start and march
three times round the church, after which a rush is made for the
Wellgate Head, where they engage in a stand-up fight with the youth of
New Lanark (who come that length to meet them), the weapons used being
their bonnets attached to a long string. The fight over, the victors
(generally the boys of the Old Town) return, marching in order, headed
by one carrying a huge stick in exalted attitude, with a flag or
handkerchief attached to it; and thus arranged, they parade the
principal streets, singing, as their fathers and grandfathers sang
before them:--
Hooray, boys, hooray,
For we have won the day;
We've met the bold New Lanark boys,
And chased them doun the brae!
* * * * *
In Chambers's _Popular Rhymes of Scotland_ there is a description of
"~Hinkumbooby~," which I have never seen played. It is, however, only an
extended version of "Looby-Looby." The party form a circle (says the
writer), taking hold of each other's hands. One sings, and the rest
join, to the tune of _Lullibero_:
Fal de ral la, fal de ral la;
while doing so they move a little sideways and back again, beating the
time (which is slow) with their feet. As soon as the line is concluded,
each claps his hands and wheels grotesquely round, singing at the same
time the second line of the verse:--
Hinkumbooby, round about,
Then they sing, with the appropriate gesture--that is, throwing their
right hand into the circle and the left out:--
Right hands in, and left hands out,
still beating the time; then add as before, while wheeling round, with a
clap of the hands:--
Hinkumbooby, round about,
Fal de ral la, fal de ral la;
[_Moving sideways as before, hand in hand._]
Hinkumbooby, round about,
[_Wheeling round as before, with a clap of the hands._]
Left hands in and right hands out,
Hinkumbooby, round about,
Fal de ral la, fal de ral la,
Hinkumbooby, round about.
Right foot in, and left foot out,
[_Right feet set into the centre._]
Hinkumbooby, round about,
Fal de ral la, fal de ral la,
Hinkumbooby, round about.
Left foot in, and right foot out,
Hinkumbooby, round about,
Fal de ral la, fal de ral la, etc.
Heads in, and backs out,
Hinkumbooby, round about,
Fal de ral la, etc.
Backs in, and heads out,
Hinkumbooby, round about,
Fal de ral la, etc.
A' feet in, and nae feet out,
[_On this occasion all sit down, with their feet stretched into
the centre of the ring; and it is a great point to rise up
promptly enough to be ready for the wheel round_.]
Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, etc.
Shake hands a', shake hands a',
Hinkumbooby, round about,
Fal de ral la, etc.
Good-night a', good-night a',
[_The boys bowing and the misses curtseying in an affected
formal manner_.]
Hinkumbooby, round about,
Fal de ral la, fal de ral la,
Hinkumbooby, round about.
* * * * *
More generally played--and not in Scotland only--is "~Three Brethren
come from Spain~." The players stand in two lines, slightly apart,
facing each other--the boys on one side, the girls on the other. The
boys advance dancing, and singing the first verse. The girls remain
motionless, and only she who represents the mother speaks.
We are three brethren come from Spain,
All in French garlands;
We are come to court your daughter, Jane,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
As they recede, the mother replies:--
My daughter Jane she is too young,
All in French garlands;
She cannot bide your flattering tongue,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
The boys advance again, singing:--
Be she young, or be she old,
All in French garlands,
It's for a bride she must be sold,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Answer:--
A bride, a bride, she shall not be,
All in French garlands,
Till she go through the world with me,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Address:--
Then fare ye well, my lady gay,
All in French garlands;
We'll come again some other day,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Answer:--
Come back, come back, you scornful knight,
All in French garlands;
Clear up your spurs, and make them bright,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Address:--
Of my spurs take you no thought,
All in French garlands;
For in this town they were not bought,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Answer:--
Smell my lilies, smell my roses,
All in French garlands:
Which of my daughters do you choose?
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Address:--
Are all your daughters safe and sound?
All in French garlands:
Are all your daughters safe and sound?
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Answer:--
In every pocket a thousand pounds,
All in French garlands;
On every finger a gay, gold ring,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
The formula is repeated as above until every boy has chosen a lady-mate,
when all march round arm-in-arm in pairs, and the game is ended.
* * * * *
"~Here Comes a Poor Sailor from Botany Bay~." This is played as a
preliminary game to decide who shall join, and which side they will
take, in a coming tug-of-war. The chief delight derived is in putting
and answering questions. Two principals, standing as rival chiefs, and
acting together as catechists, begin the play; and all are warned before
replying:--
You must say neither "Yes," "No," nor "Nay,"
"Black," "White," nor "Grey."
Then, as each child approaches, the formula proceeds:--
Here comes a poor sailor from Botany Bay;
Pray, what are you going to give him to-day?
A pair of boots [may be the answer].
What colour are they?
Brown.
Have you anything else to give him?
I think so.
What colour is it?
Red.
What is it made of?
Cloth.
And what colour?
Blue.
Have you anything else to give him?
I don't think so.
Would you like a sweet?
Yes.
Now he is trapped. He has given one of the fatal replies; and the child
who answered "Yes" goes to a den. After all have gone through a similar
form, the youngsters are divided into two classes--those who avoided
answering in the prohibited terms, and the little culprits in the den,
or prison, who had failed in the examination. The tug-of-war now begins,
the one class being pitted against the other. No rope is used; but arms
are entwined round waists, or skirts, or coat-tails are taken hold of;
and the victors crow over the vanquished.
* * * * *
"~Janet Jo~," widely played, has for _dramatis personæ_, a Father, a
Mother, Janet, and a Lover. Janet lies stretched at full length behind
the scenes. The father and mother stand revealed to receive the visits
of the lover, who approaches singing, to an air somewhat like "The Merry
Masons":--
I'm come to court Janet jo,
Janet jo, Janet jo;
I'm come to court Janet jo--
How is she the day?
Parents reply together:--
She's up the stair washin',
Washin', washin';
She's up the stair washin'--
Ye canna see her the day.
The lover retires, and again, and yet again, advances with the same
announcement of his object and purpose, to which he receives similar
evasive answers from Janet's parents, who successively represent her as
up the stair "bleaching," "drying," and "ironing clothes." At last they
reply:--
Janet jo's dead and gane,
Dead and gane, dead and gane;
Janet jo's dead and gane--
Ye'll see her face nae mae!
She is then carried off to be buried, the lover and the rest weeping.
Sometimes she revives (to their great joy), and sometimes not, _ad
libitum_--that is, as Janet herself chooses.
A south-country version (Dr. Chambers tells) differs a little, and
represents Janet as "at the Well," instead of upstairs, and afterwards
"at the Mill," and so on. A Glasgow edition gives the whole in good
west-country prose, and the lover begins: "I'm come to court your
dochter, Kate Mackleister!"
In the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, "Janet Jo" used to be a dramatic
entertainment amongst young rustics. Suppose a party have met on a
winter evening round a good peat fire, writes Chambers, and is resolved
to have "Janet Jo" performed. Two undertake to personate a goodman and a
goodwife; the rest a family of marriageable daughters. One of the
lads--the best singer of the party--retires, and equips himself in a
dress proper for representing an old bachelor in search of a wife. He
comes in, bonnet in hand, bowing, and sings:--
Gude e'en to ye, maidens a',
Maidens a', maidens a';
Gude e'en to ye, maidens a',
Be ye or no.
I've come to court Janet jo,
Janet jo, Janet jo;
I've come to court Janet jo,
Janet, my jo.
Gudewife sings:--
What'll ye gie for Janet jo,
Janet jo, Janet jo;
What'll ye gie for Janet jo,
Janet, my jo?
The wooer replies:--
I'll gie ye a peck o' siller,
A peck o' siller, peck o' siller;
I'll gie ye a peck o' siller
For Janet, my jo.
Gudewife exclaims, "Gae awa', ye auld carle!" then sings:--
Ye'se never get Janet jo,
Janet jo, Janet jo;
Ye'se never get Janet jo,
Janet, my jo.
The wooer hereupon retires, singing a verse expressive of mortification,
but soon re-enters with a re-assured air, singing:--
I'll gie ye a peck o' gowd,
A peck o' gowd, peck o' gowd;
I'll gie ye a peck o' gowd,
For Janet, my jo.
The matron gives him a rebuff as before, and he again enters, singing an
offer of "twa pecks o' gowd," which, however, is also refused. At his
next entry he offers "three pecks o' gowd," at which the gudewife
brightens up, and sings:--
Come ben beside Janet Jo,
Janet jo, Janet jo;
Ye're welcome to Janet jo,
Janet, my jo.
The suitor then advances gaily to his sweetheart, and the affair ends in
a scramble for kisses.
* * * * *
"~The Goloshans.~" This is a Hogmanay play, and not confined to children
alone, which for that, as well as other reasons, will not inaptly close
this chapter. In some parts it was called "The Galatians," to be sure, I
say _was_, because one never sees it now-a-days, though fifty years ago,
under the one designation or the other, it was played annually by the
Hogmanay guizards, who, dressed for the occasion, set it forth with
deliciously unsophisticated swagger and bluster in every house they
visited that had a kitchen floor broad and wide enough for the
operation. It formed the material of a chap-book which was regularly on
sale at the "Johnnie-a'-thing" shops in the middle of last century,
though now, I suppose, a copy could scarcely be had for love or money.
Sir Walter Scott, who delighted to keep up old customs, and could
condescend to simple things without losing genuine dignity, invariably
had a set of guizards to perform the play before his family both at
Ashestiel and at Abbotsford. The _dramatis personæ_ of "The Goloshans,"
after the character in the title-role--who was inevitable on all
occasions--differed somewhat in the various districts. Chambers gives a
fairly adequate version in his _Popular Rhymes of Scotland;_ but the
fullest and best I have seen is contained in _Proverbs and Proverbial
Expressions_, edited by "Andrew Cheviot," and recently published by Mr.
Alexander Gardner, of Paisley, and which I take the liberty of quoting
mainly, though part also is taken from Chambers's version. The
characters are Sir Alexander; Farmer's Son; Goloshan; Wallace; Dr.
Brown; and Beelzebub.
Enter Sir Alexander, and speaks:--
Haud away rocks, and haud away reels,
Haud away stocks and spinning-wheels;
Redd room for Gorland, and gie us room to sing,
And I will show you the prettiest thing
That ever was seen in Christmas time.
Muckle-head and Little-wit stand ahint the door:
But sic a set as we are ne'er were seen before.
Enter next Farmer's Son:--
Here come I, the farmer's son,
Although I be but young sir,
I've got a spirit brave.
