Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay
An’ wash the cups and saucers up, and brush the crumbs away,
An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth an’ sweep,
An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread’ an’ earn her board-an’-keep;
An’ all us other children, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun
A-list’nin’ to the witch tales ’at Annie tells about,
An’ the gobble-uns ’at gits you—­Ef you
                         Don’t
                             Watch
                                 Out!

Onc’t they was a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers,
An’ when he went to bed at night, away upstairs,
His Mammy heered him holler, an’ his daddy heered him bawl,
An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wasn’t there at all! 
An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press,
An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found was thist his pants an’ roundabout,
An’ the gobble-uns’ll git you—­Ef you
                         Don’t
                             Watch
                                 Out!

An’ one time a little girl ‘ud allus laugh an’ grin,
An’ make fun of ever’ one, an’ all her blood an’ kin;
An’ onc’t, when they was “company,” an’ ole folks was there,
She mocked ’em an’ shocked ’em, an’ said she didn’t care! 
An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide,
They was two great big black things a-standin’ by her side,
An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ’fore she knowed what
          she’s about! 
An’ the gobble-uns’ll git you—­Ef you
                         Don’t
                             Watch
                                 Out!

An’ Little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An’ the lamp wick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo!
An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray,
An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away,—­
You better mind yer parents, an’ yer teachers fond an’ dear,
An’ churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,
An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ’at clusters all about,
Er the gobble-uns’ll get you—­Ef you
                         Don’t
                             Watch
                                 Out!

THE LIMITATIONS OF YOUTH.

BY EUGENE FIELD.

I’d like to be a cowboy an’ ride a fiery hoss
Way out into the big and boundless West;
I’d kill the bears an’ catamounts an’ wolves I come across,
An’ I’d pluck the bal’head eagle from his nest! 
With my pistols at my side
I would roam the prarers wide,
An’ to scalp the savage Injun in his wigwam would I ride—­
If I darst; but I darsen’t!