of the features of one who will hereafter live in the most cherished affections of our people, and on the brightest page of our country’s history. * * * * * TO ——, AT PARTING. BY CAROLINE A. BRIGGS. Thou sayest thou wilt ne’er forget; That I shall ever be A green spot on Life’s desert waste, A star of love to thee— A ray to cheer and warm—and yet, Believe it not; thou _wilt_ forget! A few short years perchance thou’lt keep My mem’ry fresh and green, Recalling e’en each look of mine, Without a mist between— And think ’twill _aye_ be so—and yet, Believe it not; _thou wilt forget_! I’ve met with friends who’ve vowed to me, To love through good and ill; To cherish me till life’s great pulse Within their hearts grew still— Forgetting me, oh, ne’er!—and yet, Alas! Alas! they _did_ forget. My name to them is now like some Dim mem’ry of a song They used to love to listen to— But that was long since—_long_— ’Tis charmless now—and yet, and yet, They _said_ they never would forget. A little time, and thou wilt write My name all names above, And then, perchance, thou too wilt find Some dearer one to love— Some fairer one whom thou hast met, And I, alas! thou WILT forget! Believe it not that I shall live Within thy heart for aye; Recall this weary parting hour, Some future, distant day— And thou wilt start to find that yet. With _all_ thy care, _thou_ DID’ST _forget_! * * * * * SONNET FROM PETRARCH, ON THE DEATH OF LAURA. TRANSLATED BY ALICE GREY. Fallen is the lofty column, the laurel green; The refuge sweet of my o’er wearied thought. I have lost that, which may in vain be sought The stormy North and the sweet South between. My dearest treasure death’s cold arms enfold, The joy and glory of my every hour; And Earth cannot restore it; nor can power, Nor oriental gems, nor hoards of gold. Since fate such sorrow doth for me prepare, How can I choose but bear a bleeding heart, Eyes ever moist, and looks by grief inspired? Oh life! which seen afar appears so fair, How often in one morning doth depart, That which long years of suffering had acquired. * * * * * SALLY LYON’S FIRST AND LAST VISIT TO THE ALE-HOUSE.[7] BY T. S. ARTHUR.