At Mount Dundass, whither the whole family accompanied its venerable proprietor, Rupert received the hand of the happy Mildred, and after the death of Mr. Dundass, which took place only a few months later, took his beautiful young bride to England. A LAY. BY GRACE GREENWOOD. The glorious queen of heaven who flings Her royal radiance round me now, As with clasped hands and upturned brow I watch her pathway fair and free, Is not so silvery with the light She pours o'er darkened earth to-night, As in the gentle thoughts she brings Of thee, dear love, of thee! The night-wind trembling round the rose-- The starlight floating on the river, The fearful aspen's silvery shiver, The dew-drop glistening on the lea, Night's pure baptism to the flowers-- All, all bring back our dear, lost hours, Till every heart-string thrills and glows For thee, dear-love, for thee! And when dawn wakes the Earth with song, And Nature's heart, so hushed to-night, Goes leaping in the morning light,-- While waves flash onward to the sea. While perfumed dews to heaven arise-- While glory flashes o'er the skies-- Still through my soul shall sweet thoughts throng Of thee, dear love, of thee! Ah, thou beloved, whose heart hath thrilled To blessed dreams and joys with mine, What power shall change thy love divine, Or shut its presence out from me! Since all bright things, from flower to star, Its types and sweet reminders are To this fond heart, this soul so filled With thee, dear love, with thee! We part not, though we said adieu-- Since first thy thoughts chimed in with mine, And from those glorious eyes of thine A heaven of love looked down on me, My very life round thine is poured-- Thy words within my soul I hoard-- Still true, in every heart-throb true To thee, dear love, to thee! THE SAILOR'S LIFE-TALE. A TRUE REMINISCENCE. BY SYBIL SUTHERLAND. (DEDICATED TO MY COUSIN MARY S----.) "There's many an 'o'er true' tale, coz, That comes to the listening ear, That makes the cheek turn pale, coz, And brings the glistening tear." During the last summer, Mary mine, I was one of a party of friends, who, tired of the bustle and confusion of the busy city, resolved to lay aside business and all other engagements, for the brief space of one day, which was to be devoted to a picknick in some retired country location. The destined spot for our intended _fête_ was, after considerable consultation, at length decided upon, and we unanimously agreed to spend the day in a pleasant woods in the neighborhood of New Brighton.