FAIRY-FOLK

THE story-books have told you
Of the fairy-folk so nice,

That make them leather aprons
Of the ears of little mice;
And wear the leaves of roses,

Like a cap upon their heads,
And sleep at night on thistle-down,
Instead of feather-beds!

These stories, too, have told you,
No doubt to your surprise,
That the fairies ride in coaches
That are drawn by butterflies;
And come into your chambers,

When you are locked in dreams,
And right across your counterpanes
Make bold to drive their teams;
And that they heap your pillows
With their gifts of rings and pearls;
But do not heed such idle tales,
My little boys and girls.

There are no fairy-folk that ride.

About the world at night,

Who give you rings and other things,
To pay for doing right.

84

FAIRY-FOLK

But if you do to others what
You'd have them do to you,
You'll be as blest as if the best

Of story-books were true.

ALICE CARY.

U

FOREIGN LANDS

P into a cherry tree

Who should climb but little me!

I held the trunk with both my hands
And looked abroad on foreign lands.

I saw the next-door garden lie,
Adorned with flowers, before my eye,
And many pleasant places more,
That I had never seen before.

I saw the dimpling river pass
And be the sky's blue looking-glass;
The dusty roads go up and down,
With people tramping in the town.

If I could find a higher tree
Farther and farther I should see,
To where the grown-up river slips,
Into the sea among the ships.

To where the roads on either hand
Lead onward into fairy land,
Where all the children dine at five,
And all the playthings come alive.

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN

"I'LL tell you how the leaves came down."
The great tree to his children said,
"You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown,
Yes, very sleepy, little Red.

It is quite time to go to bed."

"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf, "Let us a little longer stay;

Dear Father Tree, behold our grief; 'Tis such a very pleasant day We do not want to go away."

So, for just one more merry day

To the great tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced, and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung, Whispering all their sports among:

"Perhaps the great tree will forget,
And let us stay until the spring,
If we all beg, and coax, and fret."
But the great tree did no such thing;
He smiled to hear their whispering.