Sweet words of comfort, whispered I
Into his dainty ears,
But Love still hugged the butterfly,
And bathed its wounds with tears.
THE BEE-MAN.
We were glancing over the mental photograph album, and commenting on the
great lack of dissimilarity in tastes. Nearly every one preferred spring
to any other season, with a very few exceptions in favor of autumn. The
women loved Mrs. Browning and Longfellow; the men showed decided
preferences after Emerson and Macauley. Conceit stuck out when the
majority wanted to be themselves and none other, and only two did not
want to live in the 19th century. But in one place, in answer to the
question, "Whom would you rather be, if not yourself?" the answer was,
"A baby!"
"Why would you rather be a baby than any other personage?" queried
someone glancing at the writer, who blushed as she replied.
"Because then I might be able to live a better life, I might have better
opportunities and better chances for improving them, and it would bring
me nearer the 20th century."
"About eight or nine years ago," said the first speaker, "I remember
reading a story in a magazine for young folks. It was merely a fairy
story, and perhaps was not intended to point a moral, but only to amuse
the little ones.
Pages:
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117