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Then homeward all take off their several way;

The youngling cottagers retire to rest: The parent-pair their secret homage pay,

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, That He, who stills the raven's clamorous nest,

And decks the lily fair, in flowery pride, Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best,

For them and for their little ones provide; But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandenr springs.

That make her loved at home, revered abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings;

"An honest man's the noblest work of God:" And eertes, in fair virtue's heavenly road,

The cottage leaves the palace far behind; What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load,

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined!

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
And, O, may Heaven their simple lives prevent

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile!
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,

A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved
isle.

O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide

That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart;
Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride,

Or nobly die, the second glorious part,
(The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art,

His friend, inapirer, guardian, and reward!
O never, never Scotia's realm desert;

But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard,
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard!

Robert Burns.

MAKE HOME-LIFE BEAUTIFUL.

|ET me say to parents: Make the home-life beautiful, without and within, and they will sow the seeds of gentleness, true kindness, honesty and fidelity, in the hearts of their children, from which the children reap a harvest of happiness and virtue. The memory of the beautiful and happy home of childhood is the richest legacy any man can leave to his children. The heart will never forget its hallowed influences. It will be an evening enjoyment, to which the lapse of years will only add new sweetness. Such a home is a constant inspiration for good, and as constant a restraint from evil.

If by taste and culture we adorn our homes and grounds and add to their charms, our children will find the quiet pleasures of rural homes more attractive than the whirl of city life. Such attractions and enjoyments will invest home-life, school-life, the whole future of life with new interests and with new dignity and joyousness, for life is just what we make it. We may by our blindness live in a world of darkness and gloom, or in a world full of sunlight and beauty and joy; for the world without only reflects the world within. Also, the tasteful improvement of grounds and home exerts a good influence not only upon the inmates, but upon the community. An elegant dwelling, surrounded by sylvan attractions, is a contribution to the refinement, the good order, the taste and prosperity of every community, improving the public taste and ministering to every enjoyment.

B. G. Northrup.

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A Country Home.

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"Turn again, turn again." once they rang cheerily,

While a boy listened alone;
Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily

All by himself on a stone.

Poor bells! I forgive you; your good days are over,

And mine, the}' are yet to be; Ko listening, no longing shall aught, aught discover:

You leave the story to me.

The fox-glove shoots out of the green matted heather,

Preparing her hoods of snow;
She was idle, and slept till the sunshiny weather:

O children take long to grow.

I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster,

Nor long summer bide so late;
And I could grow on like the fox-glove and aster,

For some things are ill to wait.

SEVEN TIMES THREE.—LOVE.

hr LEANED out of window, I smelt the white clover, Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate; "Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one

lover—

Hush, nightingale, hush! O sweet nightingale,
wait

Till I listen and hear
If a step draweth near,
For my love he is late!

"The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer,

A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree, The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer: To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see? Let the star-clusters glow, Let the sweet waters How, And cross quickly to me.

"You night-moths that hover where honey brims over

From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep; You glow-worms, shine out, and the pathway discover To him that comes darkling along the rough steep. Ah, my sailor, make haste, For the time runs to waste, And my love lieth deep—

"Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one lover.

I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night." By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover;

Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight;
But I'll love him more, more
Than e'er wife loved before,
Be the days dark or bright.

For children wake, though fathers sleep, With a stone at foot and at head;

0 sleepless God! forever keep, Keep both living and dead!

1 lift mine eyes, and what to see, But a world happy and fair;

I have not wished it to mourn with me, Comfort is not there.

O what anear but golden brooms!

And a waste of reedy rills;
O what afar but the flue glooms

On the rare blue hills!

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SEVEN TIMES KOUR.—MATERNITT.

(YJf\EIGII-IIO! daisies and buttercups,

Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall! 'When the wind wakes how they rock in the j| grasses, And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and small! Here's two bonny boys, and here's mother's own lasses,

Eager to gather them all.

Heigh-ho! daises and buttercups!

Mother shall thread them a daisy chain;
Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow,

That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain;

Sing. "Heart, thou art wide, though the house be but narrow,"— Sing once and sing it again.

Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups.

Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow; A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters,

And haply one musing doth stand at her prow.
O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters,
Maybe he thinks on you now!

Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups,
Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall—

A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure,
And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall

Send down on their pleasure-smiles passing its measure,

God that is over us all!

SEVEN TIMES FIVE.—WIDOWHOOD.

i*y* SLEEP and rest, my heart makes moan,
Before I am well awake;
'Let me bleed! Oh, let me alone,
Since I must not break!"

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