* * * * *



A PAINFUL HISTORY.

Three youths in the heyday of life's hopeful spring, On a bright April morn gaily hied, With three little skiffs, each one made by himself, To skim o'er the silvery tide.

In the joy that awaits on all well-performed work, Engaged in by youth, child, or man, Whilst employing the powers which to him God has given, And labouring as well as he can,

They pushed from the shore, their young spirits elate. In a trance of enjoyment and pride; For were they not reaping the cherished reward Which to labour is never denied?

Far happier than kings, as light-hearted as birds Who warbled spring carols on high, Each guided his skiff o'er the freshening wave, 'Neath a cloudless, sun-glorified sky.

They had chatted together while making their boats, Half in serious mood, half in fun, Of parting their hair in the middle to aid Fair balance in the risk they might run.

And thus, in increasing and joyful delight, They paddled a full hour and more, And were gaily returning triumphantly, when, Within about ten yards from shore,

Young Ithill, the eldest, a youth of sixteen, His seat unaccountably lost, And out of the frail skiff, the promising boy, In a twinkling was ruthlessly tost.

His nearest companion, young Whittaker, sprang, His canoe prompt assistance to lend, But the noble young Ithill refused to lay hold, For fear of endangering his friend.

Young Girling was some distance off, but at once To the rescue most gallantly sprang, As meantime the cry of "a boy drowning," loud Through the air supplicatingly rang.

And the mother of Girling, who heard that wild cry, Flew like lightning across to the strand, Plunged fearlessly into the tide, where her son Was struggling with stout heart and hand

To reach his poor friend, and the brave mother sought To encourage his efforts to save, While she, who, like him, could not swim, struggled hard, Kept afloat by her clothes on the wave.

But vain were their efforts, the telegraph boy Had sunk 'neath the pitiless wave, And his poor lifeless body, so late full of life, Now lies in its calm ocean grave.

In response to shrill cries for assistance, some men Put off in a boat, all too late! Instead of at once plunging in to the boy, Thus heartlessly left to his fate,

'Tis said one of three or four beings called men, Calmly standing close by on the land, Threw stones to direct where the poor boy had sunk, In reply to the woman's demand.

I've been told, but 'tis almost too hard to believe, That one of these beings could swim, But was too great a coward and poltroon to risk The endangering of life or of limb.

But enough of such sickening allusions as these; Those who might have saved life, lost what none Who never ennoble their lives by good deeds, Could imagine of happiness won

By hearts braced with courage, regardless of self, Such as John Girling's mother displayed, Who, like a true hero, sublimely risked life In those efforts, alas! vainly made.

Is there not on this isle some society formed To reward such brave deeds as this one? For surely humanity could not withhold Recompense for such gratitude won!

Let us hope that this sad, painful history may lead Every one to determine to try, The fine art of swimming to master forthwith, Ere the now opening season pass by.

For doubtless the poor boy might yet have been spared, Had he known how to swim or to float, As very few strokes might have brought him to shore, When he slipped from his slight fragile boat.

'Tis sweet to record the good conduct and life Of this well-beloved, motherless boy, In the hope that it may to his absent sire's heart Convey some consolation and joy.

* * * * *



SELF DENIAL.

Teacher sublime, great, grand and free! My spirit loves and honours thee, Who taught that all religion ran, In love to God, and love to man.

Grand, comprehensive standard this, To lead mankind to peace and bliss, Inspiring them, when well unfurled, To link in brotherhood the world.

Could any sect or doctrine claim A higher, nobler, holier aim? And should not all religion tend, To this all-glorious god-like end?

The greatest teacher ever known, This simple rule of life has shown Should be the standard for all time, Of all the sons of every clime.

If then Christ's soul-inspiring plan, Makes love to God and love to man, Embrace all duties, and insure Virtue and happiness most pure.

Why vex the world with differing creeds, Which meet not universal needs, Which sore perplex and lead the mind To separate, not link mankind?

For would not self-denial spring From such rich soil, and blessings bring, Which would provoke each one to be His brother's helper ceaselessly?

If each love God with heart and mind, And treat as brethren all mankind, All other virtues must perforce, Outflow from such inspiring source.

Such life divine inspired within, Would form stern barriers to all sin, And be the motive power to lead, To all that man could wish or need.

Blest reason, long dethroned, might then Become the guide of erring men, Blind superstition meet its doom, Within an unregretted tomb.

Let all with one accord then bend, Their powers to further this grand end, Love then would herald the new birth, Of peace and good will through the earth.

* * * * *



TO A FAITHFUL DOG.

Poor Tyne! no verse of mine has ever sung The praise of one more faithful than thou wert, For warm affection formed a major part Of thy canine existence, now, alas! Cut short by sad and cruel accident. We cannot choose but mourn thee, good old dog, Who for a period of thirteen years Guarded the family hearth and claimed a share Of warm affection in its daily life, Watching through tender, melancholy eyes, Each loved one forming its component parts. Ready to follow, sport, caress or play, If but a kind word led the cue or way, Parisien emigre of sixty-seven, Reserved for kinder, more congenial fate Than thy unhappy brethren of the siege; Perchance with instinct keen thou did'st rejoice To leave thy native land, o'ercharged with strife, And on a foreign shore tell out thy life. Thy soft, thick, creamy coat, expressive tail, Deep, lustrous, loving eyes, short bark and wail; Thy wild delight at prospect of a walk, Glad boundings over green sward fresh and free, Thy look of conscious guilt when wrong was done, And patient waiting at thy master's side, For well-selected morsel of each meal; Thy pleadings, far more eloquent than words Of mine could ever chronicle, thy sweet Low whinings of inquiry or desire, All will be long remembered, watcher true, Good, old, affectionate, responsive Tyne!

* * * * *



FLOWERS.

Is there a heart so sere as not to feel Pleasures innumerable o'er it stead, In sweet surroundings of earth's lovely flowers, Which cheer and elevate man's saddest hours.

Sweet messages from heaven they convey, Through perfumed breath they sing their God-taught-lay, Root firmly bedded in the active sod, And eye turned upward to their Father God.

Pure gems of earth are beauteous to behold, Set in the royalty of burnished gold; But what is their dead beauty, to the glow Of living, loving glory which flowers show?

Kind angel messengers to earth they seem, Suggestive of hopes radiant, evergreen, And of a future blossoming above, In an eternal home of blissful love.

Types of what earthly love is meant to be, Struggling through labours to existence free. Then putting on a fragant outgrowth, rife With joy for others, through true flowering life.

