THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ■■■■■■Mi ■■■■■HM mmmmmmmmmm 1 A SCORE OF LYRICS. SCORE OF LYRICS. L.W ©ambritigc : MACMILLAN, BARCLAY, AND MACMILLAN LONDON: WILLIAM PICKERING. MDCCCXLIX. LONDON. Geokge Barclay, Castle Street, Leicester Square. PR CONTENTS. PAGE 1. THE BRIDAL ..... 9 2. THE WANDERERS . . . . . 14 6. TO THE MONKS OF ST. BERNARD . 16 4. GOLD ...... 19 5. COR CORDIUM ..... 20 6. WESTWARD, HO ! 22 7. EARLY DEATH .... 24 8. THE LONELY GRAVE .... 26 9. THRENOS ..... . 28 10. LA RENTREE GLORIEUSE 30 11. AN INCIDENT AT PERUGIA . . 85 12. GWENTAVON GHYLL . . 39 918060 vm CONTENTS. PAGE 13. " I KNOW OF ONE " . . 42 14. THE TRYSTING-PLACE . 44 15. LONELINESS .... . 48 10. YONDER ..... . 5 1 17. SONG ..... . 53 18. THE TEACHING OF NATURE . 55 19. EDEN ..... . 58 •20. GOOD NIGHT . 64 THE BRIDAL. Tis yet two hours by the convent clock Until the matin song ; Alas ! sweet sister Ursula, The night is weary long. One sorrow, wakeful at my heart, Forbids me still to sleep, My eyeballs throb, and ache, and burn - Blest are the eyes that weep ! 10 THE BRIDAL. A thousand times my tale I tell, To thy meek, patient ear ; For still the telling seems to lift The weight of woe I bear. Ah, well do I remember me How cheerily arose The morrow that was destined To see so dark a close. Came belted knights with sword and plume, And dames in fair array, Came all the cousins of our house, To greet my bridal day. They gathered round me in a ring, And whispered words of cbeer ; But I heard them not, so loud my heart Was throbbing in mine ear. THE BRIDAL. 1 1 My swimming eyes were with the gush Of mingled feelings dim. Seeing and hearing nought beside, I watched and watched for him. The morning waned. Marvelled the dames, And I might hear them say : " Brave knight should never laggard be Upon his wedding-day. " Noon came. My father's brow grew dark, But spake he never a word ; With a muttered curse my brother laid His hand upon his sword. But gradual on my heart there fell A chill like utter death ; For I thank my God I never once Misdoubted of his faith. IS THE BRIDAL. 'Twas evening when a tramp of feet Came sounding up the stair, As if of men who wearily Some heavy burden bare. Now near and nearer, slow and slow, Up the great corridor — And there in a bloody winding-sheet They laid him on the floor. Fell men had met him in the wood, All on Ins bridal day ; They struck him down from off his horse, And slew him where he lay. They slew him for his golden ring, The ring for me he bare ; Alas ! they might have spared him, For love of his golden hair. THE BRIDAL. 13 Sometimes I may my memory cheat, And half the past recall ; Dreaming I am as once I was Before the wreck of all. Oft, too, in visions of the night — But the truth dawns with day — God, that I were mad outright. And dreamed that dream alway ! II. THE WANDERERS Now the world is all before us, Outcasts we from hearth and home ; West to Andes, east to Taurus, Still together will we roam. Weep not thou for sire or mother, Nor for broken duty grieve ; They had given to another That which was not theirs to give. THE WANDEKEKS. 15 Who the ties of hlood preferreth To affection's holier chains ? 'Tis the beating heart that stirreth All the pulses of the veins. Soon shall brighter, happier places, Chase the memory of this ; Soon, it may be, kinder faces , Smile thee back again to bliss. Wintry be our sky, or vernal. Love shall bloom in any clime — Love almighty, love eternal, Laughs to scorn the might of time. Cold though be the road before us, All the closer we will cling ; Dark though be it, hovering o'er us, Love shall spread his sunlit wing. III. TO THE MONKS OF ST. BERNARD. Fathers, may Heaven ever bless You and your work, who thus supply In savage places courtesy, And plenty in the wilderness ! more than charity ! to feed Those in whose feasts ye cannot share. For joys of man to take no care, And yet relieve him in his need. TO THE MONKS OF ST. BERNARD. 