Blackwell Family Alice Stone Blackwell Subject File Spanish-American Poems: Translations by Alice S. BlackwellEl Nido de Cóndores. Olegario V. Andrade (Argentina) En la negra tiniebla se [destr] destaca, Como un brazo extendido hacia el vacío Para imponer silencio á sus rumores, Un peñasco sombrío. Blanca venda de nieve lo circunda, De nieve que gotea Como la negra sangre de una herida Abierta en la pelea. ¡Todo es silencio en torno! Hasta las nubes Van pasando calladas, Como tropas de espectros que dispersan Las ráfagas heladas. ¡Todo es sliencio en torno!; Pero hay algo En el peñasco mismo, Que se [mueve] mueve y palpita cual si fuera El corazón enfermo del abismo! Es un nido de cóndores, colgado De su cuello gigante, Que el viento de las cumbres balancia Como un pendón flotante. 2 ¡Es un nido de cóndores andinos, En cuyo negro seno Parece que fermentan las borrascas, Y que dormita el trueno! Aquella negra masa se estremece Con inquietud extraña: ¡Es que sueña con algo que lo agita El viejo morador de la montaña! ¡No sueña con el valle, ni la sierra, De encantadoras galas; Ni menos con la espuma del torrente Que humedeció sus alas! ¡No sueña con el pico inaccesible Que en la noche se inflama Despeñando por riscos y quebradas Sus tímpanos de llama! No sueña con la nube voladora que pasó en las mañana Arrastrando en los campos del espacio Su túnica de grana. ¡Muchas nubes pasaron á su vista, Halló muchos volcanes, Su plumaje mojaron y rizaron Torrentes y huracanes!3 Es algo más querido lo que causa su agitación extraña : i Un ve recuerdo que bulle en la cabeza Del viejo morador [del] de la montaña! En la tarde anterior, cuando volvía, Vencedor inclemente, Trayendo los despojos palpitantes En la garra potente, Bajaban dos viajeros presurosos La rápida ladera; Un niño y un anciano de alta talla y blanca cabellera. Hablaban en voz alta, y el anciano Con acento vibrante, "Vendra, exclamaba, el héroe predilecto De esta cumbre gigante". El cóndor, al oirlo, batió el vuelo; Lanzo [con] ronco gaznido, y fué á pasar el ala fatigada Sobre el desierto nido. Inquieto, tembloroso, como herido De fúnebre congoja, Pasó la noche y sorprendiólo el alba Con su pupila roja! 4 II Enjambre de recuerdos punzadores Pasaban en tropel por su memoria, Recuerdo de otro tiempo de esplendores, De otro tiempo de gloria, ¡En que era preve espacio á su ardimiento La anchurosa región del vago viento! Blanco el cuello y el ala reluciente, Iba en pas de la niebla fugitiva, Dando caza á las nubes en Oriente; ¡O con mirada altiva En la garra pujante se apoyaba, Cual se apoya un titán sobre su clava! Una mañana ¡inolvidable día!-- Ya iba á soltar el vuelo soberana Para surcar la inmensidad sombría Y descender al llano, A celebrar con ansia convulsina Su sangriento festín de carne viva. Cuando sintió un rumor nunca escuchado En las hondas gargantas de Occidente; El rumor del torrente desatado, ¡La cólera rugiente Del volcán que en horrible paroxismo Se revuelca en el fondo del abismo! 5 Choque de armas y cánticos de guerra Resonaron después. Relincho agudo Lanzó el carcel de la argentina [terra] tierra Desde el peñasco mudo; ¡Y vibraron los bélicos clarines Del Ande gigantesco en los confines! Crecida muchedumbre se agolpaba Cual las ondas del mar en sus [lindores] linderos; Infantes y jinetes avanzaban Desundos los aceros, Y atónita al sentirlos la montaña Bajó la frente, y desgarró su entraña! ¿Donde van? ¿Donde van? ¡Dios los empuja! Amor de patria y libertad los guía; ¡Donde más fuerte la tormenta ruja, Donde la onda [brevía] bravía Más ruda agote el piélago orofundo, Van morir ó libertar un mundo! III Pensativo á su frente, cual si fuera Su muda discusión con el destino, Iba el héroe inmortal que en la [ribo] ribera Del gran río argentino, Al león hispano asió de la [melema] melena Y lo arrastró por la sanqrienta arena! 6 El cóndor le miró, voló del Ande A la cresta más alta, repitiendo Con estridente grito: "¡éste es el grande!" Y San Martín oyendo, Cual si fuera el presaqio de la historia, Dijo á su vez: "¡mirad! esa es mi gloria!" IV Siempre batiendo el ala silbadora, Cabalgando en las nubes y en los vientos, Lo halló la noche y sorprendió la aurora; ¡Y á sus roncos acentos, Tembló de espanto el español sereno En los umbrales del hogar ajeno! Un día ... se detuvo; había sentido El estridor de la feroz pelea; Viento de tempestad llevó á su nido Rugidos de marea; ¡Y descendio á la cumbre de una sierra, la corva garra abierta, en son de guerra! ¡Porfiada era la lid! - Pro las laderas Bajaban los bizarros batallones, ¡Y pinachos, espadas y cimeras,7 Cureñas y cañones, Como heridas de un vértigo tremendo En la sima fatal iban cayendo! Porfiada era la lid! - En la humareda La enseña de los libres ondiaba Acariciada po la brisa leda Lue sus pliegues hinchaba: ¡Y al fin entre relámpagos de gloria, Vino á alzarla en sus brazos la victoria! Lanzó el cóndor un grito de aligría, Grito inmenso de júbil salvaje; ¡Y desplegando en la extensión vacía Su vistoso plumaje, Fué esparciendo por sierras y por llanos