Story of Acontius and Cydippe, the Man who never Laughed Again, the Lovers of Gudrun, &c. Part IV., or Winter, December, Janu ary, and February,' contains the Story of the Golden Apples, the Fostering of Aslang, Bellerophon at Argos, Bellerophon in Lycia, the Hill of Venus, &c. In this mixture of classic and Gothic fable, and in the number of tales in each part, the reader has variety enough in the Earthly Paradise,' but the poem is too long ever to obtain general popularity. July. Fair was the morn to-day, the blossom's scent Peace and content without us, love within, E'en now the west grows clear of storm and threat, Ah, he shall rise again for ages yet, He cannot waste his life-but thou and I Who knows next morn if this felicity "ake heed of how the daisies grow, The death of threescore years and ten, To what a heaven the earth might grow, FRANCIS BRET HARTE. An American humorist, somewhat in the style of Professor Lowell, has recently appeared in the pages of the Californian and United States journals, and whose fame soon spread to this country. FRANCIS BRETE HARTE was born in Albany. New York. in 1831. His works have been republished in 1871 and 1872, by two London booksellers (Hotten, and Routledge & Co.), and consist of East and West,' That Heathen Chinee,' Truthful James,' The Luck of Roaring Camp,' &c. A prose work, 'Condensed Novels,' is a travesty of some popular works of fiction. We subjoin one of Bret Harte's graver effusions: A Sanitary Message. Last night, above the whistling wind, I heard the welcome rain A fusilade upon the roof, A tattoo on the pane: The key-hole piped: the chimney-top Yet, mingling with these sounds of strife ⚫ Give thanks, O brothers!' said the voice, 'I come to wash away no stain I raise no banners save the ones Upon the mountain-side, where Spring Her farthest picket sets, 'I visit every humble roof; My blessings fall in snow; And thus all night, above the wind, A fusilade upon the ro f, A tattoo on the pane: The key-hole piped; the chimney-top But, mingling with these sounds of strife, This hymn of peace stole through. ELIZA COOK-MRS. PARKES BELLOE-MISS HUME-MISS PROCTER-ISA CRAIG-KNOX-JEAN INGELOW-MRS. WEBSTER. In poetry, as in prose fiction, ladies crowd the arena, and contend for the highest prizes. Among other fair competitors are the following: In 1840 MISS ELIZA COOK (born in Southwark, London, about 1818) published a volume of miscellaneous poems, entitled 'Melaia, and other Poems.' A great number of small pieces have also been contributed by Miss Cook to periodical works; and in 1849 she established a weekly periodical, Eliza Cook's Journal,' which enjoyed considerable popularity from 1849 until 1854, when ill health compelled Miss Cook to give it up. In 1864 she published a second vo fume of poems, New Echoes,' &c.; and the same year a pension of £100 a year was settled on the authoress. And oh, Will Watch, the smuggler bold,' I doted on the Auld Scots' Sonnet,' Old songs! old songs !-my brain has lost Of Murray's books and Trimmer's schools; The mere remembrance of a slate! How have I cast from woman's thought Of Rest thee, babe,' or Robin Gray.' And the blithe boy that praised her song Old songs! old songs!-I should not sigh; Joys of the earth on earth must die; But spectral forms will sometimes start Within the caverns of the heart, Haunting the lone and darkened cell Where, warm in life, t ey used to dwell, Hope, youth, love, home each human tie That binds we know not how or why All, all that to the soul belongs Is closely mingled with Old Songs.' BESSIE RAYNER PARKES (now Mrs. Belloe), the daughter of the late Joseph Parkes of the Court of Chancery (1796-1865), is author of Poems,' 1855; Gabriel,' 1856; The Cat Aspasia' (a prose story); 'Ballads and Songs,' 1863; 'La Belle France,' 1868; &c. As a poetess, this lady is of the romantic and imaginative school of Shelley-to whose memory her poem of Gabriel' is dedicated. She has been an assiduous labourer in the cause of social amelioration and female improvement.-MISS MARY C. HUME, daughter of the late Joseph Hume, M.P., in 1858 published 'Normiton, a dramatic poem, with other pieces.-ADELAINE ANNE PROCTER (1825-1864) was author of Legends and Lyrics, a Book of Verse,' 1858. This lady was the accomplished daughter of Barry Cornwall,' and her poetry had much of the paternal grace and manner.-ISA CRAIG (now Mrs. Knox), author of Poems,' 1856, is a native of Edinburgh, born October 17, 1831. While working as a seamstress, this lady contributed poems, reviews, and essays to the Scotsman' newspaper, and was warmly befriended by the late Mr. Ritchie, proprietor of that journal. She afterwards removed to London, and officiated as assistant-secretary of the Association for the Promotion of Social Science. She was the fortunate poetess who carried off the prize (£50) for the best poem at the Crystal Palace celebration of the Burns Centenary, January 25, 1859.-MISS JEAN INGELOW, a native of Ipswich, Suffolk, born about 1830, has written a volume of Poems, She has 1863, which ran_through_fourteen editions in five years. also written A Story of Doom, and other Poems,' 1867; 'Mopsa the Fairy,' 1869; several prose stories, and numerous contributions to periodical works. Robin Hood.-By MISS PARKES. In a fair wood like this where the beeches are growing, Down his broad shoulders his brown locks fell flowing, His eye was as blue as the sky in midsummer, His step had a strength and his smile had a sweetness, And ever to poets who walk in the gloaming Then Robin stole forth in his quaint forest fashion, And in mystical whispers awakened the passion We follow the lead unawares of his spirit, I think as I lie in the shade of the beeches, At least for a while, till we caught up the meaning, A Doubting Heart.-By MISS PROCTER. Where are the swallows fled? Frozen and dead, Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore. Going Out and Coming In.-By ISA CRAIG-KNOX. In that home was joy and sorrow Where an infant first drew breath, While an aged sire was drawing Near unto the gate of death." His feeble pulse was failing.. And his eye was growing dim; While to murmur forth a blessing On the path they both begin, Going out unto the triumph, When he passed through the dread portas, And to him who bravely conquers On the path we all begin, Song.-By MISS INGELOW. When sparrows build, and the leaves break forth, For I know there is dawn in the far, far north, And a scarlet sun doth rise; Like a scarlet fleece the snow-field spreads, And the icy founts run free, And the bergs begin to bow their heads, And plunge, and sail in the sea. |