17 O more than heroism ! to fly The life that wooes on either hand, Green sunny vales of Switzerland, Far-purpling plains of Italy. Others, your peers in age, are hale. Their strength is in its manly prime, Your brows are furrowed as with time. Your eyes are dim, your cheeks are pale. The world, with all its sorrows, less Can smite the strong, can blight the fair, Than all your calling hath to bear. Storm, and unrest, and loneliness. And yet methinks those eyes, else dim, Shine with a bright reflex from heaven — God's smile of cheer on men who've striven Aye to stand face to face with Him. B I 8 TO THE MONKS OF ST. BERNARD. Soldiers of Christ, keep faithful guard Upon your Alpine watchtower high ; The lips have said that cannot lie, " Ye shall not lack your due reward." Till every land shall learn the story Of your self-sacrificing days, Man shall requite with grateful praise. And God with crowns of fadeless glory. TV. GOLD. Gold is ruddy, gold is rare ; Sons of men the wide world thorough Scale for gold the lion's lair, Delve for gold where conies burrow. Gathered in with toil and care, From the mead, the fold, the furrow ; Garnered up for many a year, Down to one dark day of sorrow ; To be scattered by the heir, On the jocund, sunny morrow COR CORDIUM. A couet lawn-paven girt with cloisters grey ; Therein a boy fair as mid-spiing, at gaze With eye unflinching in the face of day, Scares the old echoes with untutored lays. A vessel steering toward a foreign strand ; Upon the deck, half-mad with misery, He walks alone, and curses with clenched hand Those white cliffs sinking o'er the Northern Sea. COR CORDIUM. 21 ^. winding bay of Italy — and, lo ! True woman, one white arm around him thrown, rhaws the heart's thick-ribbed ice and bids it flow In music, for he is no more alone. ?hat lady stands on the sea-marge of moss, Smiling adieu, " For ere the day be fled le will return ;" and as some albatross Swoops to the wave with snow-white wings outspread. io springs his bark, full-sailed, to ocean's breast. Oh, heed yon creeping mist, yon gathering roar ! t comes — 'tis gone — I see the waters waste, And one with clasped hands gazing from the shore ! l place of graves where streets were thronged of yore ; One quiet nook shaded with cypress tall ; [ail, Rome ! the holier by one relic more ! The Heart of hearts sleeps 'neath thy ruined wall. VI. WESTWARD. HO ! Right merry it was in broad England In the days of the Confessor, Where, free from shame and felon-brand. A man might rove the forest o'er, And track his game by garth and moor ; Fur the laws weighed all with an even hand In the days of the Confessor. And still 'twas merry for fair England In the days of Robin Hood ; Though the Norman ruled o'er strath and strand, WESTWARD, HO ! - ^ : > Yet the fell was wide and thick the wood. And the Saxon bow was stout and good : Oh ! little scath had the gallant band That went with Robin Hood ! But, alas ! Old England's prime is flown. 'T is merry now no more, When the land is growing to one vast town. When they fence the copse and mete the moor. And, spurned from all save the prison-door. A man needs flee, for place there is none Where he might be free and poor. Then, hey ! for a life wild, uncontrolled, In prairies yet untrod ! Where the hand that's strong, with a heart that's bold. Has nobler work than to delve the clod. Or cringe 'neath laws at rich men's nod Repealing Nature's fiat old, And stinting the gifts of God. VII. EARLY DEATH. Why mourn for them whom Death hath summoned soon Better to rest at once from happy play Than live to toil o'er-weai*ied ere the noon, Hour after hour throughout the lingering day. Then, in the rosy distance, forms of light Beckoned us onward up the shining hill, Promising gentler slopes and skies more bright — Life ! O Hope ! our path toils upward still ! Fades the soul's sunshine, and that pictured show Mourning we see in cold, grey clouds depart, While even childhood's blessed memories grow Fainter and fainter on the hardening heart. EARLY DEATH. 25 Youth feasts star-crowned in the Halls of Jove, Hebe's own hand commends the nectar rare, The Nine hymn round him, and the Queen of Love Twines her white fingers fondly in his hair. Now lies the lyre in dust, its chords unstrung, Shattered the wine-cup late with rapture rife ; Who would survive the Past's dull wrecks among, Himself a wreck, and, lying, call it " Life?" Say not man wakes, and so of life cloth deem More truly than the child ; we do but pass Forth from a healthful to a feverish dream ; The playmate of the butterfly that was Is saddened now. Stream stagnates into fen, And sunny uplands change to cheerless heath — Oh ! to dream on that first fair dream, and then Wake to the grand realities of Death ! VIII. THE LONELY GRAVE. There's a grave on a headland high, Rifted in the rude lime-stone ; Wail the night-winds sweeping by, And the waters make their moan. But thy rocky bed is deep, Wind nor waters break thy sleep. Oft shall storms with gathered roar, Wild and wintry, scour the bay, Rouse its waves, and o'er the moor Fling afar their crests of spray. Ruder summons must it be That from slumber waketh thee. THE LONELY GRAVE. 