Sweet influences borne on angel wing, These odorous blossoms to the sad heart sing, Diffusing added zest to joyful mirth, And spreading ripening gladness through the earth.

The perfume of a flower, a touch, a tone, Oft waken memories of dear days gone, Wherein an atmosphere of earthly bliss, A plighted love was sealed with thrilling kiss.

Who has not treasured some poor faded flower? In token of a radiant, love lit hour, When life was one delicious joyful dream, Ere we had learnt "things are not what they seem."

Sweet rose! in sunlit robes of beauty rare, Which loads with fragrance the enraptured air, Reposing gracefully on verdant stem, Thou art of all earth's flowers the choicest gem!

Well has our country done in making thee An emblem of her nationality; Thy beauteous form, sweet breath and sunset sheen, Make thee of all earth's loveliest flowers the Queen!

Who says that Scotland's thistle is not fair? Of sturdy growth and free determined air, Type of a race, in mental vigour strong, Of perseverance and endurance long.

The shamrock with its triple verdant smile, Fit emblem of our emerald sister isle! Whose people's pleasant humour laughs down care, As they good fellowship delight to share.

May thistle, shamrock, rose, for aye intwine In union and brotherhood sublime; And every Briton heavenward waft the prayer, That each the other's weal or woe still share.

Narcissus, sacred to proud Juno once, Was afterwards the flower of cultured France, Then the dynastic emblem of Savoy, Now, the red Indian's magic herb and joy.

The violets of classic Athens too, Of modest bearing and enchanting hue, In the accomplishment of time became, Napoleon's violets of world-wide fame.

Nabrassor's Queen, tired of the level plains Which her adopted Babylonia claims, Sighed for her Midian gardens and sweet flowers, To cheer her in her few retiring hours.

She sighed not long or vainly, for her lord Called art to rival nature; at his word Bewitching gardens with rare flowers were Formed and suspended in mid-air for her.

Let all be grateful to these flower friends, Who to life's pleasure such rich fragrance lends, And strive, like them through perfumed actions clear, Others to gladden, elevate and cheer.

Then will they not have toiled and smiled in vain, For man a fuller, freer life to gain, In bright incentives to enjoyments sure, Through sympathetic nature's teachings pure.

* * * * *



A WELCOME FROM LIVERPOOL.

To Her Majesty the Queen, May 11th, 1886

Beloved Queen of Britain's sea-girt Isles, And lands o'er which the grand Sun ever smiles, Accept from Liverpool, we humbly pray, The heartiest welcome loyal hearts can pay.

Thrice welcome to this enteprising Port, Whose ships to Earth's remotest point resort, Making our City a commercial throne, For merchant princes of deserved renown.

The loyal shouts which will beset thy way, And hearty cheers which thrill thy heart to-day, Are but expressions impotent to tell, Our fealty to the Queen we love so well.

We welcome also Connaught's Prince with pride, And the Prince Henry and his royal bride, And pray they may in wedded bliss long live, With every blessing heaven and earth can give.

Our Exhibition, we would fondly hope, May prove with former splendid shows to cope; But chief its maritime displays we deem, May gain the approbation of our Queen.

Peoples of other and far distant lands, Have toiled with active brains and willing hands, Working with competition's keen excess, To make the shipperies a grand success.

In its arrangements may a lion's share Of grateful thanks be given to our mayor, To whose untiring enterprise is due, The grand result which we now proudly view.

What rich displays of scientific art, Applied to manufactures, form a part Of its instruction, and what mines of wealth Have they not sprung to minister to health.

What triumphs of constructive power are here, What force in those huge engines doth appear, Which leagued with steam are conquering time and space And quickening intellect to giant's pace.

And see, yon granite structure towering high, As if earth's wildest tempest to defy, Lighthouse of Eddystone, reared at Land's End, To storm-tossed mariners an angel friend!

And fitting offspring of this noble tower, To shipwrecked mariners a priceless dower, Are those blest life-boats merciful to save Full many a sufferer from a watery grave.

Yonder the graceful trophy, typical Of our fair City's commerce, trade and skill, A not unworthy tribute to form part Of the world's storehouse of constructive art.

Magnificent displays from every clime! Columbia, Afric', Asia, all combine With Europe, in this peaceful contest won From every nation known beneath the Sun!

Science, with her fair sister Art, unite With nature, to form parterres rare and bright, Preside at buffets of refreshment pure, To make enjoyment in the whole more sure.

All industries have freely lent their aid. And to our city's fete grand tribute made, Too numerous the products, rich and rare, In this too brief description to have share,

Suffice it that the whole is richly worth A pilgrimage from any part of earth, Besides the lustre shed by thee, dear Queen, Over the practical, inspiring scene.

Well do we, who are acting out life's part In its last scene, remember with sad heart, How nearly five and thirty years ago, Thou came'st here, with thy loved one, in life's glow!

Albert the Good! long shall his honoured name Deep love and reverence from all people claim; Cultured and intellectual, virtuous, kind. His manly heart was generous and refined.

Noble by birth, yet nobler far by deed, In philanthrophic work he took the lead, With thy ennobling union strengthened, graced, His name on Fame's grand scroll is firmly traced.

Accept, beloved Queen, ere thou depart, The fervent prayer of every loyal heart, That the Great Father bless and guard thee long, Thy gracious reign to prosper and prolong.

* * * * *



IN RESPONSE TO A KIND GIFT OF FLOWERS.

Your beauteous gift of lovely brilliant flowers, My dear young friend, has cheered my suffering hours, With loved charged telegrams from nature's king, Such as these messengers to mortals bring.

In gorgeous hues of scarlet, pink and white, Caught from the glorious sun's electric light. And sheened by lovely fronds of maiden hair, With which no emerald jewels could compare.

How merciful the ways of providence! Our daily life with such sweet joys to fence, And linking with them such divine discourse, To point the way to heavenly intercourse!

What pure benevolence has called them forth, Calm, blooming offspring of rejoicing earth, Never to sadden, ever to make gay, And chase the clouds of gloom and care away.

Responding with delight to human care, Loading with fragrance the enraptured air, Proving that culture and refinement can, Increase the happiness of plants and man.

While the divine suggestions which they impart, Are elevating both to mind and heart; Calm and refresh the spirit, and incite To seek through nature's laws "The kindly light."

For nature is God's revelation sure, Which ever was and ever shall endure, A daily new creation, to inspire To simple pleasures and devine desire.

Then let us question nature more and more, Her glorious realm more ardently explore, Since she has joys unbounded to extend, To all who truly seek to be her friend.

