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The Boston Advertiser of January 14th, 1874, mentions the case of a boy called "the baby violinist" who died "the other day at the age of six." At a time when he should have been in bed he was made to play before large audiences music which excited and thrilled him. He looked exhausted one day, and the manager told him to stay at home. That night as the lad lay in bed with his father the latter heard him say: "Merciful God, make room for a little fellow!"-and with this strange and touching prayer the baby violinist died! doubtless suggested Dobson's poem.

The incident

He had played for his lordship's levée,
He had played for her ladyship's whim,
Till the poor little head was heavy,
And the poor little brain would swim.

And the face grew peaked and eerie,

And the large eyes strange and bright, And they said-too late-" He is weary! He shall rest for at least to-night!"

But at dawn, when the birds were waking, As they watched in the silent room, With a sound of a strained cord breaking, A something snapped in the gloom.

'Twas a string of his violoncello,

And they heard him stir in bed"Make room for a tired little fellow, Kind God!" was the last that he said.

PRO MORTUIS.

For the dead and for the dying;

For the dead that once were living, And the living that are dying,

Pray I to the All-forgiving.

For the dead who yester journeyed;
For the living who to-morrow,
Through the valley of the Shadow,
Must all bear the world's great sorrow;

For the immortal, who, in silence,

Have already crossed the portal; For the mortal who, in sadness,

Soon shall follow the immortal ;

Keep thine arms round all, O Father!-- ·
Round lamenting and lamented;
Round the living and repenting,

Round the dead who have repented.

Keep thine arms round all, O Father!
That are left or that are taken;
For they all are needy, whether
The forsaking or forsaken.

THE LAST VISITOR.

"Who is it knocks this stormy night? Be very careful of the light!"

The good-man said to his wife,

And the good-wife went to the door; But never again in all his life

Will the good-man see her more.

For he who knocked that night was Death,
And the light went out with a little breath;
And the good-man will miss his wife,
Till he, too, goes to the door,
When Death will carry him up to Life,
To behold her face once more.

Robert Kelly Weeks.

AMERICAN.

A native of New York city (born in 1840), Weeks graduated from Yale College in 1863, and from the Law School of Columbia College in 1864. He has published "Poems" (1866); "Episodes and Lyric Pieces" (1870) -works full of high promise.

WINTER SUNRISE.

When I consider, as I'm forced to do,
The many causes of my discontent,
And count my failures, and remember too
How many hopes the failures represent;
The hope of seeing what I have not seen,
The hope of winning what I have not won,
The hope of being what I have not been,
The hope of doing what I have not done;
When I remember and consider these-
Against my Past, my Present seems to lie
As bare and black as yonder barren trees
Against the brightness of the morning sky,
Whose golden expectation puts to shame

The lurking hopes to which they still lay claim.

AD FINEM.

I would not have believed it then,
If any one had told me so,—
"Ere you shall see his face again,
A year and more shall go :"-
And let them come again to-day
To pity me and prophesy,
And I will face them all, and say
To all of them, You lie;

False prophets all, you lie, you lie!
I will believe no word but his;
Will say December is July,

That autumn April is,-
Rather than say he has forgot,

Or will not come who bade me wait, Who wait him, and accuse him not Of being very late.

He said that he would come in Spring,
And I believed-believe him now,
Though all the birds have ceased to sing,
And bare is every bough!

For spring is not till he appear,
Winter is not when he is nigh-

The only Lord of all my year,

For whom I live-and die!

William Channing Gannett.

AMERICAN..

Gannett, the son of a clergyman, was born in Boston in 1840. He graduated at Harvard in 1860, and from the Theological School in 1868, having meanwhile taught school a year at Newport, R. I. For two years he was pastor of a church in Milwaukee, Wis.; since which he has resided chiefly in Boston. He has contributed sermons, lectures, and addresses to the magazines, and bas written hymns and poems, showing an original vein.

LISTENING FOR GOD.

I hear it often in the dark,
I hear it in the light,-
Where is the voice that calls to me
With such a quiet might?
It seems but echo to my thought,
And yet beyond the stars;

It seems a heart-beat in a lush,
And yet the planet jars.

Oh, may it be that far within
My inmost soul there lies
A spirit-sky, that opens with

Those voices of surprise?
And can it be, by night and day,
That firmament serene

Is just the heaven where God himself,
The Father, dwells unseen?

O God within, so close to me

That every thought is plain, Be judge, be friend, be Father still, And in thy heaven reign! Thy heaven is mine,-my very soul! Thy words are sweet and strong; They fill my inward silences With music and with song.

They send me challenges to right,
And loud rebuke my ill;
They ring my bells of victory,

They breathe my "Peace, be still!"
They ever seem to say, "My child,
Why seek me so all day?
Now journey inward to thyself,
And listen by the way."

George McKnight.

AMERICAN.

