And the heart of all youth's light
Holds one fading sunbeam only.
Old affections vainly cherish'd,
All except the memory perish'd.

POOR COMPANIONS.

Look up, old friend! why hang thy head?
The world is all before us.
Earth's wealth of flowers is at our feet,
Heaven's wealth of worlds is o'er us.
Spring leans to us across the sea
With affluent caressing,
And autumn yet shall crown our toil
With many a fruitful blessing.
Then why should we despair in spring,
Who braved out wintry weather?
Let monarchs rule, but we shall sing
And journey on together.

You mourn that we are born so poor--
I would not change our treasure
For all the thorn-concealing flowers
That strew the path of pleasure.
God only searches for the soul,
Nor heeds the outward building;
Believe me, friend, a noble heart
Requires no aid of gilding.
Then never let us pine in spring,
We 've braved out wintry weather,
We yet may touch a sweeter string
When toiling on together.

What though our blood be tinged with mud,
My lord's is simply purer;
'Twill scarce flow sixty years, nor make
His seat in heaven surer.
But should the noble deign to speak,
We 'll hail him as a brother,
And trace respective pedigrees
To Eve, our common mother.
Then why should we despair in spring,
Who braved out wintry weather?
Let monarchs rule, while we shall sing,
And journey on together.

WILLIAM B. C. RIDDELL.

A youth of remarkable promise, William Brown Clark Riddell, was the
youngest son of Mr Henry Scott Riddell.[12] He was born at Flexhouse,
near Hawick, Roxburghshire, on the 16th December 1835. In his seventh
year he was admitted a pupil in John Watson's Institution, Edinburgh,
where he remained till 1850, when, procuring a bursary from the
governors of Heriot's Hospital, he entered the University of Edinburgh.
During three sessions he prosecuted his studies with extraordinary
ardour and success. On the commencement of a fourth session he was
seized with an illness which completely prostrated his physical, and
occasionally enfeebled his mental, energies. After a period of
suffering, patiently borne, he died in his father's cottage, Teviothead,
on the 20th July 1856, in his twenty-first year.

Of an intellect singularly precocious, William Riddell,