St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1870-06-24
TBy Rev. +. Il. Fisk.
g." The WiItd-H0rD.y

antinc," which Immediately attracted the
attention of the most intelligent of the
patrons of the paper, and the editor
found it for his interest to publish a
large humber of extra copies of every
paper containing "Clcmantine's verses.
The inquiry Icing made as TO who the
author was. the editor stated that the
poems came to him as drop letters from
the rost-otlice, and that he knew no more
about their authorship than his subscrib-
crs. This proved that the author was a
resident of Trenton, and led to the setting
of watch at the post-oilice, by which
means it wa5 found that Il poor, i'll
dressed Irish woman brought the poems
to the office. She was followed home
and at length proceed to he Tie uuior Of
these highly pIized verses, though she
enIeavored to escape the honor as long
rs she could, having written evidently
rather tor the pleasure, or relief Of writ
ing, than for fame or for pecuniary
considerations
The clitor Instantly engaged her as a
contributor, paying her Il fair oompcnSa-
ton, and giving, as far he was able TO
ascertain, the facts of Clemantine's"
history. Evidently she had seen far
better days; though some OF them on
the other side the ocean. When diScov-
cred she WIS tie wife of disspatcd
man, and the mother Of several children.
and had hc,n bcrcavcd Of others by death
She was supporting her family by wash
ing Her lul name was Ellen Cleman-
tine Iluwarth She WAS visited by the
citizens Immediately pleasant little
cottage was procured for her, and we'll
furnished, AMI select library added TO
ii> luNuiics. At the saline time an effort
was made to bring her in into society,
but all OF no avail. y" effort could re
icvc her Of her almost morbid cmhar-
ras-mcnt in the presence OF strangers,
and finding it was painful and pcrpeNing
I to hcr size wa. left to her own mode OF
lie. She was dcyout catholic, as will
lie seen by some of her poems; and this
/ fact only adds to the surprise of the
- I,,.
only case where one under the weight OF
prie>tly rule, combined with poverty, has
sGng SO swcc;Iy as to charm whoever has
AN ear to hear.
/ Her pocn w,rc published in 1864,
by Hazard, of Philadelphia, and as the
edition was almost Immediately disposed
Of, a second edition was prepared and
put upon the Booksellers counter. This
latter edition, beautifully printed on
tinted paper and bound in the latest
style, was published by a New York
house, it we remember correctly, and
differed materially from the first, from
The fact that it was mainly Il Sclect,on
from ii, containing only a few new po-
ems. After comparing the two our
leaders would say "the old is better"
Clcmantlne continued 10 write for the
| Gtcctte until Il year or two ago, when
/ sickness reduced her to d perfect wreck,
and ii living ut the present time, Is eli
tirely bcrctt of her genius, and nearly 50
Of sense. Her writings have been set to
music and sung all over the land. Not
/ long ago the writer attended concert
where one of her song>, entitled "'Tl>
INT little .Jdc'ed .fo,ce1,," was sweelly
rendered by Il singer who knew nothing
| OF the author OF the lines.
In examining the book we find poems
of sentiment, religious poems, and pa
triotic poems; many of which relate to
the war of the Union, ard while they
never fail TO interest the reader, and
while there is not line that we want to
change, there are only two pieces at the
most in which we find anything like wit
or sprghtliness. The nightingale sang
with the thorn in her breast sang
for relief and not for gladncSs. We
propose Gf this article finds favor with the
ciitor) to furnish now and then one of
CIcmaninc's poems to the readers of the
CuIccloniIn, of which the following shall
be Il fair specimen. Remembering what
las been said of her married life, we can
understand the deep meaning of these
lines to the writer Of them:
REST
Here at last is rest;
Trustingly these words said.
And upon my loved one's breast
Laid my weary head.
o how many hopeless years
had toiled in pain and tears,
Seeking lest; now all il past,
And my prayer is heard at last,
Here is rest
But little while
And l found how fra reed,
g. with fond confding smile
Trusted in my need.
Foolish heart, that darei to trust
But a sinful child of dust
With its peace: vel, love is pIst,
Calm indifference comes at last,
Here Is rest.
still my heart ould love,-
: What is life without aim!
Let the heart deceived by love
- Seek the wreath of fame.
TSine the laurel round the brow,
Teach earths naughty ones to bow;
i Genius winneth wealth and power;
d In the t-iumphs of the lour