Never a daisy that grows, but a mystery guideth the growing; Never a river that flows, but a majesty sceptres the flowing; Never a Shakspeare that soared, but a stronger than he did enfold him;

Nor ever a prophet foretells, but a mightier seer hath foretold him.

Back of the canvas that throbs the painter is hinted and hidden;

Into the statue that breathes the soul of the sculptor is bidden;

Under the joy that is felt lie the infinite issues of feeling; Crowning the glory revealed is the glory that crowns the revealing.

Great are the symbols of being, but that which is symboled is greater;

Vast the create and beheld, but vaster the inward creator; Back of the sound broods the silence, back of the gift stands the giving;

Back of the hand that receives thrill the sensitive nerves of receiving.

Space is as nothing to spirit, the deed is outdone by the doing;

The heart of the wooer is warm, but warmer the heart of the wooing;

And up from the pits where these shiver, and up from the heights where those shine,

Twin voices and shadows swim starward, and the essence of life is divine.

NUTTING.-LUCY MARION BLINN.

Out in the pleasant sunshine of a bright October day, Rellicking, frolicking through the woods, scaring the birds

away,

Went a group of laughing girls and boys to play till the sun was set;

Martha and Robbie, and Tom and Will, and Dolly, the household pet!

They "made believe" they were foragers bold, scouring the country o'er,

To add to their scanty soldier fare from an enemy's fruitful store,

And they charged on the squirrels' leafy homes till they

beat a quick retreat;

While their precious hoards came rattling down at the noisy victors' feet.

They played tag and follow my leader and scampered up and down,

Covering each other in their glee with the leaves so crisp and brown,

Till they huddled down to talk and rest and plan some pleasure new,

While Martha unpacked the "goodies" for the hungry, bright-faced crew.

"I'm too little to work," said Dolly, tossing her curls away, "You make the dinner, Mattie, dear,-then I'll be papa, and pray!

I know just how he does it, 'cause I've looked through my fingers, so;

And God will hear me better out-doors than he would in the house, I know!"

Then clasping her baby fingers, and bowing her leaf-crowned head,

With its tangled floss half over her face, shading its flush of red,

Sweetly the innocent little voice stole out on the waiting air,

And up to the children's Father floated this childish prayer:

"I thank you, God, 'way up in the sky, for these nice things to eat;

For this happy day in the pleasant woods, for the squirrels and birdies sweet;

For fathers and mothers to love us-only Robbie, his mother's dead;

But I guess you know all about that, God-you took her away, they said!

"If you please, don't make my mother die; I shouldn't know what to do!

I couldn't take care of myself at all; you'd have to get me, too!

Make all the days just as good as this, and don't let Robbie

cry

That's all little Dolly knows to pray, our Father in heaven, good-by!"

Then the sweet child voices rose anew like a beautiful refrain, And the birds in the brown leaves overhead caught up the merry strain,

And twittered it back till the yellow sun was lost in the hazy west,

When birds and children fluttered home, each to a sheltering nest.

A BABY'S SOLILOQUY.

I am here. And if this is what they call the world, I don't think much of it. It's a very flannelly world, and smells of paregoric awfully. It's a dreadful light world, too, and makes me blink, I tell you. And I don't know what to do with my hands; I think I'll dig my fists in my eyes. No, I won't. I'll scratch at the corner of my blanket and chew it up, and then I'll holler; whatever happens, I'll holler. And the more paregoric they give me, the louder I'll yell. That old nurse puts the spoon in the corner of my mouth, side wise like, and keeps tasting my milk herself all the while. She spilt snuff in it last night, and, when I hollered, she trotted me. That comes of being a two days' old baby. Never mind: when I'm a man I'll pay her back good. There's a pin sticking in me now, and if I say a word about it, I'll be trotted or fed; and I would rather have catnip tea. I'll tell you who I am. I found out to-day. I heard folks say, "Hush! don't wake up Emeline's baby;" and I suppose that pretty, white-faced woman over on the pillow is Emeline.

No, I was mistaken; for a chap was in here just now, and wanted to see Bob's baby; and looked at me and said I was a funny little toad, and looked just like Bob. He smelt of cigars. I wonder who else I belong to? Yes, there's another one-that's "Gamma." "It was Gamma's baby, so it was." I declare, I do not know who I belong to; but I'll holler, and maybe I'll find out. There comes snuffy with catnip tea. I'm going to sleep. my hands won't go where I want them to?

I wonder why

ASK MAMMA.-A. MELVILLE BELL.

A bachelor squire of no great possession,

Long come to what should have been years of discretion, Determined to change his old habits of life,

And comfort his days by taking a wife.

He had long been the sport of the girls of the place,
They liked his good, simple, quiet, cheery, fat face;
And whenever he went to a tea-drinking party,
The flirts were in raptures,-our friend was so hearty!

They'd fasten a cord near the foot of the door,
And bring down the jolly old chap on the floor;
They'd pull off his wig while he floundered about,
And hide it, and laugh till he hunted it out.

They would tie his coat-tails to the back of his seat,
And scream with delight when he rose to his feet;
They would send him at Christmas a box full of bricks,
And play on his temper all manner of tricks.

One evening they pressed him to play on the flute,
And he blew in his eyes a rare scatter of soot !
He took it so calmly, and laughed while he spoke,
That they begged him to pardon their nasty "black joke.”

One really appeared so sincere in her sorrow,

That he vowed to himself he would ask her to-morrow, And not one of the girls but would envy her lot,

If this jolly old bachelor's offer she got.

For they never had dreamed of his playing the beau,
Or doubtless they would not have treated him so;
However, next day, to fair Fanny's amazement,
She saw him approach as she stood at the casement;
And he very soon gave her to know his desire,

That she should become the dear wife of the squire.

La! now, Mr. Friendly, what would they all say?"

But she thought that not one of them all would say nay.

She was flustered with pleasure, and coyness, and pride, To be thus unexpectedly sued for a bride;

She did not refuse him, but yet did not like

To say "Yes," all at once-the hot iron to strike.

So, to give the proposal the greater éclat,

She said, "Dear Mr. Friendly, you'd best ask mamma!”
"Good morning then, Fanny, I'll do what you say;
As she's out, I shall call in the course of the day."

Fanny blushed as she gave him her hand for good-by,
And she did not know which to do first, laugh or cry;
To wed such a dear, darling man, nothing loth,
For variety's sake, in her joy she did both!

"Oh, what will mamma say, and all the young girls?"
She thought as she played with her beautiful curls;
"I wish I had said yes at once,-'twas too bad
Not to ease his dear mind,—oh, I wish that I had!"

"I wish he had asked me to give him a kiss,
But he can't be in doubt of my feelings-that's bliss!
Oh, I wish that mamma would come home for the news;
Such a good, dear, kind soul, she will never refuse.

"There's the bell-here she is! O mamma!"

preserve us!

"Child,

What ails you, dear Fanny? What makes you so nervous?" "I really can't tell you just now-by-and-by

Mr. Friendly will call and he'll tell you-not I.”

"Mr. Friendly, my child! What about him, I pray?"
"Oh, mamma, he's to call in the course of the day;
He was here just this moment, and shortly you'll see
He'll make you as happy as he has made me.

"I declare he has seen you come home-that's his ring;
I will leave you and him now to settle the thing."
Fanny left in a flutter; her mother-the gipsy-
She'd made her as giddy as though she'd been tipsy!
Mr. Friendly came in, and the widow and he
Were soon as delighted as Fanny could be;
He asked the dear widow to change her estate;
She consented at once, and a kiss sealed her fate.

Fanny came trembling in, overloaded with pleasure,
But soon she was puzzled in as great a measure.
"Dear Fanny," said Friendly, "I've done what you said;"
But what he had done never entered her head.

"I have asked your mamma, and she gives her consent."
Fanny flew to his arms to express her content;
He kissed her, and said—as he kissed her mamma-
"I'm so glad, my dear Fan, that you like your papa!”
Poor Fanny now found out the state of the case,
And she blubbered outright, with a pitiful face;
It was all she could do, under heavy constraint,
To preserve herself conscious and keep off a faint!
She determined next time she'd a chance, you may guess,
Not to say, "Ask mamma," but at once to say “Yes.”

LITTLE MAG'S VICTORY.-GEORGE L. CATLIN.

'Twas a hovel all wretched, forlorn, and poor,
With crumbling eaves and a hingeless door,
And windows where pitiless midnight rains
Beat fiercely in through the broken panes,
And tottering chimneys, and moss-grown roof,
From the heart of the city far aloof,
Where Nanny, a hideous, wrinkled hag,
Dwelt with her grandchild, "Little Mag."
The neighbors called old Nanny a witch.
The story went that she'd once been rich-