If it had been for some great good—to put an end to stealing, cruelty, drunkenness or some such dreadful thing—it would not seem so bad; but it was just to get upon a throne and then to be cruel to the defeated party. The great trouble was that this man or that wanted to be king just as in America a man wants to be president. Richard the Third wanted it so much that he caused his two little nephews to be smothered to death while asleep, lest they would grow up and trouble him! This was four hundred years ago. L. BABY’S CORNER. COME TO SUPPER. ONE pleasant summer day Jamie’s mamma said they would have tea out under the trees, because it was papa’s birthday. [Illustration: THE NAUGHTY ROOSTER.] She spread a pink cloth on the table, and brought out some pretty dishes. Jamie thought it was fine fun. He helped to carry out the biscuits and strawberries, and he put the knives and spoons by the side of the plates. They had to hurry, because pretty soon the five o’clock train would come in, and papa would be on it. When mamma went into the house to make the tea she gave Jamie a piece of cake and told him to sit down on the grass and rest his tired little feet. Jamie liked to sit in that pretty spot. There were green grass and daisies and buttercups all about him, and oh! how good the cake tasted. Pretty soon the old rooster saw that Jamie was alone, and that he had something good to eat. So he called to his family: “Come quick! come to supper.” Then the gray hen and the yellow hen and the speckled hen and the white banties came running as fast as they could run to get some of Jamie’s cake. Old Speckle got the first bite, a great big one, and carried it off to eat it. Then Old Yellow came up one side and the rooster came the other side, and one took a bite, and the other took a bite. Jamie began to cry. Mamma heard him. She came out, and said: “Shoo! shoo!” [Illustration: JAMIE BEGAN TO CRY.] And away went the chickabiddies as fast as they could fly, and no more supper for them that night. MRS. C. M. LIVINGSTON. * * * * * OUT in the garden, wee Elsie Was gathering flowers for me; “O, mamma!” she cried, “hurry, hurry, Here’s something I want you to see.” I went to the window; before her A velvet-winged butterfly flew, And the pansies themselves were not brighter Than the beautiful creature in hue. “Oh! isn’t it pretty?” cried Elsie, With eager and wondering eyes, As she watched it soar lazily upward Against the soft blue of the skies. “I know what it is, don’t you, mamma?” Oh! the wisdom of these little things When the soul of a poet is in them. “It’s a pansy—a pansy with wings.” —_Selected._ THE HARD TEXT. (_Matt._ xiii. 12.)