A WIFE'S DREAM.

Back again, darling? Oh day of delight! How I have long'd for you, morning and night!

Watch'd for you, pined for you, all the day through,

Craving no boon and no blessing but you,Pray'd for you, pled for you, sought you in vain,

Striving for ever to find you again,—

Counting all anguish as nought, if I might
Clasp you again as I clasp you to-night!

Oh, I have sorrow'd and suffer'd so much
Since I last answer'd your lips' loving touch,-
Through the night-watches, in daylight's |
broad beams,

Anguish'd by visions and tortured by dreams,

Dreams so replete with bewildering pain,
Still it is throbbing in heart and in brain :
Oh, for I dream'd-keep me close to your side,
Darling, oh darling!-I dream'd you had
died!

Dream'd that I stood by your pillow and heard

From your pale lips love's last half-utter'd word;

And by the light of the May-morning skies Watch'd your face whiten, and saw your dear

eyes

Gazing far into the Wonderful Land,

Felt your fond fingers grow cold in my hand;

"Darling," you whisper'd, "my darling!" you said,

Faintly, so faintly—and then you were dead!

Oh the dark hours when I knelt by your grave,
Calling upon you to love and to save,-
Pleading in vain for a sign or a word
Only to tell me you listen'd and heard-
Only to say you remember'd and knew
How all my soul was in anguish for you;
Bitter, despairing, the tears that I shed,
Darling, oh darling, because you were dead!

Oh the black days of your absence, my own!
Oh to be left in the wide world alone!
Long, with our little one clasp'd to my breast,
Wander'd I, seeking for shelter and rest.
Yet all the world was so careless and cold,
Vainly I sought for a sheltering fold:-
There was no roof and no home for my head,
Darling, oh darling, because you were dead!

Yet, in the midst of the darkness and pain,
Darling, I knew I should find you again!
Knew, as the roses know, under the snow,
How the next summer will set them aglow;
So did I always, the dreary days through,
Keep my heart single and sacred to you,
As on the beautiful day we were wed,
Darling, oh darling, although you were dead!
Oh the great joy of awaking, to know
I did but dream all that torturing woe!
Oh the delight, that my searching can trace
Nothing of coldness or change in your face!
Still is your forehead unfurrow'd and fair ;
None of the gold is lost out of your hair;
None of the light from your dear eyes has
fled-

Darling, oh how could I dream you were dead?

Now you are here, you will always remain,
Never, oh never, to leave me again!
How it has vanish'd, the anguish of years!
Vanish'd! nay, these are not sorrowful tears,-
Happiness only my cheek has impearl'd,-
There is no grieving for me in the world;
Dark clouds may threaten, but I have no
fear,

Darling, oh darling, because you are here!
Eliz. Akers.

EDENS, BLOOMING IN A DESERT

WORLD.

Would that, in order to make a model home, we were led ofttimes to cross and recross in thought Gennesaret's lake. Then would our hearths and households more frequently be like Edens, blooming in a desert world-miniatures of the great heavenly home, where still there will be the beautiful combination of untiring energy in God's service, and of peaceful rest and repose in God's love. Rev. J. R. Macduff.

THE HOME OF LOVE.
It is not in the mountains,
Nor the palaces of pride,
That Love will fold his wings up
And rejoicingly abide;

But in meek and humble natures
His home is ever found,

As the lark that sings in heaven
Builds his nest upon the ground.
Laman Blanchard.

WOMAN'S KINGDOM.

It is by the regimen of domestic affection that the heart of man is best composed and regulated. The home is the woman's kingdom, her state, her world-where she governs by affection, by kindness, by the power of gentleness. There is nothing which so settles the turbulence of a man's nature as his union in life with a high-minded woman. There he finds rest, contentment, and happiness-rest of brain and peace of spirit. He will also often find in her his best counsellor, for her instinctive tact will usually lead him right when his own unaided reason might be apt to go wrong. The true wife is a staff to lean upon in times of trial and of difficulty; and she is never wanting in sympathy and solace when distress occurs, or fortune frowns. the time of youth she is a comfort and an ornament of man's life; and she remains a faithful helpmate of maturer years, when life has ceased to be an anticipation, and we live in its realities. Smiles.

FIDELITY TO HOME AND LOVE.

So all that eve they twain did sit
Together, losing not a space;
Each gazing on the other's face,
To fill each other's heart right well
With treasure of its love, a spell
Against long parting and all crime
Of falseness through the bitter time.
Full many a vow she had of him
That evening in the twilight dim,
That, in what lands or with what men
His fate were, all his joy, as then,
Should be in holding her most fair
And thought of soon returning there.

