The Baltimore County Union

Poetry.
When?
The following tells its own story, and a beautiful one it is, too,—to be read best, and sounding sweeter when the family circle have gathered around the evening lamp, perhaps. It cannot but touch a father's—a mother's heart, and make them appreciate the more their household darlings:
"Which shall it be? Which shall it be? I looked at John. John looked at me (Dear patient John, who loves me yet. As well as tho' my locks were jet) And when I found that I must speak. My voice seemed strangely low and weak Tell me again what Robert said. And then I, listening, bent my head "This chief letter I will give A house and land while you shall live If, in return, from out your seven. One child to me for aye is given. I looked at John's old garments worn. I thought of all that John had borne Of poverty, and work, and care. Which I, though willing, could not share. I thought of seven mouths to feed. Of seven little children's need "Come, John," said I, "We'll choose among them as they lie Asleep;" so, walking hand in hand. Dear John and I surveyed our band First to the cradle lightly stepped, Where Lillian, the baby slept. Softly her father stooped, to lay His rough hand down in loving way When dream or whisper made her stir. And huskily he said, Not her, not her We stooped beside the trundle bed And one long ray of lamplight shed Athwart the boyish faces there. In sleep so pitiful and fair: I saw on Janie's rough red cheek A tear undried. Ere John could speak. "He's but a baby, too," said I And kissed him as we hurried by Pale, patient Bonnie's angel face Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace "No, for a thousand crowns, not him," He whispered, while our eyes were dim Poor Dick! bad Dick! our wayward son. Turbulent, reckless, idle one— Could he be spared? "Nay, he who gave Bids us befriend him to the grave. Only a mother's heart can be Patient enough for such as he. "And so," said John, "I would not dare To send him from her bedside prayer Then stole we softly up above. And knelt by Mary, child of love "Perhaps for her 'twould better be," I said to John. Quite silently He lifted up a curl that lay Across her cheek in wanton way. And shook his head. "Nay, love, not thee" Then while my heart beat audibly. Only one more, our eldest lad Trusty and faithful, good and glad So like his father "No, John, no! I cannot, will not let him go And so we wrote in courteous way. We could not give one child away And afterward toil lighter seemed. Thinking of that of which we dreamed Happy in truth that not one face We missed from its accustomed place. Thankful to work for all the seven. Trusting the rest to God in Heaven