LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 9STT2HJ ®^ap @c$»jrJ$t !$& Shelf ..JxA UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. THE OLD FARM HOME & Sjjatioto of a $toem BY ABBIE M. GANNETT £%\ / DEC 191887 >v totibfc* BOSTON D LOTHROP COMPANY FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STS. To \1^ Copyright, 1887, by D. LOTHROP COMPANY Electrotyped by C. J. Peters and Son, Boston. CONTENTS. The Birthplace The Family . Early Days Youth and Longing Belle . Drifted . The New World PAGE 7 11 . 22 25 . 42 49 . 77 Their lives the Poem were ; the faltering line Mere shadow of a substance quite divine. The farm homes to New England dear! Unchanged they stood for many a year, While generations came and went, With their plain homeliness content ; Nurse of the virtues large and strong, Honor and praise to them belong. Pretentious, modern Art assails, — Would sweep them from our native vales, But never can our people claim A phase so simple-sweet for them ; One lingering look we backward cast Before they fade into the Past. THE OLD FARM HOME, A SHADOW OF A POEM. THE BIRTHPLACE. A bit of choice New England green Bosomed the rocky hills between ; The farm-house rafters long were laid Ere skilful workmen plied their trade ; Great beams upheld the unplastered wall ; The kitchen chimney, huge and tall, Disclosed the yawning fireplace where The oak logs burned with ruddy glare ; The andirons stood for use, not show; Above the dresser's polished row Of tins, the sweet corn braided strong, Apples in many a festoon long Drying, with herbs — a savory throng, Told of the owner's fruitful farm. 7 THE OLD FARM HOME. How smooth and white the sanded floor, Hospitable the low, wide door That opens on no solemn hall Where form and state hold each in thrall, But straight into the heart of home, A mother's smile for all who come, A father's hand with welcome warm ! The best room was the mother's pride, Though little grace was here descried : A yellow-painted floor, a mat Made of the odds and ends of clothes That long had service ceased for those Who wore their garb, unmade for show, While patch could hold or patience sew ; They prized it none the less for that. The wainscot held some portraits rare, Faces of ladies young and fair (Though I confess the fashion-plate Has better art at present date), Save one, a ship on a stormy sea ; This had so potent power o'er me That when, a child, the infrequent boon In the best room to play alone, THE OLD FARM HOME. Was granted me, no straight-backed chair Was a more moveless object there Than I, who, mute, with folded hands, Sailed in a dream to other lands, In the great ship where now the gale Threatens grim death to all who sail ; Or now, perchance, 'tis bearing me Some splendid, mystic argosy, Till lowers the wild storm's angry frown, And in the waste the ship goes down. I cry, and wring my hands in grief: Fond mother hastens for relief; "What have you clone? That ship again ! Foolish to leave you here, 'tis plain, You shall not come another day And fright me ; there ! go, child, and play." The window's narrow, diamond lights Looked on the pleasantest of sights, Unless the housewife's prideful care Had lowered the curtains hanging there, When from her cleansing Monday's wash She viewed her dimity starched and fresh — Green meadows where the slanting sun 10 THE OLD FARM HOME. Casts shadows long when day is done, The cleft hill where the sunset glows And o'er the heaven its splendor throws, Touching the soul with feeling strong, That at the last finds speech in song : SUNSET. Oh ! the gold and the glow, the glow and the gold, Beautiful vision that never is old. Thrilling the heart with a rapture divine Long, long after the sun's decline. The sun of our life may sink to rest, And the joys depart that once have blessed, But the glow and the gold, the gold and the glow, Of memory last forever, we know ! THE OLD FARM HOME. 11 II. THE FAMILY. The farmer was an anxious man, Forever brooding o'er some plan To make the homestead fields increase Their profits small, that more of ease To those he loved would be insured. Through scores of years what toil endured This plodding tiller of the earth! And still he had a share of peace, When, labor o'er, the evening breeze Bore to him scents of held and vine, And soothed him the home-shadowing pine Or when, on winter nights, he sat Beside the sheltering kitchen hearth. Listening his dear one's household chat. On russet stem the wilding rose, Thus at her husband's side she glow- In memory that makes all thing- sweet,— I THE OLD FARM HOME. The dear home mother! All unmeet Seem any words thy praise to speak; Not thine the worn and pallid cheek Too often our New England wives Wear — saddest sign of saddest lives — Lives over-full of pettj T at steal the richness and the worth Of the great mission they fulfil; For she who children hears and rears. Like to the generous, fruitful earth. In the deep valleys bright and still Should be, not as the barren hill Despoiled of bloom, by storms swept bare. Slender was she, and delicate She seemed: and yet a bounteous fate Had blessed her with a native strength That gave through years a joyanee rare: And her kind husband strove alway To keep all slavish toil at bay From her, though him it held in thrall. The good recoiled on him at length. Pear heart ! how scarcely more than girl She looked amidst her children tall : And I, the slightest one of all. THE OLD FARM 110MK. 13 Was nearest her, because she oft Joined in my play with equal glee, Or to her bosom folded me For hours, twining my hair to curl, Till sloop descended tranquilly. Ami when was hoard tho summons soft, And our beloved was borne away, My sisters hoard our father say, "I sheltered her as I have you, Tis all that comforts me this day." Oh, comfort dear, to heart so true! And later, when that heart oi love, With earnest, manly patience, strove Tho meaning o\ his grief to prove, Tho blessed, hidden good ho saw, Revealed tho universal law : IN" BORROW. "Strength in adversity." Recall tho thought, I pray; Tho sunshine wakes tho plant to life, And tints its petals gay. 14 THE OLD FARM HOME. k - Strength in adversity." Harshly your accents sound ; Glad love will deepen character, And make its worth profound. "Strength in adversity." Nay, voice, 1 heed thee not ; I see the upbuilding power of joy, Be happiness my lot. Again that hard refrain? Perverse art thou, my friend ; I know the seed must buried lie To work its purposed end ; Must feel the weight of earth. Must lack the heavenly light. And in the gloom, intense, alone. Yearn upward in its might. But shall the human heart. Like the imprisoned seed, Find its enduring strength alone, In hours of sorest need ; THE OLD FARM HOME. 15 Where it must feel the gloom, The weight of loss and pain, Until is born the strength divine, Never to die again? " This human heart transcends All other forms of life ; Shall its experience be less dear, Less stern its upward strife? " Nay, type of all that is, No deeps unplumbed