Birdsell Nursery Rhymes, Illustrated

Description:	A sweet collection of nursery rhymes which begin typically but where the last verse is written to be specific to Birdsell Manufacturing. Illustrated by L. Clarence Ball. BIRDSELL NURSERY RHYMES. IllustratedOnce on a time, Reason and RhymeJoined fortunes in a journey.By chance they came where What’s-his-nameHad called his knights to tourney.Rhyme with his lance made swift advanceOn many a knight, unheedingReason’s advice, and in a triceLay prostrate, sorely bleeding.But since that day, old legends say,They stand once more united;And now for you, the doughty twoThese pages have indited.To our patrons in all parts of the civilizedworld, this little book is respectfullydedicated by the BIRDSELL MANUFACTURING CO.Illustrated by L. C. BallThere was an old womanWho lived I a shoe, And had so many children She didn’t know what to do.For dinner she fed them On broth without bread,While for supper she flogged themAnd sent them to bed.”Now once this old womanWho lived in a shoeWas a good yeoman’s wifeAnd was quite well to do;They tilled the rich soilOf a valley tis said.Where the daisies bloomed whiteand the clover boomed red.But one day when the daisiesAnd clover looked sear,And the red leaves betokenedThe fall of the year,On the way from the villiageThis yeoman was seen Taking home a spike cylinder Hulling Machine.Then he started to threshWhere the clover had grown.And just how he finishedMay never be known.A committee of farmersWas formed, it is said,Who enticed him away,And then chopped off his head.And now the old womanAs everyone knowsMoust suffer for food,And must suffer for clothes.And with all her poor childrenShe lives in a shoe,With little to eatAnd nothing to do.Moral.The man who has cloverTo thresh and to cleanShould never investIn a spike-tooth machine.When a rasp covered cylinderIs known to be right,And will beat the old spike machine Clear out of sightIf you buy a “New Monitor”Then you may bet.The day of your purchaseYou’ll never regret.The King was in his counting houseCounting out his moneyThe Queen was in the pantryEating bread and honeyThe maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothesWhen along came a little birdAnd nipped off her nose”She cried out in her anguishAnd fell into a swoonAnd the King looked for a shotgunThe livelong afternoon.At last when he had found oneHe fired it in the air,And brought down the little birdThat still lingered there The maid’s nose was recoveredAnd put back in its place.But accidently it got stuck the wrongway of her face,So the swains who came in former daysA wooing for her hand.When they saw her now were frightened,And quickly fled the land.At last an aged threshermanCame driving through the place.He saw her, and was not afraidOf her disfigured face.Then she bought a “Birdsell Huller”Which she gave him on the dayThat he closed the marriage contractAnd a happy pair are they.To see Humpty Dumpty do such a thing.Humpty Dumpty at length fell downAnd this is what gave him his great renown.The last he was heard of or ever was seenHe was running an old spike tooth HullingMachine.This lost him his prestige and ended his fameAnd the farmers still cuss when they men-tion his nameThe seed that is wasted they say, wouldhave sownOne half the possessions the king used to own.So Humpty Dumpty once so well known.Had nothing at last he could claim ashis own.He did unshriven, and no onecan tell,The site of the wall fromwhich he fell.“Little Jack Horner sat in a cornerEating Christmas pie.He stuck in his thumb and He pulled out a plumAnd he said what a brave boy am I.In little Jack’s day it was usual they sayFor children to sit on the floorAnd to dig out the plumsWith the ends of their thumbsAnd to cry when their thumbsbecame sore.Now when little Jack grew up to manhoodhe knew,All the quips and the quiks of his day.His riches were great and he tilled his estateIn a most meritorious way. He bought only the best, so he chancedto investIn a new Birdsell Huller tis told,Which threshed in his fields and brought himrich yieldsOf cloverseed yellow as gold.And at last when he died, hewas buried besideThe old cottage he dwell in of yore,And the pie with its plumsThat he punched with his thumbsWe never shall see any more.