WALT WHITMAN'S WORKS. The following cbeck-list of Walt Whitman published works is furnished to the Book Buyer by Ernest Dressel North, an ardent admirer of his writings as well as an enthhusiastic collector. Each of these volumes contains some variations from the other. There is a good opening for a careful bibliographer of this author, and it must be made by the combined knowledge of the Whitmaniacs and the collectors. All the world knows Whitman was most erratic in his methods. It is quite recently that any considerable attention has been paid to collecting first editions of Walt Whitman, and if he is the only truly original poet, as has been claimed by some, it is time that he receive his corner in the shelves of American first editions.

I Leaves of Grass, Author's edition, 4to., Brooklyn,

1853

Fowler Wells Co., 12mo., New York,
Author's edition, 16mo., Brooklyn,
Thayer & Eldredge, 12mo., Boston,

1856

1856

1860

1865

1867

5 Drum Taps, 12mo., New York,

6 Leaves of Grass, 12mo., New York,

8 Passages to India, 12mo., Washington,

9 Democratic Vistas, 12mo., Washington,

II

16

17

66

66

66

66

1871 1871

10 After All Not to Create Only, Roberts Bros., Boston, 11 "As a strong bird on pinions free," 12mo., Washington, 1872 12 Memoranda During the War, Au. ed., 12mo., Camden, 1875 13 Leaves of Grass, Portrait and Life, 12mo., Camden, 1876 14 Two Rivulets, Author's edition, 12mo., Camden, 1276 15 Leaves of Grass, (suppressed). J. R. Osgood Co., Bos., 1881 Author's edition, 12mo., Camden, 1882 Rees, Welch & Co., 12mo., Phila.. 1882-3 18 Specimen Days and Collect. D. McKay, 12mo., Phila., 1884 19 Leaves of Grass, David McKay, 12mo., Philadelphia, 1884 20 November Boughs, David McKay, 12mo., Philadelphia, 1888 21 Complete Poems and Prose, Author's ed., 8vo., Phila., 1888 Leaves of Grass, with Sands at Seventy, with a Backward Glance o'er Travelled Roads, Author's edition, 333 copies printed, 12mo., Pbiladelphia, 23 Good Bye, My Fancy, D. McKay, 8vo., Philadelphia, 24 Leaves of Grass, D. McKay, 8vo., Philadelphia, 1891-2 25 Complete Prose Works, D. McKay, 8vo., Philadelphia. 1892 26 Leaves of Grass, Small, Maynard & Co., 8vo., Boston, 1897 27 Complete Prose Works, Portraits, do., 8vo., Boston, 1898

22

1889

1891

QUESTIONS.

"Bring me a book about this, or any footstep of knowledge, if it be true."

I. Were there any early writers on charioting-drivng, or is the subject dealt with at all (technically) by any classical writer? Who are the earliest known writers on the general subject of driving? C. S. D., N. Y. City.

2. Who was the wife of John Calvin, the Protestant? S. 3. The following quotation is credited to Israel as if found in the Bible. If there, give the reference :

ARNOLD.

"They that seek the Eternal understand all thing." 4. Has Hegel's work on "Phrenomenology been translated into English and published, and if so, by whom published? R. L. K.

5. It is stated that there are six typographical errors in the Oxford edition of the King James Bible notwithstanding that several different proof-readers read it so carefully. Can some one furnish the list with the references?

B.

6. In J. Radford Young's "Mathematical Tables, comprehending the Logarithms of All Numbers from 1 to 36,600, new edition, London, 1833, p. vi, in a footnote, he refers to an "Essay on the Computation of Logarithms," by himself. Who has a copy of this essay, and where and when published.

H. C. L.

7. Why does the Apostle Peter always insist and say that Jesus was hanged on a tree (xulon) instead of crucified on a cross? Note the following:

"The God of our fathers raised up Jesus whom ye slew and hanged on a tree." (Peter, Acts v, 30.)

"And we are witnesses of all things which he did both in the land of the Jews and in Jerusalem, whom they slew and hanged on a tree." (Peter, Acts x, 39.)

"Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree." (I Peter ii, 24.)

"And though they found no cause of death in him, when they had fulfill all that was written of him, they took him down from the tree and laid him in a sepulchre." (Paul, Acts xiii, 29.) "His body shall not remain all night upon the tree (for he that is hanged is accursed of God). (Deut. xxi, 23.) "Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree." (Paul, Gal. iii, 13.) XULON.

Cleopatra to Antony.

BY MRS. SARAH M. CLARKE.

Spread a feast with choice viands-friends, 'twill be my very last-
Bring the rarest flowers to grace it-haste, my sands of life flow fast;
Place an asp beneath the lotus that shall light me to the grave
With its starry petal's splendor-weep not, let your heart be brave.

Speed, Octavian, with thy minions fire thy heart with deadly hate!
Thou wilt miss the royal victim - Cleopatra rules her fate!
She defies Rome's conquering legions; let them triumph in her fall!
What is earthly pomp, or greatness?-love, thy love outweighs it all!

Thrones and sceptres are but trifles to my spirit's yearning pain;
What were fortune's gifts, without thee I would lose the world to gain!
Let no base heart tell our story; ages, speak, when time unurns
These dull ashes, say to Ages-soul to soul their love still burns.

Fatal asp, thy sleep's not endle s, that the morrow's dawn will prove —
I shall reign in lands elysian, Antony's proud Queen of Love!
Isis, and Osiris, hear me! Hear me, gods of boundless power!
Ye have tasted deathless passion-ye will guide me to his bower!

Pardon, mighty ones, the error if Octavia I have wronged,
Judged by higher laws supernal-ah! what earthly passions thronged
Overpowering heart and reason - Nature, answering Nature's call,
Rushed, as cloud responsive rushes on to cloud, to meet and fall.

Antony, my love, I'm dying! Curdles fast life's crimson tide,
But no dark Plutonian shadows fall between us to divide.
Hark! the Stygian waters swelling, call me, love, with thee to rest-
Death I fear not since thou braved it, pillowed on my aching breast.

Strange emotions fill my bosom as I near the vast unknown;
Yet my heart still throbs in dying, Antony, for thee alone.
Oh! I feel immortal longings-I can brave stern Pluto's frown-
Robe me in my regal garments, deck with jewels, sceptre, crown.

Antony! I'm coming! coming! open, open wide thy arms!
Ah! the blissful home of union robs the grave of its alarms.
See! the glorious heroes beckon o'er the Stygian water's swell-
I shall have immortal crowning! Egypt-dear old Nile! - farewell!

Daughter of Egypt.

BY BAYARD TAYLOR.

"Daughter of Egypt, veil thine eyes! I cannot bear their fire;
Nor will I touch with sacrifice those altars of desire

For they are flames that shun the day, and their unholy light
Is fed from nature's gone astray in passion and in night.

The Stars of Beauty and of Sin, they burn amid the dark,
Like beacons that to ruin win the facinated bark.

Then vail their glow, lest I forswear the hope thou canst not crown,
And in the black waves of thy hair my struggling manhood drown!"

Cleopatra's Soliloquy.

BY MARY BAYARD CLARK.

What care I for the tempest? What care I for the rain?
If it beat upon my bosom, would it cool its burning pain —
This pain that ne'er has left me since on his heart I lay,
And sobbed my grief at parting as I'd sob my soul away?

Oh Antony! Antony! Antony! when in thy circling arms,
Shall I sacrifice to Eros my glorious woman's charms,
And burn life's sweetest incense before his sacred shrine
With the living fire that flashes from thine eyes into mine?

Oh, when shall I feel thy kisses rain down upon my face,
As a queen of love and beauty, I lie in thine embrace,
Melting-melting-melting, as a woman only can?
When she's a willing captive in the conquering arms of man;

As he towers a god above her - and to yield is not defeat.
For love can own no victor if love with love shall meet.
I still have regal splendor, I still have queenly power,
And more than all-unfaded is woman's glorious dower.