Girones de estandartes castillanos! V. ¡Desde entonces, jinete del vacío, Cabalgando en nublodos huracanes, En la cumbra, en el páramo sombrío, Tres hielos y volcanes, Fué siguiendo los vívidos fulgares De la bandera azul de sus amores! La vió al borde del mar, que se empinaba Para verla pasar, y que en la lira 8 De bronce de sus olas entonaba, Como un grito de ira, Del [hum] himno con que rompe las [canden] cadenas De sus cárcel de racas y de arenas. La vió en Maipú en Junín, y hasta en aquella Noche de maldición, noche de duelom, En que desapareció como una estrella Tras las nubes del cielo: ¡Y al compás de sus lúgubres graznidos Fué sembrando el espanto en los dormidos! ¡Siempre tras ella, siempre! hasta que un día La luz de un nuevo sol alumbró al mundo: El sol de libertad que aparecía Tras nublado [po] profundo, ¡Y envuelto en su maqnífico vislumbre, Tornó soberbio á la nativa cumbre! VI. ¡Cuantos recuerdos despertó el viajero En el calvo señor de la montaña! Por eso se agitaba antre su nido. Con inquietud extraña; ¡Y al beso de la luz del sol naciente Volvió otra vez á sacudir las alas Y á perderse en las nubes del Oriente!9 ¿A [donte] donde va? ¿Qué vértigo lo lleve? ¿Que engañosa ilusión nubla sus ojos? ¡Va á esperar del Atántico en la a orilla Los sagrados despojos De aquel gran vencedor de vencedores, A cuyo solo nombre se [p] postraban Tiranos y opresores! ¡Va a posarse en la cresta de una roca, Batida por las ondas y los vientos, Allá, donde se queja la ribera Con amargo lamento, Porque [sinto] sintió pasar planta extranjera Y no sintió tronar el escarmiento! ¡Y allá estará! Cuando la nave asome Portadora del héroe y de la gloria, Cuando el mar patagón alce á su pasa Los himnos de victoria, Volverá á saludarle; como un día En la cumbre del Ande, Para decir al mundo: ¡Este es el grande!Dawn Look! in the darksome east the Dawn anew Now shakes abroad her glittering tresses bright; The morning star her calm [clear] and lovely light Sheds amid clouds of changing opal hue. A mirror to its banks and heaven's blue, The murmurous river clear sweeps on in might; The modest violet hides herself from sight, Outbreathing her sweet scent, and wet with dew, The gentle birds forsake the leafy shades; Where half-blown rose and myrtle cheer our eyes They sing their loves, or mourn for love's disdain. Kissed by the breezes underneath soft skies The whispering leaves of the white poplar trees Look like a swarm of snowy butterflies.THE WOMAN'S JOURNAL and SUFFRAGE NEWS 585 Boylston Street, Boston, Massachusetts Telephone: Back Bay 4717 Editor-in-Chief Alice Stone Blackwell Assistant Editor Henry Baily Stevens Managing Editor Agnes E. Ryan Contributing Editors Mary Johnston Stephen S. Wise Josephine Peabody Marks Zona Gale Florence Kelley Witter Bynner Contributing Editors Ben B. Lindsey Caroline Bartlett Crane Ellis Meredith Mabel Craft Deering Eliza Calvert Hall Reginald Wright Kauffman[Like] Analogies Salvador Diaz [Meron] Miron I know a reptile that pursues the shadow Swift and aerial, which to earth is [cast] thrown By a bright bird of paradise, blithe soaring A loving rainbow, mid the blue alone! I know a greedy worm, lost mid the marshes; It for a [butt] butterfly is ambushed there A free and variegated flower, displaying Two fluttering petals in [a] the golden air. Hate of the dark scale for the shining feather! The caterpillar's grudge, that [never] ne'er [dies] can die! O petty warfare that is waged forever By all things crawling against all that fly! (overOriental Music Francisco de A. Icaza Close the piano! Bring not to remembrance Those Eastern dances woven languorously [The] Those cadences of Oriental dances That lulled so oft my dreams, in days gone by! My hatreds were not dead; they only slumbered Within their serpent-nest; their sleep hath ceased, And their three cornered heads they now are showing, Awakened by the music of the East. (over) To Some Violets Enrique Fernandez Granados O sweet violets, blue as heaven, By the fair hands nursed each morn Of the maid[en] for where I [worship] sorrow! [With my love's growth,] As my love grows, grows her scorn If perchance in tender clusters You [should] shall deck her brow or breast Tell her my pain, & softly Soothe her angry thoughts to rest She must needs, O gentle blossoms, Bear a loving heart towards you, Since her soul your fragrance gave [?] And her eyes your heavenly hue![*4 copies (over)*] Condor's Eyes By Robert Brenes Mesen of Honduras Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. A Dream is into lily-water pouring Sweet sap of tube roses and myrtles fair; Light-shafts their weft are weaving, and the water Like to a leopard's coat is dappled there. A Wizard dark, with white beard flowing, chooses The condors with the broadest wings [for flight], of might, And by the water's edge he plucks their eyes out - Eyes that have seen the Andes' peaks of light He sinks them in the water; those clear eyes thenmetre 3 stanzas like this [Then 2] last 2 lines like this[*6 copies metre*] Death By Amado Nervo of Mexico. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. Death, thou art mother of philosophy! Life thou ennoblist, asking "Who may know?" Thy sadness gives a fragrance to our hours; Thou art in all things great - in love, in woe. Black marble arch triumphal, wherethrough goes, With honor crowned, the soul that well hath striven, Like a mate hero; shelter, refuge, house Of him who trod rough paths, love, bar, wind driven! Thou dignifiest coarest lives; in death In Sancho Panza majesty we see. 2 Faces thou chiselist with strange, calm lives, Thou wondrous carver of serenity! Thine is the gold of silence. Thou dost leave Silver of eloquence to foolish life. More says they dumbness than [the] our cataract Of myriad words with empty noises rife. They pale hand shuts the doorway of the house, And nothing further do we known or see Beyond it, is a [chys] chrysalis transformed. What there goes on of wondrous alchemy? Creating mystery, thou didst first make man Seek the idea, and look beyond the clod. (over)Gazing whom they face august and sad He raised his eyes on high and there found god! [*7 copies*] Like Those [Artificers] Craftsmen By Raphael Lozano, Jr., of Mexico. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. (over) Give me your fair white hands, dear; let me submerge within them The impulses that stir me, as in two rivers bright. Within that select refuge let them grow calm and gentle, The voices of my ancestors, those warriors fierce in fight. Let all that still revives in me out of the ancient epics - [In which] Wherein keen swords and arrows, beneath the bending skies, With wondrous might went crashing and breaking like red lightnings - Grave shadowy in the heaving peace which [reigns] reigns in your kind eyes!3 stanzas like this Then the last 2 lines like this That, like those Indian craftsmen who wrought in gold and silver, Chisilling out their precious things with endless hours and care, Repolishing the goldwork of a dream with labor tireless- Or as the Sevres artists toil o'er their porcelains rare- I o'er my Indian flute may toil, that thus, revealed to sight, You may rise beatiful, melodious, calm and bright![*5 copies*] Song of the General Stike (over) By Mario Bravo of Argentina. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. The crowd advances like a surrounding sea, The multitude with banners blazing bright; In the great chorus that invokes a hope All earth's revolts seem throbbing full of might. Like a huge cloud forestalling cyclones dread The multitude all-powerful marches past; Today the rest: their clamor, all as one, Spreads fear of revolutions dark and vast. Energy that creates and that destroys, Perpetual energy, the crowd goes by - Men with their faith, their strength, their song, their flag - And as they pass, the streets thrill silently; A hush falls, here and where the pampas [?], And life itself stands still and waits in hope!metre 3 stanzas like this --------------------- --------------------- --------------------- [3 Lines] closing two lines like this ----------------------- ----------------------- prose 2 copies Roundels By Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz Charges with inconsistency the vice and the condemnation of men, who blame in women that of which they themselves are the cause. Foolish men, who accuse woman without reason, without seeing that you are the cause of the very thing you blame! If with unparalled longing you importune them when they scorn you, why do you want them to do well if you incite them to evil? You combat their resistance and soon you gravely declare to be lightmindedness that which your diligent efforts have brought about.2 The audacity of your mad opinion is like the child who sets up a bugbear and presently is frightened by it. With foolish presumption, your wish to find her whom you seek. Thais when you attempt her, and Lucretia when you possess her. What humor can be more extraordinary than that, for lack of good counsel, the same man should tarnish the mirrors and be sorry that it is not clear? Whether they favor or scorn you, you behave alike, complaining of them if they treat you ill, mocking them if they love you well. No woman gains your good opinion since she who is most 3 prudent is ungrateful if she does not yield to you, and lightminded if she does! You always proceed so foolishly that with unequal measure you blame one for being cruel and the other for being too easy. How then must she be tempered, the woman whom your love solicits, if she who is ungrateful offends you, and she who is easy angers you? But between the anger and pain that your pleasure submits to, God bless her who does not love you, and complain about it all you will! Your amorous pains cast off restraint, and after making women bad, you wish to find them very good!5 Who is the more at fault, in an erring passion, she who falls through entreaty, or he who entreats her to fall? Or which is more to blame, although either one does ill, she who sins for pay or he who pays for sinning? Then why are