"HE

MY FIRST-BORN.

E shan't be their namesake, the rather That both are such opulent men: His name shall be that of his father,— My Benjamin-shortened to Ben.

"Yes, Ben, though it cost him a portion In each of my relative's wills,

I scorn such baptismal extortion—

(That creaking of boots must be Squills).

"It is clear, though his means may be narrow, This infant his age will adorn;

I shall send him to Oxford from Harrow,

A

I wonder how soon he'll be born!"

spouse thus was airing his fancies
Below 'twas a labour of love,—
And calmly reflecting on Nancy's
More practical labour above;

Yet while it so pleased him to ponder,
Elated, at ease, and alone;
That pale, patient victim up yonder
Had budding delights of her own;

Sweet thoughts, in their essence diviner
Than paltry ambition and pelf;

A cherub, no babe will be finer,

Invented and nursed by herself.

One breakfasting, dining, and teaing,

With appetite naught can appease,
And quite a young Reasoning Being
When called on to yawn and to sneeze.

What cares that heart, trusting and tender,
For fame or avuncular wills?

Except for the name and the gender,
She is almost as tranquil as Squills.

That father, in revery centred,

Dumfoundered, his thoughts in a whirl,
Heard Squills, as the creaking boots entered,
Announce that his Boy was-a Girl.

Adelaide Anne Procter.

A WOMAN'S QUESTION.

BEFORE I trust my Fate to thee,

Or place my hand in thine,

Before I let thy Future give

Colour and form to mine,

Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night for

me.

I break all slighter bonds, nor feel

A shadow of regret :

Is there one link within the Past

That holds thy spirit yet?

Or is thy Faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge

to thee?

Does there within thy dimmest dreams

A possible future shine,

Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,
Untouched, unshared by mine?

If so, at any pain or cost, O, tell me before all is lost.

Look deeper still. If thou canst feel

Within thy inmost soul,

That thou hast kept a portion back,

While I have staked the whole;

Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me

So.

Is there within thy heart a need
That mine cannot fulfil?

One chord that any other hand

Could better wake or still?

Speak now-lest at some future day my whole life wither and decay.

Lives there within thy nature hid

The demon-spirit Change,

Shedding a passing glory still

On all things new and strange?—

It may not be thy fault alone-but shield my heart against thy own.

Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day

And answer to my claim,

That Fate, and that to-day's mistake—

Not thou had been to blame?

Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou wilt surely

warn and save me now.

Nay, answer not,-I dare not hear,

The words would come too late;
Yet I would spare thee all remorse,
So, comfort thee, my Fate-

Whatever on my heart may fall-remember, I would risk

it all!

A DOUBTING HEART.

HERE are the swallows fled?

WHERE

Frozen and dead,

Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore.

O doubting heart!

Far over purple seas,

They wait, in sunny ease,

The balmy southern breeze,

To bring them to their northern homes once more.

Why must the flowers die?
Prisoned they lie

In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain.

O doubting heart!

They only sleep below

The soft white ermine snow,

While winter winds shall blow,

To breathe and smile upon you soon again,

The sun has hid its rays

These many days;

Will dreary hours never leave the earth?
O doubting heart!

The stormy clouds on high
Veil the same sunny sky,

That soon (for spring is nigh)

Shall wake the summer into golden mirth.

Fair hope is dead, and light

Is quenched in night.

What sound can break the silence of despair? O doubting heart!

Thy sky is overcast,

Yet stars shall rise at last, Brighter for darkness past, And angels' silver voices stir the air.

WHAT

A SHADOW.

HAT lack the valleys and mountains
That once were green and gay?

What lack the babbling fountains?
Their voice is sad to-day.

Only the sound of a voice,

Tender and sweet and low,
That made the earth rejoice,
A year ago!

What lack the tender flowers?

A shadow is on the sun:

What lack the merry hours,

That I long that they were done?

Only two smiling eyes,

That told of joy and mirth;

They are shining in the skies,
I mourn on earth!