THEIR FIRST KISS

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?”

III.

So they both went slowly down,

And walked about the town,

With a cheerful bumpy sound,

As they toddled round and round;

And everybody cried,

As they hastened to their side,

“See! the Table and the Chair!”

IV.

But in going down an alley,

To a castle in a valley,

They completely lost their way,

And wandered all the day;

Till, to see them safely back,

They paid a Ducky-quack,

And a Beetle, and a Mouse,

Who took them to their house.

V.

Then they whispered to each other,

“O, delightful little brother,

What a lovely walk we’ve taken!

Let us dine on beans and bacon.”

So the Ducky and the leetle

Browny-Mousy and the Beetle

Dined, and danced upon their heads

Till they toddled to their beds.

—Edward Lear.

Tom, Tom.

Tom, Tom, the piper’s son,

Stole a pig and away he run!

The pig was eat, and Tom was beat,

And Tom went roaring down the street.

Eye Winker, Tom Tinker.

Eye winker,

Tom tinker,

Nose dropper,

Mouth eater,

Chin chopper,

Chin chopper.

THE BRAVE BROTHER.

I was scared almost to death

When I heard my sister Beth

Screeching loud and crying.

But I ran and took a stick,

And I tell you, pretty quick,

I had taught our goose a trick,

And had sent him flying.

Girls are always frightened stiff,

Just as sister Beth was, if

That cross, ugly gander

Flies across the garden fence.

And they always will commence

Screaming,—’stead of having sense

And showing out some dander.

I made believe, with all my might,

He was a dragon, dressed in white,

With his fiery red mouth grinning,—

Like that one mother read about,

That old St. George marched forth and fought,

And beat and killed him out and out

Almost in the beginning.

And once I heard my father say,

“It’s pretty sure to be the way,

When you’re awful frightened,

If you fight till you’re ’most dead,

Bravely, you’ll come out ahead;”

But sister told me mother said,

“You might,—and then you mightn’t!”

—Lillian Howard Cort.

You’d scarce expect one of my age

To speak in public or on the stage;

And if I chance to fall below

Demosthenes or Cicero,

Don’t view me with a critic’s eye,

But pass my imperfections by.

Large streams from little fountains flow,

Tall oaks from little acorns grow.

—David Everett.

THERE’S NOTHING LIKE THE ROSE.

The lily has an air,

And the snowdrop a grace,

And the sweet-pea a way,

And the heart’s-ease a face—

Yet there’s nothing like the rose

When it blows.

—Christina G. Rossetti.

A CONTEST BETWEEN NOSE AND EYES

Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose.

The spectacles set them unhappily wrong;

The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,

To which the sad spectacles ought to belong.

So Tongue was the lawyer and argued the cause

With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning;

While Chief-Baron Ear sat to balance the laws,

So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.

“In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear,

And your lordship,” he said, “will undoubtedly find

That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear,

Which amounts to possession time out of mind.”

Then holding the spectacles up to the Court—

“Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle,

As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short,

Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle.

“Again, would your lordship a moment suppose

(’Tis a case that has happened, and may be again),

That the visage or countenance had not a nose,

Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then?

“On the whole it appears, and my argument shows,

With a reasoning the Court will never condemn,

That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,

And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.”

Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how),

He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes;

But what were his arguments few people know,

For the Court did not think they were equally wise.

So his lordship decreed with a brave solemn tone,

Decisive and clear, without one if or but—

“That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,

By daylight or candlelight—Eyes should be shut!”

—William Cowper.

To err is human, to forgive divine.

—Alexander Pope.

The man that hails you Tom or Jack,

And proves by thumping on your back,

His sense of your great merit,

Is such a friend that one had need

Be very much his friend, indeed,

To pardon or to bear it.

—William Cowper.

Out in the Cold.

The Old Woman and Her Pig.

An old woman was sweeping her house, and she found a little crooked sixpence. “What,” said she, “shall I do with this little sixpence? I will go to market, and buy a little pig.” As she was coming home, she came to a stile; the piggy would not go over the stile.

She went a little farther, and she met a dog. So she said to the dog—

“Dog, dog, bite pig;

Piggy won’t get over the stile;

And I shan’t get home to-night.”

But the dog would not.

She went a little farther, and she met a stick. So she said—

“Stick, stick, beat dog;

Dog won’t bite pig;

Piggy won’t get over the stile;

And I shan’t get home to-night.”

But the stick would not. She went a little farther, and she met a fire. So she said—

“Fire, fire, burn stick;

Stick won’t beat dog;

Dog won’t bite pig;

Piggy won’t get over the stile;

And I shan’t get home to-night.”

But the fire would not.

She went a little farther, and she met some water. So she said—

“Water, water, quench fire;

Fire won’t burn stick;” etc.

But the water would not.

She went a little farther, and she met an ox. So she said—

“Ox, ox, drink water;

Water won’t quench fire;” etc.

But the ox would not.

She went a little farther, and she met a butcher. So she said—

“Butcher, butcher, kill ox;

Ox won’t drink water;” etc.

But the butcher would not. She went a little farther, and she met a rope. So she said—

“Rope, rope, hang butcher;

Butcher won’t kill ox;” etc.

But the rope would not. She went a little farther, and she met a rat. So she said—

“Rat, rat, gnaw rope;

Rope won’t hang butcher;” etc.

But the rat would not.

She went a little farther, and she met a cat. So she said—

“Cat, cat, kill rat;

Rat won’t gnaw rope;” etc.

But the cat said to her, “If you will go to yonder cow, and fetch me a saucer of milk, I will kill the rat.” So away went the old woman to the cow, and said—

“Cow, cow, give me a saucer of milk;

Cat won’t kill rat;” etc.

But the cow said to her, “If you will go to yonder haymakers, and fetch me a wisp of hay, I’ll give you the milk.” So away went the old woman to the haymakers, and said—

“Haymakers, give me a wisp of hay;

Cow won’t give me milk;” etc.

But the haymakers said to her, “If you will go to yonder stream, and fetch us a bucket of water, we’ll give you the hay.” So away the old woman went; but when she got to the stream, she found the bucket was full of holes. So she covered the bottom with pebbles, and then filled the bucket with water, and away she went back with it to the haymakers; and they gave her a wisp of hay. As soon as the cow had eaten the hay, she gave the old woman the milk; and away she went with it in a saucer to the cat. As soon as the cat had lapped up the milk—

The cat began to kill the rat;

The rat began to gnaw the rope;

The rope began to hang the butcher;

The butcher began to kill the ox;

The ox began to drink the water;

The water began to quench the fire;

The fire began to burn the stick;

The stick began to beat the dog;

The dog began to bite the pig;

The little pig in a fright jumped over the stile;

And so the old woman got home that night.

As Tommy Snooks.

As Tommy Snooks and Bessy Brooks

Were walking out one Sunday,

Says Tommy Snooks to Bessy Brooks,

“To-morrow will be Monday.”

As Tittymouse sat.

As Tittymouse sat in the witty to spin,

Pussy came to her and bid her good e’en.

“Oh, what are you doing, my little ’oman?”

“A-spinning a doublet for my gude man.”

“Then shall I come to thee and wind up thy thread?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Puss, you will bite off my head.”

THE BROWN THRUSH.

There’s a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree.

He’s singing to me! He’s singing to me!

And what does he say, little girl, little boy?

“Oh, the world’s running over with joy!

Don’t you hear? Don’t you see?

Hush! Look! In my tree

I’m as happy as happy can be!”

And the brown thrush keeps singing, “A nest do you see

And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper?

Don’t meddle! Don’t touch! little girl, little boy,

Or the world will lose some of its joy!

Now I’m glad! Now I’m free!

And I always shall be,

If you never bring sorrow to me.”

