I bring,
But I would touch the secret spring
That can your best affections move,
The fountain of a father's love.
My perfect likeness here you see,
In infantile sobriety;
But then I jump, and laugh, and play,
And call on mamma all the day;
And though you distant are so far,
I'm calling ever on papa.
If I a hoe or spade could hold,
I'd dig for California gold:
Or wash your clothes--prepare your bread,
Or sweep your room, or make your bed.
But many a year must pass away
Ere I one kindness can repay;
For I can only have control
O'er the deep currents of the soul;
I feel I have a kindly part
Within many a human heart.
Should life be spared as years pass by,
To win approval I must try.
Perchance in passing o'er life's stage,
That I may soothe your weary age;
And then in part the debt repay,
That now increases day by day.
But papa, dig your heap of gold,
That we may soon your face behold;
But to be patient we will try,
One kiss, papa, and now good by.

A Reminiscence.

Early in the evening of a beautiful summer's day, I stood, with
thousands of my fellow creatures, on the dock of one of our northern
cities, to witness the departure of a noble steamer, which sat upon
the blue waters like a sea bird at rest, freighted with the wealth and
beauty of the land. The golden sun had sunk behind the curtains of the
west, bathing the earth with a flood of crimson glory; and the noisy
hum of busy life was hushed, as the quiet shades of twilight fell upon
the tired citizens of the great metropolis.

Here and there among the crowd could be distinguished a group of kind
friends, gathered around some loved companion, who would soon be

"Far out o'er the ocean blue."

Here a careless, merry set of fellows were trying, with their bright
wit and lively sallies, to cheer a young companion who was about to
leave the home of his boyhood, to seek a name and a fortune a far
distant land.

There stands a pale, care-worn, yet lovely woman, with a tear which
she cannot restrain, coursing down her cheek, as with a convulsive
pressure of the hand and a murmured, "God bless you," she parts with
her son. He is her only son, and she is a widow.

In yonder proud city a home awaits him, where he can earn a slight
pittance, to keep them from starving.

The grey-haired sire, the blooming youth, the middle aged, are all
here, parting with their friends, while yonder gay t