2
THE SUNDAY OKEGOXIAN. PORTLAND. JULY 12, 1903.
the m
NOBLE lCHB-IAHIAN (CAREER.
BY -WARWICK JAMES PRICE.
TJMAN heart all aglow with love
I and sympathy are not so plentl-
ful In the world that we can af
ford to pass them by because the beat
behind a Roman cassock."
W. T. Stead made the remark years
ago, speaking of Cardinal Manning, the
scholar, philanthropist, reformer, orator
and prelate, whose brilliant career was,
about the same time, summed up by
Gladstone In the half-dozen pregnant
words: "Manning, one of the best of
men."
Next Wednesday brings round to a
present-day world the centenary of that
great leader's birth. The Roman Church,
to which he transferred a whole-hearted
allegiance midway through his long life,
will commemorate his good deeds and
high Intellect, but here was no sectarian,
to be honored only by those whose cloth
and creed he shared; Manning was emi
nently one of the foremost figures of his
time, and his memory may well be hon
ored anew wherever sincerity and moral
courage are held in true esteem, or where
men today look with reverent affection
back upon thos who, yesterday, gave
heart and hand to the uplifting of their
tellows.
The Schoolboy General.
Henry Edward Manning, the youngest
son of a London West India merchant,
was born at his father's country seat.
apped Hall." near Totteridge, Hertford
shire, England, on the 15th of July, 1808.
Following in the footstep of Peel and
Palmerston. Byron and Sheridan, he
went up to that fine old sixteenth
century erhool of Harrow-on-the-Hill,
Charles Wordsworth, a nephew of the
great poet and afterwards Bishop of St.
Andrew's, being a fellow student. "Stu
dent." however, may be the wrong word
in this connection, for young Manning,
then in his teens, made no name there as
a scholar. The splendid intellectual force
which was so deeply to Impress his times
showed liot at all in those early days; he
shone rather-as the athlete and sports
man, was a bold rider, a skillful oar, a
first-rate cricketer, and had killed his
hare on the first shot. "The General"
was the nickname born of his comrades'
fondness for him, given with a boy's sure
judgment of those fit to lead.
He was, however, "bookish" enough to
handle examinations easily, for some
months short of 30 he matriculated at
Balllol, Oxford, and the ancient Univer
sity's "First Classic" fell to him at grad
uation. To acquire, too, a practical speak
ing and reading acquaintance with Italian
"during shaving time." as Manning did,
does not imply mental sluggishness, and
If (like Newman) this soon-to-be-famous
- - fc&t! r - ' ' lxk- 7riAZ.z,rsprrj-
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u' ?nti4 m ' f" 1 1
fii4iv:- irrrl ; . .( m
PATHETIC END OF EMANUEL BROWN
Sad Result of Long Continued Industry and Too Severe Economy.
BT X I JONES.
EMMANUEL BROWN belonged to the
small proprietor class. He was not
yet reduced to the ranks of the
proletarians, those walking delegates
who roam at will wherever the police
will permit them. He had a little prop
erty, three acres, and liberty. His
name was on the assessment roll In
proof that he was a freeman. He could
value his property at any sum he chose
to mention, but It yielded him a very
meager income, for which he had to
toll day and night.
He had a cow and a horse. Small
boys and bugs were his greatest ene
mies. He fought the bugs with spray,
but having no children of his own to
protect him from those of his neigh
bors, he had to endure their invasions
as an evil that could not be cured. His
wife had seen better days, a fact of
which she kept him constantly in mind.
In marrying him she had descended
somewhat from her station. This In
deed she did deliberately, for though
several years his junior, yet she had
arrived at years of great discretion be
fore she took the marriage vows. To
him she was a divinity. He adored
and obeyed her. When she married
htm. he became her slave and remained
so consistently to the end.
The Browns had a very commodious
residence for such a small estate, and
It was amply furnished. But it could
hardly be said that Mr. Brown resided
in it, for his duties kept him constant
ly In the field, the barn or the wood
shed. His life was simple and monot
onous. His tasks varied with the sea
sons, but were the same every year.
He had been carefully schooled In all
the ancient maxims about Industry and
thrift. Indeed, this was all the school.
Ing he ever had. Early and late, he
always planned tQ have work to do,
and his wtfe never encouraged any
idleness on his part.
