HER BONNET.

WHEN meeting-bells began to toll,
And pious folk began to pass,

She deftly tied her bonnet on,
The little, sober meeting lass,

All in her neat, white-curtained room, before her tiny looking-glass.

So nicely, round her lady-cheeks,

She smoothed her bands of glossy hair,
And innocently wondered if

Her bonnet did not make her fair

Then sternly chid her foolish heart for harboring such fancies there.

So square she tied the satin strings,
And set the bows beneath her chin;

Then smiled to see how sweet she looked;
Then thought her vanity a sin,

And she must put such thoughts away before the sermon should begin.

But, sitting 'neath the preached Word,
Demurely in her father's pew,

She thought about her bonnet still,—

Yes, all the parson's sermon through,— About its pretty bows and buds which better than the text she knew.

Yet sitting there with peaceful face,
The reflex of her simple soul,

She looked to be a very saint

And maybe was one, on the whole

Only that her pretty bonnet kept away the aureole.

MARY E. WILKINS.

GOOD NIGHT.

GOOD night! Good night! Ah, good the night

That wraps thee in its silver light,

Good night! No night is good for me
That does not hold a thought of thee.
Good night!

Good night! Be every night as sweet
As that which made our love complete,
Till that last night when death shall be
One brief" Good night!" for thee and me.
Good night!

ANONYMOUS.

Index to First Lines.

A

Above the pines the moon was slowly drifting,
A certain friend of mine, whose daily praise,
Across the narrow beach we flit, .
Alone, unwedded, past her prime,
An infant on its mother's breast,
A morrow must come on,

A rose leaned over a woodland pool,
At Cato's Head in Russel Street,
At midnight, in his guarded tent,
At the king's gate the subtle noon,

PAGE.

193

103

168

122

8

20

161

6

201

28

199

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down,

B

Before the stout harvesters falleth the grain,

142

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
By the wayside, on a mossy stone,

29

61

C

Careless I climbed that path, and just behind,
Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear,
"Come little leaves," said the wind one day,
Come not again! I dwell with you,
Come walk with me along this willowed lane,
Coming, coming always,

"Dear baby spoke to-day," she cried,

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,

De Massa ob de sheepfol',

Don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt,

Drawn by horses with decorous feet,

E

Elizabeth, alack, Elizabeth,

F

PAGE.

166

184

190

55

45

Farewell! It is no sorrowful word,

259

Five little white heads peeped out of the mold,

231

Go! leave me, Priest; my soul would be,

77

Good night. Good night. Ah, good the night,

300

Go stand at night upon an ocean craft, .
Green be the turf above thee,

Here lies a common man. His horny hands,
Her eyes be like the violets,

104

45

Her sufferings ended with the day,

He spoke of Burns; men rude and rough, .
He stopped at the wayside well, .
High time, high time the cows were home,
High walls and huge the body may confine,

82

2

34

258

ΙΟΙ

82

His was the swiftest foot, the merriest eye,
How cracked and poor his laughter rings,

222

How dark it grows! The grieved light of day,

18

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
How often in the summer-tide,

187

292

I

I am but constant as yon constant rocks,

I cannot make him dead,

Ice everywhere! The skater's iron heel,

I do not own an inch of land,
If I had known in the morning,

I fill this cup to one made up,

If thou shouldst bid thy friend farewell,

I have fancied sometimes, the old Bethel-bent beam,

I glance through the curtain's fold,

I hold that Christian grace abounds,

I know not what shall befall me,

PAGE.

21

90

137

36

106

290

25

141

47

93

73

I know what you're going to say," she said,

I love it, I love it; and who shall dare,

In moods of transient mournfulness,

In the tempest of life, when the wave and the gale

In the west, the weary day,

Into the woods my Master went,

I wus mighty good-lookin'.when I was young,

J

June leaves are green, pink is the rose,.

80

125

287

20

L

Last night a mighty poet passed away,

Laugh, and the world laughs with you,

Learn, boy, from me what dwells in man alone,
Listen to the tawny thief,

៖ ២៨

145