The simmer leaves hung owre our heads,
The flowers burst round our feet,
And in the gloamin' o' the wood
The throssil whistled sweet.

The throssil whistled in the wood,
The burn sung to the trees,
And we with Nature's heart in tune,
Concerted harmonies;

And on the knowe aboon the burn,
For hours thegither sat

In the silentness o' joy, till baith
Wi' very gladness grat!

Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison,
Tears trinkled doun your cheek,
Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane
Had ony power to speak!
That was a time, a blessed time,

When hearts were fresh and young,
When freely gushed all feelings forth,
Unsyllabled-unsung!

I marvel, Jeanie Morrison,

Gin I hae been to thee

As closely twined wi' earliest thochts

As ye hae been to me?

Oh! tell me gin their music fills

Thine ear as it does mine;

Oh! say gin e'er your heart grows great Wi' dreamings o' langsyne?

I've wandered east, I've wandered west,

I've borne a weary lot;

But in my wanderings, far or near,

Ye never were forgot.

The fount that first burst frae this heart,

Still travels on its way;

And channels deeper as it rins,

The love o' life's young day.

While the moon shines pale on the window sill,

And the mystic hours go slowly by —

I think o'er all the glad, bright way

My life hath passed its few short years; They are gone, like one long summer day,

And night has come with gloom and tears

Motherwe

But surely, soon will break the morn→
The fair light of the Better Land,
When, unto angel glories borne,

Before the great white throne I'll stand.
Oh! I have dreamed, in days gone by,
Ambition's dream of pride and fame,
Of days and years to come, when I
Should gain a minstrel's glorious name.

Now coldly blows the autumn wind,
And darker grows the autumn sky-
And, withered on the damp, cold ground,
Summer's bright leaves and flowers lie:
E'en thus within my heart are strewn
The wrecks of each bright hope and dream,
Like withered leaves and flowers, grown,
Precious no more to me, they seem.

All faded are those visions bright,

And crushed those dreams of earthly fame,
And I would only seek to write

Within the book of life, my name.
Now life is no more bright to me,
For fairer forms my soul shall greet-

When I go up the shining way,
The pearly gate, and golden street.

Oh! I am longing to go home,

For earth is growing cold and dim; And soon will my Redeemer comeI soon shall sing my evening hymn. And so she sang her hymn at even,

And laid her down in peace to rest: She woke next morn, away in Heaven, To dwell for aye among the blest.

Ellen Schenck

SKETCHES OF AUTHORS.

ALDRICH, T. B., a popular American writer, a contributor to the Atlantic Monthly.

AREY, Mrs. H. E. G., a lady of fine literary talent, who was educated at Oberlin, Ohio. She published, a few years ago, a volume of poems entitled Household Songs; she edited for a long time The Home Monthly and a juvenile magazine called the Youth's Companion, and has written much for the New York Independent, and many other newspapers and periodicals. She has also been much interested in educational work, lecturing upon methods of teaching and literary subjects at Teachers' Institutes in several States. At present she is associated with her husband, Prof. Oliver Arey, in conducting the Normal School at Whitewater, Wis.

BROWNING, ROBERT, an English poet, author of Bells and Pomegrantes, The Soul's Tragedy, etc.

BROWNING, ELIZABETH Barrett, was born in London in 1809, was a very remarkable child, writing verses at ten years of age, and publishing "An Essay on Mind" at seventeen.

She had a very thorough education, studying the classics, philosophy, etc.; but her favorite study was the Greek language and its literature.

Mrs. Browning's life was early saddened by the loss of an idolized brother, and then followed years of illness. But when others would have sunken under the load of infirmity and pain, this sublime woman wrote impassioned poetry and translated Greek. In 1846 she was married to Robert Browning, and the last years of her life were spent in Italy. Under its sunny skies, and in the brightness of her home, she was somewhat restored to health. She died at Florence on the 29th of June, 1861. In the English burial ground in that city the traveler will find a white marble tablet bearing this inscription: "Here wrote and died Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who, in her woman's heart, united the wisdom of the sage and the eloquence of the poet; with her golden verse she linked Italy to England. Grateful Florence places this memorial, A. D. 1862."

BREMER, FREDERIKA, a Swedish story writer, born in 1800. Her works have been very ably translated by Mary Howitt, of England. She wrote Family Cares and Family Joys, The President's Daughter, Nina, etc. A few years since, and but a short time previous to her death, she visited America. She received great attention from the literary people of this country, and her book, Homes in the New World, published after her return to Sweden, is an interesting history of her travels. She visited her people who had settled in the West, commending them for their industry and thrift. She died in 1864.

BROWN, GRACE, a native of Comac, Long Island, and a young writer of promise.

BULWER, Sir Edward, was born in 1805. He was the youngest son of Gen. Bulwer, of Heydon Hall, Norfolk, England. After the death of his father he succeeded to his mother's estate, and took her ancient family name-Lytton. This gentleman's full name is, Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer Lytton. His first volume was published at the age of fifteen, and he has written almost constantly ever since. He is interested in politics as well as literature, and has been several years in the House of Commons. In 1853 the University of Oxford conferred the degree of D. C. L. upon Sir Bulwer Lytton, in 1856 he was elected rector of the University of Glasgow, and in 1858 was made Secretary for Colonial Affairs.

COLLINS, WILLIAM, the son of a hatter, was born on Christmas day, 1721, at Chichester, England. He began his education at Winchester college, but finally took his degree at Magdalen college, Oxford. After leaving school he took clerical orders, but soon abandoned the gown and prayer - book to apply himself more closely to literature.

He was not successful, at first, in attracting much attention as a writer, and it is said that he sank under the disappointment, and became indolent and dissipated. For a few years before his death, which occurred in 1759, he frequented the aisles and cloisters of Chichester Cathedral, night and day, accompanying the music with Robs and moans. The poor poet died of melancholy, and a generation after his poems became popular.