Class "PS - Book Cits Copyright^ - COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; The Literature of the Louisiana Territory. By ALEXANDER NICOLAS DEMENIL, A.M., PH.D., LL.D. Director Louisiana Purchase Exposition Company, and Vice Chairman of the Historical Committee. The history of the literature and the educational development of the Louis- iana Territory from the earliest times to the present day. With critical and bio- graphical sketches of Audubon, Brack- enridge, Senator Benton, Albert Pike, Gayarre, "Mark Twain", Geo. W. Cable, Eugene Field, "Chas. Egbert Craddock", Dr. Wm. T. Harris, Ruth McEnery Stuart and fifty others, and selections from their works ; chapters on the first books, the French Authors of the Territory, the Authors of Louisiana, Missouri, Iowa, Minnesota, Kansas, Col- orado, Nebraska, Arkansas, the Dakotas, etc. A bold and fearless book that con- tains much hitherto unwritten literary history. Cloth; price, $1.50. THE ST. LOUIS NEWS COMPANY, PUBLISHER ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI, U. S. A. SONGS IN MINORITY SONGS IN MINORITY BY ALEXANDER NICOLAS DE MENIL AUTHOR OF " THE LITERATURE OF THE LOUISIANA TERRITORY", ETC. ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI THE ST. LOUIS NEWS COMPANY PUBLISHER'S AGENTS 1906 tf>V ^ ^ LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two Copies Received 2 1906 -Copyright Entry CLASS CC XXc, No, COPY B. COPYRIGHT, 1906 ALEXANDER NICOLAS DK MENIL Nixon-Jones Printing Co., 8t. Louis TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER AND MY MOTHER I DEDICATE THIS BOOK THE FIRST COLLECTION OF MY EARLIEST ASPIRATIONS Life went a maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy When I was young! — S. T. Coleridge. PREFACE The majority of these verses were written when the Author was in his eighteenth year ; the re- mainder when he was in his nineteenth and twentieth years. Nearly all of them appeared in print between the years 1868 and 1875, in New York and St. Louis magazines, weekly literary papers, and the Sunday issues of daily newspapers. With a very few exceptions, they were contributed to the Inland Monthly, the De La Salle Monthly, the St. Louis Ladies' Mag- azine, the New York Weekly, the New York Literary Album, the St. Louis Home Journal, the Missouri Republican (now the St. Louis Republic}, the Missouri Democrat (now the St. Louis Globe- Democrat) , and the Sunday Herald of East St. Louis, Illinois. 8 SONGS IN MINORITY. Years ago, it was the Author's intention to collect them in book form, but through negli- gence, want of self-confidence, a lapse of interest in literary matters, and the painful recognition of an ever-decreasing public appreciation of poetry, through all these years they remained neglected, and even at times, forgotten. The success of a more serious work which the Author published two years ago, added to a reviving interest in poetry, leads to his finally collecting these verses in a more permanent form than they have existed in during the past thirty-odd years. Whether such a step is wise or not, must be left to the decision of an indulgent public to whose leniency he is already heavily indebted. There is much in these verses that the Author does not approve of in these later days ; but it must be borne in mind that they were, with a few exceptions, the work of a mere boy in his eighteenth and nineteenth years, and they should be given to the world as they were written, and not in the corrected and improved state in which he, grown to middle age, would have them to-day. They should be judged in conjunction with the early period of life in which they were written ; PREFACE. 9 if they have any merit, it is of the kind that can be due to youth only ; if they are to be con- demned, the present age of the Author should not be associated with such condemnation. Looking at them in the light of the broader, more liberal view and the loving charity for " all things beneath the sun " that come only with age and experience, the Author is sadly conscious that some of these verses are pervaded by a morbid sentimentality and are redolent with an atmosphere of despair and hopelessness, that happily find only an occasional echo in the poetry of to-day. The poetry of the day in which they were written was largely tinged by the misanthropic defiance of Byron, the philo- sophic melody of Shelley, the funereal sadness of Poe, and the startling metric surprises of Hood. Living, aspiring, struggling in this atmosphere, what wonder if the Author, at times, caught the tone and the ruling sentiments of the time, and growing imbued with their melancholy sadness, sung in accord with the predominant note of the age? The Author. St. Louis, March 20, 1906. TABLE OF CONTENTS Wood-Notes snow flakes 15 the blue bird 19 the song of ixus 22 a mowing carol 27 a spring idyl . 30 CORMAHL . „ 32 Love MONA LEE 43 PEERLESS, BUT COLD 46 TO ULALA IN DESPAIR 48 THE MAID OF CHAMOUNI 50 THE FORSAKEN TO THE FALSE . . . . 53 ANNETTE, MY PET 56 LAURINA CLARE 58 12 songs in minority. Death the long ago 63 in dark dats 65 a dirge for one dead 67 euthanasia 70 laura matne 73 the death of sergeant jasper ... 76 Miscellaneous a bridal toast 85 threnody 87 the dream of fame 89 ARKADI 93 O MORTAL BE NOT PROUD 94 WOOD -NOTES Nature is man's best teacher. She unfolds Iter treasures to his search, unseals his eye, Illumes his mind, and purifies his heart, An influence breathes from all the sights and sounds Of her existence; she is wisdom's self. — Alfred B Street's "Poems." SNOW FLAKES. Silvery, glittering flakes of snow, How they come and go ! Filling the sky above, Cov'ring the earth below. Ever drifting, drifting, Ever shifting, shifting ; Ever falling, falling On the placid bosoms Of the lakes ; — Fleecy flakes Of pure crystal snow, Ever dying, dying As the streams are tying Quiet, or wand'ring to and fro And the rivers flow. 16 SONGS IN MINORITY. They are purer and more bright, Softer and more white, Than the richest pearl ; Crystal flakes of snow — How they chase each other With a whirl, whirl, And a twirl, twirl, As they go ! Then they mingle and they blend As their downward course they wend Blend as they descend, While the joyous people, Heav'n and earth between, Smiling faces lend To the scene. Falling in a sleet — Pearly flakes, Now they're overhead, Now they're at your feet — To be trampled, shuffled, lost, Mercilessly tossed, Or else wedded with the filth — Horrid filth and slime — Of the street. SNOW FLAKES. 17 Ah! me, they should fall From the azure realms of sky, But to be polluted — die — Ou a sphere that's so unmeet ! II. Man's immortal soul is like Snow flakes pending in mid air. First 'tis beautiful and fair ; When 't falls into crime, It is trampled in the slime Of its Maker's wrath, — Trampled like the flakes of snow When they fall below ; If it takes the path Leading to its God — Passes 'neath the rod, It remains pure, beautiful, Like the flakes of snow Ere they fall From their skyey wall To the sinful world below. 