Cole's Funny Picture Book No. 1

Title: Cole's Funny Picture Book No. 1

Author: E. W. Cole

Release date: December 21, 2009 [eBook #30726] Most recently updated: January 5, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30726

Credits: Produced by Brian McPherson

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Written And Compiled By E.W. Cole (1832-1918) First Published 1879 By Cole Publications, Melbourne, Australia. 73rd Edition Totalling 920,000 copies. [*]

Or Family Amuser And Instructor; To Delight The Children And Make Home Happier; The Best Child's Picture Book In All The World.

It Contains Also Choice Riddles, Games and pieces of reading for Adults. Look through it yourself.

Long ago the Rainbow was a Sign it is said, Now 'tis the Sign of Cole's Book Arcade. So, when in the sky a bow is displayed, Be sure that you think of the Book Arcade. Cole's Book Arcade strange as it looks, Contains more than a million books. New and second-hand, common and rare, Can get most any book you want there.

Born Woodchurch, Kent, England 4th January, 1832

Died Essendon, Victoria, Australia 16th December, 1918

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Page 1—Australia

I think that Australia, for it's size, is, all-round, the best country in the world. It's climate is pleasant and health-giving. It has no desolating blizzards, no frost bites, and few sunstrokes. In edible produce, for both size and quality, it stands very high, if not the highest. I have been in many lands, but never saw a country supply such a variety of products as Australia does—potatoes, onions, cabbages, carrots, peas, beans and scores of other vegetables in abundance. In fruits it produces apples, pears, plums, peaches, oranges, grapes, and Northern Australia also produces all the tropical fruits in abundance wherever cultivated. In corn Australia produces superior wheat, oats, barley, maize and all other kinds in abundance, especially when scientifically irrigated. As a milk, butter and meat country, it is one of the best in the world. It is the largest and best wool-producing country in the world. It contains the largest area in the world especially suitable for growing cotton, the most extensively-used clothing material. Flowers grow luxuriantly

and beautifully whenever cultivated and watered. A few years ago when writing on the "White Australia" question, I stated that with high culture, water irrigation, and scientific irrigation, Australia was capable of supporting 400 millions of inhabitants. A high literary authority, in reviewing the book, remarked that this seemed like a "gross exaggeration"; but probably he had not thought so much on the subject as I had.

I will here concisely state the principle reasons for my opinion. The great want of Australia, to make it amazingly fruitful, is the complete conservation of water and it's scientific application to the soil. Water, warmth, and soil will grow anything in Australia, if rationally managed. Australia has abundance of water now running to waste. On thousands of house-roofs water enough is caught for the domestic use of the respective families. Over large areas of the country there are 30 inches of rainfall, and the average rainfall over vast areas is 24 inches, and could be made much greater by cultivation. Four-fifths of this water now runs to waste. Again surface-parched Australia has vast areas of underground water which only require to be tapped and brought to the surface, to irrigate and fertilise the soil.

Australia is also a country where timber grows well and fast, if planted in trenched ground and slightly irrigated. Hundreds of straight trees can be grown upon an acre of land if they are first planted thickly and some gradually thinned out. Many kinds of trees will grow upon very poor soil if they are properly planted and irrigated, as the bulk of their sustenance is derived from the air. One more remark about trees and their possibilities as food providers. Wherever any kind of tree will grow some kind of fruit tree will grow. There are hundreds of millions of gum trees growing in Australia. Where every one of these trees is, some kind of fruit tree would grow if properly planted and looked after.

Again, to utilise Australia to it's full extent the whole world should be sought through for the best plants and trees of every kind, and only the very best grown, and those in situations and soil best adapted for them.

One argument against Australia is that much of its surface is sandy, but experiments and developments in various countries show that the planting of marram grass, lupins, and other plants ties even the drifting sand together and gradually, through their decay, turns the sandy wastes into fertile soil. Besides, science can, in many other ways, utilise the elements in the air to enrich the soil.

It has been objected that in the above epitome no mention is made of the great mineral wealth of Australia. The reason is that minerals, exceedingly useful as they are in the arts, are not absolutely necessary (with the exception perhaps of iron) to the feeding, clothing, and housing of mankind. Vast multitudes have lived without them; but it may be remarked that Australia is a country very rich in minerals; some hold it the richest in the world. It possesses immense deposits of iron not yet utilised, and the most extensive gold-fields yet discovered. Australia and Tasmania have, according to the latest estimate of our Commonwealth Statistician, produced minerals to the value of £660,252,694—comprising in round numbers, Gold £474,000,000; Tin £24,000,000; and other kinds £8,000,000. The bulk of the above has been produced during the last 60 years, in a population rising from about 300,000 to 4,000,000 and it forecasts how vast the mineral-producing future of Australia is likely to be. Altogether Australia is a country as highly favoured by nature as any

other of equal size upon earth, for the bountiful production of useful animals, vegetables, minerals, and men.

