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ARTHUR W. GUNDRY.
That warble joyous treble in the choir
That music-loving Nature did inspire Give back to her, in praises for the gift.
Nor less the humbler voices do I love That lowlier creatures of her making lift
With jealousy of none that are above In giving thanks; for even that poor skill They make sufficing by sufficient will.
UNPROFITABLE. Why stand ye here all the day idle?" A HOPELESS, heartless human life, Nerved with no valor for the strife Against the evil that is rife,
And wasting in soul-sloth its lease
Of discontent and vague unrest, Of listlessness and lack of zest, The self-tormentings of a breast
parents in the city of Montreal, Canada, on December 13, 1857. His father's duties as bank manager entailed frequent change of residence, so that the only son spent his early youth sojourning for a time in Toronto, Chicago and New York, and ultimately in 1870 in London, England, where a more permanent home was established. After studying for a while with a private tutor, a term was put in at London University College School, followed by several years at Eastbourne College, where rapid progress in all matters of general education was made. During this period Mr. Gundry's literary proclivities first manifested themselves in frequent contributions to the Eastbournian, the college organ, and for some time before leaving the college he was editor of that journal. The family returning to Canada in 1875 and taking up their abode in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Mr. Gundry attended two sessions at Dalhousie University, and at the same time kept his pen busy in the love of both prose and poetry, most of his writings finding their way into print through the local press. Going to Toronto to study law he soon became editorially connected with the Canadian Monthly, now defunct, but then in its prime. The pages of this periodical contain many signed and unsigned contributions from Mr. Gundry of a high order of merit. Other work from his pen appeared in the Toronto Nation, Montreal Spectator, and Canadian Illustrated News. Having been admitted to the bar Mr. Gundry went to Europe for a year, and on his return accepted a position in a large Wall street firm in New York, remaining there until 1884, in which year his translation of the Abbé Prévost's classic “Manon Lescaut” was published in sumptuous form and received very warm praise from the press.
In 1884 a return was made to Canada, and the practice of his profession entered upon at Ottawa, the capital of the Dominion. Mr. Gundry has filled in the chinks of leisure by doing excellent poetical work for Life, Puck, IVeekly Graphic, Belford's Magazine, New York Tribune, Evening Post, and other periodicais. Much as Mr. Gundry has written he can hardly be said to have yet done justice to himself. He is his own severest critic, and very hard to please. He has not attempted flights such as he is nevertheless well able to undertake. J. M. O.
That findeth not its task — can feel No honest warmth, no tireless zeal For change of others' woe to weal:
A life of aspirations furled,
A narrow mind; a gleamless eye
A godless soul cased in a creed
Safe hid in which it findeth well To cry that all who doubt, rebel; To brand the Thinker, infidel:
A life like this, and thousands, aye! And millions like it here to-day Stand in the way! Stand in the way!
SONNET: “THE POETRY OF EARTH.”. Tue poetry of earth, and of the sky,
The lazy, sighing rhythm of the sea,
The lover's ballad troli'd beneath a tree,–
LOVE'S LARCENY. As Cupid, on a summer's day,
In idle sport was flitting From place to place, he chanced to stray
Near where my love was sitting.
I'll paint a picture, ere I go;
“Of these enchanting features, * And thus admiring Gods shall know “ The loveliest of their creatures!”
From out his quiver then he drew
His palette and his brushes; Then from a rose-leaf stole the hue
To paint my lady's blushes;
To catch the color of her eyes
He hesitated whether To rob the violet, or the skies,
Or blend their tints together.
That problem solved, another vexed
His mind, and set him racking His feather-brains, for sore perplexed,
He found his canvas lacking.
Impatient to display his art
(His subject well excused it), The roguish God purloined my heart
And as a canvas used it!
fourth child of Thomas William Peacock.
His paternal grandfather was a native of Edinburgh, Scotland. Mr. Peacock is related, though distantly, to Thomas Love Peacock, an intimate friend of Shelley's. It is said that the name “ Peacock" originated in the “ Pea Mountains" of Scotland, where peacocks were found in large numbers. Mr. Peacock's ancestry can be traced back to King William of Holland, and he is one of the many heirs to the Trinity Church property, commonly known as the Anneke Jans estate. His mother's maiden name was Naomi Carson, and her parents were among the earliest settlers of Guernsey County, Ohio.