18 SONGS IN MINORITY. III. Ah ! me, some triumphal day. Crystal flakes of snow, Gently, peacefully will fall When the pain , the woe — When the fever here below — When it all Will be clone ! When the tired brain, And the weary heart, Free from thought and free from pain, Peacefully shall rest Once again Lovingly on Nature's breast, 'Neath the shelt'ring trees, 'Neath a shroud of snow, — Pride, ambition, failure — all Sleeping peacefully, I trow, Under falling flakes, 'Neath a coverlid of snow, — When the fever's course has run, Wben the corned}' is done! (October 3, 1867.) THE BLUE BIRD. The blue bird carries the sky on his back. — Thoreatj. Bird of the light wing, Bird of the brown breast, Herald of earth's spring ! First of the minstrels Out of the west, Joy do thy notes bring Hearts that are winter'd ; Softly of green grass, Brooks gently murm'ring, Trees with green branches In the wind swaying, Shade and light air, thou 20 SONGS IN MINORITY. Merrily dost sing, Bird of the blue wing. Bird of the light wing, Welcome thou'rt ever ; Flowers rebudding, Nature renaissant, Thunder storms, lightning Terrible, mystic ; Rain, and drops patt'ring Here on my window ; These, the glad tidings Yearly thou dost bring, Bird of the blue wing. Bird of the light wing, Master of sweet lays Ever beguiling, Turn'st thou sorrow Into glad smiling, — ' ' Joy and oblivion ' ' Ever a singing. Blessings attend thee, Nomad of ether, THE BLUE BIED. 21 Bird of the blue wing, Minstrel of fair spring ! Bird of the light wing, Bird of the brown breast, Linger long near us, Here build thy frail nest Vain is the wish, vain, Lo ! he has flown past — Gone to the cloud-west Ere Winter's cold star Sank to its year-rest. Then, to thee, good-by, Herald of green Spring, Bird of the blue wing ! (October 8, 1867.) THE SONG OF IXUS. From the French of Hegesippe Moreau.* Open ! I am Ixus the poor mistletoe of oak that a gust of wind would kill. One day, twelve years ago, a pigmy dropped from the lion-skin of Hercules. That pigmy it was I. ' My father loved me not because I was small and weak. Whilst a child, when I threw myself at his knees, I heard above my head a voice angry as a storm. My brothers beat me when I called them aloud my brothers. Still, I want to live, for I have a sister — a sister who loves me. THE SONG OF IXUS. 23 She is so good, Macaria ! Open, I am Ixus the poor mistletoe of oak that a gust of wind would kill. II. My brothers said to me one day : ' ' Be good at something. Learn to rear statues and altars, for we will be gods, perhaps! " I tried to obey my brothers, but the chisel and the hammer were very heavy ! Besides, strange visions and unending, ever and ever passed between me and the Parian block. My distracted fingers wrote in the dust a name — always the same : The soft name of Macaria ! Open, I am Ixus the poor mistletoe of oak that a gust of wind would kill. III. My brothers then said to me : " We have a guest in the castle, a white- 24 SONGS IN MINORITY. haired elder of Chaldea who reads in the sky things to come. Heed well his lessons and tell us if you see in the clouds, for us, coming treasures or coming victories." I listened to the elder. I passed long and serene nights in contemplation of the heavens, but I saw neither treasures nor victories. I saw only stars bright and moist that looked down on me with love like the eyes of Macaria! Open, I am Ixus the poor mistletoe of oak that a gust of wind would kill. IV. My brothers then said to me : " Take a bow and arrows and hunt in the woods." And I hunted in the woods with a bow and arrows ; but I soon forgot the chase and my brothers. While I listened to the singing of the winds and the nightingales, a hind ate THE SONG OF IXUS. 25 the bread in my robe, and a little bird tired by a long flight, lit in my quiver and went to sleep. I brought it to Macaria. Open, I am Ixus the poor mistletoe of oak that a gust of wind would kill. V. My brothers then said to me : " You are good at nothing," and they beat me ; but I did not cry because I was thinking of my sister. To-morrow she will be taken away from me. To-morrow, when Macaria seated at the bridal banquet, will say : " What is that blue smoke that arises from behind that forest of laurels ? ' ' " O, it is nothing," -the guests will answer. It will be the funeral pile of Ixus the poor mistletoe of oak that a gust of wind will have killed ! (January, 1867.) * H£g£sippe Moreau was born in Paris in 26 SONGS IN MINORITY. 1810. He had the misfortune of losing his parents at an early age and was brought up in Provins by charity. At eighteen years of age he returned to Paris where he died in 1838, at the age of twenty-eight, from the effect of dissi- pation. During his checkered life he success- ively filled the positions of school-master, proof-reader, editor, etc. As a poet he was one of the most promising France ever produced. He was equally happy in song, elegy or satire. His style was often bold and strongly original. Probably no au- thors of the past, except Ossian and Fenelon (the author of "The Adventures of Telema- chus") can lay claim to a more graceful and remarkable originality. Moreau left us three works : " Les Myosotis," " Dioge'ne" and " Contes a ma Sceur." In 1873 they were reprinted by Michel Levy, Freres, in an ordinary-sized volume of a little less than three hundred pages. " Contes a ma Sanir " is a small volume of short stories ; from one of these " Le Qui de Chine" ("The Mistletoe of Oak ") I translate " The Song of Ixus." A MOWING CAROL. List' to the merry mowers* singing, Tuned to the polished scythes' ringing In the swaying field ; All day long the earth they're cleaning, Mixing song and shout and gleaning, Scarcely for a moment leaning O'er the scythes they wield. Yonder see the eyes a-beaming Of the village belles half-dreaming, List'ning to the song Of the mowers as they're bending, Earthward the rich harvest sending, Toiling with a will unending, Worthy of the throng. 28 SONGS IN MINORITY. How each maiden's heart is waiting Restless, till the hour of mating For the homeward way ; See their gentle bosoms heaving, As their idle brains are weaving Threads of gold through lives, believing Love is for alway ! Hear the birds on high a-singing As the mid-air they are winging, — Singing to their mates ; Or, on yonder branches sitting, From this limb to that a-flitting, Ever with a grace befitting To their happ} r states. Lo ! the golden, crimson sun Disappears in gathering dun, — Westward rolls the day ; Of the sweet content they've won, Of the work that day they've done, Sing the mowers now as one, In a chorused lay. A MOWING CAROL. 29 Look away! oh, look away! Maidens innocent and gay, Mowers lithe and strong, Now are on the homeward way, And to love the throng. Rightly does belong. Then away ! let us away ! Surely 't would be wrong- Here to loiter or to stay, While they trod the homeward way ! (March 30, 1869.) A SPRING IDYL. From Winter's icy hand the scepter now has passed, And vernal Spring, the poet-sung, has come at last With plenteous smiles playing athwart her bounteous face, Before whose witcheries Care and Trouble flee apace. The stormy, blustering March began the season fair, Her milder sister, drizzling April, 's now bedight ; Soon flow'ry May in gaudiest robes a month can wear, Will bloom and wither — fade into the Sum- mer's light. A SPUING IDYL, O i Now passed are the lonely orphan's bitter foes — Keen hunger, Winter's icy breath and drifting snows ; Unpitying death no longer stares him in the face, For Spring has clad him in the mantle of his grace. Oh budding, bright and green are the primeval woods again ! As beautiful beneath this gentle, shimmering rain, As ever they before white winter dropped her shroud Of snow and hid their fairness 'neath a passing cloud. Great Mother Earth with velvet green is girdled round, The budding branch with joyous songsters fills the tree, The garden-land with flow'ry crests will soon be crowned ; Oh may our earthly Springs thus ever lovely be! 