Mamma's in Heaven! and so, you see, My sister Bet's mamma to me. Oh! yes, I love her!...that's to say, I love her well the whole bright _day_; For Sis is kind as kind can be, Until, indeed, we've finished tea-- Then (why _did_ God make ugly night?) She never, _never_ treats me right. But always says, "Now Sleepy-Head, 'Tis getting late! come up to bed!" Just when the others, Fred and Fay, Dolly and Dick, are keen for play,-- Card-houses, puzzles, painted blocks, Cat-corner, and pert Jack-in-the-box-- I must (it's that bad gas, I think, That makes me, somehow, _seem_ to wink!) _Must_ leave them all, to seek the gloom Of sister Bet's close-curtained room, Put on that long, stiff gown I hate, And go to bed--oh, dear! at eight! [Illustration: RUSSELL & RICHARDSON-SD "GHOSTS."] Now, is it fair that I who stand Taller than Dolly by a hand, (I'll not believe, howe'er 'tis told, That Cousin Doll is ten years old!) And just because I'm only seven, Should be so teazed, yes, almost _driven_, Soon as I've supped my milk and bread, To that old drowsy, frowsy bed? I've lain between the dusky posts, And shivered when I thought of ghosts; Or else have grown so mad, you know, To hear those laughing romps below, While there I yawned and stretched (poor me!) With one dim lamp for company. I've longed for courage, just to dare Dress softly--then trip down the stair, And in the parlor pop my head With "_No, I will not stay a-bed!_" I'll do it yet, all quick and bold, No matter how our Bet may scold, For oh! I'm sure it can't be right To keep me here each dismal night, Half scared by shadows grimly tall That dance along the cheerless wall Or by the wind, with fingers chill, Shaking the worn-out window sill-- One might as well be sick, or dead, As sent, by eight o'clock, to bed! [Illustration] THERE IS NO DEATH. LORD LYTTON. There is no death! The stars go down To rise upon some fairer shore; And bright in Heaven's jeweled crown They shine forevermore. There is no death! The dust we tread Shall change beneath the summer showers To golden grain or mellowed fruit, Or rainbow-tinted flowers. The granite rocks disorganize, And feed the hungry moss they bear; The forest leaves drink daily life, From out the viewless air. There is no death! The leaves may fall, And flowers may fade and pass away; They only wait through wintry hours, The coming of the May. There is no death! An angel form Walks o'er the earth with silent tread; He bears our best loved things away; And then we call them "dead." He leaves our hearts all desolate, He plucks our fairest, sweetest, flowers; Transplanted into bliss, they now Adorn immortal bowers. The bird-like voice, whose joyous tones, Made glad these scenes of sin and strife, Sing now an everlasting song, Around the tree of life.