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GIVE ME MY OLD SEAT, MOTHER.

GIVE ME MY OLD SEAT, MOTHER.

GIVE me my old seat, mother,

With my head upon thy knee;

I've passed through many a changing scene
Since thus I sat by thee:

O, let me look into thine eyes;

Their meek, soft, loving light
Falls like a gleam of holiness
Upon my heart to-night.

I've not been long away, mother;
Few suns have rose and set

Since last the tear drops on thy cheek
My lips in kisses met;

"Tis but a little time, I know,

But very long it seems,

Though every night I come to thee,
Dear mother, in my dreams.

The world has kindly dealt, mother,
By the child thou lov'st so well;
Thy prayers have circled round her path,
And 'twas a holy spell

Which made that path so clearly bright,,

Which strewed the roses there, Which gave the light and cast the balm On every breath of air.

THE earth hath treasures fair and bright,
Deep buried in her caves,

And ocean hideth many a gem,
With its blue curling waves.

Yet not within her bosom dark,
Or 'neath her dashing foam,
Lies there a treasure equalling
A world of love at home.

WITTY WOMEN.

A WRITER, illustrating the fact that some errors are lifted into importance by efforts to refute them, when they need to be treated with wholesome doses of contempt and ridicule, observes, that "all the blows inflicted by the herculean club of certain logicians are not half so effectual as a box on the ear of a celebrated atheist by the hand of beauty. After having in vain preached to a circle of ladies, he attempted to revenge himself by saying, 'Pardon my error, ladies; I did not imagine that in a house where wit vies with grace, I alone should have the honor of not believing in God.' 'You are not alone, sir,' answered the mistress of the house; 'my horses, my dog, my cat, share this honor with you; only these poor brutes have the good sense not to boast of it.''

This reminds us of what occurred a few years ago on a steamboat, on one of our western rivers. A thing in the shape of a man was glorying in his

atheism, avowing that the present life was all of a man; that he had no soul and no hereafter. "And so you say you have no soul," asked a gentleman in the group, evidently designing to reason with him on the subject. "No," replied the atheist, "not a whit more than a pig." The gentleman was about to enter on an argument with him, when an elderly Scotch lady spoke up smartly, "Sir, I hope you will not spend your breath reasoning wi' the creature; by his ain confession, he has nae mair soul than a pig; and ye wad nae argue wi' a pig."

TO AN ABSENT WIFE.

'Tis morn the sea breeze seems to bring

Joy, health, and freshness on its wing;
Bright flowers to me, all fresh and new,
Are glittering in the early dew,
And perfumes rise from every grove,
As incense to the clouds that move
Like spirits o'er yon welkin clear;
But I am sad thou art not here.

NOBODY'S CHILD.

TELL me, homeless wanderer, tell me, For the storm is growing wild, What sad fortune hath befell thee;

Art thou some lone orphan child? Wandering, while the dismal tempest Breathes its low and fearful tone, And the cheerful fire is glowing Bright in many a cheerful home. "Ah, my friend, no kindly welcome Greets me on this desert wild; Others have their homes and firesides, But I am nobody's child.

"For my fate no heart is beating,
And my grief no eye can see;
Others meet their cheerful greeting,
But nobody cares for me.
Words of love, and pleasant faces,

Thoughts of mercy, voices mild,

Ne'er my hapless lot embraces,
For I am nobody's child."