BABY'S SHOES.

O, THOSE little, those little blue shoes !
Those shoes that no little feet use!
O, the price were high
That those shoes would buy,
Those little blue unused shoes!

For they hold the small shape of feet That no more their mother's eyes meet, That, by God's good will,

Years since grew still,

And ceased from their totter so sweet!

And O, since that baby slept,

So hushed, how the mother has kept,
With a tearful pleasure,

That dear little treasure,

And over them thought and wept!

For they mind her for evermore
Of a patter along the floor;
And blue eyes she sees

Look up from her knees

With the look that in life they wore,

As they lie before her there,
There babbles from chair to chair,

A little sweet face

That's a gleam in the place, With its little gold curls of hair.

Then, O, wonder not that her heart
From all else would rather part
Than those tiny blue shoes

That no little feet use,

And whose sight makes such fond tears start.

W. C. BENNETT.

WE ARE SEVEN.

A SIMPLE child,

That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death?

I 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 who 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 my 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 of 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!" 'T was throwing words away: for still The little maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!"

WORDSWORTH.

ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.

So fades the lovely, blooming flower,
Frail, smiling solace of an hour;
So soon our transient comforts fly,
And pleasure only blooms to die.

Is there no kind, no healing art,
To soothe the anguish of the heart?
Spirit of grace, be ever nigh:
Thy comforts are not made to die.

See gentle patience smile on pain,
Till dying hope revives again;
Hope wipes the tear from sorrow's eye,
And faith points upward to the sky.

STEELE.