McKnight, a native of Sterling, Cayuga County, N. Y., was born in 1840, and has always resided in his native town, where he is a practising physician. In 1877 he published on his own account a volume of 131 pages, entitled "Firm Ground: Thoughts on Life and Faith." In 1878 a revised edition, under the title of "Life and Faith," was issued, with the imprint of Henry Holt & Co., New York. It consists chiefly of a series of sonnets, lofty in tone and sentiment, and artistic in structure according to the Petrarchan model. Each one is the embodiment of some richly suggestive thought, showing that the author's range of meditation is in the higher ethical and devotional region. With all its earnest gravity, the tone of these productions is always healthful, hopeful, and cheerful.

"THOUGH NAUGHT THEY MAY TO OTHERS BE."

If in these thoughts of mine that now assuage
The tedium of the toilsome life I live,
The few who chance to notice should perceive
Nothing their lasting interest to engage,
And quickly cease to turn the farther page,-
It were a shameful thing if I should grieve.
For if kind Destiny has chosen to give
To other minds, in many a clime and age,
Days brighter than my hours, should I repine?
And what if by an over-hasty glance
Some import be not heeded, or, perchance,
Too dim a light upon the pages shine?

Would I be wronged, even though the wealth I own,
And not the less enjoy, were all unknown?

SCORN.

"Which Wisdom holds unlawful ever."

If on a child of Nature thou bestow
A scornful thought, a grievous punishment
Is thine; for now no longer evident
Are loving looks Nature was wont to show :
Yet alters not her favor toward thee so;—
Not really does she thy scorn resent;
Her heart is too full of divine content
To feel the troubling passions mortals know.
"Tis thou, by harboring unjust disdain
Within thy selfish bosom, who hast marred
The beaming tenderness of her regard.
Thy sympathy with her is less, in vain
Is now each kindly look of hers, each smile
Of favor thou didst oft enjoy erewhile.

OPPORTUNITY.

Has thy pursuit of knowledge been confined
Within a narrow range by penury,

And by the hands' hard toil required of thee?
Oh, sorely tried! But if God had designed
A strong, divinely gifted human mind
Should in the world appear, and grow to be
A graud exemplar of humanity,

Perhaps His wisdom, provident and kind,
Seeking a time and place upon the earth,
Wherein such noble life might grow and bear
Its perfect fruitage, beautiful and rare,
Would choose and foreordain, tried soul, a birth
Like that assigned to thee! Oh, squander not
The opportunity given in thy lot!

PERPETUAL YOUTH.

"And ever beautiful and young remains
Whom the divine ambrosia sustains."

The days of youth! The days of glad life-gain!
How bright in retrospection they appear!
Yet standing in my manhood's stature here,
I ask not Time his fleet hours to refrain.
The joyance of those days may yet remain.
Fly on, swift seasons! Not with grief or fear
I see your speed increase from year to year ;—
The soul may still its buoyant youth retain !
May, if supplied with its celestial food,
Forever keep so young it will not cease
To grow in strength, in stature to increase
Through all its days, whate'er their multitude.
And lo! ambrosia plentifully grows

[goes. On many a field through which thought, culling,

TRIUMPH.

Though hard surroundings, like unsparing foes,
Against thee have prevailed, a victory
May yet be thine, and noble life may be
The trophy which thy triumph will disclose.
The world's great prizes thou must yield to those
Of better fortune! Yield them willingly:
By so much more thy virtue shall be free
From trammels selfish cares on it impose.
Famed, far-off landscapes thou shalt never view:-
Submit the bliss denied thee do not crave;
And thy attentive soul a sight may have
Of the omnipresent Beautiful and True,
So clear, 'twill bring thee nearer to thy God,
Than if thou sought'st His wonders far abroad.

IN UNISON.

May nevermore a selfish wish of mine
Grow to a deed, unless a greater care
For others' welfare in the incitement share.
O Nature, let my purposes combine,
Henceforth, in conscious unison with thine,—
To spread abroad God's gladness, and declare
In living form what is forever fair.
Meekly to labor in thy great design,
Oh, let my little life be given whole!
If so, by action or by suffering,

Joy to my fellow-creatures I may bring,
Or, in the lowly likeness of my soul,
To beautiful creation's countless store
One form of beauty may be added more.

EUTHANASIA.

Seeing our lives by Nature now are led
In an appointed way so tenderly ;
So often lured by Hope's expectancy;
So seldom driven by scourging pain and dread;
And though by destiny still limited
Insuperably, our pleasant paths seem free:-
May we not trust it ever thus shall be?
That when we come the lonely vale to tread,
Leading away into the unknown night,
Our Mother then, kindly persuasive still,
Shall gently temper the reluctant will?
So, haply, we shall feel a strange delight,
Even that dreary way to travel o'er,
And the mysterious realm beyond explore.

"THE GLORY OF THE LORD SHALL ENDURE FOREVER."

The forces that prevail eternally,

And those that seem to quickly vanish hence,
Are emanations from Omnipotence
Of self-conserving, ceaseless energy:
And whatso in the changeless entity
Of God originates, partaketh thence
Of the divine, essential permanence:-
Whatever is because He is, shall be.
Oh, then to strengthen trust, thyself assure,
In every fearful, every doubting mood,
From God came forth the Beautiful and Good;
And as the Eternal Glory shall endure,
They in His changelessness shall still abide
Unwasted, 'mid destruction far and wide.

CONSUMMATION.

