The Children's “Do n't”

DON'T tell Papa his nose is red

As any rosebud or geranium,

Forbear to eye his hairless head

Or criticise his cootlike cranium;

‘ Tis years of sorrow and of care

Have made his head come through his hair.

Do n't give your endless guinea-pig

( Wherein that animal may build a

Sufficient nest ) the Sunday wig

Of poor, dear, dull, deaf Aunt Matilda.

Oh, do n't tie strings across her path,

Or empty beetles in her bath!

Do n't ask your uncle why he's fat;

Avoid upon his toe-joints treading;

Do n't hide a hedgehog in his hat,

Or bury bushes in his bedding.

He will not see the slightest sport

In pepper put into his port!

Do n't pull away the cherished chair

On which Mamma intended sitting,

Nor yet prepare her session there

By setting on the seat her knitting;

Pause ere you hurt her spine, I pray —

That is a game that two can play.

My children, never, never steal!

To know their offspring is a thief

Will often make a father feel

Annoyed and cause a mother grief;

So never steal, but, when you do,

Be sure there's no one watching you.

Perhaps you have a turn for what

Is known as “misappropriation,”

Attractions this has doubtless got

For persons of a certain station,

But prevalent‘ twill never be

Among the aristocracy.

Of course, suppose you want a thing

( The owner's absent ), and you borrow

A ruby ring; you mean to bring

Your friend his trinket back to-morrow

Meanwhile you have the stones reset,

Lest he forget! Lest he forget!

And if some rude detective's hand

Should find beneath your cloak a roll

Of muslin, or a cruet-stand

That's labelled “Hotel Metropole,”

With kindly smile you hand them back,

A harmless Kleptomaniac!

Do n't tell a lie! Some men I've known

Commit the most appalling acts,

Because they happen to be prone

To an economy of facts;

And if to lie is bad, no doubt

‘ Tis even worse to get found out!

Do n't take the life of any one,

However horrid he may be;

That sort of thing is never done,

Not in the best society,

Where even parricide is thought

A most unfilial kind of sport.

Among the “Upper Ten” to-day,

It is considered want of tact

To slay one's kith and kin, and may

Be classed as an “unfriendly act.”

Oh, yes, of course I know that this

Is merely public prejudice.

But ever since the world began,

Howe'er well meant his motives are,

The man who slays his fellow man

Is never really popular,

Whether he sins from love of crime,

Or merely just to pass the time.