Chapter I: Front Matter

Land _of_ Play

Verses—Rhymes—Stories

_Selected by_
Sara Tawney Lefferts

_Illustrated by_
M. L. Kirk & Florence England Nosworthy

New York
Cupples & Leon Company

Copyright, 1911, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

Printed in U.S.A.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Acknowledgment is due the following publishers and authors, for their courteous permission to use material on which they hold copyright:

Houghton, Mifflin & Co., for permission to use “Hiawatha’s Childhood,” “The Heights by Great Men Reached,” by Henry W. Longfellow; “Barefoot Boy,” by John G. Whittier; “Chippy Chirio,” by John Burroughs; “What the Winds Bring,” by Edmund Clarence Stedman; “Fable,” “Duty,” by Emerson; “The Brown Thrush,” by Lucy Larcom; “April,” by Alice Cary.

The Century Co., for permission to use “The Little Elf,” by John Kendrick Bangs.

Small, Maynard & Co., for permission to use “The Tax Gatherer,” by John B. Tabb.

Harper & Brothers, for permission to use “A Child’s Laughter,” from The Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne.

Little, Brown & Co., for permission to use “The Swallow,” “There’s Nothing Like the Rose,” by Christina G. Rossetti; “Boys and Girls,” by Louisa M. Alcott.

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., for permission to use “Follow Me,” by Eliza Lee Follen.

New England Publishing Co., for permission to use “Our Mother,” from The American Primary Teacher.

The Reilly & Britton Co., for permission to use “The Christmas Stocking,” by L. Frank Baum (copy. 1905).

Sarah J. Day, for permission to use “Buttercups,” from “Mayflowers to Mistletoe” (G. P. Putnam’s Sons).

Kate Upson Clark, for permission to use “Charlie’s Story,” “Marjorie’s Bath,” “Good Listening.”

Good Housekeeping Magazine, for permission to use “A Dutch Lullaby,” “A Dutch Winter,” by Ella Broes van Heekeren.

Newson & Co., for permission to reprint “A Story of Washington.”

Charles Scribner’s Sons, for permission to use “Extremes,” by James Whitcomb Riley, from “The Book of Joyous Children”; “My Ship and I,” “The Little Land,” from “A Child’s Garden of Verses,” by Robert Louis Stevenson, and “The Duel,” by Eugene Field.

I have just to shut my eyes
To go sailing through the skies—
To go sailing far away
To the pleasant Land of Play.

—_Robert Louis Stevenson._

Knowing how much good books are enjoyed by those who travel through what Stevenson calls “The Land of Play,” it has been a pleasure to select from the verse and prose of our best writers, old and new, the contents of this pictured volume for “The Little People,” and perchance for some older traveller who may wish to be,—

“A sailor on the rain-pool sea,
A climber in the clover tree;
And just come back a sleepy-head,
Late at night to go to bed.”

—_S. T. L._

HIE AWAY.

Hie away, hie away!
Over bank and over brae,
Where the copsewood is the greenest,
Where the fountains glisten sheenest,
Where the lady fern grows strongest,
Where the morning dew lies longest,
Over bank and over brae,
Hie away, hie away!

—_Sir Walter Scott._

CHARLIE’S STORY.

I was sitting in the twilight,
With my Charlie on my knee,—
Little two-year-old, forever
Teasing, “Talk a ’tory p’ease to me.”
“Now,” I said, “talk _me_ a ’tory.”
“Well,” all smiles,—“now, I will ’mence.
Mamma, I did see a kitty,—
Great—big—kitty,—on the fence.”

Mamma smiles. Five little fingers
Cover up her laughing lips.
“Is ’oo laughing?” “Yes,” I tell him,
But I kiss the finger-tips;
And I beg him tell another.
“Well,” reflectively, “I’ll ’mence.
Mamma, I did see a doggie,—
Great—big—doggie,—on the fence.”

“Rather similar,—your stories,—
Aren’t they, dear?” A sober look
Swept across the pretty forehead;
Then he sudden courage took.
“But I know a nice, new ’tory,—
’Plendid mamma! Hear me ’mence.
Mamma, I did see a elfunt,—
Great—big—elfunt,—on a fence.”

—_Kate Upson Clark._

_Old King Cole._

Old King Cole
Was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;

He called for his pipe,
And he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.

Every fiddler, he had a fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he;
Twee tweedle dee, tweedle dee, went the fiddlers.

Oh, there’s none so rare,
As can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three!

_Rub-a-Dub-Dub._

Rub-a-dub-dub,
Three men in a tub,
And who do you think they be?
The butcher, the baker,
The candlestick-maker;
Turn ’em out, knaves all three!

