But my health was remarkably good,

And all I could do 'twould not fail;
Not a friend would confess I looked thin,
And I could not contrive to look pale!

When cut both by love and by death,
I began to be rude as a bear;
Full of frolics, and capers, and fun,
To make matter-of-fact people stare!

Now to folly and wisdom I've given
A sketch of my person and life;
"Verbum sat," take my word for it, I
Should make a most excellent wife!

But if "nobody's coming to marry,
Nobody coming to woo,"

I'll flourish a cheery old maiden,
And laugh with the laughers too!

My face shall be full of sunshine,
My spirit a "house of glee,"
My heart full of loving-kindness,
Though nobody marry me!

Elizabeth Austin,

I AM an old maid.

KIZZY KRINGLE.

AM an old maid. Perhaps I might have been married. Perhaps not. I don't know as that is anybody's business. I have a little room I call my own. Old maids like to have a good time as well as other folks; so I don't shut myself moping in my little salt-box of a room. When the four walls

close too tight around me, there are four or five families where I go visiting. Everybody is glad to see me. If the baby has the colic, I tend it; if Willie wants a new tail to his kite, I make it; if Lottie has torn her best frock, I mend it; and if papa comes slily up to me, and slips a dickey into my hand, I sew the missing string on, and say nothing. I have lately made the acquaintance of a new family, who have a whole house-full of children-not one too many, according to my way of thinking. Louisas and Marys, and Lauras and Annas, and Frankies and Harries, beside a little baby that its mother has not had time to name. I love to watch little children. I love to hear them talk, when they don't think I am listening. I love to read to them, and watch their eyes sparkle. They are oftener much pleasanter company than grown people; at least, so Kizzy thinks. But that is only an old maid's

opinion.

Fanny Fern.

I

THE FORSAKEN.

LEANT my back against an aik,
Methought it was a trusty tree;
But first it bowed, and then it brak;
So my true-love did lichtly me!

O waly, waly, love is bonny,

A little time while it is new,
But when it's auld, it waxeth cauld,
And fades away like morning dew.

Oh, wherefor should I busk my head?
Oh, wherefor should I kame my hair?
Sin' my true-love has me forsook,

And says he'll never luve me mair!

But had I wist before this day,

That luve had been sae ill to win,

I had locked my heart in a case o' gowd,
And pinned it with a siller pin!

THE WOUNDED HEART.

WEET, thou hast trod on a heart.

SW

Pass! there's a world full of men; And women as fair as thou art

Must do such things now and then.

Thou only hast stepped unaware,—
Malice no one can impute;

And why should a heart have been there,
In the way of a fair woman's foot?

It was not a stone that could trip,

Not was it a thorn that could rend;

Put up thy proud under-lip!

J

'Twas merely the heart of a friend.

And yet, peradventure, one day

Thou, sitting alone at the glass,

Remarking the bloom gone away,

Where the smile in its dimplement was,

And seeking around thee in vain

From hundreds who flattered before,

Such a word as, 66

Oh, not in the main

Do I hold thee less precious, but more!"

Auld Sang.

Thou'lt sigh, very like, on thy part,
"Of all I have known or can know,
I wish I had only that heart

I trod upon ages ago!"

E. B Browning.

THE first rule to insure happiness is to forget one's self.

THE disenchanted earth to me had no lustre to lose; but I

remembered that others continued to see it in the rainbow lines of varied bliss.

TIS better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

In Memoriam, xxvii.

WALK not of wasted affection; affection never was wasted;

TALK

If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters returning Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of

refreshment.

That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the

fountain.

From Evangeline-Part ii.

WHY should we faint, and fear to live alone,

Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die;
Not even the tenderest heart, and next our own,
Knows half the reason why we smile or sigh!

Each in its hidden sphere of joy or woe
Our hermit spirits dwell, and range apart;
Our eyes are all around, in gloom or glow,
Hues of their own, fresh borrowed from the heart.

Keble.

A

A PICTURE.

CHEERFUL, contented, benevolent and popular lady, seldom behind the fashion, or behind the news and literature of the day, beloved by nephews and nieces, married brothers, sisters, and cousins; a tower of strength in times of sickness and family troubles; a favorite visitor, yet not always visiting, nor staying too long; sometimes on the contrary, having a snug little home of her own, where pet nephews and nieces spend a few days most delightfully; a guardian angel to the poor; a valuable auxiliary to the clergyman and clergyman's wife; in high esteem and respect among the tradespeople, a famous letter-writer, and fabricator of most delightful fancy work. Aunt Kate, Aunt Lucy, Aunt Susan, and a host of aunts, who have been pretty young women in their time, and who now have "something than beauty dearer." They are the salt of the country, and greatly do they contribute to the support of the social affections.

Eclectic Review.

BUT after all, peradventure, it is sweeter to love, than to be