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 PRESS OF 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 
 1872. 
 

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 TO 
 
 MY LONG TRIED AND FAITHFUL FRIENDS, 
 THESE 
 
 ''"^^^mt^ lm\[ tint P^^t" 
 
 are offered, in all iliwyi rulhfulness and simplicity: to their charitable 
 judgment, to their unfailing friendship, I commit them, in token of 
 my faith and trust in them, believing that their criticism will be in that 
 beautiful spirit that worketh no ill, and that, cognizant as they are of 
 my past Hfe, they will not blame the careful gleaner of flowers in 
 the desert, — such as make even the wilderness to smile. 
 
 Mary Rebecca Darby Smith 
 
 (V) 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 BETTER motive than that of vanity has 
 induced me to place collectively in one 
 volume many of the kind, and some of 
 the beautiful, addresses which from time to time 
 have been dedicated to me from the early age of 
 fourteen. My nature is reconnaissant, and as one 
 does not like even to throw a faded flower away, 
 the gift of a friend, so I have generally kept the 
 offerings that have been given or sent to me, not 
 weighing their poetical merit always, not reading 
 them with critical eyes, but as tributes of con- 
 sideration, or affection, or wit, I have placed all 
 together, and bind them now, 
 
 LEAVES FROM THE PAST, 
 
 on memory's grateful page. I cannot bear all 
 should perish. " Yet a few days, and earth, that 
 nourished me, shall claim my growth, to be re- 
 
 (vii) 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 solved to earth again;" and though the friends 
 that I leave " shall one by one be gathered to my 
 side," yet, for them and for their children, I would 
 fain have these remembrances of kindly apprecia- 
 tion to exist for one whose life of trial and sorrow 
 has had but one solace, apart from Heaven and its 
 divine teachings and hopes, and that is all that 
 emanates from the gentle heart of charitx' and 
 love. 
 
 My little volume would have more intrinsic 
 value if I were to select only those pieces which 
 have genuine poetical merit marked by genius 
 and good taste; but as in a bouquet from the 
 garden one often finds along with tea-roses and 
 rare flowers the simple sweet- alyssum, and the 
 modest yet odorous heliotrope, so in this collec- 
 tion I place in memoriam the leaves of all hues, 
 from the pale and sickly yellow to the brilliant 
 and emphatic rouge, and thus grouped, they are 
 offered to my friends, in the hope they will ap- 
 preciate them, and understand that not ostentation, 
 but kindly remembrance, has compelled me to 
 make the record I have done. 
 
 Some of the verses have been written to me in 
 an interesting album of mine, and such as I have 
 thought proper I have extracted from this volume. 
 
PREFACE, ix 
 
 This accumulation is not meant for the hyper- 
 critical and the cold, for the narrow and the cen- 
 sorious, but for the eye and heart of friendship or 
 good feeling, whose sweet, expansive charity will 
 comprehend the grateful feeling with which I link 
 these mementos of former days together, — link 
 all, the foolish and the wise, the simple and the 
 beautiful, — and will believe I see with them often- 
 times the extravagance of expression, and can 
 smile with them also at much that has been 
 written under the influence of that fabulous little 
 deity whose blindness is proverbial, and in whose 
 name such follies are committed by the pen, the 
 tongue, and the act. 
 
 But there are sweet memorials here of tried and 
 pure friendship, — these hallow my pages, while 
 fancy or wit may adorn them, or fun amuse ; but 
 all my leaves, not lost, are gathered here, and some, 
 unhappily for me, are lost or mislaid. 
 
 They form to my eye a sad yet pleasing cluster, 
 recalling to mind affectionate souvenirs, and inter- 
 esting incidents, such as it is pleasant to cherish 
 in this working-day world. And now, when I have 
 arranged and completed my bouquet of poetic 
 leaves, I feel I am almost recreant to duty in not 
 introducing some of the eloquent effusions to mc 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 that have come from hearts of gentle mould, clad 
 in the soberer form of prose. Many of these are 
 from the distinguished of the earth, — from the ex- 
 alted and the good, — and though not now brought 
 forth to the light of day, they are secretly prized, 
 and some have the light of Heaven on them, for 
 they speak a language the angels might hear, — a 
 language of love and sympathy which is not earth- 
 born. 
 
 Mary Rebecca Darby Smith. 
 
AN ACROSTIC, 
 
 Written to me when at Burlington School, New Jersey, and addressed 
 
 "to the belle of the seminary," 
 
 When I was fourteen years of age. 
 
 ARE beauty of so pure a cast 
 E'en naught in Eden can surpass; 
 Bright as the morning star, thine eye 
 
 Enamors all it passes by. 
 
 Charmer of so lovely face. 
 
 Cease then to sport with the human race. 
 
 A fairer maid or purer mind 
 
 Sure on the globe one ne'er can find ; 
 
 Mild as a lamb, sweet as a rose, 
 
 Innocent as a stream where it softly flows. 
 
 Thence, lady, mayst thou be blest. 
 
 Heaven thy home and eternal thy rest. 
 
 (") 
 

 A SONG. 
 
 The following lines were written and addressed to me also, at 
 Burlington School, when I was fourteen years old: 
 
 SAW thee, heard thee, might it be 
 
 That I could see and hear unmoved ? 
 It needeth but to look on thee 
 To feel that thou must be beloved. 
 
 By day, if sorrows round me teem, 
 
 And heaves my breast with passion riven. 
 
 Be mine the night that brings the dream 
 Of thee, and purity, and heaven. 
 
 And often has escaped a sigh. 
 
 As such a thought flew 'cross my mind, 
 That thou, sweet maid, wast born to die. 
 
 Or else to some sad doom resigned. 
 
 When first I saw thee, fatal hour ! 
 
 Although I loved thee thus alone, 
 Yet Hope dare not then build his bower. 
 
 For fear thy heart was not thy own. 
 
 (12) 
 
A SONG. 
 
 And when, by chance, my eyes were cast 
 Upon thy bosom gently heaving, 
 
 Where cares and sorrows may be clasped. 
 They quickly closed, then rose to heaven. 
 
 And often in my bosom fly 
 
 Some thought that I'm beloved by thee ; 
 But oftener banished with a sigh, 
 
 That happiness were ne'er for me. 
 
 Oh that a guardian angel's care 
 
 Around thy gentle form be hovering ! 
 
 Oh, could a lover's fervent prayer 
 
 But turn aside the blow that's falling ! 
 
 Oh, blissful hour ! but 'twill ne'er be ; 
 
 Could I such happiness enjoy, 
 To pass but that short time with thee, 
 
 Weeks of my life could I destroy. 
 
 Forgive me, lady, were it so, 
 
 Each one himself could well command ; 
 But sure thou knowest Cupid's bow 
 
 Is worst of dangers to withstand. 
 
 In any lovely, peaceful dell. 
 
 With thee, sweet maid, I'd gladly dwell. 
 
 V- 
 
TO REBECCA. 
 
 These simple and kindly lines I appreciate as coming from an hum- 
 ble individual who had served in our family in a superior capacity, 
 and being a religious woman, and possessing many excellent qualities, 
 as a child I regarded her with affection and respect, which she mani- 
 fested warmly towards myself Her good wishes, like those of others, 
 shall I ask how have they been fulfilled ? 
 
 AY care upon thee lightly fall, 
 May happiness be thine ; 
 Mayst thou never with regret recall 
 Past pleasure and past time ! 
 
 Upon thy fair and noble brow 
 ISIay sorrow leave no trace ; 
 
 May health and peace forever glow 
 Upon thy lovely face ! 
 
 May afflictions never visit thee ; 
 
 May grief ne'er dim thine eye ; 
 May every friend prove true to thee, 
 
 And thy life be bright as summer sky ! 
 
 ( 14) 
 
yl CONFESSION. 
 
 May felicity on thee attend 
 
 Through this life so drear ; 
 Mayst thou ne'er forget thy friend, 
 
 To whom thou art so dear ! 
 
 M . . . . P . 
 
 A CONFESSION. 
 
 EBECCA ! often in my sleep 
 
 Thy form all wreathed in smiles appears, 
 And softly chides me when I weep, 
 
 With care oppressed, in bitter tears. 
 To Angel Hope it points the way. 
 
 And cheers my sad and drooping heart 
 With visions bright as fancy's ray. 
 
 Which pluck the sting and heal the smart. 
 When full of gratitude and love, 
 
 I bend to thee, my heart's true shrine. 
 And seek by constant vows to prove 
 
 That I am worthy to be thine. 
 But morning's ray, and reason's course. 
 
 Dispel the fairy-tales I'd wove; 
 Those icy barriers, custom's force. 
 
 Bid me despair to win thy love. 
 
1 6 A CONFESSION. 
 
 Yet will I now invoke thine ear, 
 
 And Venus pray thee so incline, 
 That one soft wish from me to hear, 
 
 And that is, — ''Wilt thou, love, be mine?" 
 By that kind Saint, whose name will ring 
 
 To-morrow, o'er the festive wine, 
 Oh, let me, love, unto thee bring 
 
 This rhyme of thy true valentine ! 
 
 Memory. 
 
 Friday Night, twelve o'clock. 
 
GOOD WISHES. 
 
 RIGHT be the dreams which cheer thy heart 
 And sweet the hopes they bring ; 
 May joy ne'er from thy home depart, 
 And pleasure leave no sting ! 
 
 May no dark cloud of sorrow cast 
 
 Its shadow o'er thy sky ; 
 May life be sweet, while life shall last. 
 
 And friends be ever nigh ! 
 
 Sweet be thy rest in slumber's hours. 
 
 May angel bands attend ; 
 And may thy path be strewn with flowers, 
 
 Till life's bright dream shall end ! 
 
 Yes, may thy life glide smoothly on. 
 Without one darkening day, 
 
 Till all its cherished hopes have flown, 
 Then sweetly pass away ! 
 
 (17) 
 
AN EPISTLE OF LOVE. 
 
 FROM THE POET TO HIS LADY-LOVE. 
 
 The ensuing lines were received anonymously at Philadelphia, and 
 were dedicated as follows : 
 
 IS Sunday ! And most holy is the day ! 
 
 Yet will my thoughts, rebellious, to thee stray ! 
 
 Whilst busy memory shuns the years now past, 
 B/ Time's quick flight, to both forever lost ! 
 Barren and fruitless were those years gone by, 
 Unblest with blossoming Love for you or I ! 
 A warning, beauteous maiden, take from this, 
 And let our future promise _>'^^;'^ of bliss ! 
 Long have I sought thee ! ay, in everything, 
 At home, abroad, amid the courtly ring. 
 Still as I sought thou fledst from me away. 
 Fearful of cares which on thy fancy prey. 
 Away, Rebecca ! drive those envious fears, 
 For Heaven will smooth the road affection bears, 
 And thou wilt find, as surely as you try, 
 They're baseless as the cloud in summer sky. 
 (i8) 
 
jjv epistle of love. 19 
 
 Ah ! may I not implore thy tender heart 
 
 To let my Love its trials all impart ? 
 
 Give reign to fancy ! and behold me kneel 
 
 Before thee, warmed by that hope I feel, 
 
 Which bids me speak, in that soft, thrilling tone, 
 
 That Love to Love commends when 'tis alone ! 
 
 Whilst my rapt heart, with joy, with truth, combine, 
 
 Until its fervor shall soon win the shrine, 
 
 Like some pent stream long hid by stony ground, 
 
 Which to the meadow leaps with frolic bound, 
 
 Transported with delight it wends its way 
 
 Where tender greens invite its constant stay. 
 * ^ * * * * 
 
 Forgive, dear maid, this bold, impassioned lay, 
 
 For love, long felt, breaks e'en the Sabbath-day. 
 
 In vain my thoughts would seek another theme, 
 
 Thou art by day and night my constant dream. 
 
 M. 
 
 Sunday Evening, February 15th. 
 
A POETICAL COMPLIMENT. 
 
 This was written and presented to me at Newport, Rhode Island, 
 1850. 
 
 ADY, not easy is the task to tell 
 
 How the deep radiance of thy sparkling eye 
 Winneth all bosoms by its mingled spell 
 Of tenderness and queenly majesty. 
 Nor how those ever-changing hues excel, 
 
 Which o'er thy cheek in blushing beauty fly, 
 Such hues as paint the skies with roseate light 
 When the slow twilight softens into night. 
 
 But 'tis not when before thy shrine I bow, 
 The idol worship claimed by beauty alone 
 
 Which I accord to thee ; albeit thou 
 Compeer in perfect loveliness hast none. 
 
 Immortal mind is seated on thy brow ; 
 And shall I idly laud its ivory throne ? 
 
 Nay, were the gem within less rich, then I 
 
 Might learn to praise the casket worthily. 
 
 Thine, lady, is the better part which hath 
 Its pure source in the spirit's hidden spring ; 
 (20) 
 
TO REBECCA. 21 
 
 For thou hast held along no common path, 
 But in the free soul's chainless aspiring 
 
 Right nobly wilt disprove the vulgar faith, 
 That man alone may rise on mental wing, 
 
 While woman's highest office is to be 
 
 The gilded toy of his proud sovereignty. 
 
 TO REBECCA. 
 
 WISH you that peace the good only can feel ; 
 I wish you the joys sense and virtue approve \ 
 I wish you the wealth that no robber can steal. 
 With a life gently gliding 'twixt Friendship and Love. 
 
 A . . . . M . . . . 
 New York, January 6tli. 
 
 \j>^ 
 
TO MISS M. R. D. S. 
 
 EAREST lady, do not trifle 
 
 With a heart that beats for thee ; 
 'Tis cruel to attempt to stifle 
 
 Love like mine, so pure and free. 
 
 Perhaps 'tis thus you wish to test 
 The measure of my love for thee ; 
 
 Then know my heart can have no rest 
 Till certain that thine beats for me. 
 
 Do not break the charm of hope, 
 Though thy heart be lost to me ; 
 
 Let my fancy have full scope 
 That I'm loved most tenderly. 
 
