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. [Illustration] 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._ [Illustration] Old King Cole Was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he; [Illustration] 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! [Illustration] _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.