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 OLD BOOK SHOP 
 
 2130 Oxford St., 
 Berkeley, . 
 

ELLESLEY 
 LYRICS. 
 
 POEMS-WRITTEN-BY-SrVDENTS 
 ANDGRADVATES-OFWELLESLEY 
 COLLEGE,WITH-!NTR.ODVCT1ON 
 BY ALICE-FREE MAN-PALMER; 
 PH.D. L.H.D. 
 
 CHQSEN-AND-PVBLISHED. 
 BYCOR.DELIA-C 
 
COPYRIGHTED 1896 
 
 BY 
 CORDELIA C. NEVERS. 
 
 FRANK WOOD, PRINTER, 
 BOSTON. 
 
TO 
 THE MEMORY OF 
 
 fienrp foiule Durant 
 
 THE POET 
 
 WHOSE POEM WAS WELLESLEY COLLEGE 
 THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY 
 
 Dedicated 
 
 264026 
 
Alt, pause a moment I reverently listen 
 To one dear voice whose music lingers low 
 Wherever W aborts tranquil waters glisten, 
 Or Wabarfs violets grow. 
 
 Where'er the cross uplifts its death-won splendor 
 On these fair towers, that thrilling voice is heard, 
 Urging, in tones unutterably tender, 
 The same familiar word : 
 
 " Christ first, my children! 11 O thou star like spirit, 
 Gone with thy kindred stars to shine and burn, 
 May we, who now thy life and love inherit, 
 Thy deepest lesson learn! 
 
 Christ first and last ; His will our quenchless glory ; 
 His mission ours ; His service for our throne* 
 Why doubt we of our days 1 unfinished story ? 
 'Tis written in His own. 
 
 MARION PEL TON GUILD. 
 
EVERY college has its two sides. On the one 
 hand, it is a place of lectures, libraries, labora- 
 tories, professors, studying students; a place for the 
 acquisition of knowledge, and for increasing the extent 
 of what is already known. Science dominates it, 
 irrespective of temperaments, wishes, and emotions. 
 On the other hand, it is a place where live the 
 chosen and ardent young; where life is maturing, 
 friendships forming, aspirations taking shape, the 
 ideals of the home for the first time comparing 
 themselves with those of the larger world. Here 
 dwell hope, admiration, intimacy with noble books 
 and persons, while gladness in these, and a daily 
 new sense of personal power, spread everywhere an 
 air of romance and of expanded existence. On the 
 former of these two sides, the studious, examinations 
 report, and the college records. Such little books as 
 this collection of verses tell the story of the other, 
 the human and romantic. 
 
For in these poems we catch sight not only of a 
 multitude of incidents in the daily life of a company 
 of brilliant girls, but we are permitted to know the 
 girls themselves, to share their dreams, their friend- 
 ships, their merriment, their religious aspiration, 
 their ordered thought, natural English, and charm- 
 ing rhythms. He would be a hard person to please 
 who did not enjoy society so cultured, so witty, so 
 truly womanly, too. Let whoever fears that college 
 life will render girls unfeminine, read and be reas- 
 sured. And let him, too, read who already knows 
 that an earnest, intellectual life furnishes the proper 
 nutriment to vigorous health, happy dispositions, 
 warm affections, winning graces, and devout hearts. 
 This is the soil and these the products of the Col- 
 lege Beautiful. 
 
 ALICE FREEMAN PALMER. 
 
Contents. 
 
 " Agnus Dei." Josepha Virginia Sweetser .... 78 
 
 All Hail to the College Beautiful. Katharine Lee Bates . 38 
 
 All-Hallow E'en. Agnes S. Cook 94 
 
 Alma Mater. Anne Barrett Hughes 109 
 
 Alone. Maud Thompson 71 
 
 Angelus, The. Josephine P. Simrall 40 
 
 Apart. Gertrude Spalding Henderson 114 
 
 April. Mary Russell Bartlett 74 
 
 At Sunset. Edith E. Tuxbury 129 
 
 Barriers. Helen Worthington Rogers 68 
 
 Beatrice Portinari. Mary S. Daniels 09 
 
 Birthday in Heaven, The. Mary Wright Plummer . . . 134 
 
 Boating Song. Kent Dunlap Hagler 118 
 
 Boo! Hoo! (A Wellesley Glee) 92 
 
 By the Roadside. Louise R. Loomis 103 
 
 By Waban Banks. Lillian Corbett Barnes . . . .124 
 
 Canterbury Tales, The. Ada May Krecker .... 56 
 
 Carol, A. Harriot Brewer Sterling 90 
 
 Chaucer. Mary Hollands McLean 104 
 
 Corot. Clara Brewster Potwin 139 
 
 Compensation. Alice Welch Kellogg 88 
 
 Compensation. Mabel A. Carpenter 33 
 
 Consolation. Agnes E. Wood 143 
 
 Country Children. Mary Allison Bingham .... 80 
 Crossing the Ocean. Charlotte Fitch Roberts . . . .149 
 
 Culture. Anna Estelle Wolfson 52 
 
Divine Right of Kings, The. Mary Wright Plummer . . 72 
 
 Dolores. Josepha Virginia Sweetser 54 
 
 Easter. Sara Coolidge Brooks 150 
 
 Empty Nest, The. Helen Barrett Montgomery ... 62 
 
 Exeunt. Lillian Corbett Barnes 97 
 
 Foiled. Sarah Chamberlin Weed no 
 
 Four-o'clocks. Lillian B. Quinby 36 
 
 Friendship. Bertha Palmer 125 
 
 Friendship. Josephine P. Simrall 82 
 
 George Birthington's Washday. Florence E. Homer . . 29 
 
 Heart's Home, The. Katharine Mordantt Quint ... 41 
 
 Her Second Degree. Frances C. Lance 146 
 
 Hobby, A. Mabel W. White 77 
 
 H 2 SO 4 . Mary Eno Russell 116 
 
 Ideal, The. Katharine Lee Bates 26 
 
 Idolatry. KentDunlap Hagler 76 
 
 If Life were a Banquet. Josephine A. Cass . . . .14 
 
 In Arcadie. Josephine A. Cass 57 
 
 In College Days. Florence Wilkinson 154 
 
 In Honorem : Henry F. Durant. Mary Russell Bartlett . . 112 
 
 In Memoriam : Helen A. Shafer. Martha Gause McCaulley . 37 
 
 In the College Library. Cornelia E. Green .... 15 
 
 Invited by Mistake. Sarah Jane McNary 100 
 
 Irish Boat Song, An. Ambia C. Harris, Clara A. Jones . 140 
 
 Isolation. Charlotte Rose Stanley 143 
 
 I Wonder if the Dying Leaf. Martha Hale Shackford . . 136 
 
 January in Virginia. Lillian B. Miner 93 
 
 Knighted. Mary Hollands McLean 98 
 
 Knowledge. Lillian B. Quinby 70 
 
 Lake Singer, The. Kate Watkins Tibbals . . . .152 
 
 Lake Waban. S. Virginia Sherwood 105 
 
 Lalia. Florence Annette Wing 42 
 
 Lament of the Unathletic Maiden. Isabella Campbell . . 83 
 
 Lay of the Lost Hero, The. Cornelia E. Green ... 30 
 
Le Pays du Tendre. Abbe Carter Goodloe 145 
 
 Life and Death. Mabel A. Carpenter 127 
 
 Love Song. Lillian Corbett Barnes 69 
 
 Love Song 1 . Josephine P. Simrall 136 
 
 Lullaby. Emily S. Johnson 115 
 
 Mona Lisa. Abbe Carter Goodloe 17 
 
 Mr. Edward Olney, Sir. Katharine Lee Bates . . . .120 
 
 Mutation. Mary Hefferan 19 
 
 My College Girl. Alice Welch Kellogg 64 
 
 My College Room. Mabel Wing Castle 51 
 
 My Lord the Sun. Isabella H. Fiske 102 
 
 My Own. Mary Wright Plummer ...... 34 
 
 My Sophomore. Alice Welch Kellogg 132 
 
 Never a Day Without a Cloud. Delia Maria Taylor . . 151 
 
 New- Year's Wish, A. Clara Brewster Potwin .... 135 
 Night Wind in Winter, The. Martha Hale Shackford . .129 
 
 October Rose, An. Clara Brewster Potwin .... 95 
 
 Ode. Florence Wilkinson 66 
 
 Ode on Planting the First Class Tree. Clara A. Jones . .22 
 
 Ode to Ninety-Six. Mary Hefferan 87 
 
 Ode to Wellesley. Anna Robertson Brown Lindsay . . 25 
 
 Old Year, The. Nancy K. Foster 91 
 
 Omar Khayyam. Cornelia E. Green 73 
 
 Our College Days. Katharine Lee Bates 13 
 
 Passing Soul, The. Katharine Lee Bates 128 
 
 Picture, A. Alma E. Beale 75 
 
 Red Roses. Marion Pelton Guild 106 
 
 Rose, A. Josephine P. Simrall 108 
 
 Seaward. Ada S. Woolfolk . 60 
 
 Second Thought, A. Florence Wilkinson . . . .137 
 
 Senior's Compliment, A 144 
 
 Senior Schedule, A. Mary Hollands McLean .... 130 
 
 Sleeplessness. Florence Converse 50 
 
 Slender, Brown-haired Josephine 65 
 
Shakespeare. Charlotte Rose Stanley 28 
 
 Shall I Tell You of My Lover? Theodora Kyle . . .148 
 Singer's Excuse, The. Mary Russell Bartlett 18 
 
 Song. Charlotte Rose Stanley 63 
 
 Song of Praise, A. Florence E. Homer 142 
 
 Song of Praise, A. Marion Pelton Guild ..... 43 
 Song of the Lotus, The. Julia Stevens Buffington . . .133 
 
 Spiegel-klarheit. Anne Barrett Hughes 123 
 
 Sunset. Mary Hollands McLean 49 
 
 Tides. Josephine A. Cass * .126 
 
 To . Mary Otis Malone "9 
 
 To an Oriole. AlmaE.Beale 117 
 
 To Mt. Monadnock at Sunrise. Evangeline Kendall . . 96 
 To One I Love. Gertrude Jones . . . . ' . .in 
 
 Touch, A. Florence Annette Wing , 150 
 
 Tree-day Song, A. Annie Jerrell Tenney . . ... 138 
 
 Trust. Helen Barrett Montgomery ...... 20 
 
 Twilight on the Hills. Anna Robertson Brown Lindsay . 84 
 Violinist, The. Margaret Steele Anderson 16 
 
 Vivisection. Frances C. Lance 144 
 
 Waking-Time. Ada May Krecker ...... 41 
 
 Wellesley Democracy. S 81 
 
 When the Mist came up from the Marsh. Sarah Chamberlin 
 
 Weed 89 
 
 World's Sleep, The. Sarah Chamberlin Weed . . .21 
 
Ulelleskp Cprics. 
 
5>ur College >ays* 
 
 OUR college days are over. Dost thou sigh? 
 Nay, wherefore ? For there follow other days 
 
 And other lessons; other lips to praise 
 And to condemn. So let the past go by. 
 In truth we were not idlers, thou and I, 
 
 Though oft we wandered in the woodland ways, 
 
 And wronged the student's conscience by the gaze 
 We stole from books to fasten on the sky. 
 Some tasks we shunned, where many tasks were set, 
 
 But never shunned each other. Was it well? 
 And much we learned we swiftly shall forget; 
 
 But let no melancholy prophet tell 
 That ever pride or shame, or smiles or tears, 
 Shall dim the friendship of our college years. 
 
 KATHARINE LEE BATES. 
 
3f Stfe mere a Banquet, 
 
 IF Life were a banquet, and Beauty were wine, 
 And Being the cup to contain it, 
 What duty had man save at ease to recline, 
 
 Drink deeply, and never disdain it? 
 If Life were a banquet, and Beauty were wine, 
 And Being the cup to contain it! 
 
 If Life were a banquet, and Glory were wine, 
 And Pain were the strong bowl that held it, 
 
 Would any man pause ere he quaffed, or repine 
 At the cost, though his heart's blood had swelled it? 
 
 If Life were a banquet, and Glory were wine, 
 And Pain were the strong bowl that held it! 
 
 If Life were a banquet, and Love were the wine, 
 And pure lips alone touched the chalice, 
 
 What soul would refuse for a draught so divine, 
 To purge itself wholly from malice? 
 
 But Life ts a banquet, and Love is the wine, 
 And pure lips alone touch the chalice! 
 
 JOSEPHINE A. CASS. 
 
tfye College tbrary. 
 
 TO L. E. W. 
 
 ALONE, absorbed, she sits and reads, 
 From heavy tomes of dingy brown, 
 The history of ancient deeds, 
 Of old beliefs, of worn-out creeds; 
 And, flooding all the open space, 
 The sun shines in upon the place, 
 Rests lightly on that fresh young face, 
 Revealing, in her simple grace, 
 
 Elizabeth in cap and gown. 
 
 What though no lover may adore, 
 And marble heroes all look down 
 With cold eyes, changeless evermore, 
 At this sweet girl, a sophomore? 
 I know no picture half so fair 
 As she is, with her dark-brown hair, 
 Her earnest face, her gentle air. 
 May Heaven bless her, reading there, 
 Elizabeth, in cap and gown! 
 
 CORNELIA E. GREEN. 
 
 The Bachelor of Arts, 
 December, 1895. 
 
Cfye Dtoltmst* 
 
 BUT that one air for all that throng! And yet 
 How variously the magic strain swept through 
 
 Those thousand hearts ! I saw young eyes, that 
 
 knew 
 
 Only earth's fairest sights, grow dim and wet; 
 While eyes long fed on visions of regret, 
 
 Beheld the rose of hope spring up from rue. 
 
 For some, the night-wind in thy music blew; 
 For some, the spring's celestial clarinet! 
 And each heart knew its own : the poet heard, 
 
 Ravished, the song his lips could never free; 
 The girl, her lover's swift, impassioned word; 
 The mother thought, "Oh little, buried face!" 
 
 And one, through veil of doubt and agony, 
 Saw Christ, alone in the dim garden-place ! 
 
 MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON* 
 
 The Independent. 
 
 16 
 
ZTEona Stscu 
 
 ANGEL or sorceress ! breathe me where lies 
 Thy charm ! Oh, the dark wonder of thy face, 
 
 Where beauty and malignity embrace ! 
 The covert joy within the shadow'd eyes, 
 The mirth upon the lips which knew no sighs, 
 
 The brow whereon life's conflicts left no trace, 
 
 The look inscrutable past time and space, 
 Bespeak a soul that knew not sacrifice! 
 Faithless and heartless, Mona Lisa, such 
 
 Thou wert; and he who loved thee doth confess 
 Thy guilty soul by his fine, artist touch, 
 
 His genius still unerring, yet not less 
 He loved thee madly, though thou gav'st not much 
 
 Who gav'st of love all but its happiness. 
 
 ABBE CARTER GOODLOE. 
 
 The New England Magazine. 
 
tfye Singer's fiycuse* 
 
 1READ our sweetest singers' words, 
 I hear the music of their voices; 
 The century's a cage of birds, 
 
 The multiplying flock rejoices. 
 " Too many far," the critics scold; 
 "Too many," the faint-hearted falter: 
 Remonstrance, haughty-browed and cold, 
 The swelling chorus cannot alter. 
 
 What vibrant string forgets to ring 
 
 When kindred sounds are near it throbbing? 
 Thou canst not scorn, Apollo, king! 
 
 The lowliest reed thy breath sets sobbing. 
 The molten feeling in us lies, 
 
 The heart to word and rhyme must coin it. 
 Ah ! who can hear the anthem rise 
 
 Without a throat that aches to join it? 
 
 Oh! some may sing for all the years, 
 And some for but the fleeting minute; 
 
 But singing keeps at bay our fears, 
 And each and all have comfort in it. 
 
 18 
 
Oh! some may sing for all mankind, 
 And some for but a single hearer; 
 
 And one the greater praise may find, 
 And one to one at least be dearer. 
 
 MARY RUSSELL BARTLETT. 
 
 The Century, "In Lighter Vein." 
 April, 1893. 
 
 Zttutatton, 
 
 [CAUGHT a snowflake in my hand, 
 Six-pointed star, 
 God-fashioned still, and perfect planned, 
 
 Though least and far. 
 
