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"How happy I'll be to-morrow!" exclaimed little Slyder Downehylle, in anticipation of Christmas; "oh, how happy I shall be to-morrow!"

Couldn't you contrive to be happy a little now?" replied Uncle John, who had learned somewhat to distrust anticipation and its gorgeous promises.

"Happy now, Uncle John!" retorted little Slyder Downehylle, rather contemptuously," happy now!-what with, I should like to know-what shall I be happy with-now? Where's the candy, the cakes, the pies-where is the hobby-horse that somebody's going to give me and all the Christmas gifts? How I wish to-morrow had come what a long day-what a long evening -what a great while I've got to sleep!" Little Slyder Downehylle became quite cross, and uncle John whistled. Twenty-four hours afterward, little Slyder Downehylle was still more cross -he had been happy with candy, with cakes and with pies, until he was very uncomfortable indeed; he had been happy with toys, until he had quarrel led with his little companions and strewed the room with broken playthings; he had been happy with his hobby-horse, until he got a fall.

"Oh, what a stupid day!" said little Slyder Downehylle, "I wish to-morrow would come-I'll be so happy at aunt Betsy's."

It is unnecessary to intrude at aunt Betsy's, for the events there were of a character strongly resembling what had already occurred. Little Slyder Downehylle went to bed in tears.

It was always so with the unfortunate Slyder Downehylle. Throughout life, he wanted something to be happy with; and, strangely enough, it universally occurred that when he had obtained the thing, it did not prove to be exactly the thing he wanted. His expectations were never realized, and he was, therefore, constantly in a state of disappointment. Unlucky Slyder Downehylle! It was deplorable too that such should be the case, for Slyder Downehylle was

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anxious to be happy-he was always looking forward to be happy-for something "to be happy with." He never got up in the morning but that it was his resolve to be happy in the afternoon

and, if not successful in accomplishing his purpose at that time, he endeavored as far as possible to retrieve the failure by forming a similar determination for the evening. No one ever had a greater variety of schemes for living happy-very happy-than he; for living happy next week, for living happy next month, or next year; but it appeared to him that a malignant fate was sure to interfere, in order that his projects might be frustrated. At school, he was always thinking how happy he would be on Saturday afternoon; but then sometimes it rained on Saturday afternoon, or his companions would not do as he wished them to do on Saturday afternoon, or it may be that although he had toiled hard for pleasure on Saturday afternoon, and the toil for pleasure is often the severest of work, he returned home weary, dispirited and out of temper. Of course it was unavoidable that his pleasure should be postponed until some other Saturday afternoon. And it was even so with the larger holidays. They never were exactly what they ought to have been-what they promised to bewhat they seemed to be, when viewed from a distance. If Slyder Downehylle went a-fishing, why a treacherous bank would often give way, and then-pray who can possibly be happy when dripping wet, with his clothes on? Nobody but poodles. What felicity is there in losing one's shoe in a swamp? Who is perfectly happy when scouring across the plain, like "swift Camilla,” with old Jenkins' big dog-that dog always bites-rustic dogs do-following close at his heels, widely opening a mouth which showed no need of the dentist? Then, if Slyder Downehylle went skating, it not unfrequently happened that he cried with cold,-what a strange arrangement it is not to have the best of skating on the warmest days! At other

rangement it is not to have the best of skating on the warmest days! At other seasons, there was the sun. It never rains but it pours, in this world. Is it happiness, think ye, to have one's dear little nose-incipient Roman, or determined pug, as the case may be-all of a blister, and to have one's delectable countenance as red and as hot as a scarlet fever? "There's lime in the sack"-invariably, in Slyder Downehylle's sack-it would be easy to make mortar of it.

The young Downehylle, finding that happiness eluded his grasp while a boy, made sure of throwing a noose over its head when he should be a man. What on earth is there to prevent a man's being happy, if he chooses-especially if a man has money, as was the case in the present instance, Uncle John and Aunt Betsy both being gathered to their fathers and mothers. May not a man do as he pleases ?-go to bed when he pleases, and get up when he pleases? -eat what he pleases and drink what he pleases? A man is not compelled to learn lessons. All his afternoons are Saturday afternoons-his holidays last all the year round. Who would not be a man? "Oh, when I am a man!" said Slyder Downehylle. "I wish I was a man!" exclaimed Slyder Downehylle. "I want to be a man!" cried Slyder Downehylle, with impatience.

Sooner or later, at least in the eye of the law, most boys become men, in despite of remonstrance. These boys are remarkable for an upstart tendency, and the Downehylles themselves are not exempt from the peculiarity. So Slyder Downehylle was a man at last, though on the whole it must be confessed that he did not derive the satisfaction from it that he had been led to expect.

Slyder Downehylle was extended at full length upon a sofa.

