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-prick 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. [Illustration: 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 nobody 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 grass 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 apron. "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 coarse, 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.