 Sweet enchantress ! on the altar 
 Of my heart thy best gift lay ; 
 
 If thou lovest me, do not falter, 
 I beseech thee ! not one day. 
 
 ( 22 
 
New York. 
 
 TO MISS M. R. D. SMITH. 
 
 Then around our happy home 
 
 Madly may the bleak winds blow \ 
 
 Secure from storms or ills that come, 
 Our stream of life will calmly flow. 
 
 C... C. E 
 
 23 
 
 TO MISS M. R. D. SMITH. 18 
 
 "•EAUTY in woman weaves a spell 
 Around poor man's devoted heart, 
 And he must guard the fortress well, 
 Or else he'll feel the piercing dart. 
 But when she has at once combined 
 
 Charms, such as do with you exist. 
 And a well-cultivated mind, 
 
 Her magic power who can resist ? 
 
 Dr. J T. W . . . 
 
TO MISS M. R. D. SMITH, 
 
 ON NEW year's day, i8 . . . 
 
 |ADY, you ask a verse of me. 
 To while an idle hour away : 
 The subject of that verse should be 
 Appropriate to this gladsome day ; 
 But if not so, you will excuse 
 The faults of my unpolished muse. 
 
 On each return of New Year's Day 
 
 I feel both sad and joyful too. 
 As if one friend had passed away. 
 
 And one I'd found, sincere and true ; 
 For, though this year's forever gone, 
 Perhaps a brighter one is born. 
 
 May this prove brighter far, my friend. 
 
 To you than any have before ! 
 May each succeeding New Year send 
 
 You happiness yet more and more ! 
 May all your life forever be 
 From pain and care and sorrow free ! 
 (24) 
 
TO MISS M. R. D. SMITH. 
 
 May friendship open unto you 
 
 The path of peace and holy love ! 
 
 May life continual joys renew, 
 
 And hope not too deceptive prove ! 
 
 May sweet contentment round you throw 
 
 Such bliss as may be found below ! 
 
 And when at last your life shall end, 
 And you have done with earthly things, 
 
 May you then see your heavenly Friend, 
 And soar aloft on Seraph's wings. 
 
 To that bright, happy world above, 
 
 Where all is peace and all is love ! 
 
 Dr. J T. W . . 
 
 25 
 
TO MISS M. R. D. SMITH. 
 
 WITH A COPY OF "GOLDSMITHS POEMS, PLAYS, AND 
 ESSAYS." l8 . . . 
 
 JAIR lady, you have won from me 
 5| A philopoena, and I bring 
 
 What you before your eyes may see, 
 This volume, as my offering. 
 
 I would the gift might worthier be 
 
 Of the fair hands that you will hold with, 
 
 And the bright eyes with which you'll see 
 
 These "Poems, Plays, Essays of Goldsmith." 
 
 " Neat but not gaudy," was the motto 
 Which, by its dressmaker, was used ; 
 
 It does not blush in red morocco, 
 Nor is its face with g(u)ilt suffused. 
 
 But if you would its virtues find, 
 Look inside, and you there will see 
 
 What often has improved the mind, 
 And taught the heart to better be. 
 
 Dr. T T. W ... 
 
 (26) 
 
AN EXPLANATION. 
 
 INCE, lady, you have asked me why 
 
 My conduct lately is so changed, 
 And why I from your presence fly, 
 As if from you I felt estranged : 
 Although it now may be too late 
 To make it needful to explain, 
 Attend, and I'll the cause relate, 
 
 That you may then no more complain. 
 
 I once beheld a blithe young bird, 
 
 When Spring her brightest flowers did spread. 
 And shrill his wild, sweet notes were heard 
 
 As he flew joyous o'er my head. 
 But soon the charmer caught his eye, — 
 
 No more his wild, sweet notes were heard : 
 Away, away, he tried to fly, 
 
 In vain, alas ! poor victimed bird. 
 
 Thus, while I linger by thy side, 
 
 And feel my heart yet light and free, 
 
 There lurks destruction in those eyes, 
 Whose power, once felt, I could not flee. 
 
 (27) 
 
TO M. R. D. S 
 
 And so, lest I should share the fate 
 Of the poor bird the charmer slew, 
 
 I fly, ere it becomes too late 
 To tear myself away from you. 
 
 Dr. J T. W . . . 
 
 TO M. R. D. S. 
 
 Sonnet -written to me in my youth. 
 
 AD is thy lot, and sorrowful indeed ! 
 Without a father's or a mother's love. 
 All lonely doomed through this cold world 
 to rove. 
 While thy kind heart 'neath wicked tongues must 
 bleed. 
 
 Oh, cruel they, who with affection's care 
 
 Should guide and guard thee on life's dangerous way, 
 Yet leave thee almost friendless thus to stray. 
 
 Where wolves and vipers in fierce anger glare ! 
 
 Yet '' bear on bravely" with a noble heart. 
 Let neither grief, nor loss, nor slander's din. 
 E'er tempt thee or in word or thought to sin ; 
 
 But meet with patience each envenomed dart. 
 Keeping thy spirit meek and pure within : 
 
 Thus to bea7' lorong is virtue's noblest part. 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF HOLY LOVE. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN TO MISS M. R. D. SMITH. 
 
 H, did I think that death could part 
 
 This clinging soul from thine, 
 When I would clasp thee to my heart, 
 How would that heart repine ! 
 
 The bliss of earth's fond love is past, 
 
 If fear still looks before, 
 And says the hour must come at last 
 
 When we shall love no more. 
 
 When doomed in endless woes to dwell, 
 
 Love shall to hate subside. 
 Or bounds as broad as heaven and hell 
 
 Our spirits shall divide. 
 
 But Jesus conquered death, and rose, 
 No more to die or grieve : 
 
 That conquest He achieved for those 
 Who on his name believe. 
 
 (29) 
 
3^ 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF HOLY LOVE. 
 
 In Him they conquer every ill, 
 Sin, fear, and care, and pain, 
 
 And e'en o'er death they triumph still 
 In everlasting gain. 
 
 Thus, dear one, in a holy love 
 
 We have no ill to fear, 
 For we shall bear to realms above 
 
 The love we cherish here. 
 
 What though the stroke of death divide 
 
 Our loving hearts awhile, 
 Hope with the mourner shall abide, 
 
 Each sorrow to beguile. 
 
 What though these forms return to dust, 
 Though distant graves they fill. 
 
 Our God, who guards the sleeping just, 
 Shall watch our ashes still. 
 
 To brighter worlds we then shall soar, 
 There where God dries all tears; 
 
 Where grief or slander never more 
 Shall blight our blissful years. 
 
 And when the voice of Jesus blest 
 Commands our dust to rise. 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF HOLY LOVE. 
 
 In forms of fadeless glory dressed, 
 With these now tearful eyes 
 
 How shall we on each other gaze 
 
 With wonder and delight ; 
 And while we give Him all the praise, 
 
 Exult in heaven's own light ! 
 
 Oh, dear one, let these hopes inspire 
 
 Comfort in each distress ; 
 Shield us from every wrong desire, 
 
 And every duty bless ! 
 
 Let us be armed by hopes so pure. 
 
 Against sin's cunning arts ; 
 And to make this bright prospect sure, 
 
 Devote our lives and hearts. 
 
 C . 
 
 V 
 
TO REBECCA. 
 
 HAT is it that thus round my heart entwineth? 
 
 Why is it that when from thee it thus pineth? 
 
 At the touch of thy hand, the glance of thine 
 eye, 
 What causeth these thrills of delight thus to fly 
 Through each channel of life, and sweetly to roll 
 Like a flood of pure bliss o'er, the face of the soul? 
 Oh, tell me, ye who the deep problem can prove, 
 Is not this the magical power of love ? 
 And who would not love thee, with all thy rare charms? 
 Hath not Venus more strength than Mars, God of 
 
 Arms ? 
 Yet Venus herself hath no charms like to thine, 
 Thou chosen, and honored, and loved, lady mine. 
 Minerva no triumph of wisdom e'er wrought 
 Surpassing the conquests of thy brilliant thought ; 
 And Sappho's soft strains, on her Lesbian isle. 
 Had no power compared to thy heart-thrilling smile; 
 Nor did Pythia e'er such wonders display. 
 As flow from thy lips in sweet converse each day. 
 (32 ) 
 
TO REBECCA. 33 
 
 E'en the CumDean Sibyl, whose beauty won 
 
 The heart of Apollo, Latona's great son, 
 
 Hadst thou lived in her day, would ne'er have been 
 
 known : 
 The fame she has now would have then been thine own ; 
 And Diana's self o'er Callisto the bear, 
 Could no higher honor or virtue declare. 
 But in vain would my muse thy attractions narrate. 
 Which for words are too many, for numbers too great : 
 Thy form is all beauty, — most lovely thy face. 
 Thy voice is sweet music, — each action is grace ; 
 Thy heart is all kindness, — thy mind is all thought ; 
 Thy soul with devotion and charity fraught. 
 Such are some of thy charms, may joy ever rest, 
 With virtues so rare, in thy pure, gentle breast ! 
 May love, peace, and honor thy journey attend. 
 Till in deathless glory that journey shall end ! 
 And then may that crown which unfading shall shine, 
 With the full bliss of heaven, forever be thine ! 
 
 The above complimentary effusion was by my kind and devoted 
 
 friend the Rev. Dr. , whose many good qualities I cheerfully 
 
 and dutifully notice, whose kind heart and services I cannot forget, 
 and for whom I could have desired a more prosperous course. He 
 had talents of a superior order, — God in mercy grant he is now where 
 sin and sorrow are no more, through the atoning sacrifice of that 
 Saviour whom, in common with us all, he so much needed, and 
 whom I truly believe he so much loved ! 
 
LINES TO MISS R. D. SMITH, 
 
 BY A FRIEND. 
 
 OU have asked me to write you a line, 
 And I fain would your wishes fulfill ; 
 For one who hath charms such as thine, 
 
 Must surely find friends where she will. 
 But can Friendship, if worthy and true, 
 
 Speak only to flatter or please ? 
 Will it not for its object pursue 
 
 Some ends far more noble than these ? 
 I might sing of thy sparkling bright eyes ; 
 
 Of thy brow where Minerva resides ; 
 Of that beauty which with Psyche's vies. 
 
 Or a thousand attractions besides : 
 And yet would my muse but extol 
 
 That which blooms but to wither and die. 
 How vain ! oh, how vain is it all ! 
 
 As the dust where so soon it must lie. 
 My muse would to loftier themes, 
 
 Though in humble reliance, aspire, 
 
 (34) 
 
PARTING LINES TO A DEAR ERIEND. 35 
 
 And soaring away from Earth's dreams, 
 Would for thee invoke Gabriel's fire. 
 
 Oh that, with a heart filled with love, 
 And faith fixed in confidence there. 
 
 On the Saviour, who still pleads above, 
 
 You would cast all your hope and your care ! 
 
 ^ '; C. C. V. 
 
 PARTING LINES TO A DEAR FRIEND. 
 
 Addressed to me on leaving Philadelphia for Boston, to pass the 
 winter of 1854. 
 
 AREWELL, farewell ! since thou wilt leave us, 
 fairest. 
 May guardian angels guide thee on thy way ! 
 May friends the purest, and may joys the rarest, 
 
 Smile thy glad welcome where'er thou shalt stay! 
 Cold the world is to thee, and grief and sorrow, 
 
 Thus far, have marked the path thy feet have trod ; 
 But as from darkness days their brightness borrow. 
 So happier for the past may prove thy morrow. 
 Grant it, O God ! 
 
 Yet look not thou to earth for thy chief pleasures. 
 Sin here throws poison in each cup of joy ; 
 
36 PARTING LINES TO A DEAR FRIEND. 
 
 Fading and perishing are all earth's treasures, 
 
 But there are those which time ne'er can destroy. 
 
 Though tossed and restless, as was the homeless dove, 
 Unto the ark of God speed thou thy flight ; 
 
 Admitted surely by his kind hand of love, 
 
 Thou shalt life's raging waves ride far above. 
 Safe in his sight. 
 
 Think not thou art friendless, though ofttimes weeping, 
 There is One attends thee where'er thou art ; 
 
 With hand almighty, and with eyes unsleeping, 
 He will still shield and bless thy lonely heart. 
 
 Trust thou alone in Him, — his will obeying, 
 Watchfully shunning sin's bewitching snares ; 
 
 And though thorns line the path where thou art straying, 
 
 On his unchanging love thyself still staying, 
 ''Cast all thy cares." 
 
 And when from us, alas ! thou shalt be parted, 
 'Midst other scenes and colder climes to dwell, 
 
 Remember then the warm and faithful-hearted. 
 Who now in sadness sigh their fond farewell ! 
 
 Think of the friends who here have stood beside thee. 
 Who oft for thee with weeping eyes have prayed, 
 
 Who now in ardent faith to God confide thee. 
 
 And still will pray, whate'er on earth betide thee, 
 God be her aid. 
 
PARTING LINES TO A DEAR FRIEND. 37 
 
 But, oh, remember, too, the humblest flowers, 
 Which lowest bow beneath the darkened skies. 
 
 Are first to drink from earth heaven's grateful showers. 
 And first with brightest, sweetest smiles to rise : 
 
 So if thou e'er would taste of heavenly pleasure. 
 Thus humbly bow while clouds obscure thy way. 
 
 And by a lowly life seek thou that treasure, 
 
 A glorious life of bliss no mind can measure. 
 In endless day. 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! and when perchance another. 
 
 In tones of kindness, may salute thine ear. 
 Thou then wilt think of him who as a brother, 
 
 Oft o'er thy sorrows shed the burning tear; 
 But give thy love supreme to that Redeemer 
 
 To whom he pointed thy sad, bleeding heart, 
 Then shall we meet again where raptures linger, 
 Far, far beyond the reach of grief or danger, 
 No more to part. 
 
 Philadelphia. 
 
FAREWELL LINES TO MISS M. R. D. SMITH, 
 
 BY SHE KNOWS WHOM. 
 