But what care I for pleasure? What's beauty to me now,
Since Love no longer places his crown upon my brow?
1 have tasted its elixir, its fire has through me flashed,

But when the wine glowed brightest from my eager lips 'twas dashed.

And I would give all Egypt but once to feel the bliss

Which thrills through all my being whene'er I meet his kiss.
The tempest wildly rages, my hair is wet with rain,
But it does not still my longing, nor cool my burning pain.

For Nature's storms are nothing to the raging of my soul,
When it burns with jealous frenzy beyond a queen's control.
I fear not pale Octavia - that haughty Roman dame
My lion of the desert, my Antony, can tame.

I fear no Persian beauty, I fear no Grecian maid

The world holds not the woman of whom I am afraid.

But I'm jealous of the rapture I tasted in his kiss,

And I would not that another should share with me that bliss.

No joy would I deny him, let him cull it where he will,
So mistress of his bosom is Cleopatra still;

So that he feels forever, when he Love's nectar sips,
'Twas sweeter-sweeter-sweeter when tasted on my lips;

So that all other kisses, since he has drawn in mine,

Shall be unto my passion as water after wine.

A while let Cæsar fancy Octavia's pallid charms
Can hold Rome's proudest consul a captive in her arms.

Her cold embrace but brightens the memory of mine,

And for my warm caresses he in her arms shall pine. 'Twas not for love he sought her, but for her princely dower; She brought him Cæsar's friendship, she brought him kingly power.

I should have bid him take her, had he my counsel sought;

I've but to smile upon him, and all her charms are naught;
For I would scorn to hold him but by a single hair,
Save his own longing for me when I'm no longer there;

And I will show you, Roman, that for one kiss from me,
Wife, fame, and even honor, to him shall nothing be!
Throw wide the window, Iris; fling perfumes o'er me now,
And bind te lotus blossom again upon my brow.

The rain has ceased its weeping, the driving storm is past,
And calm are Nature's pulses that lately beat so fast.
Gone is my jealous frenzy, and Eros reigns serene,
The only God e'er worshiped by Egypt's haughty queen.

With Antony, my lover, I'll kneel before his shrine

Till the loves of Mars and Venus are naught to his and mine; And down through coming ages, in every land and tongue, With them shall Cleopatra and Antony be sung.

Burn sandal-wood and cassia; let the vapor round me wreathe,
And mingle with the incense the lotus-blossoms breathe;
Let India's spicy odors and Persia's perfumes rare
Be wafted on the pinions of Egypt's fragiant air;

With the sighing of the night breeze, the river's rippling flow, Let me hear the notes of music in cadence soft and low;

Draw round my couch its curtains - I'd bathe my soul in sleep; 1 feel its gentle languor upon me slowly creep.

Oh, let me cheat my senses with dreams of future bliss,

In fancy feel his presence, in fancy taste his kiss,

In fancy nestle closely against his throbbing heart,

And throw my arms around him, no more, no more to part.

Hush! hush! His spirit's pinions are rustling in my ears;
He comes upon the tempest to calm my jealous fears;
He comes upon the tempest in answer to my call-
Wife, fame, and even honor, for me he leave them all;
And royally I'll welcome my lover to my side.

I have won him - I have won him from Cæsar and his bride.

Cleopatra.

Upon a couch of crimson silk she lay,

And floated down the slumb'rous, murky Nile;
Her wondrous eyes rebuked the god of day,
While the bright sun grew dim before her smile.

The warm air, fragrant from a lotus land,

Swept like a sensuous breath across the day;

What wonder Antony, with nerveless hand,

Drunk with her kiss, "threw all the worth away"?

Why wonder that he found a keener zest

Beside this piece of perfect, faultless clay,
Than waiting on the shores of Rome's unrest,
As willing captive at her feet he lay?
Her voice like some soft, low-toned instrument,
With music sweet her royal love proclaims;

It stills the tempest of his discontent,

And for her sweet enchantment he gives fame. "Love is her theme and Antony her god;"

He lays his manhood at her royal feet,

And smiles upon the ruins while the flood

Of love sweeps o'er him, fragrant, warm, and sweet.