Books: Mother Goose in Prose
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L. Frank Baum >> Mother Goose in Prose
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10 Prepared by Bebra Knutson
Mother Goose in Prose
by L. Frank Baum
Illustrated by Maxfield Parrish
New York
MCMI
Contents
Introduction
Sing a Song o' Sixpence
The Story of Little Boy Blue
Cat and the Fiddle
The Black Sheep
Old King Cole
Mistress Mary
The Wond'rous Wise Man
What Jack Horner Did
The Man in the Moon
The Jolly Miller
The Little Man and His Little Gun
Hickory Dickory Dock
Little Bo-Peep
The Story of Tommy Tucker
Pussy-cat Mew
How the Beggars Came to Town
Tom, the Piper's Son
Humpty Dumpty
The Woman Who Lived in a Shoe
Little Miss Muffet
Three Wise Men of Gotham
Little Bun Rabbit
Illustrations
"There was a little man and he had a little gun"--Frontispiece
Little Boy Blue
The Black Sheet
Old King Cole
The Wond'rous Wise Man
Jack Horner
The Man in the Moon
Little Bo-Peep
Tommy Tucker
Tom, the Piper's Son
Humpty Dumpty
Three Wise Men of Gotham
Introduction.
None of us, whether children or adults, needs an introduction to
Mother Goose. Those things which are earliest impressed upon our minds
cling to them most tenaciously The snatches sung in the nursery are
never forgotten, nor are they ever recalled without bringing back with
them myriads of slumbering feelings and half-forgotten images.
We hear the sweet, low voice of the mother, singing soft lullabies to
her darling, and see the kindly, wrinkled face of the grandmother as
she croons the old ditties to quiet our restless spirits. One
generation is linked to another by the everlasting spirit of song; the
ballads of the nursery follow us from childhood to old age, and they
are readily brought from memory's recesses at any time to amuse our
children or our grandchildren.
The collection of jingles we know and love as the "Melodies of Mother
Goose" are evidently drawn from a variety of sources. While they are,
taken altogether, a happy union of rhyme, wit, pathos, satire and
sentiment, the research after the author of each individual verse
would indeed be hopeless. It would be folly to suppose them all the
composition of uneducated old nurses, for many of them contain much
reflection, wit and melody. It is said that Shelley wrote "Pussy-Cat
Mew," and Dean Swift "Little Bo-Peep," and these assertions are as
difficult to disprove as to prove. Some of the older verses, however,
are doubtless offshoots from ancient Folk Lore Songs, and have
descended to us through many centuries.
The connection of Mother Goose with the rhymes which bear her name is
difficult to determine, and, in fact, three countries claim her for
their own: France, England and America.
About the year 1650 there appeared in circulation in London a small
book, named "Rhymes of the Nursery; or Lulla-Byes for Children," which
contained many of the identical pieces that have been handed down to
us; but the name of Mother Goose was evidently not then known. In this
edition were the rhymes of "Little Jack Homer," "Old King Cole,"
"Mistress Mary," "Sing a Song o' Sixpence," and "Little Boy Blue."
In 1697 Charles Perrault published in France a book of children's
tales entitled "Contes de ma Mere Oye," and this is really the first
time we find authentic record of the use of the name of Mother Goose,
although Perrault's tales differ materially from those we now know
under this title. They comprised "The Sleeping Beauty," "The Fairy,"
"Little Red Riding Hood," "Blue Beard," "Puss in Boots" "Riquet with
the Tuft," "Cinderella," and "Little Thumb"; eight stories in all. On
the cover of the book was depicted an old lady holding in her hand a
distaff and surrounded by a group of children listening eagerly. Mr.
Andrew Lang has edited a beautiful English edition of this work
(Oxford, 1888).
America bases her claim to Mother Goose upon the following statement,
made by the late John Fleet Eliot, a descendant of Thomas Fleet, the
printer:
At the beginning of the eighteenth century there lived in Boston a
lady named Eliza Goose (written also Vergoose and Vertigoose) who
belonged to a wealthy family. Her eldest daughter, Elizabeth Goose (or
Vertigoose), was married by Rev. Cotton Mather in 1715 to an
enterprising and industrious printer named Thomas Fleet, and in due
time gave birth to a son. Like most mothers-in-law in our day, the
importance of Mrs. Goose increased with the appearance of her
grandchild, and poor Mr. Fleet, half distracted with her endless
nursery ditties, finding all other means fail, tried what ridicule
could effect, and actually printed a book under the title "Songs of
the Nursery; or, Mother Goose's Melodies for Children." On the title
page was the picture of a goose with a very long neck and a mouth wide
open, and below this, "Printed by T. Fleet, at his Printing House in
Pudding Lane, 1719. Price, two coppers."