So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree,

To you and to me, to you and to me;

And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy,

“O, the world’s running over with joy!”

But long it won’t be,

Don’t you know? Don’t you see?

Unless we’re as good as can be.

—Lucy Larcom.

The best doctors in the world are Doctor Diet, Doctor Quiet, and Doctor Merryman.

—Dean Swift.

OUR MOTHER.

Hundreds of stars in the pretty sky,

Hundreds of shells in the shore together,

Hundreds of birds that go singing by,

Hundreds of birds in the sunny weather.

Hundreds of dew drops to greet the dawn,

Hundreds of bees in the purple clover,

Hundreds of butterflys on the lawn,

But only one mother the wide world over.

—Unknown.

A LOBSTER QUADRILLE.

“Will you walk a little faster?” said a whiting to a snail,

“There’s a porpoise close behind us, and he’s treading on my tail.”

See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!

They are waiting on the shingle—will you come and join the dance?

Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance?

Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?

“You can really have no notion how delightful it will be

When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!”

But the snail replied, “Too far, too far!” and gave a look askance—

Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.

Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance.

Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance.

“What matters it how far we go?” his scaly friend replied,

“There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.”

The further off from England, the nearer is to France—

Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.

Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance?

Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?

—Lewis Carroll.

THE TAX-GATHERER.

“And pray, who are you?”

Said the violet blue

To the Bee, with surprise

At his wonderful size,

In her eye-glass of dew.

“I, madam,” quoth he,

“Am a publican Bee,

Collecting the tax

Of honey and wax.

Have you nothing for me?”

—John B. Tabb.

THE BAREFOOT BOY.

Blessings on thee, little man,

Barefoot boy with cheek of tan!

With thy turned-up pantaloons,

And thy merry whistled tunes;

With thy red lips, redder still

Kissed by strawberries on the hill;

With the sunshine on thy face,

Through thy torn brims jaunty grace:

From my heart I give thee joy—

I was once a barefoot boy!

Prince thou art—the grown-up man

Only is republican.

Let the million-dollared ride!

Barefoot, trudging at his side,

Thou hast more than he can buy

In the reach of ear and eye—

Outward sunshine, inward joy:

Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

O, for boyhood’s painless play,

Sleep that wakes in laughing day,

Health that mocks the doctor’s rules,

Knowledge never learned of schools,

Of the wild bees’ morning chase,

Of the wild-flower’s time and place,

Flight of fowl and habitude

Of the tenants of the wood;

How the tortoise bears his shell,

How the woodchuck digs his cell

And the ground-mole sinks his well;

How the robin feeds her young,

How the oriole’s nest is hung;

Where the whitest lilies blow,

Where the freshest berries grow,

Where the groundnut trails its vine,

Where the wood-grapes’ clusters shine;

Of the black wasp’s cunning way,

Mason of his walls of clay,

And the architectural plans

Of gray hornet artisans!

For eschewing books and tasks,

Nature answers all he asks;

Hand in hand with her he walks,

Face to face with her he talks,

Part and parcel of her joy—

Blessings on the barefoot boy.

O, for boyhood’s time of June,

Crowding years in one brief moon,

When all things I heard or saw,

Me, their master, waited, for

I was rich in flowers and trees,

Humming birds and honey-bees;

For my sport the squirrel played,

Plied the snouted mole his spade;

For my taste the blackberry cone

Purpled over hedge and stone;

Laughed the brook for my delight,

Through the day and through the night,

Whispering at the garden wall,

Talked with me from fall to fall;

Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,

Mine the walnut slopes beyond,

Mine, on bending orchard trees,

Apples of Hesperides!

Still as my horizon grew,

Larger grew my riches, too;

All the world I saw and knew

Seemed a complex Chinese toy,

Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

O, for festal dainties spread,

Like my bowl of milk and bread—

Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,

On the door-stone, gray and rude—

O’er me like a regal tent,

Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,

Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,

Looped in many a wind-swung fold;

While for music came the play

Of the pied frogs’ orchestra;

And, to light the noisy choir,

Lit the fly his lamps of fire.

