I rascal innuer your lazy Iet
ust be fiddling and performing
upper and bed, or starve in the street.
very gay life to lead, you think?
soon w  shall go where lodging are free,
he sleepers need neither victuals nor drink;
sooner the better for Roger and me !
TWO LITTLE PAIRS.
VO little pairs of boots, to-night,
Before the fire are drying ;
Two little pairs of tired feet,
In a trundle bed, are lying;
The tracks they left upon the floor
Make me feel much like sighing.
Those little boots with copper toes!
They run the livelong day;
And oftentimes I almost wish
They were miles away;
So tired am I to hear so oft
Their heavy tramp at play.
They walk about the new ploughed ground
Where mud in plenty lies;
They roll it up in marbles round,
They bake it into pies,
And then, at night upon the floor,
In every shape it dries !
To-day I was disposed to scold.
But when I look to-night,
At those little boots before the fire.
With copper toes so bright,
1 think how sad my heart would be
To put them out of sight.
For in a trunk up-stairs I 've laid
Two socks of white ad blue;
If called to pat those boots away,
Oh God wa sholI do ?
I moumthat there are not to-night
Three pairsinstead of two.
I mourn because I thoughhow nice
My neighbor 'cross the way,
Could keep her carpets all the year
From getting worn or gray ;
Yet well I know she'd smile to own
Some little boots to-day.
We mothers weary get, and worn,
Over our load of care ;
But how we speak to these little ones
Let each of us beware;
For what would our firesides be to-night,
If no little boots were there?

L r
WHICH SHALL IT BE?
"HICH shall it be? which shall it be?"
I     looked at John  Johnlooked at me
(Dear patient John, who loves me yet
As well as though mny locks were jet,)
And when I found that I must speak,
My voice seemed stran~gely low and weak.
"Tell me again what Robert said ; "
And then I listening bent my head.
"This is his letter:"
"I will give
A house and land while you shall live,
If, in return, from out your seven
One child to me for aye is given."
I looked at John's old garments worn,
I thought of all that John had borne
Of poverty and work and care,
Which 1, though willing, could not share;
I thought of seven mouths to feed,
Of seven little children's need,
And then of this.
"Come, John," said I,
We'll choose among them, 'as they lie
Asleep ;" so walking hand in hand,
Dear John and I surveyed our band.
First to the cradle lightly stepped
Where Lilian the baby slept,
Her damp curls lay like gold alight
A glory 'gainst the pillow white.
Softly her father stooped to lay
His rough hand down in loving way,
When dream or whisper made her stir.
And huskily, John said, "Not her - not her.'
We stooped beside the trundle bed,
And one long ray of lamp-light shed
Across the boyish faces, three,
In sleep so pitiful and fair;
I saw, on Jamie's rough, red cheek,
A tear undried. Ere John could speak,
"He's but a baby, too," said I,
And kissed him as we hurried by.
Pale, patient Robbie's angel face,
Still in his sleep, bore suffering's trace.
"No, for a thousand crowns, not him,"
We whispered, while out eyes were dim.
Poor Dick! bad Dick! our wayward son,
Turbulent, reckless, idle one
Could he be spared? "Nay, He, who gave,
Bids us befriend him to his grave;
Only a mother's heart can be
Patient enough for such as he;
And so," said John, "I would not dare
To send him from her bedside prayer."
Then stole we softly up above,
And knelt by Mary, child of love.

I-

                                                                                                           I