h
Into the great to-come. That little song--
Well I remember the delightful time
When 'twas extemporized; when, with my pen,
I noted down the words, while, by your crib,
Your father sat, and you, with little fists
Drawn tight, would spring and start, as infants will,
Crowing the while, and chuckling at the words
Not comprehended yet, save in the smiles
That with them went! 'Twas at the mellow close
Of an autumnal day, and we were staying
In a secluded village, where a brook
Babbled beneath our window, and the hum
Of insects soothed us, while a louder note
From the hoarse frog's bassoon would, now and then,
Break on the cricket's sleepy monotone
And startle laughter." Here the matron paused;
Then sweeping, with a firm, elastic touch,
The ivory keys, sang

LINDA'S LULLABY.

I.

Murmur low, little rivulet flowing!
For to sleep our dear Linda is going;
All good little lambs be reposing,
For Linda one eyelid is closing.

II.

O frogs! what a noise you are making!
O crickets! now don't keep her waking!
Stop barking, you little dog Rover,
Till Linda can get half-seas over.

III.

Little birds, let our word of love reach you,--
Go to bed, go to sleep, I beseech you;
On her little white coverlet lying,
To sleep our dear Linda is trying.

IV.

Hush! sing just as softly as may be;
Sing lullaby, lullaby, baby!
Now to sleep this dear Linda is going,--
Murmur low, little rivulet flowing!

The next day, when the heat kept all at home,
And they were gathered in the library,
Where fitfully a lazy southern breeze
Would stir the languid curtains, Percival
Said, turning to the mother: "Mary, now
Your story best will supplement my own;
Tell it." She answered: "Let it be so, then;
My life is but the affluent to yours,
In which it found its amplitude and rest.

"My parents dwelt in Liverpool; my father,
A prosperous merchant, gave to business
His time and active thoughts, and let his wife
Rule all beside with rigor absolute.
My maiden name was Mary Merivale.
There were eight daughters of us, and of these
I was the fourth. We lived in liberal style,
And did not lack the best society
The city could afford. My heedful mother,
With eight undowered girls to be disposed of,
Fearfully healthy all, and clamorous
For clothes and rations, entered on a plan