'March 3, 1869.) Zmilt' 0| ra^^BSS &*&** M^_« ^^^Sl CORMAHL. An Imitation of Ossian — Versified. Akgumknt: Cormaiil, the last of his line, and Ulvinn, Chief of Duah-Tormyl, met in the chase. The memory of the feud between their fathers kindled the flame of hereditary hate. A battle ensued in which the vassals of Cormahl are defeated and he himself made prisoner. Borne to Duah-Tormyl and confined in a dungeon from which he escapes during the night, he is warned of his approaching fate by the spirit of one of his ancestors; and finally turning upon his pur- surers, darts his spear into the heart of Ulvinn, but dies by the weapons of overpowering numbeis. A song of the deeds of old, of warriors bold ! " Over the heath, roll on thy mists, O night! Roll on ! Be thy clouds upon the hills unbright, And thy voice, shrill of thy blasts, lift up on high. CORMAHL. 33 For darker my soul than the gloom of thy mists could hie, And mighty the storm of my grief. Not single ray, There comes of hope and loveliness to begay My heart, nor sound of joy unto my ear. Alone by sounds of sullen streams, I hear Naught on the wild. Unbearingof hunter's will And cry of chase the breeze blows on ; and still The yelp of hound, and silent as the grave The hind in her fern. Slumbers the hunter in his cave Amidst the moss, and his dark-hued hounds are dreaming Stretched around. And in the gloom a-seeming Are near the tombs of the mighty of years that are fled. I see the gray stones of their fame — not dead. And the heave of their grass-grown cairns ; joyous your ways In the career of 3 r our youths, O ! sons of departed days. Lovely ye were in your strength and great in the liffht 34 SONGS IN MINORITY. Of steel ; but the hour of feebleness — midnight — Is come and your mighty spirits rejoice and fill The shadowy chase of clouds. When whistles shrill' The blast on the hill and sweeps ye to the hall Of your sires, shall the stones of my fame arise. When all And the last of my battles, O ! sons of dreary night Is oe'r, the grassy turf — by dark and light — Of the narrow house is my place of rest, I'll beud At dark from my couch of clouds with eager ear To list to the voices of my praise that'll wend In the songs of other times, when faded and sere The gray-haired bard sits by the beam of oak, And the withered hand of age with exultant stroke Wanders amid the strings of harps, a thousand Fair heroes seeming round, and silence's wand A -reigning in the halls of shields and fame. " On high, Uphang the spear of my strength, with my helmet nigh, C0RMAHL. 35 When my last field is fought. Let gather the rust Upon their brightness ; only will remain the dust Of a hero ; let the terrors of my spear sleep in its sheath, No more will Cormahl's race be on the heath. " Alone am I on the face of the earth, the last Of the race of the mighty, of the mighty whose deeds are passed. But my course, a Bard of song, shall be as bright As the silver moon on a Winter's cloudless night When she sails on high in a silver bath, and her ray The dim mists evanescent, fades away. " As my fathers of old shall I fall, when the strife of the spear Is heard, and the roar of the battle's tide, and ere The sons of the feeble smile on my failing hand, And dim is the pride of my soul and the pride of my land. 36 SONGS IN MINORITY. In their mighty blasts my fathers shall rejoice When the tales of the last of the deeds of the mighty gain voice. " Over the heath roll on thy mists, O night? Roll on, be thy clouds upon the hills unbright. " Thus spoke Cormahl on the heath of mists of old, Cormahl of a mighty race of heroes bold, By the oak of age he leaned on the beam of his spear, His dark locks streaming to the blasts, and e'er His eye of blue turned to the east. For high Was the pride of his soul and he longed with expectant sigh For the light of morn to rush on the foes of might. And mighty were they the foes of thy strength in the light Of steel, O last of a valiant race. Dark night No darker was than the cloud of their hosts. The rage Of thy hero-fathers was no more, grim age CORMAHL. 37 Had borne them to the skies, broken as a child, And thy steps, Cormahl, alone were on the wild. Met Cormahl of many battles and of warriors' race, And Ulvinn, chief of spears, in the wild chase Of shaggy boars. The wrath of their souls arose For while the years were few their fathers were foes. By the rush aud the noise of streams they fought. Dreadful Were the deeds of their spears, chiefs of the gloomy, fearful Brows. But Ulvinn was mighty, and like the day The heroes of Cormahl around him faded away. Night closed upon their chief in strange hands And captive in the cell of gloom ; the bands Of thraldom burst he in his dark despair, And fled in his strength to the heath of mists. And there Arose a distant murmur; ghastly, grim, A ghost, dark on his couch of clouds, o'er him 38 SONGS IN MINORITY. Stood in. his misty robes. His shadowy spear He waived and pointed to the main: " O sere And ghastly shade," Cormahl said," on the blast Why comest thou? Would'st warn me from the last Field of my fame? O son of might and fear, Fly to thy place of rest. What would'st thou here ? Thou art not of Cormahl's race, O specter sere ! For mighty were their deeds in war : rejoiced Their spirits in the strife of spears ; the silent- voiced And moss-grown tombs of heroes on other shores Are records of their deeds, and speak the fame Of my course, and a thousand bards will sing my name In the songs of other years. Fly to thy place Of rest, O son of night and fear ! " And heard The shade of the mighty the words of Cormahl the last Of his line — the last of mighty heroes' race, And departed with joy, for pleasant is the word CORMAHL. <" 39 Of their praise and fair renown to the ghosts of the past ; But dark with anger was Cormahl's soul, for he knew His hour was near, and the warning of the ghost was true. Morn rose in loveliness. The wrath of Ulvinn woke, His heroes snatched their eager spears and broke The silence. They poured o'er the misty heath And struck their sounding shields with the spears of death. Who comes in the pride of gleaming arms ? In the light Of steel? O Cormahl of the gloomy brow, Swift was thy step to the field, and swift the flight Of thy fatal spear to the heart of Ulvinn. He fell In the pride of his course, nor unrevenged the fall Of the mighty chief of Duah-Tormyl — all The spears of Duah-Tormyl whirled through the mists 40 SONGS IN MINORITY. Of ruorn, and a hundred wounds of death were the doom Of Cormahl, last of the race of the mighty. He sunk In the light of his fame, as a stately pine in its bloom , When its leafy honors are green in the summer air. The stones of his fame are reared on the dark brown heath Of death, by the mighty roll of sullen streams ; The grim and shadowy spirits of his race flit there On the blasts of night when the moon's silvery beams Are dim in the mists and the roar of torrents around ! O sons of the chase, disturb not Cormahl's dreams ! A song of the deeds of old, of warriors bold ! (July, 1868.) LOVE — Be sure, my friend, There is a time for love; when fancy still Found worlds of beauty ever rising new To the transported eye; when flattering hope Formed endless prospects of increasing bliss; And still the credulous heart believed the mall, Ev'n more than love could promise. — Thompson's " Hophonisba." MONA LEE. O peerless Mona Lee ! O rare, proud Mona Lee ! And so you've spurned the love I pledged For frivolous gayety? Ah, well, then have your way ; Your love, if love it was, was fledged ; Yet ere we part, one word — but one : You will regret this day, 'Twill be your darkest 'neath the sun — . And darker still tor love of me, Rare Mona Lee ! O queenly Mona Lee ! O beautiful Mona Lee ! When you will turn heartsick away From Pleasure's dream and Fashion's sway ; 44 SONGS IN MINORITY. When dead your hopes and cold deceit Your suff ' ring glance alone will greet ; When you will sigh, With tearful eye Turned to the vast above — " Ah, God, what might have been, Had not this woman's proud conceit Strangled his awful love That worshiped me as queen ! ' ' Ah, then perhaps you'll sigh for me, Proud Mona Lee ! O airy Mona Lee ! O heartless Mona Lee ! When brazen faced men will jeer, And pure, true women blush, — When shame your face will flush As you go by ; when you will fear Your very self, — ah, then, will sneer At my simple, harmless ways, Curl up your proud, disdainful lip As in other, better days? Oh, no, from you such thoughts you'll whip, Not thus will you then think of me, Cold Mona Lee ! MONA LEE. 45 O sweetness Mona Lee ! O pride named Mona Lee ! When the gay world that you so much Do love will scorn your very touch ; When through your soul Despair's dark cry Will ring: " O God, that I could die!" Ah, then, perhaps when thus alone, You'll think of happiness once known — Of happiness that still would be, Had you been true As I to you, Poor Mona Lee ! (December, 1868.) PEERLESS BUT COLD. " Peerless but cold, and cold and false," 'Twas this they said to me ; " But such thing cannot be," I said to my heart, " she's good and sweet, And none more sweet to thee." " Athleen, I love the languor-wealth Of thy dark and Southern eye ; Nor will my heart deny, Its heaven's to lins-er nigh When the dulcet tones of thy rich voice In dreamy cadense die. " O sweet, they say I see thee with A poet's vision-mind ; PEERLESS BUT COLD. 47 Ah, well, love may be blind, Yet a heart more warm and kind, A form more fair, a soul more pure, I do not seek to find ! " Thou art my all; thy voice, thine eye, They hold a charm for me, — A charm alike the sea, When sighing plaintively It holds entranced the soul : yea, thus It is I belong to thee ! ' ' Peerless Athleen ! here at thy feet My heart's love let me own : O sweet, for thee alone " She's cold as passive stone! Alas, my heart, 'tis always thus That mercy's to thee shown ! " Peerless but cold, and cold and false," 'Tis thus they say to me ; " Ah, such a thing can be," I say to my heart, " she may be sweet, And good, — but not to thee ! " (July 23, 1869.) TO ULALA— IN DESPAIR. AN INVOCATION. The world is dead and bleak, — Heart's dearest shun me not ! From thee only a smile I seek — From thee sweet comfort, rest, I seek ; Ulala, shun me not! My pathway's laid with snares, — Heart's dearest shun me not! The strength of crime my love yet dares - The power of crime my soul yet dares ; Ulala, shun me not ! I find dark, black deceit — (Heart's dearest shun me not ! ) — Where'er I turn my wandering feet, — TO ULALA IN DESPAIR. 49 Where'er may stray rny bleeding feet ; Ulala, shun me not ! In this my darkest hour, Heart's dearest, shun me not! Thine arms only to save have power, — Thy kiss only to cheer has power ; Ulala, shun me not ! (August, 1869.) Kl^ E^s ^^^w^ JwSjSci 185 THE MAID OF CHAMOUNI. Glad, glad is my heart, and my thoughts they are gay, ■Tor fond memory roves to a realm far away, On this natal day. There's a brook arched above by a gray and worn bridge ; An ivy-clad cottage perched high on the ridge, And the sighing Adige. With a maid of fair Italy, my thoughts they are there, With her dark and brown eyes and her raven black hair — Eulalie the fair ! THE MAID OF CHAMOUNI. 51 I fondle and press her brown hands close in mine, And I read in her eyes that full love, half-divine, That maddens the soul as the fumes of the wine Of the richest vine ! My love, O come back ! O come back ! here to me From thy pilgrimage near the great Queen of the Sea, To thy own and fair vale of the green Chamouni, Where I pine and I wait in sad longing for thee, My own Eulalie. Come fly with me love to the land of the West, There resting thy weary young head on my breast. We'll love and we'll dream the sweet dream of the blest, In love's holy rest! Lo ! now be ye gone, ye harsh days of grim sadness, For I love, and I live in her face's gladness — In her happiness ! 52 SONGS IN MINORITY. Aye, I revel and I live in the love of my pride, — I revel and I live in the soul of my bride, My own Eulalie, My dear Eulalie, The Maid of the Vale of the green Chamouni ! (August 26, 1868.) THE FORSAKEN TO THE FALSE. I trust that never more in this world's shade Thine eyes will be upon me; never more Thy face come back to me. For thou hast made My whole life sore. Fare hence and be forgotten — sing thy song, And braid thy brow, And be beloved and beautiful — and be In beauty baleful still — a serpent queen To others not yet cursed in loving thee As I have been. — Owen Meredith. When your heart will be bowed and its gloom will find voice in your song, When the scenes of the past in your mind as dread phantoms will throng, — When your mind will be haunted with the curse of my terrible wrong, 54 SONGS IN MINORITY. When your breast in its sorrow will heave its dead burden of sighs, — When your soul in its misery will live in a world of your sighs, When the tears of repentance will dim the bright luster of your eyes, — You'll remember me! When the demon men call by the name of base Mockery will rule — When the child — putrid child — of a demon- born passion will rule, And when Pride, grim and gaunt, its half-sister, thy innocent heart, In the deadliest paths of the world, in the sub- tlest art, With the freshest-born lisps from the lips of the damned will school — With the moans and the curses from the ulcered lips of a ghoul, — You'll remember me! When the meaningless words — call them words ! — of a meaningless love — THE FORSAKEN TO THE FALSE. 