rrah! for the home I love.

Oh, I love the sound of the tempest's roar,
And I love the splash of the bending oar,
Playing amid the phosphoric fire,
Seen as the eddying sparks retire.
'Tis a fairy home, and I love to roam
Through its sleeping calm or its lashing foam.
The land hath its charms, but the sea hath more;
Then away let us row from the vacant shore.
Pull away, pull away o'er the mighty sea--
'Tis the tempest's path, and the path for me;
'Tis the home of the rover, the bold and free:
Hurrah! hurrah! for the boundless sea.

LISETTE.

When we meet again, Lisette,
Let the sun be sunk to rest
Beneath the glowing wavelets
Of the widely spreading west;
Let half the world be hush'd
In the drowsiness of sleep,
And howlets scream the music
Of the revels that they keep.

Let the gentle lady-moon,
With her coldly drooping beams,
Be dancing in the ripple
Of the ever-laughing streams,
Where the little elves disport
In the stilly noon of night,
And lave their limbs of ether
In the mellow flood of light.

When we meet again, Lisette,
Let it be in yonder pile,
Beneath the massy fretting
Of its darkly-shaded aisle,
Where, through the crumbling arches
The quaint old carvings loom,
And saint and seraph keep their watch
O'er many an ancient tomb.

ALEXANDER STEPHEN WILSON.

Alexander Stephen Wilson was born on the 4th April 1826, in the parish
of Rayne, Aberdeenshire. His father, who rented a farm, having been
killed by a fall from his horse, the subject of this sketch was brought
up from infancy under the care of his maternal grandfather. In his
boyhood he attended school during winter, and in summer was employed as
a cow-herd. At the age of fifteen he was apprenticed to a land-surveyor,
with whom he served five years. With a native turn for versifying, he
early invoked the muse, and contributed poetry to the public journals.
At the close of his apprenticeship, he established a debating club among
the young men in the district of Rayne, and subsequently adventured on
the publication of a monthly periodical. The latter, entitled _The Rural
Echo_, was almost wholly occupied with the ingenious projector's own
compositions, both in prose and poetry, and commanded a wide
circulation. Devoted to metaphysical inquiries, Mr Wils