'd57& ^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ys - L5 7 g Shelfi.Ca.., UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. £C . , iop/ THE CHILDREN OUT-OF-DOORS. The Children Out-of-doors Si Book of (Iiei0e0 BY TWO IN ONE HOUSE CINCINNATI ROBERT CLARKE & CO. 1885 Copyright. CONTENTS The Children Out-of-doors, 11 Two Chapters of History, . 17 The Sunshine of Shadows, . 21 In Winter Night, 25 Half-Lives, .... 29 Two Sisters, .... 33 The Outside of the Window, 37 In Field and Highway:— A Country Girl, 41 Ruth, .... 42 One Behind Time, . 43 vi CONTENTS. II. PAGE The Fairy's Gift, . . . . .49 The Thought of Astyanax beside Iulus, . .55 A Neighbourhood Incident, . . .59 His Mother's Way, . . , . .65 In Street and Garden : — A Child's Conclusion, . . . .71 Self-comforted, . . . . .72 Little Guido's Lost Pictures, . , .72 The Christening, ..... 75 The Little Cowherd, . . . .79 Two Visions of Fairyland, . . .8.3 The Child in the Street, . . . 84 Notes, . . . . . . .87 tttttttttttttttttttttttttttt I. tttttttttttttttttttttttttttt THE CHILDREN OUT-OF-DOORS THE CHILDEEN OUT-OF-DOOES.d) Their wandering cries are in the windy street ; (0 faces wan and sweet !) What ear doth stoop to listen, eye to mark Those footsteps in the dark ? In my warm room, full-filled with childish glee. The still thought troubles me : These children I call mine ; what parent yours, Ye children out-of-doors ? Fatherless, motherless, shelterless, unfed Save crusts of bitter bread ! How dare I rest, my lids to sleep resign ? — Are ye not also mine 1 11 12 THE CHILDREN OUT-OF-DOORS. II. Who is it, in the deep-breathed winter night, While snow lies starry-bright, Knocks at my door *? (Or did a passing wind Deceive my empty mind ?) It is a little child, sore-pinched with cold. Ragged and hunger-bold, Houseless and friendless goes from door to door. Knocking, as oft before. "Arise, and let Him in !" a voice is heard, At which my sleep was stirred A little, oh a little 1 and my heart Beat with a quickening start. " Arise, and let Him in !'' — a voice, no more, Sleep double-locks the door ; And Christ, who, child-like, piteously came, Leaves me to waking shame. THE CHILDREN OUT-OF-DOORS. 13 III. He, born in each of these, the Son of God, Walks, so disguised, abroad ; Dwells in mean places, nursed by cold and want, Abused, half -naked, gaunt. He goes, a homeless child, to happy homes, Whence light, with laughter, comes From blissful hearths, through many a shining pane. He waits, in frost or rain. Blessed they are who hearken when He knocks, And open eager locks ; Who bid from out-of-doors the stranger come. And give the homeless home. Oh, blessed they who in His piteous guise The Wanderer recognise ; The Light of the World through conscious doors they win Who rise and let Him in ! 14 THE CHILDREN OUT-OF-DOORS. IV. Their wandering cries are in the windy street ; (0 faces wan and sweet !) What ear doth stoop to listen, eye to mark Those footsteps in the dark ? In my warm room, full-filled with childish glee, The still thought troubles me : These children I call mine ; what parent yours, Ye children out-of-doors ? Fatherless, motherless, shelterless, unfed Save crusts of bitter bread ! How dare I rest, my lids to sleep resign 1 — Are ye not also mine ] TWO CHAPTERS OF HISTORY 17 TWO CHAPTERS OF HISTORY (for a little boy at CHRISTMAS-TIME), I. Two Kings ruled in an Eastern land, King Gentle Heart, King Mighty Hand. With Mighty Hand the King, how fast The fertile fields to deserts passed I Birds flew distraught and blossoms failed The mothers wept, the children wailed ; All harvesters an armed band, The sword was in the reaper's hand ; — There shone no joyous Christmas-Day When Mighty Hand the King had sway. n. Two Kings ruled in an Eastern land, King Gentle Heart, King Mighty Hand. With Gentle Heart the King, again The desert grew a harvest plain ; B 18 TWO CHAPTERS OF HISTORY. Bees hummed, the blossom apples made ; Birds put delight in sun and shade ; Mothers o'er cradles crooning hung ; Strong men in wheat-fields reaping sung ; — Then Christmas came, the Children's Day, When Gentle Heart the King had sway. ^ THE SUNSHINE OF SHADOWS 21 THE SUNSHINE OF SHADOWS. (2) (on a photograph of three children.) Three children's shadow-faces look From my familiar picture-book : Far from their father's threshold sweet I found them in a noisy street. ^' Dear children, come with me," I said, " And make my home your own instead ; Your gentle looks, your tender words, Shall mate the sunbeams, charm the birds." They came, but never lip is stirred With merry laugh or mirthful word : As in a trance at me they look Whene'er I ope their prisoning book. But as I gaze, in reverie bound, The silence overflows with sound ; From garden haunts of birds and bees Hum voices through the blossoming trees. 