I sat with my arm on Charley's neck, and looked at Charley.

“And oh, miss," says Charley, clapping hands, with the tears starting down her dimpled cheeks, "Tom's at school, if you please; and little Emma, she's with Mrs. Blinder, miss. And Tom, he would have been at school; and Emma, she would have been left with Mrs. Blinder; and I should have been here all a deal sooner, miss; only Mr. Jarndyce thought that Tom and Emma and I had better get a little used to parting first, we were so small. Don't cry, if you please, miss."

"I can't help it, Charley."

"No, miss, I can't help it," says Charley.

"And if

you please, miss, Mr. Jarndyce's love, and he thinks you'll like to teach me now and then. And, if you please, Tom and Emma and I are to see each other once a month. And I'm so happy and so thankful, miss," cried Charley, with a heaving heart, "and I'll try to be such a good maid!"

Charley dried her eyes, and entered on her functions, going in her matronly little way about and about the room, and folding up everything she could lay her hands

upon.

Presently, Charley came creeping back to my side, and

said:

-

"Oh, don't cry, if you please, miss."

And I said again:

"I can't help it, Charley."

And Charley said again:

"No, miss; I can't help it."

So, after all, I did cry for joy, and indeed, so did she.

WE ARE SEVEN

I

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

MET a little cottage girl:

She was eight years old, she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl,

That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad;
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said,
And wondering looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And in the churchyard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,

Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be."

Then did the little maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree."

"You run about, my little maid;
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"

The little maid replied,

"Twelve steps or more from mother's door, And they are side by side.

"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;

And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.

"And often after sunset, sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,

And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,

Till God released her from her pain;
And then she went away.

"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?" Quick was the little maid's 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.”

SPEAK GENTLY

ANONYMOUS

SPEAK gently; it is better far

To rule by love than fear;

Speak gently; let no harsh word mar
The good we may do here.
Speak gently to the little child;
Its love be sure to gain;

Teach it in accents soft and mild;
It may not long remain.

Speak gently to the young; for they

Will have enough to bear;

Pass through this life as best as they may,

'Tis full of anxious care.

Speak gently to the aged one,

Grieve not the careworn heart, Whose sands of life are nearly run; Let such in peace depart.

Speak gently to the erring; know
They must have toiled in vain;
Perchance unkindness made them so ;
Oh, win them back again.
Speak gently; 'tis a little thing

Dropped in the heart's deep well;
The good, the joy, that it may bring,
Eternity shall tell.