And it seem'd I was sooth'd all o'er with a sense of fair

repose,

O dear new sister, seeing you wear the colours my darling chose."

O bonny blue ribbon, you prest on my brain too tight, too tight!

O heart, how wildly you beat beneath your virginal white !

Dear friend, in whose happy home the love-fire burneth free,

I am glad God's hand has given to you the joy it has kept from me.

DAVIE CARR.

ARE you asleep, little Davie? I've slipt away from the gloom;

It was, oh, so dreary to play in the lonely, darken'd

room:

The blinds are all pull'd down and our books put by on the shelf:

But I don't care for holidays now when there's no one to play but myself.

You are fast asleep, little coz: I won't disturb you, but

croon

So softly it will not awake you; you'll think it's a bit of

a tune

You are listening to in your dreams as you lie so pale and still ;

Won't your pretty red roses come back? I wonder whether they will.

You've lain so long, so long, in that wearisome bed, coz

dear,

They will hardly come back before the red June roses are

here:

DAVIE CARR.

85

The angels that love the flowers will come to our gardens then,

And maybe they'll kiss your cheeks and make 'em rosy again.

I think there's a secret for us to hear in a day or so, For I heard old Nursey whisper to Aunty, "when may she know?"

I know it was me they meant, but Aunty just turn'd to the wall

But when you get up they'll find we are sharp enough for 'em all.

I'm tir'd of holidays, Davie ; I'd like to do lessons again; But Aunty looked just as she looks, you know, when her head is in pain,

When I offer'd to bring her my books, and said, “Little Alice, nay,

You needn't mind lessons just now; you may go to your dolls and play."

So when she went out of the room with that sorrowful look in her face,

(I hadn't been naughty indeed,) I stole away from the

place,

And left Miss Doll on the floor in her grand new frock that I've made ;

I'll shew it you when you get up-that won't be just yet, I'm afraid.

I've minded your toys for you, Davie; your little pet

bird I have fed;

And you couldn't have taken more care of your garden yourself, Robin said;

There are funny green letters sprung up; you never would guess what they are

It's a secret-but then you're asleep-D. C. for your name, Davie Carr.

They've cut off your nice little curls: 'twas a pity, but then, you know,

You'll be just as happy without 'em; they'll never get tangled so :

Your hands were as brown as mine, and now they are just as white

As Aunty's-and how did you keep the bed clothes so tidy all night?

You're sleeping a long, long while : good-bye, little coz : oh dear,

I'm afraid, if I stay any longer, they'll come in and find me here.

If I kiss'd you perhaps I should wake you: good-bye, make haste to get well

I am very lonely without you, more lonely than I can

tell.

AN OLD MAID.

SITTING with folded hands, that have dropt the needle and thread,

Looking athwart the fields, where the evening light is

shed

On the waving grass, and whence arises the lowing of herds,

While the happy leafage thrills because of the time of the singing of birds.

Sixty rings, I think, have circled her life-tree's girth, Sixty years of the world, with its mingled pathos and mirth.

How has she taken the time since her baby-steps were set Among the anemones' bloom, and the sweets of the violet ?

What has she been, who sitteth with delicate lights dropping down

On the bow'd head's silver locks, and the folds of the silken gown?