 With earthborn impulse swift I clasped it near, 
 The crystal in my hand was changed a tear. 
 
 A dream upon a human heart 
 
 Was waft to-day, 
 And fell soft-free, was clutched, to start 
 
 In pain away. 
 
 A flitting thought in heaven gave it birth, 
 It came to be a human tear on earth. 
 
 MARY HEFFERAN. 
 19 
 
M 
 
 Crust. 
 
 Y beautiful life, with thy dome of blue, 
 
 Thy wine of sunshine, thy calm of dew, 
 Thy bird song trilling the forest through, 
 Thy blush of morning and evening glow, 
 Thy joy of myriad lives that grow, 
 Of myriad blossoms that bud and blow, 
 My beautiful life, I love thee so! 
 Sing sweet refrain in my heart again : 
 God is love! God is love! By his gifts I know 
 God is love. 
 
 My desolate life, with thy sky of lead, 
 Thy wintry sunshine, thy bird song fled, 
 And only the snow-heaped graves of my dead ! 
 Yet through thy darkness a glory glows, 
 And life is springing beneath thy snows, 
 And ever nearer the morning grows. 
 Sing, deep refrain, in my heart again : 
 God is love ! God is love ! In my grief I know 
 God is love. 
 
 HELEN BARRETT MONTGOMERY. 
 
Cfye IDorlb's Sleep. 
 
 HASTE, cover yourself in the shrouded skies, 
 Faint moon, with your broken ring; 
 And curious stars, bind fast your eyes 
 
 With the clouds that the rain winds bring. 
 Deep, motionless night, with your mantle dark 
 
 Of silence and shadow deep, 
 
 Bend closer while watching, the long hours mark, 
 And let the old world sleep. 
 
 Whispering wind of the wandering feet, 
 
 Steal back to the forest shade; 
 Break not the quiet, so still, so sweet, 
 
 That over the world is laid : 
 For the world is so weary, so sad with woe, 
 
 Wake it and it will weep; 
 Compassionate wind, breathe soft and go, 
 
 And let the old world sleep. 
 
 SARAH CHAMBERLIN WEED. 
 
S)6e on tfye planting of tfye ^trst Class 
 
 T ONG ago, the legends tell us, 
 * ' In a land across the seas, 
 
 Lived a people strong and warlike, 
 And their gods were forest trees. 
 
 Each man loved his own, and watched it 
 With a proud and anxious heart, 
 
 Tending it as if it truly 
 
 Of his own life were a part. 
 
 If the gentle winds of heaven, 
 
 Whisp'ring low, its leaflets stirred, 
 
 Then he listened most devoutly 
 To the mystic, god-sent word. 
 
 If the terror of the lightning 
 
 Scorched it with its fiery breath, 
 
 Then he paid it higher reverence, 
 As a sign of his own death : 
 
 Said: "My stricken Mediator 
 Shows me, by this sudden sign, 
 
 That my life and strength, so closely 
 Joined to his, like his decline." 
 
So of old they lived and worshiped, 
 Feeling that some subtle plan 
 
 Linked the life and growth in Nature 
 To the life and growth in man. 
 
 Centuries have bloomed and faded, 
 Nations, now forgotten, sleep, 
 
 And the aged Past, in silence, 
 Hold their secrets buried deep. 
 
 Man has risen, life is broader, 
 Is a nobler, grander thing; 
 
 Sweeter now its lyric measures, 
 And its paeans louder ring. 
 
 Yet to us the Past has given 
 
 Myriad thoughts we call our own, 
 
 And we still are reaping harvests 
 From the seed that it has sown. 
 
 And we know, tho' half unconscious, 
 Still remains the old, old thought 
 
 Of our sympathy with Nature 
 
 Which their weird religion taught. 
 23 
 
Still we feel that God is nearest 
 In the ancient forest shade: 
 
 To the spirit of the Woodland, 
 Man has ever homage paid. 
 
 Then blow, friendly winds of heaven, 
 O'er the charge we leave you here ; 
 
 And ye summer rains, fall gently, 
 Sunny skies, bend down to cheer! 
 
 And O Ruler of the storm-clouds, 
 Master of the winds and sky, 
 
 We, thy children, crave thy sunshine, 
 Losing which we droop and die. 
 
 May we change, like this our emblem, 
 Earthy dross, to fairest life, 
 
 By thy aid gain strength and beauty 
 From the elemental strife. 
 
 CLARA A. JONES. 
 
u 
 
 6e to 
 
 [From Canto V.] 
 
 PON thy altar, Wellesley, glows 
 
 A living spark that ever burns, 
 
 Fanned by each longing heart that yearns 
 For all the gifts that learning shows. 
 
 Then mould each daughter strong and fair, 
 With supple sinew, nerve, and power, 
 With beauty as her rightful dower, 
 
 And pure as God's own thought of her; 
 
 Grant her the comprehensive mind 
 That moves as planets in their arc, 
 Whose all-embracing circles mark 
 
 The farthest ripple of the mind ; 
 
 Yet leave her humble, gracious, kind, 
 And artless as the wayside flower. 
 
 This is thy grand ideal of good : 
 A truer heart, a clearer eye, 
 A proud, deep-bosomed race and high, 
 
 With less of passion in the blood, 
 
 And more and more of motherhood ! 
 
 ANNA ROBERTSON BROWN LINDSAY. 
 
BY the promise of noon's blue splendor in the 
 dawn's first silvery gleam, 
 By the song of the sea that compelleth the path of 
 
 the rock-cleaving stream, 
 
 I summon thee, recreant dreamer, to rise and follow 
 thy dream. 
 
 At the inmost core of thy being I am a burning 
 
 fire, 
 From thine own altar flame kindled, in the hour 
 
 when souls aspire; 
 For know that men's prayers shall be answered, 
 
 and guard thy spirit's desire. 
 
 That which thou would'st be thou must be, that 
 
 which thou shalt be thou art: 
 As the oak, astir in the acorn, the dull earth rend- 
 
 eth apart, 
 Lo, thou, the seed of thy longing, that breaketh 
 
 and waketh the heart! 
 ,26 
 
Mine is the cry of the night wind, startling thy 
 traitorous sleep; 
 
 Moaning I echo thy music, and e'en while thou 
 boastest to reap 
 
 Alien harvests, my anger resounds from the vehe- 
 ment deep. 
 
 I am the solitude folding thy soul in a sudden em- 
 brace ; 
 
 Faint waxes the voice of thy fellow, wan the light 
 on his face; 
 
 Life is as cloud-drift about thee alone in shelterless 
 space. 
 
 I am the drawn sword barring the lanes thy muti- 
 nous feet 
 
 Vainly covet for greenness. Loitering pace or fleet, 
 Thine is the crag-path chosen; on the crest shall 
 rest be sweet. 
 
 I am thy strong consoler, when the desolate human 
 
 pain 
 Darkens upon thee, the azure out-blotted by rush of 
 
 the rain. 
 All that thou dost cherish may perish ; still shall 
 
 thy quest remain. 
 
 27 
 
Call me thy foe in thy passion; claim me in peace 
 
 for thy friend; 
 Yet bethink thee by lowland or upland, wherever 
 
 thou wiliest to wend, 
 I am thine Angel of Judgment; mine eyes thou 
 
 must meet in the end. 
 
 KATHARINE LEE BATES. 
 
 H 
 
 E has been dead so many years ! 
 
 The record on his grave is dim, 
 And yet the men one sees and hears, 
 
 How dead they seem compared to him. 
 
 CHARLOTTE ROSE STANLEY. 
 
eorge Birtfytngton's 
 
 was a famous washing day, its action 
 near the Hub : 
 
 A Nation's raiment in the suds, a hero at the tub. 
 Then come, ye loyal patriots, and listen to my lay! 
 I'll sing of good George Birthington on this, his 
 washing day. 
 
 "The time is come," said Birthington, "when wash 
 
 we really must, 
 For, see our country's garments, how they're tram- 
 
 pled in the dust; 
 And Liberty's bright tunic is so sadly soiled, I 
 
 ween, 
 That nothing but a washing day will make it bright 
 
 and clean." 
 
 The morning dawned, the washers came, the wash- 
 
 ing was begun ; 
 The steam rose high, nor ceased to rise till cleanli- 
 
 ness was won. 
 And now, though good George Birthington is gone 
 
 to his repose, 
 The grateful country still recalls how well he 
 
 washed her clothes. 
 
 FLORENCE E. HOMER. 
 29 
 
Say of tfye ost 
 
 HOW sweet it was in by-gone times, upon a 
 leisure day, 
 
 To take a novel from the shelf and while the hours 
 away; 
 
 And with our kindly author-guide to wander hand 
 in hand 
 
 Among the many winding paths of love's own fairy- 
 land. 
 
 How sweet to toss the world aside, and in that freer 
 air, 
 
 Forget that there existed aught but beauty any- 
 where ; 
 
 To feel the cool, delicious wind blow on us fresh 
 and strong, 
 
 And watch the troop of men and maids trip merrily 
 along ! 
 
 What matters if a cloud appeared in that serene 
 
 blue sky? 
 It lasted but a moment's space, and then passed 
 
 lightly by. 
 
 30 
 
What matter if some thorns there were in paths 
 true love must tread? 
 
 We knew that there were thornless flowers of happi- 
 ness ahead. 
 
 Yea, though Sir Villain plot his worst, and steep 
 himself in crime, 
 
 His efforts, it was safe to say, were but a waste of 
 time; 
 
 For always in love's fairy-land of one thing we are 
 sure, 
 
 Whatever woes the faithful pair of lovers may en- 
 dure, 
 
 Kind fate will let the hero win 
 The beautiful young heroine. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Now, sad to say, this all is changed. Our novel- 
 reading hours 
 
 We can no longer spend among those paths be- 
 strewn with flowers ; 
 
 But, dragged into a wilderness, we soon have lost 
 our way, 
 
 Entangled in that thicket dense, the Problem of 
 the Day. 
 
 31 
 
Our hero, gay and brave before, has vanished with 
 
 a sigh, 
 Which is not strange when we perceive the heroine 
 
 near by ; 
 For how can this poor youth exist (e'en though he 
 
 should prefer) 
 With qualities, both good and bad, monopolized by 
 
 Her? 
 
 One grand, gigantic form alone comes slowly mov- 
 ing on; 
 
 All others shrink to nothingness beside this Amazon. 
 
 What does she want with heroes, pray, when her 
 determined plan 
 
 Consists in showing to the world the wickedness of 
 man ? 
 
 Yet e'en our friend the villain bold, must think it 
 hardly fair 
 
 That he is forced to sin his sins with such an 
 humble air. 
 
 Ah! hopeless is the task indeed, and pitiable the fate 
 
 Of him who dares attempt to write a novel up to date, 
 For with the modern heroine 
 You cannot get a hero in. 
 
 CORNELIA E. GREEN. 
 
 Chap-Book, 
 
 April 15, 1806. 
 
 32 
 
Compensation* 
 
 SO long she has worn this mask of calm content, 
 Through hours and days of never-ceasing care, 
 Learning with steady hope to lift and bear 
 The bitter, weary burden of life's stent, 
 She gives no sign of sorrow, nor the pent, 
 Choked anguish of an aching heart, with rare 
 Sweet art concealing pain and all the wear 
 And fret of disappointment, as one sent 
 To show forth lasting patience. And the smile 
 That glorifies with constant light her face, 
 
 Though borrowed first to hide the scars of grief, 
 Is now indeed her own; for while 
 
 She gladdened others in the darksome place, 
 Her sad soul found, in smiling, self-relief. 
 
 MABEL A. CARPENTER. 
 
 The New England Magazine, 
 October, 1896. 
 
 33 
 
Ztty tmu 
 
 BROWN heads and gold around my knee 
 Dispute in eager play; 
 Sweet, childish voices in my ear 
 
 Are sounding all the day; 
 Yet sometimes in a sudden hush 
 
 I seem to hear a tone 
 Such as my little boy's had been, 
 If I had kept my own. 
 
 And ofttimes when they come to me 
 
 As evening hours grow long, 
 And beg me, winningly, to give 
 
 A story or a song, 
 I see a pair of star-bright eyes 
 
 Among the others shine, 
 The eyes of him who ne'er hath heard 
 
 Story or song of mine. 
 
 At night, I go my round and pause 
 Each white-draped cot beside, 
 
 And note how flushed is this one's cheek, 
 How that one's curls lie wide; 
 34 
 
And to a corner tenantless 
 
 My swift thoughts go apace ; 
 That would have been, if he had lived, 
 
 My other darling's place. 
 
 The years go fast; my children soon 
 
 Within the world of men 
 Will find their work, and venture forth 
 
 Not to return again ; 
 But there is one who cannot go, 
 
 I shall not be alone, 
 The little one who did not live 
 
 Will always be my own. 
 
 MARY WRIGHT PLUMMER. 
 
 The Century Magazine, 
 March, 1882. 
 
 35 
 
[T was that they loved the children, 
 The children used to say, 
 
 For there was no doubt 
 
 That when school was out, 
 At the same time every day, 
 
 Down by the wall, 
 
 Where the grass grew tall, 
 Under the hedge of the hollyhocks, 
 
 One by one, 
 
 At the touch of the sun, 
 There opened the four-o'clocks. 
 
 It was that they loved the children ; 
 But the children have gone away, 
 And somebody goes 
 When nobody knows, 
 At the same time every day, 
 To see by the wall, 
 W T here the grass grows tall, 
 Under the hedge of the hollyhocks, 
 How, one by one, 
 At the touch of the sun, 
 Still open the four-o'clocks. 
 
 LILLIAN B. QUIMBY. 
 36 
 
3n Zltemortam : ^elen Q. Sfyafer. 
 
 OUR world had need of her, but God unrolled 
 His larger plan, and without word or stir, 
 
 Answering glad the Voice that cannot err, 
 She passed into the silence and His fold. 
 Soft, mellow sunshine filled the earth with gold 
 
 The day she left it. We that dare aver 
 
 We live in deeds, not hours, know life, in her, 
 Was nobly lived ere Psalmist's years were told. 
 Father, thy will be done! All things are good 
 
 Thou sendest us, altho' we think them ill ; 
 And what seems ill, Thy plan misunderstood. 
 We know she walks in brighter, happier ways 
 To-day than yesterday, so give Thee praise, 
 
 And smile thro' tears that mourn our leader still. 
 
 MARTHA GAUSE MCCAULLEY. 
 
 37 
 
Ctll $ail to tlje (EoIIege Beautiful 1 
 
 ALL hail to the College Beautiful! 
 All hail to the Welleslej blue! 
 All hail to the girls who are gath'ring pearls 
 
 From the shells that are open to few : 
 From the shells upcast by the ebbing Past 
 
 On the shores where, faithful and true, 
 An earnest band with the groping hand 
 Are seeking the jewels from under the sand; 
 And spreading abroad through the length of the 
 
 land, 
 The name of the Wellesley blue. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 All hail to the College Beautiful! 
 
 All hail to the royal throne, 
 Whence her heart within her burning, 
 Silver-voiced, far-eyed Learning 
 
 Looks upon her own. 
 
 All hail to the College Beautiful! 
 
 All hail to the brave and bright! 
 She has taken her place in the swift-sandaled race, 
 
 Where the strong man smiles in his might. 
 38 
 
Oh! shining arise the lights in her eyes, 
 And her hands are hot for the prize. 
 Now fast and far let the race be tried ! 
 She runs in her weakness and he in his pride; 
 But run as they will, they will run side by side, 
 And share in the victor's right. 
 
 All hail to the College Beautiful! 
 
 All hail to the sacred walls, 
 Where, sinking away in the shadowy gray, 
 
 Aye, the sun's last radiance falls; 
 Where first on the lake the day beams awake, 
 And the Spring's white manacles break. 
 But flushed in waking or pale in rest, 
 With leaves on her hair or with snows on her 
 
 breast, 
 Forever the fairest, and noblest, and best, 
 
 All hail to her sacred walls. 
 
 KATHARINE LEE BATES. 
 
 39 
 
tEfye Ctngelus* 
 
 THE glowing evening light is in the west; 
 The day is almost done. Across the land 
 Conies faint and sweet the Angelus' command, 
 "Give God due praise and get thee to thy rest." 
 
