PLAYING MOTHER—A MONOLOGUE.

Now, dollie, dear, you have been here

For a long time, almost a year,

And we have played with one another—

That you were baby, I was mother.

Now let us change about, I pray,

And you be mother for to-day.

Now you must go to town, you say!

Then tell me, ’fore you go away,

A lot of things I must not do,

And point your finger at me, too,

This way: Now don’t climb up on chairs,

And don’t go tumblin’ down the stairs;

Don’t tease your little sister, dear,

And don’t do anything that’s queer.

Don’t say “I won’t” to Auntie Bee—

What is it you are telling me?

You won’t say “Don’t” to me to-day?

Well, then, how can I disobey?

I wish my truly mother could

Make it so easy to be good!

—Sara Tawney Lefferts.

The heights by great men reached and kept

Were not attained by sudden flight,

But they while their companions slept

Were toiling upward in the night.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

There Was a Little Girl.

There was a little girl who wore a little hood,

And a curl down the middle of her forehead;

When she was good, she was very, very good,

But when she was bad, she was horrid.

Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home,

Thy house is on fire, thy children all gone,

All but one, and her name is Ann,

And she crept under the pudding-pan.

Curly locks! curly locks! wilt thou be mine?

Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet feed the swine;

But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,

And feed upon strawberries, sugar, and cream!

Little Bob Snooks was fond of his books,

And loved by his usher and master;

But naughty Jack Spry, he got a black eye,

And carries his nose in a plaster.