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As one does the old clock on the stair,-
Any curious, cumbrous affair
That one's used to having about,
And would feel rather lonely without.
I think that they love me, I say,
In a sort of tolerant way;

But it's plain that papa
Isn't little mamma.

Thus when shadows come stealing anear,
And things in the firelight look queer ;
When shadows the play-room enwrap,
They never climb into my lap
And toy with my head, smooth and bare,
As they do with mamma's shining hair;
Nor feel round my throat and my chin
For dimples to put fingers in ;
Nor lock my neck in a loving vise,
And say they're “ mousies"—that's mice-

And will nibble my ears,

Will nibble and bite
With their little mice-teeth, so sharp and so white,
If I do not kiss them this very minute-
Don't-wait-a-bit-but-at-once-begin-it. -

Dear little papa!
That's what they say and do to mamma.

If, mildly hinting, I quietly say that
Kissing's a game that more can play at,
They turn up at once those innocent eyes,
And I suddenly learn to my great surprise

That my face has “prickles"

My mustache tickles. If storming their camp, I seize a pert shaver, And take as a right what was asked as a favor,

It is, “O papa,

How horrid you are-
You taste exactly like a cigar!"

But though the rebels protest and pout,
And make a pretence of driving me out,
I hold, after all, the main redoubt,-
Not by force of arms nor the force of will,
But the power of love, which is mightier still.
And very deep in their hearts, I know,
Under the saucy and petulant "oh,"
The doubtful “yes,” or the naughty “no,"

They love papa.

And down in the heart that no one sees,
Where I hold my feasts and my jubilees,
I know that I would not abate one jot
Of the love that is held by my little Dot
Or my great big boy for their little mamma,
Though out in the cold it crowded papa.
I would not abate it the tiniest whit,
And I am not jealous the least little bit ;
For I'll tell you a secret : Come, my dears,
And I'll whisper it---right-into-your-ears-

I too love mamma,
Little mamma!

CHARLES HENRY WEBB,

EVEN THERE.

A TROOP of babes in summer land,

At heaven's gate—the children's gate :
One lifts the latch with rosy hand,

Then turns and dimpling, asks her mate

“What was the last thing that you saw ?"

“I lay and watched the dawn begin, And suddenly, thro’ the thatch of straw,

A great, clear morning star laughed in.”

And
you

?" A floating thistle down, Against June sky and cloud wings white." “ And you:

1?” “A falling blow, a frownIt frights me yet; oh, clasp me tight !"

66

And you ?” · A face thro' tears that smiled”

The trembling lips could speak no more ;
The blue eyes swam; the lonely child

Was homesick even at heaven's door.

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EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.

MARSH SONG.

OVER the monstrous shambling sea,

Over the Caliban sea,
Bright Ariel-cloud, thou lingerest:
Oh wait, oh wait, in the warm red West,

Thy Prospero I'll be.

Over the humped and fishy sea,

Over the Caliban sea,
O cloud in the West, like a thought in the heart
Of pardon, loose thy wing, and start,

And do a grace for me.

[graphic]

Over the huge and huddling sea,

Over the Caliban sea, Bring hither my

brother Anto

nio,-Man,— My injurer: night breaks the ban;

Brother, I

pardon

thee.

SIDNEY LANIER.

TO A WATER

FOWL.

WHITHER,

'midst falling

dew, While glow

the heavens with

“ SEEK'ST THOU THE PLASHY BRINK OF WEEDY the last steps

LAKE.' of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue

Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,

Thy figure foats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink

On the chafed ocean side ?

There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,
The desert and illimitable air,

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fann'd,
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,

Though the dark night is near.

An soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend

Soon o'er thy shelter'd nest.

Thou’rt

gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallow'd up thy form; yet, on my heart, Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,

And shall not soon depart.

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