Until again in woodland haunts I ramble

With bare, brown feet, and heart untouched with care;

Or gather tribute from each grape and bramble,
As songful as the mock-bird singing there.

Until, alas! the feeble embers dying,

The pleasing phantoms vanish from my sight; And naught is heard save tearful, sad winds, sighing,

And in my thoughts creep shadows of the night.

But while, to-night, within those shadows sitting,
Deep melancholic gloom enshrouding me,
There came a night-robed, blue-eyed angel flitting,
And, all unbidden, perched upon my knee.

Her baby arms around my neck were stealing,
Her silken curls across my face were drawn;
When in my heart there came a restful feeling,
And all the shadows from my thoughts were gone.

SIGNS OF AUTUMN.

THE Sumach leaves begin to show
A touch of that rich crimson glow
That Autumn days will bring;
While from the tree-tops, by the way,
A ringing chorus all the day

The clanning blackbirds sing.

The blue-jay, silent all the days
Whilst songsters sang their roundelays,
Is now a common scold,—
The feathered tattler of the wood,
The cynic of the neighborhood,
With language harsh and bold.

The spiders spin their silken strands O'er fallowed fields and stubble-lands

That now are bare and brown; While, floating in the dreamy air Like flakes of silver, here and there Are gleaming thistle-down.

The waving plumes of golden-rods,
The bursting, browning milkweed pods,
The curling hazel husk,

All tell the story, o'er and o'er,
What has been hinted at before,

By katydids at dusk.

WILLIAM ADOLPHUS CLARK.

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WILLIAM ADOLPHUS CLARK was born in

New Orleans, and is a son of the late John Clark, who was president of the Equitable Safety Insurance Company, Boston. His ancestors were Englishmen, who settled at an early period in New England. His mother was a Noble-great-granddaughter of Colonel Arthur Noble, who was at the capture of Louisburgh, and, with his brother, Ensign Francis Noble, fell at the battle of Menas, now Halifax, gallantly fighting the combined French and Indian forces, which had surprised their camp. The Nobles received a large grant of land from England, and the town of Nobleboro, Maine, was named in their honor.

William Adolphus Clark was educated in the counting house of the late Benjamin Bangs, one of Boston's merchant princes, trading largely with Chili and Peru. At the age of eighteen he went as supercargo's clerk to Manilla and China. At the age of twenty he was established in New Orleans as a commission merchant, and, not long after, became associated with William I. Dewey, late of the prominent firm of Andrews & Dewey. In the year 1850 he went to San Francisco, and later was burned out in the great fire which consumed the city. Ruined, financially, he went to the Sierra Nevadas, and engaged in mining operations in and about Sonora and Shaw's Flat. From the Sierras he passed to Mexico and Central America. Worn out by many hard experiences, and a rough life not at all to his taste, he was summoned home at the request of a dying mother, to be with her during her last hours. Instead of returning to California, he went to the study of law, at Cambridge, Mass. A year at the Dane Law School so aggravated a nervous dyspepsia, which he had for some time suffered from, he was obliged to give up study. It was while in Cambridge he began his work of "The Learned World," which work embraced in its plan a versification of the circle of the sciences in their leading fundamental principles. His works published have been numerous, the two latest being "The Lost Love, and Other Poems," and "Intellectual People." His writings have been largely satirical. They have not made him rich, yet he does not complain. Mr. Clark at present resides in Dorchester (Boston), Mass. H. M.

THE STARS ABOVE AND BELOW.

YE Stars! which are the poetry of heaven! Bespangling all the arched and boundless sky;

The human vision by Omniscience given,
To charm the soul with ceaseless ecstasy!
What true delight to watch thy silent power,
And think upon the order ever thine,—
All glorious orbs! that move through every hour
To law obedient, so august, divine!
Since first within far-reaching space were set
The bounds in which thy varied courses lie,
Thou'st not departed from these limits yet,

But with all laws are ready to comply;
While but confusion on the Earth has reigned,
Where man was placed a ruler of mankind,
Who hath from Wisdom far too little gained,
To Error prone through vanity of mind!

Could he but govern with a wit as clear

As shine the planets through their depths of blue, Not oft would flow from his mistake the tear,

But would be done what God would have him do; In knowledge he would find the key to bliss, In Christ the spirit of the wish to know; Then every being guided well in this,

Would bright as stars light up each other's brow!

Then human spheres in sweet accord would be,
As are the circles which pervade the sky;
And man thus influenced, sacred Truth by thee,
The pure in heart would live, and so would die!
His moral sense, should he obey its law,

Would waft him rightly on his orbit's way;
The rich would bless with generous care the poor,
And all below as stars would course their way!

Reflecting from each life a charming light,

More pleasing to the eye than Venus' rays; And all the Constellations, which to-night Imparts a lustre we delight to praise; Could perfect order joined with perfect love,

Inspire the will these charms to make its own, Then would the Passions true to Virtue move, And Right triumphant make of Earth her throne! In Virtue would be seen the way to bliss,

In Love, the motive of the wish to know;

Then every being guided well in this,

Would cheer each other's hearts, as stars below!

Rock of Ages! firmly set,

Against which evil beats in vain! Not lost an atom of thee, yet

Thy fair proportions still the same! The infidel doth smite thee hard; Malicious his audacious blows; Yet, have they not thy grandeur marredStill shines thy crest 'bove Asia's snows!

