IN DEAD EARNEST. 

 Highly Commended in Recreation's 4th Annual Photo Competition. 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY H. S. JOHNSON. 



IN THE HAUNTS OF THE GODS. 



SARAH D. HOBART. 



There is a glade, sequestered, cool and 

 green, 

 By wild birds haunted, and all trusting 



things ; 

 Here in the hush of noon the wood 

 thrush sings 

 And orioles fleck the air with summer 



sheen. 

 Soft blackbird flutings fall the boughs be- 

 tween ; 

 Above, in mazy drift of snowy rings, 

 The clouds unfold their palpitating wings, 

 The guardian spirits of the fairy scene. 

 Around its borders purls a limpid brook, 

 Its banks enwrought with palest iris 



blooms ; 

 Beyond, the strenuous rushes, slim and 



tall. 

 Rise, rank on rank, a verdant columned 

 wall : 

 The air is full of penetrant perfumes 

 And sunshine glints across the flowery 

 nook. 



Oh for the poet's vision to discern 

 The viewless forms that fill the enchanted 



space ; 

 To woo from every tree its guardian 

 grace, 

 The spirit from each flower and fronded 



fern. 

 The schoolmen's wisdom let the heart un- 

 learn ; 

 Receive the teaching of earth's earlier 



race; 

 Look with unclouded eyes on Nature's 

 face 

 And feel the fires that in her pulses burn. 

 For Pan still lives, and he who seeks his 



home 

 Will find it in the glens and valleys fair. 

 And still for listening souls o'er hill and 



lea 

 Rings as of old the Dionysiac glee ; 

 The Maenads dance within their rocky lair 

 And Naiads sport upon the tossing foam. 



Minnie — Papa informed me that he was 

 very much opposed to George. 



Violet— And what did you say? 



Minnie— I notified papa that intervention 

 would mean war. 



