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SARAH E. PULVER MCLEAK.
SIDNEY MCLEAN. BORN: WATERLOO, N. Y., JUNE 26, 1854. SIDNEY MCLEAN commenced writing at the age of eighteen, and has contributed largely to the local press and leading perit dicals of
Faces young and faces fair;
Faces seamed by toil and care.
They passed me to and fro -
The life that lies below.
A face so marred by sin,
No need to look within.
came — . Suppose that now and here The masque of flesh should fall, and souls
Stand forth distinct and clear."
I started with affright;
As air is, thin and light.
So beautiful before,
She on the forehead bore.
Was hurt, and bore a scar;
Its perfectness to mar.
Manly and full of grace,
And what a sin-scarred face. But one, was he of that long line,
Who choose with sin to bide,
And seek no other guide?
Whose souls were pure and white,
A cross of dazzling light.
Mixed as they went along —
To blackest souls belong.
Filled with such bitter pain,
"Oh, masque them all again!" I drew a deep sigh of relief,
As each its flesh resumed,
Their darkness not illumed.
Each had his cross to bear,
We bad a mask to wear.
SARAH E. PULVER MC LEAN. the country. Aside from her literary efforts she also follows the profession of music teacher in Rochester, N. Y., where she now resides.
MY LOVER. What if my lover be dark, or fair – I have no wish; I do not care --If only his manly, honest face Shows in each feature an inward grace. What if my lover be tall, or slight I do not care, if only his sight Be lifted above earth's sordid care To see God's handiwork, true and fair. What if my lover be poor, or rich -To me it makes no difference which, If only his heart be stanch and true, His hand will lead me safely through. What if my lover be famous, or noFame may fade, or perchance may grow; If he comes to me, his manhood clear From the stain of sin, I will not fear. Somewhere he tarries and waits for me Sometime his face I shall surely see. For I shall know when my king I meet, My soul will rise and his coming greet.
CHARLES RIEF. BORN IN GERMANY, Nov. 13, 1842. Mr. Rier's career has been an eventful one, having been around the world twice, and is
Bows its head to worship thee,
For a time,
Still the night,
Stars shine bright,
On the snowy plains below.
ICELAND." Hark! storm-tossed land, isle of the sea, Field of the geysers, seat of Thor, Restore again to memory The runes, within thy ice-bound shore, And sagas of the ancient skald.
Heims kringle" as by Sturleson told, Reclaim thy former liberty, And set thy sons and daughters free! O cold and arctic wonderland, With slumbering jo-kuls glacier-crowned, Brought forth from Neptune's aqueous And Titan's forces upward bound [hand, Child of the wave, yet born by fire! Thy eddas ever will inspire. Produce the legends of the sea, And chant the songs of liberty. The Midgard " serpent is asleep, Reposing, in the ocean's” bed; Old. Kraken" rests within the deep, Still .. twilight of the gods" gleam yet. Let Frigga's son from Hecla's dome, Again command the Norse, to roam For liberty, from Vinland's shore, Where first the Vikings freedom bore. Stern Skaptar, in his fog-bound clime, With Vatna's heads spread gloom about; Volcanic peers, that rule sublime; (When Strokr may be coaxed to spout) Such wars, of fire, and frost, and snow, With streams, that hot from geysers flow, Proclaim, that fire-born energy Is incubating liberty. Behold the Logberg of Thingwolls Where clear and dark-green water flows; In secret streams, from far joculs, Close by the ancient Mount of Laws," Here on the rugged lava floor,
THE SNOW STORM.
Onward bound; With a hollow moaning sound, And an icy arctic sting Comes the storm--the snow crowned king. Beast with instinct, man with brains, Dread the stormy king of the plains, In his snow-fed track they come Each one striving for a home; Man walks, blinded on his route, Whilst the beast will roam about.
Till at last
They are cast,
The . Althing" met in days of yore; When Leit stood with his bark to sea, For ..Bjarnes "-Land of Liberty. King Olaf's Christian tidal wave, Submerged the northern pagan claim, At that time when a chieftain brave In council mocked God Odin's claim. When sagas pure and elegant From Frode's and from Snorre's hand Told of thy jarls, the brave and free, Then Iceland cradled liberty. Awake once more from lethargy, Float the white falcon to the breeze; Unfurl the blue flag of the free, Let vassalage and bondage cease! Erect thy runic ballad's throne, In honor of the arctic zone. First self-rule, or autonomy Then native free-born liberty.
CHARLES ELIPHALET REED.
BORN: MOUNT JOY, PA., FEB. 28, 1867. CHARLES ELIPHALET REED became principal assistant Postmaster at Mount Joy in 1880, which position he held for nearly eight years. He has contributed poems to Texas Siftings, Boston Home Journal, Philadelphia Inquirer and many other publications. Besides writing poetry, he is the author of several stories, and has also composed music.