* * * * *



HEALTH.

Of all the blessings which kind heaven bestows, From infancy to life's most lengthened close, The one, far greater than all earthly wealth, Is the inestimable gift of health; But as this precious gift of heaven is placed Greatly within our power to use or waste, Should not its scientific study claim Our grave attention and our best care gain? Without it, the bright jewel of the mind Is apt to get distorted, weak and blind, And if not previously well schooled and trained, Becomes to fears unjustified enchained. This chiefest blessing of all bounteous heaven, Is to His children by the Father given As a productive talent, to be used For universal good, and not abused. It thus becomes a solemn charge, that each Who understands it thus, should others teach, By individual efforts, and means paid, For missionary service widely laid, And as strong healthy minds so much depend, On healthy bodies; to this righteous end. Should not all education be then based On this foundation and with it enlaced? Let children even, learn that kindly heaven, To them this priceless heritage has given, Which they must learn to use with constant care, And of its dangerous abuse beware. Why should they not be early taught to know The dire effects from alcohol that flow, As well as the right use of generous food. And well-timed exercise to cleanse the blood. To trace th' effects that flow from every cause: With ventilation's most important laws, Of cleanliness of mind and person too, And strict exactitude in all they do, And to breathe through their nostrils, meant to be Their ever ready respirator free: To masticate, not bolt their food, and try To learn themselves, and know the reason why. Thus being early taught, in after life They might be better armoured for the strife Of fierce temptations, which, when conquered, can Strengthen and elevate the inner man, For soon or later each is bound to learn, That every talent must make fair return, To Him who mercifully gave its use, For joyful happiness, and not abuse. There are three sanitary agents given To mankind, by the gracious God of heaven, Freely and without stint, for all who choose These blessed ministers of His to use. These agents blest are, water, light and air, Abundantly provided everywhere, Flowing so freely o'er the outstretched earth, That man has scarcely yet discerned their worth. The wind is earth's great ventilating force, Water the cleansing, purifying course, Light the awakening, stimulating power, To nature as to man Heaven's priceless dower. Important lessons they each hourly teach, Which every creature has within his reach, For the same laws that nature's rule apply To every member of God's family, Bringing stern punishment for every cause Involved in disobeying His great laws. All honour to the band of pioneers, Who nobly fought 'midst opposition sneers T' establish sanitary laws, through all Our towns and cities, for the great and small, So that preventable disease might be Assaulted, and stamped out effectually, And that diseases which perforce remain Might fuller scientific treatment claim; And, thanks to Heaven, the fight was not in vain, For their wise teaching was so simple, plain, That thousands were induced to join th' affray And aid the righteous scheme to win the day, So that a large share of the nation's wealth Was gained to minister to public health: And now, no longer are our towns disgraced By filthy sewage and foul noxious waste, And every corporation through the land Is bound on this wise scheme to take its stand. Medical science tells us that the skin Is pierced by perspiratory tubes within, In countless thousands, used for drainage pores; Vessels secreting oil are found in stores, Whilst more provide for growth, and others still Carry off parts decayed with matchless skill, Each needing daily cleansing with due care, If we would health and mental vigour share. Providing other strict conditions willed By nature, be unswervingly fulfilled. Thus it should be our first concern to learn, The laws on which such vital interests turn. The ambulance and cookery classes each, In pleasant style much useful wisdom teach, But are not patronized to the extent They merit, in their practical intent. The winter course of science lectures free A spur to much research has proved to be, Where representatives from every class, The most delightful hours together pass. And what a joy it is to sit at ease, Listening to words that educate and please, From master minds who know their subject well, And on its salient points delighted dwell. These with free libraries and concerts tend Much happiness with useful work to blend; And our fair city may be proud to know, Th' uplifting forces which from them outflow. The despotism of custom in our day To much benignant progress bars the way, While superstition, ignorance and sloth Oppose all national and mental growth. But under education's brightening ray, And blessed reason's intellectual sway, These barriers are bound to disappear, And leave the path to progress free and clear. The dogmatism of fashion too is crime, When injuring the human form sublime, By its stern mandates, which attract the weak, Causing them nature's holiest laws to break, By lacing tightly, to a model form, Which fashion sternly says should then be worn; This tightening in the vital organs so, Prevents the circulation's healthy flow, And thus the lungs and pliant ribs and heart, Incapable of acting out the part Assigned to them by nature, prove a prey To premature diseases and decay. We talk with pious horror and regret, Of the unwise Chinese, who will not let The feet of their poor female children grow, Entailing thus unutterable woe; But when unprejudiced the reason acts, And we together scan th' appalling facts, Resulting from tight lacing, and tight shoes, We cannot conscientiously refuse, To say that of the two vile customs, ours Is certainly more culpable than theirs, While we too are not guiltless or discreet, Respecting our behaviour to our feet, Making them hobble on high heels, with toes Not half the width that should their forms enclose; So we should be more modest when we seek To satirize them and their customs-weak, Remembering that we too are much to blame, And like them merit censure and much shame. How wisely Israel's poet songster said, That cleanliness to godliness is wed, For filthiness of body must conduct, Impurities which mental life obstruct. How well are engineers on the alert, To keep their engines free from dust and dirt, Knowing that without such great care from them, They could not do the work required by men; So neither can we hope our bodies will Their heaven directed work aright fulfil, If their machinery is not kept free, From foul obstruction and impurity. Science and nature then should be our guide, Instructive lessons they for all provide, Teaching us how the pleasant winds insure That atmospheric air is sweet and pure; God's antidote they are, invisible, To poisonous vapours else unbearable, Which steam from all decaying substances, Throughout the earth's wide-spread dependences. But as men civilized do not exist Always in open air, these guides insist, That as God uses circulating air, To purify and sweeten everywhere, That we should also, through our dwellings wide An ever circulating air provide, As we, like other animals outpour, Foul, poisonous vapours too from every pore. How well bees understand effects and cause, Of breaking ventilation's righteous laws, For see, their crowded hive with straw inlaid, Has in it but one tiny opening made, And yet the many thousand inmates there, Have better, purer, more refreshing air, Than men and women, in close bedrooms pent For seven or eight long hours, without a vent To carry off empoisoned loathsome air, That they are stupidly content to share. If we could look within the hive we'd see, Full two score bees holding tenaciously, With firm grasp to the floor, unceasingly Flapping their tiny wings with energy, And as they fall off wearied, others come To take their place, with merry hum, And thus they work, without a moment's pause, Exemplifying ventilation's laws, By forcing good air to supplant the bad, And so escape the consequences sad Of poisonous vapours and contracted homes, For which their heaven-taught wisdom thus atones; Proving they are indeed, inspired to be Exponents of the laws of Deity. And if still further witness is required, To prove what nature teaches be desired, Let us in fancy's aerial chariot fly To Bengal's capital, and once more try To demonstrate from just another side, The evils which infected air provide; For it is just a century ago, Calcutta furnished such a tale of woe, As surely seldom has been found before In any other country's saddest lore. The Great Mogul of India had allowed, The English to have factories endowed, In certain parts of his dominion wide, Which soon became a source of wealth and pride, To those who laboured in them, and it chanced That a barbarian Nabob on them glanced With envious eyes, Suragah Dowlah named. The tributary king Bengal then claimed, And this barbarian monster, one fine day Led a large army to the factory Built at Calcutta, and so suddenly Did he attack the place that the small band Of a few hundred English could not stand A moment 'gainst his several thousand men, As they at most but numbered one to ten; Defence was useless, so they wildly fled To ships within the harbour, by hope led To find a refuge there; several of whom Thereby escaped a most disastrous doom, But others were pursued and brought to bay, Which formed th' appalling history of the day, For in the wild confusion of the fight, Above six score were captured in their flight; These the victorious Nabob, had immured Within the fortress prison, well secured, Too well, alas! for the contracted den, Known as the "Black Hole of Calcutta" then, But eighteen feet in length by fourteen wide. Could air for twenty men at most provide; And there were four score odd strong, stalwart men, Thrust into that abominable den; Having but two small holes for windows there For the admission of Heaven's blessed air, Crushed in with violent brutality, Shoulder to shoulder they stood gaspingly. No room to stir in that accursed place, They pressed in ghastly horror, face to face; The anguish of the captives soon became Greater than any pen or word could name; The neighbourhood resounded with their cries, Which all description utterly defies, But as the night wore on, these ravings ceased, As most of the poor victims got released, From their most agonising pain, by death; Whilst the remainder scarce had gasping breath. Thus when the morrow's blessed sun arose, It did a most revolting sight disclose, A ghastly spectacle of horror, where Were six score loathsome corpses upright there, Whilst jammed between them, in the filthy den, Were twenty-three more miserable men, Who hardly could be said to be alive, So fearfully did death among them strive To make them all his own, leaving no trace Of aught but spectre life in that vile place. This dreadful history cannot fail to show, How fatal consequences surely flow, From disregard of the Creator's laws, For these foul poisonous vapours were the cause Of five score agonising deaths, within The space of a few hours, from wilful sin. Many such instances of equal weight, I might from various other sources state, To show what misery and direful woe, From breaking nature's laws is sure to flow; Whilst in the keeping of them, blessings pure Flow in rewards continual and sure. Then, seeing we have so much in our power, Let us like the wise bees improve each hour, Learn of so-called barbarians, to set free The vital organs, to act easily, And to defy dogmatic customs, when They would enslave the intellect of men, No longer nature's holy precepts break; So shall sound bodies sounder minds soon make, As such a course rich blessings surely brings From the All Wise, All Mighty King of Kings.

