WHO IS SHE?

There is a little maiden

Who is she? Do you know? Who always has a welcome Wherever she may go.

Her face is like the May-time;
Her voice is like a bird's;
The sweetest of all music

Is in her joyful words.

The loveliest of blossoms

Spring where her light foot treads,

And most delicious odors

She all around her sheds

The breath of purple clover

Upon the breezy hills; The smell of garden roses,

And yellow daffodils.

Each spot she makes the brighter,

As if she were the sun;

And she is sought and cherished,

And loved by every one

By old folks and by children,
By lofty and by low:
Who is this little maiden?
Does anybody know?

You surely must have met her-
You certainly can guess:
What! must 1 introduce her?

Her name is CHEERFULNESS.

MARION DOUGLASS.

THE JOLLY OLD CROW.

On the limb of an oak sat a jolly old crow,

And chattered away with glee, with glee,
As he saw the old farmer go out to sow,
And he cried, "It's all for me, for me!

"Look, look, how he scatters his seeds around;
He is wonderful kind to the poor, the poor;
If he'd empty it down in a pile on the ground,
I could find it much better I'm sure, I'm sure!

"I've learned all the tricks of this wonderful man,
Who has such a regard for the crow, the crow,
That he lays out his grounds in a regular plan,
And covers his corn in a row, a row!

"He must have a very great fancy for me;
He tries to entrap me enough, enough;

But I measure his distance as well as he,

And when he comes near, I'm off, I'm off !"

ANONYMOUS,

HAPPINESS.

She is deceitful as the calm that precedes the hurricane, smooth as the water on the verge of the cataract, and beautiful as the rainbow, that smiling daughter of the storm; but, like the mirage in the desert, she tantalizes us with a delusion that distance creates, and that contiguity destroys. Yet, when unsought, she is often found, and when unexpected, often obtained; while those who seek for her the most diligently, fail the most, because they seek her where she is not. Antony sought her in love; Brutus, in glory; Cæsar, in dominion; -the first found disgrace, the second disgust, the last ingratitude, and each destruction. To some she is more kind, but not less cruel; she hands them her cup; and they drink even to stupefaction, until they doubt whether they are men, with Philip, or dream that they are gods with Alexander.

On some she smiles, as on Napoleon, with an aspect more bewitching than an Italian sun; but it is only to make her frown the more terrible, and by one short caress to embitter the pangs of separation. Yet is she, by universal homage and consent, a queen; and the passions are the vassal lords that crowd her court, await her mandate, and move at her control. But, like other mighty sovereigns, she is so surrounded by her envoys, her officers, and her ministers of state, that it is extremely difficult to be admitted to her presence chamber, or to have any immediate communication with herself. Ambition, Avarice, Love, Revenge, all these seek her, and her alone; alas! they are neither presented to her, nor will she come to them. She dispatches, however, her envoys to them,-mean and poor representatives of their queen. To Ambition, she sends Power; to Avarice, Wealth; to Love, Jealousy; to Revenge, Remorse. Alas! what are these, but so many other names for vexation or disappointment?

Neither is she to be won by flatteries or by bribes; she is to be gained by waging war against her enemies, much sooner than by pay. ing any particular court to herself. Those that conquer her adversaries, will find that they need not go to her, for she will come unto them. None bid so high for her as kings; few are more willing, none are more able to purchase her alliance at the fullest price. But she has no more respect for kings than for their subjects; she mocks them, indeed, with the empty show of a visit, by sending to their palaces all her equipage, her pomp, and her train; but she comes not herself. What detains her? She is traveling incognito, to keep a private appointment with Contentment, and to partake of a dinner of herbs in a cottage.

WALTER COLTON.

CUT BEHIND.

The scene opens on a clear, crisp morning. Two boys are running to get on the back of a carriage, whose wheels are spinning along the road. One of the boys, with a quick spring, succeeds. The other leaps, but falls, and falls on the part of the body where it is most appropriate to fall. No sooner has he struck the ground than he shouts to the driver of the carriage, "Cut behind!"

Human nature is the same in boy as in man-all running to gain the vehicle of success. Some are spry, and gain that for which they

strive. Others are slow, and tumble down; they who fall crying out against those who mount, "Cut behind!"

A political office rolls past. A multitude spring to their feet, and the race is in. Only one of all the number reaches that for which he runs. No sooner does he gain the prize, and begin to wipe the sweat from his brow, and think how grand a thing it is to ride in popular preferment, than the disappointed candidates cry out, "Incompetency! Stupidity! Fraud! Now let the newspapers of the other political party cut behind.'"

There is a golden chariot of wealth rolling down the street. A thousand people are trying to catch it. They run; they jostle; they tread on each other. Push, and pull, and tug. Those talk most against riches who cannot get them. Clear the track for the racers! One of the thousand reaches the golden prize, and mounts. Forthwith the air is full of cries, "Got it by fraud! Shoddy! Petroleum! aristocracy! His father was a rag-picker! His mother was a washerwoman! I knew him when he blacked his own shoes! Pitch him off the back part of the golden chariot! Cut behind! cut behind!"

In many eyes success is a crime. "I do not like you," said the snow-flake to the snow bird. "Why?" said the snow-bird. "Because," said the snow-flake, "you are going up and I am going down."

We have to state that the man in the carriage, on the crisp morning, though he had a long lash-whip, with which he could have made the climbing boy yell most lustily, did not cut behind. He heard the shout in the rear, and said, “Good-morning, my son. climb over and sit by me. Here are the reins; take hold and drive; was a boy myself once, and know what tickles youngsters."

That is right;

Thank God, there are so many in the world that never "cut behind," but are ready to give a fellow a ride whenever he wants it. There are hundreds of people whose chief joy it is to help others on. Now it is a smile, now a good word, now ten dollars. When such a kind man has ridden to the end of the earthly road, it will be pleasant to hang up the whip with which he drove the enterprises of a lifetime, and feel that with it he never "cut behind" at those who were struggling.

T. DEWITT TALMAGE.