o take a ride on it.

"Limby on! Limby ride on bone!" said the child in a whimper.

"Did you _ever hear_?" said the father.

"What an extraordinary child!" said the mother. "How clever to know it
was like a saddle, the little dear! No, no, Limby; grease frock,
Limby."

But Limby cared nothing about a greasy frock, not he--he was used
enough to that--and therefore roared out more lustily for a ride on
the mutton.

"Did you ever know such a child? What a dear, determined spirit!"

"He is a child of an uncommon mind," said his mother. "Limby,
dear--Limby, dear, silence! silence!"

The truth was, Limby made such a roaring that neither father nor
mother could get their dinners, and scarcely knew whether they were
eating beef or mutton.

"It is impossible to let him ride on the mutton," said his
father--"quite impossible!"

"Well, but you might just put him astride the dish, just to satisfy
him. You can take care his legs or clothes do not go into the gravy."

"Anything for a quiet life," said the father. "What does Limby want?
Limby ride?"

"Limby on bone! Limby on meat!"

"Shall I put him across?" said Mr. Lumpy.

"Just for one moment," said his mother; "it won't hurt the mutton."

The father rose, and took Limby from his chair, and, with the greatest
caution, held his son's legs astride, so that they might hang on each
side of the dish without touching it--"just to satisfy him," as he
said, "that they might dine in quiet--" and was about to withdraw him
from it immediately.

But Limby was not to be cheated in that way. He wished to feel the
saddle _under_ him, and accordingly forced himself down upon it; but
feeling it rather warmer than was agreeable, started, and lost his
balance, and fell down among the dishes, soused in melted butter,
cauliflower, and gravy, floundering, and kicking, and screaming, to
the detriment of glasses, jugs, dishes, and everything else on the
table.

"My child! my child!" said his mother. "Oh, save my child!"

She snatched him up, and pressed his begreased garments close to the
bosom of her best silk gown.

Neither father nor mother wanted any more dinner after this. As to
Limby, he was as frisky afterwards as if nothing had happened, and
about half an hour from the time of this disaster _cried for his
dinner._

THE SORE TONGUE

By JANE TAYLOR

There was a little girl called Fanny, who had the misfortune one day
to bite her tongue as she was eating her brea