Advertising in Woodworth’s Youth’s Cabinet, like advertising in many early 19th-century American magazines, accumulated on the covers and on pages which could be removed when the issues were bound. This advertisement for Tuttle’s Emporium is a charming example of the art of advertising: from its aggrandization of Tuttle’s store, to the way it almost rhymes. (And it can, indeed, be sung to the tune of “Yankee Doodle"—if you concentrate!)
Advertisement for Tuttle’s Emporium (from Woodworth’s Youth’s Cabinet, January 1854, back cover; cover page 4)
No. 345 Broadway, New York.


I went to York awhile ago,

To stay a week, or more, sir,

With Uncle Jabe, who lives, you know,

Not far from Tuttle’s store, sir.


O Tuttle is the queerest man

In this wide Yankee nation;

And for his great Emporium,

He’s ransacked all creation.

One night, while walking down Broadway,

My head half crazed with wonder,

I saw three hundred forty-five,

And Tuttle ’s name right under.

So in I went. Says Tuttle, “Sir,

What notions can we sell you?”

“Well, now,” I said. “I guess as how

I can’t begin to tell you.”

He smiled. “Please walk about the store;

No charge for looking here, sir.

Just take your time—see everything.”—

Says I, “ ’Twill take a year, sir.”

He smiled again, and went with me

That famous store all over;—

Ah! was not I as happy there

As any pig in clover?

This Tuttle ’s got the queerest Dolls

That ever saw the light, sir;

They move their eyes about, and laugh,

And cry with all their might, sir.

I laughed till I was out of breath,

And so did Uncle Jabez,

(For Uncle, he was there, you see,)

At Tuttle ’s Crying Babies.

The fathers and the mothers, too,

Ought now to be contented;

They’ve got their crying done by rule,

Since this queer doll’s invented.

’Twould wring a sigh from any breast,

Though hard as flint it may be,

To hear that sorrow-stricken doll,

So like the real baby.

A petrified old bachelor

Might wipe his eyes in pity.

And if he had a heart at all,

’Twould melt like spermaceti.

And there are lots of children’s Toys:

The whole I can’t remember;

To mention them would almost take

From New Year’s to December.

Oh what a host of animals,

Unlike in kind and feature;

Both mewing Cats and barking Dogs,

And every living creature[.]

So oft does Tuttle coax the mews,

He ought to be a poet;

Though if he’s ever made a rhyme,

He’s never let us know it.

Now if you turn from scenes like these,—

From hens, geese, oxen, foxes,—

You’re in a wilderness of Games,

Accordeons, Music Boxes.

And there’s a greater wonder still,

I must not fail to mention:

The Baby-Jumper, don’t you know,

Was Tuttle ’s own invention?

Tuttle himself ne’er did a thing

So grateful to the people;

Fame’s temple opened then, and he

Climbed up into the steeple.

’Tis wonderful its magic power,

Whatever be the matter!

Full half the little baby ills

The Baby-Jumpers scatter.

Perhaps the greatest wonder in

This Palace of the Fairies,

Is that far-famed Automaton

Bird Tree that came from Paris.

Just fancy, sir, upon a lawn

Of most enchanting scenery,

A tree with Birds all flying round,

And singing by machinery.

And yet you’ll find, at Tuttle ’s store,

A thousand things, or less, sir,

For older heads than babies wear,

Or else I lose my guess, sir.

For instance, there is Biscuit Ware;

Gold Ware, a perfect mine; a

Variety of Table Setts,

Of metal, wood, and china.

Porte-monnaies; Writing Desks; Rich Fans;

And so forth, for the lasses;

Portfolios, Book Stands; Brushes; Paints;

Pearl Pins; Clocks; Opera Glasses;

Those novel India-rubber Canes;

Card Boxes and Card Cases;

Rich Jewel Caskets; Reticules;

Cigar Stands; Paintings; Vases.

This famous store may well be called

The World’s Great Exhibition,”

Though much one wonders that there are

No charges for admission.

But should I drain my ink-stand dry,

The half could not be told, sir;

To buy the whole of Tuttle ’s wares

Would take a mint of gold, sir.

For Tuttle, babies (not to speak

Of fathers now, or mothers)

For him unnumbered babies cry,

And so do numbered others.

Why, Tuttle makes the nursery

A paradise of pleasure,

And with the nurses, far and near,

His name’s a household treasure.

The babies lisp it, ere they know

A coal-pit from coal-scuttle;

Mamma’s the first word that they speak—

The second one is Tuttle.

’Twould puzzle mortal tongue to tell

How much they all respect him.

If he were up for President,

No doubt they would elect him.

Be sure, whene’er you go to town,

(I know you’ll not regret it)

Be sure you go to Tuttle ’s store,

And mind you don’t forget it.

But should you take your lady there—

And she will say you ought, sir,—

She’ll never leave that fairy place,

Till many things she’s bought, sir.

Yet draw your purse-strings not too tight;

She’ll only draw the deeper;

And should she search the city through,

She could not purchase cheaper.

Besides, you know as well as she,

That if you’ll only let her

Decide such matters for herself,

You’ll feel a great deal better.

You’ll find this palace on Broadway;

The number I’ll repeat, sir:

Number three hundred forty-five,

The west side of the street, sir.


O Tuttle is the queerest man

In this wide Yankee nation;

And for his great Emporium,

He’s ransacked all creation.

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