And yet how wondrous sweet The look with which he heard my passionate cry, "Touch not my lamb; for him, oh! let me die!" "A little while," He said, with smile and sigh, 66 'Again to meet." Hopeless I fell; And when I rose, the light had burned so low, More deeply, far, Than if my arms had compassed that slight frame: Though could I but have heard him call my nameDear mother!"-but in heaven 'twill be the same, There burns my star! 66 He will not take Another lamb, I thought, for only one Oh! with what thrill I heard Him enter; but I did not know Came morning. Can I tell How this poor frame its sorrowful tenant kept? How often it is said! I sit and think, and wonder too, sometime, No tears! no tears! Will there a day come that I shall not weep? Yes, yes; thank God! no grief that clime shall keep, Ay! it is well: Well with my lambs, and with their earthly guide. Through the dreary day, They often come from glorious light to me; CHRISTMAS EVE.-MISS H. A. FOSTER. Three little stockings-two blue, and one red, With foot on the rocker, and love in her eye, She chants to slow measure an old lullaby- She stops now and then to replace, with a kiss, She knows that, commissioned from regions of bliss, But the moments glide on; her singing is o'er; And knitting-work fallen quite on to the floor, Thought wings her away to the sunshiny past, But round the low cot sweeps the wild wintry blast― She looks round her room with dissatisfied gaze That humble room furnished so plainly; Alas for the hopes of my long ago days! Why, still, do I cherish you vainly? "And this for our home; poor, wretched at best; A home for our children-had fortune but blessed "My husband could banish the care which annoys; We could look with such pride on our bright, noble boys And our daughter's rare beauty and graces. "Instead of these three little stockings I see, We could plant in our parlor a vast Christmas tree, Years of toil, hope, and love true and tender; Those years fill his coffers, but stay not their flight, Her eye has lost much of its olden love-light- * * * * * Christmas Eve. In the splendor of parlor and hall Through thin, jewelled fingers, her burning tears fall, She looks on the brilliant luxuriance there, The Christmas tree laden with fruitage so rare, But the hands which should gather-where are they tonight? Ah, gold! the false hearted, alluring, On the name of the daughter has fallen a blight, Than beauty and grace more enduring. There are tears for the fair one whose coming no more That desolate bosom will gladden; There's an ache in the heart which wealth covers o'er, Which poverty could not so sadden. There are tears for the wayward-the boys are so changed- From mother and home, by the wine-cup estranged, Hark! is it the night-wind in fury unbound Through leafless trees shrieking and sighing? She listens-her quick ear interprets the sound- Her white hands unlock and throw open the door, Robbed-murdered-her husband lies covered with gore- With a shriek of deep anguish and utter despair, She falls. * * * 66 Why my dear, what's the matter? Dreaming, wer'n't you? The children sleep well, I declare, Amid such commotion and clatter. "Here, tuck in their stockings these candies and toys- Mary smiles through her tears on that fond beaming face 'Ŏh, John, we are blessed without measure! 66 Our own humble home is a dear happy place, ONLY A BOY. Only a boy, with his noise and fun, -what? ah, me! And as hard to manage as "Tis hard to tell, Yet we loved him well. Only a boy, with his fearful tread, Who cannot be driven,-must be led. Who troubles the neighbors' dogs and cats, Than would stock a store For a year or more! Only a boy, with his wild strange ways, As a meteor hurled From the planet world! Only a boy, who will be a man, If nature goes on with her first great plan- THE "FAT CONTRIBUTOR" ON INSURANCE AGENTS. I picked him out as an insurance man as quick as I saw him. There was no mistaking that glance of inventory with which he took in my age, occupation, parents long or short lived, age of great-grandfather, when he died, pulmonary complaint on my mother's side, summer complaint on my father's side, etc., etc. Before he ever spoke, he would sit looking at me for an hour at a time, with great tears in his benevolent eyes as big as soap bubbles, grieving because one so young, and yet so fair, wasn't insured. Then he would clasp his hands and gaze yearningly upon me as if to say—" Why will you not take out a policy?” Oh, it was touching to hear that old man go on at the table and tell of the hundreds and hundreds of families whom he had rendered comfortable and happy, by inducing their husbands and fathers to get insured; and he did it out of pure goodness of heart, and love of humanity, toothat was the best of it. The satisfaction it afforded him was all the reward he wanted. If, in a moment of weakness, I should yield to his persuasion and get insured, I shouldn't want to remain in this vicinity long. So anxious is he to have families reap the benefit of insurance, I should be afraid that well-meaning, but impetuous old man would contrive to get me killed, for the satisfaction of handing the insurance money over to my widow. I was greatly touched by a story this venerable insurance man told about his search for a poor woman, who had a policy on her husband's life, (in a company represented,) in order to pay it to her, having heard casually that she wanted it. I think he was occupied some fifteen years in his hunt for that woman; and yet only one payment on the policy had ever been made. But it is so much the custom of life insurance companies to do this, that it is hardly necessary to mention that. At length his efforts were rewarded. He found the poor woman, with six children, in a miserable garret, trying to earn a living for her family, by splitting up toothpicks at one cent a thousand. Lying in a corner was her brute of a husband |