DANA.
O deep grave eyes! that long have seemed to gaze
On our low level from far loftier days,
O grand gray head! an aureole seemed to grind,
Drawn from the spirit's pure, immaculate rays!
At length death's signal sounds! From weary eyes
Pass the pale phantoms of our earth and skies;
The gray head droops; the museful lips are closed
On life's vain questionings and more vain replies!
Like some gaunt oak wert thou, that lonely stands
'Mid fallen trunks in outworn, desert lands;
Still sound at core, with rhythmic leaves that stir
To soft swift touches of aerial hands.
Ah! long we viewed thee thus, forlornly free,
In that dead grove the sole unravished tree;
Lo! the dark axeman smites! the oak lies low
That towered in lonely calm o'er land and sea!
Paul H. Hayne.
LORD LORNE AND THE RAT.
While at school at Eton, Lord Lorne, the present Governor of Canada, had one scrape which exhibited him in a light that boys will appreciate. He was standing on the steps of Upper School one morning, waiting for eleven o'clock school, when one Campbell, a namesake of his, but no relative, asked him to hold a pet rat for a moment, while he–the owner of the beast–ran back to his dame's to fetch a book which he had forgotten.
On receiving the assurance that the rat was perfectly tame, and would not even bite a kitten, Lorne put him into the pocket of his jacket, and told the owner to make haste, but just at that moment the masters came out of "Chambers" and ascended the staircase, so Lorne was obliged to go into school with the brute.
All went well for five minutes, but soon the rat, indifferent to the honor of inhabiting a marquis' pocket, crept out and jumped on to the floor.