And Jock his Sunday coat; And mak their shoon as black as slæes, Their hose as white as snaw; It's a' to please my ain gudeman, There's twa fat hens upo' the bauk, They've fed this month and mair; Mak haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare; And spread the table neat and clean, For wha can tell how Colin fared When he was far awa'? Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air; His very foot has music in't As he comes up the stair,— The cauld blast o' the winter wind, The present moment is our ain E A Caution. V'N in the happiest choice, where favoring Has equal love and easy fortune given, Think not, the husband gained, that all is done: They, and the virtues meeting must secure. Let ev'n your prudence wear the pleasing dress IF Tell Your Wife. you are in any trouble or quandary, tell your wife—that is, if you have one-all about it at once. Ten to one her invention will solve your difficulty sooner than all your logic. The wit of women has been praised, but her instincts are quicker and keener than her reason. Counsel with your wife, or mother or sister, and be assured, light will flash upon your darkness. Women are too commonly adjudged as verdant in all but purely womanish affairs. No philosophical students of the sex thus judge them. Their intuitions, or insights, are the most subtle. In counseling a man to tell his wife, we would go farther, and advise him to keep none of his affairs a secret from her. Many a home has been happily saved, and many a fortune retrieved, by a man's full confidence in his "better half." Woman is far more a seer and prophet than man, if she be given a fair chance. As a general rule, wives confide the minutest of their plans and thoughts to their husbands, having no involvements to screen from them. Why not reciprocate, if but for the pleasure of meeting confidence with confi Years bring fresh links to bind us, wife-young voices that are here; Young faces round our fire that make their mother's yet more dear; Young loving hearts your care each day makes yet more like to you, More like the loving heart made mine, when this old ring was new. And, blessed be God! all he has given are with us yet; around Our table every precious life lent to us still is found. Though cares we've known, with hopeful hearts the worst we've struggled through; Blessed be his name for all his love since this old ring was new! -William Cox Bennett. 66T was our wedding-day Possession. A month ago, " dear heart, I hear you say. If months, or years, or ages since have passed, I know not: I have ceased to question Time. I only know that once there pealed a chime Of joyous bells, and then I held you fast, I count my life: the Past is washed away. It was no dream, that vow: It was the voice that woke me from a dream A happy dream, I think; but I am waking now The fleeting promise, chased so long in vain : I was the crescent; thou The silver phantom of the perfect sphere, One luster, ever at the full, shall be: One pure and rounded light, one planet whole, Unite our cloven halves of destiny. God knew his chosen time. He bade me slowly ripen to my prime, And from my boughs withheld the promised frưz. Thy blessing is: I have thee day and night : But most I like it, as it tells The tale of well requited love; How youthful fondness persevered, And youthful faith disdain'd to roveHow warmly he his suit preferr'd, Though she, unpitying, long denied, Till, softened and subdued at last, He won his "fair and blooming bride." How, till the appointed day arrived, They blamed the lazy-footed hoursHow, then, the white-robed maiden train Strew'd their glad way with freshest flowersAnd how, before the holy man, They stood in all their youthful pride, And spoke those words, and vow'd those vows, Which bind the husband to his bride: All this it tells; the plighted trothThe gift of every earthly thingThe hand in hand-the heart in heart For this I like that ancient ring. I like its old and quaint device; "Two blended hearts"-though time may wear them, No mortal change, no mortal chance, "Till death," shall e'er in sunder tear them. Year after year, 'neath sun and storm, Their hope in heaven, their trust in God, In changeless, heartfelt, holy love, These two the world's rough pathway trod. Age might impair their youthful fires, Their strength might fail, 'mid life's bleak weather, Still hand in hand, they travel'd on- I like its simple poesy, too, "Mine own dear love, this heart is thine! Thine, when the dark storm howls along, As when the cloudless sunbeams shine, "This heart is thine, mine own dear love !" Thine, and thine only, and forever: Thine till the cords of life shall sever; Of heartfelt, holy love, the token: -George Washington Doane. |