55 When the emptiest words — they are sounds! — of an emptiest love Will be sighed in your ear, oh ! your thoughts to my truth then will rove, — To my truth which was pure as the faith of the angels above : — You are doomed to revert to the demon Despair, to remember Those happiest and purest of days in the passed September, — You'll remember me! (September, 1869.) ANNETTE, MY PET. And why so cold to-day, Annette, Pray why so cold to-day ? Methinks if thou dost love me, pet, Mine eyes should chase thy gloom away. Smooth back that a wf id frown, Annette, Smooth back that awful frown ; It ill becomes thy brow, my pet, With its wealth of height from eye to crown. Push back that wanton tress, Annette, Push back that wanton tress ; It shades your faultless lip, my pet, With the soft, sweet bliss it yields a caress, — With the rich, rare joy it yields, my pet, As lip to lip in our love we press. ANNETTE, MY PET. 57 And why that look in thine eye, Annette, That look in thine eye of brown ? Have I done aught to harm thee, pet, Or mar thy good and fair renown ? Let a smile creep over your face, Annette, Let a smile play over your face ; 'Twere a sin to spoil its beauty, pet, With all its wealth of Gallic grace. 'Twas but a slight caprice, Annette? A slight caprice, you say? Whoso' would keep love fast, my pet, Needs give love equal warmth alway, — She who'd keep love till the morrow, pet, Must treat it fair on each to-day ! (July, 1869.) LAURINA CLARE. (For Music.} Each subtle art To storm my heart ; Each winning smile And tender wile ; Each pose and grace And studied face, Oft' has thou tried, but tried in vain, Laurina Clare. Wert thou the fairest of the fair, I'd tell thee no, no, never! There is a nearer, There is a dearer ; Laurina Clare, I laugh at thee forever. LAUKINA CLARE. 59 Thy golden hair, Thy forehead fair ; Thy heaving breast, Enticing rest ; Thy soft white hand, Fit to command, All useless are, sweet sunny-tressed Laurina Clare. Wert thou the fairest of the fair, I'd tell thee no, no, never! There is a nearer, There is a dearer ; Laurina Clare, I'll laugh at thee forever. Thy slender waist, Thy mien so chaste ; Thy Saxon eye Blue as yon sky ! May well defy All rivalry, But hold no empire over me, Laurina Clare. Wert thou the fairest of the fair, I'd tell thee no, no, never ! 60 SONGS IN MINORITY. There is a nearer, There is a dearer ; Laurina Clare, I'll laugh ]at thee forever. Then striving still, Pursue thy will ; Call Nature, Art, To play their part, I know thy aim, 'Tis gold — a name, And further mattereth not to me, Laurina Clare. Wert thou the fairest of the fair, I'd tell thee no, no, never ! There is a nearer, There is a dearer ; Laurina Clare, I'll laugh at thee forever. (June, 1867.) DEATH. Great God! how could thy vengeance light So bitterly on one so bright? Hoio could thy hand that gave such charms, Blast them again? — Thomas Moore. THE LONG AGO. I live in the long ago — In the memory of the long ago, When my cheek was pure and white as drifting snow, And my youthful heart was all aglow With love's sweet happiness. I live in thy life, Annette, — In the time thou wast in this life, Annette, Sweet time, near the hoary ruins of Linnerlet, As life was fair and youth was yet, We never dreamed Love's sun could set In the darkness of the tomb ! Ah, those days have long gone by — Those mellow years have long passed by, 64 SONGS IN MINORITY. And now my dead soul longs to hie To her, iny spirit love, in realms on high — In a kingdom where love cannot die No more than its own cause. For in youth my youth is spent — My vigor of youth is withered, spent, And gone is the light her presence lent To my aimless life ; like a guardian angel sent Was she to guide that life misspent, And when she died my young heart went Down, down into the grave ! Ah, I live in the long ago — In the memory of the long ago, When my cheek was pure and white as drifting snow, And my youthful heart was all aglow With love's sweet happiness. (July 17, 1868). IN DARK DAYS. The dead, sweet past! It hath to-night A second birth beneath this sad moon's light. No more I'll press her form in silent happiness and feel her heart Beating its music soft on mine ; she's torn From me in her young beauty fresh as morn , And I am left to feel this nothingness that's grown of me a part. In that quiet holiness of land Cloud-based, called Paradise, amidst a band Of beings known in man's vocabulary as God's cherubim, My loved and lost Ulala knows the fullest amplitude of rest, — 66 SONGS IN MINORITY. While tears coursing apace from mortal eyes, Bespeak how great earth's loss when good- ness dies, — And ever, ever pure as any 'mong the radiant seraphim, She pleads in plaintive accents for my erring soul in God unblest ! Ulala, dead and buriediove Whose better essence's in *the Heaven above, Oh how my soul is restless in its mad desire to know thee again, — In its quick, mad desire to part this life Complete with every harsh and bootless strife, This space, called world, the fit abode of selfishness and soulless men ! (December, 1869). A DIRGE FOR ONE DEAD. I have naught left to wish : My hopes are dead; And all with her beneath A marble laid. — Drummond. I. My heart is sad, No joy it's had From contact with the world, — Nor joy, nor song ; The whole day long In sorrow's gloom 'twas furled. 68 SONGS IN MINORITY. Within these smiles — These forced wiles — That swept my face to-day, Was a weary heart That took no part In the glad world's gayety. O dream of youth, Of love and truth, Foreshadowing perfect years, The fears, the pain Choked down, again Grew strong with added sneers. II. Beneath the^willows That kiss the billows On moaning Elsaweam, There near the deep, She sleeps the sleep That's vexed with never a dream. O bitter fate, A DIEGE FOR ONE DEAD. 69 Less cruel the hate Of all the world than this — T' have lost love's light, To grope in the night, Without love's word or kiss ! O love so fair, So pure and rare, Thy curses slay rne fast ! Without a hope, A wish, I mope In darkness dim and vast ! (July, 1868.) EUTHANASIA. There was a poet whose untimely tomb No human hands with pious reverence reared — A lovely youth. No mourning maiden decked With weeping flowers or votive cypress wreath The lone couch of his everlasting sleep; Gentle and brave, and generous, no lorn bard Breathed o'er his dark fate one melancholy sigh He lived, he died, he sang in solitude. — Shelley's "Alastor." A poet lay upon a couch of pain — Sad couch that the cold world had made for hirn By bitter taunts and quick reproach, and all That the sweet singers of a brighter world Are doomed to undergo in silence and in tears In this life. He was never understood — The poet's earthly heritage — and hence EUTHANASIA. 71 This dark and meaningless existence grew A burden unto him. Quick-winged Hope Flew from his breast, and sickness sorely vexed his mind Until he prayed for death. And thus his soul Burst forth with all its agony in words That spoke the bitter sufferings of his years : ' ' Why should I wish to live In this world of sin again, When friends have learned to hate, And life is but a pain? " Why should I wish to live When sweet Love is dead and cold, And Hope is bright only In memories of old ? " Why should I wish to live When my heart is with the dead, And Sorrow's bruising path My daily footsteps tread? " Why should I wish to live When my soul feels not with earth, 72 SONGS IN MINORITY. But lives in a self-world Unknown to smiles and mirth? " Why should I wish to live This same weary life again, When all I've lived for's dead And all that's left is pain? " What time the daisies and the violets bloomed, With all the mockery vast of funerals, man, Uncaring of him, buried the sweet poet ; But Nature, his great mother, loving and beloved, And who had understood him, wept and mourned his loss. (June, 1868.) LAURA MAYNE. One more unfortunate! — Hood. Where are thy tears ? Where are thy fears ? O world, then thou hast none? What, only jeers, And haughty sneers? Is't this her truth has won ? O world, but thou art cold And selfish, old And vain ; For surely 't is but blindness, To hope by aught but kindness, To win her back again. 