 Two figures standing with heads bowed in prayer, 
 A man and woman, each in peasant dress ; 
 She with clasped hands which 'gainst her bosom 
 press, 
 
 He with his head bared to the evening air. 
 
 So still they stand ! God's presence sure is near, 
 God's comfort calmeth now the toil-worn heart, 
 Which stealeth from earth's weariness apart, 
 
 And seeketh Him, well knowing He will hear. 
 
 Two peasants and the sunset's golden light, 
 
 A church tower, from which faint and sweet out- 
 rings 
 The Angelus: " Put by all earthly things; 
 
 Turn to thy rest. The dear God sendeth night." 
 
 JOSEPHINE P. SIMRALL. 
 
 40 
 
A 
 
 ^cart's 
 
 S swift in the dying west 
 
 The bird flies home to her nest, 
 My heart thus turneth to thee, 
 To thee, sweet love, to thee. 
 
 The bird, in her downy nest, 
 My heart in thee, finds rest. 
 Though branches rock and sway 
 The bird sits safe alway. 
 
 KATHARINE MORDANTT QUINT. 
 
 o 1 
 
 the cradling boughs 
 Cuddled limbs arouse; 
 Bonny babes get up from curtained beds below : 
 Pinafores of green, 
 Caps of gayest sheen, 
 They'll wear for summer frolics to and fro. 
 
 ADA MAY KRECKER. 
 
M 
 
 Caltcu 
 
 Y Lalia breathes love on the roses, 
 But I, though a rose is a queen, 
 
 I have whispered to her that the rarest of buds 
 By her rose-lips would wither unseen. 
 
 In the depths of the violet meadows 
 
 Kneels Lalia, a votaress fair, 
 And the truth in her heart holds the blue in 
 her eyes 
 
 Fadeless, resistless, and rare. 
 
 My Lalia prays over the lilies, 
 
 But I, though the lilies' true knight, 
 
 I have said to my love that I find her pure soul 
 Than the exquisite lilies more white. 
 
 FLORENCE ANNETTE WING. 
 
Ci Song of Praise* 
 
 (In Memory of Phillips Brooks.) 
 I. 
 
 O PERFECT God, who sendest of Thy grace 
 Each perfect gift to us Thy children here, 
 Sunshine and showers, the summer's radiant face 
 And spring's divinest message, starry sphere, 
 And dewy rose, and music, and the near 
 Sweet human joys of kindred and of home, 
 Love, hope, endeavor, faith, and noble cheer 
 Of prophet souls that down thy pathways come, 
 Proving our earth thy feast, our skies thy temple- 
 dome, 
 
 ii. 
 
 We praise thee; we acknowledge thee, O Lord, 
 Our angel's Angel and our Gift Supreme. 
 And now, if ever earnestness implored 
 Thy guidance, deign to lend it, for the theme 
 That lifts our hearts is in Thy heart, we deem, 
 Held precious. Wherefore touch with cleansing 
 
 fire, 
 Pure from Thine altar's height, these lips, that 
 
 seem 
 
 Presumptuous, yet cannot choose; inspire 
 This tongue with truth, sustain this consecrate desire ! 
 
 43 
 
III. 
 
 We praise Thee, then, that in these latter days, 
 When our dark earth is slowly turning still 
 Into Thy steadfast light, but mortal ways 
 Are tangled yet with myriad skeins of ill, 
 Thy love has sent a man, who should fulfill 
 Again the ancient oracles, and stand 
 A tower of adamant on a storm-swept hill, 
 A great rock's shadow in a weary land, 
 Health to the sick, deliverance to the blind and 
 banned. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Let no man fear our Lord is honored less, 
 
 When his foreshadowing paints his servant too. 
 
 Nay, rather hold in awe the clear impress 
 
 Of Christ's own pattern on a spirit new, 
 
 A spirit to its Master sternly true. 
 
 The Christ in him so lived and strove and 
 
 wrought, 
 
 So wondrously through all his being grew, 
 That in his eyes we read Christ's very thought, 
 And in his smile a hint of Christ's own smile we 
 
 caught. 
 
Among his kind he dwelt in simple wise, 
 Choosing and claiming as his dearest right 
 The common lot, the universal ties, 
 The plain experiences that flashed with light, 
 Transfigured, in his essence-piercing sight; 
 Keeping his golden dower of privilege, 
 Birth, riches, learning, genius, duly bright 
 With shining use, jet plucking still the pledge 
 Of loftiest joy along the highway's dusty edge. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yea, common paths he loved and common men; 
 All human souls his brothers; not in creed 
 Alone, but passionately proven, when 
 Each eager word was sealed with eager deed. 
 The great heart's torrent, struggling to be freed 
 And rush in shoreless blessing everywhere 
 The deep heart's tenderness, that fain would 
 
 bleed 
 
 His life out, drop by drop, if he might share 
 And heal our woes who can forget, and who de- 
 clare ! 
 
 45 
 
So close his walk with God, so thin the veil 
 
 That from encompassing eternity 
 
 Still held his vision, that his every tale 
 
 Of lands celestial was a thing to see, 
 
 Stamped with the proof-mark of reality. 
 
 So free he dwelt in God's high fatherhood, 
 
 Our faith through his grew son-like, glad, and 
 
 free ; 
 
 Conscious of God in all the world of good, 
 Trusting to God to spare or slay us, as He would. 
 
 A kingly presence, robed in white array, 
 As angels use; a rapt, uplifted face, 
 And holy eyes that greet the heavenly day 
 Afar beyond our walls of time and space ; 
 Grand, searching eyes that earthward turn apace, 
 And brooding o'er the multitudinous throng 
 That surges to the very altar-place, 
 Drink deep its inspiration; lips that long 
 Have charged themselves with noblest meanings, 
 victor-strong. 
 
 46 
 
A rapid, reverent, self-unconscious voice, * 
 Making his people's every prayer his own ; 
 How often shall their dreaming ears rejoice 
 To trace the old beloved undertone 
 Through the great ritual they with him have 
 
 known ! 
 
 How often shall their souls exult again, 
 Hearing that voice, to glorious music grown, 
 Pealing out ecstasy to heart and brain, 
 Pouring out faith sublime and hope's immortal rain! 
 
 Earth wails her " Nevermore ! " against the sound ; 
 Earth strives to shut the vision from our sight 
 And leave one master-memory : life is crowned 
 With death ; with funeral pomp his couch is 
 
 dight; 
 
 Majestic peace sleeps on his eyelids white ; 
 His country's banners watch her patriot's bed ; 
 His country's guards wait in the solemn light; 
 While slow, exalted, with bewildered tread, 
 Passes the host unknown, and now unshepherded. 
 47 
 
XI. 
 
 Unshepherded? And here our Galahad lies 
 Stricken, beneath the lilies of his dreams? 
 Ah, no ! in golden fields of Paradise 
 He laughs with God beside the living streams. 
 Almost we catch the swift, supernal gleams 
 His garments leave in passing; almost know, 
 By sense more sure than that which surest 
 
 seems, 
 
 The benedictions from his throne that flow, 
 The throne God shares with him who overcame below. 
 
 XII. 
 
 He loved his people; in his Christ-like love 
 He gave himself to us : that gift no power 
 In earth or heaven or unguessed heights above 
 Can take away : himself; not the frail dower 
 Of mortal grace, the splendor of an hour; 
 But that great character, that vital truth, 
 Which entered into us, and flushed to flower 
 Each skyward bud, each struggling aim un- 
 couth ; 
 Claiming for God the King our holy land of youth. 
 
O ye his kindred, ye his chosen peers, 
 Robed in the purple of his heart's conferring, 
 We bow before your grief: the buried years 
 Still in your faith's divinest triumph stirring 
 Exquisite memories, poignantly recurring ! 
 But we, the people, who in spirit met, 
 In spirit only, loved him, nought deterring, 
 Grow in his angel-growth but richer yet, 
 Our souls his monument, when centuries forget! 
 
 MARION PELTON GUILD. 
 
 Sunset* 
 
 HP HE golden glory quivers on the lake, 
 I A robin's vesper note sounds clear and true; 
 Beyond the far hill line one long pale cloud 
 Lies, like a thought of God, across the blue. 
 
 MARY HOLLANDS MCLEAN. 
 
 "AtWellesley." 
 
 49 
 
Sleeplessness. 
 
 W ITHIN> ~ 
 
 There are four low walls, and one overhead, 
 White, white walls, and a small white bed, 
 Where I lie with mine eyes wide-opened, 
 For Sleep is sitting without. 
 
 Within, 
 
 There's a wide-waked soul that sighs and sings 
 
 Restless thoughts of restful things ; 
 
 There are dreams that beat on the walls with their 
 
 wings, 
 For Sleep is sitting without. 
 
 Within, 
 
 There's a wistful, wide-eyed wakefulness, 
 Never to be stilled unless 
 Sleep cometh in at the door to bless, 
 And Sleep is sitting without. 
 
 FLORENCE CONVERSE. 
 
ZHy College XOOTTL 
 
 (A Farewell.) 
 
 A LOVING look I give around the room : 
 Here Beatrice Cenci's earnest gaze 
 For simple justice pleads with me ; a haze 
 Enshadows mournful Sappho in its gloom. 
 
 And near a sunny Rome is Effie Deans, 
 
 Some photographs are o'er my laden shelves; 
 And wondrous wealth is here for one who delves. 
 
 Above my desk a singing cherub leans. 
 
 Ah ! hov'ring o'er the pictures in the shade 
 I see the wraith of days when pain was here, 
 And troublous times that only prayer could cheer, 
 
 And doubts and fears and struggles that I had. 
 
 But in the golden shimmer that the lake 
 
 Reflects upon the wall I see my joys. 
 
 One moment are the sad and glad in poise; 
 But glad outweighs, the lights and shadows break ! 
 
 MABEL WING CASTLE. 
 51 
 
(Culture, 
 
 THEY stood and talked together at the hour 
 Of night when constellations brightest shine ; 
 The cloud-drifts, rent and torn, wind-blown, were 
 
 clasped 
 With borrowed silver, curved in molten line. 
 
 In thoughtful tone, from heart sincere and tried, 
 One heard 'twas friend to friend, the first one 
 spoke. 
 
 The solemn glory of the full-orbed moon 
 
 Serene from out the parting cloud-bank broke. 
 
 u How great a power has written yonder law, 
 That moves resistless on in every star! 
 
 Sublime the joy to man, who dares to know 
 The system far beyond his make or mar. 
 
 "The course of every planet, of each moon, 
 As surely shaped yon shaft of radiant cloud 
 
 As the light wind-puff driving it so swift 
 Across the rounded disc of Cynthia proud. 
 
 52 
 
' k Oh! what were life if thou, sublimest scroll, 
 
 Were a black-letter page to my dull, darkened 
 
 soul ? " 
 
 His friend but waited till the flash and fire died 
 From out the air, and quietly replied : 
 
 44 With you I feel that not to know is death; 
 
 From there our sympathies seem to divide. 
 While you exult in knowledge, science broad, 
 
 I lose the science in the stillness wide. 
 
 " Forget, you know! we cannot see the all, 
 Save as we fail to think of knowledge, law. 
 
 Rest conscious in resource of latent power, 
 And give yourself thus to a higher awe. 
 
 "Sublime the sense of ordered, noted life; 
 
 But lost within the rapturous, swelling whole. 
 Divine the sense of law and spirit fused, 
 
 Not mind, not heart, but all-embracing soul!" 
 
 ANNA ESTELLE WOLFSON. 
 
 S3 
 
T 
 
 Dolores* 
 
 HROUGH the streets of fair Sevilla 
 
 Roams the happy Gypsy maid; 
 Blithe she singeth, lithe she danceth, 
 
 'Neath the orange's welcome shade. 
 Care she feels not, sorrow knows not, 
 
 Free as air, as ocean's foam, 
 'Neath the blue arch of the heavens 
 
 Is the dark-eyed maiden's home. 
 O Dolores, Gypsy maiden, 
 
 Singing to thy light guitar, 
 O Dolores, Gypsy maiden, 
 
 O Dolores, Zingara! 
 
 Oleanders pink with clusters, 
 
 Sage green of the olive tree, 
 Waving branches, flitting sunlight, 
 
 Make a picture fit for thee. 
 Slender ankles, brown and shapely, 
 
 Wondrous tresses, dark as night, 
 Graceful form in every movement, 
 
 Scarlet bodice, skirt of white. 
 54 
 
O Dolores, Gypsy maiden, 
 
 Dancing to the light guitar, 
 O Dolores, Gypsy maiden, 
 
 O Dolores, Zingara! 
 
 Now she comes with soft voice pleading. 
 
 List! "For Pamor de Dios;" 
 Ah, Senora, how bewitching, 
 
 And a glittering coin we toss. 
 Then again for us she danceth, 
 
 Throwing high her lovely arms, 
 Fluttering like a bird its plumage, 
 
 Giving glimpses of her charms. 
 O Dolores, Gypsy maiden, 
 
 Dancing to the light guitar, 
 O Dolores, Gypsy maiden, 
 
 O Dolores, Zingara ! 
 
 Ah, Sevilla, we must leave thee, 
 " Adios," to sunny Spain ; 
 Daughter of the dark Gttanos, 
 We may see thee ne'er again. 
 55 
 
Pepper trees with scarlet berries, 
 
 Cactus hedges, olives green, 
 Just between thy twinkling shadows 
 
 Is the little Gypsy seen. 
 Ah, Dolores, thou art weeping, 
 
 Weeping by thy light guitar; 
 "Adios," O Gypsy maiden, 
 
 O Dolores, Zingara! 
 
 JOSEPHA VIRGINIA SWEETSER. 
 
 Cfye Canterbury Cales* 
 
 I LOVE to read the tales in merry rhyme 
 Of bold adventure or of jollity, 
 
 Wherewith those olden pilgrims passed their time; 
 And often have I wished that I might see 
 Upon their way that very company 
 The dainty nun, the knight with burnished lance, 
 Most dear the poet's gentle countenance. 
 
 ADA MAY KRECKER. 
 
H 
 
 3tt Ctrcabte. 
 
 OW swift the days fled, one by one, 
 
 In Arcadie, in Arcadie! 
 And when we thought them just begun, 
 (Those happy days !) the last was gone, 
 And we no more might linger on 
 
 In Arcadie. 
 
 Fair days, descending from the blue 
 
 On Arcadie, on Arcadie ! 
 
 Some queens, and crowned with diamond dew, 
 By gleaming robes of sunlight gold 
 Enwrapt, in many a wind-swayed fold, 
 
 In Arcadie. 
 
 And some were Quakers clad in gray 
 
 In Arcadie, in Arcadie; 
 And passed serenely on their way, 
 Silent, as pondering some sweet thought, 
 From Goethe or from Homer brought, 
 
 In Arcadie. 
 
 57 
 
Some days were angels, white and tall, 
 
 In Arcadie, in Arcadie, 
 Who led us to confessional, 
 There bade us of our sins repent, 
 And softly blessed us ere we went, 
 
 In Arcadie. 
 
 And oreads some, lithe-limbed and strong, 
 
 In Arcadie, in Arcadie 
 With laughing eyes, forever young; 
 Our guides were they to mount and glen, 
 Green-robed, like Robin's merry men, 
 
 In Arcadie. 
 
 And lo ! we stood on many a height 
 
 In Arcadie, in Arcadie; 
 The stream that lay in curves of light 
 Before our feet, through yon blue rift 
 Rolled seaward, silently and swift, 
 
 Through Arcadie. 
 
 That mountain-barrier, faint and far 
 Round Arcadie, round Arcadie, 
 
 58 
 
It shuts us in with moon and star, 
 With sunset splendors, dawn delights, 
 And all the train of silver nights, 
 In Arcadie! 
 
 And some there met who ne'er will part, 
 
 In Arcadie, in Arcadie ; 
 For lands divide not heart from heart, 
 And friends are friends on sea or shore, 
 Although they wander nevermore 
 
 In Arcadie ! 
 
 JOSEPHINE A. CASS. 
 
 Boston Transcript. 
 
 59 
 
[N the heart of the hills a lingering stream 
 Goes songfully on to meet the sea; 
 In the heart of the hills, enthralled in a dream, 
 My life waits wistfully. 
 
