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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 ;
No glittering courtiers wait,
No armed guard attend the steps
Of Frederick the Great!

The boys have spied him, and with shouts
The summer breezes ring;

The merry urchins haste to greet
Their well-belovéd king.

Impeding e'en his horse's tread,
Presses the joyous train ;
And Prussia's despot frowns his best,
And shakes his stick in vain.

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!
Dark frowns the brow of Fate!
When did you ride as rode that day
King Frederick the Great.

IN VAIN.

Clasp closer, arms; press closer, lips,
In last and vain carressing;
For never more that pallid cheek

Will crimson 'neath your pressing. For these vain words and vainer tears She waited yester-even;

She waits you now-but in the far
Resplendent halls of heaven.

UNIV

OF MICH

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SARAH T. BOLTON.

With patient eyes fixed on the door,

She waited, hoping ever,

Till death's dark wall rose cold between
Her gaze and you forever.
She heard your footsteps in the breeze,
And in the wild bee's humming :
The last breath she shaped to words
Said softly, "Is he coming?"

Now silent lies the gentlest heart
That ever beat 'neath cover;
Safe, never to be wrung again

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
Flows the bright champagne.
Here's forgetfulness of grief,
Balm for every pain.
Drink! we watch the dying hours
Of the dying year.

She I loved is dead and gone.

Dead-and I am here!

Change the flask, and fill the glass
With the red Lafitte.
If there's Lethe upon earth,
This O this is it!

Drink! till o'er the purple skies
Morning flushes clear,

You are dead, O love of mine!
Dead-and I am here!

Pass the dusty Cognac here,
Fill a stronger draught.

Richer with the vine's hot life

Than the last we quaffed.

Drink! till mem'ry's phantoms pale
Fade and disappear.
Drink! till I forget she's dead!
Dead-and I am here!

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,
Brave of heart and strong of arm,
You will never fail.

When the world is cold and dark,
Keep an aim in view;
And toward the beacon mark
Paddle your own canoe.

Every wave that bears you on

To the silent shore,

From its sunny source has gone
To return no more.
Then let not an hour's delay

Cheat you of your due;
But, while it is called to-day
Paddle your own canoe.

If your birth denies you wealth, Lofty state and power,

Honest fame and hardy health
Are a better dower.

But if these will not suffice,
Golden gain pursue;
And to gain the glittering prize
Paddle your own canoe.

Would you wrest the wreath of fame
From the hand of fate?

Would you write a deathless name
With the good and great?
Would you bless your fellow men?
Heart and soul imbue
With the holy task, and then
Paddle your own canoe.

Would you crush the tyrant wrong,
In the world's free fight?
With a spirit brave and strong,
Battle for the right.

And to break the chains that bind
The many to the few-

To enfranchise slavish mind-
Paddle your own canoe.

Nothing great is lightly won,
Nothing won is lost;
Every good deed, nobly done,
Will repay the cost.

Leave to Heaven in humble trust,

All you will to do;

But if you succeed, you must
Paddle your own canoe.

LEFT ON THE BATTLE field.

WHAT, was it a dream? am I all alone
In the dreary night and the drizzling rain ?
Hist!-ah, it was only the river's moan;

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,
And begged him to show me, by word or sign,
That he knew and forgave me ; he could not speak,
But he nestled his poor cold face to mine.
The blood flowed fast from my wounded side,
And then for awhile I forgot my pain,
And over the lakelet we seemed to glide
In our little boat, two boys again.
And then, in my dream, we stood alone

On a forest path where the shadows fell;
And I heard again the tremulous tone,

And the tender words of his last farewell.

But that parting was years, long years ago,
He wandered away to a foreign land;
And our dear old mother will never know
That he died to-night by his brother's hand.

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