shall be, Piercing the void, yet will it gain Strength in adversity." Voice of my soul, I hear, Your wisdom calm I see ; Dark is the night, yet will I say, Strength in adversity ! The home-roof sheltered daughters four : Gay Jess, and lovely Elinore, Marion the thoughtful, in whom more Than the others was the household blessed, 16 THE OLD FARM HOME. And one more tenderly caressed Because so slight and shy was she ; They called the child Anemone ; Upon the Sacred Book's birth-leaf She bore a plainer name, and brief. Oh, memory's tears ! the firm-set years Glide back and let the picture through — The long, green meadows wet with dew, The daisies springing white and new, The scent of fresh life in the air, The flying birds adrift in song, As with glad step she walks along, The slender maid with wind-swept hair. Oh, firm-set years, delay your haste To shut the picture from my view ; The woman though with sorrows few That deeply press, or cares that waste, May well desire to hold anew The scene beloved, to her so fair, The dear, home meadows wet with dew, The slender maid with wind-swept hair ! Wise, elder sister, but for you, When the loved mother's hands were stilled, THE OLD FARM HOME. 17 That form a little grave had filled ; But the dear trust you took, and through The girlhood's years precarious, kept A vigilance that never slept ; So sheltered was the Wind-flower frail, She lives to write their simple tale. There was one brother ; his active mind Small joy in his toil's routine could find, But the pressing needs of the father's farm Called for the strength of his brave, young arm. He did his duty with quiet grace, But the thoughtful lines of his youthful face Told of the interests far apart, His hand was engrossed, but not his heart. He longed to share the company Of each shy bird and exploring bee ; The wood-spider's habits he knew full well, Was learned in the mystery of the cell That builds the monad, and centuried tree, For a true boy naturalist was he. What wonders of life our attic knew ! Things that crawled, and swam, and glided, and flew, 18 THE OLD FARM HOME. For which none had ever a name but Will; So tender to sisters, vet ready to kill The tiniest insect that hovered anear, Or the songster sweet in the upper air. In vain for our favorites we plead ; "The man of science has only a head, And never a heart," our brother said. But none the less his playful word Our pity made for bee and bird — We saw not the indicated power Late years would open into flower. His nature had another side, In that we felt an ardent pride. He dearly loved the beautiful lays The poets have left to gladden the days; He conned them joyously and well ; They bound his fancy with their spell. We minded how at his daily work He was far too honorable to shirk As many a boy of his brain would have done, The tones of his earnest voice were heard Repeating some grand, old poem that stirred Our souls as his, and we knew that he THE OLD FABM HOME. 19 Was not at the tusk where he seemed to be — The grand, old poet and boy were one ! This is the old-time family That met beneath the dear roof-tree. There had been another, but she died young; She was the first of the mother's brocd ; Her loss made a long home-solitude, Though baby-smiles tried to make it good, And of her the apple-tree has sung : THE SONG OF THE APPLE-TREE. Kough grows my trunk, crooked my boughs, And my fruit is none too fair ; But the bloom of my flowers in the spring-time, Can with any bloom compare ; Pure white, with pink deep-tinted ; And the odors that I send On the soft, sweet summer air abroad, Might with choicest perfumes blend. 20 THE OLD FAB3I HOME. Dearly she loved my blossoms, And each May morning fair, She would break a spray all dewy-wet, To adorn her shining hair. Or, perchance, unopened, some tender bud Upon her breast would cling, Like her own modest loveliness, Type of the maiden spring. But, alas ! her life was fragile As the petals of my flowers ; And day by day she weaker grew Through the long summer hours ; And when the Autumn's wind and rain Tossed my branches to and fro, With many a sob and many a tear They laid our darling low. But she wished to sleep beneath my shade, The beautiful and the fair ; And as the seasons come and go, She lieth in my care. THE OLD FARM HOME. 21 I know she feeleth, knoweth, That I bloom for her alone, The leaves that drop upon her grave, Are my tears a-falling down. 99 THE OLD FARM HOME. III. EARLY DAYS. How happily was childhood passed, — Those years that never fled too fast! The summer day, ere it was done, Caught every joy beneath the sun. From dawn's first flush, to first faint star, She was free to wander wheresoe'er She pleased, and fearlessly she strayed In the great, glad world for childhood made. Was not each beauty spread for her Of nature's grand phenomena? Wonders that puzzled the sages great Wore the little child's entire estate. Powers that meet, and mix, and bring Marvels, man's blessings to fulfil, They questioned, and we do so still ; She took possession unquestioning; Hence rose her exuberance free and wild, "Who does not envy the little child ? THE OLD FARM HOME. 23 The great sun came in splendor bright, — For her alone the peerless sight ; The immeasurable azure of heaven would smile Her slightest sorrow to beguile ; Afar in the west the mists wove shrouds And rigging thin of thunder-clouds, Till darkly gathering, the storm Crashed sonorous music through the dome, That she might thrill with awed delight Born of wild sound and wilder sight; The flowers were made for her pleasure and use, They blessed her free breaking by blossoms profuse ; The small folk that peopled the woodland and field, For her a still greater enjoyment would yield ; The brown cricket scanned her with glistening- eyes, They counselled apart and together grew wise ; The chipmonk delayed his affairs of haste, In her company finding a moment to waste; The grasshopper paused for a space, then his jump Squarely landed him on her arm rosy and plump ; 24 THE OLD FARM HOME. Imprisoned within her velvety palm, He found himself tenderly shielded from harm. The birds twittered to her from moss-broid- ered wall, From their elm-swinging nest shrilled the ori- oles' call ; When their fledglings peeped forth in coats of bright flame, She had welcome for each and a long-pondered name ; She knewthe cows loved her, it was her delight, Ere twilight had builded her soleinn-hued fane, And the midsummer calm lay in roseate light, To join their slow march in the wood-scented lane. But the slowly-revolving seasons at Inst Cried, Lo! the glad day of thy childhood has passed. THE OLD FARM HOME. 25 IV. YOUTH AND LONGING. Where thicket and pasture meet, and the wall, Lichened and mossy, slopes down to the spring, Where year after year the autumn leaves fall, And earth has dark mould for covering, The wind-flower uncloses her soft pink hood, She looks on the world of beauty before her, Its thousand songs, and its thousand blooms, With longing her inmost being stir; A part is