JONES VERY.

VERY, JONES, an American poet and essayist; born at Salem, Mass., August 28, 1813; died there, May 8, 1880. He was graduated from Harvard in 1836, and was a tutor in Greek, 1836-38, while studying divinity. In 1838 he retired to Salem. He believed that his poems were written by a kind of Divine inspiration. The first collection of his writings, "Essays and Poems," was prepared by Emerson, in 1839. William P. Andrews edited the poems, with a "Memoir," 1883; and a complete edition, with biography, was published by the Rev. James Freeman Clarke in 1886.

THE HUMMING-BIRD.

I CANNOT heal thy green-gold breast,
Where deep those cruel teeth have prest;
Nor bid thee raise thy ruffled crest,

And seek thy mate,

Who sits alone within thy nest,
Nor sees thy fate.

No more with him in summer hours
Thou 'lt hum amid the leafy bowers,
Nor hover round the dewy flowers,
To feed thy young;

Nor seek, when evening darkly lowers,
Thy nest high hung.

No more thou 'lt know a mother's care
Thy honeyed spoils at eve to share ;
Nor teach thy tender brood to dare,
With upward spring,

Their path through fields of sunny air,
On new-fledged wing.

For thy return in vain shall wait

Thy tender young, thy fond, fond mate,

Till night's last stars beam forth full late
On their sad eyes:

Unknown, alas! thy cruel fate,
Unheard thy cries!

THE WOOD-WAX.

LAUGHING, midst its yellow blooms.
At the fire that it consumes,
Springs the wood-wax every year;
It has naught from man to fear.

From the turnpike's grassy side,
See it flourish far and wide,
On the steep and rocky hills:
Naught the wood-wax hurts or kills

Glorious sight in summer-time
"T is, to see it in its prime,

With its spikes of flowers untold,
Covering all the hills with gold!

Though a plant of stranger race,
It with us has found a place;
Vain the farmer's art or toil
That would drive it from the soil.

Vain in winter is the fire

Which it kindles in his ire;
Still it laughs, amidst its blooms,
At the flame that it consumes.

BEAUTY.

I GAZED upon thy face, and beating life
Once stilled its sleepless pulses in my breast,
And every thought whose being was a strife
Each in its silent chamber sank to rest.

I was not, save it were a thought of thee;

The world was but a spot where thou hadst trod; From every star thy glance seemed fixed on me; Almost I loved thee better than my God. And still I gaze, — but 't is a holier thought Than that in which my spirit lived before.

Each star a purer ray of love has caught,

Earth wears a lovelier robe than then it wore ; And every lamp that burns around thy shrine

Is fed with fire whose fountain is divine.

THE PRAYER.

WILT Thou not visit me?

The plant beside me feels thy gentle dew,
And every blade of grass I see

From thy deep earth its quickening moisture drew.

Wilt Thou not visit me?

Thy morning calls on me with cheering tone;
And every hill and tree

Lend but one voice, — the voice of Thee alone.

Come, for I need thy love

More than the flower the dew, or grass the rain;
Come, gently as thy holy dove;

And let me in thy sight rejoice to live again.

I will not hide from them

When thy storms come, though fierce may be their wrath, But bow with leafy stem,

And strengthened follow on thy chosen path.

Yes, Thou wilt visit me:

Nor plant nor tree thine eye delights so well,
As, when from sin set free,

My spirit loves with thine in peace to dwell.

PASQUALE VILLARI.

VILLARI, PASQUALE, an Italian educator and historian; born at Naples, October 3, 1827; and was educated there. In 1859 he published his "Storia di Girolamo Savonarola," and was immediately made Professor of History at the University of Pisa. His work on Savonarola was followed by "La Civiltà Latina e Germanica" (1861); "Leggende che Illustrano la Divina Commedia” (1865); and many critical, educational, and poetical treatises. His political pamphlet "Di Chi è la Colpa "-"Whose is the Fault?"-stirred the nation to its very depths; and the same year, 1866, Villari was called to the chair of History at the Institute of Higher Studies in Florence. He became General Secretary of Public Instruction in 1869, Senator in 1884, and Minister of Public Instruction in 1891. His "Niccolò Machiavelli" was published in 1877; and in 1893 he issued his "Storia di Firenze " "Florentine History." "Scritti Vari" appeared in 1894.

THE SIEGE OF ST. MARKS.

(From "Life and Times of Girolamo Savonarola.”)

SAVONAROLA'S adherents had either disappeared or were in hiding; all Florence now seemed against him. . . .

The morning of the 8th of April, Palm Sunday, 1498, passed quietly; but it was easy for an observant eye to discern that this tranquillity was only the sullen calm that precedes a storm, and that it was a marvel no startling event had yet occurred. Savonarola preached in St. Mark's, but his sermon was very short and sad; he offered his body as a sacrifice to God, and declared his readiness to face death for the good of his flock. Mournfully, but with much composure, he took leave of his people; and in giving them his benediction, seemed to feel that he was addressing them for the last time. . . . The friar's adherents then hurried to their homes to procure arms; while a portion of their adversaries held the corners of the streets, and all the rest marched through the city, crying" To St. Mark's,

to St. Mark's, fire in hand!" They assembled on the Piazza of the Signory; and when their numbers had sufficiently increased, moved in the direction of the convent, brandishing their weapons and uttering fierce cries. On the way they caught sight of a certain man, named Pecori, who was quietly walking to the church of the Santissima Annunziata, singing psalms as he went; and immediately some of them rushed after him, crying, "Does the hypocrite still dare to mumble! And overtaking him on the steps of the Innocenti, they slew him on the spot. A poor spectacles-maker, hearing the great noise in the street, came out with his slippers in his hand; and while trying to persuade the people to be quiet, was killed by a swordthrust in his head. Others shared the same fate; and in this way, infuriated by the taste of blood, the mob poured into the Square of St. Mark. Finding the church thronged with the people who had attended vespers, and were still engaged in prayer, they hurled a dense shower of stones through the door; whereat a general panic ensued, the women shrieked loudly, and all took to flight. In a moment the church was emptied; its doors, as well as those of the convent, were locked and barred; and no one remained within save the citizens who were bent on defending St. Mark's.

Although barely thirty in number, these comprised some of the most devoted of Savonarola's adherents; the men who had escorted him to the pulpit, and were ever prepared to risk their life in his service. For some days past they had known that the convent was in danger; and accordingly eight or ten of them had always come to guard it by night. Without the knowledge of Savonarola or Fra Domenico, whom they knew to be averse to all deeds of violence, they had, by the suggestion of Fra Silvestro and Fra Francesco de' Medici, secretly deposited a store of arms in a cell beneath the cloister. Here were some twelve breastplates, and as many helmets; eighteen halberds, five or six crossbows, shields of different kinds, four or five harquebusses, a barrel of powder, and leaden bullets, and even, as it would seem, two small mortars. Francesco Davanzati, who had furnished almost all these weapons, and was then in the convent, brought out and distributed them to those best able to use them. Assisted by Baldo Inghirlami, he directed the defence for some time; placing guards at the weakest points, and giving the necessary orders. About sixteen of the friars took arms, and foremost among them were Fra