Go stand on the beach of the broad, boundless deep,
When the night stars are gleaming on high,
And hear how the billows are moaning in sleep,
On the low-lying strand by the surge-beaten steep
They are moaning forever wherever they sweep;
Ask them what ails them? they never reply-
They moan, and so sadly, but will not tell why.
"Why does your poetry sound like a sigh?"
The billows won't answer you-neither shall I.

III.

Go list to the breeze at the waning of day,
When it passes and murmurs "good-bye;"
The dear little breeze! how it wishes to stay

And they blight with their breath all that's lovely and fair;

And they groan like the ghosts "in the land of de-
spair;"

Ask them what ails them? they never reply-
Their voices are mournful, they will not tell why.
"Why does your poetry sound like a sigh?"
The blasts will not answer you-neither will I.

V.

Go stand on the rivulet's lily-fringed side,
Or list where the rivers rush by;
The streamlets, which forest trees shadow and hide,
And the rivers that roll in their oceanward tide,
Are moaning forever, wherever they glide;
Ask them what ails them? they will not reply-
On, sad-voiced, they flow, but they never tell why.
"Why does your poetry sound like a sigh? "
Earth's streams will not answer you-neither shall I.

VI.

When the shadows of twilight are grey on the hill,
And dark where the low valleys lie,

Go list to the voice of the wild whippoorwill,
That sings when the songs of its sisters are still,
And wails through the darkness so sadly and shrill;
Ask it what ails it? it will not reply-

Where the flowers are in bloom-where the singing-It wails sad as over-it never tells why.

birds play;

How it sighs when it flies on its wearisome way!
Ask it what ails it? it will not reply;
Its voice is a sad one-it never told why.
"Why does your poetry sound like a sigh ?"
The breeze will not answer you-neither shall I.

IV.

"Why does your poetry sound like a sigh?" The bird will not answer you-neither shall I.

VII.

Go list to the voices of earth, air, and sea,
And the voices that sound in the sky;
Their songs may be joyful to some, but to me
There's a sigh in each chord, and a sigh in each key,

Go watch the wild blasts, as they spring from their And thousands of sighs swell their grand melody;

Ask them what ails them? they will not reply-
They sigh-sigh forever-but never tell why.
"Why does your poetry sound like a sigh?"
The voices won't answer you-neither will I.

JULIA PLEASANTS CRESWELL.

(From "Southland Writers." By Ida Raymond.)

"A WONDERFULLY clever writer," says a noted critic," or was before her marriage, for she has written (printed) very little since."

strikes the lyre it responds chiefly in those
tones which find a resting place in her sor-
rowing heart. Like Mrs. Hemans, Miss
Pleasants is a thinker and writer of high or-
der, and her mission upon earth cannot but
be both beautiful and profitable.

The most ambitious and most faultless
poem which she has yet written is called
"The Viewless Bride," and is a superb per-
sonification of the New Year. It is allied
in spirit to Bryant's "Thanotopsis '-quite
as original in conception, and nearly as mel-
odious and hymn-like a composition. And
another poem, entitled 'The Lost,' writ-
ten in memory of her parents, can hardly be
read without tearful emotions."

Mrs. Creswell is a native of Huntsville, Alabama-one of the most beautiful and hospitable cities of the Southland. Charles Lanman thus speaks of this town: "It occupies an elevated position, and is hemmed in with high hills, from the summit of which it presents an uncommonly picturesque appearance.. . It is supplied with the best of water from a mammoth spring, which gushes from a rock in the center of the town, and this, with the array of from one to two hundred saddle horses which are daily collected around the county court house square, ought to be mentioned as among the features of the place. But. on becoming acquainted with the people of Huntsville, the stranger will find that they are the leading character." This was an ante bellum view—yet, in this latter particular the people are not changed; and, "on the score of hospitality," they are still not to be sur-Ritchie duel, Gov. James Pleasants among passed by their neighbors, making a stranger "to feel perfectly at home."

Mrs. Creswell had a right to expect an inheritance of talent from both sides of her house. Her father belonged to the Pleasants family of Virginia, which has contributed several distinguished names to the annals of that State. John Hampton Pleasants, of Richmond, who fell in the famous

the dead, and Henry R. Pleasants among
the living, are not unknown to fame. The

And Charles Lanman thus speaks of the Pleasants are from Wales, an old family of subject of this sketch-(1854):

"But of all the impressions made upon me during my visit here, the most agreeable by far was made by Miss Julia Pleasants, the young and accomplished poetess. She is as great a favorite in the entire South as she is in this, her native town, and is destined to be wherever the thoughis of genius can be appreciated. She commenced her literary career by contributing an occasional poem to the Louisville Journal. . . . . Born and bred in the lap of luxury, it is a wonder that the intellect of Miss Pleasants should have been so well disciplined as its fruits, in spite of their unripeness, would leave one to suppose it had been. But death having recently made her an orphan, and taken from her side a much loved sister, she has been schooled in the ways of Providence, as well as of the world, and now when she

