Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips, I aft hae kissed sae fondly, And closed for aye the sparkling glance That dwelt on me sae kindly! BURNS. CONSUMPTION. Oh, then, when the spirit is taking wing, How fondly her thoughts to her dear one cling, As if she would blend her soul with his In a deep and long-imprinted kiss! PERCIVAL. BARBARA. Oh, that pallid face! Those sweet, earnest eyes of grace! When last I saw them, dearest, ’twas in another place; You came running forth to meet me, with my love-gift on your wrist, And a cursed river killed thee, aided by a murderous mist. Oh, a purple mark of agony was on the mouth I kissed When last I saw thee, Barbara! ALEXANDER SMITH. “I WANT TO FIND MY PAPA.” A lady while walking in a city street met a little girl between two and three years old, evidently lost, and crying bitterly. Taking her by the hand, the lady asked her where she was going. “I am going down town to find my papa,” was the reply, between sobs, of the child. “What is your papa’s name?” asked the lady. “His name is papa,” replied the innocent little thing. “But what is his other name?” queried the lady; “what does your mamma call him?” “She calls him papa,” persisted the baby. The lady then took the little one by the hand and led her along, saying,— “You had better come with me; I guess you came from this way.” “Yes, but I don’t want to go back; I want to find my papa,” replied the little girl, crying afresh as if her heart would break. “What do you want of your papa?” asked the lady. “I want to kiss him.” Just then a sister of the child came along looking for her and led her away. From subsequent inquiries, it appeared that the little one’s papa, whom she was so earnestly in search of, had recently died. In her lonesomeness and love for him, she tired of waiting for him to come home, and had gone to find him and greet him with the accustomed kiss. THE PENALTY OF HARSHNESS. It seems a hard and cruel thing to make the affections of a child its means of punishment for slight juvenile offences. A sad occurrence may be quoted as evidence in point. A little girl, who, although an affectionate little creature as ever lived, was very volatile and light-hearted, could not always _remember_ to mind her mother. At the close of a winter day she had gone into the street, contrary to her mother’s injunction, to play with one of her little companions; when she came in, and was prepared to go to bed, she approached her mother for her good-night kiss. “I cannot kiss you to-night, Mary,” said the mother; “you have been a very naughty little girl, and have disobeyed me. I cannot kiss you to-night.” The little girl, her face streaming with tears, again begged her mother to kiss her; but she was a “strong-minded woman,” and was inexorable.