19 AUGUST 1871, Page 14

MODERN LIFE.

I SIT in a quaint old garden, With weather-stained, warm old wall, And over the blaze of the flowers The brown shadows cooling fall.

And the long lawns stretch before me, And I bathe my eyes in their green ; And the elms in the park stop swaying, For fear they should wake the scene.

And the tall white church on the hill-top Shines like a lighthouse tower ; And the sun seems to nod iu heaven, As be drips out his golden shower.

And the grey-eyed wife is smiling, Half asleep, with her hand in mine, To see how her baby is striving To make the short daisies twine.

And I sit in peace in the garden, And my soul has a souse of home ; And my brain is straining to bursting, Thinking whence cash may come. W.