And the while these frolic playmates twain Piped and frisked from bough to bough again 'Neath the morning skies,

In the little childish heart below

All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow,
And shone out in happy overflow,

From her blue, bright eyes.

By her snow-white cot at close of day,
Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms to pray;
Very calm and clear

Rose the praying voice to where, unseen,
In blue heaven, an angel shape serene
Paused awhile to hear.

"What good child is this," the angel said, "That with happy heart, beside her bed Prays so lovingly?"

Low and soft, oh! very low and soft, Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, 'Bell, dear Bell," crooned he.

66

"Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair Murmured, "God doth bless with angels' care;

Child, thy bed shall be

Folded safe from harm.

Love, deep and kind,

Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind,

Little Bell, for thee."

Westwood.

THE CHILD'S FIRST GRIEF.

"O

H, call my brother back to me !
I cannot play alone;

The summer comes with flower and bee--Where is my brother gone?

The butterfly is glancing bright
Across the sunbeam's track;

I care not now to chase its flight—
Oh, call my brother back!

The flowers run wild-- the flowers we sowed

Around our garden tree;

Our vine is drooping with its load

Oh, call him back to me!"

"He could not hear thy voice, fair child,
He may not come to thee;

The face that once like spring-time smiled
On earth no more thou'lt see.

A rose's brief bright life of joy,
Such unto him was given;
Go-thou must play alone, my boy!

Thy brother is in heaven!"

"And has he left his birds and flowers,

And must I call in vain ?

And, through the long, long summer hours,
Will he not come again?

And by the brook; and in the glade,
Are all our wanderings o'er?
Oh, while my brother with me played,
Would I had loved him more!"

Mrs. Hemans.

LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD.

C

OME back, come back together,
All ye fancies of the past,
Ye days of April weather,

Ye shadows that are cast

By the haunted hours before!
Come back, come back, my childhood;
Thou art summoned by a spell
From the green leaves of the wildwood,
From beside the charmed well,
For Red Riding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore!

The fields were covered over
With colours as she went;
Daisy, buttercup, and clover
Below her footsteps bent;

Summer shed its shining store;

She was happy as she press'd them
Beneath her little feet;

She plucked them and caressed them;

They were so very sweet,

They had never seemed so sweet before,

To Red Riding Hood, the darling,

The flower of fairy lore.

How the heart of childhood dances
Upon a sunny day!

It has its own romances,

And a wide, wide world have they!
A world where Phantasie is king,

Made all of eager dreaming;
When once grown up and tall—
Now is the time for scheming-
Then we shall do them all!

Do such pleasant fancies spring
For Red Riding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore?

She seems like an ideal love,
The poetry of childhood shown,
And yet loved with a real love,
As if she were our own-

A younger sister for the heart;
Like the woodland pheasant,
Her hair is brown and bright;
And her smile is pleasant,
With its rosy light,

Never can the memory part
With Red Riding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.

Did the painter, dreaming

In a morning hour, Catch the fairy seeming

Of this fairy flower?

Winning it with eager eyes
From the old enchanted stories,
Lingering with a long delight
On the unforgotten glories
Of the infant sight?

Giving us a sweet surprise
In Red Riding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore!

Too long in the meadow staying,
Where the cowslip bends,
With the buttercups delaying

As with early friends,

Did the little maiden stay.

Sorrowful the tale for us;

We, too, loiter 'mid life's flowers,

A little while so glorious,

So soon lost in darker hours.

All love lingering on their way,
Like Red Riding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.

E. L. Landon.

A

THE SMILE OF SORROW.

S a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow, While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below,

So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny smile,

Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while.

One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes,
To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring,
For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting!

Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay Like a dead leafless branch in the summer's bright ray;

The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain,
It may smile in his light, but it blooms not again.

APPLE BLOSSOMS IN MAY.

Moore.

HROUGH the green wood-paths, with bird songs about her,

ΤΗ

May has come softly, the beautiful child! Skies that were sullen and joyless without her, Broke into sunshine above her, and smiled.

Green on the uplands the wheat-fields are springing, Cowslips are shining, and daisies are white; Through the still meadows the waters are singing, Brimming with melody, flashing with light.

Blooming with clover the orchards are growing, Flecked by the shadows that tremble and glide; Round their grey trunks, when the west wind is blowing,

Sways the young grass in a billowy tide]