AUTUMN. GOLDEN and russet and golden, Low-lying, lustrous, and still; As fair as the garden of olden, That Adam was given to till! Scarlet and purple and scarlet, Emerald, amber, and pearl; As brilliant as sunset afar-lit, And soft as a singing shell's whorl! Autumn, the queen of the seasons! Thou scatterest beauty like rain. And, lo! here we give thee allegiance, And, vassals, fall into thy train! PRINCESS EYEBRIGHT. PRINCESS Eyebright's seventeen, Though she's grown since then, somehow. Yet she lifts in olden wise Dusky veiled, violet eyes; But the look they wear is new, Shy, and yet so trustful too, That I swear the girl I miss Charmed me never so as this. MILTON. IT was the fair, white season of first snow, It sought again the skies it erst did know. O Milton, thou hast only half thy praise In having lowered the heavens within man's ken; Thine other, equal labor was to raise The human spirit up to heaven again; So, underneath thy forehead's aureole blaze, WORK AND WAGES. If there be any good In the Devil's reward, We may wish it, of course, For the work of the Lord; But the common demand Puts all on a level,Claims the pay of the Lord For the work of the Devil. THE THREE STAGES. FIRST I tried to live on faith, Which brought me small hilarity, And then I tried to live on hope, And now I live on charity. Oh! when I was a little boy I loved the country so; But now I've grown a big boy I may not thither go, But I must 'bide within the town, and toil and moil and strive, For just enough of misery to keep myself alive. But when I get an old boy, maybe they'll send me back, Away from tears and toil and sin, from hearts and heavens black, And lay me down among the flowers, where long ago I lay, Beside the shining waters, as free from toil as they. -Land-Longing. W. W. T. W. BARBE. T. W. BARBE is one of the most promising of the younger generation of Ameri can verse writers. He is a West Virginian, born near Morgantown, in Monongalia County, and is now about twenty-five years of age. He gradu. ated in the class of 1884, in the West Virginia University, where his record is a creditable one and where he made many friends whose predic tions of an honorable career have already been realized. In 1884 he took the Bachelor's degree, and three years later the Master's degree. Believ. ing in laying as broad and firm a basis as possible for future building, he is now devoting his spare hours to studying, under the direction of the university faculty, for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. Since Mr. Barbe's graduation he has been engaged in journalism, first at Morgantown for a short time, then in Cincinnati, He is now one of the editors of the Daily State Journal at Parkersburg, West Virginia. He is also the editor of the literary department of the West Virginia School Journal. While in Cincinnati he was invited to prepare and deliver a poem for the Centennial Celebration held at Morgantown in October, 1885, when that old college town completed its one hundredth year. This ode, which is now published in booklet form, was received with appreciation. Since the publication of this poem, "Song of a Century," Mr. Barbe has received a great many letters from prominent writers speaking of it in the most gratifying terms. He was elected to read the annual poem before the Alumni Association of his Alma Mater in June, 1887, and in the autumn of the same year he was elected Poet of the West Virginia Editorial Association. Mr. Barbe is a diligent and appreciative student of Shakespeare, and cherishes a tender reverence for the life, character and poems of the great Southern poet, Sidney Lanier. He has had a number of poems published in leading periodicals, all striking for finish and originality of thought. Literature is with him a passion as well as a profession. Who would not wish to this leal young knight God-speed as he comes riding into the literary lists panoplied with high aims and pure desires, and the unsullied armor of a spotless life? May his good sword, the pen, win him many more bloodless victories and the guerdon of the laurel D. D. crown. A CORANACH. A PILLOWED head on the cold, cold clay, And a love and a life that died away! Pray God the head that lies so low, Under the sleet and the shrouding snow, Has less of death and deathless care For weary years the sun has lain Ah! nevermore! unless, perchance, It crown, through cycles all untold, The turrets and towers of the City of Gold. Oh, shall these years of rayless night Unfit my eyes for scenes so bright! AMID THE MOUNTAIN PINES. The moan, O the moan of the Winter wind, The laurel-brake and maiden-hair Seem dead as the hopes of May; I stand alone beneath the pines, And the mountains stretch away. The wolf's hoarse howl, the jackal's bay Amid these mountain pines. From the cold gray earth to the cold gray sky, They reach like plummet-lines, And I am but an unseen speck Amid these mountain pines. THE WINDS. "A FLOWER! a flower!" The South Wind cried; And the violet blushed and bloomed. "A weed! a weed!" The