THE NEW MOON.
Pretty new moon, white new moon,
What do you bring in your horn?
Silver light to paint black night
As fair as the early dawn?
Sweet new moon, pretty new moon,
Where did you harvest your rays?
In the deeps of dark were you but a spark
Till the sun shone along your ways?
Fair new moon, kind new moon,
Will my wish come true some day,
When you're but a ghost of yourself, at the most,
And your glory passes away?
Mary N. Prescott.
HOW MY BOYS HELPED THEIR MOTHER.
When we first came here to live, the lot next to ours was vacant; but afterwards a house was built on it, and the boys were very much interested in the progress of the building. Often, when obliged to stay in doors, they would sit by the window, watching the work on the "new house," as they called it.
Mr. Little, the owner of the house, was an old acquaintance of ours, and very fond of children. So occasionally, when he came to oversee the work, I would allow the boys to go up and see him; and he would give them a few nails, or some blocks to play with.