she of this wonderful good, And with rapture her spirit invokes the power Bringing sunlight and melody, color, perfumes, To gladden and quicken her life of an hour ! The maiden like her namesake sweet, Is moved by an impulse strong ; She would mould her thoughts into measures meet, And she calls on the Muse, whose numbers beat In time to the woodland echoes fleet, 26 THE OLD FAliM HOME. And all glad sounds that spring-tide greet, Thalia, the goddess, whose rhythmic feet Weave rural life into song. INVOCATION. O lovely Spirit of Poesy, Inflame our hearts to-day, Let them beat with the hope and gladness Rife in the fields of May ! Here Nature is keeping jubilee, She has flung her garlands wide O'er bush and tree, o'er vale and hill, Lavish as summer-tide. The daisy lifts her wondering eyes, Dandelions laugh on the lea, The burnished buttercups gleam out From a wealth of greenery. The hills are o'errun with violets, They've forgotten to be shy ; So warm with life are they, they draw The azure from the skv. THE OLD FARM HOME. 27 And down beside the dimpling brook, Their sisters slim and white, Set in their dainty beds of moss, Lean forth to greet the light. The blue-eyed grass-flower's modest gaze The sudden light has caught, That leaps to life in the infant's smile, Of heavenly radiance fraught. Above gray trunk and gnarled limb, Are sprays of bloom so fair, We think of spirits wafting them Down from some purer air; The home-blooms of the apple-tree! They are but these, we know ; Yet each May makes no less divine The rose-blush on the snow. Sweeter the air than airs of heaven, — ■ These winds with fragrance sown ; Contribute to each breath we draw, Thousands of flowers new-blown. 28 THE OLD FARM HOME. Color and form, and scent and sound, Are in such harmony, Whispers Delight to every sense, " Is it not joy to be ? " O lovely Spirit of Poesy, Inflame our hearts to-day, Let them beat with the hope and gladness Rife in the fields of May ! THE RESPONSE. Eager, longing heart that yet would quench its longing, In the happiness of Nature, her life of bloom and song, Dreaming, restless soul that thus itself is wrong- A1J s> As forgetfulness it seeketh in delights that myriad throng; Think'st thou I will aid thee to attain the glad- ness, Royal boon of every flower waving in the breeze ? THE OLD FARM HOME. 09 Never may my promptings hint of wrong or sadness ? — Lilies of the field, thy mind arrayed like these ? Ah ! not in olden time did the Muse, descending, Winning sweet contentment for lowly mortal, sing ; But desire of glory, action, fame unending, Filled his breast whenever she touched the silver string. As he, upward striving, through each generation, Nobly toiled to fashion his sublime ideal, Did she ever gladly at his invocation, Stoop to lift his spirit, fettered by the real. Now that near his present lies the consumma- tion — The Great and Good already hover near as earthly guests, Shall he court inaction, and stifle aspi ration, Plead with me for other than loftiest behests ? 30 THE OLD FARM HOME. Vainly, ah ! too vainly, are his wishes given, From the Fields Elysian, earthward have I come ; There is all perfection, joy of who have striven, In each soul immortal grandeur hath its home. Can I view the contrast to man's habitation ? Crown his imperfections with soothing sense of rest? Let the partial good of fleeting inspiration, Meet the sure reward of those who do the best? Deep within my heart lies pity for the weary, All suffering and sin, all ignorance and wrong, That still hold their sway in myriad places dreary, And deep strains pathetic sweep my chords along. To the selfish spirit but for gladness seeking, To the yearning heart that would cast aside its care, THE OLD FARM HOME. 31 I would lift the vision in behalf of sorrow speak- ing. E'en from Nature's guerdon draw him, so mar- vellously fair. I would win man's pity for the one despairing, Lead to lonely places where skulking crime has fled, . Up the stairway sickening, where disease has come unsparing, And Sin and sweet Child-innocence, side by side are laid. Moved by my sad music and this desolation, His heart overflowing in pity for his kind, The ignorant and wretched, all needing consola- tion, Who a dreary bondage this earthly kingdom find, He casts aside the dream that in his heart was reigning, He will gird to action and spare himself no pain, 32 THE OLD FARM HOME. Then renewed will be his brother, his dreary lot attaining, Possessions sweet and noble those earnest And, lo ! the advancing future still greater good revealing, His heart with joy is swelling, his lips break out in song, And he blesses with a blessing from the thank- ful deeps of feeling, The Muse who yet his gladness and peace de- layed not long. When Duty whispers, the desire Fostered most dearly should expire, And we obey, lo ! not a grave Is there, we see bright bowers wave, Hope's face peers out their sprays among Life, love, not death, to us belong ! She who would live for other's good, Lost not the voices of her soul, THE OLD FARM HOME. 33 She found them clearer, in control Of all her being ; when the mood Of nature her own mood would share, Heart thrilled to song as bud to rose, Or spring, fast following winter's close, — Ah, Spring ! your earliest touch she felt, As grass-blades where the snow-drifts melt, When warm south winds deliverance bear. VOICE OF THE SPRING. There's a joy that is waiting for thee, There's a hope, though thy bosom is sad ; Oh list, then, oh list, to its sweet, thrilling tones, Let thy spirit believe and be glad. Wildly bloweth the winter-cold wind, Bare and black are the boughs of the tree, And icily stretcheth the river away To a songless and desolate lea. But a spirit's at work 'neath the sod, A spirit of beauty and power, 34 THE OLD FA EM HOME. Hand in hand with the sunshine and quickening rain, It shall rise into leafage and flower. And the joy that is waiting for thee, Is the joy of this new, happy birth, Past the winter of doubt and the chill of des- pair, Shall thy heart be renewed as the earth. And the melody heard in the wood, And where the stream laughs to the sea, And that fervently quickens thy pulses anew, Is the song of the spirit set free ! When Summer basked in tropic heat, And once green fields were bare and brown, Nor longer laughed the mountain rill From silvery ledges tumbling down, — Nature's monotonous voices still — And toilers moved with tardy feet, Still bloomed amid those drowsy days, For her the wonder of her lays. THE OLD FARM HOME. 35 SUNFLOWERS. In August's burning lieat The parched cornfields stand As drought reigns in the land. Crickets their notes repeat, Unceasingly and harsh ; On sere grass of the close, The cattle, restless, doze, Or wander in the marsh, Where, clipped, and coarse, and green, Salt herbage that the tide Late-flooded — but now dried — Is all the verdure seen. The vines upon the wall Had tender leaflets fair, Gross spiders' webs are there, And noisome things that crawl. THE OLD FAB3I HOME. The hidden birds are still ; Waysides with dust are white, That lately blossomed bright, And vanished is the rill. The earth, as no rains fall, Like one who mourns the dead With ashes on his head, Stands dreary, hopeless all. The promise of the east, The golden light, lias lied, The heavens are as lead, Dim is the glowing west. What glory meets the eye? All through the sultry hours Shed bounteous sunflowers Lost splendors of the sky ! A little life to one so near She asked no other blessing here, A little life the maiden loved And by a tender service proved THE OLD FARM HOME. SI The mother and the child, how dear, — Withdrawn that life as one may sigh And see the chance of Heaven go by! In days when falls the yellow leaf, And time drear sorrow chastened hath, She set her grief in tender line, — O Friend, such grief hast thou and thine. • THE FERNS. I gathered them one autumn day Along the margin of the brook, The fine, green ferns that as in play With the light breeze, their long plumes shook How green was all the meadow-way, How blue the sky that o'er it bent, The wild-bird's twitter, near and gay, How full my heart with sweet content ! For at my side the tiny child, In baby-coach, all gayly clad, 38 THE OLD FARM HOME. Wide-eyed, looked wondering out, then smiled As if the bright scene made him glad. And as the fragrant stems I broke, And tossed them o'er his small, soft hands, His laugh ran rippling like the note Of the sweet water on the sands. On mossy rock my volume old I laid, and placed the leaves with care ; When all the world without was cold And drear, and all the fields were bare, Or covered thick with winter's snow, And leafless trees sighed in the wind, My firelit room this touch should know Of the fair summer left behind. But now the winter days are spent, The bluebird trills the song of spring, And still the ferns, for bright cheer meant, Unto the book's moist leaves yet cling. Yes, the closed leaves their forms conceal ; Years hence, perchance, to other eyes THE OLD FARM HOME. 39 Than mine, they may, yet green, reveal Their fragrant breath and sweet surprise. O work that did my hands employ, O ferns from the remembered spot, Grief have you brought to me for joy, You still are here, but he is not ! The season blessed of God and man, Of Him, through that great gift, the Son, Of man, because with loving deed He cheers a brother in his need ; The spirit of this sacred time Draw's upward thought to heights sublime. CHRISTMAS. How bright the hearth-fires shine ! The household faces glow, As beats each heart below To one high thought divine. Without the drifted sleet, Old Winter's icy rime, 40 THE OLD FAliM HOME. But in the air the chime Of bells resounding sweet. Short are the days and dark ; Dark are the nights and lon«"; But to the world's glad song The gloomy spaces hark ; The tempest holds its breath ; Yes ! as the paeans rise And tremble in the skies, Even here joy conquereth. O sweetness, wrung from strife ! O gladness, born of pain ! His loss our endless gain, His death our very life. Strange law, that doth declare Self-sacrifice to be Like an uprising tree Whose fruit the nations share. Abides a wider law ? Shall he who, suffering, dies THE OLD FARM HOME. 41 For man's sake, yet arise To life without a flaw ? Ah, this no vain surmise — Christ at the Father's hand, This consummation grand Solves all life's mysteries. Then ring, O Christmas bells ! And shine, O household fires! Through you the world aspires, And man's high fate foretells! 42 THE OLD FARM HOME. V. BELLE. One summer when the times were hard, Came to our simple home to board, Two city ladies fine and proud. Our father thought their liberal purse His wallet thin would reimburse; For when financial panics come What suffers more than country home ? The corn-flowers hold as generous boon, Whose yellow pollen, falling, soon Builds kernels sweet through ripening June ; With spears innumerable the wheat Guards its green ranks through July's heat ; Of amber grain there is no lack, Heaped for the mill in rotund sack When Autumn drives her coursers back Spent with long race o'er the burning track; The orchards store in tempting reach Til E OLD FARM HOME. 43 Nectar in apple, plum, and peach ; While 'gainst dark loam the tender green Of lettuce, celery, is seen, With many a root and herb that make A tempting show in Autumn's wake; But, with his fast-increasing stores, His loss the husbandman deplores; Much of his garnered industry To dollars turned lie may not see. The mother puts, with patient sigh, Her thought of some new treasure by, Chintz for the spare room, or, perchance, The china, or new spoons, that glance Imaginative saw, the charm Of family board, where small display — Though heaped with produce of the farm In generous abundance — showed To longing housewife day by day. The daughter's wish must be forgot, Her breast up-bears a heavier load, On Sunday, when churchward she rode And passed her lover on the way, 44 THE OLD FARM HOME. She lacked, alas! the added grace Of rose-wreathed hat and daintier dress, Would she might know he missed them not ! Awhile our city guests we feared ; The home, to all of us endeared, Would common seem whene'er their eyes Glanced round as in amused surprise. But soon the eyebrow's lifted arch, The parted lip, the dainty touch, Awoke our mirth, and, when apart, We merrily laughed and took fresh heart. Our younger guest we might have loved Save that her aunt's surveillance proved A constant check upon her mood — Convention's paths not walked within, Was her unpardonable sin ; It mattered not that nature wooed Forth to a joyous solitude, Culture, in depths of woodland shade, Should still enfold the city maid ; La grande dame little thought that we Perceived the incongruity, And merrily argued that the trees THE OLD FARM HOME. 45 Ought not to listen to the breeze Disporting boughs so carelessly, But stand in prim propriety Just as her ladyship would see. Sweet Belle, the niece, most duteous was; Laughter repressed, with softened voice, And gown fashion's last whim approved, An elegant machine, she moved. One day our elder guest fell ill, And then it proved, the regal will That made each friend before her bow, A king no more, was subject now. And, thus delivered of her sway, Our stylish Belle seemed gone away, And 'in her stead the dearest girl Set all our fancies in a whirl Of pure delight; she danced, she sang, Her voice to happy laughter rang As naturally as mountain burn; Of country sports she took her fill, Until declared our brother Will No king restored enjoyed his own As Belle her realm, now real grown. 