the last volume published during the poet's lifetime. And they do not appear in the volume, "Kendall's Poems" published some years after his death, and edited by Mr. Alexander Sutherland. As Marcus Clark had many admirers, one of whom, particularly, I remember having heard speak highly of his writings (the late Richard Birnie, B.A., who was for many years the essayist of the "Australasian," Melbourne), some verses of the In Memoriam piece are inserted here:—
MARCUS CLARK.
"The night wind tolls on cliffs austere,
Where gleams by fits the wintry star,
And in the wild, dumb woods I hear
A moaning at the bar.
Here, sitting by a dying flame.
I cannot choose but think with grief
Of Harpur, whose unhappy name
Is as an autumn leaf.
And domed by deeper depths of blue,
'Apart from fields of forest dark,'
I see the eyes that once I knew—
The eyes of Marcus Clark.
Their clear, bright beauty shines apace,
But sunny dreams in shadow end,
The sods have hid the faded face
Of my heroic friend.
Few knew the cross he had to bear,
And moan beneath from day to day,
His were the bitter hours that wear
The human heart away."
Alluding to Marcus Clark, probably, as a journalist from necessity, instead of being able to devote himself to a more independent exercise of his literary talents, Kendall writes:
