NOW, AND THEN.

"Well, well, well!" said grandmamma,
"Only to see the toys,—
The marvels of skill and of beauty,
That are made for these girls and boys!—
Velocipedes, acrobats, barrows,
And a dozen kinds of ball,
And the beautiful bows and arrows,
With quivers and belts and all;
And dolls, with an outfit from Paris,
With eyes that open and shut,
With jewelry worth a small fortune,
And six several bonnets,—tut, tut!
"My goodness! If Polly and Rachel,
Who played in old times with me,
In the corner down by the smoke-house,
These wonderful dolls could see!
Rachel's doll had a round head whittled
From a bit of soft pine wood;
And Polly's was only a corn-cob,
With a calico slip and hood.
My doll was a lovely rag-baby,
With badly-inked eyes and nose;
Her cheeks were painted with cherry-juice;
And I made every stitch of her clothes.
"Nathan's bow was a pliant whalebone,
And his arrow a white-pine stick;
Such a life as his archery practice
Led the cats and each wretched chick!
Our tea-sets were bits of dishes
That mother had thrown away,
With chincapin saucers and acorn-cups;
And our dolls slept on moss and hay.
With a May-apple leaf for a parasol
We played 'Lady-come-to-see,'
Polly's house was the kitchen door-step,
And mine was the apple-tree.
"We never saw 'Germans' and 'Matinees,'
And we played good romping plays;
And, somehow, I think we were happier far
Than the children are nowadays.
Our swing was an old, wild grape-vine;
We waded and climbed and ran,
And never were weary, nor sick, nor 'bored'
From the minute that day began.
Well, well, well!" said grandmamma,
"In spite of their wonderful toys,
I do believe we had merrier times
Than these little girls and boys!"

ALICE WILLIAMS BROTHERTON.

DRAWING-LESSON.

THE FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER.

Amy Cooper lived in a little fishing-village, not far from the cliffs of Dover, in England. She was the daughter of a poor fisherman, who worked hard for his family. Mr. Cooper was such a good, kind man, that no one could help loving him. His children loved him dearly; and no one loved him quite so dearly as his daughter Amy.

She was a thoughtful little girl, and at the time of my story was twelve years old. She saw that her father's health was failing through hard work; and the one great thought in her mind was, "How can I help my dear father to earn money for us all?"

This was a hard question, and it was long before Amy could find an answer. But one day, with her aunt, she took a long walk to Dover. Here she saw a large hotel, and many well-clad persons in a pleasant park near by. It was on this visit to Dover that Amy formed a plan about which I am going to tell you.

Now it had happened three years before, that a poor young man of the name of Simpson had been saved from drowning by Amy's father. I fear that the young man had thrown himself into the water because he was sick of life, but I dare say he was glad enough to be pulled out.

Mr. Cooper took him home, gave him a room and a bed, and there Mr. Simpson staid for some time. He was what is called an artist. He had a great talent for drawing with a pen and ink. He taught Amy to do this. She soon did it so well, that he said to her, "Keep on trying, my dear, and it may be a great help to you by and by."

Sure enough she did keep on trying. Her one thought was to do so well that she could make money by her art. Poor Mr. Simpson died after he had staid with the honest fisherman two years; and his last words to Amy were, "Keep on practising, my dear: don't let a day pass without it. I am sure you will make an artist."

Amy had followed his advice; and now, when her father was ill, she resolved to see if she could not turn her art to account. She made twenty sketches with pen and ink. They were sketches of fishermen—drawn from life; and they were done with a spirit and skill that struck every one with surprise.

Taking the specimens with her, she went to Dover, and showed them to the ladies and gentlemen. At last one gentleman, a Mr. Ritson, who was rich, and fond of art, said to her, "Don't try to humbug me, little girl. You never did this work. Come in, and let me test you."

"Do it," said Amy, bravely and confidently.

He took her into the reading-room of the hotel, and in a few minutes she produced a likeness of Mr. Ritson, which made him cry out, "Bravo, bravo, little girl! You have done it! Forgive my suspicions. Here is a guinea for what you have done. Come here to-morrow at this time, and I will see what I can do to help you."

Amy, wild with joy, took the money home to her father. The prosperity of the family was now assured. Mr. Ritson proved to be a true friend. He showed Amy's sketches to a great many persons, and praised them so highly, that she soon began to have orders.

She continued to improve, and in time became quite a successful artist. She had as much work as she could do, and earned more in a month than her father could earn in a year. He soon got well, and lived to take great comfort in the fame of his dear little girl.

ALFRED SELWYN.

JOHNNY AND THE TOAD.

JOHNNY. I want to go to school,
And he won't let me pass;
I think that a toad
Ought to keep on the grass.
I don't want to cry;
But I'm afraid I'm going to:
Oh, dear me!
What am I to do?
TOAD. Here's a dreadful thing!—
A boy in the way,
I don't know what to do:
I don't know what to say.
I can't see the reason
Such monsters should be loose:
I'm trembling all over;
But that is of no use.

JOHNNY. I must go to school,
The bell is going to stop:
That terrible old toad,—
If he only would hop!
TOAD. I must cross the path,
I can hear my children croak;
I hope that dreadful boy
Will not give me a poke.
A hop and a start, a flutter and a rush,
Johnny is at school, and the toad in his bush.
H.A.F.

THE HEN WHO HELPED HERSELF.

In a city not far from Boston, there once lived a stout little fellow named Willie Wilkins. He was six years old, had red cheeks and blue eyes, and such curly hair that it was always in a tumble, no matter how much it was brushed.

One summer his mamma took him into the country to spend a few weeks at a farm-house. The farmer's wife, Mrs. Hill, was very glad to have him come, for she had no girls or boys of her own, to make the house pleasant. She liked to see Willie running about, and hear his shrill voice calling after the great house-dog Bruno.

One morning Willie had been as busy as ever at his play: he had been in the orchard, hunting for ripe apples; he had been in the barn, looking for hen's eggs in the sweet hay; he had been down to the brook, sailing his boat; and he had played market-man, with Bruno harnessed for a horse.

After all this, the little boy was both tired and hungry: so he went back to the house, and sat down on the broad stone steps outside the kitchen-door to rest. Mrs. Hill was busy in the kitchen, frying doughnuts, and, when Willie saw what she was doing, he was more hungry than ever. The doughnuts looked very brown and nice; but Willie was too bashful to ask for one.

At last Mrs. Hill looked up, and, seeing Willie's blue eyes fixed upon her with such an eager gaze, she guessed at once what he wanted. She gave him a doughnut and a kiss, and he sat down on the doorstep with the doughnut in his hand. But he had hardly taken two bites of it, when a strange thing happened.

Some hens were scratching around in the yard to find food for themselves and their chickens. Now one old Biddy, who had a large family to provide for, and who was almost tired out with hunting for worms, looked at Willie's doughnut with a longing eye. She walked close up to the doorstep, arched her neck, and clucked, asking as plainly as she knew how for a piece of doughnut. But Willie was too busy even to look at her.

At last Biddy became impatient. As no notice was taken of her civil request, she made up her mind to take, without further asking, what Willie did not seem inclined to give. She was a little afraid to do it; but her chickens were teasing for more food, and she was determined to get enough for them.

So she stepped up beside Willie, snatched the doughnut out of his hand, and ran away with it as fast as she could. Her chickens ran after her, screaming for the fine feast which their mother had stolen for them.

And there sat Willie on the doorstep, his eyes bigger and bluer than ever, amazed to find himself robbed in this way by a respectable looking old hen. He did not know what to do, and was half inclined to cry.

But, when little children are in trouble, there is always one thing they can do: they can go to their mamma, and ask her help. Willie thought of this, and trotted off with a very sober face to tell his mamma this wonderful story of the hen who helped herself.

L.R.