74 SONGS IN MINORITY. And thou DuVane, Why dost thou shun her now — Poor Laura Mayne? Hast thou so soon forgot Thy marriage promise — vow — And else I know not what? II. Once she was pretty, Once she was witty, And once her soul was innocent ; A seraph from high Aidenn sent Could not have been more pure, Could not have been more sure In 'ts love for thee, DuVane, Than was sweet Laura Mayne. The model of existence, The soul of true persistence, By man's cursed inconsistence, She fell!— Alas to tell — From heaven to hell ! LAURA MAYNE. 75 III. Now sadly cross her arms Upon her breast, And woe to him who harms Her only rest ! The world was dreary, dreary, And she was weary , weary ; But now she's God's again! Ho curses on thee, Guy DuVane, Deep curses on thee who has slain, Weak, trusting Laura Mayne ! (May, 1868.) THE DEATH OF SERGEANT JASPER. Savannah, October 9 ; 1779. I. Up to the haughty foeman's works the banners twain are borne, The fleur-de-lis of France, the new-born flag of Liberty, For Lincoln and D'Estaing have on their countries' altars sworn To plant them o'er Savannah, those proud emblems of the free. Up, up the rough and steep ascent both men and banners mount, Here the columns of brave Lincoln, there the columns of the Count ; THE DEATH OV SERGEANT JASPER. / / " Fire !" — see those cannons' livid mouths and hear their thunder roar, That echoes and re-echoes to the Mississippi's shore. Oh, heaven ! see that column waver — form again — and break As if beneath its base had heaved a sudden, dread earthquake ! " Charge ! " — and the columns firmly close ; again the banners mount. Now look adown this line ; see o'er the. famed Spring Hill redoubt, A banner waves, its staff upholds a field of silken blue ; 'Tis Jasper guards that banner ; never - hand more firm or true E'er kept a trust more sacredly, nor eager voice poured out When time was best, its hopeful joy in more inspiring shout. High o'er the Briton's bastion height that banner proudly waves , — 78 SONGS IN MINORITY. That emblem woven by Carolina's fairest hands for the braves Who on proud Moultrie's day had dared defend their country's right 'Gainst England's iron-seried hosts, her chivalry and might. Meanwhile the angry battle grows e'er fiercer, louder still ; The rifle's momentary flash, the cannon's monotone, The victor's buoyant shout, the vanquished and the dying's groan, Ring through the startled air as if no rest each foeman's will Would claim till victory perched upon his standard — crowned his own. A crash ! — oh, see yon volley sweep ! — God save brave Jasper now ! Great heavens, a deadly hue is born upon his cheek and brow ; He bleeds — he reels — his hand contracts around th' unsteady staff, — THE DEATH OF SERGEANT JASPER. 79 But up he springs and presses on — his task is done but half, — On, on — no foeman's dastard hand shall desecrate one fold Of that proud banner, young in age, in freedom's battles old ! He's reached a place of safety now ; into a com'rade's hand Must fall that charge he bore so nobly for the band. The hero's blood is on the plain, his life is ebbing fast, And soon up to the realms above his spirit will have passed ; With solemn grief his com'rades 'round him close to bear away What dying wish or message he would trust to them ; he sent In feeble voice these simple words : " Tell Mrs. Elliott that 80 SONGS IN MINORITY. I lost my life to save the flag she gave our regiment ; " * — A shiver — groan — his hand dropped to the ground, then side by side Banner and bearer laid ; a prayer — moan — and Jasper died ! II. God keeps an everlasting watch and ward over the grave Of him who falls beneath the tyrant's arm in freedom's fight, — For he who dies for Liberty, who dares with heart to brave The tyrant's will, dies too for Him in falling for the right. Rest on, brave Jasper, rest; thy form beneath th' unconscious sod, Thy soul beyond the chains of thrall, fears not th' oppressor's rod. Rest on, what though the sullen grass that grows above thy form THE DEATH OF SERGEANT JASPER. 81 Has never known a grateful tear, the moaning, fitful storm, More generous than man will weep for thee, and the swaying trees Will sing thy requiem as through them sighs the evening breeze, f Rest on, a nation yet will wake to crown thee child of Fame, And Glory'll cast her glowing beams around thy sacred name, While lips unborn, in centuries will sound thy growing praise 'Till Justice points thy grave, commands : ' ' Lay here the laurel bays ! ' ' (June, 1869.) * His exact words were: u I have got my furlough. That sword was presented to me by Governor Eut- ledge for my services in the defense of Fort Moultrie. Give it to my father and tell him I have worn it with honor. If he should weep, say to him his son died in the hope of a better life. Tell Mrs. Elliott that I lost my life supporting the colors which she presented to our regiment." {Vide " The Life of General Francis 82 SONGS IN MINORITY. Marion. By Brigadier-General P. Horry, of Marion's Brigade, and M. L. Weems.") f Since this was written (in June, 1869), a monu- ment has been erected to the memory of Sergeant Jasper at Savannah, Georgia, by public subscription. The following beautiful tribute to the memory of Sergeant Jasper was paid by Charles C. Jones, Jr., in his address of January 3, 1876, before the Georgia Historical Society: " The place of his sepulture is unmarked. He sleeps with the brave dead of the siege who lie beneath the sod of Savannah. Although no monumental shaft designates his grave, his heroic memory is perpetuated in the gentle murmurs of that perennial spring at our very doors near which one of his most generous deeds was wrought. His name is day by day repeated in a ward of this beautiful city of Oglethorpe whose liberation he died to achieve, is in- scribed upon the flag of one of our volunteer compa- nies, and dignifies a county of Georgia whose inde- pendence he gave his life to maintain." MISCELLANEOUS. / sing of this, I sing of that — Just as the mood does take me; And if I make not sense withal, Then do my wits forsake me! — Kalph Leon Haldin. A BRIDAL TOAST. Come friends fill up Thus every cup To the brim ! With hearts alight, We'll drink to-night To the married pair : To him, The proven brave, — To her, the good, the fair! Here's health, And wealth, With happiness combined In many a golden year ; And that they find Life's path with roses lined, 86 SONGS IN MINORITY. And so without a fear, Misfortune's blighting frown, Or sorrow's tears, Thus hand in hand, Content they may go down Life's columned years Unto the better land ! Then every cup, Fill up, fill up, To the brim ! With hearts alight, We'll drink to-night To the married pair : To him, The proven brave, — To her, the good, the fair! (October, 1868.) THRENODY. O what is life