ious than
I can describe or remember. Lubin had taken his five minutes in his
hand, and now spent them easily enough; but there were more, oh, many
more things that he thought that he would like from the stall. He went
humming on as he examined the sweetmeats a favourite proverb of his,
"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." But the fat little dunce
might have added, "All play and no work will make Lubin a duller."

Full of interest in all that he saw, with his eyes greedily fixed on
the stall, Lubin did not notice a lean, small figure, which, softly as a
serpent on the grass, had stolen up to his side. This was no other than
Procrastination, a pickpocket well known to the police, who had often
been caught in the very act of robbing her Majesty's subjects of Time,
had been tried and sent to prison, but on getting out had always
returned to his bad occupation again. The poet Young long ago set up a
placard to warn men to take care of their pockets, giving notice to all
concerned that "_Procrastination is the thief of Time_;" but, in spite
of this warning, there are few amongst us who must not own with regret
that the stealthy hand of Procrastination has robbed us of many an hour.

Have you never suffered from Procrastination, good reader? It is he who
makes us _put off_ till to-morrow what ought to be done to-day. It is he
who whispers, "It will be time enough," when a duty should be performed
directly. If you are aware, at this very moment, while you sit with this
book in your hand, that you ought to be busy with Arithmetic, or should
write a letter to a friend, or do some little piece of business, start
up without an instant's delay, shut this book with a clap; perhaps you
may then catch between its leaves the sly fingers of thief
Procrastination.

Poor Lubin was not on his guard: he noticed not the form that crept
after him as noiselessly as a shadow. Procrastination took the
opportunity when the boy's attention was most engaged with the
sweetmeats, to draw out Time's fairy purse, and rifle it of its precious
contents. Silently then he replaced the purse emptied for that day, in
hopes, perhaps, that when the morrow filled it with new hours and
minutes, he might rob its possessor again of the treasure which he
guarded so badly.

"Well, now," exclaimed Lubin, "I can't stop much longer, for I promised
Nelly to follow her quickly, and I know that I ought to be at Mr.
Arithmetic's by this time. I'll just spend t