27 There is no kind hand that daily Offerings to thy grave shall bring, Deck it sadly, deck it gaily, With a garland rife of Spring. Can the rose's ruddy beam Pierce to cheer thy darksome dream ? No tall marble at thy head Stands with legend graven fair, Tells the virtues of the dead, Tells the mourner's deep despair ; — Recks the spirit far away Where clay moulders into clay? Be thy grave upon the waste Still unmarked, unvisited, O'er thy memory thick and fast Sighs are breathed and tears are shed : This I know, bereft of thee, All the world's a waste to me. IX. THRENOS. Bright lamps are round me, yet I see but gloom ; Their shouts of merriment my bosom rend, My heart lies with thee in thy dark, cold tomb, My childhood's playmate and my manhood's friend No more shall wondrous tale or legend rare Of deeds chivalric nurse our daylight dreams, No more shall Hope and Fancy, busy pair, Fill the blank future with gay-broidered schemes. Cold is the hand that straying o'er the strings Called forth their hidden fairy-world of sound, Lifted our hearts to high and holy things, Or in voluptuous trance our senses bound. THEENOS. 29 ie brook sings not so cheerily as of yore, The young spring-leaf is withered and upcurled, ie rose is scentless and the sunbeam cold ; Truly there's something -wanting in the world. * mg had I striven to recall the dead, Love's present void with memories to fill, it in the hush I heard a voice which said, Or seemed to say, " Submit thyself, be still. So shalt thou find a charm to purge thine ear, So mists of earth shall from thine eye be riven ; ?hold ! a new star in yon crystal sphere ! Hark ! a new voice amid the quires of Heaven ! " X. LA RENTREE GLORIEUSE. They gave our people to the sword, Our homesteads to the flame, Then drave abroad the remnant They spared for very shame. But in our need God raised us up Friends in the strangers' land, Who welcomed to then- hearts and gave Gifts with an open hand. la rentr£e glorieusk 31 rhey gave us of the mountain, They gave us of the plain, rhe highlands for our flocks and herds, The lowlands for our grain. tVithal, at midnight as at noon, At even as at morn, Southward we turned our eyes and sighed For the vales where we were born. 3ne holyday we sat and talked Of our glories long ago ; ' We have yet stout hearts and the same good cause ! " Said bold Henri Arnaud. We met, eight hundred boys and men, In a lonely spot by night ; We sware an oath, and called on Him That aye defends the right. 32 LA KENTREE GLORIEUSE. Now onward in His holy name ! Now onward for the faith ! " Nay," said the kindly Genevese, " Why rush ye on your death ?" We put aside the friendly grasp, We sang a parting hymn, And on we marched from early dawn Till the light of eve grew dim. The ninth day thence, with failing hearts, We toiled our wastes of snow : " Lo, yonder are our mountain-tops !" Cried stout Henri Arnaud. We clomb the Mount St. Julien, We saw our valleys dear , — The eagle cowered on his nest Listening our shout of cheer. LA RENTREE GLORIEUSE. We halted on the high Balsille As we saw the foe advance, Full twenty thousand chosen men Of Piedmont and of France. Three days we fought the enemy, Still swarmed their numbers round ; On the third night, o'erworn with toil. We sank upon the ground. But on that night when, save Arnaud. All deemed our cause but lost. The God that smote Sennacherib Sent discord 'mid their host. And our Duke Victor bearded The Frenchman where he stood, And sware, " Henceforth no alien sword Shall drink my people's blood ! c 34 LA RENTREE GLORIEUSE. •' And they shall have their valleys, All they have lost, and more ; I will their Father be, and they My children as of yore." So we won back our valleys In spite of friend and foe ; Thanks be to God and our good swords And brave Henri Arnaud ! La Tour, July 1847. XI. AN INCIDENT AT PERUGIA. A temple to the King of kings. And her who reigns above, All blazoned with foreshadowing Of God's accomplished love ! In central glory Jesus stands ; The Virgin kneeling down. With bended head and folded hands, Waits meekly for her crown. 