But this is too lugubrious. There are many others of a similar tone, but we prefer laying before the reader what we most admire. We have no doubt whatever that there are many persons who would consider such poems as the last quoted from the gems of the volume. To us they read as though written by persons in the last stage of consumption, who have no hope in life, and apparently very little beyond. The lines, too, are as heavy and clumsy as they can be. Perhaps the author has made them so on purpose to impart an additional ghastliness to the poem; for, as seen already, she can sing sweetly enough when she pleases. Another long and very doleful poem is that entitled “Under the Rose,” which repeats the sad old lesson that the sins of the parents are visited on the heads of the children. A third, though not quite so sad, save in the ending, is “The Prince’s Progress,” which is one of the best and most characteristic in the volume. As exhibiting a happier style, we quote a few verses: “In his world-end palace the strong Prince sat, Taking his ease on cushion and mat; Close at hand lay his staff and his hat. ‘When wilt thou start? The bride waits, O youth!’ ‘Now the moon’s at full; I tarried for that: Now I start in truth. ‘But tell me first, true voice of my doom, Of my veiled bride in her maiden bloom; Keeps she watch through glare and through gloom, Watch for me asleep and awake?’ ‘Spell-bound she watches in one white room, And is patient for thy sake. ‘By her head lilies and rosebuds grow; The lilies droop――will the rosebuds blow? The silver slim lilies hang the head low; Their stream is scanty, their sunshine rare. Let the sun blaze out, and let the stream flow: They will blossom and wax fair. ‘Red and white poppies grow at her feet; The blood-red wait for sweet summer heat, Wrapped in bud-coats hairy and neat; But the white buds swell; one day they will burst, Will open their death-cups drowsy and sweet; Which will open the first?’ Then a hundred sad voices lifted a wail; And a hundred glad voices piped on the gale: ‘Time is short, life is short,’ they took up the tale: ‘Life is sweet, love is sweet; use to-day while you may; Love is sweet and to-morrow may fail: Love is sweet, use to-day.’” The Prince turns out to be a sad laggard; but what else could he be when he had to traverse such lands as this? “Off he set. The grass grew rare, A blight lurked in the darkening air, The very moss grew hueless and spare, The last daisy stood all astunt; Behind his back the soil lay bare, But barer in front. “A land of chasm and rent, a land Of rugged blackness on either hand; If water trickled, its track was tanned With an edge of rust to the chink; If one stamped on stone or on sand, It returned a clink.