Summer is over, and the leaves are falling,
Gold, fire-enamelled in the glowing sun;
The sobbing pine-top, the cicada calling
Chime men to vesper-musing, day is done.

The fresh, green sod, in dead, dry leaves is hidden;
They rustle very sadly in the breeze;
Some breathing from the past comes, all unbidden,
And in my heart stir withered memories.

Day fades away; the stars show in the azure,
Bright with the glow of eyes that know not tears,
Unchanged, unchangeable, like God's good pleasure,

" Harry, where have you been all morning? "
" Down at the pool in the meadow-brook. "
" Fishing? " " Yes, but the trout were wary,
Couldn't induce them to take a hook. "
" Why, look at your coat! You must have fallen,
Your back's just covered with leaves and moss. "
How he laughs! Good-natured fellow!
Fisherman's luck makes most men cross.

" Nelly, the Wrights have called. Where were you? "
" Under the trees by the meadow-brook
Reading, and oh, it was too lovely;
I never saw such a charming book. "

BY F. ALEXANDER .

Those deep, deep, fervent eyes, whose gaze intense
Is fixed on vacancy — that youthful brow,
Where thoughts of pain are gathering even now,
And long have gathered, till the very sense
Of thought is agony — that ripe full mouth,
Scarce open, and the long distracted air
On thy sweet face — all tell how sullen care
Hath marr'd thee, daughter of the sunny South!

Suthin' to put in a story!
I couldn't think of a thing,
'N' it's nigh unto thirty year now
Since fust I went into the ring.
" The life excitin'?" Thunder!
" Variety," did you say?
You must have cur'us notions
'Bout circuses, anyway.
The things that look so risky
Aint nothin' to us but biz.
" Accidents" — falls and sich like?
Sometimes, in course, there is.
But it's only a slip, or a stumble,
Some feller laid out flat,
It don't take more'n a second;
There aint no story in that.
'N' like as not, the tumble

" Yes, I'm here, I suppose you're delighted:
You'd heard I was not coming down!
Why I've been here a week! — " rather early" —
I know, but it's horrid in town.

A Boston? Most certainly, thank you.
This music is perfectly sweet;
Of course I like dancing in Summer;
It's warm, but I don't mind the heat —

The clumsy thing! Oh, how he hurt me!
I really can't dance any more —

Shiela ni Gara, it is lonesome where you bide,
With the plover circling over and the sagans spreading wide,
With an empty sea before you, and behind a wailing world,
Where the sword lieth rusty and the Banner Blue is furled.

Is it a sail ye wait, Shiela? " Yea, from the westering sun. "
Shall it bring joy or sorrow? " Oh, joy sadly won. "
Shall it bring peace or conflict? " The pibroch in the glen,
And the flash and crash of battle where my banner shines again. "

Green spears of Hope rise round you like grass-blades after drouth,

Light of my life! where'er thou art,
My spirit fondly turns to thee;
And every pulse that thrills my heart
Is thine before mine own it be:
Thine, in the day-beam's blessed light,
And thine, at eve's delicious hour,
Thine, underneath the shadowy night,—
And every season hath some power
To make me thine.

So will the current of my days
Be still to make me more thine own;
Thine still the charms I love to praise,
Thy voice be still my music's tone:
Thine, 'mid the burning hopes of youth,
And thine, as manhood's powers unfold,

A wind full of tears on the impassive sea
has so far! The France listening serious. But
it is the weeping voice, the terrible pain
Hécubes of weeping gold Americas.

Out there in the fright and insults and hatred,
hunters have sounded the death halloo,
and again blowing his venomous breath
you'd see the Huitzilopoxtli mouth.

It seems that all the demons of the past
just wake up poisoning the earth,
against us if the standard bloody rose,
r 'is the flagship of this hideous tyrant War.

We were riding home from the Carroll's ball —
Nelly Sansargent and I, you know;
The white flakes fluttered about our lamps,
And our noisy wheels were hushed in the snow.

Her white arms nestled along her lap,
Her hands half-folding, with languid grace,
Her fading violets; fair to see
Was the dreamy look in her sweet, young face.

I watched her, saying never a word,
For I would not waken those dreaming eyes
The breath of the violets filled the air,
And my thoughts were many, and far from wise.

Adown the broad and rushing Rhine
Our trusty shallop cuts her way,
While round us tower and hill-top shine,
Beneath the sunset's burning ray:
And oh, we bless thee, deep blue Rhine!
But not for thine abounding tide;
'Tis for the bright and blushing vine,
That ripens by thy sunny side.

We see the clustered gold, oh Rhine!
Its burning topaz glory throw
We see the purple gleam divine,
And richer yet the ruby glow:
And oh, we bless thee, deep blue Rhine!
But not for thine abounding tide;