I was monarch; pomp and joy

Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, my little man,

Live and laugh, as boyhood can!

Though the flinty slopes be hard,

Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,

Every morn shall lead thee through

Fresh baptisms of the dew;

Every evening from thy feet

Shall the cool wind kiss the heat:

All too soon these feet must hide

In the prison cells of pride,

Lose the freedom of the sod,

Like a colt’s for work be shod,

Made to tread the mills of toil,

Up and down in ceaseless moil:

Happy if their track be found

Never on forbidden ground;

Happy if they sink not in

Quick and treacherous sands of sin:

Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,

Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

A STORY OF WASHINGTON.

During the Revolutionary War, the corporal of a little band of soldiers was giving orders about a heavy beam which they were trying to raise to the top of the wall. It was almost too heavy for them, and the voice of the corporal was often heard shouting, “Heave away! There it goes! Heave ho!”

A man in citizen’s clothes was passing, and asked the corporal why he did not help them. Very much astonished, the corporal replied, with the pomp of an emperor, “Sir, I am a corporal!”

“You are, are you?” replied the stranger; “I was not aware of that,” and taking off his hat he bowed, saying, “I ask your pardon, Mr. Corporal.”

Upon this he put his shoulder to the beam and pulled until the sweat stood on his forehead. When the beam was right, he turned to the corporal, saying, “Mr. Corporal, when you have another such job and have not men enough, send for your commander-in-chief, and I shall gladly come to help you a second time.”

The corporal was thunderstruck. It was Washington.

There Was a Fat Man of Bombay.

There was a fat man of Bombay,

Who was smoking one sunshiny day,

When a bird, called a snipe,

Flew away with his pipe,

Which vexed the fat man of Bombay.

Sing a Song of Sixpence.

Sing a song of sixpence,

A pocket full 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?

The king was in the parlour

Counting, out his money;

The queen was in the kitchen,

Eating bread and honey;

The maid was in the garden,

Hanging out the clothes;

There came a little blackbird,

And snipped off her nose.

EPITAPH ON A FREE BUT TAME REDBREAST.

These are not dewdrops, these are tears,

And tears by Sally shed,

For absent Robin, who she fears,

With too much cause, is dead.

One morn he came not to her hand

As he was wont to come,

And, on her finger perch’d, to stand

Picking his breakfast crumb.

Alarm’d, she called him, and perplex’d,

She sought him, but in vain;

That day he came not, nor the next,

Nor ever came again.

She therefore raised him here a tomb,

Though where he fell, or how,

None knows, so secret was his doom,

Nor where he moulders now.

Had half a score of coxcombs died

In social Robin’s stead,

Poor Sally’s tears had soon been dried

Or haply never shed.

But Bob was neither rudely bold

Nor spiritlessly tame;

Nor was, like theirs, his bosom cold,

But always in a flame.

—William Cowper.

SLOTH MAKES ALL THINGS DIFFICULT.

Sloth makes all things difficult; but Industry, all easy; and he that rises late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night; while Laziness travels so slowly that Poverty soon overtakes him.

—Benjamin Franklin.

The year’s at the Spring,

The day’s at the morn;

Morning’s at seven;

The hillside’s dew-pearled;

The lark’s on the wing;

The snail’s on the thorn;

God’s in His heaven—

All’s right with the world!

—Robert Browning.

Humpty Dumpty.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;

Threescore men and threescore more

Cannot place Humpty Dumpty as he was before.

Hot-Cross Buns!

Hot-cross buns!

Hot-cross buns!

One a penny, two a penny,

Hot-cross buns!

Hot-cross buns!

Hot-cross buns!

If ye have no daughters,

Give them to your sons.

MY BLUE-EYED BABY BOY.

You ask me why I’m smiling so,

When every stock and bond is low;

Why my heart seems full, and running o’er with joy.