In

Arthur W. E. O'Shaughnessy.

TENDER ASSOCIATIONS.

Surely, if there be a name dearer than any other to the heart of man, it is that of home. At that magic word, what tender associations, what soothing thoughts, what sweet remembrances gather round the heart! To that loved spot how does the mind instinctively cling, in foreign regions and distant corners

of the earth! Who that has been blessed with a happy home does not respond to the beautiful sentiment of the poet-“The kindred ties of country and of home."

Rev. Peter Grant.

THE PARADISE WHICH STRONG AFFEC

TION GUARDS.

Whose soft voice Should be the sweetest music to his ear, Awaking all the chords of harmony; Whose eye should speak a language to his soul

More eloquent than all which Greece or Rome

Could boast of in its best and happiest days; Whose smile should be his rich reward for toil;

Whose pure transparent cheek, when press'd to his,

Should calm the fever of his troubled thoughts,

And woo his spirit to those fields Elysian, The paradise which strong affection guards. Bethune.

HOME SANCTIFIED BY RELIGION.

Let the tint and fragrance of the "Rose of Sharon" follow you to your homes, your closets, your places of business, your scenes of enjoyment. Let all your daily thoughts, words, actions, be moulded and regulated by the inquiry, How would Jesus have acted here? Rev. J. R. Macduff.

THE HOME of his owN MAKING.

Man enters a new world of joy and sympathy and human interest through the porch of love. He enters a new world in his home -the home of his own making-altogether different from the home of his boyhood, where each day brings with it a succession of new joys and experiences. He enters also, it may be, a new world of trials and sorrows, in which he often gathers his best culture and discipline. . . . A life exclusively occupied in affairs of business insensibly tends to narrow and harden the character. It is mainly occupied with self-watching for advantages, and guarding against sharp practice on the part of others. Thus the character unconsciously tends to grow suspicious and ungenerous. The best corrective of such influences is always the domestic; by withdrawing the mind from thoughts that are wholly gainful, by taking it out of its daily rut, and bringing it back to the sanctuary of home for refreshment and rest :

"That truest, rarest light of social joy,

Which gleams upon the man of many cares." "Business," says Sir Henry Taylor, "does but lay waste the approaches to the heart, whilst marriage garrisons the fortress. And however the head may be occupied, by labours of ambition or of business, if the heart be not occupied by affection for others and sympathy with them, life, though it may appear to the outer world to be a success, will probably be no success at all, but a failure." Smiles.

THE INFLUENCES OF HOME.

I hold it indeed to be a sure sign of a mind not poised as it ought to be, if it be insensible to the pleasures of home, to the little joys and endearments of a family, to the affections of relations, to the fidelity of domestics. Next to being well with his own conscience, the friendship and attachment of a man's family and dependants seems to me one of the most comfortable circumstances of his lot. His situation with regard to either forms that sort of bosom comfort or disquiet that sticks close to him at all times and seasons, and which, though he may now and then forget it, amidst the bustle of public or the hurry of active life, will resume its place in his thoughts, and its permanent effects on his happiness, at every pause of ambition or of business. Bishop Horne.

HOME, SWEET HOME, IS ALL TO ME. Some love to range the world's wide round, Some court the city's giddy charms, Some list the trumpet's clanging sound, Joy'd at the thought of war's alarms; Ambition's arts and pleasure's smiles With deep distrust / cautious flee, And glory's vain deceitful wiles—

For home, sweet home, is all to me! Fond hopes of wealth, vain dreams of ease, Of future riches, future rest,

And all that fancy's self could please,

Fill the void chasm of many a breast; They seek the busy haunts of life,

Explore the desert, brave the sea, For these they join in worldly strifeBut home, sweet home, is all to me! Loved home! dear scene of every bliss

That clings around my grateful heart! My Mary's smile! my infant's kiss!

What purer joys can life impart ? Content with what my God has given, I live what others wish to be; Enjoying earth and hoping heavenMy home, sweet home, is all to me!

Love of home is planted deep in the nature of man. The finger of God points to home, and says to us all, There is the place to find all your earthly joy. Goldsmith.

THE CHARMS OF SOCIAL LIFE. The sweet charities of life, sympathy, affection, and benevolence, are the blessings blended with sorrow, sickness, and infirmity; and from the restraints of temper and mutual forbearance we practise to each other, arise the kindness and goodwill which are the charms of social life. Mrs. King.

