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MARY WARE.

then the leading paper of the State. The untimely death of one so near and doubly dear to her heart was a prostrating blow to the sister, but the Christian faith which has ever been her chiefest joy in life sustained her in her sorrow, and, after a season of mourning, she took up her pen again to pour out her soul in song. In September, 1863, Miss Mary Harris was united in marriage to Horace Ware, then one of the iron kings of the South. In 1883 she, with her husband, removed to their present elegant home in the city of Birmingham, where, surrounded by all that wealth and art can contrive to make life pleasant, she spends her time in study and work, finding in both an avocation at once felicitious and congenial. In July, 1890, Mrs. Ware was again called to mourn, this time, the death of her husband.

B. F. S.

WHEN NATURE WREATHED HER ROSY

BOWERS.

When Nature wreathed her rosy bowers, And sunlight danced amid the flowers, Young Love, in gaudy hues arrayed, Within a fairy bower strayed.

11 T is the glory of poesy and of song that it belongs

to no country or clime; ne national or sectional lines confine its powers, but wherever the sun shines, winds sigh, brooklets murmur or birds sing, its spirit floats free on the blessed air of heaven and its votaries find a shrine. It matters not to us, then, where or when a poet was born. North, South, East or West, the children of song are kindred all. Had Mary Harris found a home for her happy childhood among the pleasant fields of New England instead of the wild, rugged and yet charmingly beautiful hills of Tennessee, she would have been no more, no less the favored daughter of the muse than she is. We may not deny that the wild woodland beauty that hedged in her happy girlhood, the deep blue skies above, the musical ripple of streams and the songs of birds contributed much to the happy expansion of the inborn powers, and when, later on, the Tennessee home was exchanged for the no less wild and romantic home in Alabama, the same conditions of outward loveliness, of peace and gladness, surrounded her. It was there, in that sylvan home, myself then an awkward boy, I first met her, with her gifted brother, Edmund K. Harris. Of him, her twin brother of genius, it is essential to speak. While living, he was her brother, friend, counsellor and guide. When he died, alas! so young, it is no weird stretch of the fancy to say that his mantle fell upon her. A sketch, then, of Mrs. Ware's life would be but half complete without a corollary sketch of his. Brother and sister, they were the children of George and Matilda Roper Harris. Their father was a successful lawyer living in Madisonville, Monroe county, Tenn., where three children were born to him, Mary, Edmund K. and Bruce. In 1844 their father, retiring from the practice of law, removed to Shelby county, Alabama, where the literary life of the brother and sister began. The gentle sister sat and worshiped at her brother's feet, exulting in his flight, but almost fearing to essay a trial of her own wing. At length, longing for a close companionship in achievements as well as in taste, and encouraged by his brotherly assurance, she mustered up the courage to make the venture, resulting in a bright little poem entitled “When Nature Wreathed Her Rosy Bowers." Happily assured by the success of this, her maiden effort, she plumed her wing for still loftier flights. In 1857 her brother established the Shelby Chronicle, in Columbiana, Ala., which he conducted with signal success and ability until he sold it to take a place on the editorial staff of the Mobile Tribune,

A maiden there, with long, fair hair,
And form so light, and face so fair,
She scarce an earthly creature seems;
(Such visions we have met in dreams,
And wondered from what blissful sphere
So bright a thing had wandered here.)
The rover with delight espied,
And swiftly glided to her side.

A tear-drop in her eye of blue,
Soft as a violet, dropping dew,
The urchin saw, and freely laughed,
As light he waved his glitt'ring shaft.

He kissed the pearly tear so bright,
Then on a zephyr took his fight,
But oh! he lett a barbed dart
Deep in the gentle maiden's heart.

THE BROOK'S WEDDING.

A bright little brook went dancing by, With many a glance at the soft blue sky,

And saying as plain as words could tell: “Come to my forest home and dwell!

Come from the din of noise and strife,

Come from the busy haunts of life, Come where the sky is bright and blue, Come where simple hearts are true!"

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