A world which, knowing not the heart

So early tinged with sadness,

Saw not that in its bitter depths

'Twas well nigh wrought to madness.

As from the wind-harp, o'er whose chords
The stormy blast is rushing,
So from thy soul the music burst

By passion stirred to gushing:
Yet, thou, still heeding not the gift
That unto thee was given,

Did'st wake a lyre whose murmurs knew
No echoing tone in Heaven.

And still, with saddened hearts we think
The while, on one possessing
All thy deep wealth of intellect,
And yet unblessed-unblessing:
Turning from hearts that might have loved,
A home that might have kept thee,
Thine was a grave in foreign climes,
Where only strangers wept thee.

And oft is breathed the heart-felt sigh
That thou," the world forgetting,"
Hadst not then turned thy thoughts above,
There thine affection setting-

That thus, when thou believ'st thyself
By all on earth deserted,

In the pure light of Heaven thy dream
Of darkness had departed.

But, by thy grave, still Hope itself
Sheddeth a tear of sorrow;
And, thinking on thy yesterday,

Asks "what is now its morrow?"
Then leaveth all, in trust, to Him
Who, not as man sees, seeth;
And not with man's unyieldingness
The future lot decreeth."

SATAN'S JOKE.

A REVERIE,—BASED ON TRUTH.

SITTING, one night, in Levi's chair

With Eve, so tempting,-fond and fair, The Serpent, to her, sly did say,

"We'll have more sport with human clay!
(And give-down here, a Holiday)."

I know in Fife they hold a Fair-
Or "Lammas Market," yclept, is, there,-
On part of Earth "Auld Scotland," called,
Where Knox-the rogue, so loudly bawled!
And where Saint Andrew's bones are laid,
Beneath a tower Saint Rule hath made,-
Where faithful Beaton lived and died,
And Wishart to the Stake was tied.

This place, for me, has curs'd renown,—
For, though 'tis now a "Tradeless Town,"
'Twas once my richest See on Earth-
And gave the Reformation birth.

For which last deed-I've marked her well,
And wish I had her here in,—well!—
But, let that be-I've done as much,
For, Judas sits in every church.

Her Janus public men I pay,

To make her peak and pine each day,---
She scarce has now one foot of land-
'Twixt them and I 'tis all trepanned.

Her Links were feued out,-bought and sold,-
The Public never saw the gold!—
Were cheaply sold-for Cheap possesses,
While, gaping-brayed the poor Jackasses!

Her Mussel-scalps we threw away—
Although the Fishers well did bray,
I paid yon Limb of Law so well,
We took the mussels-then their shell!

The "Haughs" have gone as cheaply too,
Without a title,-hush!-poo-hoo!-

I'll take care the thick-skulled fools
Shall lose them like their public schools.

Her Alma Mater-once her pride,
Which Wardlaw1 founded, slow hath died,-
At least, she's in Consumption now,
For starving Trade hath pierced her brow.

Her local feeder is a snare

To fatten birds from everywhere,

Which, having picked the wheat from Bell,?
Professors only get the shell.

