Oh, heart of love! so still and cold,
Oh, precious lips so white!

For the first sad hours in sixty years,
You were out of my reach last night.

You've cut the flower.

She rooted it last May.

You're very kind;

It was only a slip; I pulled the rose,
And threw the stem away.

But she, sweet, thrifty soul, bent down,
And planted it where she stood;

"Dear, maybe the flowers are living," she said, "Asleep in this bit of wood."

I can't rest, dear-I cannot rest;
Let the old man have his will,

And wander from porch to garden-post-
The house is so deathly still;-

Wander, and long for a sight of the gate
She has left ajar for me;

We had got so used to each other, dear,
So used to each other, you see.

Sixty years, and so wise and good,

She made me a better man;

From the moment I kissed her fair, young face, Our lover's life began.

And seven fine boys she has given me,

And out of the seven not one

But the noblest father in all the land
Would be proud to call his son.

Oh, well, dear Lord, I'll be patient!
But I feel sore broken up;

At eighty years it's an awesome thing
To drain such a bitter cup.

I know there's Joseph, and John, and Hal,
And four good men beside;

But a hundred sons couuldn't be to me,
Like the woman I made my bride.

My little Polly-so bright and fair!
So winsome and good and sweet!
She had roses twined in her sunny hair,
White shoes on her dainty feet;
And I held her hand-was it yesterday
That we stood up to be wed?

And no, I remember, I'm eighty to-day,
And my dear wife Polly is dead.

THE GRAY SWAN.-ALICE CARY.

"Oh tell me, sailor, tell me true, Is my little lad, my Elihu,

A-sailing with your ship?"

The sailor's eyes were dim with dew,—
"Your little lad, your Elihu?"

He said with trembling lip,-
"What little lad? what ship?"

"What little lad! as if there could be
Another such a one as he!

What little lad, do you say?
Why, Elihu, that took to the sea
The moment I put him off my knee!
It was just the other day

The Gray Swan sailed away."

"The other day?" the sailor's eyes
Stood open with a great surprise,-
"The other day? the Swan?"
His heart began in his throat to rise.
"Ay, ay, sir, here in the cupboard lies
The jacket he had on."

"And so your lad is gone?”

"Gone with the Swan." "And did she stand With her anchor clutching hold of the sand, For a month, and never stir?"

"Why, to be sure! I've seen from the land, Like a lover kissing his lady's hand, The wild sea kissing her,

A sight to remember, sir."

"But, my good mother, do you know All this was twenty years ago?

I stood on the Gray Swan's deck,
And to that lad I saw you throw,
Taking it off, as it might be, so,

The kerchief from your neck."
"Ay, and he'll bring it back!"

"And did the little lawless lad

That has made you sick and made you sad, Sail with the Gray Swan's crew?"

"Lawless! the man is going mad! The best boy ever mother had,—

Be sure he sailed with the crew!
What would you have him do?"

"And he has never written line,
Nor sent you word, nor made you sign
To say he was alive?"

"Hold! if 'twas wrong, the wrong is mine;
Besides, he may be in the brine,

And could he write from the grave?
Tut, man, what would you have?"

"Gone twenty years,-a long, long cruise,
"Twas wicked thus your love to abuse;
But if the lad still live,

And come back home, think you you can
Forgive him?"-" Miserable man,

You're mad as the sea,-you rave,—
What have I to forgive?"

The sailor twitched his shirt so blue,
And from within his bosom drew
The kerchief. She was wild.
"My God! my Father! is it true
My little lad, my Elihu?

My blessed boy, my child!
My dead, my living child!"

JIMMY BUTLER AND THE OWL.

'Twas in the summer of '46 that I landed at Hamilton, fresh as a new pratie just dug from the "ould sod," and wid a light heart and a heavy bundle I sot off for the township of Buford, tiding a taste of a song, as merry a young fellow as iver took the road. Well, I trudged on and on, past many a plisint place, pleasin' myself wid the thought that some day I might have a place of my own, wid a world of chickens and ducks and pigs and childer about the door; and along in the afternoon of the sicond day I got to Buford village. A cousin of me mother's, one Dennis O'Dowd, lived ́about sivin miles from there, and I wanted to make his place that night, so I inquired the way at the tavern, and was lucky

to find a man who was goin' part of the way an' would show me the way to find Dennis. Sure he was very kind indade, an' when I got out of his wagon he pointed me through the wood and tould me to go straight south a mile an' a half, and the first house would be Dennis's.

