* * * * *

BLOODROOT

  “Hast thou loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk?”

  Beech-trees, stretching their arms, rugged, yet beautiful,
  Here shade meadow and brook; here the gay bobolink,
  High poised over his mate, pours out his melody. 
  Here, too, under the hill, blooms the wild violet;
  Damp nooks hide, near the brook, bellworts that modestly,
  Pale-faced, hanging their heads, droop there in silence; while
  South winds, noiseless and soft, bring us the odor of
  Birch twigs mingled with fresh buds of the hickory.

  Hard by, clinging to rocks, nods the red columbine;
  Close hid, under the leaves, nestle anemones,—­
  White-robed, airy and frail, tender and delicate.

  Ye who, wandering here, seeking the beautiful,
  Stoop down, thinking to pluck one of these favorites,
  Take heed!  Nymphs may avenge.  List to a prodigy;—­
  One moon scarcely has waned since I here witnessed it.

  One moon scarcely has waned, since, on a holiday,
  I came, careless and gay, into this paradise,—­
  Found here, wrapped in their cloaks made of a leaf, little
  White flowers, pure as the snow, modest and innocent,—­
  Stooped down, eagerly plucked one of the fairest, when
  Forth rushed, fresh from the stem broken thus wickedly,
  Blood!—­tears, red, as of blood!—­shed through my selfishness!

THE DIFFERENTIAL AND INTEGRAL CALCULUS.

  [Greek:  Polla ta deina, konden
  anthropon deinoteron pelei ...
  periphradaes anaer!]

SOPH. Ant. 822 [322] et seq.

“Many things are wonderful,” says the Greek poet, “but nought more wonderful than man, all-inventive man!” And surely, among many wonders wrought out by human endeavor, there are few of higher interest than that splendid system of mathematical science, the growth of so many slow-revolving ages and toiling hands, still incomplete, destined to remain so forever perhaps, but to-day embracing within its wide circuit many marvellous trophies wrung from Nature in closest contest.  There are strange depths, doubtless, in the human soul,—­recesses where the universal sunlight of reason fails us altogether; into which if we would enter, it must be humbly and trustfully, laying our right hands reverentially in God’s, that he may lead us.  There are faculties reaching farther than all reason, and utterances of higher import than hers, problems, too, in the solution of which we shall derive very little aid from any mere mathematical considerations.  Those who think differently should read once more, and more attentively, the sad history of frantic folly and limitless license, written down forever under the date, September, 1792, boastfully proclaimed to the world as the New Era, the year 1 of the Age of Reason.  Perhaps the number of those who would to-day follow Momoro’s pretty