Illustration 25THE WIND CAME A-WHOOPING DOWN CRANBERRY HILLView larger image
The roads are good and the weather’s grand,So I’m off to play in the Hobo Band;With a gaspipe flute and a cowhide drumI’m going to make the music come.With a toot, toot, toot, and a dum, dum, dum,Just hear me make the music come!
Illustration 26aView larger image
A robin and a wren, as they walked along one night,Saw a big brown beetle on a broomstraw.Said the robin to the wren: “What a pretty, pretty sight—That big brown beetle on a broomstraw!”So they got their plates and knives,Their children and their wives,And gobbled up the beetle on the broomstraw.
A silly little muleSat on a milking stoolAnd tried to write a letter to his father.But he couldn’t find the ink,So he said: “I rather thinkThis writing letters home is too much bother.”
Illustration 26bView larger image
Illustration 27View larger image
A candle, a candleTo light me to bed;A pillow, a pillowTo tuck up my head.The moon is as sleepy as sleepy can be,The stars are all pointing their fingers at me,And Missus Hop-Robin, way up in her nest,Is rocking her tired little babies to rest.So give me a blanketTo tuck up my toes,And a little soft pillowTo snuggle my nose.
Illustration 28View larger image
Baxter had a billy-goatWall-eyed and double jointed.He took him to the barber shopAnd had his head anointed.
Loddy, Gin, and Ella ZanderRode to market on a gander;Bought a crane for half a dollar;Loddy led him by the collar.Mister Crane said: “Hi there, master,Can’t you make your legs work faster?We can’t poke along this way.”Then he slowly flew away.Loddy held him fast, you bet,And he hasn’t come home yet.
As I was going down the hillIn front of Missus Knapp’sI saw the little KnapperinesAll in their winter wraps—Purple mitts and mufflersAnd knitted jersey caps.As I was coming back againIn front of Missus Knapp’sI saw that awful ladyGive about a dozen slapsTo every little Knapperine—I thought it was, perhaps,Because they gathered stickersIn their knitted jersey caps.
GOING DOWN THE HILL IN FRONT OF MRS. KNAPP’SGOING DOWN THE HILL IN FRONT OF MRS. KNAPP’SView larger image
Illustration 30View larger image
A little boy ran to the end of the skyWith a rag and a pole and a gooseberry pie.He cried: “Three cheers for the Fourth of July!”With a rag and a pole and a gooseberry pie.He saw three little donkeys at play,He tickled their noses to make them bray,And he didn’t come back until Christmas Day—With a rag and a pole and a gooseberry pie.
A man with a nickel,A sword, and a sickle,A pipe, and a paper of pinsSet out for the NigerTo capture a tiger—And that’s how my story begins.When he saw the wide ocean,He soon took a notion’T would be nicer to stay with his friends.So he traded his hatFor a tortoise-shell cat—And that’s how the chronicle ends.
Illustration 31aView larger image
Illustration 31bView larger image
A beetle once sat on a barberry twig,And turned at the crank of a thingum-a-jig.Needles for hornets, nippers for ants,For the bumblebee baby a new pair of pants,For the grizzled old gopher a hat and a wig,The beetle ground out of his thingum-a-jig.
Illustration 32View larger image
Tibbitts and Bibbitts and Solomon SlyRan off one day with a cucumber pie.Tibbitts was tossed by a Kensington cow,Bibbitts was hanged on a brambleweed bough,And poor little Solomon—what do you think?Was drowned one dark night in a bottle of ink.
Some one told Maria Ann,Maria Ann told me,That kittens ride in coffee cansUpon the Irish Sea.From quiet caves to rolling waves,How jolly it must beTo travel in a coffee canUpon the Irish Sea!But when it snows and when it blows,How would you like to beA kitten in a coffee canUpon the Irish Sea?
Duckle, duckle, daisy,Martha must be crazy,She went and made a Christmas cakeOf olive oil and gluten-flake,And set it in the sink to bake,Duckle, duckle, daisy.
DUCKLE, DUCKLE, DAISYDUCKLE, DUCKLE, DAISYView larger image
Illustration 34aView larger image
I’ve got a new book from my Grandfather Hyde.It’s skin on the cover and paper inside,And reads about Arabs and horses and slaves,And tells how the Caliph of Bagdad behaves.I’d not take a goat and a dollar besideFor the book that I got from my Grandfather Hyde.
