From the New York Evening Star.
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M A h

 IA maid whohi there were none to praise And very few to WoRDswoRrn. She dwells beside lonely stream, Where all Is calm and mild Fair as the spirit Of | dream

 Is Mary-nature's child: A stranger she to grief or care, Her heart is light and gay, And oh no latterer's tongue is there To vile that heart away. The frightened wing of zephyr plays Amid her raven locks, As Mary treads the fowefy ways To feed her sportiYe foeks: Content, though humble is her lot And who so blest as she !- Peace smiles around her lonely cot, And Mary smiles on me. There is, where honeysuekles isasye, A sweet and hallowed grove, Twas there one silent summer eve spoke to her of love ;- A deeper blush her beauty dyed, And now no wish have l, Save but to live by Mary's side, And calmly there to die. kerkin, June r, 1928. Zl 