He woo’d me at the fountain, When the moon shone bright above, And with the murmuring of the stream, He pledged his vows of love. I bade him to my father hie, The pleasing tale to tell, Then seek again the fountain sheen, Down in the sylvan dell. He woo’d me in the bower, When the songsters fill’d the grove, And with the dove’s soft tones he sigh’d His ardent tale of love. I bade him seek my mother’s side, Her blessing first to win, Then claim me for his chosen bride, The trelliced bower within. He woo’d me at the festal, Where music reigned supreme, And ’mid the revel wild and light He breath’d his chosen theme; Yet all unbless’d I could not yield To man the heart’s rich mine, Or falsely dash the holy light From filial duty’s shrine. At length ’twas at the altar, ’Neath the organ’s pealing sound, He sought again my trembling hand, While friends were smiling round; No more I bade him others seek, Or waved him from my side: With blushes mantling o’er my cheek, _I knelt his happy bride_. * * * * * THE STOLEN MINIATURE. BY MRS. R. S. NICHOLS. “The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more.” _Othello._ It was near midnight, on one of the beautiful summer evenings that brood over our Western Land, as some fair spirit hovers near to Paradise—and which can be realized only by those who have witnessed them—that one of the numerous strangers that throng the waters of “La Belle Rivière,” paused on its upward course before a small town which lay upon the banks of the aforesaid stream. When the boat had effected a landing, a few passengers, who either blind to the charms of Morpheus, or more allied to those of sundry packs of cards, that strewed the tables of the “social hall,” stepped upon shore to enjoy a moonlight view of the village. Among the number, was a group of three individuals, who, withdrawing from the rest, strolled carelessly along one of the principal streets, until they arrived at a cross, turning down whose short but secluded walk, several large buildings, evidently the residences of the most wealthy portion of the inhabitants, were situated. As they passed into this beautiful and peaceful retreat, a slight whispering, which presently broke forth into loud and angry words, disturbed the slumbering echoes of the night. “I tell you, Layton, it is impossible! I will not—cannot do it!” “Spoken like a fool, and a milksop, as you are; there is a way to stop your whining scruples, and curse me if I’ll not show it you.”