Mr. Wm. A. Wheeler, the editor of Hurd & Houghton's elaborate edition
of Mother Goose, (1870), reiterated this assertion, and a writer in
the Boston Transcript of June 17, 1864, says: "Fleet's book was partly
a reprint of an English collection of songs (Barclay's), and the new
title was doubtless a compliment by the printer to his mother-in-law
Goose for her contributions. She was the mother of sixteen children
and a typical 'Old Woman who lived in a Shoe.'"
We may take it to be true that Fleet's wife was of the Vergoose
family, and that the name was often contracted to Goose. But the rest
of the story is unsupported by any evidence whatever. In fact, all
that Mr. Eliot knew of it was the statement of the late Edward A.
Crowninshield, of Boston, that he had seen Fleet's edition in the
library of the American Antiquarian Society. Repeated researches at
Worcester having failed to bring to light this supposed copy, and no
record of it appearing on any catalogue there, we may dismiss the
entire story with the supposition that Mr. Eliot misunderstood the
remarks made to him. Indeed, as Mr. William H. Whitmore points out in
his clever monograph upon Mother Goose (Albany, 1889), it is very
doubtful whether in 1719 a Boston printer would have been allowed to
publish such "trivial" rhymes. "Boston children at that date," says
Mr. Whitmore, "were fed upon Gospel food, and it seems extremely
improbable that an edition could have been sold."
Singularly enough, England's claim to the venerable old lady is of
about the same date as Boston's. There lived in a town in Sussex,
about the year 1704, an old woman named Martha Gooch. She was a
capital nurse, and in great demand to care for newly-born babies;
therefore, through long years of service as nurse, she came to be
called Mother Gooch. This good woman had one peculiarity: she was
accustomed to croon queer rhymes and jingles over the cradles of her
charges, and these rhymes "seemed so senseless and silly to the people
who overheard them" that they began to call her "Mother Goose," in
derision, the term being derived from Queen Goosefoot, the mother of
Charlemagne. The old nurse paid no attention to her critics, but
continued to sing her rhymes as before; for, however much grown people
might laugh at her, the children seemed to enjoy them very much, and
not one of them was too peevish to be quieted and soothed by her
verses. At one time Mistress Gooch was nursing a child of Mr. Ronald
Barclay, a physician residing in the town, and he noticed the rhymes
she sang and became interested in them. In time he wrote them all down
and made a book of them, which it is said was printed by John
Worthington & Son in the Strand, London, in 1712, under the name of
"Ye Melodious Rhymes of Mother Goose." But even this story of Martha
Gooch is based upon very meager and unsatisfactory evidence.
The earliest English edition of Mother Goose's Melodies that is
absolutely authentic was issued by John Newbury of London about the
year 1760, and the first authentic American edition was a reprint of
Newbury's made by Isaiah Thomas of Worcester, Mass., in 1785.
None of the earlier editions, however, contained all the rhymes so
well known at the present day, since every decade has added its quota
to the mass of jingles attributed to "Mother Goose." Some of the
earlier verses have become entirely obsolete, and it is well they
have, for many were crude and silly and others were coarse. It is
simply a result of the greater refinement of modern civilization that
they have been relegated to oblivion, while the real gems of the
collection will doubtless live and grow in popular favor for many
ages.
While I have taken some pains to record the various claims to the
origin of Mother Goose, it does not matter in the least whether she
was in reality a myth, or a living Eliza Goose, Martha Gooch or the
"Mere Oye" of Perrault. The songs that cluster around her name are
what we love, and each individual verse appeals more to the childish
mind than does Mother Goose herself.
Many of these nursery rhymes are complete tales in themselves, telling
their story tersely but completely; there are others which are but
bare suggestions, leaving the imagination to weave in the details of
the story. Perhaps therein may lie part of their charm, but however
that may be I have thought the children might like the stories told at
greater length, that they may dwell the longer upon their favorite
heroes and heroines.
For that reason I have written this book.
In making the stories I have followed mainly the suggestions of the
rhymes, and my hope is that the little ones will like them, and not
find that they interfere with the fanciful creations of their own
imaginations.
