Two little snow-white lambs Down in the church-yard cold. Two little drooping flowers, Flown far from fear and harm: Two little angels more, Singing with voices sweet, Pure from all earthly stain- KITTY. ALAS! little Kitty-do give her your pity!— They looked like the speckled White lilies, which down in the meadow-land grew; Her cousins around her, they pouted and fretted, UP THE HILL A-BERRYING. Not sharing their beauty, Was always neglected and never caressed; All in vain, so she thought, was the loving and true, While her hair was bright red and her eyes were dull blue. But one day, alone mid the clover-bloom sitting, She heard a strange sound, as of wings round her flitting; The red blossomed clover, Made her thrill with delight from her head to her feet; And a voice, sweet and rare, whispered low in the air, "See that beautiful, beautiful child sitting there!" Thrice blessed little Kitty! She almost looked pretty! O, juvenile charmers! with shoulders of snow, Forms made for caresses There's one thing, my beauties! 'tis well you should know; UP THE HILL A-BERRYING.-LUELLA CLARK. ON a sunny summer morning, Lonely work is picking berries; 227 So we staid-we two-to fill it, Jenny talking-I was stillLeading where the way was steepest, Picking berries up the hill. "This is up-hill work," said Jenny: "So is life," said I; "shall we Climb it each alone, or, Jenny, Will you come and climb with me?" Redder than the blushing berries Jenny's cheek a moment grew; While, without delay, she answered, "I will come and climb with you!" THE MINER. THE eastern sky is blushing red, The river o'er its rocky bed In idle frolics flowing; 'Tis time the pick-ax and the spade Against the rocks were ringing, And with ourselves the mountain stream A song of labor singing. The mountain air is fresh and cold, Lie temptingly before us. The pick-ax, spade, and brawny hand When labor closes with the day, To simple fare returning, We while the evening hours away Around our camp-fires burning; WHAT MIGHT BE DONE. Stretched round the fading, flickering light, Then bid the world and care good-night, THE FATHERLAND. "WHAT Country does a German claim? An inland State, or on the sea? Or where the Prussian eagle soars ? WHAT MIGHT BE DONE. WHAT might be done, if men were wise- In love and right, And cease their scorn of one another 1 229 Oppression's heart might be imbued From shore to shore Light on the eyes of mental blindness. All slavery, warfare, lies and wrongs- To each man born Be free as warmth in summer weather. The meanest wretch that ever trod, In self-respect, And share the teeming world to-morrow. What might be done? This might be done, And more than this, my suffering brotherMore than the tongue |