MARGARET L. BAILEY Margaret L. Bailey, a daughter of Thomas Shands, was born in Sussex county, Virginia, on the twelfth day of December, 1812. When she was about six years of age her father removed to Ohio, and settled in the vicinity of Cincinnati. In 1833 Miss Shands married Gamaliel Bailey, then a physician in Cincinnati, who, in 1837, be- came the editor and proprietor of The Philanthropist, the well-known anti-slavery journal, which was merged into The Cincinnati Morning Herald, in the year 1843. In 1844, Mrs. Bailey undertook the editorial management of The Youth's Monthly Visitor, a handsome quarto paper for little folks, which rapidly grew into favor and attained a large circulation. When, in 1847, Mr. Bailey removed from Cincinnati to Washington City, for the purpose of editing The National Era, Mrs. Bailey trans- ferred the publication of the Visitor to that city, and continued it until 1852. She made it a welcome Visitor to thousands of households, the good wishes of which might well be coveted by any editor or author. After Mr. Bailey's decease, in 1859, Mrs. Bailey was the publisher of the National Era until the time of its suspension, February, 1860. She now resides in Washing- ton City. Between the care of an interesting family, and attentions to a circle of literary friends, by whom she is regarded with loving honor, her time has been so entirely occupied that she has not exercised her poetic faculties, unless in secret, for eight or ten years. Indeed, she does not take pride in the poems of her early years, and would probably question the poetic taste of any one who might indorse the saying of Rufus W. Griswold, that " they are informed with fancy, and a just under- standing." DUTY AND REWARD. Labor — wait! thy Master perished Ere his task was done ; Count not lost thy fleeting moments. Life hath but begun. Labor ! and the seed thou sowest Water with thy tears ; God is faithful — he will give thee Answer to thy prayers. Wait in hope ! though yet no verdure Glad the longing eyes, Thou shalt see the ripened harvest Garnered in the skies. Labor — wait ! though midnight shad- ows Gather round thee here. And the storms above thee lowering Fill thy heart with fear — Wait in hope ; the morning dawneth When the night is gone. And a peaceful rest awaits thee When thy work is done. (281)