And I'll freely risk my life,
My country for to save.
Goloshan appears:--
Here come I, Goloshan--Goloshan is my name,
With sword and pistol by my side, I hope to win the game.
Farmer's Son:--
The game, sir, the game, sir! it is not in your power,
I'll cut you into inches in less than half-an-hour.
My head is made of iron, my heart is made of steel,
My sword is a Ferrara that can do its duty weel.
Goloshan:--
My body is like rock, sir, my head is like a stone,
And I will be Goloshan when you are dead and gone.
Enter Wallace:--
Here come I, Sir William Wallace, wight,
Who shed his blood for Scotland's right;
Without a right, without a reason,
Here I draw my bloody weapon.
(_Fights with Goloshan--the latter falls._) Farmer's Son:--
Now that young man is dead, sir, and on the ground is laid;
And you shall suffer for it, I'm very much afraid.
Wallace:--
It was not me that did the deed, nor me that did the crime,
'Twas this young man behind me who drew his sword so fine.
Sir Alexander:--
Oh, you artful villain, to lay the blame on me!
For my two eyes were shut, sir, when this young man did dee.
Wallace:--
How could your eyes be shut, sir, when you were looking on?
How could your eyes be shut, sir, when both the swords were drawn?
Farmer's Son (to Wallace):--
How can you thus deny the deed? As I stood looking on,
You drew your sword from out its sheath, and slashed his body down.
Wallace:--
If I have slain Goloshan, Goloshan I will cure,
And I will make him rise and sing in less than half-an-hour;
Round the kitchen, round the town,
Haste and bring me Dr. Brown.
Dr. Brown enters:--
Here come I, old Dr. Brown, the foremost doctor in the town.
Wallace:--
What makes you so good, sir?
Doctor:--
Why, my travels.
Wallace:--
And where have you travelled?
Doctor:--
From Hickerty-pickerty-hedgehog, three times round the West Indies,
and back to old Scotland.
Wallace:--
Is that all?
Doctor:--
No sir. I have travelled from fireside to chairside, from chairside
to stoolside, from stoolside to tableside, from tableside to bedside,
from bedside to press-side, and got many a lump of bread and butter
from my mother; and that's the way my belly's so big.
Wallace:--
Well, what can you cure?
Doctor:--
I can cure the rurvy-scurvy, and the rumble-gumption of a man who
has been seven years dead or more, and can make an old woman of
sixty look like a girl of sixteen.
Wallace:--
How much would you take to cure this dead man? Would five pounds do?
Doctor (turning away):--
Five pounds! No, five pounds would not get a good kit of brose.
Wallace:--
Would ten pounds do?
Doctor:--
Yes, perhaps ten pounds would do--- that, and a pint of wine. I have
a bottle of inky-pinkie in my pocket. (_Approaches Goloshan._) By
the hocus-pocus and the magical touch of my little finger; heigh ho!
start up, Jack, and sing!
Goloshan (rises and sings):--
Oh, once I was dead, sir, but now I am alive,
And blessed be the doctor that made me revive;
We'll all join hands, and never fight no more,
We'll all be good fellows, as we have been before.
All four:--
We'll all shake hands and agree, and never fight no more,
We'll all be like brothers, as we were once before;
God bless the master of this house, the mistress fair likewise,
And all the pretty children that round the table rise.
Go down into your cellar and see what you can find,
Your barrels being not empty, we hope you will prove kind;
We hope you will prove kind, with whisky and with beer,
We wish you a Merry Christmas, likewise a good New Year.
Enter Beelzebub (for the collection):--
Here come I, Old Beelzebub, over my shoulder I carry a club,
And in my hand a frying-pan. Am not I a jolly old man?
It's money I want, and money I crave,
If ye don't give me money I'll sweep ye to your grave.
Old Beelzebub's appeal not being resisted (for who might dare to resist
such?), the picturesque players retire, and proceed from thence merrily
to occupy another stage.
* * * * *
Mr. Sandys, it may be noted, in his elegant volume of _Christmas Carols_
(1833), transcribes a play called "St. George," which still is, or used
to be, acted at the New Year in Cornwall, exactly after the manner of
our Scottish play of "Goloshan" which it resembles as much as various
versions of "Goloshan" in Scotland resemble each other. The leading
characters, besides St. George himself and the Dragon, which is twice
killed, are a Turkish knight and the King of Egypt. It is curious thus,
as Dr. Chambers remarks, to find one play, with unimportant variations,
preserved traditionally by the common people in parts of the island so
distant from each other, and in many respects so different.
It is curious further, and of much interest to note, that in these
singing-games, if nowhere else, the country and the city child, the
children of the mansion and the children of the alley, meet all,
beautifully, on common ground. And, how the out-door ones lie dormant
for spaces, and spring simultaneously into action in widely separated
parts--town and country alike--is a problem which may not be easily
solved. It seems to us that, like the songs of birds, they belong to
certain seasons, and are suggested, each in its turn, or class by class,
by the feeling in the air. But mark, I say only _seems_, for who may
dogmatize on such matters!
CHILDREN'S SONGS AND BALLADS.
Not the more exalted songs of child life here--not "Willie Winkie," and
"Cuddle Doon," and "Castles in the Air," and all that widely esteemed
band, which, collectively, would themselves tax the limits of a large
volume--but some of the ruder ditties only which the children for many
generations have delighted to sing, and been no less charmed by hearing
sung, and which of late have not been so frequently seen in print. These
rude old favourites, too, with slight comment--little being required.
And of such, surely "Cock Robin" may well be awarded the place of
honour--a song which, together with the more elaborate tale of "The
Babes in the Wood," has done more to make its pert and dapper
red-waistcoated subject the general favourite he is with old and young,
than any virtue that may be claimed for the little tyrant himself.
COCK ROBIN.
Who killed Cock Robin?
I, said the Sparrow,
With my bow and arrow,
I killed Cock Robin.
Who saw him die?
I, said the Fly,
With my little eye,
I saw him die.
Who caught his blood?
I, said the Fish,
With my little dish,
I caught his blood.
Who'll make his shroud?
I, said the Beetle,
With my thread and needle,
I'll make his shroud.
Who'll carry him to his grave?
I, said the Kite,
If it's not in the night,
I'll carry him to his grave.
Who'll dig his grave?
I, said the Owl,
With my spade and shovel,
I'll dig his grave.
Who'll carry the link?
I, said the Linnet,
I'll fetch it in a minute,
I'll carry the link.
Who'll be chief mourner?
I, said the Dove,
I'll mourn for my love,
I'll be chief mourner.
Who'll sing the psalm?
I, said the Thrush,
As he sat on a bush,
I'll sing the psalm.
Who'll be the parson?
I, said the Rook,
With my little book,
I'll be the parson.
Who'll be the clerk?
I, said the Lark,
If it's not in the dark,
I'll be the clerk.
Who'll toll the bell?
I, said the Bull,
Because I can pull,
I'll toll the bell.
And all the little birds
Fell a-sighing and a-sobbing,
When they heard the bell toll
For poor Cock Robin.
And of Cock Robin again, no less captivating has been the ballad
celebrating his wedding with little Jenny Wren. Though why with a lady
of the Wren family, must always strike naturalists as an absurdity; and,
I suppose, we may not ask how it was the banns were not forbidden, since
the Messrs. Wren, with the children, and the whole creation of
birds--with the single exception of a blackguard cuckoo--have jubilantly
acquiesced in the nuptials.
THE MARRIAGE OF COCK ROBIN AND JENNY WREN.
It was a merry time,
When Jenny Wren was young,
So neatly as she dressed,
And so sweetly as she sung.
Robin Redbreast lost his heart,
He was a gallant bird;
He doffed his hat to Jenny,
And thus to her he said:
"My dearest Jenny Wren,
If you will but be mine,
You shall dine on cherry pie
And drink nice currant wine.
"I'll dress you like a goldfinch,
Or like a peacock gay;
So, if you'll have me, Jenny,
Let us appoint the day."
Jenny blushed behind her fan,
And thus declared her mind:
"Then let it be to-morrow, Bob--
I take your offer kind.
"Cherry pie is very good,
So is currant wine;
But I'll wear my russet gown
And never dress too fine."
Robin rose up early,
At the break of day;
He flew to Jenny Wren's house
To sing a roundelay.
He met the Cock and Hen,
And bade the Cock declare
This was his wedding day
With Jenny Wren the fair.
The Cock then blew his horn,
To let the neighbours know
This was Robin's wedding day,
And they might see the show.
Then followed him the Lark,
For he could sweetly sing,
And he was to be the clerk
At Cock Robin's wedding.
He sang of Robin's love
For little Jenny Wren;
And when he came unto the end,
Then he began again.
At first came Parson Rook,
With his spectacles and band;
And one of Mother Hubbard's books
He held within his hand.
The Goldfinch came on next,
To give away the bride;
The Linnet, being bridesmaid,
Walked by Jenny's side;
And as she was a-walking,
Said, "Upon my word,
I think that your Cock Robin
Is a very pretty bird."
The Blackbird and the Thrush,
And charming Nightingale,
Whose sweet songs sweetly echo
Through every grove and dale;
The Sparrow and the Tomtit,
And many more were there;
All came to see the wedding
Of Jenny Wren the fair.
The Bullfinch walked by Robin,
And thus to him did say:
"Pray mark, friend Robin Redbreast,
That Goldfinch dressed so gay;
"That though her gay apparel
Becomes her very well,
Yet Jenny's modest dress and look
Must bear away the bell."
Then came the bride and bridegroom;
Quite plainly was she dressed,
And blushed so much, her cheeks were
As red as Robin's breast.
But Robin cheered her up;
"My pretty Jen," says he,
"We're going to be married.
And happy we shall be."
"Oh," then says Parson Rook,
"Who gives this maid away?"
"I do," says the Goldfinch,
"And her fortune I will pay:
"Here's a bag of grain of many sorts,
And other things beside;
Now happy be the bridegroom,
And happy be the bride!"
"And you will have her, Robin,
To be your wedded wife?"
"Yes, I will," says Robin,
"And love her all my life!"
"And you will have him Jenny,
Your husband now to be?"
"Yes, I will," says Jenny,
"And love him heartily."
Then on her finger fair
Cock Robin put the ring;
"You're married now," says Parson Rook,
While the lark aloud did sing:
"Happy be the bridegroom,
And happy be the bride!
And may not man, nor bird, nor beast,
This happy pair divide!"
