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EAR grandfather! evening is closing,

And I haste to your chamber again; Your foot on a stool is reposing,

And I fear you still suffer from pain! My bird I brought hither to please you,

But intrusive I fear I must be; Oh! would that from pain I could ease you,

In return for your kindness to me.

How oft have you told me a story

Of wonder, of pathos, or mirth; Of warriors, covered with glory,

Or peasants ennobled by worth: You have lived in the company of strangers,

You have travelled by land and by sea;

You well know the world and its dangers,

And impart your experience to me.

I shall treasure the sound information,

By you, my dear grandfather, taught; When I enter a world of temptation,

Where knowledge oft dearly is bought; Meantime, still remain my adviser,

My faults still indulgently see; And make me grow better and wiser,

By the care you bestow upon me.




FEW, a very few weeks only are passed, since

little Warren Elmore burst into the small parlor within the best kitchen, in his father's large oldfashioned farm-house, crying, “The harvest home! the harvest home! to day is the harvest home; and as bright a sun, as Watkins says, as ever shone on good old England."

“Where are your manners, Master Warren ?” said Mrs. Elmore, who was sitting at the breakfast-table with her two daughters, Harriet and Charlotte; “it is

father is not in, or he would send you out of the door, to mend your manners by coming in again properly."

“Oh, mother!" answered the boy with an unchanged

well your

merry face, “you must excuse me this once, for I am so happy. Watkins says that he never in all his long life thought so much of a harvest home but once, and that was, I don't know when, but he said it was a hundred years ago, as he does of this, after such a winter as we had last, when bread was hardly to be had, and he and his family were glad to rob the cattle and pigs of their Swedes to satisfy their hunger.”

“Watkins speaks very properly,” replied Mrs. Elmore; “there is more cause for thankfulness, dear Warren, for a fine harvest this year, than for any such event during my memory; nor must we forget who it is that fills our fields and our gardens with all plenteousness; so come and take your breakfast, and for this once I will pass over your little neglects of civility, my boy—as God, I know, through Christ, passes over a thousand heavier offences in his children.”

So Warren took his place, and whilst his mother was cutting him a large slice of bread and butter, Miss Harriet, his eldest sister, who had once been in London, and thought herself very wise, because she had seen some things which other people had not

seen, took upon her to call her brother over the coals, as the old saying has it, respecting something he had said when repeating what the old man, Watkins, had told him.

This same Watkins had been the shepherd on the farm ever since the Elmores had resided upon it; and being a sincere Christian, was never prevented from inviting Warren to go with him when he went out among the sheep to count or to fodder them, or to drive them from one field to another.

“Did you mean to say, Warren, that Watkins could remember a harvest home which happened a hundred years ago ?”

“He told me he did,” replied Warren, whose spirit was always excited when his sister began thus to question him; and in consequence he often said many foolish things that he would not have said at other times.

“Oh, Warren!” exclaimed Charlotte, who was only a year and a-half older than Warren, "you know that could never be; to be sure Watkins does look very old, with his peaked nose and chin, and his very white hair, poor good old man; but he can't remember a

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