[1]THE STORY OF
THE THREE BEARS.
THERE were once three bears, who lived in a wood,
Their porridge was thick, and their chairs and beds good.
The biggest bear, Bruin, was surly and rough;
His wife, Mrs. Bruin, was called Mammy Muff.
Their son, Tiny-cub, was like Dame Goose’s lad;
He was not very good, nor yet very bad.
Now Bruin, the biggest—the surly old bear—
Had a great granite bowl, and a cast-iron chair.
Mammy Muffs bowl and chair you would no doubt prefer—
They were both made of brick-bats, but both suited her.
Young Tiny-cub’s bowl, chair, and bed were the best,—
This, big bears and baby bears freely confessed.
Mr. B——, with his wife and his son, went one day
To take a short stroll, and a visit to pay.
He left the door open, “For,” said he, “no doubt
If our friend should call in, he will find us all out.”
It was only two miles from dark Hazel-nut Wood,
In which the great house of the three Bruins stood,
[2]That there lived a young miss, daring, funny, and fair,
And from having bright curls, she was called Goldenhair.
She had roamed through the wood to see what she could see,
And she saw going walking the Bruins all three.
THE BEAR, WITH HIS WIFE AND SON, TAKES A WALK.Said she to herself, “To rob bears is no sin;
The three bears have gone out, so I think I’ll go in.”
She entered their parlor, and she saw a great bowl,
And in it a spoon like a hair-cutter’s pole.
“That porridge,” said she “may stay long enough there,
It tastes like the food of the surly old bear,”
She tried Mammy Muff’s, and she said, “Mrs. B——,
I think your taste and my taste will never agree.”
GOLDENHAIR EATS UP TINY-CUB’S PORRIDGE.Then she tried Tiny-Cub’s bowl, and said, “This is nice;
I will put in some salt, and of bread a thick slice.”
GOLDENHAIR BREAKS THE BOTTOM OUT OF TINY-CUB’S CHAIR.The porridge she eat soon made her so great,
The chair that she sat on broke down with her weight;
The bottom fell out, and she cried in dismay,
“This is Tiny-cub’s chair, and oh, what will he say?
His papa is, I know, the most savage of bears,—
His mamma is a fury; but for her who cares?
I’m sure I do not; and then, as for her son,
That young bear, Tiny-cub—from him shall I run?
No, not I, indeed; but I will not sit here—
I shall next break the floor through—that’s what I most fear;”
So up-stairs she ran, and there three beds she found
She