"I said, 'Be friends with me, dear Will;'

We quarrell'd, Sir, at the church door,-- Though he cried, 'Hush, don't speak, be still,'

Yet I repeated these words o'er

"Sev'n or eight times, I have no doubt.

But here comes William, and if he The good things he has heard about Forgets too, Sir, the fault's in me."

"No, Sir," said William, "though perplext And much disturbed by my sister, I in this matter of the text, I thank my memory, can a.s.sist her.

"I have, and pride myself on having, A more retentive head than she."-- Then gracefully his right hand waving, He with no little vanity

Recited gospel, chapter, verse-- I should be loth to spoil in metre All the good words he did rehea.r.s.e, As spoken by our Lord to Peter.

But surely never words from heaven Of peace and love more full descended; That we should seventy times seven Forgive our brother that offended.

In every point of view he plac'd it, As he the Doctor's self had been, With emphasis and action grac'd it: But from his self-conceit 'twas seen

Who had brought home the words, and who had A little on the meaning thought; Eliza now the old man knew had Learn'd that which William never caught.

Without impeaching William's merit, His head but served him for the letter, Hers miss'd the words, but kept the spirit; Her memory to her heart was debtor.

THE END OF MAY

"Our Governess is not in school, So we may talk a bit; Sit down upon this little stool, Come, little Mary, sit:

"And, my dear play-mate, tell me why In dismal black you're drest?

Why does the tear stand in your eye?

With sobs why heaves your breast?

"When we're in grief, it gives relief Our sorrows to impart; When you've told why, my dear, you cry, 'Twill ease your little heart."

"O, it is trouble very bad Which causes me to weep; All last night long we were so sad, Not one of us could sleep.

"Beyond the seas my father went, 'Twas very long ago; And he last week a letter sent (I told you so, you know)

"That he was safe in Portsmouth bay, And we should see him soon, Either the latter end of May, Or by the first of June.

"The end of May was yesterday, We all expected him; And in our best clothes we were drest, Susan, and I, and Jim.

"O how my poor dear mother smil'd, And clapt her hands for joy; She said to me, 'Come here, my child, And Susan, and my boy.

"'Come all, and let us think,' said she, 'What we can do to please Your father, for to-day will he Come home from off the seas.

"'That you have won, my dear young son, A prize at school, we'll tell, Because you can, my little man, In writing all excel;

"'And you have made a poem, nearly All of your own invention: Will not your father love you dearly, When this to him I mention?

"'Your sister Mary, she can say Your poetry by heart; And to repeat your verses may Be little Mary's part,

"'Susan, for you, I'll say you do Your needlework with care, And st.i.tch so true the wristbands new, Dear father's soon to wear!'

"'O hark!' said James; 'I hear one speak; 'Tis like a seaman's voice.'-- Our mother gave a joyful shriek; How did we all rejoice!

"'My husband's come!' 'My father's here!

But O, alas, it was not so; It was not as we said: A stranger seaman did appear, On his rough cheek there stood a tear, For he brought to us a tale of woe, Our father dear was dead."

FEIGNED COURAGE

Horatio, of ideal courage vain, Was flourishing in air his father's cane, And, as the fumes of valour swell'd his pate, Now thought himself _this_ Hero, and now _that_: "And now," he cried, "I will Achilles be; My sword I brandish; see, the Trojans flee.

Now I'll be Hector, when his angry blade A lane through heaps of slaughter'd Grecians made!

And now by deeds still braver I'll evince, I am no less than Edward the Black Prince.-- Give way, ye coward French:--" as thus he spoke, And aim'd in fancy a sufficient stroke To fix the fate of Cressy or Poictiers; (The Muse relates the Hero's fate with tears) He struck his milk-white hand against a nail, Sees his own blood, and feels his courage fail.

Ah! where is now that boasted valour flown, That in the tented field so late was shown!

Achilles weeps, Great Hector hangs the head, And the Black Prince goes whimpering to bed.

THE BROKEN DOLL

An infant is a selfish sprite; But what of that? the sweet delight Which from partic.i.p.ation springs, Is quite unknown to these young things.

We elder children then will smile At our dear little John awhile, And bear with him, until he see There is a sweet felicity In pleasing more than only one Dear little craving selfish John.

He laughs, and thinks it a fine joke, That he our new wax doll has broke.

Anger will never teach him better; We will the spirit and the letter Of courtesy to him display, By taking in a friendly way These baby frolics, till he learn True sport from mischief to discern.

Reproof a parent's province is; A sister's discipline is this, By studied kindness to effect A little brother's young respect.

What is a doll? a fragile toy.

What is its loss? if the dear boy, Who half perceives he's done amiss, Retain impression of the kiss That follow'd instant on his cheek; If the kind loving words we speak Of "Never mind it," "We forgive,"

If these in his short memory live Only perchance for half a day-- Who minds a doll--if that should lay The first impression in his mind That sisters are to brothers kind?

For thus the broken doll may prove Foundation to fraternal love.

THE DUTY OF A BROTHER

Why on your sister do you look, Octavius, with an eye of scorn, As scarce her presence you could brook?-- Under one roof you both were born.

Why, when she gently proffers speech, Do you ungently turn your head?

Since the same sire gave life to each; With the same milk ye both were fed.

Such treatment to a female, though A perfect stranger she might be, From you would most unmanly show; In you to her 'tis worse to see.

When any ill-bred boys offend her, Showing their manhood by their sneers, It is your business to defend her 'Gainst their united taunts and jeers.

And not to join the illiberal crew In their contempt of female merit; What's bad enough in them, from you Is want of goodness, want of spirit.

What if your rougher out-door sports Her less robustious spirits daunt; And if she join not the resorts, Where you and your wild playmates haunt:

Her milder province is at home; When your diversions have an end, When over-toil'd from play you come, You'll find in her an in-doors friend.

Leave not your sister to another; As long as both of you reside In the same house, who but her brother Should point her books, her studies guide?