“BE STRONG.”

  IN the flush, and the rush, and the crush of Life’s battle,
    When the stern blow of Right dashes loud on steeled Wrong,
  Half-drowning the voice of the babe’s holy prattle,
    Remember the watchword—­the motto—­“Be strong!”

  When the clouds of the past gather brooding above thee,
    And gloam o’er thy pillow the aching night long,
  Remember who never for once failed to love thee,
    And in deepest of loneliness thou wilt be strong!

  When the rays of the morning seem slow in their beaming,
    Overpowered the firm Right—­most tremendous bold Wrong,
  Let not thy Thought’s eye grow the dimmer for streaming,
    Pour thy tears in Faith’s bosom—­thou yet wilt BE STRONG.

THE NEGLECTED ONE.

  “I never was a favourite;
    My mother never smiled
  On me with half the tenderness
    That blessed her fairer child.”

“CHRISTINE, do be obliging for once, and sew this button on my glove, won’t you?” cried Ann Lambert, impatiently, throwing a white kid glove in her sister’s lap.  “I am in such a flurry!  I won’t be ready to go to the concert in two or three hours.  Mr. Darcet has been waiting in the parlour an age.  I don’t know what the reason is, but I never can find anything I want, when I look for it; whenever I don’t want a thing, it is always in the way.  Have you sewed it on yet?” she asked, looking around from the bureau, where she was turning everything topsy turvy, in the most vigorous manner.  Christine was quietly looking out of the window, yawning and gazing listlessly up at the moon and stars.

“O no matter if you have no button on,” was her reply; “I really don’t feel like moving my fingers just now.  You must wait on yourself.  I always do.”

“I shouldn’t have expected anything but your usual idle selfishness, even when I most need your assistance,” replied Ann, in a cool, bitter tone; the curve of her beautiful lip, and the calm scorn of the look she bent on Christine, betrayed her haughty, passionate character, and it also told that she was conscious of a certain power and strength of mind, which when roused, could and would bend others to her will.  A slight, contemptuous smile was on her lip, as she picked up the glove which had fallen on the floor.

“I’ll sew the button on, Ann,” said Christine, taking it from her, and looking up seriously, but with a compressed expression about her face.  Her cheeks burned; there was a reproof in her steady gaze, before which Ann’s scornful smile vanished.  “No, Christine, I will wait on myself,” she answered in a rigid tone.

“Very well,” and Christine turned to the window again.  She had not quailed before her sister’s look, but its bitter contempt rankled in her heart, and poisoned the current of her thoughts.  Not a word was spoken, when Ann with her bonnet on, left their apartment.  The front door closed; Christine listened to the sound of her sister’s voice in the street a moment, then rose from her chair, and threw herself upon the bed, sobbing violently.