L Frank Baum
Chicago, Illinois, September, 1897.
Sing a Song o' Sixpence
Sing a Song o' Sixpence
Sing a song o' sixpence, a handful of rye,
Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie;
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing,
Was not that a dainty dish to set before the King?
If you have never heard the legend of Gilligren and the King's pie,
you will scarcely understand the above verse; so I will tell you the
whole story, and then you will be able to better appreciate the rhyme.
Gilligren was an orphan, and lived with an uncle and aunt who were
very unkind to him. They cuffed him and scolded him upon the slightest
provocation, and made his life very miserable indeed. Gilligren never
rebelled against this treatment, but bore their cruelty silently and
with patience, although often he longed to leave them and seek a home
amongst kinder people.
It so happened that when Gilligren was twelve years old the King died,
and his son was to be proclaimed King in his place, and crowned with
great ceremony. People were flocking to London from all parts of the
country to witness the festivities, and the boy longed to go with
them.
One evening he said to his uncle,
"If I had sixpence I could make my fortune."
"Pooh! nonsense!" exclaimed his uncle, "a sixpence is a small thing.
How then could you make a fortune from it?"
"That I cannot tell you," replied Gilligren, "but if you will give me
the sixpence I will go to London, and not return until I am a rich
man."
"The boy is a fool!" said his uncle, with anger; but the aunt spoke up
quickly.
"Give him the money and let him go," she said, "and then we shall be
well rid of him and no longer be obliged to feed and clothe him at our
expense."
"Well," said her husband, after a moment's thought, "here is the
money; but remember, this is all I shall ever give you, and when it is
gone you must not come to me for more."
"Never fear," replied Gilligren, joyfully, as he put the sixpence in
his pocket, "I shall not trouble you again."
The next morning he cut a short stick to assist him in walking, and
after bidding goodbye to his uncle and aunt he started upon his
journey to London.
"The money will not last him two days," said the man, as he watched
Gilligren go down the turnpike road, "and when it is gone he will
starve to death."
"Or he may fall in with people who will treat him worse than we did,"
rejoined the woman, "and then he 'll wish he had never left us."
But Gilligren, nothing dismayed by thoughts of the future, trudged
bravely along the London road. The world was before him, and the
bright sunshine glorified the dusty road and lightened the tips of the
dark green hedges that bordered his path. At the end of his pilgrimage
was the great city, and he never doubted he would find therein proper
work and proper pay, and much better treatment than he was accustomed
to receive.
So, on he went, whistling merrily to while away the time, watching the
sparrows skim over the fields, and enjoying to the full the unusual
sights that met his eyes. At noon he overtook a carter, who divided
with the boy his luncheon of bread and cheese, and for supper a
farmer's wife gave him a bowl of milk. When it grew dark he crawled
under a hedge and slept soundly until dawn.
The next day he kept steadily upon his way, and toward evening met a
farmer with a wagon loaded with sacks of grain.
"Where are you going, my lad?" asked the man.
"To London," replied Gilligren, "to see the King crowned."
"Have you any money?" enquired the farmer.
"Oh yes," answered Gilligren, "I have a sixpence."
"If you will give me the sixpence," said the man, "I will give you a
sack of rye for it."
"What could I do with a sack of rye?" asked Gilligren, wonderingly.
"Take it to the mill, and get it ground into flour. With the flour
you could have bread baked, and that you can sell."
"That is a good idea," replied Gilligren, "so here is my sixpence, and
now give me the sack of rye."
The farmer put the sixpence carefully into his pocket, and then
reached under the seat of the wagon and drew out a sack, which he cast
on the ground at the boy's feet.
"There is your sack of rye," he said, with a laugh.
"But the sack is empty!" remonstrated Gilligren.
"Oh, no; there is some rye in it."
"But only a handful!" said Gilligren, when he had opened the mouth of
the sack and gazed within it.
"It is a sack of rye, nevertheless," replied the wicked farmer, "and I
did not say how much rye there would be in the sack I would give you.
Let this be a lesson to you never again to buy grain without looking
into the sack!" and with that he whipped up his horses and left
Gilligren standing in the road with the sack at his feet and nearly
ready to cry at his loss.
"My sixpence is gone," he said to himself, "and I have received
nothing in exchange but a handful of rye! How can I make my fortune
with that?"
