Cole's Funny Picture Book No. 1

  There was an Old Person of Ewell,
  Who chiefly subsisted on gruel,
But to make it taste nice, he inserted some mice,
  Which refreshed that Old Person of Ewell.

Some little mice sat in a barn to spin,
Pussy came by and she popped her head in.
"Shall I come in and cut your threads off?"
"Oh, no, kind sir, you will bite our heads off!"

    Hickory, diccory dock,
    The mouse ran up the clock,
The clock struck one, the mouse ran down,
    Hickory, diccory, dock.

A Frog he would a-wooing go,
Whether his mother would have it or no;
So off he set with his nice new hat,
And on the road he met a rat.

"Pray, Mr. Rat, will you go with me,
Kind Mrs. Mousey for to see!"
When they came to the door of Mousey's hall,
They gave a loud knock, and gave a loud call.

"Pray, Mr. Frog, will you give us a song—
But let it be something that's not very long!"
"Indeed, Mrs. Mouse," replied the Frog,
"A cold has made me as hoarse as a dog."

"Since you have a cold, Mr. Frog," Mousey said,
"I'll sing you a song that I have just made."
But while they were all a merry-making,
A cat and her kittens came tumbling in.

The cat she seized the rat by the crown;
The kittens they pulled the little mouse down.
This put Mr. Frog in a terrible fright:
He took up his hat, and wished them good-night.
But as Froggy was crossing over a brook,
A lily-white duck came and gobbled him up,
So there was an end of one, two, and three.
The Rat, the Mouse, and the little Frog-ee.

  The Little priest of Felton,
  The little priest of Felton,
He killed a mouse within his house,
  And ne'er a one to help him.

Three blind mice! three blind mice!
See how they run! see how they run!
They all ran after the farmer's wife,
They cut off their tails with a carving knife;
Did you ever see such a thing in your life
As three blind mice?

Three little dogs were basking in the cinders;
Three little cats were playing in the windows;
Three little mice hopped out of a hole,
And a piece of cheese they stole;
The three little cats jumped down in a trice,
And cracked the bones of the three little mice.

In a crack near the cupboard, with dainties provided,
A certain young mouse with her mother resided;
So securely they lived in that snug, quiet spot,
Any mouse in the land might have envied their lot.

But one day the young mouse, which was given to roam,
Having made an excursion some way from her home,
On a sudden returned, with such joy in her eyes,
That her grey, sedate parent expressed some surprise.

"O mother," said she, "The good folks of this house,
I'm convinced, have not any ill-will to a mouse;
And those tales can't be true you always are telling,
For they've been at such pains to construct us a dwelling.

"The floor is of wood, and the walls are of wires,
Exactly the size that one's comfort requires;
And I'm sure that we there shall have nothing to fear,
If ten cats, with kittens, at once should appear.

"And then they have made such nice holes in the wall,
One could slip in and out, with no trouble at all;
But forcing one through such rough crannies as these,
Always gives one's poor ribs a most terrible squeeze.

"But the best of all is, they've provided, as well,
A large piece of cheese, of most exquisite smell;
'T was so nice, I had put in my head to go through,
When I thought it my duty to come and fetch you."

"Ah, child," said the mother, "believe, I entreat,
Both the cage and the cheese are a terrible cheat;
Do not think all that trouble they took for our good,
They would catch us and kill us there if they could.

"Thus they've caught and killed scores, and I never could learn,
That a mouse who once entered did ever return."
Let young people mind what the old people say,
And, when danger is near them keep out of the way.

The fox and the cat as they travelled one day,
With moral discourses cut shorter on the way:
"'Tis great," says the fox, "to make justice our guide!"
"How godlike is mercy!" Grimalkin replied.

Whilst thus they proceeded, a wolf from the wood,
Impatient of hunger, and thirsting for blood,
Rushed forth—as he saw the dull shepherd asleep—
And seized for his supper an innocent sheep.

"In vain, wretched victim, for mercy you bleat;
When mutton's at hand," says the wolf, "I must eat."
Grimalkin's astonished—the fox stood aghast,
To see the fell beast at his bloody repast.

"What a wretch!" says the cat—"'tis the vilest of brutes;
Does he feed upon flesh when there's herbage and roots?"
Cries the fox, "While our oaks give us acorns so good,
What a tyrant is this to spill innocent blood!"

Well, onward they marched, and they moralised still.
Till they came where some poultry picked chaff by a mill.
Sly Reynard surveyed the them with gluttonous eyes,
And made, spite of morals, a pullet his prize!
A mouse, too, that chanced from her covert to stray,
The greedy Grimalkin secured as her prey!

A spider that sat in her web on the wall,
Perceived the poor victims, and pitied their fall;
She cried, "Of such murders how guiltless am I!"
So ran to regale on a new-taken fly!

A fox was trotting one day,
  And just above his head
He spied a vine of luscious grapes,
  Rich, ripe, and purple-red.

Eager he tried to snatch the fruit,
  But, ah! it was too high;
Poor Reynard had to give it up,
  And, heaving a deep sigh,

He curl'd his nose and said, "Dear me!
  I would not waste an hour
Upon such mean and common fruit—
  I'm sure those grapes are sour!"

'Tis thus we often wish thro' life,
  When seeking wealth and pow'r
And when we fall, say, like the fox,
  We're "sure the grapes are sour!"

A fox walked round a toyman's shop
  (How he came there, pray do not ask),
But soon he made a sudden stop,
  To look and wonder at a mask.

The mask was beautiful and fair,
  A perfect mask as e'er was made;
At which a lady meant to wear
  At the ensuing masquerade.

He turned it round with much surprise,
  To find it prove so light and thin;
"How strange!" astonished Reynard cries,
  "Here's mouth and nose, and eyes and chin.

"And cheeks and lips, extremely pretty;
  And yet, one thing there still remains
To make it perfect—what a pity,
  So fine a head should have no brains!"

Thus, to some boy or maiden pretty;
  Who to get learning takes no pains,
May we exclaim, "Ah! what a pity,
  So fine a head should have no brains!"

  In a dairy a crow,
  Having ventured to go,
Some food for her young ones to seek,
  Flew up in the trees
  With a fine piece of cheese,
Which she joyfuly held in her beak.

  A fox who lived by,
  To the tree saw her fly,
And to share in the prize he made a vow,
  For, having just dined,
  He for cheese felt inclined,
So he went and sat under the bough.

  She was cunning he knew,
  But so was he, too,
And with flattery adapted his plan;
  For he knew if she'd speak,
  It must fall from his beak,
So, bowing politely, began:

  "'Tis a very fine day,"
  (Not a word did she say),
"The wind, I believe, ma'am, is south:
  A fine harvest for peas;"
  He then looked at the cheese,
But the crow did not open her mouth.

  Sly Reynard, not tired,
  He plumage admired:
"How charming! how brilliant its hue!
  The voice must be fine
  Of a bird so divine,
Ah, let me hear it, pray do.

  Believe me I long
  To hear a sweet song;"
The silly crow foolishly tries;
  She scarce gave one squall,
  When the cheese she let fall,
And the fox ran away with the prize.

                Jane Taylor

It was six men of Indostan
  To learning much inclined,
Who went to see an elephant,
  (Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
  Might satisfy his mind.

The FIRST approached the Elephant,
  And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
  At once began to bawl:
"God bless me!—but the Elephant
  Is very like a wall!"

The SECOND feeling of the tusk,
  Cried: "Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp!
  To me 'tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
  Is very like a spear!"

The THIRD approached the animal,
  And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
  This boldly up and spake:
"I see," quoth he, "The Elephant
  Is very like a snake!"

The FOURTH reached out his eager hand,
  And felt about the knee,
"What most this wondrous beast is like
  Is mighty plain," quoth he;
"'Tis clear enough the Elephant
  Is very like a tree!"

The FIFTH, who chanced to touch the ear,
  Said: "E'n the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most,
  Deny the fact who can,
This marvel of an Elephant
  Is very like a fan."

The SIXTH no sooner had begun
  About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail
  That fell within his scope,
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
  Is very like a rope!"

And so these men of Indostan
  Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
  Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
  And all were in the wrong.

Sly little, cowering, timorous beastie!
Oh what a panic's in thy breastie!
You need not start away so hasty,
                With bickering speed:
I should be loth to run and chase thee
                I should indeed!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Hath broken Nature's social union,
And justifies that ill opinion
                Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
                And fellow mortal.

