What Happened To Lazy Charlotte

"Here, Charlotte," said Mamma one day.
"These stockings knit while I'm away,
And should you fail, be sure you'll find
Mamma is strict, although she's kind."


But Charlotte took a lazy fit,
And did not feel inclined to knit;
And soon upon the ground let fall
Needles, and worsted, hose, and all.
"I shall not knit," said she, "not I;
At least not now, but by and by;"
Then stretched, and yawned, and rubbed her eyes,
Like sluggards, when 'tis time to rise.


But when Mamma came home, and found
The work all strewed upon the ground,
Quoth she, "You will not knit, and so
To school barefooted you shall go."

This put poor Charlotte in a fright.
And though she knew it served her right,
She wept, and begged, and prayed; but still
She could not change her mother's will.


To school, where all were spruce and neat,
Poor Charlotte went with naked feet.
Some showed their pity, some their pride,
While Charlotte hid her face and cried.

Heinrich Hoffmann

Heinrich Hoffmann was a German psychiatrist, who also wrote some short works including poetry, for example the well-known children's book "Struwwelpeter". He was born on June 13, 1809, and died on September 20, 1894. Hoffmann wrote under the pseudonym Reimerich Kinderlieb. He became a medical doctor in 1835 and worked as a physician in various cities before settling in Frankfurt. His book "Struwwelpeter," published in 1845, became famous for its moral tales and vivid illustrations.

Heinrich Hoffmann

Slovenly Betsy

Heinrich Hoffmann, Simple Poetry

The Story Of Flying Robert

Heinrich Hoffmann, Simple Poetry

The Little Glutton

Heinrich Hoffmann, Simple Poetry

English

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Slovenly Betsy

Betsy would never wash herself
When from her bed she rose,
But just as quickly as she could
She hurried on her clothes.
To keep her clothes all nice and clean
Miss Betsy took no pains;
In holes her stockings always were,
Her dresses filled with stains.
Sometimes she went day after day
And never combed her hair,
While little feathers from her bed
Stuck on it here and there.
The schoolboys, when they Betsy saw,
Would point her out, and cry,
"Oh! Betsy, what a sight you are!
Oh! Slovenly Betsy, fie!"

One rainy day her parents went
Some pleasant friends to meet.
They took Betsy along with them,
All dressed so clean and neat.
Nice little boys and girls were there,
With whom our Betsy played,
Until of playing she grew tired,
...

Heinrich Hoffmann

The Story Of Romping Polly

"I pray you now, my little child,"
Thus once a kind old lady
Spoke to her niece in accents mild,
"Do try to be more steady.
I know that you will often see
Rude boys push, drive, and hurry;
But little girls should never be
All in a heat and flurry."


While thus the lady gave advice
And lectured little Polly,
To see her stand with downcast eyes,
You'd think she'd owned her folly.
She did, and many a promise made;
But when her aunt departed,
Forgetting all, the silly maid
Off to the playground started.


Now see what frolic and what fun,
The little folks are after;
Away they jump, away they run,
With many a shout and laughter.


But fools who never will be taught,
Except by some disaster,
Soon find thei...

Heinrich Hoffmann

The Story Of A Dirty Child

The little girls whom now you'll see
Were sisters in one family;
And both enjoyed an equal share
Of a kind mother's anxious care.
This one in neatness took a pride,
And oft the brush and comb applied;


Oft washed her face, and oft her hands;
See, now, thus occupied she stands.


The other--oh! I grieve to say
How she would scream and run away,
Soon as she saw her mother stand,
With water by, and sponge in hand.
She'd kick and stamp, and jump about,
And set up such an awful shout,
That one who did not know the child,
Would say she must be going wild.


In consequence it came to pass,
While one was quite a pretty lass,
And many a fond admirer gained,
And many a little gift obtained;


The other, viewed...

Heinrich Hoffmann

The Dreadful Story Of Harriet And The Matches

It almost makes me cry to tell
What foolish Harriet befell.
Mamma and Nurse went out one day
And left her all alone at play.
Now, on the table close at hand,
A box of matches chanced to stand;
And kind Mamma and Nurse had told her,
That, if she touched them, they would scold her.
But Harriet said: "Oh, what a pity!
For, when they burn, it is so pretty;
They crackle so, and spit, and flame:
Mamma, too, often does the same."

The pussy-cats heard this,
And they began to hiss,
And stretch their claws,
And raise their paws;
"Me-ow," they said, "me-ow, me-o,
You'll burn to death, if you do so."

But Harriet would not take advice:
She lit a match, it was so nice!
It crackled so, it burned so clear--
Exactly like the picture here.

Heinrich Hoffmann

The Child Who Would Not Be Washed

"Don't wash me, pray, mamma, today,"
I once heard little Jennie say,
"For oh! so very hard you rub,
I never want to see my tub."

"O, very well," her mother said;
"I'll put you back again to bed;
And you must in your night-gown stay,
Nor come down stairs at all to-day."

And then I heard Miss Jennie cry,
And beg mamma to let her try;
And say, as she had done before,
That she'd so naughty be no more.

Her mother turned and left her there;
She heard her step upon the stair;
But in her chamber, all day long,
She staid alone, for doing wrong.

She heard her sister jump and run,
And longed to join her in her fun;
Her brother made a snow-man high;
But she upon her bed must lie.

She heard the merry sleigh-bells ring,

H. P. Nichols

Phoebe's Wooing.

"Phoebe! Phoebe! Where is the chit?
When I want her most she's out of the way.
Child, you're running a long account
Up, to be squared on Judgment-day.

"Where have you been? and what have you there?"
"To the pasture for buttercups wet with dew."
"My patience! I think you are out of your wits;
I wonder what good will buttercups do?

"There's pennyroyal you might have got,-
It might have been useful to you or me,
But I never heard, in all my life,
Of buttercup cordial or buttercup tea.

"I want you to stay and mind the bread,
I've just put two loaves in the oven to bake;
When they are clone take them carefully out,
And put in their place this loaf of cake,

"While I run over to Widow Brown's;
Her son, from the mines, has just got back.

Horatio Alger, Jr.