dom from care, some small article of adornment for the room or the person. This little cluster of four small houses, built in the rear of a line of private stables, was inhabited by nine or ten families, mostly widows with young children, many of whom supported themselves in the same manner as Mrs. Maltby, by work from the slop-shops. Their lives were all lives of hardship and deprivation; but the poor woman related instances of unselfish kindness and generosity which brought tears to my eyes. My sympathy seemed to give comfort to the desolate soul; but I soon perceived that I was doing wrong in taxing the strength of her exhausted frame. Mary had stood at the foot of the bed, looking at me as if I were an angel from heaven; and when I put into her hand the trifle which accidentally remained of a considerable sum I had that very afternoon squandered in useless ornaments and foolish presents, she thanked me and blessed me in a way which I was sensible I by no means deserved. Before leaving, I asked Mrs. Maltby if she knew of no one to whom she could apply for assistance, until she should again be able to labor. She hesitated, as if struggling with a natural pride, and then mentioned the name of a lady whom she had known in her youth. They had been children and girls together, she said, in a pleasant country village; but, as it often happens, the lot of the one had been cast very differently from that of the other. "She lives," said Mrs. Maltby, "in a stately house, and rolls in wealth, I know not what effect riches and prosperity may have had upon her, but she was as kind and generous a girl as ever breathed.” I asked Mrs. Maltby's maiden name, but I staid not to say another word. I longed to escape into the open air. The alley was dark and dismal, but I did not mind it. I hurried through the cross streets and into Broadway, and on, on, under a long line of lamps, and across the open square into Union-place. Corner after corner, and here is the door. ¡¡ Ring! ring! and Katie's smiling, welcoming face beams so brightly in the flood of sudden light that I can scarcely look at her. Another smiling, beaming, welcoming face in the parlor door. The tea-table has been waiting half an hour, but no shadow of impatience on that kind and cordial face. There is a questioning look, however, and I hasten to answer it. "Annie Hanford," said I, calling her by her maiden name, "did you ever know Julia Mallory?" I knew very well how clear were all her recollections of old friends. Yes, she remembered Julia Mallory perfectly. When a young girl she had lived in the same village, and gone to the same school. "And a nice girl she was, too. What do you know of her?" So I told her my story, or, rather, Julia Mallory's story. Annie has her own way of doing things; so I was not surprised to see her, without asking another question, or speaking a word to me, ring the bell and order a carriage, or to hear her call to Katie to bring a certain basket which held about a bushel and a half, and set it on the tea-room floor, into which went bottles of wine, rolls of spermaceti candles, bundles of sugar, a canister of tea, heaps of biscuits, a cold turkey, parcels of sago, tapioca, &c., to the top, and on the top a nice chintz double-gown, a warm plaid shawl, and a pretty bonnet, which had been given to Katie that very morning, but which was now begged back again till it could be replaced on the following day. Then came her own thick cloak and hood, and mine also; and, though I looked longingly at the table, I was barely allowed to swallow a cup of tea and a morsel of cake, before I was hurried into the carriage and off. With what true humanity, kindness and delicate generosity, did my noble friend relieve and raise and comfort this poor, unfortunate sister! How gently did she take away all sense of humiliation in thus receiving assistance from an old playmate of her childhood, making her feel, what she truly felt herself, that it was God who had made them to differ in worldly circumstances, and that as long as the soul's integrity had been maintained, and each had striven to do her duty faithfully, there was true equality between them. She was reminded that Christ had directed his followers to bear one another's burdens, and she was persuaded to let this long-lost and long-remembered friend help her in her own way. Such management was not new to my friend Annie. She knew exactly where to send for the best physician, and, very fortunately, she knew of pleasant and comfortable rooms in her own neighborhood, which were vacant, and could be secured and put in readiness by the time the invalid should be able to remove. She saw, too, at a glance, that Mary was a modest, affectionate, bright, intelligent girl; and she knew of just the school where she could be educated for a teacher. Not only this general chart of Mrs. Maltby's and Mary's future was thus laid out, but a filling up of improvements and surprises, like the objects in a moving panorama, was hastily sketched in my friend's mind. Let it not be supposed that this was a fanciful outline, destined to fade away without being worked into the real, living experience of these two. I allow that my friend's heart was uncommonly warm, her imagination peculiarly vivid, but she did not deserve the stigma often cast by the cold and the dull upon this kind of temperament, her impulses did not evaporate in mere feeling. She had an uncommon amount of practical talent, and the perseverance with which she carried out her plans was quite extraordinary. When she had once made up her mind to benefit a person, it was quite in vain to attempt to escape from it. And so full was her nature of kindness, so entire was the absence of all which could wound or grate upon the feelings of others, that all who came under her influence seemed made not only