Fames from twilight unto twilight;
But the classics ever stay.

And the classics are the voices
Of the mountain and the glen
And the multitudinous ocean
And the city filled with men,
Voices of a deeper meaning
Than all drippings of the pen.

Yes, the mountains are a classic,
And an older word they speak
Than the classics of the Hebrew
Or the Hindoo or the Greek.
Dumb are they, like all the classics,
Till the chosen one draws near,
Who can catch their inner voices

With the ear behind the ear;

And their words are high and mystic, But the chosen one can hear.

And the ocean is a classic.

Where's the scribe shall read its word,
Word grown old before the Attic
Or Ionian bards were heard,
Word once whispered unto Homer,
Sown within his fruitful heart,
And he caught a broken message,
But he only heard a part.

Listen, thou; forget the babblings
And the pedantries of art.

And the city is a classic,

Aye, the city filled with men;
Here the comic, epic, tragic,
Beyond painting of the pen.
And who rightly reads the classic
Of the city, million-trod,
Ranges farther than the sky-line,
Burrows deeper than the sod,
And his soul beholds the secrets
Of the mysteries of God.

Give to me to read these classics:
Life is short from youth to age;
But its fleetness is not wasted

If I master but a page.

STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER.

STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER, American composer and song-writer, born at Allegheny, Penn., July 4, 1826; died in New York, Jan. 13, 1864. The boy was of a quiet and studious disposition, and early displayed a fondness for music, and played upon several instruments. He received a fair education and at thirteen he wrote "Sadly to My Heart Appealing," and three years later, "Open Thy Lattice, Love." His next songs were "Old Uncle Ned" and "O Susannah," for the latter of which he received $100. He then decided to adopt song-writing as a vocation, and produced a large number of simple melodies, the original words and harmonious music of which form a distinct type of ballad. About one-third of his one hundred and twenty-five songs are written in negro dialect, and his chief successes were songs written for negro minstrel shows. Foster's songs had a wide sale, "Old Folks at Home" alone bringing its author some $15,000. His later songs were characterized by a higher order of musical composition, and after his mother's death were tinged with melancholy. His most popular pieces were entitled: "My Old Kentucky Home," "Nellie Was a Lady," "Old Folks at Home," "Massa's in the Cold, Cold Ground," "Willie, We Have Missed You," "Jennie With the Light Brown Hair," "Gentle Annie," "Old Dog Tray," "Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming."

Den many happy days I squandered, Many de songs I sung.

When I was playing wid my brother, Happy was I;

Oh, take me to my kind old mudder!
Dare let me live and die!

One little hut among de bushes
One dat I love -

Still sadly to my memory rushes,
No matter where I rove.

When will I see de bees a-humming,
All round de comb?

When will I hear de banjo tumming

Down in my good old home?