Oh, that I were as firm as thou!
Unshaken by the powers of earth,
Whom hurricanes shall never bow,
Majestic in thy simple truth!
When stricken by the force of sin,
Which comes to others, as to me,
Rock of Ages! take us in,

That we may hide ourselves in Thee!

THE COQUETTE.

WHEN first I thought to find in you

A warm and loving mind,

I feared my days would be but few,
Nor looked for aught unkind.
Yet I have lived to curse the day
I passed beyond your door,
For I have found you coldest clay,
Nor prize you as before.

Your wealth, your smiles are naught to me,
While 'neath them ever lies

That heartlessness which all may see;
That meanness I despise.
Ah, you

have proved to be no more The influence I crave,

Than poverty can bless the poor,
Or cowardice the brave.

If I have strayed away from thee
In search of happy love,
Cast not the blame alone on me,
But less thyself approve.
Hereafter I shall be no more

About thy heartless home,
But other things than thee adore,
As through the world I roam.

ROCK OF AGES.

Rock of Ages! who shall dare

To move thee from thy mystic bed?

Or blemish by a want of care

One beauty clustering round thy head? To thee we cling in storm and calm, To save us from the death of sin; Near thee we have no fear of harm

Through thee our cause is sure to win.

FAITH.

What need we more than He has taught is right? What need we more than He has given of light? "Thy neighbor love, be simple, pure and just, Have faith in Me and in My wisdom trust."

-Spiritualism.

JOHN

JOHN FULLERTON.

IN FULLERTON, one of the most uniformly pleasing and tasteful of living Scottish poets, was born in the village of Woodside, near Aberdeen, Sept. 11, 1836. His parents, although in humble circumstances, were highly respectable and much esteemed among the villagers; the father being one of those mechanical geniuses who quietly-perhaps too quietly for themselves-did his work both of inventing and perfecting not a few useful agricultural implements in his day; the mother, amidst the daily cares of a large family consisting of eight sons and two daughters-of which our poet was the first-born son-finding time to read with interest and profit whatever books of history, travel, poetry or fiction she could lay hands on, and besides being a sweet singer of those olden ballads which some sixty years ago were sung or rehearsed at almost every Scottish fireside. In his tenth year, he voluntarily left school, finding employment as a "twister" in a local cotton mill. Afterwards we find him working as a "heckler" in an Aberdeen flax mill, during which period, actuated by the awakening spirit of genius, he regularly attended an evening school in his native village of Woodside. Here he seems to have made considerable progress in the study of English composition, as shortly afterwards he succeeded in carrying off the prize in that department, as a student in the Mechanics' Institution, Aberdeen. Since these early days, Mr. Fullerton's career has been a busy and full-handed one, showing a distinct upward rise, a superior capacity for work, and a most admirable application of talent and character throughout. For upwards of twenty years our poet occupied a responsible position in a solicitor's office in Peterhead, and at the present time is Assistant Factor on the extensive and beautiful estates of Pitfour, Aberdeenshire, the duties of which he will, I am sure, discharge with sympathetic kindliness and good judgment, as well as faithfulness to his employer.

For many years back, Mr. Fullerton, under the pen names of "Wild Rose," "Robin Goodfellow," and "Rip Van Winkle," has been a fertile and acceptable contributor, both in prose and verse, to the local newspapers and literary press. To quite a number of London and Scottish magazines and periodicals he has also contributed, from year to year, numerous fine poems and literary biographs. Much and well as he has written, Mr. Fullerton has not yet issued his poems in book form. In 1870, however, he issued, anonymously, an interesting little poetical legend in pamphlet form, under

173

The

the title of "The Ghaist o' Dennilair." clever little booklet very soon ran into a second edition. Mr. Fullerton wrote early and well, like all poets to the manor born, and a strong proof of the excellent quality of his poetical genius is afforded by the gratifying fact that his muse wears well, and he writes in his maturity even better than he did in the promising years of his youth. To the columns of the Christian Leader, the best conducted religious periodical in Scotland, Mr. Fullerton has contributed numerous beautiful verses, showing many admirable traits and touches of fancy, feeling, and just taste. As a prose writer he also shows well, not a few of his sketches, slight in bulk as they are, displaying somewhat of the special function and selective instincts of the literary critic. Personally, Mr. Fullerton is a most trustworthy and lovable man. His literary industry is ceaseless, and his love of his country's literature deep and warm. A man of fine character, firm in friendship, and possessed of many beautiful native gifts, he is much and widely esteemed. Not a few of his poems and lyrics are certain to take a permanent place in the literature of his beloved Scotland A. G. M

0! FARROCHMO!

O, FARROCHMO! mists shroud your brow through all the coming years,

For where he lies your heather bloom is bathed with blood and tears;

And o'er your summit wild birds scream as swift they wing their flight

Away from that dark spot where sat the watchers all that night.

O, rivers twain! flow sad to-day around those gray old towers,

And tell your sorrow as ye flow to winds and wood and flowers;

On yonder green hillside afar, and 'neath the moon's cold ray

The life's blood of a noble heart is ebbing fast away.

O night winds! dally with his locks in clusters o'er his brow,

And kiss those cheeks and pallid lips, so still and ice-cold now.

And then go sighing down the glens and round the gray old towers

A requiem for the brave young heart asleep in life's bright hours.