Can’t you guess the reason, say?

I am sure ’tis plain as day—

I’ve been romping with my blue-eyed baby boy.

Though I faint beneath my cares,

And my wheat seems full of tares,

I can still have fullest peace without alloy;

For in the twilight gloam,

I shall hasten to my home,

And be greeted by my blue-eyed baby boy.

Let the morbid fellow groan,

In a melancholy tone,

Seeing only thorns and thistles that annoy;

Missing all the roses nigh,

And not once suspecting why—

He has never had a blue-eyed baby boy.

—Ellen Brannan Tawney.

The Nursery Express.

PLAYING TABLEAUX.

Mother dressed us up for tableaux,

Little Cousin Lu and me;

And I heard the people saying,

We were cute as we could be!

Maybe Lu looked rather pretty,

But a boy dressed up like that,

With a great long coat around him,

And his Father’s new silk hat,

Feels like running off and hiding;

And I would have done it, too,

If I hadn’t promised Mother,

I would be as good as Lu.

Lu was dressed in shining satin,

With a veil fixed on her head,

Just like Aunt Lucille last summer,

When she married Uncle Ned.

But I mean to marry Mother,

When I’ve grown up big and strong;

I was six years old last Sunday,

So it won’t take very long.

When I told her all about it,

She just laughed and shook her head,

“When you’re quite grown up, my laddie,

You’ll ask someone else instead.”

—Lillian Howard Cork.

Old Mother Hubbard.

Old Mother Hubbard

Went to the cupboard,

To get her poor dog a bone;

But when she came there,

The cupboard was bare,

And so the poor dog had none.

She went to the baker’s

To buy him some bread;

But when she came back,

The poor dog was dead.

She went to the joiner’s

To buy him a coffin;

But when she came back,

The poor dog was laughing.

She took a clean dish

To get him some tripe;

But when she came back,

He was smoking his pipe.

She went to the fishmonger’s

To buy him some fish;

And when she came back,

He was licking the dish.

She went to the ale-house

To get him some beer;

But when she came back,

The dog sat in a chair.

She went to the tavern

For white wine and red;

But when she came back,

The dog stood on his head.

She went to the hatter’s

To buy him a hat;

But when she came back,

He was feeding the cat.

She went to the barber’s

To buy him a wig;

But when she came back,

He was dancing a jig.

She went to the fruiterer’s

To buy him some fruit;

But when she came back,

He was playing the flute.

She went to the tailor’s

To buy him a coat;

But when she came back,

He was riding a goat.

She went to the cobbler’s

To buy him some shoes;

But when she came back,

He was reading the news.

She went to the seamstress

To buy him some linen;

But when she came back,

The dog was spinning.

She went to the hosier’s

To buy him some hose;

But when she came back,

He was dressed in his clothes.

The dame made a curtsey,

The dog made a bow;

The dame said, “Your servant,”

The dog said, “Bow, wow.”

This wonderful Dog

Was Dame Hubbard’s delight;

He could sing, he could dance,

He could read, he could write.

She gave him rich dainties

Whenever he fed,

And erected a monument

When he was dead.

Here am I.

Here am I, little jumping Joan.

When nobody’s with me, I’m always alone.

Hurly, Burly.

Hurly, burly, trumpet trase,

The cow was in the market-place.

Some goes far, and some goes near,

But where shall this poor henchman steer?

I Went up One Pair of Stairs.

1. I went up one pair of stairs. Just like me.

2. I went up two pair of stairs. Just like me.

3. I went into a room. Just like me.

4. I looked out of a window. Just like me.

5. And there I saw a monkey. Just like me.

Elsie Marley.

Elsie Marley has grown so fine

She won’t get up to feed the swine;

She lies in bed till half-past nine—

Ay! truly she doth take her time.

WHAT DOES LITTLE BIRDIE SAY?

What does little birdie say,

In her nest at peep of day?

“Let me fly,” says little birdie,

“Mother, let me fly away.”

