_Aberdour and Inchcolme_ (Edinburgh: David Douglas) is an interesting local history by the Rev. William Ross, LL.D. It contains notices of the parish and of the ancient monastery founded on Inchcolme by Alexander I. Many of the details collected from the seventeenth century records are of great interest to historical students; though the book would, we think, have been improved had the more ancient history been greatly condensed, as much of it has only the faintest connection with the immediate subject. As a whole, however, the volume is a valuable contribution to our local histories. _Vice in the Horse_ (same publisher) is by Mr Edward L. Anderson, and consists of various papers on vice in the horse, on the value of books on riding, on the intelligence of the horse, on the test of horsemanship, on how to buy a horse, and the like. The book will interest the class to which it appeals. THE LAST YEAR. Tender lights on sky and sea; Milkwhite blossoms on the tree; Lull of storms and tempest bleak; Faint bloom on a wan young cheek. ‘Spring, the blessèd Spring, is nigh!’ Said my darling hopefully. Violets’ breath and primrose rays; Sunshine threading leafy ways; Gentle steps, that, weak and slow, Through the woodland pathways go. ‘It were sad in Spring to die,’ Said my darling wistfully. Glorious Summer, crowned with flowers; Dreamy days of golden hours; Sunset-crimsoned hills afar; Dewy eve, and silver star. ‘Strength may come with by-and-by,’ Said my darling patiently. Glowing fruits and ripening grain; Languid days and nights of pain; Fields so golden, earth so glad, And a young life doomed! ‘’Tis sad Through the bright days here to lie,’ Said my darling wearily. Sighing winds and falling leaves; Yearning love, that vainly grieves; Patient eyes, with farewell gaze, Greeting the wan autumn days. ‘Happy world, fair world, good-bye,’ Said my darling tenderly. Wailing storms and weeping skies; Soft wings spread for Paradise; Solemn whispering accents thrilled With the awe of Hope fulfilled. ‘Life! O blissful life on high!’ Breathed my darling rapturously. Wreathing snow-drifts, far and wide, Mantling o’er the lone hill-side. Purer than that stainless veil— Like a folded lily pale, While the moaning blast goes by, Sleeps my darling peacefully. C. I. PRINGLE. * * * * * The Conductor of CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL begs to direct the attention of CONTRIBUTORS to the following notice: _1st._ All communications should be addressed to the ‘Editor, 339 High Street, Edinburgh.’ _2d._ For its return in case of ineligibility, postage-stamps should accompany every manuscript.