A more enduring name.
But he is gone, the gentle, loyal, just,
Whence all these things fall earthward with the dust
Of fleeting earthly fame.

Gone from our hoard, gone from the home he loved!
With what compassion are his comrades moved
For those who sit alone
With memories of him! Gracious memories all!
A thought to lighten, like that flower, his pall,
And hush love's troubled moan.

Farewell, fine spirit! To be owned thy friend
Was something to illume the unwelcome end
Of comradeship below.
A loving memory long our board will grace,
In fancy, with that sweet ascetic face.
That brow's benignant glow.

* * * * *

RHYME AT RHYL.

(_BY A LISTENING LAYMAN._)

If Cleric Congresses could only care
A little less for the mere Church and Steeple,
Parochial pomp and power in lion's share,
And have one aim--to purify the People,
They need not shrink from Disestablishment,