SORROW UNDER THE SUN.

I got the little hymn-book, worn
With time and a tearful tide;

She had only written my Christian name,
"For Ellen," and nought beside

But the date-two years ago last March,
A month before she died.

And, between the hymns I whispered through,
And my thoughts of the counsels wise.
That she gave us children now and then,
And that stayed in our memories,

I had quite forgot my naughtiness,
Till I chanced to lift my eyes:-

They were all coming up the garden path!
I snatched my garden hood,

And ran down-stairs, and in the sun

At the open door I stood;

And before I had time to think a thought,
"I am sorry," I said, "and good."

I went up again to my chamber
Thereafter a little while,

The sun at the staircase still looked in,

As if my grief to beguile :

"I am glad to see," he said to me;

And I answered with a smile.

And the little breeze, as I entered the room

It met me at the door

"The stumpy vase holds much perfume,

But I have brought in more;

And each new odour that comes in here
Will be sweeter than that before."

The stumpy vase soon found its way
Back to the window-sill;

But Aunt Rhoda's little hymn-book

I keep in my pocket still;

And it may be under my pillow to-night-
I should not wonder it will!

COMMON TALK.

ED, have you heard the news?" gabbled the geese, as Ned and his mother met them down by the pool.

Ned had not time to inquire "What news?" when they gabbled again. "The Squire has bought you for Master John to ride, and you are to be shoed, and wear a beautiful saddle and bridle, and be kept on oats and beans, and live

in a warm stable, and be trained to hunt!"

Ned was overwhelmed with surprise; but his mother said calmly, "Ladies, may I ask who told you so?"

"Oh, it's the talk of the common," they replied. "The old pack horse, and the dun cow, and the black mare and her colt, that came here for a few days' run yesterday, and the miller's dog, and Drover, and-in short, everybody says so."

"Mother, is it true?" said Ned, wistfully, when the geese had left them, and were swimming in the pool.

"I did overhear the miller's dog tell Drover that he fancied his master meant to buy the young colt and train him for mill work, and that, I have no doubt, is all that is true about it," his mother answered.

"Oh, mother!” cried Ned, disappointed; "but how could they make up such stories ?"

"I don't know how, my son," she said, "but I know this, that, in general, the talk of the common,' or 'Common Talk,' whoever invents it, is only fit to be gabbled by geese, and told to donkeys, and is in some cases so ridiculous that only a very young donkey will believe it."

MRS. PROSSER.

Noon-ablaze on the hill-tops,

Cool on the drowsy lake,
Bright in the waving branches,
Fresh in the dripping brake.

Ring, golden bell, through the lustrous air,
"Come to prayer! Come to prayer."

"The old church on the water
Stands gravely by the brink,
Peering with meaning windows,
Like eyes that think, and think.
Ring, holy bell, to the Sabbath air,
"Come to prayer! Come to prayer!"

Tall trees high on the upland

Lean from their startled glade,
Catch the sweet sound and fling it
Into the distant shade.

Ring, joyous bell, to the thrilling air;
"Come to prayer! Come to prayer!"

Birds that soar through the ether
Pause on their silent wing,

Hearken the gladsome echo,

Swell out their throats and sing.

Ring, glorious bell, down the burning air,
"Come to prayer! Come to prayer!"

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