THE BROKEN DOLL.

THE BROKEN DOLL. — Miss Lamh.

An infant is a selfish sprite;
But what of that? the sweet delight
Which from participation springs
Is quite unknown to these young things.
We elder children, then, will smile
At our dear little John a while,
And bear with him, until he see
There is a sweet felicity
In pleasing more than only one,
Dear little, craving, selfish John.

He laughs, and thinks it a fine joke, That he our new wax-doll has broke. Anger will never teach him better; We will the spirit and the letter Of courtesy to him display, By taking in a friendly way These baby frolics, till he learn True sport from mischief to discern.

Reproof a parent's province is; A sister's discipline is this, By studied kindness to effect A little brother's young respect. What is a doll ? a fragile toy ; What is its loss? if the dear boy, Who half perceives he has done amiss, Retain impression of the kiss That followed instant on his cheek, — If the kind, loving words we speak Of “ Never mind it," “ We forgive,” — If these in his short memory live,

Only perchance for half a day,
Who minds a doll, if that should lay
The first impression in his mind,
That sisters are to brothers kind ?
For thus the broken doll may prove
Foundation to fraternal love.

BLINDNESS. -- Miss Lamb.

In a stage-coach, where late I chanced to be,

A little, quiet girl my notice caught;
I saw she looked at nothing by the way,

Her mind seemed busy on some childish thought.

1, with an old man's courtesy, addressed

The child, and called her pretty, dark-eyed maid, And bid her turn those pretty eyes, and see

The wide-extended prospect. — “Sir,” she said,

“I cannot see the prospect, — I am blind.”

Never did tongue of child utter a sound So mournful as her words fell on my ear.

Her mother then related how she found

Her child was sightless. On a fine, bright day,

She saw her lay her needlework aside, And, as on such occasions mothers will,

For leaving off her work began to chide.

“I'll do it when 't is day-light, if you please;

I cannot work, mamma, now it is night.”
The sun shone bright upon her when she spoke,

And yet her eyes received no ray of light.

18

A NEGRO'S SONG.

A NEGRO'S SONG.

FROM PARK'S TRAVELS IN AFRICA. VERSIFIED BY THE

DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE.

The loud wind roared, the rain fell fast,
The white man yielded to the blast;
He sat him down beneath the tree,
For weary, faint, and sad was he;
And, ah! no wife, or mother's care,
For him the milk or corn prepare.

CHORUS.

The white man shall our pity share;
Alas! no wife, or mother's care,
For him the milk or corn prepare.

The storm is o'er, the tempest past,
And mercy's voice has hushed the blast.
The wind is heard in whispers low;
The white man far away must go;
But ever in his heart will bear
Remembrance of the negro's care.

CHORUS.
Go, white man, go; but with thee bear
The negro's wish, the negro's prayer,
Remembrance of the negro's care.

MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY.–Mary Hourtt.

A STORY OF THE OLDEN TIME.

“ Arise, my maiden, Mabel,”

The mother said; "arise,
For the golden sun of midsummer

Is shining in the skies.

“ Arise, my little maiden,

For thou must speed away,
To wait upon thy grandmother

This livelong summer day.

“And thou must carry with thee

This wheaten cake so fine,
This new-made pat of butter,

This little flask of wine.

“And tell the dear old body,

This day I cannot come,
For the good man went out yester-morn,

And he is not come home.

"And more than this, poor Amy

Upon my knee doth lie;
I fear me, with this fever-pain

The little child will die!

“And thou canst help thy grandmother;

The table thou canst spread;
Canst feed the little dog and bird;

And thou canst make her bed.

20

MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY.

" And thou canst fetch the water

From the lady-well hard by ;
And thou canst gather from the wood

The fagots brown and dry;

“Canst go down to the lonesome glen,

To milk the mother-ewe;
This is the work, my Mabel,

That thou wilt have to do.

“ But listen now, my Mabel,

This is midsummer day,
When all the fairy people

From elf-land come away.

"And when thou 'rt in the lonesome glen,

Keep by the running burn,
And do not pluck the strawberry-flower,

Nor break the lady-fern.

But think not of the fairy folk,

Lest mischief should befall;
Think only of poor Amy,

And how thou lov'st us all.

“ Yet keep good heart, my Mabel,

If thou the fairies see,
And give them kindly answer

If they should speak to thee.

“ And when into the fir-wood

Thou goest for fagots brown,
Do not, like idle children,

Go wandering up and down.