His Income from the small truck
atch was far from sufficient to sup-.
undergraduate never mastered German,
it was frankly because he never could
learn to like "the tongue-twisting gutter
als." as he himself later wrote In charm
ingly unconscious Hibernlanism.
Oxford to Edward- Manning meant two
things in particular; It ' was there he
formed that close friendship with Glad
stone which was to last through life (he
was nearly as far-going in his Home Rule
ideas as the father of that proposed re
form himself), and it w&a at the univer
sity that the future orator first showed
and developed bis magnificent talent in
that rare field. From his entry Into the
"Union" debating society he made him
self a recognised power there; he was
president, on that almost hlstorle day In
November, 18E9, when the rival claims of
Byron and Shelley to premiership in the
poetry of their day were so warmly ar
gued by their Cambridge and Oxford suc
cessors. Manning left the chair to uphold
"this noble Lord," and won for his side.
From Politics to Pulpit.
Politics had long been the young man's
goal, but just before he was to go out
Into the world. Manning, senior, who had
himself sat in Parliament and been one
of the Governors of the Bank of England,
failed financially. Wherefore the son
laid by his dream of public life, and set
tled down In the Colonial Office as secre
tary to a chief clerk, reading political
economy the while. Providence had other
work for him. however: he-was not to be
left to the study of Mill and Malthus and
Adam Smith. A pious lady friend began
urging him to enter the church, and in
less than two years had gained her point.
Manning won a fellowship at Merton Col
lege (Oxford), went up to study there, and
just before Christmas day, 1832, was or
dained to orders.
At that moment the famous "Trac
tarlan" movement was just well afoot at
Oxford, but Manning was never more
than Indirectly affected by It. When he
went over to the Roman Church, a score
of years later, he was, indeed, influenced
by much the same arguments that even
then were beginning to make a stir
through England, as voiced and debated
by the followers of "The Oxford Move
ment," but, at most, he was rather the
ally of these than the disciple.
In '33 he took the rectorship of the par
ish of Wollavlngton and Graffham, Sus
sex, where for seven years he labored,
laying sure and deep the foundations for
the yet greater work that lay ahead of
him. "How well I remember that little
church under a green hillside," he wrote
years after, "'where the morning and
evening prayers and the music of the
English Bible became a part of my soul."
At the close of his Initial year In this
pastorate he married the daughter of his
predecessor in the charge, Caroline Sar
gent, but the complete happiness of the
union was to last only four years; Mrs.
ply her wants, so he added to It by
hiring out a jart of the time to work
by the day. Then he worked nights
and mornings at home. She Insisted
on keeping up an expensive establish
ment, and declared that a husband
should be a good provider. It was
enough that she should dust and sweep.
Indeed, that was beyond her strength,
and she constantly complained that
Brown was a poor manager and a slow
or lazy worker. It was properly his
duty to provide her with a servant girl,
"but he never had no money."
His total net income was not over J400
or 500 a year, but his ambition was to
associate with professional or otherwise
distinguished people whose Incomes were
five to ten times that much. She kept
Brown's nose to the grindstone and kept
constantly nagging and impressing upon
him a sense of his deplorable deficiency.
He was deeply sensible of this, anyhow,
and so his whole existence was a state
of apology.
His own personal .expenses were very
trifling. He had not had a new suit of
clothes In 20 years. He dressed in over
alls of a shade to match his name. He
never went in society, not even Into a
saloon. He did not go to church because
he would not go In overalls, and if he
"dressed up," he felt so seedy and out of
place In his ancient finery that he never
went anyhow. Sometimes he put on this
finery for a change when his wife was
gone to church and sat down for a few
moments in the front room. But he al
ways took care to get into his natural
skin and get back to the barn before she
came home, for he was always in immi
nent danger of mussing up tidies or doing
some dreadful Impropriety when he went
into that room.
When tt was necessary for him to go to
them to fix anything, he usually shed
hayseed from hla hair and ashes from his
overalls, so that It was a frightful trial
on his wife's nerves. She would have to
get the smelling bottle and on one occa
sion he had to run for the doctor. So he
avoided that room as much as possible.
The kitchen was the nearest accroach, tfl
- REPAIRED
- " fP -A vW
Manning died in '37. No children had been j f j .' , ' Jfrj- , .! ; . I I
A "Medieval Looking" Orator. I f ' - r&? " Sr I
The oratorical training of university
days now began to bear fruit. Dr. Man
ning became widely known, not only as a
"high" churchman, but as a preacher of
striking capabilities. In '40 he was made
Archdeacon of Chichester, and two years
later was appointed "Select Preacher"
for his Alma Mater. The adjective "im
pressive" was as often used of his pulpit
utterances in those days as "eloquent."
