In spite of cares and unpoetical methods of living, her pen was not idle. She wrote of the little prairie rose:—
“Flowers around are thick and bright,
The purple phlox and orchis white,
The orange lily, iris blue,
And painted cups of flaming hue.
Not one among them grows,
So lovely as the little prairie rose.”
The spirit of a jolly ride over the snow she caught in some lines called “A Prairie Sleigh-Ride:”—
“Away o’er the prairies, the wide and the free,