36 AN INCIDENT AT PEEUGIA. The martyrs with their palms are come, The sainted and the shriven ; The sinless child called early home, The sinful man forgiven ; The well-beloved, the sorely tried, Who counted all but loss So they might wander by His side And follow to His cross. ;J: ;I< :1- ^ Lo ! sudden o'er my spirit's light Swept mists of doubt and pride, Conjured from hell by that foul sprite That coils by Beauty's side : • Thou worshippest the limner's thought The mind then needs must be (Creating thus thy gods from nought) Itself Divinity." AN INCIDENT AT PERUGIA. 1)7 Scarce fell the shadow o'er my mood, When straight the sunlit floor Was darkened, and behold ! there stood An idiot at the door. * * ;;< * Yes ! the rapt soul that soars alone To heavenly ether free, Must with the grovelling idiot own Kindred humanity. By one high Will the blind are blind. And they that see do see, — Bow neath that universal Mind. Lord both of him and thee. Is 't clear within ? Bless we the light, And use it while we may ; Is't dark within? Curse not the night, But wait and hope for day. 38 AN INCIDENT AT PERUGIA. One only saddest close to avoid Still asks the trembling heart : " Ere this my temple be destroyed Let not its gods depart." XII. GWENTAVON GHYLL. Ask ye what crazed the maiden's brain ? It needs not that I tell again That old, old tale of sadness. Of innocence and guileless youth, Of blinding passion, crime and ruth. Desertion, scorn, and madness. Oft on the church's northern side, By a tiny grave at eventide, She sate when all was still ; But, shunning speech and sight of men. By day she sought the narrow glen They call Gwentavon Ghyll. 40 GWENTAVON GHYLL. On either side to gaunt grey rock Cling serpent-rooted birch and oak. Coiling round every rift ; Between, with roar like sprite distract. In one foam -sheeted cataract The stream its chasm hath cleft. Far overhead the feathered pine And stateliest larch all sunlit shine, Wave breeze-stirred to and fro ; Above, blue sky and branches green, And glistering spray and summer sheen : A black deep pool, below. With wildered gaze she tracked each spot. Like one that seeking findeth not, Still seeketh day by day ; That glen was all the world to her. For, as the story went, 'twas there The spoiler lured his prey. GWENTAVON GHVLL. 4 I Did fancy, gleaming o'er despair. Haunt that sole stream as though it were Type of her life and doom ; How one mad passion-plunge may fling From light and day, and breezy spring. To depths of sunless gloom ? Marked she a leaf with torrents' fray New-chafed, how motionless it lay Upon the pool's still breast, And deemed that after life's rude shocks In that calm haven 'neath the rocks She too might be at rest ? They sleep together side by side The unbaptized, the suicide, I' the churchyard's northern slope. Leave them to Him who loved the poor, With hope, which, though not " certain, sure," Is yet, for all that, Hope. XIII. I know of one whose heart is such. Its chords so delicately strung, That Nature's every lightest touch Wakes it to sympathy and song. I see her pausing ere she tread, For fear her dainty foot should scath The ant that trails his big white bead Along the pebbled garden-path. Brightest of all, she wakes to watch The footprints of the climbing dawn ; Sweetest, she wanders forth to catch The violet's breath upon the lawn. I KNOW OF ONE. 43 The faintest, farthest sounds, that swell From summer wave or woodland, hears That deep heart's depth where joy doth dwell With sadness, by the fount of tears. Tears that 'neath fringed lid the while Droop tremulous as in act to fall. Still glisten each with lustrous smile, Like sunbeam pent in crystal ball. Half-waking doth the baby god Hold with blind clasp her bosom thrall, That so it scattereth abroad The wealth one shall be dowered withal ? fairest prize of after-fate ! blest above his brethren he, On whom that soul shall concentrate Its passionate intensity ! XIV. THE TRYSTING-PLACE. " Nay, Lucy, never don thy cloak, For the rain is heating still Upon the broad houghs of our oak, And the loud winds sweep the hill. " Thou must not to the kirk away This Sabbath night so wild, But let us twain together pray, As in old days, my child." THE TRYSTING-PLACE. i-"> •• I care not for the beating rain, And the winds upon the hill ; This