One who heard him more than once has
left this record:
"His spare figure and keen face seem
all aglow with the Are of his words per
fectly simple words, but showing wonder
ful knowledge of human nature. One
the family altar that he dared to venture
habitually. -
He had to come to the kitchen for
his meals, which he often did not get,
as his wife drew the line at cooking
when she was otherwise overworked.
And she was always overworked on
account of her social duties, church
fairs, charity bazaars, pink teas and
all that. It was her custom when
exhausted with these duties to set out
a bowl of sour milk and some cold
potatoes for Mr. Brown's meals. She
was very economical about cream. She
skimmed that off to make butter to
sell or for ice cream and confectionery
to entertain her company. Mr. Brown
himself never cared about such vain
things, and had been brought up to
believe that sour -milk was the most
wholesome food for hard-working men,
so he .was quite contented with his
lot. And his wife was worldly wise
enough to keep her expenses within
his income, and thus she kept a house
over his head, as she frequently told
him. And she really deserved great
credit for doing that.
Things went on this way for many
years, and Brown was getting old. He
was spavined, foundered and crippled
in various ways, his head quite bald
and his shoulders humped. They had
actually saved a few hundred dollars
of honest money In hard cash and had
it on deposit in the local bank. And
poor Brown hoped that some time he
might get a few days off to go to the
mountains or the coast and get a
breath of free air and stretch his stif
fened limbs. But his hopes were
doomed to disappointment- One morn
ing Mrs. Brown announced without
warning that she wanted to have ex
tensive changes made in the interior
of the house. It was too "old fash
ioned" and she was "tired looking
at It."
Brown felt as if a great blow had
truck him. He tried to appeal dumb
ly and painfully, indeed, for he was
slow of words, but she suppressed him
and chldcd xhim sharply for keeping
his wife in such a miserable place.
'BY NEXT WEDNESDAY!
y
m
Then she told how Mr. Smith, tha
banker, had his residence all remod
eled and it was "so much nicer."
Brown bowed to his fate and shoul
dered the last burden. He worked
faithfully to make the ordered im
provements, which consumed nearly
the whole of their surplus cash. When
it was all completed, he took sud
denly sick, became rapidly worse, then
turned up his toes and died.
Mrs. Brown was completely prostrated,
of course. What could she do now? She
had never done anything, indeed, to make
life gracious or glad for him, and now
dsath like a friend bad abruptly released
him. from her loveless dominion. The
neighbors came in and helped her. Brown
was laid to rest, the first he ever had.
There was one genuine mourner, a neigh
bor woman named Mrs. Muff, who had
been frequently called In to help Mrs.
Brown In her periods of distress from
overwork, and who knew Instinctively the
kind of life that Brown lived. She looked
upon the pinched features now clasped In
the loving embrace of oblivion till she
could contain herself no longer, and then
blurted out hysterically, the tears stream
ing from her eyes: "He was an awful
good Christian man."
In justice to Mrs. Brown, I must be
careful to explain that she was not a
member of the Woman's Suffrage Asso
ciation. She did not take any stock In
such nonsense as that. She would not
even allow her husband to vote. She
said she did not believe In "men running
around fiddlin' and foolin' with politics
when they ought to be at home attending
to their wives."
The case of Mr. Brown was not one of
acute inflammatory suffrage, but of
chronio silent suffering. It was one of
the "immedicable woes" that cannot be
reached by any remedy at present known.
He was one of those self-condemned un
fortunates who never stop working long
enough to read and who think reading a
sinful waste of time. At any rate, his
wife would not permit him to "fool
away" any time or money on a Sunday
paper, so there is no hope that my story
of his fats will ever reach any of his
kind as a warning. They will all perish
as he did. They will dde as the fool dieth,
and won't know they are dead. The only
consolation Is that death will probably be
more merciful to them than life.
I must further explain, though It seems
almost superfluous to do so, that the
1 i -
lit f. v s i i i i
realizes, moreover, that a complete parity
exists between thclse words and the man's
acts, which adds Immensely to the power
which fairly flows from him; call it mag
netism, if you will It is as true and real
a force as that which made Charles Par
neU the giant he was."
