't bear to see
Bridget cry, so she threw down the bit of paste in her hand; then
starting to her feet, as if a sudden thought had struck her, ran
quickly up stairs into the parlor, where her mother was sitting,
talking with two ladies.

Hatty forgot that her face, and hands, and check apron, and even her
curls, were all over flour, when she burst into the room, saying,

"Oh, Mamma!--Bridget and I have been talking, and Bridget--(_great big_
Bridget!)--don't know how to read and write! and she has nobody to love
but Pat--and Pat is in Ireland; and when he writes her a letter she
can't read it, and she can't answer him, because she don't know how to
write; and she hasn't seen Pat since--since he was as little as a
butter firkin--and she is so unhappy--and, Mamma, mayn't I have an
A-B-C book, and teach Bridget how to read and how to write?" And little
Hatty stopped--not because she had no more to say, but because she was
out of breath.

Hatty's mamma smiled, and said, "There was a little girl just your
size, in here about an hour ago, who 'didn't see the use of going to
school, and wished she might never look into another book so long as
she lived.' Have you seen anything of her?"

[Illustration: HATTY'S MISTAKE.]

Hatty blushed and said, "Oh, Mamma, I never will be so foolish again. I
see now how bad it is not to learn when one is a little girl."

Well, the A-B-C book was bought, and very funny it was to see little
Miss Hatty looking so wise from under her curls, and pointing out the
letters to Bridget with a long knitting needle. It was very slow work,
to be sure; but then Hatty was patient, for she had a good, kind heart;
and how proud she was when Bridget was able to read Pat's letters! and
prouder yet when she learned to answer them! and you may be sure that
Hatty never was heard to say again that "she didn't see _the use of
going to school_."

MIN-YUNG.

Did you ever see a China-man? I used to know one. His head was quite
shaved, except a long braid, which hung down below his waist behind. I
suppose it wasn't all his own hair; but that's none of my business. He
had as much right to tie on a false tail, if he liked, as the gentlemen
in Broadway have to wear false whiskers, and false moustaches.

Perched on the top of his head was a little skull-cap, just about big
enough to fit your little baby brother. On his feet were wooden shoes,
curled up at the toes like the end of an Indian canoe. He also wor