CHILDREN IN EXILE.

Two Indian Boys were carried to London not long ago for exhibition, and both died soon after their arrival. It is related that one of them, during his last moments, talked incessantly of the scenes and sports of his distant home, and that both wished earnestly to be taken back to their native woods.

FAR in the dark old forest glades,

Where kalmias bloom around,

They had their place of youthful sport,

Their childhood's hunting-ground,

And swinging lightly in the vines

That o'er the wigwam hung,

The golden robins, building near,

Above their dwelling sung.

CHILDREN IN EXILE.

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Each morn their little dusky feet
Sprang down the sparkling lea,

To plunge beneath the glowing stream
Beside the chestnut tree;

And when the hiding squirrel's nest

They sought, far up the hills,

They bathed their reeking foreheads cool
Among the mountain rills.

They saw the early silver moon
Peep through her wavy bower,

And in her beams they chased the bat
Around his leafy tower;

And, when the stars all silently

Went out o'er hill and plain,

They listened low to merry chimes

Of Summer evening rain.

No healthful music brings,

They longed to run through woodland dells,

Where Nature ever sings;

And, drooping, mid the noise and glare,
They pined for brook and glen,

And, dying, still looked fondly back,
And asked for Home again.

A VALENTINE.

SHE that is fair, though never vain or proud,
More fond of home than fashion's changing crowd;
Whose taste refined even female friends admire,
Dressed not for show, but robed in neat attire ;
She who has learned, with mild, forgiving breast,
To pardon frailties, hidden or confest;

True to herself, yet willing to submit,

More swayed by love, than ruled by worldly wit;
Though young, discreet,—though ready, ne'er unkind,
Blessed with no pedant's, but a Woman's mind;
She wins our hearts, towards her our thoughts incline,
So at her door go
leave my Valentine.

COMMON SENSE.

SHE came among the gathering crowd,
A maiden fair, without pretence,

And when they asked her humble name,
She whispered mildly, "Common Sense."

Her modest garb drew every eye,

Her ample cloak, her shoes of leather,And when they sneered, she simply said,

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"I dress according to the weather."

They argued long, and reasoned loud,

In dubious Hindoo phrase mysterious, While she, poor child, could not divine

Why girls so young should be so serious.