CHILDREN AT PLAY.

BY EILEEN.

THE foremost of the lovely group
Sat a dark-eyed gentle maid,
Perhaps twelve sinless years have passed
In sunshine o'er her head.

She told, in sweetly whispered tones,

A melancholy tale;

Which gladsome eyes grew dim to hear
As blooming cheeks grew pale.

A flush of pure and noble thought
Stood on her marble brow;
And in her darkly brilliant eye,
Shone more than childhood's glow

Instinctively each feature beamed
With rich intelligence,
The sunshine of a happy heart,
And perfect innocence.

Beside her stood, in merry mood,

A laughing, sportive girl,

Whose auburn ringlets lightly danced In many a glossy curl;

Her sparkling eyes were upward turned
Sidelong, in elfish glee,

As o'er her cheek in dimples played
The smiles of infancy.

She looked a blameless seraph, sent

In purity from heaven,

Ere yet one earthly taint was caught,
One mortal sorrow given.

A garland, busily she wove,
With fingers light and fair,
Designed, perhaps, to ornament
Her sister's dark brown hair.

The next in age sat at her feet,
A blue-eyed, fair-haired boy;
In whom a proud protecting smile
Mingled with placid joy :

He sat, half leaning on the ground,
Holding with careful hand

A little infant on his knee,

The yearling of the band;

And ever as some freakish rage
Disturbed that infant form,

With arts, which children only know,
He quelled the rising storm;

Or as those tiny limbs assayed
To totter forth alone,

The tender boy with anxious care,
Would teach the art unknown.

Sweet children! may paternal hands
Still guide your after years!
May never touch of mortal harm,
Change your sweet smiles to tears.

THE BROTHERS.

BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.

THE winter day had been bright and cold; the brief twilight was fading, and the first star appeared.

"It is time my sons were at home," said Mrs. Ludlow, as she stirred and replenished the fire.

"I think I hear their voices now," said little Eliza, climbing into a chair, and peeping though the window curtain. "Yes, yes, they are just entering into the piazza. I will run to the kitchen and see that the bread is toasted nice and warm for their milk; I know exactly how they like it."

Frank and Edward Ludlow were fine boys of eleven and nine years old. They came home in high spirits from their sport on the frozen lake. Hanging up their skates, they hastened to kiss their mother.

"Have we staid longer at play than you gave us permission to, dear mother?"

"It is rather beyond the time I mentioned. You should try to be punctual."

"Edward told me the hour had expired," said Frank; but it was such excellent skating we could not help going round the lake once more. We left all our school-fellows there But the next time we town-clock.

when we came away.

will be as true as the

tardy now.

And it is

not Edward's fault at all, mother, that we were Oh! here is Eliza, careful for our supper. What a good little one, to be thinking of her brothers when they are away! Come, sweet sister, sit between us."

The evening meal passed pleasantly. Each had some agreeable circumstance to relate, and they felt how good it was to love one another. After supper, books, maps and slates were placed upon the table, and the mother said:

"Now, boys, you who go to school ought to teach your sister, who does not. First examine her in the lessons she has learned of me to-day, and then add some gift of knowledge from your own stock."

So each brother very kindly overlooked her