TUDDL0ISDRAMSLY-COLLECTION


WAYN ESTATE U NIVERSITY U BRARY



_    A    fatherly,    Frederic    Edward,    1848-1929.

1-ittle pickle; written by F. E. Weatherly. Illustrated by Jane i-'ealy. New York, E. P. Dutton & co. 1188— ?j    12 1. inch

d front. illus. (part col’d.) 16cm.

**    0126703    NN


._5HE • BFC5 • TO • STATE •

SHE - IS -SEDATE • W'H E N • SHE’S • I N • CMUR.CH •

ON • SUNDAY-

LITTLE PICKLE.

I AM a pickle all the week,

To Saturday from Monday,

But beg to state I am sedate When I’m in church on Sunday.

I bang my gingham all the week, To Saturday from Monday,

But beg to state I hold it straight When I’m in church on Sunday.

I cry and grin, week out week in, To Saturday from Monday ;

But please observe I never sw'erve To left or right on Sunday.

FAIR YLAND.

As she lay a-reading

The long, long summer day,

There came two little butterflies And carried her away :

Away across the mountains,

To a shore of yellow sai)d,

Away across the ocean,

Away to Fairyland.

And as she stood a-dreaming,

And watched with wondering eye, Two little fairies on a leaf Went slowly sailing by ;

And one looked at the other,

And she heard her softly say*

“ I’d like to be a mortal,

If only for a day ! ”

And she took the little fairies,

Very gently in her hand,

And home again she carried them, Away from Fairyland ;

And they sing to her, and talk to her Of wonders far away,

As she lies a-reading

The long, long summer day.

I

>J THE TALE OF A TART.

Roly ! poly ! pudding and pie !

Who picked the apples and made them cry ?

“ ’Twas we, ’twas we ! ”

Said little maids three ;

“ We picked the apples and made them cry”

Able, table ! platter and cup !

Who peeled the apples and cut them up ?

“I,” said the cook ;

“ I gave them a look,

And whipped out my knife and cut them up! ”

Who made the tart ? and who baked the tart ? “ The cook was the maker,

But I,” said the baker,

“ I baked the tart for my little sweetheart!”

WHO'LI. BUY!

As I came over the river wide From Berkshire into Oxon,

A little maid in a field I spied,

With neither shoes nor socks on.

“ Oh, buy my flowers,” to me she said ;

I’ll sell them for a penny.”

“ My little maid, I’m much afraid—-Indeed I haven’t any!’

“ Good sir, I see,” she answered me,

“You go to Oxford College ;

But if no penny you have got,

flow will you get your knowledge ?”

“ ’Tis true, sweet maid,” I gravely said, “ I go to Oxford College ;

But there they never buy or sell,

They give you all the knowledge.”

Alack ! it was not as I thought,

My dreams soon cut their caper ;

I found that knowledge must be bought, Like candles, coals, and paper.

• Fro/^v-Bet^k^Hh^e • i rJto • Oxot4 ■

A UTTLE • A\AID£fs/ • f • E^PJ ED • • Wt TH NEITHER- 3HOE5 •

•Wot^ <3ocic5 0(vr

TO LONDON TOWN.

Oh, who will go to London town, To London town,

To London town ; Oh, who will go to London town To buy the Bab a fairing ?

Oh, I will go to London town,

To London town,

To London town ;

For I’m the boy that's dressed in brown— I’ll buy the Bab a fairing.

Oh, what’ll you see in London town,

In London town,

In London town ;

What’ll you see in London town,

That’s half so sweet as Baby ?

I’ll see the folks go up and down,

Up and down,

Up and down ;

But all the folks in London town Aren’t half as sweet as Baby

»> "

. >». .->

■>v^tf<gi^,»V”JL'33MS-SV> •    -JL.NaaY*

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- NMOX • NOCIMO^I • Ml • S^O'XOjJ.oSHJ," 'I'l'ty

MY BAB V.

Just four months old she is, my baby ;

And what does it matter

How old am I ?

