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APHRODITE, Ocean daughter, Once a goddess, still the same. When I look on purest water Then I spell thy mystic name. When I see the tips of Ocean, Curling, cresting in the breeze. And the Sun with lightsome motion Shimmering o'er the azure seas ; When I see the sport of shadow Where the silvery wavelets sleep. And a hue that mocks the meadow Purpling o'er the various deep, — Then I know thee. Aphrodite, Queen of beauty, queen of power, Thee the lovely, thee the mighty, From life's first to latest hour. Wiien before my raptui-ed eye Soft thy silver shell ascending, Borne by Triton-hands on high. Wreaths of rosy Nymphs attending. Soars, a milder feature blending With the awe that clothes the sky. Steep Olympus opes its portals ; Thou dost tread the starry way, And the host of strong Immortals Bends before thy gentle sway. Pallas veils her sterner glory. Wisdom wisely yields to love, Flees the weighty cloud before thee From the thunder-brow of Jove. Mars, the fierce mane-shaking lion. Now a lamb to greet thee falls ; Haughty Hera, love-defying. Lonely walks through ether's halls. Aphrodite, Ocean daughter. Though I bear no heathen name. When I see thy fairest frame Rising from the bright blue water, I may worship without blame. John Stuart Blackie.

THE PASTELS AT THE GROSVENOR.

T may safely be said that the Exhibition at the by the schism which led to the establishment of its Grosvenor reaches a higher level of uniform latest rival in Regent Street. There are now to be excellence than any collection of entirely modern art seen on its walls some three hundred examples of put before the public for many years, and it will do pastels, many of which are contributed by the much towards restoring the prestige lost last year French Society of Pastellistes; and although the