And

bud of bliss. How we linger on those hours!— but lingering thus will not recall the past. would we, if we could,-would we bring from her sweet home above our cherub daughter? Would we give her back life's bitter cup to drain, —again to go through the dark valley?

"She did but float a little way

Adown the stream of time,

With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play,
Listening their fairy chime;

Her slender sail

Ne'er felt the gale;

She did but float a little way,
And putting to the shore,
While yet 'twas early day,
Went calmly on her way,

To dwell with us no more.

No jarring did she feel,

No grating on her vessel's keel;

A strip of silver sand

Mingled the waters with the land,

Where she was seen no more."

First Days of Sickness.

"Within her downy cradle there lay a little child, And a group of hovering angels unseen upon her smiled; A strife arose among them, a loving, holy strife,

Which should shed the richest blessing upon the newborn life.

One breathed upon her features, and the babe in beauty

grew,

With a cheek like morning's blushes, and an eye of azure

hue;

Till every one who saw her was thankful for the sight Of a face so sweet and radiant with ever fresh delight.

Another gave her accents, and a voice as musical

As a spring-bird's joyous carol, or a rippling streamlet's

fall;

Till all who heard her laughing, or her words of childish

grace,

Loved as much to listen to her as to look upon her face.

Another brought from heaven a clear and gentle mind, And within the lovely casket, a precious gem enshrined; Till all who knew her, wondered that God should be so good,

As to bless with such a spirit our desert world and rude.

Thus did she grow in beauty, in melody and truth,
The budding of her childhood just opening into youth ;
And to our hearts yet dearer every moment than before,
She became, though we thought fondly, heart could not
love her more.

Then outspake another angel, nobler, brighter than the rest,

As with strong arm, but tender, he caught her to his

breast;

'Ye have made her all too lovely for a child of mortal

race,

But no shade of human sorrow shall darken o'er her

face.

Ye have tuned to gladness only the accents of her

tongue,

And no wail of human anguish shall from her lips be

wrung;

Nor shall the soul that shineth so purely from within

Her form of earth-born frailty, ever know the taint of sin.

Lulled in my faithful bosom, I will bear her far away, Where there is no sin nor anguish, nor sorrow nor decay, And mine a gift more glorious than all your gifts shall be,

Lo! I crown her happy spirit with immortality.'

Then on his heart, our darling yielded up her gentle breath, For the stronger, brighter angel who loved her best was Death."

G. W. BETHUNE.

How unconsciously do we sometimes tread upon the brink of a precipice! When dear Carrie awaked in the night and complained of pain, her father took her from her little bed and laid her in ours. Oh, had I but known that I was never again to sleep by my darling's side, how should I have held her to my heart all that long night! In the morning I dressed her supposing she would be playing in the course of the day, little thinking that it was the last time I should ever dress my sweet Carrie.

Our physician called to see her; but what a change had passed over the dear child! She was no longer the bright, glad Carrie, who had so gaily bounded to meet him. With a drooping

head she looked earnestly at him, as if asking for relief.

On the Sabbath, as she lay in her crib, she held her little books and tried to turn over the leaves. It was only a week before, that she had stood hand in hand with her sister and said her hymns. This evening, when Louise had repeated her prayers, Carrie turned to her father and in a sorrowful tone, said, “I am too sick to say that now." "Shall I repeat your prayers for you?" "Yes, papa."

The dear child's pain was at times extreme, and she had frequent turns of languor and faintness, but through the whole was gentle and patient. She spoke but little, but what she did say, showed that her heart was as affectionateas grateful for kindness as ever. "Thank you, thank you," still came from her sweet lips, and she would often say, "I lud du."

It was most distressing to see her suffer, and to be totally unable to relieve her. We tried to divert her attention but could only do it for a moment. Placing her little table in the crib, and setting on it her baby cups and saucers, and knives and forks, I asked her to "give mama