abroad, she returned with undiminished zest to her simple employments and pleasures at home. She wished indeed that her father would move down and live in her aunt's house. And she often talked of making another visit, and playing again in that "pretty garden." Such a visit she did not make, but though she was never again to be in her aunt's pleasant garden, yet we trust she is now dwelling in a more beautiful one, where the flowers are not death's."

66

"I saw a drop, whose trembling ray

Was bosomed by a flower.

A sunbeam bore the gem away,
But Fancy, in its airy sway,

Pursued it to a brighter day
Gilding a fairer bower."

H. K. WHITE.

Guardian Angels.

"I think of all thy winning ways,
Thy frank and childish glee;
Thy arch sweet smiles, thy coy delays,
Thy step so light and free;

Thy sparking glance and hasty run,
Thy gladness when the task was done,
And gained thy mother's knee;

Thy gay, good-humored, graceful ease,
And all thy thousand arts to please.

Where are they now? And where, oh where,

The eager, fond caress?

The blooming cheek so fresh and fair,

The lips all sought to press ?

The open brow and laughing eye,
The heart that leaped so joyously?

Ah, had we loved them less!"

ALARIC A. WATTS.

THE gentle reign of Spring was now almost

ended, and a lovely sight it was to see her

"Lift the bright gems from her fast drooping head, And crown her sweet sister to reign in her stead."

Carrie was again playing about in the garden and yard, and gathering nosegays of the dandelions and clover blossoms that were sprinkled all over the grass. The children were anxious to do some planting for themselves; so their father gave them a few beans and kernels of corn, with liberty to put them where they could find room. The place that they at last pitched upon after various changes, was directly in the trodden path under the shade of the large horse-chestnut now hanging full of rich blossoms. Carrie had considerable trouble with all her digging, in making her corn and bean stay under ground. And instead of being watered by the rains, they were so often washed away, that she was frequently running to her father with, "Papa will you give me another corn and bean for mine are gone." From the windows, we could see her working most diligently with her wonderful corn and bean, sometimes childlike, digging them up to see if they had begun to grow, and again covering them over with fresh earth and watering them. If she started to go out of doors, in un

pleasant weather, and I said, "I would not go now Carrie," she would look up so earnestly and ask, "Can't I just see to my corn and bean?" She was quite in raptures one day, when her father twisted large leaves, so as to make watering-pots for her and her sister. Each would hold about half a dozen drops, and with this and a dish of water, she worked away for a long time, watering her corn and bean most faithfully. At last her father proposed a better place for her seeds, where they sprung up and grew to be a sad memorial of her, when she had passed forever away.

The peculiar graces of childhood seemed to be now rapidly developing in our dear child. So ardent were her emotions and so glowing her expressions, that she was often called "the little enthusiast." She had an unusual degree of that naturally poetic feeling which young children often manifest.

Her impulsive disposition sometimes led her astray, and she would in haste do or say something very unlike her gentle self. Her quick sympathies inclined her to take the part of one whom she saw suffering, even when such sym

pathy was misdirected. Her father on one occasion, having rebuked her sister for some offence, Carrie said to her, "Ain't papa naughty?" Her father's reproof subdued her at once, and brought out her unaffected "I am solly;" and in a moment, looking up in his face with a mingled expression of affection and archness, she said “I lud du." If she was ever betrayed into disobedience and I felt obliged to correct her, it was a thrice painful duty. Her yielding spirit, and the docility with which she submitted to punishment the very few times in which it was resorted to, almost took from me my power of inflicting it. Ah! how the thought thrills a mother, that from ignorance or hastiness of spirit she may sometimes have wronged her departed child!

Often when I took my darling on my knee, and looked into "the summer heaven of her clear eyes," have I almost longed to place my hand upon time's rapid wheels, lest the future should bring with it some sad change. Yet I thought not of her death, but only dreaded aught that might damp her enthusiasm or sadden her heart or cast the shadow of distrust over her confiding spirit.