Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 January 1876 — Our Young Folks. [ARTICLE]

Our Young Folks.

GETTING UP IN THE WORLD. “ Mother, do butterflies remember when the}' were worms and caterpillars?” inquired Natty. “What puzzling questions you children do ask!” said liis mother. “ The idea never entered my head. You most ask your Uncle Joe.” “Uncle Joe,” asked Natty, again, “ do butterflies remember when they were worms and caterpillars?” “ Why, no,” said UncTe Joe. “ I should say nmt, if all stories are true.” “ What stories ?” “Ihappened to he reading one the other day which—hut stay, just hand me that book, please ; the thin, square, pret-tfly-bound one. That’s it. Now we’ll look fbr the story. I forget the name. Ah, her.i we have it. It’s not a long story. Reading it will hardly take ten minutes-. Listen:” A poor little worm was one' day crawling slowly along the ground, seeking for food, while above her happy insects darted through the air, their bright wings flashing in the sunlight. “Alas!” sighed the little worm. “What a toilsome lifts is ours! We move only by great labor, and even with that can never travel far. Kept near the damp ground, liable at any moment to be crushed, toiling up and' down rough stalks, eating tough leaves—for it is only now and then we find a flower. Oh, it is truly a-weari-some life. “Yet none seem to pity our sorrows. Those proud insects flitting over' head, the miller, the butterfly, the dragon-fly, the golden bumble-bee, they never notice us! Oh, but life goes well with them! Flying is so easy! Even easier than rest. Wherever they wish to be, tliev have only to. spread their wings and the summer wind bears them on. Dressed out so gayly, at home with all the flowers, living on sweets, seeing fine sights, hearing all that is to be heard, what care they for us poor plodders? Selfish creatures! They think only of themselves. Now, for my part, if 1 had wings and could move alxiut so easily, I would think, sometimes, of the poor worms down below, who could not fly. I would bring them, now and then, a sip of honey, or a taste of something nice from the flower gardens, far away. I would come down and speak a kind word, tell them something good to hear—in short, be friendly. Oh, if one only had wings, how much good one might do. But these selfish creatures never think of that !”

Not long afterward this complaining worm was changed into a butterfly. Spreading her light wings, she passed the happy hours in flitting from field to field, rocking in the flower-cups, idling about where the sunshine was brightest, sipping where the honey was sweetest. Oh, a right gay butterfly was she, and no summer day ever seemed too long! One morning, while resting upon an opening rosebud, she saw below her a couple of worms, making their slow way over the ground. “Poor creatures!” she said. “Life goes hard with them. Dull things, liow little they know! It must lie stupid down there. No doubt their lives could be brightened up a trifle. Some few pleasures or comforts might be given them, and I hope this will be done. If 1 were not so busy—but really I haven’t a moment to spare. To-day there is a rose party, and all the butterflies are going there. To-morrow the sweet-pea party comes off, and all the butterflies are going there. Next day the grasshoppers give a grand hop, and at sundown there will be a serenade by the crickets. Every hour is occupied. The bumble-bees and hornets are getting up a concert. Then there is a new flower blossoming in a garden far away, and all are flying to see it. The two rich butterflies, Lady Golden Spot and Mine. Royal Purple have arrived lin great state, and expect great attentions. The bees have had a lucky summer, and, iu honor of these new- arrivals, are to give a grand honey festival, at which the Queen herself will preside. The wasps are on the police, and will, I trust, keep out the vulgar. The gnats and mosquitoes have formed a military company called the flying militia, anil will serve if needed. It is to be hoped that no low creatures, like the two creeping along below, will intrude themselves. Poor things! If I had the time 1 really would try to do something for them, but ever}- sunny day is taken up, and stirring out in the wet is not to be thought of. “Besides, ope meets with so much that is not pleasant in mixing with low people! Their homes are not always cleanly. I might soil my wings. And if once taken notice ot, they will always expect it. Why make them dissatisfied ? They are well enough off as they are. Perhaps, after all, it is my duty not to meddle with them. In fact, I have no doubt of it. “ Here comes Miss Gossamer! Welcome, Miss Gossamer! All ready for the rose party? How sweetly you look! Wait one moment till I have washed my face in this dew-drop. The sun has nearly dried it up while I have been pitying those mean worms below there. Folly, I know, to thus wpste the time. But my feelings are so tender! I actually thought of calling! What would Lady Golden Spot think, or Mine. Royal’ Purple! Have you seen them pass ? They are sure to be there. Do you suppose they will take notice of us ? If they don’t I shall be perfectly wretched. Come, dear Miss Gossamer, one more sip, and. then away!” —Abby Morton Diaz, in St. Nicholas.