You say that my heart is a riddle to you;
Do you take enough interest in it,

To find out its meaning? - for oh! if you do,
As your proper reward, you shall win it!

F. S. O.

RETURN OF HAPPINESS.

LILY OF THE VALLEY.

Sweet flower o' the valley, wi' blossoms of snow,

And green leaves that turn the cauld blast frae their stems; Bright emblem o' innocence, thy beauties I lo’e,

Aboon the king's coronet circled wi' gems!

There's no tinsel about thee, to make thee mair bright,
Sweet lily! thy loveliness a' is thine ain,

And thy bonnie bells, danglin' sae pure and sae light,
Proclaim thee the fairest o' Flora's bright train.

THIS lowly plant loves the shelter of the hollow valleys, the shade of oaks, or the cool banks of streams.

The lily, screened from every ruder gale,

Courts not the cultured spot where roses spring.

OGILVIE.

In the earliest days of May its snowy flowers expand themselves, and scatter their perfume in the air. Barton says:

The lily, whose sweet beauties seem

As if they must be sought.

And Thomson gives us a glimpse of a "fair and bonnie spot," where fairies might hold their revels:

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Seek the bank where flowering elders crowd,
Where, scattered wide, the lily of the vale
Its balmy essence breathes, where cowslips hang
The dewy head, where purple violets lurk,
With all the lovely children of the shade.

Wordsworth, who delights to wander amid the green and flowery fields, to explore the valley, or scale the mountain's loftiest height, has not forgotten this sweet flower:

That shy plant, the lily of the vale,

That loves the ground, and from the sun withholds
Her pensive beauty, from the breeze her sweets.

And at this season the nightingale seeks its consort in the depths of the forests, where the echo in the solitude answers to his voice. Guided by the perfume of the lily of the valley, this charming bird chooses its retreat. There it celebrates, in its melodious song, the delights of solitude and of love; and the flower which every successive year announces to him the return of happiness.

The "Naiad-like lily of the vale, whose tremulous bells are seen through their pavilions of tender green," should form a part of every wreath that crowns the happy, the innocent, and the gay.

Blest meeting, after many a day
Of widowhood passed far away,
When the loved face again is seen,
Close

close-with not a tear between-
Confidings frank, without control,
Poured mutually from soul to soul;
As free from any fear or doubt,

As is that light from chill or stain,
The sun into the stars sheds out,

To be by them shed back again!

MOORE.