"I say, Spifflikens, what shall I be at? I'm twenty-one-I've got plenty of money-I'm as tired as thunder already-what shall I be at, Spifflikens ?" "Lend me a hundred, and buy yourself a buggy, why don't you get a buggy, to begin with ?"

"Yes, Spifflikens, I will. You're right-the Downehylles were always great on buggies, you know, Spifflikens."

It was Slyder Downehylle's theory,

after this conversation, for he often theorized-that happiness was, to some degree, vehicular; that, like respectability, it was to be found in a gig, if it were to be found anywhere. So he bought him a sulky and a fast trottera mile in two minutes or thereabouts. What could escape a man who followed so rapidly? If you wish to be successful in the pursuit of happiness, do not forget to buy a sulky—there's nothing like a sulky.

"Aha!-that's it!" muttered Slyder Downehylle, as he tugged at the reins, and went whizzing along the turnpike in a cloud of dust, passing everything on the road, and carrying consternation among the pigs, the ducks, and the chickens.

Slyder thought that this was "it" for several consecutive days; but as the novelty wore off-there's the rub(that Hamlet was rather a sensible fellow-did he too keep a "fast trotter ?") -Slyder was not so sure whether it was the thing exactly, and on the recommendation of his friend Spifflikens, who borrowed another hundred on the occasion, he endeavored to improve it a little by drinking champagne and playing billiards, at the Cottage." Fast trotters and champagne-fast trotters and billiards, harmonize very well. Under this combination, Slyder appeared to think that "it" was considerably more like the thing than before. He had found "something to be happy with," at last, and so had Spifflikens. It was not however so difficult to make Spiffy a happy man,-only allow him to go ahead, and say nothing about "returns." He hates anything sombreanything "dun."

"Now I'm happy," said Slyder Downehylle, as he stood on the portico of the "Cottage," and saw every eye fixed with admiration on his establishment, as the boy led his horse and sulky through the crowd of vehicles. "That's it, at last!" and he lighted another cigar and called for an additional bottle of iced champagne. "That's it, certainly," remarked Spifflikens, at the explosion of the cork.

Slyder Downehylle was perfectly satisfied that this was indeed "it," for a considerable portion of the afternoon, and, to tell the truth, when he remounted his buggy, nodding his head to the bystanders, as he hung his coat-tails over the back of the vehicle, he was not a little "elevated."

"There-let him go!" said he, toss ing a half-dollar to the hostler's deputy. Mr. Downehylle's sulky flew like lightning across the lawn. "Splendid!" ejaculated the specta

tors.

"Superiaw-fine!" added Spifflikens. The dogs barked-the colored genlemen who officiated as waiters grinmed from ear to ear. There was quite a sensation at the "Cottage."

"That's it, at last!" said Slyder Downehylle, triumphantly. But he forgot that existence, short as it is, cannot be crowded all into the exhilarating moment of a "start." Life is not to be distilled and condensed in this way, though his life seemed to come as near it as possible, on the occasion referred to.

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Why are we made ambitious? Why will we endeavor to jump over puddles that are too wide, when we so often miss immortality by no more than a hair's breadth? But "touch and go" is the secret of great enterprises. Slyder Downehylle was struck with a desire to sublimate the sublime-to o'ertop old Pelion," and old Pelion, as it was natural he should, resented the insult. Downehylle was allowed to "touch"-we often do that-but there was a veto on his "go." He wished to shave the gate-post, in his curricular enthusiasm to astonish the natives with his charioteering skill. Yet the poplars might have reminded him of Phaton-of Phaeton's sisters weeping, lank and long.

It certainly was the champagnethat last bottle, so well iced.

Mr. Downehylle was out in his calulation by about the sixteenth part of an inch. He was on a leeshore.

A cloud of splinters went up and came down again. "There is but a Frenchman the more in France," said ■ Bourbon on the restoration. It was also quite evident that there was a sulky the less in existence. As this could not be considered the "fast trotter's" business, he having no further concern with the matter than to do a certain number of miles in a specific number of minutes-he therefore went straight on to fulfil his part of the contract, and it is to be presumed that he was successful, as nothing has been beard from him since.

"That's not it, after all," murmured Mr. Slyder Downehylle, as he was

carried into the Cottage for surgical aid.

The bystanders, lately so full of admiration, ungraciously placed their thumbs upon their noses, and waggled their fingers. Greatness always falls, when it meets with an upset.

"What could you expect from a fellow that holds his elbows so, when he drives?" was the general remark. When we are down every one can see the reason why. The world is always full of sagacity, after the event.

Slyder Downehylle is known by the colored waiters at the Cottage as "the gemplin that got spilt," and he was so knocked down by the affair that he felt flat at the slightest allusion to it. He never hunted happiness in a buggy again, but went slowly home in the omnibus, and, though it did not enable him to journey very rapidly, he yet contrived, while in it, to arrive at the conclusion that, if "fast trotters" carried others to felicity, the mode of travel was too rough for him.