_There Was a Little Man._

There was a little man, and he had a little gun,
And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead;
He went to the brook, and saw a little duck,
And shot it through the head, head, head.

He carried it home to his old wife Joan,
And bade her a fire to make, make, make,
To roast the little duck he had shot in the brook,
And he’d go and fetch the drake, drake, drake.

_Fiddle-de-dee._

Fiddle-de-dee, fiddle-de-dee,
The fly shall marry the humble-bee,
They went to the church, and married was she,
The fly has married the humble-bee.

SEVEN TIMES ONE.

There’s no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There’s no rain left in heaven;
I’ve said my “seven times” over and over—
Seven times one are seven.

I am old! so old I can write a letter;
My birthday lessons are done;
The lambs play always, they know no better;
They are only one time one.

Oh, moon! in the night I have seen you sailing,
And shining so round and low;
You were bright! Ah, bright! but your light is failing;
You are nothing now but a bow.

You Moon! have you done something wrong in heaven,
That God has hidden your face?
I hope if you have, you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.

O, velvet Bee! you’re a dusty fellow,
You’ve powdered your legs with gold;
O, brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow!
Give me your money to hold.

O, Columbine! open your folded wrapper
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell;
O, Cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper,
That hangs in your clear green bell.

And show me your nest with the young ones in it—
I will not steal them away;
I am old! you must trust me, Linnet, Linnet—
I am seven times one to-day.

—_Jean Ingelow._

GOING INTO BREECHES.

Joy to Philip! he this day
Has his long coats cast away,
And (the childish season gone)
Put the manly breeches on.

Sashes, frocks, to those that need ’em,
Philip’s limbs have got their freedom—
He can run, or he can ride,
And do twenty things beside.
Which his petticoats forbade;
Is he not a happy lad?

Baste-the-bear he now may play at;
Leap-frog, foot-ball sport away at;
Show his skill and strength at cricket,
Mark his distance, pitch his wicket;
Run about in winter’s snow
Till his cheeks and fingers glow;
Climb a tree or scale a wall,
Without any fear to fall.
This and more must now be done,
Now the breeches are put on.

—_Charles and Mary Lamb._

MR. PEGGOTTY’S HOUSE.

I had known Mr. Peggotty’s quaint house very well in my childhood, and I am sure I could not have been more charmed with it if it had been Aladdin’s palace, roc’s egg and all. It was an old black barge or boat, high and dry on Yarmouth sands, with an iron funnel sticking out of it for a chimney. There was a delightful door cut in the side, and it was roofed in, and there were little windows in it. It was beautifully clean, and as tidy as possible. There were some lockers and boxes, and there was a table, and there was a Dutch clock, and there was a chest of drawers, and there was a tea-tray with a painting on it, and the tray was kept from tumbling down by a Bible, and the tray if it _had_ tumbled down, would have Smashed a quantity of cups and saucers and a tea-pot that were grouped around the book.

On the walls were colored pictures of Abraham in red going to sacrifice Isaac in blue, and of Daniel in yellow being cast into a den of roaring green lions. Over the little mantleshelf was a picture of the “Sarah Jane” lugger, built at Sunderland, with a real little wooden stern stuck on it—a work of Art combining composition with carpentry, which I had regarded in my childhood as one of the most enviable possessions the world could afford.

—_Charles Dickens._

_From the author’s condensation of David Copperfield._

_Buff says Buff._

Buff says Buff to all his men,
And I say Buff to you again;
Buff neither laughs nor smiles,
But carries his face
With a very good grace,
And passes the stick to the very next place!

_Hark, hark! the Dogs do Bark!_

Hark, hark!
The dogs do bark,
The beggars are coming to town;
Some in rags,
Some in jags,
And some in velvet gowns.

APRIL.

The wild and windy March once more
Has closed his gates of sleep,
And given us back our April time,
So fickle and so sweet.

Now blighting with our fears—our hopes,
Now kindling hopes with fears—
Now softly weeping through the smiles,
Now smiling through the tears.

—_Alice Cary._

THE TABLE AND THE CHAIR.

I.

Said the Table to the Chair,
“You can hardly be aware,
How I suffer from the heat,
And from chilblains on my feet.
If we took a little walk,
We might have a little talk;
Pray let us take the air,”
Said the Table to the Chair.

II.

Said the Chair unto the Table,
“Now you _know_ we are not able:
How foolishly you talk,
When you know we _cannot_ walk!”
Said the Table with a sigh,
“It can do no harm to try.
I’ve as many legs as you:
Why can’t we walk on two?”