46 THE OLD FARM HOME. A " real " maiden ; real the spell Beneath whose power our brother fell ; We saw, and, moved by secret fear, Foreboded sorrow drawing near For him to all our hearts so dear. Yet marvelled we when once again The aunt assumed her wonted reign, How Will a manlier attitude Maintained toward both ; no courtier stood In presence of his august queen With finer grace of speech or mien. The aunt saw with unfeigned surprise, This youthful dignity arise — Yet she was ever worldly-wise ; To the last hour of their sojourn, Belle had no moment of her own. Months after sisters would recall The almost tearful accents fall, As, with our fine guests, one good-by Was uttered with down-drooping eye. And Will? In him no change we saw Whose duty was his highest law. Yet, had we read his heart aright, THE OLD FARM HOME. 47 This had we found : If out of sight And in her grander sphere, she keep Her preference, well ; Love will not sleep. Preference was love ; the coming years Saw naught to realize our fears; They saw our elder guest rejoice O'er Belle's first and her later choice ; The country youth had few compeers. True is it that our modern eyes See the Prince wandering in disguise, Fond hearts each other may not miss, On Beauty's cheek is still the kiss ; So must it be while keeps the earth Her ceaseless change of death and birth. TIS LOVE THAT MAKES THE WORLD GO ROUND. When love had kissed fair Beauty's cheek, And Beauty, waking in surprise, Turned not away her glances meek From the full splendor of his eyes, IS THE OLD FARM HOME. Then heart to heart and lip to lip Awoke that passion pure and bright) To make the days like moments slip, To banish all the shades of night. And w:is this all? () Love, Love, Love, The world was dead until you came, Dead, cold, inert, below, above, Till kindled by your generous flame ; You made the very mould to speak, With tender leaf and flower to thrill, When kisses soft, met Beauty's cheek, With frolic life teemed vale and hill — And man? That dull, insensate clod, Like one in fetters firmly hound, Now walks in spirit like a god, 'Tis Love that makes the world go round ! THE OLD FARM HOME. 49 VI. DRIFTED. Better the words and works of love For those who need our sympathy, Than a life of dreams to fruitless prove, However high-poised they may be. Whither the beckoning finger led, Away from the bonds of love and care, The maiden turned; as the quick years sped, What would they bring to the dear ones there ? These passing years would bring to Jess Rarest of woman's happiness, — The love of an honest, earnest man, Whose scheme of life lay but in this, Her peace, and for others helpfulness; Purely and calm their life-stream ran. 50 THE OLD FA11M HOME. PUEPLE CLEMATIS. Her paling, rich in many a vine — The honeysuckle's tender green, And cream-white, fragrant blooms — I ween They hold all scents as in a mine ; Ivies, whose glossy tendrils turn Proudly their low support to use, The tremulous convolvulus, Lifting its purple chaliced urn When the fresh airs of morning blow, Yet shrinking from the sun's broad light ; Nasturtiums, flecked with orange, bright As cloudless sunset's afterglow, — The farm-house with its windows low, And low-hung porch, where mantling cling, Vines rarer — gorgeous censers swing The trumpet-creepers ; clouds of snow THE OLD FARM HOME. 51 The fair cucumis throws, while there Wistarias deck the happy Junes ; Oli, rarely pass the days when noons Are hottest, and each scene so fair. Hither I wandered week by week, To see the face of her I love, Such longing did my passion prove, And yet, alas ! I could not speak. My trembling hope required a sign That in her heart love held a place, Yet brightly glowed her tender face For each friend's welcome as for mine. One morn when all the summer land Was bathed in dew, and ere the sun His long, hot journey had begun, I sought those bowers by soft breeze fanned ; Untimely hour to watch my friend, Yet some strange spell would draw me near My heart quick beating with the fear Lest she discover, I offend. 52 THE OLD FABM HOME. As space by space the walls disclose, All in amaze I saw a flower I ne'er had seen until that hour, Purple, and regal as the rose ; As if all tints of earth most fair To make it rich and full had blent, — All with the dews of morn besprent, The purple clematis bloomed there. And as I gazed, thrilled with delight, The outer door swung open wide ; She started, but she could not hide That roseate blush from my fond sight ; And, oh, dear thought ! from seeing me; She turned, half smiling, half in fear; In one swift moment I was near, My prisoned speech at last set free. The look I had not seen before On her bright face, still trembling there, Made my emboldened heart declare The charm that drew me to her door. THE OLD FARM HOME. 53 And as full many a burning word I spoke in earnest of my plea, She plucked one royal bloom forme; Thus knew I how my plea was heard. Sweet hour my happy love that crowned. And now beneath her window-sill The purple clematis blooms still, The flower of love the world around ! The farmer's heart was filled with pride — His Jess the village doctor's bride, The hand of Fortune was opened wide! But she had more generous gifts in store When she lavished on lovely Elinore Riches, and honor, and high estate, A place among the favored and great ; But the wife of the future governor Of her own proud state, would never be In the " very best society," More of a lady than now was she In her neat house-dress sweeping the floor, 54 THE OLD FARM HOME. Kneading the wheaten bread o'er and o'er, Or tending her roses beside the door ; The true-born lady changes not, However high or low her lot. THE LADY. You shall know her when you see her, Silken-robed, or poor her gown, Be her brow than snow-drop fairer, Or from wind and sunshine brown. If her dainty hands are gleaming With the lustre of gemmed rings, Or all hard their palms from contact Of unnumbered household things; Be her speech the speech of culture, Or of homely phrases framed, Her ways ever sweet and graceful, Or those of fine art unnamed; In the bloom of her young beauty, Worn by age or weary care, THE OLD FARM HOME. 55 She, unquestioned, holds her title, At all times and everywhere. Willing footsteps hers, that ever On unselfish errands go, Heart in sympathy that beateth To another's joy or woe. You shall know her when soft lashes, Lifting, show the sudden light, Tender, modest, yet undaunted, Of an eye that's heavenly bright, Index of a mind that nobly Doth on noble things reflect, And a nature ever guarded By her own true self-respect. Sagacious Marion, name the prize The future sets before thine eyes. So royally hath thy duty shone Within thy little realm of home, And thine is such a grand content, Can another sphere for thee be meant? 