SWEET HOME.

ID pleasures and palaces though we may roam,

Be it ever so humble, there's no place

like home;

A charm from the skies seems to hallow us

there,

Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met elsewhere.

Home! home; sweet home!

There's no place like home.

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain ; O, give me my lowly thatched cottage again! The birds singing gayly that came at my call; Give me these with peace of mind, dearer than all.

Home, home; sweet home.

John Howard Payne.

EVENING HYMN.

O the sound of evening bells All that lives to rest repairs, Birds unto their leafy dells, Beasts unto their forest lairs.

All things wear a home-bound look, From the weary hind that plods Through the cornfields, to the rook Sailing toward the glimmering woods.

'Tis the time with power to bring
Tearful memories of home;
To the sailor, wandering

On the far-off barren foam,
What a still and holy time!
Yonder glowing sunset seems
Like the pathway to a clime,
Only seen till now in dreams.

Pilgrim, here compelled to roam,
Nor allowed that path to tread,
Now when sweetest sense of home
On all living hearts is shed,
Doth not yearning, sad, sublime,
At this season stir thy breast,
That thou canst not at this time
Seek thy home, and happy rest?

Richard Chenevix French.

TOO LATE.

OULD ye come back to me, Douglas,

Douglas,

In the old likeness that I knew, I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

Never a scornful word should grieve ye;

I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do; Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

O, to call back the days that are not!
My eyes were blinded, your words were

few;

Do you know the truth now up in heaven, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?

I never was worthy of you, Douglas;
Not half worthy the like of you;
Now all men beside seem to me like shadows-
I love you, Douglas, tender and true.

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PATERNAL AFFECTION.

Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas,

Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew; As I lay my heart on your dead heart,

Douglas,

Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

Mrs. D. Mulock Craik

PATERNAL AFFECTION.

OME feelings are to mortals given, With less of earth in them than heaven ; And if there be a human tear, From Passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek, It would not stain an angel's cheek, 'Tis that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous daughter's head!

Sir Walter Scott.

HOME SICKNESS.

هم

HERE I am, the halls are gilded, Stored with pictures bright and rare, Strains of deep melodious music, Float upon the perfumed air; Nothing stirs the dreary silence Save the melancholy sea, Near the poor and humble cottage, Where I fain would be!

Where I am, the sun is shining,
And the purple windows glow,
Till their rich armorial shadows
Stain the marble floor below; -
Faded autumn leaves are trembling
On the withered jasmin-etree,
Creeping round the little casement,
Where I fain would be!

Where I am, the days are passing
O'er a pathway strewn with flowers;
Song, and joy, and starry pleasures
Crown the happy, smiling hours;
Slowly, heavily, and sadly,

Time with weary wings must flee, Marked by pain, and toil, and sorrow, Where I fain would be!