With numberless words in connection,

Derived from the roots of Greek verbs.

One night, as a sly innuendo,

When Nature was mantled in snow,
He wrote in the frost on the window,
A sweet word in Latin "amo."
O, it needed no words for expression,
For that I had long understood;
But there was his written confession—
ent tense and indicative mood.

But O, how man's passion will vary!
For scarcely a year had passed by,

When he changed the "amo to "amare,"

But instead of an "e" was a

Yes, a Mary had certainly taken

"y."

The heart once so fondly my own,

And I, the rejected, forsaken,

Was left to reflection alone.

Since then I've a horror of Latin,

And students uncommonly smart;

True love, one should always put that in,

To balance the head by the heart. To be a fine scholar and linguist

Is much to one's credit, I know, But "I love" should be said in plain English, And not with a Latin "amo."

THE FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN.

"In March, of 1854, says the Cleveland Herald, several months before the arrival of Dr. Rae, with his news of the probable death of the brave Sir John Franklin and his faithful comrades, we copied from the Lily of the Valley for 1854, a beautiful poem by Miss Lizzie Doten, in reference to these adventurers. The verses are touching and solemn as the sound of a passing bell, and appear almost prophetic of the news that afterwards came. The Song of the North' again becomes deeply interesting as connected with the thrilling account brought home by the Fox-the last vessel sent in search of the lost adventurers to the icy North, and the last that will now ever be sent on such an expedition."- Buffalo Daily Republic.

SONG OF THE NORTH.

"AWAY, away!" cried the stout Sir John, "While the blossoms are on the trees,

For the summer is short, and the times speeds on

As we sail for the northern seas.

Ho! gallant Crozier, and brave Fitz James!

We will startle the world, I trow,

When we find a way through the Northern seas

That never was found till now!

A good stout ship is the 'Erebus,'

As ever unfurled a sail, .

And the Terror' will match with as brave a one

As ever outrode a gale."

So they bade farewell to their pleasant homes,
To the hills and the valleys green,

With three hearty cheers for their native isle,
And three for the English Queen.

They sped them away, beyond cape and bay,

Where the day and the night are one Where the hissing light in the heavens grew bright,

And flamed like a midnight sun.

There was nought below, save the fields of snow,. That stretched to the icy pole;

And the Esquimaux, in his strange canoe,

Was the only living soul!

Along the coast, like a giant host,

The glittering icebergs frowned,

Or they met on the main, like a battle plain,
And crashed with a fearful sound!

The seal and the bear, with a curious stare,
Looked down from the frozen heights,

And the stars in the skies, with their great, wild eyes,

Peered out from the Northern Lights.

The gallant Crozier, and brave Fitz James,

And even the stout Sir John,

Felt a doubt, like a chill, through their warm hearts thrill,

As they urged the good ships on.

They sped them away, beyond cape and bay,
Where even the tear-drops freeze,

But no way was found, by a strait or sound,
To sail through the Northern seas;

They sped them away, beyond cape and bay,
And they sought, but they sought in vain,
For no way was found, through the ice. around,
To return to their homes again.

Then the wild waves rose, and the waters froze,
Till they closed like a prison wall;

And the icebergs stood in the sullen flood,
Like their jailers, grim and tall.

O God! O God!-it was hard to die

In that prison house of ice!

For what was fame, or a mighty name,

When life was the fearful price?