"So in the churchyard she was laid,
And all the summer 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,

"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.'

WORDSWORTH.

THE CHILD AND THE BROOK.

WHERE did you come from? say, pretty brook! And whither away so fast?"

Asked a thoughtful child of a babbling brook, As it leaped in gladness past.

"Ah ha, little girl! my mother spring,
Is up on the mountain-side;

I leaped from her lap, like a truant boy,
And down through the hills I glide."

"But what is your hurry? please tarry awhile, Just up in this flowery nook,

Where violets cluster, blue as the skies!" "I can't" says the hurrying brook!

"Fie, fie, naughty brook! just linger, I pray, And chat a few moments with me!"

"I can't, little girl, I'm quite out of breath, In running to reach the sea."

"But what is the song, you sing, pretty brook! You sing so pretty and sweet ?"

"The song, little girl, is the holiday song, Of the pebbles beneath my feet."

"No one will miss you, I'm sure, pretty brook! There is nothing for you to do!"

"Nothing for me? ha ha, little girl! There is more for me, than you.

"The flowers are drooping down in the glen, And long to see me appear;

They hang their heads on their withering stalks, While I am loitering here.

"And I turn the mill, at the foot of the hill, Brimful of frolic and glee!

Then how can I stay? I must hurry away,
For the miller is waiting for me.

"Good-by, little girl, I have tarried too long, To chat with a child like you;

While I run to the sea, full of frolic and glee, You see I have something to do!"

OLD SANTA CLAUS.

OLD Santa Claus sat all alone in his den,
With his leg crossed over his knee;
While a comical look peeped out at his eyes,
For a funny old fellow is he.

His

queer little cap was tumbled and torn, And his wig it was all awry;

But he sat and mused the whole day long,
While the hours went flying by.

He had been as busy as busy could be,
In filling his pack with toys;

He had gathered his nuts, and baked his pies,
To give to the girls and boys.

There were dolls for the girls, and whips for the boys,

With wheel-barrows, horses, and drays;

And bureaus and trunks for Dolly's new clothes;
All these in his pack he displays.

Of candy, too, both twisted and striped,
He had furnished a plentiful store;
While raisins and figs, and prunes and grapes,
Hung up on a peg by the door.

I am almost ready, quoth he, quoth he,
And Christmas is almost here;

But one thing more-I must write them a book,
And give to each one this year.

So he clapped his specs on his little round

nose,

And seizing the stump of a pen,

He wrote more lines in one little hour,
Than you ever could read in ten.

He told them stories all pretty and new,
And wrote them all out in rhyme;

Then packed them away with his box of toys,
To distribute one at a time.

And Christmas Eve, when all were in bed,
Right down the chimney he flew;

And stretching the stocking-leg out at the top,
He clapped in a book for you.

TRY, TRY AGAIN.

'Tis a lesson you should heed-
Try, try again.

If at first you don't succeed,
Try, try again;

Then your courage should appear,
For, if you will persevere,
You will conquer, never fear:
Try, try again!

Once or twice though you should fail,

Try, try again;

If you would at last prevail,

Try, try again;

If we strive, 'tis no disgrace,

Though we may not win the race; What should you do in such a case? Try, try again.

If you find your task is hard,
Try, try again;

Time will bring you your reward;

Try, try again;

All that other folks can do,

Why with patience should not you?

Only keep this rule in view

TRY, TRY AGAIN.