The birds were asked to dine;
Not Jenny's friends alone,
But every pretty songster
That had Cock Robin known.
They had a cherry pie,
Besides some currant wine,
And every guest brought something,
That sumptuous they might dine.
Now they all sat or stood,
To eat and to drink;
And every one said what
He happened to think.
They each took a bumper,
And drank to the pair;
Cock Robin the bridegroom,
And Jenny the fair.
The dinner-things removed,
They all began to sing;
And soon they made the place
For a mile around to ring.
The concert it was fine,
And every birdie tried
Who best should sing for Robin
And Jenny Wren the bride.
When in came the Cuckoo,
And made a great rout;
He caught hold of Jenny,
And pulled her about.
Cock Robin was angry,
And so was the Sparrow,
Who fetched in a hurry
His bow and his arrow.
His aim then he took,
But he took it not right,
His skill was not good,
Or he shot in a fright;
For the Cuckoo he missed,
But Cock Robin he killed!
And all the birds mourned
That his blood was so spilled.
Yet another song of the Robin which has moistened the eyes of many a
youthful vocalist. I don't know that it ever had a title, but we will
call it
THE NORTH WIND.
The North wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will the Robin do then, poor thing?
He will sit in the barn,
And keep himself warm,
With his little head under his wing, poor thing!
It is not claimed for these pieces that they belong to any high order of
verse--though really, in more senses than one, they belong to the very
first. In point of popularity alone, they are not surpassed by "Paradise
Lost," nor by the plays of Shakespeare, or the songs of Burns. Then,
they have so thoroughly commanded the interest and engaged the
affections of the wee folks, that, with old and young alike--for the
young so soon grow into the old, alas!--there are no compositions in
the world better secured for the honour and glory of immortal fame. They
have not been very often printed, I have said--not often in recent
years, at least--and the reason, I suppose, is because it was not deemed
necessary to set out in print what everybody knows so well by heart. It
must be refreshing for the eye, however, to scan what is so familiar to
the ear, and I make no apology--yea, I hope to be thanked for their
appearance in this little book for bairns and big folk. Let the next be
LITTLE BO-PEEP.
Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep,
And doesn't know where to find them;
Let them alone, and they'll come home,
Bringing their tails behind them.
Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep.
And dreamt she heard them bleating;
But when she awoke, she found it a joke,
For still they all were fleeting.
Then up she took her little crook,
Determined for to find them;
She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed.
For they'd left their tails behind them.
It happen'd one day, as Bo-peep did stray
Under a meadow hard by,
That she espied their tails, side by side,
All hung on a tree to dry.
She heaved a sigh, and wiped her eye,
And over the hillocks went stump-o;
And tried as she could, as a shepherdess should,
To tack again each to its rump-o.
The ballad lacks sadly in particulars, to be sure. How the tails of the
entire flock disappeared in one fell swoop--whether by malice
aforethought, at the instance of a lurking enemy, or in a miraculous
accident, whilst the young shepherdess slept at her charge--has never
been told, though thousands of wondering pows, multiplied by ten, have
wanted to know. Perhaps it is better not explained. Mystery is so often
just another word for charm.
We will now have the curious tale of "The House that Jack Built." In no
sense a curious house, perhaps, but famous because of the fortuitous
events which issued in regular sequence from the simple fact of the
builder having stored a quantity of malt within its walls. It is told
best with the accompaniment of pictorial illustrations, but here these
are not available.
THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT.
This is the house that Jack built.
This is the malt
That lay in the house
That Jack built.
This is the rat
That ate the malt
That lay in the house
That Jack built.
This is the cat
That killed the rat
That ate the malt
That lay in the house
That Jack built.
This is the dog
That worried the cat
That killed the rat
That ate the malt
That lay in the house
That Jack built.
This is the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog
That worried the cat
That killed the rat
That ate the malt
That lay in the house
That Jack built.
This is the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog
That worried the cat
That killed the rat
That ate the malt
That lay in the house
That Jack built
This is the man all tattered and torn
That kissed the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog
That worried the cat
That killed the rat
That ate the malt
That lay in the house
That Jack built.
This is the priest all shaven and shorn
That married the man all tattered and torn
That kissed the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog
That worried the cat
That killed the rat
That ate the malt
That lay in the house
That Jack built.
This is the cock that crowed in the morn
And waked the priest all shaven and shorn
That married the man all tattered and torn
That kissed the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog
That worried the cat
That killed the rat
That ate the malt
That lay in the house
That Jack built.
It has been a satisfaction to many a little boy, I am sure, to feel that
he was not, by many miles, so simple as that most abject of all
simpletons, familiar to him as--
SIMPLE SIMON.
Simple Simon met a pie-man,
Going to the fair;
Said Simple Simon to the pie-man,
"Let me taste your ware."
Says the pie-man, "Simple Simon,
Show me first your penny;"
Said Simple Simon to the pie-man,
"Indeed, I have not any."
Simple Simon went a-fishing,
For to catch a whale;
All the water he had got
Was in his mother's pail!
Some may follow without comment.
OLD MOTHER HUBBARD.
Old Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard,
To get her poor doggie a bone;
When she got there, the cupboard was bare,
And so the poor doggie had none.
She went to the baker's to buy him some bread,
But when she came back the poor doggie was dead.
She went to the undertaker's to buy him a coffin,
And when she came back the doggie was laughing.
She went to the butcher's to get him some tripe,
And when she came back he was smoking a pipe.
She went to the fish-shop to buy him some fish,
And when she came back he was washing the dish.
She went to the tavern for white wine and red,
And when she came back doggie stood on his head.
She went to the hatter's to buy him a hat,
And when she came back he was feeding the cat.
She went to the tailor's to buy him a coat,
And when she came back he was riding the goat.
She went to the barber's to buy him a wig,
And when she came back he was dancing a jig.
She went to the draper's to buy him some linen,
And when she came back the good dog was spinning.
She went to the hosier's to buy him some hose,
And when she came back he was dressed in his clothes.
The dame made a curtsey, the dog made a bow,
The dame said, "Your servant," the dog said, "Bow-wow."
OLD MOTHER GOOSE.
Old Mother Goose, when
She wanted to wander,
Would ride through the air
On a very fine gander.
Mother Goose had a house,
'Twas built in a wood,
Where an owl at the door
For a sentinel stood.
She had a son Jack,
A plain-looking lad,
Not very good,
Nor yet very bad.
She sent him to market,
A live goose he bought,
"Here, mother," says he,
"It won't go for nought."
Jack's goose and the gander
Grew very fond,
They'd both eat together,
Or swim in one pond.
Jack found, one fine morning,
As I have been told,
His goose had laid him
An egg of pure gold.
Jack rode to his mother
The news for to tell;
She called him a good boy,
And said it was well.
Jack sold his gold egg
To a rascally Jew,
Who cheated him out of
The half of his due.
Then Jack went a-courting
A lady so gay,
As fair as the lily,
And sweet as the May.
The Jew and the Squire
Came behind his back
And began to belabour
The sides of poor Jack.
And then the gold egg
Was thrown in the sea,
When Jack he jumped in
And got it presently.
The Jew got the goose,
Which he vowed he would kill,
Resolving at once
His pockets to fill.
Jack's mother came in
And caught the goose soon,
And mounting its back,
Flew up to the moon.
THE OLD WOMAN AND HER PIG.
An old woman was sweeping her house, and she found a little crooked
sixpence. "What," she said, "shall I do with this little sixpence? I
will go to market and buy a little pig." As she was coming home she came
to a stile. The piggy would not go over the stile. She went a little
farther, and she met a dog, so she said to the dog:--
"Dog, dog, bite pig;
Piggy won't get over the stile,
And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the dog would not.
She went a little farther, and she met a stick. So she said:--
"Stick, stick, beat dog;
Dog won't bite pig;
Piggy won't get over the stile,
And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the stick would not.
She went a little farther, and she met a fire. So she said:--
"Fire, fire, burn stick;
Stick won't beat dog;
Dog won't bite pig;
Piggy won't get over the stile;
And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the fire would not.
She went a little farther, and she met some water. So she said:--
"Water, water, quench fire;
Fire won't burn stick;
Stick won't beat dog;
Dog won't bite pig;
Piggy won't get over the stile,
And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the water would not.
She went a little farther, and she met an ox. So she said:--
"Ox, ox, drink water;
Water won't quench fire;
Fire won't burn stick;
Stick won't beat dog;
Dog won't bite pig;
Piggy won't get over the stile,
And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the ox would not.
She went a little farther, and she met a butcher. So she said:--
"Butcher, butcher, kill ox;
Ox won't drink water;
Water won't quench fire;
Fire won't burn stick;
Stick won't beat dog;
Dog won't bite pig;
Piggy won't get over the stile,
And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the butcher would not.
She went a little farther, and she met a rope. So she said:--
"Rope, rope, hang butcher;
Butcher won't kill ox;
Ox won't drink water;
Water won't quench fire;
Fire won't burn stick;
Stick won't beat dog;
Dog won't bite pig;
Piggy won't get over the stile,
And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the rope would not.
She went a little farther, and she met a rat. So she said:--
"Rat, rat, gnaw rope;
Rope won't hang butcher;
Butcher won't kill ox;
Ox won't drink water;
Water won't quench fire;
Fire won't burn stick;
Stick won't beat dog;
Dog won't bite pig;
Piggy won't get over the stile,
And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the rat would not.
She went a little farther, and she met a cat. So she said:--
"Cat, cat, kill rat;
Rat won't gnaw rope;
Rope won't hang butcher;
Butcher won't kill ox;
Ox won't drink water;
Water won't quench fire;
Fire won't burn stick;
Stick won't beat dog;
Dog won't bite pig;
Piggy won't get over the stile,
And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the cat said to her, "If you will go to yonder cow, and fetch me a
saucer of milk, I will kill the rat." So away went the old woman to the
cow, and said:--
"Cow, cow, give me a saucer of milk;
Cat won't kill rat;
Rat won't gnaw rope;
Rope won't hang butcher;
Butcher won't kill ox;
Ox won't drink water;
Water won't quench fire;
Fire won't burn stick;
Stick won't beat dog;
Dog won't bite pig;
Piggy won't get over the stile,
And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the cow said to her, "If you will go to yonder haymakers, and fetch
me a wisp of hay, I'll give you the milk." So away went the old woman to
the haymakers, and said:--
"Haymakers, give me a wisp of hay;
Cow won't give milk;
Cat won't kill rat;
Rat won't gnaw rope;
Rope won't hang butcher;
Butcher won't kill ox;
Ox won't drink water;
Water won't quench fire;
Fire won't burn stick;
Stick won't beat dog;
Dog won't bite pig;
Piggy won't get over the stile,
And I shan't get home to-night!"