night there's never hurricane Shall bar me of my will." Weep, widowed mother, doubtfully. To think what marvel strange In her that wont so kind to be Hath wrought such woeful change. •• Nay, mother, heed not what I say When angrily I speak, Still let me feel when gone away Thy kiss upon my cheek." Weep, widowed mother, she is gone, Gone from thy cottage door ; Henceforward shall thy darling one Its threshold cross no more. 46 THE TRYSTING-PLACE. She follows not the kirkward path. But turns her hastily To where the hawthorn on the heath Shews dark against the sky. She goes all trust, his truth to prove. Who hath hy hasest stealth Beguiled from her more than love, Robbed her of more than wealth. He hath sworn to fly with her this night. In some far land to hide Her shame, and there with holiest rite To wed her for his bride. He waiteth for her by the tree — Is that a lover's face ? — With spade and mattock — what do they At lovers' trysting-place ? THE TRYSTING-PLACE. 47 Lo he is digging ere she come A pit both deep and wide ; O man, is that ' the quiet home' Thou promisedst thy bride ? The gloom of night that deed did shroud. Unseen of mortal eye, And none might hear, for the storm was loud. And drowned that dying cry. But God hath given the winds a tongue. And the stars have eyes to see. And the murderer's bones on a gibbet bung High o"er the hawthorn tree. LONELINESS. XV The house was prosperous of yore. And counted gallant knights a score Around their chief arrayed, But they are 'minished, one by one. And she at last is left alone, A richly dowered maid. Her mother is a saint above, Earth hath no portion in her love, And oftentimes she said, Ah me, this world is weary wide, Would in the low vault, side by side, T with my kin were laid ! " LONELINESS. 49 Yet gathered in her halls a crowd Officious, — dames with praises loud. And men with whispers low ; Still walked she mid the throng alone ; Their merry music changed its tone, And spake to her of woe. Till one there came whose earnest gaze Aye followed her through crowded ways, Sought her in lonely bower : Not for her castles, lands, or pelf — He wooed her for her own sweet self And heart, that priceless dower. Each speaking glance, each thrilling word, Far silent deeps of memory stirred, And once again for her That mother's voice caressed the child, That mother's face above her smiled, As in the days that were. D 50 LONELINESS. New hopes, new passions, from the tomb Of dead affection sprang to bloom, Wooed by such gentle breath ; Love culled the flowers, and deftly now Round throbbing breast and crimsoned brow- Twines them for bridal wreath. Like that lone dove far wandering, Her soul that found no living thing To rest on, in the waste, Now joyous hailed the sign which told Of fairer skies and waters rolled From earth's green lap at last. In a garden fair at eventide The bridegroom paces with his bride. Hands linked lovingly ; " The world so waste and wide before,*' She said, " is waste and wide no more — Thou art the world to me." XVI. YONDER. Our mirth had flashed as lightning bright. Our songs had pealed like thunder — There came a still small voice at night That bade me follow yonder. And now, when all is silence far, I wake, and gaze, and wonder, If every nearest brightest star Be some friend watching yonder. 52 YONDER. And whensoe'er the orb of day- Hath sunk the dark hills under, There beckons one long past away In rosy twilight yonder. When skies are fair and friends are kind. If chance my heart grow fonder Of this dear earth, the summer wind Whispers, " My home is yonder." Then leave me ; I would gradual break All earth-knit ties asunder, That unrepining I may take My lonely journey yonder. XVII. SONG. She stood beside the rolling flood, And I that loved stood by her ; I plucked a freshly dawning bud From off the trailing brier. " And take, - ' said I, " this gift from me, And think, as fades the flower, That in my heart thy memory Blooms brighter hour by hour." She sighed farewell, and I was gone — I paused to gaze behind, And saw her flinging, one by one, The rose-leaves on the wind ; 54 SONG. To flutter on the fickle wind, To fall in the rolling river, Then sink to depths where none may find A trace of them for ever. So smile a newer love to see, So sigh if he depart, And may he tear smiles, sighs, and thee, As lightly from his heart. XVIII. THE TEACHING OF NATURE. One curse still thrills night's silence through, One shadow dims the day, One sentence brands each fairest brow, — " Thou too shalt pass away." The loveliest summer day declines Toward a cheerless morrow, And where the sun of joyaunce shines Creeps on foreshade of sorrow. 