 AREWELL, dear friend of many years, 
 More dear for all thy burning tears, 
 Which often flow ; 
 'Tis truly said, " Earth's strongest tie 
 Is that which links in sympathy 
 The Aear^ to woe. ' ' 
 
 In memory's sacred cell concealed, 
 With gems to no rude eye revealed. 
 
 Our past shall be ; 
 And yet thou canst not know but part. 
 The tenderness this sorrowing heart 
 
 Hath/?// for thee. 
 
 The end has come ! and now no more 
 On Schuylkill's banks, by Newport's shore, 
 
 Or Bartram's shades, 
 Or near where Fairmount's waters foam. 
 Shall we in fond communings roam : 
 
 "Wiw^ pleasure fades. 
 (38). 
 
FAREWELL LLNES. 39 
 
 God send thee gentle friends and kind, 
 To soothe and cheer thy troubled mind, 
 
 With hallowed power ! 
 Oh, may He guard and guide thy way, 
 And bless with Hope's inspiring ray 
 
 Its latest hour / 
 
 Farewell ! if on the foaming sea, 
 Still, I will raise my prayer for thee ; 
 
 Or if I dwell 
 In distant lands, may you be blest 
 With life's pure joys and heaven's bright rest! 
 
 Farewell ! farewell ! 
 
TO R. D. SMITH. 
 
 This is not Poetry, but Poetical Prose, of which I have a good deal. 
 
 This sweet, kindly address, however, from a valued friend of mine, 
 a member of the Society of Friends, whom my mother greatly esteemed, 
 I cannot but insert among my " leaves," as it was written in my early 
 youth by one who has been steadfast and unchanging to me to the 
 present time. 
 
 OULD the warm wishes of a true friend avail 
 thee, dear Rebecca, long ere this would those 
 that often fill my heart for thee, have been 
 blest to change thy sadly sorrowing to a happy lot. And 
 if the record of bright wishes here send but a momejit- 
 ary thrill of joy through thy frame, lighting up thy face 
 with its transient gleam; and prove but like moonbeams 
 on troubled waters, breaking them into smiles of seem- 
 ing gladness, though they be troubled waters still, — oh, 
 would it might not be ever thus ! would it might yet 
 be the will of thy all-wise but merciful Heavenly Parent 
 to bless thee eve7i here ! And that thou may become 
 possessed of that ''joy with which no stranger can in- 
 termeddle," that peace which the world knows not of, 
 and finally attain the haven of rest where sorrows never 
 come, is the heartfelt desire of thy sincere and affec- 
 tionate friend, 
 
 M. 
 
 L. E.. 
 
 (40) 
 
TO MISS R. D. SMITH. 
 
 WRITTEN AT HER SIDE ON THE EVENING OF DECEM- 
 BER 17TH. 
 
 INE be a place by beauty's side, 
 Where wit and worth and grace beside 
 In beauteous harmony preside. 
 To list those tones, so sweet, so clear, 
 They seem like music of the sphere 
 
 Breathed soft at eventide. 
 Oh, if ever now on earth is found 
 Elysian bliss, such place, such sound. 
 
 Its richest joys restore ; 
 This fate be mine, I ask no more 
 But this, such shrine to kneel before. 
 To gaze, to wonder, and adore. 
 
 (41) 
 
THE SUSTAINING VOICE WITHIN.' 
 
 AST thou not felt in sorrow's anguished hour, 
 When boding grief's pervading pall hung 
 o'er thee, 
 The secret whispering of an unknown power, 
 
 That brought bright gleams of cheering hope before 
 thee? 
 
 Hast thou not known the future's dubious way, 
 As with the radiance of a sunbeam lightened, 
 
 And the gray twilight of a fearful day. 
 
 From threat'ning gloom into gladness brightened? 
 
 And when serene thy secret bosom holds 
 Communion with itself in hallowed hour, 
 
 Is it not then a spirit pure enfolds 
 
 Thy spirit with the mantle of its power, 
 
 And teaches of a life beyond the skies. 
 
 When the short conflict of this scene is o'er, 
 
 When the rapt soul, in holy joy, shall rise, 
 To taste of sorrow's mingled cup no more? 
 (42) 
 
TO REBECCA. 43 
 
 Despond not, then, in grief's most gloomy day, 
 
 For guardian angels are forever near, 
 The soul sustaining with hope's lambent ray. 
 
 And whisperings, to animate and cheer. 
 
 E. R. G. H. 
 
 Newport. 
 
 TO REBECCA. 
 
 S the lark that buildeth its nest on the ground, 
 yet soareth to the ''heavens," so thou, in lowly 
 simplicity of heart, fair and gentle being, 
 dwellest among the children of men, whilst thy spirit 
 soareth above earth's coarser domains to regions of 
 fruitful thought ; meekly shalt thou win spirits to hover 
 near and hearts to love thee. 
 
 As the wild rose that bloometh on the hillside and 
 droops its modest head, so thou to the unappreciating 
 many dwellest in the silentness of beauty; and, oh, 
 may the bright smiles of an approving world illumine 
 thy pathway of life midst undissembling joys ! 
 
 May Heaven strew thy way with life's unfading 
 flowers, of perfume sweet, and thy days pass sweetly 
 away, calmly, gently, beautifully, as sinks the sun to 
 rest in an unclouded sky: so may thy spirit depart to 
 rise in the morning of the soul, in other and brighter 
 worlds, blissful, eternal ! 
 
44 
 
 ro REBECCA. 
 
 The following verses were attached : 
 
 The winter rose so rich and rare, 
 Despite the cold, unfeeling air, 
 Is like the virtue meek and mild 
 That blooms amid the worldly wild : 
 A blessed and a beauteous sight, 
 A lesson of surpassing light. 
 
 Thus have I looked upon thy face, 
 
 Beaming with strange, superior grace. 
 
 Artless and beautiful and lone \ 
 
 'Mid the rough world the worshiped one, 
 
 Like that intense, enduring light 
 
 So lustrous it absorbs the sight. 
 
 In thee I see the beauteous flower 
 That grows more precious every hour, 
 Proving how inward soul and strength 
 Disarms the winter's stormiest length. 
 And how, the power of life attained. 
 Virtue is always self-sustained. 
 
 Sent Anonymously. 
 
W^B^^^ 
 
 IMPROMPTU. FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING. 
 
 This little Impromptu was written by a kind friend. I was invited 
 to pay a visit to his house on Staten Island. I went, and on retiring 
 to my room of a cold and wintry night, my heart was touched to find 
 the following verses, with a lovely bouquet of roses and mignonette, 
 lying on my dressing-table : 
 
 MISS REBECCA SMITH. 
 
 ELCOME, friend oi pleasant memories. 
 Ever gracious, truthful lone, 
 Most beloved when best we know thee. 
 
 Welcome to our Island Home. 
 
 May your sleep be peaceful and your dreams as 
 bright and joyous as though your spirit were moved by 
 the touch of an angel's wing ! 
 
 God bless you ! 
 
 I am now and forever your friend. 
 
 Cltfton, Staten Island, 
 February 12th. 1862. 
 
 (45) 
 
MEMORIES. 
 
 MONG the grateful remembrances of the Past, 
 is the untiring interest and regard for me of 
 an enthusiastic gentleman, who, for more 
 than fifteen years, was constantly sending me some 
 friendly wish or expression in Poetry.* I had lived 
 in the same house with him and some of his family for 
 a year or two in Philadelphia. I was not particularly 
 intimate with him, but we always met on a friendly 
 footing. He had written a small volume of Poems, 
 dedicated to his mother. He knew I loved Poetry, 
 and how true is the remark of Mary Howitt, that 
 ''Poetry is Freemasonry! They who render homage 
 to it are related; they speak a word, make a sign, and 
 immediately they know that they are brothers. They who 
 live together impart to each other mutually the emo- 
 tions of their hearts ; they who meet in a foreign land, 
 like pious pilgrims, by what path they have wandered 
 thither, and through what cities they have come. 
 
 * The two preceding addresses are by him. 
 
 (46) 
 
MEMORIES. 
 
 47 
 
 Poetry has the peculiarity of unlocking the heart and 
 calling forth mutual confidence." So this gentleman, 
 finding me a sympathetic and a willing listener, de- 
 monstrated his gratitude for me in various ways, and 
 for years, on the 14th of February, sent me a beautiful 
 missive befitting the day. Nor had I the slightest 
 idea from Avhom they came until after my return from 
 my first visit abroad, where I had been three years; 
 when on the same day, 14th of February, came a 
 letter, with some flowers and some verses. I knew the 
 handwriting, but not the constant friend. We met, 
 however, afterwards, and he revealed himself to me. 
 
 I will quote a little of the letter, and then give the 
 verses, as in duty bound, in this volume. As I have 
 already remarked, he was an enthusiast. 
 
 " Memory, that part of man which never dies, is at 
 work, and pleasant reminiscences of other days possess 
 me ! 
 
 "How beautiful, when memory comes to us a pleasant 
 visitant ! The soul is a marror on which can be pictured 
 every thought, act, and desire. Sympathy is the tele- 
 graph over which are continually passing the needs of 
 mortals, making known their conditions and where- 
 abouts. 
 
 "Oh, Memory, pale and thoughtful maid! thou 
 comest robed in pensive beauty, to tell us of the 
 
48 MEMORIES. 
 
 never-forgotten Past, of those for whom we cared, of 
 
 whom we oft in memory held dear while gazing" adown 
 
 life's vista, and wished to see again; and when the 
 
 seasons had changed, and many had come and passed 
 
 away, one who, like a lost Star\N\\\c\\ we had missed in 
 
 the blue dome of heaven, met our rapt sight again as 
 
 sunlight on flowers, all bright and beautiful. 
 
 ****** 
 
 '^Gentle lady, esteemed and never forgotten, — one 
 whom thou hast known, and to whom thou wert ever 
 gracious, hath seen thee again as a bright vision, the 
 same dear presence as known in years agone, and doth 
 wish again to ofl"er up the homage of his willing heart 
 to thee, and for whom most deferentially he hath ever 
 cherished the ki?idest thoughts. A blessing he would 
 ask for thee. 
 
 ****** 
 
 '^May peace and joy go hand-in-hand together, and 
 linger nigh where'er thy footsteps stray ! May all life's 
 good things, and every blessing mortal here may know, 
 as a bright halo o'er thy pathway ever be flung, to cheer 
 and gladden thy truthful heart, and make this world to 
 thee a beauteous Eden spot ! 
 
 "Though I may have been forgotten, thou, gentle 
 lady, hast not, can never be. This same date of the 
 month, 14th February, hath brought to thee many 
 times a token of remembrance. 
 
 ''Blessings be thine forever and for thee. 
 
VERSES SENT WITH A BOUQUET. 
 
 "Smiling Hope in bright array 
 Points where gladness leads the way ; 
 Old memories crowd upon my brain and heart, 
 And I am thine most faithfully. 
 
 C....' 
 
 49 
 
 THESE VERSES CAME WITH THE BOUQUET OF FLOWERS. 
 
 HAT worthy offering shall I lay 
 On 7nemory' s consecrated shrine ? 
 What tribute to the olden day, 
 To tell to other hearts of mine ? 
 What token, which, when distance dwells 
 
 Between the friends of other hours, 
 Most sadly, eloquently tells 
 
 Of feelings, like the words of flowers, 
 Silent and beautiful, yet fraught 
 With all the strength of living thought ? 
 What record shall I leave, which seen. 
 Shall make once more the desert green, 
 
 Give Fancy wings of golden light, 
 Whence dewdrops shall descend around, 
 
 Making the darkened spirits bright. 
 And memory's region holy ground? 
 
 5 (49) 
 
50 VEJ^SES SENT WITH A BOUQUET. 
 
 Telling of one who loves to wake 
 
 Remembrance, for her own sweet sake. 
 
 With profound respect, for 
 
 Miss M. R. D. Smith. 
 C 
 
 Philadelphia, February 14th, 1866. 
 
A WITTY COMPLIMENT 
 
 OFFERED TO ME BY BALL HUGHS, SCULPTOR. 
 
 ULCAN forged the bolts of Jove, 
 A mighty Smith was he ; 
 I've seen a Smitli could forge love's links, 
 Would bind the raging sea. 
 
 For the Smith's address, apply to 
 Ball Hughs, Sculptor, 
 
 Dorchester. 
 
 October, 1849. 
 
 (51 
 
TO YOU. 
 
 Lines written to me the day after a visit to Mr. Cushing's garden, 
 at Watertown, Mass. 
 
 ADY, there moments are on earth 
 So lovely, passing sweet, 
 That twilight memory calls them back 
 From their unknown retreat. 
 To offer at their holy shrine 
 
 Devotion such as angels pour, 
 With voice and harp, from thrones divine, 
 For evermore ! 
 
 Such moments those of yesterday, 
 
 To-day I find them past, 
 I may not see their like again. 
 Too sweet they were to last ; 
 But still in never-dying shades. 
 Fresh, vigorous, they spring. 
 And from the spirit never fades 
 Their halo ring ! 
 (52) 
 
TO YOU. 
 
 And yet, fair lady, 'mid those groves, 
 
 That rivaled Eastern bowers, 
 That gleamed in their magnificence. 
 
 Surpassing fairy flowers, 
 I gazed not on their flashing leaves, 
 
 Nor on each radiant hue. 
 But turned where beauty brighter weaves 
 Her chain round you. 
 
 But pray forgive me ; do not frown : 
 The fault was yours, — not mine ; 
 
 For who would look on flowers? earth's eyes, 
 When they could gaze on thine ? 
 
 The flowers we have always there, 
 To worship, love, adore. 
 
 But you, — a thousand times as fair. 
 May come no more ! 
 
 53 
 
 E. B. 
 
 C^< 
 
TO IDA. 
 
 Addressed to me by Mr. 
 
 of New York. I returned the 
 
 original, but kept a copy. 
 