But the haymakers said to her, "If you will go to yonder stream, and
fetch us a bucket of water, we'll give you the hay." So away the old
woman went. But when she got to the stream, she found the bucket was
full of holes. So she covered the bottom with pebbles, and then filled
the bucket with water, and she went back with it to the haymakers, and
they gave her a wisp of hay.
As soon as the cow had eaten the hay, she gave the old woman the milk;
and away she went with it in a saucer to the cat. As soon as the cat had
lapped up the milk--
The cat began to kill the rat;
The rat began to gnaw the rope;
The rope began to hang the butcher;
The butcher began to kill the ox;
The ox began to drink the water;
The water began to quench the fire;
The fire began to burn the stick;
The stick began to beat the dog;
The dog began to bite the pig;
The little pig in a fright jumped over the stile;
So the old woman got home that night!
A FROG HE WOULD A-WOOING GO.
A Frog he would a-wooing go,
Heigho, says Roly!
Whether his mother would let him or no,
With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Roly!
So off he set in his coat and hat,
Heigho, says Roly!
And on the way he met a Rat,
With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Roly!
"Please, Mr. Rat, will you go with me?"
Heigho, says Roly!
"Good Mrs. Mousie for to see?"
With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Roly!
When they came to the door of Mousie's hole,
Heigho, says Roly!
They gave a loud knock, and they gave a loud call,
With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Roly!
"Please, Mrs. Mouse, are you within?"
Heigho, says Roly!
"Oh yes, dear sirs, I am sitting to spin,"
With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Roly!
"Please, Mrs. Mouse, will you give us some beer?"
Heigho, says Roly!
"For Froggy and I are fond of good cheer,"
With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Roly!
"Please, Mr. Frog, will you give us a song?"
Heigho, says Roly!
"But let it be something that's not very long,"
With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Roly!
But while they were making a terrible din,
Heigho, says Roly!
The cat and her kittens came tumbling in,
With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Roly!
The cat she seized Mr. Rat by the crown,
Heigho, says Roly!
The kittens they pulled Mrs. Mousie down,
With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Roly!
This put Mr. Frog in a terrible fright,
Heigho, says Roly!
He took up his hat and he wished them good-night,
With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Roly!
But as Froggy was crossing over a brook,
Heigho, says Roly!
A lily-white duck came and swallowed him up,
With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,
Heigho, says Anthony Roly!
There are various versions of the above narrative of a sadly disastrous
expedition, in English and in Scotch alike. _The Ballad Book_, a curious
collection, of which thirty copies only were printed, in 1824, embraces
one beginning:--
There lived a Puddy in a well,
Cuddy alone, Cuddy alone;
There lived a Puddy in a well,
Cuddy alone and I.
There lived a Puddy in a well,
And a Mousie in a mill;
Kickmaleerie, cowden down,
Cuddy alone and I.
Puddy he'd a-wooin' ride,
Cuddy alone, Cuddy alone;
Sword and pistol by his side,
Cuddy alone and I.
Puddy came to the Mousie's home;
"Mistress Mouse, are you within?"
Kickmaleerie, cowden down,
Cuddy alone and I.
And which goes forward narrating the almost identically same story:
which story, homely and simple as it appears, is of surprising
antiquity. In 1580, the Stationers' Company licensed "a ballad of a most
strange wedding of the frogge and the mouse;" and that same ballad Dr.
Robert Chambers printed from a small quarto manuscript of poems formerly
in the possession of Sir Walter Scott, dated 1630. This very old version
begins:--
Itt was ye frog in ye wall,
Humble doune, humble doune;
And ye mirrie mouse in ye mill,
Tweidle, tweidle, twino.
And the closing lines tell that
Quhen ye supper they war at,
The frog, mouse, and evin ye ratt.
There com in Gib our cat,
And chaught ye mouse evin by ye back.
Then did they all seperat,
And ye frog lap on ye floor so flat.
Then in com Dick our drack,
And drew ye frog evin to ye lack.
Ye rat ran up ye wall,
A goodlie companie, ye devall goe with all.
Of meaner antiquity, perhaps, but no less a favourite with the young, is
the amusing ditty of
THE CARRION CROW.
A Carrion Crow sat on an oak,
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, eye ding do,
Watching a tailor shape his coat;
Sing he, sing ho, the old carrion crow,
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, eye ding do!
Wife, bring me my old bent bow,
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, eye ding do,
That I may shoot yon carrion crow;
Sing he, sing ho, the old carrion crow,
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, eye ding do!
The tailor shot, and missed his mark,
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, eye ding do,
But shot the pig right through the heart;
Sing he, sing ho, the old carrion crow,
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, eye ding do.
The next, though it has engaged the attention of
the adult population, is a prime old-time favourite with
the children as well.
MY PRETTY MAID.
"Where are you going to, my pretty maid?"
"I am going a-milking, sir," she said.
"May I go with you, my pretty maid?"
"You're kindly welcome, sir," she said.
"What is your father, my pretty maid?"
"My father's a farmer, sir," she said.
"What is your fortune, my pretty maid?"
"My face is my fortune, sir," she said.
"Then I won't marry you, my pretty maid."
"Nobody asked you, sir," she said.
The original of the following, which has delighted particularly the
children of Scotland for many generations, appears with its pleasing air
in Johnson's _Musical Museum_:--
CAN YOU SEW CUSHIONS?
O can ye sew cushions?
Or can ye sew sheets?
An' can ye sing ba-la-loo
When the bairnie greets?
An' hee an' ba, birdie,
An' hee an' ba, lamb,
Ah' hee an' ba, birdie,
My bonnie wee man.
Hee O, wee O, what'll I do wi' ye?
Black is the life that I lead wi' ye;
Owre mony o' ye, little to gie ye,
Hee O, wee O, what'll I do wi' ye?
Now hush-a-ba, lammie,
An' hush-a-ba, dear;
Now hush-a-ba, lammie,
Thy minnie is here,
The wild wind is ravin',
Thy minnie's heart's sair;
The wild wind is ravin',
An' ye dinna care.
Hee O, wee O, etc.
Sing ba-la-loo, lammie,
Sing bo-la-loo, dear;
Does wee lammie ken
That his daddie's no here?
Ye're rockin' fu' sweetly
On mammie's warm knee,
But daddie's a-rockin'
Upon the saut sea.
Hee O, wee O, etc.
O I hung thy cradle
On yon holly top,
An' aye as the wind blew
Thy cradle did rock.
An' hush-a-ba, baby,
O ba-lilly-loo;
An' hee an' ba, birdie,
My bonnie wee doo!
Hee O, wee O, etc.
We see continually how dear to the songs of childlife are the mention of
birds and all things sweet in the round of everyday life. Here now--
HUSH-A-BA BIRDIE, CROON.
Hush-a-ba birdie, croon, croon,
Hush-a-ba birdie, croon;
The sheep are gane to the silver wood,
And the coos are gane to the broom, broom,
And the coos are gane to the broom.
And it's braw milking the kye, kye,
It's braw milking the kye;
The birds are singing, the bells are ringing,
The wild deer come galloping by, by,
The wild deer come galloping by.
And hush-a-ba birdie, croon, croon,
Hush-a-ba birdie, croon;
The gaits are gane to the mountain hie,
And they'll no be hame till noon,
And they'll no be hame till noon.
A prime favourite--none excelling it--has been
DANCE TO YOUR DADDIE.
Dance to your daddie,
My bonnie laddie,
Dance to your daddie, my bonnie lamb;
And ye'll get a fishie,
In a little dishie,
Ye'll get a fishie when the boat comes hame!
Dance to your daddie,
My bonnie laddie,
Dance to your daddie, my bonnie lamb!
And ye'll get a coatie,
And a pair o' breekies--
Ye'll get a whippie and a supple Tam!
By the bye, as touching the lullaby order of these songs, it is
interesting to note that, no matter of what age or nation they may be,
they are all but regularly made up on precisely the same plan. There is
first the appeal to the child to slumber, or to rest and be happy; then
comes the statement that the father is away following some toilsome
occupation; and the promise succeeds that he will soon return laden with
the fruits of his labour, and all will be well. We have been seeing, and
will see again, how the Scottish go. The Norwegian mother sings:--
Row, row to Baltnarock,
How many fish caught in the net?
One for father and one for mother.
One for sister and one for brother.
Even the Hottentot mother promises her child that its "dusky sire" shall
bring it "shells from yonder shore," where he has probably been occupied
in turning turtles over on their broad backs. The Breton song goes:--
Fais dado, pauvre, p'tit Pierrot.
Papa est sur l'eau
Qui fait des bateaux
Pour le p'tit Pierrot.
The Swedish cradle song follows the almost universal custom. It runs (in
English):--
Hush, hush; baby mine!
Pussy climbs the big green pine,
Ma turns the mill stone,
Pa to kill the pig has gone.
The Danish does not prove an exception:--
Lullaby, sweet baby mine!
Mother spins the thread so fine;
Father o'er the bridge has gone,
Shoes he'll buy for little John.
The North German cradle song is:--
Schlaf Kindchen, schlaf!
Dein Vater hut't die schaf;
Dein Mutter schuttelts Baumelien,
Da fallt herab ein Tramelein,
Schlaf, Kindchen, schlaf!
Which, being done into English, runs:--
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Thy father guards the sheep;
The mother shakes the dreamland tree,
And from it falls sweet dreams for thee.
Sleep, baby, sleep.
The simplest and crudest of these, we may be sure, has lulled millions
to sleep, and by virtue of that association is worth more than many
quartos of recent verse deliberately composed with the view of engaging
the attention of the nursery circle. How many volumes of the newer
wares, for instance, might be accepted in exchange for
KATIE BEARDIE.
Katie Beardie had a coo,
Black and white about the mou';
Wasna that a dentie coo?
Dance, Katie Beardie!
Katie Beardie had a hen,
Cackled but an' cackled ben;
Wasna that a dentie hen?
Dance, Katie Beardie!
Katie Beardie had a cock
That could spin a gude tow rock;
Wasna that a dentie cock?
Dance, Katie Beardie!
Katie Beardie had a grice,
It could skate upon the ice;
Wasna that a dentie grice?
Dance, Katie Beardie!
Katie Beardie had a wean,
That was a' her lovin' ain;
Wasna that a dentie wean?
