While the winds of Winter rave.

"When we meet," the words are ringing
Clear as when they left her lips,
Clear as when her faith upspringing
Fronted life and life's eclipse--
Rest, dear heart, dear hands, dear feet,
Rest; in spite of Death's endeavour,
Thou art mine; we soon shall meet,
Ocean, Death be passed for ever.
Thus I linger by the grave,
Cherishing the hope she gave.

JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD, M.A.

(Author of "Last Year's Leaves.")




LONGEVITY.

BY W.F. AINSWORTH, F.S.A.


Disdain of the inevitable end is said to be the finest trait of mankind.
Some profess to be weary of life, of its pains and penalties, its
anxieties and sufferings, and to look upon death as a relief. Such
states of mind are not real; they are either assumed or affected. No one
can really hold the unsparing leveller--dreaded of all--in contempt. As