* * * * *



INGRATITUDE.

Ingratitude! gaunt spectre of the mind, That is to every generous impulse blind, Offspring of nature's callous, cold and stern, Where selfishness and censure reign by turn.

Hideous these spectres to the mental sight, Black as the sable pall of darkest night, As they await the summons of the mind, That sends them forth to sting and wound mankind.

In cold response to acts of kindness born, Ingratitude replies with scathing scorn, Inflicting through these imps uncalled for pain, And treating sympathy with cold disdain.

Not only torturing others, they invent New tortures for the one by whom they're sent, Inflicting most excruciating pain, During their diabolical black reign.

Like you the picture, callous, selfish man! If not, then shun its likeness, while you can; Let truth and justice triumph over hate, And rise triumphant to a happier state.

Displace the imps ingratitude convokes, By love-winged sprites that gratitude evokes; Open thy mind to kindnesses received, And be no longer blindly self-deceived.

For gratitude has angels at command, Which form an ever ready willing band, To fly on missions of all-conquering grace, As from their path those hideous imps they chase.

For darkness cannot live where there is light, And so these imps detested take their flight, Before the glories of this angel band, They could not for a single moment stand.

And the sweet balm these love-winged sprites convey, Strengthens and cheers recipients on their way; Blessing the sender no less than the one Who thus receives the grateful tribute won.

Besides, one good and self-denying deed, To many others must in order lead, And the sweet gratitude that they evoke, Will other loving kindnesses provoke.

Oh, why should we refuse Heaven's proffered chance To universal happiness enhance, By doing unto others as we, too, Would wish that they to our own selves should do.

If we could only make this law our care, What untold blessings might we daily share, For every effort through this guidance made, Would be by heaven most graciously repaid.

One firm step forward in the right path makes The next more easy, and fresh courage wakes, While the sweet power of conquering bestows Accumulating interest as it grows.

And so the proudest warrior is he Who governs self with strict fidelity, While the bright laurels which he gams will last, When all earth's bloody victories are past.

* * * * *



TREES.

