HENRY JEROME STOCKARD. H ENRY JEROME STOCKARD was born in Chatham county, North Carolina, September 15, 1858. His paternal ancestors were Irish and German; maternal, Irish and Scotch. While he was quite young his family moved near to the villages of Burlington and Graham, in Alamance county, in the same state. He now lives at the "Old Homestead," near Graham, with his widowed mother and his own motherless little children. He is of medium height, and weighs about one hundred and seventy pounds. He has a smooth face, eyes between a hazel and blue, dark hair, fine features, tender expression, active in his movements, dignified and graceful in all his bearings. He displays that neatness of person and dress which is " next to godliness," and is always closely allied to nobleness of mind. Exceedingly sensitive, of a highly nervous temperament-impulsive,-yet over-cautious. In disposition he is retiring; shuns society, preferring the blessed peacefulness of home-when it was complete-to all the world. He is slow to form friendships, but once formed they are lasting. Mr. Stockard was for several years a teacher. He contributes occasionally to some of the leading magazines of the country. Last autumn Azrael's wings darkened his household, and his beautiful and accomplished wife, (nee Sallie Jenero Holleman) with whom he had spent about ten years so happily, passed into the sleep that comes to all. Mr. Stockard has a passionate fondness for literature, especially poetry. The writings of Whittier, the psalmist of freedom, inspired him more than any of the American poets. Young Stockard has reached his present attainments through persistent effort. He sets his mark high and always aims above it. Adversity is a rough teacher, but she often brings up giants. Henry Jerome Stockard is a Christian poet. Descended from some of the oldest families of the South, he understands the trend of thought not only of the land of the skies," but of humanity. His parents,-yes, his ancestors for generations,— are represented as having been endued with a severe and inflexible virtue; and to the influence of their precept and example must be ascribed, in no small measure, the pure moral character and the profound respect for moral obligations which Stockard has exhibited through the whole of his life. D. A. L. SPRING HARBINGERS. YON range of hills that skirts the dim horizon, That erst was draped in empyrean blue, Is robed in haze; the belt of oaks that lies on Its slopes is scarce in view. SLEEP AND DEATH. SWEET tired child, across the western wold, There! nestle close, and let me dry these tears, Frail wanderer, tottering on the world's cold brink, The night is hurrying down upon thee now; No shealing holds this moor for thee; come thou, And on my strong benignant bosom sink:So! I will smooth thy wan and haggard brow, Thou'rt lost, poor traveler, on a desert wild. TO BABY ELSIE. A TENDER morn for thee, A radiant noon, a calm reposeful even, And stars at waning twilight; o'er the Sea The minarets of heaven! IN MEMORIAM. (S. J. S., died Sept. 27, 1888.) I. AUTUMN with the rush of the storm Like the burden of some vast threnody, II. The grass is brown in the fields, The flowers are withered and dead; To some serener shore, But the South shall breathe again, And the boughs assume their leaves; The flowers come back to hill and plain, The birds to lonely eaves: So the seasons on shall sweep, But the dead they ne'er restore, And thou shalt sleep while I must weep For the love that is no more! AT EVENING. FROM far a-field the cows are coming home; I lean once more upon the pasture bars, Each evening when I close my cheerless door, THE MINSTREL SEA. (ON SOUTH BEACH, MARTHA'S VINEYARD.) THE ancient ocean takes his magic lyre. And sweeps with cunning hand its thousand strings; With hoarsest voice he joins the strains and sings Of Chaos, and of worlds in mighty choir Waking in morning chorus to their Sire;Of great eternity-of hidden things Beyond the reach of Fancy's cleaving wingsBeyond the skies-beyond Plutonian fire! Lone minstrel, singing round thy barren sands,— Encroaching on the shore,-when earth is dumb, Among her crumbling palaces thou'lt come, And batter down their walls with ghostly hands, And chant thy dirge her solemn ruins