II. O priests and prelates, teachers proudly wise, To you we turn, to you with trustful hearts WILL WALLACE HARNEY. For light and life we come, for clear-wrought WILL charts Of rock and shoal, and wreck-strown shore that lies HUMAN. ACROSS the trackless skies thou may'st not wander; Thou may'st not tread the infinite beyond; Where verdure gleams amid the desert sand,— REFUGIUM PECCATORUM. Lo, wounded of the world and stricken of sin, A shadow crouching 'neath the shadowy moon, One gift she craves, one hopeless, hapless boon, "Thy pity, Lord, a breaking heart would win!" Religion was the Refuge! In distress There might the sinner flee, the weary press; ILLIAM WALLACE HARNEY was born June 20, 1831, at Bloomington, Indiana, where his father, John H. Harney, a man of high character and an accomplished scholar, the author of several well-known text-books in mathematics, was then a Professor of that branch of science in the Indiana University; his mother's maiden name was Martha Wallace. When he was about five years of age Mr. Harney's parents moved to Kentucky, his father there becoming editor and proprietor of the Louisville Democrat, a paper of large political influence in the Southwestern States before the war of the Southern Secession Mr. Harney received his education at the Louisville schools and at Louisville College, as well as through tutors in the languages at home. Between the years 1851 and 1855 he was himself a teacher, meanwhile studying law and graduating in the year last named at the Louisville Law School. For a year afterwards he was Principal of the Louisville High School, and between 1857 and 1859, a Professor in the Kentucky Normal School at Frankfort. He also practiced law for some time before 1859, but during that year he joined the staff of his father's paper, assisting in its editorship, and at his father's death, some years later, he succeeded him in its editorial control and remained its editor until 1868, when its publication ceased. In 1868, he married Mary H. M. Randolph (who died within less than two years afterwards), and in the autumn of 1869 he moved to Florida, where he became a pioneer orangegrower and has since resided at Pinecastle, Orange County, varying his agricultural activity with occasional literary work. Perhaps Mr. Harney has been most widely known for his prose, and certainly, first as a journalist and later as a contributor of tales and sketches to the magazines, he appears to have given his principal attention and effort to prose composition. One of his longer stories—“ How He Won the Pretty Widow," a story of the War of Secession-was contributed to the Atlantic Monthly during Mr. W. D. Howells's editorship of that magazine, by whom, I remember, it was praised before publication as one of the most charming stories ever offered him. He also about the same time-between 1870 and 1875contributed a series of interesting letters relating to what may be called a pioneer orange-planter's life in Florida, to the Cincinnati Commercial. His writings in verse have been comparatively infrequent. His earlier verses were contributed to the Louisville daily newspapers. The first of his poems which I ever happened to see was published in the Louisville Courier (one of the two ante-bellum newspapers afterwards joined together I under the name of The Louisville Cour er-Journal.) This was the briof poem entitled "The Stab," which at the time gained wide currency in the poets' corner of newspapers throughout the country-even now it is doubtless the best-known and most quotable of all Mr. Harney's verses. think nothing could well be better in its way: it is a tragic little night-piece which Heine could scarcely have surpassed in its brevity of simple graphic narration and vivid suggestiveness. It was as far back as 1858 when this little poem first appeared, and two years later "Jimmy's Wooing," another pleasing and very popular piece, was printed in a somewhat noted New York journal of the period, The Saturday Press. Mr. W. D. Howells, who was then a young Ohio journalist, was inspired, I remember, to write a critique of Mr. Harney's verses at that time, in which he praised the two pieces above named, with one or two others which had recently appeared in an overgrown volume called "The Poets and Poetry of the West." I doubt if Mr. Harney has since written anything more popular, or more worthy of popularity, than the two pieces above referred to, but he contributed a much longer and a very spirited poem referring to the war, called, I believe, "A Chase in Soundings" to the "No Name" collection of poems entitled "A Masque of Poets" issued at Boston about 1878, and he has since published occasional verses in Harper's and other magazines. J. J. P. JIMMY'S WOOING. THE wind came blowing out of the West, The swallows skimmed along the ground; And Jimmy mowed the hay; The swallows skimmed along the ground, And rustling leaves made a pleasant sound, Like children babbling all around, As Jimmy mowed the hay. Milly came, with her bucket by, And Jimmy mowed the hay; Milly came with her bucket by, With wee light foot so trim