"An' you've no time to lose now," said he, "for the sun is low, and mind you don't get lost in the woods."

"Is it lost now," said I, "that I'd be gittin, an' me uncle as great a navigator as iver steered a ship across the thrackless say! Not a bit of it, though I'm oblecged to ye for your kind advice, and thank yiz for the ride.”

An' wid that he drove off an' left me alone. I shouldered me bundle bravely, an' whistlin' a bit of time for company like, I pushed into the bush. Well, I went a long way over bogs, and turnin' round among the bush an' trees till I began to think I must be well nigh to Dennis's. But, bad cess to it! all of a sudden I came out of the woods at the very identical spot where I started in, which I knew by an ould crotched tree that seemed to be standin' on its head and kickin' up its heels to make divarsion of me. By this time it was growin' dark, and as there was no time to lose, I started in a second time, determined to keep straight south this time, and no mistake. I got on bravely for a while, but och hone! och hone! it got so dark I couldn't see the trees, and I bumped me nose and barked me shins, while the miskaties bit me hands and face to a blister; an' after tumblin' and stumblin' around till I was fairly bamfoozled, I sat down on a log, all of a trimble, to think that I was lost intirely, an' that maybe a lion or some other wild craythur would deyour me before morning.

Just then I heard somebody a long way off say, "Whip poor Will!" "Bedad," sez I, "I'm glad it isn't Jamie that's got to take it, though it seems it's more in sorrow than in anger they are doin' it, or why should they say, 'poor Will?' an' sure they can't be Injin, haythin, or naygur, for it's plain English they're afther spakin'. Maybe they might help me out o' this," so I shouted at the top of my voice, "A lost man!" Thin I listened. Prisently an answer came.

"Who? Whoo? Whooo?"

"Jamie Butler, the waiver!" sez I, as loud as I could roar,

an' snatchin' up me bundle an' stick, I started in the direction of the voice. Whin I thought I had got near the place I stopped and shouted again, "A lost man!"

"Who! Whoo! Whooo!" said a voice right over my head.

"Sure," thinks I, "it's a mighty quare place for a man to be at this time of night; maybe it's some settler scrapin' sugar off a sugar-bush for the children's breakfast in the mornin'. But where's Will and the rest of them?" All this wint through me head like a flashi, an' thin I answered his inquiry.

"Jamie Butler, the waiver," sez I; "and if it wouldn't inconvanience yer honor, would yez be kind enough to step down and show me the way to the house of Dennis O' Dowd?"

"Who! Whoo! Whooo!" sez he.

"Dennis O'Dowd," sez I, civil enough, "and a dacent man he is, and first cousin to me own mother."

"Who! Whoo! Whooo!" sez he again.

"Me mother!" sez I, and as fine a woman as iver peeled a biled pratie wid her thumb nail, and her maiden name was Molly MeFiggin."

"Who! Whoo! Whooo!"

"Paddy McFiggin! bad luck to yer deaf ould head, Paddy MeFiggin, I say-do ye hear that? An' he was the tallest man in all the county Tipperary, excipt Jim Doyle, the black. smith."

"Who! Whoo! Whooo!"

"Jim Doyle the blacksmith," sez I, "ye good for nothin blaggurd naygur, and if yiz don't come down and show me the way this min't, I'll climb up there and break every bone in your skin, ye spalpeen, so sure as me name is Jimmy Butler!"

"Who! Whoo! Whooo!" sez he, as impident as iver.

I said niver a word, but lavin' down me bundle, and takin' me stick in me teeth, I began to climb the tree. Whin I got among the branches I looked quietly around till I saw a pair of big eyes just forninst me.

"Whist." sez I, "and I'll let him have a taste of an Irish stick," and wid that I let drive and lost me balance an' came