IN HONOR OF ROSA'S BIRTHDAY
Charles.—Am I right madam? is not this Miss Rosa's birthday?
Mary.—Yes, sir. My little girl is two years old to-day.
Charles.—So I understood; and I have brought her a birthday present. Here it is,—the largest rose I could find in all the land. Do me the honor to accept it.
Mary.—With pleasure, sir, I accept it for Rosa; but, if I may trust my eyes, this is a sunflower, not a rose.
Charles.—Excuse me madam, in Doll-land they told me it was a rose.
Mary.—Ah! they sometimes forget names in Doll-land. I am obliged to you, sir, all the same. You are very polite.
Charles.—I ought to be polite, madam; for my sister Helen goes to dancing-school. I will bid you good-morning, madam.
Mary.—Good-morning, sir. Call again some fine day.
Charles.—I shall call without waiting for a fine day, madam. It is always a fine day when I am with you.
OUR ONE-YEAR-OLD
All the people love her,
For she is our darling;
Good and sweet and bright is she,
Never cross nor snarling.
Bob, the savage bull-dog,
Lamb-like waits upon her;
Hens and geese and turtle-doves
Come to do her honor.
"Bless her!" says the raven,
"Oh! you cannot match her;"
Swallows fly about her head,
Kittens do not scratch her.
For she is so gentle,
All the folks obey her;
Even little tom-tit comes
His respects to pay her.
From the German.
WALTER'S DISAPPOINTMENT
"Here is the last white rose in my garden," said Laura to her brother Walter; "and you shall have it if you will be a good boy."
"I don't want a white rose," said Walter; "and, if I can't go with Jim Bacon and the other fellows on the pond, I'll not be a good boy: I'll make myself as disagreeable as I can."
"Why, Walter, what a threat!" said Laura, laughing; "but you are a good deal like the minister's dog Bunkum, who barks terribly, but never bites."
"See what I get for being a good boy!" replied Walter. "The first time a chance for a little fun comes along, then it's, 'O Walter! you and the other boys are too young to be trusted alone on the water.'"
Hardly had Walter given utterance to these words, when there were cries from the roadside near by; and men and women were seen running towards the pond. What could be the matter?
It soon was made known what the matter was. The little fellows in the boat had upset it; and five of them were floundering about in the water. Fortunately no life was lost. All were saved, but not until all were wet through to the skin.
"Now, Walter," said Laura, "are you going to fret, and make yourself disagreeable, because you did not get a ducking with the other boys?"
"Sister," said Walter, with a smile, "I think I will accept that beautiful white rose you offered me just now."
Dora Burnside.
THE BOASTING BOY
I knew a boy in our town, whose name was Billy Hood:
He had a sword all made of tin, a musket made of wood.
His drum would always let you know when Billy Hood was coming;
For all the neighbors used to say, "I wish he'd stop that drumming."
Now, very brave this Billy was,—at least, so Billy thought;
And he was not afraid,—not he,—of any thing that fought.
"With this good sword and gun," said he, "I'll fight until I die:
Let man or beast come on! Who fears? Not Billy Hood! Not I!"
But ah! one day this Billy went where six old geese were straying,
And on his noisy drum began somewhat too loudly playing:
An old goose chased him from the field; and Billy, screaming, ran,
Till on the kitchen floor he sank,—that valiant little man!
Uncle Charles.
CAKES AND PIES
In the dough! In the dough!
This is the way we make it go:
Roll it, roll it, smooth and thin;
Pound it with the rolling-pin;
Cut with thimbles, and it makes
Just the nicest dolly cakes.
Dolly, now, must have a pie:
We will make it, you and I.
Here's a cunning little tin!
Roll and roll the pie-crust thin;
Spread it smoothly now within;
Lay some bits of apple in,
Cover nicely; let it bake:
That's the way our pies we make.
Dolly may not eat it all;
Then, if playmates chance to call,
We will give them a surprise
With our little cakes and pies.
All we make is good to eat;
For our hands are clean and sweet;
And we have such handy ways.
Our dear mother often says,
That she thinks, by all the looks,
We shall soon be famous cooks.
Emeroy Hayward.