1 JULY 1882, Page 15



13 Rio IIT as the morn that heralded thy birth,

So bright may all thy life be, little Fairy!

And thou shalt bear the prettiest name on earth,—

All hail ! sweet, infant Mary !

Come, tell me, is there truth in Wordsworth's story (Of faith in Poets, I am somewhat chary), That babies trail behind them "clouds of glory P"— Dost thou, oh, tiny Mary P Clouds I have sometimes seen on baby faces, Mostly when teething made them feel contrary, But of the glory I could find no traces,— Don't be offended, Mary !

Sage Darwin more than hints the race of men Descends from ancestors all tailed and hairy,— A lowly origin, 'tis true ; but then,

Our star is rising, Mary !

Is it not nobler to be bravely striving Onward and upward, with slow steps and wary, Than. from the Gods our origin deriving, Be slowly sinking, Mary?

A glorious womanhood, true, strong, and tender ; A sparkling wit, with fancy bright and airy ;

A grace to which all hearts will homage render,—

May these he thine, sweet Mary! E1.NNY PEIRSON.