THE red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of lov… O, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove. But I send you a cream-white rose…

“AND Smith has made money?” “O, no; that’s a myth: Smith never made money But money made Smith!” A sculptor is Deming—a great man,…

AN INCIDENT OF THE F… NO song of a soldier riding down To the raging fight from Winchest… No song of a time that shook the e… With the nations’ throe at a natio…

The Steamer ‘ Atlantic ’ Was Wre… FOR months and years, with penury… And heart-sore envy did they dare… And mite by mite was saved from ea… To buy, some future day, the God-…

MY friend he was; my friend from… With childlike faith he oped to me… No door was locked on altar, grave… No weakness veiled, concealed no d… The hope, the sorrow and the wrong…

HE was old and alone, and he sat… His beard was white, and his eye w… With a mild content at the way lif… ‘I will venture a look in this liv… And I said: ‘ My friend, have you…

I often, musing, wander back to da… And far-off scenes and long-lost f… A group familiar now I see, who a… My mother, sister Jane, myself, a… I’ll tell you how I see them now.…

Nor gold, nor silver are the words… Nor rich-wrought chasing on design… But rugged relics of an unknown sp… Where fortune chanced I played on… Unthought of here the critic blame…

To toil all day and lie worn-out a… To rise for all the years to slave… And breed new broods to do no othe… In toiling, bearing, breeding—life… To myriad men, too base for man or…

THE day of Joseph’s marriage unt… In thoughful mood he said unto his… Behold, I go into a far-off count… To labor for thee, and to make thy… And home all sweet and peaceful.'…

Chicago, October 9,1871. GAUNT in the midst of the prairi… She who was once so fair; Charred and rent are her garments, Heavy and dark like cerements;

NOR War nor Peace, forever, old… But Strength my theme, whose song… The People’s Strength, the deep a… Of truths that seethe below the tr… The buried ruins of dead empires s…

IN the Spring we see: Then the buds are dear to us—immat… In the Summer we live: When bright eyes are near to us, o… In the Autumn we love:

Trapper died—our hero—and we griev… In every heart in camp the sorrow… “His soul was red!” the Indian cr… “A white man, he!” the grim old Y… So, brief and strong, each mourner…

A MAN will trust another man, an… His secret thought and act, as if… A woman—does she tell her sins? A… She never knew a woman she could t…