but a short-lived hour? — An empty wish, an emptier power? And what is haughty man though in purple and kingly grace, He revels in nameless bliss and rules his short- timed space? He fades away from the earth he loved as an airy dream, And finds too late that life's things are not what they seem. His soul is borne to the golden shore Beyond whose gates he knows no more. OO SONGS IN MINORITY. And the lauded works he built in the vaunted Temple of Fame, Survive not long the empty honors of his name. For they are frail as frail can be, — And frail as frailty's self is he. So what is mortal man though in purple and and kingly grace, He revels in nameless bliss and rules his short-timed space? And what is life but a brief -lived hour ? — An empty wish, an emptier power? (February, 1869.) THE DREAM OF FAME. " Dreams of fame and grandeur End in bitter tears." My friend, I know thou hast a poet's soul. In deed and thought Thou art a poet. Yet, oh child of fate Thy mind, revolving giant hopes, I fear is linked to naught But dreams Utopian of a perfect lauded state The mind of him whose burial shroud was red with Etna's flame Was peopled too with thoughts of deathless fame ; Ephesus' son who gave unto the brand her boast — his shame — * 90 SONGS IN MINORITY. Dreamt too in untold years to bear an envied name. The world is young, yet 'tis long since their names have been forgot' — Entombed in the arrier-course of rushing Time ; Ah, those of earthly type who rise above the common lot Are few, no matter how strong the wish, how hard the battle fought Or what the 'vantage gained, or what the age or clime. And he whose falchion flashed along the famed Egyptian Nile, Whose conquering host's he led through Alpine snows f And the battle smoke of Wagram's desperate field, At last sleeps well in St. Helena's dead and desolate isle ; Ambition's dreams all wrecked, Napoleon shows THE DREAM OP FAME. 91 The world the littleness of Fame. Oh yield Thou not too much, my friend, to Glory's sweet ironic smile, And masked Ambition's call, the sum of all our woes. Thy heart responsive beats to siren Hope's seductive tone, — I read the purpose in thy pensive eyes, — Ah, well^ if thou willst persevere, henceforth thou art alone ; Thou dost renounce thy heritage ; of sighs And tears a new world thou must make, — a world all, all thine own ; Far oh, Ambition born once never dies, And all our tears and pains and heart regrets will ne'er atone For idle dreams and hopes of power not overwise! I know thou would'st not battle but in the cause of Right, 92 SONGS IN MINOEITY. Thou wouldst not deck thy brow with laurels won in unjust fight ; Then up, sweet friend, thus clad in armor glorious, Up, up, fling out thy standard, battle in thy royal might. Nor rest thee till thou art world-crowned with deeds victorious ! (July 25, 1868.) * The magnificent Temple of Diana at Ephesus, supposed to have been burnt by one Erostratus on the night of the birth of Alexander the Great, B. C. 356. When asked his motives for such a deed he answered : "A yearning for immortality!" This temple was the largest ever erected by the Greeks; its length was four hundred and twenty-five feet, its width two hun- dred and twenty feet, and its columns one hundred and twenty-eight in number, were sixty feet high. f His falchion flashed along the Nile, His hosts he led through Alpine snows. — Rev. John Piekpont's " Napoleon at Kest." 1PP1 Bra '9SSSR9 iT^s^l Is^ll^ftS 3$$& %J* T^^B* ARKADI: A FRAGMENT. Arkadi ! land of the unbarren mountain, The verdant field and crystal flowing fountain ; Land of the ever-rippling, laughing brook ; Land of the distant poet's wishful look ; Home of the mountain hunter and shepherd, Where heavenly, entrancing music's heard ; Thou vastest monument of Time, Majestic, grand — thereat sublime, What though among thy sons there's not a deathless name, Arkadi, still, imperishable is thy fame! (May, 1867.) O MORTAL BE NOT PROUD. O mortal blessed in being great, Though pride, strong in thy sex's bosom, may elate The baser elements of thy soul, let not Its power teach thee scorn the poorer name, And thereat lesser fame, That fills thy brother's earthly lot. Nor boast that in the boundaries wide, Where greatness and its praise abide, Thou hast a second life through thy fair name ; The glory and the power of this earth Are short-timed and of little worth, — Hence little only canst thou claim. O MORTAL BE NOT PROUD. 95 'Twas only the kinder moods of Fate Capriced to make thee great, — That Fate most perfect from the hand of God ; Bethink thee that the glory of thy name may fade — Grow dim before the gloom of Age's shade, And that with thee beneath the sod, All, all thou wert, and art, and will be, may be laid! Then mortal be not over-proud Of the great, envied shroud Light girdled on thy shoulders, but uplift Thy soul to sweet communion with the Great Above Who clad thee in the precious gift, And prove thy manlihood by Honor and by Love! (September 28, 1869.) THE END. Dr. DeMeniFs Literature of The Louisiana Territory. Dr. DeMenil traversed the whole Mississippi Valley in search of materials and his book contains much fresh biographical matter. The author has done his work well. The volume is intrinsically interesting, and, it makes a striking exhibit of literary achieve- ment for a region that was an untrodden wilderness a century ago. —Chicago Daily Record- Herald. The book contains many representative names of Louisiana writers and is important. The biographical sketches afford traits of national characteristics and have something to say for the forces of artistic awakening in new lands. — Denver Daily News- Times. Students of literature and collectors of " Americana " will find it not only valuable for immediate study, but also for permanent preservation as a book of refer- ence, illustrating the connections of literature with Western history. — St. Louis Evening Star. The first history of the literature and educational development of the Louisiana Territory. — Book News. We do not know of any book of Louisiana name Into the making of which so much downright honest hard work has been put both to the author's honor and the goodly substance of the child of his brain and pen. We do not know of any book that should appeal more universally to the big world of lovers of literature. — Boston Courier. A wonderful record of work by many of the best known authors in our literature. — Bridgeport, Conn., Daily Standard. The contents of the book include an "Historical Sketch of the Louisiana Territory," and much other interesting matter, and the thorough knowledge of his subject which the talented author possesses, make this book a delightful and authoritative work.