 I kneel me down where the waters pass, 
 'Mid purpling flags and lilies of white ; 
 I bury my face in the long sedge-grass 
 
 That the wares kiss in their flight. 
 
 I whisper down through the water's sheen, 
 "Oh, stream, thou art brave to seek the sea; 
 'Mid the sin and the shame that wait between, 
 Thou wilt lose thy purity. 
 
 1 1 dreamed a dream of the hidden years, 
 
 And my heart is songless, my lips are dumb, 
 My eyes are wet with the whole world's tears, 
 For the sin and the shame to come." 
 
 The stream made answer in glimmer and glow : 
 "In spite of purity, lost or won, 
 The stately ships pass to and fro, 
 
 And the world's work must be done. 
 60 
 
" Beyond the pain, and beyond the mist 
 
 There waits forever the vast of the sea, 
 And the voice of the hoar Evangelist 
 Thunders, 'Eternity.'" 
 
 There with my face in the cool sedge-grass, 
 
 I heard the murmur of waters that flee, 
 I caught the flutter of wings that pass, 
 And my soul longed to be free. 
 
 My heart grew eager to bear and know 
 
 The toil, the pain, the shame and the strife, 
 That rise and gain in the ebb and flow 
 Of the restless waters of life. 
 
 Then, where the hills encircled me, 
 
 Outpouring from water, and air, and sod, 
 I caught the sweep of the measureless sea 
 Of the infinite spirit of God. 
 
 In the heart of the hills, a lingering stream 
 
 Goes silently on to meet the sea; 
 In the heart of the hills, enthralled in a dream, 
 My life waits wistfully. 
 
 ADA S. WOOLFOLK. 
 61 
 
(Empty Hest 
 
 A NEST in the tree top swinging; 
 An oriole gayly singing: 
 
 Sweet and low, sweet and low, 
 
 To and fro, to and fro. 
 
 Sing, quivering breast! 
 
 Swing, birdlings at rest 
 In your cradle the green leaves under! 
 
 Warm little nest, 
 
 Sheltered and blest, 
 Will it always be so, I wonder? 
 
 The wind in the tree tops sighing, 
 
 In the leafless branches dying! 
 
 Sad and slow, to and fro, 
 
 Swings a nest filled with snow. 
 
 Ah me! nevermore 
 
 Shall a bright wing soar 
 From that nest 'neath the leaves suspended. 
 
 Empty and bare 
 
 It hangeth there, 
 The wraith of a summer ended. 
 
 HELEN BARRETT MONTGOMERY. 
 
 62 
 
w 
 
 Song. 
 
 HEN other hearts are light and gay, 
 And life holds carnival in May, , 
 
 Some gladness borrow. 
 O, not upon that joy intrude 
 Thy grief, but seek in solitude 
 A balm for sorrow. 
 
 When other heads are bowed, and grief 
 Doth settle with the falling leaf, 
 
 Make no complaining. 
 O, do not bring thy burden there 
 To add to woe, but hide thy care, 
 
 All sign disdaining. 
 
 CHARLOTTE ROSE STANLEY. 
 
ZTty College 
 
 (A Father's Soliloquy.) 
 
 SHE is skilled in Mathematics, 
 And knows more of Hydrostatics 
 Than I learned in all my plodding years at Yale. 
 She performs experiments 
 With the divers elements, 
 That would make her little brother's cheek turn pale. 
 
 She can French and German speak, 
 
 And can write in Ancient Greek, 
 Getting all the various accents quite correct. 
 
 Though she deals hard blows at Russians 
 
 In historical discussions, 
 In her logic not a flaw can I detect. 
 
 She, altho' 'tis not her habit, 
 
 Can dissect a good sized rabbit, 
 Giving you the name of each and every bone. 
 
 Much she knows of plant and tree, 
 
 On the land or in the sea, 
 
 Slighting not meanwhile the all-important stone. 
 64 
 
Like a statue can she pose, 
 
 And interpret learned prose 
 In a way that makes my pulses wildly beat. 
 
 She has studied poetry, lyric, 
 
 Epic also, and satiric, 
 Till her diction and her style are quite complete. 
 
 She has studied me, the sinner! 
 
 And can cook as good a dinner 
 As a hungry man would ever wish to spy. 
 
 And I challenge the world over, 
 
 If two folk they can discover 
 Quite so happy as my college girl and I. 
 
 ALICE WELCH KELLOGG. 
 
 SLENDER, brown-haired Josephine, 
 With the eyes of blue ! 
 I'm no gifted cavalier, 
 I've not fame, nor wealth, 'tis clear; 
 But I love you oceans, dear! 
 Won't that do? 
 
(Written for the Opening- of the Woman's Building 1 , World's 
 Fair, 1893.) 
 
 FROM the lovely land of Alhambra and out from 
 the mists of the years, 
 Let us summon a presence before us, as spirits are 
 
 summoned by Seers. 
 Behold, a woman is standing, the glitter of gems in 
 
 her hands, 
 With far-gazing eyes that are turned toward the rim 
 
 of invisible lands. 
 Behold her, royally bending to heed a stranger's 
 
 appeal, 
 With gift of grace and of godspeed, Isabella, the 
 
 Queen of Castile. 
 Let us join to man's glory the woman's, the glory 
 
 of faith and of deed 
 That cheered the brave mariner on in the day of his 
 
 desperate need. 
 
 He, sailing, and sailing, and into the sunset seas, 
 Little dreamed of the land that he sailed to, the sage 
 
 and the sad Genoese. 
 66 
 
She, dreaming, and dreaming, and dreaming apart in 
 
 her palace of Spain, 
 Little dreamed of the future awaiting that land of 
 
 the Western Main; 
 The future, a plant of God's garden, unfolding in 
 
 beauty supreme 
 To blossom into the splendor of this White City of 
 
 Dream ! 
 Not as Queen but as woman, we hail Isabella, and 
 
 crown her to-day 
 In these halls that women have built and illumined 
 
 with costly array. 
 Here, gravely let us be grateful, as heirs of a generous 
 
 past, 
 For the pleasure, and powers, and duties fallen to 
 
 woman at last. 
 They have yielded to her their kingdoms, science, 
 
 and letters, and art, 
 And still she controls, undisputed, the realm of the 
 
 home and the heart. 
 
 FLORENCE WILKINSON. 
 
 The Graphic, 
 May 13, 1893. 
 
Barriers* 
 
 HERE'S a leaf here, 
 There's a sky there, 
 
 With space between ; 
 Here's a bird here, 
 There's a nest there, 
 
 With time between; 
 Here's a rose here, 
 There's a bud there, 
 
 With life between ; 
 Here's a grave here, 
 There's a child there, 
 
 With death between; 
 Here's a smile here, 
 There's a smile there, 
 
 With love between; 
 Here's a heart here, 
 There's a God there, 
 
 And naught between. 
 
 HELEN WORTHINGTON ROGERS. 
 
 Journal of Education, 
 Jan. 28, 1892. 
 
OPC Song* 
 
 DREAMS by day and thoughts by night 
 Breathe of thee, 
 
 Clouds in sky and waves in sea, 
 Springing grass and swallow's flight. 
 
 With thy voice was music born 
 
 On the earth, 
 
 Pipes Pandean, cymbals' mirth, 
 Trumpet-clang, and bugle-horn ! 
 
 Beautiful the world and strong 
 
 From thy face, 
 
 Flushed with youth and free with grace, 
 That to gods of old belong. 
 
 Life is measured by the beat 
 
 Of thy heart; 
 
 Time began and shall depart 
 With the passing of thy feet. 
 
 LILLIAN CORBETT BARNES. 
 
 69 
 
L 
 
 IKE the dream of a drowsy flower, 
 
 Fragrant and fleet; 
 Like the hope in the heart of a pansy, 
 
 Dusky and sweet; 
 Like the passion of crimson roses 
 
 Flung at one's feet: 
 Deep as the thoughts, beloved, 
 
 I cannot say; 
 Dear as the faith in each other 
 
 We lost, one day ; 
 Strong as when souls forsaken 
 
 Know no dismay : 
 Dear love, though I cannot tell you, 
 
 All love can be, 
 Sometime God willing you shall, love, 
 
 Try it and see. 
 
 Like the struggle of souls that are sleepless, 
 
 Yearning for sleep ; 
 Like the torture of eyes tear-laden, 
 
 Forbidden to weep; 
 Like the ache of dumb lips that must ever 
 
 In silence keep : 
 70 
 
Like the pride of the lie, beloved, 
 
 Though no one believes; 
 Like the laughter of eyes lest they show you 
 
 A heart that grieves; 
 Like a voice seeking always an answer 
 
 It never receives, 
 Dear love, though I cannot tell you 
 
 All pain can be, 
 From closer knowledge, I pray, love, 
 
 God keep you free. 
 
 LILLIAN B. QUIMBY. 
 
 "N 
 
 Cllcne. 
 
 EVER alone again," 
 
 A strong arm held me fast; 
 Heart upon heart we crushed 
 The loneness of the past. 
 
 Loosened the tender clasp, 
 As love to darkness fled. 
 "Never alone before," 
 
 From out the void, I said. 
 
 MAUD THOMPSON. 
 
Cbe Dtptne Htc$t of Kings* 
 
 HTHE right divine! What king that hath it not? 
 
 A The right to look through all his realm and see 
 What fever courses in the people's veins, 
 And lay thereon the balm of kingly hands; 
 To turn aside the treasonable blade, 
 And make a friend of him who carries it; 
 To bind up public wounds ; to put away 
 The screens wherewith men hide accusing truth, 
 And speak grave words when these befit the time; 
 To sow the land so full of happiness, 
 Of peace and justice, love and courtesy, 
 That ships bound seaward unto fabled shores 
 Shall never tempt his people otherwhere : 
 Such right divine as this hath every king. 
 
 MARY WRIGHT PLUMMER. 
 
 The Atlantic Monthly, 
 May, 1882. 
 
mar Khayyam. 
 
 THOU great philosopher! to whom belong 
 The laurels that a genius' brow entwine, 
 
 Thy poet's mantle thou didst stain with wine, 
 Drowning thy bitter sadness in a song. 
 Through seven centuries, still clear and strong, 
 
 Is sounding in our ears thy every line, 
 
 Whilst thou, the singer, long since didst resign 
 This tangled earthly maze of right and wrong. 
 Somewhere, it may be, in that land unknown, 
 Where present, past, and future are made one, 
 
 Thy hopeless vision of fulfilled desire 
 Is something nearer than a vision grown, 
 
 And the deep shadow of a soul on fire, 
 Lost in the piercing brightness of the Sun. 
 
 CORNELIA E. GREEN. 
 
 73 
 
CtprtL 
 
 AFTER the month of the double face, 
 After St. Valentine's days of grace, 
 After the blast of the trump of March, 
 With a smile and a tear, with a tear and a smile, 
 And a heart half winter's all the while, 
 
 Here's the shy little month with her glances arch, 
 Here's the brave little month of folly! 
 
 Rain, rain, with the sun between ! 
 Sun, sun, through the raindrop's sheen! 
 Sing, two leaves in a sheath of green 
 For the sweet little month of folly. 
 
 Before the simple troth of May, 
 Before the June in her bride's array, 
 
 Before the splendor of harvest gold, 
 With a tear and a smile, with a smile and a tear, 
 And a heart that's pledged to the whole of the year, 
 
 Here's the month of promise come out of the cold j 
 Here's the wise little month of folly ! 
 74 
 
Rain, rain, with the sun between! 
 Sun, sun, through the raindrop's sheen ! 
 Sing, two leaves in a sheath of green 
 For the sweet little month of folly. 
 
 MARY RUSSELL BARTLETT. 
 
 The Independent, 
 April, 1893. 
 
 Ct picture. 
 
 A SUNSET of gold on the tree tops is gleaming, 
 A glimmering sheen on the water's calm breast, 
 A boat, as it glides through sunset clear splendor, 
 Bears Beauty and Gladness away to the west. 
 
 While eyes tell to eyes the sweet secret of loving, 
 Blue eyes to brown, and brown eyes to blue, 
 
 Till deep in the heart of each, as they're drifting, 
 There settles a glow like the sunset's rich hue. 
 
 Out of the glow; mid the shadows that gather 
 Along the lone shore ; in a maze of despair, 
 
 The soul of another, with loving and longing, 
 Turns backward to night, to toil, and to prayer. 
 
 ALMA E. BEALE. 
 
 75 
 
ENSHRINED on high, in my soul's holy place, 
 I made a god, what others called mere clay : 
 I brought my all, and knelt there night and day, 
 With incense of pure love, and lifted face 
 Wet with hot tears; while in the altar space 
 Honor, and fame, and pride I cast away. 
 With outstretched, straining arms I strove to pray, 
 " O hear me, hear me; let my gifts find grace." 
 
 The dull eyes saw, unmoved ; no answer came 
 
 From the mute lips; but echo's mocking moan 
 At last I knew; mine, only mine the blame: 
 Mere stone and wood; the folly, the dark shame! 
 My punishment is on me; I have grown 
 Like what I worshiped, senseless, soulless stone. 
 
 KENT DUNLAP HAGLER. 
 
 76 
 
T 
 
 HERE is a sprightly maiden 
 
 We all know very well, 
 Who rides a prancing hobby 
 
 Upon which she loves to dwell. 
 This hobby is not learning, 
 
 Though in that she does excel, 
 Nor yet the rights of woman, 
 
 Which she upholds so well. 
 
 For dress reform she's striving, 
 
 And more eloquent is she 
 Than any Daniel Webster 
 
 Or a Henry Clay could be. 
 If her dress should be constricting 
 
 To her super-human breath, 
 She would cry with Patrick Henry, 
 *' Give me liberty, or death." 
 
 MABEL W. WHITE. 
 
 77 
 
>et." 
 
 (Written on hearing a boys' choir sing Handel's Hallelujah 
 Chorus,) 
 
 R 
 
 OWS of earnest boyish faces 
 
 Were before me, while the strain 
 Of a wondrous, glorious anthem 
 
 Soared aloft, as if to gain 
 Entrance at the pearly portals 
 
 Of the city paved with gold, 
 And the fresh, sweet, boyish voices, 
 
 Sang once more the prayer of old. 
 
 "Lamb of God have mercy on us, 
 
 Grant, O grant to us Thy peace!" 
 Agnus Dei, give them answer; 
 
 May their praises never cease! 
 Then the victor's song of triumph ; 
 
 Loud the grand, sweet chorus rings, 
 "Hallelujah, hallelujah! 
 
 Lord of lords, and King of kings." 
 
 And the boys were all so earnest, 
 Sang with all their soul and might, 
 
 Still so young and unacquainted 
 With the world's cold, weary night. 
 
 78 
 
Can it be, I thought, and shuddered, 
 
 That the boyish voices sweet 
 E'er shall speak, in words unholy, 
 
 Things less grand, less pure, repeat? 
 
 Ah ! there lies stretched out before them 
 
 Life with all its various ways ; 
 All will not be hallelujahs, 
 
 All will not be songs of praise. 
 But the Lamb of God, who taketh 
 
 From the world the stains of sin, 
 Ever liveth, never changeth : 
 
 May He keep them pure within. 
 
 And my heart this prayer would offer: 
 
 Thou great Shepherd of Thy sheep, 
 May these boys all know and love Thee, 
 
 All Thy blessed precepts keep. 
 Consecrate, dear Lord, and guard them, 
 
 May their praises never cease : 
 " Lamb of God, have mercy on them; 
 
 Grant, O grant to them Thy peace." 
 
 JOSEPHA VIRGINIA SWEETSER. 
 
 The Watchman. 
 
 79 
 
(Lountry Cfyilbrett, 
 
 T ITTLE fresh violets, 
 -I ' Born in the wildwood, 
 Sweetly illustrating 
 
 Innocent childhood ! 
 Shy as an antelope 
 Brown as a berry, 
 Free as the mountain air, 
 Romping and merry. 
 
 Blue eyes and hazel eyes 
 
 Peep from the hedges, 
 Shaded by sunbonnets 
 
 Frayed at the edges; 
 Up in the apple tree, 
 
 Heedless of danger, 
 Manhood in embryo 
 
 Stares at the stranger. 
 
