ings were not as they had been before.

You'd a child on your rough sunburned arm,
And your husband had one on his knee,
And I had my own little swarm,
For I was the father of three.
And I know we both thought of the days
When love and romance filled each heart,
Now, we both have our children to raise,--
You're washing,--I'm driving a cart.

Years Ago.

Annie I dreamed a strange dream last night,
At my bedside, I dreamed, you stood clad in white;
Your dark curly hair 'round your snow-white brow,--
(Are those locks as raven and curly now?)
And those rosebud lips, which in days lang syne,
I have kissed and blest, because they were mine.
And thine eyes soft light,
Shone as mellow and bright,
As it did years ago,--
Years ago.

And I fancy I heard the soft soothing sound
Of thy voice, that sweet melody breathed all around,
Whilst enraptured I gazed, and once more the sweet smile,
Made sunshine, my sorrowing heart to beguile,
And thy milkwhite hands stroked my heated brow;--
(Oh! what would I give could I feel them now!)
But alas! Woe is me!
No more can it be,
As it was years ago,--
Years ago.

I awoke with a gnawing pain at my heart,
The vision had vanished,--but oh, the smart
Of the wound, which no time can ever heal,
Was a torment, which only lost souls can feel.
Yet in spite of the pain, the woe, the despair,
I dote, as I look on a lock of dark hair,
That I culled from the head,
Of the loveliest maid;
Many long years ago,--
Years ago.

Will fate ever bring us together again?
Will my heart never know a surcease from pain?
Are the dark locks I worshipped, now mingled with grey?
Has Time stolen brightness and beauty away?
I care not,--for years have but made thee more dear;
But my longing is vain,
Thou wilt ne'er come again.
Lost,--lost,--years ago,--
Years ago.

Somebody's.

Oh, isn't it nice to be somebody's?--
Somebody's darling and pet,
To be shrined in the heart of a dear one,
Whose absence fills soul with regret?
To be dreamed of, and longed for, and courted,
As the Queen whom his heart holds in thrall,--
As the one--the great one, priceless jewel,
That outweighs and outvalues them all?

Oh,--I'd rather my head should be resting,
On the breast of the man that I love;
And my hand in his strong grasp be nestling,
And bask in the light of his love:--
I would rather,--far rather, my darlin