... llatir.,I FElALE INFLUENCE, By C. rATMORE. WIUENEVER I come where women are, How sad sce'er I was before, Thawed like a ship frost-bound and far Withheld in cee from ocean's roar, Third-winterld in that dreadful dook, With stiffened cordage, sails decayed, And crew that care for cairn and shock Alike, too dull to be dismayed; Yet if I come where women are, How sad soeeer I was before, Then is ...

... POETICAL ADDAESS. *Spomoeu at Burns's Anniversary, Bristol, Jan. 25th, 1860. WRITTEN liY J. w. DALBY, OF TVIORNBURY. Give us a verse, your worthy chairman said, And in reply I shook an empty head: 'To make amends I pivc a better part- To Burns and you I give a glowing heart. His songs the ear of childhood hnd secured Ere their full meaningeame on mnind matured; And recollection blends a ...

... vottrg. THE WIDOW'S WAKE. DEEP in the midnight lane, Where glimmering tapers feebly pierce the gloom, Through many a winking pane, AU tearful in the rain, The widow lies within her naked room. Coldly the widow lies, Though woe and want can touch her never more; And in her beamless eves, Grief's well, that rarely dries, Never again shall hoard its oozy store. Coldly the widow lies. God's mighty ...

... vo-gt% * THE SOMERSET RIFLE VOLUNTEERS. oste, The Britiske Grenaliers. Co0aE, sons of brave old Somerset, You oft were proved of yore: Fall in, and join her sons now met To swell our rifle corps. In days gone by-grcat Alfred's reign- You know no knavish fears; So up, and show yourselves again, As gaflant Volunteers. The pretty malds of Somerset, Whose beauty none denly, What wonld they say, ...

... ?? t. Reminiscences of Scotuish Life and Character. By E. B. Ramsay, MAA, Dean of Edinburgh. Fifth Edition.- ]Edmonston and Douglas, Edinburgh. DEAN RAMSAY'S ltensiissoences were originally only a lecture, but they have since grown Into the taking book before us, which will, no doubt, hold rank as a standard work of Its olass. It is divided into five chapters, which are respectively on the ...

... VjUirA+~ THE OLD AND THE NEW YEAR. COLD is the night; by the pale moonlight Lonely I'm waiting to watch the year, In its shroud of snow, with the past to go, Borne away on its ioy bier. Dimly I spy, as they pass me by, Twelve skeleton months, that, one end all, Have risen at the knell of the funeral bell To bear the old year's funeral paU. But who is be that now I see, With a smile o'er his ...