INITIALS AND PSEUDONYMS.

THE authority is, in most cases, Initials and Pseudonyms by William Cushing, B. A., 1885. The pseudonyms used by an author in his prose as well as his poetical works are included, but not the author's own initials when they have been used as a literary disguise in either instance.

MATTHEW ARNOLD. The Strayed

Reveller, 1849; Empedocles on Etna,
1852.

CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI.,
Pseudonym used in contributions to
The Germ, 1850.

JAMES THOMSON. The letters stood
for 'Bysshe Vanolis,' 'Bysshe' be-
ing the middle name of Shelley and
'Vanolis' an anagram of 'Novalis,'
the assumed name of the German
mystic and poet, Friedrich von Har-
denberg.

ROBERT BUCHANAN. Pseudonym used in contributions to the London Spectator, 1867.

MORTIMER COLLINS. Mr. Carrington, 1873.

JAMES THOMSON. The Fadeless Bower, in Tait's Edinburgh Magazine, July, 1858.

AUGUSTA Webster.

Blanche Lisle

and Other Poems, 1860; The Brisons, in Macmillan's Magazine, 1861; Lesley's Guardians, 1864.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES.

'A CURSE is on this work!' Columba cried

Again the Thunderer spake: 'Titan, thy task

Ah me, dread friends of mine - Love, Time, and Death!
Alas, friend! What boots it, a stone at his head

A little shadow makes the sunrise sad

All through the sultry hours of June

A maiden wandering from the east

And shall I weep that Love's no more

And this was your cradle? Why surely, my Jenny.

'And thou hast taken from me my fair faith

As a wild comet through the night she hies

As Gerty skipt from babe to girl.

As in a glass at evening, dusky-gray

As you sit at your ease.

At last one night, as lone Firdausi rode

A wild rough night: and through the gloomy gray
Between two golden tufts of summer grass

Beyond the ages far away

Blest is the man whose heart and hands are pure!
But ah the long ascent! It was enough

151 196

159

255

209

189

Come, let us go into the lane, love mine

115

Comes April, her white fingers wet with flowers.
Consider the lilies of the field whose bloom is brief.

273

253

Day of my life! where can she get?

304

Dear Love, thou art so far above my song

248

Death, what hast thou to do with me? So saith

Flowers pluckt upon a grave by moonlight, pale
Flowers, that have died upon my Sweet.
Foiled by our fellow-men, depressed, outworn
For the glory and the passion of this midnight
Full fresh and fair thy wreath to-day

Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill

Half robed, with gold hair drooped o'er shoulders white

Hark! ah, the nightingale -.

He had played for his lordship's levee

Here I'd come when weariest !

Here, in this leafy place

Here might I rest forever; here

Here, where the world is quiet

Her worth, her wit, her loving smile

He who died at Azan sends

How fair those locks which now the light wind stirs !

Hunger that strivest in the restless arms
I come from mountains under other stars
If I were you, when ladies at the play, sir
I found him lying neath the vines that ran
I found Thee not by the starved widow's bed
If that sad creed which honest men and true
In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland

In all my singing and speaking

In twilight of the longest day.

I stood before the vail of the Unknown

It stands in the stable-yard, under the eaves

I tumble out of bed betimes

It was cruel of them to part

.

I will out-soar these clouds, and shake to nought
I write of the Disciples, because He
Judgment was over; all the world redeemed

Last night I woke and found between us drawn,
Last time I parted from my dear.

'Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep'

Lord, art Thou here? far from the citied zones
Love comes back to his vacant dwelling,-
Love, will thou love me still when wintry streak
'Made to be painted' - -a Millais might give.
May I not sing, then? Do I ask too much?
'Mistress of gods and men! I have been thine
My little friend, so small, so neat

21 291

19

178

326

249

18

310

322

306

206

118 289

79

289

243

91

302

208

38

243

127

230

312

225

293

287

239

203

163

29

162

224

329

39

309

114

329

143

226

280