to that: now take that ribbon, and make the bows to old Mrs Griffin's cap. The idea of wanting to be a school-teacher when you have it at your fingers' ends to twist up a ribbon so easy-it is ridikilis! Did Miss Snow come here last night, after I went out, for her bonnet?'

'Yes,' answered Rose.

'Did you tell her it was all finished but the cap-frill?' asked Dolly.

'No; because I knew that it was not yet begun, and I could not tell a

a'

'Lie! I suppose,' screamed Dolly, putting her face very close to Rose's, as if to defy her to say the obnoxious word; 'is that it?' 'Yes,' said Rose, courageously.

'Good girl! good girl!' said Dolly; 'shall have a medal, so it shall;' and cutting a large oval out of a bit of pasteboard, and passing a twine string through it, she hung it round her neck: 'Good little Rosy-Posy -just like its conscientious mamma!'

'I wish I were half as good as my mamma,' said Rose, with a trembling voice.

'I suppose you think that Aunt Dolly is a great sinner!' said that lady.

'We are all great sinners, are we not?' answered Rose. 'All but little Rosy-Posy,' sneered Dolly: 'she is perfect — only needs a pair of wings to take her straight up to heaven.'

From the American Note-books.

Fanny Fern.

An article to be made of telling the stories of the tiles of an oldfashioned chimney-piece to a child.

A person conscious that he was soon to die, the humor in which he would pay his last visit to familiar persons and things.

A description of the various classes of hotels and taverns, and the prominent personages in each. There should be some story connected with it, as of a person commencing with boarding at a great hotel, and gradually, as his means grow less, descending in life, till he got below ground into a cellar.

A person to be in the possession of something as perfect as mortal man has a right to demand; he tries to make it better and ruins it entirely.

A person to spend all his life and splendid talents in trying to achieve something naturally impossible, -as to make a conquest over Nature.

Meditations about the main gas-pipe of a great city, if the supply were to be stopped, what would happen? How many different scenes it sheds light on? It might be made emblematical of something.

A fairy tale about chasing Echo to her hiding-piace. Echo is the voice of a reflection in a mirror.

A house to be built over a natural spring of inflammable gas, and to be constantly illuminated therewith. What moral could be drawn from this? It is a carburetted hydrogen gas, and is cooled from a soft shale or slate, which is sometimes bituminous, and contains more or less carbonate of lime. It appears in the vicinity of Lockport and Niagara Falls, and elsewhere in New York. I believe it indicates coal. At Fredonia, the whole village is lighted by it. Elsewhere, a farm-house was lighted by it, and no other fuel used in the coldest weather.

Gnomes, or other mischievous little fiends, to be represented as burrowing in the hollow teeth of some person who has subjected himself to their power. It should be a child's story. This should be one of many modes of petty torment. They should be contrasted with beneficient fairies, who minister to the pleasures of the good.

A man will undergo great toil and hardship for ends that must be many years distant, -as wealth or fame, but none for an end that may be close at hand, - -as the joys of heaven.

Insincerity in a man's own heart must make all his enjoyments, all that concerns him, unreal; so that his whole life must seem like a merely dramatic representation. And this would be the case, even though he were surrounded by true-hearted relatives and friends

A company of men, none of whom have anything worth hoping for on earth, yet who do not look forward to anything beyond earth !

Sorrow to be personified, and its effect on a family represented by the way in which the members of the family regard this darkelad and sad-browed inmate.

A story to show how we are all wronged and wrongers, and avenge one another.

To personify winds of various characters.

A man living a wicked life in one place, and simultaneously a virtuous and religious one in another.

An ornament to be worn about the person of a lady, — as a jewelled heart. After many years, it happens to be broken or unscrewed, and a poisonous odor comes out.

A company of persons to drink a certain medicinal preparation, which would prove a poison, or the contrary, according to their different characters.

Many persons, without a consciousness of so doing, to contribute to some one end; as to a beggar's feast, made up of broken victuals from many tables; or a patch carpet, woven of shreds from innumerable garments.

Some very famous jewel or other thing, much talked of all over the world. Some person to meet with it, and get possession of it in some unexpected manner, amid homely circumstances.

A cloud in the shape of an old woman kneeling, with arms extended toward the moon.

On being transported to strange scenes, we feel as if all were unreal. This is but the perception of the true unreality of earthly things, made evident by the want of congruity between ourselves and them. By and by we become mutually adapted, and the perception is lost.

An old looking-glass. Somebody finds out the secret of making all the images that have been reflected in it pass back again across its surface.

Our Indian races having reared no monuments, like the Greeks, Romans and Egyptians, when they have disappeared from the earth their history will appear a fable, and they misty phantoms.

A woman to sympathize with all emotions, but to have none of her own.

A letter, written a century or more ago, but which has never yet been unsealed.

A dreadful secret to be communicated to several people of various characters, grave or gay, and they all to become insane, according to their characters, by the influence of the secret.

Stories to be told of a certain person's appearance in public, of his having been seen in various situations, and of his making visits in private circles; but finally, on looking for this person, to come upon his old grave and mossy tombstone.

The influence of a peculiar mind, in close communion with another, to drive the latter to insanity.

To look at a beautiful girl, and picture all the lovers, in different situations, whose hearts are centered upon her.

Nathaniel Hawthorne,

Invocation to Light.

O holy light! thou art old as the look of God, and eternal as His word. The angels were rocked in thy lap, and their infant smiles were brightened by thee. Creation is in thy memory. By thy torch the throne of Jehovah was set, and thy hand burnished the myriad stars that glitter in His crown. Worlds new from His omnipotent hand were sprinkled with beams from thy baptismal font. At thy golden urn, pale Luna comes to fill her silver horn; Saturn bathes his sky-girt rings; Jupiter lights his waning moons, and Venus dips her queenly robes anew. Thy fountains are

shoreless as the ocean of heavenly love, thy center is everywhere, and thy boundary no power has marked.

Thy beams gild the illimitable fields of space, and gladden the farthest verge of the universe. The glories of the seventh heaven are open to thy gaze, and thy glare is felt in the woes of lowest "Erebus." The sealed books of heaven by thee are read, and thine eye, like the Infinite, canst pierce the dark veil of the future, and glance backward through the mystic cycles of the past. Thy touch gives the lily its whiteness, the rose its tint, and thy kindling ray makes the diamond's light. Thy beams are mighty as the power that binds the spheres.

Thou canst change the sleety winds to soothing zephyrs; and thou canst melt the icy mountains of the poles to gentle rains and dewy vapors.

The granite rocks of the hills are upturned by thee, volcanoes burst, islands sink and rise, rivers roll and oceans swell at thy look of command. And oh! thou monarch of the skies, bend now thy bow of millioned arrows and pierce, if thou canst, this darkness that thrice twelve moons has bound me.

Burst now thine emerald gates, oh! Morn, and let thy dawning

come.

Mine eyes roll in vain to find thee, and my soul is weary of this interminable gloom. The past comes back robed in a pall which makes all things dark, and covers the future with but a rayless night of years. My heart is the tomb of blighted hopes, and all the misery of feelings unemployed has settled on me. I am misfortune's child, and sorrow long since marked me for her own. Mrs. S. H. DeKrouft.