The Republican journal., 1901-03-14

! sparkle of blue fathOm4eSS eyes, from
which the poets soul looks out. At
that glance memory is awakened and
back through the mist of years we see
a little girl seated beside a study table,
beneath shaded lamp. With one chub-
by hand she held a pen, upon the
other, shaded by masses OF golden curls,
rests her brow. Suddenly she rises,
brushes back the clustering curls, and
| with a beaming countenance turns to
her roommate exclaiming, 'Now,
| Auntie, want to read it to you, and
then you will tell me if you think |
will get the prize" Reader, we need
no further introduction. In the fair,
brilliant completion and unassuming
manner of the young girl is reproduced
that of the elder lady, but the dark hair
| and eyes are singularly like those of
the gentleman, the same magnetic, IL
| risistible, pleading expression that so
charmed the hearts of all who came
within the influence of Harold Hadley
Like her father she was an only child;
but with such mother to instruct and
guide she could not fail to be noble,
unselfish woman. The reader need not
be told that Grace Hadley was beauti-
full, for with the combination already
described she could not be otherwise, or
fail, in whatever circle she moved, to be
the central light around which all
others revolved.
They are to spend the following Win
ter with Mrs. Hadley in Southern Cali
! fornia: then she was to accompany
| them home to New York in the spring,
! after which they would return with her
| to Bayview village to spend the sum-
mer months in the old home, to which
all looked forward with glad expecta-
! ton. and where Mrs Hadley wished to
| spend the remainder of her life, for she
was now advanced in years and would
soon sleep beside her kindred. AS
Names Old Home Week was to occur
! that summer, what more fitting time
! 1t is now the spring of 1900 and our
little party are on their eastern-bound
/ tourney. There is one place that Myr-
/ tie wishes to visit. 1t is her early
western home and the graves OF her
| foster parents. And while she sits by
the rivers bank and reviews the past
/ her heart is too full for speech. Smiles
and tears intermingle when she sees in
! the shining water the face Of middle
aged woman, where at her last visit the
fearful eyes and sunny curls of little
girl looked up and she told her not to
cry, she was going away to study and
sometime she would write a book.
All, then she little dreamed of the
heart-hunger and soul torture through
which she must pass ere her dreams of
fame and fortune could be realized.
All, if the world could always know
the cost of fame and honor, it would
call forth pity instead of envy. AS in
the beginning we had predicted, Myrtle
had reached the destined goal, but the
reward to her was not (as to many it
would have been) IN the applause of the
world, but in the knowledge that she
had comforted the bereaved, soothed
the suffering, inspired the disheartened
and fallen ones to higher, nobler pur-
poses. Her deep sympathy for all suf-
fering humanity, the earnest, sincere,
uplifting influence that breathed
through all her poems, could not fail to
reach the heart. Her songs were often
in the minor key-a sweet, sad under
tone pervaded even the most joyous.
Yet isanot the sweetest music invaria-
bly, sad?
We leave her when her noble work is
hardly begun, and though she may
yet accomplish greater, grander work,
she can never in this life frame into
words all the noble thoughts and feel
ings that are thronging heart and brain;
for never were poets dreams and Wis
ions wholly revealed; words cannot
fully picture them, yet though hidden
from the world they cannot die but are
ever expanding. Then, why are they
given unless they go with us to the in
finite world beyond, to unfold in beauty
and reach their destined fulflment.
All! when death the hand has stilled
May our dreams not be fulfilled?
And the threads unwoven here
Float beyond the earthly sphere
Where each filament and strand
Gathered by an unseen hand
Every tangled thread unwound-
Each in place at last be found
In that perfect web of joy
Earth, or time can neer destroy?