Sometimes, I doubt not, thou dost thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou must live;
A little barley in the shieve
                Is small request;
And all thou tak'st, I do believe,
                Will ne'er be missed.

                R. Burns

I am an honest toad,
Living here by the road;
Beneath a stone I dwell,
In a snug little cell.

When the rain patters down,
I let it wet my crown;
And now and then I sip
A drop with my lip.

And now a catch a fly,
And now I wink my eye,
And now I take a hop,
And now and then I stop.

And this is all I do,
And yet they sat it's true
That the toad's face is sad,
And his bite is very bad.

Oh! naughty folks they be
Who tell such tales of me!
For I'm an honest toad
Just living by the road,
    Hip, hip, hop.

In a summer's night I take my flight
  To where the maidens repose;
And while they are slumbering sweet and sound,
  I bite them on the nose;
The warm red blood that tints their cheeks,
  To me is precious dear,
For 'tis my delight to buzz and bite
  In the season of the year.

When I get my fill, I wipe my bill,
  And sound my tiny horn;
And off I fly to mountain high
  Ere breaks the golden morn;
But at eve I sally forth again
  To tickle the sleeper's ear;
For 'tis my delight to buzz and bite
  In the season of the year.

On the chamber wall about I crawl,
  Till landlord goes to bed;
Then my bugle I blow, and down I go
  To light upon his head.
Oh, I love to see the fellow slap,
  And regret to hear him swear;
For 'tis my delight to buzz and bite
  In the season of the year.

A Nightingale, that all day long
Had cheered the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel—as well he might—
The keen demands of appetite;
When looking eagerly around,
He spied, far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark;
So; stooping down, from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him this, quite eloquent—
"Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,
"As much as I your minstrelsy?
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the self-same power divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine:
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night."
The songster heard his short oration,
And, warbling out his approbation,
Released him as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.

                Cowper

Beneath this hedge, or near the stream,
  A worm is known to stray,
That shows by night a lucid stream
  That disappears by day.

Disputes have been, and still prevail,
  From whence his rays proceed;
Some give the honor to his tail,
  And others to his head;

But this is sure—the hand of might
  That kindles up the skies,
Gives him a modicum of light,
  Proportion'd to his size.

Perhaps indulgent Nature meant,
  By such a lamp bestow'd,
To bid the traveller as he went,
  Be careful where he trod.

                Cowper

Happy insect! what can be
In happiness compared with thee!
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine;
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill.
All the fields which thou dost see,
All the plants belong to thee:
All that summer hours produce,
Fertile made with easy juice;
The country hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripened year!

                Cowley

Warm and buoyant, in his oily mail,
Gambols on seas of ice th' unwieldily whale;
Wide waving fins round boating islands urge
His bulk gigantic through the troubled surge;
With hideous yawn, the flying shoals he seeks,
Or clasps with fringe of horn his massy cheeks;
Lifts o'er the tossing wave his nostril bare,
And spouts the watery columns into air;
The silvery arches catch the setting beams,
And transient rainbows tremble o'er the streams.

                Darwin

A wasp met a bee that was just buzzing by,
And he said "Little Cousin, can you tell me why
You are loved so much better by people than I.

"My back shines as bright, and as yellow as gold
And my shape is most elegant too to behold,
And yet nobody likes me for that, I am told,"
    Bz.

"Ah! Cousin," the bee said, "'tis all very true,
But if I were half as much mischief to do,
Then I'm sure they would love me no better than you.
    Bz.

"You have a fine shape and a delicate wing,
And they say you are handsome; but then there's one thing
They never can put up with; and that is your sting.
    Bz.

"My coat is quite homely and plain, as you see,
But yet no one is angry or scolding at me,
Just because I'm a harmless and busy bee."
    Bz.

From this little story let people beware,
For if, like the cross wasp, ill-natured they are,
They will never be loved, though they're ever so fair.

I bring my little doggies milk;
  I bring my rabbits hay;
I feed and tend, and love them well—
  Such helpless things are they!
See! now in soft and cozy bed
  They roll about and play;
They've milk and bones, and all they want—
  Such happy pets are they!

