maybe it's deep-you can't tell. The heart's the main thing,

AND must I tell thee, dearest, that I trembled, when thy name

Was uttered in our household, in honor, or in blame;

And when thy manliness and worth all voices echoed loud,

I coined some trifling error, my secret to enshroud;

Some dust upon the blossom, on the peerless gem a stain,
A cloud in the cerulean, a shadow on the main.

II.

Though gallant youths full many might throng the festive hall,
One noble form my partial eye could see amidst them all;
Though suitors clustered round me, and worshiped at my shrine,
A cold abstracted notice, and changeless cheek were mine;
A mist, a cloud, o'ershadowed the view of all save thee—
Oh, if the wise ones listened, what would they think of me?

III.

A dull, dull weight was at my heart, how sad the eve flew by,
If vainly, midst the motley crew, I sought thy speaking eye;
But mine the merry, merry heart, and thrill of maiden glee,
If haply, in a far-off group, I caught one glimpse of thee,
Did I mark thy hastening footstep, oh, how I strove to hide
The tell-tale blushes on my cheek, fretting my maiden pride.

IV.

I dare not own, Confessor, though I remember well,
When, from a distant city, arrived a brilliant belle;
Her manners so bewitching, so exquisite her brow,

Her eyes, the winning hazel hue, I think I see them now,
How much I feared those eyes would come between my love

and me!

I felt that she was fair and good, and almost worthy thee!

༨.

And must I own, Confessor, how oft I strolled alone,

And mused upon thy flattering speech, and most persuasive

tone,

And marveled that thou didst not say the words I wished yet feared,

Full many a castle, fair and grand, my frolic fancy reared, And spite of bitter, rankling words, good-natured friends might say,

My trusting heart forever found some cause for thy delay?

VI.

And yet full oft would I resolve, that never, never more
One thought of thee should haunt my mind, and conned it

o'er and o'er,

A hopeless task indeed it was, such mandate to obey,

I counsel each young maiden such trial to essay;

But when thy deep devotion no longer was concealed,

And jealous doubts and earnest hopes thy changeless heart revealed;

VII.

The depth of joy which thrilled my soul, forbade my lips to

speak,

But could a lover's searching glance distrust my mantling

cheek;

I hoped my life might prove for thee one long self-sacrifice,
And prayed that I thy fondest dreams might ever realize;
And now are told, Confessor, my whims and follies, all,
And censure from the wise, I think, most powerless will fall!

Elizabeth Austin.

MY

TAM GLEN.

Y heart is a' breaking, dear Tittie,
Some counsel unto me come len';
To anger them a' is a pity,

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?

I'm thinking, wi' sie a braw fellow,
In poortith I might mak' a fen;
What care I in riches to wallow,
If I mauna marry Tam Glen?

There's Lowry, the laird of Dumeller,

Gude day to you, brute, he comes ben;

He brags and he blaws o' his siller,

But when will he dance like Tam Glen?

My Minnie does constantly deave me,
And bids me beware o' young men;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me,

But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen?

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,
He'll gie me gude hunder marks ten;
But if it's ordained I maun take him,

O wha will I get but Tam Glen?

Yestreen at the valentine's dealing,
My heart to my mou gied a sten;
For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written Tam Glen!

The last Halloween I was wauking,
My droukit sark-sleeve as ye ken;
His likeness cam up the house staukin,
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen!

Come counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry,
I'll gie you my bonnie black hen,
Gif' ye will advise me to marry
The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen!

Robert Burns

WOMEN see through Claude Lorraines.

R. W. Emerson.

THE IMPROVISATRICE.

I LOVED him as young Genius loves,

When its own wild and radiant heaven
Of starry thought burns with the light,
The love, the life, by Genius given.
I loved him, too, as woman loves—
Reckless of sorrow, blame, or scorn:
Life had no evil destiny

That, with him, I would not have borne!
I would have rather been a slave,
In tears, in bondage, by his side,
Than shared in all, that, wanting him,
The world had power to give beside!

L. E. Landon.

ONE

NE Clairvoyance on earth is certain, and that is the Clairvoyance of true love.

GENEVIEVE.

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,

Whatever stirs this mortal frame;

All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I,
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay,
Beside the ruined tower.

The moonshine stealing o'er the scene,
Had blended with the lights of eve;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve!

Few sorrows hath she of her own,
My hope, my joy, my Genevieve!
She loves me best when'er I sing,

The songs that make her grieve.

I played a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story;
An old rude song, that fitted well
The ruin wild and hoary.

She listened with a flitting blush,
With down-cast eyes and modest grace,
For well she knew, I could not choose
But gaze upon her face.