In darkened days of strife and fear, When far from home and hold, I do essay my soul to cheer As did wise men of old; When folk do go in doleful guise And are for life afraid, I to the hills will lift mine eyes From whence doth come mine aid. I shall my soul a temple make Where hills stand up on high; Thither my sadness shall I take And comfort there descry; For every good and noble mount This message doth extend-- That evil men must render count And evil days must end. For, sooth, it is a kingly sight To see God's mountain tall That vanquisheth each lesser height As great hearts vanquish small; Stand up, stand up, ye holy hills, As saints and seraphs do, That ye may bear these present ills And lead men safely through. Let high and low repair and go To where great hills endure; Let strong and weak be there to seek Their comfort and their cure; And for all hills in fair array Now thanks and blessings give, And, bearing healthful hearts away, Home go and stoutly live. * * * * * "Classical Master for endurance of war wanted."--_Scotsman_. Humane letters are very sustaining. * * * * * "MARCHING ON! "The council of the Chippewa tribe of North American Indians, by a two to one majority, have accorded the suffrage to their squaws."--_The Vote_. As SHAKSPEARE was on the point of saying, "Suffrage is the badge of all our tribe." * * * * * THE SPOIL-SPORT. ["The Town Clerk of Colwyn Bay informs us that the fish caught there the other day by two youths was a dogfish and not a shark, as reported, and that its size was much overestimated."--_Manchester Guardian_.] O gallant youths of Colwyn Bay, With what unmitigated rapture Did I peruse but yesterday The story of your famous capture! Alone ye did it, or at least 'Twas next to being single-handed; No other helped to catch the beast, No strength but yours the monster landed. But now comes in the cold Town Clerk, Who has meticulously stated It was a dogfish--not a shark-- In size much overestimated. So ye intrepid striplings, who Made all your school-fellows feel humble, Are mulcted of your honours due By an officious Cambrian Bumble. But, though your generous hearts be sore, Take comfort: all the true patricians Of intellect have been at war With frigid, rigid statisticians. I too have suffered from the rule Of sceptics, icily pedantic, Who blighted, ere I went to school, My dreams when they were most romantic. For once, when swinging on a gate, With hands that doubtless daubed it jammily, I saw a lion, sure as fate, And fled indoors to tell the family.