We sing the praise of flowers, and justly so, For from their beauteous petals blessings flow; But there are other countless beauties yield Blessings unnumbered in fair nature's field, Suggesting happy thoughts and pure desire, Inspiring us to string our heart's best lyre, Constraining to contentment in life's race, By making earth seem an enchanted place. Nature of human pleasures is the Queen, Robed in her own unrivalled peerless green, Wed to the sun's all-glorious majesty, Eternal witnesses of Deity. Friendship with her makes one sensation full Of calm delight, that heart and spirit lull. Such meditative hours I dearly love, They seem a benediction from above; The beautiful, eternal as the true, Affords through nature inspiration new, Making each varying season of the year A revelation fresh from heaven appear. A lawn in gentle undulations seen, Coated in verdure bright of emerald green, Margined with belts of foliage 'neath heaven's blue, With distant mingling woods of varied hue. And mountains where the coloured genii play In azure purple at the close of day, Is a grand spectacle of beauty rare, Which is a loving, lasting joy to share Whilst we remain unconscious the time's flight Steals like sweet music on the ear of night; So full of quiet rapture nature seems, We feel suffused in peace as in sweet dreams. Observe how graceful form and symmetry Are blent in trees with kind utility, Showing the Father's scientific care, Is testified to nature every where. The "Taliput" of fair Ceylon supplies The shade required 'neath tropic orient skies; Its leaf, impervious to sun and rain, Affords refreshing shelter for ten men. It also forms a tent for soldiers, and A parasol for travellers through the land. A book for scholars, a rich joy to all, Both young and aged, and dear children small, The cocoa-nut tree gracing Ceylon's fields, Materials for daily uses yields, Makes bread, wine, sugar, vinegar and yeast, Cloth, paper, ships and tents for man and beast. See the strong oak with boldly branching arms, The delicate, light birch of airy charms; The graceful, drooping elms like fountains play; The stately poplar and rich chestnuts gay, The sugar maples towering to the sky, Like antique vases elevated high, All charged with telegrams from God above, In blessed token of His ceaseless love. Yonder an avenue of graceful elms, Fully a mile across the landscape swells, Whose over-hanging branches form an aisle, Grander than any in Cathedral pile; Then the historic tree that was the pride Of Israel's wisest monarch, that defied The elemental strife that ages feared To build the Temple Solomon upreared. Cedars of Lebanon! how proudly they In tens of thousands clothed the mountain way, In age-timed friendship with each throbbing star, A miracle of beauty near and far. Now only seven of these trees remain, Grand landmarks to the Arabs of the plain, Who in their shade their altars consecrate, And their umbrageous shelter venerate. London has full six thousand acres laid In parks, for public recreation made; Paris its Tuileries, with Fontainebleau, St. Cloud, Versailles, where lovely fountains flow, Vienna its great Prater, Frankfort too, New York its Central Park in verdure new; Whilst other towns and cities everywhere, Are vieing each with each such joys to share All exercise important sway supreme, On public health and morals felt and seen. By their community of pleasures pure, Which rich and poor can equally insure, These public gardens with their lakes and flowers Preach better temperance lectures than the showers Of eloquence their advocates display, On thirsting toilers of the working day. They form a sweet oasis from the care And dissipations of the city's glare, Where families of young and old may meet, And friends on equal terms each other greet. A people must its pleasures have, and so, Whether they're virtuous, poisonous, fast or slow, Depend on the directing minds that lead The city's councils met for public need; So it should be our great concern to see Our rulers men of whole-souled charity. Let national be rational delight, Made profitable to each class by right, That public parks may be a joy to all, Men, women, rich and poor, and children small. That, as in Germany, the people may Find healthful pleasures in them day by day. Thus the class social barriers which the pride Of Anglo-Saxon nations still provide, May yield beneath more kindly pressure lent, To make all classes happily content. What worthier monument could nations raise, To merit from its masses grateful praise, Than such attractive parks to educate, And morals, minds and manners elevate? For lectures on home subjects, not too long, Might be delivered freely to the throng, Exemplifying the Creator's laws, Which yield their just effects to every cause, Whilst music in sweet tones of band and voice, Might lead the congregation to rejoice, As well to educate as charm the ear, And many a saddened heart uplift and cheer.

* * * * *



TO A FAITHFUL DOG.

Dear Vixey! quadruped of noble type, I fain would chant the praises of thy life, Though words of mine are powerless and weak, To sketch thy character, so brave yet meek.

Full of sincere devotion, without bound, Art thou to thy dear master, faithful hound! Thy love for him refreshing is to see, For in him centres thy felicity.

When he is saddened or beset with fears I've seen thy lovely eyes suffused with tears. And thou hast nestled by him to express Thy sympathy in eloquent caress.

But when in happier mood, and accents bright He speaks to thee, what transports of delight Beam from thine eye where joy and peace prevail, Upraise thy ears and elevate thy tail.

Those solemn, full, expressive eyes of thine, With fond affection and emotion shine, As he permits thee to curl round and lie Upon the sofa near him cozily.

Nothing will tempt thee to forsake his side, Where thou reclinest, with delighted pride. Vain are all efforts to divert thy choice, Unless o'er-ruled by his beloved voice.

And whilst in Mrs. Mount's well-ordered room, Where thou with him art dining after noon, How knowingly thou dost inspect each face, Where thou, instinctively, kind feelings trace.

If thou could'st only speak, what tones of love Would pass 'twixt thee and him, thy joy to prove, For surely never could affection be Stronger than thine in warmth and constancy.

Serving each member of the family, With true allegiance and fidelity, Though chiefly to thy youngest mistress thou Dost with affectionate submission bow.

Albeit, thou wouldst forsake them all to win One quiet word or coaxing look from him; Thy first obedient loyalty is shown To him who thou so proudly count'st thine own.

No wonder, then, that he so prizes thee, For such devotion and fidelity, Which, even from a dog, can joy impart To a despairing or a troubled heart.

Thy great, round eyes with eloquence express Unselfish love and fullest confidence, Almost beyond the power of words to tell, When gazing on the one thou lov'st so well.

Dear Vixey, I conclude by sending thee, Over the boundless, intervening sea, Many kind words and pats by the loved one Who thy fond, ardent, faithful love has won.

* * * * *



SELF DISCIPLINE.

Self discipline and perseverance strong, Effort on effort, with endurance long, Make kings of men, who subjugate and sway Stern empire over self each hour of day.

They, like skilled generals, lead on the van Of thoughts progressive in the inner man, And marshal well their forces, so to fight That truth and justice be diffused as light.

Such constitute an empire grand within, Raise fortresses 'gainst known and secret sin, And thus become brave conquerors, whose deeds Leave all the monument that goodness needs.

They form a true refining power on earth, A high nobility of sterling worth, Who, though oft poor in worldly riches, may Far nobler thrones than those of earth's kings sway.

Triumphs o'er self-will, selfishness and pride, Ensure a wealth of consequences wide, Which gain the victor armour that shall win Him further victories o'er self and sin.

But 'tis the will of heaven that each should keep This armour bright, and sow what he would reap, That industry unflinching, tireless zeal Should to earth's workers rich results reveal.

Endurance disciplines to sympathy, Which deals a death blow to cold apathy, Making its owner ready to risk all, And smile down obstacles at duty's call.

Kind gentleness comes also in its train, Constraining men to serve those some would blame. Patient with erring strayed ones far from home Sternly severe unto themselves alone.

Then comes the blissful privilege that flows Through self-denial, of assisting those Who may through ignorance have lost their way, Or blindly stumbled in the glare of day.

That charity translated into love, Is of all graces foremost, all may prove, Meaning not merely money, which counts naught, Unless with sympathetic kindness fraught.

Intelligible to the searching mind, Is the Creator's message to mankind, If it with fervour study His grand laws, Which prove that each effect must have a cause.

