lonJom ilotea on iaturol liBtori), 



Vol. III. PROVIDENCE, FEBRUARY 1, 1886. 



Entered at the Providence Post-Offiee as Second-Class Matter. 



No. 2. 



To a Friend at West Point. 



"FKOSE ok WUttSjE," BY W. VV. BAILEY. 



The brave little Dutchmen 



Are all iu their place, 

 And safe iu the care 



Of my Wardiau case, 

 Tlieir "breeches" all packed 



For the winter away 

 I hope to coax out 



On some sunshiny day. 

 What will they imagine 



When they shall awake 

 From their short winter nap, 



With a yawn and a shake 

 To find themselves blooming 



Down here by the shore, 

 III I lie city of Roger 



With Yankees — galore 

 "In my minds eye, Horatio," 



Tlie spot I recall, 

 Wlierethey grow in the Highlands 



By a wee water-fall, 

 Tliai only in spring-time 



Leaps over the rocks 

 Near the bend of "Flirtation" 



At Battery Knox. 

 Tlieie often in childhood 



I wandered to see, 

 Tlie first of the season, 



Myself, and the bee ! 

 How lovely appeared then 



Their foliage of lace, 

 And creamy white trousers, 



E.ich one in its place; 

 And then I think, too, 



Anil you know, I suppose, 

 Where, far down the cliff, 



Tlie dog violet grows. 

 I st e the " herb Robert" 



All dripping with dew, 

 And scent its rank fragrance 



As I used to do. 

 Just here a path perilous 



I^ed to an isle 

 Called "Duck" by the vulgar; 



Methiuks I should smile 

 To see myself scrambling 



Once more down the way 

 That once was so easy 



On half holiday. 

 ' B;ickward, turn backward 



O, time, in your flight," 

 I seem to be dreaming 



Of childhood to-night; 

 And many a picture 



I gladly review 

 As I pen these poor verses 



In answer to you. 

 West Point! what a word 



To unravel the chain 

 Of lingering thoughts 



I have stored in my brain. 

 I thread Stony Lonesome 



Once more with my friend, 



In beds of the walking fern 



Pause to unbend, 

 Or sit 'neatli tlip bonliler 



\\ litre Drake > ■ (Jul)iril Fay," 

 Once wandered alone 



With a fair mortal may. 

 But oftener I seem 



In my fancy to roam 

 About the loved hills 



That encircled my home. 

 And one there is always 



Who walks by my side, 

 The genial, the gentle, 



My father, my guide, 

 Who knew every plant 



On those wonderful hills, 

 And read the sweet music 



Of woods and of rills; 

 Who told the strange story 



Of pebbles that rolled 

 From far away Shawangunk 



In ice days of old; 

 Who led my young fancy 



To seek and to know, 

 Whatever of beauty 



The forests can show, 

 To him every trifle 



Some lesson conveyed 

 And mysteries whispered 

 " Oh, be not afraid! 

 For the Mittella's star. 



Or the green mantling scum 

 Of a pool, were still calling 



Their lover to come." 

 Ah, who is there like him, 



This friend of my youth, 

 Wlio prized above all things 



The beauty of truth? 

 Bloom fair o'er his grave 



Ye bright blossoms of May, 

 And breathe out your sweetness 



For many a day, 

 And Crow's Nest, look down 



On the lover who kenned 

 Each blossom you own 



As his personal friend. 



With the exception of one week in Janu- 

 ary, the weather has been mild. The flocks 

 of snow buntings that usually arrive along 

 with our first heav}' snows have not yet put 

 in an appearance. AVe have not heard of 

 the capture in Rhode Island of an}' Snow 

 Owls, any uncommon species, or any 

 unusual number of the commoner kinds, a 

 marked contrast to tlie winters of 1883 and 

 1884, when Barred Owls, Pine Grosbeaks, 

 and Brunnich's Guillemots abounded. 



It is with much regret that we have to 

 announce the recent death of Prof. Charles 



