It rose with a weird and witching swell, 'Mid the twinkling of merry feet, And clasped me close in a wild, strange spell Of memories bitter-sweet; Bitter--because they left a sting And vanished: a lifelong pain; Sweet--because nothing can ever bring Such joy to my heart again.
To me it was nothing, only a waltz; To the other it meant no wrong; Men may be cruel--who are not false-- And women remember too long.
Mrs. Sallie Rochester Ford, the mother of good _Grace Truman_, was born at Rochester Springs, near Danville, Kentucky, in 1828. Miss Rochester was graduated from the female seminary at Georgetown, Kentucky, in 1849, and six years later she was married to Rev. Samuel H. Ford (1823-1905), a Baptist preacher and editor of Louisville and St. Louis. She was her husband's associate in his literary enterprises, rendering him excellent service at all times. Her last years were spent at St. Louis, in which city she died in February, 1910, having rounded out more than four score years. Mrs. Ford's religious novel, _Grace Truman, or Love and Principle_ (New York, 1857) attracted wide attention in its day, and it was reprinted many times. It was read by thousands of young girls; and ministers descanted upon it in their sermons. While the work sets forth that the Baptist road is the only right of way to heaven, and is sentimental to the core, it is fairly well-written, and it undoubtedly did much good. A copy of it may be found in almost any collection of Kentucky books. _Grace Truman_ was followed by _Mary Bunyan_ (New York, 1859); _Morgan and His Men_ (Mobile, Ala., 1864); _Ernest Quest_ (New York, 1877); _Evangel Wiseman_ (1907); and Mrs. Ford's final work, published at St. Louis, _The Life of Rochester Ford, the Successful Christian Lawyer_.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. _How I Came to Write "Grace Truman: An Appendix_ to the 1886 edition; Adams's _Dictionary of American Authors_ (Boston, 1905).
May roses fling abroad their rich fragrance on the evening air! May dews glide noiselessly to the newly awakened earth, and lose themselves in her fresh, green bosom. A soft May moon steals above the eastern horizon, and gilds with radiant luster the brow of night. Gentle May zephyrs from their airy home glide over the earth, kissing the lips of the rose, and the tender cheek of the hedge-row violet. Young and tender May leaves whisper to each other tales of love, away, away, in the dark old forests.