  I'm a merry, merry squirrel,
  All day I leap and whirl
Through my home in the old beech-tree
  If you chase me I will run
  In the shade and in the sun;
But you never, never can catch me
  For round a bough I'll creep,
    Playing hide and seek so sly;
  Or through the leaves bo-peep,
    With my little shining eye.

  Up and down I run and frisk,
  With my bushy tail to whisk
All who mope in the old beech-trees.
  How droll to see the owl
  As I make him wink and growl,
While his sleepy, sleepy head I tease!
  And I waken up the bat,
    Who flies off with a scream,
  For he thinks that I'm the cat
    Pouncing on him, in his dream.

  Through all the summer long
  I never want a song
From birds in the old beech-trees
  I have singers all the night,
  And with the morning bright
Come my busy, humming, fat, brown bees.
  When I've nothing else to do
    With the nursing birds I sit;
  And we laugh at the cuckoo
    A-coo-cooing to her tit!

  When winter comes with snow
  An its cruel tempests blow
All my leaves from the old beech-trees,
  Then beside the wren and mouse
  I furnish up a house,
Where, like a prince, I live at ease.
  What care I for hail or sleet,
    With my cozy cap and coat;
  And my tail about my feet,
    Or wrapped about my throat?

                Norman Macleod

One little white duck,
  One little grey,
Six little black ducks
  Running out to play;
One white lady-duck,
  Motherly and trim,
Eight little baby ducks
  Bound for a swim.

One little white duck
  Running from the water,
One very fat duck—
  Pretty little daughter—
One little grey duck
  Holding up its wings.
One little bobbing duck
  Making water rings.

One little black duck
  Standing on a stone,
One little grey duck
  Swimming all alone,
One little grey duck
  Holding down it's head.
One sleepy little duck,
  It has gone to bed!

One little what duck
  Running to its mother,
Look among the water-reeds,
  May be there's another.
One hungry little duck
  Going out to dine,
Two dainty little ducks,
  Snowy-white and fine.

Merry little brown eyes
  O'er the picture linger,
Point all the ducks out,
  Chubby little finger;
Make the picture musical,
  Merry little shout;
Now where's that other duck?
  What is he about?

I thank that other duck
  Is the nicest duck of all,
He hasn't any feathers,
  And his mouth is sweet and small;
He runs with a light step
  And jumps upon my knee,
And though he cannot swim
  He is very dear to me.

One white lady-duck,
  Motherly and trim,
Eight little baby ducks
  Bound for a swim;
One sleepy little duck
  Taking quite a nap,
One precious little duck
  Here on mother's lap.

                A. L.

The pretty red squirrel
  Lives up in a tree,
A little blithe creature
  As ever can be;
He dwells in the boughs
  Where the stock-dove broods,
Far in the shades
  Of the green summer woods;

His food is the young
  Juicy cones of the pine,
And the milky beech-nut
  Is his bread and his wine.
In the joy of his nature
  He frisks with a bound
To the topmost twigs,
  And then down to the ground.

Then up again like
  A winged thing,
And from tree to tree
  With a vaulting spring;
Then he sits up aloft,
  And looks ragged and queer,
As if he would say:
  "Ay, follow me here!"

And then he grows pettish,
  And stamps his foot;
And then with a chatter,
  He cracks his nut;
And thus he lives
  All the long summer through,
Without either a care
  Or a thought of rue.

The mountain and the squirrel
  Had a quarrel,
And the former called the latter "Little Prig;"
  Bun replied,
"You are doubtless very big,
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken together
  To make up a year,
  And a sphere.
And I think it no disgrace
To occupy my place.
If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I.
And not half so spry;
I'll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track.
Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack an nut!"

                R. W. Emerson

Books should be found in every house,
To form and feed the mind;
They are the best of luxuries
To happify mankind.

For all good books throughout the world
Are man's most precious treasure;
They make him wise, and bring him
His best, his choicest pleasure.

Books make his time pass happily,
Relieve his weary hours;
Amuse, compose, instruct his mind;
Enlarge his mental powers.

Books teach the boys and girls of earth
In quite ten million schools;
Books make the difference between
Earth's learned and its fools.

Books teach earth's teeming artisans
The proper way to take,
To find, to plan, to build, to mix,
And every product make.