"'If we Australians took as much trouble to prepare for our summer as the Canadians take to forestall their winter, Australia would be THE MOST PROSPEROUS COUNTRY ON EARTH.'

The speaker was the Rev. A. R. Edgar, head of the Central Mission, Melbourne.

"'After circling the globe, then, you are still satisfied that Australia is not a bad country to live in?'

"'The best,' said Mr Edgar, emphatically. 'I have no hesitation in saying that Canada and America are not to be compared with Australia. Unfortunately, England doesn't know it. Australia herself doesn't half realise it, and as for America and Canada, they haven't the remotest ghost of a notion of it. In England they learn with regrettable slowness, and their knowledge is scanty indeed; but across the Atlantic the ignorance is deplorable. "Australia?" says the Canadian. "Oh yes! Let's see, that's the place where it's always droughty—yes, yes, to be sure, the place where y' can't get a drink of water." He laughs at the idea of Australia producing as much wool and wheat as Canada, and bluntly tells you there's no country on the face of the planet can grow wheat and wool like his. But the fact is, there isn't a bit of territory fit to compare with the Western District of Victoria, for example, and conditions are infinitely harder for the agriculturist than in Australia. Canada's western district is icebound in winter, and her eastern lands are strewn over

with great boulders, between which the plough works laboriously in and out'."—From the "New Idea."

I often feel for the dweller in Canada; for notwithstanding his beautiful spring and autumn he has six months of ice and snow and freezing winds, and I feel selfishly grateful that my lot is cast in more genial Australia.

Let us well ponder Mr. Edgar's concise and forcible statement: "If we Australians took as much trouble to prepare for our summer as the Canadians take to forestall their winter, Australia would be the most prosperous country on earth."

This is quite true. The Canadian must thoughtfully and rationally prepare for his winter, or he would freeze and starve. We have no frigid climate to prepare against, but we have possible drought, and our first and greatest consideration should be the conservation of water for irrigation.

This water conservation is exceedingly important thing. Men do not think, and the waste is enormous. When the rain falls it runs into the gully, from the gully to the creek, from the creek to the river, from the river into the sea; and then in the dry season water is deplorably scarce.

I once asked a young squatter from the New South Wales side of the Murray "Have you got a garden?" He answered: "No: it is too dry up our way!" I said, "How do you get water for domestic purposes?" He answered, "We catch it off the roof; we catch it in 11 tanks and are never out of a supply." I asked, "How large an area have all your roofs put together?" He answered, "I think about 20 feet by 100 feet." This would be about a twentieth of an acre. Now just reflect! One acre of rainfall would supply, if caught, 20 establishments like that squatter's home, for the rain would fall fairly alike over that part of the country. A rainfall of 30 inches over an acre of ground measures about 680,000 gallons and weighs about 3000 tons, the bulk of which is allowed to run away every year!

A gentleman said to me the other day, "Since the water was brought to Coolgardie and Kalgoorlie, under Sir John Forrest's great scheme, they have very beautiful gardens right along the line of supply. Wherever the water touches the land the vegetation is splendid, and, what is more, the evaporation is bringing heavier rainfall." Of course, wherever cultivation and irrigation are carried on, more evaporation takes place, and, in most cases, causes additional rainfall.

When I affirmed that Australia was capable of supporting 400 millions of people I did not mean Australia as we now have it, but as it might be, and probably will be, when water is carefully conserved and its soil scientifically irrigated and cultivated.

E.W. Cole

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Page 2—Cole's Funny Picture Book

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Page 3—Index

If you search through the World you will not get a book that will so please a child, if you pay £100 or even £1000 for it. To parents, Grandparents, Uncles, Aunts, and Friends—Every Good Child should be given one of these Books for being Good. Every Bad Child should be given one to try to make it Good.

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Page 4—Baby Rhymes

A Piece of Poetry for Mother and Father to Read

Oh the babble of the Babel! Oh, the flutter and the fuss; To begin with Cain and Abel, And to finish up with us!