 Under the orchard trees 
 Seeking for cherries, 
 
 Out in the meadow lands 
 Hunting for berries ; 
 
 80 
 
Now in the clover fields, 
 
 Tramping down grasses, 
 No voice to hinder them, 
 
 Dear lads and lasses! 
 
 Little fresh violets, 
 
 Born in the wildwood ! 
 Oh that all little ones 
 
 Had such a childhood ! 
 God's blue spread over them, 
 
 God's green beneath them, 
 No sweeter heritage 
 
 Could we bequeath them! 
 
 MARY ALLISON BINGHAM. 
 
 'W. B 
 
 HY waste your time on him?" I said; 
 
 The man is silly, stupid, flat." 
 Rebelliously she shook her head, 
 "A man's a man for a' that." 
 
 81 
 
w 
 
 on tfye 
 
 ARM and still, as if in dreaming, 
 Lies the valley, green and low; 
 
 Trailing clouds above are gleaming 
 In the sunset afterglow. 
 
 Changing, shifting, and dissolving, 
 Paling in the purple west, 
 
 Man from toil and care absolving, 
 See, they fold the world to rest. 
 
 Never yet in song or story, 
 
 Though with color richly dight, 
 
 Has the poet caught the glory 
 Of that amethystine light; 
 
 Shades too rare for pen of mortals, 
 Tints of many a precious gem, 
 
 Like the stones beneath the portals 
 Of the new Jerusalem. 
 
For in opalescent splendor 
 On the sunlit slopes are set 
 
 Hues of jacinth, pure and tender, 
 Chrysoprase and violet. 
 
 And a strangely solemn gladness 
 Steals across us from the steep, 
 
 Full of awe, and touched with sadness,- 
 Longings infinite and deep. 
 
 Not as when on cloud-capped Sinai 
 Lurid lightnings lit the gloom; 
 
 But as when the fair Shechinah 
 Filled the aloe-scented room. 
 
 Such mute moods of nature win us 
 To the holy calm of prayer ; 
 
 And the yearning spirit in us, 
 Cleansed of its dark despair, 
 
 Rises far above terrestrial 
 Moil and soul-corroding care, 
 
 And on wings of hope celestial 
 Breathes a finer, freer air. 
 
 85 
 
w 
 
 Ctmltgfyt on tfye fjills, 
 
 ARM and still, as if in dreaming, 
 Lies the valley, green and low; 
 
 Trailing clouds above are gleaming 
 In the sunset afterglow. 
 
 Changing, shifting, and dissolving, 
 Paling in the purple west, 
 
 Man from toil and care absolving, 
 See, they fold the world to rest. 
 
 Never yet in song or story, 
 
 Though with color richly dight, 
 
 Has the poet caught the glory 
 Of that amethystine light; 
 
 Shades too rare for pen of mortals, 
 Tints of many a precious gem, 
 
 Like the stones beneath the portals 
 Of the new Jerusalem. 
 
 8 4 
 
For in opalescent splendor 
 
 On the sunlit slopes are set 
 Hues of jacinth, pure and tender, 
 
 Chrysoprase and violet. 
 
 And a strangely solemn gladness 
 Steals across us from the steep, 
 
 Full of awe, and touched with sadness,- 
 Longings infinite and deep. 
 
 Not as when on cloud-capped Sinai 
 Lurid lightnings lit the gloom; 
 
 But as when the fair Shechinah 
 Filled the aloe-scented room. 
 
 Such mute moods of nature win us 
 To the holy calm of prayer; 
 
 And the yearning spirit in us, 
 Cleansed of its dark despair, 
 
 Rises far above terrestrial 
 Moil and soul-corroding care, 
 
 And on wings of hope celestial 
 Breathes a finer, freer air. 
 
 85 
 
Heaven seems so close above us, 
 
 Earthly clamors softly cease; 
 In our hearts a gentle love is, 
 
 Silence deep, and utter peace. 
 
 What are we that we should sigh at 
 
 Aught that mars our joy to-day ? 
 All unrest is hushed in quiet, 
 
 Clamant passion dies away; 
 
 And our souls, so long by labor, 
 
 Sin, and sore temptation tried, 
 Seem to stand at last on Tabor, 
 
 Radiant and glorified ! 
 
 ANNA ROBERTSON BROWN LINDSAY. 
 
 86 
 
be to 
 
 [Aspiration speaks on Truth.] 
 
 O WHITE soul, know thou well this one first truth, 
 That knowledge cannot compass nor endure, 
 That certainty conceals, none can be sure, 
 Yet in each one soul's limit the thread of Truth 
 Runs evermore, and links the good to good. 
 Scan close what then thou hast of knowledge won 
 Within the light of Truth. Search deep thine own 
 True ideal self, and in that self alone 
 Work out thy life's activity, and in the world 
 Where now thou goest know it all is part. 
 The world exists for thee ; build thou thy world 
 According to the best thou canst discern; 
 Then shalt thou ever live, forever turn, 
 My star set close above, my lamp before thee, 
 To greet the new experience joyfully; 
 Till, all complete, the gray veil drawn away, 
 In the clear light of thine own heart 
 Truth stands revealed alway. 
 
 MARY HEFFERAN. 
 
 Tree-day Poem, 1896. 
 
 87 
 
Compensation* 
 
 A SUMMER'S eve, a moonlit sky, 
 f* A sea, soft water's purl, 
 
 A tiny boat, and two spoon-oars, 
 A pretty Wellesley girl. 
 
 I watched her face ; methought it glowed 
 With trust and sweet content. 
 
 I paused, and resting both my oars, 
 On tend'rest theme was bent, 
 
 When lo! she, grasping at those oars 
 
 This scornful speech did throw: 
 "I cannot stand it any more; 
 I'll show you how to row! 
 
 Like this see there you strike out so- 
 Like that 'tis new to you? 
 'When did I learn?' O, long ago; 
 I'm on a Wellesley Crew ! " 
 
 I sat in silence meekly by, 
 And swallowed all my pride, 
 
 While ev'ry pretty, tender word 
 Was straightway petrified. 
 
They ne'er were spoken, and I fear 
 They ne'er may spoken be; 
 
 But I can row the Wellesley stroke, 
 So what is that to me? 
 
 ALICE WELCH KELLOGG. 
 
 IDfyen tfye IHtst (Ecmte up from tfye 
 
 WHEN the mist came up from the marsh last 
 night, 
 
 The moon hung low in the fading light 
 Her golden bow in the western sky; 
 A glow remained where the sunsets die, 
 When the mist came up from the marsh. 
 
 When the mist came up from the marsh last night, 
 The tangled reeds from the mantle white 
 
 Stared out like thoughts thro' the mist of years, 
 And the evening wind had a sound of tears, 
 When the mist came up from the marsh. 
 
 SARAH CHAMBERLIN WEED. 
 
 89 
 
o 
 
 Ct Carol. 
 
 [Standard of the Cross.] 
 
 I'ER the silent meadows, 
 
 O'er the sleeping town, 
 O'er the murmuring forest 
 
 Pours a radiance down : 
 'Tis a starry splendor 
 
 Glorifying night; 
 Shepherds, kings, and sages 
 
 Wonder at the sight. 
 
 See, O kings and shepherds, 
 
 Magi from afar, 
 Cradled in a manger 
 
 Israel's Morning Star! 
 And through parted heavens 
 
 Lo! the angelic throng 
 Voice their adoration 
 
 In triumphant song. 
 
 O'er the silent meadows 
 Floats the joyful strain; 
 
 O'er the murmuring forest 
 List ! it comes again : 
 90 
 
Glory in the highest!" 
 
 Hark ! O sleeping town ; 
 Peace, good will" the blessing 
 
 Still to earth comes down. 
 
 Still the starry wonder 
 
 Of that long-past night 
 Gleams adown the ages, 
 
 Filling all with light; 
 And all Nature, joining, 
 
 Swells the anthem still, 
 Glory in the highest; 
 
 On earth, peace, good will." 
 
 HARRIOT BREWER STERLING. 
 
 U /^OOD-BY," we say, but never part, 
 
 Such tried, old friends as you and I! 
 In you, Old Year, I found my heart; 
 In you I learned to live or die. 
 
 In you I learned to pity sin, 
 In you to suffer and be strong; 
 
 In you to seek the peace within, 
 To love the right and hate the wrong. 
 
 NANCY K. FOSTER. 
 91 
 
Boo! f}oo ! 
 
 [A Wellesley Glee.] 
 
 BOO! hoo! Mamma, take me home; 
 Ev'rybody here's so hard on me. 
 Oh! oh! why did I from you roam, 
 
 To take up my abode in Wellesley? 
 Boo ! hoo ! they fill up all my day 
 
 With English, Greek and Latin, Math, and Gym. 
 Oh ! oh ! and then they kindly say, 
 " Plenty time to spatziergehen in." 
 Boo! hoo! Boo! hoo! Boo! hoo! 
 
 Boo ! hoo ! they say I must expand 
 
 To meet the broader needs of woman kind. 
 Oh! oh! I think I'm fat enough 
 
 To satisfy the most ambitious mind. 
 Boo! hoo! they make me dust and sweep 
 
 A great big gloomy room, called P. L. R. 
 Oh ! oh ! they make me go to sleep 
 
 No matter how unlearned my lessons are. 
 Boo! hoo! Boo! hoo! Boo! hoo! 
 
 Boo ! hoo ! I miss my dolly so ! 
 
 Won't you send her on, Ma? That's a dear. 
 
 92 
 
Oh! oh! 'twould comfort me, I know, 
 And then when I'm alone I'd have no fear. 
 
 Boo! hoo! I 'most forgot to say 
 There are some dreadful girls called sophomores. 
 
 Oh ! oh ! I heard my roommate say 
 That they were going to haze us. 
 (Spoken:) (What's that, Ma?) 
 
 Boo ! hoo ! Boo ! hoo ! Boo ! hoo ! 
 
 3anuary tn Ptrgtma* 
 
 TALL rose trees bend, with swelling buds agleam; 
 The quaint red quince flowers flaunt their bits 
 of flame ; 
 
 Some strange white petals breathe a fragrance rare 
 Across the languor of the Southern air; 
 And graceful golden sprays of jasmine fall 
 In witching sunshine on the hidden wall. 
 
 The May-sprites must be dancing in the breeze ; 
 The jasmine holds the magic of the Spring, 
 And sends me memories, longings, smiles, and tears, 
 Which only Northern violets used to bring. 
 
 LILIAN B. MINER. 
 
 The Youth's Companion, 
 Jan. 22, 1891. 
 
 93 
 
'THIS Hallowe'en; 
 
 1 The frosty sky is bright 
 
 With deep-set gems. 
 The moon's kiss falls in sweet 
 Beneficence upon the earth. 
 Methinks it is a blessing 
 On our heads, my love, 
 This Hallowe'en. 
 
 'Tis Hallowe'en; 
 What spirits flit about 
 
 On yonder wood, 
 Like shades upon the banks 
 Of silent Styx? You start, my sweet. 
 Nay, 'tis the oak tree parting 
 With their leaves. They sigh 
 
 This Hallowe'en. 
 
 'Tis Hallowe'en; 
 Bright Autumn's death is here, 
 
 And Winter reigns. 
 But is it Death? Ah, no; 
 A holy rest and peace o'er all, 
 
 94 
 
That yields its benediction 
 To our hearts, my love, 
 
 This Hallowe'en. 
 
 AGNES S. COOK. 
 
 Ctn ctober Hose* 
 
 YET one more rose. One left, that Fall may- 
 know 
 
 The color, fragrance, zest, of Summer's show. 
 And ask'st thou why she lingers till the last, 
 When Summer's breath and Summer's blooms are 
 
 past, 
 
 When Autumn beckons her with trembling hand, 
 And all about her dread forerunners stand? 
 And think'st thou 'tis past her time to glow, 
 This last, late rose? 
 
 So long as suns shine warm and soft winds blow, 
 She blooms to let some hapless creature know 
 That Summer is not dead : just at a nap 
 She fell through drowsy chance from out her lap. 
 Can'st thou not read the message she would show, 
 This last, sweet rose? 
 
 The Outlook, CLARA BREWSTER POTWIN. 
 
 October, 1893. 
 
 95 
 
Co 2Ttt. Zltonabnocf at Sunrise. 
 
 GRAY on thy crest the soft cloud curtains lie, 
 Still guardians of thy morning slumbering. 
 Slow o'er thy head the star host marches by 
 
 In state, and far beyond man's numbering. 
 The flocks repose upon thy quiet breast; 
 
 All motionless they wait the coming day. 
 Thy somber rocks in shrouds of fog are drest 
 
 As penitents who early rise and pray. 
 And now upon thy shadowy, wooded side, 
 
 Amid the forests with their darkly dight, 
 Funeral plumes the king of shades doth hide, 
 
 And sighs and moans the dying of the night. 
 But see! the stars in heaven grow more pale. 
 
 Awake ! and bid thy coming sovereign hail. 
 
 EVANGELINE KENDALL. 
 
 96 
 
(Exeunt 
 
 RING down the purple curtains of the night! 
 The play is played ; the guests have gone away. 
 Why sit we staring at the empty stage, 
 The dying footlights, all the equipage 
 
 Of motley fool and reveller, seen but gray 
 Where shadows hide the painted scenes from sight? 
 
 The play is played : come out into the dark ! 
 
 The far, white stars are burning in their place; 
 From mountain highlands blows a great, cool breath. 
 Art thou afraid? Nay, love, it is but death. 
 
 Earth's masque is done. Lift up thine 
 
 unchanged face! 
 Across the meadows sings the morning lark. 
 
 LILLIAN CORBETT BARNES. 
 
 Lippincott's Magazine, 
 February, 1894. 
 
 97 
 
Kmgfyteb. 
 
 ALL night within the dim cathedral choir 
 He watched beside his armor: vigil kept 
 With prayer and fasting, while his fellows slept; 
 And as the gray dawn touched the cross-capped 
 
 spire, 
 
 There came to him a vision. Holy fire 
 Of pure devotion up within him leapt, 
 The song of service through his spirit swept, 
 God's accolade bestowed on lowly squire. 
 When the sun shone across the world's new day 
 They found him at the altar. Not a trace 
 Of struggle on the fair, uplifted face ; 
 
 And, as they bore him home, they softly trod 
 With reverent feet, as those who go to pray. 
 
 He died a squire : arise, O Knight of God ! 
 
 MARY HOLLANDS MCLEAN. 
 
Beatrice Porttnaru 
 
 OLADY with the calm and holy eyes 
 Fixed ever steadfast on the Light Divine, 
 What happy fate, what noble lot was thine, 
 Thyself secure among the blest and wise, 
 To draw thy poet lover to the skies, 
 
 Teach him the secret meaning 'neath the sign, 
 And lead, through realms where sun doth never 
 
 shine, 
 
 His errant soul at last to Paradise? 
 Now in the clear effulgence of the day, 
 
 Close drawn together by a deathless love, 
 Thou and thy Dante, glad, serene alway, 
 The joy of being and its fullness prove. 
 O peace unmeasured, deep, and high and broad! 
 O hallowed union, perfected in God! 
 
 MARY S. DANIELS. 
 
 99 
 
3nmte6 by ZTEt 
 
 A CALLOW youth received an invitation to the 
 Prom; 
 He scarcely was acquainted with the maiden it was 
 
 from ; 
 But not the slightest difference did so small a matter 
 
 make 
 Unto this luckless youth who was invited by mistake. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 He will never forget the ices, 
 He will never forget the cake ; 
 
 But he'll always wish he hadn't been 
 Invited by mistake. 
 
 A smiling usher brought him to a lady young and 
 
 fair; 
 Though neither e'er had seen the other, what did 
 
 either care? 
 
 An introduction might, thought he, this rare enjoy- 
 ment break; 
 But she full soon divined he was invited by mistake. 
 
They wandered through the corridors, and out beneath 
 the sky; 
 
 He seemed a trifle spoony, and he heaved a pensive 
 sigh. 
 
 He grew more sentimental as they neared the rip- 
 pling lake; 
 
 He said the proper thing, although invited by 
 mistake. 
 
 Oh! artfully she led him on, this fresh and verdant 
 
 youth ; 
 She took some friends into the plot, and fun they 
 
 had in sooth. 
 He thought she was a freshman, and, accordingly, 
 
 he spake 
 Abundant foolishness, this man invited by mistake. 
 
 Still funnier he grew, and eke, he did facetiously 
 
 Make jokes about our rules, and e'en the sacred 
 faculty; 
 
 But when she said " Good night," her words with 
 horror made him quake : 
 
 "I am Professor Blank; you were invited by mis- 
 take." 
 
 SARAH JANE McNARY. 
 
2TEy orb tfye Sun. 
 
 THE forests sway, and homage pay, 
 As, rising from an eastern sea 
 Of rosy cloud the Sun shines proud. 
 
 Largess of light he scatters free, 
 And showers around, with glory crowned, 
 His rich regalia royally. 
 
 Lo ! gray cloud-foes his path oppose, 
 The monarch Sun of flight is fain ; 
 
 In mist chained fast, his splendor past, 
 He spreads imploring rays in vain. 
 
 The face of Day, his queen, droops gray, 
 Tear-stained with drops of falling rain. 
 
 ISABELLA H. FISKE. 
 
SHY violets among the tangled grass; 
 Red robin, to thine own mate blithely singing, 
 Among the elm-tree boughs so gayly swinging, 
 My love, my true love, down this way will pass. 
 
 How shall you know her? By her sunny hair, 
 Her grave, sweet eyes, all pure, no evil knowing: 
 O robin! thou wilt turn to watch her going; 
 
 There is no maid in all the land so fair. 
 
 Shy violets among the tangled grass, 
 
 Shed forth your richest perfumes 'neath her feet; 
 And gallant robin, when thou seest her pass, 
 
 Trill out thy merriest lay her ears to greet; 
 And elm-tree branches, drooping low above her, 
 Whisper to her that I came by, and love her. 
 
 LOUISE R. LOOMIS. 
 
 103 
 
A STATELY lady's fair-haired little page; 
 A " yong squyer," who rideth with a king; 
 A poet taught of love and grief to sing 
 In sad strain and in sweet; whose heritage 
 Groweth the richer with increasing age, 
 Till gladness, born of many dawns in spring, 
 Fills all his soul, and merry notes outring 
 Along the road he fares on pilgrimage. 
 O blithest spirit of our English song! 
 Down the far centuries floats thy happy lay, 
 
 Untinged with cruel strife and restless pain; 
 Like a bird's carol, fresh, and free, and strong, 
 It lifts its praise for life, and love, and May 
 That blooms in sunshine after April rain. 
 
 MARY HOLLANDS MCLEAN. 
 
 104 
 
tDaban. 
 
 THE hour is slow and still ; and day and night 
 Linger awhile together. How the glow 
 
 Fades in the west! How all the royal show 
 Shades to a dimmer glory, like the light 
 Of the flushed morn, but still subdued, less bright; 
 
 And clear against the rose, the moon's thin bow 
 
 Is set. A shadow creeps the earth below, 
 Tentative, following the feet of Night. 
 Ah, how the world is fair! Tired heart of mine, 
 
 The little lake among the shadows there 
 Is the true poet; lifts her face, ashine 
 
 With rose and the moon's silverness, more fair 
 Than evening's self. Here is the heart divine, 
 
 Unspoiled by the dull weight of self-sought care. 
 
 S. VIRGINIA SHERWOOD. 
 
 At Wellesley. 
 
 105 
 
Hoses, 
 
 I ROAM in a garden, vestal fair, 
 The livelong, tranquil day, 
 Mid spotless lilies and snowdrops there, 
 
 And tremulous tints of May; 
 Where myriad violets scent the gloom 
 
 Of the forest-winding stream, 
 And throngs of white camellias bloom 
 
 With a chill, unearthly gleam. 
 But I sicken of all, and cry to fate 
 For the red, red roses beyond the gate. 
 
 From every land, from every clime, 
 
 The earth-stars here are come, 
 And proudly they banish the old lord Time 
 
 From their glamour-haunted home. 
 But where the dreamful pansies grow, 
 
 Uplifting their eyes to mine, 
 I wander restless, and sad, and slow, 
 
 And seek for a flower divine. 
 Then I sicken of all, and cry to fate 
 For the red, red roses beyond the gate. 
 106 
 
For there, from my vine-wreathed prison wall, 
 
 I see their passionate glow; 
 I catch a fragrance rarer than all 
 
 The breath of my flowers of snow. 
 The mystic light of their dusky hearts 
 
 Strikes e'en my lilies dim; 
 And the wine of their beauty a fire imparts 
 
 That thrills through brain and limb. 
 So I gaze in longing, and cry to fate 
 For the red, red roses beyond the gate. 
 
 "Beyond the gates," moans the wandering wind, 
 "There are darker sights than these; 
 Freshness and bloom are hard to find, 
 
 And the shade of Eden trees. 
 But the plains are bare and the mountains cold, 
 
 And drear is the desolate sea; 
 The woe of the world is grim and old, 
 
 'Tis death to thy flowers and thee." 
 But I hearken not : I cry to fate 
 For the red, red roses beyond the gate. 
 
 I know the sorrow, the gloom, and pain 
 Of the world to a soul untried ; 
 107 
 
That my buds will wither, nor bloom again, 
 
 If the gate be opened wide. 
 But I cry for freedom, for love, for life! 
 
 For the real that conquers the dream ! 
 And I know that there, in the heart of the strife, 
 
 The victor's banners gleam. 
 So I break the bar, and fly with fate 
 To the red, red roses beyond the gate. 
 
 MARION PELTON GUILD. 
 
 a Hose, 
 
 [ SAW it lying on the floor, 
 L The rose I gave her yesterday; 
 The little flower she prized no more 
 Than just to wear, then throw away. 
 
 Its beauty gone, its fragrance sweet 
 Spent all in vain upon the air; 
 
 I found it lying at my feet, 
 
 Where it had fallen from her hair. 
 
 JOSEPHINE P. SIMRALL. 
 
 108 
 
Ctlma ZTTater. 
 
 TO Alma Mater, Wellesley's daughters, 
 All together join and sing; 
 Through all her wealth of wood and waters 
 Let your happy voices ring. 
 
 In every changing mood we love her, 
 Love her towers, and wood, and lake. 
 
 O changeful sky, bend blue above her; 
 Wake, ye birds, your chorus wake! 
 
 We sing her praises now and ever, 
 
 Blessed fount of truth and love ; 
 Our heart's devotion, may it never 
 
 Faithless or unworthy prove. 
 
 We'll give our hearts and lives to serve her, 
 
 Humblest, highest, noblest, all. 
 A stainless name we will preserve her, 
 
 Answer to her ev'ry call. 
 
 ANNE BARRETT HUGHES. 
 
 109 
 
THE sun had gone, and the shadowy night 
 Had chased from the sky the last warm light, 
 When the waiting wind crept forth, and said, 
 "I will shake the reeds and the grasses dead, 
 And twist the boughs till they writhe and groan, 
 And the swaying pines shall wail and moan. 
 And I'll blow and blow where I please," cried he; 
 "There is none to see." 
 
 Then the withered grasses were bended low, 
 And the quivering reeds shook to and fro, 
 While a sad wail came from the old pine tree, 
 And the wind laughed on, "There is none to see." 
 Then softly, O softly, so bright and still, 
 The wide-eyed moon came over the hill ; 
 Came over and looked with her clear, full light 
 Out into the night. 
 
 The telltale shadows began to move 
 As the moon kept watch from the hill above. 
 The baffled wind stood still; said he, 
 "If I twist the branches the moon will see, 
 And the shadows tell if I try to blow." 
 no 
 
With a last low sigh he turned to go, 
 While the shadows still and the moon's full light 
 Watched out the night. 
 
 SARAH CHAMBERLIN WEED. 
 
 CAN I tell you how I love you, 
 With your beautiful brown eyes, 
 And your pretty lips, just parted, 
 In a smile both sweet and wise? 
 
 No ; I know I cannot tell you 
 
 How the one warm spot you bring, 
 
 Gives my life, so cold and wintry, 
 All the warmth of sunny spring. 
 
 Surely, I shall ne'er forget you 
 Through life's mingled joy and care, 
 
 Darling little furry sable, 
 
 That around my throat I wear! 
 
 GERTRUDE JONES. 
 
3n f}onorem: ^enry $* Z)urant 
 
 ( S>ui numquam quierit, quiescit.) 
 
 INTO what key shall glide the lingering strain 
 
 A The slow, sad minor that laments the dead? 
 
 Or the strong paean, with exultant tread 
 
 Timing the march to victory and gain ? 
 
 Shall the fond heart the happy past arraign, 
 
 Virtue on virtue, grace on grace, to plead, 
 
 Till whoso runs shall be constrained to read 
 
 The record of a work without a stain ? 
 
 To the quick soul, past moments flung aside 
 
 No more like perishable vestments cling : 
 
 Success or failure lose their shame or pride, 
 
 And death, by Christ's sure balm, doth lose its sting* 
 
 But faith, and hope, and love, these three abide: 
 
 His love, hope, faith, these three alone we sing. 
 
 However glad the days that we have spent, 
 We trust that gladder days are yet to be. 
 Crossing we know not what of land or sea, 
 In wealthier vineyards we shall pitch a tent, 
 With Eschol's heavier clusters downward bent. 
 And yet we need not think regretfully 
 
Of him, our leader and our guide, for he 
 By faith had seen it all before he went. 
 From the slow-gathering shades wherein he stood, 
 He spake as the beloved patriarch spake : 
 "I die, but God shall visit you with good: 
 You shall go up, my children, and shall take 
 My prayer, my plan, my purpose for your sake, 
 Into your promised land of womanhood." 
 
 "Let it be Christ's," he said; and yet again, 
 
 "Let it be Christ's": and this one choice was all. 
 
 Lesser desires, designs, may fail and fall, 
 
 However close unto the hearts of men ; 
 
 May withering cling as shapely leaves do when 
 
 The growing stalk shoots upward straight and tall, 
 
 Rearing above the human-fashioned wall 
 
 Its heavenly blossom. Rudely, until then, 
 
 The leaf had typified the flower that came. 
 
 A friend's soft hand may pluck it now away 
 
 To treasure, or a hostile foot may blame 
 
 And trample : the same sap, the vital aim, 
 
 Climbs to the flower whereon all glances stay, 
 
 And none its fragrant symmetry gainsay. 
 
 MARY RUSSELL BARTLETT. 
 
 "3 
 
apart. 
 
 1 WOULD not call thee back to me to-night, 
 Although my eager spirit turns to thee 
 
 With weary longing, and my eyes would see 
 Thy face aglow with spirit's power and might. 
 The sunset glow, the hillsides, every sight 
 
 Of these familiar paths brings thoughts of thee. 
 
 Thy name the maples whisper o'er to me, 
 Rustling their scarlet leaves in golden light. 
 Yet, though my heart doth yearn to have thee near, 
 
 I will not call thee back. Love hath no end 
 Where daily intercourse alone is dear, 
 
 Where spirit unto spirit cannot send 
 Its quickening power, though miles between us roll : 
 We still shall touch each other soul to soul. 
 
 GERTRUDE SPAULDING HENDERSON. 
 
 114 
 
v RE AMILY, dreamily swinging, swaying, 
 
 Blow as the blossoms blow, 
 Babekyn rocks in a faery cradle, 
 Now high, now low. 
 
 Babekyn rocks in a faery cradle, 
 Hung from the white moon's horn, 
 
 Pillowed on clinging, shimmering fleeces, 
 From bright clouds shorn. 
 
 Gleefully, daintily swinging, swaying, 
 Blossoms blow light in the wind; 
 
 Dawn-tinted petals fall thickly, till baby 
 Is hard to find. 
 
 Wearily, wearily rocking, swaying, 
 
 Even the robins rest; 
 When the sun is dead and the blossoms shiver, 
 
 Long dreams are best. 
 
 EMILY S. JOHNSON. 
 
Y 
 
 DIRECTIONS. 
 
 OU take a few pieces of zinc, 
 
 And put in your generator; 
 Add water, then plug in the cork, 
 
 And pour in H 2 SC>4. 
 
 OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 The action was not very brisk 
 
 When I put in H 2 SO 4 , 
 So I tried nitric acid, to see 
 
 If the thing wouldn't bubble up more. 
 
 CONCLUSIONS. 
 As I wiped up the acid and zinc, 
 
 And swept up the glass from the floor, 
 I concluded I'd stick to directions, 
 
 And try my own methods no more. 
 
 MARY ENO RUSSELL. 
 
 116 
 
Co an riole, 
 
 QWEETEST warbler of the Maytime, 
 **-J Rich thy liquid note, and rare! 
 Thou'rt a lover; I can tell it 
 By thy bold, yet coaxing air. 
 
 'Tis thy loved one thou art calling 
 To thy swinging dell aloft, 
 
 'Mid the blossoms Maytime opens, 
 'Mid a fragance sweet and soft. 
 
 Now I see thee, orange-breasted, 
 
 Flitting by on love intent; 
 Ah! thy song-tale is the sweetest 
 
 Lover ere to loved one sent. 
 
 Blossom bower ! Maytime fragrance ! 
 
 Subtle charm of lover's song! 
 Who resists you, who but loves you? 
 
 Loves you fond, and loves you long! 
 
 ALMA E. BEALE. 
 
 117 
 
Boating Song. 
 
 AWAY, away! more fleet than thought can follow, 
 Like a swallow 
 Flies our winged boat along; 
 In measured strokes our strength the lithe oar bending, 
 
 Voices blending, 
 Wake the echoes with our song. 
 
 REFRAIN. 
 Voices blending 
 With the waves in glad refrain 
 Wake the echoes with our strain. 
 
 Away, away! we leave the task enthralling. 
 
 Winds are calling, 
 Morn is laughing in the sky; 
 Before our boat the blithe waves, quick retreating, 
 
 Timid greeting, 
 Murmur as we hurry by. 
 
 Away, away! no thought of dull to-morrow: 
 
 Now we borrow 
 
 Mirth and freedom from the day. 
 Each restless heart with calm and courage filling, 
 
 Hope instilling, 
 Glide the careless hours away. 
 
 KENT DUNLAP HAGLER. 
 
 118 
 
w 
 
 Co . 
 
 E sat at the concert, she and I. 
 She toyed with a rose; 
 Her eyes glanced down ; 
 Her gown was brown. 
 
 To its very close 
 The song was of love- 
 Deep love that struggles, 
 That suffers, yet does not die. 
 
 Do you think she heard and felt its power, 
 
 As, one by one, 
 Down at her feet 
 Fell the petals sweet, 
 
 Till the song was done? 
 That my heart lay, too, 
 'Midst fragrance and song, 
 She knew, yet toyed with her flower. 
 
 MARY OTIS MALONE. 
 
 119 
 
r. (btt>arb Iney, Sir, 
 
 [Imitated by an Englishman in " Lady Clara Vere de Vere."] 
 
 M 
 
 R. EDWARD OLNEY, sir, 
 
 Of me you shall not win renown ; 
 You thought to write an Algebra 
 
 For pastime ere your sun went down. 
 You're not the child to draw it mild ; 
 The very Sphinx your pen inspired; 
 The father of an hundred woes, 
 You are not one to be admired. 
 
 Mr. Edward Olney, sir, 
 
 I know you proud to evolve your surds; 
 Your pride is yet no mate for mine, 
 
 Too proud to count myself three thirds. 
 Nor would I break for your sweet sake 
 
 A heart that bounds to truer glee; 
 A single line of Thomas Hood 
 
 Is worth a dozen formulae. 
 
 Mr. Edward Olney, sir, 
 
 Some meeker pupil you must find, 
 For could I mete the Milky Way, 
 
 I would not stoop to such a mind. 
 
You sought to prove how I could cube, 
 
 And my disdain is my reply; 
 Your stovepipe hat upon the nail 
 
 Is not more stiff to you than I. 
 
 Mr. Edward Olney, sir, 
 
 You bring strange sights before my eye; 
 Not thrice your birthday cakes have baked 
 
 Since I beheld young Phoebe cry. 
 O, your curved lines! your minus signs! 
 
 A great professor you may be, 
 But there was that upon her cheek 
 
 Which you had hardly cared to see. 
 
