Instead of one august enduring sleep,
There waits a life where memory shall keep
Her ancient force and hope her old desire,
Now, even now, on altars cleft and prone
Rekindle the pure fire!
D. M. S.
"SCOUNDREL AND MAN OF LETTERS.
One of the Prizewinners in Our Article Competition."—Weekly Paper.
But ought an editor to give away his contributors like this?