11.

Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray!
The stars of its winter, the dews of its May!
And when we have done with our life-lasting toys,
Dear Father, take care of Thy children, THE BOYS!
Oliver Wendell Holmes.

LESSON 37.

FATHER'S GROWING OLD, JOHN.

OUR

UR father's growing old, John !
His eyes are growing dim,

And years are on his shoulders laid-
A heavy weight for him.

And you and I are young and hale,

And each a stalwart man,

And we must make his load as light
And easy as we can.

2. He used to take the brunt, John,
At cradle and the plough,

And earned our porridge by the sweat
That trickled down his brow.
Yet never heard we him complain,
Whate'er his toil might be,

Nor wanted e'er a welcome seat
Upon his solid knee.

3. And when our boy-strength came, John,
And sturdy grew each limb,

He brought us to the yellow field,
To share the toil with him;
But he went foremost in the swath,
Tossing aside the grain,

Just like the plough that heaves the soil,
Or ships that cleave the main.

4. Now we must lead the van, John,
Through weather foul and fair,

And let the old man read and doze,
And tilt his easy-chair;

And he'll not mind it, John, you know,
At eve to tell us o'er

Those brave old days of British times
Our grandsires and the war.

5. I heard you speak of ma'am, John; 'Tis Gospel what you say,

That caring for the like of us

Has turned her hair to gray ?

Yet, John, I do remember well
When neighbors called her vain,
And when her hair was long, and like
A gleaming sheaf of grain.

6. Her lips were cherry red, John,
Her cheeks were round and fair,
And like a ripened peach they swelled
Against her wavy hair.

Her step fell lightly as the leaf

From off the summer tree,
And all day busy at the wheel,
She sang to you and me.

7. She had a buxom arm, John,
That wielded well the rod,
Whene'er with wilful step our feet

The path forbidden trod;

But to the heaven of her eye
We never looked in vain,

And evermore our yielding cry
Brought down her tears like rain.

8. But this is long ago, John,
And we are what we are,
And little heed we, day by day,

Her fading cheek and hair:

And when beneath her faithful breast
The tides no longer stir,

'Tis then, John, we the most shall feel
We had no friend like her!

9. Yes, father's growing old, John,
His eyes are getting dim,
And mother's treading softly down
The deep descent with him;
But you and I are young and hale,

And each a stalwart man,

And we must make their path as smooth
And level as we can.

IT

LESSON 38.

MY STOVE - WITH MODERN IMPROVEMENTS.

T'S all very well to have a "spandangalous" new stove, with a high-sounding name, such as "Star of the West," or "Triumph of the World," costing forty or fifty dollars gorgeous in shiny-black fluting and scrollwork, ornamented with artistic dancing maidens (in sheet-iron), and equipped with all the latest quirks and crinkles of improvements - with dampers here, and screws there; things to push in, and things to pull out; things to put on, and things to take off; doors to open, and doors to shut, and doors to stand ajar.

2. It sounds very well, and I felt very grand when the hardware man or rather men, for it took two of them

perched the "Wonder of the Age" on its four small feet on an elegant round zinc in my unassuming parlor, and presented to me a printed book, containing minute directions for the perfect management of the stranger. It had displaced by the way - an honest old stove with not a damper about it; nothing but a place to make the fire and a place to take out the ashes, which we had been stupid enough to think all that was necessary till we were enlightened by an unselfish hardware dealer.

3. I felt very fine, I say, and the pert man of iron said, "You'll find it a great improvement on that old thing," giving it a contemptuous push with his boot. "As soon as you learn to manage it, you'll find it very simple, and it will save half your coal for you."

4. When the man was gone, I sat down to study my new book.

"To build a fire," said the oracle, "place the grate in such a position," which I at once did; "turn damper No. 1 up, damper No. 2 down, pull damper No. 3 out, and push damper No. 4 in."

5. I looked at the dampers, and found no numbers, but on further study I found a diagram of the stove with dampers numbered.

6. Well, I fixed the mysterious dampers; I brought the kindling, I had Jane ready with the scuttle of coal. (One of the delights of these new-fangled stoves is that it requires more brains to manage it than you can hire for four dollars a week.) When I had everything ready I lighted a wisp of paper, according to orders, dropped it into the dark receptacle, which I could n't see into, threw in, as per book, a handful of pine-kindlings, then a ditto of hard-wood ditto, though the smoke brought tears to my eyes. Then I shut the door and waited.

7. There was a roar while the paper and pine lasted, and then-a ghastly silence! Jane and I looked at each other.

แ

"It's gone out, for sure, mim," said Jane.

"Perhaps I did n't put in enough; get another handful, Jane," I said.

Jane ran down to the wood-shed and came up with another load. I did it over again. This time it condescended to light, and, according to rule, Jane poured in the coal-" chestnut," by the book.

8. It went rattling in, and alas! came rattling down into the ash-pan below. Jane fell on her knees and peered under.

"Sure, mim, the holes in it is big as me head. Sorra a bit of coal can stay in it at all, at all—the boderin' thing!"

"But some stays in, and perhaps when it gets hot and melted together, it won't fall out. Anyway, it's according to the book," I said, triumphantly.

9. But Jane did not seem to feel unqualified respect for the book.

"Boder the new-fangled notions, anyhow!" said she, under her breath; "the ould kind's plenty good enough for the likes o' me."

"Yes, but, Jane," said I, "this is a famous saver of coal."

"I don't belave in no sort o' hatin' without usin' coal, mim. Leastways, that 's my experience."

"Well, we shall see," I said, with dignity..

10. Now the fire seemed to go finely, the coal cracked, and after the proper time-by the book - I had another scuttleful poured in. When that was nicely lighted, and the room getting warm-which feat was accomplished in two or three hours-I proceeded to shut up the stove. Attacking the dampers, I pulled up one and pushed down the other, turned this one straight and