I saw a smiling little boy, Not to childish pastime given; His countenance radiant with joy, He seemed just ripe for Heaven. I asked, "Where are thy parents dear? Hast thou from them been riven?" He said, "My parents are not here, They have gone home to heaven." A year had sped--I passed that way On the eve of a balmy autumn day; I asked, "Where is the charming orphan boy, With face so radiant with joy? Is he to the cold world driven?" The answer was, "He had gone home to Heaven." EDNA. BY ELLEN ALICE MORIARTY. Hear you not the night-wind moaning, Sadly moaning all the time, Like a spirit doomed to wander O'er the earth for some dark crime? Round the door it ever lingers, Calling mortal aid in vain, And with gaunt and spectral fingers, Feebly knocks upon the pane. Love I well to hear it wailing, And I listen, pensively; Strange sad thoughts, unearthly dreamings, Mournfully it wakes in me. Such a night did Edna leave us, When she with Lord Ronald fled; Better, ere she thus had grieved us, She was numbered with the dead. Yet my mother, we'd forgive her Did she seek her home at last, Kindly in our arms receive her, Bidding her forget the past. Ah! she loved Lord Ronald truly; She was young and sweetly fair; Loved--and we were all forgotten-- When Lord Ronald tarried here. Dost remember, mother dearest, The sad day before she went, How the fleetly passing moments By thy side she fondly spent? And I marked her, mother dearest, When was said the soft "good-night," How her cheek so sadly faded-- Faded to a marble white. To her door I followed gently, Raised the latch, and in I went, And the thoughts that so oppressed me Found in gushing tears a vent. "Jessie, Jessie," murmured Edna, "Weeping sister! Why is this?" And she pressed with gentle fondness On my brow a soothing kiss. Spoke I not. My heart was breaking 'Neath some vague, uncertain woe; Wept I, on her breast reclining, Mother--and I slumbered so. When from out that sleep, awaking, I upon her pillow lay, Through the half-divided curtain Faintly streamed the dawning day. Then we missed her. Oh, my mother, Who our woe's excess can speak! Not a father, not a brother-- Who the loved and lost could seek. Mother dearest, you are weeping! Why did I remembrance wake? I should bear my grief in silence, Oh, my mother, for thy sake. Listen listen! on the night-blast Heard you not a well-known tone? Oh, it seemed so much, my mother, Like my sister Edna's own! There are feet upon the threshold! And a hand is on the door-- Mother! mother!--it is Edna, Coming back to us once more!