And to the music of the rolling spheres
Intelligently listened; and gazed far back
Into the awful depths of Deity;

Did all that mind assisted most could do;
And yet in misery lived, in misery died,
Because he wanted holiness of heart.

A deeper lesson this to mortals taught,
And nearer cut the branches of their pride:
That not in mental, but in moral worth,
God excellence placed, and only to the good,
To virtue, granted happiness alone.

Alaric Alexander Watts.

Born 1799.

BORN in London, 19th March 1799. He was for some time a tutor in a family in Manchester, and during his residence there he published, in 1822, "Poetic Sketches." He afterwards became editor of a Leeds paper, and since then he has been a busy labourer in the literary field. In 1850 he published his most perfect poems, Lyrics of the Heart." In 1853 he was presented by Government with a pension of £100 a-year, which he still enjoys.

TEN YEARS AGO.

I TOO am changed-I scarce know why—
Can feel each flagging pulse decay;
And youth and health, and visions high,
Melt like a wreath of snow away;

Time cannot sure have wrought the ill;

Though worn in this world's sickening strife,
In soul and form, I linger still

In the first summer month of life;

Yet journey on my path below,
Oh! how unlike-ten years ago!

But look not thus: I would not give

The wreck of hopes that thou must share,

To bid those joyous hours revive,

When all around me seemed so fair.
We've wandered on in sunny weather,

When winds were low, and flowers in bloom,

And hand in hand have kept together,

And still will keep, 'mid storm and gloom;

Endeared by ties we could not know
When life was young-ten years ago!

Has Fortune frowned? Her frowns were vain,
For hearts like ours she could not chill;
Have friends proved false! Their love might wane,
But ours grew fonder, firmer still.
Twin barks on this world's changing wave,
Steadfast in calms, in tempests tried;
In concert still our fate we'll brave,
Together cleave life's fitful tide;

Nor mourn, whatever winds may blow,
Youth's first wild dreams-ten years ago!

Lord Macaulay.

{

Born 1800.

Died 1859.

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY was born at Rothley Temple, Leicestershire, on 25th October 1800. His father was Zachary Macaulay, son of a Scotch minister, from the Isle of Lewis. Thomas was educated at Cambridge, where he gained two medals for prize poems. In 1825 appeared in the "Edinburgh Review" his article on Milton, which attracted universal notice; it was the first of that long series of brilliant papers which were the earlier basis of his fame. He studied for the English bar, into which he was admitted in 1826. In 1830 Macaulay was returned as Whig member for Calne, and was a prominent supporter of Reform. In 1834 he went to India as a member of the Supreme Council of Calcutta. Returning to England with a fortune, he re-entered political life as Secretary at War in 1839. In 1840, he was returned as M.P. for the city of Edinburgh, which he represented till 1847, when he lost his election. He declined to re-enter Parliament for any other place, and devoted his leisure to the composition of the well known "Lays of Ancient Rome," published in 1842, and of the "History of England," which met with a reception equal to Gibbon's immortal work. Honours were heaped upon him. He was elected rector of Glasgow University in 1849. In 1850 he was appointed Professor of Ancient History in the Royal Academy. In 1852 he was re-elected M.P. for the city of Edinburgh without canvass of any kind. In 1853 he received the Prussian Order of Merit; and in 1857 he was raised to the peerage as Baron Macaulay of Rothley. His health seems to have been injured by the confinement attending his literary labours, and he died on 20th December 1859.

FROM "THE LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME."

THEN out spake brave Horatius,

The captain of the gate;

'To every man upon this earth

Death cometh soon or late.

And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods;

'And for the tender mother
Who dandled him to rest,
And for the wife who nurses
His baby at her breast;
And for the holy maidens
Who feed the eternal flame,
To save them from false Sextus,
That wrought the deed of shame?
'Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in play.
In yon straight path a thousand
May well be stopped by three.
Now, who will stand on either hand,
And keep the bridge with me?'

Then out spake Spurius Lartius;
A Ramnian proud was he:
'Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And keep the bridge with thee.'
And out spake strong Herminius ;
Of Titian blood was he:

'I will abide on thy left side,

And keep the bridge with thee.'

'Horatius,' quoth the Consul, 'As thou say'st, so let it be.' And straight against that great array Forth went the dauntless three. For Romans in Rome's quarrel

Spared neither land nor gold, Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, In the brave days of old.

Then none was for a party;

Then all were for the state;

Then the great men helped the poor,

And the poor man loved the great;

Then lands were fairly portioned;
Then spoils were fairly sold;
The Romans were like brothers
In the brave days of old.

Now Roman is to Roman
More hateful than a foe,
And the tribunes beard the high
And the fathers grind the low.

As we wax hot in faction,

In battle we wax cold:
Wherefore men fight not as they fought
In the brave days of old.

Letitia Elizabeth Landon.

Born 1802.

Died 1838.

THIS accomplished lady, best known by her literary signature of L. E. L., was born at Chelsea in 1802. Her father was in comfortable circumstances. At a very early age she contributed to the Magazines and Annuals; and so great was her reputation, that rival publishers vied with each other to secure her productions. She was also the author of several prose fictions. In June 1838 she married George Maclean, governor of Cape Coast Castle, and shortly afterwards proceeded there with him. She resumed her literary labours; but, it is supposed by an overdose of a powerful medicine, taken for relief of spasms in the stomach, she was found dead in her room, October 16, 1838.

THE POLE STAR.

A STAR has left the kindling sky

A lovely northern light;

How many planets are on high,
But that has left the night.

I miss its bright familiar face,
It was a friend to me;
Associate with my native place,
And those beyond the sea.

It rose upon our English sky,

Shone o'er our English land,

And brought back many a loving eye,
And many a gentle hand.

It seemed to answer to my thought,
It called the past to mind,

And with its welcome presence brought
All I had left behind.

Thou lovely polar star, mine eyes,
Still turned the first on thee,
Till I have felt a sad surprise,
That none looked up with me.

But thou hast sunk upon the wave,
Thy radiant place unknown;
I seem to stand beside a grave,
And stand by it alone.

Farewell! ah, would to me were given
A power upon thy light!

What words upon our English heaven
Thy loving rays should write!

Kind messages of love and hope
Upon thy rays should be ;
Thy shining orbit should have scope

Scarcely enough for me.

Oh, fancy vain, as it is fond,

And little needed too :

My friends! I need not look beyond
My heart to look for you.

Thomas Aird.

Born 1802.

BORN at Bowden, in Roxburghshire, 28th August 1802. He received a university education. In 1835 he was appointed editor of the "Dumfries Herald," which is most successful under his able management. His works evince a considerable amount of poetical talent.

THE SWALLOW.

THE swallow, bonny birdie, comes sharp twittering o'er the sea,

And gladly is her carol heard for the sunny days to be;

She shares not with us wintry glooms, but yet, no faithless

thing,

She hunts the summer o'er the earth with wearied little wing.