the dog bounded forward. They were running a race, and it was hard to tell which evinced the most enjoyment of the frolic, the boy or his shaggy playmate.

On they went, now winding in and out among the trees, now tumbling about upon the green turf, the dog barking and the child laughing. At length the latter caught the silken cord and winding it about his wrist clasped it firmly in his tiny fingers, while the dog crouched at his feet as at the bidding of a master.

It was a beautiful picture. The boy wore a dress of the many colored tartan plaid, and a velvet cap with a dancing plume rested lightly upon his sunny curls.

His

rounded arms were bare; a small silver bugle was slung around his neck, and a rich scarf was knotted upon one shoulder, crossing his breast, and passing beneath the other. Still grasping the cord he placed one little foot upon the head of his faithful companion, and waving his cap in the air, gave a clear, exulting shout of triumph. He was a conqueror-his world was beneath his feet.

I was quite in the mood for moralizing, and I need not tell you what were the thoughts and reflections that crowded upon my mind as I wended my way homeward. The future of that fair-haired boy, the brilliant destiny that probably awaited him, his buoyant health, his exuberant spirits, the intellect that sparkled in his eyes and sat upon his brow,-all these formed part and parcel of my meditation. I might never see him more; perchance

THE YOUNG HIGHLANDER AND HIS DOG. 213

I might never even hear of him. But "a thing of beauty is a joy forever," and I felt that another fair picture hung upon the walls of memory.

Four weeks afterwards I was again in the hamlet; every face was saddened-every eye was heavy with tears. Bells were tolling, and solemnly and slowly a funeral procession moved towards the kirkyard. The beautiful boy upon whose pictured lineaments you are now gazing, rested beneath the daisy ere the sun went down.

THE CONSUMPTIVE.

BY COROLLA H. BENNET.

HE snow on Etna's brow is pale,

THE

But paler still was she—

The maid that dwelt in Yino's vale,
The fair Andromache;

Reclining by the casement wide

That looked o'er Grecia's bay, She gazed upon the waves and sighed, 66 Oh, let me pass away!"

A moss-rose in the garden grew,
And to the casement crept;
Unto her lips its buds she drew,
Then closed her eyes and wept:

The whispering words none heard her say,
That mingled with each tear-

"Oh, take me from the earth away,

I cannot linger here!"

A bright bird warbled from above,
His soft, melodious song;

The maiden heard his notes of love

The olive trees among:

She heard, and raised her soul-bright eyes As softer grew each strain"Oh, take me, take me to the skies,

I cannot here remain !"

The lute she loved lay silent there
Upon the marble floor;

She raised it, and her fingers fair
The sweet chords lingered o'er;
Then slowly, sadly breathed she forth
A melancholy lay-

Her voice was music not of earth,
Nor long on earth to stay.

Her song was hushed, its echoes mute,
And silence filled the air;

She cast aside her pensive lute

And clasped her hands in prayer:

"Oh, Father, take my soul to Thee,
For life is ever drear;

Oh, make this earth-bound spirit free,
I cannot linger here!"

R

Once more she looked upon the wave,
Once more upon the sky;

And once again a kiss she gave

Unto the rose-buds nigh.

The bird had flown-she saw no more,
But gently closed her eyes—
Her spirit burst the chains it wore,
And mounted to the skies.

L

SONG.

ILY! the smile that lit thy brow

First won each feeling warm and deep;

But I could ne'er have loved as now,

Had I not seen thee weep.

And if the vow you plighted when
Those tears were falling, be not kept,
I'll ne'er believe in tears again—

Although an angel wept.