He was puzzled. What could be the matter? He was a man, a man of cash-money in both pockets; but yet Slyder Downehylle was not happynot particularly happy. On the contrary, striking an average, he was, for the most part, decidedly miserable. He yawned about all the morning; he was not hungry in the afternoon; he was seldom sleepy at night,-vexatious!

"There's something I want," thought Slyder Downehylle; "but what it isthat's more than I can tell; but it is something to be happy with. What other people get for the purpose that they go grinning about so, hang me if I can discover."

Slyder Downehylle was rather good looking, about these times not decidedly "a love," but well enough; and so, as nature had been propitious, he struck out a new line-a very popular line-the hair line. He cultivated whiskers, " fringing the base of his countenance;" he set up a moustache; he starred his under lip with an imperial, and he balanced the superstructure with the classical "goatee!" Medusa herself never had more luxuriant curls. When Slyder Downehylle wanted to find himself, he was obliged to beat the bushes. He passed half the day with a brush in his hand, in adjusting his embellishments-in giving them irresistible expression; and the

rest of the time was consumed in carrying them up and down all manner of streets, and to all sorts of public places. Slyder Downehylle was now the envy of the young bloods about town, and was regarded as a perfect Cupidon by the ladies. How, indeed, could it be otherwise! Birnam Wood had come to Dunsinane-not a feature was discernible. Esau and Orson were shavelings and shavers to Slyder Downehylle. But, notwithstanding the fact that Samson found strength in his hair, Slyder was not so lucky. A thickset hedge cannot keep out ennui. It is true that the buffalo and the bison at the menagerie took Mr. Slyder Downehylle for a patriarch of the tribe, fresh from the head waters of the Oregon; yet, after all, Slyder's spirit was nearly as bald of comfort as the "hairless horse"-that unfashionable quadruped. It must be confessed, however, that there were gleams of consolation attendant upon his bristly condition. The servants at the hotels styled him "mounsheer;" how delightful it is to be mistaken for what you are not! People thought he talked "pretty good English, considerin'," and, best of all, the little boys ran backwards that they might look with wonder at his face, while the smaller children went screaming into the house to call their mammas to see the "funny thing." But "false is the light on glory's plume;" and it is no less false on glory's hair. Even the excitement of such enviable distinction as this soon wears away, and it may be questioned whether, barring the expense of soap, a furry-faced gentleman is, in the long run, much happier than the more sober citizen who has so little taste for the picturesque as to shave several times a week, and who is neither a "foundling of the forest" nor a perambulatory Moses, always among the bulrushes.

Slyder Downehylle, therefore, reinforced his whiskers by an elaborate care in dress. He was padded into a model of symmetry; but although the buckram was judiciously placed, he soon ascertained that this was not the kind of bolstering he wanted. The cotton made him warm, but it did not make him happy-not quite. It was nothing to be thus," unless one were "safely thus." Slyder Downehylle began to feel small when his muscular developments were hung upon the bed

post. Which was Slyder, in the main -he beneath the cover, or that larger part of him against the wall? He was tired of packing and unpacking; wearied with being "spectacular."

It was not exactly kind in Unele John and Aunt Betsy-though they thought it was-thus to bequeath their savings to Slyder Downehylle. Their legacy perplexed him sadly. He discovered, in a very short time, that money is not in itself-notwithstanding the fact that it is generally known as the "one thing needful"-the material of happiness. But he was clear in his own mind that it was something to be got with money. Still, however, he could not find it-that "something to be happy with"-that cake, that candy, that sugar-ice, that hobby-horse. When his game was run down, why, it was only a fox after all.

"Life's an imposition-a humbug," said Slyder Downehylle, pettishly; "I've tried much of the fun that's said to be in it, and I'm beginning to have an idea it's a confounded stupid piece of business, when a man has seen it pretty much all through, like a farce at the theatre. I'm sure I don't know what to be at next. There's a man to be hung to-morrow; but I've seen two or three fellows hung, and they do it just alike. The fun is soon got out of that. Then there's to be a fight somewhere this afternoon; but what's a fight, or a race, or anything, in short? A spree is to come off to-night at Crinkumcrankum's, but I suppose everything's to travel down our throats in the old way-botheration!"

"You should go it," remarked Spifflikens, "go it strong-that's the way to scatter the blue devils; go it strong; and, as the poet judiciously remarks, 'go it while you're young.' That's the timelend me fifty, and I'll show you a thing or two there are several things to be seen yet, by individuals who don't wear spectacles. This is good brandy, Slyder-prime brandy-where did it come from? Have you got any more? Brandy's wholesome. It agrees with almost everybody."

This postulate is not exactly so selfevident as Mr. Spifflikens thought it to be; but while it is not clearly proved that brandy agrees with everybody, yet it was plain enough that Spifflikens agreed with it, and Slyder Downehylle began likewise to have a slight agree