Is falling on my ear,
In those dear old-accustomed tones
I loved so well to hear.

Again upon my heart, baby,
Thy little hand is prest,
Again thy little nestling head
Is pillowed on my breast;
Again my lips are murmuring
Low words of love and prayer;
I strive to draw thee closer yet,
But clasp the vacant air;

And then I wake to weep, baby,
Rememb'ring thou art dead;
And never more can my poor heart
Pillow thy little head!
Yet I am happy even now--
This thought my grief disarms--
A few short months I fondly clasped
An angel in my arms:

That loftier minds than mine, baby,
Will now instruct thy youth,
And holier hearts will point the path
Of innocence and truth.
Thou wert my blessing here on earth,
And though tears dim my eyes,
I feel that I am richer far
To have thee in the skies!

THE TINY GLOVE.--A MAY-DAY STORY.

BY BLANCHE.

CHAPTER I.

BRIGHT, gladsome May-day!--the fairest maiden in all the train of the
merry "Queen of Seasons." May-day! what happy scenes this word
recalls--the day of all days for childhood's pleasures! I see the little
darlings tripping along the streets of my native town with baskets on
their chubby arms, smiles on their lips, and happiness in their eyes,
soon clustered in merry groups on some favorite spot in the suburbs,
laughing and chatting, arranging their pic-nic dinners, or sporting
beneath the shady trees.

But to my story. A mile or two from the village of A. were collected
some fifty or sixty little girls and boys, for the purpose of
celebrating their annual holiday. The May-pole, bedecked with flowers of
every hue and form, towered aloft, and around its base they frisked and
gamboled like so many little fairies. Some were "wafted in the silken
swing" high up among the boughs of the beech and elm; others sought the
brink of the rippling rivulet, and amused themselves with ruffling its
smooth surface or looking at their mirrored faces. Far down the
streamlet, and alone, was quietly seated a little girl, weaving into
garlands the buds and blossoms which grew around her in wild profusion,
caroling with a bird-like voice snatches of some favorite air, ever and
an