“Sing a song o’ six-penceA pocket full of ryeFour and twenty blackbirdsBaked in a pie.When the pie was openedThe birds began to sing.O wasn’t that a dainty dishTo set before the king.”The Birdsell’s have a hullerMade for threshing cloverAnd you couldn’t find anotherIf you searched the wide world overHalf as good as that isFor getting all the seedAnd cleaning it exactly fitFor every body’s need.The man who buys the “Birdsell”And has clover fields to thrash,Is always pretty sure to haveA pocket full of cash.While he who buys the spike-tooth kind(As many a thresher knows)Will find the black birds in his pieAs big as common crows.The seed these Hullers scatterMakes the black birds grow so fatYou couldn’t get one side of one,Into a common hat.While the famous “Birdsell Huller”Takes out the seed so cleanThe birds that follow after itAre always small and lean.These are the kind the King, hadBaked in the pieThey were so weak they couldn’t squeakUntil they fed them rye.“The man from the moon camedown too soonTo enquire the way to NORRIDGEAnd the man from the south heburned his mouthBy eating cold plum porridge.”The man from the east he madea feastOf tater skins and fishes.While he from the west amused the restBy eating up the dishes.If these famous men were to live againI doubt they’d do it over.They might engage in this great ageIn raising wheat and clover.With wisdom now they’d guide the plowOr sow the plant in season.They’d thresh and reap and eat and sleepLike men of sense and reason.The one who ate the set of plateWould now be living high.And eat instead our modern breadAnd Yankee pumpkin pie.He who too soon came from the moonWere he to do it over,Would learn to day the quickest wayOf hulling out his clover.With the man from the West he would investIn the latest Birdsell Huller.While the Eastern man would closely scanIts finish, shape and color.“There was and old woman, and what do you think!She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink.Victuals and drink were the chief ofher diet.And yet this old woman could neverbe quiet.”From morning till night, I have heardpeople say.She chattered and sang in the sametireless way.Chattered and sang, without stoppingto think.Of only one thing, besides, victuals and drink.Perhaps you would like – since she’s longago dead –To know what she sang of, or just what she said.This I shall endeavor now brieflyto tellFor I know that the story will pleaseyou quite well.She sang of a man whom she loved longago.When his name was unknown and his for-tunes were low.But who purchased a “New Birdsell”Huller one day,And the tide of his fortunes was,Turned the right way.He throve well the first yearand better the next,With choking or breakage he neverwas vexed.Every farmer was pleased, and no other machineIn that Borough or County thereafterwas seen.He was sought and admired, and histhrift was so great,That at last when he died he possessedan estateWhich he left to the famous oldwoman I think,Who lived upon nothing but victualsand drink.John Cook had a little gray mareHe, haw, hum.Her back stuck up, and her boneswere bare,He, haw, hum.John Cook was riding up Shutters’bank,He, haw, hum.When his mare began to kickand prank,He, haw, hum.Now what do you think causedthis affair,He, haw, hum.She smelt sweet clover in the air, And wanted some.John Cook, he bought the clover fieldFee, faw, fum.And it went to seed a might yieldHe, haw, hum.A Birdsell Huller threshed itout,Quick, by gum.John Cook knew what he wasaboutFiddle, dee, dum.And now John Cook eats apple pieEvery day.And the old mare is kicking highPeople say.The saddle and bridle are laid on the shelf.He, haw, hum.If you want anymore you must singit yourself.Fee, faw, fum.Jack and Jill went up the hill,To get a pail of waterJack fell down and broke hiscrown,And Jill came tumbling after.Then up Jack got and home did trotAs fast as he could caper,And went to bed to mend his headWith vinegar and brown paper.Jack’s wounds soon healed and in the fieldWe find him hulling clover,With a machine that’s never beenEqualed the wide world over.It leaves behind the other kindWhen e’er they came togetherAd works as well, good threshers tell,In damp, as sunny weather.Of course you know that this is so,The moment that I