Selfishness and Beucuolence.

"She was my idol. Night and day to scan
The fine expansion of her form, and mark
The unfolding mind, like vernal rose-bud start
To sudden beauty, was my chief delight.
To find her fairy footsteps follow me,
Her hands upon my garments, or her lip
Long sealed to mine, and in the watch of night,
The quiet breath of innocence to feel
Soft on my cheek, was such a full content
Of happiness, as none but mothers know.
Her voice was like some tiny harp, that yields
To the light-fingered breeze; and as it held
Brief converse with her doll, or playful soothed
The moaning kitten, or with patient care
Conned o'er the alphabet,--but most of all,
Its tender cadence in her evening prayer,
Thrilled on the ear like some etherial tone
Heard in sweet dreams."

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

"WHAT Would you like to have your father bring you home my children?" "A rocking-horse, if he can find one," was their animated reply. "Well, he is coming up the stairs, and you can see." They ran to the door, and there stood their father, and by his side a nice, new rockinghorse. What clapping of the hands, what fond epithets, what caresses lavished upon us and upon the little horse! "Pony Pomp," they chris

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tened it at once, and "I like it, oh I like it," was often repeated as they rocked they rocked away. they bade good night, Pony Pomp came in for rather more than his share of the kisses, and when they went to bed they must have him close by their side. Before light the next morning, we were awaked by the tramp of Pony Pomp, with the pleasant accompaniment of happy voices.

Carrie seemed to enjoy anything the better for sharing it with others. And this is the true philosophy of happiness, inasmuch as generosity is better than selfishness. But it is not unfrequently the case that a mother or other indulgent friends, will give a child some dainty, never encouraging it to offer any to others; and if it

should do so of its own accord, they praise its generosity, while they scrupulously refuse even to taste what is offered. A mother will sometimes do this from the kindest feelings, never considering that she is thus with her own hand, sowing in her child's bosom the seeds of selfishness, that hateful and noxious weed which springs up spontaneously and grows so rankly in the human heart. Beware fond mother, that this Upas tree overshadow not with its gigantic growth, that precious spirit committed to thy hand. Selfishness needs no culture, and notwithstanding the pruning knife, is apt to spread all over the soil, poisoning whatever it touches. Remember that

"Disposition is builded up by the fashioning of first impressions,"

and that by such lessons as you may unconsciously give your child in its tender years, you may cherish the worst propensities, and yourself make it difficult for the principles of pure religion to take root and prevail in its heart, although that they may do so, be the daily burden of your prayers. Let not your child then, grow up with

the mistaken idea that it is the sun and centre of the domestic system. Strive rather to pluck up the root of selfishness, and if you cannot do this, at least cut off its extending branches.

If a mother gives her child proper instruction, and can induce him voluntarily to make trial of the generous principle, his own experience will convince him, that the smallest and the poorest portion, will give more pleasure to a generous spirit, than the best and the largest to a selfish one; that self-sacrifice, if it can be thus called, even in little things, brings with it a higher enjoyment than self-indulgence. From his earliest childhood encourage him to impart to others, to sympathize with the sorrowful, to relieve the suffering, even by the breaking in upon his little treasury of collected pennies. Teach him by your precept and example that "It is more blessed to give than to receive," and you do far more for his happiness,-you enrich him with a nobler legacy, than if you bestowed upon him thousands of gold and silver.

This sunshiny spirit—the giving others of our light and warmth, had a sweet home in our Carrie's heart. Her sympathies were quick and

strong, and it seemed to be her great happiness, to do all she could in her little way to make others happy. "Can I help you mama? I should like to help you." She would arrange my work-basket, or with the little brush sweep up the carpet, or wind thread, or any thing whereby she felt as if she were doing good. Flowing from her spirit of kindness, was a considerate disposition, a thoughtfulness for the wants of others, and a readiness to sacrifice her own little pleasures, in a degree which we felt to be not common in so young a child. She would run from her plays when we came into the room, to set out the rocking-chair or arrange the cushion for us. And often would she of her own accord, take the cricket on which she was sitting, and place it before my feet, looking up with her peculiar smile, for some token of approval.

She had a great sympathy for the girl in the kitchen. "Poor Maly," she would often say when she saw her doing anything which seemed hard, frequently offering to help her. It was her habit to save a share of her nice things for the domestic. And so much did she and her sister feel for the misfortune of an Irish girl in not