Notes On Literature, Science, And Art.

" Nob wi' pride 'a mays tli' hauve o' the poor that it meets , An' orders abeawt same as dogs ; ! Nofc wi' greed that rides by his owcl feither i' th' streets , As he's clompin to wark in his clogs . " Nawl naw ! aw ' ve enoof an ' aw ' vesuinmat to spare ; My heart ivould do reet an' aw'l let it ; My sweetest o' pleasures to leet'n the care

0 thoose at ' n befpt me to get it . " Aw think o' the days when wirn lads , John , together AAlien throstles sung gaily i' th' thurn ; AVhen we swaylfc the lung gorse , or went whimbreying i' th ' Or bar ' -legg'd wi' flaskerfc i' th' burn . [ heather , " There ' s a cottage up yon' afc yo'n liv't in afore , It's be yo'rs an yo'r grondchildt's to th' end ; Yo ' n bin honest an' faithfu *—yo'r owd an' yo'r poor , i An' aw ' st nnre turn my back on a friend . " §

Poetry.

Poetry .

THE RIGHT TO DISDAIN . How shall I gain The right to disdain ? The right to look down AA'itli a saint-like frown Upon sorrow and sin ? How shall I win

The right to scorn My brother forlorn , Or pass him by AVith reproving eye , As much as to say , " Get out of my way . " And taint me not " With the poison spot

" That comes from thy heart , thy face , thy brow " To me , much holier than thou \" A \ ere I far more bright Than the heavenly light , More pure than the snow Where the glaciers grow , And as undefiled as a little child Dead and forgiven

Ancl gone to heaven , I should not gain The right to disdain , Or to stand apart From my brother ' s heart , Or turn my face From a sinner ' s place , Or breathe one word of hate or scorn To the wickedest wretch that ever was born . Bno . CHAS . MACKAY , LL . D

I'M Growing Old.

I'M GROWING OLD .

My clays pass pleasantly away ; My nights are blest iv ifch sweetest sleep ; I feel no symptoms of decay ; I have no cause to mourn nor weep ; My foes are impotent and shy , My friends are neither false nor cold , And yet , of late , I often sigh—I ' m growing old !

My growing talk of olden times , My growing thirst for early news , My growing apathy to rhymes , My growing love of easy shoes , My growing hate of crowds and noise , My growing fear of taking cold-All whisper , in the plainest voice ,

I ' m growing old ! I ' m growing fonder of my staff ; I ' m growing dimmer in the eyes ; I m growing fainter in my laugh ; I ' m growing deeper in my sighs ; I ' m growing careless of my dress ; I ' m growing frugal of my gold ; I ' m growing wise ; I ' m growing—yes—I ' m growing old .

I'M Growing Old.

I see it in my changing taste ; I see it in my changing hair ; I see it in my growing waist ; I see it in my growing heir ; A thousand signs proclaim the truth , As plain as truth was ever told , That , even in my vaunted youth ,

I'm growing old . Ah , me ! my very laurels breathe The tale in my reluctant ears , Ancl every boon the Hours bequeath , But makes me debtor to the Years I E'en Flattery ' s honeyed words declare The secret she ivould fain withhold ,

And tells me in " How young you are ! " I'm growing old ! Thanks for the years!—whose rapid flight My sombre muse too sadly sings ; Thanks for the gleams of golden light Thafc tint the darkness of their wings ; The light that beams from out the sky ,

Those heavenly mansions to unfold AA'here all are blest , and none may sigh " I ' m growing old 1 " The Money King , by J . G . SAXE

A Lament.

A LAMENT .

AVould'st tell thy grief to some , Ancl dost thou mourn that none Are by to hear thy moan ? My child , it matters not ; Better to bear thy lot , In silence and alone . They'd never heed th ing

y weep , They'd mock thee with their chiding , And vex thy breaking heart . ¦ God ' s stars are looking ou thee , Shining calmly , coldly ; . Tliinkest thou they bear a part In thy vain , fond woe ? They have sbone for ever so

On the sons of men below . There is no pity in their spirit eyes Por thee , and for thy wearying cries ; They have looked for ever so On all breaking hearts below . Fold thy hands , and bow thy head , All around us are the dead ;

The dead who in earth are laid , The dead who haye wept and prayed , Breathing out despairing words , And raving as thou dost . TliouTfc be with them afc last , And all thy grief be past ; Thou shalt rest where tho voice of fame

Reacheth no more than the sound of blame ; Thou shalt sleep , and never dream Of all that on earth did seem Dearer than God to thee . Fraser ' s Magazine .

Correspondence.

CORRESPONDENCE .

The Editor h not responsible for the opinions expressed hi / Comspomlensl . PROY . GRAND MASTEE , BERKS AND BUCKS . TO THI ! liUiro . 'l 01 ' THE 1-llKEJtiSOSS MAGAZINE AST ]) MASOXIC MIBKOB . D . EAU SIR AXD BUOOTHH , —Can you your afford a few expressions of condofence on our present bereaved and almost forlorn hope of resuscitation . You will probablrecollect

y that our late Prov . G-. M . held a lodge in 1852 , and after many " trials " he was induced by the M . W . G-JI , bearing the rod ¦ in terrorcm before his eyes , to hold another in December , 1858 , per his Deputy , afc AAlndsor ; in March , 1859 , he did actually hold another in Reading , and in May , 1800 , he " appointed" to hold another in Aylesbury , bufc for some freak or other , after every provision had been made , he