you terrified at the fault which you yourselves have? Love women such as you make them, or make them such as you seek to have them. Cease to solicit, and then with more reason, you will accuse the inclination of her whom you go to entreat. Well with many weapons[?] I maintain that your arrogance must continue, since in promises and importunity you unite the world, the flesh and the devil! Indignation From the Spanish of Ricardo Palma (Peru). Rendered into English verse by Alice Stone Blackwell. In a swift whirlwind rises to the sky A mighty cloud of dust, confused and dun; It covers with its wings the glowing disc Of the clear-shining sun. It says with mockery, "Go upon your course! I have made dim your beams of topaz bright. King of the sphere, I have brought down your pride, I have obscured your light!" The sun makes answer, "Soon the wind will fall; You will become base mire, despised and dumb, While I light up the heavens and the earth - Today, and days to come!" So stupid envy, insolent and false, The laurel wreath of genius fain would blight. It is foul dust, intelligence the sun - Immortal is its light! -------------------------- If not wanted, please return to Alice S. Blackwell Chilmark, Mass. Stamp enclosed.To the Soul of the Tree By Enrique Gonzalez Martinez of Mexico. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. O vibrant calm, O quietude magnanimous, sonorous, Within the sacred earth's deep heart firm rooted underground! O leaves that seem, in ecstasy of thirst which knows no bound, Insatiable sight, the eye searching around and o'er us! O tree, our fates are brotherlike; the self-same low complaining Mourns in thy murmur and my song; the selfsame longing deep Stirs in they sap and in my blood, a wish that knows no sleep, Persistent, changeless evermore, the flight of time disdaining. 2 Oh, to be strong and calm like thee, and yearn towards the unknown - Be bound to life, yet in far quest go where the birds have flown, Follow their track, their silver notes, into the wind upcaught; Be near the lowly, yet arise with wings upsoaring fraud - Shade to the spring, peace to the child, a smile unto the cloud - And still to be immovable, majestic as a thought!132 Captive by bars surrounded Who through the narrow frame Lettest they glances wander [Of] Over the distant plain What boots it thru a [y] longing keen To cherish inwardly If thou art free indeed to see But art not free to fly? I feel the sadness of thy lot More deeply where I see Thy wings in torture, cramped and pent, While thy desire is free. The foot held fast, the soul alert - 'Tis death with life in sight! Why should the window be unclosed Without a door for flight?Captive, thou sister soul to mine, Gazing the landscape o'er! They ought to shut close thy window [up] [fast] tight Or else unbar the door! El Río José Manuel Othon Triscad, ¡ oh limpas! con la grácil onda; gorgoritas, alzad vuestras cancíiones; y vosotros, parleros borbollones, dialogad con el viento y con la fronda. Charro garrulador, sobre la honda Cóncava quiebra rómpete en jérones y estrella contra riscos y peñones tus diamantes y perlas de Golconda. Soy vuestro padre el río. Mis cabellos son de la luna pálidos destellos, cristal mi ojos del cerúleo manto. Es de musgo mi barba transparente, ópalos desleídos son mi frente y risas de las náyades mi canto.El Bosque Bajo las frondas trémulas [y] é inquietas que forman mi basilica sagrada, ha de [esco] escucharse la oración alada, no el canto celestial de los poetas. Alberque fuí de druidas. Los ascetas en mis troncos de crústula rugada infligieron su frente macerada y colgaron sus arpas los profetas. Y en tremenda ocasión el errabundo viento espantada suspendió su vuelo, al [escuchar] escuchar de mi interior profundo brotar, con infinito deconsuelo, la más grande oración que desde el mundo se ha alzado hasta la cúpula del cielo. - Noche Rustica de Walpurgis.[Loving] odes [t?] Love In the peace of the far coming crepuscule your heart like the white lilys obtains the nobleness of a broken vase, that discloses in your working vine, like in a tale where there are two sisters, that grapes are also blond and moraine.....5 copies Song of the Condor and the Eagle By Mario Bravo of Argentina. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. Towards the far zenith they set forth to soar, Hearing the news that filled the rout with fright They sought the limit of the unknown height, To see the earth, to see the world, no more. The fearless condor, they keen eagle there, In the mute hush of the unchanging sky, Facing the sun, flew haughtily on high, Like a victorious war-flag on the air. Safe in that realm which no one can attain, The exiled heroes of the mount and plain Surveyed the fields of space with eager eye. [In terror they] With what affright they saw [with] in (over)[vision] ether char, Man crossing the impossible frontier, Triumphant o'er the sombre mystery! metre first 2 stanzas last stanza 6 copies metre The Captive By Enrique Gonzalez Martinez of Mexico. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. Captive, by bars hemmed closely in Who through the narrow frame Lettest they glances wander [free] far Over the distant plain! What boots it thee a longing keen To cherish inwardly, If thou art free indeed to see But art not free to fly? I feel the sadness of they lot More deeply when I see Thy wings in torture, cramped and front, While thy desire is free. The foot held fast, the soul awake - 'Tis death with life in sight! Why should the window be unclosed Without a door for flight? (over)Captive, thou sister soul to mine, laying the landscape o'er! They ought to [shut] wall thy window up Or else unbar the door! [5] 6 copies metre - A Crystal Sigh By Enrique Gonzalez Martinez of Mexico. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. I come to the brink of the flowing spring: How gently the water goes gliding by! And I hear the current which murmurs low- It sounds like the breath of a crystal sigh. I keep my doubts in my silent breast, Under the tranquil evening light; I yearn within to be kind and good As in the hour that is taking flight. The murmuring water I fain would be, that knows no stain as its ripple run; I would glide o'er a bed of [verdure] greenness fair Under the night or facing the sun. Oh, might I be the limpid stream In silvery purity that flows Over the sand, so fine & white, And knows not, journeying, whither it goes!2 The church-bell sounds from the darksome tower With its [for] far, sad voice that mourns and pleads, While a bird the notes of her song lets fell Over my soul like a chaplet's beads. My fingers pluck on the brooklet's edge An innocent violet blue and bright, In which a tremulous dew drop shines, Gleaning and pure, like a tear of light. I scatter its leaves on the waters clear, And those mournful relics drift away Farther and farther towards the red That marks the end of the dying day. And while the current glides smoothly on And guilty the water wanders by, I hear the [vaice] voice of the murmuring spring- It seems like the breath of a crystal sigh. The Wind Mills Yonder, borne onward by the strong wind's breath, The village wind mills' mocking sails' seen are Circling with reckless haste & ardor keen, With panting fury & impelling faith. A music lovers o'er the sails, wind-caught, They raise towards heaven the song divine & free Of man triumphant over dusting, the wild wind harnessed by our human thought. When evening shades descend upon the earth And [over] yonder there I see the windmill stand, Kissed vainly by the great sun's [burning] glowing light, Then from their sails I look to see come forth Upon his meagre steed, with lance in hand, A [vision of] spiritual type, La Mancha's [valiant] knight.Allá - se ven de la vecina aldea las, burladores aspas de molina girando arrebatas y sin tino, con fe que impulsa y rabia que jaden. Una estrofa en las aspas voltejea, [Lan] lanzando el cielo el cántico divino del hombre triunfador sobre el Destino y del viento enfranado por la Idea. Cuando, entre las penumbras de la tarde, vea allá - las molinas, donde en vano un gran beso de sol palpita y [arde] arde, ! espero ver que de las aspas brote, sobre flaco rocin, con lanza en mano, el tipo espiritual de Don Quixote![*Windmills -Spanish & English*]p 266 The Bill Othon What says my voice to thee as dawn breaks fair, When the first beams o'er the horizon spring? "Vanquished is death; life throbs in everything The field is ploughed, & waits the sowing there." When evening shadows darken [in] all the air I say, "Now rest, the home lamp cheer doth bring." Ever my voice invites thee as I ring, Always I follow this & everywhere. I call the living unto prayer; the dead I mourn with deep, sadnotes, like sobs that break slow from the aching heart in sorrow's hour; And to the thunder of the torrents dread In awful tempests, I my answer make With iron voice that breaks the lightnings forever.First 3 stanzas, metre Last 2 lines, metre 4 copies Condors' Eyes By Robert Brenes Mesen of Honduras. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. A dream is into lily-water pouring Sweet sap of tuberoses and myrtles fair; Light-shafts [shoots] their [woof] weft are weaving, and the water Like to a leopard's hide, [they is dappled there] is dappled there A Wizard dark, with white beard [of snowy whiteness] flowing, chooses [Chooses] The condors [of the loftiest flight,] with the broadest wings of might, And by the water's edge he plucks their eyes out- Eyes that have seen the Andes' peaks of light. He sinks them in the water; [and] those clear eyes then Kindle the spring, like bright starts [molen] molten there, Making it flash with flames of red and azure. [Far sighted Fate, with radiant forehead glittering fair, radiant fair] A Destiny with brow of brightness rare Prepares that water strange, a bath with [gems] gems impearled, For some new Caesar bold, lord of our Western world!Forty- six years of confidence- building service and the story of the magazine which enjoys that confidence and gives that kind of service