Some have never laughed nor spoken, Never used their rosy feet; Some have even flown to heaven, Ere they knew that earth was sweet.

And indeed, I wonder whether, If we reckon every birth, And bring such a flock together, There is room for them on earth.

Think of all the men and women Who are now and who have been; Every nation since creation That this world of ours has seen.

And of all of them not any But was once a baby small; While of children, oh, how many Never have grown up at all.

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Page 5—Baby Rhymes

Where are arms enough to hold them? Hands to pat each smiling head? Who will praise them? who will scold them? Who will pack them off to bed?

Little happy Christian children, Little savage children too, In all stages of all ages, That our planet ever knew;

Little princes and princesses, Little beggars, wan and faint— Some in very handsome dresses, Naked some, bedaubed with paint.

Only think of the confusion Such a motley crowd would make; And the clatter of their chatter, And the things that they won't break

Oh the babble of the Babel! Oh, the flutter and the fuss; To begin with Cain and Abel, And to finish up with us!

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Page 6—Children's Rhymes

Here sits the Lord Mayor! (forehead) Here sits his two men! (eyes) Here sits the cock! (right cheek) Here sits the hen! (left cheek) Here sit the little chickens! (tip of nose) Here they run in; (mouth) Chinchopper, chinchopper, Chinchopper, chin! (chuck the chin)

Ring the bell! (giving its hair a pull) Knock at the door! (tapping its forehead) Draw the latch! (pulling up it's nose) And walk in! (putting finger in mouth)

(Eye) Bo Peeper! (Nose) Nose dreeper! (Chin) Chinchopper! (Teeth) White Lopper! (Mouth) little gap! (Tongue) and red rag!

1. Let us go to the wood, says this pig; 2. What to do there? says that pig; 3. Too look for my mother, says this pig; 4. What to do with her? says that pig; 5. Kiss her to death, says this pig.

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig; Home again, home again, jiggety-jig. To market, to market, to buy a fat hog; Home again, home again, joggety-jog.

Ride baby, ride, pretty baby shall ride, And have a little puppy-dog tied to her side. And a little pussy-cat tied to the other, And away she shall ride to see her grand-mother, To see her grandmother.

Ride a cock-horse to banbury-cross, To see what Tommy can buy; A penny white loaf, a penny white cake, And a two-penny apple pie. Ride a cock-horse to banbury-cross, To see a young lady on a white horse, Rings on her fingers, and bells on her toes, And so she makes music wherever she goes.

This is the way the ladies ride; Tre, tre, tree, This is the way the ladies ride; Tre, tre, tree. This is the way the gentlemen ride; Gallop-a-gallop-a-trot! This is the way the gentlemen ride; Gallop-a-gallop-a-trot! This is the way the farmers ride; Hobbledy-hobbledy-hoy! This is the way the farmers ride; Hobbledy-hobbledy-hoy!

Clap hands, clap hands, Till father comes home; For father's got money, But mother's got none.

You shall have an apple, You shall have a plum, You shall have a rattle, When your dad comes home.

Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man! So I will, master, as fast as I can, Pat it, and prick it, and mark it with T, Put it in the oven for Tommy and me.

Churn, butter, churn! come, butter, come! Peter stands at the gate, Waiting for a butter cake; Come, butter, come!

When Jacky's a very good boy, He shall have cakes and a custard; But when he does nothing but cry, He shall have nothing but mustard.

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Page 7—Children's Rhymes

Hickup, hickup, go away! Come again another day: Hickup, hickup, when I bake, I'll give to you a butter-cake.

Dance, little baby, dance up high, Never mind, baby, mother is nigh; Crow and caper, caper and crow— There, little baby, there you go! Up to the ceiling, down to the ground, Backwards and forwards, round and round. Dance, little baby, and mother will sing! Merrily, merrily, ding, dong, ding!

Dance to your daddy, My little babby, Dance to your daddy, My little lamb. You shall have a fishy In a little dishy; You shall have a fishy When the boat comes in.

Danty baby diddy, What can a mammy do wid'e, But sit in a lap, And give 'un a pap? Sing danty baby diddy.

Hush-a-bye, a baa lamb, Hush-a-by a milk cow, You shall have a little stick To beat the naughty bow-wow.

Bye, baby bunting, Daddy's gone a hunting, To get a little rabbit skin To wrap a baby bunting in.