mentionIts name was the “New Monitor”John Birdsell’s great invention.Mary had a little lambIts fleece was white as snow.And every where that Marywent,The lamb was sure to go.He followed her to school oneday.It was against the ruleIt made the children laugh and playTo see the lamb a schoolThis lamb did many grievous tricksWhich cost poor Mary dear,And finally got in a fixWhich ended his careerHe saw a huller standing nearEngaged in threshing clover.He kicked the fleas from his left earAnd jumped the fences over.He quickly clambered up the stackFrom which the men were feedingThen sprang into the cylinderAnd came out shorn and bleeding.It was an ancient spike machineThrough which poor lamby went,It split his ears and sheared him cleanAnd man spikes were bent.From off the straw the little foolRan home a sickly sight,And Mary, when she came from schoolShed many a tear that night.She nursed him till his wool grew outAnd all his sores were healed.And then he ran and whisked aboutAs usual, in the field.Until one day he hear againA huller as of yore,And he concluded he would playThe same trick as before. But this was a “New Monitor”Which had no spikes to bend.And Mary’s lamby never knewAs through the rasps his carcass flewWhat brought him to his end.The threshers found some flakes ofwoolBorne gently on the breeze,and underneath a measure fullof nicely bolted fleas.“There was a jolly miller, Who livedon the river Dee.He looked upon his pillow and therehe saw a flea.‘O! Mr. Flea, youv’e been biting meAnd now you’ll have to die!Then he cracked his bonesUpon the stonesAnd there he let them lie.”This one time Jolly Miller, as everyOne should know,Who looked upon his pillowIn the wondrous long ago.And did the valiant killing of theErstwhile, active flea,Was at last without a shilling,On the famous river Dee. The mill that was his shelterAnd did musically grind,Was scattered helter skelterBy a fiercely whirling wind,So the famous structure vanishedAnd in an evil day.The old miller, he was banishedAnd transported far away.Then he tramped the newland over.Sought employment farand near.Till the sound of hulling clo-verIn the distance met his ear.He became so interestedThat he questioned not a word,But he instantly investedIn the huller he had heard.He invested to his sorrowAs will presently be seenFor he learned upon the morrowThere were spikes in the machine.In the concaves they had placed themAnd the cylinder around,And good farmers often chased themWith this huller off the ground.Now a huller was inventedWhich had Rasps instead of spikes.Then his folly he repented, When he learned the farmers’ likes.Quick he burned the old spike huller,Bought the new one in its place.And his treasury was fuller,And more radiant his face.Than when grinding, fat and jolly,On the pleasant river Dee;Or when sad and melancholyIn his banishment, was he.The “New Birdsell” huller made him Known and cherished far and wide.And so well it served and paid himHe was wealthy when he died.Thirty-six years ago John C. Birdsell invented the Combined Clover Thresher, Huller and Cleaner, since which time he and his successors have made nineteen-twentieths of all the Clover Hullers that have been or are now in use. The New Birdsell Clover Huller “Monitor Junior,” is the crowning effort of its inventor. It thresher, separates, hulls, cleans and re-cleans the seed, ready for market, simultaneously, and does its work with a degree of perfection and rapidity never before known.Our Factory at SOUTH BEND, INDIANA, U.S.A., is the largest of its kind in the world.Our principal branch offices and general agencies are atCHICAGO, ILL.ST. LOUIS, MOKANSAS CITY, MOSAN FRANCISCO, CAL.PORTLAND, OREGON.OMAHA, NEB.NASHVILLE, TENN.
Origin:	ca. 1900
Contributor(s):	Ball, L. Clarence
Publisher:	Birdell Manufacturing Co.
Source:	http://michianamemory.sjcpl.org/cdm/ref/collection/p16827coll9/id/5773
Collection:	Business & Industry
Rights:	http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/NoC-US/1.0/
Copyright:	This material is in the pubic domain. For more information, contact local.history@sjcpl.org.
Subjects:	Business enterprises--Indiana--Saint Joseph County Birdsell Manufacturing Co. (South Bend, Ind.)

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