Anniversary Of St. John.

Craftsmen with their plumbs , and squares , and lei'els , the apprentice lads with their heavy gavels , all silently greeting their companions , old and dear , with time-honoured salute ancl token as of yore . " While the last note of the deep-mouthed bell is still trembling in the air , reA'erberating from arch to arch and dying away amid the frozen music of the traceried roof ; forth from the western portal stream the shadowy throng .

Thrice round the sacred edifice winds the ivaving , floating train , brave old Erwin himself leading the ivay ; Avhile far above—up above the sculptured saints AVIIO look down upon the sleeping city—up ivhere , at the very summit of feathery , fairy-like spire , the image of the Queen of Heaven stands , there floats a cold , white-robed female form , the . fair Sabiua , old Erwin ' s well-beloved childivliose fair hands aided him in his work . In her riht hand a malletin

, g , her left a chisel , she flits among the sculptured lace-Avork of the noble spire like the genius of Masonry . " With the first faint blush of dawn the A'ision fades , the jshantom shapes dissolve , ancl the old Masons return to their sepulchres , there to rest until the next St . John ' s eve shall summon them to earth . " TherereaderI have given you a legend of the olden time . I will not

, , vouch for the truthfulness of the story , but it awakens neiv thoughts and furnishes fresh topics for reflection . There were certainl y some master workmen at the building of that grand old cathedral ivho deserve more than a shadowy immortality . The name of St . John was reverenced in that group of Avorkmen , as it still is wherever Freemasons Avander or work . —Bro . Cornelius Moore , in the Voice .

The Emigrant.

THE EMIGRANT .

SHE clasped her hand on my arms , She laid her cheek on my shoulder , The tide of her tears fell warm On hands that trembled to hold her . I whispered a pitying word As the ships moved slowty apart , And the grief of the friendless poured

Its choking weight on my heart . For graves in the evening shade Were green on a far off hill , Where the joys of her life were laid With loA'e that had known no chill . But howeA'er her heart might yearn ,

We were facing the freshening breeze , Ancl the white wake lengthened astern On the rolling floor of the seas . She quenched the fire of her tears ; Uplifting her meek , brave head—¦ " Or dark or briht be the years

g , I will take courage , " she said ; Smoothing back her loose-blowing hair , And her shaivl drawing closer the while , So she drank in the strong sea air , And left the old shore ivith a smile .