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  PHEBE, THE BLACKBERRY GIRL

  UNCLE THOMAS'S

  STORIES

  FOR

  GOOD CHILDREN.

  UNCLE THOMAS.]

  PHEBE,

  THE BLACKBERRY GIRL.

  NEW-YORK:

  LIVERMORE & RUDD

  310 BROADWAY

  1856.

  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847

  By EDWARD LIVERMORE,

  In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.

  INTRODUCTION.

  Uncle Thomas's Stories for Good Children.

  The design of this series of unpretending little books, is, to give tothe Young information, joined with amusement.

  They are prepared for young children, and if, from the reading of thesestories, they acquire a love for good books, the compiler's object willbe accomplished.

  CONTENTS.

  PAGE

  THE BLACKBERRY GIRL, PART I., 9

  THE BLACKBERRY GIRL, PART II., 19

  GOOD CHILDREN, 23

  POOR CRAZY ROBERT, 25

  THE PET LAMB, 29

  FATHER WILLIAM AND THE YOUNG MAN, 37

  THE LITTLE GIRL AND HER PETS, 39

  THE FLOWERS, 43

  THE CHILD AND THE FLOWERS, 45

  ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE, 49

  WASHING AND DRESSING, 51

  THE INDUSTRIOUS BOY, 55

  WE ARE SEVEN, 57

  THE IDLE BOY, 63

  CASABIANCA, 67

  TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR, 71

  Phebe, the Blackberry Girl.]

  THE BLACKBERRY GIRL.

  PART I.

  "Why, Phebe, are you come so soon, Where are your berries, child? You cannot, sure, have sold them all, You had a basket pil'd."

  "No, mother, as I climb'd the fence, The nearest way to town, My apron caught upon a stake, And so I tumbled down.

  "I scratched my arm, and tore my hair, But still did not complain; And had my blackberries been safe, Should not have cared a grain.

  Phebe and her Mother.]

  "But when I saw them on the ground All scattered by my side, I pick'd my empty basket up, And down I sat and cried.

  "Just then a pretty little Miss Chanced to be walking by; She stopp'd, and looking pitiful, She begg'd me not to cry.

  "'Poor little girl, you fell,' said she, 'And must be sadly hurt'-- 'O, no,' I cried, 'but see my fruit, All mixed with sand and dirt!'

  "'Well, do not grieve for that,' she said 'Go home, and get some more:' Ah, no, for I have stripp'd the vines, These were the last they bore.

  "My father, Miss, is very poor, And works in yonder stall; He has so many little ones, He cannot clothe us all.

  "I always long'd to go to church, But never could I go; For when I ask'd him for a gown, He always answer'd, 'No.'

  "'There's not a father in the world That loves his children more; I'd get you one with all my heart, But, Phebe, I am poor.'

  "But when the blackberries were ripe He said to me one day, 'Phebe, if you will take the time That's given you for play,

  "'And gather blackberries enough,-- And carry them to town,-- To buy your bonnet and your shoes, I'll try to get a gown.'

  Phebe and Billy going to School.]

  "O Miss, I fairly jumped for joy, My spirits were so light: And so, when I had leave to play, I pick'd with all my might.

  "I sold enough to get my shoes, About a week ago; And these, if they had not been spilt, Would buy a bonnet too.

  "But now they are gone, they all are gone And I can get no more, And Sundays I must stay at home Just as I did before.

  "And, mother, then I cried again, As hard as I could cry; And, looking up, I saw a tear Was standing in her eye.

  "She caught her bonnet from her head-- 'Here, here,' she cried, 'take this!' O, no, indeed--I fear your 'ma Would be offended Miss.

  "'My 'ma! no, never! she delights All sorrow to beguile; And 'tis the sweetest joy she feels, To make the wretched smile.

  "'She taught me when I had enough, To share it with the poor: And never let a needy child Go empty from the door.

  The Church the Blackberry Girl went to.]

  "'So take it, for you need not fear Offending her, you see; I have another, too, at home, And one's enough for me.'

  "So then I took it,--here it is-- For pray what could I do? And, mother, I shall love that Miss As long as I love you."