As naught material is lost in space, So nothing spiritual can man efface; Exemplifying thus the axiom sure, That conquering love, truth, justice must endure.

So let each strive to serve as best he can. His Father God, himself, and fellow man, By subjugating self, and shewing forth That justice, love, truth, peace, should rule on earth.

Then might that brotherhood which Christ ordained, Be through the wide world practised and proclaimed, As one grand creed for earth's vast family, Of loving service to the Deity.

* * * * *



THE CENTENARY OF A HERO.

George Stephenson, the heroic son of Britain's hardy race, The world this day holds festival, his grand career to trace; And proudly as compatriots England enshrines his name, Among her choicest heroes, on her cherished scroll of fame.

This ninth of June commemorates the glad centenary Of him whom mighty nations hold in grateful memory; A veritable hero he, worthy immortal praise, And the most lavish monuments mankind may to him raise.

Out of the humblest ranks of life the Wylam pitman rose, To a stern, irresponsive world great secrets to disclose; And through the rare, majestic force of a God-inspiring will, He forced the world his grand design and purpose to fulfil.

The poor, illiterate youth thus reared in penury extreme, Could scarcely read or write ere he attained eighteen, And yet, by the observant force of a self-guided brain, He lived to benefit a world, and gain immortal fame.

Battered and forged by poverty, his iron spirit rose, Unbroken and undaunted by the world's derisive blows, Spurred on by opposition, through the sharp furnace leapt, Strengthened and sharpened—a great power—this king of railroads stept.

His life work in his vast results will long outlive the fame Of warrior, statesman, ruler, bard, and make his honoured name An inspiration for all time to prove what can be done By observation, force and skill—what deathless laurels won!

Take courage, sons of hardy toil, your iron spirits, too, By stern, unflinching industry, may some wise forging do, Which might yourselves ennoble, and benefit your race, Who would in turn, with gratitude, your names delight to trace.

He sailed a trackless, unknown sea in the vast realms of thought, Discovered paths to enterprise, with golden issues fraught, Which lent fair commerce fleetest wings, and spurred the heels of trade, And throughout Britain's pleasant land his iron highways laid.

Something there is in lives like these that stirs the soul of man, With irresistible desire to do the best he can; Like him, through dauntless industry, and noble, firm resolve, To aid life's wheel of progress more smoothly to revolve.

Thus may his grand career inspire the multitude to-day, Throughout the nation he has dowered all homage due to pay To the majestic mind and will of him, whose honoured name The British nation shrines anew, on the world's proud scroll of fame.

* * * * *



SPRINGBANK.

Dreaming before the cheerful fire, Cushioned in easy chair, Methought a troupe of fairies bright, So blithe and debonair, Trooped gaily in the dim lit hall, With buzz of tempered joy. Four little fairy maiden forms Led by a merry boy, In robe of ermine, crown of gold, Dove-eyed Dora as Britain's Queen, Whose brown hair sprayed o'er shoulders fair, And wee feet peeped from satin sheen. Clad in America's proud flag, Comes Liz with eyes of blue, Personifying with rare grace, Columbia's goddess true. The two right heartily shake hands, By which 'tis understood That they were pledged, come weal, come woe, To dwell in brotherhood. From the assembled groups around They hearty plaudits won, All feeling sure these nations could Brave the whole world as one. Then as the prince of Eastern lore With mirthful mischief rife, Comes Harry pressed by love to kiss The princess back to life; The eyes soon ope beneath his touch; The maids in glad surprise See the prince break the fairy spell, And claim his willing prize. Little Red Ridinghood comes next, Crying in sad despair: O grandma, what long teeth you've got! What eyes! what shaggy hair! In this case happily the wolf Ne'er moved or spake a word; Perhaps he was too much ashamed To have his gruff voice heard. Then to my wondering gaze appeared Old goody in her shoe, With all her numerous tribe that made Her not know what to do. And next a lovely belle who caught All hearts as in a cage, And bearing up her graceful train A quite bewitching page. Then the scene changed and nothing but A barrel, labelled "flour," Appeared upon the mimic stage In that glad evening hour; When lo! from out the wooden tub A beauteous little sprite, Emerging kissed her tiny hands, The household flower that night. Then 'round a caldron on a grate To spoil the broth appeared, Five little dainty fairy cooks Whom tout le monde now cheered. Next came the awful family squalls, Which Granny vainly tried To stay with Winslow's stuff for which Full many a babe has cried; The stuff and rod were all in vain, The squallers loudly bawled; Granny, despairing, shrieked aloud, And all in chorus squalled. And now "the reign of terror" dire Was pictured by them all, Nestling most trustingly beneath An umbrella tall. And still once more the scene was changed. The fairy sprites so bright, In robes de nuit with tapers lit, All sweetly sang "good night." Good night, I cried; why, how is this; Things are then what they seem, And these sweet picture-paintings here Have not been all a dream? For there's our doctor's pleasant smile, There the kind brothers Gale, And there the little happy group Who tableaw'd each sweet tale. There Arnold as a southern belle, Who'd made much fun to-night, There all the guests of Springbank too, Applauding with their might. Better than fiction, I exclaimed, And crowning all the rest Glad charity the prceeds had, Making the pastime blest, Thanks to ye, little happy ones, Thanks for the vision bright, Which with such zest and innocence, You've given us to-night.

* * * * *



RECOLLECTIONS OF FONTAINEBLEAU.

