BE KIND TO EACH OTHER. Be kind to each other! Of kindness - returned! When day hath departed, Nor envy reprove, Nor change with to-morrow, Should fortune take wing, When friend and when brother Perchance may be gone. GIVE ME THE HAND. GIVE me the hand that is warm, kind, and ready; Soft is the palm of the delicate woman! Give me the hand that is true as a brother; Lovely the, palm of the fair, blue-veined maiden! Lovely or ugly, it matters not never! Give me the grasp that is friendly forever. Give me the grasp that is honest and hearty, Give me the hand that is true as a brother; Give'n me the hand that has wronged not another; Soft palm or hard hand, it matters not - never! Give me the grasp that is friendly forever. THE PALACE OF BEAUTY. In ancient times, two little princesses lived in Scotland, one of whom was extremely beautiful, and the other dwarfish, dark-colored, and deformed. One was named Rose, the other Marion. The sisters did not live happily together. Marion hated Rose because she was handsome, and every body praised her. She scowled, and her face absolutely grew black when any one asked her how her pretty little sister Rose did; and once she was so wicked as to cut off all her glossy, golden hair, and throw it on the fire. Poor Rose cried bitterly about it; but she did not scold or strike her sister, for she was an amiable, gentle little being as ever lived. No wonder all the family and all the neighborhood disliked Marion, and no wonder her face grew coarse and uglier every day. The Scotch used to be very superstitious people, and they believed the infant Rose had been blessed by the fairies, to whom she owed her extraordinary beauty and exceeding good ness. Not far from the castle where the princesses resided was a deep grotto, said to lead to the Palace court. of Beauty, where the queen of the fairies held her Some said Rose had fallen asleep there one day, when she had grown tired of chasing a butterfly, and that the queen had dipped her in an immortal fountain, from which she had risen with the beauty of an angel.* Marion often asked questions about this story, but Rose always replied that she had been forbidden to speak of it. When she saw any uncommonly brilliant bird or butterfly, she would sometimes exclaim, "O, how much that looks like fairy land!" But when asked what she knew about fairy land, she blushed, and would not answer. "Why Marion thought a great deal about this. cannot I go to the Palace of Beauty?" thought she, "and why may not I bathe in the Immortal Fountain?" One summer's noon, when all was still, save the faint twittering of the birds, and the lazy hum of the insects, Marion entered the deep grotto. She sat down on a bank of moss. The air around her was as fragrant as if it came from a bed of violets; and with the sound of far-off music dying on her ear, she fell into a gentle slumber. When she awoke, it was evening, and she found herself in a small hall, where opal pillars supported a rainbow roof, the bright reflection of which rested on crystal walls, and a golden floor inlaid with pearls. All There was a superstition, that whoever slept on fairy ground was carried away by the fairies. around, between the opal pillars, stood the tiniest vases of pure alabaster, in which grew a multitude of brilliant and fragrant flowers. Some of them, twining around the pillars, were lost in the floating rainbow above. The whole of this scene of beauty was lighted by millions of fireflies, glittering about like wandering stars. While Marion was wondering at all this, a little figure, of rare loveliness, stood before her. Her robe was of green and gold; her flowing gossamer mantle was caught upon one shoulder with a pearl, and in her hair was a solitary star, composed of five diamonds, each no bigger than a pin's point; and thus she sung: "The fairy queen Hath rarely seen Within her door, On pearly floor, Inlaid with shining gold. Mortal, all thou seest is fair; Quick thy purposes declare." As she concluded, the song was taken up, and thrice repeated by a multitude of soft voices in the distance. It seemed as if birds and insects joined in the chorus. The clear voice of the thrush was distinctly heard; the cricket kept time with his tiny cymbal; and ever and anon between the pauses, the sound of a distant cascade was heard, whose waters fell in music. All these delightful sounds died away, and the |