Every flake is a falling star,
Gently falling, who knows how far?
White as a lily,
Light as a feather,
Hosts so stilly
Are falling together.
Every star that comes fluttering down,
Falls, I know, from the Frost King’s crown.
A MISCHIEVOUS MONKEY.
Jocko was hardly more than a baby monkey, but he was so full of mischief that he often made his mother very sad. Jocko’s father used to get angry with him; sometimes he used to give Jocko a good spanking; only he hadn’t a slipper as the father of little boys have! Jocko’s father and mother used to try to teach him that it was very bad manners to snatch any thing from the visitors who came up to the cage. That was a very hard lesson for Jocko to learn. One day he snatched a pair of spectacles from an old lady, who was looking into the cage and laughing; the old lady screamed with fright. Jocko tried to put the spectacles on himself; but the keeper made him give them up. When the old lady got her glasses again, she didn’t care to look at the monkeys any more.
Another day Jocko was taken very sick; he laid down in one corner of the cage, and could not be made to move. His mother thought he was going to die, and she was quite sure that some of his monkey cousins had hurt him. “Not so,” chattered Jocko’s father, “I found some pieces of gloves among the hay; I think the bad fellow has snatched them from somebody, and partly eaten them.”
“Dear, dear,” chattered mother monkey, “I think you are right.” When she turned Jocko over, he was so afraid of being punished, that he pretended to be fast asleep; but he heard all that his father and mother had said, and knew that they guessed right.
“They’re just like boys,” said George Bliss one day, as he stood looking at the monkeys in Central park. George is a boy, and he ought to know. But there is a great difference after all. Boys can learn, better than monkeys, not to get into mischief, and bother their parents, and other people who come where they are. Some boys do not behave better than monkeys.
A MISCHIEVOUS MONKEY.