o'er,-Oblivion's empires all forevermore. "AS PERSEUS ERE HE TRIED THE UNKNOWN SEAS." As Perseus ere he tried the unknown seas For the dominions where Medusa reigned, O father, unto thee so would I call,— And hear the unknown ocean, far below The rising mists, chafe on the cold, gray stonesClad in immortal armor, even so Would I leap forth for the "unshapen land," Safe-shod to pass beyond its frozen zones! THE HARP. In a strong tower that fronts a stormy sea, The minstrel sea its endless anthem sings,- DO YOU REMEMBER? Do you remember me, my glorified, Of that strange, unimagined ocean, and Teach my poor, longing heart to understand That which we pondered ere you quit my side? If you could come just for a little while, And should not speak-but only lift your eyes To mine, and bend upon me the dear smile That I have grieved for oh, so long and deep! And then your home resume-it would suffice!— I could more patient be, and silent keep. DEATH. As ship-wrecked sailors far away at sea, With lifted eyes, into the shoreless deep There is a country bordering on this land ESTHER WALDEN BARNES. E STHER WALDEN BARNES is a native, and has been all her life a resident of Portsmouth, N. H. She is the fifth of nine children; six of whom have passed away. She resides, with her sister, in the homestead (which was her birthplace) in that old city by the sea. Her father, Ludwig Bäärnhielm, was by birth a Swede; the only son of an officer in the Swedish army. His three uncles belonged to the Swedish navy. The name is pronounced Bairnyelm. It was ennobled in his native land, but is now extinct, no one remaining to inherit it. He was born in Gottenberg, in 1776; and emigrated to this country in early youth. In 1800, he became a resident of Portsmouth, N. H., where he was long a shipping merchant. The mother of Miss Barnes was of remote English descent. She was born in Portsmouth in 1783. Miss Barnes has published in papers, annuals, and various collections, a considerable amount of prose and verse; all of a very creditable character. She has also published several volumes for the young. B. C. EASTER FLOWERS. 'TIS" of Thine own, we give Thee," gracious God! Flowers of the Spring-time; offerings from the sod, Tinted, by Thine own hand, with rainbow dyes; Oh! glorious symbols of the Easter morn, Ye come sweet flowers, with fragrance pure and rare, To blend your incense with the breath of prayer. THE WELCOME. A WELCOME Would I give thee, new-born year! A bright, glad welcome to this world of ours; And crown each day, of this brief life of thine, With a rich chaplet of immortal flowers: A chaplet of good deeds, that brighter far, monarchs wear. The deeds emblazoned on the warrior's shield, Those, on the fleeting mist, or ever-changing sand. Then haste thee, new-born year! Thy scroll unfold. Then gird thee, Christian! for the conflict now, FOR MEMORIAL DAY. REST, heroes rest! all conflicts now are ended, Ye cannot die, while yet your memory liveth, The deep, dark stain of Slavery's cruel wrong: symbol The "land of freedom" breathed in verse and song. Your lives you've laid upon your country's altar,— The roll of drum, the bugle-note, the clarion, MEMORY. Who hath not felt the power of that sweet spell! -Memory. THOMAS TOD STODDART. HOMAS TOD T STODDART, well-known through his ingenious works on angling, was born on the 14th of February, 1810, in Argyle Square, Edinburgh, Scotland. He studied for the bar, and passed advocate in 1833. He soon relinquished the legal profession. For many years he divided his time between the pursuits of literature, and the recreation of angling. In 1831 he published “The Deathwake, or Lunacy, a Poem;" in 1834, "The Art of Angling;" in 1836, "Angling Reminiscences;" in 1839, "Songs and Poems;" and in 1844, "Abel Massinger, or the Aëronaut, a Romance." C. R. ANGLING SONG. BRING the rod, the line, the reel! Bring me showers, and clouds, and winds, All things well and proper, Dark and wily dropper; Made of plover hackle, And a cobweb tackle. Lead me where the river flows, On the surface wheeling, From his safe concealing. There, as with a pleasant friend, Every motion swaying, When the trout are playing; Bring me rod and reel, Flies of every feather, Bring the osier creel, Send me glorious weather! |