WILLIAM H. BUSHNELL. William H. Bushnell was born in the city of Hudson, New York, on the fourth day of June, 1823, and was educated at the University of the city of New York. He was first announced as a poet on the anniversary of Washington's birth-day, in the year 1843, when he dehvered a poem entitled "Knowledge is Power" before the Junior Lyceum of Chicago, Illinois. He was then regularly occupied as a Civil En- gineer, but for pastime contributed editorials to the Gem of the Prairie, a sprightly literary weekly paper. He was afterward editor of the Democratic Advocate, and for a brief period was one of the editors and publishers of the Dollar Newspaper at Chicago. Mr. Bushnell has written graphic sketches of Indian life under the pseudonym of Frank Webber, and is the author of a novel entitled " Prairie Fire." He contin- ues to labor as a Civil Engineer, though he is a regular contributor to several Illinois journals, and is one of the editors of the Chicago Leader. FLOATING DOWN THE TIDE. Swift adown the silent river, Down the ebbing tide of Time, From where first the sunrays quiver O'er a new heart's waking chime — O'er a pulse from chaos beating, With its mystic flow of pride, We are drifting — ever drifting. And are floating down the tide. On the unknown shore of birth-land Like a tiny pebble rolled. Wreathed with flowers of love and beauty, Laden deep with hopes untold ; Rests life's bark a moment only Ere the zephyr seeks its side. And it drifts a waif — drifts slowly, And is floating down the tide. From the flowers of glorious promise That have ever fringed the shore, Where the clay of life is quickened. Turns the bark forevermore ! (4 Riding gently o'er the wavelets — Like a feather seems to glide, Till the fresh'ning winds caress it, And it hastens down the tide. Then each sail youth spreads with gladness, Thinking naught of storm or wreck, And bright love and beauty only Are the watch upon the deck ; As the prow the rising billows Dashes foam be-gemm'd aside, And the storm, unnoticed gathers As it floats adown the tide. Now the wary eye of manhood. All in vain, may trim the sail. And hope's anchor alone remaineth. As a succor from the gale — AVilder still the fleecy billows That the shattered bark must ride. As it dashes — madly dashes. And floats helpless down the tide. 56)
