ain belt; 67; western end of State, 70; while on the Allegheny mountains it is less than 67 degrees. The autumnal mean of the state is 50; the winter mean on the mountain is 24; the western slope, 28; and the eastern slope, 40 degrees. The maximum summer temperature of the state is 74 degrees, but that of the mountain is only 65.
A volume of “The Mountain” has recently been placed in the Cambria Library.
The daughters of Edwin A. and Cornelia Harlan Vickroy possessed more than ordinary literary ability. Cornelia Harlan Vickroy was a cousin of James Harlan, secretary of the interior in the cabinet of Andrew Johnson, and also a senator from Iowa, whose only daughter Mary married Robert T. Lincoln of Chicago, the son of the martyr-president. (See E. A. Vickroy.)
Angeline Vickroy Mendell, the eldest daughter, was the author of many poems which were published in journals and magazines but not in book form. Probably the one most cherished is an inquiry, “Over a Sea-Shell,” in which she ask:
"Thou softly murmuring child of the sea,
What is the tale thou art whispering to me?
What dost thou hold in the pearly walls
Which over and over, unceasing calls?
* * * * * * *
With memories of yearnings, it knoweth not
Of things to be, or of things forgot."
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Louise Vickroy Boyd, now in her eightieth year, has given more attention to literary matters than her sisters, and from her youth has been a contributor to many of the better literary journals and periodicals. A half century ago she occasionally appeared on the lecture platform, and about 1870 she published a delightful volume for children named “Twilight Stories.” She was a regular contributor to Grace Greenwood's paper for children, which was known as the The Little Pilgrim. In the period between '70 and '90 her writings were published by the Woman's Journal of Boston, and The Ladies Repository. In the Century Magazine for December, 1889, Mrs. Boyd, had a beautiful little poem, “The Flower of Destiny.” The reader who is familiar with Ferndale will probably read between the lines, the home of her youth whither her fond memory dwelt:
"I only now o'er meadow and by stream,
On sunny hillside, and in shadowed glade,
Where pines and laurel tender twilight made."
* * * * * * *
I known not what its shape or what its hue,
But know, across a grave-mound o'er the stream.
* * * * * * *
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