 T was not well that in the sacred aisles, 
 When bowed the knee and sunk the prostrate 
 form 
 
 In homage and in awe, the great Creator 
 Was lost while gazing on his fairest work ; 
 Nor was it well that the new flame within 
 Kindled so brightly that devotion paled 
 And died beneath its fires, and then my heart 
 Made stern resolves, but each returning morn 
 Has seen them melt like gentle dews away. 
 It were in vain, dear Ida, to conceal 
 The interest with which you have inspired me ; 
 Since first I knew your every look and tone, 
 Each act, however simple or disguised. 
 Have marked its rise and progress, and it grew 
 Unconsciously, like flowers from buds to blossoms. 
 In the new, genial soil your loveliness 
 (54) 
 
TO IDA. 
 
 And virtues threw around it, — I would speak 
 
 As though my inward soul were bared before thee \ 
 
 Torn by an adverse fortune from those ties 
 
 That bind to life, by a wide ocean severed, 
 
 Its dark waves rolling far between, my heart, 
 
 Amid its barren and unvalued joys, 
 
 Longs for an object where to garner up 
 
 Its choicest affections, — nay, dear Ida, hear me : 
 
 As yet you know me not, — the spring of life. 
 
 With all its buds of early bloom, is gone ; 
 
 And autumn's fading hues and falling leaves 
 
 Ere long will gather round me ; yet, unlike 
 
 The herd of men, my heart, still fresh and warm. 
 
 Beats with the pulse and kindles with the glow 
 
 Of youthful feeling. In that heart alone 
 
 I know no change. I feel as if decay. 
 
 That principle of nature, found no part 
 
 Of my essential being, — feel as if 
 
 My mind and my affections are thus destined 
 
 To range on in their wide and active sphere, 
 
 Unfettered and unworn. While years glide by, 
 
 Still, are my mind and my affections free, — 
 
 Cares, sorrows, and the lapse of time have not 
 
 Chilled or repressed them. As in days gone by, 
 
 I love the forms of nature as they spread 
 
 In majesty and varied beauty round me, 
 
 Art's pleasing shapes have still the power to charm, 
 
 55 
 
56 TO IDA. 
 
 And music still to ravish with its sweetness, 
 
 While youthful beauty wakens soft delight, 
 
 And kindles all the soul to virtuous love. 
 
 Is it, then, strange I thus am drawn to you. 
 
 And plead a suppliant for that heart of thine ? 
 
 Dare you to love me, dare to be my friend, 
 
 Companion of my bosom's confidence? to yield 
 
 Your sweet affections to me ? Can you feel 
 
 My motives are as pure as are the pulses 
 
 Of your own young and innocent heart ? Then love me 
 
 As even sisters are not wont to love : 
 
 Give me your heart ; yet if it be to you 
 
 A gift too costly, oh, withhold it still ! 
 
 If it estrange you from one moral sense. 
 
 Or wake distrust of self within that bosom ; 
 
 If it excite one pang of soft regret, 
 
 Or violate one sacred duty there ; 
 
 If, above all, it threaten to ensnare 
 
 Your peace of mind, and cast a chill or gloom 
 
 Around the hearth your presence once enlivened, 
 
 Then give it not, — I would not purchase bliss 
 
 At cost so fearful. But if hours are passed 
 
 In silent sadness, and you feel a void 
 
 Deep in the inmost soul, which naught of earth. 
 
 With all its proud ambition and desires. 
 
 Can ever fill ; and if at eve's lone hour 
 
 You sigh in joyless solitude, and lonely 
 
TO IDA. 
 
 Even 'mid society; and if the chord 
 
 Of holy sympathies untouched, you sigh 
 
 'Mid other joys, and music's pleasing tones 
 
 Fall coldly on your ear, and Poesy 
 
 Enchants you only with her pensive strain. 
 
 And wakes to deepest sadness, and you pine 
 
 For friendship, sympathy, confiding love. 
 
 With a rich store of feeling in return 
 
 To meet the heart's fond longings, oh, if this 
 
 You feel, and dare to trust me with your love. 
 
 It shall be cherished like some petted bird 
 
 That nestles in the bosom that it rests on, 
 
 And welcomed like the gentle dove that brought 
 
 The olive-branch across the waters; like 
 
 The bright arch hanging o'er the passing gloom 
 
 Of storms and lighting up with joy and brightness. 
 
 Like fountains in the desert ; like the rose 
 
 That spreads its sweetness and its bloom within 
 
 Some lonely wild, — a rare and precious gift, 
 
 More worth than all the mines of wealth that veiled 
 
 Lie buried in Earth's bosom : such shall be. 
 
 So cherished and so prized, thy heart to me ! 
 
 57 
 
MISS REBECCA D. SMITH. 
 
 WOULD not praise thee, flattered as thou art 
 In the bright circle of thy attached friends, 
 But I may say farewell, — and dare to ponder 
 Upon the soft-breathed witchery of thy words, 
 And on the tones of thy melodious voice. 
 More sweet than the song of early birds. 
 
 And oft my glowing imagination 
 
 Shall picture forth the sweet expression 
 
 Of thy foce, and the niatchless beauty of thy form, 
 Whose every movement is full of grace. 
 
 Yes, thou within my heart shalt have a place, 
 
 And thou whose song can make the full heart flutter 
 In the sad bosom like a happy bird, 
 
 Whose look reveals all that thy heart would utter 
 Before these smiling lips have breathed a word. 
 
 The holy breathing of whose heart was heard 
 Only by angels watching thy sweet dreams. 
 
 The holy stillness of whose heart is stirred 
 Only by seraphs breathing its sweet strains. 
 
 And now I ask /orgive/ie'ss if too ardent my admira- 
 tion seems. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, my friend ! 
 
 B . . . . F. F . . . . 
 
 New Orleans. 
 
A SWEET TRIBUTE. 
 
 The following verses were written by my friend A. C. L., now 
 Macianne B., of New York, whose culture, genius, and amiable char- 
 acter above all, render her friendship prized and esteemed. 
 
 HEN I have gazed upon that marble face 
 Wrought by the Grecian sculptor's matchless 
 skill, 
 On which the lingering eye can never trace 
 
 Aught but the beauty of perfection still, 
 I have admired ; but when I met the chill 
 And vacant gazing of its marble eye, — 
 The eye whose deeps a soul alone can fill, — 
 I looked no longer on the senseless clay, 
 Its beauty heeding not, I coldly turned away. 
 
 And thus from many a bright and dazzling eye, 
 From many a brow like the young lily fair, 
 
 From cheeks that rival sunset's loveliest dye. 
 
 And from sweet lips and the soft smiles tliey wear, 
 
 I coldly turn, **for soul is wanting there." 
 
 But when I see expression sweet as thine. 
 
 So softly bright, so beautifully fair, 
 
 When loveliness of form and soul combine, 
 
 I gladly turn to pay my homage at the shrine. 
 
 To Rebecca D. Smith, with the best wishes and the 
 affectionate regards of her friend, 
 
 A C. L 
 
 (59) 
 
A SACRED REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 BOUT six weeks after my beloved mother's 
 death, I went to Newport, Rhode Island. 
 For a month previous I had been at Perth 
 Amboy, where I had been under strong religious im- 
 pressions, and had serious thoughts of joining the 
 Episcopal Church : although I saw much there that I 
 could not entirely sympathize with, and a formality 
 I could not approve. In looking at that church, I 
 had often been reminded of the remarks of the excel- 
 lent Dr. Arnold, of Rugby, who, although an Episcopal 
 divine, was liberal enough and candid enough to admit 
 its errors, saying, ^'The Church of England has always 
 borne the mark of its birth, the child of arrogance 
 and pretension," etc. ; but at least I wished to be bap- 
 tized, not for the sake of joining the church, but in 
 obedience to the commands of Christ ; and the event 
 took place at the little church at Perth Amboy, I 
 frankly telling the officiating clergyman that I wished 
 to be baptized not as an Episcopalian, but simply be- 
 cause I believed Christ had commanded it. I did not 
 feel more comfortable afterwards ; my mind was sore 
 perplexed; and, the first Sunday after my arrival in 
 (60) 
 
A SACKED REMEMBRANCE. 6i 
 
 Newport, I wrote to a Christian friend, stating all my 
 feelings and imaginations and doubts, saying I did not 
 know where to attend divine worship, 'but, after all, 
 thought I would go to the Friends' meeting. I sent 
 for a carriage and went, arriving there very late; and 
 soon after I took my seat, a minister of the Society 
 arose and preached a sermon so singularly applicable 
 to me, my heart was overwhelmed within me. Among 
 other things, he said these striking words, — he had 
 been addressing some one individual in the assembly, 
 and remarked, in continuation, ''Oh, thou, whoever 
 thou art, and I believe I may bring it home to thee with 
 great particularity, thou hast seen within a brief period, 
 in the death of one near and dear to thee, what a 
 death of peace a life of devotedness can produce." 
 And he went on speaking words so illustrative of my 
 position in everyway, and my state of mind^ that I was 
 affected to tears, and, but that I controlled myself, would 
 have- sobbed aloud : he spoke of my trials and griefs, 
 of the pleasant pictures which ray heart clung to, and 
 then of mercy and peace for me and the love and care 
 of a gracious God. I was, although profoundly moved, 
 greatly comforted ; but after the meeting broke up 
 and persons generally had parted, I still continued 
 sitting with bowed head, till a voice near me said, 
 " My dear Rebecca, I do not wonder thou feels this: 
 it is the most wonderful instance I have ever known of 
 
 6 
 
62 A SACRED REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 the immediate inspiration of our friends." She con- 
 tinued : " I do not want thee to speak much about it ; 
 but to ponder upon it and be thankful in thy heart." 
 She then said, "Thou had better not go back to thy 
 boarding-house, but come home and dine with us." I 
 did so, and went to meeting again in the afternoon. 
 I felt tranquil, and had the blessed assurance I was 
 cared for by my heavenly Father. I Avished to be 
 humble under so gracious a feeling, — but I was happy. 
 I knew this preacher had never seen me before, that 
 he knew nothing whatever about me, that no- one knew 
 that I was in the town, above all, that I would attend 
 the meeting. It was therefore a very remarkable thing. 
 I went the next day to see this man of God, who, like 
 the disciples of old, "ministered to his own necessities;" 
 — he was poor as to this world's goods, but rich in 
 things pertaining to the kingdom of heaven. I found 
 him in his little shop, an obscure shoemaker. This 
 man, so rich with God's holy spirit, so intellectual, 
 so forcible in his discourses, so eloquent, with a heart 
 glowing with zeal and faith as Saint Paul's, was one 
 whom the great of this world would scarcely own, but 
 precious in his heavenly Father's sight, and heir to a 
 glory the superficial minions of this world's kingdom 
 can never hope for. I told him I had listened to his 
 discourse of yesterday: that it had deeply touched me. 
 I stated my reasons, and mentioned the loss of my 
 
A SACRED KEMEMBKANCE. 
 
 63 
 
 mother. I begged to ask him if he had ever heard of 
 me, or knew anything of me in any way; he gently 
 smiled, and said, "Nothing whatever." He added, 
 '^ I remarked a young woman weeping very much as I 
 passed out of meeting, and I afterwards asked my 
 daughter, 'Who was that young woman?'" I paid 
 him a precious visit, precious from the spirit and 
 unction of goodness which this devoted Christian shed 
 upon my heart. From that time I had the privilege 
 of going to see him again and again, and was always 
 received with the kindness that becomes the Christian 
 character. I told him all my trials, doubts, buffetings, 
 and conflicts. God Almighty, in adorable mercy', for 
 Jesus' sake, grant that the words he once addressed to 
 me may be realized. They were as follows: *' Rebecca, 
 if I ever get to heaven, I expect to see thee there !" God 
 grant that it be so, Christ grant it. Holy Spirit grant 
 it, blessed Trinity grant it ! Amen ! Amen ! 
 
 I discovered at length he wrote poetry. I went to 
 him and asked him to give me a few lines. His reply 
 was, with a sweet smile, ''Rebecca, poesy does not 
 flourish in a shoemaker's shop." But, seeing my wish, 
 and that I was not disposed to take a refusal, he gave 
 me as follows: 
 
TO M. R. D. SMITH. 
 
 Newport, gth mo. 2d, 1849. 
 
 HE dew of Hermon silent fell," 
 Searching along the ground, 
 '' Till every thirsting, fading plant 
 New life and verdure found. 
 The ointment poured on Aaron's head 
 
 Ran down upon his beard, 
 Spreading a perfume o'er his robes, 
 
 And beauteous all appeared : 
 So when our social heritage 
 
 Lies dropped with heavenly dew, 
 Verdure and blossom mark the field, 
 
 And fragrance swells anew. 
 Rich in such favors here below, 
 
 And hopes of things in heaven, 
 Mayst thou hope onward till that day 
 Possession shall be given ! 
 
 Moses H. Bede. 
 
 "J^^ 
 
 (64) 
 
BY THE SAME. 
 
 WRITTEN IN 1864. 
 
 This most esteemed friend, a recommended minister of the Society 
 of Friends, some years afterwards sent me an interesting letter, in which 
 he wrote : " Calling to mind the circumstance of thy too short call on 
 us, I could hardly omit the expression of words as they are in the 
 note accompanying." 
 
 I had paid him a hurried visit at his comfortable cottage in Paw- 
 tucket, near Providence, Rhode Island, on my return from Boston to 
 Philadelphia. The letter and verses were the result of our brief in- 
 terview. 
 
 EBECCA, hast thou ever known 
 The infinite worth of a sisrh, — 
 
 That half-suppressed breath which alone 
 Seeks hearing and grace from on High ? 
 There are pent-up emotions of soul 
 
 Which thy tongue no wording has given ; 
 And thy Saviour interprets the whole 
 
 "As prayer finding language in heaven. 
 Hast thou ever valued a tear, — 
 
 That pearl from a fathomless sea, — 
 
 6* ( 6s ) 
 
65 TO MISS K. D. SMITH. 
 
 Which renders the object more dear, 
 
 On whom our affections may be? 
 'Tis a pearl from the hand of thy Lord, 
 
 Which trusting souls ever have kept : 
 When for our griefs He found not one 7vord, 
 
 Then Jesus in sympathy wept. 
 Has that scene ever burst on thy sight, 
 
 When thy Lord, with ^^ the faithful and few,' 
 In fear and in trembling by night 
 
 Fox prayer to the garden withdrew, 
 When bearing the sin of the world, 
 
 In suffering anguish profound ? 
 Ay, we tremble e'en here to behold 
 
 His '^face sweating blood to the ground .'' 
 Hast thou measured the depths of that love, 
 
 When remembering thee in that prayer. 
 That believers may meet Him above 
 
 With the blessed, and ever be there ? 
 That thy griefs He endured as his own, 
 
 And made all thy sufferings his ; 
 Felt every deep pang of earth's home, 
 
 That all may be sharers in bliss? 
 And wilt thou believe in his Grace, 
 
 Through which all our blessings are given ? 
 He '^ went to prepare thee a place ;'' 
 
 And comes to prepare thee for Heaven. 
 
