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Is there a way to forget to think?

At your age, Sir, home, fortune, friends, A dear girl's love,– but I took to drink; -

The same old story; you know how it ends. If you could have seen these classic features,

You need n't laugh, Sir; they were not then Such a burning libel on God's creatures:

I was one of your handsome men!

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
She loosed the rivets of the slave;

She likewise lifted woman,
And proved her right to share with man

All labors pure and human.
Women, they say, must yield, obey,

Rear children, dance cotillons:
While this one wrote, she cast the vote
Of unenfranchised millions!

- The Cabin.

SIN. Turn back, turn back; it is not yet ioo late: Turn back, O youth! nor seek to expiate Bad deeds by worse, and save the hand from

shame By plunging all thy soul into the flame.

- The Book of Goli.

If you had seen HER, so fair and young,

Whose head was happy on this breast! If you could have heard the songs I sung When the wine went round, you wouldn't have

guessed That ever I, Sir, should be straying

From door to door, with fiddle and dog, Ragged and penniless, and playing

To you to-night for a glass of grog!

TRUTH.

She's married since,- a parson's wife:

'T was better for her that we should part, Better the soberest, prosiest life

Than a blasted home and a broken heart.

When all is lost, one refuge yet remains,
One sacred solace, after all our pains:
Go lay thy head and weep thy tears, O youth!
Upon the dear maternal breast of Truth.

–1h.

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ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

LABOR.
Not in rewards, but in the strength to strive,

The blessing lies, and new experience gained;
In daily duties done, hope kept alive,
That Love and Thought are housed and enter-
tained.

- Twoscore and Ten.

MOUNTAINS. As he breathes once more the mountain breeze, And looks from the hill-side far away, Over pasture and fallow and field of hay, To the hazy peaks of the azure range, Which change forever, yet never change.

- Tom's Come Home.

WOMAN.

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Heroic soul, in homely garb half hid,

Sincere, sagacious, melancholy, quaint, What he endured, no less than what he did, Has reared his monument and crowned him saint.

-Quatrains and Epigrams.

TEMPTATION.
How sweet, till past, then hideous evermore!

Like that false fay the legend tells us of,
That seemed a lovely woman, viewed before,
But, from behind, all hollow, like a trough.

-Ibid. MATERIALIST. He took a tawny handful from the strand: " What we can grasp," he said, we understand, And nothing more: when, lo! the laughing sand Slid swiftly from his vainly clutching hand.

-Ibid.
SENSUALIST.
“Live while we live!” he cried; but did not guess,
Fooled by the phantom, Pleasure, how much less
Enjoyment runs in rivers of excess
Than overbrims divine abstemiousness.

-Ibid.
AN ODIOUS COMPARISON.
When to my haughty spirit I rehearse

My verse,
Faulty enough it seems; yet sometimes when
I measure it by that of other men,

Why, then
I see how easily it might be worse.

- Ibid. OCEAN. Pulse of the world! hoarse sea with heaving

breath, Swaying some grief's great burden to and fro! Fierce heart that neither hears nor answereth,

Sounding its own eternal wail of woe! Punctual as day, unheeding life or death,

Wasting the ribs of earth with ceaseless throe; Remorseless, strong, resistless, resting never, The tides come in, the tides come in forever!

- The Wreck of the Fishing-Boat.

CULTURE.
And men are polished, through act and speech,

Each by each,
As pebbles are smoothed on the rolling beach.

-A Home Idyl.

CHILDHOOD. Oid convulsions of the planet in the new earth

leave their trace, And the child's heart is an index to the story of his race.

- Ancestors.

Women can do with us what they will:

'Twas only a village girl, but she,
With the flash of a glance, had shown to me
The wretch I was, and the self I still
Might strive to be.

- Sheriff Thorne.

TRUTH.
Men call him crazed whose eyes are raised

To look beyond his times;
And they are learned, who too fast
Are anchored in the changeless past,

To seek Truth's newer climes!
Yet act thy part, heroic heart!

For only by the strong
Are great and noble deeds achieved ;-
No truth was ever yet believed
That had not struggled long.

- The Story of Columbus.

PATIENCE. Learn patience from the lesson'

Though the night be drear and long, To the darkest sorrow there comes a morrow, A right to every wrong.

- The Frozen Harbor.

PEWEE.
For so I found my forest bird, -

The pewee of the loneliest woods,

Sole singer in these solitudes, Which never robin's whistle stirred,

Where never bluebird's plume intrudes.
Quick darting through the dewy morn,
The redstart trilled his twittering horn,
And vanished in thick boughs: at even,
Like liquid pearls fresh showered from heaven,
The high notes of the lone wood-thrush
Fall on the forest's holy hush:

But thou all day complainest here,-
"Pe-wee! pe-wee! perr!”

- The Pewee.

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T is very difficult to attempt to define the place

(And that thou canst, I trow); If thou canst make the Spring to dawn, Hawthorn to put her brav'ry on, Willow, her weeds of fine green lawn, Say why thou dost not so —

Aye, aye!

Say why
Thou dost not so!

If thou canst chase the stormy rack,

And bid the soft winds blow

(And that thou canst, I trow); If thou canst call the thrushes back To give the groves the songs they lack, And wake the violet in thy track,Say why thou dost not so

Aye, aye!

Say why
Thou dost not so!

the

fill in the gallery of American poets. She is already a conspicuous figure, and her poems have attracted much attention. Born in Chatham, Medina county, Ohio, of a family of Connecticut settlers, Miss Thomas at an early age developed strong literary proclivities. She was educated at the Normal School in Geneva, Ohio, where most of her life was spent up to eighteen months ago. While at school she contributed several poems of a sentimental nature to the leading Ohio newspapers, which poems were extensively copied by newspapers and magazines throughout the country. Helen Hunt Jackson, who was ever ready to assist the youthful literary aspirant struggling for fame, became very favorably impressed with many of these stray poems. She formed the acquaintance of Miss Thomas whom she introduced to the editors Atlantic Monthly and Century Magazines a few years before her death. Until her meeting with Mrs. Jackson, Miss Thomas was almost an unknown quantity, but with the aid and kindly counsel of “H. H." her success was only a question of time. She had the talent and only wanted an opportunity to develop it. Shortly afterwards the Century Magazine reprinted a page of her verse. Four years ago she published her first volume of poems entitled “ A New Year's Masque and other Poems." The book was at once successful. This volume was so immediately popular that it created a demand for another published work of the author. A year and a half later a series of prose papers entitled

The Round Year" appeared. Then followed, in 1887, another volume of poems —" Lyrics and Sonnets."

Miss Thomas is slight, and of medium height. Her face is an expressive one, and her brow is remarkably handsome. It is full, and indicative of intellectuality. Her hair is naturally curly, and is brushed back from her face with careless grace. In formation her head is very like Helen Hunt Jackson's, and there is a further resemblance to this great woman in her rare conversational gifts. She is modest, retiring and evidently not anxious to be praised. A little over a year ago she came to New York, and took up her residence at the Colonnade Hotel, where she still lives and performs most of her literary work. The demands upon her pen exclude the possibility of much social enjoyment. Her gifts are greater than she herself suspects.

J. W. G.

If thou canst make my Winter Spring,

With one word breathéd low

(And that thou canst, I know); If, in the closure of a ring, Thou canst to me such treasure bring, My state shall be above a king, Say why thou dost not so

Aye, aye!

Say why
Thou dost not so!

THE STIRRUP CUP.

This is vintage of the ages,
Best to cool the fever's rages;
He that drinks it when 't is beading
Hath a quick and happy speeding.

a

I've known joy, and I've known sorrow,
Care that broods upon the morrow;
I've been trist, and I've been merry,-
“Lackaday," and "hey down derry"!
I've been free, and I've been fettered, -
Fortunes ill, and fortunes bettered;
I've been crafty, I've been simple,
Courted Wisdom, wooed a dimple!
I've known faith, and I've known treason, -
Frost-nipt flowers in summer season;
I've seen feasts and flush cups sparkling,
Guests dispersed and torches darkling;
I've known Love, and ah, the pity!
Heard his knell and funeral ditty:
Hapless seeing, fatal knowing!
Drain the cup, and I'll be going.

VALENTINE.

If thou canst make the frost be gone,

And feet away the snow

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