A carrot in a gardenAnd a rabbit in the wood.Said the rabbit, “Beg your pardon,But you’re surely meant for food;Though you’ve started in to harden,You may still be very good.”
Hippy-Hi-Hoppy, the big fat toad,Greeted his friends at a turn of the road.Said he to the snail:“Here’s a ring for your tailIf you’ll go into town for my afternoon mail.”Said he to the rat:“I have talked with the cat;And she’ll nab you so quick you won’t know where you’re at.”Said he to the lizard:“I’m really no wizard,But I’ll show you a trick that will tickle your gizzard.”Said he to the lark:“When it gets fairly darkWe’ll chase the mosquitoes in Peek-a-Boo Park.”Said he to the owl:“If it were not for your scowlI’d like you as well as most any wild fowl.”Said he to the wren:“You’re tiny, but thenI’ll marry you quick, if you’ll only say when.”
Illustration 35View larger image
I’LL TREAT THE CLOWNI’LL TREAT THE CLOWNView larger image
Set me up on the garden gateAnd put on my Sunday tie;I want to be thereWith a round-eyed stareWhen the circus band goes by.Give me a bag of suckerettesAnd give me a piece of gum,Then I’ll get downAnd treat the clown,And give the monkey some.
’Most any chipWill do for a ship,If only the cargo beGolden sandFrom the beautiful landOf far-off Arcady.For faith will waftThe tiny craftO’er Fancy’s shining sea.
Illustration 37View larger image
Who hung his hat on the moon?The owl in his bubble balloon.One bright summer nightHe sailed out of sight,And, hooting like Lucifer, hung in delightHis three-cornered hat on the moon.
“What makes you laugh, my little lass,From morning until noon?”“I saw a dappled donkeyThrowing kisses at the moon.”
Illustration 38aView larger image
“What makes you cry, my little lass,And get your eyes so red?”“I saw a cruel gardener cutA poor old cabbage head.”
Illustration 38bView larger image
“What makes you run, my little lass?You’re almost out of breath.”“A pumpkin made a face at me,And scared me half to death.”
When Timmy O’TooleWas going to schoolHe picked up a package of gum.He treated the preacherAnd Sunday-school teacher,And gave a policeman some.
A man came from Malden to buy a blue goose.And what became of the gander?He went and got tipsy on blackberry juice,And that was the end of the gander.
The mighty baron, Batteroff,Raised a whale in a watering trough.When the whale grew large and fatHe ate the baron’s brindle cat.But pussy, once inside the whale,Began to tickle with her tail.This the monster could not stand,And spewed her out upon dry land.That night, when all was fine as silkAnd she had supped her bread and milk,She grinned and told old BatteroffHow she got the whale to cough.
I sing a funny song from away out west,Of six little salmon with their hats on;How they all left home—but I forget the rest—The six little salmon with their hats on.
Illustration 39View larger image
Illustration 40View larger image
Oh, I want to go to GarryOn the toot-toot, toot-toot,You and I togetherOn the toot-toot, toot-toot.Go run and ask your motherFor some kind of cake or other,And a bit of cotton waddingFor your ball-suit.Get your bobber and a bat,And be back as quick as scat,For we’ve got to go to GarryOn the toot-toot.
Bobbin rode a rocking-horse’Way down to Doubbledoon,He told his little sisterHe’d be back that afternoon.But maybe after all she didn’tUnderstand him right,For he wasn’t back againTill the middle of the night.And what did little Bobbin see’Way down at Doubbledoon?He saw a crazy ArabThrowing bubbles at the moon,A monkey making facesAnd a rabbit in a rage,A parrot shouting “Murder!”From the ceiling of his cage.At last a yellow jumping-jack,A camel, and a coon,Chased poor little BobbinAll the way from Doubbledoon.
BOBBIN RODE A ROCKING-HORSE TO DOUBBLEDOONBOBBIN RODE A ROCKING-HORSE TO DOUBBLEDOONView larger image
Illustration 42aView larger image
Billy Bluebird had a partyIn an elder tree,But the little black-eyed smartyDidn’t ask us to his partyNeither you nor me.This is what they had for dinner,For I peeked to see:Apple seeds and beetle finner,And for drink the little sinnerGave them tansy tea.But there came an awful clatterFrom that elder tree,When he served them on a platterHopper-hash and brick-dust batterTrimmed with celery!All the folks were hale and hearty,Happy as could be;And that little black-eyed smartyLeft out of his funny partyOnly you and me.
