England joys

In your songs, all strength and ease,
And the dreams you made to please
Grey-haired boys."

BILL AND JOE.

Come, dear old comrade, you and I
Will steal an hour from days gone by,
The shining days when life was new,
And all was bright with morning dew,
The lusty days of long ago,

When you were Bill and I was Joe.

Your name may flaunt a titled trail
Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail,
And mine as brief appendix wear
As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare;
To-day, old friend, remember still
That I am Joe and you are Bill.

You've won the great world's envied prize,

And grand you look in people's eyes,

With HON. and LL.D.

In big brave letters, fair to see,-
Your fist, old fellow! off they go!
How are you, Bill? How are you, Joe?

You've worn the judge's ermined robe;

You've taught your name to half the globe;
You've sung mankind a deathless strain;

You've made the dead past live again:
The world may call you what it will,
But you and I are Joe and Bill,

The chaffing young folks stare and say
'See those old buffers, bent and grey,-
They talk like fellows in their teens!

Mad, poor old boys! That's what it means,'-
And shake their heads; they little know
The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe! -

How Bill forgets his hour of pride,
While Joe sits smiling at his side;
How Joe, in spite of time's disguise,
Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes,-
Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill
As Joe looks fondly up at Bill.

Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust,
That lifts a pinch of mortal dust;

A few swift years, and who can show
Which dust was Bill and which was Joe?

The weary idol takes his stand,

Holds out his bruised and aching hand,
While gaping thousands come and go,-
How vain it seems, this empty show!
Till all at once his pulses thrill;-
'Tis poor old Joe's ' God bless you, Bill!'

And shall we breathe in happier spheres
The names that pleased our mortal ears,
In some sweet lull of harp and song
For earth-born spirits none too long,
Just whispering of the world below
Where this was Bill and that was Joe?

No matter; while our home is here
No sounding name is half so dear;
When fades at length our lingering day,
Who cares what pompous tombstones say?
Read on the hearts that love us still,
Hic jacet Joe. Hic jacet Bill."

-Holmes.

XXVII

EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809-1849)

EDGAR ALLAN POE, the most famous Southern

author, and one of the the world, stands apart in American literature.

renowned literary artists of a solitary, statuesque figure Born in the same year with

Oliver Wendell Holmes, the character of the morose and sensitive genius was in striking contrast to that of the gentle, lovable humourist.

His grandfather, a Revolutionary patriot, founded the family in Maryland; and Poe's dashing young father, while studying law in Baltimore in 1805, alienated himself from his parents, by marrying a pretty English actress, and adopting his wife's profession; and it was on January nineteenth, 1809, while these strolling players were fulfilling an engagement in Boston, that Edgar was born; a little later, both parents died in the same month, leaving three small children to the tender mercies of the world. It seems a remarkable fact that all three were adopted by wealthy people.

Mr. Allan, a tobacco merchant of Richmond, Virginia, was attracted by the precocious little Edgar, and from a home of poverty, he was transferred to one of real Southern luxury. Mrs. Allan petted and

caressed him, while his foster-father indulged him in every wish. At six years old, the gifted child, with his bright eyes and dark curls and dressed like a prince, would stand upon a table, and, in sweetest tone, declaim to guests, or pledge them "right roguishly" in a glass of wine.

When he was seven, he was taken abroad and placed in an English school, and later in Richmond was carefully prepared to enter college. With musical ear and wonderful memory, he learned to recite with surprising effect some of the finest passages from the English poets. Literature and history, French and Latin, always charmed him. He was excellent in debate, led in athletics, and made a remarkable swimming record, and the boys cultivated him because he always had plenty of pocketmoney.

ac

The University of Virginia had been recently established by the patriotic efforts of Thomas Jefferson, and was numbering as its students distinguished young men from all parts of the Southland; and here, at seventeen years of Poe was admitted age, complished, capricious, imperious, and handsome and living in the confidence that he was to inherit a fortune. He won creditable honours as a scholar; he covered his walls with his sketches; wrote rhyming squibs to entertain his class; and presently gave way to temptation in drinking and gambling, and after he had lost hundreds of dollars, Mr. Allan removed him