The gingham dog and the calico cat
      Side by side on the table sat;
      'T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!)
      Nor one nor t' other had slept a wink!
      The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate
      Appeared to know as sure as fate
      There was going to be a terrible spat.
      (I wasn't there; I simply state
      What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)

      The gingham dog went "bow-wow-wow!"
      And the calico cat replied "mee-ow!"
      The air was littered, an hour or so,
      With bits of gingham and calico,
      While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place
      Up with its hands before its face,
      For it always dreaded a family row!
      (Now mind: I'm only telling you
      What the old Dutch clock declares is true!)

      The Chinese plate looked very blue,
      And wailed, "Oh, dear! what shall we do!"
      But the gingham dog and the calico cat
      Wallowed this way and tumbled that,
      Employing every tooth and claw
      In the awfullest way you ever saw—
      And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew!
      (Don't fancy I exaggerate—
      I got my news from the Chinese plate!)

      Next morning, where the two had sat
      They found no trace of dog or cat;
      And some folks think unto this day
      That burglars stole that pair away!
      But the truth about the cat and pup
      Is this: they ate each other up!
      Now what do you really think of that!
      (The old Dutch clock it told me so,
      And that is how I came to know.)

      There's a dear little home in Good-Children street—
      My heart turneth fondly to-day
      Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet
      Make sweetest of music at play;
      Where the sunshine of love illumines each face
      And warms every heart in that old-fashioned place.

      For dear little children go romping about
      With dollies and tin tops and drums,
      And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shout
      Till bedtime too speedily comes!
      Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet
      With little folk living in Good-Children street.

      See, here comes an army with guns painted red,
      And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts;
      The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead
      On a stick-horse that prances and snorts!
      Oh, legions of soldiers you're certain to meet—