Dance, Katie Beardie!
Yet, there is tolerable proof extant that the above dates from at least
the beginning of the seventeenth century. "Katherine Beardie," anyway,
is the name affixed to an air in a manuscript musical collection which
belonged to the Scottish poet, Sir William Mure, of Rowallan, written,
presumably, between the years 1612 and 1628. The same tune, under the
name of "Kette Bairdie," also appears in a similar collection which
belonged to Sir John Skene of Hallyards, supposed to have been written
about 1629. Further, so well did Sir Walter Scott know that this was a
popular dance during the reign of King James VI., as Mr. Dawney points
out, that he introduces it in the _Fortunes of Nigel_, with this
difference, that it is there called "Chrichty Bairdie," a name not
precisely identical with that here given; but as Kit is a diminutive of
Christopher, it is not difficult to perceive how the two came to be
confounded. Old as it certainly is--and older by a deal it may be than
these presents indicate--it maintains yet the charm of youth--delighting
all with its lightly tripping numbers. No less does--
THE MILLER'S DOCHTER.
There was a miller's dochter,
She wadna want a baby, O;
She took her father's grey hound
An' row'd it in a plaidie, O.
Singing, Hush-a-ba! hush-a-ba!
Hush-a-ba, my baby, O!
An 'twere na for you lang beard,
I wad kiss your gabbie, O!
While bedding operations have been in progress no song, surely, has been
more welcome and effective than
HAP AND ROW.
Hap and row, hap and row,
Hap and row the feetie o't;
I never kent I had a bairn
Until I heard the greetie o't.
The wife put on the wee pan
To boil the bairn's meatie, O,
When down fell a cinder
And burn't a' its feetie, O.
Hap and row, hap and row,
Hap and row the feetie o't;
I never kent I had a bairn
Until I heard the greetie o't.
Sandy's mither she came in
As sune's she heard the greetie o't,
She took the mutch frae aff her head
And rowed it round the feetie o't.
Hap and row, hap and row, etc.
In about equal favour stands
HOW DAN, DILLY DOW.
How dan, dilly dow,
Hey dow, dan,
Weel were ye're minnie.
An' ye were a man.
Ye wad hunt an' hawk,
An' hand her o' game,
An' water your daddie's horse
When he cam' hame.
How dan, dilly dow,
Hey dan, floors,
Ye'se lie i' your bed
Till eleven hours.
If at eleven hours
You list to rise,
Ye'se hae your dinner dight
In a new guise.
Laverocks' legs,
And titlins' taes,
And a' sic dainties
My mannie shall hae.
A cheery and comforting lilt, indeed, with its promise of plenty. Much
superior to the next, which bears in its bosom the hollow and unwelcome
ring of a "toom girnal"--a sound no child should ever know. It is yet a
lilt familiar to the nursery:--
CROWDIE.
Oh, that I had ne'er been married,
I wad never had nae care;
Now I've gotten wife and bairns,
They cry Crowdie! ever mair.
Crowdie ance, crowdie twice,
Three times crowdie in a day;
Gin ye crowdie ony mair,
Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away.
Quoting the stanzas as an old ballad in a letter to his friend, Mrs.
Dunlop, in December, 1795, the poet Burns wrote:--"There had much need
to be many pleasures annexed to the states of husband and father, for,
God knows, they have many peculiar cares. I cannot describe to you the
anxious, sleepless hours these ties frequently give me. I see a train of
helpless little folks; me and my exertions all their stay; and on what
a brittle thread does the life of man hang! If I am nipt off at the
command of Fate, even in all the vigour of manhood, as I am--such things
happen every day--Gracious God! what would become of my little flock?
'Tis here that I envy your people of fortune. A father on his death-bed,
taking an ever-lasting leave of his children, has indeed woe enough; but
the man of competent fortune leaves his sons and daughters independency
and friends; while I--but I shall run distracted if I think any longer
on the subject!" So might we all. Then, away with it, and let us have a
more lightsome spring.
WHISTLE, WHISTLE, AULD WIFE.
"Whistle, whistle, auld wife.
An' ye'se get a hen."
"I wadna whistle," quo' the wife,
"Though ye wad gi'e me ten."
"Whistle, whistle, auld wife,
An' ye'se get a cock."
"I wadna whistle," quo' the wife,
"Though ye'd gi'e me a flock."
"Whistle, whistle, auld wife,
And ye'se get a goun."
"I wadna whistle," quo' the wife,
"For the best ane i' the toun."
"Whistle, whistle, auld wife,
An' ye'se get a coo."
"I wadna whistle," quo' the wife,
"Though ye wad gi'e me two."
"Whistle, whistle, auld wife,
An' ye'se get a man."
"_Wheeple-whauple_" quo' the wife,
"I'll whistle as I can."
Sung with vocal mimicry, the above makes a strikingly effective
entertainment.
The song of "The Three Little Pigs" embraces a palpable moral, which not
children alone would be the better for taking to heart. I wish I could
sing it for you, my reader, as I have heard Mr. Tom Hunt, the well-known
animal painter, sing it in social circles in Glasgow:--
THE THREE LITTLE PIGS.
A jolly old sow once lived in a sty,
And three little piggies had she;
And she waddled about saying, "grumph! grumph! grumph!"
While the little ones said "wee! wee!"
And she waddled about saying, "grumph! grumph! grumph!"
While the little ones said "wee! wee!"
"My dear little piggies," said one of the brats,
"My dear little brothers," said he,
"Let us all for the future say, 'grumph! grumph! grumph!'
'Tis so childish to say, 'wee! wee!'"
Let us all, etc.
These three little piggies grew skinny and lean,
And lean they might very well be,
For somehow they couldn't say "grumph! grumph! grumph!"
And they wouldn't say "wee! wee!"
For somehow, etc.
So after a time these little pigs died,
They all died of fe-lo-de-see,
From trying too hard to say "grumph! grumph! grumph!"
When they only could say "wee! wee!"
From trying, etc.
A moral there is to this little song,
A moral that's easy to see:
Don't try when you're young to say "grumph! grumph! grumph!"
When you only can say "wee! wee!"
Don't try when you're young to say "grumph! grumph! grumph!"
When you only can say "wee! wee!"
Another delectable song for children--also of a subtly didactic
character--is
COWE THE NETTLE EARLY.
Gin ye be for lang kail,
Cowe the nettle, stoo the nettle:
Gin ye be for lang kail,
Cowe the nettle early.
Cowe it laich, cowe it sune,
Cowe it in the month o' June;
Stoo it ere it's in the bloom,
Cowe the nettle early.
Cowe it by the old wa's,
Cowe it where the sun ne'er fa's,
Stoo it when the day daws,
Cowe the nettle early.
Auld heuk wi' no ae tooth,
Cowe the nettle, stoo the nettle;
Auld gluive wi' leather loof,
Cowe the nettle early.
The following curious song, which Mrs. Burns, the wife of the poet, was
fond of crooning to her children, is not yet without some vogue outwith
the printed page--though mainly in this verse, the place of which, by
the bye, would be difficult to fix in the song as printed by Herd:--
The robin cam' to the wren's door,
And keekit in, and keekit in:
O, blessings on your bonnie pow,
Wad ye be in, wad ye be in?
I wadna let you lie thereout,
And I within, and I within,
As lang's I hae a warm clout,
To row ye in, to row ye in.
To students of Burns it will ever be of prime interest from the fact
that its air, as played by Miss Jessie Lewars to the poet only a few
days before his death, supplied the hint for his most tender and
touching lyric, "O Wert them in the Cauld Blast." Herd prints it
thus:--
THE WREN'S NEST.
The wren scho lyes in care's bed,
In care's bed, in care's bed;
The wren scho lyes in care's bed,
Wi' meikle dule and pyne, O.
When in cam' Robin Redbreist,
Redbreist, Redbreist;
When in cam' Robin Redbreist,
Wi' succar-saps and wine, O.
Now, maiden, will ye taste o' this,
Taste o' this, taste o' this;
Now, maiden, will ye taste o' this,
It's succar saps and wine, O?
Na, ne'er a drap, Robin,
Robin, Robin:
Na, ne'er a drap, Robin,
Though it were ne'er sae fine, O.
And where's the ring that I gied ye,
That I gied ye, that I gied ye:
And where's the ring that I gied ye,
Ye little cutty-quean, O?
I gied it till an ox-ee,
An ox-ee, an ox-ee;
I gied it till an ox-ee,
A true sweetheart o' mine, O.
We began with the robin in this, I hope, not wearisome but entertaining
_Melange_ of child-songs. We have never, indeed, got at any time far
away from the lively and interesting little fellow; and, that being so,
perhaps no item could more fittingly close the series than the very old
song of
ROBIN REDBREAST'S TESTAMENT.
Gude-day now, bonnie Robin,
How long have you been here?
I've been bird about this bush
This mair than twenty year!
But now I am the sickest bird
That ever sat on brier;
And I wad mak' my testament,
Gudeman, if ye wad hear.
Gae tak' this bonnie neb o' mine,
That picks upon the corn;
And gie't to the Duke o' Hamilton
To be a hunting-horn.
Gae tak' these bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my neb;
And gi'e to the Lady o' Hamilton
To fill a feather-bed.
Gae tak' this gude richt leg o' mine,
And mend the brig o' Tay;
It will be a post and pillar gude--
Will neither bow nor gae.
And tak' this other leg o' mine,
And mend the brig o' Weir;
It will be a post and pillar gude--
Will neither bow nor steer.
Gae tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my tail:
And gie to the lads o' Hamilton
To be a barn-flail.
And tak' thae bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my breast:
And gie to ony bonnie lad
Will bring to me a priest.
Now in there came my Lady Wren
Wi' mony a sigh and groan:
O what care I for a' the lads
If my ain lad be gone!
Then Robin turned him roundabout,
E'en like a little king;
Go; pack ye out o' my chamber-door,
Ye little cutty quean!
Robin made his testament
Upon a coll of hay;
And by cam' a greedy gled
And snapt him a' away.
CHILDREN'S HUMOUR AND QUAINT SAYINGS.
