things seemed fading down into the dim obscurity of nonentity-gliding away from the busy world, and entering the valley of shadows, where the circle of interest narrows down to a point;" "drifting further and further down," "and himself feeling the cold hand of fate crushing off the flowers of his promise." Yet at times he was not all lethargy; he had some remarkably strange feelings within. "The din and fret. of outward things passed before him as a dream, and he seemed to have such a wide sweeping of spirit-such a power to conjure up strange imaginations, that startled him." The bitterness passed, and he could trust in God, and indulge in "the beautiful thought of that far-off Home-that home whose wonders none may guess, shining through the glory of the sun radiance coming through the windows." So he wrote with such delightful prospects, of the house of many mansions, on the 29th of April. He witnessed, as he lay almost helpless, the dawn of beautiful May, which he always notes in his Diary with such pleasure as the harbinger of summer's many charming scenes, of verdure and flowers. On the fourth of May he was but just able to scrawl in his Diary, "his thanks to God for one more day," acknowledge the receipt of "such a kind letter from Mrs. Brindley," and in the evening he dictated a few farewell lines to his young companion and friend, H. W. Foster; on the morning of the following day he peacefully passed away from the scenes of his earnest struggles, his painful affliction, and blighted hopes, "to his far-off home of perfection and peace."

All will regret that so hopeful a beginning was so soon closed; that the brief space in which so much had been bravely done, was so mournfully and prematurely terminated. It may be long ere we are called upon to listen to another

such singer as George Heath, amidst the bleak hills of the Staffordshire moorlands, where fancy will continue to picture him in association with the scenes and objects in which he delighted.

A memorial was suggested by his kind friend and tutor, the Rev. J. Badnall, of Endon, to be erected over his grave in Horton churchyard, and by the aid of numerous subscribers, it will be successfully carried into effect. It is cheering, therefore, that he will not lie "forsaken and forgotten"a cold fate he seems to have apprehended—“ beneath some tiny dot of earth," with only "a rude slab" (if even that) reared at its head, but at the foot of a beautiful Runic Cross, raised by the affection of many, after a design by his friend, H. W. Foster, for the respect he bore him, with the following inscription :

Erected in Memory

Of GEORGE HEATH, of Gratton,
Who, with few aids,
Developed in these Moorlands
Poetic powers of great promise,
But who, stricken by consumption,
After five years suffering,

Fell a victim to that disease,
May 5, 1869, aged 25 years.

"His life is a fragment--a broken clue—
His harp had a musical string or two,
The tension was great, and they sprang and flew,
And a few brief strains-a scattered few-

Are all that remain to mortal view

Of the marvellous song the young man knew."

The above lines are a quotation from an epitaph found amongst his papers, entitled "Inscription on a Rude Stone."

It seems intended to fit himself, with the date, Nov. 10, 1868, at the foot. The whole epitaph runs as follows:

"A quiet youth in the valleys grew,

And thought o'er his being a mantle threw,
And dawned on his spirit a meaning new,
And he dreamed of a mission great and true;
But God, in His infinite wisdom, drew
A severing finger his projects through.
His life is a fragment—a broken clue—
His harp had a musical string or two,

The tension was great, and they sprang and flew,
And a few brief strains-a scattered few-

Are all that remain to mortal view

Of the marvellous song the young man knew.
who have feeling! a tear from you!
Rest, saddest of singers, in peace-adieu !"

O,

ye

F. REDFERN.

Uttoxeter, Dec., 1869.