Only once did the proud countess seek to recall her flown bird to her glittering but uneasy nest, and the day on which she arrived with Sir Frederic, eager and hopeful, was Ally’s wedding-day, and so they became unwittingly sharers in that beautiful scene—the only angry spirits in all that peaceful band of worshipers. Baffled again, they left without even seeking an interview with the object of their long journey, and Ally never heard of them again until the arrival of a strange-looking epistle many years after, announcing the death of her aunt, and her own accession by right of birth to the half of Lord Dundas’ princely fortune. Sweet Ally McLane! would that more angels like thee in the likeness of sinful flesh might dwell among us—raising our hearts to higher, holier purposes, and fitting us while here for a better home above, where envy, malice, pride, or sorrow never may be known or felt. * * * * * A DAUGHTER’S MEMORY. BY MARY L. LAWSON. I listened then with eager ear The tales of other days to hear, For oft thy voice would lead me back, From life’s insipid daily track, To wild romance and warfare rude, That mingle in old Scotland’s mood, For thou didst know and paint them well, And wandering fancy warmed the spell. My father, how the tear-drop swells As o’er the past my vision dwells, When I have stood beside thy chair And smoothed and kissed thy silvery hair, Whose silken threads are dearer now Than hope’s gay dream or lover’s vow, For life can hold no joy for me More cherished than my thoughts of thee. And thou hast left a name behind That Art must prize and Science find; Thy talents to the world are known, But dearer memories are my own. Though all approve the stainless worth That sleeps beneath this spot of earth, The kindness that awakens love Thy children’s hearts alone can prove. No gorgeous tomb in words proclaim Thine honest truth and well earned fame, Nor sculptured urn, nor heartless praise, The stranger’s studied care betrays; But thou wert fondly laid to rest Where tender tears thy grave has blest, Embalmed in feelings pure and high That soar from earth beyond the sky. * * * * * FROM AMALTHÆUS. BY RICHARD PENN SMITH. There were three distinguished Latin poets of Italy of this name, whose compositions were printed at Amsterdam in 1685. The following epigram was occasioned by the affliction of two children of remarkable beauty, though each had lost an eye: