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MOONLIGHT. . . . . . . . . . .

. . Only the loving and beloved

Should be awake at this sweet hour.-T. MOORE.
TWILIGHT · · · · · · · · · · · ·

How calm a silence steals upon the earth -
A reverent hush of Nature's sounds, as though
Gord, walking in vast solitudes of thought,

Went by.-CRADDOCK New tun.
MOONSHINE . . . . . . . . . . . .

She lifts her lamp up in the sky serene,
That both might gaze upon one heavenly spot,
And love alone might live and breathe bettveen.

Sir James BLACKWOOD.
DEER IN FOREST GLADE . . . . . . . . .

Where the deer rustle through the tzvining brake.-THOMSON.

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BY THOMAS KENNEDY. BRIDAL BOUQUET . . . . . . . . . . . Facing Title.

On thousand stoms is found the love-inscription grazen.-RUCKERT.

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WHEAT AND POPPY . . . . . . . . . . . .
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss.

ROBERT GREENE,

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GROUP OF BRIDAL FLOWERS . . . . . . . .

The flowers all tell to thee a sacred, mystic story.-RUCKERT.

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MYRTLE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The secret sympathy, the silver link, the silken tie.-SIR W Scott. PASSION FLOWER . . . . . . . . . . . . . I have unclasped to thee the book even of my secret soul.

SHAKESPEARE.

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HAWTHORN . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hope is a lover's staff.-SHAKESPEARE.
LILY OF THE VALLEY . . . . . . . . . . .

Around her shone
The nameless charms unmark'd by her alone.- BYRON.
ORANGE BLOSSOM . .
Thou dost enter love-crowned, and thou sittest love glorified.

DINAH MULOCH.

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The whole of the above engraved under the superintendence

of J. D. COOPER.

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THE MEETING.

I come fresh from thee every time we meet,
Steeped in the still sweet dew of thy soft beauty,
Like earth at day-dawn, lifting up her head
Out of her sleep, star-watched, to face the sun-
So 1, to front the world, on leaving thee.
Oh, there is inspiration in thy look!

P. J. Bailey.

My lady comes at last. Timid and stepping fast,

And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast, she comes-she's here.

THACKERAY.

My darling! O my darling! *

She came towards me in her loveliness-
A thing too pure, methought, for mortal touch ;
The rippling gold did on her bosom meet,
The long white robe descended to her feet.

JEAN INGelow.

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BY THE WICKET-GATE. I ROSE up, and, following her dark eyes, Felt earth as air beneath me, till I reach'd The wicket-gate, and found her standing

there. There sat we down upon a garden-mound, Two mutually enfolded ; Love, the third, Between us, in the circle of his arms Enwound us both; and over many a range Of waning lime the grey cathedral towers, Across a hazy glimmer of the mist, Reveald the shining windows: from them

clash'd The bells : we listen'd: with the time we

Requiring at her hand the greatest gift,
A woman's heart, the heart of her I loved ;
And in that time and place she answer'd

me,
And in the compass of three little words,
More musical than ever came in one,
The silver fragments of a broken voice,
Made me most happy, faltering “I am thine."

Tennyson.

THE LOVERS' MEETING.

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In the glinting of the gloaming,

With its streaks of golden red, With its gathering purple curtains,

With the evening star o'erhead;

We spoke of other things; we coursed about The subject most at heart, more near and

near. Then, in that time and place, I spoke to her, Requiring, tho' I knew it was mine own, Yet for the pleasure that I took to hear,

Like a silver gem instudded

On a bank of velvet black, Showing in the amber setting,

Of the dying daylight's track,

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