To this tribute Justin McCarthy added:
"Whatever your opinion may be, you
cannot choose but listen to Manning."
It was this same historian of Victorian
days .and deeds who once described the
prelate as "mediaeval-looking, though I
am not prepared to explain the grounds
on which the thought bases Itself." Above
middle height, spare and agile, of regular
and refined features, clear and penetrat
ing gray eyes, and a high, expansive fore
head, the man was nothing if not distin
guished In appearance. Vigorously as
cetic, his face grew pale almost to blood
lcssness In later years, but this seemed
only to add to the air of salntliness and
"mysticism" about him. No Chesterfield
ever had more perfect manners, no Mat
tern ich more exquisite tact, than this
original of Beaconsfteld's fictitious clerics.
The novelist-statesman avowedly based
both Nigel Penruddock. in "Endymlon"
and Cardinal Grandlson, ,ln "Lothalr,"
upon Manning.
The Change of Church.
For at least a dozen, years prior to
1847, Manning showed no sympathy with
the distinctive teachings of the Roman
Church, though he had taken a
decided stand in upholding regeneration
through baptism, the dogma of apostolic
succession, and the doctrine of the eu
charlst as enunciated by Hooker. It was
the Fan of '47 and the Spring of '4S, prob
ably, which saw the beginnings of that
altering of his faith which, at the time,
made so great a stir in the religious
world. During those months he traveled
in Belgium, Germany and Italy, being
received by Plus IX, then pope, just before
his return to his own country.
There he was seen to "take his stand."
In '51 the Privy Council, called to pass
zggr tM&tztr i f
upon the orthodoxy of the teachings con
cerning baptism held and expounded by
a certain Dr. Gorham, declared theni to
be those of the Church of England. Man
ning had previously announced his sincere
conviction that they were at variance
with the prayer book, and this pronounce
ment of authority was the immediate
cause of his taking a step that must
have been in contemplation many months.
Almost colncldentally with the publica
tion of the council's finding. Manning re
signed both from Chichester and Oxford.
Not long after he received minor orders
in the Roman Church (April), and in
June was ordained a priest.
The change meant the sacrifice of a
dignified and honored position in the
church to which he was attached by
strong ties of sentiment and service, for
a doubtful future in one then regarded
with intense hostility by all Influential
circles of English society. Be it said, as
well, that It was eminently characteristic
of the man's whole-hearted, fearless hon
esty of purpose in following the lead of
his conscience.
For the next three years Italy was more
scene of the story Is not laid in America.
The tale Is a translation from the Arme
nian. In Armenia the people are law
abiding and docile, so much so that when
the Turks come round they are led like
lambs to.- the slaughter and hold up
throats to be cut
in America it Is different. Here the
people are stubborn and stiff-necked. Hus
bands are prone to rebel against the law
ful authority of their wives, and wives
are seldom obedient to their husbands.
Whether our way is better than that of
the Armenians Is a matter of private
opinion. The reader may decide for him
self and observe whichever code he
pleases
In Foothall Terms.
Louisville Courier-Journal.
"Hello, Grace!"
"Hello. Maude!"
"Did you get any of that remnant
ribbon?"
"Yes; I hammered the line for seven
yards." ,
The 1st Men Smile.
Chlcaso Journal.
Now Is the 'time when every fat man gives
A joyous grin, delighted that he lives
And. in his triumph, shows the humbled
world
How all its qulbs and Joshing be forgives.
For centuries the world lias giggled at (
The portly fellow, vulgarly called fat
Jeering unlimited for him, and he
Has kept keen memory underneath his nat.
Invidious reference to a plunging whale.
Or elephants a. gag long, long since "tale
The fat man had to stand It he was e er
The butt of fun the mark that would not
fall.
But now 'tis all reversed like lightning
A fat man conquers, with a giant dasli
Out of the way, you thin enes, lest he step
Upon your frames, and mash them Into
hash!
When fame threw laurels on the head of
Tart,
With one accord the Nation's fat men
laughed. . .
And all the humorists, abashed and stung.
Pulled down their signs, while all the
Jumbos chaffed!
When he takes office, "round the White
House door
The gleeful fats shall caper, many a score.
And the dejected aklnnles, overwhelmed.
Shall turn away and pester them no morel
- CaSMTENSRY
his home than Kngland, and often was he
in Intimate contact with the Holy Father
of the ancient church to which he now
had turned. In '54. with a papal D. D.
freshly bestowed upon him, he returned
to London, and threw himself heart and
soul Into his new labors. He founded
the Congregation of the Oblates of St.
