The bright Summer. faded into Autumn, and I sought my city home to renew my studies for the Winter, not unmindful, however, of the dear companion of my care-free hours. Often, amid the tedium of study have his clear eyes shone upon me from the printed page; and the hum of the schoolroom has given place to the rich melody of his voice, describing a glowing sunset or the song of a bird.

Spring-time came, and with it the intelligence that Herbert was sick; indeed, all through the Winter his strength had rather declined than otherwise. Hope whispered that the balmy airs of the season would revive him, and with longing impatience I awaited the coming of Summer, that could give me again glad life among the hills with my old companion. It came at last, and found me travelling towards my country home; but when I arrived there, I learned to my dismay that Herbert was too feeble to come forth and welcome me.

I hastened to his home, to his bedside, and there, invested with a solemn beauty, lay the idolized boy. His brow was whiter than ever; his hair and eyes seemed darker; and, oh! upon his cheek there burned the fatal spot. I did not then realize this, but I felt awed and distressed, and sought to hide my thoughts beneath an air of gayety. He was in no wise depressed by his situation, and a smile con

stantly hovered about his lips. He spoke of the past with pleasure, and of the future with hope.

Summer glided away, while I roamed no more among the hills, nor sat beside the clear running waters. My post was now in the room where lay the wasting form of the noble Herbert. I had never admitted the thought of death when in his presence, till one afternoon, when a little scene occurred that nearly broke my heart.

Dr. Firman sat beside the boy regarding him with mournful earnestness, while Herbert was watching the declining sun. There was that in the Doctor's face I had never seen there before, and my heart beat wildly with undefined terror. Suddenly Herbert turned towards his uncle, and pointing to a plate of rich fruit that was near, said,

"Doctor, may I not eat as much of that luscious fruit as I wish? My nurses there"-pointing to his aunt and myself" declare that I indulge too freely, while nothing else tastes half so good to me.

وو

His uncle met with a smile the glance of his black eyes, dazzling with a brilliancy that was not of earth; though the smile had its source upon the lip. I imagined so then, I am sure of it now.

"Yes, my boy! tell them to deny you nothing. Hastily the good man arose, and busied himself with some medicines upon the table; then left the room, bearing one bottle away. I felt that his last acts

were but covers to the emotion he could not repress, and I followed him, half-distracted with doubts and fears. He was pacing the lawn with disordered steps, when I grasped his hand imploringly,

"Tell me, tell me, is he very sick? Do you fear that he will ?" I could not utter the word of terrible import that rose to my lips.

"Fear it child?

I know it. He is dying now. The pure spirit will go home to God-its wings are already spread-and we shall be left alone. Oh, Father!" said the stricken man, casting his eyes unto the clear sky, that seemed to mock his anguish, I had thought he would have closed my eyes in death; but he is called hence first, and I will endeavor to say in sincerity, Thy will be done.""

The boy died before another sun went down, and a spot we were sure he would have loved, received his earthly remains. Oh! what bright hopes, what wealth of tenderness, went down into that grave! When the tears vanished from my eyes I saw that Henry, too, had wept, and with chastened hearts we wended our way homeward, through the twilight of a lovely eve.

THE SNOW-WHITE DOVE.

BY MRS. C. M. SAWYER.

UPON a couch a fair sweet babe was lying.

Its violet eyes, wherein strange beauty burned,

With mournful, pleading gaze to heaven were turned,
While, all the while, its pale, sweet lips seemed trying
In unknown speech to murmur, as replying

To that kind Angel from the Better World,
Whose wings, by us unseen, were o'er it furled:
For, oh, my heart! the darling babe was dying!
Awe-struck, we hushed our sobs to hear, when, lo!
A snow-white dove flew in; thrice circled slow,
With gentlest cooings, round the little head,
Then, with soft flutterings, sought the sky once more.
Wondering, we gazed and saw it upward soar,
Then turned again—and lo! the babe was dead!

THE LEGEND OF THE SEVEN TOWERS.

BY AGNES LESLIE.

On the declaration of war with Russia, made by the Turks in 1786, the young Russian minister was taken prisoner and sent to the Seven Towers, where he remained two years. He was, however, treated with great consideration, and allowed to erect a kiosk on the walls of the fortress,-and to construct a handsome apartment within the Tower itself. The commandant who lodged beneath the same roof had a young and lovely daughter, who seeing the captive from her lattices and moved by pity for his sadness, sang for him her sweetest songs to woo him from his grief, and thus began a romance, whose termination proved fatal to the sensitive heart of Rèchèdi* Hanoum.†-From Miss Pardoe's History of the Turks.

WITHIN his gorgeous prison sadly dreaming
Of all the dear delights of native land,

The Russian captive sate, amid the gleaming

Of June's soft sunshine, while her breezes bland,

Uplifted as with cool caressing finger,

Bright curls as rich in their sun-lighted hue,
As those which round a maiden's fair brow linger,
Or shyly shade her eyes of bashful blue.

Unheeded is the joyous laughter coming

From gayly gilded caïques upon the stream, Unheeded is the wild bee's softened humming,They cannot wake him from his sad home-dream.

* Mignionette.

† Mistress, or Lady.