56 THE TEACHING OF NATUKE. Yet from the East, where coming night Looms blackest, morn shall rise, And "neath the dead year's pall of white The young Spring cradled lies. Hoar frost may clothe the wint'ry hough With foliage of its own, And midnight hath more suns to show. A thousand-fold, than noon. The rain which stills the copse may wake Old voices of the hills, And glorify the moorland bleak, All silver-veined with rills. The light was born before the sun ; And where that light had birth, Far in pure ether, falls on none The shadow of the earth. THE TEACHING OF NATURE. 57 To trust in heaven unchanging, holy, Is sunshine to the breast, Through foulest clamps of melancholy, Clear-streaming to the last. Then mid all frosts, the heart of hearts Pulses with life-blood warm ; That beam an arch of hope imparts To span — to crown the storm. XIX. EDEN. O'er fevered brow and thirsting heart Sleep showered her kindly rain, While I, on silent couch apart, Gasped for her dews in vain. The troubles of the day-time past Thronged round me multiform, The very haven of my rest Was tossing with the storm. EDEN. 59 Listless I read by flickering light The prophet's earliest page, The birth of time, that garden bright, And the world's golden age. My lamp had failed ; yet none the less Sleep fled beyond my reach ; At last my utter weariness Did shape itself in speech : " Garden of Eden, blest abode, How sweet through untold hours Daylong thine incense rose to God From congregated flowers. " Fairest of all, a chosen few Shrank from the blaze of heaven, And held aloft for lustral dew Their jewelled cups at even. 60 EDEN. " Each in the twilight shining far, With all the Iris blent, Shewed like a rival evening star In nether firmament. " All varied forms of loveliness, All colours rich and ripe — No perfect grace, no mood of bliss, Lacked there its antitype. " Through all the harmonies of Nature No jarring dissonance ran, She imaged in each perfect feature The perfectness of man. " But now the flowers are faint of hue That prank the mossy sward ; Alas ! they have partaken too The fortunes of their Lord. EDEN. 61 " Now wildernesses wide and far By broad Euphrates lie ; Those swords of flame the portals bar And mock the searching eye." Then Sleep's slow fingers snapt in twain The thread sick fancy spun; At waking-hour 'twas knit again, All bright with morning sun : — " Still footprints of departed day Shine burnished in the west, Still doth the faded earth display Trace of her golden past. " For when the chosen place was made To share its tenants' doom, One flower of heavenly seed He bade Bright amid ruin bloom. 62 EDEN. " Not sun-displayed to vulgar eyes, But whosoe'er hath striven, A new Prometheus timely wise, To win a light from heaven. " Invisible to all the rest, It shines in primal beauty On him alone who makes his quest, Lit by the lamp of duty. " There are on earth that know it well, Though here no name 'tis given, And never mortal tongue may tell The name it bears in heaven. :i Thereby the wilderness ye tread Seems to the raptured sight, A world-wide Eden, heaven-fed, With rivers of delight. EDEN. 63 " bind it to your bosom now, A charm 'gainst hell's endeavour ; So shall ye wear it on your brow. A coronal for ever. " And not alone on distant hill, In silent forest glade, Mid woodland paths that onward still Wind into deeper shade, " But green on the dusty ways of life. Where countless feet have trode, Untrampled springs with fragrance rife That amaranth of God."' XX. GOOD NIGHT. " One of those same ' Goodnights.' " Sleep, for the day is setting Down the lonely west ; The birds, their song forgetting, Fold their wings to rest. Fear not for malice hatching Covert schemes of hell ; Love is beside thee watching — Sleep, for all is well. THE END. George Barclay, Castle Street, Leicester Square, London. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below plOm-ll, '50(2555)470 mm mm m mm ■ paw ill ■ vKvSiViV'. LITHOMOUNT PAMPHLET BINDER Manufactured by 3AYLORD BROS. Inc. Syracuse, N. Y. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 368 871 o PR h\63 C6h7s