CONTENTMENT.

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

"Man wants but little here below."

L'

ITTLE I ask; my wants are few
I only wish a hut of stone,

(A very plain brown stone will do,)
That I may call my own;

And close at hand is such a one,
In yonder street that fronts the sun.

Plain food is quite enough for me;

;

Amen!

Three courses are as good as ten;
If Nature can subsist on three,
Thank Heaven for three.
I always thought cold victual nice; -
My choice would be vanilla-ice.

Give me a mortgage here and there,

Some good bank-stock,

some note of hand,

Or trifling railroad share,

I only ask that Fortune send
A little more than I shall spend.

Honors are silly toys, I know,

And titles are but empty names;

My dames should dress in cheap attire ; (Good, heavy silks are never dear ;) — I own perhaps I might desire

Some shawls of true Cashmere, -
Some marrowy crapes of China silk,
Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk.

I would not have the horse I drive

So fast that folks must stop and stare; An easy gait-two, forty-five

Suits me; I do not care;

Perhaps, for just a single spurt,
Some seconds less would do no hurt.

Of pictures, I should like to own

Titians and Raphaels three or four, -
I love so much their style and tone,
One Turner, and no more,

(A landscape, foreground golden dirt, The sunshine painted with a squirt.)

Of books but few, some fifty score
For daily use, and bound for wear;

The rest upon an upper floor;
Some little luxury there

Of red morocco's gilded gleam,

And vellum rich as country cream.

Busts, cameos, gems.

such things as these,

Which others often show for pride,

I value for their power to please,
And selfish churls deride;

One Stradivarius, I confess,

Two Meerschaums, I would fain possess.

Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn,
Nor ape the glittering upstart fool; -
Shall not carved tables serve my turn,
But all must be of buhl?

Give grasping pomp its double share, —
I ask but one recumbent chair.

LITTLE SCHOLARS.

BY ANNA THACKERAY.

ESTERDAY morning, as I was walking up a street

Y1

in Pimlico, I came upon a crowd of little persons issuing from a narrow alley. Ever so many little people there were streaming through a wicket; running children, shouting children, loitering children, chattering children, and children spinning tops by the way, so that the whole street was awakened by the pleasant childish clatter. As I stand for an instant to see the procession go by, one little girl pops me an impromptu courtesy, at which another from a distant quarter, not behindhand in politeness, pops me another; and presently quite an irregular little volley of courtesyings goes off in every direction. Then I blandly inquire if school is over? and if there is anybody left in the house? A little brown-eyes nods her head, and says, "There's a great many people left in the house." And so there are, sure enough, as I find when I get in.

Down a narrow yard, with the workshops on one side and the schools on the other, in at a little door which leads into a big room where there are rafters, maps hanging on the walls, and remarks in immense letters, such as, "COFFEE IS GOOD FOR MY BREAKFAST," and pictures of useful things, with the well-thumbed story underneath; a stove in the middle of the room; a paper hangi up on the door with the names of the teachers; and everywhere wooden

oenches and tables, made low and small for little legs and

arms.

Well, the school-room is quite empty and silent now, and the little turmoil has poured eagerly out at the door. It is twelve o'clock, the sun is shining in the court, and something better than schooling is going on in the kitchen yonder. Who cares now where coffee comes from? or which are the chief cities in Europe? or in what year Stephen came to the throne? For is not twelve o'clock dinner-time with all sensible people? and what periods of history, what future aspirations, what distant events are as important to as this pleasant grown-up folks, and children, too

us

daily recurring one?

The kind, motherly schoolmistress who brought me in, tells me that for a shilling half a dozen little boys and girls can be treated to a wholesome meal. I wonder if it smells as good to them as it does to me, when I pull my shilling out of my pocket. The food costs more than twopence but there is a fund to which people subscribe, and with its help the kitchen cooks all through the winter months.

All the children seem very fond of the good Mrs. KAs we leave the school-room, one little thing comes up crying, and clinging to her, "A boy has been and 'it me!" But when the mistress says, "Well, never mind, you shall have your dinner," the child is instantly consoled; "and you, and you, and you," she continues; but this selection is too heart-rending; and with the help of another lucky shilling, nobody present is left out. I remember particularly a lank child, with great black eyes and fuzzy hair, and a pinched gray face, who stood leaning against a wall in the sun: once, in the Pontine Marshes, years ago, I remember seeing such another figure. "That poor thing is seventeen," says Mrs. K- "She sometimes loiters here all day long; she has no mother: and she often comes and tells me her father is so drunk she dare not go home. I always give her a dinner when I can. This is the kitchen."