HAPPY OLD AGE.

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried; "The few locks that are left you are gray:

You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man;
Now tell me the reason, I

pray?"

In the days of my youth," Father William replied,

I remember'd that youth would fly fast;

And abused not my health and my vigour at first,
That I never might need them at last."

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried ; "And pleasures with youth pass away;

And yet you lament not the days that are gone;
Now tell me the reason, I pray?"

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied,

"I remember'd that youth could not last;

I thought of the future, whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past."

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried; "And life must be hastening away:

You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death;
Now tell me the reason, I pray?"

A

HAPPY OLD AGE.

119

"I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied;

"Let the cause thy attention engage:

In the days of my youth I remember'd my God,

And He hath not forgotten my age!"

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.

[L'Éternité est une pendule, dont le balancier dit et redit sans cesse ces deux mots seulement, dans le silence des tombeaux: "Toujours! jamais! Jamais! toujours!"-JACQUES BRIDAINE.]

SOMEWHAT back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat;
Across its antique portico

Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw,
And from its station in the hall

An ancient timepiece says to all,-
"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

Half-way up the stairs it stands,

And points and beckons with its hands.

From its case of massive oak:

Like a monk, who, under his cloak,

Crosses himself, and sighs, alas!

With sorrowful voice, to all who pass,-
"Forever-never! Never-forever!"

By day its voice is low and light;
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,