56 THE OLD FARM HOME. The loving sister, outward-bound, Shall she not find thee in thy place, When the years have swung their circles round, And she looks once more upon thy face ? No. Who to her nearest trust is true, Losing it, seeks for a purpose new ; And she who is loyal to sister and mother, Will be loyal to woman the wide world over. If her clear head and loving heart Discern and feel a wrong, No words that bring the pain and smart, Of the unrighteous throng, Can win her from her duty, Or mar her life of beauty ; Who seeth from fair Justice' height, Denounces Wrong, demands the Right. THE VOICE OF JUSTICE. If a spirit pines for freedom, whoso standeth in the way, Shall he not be called to answer, some fateful judgment day? THE OLD FARM HOME. 57 But men are unbelieving, and the greed of place and power, Blinds their souls to graver issues than follies of the hour. They hear with scorn or jesting of a judgment's threatened doom, "What fool foregoes his pleasures for a wrath so late to come?" Every day the sun, untiring, his course begins again, Sees God's unswerving judgments fail upon the sons of men ; Love turned to hatred, children's sins reacting on their sires, Who their honor high have bartered for the rash- ness of desires. Through the ages still called Christian, woman holds a lower place, Unsharing with her brother grand achievements for the race; 58 THE OLD FARM HOME. And, sadder still, invaded sees her own most sacred right To hold her little children as an honor in His sight. She may not call to battle, still she must ever stand, Unweaponed, undefended, peace in her out- stretched hand. But though her cause is bloodless, let the temper of her words, Strike through their mailed perverseness, and pierce their heart like swords : "What, close the way of progress? what, bar the thinking mind, Of the 'nobler,' 'purer' portion of thine own human kind? Oh, words of keen derision! who trusts not honor's grace? Who trusts not noble natures, where'er may be their place ? THE OLD FARM HOME. 59 Such flattery of phrases to earnest souls must be Less than the dissipating foam upon the cruel sea. Strengthen those words by deeds, or own from whence they spring, Praise to the slave ! what is it but a tyrant's offering? Of his destiny most worthy the man is most a man, When his attitude is tolerance, and justice is his plan ; While he who claims a prestige through the sheer might of force, Builds for the generations a bliohtins; and a curse. O women fortune-favored, and by love placed so high, Turn not away indifferent unto your sisters' cry; 60 THE OLD FARM HOME. If ye need no law of justice through the honor of your kin, Still Id your sex's thraldom stir sweet pity's depths within ; Speak from your happy firesides, with pleading in your tone, Till no Christian home or nation sees wrong to woman done. Thanks for that noble manliness that dares :issert, our righl ; Thanks for the banded sisters bearing obloquy and spite ; F x or the clarion voice of Justice whose echoing is heard Above the din of politics, the pulpit's polished word, Thanks for the universal Right that shall at last, prevail, The equity of God's Kingdom that no man can assail ! TEE OLD FARM HOME. 61 Good, generous brother ! the years have brought To thee a recompense dearly sought. The work lie loved and longed to do The patient years of manhood through, With zeal uncurbed, now in his prime, He gave his energies and time. No study too severe lie found, — For love with labor kept the round That unto some were dull routine. What boon of help has love not been! He shunned no search, where'er it led, Yet heart was never ruled by head, For both, lie knew, made up the man, And both wore reckoned in life's plan. Did science seem at times to teach Matter is all, and (±<><\, man's speech, When in the pasl he framed a cause Because he knew not nature's laws, Quickly made answer then the soul: A part thou knowest, not the whole; And high above the freezing doubt The sun of faith shone clearly out. 62 THE OLD FARM HOME. THE BIRTH OF FAITH. I heard, one happy morn, The cry of one forlorn, As in some heavenly music a sudden discord jars ; It made my spirit sad, And my free thought and glad, No more could upward soar than bird in prison- bars. This was the voice I heard That all my spirit stirred With fears foreboding, and with depths of pain profound, "All men were born to die, And naught in earth or sky Affords one proof the grave leads to a world be- yond. "For men have lived in dreams, And in a hope that seems Born out of some great longing, extravagant and wild ; THE OLD FARM HOME. 63 And he who runs may read, That every human creed Is based on fables wrought when man was but a child. " We seek to-day a sign From those far hills divine, Who have the self-same right to manifest of Kis, We judge by law and rule, Nature in reason's school, And only find the one grand knowledge that she is. n I knew the voice I heard Spoke an unwholesome word, And yet spell-bound I listened, and could not turn my face ; And when its word was done, I was af right as one Waking from sleep to find a dreary prison-place. Adown the sunlit hill Leaped the bright, laughing rill, It heard the scoffing voice and sang in plaintive tone, 64 THE OLD FARM HOME. The red rose paled in grief, And the broad lily leaf Drooped o'er its yellow flower that like a star had shone. In sunny pasture lands The whispering poplar stands, To-day its echoes, sighing, uttered the note of woe ; Darker within the glade The pines their shadows laid, As o'er the new-made grave of Hope and Faith laid low. Vibrations in the air The birds make everywhere The forest rises, and the hill-tops, sun-kissed, glow, With wings that tireless beat, And notes so liquid sweet, Electric thrilled no more, so hushed they were and low, Along the fresh, clear reach Of the white-broidered beach, THE OLD FARM HOME. 65 The shining waves no more returned with warm embrace, The leaden sea was still, And mists all wan and chill, Blotted the moveless ships, and left of them no trace. From nature's shrouded brow, I searched my heart, to know If aught therein would echo the voice's sad re- frain : The inspiration clear That men have held so dear, That have made glad the ages in strife with wrong and pain ; The great, glad words of men Who have risen above the pain, And dwell as in the precincts of heaven's own blessed shade, Are these, then, held as naught For the breadth of one man's thought, Who only sees the dust out of which the earth is made? 66 THE OLD FARM HOME. I thought of all the throng Of martyrs pure and strong, Who, in the faith divine of Love that for men died, Had suffered untold pain For their unseen brothers' gain, — That our faith might rest more sure in a dear Christ crucified; That every wrong and sin Is knowing unto Him, Not a dying swallow cleaves the lucid air in vain, No little child's sad cry Is heard unpityingly, 'Neath the great world He made, His throbbing heart is lain ; That earth was made for man Upon a wondrous plan, That hope and faith, twin gifts, God-given, to him were sent, That with these gifts he might THE OLD FARM HOME. 67 Find solace and delight, Upon its verdurous breast, so gayly flower-be- sprent ; That when, as children, we Look upward reverently, Filled by a joy serene, we touch His garment's hem! But when, as doubters, we Reason deridingly, Henceforth we dwell apart, this peace no more may claim. Still, as I mused, a sense Of helplessness intense O'ercame me ; and, trembling, I stretched my hands and prayed : " Oh, Thou who know'st my grief, Draw near to my relief ! Give me surety of Thy Presence, let me not be dismayed ! " Lo ! as I prayed, a light Ineffable, past