204 CHARLES A. JONES. [1830-40. This, from aiiother source, though less striking and original, is worth fathering : The beautiful grape must be crush 'd before Can be gathered its glorious wine ; So the poet's heart must Vje wrung to its core, Ere his song can be divine. There are flowers which perfume yield not Till their leaves have been rudely press'd ; So the poet's worth is revealed not Till sorrow hath entered his breast. In the year 1839, a series of satirical lyrics, entitled "AristophauEea," appeared in the Cincinnati Gazette, which attracted a great deal of attention. The edge of some of them was veiy sharp, and in several respects many of them were well done. They were from the pen of Mr. Jones, a fact long and well kept concealed, even from the editor. He wrote another series of poems for the Gazette, as "Dick Tinto," many of which had merit. Mr. Jones was a native of Philadelphia. He was born about the year 1815. His parents removed to Cincinnati when he was a child. For several years previous to 1850 he practiced his profession in New Orleans, but returned to Cincinnati in 1851, on account of declining health. He died in Mill Creek township, Hamilton county, July fourth, 1851, upon the old Ludlow Station, of pioneer renown. In the year 1843, Mr. Jones was united in marriage to Charlotte, daughter of James C. Ludlow, of the vicinity of Cincinnati, who survives him with two children, the issue of their marriage. Cincinnati and its environs had always a peculiar charm for Mr. Jones. In a poem addressed to " The Queen City," he gave expression to sentiments which had an abid- ing influence on his mind — which led him to return from the South to the home of his youth, when warned that engrossing business cares were wearing away his life : How blest is he whose doom it is A wanderer to roam, Who even in memory can retui'n To such a lovely home. Oh, were I in the fairest clime That smiles beneath the sky, Here would my spirit long to come — If not to live, to die. As yearns the weary child at night To gain its mother's breast ; So, weary with my wanderings, Here would I long to rest. Mr. Jones devoted much thought and labor, in the later years of his life, to a dramatic poem called " Ishmael." It has never been published. When given to the world it will establish his reputation as a poet of high merit. It is quite different, not only in conception and execution, but also in mental scope, from any of his other pro- ductions.