He did not despair, however, but picked up the sack and continued his
way along the dusty road. Soon it became too dark to travel farther,
and Gilligren stepped aside into a meadow, where, lying down upon the
sweet grass, he rolled the sack into a pillow for his head and
prepared to sleep.
The rye that was within the sack, however, hurt his head, and he sat
up and opened the sack.
"Why should I keep a handful of rye?" he thought, "It will be of no
value to me at all."
So he threw out the rye upon the ground, and rolling up the sack again
for a pillow, was soon sound asleep. When he awoke the sun was shining
brightly over his head and the twitter and chirping of many birds fell
upon his ears. Gilligren opened his eyes and saw a large flock of
blackbirds feeding upon the rye he had scattered upon the ground. So
intent were they upon their feast they never noticed Gilligren at all.
He carefully unfolded the sack, and spreading wide its opening threw
it quickly over the flock of black birds. Some escaped and flew away,
but a great many were caught, and Gilligren put his eye to the sack
and found he had captured four and twenty. He tied the mouth of the
sack with a piece of twine that was in his pocket, and then threw the
sack over his shoulder and began again his journey to London.
"I have made a good exchange, after all," he thought, "for surely four
and twenty blackbirds are worth more than a handful of rye, and
perhaps even more than a sixpence, if I can find anyone who wishes to
buy them."
He now walked rapidly forward, and about noon entered the great city
of London.
Gilligren wandered about the streets until he came to the King's
palace, where there was a great concourse of people and many guards to
keep intruders from the gates.
Seeing he could not enter from the front, the boy walked around to the
rear of the palace and found himself near the royal kitchen, where the
cooks and other servants were rushing around to hasten the preparation
of the King's dinner.
Gilligren sat down upon a stone where he could watch them, and laying
the sack at his feet was soon deeply interested in the strange sight.
Presently a servant in the King's livery saw him and came to his side.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, roughly.
"I am waiting to see the King," replied Gilligren.
"The King! The King never comes here," said the servant; "and
neither do we allow idlers about the royal kitchen. So depart at once,
or I shall be forced to call a guard to arrest you."
Gilligren arose obediently and slung his sack over his shoulder. As
he did so the birds that were within began to flutter.
"What have you in the sack?" asked the servant.
"Blackbirds," replied Gilligren.
"Blackbirds!" echoed the servant, in surprise, "well, that is very
fortunate indeed. Come with me at once!"
He seized the boy by the arm and drew him hastily along until they
entered the great kitchen of the palace.
"Here, Mister Baker!" the man called, excitedly, "I have found your
blackbirds!"
A big, fat man who was standing in the middle of the kitchen with
folded arms and a look of despair upon his round, greasy face, at once
came toward them and asked eagerly, "The blackbirds? are you sure you
can get them?"
"They are here already; the boy has a bag full of them."
"Give them to me," said the cook, who wore a square cap, that was
shaped like a box, upon his head.
"What do you want with them?" asked Gilligren.
"I want them for a pie for the King's dinner," answered Mister Baker;
"His Majesty ordered the dish, and I have hunted all over London for
the blackbirds, but could not find them. Now that you have brought
them, however, you have saved me my position as cook, and perhaps my
head as well."
"But it would be cruel to put the beautiful birds in a pie,"
remonstrated Gilligren, "and I shall not give them to you for such a
purpose."
"Nonsense!" replied the cook, "the King has ordered it; he is very
fond of the dish."
"Still, you cannot have them," declared the boy stoutly, "the birds
are mine, and I will not have them killed."
"But what can I do?" asked the cook, in perplexity; "the King has
ordered a blackbird pie, and your birds are the only blackbirds in
London."
Gilligren thought deeply for a moment, and conceived what he thought
to be a very good idea. If the sixpence was to make his fortune, then
this was his great opportunity.
"You can have the blackbirds on two conditions," he said.
"What are they?" asked the cook.
"One is that you will not kill the birds. The other condition is that
you secure me a position in the King's household."
"How can I put live birds in a pie?" enquired the cook.
"Very easily, if you make the pie big enough to hold them. You can
serve the pie after the King has satisfied his hunger with other
dishes, and it will amuse the company to find live birds in the pie
when they expected cooked ones."
"It is a risky experiment," exclaimed the cook, "for I do not know the
new King's temper. But the idea may please His Majesty, and since you
will not allow me to kill the birds, it is the best thing I can do. As
for your other condition, you seem to be a very bright boy, and so I
will have the butler take you as his page, and you shall stand back of
the King's chair and keep the flies away while he eats."