— The Crescent, Liverpool, England. Dr. DeMeniPs criticisms are of the snappy, free- lance style. He calls a spade a spade, always. — Hamilton, Canada, Evening Times. An unusual book written in an unusual style. It preserves much information that otherwise might be lost. — The Fireside Monthly Magazine. Dr. DeMenil's personal recollections of many of the authors of the Louisiana Territory, his critical insight, wit and sarcasm, and his thorough knowledge of his subject, make a delightful and authoritative work. — New Orleans Daily Item. A collection of biographical sketches of middle Western and Southern authors and a comprehensive history of the Louisiana Territory. The book con- tains valuable Information and is handsomely gotten up. — Eush City, Minn., Post. Mr. De Menil is a fearless and trenchant writer and his style is invigorating in this day of " milk and water " literature. This book is a valuable acquisition to the true literature. — Minneapolis Progress. It ranks in American literature as the one authority on the literature of the Louisiana Territory. — Trans- lated from Amerika, St. Louis. Contains a large amount of data and facts placed before the public for the first time. — The Bookman. The book has an especial interest for those who live within the territory which is now States.— Lowell, Mass., Morning Citizen. Contains information not found elsewhere. —San Francisco Human Nature. Dr. DeMenil gives us no ordinary book. He has done his work in a thorough, painstaking and mas- terly manner.— The Church Progress. The story of the territory, of education therein, and biographical and critical sketches of the writers the land has produced. — Chicago Evening Post. The book is the result of the talent for investiga- tion, the love of history and literature, the energy of years of hard work and thousands of miles of travel. It is a book that simply demands admission to all public libraries in the territory bought from Na- poleon. —Keokuk, Io., Standard. In itself a peculiarly interesting book, and one of most pertinent import. Dr. De Menil is a remarkably vivid, able writer and his book covers a large and in- dividually important field in an especially interesting manner. He has produced a genuinely valuable volume. It contains many uniquely related facts not as yet widely realized. — Boston Ideas. A book of special interest. — Savannah Morning News. An interesting book which takes a very unique and charming place In literature. * * * A valua- ble contribution to American literature.— New Or- leans Times- Democrat. A rare combination of information and enlight- enment, spiced with personal recollections, wit and sarcasm. — Buffalo, N. T., Evening Times. A genuine contribution to historical literature. — The Church News. A valuable contribution to the literary history of the country. — New Bedford, Mass., Morning Mercury. The work contains much that is entertaining as well as informing reading. —Toledo, O., Daily Blade. The work shows an immense amount of research on the part of the author, and is a worthy souvenir of the Louisiana Purchase Exposition. — Chicago Evening Chronicle. The author has done his work well. The book is very interesting. —Burlington, Io., Saturday Evening Post. . The volume has value as a book of reference. — New Bedford, Mass., Evening Standard. An unusual book which is of value as a permanent work of reference . . . A really important book. — Chicago Daily News. Its author has succeeded in including a remarkable amount of information. Nor is the work of the sort which owes its sources to encyclopedias and records. There is a personal tone which indicates a wide acquaintance among the writers concerned, and Dr. De Menil handles his materials with a fine perspective knowledge which gives his book more than passing worth. — St. Louis Globe- Democrat. A chronological and historical encyclopedia of the literature which has been created within the limits of the original Louisiana as it was transferred from France to the United States; considering the magni- tude of such an undertaking, and the enormous labor and research necessary to accomplish the task, the erudite Doctor has ably performed his dnty. An in- teresting and valuable work is this book. — New Orleans Daily Picayune. A book that should be placed in every public library as a memorial of the development of the Louisiana Ter- ritory. The introductory historical sketch is very comprehensive and graphic. — The Woman's Tribune, Washington. A creditable piece of work, reflecting the author's familiarity with the subject as well as a vast amount of labor and research. It is a volume that may be read with Interest by students and others. — St. Louis Mirror. De Menil is a conscientious worker, an exact and careful student, and this book of his must place him in the category with those who by their efforts have aided in the preservation to their countrymen of cer- tain of the better portions of literature that has made history, and vice versa. He writes with a zeal that proves without a doubt the fact that his heart is in every line, and his statements ring with an earnest- ness, simplicity and cleverness that display the pains- taking and intelligent possession of a large theme and the accompanying capacity to express his thought an- derstandingly and to the point. — Boston Courier. THE ST. LOUIS NEWS COMPANY, PUBLISHER, ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI. Cloth; price, $1.50. For Sale at Leading Bookstores. THE HESPERIAN A Western Illustrated Quarterly Magazine. Without prior advertisement or announcement of any kind, The Hesperian was ushered into exist- ence in May, 1894, and has filled its special niche in the world of literary periodicals ever since as a free, honest and independent publication. Its publisher made no idle promises or vain boasts; he merely stated that he would issue a magazine of a more serious character than any in existence in the West. The Hesperian addresses itself to the educated and thinking classes of readers. It is virtually a magazine of essays, treating principally on literary and historical topics. Sensationalism finds no place in its pages, nor do discussions of political and relig- ious questions. Book publishers cannot buy space in its pages for the " puffing " of their new books. The Hesperian seeks for Truth, and when it discerns glimpses of it in the accumulated mass of false rubbish that passes current for Truth, it pro- claims the result of its labors boldly and in unequivo- cal terms. It has the honesty of its convictions, whether its judgments be in accord with the reigning critical canons, or not. It accepts literary dogmas only in so far as they are correct, and no further. The only " established literary reputations " it re- spects are those resulting from the opinions of men of education, literary ability and scholarship. It regrets that the large majority of the literary reputa- tions of to-day are due to the personal influence of the publisher and the amount of money he spends in loud and flashy advertising. Against all such and all literary commercialism, The Hesperian has determinately set its face. It prefers to be honest than servile. The Hesperian is not owned by the proprietor of a book publishing house. It is not under the necessity of praising the books of rival publishing houses in order to have Its own praised. It is unfet- tered, unincumbered — it is honest and just in its opinions. It dares to tell the truth! It can continue doing without the advertisements of Eastern book publishing houses, as it has done during the past twelve years. Subscription, 50 cts. per annum. Single copy, 15 cts. ALEXANDER N. DEMENIL, PH.D., LL.D., editor and publisher, DeMenil Building. ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI, U. S. A.