Battered and forged by poverty, his iron spirit rose, Unbroken and undaunted by the world's derisive blows, Spurred on by opposition, through the sharp furnace leapt, Strengthened and sharpened--a great power--this king of railroads stept.

His life work in his vast results will long outlive the fame Of warrior, statesman, ruler, bard, and make his honoured name An inspiration for all time to prove what can be done By observation, force and skill--what deathless laurels won!

Take courage, sons of hardy toil, your iron spirits, too, By stern, unflinching industry, may some wise forging do, Which might yourselves enn.o.ble, and benefit your race, Who would in turn, with grat.i.tude, your names delight to trace.

He sailed a trackless, unknown sea in the vast realms of thought, Discovered paths to enterprise, with golden issues fraught, Which lent fair commerce fleetest wings, and spurred the heels of trade, And throughout Britain's pleasant land his iron highways laid.

Something there is in lives like these that stirs the soul of man, With irresistible desire to do the best he can; Like him, through dauntless industry, and n.o.ble, firm resolve, To aid life's wheel of progress more smoothly to revolve.

Thus may his grand career inspire the mult.i.tude to-day, Throughout the nation he has dowered all homage due to pay To the majestic mind and will of him, whose honoured name The British nation shrines anew, on the world's proud scroll of fame.

SPRINGBANK.

Dreaming before the cheerful fire, Cushioned in easy chair, Methought a troupe of fairies bright, So blithe and debonair, Trooped gaily in the dim lit hall, With buzz of tempered joy.

Four little fairy maiden forms Led by a merry boy, In robe of ermine, crown of gold, Dove-eyed Dora as Britain's Queen, Whose brown hair sprayed o'er shoulders fair, And wee feet peeped from satin sheen.

Clad in America's proud flag, Comes Liz with eyes of blue, Personifying with rare grace, Columbia's G.o.ddess true.

The two right heartily shake hands, By which 'tis understood That they were pledged, come weal, come woe, To dwell in brotherhood.

From the a.s.sembled groups around They hearty plaudits won, All feeling sure these nations could Brave the whole world as one.

Then as the prince of Eastern lore With mirthful mischief rife, Comes Harry pressed by love to kiss The princess back to life; The eyes soon ope beneath his touch; The maids in glad surprise See the prince break the fairy spell, And claim his willing prize.

Little Red Ridinghood comes next, Crying in sad despair: O grandma, what long teeth you've got!

What eyes! what s.h.a.ggy hair!

In this case happily the wolf Ne'er moved or spake a word; Perhaps he was too much ashamed To have his gruff voice heard.

Then to my wondering gaze appeared Old goody in her shoe, With all her numerous tribe that made Her not know what to do.

And next a lovely belle who caught All hearts as in a cage, And bearing up her graceful train A quite bewitching page.

Then the scene changed and nothing but A barrel, labelled "flour,"

Appeared upon the mimic stage In that glad evening hour; When lo! from out the wooden tub A beauteous little sprite, Emerging kissed her tiny hands, The household _flower_ that night.

Then 'round a caldron on a grate To spoil the broth appeared, Five little dainty fairy cooks Whom _tout le monde_ now cheered.

Next came the awful family squalls, Which Granny vainly tried To stay with Winslow's stuff for which Full many a babe has cried; The stuff and rod were all in vain, The squallers loudly bawled; Granny, despairing, shrieked aloud, And all in chorus squalled.

And now "the reign of terror" dire Was pictured by them all, Nestling most trustingly beneath An umbrella tall.

And still once more the scene was changed.

The fairy sprites so bright, In robes _de nuit_ with tapers lit, All sweetly sang "good night."

Good night, I cried; why, how is this; Things are then what they seem, And these sweet picture-paintings here Have not been all a dream?

For there's our doctor's pleasant smile, There the kind brothers Gale, And there the little happy group Who tableaw'd each sweet tale.

There Arnold as a southern belle, Who'd made much fun to-night, There all the guests of Springbank too, Applauding with their might.

