Mrs. Pardee, formerly Professor of Greek in Buchtel College, now living in Salt Lake City, has found one of this class. She writes: "Sarah E. Carmichael, the author of the poems, is no longer a young woman. She is about fiftyseven years of age, and, I regret to say, insane. She was the daughter of Mormon parents, — poor, plain people, with whom she seemed to have nothing in common. Without sympathy, without the comforts of life, to say nothing of the adornments which her poet's nature coveted, without books, without the stimulation that comes from busy centres of life, this humble girl, like a bird of the wilderness, began to sing her sweet, plaintive songs at the age of eighteen. From home there came no strength to her, but the eternal mountains by which she was surrounded sent her their message of endurance, and the sweet flowers bravely growing on sternly frowning mountain brows breathed forth beauty and peace with their perfume. And so the untutored girl found in Nature the satisfaction of her longings, and began to translate Nature's language for the use of those who did not understand the original. Sarah Carmichael's earlier poems have all the sweet simplicity and tenderness of Burns. In consideration of her isolation and peculiar surroundings, her genius shines out the more brightly, and eclipses the glare of many who have shone by reflection. In her we find the real divine fire. The poet's soul is great without education. It does not need to be drawn out. With every glance of the eye, with every heart-beat, it shines forth and is spent. "Miss Carmichael was likely to surpass anything she had done before under the inspiration of a most ideal wedded life, so her friends thought, when in 1867 she was married to an army surgeon, himself a superior man, who adored his poet-wife. But when the two lovers had been together only a year, the poet became hopelessly insane, and for nearly twenty years the fond husband cherished her, hoping against hope until death claimed him.” Mrs. Pardee sends two poems, with the statement that she is making a careful study of this lady's work, and is preparing a review for publication. I hope we may soon see this review in one of our literary monthlies. In the mean time I venture to print the two poems sent to me. “April Flowers" is complete; but "The Moonrise on the Wasatch" is an extract from a longer poem. The Wasatch is a rugged range of mountains, bounding Salt Lake City on the east. APRIL FLOWERS. PALE flowers, pale flowers, ye came too soon: Hath whispered hoarsely through the skies A word that spoke of death. Ye came too soon; the Spring's first glance, Is but the shine of Winter's lance, Pale, rain-drenched flowers, ye came to greet Ye came :- beneath, the snow-wreath lies; Above, the storm-cloud lowers; Around, the breath of Winter sighs, Ye came too soon, pale flowers. Pale blighted flowers, the summer time They will not wither in their prime, Breathe woman-love's low martyr prayer, I kiss your leaves, pale flowers. -- SARAH E. CARMICHAEL. MOONRISE ON THE WASATCH. - THE stars seemed far, yet darkness was not deep. The crimson-tinted cloud paled, with a start, My heart found no expression - sought for none; All its sensations blended into one My mind's volition felt superior laws, SARAH E. CARMICHAEL. "No one "No one will help me, and I shall drown." shall help me, and I will drown." One of these sentences implies murder and the other suicide. They afford a good illustration of the difference between two little words which are often abused, shall and will. Every teacher of English has had a long struggle to awaken this distinction in the minds of students, or at any rate to secure the right use of these words. It is said that one of the Harvard professors spoke so often in regard to their use that his little boy, in saying his prayers one night, said: "Our Father, Who art in Heaven, . . . Thy shall be done on earth as it is in Heaven." WHENEVER a man is natural, the clearer and deeper his thought, or the more adequate his conceptions, the wider will be the range of his voice. THE QUARTERLY has been enlarged and the type changed. Every effort is being made to make it artistically worthy of the work it represents. It aims to be not merely the organ of the School of Expression, but of all progressive teachers and of all those who are interested in art as a means of education. The co-operation of all is requested. It will aim to give information which has cost thousands of dollars and many years of investigation. Teachers and students are requested to look carefully through its pages to see if they can do without it. A few advertisements will be received, but the right is reserved to reject advertisements of "posing," of "choice selections," or of schools which adopt names to which they have no right or who do work which tends to degrade the whole subject, or of books published in violation of professional honor. Subscription $1.00 a year. Advertising rates $30.00 a page or $10.00 a quarter page. THE ANNIVERSARY SUMMER TERM. HE School of Expression has decided to hold its anniversary summer term at Plymouth, Mass., July 8 to August 12, 1896. Every American hopes some day to visit Plymouth Rock, that place of historical associations, of historical records, and historical relics. The feeling that we stand at the fountainhead of our American civilization and development awakens deep emotion in every breast. Webster said, "We do not feel that Plymouth has a right to the whole rock; it only crops out here." But we all desire to go where it crops out, and plant our foot upon it. An Irishman once made this happy toast: "Plymouth Rock, the Blarney Stone of New England." All students and teachers of expression certainly desire to make a pilgrimage to the American Blarney Stone. In response to this feeling, the tenth anniversary summer term has been arranged to meet in the beautiful high-school building of Plymouth; and every arrangement has been made, |