The humours of little folks, fresh and original, and invariably of the
unconscious variety, and their quaint sayings, unrehearsed and uttered
regularly without regard to effect--though with merciless honesty
often--form a never-palling treat; and every man and woman who has
reared a family, or has had joy in the society of other people's
children, has his and her own budget, comprising tit-bits at once
interesting, startling, and amusing. When occasion has saved us from the
foolishly doting parent who is everlastingly prosing about the very
clever things his own little Johnnie has said or done, I have seldom
found greater enjoyment of a mixed company than when the queer sayings
of children went round the board, and we had "recollections," by
suggestion, of things which perhaps had been better left unsaid, as also
of things which had been more agreeably expressed if differently worded;
yet all so honestly set forth that even the "victims" could not help but
enjoy them in some measure. Children accept all statements so
implicitly, and, with their quick-working wits, they reason so
straight-forwardly, that the application when voiced comes at times with
a bang sufficient to take one's breath away. Given this and that,
however, an application is unavoidable. As lief set fire behind powder
in a gun and expect there will be no report. A mite of five, thus, will
on occasion utter a syllogism that would not discredit a professor of
logic, or will put a question to which a whole college of theologians
might not venture an answer. A little lady of my acquaintance who had
not yet seen her fourth birthday, was one morning told by her mother
that she could not get out to play--the frost was too severe. "Who makes
the frost, ma?" was asked. "God, dear." "What does He make frost for?"
"To kill the worms." "And why does He make worms, and has to make frost
to kill them?" This was a sufficient poser, but the mother continued,
"The worms have to be killed, else they would eat the roots of all the
plants and flowers." The little lady reflected, then gravely asked, "But
does God kill the wee chicky worms that never eated any roots?" The
mother did not answer, but looked now even more grave than the child.
The same little miss was listening one evening to a newspaper report
being read, which told how a man in a storm of wind had been blown with
a ladder from a house-top in Glasgow, and was killed. "Who makes the
wind?" she asked sharply. She was told. "And does God make the bad winds
that kills the mans?" was demanded. There was no reply; but she read the
silence as meaning "yes," and turning to leave the room she muttered
more to herself than otherwise, "When I die and go to Heaven I'll not
sit beside God." When repeating the _Pater-noster_ one evening she stuck
at the first sentence, and wanted to know "If God is our Father in
Heaven who is our Mother in Heaven?" But the mother was saved this time
by the interposition of the little one's elder brother, who, with stern
emphasis, exclaimed, "Stupid! God's wife, of course." A little
boy-relative of that girl returned from school one day, while he was but
a pupil in the infant department, and stepping proudly up to where his
father was seated, "Pa," he exclaimed, "I am the cleverest boy in the
class." "Indeed," returned the parent, "I am proud to hear that; but who
said it?" "The teacher." "If the teacher said so, it surely must be
true. What did she say, though?" "She said, 'Stand up the cleverest boy
in the class,' and I stood up." The same little fellow was on the way to
school with a friend one morning, towards the end of December, when the
two were attracted by the appearance of a sweep on the chimney of a
neighbouring building. "I ken what that man's doin' up there," he
asserted; "he's sweepin' the lums for Santa Claus to get doon." And that
recalls the story I once heard of a little man in the Carse of Gowrie.
It happened on an evening towards the close of the year, as he was
preparing for bed, and was sitting by the fire with his first liberated
stocking in his hand, that he looked over to his mother, and "Mither,"
he asked, "will I get a pair o' new stockin's before Christmas?" "Maybe,
laddie; but what gars ye speir?" "Because"--and he spoke mournfully, as
he stuck his fingers through a large hole in the toe--"if Santa Claus
puts onything intil thir anes, it'll fa' oot." How cleverly they reason,
you see! "Bring me a drink o' water, Johnnie," was the order delivered
by a Perthshire farmer to his little son one day a good many years ago.
The boy went to do as he was asked, but the water-stoup had been nearly
empty, and, as he was approaching his parent with the liquid, he paused
and peered doubtfully into the hand-vessel, then, as if suddenly
inspired by a happy thought, "Will I put meal in't, father?" he asked.
"No." "Oh, weel, then"--and he turned to go back--"ye'll need to wait
till somebody gangs to the well." But to return to children I have known
for yet one or two more illustrations. I was at a tea-table one
afternoon where the company was mostly composed of the smaller fry, and
an incident, important to all, was mentioned, which had happened some
seven or eight years before. Several of the older children declared,
truthfully, that they remembered it quite well. "So do I mind o' it,"
asserted a little fellow about five. "How could you mind o' it?"
questioned scornfully an older brother; "you wasna born at the time." "I
ken," as scornfully returned the younger theologian; "I was dust at the
time; but I mind o' it weel enough." Here is the verbatim copy of a
letter written since by the hand of that same boy--in a country village
in Perthshire--where he has been staying continuously for several years,
and addressed to his father in Glasgow:--"Dear Pa, The Rabbits is all
dead. Worried with dogs. The gold fishes is dead. Died with the cold.
The cat has had kittens, four of them, and the rest of us is all well."
The remark of a prominent Scottish novelist who recently passed the
epistle through his hands was--"That's style, the most crisp and
picturesque. And then--'the rest of us'--how beautifully innocent!"
The little girl of a friend of mind--while still of very tender
years--was first taken to church by her aunt. On the way home, and soon
after leaving the portals of the sacred edifice, she looked up solemnly
in her guardian's face, and, "Auntie," she asked, "was yon God on the
mantel-piece?" She referred doubtless to the minister in the pulpit.
Don't think of irreverence, my reader! The child, in its atmosphere of
perfect innocence, knows not the word. And bear that in mind further
when I tell you of a little boy and girl--both of whom I know well--who
were having a walk with me one Sunday in early Autumn, when suddenly a
railway train appeared in view. A train on Sunday! They were staggered
by the sight; and the boy demanded to know why it should be there. "Oh,
I know," exclaimed the girl, after some reflection; "it'll be God coming
back from his holidays." The question, "Can prayer be answered?" may be
often discussed by grown-up minds. It is never raised by the children.
No doubts trouble them in that relation. They are quite certain they
will get what they ask for. Perfect confidence in that alone could have
made it possible for a certain little miss, who, when being put to bed
in a tired condition, and asked to say her prayer, began:--
"This night I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord----"
then gave a long, loud yawn, and added, "Oh God, I am awfully
sleepy--you know the rest"--making thus, in her rude simplicity, a
finely trustful and beautiful prayer. "Give us each day our daily
bread," was the honest petition of a little fellow--who, however,
recalling probably some recent violent experiences, immediately
added--"but dinna let our Lizzie bake it." An elaborately-trained little
fellow who had nightly to pray for blessings on "mamma, and papa,
grandpapa, and grandmamma," and all his uncles, his aunts, and his
cousins, committing each by name, after exhausting the catalogue one
evening, heaved a heavy sigh and exclaimed wearily, "Oh, dear, I wish
these people would pray for themselves, for I am so tired of praying for
them all!"
A little girl, whose baby brother had died, was told that he had gone to
Heaven, and that night she refused to pray--"Take me to Heaven for
Jesus' sake"--because, as she said; "I don't want to go to Heaven, I
want to stay here, with ma, and pa, and dolly." Were all prayers as
honest, many of them, I suspect, would be much shorter than they are.
I have heard of a little boy who was continually being told that he
should be good.
"And if I am gooder, and gooder," he asked, "what will I be?"
"Oh, you will be a little angel."
"But I don't want to be an angel," he retorted; "I want to be an
engine-driver." They are never else than frank in their statements. A
mother who suffers from severe headaches, said to her little girl about
eight, one day not long ago, "What would you do, Lottie dear, if your
darling mother was taken away from you--if she died?" "Well, mother,"
was the little one's startling answer, "I suppose we would cry at
first--then we would bury you, and then we would come home and take all
the money out of your pocket." Now, while it is possible that something
else might also be done, it is almost certain--yea, it is certain,
without doubt--that all these ceremonials, however reluctantly, would,
in turn, be duly performed.
From a story bearing on death to one relating to birth is a transition
not so unnatural as may at the first blush appear. And births are
affairs ever of prime interest to children. Not many years ago it
happened in a village in Perthshire that twins arrived in a family, and
next day one of the little misses of the house was out on the street
playing, when a neighbouring lady came up to where she was, and, "So
you've got two little babies at home, Bizzie," she remarked. "Yes,"
responded the little one, very solemnly; "and do you know, my father was
away at Edinburgh when the doctor brought them. But it was a good thing
my mother was in; for if she hadna, there would have been naebody in the
house but me, and I wadna have kent what to do wi' them." They tell this
delightful story of the little daughter of Professor Van Dyke, of the
Philadelphia University:--
"Papa, where were you born?"
"In Boston, my dear."
"Where was mamma born?"
"In San Francisco."
"And where was I born?"
"In Philadelphia."
"Well, pap, isn't it funny how we three people got together?"
And that now recalls another which Mrs. Keeley, the actress, tells of a
tradesman's little boy who was often taken to stay with his grandmother
and grandfather--the latter a very feeble old man, bald and toothless.
This little fellow was told that his father and mother had "bought" a
nice new baby brother for him. The little man was much interested by the
news, and was taken to see the new arrival. He looked at it with
astonishment for a few seconds, then remarked--"Why, he's got no hair,
father!" This was at once admitted. "And he's got no teeth," observed
the boy again, touching another fact which could not be denied. Then a
long and thoughtful pause ensued, after which the little critic (who had
probably been comparing the baby with his grandfather), observed
confidentially--"I'll tell you what, father; if they called him a new
baby, they've taken you in--he's an old 'un!" You cannot easily get
round children. And it is almost impossible to suppress them. As
touching this fact an excellent story is told of our present King and
his sister, the late Empress of Germany, when they were boy and girl.
Lord----, who had a deformed foot, was invited to Osborne; and before
his arrival the Queen and Prince Albert debated whether it would be
better to warn the Prince of Wales and the Princess Royal of his
physical calamity, so as to avoid embarrassing remarks, or to leave the
matter to their own good feeling. The latter course was adopted. Lord
---- duly arrived. The foot elicited no remark from the Royal children,
and the visit passed off with perfect success. But next day the Princess
Royal asked the Queen, "Where is Lord----?" "He has gone back to London,
dear." "Oh, what a pity! He had promised to show Berty and me his foot!"
The _enfants terrible_ had wilily caught his lordship in the corridor,
and made their own terms.
