THE PLAYMATE OVER THE SEA

The young foreigner newly arrived in our city, digs downward with his spade, but his imagination works upward into the realms of the invisible. He endures the ditch and the spade, through foresight of the day when his playmate will come over the sea; when together they will own a little house, and have a garden with vines and flowers, with a little path leading down to the spring; when they will have a little competence, so that the sweet babe shall not want for knowledge. By that dream the youth sustains his loneliness and poverty; by that dream he conquers his vices and passions; at last, through that dream, he is lifted up to the rank of a patriot and worthy citizen. Imagination is God, whispering to the soul what it shall be when time and the divine resources have accomplished their work upon man.-Newell Dwight Hillis.

THE NUT GATHERERS

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In a hollow, rather a deep hollow, behind the crest of the hill, as Fleda had said, they came at last to a group of noble hickory trees, with one or two chestnuts standing in attendance on the outskirts. They were thick hung with fruit. If the spirit of the game had been wanting or failing in Mr. Carleton, it must have roused again into full life at the joyous heartiness of Fleda's exclamations.

At any rate, no boy could have taken to the business better. He cut, with her permission, a stout long pole in the woods, and swinging himself lightly into one of the trees, showed that he was a master in the art of whipping them. Fleda was delighted but not surprised. When one of the trees was well whipped the young gentleman mounted into another, while Fleda set herself to hull and gather up the nuts under the one already beaten. She could make but little headway, however, compared with her companion; the nuts fell a great deal faster than she could put them in her basket. The trees were heavy-laden, and Mr. Carleton seemed determined to have the whole crop. From the second tree he went to the third. Fleda was bewildered with her happiness: this was doing business in style. She tried to calculate what the whole quantity would. be, but it went beyond her. One basket would not take it, nor two, nor three; "it wouldn't begin to," Fleda said to herself. She went on hulling and gathering with all possible industry. After the third tree was finished, Mr. Carleton threw down his pole, and resting himself upon the ground at its foot, told Fleda he would wait a few minutes before he began again. Fleda thereupon left off her work, too, and going for her little tin pail, offered it to him, temptingly filled with pieces of apple pie. When he had smilingly taken one, she next brought him a sheet of white paper, with slices of young cheese.

"No, thank you," said he.

"Cheese is very good with apple pie," said Fleda, competently.

"Is it?" said he, laughing. Well,-upon that-I think you would teach me a good many things if I were to stay here long enough, Miss Fleda."

They descended the mountain now with hasty step (for the day was wearing well on), till they reached the neighborhood of the spring.

"For what are you searching, Miss Fleda?" said her friend. She was making a busy quest here and there beside the stream.

"I was looking to see if I could find a mullein leaf," said Fleda. "A mullein leaf? What do you want it for?" said her friend.

"I want it to make a drinking cup of," said Fleda, her intent, bright eyes peering keenly about in every direction.

"A mullein leaf? That is too rough; one of these golden leaves-what are they? will do better; won't it?"

"That is hickory," said Fleda. "No; the mullein leaf is the best, because it holds the water so nicely-Here it is!"

And folding up one of the leaves into a most artistic little cup, she presented it to Mr. Carleton.

"For me was all that trouble?" said he. "I don't deserve it."

Said Fleda: "The water is very cold and nice."

He stooped to the bright little stream and filled his rural goblet again. "I never knew what it was before, to have a fairy for my cup-bearer," said he.-Susan Warner.

HAPPINESS

Give happiness. What if thy heart be sad?
Dry thine own eyes to wipe another's tears.
In this good world there are so many biers
Carried by souls in blackest raiment clad,
Souls dazed by desolation and half mad,

Mourning their dead-dead hopes, dead joys, dead years-
Blind to the star that every midnight cheers,

Deaf to the song that makes each morning glad.
Give spicy blooms where flowers never grow;

Give food where starving hearts fight fate's decree;
Give rest where tired hands and feet drag slow;
Give sight to eyes too full of tears to see;

Give music where sweet trumpets never blow;

Give happiness, and joy shall garment thee. —Emma C. Dowd.

Dare to look up to God and say: "Make use of me for the future as thou wilt. I am of the same mind; I am one with thee. I refuse nothing which seems good to thee. Lead me whither thou wilt. Clothe me in whatever dress thou wilt." Let not another's disobedience become an ill to you; you were not born to be depressed and unhappy with others, but to be happy with them. If any is unhappy, remember he is so for himself; for God made all men to enjoy felicity and peace.-Epictetus.

WORK

Blessed is he who has found his work; let him ask no other blessedness. He has a work; a life purpose; he has found it, and will follow it! How, as the free flowing channel, dug and torn by noble force through the mud-swamp of one's existence, like an ever-deepening river there, it runs and flows; draining off the sour, festering water gradually from the root of the remotest grass blade; making, instead of pestilential swamp, a green, fruitful meadow, with its clear flowing stream.-Thomas Carlyle.

Busy husband and happy wife,

Prattle of babies three:

Singing of birds, and humming of bees;
Shadow and sunshine on the trees;
Glancing needles, eager talk;

Books, and pens, and the evening walk
Through the meadows down below;
Thus the Summer days go by,
And we look on, and only sigh-
We sigh, but do not know.

Only a little house,

But a house heart-full of bliss-
Plenty of work and plenty of play;
Busy heart and brain all day;
And then, ere the good-night kiss,
The lingering shadow of worldly care,
Wafted off by the evening prayer;
And silence falls on the little house,

Save for the whirr of the midnight mouse,

Here, and there, and everywhere;

And through the tiny garden-plot,

The voice of the rill, which, all night through,
Murmurs its music ever new-

"I am happy-and you? and you?"

SPENDING UPWARD

The very secret and essence of thrift consists in getting things into higher values. As the clod turns into a flower, as the flower inspires a poet; as bread becomes vital force, and vital force feeds moral purpose and aspiration, so should all our savings and outgo have regard to the higher ranges and appetites of our nature. If you have a dollar, or a hundred, to spend, put it into something above the average of your nature, that you may be attracted to it. True thrift is the science of spending upward; that is, for the higher faculties. Beyond what is necessary for bodily wants and well-being, every dollar spent for the body is a derogation of manhood. Get the better thing, never the inferior. Suppers, balls, drink, billiards-these call from below. Rather buy a book, or take a journey, or bestow a gift.

All that is harmony for thee, O Universe, is in harmony with me as well. Nothing that comes at the right time for thee is too early or too late for me. Everthing is fruit to me that thy seasons bring, O Nature.-Marcus Aurelius.