Let this day, through

ness shall be my future care. each returning year, become a festival on my domain. Heaven, with peculiar favor, has marked it for its own, and taught us, by the simple moral of this hour, that, howsoever in darkness guilt may vail its malefactions from the eye of man, an omniscient Judge will penetrate each hidden sin, and still, with never-failing justice, confound the vicious, and protect the good!

ENGINEERS MAKING LOVE.-R. J. BURDETTE. Suggestive of the way in which the engineers and firemen on the New York and New England Railroad salute their wives or sweethearts.

It's noon when Thirty-five is due,

An' she comes on time like a flash of light,
An' you hear her whistle, "Too-tee-too!"
Long 'fore the pilot swings in sight.

Bill Maddon's drivin' her in to-day,
An' he's callin' his sweetheart far away,-
Gertrude Hurd lives down by the mill;
You might see her blushin'; she knows its Bill,
"Tu-die! Toot-ee! Tu-die! Tu!"

Six-five A. M. there's a local comes,
Makes up at Bristol, runnin' east;
An' the way her whistle sings an' hums
Is a livin' caution to man an' beast.

Every one knows who Jack White calls.-
Little Lou Woodbury, down by the Falls;
Summer or winter, always the same,
She hears her lover callin' her name-
"Lou-ie! Lou-ie! Lou-iee!"

But at one-fifty-one, old Sixty-four-
Boston express, runs east, clear through-
Drowns her rattle and rumble and roar
With the softest whistle that ever blew.

An' away on the furthest edge of the town
Sweet Sue Winthrop's eyes of brown
Shine like the starlight, bright and clear,
When she hears the whistle of Abel Gear,
"You-ou, Su-u-u-u-e!”

Along at midnight a freight comes in,

Leaves Berlin sometime,-I don't know when;
But it rumbles along with a fearful din

Till it reaches the Y-switch there, and then

.The clearest notes of the softest bell
That out of a brazen goblet fell
Wake Nellie Minton out of her dreams;
To her like a wedding-bell it seems-
"Nell, Nell, Nell! Nell, Nell, Nell!"

Tom Wilson rides on the right hand side,
Givin' her steam at every stride;

An' he touches the whistle, low an' clear,
For Lulu Gray, on the hill, to hear-
"Lu-lu! Loo loo!"

So it goes on all day an' all night

Till the old folks have voted the thing a bore;
Old maids and bachelors says it ain't right
For folks to do courtin' with such a roar.

But the engineers their kisses will blow

From a whistle valve to the girls they know,

An' the stokers the name of their sweethearts tell,
With the Belle! Nell! Dell! of the swaying bell.

KATHIE MORRIS.

Ah! fine it was that April time, when gentle winds were blowing,

To hunt for pale arbutus blooms that hide beneath the

leaves,

To hear the merry rain come down, and see the clover

growing,

And watch the airy swallows as they darted round the

eaves.

You wonder why I dream to-night of clover that was

growing

So many years ago, my wife, when we were in our prime; For hark! the wind is in the flue, and Johnny says 'tis

snowing,

And through the storm the clanging bells ring in the Christmas time.

I cannot tell, but something sweet about my heart is clinging,

A vision and a memory; 'tis little that I mind The weary wintry weather, for I hear the robins singing, And the petals of the apple-blooms are ruffled in the wind. It was a sunny morn in May, and in the fragrant meadow I lay and dreamed of one fair face, as fair and fresh as spring;

Would Kathie Morris love me? Then in sunshine and in shadow

I built up lofty castles on a golden wedding ring.

Oh, sweet it was to dream of her, the soldier's only daughter,
The pretty, pious Puritan that flirted so with Will;
The music of her winsome mouth was like the laughing

water

That broke in silvery syllables by Farmer Phillip's mill. And Will had gone away to sea; he did not leave her grieving;

Her bonny heart was not for him, so reckless and servain ; And Will turned out a buccaneer, and hanged was he for

thieving

And scuttling helpless ships that sailed across the Spanish main.

And I had come to grief for her, the scornful village beauty,

For oh, she had a witty tongue, could cut you like a knife; She scanned me with her handsome eyes, and I, in bounden

duty,

Did love her-loved her more for that-and wearied of my life.

And yet 'twas sweet to dream of her, to think her wavy

tresses

Might rest, some happy, happy day, like sunshine on my

cheek;

The idle winds that fanned my brow I dreamed were her

caresses,

And in the robin's twitterings I heard my sweetheart

speak.

And as I lay and dreamed of her, her fair, sweet face adorning With lover's fancies, treasuring the slightest words she

said,

Twas Kathie broke upon me like a blushing, summer morning,

And a half-oped rosy clover reddened underneath her tread.

Then I looked up at Kathie, and her eyes were full of laughter;

"Oh, Kathie, Kathie Morris, I am lying at your feet; Bend above me, say you love me, that you'll love me ever

af.er,

Or let me lie and die here, in the fragrant meadow, sweet!" And then I turned my face away, and trembled at my daring,

For wildly, wildly had I spoke, with flashing cheek and

eye;

And there was silence; I looked up, all pallid and despair

ing,

For fear she'd take me at my word, and leave me there

to die.

The silken fringes of her eyes upon her cheeks were dropping,

Her merciless white fingers tore a blushing bud apart; Then, quick as lightning, Kathie came, and kneeling half and stooping,

She hid her bonny, bonny face against my beating heart! Oh, nestle, nestle, nestle there! the heart would give thee greeting;

Lie thou there, all trustfully, in trouble and in pain; This breast shall shield thee from the storm and bear its bitter beating,

These arms shall hold thee tenderly in sunshine and in rain.

Old sexton, set your chimes in tune, and let there be no snarling;

Ring out a happy wedding hymn to all the listening air; And, girls, strew roses as she comes,-the scornful browneyed darling,—

A princess, by the wavy gold and glistening of her hair! Hark! hear the bells! The Christmas bells? Oh, no; who set them ringing?

I think I hear our bridal bells, and I with joy am blindJohnny, don't make such a noise! I hear the robins singing,

And the petals of the apple-blooms are ruffled in the wind.

Ah, Kathie! you've been true to me in fair and cloudy

weather,

Our Father has been good to us when we've been sorely tried;

I pray to God, when we must die, that we may die together, And slumber softly underneath the clover, side by side.

THE LITTLE BROWN CURL.

A quaint old box with a lid of blue,
All faded and worn with age;
A soft little curl of a brownish hue,
A vellow and half-written page.
The letters, with never a pause nor dot,
In a school-boy's hand are cast;
The lines and the curl I may hold to-day,
But the love of the boy is past.

It faded away with our childish dreams,
Died out like the morning mist,

And I look with a smile on the silken curl
That once I had tenderly kissed.

One night in the summer-so long ago—
We played by the parlor door,

And the moonlight fell, like a silver veil,
Spreading itself on the floor.

And the children ran on the graveled walk
At play in their noisy glee;

But the maddest, merriest fun just then
Was nothing to John and me.

For he was a stately boy of twelve,
And I was not quite eleven-

We thought as we sat by the parlor door
We had found the gate to heaven,

That night when I lay on my snowy bed,
Like many a foolish girl,

I kissed and held to my little heart
This letter and silken curl.

I slept and dreamed of the time when I
Should wake to a fairy life;

And, sleeping, blushed when I thought that John
Had called me his little wife.