But the bright spirit of thine eyes
Shines o'er our mem'ry yet!

As in some dark and hidden shell
Lies ocean's richest gem,
So in our hearts shall ever dwell
The spells thou'st breath'd in them!
Why should we weep o'er the young flow'rs
That cluster on thy sod?
Stars like them glow in heav'n's bright bow'rs
To light thee up to God!

R.A.

* * * * *


"TROUT BINNING" IN WEST-MORELAND.
(_To the Editor of the Mirror_.)


--"Now is the time,
While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile,
To tempt the trout."
THOMSON.

I have not yet done with this subject; and as it strikes me you are an
angler, I think the article a seasonable _bait_ for you.