As to the effect of fugitive and earlier poems, when republished, upon an author’s reputation—let them be appreciated or not, it matters little. His fame does not hang upon such “slender threads.” It is to his more elaborate productions that the public will look for evidences of genius. It is a fact that a poet’s reputation, generally speaking, depends upon the appreciation of some particular production. It is true, readers may differ in their assignment of merit—but the fact of non-agreement, as to the question of comparative merit, does not alter the principle. If each one comes to the conclusion that the poet has penned _one_ poem of prime excellence, his name is safe—the residue are set down not as evidences of a want of genius, but of the neglect of a right and careful use of it. The conclusion is, in other words, that he could have written the others better, if he had made proper use of the talents with which he was endowed. Were an example needed, I might refer to Milton. When we think of him we never associate with his name any of his productions but “Paradise Lost.” He might have published in the same volume thousands of fugitive pieces, no better than those he did suffer to see the light, (and they are with few exceptions, poor enough, as the emanations of such a mind,) and yet his fame not suffer in the smallest degree—the names of Milton, and of that great poem, would still have descended as one and inseparable. ----- [5] Omnia vincit amor.—_Virg. Bucol._ * * * * * JUNE. When the low south wind Breathes over the trees With a murmur soft As the sound of the seas; And the calm cold moon From her mystic height, Like a sybil looks On the voiceless night— ’Tis June, bright June! When the brooks have voice Like a seraph fair, And the songs of birds Fill the balmy air, When the wild flowers bloom In the wood and dell And we feel as if lapt In a magic spell— ’Tis June, bright June! A. A. I. * * * * * LET ME REST IN THE LAND OF MY BIRTH. WRITTEN BY CHARLES JEFFERYS, COMPOSED BY J. HARROWAY. Philadelphia, John F. Nunns, 184 Chesnut Street. [Illustration: musical score] Farewell to the home of my Childhood, Farewell to my cottage and vine; I go to the land of the Stranger, Where pleasures alone will be mine. When Life’s fleeting journey is over, And Earth again mingles with [Illustration: musical score] Earth,