22 THE SUNSHINE OF SHADOWS. Like waters heard when breezes blow, Light laughters waver to and fro ; Then, when my dream is gone, I say — " Some wind has blown the sound away. For the light breeze, alighting brief, Turns with its sudden wings the leaf, And, like a passing sunshine, they Seem so to shout and fly away ! 1864. IN WINTER NIGHT 25 IN WINTER NIGHT. We walk in the Winter wind to-night ; Our hearts have wings, we have footsteps light ; The stars of home in our breasts arise — The window-stars shine into our eyes. The gaslights stoop and flare in the wind, The flying snow makes the long street blind ; Our faces warm with fireside glow — Our hearth-fires dance at home, we know. Hark to the feet that past us move, Echoes of hapless hearts above 1 Faces come gleaming into our own And vanish ; — we hear the feet alone. No glamour of firelight, sweet and warm, Defends these walkers in the storm ; — In Winter wind, through the icy street, Ah, hopeless hearts ! ah, homeless feet ! HALF-LIVES 29 HALF-LIVES. Two were they, two ; — but one They might have been. Each knew The other's spirit fittest mate, apart. Ah, hapless ! though once jealous Fortune drew Them almost heart to heart, In a brief-lighted sun ! IL So near they came, and then — they are So far ! They seemed like two who pass, Each on a world-long journey opposite, Their two trains hurrying dark With far-drawn roar through the dread deeps of night, 30 HALF-LIVES. (Oh, faces close — they almost touched, alas ! Oh, hands that might have thrilled with meeting spark ! Oh, lips that might have kissed ! Oh, eyes with folded sight. Dreaming some vision bright !) In mystery and in mist. TWO SISTERS 33 TWO SISTERS. They were two sisters, twins of a sweet mother, Who gave to everything their wandering glad- ness, Wreathing their infant arms about each other, — Charmed with quick light each shadow-shape of sadness. Now, having gathered childhood's blossoming years Into their hearts, the one, ofttimes, alone. Wears on her face high music of far spheres, Into the still night's holy silence grown : Angels of Heaven white-winged walk through her soul. Dancing her way, the other, breaking through That starry atmosphere, with bright control. Shows her the fairy people of moon and dew. c 34 TWO SISTERS. This loves the sunshine, merry-footed where The wild-bee haunts ^ with her the brook is mated, — Look, how she chases new-flowered butterflies, Laughs like the brook and shakes her wind-caught hair; Or, blowing bubbles, hails them worlds created, Peopled with her gay thoughts, their suns her happy eyes ! THE OUTSIDE OF THE WINDOW 37 THE OUTSIDE OF THE WINDOW. They stand at the window, peering, And pressing against the pane Their beautiful childish faces : Without are the night and rain. They stand at the window, peering : What see they, the children, there ] A room full of happy faces, A room full of shining air ! A room full of warmth and brightness, A room full of pleasant sights, — Of pictures and statues and vases. And shadows at play with the lights. But sweetest of all, to their gazing, (So near, they seem part of them there !) Is the room full of happy faces In the room full of shining air. 38 THE OUTSIDE OF THE WINDOW. Ah me ! my precious observers, Another sidit I shall find " What is it ]" I dread to tell you, And, oh ! it were sweet to be blind ! From the lighted room, through the window, I see, and have seen them of old, A world full of wretched faces, A world full of darkness and cold : A world full of cold and darkness, A world full of dreary sights, — No pictures, nor statues, nor vases. But shadows that put out the lights. Ah, saddest of all, through the window (They seem with us, so near !) I behold A world full of wretched faces In a world full of darkness and cold ! IN FIELD AND HIGHWAY 41 IN FIELD AND HIGHWAY. I. A COUNTRY GIRL. Sunburnt ! The lily wears no parasol, And yet is she the whitest flower of all ; And the rose loses not her delicate blood, Though green leaves are her seldom gypsy hood. Margaret's was like the April's spirit in May, Tenderly bright, gracious and softly gay ; Her smile was the utterance of a soul, unheard, That does not need to speak its gentle word : That word which, spoken, then would be as mild As when an angel speaks unto a child — As simple as the child's that does not know It is an angel whom it answers so. Her eyes were mirrors made for innocence To see itself in holy confidence. 