JOHN STERLING was born in Kaimes Castle, Isle of Bute, July 20, 1806. He graduated at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he was noted as a debater. Among his intimates there, who afterward became celebrated, were Richard Chenevix Trench, Frederick D. Maurice, and Richard Monckton Milnes. For a short time, about 1828, Sterling and Maurice were editors and proprietors of the London Athenæum. Sterling wrote a novel entitled " Arthur Coningsby," which was published in 1833. In 1830 he married, and with his wife went to the West Indies, where they remained over a year on a sugar plantation. Returning to England, he took orders and became curate of Hurstmonceaux, Sussex, of which parish J. C. Hare was rector. But in less than a year ill-health obliged him

to leave the ministry, and he went to London and devoted himself to literature. He subsequently travelled in France and Italy, and spent some time in Madeira, and finally settled at Falmouth.

In 1839 he published a volume of short poems, in 1841 a long poem entitled "The Election," and in 1843 "Strafford," a drama. In the lastnamed year he removed to the Isle of Wight, where he began a poem entitled "Cœur de Lion," which he left unfinished. He died at Ventnor, Isle of Wight, on September 18, 1844. A collection of his essays and tales, contributed to periodicals, was published in two volumes in 1848. In 1851 twelve of his letters were published, and in the same year appeared Carlyle's "Life of Sterling."

THE SPICE-TREE.

THE Spice-Tree lives in the garden green;
Beside it the fountain flows;
And a fair bird sits the boughs between,
And sings his melodious woes.

No greener garden e'er was known
Within the bounds of an earthly king;
No lovelier skies have ever shone

Than those that illumine its constant spring.

That coil-bound stem has branches three;
On each a thousand blossoms grow;
And, old as aught of time can be,

The root stands fast in the rocks below.

In the spicy shade ne'er seems to tire
The fount that builds a silvery dome;
And flakes of purple and ruby fire
Gush out, and sparkle amid the foam.

The fair white bird of flaming crest,
And azure wings bedropped with gold,
Ne'er has he known a pause of rest,
But sings the lament that he framed of old:

"O Princess bright! how long the night
Since thou art sunk in the waters clear!
How sadly they flow from the depth below-
How long must I sing and thou wilt not hear?

"The waters play, and the flowers are gay,
And the skies are sunny above;
VOL. III.-17

THE ROSE AND THE GAUNTLET.

Low spake the knight to the peasant-girl:
"I tell thee sooth, I am belted earl;
Fly with me from this garden small,
And thou shalt sit in my castle's hall; '

"Thou shalt have pomp, and wealth, and pleas

ure,

Joys beyond thy fancy's measure;

Here with my sword and horse I stand,

To bear thee away to my distant land.

"Take, thou fairest! this full-blown rose,
A token of love that as ripely blows."
With his glove of steel he plucked the token,
But it fell from his gauntlet crushed and broken.

The maiden exclaimed: "Thou seest, Sir Knight,
Thy fingers of iron can only smite;

And, like the rose thou hast torn and scattered, I in thy grasp should be wrecked and shattered."

She trembled and blushed, and her glances fell; But she turned from the knight, and said, "Farewell!"

"Not so," he cried, "will I lose my prize;
I heed not thy words, but I read thine eyes."

He lifted her up in his grasp of steel,
And he mounted and spurred with furious heel;
But her cry drew forth her hoary sire,
Who snatched his bow from above the fire.

Swift from the valley the warrior fled,
Swifter the bolt of the cross-bow sped;
And the weight that pressed on the fleet-foot

horse

Was the living man, and the woman's corse!

That morning the rose was bright of hue;
That morning the maiden was fair to view;
But the evening sun its beauty shed

On the withered leaves, and the maiden dead. •

TO A CHILD.

DEAR Child! whom sleep can hardly tame,
As live and beautiful as flame,
Thou glancest round my graver hours
As if thy crown of wild-wood flowers
Were not by mortal forehead worn,
But on the summer breeze were borne,
Or on a mountain streamlet's waves
Came glistening down from dreamy caves.

With bright round cheek, amid whose glow
Delight and wonder come and go;
And eyes whose inward meanings play,
Congenial with the light of day;

And brow so calm, a home for Thought
Before he knows his dwelling wrought;
Though wise indeed thou seemest not,
Thou brightenest well the wise man's lot.

That shout proclaims the undoubting mind;
That laughter leaves no ache behind;

And in thy look and dance of glee,
Unforced, unthought of, simply free,
How weak the schoolman's formal art
Thy soul and body's bliss to part!
I hail thee Childhood's very Lord,
In gaze and glance, in voice and word.

In spite of all foreboding fear,
A thing thou art of present cheer;
And thus to be beloved and known,
As is a rushy fountain's tone,

As is the forest's leafy shade,

Or blackbird's hidden serenade.

