out-grown
clothes "to be made over for George;" and that cross old tailoress
keeps me from bat and ball, an hour on the stretch, while she laps
over, and nips in, and tucks up, and cuts off their great baggy clothes
for me. And when she puts me out the door, she's sure to say--"Good
bye, little Tom Thumb." Then when I go to my uncle's to dine, he always
puts the big dictionary in a chair, to hoist me up high enough to reach
my knife and fork; and if there is a dwarf apple or potatoe on the
table, it is always laid on my plate. If I go to the play-ground to
have a game of ball, the fellows all say--Get out of the way, little
chap, or we shall knock you into a cocked hat. I don't think I've grown
a bit these two years. I know I haven't, by the mark on the wall--(and
I stand up to measure every chance I get.) When visitors come to the
house and ask me my age, and I tell them that I am nine years old, they
say, Tut, tut! little boys shouldn't tell fibs. My brother Hal has got
his first long-tailed coat already; I am really afraid I never shall
have anything but a jacket. I go to bed early, and have left off eating
candy, and sweet-meats. I haven't put my fingers in the sugar-bowl this
many a day. I eat meat like my father, and I stretch up my neck till it
aches,--still I'm "_little_ George," and "nothing shorter;" or, rather,
I'm shorter than nothing. Oh, my Aunt Libby don't know much. How
_should_ she? She never was a boy!

MATTY AND MABEL;

OR,

WHO IS RICH?--WHO IS POOR?

There, Puss! said little Matty, you may have my dinner if you want it.
I'm tired of bread and milk. I'm tired of this old brown house. I'm
tired of that old barn, with its red eaves. I'm tired of the garden,
with its rows of lilacs, its sun-flowers, and its beds of catnip and
penny-royal. I'm tired of the old well, with its pole balancing in the
air. I'm tired of the meadow, where the cows feed, and the hens are
always picking up grass-hoppers. I wish I was a grass-hopper! I ain't
happy. I am tired of this brown stuff dress, and these thick leather
shoes, and my old sun-bonnet. There comes a nice carriage,--how smooth
and shiny the horses are; how bright the silver-mounted harness
glitters; how smart the coachman looks, in his white gloves. How nice
it must be to be rich, and ride in a carriage; oh! there's a little
girl in it, no older than I, and all alone, too!--a RICH little girl,
with a pretty rose-colored bonnet, and a silk dress, and