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THE pale day died in the rain to-night,
And its hurrying ghost, the wind, goes by: The mountains loom in their silent might,
And darkly frown at the sea and sky.
But when at night he came upon the stage,
The petrel wings close to his surging home,
And stabs with a shriek the shuddering night: The mad wave beckons with hands of foam
Dipped in the blood of the sea-tower's light. So, in my heart, is a storm to-night,
Storm and tumult that will not cease; And my soul, in bitterness, longs for the light,
For the waking bird and the dawn of peace.
WHEN from the vaulted wonder of the sky
The curtain of the light is drawn aside,
And I behold the stars in all their wide
Round which innumerable worlds revolve,
solve, And death, that dread annulment which life shuns, Or fain would shun, becomes to life the way,
The thoroughfare to greater worlds on high, The bridge from star to star. Seek how we may,
There is no other road across the sky; And, looking up, I hear star-voices say:
“You could not reach us if you did not die."
THE SINGER'S ALMS. In Lyons, in the mart of that French town, Years since, a woman, leading a fair child, Craved a small alms of one who, walking down The thoroughfare, caught the child's glance, and
smiled To see, behind its eyes, a noble soul. He paused, but found he had no coin to dole.
His guardian angel warned him not to lose
And once I knew a meditative rose
- A Morning Pastoral.
The sky was blue above, and all the lane
The singer stood between the beggars there,
The artist labors while he may,
Along the Nile.
Of joy that was only dreamed,
By sad waves tossed, She was a spray of coral fair to see,
The hat of its stamped brood was emptied soon
Found on the shore where death's impatient deep Hems in the narrow continent of life.
LOVE. Her love welled up like water in a spring, From which the more she gave the more was left, And purer for the gift.
The Galley Slave.
STORM. Last night you heard the tempest, love — the wind
entangled pines, The spraying waves, the sobbing sky that lowered
in gloomy lines; The storm was like a hopeless soul, that stood be
side the sea, And wept in dismal rain and moaned for what could never be.
- Autumn Ballad.
The Giant Spider.
– The Host's Humility.
ROSA VERTNER JEFFREY. R OSA VERTNER JEFFREY is a native of
Natchez, Mississippi. Her original name was Griffith, but at the age of nine months her mother died, leaving her to the care of her maternal aunt, whose child she became by adoption, and whose name she received with a mother's love and nur
Mr. Griffith, the father of Mrs. Jeffrey, was a gentleman of cultivated literary tastes and a practiced and graceful writer in both prose and
He died in 1853, just as the sure gifts of his daughter were winning recognition.
Rosa Vertner's early childhood was passed at Burlington, a beaatiful country-seat near Port Gibson, Mississippi, and the home of her adopted parents. When she was ten years of age her parents removed to Kentucky for the purpose of superintending her education, which was obtained principally at a seminary in Lexington. At the age of seventeen she married Mr. Claude M. Johnson, and has since resided mostly in Lexington. Being blessed far beyond most women with both beauty of face and mind, and having an ample fortune at her command, her position in the social world has been a continued triumph, not only in her own immediate circle but in Washington and other cities she has been recognized as a leader. Mrs. Ellet considered her one of the “Queens of American Society.” Mrs. Johnson was left a widow just as the war broke out, and about two years after was married to Alexander Jeffrey. She lived in Rochester, N. Y., during the war, and there wrote her first novel entitled “ Woodburn." She has since written several dramas, and published another novel.
As a poet Mrs. Jeffrey was the first Southern womand after Amelia Welby) whose writings at. tracted attention or approval throughout the United States. She commenced composing before she could write. At the early age of seven her mother copied the lines for her. At fifteen she wrote“ The Legend of the Opal.” Mrs. Jeffrey's first literary friend was George D. Prentice, who encouraged her in many ways. Other friends were George P. Morris, N. P. Willis, Washington Irving, Edward Everett, John G. Saxe and George Bancroft. Upon the publication of her poems in 1857, Northern and Southern critics alike awarded her such high praise that her position among the leading poets of this country was seemingly established, but the Civil War came and with it that prejudice against all things Southern which time has only recently effaced. The reputation was indeed won, but new writers and a new school have taken their place in the literature of the day, and like Rip Van Winkle a one time popular author finds herself almost for. gotten. How unjust this verdict has been the accompanying study will show. N. L. M.
Envy is the coward side of Hate,
When black the sky and dire with war,
When every heart was wrung with fear, He rose serene, and took his place,
The great occasion's mighty peer. He smote armed opposition down,
And bade the storm and darkness cease, Till o'er the long-distracted land Shone out the smiling sun of peace.
- Verses in Memory of General Grant.