Well I remember, many years ago, Deep in the forest shade of Fontainebleau, With six dear girls in lovely virgin prime, Partaking of its rural joys sublime. Sue, Polly, Edith, Amy, Maud, Dear girls, whom no one could but love and laud; I like a mother to them tried to be, We were, in truth, a happy family. Far from our homes, in foreign lands we strayed; In Paris for twelve months our quarters made, Studying most earnestly, serenely gay, In the good pension of Madame Rey. We visited the Palace, and roamed through Its storied chambers and trim gardens, too, And lingered by the fish pond where, 'twas claimed, Poor Marie Antoinette the fishes tamed, And then into the lovely forest sped, With simple meal of ripe fruit, meat and bread, Which we discussed with appetites made keen By games and frolic on the meadow green. The over-hanging wealth of summer trees Were swayed by Zephyr's stimulating breeze, While the sun's ardent glances played between The joy-tossed leaves and frolicked on the green. Wearied with a long ramble we reclined Beneath the waving foliage, glad to find A spot so lovely for a needful rest, Feeling by nature there supremely blest. Reclining 'neath the sun's inspiring kiss, We felt by nature soothed to peaceful bliss, Too great for human utterance of word, Though our whole being was to rapture stirred. Thus in a dumb delight our thoughts took wing, In grateful homage to fond nature's king, With newly waken'd resolutions blest, During that hour of blessed, peaceful rest; And when at length we from the sweet trance woke, What joyful exclamations from us broke! As all in one rich harmony agreed, We felt from every earthly burden freed. Then, coming on a lovely forest glade, By a clear, purling brook refreshing made, We sat upon some rocks that tempting lay, Full in the smile of the sun's chastening ray, And its full glory rested on the hills, Falling on lonely brooklets, streams and rills, While the West glowed with blazing, crimson fires, Kindled to emulate divine desires. The sun-lit glory streaming from the West Lulled us once more to tranquil, joyous rest, When, with a silent wonder, we espied Most lovely lizards o'er the smooth stones glide. Doubtless the pretty creatures were lured forth By the supernal love light flooding earth, And in rich robes, with gorgeous colours bright, Were joining nature's transports of delight; For 'twas the tranquilizing sunset hour, When the great sun-god concentrates his power, To spread refining influence and show His colour painting to the earth below. And thus refreshed, we bent our homeward way, Strong in the gladdening influence of the day, Gathering bright wreaths of wild flowers rare, to be Mementoes of the day's felicity.

* * * * *



THE TUNBRIDGE WELLS FLOWER SHOW.

What wealth of floral beauty, fresh from bright summer bowers! What exquisite commingling of lovely fragrant flowers! What budlets of rich promise, what hope-set leaves are here, Grouped with rare skill and elegance—the eye and heart to cheer!

Bright flowers of humble beauty, from forest, wood, and glade, Stand by their wealthier cousins, in innocence arrayed, And blending with rich blossoms the graceful maidenhair, Spreads far its fairy frondlets, to woo the joyful air.

And roses, too, sweet roses, gems of dear England's soil, Welcomed alike in palace as in the cot of toil; Tender and soft their tintings, as gentle maiden's blush, Soothing their perfumed breathings, as twilight's mystic hush.

Fruits ripened rich and luscious, sore tempters to each sense. And vegetables—divers, well cultured, and immense; All in full life and vigour, delightful to behold The produce of old England's well cultivated mould.

These fruits so rare and luscious, these gorgeous flowerets gay. These graceful gems of verdure—delighting us to-day Are tender loving tokens, fresh from the living sod, Of the surpassing wisdom and boundless love of God.

* * * * *



APPENDIX

* * * * *

The first volume of HOME LYRICS was published during the life of the authoress, in 1876, receiving, amongst others, comments from the press as follows:

From the Morning Post, Jan. 4th, 1877.

The mantle of Mrs. Hemans may be said to have descended on Mrs. H. S. Battersby. She infuses into her poems the ardour of home affection; her faith is pure, and her hope unswerving. Many of her verses have inspiration from the clear, bracing air of Canadian skies. She loves the grandeur of nature; lofty rocks and waterfalls; forests whitened with snows, and vast frozen lakes, smooth as polished marble, and solid as granite. He who delights in the fauna and flora of nature has in every clime

"Which the eye of Heaven visits."

a library fruitful of study and a pursuit which is innocent and healthful. Mrs. Battersby deduces a moral lesson in her spirited lines "To the Chaudiere Falls, Canada"—

"Oh, wild rolling waters; oh, white-crested foam, I, too, would press onward, right on to my home; Like thee, with stern purpose, let nothing impede, Or cause me to falter in courage or speed.

"My mission, like thine, is right onward to go, Though tempests be raging and dark waters flow, Oh, might I, like these, with firm, resolute voice, Through dangers, and even through tempests, rejoice!"

But the author reserves her warmest welcome and her loudest notes of praise for the charming scenery of her native land. "Beautiful Malvern" is dearer to her heart than the most romantic regions in Europe. More beloved than the snow-capped grandeur of the Alps, than the castle crowned Rhine, enshrined in the stanzas of a hundred poets, Helvetia's dark gorges, and the silvery cascade of Giessbach, calm Chamounix, and the gloomy dungeons and stake of the Castle of Chilon.

"All these wonders of nature and wonders of mind, With their thousand attractions of beauty combined, Have served but to strengthen my fond love for thee, And make thee, dear Malvern, still dearer to me."

This supports the quaint remark of a tourist that one of the great delights of travelling is the thought and anticipated pleasure of coming home again. From the subjects chosen for many of her poems the author has evidently made appeal rather to the narrow circle of her own near relations and friends than to that ever-increasing one which is expressed by the phrase of the "reading public." She writes thus in her preface, the brevity of which is much to be commended:—"They are published chiefly for the author's dear children, relations, and valued friends, to whose hearths and hearts it is hoped that they will, as HOME LYRICS, readily find their way."

In "A Painful History," Mrs. Battersby speaks boldly out against one of our social inequalities, which she sensibly and very justly denounces. All men of true honour must accept and endorse her verdict. Hood treats the same theme with all the tenderness of his fine sensitive nature, and with all that exquisite harmony which his refined muse had at ready command. HOME LYRICS is a charming little volume of poems, full of sincerity, grace, and devotional feeling.

* * * * *

From the Tunbridge Wells Gazette.

"One of the prettiest collections of poems we know of. It is very nicely printed, and the poems will be found to have a large amount of poetry in them. A more suitable present to a young friend we do not think could be found than this volume."

* * * * *

From the Western Times, Jan. 2nd, 1877.

Poetry will never die while there are Hearts and Homes. The poetical spirit of this accomplished lady has hovered over that sacred spot, Home, sweet Home, and there sung, like the Bethlehem angels, those sweet melodies of love. They are published, she tells us "chiefly for the author's dear children, relatives and valued friends, to whose hearths and hearts it is hoped that they will, as Home Lyrics, readily find their way." It is a fortune all its readers will wish it, where the gems under the gold-lettered, crimson covers will be often inspected, and the neat volume often made a Christmas or a New Year's gift.

* * * * *

From the Tunbridge Wells Gazette, July, 7th, 1876.

Under this title will shortly be published a volume of poems. We have seen the author's proofs and can testify to the depth of feeling and mature thought, together with the telling language brought to bear in working out many of those homely scenes upon which the heart delights to dwell, as well as others of a miscellaneous character.

* * * * *

From the Tunbridge Wells Gazette, Sept. 1st, 1876.