 Mr. Edward Olney, sir, 
 
 When thus she met her mother's view, 
 She had the passions of her kind, 
 
 She spake some certain truths of you; 
 Indeed, I heard one bitter word 
 
 That scarce could justly be defined. 
 Her sentence lacked the accurate terms 
 
 That stamp a mathematic mind. 
 
 Mr. Edward Olney, sir, 
 
 A specter haunts your college walk : 
 
The guilt of tears is at your door; 
 
 You changed a wholesome heart to chalk. 
 You fixed the course without remorse, 
 
 Regardless of her sore lament; 
 And when the day of trial came, 
 
 You slew her with an eight per cent. 
 
 Trust me, Edward Olney, sir, 
 
 Orion and the Pleiades, 
 From the blue heavens above us bent, 
 
 Smile at your minutes and degrees. 
 Howe'er it be, it seems to me 
 
 'Tis only fair ourselves to please ; 
 Dry eyes are more than decimals, 
 
 And happy hearts than indices. 
 
 I know you, Edward Olney, sir; 
 
 You pine among your roots and powers : 
 The rolling light of your red eyes 
 
 Is weary of the languid hours. 
 'Mid wondering trains, with boundless brains, 
 
 But sickening of a vague disease, 
 You know so ill to factor time, 
 
 You needs must play such pranks as these. 
 
Edward, Edward Olney, sir, 
 
 If time hangs heavy on your hands, 
 Are there no hinges off your gate, 
 
 Nor any weeds upon your lands ? 
 O, teach your little girl to bake, 
 
 Or teach your little boy to hoe! 
 Pray Heaven for a human heart, 
 
 And let the foolish freshman go. 
 
 KATHARINE LEE BATES. 
 
 W 
 
 [From the German of Schultz.] 
 
 HEN the Sun himself would mirror, 
 
 He does not need the sea; 
 A reflector of his splendor 
 
 E'en the smallest drop may be. 
 But the water clear as crystal 
 
 Must be, whether drop or sea ; 
 For the pure alone a mirror 
 Of the pure can ever be, 
 
 ANNE BARRETT HUGHES. 
 "3 
 
Sy XOaban Banfs. 
 
 FLUTE of mine, break into song 
 For the fleur-de-lis that throng 
 
 Prisoned in the measure! 
 Add the whirr of butterfly, 
 Gnat, and spider, cruising by 
 On their June-tide pleasure. 
 
 Let the prickly sedge have part 
 
 In the melody, its art, 
 
 And the dimpling waters. 
 
 Filmy, gauze-bedappled things, 
 
 Bring them in with all their wings- 
 Summer's sons and daughters. 
 
 Cicada and dragon fly, 
 Bees and beetled hosts awry, 
 
 Grasshopper and cricket, 
 Locust and papilio, 
 Feathered moths that wander slow 
 
 Through the ferny thicket. 
 
 Then a larger music roll : 
 Let it be the oriole, 
 
 124 
 
Let it be the plover, 
 Kingfisher and secret thrush, 
 Wren and blackbird then a hush 
 
 Sing the rosy clover! 
 Hymn the purple violet, 
 Pitcher plants and meadows wet 
 
 Chant the marish reaches. 
 Pipe the gurgling, pleasant sound 
 Of my least of boats, aground 
 
 On the least of beaches. 
 
 LILLIAN CORBETT BARNES. 
 
 M 
 
 Y garden, Lord, is filled with flowers, 
 
 Roseate-hued or pale : 
 Some flowers needing sheltered bowers, 
 Some, strong alone, like sun-lit towers. 
 
 It is a needless tale 
 To tell to Thee their names the measure 
 
 Of life in each one's part. 
 Thou knowest all my garden treasure, 
 
 Dear Lord ! It is my heart. 
 
 BERTHA PALMER. 
 
 "5 
 
o 
 
 Ct&es. 
 
 H ! the sea hath its ebb, and the sea hath its flow, 
 
 And is ever the same great sea! 
 Now tossing their spray like the wreathed snow, 
 
 And laughing aloud in their glee, 
 In swift submission, glad, complete, 
 
 That fills my soul with delight, 
 The strong waves cast them low at my feet, 
 
 For now 'tis the tide's full height. 
 
 Last night the moon smiled fair and free, 
 
 But the waves were all withdrawn, 
 And the line of foam shone filmily, 
 
 Like a drifting cloud at dawn; 
 And long I paced the wet sea floor, 
 
 With glimmering spoil o'erstrewn, 
 While the flood receded more and more, 
 
 Like a vanishing, far-off tune. 
 
 So love hath its ebb, and love hath its flow, 
 
 And is ever the same great love ; 
 Through many a change our moon may go, 
 
 But never can remove. 
 126 
 
To-day, in full surrender sweet, 
 
 It pours a lavish tide, 
 The breathless soul stands forth to greet, 
 
 With eager arms flung wide. 
 
 Yestreen in silent, dark repose 
 
 The conscious waters lay, 
 As if they fled pursuing foes, 
 
 Or feared their queen's dear sway. 
 But never a doubt or a torturing pang, 
 
 As I walked the shore, had I, 
 For "The sea is the sea," to myself I sang, 
 
 "At low tide as at high." 
 
 JOSEPHINE A. CASS. 
 
 tfe anb )eatfy. 
 
 T IFE is short; 
 * ' Death is long. 
 Life's the prelude; 
 Death's the song. 
 
 The prelude is sweet, 
 
 But the song ends never; 
 
 Its music of peace 
 Fills the vast forever. 
 
 MABEL A. CARPENTER. 
 
 127 
 
Cfye passing SouL 
 
 THE passing soul yearns forth from wistful eyes, 
 Whose solemn gaze is more than mortal-wise, 
 On death ; and we who in the earthways fair 
 Held with her pace for pace we may not share 
 That incommunicable, far surprise. 
 
 Yet must our grief-bewildered hearts surmise 
 How, with those slow-drawn, laboring, dying sighs 
 Time ebbs away, and yields to heavenly care 
 The passing soul. 
 
 Our sorrow wanes from her, our living guise 
 Is dreamlike. Hushed in God's own hand she lies. 
 Deep in the valley of the shadow, there 
 His rod and staff they comfort her. We bear 
 The bitterness of death, but softly flies 
 The passing soul. 
 
 KATHARINE LEE BATES* 
 
Cfye Zctgbt Winb in IDinter. 
 
 [T toils unceasing, restless of all hope, 
 A rushing sound that sweeps the universe, 
 Whirling a moan in rhythmical response 
 
 That swells out high, then mutters like a curse. 
 
 It seems at times the conscience of the world, 
 That lives most keenly in the still of night, 
 
 To blast the hope that wrong may be forgot, 
 And hound men on to some last work of might. 
 
 MARTHA HALE SHACKFORD. 
 
 T 
 
 at Sunset. 
 
 HE sun sinks down behind the firs, 
 The soft clouds hang beneath the sky 
 
 All gray and pink, like fairest pearls 
 That in far beds of Orient lie. 
 
 The distant hilltop glows with gold, 
 Within the valley shadows stray, 
 
 A sky all pink : a story told ; 
 
 A blush where late a warm kiss lay. 
 
 EDITH E. TUXBURY. 
 129 
 
w 
 
 Ct Senior Scbebule* 
 
 E'RE a-studying of Literature 
 
 As hard as e'er we can ; 
 We dote on Revolutions 
 
 And the Brotherhood of Man. 
 
 We're returning to the People 
 
 With a truly Lyric Cry; 
 And for Democratic Spirit 
 
 We'd lay us down and die. 
 
 We're a-reading of Philosophy 
 
 To find out why we be, 
 And a-learning that External Worlds 
 
 Lie wholly in the Me. 
 
 We don't believe in Matter, 
 
 And of Mind we're not quite sure ; 
 
 We're inclined to think Uncertainties 
 Most likely to endure. 
 
 We're a-studying Geology 
 Of Pre-historic Times, 
 130 
 
Before the Tides of Primal Sea 
 Got written into rhymes; 
 
 When the " Old World spun forever," 
 
 And the poets never knew it, 
 And all the Rocks, and Stones, and Things, 
 
 Were nicely mixed up through it. 
 
 We're a-looking at Fine Pictures 
 
 Made by People what are dead; 
 And we criticize Cathedrals 
 
 With a Ruskin at our head. 
 
 We're a-growing awful learned, 
 
 There's lots more of the kind, 
 But we do not mind confessing 
 
 That it's all a Beastly Grind. 
 
 MARY HOLLANDS MCLEAN. 
 
 "At Wellesley." 
 
T 
 
 Sopfyomore, 
 
 HERE is a Wellesley sophomore bright, 
 
 As fair as a maid can be ; 
 And in the lore of the days of yore 
 
 There are few so skilled as she. 
 But oh ! the grace of her winsome face 
 
 Is more than her learned mind; 
 And to all, I own, save poor me alone, 
 
 Most gracious she is and kind. 
 
 But oh! this Wellesley sophomore bright, 
 
 Is as dull as a maid can be, 
 If with such a mind she cannot find 
 
 How precious she is to me. 
 Yet dare I hope, when her powers have scope, 
 
 And the scales fall at last from her eyes, 
 As she sees my love, and all doubts remove, 
 
 'Twill be a delightful surprise? 
 
 ALICE WELCH KELLOGG. 
 
 132 
 
Oje Song of tfye otus, 
 
 QLEEPILY, sleepily, 
 ^-^ Swaying and shifting, 
 Drowsily, drowsily, 
 
 Nodding and drifting. 
 Odors of spicy balms, 
 Shadows of Eastern palms, 
 Cobwebs of phantasy, 
 
 Twining and twisting. 
 Out of a melody 
 
 Spinning soft slumbers, 
 Waving a mystery 
 
 Into the numbers 
 The river's full bosom 
 Beneath thee is swelling 
 
 With passion's desire. 
 Out of the east, from 
 His full-orbed dwelling, 
 Flings the moon-lover 
 
 His passion's pure fire. 
 
 JULIA STEVENS BUFFINGTON. 
 
 133 
 
in I}eat>en, 
 
 \ I 7 HAT will they bring thee, Sweet, to-morrow's 
 dawn, 
 
 Our three-year-old, whose birthday is in heaven? 
 For the earth-happiness thou hast foregone 
 
 What will they do to make the balance even? 
 Do the grave angels love as mothers love? 
 
 And is there one, just one from all the rest, 
 Whose arms were first to cradle thee above, 
 
 To whom thou turnest, whom thou lovest best? 
 
 Yea, surely mother-hearts in heaven must beat, 
 
 Else 'twere not heaven, and God were God no 
 
 more : 
 Could he be happy in his holy seat 
 
 If any child stood homesick near the door? 
 Tell that dear angel that doth keep our child 
 
 To hold thee close to-morrow, and to press 
 Upon thy brow, grown radiantly mild, 
 
 All that we would of lingering caress. 
 
 Tell her on earth we brought thee toys and flowers, 
 And told thee stories when thy birthday came; 
 
Say to her that when thou wast wholly ours, 
 With love unspeakable we called thy name ; 
 
 And when the shadows fell, rememberest thou? 
 How thou didst nestle down in sheltered sleep ! 
 
 Who sings to thee? Whose arms infold thee now? 
 To whom has God my jewel given to keep? 
 
 Be not unhappy, Sweet. Enjoy her care; 
 
 Go to her first of all the heavenly host ; 
 But, oh, do not forget me, is my prayer! 
 
 I am thy mother; love me still the most. 
 
 MARY WRIGHT PLUMMER. 
 
 M 
 
 r's IDtsf}. 
 
 AY the new year be friendly and loving, 
 
 And guide thee a gentle way, 
 And with hands like an eager lover's, 
 Bring thee some new gladness each day. 
 
 CLARA BREWSTER POTWIN. 
 
 135 
 
OPC Song, 
 
 DEAREST, my heart is full of love, 
 But I cannot speak it to-day, 
 For the light is gone from the sky above, 
 And the clouds are all dark and gray. 
 
 Dearest, my heart is full of pain, 
 
 But I hide it deep out of sight, 
 For sunshine is filling the sky again, 
 
 And the world is aglow with light. 
 
 JOSEPHINE P. SIMRALL. 
 
 WONDER if the dying leaf 
 
 Feels any hint of pain ; 
 I wonder if the with'ring rose 
 
 Longs to be fresh again. 
 
 I've wondered, too, if daisies white 
 
 Straight under summer sun, 
 Or tossed in rain above the dust, 
 
 Hope that their life is done. 
 
 MARTHA HALE SHACKFORD. 
 
 136 
 
Ct Seconb 
 
 IN the ancient days 
 Arthur loved his queen; 
 Guinevere loved Arthur not, 
 Lost in love for Lancelot. 
 
 Love is passing sweet, 
 Men and maidens say; 
 But I know that Guinevere 
 Seeking joy, found wild-eyed fear. 
 
 If, dear, one should think you 
 Somewhat cold and high, 
 One would be wise to ponder well 
 That seeking fire, one might find hell. 
 
 FLORENCE WILKINSON. 
 
 The Century Magazine, 
 January, 1886. 
 
 137 
 
A 
 
 Cl Cree=bay Song. 
 
 SONG of the spring, a rhyme 
 With a merry, musical chime 
 Ringeth abroad to-day, 
 Sweet old song of the May ! 
 Shy little flowers, peep through I 
 This is the time for you. 
 Listen to hear the rest 
 From the oriole in the nest! 
 + 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Out of the old is the new, 
 Under the storm is the blue. 
 For each little leaf of the tree 
 Shall the warm May sunshine be. 
 Fairer the summer in store 
 Than all the summers before. 
 
 Hear the song of our tree ! 
 Long is its pedigree. 
 Centuries come and go, 
 Strong and stern in the snow 
 138 
 
o 
 
 Stand the forests of beech, 
 
 Winter and summer for each. 
 
 Listen to hear the rest 
 
 From the bird of the crimson breast! 
 
 Who needeth a song? Not we; 
 Ours is the song of the tree. 
 Ours is the song of the May ; 
 Sing it and say it to-day! 
 Old is the earth in truth 
 A dream of the past its youth. 
 The sun is low in the west, 
 But listen to hear the rest. 
 
 ANNIE JERRELL TENNEY. 
 
 Corot. 
 
 (Ars omnis est una.) 
 
 POET-PAINTER, steeped in Art, 
 Thy brush has only been thy pen. 
 Had that been lost thee, then thou must 
 Have sung 1 thy soul out to us men. 
 
 CLARA BREWSTER POTWIN. 
 139 
 
Ctn 3rtsfy Boat Song* 
 
 THE dark o' the night was comin' fast, 
 For 'twas avenin' afther tay was past, 
 An' jist the time when boatin's swate, 
 An' gals come down all dressed so nate, 
 
 Bay jabbers. 
 
 The capn's were followin' after the rist, 
 A runnin' down hill like all possist, 
 An like an old tin fish-horn rung 
 The accints of the freshmen tongue, 
 
 Bay jabbers. 
 
 The sophs are a watchin' 'em up on the shore; 
 First up goes one, thin another oar, 
 Boats goin' this way, thin goin' that, 
 An' now one crayture's lost her hat, 
 
 Bay jabbers. 
 
 " Pick up that hat," the cap'n said, 
 An' jam it quick on the top o' yer head; 
 For the way is long, and the lake is wide, 
 And the boats must be hauled up side by side, 
 
 Bay jabbers. 
 140 
 
Steer shy o' that sailboat out on the lake, 
 Or your fayther'll be telegraphed to a wake. 
 That's HunneweH's boat, there's a man inside, 
 An' ye must kape up the college pride, 
 
 Bay jabbers. 
 
 Wait a bit now, says one, and rist, 
 
 For the dress I have on is my very bist; 
 
 An' the boat has a lake, an' the wather's high, 
 
 An' I'll jist haul it up to kape it dry, 
 
 Bay jabbers. 
 
 The bell is ringin' for half past seven, 
 From six till thin is the time that's given; 
 An' they'll have to row at an awful rate 
 To be at the bell at a quarther of eight, 
 
 Bay jabbers. 
 
