How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The cheese-press, the goose-pond, the pigs in the wild-wood
And every old stump that my infancy knew.

The big linkum-basswood, with wide-spreading shadow
The horses that grazed where my grandmother fell:
The sheep on the mountain, the calves in the meadow,
And all the young kittens we drowned in the well-
The meek little kittens, the milk-loving kittens,
The poor little kittens, we drowned in the well.'

I remember with pleasure my grandfather's goggles,
Which rode so majestic astraddle his nose;

And the harness, oft mended with tow-string and "toggles,”
That belonged to old Dolly, now free from her woes.
And fresh in my heart is the long maple wood-pile,
Where often I've worked with beetle and wedge,
Striving to whack up enough to last for a good while,
And grumbling because my old axe had no edge.
And there was the kitchen, and pump that stood nigh it,
Where we sucked up the drink through a quill in the spout,
And the hooks where we hung up the pumpkin to dry it;
And the old cider pitcher,no doing without :"
The brown earthen pitcher, the nozzle-cracked pitcher,
The pain-easing pitcher, "no doing without."

And there was the school-house, away from each dwelling, Where school-ma'ams would govern with absolute sway: Who taught me my 'rithmetic," reading, and spelling, whaled me like blazes " about every day! I remember the ladder that swung in the passage, Which led to the loft in the peak of the house:

And

Where

my grandmother hung up her "pumpkin and sausage,"

To keep them away from the rat and the mouse.
But now, far removed from that nook of creation,
Emotions of grief big as tea-kettles swell,
When Fancy rides back to my old habitation,
The meek little kittens, the milk-loving kittens,
And thinks of the kittens we drowned in the well-

The

poor

little kittens, we drowned in the well.

LITTLE JIM.

THE cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean, But all within that little cot was wondrous neat and clean; The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild,

As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her child: A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown dim: It was a collier's wife and child, they called him little Jim.

And oh to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek,

As she offered up the prayer, in thought, she was afraid to speak,

Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life; For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor collier's

wife.

With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the sufferer's

bed,

And prays that He would spare her boy, and take herself instead.

She gets her answer from the child: soft fall the words from him,

Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim, I have no pain, dear mother, now, but O! I am so dry, Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, mother, don't you

cry."

With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his lip; IIe smiled to thank her, as he took each little, tiny sip.

"Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him,

And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas! poor little Jim! She knew that he was dying; that the child she loved sc dear,

Had uttered the last words she might ever hope to hear:
The cottage door is opened, the collier's step is heard,
The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a word.

He felt that all was over, he knew his child was dead,
He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed;
His quivering lips gave token of the grief he'd fain conceal,
And see, his wife has joined him-the stricken couple kneel:
With hearts bowed down by sadness, they humbly ask of

Him,

In heaven once more to meet again their own poor little Jim.

HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.-T. B. Macaulay. THE Consul's brow was sad, and the Consul's speech was low,

And darkly looked he at the wall, and darkly at the foe. "Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down ; And if they once may win the bridge, what hope to save the town?"

Then out spoke brave Horatius, the Captain of the gate: "To every man upon this earth death cometh, soon or late.

Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may;

I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play.

"In you straight path a thousand may well be stopped by three.

Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me?"

Then out spake Spurias Lartius-a Ramnian proud was he

"Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with thee."

And out spake strong Herminius-of Titian blood was he

"I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with

thee."

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"Horatius," quoth the Consul, as thou sayest, so let it be."

And straight against that great array, forth went the dauntless Three.

Soon all Etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink to see

On the earth the bloody corpses, in the path the dauntless Three.

And from the ghastly entrance, where those bold Romans

stood,

The bravest shrank like boys who rouse an old bear in the wood.

But meanwhile axe and lever have manfully been plied, And now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide. Come back, come back, Horatius !" loud cries the Fathers

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all:

"Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! back, ere the ruin fall!"

Back darted Spurius Lartius; Herminius darted back; And, as they passed, beneath their feet they felt the timbers crack;

But when they turned their faces, and on the further shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed

once more.

But, with a crash like thunder, fell every loosened beam, And, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream;

And a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of Rome, As to the highest turret-tops was splashed the yellow foam.

And, like a horse unbroken when first he feels the rein, The furious river struggled hard, and tossed his tawny

mane,

And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free, And battlement, and plank, and pier, whirled headlong to the sea.

Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind.

"Down with him!" cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale face.

"Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, "now yield thee to our grace."'

Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to

see;

Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus naught spake

he;

But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home,
And he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of
Rome.

"O, Tiber! father Tiber! to whom the Romans pray,
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this
day !"

So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by

his side,

And, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide.

No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank; But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, stood gazing where he sank.

And when above the surges they saw his crest appear, Rome shouted, and e'en Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer.

But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of

rain:

And fast his blood was flowing; and he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows. And oft they thought him sinking-but still again he rose.

Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case, Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landingplace:

But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within,

And our good father Tiber bare bravely up his chin.

"Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus; "will not the villain drown?

But for this stay, ere close of day we should have sacked

יי! the town

"Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena, "and bring him safe to shore;

For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before.”

And now he feels the bottom;-now on dry earth he stands;

Now round him throng the Fathers to press his gory

hands.

And, now with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping

loud,

He enters through the River Gate, borne by the joyous

crowd.

YOUR MISSION.

IF you cannot on the ocean
Sail among the swiftest fleet,
Rocking on the highest billows,
Laughing at the storms you meet.
You can stand among the sailors,
Anchor'd yet within the bay,
You can lend a hand to help them,
As they launch their boats away.

If you are too weak to journey,
Up the mountain steep and high,
You can stand within the valley,
While the multitudes go by.