A Child‘s Toy
The afternoon was drawing in towards evening； the air was crisp and cool, and the wind near the earth, steady but gentle； while above all was as calm as sleep, and the pale clouds--just beginning in the west to be softly gilded by the declining sun--hung light and motionless. The city, although not distant, was no longer visible, being hidden by one of the many hills which give such enchantment to the aspect of _our_ city. There was altogether something singularly soothing in the scene--something that disposed not to gravity, but to elevated thought. As we looked upwards, there was some object that appeared to mingle with the clouds, to form a part of their company, to linger, mute and motionless like them, in that breathless blue, as if feeling the influence of the hour. It was not a white-winged bird that had stolen away to muse in the solitudes of air: it was nothing more than a paper kite.
On that paper kite we looked long and intently. It was the moral of the

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