This book, by H. S. Battersby, the issue of which we announced a short time ago, has been published, and forms a very handsome volume. We have before referred to the diversified character of the poems thus collated, in fact several of them have appeared in our columns; suffice it now to say that the general topics selected are of a pleasing character, simple rather than striking, yet effectively thought out in excellent composition. As its name denotes, it is chiefly the mirror of home attributes, and thoughts, and feelings, and what is more calculated to engross the attention of a thoughtful mind than such irresistible appeals, all the more attractive from their natural bearing and ingenious meaning! To the lover of poetical thought the volume will be welcome, while the general reader will find much that cannot fail to interest.

* * * * *

From the Worcestershire Chronicle, Sept. 9th, 1876.

The above is an appropriate title for a volume of poems in which events occurring within the domestic circle are largely, but by no means exclusively, dealt with by the authoress, who explains, in a modest and brief preface, that the poems are published chiefly for "dear children, relatives, and valued friends." To many of these, no doubt, most of the effusions contained in this volume will have a personal interest, especially as the verses are written with much feeling and natural truth, which will be sure to elicit sympathy. But there are other poems which will interest the general reader, especially if he or she has travelled much, as the authoress has jotted down in verse her thoughts upon many of the numerous places she has visited. Amongst these is Malvern, with which town and the hills Mrs. Battersby seems particularly pleased, if not quite enthusiastic. There is "A Welcome to Malvern," after years of absence, which clearly demonstrates this; then the delightful prospect from the "Beacon" is discoursed upon; and, later on appear a few verses on "St. Ann's Well," followed by "Farewell to Malvern," in which, after references to the pleasant locality, the Abbey Church, and the Promenade Gardens, there occurs the following verse:

And then, 'tis the home of a man of rare fame, Rare talents, rare worth, Dr. G——y, by name, Whose wonderful skill and refinement combined Administers (sic) balm to the body and mind.

This, we apprehend, was written and published prior to the disclosures in the Bravo case, in which Dr. G——y cut such a very sorry figure.

* * * * *

From the Western Daily Mercury, August 24th, 1876.

We are pleased to find that a second edition of Mrs. Battersby's poems has been called for; they really contain some very excellent verse, the offspring of a mind far superior to that of the ordinary rhymester. We have always had a good deal of sympathy for the Moon and the Sea, because they are generally the first victims of every "poet's" misguided pen; it was, therefore, an intense relief to find that Mrs. Battersby's lyrics on these subjects are quite readable; indeed, the lines to the Sea are exceedingly pretty and full of original ideas. The volume contains a few weak pieces, which might have been omitted with advantage. Of these is a "Farewell to Malvern," from which we extract the following verse, as being somewhat interesting at the present time:—

And then, 'tis the home of a man of rare fame, Rare talents, rare worth, Dr. G——y by name, Whose wonderful skill and refinement combined Administers balm to the body and mind.

Mrs. Battersby says she prints this book for her relatives and friends, and of the latter we are sure it will make a great number.

* * * * *

From the East Sussex News, September 1st, 1876.

HOME LYRICS, by H. S. Battersby, is a small but neat volume of miscellaneous poems, published by Messrs. Ward, Lock and Tyler, Warwick House, Paternoster Row. The authoress states that the poems have been written at various times and under various circumstances, and several of them have already appeared separately in the columns of journals as occasional contributions. The versification is good and the true spirit of poetry runs through the volume. Mrs. Battersby's descriptions of scenery in Canada as well as in this country are very pleasing, and the language employed is evidently that of a devout Christian. These HOME LYRICS should find their way to many hearths and hearts.

* * * * *

From the Hampshire Advertiser, August 26th, 1876.

This is a pretty volume of poems, written, as the preface informs us, at various times and under different circumstances. They also vary in merit, but the same kindly sentiment runs through the whole, and they will be welcome at many a fireside on account of the sympathy they manifest with home life. In the descriptions of scenery a warm admiration is manifested for the beauties of nature, but the chief attraction of these LYRICS lies in the interest they impart to the ordinary incidents of life.

* * * * *

From the Broad Arrow, August 26th, 1876.

There is a homely look about friend Hannah's photographic frontispiece which bids us look beyond the title page. Anything that appeals to home sympathies must ever find a welcome from the soldier and sailor, too often thought to be the light and airy citizen of the world, but ever in his inmost heart yearning, amidst duty and glory, for home. Our poetess shadows out a great and grand home sentiment in the lines—

"O vast, mysterious, solemn sea, Great reflex of the Deity; Safe in the hollow of His hand Doth all thy waste of waters stand."

Indian Indra and Teutonic Thurmor alike bow in acknowledgment of the truth of this conception.

* * * * *

Extract from the Tunbridge Wells Gazette, 7th July, 1876.

Under this title has been published a volume of original poems. We can testify to the depth of feeling and mature thought, together with the telling language brought to bear in working out many of those homely scenes upon which the heart delights to dwell, as well as others of a miscellaneous character.

* * * * *

Extract from Pioneer, Allahabad, 9th June, 1877.

HOME LYRICS.—London: Ward, Lock, and Tyler, Warwick House, Paternoster Row.—

It is not surprising that this handsomely got-up book of poetry, gilt edged, and printed on toned paper, should have passed into a second edition. It would be difficult to find a work more adapted for a "present" than Mrs. Battersby's HOME LYRICS; for, while far removed from those hateful goody-goody collections of "poetry," which perplex and distress the unfortunate reader, her verses are tinged with a deep, religious earnestness which may find an echo in any well balanced mind. This very earnestness, in fact, is the most noticeable point in the whole of the detached pieces which go to make up the volume. Apart from the mechanism of the verses, which might readily be made to work more smoothly, there is found a rare amount of originality in the pieces and an enthusiastic admiration for Nature and Nature's wonders which finds expression in various outbursts, more or less poetical. Whether singing of the "proud hills of Malvern" or inditing blank verse in face of the Horse Shoe Falls at Niagara, the author is equally at home, inasmuch as she is always under the influence of a keen appreciation of the sublimity and beauty of natural objects. The following "Hymn to Nature" will give an exact idea of the merits and defects of her style:—

"Dear Nature, how I love thee, In all thy varied forms, Through which the God of beauty Thy loveliness adorns. Pure fount of gushing gladness, From spring of heavenly birth, Whose living Waters flow for The children of the earth.

"Crowned by soft, beauteous moonbeams Of holy, silver light, Types of that ancient pillar That led the hosts by night— Kissed by fond golden sunbeams Of love-streams from on high, Well may thy glad song ever Fill the wide earth and sky."

To those who can enjoy the quiet and peaceful side of life with only an occasional glimpse of its stern realities, these LYRICS will be very acceptable.

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THE END