ANNIE R. BLOUNT. ISS BLOUNT is a native of Richmond County, Va. She com MISS a own and amusement at an early age, and many of her juvenile productions appeared in print under various signatures. She graduated at Madison Female College, Madison, Ga., with the very highest honors the institution could confer; the president stating to the trustees and audience that she was the most perfect scholar he had ever graduated. After her graduation, although very young, Miss Blount, at the earnest persuasion of teachers, friends, etc., assumed the editorial conduct of a literary paper, which, under her auspices, rapidly grew into public favor, and was widely circulated. Miss Blount, besides being literary editress of the "Bainbridge Argus," (which position she held for two years,) contributed to other Southern literary journals. She received a prize offered by a literary paper published in Newbern, N. C., for "the best story by any American writer." Mr. T. A. Burke, then editor of the "Savannah News," thus alluded to her success: "An examining committee, composed of W. Gilmore Simms, the eminent novelist, Rev. B. Craven, President of the Normal College, N. C., and John R. Thompson, editor of the 'Southern Literary Messenger,' have awarded the first prize, a one-hundred-dollar gold medal, to 'Jenny Woodbine,' alias Miss Annie R. Blount, of Augusta, Ga., 'for the best story,' to be published in a Southern paper. We know Miss Blount well, and her success as a writer, both of prose and verse, is what her decided talent induced us to expect. She is young-probably the youngest writer of any reputation in the country, North or South - and, with proper study and care, she has much to expect in the future." This story, "The Sisters," was printed in 1859, in the "Newbern Gazette." Miss Blount has received numerous prizes for poems and novelettes, offered by various papers. In the summer of she was invited by the trustees and faculty of Le Vert College, Talbotton, Ga., An en to deliver an original poem at their annual commencement. thusiastic gentleman, in a notice of the "Commencement," says: .... "It was the privilege of the large audience to listen to a poem from Miss Annie R. Blount, of Augusta. Her subject seemed to be, 'The Power of Woman.' The reading elicited extraordinary interest. It is impossible for me to give any just idea of the poem, and I will conclude by saying, if I am ever called to the battle-field, I want the fair author to be there to read the concluding lines at the head of my column." The next summer, Miss Blount delivered a poem at the " College Temple" Commencement, Newnan, Ga. After the reading of the poem, the faculty of College Temple conferred on her the degree of "Mistress of Arts." In 1860, Miss Blount collected her poems and printed them in a book. The volume was dedicated to Hon. Alexander H. Stephens, under whose kindly auspices it was published. Considering the unsettled state of the times, the book sold well, and was highly complimented by the press. The following notice of the volume is from the pen of that graceful writer, Miss C. W. Barber, then editress of the "Southern Literary Companion": "While looking over some book-shelves in our new home, the other day, we came, unexpectedly, across a volume of Miss Blount's poems. We had never seen the book before, and sat down at once 'to read, to ponder, and to dream.' Annie Blount has, in this unassuming volume, established her right to the laurel-wreath. She may now lay her hand confidently upon it, and few will dispute her right to its possession. We were not prepared to find so many gems in so small a casket; we did not know that so sweet a bird carolled amid the magnolia groves of the South. “Ļetitia E. Landon won for herself a deathless fame in England and America. Wherein are her poems so greatly superior to Miss Blount's? Both have dwelt much upon the varied emotions of the human heart; sometimes it is hopeful, sometimes disappointed love that they sing about. At Annie Blount's age, Letitia Landon had certainly written nothing sweeter, deeper, or in any respect better than this volume of poems contains. Before she died upon the coast of Africa, she had, of course, gone through a wider range of experience than Annie Blount has yet done, and every phase of human life develops in us all same latent power. But, even in her last poem- an address to the 'North Star,' written only a few hours before her death - there is nothing superior to the following, which we copy from Miss Blount's Poem entitled, ".The Evening Star': "Where dwellest thou, my young heart's chosen one? Sweet Evening Star, brighter than all the rest, That it may quell this wild and vague unrest, I'll turn to thee with love, bright Evening Star.'" Miss Blount was devoted to the Southern cause, and did all she could for the soldiers. She was exceedingly anxious to go to Richmond as a nurse; all of her male relatives were in the Virginia army, but her health was so delicate her friends dissuaded her, and she tried to do all the good she could at home. The hospitals at Augusta, as the war progressed, became crowded with the sick and suffering, and every patriotic woman had ample opportunity to do good. Miss Blount, followed closely by her old nurse (a faithful "maumer") with a basket of delicacies, went daily from ward to ward with tender, pitying words and gentle ministrations. One word for the faithful "Maumer" Rachael, who, although an humble colored woman, was a second mother to Annie Blount, left motherless at that trying age when she most needed a mother's counsel. "Faithful to the last" should be her epitaph. She would not accept freedom, laughed at the idea of leaving "her children," as she termed them, and labored for them as untiringly and devotedly after the freedom of her race as before, until, one mild September evening, death wrote "Finis" to her earthly work, and the faithful, devoted creature breathed her last, amid the gentle ministrations and bitter tears of the "children" she had served so faithfully and loved so tenderly. Miss Blount resides in Augusta, with her brother and family. UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT. A PRIZE POEM. Under the lamplight, watch them come, Figures, one, two, three; A restless mass moves on and on, Like waves on a stormy sea. Billing and cooing, Heedless of the warning old, Near that other heart so warm; From her sparkling eye its brightness, From her step its native lightness; Thinking bitterly; Some that morrow Ne'er shall live to see. Which of all this crowd shall God Which of these many feet have trod These streets their last? Who first shall press The bitter lot, To hear the righteous Judge pronounce: Depart, ye cursed-I know ye not!" Oh! startling question! - who? Under the lamplight, watch them come, Some that pierce your very soul With thrilling intensity: Cold and ragged, Lean and haggard — God! what misery! See them watch yon rich brocade, "Such may be thine own!"- but how? And the price that it will fetch Is a silken robe as fine Gems that glitter- hearts that shine- Ere the storm shall o'er thee roll, All the good will spurn thy touch, As if 't were an adder's sting, God protect thee-keep thee right, Under the lamplight, watch them come- |