Illustration 42bView larger image
Illustration 43View larger image
I’ve got a yellow puppy,And I’ve got a speckled hen,I’ve got a lot of littleSpotted piggies in a pen.I’ve got a gun that used to shoot,Another one that squirts,I’ve got some horehound candyAnd a pair of woolen shirts.I’ve got a little rubber ballThey use for playing golf,And mamma thinks that’s maybe whyI’ve got the whooping-cough.
DOCTOR McSWATTLE FILLED UP A BOTTLEDOCTOR McSWATTLE FILLED UP A BOTTLEView larger image
Doctor McSwattleFilled up a bottleWith vinegar, varnish, and rum.And offered a swallowTo all who would followThe call of his trumpet and drum.It’s good, I am told,For a cough or a cold;It’s good for a pain in your thumb.
Columbus sailed over the ocean blueTo find the United States.In three small ships he carried his crew,And none of the three were mates.He found a land in the western seas,And Indians galore,With jabbering parrots in the trees,And sharks along the shore.
Illustration 45View larger image
He filled his pockets with sparkling stonesAnd took to the mighty main,With a couple of slaves, some nuts and conesFor the glorious king of Spain.Now this is the tale Columbus told,And most of the tale is true,How he crossed the seas, a sailor bold,In fourteen-ninety-two.
Illustration 46View larger image
Haven’t you heard of Terrible Tim!Well, don’t you get in the way of him.He eats lions for breakfastAnd leopards for lunch,And gobbles them downWith one terrible crunch.He could mix a whole cityAll up in a mess,He could drink up a seaOr an ocean, I guess.You’d better be watching for Terrible Tim,And run when you first get your peepers on him.
“What’s the use,”Said the goose,“To swim like a frog,When you go just as farIf you float on a log?”“Why should I,”Said the fly,“Suck an old apple-core,When there’s sugar and fruitIn the grocery store?”“It’s but right,”Said the kite,“That I follow the wind.What’s a fellow to doIf he hasn’t a mind?”“You’ll allow,”Said the cow,“That I’m really no thief,When I turn all the cloverI steal, into beef.”“Come again,”Said the hen,“On some other fine day.Don’t think ’cause I cackleI always must lay.”
All aboard for Bombay,All aboard for Rome!Leave your little sistersAnd your loving aunts at home.Bring a bit of bailing wire,A pocketful of nails,And half a dozen wiener-wurstsFor every man that sails.Tell Terry Tagg, when you go by,Be sure to bring his dog.All aboard for BombayOn a floating cedar log!
Illustration 47aView larger image
Illustration 47bView larger image
There’s water in the rain barrel,And water in the well,There’s lots of water in the pondWhere Hannah Hawkins fell.There’s water in the ocean,And water in the skies,And when a fellow blubbersHe gets water in his eyes.But in the Barca desertWhere the hippodoodles play,The water in the riversJust dries up and blows away.
Old Molly is lowing and lowing’Way down in the old meadow lot.I’ve given her water and clover,And all of the apples I’ve got;But she won’t eat a thing that I give her,And never drinks even a sup,For they’ve taken her baby to marketAnd some one has eaten it up.I’d just like to go to the cityAnd cut them all up into halvesAnd feed them to sharks and to lions—Those people that eat little calves.
Illustration 48View larger image
The snowflakes are falling by ones and by twos;There’s snow on my jacket, and snow on my shoes;There’s snow on the bushes, and snow on the trees—It’s snowing on everything now, if you please.
THE SNOWFLAKES ARE FALLING BY ONES AND BY TWOSTHE SNOWFLAKES ARE FALLING BY ONES AND BY TWOSView larger image
Dippy-Dippy-Davy,Half the Royal NavyIn the dampness and the darkWas driving off a savage sharkTo Dippy-Dippy-Davy.