There is pleasure in telling that story were it but for the revelation
it affords of how the children of Kings and Queens are animated by the
same curiosities, and may act at times so like the children of the
commonality. That Royalty again may be moved by the action or word of a
child of common birth we have many pleasing proofs. One is pat. A late
King of Prussia, while visiting in one of the villages of his dominion,
was welcomed by the school children. Their sponsor made a speech for
them. The King thanked them. Then, taking an orange from a plate, he
asked--"To what kingdom does this belong?" "The vegetable kingdom,
sire," replied a little girl. The King next took a gold coin from his
pocket, and, holding it up, asked--"And to what kingdom does this
belong?" "To the mineral kingdom," was the reply. "And to what kingdom
do I belong then?" asked the King. The little girl coloured deeply; for
she did not like to say the "animal kingdom," as he thought she would,
lest His Majesty should be offended. But just then it flashed upon her
mind that "God made man in His own image," and looking up with
brightening eye, she said--"To God's Kingdom, sire." The King was moved.
A tear stood in his eye. He placed his hand on the child's head, and
said, most devoutly--"God grant that I may be accounted worthy of that
Kingdom." Thus did the words of a common child, you see, move the heart
of a King. But, oh, we are all the same. It is only the environment that
is different. And the distinction there even is not so great as one, not
knowing, may be disposed to imagine. In high and low life alike, anyway,
the children, we know, are free; and all alike are susceptible of
eccentricity. What a fine confession of this the Princess of Wales made
not long ago when, as Duchess of York, she was addressing a Girls'
Society in London. As a school-girl, she said, she disliked geography;
of which, she added, she was very ignorant. Once she was set to draw an
outline map of the world from memory. "On showing it to my governess,"
said the Princess, "she said in quite an alarmed manner--'Why, you have
left out China! Don't you know where it is?' 'Yes,' I replied, very
stubbornly, but very loyally, 'I know where it should be, but I am not
going to put it in my map. The Queen is angry with China now, so it has
no right to have a place in the world at all.'" The spirit of
exclusiveness manifested by the little lady might readily be quarrelled
with in some quarters; but surely the act gives promise of a Queen who,
like her to whom she was loyal, will, when her glory cometh--though, may
it be far distant--prove the pride of every loyal Briton!
The somersaultic cleverness by which a child will get out of an awkward
situation has been often revealed, but seldom with more humour than in
the two succeeding illustrations. A minister returning from church
towards the manse on a Sunday, came suddenly on a boy leaning earnestly
over the parapet of a bridge with a short rod and a long string having a
baited hook on the far end, by which he was trying his luck in the burn
beneath. "Boy," he exclaimed severely, "is this a day on which you
should be catching fish?" "Wha's catchin' fish?" drawled the budding
Isaac Walton; "I'm juist tryin' to droon this worm." The next boy was
yet cleverer--alike in fishing and in speech. He had several trout
dangling from his hand by a string when he met the minister abruptly in
a quick bend of the road. There was no chance of escape; but his ready
wit saved him. He walked boldly forward, and taking the first word as
the two were about to meet, he dangled the trout-hand high, looked the
minister square in the face, and exclaimed, "That sorts them for
snappin' at flees on the Sabbath!" and passed hence, leaving his
anticipated accuser flabbergasted.
Ruskin says of children: "They are forced by nature to develop their
powers of invention, as a bird its feathers of flight;" and we might
add, remarks another writer, "that the inventive faculty, like a bird,
is apt, when fully grown, to fly away. Then, when their own imaginative
resources begin to fail them, one observes children begin to read books
of adventure with avidity--at the age, say, of ten or twelve years.
Before that, no Rover of the Andes or Erling the Bold can equal the
heroic achievements they evolve from their inner consciousness." Who,
for instance, could hope to "put a patch" on the experience of those two
little boys who spent a snowy day during the Christmas holidays
tiger-shooting in their father's dining-room; and as one, making his
cautious way among the legs of the dinner-table, for the nonce a
pathless jungle, was hailed by the other with, "Any tigers there, Bill?"
he answered gloriously: "Tigers? I'm knee-deep in them!"
That excellent story recalls to me another, not unlike it. Also of a
Christmas time. The children had asked permission to get up a play, and
it had been granted on the condition that they did it all themselves
without help or hint. As the eldest was only ten they accepted the
condition with alacrity, for young children hate to be interfered with
and hampered by their elders. When the evening came and the family and
audience had collected, the curtain was drawn back and revealed the
heroine (aged nine), who stated with impassioned sobs that her husband
had been in South Africa for the past three years, but that she was
expecting his return. Truly enough the hero (aged ten) entered, and
proceeded, after affectionate but hasty greetings, to give his wife an
eloquent account of his doings, the battles he had fought, the Boers he
had killed, and the honours he had won.
When he at last paused for breath, his wife rose, and taking his hand
led him to the back, where a short curtain covered a recess. "I, too,
dear," she said proudly, "have not been idle."
And pulling back the curtain she displayed six cradles occupied by six
large baby dolls!
And that again recalls another, quite in the same line. One day a
gentleman walking down a street observed a little boy seated on a
doorstep. Going up to him, he said, "Well, my little chap, how is it you
are sitting outside on the doorstep, when I see through the window all
the other young folks inside playing games and having a good time? Why
aren't you inside joining in the fun?" "I guess, stranger, that I'm in
this game." replied the boy. "But how can you be, when you are out on
the doorstep, and the others are all inside?" "Oh, I'm in the show right
enough. You see, we're playing at being married. I'm the baby, and I'm
not born yet!"
The late Dr. Norman M'cLeod--the great Norman--rejoiced in telling a
story about two ragged children whom he found busy on the side of a
country road one day, working with some stiffened mud, which they had
carefully scraped together. "What's this you are making?" he asked. One
of the children replied that it was a kirk. "A kirk! Ay, and where's the
door?" "There it's." "And the pulpit?" "That's it." "And the minister?"
The little one hesitated, then replied, very innocently--"We hadna dirt
enough left to mak' a minister."
The minister, of course--and the weaker his character he should be the
more careful--must always approach children with caution if he hopes to
come out of the interview with his reputation unscathed. I have heard or
read of a member of the cloth--a supreme egoist--who was visiting at a
house when but the mother and her little girl--a mere child--were at
home. As the self-esteemed great man was holding the mother in
conversation, he noticed with pride that the child, who reposed on the
hearthrug with a school-slate tilted on her knee, was making furtive
glances up at his face, and returning her attention regularly to the
slate, on which she kept scrawling with a pencil. When at length she
stopped and looked serious, "Well, my dear," he exclaimed, "have you
been trying to draw my portrait?" She did not reply, "Come," he
continued, coaxingly, "you must let me see it." "Oh," interposed the
proud mother, "she's awfu' clever at the drawin'." This made the
minister still more eager to see the work, and he repeated his request
for an exposure; but the child clutched the slate only more tightly to
her breast and did not look up. "She's aye sae shy, ye ken," interceded
the mother, as she reached her hand to procure the work of art by main
force. It was then the little one found her tongue, and she
exclaimed--"Oh, it wasna very like him, and I just put a tail till't,
and ca'd it a doggie." The _denouement_ leaves nothing to be desired.
Dean Ramsay, to whom his country owes so much for the elucidation of its
characteristics, tells humorously of the elder of a kirk having found a
little boy and his sister playing marbles on Sunday, and put his reproof
not at all in judicious form by exclaiming--"Boy, do you know where
children go who play marbles on the Sabbath-day?" Not in judicious form,
truly, for the boy replied, "Ay, they gang doun to the field by the
water below the brig." "No," roared out the elder, "they go to hell, and
are burned." Worse than ever--for the elder--for the little fellow,
really shocked, now called to his sister, "Come awa', Jeanie, here's a
man swearin' awfu'."
"Among the lower orders in Scotland humour is found, occasionally, very
rich in mere children," observes the Dean, "and I recollect a remarkable
illustration of this early native humour occurring in a family in
Forfarshire, where I used in former days to be very intimate. A wretched
woman, who used to traverse the country as a beggar or tramp, left a
poor half-starved little girl by the road-side near the house of my
friends. Always ready to assist the unfortunate, they took charge of the
child, and as she grew a little older they began to give her some
education, and taught her to read. She soon made some progress in
reading the Bible, and the native odd humour of which we speak began
soon to show itself. On reading the passage which began 'Then David
rose,' etc., the child stopped and looked up knowingly to say, 'I ken
wha that was,' and being asked what she could mean, she confidently
said, 'That's David Rowse the pleuchman.' And again, reading the passage
where the words occur, 'He took Paul's girdle,' the child said, with
much confidence, 'I ken what he took that for;' and on being asked to
explain, replied at once, 'To bake his bannocks on.'"
Among less than a dozen examples in all of child humour, the good Dean
has yet another worth telling, which he says, used to be narrated by an
old Mr. Campbell of Jura, who told the story of his own son. The boy, it
seems, was much spoilt by indulgence. In fact, the parents were scarce
able to refuse him anything he demanded. He was in the drawing-room on
one occasion when dinner was announced, and on being ordered up to the
nursery he insisted on going down to dinner with the company. His
mother was for refusal, but the child persevered and kept saying, "If I
dinna gang, I'll tell yon." His father then, for peace sake, let him go.
So he went, and sat at the table by his mother. When he found every one
getting soup and himself omitted, he demanded soup, and repeated, "If I
dinna get it, I'll tell yon." Well, soup was given, and various other
things yielded to his importunities, to which he always added the usual
threat of "telling yon." At last, when it came to wine, his mother stood
firm, and positively refused, as "a bad thing for little boys," and so
on. He then became more vociferous than ever about "telling yon;" and,
as still he was refused, he declared, "Now I'll tell yon," and at last
roared out--"_My new breeks are made oot o' the auld curtains!_"
That, however, is not the most delectable of child stories. We prefer
the ideas of the little folks within the region of philosophy. When, for
example, they want to know "Whaur div' a' the figures gang when they're
rubbit oot?" and ask such questions as "Where does the dark go when the
light comes?" "Was it not very wrong of God not to make Cain good as
well as Abel?" or, "If it be true that some of the stars are bigger than
this earth, how do they not keep the rain off?"
"I say, father," asked a little fellow as he raised his eyes off his
home lesson, "Who invented the multiplication table?" "Oh, I don't
know," he was answered; "it was invented long ago; why?"
"Well, I was thinking if the gentleman that invented it didn't know it
already, he must have had a tough job; and if he did know it, what was
the good of him inventing it at all?" It was a cloudy and moonless
night when a little fellow was taken out by his mother, who went to call
for a friend. "Mamma," he exclaimed, looking up, "I expect God's been
very busy this evening, for I see He has forgotten to hang the stars
out."
She was a very small Miss who went to church alone one day, where an
organ had recently been introduced. As she stood gazing about just
within the door, an elder approached, and asked where she would prefer
to sit. "Well," she said pertly, "if there's a monkey, I would like to
be near the organ; but if there's no' a monkey, I'll just sit ony
place."