All the world is for me, my baby,

Down on the pillow,

Where you lie.

What does it matter how wide the world is, Or who has, gold

Or who has lands ?

I have my world on baby’s pillow,

And she has hers

In her dimpled hands.

Just four months old she is, my baby,

And ah ! how swiftly

The years go by !

God keep her happy and good, my baby,

A BIRD'S SONG.

Tweet ! tweet ! tweet! May every hour be sweet ! God loves us,

And God loves you,

Let us sing And praise Him too ! Tweet ! tweet 1 tweet I May every hour be sweet !

Tweet! tweet ! tweet 1 May every day be sweet !

Sweet with deeds of noble worth, Sweet with flowers of good on earth, Sweet with erring hearts forgiven, Sweet with footprints bent to heaven

\

^rJo • A5 ' F01\ ■ .A •

• DOEg • IT    ?•

i4d ■ W'kat • 15 • a •

TlfM6LE • Oi\ go ? ! 1

BUMPS AND TUMBLES.

“ If ever I marry,” said Dolly,

“ It will be most deliciously nice To travel together so smoothly,

Like skates on the smoothest of ice.”

“ If ever you marry,” said Polly,

“ The ice may be smooth, it is true ; But you’re terribly likely to tumble, And it’s terribly hard if you do.”

If ever I tumble,” said Dolly,

“ My husband will catch me, I know ; And as for a bump—does it matter ? And what is a tumble or so ? ”

If ever I marry, I pray for A sweet little wifie like this,

Who’ll smile if we ever may tumble,

And take every bump with a kiss.

And the ice may be hard as it pleases,

And the-winter as cold as it will,

But love that is true never freezes,

Though the world may look lonely and chill.

•\/ea^sago-    the    s^ •,

•Dwelt a ■ chtld iaT• A^cADy. • IElLED THE PETAL5 of a • floWef^,-

'JifST to While mv^y- alT hoi/pv,-A^IIvTg • A5 • THE • PETAL5• FELL,•

•Tell My- Fo^Ti/islE.-T^ifLy- tell! • •\Vho 15 coprnvTG • jyoWto • me

•P^iisTce o^ 'Pea^^n^t WilL’HE-be?*• 'Fovy MAiDEf/^ • Ql/E^TIO^ED THEf^E/yoiJ-^EE-‘EveisT- THEHp If/ A-HCADy-

IN A A'CADY.

Presently a lover came,

But she never asked his name.

Only smiled when he grew sad,

And said, “ I’m but a peasant lad ; ”

Only nestled to his side.

“ Dearest, I will be your bride,

Prince or peasant, what you be,

You are all the world to me.”

For love was only love, you see,

Long ago in Arcady.

We have still an Arcady,

Where true hearts alone may be,

Spite of all the greed and strife Of this restless present life.

Wealth and tatters there abide,

Prince and peasant side by side,

Never growing hard or old,

And the key is not of gold.

For whereso’er Love deigns to be, That is always Arcady.

DIMPLE- CHIN.

Dainty Dorothy Dimple-Chin,

She comes out when I go in,

For I’m an old fogey sour and gray, And they call me Regular Rainy Day.

Sometimes I think’twould do me good To go for a walk in the summer wood, But don’t go far, when I hear a shout, “Go in, Rainy Day : I’m coming out.”

Or perhaps I say, “ I’ll take a stroll

On the morning sands where the long waves roll ; ”

But she claps her hands and I dare not stay :

“ Be off, you horrible Rainy Day.”

I love the children ; but, don’t you see.

The children, alas ! they don’t love me ;

For I spoil so much of their fun, they say—

“A nasty, old horrible Rainy Day !”

If only the world would let me go,

And the flowers would bloom, and the corn would grow

Without the help of a rainy day,

Wby, bless the children ! I’d fly

But that, I fear, is impossible qui So I’ll work as much as I can at i And that the children’s love may And the world will be nothing bu

SELF-HELP.

