The weekly pioneer and Democrat. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1855-1865, 1865-01-27

tQSQ6O TlSuL Oub lutO suc
From the shades of life's new morn!
Hither in thy chubby plumpness,
Scarlet mouth and eight white teeth;
Lift thine own old cradle cover,
What dost see there underneath
2. Wriggling mass of wrinkled redness,
Squirming hands and squirming feet
Well mayst thou retreat in terror,
But it ends not here, poor sweet
This is thy iilustrious brother,
Come to take thy sceptre now,
Ere thy sixteen months have chased the
Baby graces from thy brow.
4. Shameful! yes-to turn the darling
From her rightful nest 80 soon
Just like grating battle marches
Into some old nursery tune.
Mammals love must do it gently
Sugar-coat the bitter pill
Keep place for little lady,
In her hearts warm cradle still.
How many mothers, who have been
similarly situated, can wildly realize this
picture! It present beautiful study
for the painter.
MISS JULIA A. WOOD. ~
The poems of Mrs. JULIA A. WooD do
not strike US as particularly meritorious,
although we are told in brief biographical
sketch that she commenced her literary
career at fourteen, and has contributed to
different papers and magazines ever since.
The poem called GA December Night l
have marked as perhaps the best among
those selected from her writings:
1. It Is cold and solemn eve,
The stars give out their lights, :
Some phantom forms their mst-work
weave
Upon the distant heights
8. The stern wind king hath sung his dirge
From out Eolian cave,
And Time is treading on the verge
Of Old Years wintry grave.
9. Low fallen Is his chaplet green;
No more his gems are gold
Ice-blades more sharp thin Damascene,
Now pierce his heart with cold.
II. Like human heart, doth nature turn
To hope from dull despair;
And with mothers love doth yearn
To clasp the New Year fair.
MISS LAURA E. BACON.
was glad to find that Miss LAURA E.
BACON (nOw Mrs. J. R. HUNT,) had not
been omitted in this volume. had pre-
viously seen some of her poems in the
Louisville Jw nal and was favorably i'm
pressed with the unaffected earnestness OF
| her style. Poetry, however, does not
seem to be Mrs HUNr's forte, although
she has written some pieces of more than
ordinary merit. Among these l have
marked SIN Memoriam," "Under the
Daisies" and particularly the lines "To
My Brother Frem the first l extract
| the first four lines of the first and second
stanzas:
Gone in her sanity beauty,
Over the starry way,
Ont from the dreamy night time,
Into the perfect day.
Gone where the white boat softly
h. Glides DER the foamy waves;
Where the flowers of life CLEAN brightly
On the shore where the dark stream laves.
From the last l take tie finest stanza
entire
Dear brother my heart is SO heavy tonight,
For my soul has been treading the winding
aisles
That lead to the shadowy past
Aisles that were dark with the ashes of years;
With graves scattered here and there,
And Wondering urns, where the flowers of
hope
Were crushed meath the weight of despair
And mountains of pride doomed high,
While low at their base slept the ocean of woe,
Which mirrowed sunless sky.
The above, especially the last four lines,
is true poetry, and the whole poem is very
good.
MRS. Il. z. B. M'coNKRY.
How is critic to deal with such an in
dividual as comes next, Mrs. 81. E. B. Nc
C0NKsY, who continues to poke her genius
at the public in spite of their inability to
"see it, and who has grown old in her
endeavors to WOO the phantom Fame, and
will not take no for an answer? Perhaps
could pass no better compliment on Mrs
MoCoNKKYs poems, consistent with their
merits, than to say that they are equal to
"The Dakota War-Whoop," q compliment
which those familiar with that thrilling mar
rative, and the authentic history of Mime
sofa, as contained in "Floral Homes, - will
understand how to appreciate. In the lat
ter, an error of hundred years in the dis
covery of an important river is made with
as much nonchalance as she tips off eigh.
mortal stanzas on dreary Farewell. !"
Mrs. N. ought to be old enough to know
that farewells should be brief; and what
would the old father and mother think OF
being kept out in the cold, gazing into the
stage-coachs door with wstery eyes, as
their daughter starts on her "hesvenly
commission while she repeats sixty-four
spiritless lines?
! 8. Farewell! dear father, mother,
! Your home will still be dear;
go by heavens commission,
And lonely leave you here.