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prisoned for nine months in Dublin, afterward edited the "Irishman," and in October, 1849, being implicated in an insurrectionary movement in Tipperary, fled to America. He was for three years connected with the New Orleans "Delta," and died in that city in May, 1857.

Ode on the Centenary of Burns. Page 229. Miss CRAIG'S ode, which bore off the prize, offered by the directors of the Crystal Palace Company, from more than six hundred competitors, is one of the few prize poems which have possessed any poetical merit.

The Old Canoe. Page 247. All efforts to discover the authorship of this popular poem have been unavailing. It has been attributed to Albert Pike, but he disclaims it.

Revelry in India. Page 256. These lines are said to have been sung by a company of British officers stationed at a frontier post in India during a pestilence. It is also said that the author of them was the next victim.

The Countersign. Page 264. Concerning the authorship of "The Countersign," we only know that it was written by a private in Company G of Stuart's Engineers, at Camp Lesley, near Washington, during the first year of the Rebellion. It seems too good to have been a first poem ; but it is to be feared that the chances of war made it the last, as it has never been claimed.

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Sherman's March to the Sea. Page 265. Adjutant BYERS, Fifth Iowa Infantry, wrote this song while a prisoner at Columbia, S. C. General Sherman, to whom a copy of the lines was handed when he arrived at that place, so admired them that he sent for the author and attached him to his staff.

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A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun
Afar in the desert I love to ride

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"All quiet along the Potomac," they say

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Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight .
Behold this ruin! 'T is a skull

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Busk

ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride

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By Nebo's lonely mountain

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Come a little nearer, Doctor,—thank you!—let me take

the cup

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Come see the Dolphin's anchor forged; 't is at a white

heat now

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Come to me, darling, I 'm lonely without thee

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Dark lowers the night o'er the wide stormy main

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Did you hear of the Widow Malone

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England's sun was slowly setting, o'er the hills so far

away

Fair stood the wind for France

Far in a wild, unknown to public view

From the quickened womb of the primal gloom

Goe, soule, the bodie's guest

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!
Happy insect! ever blest

Happy the man who, void of cares and strife

Harness me down with your iron bands

Her suffering ended with the day.

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How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood 115

Ho! why dost thou shiver and shake

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I asked an aged man, with hoary hairs

I can not eat but little meat

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I fill this cup to one made up

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I gaed to spend a week in Fife

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I have a son, a little son, a boy just five years old

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I weigh not fortune's frown or smile

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I wish I were where Helen lies

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I would not live alway, I ask not to stay

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My prime of youth is but a frost of care

Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew

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On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billow.

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Only a baby small

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Only waiting till the shadows

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O say can you see, by the dawn's early light.

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