London Town — Inside the Classic

There was hardly a mouthful for each!

From the ducks and the swans on the lake, to next page-- A much quieter scene--you may pass: Though Westminster Cloisters are hoary with age, Yet green is their velvety grass, And cheerily bright are their gables and peaks, As they glow in the westering sun: 'Tis some house in the Cloisters yon schoolboy seeks-- Don't you wonder, now, which is the one?

In all the land A pile so grand Is scarcely found As this. Around Its old grey walls The shadow falls Of bygone years, And so one fears To raise one's tone, When one is shown Some ancient tomb, Half hid in gloom. Beneath such stones There rest the bones Of monarchs bold, Whose story's told For you and me In history.

From kings of men We wander; then We're quickly brought To kings of thought, For poets lie Interred hard by. Here, too, repose The bones of those Who fought the foe Long, long ago. Brave knights were they; And in the fray They kept from shame The English name, And proved in fight Great Britain's might. Where they are laid Their rest is made As sweet as prayer By music rare: Over their head The sleeping dead Can daily hear The anthem clear Floating along Like angel's song, Until it dies Like angel's sighs.

On the way to the British Museum

Not far from the British Museum there stands An apple stall, painted bright green, Whence a penny may buy from the stall-keeper's hands Three apples, all rosy and clean.

Now the girls of St. George's great Charity School Very often are passing that way, For their governors wise make this very good rule-- They must go for a walk every day.

How wistful the glances they cast as they pass, How they long for an apple to eat; But their pockets are quite without pennies, alas! To purchase so dainty a treat.

These maidens have cheeks that are rosy and sweet As the choicest of fruit on the stall, And the very next time that we meet in this street, I'll buy apples enough for them all.

Goodness gracious! What a noise Baby Bunting's bent on making; It is quite enough to set All the heads around him aching. Still we're sure that Baby has Many griefs if we could see 'em, For with other babes he's come Miles and miles to the Museum. Baby Bunting thought, of course, When he said good bye to mother, That he'd pass in through the gates With big sister and big brother. But poor Baby finds, alas, That his little hopes have flitted, For the nasty notice says "Babes in arms are not admitted."

In the British Museum

If you want to see all sorts of wonderful things, Stuffed crocodiles, mammoths, and sloths, Hairy ducks with four feet, and fishes with wings, Fat beetles, and strange spotted moths;

And enormous winged bulls with long beards, carved in stone, Dug up from Assyria's sand, And old blackened mummies as dry as a bone, Discovered in Egypt's lone land,

And beautiful statues from Greece and from Rome, And other fine things without end,-- You will find you can see half the world here at home, If a day in this place you will spend.

The Underground Railway

Who is this in the Weighing Chair? Why, little Dot, I do declare! Three stone five! "So much as that?" Calls out Miss Dot; "then I _must_ be fat!"

On this and the opposite page you see Dot's mother, and brother, and sisters three. They wait for an underground train to come And carry them swiftly back to their home.

Wonderful trains! From morn till night, Clattering through tunnels without daylight, Hither and thither they run, up and down, Beneath the streets of London Town.

Many prefer these trains instead Of the cabs and "Busses" overhead, For they run much faster than horses can. Miss Dot's papa is a busy man,

And goes to the City every day By the "Underground,"--the quickest way: And One Hundred Millions of people, 'tis found, Are carried each year by the "Underground."

The Zoological Gardens

Away we go to the famous Zoo' With Bertie, and Nellie, and Dick, and Sue. And we feel quite ready to jump for glee When the wonderful birds and beasts we see. The pelican solemn with monster beak, And the plump little penguin round and sleek, Have set us laughing--Ha, ha! Ho! ho! And you'll laugh too, if you look below. To the monkey-house then we make our way, Where the monkeys chatter, and climb, and play; At the snakes we peep, then onward stroll, To talk to the parrots, and "scratch a poll," And after all that, there will still be time On the patient elephant's back to climb.

Don't forget at the Zoo' To take a good view Of the funny old bear, Who climbs out of his lair Up a pole--Look, he's here, With his figure so queer, And his thick clumsy paws, And his bun-seeking jaws. On the end of a stick Place a bun--"Now quick, Master Bertie"--and, snap!-- What an awful red trap!-- The bun's out of sight, But one more will delight Father Bruin up there, For his appetite's rare, And he never says "No" To a dozen or so.

"Milk o! Milk o!" Each morn she cries, And little sleepers Ope their eyes, And wonder if pure milk is sold By Betty here, for they've been told That London milk (How people talk!) Is only water Mixed with chalk!

You've heard about the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man, You've heard about the muffin man who lives in Drury Lane? Well, here you see that muffin man-- that celebrated muffin man, And if you try his muffins, you'll be sure to buy again.

The Shoeblack Brigade

If you wanted a boy to polish your shoes, Which of these two, do you think, you would choose?

They were once "Street Arabs," hungry, ill-clad, And in very sore danger of going to the bad; But now!--one might think that their fortunes were made, They're so proud to belong to the Shoeblack Brigade.

If you should pass through Newgate Street, Bareheaded boys with coats of blue, Among the crowd you're sure to meet-- And all with yellow stockings too.

Their coats are long as well as blue, And when at football they do play, They find them rather heavy too, So tuck them up out of the way.

In Christchurch passage will be found The entrance to the School; and though It looks so quiet, all around We hear the crowd go to and fro.

Above the doorway there you see The Boy King's statue:--Would you know Who founded this great school? 'Twas he, More than three hundred years ago.

Gog and Magog in the Guildhall

In the famous Guildhall Mayor and Alderman all Meet to banquet and feast, And it's whispered that they Aren't inclined in the least From the table to stray: For they're fond of good cheer, And they meet with it here, Where the wine Is so fine, And still better than that, Where the turtle's rich fat Tempts the guests when they dine. Turtle soup's very good, And a favourite food, With the banqueters all Who frequent the Guildhall.

Two giants so tall Guard the famous Guildhall. (Gog is one, and the other Is Magog his brother.) Well, these giants so tall Watch the feast, but can't call For a crumb, As they're dumb, And not living at all! Else 'twould seem scarcely fair, That when good things were by, Gog and Magog should stare From their pedestals high, For if placed at a table At least they'd look able, To dine there and then Like two live Aldermen!

He calls "Meat, meat!" All down the street; And dogs "bow-wow," And cats "mi-ow," While kittens sly Come purring by, As if to say-- "Do serve us, pray, The first of all, For we're so small." The man throws bits Of meat to kits, And cats, and dogs; Then on he jogs, And down the street Still cries "Meat, meat!"

Policeman A, Policeman B, Likewise Policemen C and D-- All in a row, sedate and slow, Away to their beats, tramp! tramp! they go.

Now the first is beloved by Ann the cook, And his manly face has a bashful look, As he thinks, with a sigh, of the beer and the pie He has had from those area steps close by.

And here are three housemaids trim and slim; Mr. B. knows Betty is fond of him; But Policeman C loves Cicely, And Dolly's engaged to Policeman D.

CHAPEL OF THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL

In Guildford Street, great London Town, Is a Nursery, bigger than ever has been: When each child grows up and leaves its walls, Another new baby that day is seen In the Foundling cots. Each little babe Has no baby sister or baby brother, And never shall know the anxious care And tender touch of a loving mother. But "Our Father," who gives their "daily bread" To all of His creatures, caused kindly men To build this home for famishing babes From many a poverty-stricken den: And here they are fed, and clothed, and taught, And lift their voices in prayer and praise; And here every Sunday the people flock To hear the Anthem the Foundlings raise.

AFTER CHAPEL, See them all Assembled in The DINING HALL.

The bugle sounds E'er grace is sung,-- Then fork and spoon And lip and tongue

Clatter, chatter,-- Such a noise! Oh! such happy Girls and boys.

"Flowers sweet and fair, Sir, Flowers that any Princess might wear, Sir-- A bunch for a penny!" Many a bunch Must the flower-woman sell, To buy food for herself, And her children as well.

Upon the broad Embankment You'll find a curious sight,-- The children play around it From morning until night; And crowds of grown-up people Come here to see it too, 'Tis Cleopatra's Needle Folks gather thus to view.

