in' hair meekly shades her white brow,
A few silver threads 'mang its dark faulds I see,
They tell me how lang she has waited on me.

Her cheek has grown paler, for she too maun toil,
Her sma' hands are thinner, less mirthfu' her smile;
She aft speaks o' heaven, and if she should dee,
She tells me that there she 'll be waitin' on me.

A SONG OF SUMMER.

I will sing a song of summer,
Of bright summer as it dwells,
Amid leaves and flowers and sunshine,
In lone haunts and grassy dells.
Lo! the hill encircled valley
Is like an emerald cup,
To its inmost depths all glowing,
With sunlight brimming up.
Here I 'd dream away the day time,
And let happy thoughts have birth,
And forget there 's aught but glory,
Aught but beauty on the earth.

Not a speck of cloud is floating
In the deep blue overhead,
'Neath the trees the daisied verdure
Like a broider'd couch is spread.
The rustling leaves are dancing
With the light wind's music stirr'd,
And in gushes through the stillness
Comes the song of woodland bird.
Here I 'd dream away the day-time,
And let gentlest thoughts have birth,
And forget there 's aught but gladness,
Aught but peace upon the earth.

ROBERT DUTHIE.

The writer of some spirited lyrics, Robert Duthie was born in Stonehaven
on the 2d of February 1826. Having obtained an ordinary elementary
education, he was apprenticed, in his fourteenth year, to his father,
who followed the baking business. He afterwards taught a private school
in his native town; but, on the death of his father, in 1848, he resumed
his original profession, with the view of supporting his mother and the
younger members of the family. Devoting his leisure hours to literature
and poetry, he is a frequent contributor to the provincial journals; and
some of his lyrical productions promise to secure him a more extended
reputation.

SONG OF THE OLD ROVER.

I 'm afloat, I 'm afloat on the wild sea waves,
And the tempest around me is swelling;
The winds have come forth from their ice-ribb'd caves,
And the waves from their rocky dwelling;
But my trim-built bark
O'er the waters dark
Bounds lightly along,
And the mermaid lists to my echoing song.
Hurrah! hurrah! how I love to lave
In the briny spray of the wild