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Whence, all her weary journey done,
Shall happy welcome flow.

'Tis after ten! O, were she here,
Young man although I be,

I could fall down upon her neck,
And weep right gushingly!

I have not loved her half enough,
The dear old toiling one,
The silent watcher by my bed,
In shadow or in sun.

MY LITTLE BROTHER.

"Happy child!

Thou art so exquisitely wild,

I think of thee with many tears,

For what may be thy lot in future years.”

Wordsworth.

THE goldening peach on the orchard wall,

THE

Soft feeding in the sun,

Hath never so downy and rosy a cheek

As this laughing little one.

The brook that murmurs and dimples alone

Through glen, and grove, and lea,

Hath never a life so merry and true

As my brown little brother of three.

From flower to flower, and from bower to bower,

In my mother's garden green,

A-peering at this, and a-cheering at that,

The funniest ever was seen ;

Now throwing himself in his mother's lap,

With his cheek upon her breast,

He tells his wonderful travels, forsooth!
And chatters himself to rest.

And what may become of that brother of mine,
Asleep in his mother's bosom?

Will the wee rosy bud of his being, at last

Into a wild-flower blossom?

Will the hopes that are deepening as silent and fair

As the azure about his eye,

Be told in glory and motherly pride,

Or answered with a sigh?

Let the curtain rest: for, alas! 'tis told

That Mercy's hand benign

Hath woven and spun the gossamer thread

That forms the fabric so fine.

Then dream, dearest Jackie! thy sinless dream,
And waken as blithe and as free;

There's many a change in twenty long years,

My brown little brother of three.

Frederick Locker.

ON AN OLD MUFF.

T

IME has a magic wand!
What is this meets my hand,

Moth-eaten, mouldy, and

Covered with fluff?

Faded, and stiff, and scant;
Can it be? no, it can't—
Yes, I declare 'tis Aunt

Prudence's Muff!

Years ago twenty-three!

Old Uncle Barnaby

Gave it to Aunty P.—

Laughing and teasing

"Pru., of the breezy curls, Whisper these solemn churls, What holds a pretty girl's

Hand without squeezing?"

Uncle was then a lad

Gay, but, I grieve to add,

Sinful: if smoking bad
Baccy's a vice:

Glossy was then this mink
Muff, lined with pretty pink
Satin, which maidens think
"Awfully nice!"

I see, in retrospect,

Aunt, in her best bedecked,
Gliding, with mien erect,
Gravely to Meeting:

Psalm-book, and kerchief new,
Peeped from the muff of Pru.—
Young men and pious too—
Giving her greeting.

Pure was the life she led

Then-from this Muff, 'tis said,

Tracts she distributed :

Scapegraces many,

:

Seeing the grace they lacked,

Followed her-one, in fact,

Asked for-and got his tract
Oftener than any.

Love has a potent spell!
Soon this bold Ne'er-do-well,

Aunt's sweet susceptible

Heart undermining,

Slipped, so the scandal runs,
Notes in the pretty nun's
Muff-triple-cornered ones-
Pink as its lining!

Worse even, soon the jade
Fled (to oblige her blade!)
Whilst her friends thought that they'd
Locked her up tightly:

After such shocking games

Aunt is of wedded dames

Gayest-and now her name's
Mrs. Golightly.

In female conduct flaw

Sadder I never saw,

Still I've faith in the law

Of compensation.

Once Uncle went astray

Smoked, joked, and swore away—

Sworn by, he's now, by a

Large congregation!

Changed is the Child of Sin,
Now he's (he once was thin)
Grave, with a double chin,—

Blest be his fat form!

Changed is the garb he wore,

Preacher was never inore

Prized than is Uncle for

Pulpit or platform

If all's as best befits
Mortals of slender wits,
Then beg this Muff, and its
Fair Owner pardon:
All's for the best,—indeed
Such is my simple creed—
Still I must go and weed
Hard in my garden.

A WISH.

O the south of the church, and beneath yonder

Το

yew,

A pair of child-lovers I've seen;

More than once were they there, and the years of

the two,

When added, might number thirteen.

They sat on the grave that has never a stone
The name of the dead to determine,

It was Life paying Death a brief visit—alone
A notable text for a sermon.

They tenderly prattled; what was it they said?
The turf on that hillock was new ;

Dear Little Ones, did ye know aught of the Dead,
Or could he be heedful of you?

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