In Mother's pretty work-box There's no such needle shown; This needle, brought from Egypt, Is nothing but a stone. How silently it watches Old Thames go gliding by! "You're very old," the River says, "But not so old as I."

Think you it longs for Egypt, This wondrous solemn stone, That stands and gazes at us Each day so sad and lone? Ah yes! when London's sleeping, If monuments can dream, It longs for Egypt's palm-trees, And Nile's slow murmuring stream.

"All hot! all hot! come buy! Ten a penny is the price, And if you my chestnuts try, You'll declare they're very nice. See how brightly burns my fire! Hear the chestnuts hiss and crack! Better nuts you can't desire Than these beauties, big and black.

"All hot!--if you are cold, Have a pennyworth of heat, Something nice and warm to hold, Something nice and warm to eat. Munch your chestnuts up, and then, If your toes want warming too, Say, 'I'll have another ten, Just to warm me through and through."

So the cheerful chestnut dame To each chilly passer calls, As she roasts above the flame Fine round nuts like floury balls. Hungry children soon draw near, If a penny they have got, And with warmth and food to cheer, _They_ become "all hot! all hot!"

The fifth of November they bid you remember, These bright little boys with the funny old Guy. In his chair up and down he'll be borne through the town, Then burned in a bonfire he'll be by-and-by.

All those who remember the fifth of November Some money will give to the boys with the Guy. If all gave a penny, I wonder how many Wheels, crackers, and squibs they'd be able to buy?

In the Children's Hospital

Little sick Tommy, What trouble he's had-- Medicine and blisters! His cough was _so_ bad!

Now he is better: He soon will be well, And go back to Mother, With stories to tell,

Of softly reclining On pillows of down,-- Of Mary his nurse In her pretty blue gown,

Of the doctor so gentle, The other sick boys, And oh! a whole shopful Of beautiful toys!

Here's my Happy Family, Little folks, as you may see: Cats who fight, but just in fun, Mice who up the flag-staff run, Paroquet, canaries too,--

Now, my dears, 'twixt me and you, Girls and boys who scold and tease, Might a lesson learn from these Birds and beasts who all agree In my Happy Family.

He is weak and old, and he feels the cold, But a nice clean path he keeps, For passengers all, both great and small, As the mud to each side he sweeps. The people stare, in London Town, At his turban rare, and his face so brown, But the poor old Hindoo does not mind, So long as a coin for him they find. And he nods and smiles, as he sweeps away, As if to the passer-by he'd say,-- "Think of your shining boots and shoes, And a copper to me you can't refuse. For each penny I get I sweep the faster-- Ah! thank you, Thank you, Kind young master!"

Have you a penny? well then, stay! Haven't you any? don't go away! Punch holds receptions all through the day, Squeaking aloud to gather a crowd, Scolding at Toby, beating his Wife, Frightening the Constable out of his life, And making jokes in a terrible passion, As is Mr. Punch's peculiar fashion; For this is his old, delightful plan Of getting as many pence as he can. Then away he'll jog, With his Wife and his Dog, New folks to meet In the very next street.

Tell me, rosy little boy, Listen, little maiden, too, Do you love a fine new toy? Yes, you say, of course you do. Then your thought to Mother tell, And she'll take her little maid, And her little boy as well, To this wonderful Arcade.

Active apes that climb up sticks, Swords and guns and trumpets bright, Wooden horses, wooden bricks, Big fat lambs with fleeces white, Dolls that smile and dolls that cry, Soldiers ready for parade, All are here for you to buy, In this wonderful Arcade.

Toys are hanging up on strings, Toys are laid in tempting rows, And each shop with pretty things Is so crammed it overflows. Little girls and little boys Oft are puzzled, we're afraid, Which to choose of all the toys In this wonderful Arcade.

The Dustman is coming

Off to bed the pets must flock. Look! it's nearly eight o'clock.

Baby's sleepy, so is Claire-- "Ah!" says Mother on the stair, To little folks that yawn and blink, "The dustman's coming, I should think."

Mother's right, for sure enough Here's the dustman, strong and bluff. "Dust ho! dust ho!" hear his cry, As the dust-cart rumbles by.

The dustman home is going soon, For there you see the rising moon. And sleepy Claire, in cot so white, Thinks that his cry must mean "Good Night."