THE HAPPIEST LAND.

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

THERE sat one day in quiet,
By an alehouse on the Rhine,
Four hale and hearty fellows,
And drank the precious wine.

The landlord's daughter filled their cups,
Around the rustic board;

Then sat they all so calm and still,
And spake not one rude word.

But, when the maid departed,

A Swabian raised his hand,

And cried, all hot and flushed with wine, "Long live the Swabian land!

"The greatest kingdom upon earth
Can not with that compare;
With all the stout and hardy men
And the nut-brown maidens there."

"Ha!" cried a Saxon, laughing,

And dashed his beard with wine;

"I had rather live in Lapland,

Than that Swabian land of thine!

"The goodliest land on all this earth It is the Saxon land!

There have I as many maidens

As fingers on this hand!"

"Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon!"

A bold Bohemian cries:

"If there's a heaven upon this earth.

In Bohemia it lies.

"There the tailor blows the flute,
And the cobbler blows the horn,
And the miner blows the bugle,
Over mountain gorge and bourn."

And then the landlord's daughter
Up to heaven raised her hand,
And said, "Ye may no more contend,
There lies the happiest land!"

THE CHILD-MUSICIAN.

AUSTIN DOBSON.

He had played for his lordship's levee,
He had played for her ladyship's whim,
Till the poor little head was heavy,
And the poor little brain would swim.

And the face grew peaked and eerie,
And the large eyes strange and bright;
And they said too late-"He is weary!

He shall rest, for at least to-night!'

But at dawn, when the birds were waking,
As they watched in the silent room,

With the sound of a strained cord breaking,
A something snapped in the gloom.

'Twas the string of his violoncello,

And they heard him stir in his bed: "Make room for a tired little fellow, Kind God!" was the last he said.

KITTY.

MARION DOUGLAS.

ALAS! little Kitty - do give her your pity—
Had lived seven years, and was never called pretty!
Her hair was bright red and her eyes were dull blue,
And her cheeks were so freckled,

They looked like the speckled

Wild-lilies, which down in the meadow-lands grew. If her eyes had been black, if she'd only had curls, She had been, so she thought, the most happy of girls.

Her cousins around her, they pouted and fretted,
But they were all pretty and they were all petted;
While poor little Kitty, though striving her best
To do her child's duty,

Not sharing their beauty,

Was always neglected and never caressed.

All in vain, so she thought, was she loving and true, While her hair was bright red, and her eyes were dull

blue.

But one day, alone 'mid the clover-blooms sitting,

She heard a strange sound, as of wings round her flit

ting;

A light not of sunbeams, a fragrance more sweet

Than the wind's, blowing over

The red-blossomed clover,

Made her thrill with delight from her head to her

feet;

And a voice, sweet and rare, whispered low in the air, "See that beautiful, beautiful child sitting there!"

Thrice blessed little Kitty! She almost looked pretty!
Beloved by the angels, she needed no pity!

O juvenile charmers! with shoulders of snow,
Ruby lips, sunny tresses,

Forms made for caresses,

There's one thing, my beauties, 'tis well you should

know:

Though the world is in love with bright eyes and soft

hair,

It is only good children the angels call fair!

WOODEN LEGS.

ANONYMOUS.

Two children sat in the twilight,

Murmuring soft and low;
Said one, "I'll be a sailor-lad,

With my boat ahoy! yo ho!

For sailors are most loved of all
In every happy home,

And tears of grief or gladness fall
Just as they go or come."

But the other child said sadly,
"Ah, do not go to sea,
Or in the dreary winter nights
What will become of me?
For if the wind began to blow,
Or thunder shook the sky,
Whilst you were in your boat, yo ho!
What could I do but cry?"

Then he said, "I'll be a soldier,
With a delightful gun,

And I'll come home with a wooden leg,

As heroes have often done."

She screams at that, and prays and begs,
While tears-half anger—start,
"Don't talk about your wooden legs,
Unless you'd break my heart!"

He answered her rather proudly,
"If so, what can I be,

If I must not have a wooden leg
And must not go to sea?

How could the queen sleep sound at night,
Safe from the scum and dregs,

If English boys refused to fight
For fear of wooden legs?"