sight, 68 THE OLD FARM HOME. Entered my soul, and filled me with a sense of peace and rest ! Although no voice I heard, And no form the silence stirred, I knew the joy that cometh of communion with the blest. And, as the throng that pours Through the church's open doors, Listens gladly to the teaching of the Lord's dear, blessed word, So my restored soul, Beyond fear's dread control, Received the benediction, in thanksgiving, of our ' God. TRANSCENDENCE. Who with fond hope the spirit trust, Would still rejoice as earth and skies Reveal their deeper mysteries To science, name her fiats just ; THE OLD FARM HOME. 69 Yet deem not these revealings all, — This form that meets the outward sight, These wondrous atoms by whose might A world is built, a world must fall ; Or treasured teachings of the past False by the voice of that stern creed That life-phenomena but need Matter, still matter, first and last. Knowledge of every time and clime Foreshadowed ever was by Thought ; And Science' highest truths were taught Thousands of years before her prime, In wise philosophies of those Who saw, yet won no fact to prove; For universal truths will move In o-reat souls and themselves disclose. o The Thought of One who globed a world, And spheres the diamond drop of dew, Has pulsed the solemn ages through, — Truth's outmost banner wide unfurled ! 70 THE OLD FARM HOME. Yes, Thought will far outreach the Fact; Above the dashing and the foam, Above the thunder and the gloom, The rainbow spans the cataract. Substance of all created things They formulate with care precise, This, this eludes their figures nice, The soul that soars on viewless wings. This small brain, narrowed by the lives Of petty men, down whose mean line It has descended, wills but crime, Nor worth, nor wisdom in it thrives? Oh, pause ; there is a subtle power, An influence that even here May bring to fall the unwonted tear, Call some sweet virtue into flower ; As patient gardener's loving skill Works miracles in common weeds ; To thorn the pliant shoot succeeds, And beauty fair displaces ill. THE OLD FARM HOME. 71 Deaf, dumb and blind ; what dark law brings This sad one prisoned in such night? But Love and Pity work their might, And, lo, the glad soul soars and sings. These highest life in nature know : The plant, the beast ; aspiring man, Yearning with hope and love, will plan The First Great Cause from whence they flow. To This he cries when sad with fears, To This he sings when joy is sweet, To This builds shrines where reverent feet May linger, sin bedew with tears. And while flowers wake above the sod, And stars gleam in the arch of night, Love mourns her dear ones hid from sight, There still will be the Thought of God ! In lands afar where thou dost roam, The sweetest memories of home Thronging upon thy vision come ; 72 THE OLD FARM HOME. And storied city, pile and tale, Before the loved home-pictures pale. Oft on Im agination's wing Our spirits to thy side we bring, Enjoy some hallowed spot of earth Where once heroic souls had birth, Live in the thoughts that in thee live, Repeat the lines that thou dost breathe, But now we see the burning sand Stretching athwart Arabia's land ; Moved by her legends old and vast, We dwell with thee in her grand past: THE PROPHET. Arabia's cloudless heavens span The long routes of the caravan. By day the sun-god from his throne, On the parched desert, dazzling, shone. By night the sky, vast, solemn, blue, The stars innumerable pierced through THE OLD FARM HOME. To Some pleasant spots of green and shade The oases in the sand-reach made, — As little islets out at sea Where else a dreary waste would be, Bloom green before the languid eyes Of mariner, sick of sea and skies. Here, long ere noon, the cavalcade Of men and burdened camels stayed Their heated march, and quenched their thirst Where the cool waters sparkling burst, — For even Araby's hot land Feels the springs' pulse beneath her sand, That upward seek the light and air, And keep the traveller from despair ; As on cheek dark with scar and seam, We sometimes note the tear-drop's gleam, That tells of feeling not quite dead, And sympathy not wholly fled. 74 THE OLD FARM HOME. Oh, royally the tall palms rise, Dark green,. beneath the dark blue skies, — The gracious palms, whose willowy plumes Scarce bend with all their wealth of blooms. Here, stretched at length, the Arabs lay The long hours of each sultry day, Dreaming, perchance, of gainful trade In goods that, rich, the camels lade : Balsam and senna, balm of fir, Millet, and wheat, and gums, and myrrh, Woods, odorous as the Spice Isles fanned, Sweet smelling coffee of their land, — Rare fruit, but dry and scentless till It feels the rough power of the mill ; Even as those hearts that hardened be, Till touched by rude adversity. No wonder if that blue, far sky, Drew upward the adoring eye ; THE OLD FARM HOME. 75 The silver heavens that gleamed by night, Moved not their spirits to a flight Beyond the trade, beyond the greed, Towards Him who is the Light indeed. Stay ; who is lie that leans apart? This youth? What feeling sways his heart? His dark face wears the tranced look Of one who reads a holy book ; Outstretched his arms, as he were there Alone, and down the shining air Floated a voice from some far sphere, Uncaught by other mortal ear : " Arise, and flee to some lone place ; Thou shalt behold an angel's face. " He bears thee message from the sky Master of thy land's destiny! "A mighty mission to fulfil Thou hast ; go, it is Allah's will." 76 THE OLD FARM HOME. The spell is o'er and he doth rest, One great thought surging in his breast : "O Sun, within yon burning zone, Like thee is Allah, one, alone ; " Toward Thee I cannot turn my eye, No more his awful form descry ; " Yet as I feel thy heat and power, His spirit moves me hour by hour ; " I will obey this wondrous voice, 'Tis Allah bids, and I rejoice ; "Glorious to heed his high command For Mahomet and for Mahomet's land ! " THE OLD FARM HOME. 77 VII. THE NEW WORLD. The city walls are close and high As they would reach the very sky. Close and high, and grim and strong, They look on folly and on wrong ; Alas for those whom their embrace Shuts from the light of nature's face ! For them there is no harder fate, At birth, life's hope has come too late ; For could there glow one little ray, Pointing to happier lot, 'twould stray Into sad hearts, and lead them where God's world is steeped in sunshine fair. But where the city walls look down They blight men with their dreary frown ; Beneath the blight they toil, they live, As this were all earth had to give. Earth? Ask them of their mother earth, Her seasons grand, her year's new birth, 78 THE OLD FARM HOME. The glories that she bourgeons forth, They tell you of the brick-walled town ! To do the good that she might do Where cares are great and pleasures few, However hard her life should be, Thither came young Anemone ; But as one standing in the sun Suddenly feels the light is gone, And notes the harbingers of storm O'erclouding all the