Birthday Gifts

Papa ! don't you knotv it is ray birtlidtiY ? Don't you know 1 ain Öve years okl to day t My puur wooden horse las los', his head : My dear little kitten has all gone dead ; Aly marbles are lost, and my top won'ilium; And, pap, picase glve DM a drum ! The soldier-boys want me to come out and play ; And 1 want a drum, for I'm flve to-duy ! Papa, do yon know it is my birihdny ? Do you kuoiv 1 ui ten yean old to-day ? AnJ l've fïot my Lat la, and done my suins ; And 1 in tired of marbles, and topi and drums ; And at school l've never got in a row ; And grandina declares 1 make a nice bow : And so, altogetlior, togo„with my mates, 1 should liüe, deur papa, a nice puil' oí Sklt38. Come, father, now do not foi'set, I pray, I'm jast ilfteeii this biessed day ! l'in a pretty tall fellow, for that you see ; And 'ïii U's Iban a year in cohete I'll be, - Unies all my iliygiug ahoukl drive me lo bed,- For lm studylng the eycs almost out of my ht'ad, Wliii) I'd ratber be poppingawny ataduck With very irreal skill aml very poor [nek ! 8o I'll cometo tlie polot ; ior tnnler the mui There's nothiug 1 want like a haudoine new gun. Twenty years old, and a fine mustache ! A part at coiumencement, - a glorloua dash And failn-r, you heaid whal a clappiug I go) ; I knew where you sat, and I looked at that epot, Aud tlntnked you, my fallicr. for loviuc me so, With yonr eyes full o( tears, and your oheeka ld glow. The gift fbr my bilt uday ! If truth must be told, Jly watch is of silver, and viiglit bc of goid ! My father, to-day I am just twentyfive, Heady aud glad lo slruígle and strive : Hut tne wurld, my father, to me looks bi'lght For the K6ntle promise I won last niynt; Aud the birthduy gift that wouid gladden me Is your tender blessiug on Clara and me. Thirty years old this biessed day ! l'lie clouds may come, hut thuy never st.iy ; For the snnshiue chases the shadow in turn ! l'hat froiu my smiüng ba bc 1 learn, From the eradle wliereouce we leaued and wept Wil Í Ie with waxen cheeks our flrst-born slcpt. But now In my wlfe's fair hand I see The robe so stealthily wrought lor me. Am I thirty five ? is it even so? Does my saucy wlfe pretend to know ? Hut the brief ten years of my wedding joy 3hine out iu the eyes of my laughing boy ; And Miunie's suiall tlngurs have hemmed for mt Tlie 'kerchiefs my blrthcUy ji.'t to bc. Forty years old ; and my father es Wheie o'er his grave the dr-tree sighs ; fils smlle ;uid bis blessing dwclt witü me, l'lie bleselng I (eel, tlie smile I sec, As when iu tnotherless boyhooil days, He warined my heai't vvith his words of pratse : Now my holy gift from my sister Ann Is tlie pictured face oí tue dear old mau. Forty five'. and with blushlng face My Minnle lookgdown with a modest grace Wnlle her lover pleads, and I tblnk of Ukdar 3o well I remember! I cannot say nay ; She looks like her mother, the pretty youug iliinii ! I sce it must end in a wedding-ring: And my birthday gift this yearinustbe A sou that sliall s;eal my daughter from me. [ nm llfty, dcar; 't!s tlie prime of liie ! No wrinklesas yot. ynucan coiint, my wife ; Por the bu.y world is o uil i f J' y That I soinetimes think I am still a boy. Ah ! here is my gift which 1 have just found, fiom my chilUrcn,- a volume supurbly bound ; You villains ! how shall I stifle my rage ? Au elegmit, classical treatise OU Age ! Sixty years old ! and t.hy silver hair, My Clara, to me looks wondrous fair: Jut bark ! trbat trampllng of feet below ! My clerkl - a smiling and goodly row, - A cane, with a head of gold they bear ; They spcak of my kind and watchful care : riiey cali me father, words are o weak, Do you wonder, my wife, tbal I coulci uot ■peuk ? Thrcescore and ten sounds rather old ; Wilhered, but (air, is the h&nd I hold. 3ara, my loving and long tried iVife, Lo, iu thiiie eyes I read my life, - Peacelul, whate'er the world might bring, Hondy ihe Father'8 pratse to ulng. Sce the gr&ndchildren's thouglitiul care! I sit in my Btately birthday chair. Eighty ! the world is changed below ; Progresa it is, 1 think, I know ! f bey are building a Hom for Aged Men ; 1 must send a check ! just hand me my pen, It shakes - no matter - a few days more ; The pleasant journcy is almost o'er. Give me your grandmother's silver curl, My birthday gift, the last, dear girl. My blcssing - good night! the Old Man's Home ! Te, it is time, I ara glad to come. - " (Jhristmas Locket" of Old and New.