TO MISS R. D. SMITH. 67 
 
 When late we exchanged the adieu, — 
 
 I, with my dear home to remain, 
 And thou, with the city in view, 
 
 To share this world's conflicts again, — 
 I felt that the cup was e' en there 
 
 In fullness wrung out at thy side. 
 In the quest : " Who for me can take care? — 
 
 J^est in Heaven I by whom be supplied?" 
 But I saw the fed sparrow yet lived, 
 
 And the lily yet royally dressed ; 
 And my faith in rich mercy revived. 
 
 That, the heart sorrowing now may be blessed. 
 Thick darkness, surrounding the Throne, 
 
 May veil the full majesty here ; 
 And the riches of grace be unknown. 
 
 Though the Giver of blessings be near. 
 What mortal could compass the thought 
 
 That ruled in the Infinite mind. 
 When feeding for Israel was brought. 
 
 And surely, though borne on the wind ! 
 And who then conceived that a word 
 
 Could nature's strong fastness unlock. 
 And a famishing host be restored 
 
 By streams bursting out of the rock ! 
 If to deeds of such wonder thy Lord 
 
 Would add but the gift, — to beliei^e, 
 
6S 
 
 TO MISS R. D. SMITH. 
 
 Thy heart, holding faithful his word, 
 Would help thee to ask, and receive. 
 
 Let the dead world but bury its dead, 
 Let vain things in vanity lie. 
 
 And a diadem waiting thy head 
 The victor receiveth, on High. 
 
 M... . 
 
 Pawtucket, 1864. 
 
 B 
 
TO MISS R. D. SMITH. 
 
 The following was written by the gallant but unfortunate Lieut. 
 George Decatur Twiggs, who had distinguished himself in a prior 
 action, and was killed serving under Major Lally, U. S. A., on the 
 I2th of August, 1847, in a combat at the National Bridge, near Vera 
 Cruz, while discharging the duty of Lieutenant in the place of one who 
 had just fallen. 
 
 HAPPY life be thine, lady, thrice happy 
 
 may it be. 
 And, oh ! from every thought of pain mayst 
 thou, loved friend, be free ; 
 May every joy that earth can give, all happiness, be 
 
 thine, 
 And round about ihy pathway bright may blessings 
 
 closely twine 
 With every hope and every wish thy gentle heart can 
 
 know, 
 And every prayer, dear lady, that from thy sweet lips 
 
 flow; 
 And with every boon thou ask'st and with sweet peace 
 
 be thou blest, 
 And mayst thou never, never know a heart without a 
 rest. 
 
 ( 69 ) 
 
yo TO MISS R. D. SMITH. 
 
 May care and sickness, with their train, dear lady, 
 
 from thee flee, 
 And leave bright health to whisper sweet its accents 
 
 •dear to thee ; 
 Yes, may it gladly murmur like soft music in thine 
 
 ear. 
 And may thy bright eye never shroud its lustre with 
 
 a tear ; 
 Oh, may the clouds of sorrow dark, that gather over- 
 head, 
 And lower wild and fearfully, and fill our hearts with 
 
 dread, 
 Be ever blown aside from thee ; and mayst thou never 
 
 know. 
 Dear lady, what it is to feel the bitterness of woe. 
 
 Tread in thy sainted mother's path, for 'tis a glorious 
 
 one ; 
 Like her, oh, never turn aside, but steadily press on ; 
 Take, like that dear departed saint. Religion for thy 
 
 stay, 
 And God, who was thy mother's guide, will guide thee 
 
 on thy way. 
 The road may seem a rugged one when gazed on from 
 
 afar. 
 But yet 'tis safe, — 'tis lighted by a beauteous beacon 
 
 star; 
 
TO MISS R. D. SMITH. 71 
 
 And though the path is narrow, still 'tis smooth when 
 
 we are near, 
 For 'tis cut and wrought out by a noble Pioneer. 
 I ask not Fortune's gifts for thee — they cannot purchase 
 
 joy, 
 
 They have no power to calm the heart, they cannot 
 
 grief destroy ; 
 I ask her not with glittering gems or gold to deck thee 
 
 now, 
 But this I ask- — may happinessyi?;r^;^/' light thy brow. 
 
 G. D. T. 
 
WE THREE. 
 
 Some years ago I was associated intimately with a lady, * who became 
 to me almost as a mother. We lived in the same house together for 
 a long time, and I recall vividly her warm expressions of interest and 
 affection for me. We had a mutual friend, who was a clergyman, who 
 was devoted to us, and who seemed our shadow. 
 
 He, as well as my kind friend, has passed away. The following 
 Prayer by him still lives ; may its invocation still bring a benediction 
 upon the one that yet survives of " We Three.'" 
 
 GOD of grace ! hear thou our prayer ; 
 
 And let us three thy goodness share ; 
 
 As, joined by common ills and woes, 
 Beset by sorrows and by foes, 
 Homeless and fatherless we roam, 
 To thee, in humble prayer, we come. 
 
 The sparrow thou dost shield and bless ; 
 The lily clothe in gorgeous dress ; 
 
 * This lady was Miss H ... . T a convert from Quakerism to 
 
 the Episcopal Church, of which she was a faithful member; and she 
 was for many years Superintendent of the Sunday-school of St. Philip's 
 Church, in Vine Street above Seventh. 
 (72) 
 
JVE THREE. 
 
 The little ravens cry to Thee, 
 And Thou dost grant their suppliant plea 
 Oh, then, be Thou our guard and guide. 
 And o'er our way, in love, preside. 
 
 Oh, may thy Spirit's blessed light 
 Reveal a Saviour to our sight, 
 And as in common griefs and fears 
 We mingle now our sighs and tears. 
 So, by a common faith, may we 
 Find hope, and rest, and joy, in Thee. 
 
 May we on Him in trust repose, 
 Who bore for us far greater woes, — 
 Who laid his starry crown aside. 
 And on the cross in anguish died. 
 That we, by penitence and faith. 
 Might gain a life which knows no death. 
 
 Lead us to Him, and may our hearts 
 Taste the sweet joy his smile imparts. 
 When, sins subdued and all forgiven. 
 The soul exulting looks to Heaven, 
 Where sorrow's night shall fade away 
 In one eternal, cloudless day. 
 
 Oh, may his love our love inspire ! 
 Our zeal with holy ardor fire 
 
 7 
 
74 
 
 iy£ THREE. 
 
 To live to do his blessed will, 
 To bid each murmuring thought be still, 
 To count all earthly good but loss, 
 And gladly bear his holy cross. 
 
 Help, help us, O Almighty One, 
 
 To press with deathless vigor on 
 
 In that straight path our Saviour trod, — 
 
 The only path that leads to God. 
 
 Then, when this fleeting life is o'er, 
 
 We to our home in Heaven shall soar. 
 
 Bless those we love, — our foes forgive ; 
 Let earth thy glorious truth receive ; 
 And, oh ! we plead by Him who died, — 
 By Him who still pleads at thy side ; 
 In his dear name we cry to Thee : 
 Lord, hear, and love, and save us three. 
 
VERSES BY JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. 
 
 The ensuing lines were addressed to me by John Howard Payne, 
 the author of that charming song, " Home, Sweet Home." I knew 
 Mr. Payne quite intimately in New York ; he went with me one day 
 to see Jenny Lind. IVe were received graciously; but an incident 
 occurred there which I shall never forget, and which did not develop 
 the more favorable part of her character. I will not, however, name it. 
 
 Mr. Payne, along with his verses, sent me a witty note, which is 
 worthy of being transcribed here. In it he alludes to the latter por- 
 tion of the couplet written by my friend Mr. Twiggs, — 
 
 " A happy life be thine, lady, thrice happy may it be; 
 And, oh ! from every thought of pain mayst thou, loved friend, be 
 free." 
 
 TRANGE seems the prejudice wherewith 
 All persecute the name of Smith ; 
 Since, through the fascination 
 Of one possessor of the name, 
 Such thrilling titles it can claim 
 
 To more than admiration. 
 
 (75) 
 
76 VERSES BY JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. 
 
 And yet, to those unknowing her 
 Whose spells upon that name confer 
 
 Enchantment, far more strange it 
 Must seem that we should also find 
 There are so many of a mind 
 
 To make the charmer change it. 
 
 J. P. H 
 
 
NOTE FOR MY ALBUM. 
 
 BY JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. 
 
 New York, 673 Broadway, 
 November nth, 1850. 
 
 MUST not, my dear Miss Smith, thank the 
 gods that I am not poetical, when its conse- 
 quences make me apprehensive of your con- 
 sidering me as desecrating your album by the doggerel 
 I have inserted ; nevertheless, I will not deprive my- 
 self of the agreeable opportunity you permit of a place 
 among my betters, especially since — as the old rhyme- 
 ster in the play says — I know that my verses, bad as 
 they may be, are better than most people's prose, be- 
 cause they are true. Permit me to add, that, much 
 as I admire what my predecessors have achieved for 
 you, there is one among them with all of whose lines I 
 cannot entirely concur. I allude to the latter portion 
 of the couplet, — 
 
 "A happy life be thine, lady, thrice happy may it be; 
 And, oh ! from every thought o^ pain mayst thou, loved 
 friend, be free !" 
 
 7^ ( 77 ) 
 
78 NOTE FOR MY ALBUM. 
 
 For, although no one can wish you more happiness 
 than I do, it would render me extremely uncomfort- 
 able to suppose that your eloquent appreciator's de- 
 precation for you against "every thought oi pain''' 
 should not admit of some exception. 
 
 On the contrary, you have so emboldened me by the 
 allowance of a corner in your beautiful volume of 
 written recollections by others, as to inspire me with a 
 hope that you will sometimes, among the more beau- 
 tiful U7nv7'itte}i ones in your own heart of those by 
 whom you have been thus remembered, give at least a 
 momentary '^ thought" to 
 
 Yours, most respectfully and faithfully, 
 
 John Howard Payne. 
 
JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. 
 
 AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR OF ''HOME, 
 SWEET HOME." 
 
 Whilst gathering together my leaves from the Past, with a view of 
 placing them more permanently together, I came across this anecdote 
 of John Howard Payne, in the Evening Bulletin, of, I think, January 
 loth, 1872. As Mr. Payne is among those whose poetry to me I have 
 c illected here, it seems not inappropriate to add this interesting ac- 
 cjunt to his facetious addresses to me. 
 
 HE Savannah (Ga.) News is reminded of an 
 incident in the life of the author of " Home, 
 Sweet Home," which occurred in Georgia 
 many years ago, and which proved that the question of 
 the authorship of that world-popular lyric is not con- 
 fined exclusively to the literati of either Europe or this 
 country. 
 
 "At the time of the troubles in this State, growing 
 out pf the removal of the Cherokee Indians about the 
 year 1836, John Howard Payne, then in search of ma- 
 terial for a contemplated work on the Aborigines of 
 America, was a guest of John Ross, Head Chief of the 
 
 (79) 
 
8o JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. 
 
 Cherokee Nation, who resided in Tennessee, just over 
 the Georgia line. A troop called the Georgia Guard, 
 under the command, we believe, of Colonel, afterwards 
 General Bishop, had been organized for the protection 
 of settlers on the Indian frontier. Northern emissa- 
 ries, pretended missionaries, had been among the 
 Indians, stirring up trouble and instigating them to 
 hostilities against the whites. News reached the camp 
 of the Georgia Guard that one of these characters was 
 at that time at Ross's house, endeavoring to persuade 
 the Indians not to leave the State in compliance with 
 the treaty with the Federal Government. Such inter- 
 ference being regarded as dangerous to the peace and 
 safety of the white settlements, a detachment of the 
 mounted Guard proceeded in the night to Ross's 
 house, where they surprised Mr. Payne, and, regardless 
 of his explanations and protests, took him prisoner. 
 In the dark stormy night he was made to mount his 
 horse and accompany the guard some ten or fifteen 
 miles through a wild mountainous country to their 
 camp. 
 
 ''The troop was composed of young mountaineers, 
 who, with their strong prejudices against the Yankee 
 missionaries, as they were called, were not inclined to 
 be very civil or obliging to their captive. From them 
 Mr. Payne could learn nothing satisfactory in regard 
 to the charges against him, why he was deprived of his 
 
JOHN HOWARD PAYNE, gl 
 
 liberty, nor what disposition they designed to make of 
 him. Under these circumstances, as his horse stumbled 
 and plunged in the thick darkness, over a rough path, 
 while his captors sang their boisterous songs or enjoyed 
 their rude jokes, often at his expense, his meditations 
 were of a sombre and melancholy character. At one 
 time a natural vocalist broke forth in ' Home, Sweet 
 Home.' He sang it remarkably well, and as the rich, 
 pure tones of his fine tenor voice swelled upon the mid- 
 night air, and woke the echoes of the silent woods, his 
 companions ceased their boisterous conversation, while 
 some good voices joined in the chorus. If the touch- 
 ing melody ' soothed the savage breast' and struck a 
 sympathetic chord in the hearts of his rude captors, it 
 stirred the profoundest sensibilities of the unhappy 
 captive, and all unseen by them the tears flowed down 
 his cheeks as he rode forward in silence. 
 
 "As the song ceased and the echoes of the chorus 
 died away in the distance, the poet checked his horse 
 until the singer came up with him. 
 
