M MARY C. F. HALL-WOOD. ARY CAMILLA FOSTER was born in New York, and at an early age she was married to Bradley Hall, a promising young lawyer. Migrating with him to California, they settled in San Rafael. He became a district attorney of Marin county, and was rapidly rising in his profession when he died, leaving her in easy circumstances, with an only son. Removing to Santa Barbara, which has since been her home, she subsequently was married to Dr. Edward Nelson Wood, a young man of rare intellect and a brilliant writer, who appreciated her poetic gifts and encouraged her to write for the press. Her first poem was published in a Santa Barbara journal in 1872. They established the Santa Barbara Index in the fall of 1872, but her husband's health was failing, and he died in 1874. His long illness and unfortunate investments had dissipated her little fortune, and Mrs. Wood found herself face to face with the necessity of making a living for herself and son. Turning naturally to literature as the only congenial or possible means, she entered a newspaper office and made hersalf familiar with the practical details of the business. In 1883 she helped to establish the Daily Independent of Santa Barbara, which she has since edited with ability and success, writing poetry for her own amusement and the pleasure of her readers as the inspiration came. Her first volume, "Sea Leaves," was published from her office in 1887. The book has received much attention from the press. Although never regularly placed upon the market, it has been a financial as well as a literary success. She has used the pen-name Camilla K. Von K.," but lately she has used her full name, Mrs. C. F. Hall-Wood. A. LA G. CORONADO BEACH IN 1870. A STRONG wind sweeps the ancient town, Her leveled walls, her quivering palms, Her plaza, wide and bare and brown, Across the land-locked harbor's calms, From merry seas that whitely shine Where Ocean's plunging ranks align. And gaily beats against the breeze, And veers, and turns, and tacks, and dips, Our little bark, with pretty ease, By walls and wharf and anchored ships; Some mocking Ariel seems to hold Her back from yonder bar of gold. But gaily still she turns and flies. Beneath us bound the wavelets gay— At last we reach the strip of sand Dividing bay from sea, and borne Walk ankle deep in sandy drifts, Sole blossom of this sterile shore: Poor waif from unknown distances, The storms that drove you rage no more; Lie quietly, while roll the seas In surging dactyls to the shoreAs wandering souls that have been driven By earthly storms to coasts of heaven. And lingering here, with doubt and dream Of life that might be, life that is; We, like these purple sailors, seem Upon the golden breadth of peace Left stranded-ah! but heart by heart, No more to drift-no more to part. ATLAS. NIGHT! And the great sea seems to beat, Of sky and sea and the pallid rose, I feel the pressure of crimes and cares; 'Tis the weight of the world my shoulder bears! One may not be upright, but must be strong, To carry the weight of the world along. TOO LATE. HAS the trampled slave arisen, Can he, with sweet freedom gifted, Cruel wounds that festered under Iron links, can he forget? Though the chain be torn asunder, Memory feels its thraldom yet. Years of black despair have taught him Savage hates that cannot cease. Sudden sunshine has not brought him Sudden peace! SMOKE. IN the smoke of my dear cigarito O wicked and false muchachito, But like my re-lit cigarito DEATH. DEATH sleeps and is quiet, Death lieth so still, FRIENDSHIP. Friends, like frightened sea-birds, fly Fast before the weather; Friendship and prosperity Blow down the wind together. -Fragments. C COVENTRY PATMORE. OVENTRY KEARSEY DIGHTON PATMORE (he has practically discarded the two middle names) saw the light of Woodford, in Essex, on July 2, 1823. He is the son of the late P. G. Patmore, á successful literary man, who is still remembered as the author of "Literary Reminiscences," and also as the sometime editor of Colburn's New Monthly Magazine, to which he largely contributed. Mr. Coventry Patmore was thus reared in the congenial atmosphere of literary life from the first. In 1844, that is, when he was only twenty one, he published his first volume of "Poems," a work which indicated the finest perception, and, to the eyes of the discerning, held out the promise which after years was so amply to fulfil. The opening piece, "The River," is especially finished and musical. In 1846 he was appointed one of the assistant librarians of the British Museum; and was associated with the leaders of the pre-Raphaelite movement so far as to contribute several pieces to "The Germ." In 1853, his volume titled "Tamerton Church Tower, and other Poems," was published, and, in the eyes of the more critical, advanced him to a still higher position in the roll of our poets; but during the next year his place was made secure by the publication of the first portion of the "Angel in the House" (The Betrothal). "The Espousals" came next, in 1856; and a revised edition of the two parts