Cole's Funny Picture Book No. 1
She must have some
Or else she wouldn't be quiet.
She would not eat
Any bread or meat,
Though plenty of these were handy,
But would pout and cry
For a piece of pie,
Or a stick of sugar-candy.
They heard her cry
In the Land of Pie,
And sent her dozens and dozens,
Both tender and tough,
Till she'd had more than enough
For her sisters, her aunts and her cousins.
Tearful Annie
Poor little Annie, you will find,
Is very gentle, good, and kind,
But soon a a fault appears.
The slightest thing will give her pain,
Her feelings she can ne'er restrain,
But gives way to her tears.
The other day when Ferdinand--
And if you search throughout the land,
No nicer boy you'll find--
Said something which he never meant
To cause the slightest discontent,
For hours she sobbed and whined.
Her father grieved, said: "This must cease
We never have a moment's peace,
She cries both day and night."
A portrait painter then he paid,
To paint his little tearful maid,
Crying with all her might.
He set to work that very day,
Directly he received his pay;
The picture soon was done.
Yes, there she was, all sobs and sighs,
Large tear-drops streaming from her eyes.
"How like!" said every one.
It was in truth a great success;
Quite perfect, neither more nor less;
Her father was so glad.
He hung the portrait in her room;
It filled her with the deepest gloom;
She felt annoyed and sad.
With every relative who came,
And saw the picture, 'twas the same,
All startled with affright.
Uncles, and aunts, and cousins too,
Found it so striking, life-like, true
That soon they took to flight.
Annie not long could this endure;
It brought about a speedy cure,
She ceased to cry and moan.
Her father ceased to scold and frown,
He had the picture taken down,
And in the garret thrown.
[Page 11--Girl Land]
Hattie's Birthday
Oh! This is a happy, beautiful world!
My heart is light and gay;
The birds in the trees sing blithely to me
And I'm six years old to-day.
Yes, six, and father has bought me a book,
And mother, the sweetest doll,
All dressed in white with blue eyes bright,
And the nicest hat and shawl.
My kitty sat quietly near the fire
As Dolly and I came by;
Miss Dolly bowed, and pussy meowed,
And opened her yellow eye.
Ah me! if Kit could only talk,
And Dolly could but chat,
We'd social be as any three--
Talk, sing, and all of that.
I dressed all up in grandma's cap,
And put on her glasses too;
"Why, Grandma!" I said, as I looked at myself,
"I'm almost as old as you."
My mother softly kissed my cheek,
And then she blessed me too,
Praying that I, as years went by,
Might be as good and true.
My birthday song is a merry one,
And my heart is warm and light;
Kind father, mother, and dear grandma,
Sweet dolly and pussy, good night.
Youth and Age
A funny thing I heard to-day,
I might as well relate.
Our Lil is six, and little May
Still lacks a month of eight.
And, through the open play-room door,
I heard the elder say:
"Lil, run downstairs and get my doll;
Go quick, now--right away!"
And Lillie said--(and I agreed
That May was hardly fair):--
"You might say 'please,' or go yourself--
I didn't leave it there."
"But, Lillie," urged the elder one,
"Your little legs, you know,
Are younger than mine are, child,
And so you ought to go!"
Children
"I would not be a girl," said Jack,
"Because they have no fun;
They cannot go a-fishing, nor
A-shooting with a gun;
They cannot climb up trees for fruit,
Nor bathe without a bathing dress,
Which is no fun at all."
"I would not be a boy," said May,
"For boys are nasty things,
With pockets filled with hooks and knives,
And nails, and tops and strings
And when a boy becomes a man,
He's got to buy girls rings;"
A Lost Child
"I'm losted! Could you find me, please?"
Poor little frightened baby!
The wind had tossed her golden fleece,
The stones had scratched her dimpled knees,
I stooped and lifted her with ease,
And softly whispered "Maybe."
"Tell me your name, my little maid:
I can't find you without it."
"My name is Shiny-eyes," she said,
"Yes; but your last name?" She shook her head:
"Up to my house 'ey never said
A single word about it."
"But, dear," I said, "what is your name?"
"Why, didn't you hear me told you?
Dust Shiny-eyes." A bright thought came:
"Yes, when you're good. But when they blame
You little one,--is it just the same
When mamma has to scold you?"
"My mamma never scolds," she moans,
A little blush ensuing,
"'Cept when I've been a-frowing stones;
And then she says (the culprit owns),--
Mehitabel Sapphira Jones.
What has you been a-doing?"
Anna E. Burnham
Little Mary
Here stands little, little Mary,
With her face of winning grace,
Chattering tongue that runs apace,
And her ways contrary
Who so gay as Mary?
With her laughs of rippling glee
Brimming o'er with melody,--
Bonny, blithesome Mary.
Household pet is Mary--
Such a merry, joyous sprite,
Filling all our home with light--
Pretty winsome Mary!
Mischief-loving Mary,
Busy as the busiest bee,
Full of sunshine, life, and glee
Is our heart's sweet Mary!
Girl and Angel
As Peter sat at Heaven's gate
A maiden sought permission,
And begged of him, if not too late,
To give her free admission.