 "They rode along side by side for a few yards, the 
 young man still humming the air he had just been sing- 
 ing, while Mr. Payne's mind was, perhaps, contrasting 
 his present sad situation with happier scenes of the 
 past, associated with his immortal song. At length he 
 ventured to address his guard. 
 
 " 'You have an excellent voice, young man.' 
 
82 JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. 
 
 '''Well, yes,' he replied; 'I can sing a consider- 
 able of a stave when I try.' 
 
 " ' You sang "Home, Sweet Home," just now, re- 
 markably well.' 
 
 "'That's because I like that song. Whenever I 
 sing it, it makes me feel good, someliow. ' 
 
 ' " Do you know who wrote it ?' 
 
 "'No. I don't know who writ it, but he must a' 
 been a monstrous smart man, whoever he was.' 
 
 "'You will, perhaps, be surprised when I inform 
 you that the author of that song is now addressing 
 you.' 
 
 "'What!' 
 
 " ' I am the writer of the song you just sung.' 
 
 "At this statement the young mountaineer, with a 
 loud laugh, lay back in his saddle and shouted to his 
 comrades: 'What do you think, boys? Old Saddle- 
 bags says he writ "Home, Sweet Home," and I got 
 it out of the " Western Songster" more'n a year ago !' 
 
 "It was useless after that for the poet to make any 
 explanations. The ' Western Songster' settled the 
 question of authorship, and Mr. Payne was glad when 
 some incident changed the topic of conversation, and 
 he ceased to be the object of the coarse ridicule of his 
 rude and unfeeling persecutors. 
 
 "The writer heard Mr. Payne relate the incident 
 to the late Dr. Longstreet in Augusta only a few days 
 
TO MISS REBECCA D. SMITH. ^t^ 
 
 after its occurrence. We should state that Mr. Payne, 
 after being conveyed to the camp of the Georgia 
 Guard, was detained there a day or two, until his real 
 character was ascertained. His arrest was much re- 
 gretted by the people of Georgia." 
 
 TO MISS REBECCA D. SMITH, 
 
 WITH A PAIR OF GLOVES. 
 
 OW modest in color, in texture how fine ! 
 
 m 
 
 Fit garniture those for hands so divine ; 
 How I envy the office that to them is given ! 
 Fo protect those sweet hands, to me it were heaven. 
 
 T B 
 
 C> 
 
WOODBURY. 
 
 Spending some weeks at Washington, in 1851, I lived at the same 
 
 hotel as Judge W 's family, with whom I was on friendly 
 
 terms. 
 
 At parting, the Judge wrote the following in my album, which, 
 coming from an aged man, and one who had served and was high in 
 the esteem of his country, is not without interest on that account. 
 
 I. 
 
 LINE poetic for a beauty's book, 
 Of none should be required 
 Not poet born, — not inspired 
 With thouo:hts that breathe and words that burn. 
 
 In daily life, the heart in prose 
 May gush with hope — despair; 
 Yet for a page so fair 
 
 Belong but gems of poetry and love. 
 
 Washington, 7th March, 1851. 
 
 To Miss R. D. Smith, with my kindest wishes for 
 her happiness. 
 
 (84) 
 
WRITTEN BY MRS , IN 1863. 
 
 H ! veil not thou the lustre of thy soft, dark 
 eyes, 
 Nor suffer the white lids to droop, hiding 
 the tears 
 Which spring from the heart's deep fount, as memory 
 flies 
 Back through the mists and gloom of weary years. 
 I cannot bear to see thee weep, or hear the sighs 
 That heave thy gentle breast as thy soft tones 
 Linger in trembling woe o'er years gone by. 
 
 And the bright hopes that with those years have 
 flown. 
 
 Well do I know that thou hast suffered; hearts like 
 thine 
 
 Feel deeply every rude or chilling breath ; 
 'Tis like a fragile plant, or tender clinging vine. 
 
 Which, torn from its support, soon droops in death. 
 I know how hard it is to lift the eyes 
 
 Toward Heaven's blue vault, longing for light. 
 
 And find that darkness cold and dreary veils the skies, 
 
 Till every star is wrapt in deepest night. 
 
 8 (85) 
 
86 WRITTEN BY MRS , IN 1863. 
 
 Life teems with flowers, varied, bright and sweet ; 
 
 But when thy hand with eager gladness sought 
 To pluck them, like to the dust beneath thy fairy feet 
 
 They turned (oh, with what woe is such experience 
 fraught !). 
 When thy kind heart swelled with some promised joy. 
 
 And throbbed, glad at its coming bliss, 
 Thou'st never found that bliss without alloy. 
 
 Until thou'st cried, "■ God, what is life like this !" 
 
 And yet, dear friend, thou'st much to give thee joy on 
 earth : 
 
 Thou hast been honored, loved, and sought 
 By many, great of nature and of birth ; 
 
 With homage, admiration, love, thy life is fraught. 
 Should this be all forgotten, — cast aside ? 
 
 No, darling, nor will you forget them in your days of 
 grief; 
 A memory of these things in your heart abide. 
 
 And in your darkest hours bring some relief. 
 
 For all things sweet and joyous come from God, 
 As well as sorrows, which but try the heart 
 
 To task its strength. The path great Christians trod 
 Of old, was full of thorns. Yet did the pain impart 
 
 New strength and beauty; as we oft are told. 
 May God for thee all earthly blessings send. 
 And crown thee with glory when life shall end. 
 

 TO R. D. SMITH. 
 
 RE the silver cord be loosened, 
 [ And the bowl beside it lies 
 Broken at the troubled fountain 
 Vainly sought to for supplies ; 
 Ere the music and the sunshine 
 
 Which have made this earth so bright 
 Shall have deepened into silence, 
 Shall have vanished into night ; 
 
 Ere the ties of earth around thee 
 
 Like the leaves of Autumn lie, ' 
 And its rainbow forms of beauty 
 
 Vanish from thy sunset sky ; 
 May a heart which inly pineth 
 
 For communion higher far, — 
 For a love undimmed and changeless, — 
 
 Than its brightest day-dreams are, — 
 
 Seek, in realms of fadeless splendor, 
 Joys which earth hath never known, — 
 
 (87) 
 
8 TO K. D. SMITIL 
 
 Hopes which ne'er elude possession, 
 
 Love undying as its own ; 
 Till thy joy becomes fruition, 
 
 Till thy hope becomes sublime. 
 And the love of Christ thy Saviour 
 
 Triumphs over Death and Time, 
 
 Is the very sincere desire of thy attached cousin, 
 
 M . . . N L . . . 
 
 Stenton. 
 
BEAUTIFUL SONNET 
 
 ADDRESSED TO ME BY THE REV. C W 
 
 Y name amid memorials ! 
 
 Oh, than this 
 Ambition hath no dream more fair and high, 
 With all its hopes of glory ! Thus to live 
 Amid the memories of one gentle heart, 
 A sculpture on the tablet of the soul 
 In this poor world of changes. 
 
 And for thee, 
 Lady, had I a power to work my will 
 Amid Eternal councils, and could bow 
 Archangels to my bidding, and bring down 
 All radiant things around thee, till thy life 
 Should wear the very mantling light of heaven, — 
 Oh, not of this should be thy rapture wrought ; 
 But with a love upspringing from this life 
 Immortal and celestial, I would win 
 For thee, amid the splendors of the skies, 
 
 8* ( 89 ) 
 
90 
 
 BEAUTIFUL SONNET. 
 
 A Guerdon oi more glory, — Thine should be 
 A record in Eternity, — Thy name, 
 Amid Divine memorials kept in love, 
 Writ in the volume of the Book of Life. 
 
 Yours, very truly, 
 C W. 
 
 June loth, 1851. 
 
ACROSTIC, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MISS REBECCA D. SMITH. 
 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 Written on reading her memoir of her mother. 
 
 EAD well thyself the book thoii writest so 
 well; 
 Each page is laden with the gems of truth ! 
 Beside the love of which thy pages tell, 
 
 Each line's a lesson to improve thy youth. 
 Calm on the lake at summer eve we see 
 
 Complacently our every feature shown ; 
 And thus in memory's mirror 'tis for thee. 
 
 Dear friend, to make her virtues all thine own ! 
 Since piety and grace can win us heaven, 
 
 Must souls immortal emulate the just ; 
 Incite by memories such as thou hast given, 
 To follow her, and, like her, to be blessed, — 
 Her heaven to be our everlasting rest. 
 
 J. L S 
 
 (91) 
 
ADDRESSED TO MISS R. D. SMITH, 
 
 UPON READING HER MEMORIAL OF HER MOTHER. 
 
 RIGHT softened beams of glorious light 
 The setting sun displays, 
 And gilds the clouds with traces bright 
 Of his expiring rays. 
 
 So have thy last, — thy parting hours 
 Shed light upon my heart ; 
 
 And from the grave I gather flowers 
 Which scents of heaven impart. 
 
 The holy death of saints is blessed ; 
 
 Their life a perfume lends ; 
 Thy memory on my heart shall rest 
 
 As dew from heaven descends. 
 
 Oh, God ! may I, like her, in thee 
 My final hope repose, — 
 
 In death no king of terrors see, 
 But joy my course to close. 
 
 New York, December 23d, 1850. 
 (92) 
 
POETIC GEM. 
 
 I had the pleasure to meet, at Saratoga, in the year 1850, Bishop 
 Spencer, at that time Lord Bishop of Jamaica. We often talked and 
 walked together. He recited once to me some beautiful verses by his 
 father, the Bishop of Exeter, that I had always ignorantly believed 
 were by Moore, beginning with, — 
 
 " Too late I stayed ; forgive the crime : 
 Unheeded flew the hours. 
 How noiseless falls the foot of time 
 That only treads on flowers," etc. 
 
 On leaving Saratoga, he wrote the following graceful lines in my 
 album : 
 
 OT to a fragile page confined, 
 Which any idle hand may tear, 
 But on the tablet of thy mind 
 I'd have my memory appear; 
 And if on that so lucid sphere 
 
 Aught of reflected light may shine, 
 
 Then be this verse a moonbeam here, 
 
 Whose noonday lustre's only thine. 
 
 A. G. S. 
 
 (93) 
 
TO MISS SMITH. 
 
 During the autumn of the year 1858, I paid an interesting visit to 
 Canada, soon after my return from my first visit of three years to 
 Europe. I met some pleasant people there, who became very friendly 
 to me. Of Quebec, especially, I retain most agreeable souvenirs of 
 courtesies and acts of kindness such as give a charm to life, and make 
 existence seem a blessing. 
 
 The following address, written and given to me by an amiable and 
 lovely lady, on my birthday, the anniversary of which happened whilst 
 I was there, I am happy to insert among my leaves of the past. 
 
 BRING no wreath, no offering gay, 
 
 On this thy natal morn ; 
 The summer flower — the rose — is gone, 
 
 That might thy brow adorn. 
 
 But wishes, kind, sincere, and true. 
 
 To each and all belong, 
 And friendship glows, though summer tints 
 
 And summer flowers are gone. 
 
 Though chill the blast, though dark the storm 
 
 That hurls the snowdrift by. 
 Naught can each well-remembered friend 
 
 Efface from memory. 
 (94) 
 
TO MISS SMITH. 
 
 As unexpectedly we hear 
 Some long-forgotten lays, 
 
 We listen to recall again 
 The scenes of by-gone days. 
 
 The Past, — then may it come to thee 
 Like pleasant strains of song ; 
 
 The Future, — may it bring to thee 
 Years happy, bright, and long. 
 
 E S. 
 
 Quebec, October 6th, 1858. 
 
 95 
 
FESTAL SOUVENIR. 
 
 Washington City, March, 1861. 
 
 EING at the National Hotel, at the capital of 
 our country, just as some of the most distin- 
 guished persons were about leaving for their 
 homes at the close of ^'the season," an incident 
 occurred worthy of note, which I will here relate as 
 not inappropriate in this little volume. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. C , well known, the one for 
 
 his statesmanlike and honorable character, the other as 
 an accomplished and amiable member of society, were 
 about departing for their residence in Kentucky. Mr. 
 C. was highly esteemed. Mrs. C. had been in the 
 habit of passing her winters at Washington, and 
 chiefly at this hotel, for twenty-seven years, and by 
 her winning and attractive manners had won affection- 
 ate consideration from the yearly visitors here. One 
 beautiful trait in her character I must not fail to name, 
 and that is her entire freedom from the usual sin of 
 gossip, slander, and detraction. No one ever heard 
 this lady speak an injurious word of another ; silent 
 was her tongue if she could say no good of a fellow- 
 being. No ugly backbiting, no envious or traducing 
 remark, ever passed her lips. For this alone, — the rare 
 (96) 
 
FESTAL SOUVENIR. 
 
 97 
 
 and precious virtue of refraining from this most per- 
 nicious and cruel evil from which so many have suf- 
 fered, — she merits our esteem. 
 
 '' Blest are the lips that open but to bless, 
 That never yet the gentle heart belied : 
 Still prone to praise, to soothe, or to caress. 
 And ever slow to censure or to chide." 
 
 It was thought proper, then, on the occasion of the 
 
 departure of Mr. and Mrs. C , to give a 
 
 party at the hotel, to which general invitations should 
 be given. A large assemblage was the consequence. 
 
 Judge N. . . ., of the Supreme Court, was deputed 
 
 by the ladies to present Mrs. C a superb 
 
 bouquet, with some appropriate remarks. Afterwards 
 
 the Rev. Mr. L , of Boston, made an address to 
 
 Mrs. C of a highly flattering character, and 
 
 the evening passed off gaily in music and dancing, and 
 chatting. 
 
 Tbe Spanish minister was my companion during 
 most of the evening; General Scott spoke words of 
 graciousness to me, which, from such a veteran, fell 
 pleasantly on my ear. Senators and members, judges 
 and lawyers, the fashionable and gay, with tuft-hunters 
 in abundance, and some members of the family at the 
 White House, were here, and ladies of all sorts, in gay 
 toilette, interspersing very agreeably the dense mass of 
 
98 FESTAL SOUVENIR. 
 
 black coats which were everywhere to be seen. But 
 the midnight hours passed, and by degrees the crowd 
 dispersed, and the sound of music and revelry was 
 hushed, and the C festivity was forever num- 
 bered with things of the past. 
 