Forty-six years ago Lucy Stone and her husband, Henry B. Blackwell established the Woman's Journal. Its purpose was to advocate economic and legal equality for women, "and especially the right of suffrage." Harper's Weekly recognized the place which it took in that day of pioneer propaganda when it said (soon after the first number appeared) "The Journal is indispensable to those who would truly understand the character of the movement and measure its progress." William Lloyd Garrison, Julia Ward Howe, Mary Livermore, Thomas Wentworth Higginson were among the writers whose views were often expressed through the Journal in its early days. The Journal has literally grown up with the suffrage movement. Today it is the only periodical with a national circulation devoted entirely to suffrage. Suffragists are intensely proud of the Journal, vitally interested in its welfare. Suffrage associations own a large part of the stock. It is their paper. As An Old Friend Everywhere they regard it as a friend -- forty- six years of service in providing the latest, most accurate information has created a strong foundation of confidence. Some of the first subscribers are still on the list. "It is impossible to imagine the suffrage movement without the Woman's Journal, " says Mrs. Carrie Chapman Catt. Whenver a question about woman sufrage is raised, whether by a newspaper, a statesman, or any of the more than 700,000 American women who are enrolled suffragists the natural decision is - - "Ask the Woman's Journal." A Record Year The year 1915 was particularly encouraging to the Journal. The net- paid circulation has increased from 20,039 in January 1915 to 27,638 for January 1916. With this increase has come an effective, enthusiastic circulation organization so that it seems that 1915's record of thirty-seven per cent increase should be passed in 1916. This has made possible for the first time the attempt in a really constructive way to make the Woman's Journal a national advertising medium, to give national advertisers the opportunity of making this reader-confidence which the Journal possesses and asset in their business. It is logical to say that as a medium for advertising it will be very resultful. Advertisements might almost be said to speak in the form of a personal invitation - - and one which would not be overlooked. In addition to this reader- confidence the Journal offers the inducement of good company to prospective advertisers. This confidence is regarded to highly jeopardize it by any betrayal. No patent nostrum, blue sky fake, or commercial unreliable will ever jostle your copy - - when it is in the Journal. Over more daybreak has unfolded It is snowing thick & fast Lo, the horse comes with no rider Oh, my love has not come home Day has dawned, the door is opened Wet and tired [f?ll] in the [?] His kind breast wounded and gory Drenched in blood, he dropped within within he [?] Horse beloved, haste to tell me Where you left my own true love In what vale, love & forsaken without shelter unprotected & defenseless death what rocks you lift up [?] Clouds have gathered, all is darkness Here alone I sit and weep I must mourn, grieving forever For my dear, lost love I mourn! My true love lost[The United States] Our government should [by all means] grant [a general] amnesty [at once] without delay to all [prisoners] [who] men and women who are in prison merely for the expression of their opinions. [Almost every] The other countries [allied] associated with us in the late war have already done [so] this; and the United States, which is the strongest of all, should not show itself the least magnanimous. When thy deep glance, all powerful o'er my [soul] heart Unto my face thou raisest guilelessly And [unowned?] that in its light doth shine [Awakes Begets] Calls up a dream delicious & devine Within my [ach] grieving soul that longs for thee When they mysterious forehead, [snowy] white [as] like snow, Without a stain, and bent towards me the while, Appears to typify symbolize thy kindness dear, And when with joy too deep great for words I hear Thy voice angelic, and behold they smile: When languidly thou breathest forth a sigh, (Blest child of hidden passion) soft & [sof] low, Brimful of tenderness, a loving sigh Forth from thy maiden bosom, swelling high, That fills my life with bitterness & woe; [that] When I stretch forth towards thee my hands half dead, When stiffly towards thee I my fingers hold The red which doth thy parted life adorn Is clouded, for, though sweet and [fair] [soft] fair to see. [In] Then speaking thou dost furnish cruelly My errors, with a glance of cutting scorn. 2 then I suspect that thou dost hide deceit And that thy voice, thy glance which seems of heaven, Are only for mean [proj plans] aims, though fair their guise, And that in loving thee, I sacrifice The greatest thing [that] which Thought to us has a given Knowing my wounded spirit worships thee, If thou art wicked, if thou dost dissemble [Let] Still, seeing that I suffer bitterly, Lo from me! Nothing do I ask of thee; The cry of the hyenas makes me tremble! Call up Mrs. Wagner at Dorchester 8.6 about a meeting April 21; and Mrs. [Puikhaur?] has called an all-day conference [as member?] or same day. [?] asked [as member?] Emergency Com to vote for it[*Prof Walter S Athearn 607 Boylston St.