lines at the close of the following Poem, entitled "True to the Last." "Prop me up with my pillows, sweet sister, and then And breathe the pure air of the summer once more. Then twine your arm round me to comfort and stay, Ere I pass from this world to my home in the skies. 'T was summer, sweet sister, bright summer, as now, A wreath of pure roses encircled the brow Of the queen of my bosom-you know who I mean. At twilight we met, 'neath the sycamore's shade, And there 'twas she whispered those words, 'Ever thine;' Her beautiful head on my bosom was laid, And her lily-white hand was clasped fondly in mine. O God! how intensely and madly I loved! How wildly I worshipped that beautiful one. You'll see her perchance when affliction hath chased When sorrow's dark signet hath silently traced Deep lines on her forehead, once noble and high. Then tell her, sweet sister, that all was forgiven, Amongst the loose papers of George Heath, I have met with upwards of fifty more lines to be added to the "Dis carded," and which have, therefore, been placed in connection with that poem. They commence with "Ah! but think not, haughty maiden;" and conclude with "Make me sadder, more forlorn." Nearly the whole of the unpublished poems which he left in manuscript were written after the spring of 1867. From that date till towards the autumn of the succeeding year, his pen must have been almost incessantly at work; after that the strains he did write were few and plaintive. In March, he had put together about three hundred lines of "The Countrywoman's Tale," which was extended to more than nine hundred. This poem is no doubt the one he was planning before he published his "Heart Strains," and some of the incidents in it are actually taken from his mother's personal history. As a tale it is very interesting and affecting, and some parts, especially the latter, are highly poetical. Of the "Doom of Babylon" its author made much account, more than of any of his other poems, and he mentions it often. It is certainly his most ambitious endeavour; it displays much power of imagination and grasp of mind, and evinces, as much as anything, his real strength, and of what he might have been capable. Whilst engaged upon it he wrote, "I know not whether it will reflect me much credit, but I will do my best." Again, "I often wonder if it possesses any sterling merit, yet I am determined to persevere, and trust my efforts will not be fruitless." About this period he was likewise engaged in one way or another upon the poems under the name of "Songs of the Shadows," a title which he adopted on account of his own shadowed life. He says of them, as if in anticipation of some one undertaking the publication of his poems, "This has struck me as being the most likely title for my little things, as they are what my life has been, a series of shadowed scenes." Amongst these will be found some of his choicest productions, including the "Single Grave," and "The Blind Old Man," a picture. The poem, "Icarus," which was left on a number of loose sheets, purports to be an extract from an imaginary journal, and to give an obituary notice of a fictitious Thomas String, who had suffered neglect, became lorn, and hid himself from public gaze, his poor wailing harp, sadly shattered and beat, still remaining his only companion and solace. The poor Poet was lost sight of, and one Sir Hodge Poyson, who had been deeply touched by a knowledge of his troubles, is represented as going on an expedition in quest of the scene of his conflict. "To search out and know The deep yearnings, the sorrows, and all that befel The worthy Baronet is represented as being successful in his enquiries, and the scenes he describes are very touching, and have been often repeated in the history of friendless poets, artists, and authors in their life struggles. "In a hole where he crept, in his pain and his pride, That filled me with anguish, and wonder, and awe." Further pictures of the scene are given, interspersed with the "Singer's Tale" and other "Song-Scraps," assumed to have been found about the poor Singer Long lines all awry, blotted, jumbled, and stark.” This is a remarkable poem, and sufficient of itself to make its author remembered, if he had written nothing else. Alas! the poor desponding poet had himself in view when he wrote "Icarus." It was finished in February, 1869, as is evident from an entry in his Diary over the two pieces found there, "Enamoured" and "Yearnings," and attached to which is this remark, "To be added to ‘Icarus.” The names and titles, belonging to several poems, not specified here, but which will be found in the volume, are sweet poetic names borne by children, ladies, and friends, who visited him. Prominently amongst these are "Edith," "Minnie," "Lizzie," "Mademoiselle Ida Ratchez," a Swiss lady, living near, and on her removal from the neighbourhood, his lamentation, “Now thou art gone," was dedicated to her. After October, 1868, he uses the pen less frequently, and the few after-strains which did flow from his Harp, as the "September," "The Poet's Monument," "Tired out," and 66 December," which is the last he wrote, are very plaintive. His prospects of life were growing perceptibly short, and his songs woefully melancholy, and gradually but surely he begins bravely to face his inevitable destiny. During the whole of the time George Heath was embodying his thoughts in verse, and thereby trying to fulfil the only sacred duty of productive labour in his power, he was en gaged with equal earnestness in cultivating his mind by special educational studies. There was a charm in earnest endeavour to him; and consequently he had set times in each day which he devoted to study, except when he was too ill to make any mental exertion. During his long illness he strove to gain a good knowledge of his own language, making at the same time highly satisfactory advancement in Latin and Greek. The study of these languages he prosecuted under the kind direction of the Rev. J. Badnall, M.A., Vicar of Endon, who also presented him with Greek and Latin books. He felt much the kindness of this gentleman, and amongst the many expressions of it, there are these two, "1866, January 7th, my esteemed friend, the Rev. J. Badnall came to see me. He has acted a noble part by me in giving all the instruction possible in my attempts to master Latin." On the 1st of March, 1868, he likewise observes, "The Rev. Mr. Badnall, my dear old tutor, has paid me a visit, has spoken many kind encouraging words, and has spoken very graciously of the progress I have made; I am much cheered though sorely afflicted." The following translation, the result of this instruction in Latin, is from Virgil's Æneid, and does not read amiss. "I sing of grand exploits and martial might, Of Rome's great hero, valiant in the fight; Whose fame, like incense, floats from clime to clime, Who, first cast out by fate, unknown to fame, From mighty Troy to fair Italia came, |