MY OWN FIRESIDE.

Let others seek for empty joys

At ball or concert, rout or play; Whilst far from Fashion's idle noise, Her gilded domes and trappings gay, I wile the wintry eve away,

"Twixt book and lute the hours divide, And marvel how I e'er could stray

From thee-my own fireside!

My own fireside! those simple words Can bid the sweetest dreams arise; Awaken feeling's tenderest chords,

And fill with tears of joy mine eyes. What is there my wild heart can prize That doth not in my sphere abide; Haunt of my home-bred sympathies, My own-my own fireside?

A gentle form is near me now,

A small white hand is clasp'd in mine; I gaze upon her placid brow,

And ask what joys can equal thine: A babe, whose beauty's half divine,

In sleep his mother's eyes doth hide; Where may love seek a fitter shrine Than thou my own fireside?

What care I for the sullen war

Of winds without that ravage earth? It doth but bid me prize the more

The shelter of thy hallow'd hearth— To thoughts of quiet bliss give birth; Then let the churlish tempest chide, It cannot check the blameless mirth That glads my own fireside!

My refuge ever from the storm

Of this world's passion, strife, and care; Though thunder-clouds the skies deform, Their fury cannot reach me thereThere all is cheerful, calm, and fair : Wrath, envy, malice, strife, or pride, Hath never made its hated lair By thee-my own fireside!

Thy precincts are a charmèd ring, Where no harsh feeling dares intrude, Where life's vexations lose their sting, Where even grief is half subdued ; And peace, halcyon, loves to brood.

Then let the world's proud fool deride ; I'll pay my debt of gratitude To thee-my own fireside!

CENSORIOUSNESS A CAUSE OF DOMESTIC MISERY.

We have seen much domestic suffering arise from a cause which is easily confounded with a tyrannical disposition-we refer to an exaggerated sense of justice. This is the abuse of a right feeling, and requires to be kept in vigilant check.

The scales of household polity are the scales of love; and he who holds them should be a sympathising friend, ever ready to make allowance for failures, ingenious in contriving apologies, more lavish of counsels than rebukes, and less anxious to overwhelm a person with a sense of deficiency than to awaken in the bosom a consciousness of power to do better. One thing is certain: if any member of a family conceives it his duty to sit continually in the censor's chair, and weigh in the scales of justice all that happens in the domestic commonwealth, domestic happiness is out of the question. It is manly to extenuate and forgive, but a crabbed and censorious spirit is contemptible. There is much more misery thrown into the cup of life by domestic unkindness than we might at first suppose. To love is to be happy and make happy; and to love is the very spirit of true manliness. Coarseness, rudeness, tyranny, are so many forms of brute power -so many manifestations of what it is man's peculiar glory not to be; but kindness and gentleness can never cease to be manly.

T. S. Arthur.

THE GOLDEN MEAN.

Receive, dear friend, the truths I teach,
So shalt thou live beyond the reach

Of adverse fortune's power:
Not always tempt the distant deep,
Nor always timorously creep

Along the treach'rous shore.
He that holds fast the golden mean,
And lives contentedly between

The little and the great,

Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door,
Imbitt'ring all his state.

The tallest pines feel most the power
Of wintry blast; the loftiest tower

Comes heaviest to the ground;

The bolts that spare the mountain's side
His cloud-capt eminence divide,

And spread the ruin round.
The well-inform'd philosopher
Rejoices with a wholesome fear,

And hopes in spite of pain: If winter bellow from the north,

Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth,
And nature laughs again.

What if thine heaven be overcast,
The dark appearance will not last—
Expect a brighter sky;

The God that strings the silver bow
Awakes sometimes the muses too,

And lays His arrows by.

If hindrances obstruct thy way,
Thy magnanimity display,

And let thy strength be seen:

But oh, if fortune fill thy sail

With more than a propitious gale,

Take half thy canvas in.

MY OWN, MY CHOSEN HOME.

Sirmio, fair eye of all the laughing isles

And jutting capes that rise from either

main,

Or crown our inland waters, with glad smiles Of heartfelt joy I greet thee once again, Scarce daring to believe mine eyes, that see No more Bithynia's plains, but fondly rest on thee,

My own, my chosen home! Oh, what more blest

Than that sweet pause of troubles, when the mind

Flings off its burthen, and when, long oppress'd

By cares abroad and foreign toil, we find Our native home again, and rest our head Once more upon our own, long-lost, longwished-for bed!

This, this alone, o'erpays my every pain!

Hail! loveliest Sirmio, hail! with joy like