Saying nought Into his hand I put the year's first flower, The end was come at last, at last, and Death Idylls of Inverburn: Poet Andrew. It will be admitted, we think, by the most exacting, that an exquisiteness and also an emotional fervor dwell about this description which are so precisely suited to the subject as to raise it to a very lofty rank of poetry. It would scarcely be possible to find language and thought more happily wedded than they are here. The "Widow Mysie," in the same volume, betrays qualities of quite another stamp, exhibiting principally a strange, quaint humor, which seems to dimple every page into laughter. 66 Another poem, in this volume as originally published, but one since suppressed by Mr. Buchanan on artistic grounds, contained imagery of the choicest description. It was entitled Hugh Sutherland's Pansies," and described the troubled life and pathetic death of the youth who gave name to the poem. It is a pity that the author could not have preserved by some means the final scene, for it exhibited beauty of description of a rare order. The following passage combines both a tenderness and a truth in the imagery which give finish to the poetry, and leave nothing to be desired in the way of idyllic† excellence : * 66 Ben, within," adverb; opposed to but, "without." As nouns, the ben was the inner apartment, the but the outer. + Idyll or idyl, a short narrative or descriptive poem written in an elevated or highly-finished style. "By slow degrees he grew But, Hugh, though some be beautiful and grand, To cheer him. 'He is coming near,' I said. Is coming to the corner where you bloom So sickly!' And he smiled, and moaned, 'I hear!' His hollow eyes no longer bore the light, O Lord, that lovest both the strong and weak, We are unable to point to a more distinctly poetical idea than the one embodied in the three lines marked in italics; and, in truth, there is a great suffusion of poetry through the entire passage. The whole volume is not, of course, written with this wealth of imagery and power of delineation. There are many pages here and there which are scarcely, if at all, lifted out of the level of common-place; but enough has been shown to demonstrate that those critics were right who thought that a new poet had come who had the real ring about him, and whose further fortunes were worthy of being watched with considerable interest. Poets and Novelists (1876). THE MOTION OF THE MISTS. ROBERT BUCHANAN (b. 1841). [The scene of this vivid sonnet is Loch Coruisk (Isle of Skye), a small lake nearly encircled by lofty rock walls, some rising 3,000 feet from the water. It is described by Sir Walter Scott in The Lord of the Isles, canto iii. 16, 17.] Here by the sunless lake there is no air, Yet with how ceaseless motion, like a shower dim Scatters them onward with a flaming brand. ODE: THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. Vital spark of heavenly flame! Hark! they whisper; angels say, What is this absorbs me quite? The world recedes; it disappears! Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!— O Death! where is thy sting? THE HABITS OF ANTS. SIR JOHN LUBBOCK, F.R.S. (b. 1834). [Amid his duties as a London banker, as an active member of Parliament, as Vice-Chancellor of the University of London, and as presiding officer of several learned societies, Sir John Lubbock has found time for minute and long-continued observations of ants, bees, and wasps.] The anthropoid (man-like) apes no doubt approach nearer to man in bodily structure than do any other animals; but when we consider the habits of ants, their social organization, their large communities and elaborate habitations, their roadways, their possession of domestic animals, and even, in some cases, of slaves, it must be admitted that they have a fair claim to rank next to man in the scale of intelligence. They present, moreover, not only a most interesting, but also a very extensive field of study. In this country [England] we have rather more than thirty kinds; but ants become more numerous in species as well as individuals in warmer countries, and more than a thousand species are known. Even this large number is certainly far short of those actually in existence. I have kept in captivity about half of our British species of ants, as well as a considerable number of foreign forms, and for the last few years have generally had from thirty to forty communities under observation. It has long been known that ants derive a very important part of their sustenance from the sweet juice excreted by aphides.* These insects, in fact, as has been over and over again observed, are the cows of the ants. The ants may be said almost literally to milk the aphides; for, as Darwin and others have shown, the aphides generally retain the secretion until the ants are ready to receive it. The ants stroke and caress the aphides with their antennæ, and the aphides then emit the sweet secretion. As the honey of the aphides is more or less sticky, it is probably an advantage to the aphis that it should be removed. Nor is this the only service which ants render to them. They protect them from the attacks of enemies, and not unfrequently even build cowsheds of earth over them. The yellow ants collect the rootfeeding species in their own nests, and tend them as carefully as their own young. But this is not all. The ants not only guard the mature aphides which are useful, but also the eggs of * Aph-i-des (three syllables), plural of aphis (plant-louse). The most familiar example is the green parasite constantly found on rose leaves. |