THE CHILDREN'S CORNER. The Children's Corner. THE ORPHANS-BROTHER AND SISTER. A gentleman walking down the streets of Edinburgh saw a procession of boys and girls belonging to one of the charity schools, who were going out for a holiday. He says "My attention was then directed towards two young boys about fourteen years of age. Each was driving a small cart, drawn by a pony. The first boy, when he saw the children, called out to his young friend, who was a little behind, and the moment his eye caught the sight, he leaped from the cart with a spring, crying out, "James, I'll see my sister, I'll see my wee sister." He drew his horse quickly to the side of the pavement, and left it alone, the instant the girls came towards him. Just as he commenced his anxious search his horse moved off, he sprung to its head and checked its progress, and, in an instant, he was at the front ranks of the girls, keenly glancing along the line to discover his little sister. Being all dressed alike, it was not easy to distinguish any one in particular without the strictest search. On they passed, but his sister came not. Poor boy, thought I, his kind heart will be doomed to suffer disappointment, as his little sister does not appear to be amongst them, and from his sorrowful look he thought so too. They all passed but twohis face glowed with delight-his sister was one of them. The anxious boy rushed to her, and grasping one of her hands in his, he placed the other gently on her neck, and could only say "Mary." The little girl, who appeared to be about seven years of age, looked up, and, oh, such ecstacy! she was by the side of her brother. She clasped her little arms around him, and her sweet face was lighted up with smiles. He bowed down his head to catch the few hurried words she spoke to him, and to let her hear his little tale. He took his eye from off her face but once, and only once, and that for a moment, and this was to see that his pony was still where he left it. The poor brute seemed to be sensible of the sacred mission on which its conductor had gone, as it moved not. He again bowed down his head to breathe into the ear of his beloved and loving sister his few parting words, for he could not go any farther. They grasped each other's hands and exchanged looks of tenderness, and the little girl moved on with her companions. His eyes saw nothing but that one loved object- they followed her along. The children in front turned down Yorkplace, and before she was out of her brother's view, she turned round, and with a sweet smile, held out her hand in token of adieu. The boy started as her face met his gaze, and moving one step forward, held out both his hands-the next moment she was hid from his sight. He slowly returned towards his horse, and, whilst a tear moistened his eye, and a cast of melancholy shaded his countenance, there was still something like an expression of satisfaction and pleasure on his features. He mounted his little cart, and, as I turned from beholding the scene, there was a dimness over my eyes which took a few applications of my handkerchief to remove." This is an interesting little fact. How lovely to see such an example of brotherly and sisterly affection! There is not on earth a more pleasing sight than children of one family dwelling together in peace and love. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. INSCRIBED TO R. AIKEN, ESQ. [The following justly admired Poem by BURNS, the Scotch Poet, is inserted in our pages, that it may excite in English Peasants and Mechanics, a desire to imitate their Scotch neighbours, in the practice of family worship. Some little things in it might have been as well omitted; but we dare not attempt to alter or abridge. How much is it to be regretted, that this self-taught child of genius, like our English Shakespear, wrote so little that is truly good and useful, and so much that is objectionable and injurious. The Scotch words will, we expect, be easily understood.] My lov'd, my honoured, much respected friend, To My dearest meed a friend's esteem and praise. What AIKEN in a cottage would have been; Ah! tho' his own worth unknown, far happier there I ween! November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; The short'ning winter-day is near a close; The black'ning train o'craws to their repose; This night his weekly moil is at an end, At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; Th' expectant wee-things, todlin, stacher thro' To meet their Dad, wi' flichtering noise and glee. His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labour and his toil. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. Belyve the elder barns come drappin in, Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sister's meet, An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers; Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; Their master's an' their mistress's command, An ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play; An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night! But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; Jenny, wha kens th' meaning o' the same, To do some errands, and convoy her hame. Sparkle in Jenny's e'e and flush her cheek; Weel pleased the mother hears, it's nae wild worthless rake. Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben; A strappan youth; he takes the mother's eye; The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave; What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. O happy love! where love like this is found! And sage experience bids me this declare- In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale. Is there, in human form, that bears a heart— Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth! Points to the parents fondling o'er their child! Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild! But now the supper crowns their simple board! That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cud; To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck fell. The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; The big Ha-Bible, ance his father's pride; His lyart haffets wearin thin an' bare! They chant their heartless notes in simple guise; They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim: Or plaintive Martyr's, worthy of the name: The tickled ears no heart-felt rapture raise; THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, With Amalek's ungracious progeny; Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed The precepts sage they wrote to many a land; Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command. Then kneeling down to heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays: That thus they all shall meet in future days: No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, Devotion's every grace, except the heart! May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul, Then homeward all take off their several way; And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, |