When Mr. Peacock was seven years old, his parents moved to a farm near Cambridge. Two years later the family moved to Zanesville, Ohio, Mr. Peacock pere purchasing The Aurora, the leading democratic paper of Zanesville, his Thomas, then a lad in his teens, delivering the paper to their city subscribers. Mr. Peacock's education was obtained mainly at Zanesville, Ohio. From this place the family moved to Dresden, Ohio, where the father and son together edited the Monitor. In 1870 the boy, allured by the glowing accounts given through advertising pamphlets and letters received from friends living in Texas, determined to try his fortune in the southwestern wild. He remained in Texas two years and it is quite probable that these two years were the most eventful of his life. His first year he taught school, and the second kept a hotel. During the last year of his stay, he was compelled to entertain such characters as “ Cole Younger," " Wild Bill," and “Jesse James," and from them seems to have derived his inspiration by which the “ Poems of the Plains" were written. In 1872, Mr. Peacock moved to Independence, Kan., making the trip by wagon team, a distance of eight hundred miles. Two years after he moved to Topeka, Kan., in which place he has since resided. For eight years he was associate editor of the Kansas Democrat.
It is really most distressing
That, although my needs are pressing, I cannot make the money that inferior fellows can;
Nor find an occupation
In this Philistinish nation, Congenial to a college-bred and cultivated man.
My talents—they are many
Do not bring me in a penny,
But all “situations vacant"
Mr. Peacock's “Star of the East" was written at the age of sixteen. His“ Vendetta " and some minor poems were written during his stay in Texas. The “Rhyme of the Border War," “ The Doomed Ship Atlantic" were written in Kansas.
In 1880, Mr. Peacock married Miss Ida E. Eckert, daughter of Daniel S. Eckert, a retired farmer. His wife is a woman of fine literary taste.
Mr. Peacock published his first volume of verse in 1872, which was so favorably received that he published, in 1876, a larger volume containing some of the old poems revised and many
He is printing the third edition of
-"Wanted: A Situation."
To shut out Love, or wither it by scorn -
wreak, As soon to make Ambition slave, in servitude forlorn.
his poems, entitled “Poems of the Plains and Songs of the Solitudes,” together with “The Rhyme of the Border War." This edition, revised, includes his complete poetic works which are being translated into German.
Mr. Peacock is of a domestic nature and derives great pleasure from the company of his sympathetic wife and little son.
N. L. M.
When Hope's sweet madness thrills the heart, That coming days shall all be bright
When happiness comes, ne'er to depart: With golden, glorious, and immortal beam, Like radiant light of poet's deathless dream.
II. 'Tis midnight! and the month of June;
The music of the heavenly spheres Breathes out a sweet and wondrous tune,
Heard seldom by man's longing ears-
Nor heeds nor feels the witching hour,
Upon this wight have lost their power;
The sound of horses' hoofs are heard!
The outlaw flies like some swift bird! But close behind his foes him press full sore, Their cries of vengeance on the night-winds roar!
With foam which shames the whitest snow-
He's armed and ready for the foe,
To overtake him in his flight;
nightThis night of June, when Nature's fair and grand, When summer laughs along the lovely land.
When hunting down this man of crime-
Who'd hurled scores to etern from time;
Though none saw why, how it was som
He reckless rushed upon the foe-
To rise no more-'tis his last fall!
And he alone must fight them all!
The outlaw from his wonted way;
His soul exulted mad alway-
He halts! the outlaw halts to hear!
A moment in the stirrup standsHis soul is centered in his ear,
O'er his hot brow he draws his hands-
Beneath the stars' and moon's soft light;
He passes through the shades of night;
SONNET TO MILTON. Milton! thou Titan of the epic song, Majestically thy verse moves on sublime, Above the wrecks and ruins eld of time; In stately numbers, thrilling, grand, and strong, High o'er the singers of the lower throng. Reared on the loftiest pinnacle, thy voice