To pull a bough or berry by the way;

And when you come to cross the ford, hold fast
Your little sister's hand till you're quite past;
That plank is so crazy, and so slippery,
If not overflowed the stepping stones will be;
But you're good children - steady as old folk,
I'd trust ye anywhere." Then Lizzie's cloak
(A good gray duffle) lovingly she tied,
And amply little Jenny's lack supplied
With her own warmest shawl.

"Be sure," said she,

To wrap it round, and knot it carefully,
(Like this) when you come home —just leaving free
One hand to hold by. Now, make haste away -
Good will to school and then good right to play."

The mother watches them with foreboding, though she knows not why. In a little while the threatened storm sets in. Night comes, and with it comes the father from his daily toil - There's a treasure hidden in his hat

A plaything for his young ones, he has found

A dormouse nest; the living ball coil'd round

For its long winter sleep; all his thought

As he trudged stoutly homeward, was of naught
But the glad wonderment in Jenny's eyes,

And graver Lizzie's quieter surprise,

When he should yield, by guess and kiss and prayer,

Hard won, the frozen captive to their care.

No little faces greet him as wont at the threshold; and to his hurried question

"Are they come?"- t'was "no,"

To throw his tools down, hastily unhook

The old crack'd lantern from its dusty nook

And, while he lit it, speak a cheering word

That almost choked him, and was scarcely heard,—

Was but a moment's act, and he was gone

To where a fearful foresight led him on.

A neighbor goes with him, and the faithful dog follows the children's tracks.

"Hold the light

Low down, he's making for the water. Hark!

I know that whine; the old dog's found them, Mark;"

So speaking, breathlessly he hurried on

Toward the old crazy foot bridge. It was gone!

And all his dull contracted light could show

Was the black, void, and dark swollen stream below; "Yet there's life somewhere- more than Tinker's whine That's sure," said Mark. "So, let the lantern shine Down yonder. There's the dog-and hark!" "O dear!"

And a low sob come faintly on the ear,

Mocked by the sobbing gust. Down quick as thought,
Into the stream leaped Ambrose, where he caught
Fast hold of something-a dark huddled heap-
Half in the water, where 'twas scarce knee deep
For a tall man; and half above it propped
By some old ragged side-piles that had stop't
Endways the broken plank when it gave way
With the two little ones, that luckless day!

"My babes! my lambkins!" was the father's cry,
One little voice made answer,
"Here am I;"
'Twas Lizzy's. There she crouched with face as white,

More ghastly, by the flickering lantern light,

Than sheeted corpse. The pale blue lips drawn tight,
Wide parted, showing all the pearly teeth,

And eyes on some dark object underneath,
Washed by the turbid waters, fix'd like stone-

One arm and hand stretched out, and rigid grown,
Grasping, as in the death-gripe, Jenny's frock.
There she lay drown'd.

They lifted her from out her watery bed

Its covering gone, the lovely little head

Hung like a broken snowdrop all aside,

And one small hand. The mother's shawl was tied
Leaving that free about the child's small form,
As was her last injunction—"fast and warm,”
Too well obeyed-too fast! A fatal held,

Affording to the scrag, by a thick fold

That caught and pinned her to the river's bed.
While through the reckless water overhead,
Her life breath bubbled up.

"She might have lived,

Struggling like Lizzy," was the thought that rived

The wretched mother's heart when she heard all, "But for my foolishness about that shawl"

But she won't move- we slept-I don't know how

But I held on, and I'm so weary now

And its so dark and cold! Oh dear! oh dear!

And she won't move if father were but here !"

--

All night long from side to side she turn'd,

Piteously plaining like a wounded dove,

With now and then the murmur "She won't move,"
And lo! when morning, as in mockery, bright
Shone on that pillow-passing strange the sight,

The young head's raven hair was streaked with white!

Mrs. Southey

The Suliote Mother.

She stood upon the loftiest peak,
Amidst the clear blue sky;

A bitter smile was on her cheek,
And a dark flash in her eye.

"Dost thou see them, boy?—through the dusky pines?
Dost thou see where the foeman's armor shines?
Hast thou caught the gleam of the conqueror's crest?
My babe, that I cradled on my breast!

Wouldst thou spring from my mother's arms with joy?
--That sight hath cost thee a father, boy !"

For in the rocky strait beneath,

Lay Suliote sire and son;

They had heap'd high the piles of death

Before the pass was won.

"They have cross'd the torrent, and on they come Woe for the mountain hearth and home!

There, where the hunter laid by his spear,

There, where the lyre hath been sweet to hear,
There, where I sang thee, fair babe! to sleep,
Naught but the blood-stain our trace shall keep !"

And now the horn's loud blast was heard,

And now the cymbal's clang,

Till even the upper air was stirr'd,
As cliff and hollow rang.

"Hark! they bring music, my joyous child!
What saith the trumpet to Suli's wild!
Doth it light thine eye with so quick a fire

As if at a glance of thine armed sire ?—

Still-be thou still! - there are brave men low-
Thou wouldst not smile couldst thou see him now!

But nearer came the clash of steel,

And louder swell'd the horn,
And farther yet the tambour's peal

Through the dark pass was borne.

"Hear'st thou the sound of their savage mirth ?—
Boy! thou wert free when I gave thee birth,—
Free, and how cherish'd, my warrior's son!
He, too, hath bless'd thee, as I have done!
Aye, and unchain'd must his loved ones be-
Freedom, young Suliote! for thee and me!"

And from the arrowy peak she sprung,
And fast the fair child bore;-

A veil upon the wind was flung,
A ery-and all was o'er!

Hemans.

Have

Sandalphon.

you read in the Talmud of old,
In the Legends the Rabbins have told,
Of the limitless realms of the air,-
Have you read it,-the marvelous story
Of Sandalphon, the angel of Glory,
Sandalphon, the angel of Prayer?
How erect, at the outermost gates
Of the City Celestial, he waits,
With his feet on the ladder of light,
That, crowded with angels unnumbered,
By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered
Alone in the desert at night?

The Angels of Wind and of Fire
Chant only one hymn, and expire
With the song's irresistible stress;
Expire in their rapture and wonder,
As harp strings are broken asunder
By music they throb to express.
But serene in the rapturous throng,
Unmoved by the rush of the song,
With eyes unimpassioned and slow,
Among the dead angels, the deathless
Sandalphon stands listening breathless
To sounds that ascend from below;-
From the spirits on earth that adore,
From the souls that entreat and implore,
In the ferver and passion of prayer;
From the hearts that are broken with losses
And weary with dragging the crosses
Too heavy for mortals to bear.

And he gathers the prayers as he stands,
And they change into flowers in his hands,

Into garlands of purple and red;
And beneath the great arch of the portal,
Through the streets of the City Immortal,
Is wafted the fragrance they shed.