Charles Boiromeo at Bayswater, over
whose destinies he presided with wise
foresight and broad success-; he preached
much" and potently; ha took keen and
constant care of all matters having to
do with Cathollo education; he forwarded
his church's missions in the slums of tha
great, grey metropolis as none of his
predecessors had done, and he wrote fre
quently and brilliantly. In defense of the
temporal power- of Rome. .
1 Hard Work and High Honors.
Successive honors met this earnest giv
ing of self to the cause he had espoused.
He was made domestic prelate to Plus,
was later advanced to protonotary apos
tolic, with episcopal rank and the title of
monsignore. and, in '65, on the death of
Cardinal Wiseman, was nominated to the
archbishopric of Westminster, thus left
vacant. It was at this time that the
London see bought as Its archeplscopal
residence the simple but roomy mansion
(still so used) on Carlisle Place. Vaux
hall Bridge Road; Italian in Its spacious
ness but very British Indeed in the chil
liness everywhere felt within Its walls,
save only where its master was. No
prelate was morp hospitable, and Man
ning was at all times and to all sorts
and conditions of men as accessible there
as during his Summer trips through the
Northern dioceses, when he was con
stantly surrounded by those whom he
once spoke of as "God's poorer children
who are usually richest."
At the ecumenical council of "70 the
Knglish archbishop played a large part.
Thorough ultramontane as he was, de
voted to the old Gregorian chants and
Insisting with his clergy upon strictly
Italianized vestments. It Is not surpris-
VST.- Hri
ing that he should have upheld as ar
dently and uncompromisingly as he then
did the dogma of papal Infallibility. Five
years later, on the last day of March,
he was enthroned as Cardinal at St.
Gregory's the Great on the Coelian. When
the ninth Pius died. In '78. Manning was
earnestly considered for the papal throne,
but Leo XIII was chosen.
"A Great Priest" but Far More.
An elevation to the supreme gift of his
church could not but have been of Im
mense gratification to Cardinal Manning,
for he was an ambitious man, though It
is equally true that his ambition was of
that best sort which is least of all a de
sire for personal aggrandizement, and
mainly a consciousness of large power
coupled with a desire to use it in the wid
est field of endeavor.
"Ecce sacerdos magnus!" "Behold a
great priest!" wrote his biographer. A.
W. Hutton; but Manning was far more
than the mere ecclesiastic, however able.
His Christian charity and his noble life
reconciled all parties and won their full-
Mrs Langtry's Rich Stage Gowns;
Robes in Gold Embroideries on Thin Silks Swathed in Sheath Designs.
7C S all women know who know any
t thing at all about the origin of
fashions, the French couturleres "try"
their new creations on actresses first,
notably In their stags gowns in plays
of the present period.
Mrs. Langtry's gowns designed for
her by Parisian modistes for her part of
Mrs. Arundel in "A Fearful Joy" are
some of them quite wonderful, and all
will be copied and In due time appear in
different materials in New York.
These robes are rich In gold and bold
embroideries on thin Bilks and filmy
chiffons, and they also embody both the
empire effects and the serpentine swath
ing of folds about the figure.
They also show wide sleeves that
sweep pelerine fashion to the center of
the shoulders and are caught at that
point with golden tassels and depending
cords.
In the first act of "A Fearful Joy"
Mrs. Langtry wore an evening frock of
rose pink silk molded to her figure, and
over this was a robs of Suzette net
showing heavy scrolls embroidered in
gold. The sides of the net robe were
left open and then laced together with
small gold cords ending In tassels.
The empire touch Is given by the ar
rangement of the gold embroidery and
the lace corsage Is finished with a gold
cord and tassels.
Ths chiffon sleeves are of tha pelerine
type mentionad above and are held In
the center back with more gold cord and
tassels. The high waist is outlined by a
fold of blue velvet, and In her hair Is a
similar velvet fold. A single black
feather starts from the right of her
coiffure and trails over her shoulder.
The evening coat going with it, also
seen In this act, is of violet silk lined
with violet chiffon. It has a wide bor
der of Byzantine embroidery, further en
riched with many little tassels.
The Indian wrap Mrs. Langtry wears
in the second act is extremely artistic.
