in a novel in the "No Name Series". Although one
little poem strayed in some way into the volume of
verses in that edition. Her ^pages would illy have fit-
ted even so attractive a story as "Mercy Philbrick's
Choice", unwilling as the public are to believe she
had no part in it. "Her wagon was hitched to a
star" and who could ride or write with such a voy-
ager. A Damascus blade gleaming, and glancing in
the sun was her wit. Her swift poetic rapture
like the long glistening note of a bird one hears in
the woods in June at high noon, but never can see.
Like a magician she caught the shadowy apparitions
of her brain and tossed them in startling pictur-
esqueness to her friends, who charmed with their
simplicity and homeliness as well as profundity,
fretted that she had so easily made palpable, the
tantalizing fancies forever eluding their bungling
fettered grasp. So intimate and passionate, her
love of Nature, she seemed herself a part of the
high March sky - the Summer day and bird call.
Keen and eclectic in her literary tastes, she sift-
ed Libraries in her intuitions, and analyses, she
seized the kernel instantly, almost impatient of the
fewest words by which she must make her revelation
To her life was rich, and all aglow with God and Im-
mortality - with no creed no formulated faith, hard-
ly knowing hte names of dogmas she walked this life,
with the gentleness and reverence of old saints, with