Trust, love, triumph, never fail her!
Tell me, sooth, whose praise all that is?
I say, ADELINA PATTI’S!
But apropos of ingenuity, the author of the following exquisite poem seems, without half trying, to have distanced all competitors.
Many years ago, twenty-five or thirty, perhaps, two Cincinnati editors engaged in a newspaper controversy, which was, for a long time, conducted with all candor and courtesy. At length, however, one of them so far forgot himself as to become first personal, then scurrilous, then virulent; and the other, at an early stage of this radical change, quietly withdrew from the contest. Editor No. One thereupon indulged in loud pæans of victory: he had spiked his adversary’s guns, put him to rout, utterly demolished him. While he was in this complacent frame of mind, he received from an anonymous contributor a seasonable poem on SPRING, which he published with a eulogium on its beauty, and a warmly-expressed wish that he might often hear from its gifted author:
SPRING.
The genial Spring once more with chaplets crowned,
Has showered her choicest blessings all around.
Each silent valley, and each verdant lawn,
Enriched with flowers, looks smiling as the dawn;