Sae gi'e me your hand,

we are brethren a’. We love the same simmer day, sunny and fair; Hame! oh, how we love it, an' a' that are there! Frae the pure air of heaven the same life we draw:

Come, gi'e me your hand, - we are brethren a'.

Frail shakin' auld age will soon come o'er us baith,

An' creeping alang at his back will be death; Syne into the same mither-yird we will fa': Come, gi'e me your hand, - we are brethren a'.

ROBERT NICOLL.

THE MAHOGANY-TREE.

CHRISTMAS is here;
Winds whistle shrill,
Icy and chill,
Little care we;
Little we fear
Weather without,
Sheltered about
The mahogany-tree.

Once on the boughs
Birds of rare plume
Sang, in its bloom;
Night-birds are we;
Here we carouse,
Singing, like them,
Perched round the stem
Of the jolly old tree.

Here let us sport,
Boys, as we sit,
Laughter and wit
Flashing so free.

We dreamed together of the days, the dreambright days to come,

We were strictly confidential, and we called each other "chum."

And many a day we wandered together o'er the hills,

I seeking bugs and butterflies, and she, the ruined mills

And rustic bridges, and the like, that picturemakers prize

To run in with their waterfalls, and groves, and summer skies.

And many a quiet evening, in hours of silent

ease,

We floated down the river, or strolled beneath the trees,

And talked, in long gradation from the poets to the weather,

While the western skies and my cigar burned slowly out together.

Yet through it all no whispered word, no telltale glance or sigh,

Told aught of warmer sentiment than friendly sympathy.

We talked of love as coolly as we talked of nebulæ,

And thought no more of being one than we did of being three.

"Well, good by, chum!" I took her hand, for the time had come to go.

My going meant our parting, when to meet, we did not know.

I had lingered long, and said farewell with a very heavy heart;

For although we were but friends, 't is hard for honest friends to part.

'Good-by, old fellow! don't forget your friends beyond the sea,

And some day, when you've lots of time, drop a line or two to me."

The words came lightly, gayly, but a great sob, just behind,

Welled upward with a story of quite a different kind.

And then she raised her eyes to mine, great liquid eyes of blue,

Filled to the brim, and running o'er, like violet cups of dew;

--

One long, long glance, and then I did, what I never did before · Perhaps the tears meant friendship, but I'm sure the kiss meant more.

WILLIAM B. TERKETT.