Books teach schoolmasters, clergymen,
Of every rank and grade;
And doctors, lawyers, judges, too—
Books are their tools of trade.

Books give to man the history
Of each and every land;
Books show him human actions past,
The bad, the good, the grand.

Books show him human arts and laws
Of every time and place;
Books show the learnings and the faiths
Of all the human race.

Books give the best and greatest thoughts
Of all the good and wise;
Books treasure human knowledge up,
And thus it never dies.

Books show men all that men have done,
Have thought, have sung, have said,
Books show the deeds and wisdom of
The living and the dead.

Books show that mankind's leading faiths,
In morals are the same;
That in their main essentials
They differ but in name.

Books show that virtue, goodness, love,
Exist in every land;
That some with kindly sympathies
Are found on every strand.

Books show the joys, griefs, hopes and fears,
Of every race and clan;
Books show, by unity of thought,
The brotherhood of man.

Books thus will cause the flag of peace
Through earth to be unfurled—
Produce "the parliament of man,"
And federate the world.

Books give the reader vast delight,
The bookless never know;
Books give him pleasure, day and night,
Wherever he may go.

Books show narcotics, toxicants,
Of each and every kind;
Insidious destroyers all,
Of body and of mind.

Books, like strong drink, will drowns man's cares
But do not waste his wealth;
Books leave him better, drink the worse,
In character and health.

Books teach and please him when a child,
In youth and in his prime;
Books give him soothing pleasure when
His health and strength decline.

Books teach, from their beginning, of
Higher beings than man;
That One Almighty Goodness was
Before the world began.

Books give us hope beyond the grave,
Of an immortal life;
Books teach that right, and truth, and love,
Shall banish every strife.

Books therefore are, of all we own,
The choicest things on earth;
Books have, of all our worldly goods,
The most intrinsic worth.

Books are the greatest blessing brought,
The grandest thing we sell;
Books bring more joy,
Books do more good,
Than mortal tongue can tell.

"Swift & Co. (Packing House, Chicago), and other Chicago business
houses, employing hundreds of boys, have issued this announcement,
or similar ones—So impressed with the danger of Cigarette using
that we do not employ a Cigarette user.
Marshall Field, the Mammoth Universal Provider, gave similar
notice.

"Morgan and Wright Tyre company, large employers, announce, "No
cigarettes can be smoked by our employees."

"At John Wanamakers.—The application blank to be filled out by
boys applying for a position reads: 'Do you use tobacco or
cigarettes?' A negative answer is expected, and is favourable to
their acceptance as employes."

"Heath and Milligan, Chicago, bar cigarette users."

"Carson, Pirie and Scott, Chicago, bar cigarette smokers as
employes."

Ayer's Sarsparilla Company, Lovell, employs hundreds of boys.
—"March 1, 1902—Believing that the smoking of cigarettes is
injurious to both mind and body, thereby unfitting young men for
their best work—therefore after this date we will not employ any
young man under twenty-one years of age who smokes cigarettes."

"I've got a boy for you, sir." Glad of it; who is he?" asked the
master workman of a large establishment. The man told the boy's
name and where he lived. "Don't want him," said the master workman,
"he has got a bad mark." "A bad mark, sir; what?" "I meet him every
day with a cigar in his mouth; I don't want smokers!"

"The Lehigh Valley Railroad bars cigarette smokers."

"The Chicago, Rock Island, and Pacific Railroad bars cigarette
smoking."

"The New York, New Haven, and Hartford Railroad bars employes who
smoke cigarettes."

"The Central Railroad, Georgia, forbids cigarette smoking."

"The Union Pacific Railroad forbids cigarette smoking."

The following is a public notice: "The Western Union Telegraph
Company will discharge from their messenger service boys who
persist in smoking cigarettes."

A Telephone Company.—Order: "You are directed to serve notice
that the use of cigarettes after August 1 will be prohibited; and
you are further instructed to, in the future, refuse to employ
anyone who is addicted to the habit."—Leland Hume, Assistant
General Manager of the Cumberland Telephone and Telegraph Company.

"In the United States Weather Bureau.—'Chief of United States
Weather Bureau, Willis M. Moore, has placed the ban on cigarettes
in this department of Government service'."