A pretty good story is related of one of Governor Tilton's staff. It is
said that when the individual referred to first presented himself _en
militaire_ to his wife and little daughter, the latter, after gazing at
him for a few minutes, turned to her mother, and exclaimed: "Why, Ma,
that's not a real soldier--it's Pa!" Equally observant was another
youngster, who was sent by his parent to take a letter to the
post-office and pay the postage on it. The boy returned highly elated,
and said: "Father, I seed a lot of men putting letters in a little
place; and when no one was looking, I slipped yours in for nothing." We
hardly know whether the father would laugh or storm over this
unconscious attempt to defraud the revenue. But no matter.
Two little London girls who had been sent by the kindness of the vicar's
wife to have "a happy day in the country," narrating their experiences
on their return, said, "Oh, yes, mum, we did 'ave a happy day. We saw
two pigs killed and a gentleman buried."
It is the rare that fascinates. Many years ago, I was living in a house
where, on an evening, a little Miss was toiling over her school-lesson,
and declaiming loudly, "The--sow--has--pigs." Being a city child, I
wondered whether she knew of what she was reading, and asked, "Did you
ever see a sow and pigs, Mary?" "No," she replied smartly, "but when I
was going to the school the day, I saw a policeman getting his
photograph taken."
But speaking here of London children, reminds me of two London stories
which should not be omitted. So here:--
Two small boys walking down Tottenham Court Road, passed a tobacconist's
shop. The bigger remarked--"I say, Bill, I've got a ha-penny, and if
you've got one too, we'll have a penny smoke between us."
Bill produced his copper, and Tommy, diving into the shop, promptly
re-appeared with a penny cigar in his mouth.
The boys walked side by side for a few minutes, when the smaller mildly
said, "I say, Tom, when am I to have a puff? The weed's half mine."
"Oh, you shut up," was the business-like reply. "I'm the chairman of
this company, and you are only a shareholder. You can spit."
That is the first. The second, though less precocious, is yet more
enjoyable. Besides, we know it is true, while the other--well, it is not
above suspicion.
One day, when seeking a model, Miss Dorothy Tennant (now Mrs. H. M.
Stanley) discovered a likely subject in the shape of a crossing-sweeper;
and, while conducting him to Richmond Terrace, she met her family's old
friend, Mr. Gladstone. Greatly moved by her companion, he exclaimed:
"Who's your friend?" Then and there the crossing-sweeper, much to his
dismay, was presented to the "People's William."
On entering the Tennant mansion, the urchin was tremendously impressed
by the liveried servant who had opened the door, and, after looking back
at him several times, whispered mysteriously to his kind hostess:
"I say, miss, why does your big brother wear brass buttons?"
Always thoughtful, Miss Tennant first led her charge to the servants
hall, where she sat beside him as he played havoc with the well-filled
dishes placed before him. At the conclusion of his repast, Miss Tennant
asked the boy how he liked it.
"Proper," replied the crossing-sweeper; "yer mother do cook prime!"
London having yielded its quota, the "Second City" may be again drawn
upon.
A little boy of tender years was sitting on the doorstep of a house in
Bridgeton, there, the other morning, crying bitterly, when a girl of
about the same age accosted him, and the following conversation was
overheard:--"What are ye greetin' for, laddie?" she inquired, in
sympathetic tones. "Did onybody hit ye?" "N-n-na," sobbed the boy.
"Then, what is't ye're greetin' for?" the little damsel went on. "'Cause
my wee brither's gane to heaven," exclaimed the little fellow, bitterly,
between his sobs. "Oh!" ejaculated the girl; and then, after a pause,
"but ye shouldna greet like that--maybe he hasna."
Another. Recently a little fellow came home from school crying bitterly,
and altogether manifesting great sorrow. "What's the matter, Geordie,"
sympathetically inquired his mother, "has onybody been hittin' ye?"
"N-n-n-o," answered the boy between his sobs. "Then, what are you crying
about?" she went on. "Boo! hoo! wee Sammy Sloan's faither an' mither hae
flitted to Coatbrig!" "Tuts, laddie, dinna greet about that," she
exclaimed, re-assuringly, "there's plenty mair laddies bidin' in the
street besides Sammy Sloan that ye can play wi'." "I ken that," said
Geordie, with another sob, "but he was the only yin I could lick."
Children, really, as we have been revealing so frequently here, have the
fresh and original notions of things, and are always frank enough to
give them voice.
A little boy was reading the story of a missionary having been eaten by
cannibals. "Papa," he asked, "will the missionary go to heaven?" "Yes,
my son," replied the father. "And will the cannibals go there, too?"
queried the youthful student. "No," was the reply. After thinking the
matter over for some time, the little fellow exclaimed--"Well, I don't
see how the missionary can go to heaven if the cannibals don't, when
he's inside the cannibals."
One Sunday evening, while sitting on his mother's knee listening to the
story of Jonah being swallowed by the whale, a little fellow looked up
seriously into her face and asked, "Ma, did Jonah wear his slippers in
the whale's belly? Because, if he didna, the tackets in his boots wad
tear a' its puddin's."
Dr. John Ker of Edinburgh, in his recently published volume of
reminiscences--_Memories Grave and Gay_--tells of how "in a Banffshire
manse one Sunday evening, all the family were sitting quietly reading in
the drawing-room, when the youngest boy, with a laudable thirst for
knowledge, went up to his mother and asked a question, for the answer
to which she referred him to me. Coming up to me, he said--
"'Mr. Ker, is it true that the devil goes about like a roaring lion?"
"'It must,' I replied, 'be true, for it is in the Bible.'
"This was followed by another question which I did not attempt to
answer--
"'Then, wha keeps his fire in when he's gaun aboot?'"
"Do you know, mamma, I don't believe Solomon was so rich after all?"
observed a sharp boy to his mother, who prided herself on her orthodoxy.
"My child!" she exclaimed in pious horror, "what does the Bible say?"
"That's just it," he answered. "It says that 'Solomon slept with his
fathers.' Now, surely, if he had been rich he'd have had a bed to
himself."
A father once said to a little boy, not so obedient as might be desired,
"Everything I say to you goes in at one ear and out at the other." "Is
that what little boys has two ears for, daddy?" asked the child, quite
innocently.
Engaging his tender "hopeful" in the wonders of astronomy--"Men have
learned the distances of the stars," observed the father; "and, with
their spectroscopes, found out what they are made of." "Yes," responded
the boy admiringly; "and isn't it strange, pa, how they found out their
names too!"
SCHOOLROOM FACTS AND FANCIES.
These are so numerous as to demand a separate chapter.
Talking of the serpent in the Garden of Eden, a lady teacher asked her
class what a serpent was like, when a boy aptly replied, "It's like a
lang rope furlin'."
On another occasion, in the same class, the question was, "What does the
devil tempt little boys and girls to do?" when the comical answer came,
"To chap at fouk's doors, mem."
It has been often told, but is worth repeating, how a pupil teacher was
doing his level best to make the children remember Samson's mighty deeds
with the jawbone of an ass, and, recapitulating, he asked, "What did
Samson slay ten thousand Philistines with? Eh?" No reply came. Then,
pointing to his jawbone, he asked, "What is this?" And at once the
answer belched proudly from half-a-dozen throats in unison, "The jawbone
of an ass."
In a country school the lesson was on "The Prodigal Son," and the
question, "What were the husks that the swine did eat?" met with the
prompt answer, "Tawtie peelin's." In a city seminary a teacher asked
her class, "Who knows everything we say and do?" when she received the
unexpected reply, "The fouk that bides next door to us."
Expecting to get the answer "Carnivorous" (as it bore on the lesson), a
teacher asked his class for an example of a bird of prey, and among
other answers he got was "A yellow yite." The boy who responded so, on
being asked to explain, continued, "Because it eats worms."
"What do you call the bird or beast that feeds on both animal and
vegetable foods?" was the next question. The teacher anticipated
"Omnivorous" this time, but it did not come. There was silence for a
little. Then a boy, who evidently had been ruminating, responded
nonchalantly, "A gutsy brute, sir."
In examining the boys in the composition of sentences, a master began:
"If I ask you," said he, "what have I in my hand? you must not say
simply 'Chalk,' but make a full sentence of it, and say, 'You have chalk
in your hand.' Now I will proceed. What have I on my feet?" The answer
came immediately, "Boots." "Wrong; you haven't been observing my
directions," he rebukingly replied. "Stockings," another heedlessly
ventured to answer. "Wrong again--worse than ever," wrathfully exclaimed
the _magister_. "Well?" he continued interrogatively to a lad near him.
"Please, sir," then he paused--perhaps he thought it _might_ sound
funny, but he felt it _must_ be right, and so he recklessly gasped
out--"Corns!"
But the answers are not always so stupid.
"Why is it," asked a teacher, "the sun never sets on the British
possessions?" "Because," slowly responded an ingenuous youngster, "the
British possessions are in the north, south, and east, and the sun
always sets in the west."
During a recent School Board examination in the west of Scotland, the
examiner asked a little girl to explain what was meant by the
expression, _He was amply rewarded._ "Paid for't," was her instant
reply. "No, no; you are wrong. Suppose you have to go into a baker's
shop and buy a half-quarter loaf, and lay down fourpence, would you say
you had amply rewarded the baker?" Unhesitatingly she replied "Yes."
"Why?" "Because the loaf's only twopence-three-farthings," was the
unlooked-for answer.
Quite like that is the story of a small boy into whose head a teacher
was one day labouring almost in vain to get, as he thought, even the
faintest correct notion of the first rule in arithmetic. "Look here now,
Johnnie," he said at length, "if I were to give you two rabbits and your
father were to give you three rabbits, how many rabbits would you then
have?" "Six." "No, no;" and the teacher set out bits of chalk to show
how he could only have five. "Ah, but," drawled out Johnnie, "I have a
rabbit at hame already."
It was a notion of multiplication that another teacher was endeavouring
to get properly lodged within the skull of another boy, and by way of
putting the effort to a practical test, he said: "Now, Peter, suppose I
was a tailor who supplied your father with a suit of clothes for three
pounds, which he promised to pay me in weekly instalments of one
shilling, how much would your father be due me at the end of a year?"
"Three pounds," replied Peter slowly. "Nonsense, Peter; think again."
Peter thought again, but again answered as before. "You don't know that
simple sum!" exclaimed the teacher in amazement. "Ay, I ken it weel
enough," responded Peter, "but ye dinna ken my faither."
"Did any o
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