"What claim hast thou to enter here?"
He cried with earnest mien.
"Please sir," said she, 'twixt hope and fear,
"I'm only just sixteen!"
"Enough," the hoary guardian said,
And the gate wide open threw.
"That is the age when every maid
Is girl and angel too."
[Page 12--Naughty Girls]
Girl Who Wouldn't Go to Bed
Once I knew a little girl,
Who wouldn't go to bed,
And in the morning always had
A very sleepy head.
At night she'd stop upon the stairs,
And hold the railings tight
Then with a puff she'd try to blow
Out Mary Ann's rushlight.
The bed at last they tuck'd her in,
The light she vow'd to keep;
Left in the dark she roar'd and cried;
Till tired she went to sleep.
Little Girl that Beat her Sister
Go, go, my naughty girl, and kiss
Your little sister dear;
I must not have such things as this,
Nor noisy quarrels here.
What! little children scold and fight
Who ought to be so mild;
Oh! Mary, 'tis a shocking sight
To see an angry child.
I can't imagine for my part,
The reason of your folly,
As if she did you any hurt
By playing with your dolly.
Children Should not Quarrel
Let dogs delight to bark an bite,
For God hath made them so;
Let bears and lions growl and fight:
For 'tis their nature to.
But children you should never let
Such angry passions rise;
Your little hands were never made
To tear each other's eyes.
The Sulky Girl
Why is Mary standing there,
Leaning down upon the chair,
With pouting lip and frowning brow?
I wonder what's the matter now.
Come here, my dear, and tell me true,
Is it because I spoke to you
About what you just now had done,
That you are such a naughty one?
When, then, indeed, I'm grieved to see
That you can so ill-tempered be:
You make your faults a great deal worse
By being sulky and perverse.
Oh! how much better it appears,
To see you melting into tears,
And then to hear you humbly say,
"I'll not do so another day!"
The Little Girl that did not Like to be Washed
What! cry when I wash you! not love to be clean?
There, go and be dirty, unfit to be seen;
And till you leave off, and I see you have smiled,
I'll not take the trouble to wash such a child.
The Girl who Sucked her Fingers
A little girl, named Mary Kate,
Whom you may have chance to see,
Would have been loved by small and great,
But for one thing, which I'll relate;
So listen now to me.
A silly habit she's acquired
Of putting in her mouth,
The pretty fingers of her hand,
And sucking them, for hours she'd stand,
In a manner most uncouth.
Her play-companions used to laugh,
And jeeringly would say,
"Oh, pray bring Mary Kate some crumbs,
Poor thing! she's dining off her thumbs,
She'll eat them all away."
Girl Stealing Treacle
This is Nelly Pilfer;
I'll tell you what she earned
By stealing off the treacle
When Mary's back was turned.
They caught the greedy Nelly
With treacle on her hand,
They put her in the corner,
And there they made her stand.
The Girl who Soiled her Clothes
Little Polly Flinders,
Sat among the cinders,
Warming her pretty toes;
Her mother came and caught her,
And scolded her little daughter,
For spoiling her nice new clothes.
The Greedy Little Girl
I knew a greedy little girl,
Who all day long did roar;
Whatever toys were given her,
She always wanted more.
Five dolls she had--one was black,
A ball and battledore,
But held them all so very tight,
The roar'd and scream'd for more.
Now this was wicked of the child,
As everyone must own;
So for the whole of one long day
They shut her up alone.
The Girl Who Played with Fire
Mamma, a little girl I met,
Had such a scar, I can't forget!
All down her arms and neck and face;
I could not bear to see the place.
Poor little girl! and don't you know
The shocking trick that made her so?
'Twas all because she went and did
A thing her mother had forbid.
For once, when nobody was by her,
This silly child would play with fire;
And long before her mother came,
Her pinafore was all in flame.
In vain she tried to put it out,
Till all her clothes were burnt about;
And then she suffer'd ten times more,
All over with a dreadful sore.
For many months before 'twas cured,
Both day and night the pain endured;
And still you see, when passing by her,
How sad it is to play with fire.
Little Miss Consequence
Little Miss Consequence strutted about,
Turned up her nose, pointed her toes,
And thought herself quite a grand person, no doubt.
Gave herself airs; took many cares,
To appear old; was haughty and cold.
She spoke to the servants like a dog or a cat
And fussed about this, and fussed about that.
The Vulgar Little Lady
"But, mamma, now," said Charlotte, "pray don't you believe
That I'm better than Jenny my nurse?
Only see my red shoes, and the lace on my sleeve;
Her clothes are a thousand times worse.
"I ride in my coach, and have nothing to do.
And the country folks stare at me so;
And nobody dares to control me but you,
Because I'm a lady, you know.
"Then servants are vulgar and I am genteel;
So, really, 'tis out of the way,
To think that I should not be better a deal
Than maids, and such people as they."
"Gentility, Charlotte," her mother replied,
"Belongs to no station or place;
And nothing's so vulgar as folly and pride,
Though dressed in red slippers and lace.
"Not all the fine things that fine ladies possess
Should teach them the poor to despise;