Illustration 50aView larger image
When I’m as rich as Uncle Claus,With whiskers on my chin,I’m going to have a great big houseTo put my people in.I’ll never let them wander outOr ride with me to town;They’ll come a-running when I shoutAnd tremble when I frown.I’ll have some men in soldier tents,A pirate and his mate,And wildcats all around the fence,And mad dogs on the gate.
Rinky-tattle, rinky-tattle,Rinky-tattle—who?Little Tommy TaylorIs a rinky-tattle too.
Illustration 50bView larger image
Twenty little snowflakes climbing up a wire.“Now, listen,” said their mother, “don’t you climb up any higher.The sun will surely catch you, and scorch you with his fire.”But the naughty little snowflakes didn’t mind a word she said,Each tried to clamber faster than his fellow just ahead;They thought that they’d be back in time enough to go to bed.But they found out that their mother wasn’t quite the dunce they thought her,The sun bobbed up—remember this, my little son and daughter—And turned those twenty snowflakes into twenty drops of water.
Illustration 51View larger image
Slippery Slim, a garter snake,Leaned against a garden rakeAnd smiled a sentimental smileAt Tilly Toad, on the gravel pile,Till that bashful miss was forced to hopAnd hide her face in a carrot-top.
THROUGH FOG AND RAIN I RUN MY TRAINTHROUGH FOG AND RAIN I RUN MY TRAINView larger image
Through fog and rainI run my trainWherever the track is laid,And over the roadI carry a loadWhenever the freight is paid.A kaddy of teaFor Genessee,For Troy an empty crate,A man in brownFor UniontownTo help them celebrate.
No one at home in the hen-house,And no one at home in the barn,Old Brindle has gone to the neighbor’sTo borrow a skein of brown yarn,To borrow yarn for the darningOf socks for her wee spotted calf—The little rollicking rascalHas never enough by half.And Speckle is down by the willowWashing her chicks in the lake,While old Daddy Cockle is lyingAbed with a bad toothache.
Patters had a gallant band,An army made of clay.But Tatters took the garden hoseAnd washed them all away.
Illustration 53View larger image
Illustration 54View larger image
Crown the king with carrot tops,Dress him in sateen,Give him lots of licorice drops,With suckers in between.For he’s a king with lots of powerAnd awful, awful fierce,He kills a pirate every hourAnd washes in his tears.He rides a charger ten feet high,A dashing, dappled gray;Has ginger pop and lemon pieFor breakfast every day.So get a royal canopy,The finest ever seen,And whiskers for his majesty,And tresses for the queen.
A Canada gooseOn the South PalouseIs singing her summer song.Her words are wise,And she greets the skiesWith a voice like a steamer gong:“If you harbor your wealthAnd keep your health,You’ll always be rich and strong.”
Illustration 55View larger image
Hipperty, clickerty, clackerty, bang,Get in a corner as fast as you can!The sideboard is tipsy, the table is mad,The chairs have lost all the sense that they had.So hipperty, clickerty, clackerty, bang,Get in a corner as fast as you can!
Illustration 56View larger image
A sailor gave his sonnyNearly half a pint of moneyAnd sent him out to buy a ton of coal;But he met a poor old miserWho told him it were wiserTo bury all his money in a hole.A sailor gave his sonnyNearly half a pint of moneyAnd told him he should buy a suit of clothes;But he saw a pretty maidenWith all kinds of posies laden,And he gave her all his money for a rose.Then the sailor gave his sonnyNearly half a pint of moneyTo buy a little garden and a house;But he found him the next day,In a shop on Yesler Way,A-buying cheese and crackers for a mouse.
HE GAVE HER ALL HIS MONEY FOR A ROSEHE GAVE HER ALL HIS MONEY FOR A ROSEView larger image
A stove is a thing that gets awfully hot,And fries up your meat, or whatever you’ve got.It’s made out of iron and hinges and screws,And filled up with shakers, and dampers, and flues.It’s not very long and it’s not very wide;It’s got black’ning on top and ashes inside.
Illustration 58aView larger image
Have you heard of the Thunder BabyWay up in the big blue sky?You’ve seen his cradle, maybe,And maybe you’ve heard him cry.Most of the time he’s sleeping,Rolled up in a big white cloud,But when he’s awake and hungryHe bellows awfully loud.And when he’s crying, sometimesYou can hear his teardrops fallWith a patter, patter, patter,Against the garden wall.But when he’s madder’n mischief,He rolls, and growls, and spits,And kicks the clouds all forty ways,And gives the weather fits.Then tears come down in bucketfuls,And children dance for joy,Till the sun comes out and soundly spanksHer Thunder Baby Boy.
