But still resound the lark's sweet notes Amid these scenes so fair,

And still on morning's wing she floats
To woo the fragrant air!

Though cold be beauty's crimson cheek,
And dim her laughing brow,
And her blue eye no more bespeak

A mind as pure as snow,

Yet still the rose blooms wild around,
The queen of Eastern flowers,
And still the clashing waves resound
Beside the forest bowers!

But hushed is music's mirthful voice, And silent is each tone,

That bade my kindred soul rejoice

In hours forever gone!

And nature's sights are nothing now

A leaf or breath of air

Unless, departed friends! with you
Their glory I can share.

AUTUMN FLOWERS.

BY MISS ELIZA A. STARR.

THE wild asters and the golden-rod,
In their beauty and their prime,
With the sunlight on their mingling leaves,
In the bright September time;

In copse, in glen, by the wood-paths green,
And in every lonely place,

The asters bloom, and the golden-rod,
Like a smile on nature's face.

When the ripened corn is gathering in,

And the days are warm and bright – When the orchard casts its mellow fruit,

In the mild autumnal light —

When the maple tops and the sumach leaves

Are flushed with a crimson stain

The asters still, and the golden-rod,
Stand fresh on meadow and plain.

When the shivering leaves drop sear and dry
To the chill brown earth to rest,

And the summer flowers, with pale, meek brow Lie dead on its desolate breast

That saddest time in the long, bright year,

When the harvest fields are bare,

The asters wild and the golden-rod
In the sunshine cold are there.

The autumn wind and the autumn rain

But they nod and nod the while

And when the wind and the rain are past,

Look forth with a quiet smile,

From copse, and glen, and wood-paths drear,
And the cold, damp leaves among,
With a golden crest and star-bright eye,
To welcome a smiling sun.

The aster wild and the golden-rod, -
The last of a gentle race,

That budded and bloomed, then passed away

To a lonely resting place

That budded and bloomed, then died, yet each

Of those frail and lovely flowers

Its meek destiny of love wrought out
In the joyous summer hours.

And they, the last of a sisterhood -
The aster and golden-rod —

That seem in the chastened autumn light
The lingering smile of God!

O bear they not to the secret springs
Of our mournful autumn feeling,
A kindly mission of hope and trust,
Life's sad mysteries revealing?

PLIGHTED TROTH.

BY MRS. ABDY.

“FATHERS have flinty hearts,

-no tears can

move them,” said a dark-eyed, sentimental-looking young man, after relating at full length the terrible fact that his respected sire had refused his consent to his immediate marriage..

"And uncles are much worse," said the lady of his love; "I have always detested uncles since I read the Children in the Wood: uncles and guardians are individually disagreeable, and what may not be expected when they are united in one?"

"Nothing very appalling," said a quiet, ladylike person, un peu passée, who sat knitting in the back-ground; "our uncle was my guardian as well as yours, Ella, and you know that, although I have possessed my legal liberty eleven years, I have voluntarily continued to make his house my home."

"But you have no heart, and never had one," said Ella Winfield; "and my uncle's son was a school-boy when you were a ward, and you had

no fear of being trepanned into a marriage with him."

"Neither need you," said Cousin Kate, as she was generally called. "Edward Arnold has never even seen you; when you came to reside with his father he was in Portugal."

"And is it not very odd that he should be returning just now?"

"Not at all; he has terminated the business which took him abroad, and of course his father is desirous of his society and his services in England."

66

'Well, it appears to me very dreadful to marry the son of one's guardian."

"Nevertheless," said Cousin Kate, "many wards have thought differently. Miss Burney's Cecilia, for instance, whom I doubt, not you will admit as far higher authority than any damsel in real life, married the son of her guardian, and gave up her large fortune to be united to him. But you must not be alarmed, Mr. Medwin,” she continued, turning kindly to the dark-eyed young man, "at Ella's visions of horror; we will guard her in perfect safety for you."

"Cruel mockery!" exclaimed Medwin, striking his forehead after the most approved melodramatic fashion. "I shall fall a broken-hearted victim to the tyranny of my father."

"Surely I misunderstand you," said Cousin