Small, shapeless drifts of cloud
  Sail slowly northward in the soft-hued sky,
    With blue half-tints and rolling summits bright,
  By the late sun caressed; slight hazes shroud
    All things afar; shineth each leaf anigh
        With its own warmth and light.

        O’erblown by Southland airs,
  The summer landscape basks in utter peace: 
    In lazy streams the lazy clouds are seen;
  Low hills, broad meadows, and large, clear-cut squares
    Of ripening corn-fields, rippled by the breeze,
        With shifting shade and sheen.

        Hark! and you may not hear
  A sound less soothing than the rustle cool
    Of swaying leaves, the steady wiry drone
  Of unseen crickets, sudden chirpings clear
    Of happy birds, the tinkle of the pool,
        Chafed by a single stone.

        What vague, delicious dreams,
  Born of this golden hour of afternoon,
    And air balm-freighted, fill the soul with bliss,
  Transpierced like yonder clouds with lustrous gleams,
    Fantastic, brief as they, and, like them, spun
        Of gilded nothingness!

        All things are well with her. 
  ’Tis good to be alive, to see the light
    That plays upon the grass, to feel (and sigh
  With perfect pleasure) the mild breezes stir
    Among the garden roses, red and white,
        With whiffs of fragrancy.

        There is no troublous thought,
  No painful memory, no grave regret,
    To mar the sweet suggestions of the hour: 
  The soul, at peace, reflects the peace without,
    Forgetting grief as sunset skies forget
        The morning’s transient shower.

EMMA LAZARUS.

OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP.

WASHINGTON’S BIRTHPLACE IN 1873.

Was George Washington born in Great Britain or America?  Absurd as this question must sound to an American, it has been gravely discussed within the last few months by a writer in the London Notes and Queries, who has the effrontery to say that Washington’s own brief assertion in a letter to the effect that he was born in Virginia cannot be conclusive.  “No man’s unsupported testimony,” he adds, “as to the place of his birth would be taken in evidence in a court of justice, for his knowledge of the event must necessarily be from hearsay or from records.”  This is silly enough.  I did not see the whole article, or learn by what arguments the writer endeavored to substantiate his doubts, if he really had any, as to the true birthplace of the Pater Patriae, but, feeling some interest in the matter, I cut out the slip containing the quotation just given, and enclosed it in a letter to a prominent gentleman living in Westmoreland not far from Wakefield, the estate on which the birthplace—­or rather the site of it—­is situated, with a request that he would reply to it.  He did so promptly and almost indignantly.