 But Mr. Lovejoy, our poet friend, determined to 
 commemorate it, and, in an agreeable and kindly 
 manner, for the benefit of the ladies, wrote a little 
 poem, thus immortalizing the event, describing the 
 occasion, etc. ; finally giving a sort of poetical portrait, 
 in the most favorable colors, of the ladies of the 
 National Hotel who were present at this interesting 
 fete. Fair and flattering were the friendly words he 
 addressed to us all; and at the termination of the 
 poem he gave some words of advice to his lady friends, 
 it would be well for us all to follow. 
 
 As the characters he describes were many, I shall 
 not here repeat them, but only copy his pleasant lines 
 to me, which they who know me best can pronounce 
 true or false, as they may deem to be the case ; con- 
 cluding, afterwards, with his final remarks to the ladies, 
 to which I have already alluded. 
 
 The lines to me are as follows : 
 
 And now. Miss Smith, I turn to you 
 A wondrous tale, and yet 'tis true : 
 When Isaac sent to Nahor's fold 
 A wife for him to take and hold. 
 
FESTAL SOUVENIR. 
 
 " I'll go," the fair Rebecca cried, 
 And forth she went, to be a bride. 
 But our Rebecca still says no, 
 And bids her clustering suitors go 1 
 Daughter of Eve, and womankind 
 Still has the right to change her mind ; 
 Some raptured soul will prove it true. 
 And think it Heaven to be with you. 
 
 Thy form, Rebecca, heavenly fair. 
 
 Is fit some angel sure to wear; 
 
 All stores of knowledge in thy mind; 
 
 A loving heart and taste refined ; 
 
 Depths in thy heart, are as the sea, — 
 
 Depths of love and purity; 
 
 Oh ! crown some soul with double bliss. 
 
 And wear his name and drop the Miss. 
 
 Concluding address to the ladies : 
 
 Now, ladies, all be good and true, 
 And deal with me as I with you : 
 Be to my virtues very kind, 
 And to my faults a little blind. 
 
 As on the stream of life we sail. 
 Let words of kindness never fail ; 
 
 99 
 
FESTAL SOUVENIR. 
 
 For words are acts of silver hue. 
 As you bless others they bless you. 
 
 And when life's toilsome work is done, 
 And heavenly raptures are begun, 
 Then angels on their harps shall tell 
 The sweetest notes that ours shall swell. 
 
 HEN the sweet garland of these leaves complete 
 
 An hour of memory shall beguile. 
 And this thy wandering glance shall chance 
 to meet, 
 
 May it receive the present of a smile. 
 
 G. G. 
 
 New York, 
 
JEU D' ESPRIT. 
 
 Washington City, April, 1861. 
 
 Soon after the foregoing rhymes were written, on the occasion of 
 the Crittenden Party, another evening reunion took place, — a sort of 
 soiree datisaiite, given by an officer of the navy, I believe. It was a 
 gay affair, and three gentlemen of the hotel undertook a description 
 of it in poetry, which proved to be quite a success. The verses were 
 really good, and the ladies described were well pleased with their 
 poetic pictures. Mine ran thus : 
 
 MISS S. 
 
 YES looking through the black curls, 
 Careless, and vagrant, and free ; 
 Chin round, and smooth as the pearls 
 
 From the depths of the Indian Sea; 
 Ears that are perfect as shells, 
 
 As rosy, as blushing, as neat ; 
 Features all casting weird spells 
 
 Upon those who would kneel at her feet ; 
 
 9* ( lOI ) 
 
I02 JEU D' ESPRIT. 
 
 Completeness, perfection, a whole, 
 
 Is the lesson we learn at a gaze, 
 And the sensitive thought of the soul 
 
 Is transparent throughout her sweet face. 
 
 There was a good deal of merit in this poetical eflfusion ; but the 
 authors were very severe upon the preceding " Rhymes by Lovejoy," 
 whose star was entirely eclipsed by the verses of the " Happy Family," 
 — for so the trio styled themselves who composed the lines of which I 
 have just been writing. 
 
FROM ONE OF THE GIFTED WRITERS 
 OF OUR COUNTRY. 
 
 New Port 
 
 ID not the fates to me refuse 
 In flowery fields to rove, 
 * The fairest I would gladly choose 
 To decorate thy page. 
 
 But since more rugged paths are mine, 
 
 I simply can express 
 What friendship prompts— the wish that thine 
 
 May all be happiness. , 
 
 R G. H ^^?t-v^ 
 
 
 ^>(^-0B»-^ 
 
 (103) 
 
FRIENDLY INVOCATION. 
 
 In 1854 I had the pleasure to meet in a friendly and familiar man- 
 ner Sir Charles E. Gray, at that time, or just before, Governor of 
 Jamaica. His contribution to my album is well worthy of being tran- 
 scribed here, and is among the most prized of my " Leaves from the 
 Past." 
 
 HY namesake, when she wished her favorite 
 
 child 
 Should win a blessing from his aged sire, 
 Gave him the vestments of a hunter wild, 
 And veiled his dainty hands in rough attire. 
 
 But thou, Rebecca, my unpolished line 
 
 In this embellished volume wouldst enroll, 
 
 And o'er its faults make richest beauty shine, — 
 Enameled flowers, and gold, and tinted scroll.* 
 
 Yet, if the wish sincere, — the friendly prayer, — 
 
 Will not the less prevail, so let it be ; 
 And may our Father give his heavenly care, 
 
 And every choicest blessing, unto thee. 
 
 Charles Edward Gray. 
 
 Philadelphia, 21st June, 1854. 
 
 * The cover of my album was inlaid with pearl, gold, and gay 
 flowers. 
 
 ( 104) 
 
^^mMm 
 
 
 TO MISS MARY REBECCA SMITH, 
 
 OF PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 I had a dream, but 'twas not a/I a dream." 
 
 HERE was a car came sweeping by, 
 Flashing its glories from on high ; 
 Three forms it bore of gorgeousness : 
 One, Juno, from her mien, I guess ; 
 Pallas, the other, world-wide famed 
 For wit ; the third was Venus named. 
 Long worshiped in Idalia's bower, — 
 The Queen of Love's and Beauty's power ! 
 And onwards still the chariot strained, 
 And, as it went, each presence waned. 
 Until, ere in the viewless distance gone, 
 The three were blended into one ; 
 Until the eye, with wistful gaze 
 Bent on the empyrean ways. 
 Still lingering on the vanished three. 
 Caught them embodied all in thee ! 
 
 A 
 
 Washington City, April 29th, 1859. 
 
 D., 
 of La. 
 
A NARRATIVE AND A MORAL. 
 
 When James, the novehst, was in this country, I met him at the 
 EngHsh consul's, in Philadelphia, He remarked I did not look like 
 an American woman, and, questioning me as to my parentage, found 
 I was a great-great-granddaughter of James Logan, whose ancestor, 
 Sir Robert Logan, was so unfortunate and so famous in Scottish his- 
 tory. Mr. James then told me he had the original papers proving the 
 injustice of the confiscation of the estates of Sir Robert, owing to an 
 alleged participation in the Gowrie conspiracy, and said to me, " If my 
 hfe is spared, I intend to write the history of Sir Robert Logan, Laird 
 of Restalrig, as he was called ;" and then wrote this impromptu, 
 which he gave me as a souvenir. 
 
 RUST not this empty world. // lies. 
 Immortal truth, on this cold earth, it dies ; 
 In Heaven it lives, and thence empowered 
 it comes 
 To rectify this world's imperfect dooms. 
 Witness the name of Restalrig, who died 
 Trusted, beloved, convicted, and belied. 
 
 G. P. R. James. 
 
 (io6) 
 
BEAUTIFUL WISH. 
 
 This poem was written to me by a gifted young ofificer in our navy, 
 whom I met in Washington in the winter of 1861, and whose talents 
 and agreeable manners interested me very much. His musical powers 
 were great,— as a pianist I have seldom heard a more brilliant and 
 tasteful performer. One felt his music as one does his poetry. I left 
 Washington suddenly, and did not see him for two years, when we 
 met at a hotel, where he handed me the following very pretty verses. 
 
 TO M. R. D. S. 
 
 |ERE is the cold, gay world for me ; 
 I am threading my way along. 
 Here in my heart are my thoughts of thee, 
 Shaping them into this song. 
 
 In the forest wild, in the woodlands mild, 
 By the bank of some beautiful stream, 
 In the light of some heavenly dream. 
 
 Where all is love, around, above. 
 With a brilliant celestial light, 
 Making stream and forest so bright, — 
 
 ( 107 ) 
 
lo8 . TO M. R, D. S. 
 
 There should I plot a home for thee, 
 
 With the crested robin and honey-bee ; 
 
 With the sweet skylark and the pure-winged dove, 
 
 Such should, indeed, be thy home of love. 
 
 Where all is strife in this sad life, 
 
 And hearts are wicked and sere. 
 
 And love is blended with fear, — 
 Why shouldst thou stay, when far away, 
 
 The voices of nature ring 
 
 With the songs that angels sing? 
 
 There, — not here, is the home for thee, 
 
 For thou seemest a child of nature to me ; 
 
 With the moss beneath, and the stars above, 
 
 Shouldst thou join with all nature in songs of love. 
 
 So shaped my heart into words this song ; 
 So seems the world with its varied throng ; 
 And be our paths through sunshine or rain. 
 Let us pray that in heaven we meet again. 
 
 Philadelphia, 1863. 
 
 ^^ 
 
"COME WHOAM." 
 
 One evening, in Providence, Mrs. S. H. W a lady of much 
 
 poetic talent (her poetry had been published, and is well known), 
 heard me recite a charming little poem in the Lancashire dialect, an 
 appeal from a fond wife to her husband, who had gone to the ale- 
 house to drink, — " Come Whoam to the Childer and Me," written by 
 Waugh, who is called the Burns of Lancashire. I had told Mrs. W. 
 that I was going to Europe in the Spring. We parted, — she walking 
 home by moonlight. The next day L received a kind note, with a 
 volume of her Poems, and the accompanying stanzas, — 
 
 TO REBECCA. 
 
 AST night, beneath a waning moon 
 In dreams I seemed to roam ; 
 A sweet voice murmuring by my side, 
 Those gentle words, /' Come Home." 
 
 And when, o'er far-off foreign seas, 
 Through foreign lands you roam. 
 
 My heart shall echo the sweet words 
 I heard last night, " Come Home. 
 January 28th, 1864. 
 
 (109) 
 
A PICTURESQUE LETTER. 
 
 Mrs. W and I met afterwards at the Ocean House, Cape 
 
 Elizabeth, Maine, from whence she wrote the letter quoted below. 
 Written by the " Helen" of Edgar Poe, and in itself racy and agree- 
 able, and alluding again to me and the poem I had recited, its repro- 
 duction here is interesting and not mal apropos. 
 
 Ocean House, August 6th, 1864. 
 HE event of the week with us has been a 
 complimentary clam-bake given to Gen- 
 erals Shepley and Franklin, at the ' Cape 
 Lights,' by the crime de la creuie of Portland. We 
 accepted an invitation from the British Consul, Mr. 
 *^ ^-, , to drive over to the * bake' in an open car- 
 riage. The sky was lowering, and a thunder-storm 
 evidently waiting to overwhelm us. The ' Ocean 
 House' dinner-bell was, moreover, ringing out its 
 tempting * tintinnabulations' just as we drove from the 
 door, suggestive of savory fish-chowders, roast lamb 
 and peas, snow puddings, and blueberry pies. We had 
 consented to the picnic under protest, and resigned 
 ourselves to the consequences. The sky grew darker 
 and darker as we drove over the hilly road towards the 
 evergreen grove, where the clams were baking, and 
 (no) 
 
A PICTURESQUE LETTER. m 
 
 the feast appointed to be held. The nearer light- 
 liouse, seen through an avenue of dark fir-trees, loomed 
 up before us, white and ghastly, against a stormy back- 
 ground of sea and sky, like a pallid ghost, warning us 
 back from our path. We had scarcely reached the 
 ground, when the lightning stabbed through and 
 through the dark and ragged edges of the thunder- 
 cloud, and the rain came down in torrents. The 
 whole party, marshaled by the two generals, made, in 
 military phrase, a ' masterly retreat' to the lighthouse 
 kitchen. ' Supply trains' were soon brought up from 
 the grove, and refreshments served in a somewhat 
 promiscuous and irregular manner. We had the pleas- 
 ure of an introduction to General Franklin, who told 
 us the story of his recent capture and escape with a 
 cool simplicity and a dash of quiet humor in his honest 
 blue eyes, which made it sound like a page from Gil 
 Bias, or a chapter from one of Charles Lever's racy 
 romances. 
 
 '* The excursionists ended their festivities by a dance 
 and a supper at the Ocean House, and a seven-mile 
 drive to Portland in the pouring rain. The next day 
 the rain-storm put a stop to all our wonted out-door 
 pleasures. In the evening the need of exercise led to 
 the inauguration of blind-man's buff, fox and geese, 
 magic music, and other games of fun and frolic. One 
 of the forfeits, incurred by an accomplished lady from 
 
TI2 A PICTURESQUE LETTER. 
 
 Philadelphia, who sometimes charms us with her reci- 
 tations, was the recital of an exquisite poem, by 
 Waugh, in the Lancashire dialect, — the artless appeal 
 of a wife who had followed her husband to the ale- 
 house to bid him ' Come Whoam to the Childer and 
 Me.' The exquisite naivete and pathos of her ex- 
 pression brought tears to many eyes. 
 
