One morning, a pretty child, standing a-tip-toe, with her pitcher and penny held up, caught the eyes of this nobleman. "Now," said he, "my pretty lass—now," patting her on the head, and giving her a kiss—"now, you may tell, as long as you live, that you have been kissed by an Earl."
"O yes—but you took the penny, though," said the little witch, innocently enough, I dare say. But what became of the Earl? Nobody knows. It was a long while ago.
No. 265. Where do all the Cooks go?—A capital housekeeper having discharged her cook with emphasis, exclaimed, "Well, thank heaven! there are no cooks in the other world." Which other world did she mean, think you? Her little girl seemed puzzled; but, after thinking awhile, said, "Well, mamma, then who cooks wash-days? for you know they must have a big wash, as they always wear white."
No. 266. More Sabbath-school Exercises.—"Where was John Rogers burned?—tell me now," said a teacher, in a voice that filled the room, and startled the listeners at the door. "Couldn't tell," said the first. No answer from the next. "Joshua knows," whispered a little thing at the head of her class. "Well, then, if Joshua knows, he may tell," said the teacher. "In the fire," shouted Joshua, with a look of imperturbable self-complacency.
No. 267. Just as the twig is bent, etc., etc.—A little shaver, living in Walcott, Maine, aged only five years, having well considered the subject of earning his bread, went to a farmer and offered his services. He was put to raking hay, and persevered as long as the rest, and went home to his happy mother in the evening, with a silver dollar in his pocket. And where did he get it? some lazy little Jackanapes will ask, I dare say. Go to your mother, child.
No. 268. Them's my Sentiments.—A six-year-old boy was set to work upon what is called a "composition," all about water. He wrote as follows: "Water is good to drink. Water is good to paddle in and swim in, and to skate on when it grows hard in winter. When I was a little wee baby, nurse used to wash me every morning in cold water—ugh! I have heard tell the Injuns only wash themselves once in ten years. I wish I was an Injun."
No. 269. Arithmetic made easy.—"Peter—I say, Peter! what are you doing with that boy?" "Helping him in 'rethmetic, sir." "How helping him?" "He wanted to know if I took ten from seventeen, how many would be left; and so I took ten of his apples to show him, an' now he wants 'em back."
"And why don't you give 'em back, hey?"
"'Cause I want him to remember how many was left."
No. 270. Scripture and Poetry.—While a poor mother was moaning over her wretchedness and helplessness, fearing that she would have to go to the workhouse, her little boy looked up from his pile of blocks in the chimney-corner, and murmured, "Mamma, I think God hears, when we scrape the bottom of the barrel."