TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

Some minor changes to the text are noted at the [end of the book.]

A-NAUGHTY-BIOGRAPHY
AND
OTHER POEMS.

BY
MRS. ENOCH TAYLOR.

CINCINNATI:
Robert Clarke & Co., Print.
1878.

COPYRIGHTED.

MRS. ENOCH TAYLOR.

1878.

TO

“My Dear Five Hundred.”

[CONTENTS.]

[A-NAUGHTY-BIOGRAPHY.]

[MY INFANCY.]

Full forty years have passed and gone,

Since early on a winter’s morn,

My infant eyes first struck the light.

At once I showed my baby-spite,

To find my new abode so plain,

And half resolved I’d not remain.

If I had unexpected come,

And found this unpretending home,

I might the negligence excused,

But now I felt I was abused.

For half a year the fact was known

That I was on the road to town,

And all the neighbors, far and near,

Said, “Doctor’d bring a baby here.”

And so I came at dawn of day,

A-crying, too, I’ve heard them say,

And found few preparations made—

I’ve often wondered that I stayed.

Plain petticoats and untrimmed slips,

Pewter spoons that scratched my lips,

A cradle made of painted pine,

That rocked so rough it made me whine;

Then three long hours every day

The colic checked my baby play;

For months this griping kept me riled,

And nearly set my mother wild.

At last our troubles seemed to wane,

I thought I’d bid adieu to pain,

When teething time, with all its pangs,

Commenced its course with piercing twangs;

My mother’d walk the floor by day—

My pa by night, I’ve heard them say.

My father, jolly, good, and kind,

Would often half make up his mind

To slap me soundly if I cried,

But his heart would fail him when he tried,

And as he tossed and dandled me

In drowsiness upon his knee,

They say the more he nursed and tried,

The more I always screamed and cried,

And often would each soul alarm

Upon our little one-horse farm.

These trials lasted just a year,

The coast again seemed getting-clear,

When all at once the whooping-cough

Attacked and nearly took me off.

For nine long weeks I whooped and choked,

While mother nursed and father joked—

He was always great to jest and pun,

And turn all troubles into fun—

He said the crisis now was here,

And we had nothing worse to fear.

Alas! his jesting hopes were vain,

The whooping-cough did not remain,

But measles next came breaking out,

The pimples showing, little doubt,

Another siege was mine to bear.

“To all the ills that flesh was heir,”

I felt my infant lot was given,

And really wished I was in heaven.

But quiet comfort did arrive,

And I began to grow and thrive,

And ma and pa could take their rest,

And thought themselves supremely blest.

Just then I first began to talk;

At later date, I learned to walk;

But stammered out my early say,

And stumbled on my infant way,

Till one bright morn in early June,

A baby “brought in a balloon,”

Unjoints my little Grecian nose,

My infant ire at once arose.

Our family now was much too large,

And then it was a fearful charge

For mother, who had much to do.

I’d try to put the baby through.

I’d feel its tiny foot, and sly

Would pinch or scratch, and make it cry,

Or rub its head, with look so meek,

And pull its hair or pinch its cheek;

And mother would at once begin

To look for the offending pin,

That made the “baby waby” shriek,

Ne’er dreaming it was Bessie’s freak.

So, at the early age of three,

Being bad as bad could be,

I never was a minute mute,

And people thought me smart and cute;

The baby was, I’m glad to say,

More good and quiet in its way—

Not half the trouble I had been—

Unless I stuck it with a pin,

Or rocked it hard, and made it cry,

You scarce would know the babe was by.

So time rolled on, and I intent

On infant mischief, came and went,

Till little sister learned to talk.

’Twas I that taught her first to walk;

She’d tumble down—I’d pull her through

And scold her well, and shake her too.

Then she would totter on and cry,

While I would chase a butterfly,

And leave her standing in the lane,

A-wondering when I’d come again.

Around the barn we used to roam,

Or any place away from home;

We hand-in-hand would tramp and play,

From early morn till close of day,

Upsetting all the honest nests

That enterprising hens possessed,

And loving little ducks to death,

And out of chickens squeeze the breath,

Till mother’d come and frown and fuss,

And father, too, to save a muss.

Then homeward bound you’d see us go,

The family party in a row,

But I was nearly always last,

For when my penitence was past,

I stopped at times upon the way,

To finish my neglected play;

And father laughed and mother’d scold

About the black sheep of the fold.

Thus matters stood when I was five,

The hardest little case alive.

We spent the hottest summer days

Working hard at baby-plays,

Making pies of mud and clay,

Hauling sand and dirt away;

Through grass and puddles we would wade,

Till we a hill or ditch had made.

