I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there. "The first that died was little Jane ; Till God released her of her pain; "So in the churchyard she was laid; And when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. "And when the ground was white with snow And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side." "How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in heaven ?" The little maiden did reply, "O master! we are seven.' "But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away: for still The little maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven !" ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS, Showing how the practice of lying may be taught. I HAVE a boy of five years old; One morn we strolled on our dry walk, My thoughts on former pleasures ran; A day it was when I could bear The green earth echoed to the feet Of lambs that bounded through the glade, From shade to sunshine, and as fleet From sunshine back to shade. Birds warbled round me-every trace My boy was by my side, so slim "Now tell me, had you rather be," I said, and took him by the arm, "On Kilve's smooth shore, by the green sea, Or here at Liswyn farm ?" In careless mood he look'd at me, "Now, little Edward, say why so; My little Edward, tell me why.—" "I cannot tell, I do not know.-" "Why, this is strange," said I; "For, here are woods, and green hills warm : There surely must some reason be Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm At this my boy hung down his head, He blushed with shame, nor made reply; And five times to the child I said, "Why, Edward, tell me why?" His head he raised-there was in sight, It caught his eye, he saw it plain— Upon the house-top, glittering bright, A broad and gilded vane. Then did the boy his tongue unlock; O dearest, dearest boy! my heart For better lore would seldom yearn, Could I but teach the hundredth part Of what from thee I learn. THE PET LAMB. A Pastoral. THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; A snow-white mountain lamb with a maiden at its side. No other sheep were near, the lamb was all alone, The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook. "Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said in such a tone, That I almost received her heart into my own. 'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare! Towards the lamb she looked; and from that shady place |