I often wish you had a son

Who could share your heavy sk, While you might at our cottage ioor In the evening sunshine bask

Father, a stout and willing heart
Should stand in lieu of gold,
For industry will prosper still,
As we are often told :

I know of one would gladly share
Your labour-but he's poor;
May he not tell his tale himself?

Father, he's at the door!

MISS PARDOE.

THE END,