42 IN FIELD AND HIGHWAY. IL RUTH. (for a picture.) Oh, beautiful to-day she stands, That Gleaner of far days of old, In Oriental harvest-lands, Framed in the harvest gold 1 The Evening folds her tenderly In holy calms of breathless air. And only pensive-throated birds Seem chanting to her there ! The twilight thick with banded sheaves, (Half hidden amid its dusky glow,) With tremulous hush of darkling leaves,- How solitary ! Lo ! She breathes for ever ! They are gone — The Eeapers — their last harvest o'er, While in the field of Memory stands The Gleaner evermore I IN FIELD AND HIGHWAY. 43 III. ONE BEHIND TIME. (by the roadside.) WORLD upon the hurrying train, Fly on your way ! For me, A saunterer through the slighted lane, A dreamer, let me be. My footsteps pass away in flowers — So fragrant all I meet ! Use the quick minutes of your hours, — The days die here so sweet 1 ■»-■— -^i-*- —.1^ ^1^ .—I.— ^1^ ^1—. .^1.^ .^1.^ .^j^ .^i.» .^.1.^. .^1^ .^1.^ .^1.^ ^1.^ ^.i.^ .^1.^ ^1.^ ^1.^ .^1.^ ^fci^ .^1.^ ^.1.^ ■— t^ ^1^ —1^ ^ r^vi r^vi r^vf r^^p r^VY r^vi r^Bi r^Hi r^Hi r^Hi r^Hi r^Bi r^Hi r^Hi r^Hi r^Hi r^Hi rav II 45 THE FAIRY'S GIFT THE FAIRY'S GIFT. (a story told to a little boy.) Above his cradle such a glimmer of green As might be worn in May by elfin folk His mother in the dew had sometimes seen, And in her heart she knew their threshold oak Held some leaf-coloured eerie hood and cloak. For once, when in a wood at dusk she found And cared with tears for the forlornest bird, That sang the sweeter through the huntsman's wound, A promise made of music she had heard — Too fine to trust to any mortal word. But through the window of a dream, alack ! Her brooding secret flew at Jast ; and when Could any woman call a secret back ? Her peasant husband lordliest of men Grew, as he whispered the weird story, then. D 50 THE fairy's gift. He talked of days when under his own vine (The fig-tree did not grow in that North land) He should sit down and drink a baron's wine, Or climb his feudal stairs, you understand, With gold to scatter from his gracious hand. Meanwhile he folded his strong arms and swore The earth might all run wild, he did not care ; For he had seen, just three times and no more, Under the moon, around his baby's hair A coil of gold such as a king might wear. And the young Princess Beautiful (even she, The one you know !) would certainly come down From her dim palace, in the time to be, And kindly offer him her father's crown ; Spite of that aged man's imperial frown. So year by year, as blacker grew the bread, The growing boy seemed stronger, I confess ; Though with what fare the gentle child was fed The wisest of the people could not guess. (Did honey-dews drop in that wilderness 1) THE fairy's gift. 51 Oh, much the women wondered that they found So little beauty in his brown, shy face. How should a head like his be ever crowned When there were brighter almost any place 1 (True, he was half a bird in voice and grace.) Yet if he only touched the wildest rose The blossom seemed enchanted by his hand. . . . And still the Princess came not. I suppose She feared her greybeard father, whose command Had bound the wrong ring on her hapless hand. But once in a rude chapel there had been A wedding. He was not the groom that day. The loveliest maiden that was ever seen Lifted her eyes, and as he looked away His face flushed like a flower, the old people say. What did he do ? As years and years went by He tended sheep for some small insolent lord (And loved the lambs), until there went a cry That said : " There is no help — take up the sword." Was he a General, too ] No, on my word ! 52 THE fairy's gift. And in the fight, with his last breath he sent The water that his mouth had burned for so Unto another soldier. Oh, I meant Sir Philip Sidney ? But I did not, though : — I meant a greater with no name, you know. The people murmured after he was dead, Saying, " He helped us. Did the Fairy, then, Forget to help him V But a faint voice said, Out of his mother's lips, " I say again, Never did Fairy break an oath to men. '' The sweetest gift she promised him — and, oh ! The sweetest gift she gave him upon earth. Could this be gold or glory % Surely, no ; Your king could tell you what these things are worth. Shivering to-night beside his lonesome hearth." What can it be, then, if it was not gold. Nor pearl, nor anything, — you ask of me % The sweetest thing on earth you cannot hold Out in your hand for all the world to see. He hid it in his heart. What could it be ] THE THOUGHT OF ASTYANAX BESIDE liJLUS 55 THE THOUGHT OF ASTYANAX BESIDE IULUS.