have beheld, than in this moving medley of ribbons and feathers?

Martha. O certainly, papa, more interesting; but surely it is pleasant and cheerful-amusing at least, to look about one a little, like other people.

Father. All very well in its way, my dear; but a little of it, I confess, satisfies me. Besides, I should be very sorry to be so dependant upon circumstances for my amusement, as to be pleased only with these gay

Martha. How so, papa? There is always something gay to be seen, if one chooses.

Father. Not always suppose now, I were to send you to your uncle's farm house; where there is nothing to behold but fields and trees, and green lanes by day; and nothing but the stars overhead by night.

Martha. I believe, indeed, I should very soon be tired of it.

Father. Then, you see, your happiness depends upon circumstances; and you are not so independent as one who could be pleased and happy any where.

Martha. O, but I would never go to a place where I could not be happy.

Father. Now you talk like a silly child. We are not always—we are scarcely ever, entirely at our own disposal, and it may happen that you will have to spend, not a few weeks only, but years; your whole life, perhaps, in such a situation.

Martha. O shocking! I hope not I'm sure.

Father. Nay, that is an idle wish. Hope rather for a mind capable of being satisfied with those natural, simple pleasures, which Providence every where places within our reach, and then you are more independent than a queen. Our rural poet well sings,

"I would not for a world of gold,

That Nature's lovely face should tire."

For surely an eye to see and a heart to feel its beauties, are of more importance to happiness, than a great estate.

Martha. The country is very beautiful, certainly, in some parts; and I should like of all things to live in a fine park, with lawns and trees, and deer, and all that kind of things.

Father. I dare say you would. But suppose, instead of being mistress of this fine park, you were only a tenant's daughter, living in a humble dwelling on its outskirts.

Martha. I should not like that at all.

Father. No?-Why you could walk in the park, and look at the lawns, and the trees, and the deer, as well as the lady herself.

Martha. Yes; just look at them.

Father. Well, the mistress herself could do no more. And let us suppose, (a very possible case,) that this lady has no true taste for the scenes which surround her; that she values them chiefly as articles of splendour and show; and prefers a saloon crowded with company, to a walk in her peaceful lawns and groves; while the tenant's daughter is gifted with taste and sentiment to enjoy these natural beauties; then I maintain, that her humble neighbour is the happier, the more independent, the more truly elevated of the two.

Martha. La, papa !

Father. Yes; and I believe it not unfrequently happens, that the great, unintentionally indeed, thus provide pleasures for others, of which they themselves never knew the true enjoyment. So true is it, that "man's life consists not in the abundance of the things which he possesses," but in what he is in himself. They who depend on artificial pleasures for their happiness, are miserable if riches take wings and fly away,' so as to prevent them the means of gratification. But the fields, the trees, the blue sky, the starry heavens, are always

the same, and of these pleasures none of the vicissitudes of life can deprive us.

By this time the father and his daughters had reached the lonely beach: the moon was just rising over the eastern cliffs; the planet Venus, that beautiful evening star, which made such a brilliant appearance during the last winter, was now beginning to glow in the west; a star or two faintly glimmered overhead: the sea was perfectly calm; and the gentle, regular fall of the wave on the pebbly shore, seemed not to interrupt the solemn stillness. Mary and her father enjoyed the scene: they now walked silently; for to those who can feel them, such scenes dispose less to conversation than reflection.

There is this grand difference between natural, rational pleasures, and those that are artificial ;—and it is one by which they may easily be distinguished ;-that from the former, the transition to religious thought and engagement is easy and agreeable: whether we contemplate nature with the eye of taste, or investigate it with that of philosophy, our thoughts are readily led upwards to the great Author of all; "all whose works praise Him :" and it is at such times, with peculiar appropriateness that the Christian can say,—

"This awful God is ours,

Our Father, and our friend."

But from trifling thoughts and dissipating amusements, the transition is violent and difficult indeed; and is, in fact, very rarely attempted.

So it proved in the present instance. When they returned from their walk, Mary retired to her closet, with a mind solemnized and disposed for its sacred duties, while Martha remained before her glass, ruminating on the pattern of a new spencer, which had attracted her attention on the parade.

XIV.

PLEASURE AND HAPPINESS.

To see visions, and dream dreams, has been a privilege common to those (if we may credit their assertions,) whose labours have been devoted to the edification of the public and fortunate, indeed, should we account ourselves, if, instead of devoting many a weary hour to the service of our young readers, with our eyes wide open, and our pens full gallop,-we could, like our more favoured predecessors, answer the purpose as well, or better, by merely falling to sleep. For my own part, having no hope of such extraordinary favours, I must be content to present them with one of my waking dreams; trusting they will be able to find the interpretation thereof.

Those readers who are familiar with allegorical adventures, will not be surprised to hear that I found myself, one fine evening, on an extensive plain, thronged with persons of every age and condition among the younger parts of the assembly, I was pleased to recognize some thousands of the readers of the Youth's Magazine. The crowd was in perpetual movement; many running to and fro, with an appearance of restlessness and agitation; and upon inquiry I found, that they were all in quest of the same person, each expecting to meet her at every turn, although they were looking in such opposite directions. The name of this person I was told, was Happiness. "A pretty name," thought I, and I determined to join in the pursuit. It was curious to observe the various expedients which were resorted to in order to discover her. Some were groping amid heaps of dust which they had collected from the surface of the earth; others thought she might be concealed among the daisies and buttercups that covered the plain : others walked about with vacant countenances, idly seeking her

among the crowd: while a few, like myself, unconsciously sought her while observing the rest.

:

Our attention was at length attracted by the sound of lively music, and at the same time a gay procession was seen advancing from a distant part of the plain. As it approached, an elegant female figure was distinguished amid a train of fair attendants: her flowing robe exhibited all the colours of the rainbow; her auburn locks, entwined with wreaths of pearl and diamond, floated in the breeze her voice was soft, her smile enchanting, and her eyes sparkled more than the brilliants on her brow. Her attendants, also, were gaily attired: they danced and sang, and strewed artificial flowers in her path. She was received with universal acclamation; for we all concluded her to be the person of whom we were in search. "It can be no other than Happiness herself," we said; and she bowed assent to the name. She was soon surrounded by the wondering crowd, who thronged about her in clamorous admiration. Upon a signal from their mistress, the attendant maidens opened a variety of elegant caskets and vases, which they bore in their hands, and from whence they scattered a profusion of costly gifts, toys, trinkets, and dainties, amid the scrambling crowd. When the tumult this occasioned had a little subsided, she commanded silence, and thus addressed the assembly:

"Youths and maidens, behold one who has peculiar claims to your regard. I am devoted to your interests: I fly the infirm, the poor, and the miserable, that I may exclusively promote your gratification. I come to invite you to my palace; where every delight that my genius can invent, and my bounty bestow, is prepared for your reception: Who will follow me?" This question was answered by an instantaneous movement in the crowd; every one pressing forwards to join her standard.

It was at this moment that another graceful figure was