Illustration 58bView larger image
Illustration 59View larger image
Hinky, pinky, pearly earl,Twenty nobles and a churl;Some are fat and some are lean,One in red and one in green—Prior, priest, and pearly earl,Twenty nobles and a churl.
Illustration 60View larger image
Tipsy Tom, the naughty fellow,Dressed his wife in pink and yellow,Set her in an apple tree,And said: “Now catch a bumblebee.”
Jolly Jinks, the sailor man,Went to sea in an oyster can.But he found the water wet,Fishes got into his net,So he pulled his boat to shoreAnd vowed he’d sail the seas no more.
Auntie Ellen found her poodle—Mercy! Goodness sake!—Playing with the mully-wumpsDown along the lake.And when she called him tenderlyHe didn’t want to come;It took her over half an hourTo get the rascal home.She washed him well with shaving-soap,Pumice stone and lye,She showered him and she scoured himAnd she hung him up to dry.And now he sits there quite serene,The sweetest poodle ever seen.
TRANSFORMATIONTRANSFORMATIONView larger image
Illustration 62aView larger image
Bricks and bones!Sticks and stones!I chased a thief through twenty zones.I found his hatOn Ararat,And hurried on as quick as scat.In a day or twoI found his shoeWhere he had sailed for Timbuktu.I met the goatThat ate his coatUpon the road to Terre Haute.At last all wornAnd quite forlornI chased him up the Matterhorn.
Somebody give me a peanut,Somebody give me a pear;I want to go down to the circusAnd feed all the animals there.
Illustration 62bView larger image
A dime and a dollarTook me by the collarAnd whispered this word in my ear:“We must leave you to-morrow,But prithee don’t sorrow,We’ll come back to see you next year.”
Said the Robin to the Squirrel,“How d’ you do?”Said the Squirrel to the Robin,“How are you?”“Oh, I’ve got some cherry pies,And a half a dozen flies,And a kettle full of beetles on to stew.”
Illustration 63View larger image
Said the Squirrel to the Robin,“How d’ you do?”Said the Robin to the Squirrel,“How are you?”“I’ve a nest that’s nice and neat,And a wife that can’t be beat,And I’m every bit as happy now as you.”
The King had a platterOf brisket and batter,The Prince had a Bellington bun,The Queen had a roseTo put to her noseAs soon as the dinner was done.
Illustration 64View larger image
The lightning split the sky in twoAnd set the clouds to leakingJust as dear old Pastor BrownBegan his Sunday speaking.He told about the awful rainThat fell in Noah’s day,And one by one the happy smilesBegan to fade away.In half an hour the people allPut on their rubber coats,And when he finished everyoneWas out and building boats.
Old Father McNetherHe sorts out the weatherAnd takes what he pleases, I’m told,With a big turkey-featherHe mixes the weather,And makes it blow hot and blow cold.
OLD FATHER McNETHEROLD FATHER McNETHERView larger image
Jerry was a joker.He carried off the pokerAnd dressed it up from head to heelIn clover-tops and orange-peelAnd fed it bones and barley meal.Poor old Rusty Poker!
Illustration 66View larger image
King Kokem lay snoozing upon his brass bed—Oh, play an old tune on your fiddle!With shoes on his feet, and a crown on his head—Oh, tune up your rusty old fiddle!He dreamed of a land where the lions were tame,Where they fried their lamb-chops on a griddle,Where they called all the parrots and monkeys by name—Oh, play us a tune on your fiddle!He dreamed of a sea filled with raspberry pop,With a cocoanut isle in the middle,Where the stones and the boulders had icing on top—Go strike up a tune on your fiddle!He dreamed of a sky where the moonbeams all dancedWhile a comet was telling a riddle,Where the stars and the planets and sun-dogs all prancedWhile the moon played his fiddle de diddle.
Illustration 67View larger image
Illustration 67bView larger image
Old Missus SkinnerHad dumplings for dinnerAnd sat on a very high stool;When she cut thru the hideThere was nothing inside,Which I’m sure was not often the rule.