landscape warm, So, passing down the city street Where ignorance and squalor meet, She felt upon her soul the gloom ; " No love, no joy, no dear hearthstone, No sweet amenities of home ; Can there be hope for these ? " she sighed ; And then an inward voice replied : NO SOUL SO POOR. No soul so poor, that may not yet Be of that beauteous coronet, The Maker of life will joyous wear When earth in heaven shall disappear. THE OLD FARM HOME. 79 Go ! what thou may'st of ill repair ; Love's blessings scattered now and here, Help in dark wastes of sin to set Bloom for His beauteous coronet. No thought the maiden had that here, Heeding the voice of duty clear, Fate held for her the happiest lot Of all her girlhood dreams had wrought. A LITTLE BIRD WHISPERED. In the hush ere the morn Of that Day yet unborn, When the mild-shining star Trembling afar On the borders of night, Was the last, dying light,— While slumber deep Held all life in sleep, Came a breath, came a sound, In the stillness profound ; 80 THE OLD FARM HOME. And one soul, only one, Heard the soft-whispered ton 3. Sweet bird, not of earth, To such joy giving birth, Journey on ! what you told Makes new the world old. It thrilled her being Ecstatically through ; This was the message, " He loves you ! " MY HERO. Shalt thou not be like ray mountain Enthroned in the midst of the mountains? These lift their broad peaks to the sun, But soar they never so grandly, Them it shall grandly outsoar ! Voices of kindred and peoples, Voices of animate nature, Spirits from far-off Elysium, Heart in my bosom that beateth, All, all conspire to accord thee Grandest of all things created, — THE OLD FARM HOME. 81 In whose radiant smile lies her heaven, The adoring woman's ideal ! Of lands that bask in fame's rich gleam, Early had come the lover's dream : " The world is wide," he said, " the world is wide, Far from my home the seas shall me divide ; When I have seen the crimson sunset's glow On the ice mountains and the polar snow, Have seen the orange and the clustering vine That spends its purpling grapes in mellow wine, Roamed from the banian's shade to where the lime Droops its winged blossoms o'er the storied Rhine, Known the rapt spell of glorious Hellas' clime, Then, then I'll cross anew the restless main, Contented seek mine own nor wander forth again." And when he spoke of those past years So strangely rimmed by childhood's fears, ) THE OLD FARM HOME. " This was the liope it bore to me," Her words were, " My ship's argosy Was lost not ! Who more blessed can be, Than she, who, when a woman grown, Finds girlhood's mystic dream her own V " " Heaven, earth and hell lie in the face Of him you choose of all the race" ; So say you, friend ? Yet there are those, From wedding day until life's close, Who find earth, hell, asunder riven, And but to them remains the heaven ! What words the bright, sad spell can show Swept round one heart, as these two go Pilgrim-wise toward the old farm home ? [And never again in the years to come !] Ah, me ! how strange and new the spot That all the past had quite forgot, — One trace of the old home lingering not. Familiar fields to trim lawns turned ; THE OLD FARM HOME 83 A triumph of pride in costly stone ; Trees, shrubs, with rare names yet unlearned, Brought from abroad, — such care he took, Who changed the unpretending nook Where their fond, simple lives had grown, Into this grandeur to be shown ! The thought pressed in with bitter smart, Of all the world, the old-time home had part Only within her softened heart. The farm homes to New England dear! Unchanged they stood for many a year, While generations came and went, With their plain homeliness content: Nurse of the virtues large and strong, Honor and praise to them belong. Pretentious, modern Art assails, — Would sweep them from our native vales, — But never can our peopdc claim A phase so simple-sweet for them; One lingering look ive backivard cast And let them fade into the Past. RECENT POETRY. With Reed and Lyre. By Clinton Scollard. i6mo, vellum cloth, gilt top, $1.00. " Seldom does one meet with a book of verse that is so essentially the expression of a happy, healthy mind." — Boston Advertiser. " He has the power of brief and impressive state- ment." — Julian Hawthorne. Clover Leaves. By Ella M. Baker. Author of " Soldier and Servant," " Seven Easter Lilies," etc. i2ino, cloth, $1.00; gilt edges, $1.25. " The author of these poems was possessed of the rarest loveliness of person and character, and she has left behind her a memory fragrant with blessing. Her verse was the natural outcome of her beautiful soul; its exceeding delicacy and sweetness are suffi- cient to charm all who have the answering sentiment to which it appeals." — Springfield Republican. Ten Years of Song. By Horatio Nelson Powers, D. D. i6mo, cloth, $1.00. " This volume is by a real poet, one born such and not made. His poems are sung as only the true poet can sing — tenderly, sweetly, and simply." — Interior, Chicago. Rhymes for all Seasons. By Sarah Prescott Kellogg. i2mo, cloth, $1.00. " Pleasant to the ear, full of human sympathy and human affection, and strong in their devotional spirit. They also show an intense love for nature in all her various forms." — Boston Transcript. Ringing Ballads. Including Curfew must not Ring To-night. By Rose Hartwick Thorpe. 8vo, cloth, $2.00; fancy cloth, $3.00. " Full of spirit and power . . . very stirring rhymes which have the ring of true poetry." RECENT POETRY. Post-Laureate Idyls and Other Poems. By Oscar Fay Adams. i6mo, cloth, $1.00. "The mock idyls are very well executed and are characterized by a sort of decorous reserved fun." George Parsons Lathrop. In Divers Tones. By Charles G. D. Roberts. i6mo, cloth, $1.00. " Strong, impassioned, vivid, full of color and melo- dious ; it combines the spirit of Greek song with what is best in our modern verse." — N. Y. Epoch. " Poems that ring as if they were born in the heart of a man before they were given to the artist's hand to finish." — Boston Advertise)'. Scythe and Sword. By O. C. Auringer. i6mo, cloth, 75 cents. " The charms and omens, the secrets and splendors, of the forests and fields, mountains and lakes, have found in him strong and sympathetic utterance." — Springfield Republican. Poetry and Song. By James G. Clark. i6mo, cloth, $1.00. " They are poems that involuntarily sing themselves to the reader ; the musical expression of feeling that is refined and high, and sweet and pure, and it is this quality that has made them household words." — Boston Traveller. In the King's Garden. By James Berry Bensel. i6mo, cloth, $1.00. " Mr. Bensel had an exquisite sense of rhythm as well as a remarkable instinct in the choice of words, and in point of construction his work is simply fault- : ess. " — Boston Transcript. The Old Farm Home. By Abbie M. Gannett. i6mo, cloth, 75 cents. " A dainty volume, the tender sentiment of which will appeal to the hearts of many a man and woman whose sweetest memories of childhood are bound U" : n such a home."