With muddy dresses, tousled hair,

And dirty faces, we’d repair

From lane to road, from road to lane,

Through dirt and dust, through sun and rain.

Our infant lives were passing by,

When all at once, we scarce knew why,

A shadow came upon our home,

And all our household filled with gloom.

Our father, ever good and kind,

Was taken from our midst, to find

A better home beyond the skies,

Which lasting happiness supplies,

And mother and five little ones

Were left to tread the world alone.

But blessings came from every friend

That could a kind assistance lend;

Our lot, though lonely, sad, and scant,

Was brightened and relieved from want

For kindred hearts, with willing hand,

Gave shelter to our orphan band.

Our home, of course, must scattered be

To suit the sad emergency.

Our little circle’s severed ties

Dimmed my mother’s loving eyes,

But still her grateful heart was glad

To know the help and hope we had.

I thought in this extremity,

There’d be a wondrous rush for me,

That I’d be claimed by all our kin,

But found myself quite taken in.

My country aunts took all the rest,

Though, after all, we fared the best.

The oldest boy, my brother Joe,

Who helped my father plough and hoe,

Was my especial pet and pride,

Now, since brother Sam had died.

So, when my city aunt arrived

To take her pick, at once, I strived

To be selected as her choice,

For Joe was pet among the boys,

And then we could together go,

The city sights each other show.

So, sure enough, our aunty came

A-riding grandly up the lane,

And caught me in my dishabille,

Much against my wayward will;

For I had hoped she’d find me clean,

That she might then and there have seen

How well I’d look in city guise.

Why did she take me by surprise?

The Diamond State was then our home,

And aunty came from Quakerdom,

A-looking prim and quite severe,

But still, I felt I needn’t fear,

For I had much to recommend

My ladyship, you may depend.

I dressed myself with special care,

And put on quite a company air;

And, strutting past my maiden aunt,

I wondered what more she could want;

She put her specs upon her nose,

And closely scanned my country clothes,

And asked if I was always good;

Never naughty, pert, or rude.

I shunned her kind but searching eye,

And half resolved, I’d not reply,

As I had nothing good to tell,

My silence might do just as well.

I thought she’d find out, soon enough,

My manners were a little rough,

And did not want to disenchant

My new-made friend, and city aunt.

So, looking meek and kind of shy,

I paused, before I made reply;

Then told her sometimes I was bad,

But blamed the company that I had;

’Twas never any fault of mine,

If ever I cut up a shine,

And any mischief that was done

Was nearly always just for fun.

So aunty smiled, and hoped I’d be

A little lady, and she’d see

If she could take me up to town,

And try to tone my manners down.

I then, at once, desired to know,

If she couldn’t take my brother, Joe.

She said she rather thought she would,

If both would promise to be good.

So off, in haste, I quickly ran,

To tell of aunty’s pleasant plan,

To dream of city’s new delights,

And think of all the wondrous sights

That soon would greet our verdant eyes

And fill our hearts with glad surprise.

So, then we soon began to pack—

Our outfit most was on our back—

Our trunks and traps were small and few,

Which, fortunately, aunty knew.

So, on a balmy, summer day,

We all prepared to start away

To leave our home and mother, kind,

And in the world our lot to find;

When will life ever seem as bright

As that receding from our sight?

So, slowly riding down the lane

We ne’er could call our own again,

Poor mother wept in silent woe,

But thought it best for us to go.

So, next you’ll see the orphan pair

In the midst of city’s stifled air;

No fields, no lanes, no trees to climb,

A-wondering how we’d kill the time.

What earthly goods we’d gladly give,

To get back home again to live!

Our aunty, sensible and kind,

Told us to leave regrets behind,

And, in her wise and pleasant way,

Informed us, life was not all play.

But childhood’s troubles seldom last

Much longer than the cause is past.

The city soon began to be

A wonder and a joy to me;

My aunty got me pretty clothes

And taught me how to turn my toes;

She’d dress me up so clean and sweet

And send me out into the street.

I’d miss the “pies” and “puddles” there

And to the gutters I’d repair,

And play and paddle there in glee,

Till I was summoned in to tea.

My vixen spirit, as of old,

New mischief daily would unfold,

And aunty shuddered, as she saw

How little I respected law;

So, wishing me to live by rule,

She entered me, at once, in school.

SCHOOL LIFE.

One Monday morn in early Fall

We made the nearest school a call,

To ascertain if they would take

A pupil willing to forsake

All mischief and frivolity,