 "The next morning, while the ocean was still 
 surging and heaving with the proud passion of the 
 spent storm, I went with this lady, who loves nature 
 in her wildest moods, to the rocky headland that lies 
 between the Ocean House and the Cape Lights, de- 
 scending in a series of colossal stairways to the sea. 
 The elixir of the air, and the exulting roar of the 
 waters as they trampled the rocky terraces and broke 
 in WiffTf foam-wreaths over the lofty bulwarks of High 
 Head, made our hearts swell and our pulses beat in 
 unison with the triumphant power and passion of the 
 wave ; and we vainly tried to imagine the apocalyptic 
 heaven, in which, we are told, ' there shall be no more 
 sea.'" 
 
 S. H. W. 
 
 "^i 
 
 3^; 
 
 ■<jY- 
 
 ^I9r 
 
Sent to and received by me in London. 
 
 TO MISS SMITH, 
 
 REQUESTING ME TO WRITE LINES ON HER NAME. 
 
 F Cyclops lost an eye by chance 
 Which he scanned beauty with, 
 He'd stand like M T (empty) consonants 
 Were i put out of Smith. 
 A sightless wreck ! Smith's name no doubt 
 
 Has tried my Smithery ; 
 Though I've one i there hammered out, 
 
 Still two starred eyes has she. 
 My mind a fancy forge when lit 
 By coal-black eyes that glow ; 
 Venus bade me like Vulcan hit 
 
 Smith — thine' s the flame — the blow. 
 
 Epigram by Sir John E De B 
 
 London, February, 1856. 
 
 ^dnJ 
 
 ( II5J 
 
CHRISTMAS SALUTATION. 
 
 I received in Dublin, Christmas morning, 1865, whilst the guest of 
 
 Mrs. P , the following note and poem from J . . . F 
 
 W LL.D., one of the delightful poets of Ireland. 
 
 HAPPY Christmas to you, dear Miss Smith ! 
 May the sunshine in your heart to-day be 
 brighter than that in the heavens, without 
 cloud to dim, or mist to chill it, as we have here while 
 I am writing. 
 
 I return the charming lines of Bryant, which I have 
 copied, and I send you a little Christmas greeting, 
 which you will receive, more for its good intentions 
 than its merits. 
 
 I am to give a lecture on the Poets and Poetry of 
 America, in Dublin, on the evening of the nth of 
 January next, and you shall have full notice of the 
 time and place. 
 
 With kindest compliments to Mrs. P and her 
 
 family, and wishing you all many happy returns of this 
 festive season, 
 
 Believe me, my dear Miss Smith, faithfully yours, 
 J. . . F ^. W. . 
 
 (116) 
 
 / \(XA^t>-^ 
 
 \^r. 
 
 A 
 
CHRISTMAS HYMN. ny 
 
 CHRISTMAS HYMN. 
 
 T. 
 
 STOOD within the chancel dim 
 
 When the morning light was breaking, 
 And I heard the sound of the solemn hymn 
 That the organ's breath was waking. 
 And I thought of the olden holy time, 
 
 When angels in the sky 
 Sang, in a distant Orient clime, 
 ''Glory to God on High." 
 
 II. 
 The glorious breathings swept along 
 
 Upon that Christmas morn, 
 Through nave and aisle in jubilant song, 
 
 As erst when Christ was born. 
 And the white-robed choir took up the laud 
 
 With holy minstrelsy : 
 'Twas the hymn of the ancient church of God, 
 "Glory to God on High!" 
 Ave Jesu, Deus magne, 
 Ave puer, mitis Agne, 
 Ave Deus, Homo nate. 
 In praesepi reclinate \ 
 
 O Potestas, O Egestas, 
 O Majestas Domini ! 
 
PLEASING RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 MET in Ireland a gentleman of much cultiva- 
 tion and learning, — a retired physician, who, 
 ^ for many years past, has lived and traveled 
 
 extensively over the continent of Europe with his only 
 daughter, making marvelous tramps on foot with her, 
 and residing chiefly in Italy in the winter. We met 
 under very pleasant circumstances around the hospi- 
 table hearth of a member of his family, with some of 
 whom I had been on intimate terms. 
 
 He came to see me one day, and left a volume 
 called ''The Unripe Windfalls in Prose and Verse, 
 by J ... . H . . , ., M.D. ;" and as we should give honor 
 to whom honor is due, I may name that he is the 
 author of ''Miscellaneous Poems," "Criticism on the 
 Style of Lord Byron" in a letter to the Editor of 
 Notes and Queries, "Specimen of Virgilian Com- 
 mentaries," "Specimen of a new Metrical Translation 
 of the Eneis." 
 
 On a fly-leaf of the volume was this addi-ess : 
 (ii8) 
 
ro MISS M. R. DARBY SMITH. 
 
 119 
 
 TO MISS M. R. DARBY SMITH. 
 
 IINDFALLS although we be, 
 Untimely from the tree 
 
 Dropped to the ground, 
 We're yet of generous kind, — 
 Neither in pulp or rind 
 
 Sour or unsound. 
 
 Pass not, then, haughty by. 
 Leaving us here to lie. 
 
 Moulder and rot ; 
 But gather, and in store 
 Lay up on boarded floor 
 
 Or dry-tiled flat, 
 
 Where we may pass our time 
 Secure from damp and rime. 
 
 Until thou sigh 
 For ample dumpling slice 
 Or codling pasty nice, — 
 
 When, lo ! we're nii;h. 
 
I20 TO MISS M. R. DARBY SMITH. 
 
 To my windfalls, lady fair, — 
 
 Unripe windfalls though they be,— 
 
 Of thy notice deign some share, 
 Of thy pity some to me, 
 
 Who may not beyond the sill 
 Th* intrusive gift accompany; 
 
 Smile upon my windfalls still. 
 
 Fairest lady, and on me. 
 
 J.... H 
 D . . - . Lodge. 
 
READY WELCOME. 
 
 When in Dublin, staying with Mrs. P daughter of the late 
 
 Admiral S one evening talking of leaving, a vv^itty dignitary of 
 
 the Church of England, who was there, wrote this impromptu and 
 handed it to me : 
 
 WEET Transatlantic genius, pray 
 
 For another fortnight stay; 
 
 Your welcome is not yet worn out ; 
 Full many a draught of Guinness' stout* 
 You'll quaff beneath this friendly roof: 
 For you our hearts are weary-proof. 
 
 * Frequently used at lunch in Ireland. 
 
 (121) 
 
IMPROMPTU, 
 
 By the same facetious clergyman. Dublin, Saturday night, Decem- 
 ber i6th, 1865. 
 
 HEN Isaac Avent a courting sly, 
 On a sweet maid he cast his eye ; 
 But could he come back from the dead. 
 
 You're tlie Rebecca he would wed ! 
 
 Oh, "cunning Isaac," I am glad 
 That your Rebecca you have had ; 
 For most disastrous would it be 
 Were my Rebecca snatched from me. 
 
 
 (122) 
 
TIME DEFEATED. 
 
 I left Dublin on the 5th of October, 1868, — my birthday was on the 
 6th, — and I received in London, immediately on my arrival there, 
 a letter containing the inclosed lines, from a gifted young friend, who 
 was one of the most distinguished scholars of Trinity College, Dublin. 
 
 MID the visions of the night 
 I saw a spectre stand ; 
 A scythe he bore so curved and bright, 
 An hour-glass in his hand. 
 
 White flowed his beard adown his breast, 
 
 His robe trailed on the ground, 
 And oft, as if with rage oppressed, 
 
 He bit his lips and frowned. 
 
 '' Old father Time, pray tell me why 
 
 (For 'twas with him I spake) 
 Thy brow is bent, and from thine eye 
 
 ^ Such angry flashes break.' " 
 
 He paused, and answered, while he frowned, 
 
 ''All's subject to my sway ; 
 Throughout the world naught can be found 
 
 But I can bid decay. 
 
 ( 123 ) 
 
 ^J 
 
124 TIME DEFEATED. 
 
 ''Yet I have met a maiden bright, 
 With a soft and winsome eye, 
 
 Who does resist my strongest might, 
 My utmost power defy. 
 
 '' Her birthday 'tis. While other dames 
 
 This day expect with fear, 
 Still lovelier, brighter, she becomes. 
 
 And younger every year." 
 
 W. II. I 
 
 
VERSES 
 
 Received in Rome from Ireland, during the winter of 1869. 
 
 INCE thee I saw, a vision of love and light 
 Floats in my soul, and trancing sweetness 
 
 flings, 
 
 Like spirit voices chaunting to golden strings. 
 Heard often in the dreamland of the night. 
 
 Thus rises, when the ever-gliding hours 
 
 Lead o'er the earth the golden shimmering dawn, 
 The perfume-breathing incense of the lawn, 
 
 Enameled thick with myriad purple flowers. 
 
 Thus art thou loved, yet pinest 'neath the hand 
 Of sadness and the gloomy grasp of care; 
 Lady, to feel thou art beloved as fair. 
 
 Can this no stroke of sorrow e'en withstand? 
 
 We met, and with ecstatic melody 
 
 On fancy's ear love's glorious music stole, 
 
 And woke its echoes slumbering deep. My soul 
 
 From that bright moment centres all in thee. 
 
 ii5^ (125) 
 

 L I N >: s 
 
 Sent to me for Christmas, when in Italv, from Ireland. 
 
 HE flaky snow is falling slow 
 On roof, and sward, and tree, 
 With a gentle, dying motion, 
 Like the sweet yet sad emotion 
 Mingled with my thoughts of thee. 
 
 II. 
 
 Within, at the banquet, the voices resound. 
 As the wine it is laughing and flaming around. 
 The tables are groaning with viands untold. 
 And the lamplight is flashing on crystal and gold, 
 And fair ladies, with their beaming eyes so softly, 
 
 brightly gleaming. 
 Women — union of the real with the ideal, in their 
 seeming — 
 There are sitting; as the song. 
 Now echoing loud and long, 
 With its pleasant memories laden, 
 Dies away, — all, man and maiden, 
 { 126) 
 
LINES. i; 
 
 Quaff the pledge, the hours recall, 
 While sounds throughout the hall 
 The old salutation so cheer and so true, 
 Fill goblet and beaker, — Bon noel a vous ! 
 
 III. 
 When rest my eyes upon thy place. 
 
 Naught can my wandering soul detain ; 
 It seeks in vain my love's lost face 
 
 Amid the banquet pledge and strain. 
 Nor wonder that it plunges not 
 
 Into the deepening tides of glee, 
 But, filled with longings ne'er forgot. 
 
 It gladly, fondly, turns to thee. 
 Then think the sweet spirit of song that flows 
 
 Out from these lips of mine, 
 Is hurrying free, o'er land and sea, 
 
 To waft a kiss to thine. 
 
 W. H. B. 
 
LAST WORDS. 
 
 Received in Ireland when at Shangana Castle, just before I sailed for 
 America, December, 1870. 
 
 HEN the orb of day's arising, 
 Gilding spire and tree, 
 Woodland into song surprising, 
 'Tis then I think of thee. 
 
 Then the day-dreams o'er me stealing, 
 Visions of the past revealing, 
 Wake with each dearest feeling, 
 'Tis then I think of thee. 
 
 When the lamp of day's declining, 
 When the moon is on the lea, 
 
 When above the stars are shining, 
 'Tis then I thhik of thee. 
 
 Yes, though bounding waves dissever, 
 And 'tis but ^fo?id endeavor, 
 Sweet friend, with memories bright forever, 
 'Tis then I'll think of thee. 
 
 w. H. r> 
 
 December, 1870. 
 (128) 
 
'mm 
 
 j^p^ v^i^^^lj^yB^^SH 
 
 ^Mm 
 
 
 TO MISS M. R. DARBY SMITH. 
 
 Written in my album, Florence, January 23d, 1869. by a distinguished 
 sculptor. 
 
 HERE the great of heart and mind 
 Hath for thee the laurel twined, — 
 Statesman, Sage, Divine, and Chief, 
 Bard and Beauty, the refined, — 
 I would bring one little leaf. 
 
 J. T. H . . . 
 
 ( 129) 
 
TO MY FRIEND. 
 
 Just before giving to the printer my reliquary, I received a touching 
 letter from a gifted lady friend, with whom I have corresponded for 
 year^ itJUthough she is my junior, I knew she had the gift of song^ 
 and so I wrote and told her something of my plan, and asked for a 
 few words from her pen to be placed in my goodly assemblage ; " but," I 
 said, " you must be prompt if you accede to my wish ;" and so almost 
 by return of mail came her sweet addition, which I gladly insert, for 
 she is prized by me, as her merit commends, gentle and modest as she 
 is gifted. She lives in a "blest retirement" at her father's beautiful 
 residence on an arm of the sea, near Newport. There, holding com- 
 munion with nature, lifted far above the worldling's pleasure, 
 
 " With mind intent upon the visioned future bent," 
 
 her tranquil life is passed. Often have I in former years been the 
 guest of her kind parents ; and there, amid the romantic scenes and 
 
 lovely shades of V I can well and truly quote the words of 
 
 Lord Littleton : 
 
 " There oft we used to walk, 
 And there in tender talk 
 We saw the summer sun go down the sky." 
 
 These are the verses she sent me : 
 (130) • 
 
V 
 
 TO MY FKIEXD. 
 
 TO MY FRIEND. 
 
 13J 
 
 HOU dost ask for a leaf as love's token ; 
 
 Ah ! 'tis only a leaf! 
 Of the flowers that spring in our pathway, 
 
 The blooming is brief. 
 Yet fain would I, faithful to friendship, 
 
 The memory keep green, 
 Through all changes of joy and of sorrow, 
 
 Of days that have been ; 
 When we walked in heart counsel together, 
 
 On sweet themes intent, 
 And your voice to the charm of the hour 
 
 Its melody lent. 
 
 In its infinite yearning and reaching 
 
 Towards the Divine, 
 I see in thy spirit the earnest 
 
 Of joys shall be thine, 
 When the heavenly Father shall call thee 
 
 From darkness to light, 
 With his blessing thy charity crowning, 
 
 Thy sweet faith with sight ! 
 
 G. M. H. 
 
 V , February 25th, 1872. 
 
 THE END. 
 
//'^ 
 
 a)/f. 
 

 
 ^M^m 
 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 017 199 188 2 #