IN HER ISLAND HOME.
WRITTEN IN MISS BRONSON’S ALBUM.
[In the olden time, a sect of Persian philosophers formed a society dedicated to Silence. Their number was limited to ten. One of the brotherhood, a personage who was never known to speak in his lifetime, and of whom no one has ever been heard to speak since, died. Among the applicants for the vacant chair was “Sadi,” a “sage grave man,” remarkable for saying nothing, at least nothing to the purpose. Unfortunately, ere he reached the place of meeting, the choice had fallen on another. The president announced this by placing a wineglass on the table, and filling it up to the brim. As Sadi entered, he pointed toward it. Sadi bowed, as is usual on such occasions, then took a roseleaf from the floor, and placed it so lightly on the bubbles of the wine, that not a drop was spilt. They received him.—Cotton Mather.]
n her island home, her home of flowers,
The Queen of Beauty sat at noon,
In the shade of one of her wild-rose bowers,
Watching the spray of the bright sea-showers,
As it sparkled in the sun of June.
And the smile of delight round her lip that played
Was as sweet as a smile can be,
For that day had her minstrel-worshippers laid
On her altar a book where each pen had paid
Its vows to their island-deity.
