Her slippers were of sunflower seeds,
     And tied with spider’s thread,
   A rein of silkworm’s finest yarn
     Passed round the bee’s brown head;
   An oaten straw was her riding whip,—­
     Oh how her courser sped!

   She beckoned to the sighing maid,
     And led her a little way,
   And showed a hundred fountains bright
     That bubbled night and day,
   And flashed their waves in the glad sunlight,
     And showers of crystal spray.

   She said:  “Each stream has secret power
     Upon the human heart,
   And, as you drink, the mystic draught
     Shall joy or woe impart;
   ’T will give you pleasant happiness,
     Or sorrow’s painful smart.”

   The founts were labelled every one,
     With titles plainly seen,—­
   The fountains Pride, and Sin, and Wrong,
     And Hate, and Scorn, and Spleen,
   Goodness and Love, and many more,
     Sparkled along the green.

   And MARY drank at each bright fount,
     To draw her grief away;
   But, spite of all the water’s power,
     Her sorrows they would stay. 
   And still she mourned, and still was sad,
     Through all the livelong day.

   One morn she saw a little spring
     She never saw before,
   Down in a still and shady vale,
     Covered with blossoms o’er,—­
   And when she ’d drunk, and still would drink
     She thirsted still for more.

   She gladly quaffed its cooling draught,
     And found what she had sought;
   No more her heart with sorrow grieved. 
     She thirsted now for nought;
   She’d found a blessed happiness,
     Beyond her highest thought.

   And when she moved the vines aside
     That hid the fount from sight,
   In loveliest, brightest characters,
     Like stars of silver light,—­
   Goodness of heart, and speech, and life,
     She read in letters bright.

   And MARY drank the liquid waves,
     And soon her little brow
   Became as pure, and clear, and white,
     As bank of whitest snow;
   And when she drank of that blest fount,
     She purest joy did know.

   Then MARY learned this highest truth. 
     Beyond all human art,—­
   That there are many things in life
     Can pain and woe impart;—­
   But Goodness alone of act and deed
     Can make a happy heart.

A LESSON TAUGHT BY NATURE.

BY MISS LOUISA M. BARKER.

When I was a little child, younger than those for whom this book is written, my home was in a valley.  The usual appendages to a farm-house, the garden, orchard and small pasture grounds, lay very near it; and I was as familiar with these enclosures as with the rooms of the house.  A little further off there was a mimic river, which, as it wound about, divided itself into different streams, and surrounded little islands, shaded with the tall plane tree and the flexible willow.  Here, too, with those who were old enough to be careful in crossing the rustic bridges, I sometimes played on summer afternoons;—­gathered the prettiest flowers in the sweetest little woods, and dipped my feet into the clear running water.