All this is mine, as I lie dreaming here, High on the windy terrace, day by day; And mine the children’s laughter, sweet and clear, Ringing across the bay. For me the clouds; the ships sail by for me; For me the petulant sea-gull takes its flight; And mine the tender moonrise on the sea, And hollow caves of night. ¹ By special permission of the Author. * * * * * SARGENT’S PORTRAIT OF EDWIN BOOTH AT “THE PLAYERS.” By Permission of the Author. WHAT face which no man ever saw And from his memory banished quite, With eyes in which are Hamlet’s awe And Cardinal Richelieu’s subtle light Looks from this frame. A master’s hand Has set the master-player here, In the fair temple¹ that he planned Not for himself. To us most dear This image of him! “It was thus He looked; such pallor touched his cheek; With that same grace he greeted us―― Nay, ’tis the man, could it but speak!” Sad words that shall be said some day―― Far fall the day! O cruel Time, Whose breath sweeps mortal things away, Spare long this image of his prime, That others standing in the place Where, save as ghosts, we come no more, May know what sweet majestic face The gentle Prince of Players wore! ¹ The club-house in Gramercy Park, New York, was the gift of Mr. Booth to the association founded by him and named “The Players.” Illustration: (‡ decoration) Illustration: (‡ decoration) RICHARD WATSON GILDER. “POET, EDITOR AND REFORMER.” AMONG the current poets of America, few, perhaps, deserve more favorable mention than the subject of this sketch. His poetry is notable for its purity of sentiment and delicacy of expression. The story of his life also is one to stimulate the ambition of youth, who, in this cultured age, have not enjoyed the benefits of that college training which has come to be regarded as one of the necessary preliminaries to literary aspiration. This perhaps is properly so, that the public may not be too far imposed upon by incompetent writers. And while it makes the way very hard for him who attempts to scale the walls and force his passage into the world of letters――having not this passport through the gateway――it is the more indicative of the “real genius” that he should assay the task in an heroic effort; and, if he succeeds in surmounting them, the honor is all the greater, and the laurel wreath is placed with more genuine enthusiasm upon the victor’s brow by an applauding public.