Hush-a-bye baby, on the tree top, When the wind blows, the cradle will rock; When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall; Down will come baby, bough, cradle, and all. Hush-a-bye baby, Daddy is near: Mammy's a lady, and that's very clear.

Rock-a-bye baby, thy cradle is green; Father's a nobleman, mother's a queen; And Betty's a lady, and wears a gold ring, And Johnny's a drummer, and drums for the king.

My dear cockadoodle, my jewel, my joy, My darling, my honey, my pretty, sweet boy; Before I do rock thee with soft lullaby, Give me thy dear lips to be kiss'd, kiss'd, kiss'd.

Baby, baby, lay your head On your pretty cradle bed; Shut your eye-peeps, now the day And the light are gone away; All the clothes are tucked in tight, Little baby, dear, good night.

Hush thee, my babby, Lie still with thy daddy, Thy mammy has gone to the mill, To grind thee some wheat, To make thee some meat, And so, my babby, lie still.

Oh, my lady! my lady! my lady! Here's that funny monkey Has put on your night-cap, And is feeding The baby! the baby! the baby!

Baby, baby ope your eye, For the sun is in the sky, And he's peeping once again Through the pretty window pane: Little baby, do not keep Any longer fast asleep.

Wash hands, wash, Daddy's gone to plough; If you want your hands wash'd, Have them washed now.

Comb hair, comb, Daddy's gone to plough; If you want your hair comb'd Have it combed now.

My pretty baby-brother Is six months old to-day, And though he cannot speak, He knows whate'er I say.

Whenever I come near, He crows for very joy; And dearly do I love him, The darling baby-boy.

He opens his mouth when he kisses you; He cries very loud when he misses you; He says "Boo! boo! boo!" for "How-do-you-do?" And he strokes down your face when he's loving you.

Come, my darling, come away, Take a pretty walk to-day; Run along, and never fear, I'll take care of baby dear; Up and down with little feet, That's the way to walk, my sweet.

See-saw sacradown, Which is the way to London town, One foot up is the other down, That is the way to London town.

Baby, baby Charlie, Naughty in his play, Slapping little Annie, Pushing her away.

Patting with his soft hands, Laughing in his fun; Slapping with such good-will, That the tear-drops run.

Do not cry, dear Annie, Wipe away the tear; Keep away from Charlie, Do not come so near,

Or his little hands will Pull your curly hair; Peep at baby, Annie— Peep behind the chair.

Kiss the baby, darling, Kiss the little one; He is only playing, In his baby fun.

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Page 8—Little Children's Stories

A was an archer, who shot at a frog; B was a butcher, who had a great dog; C was a captain, all covered with lace; D was a drunkard, and had a red face; E was an esquire, with pride on his brow; F was a farmer, who followed the plough; G was a gamer, who had but ill luck; H was a hunter, and hunted a buck; I was an innkeeper, who loved to bouse; J was a joiner, and built up a house; K was King William, once governed this land; L was a lady, who had a white hand; M was a miser, and hoarded up gold: N was a nobleman, gallant and bold; O was an oyster girl, and went about town; P was a parson, and wore a black gown; Q was a queen, who wore a silk slip; R was a robber, and wanted a whip; S was a sailor, and spent all he got; T was a tinker, and mended a pot; U was an usurer, a miserable elf; V was a vintner, who drank all himself; W was a watchman, and guarded the door; X was expensive, and so became poor; Y was a youth, that did not love school; Z was a Zany, a poor harmless fool;

Sing a song-a-sixpence, A pocket full of rye; Four-and-twenty blackbirds Baked in a pie; When the pie was opened The birds began to sing: Was that not a dainty dish To set before the king? The king was in his counting-house, Counting out his money, The queen was in the parlour, Eating bread and honey; The maid was in the garden, Hanging out the clothes; Down came a blackbird, And snapt off her nose.

If I'd as much money as I could spend, I never would cry old chairs to mend; Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend; I never would cry old chairs to mend. If I'd as much money as I could tell, I never would cry old clothes to sell; Old clothes to sell, old clothes to sell; I never would cry old clothes to sell.

Cock-a-doodle-doo, My dad's gane to ploo; Mammy's lost her pudding-poke And knows not what to do.

Hot-cross buns! Hot-cross buns! One a penny, two a penny, Hot-cross buns! Hot-cross buns! Hot-cross buns! If you have no daughters, Give them to your sons.

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit-pie! Come, my ladies, come and buy; Else your babies they will cry.