The Hon. R. Stout. Premier.

Sonnet : Wait,

When envious tongues are busy with thy name,
And base born Falsehood utters coward lies;
When malice her unholy calling plies
Or calumny would tarnish thy fair fame,
And secret foes their poisoned arrows aim;
When in thy path undreamed misfortunes rise,
And hollow friends thy altered lot despise,
Or seek to cover thee with unjust blame :
Then, brother, be a man, and patient wait;
Bitter the draught, but sure the antidote;
Men will approve—thine enemies take note
That thou hast risen superior to their hate!
Wait, 'tis a little word, but in its sense
There lies a world of silent eloquence.