Forthwith she placed upon her nose The glasses large and wide; And looking round, as I suppose, The snuff-box too she spied: "Oh! what a pretty box is that; I'll open it," said little Matt. "I know that grandmamma would say, 'Don't meddle with it, dear;' But then, she's far enough away, And no one else is near: Besides, what can there be amiss In opening such a box as this?" So thumb and finger went to work To move the stubborn lid, And presently a mighty jerk The mighty mischief did; For all at once, ah! woful case, The snuff came puffing in her face. Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth, beside A dismal sight presented; In vain, as bitterly she cried, Her folly she repented. In vain she ran about for ease; She could do nothing now but sneeze. She dash'd the spectacles away, To wipe her tingling eyes, And as in twenty bits they lay, Her grandmamma she spies. "Heyday! and what's the matter now?" Says grandmamma, with lifted brow. Matilda, smarting with the pain, And tingling still, and sore, Made many a promise to refrain From meddling evermore. And 'tis a fact, as I have heard, She ever since has kept her word. [Illustration] THE BUTTERFLY. The Butterfly, an idle thing, Nor honey makes, nor yet can sing, As do the bee and bird; Nor does it, like the prudent ant, Lay up the grain for times of want, A wise and cautious hoard. My youth is but a summer's day: Then like the bee and ant I'll lay A store of learning by; And though from flower to flower I rove, My stock of wisdom I'll improve Nor be a butterfly. THE GAUDY FLOWER. Why does my Anna toss her head, And look so scornfully around, As if she scarcely deign'd to tread Upon the daisy-dappled ground? Does fancied beauty fire thine eye, The brilliant tint, the satin skin? Does the loved glass, in passing by, Reflect a graceful form and thin? [Illustration] Alas! that form, and brilliant fire, Will never win beholder's love; It may, indeed, make fools admire, But ne'er the wise and good can move. So grows the tulip, gay and bold, The broadest sunshine its delight Like rubies, or like burnish'd gold, It shows its petals, glossy bright. But who the gaudy floweret crops, As if to court a sweet perfume! Admired it blows, neglected drops, And sinks unheeded to its doom. The virtues of the heart may move Affections of a genial kind; While beauty fails to stir our love, And wins the eye, but not the mind. [Illustration] GEORGE AND THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP.