Or tilt the kettle, if you did

But turn your back a minute.
In vain you told her not to touch,
Her trick of meddling grew so much.

Her grandmamma went out one day,
And by mistake she laid

Her spectacles and snuff-box gay
Too near the little maid;

"Ah! well," thought she, "I'll try them on,

As soon as grandmamma is gone.'

Forthwith she placed upon her nose
The glasses large and wide;
And looking round, as I suppose,
The snuff-box too she spied:
"Oh! what a pretty box is that;
I'll open it," said little Matt.

"I know that grandmamma would say,
'Don't meddle with it, dear';
But then, she's far enough away,
And no one else is near:
Besides, what can there be amiss
In opening such a box as this?"

So thumb and finger went to work
To move the stubborn lid,
And presently a mighty jerk

The mighty mischief did;
For all at once, ah! woeful case,

The snuff came puffing in her face.

Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth, beside,

A dismal sight presented;

In vain, as bitterly she cried,

Her folly she repented.

In vain she ran about for ease;
She could do nothing now but sneeze.

She dashed the spectacles away,
To wipe her tingling eyes,
And as in twenty bits they lay,

Her grandmamma she spies.
"Heydey! and what's the matter now?"
Says grandmamma, with lifted brow.

Matilda, smarting with the pain,
And tingling still, and sore,
Made many a promise to refrain
From meddling evermore.
And 'tis a fact, as I have heard,
She ever since has kept her word.

Ann Taylor

THINK BEFORE YOU ACT

Elizabeth her frock has torn,

And pricked her finger too;

Why did she meddle with the thorn,
Until its use she knew?

Because Elizabeth will touch

Whate'er comes in her way;

I've seen her suffer quite as much,
A dozen times a day.

Yet, though so oft she feels the pain,

The habit is so strong,

That all her caution is in vain,

And seldom heeded long.

I should not wonder if, at last,
She meet some dreadful fate;
And then, perhaps, regret the past,
When sorrow comes too late.

Mary Elliott

THE BOY AND THE WOLF

A little Boy was set to keep

A little flock of goats or sheep;

He thought the task too solitary,
And took a strange perverse vagary:
To call the people out of fun,

To see them leave their work and run,

He cried and screamed with all his might,—
"Wolf! wolf!" in a pretended fright.

Some people, working at a distance,
Came running in to his assistance.
They searched the fields and bushes round:
The Wolf was nowhere to be found.
The Boy, delighted with his game,
A few days after did the same,

And once again the people came.

The trick was many times repeated:

At last they found that they were cheated.
One day the Wolf appeared in sight,

The Boy was in a real fright,

He cried, "Wolf! wolf!"-the neighbors heard,

But not a single creature stirred.

"We need not go from our employ,

'Tis nothing but that idle boy.'

The little Boy cried out again,

"Help, help! the Wolf!" he cried in vain.
At last his master came to beat him.
He came too late, the Wolf had eat him.

This shows the bad effect of lying,
And likewise of continual crying.
If I had heard you scream and roar,
For nothing, twenty times before,
Although you might have broke your arm,
Or met with any serious harm,

Your cries could give me no alarm;

They would not make me move the faster,
Nor apprehend the least disaster;

I should be sorry when I came,

But you yourself would be to blame.

John Hookham Frere

CONTENTED JOHN

One honest John Tomkins, a hedger and ditcher,
Although he was poor, did not want to be richer;
For all such vain wishes in him were prevented
By a fortunate habit of being contented.

Though cold were the weather, or dear were the food,
John never was found in a murmuring mood;

For this he was constantly heard to declare,—
What he could not prevent he would cheerfully bear.

"For why should I grumble and murmur?" he said; "If I cannot get meat, I'll be thankful for bread; And, though fretting may make my calamities deeper, It can never cause bread and cheese to be cheaper."

If John was afflicted with sickness or pain,
He wished himself better, but did not complain,
Nor lie down to fret in despondence and sorrow,
But said that he hoped to be better to-morrow.

If any one wronged him or treated him ill,
Why, John was good-natured and sociable still;
For he said that revenging the injury done

Would be making two rogues where there need be but one.

And thus honest John, though his station was humble, Passed through this sad world without even a grumble; And I wish that some folks, who are greater and richer, Would copy John Tomkins, the hedger and ditcher.

Jane Taylor

GOOD AND BAD CHILDREN

Children, you are very little,

And your bones are very brittle;

If you would grow great and stately,
You must try to walk sedately.

You must still be bright and quiet,
And content with simple diet;
And remain, through all bewild'ring,
Innocent and honest children.

Happy hearts and happy faces,
Happy play in grassy places-
That was how, in ancient ages,
Children grew to kings and sages.

But the unkind and the unruly,
And the sort who eat unduly,
They must never hope for glory-
Theirs is quite a different story!

Cruel children, crying babies,
All grow up as geese and gabies,
Hated, as their age increases,
By their nephews and their nieces.

Robert Louis Stevenson