know;

Thus I long to keep you, for I love you so.

to earth,

Filling the heart with gladness, filling all the house with mirth;

Solving weary problems, poring over sums, Yet with tooth for sponge cake and for sugarplums ;

Reading books of romance in your bed at night,

Waking up to study in the morning light ;
Anxious as to ribbons, deft to tie a bow,
Full of contradictions-I would keep you so.

gion whence they come;

Bringing with them joyous impulse of a state

withouten care,.

And a buoyant faith in being, which makes

all in nature fair;

Not a doubt to dim the distance, not a grief to vex thee, nigh, And a hope that in existence finds each hour a luxury;

Going singing, bounding, brightening -never fearing as they go,

That the innocent shall tremble, and the loving find a foe;

In the daylight, in the starlight, still with thought that freely flies, Prompt and joyous, with no question of the beauty in the skies; Genial fancies winning raptures, as the bee still sucks her store, All the present still a garden gleaned a thousand times before;

All the future but a region where the happy serving thought

Still depicts a thousand blessings, by the winged hunter caught;

Life a chase where blushing pleasures only seem to strive in flight, Lingering to be caught, and yielding gladly to the proud delight;

As the maiden, through the alleys, looking backward as she flies,

Wooes the fond pursuer onward, with the love-light in her eyes.

WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS.

ON THE THRESHOLD.

Standing on the threshold,

With her wakening heart and mind,

Standing on the threshold,

With her childhood left behind;

The woman softness blending

With the look of sweet surprise

For life and all its marvels

That lights the clear blue eyes.

Standing on the threshold,

With light foot and fearless hand, As the young knight by his armor In minster nave might stand; The fresh red lip just touching

Youth's ruddy rapturous wine,

The eager heart all brave, pure hope, Oh, happy child of mine!

I could guard the helpless infant That nestles in my arms:

"FILLING ALL THE HOUSE WITH MIRTH."

I could save the prattler's golden head
From petty baby harms;

I could brighten childhood's gladness,
And comfort childhood's tears,
But I cannot cross the threshold
With the step of riper years.

For hopes, and joys, and maiden dreams Are waiting for her there,