Sonnet.

SONNET .

( For the Masonic Magazine . ) BY BRO . REV . M . GORDON . Old Ocean's tide , late at the full I view'd , Until his rippling flow of waves was spent ,

And ebbing , then returning elsewhere went ; On other distant shores again renew'd . For his wide arms not sole our shores include , Nor sole our isle , but each isle , continent ,

And ev'ry . strand , throughout earth ' s whole extent ; Save arctic shores , where his great multitude Of billows cannot pierce each frozen bay . So cloth our Craft , like Ocean ' s arms ,

embrace Earth ' s varied realms ; each creed , and diff ' ring race , All climes , all kingdoms , tongues , love ' s common ray , Who own : —but how , alas ! can smile its light—On bigot souls , more dark than polar night 1

An Old, Old Story.

AN OLD , OLD STORY .

BY A VERY OLD BOY . CHAPTER I . I / 'Amour et la Ftinide no peuvent pas so cacher . —FREN-OH PEOVEHB . I no not exactly know whether all those

who read this little story in the MASONIC MAGAZINE will feel as I have felt in writing it ; but if their kindly sympathies and personal interest go any distance on the road with me , my purpose will be gained , my labours will be rewarded , and theirs

will be as mine has been , I venture to believe , much of genuine gratification . In life we all of us look at things often from very different points of view , and with many and various coloured spectacles , Some of us assume a genial , or a desponding , or a doubting , or a morbid estimate

of things and persons in general and in particular , and on no one question so much as that which must form the " staple" of the following chapters , do we all of us , for one reason or another , differ so much and differ so widely . But still disagree as we

may on abstract principles , whether in respect of its advisability , its seasonableness , its reality , and its importance , it meets us at every turn we take in life ; it confronts us like a " pilgrim grey" at every milestone of our journey ; it greets us in youth ; it

addresse us in manhood ; it even overpowers sometimes the prudence and propriety of old age . "L ' amour soumet la terre , assujetit les Cieux , lies Eois sont a ses pieds , il gouverne les Dieux , "

sang Corneille of old ; and there is , I ap > - prehend , no valid denial , be we who we may , no possible refutation of this worldwide , life-governing axiom , whether in outgeneral or individual psychology . If , then , in the " Roman d ' uue heure " I am going to tell you , all may seem very common place indeed and matter of fact , do not disdain the words of the narrator . I

admit that it is not a sensational story , and appeals in no sense whatever to our admiration of the grotesque , the horrible , and the impossible . My hero is an ordinary Briton , of good health , good digestion , good position , and good morals . My

heroine is given to no flights of fancy , to no aspirations after the marvellous or the weird ! She is a simple , straightforward , honest , English girl , who is not at all likely to fall in love with a " ticket-of-leave , " or to forget ever that she is both a woman

and a lady . You will see iu these truthful chapters no well-dressed ruffians , and no " diablesses en crinoline ; " you will neither be alarmed , nor agitated , nor subdued , nor startled ; even the poetry of imagination will be wanting , the dry and liquid

emotions of our moral and spiritual nature will not be aroused . So prepare yourselves for a very prosaic utterance , and—yes ! a very slow ! story . But I must not go on in this way too long . I hear already the prompter ' s ( printer ' s ) belland it is time

, that the curtain was raised , and that I began my Fantoccini Show . Those of us who know well ; he suburbs of London are aware that there are mam E