*] Cuando tiendo hacia tí mis dedos yertos y el carmín de tus labios entreabiertos se empaña, porque grácil y dulce y cariñosa, modelando una voz, mis desaciertos castigos con mirada desdeñosa.THE TEACHER'S PRAYER By Gabriela Mistral of Chile Translated by Alice Stone Blackwell from the Spanish Lord, Thou who teachest, forgive me that I teach; that I bear the name of teacher, which Thou didst bear upon earth. Give me a single-hearted love for my school; and let not the burning of beauty be able to rob it of my tenderness of every moment. Master, make my fervor lasting and my disenchantment a transitory thing Take. from me this unworthy craving for justice that still disturbs me, this petty insinuation of protest that goes up from me when they wound me. Let not the lack of understanding on the part of those whom I have taught gt grieve me, nor their forgetfulness make me sad. Make me more motherly than the mothers, so as to be able to love and defend as they do those who are not flesh of my flesh. Grant that I may succeed in making of one of my little girls my perfect poem, and in leaving to Thee, fixed firmly in her, my most penetrating melody, for the time when my life shall sing no more. Show me that Thy gospel is a possibility in my time, that I may never give up the battle of every day and every hour for it. Shed upon my democratic school the glory that falls upon Thy circle of bare-footed children. Make me strong despite my weaknesses as a woman, and as a poor woman; mak make me despise all power that is not pure, all pressure but that of Thy glowing will upon life. O Friend, go with me. Uphold me. Often I shall have none by my side save Thee. Then my instruction is purest and my truth most burning, I shall be left without the worldly; but Thou wilt press me then to Thine heart, which knew enough of loneliness and abandonment. I will seek the sweetness of approval in Thy glance alone. Give me simplicity and give me depth; save me from being complicated or commonplace, im in my daily lesson. Grant me to lift mine eyes from my wounded breast, when I enter my school school each morning. Let me not carry to my work-table my little material longings, my petty grief of every hour. Take my hand light in punishment , and softer in caressing, rebuke with sorrow, that Thou mayest know I have corrected in love. Let me build my brick schoolhouse of of my own spirit. Let the flame of of my enthusiasm envelop its poor portico, its bare hall.Let my heart be to it more of a column and my good will more of gold than the columns and gold of the rich schools. And, finally, let me remember, from the paleness of the painting by Velasquez, that to teach and to love intensely upon earth means to come to the last day with the spear of Longinus piercing one's side, which is glowing with love. Journal of Education. LA CASITA BLANCA J.M. Lago Ceñida por los cármenes risueños al fin tendremos la ideal casita: la blanca, la pequeña, la bonita que faricaron nuestros mutuos sueños. Allí, sin daño, ni dolor, ni cuita que nos hagan cobardes o pequeños, impondremos al mundo, como dueños, la ley que lleva el corazon escrita. Yo plantaré rosales en la era, aguadando , feliz con el destino, la flor que nos traerá la primavera. Tu harás que la vajilla, el pan y el lino resplandezcan lo mismo que si fuera nuestro linvitado el Redentor Divino. THE LITTLE HOUSE J.M. Lago Girt round with homes which deep in gardens lie, At last the little house our own shall be That fancy framed_ white, small, and fair to see, Built by our mutual dreams in days gone by. There harm nor grief nor trouble shall draw nigh, Which make us petty, small or cowardly; As masters, there the law we shall decree Which the heart carries, written from on high. I shall plant rose-trees in my garden ground, And look for blossoms when the spring comes round, Rejoicing in my fate, with tranquil breast. You will make dishes, bread and linen shine As if our great Redeemer, the divine, Had been invited to become our guest. _Version by Alice Stone Blackwell.[*Vineyard Gazette, Aug. 18, 1931*] THIRTEEN YEARS OLD Miss Katherine Barry Blackwell, who spends her summers at Chilmark, has a little dog that was thirteen years old on August 12. He received many present,—eatables, birthday cards, and several sets of verses. One of these was as follows: TO SIR JOCK BARRY BLACKWELL August 12, 1931 Our pretty Jock attains today The age of thirteen years; And he is hale and hearty still, And has good eyes and ears. For thirteen years this dog has been His Lady's joy and pride; She loves him more, I really think, Than all the world beside. She loves his slender little nose, His brown eyes, bright and loving, His pointed ears, pricked up, alert, With each emotion moving. She loves his dainty little paws, With ardor ever new Placed on her knee, in eager quest, When biscuit time is due. She loves his thick, upstanding ruff, Where foes' attacks must fail; But more than all the rest, I think She loves his little tail. It wags with vigor and with vim, His joyous moods revealing; Also, it shows he's not pure bred, And makes him not worth stealing.