Part 51 (1/2)

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A LITTLE GIRL AND BOY.}]

--The following is an Arabic proverb taken from the mouth of an Oriental: ”Men are four. 1. He who knows not, and knows not he knows not. He is a fool; shun him. 2. He who knows not, and knows he knows not. He is simple; teach him. 3. He who knows, and knows not he knows.

He is asleep; wake him. 4. He who knows, and knows he knows. He is wise; follow him.”

WHAT THE SNAIL SAID.

”You little chicks, tho' you peck at my dress, I will not get angry at that; I know you would gobble me up if you could, As quick as a worm or a gnat.”

”Say, little snail, you had better go on, They may try the same trick upon you.”

”No, no,” said the snail, with his hard coat of mail, ”I don't care a rush if they do.

”Little girl, there's no harm to cause me alarm, I'll sit here and watch them a spell, But as soon as they pounce, I'll cheat them at once, By getting right into my sh.e.l.l.”

”But listen, wise snail, the old hen in the coop Has her eye very closely on you; And if she gets out, it may put you about, Now mind, what I tell you is true.”

”But dear little girl, she is fast in her house; No, no, she can't touch me, no, no.

But if that respectable fowl should get out, Oho!” said the snail. ”Oho!”

ONLY NOW AND THEN.

Think it no excuse, boys, Merging into men, That you do a wrong act ”Only now and then.”

Better to be careful As you go along, If you would be manly, Capable and strong.

Many a wretched sot, boys, That one daily meets Drinking from the beer-kegs, Living in the streets, Or at best, in quarters Worse than any pen, Once was dressed in broadcloth Drinking now and then.

When you have a habit That is wrong, you know, Knock it off at once, lads, With a sudden blow.

Think it no excuse, boys, Merging into men, That you do a wrong act ”Only now and then.”

A SERPENT AMONG THE BOOKS.

One day, a gentleman in India went into his library and took down a book from the shelves. As he did so, he felt a slight pain in his finger, like the p.r.i.c.k of a pin. He thought that a pin had been stuck, by some careless person, in the cover of the book. But soon his finger began to swell, then his arm, and then his whole body, and in a few days he died. It was not a pin among the books, but a small and deadly serpent.

There are many serpents among the books now-a-days; they nestle in the foliage of some of our most fascinating literature; they coil around the flowers whose perfume intoxicates the senses. People read and are charmed by the plot of the story, and the skill with which the characters are sculptured or grouped, by the gorgeousness of the wood-painting, and hardly feel the pin-p.r.i.c.k of the evil that is insinuated. But it stings and poisons.

Let us watch against the serpents and read only that which is healthy, instructive and profitable.