cruel SCORN! — a something implacable as the grave, and uncompromising as death!! The effect of this upon the merry, mischievous kitten, is to make her a little frightened, a little excited, and a great deal amused. Besides, she is not totally devoid of feeling. She is not a blood-thirsty tigress; not cruel, but merely a thoughtless, fun-loving kitten, who wanted a merry-go-mad romp, and never dreamed of anything so serious as suicide, or so awful as italics!! Sequence: Kitten writes Jones, or Brown, a scratching, galloping little note, beginning. "Cher ami," and proceeding with a helpless, musical little mew, that Monsieur could have been so naughty as to frighten her by anything so vehement as his last note; and she is "too much agitated" to write, but wants to see him before the coroner holds an inquest over his mutilated remains, and wants him to call the next evening; and closes with the assurance that she does not know her own heart, it is so wayward and perverse a thing; but, at all events, she is truly and sincerely Jones's devoted friend. Suicide is at a discount after Jones peruses that note, and he does not shuffle off the mortal coil so much as he had at first intended. On the contrary, he "gets himself up" laboriously, calls to see kitten, finds her alone and demure, with a pretty affectation of exhaustion after a severe fright. She does n't gambol nor romp. She has been "injured" by being threatened so severely, and will not relent until she has bound Jones over to keep the peace for the remainder of his natural existence. Jones is penitent. He will die with her, or live without her; or vice versa, just as she pleases. She declines giving Jones anything definite just yet. Jones takes suspense as "a steady diet," and grows thin accordingly. Somebody says, however, that "Love is like the toothache, and does not last forever." There comes a time when Jones is convalescent. The disease has run its course, and he begins to recover. The favorable symptoms are sarcastic remarks concerning women. Jones expresses his private opinion publicly, to the effect that love is a humbug, and defies creation to produce a woman worthy of his consideration. He knows the sex! "Bah! A heartless, eschewing, mercenary set, without three grains of sense," etc., etc. Perhaps some woman will entrap him into paying her milliner bills? Ah, sans doute! Jones is severely satirical, and devotes himself to billiards and tobacco, as if they, too, were sworn enemies of the weaker sex! Jones endeavors to make for himself the reputation of being invulnerable to feminine wiles, and glories in the belief that he has attained it. There are three paths, or rather three destinies, for Jones; and according to his organization will he choose. He may become a morose, cynical, money-making old bachelor, with a perpetual flavor of sour grapes in all that he says and does; or he may adopt flirting as a profession, and inflict with compound interest the pangs he has suffered upon the feminine community at large; or, if he be a wise, and sensible, and prudent Jones, he will allow his heart to beat as quickly as possible, and, with increased experience, choose some true, loving little woman, who will understand that it is the most generous who are oftenest deceived, and adore him all the more for his disappointment, and be willing to spend her life in the effort to make him forget his former suffering, and be happy according as he has been miserable. Kittens are pretty, and sprightly, and graceful; but, if you may not possess one, pray be sensible, and content yourself with some other animal. Besides, why torture yourself thinking of the velvety paw? Cure your infatuation by remembering sometimes the claw that is under the velvet. A SALLIE M. BRYAN. SOUTHERN critic and poet, doubtless desiring to be considered as one on whom the "mantle of genius" of E. A. PoE has fallen, in a series of" critical nibbles," placed Alice Carey HIGH among the "lady poets" of America, saying: "Alice Carey has written more good poetry than any lady in America," - continuing: “There is but one Southern poetess who can be compared to Alice Carey, and that one is Sallie M. Bryan. Miss Bryan is the more imaginative – Miss Carey the more touching of the two. The former is passionate..." He concludes by naming Miss Bryan as one whose name will live as long as there shall exist a record of American letters. We agree with this "critic" in his estimate of Sallie M. Bryan, although we differ from him entirely otherwise, particularly in his estimate of Miss Carey - believing Miss Bryan to equal Miss Carey, and in many ways her superior. Sarah Morgan Bryan was born two or three miles from Lexington, Ky., August 11th, 1836. Her grandfather, Morgan Bryan, was one of the pioneers of the State, and the founder of Bryan's Station, well known in the early Indian struggles. Her family was related to Daniel Boone. Her mother (who is represented to have been a lovely and beautiful woman) having died while she was a child less than eight years old, she lived with her aunt, Mrs. Annie Boone, at New Castle, Ky., and received her education principally at the Henry Female College, long a favorite Southern institution at that place. While yet a very young girl, she interested many who knew her with a poetic gift which in one so young seemed marvellous. Her first published poem was contributed without her knowledge by one of her cousins to a newspaper at Galveston, Texas, and she was afterwards prevailed on to allow her girlish writings to appear in the Louisville Journal, from whose columns they gained a wide circulation and popular recognition, especially throughout the South. The late Fitz Greene Halleck was one of the first to notice and admire her poetic genius, and having been pleased with one of her earlier poems in the New York Ledger, he took pains to make inquiry and learn her address; he then wrote her a note, which is so pleasantly characteristic and so brief that it may not be improper now to make it public. Guilford, Conn.,, 1858. DEAR LADY: No doubt you often receive letters requesting your own autograph. May I reverse the medal and ask you to accept the autograph of one who admires exceedingly your [the name of the poem]. I remain, dear lady, your obedient servant, FITZ GREENE HALLECK. · In June, 1861, Miss Bryan was married to Mr. John James Piatt, a poet of “exceedingly great promise," and resided with her husband in Washington City until last year ('67). In 1864, Mr. Piatt published a small volume at New York, entitled "Nests at Washington, and Other Poems," which included some of the later poems of Mrs. Piatt. But since her marriage she has written comparatively little, only an occasional poem by her having been published, during the year or two past, in the "Galaxy," "Our Young Folks," and one or two other periodicals. Her later poems are generally very artistic, brief, and delicately turned, with a sort of under-current dramatic element in them often, as the reader will observe in "The Fancy Ball," "My Ghost," etc. Mrs. Piatt's home is now in Cincinnati, Ohio. PROEM. TO THE WORLD. Sweet World, if you will hear me now: But let me, singing, sit apart, And keep my fame upon my heart, HEARING THE BATTLE.- JULY 21, 1861. One day in the dreamy Summer, On the sabbath hills, from afar Of the first fierce words of war. Ah, tell me, thou veiléd Watcher And soon in a hush and glimmer We thought of the dark, strange fight, Whose close in a ghastly quiet Lay dim in the beautiful night. Then we talk'd of coldness and pallor, And of souls, at morning wrestling In the dust with passion and moan, In the silence of worlds unknown. But a delicate wind beside us Was rustling the dusky hours, As it gathered the dewy odors And I gave you a spray of the blossoms, How the hearts in the land are breaking, |