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. The bland south breezes come, and make to quiver Again, and yet again, these gusts capricious, From out the ever-moaning woodland stray, Fraught with the perfumes of some plants delicious 'Mid rugged rocks and gray. The orchards, basking on south-lying reaches, The frogs now chant their ceasless iteration, Far down the meads about the reedy ponds; And sparrows hold a twittering conversation Beneath the swaying fronds. Across the fallow-land the sunbeams glimmer, And in the northern sky the chain-like flight Of migratory birds grows dim and dimmer, Till fairly lost to sight. Earth, sky, and water,-every living creature, A respite seems to gain from all their woes, When o'er her breast benignant Mother-Nature Her vernal garment throws. LATE AT NIGHT. 'Tis late at night; I hear the wandering Wind His far-spent echoes down the silent halls. And Memory, soft as the night-wind, steals She stirs the portraits hanging on its walls. BEYOND THE DESERT. THE earth-worn caravans are tenting there; Bear yet thy load a little while, ere long The burdens that seem nigh to weigh thee down Will fall away; thou'lt find in heaven's throng Ten thousand joys for every sorrow known. 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; 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 Of great eternity-of hidden things Lone minstrel, singing round thy barren sands,— 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 Would I leap forth for the "unshapen land," THE HARP. In a strong tower that fronts a stormy sea, Uufurled the lurid storm-clouds, fold by fold, The minstrel sea its endless anthem sings,Along those whispering chords a murmur wakes, And like a far-spent echo dies away. 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 DEATH. 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. Christ hath arisen with "healing in his wings," 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: |