"Oh, Brother, did you come back? Mama didn't 'spect you 'tall. It'll just 'sprise her."

Meantime the little fellow struggled to free himself from her embrace and protested:

"Le' go! I ain't your brother."

"Yes, you is. You do be brother. I'm Tootsey an' you do knows me," insisted the little girl, and her small arms refused to be shaken from their grasp about his neck.

Through their tears her parents explained to the father and mother of the boy that a few months before they had lost a child closely resembling the boy whom "Tootsey" had mistaken for her brother, and had explained to her that "brother had gone away." As the children were forcibly separated the grief of the little girl drew tears from all who crowded about the weeping group.

"Won't he never, never, come back, mama?" were the last words heard by the bystanders as the father carried her up the central stairway in his arms.

CHRISTENING THE HOME.

-Dora Reed Goodale.

HE final blow was struck to-day,

TH

The final nail was driven;

The last young workman's got his pay,
Picked up his axe and chisels-nay,
Just touched his cap and gone away,
And left us here, thank Heaven!

It's bare, but we'll dispense to-night
With hangings and wall paper;
I'll start a blaze and strike a light,
And bring our basket for a bite,
And you shall spread the board aright,
And-well, we're here together.

That bench is just the seat for two—
Be careful while I move it;
I'll fold my coat across for you—
Don't mind a little paint and glue.

There! what could finest workman do

(Forgive me!) to improve it?

And so it's done-it's really done,

Past making or refusing;

Another widening life begun,
And all our doubtful fancies run
To solid walls in wind and sun,

Our own, and of our choosing!

Imagine this in gold and gray,

The happy hearth a-glitter, Thick stuffs to keep the cold away,

Deep shelves of books—in vellum, say— And beaten brasses, repousse,

Instead of chips and litter!

Here we shall sit, and leave the town

To languish-Heaven befriend her!
You in your most bewitching gown,

I with my paper-upside down-
And toasting both my slippers brown
Before me on the fender!

A cottage stood here long ago,
Knee-deep in grass and clover-
On this same spot. Esthetic? No.
A cabin, maybe, thatched and low,

A little maid in calico,

A clever-handed lover.

How life, unerring, comes and goes,

The very same—or nearly;

Like us, they dreamed of these and those;

They ate and drank, and planned and chose, And loved?-a little, I suppose;

But oh, not half so dearly!

No doubt they saw the splendor die,
Night coming-they must bear it—
Youth, hope, and passion slipping by,
The laughter spent, the tears run dry;
But did they love, as you and I?

No, never! I could swear it!

Who ever loved a wife like mine?
Have done with vain denying!
To-morrow's sun is sure to shine,
And why should we in doubt repine
Come, pledge our fate in cider wine.

And make an end of crying!

A BLESSING O'ER A NEW HOUSE.

-Aubrey De Vere.

I

BLESS this new raised threshold; let us pray

That never faithless friend, insulting foe,

O'er this pure stone their hateful shadows throw: May the poor gather round it day by day.

I bless this hearth: sweet children here shall play:

Here may their graces and their virtues grow:
May sin defile it not; and want and woe
And sickness seldom come, nor come to stay.
I bless thy house. I consecrate the whole
To God. It is His temple. Let it be
Worthy of Him, confided thus to thee.
Man's dwelling, like its lord, enshrines a soul:
It hath great destinies, wherein do lie,

Self-sown, the seeds of immortality.

URVED is the line of Beauty;

CUR

Straight is the line of Duty;

Walk by the last, and thou wilt see
The other ever follow thee.