A poor little cricket hidden in the flowery grass, regarded a butterfly, flying o’er the prairie. The insect shone with bright colors. Blue, purple and gold sparkled on his wings. Young, beautiful, little beau! He ran from flower to flower, taking and quitting all, even the most beautiful.

“Ah!” said the cricket, “how different is my life from his! Mother Nature has given him all and me nothing. I have no talent, still less figure. No one looks at me—I am ignored everywhere! As well not live at all!”

As he spoke, a troop of children arrived in the meadow. They all ran after the butterfly—they all wished to have it. Hats, handkerchiefs, bonnets, served to entrap him. The insect vainly sought to escape them. He soon became their conquest. One caught him by the wing, another by the body, a third by the head. It did not need so many efforts to pull the poor thing to pieces. “Oh! Oh!” said the cricket, “I am not so discontented as I was: it costs too much to shine in the world!”

Eleanor M. Winn.