was issued in 1858; and a further revision followed in 1860. In the same year appeared "Faithful for Ever;" and in 1863 "The Angel in the House" was completed by the publication of the “Victories of Love." An important recast of the whole work was made in 1868-the same year in which Mr. Patmore retired from the British Museum, after which he bought and occupied an estate of some 400 acres in Sussex, which he farmed and improved. In 1868 he settled in Hastings, occupying one of the most delightful of old-fashioned mansions— "not quite in the busy world, nor quite beyond it " -completely protected from all winds save the "sweet south," where ilexes and myrtles bloom along the slope precisely as in Italy. Near by he has built a large Catholic Church. His interests in religious and philanthropic work go in harmony with his poetic labors. In 1877 appeared "The Unknown Eros, and Other Odes," as remarkable for elaborate finish as for fine conception; and in 1878 a collected edition of his works, elaborately revised once more, was given to the public. The list of Mr. Patmore's works would be incomplete without reference to "The Children's Garland," one of the most select and tasteful of poetic anthologies, which he edited for "The Golden Treasury Series," and the autobiography of Byran Walter Procter (Barry Cornwall), which was published under his editorship in 1877. Nor should we forget the felicitous and scholarly translation of that remarkable Cardiphonia of St. Bernard on "The Love of God," which Mr. Patmore, along with a member of his family, has accomplished, and which was published in 1881. Mr. Patmore throughout his literary career has also done good work in reviews and journals, having contributed largely to the Edinburgh Review, North British Review, National Review, Saturday Review and to the Pall Mall Gazette, and St. James's Gazette while under his friend, Mr. Frederick Greenwood's editorship. A. H. J. THE ROSE OF THE WORLD. Lo, when the Lord made north and south, Did man from the crude clay express And still with favor singled out, Marred less than man by mortal fall, Her disposition is devout, Her countenance angelical. No faithless thought her instinct shrouds, But fancy checkers settled sense, Like alteration of the clouds On noonday's azure permanence. Pure courtesy, composure, ease, Declare affections nobly fixed, And impulse sprung from due degrees Of sense and spirit sweetly mixed. Her modesty, her chiefest grace, The cestus clasping Venus' side, Is potent to defect the face Of him who would affront its pride. Wrong dares not in her presence speak, Nor spotted thought its taint disclose Under the protest of a cheek Outbragging Nature's boast, the rose. In mind and manners how discreet! How artless in her very art! How candid in discourse! how sweet The concord of her lips and heart! How (not to call true instinct's bent And woman's very nature harm), How amiable and innocent Her pleasure in her power to charm! How humbly careful to attract, Though crowned with all the soul desires, Connubial aptitude exact, Diversity that never tires! SWEET MEETING OF DESIRES. I GREW assured before I asked, That she'd be mine without reserve, And in her unclaimed graces basked At leisure, till the time should serve,With just enough of dread to thrill The hope, and make it trebly dear; Thus loath to speak the word, to kill Either the hope or happy fear. Till once, through lanes returning late, We paused with one presentient mind; Their coming stayed; who blithe and free, And very women, loved to assist A lover's opportunity. Twice rose, twice died, my trembling word; The chafers rustling in the limes. Her dress, that touched me where I stood; Her pleasure in her power to charm; Her look, her love, her form, her touch! The least seemed most by blissful turn,Blissful but that it pleased too much, And taught the wayward soul to yearn. It was as if a harp with wires Was traversed by the breath I drew; And oh, sweet meeting of desires! She, answering, owned that she loved too. SLY THOUGHTS. "I SAW him kiss your cheek!"-"Tis true." "O Modesty!"-"'Twas strictly kept: He thought me asleep; at least, I knew He thought I though he thought I slept." PARTING. IF thou dost bid thy friend farewell, But for one night though that farewell may be, How canst thou tell how far from thee Fate or caprice may lead his steps ere that to-morrow comes? Men have been known to lightly turn the corner of a street, And days have grown to months, And months to lagging years, ere they have looked in loving eyes again. Parting, at best, is underlaid Therefore, lest sudden death should come between, Or time, or distance, clasp with pressure firm the hand Of him who goeth forth; Unseen, Fate goeth too. Yea, find thou always time to say some earnest word Between the idle talk, lest, with thee henceforth, Night and day, regret should walk. LOVE'S REALITY. I WALK, I trust, with open eyes; Much vanity and some remorse. Of worth immortal, done the wrong When most of deadening time complain, THE TRIBUTE. No splendor 'neath the sky's proud dome |