Thou art a flash that lights the whole

A gush from Nature's vernal soul.

And yet, dear child! within thee lives
A power that deeper feeling gives,
That makes thee more than light or air,
Than all things sweet and all things fair;
And sweet and fair as aught may be,
Diviner life belongs to thee,
For 'mid thine aimless joys began
The perfect heart and will of Man.

Thus what thou art foreshows to me
How greater far thou soon shalt be;
And while amid thy garlands blow
The winds that warbling come and go,
Ever within, not loud but clear,
Prophetic murmur fills the ear,
And says that every human birth
Anew discloses God to earth.

259

Above the goodly land, more his than ours,
He sits supreme, enthroned in skyey towers;
And sees the heroic brood of his creation
Teach larger life to his ennobled nation.
O shaping brain! O flashing fancy's hues!
O boundless heart, kept fresh by pity's dews!
O wit humane and blithe! O sense sublime!
For each dim oracle of mantled time!

Transcendent form of man! in whom we read Mankind's whole tale of impulse, thought, and deed!

Amid the expanse of years, beholding thee,
We know how vast our world of life may be;
Wherein, perchance, with aims as pure as thine,
Small tasks and strengths may be no less divine.

THE TWO OCEANS.

Two seas, amid the night,

In the moonshine roll and sparkleNow spread in the silver light,

Now sadden, and wail, and darkle: The one has a billowy motion,

And from land to land it gleams; The other is sleep's wide ocean,

And its glimmering waves are dreams: The one, with murmur and roar,

Bears fleets around coast and islet;

The other, without a shore,

Ne'er knew the track of a pilot.

ON A BEAUTIFUL DAY.

O UNSEEN Spirit! now a calm divine
Comes forth from thee, rejoicing earth and
air!

Trees, hills, and houses, all distinctly shine,
And thy great ocean slumbers everywhere.

The mountain-ridge against the purple sky Stands clear and strong, with darkened rocks and dells,

And cloudless brightness opens wide and high A home aërial, where thy presence dwells.

The chime of bells remote, the murmuring sea, The song of birds in whispering copse and wood,

The distant voice of children's thoughtless glee, And maiden's song, are all one voice of good.

Amid the leaves' green mass a sunny play

Of flash and shadow stirs like inward life; The ship's white sail glides onward far away, Unhaunted by a dream of storm or strife.

THE HUSBANDMAN.

EARTH, of man the bounteous mother, Feeds him still with corn and wine; He who best would aid a brother Shares with him these gifts divine.

Many a power within her bosom,

Noiseless, hidden, works beneath; Hence are seed and leaf and blossom, Golden ear, and clustered wreath.

These to swell with strength and beauty
Is the royal task of man;
Man's a king; his throne is duty,

Since his work on earth began.

Bud and harvest, bloom and vintageThese, like man, are fruits of earth; Stamped in clay, a heavenly mintage, All from dust receive their birth.

Barn and mill, and wine-vat's treasures, Earthly goods for earthly livesThese are Nature's ancient pleasures, These her child from her derives.

What the dream but vain rebelling,

If from earth we sought to flee? 'Tis our stored and ample dwelling; 'Tis from it the skies we see.

Wind and frost, and hour and season,
Land and water, sun and shade,
Work with these, as bids thy reason,
For they work thy toil to aid.

Sow thy seed and reap in gladness!
Man himself is all a seed;
Hope and hardship, joy and sadness,
Slow the plant to ripeness lead.

CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN was born in London in 1808. She is the daughter of Thomas and the granddaughter of Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Her father died when she was a child, and her mother superintended her education, which was unusually wide. In 1827 she was married to Hon. George Chappel Norton, who had asked for her hand three years before. Meanwhile an accepted lover had died. She bore her husband three sons. But after a few years some baseless scandal connecting her with Lord Melbourne, whom she first met in 1831, led to a suit brought by Mr. Norton against Melbourne. The result was a triumphant verdict, on the part of the public as well

"Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around,

To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard-ground,

That we fought the battle bravely, and when the| day was done,

Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun;

And, 'mid the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars—

The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars;

And some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn decline

And one had come from Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine.

as the jury, for the defendant. Mrs. Norton and her husband have not since lived together. She is said to have been as beautiful as she is accomplished. She began writing verses in childhood, but was not encouraged by her mother. It is said that with her sister, who married Hon. Price Blackwood, she produced two little books of pictures and verses when they were twelve years of age. Mrs. Norton has published several novels, besides her successive volumes of poetry. Her most popular poem is "Bingen on the Rhine." "The King of Denmark's Ride" has been a favorite with dramatic readers, and "The Arab to his Steed" with schoolboys. "We have been Friends together" is popular as a song.

"There's another-not a sister; in the happy days gone by

You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye;