MR LUCY HAMILTON HOOPER. RS. LUCY HAMILTON HOOPER, who recently died in Paris, was born in Philadelphia, Pa., January 20th, 1835. She was the daughter of a well-known merchant of that city. Her maiden name was Jones. She became the wife, in 1854, of Robert E. Hooper, a native of Philadelphia, and resided in that city until a few years ago. Her first poems, written at a very early age, were published in Godey's Lady's Book. In 1864 appeared a small collection of her poems, published by Mr. Leypoldt, the first hundred copies of the edition being presented by the author to the Great Central Fair for the benefit of the sanitary commission which was then in progress in Philadelphia. In 1868 was begun the publication of Lippincott's Magazine, to which Mrs. Hooper became a constant contributor. She assumed the functions of assistant editor of that periodical, a post which she retained till her visit to Europe, in 1870. In 1871 a second collection of her poems was published, including most of those that had been printed in the first volume, with important additions. Though born to great wealth, Mrs. Hooper found herself finally compelled by the consequence of a commercial crisis to adopt, as a profession, those literary pursuits which had hitherto formed her favorite recreation. She went to Europe in 1874 to become the Paris correspondent of several prominent American newspapers. Her efforts in that direction were crowned with success. She was a regular contributor to the Daily Evening Telegraph, of Philadelphia, an engagement of sixteen years' duration, and of the Post-Dispatch of St. Louis. She was the author of a translation of Alphonse Daudet's novel, "The Nabob," which was published by special agreement with M. Daudet. An original novel called "Under the Tricolor," and a four-act drama, entitled "Helen's Inheritance," were her latest literary works of important character. The latter was first produced in June, 1888, in a French version, in the Théatre d'Application, in Paris, Miss Nettie Hooper playing the part of the heroine. She sustained the rôle when the piece was brought out by A. M. Palmer in the Madison Square Theatre, in New York, in December, 1889. The drama has been played under another title, "Inherited" throughout the United States. H. E. M. THE KING'S RIDE. Above the city of Berlin Shines soft the summer day, And near the royal palace shout The school boys at their play. Sudden the mighty palace gates Unclasp their portals wide, And forth into the sunshine see A single horseman ride. A bent old man in plain attire ; The boys have spied him, and with shouts The merry urchins haste to greet Impeding e'en his horse's tread, The frowning look, the angry tone Are feigned, full well they know; They do not fear his stick-that hand Ne'er struck a coward blow. "Be off to school, you boys!" he cried, "Ho! ho!" the laughers say, "A pretty king you not to know We've holiday to-day!" And so upon that summer day, These children at his side, The symbol of his nation's love, Did royal Frederick ride. O Kings! your thrones are tottering now! IN VAIN. Clasp closer, arms; press closer, lips, Will crimson 'neath your pressing. For these vain words and vainer tears She waited yester-even; She waits you now-but in the far SARAH T. BOLTON. With patient eyes fixed on the door, She waited, hoping ever, Till death's dark wall rose cold between Now silent lies the gentlest heart By you a fickle lover! Your wrong to her knew never end Till earth's last bonds were riven; Your memory rose cold between Her parting soul and heaven. Now vain your false and tardy grief, Vain your remorseful weeping; For she, whom only you deceived, Lies hushed in dreamless sleeping. Go: not beside that peaceful form, Should lying words be spoken ! Go, pray to God, "Be merciful, As she whose heart I've broken." REVELRY. FILL the cup till o'er the brim She I loved is dead and gone. Dead-and I am here! Change the flask, and fill the glass Drink! till o'er the purple skies You are dead, O love of mine! Pass the dusty Cognac here, Richer with the vine's hot life Than the last we quaffed. Drink! till mem'ry's phantoms pale THE SARAH T. BOLTON. 535 HE late Mrs. Sarah T. Bolton was born in Newport, Ky., 18th December, 1812. Her maiden name was Barritt. When she was only three years old, her parents removed to Jennings county, Ind. Thence they removed to Madison, where Sarah grew to womanhood. She was educated in North Madison. She became a thorough English scholar, and at subsequent periods of her life acquired a knowledge of German and French. When fourteen years of age, she wrote verses. When not more than sixteen years old, several of her poems were published in a Madison paper. The editor was Nathaniel P. Bolton, and her literary ventures led to an acquaintance with him which resulted in marriage. The early years of her married life were passed on a farm west of Indianapolis. Her time and energies were chiefly devoted to home cares, having been blessed with a son and daughter. Mr. Bolton was appointed consul to Switzerland in 1855 by President Pierce. He was accompanied to Europe by his wife and children, the latter of whom spent considerable time in Germany, Italy and France. From all these countries Mrs. Bolton wrote poems, besides sending many valuable prose contributions to the Home Journal and Cincinnati Commercial. Hitherto she had known no trouble but that caused by vicissitude of fortune and the hard cares of life, and in November, 1858, her first great sorrow came in the death of her husband. Mrs. Bolton's life was full of effort. During the Civil War she wrote many stirring songs, among them "The Union Forever" and "Ralph Farnham's Dream." It is interesting to trace Mrs. Bolton's patriotic blood to its Revolutionary source. Her father was the youngest son of Col. Lemuel Barritt, who distinguished himself as an officer in the war of Independence. Her mother was a Pendleton of Virginia and closely related to James Madison. Her works are: "The Life and Poems of Sarah T. Bolton" (Indianapolis, 1880.) Her last volume is entitled "The Songs of a Lifetime." This volume is edited by Professor Ridpath, of DePauw University, with a preface by General Lew Wallace. F. D. T. PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. VOYAGER upon life's sea, To yourself be true, And where'er your lot may be, Paddle your own canoe. Never, though the winds may rave, Falter nor look back; But upon the darkest wave Leave a shining track. Nobly dare the wildest storm, Stem the hardest gale, When the world is cold and dark, Every wave that bears you on To the silent shore, From its sunny source has gone Cheat you of your due; If your birth denies you wealth, Lofty state and power, Honest fame and hardy health But if these will not suffice, Would you wrest the wreath of fame Would you write a deathless name Would you crush the tyrant wrong, And to break the chains that bind To enfranchise slavish mind- Nothing great is lightly won, Leave to Heaven in humble trust, All you will to do; But if you succeed, you must LEFT ON THE BATTLE field. WHAT, was it a dream? am I all alone They have left me behind with the mangled slain. Yes, now I remember it all too well ! We met, from the battling ranks apart; Together our weapons flashed and fell, And mine was sheathed in his quivering heart. In the cypress gloom, where the deed was done, It was all too dark to see his face; But I heard his death-groans, one by one, And he holds me still in a cold embrace. He spoke but once, and I could not hear The words he said, for the cannon's roar; But my heart grew cold with a deadly fear,-O God! I had heard that voice before! Had heard it before at our mother's knee, When we lisped the words of our evening prayer! My brother! would I had died for thee, This burden is more than my soul can bear! I pressed my lips to his death-cold cheek, On a forest path where the shadows fell; And the tender words of his last farewell. But that parting was years, long years ago, |