In the last rays of sunset thy grey turrets gleam,
Yet I linger with thee--as to muse o'er a dream,
That mournful truths soon will dispel;
My pathway winds onward--life's cares to renew,
And I feel, as thy towers now fade from my view,
'Tis for over--I bid thee farewell!

E.L.J.

* * * * *



THE NOVELIST.


* * * * *


THE HUNTSMAN.

_A Traditionary Tale: by Miss M.L. Beevor._


"The merciful man is merciful to his beast."
"The worm we tread upon will turn again."

Charles, the chief huntsman of Baron Mortimer, was undeniably a very
handsome young man, the _beau ideal_ of the lover, as pictured by the