Birdie, rest a little longer,

Till the little wings are stronger.

So she rests a little longer,

Then she flies away.

What does little baby say,

In her bed at peep of day?

Baby says, like little birdie,

“Let me rise and fly away.”

Baby, sleep a little longer,

Till the little limbs are stronger.

If she sleeps a little longer,

Baby, too shall fly away.

—Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well.

—Lord Chesterfield.

THE RAINBOW.

My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky;

So was it when my life began,

So is it now I am a man,

So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let me die!

The child is father of the man;

And I could wish my days to be

Bound each to each by natural piety.

—William Wordsworth.

Hey! Diddle, Diddle.

Hey! diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle,

The cow jumped over the moon;

The little dog laughed to see such sport,

And the dish ran away with the spoon.

Little Jack Jingle.

Little Jack Jingle,

He used to live single;

But when he got tired of this kind of life,

He left off being single, and lived with his wife.

Cock Robin Got Up Early.

Cock Robin got up early

At the break of day,

And went to Jenny’s window,

To sing a roundelay.

He sang Cock Robin’s Love

To the pretty Jenny Wren,

And when he got unto the end,

Then he began again.

Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat.

Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, where have you been?

“I’ve been up to London to look at the Queen.”

Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, what did you there?

“I frightened a little mouse under the chair.”

SPRING SONG.

Spring comes hither,

Buds the rose;

Roses wither,

Sweet Spring goes.

Summer soars,—

Wide-winged day;

White light pours,

Flies away.

Soft winds blow,

Westward born;

Onward go,

Toward the morn.

—George Eliot.

Millions for defense, but not one cent for tribute.

—C. C. Pinckney.

DUTY.

So nigh is grandeur to our dust,

So near is God to man;

When Duty whispers low, “Thou Must,”

The youth replies, “I can.”

—Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Dickory, Dickory, Dock.

Dickory, dickory, dock,

The mouse ran up the clock,

The clock struck one,

The mouse ran down;

Hickory, dickory, dock.

There Was an Old Man.

There was an old man,

And he had a calf,

And that’s half;

He took him out of the stall,

And put him on the wall,

And that’s all.

PLAYING MOTHER—A MONOLOGUE.

Now, dollie, dear, you have been here

For a long time, almost a year,

And we have played with one another—

That you were baby, I was mother.

Now let us change about, I pray,

And you be mother for to-day.

Now you must go to town, you say!

Then tell me, ’fore you go away,

A lot of things I must not do,

And point your finger at me, too,

This way: Now don’t climb up on chairs,

And don’t go tumblin’ down the stairs;

Don’t tease your little sister, dear,

And don’t do anything that’s queer.

Don’t say “I won’t” to Auntie Bee—

What is it you are telling me?

You won’t say “Don’t” to me to-day?

Well, then, how can I disobey?

I wish my truly mother could

Make it so easy to be good!

—Sara Tawney Lefferts.

The heights by great men reached and kept

Were not attained by sudden flight,

But they while their companions slept

Were toiling upward in the night.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

There Was a Little Girl.

There was a little girl who wore a little hood,

And a curl down the middle of her forehead;

When she was good, she was very, very good,

But when she was bad, she was horrid.

Ladybird, Ladybird, Fly Away Home.

Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home,

Thy house is on fire, thy children all gone,

All but one, and her name is Ann,

And she crept under the pudding-pan.

Curly Locks! Curly Locks!

Curly locks! curly locks! wilt thou be mine?

Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet feed the swine;

But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,

And feed upon strawberries, sugar, and cream!

Little Bob Snooks.

Little Bob Snooks was fond of his books,

And loved by his usher and master;

But naughty Jack Spry, he got a black eye,

And carries his nose in a plaster.

FOLLOW ME.

Children go

To and fro,

In a merry, pretty row,

Footsteps light,

Faces bright;

’Tis a happy sight.

Swiftly turning round and round,

Never look upon the ground;

Follow me,