myself, to order the execution of these two poor young women, and of yourself also, unless you recant." "Sire," replied the old man, "that is not spoken like a king. You have often said you pitied me; but now I pity you; because you have said, 'I am compelled.' These girls and I, who have our part in the kingdom of Heaven, will teach you to talk more royally. Neither the Guises, nor all your people, nor yourself, can compel the old potter to bow down to your images of clay. I can die."

The two girls were burnt a few months afterward. Palissy remained in prison four years, and there he died at eighty years of age. The secrets of the Bastile were well kept, and we have no record of those years. We only know that, like John Bunyan, he wrote a good deal in prison. The thick, dark walls must have been dismal to one who so loved the free air, and who valued trees and shrubs "beyond silver and gold." But the martyr was

not alone. He had with him

the God whom he trusted,

and the memories of

an honest, useful,

and religious

life.

OLD AGE COMING.

By Elizabeth Hamilton, a Scotch writer, author of "The Cottagers of Glenburnie," and several other sensible and interesting works. She died, unmarried, about fifty years ago, nearly sixty years old. These lines were written in such very broad Scotch, that I have taken the liberty to render them in English, making no changes, except a few slight variations, which the necessities of rhyme required.

S that Old Age, who's knocking at the gate?

IS

I trow it is. He sha'n't be asked to wait. You're kindly welcome, friend! Nay, do not fear To show yourself! You'll cause no trouble here. I know there're some who tremble at your name, As though you brought with you reproach or shame; And who of thousand lies would bear the sin, Rather than own you for their kith and kin. But far from shirking you as a disgrace, Thankful I am to live to see your face. Nor will I e'er disown you, or take pride To think how long I might your visit hide. I'll do my best to make you well respected, And fear not for your sake to be neglected.

Now you have come, and, through all kinds of weather, We're doomed from this time forth to jog together,

I'd fain make compact with you, firm and strong,

On terms of give and take, to hold out long.

If

you I'll be civil, I will liberal be;

Witness the list of what I'll give to thee.
First then, I here make o'er, for good and aye,
All youthful fancies, whether bright or gay.
Beauties and graces, too, might be resigned,
But much I fear they would be hard to find;
For 'gainst your daddy Time they could not stand,
Nor bear the grip of his relentless hand.

But there's my skin, which you may further crinkle,
And write your name, at length, on ev'ry wrinkle.
On
my brown locks your powder you may throw,
And bleach them to your fancy, white as snow.
But look not, Age, so wistful at my mouth,
As if you longed to pull out ev'ry tooth!

Let them, I do beseech you, keep their places!
Though, if you like, you 're free to paint their faces.
My limbs I yield you; and if you see meet

To clap your icy shackles on my feet,
I'll not refuse; but if you drive out gout,
Will bless you for 't, and offer thanks devout.
So much I give to you with free good-will;
But, O, I fear that more you look for still.
I know, by your stern look and meaning leers,
You want to clap your fingers on my ears.
Right willing, too, you are, as I surmise,
To cast your misty powder in my eyes.
But, O, in mercy spare my little twinklers!
And I will always wear your crystal blinkers.

OLD AGE COMING.

Then 'bout my ears I'd fain a bargain strike,
And give my hand upon it, if you like.

Well then

would you consent their use to share? "T would serve us both, and be a bargain rare. I'd have it thus, - When babbling fools intrude, Gabbling their noisy nonsense for no good; Or when ill-nature, well brushed up with wit, With sneer sarcastic, takes its aim to hit ; Or when detraction, meanest sort of pride,

125

Spies out small faults, and seeks great worth to hide ;
Then make me deaf as ever deaf can be!
At all such times, my ears I lend to thee.
But when, in social hours, you see combined
Genius and wisdom, fruits of heart and mind,
Good sense, good nature, wit in playful mood,
And candor, e'en from ill extracting good;

O, then, old friend, I must have back my hearing!
To want it then would be an ill past bearing.

I'd rather sit alone, in wakeful dreaming,

Than catch the sound of words without their meaning. You will not promise? O, you're very glum !

Right hard to manage, you 're so cold and dumb!

No matter. - Whole and sound I'll keep my heart.

Not from one crumb on 't will I ever part.

Its kindly warmth shall ne'er be chilled by all
The coldest breath that from your lips can fall.
You need n't vex yourself, old churl, nor fret!
My kindly feelings you shall never get.
And though to take my hearing you rejoice,

In spite of you, I'll still hear friendship's voice.
And though you take the rest, it shall not grieve me;
For gleams of cheerful spirits you must leave me.

But let me whisper in your ear, Old Age,
I'm bound to travel with you but one stage.
Be 't long or short, you cannot keep me back ;
And when we reach the end on 't, you must pack!
Be 't soon or late, we part forever there!
Other companionship I then shall share.

This blessed change to me you're bound to bring.
You need not think I shall be loath to spring

From your poor

feeble side, you churl uncouth!

Into the arms of Everlasting Youth.

All that your thieving hands have stolen away

He will, with interest, to me repay.

Fresh gifts and graces freely he 'll bestow,

More than the heart has wished, or mind can know.
You need not wonder then, nor swell with pride.
That I so kindly welcomed you as guide

To one who's far your better. Now all's told.
Let us set out upon our journey cold.

With no vain boasts, no vain regrets tormented,
We'll quietly jog on our way, contented.

"ON he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend;
Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay,
While resignation gently slopes the way;
And, all his prospects brightening to the last,
His heaven commences ere the world is past."
GOLDSMITH