 But with all their rowin' they don't get in ; 
 So jist to punish them for their sin 
 They lock them out of the beautiful gate, 
 Cos they're not in at quarther of eight, 
 
 Bay jabbers. 
 141 
 
So they sit thim down on the cold stone steps, 
 As if they were nothin' but common Preps ; 
 And nobody comes to let thim in, 
 But lave them there to repint of their sin, 
 
 Bay jabbers. 
 
 AMBIA C. HARRIS, CLARA A. JONES. 
 
 w 
 
 d Song of Praise* 
 
 HEN foes too strong my spirit vex, 
 And meet me at a thousand ways, 
 I boldly lift my voice and sing 
 A song of praise. 
 
 So much of good the Father sends, 
 So many mercies crown my days, 
 
 I'll aye have reason to prolong 
 This song of praise. 
 
 The powers of ill can ne'er endure 
 A heart attuned to grateful lays; 
 Like shades at dawn they flee before 
 My song of praise. 
 
 FLORENCE E. HOMER. 
 142 
 
T 
 
 HINKEST thou that a great distance 
 
 Lies between thee and yon star? 
 Thy soul's friends, the best and dearest, 
 
 In their nearness are as far. 
 
 CHARLOTTE ROSE STANLEY. 
 
 L 
 
 Consolation. 
 
 [In reply to " Isolation."] 
 
 OOK! Seest thou yon bright star-beam, 
 E'en tho' distant, pierce the night? 
 
 Ray divine, thy dear one's friendship, 
 Thro* thy darkness, is as bright. 
 
 AGNES E. WOOD. 
 
XJipisection. 
 
 [F vivisection merely 
 Afflicted dogs, and such, 
 Although it would be shocking, 
 
 It wouldn't hurt so much 
 As when a human coeur is rent 
 
 In twain by human touch. 
 I pray you then have mercy 
 
 On me, a lover true, 
 Whose heart, in bleeding sections, 
 
 Is carried off by you. 
 
 FRANCES C. LANCE. 
 
 Ct Senior's Compliment* 
 
 "T^WAS Saturday night. Three seniors tall 
 
 I Upon a freshman went to call. 
 "What a lovely room!" the first one sighed. 
 ' 4 A perfect gem!" number two replied. 
 The third just glanced at the fresh, young face, 
 "No gem," said she, "but a jewel case." 
 144 
 
e Pays bu 
 
 [Rondel.] 
 
 LAND of the madrigal and ode, 
 Of rainbow air and cloudless weather, 
 Tell me, what ferny, elfin road 
 
 Will lead my eager footsteps thither? 
 
 Trick'd out in gems shall I go hither? 
 
 And in a carriage a la mode, 
 
 Land of the madrigal and ode, 
 Of rainbow air and cloudless weather? 
 
 Or in the garb by Love bestow'd, 
 
 With roses crowned, and sprays of heather, 
 With mandolin and dart embow'd, 
 
 Shall Cupid and I go together 
 Land of the madrigal and ode, 
 
 Of rainbow air and cloudless weather? 
 
 ABBE CARTER GOODLOE. 
 
f}er Second >egree* 
 
 [A Tenor Solo.] 
 
 SHE was a Wellesley senior; 
 The time, Commencement Day; 
 The spot, nor wood, nor water 
 
 Will e'er her trust betray; 
 For there a gracious future 
 
 Stood forth in glory dressed, 
 And in the vision promised 
 
 To answer her behest. 
 That selfsame day I rose from earth, 
 
 And, poised in Harvard sky, 
 I promptly caught each winged thought 
 
 That fain would pass me by. 
 
 Exultantly they carolled 
 
 These tho'ts that flew so high 
 "Farewell, O work domestic, 
 
 I leave thee here to die. 
 I go to sweep the shadows 
 
 From human nature's sky; 
 My life, my love, my freedom, 
 No single heart can buy. 
 146 
 
Alone I search the world for truth, 
 
 I kneel at no man's feet; 
 She raiseth none who kneels to one, 
 
 My being stands complete. 
 
 "To this old rugged earth-ball 
 
 I pledge my service here, 
 Until the world, remoulded, 
 
 Rolls on a perfect sphere. 
 Then Alma Mater proudly 
 
 Shall call me to her side, 
 And say, 'Your greatness, daughter, 
 
 Is as the ocean wide; 
 In token slight of deep regard 
 
 This parchment take from me.' 
 Heart, soul, and mind spent for mankind, 
 
 Shall win my second degree." 
 
 A dozen years have flitted ; 
 
 That senior, as my bride, 
 Has found the world less rugged 
 
 Since trav'ling by my side; 
 Her dearest work domestic 
 
 Is for our children three. 
 
Alas, must I disclose it, 
 ''Mankind" means chiefly me, 
 Tho* Wellesley has not called her yet, 
 
 Nor will, that I can see, 
 The handmaid still of love's sweet will, 
 
 She's won her Second Degree, M A. 
 
 FRANCES C. LANCE. 
 
 SHALL I tell you of my lover, 
 Brave and true? 
 All his hidden charms discover 
 
 To your view? 
 
 Shall I tell you of his sweetness, 
 Of his rich and full completeness? 
 But I can't until I meet him ; 
 Now, could you? 
 
 THEODORA KYLE. 
 
 148 
 
Crossing tfye cean, 
 
 SWISH-SWASH ! Swish-swash ! 
 Over my head and at my feet 
 I hear the water's restless beat, 
 And here I'm going up, up, up; 
 But before I'm up, I'm down, 
 And I wonder, wonder where I am, 
 As I gaze about with a frown. 
 On a shelf in a box I seem to be laid, 
 And I query, half afraid, 
 Am I freight, or am I human? 
 Am I fish, or am I woman? 
 External tumult, internal commotion, 
 Tell me, can this be crossing the ocean? 
 
 CHARLOTTE FITCH ROBERTS. 
 
 149 
 
(Easter* 
 
 THE sun, arising in the day's glad dawning, 
 Shines on the flowers with his most tender rays ; 
 They know his power, and, waking, feel its warning, 
 And turn their faces to his light in praise. 
 
 O Sun of Righteousness, above us shining, 
 So strong in power, yet gentle in thy grace, 
 
 Thou dost arise on souls in darkness pining, 
 And all the world must turn to meet thy face! 
 
 SARA COOLIDGE BROOKS. 
 
 a 
 
 YOU are holding a soul in your delicate fingers; 
 O cradle it well ! 
 
 For the odor of leaves and the rose-touch lingers 
 Where the rose-leaf fell. 
 
 FLORENCE ANNETTE WING. 
 
 150 
 
Heper a Day IDttfyout a Cloub* 
 
 T T OWEVER so fair the day may be, 
 
 A A Some tiny cloud we can always see; 
 
 Some shadow will flit across the sky; 
 
 Some dark-winged messenger will draw nigh. 
 
 And so we sigh for the perfect day, 
 
 When the sun shall shine with undimmed ray, 
 
 Forgetting that all we so dearly prize 
 
 In the morning hour or the sunset skies, 
 
 The beauty that sets our hearts aglow, 
 
 Without the clouds, we never might know; 
 
 Forgetting the summons to life they bring 
 
 To the waiting seed in the dark earth's spring; 
 
 Forgetting that fruit from flower we gain, 
 
 When blossoms have fallen in wind and rain ; 
 
 Forgetting, alas ! that the pathway bright 
 
 With heavenly promise, appears in sight 
 
 Alone when the tears of the rain fall fast, 
 
 And the sun's great glory has through them passed. 
 
 DELIA MARIA TAYLOR. 
 
o 
 
 UT on the lake a note I heard, 
 
 A note as of a random bird ; 
 Now loud it was, now low, now high, 
 
 Now dying, on the dying wind. 
 The wind itself seemed loath to die 
 And leave so sweet a sound behind. 
 
 The sun below the hill sank, red, 
 
 A crown of glory on his head ; 
 
 A purple cloud, through streaks of light, 
 
 Sailed, dreaming, toward the dreaming North, 
 While forms of majesty and might 
 
 Against the blue were shadowed forth. 
 
 The lake itself lay dark and deep, 
 Hushed like a child when half asleep. 
 Gray-blue beneath the gray-blue arch 
 
 A little boat, with rippling sound, 
 Stole from the shadow of a larch 
 
 Into the evening-calm, profound. 
 
Again that sound upon the lake! 
 A shivering echo, half awake, 
 Moans from the purple sunset-hill ; 
 
 A softened swishing round the boat 
 Again that unexpected trill, 
 
 An eastern nightingale afloat! 
 
 The sun is gone, the shadows rise, 
 The color fades from darkening skies, 
 The single boat hath reached the shore, 
 
 A single star appeareth bright; 
 The single singer sings no more, 
 
 The lake is wrapped in silent night. 
 
 KATE WATKINS TIBBALS. 
 
 153 
 
n College 
 
 WHAT golden ways, 
 Those college days, 
 We rode and rode together! 
 Leaving behind 
 The weary grind, 
 
 We wheeled away with lightsome mind 
 From cap and gown, 
 From student-frown, 
 Into the autumn weather. 
 
 Glowing with sense 
 Of life intense, 
 
 And zest of life wild-hearted, 
 Above, we knew 
 The sky was blue, 
 
 So on we fiew, and on we flew, 
 The while the air, 
 A champagne rare, 
 
 Our sleeping pulses started. 
 
On, spinning faster, 
 
 We saw the aster 
 Its frosted purples fling 
 
 By wayside wall, 
 
 And over all 
 The woodbine weave its scarlet shawl; 
 
 And, dimmed its gold 
 
 At touch of cold, 
 The golden-rod upspring. 
 
 Then, musing, slow 
 
 We used to go 
 When distant far from town; 
 
 And on the wold 
 
 Leaves manifold 
 Fell, carpeting our way with gold. 
 
 How loth they fell 
 
 I mind me well, 
 How sadly circled down ! 
 
 Cathedral shades 
 The woodland glades 
 Drew down upon our roaming, 
 
As, homeward turned, 
 
 The ground we spurned, 
 While one white star above us burned; 
 
 And mystic-sober 
 
 Became October 
 Gray in the quiet gloaming. 
 
 Such golden ways, 
 
 Those college days, 
 We rode in sun and breeze; 
 
 We left behind 
 
 The weary grind, 
 And wheeled away with lightsome mind, 
 
 Finding anew 
 
 The golden, true 
 Fabled Hesperides. 
 
 FLORENCE WILKINSON. 
 
 156 
 
ist of Contributors* 
 
 Margaret Steele Anderson, '87-88 16 
 
 Lillian Corbett Barnes, B. A., '91 69,97,124 
 
 Mary Russell Bartlett, B.A., '79 18,74,112 
 
 Katharine Lee Bates, B.A., '80, M.A., '91 . 13, 26, 38, 120, 128 
 
 AlmaE. Beale, B.A., '91 75, 117 
 
 Mary Allison Bingham, B. A., '79 . . ... . 80 
 
 Sara Coolidge Brooks, B. A., '85 . . . . . . 150 
 
 Julia Stevens Buffington, B.S., '94 . . .. , . . 133 
 
 Isabella Campbell, B.S., '94 . 83 
 
 Mabel A. Carpenter, '94-95 . . . . 33, 127 
 Josephine A. Cass, B. A., '80 . . . * . 14,57,126 
 Mabel Wing Castle, B. A., '87 . . . . , . . 51 
 
 Florence Converse, B.S., '93 . . . . . . . 50 
 
 Agnes S. Cook, '91-92 . . . . . ,., . . 94 
 
 Mary S. Daniels, B.A., '86, M.A. (McMaster Univ.), '94 99 
 Isabella H. Fiske, B.A., '96 ... ,. . . . 102 
 
 Nancy K. Foster . . 91 
 
 Abbe Carter Goodloe, B.S., '89 . . . . . . 17, 145 
 
 Cornelia E. Green, B.A., '92 . . . . 15, 30, 73 
 Marion Pelton Guild, B.A., '80 . . , . . 43, 106 
 
 Kent Dunlap Hagler, B.A., '90 . . . .V . 76,118 
 
 Arabia C. Harris, '81 . . , 140 
 
 Mary HefFeran, B.A., '96 19, 87 
 
 Gertrude Spaulding Henderson, B.S., '92 . . . . 114 
 
 Florence E. Homer, B.S., '86 29, 142 
 
 Anne Barrett Hughes, B.S., '87 109, 123 
 
 Emily S.Johnson, '97 ......... 115 
 
 Clara A. Jones, B. A., '80 22,140 
 
Gertrude Jones, B. A., '95 m 
 
 Alice Welch Kellogg-, B.A., '94 64, 88, 132 
 
 Evangeline Kendall, B.A., '96 96 
 
 Ada May Krecker, B.A., '95 41, 56 
 
 Theodora Kyle, B.A., '91 148 
 
 Frances C. Lance, B.S., '92 144, 146 
 
 Anna Robertson Brown Lindsay, B.A., '83, M.A., '88, 
 
 Ph.D., '92 25, 84 
 
 Louise R. Loomis, '97 103 
 
 Martha Gause McCaulley, B.A., '88 37 
 
 Mary Hollands McLean, B.A., '96 . . . . 49, 98, 104, 130 
 Sarah Jane McNary, B.A., '90, M.A. (Univ. of City of 
 
 N.Y.),' 9 2 100 
 
 Mary Otis Malone, '98 .... ,. . . . 119 
 Lillian B. Miner, B. A., '88 . . . ; . 93 
 
 Helen Barrett Montgomery, B. A., '84 . . . .20,62 
 Bertha Palmer, B. A., '91, M.A. , '93 . . . . 125 
 
 Mary Wright Plummer, '81-82 ..... 34, 72, 134 
 
 Clara Brewster Potwin, B.A., '84 . . . 95, 135, 139 
 
 Lillian B. Quinby, B. A., '94 . . . * . . -36,70 
 Katharine Mordantt Quint, B. A., '90 . . . . . 41 
 Charlotte Fitch Roberts, B.A., '80, Ph.D. (Yale), '94 . . 149 
 Helen Worthington Rogers, B.A., '92, M.A., '93 ... 68 
 
 Mary Eno Russell, B. A., '80 116 
 
 Martha Hale Shackford, B.A., '96 . . . . . 129,136 
 S. Virginia Sherwood, B.A., '96 . . . . 105 
 
 Josephine P. Simrall, B.S., '93 40, 82, 108, 136 
 
 Charlotte Rose Stanley, B.A., '88 . . . \V . 28,63,143 
 Harriot Brewer Sterling, B.S., '86 . . . . . . 90 
 
 Josepha Virginia Sweetser, B. A., '90 54, 78 
 
 Delia Maria Taylor, B.A., '82, M.A., '87 151 
 
 Annie Jerrell Tenney, '82 138 
 
 Maud Thompson, '94 71 
 
 Kate W. Tibbals, '99 152 
 
 Edith E. Tuxbury, B.S., '94 129 
 
Sarah Chamberlin Weed, B.A., 95 21,89,110 
 
 Mabel W. White 77 
 
 Florence Wilkinson, B.A., '92 66, 137, 154 
 
 Florence Annette Wing, B. A., '92 42,150 
 
 Anna Estelle Wolfson, '99 52 
 
 Agnes E. Wood 143 
 
 AdaS.Woolfolk, B.S., '91 60 
 
CECILIA DOCTA* 
 
 Songs from "Women's Colleges, including Vassar, 
 Smith, Mt* Holyoke, Bryn Mawr, Wlesley, Wells, 
 Leland Stanford, Pomona, and the University of 
 Michigan* $f*00 postpaid. 
 
 ELVA HULBURD YOUNG, 
 
 Springfield, Mass* 
 
 AT WELLESLEY* 
 
 Legenda for J896* A book of Wlesley Stories* 
 $1,00. G* P* Putnam's Sons, Publishers* 
 
 Address, HELEN F* COOKE, 
 
 North Brookfield, Mass* 
 
 A SONG OF PRAISE* 
 
 In memory of Phillips Brooks* Booklet of heavy 
 cream paper with card covers, containing also half- 
 tone portrait of Bishop Brooks* 25 cents* 
 
 MARION PELTON GUILD, 
 
 West Roxbury, Mass* 
 
 WELLESLEY LYRICS* 
 
 $1*00 ; postpaid, $J*JO; with gilt top, $J*25* 
 CORDELIA C* NEVERS, 
 
 WeUesley, Mass* 
 
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