There were two little women who lived in a house With two little windows and door ;

They’d no milk for a cat, and no cheese for a mouse,

For oh ! they were terribly poor.

But one with her rake and her watering-pot,

And one with her spade and her hoe.

Kept the flowers all so bright in their trim garden-plot, For they workfed quite in earnest, you know.

Now, the flowers may be bright and exceedingly sweet, But I think it may safely be said

That they won’t go as far as pudding and meat,

Nor are half as nutritious as bread.

Yet somehow the larder was never quite bare,

Something always was found on the shelves,

For there’s Some One, we know, who will always take care Of those who will work for themselves.

Th-iry • wise T(.o ■ litti.r. • woaen -

Vvho livcd-in-A-viOV^e

•\viTH-tWo-lITTLC-'AMNDOW3 and - door-Tney’D • no ailk.- for. -a • cat • and • nIo cfJccRt • rorv A-nov^c ■ FoPyOjJ! • THCY • WCRC ■ TCRRISLY POOR,!

So this poor little, sad little lady Sat under the apple-tree shady With her fists in her eyes And very loud cries—


THE SAD

There once was Sat under an app With her fists i And very loud cries A disconsolate


She thought she had only to call, And the apples would instantly fall ; But the apples objected To do as directed,

For they had no intention to fall.


A disconsolate, sad little lady.



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*• AUinMali the card* v iil by (his hint in aaatvcU of iliri‘iiw l«l»vmJiy Ik* Art Jtmrm.tt ** Surprisingly In-aiiltful, and ile-i idedly kti the iwitn f«>t artistic «*-■ dlrm « /"— Tit ll'hittkalJ A'er»>t«. “All are escellenfly designed .rnd rk*i'tnfki(.

“ III CuIIkIMI is a superb one, t.entwssing many ousel design*. ami ,(ik|<iayric the nighest CJicrlkiiee in inpni the c-dour printing. '—Ik*

n.uh CkrwtuiU.

“we lar lianlty lomcive of any. thing Bwtr ev|Ui.it«ly l«auii/ht in design, or more hishly finished in ear-

Mtiin IVf are nxier! ijrmi of Mt"—T k* i A tit ft* a Agt.

row /.v run rw/uotn.

•* |1w rhyme* ate *«jr l*i« ilm aixl |    . le«*> iuxiahelepealurt *-i«ioft. 4-sir cl

U    drawing* os n-mu much ithnrd »i«i

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Mtlw uf ik most ilasfwiiii( of rint-

Jmi'ihmti - / af/i ft. <Ww/.

|    “A pitt*> ioinaie •'-add <*4 '»

f\ i-erpami. ‘—Tit .mM Cirmtitt*

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wft.'. Hi £ ... .    ,

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“ The lw*t stnall child's poetry-book we hare bad, to re*t*» hw a ton* time/'— f ir ,V,tim.i.tr A’rrtVw.

“ All is i«ty retin.-d and inn-wen I. Ail.iyetlm one of (lie iwst gwasum i biltlrt-n’s hook* of llii* tnnotl "— i ' ttiy Xrwt.

** (he (he prettiest books for children that has passed through out hands." .S/e< fo/er.

"Siiutjr, harming,with its eniVHin? < »U Hired || lustra I loos, and its lirtghl

and s» mg tag ihtlMt —Truth.

" Aran lier delight fut < hiidrcn'slswtk “ 1 be i hn.lten arc the Ini j>likf« of nich looks as this, ami the children like *Si»e» and Sevens *    ///*rf».«/c.f

Sj+rttnf *«./ frmmaji* ,Vrn-».

Mt V AM* it I ms

" Ik ■ aVadly gwsl’—Ik* Spnt+t*r, Deceive to he iiaiwensely ppui^i / a/ti /'W/nu/

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*■ Hie Illustrate WM are full of Ian •is-. ,1. a in I the printing is rtitiimi. ’ i'f -he* 7 nsM raf i/irrwr “ Will pmsk twanyamUMineni h* lb* bttle penfdtu* frifarf ftnt


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