  Phebe with a Basket of Berries.]

  THE BLACKBERRY GIRL.

  PART II.

  "What have you in that basket, child?" "Blackberries, Miss, all pick'd to-day; They're very large and fully ripe; Do look at them, and taste them pray."

  "O yes: they're very nice, indeed. Here's fourpence--that will buy a few: Not quite so many as I want-- However, I must make it do."

  "Nay, Miss, but you must take the whole;" "I can't, indeed, my money's spent; I should be glad to buy them all, But I have not another cent."

  "And if you had a thousand, Miss, I'd not accept of one from you. Pray take them, they are all your own, And take the little basket, too.

  "Have you forgot the little girl You last year gave a bonnet to? Perhaps you have--but ever will That little girl remember you.

  "And ever since, I've been to church, For much do I delight to go; And there I learn that works of love Are what all children ought to do.

  "So then I thought within myself, That pretty basket, Billy wove, I'll fill with fruit for that dear Miss, For sure 'twill be a work of love.

  "And so one morning up I rose, While yet the fields were wet with dew And pick'd the nicest I could find, And brought them, fresh and sweet, for you.

  "I know the gift is small indeed, For such a lady to receive; But still I hope you'll not refuse All that poor Phebe has to give."

  Good Children learning their Hymn.]

  GOOD CHILDREN.

  How lovely, how charming the sight When children their Savior obey! The angels look down with delight, This beautiful scene to survey.

  Little Samuel was holy and good; Obadiah served God from his youth, And Timothy well understood, From a child, the Scripture of truth.

  But Jesus was better than they: From a child he was spotless and pure, His parents he loved to obey, And God's perfect will to endure.

  Like Samuel, Lord, I would be. Obadiah and Timothy, too; And oh! grant thy help unto me, The steps of my Lord to pursue.

  Make me humble, and holy, and mild, From the wicked constrain me to flee, And then though I am but a child, My soul shall find favor of thee.

  POOR CRAZY ROBERT.

  Poor Robert is crazy, his hair is turn'd gray, His beard has grown long, and hangs down to his brea
st; Misfortune has taken his reason away, His heart has no comfort, his head has no rest.

  Poor man, it would please me to soften thy woes, To soothe thy affliction, and yield thee support; But see through the village, wherever he goes, The cruel boys follow, and turn him to sport.

  Poor Crazy Robert.]

  'Tis grievous to see how the pitiless mob Run round him and mimic his mournful complaint, And try to provoke him, and call him old Bob, And hunt him about till he's ready to faint.

  But ah! wicked children, I fear they forget That God does their cruel diversion behold, And that in his book dreadful curses are writ, For those who shall mock at the poor and the old.

  Poor Robert, thy troubles will shortly be o'er, Forget in the grave thy misfortunes will be; But God will his vengeance assuredly pour On those wicked children who persecute thee.

  The Pet Lamb.]

  THE PET LAMB.

  The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice: it said, Drink, pretty creature, drink! And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain Lamb with a maiden at its side.

  No other sheep were near; the Lamb was all alone, And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone; With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel, While to that mountain Lamb she gave its evening meal.

  The Lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook. Drink, pretty creature, drink, she said in such a tone That I almost received her heart into my own.

  'Twas little Barbara Lethwaite, a child of beauty rare! I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair: Now with her empty can the maiden turned away; But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.

  Towards the Lamb she looked; and from that shady place I unobserved could see the workings of her face; If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring, Thus, thought I, to her Lamb that little maid might sing!

  What ails thee, young one? what? why pull so at thy cord? Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be; Rest, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee?

  What is it thou wouldst seek? what is wanting to thy heart? Thy limbs are they not strong? And beautiful thou art: This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers; And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!

  If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain; This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain! For rain and mountain storms, the like thou need'st not fear; The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.

  Rest little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day When my father found thee first in places far away; Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none, And thy mother from thy side forevermore was gone.

  He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home! A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam? A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.

  Thou knowest that twice a day I brought thee in this can Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran; And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew, I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.

  Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now; Then I'll yoke thee to my cart, like a pony in the plough; My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

  It will not, will not rest! poor creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee? Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear, And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

  Alas, the mountain tops that look so green and fair! I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there: The little brooks that seem all pastime and at play When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.

  Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky; Night and day thou art safe,--our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me? why pull so at thy chain? Sleep--and at break of day I will come to thee again.

  As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat; And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine.

  Again, and once again, did I repeat the song; Nay, said I, more than half to the damsel must belong; For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone, That I almost received her heart into my own.

  Father William and the Young Man.]

  FATHER WILLIAM AND THE YOUNG MAN.

  You are old, Father William, the young man cries The few locks which are left you are gray: You appear, Father William, a healthy old man, Now tell me the reason, I pray.

  When I was a youth, Father William replied, I remembered that youth would fly fast: I abused not my health and my vigor at first, That I never might need them at last.

  You are old, Father William, the young man said, And pleasures, with youth, pass away; And yet you repent not the days that are gone Now tell me the reason, I pray.

  When I was a youth, Father William replied, I remembered that youth could not last: I thought of the future, whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past.

  You are old, Father William, the young man still cries, And life is swift hastening away. You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death! Come tell me the reason, I pray.

  I am cheerful, young man, Father William replied; Let the cause your attention engage: In the days of my youth I remembered my God! And he hath not forgotten my age.

  The little Girl and her Pets.

  _Girl._ Swallow, thou dear one! now thou, indeed, From thy wandering dost reappear, Tell me, who is it to thee that hath said That again it is spring-time here.

  _Swa._ The fatherly God, in that far-off clime, Who sent me, he told me 'twas sweet spring-time.

  And though she had come so far and wide, She was not deceived in time or tide. The snow it was gone, the sun shone warm, The merry gnats danced in many a swarm, The Swallow knew neither want nor care, She found for her children enough and to spare.

  _Girl._ Come, little Dog, 'tis your master's will That you learn to sit upright and still.

  _Dog._ Learn must I? I'm so small, you see, Just for a little while let it be!

  _Girl._ No, little Dog, it is far best to learn soon, For later it would be more painfully done.

  The little Dog learned, without more ado, And soon could sit upright and walk upright too; In deepest waters unfearing could spring, And whatever was lost could speedily bring. The master saw his pleasure, and he too began To learn, and thus grew up a wise, good man.

  THE FLOWERS.

  Say, Ma! did God make all the flowers That richly bloom to-day? And is it he that sends sweet showers To make them look so gay?

  Did he make all the mountains That rear their heads so high? And all the little fountains That glide so gently by?

  And does he care for children small? Say, ma! does God love me? Has he the guardian care of all The various things we see?

  Yes! yes! my child, he made them all-- Flowers, mountains, plants and trees. No man so great, no child so small, That from his eye can flee.

  THE CHILD AND THE FLOWERS.

  Put up thy work, dear mother; Dear mother, come with me, For I've found within the garden The
beautiful sweet-pea!

  And rows of stately hollyhocks Down by the garden-wall, All yellow, white and crimson, So many-hued and tall! "Put up thy work, dear Mother."]

  And bending on their stalks, mother Are roses white and red; And pale-stemmed balsams all a-blow, On every garden-bed.

  Put up thy work, I pray thee, And come out, mother dear! We used to buy these flowers, But they are growing here!

  O, mother! little Amy Would have loved these flowers to see; Dost remember how we tried to get For her a pink sweet-pea?

  Dost remember how she loved Those rose-leaves pale and sere? I wish she had but lived to see The lovely roses here!

  Put up thy work, dear mother, And wipe those tears away! And come into the garden Before 'tis set of day!

  ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE.

  One, two, Buckle my shoe; Three, four, Shut the door; Five, six, Pick up sticks; Seven, eight, Lay them straight; Nine, ten, A good fat hen; Eleven, twelve, Who will delve? Thirteen, fourteen, Maids a courting; Fifteen, sixteen, Maids a kissing; Seventeen, eighteen, Maids a waiting; Nineteen, twenty, My stomach's empty.