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The cottage was a thatched one,

The outside old and mean;
Yet everything within that cot

Was wondrous neat and clean.

The night was dark and stormy,

The wind was howling wild;
A patient mother knelt beside

The deathbed of her child.

A little worn-out creature

His once bright eyes grown dim;
He was a collier's only child-

They called him little Jim.

And oh! to see the briny tears

Fast hurrying down her cheek,
As she offered up a prayer in thought

She was afraid to speak,

Lest she might waken one she loved

Far better than her life;
For there was all a mother's love

In that poor collier's wife.

With hands uplifted, see, she kneels

Beside the suff'rer's bed; And prays that He will spare her boy,

And take herself instead!

She gets her answer from the child;

Soft fell these words from him :“Mother, the angels do so smile,

And beckon little Jim!

I have no pain, dear mother, now,

But oh! I am so dry;
Just moisten poor Jim's lips again,

And, mother, don't you cry.”

With gentle, trembling haste she held

The tea-cup to his lips;
He smiled, to thank her, as he took

Three little tiny sips.

“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 saw that he was dying

The child she loved so dear,
Had uttered the last words that she

Might ever hope to hear.

The cottage door was opened,

The collier's step was heard ; The mother and the father met,

Yet neither spoke a word !

He knew that all was over

He knew his child was dead;
He took the candle in his hand,

And walked towards the bed.

His quivering lips gave token

Of grief he'd fain conceal;
And see! his wife has joined him-

The stricken couple kneel !
With hearts bowed down with sadness,

They humbly ask of Him,
In heaven once more to meet again
Their own poor little Jim.



The men could hardly keep the deck, so bitter was the night; Keen north-east winds sang through the shrouds, the deck

was frosty white; While overhead the glistening stars put forth their points

of light.

On deck, behind a bale of goods, two orphans crouched to

sleep; But 'twas so cold the younger boy in vain tried not to weep: They were so poor they had no right near cabin doors to


The elder round the younger wrapped his little ragged cloak, To shield him from the freezing sleet, and surf that o'er

them broke; Then drew him closer to his side, and softly to him spoke :

"The night will not be long,” he said; "and if the cold

winds blow, We shall the sooner reach our home, and see the peat-fire

glow; But now the stars are beautiful-oh, do not tremble so!

Come closer-sleep-forget the frost-think of the morning

red! Our father and our mother soon will take us to their bed; And in their warm arms we shall sleep!” He knew not

they were dead.

For thern no father to the ship shall with the morning

come; For them no mother's loving arms are spread to take them

home: Meanwhile the cabin-passengers in dreams of pleasure roam.

At length the orphans sank to sleep upon the freezing deck, Close huddled side to side,-each arm clasped round the

other's neck; With heads bent down, they dreamed the earth was fading

to a speck.

The steerage passengers have all been taken down below, And round the stove they warm their limbs into a drowsy

glow; And soon within their berths forget the icy wind and snow.

Now morning dawns: the land in sight, smiles beam on

every face! The pale and qualmy passengers begin the deck to pace, Seeking along the sun-lit cliffs some well-known spot to trace.

Only the orphans do not stir, of all this bustling train :
They reached their home that starry night ! they will not

stir again! The winter's breath proved kind to them, and ended all

their pain.

But in their deep and freezing sleep clasped rigid to each

other, In dreams they cried, “The bright morn breaks! Home,

home is here, my brother! The angel Death has been our friend !-we come! dear father! inother !”



It is not that I cannot see

The birds and flowers of spring; 'Tis not that beauty seems to me

A dreamy, unknown thing;

It is not that I cannot mark

The blue and star-set sky;
Nor ocean's foam, nor mountain's peak,-

That thus I weep and sigh.

They tell me that the birds, whose notes

Fall full upon mine ear, Are not all beautiful to sight,

Though sweet their songs to hear.

They tell me that the gayest flowers

Which sunshine ever brings Are not the ones I know so well,

But strange and scentless things.

D[y little brother leads me forth

To where the violets grow;
IIis gentle, light, yet careful step

And tiny hand I know.

My mother's voice is soft and sweet,

Like music on my ear;
The very atmosphere seems love
When these to me are near.

My father twines his arms around,

And draws me to his breast,
To kiss the poor, blind, helpless girl

He says he loves the best.

'Tis then I ponder unknown things,

It may be, weep or sigh,-
And think how glorious it must be

To meet affection's eye.


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