North Wind sighed; And the violet's life was doomed. Better things than summer flowers NOT TO THE STRONG. I. WEAK was her arm as a bruiséd reed And her voice in whispers fell, But the might of her love triumphant stood O'er the powers of earth and hell. II. The very strength of Nature thrilled Through all his sinewed frame, But his love was like a broken reed When the winds of testing came. LIBERTY. The City's great heart has a thousand full veins, Have a thousand free hearts of their own. "A pearl! a pearl!" exclaimed a lad, And out upon the glassy deep He tossed and skipped the shells PIONEERS. - Pearls. How like that wondrous plant of a wondrous clime, THE LOVER AND THE BOOK. THE PLANE OF CLEAVAGE. Society cleaves at the stratum of gold, If the gold is washed in blood untold, HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL. H ENRY HOWARD BROWNELL* was born in Providence, R. I., Feb. 6, 1820. He was the second son of Dr. Pardon and Lucia Emilia D'Wolf Brownell; and a nephew of Bishop Thomas Church Brownell. His mother, a woman of rare qualities, and herself a poet, long survived him, dying in 1884 in her 89th year. The family moved to East Hartford, Conn., when Henry was four years old. At the age of fourteen or fifteen he spent a year in a commercial house in New York. Later he entered Washington, now Trinity, College, at Hartford, where he was graduated in 1841. He next taught for some months in Mobile, Ala., and then, returning home, began the study of law. He was admitted to the bar in 1844, and opened practice in company with his brother, Charles D'Wolf Brownell, The winter of 1845-6 he spent in Cuba, going out in a sailing vessel. On this voyage and on others by steamer to New Orleans and Havana, between 1853 and 1860, he acquired that familiarity with the sea that is so conspicuous a feature of his poetry. About the year 1849 he gave up the practice of law, and thenceforth devoted himself to authorship. His first literary venture had already been published in 1847, and contained poems written from his 18th to his 28th years. During the next eighteen years Brownell published occasional poems in newspapers and magazines, which he gathered successively into his" Ephemeron," " Lyrics of a Day," and "War Lyrics"; but for a time he gave most of his attention to the more profitable if somewhat less congenial form of literary work that he found in historical writing. His histories are not mere compilations, but the subjects are freshly treated in a spirited and attractive style that won for the books wide popularity. Brownell took a deep interest in the political questions that led up to the Rebellion, and when the war came it set on fire his whole being: witness such poems as "Coming," "Annus Memorabilis," and "April Nineteenth." Then followed The March of the Regiment," "The Fall of Al-Accoub," and other pieces, struck out at a white heat. But Brownell's ardent nature could not rest content with the trumpeter's office of inciting others to battle. The naval service was his natural choice, and, in 1863, a correspondence with Admiral Farragut occasioned by the poet's version of his General Orders, resulted in Brownell's accepting the position of a master mate on board the Hartford. He was afterwards promoted to ensign. In this capacity Brownell was present at the fight in Mobile Bay, and was commended by the Admiral, in his official report, for coolness and accuracy in taking notes of the action. After the war he attended Farragut on * Accented on the first syllable, like the names of the poets Tickell and Parnell. his cruise to the principal ports of Europe, enjoying, throughout all their intercourse, the warm personal friendship of the Admiral. In 1868 he resigned his position, and returned to East Hartford, where he died, of cancer, Oct. 31, 1872, in the maturity of his powers, with his best work still before him. There is no exaggeration in Aldrich's tribute to the personal character of Brownell. A soul of fire and dew, brave and gentle, he was beloved by all. His fortitude was unflinching. He loved all that is best in art and literature, and read widely and deeply; but, if he had a supreme devotion, it was to Nature. Brownell's literary fame has suffered from the forgetfulness in which, until lately, his countrymen have been content to bury all subjects pertaining to the Civil War; but, at what a loss they include his poetry in that general neglect, the following extracts, though of necessity but few and short, will show more convincingly than the strongest words of commendation. H. L. K. FROM THE BAY FIGHT. THREE days through sapphire seas we sailed, We rounded low Canaveral's lee, By reef and shoal obscurely mapped, But weary to the hearts of all The burning glare, the barren reach Of Santa Rosa's withered beach And Pensacola's ruined wall. And weary was the long patrol, The thousand miles of shapeless strand, From Brazos to San Blas that roll Their drifting dunes of desert sand. Yet, coast-wise as we cruised or lay, Fresh from his forest solitudes, |