Better than fiction, I exclaimed, And crowning all the rest Glad charity the prceeds had, Making the pastime blest, Thanks to ye, little happy ones, Thanks for the vision bright, Which with such zest and innocence, You've given us to-night.

RECOLLECTIONS OF FONTAINEBLEAU.

Well I remember, many years ago, Deep in the forest shade of Fontainebleau, With six dear girls in lovely virgin prime, Partaking of its rural joys sublime.

Sue, Polly, Edith, Amy, Maud, Dear girls, whom no one could but love and laud; I like a mother to them tried to be, We were, in truth, a happy family.

Far from our homes, in foreign lands we strayed; In Paris for twelve months our quarters made, Studying most earnestly, serenely gay, In the good _pension_ of Madame Rey.

We visited the Palace, and roamed through Its storied chambers and trim gardens, too, And lingered by the fish pond where, 'twas claimed, Poor Marie Antoinette the fishes tamed, And then into the lovely forest sped, With simple meal of ripe fruit, meat and bread, Which we discussed with appet.i.tes made keen By games and frolic on the meadow green.

The over-hanging wealth of summer trees Were swayed by Zephyr's stimulating breeze, While the sun's ardent glances played between The joy-tossed leaves and frolicked on the green.

Wearied with a long ramble we reclined Beneath the waving foliage, glad to find A spot so lovely for a needful rest, Feeling by nature there supremely blest.

Reclining 'neath the sun's inspiring kiss, We felt by nature soothed to peaceful bliss, Too great for human utterance of word, Though our whole being was to rapture stirred.

Thus in a dumb delight our thoughts took wing, In grateful homage to fond nature's king, With newly waken'd resolutions blest, During that hour of blessed, peaceful rest; And when at length we from the sweet trance woke, What joyful exclamations from us broke!

As all in one rich harmony agreed, We felt from every earthly burden freed.

Then, coming on a lovely forest glade, By a clear, purling brook refreshing made, We sat upon some rocks that tempting lay, Full in the smile of the sun's chastening ray, And its full glory rested on the hills, Falling on lonely brooklets, streams and rills, While the West glowed with blazing, crimson fires, Kindled to emulate divine desires.

The sun-lit glory streaming from the West Lulled us once more to tranquil, joyous rest, When, with a silent wonder, we espied Most lovely lizards o'er the smooth stones glide.

Doubtless the pretty creatures were lured forth By the supernal love light flooding earth, And in rich robes, with gorgeous colours bright, Were joining nature's transports of delight; For 'twas the tranquilizing sunset hour, When the great sun-G.o.d concentrates his power, To spread refining influence and show His colour painting to the earth below.

And thus refreshed, we bent our homeward way, Strong in the gladdening influence of the day, Gathering bright wreaths of wild flowers rare, to be Mementoes of the day's felicity.

THE TUNBRIDGE WELLS FLOWER SHOW.

What wealth of floral beauty, fresh from bright summer bowers!

What exquisite commingling of lovely fragrant flowers!

What budlets of rich promise, what hope-set leaves are here, Grouped with rare skill and elegance--the eye and heart to cheer!

Bright flowers of humble beauty, from forest, wood, and glade, Stand by their wealthier cousins, in innocence arrayed, And blending with rich blossoms the graceful maidenhair, Spreads far its fairy frondlets, to woo the joyful air.

And roses, too, sweet roses, gems of dear England's soil, Welcomed alike in palace as in the cot of toil; Tender and soft their tintings, as gentle maiden's blush, Soothing their perfumed breathings, as twilight's mystic hush.

Fruits ripened rich and luscious, sore tempters to each sense.

And vegetables--divers, well cultured, and immense; All in full life and vigour, delightful to behold The produce of old England's well cultivated mould.

These fruits so rare and luscious, these gorgeous flowerets gay.

These graceful gems of verdure--delighting us to-day Are tender loving tokens, fresh from the living sod, Of the surpa.s.sing wisdom and boundless love of G.o.d.