G' GILBERT L. EBERHART. GILBERT L. EBERHART, ILBERT LEANDER EBERHART is a native of Beaver county, Pennsylvania, a son of John Eberhart and Sarah Power, and is of German extraction, his ancestors having come to Pennsylvania from Wurtemburg in 1754. He is a descendant in direct line from the first Duke of Wurtemburg. The family of John Eberhart was one of the old and reputable families of Beaver county; his wife, a daughter of General Samuel Power, who held many official positions of trust in the county and state. Gilbert L. was educated at Mercer Academy and Washington College, and began life as a civil engineer and teacher. He had been entered as a student at law a short time prior to the war breaking out, but this event changed the current of his life, and he entered the army in April, 1861. In 1862 he was promoted, and served for a time on the staff of General George G. Meade. At the close of the war he was placed in charge of the educational department of the Freedmen's Bureau for the state of Georgia, and held that position until September, 1867. In 1870 he was admitted to the bar of Beaver county, and soon after to the bars of Lawrence, Mercer, and Butler counties, and also to the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania, and has since been in the practice of his profession. In 1876 he was elected by a very flattering vote to the Legislature, and served in the sessions of 1877 and 1878. For the past seven years Mr. Eberhart has been editor of the Beaver Falls Tribune. He has also contributed many interesting articles on philological and educational themes to several educational journals. He commenced writing poetry as early as the age of eighteen, and has contributed many poems to literary publications of Philadelphia, Boston and New York. Mr. Eberhart has written from the inspiration of the moment, and more as a pastime and for self-amusement than for the purpose of achieving any literary fame or notoriety. LOVE NOT. LOVE not, for love will soon decay Love not, for love is but a dream, Whose glory's soon departed; The joys that for an instant gleam, Then leave us broken-hearted. T. H. Love not, for love is but a thing That lives in airy flashes; A tempting fruit until thou bring It to the lips, then ashes. 209 Love not, for love is full of tears; Love not, for love will leave thee soon; The things most fond ye cherish, Like buds within the lap of June, When fairest, soonest perish. THE FIRST BLUEBIRD OF SPRING. HARK, hark, I hear a bluebird sing! His voice rings through the purple air, And tells me that the hand of Spring, Is weaving garlands, fresh and fair, In mossy dell, on frowning fell, And strewing blossoms everywhere. What lesson doth the springtide teach, Eternal life beyond the skies; MATED. THE cricket chirps beneath the hearth; The clock clicks clearly on the wall; Without and in seems joy and mirth, But I am happiest wight of all. Mae's dimpled hand is claspt in mine; I feel a thrill of joy divine,— As crystal streams from mountain side Unite and through the valley run, The soul of my sweet loving bride And mine have mingled into one. And through the quiet vale of life, Though clouds may sometimes intervene, We hope to glide with naught of strife, Our happy hearts to come between. UNWRITTEN SONG. АH me, if such could only sing The lofty strains that swell within them, How soon the world would homage bring, And Flattery use her arts to win them. But few, alas, shall ever know, How many souls are with us straying, Whose hearts with song are all aglowWhose life-chords angel hands are playing. They move through life devoid of fame, A WISH. I WISH I were a fragrant flower, I'd fold thee in my perfumed cup With all a fond heart's jealous care, Till morning's sun should lift us up Into the fields of purple air. And there, the world's fierce strife above, We'd mingle with the rainbow's dyes, And live in Heaven's own bonds of love Forever in the radiant skies. OUR PATRIOT DEAD. COULD we but change these tears of ours BABY. Thou little cooing, dumpy sprite! I ne'er have known such keen delight, -Minnie. HENRY M. CRONKHITE, M. D. ENRY M. CRONKHITE was born March 14, 1834, at Little Falls, New York. His boyhood and early manhood were passed in the adjoining counties of Herkimer and Montgomery. His education at the district schools was supplemented by one term at Little Falls Academy and by another at Fort Plain Seminary. In 1858 he graduated in medicine at Albany Medical College, now the medical department of Union University. Immediately after graduation he married and began the practice of his profession. In 1861 he enlisted as a private in the Twenty-sixth Regiment of New York Volunteers, and in 1863 was discharged with his regiment at the expiration of its term of service. From that time till the autumn of 1866 he served with the army on the Pacific coast in the capacity of acting assistant surgeon. In 1867 he was appointed a medical officer of the army, and has held that position to the present time. Through all the vicissitudes of a career not unseasoned by trial, disappointment and sorrow, the poetic impulse has been his dominant passion and guiding power. In 1886 he published a volume of verse entitled "Reymond." Dr. Cronkhite at present resides at Fort Trumbull, New London, Conn., holding the position of surgeon in the United States J. W'. army. FAREWELL. FAREWELL, loved one, farewell! And art thou gone; forever lost to me. O could my heart her secret tell Wouldst thou believe me treacherous to thee? Hapless I brood and weep From morn to eve, from eve to weary morn; No kindred soul, no blessed rest in sleep; I grieve my life away, unseen, folorn. Where shall I sleep at last To wake no more! no more to bear and know The burden of a sorrow never past! Sorrow of sorrows in a place of woe! There let me sleep where love, Which I find not in life, may seek my tomb And plant her fairest emblem flowers above, The sweet memorials of affection's doom. For I have loved and dreamed That heaven's bliss might dwell on earth. How dear The cherished hope! how bright the illusion seemed! But those are gone; reality is here. Come back to me, my heart; HENRY M. CRONKHITE, M. D. Thy precious, boundless treasures are unknown. Thy mate is not; thou hast a bitter part, To love forever, but to love alone. Come back, come back to me! For thou art but a sacrifice to hate. O gracious Heaven! can it never be? Ah, me, my life is dark and desolate! With a hard world to cope All, all alone, and hide the tears I shed. O, there is no death like the death of hope! Why must I live when every hope is dead! Come, Death, and take me there! Come, take me where my mother is at rest! Come, Mother! let your child in her despair Find love once more upon your gentle breast. SONG. FROM green heather hills o'er the sea, love, Afar from this wild, wizard shore, The true Highland heart comes to thee, love, To pay its fond tribute once more. They told me my birdie had flown, love, My life and my life's guiding star, love, How sunless and cold was my sky, love, By tempest clouds dismally crossed; How stricken and cheerless was I, love, When all that I cherished was lost. But skies that were gloomy are clear, love, I know by each tale-bearing tear, love, MARRIAGE SONG. WE are a band of lovers true; The time is drawing nearer When heart to heart shall pledge anew The dear ones growing dearer. The day breaks fair, the sun shines bright, Ring! ring! The bridal plight is done When two are joined forever; The golden chain that makes them one Can death alone dissever. Two hearts in magic union set, Still close and closer clinging; Upon two souls more clearly yet The marriage peals are ringing. And each loved one of all our band, Ring! ring! The bridal plight is done HEART PICTURES. I TOOK my way in solitude From heights and songs of gladness To meditate, alone, and brood 213 On bitter themes in sadness. The rising moon and stars shone through O'er roots and pebbles dancing, |