He loved!—the truest, newest lip That ever lover pressed, The queenliest mouth of all the south Long love for him confess’d: Round him his children’s joyousness Rang silverly and shrill; Thrice blessed! save _that_ blessedness Lack’d something—something still! To battle all his spears he led, In streams of winding steel; On breast and head of foeman dead His war-horse set its heel; The jewell’d housings of its flank Swung wet with blood of kings; Yet the rich victory seem’d rank With the blood taint it brings! The splendid passion seized his soul To heal, by statutes sage, The ills that bind our hapless kind. And chafe to crime and rage; And dear the people’s blessing was, The praising of the poor; But evil stronger is than thrones, And hate no laws can cure! He laid aside the sword and pen, And lit the lamp, to wrest From nature’s range the secrets strange, The treasures of her breast; And wisdom deep his guerdon was, And wondrous things he knew; Yet from each vanquish’d mystery Some harder marvel grew! No pause! no respite! no sure ground, To stay the spirit’s quest! In all around not one thing found So good as to be “best;” Not even love proved quite divine; Therefore his search did cease, Lord of all gifts that life can give Save the one sweet gift—Peace! Then came it!—crown, sword, wreath—each lay, An unregarded thing! The funeral sheet from head to feet, Was royal robe to that king! And strange!—Love, learning, statecraft, sway, Look’d always on before, But those pale, happy, lips of clay, Lack’d nothing!—nothing more! GOSSIP. I FEEL impelled to say a word, and it shall be but a word—and so more patiently endured—in defence of that much abused, much maligned thing—gossipry. Johnson, among many other designations, gives for “gossipred,” “spiritual affinity;” a very good definition, and the one I shall adopt; that is, sympathy, the need to give and to receive it; and I must say I know few things more charming than this sympathy in small things, this gossipry between kindly hearts and well filled heads. That light pouring out the thoughts and feelings and observations of the passing hour, which, while it commences with the external, is sure to touch, ever and anon, those deeper springs of thought, and feeling, and action, from which well up pleasant memories, apt thoughts, and pertinent reflections.