* Despite his years, he has not reached The age yet of discretion; His love of walking with his Ma Is almost an obsession. When she goes out, his wild barks mark Each step of her progression; He acts as if to make a noise Were really his profession. Mature in age, he still displays The follies of a pup; He gnaws her blankets and her rugs; He chews her slippers up. He sometimes seems a small black imp, He does such naughty things; She says he is an "angel dog," And looks for sprouting wings! Small Barbara finds no fault in him; She does not rudely joke him; She likes to stand and gaze at him, And very gently stroke him. Dear little Jock, long may you live, Your Lady's heart possessing! We wish you health and happiness, And every canine blessing. *The true Schipperkees have no tails. This dog is a cross between a Schipperkee and a Yorkshire Terrier. [*Boston Post, Aug. 13, 1931*] If Lucy Stone were alive today, she would be observing her 113th birthday anniversary. As it is, her memory will be honored by many groups throughout the country. She was one of the organizers of the American Woman Suffrage Association and did as much as any other person (and more than most) to win the crusade for equal political rights for her sex. Lucy Stone, she continued to call herself all her life. But she was the wife of Henry B. Blackwell, and mother of Alice Stone Blackwell, the distinguished journalist, poet and woman suffragist of Boston. When Lucy Stone married Mr. Blackwell it was with the agreement that she was to continue to be known by her own name instead of by his name. That is the principle on which the Lucy Stone League is founded. Its members continue to use their maiden names after they are married. One notable instance: Heywood Broun's wife continues to be known by her maiden name of Ruth Hale. CONFERENCE POR GABRIELA MISTRAL ROERICH HALL, FRIDAY, AUGUST 21, 1931 PROGRAMA PRESENTATION GABRIELA MISTRAL La Memoria Divina Gestos: La Copa Gruta de Azabache Tres Nocturnos La Poda Carta de Nacimiento Carta Casi Lirica a Rafaela Ortega y Gasset Carta Casi Lirica a Lolita Arriaga MIRRAH ALAHAMBRA La Pajita Puesta en musica por EMILIANA ZUBELDIA GABRIELA MISTRAL Vision del Paraiso Paolo y Francesca Fuentes de Oro Praderas Lapida Filial Viejo Leon Los Angeles Estampa de la Camarga Confesion Versos de Nino El Papagayo La Granado El Pino de Pinas MIRRAH ALAHAMBRA La Manca Puesta en musica por EMILIANA ZUBELDIA Under the Management of Pedro Juan Labarthe appointment," are characterized as slang. But, in the obsolete dialect of Roxburghshire, Scotland, the term was used in the phrase, "to gie date an gree," which in plain English is "to give date and degree," and from this the derived sense came to mean "to give preference to" or "show preference for." The gree is from Old French gré, degree. dietitian, dietician.—"E. T. A.," Linton, Ind.—These forms are used interchangeably; some medical authorities use one and some the other. Both spellings are recorded in the dictionary. gotten.—"H. W. L.," Huntington, W. Va.— This word has been good English since 1340. It occurs in Shakespeare, notable in the Merry Wives of Windsor, Richard II., and Henry VI. It was used by Gladstone in his Odes of Horace, and it is found recorded in all dictionaries of the English language. Apart from this, we have quotations of its use in English literature from Pope's translation of the Iliad, from Evelyn's Memoirs, from Johnson's Lives of the Poets, from Freeman's Norman Conquest, from Hobbes's Leviathan, from Hume's History of English, as well as from forty other instances of its use, ranging from Sir Walter Scott's time down to our own. In some parts of the English-speaking world, the form is not so frequently heard as in others, but it is heard frequently in the Midland Counties, and occasionally in London. It may be a matter of interest to know that gotten is more frequently heard in North Britain than in the South or in the Midlands. Some English writers condemn it as affected or archaic, but it deserves kinder treatment. Jacques.—"J. S. W.," York, Pa.-(1) Jacques is French for English James. The French pronunciation is zhak—a as in arm. (2) English Ja'ques is pronounced jey'kwiz (e as in prey, i as in habit); not jakes. unclear.—"J. F. McC.," Ottawa, Kans.—In the language since the 14th century it was originally spelled uncler, but it figures in the "Chest of Plays," dated about 1500, spelled unclear. It means, "not clear in understanding; obscure; confused." Of persons it means, "not free from blame or fault; also, not certain; in doubt." [?ing] so early in the morning?" . . . 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