better, but happier. To them the air seemed softer, the sun brighter, the present more cheerful, the future more hopeful, human goodness a more real and tangible thing. I have seen this in many a one to whom I knew she had been a friend and adviser and helper for years. And I saw it in my very next annual visit, when Mary came one evening with a joyful face to take tea, and to tell how she had received the first prize in her school. When she was leaving, my friend gave her a bouquet from her greenhouse for her mother, who now was earning a handsome support by her well-paid needle, and had a cheerful little parlor to sit in. The hasty pressure of the hand, the glowing face and glistening eyes, spoke more than words. I had not forgotten the gift of the slice of toasted bread; and one afternoon I stole into the alley and knocked at the door where I had received it. Here, too, I found the same kind hand had been busy. Gleams of sunlight had entered the dim cottages through the opening which my entrance had made. The poor women had better work at better prices. Places had been found for children, weary hands and eyes had rested, hearts had been comforted, tears had been dried. And by the same influence more than one had been led into the service of Himhose ways are ways of pleasantness, and all whose paths are peace. HAPPINESS. BY MISS P. R. EASTMAN. O, happiness, our being's end and aim, PRECIOUS gem! Is it concealed in heaps of California gold-dust, or hoarded among the treasures of royalty? Is it among the spoils of the warrior, or the emoluments of office? Is it laid up in the temple of fame for the reward of its votaries, or hid in the mysteries of science? Does it gleam from the crown of genius, or flash on the brow of passion and beauty? Confine not your search, O ye who would be happy, to any of these places, or to any circumstance, but turn your eyes within. Search diligently among the elements of your own nature. Put them to the test, and see if you will not discover a principle of transmutation, an universal solvent of more value than that which scores of alchemists have wasted their lives in seeking, not to transmute all things into gold, but all circumstances into that which gold cannot buy, namely, happiness. --- If happiness were dependent on outward circumstances, we should not only find ourselves always similarly affected by like circumstances, but all persons would be delighted or annoyed by the same occurrences. But who cannot recall seasons in his own life when those things which usually administer to the gratification of the senses no longer charmed? There are times when the most tempting viands become loathsome, the sweetest music touches no responsive chord, and the eye bedimmed with weeping turns with apathy from the most ravishing prospect. And how very differently may the same occurrences affect different individuals! Two may go forth in a rural walk,- one to find enjoyment in the balmy atmosphere, the singing of birds, the fragrance of flowers, the beauties of the landscape, while the other is alive only to the petty annoyances which may have occurred in their way. Two may visit Niagara,one to be filled with awe and rapture by the majesty and sublimity of the scene, the other only to discover an immense waste of waterpower! One may look upon a flower-garden as a representative of refinement and pure moral taste, while another sees only wasted time, strength and soil. While some look upon all things with an eye of detraction, and, therefore, never experience the pleasant emotions of beauty and admiration, others, of well-regulated minds, accustomed to look for the beautiful, the pure and the good, have become imbued with all which is lovely, and invest all things with a radiance which flows from their own bosoms, so that they seem to live as it were in a little world of beauty of their own. As physically there is no sound unless there is an ear to hear it, so there is no beauty, physical or moral, unless there is an eye to behold it, and no happiness unless there is a heart to enjoy it. And it is only when this heart has been regenerated by the Holy Spirit, and the love of God reigns. supreme there, that the individual can "rejoice evermore." It is then only that he lives, "While in, above the world. All the black cares and tumults of this life, Like harmless thunders breaking at his feet, He trusts in God, and is not afraid. He believes the promise that all things will work together for his good, and, committing himself to his Father's care, he yields not to anxiety or apprehension for the future. Though some of the dispensations of Providence may appear inscrutable and mysterious, yet he trusts, firmly believing that all is directed by an all-wise and omnipresent Being, who doeth all things well. Though his soul be sometimes vexed by the ungodly deeds of the wicked, there is a deep under current of peace, unrippled by breeze or storm, which far exceeds the highest attainment of the devotee of worldly pleasure. He has higher aims than the gratification of the desires and appetites of depraved human nature; and, though not selfishly seeking it, attains a more exalted happiness in. self-denial than can be found in indulgence. And, if we may be permitted to follow the good man to that world whither his course tends, we may witness the triumph of the principle within over all circumstances. There it asserts its power in its victory over the last enemy, who can do no more than disrobe it of mortality, whence it may escape to its native element, there to realize a full fruition of that happiness which is enjoyed by mortals only by faith. Will not the happiness of heaven itself depend upon the state of mind we carry there? Were it possible that the unregenerate heart, the heart at enmity with God, could gain an entrance into that |