1 St. Andrews University, the oldest in Scotland, was founded by Bishop Wardlaw in 1410.

2 Dr. Bell meant his Madras College to be a stepping-stone, and local feeder of the University of St. Andrews,-proved by the fact of leaving £100 yearly for Bursaries to enable pupils to go to its University, and these to be natives of the city at least they must be three years previously at his college-and remain the other four years at St. Andrews University-to entitle them to receive the benefit. If local talent, however poor the parents,- -was assisted-as he intended, through the higher branches as a stepping-stone to the University --what a help would it not prove to the United College; and, as the Madras incorporated both the Burgh and Parish schools into it,-and no other school for higher education in the city,-Why do not the professors see the great loss to their University, and injustice to the citizens, by the present system of private tuition, by which the Madras College is turned into a semi-private institution for strangers,-instead of fulfilling the intention of the founder-to assist both the local University, and the inhabitants of his native city? The words of the deed are: "And it is hereby declared, that the trustees hereof for the time being, shall, for ever hereafter apply yearly, and every year, from out of the college funds the sum of one hundred pounds in bursaries, to the students of the United College of St. Salvator's and St. Leonard's aforesaid, that is to say, in one bursary of twenty pounds, two of fifteen pounds each, and five bursaries of ten pounds each, and none of the bursaries shall be received by any person who has not been educated at the Madras College for the space of three years: and that the persons respectively, declared to be entitled to any such bursary as aforesaid, shall continue to receive the same yearly for the space of four years in succession, if he shall, during the whole of that time, prosecute his studies in the said United College." What a feeder might not this noble intention prove, not only to the University, but to the intellectual wealth of the nation, if the splendid Endowment of £50,000, devoted by the founder for a noble purpose, was carried out as he intended. A few pretended gratis tickets to the mere rudimentary branches of Education in a West Room," taught by masters who receive salaries-consequently costing nothing to the trustees, is not fulfilling the kind and good intention of Dr. Bell-and a higher, juster Advocate than shallow Sophistry-and legal Quibble,-shall,-in another sphere than this, to which the founder has gone,-demand an answer,-or, an account of the administration,-at least, if there be such a thing as Faith in rectitude, and in the principles of Christianity and progressive Soul.

Close, chained up,-cabined,-cribbed,-confined-
In cloistered Hall, they chained her Mind-
The Ancient Nurse, who, once so free,

Shook hands with Commerce-from the sea,—
(When-like a village was Dundee).

But, faith I managed that right well
For all the blockhead Knox's skill,-

For, when he pulled my stronghold down,

I swore to damn the cursed Town!

And knew, the blast to make her fade,
Was to destroy her Sea-borne trade,

And make her think that best for Teaching,
Was palsied Quietness, and Preaching!

Instead of wise Commercial Life,-
For busy bees toil not in strife-

The "Tree of Knowledge," Eve, you know
Made Labour flourish long ago!

When Adam at our bidding fell,

And hurled knowledge here-Ah! well-
But, He who knows the heart of Man,
With thrifty Labour framed His plan!——

Not Melancholy's poisoned air
Which floats around a hollow prayer,-
I also made them think that Golf
Was for the slow place quite enough.

And only trade that Study needs-
That Recreation, Wisdom breeds-
That Nature and their ancient Nurse
Deem Trade-of all kinds, quite a curse!

And, to their honour, I must say
They've done my bidding, till this day,
But, now-by Faith-I plainly see
They half suspect me in Dundee!

Their Harbour fain I would destroy-
But how but how?-though 'tis a toy,
And, fit for neither Smack nor Steam-
For modern Commerce quite a dream!

I've kept it back three hundred years-
And there they stand,-the ancient piers,
'Tis hardly fit for fishing boats,
For scarce a coble up it floats-
(But, with it, I amuse the goats!)

A fine old Tidal Harbour 'tis-
Which proves how wise was Regulus,
Who chose it for his best retreat,
And Papacy, her richest seat.

King Robert her Cathedral oped-
Not then Edina with her coped,
But now her Castle's in the sea,
And College hovers o'er Dundee!

But, Eve, some scamps have seen my hand,
And have commenced to clear the sand,
Remove the silt and rocks away
To suit it to the present day.

But, blast their souls-if they do more
I'll make their Engineer an oar,—
Who'll back us much as they can pull,
Although he makes some one a fool!-
(And in my hands a useful tool).

And their Contractor shall be one
In Time-won't finish what's begun,-
But, rather finish at the Law-
Where I his purse-strings often draw.

Instead of narrowing at Cross pier-
Extending out, or bringing near,
For holding back the extra gush,
Where deeper water's sure to rush.—
(Fast hurling with it, sand and slush.)-

I'll make them widen out their gates,
When it will flow like Lammas spates,
And make their vessels jump and tumble

Like souls down here,-see how they jumble!

Aye! where they used to cosy lie

Amongst the mud,-like pigs in stye,

However, 'twill not hurt a raft,

When once it's entered, fore and aft.