Remember this long summer day--
Good night! good night!

ANDREW PARK.

The author of numerous poetical works, Andrew Park was born at Renfrew,
on the 7th March 1811. After an ordinary education at the parish school,
he attended during two sessions the University of Glasgow. In his
fifteenth year he entered a commission warehouse in Paisley, and while
resident in that town, published his first poem, entitled the "Vision of
Mankind." About the age of twenty he went to Glasgow, as salesman in a
hat manufactory; and shortly after, he commenced business on his own
account. At this period he published several additional volumes of
poems. His business falling off in consequence of a visitation of
cholera in the city, he disposed of his stock and proceeded to London,
to follow the career of a man of letters. After some years' residence in
the metropolis, he returned to Glasgow in 1841; and having purchased the
stock of the poet Dugald Moore, recently deceased, he became a
bookseller in Ingram Street. The speculation proved unfortunate, and he
finally retired from the concerns of business. He has since lived
principally in Glasgow, but occasionally in London. In 1856 he visited
Egypt and other Eastern countries, and the following year published a
narrative of his travels in a duodecimo volume, entitled, "Egypt and the
East."

Of the twelve volumes of poems which Mr Park has given to the public,
that entitled "Silent Love" has been the most popular. It has appeared
in a handsome form, with illustrations by J. Noel Paton, R.S.A. In one
of his poems, entitled "Veritas," published in 1849, he has supplied a
narrative of the principal events of his life up to that period. Of his
numerous songs, several have obtained a wide popularity. The whole of
his poetical works were published in 1854, by Bogue of London, in a
handsome volume, royal octavo.

HURRAH FOR THE HIGHLANDS.

Hurrah for the Highlands! the stern Scottish Highlands,
The home of the clansmen, the brave and the free;
Where the clouds love to rest, on the mountain's rough breast
Ere they journey afar o'er the islandless sea.

'Tis there where the cataract sings to the breeze,
As it dashes in foam like a spirit of light;
And 'tis there the bold fisherman bounds o'er the seas,
In his fleet tiny bark, through the perilous night.

'Tis the land of deep shadow, of sunshine, and shower,
Where the hurricane re