Chapter M: E. R

HOW TO DRAW A PIG.

The Body of Piggy is shaped like a bean.
Except when he's poor and uncommonly lean.

Then give him an ear and a long handsome snout
For the last is so useful in rooting about.

Then a bright little eye he must have without fail
At the other end of him a small curly tail.

Then give him four feet and you have a whole pig
Who can run for his food be he little or big.

A SIGHT OF THE OCEAN.

"OH, what I would give for a sight of the ocean!" said Ruth Turner, as she sat one hot day in June in their little parlor, with her two sisters and their mother.

"We must content ourselves in the city this summer," said Mrs. Turner. "What with the great fire, and the stagnation of trade, your father has lost so much money that we cannot afford to hire a cottage by the sea-side this year."

"Well, we must try to make home pleasant," said little Anna, whose pale, pinched face showed that the pent air of the city had already begun to affect her health.

"Let us all shut our eyes, and imagine ourselves on the beach," said Ellen, who was the poetess of the family.

At that moment, the postman's knock at the door gave promise of a letter. Ruth ran to get it, and, returning in a moment, handed her mother a note, and said, "It is from that ugly, fat old Mr. Jenks, the grocer: his name is on the back. What can he want?"

"Give me the letter, child," said Mrs. Turner; "and do not let me hear you speak of any fellow-being with contempt, because he is ugly, fat, or old. Mr. Jenks is all the time doing kind things. I am sorry to hear that his wife is ill."

Mrs. Turner opened the letter, read it, and said, while her face flushed, "Hear this, Miss Ruth, you who were so quick to speak ill of Mr. Jenks:--

"DEAR MRS. TURNER,--Wife and I have concluded to take the next steamer for England, not to be back till next October. You and your honest husband must at once go down with your family, and occupy my furnished cottage at Crescent Beach. Cellar and store-closet are well stocked with groceries. Use and consume every thing as if it were your own. Don't say _no_, but send me round word that you will do it. I don't like to leave the cottage empty."

Ruth ran to a corner of the room, turned her face to the wall, and covered it with her hands.

"Handsome is, that handsome does, Miss Ruth," cried little Anna.

"Well, Ruth, shall we accept the invitation?" said her mother.

"On one condition," said Ruth, turning round; "and that is, that you let me go and thank Mr. Jenks myself for his great kindness. He is not old; he is not ugly; and, if he is fat, so much the better."

The good grocer's offer was gratefully accepted. The little girls now pass most of the summer days on the beach, where they pick up shells, and pretty white stones, or bathe in the salt ocean. Every morning brings fresh delights. Anna has rosy cheeks once more, and as for Ellen, she sits on the rocks, and sketches, or writes poetry, every day.

Ruth has broken herself of the bad habit of speaking ill of persons because of their looks. She knows now that a man may be "old, fat, and ugly," and at the same time be full of love and kindness.

DORA BURNSIDE.

RUTH'S WISHES.

"I'D like to be now
A bird on a bough,"
Said Ruth, one hot day
As she paused in her play:
"I'd like to be now
A bird on a bough.

"To be like a fish
In the sea is my wish,
Where the water is cool,
And they go to no school:
To be like a fish
In the sea is my wish.

"A squirrel I'd be
High up on a tree;
For he can go where
He gets plenty of air:
A squirrel I'd be
High up on a tree.

"A stag in a wood
I'd be, if I could:
He can lie on the ground
Where 'tis cool all around:
A stag in a wood
I'd be, if I could."

So wished, in her folly,
Ruth, holding her dolly;
The heat of the noon
Put her all out of tune:
So wished, in her folly,
Ruth, holding her dolly.

EMILY CARTER.

PHILIP'S NEW WHIP.

NOW, what is all this noise about? The hens cackle and run about. The pig squeals. Over the fence flies the old gander, and after him flies the goose. Now, what can be the matter?

I will tell you. It all comes from this: our little Philip has had a present of a new whip; and the first thing he does with it is to see how his friends in the barn-yard like it.

He does not like to try it on the horse or on the cow; for the horse can kick, and the cow can hook with her horns. So, like a little coward, he frightens the hens, and the poor geese, and the pig, shut up in his pen.

I do not think it right. We ought to protect the weak, and not try to scare or hurt them.

A. B. C.

THE THREE LITTLE LADIES.

NOW, who can find out
What these three little ones are about?
Very busy, you see,
They all seem to be;
But what they are doing,
What work or what pleasure pursuing,
Is more than my wisdom can tell:
And are not you puzzled as well?

One little lady is standing
On a cricket in posture commanding;
Another is pulling out pieces
From a drawer as fast as she pleases;
Another is bearing a roll--
But what for? It is all very droll.
And pray what is pussy about?
She joins in the frolic, no doubt.

These three little ladies, my dear,
Know what they're about: that is clear.
'Tis something important, you see,
Though a puzzle to you and to me;
For they each look as grave as a judge:
So, old folks, don't laugh, and cry, "Fudge!"
It may be that your own great affairs
Are not any more useful than theirs.

ALFRED SELWYN.

GRANDMA'S STORY.