(3) (after reading Virgil's story of andromache in exile. ) Yes, all the doves begin to moan, — But it is not the doves alone. Some trouble, that you never heard In any tree from breath of bird, That reaches back to Eden lies Between your wind-flower and my eyes. I fear it was not well, indeed, Upon so sad a day to read So sad a story. But the day Is full of blossoms, do you say, — And how the sun does shine ? I know. These things do make it sadder, though. You 'd cry, if you were not a boy. About this mournful tale of Troy 1 ' Then do not laugh at me, if I — Who am too old, you know, to cry — Just hide my face a while from you, Down here among these drops of dew. 56 THE THOUGHT OF ASTYANAX BESIDE lULUS. . . . Must I for sorrow look so far ? This baby headed like a star, Afraid of Hector's horse-hair plume (His one sweet child, whose bitter doom So piteous seems — oh, tears and tears ! — ) Has he been dust three thousand years ? Yet when I see his mother fold The pretty cloak she stitched with gold Around another boy, and say : " He would be just your age to-day, With just your hands, your eyes, your hair " Her grief is more than I can bear. A NEIGHBOURHOOD INCIDENT 59 A NEIGHBOUEHOOD INCIDENT. ^' Did you know, Mamma, that the man was dead In that pretty place, there under the hill % " " So, with only the clouds to cover his head, He died down there in that old stone mill ; He died, in the wind and sleet, and — mark This truth, fair sirs — in the dark. " (Yes, a pretty place !) In the summer-time, When the birds sing out of the leaves for joy, And the blue mid morning-glories climb On the broken walls, it is pretty, my boy : But not when the world around is snow And the river is ice below. " Men looked sometimes from the morning cars Toward the place where he lay in the winter sun. And said, through the smoke of their dear cigars, That something really ought to be done. Then talked of the President, or the plaj^, Or the war — that was farthest away." 60 A NEIGHBOURHOOD INCIDENT. " Do you know when his father wanted some bread, One time, by the well there ? Wasn't he old ! I mean that day when the blossoms were red On the cliffs, and it wasn't so very cold." " And I gave him the little I well could spare When I looked at his face and hair. " Then we met him once — it was almost night — Out looking for berries among the briers, So withered and weird, such a piteous sight, And gathering wood for their gypsy fires. ' No, the young man is no better. No, no,' He would keep on saying, so low." ^' But the women there would not work, they say." " Why, that is the story ; but, if it be true, There are other women, I think, to-day Who will not work, yet, their whole lives through. All lovely things from the seas and lands Drop into their idle hands. " But these would not work, so their brother — and ours — Deserved to die in that desolate place ? Shall we send regrets and the usual flowers ? Shall we stop and see the upbraiding face, A NEIGHBOUKHOOD INCIDENT. 61 As it lies in the roofless room forlorn, For the sake of a dead man's scorn 1 " He did his best^ as none will deny, At serving the Earth to pay for his breath ; So she gave him early (and why not, why 1) The one thing merciful men call Death. Ah ! gift that must be gracious indeed, Since it leaves us nothing to need ! " . . .As for us, sweet friends, let us dress and sleep. Let us praise our pictures and drink our wine. Meanwhile, let us drive His starving sheep To our good Lord Christ, on the heights divine ; For the flowerless valleys are dim and drear. And the winds right bitter, down here." North Bend, Ohio. HIS MOTHER'S WAY Go HIS MOTHER'S WAY.c^) " My Mamma just knows how to cry About an old glove or a ring, Or even a stranger going by The gate, or — almost anything ! " She cried till both her eyes were red About him, too. (I saw her, though 1) And he was just a , Papa said. (We have to call them that, you know.) '^ She cried about the shabbiest shawl, Because it cost too much to buy ; But Papa cannot cry at all. For he 's a man. And that is why ! " Why, if his coat was not right new, And if the yellow bird would die That sings, and my white kitten too, Or even himself, he would not cry. E 66 HIS mother's way. " He said that he would sleep to-night With both the pistols at his head, Because that ragged fellow might Come back. That 's what my Papa said ! " But Mamma goes and hides her face There in the curtains, and peeps out At him, and almost spoils the lace; — And he is what she cries about ! '' She says he looks so