19 DECEMBER 1891, Page 16

IN A TROPICAL FOREST.

WHO knoweth the joy of untamed forest streams, That laugh in sunless ravines, and disdain The rending cataracts with a smile which gleams Like jewels flashing amid summer rain ?

No vivid verdure that is born in spray, No glistening fern that courts the floated breeze, No palm that sways in rhythm with the lay, No lofty lordling among ancient trees, No thing that's rooted, bound and moored to place, Nor even soaring birds, who roam to die, May know the joy of their untrammelled race Who run in careless immortality ; I wandering on their trackless banks am bound, My thoughts alone their liberty have found.

Madagascar. W. CLAYTON PICKERSOILL.