and sly, And sunburnt cheek and laughing eye, As Jimmy mowed the hay. A rustic Ruth in linsey gown;And Jimmy mowed the hay, A rustic Ruth in linsey gown, He watched the soft checks' changing brown, And the long dark lash that trembled down Whenever he looked that way. And Milly's heart was good as gold, As Jimmy mowed the hay; Oh Milly's heart was good as gold, But Jimmy thought her shy and cold, And more than that he had never told, As Jimmy mowed the hay. The wind came gathering up his bands, The wind came gathering up his bands, The rain came pattering down amain, Sat sheltered by the hay. For Milly nestled to Jimmy's breast, Under the thatch of hay; For Milly nestled to Jimmy's breast; A wild bird fluttering home to nest And then, I swear she looked her best Under the thatch of hay. And when the sun came laughing out, And when the sun came laughing out, ALWAYS. LET the plover pipe, to his mate in the weeds But the fowler lurks in the marshy reeds, The salmon may leap in a fringe of broth, The eagle may lift, like a rising shout, To the very deep of the sky; Spiræa japonica; princess feather; SEPTEMBER. So as the last light ebbs away, I linger by the pine and palm, To see the night run, cool and gray, And nun-like through the depths of calm. Nor pause to ask how many times, The roses leafed, to make so sweet, September here among the limes, Or there where fall and summer meet. -September. CONSTANCE FAUNT LE ROY THE RUNCIE. HE maiden name of Mrs. Runcie was Constance Faunt Le Roy. She was the eldest daughter of Robert Henry Faunt Le Roy and Jane Dale (Owen) Faunt Le Roy. Mrs. Runcie was born in Indianapolis, in January, 1836. Her maternal grandfather was the well-known advocate of co-operative associations, Robert Owen. Mrs. Runcie's maternal great-grandfather was David Dale, Lord-Provost of Glasgow, Scotland. Mrs. Runcie's father, Robert Henry Faunt Le Roy, was of the old and extensive family stock of Faunt Le Roys of Eastern Virginia. Her mother was born in Scotland and educated in London, where she received, in addition to all her scientific and literary attainments, a thorough training on piano and harp, and acquired facility in drawing and painting. Her father died while attending to his Coast Survey duties, in the Gulf of Mexico, during the winter of 1849. In 1852, Mrs. Faunt Le Roy, in order to develop still further the training of her family, by giving them the advantages of modern languages, German literature and art, took them to Germany and remained there almost six years. Both before leaving for Germany and after her return to New Harmony, Ind., Miss Faunt Le Roy's environment was highly favorable: that town being winter quarters of the officers connected with several geological surveys; having also an extensive public library and occasional lectures, besides being the residence of her four uncles, all devoted to science or literature. They were, respectively, Robert Dale Owen, LL. D., author of various works, Member of Congress, and United States Minister to Naples; William Owen; David Dale Owen, M. D., United States Geologist for the Northwest Territory, and State Geologist of Kentucky and later of Arkansas; Richard Owen, M. D., LL. D., professor in the Indiana State University and previously State Geologist of Indiana. Mrs. Runcie's complexion, hair and eyes are of a happy, intermediate tint, between that of a blonde and a brunette. Her height and weight are medium, her physique good, although not robust; her manners actively courteous. The chief characteristic, without a tincture of obstinacy or intrusiveness, is indomitable energy. Although surrounded by many who were skeptical in their religious opinions, Mrs. Runcie had early a powerful, internal mind-conflict that resulted in a settled conviction of great truths, which have never since been disturbed: a conflict beautifully described in her much admired work, "Divinely Led." March 9, 1861, Miss Faunt Le Roy was united in marriage to Rev. James Runcie, D.D., a most devout Christian minister, whose useful labors in the Protestant Episcopal Church at Madison, Indiana, continued from 1861 to 1871, when he accepted a call to St. Joseph, Missouri, where they have resided ever since. They have a family of two daughters and two sons. A list of the more important contributions to literature from the pen of Mrs. Runcie comprises "Divinely Led," "Poems, Dramatic and Lyric," "Woman's Work," "Felix Mendelssohn," "Children's Stories and Fables," and several songs set to music. Mrs. Runcie has also written choruses for a small orchestra, and a concerto for the violin. As a performer upon the piano Mrs. Runcie has few superiors. R. O. TWO GIFTS. POETRY AND SONG. A STAR Came falling from the sky, It was a song sent from on high, Flashed from an angel's wing. As if I had been praying. I only caught it to my heart, A dainty floweret at my feet, From out the ground came peeping, I caught it to my heart of hearts, I found it in the flower's heart, I only listened with my soul, And plucked the flower as it grew, Who sang-who wrote-I do not know, I only caught them to my heart, |