Winter, the aged chief,
Mighty in power,
Exiles the tender leaf,
Exiles the flower.

Is there a heart to-day,
A heart that grieves
For flowers that fade away,
For fallen leaves?

Oh, not in leaves or flowers
Endures the charm
That clothes those naked towers
With love-light warm.

O dear St. Andrews Bay,
Winter or Spring
Gives not nor takes away
Memories that cling

All round thy girdling reefs,
That walk thy shore,
Memories of joys and griefs
Ours evermore.

`I have NOT worked for my classes this session,' he writes (1884),
`and shall not take any places.' The five or six most distinguished
pupils used, at least in my time, to receive prize-books decorated
with the University's arms. These prize-men, no doubt, held the