Do you doubt my simple story? I can point a thousand ways Where this bubble-making glory Has in darkness hid its rays! Yet we 'll spare a slight confusion Caused the world by giving names; Since a right to some delusion Every one from nature claims! INFANT FAITH. Radiant with his spirit's light Was the little beauteous child, Sporting round a fountain bright, Playing through the flowerets wild. Where they grow he lightly stepped, Cautious not a leaf to crush; Then about the fount he leaped, Shouting at its merry gush. While the sparkling waters welled, Laughing as they bubbled up, In his lily hands he held, Closely clasped, a silver cup. Now he put it forth to fill; Then he bore it to the flowers, Through his fingers there to spill What it held, in mimic showers. "Open, pretty buds," said he, "Open to the air and sun; So, to-morrow I may see What my rain to-day has done. "Yes, you will, you will, I know, For the drink I give you now, Burst your little cups, and blow, When I'm gone, and can't tell how! "Oh! I wish I could but see How God's finger touches you, When your sides unclasp, and free, Let your leaves and odors through. "I would watch you all the night, Nor in darkness be afraid, Only once to see aright How a beauteous flower is made. "Now remember! I shall come In the morning from my bed, Here to find among you some With your brightest colors spread!" To his buds he hastened out, At the dewy morning hour, Crying, with a joyous shout, "God has made of each a flower!" Precious must the ready faith Of the little children be, In the sight of Him, who saith, "Suffer them to come to me." Answered, by the smile of heaven, Is the infant's offering found, Though "a cup of water given," Even to the thirsty ground. PATTY PROUD. The figure before you is Miss Patty Proud: Her feelings are lowery, her frown like a cloud; Because proud Miss Patty can hardly endure To come near the lowly abode of the poor. She fears the plain floor of the humble will spoil Her silk shoes and hose, and her skirt-bottom soil; And so she goes winching; and holds up her dress So high, it were well if her heels would show less. But when she walks through the fine streets of the town, She puts on fine airs, and displays her rich gown; Till some, whom she passes, will think of the bird Renowned for gay feathers, whose name you have heard. In thought she is trifling--in manner as vain As that silly fowl, taking pride in his train; And none, who have marked her, will need to be told That she has a heart hard, and haughty, and cold.