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Is heard the clashing of the ferns,
Jostling each other in the breeze; The sharp tongue of the locust breaks
Monotony of whispering trees.
MINNIE GOW WALSWORTH.
RS. WALSWORTH comes of one of the
M Rearliest families to settle in western Penn
Where whirred the beetle through the night,
Rises the morerain's plaintive woe;
Pulses the cricket's tremulo;
The brooklet seems to laugh and sing;
With fuller voice of everything;
*Then suddenly from leafy screen
Out darts the joyous bobolink, And sparkling drops of melody
In bubbling measures rise and sink;
And from the screens of fern and leaf,
Afar and near, and all about, In answer from the merry throats
The diamond songs come gushing out;
sylvania, whose line of descent has given many persons to literary and professional pursuits. Her grandfather, John L. Gow, of Washington, Pa., was a writer of both prose and verse. Her father, Alex M. Gow, was well known in Pennsylvania and Indiana as an educator and editor. He was the author of “Good Morals and Gentle Manners," a book used in public schools.
Before Minnie Gow was ten years of age, her poetic productions were quite numerous, and although those productions were enjoyed and treasured by her friends, no encouragement was given her to publish until her judgment and taste were matured by experience and study. She was graduated from the Washington Female Seminary. On December 4th, 1891, she was married to Edgar Douglass Walsworth, of Fontenelle, Iowa, to which place Miss Gow had removed with her family a few years previous. Mrs. Walsworth has contributed to the New York Independent, Interior, St. Nicholas, Wide-Awake, Presbyterian Banner, Literary Life and several other periodicals. “Luaine,” a poem, contains her most mature and careful work.
J. M. G.
Music seems into jewels turned,
Sparkling and dancing on the glow Of tawny sunlight o'er the hill,
Which floods with gold the vales below.
Still swells the fuller voice of day
From air and wave, from branch and sod, ”Till nature's perfect harmony
Rolls forth in rich accord.
IN THE DISMAL SWAMP.
Upon the branches serpents lie;
“Wheel the cicala and the bat;" 'Within the jungles morerains cry,
"And fiercely screams the forest cat."
A SUMMER's day, and summer's ripe perfection Clothed earth, and air, and sky, and August
wood, A rare sweet day, as in earth's primal beauty, When God declared his finished work was
Alive the marsh is with complaint;
The she-wolf's lair is in the brake; And sullied by the dropping taint
Of poisonous weed expands the lake.
From where a throng in simple recreation
Had gathered, each to play him Nature's guest, And from her hand drink draughts of health and
pleasure, Two wandered all unmindful of the rest.
Up springs the wildcat from the bough;
Out darts the she-wolf from her den; - And deadly fogs from bog and slough
Unite with blistering dews of fen.
“Oh gift of God! oh perfect day!" he murmured,
And in the love of Nature, poet-wise, With many a grace of speech, he told of secrets But half concealed in flowers, and rocks, and
“A doubting soul, with tome and staff,
Comes down across the gurgling brook,
- The Two Voices.
And she who listened, fair, demure and thoughtful, Upreaching in her thought, his thoughts to
meet, Beneath the conversation heard, or fancied,
She heard a strain of music, low and sweet.
O winds, that whispered benedictions o'er them,
'Tis long since on her cheek ye spent your breath, And years, O flowers, that woke to life that
morning, Since at her hands ye met a willing death.
And the child-eyes, meeting the old eyes, dim,
But vague and tender as the flowers' awak’ning,
There came, that day, new life within her heart; Her pulses beat in unison with Nature's,
Her joy but to the day belonged a part. Ah, yes; perhaps yet, ʼmid the summer's beauty,
The words come back and mem'ries sweet arise, “Oh gift of God! oh perfect day!” she murmurs,
But tears well up to dim her wistful eyes.
AT THE CHURCH SOCIAL.
Oh, what was that night but unbroken joy
Into the gloom of the summer night,
BABY IN CHURCH.
AUNT Nellie has fashioned a dainty thing,
Of hamburg and ribbon and lace, And mamma had said, as she settled it 'round
Our beautiful baby's face, Where the dimples play and the laughter lies
Like sunbeams hid in her violet eyes: “If the day is pleasant and baby is good,
She may go to church and wear her new hood."
From a house as "snug as a robin's nest,”
Then Ben, aged six, began to tell,
In elder-brotherly way,
If she went to church next day.
And so, on a beautiful Sabbath in May,
When the fruit-buds burst into flowers, (There wasn't a blossom on bush or tree
So fair as this blossom of ours), All in her white dress, dainty and new, Our baby sat in the family pew. The grand, sweet music, the reverent air, The solemn hush and the voice of prayer,