THE AFFECTIONATE LITTLE GIRL.

overcast.

"A little child

That lightly draws its breath

And feels its life in every limb

What should it know of death?"

WORDSWORTH.

Ar Smyrna, the burial-ground of the Armenian, like that of the Moslem, is removed a short distance from the town, is sprinkled with green trees, and is a favourite resort, not only with the bereaved, but with those whose feelings are not thus darkly I met there, one morning, a little girl with a half-playful countenance, busy blue eye, and sunny locks, bearing in one hand a small cup of china, and in the other a wreath of fresh flowers. Feeling a natural curiosity to know what she could do with these bright things in a place that seemed to partake so much of sadness, I watched her light motions. Reaching a retired grave, covered with a plain marble slab, she emptied the seed-which it appeared the cup containedinto the slight cavities which had been scooped out in the corners of the level tablet, and laid the wreath on its pure face.

"And why," I inquired, "my sweet girl, do you put the seeds in those little bowls, there ?"

"It is to bring the birds here," she replied, with

THE AFFECTIONATE LITTLE GIRL. 97

a half wonderful look; "they will light on this tree," pointing to a cypress above; "when they have eaten the seed they will sing."

"To whom do they sing?" I asked; "to you, or to each other?"

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Oh, no," she quickly replied, "to my sister; she sleeps here.”

"But your sister is dead?"

"Oh, yes, sir, but she hears all the birds sing." "Well, if she does hear the birds sing, she cannot see that wreath of flowers."

"But she knows I put it there. I told her before they took her away from our home, I would come every morning to see her."

"You must have loved that sister very much," I continued, "but you will never talk with her any more, never see her again."

"Yes, sir," she replied, with a brightened look, "I shall see her always in heaven."

"But she has gone there already, I trust."

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No, sir, she stops under this tree, till they bring me here, and then we are going to heaven together."

"But, she has gone already, my child. You will meet her there I hope, but certainly she has gone and left you to come afterwards."

She cast on me a look of inquiring disappointment, and her eyes began to fill with tears.

Oh, yes, my sweet child, be it so
That, near that cypress tree,
Thy sister sees those eyes o'erflow
And fondly waits for thee.

That still she hears the young

And sees the chaplet wave,

birds sing,

Which every morn thy light hands bring
To dress her early grave.

And in a brighter, purer sphere,

Beyond the sunless tomb,

Those graces that have charmed us here

In fadeless life shall bloom.

SOURCES OF COMFORT.

WHAT though the radiance which was once so bright.
Be now for ever taken from our sight;
Though nothing can bring back the hour,

Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not—but rather find

Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy

Which having been, must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring,
Out of human suffering,

In the faith that looks through death,

In years that bring the philosophic mind..

WORDSWORTH.

A MOTHER'S LAMENT.

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A MOTHER'S LAMENT OVER HER DEAD IN

FANT.

How can I weep?—The tear of pain
Thy placid beauty would profane,
Darken thy cheek's unsullied snow
And wet the white rose on thy brow.

How can I sigh ?—The breathing deep,
My baby, might disturb thy sleep;
And then with that unclouded smile,
Wouldst seem refreshing me the while.

How can I grieve,-when all around
I hear a sweet unearthly sound?
The waving of my cherub's wings,
The hymn my infant-angel sings.

Yet lonely-tranquil as thou art,
It was so cruel to depart,

To close on me thy laughing eye,
Unclasp thy little arms-and die!

But one hath whispered, love! to thee,
"Suffer
my child to come to me."
Then, Saviour! meekly I resign
My baby, now for ever thine.

THE TWINS.

'Twas summer, and a Sabbath eve,
And balmy was the air;

I saw a sight that made me grieve,
And yet that sight was fair:
Within a little coffin lay

Two lifeless babes, as sweet as May.

Like waxen dolls, which children dress,

The little bodies were;

A look of placid happiness

Did in each face appear:
And in the coffin, short and wide,
They lay together, side by side.

A rosebud, nearly closed, I found
Each little hand within;

And many a pink was strewed around
With sprigs of jessamine;

And yet the flowers that round them lay
Were not, to me, more fair than they

Their mother, as a lily pale,

Sat by them on their bed;
And bending o'er them told her tale,
And many a tear she shed;

Yet oft she cried amidst her pain,

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"My babes and I shall meet again.”