Friday Finds

A few smalls for my Friday Finds.

From a church sale I bought six Album of Americana dolls.

The dolls have never been out of the boxes.

However the boxes are in poor condition.

Inside each box top is the history of the woman featured.

Molly Pitcher.

 Mary Todd Lincoln.

Betsy Ross.














 

Barbara Fritchie. 

(Hint at the bottom of post if she is not familiar.)










 

Dolly Madison.

Martha Washington.

All of the dolls are quite glamorous especially Martha.

These are from the 1950's.

A brass basket.

A quart-sized pewter pitcher marked James Yates.

The tankard/pitcher needs further research into the value.

On my way for boiled peanuts and BBQ for the Saturday football games, I stopped at a community yard sale.

An old cotton lace-edged slip.

I followed a guy around to see if he would put down the lovely hand-knit sweater he was carrying around.  

When he went to check out, he noticed a small hole and decided he did not want it.

I do!  I do!

Always needing baskets for displays.

And books.

This is the third week I have shopped at this house. 

They are moving and assure me everything is gone.

We'll see. 

They told me the same thing the previous week.

And a huge box of magazines.




As always I am torn between hunting for junk and watching football this weekend.

Nothing yet looks too interesting.


See y'all!

Barbara Frietchie 

By John Greenleaf Whittier

Up from the meadows rich with corn,

Clear in the cool September morn,

The clustered spires of Frederick stand

Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep,

Apple- and peach-tree fruited deep,

Fair as a garden of the Lord

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall

When Lee marched over the mountain wall,—

Over the mountains winding down,

Horse and foot, into Frederick town.

Forty flags with their silver stars,

Forty flags with their crimson bars,

Flapped in the morning wind: the sun

Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,

Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;

Bravest of all in Frederick town,

She took up the flag the men hauled down;

In her attic window the staff she set,

To show that one heart was loyal yet.

Up the street came the rebel tread,

Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat left and right

He glanced: the old flag met his sight.

“Halt!”— the dust-brown ranks stood fast.

“Fire!”— out blazed the rifle-blast.

It shivered the window, pane and sash;

It rent the banner with seam and gash.

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff

Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;

She leaned far out on the window-sill,

And shook it forth with a royal will.

“Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,

But spare your country’s flag,” she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,

Over the face of the leader came;

The nobler nature within him stirred

To life at that woman’s deed and word:

“Who touches a hair of yon gray head

Dies like a dog! March on!” he said.

All day long through Frederick street

Sounded the tread of marching feet:

All day long that free flag tost

Over the heads of the rebel host.

Ever its torn folds rose and fell

On the loyal winds that loved it well;

And through the hill-gaps sunset light

Shone over it with a warm good-night.

Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er,

And the Rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honor to her! and let a tear

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall’s bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie’s grave

Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!

Peace and order and beauty draw

Round thy symbol of light and law;

And ever the stars above look down

On thy stars below in Frederick town!

Now you know about Barbara Fritchie including her name is spelled two ways! 


 

ETSY SHOP IS CLOSED