J. j. JARVES, Editor.

, . 3 = ? =.

n S X F. II G. III .
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BY ELIZA COOK.


The summer sun is stealing fast away,


And merry children Join in noisy mrth,
Laughing and leaping in the golden ray,


The widest and the gayest things OF earth
Fair forms are bounding rapidly about,
Light as the fairy imps in sylvan rings.
Drowning the backbird's song with then
wild shout,
And chasing down the moth with azure
wings.
But there is one in quiet lonely mood
Taking shadowy path, apart from ALL
Choosing the messy margin where the tooC
Leads to the loud and dashing waterfall.
Slow, Ingering-nOw to gaze upon the tide
And watch the swelling ripples gliding by
Now bending DER the brooklet's shelving
With stiller breathing and closer eye.
He muses. with long and earnest glance,
Noting the things his playmates neve,
heed;


Pausing to see the water lilies dance
10 the soft music of the wave-splashed
reed.
He wonders none beside himself can find
Something to wonder at in woods and
streams,
And knows not that his fresh, untutored mind
Is dreaming busily the poets dreams.
He feels the immortal light of spirit live
Within his breast-but knows not that in
years


To come that warm and flashing ray will
give
The brightest rainbow through the bitter.
est tears.
Life's sands run on, the wayward child is
All that foreboding tongues erst prophe.
sled;
Reflections cloud has darkened on The brow
And all youth promised, Time has not de-
MED.
The cheeks have less ofroundness and of red
The grey eye has become more softly deep
The lips are thinner, but the spirit shed
Around them tells that feeling does no
sleep.
And still he takes the lonely way, and still





That which he loved of old-the whipping
rill
And the thick wood that holds the owlet'
nest.
Yet does he lean against the Struggling tree
When Summer filings her blossoms at hi
feet;
And still he thinks the whirring of the bee
And distant tinkling sheepbell music sweet
Yet does he wander on starry night,
When crystal dew gems glitter on the sod
Still will lie hold upon the mountain height


Close questioning with Nature and its God
What is he? Hark! the busy voice Of Fam'


Sounds meath the household roof from


heart to heart,


And heralds forth his glory and his name,


In notes whose echoes never shall depart


What is he. Ask it Of his own proud breast


That glows amid cold poverty and wrong


His Tyre shall tell lhee-he is bright AM


blest,


The worshipped and the po"r-a child


song.