It is a wide sash of soft silk so caught
that It forms a hoodllke draping that is
drawn about her hair and the long ends
OF HIS BIRTH
est co-operation in the splendid humani
tarian labors with which he filled his
closing years. Twice did Victoria name
him for royal commissions, once In the
matter of more fitly housing the working
classes and a second time In the cause
Of lemntirv ri t un t t.A .
object he was Invariably Interested and
..e..i..i. u ne was, loo. lor the rights
of labor and for the furtherance of tem
perance; for a score of years he was
himself a pledged total abstainer from
all alcoholic beverages. The suppres
sion of the slave trade In East Africa,
the fight against India's appalling child
marriages, the struggles for a higher
minimum ace of child labor in England
these were but three of the many good
works which enlisted the Intellect and
self-sacrifice of the venerable prelate as
his life drew down to its sunset.
The Closing Scenes.
On the 14th of January, 18S2, In his 84th
year, death set the final seal to these
noble strivings. As the end approached,
the Cardinal was clothed, by his own
desire. In the full dress he wore on state
occasions, glad, as he said after making
his last profession of faith, "to have been
able to do everything In order." A week
later he was laid at rest In St. Mary's
Cemetery, Kensal Green, beside his pre
decessor at Westminster, Wiseman, and
within a few yards of that little group
of other British notabilities, asleep in the
protestant burial ground Just the other
side of the iron palings Sydney fftnith
and Tom Hood and Leigh Hunt, Trollops
and Leech and Thackeray. The comple
tion of Westminster Cathedral will be
marked by the transference of the re-,
mains of the see's two Cardinals to the
vaults below the high altar.
Manning's grave, however, Is fitly near
the literary giants who are now his silent
neighbors, for he was possessed of an
ability thst would have .carried him far
had he chosen to travel the path of
letters. Quite 60 volumes bear his name,
as It Is, though they are mainly com'
posed of more or less controversial
pamphlets.
Theologian he was, acute and subtle;
preacher he was, eloquent and impres
sive; but he was most loved and is best
remembered as a patriot of great heart
and a man of loving life. If he was a
churchman and a bishop It was rather in
that often forgotten but original meaning
of the latter word; he was a "shep
herd." and his chosen flock was of all
the children of men. He was truly, as
his master Leo once said, "The Arch
bishop of the World."
A Spelling Plaint.
The Bohemian.
I cannot spell I wish I coodl
The dictionary Is no gould
To aid a boy in spelling write.
And mother is too busy qulght;
She never can take, time to aelgh
"Whether a horse should "ney" or toay.'
"Whether to pen: "The pretty flhour
Came up and withered in an ow'r"
" Or not, and anyhow I trlgh
It's not correct or evea ny.
I'd like to be a savage, thaln
I'd never need to spell egen!
are then draped about the neck and
shoulders, trailing In graceful lines about
her statuesque figure.
There Is a mystical looking design In
black In the center of the wrap, and
touches of rose color add to Its effect
iveness. With this wrap the acfresa
wears a princess gown of white crepe de
chine lavishly embroidered in gold.
The robe is bordered with gold em
broidery that rises In huge sprays of
golden flowers that grow In places nearly
to the waist line.
The corsage is moderately high and 19
chiefly chiffon and lace, with tight-fitting
lace sleeves that cover the hands to tha
knuckles. There are also chiffon over
sleeves that fall to the elbows and these
are caught with little bows of whits
satin.
In the third act Mrs. Langtry wears
over this same princess robe a pale blue
cloak. Its pereline yoke Is outlined
with lines of darker blue and similar
lines indicate the tucks at the lower
edge of the garment.
The wrap Is fastened with a crossover
strap fastening with gold buttons and a
long, dark blue silk scarf closas It at the
throat. New York Times.
To June.
University of Oregon Monthly.
The Summer winds a load of fragrance
bring;
For thee, oh Jane, ths treasures sweet they
steal
From locust, rose and flowering pea. nor
feel
Tls theft, for thou art eueen of summer.
Sing,
Oh birds, a welcome. Make the echoes
ring.
For June, the month of months Is here.
Reveal
Thy heart, oh blushing rose, thy thorns oon-
ceal.
Thy choicest, fairest buds unfold and fling
The Spring has placed the crown uton her
brow
And filled her path with bloom; a carpet
green
Upon the meadows spread. The world re
joices; great
The June, oh nature; smile, oh flowers; bow
Tour heads, oh trees; for June, the June
Is queen.
Grace Parker.