The butler being called, and his consent secured, the cook fell to
making the crusts for his novel pie, while Gilligren was taken to the
servants' hall and dressed in a gorgeous suit of the King's livery.
When the dinner was served, the King kept looking for the blackbird
pie, but he said nothing, and at last the pie was placed before him,
its crusts looking light and brown, and sprigs of myrtle being stuck
in the four corners to make it look more inviting.
Although the King had already eaten heartily, he smacked his lips when
he saw this tempting dish, and picking up the carving-fork he pushed
it quickly into the pie.
At once the crust fell in, and all the four and twenty blackbirds put
up their heads and began to look about them. And coming from the
blackness of the pie into the brilliantly lighted room they thought
they were in the sunshine, and began to sing merrily, while some of
the boldest hopped out upon the table or began flying around the room.
At first the good King was greatly surprised; but soon, appreciating
the jest, he lay back in his chair and laughed long and merrily. And
his courtiers and the fine ladies present heartily joined in the
laughter, for they also were greatly amused.
Then the King called for the cook, and when Mister Baker appeared,
uncertain of his reception, and filled with many misgivings, His
Majesty cried,
"Sirrah! how came you to think of putting live birds in the pie?"
The cook, fearing that the King was angry, answered,
"May it please your Majesty, it was not my thought, but the idea of
the boy who stands behind your chair."
The King turned his head, and seeing Gilligren, who looked very well
in his new livery, he said,
"You are a clever youth, and deserve a better position than that of a
butler's lad. Hereafter you shall be one of my own pages, and if you
serve me faithfully I will advance your fortunes with your deserts."
And Gilligren did serve the King faithfully, and as he grew older
acquired much honor and great wealth.
"After all," he used to say, "that sixpence made my fortune. And it
all came about through such a small thing as a handful of rye!"
The Story of Little Boy Blue
The Story of Little Boy Blue
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn.
The sheep 's in the meadow, the cow 's in the corn;
Where 's the little boy that minds the sheep?
He 's under the haystack, fast asleep!
There once lived a poor widow who supported herself and her only son
by gleaning in the fields the stalks of grain that had been missed by
the reapers. Her little cottage was at the foot of a beautiful valley,
upon the edge of the river that wound in and out among the green
hills; and although poor, she was contented with her lot, for her home
was pleasant and her lovely boy was a constant delight to her.
He had big blue eyes, and fair golden curls, and he loved his good
mother very dearly, and was never more pleased than when she allowed
him to help her with her work.
And so the years passed happily away till the boy was eight years old,
but then the widow fell sick, and their little store of money melted
gradually away.
"I do n't know what we shall do for bread," she said, kissing her boy
with tears in her eyes, "for I am not yet strong enough to work, and
we have no money left."
"But I can work," answered the boy; "and I 'm sure if I go to the
Squire up at the Hall he will give me something to do."
At first the widow was reluctant to consent to this, since she loved
to keep her child at her side, but finally, as nothing else could be
done, she decided to let him go to see the Squire.
Being too proud to allow her son to go to the great house in his
ragged clothes, she made him a new suit out of a pretty blue dress she
had herself worn in happier times, and when it was finished and the
boy dressed in it, he looked as pretty as a prince in a fairy tale.
For the bright blue jacket set off his curls to good advantage, and
the color just matched the blue of his eyes. His trousers were blue,
also, and she took the silver buckles from her own shoes and put them
on his, that he might appear the finer. And then she brushed his curls
and placed his big straw hat upon them and sent him away with a kiss
to see the Squire.
It so happened that the great man was walking in his garden with his
daughter Madge that morning, and was feeling in an especially happy
mood, so that when he suddenly looked up and saw a little boy before
him, he said, kindly,
"Well, my child, what can I do for you?"
"If you please, sir," said the boy, bravely, although he was
frightened at meeting the Squire face to face, "I want you to give me
some work to do, so that I can earn money."
"Earn money!" repeated the Squire, "why do you wish to earn money?"
"To buy food for my mother, sir. We are very poor, and since she is
no longer able to work for me I wish to work for her."
"But what can you do?" asked the Squire; "you are too small to work in
the fields."
"I could earn something, sir, could n't I?"
His tone was so pleading that mistress Madge was unable to resist it,
and even the Squire was touched. The young lady came forward and took
the boy's hand in her own, and pressing back his curls, she kissed his
fair cheek.
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