cold, so cold, And has no pleasant place to stay 1 Why can't he work 1 He is not old ; His eyes are blue — they've not turned grey." So the boy babbled. . . . Well, sweet sirs. Flushed with your office-fires you write Your laugh down at such grief as hers ; But are these women foolish quite 1 1 know. But, look you, there may be Stains sad as wayside dust, I say, Upon your own white hands (ah, me !) No woman's tears can wash away. HIS mother's way. 67 One sees her baby's dimple hold More love than you can measure. . . . Then Nights darken down on heads of gold, Till wind and frost try wandering men ! But there are prisons made for such, Where the strong roof shuts out the snow ; And bread (that you would scorn to touch) Is served them there ? I know, I know. Ah ! while you have your books, your ease. Your lamp-light leisure, jests, and wine, ' Fierce outside whispers, if you please, Moan, each: "These things are also mine!" IN STREET AND GARDEN 71 IN STREET AND GARDEN. A CHILD'S CONCLUSION. " Mamma," he said, ^' you ought to know The place. It 's name is wicked, though. Not China. No. But if you fell Through China you would be there ! Well. " Fred said somebody very bad, Named Satan, stayed down there, and had Oh, such a fire to burn things ! You Just never mind. It can't be true. '^ Because I Ve digged and digged to see Where all that fire could ever be, And looked and looked down through the dark, And never saw a single spark. " But Heaven is sure ; because if I Look up, I always see the sky — Sometimes the gold-gates shine clear through — And when you see a thing, it 's true !" 72 IN STREET AND GARDEN. II. SELF-COMFORTER The ragged child across the street Stared at the child that looked so sweet : " 1 11 have a whiter dress than you, And wear some prettier rosebuds, too ; " And not be proud a bit," she said, " I thank you, miss, — when I am dead." III. LITTLE GUIDO'S LOST PICTURES. The world may keep the best he gave to it. That may be worth the world itself. Who knows ? Here, you who are his namesake, come and sit, And read about him, by this budding rose. The world may keep the Aurora. As for me, I 'd rather see the pictures that he drew In the divine dust, there, of Italy, When Guido was a sweet, dark boy like you. THE CHRISTENING 75 THE CHRISTENING. In vain we broider cap and cloak, and fold The long robe, white and rare; In vain we serve on dishes of red gold, Perhaps, the rich man's fare ; In vain we bid the fabled folk who bring All gifts the world holds sweet : This one, forsooth, shall give the child to sing ; To move like music this shall charm its feet ; This help the cheek to blush, the heart to beat. Unto the christening there shall surely come The Uninvited Guest, The evil mother, weird and wise, with some Sad purpose in her breast. 76 THE CHRISTENING. Yea, and though every spinning-wheel be stilled In all the country round, Behold, the prophecy must be fulfilled ; The turret with the spindle will be found, And the white hand will reach and take the wound. THE LITTLE COWHERD 79 THE LITTLE COWHERD. ** Come, look at her and you will love her. Go, lead her now through pleasant places, And teach her that our new- world's clover Is sweet as Jersey Island daisies. ** Yes, you may do a little playing Close to the gate, my pretty warder ; But, meanwhile, keep your cow from straying Across the elfin people's border." So to the boy his mother jested About his light task, lightly heeding. While in the flowering grass he rested The magic book that he was reading. At sundown for the cow's returning The milkmaid waited long, I 'm thinking. Hours later, by the moon's weird burning, Did fairy-folk have cream for drinking "? 80 THE LITTLE COWHERD. . . . What of the boy ? By hill and hollow, Through bloom and brier, till twilight ended, His book had charmed him on to follow The cow — the one that Cadmus tended ! TWO VISIONS OF FAIRYLAND F 83 TWO VISIONS OF FAIEYLAND. One with her blue, faint eyes could dream too much ; One, rosily sun-stained, wanted things to touch. She met him on the stair with half a blush : "How late you sleep!" he said. She whispered ''Hush; " I read that painted book last night, and so I dreamed about Prince Charming" "Did you, though ? " Why, I was wide awake in time to see All Fairyland ! I wish you 'd been with me." " What was it like V " Oh, it was green and still. With rocks and wild red roses and a hill, " And some shy birds that sang far up the air — And such a river, all in mist, was there.'' "Where was it?" "Why, the moon went down on one Side, and upon the other rose the sun !" "How does one get