388 NATURE-STUDY REVIEW 



sepia sketch of San Francisco from the Oakland marshes which she 

 made is a much prized possession of the writer. However, poetry- 

 was her chief means of self expression; fortunate it was that she 

 relied upon her pen instead of her brush to give her impressions to 

 the world because her eyes began to fail, and in 1901 she retired 

 from teaching, and finally became entirely blind. She bore this 

 affliction with a bravery that none of us can forget who witnessed 

 it. As her physical eyes closed on the beauty of this world, her 

 spiritual eyes found new beauty in the realms unseen. She con- 

 tinued to write and much of her versa still had for its theme the 

 birds and the flowers and the fields and the woods which she had so 

 loved. Her poems were published in a volume in 190^; unfor- 

 tunately most of this edition was destroyed in the fire in San Fran- 

 cisco which followed the earthquake. Those of us fortunate enough 

 to possess this volume hold it among our precious treasures. 

 Although she was never very strong, she was able through a wise 

 husbanding of her strength to accomplish a great amount of work. 

 She was naturally reserved and comparatively few had the privi- 

 lege of knowing her intimately; those to whom this privilege was 

 vouchsafed, have prized it as one of the great experiences of life. 

 Her mind was as keen and her soul as sensitive to the beautiful 

 when she passed on at the age of eighty-one as in the days of her 

 prime, and much of her best verse was written during the last 

 decade. We append here one of her later poems since it ex- 

 presses so perfectly her attitude toward life and death. 



Praise 



Irene Hardy 



Were I of other than the human race 



Then I would be a bird, if I might choose, 



A brown-winged thrush, with voice of note profuse, 



The line of beauty audible by grace 



Mysterious, in some far-sequestered place; 



There I would sing as one whose soul pursues 



A heavenly theme its very self to lose 



In ecstasy before the Master's face. 



Enough, if so I make my life complete, 



One perfect rounded whole of love and praise, 



If He again should take who gave my song 



Because He finds its adoration sweet; 



It is enough if in its faintest phrase 



He finds no sound or accent wrong. 



