Trip Lightly. Trip light I) over trouble Trip lightly over wrong; We only mslte e grief double By dwelling on it long. Why ehup woe's hend eo tightly Why ting o'er hloeeotni deed ? Why oling to forme unsightly ? I Why not eeek joy instead T , Trip lightly orer sorrow, Though ell the wnys bo dark, Tho ran may ehino to-morrow j And gaily ring tho lark. Fair hopes hare not departod, Though roses may have tied, 1 Then never tie dowii-hoartod, But look for joy instead. , Trip lightly over sadness, < Stop not to rail at doom i We've pearls to string of gladtieas On this side ot the tomb; Whilst stars arc nightly shining, And the heaven is overhead, Kncournge not repining— But look for foy instead. j DELILAH. i i Sir Thomas Winston was a widower, t and his present family consisted of two daughters somewhere between eighteen 1 and thirty ami a son. There were | several guests besides myself at Win- : ton hall—Capt. Seymour, a brother of- t fleer of young Winton's, with a sus- •• pected desire of forming another fra- ] ternal connection with him; "Paddy" ' O'Rrian, a sort of social Crichton, and I others. Of the fairer visitors, I need i only mention one, Ada Dart, for what ' man of sound mind could notice any i other girl when she was in the room ? 1 Well, Capt. Seymour, could do so, but | then he was infatuated and not of s sound mind—suffering from younger - Miss Winton on the brain in fart, it < surprised ma very much to see the beautiful Ada sail into the drawing room before dinner on the evening of < my arrival. I hail met her at a din- < ner party and three balls; I had attend- t ed her with grateful humility through- " out the whole of a picnic, and her i image rose before me rather more than I I liked. i I could not remain long by her side; | the room was full of strangers, with ' many of whom I hail now to form ac- 1 quaintance for the first time, even the I ladies of the house being unknown to I me. I was eventually paired ofT with a companion, and dinner was spoiled ' by a perpetual dread of speaking with ; levity of things she reverenced. The place I coveted at the side of Ada Dart was filled by I'addy O'Brian, ' who had a wonderful and enviable 1 power of show ing politeness and np parent attention to the general corn- i panv while really attaching himself to I one selected individual. Before the evening was over I felt certain that I had no chance of "walk- 1 ing over" for the prize, and also, that ' she was worth winning; for Paddy was not the man to court undowered beauty. Indeed, lie could not afford so romantic a proceeding. When the iadios retired, most of the men repaired to the billiard room, where cigars were provided, but the majority were tired an 1 went to lied, early, leaving O'Brian and myself to ' finish a game. "Well." said he, as soon as we were ' alone, "I suppose that you and I have 1 been asked down here for the same i thing." "Oh yes; the shooting, you mean," I ' replied. "Shooting! That's the polite way of paying us. They want us to help them with their private theatricals." "Oh, they're going to get up private theatricals, are they?" "To be sure, or you would never have leen asked to Winton hall, nor I j either, faith! I got it out of Miss Dart." "Who ill tell us what to do at>out scenery, dresses, and all the little de- j tails''" said Miss Winton, when the family took the stage fever badly last summer. 'Don't you know some one, papa?" "I have it," cried Sir Thomas. "On of my acquaintances is great on the drama; at least lie talks of nothing else, and though not a Solomon, that seems to be his specialty." "But is he presentable?" asked Julia Winton -"Seymour's girl, you know." "Oh, yes," replied Sir Thorn an; "he has paid up on his shares, and he as pirates his h's, and he has really very fine whiskers!" "Shut up, O'Brian!" said I. "I)o not foist off your own imperU-nencies upon the innocent. And what were yop asked here for?" "To act, of course. If It had not l>en for my success In Sir Lucius O'Trigger at Lady Sock's I might have gone hang before ever I'd have l>een a guest in this elegant establishment. Oh, there is no shirking the truth with me. my boy; nobody does anything for nothing in this world." There was uLdoubtedly a sentiment of truth at the bottom of this frothy cynicism of O'Brian's; for on the fol lowing day the subject of private theat ricals w as quietly broached in my pres ence by the Misses Wiaton. My theatrical tastes had never as yet led me to take a part in any perform ance, and, indeed, of the ladies and men forming the present company, Ada Dart and O'Brian were the only two who were not about to make their first appearance upon any stage. Of course, these experienced members took a prominent lead, besides being necessarily drawn together in a con j fidential way which it was very un pleasant for me to witness. Jealousy I and envy so stirred my bile that I was inclined to regret the good old days of duelling, when I might have picked a quarrel with my rival, and so had a chance of removing him fromniy path. But the way in which the odious Irishman knocked over pheasants and rabbits, and a particular snap-shot, lired from the hip, which w;is fatal to a woodcock, forced ine to own that there was a deep truth in the ingen ious assertion so constantly repeated J in newspaper articles, that private combat is a "cowardly practice." The fine old hall of Winton park was to he our theater, and it was my particular province to take the best advantage of the many natural facili ties of the place; to arrange about the scenery; to find out what were the proper dresses fur the plays we were to perform, etc., and Ada Dart, being the only person whose counsel was of real service in case of a difficulty, I was perpetually obliged to appeal to , her. Dangerously intoxicating were those conferences, which, I confess, i prolonged needlessly; indeed, I lisisl sometimes to get up a vexatious oppo sition to her wishes in order to give our discussion a matrimonial flavor, lleigh-ho! The plays selected were "The Belle of Penzance," followed by the farce of "Eves and Nose," and the distribu tion of parts was a work for Job and Solomon, most of the company at first declaring their utter inability to take the simplest characters, and coming round gradually to demanding the principal mles. At our first general meeting it really seemed doubtful whether it would be possible to cast the mildest and lightest of pieces, but at the end of a fortnight if "Othello" could have been rewritten with three Moors, four Desdenmnas and two lagos, our little company "had stomach for llietn all." I was cast for Fortescue, which w as too prominent a part fur my taste; fur beside that, on principle, 1 very much prefer that other people should amuse me to reversing that proceeding; i li.ited having so nitieh to learn by heart. In a little time matters liegan to run smoothly and we had our first re hearsal. Ity recalling to mind the dif ferent actors I had seen in my part, and endeavoring to imitate them, I succeeded better than I ha I anticpa ted, and gained considerable applause. "But," said O'Brian, "yon must shave, you know. The Idea of Fortescue with those whiskers is too al>surd." Now. my whiskers were black, pen dant, silky, and had <-ot mean infinity of trouble. It had taken five years of constant care and scientific training to bring them to their pr-wnt state of perfection. Any one without experi ence in the matter would scarcely credit the amount of time and lal*>r. not to mention tin- mere money, that I had expended upon them. Little soft brushes, delicate combs, txitth s >f a peculiar oil, more delicate than is ever ilsasl for the head, were appropriated to their service. When I visited my hair-cutter that artist would delller ate for at least five minutes before he could come to a definite conclusion upon the important jviint whether he should take the "bends" <>lT. When I took my walks abroad and the breeze Muttered them over my shoulders, scornful indeed was the lieauty whose eyes did not light up with a