FOR GRANDFATHER.

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together. The whole journey was through a wood, only it had beer. open and green at first, like a wood in spring; and now began to be thick and dark, like a wood in summer; some of the little trees that had come out earliest were even turning brown. The gentleman was not alone, but had a lady of about the same age with him, who was his wife: and they had children, who were with them too. So, they all went on together through the wood, cutting down the trees, and making a path through the branches and the fallen leaves, and carrying burdens, and working hard.

Then they would crying, "Father,

Sometimes they came to a long green avenue that opened into deeper woods. hear a very little distant voice father, I am another child! Stop for me!" And presently they would see a very little figure, growing larger as it came along, running to join them. When it came up, they all crowded round it, and kissed and welcomed it; and then they all went on together.

Sometimes they came to several avenues at once; and then they all stood still, and one of the children said, "Father, I am going to sea"; and another said, "Father, I am going to India"; and another, "Father, I am going to seek my fortune where I can "; and another, "Father, I am going to heaven!" So, with many tears at parting, they went, solitary, down those avenues, each

child upon its way; and the child who went to heaven, rose into the golden air and vanished. Whenever these partings happened, the traveller looked at the gentleman, and saw him glance up at the sky above the trees, where the day was beginning to decline, and the sunset to come on. He too, that his hair was turning gray. But they never could rest long, for they had their journey to perform, and it was necessary for them to be always busy.

saw,

At last, there had been so many partings that there were no children left, and only the traveller, the gentleman, and the lady went upon their way in company. And now the wood was yellow; and now brown; and the leaves, even of the forest-trees, began to fall.

So they came to an avenue that was darker than the rest, and were pressing forward on their journey without looking down it, when the lady stopped.

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My husband," said the lady, "I am called." They listened, and they heard a voice a long way down the avenue say, Mother, mother!" It was the voice of the first child who had said, "I am going to heaven!" and the father said, 66 I pray not yet. The sunset is very near. I pray not yet."

But the voice cried, "Mother, mother!" without minding him, though his hair was now quite white, and tears were on his face.

Then, the mother, who was already drawn into

with her arms still around his neck, kissed him and said, "My dearest, I am summoned, and I go!" And she was gone. And the traveller and he

were left alone together.

And they went on and on together, until they came to very near the end of the wood; so near, that they could see the sunset shining red before them through the trees.

Yet, once more, while he broke his way among the branches, the traveller lost his friend. He called and called, but there was no reply, and when he passed out of the wood and saw the peaceful sun going down upon a wide purple prospect, he came to an old man sitting upon a fallen tree. So, he said to the old man, "What do you here?" And the old man said, with a calm smile, "I am always remembering. Come and

So, the traveller sat down by the side of the old man, face to face with the serene sunset; and all his friends came softly back and stood around him. The beautiful child, the handsome boy, the young man in love, the father, mother, and children : every one of them was there, and he had lost nothing. So, he loved them all, and was kind and forbearing with them all, and was always pleased to watch them all, and they all honored and loved him. And I think the traveller must be yourself, dear grandfather, because it is what you do to us, and what we do to you.

BY ROBERT BURNS.

JO

OHN ANDERSON, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,

Your locks were like the raven,

Your bonnie brow was brent *

;

But now your head's turned bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither;
And mony a canty † day, John,
We 've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we 'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,

John Anderson, my jo.

When thoughtful people sing these admirable verses, they are apt to long to hear of something beyond the foot of the hill. This want has been extremely well supplied by Mr. Charles Gould, of New York, in the following verse:

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

When we have slept thegither
The sleep that a' maun sleep, John,
We'll wake wi' ane anither:
And in that better warld, John,

Nae sorrow shall we know;
Nor fear we e'er shall part again,
John Anderson, my jo.

OLD FOLKS AT HOME.

MORE pleasant seem their own surroundings,
Though quaint and old,

Than newer homes, with their aboundings
Of marble, silk, and gold.

For 't is the heart inspires home-feelings,

In hut or hall,

Where memory, with its fond revealings.
Sheds a tender light o'er all.

They love the wonted call to meeting,

By their old bell;

They love the old familiar greeting

From friends who know them well. Their homesick hearts are always yearning, When they're away;

And ever is their memory turning

To scenes where they used to stay.

L. M. C.

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