nce are War's most painful blows.
This is the hope that buoys his latest breath,
Stanches the wound, and plucks the sting from death.
But humbler hearts that sally forth to fight
'Gainst foes unseen, in realms of pitchy night,
Ne'er dreaming that the chivalrous affray
Will e'er be heard of--more than heroes they,
And more deserving they their country's praise
Than nobler names that wear their country's bays.
Duty, which glistens in the garish beam
That makes it beautiful--as jewels gleam
When sunlight pours upon them--lacks the pow'r,
The grandeur, which, in dark and secret hour,
Crowns lowly brows with bravery more bright
Than fame achieved in Glory's dazzling light.
Nature's heroics need but suns to shine
To show the world their origin divine:
And as the plant in darksome cave will grow
Whether warm sunshine bless its face or no,
A secret impulse yearning day and night
In hourly striving tow'rds the unseen light,
So lives the hero-germ in every heart--
Of earthy life the bright, the heavenly part:
The pow'r that brings the blossom from the sod,
And gives to man an attribute of God.

(_a_) Four men and a boy were entombed for nine days, from noon on
Wednesday, April 11th, to mid-day on Friday, April 20th, in the
Tynewydd Pit, Rhondda Valley. They were at length rescued by the
almost super-human efforts of a band of brave workers, who, at the risk
of their lives, cut through 38 yards of the solid coal-rock in order to
get at their companions, working day and night, and, at times,
regarding every stroke a prelude to almost certain death. Their heroic
exertions were crowned with success, and they received the recorded
thanks of their Queen and country, having the further honour bestowed
upon them of being the first recipients of the Albert medal, given by
Her Majesty for acts of exceptional bravery.

ELEGY

ON THE DEATH OF A LITTLE CHILD.

He came:
As red-lipt rosebuds in the Summer come:
A tiny angel, let from Heav'n to roam,
With laughing love to clothe our childless home
The God-sent cherub came.

He lived
One little hour; What bliss was in the space!
Our lives that day were fringed with fresher grace
And in the casket of our darling's face
What honeyed hopes were hived.

He droopt:
And o'er our souls a mighty sorrow swept,
With many fears the night-long watch we kept,
Tearful and sad: