Our Young Folks at Home and Abroad Part 51

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A LITTLE GIRL AND BOY.}]

--The following is an Arabic proverb taken from the mouth of an Oriental: "Men are four. 1. He who knows not, and knows not he knows not. He is a fool; shun him. 2. He who knows not, and knows he knows not. He is simple; teach him. 3. He who knows, and knows not he knows.

He is asleep; wake him. 4. He who knows, and knows he knows. He is wise; follow him."

WHAT THE SNAIL SAID.

"You little chicks, tho' you peck at my dress, I will not get angry at that; I know you would gobble me up if you could, As quick as a worm or a gnat."

"Say, little snail, you had better go on, They may try the same trick upon you."

"No, no," said the snail, with his hard coat of mail, "I don't care a rush if they do.

"Little girl, there's no harm to cause me alarm, I'll sit here and watch them a spell, But as soon as they pounce, I'll cheat them at once, By getting right into my sh.e.l.l."

"But listen, wise snail, the old hen in the coop Has her eye very closely on you; And if she gets out, it may put you about, Now mind, what I tell you is true."

"But dear little girl, she is fast in her house; No, no, she can't touch me, no, no.

But if that respectable fowl should get out, Oho!" said the snail. "Oho!"

ONLY NOW AND THEN.

Think it no excuse, boys, Merging into men, That you do a wrong act "Only now and then."

Better to be careful As you go along, If you would be manly, Capable and strong.

Many a wretched sot, boys, That one daily meets Drinking from the beer-kegs, Living in the streets, Or at best, in quarters Worse than any pen, Once was dressed in broadcloth Drinking now and then.

When you have a habit That is wrong, you know, Knock it off at once, lads, With a sudden blow.

Think it no excuse, boys, Merging into men, That you do a wrong act "Only now and then."

A SERPENT AMONG THE BOOKS.

One day, a gentleman in India went into his library and took down a book from the shelves. As he did so, he felt a slight pain in his finger, like the p.r.i.c.k of a pin. He thought that a pin had been stuck, by some careless person, in the cover of the book. But soon his finger began to swell, then his arm, and then his whole body, and in a few days he died. It was not a pin among the books, but a small and deadly serpent.

There are many serpents among the books now-a-days; they nestle in the foliage of some of our most fascinating literature; they coil around the flowers whose perfume intoxicates the senses. People read and are charmed by the plot of the story, and the skill with which the characters are sculptured or grouped, by the gorgeousness of the wood-painting, and hardly feel the pin-p.r.i.c.k of the evil that is insinuated. But it stings and poisons.

Let us watch against the serpents and read only that which is healthy, instructive and profitable.

[Ill.u.s.tration: GOOD NIGHT.]

"LITTLE MOTHER."

BY JULIA HUNT MOREHOUSE.

It was Judge Bellow's big, fine house, that stood on the corner by the park. Every body knew that, but every body did _not_ know that the one little girl who lived in that house was restless and unhappy and often cross.

"Why do you roam about so, Nell? Why don't you settle down to something?" her mother asked, one bright, spring day.

"Oh, I am sick of everything. I have read all my books, and I hate my piano. The croquet isn't up, and there is n.o.body to play with me, if it was."

"Why don't you find some kind of work to do?"

"That is just the trouble. There's nothing that needs to be done; servants for every thing; and what does crocheting amount to, and plastering some little daubs of paint on some plush! Why, I believe that little Dutch girl that sells things out of her big basket, on our corner, every morning, is a good deal happier than I am. I mean to ask her sometime what makes her so."

A few weeks more and the hot summer came on, and Nell missed the little Dutch girl on the corner. It really worried her that the bright, womanly face did not come any more, but she supposed she had moved to a better stand or perhaps left the city.

One morning Nell took a walk with her teacher; a long walk, for they found themselves outside the city, where there were open holds and every house had green gra.s.s and trees close around it.

"What a little, _little_ house! That one with the woodbine all over it--and I do believe--yes, it really _is_ my little Dutch girl scrubbing the steps," and away she bounded and was soon beside the little worker.

"Oh! I'm so glad to find you again! Why don't you come to our corner any more?"

"Baby's been sick a long, good time," explained Lena, wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n. "Won't you ladies please to walk in, if you please, ma'am?"

It was a queer little figure that showed them into the cool, clean room; short and broad and dumpy. Her shoes were coa.r.s.e, her dress of faded black, with a white kerchief at the neck, so like an old woman.

Her face too, was short and broad; her nose was _very_ short and her eyes very narrow. So you see she was not pretty, but her face was all love and sunshine. She sat down on a low stool and took up the baby in such a dear, motherly way, smoothing its hair and dress and kissing it softly.

"You don't mean that you live here all alone?" asked Nell.

"Oh, no; there is Hans and baby and me, and there is old Mrs. Price in the other part."

"But your father and mother?"

"Mother died a year ago. Oh, she was one such good mother, but baby came in her place. Baby looks like mother, and now I have to be her little mother, you see," and she set the little dumpling out upon her knee, with such pride and tenderness.

"And your father?"