"The grand results of Time."

"Twas needful that with life of low degree,
But slowly rising, long the earth should teem
Ere man was born; and still the guiding scheme
Seemed not to rest in full maturity:
For Nature since has so assiduously
Cherished his growth in spirit, it would seem
That lofty human souls, in her esteem,
Are the best trophies of her husbandry.
And now, as if she neared her fiual aim,
She sheds upon them with conspicuous care
Each fruitful influence, that they may bear
Great and pure thoughts and deeds of noble fame;—
As if her crowning joy were to transmute
The sum of Time's results into soul-fruit.

THE TEST OF TRUTH.

If ye have precious truths that yet remain
Unknown to me, oh teach me them! Each way
Into my soul I open wide, that they
May enter straightway, and belief constrain.
But urge not fear of loss nor hope of gain
To rouse my will, and move it to essay
To shape my soul's belief, or tinge one ray
Of Nature's light! All wilful faith must pain
The Genius of true Faith, who asks assent,
Not even to dearest truths, until the hour
Arrives of their belief-compelling power;
In order that the force they will have spent
In wrestling with our unbelief, at length
May be transformed into believing strength.

CLEAR ASSURANCE.

Not as it looks will be thy coming state:
It falsely looms to both thy hopes and fears.
Unwise is he, with prying eye who peers
'Neath the unturned pages of the book of fate.
Yet whether good or evil hours await
Thy coming in the far successive years,
Thou may'st foreknow, by that which now appears.—
It well may daunt thee, or with joy elate.
For in thy heart's affections thou can'st see
What thou becomest as the days go by:
Think not by skilled device to modify
The strict fulfilment of the high decree,
That more and more like the sublime or low
Ideals thou dost cherish, thou shalt grow.

LIVE WHILE YOU LIVE.

A view of present life is all thou hast!
Oblivion's cloud, like a high-reaching wall,
Conceals thy former being, and a pall

Hangs o'er the gate through which thou'lt soon have passed.

Dost chafe, in these close bounds imprisoned fast?
Perhaps thy spirit's memory needs, withal,
Such limits, lest vague dimness should befall
Its records of a life-duration vast;
And artfully thy sight may be confined
While thou art dwelling on this earthly isle,
That its exceeding beauty may, the while,
Infuse itself within thy growing mind,
And fit thee, in some future state sublime,
Haply, to grasp a wider range of time.'

MEMENTO MORI.

Look, soul, how swiftly all things onward tend!
Such universal haste betokens need
In Destiny's design of pressing speed:
Speed thou, stay not until thou reach the end!
Upon the haste of Time there may depend
Some far-off good. Thou child of Time, give heed,
That with a willing heart and ready deed,

To Time's great haste thy dole of speed thou lend!
Though beauteous scenes thy onward steps would

stay,

Press forward toward the Goal that beckons theeThe unimagined possibility

Of all the mighty future to assay!

And when thou drawest near thy hour to die,
Rejoice that one accomplishment is nigh.

Be thou not proud of thy more massive brawn! Nor thon, because within thy brain each thread, Through which the thought-pulsations pass and spread

From cell to cell, has been more tensely drawn! God's forces made you what you are, why then Should you expect the reverence of men?

KINSHIP.

"So light, yet sure, the bond that binds the world." I found beside a meadow brooklet bright, Spring flowers whose tranquil beauty seemed to give Glad auswers as to whence and why we live. With pleased delay I lingered while I might, Because I thought when they were out of sight, No more of joy from them I should receive. But now I know absence cannot bereave Their loveliness of power to give delight, For still my soul with theirs sweet converse holds, Through sense more intimate and blessed than see

ing;

A bond of kindred that includes all being,
Our lives in conscious union now infolds.
And oh, to me it is enough of bliss
To know I am, and that such beauty is.

John White Chadwick.

AMERICAN.

Chadwick was born in 1840 in Marblehead, Mass. He studied at the Exeter, N. H., Academy, and graduated from the Cambridge Divinity School in 1864. He has contributed various papers to Harper's and other magazines, and is the author of a volume of poems, published 1874. He is settled over a Unitarian congregation in Brooklyn, N. Y. As a controversial writer of radical tendencies he is well known.

GIFTS.

"Who maketh thee to differ?"

Brother, my arm is weaker far than thine;
And thou, my brother, in each common view
Of Nature canst discern some beauteous hue
Too delicate to thrill such brain as mine.
And yet, O brothers both, by many a sign
God shows for me as warm love as for you:
With equal care His light and rain and dew
Cherish the sturdy tree and clinging vine.

We are reminded by this sonnet of a remark which the Chevalier Bunsen made at a party where there had been some astonishing experiments in clairvoyance. "But what, then, were our eyes given us for?" asked Bloomfield. "To limit our vision, my lord," Bunsen instantly replied.--E. S.

AULD LANG-SYNE.

It singeth low in every heart,
We hear it each and all,—

A song of those who answer not,
However we may call;

They throng the silence of the breast,
We see them as of yore,—

The kind, the brave, the true, the sweet, Who walk with us no more.

"Tis hard to take the burden up, When these have laid it down;

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