The darling! may kind Heaven Preserve her safe and sound! For her ways defy conjecture, And her plans—they are profound. But bless the little cherubs Who ride the moonbeams white, And come to her a-cooing, A-cooing all the night! Who come to her with manna— The melting music-mirth She scatters in her pathway, To gladden all the earth. And bless the little Florence, With her face so bonny-bright, With her hair so full of sunshine, With her eyes so full of light! Aye, bless you, little sunbeam! Shine on a good long while! The world will be the better For the ripple in your smile! A CENTENNIAL TEA-POT. Great-great-grandmother, Winifred Lee, Brought, when she came across the sea, A porcelain tea-pot pictured o’er, After a fashion they knew of yore, Bright with birds and with summer flowers And fairies dancing in shady bowers— A pretty treasure to keep in mind The pleasant home she had left behind. Weeks of battle with storm and gale Wore on timber and mast and sail, And just a league from its destined goal The ship was wrecked on a hidden shoal. Rescued, the people sped to shore, Saving their lives and nothing more. But Winifred, pacing the beach next day, Dreaming of England far away— A little homesick, and lone, and sad, In spite of the morning gay and glad— Saw, as she strolled, how the thieving tide Had brought its plunder and scattered wide, And behold, in seaweed carefully wound, The porcelain tea-pot safe and sound! When years had passed and the King’s demand Roused the people of all the land, And a ship’s cargo was put away To steep at the bottom of Boston Bay, With a rebel heart and a flashing eye Winifred laid her tea-pot by; “Till we are granted our rights,” said she, “I’ll drink not another cup of tea.” (Oh, matrons of this luxurious age, Who lightly turn from History’s page, Just for a year or two forego Your redolent draughts of rare Pekoe, And say if you deem the self-denial Of our great-great-grandmothers not a trial!) Murder, and pillage, and cannon’s roar, All along the Connecticut shore, Frighted from town the worthy dame. Next day a barrack her house became, And a troop of Redcoats helped themselves To all they could find on the pantry shelves. They drank and feasted, and sang and swore, They tumbled the beds and the curtains tore, And the quiet, orderly, well-kept house Was the scene of a livelong night’s carouse.