there?" "Oh, the path lies through The dawn, you little sleeper, and the dew.'' THE CHILI) IN THE STREET, Even as tender parents lovingly Send a dear child in some true servant's care Forth on the street, for larger light and air, Feeling the sun her guardian will he, And dreaming with a blushful pride that she Will earn sweet smiles and glances everyivhere, From loving faces, and that passers fair Will bend, and bless, and hiss her, when they see, And ash her name, and if her home is near. And thinh, " gentle child, how blessed are they Whose twofold love bears up a single flower /" And so with softer musing move away : We send thee forth, Booh, thy little hour — The world may pardon us to hold thee dear. 84 NOTES TO POEMS f2 NOTES. (^) Read at the opening of The Children's Home Fair, Cincinnati, Ohio, April 1879. (2) The children of the poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, photographed from a portrait painted by Thomas Buchanan Head. Mr. Longfellow alludes as follows to this little piece in a letter dated April 6, 1866 : '' Among these [the poems] is one which makes me feel a little— no, not a little— re- morseful. It is ' The Sunshine of Shadows,' which you were kind enough to send me— how long ago I do not wish to remember— and for wliich I never thanked you by letter, though I did often in my heart. Pardon the neglect in one who has a great deal of writing to do, and a great manj interruptions to prevent him from doing it. Accept my thanks now ; no less sincere because tardy." (3) The pathetic little episode to which this piece refers is related in the third book of Virgil's jEneicl, lines 482-492, where the poet describes ^neas meeting Andromache durmg his wanderings, after the fall of Troy, with his son Ascanius (also called liilus). To the latter Andromache gives some garments wrought by herself, and in presenting them she recalls her own boy Astyanax, who, in obedience to an oracle, had been thrown headlong from the walls of the Trojan city and killed. This was after the death of Hector, his father, whose parting with Andromache— in which the child "headed like a star," together with "the horse-hair plume," is mentioned — forms one of the most famous passages in the Iliad of Homer. The description in Virgil is literally 87 88 NOTES. as follows : ** Andromache, sad with the last parting, brings garments figured over with golden embroidery and a Phrygian cloak for Ascanius, and loads him with woven gifts, and thus speaks, — 'Take these too, my boy, and may they be to thee mementoes of my handiwork, and bear witness to the lasting love of Andromache, Hector's wife ; take these last gifts of thy friend, O only image remaining to me of my Astyanax. Just such eyes, just such hands, just such features he had, and he would now be growing up in equal age with thee.'" (^) Written after reading certain newspaper discussions as to the treatment of the " tramp." BY THE SAME AUTHORS. JOHN JAMES PIATT'S POEMS. Western Windows, AND OTHER Poems. 1vol., 16mo. $1.50. The Lost Farm : Landmarks, and other Poems. 1 vol. , 16mo. $1. 50. Poems of House and Home. 1 vol., 16mo. $1-50. Idyls and Lyrics of the Ohio Valley. 1 vol., 16mo. SL25. * ' He has drawn his inspiration from the scenes Avith which he has been familiar. His poems are totally unlike the products of the Atlantic coast ; they have a racy flavour of their own, and are a positive addition to our national literature." — Underwood's " Hand-book of English Literature." "And so the lovely home-feeling of many of the other poems seems to hang a new garland on every domestic altar." — The (New York) Independent. Mrs. S. M. B. PIATT'S POEMS. A Woman's Poems. 1 vol., 16mo. $1.50. A Voyage to the Fortunate Isles, etc. 1 vol., 16mo. $1.50. That New World, and other Poems. 1 vol., 16mo. $1.50. Dramatic Persons AND Moods. 1 vol., 16mo. $1.25. Poems in Company with Children. 1 vol., small quarto. $1.25. " Since Mrs. Browning no woman has given a more impassioned expression— and with more grace and beauty of poetic form— to some of the profoundest instincts of the womanly nature."— r?^e Library Table. "Her strain is as beautiful as it is singular; there is not in English poetry one more original, more purely the singer's own." — Springfield (Mass.) Republican. "She has a special gift of seeing into a child's heart, and her songs to or about children are full of the heaven that lies about us in our infancy."— jE. C. Stedman. FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. T. AND A. CONSTABLE, PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY. |iaLSL^°j'.?BE« 016 165 531