Like this Album's snowy page, May thy path from youth to age, From each dark erasure free,

Beautiful and stainless be.

When in Death's approaching shade
Life's last trembling trace must fade,
May the hand that saves the soul
Write "accepted" on its scroll-
And insert it as a gem

In an angel's diadem.

THE MOTHER AND CHILD.

Behold! a little baby boy,

A happy babe is he:

His face, how bright,

His heart, how light,

His throne his mother's knee.

Now in her face with laughing eye

I see him gaily peep;
And now at rest,

Upon her breast,

He gently sinks to sleep.

His lips are red, his teeth like pearls

The rogue! he has but two;

His golden hair,

How soft and fair,

His eyes, how bright and blue.

His tiny hands are white and plump; And, waking or asleep,

Beneath his clothes

His little toes

How cunningly they peep!

Oh many things are beautiful;

The bird that sings and flies-
The setting sun,

When day is done-

The rainbow in the skies.

My own pet lamb is innocent,
And full of play is he―

The violet

With dew-drops wet,

Is sweet and fair to me.

But there is one more ceautiful,

Gay, tender, sweet, and mild,
A baby boy,

With heart of joy,

A loved and loving child.

WILLIAM, HENRY, AND THE GATE.

PASSING along a street, I saw, at a little distance before me, two boys, brothers, come out of a house and run toward a gate, leading from the door-yard into the street. Henry, the youngest, came to the gate first. In pure fun and frolic, he shut the gate, and placed himself against it in such a way as to prevent his brother from opening it and going out. William seized the gate, and pulled to open it, and Henry held on to prevent him. They pulled and struggled, the one to open it, the other to keep it shut. At first it seemed all in fun. They laughed and frolicked about it. Soon, however,