on has latterly
turned his attention to that department of study. He has likewise been
ardent in the pursuit of physical science. An ingenious treatise from
his pen on the nature of light, published in 1855, attracted no
inconsiderable notice, and is strongly indicative of original power. He
has latterly resided in Perth, holding the appointment of assistant
civil engineer.

THINGS MUST MEND.

The gloom of dark despondency
At times will cloud the breast;
Hope's eagle eye may shaded be,
'Mid fortune's fears oppress'd;
But while we nurse an honest aim
We shall not break nor bend,
For when things are at the worst
They must mend.

The gentle heart by hardship crush'd
Will sing amid its tears,
And though its voice awhile be hush'd,
'Tis tuned for coming years;
A light from out the future shines
With hope's tear-drops to blend,
And when things are at the worst
They must mend.

Amid life's danger and despair
Still let our deeds be true,
For nought but what is right and fair
Can heal our hopeless view.
The beautiful will soothe us, like
The sunshine of a friend,
And when things are at the worst
They must mend.

Oh, never leave life's morning dream,
'Tis whisper'd down from heaven,
But trace its maze, though sorrow seem
The sole reward that 's given;
The joy is there, or not on earth,
Which with our souls may blend,
And when things are at the worst
They must mend.

THE WEE BLINK THAT SHINES IN A TEAR.

Life's pleasure seems sadness and care,
When dark is the bosom that feels,
Yet mingled wi' shades o' despair
Is the ray which our sorrow reveals;
Though darkly at times flows the stream,
It rows till its waters are clear--
And Hope shields a bud in our life's darkest dream
Like the wee blink that shines in a tear.

Afar in the wilderness blooms
The flower that spreads beauty around,
And Nature smiles sweet on our tombs
And softens with balm every wound.
Oh, call not our life sad nor vain,
Wi' its joys that can ever endear,
There 's a sweet ray of pleasure star deep in each pain,
Like the wee blink that shines in a tear.

Sweet smiles the last hope in our woe
And fair is the lone desert isle;
Young Flora peeps gay from the snow;