Sophy. Well, mamma, I want very much to grow a clever girl, like Emily; but how can going to bed early make me wise? If I might sit up with you and papa, you would teach me a great many things, as you do Fedinand; but when I am in bed, I go to sleep and learn nothing.
Mrs. B. But your sleep does you a vast deal of good, my little dear. It makes you rosy and healthy, and will strengthen your memory too; so that when you are older, you will learn your lessons much better, and quicker, than those little unfortunate children who have been spoiled by the silly indulgence of their nurses.
These arguments, together with an assurance that cheerful obedience would make her dear father and mother very happy, soon convinced little Sophy that going to bed early was very proper, though she could not think it very agreeable; and promising to comply, the moment Mary made her appearance, she added: "has papa ever heard grandpapa's verses, which you taught me to-day? If he has not, I will repeat them to him; for it is not seven o'clock yet. Is it, mamma?"
Mrs. B. No my dear; there will be quite time enough for you to repeat them to your papa. But first tell him on what occasion they were written.
Sophy. A good while ago, grand-papa had two nice little pigs, and they one day found some paint in a pot, and thinking it something nice, they ate it. There is something in paint that is poison, papa: pray, what is it?
Mr. Bernard told Sophy that it was white-lead.
Sophy. Oh, well then, the white-lead that was in the paint, poisoned these poor little pigs; and grand-papa had them buried in the orchard, and wrote the verses, which mamma taught me, over their grave. Now do you understand, papa? May I begin?
Mr. Bernard assured Sophy he understood her explanation perfectly well, and was all attention, waiting for her recital.
Upon which she immediately repeated as follows:
"Ye passing pigs, I pray draw nigh, And hear a dreadful tragedy, Of two fine pigs, as e'er were seen Grazing or grunting on the green: Till on a time, and near this spot, We chanc'd to spy a painter's pot, White-lead and oil it did contain, By which we pretty pigs were slain; Therefore a warning let us be To future pigs, who this may see, With life prolong'd, and free from pains, To be content with wash and grains."