I see all around me the signals of danger, As aimless and oarless I slowly drift on Hope, the great anchor, to me is a stranger — No harbour in Bight and the day almost eone. * * * * Afar in the distance there's a haven immor tal, A calm peaceful shelter for wanderers who roam— Could I but drift to that heavenly portal, I would anchor far aye in that beautiful home. Lyle Ruthkrfohd.—Sunday Call. THE STAGE COACH. Tarnished and battered and old, Heartlessly hidden away, Left to the moth and the mould, Darkness aud dust and decay, This was the bride of its day. Now all its glory is o'er— Faded and vanished for aye ; Gone are the driver and four .' How shall its story be told 1 What shall a song of it say ? Once it was brilliaNt as gold, Once it was gilded and gay, Fine in their festal array, Many the bride that it bore. Now are they wrinkled and grey ; Gone are the driver and four ! Long through the heat and the cold, Ever from May until May, Over the highways it rolled. Time has now made it his prey. Never a stately display, Never a dash as of yore, Never a swing or sway ; Gone are the driver and four ! Over now roads that men lay Rush we with rattle and roar. Only sweet memories stay ; Gone are the driver and four ! —Harper's Magazine.
Novelist.
BY JAMES GRANT. Author of "The Romance of War," "The Black " Watch," "Fairer than a Fairy," &c., &c.
[all wights keskkvkd.] Love's labour AYon: AN EVENTFUL STORY.
