New-York daily tribune., 1843-11-13


We can hardly trust ourscll to speak of this lit
4. volume. Mrs, Scott was 50 known and
,.,ed almost rcyered, by us while living shat the
,,,e temperance Of her features, wherein
!, ,ghtful majesty struggles with and shines
q, ugh a corroding sorrow, has utterly dlsarmcd
c,ticism and left us no sentiment but mingled
,dn;ration and regret for one 50 gifted, 50 noble,
,rdaIas so early snatchcd from earth.
Mrs. Scott, formerly Julia Ii. Kinney, was born
IN November, 1909, in the secluded vale of She
sbeouin, Bradford Co. Pa and was the eldest of
uillc children Of poor and worthy parents The
htber was struck with total blindness when she
was but three or four years OF age aud she became
bis constant companion and guide. She was car
IL distinguished for her strong intellect and her
love Of reading, though for years the only books
nher fathers humble cottage were THE BIBLE
and BURNs's PoEMs,-Should we say only, when
these sulliced to render her all that could be de-
ard as Woman, Christian and Poet But WI
ds scope was ultimately afforded her-she cner-
slfrom the slavish drudgery of the head of a
numerous and straitened patemaI family and be-
came teacher, ultimately in the borough Of To-
wanda, (the shire town of Bradford County,l
where she became acquainted with DIR. David L.
Scott, to whom she was united in marriage, May
%, 1885.
Before this time, however, she had become
nouent and valued contributor to the periodicals,
eeleraly 10 those ola Religious character but for
cur urweekly paper, The New-Y Yorker she wrote
lrqentyand with considerableregularity from its
Ist year till attacked by the disease which proved
fatal. She died Of consumption, March 5th,
lS42, in the SD year of her age, keenly deplorcd
stonly by her large circle of personal friends
ttby thousands who were never privileged to
behold her. We had met her but once and that
bra brief hour harassed by thousand distract
ng cares yet we have had few friends whose
l:ss would have more deeply saddened us. A
" lowed husband and one of two children are
,n0ag those who still cherish with fond though
scrowing affection her hallowed memory.
The volume before US is all that the friends of
Mrs. Scott could desire. The Portrait is truthful
mdexpressiye; the Biographical Sketch by Miss
Eisarton is slightly ornate but vivid and evi.
fntly labor Of love. 1t is made up in good
tan Of the letters of Mrs. Scott, which admirably
tShbi her character as we'll as the incidents of
her.
The Poems OF Mrs. S. cover l76 pages. We
ale somewhat embarrassed and limited in select
ing from them by the consideration that the best
have already appeared in the columns Of The
tribune and those of The New Yorker The
taAwing, we believe, have not:
THE FOREST GRAVE.
Mourn not for her.-,loush life was sweet
She meier before truly blest,-
The path grew rough and bruised her feet
She sleepeth now, and taketh rest sc. r.
Il has a lonely look, that forest grave,
Slind away from sigh, OF enYious eyes,
Rsneath old arching trees.
The wild-grape hangs
tspurple fruit with clustering fondness DER
! low gray maidstone, and the spotted awn
les softly down amid the reed-like grass
Which droopeth at the foot, as ifto seek
'oIpanionship with her who sleeps beneath.
{ sweetly, softly, sadly beautiful
AN all things circling that love-hallowed spot,
Whether i, be the hillside ril which foams
taaglng It's white tears back or the thick hedge
ipale wood-roses, gazing tmidly
atie sot, sun-sueaked carpet at their feet
NINE v.qlie gray mounds and mossy knolls, o'ercrcpi
Mlhparrdge vine, whose sparkling berries ne'er
n9.s ,ose their rich hue, but lay their coral forms
"hhm',he moss-cups white,
- An old dark pine,
Ina lnat standeth near, doth murmur endlesslv,
VIM It's wild voice, like one bcreavcd, and ne'er
ts pt.. np,fnrt Aa
aidoits shade there cometh every eve
aAourinng dove, and poureth forth flood
lender brcken-hcared melody.
Voc 1n9oidst know the history of her who sought
! Iiaoaral refuge from the world
e. ssS SIMPLE, common tale oflove,
iss1 iNSaS perchance thou S; heard thousand tunes
1,Noat uGhoat a tear. u is, had almost said,
,'s ~ history OF woman. She did love,
ia%a ',u was betrayed. They saw the light 20 out
r o' her young eyes like the soft glimmering rays
N.Y.. WsIuns stars, nor dreamed the cause, Till sleep
1lsi 1lni It's unrainmelel words breathcd out Il name
tlaasiiate them shudder. Then with trembling hands
@ ts wrought thevctim's grave lolhes and no more
ave to hope
iho hat wrongcd one never brcatlicd
~ word against her callous inurdcrer
! Ml9i q farewell smile for all who came
, ssee her spirit take its upward flight,
(, seH'ie pressure OF her sisters hand,
l,a,t ~. .S. Mss on iier gray iather'S cheek,
s. Ssalr!liins sShis gaze in her pale mothers eyes,
whispered OF ,his long beloved spot,
i ! rose 10 meet the love which eateth not
LIE heart away - -
MY MOUNTAIN HOME.
~ ny mountain home-spring never threw
G net gifts meath skies of loyeier hue;
~ nser waved sweet summers rosy plume
Ues spot of more unsulied bloom;
AND AND ne'er did autumn's purple ray
Mud scenes of loItier grandeur stray
ay mountain home; rude natures hand,
su,naided, all thy beauties planned.
5 Tl, glen and stream, and hearts whose key
Is Is natures own sincerity
aessts n.: which, though least of love they boast,
~ sa4 closest cling, and feel the most.
WY Wy mountain home, mid cliff and dell,
My home, love thee nassing well.