England, which I judge, from its recurring
in the pages of Macaulay and other histo-
rians occasionally, maintained an honorable
position centuries back in that Common-
wealth. They embraced the tenets of Wm.
Penn, at least those who emigrated to this
country did-seven stalwart brothers-who
emigrated to Virginia, and whose numerous
descendants have spread over the United
States. Everything relating to the history
of so gifted a woman as Julia Pleasants
Creswell is interesting, and the following re-
lating to her ancestors, furnished by a friend
of the "subject" is highly interesting,

"Her great grandfather's family were very
intimate before the breaking out of the Rev-
olution with that of Gen. Tarleton, the fa-
mous Tory persecutor of the Rebels. Dur-
ing the prevalence of that friendship her
grandfather was born, and christened in hon-

literature, it was from Miss Swift's earnest counsels and inspiring "excelsior" of spirit, if I may use the expression, that she gained the perseverance that strives to conquer all things, and the energetic determination that, in spite of obstacles, knows no such word as tail.

or of Gen. Tarleton-Tarleton Pleasants. the only reward, and the sweet satisfaction But as the war developed Gen. Tarleton's of knowledge gained the happiness. Miss hostility to the American cause, the indig- Swift was afterwards selected by Governor nant boy of fifteen dropped the 'e' in his Slade, of Vermont, to take charge of a name, writing it 'Tarlton.' This alteration, Normal School, designed for the education however, did not satisfy his patriotism, for of teachers for Oregon. although he bore the name during his life, If it had been possible for a girl with such he forbid it being perpetuated among his de-intellectual parents as Julia Pleasants' to scendants. Tarlton Pleasants was a high-have failed to imbibe at home a fondness for ly educated and accomplished gentleman, to judge from his finely written letters. He was ninety-four years old when he died. His means were limited, and Mrs. Creswell's father left his home in Hanover county at the age of sixteen, to push his own fortunes. He sojourned awhile in the Old Dominion State as printer's boy, and then as sub-editor. The Territory of Alabama was then enthusing the Western world, and he went thither, landing at Huntsville, one of the earliest setlers. His popular manners won him golden opinions from all, and he was elected to the office of Secretary of State, Thomas Bibb being at that time Governor of the State; and he met and married the second daughter of the Governor."

Julia was the second child of the marriage. Soon after his marriage, Mr. Pleasants abandoned politics, and engaged in mercantile life. Ex-Governor Bibb owned immense estates, and Julia was reared in the lap of luxury, so to speak. Mr. Pleasants wrote with ease and facility, having a fondness for the pursuit. From childhood Julia was fond of fashioning her thoughts in rhyme, and her father fostered the inclination. He was especially solicitous to secure to his children all the advantages of which, in some measure, his own youth had been deprived. Julia was very fortunate in having for eight years the instruction of a very superior woman.

Miss Pleasants' cousin, Thomas Bibb Bradley, a gifted, ambitious, ardent, and aspiring young poet, who died at an early age—(“ A brilliant bud of promise was cut off in him”)

first drew her poems from their obscurity, and startled her timid doubtfulness by launching them upon the "sea of publicity." The generous spirit of George D. Prentice found kind and tender things to say of her timid fledglings of the imagination.

Mr. T. B. Bradley gathered up some of his own and his cousin's poems, and brought out a joint volume. Mrs. Creswell says, in alluding to this volume: "The volume was not credited to me, and still less so to my cousin. My own poems were disfigured by misprints, and only one in the book is a fair sample of my cousin's brilliant powers. He was younger than myself, and at that age when a writer falls readily into the style of the last author he has been reading. There is one poem in the book-'My Sister'-giving the full sweep of his wing, which the lovers of true music will not willingly let die. I have no hesitation in saying that it challenges criticism, and is, without doubt, one of the most perfect poems in our language."

It is with pleasure that I give the small meed of praise to one of the many teachers who deserve a great reward for their well doing, but seldom receive it in life. Mrs. Swift (from Middleton, Vt.) was a very remarkable woman-one who acted always on the broad ground that learning is dear for itself alone, and in her admirable school no prizes were held out to cause heart-burnings and deception—no dreadful punishments to intimidate the fearful and appal the wicked. The consciousness of having done well was I she sung her sweetest songs.

Mrs. Creswell has never published any other volume, although she has the material for several-poetry and novels in MSS.

She was married in 1864, to David Creswell, a native of South Carolina. She was left an orphan by the simultaneous death of her parents, after which she resided several years with her grandmother, Mrs. Bibb. Here she lost her sister Addie, about whom