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During my summer visits at Assembly Park, New York, I have had the good fortune to meet a number of kindered spirits of note, among them Edmund Vance Cook, Miss Eliza E. Hewitt and the late Alton Lindsay. The latter was a young man of abundant promise, but was taken from his host of friends by an early death. Mr. Cook is still young and composing those poetic strains that have cheered the hearts of so many. Miss Hewitt and I began to correspond as early as 1891, and at several birthdays she has written sweet poems for the informal receptions that are annually held at the office of Biglow and Main in New York. In March, 1905, she sent the following:

"The friends are forming a garland,
Fragrant and lovely and sweet,
The roses and lilacs of friendship,
To lay at our loved one's feet;

"And while the fair chaplet they're twining,
May I bring a little flower,
A forget-me-not, meek and lowly,
To add to the joys of the hour?

"This love-wreath is for our dear 'Fanny,'
Whose heart is so young and so true,
No wonder her songs, freely gushing,
Are as fresh as the morning dew!

"They sparkle with Spring's happy sunshine,
They ripple like streams of delight,
They flow from the rocks of the mountain,
They touch us with love's tender might.

"Because she sings of her Saviour,
And His spirit tunes her lyre,
Her work shall go on forever,
After she has been called up higher.

"So we'll gather round our 'Fanny,'
With smiles and greetings sincere;
May she have just the sweetest birthday
She has had for many a year.

"Then we'll all be happy with her,
And thank the dear Lord above,
For sending us one of His angels
To sing to us of His love."

Mr. Cook wrote in 1899:

"Your brow is faded, poet, but we do not quarrel
With Time, since Time himself has brought
His recompense to you, -- the fadeless laurel
To crown your fadeless thought.

"Your eyes are dark, O sister, but your inner vision
Is keener than a merely mortal sight;
Your poem of life has suffered no elision,
For all your life is light.

"Your days are many, singer, but their goodly number
Has made you ever young,
Years are not years to you, nor can they cumber
The song your soul has sung."

Mr. John R. Clements, who has written many sweet hymns, after the publication of my volume, "Bells at Evening," in 1897, sent me the following delightful lines:

"Let chime again those 'Bells at Evening,'
Sounding rich and clear;
The music soothes and sweetly thrills,
In harmonies so dear.

"We fondly think of her who plays
Deftly these even chimes,
And breathe a wish for length of days,
Good health and many rhymes."

At one of the Round Table mornings during my stay at Assembly Park in 1899 Alton Lindsay recited the poem that is printed here in grateful remembrance of him:

"O sweet-voiced singer of immortal songs,
Whose harmonies divine inspire the world
To nobler living and a loftier faith,
Arousing men to seek God's highest truth,
To praise His name and trust His promises;
And feel the Christ-love glow within the heart, --
O, gentle singer, lean thy gracious head
And let me whisper low, as friend to friend,
A loving secret that I cannot keep.
Thy face, which mirror never shows to thee,
Itself is mirror of thy holy life,
Reflecting all the wealth of noble thought,
And all the beauty of thy purity.
The same glad joy which fills thy rapturous verse
Is like a flood of sunlight on thy brow,
Each hymn's calm message of perpetual trust
Is shining on thy placid contenance,
And all the hope of thy great mother-heart
Throbs ever in thy sweet and tender voice.
We thank our Heavenly Father for the boon
He gave to us in giving thee thy gift, --
Thy gift of song which hath enriched the world.
Nor for the boon alone our praise we give,
For, like the magi, we behold a star,
Which guides us nearer to the Saviour's side,
A radiant star -- thy pure, unselfish life."

A TRIBUTE

"This year of nineteen hundred three
My muse comes nestling close to me,
And breathes these words quite tenderly:
'Our Fanny dear is eighty-three.'
So many years of usefulness!
So many years the world to bless!
So many years with pen and voice,
To make earth's weary ones rejoice!

"Oh, what a blessed life is here --
The thought with love my bosom stirs;
Unselfish, patient, loving, kind,
And beautiful in heart and mind;
We read within the sacred Word:
'Blessed are those who fear the Lord,'
They strength shall gain; from day to day
On eagle's wings shall soar away.

"Sweet blessings on our Fanny's head,
May paths be smooth where she shall tread;
Of life's best joys may she have plenty,
Who came to us in eighteen-twentyl

"And may we meet at last in glory,
Together sing the dear old story,
That here we spread with best endeavor,
Hoping some precious sheaves to gather."

Harriet E. Jones.

TO MISS FANNY J. CROSBY
(On her eighty-fifth birthday)

"Unselfish singer of our heart's dear songs,
We pay to thee our tribute and our love.
Where man has wandered into grievous wrongs
Thy heart has gone, so like the Heart above!