Great lights shone out from stately rooms
Across their way so drear

And hurrying men a moment paused
To wonder who they were.

In one proud mansion, broad and high, With a hearth-stone warm and bright, A lady by the window stood

And gazed out on the night.

Against the frosty pane she prest
Her forehead smooth and high,
And wondered who on such a night,
There might be passing by.

Her own slight shadow lay far out
Athwart the lighted snow,

And two fair children there gazed up,
With large, sad eyes, below.

Out to the door with hurrying feet
And pitying heart she flew,
And in beside the blazing hearth
The weary wanderers drew.

"Now who are you who roam the street On such a freezing night?

Your robes are old, your hands are bare, Your hair with frost is white."

"We are two orphans. Underneath The lonesome churchyard sod

Our parents sleep-and people tell
That they're gone home to God.

"We wander round from street to street Without a friend to say,

'Poor children, come in with me and sit
By my warm hearth to-day.'"

Fast flowed the lady's tears, as thus
The mournful tale she heard,

And in her heart a troubled fount

Of long-kept grief was stirred.

"Poor little ones! God from earth has called

Your parents to the sky,

And where yon church-cross shadow falls

All my fair children lie.

"So come and sit beside my hearth

And slumber by my side,

For God has sent you to replace

My little ones that died!"

Toby's Supper.

WEARY day had Toby had of it,

Driving the cows to pasture, putting up The bars behind them-bars that would not fit At either end, but down again would drop From out their rests, now one and then another, Till he grew hot and sweaty with the pother.

Then there was weeding in the garden rows;

And what young back was there so stout as his To stoop and pull the sly weeds, which the hoes

Could not dislodge, or older eyes might miss, Beneath the tall corn hidden-though in truth Such groping labor did not please our youth.

Yet on he worked like any little man;

Stopping at times to fan his sweaty brow
With his coarse poplar hat, or lift the can

Of milk-and-water to his lips, or throw
Himself beneath the shady apple-trees,
To rest a moment in the cooling breeze.

So went the day-but evening came at last;

The cows were milked; the chickens had been fed

With curds and crumbs-a very choice repast

For feathered infants-and had gone to bed

Beneath their good, old mother's brooding wings,
And closed their eyes on sublunary things,-

Except a few poor fondling chicks-disowned
By their unnatural parent, or mayhap
Lost in some rash excursion-which run round
Peeping for cold; these Toby in his hat
Brought to the kitchen and gently lay
In an old basket on some fresh, soft hay.

All the tasks finished, tired as he could be
He just dropt down like lead into his chair;
His mother sat a basin on his knee

Brim full of foaming milk-tossing his hair

Back from his brow-and placed some meat and bread Beside, that he might eat and go to bed.

And eat he did-for after so much work—

Such driving cows and feeding chickens-he Was just as ravenous as any Turk;

And the fresh milk, as sweet as it could be, Tasted so good, saying nothing of the matter Of meat and biscuit in the yellow platter!

And so he ate, till from his listless hold,

The spoon fell down upon the basin's side;
The drowsy eyelids, like a curtain's fold

Closed o'er his weary eyes; his head aside
Rolled heavily, his chin upon his breast,
Till every muscle slept and was at rest.

Meanwhile, the chickens from the basket popped;

To see what made the kitchen seem so still,
And, seeing Toby nicely sleeping, hopped
Upon the basin, dipping each a bill
Into the milk, and turning up their eyes
At every little mouthful to the skies.

"Lord bless me! what a monstrous pity," thought The little house-dog watching Toby's sleep"That this good supper almost all for nought

Should be so nicely cooked! If I should keep What's left from spoiling, I am sure 'twould be Most excellent economy in me!

"Besides 'twould save my mistress all the trouble

Of giving me my supper on the floor; And so I think, considering the double Advantage it will be to all, before

My master Toby wakes, I'll softly fish

With this clean paw, his supper from the dish!"

"Why, bless me, Toby!" on his sleeping ear
His mother's merry voice a sudden beat;.
"What are you doing, drowsy sluggard here
So sound asleep, while dog and chickens eat
Your supper? Go to bed!" With a stupid gaze
Poor Toby looked into the laughing face

Bent over him, then yawned and scratched his head
And, half-undressing, tumbled into bed!