"A stag in a wood I'd be, if I could: He can lie on the ground Where 'tis cool all around: A stag in a wood I'd be, if I could." So wished, in her folly, Ruth, holding her dolly; The heat of the noon Put her all out of tune: So wished, in her folly, Ruth, holding her dolly. EMILY CARTER. [Illustration] PHILIP'S NEW WHIP. NOW, what is all this noise about? The hens cackle and run about. The pig squeals. Over the fence flies the old gander, and after him flies the goose. Now, what can be the matter? I will tell you. It all comes from this: our little Philip has had a present of a new whip; and the first thing he does with it is to see how his friends in the barn-yard like it. He does not like to try it on the horse or on the cow; for the horse can kick, and the cow can hook with her horns. So, like a little coward, he frightens the hens, and the poor geese, and the pig, shut up in his pen. I do not think it right. We ought to protect the weak, and not try to scare or hurt them. A. B. C. [Illustration] THE THREE LITTLE LADIES. NOW, who can find out What these three little ones are about? Very busy, you see, They all seem to be; But what they are doing, What work or what pleasure pursuing, Is more than my wisdom can tell: And are not you puzzled as well? One little lady is standing On a cricket in posture commanding; Another is pulling out pieces From a drawer as fast as she pleases; Another is bearing a roll-- But what for? It is all very droll. And pray what is pussy about? She joins in the frolic, no doubt. These three little ladies, my dear, Know what they're about: that is clear. 'Tis something important, you see, Though a puzzle to you and to me; For they each look as grave as a judge: So, old folks, don't laugh, and cry, "Fudge!" It may be that your own great affairs Are not any more useful than theirs. ALFRED SELWYN. GRANDMA'S STORY. I AM only five years old; but I have a great deal of trouble. Papa pulls my ears, and calls me a sad rogue; brother Tom asks me every night what new mischief I have been up to today; and poor mamma sighs, and says I am the most troublesome child she ever saw. But dear good grandma looks up from her knitting, and smiles as she says, "Tut, tut, daughter! Our Amy isn't any worse than a little girl I knew some thirty years ago." "O grandma!" cried I one day, "do please tell me about her; for I like to hear about naughty little girls. What was her name, grandma?"