Early in the morning, before the news had reached them, Mr. and Mrs. Benfield set out upon their wedding tour. Emily learned her cousin's marriage from the same paper which informed the public of her own. George Mason had no time for a wedding tour. He removed his wife and her aunt immediately to the city, and at once resumed the labors of his calling. Emily did not become acquainted with Mrs. Mason, until Mr. Benfield had failed in business, and was enabled to commence again, with capital furnished by her cousin, who had become the leading member of his firm. THE DAYSPRING. BY SAMUEL D. PATTERSON. Mourner, bending o'er the tomb Where thy heart's dear treasure lies, Dark and dreary is thy gloom, Deep and burdened are thy sighs: From thy path the light, whose rays Cheered and guided thee, is gone, And the future's desert waste Thou must sadly tread alone. 'Neath the drooping willow's shade, Where the mourning cypress grows, The beloved and lost is laid In a quiet, calm repose. Silent now the voice whose tones Wakened rapture in thy breast-- Dull the ear--thy anguished groans Break not on the sleeper's rest. Grace and loveliness are fled, Broken is the "golden bowl," Loosed the "silver chord," whose thread Bound to earth th' immortal soul. Closed the eyes whose glance so dear Once love's language fond could speak, And the worm, foul banqueter, Riots on that matchless cheek. And the night winds, as they sweep In their solemn grandeur by, With a cadence wild and deep, Mournfully their requiem sigh. And each plant and leaf and flower Bows responsive to the wail, Chanted, at the midnight hour, By the spirits of the gale. Truly has thy sun gone down In the deepest, darkest gloom, And the fondest joys thou'st known Buried are within that tomb. Earth no solace e'er can bring To thy torn and bleeding heart-- Time nor art extract the sting From the conqueror's poisoned dart. But, amid thy load of wo, Turn, thou stricken one, thine eyes Upward, and behold that glow Spreading brightly o'er the skies! 'Tis the day-star, beaming fair In the blue expanse above; Look on high, and know that there Dwells the object of thy love, Life's bright harp of thousand strings By the spoiler's hand was riven, But the realm seraphic rings With the victor notes of heaven. Over death triumphant--lo! See thy cherished one appear! Mourner, dry thy tears of wo, Trust, believe, and meet her there! SONNET.--CULTIVATION. BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.