THE FATE OF ADONIS. Deep in the forest lies Adonis, dead;
By him, his bow and spear; there, in his side, Is the fell wound the cursed boar's tusk made; His clear blue eyes, his cold white eyelids hide; Cool zephyrs fan his cheeks and kiss his hair,
And mourn the sad death of a youth so fair. Now lovely Venus suddenly appears,
And by Adonis' prostrate form she falls; His white face she suffuses with her tears, And on the murderous boar dire vengeance
calls; Kisses his bloodless lips, raves, tears her hair, And groans, and wrings her hands in her de
spair. At length to Pluto's realms away she speeds,
of Ceres' stolen child a boon to crave: That Adon be restored to life, she pleads; Not his the flesh should feed the greedy
For Venus' sake; Elysium ill may spare
[sign With these two goddesses, and each year reTo Venus half, and half to Proserpine!
ATOMIC GRAVITY, THE CAUSE OF
SOLAR SYSTEMS. A force, designed by mystic hand Launched, from the realms of nature's
cause; Found in the smallest grain of sand,
And atoms, moved by inborn laws. These laws at work, in space appear,
As gravity, the cosmic nurse, Which governs ever, far and near,
And rules and guides the universe. From causes, effects are displayed;
Observed wherever we may gaze. An atom, that a causc obeyed,
Gave effect to a sun in space. It was at the creative morn,
When atoms brought along that force of matter, deep within them born;
Nursed, from a life-inflating source. Decreeing Fiat ordered light,
When chaos was upon the scene; And from a long cimmerian night,
Did suns and worlds in space convene. An innate force they did maintain,
By casting from a blazing throne, The planets, which around them train,
With pristine power still their own. Again whilst yet each planet glows,
Their crusts --- cooled in an onward race --Were hurled along, by seismic throes
In moons and asteroids through space. So suns were with their systems thrown
In space, on spiral curves to roam, By impulses in atoms shown;
Bound ever for a central home. This force born by primeval laws;
A motor for eternity; Receding and advancing cause
In the Atomic Gravity.
SUNRISE AT SEA. 'Tis dark, but in the distant eastern sky, (ing;
The chill gray light of early dawn is breakNight's twinkling luminaries pale; on high,
Yon fleecy cloud an orient tinge is taking. Now the long night's dark reign has neared its end;
(brushing; Scarce is the breeze the slumbering ocean
A rosy hue the waking East is flushing, Where seem the waters with the sky to blend, Now from the horizon carmine streaks ascend: The smooth yet ever restless sea is blushing; Now o'er its breast the golden light is rushing Far as those paths of liquid fire extend. In splendor now the sun, monarch of day, His head uprears, and sets the sea ablaze;
Illumes the trackless ocean with his light; Assumes in royal state, imperial sway,
Darts o'er the sparkling waves his gorgeous And ushers in another morning bright. [rays,
CHARLES LINCOLN PHIFER.
BORN: FAYETTE CO. ILL., JULY 16, 1860. Os both sides he is of German extraction. the name Phifer, Pifer, or Fifer, three generations back in the family's history spelled Pfeffer; and his mother's maiden name being Heisler. Reared on a farm until 1876, in which year his father died, Charley attended the district school; then, his mother having removed to the county capital, Vandalia, he soon after began learning the printers' trade;
particularly verse writing - soon after he became a student of printing. He has contributed verses, or essays, to The Current, Chicago; Day Star, New York; Republican, St. Louis; Inter Ocean, Chicago; Toledo Blade, and various religious and local papers. Mr. Phifer has published by his own hands, for circulation among his friends, several pamphlets of verse, and one five-act play,
Zaphnath-Paaneah,"in blank verse, that has been highly complimented by author and actor friends, among whom it circulated exclusively. He is preparing to issue a volume of verse - an ambitious effort of some 300 pages. Mr. Phifer is unmarried. He is five feet three and one-half inches tall, and weights one hundred and twenty pounds. His hair is dark brown; his eyes are blue.
IT CANNOT MATTER,
The light of life goes out with us;
In utter darkness, thus.
Like arrows speeding from the bow, And though to three-score years we live, 'Tis but a little flight, and so
The strongest are brought low. All men are worn out -- then they die:
If strong, we must the longer bear; If weak, are broken easily; And peace must come where there is care,
The speedier solace there. We wail when death destroys our friends,
But grieving hastens us to peace; We die, and mourning love expends Itself in tears, till sorrows cease,
And quickly comes release.
Into the silent tomb shall go,
Their lineage shall not know
CHARLES LINCOLN PHIFER. and graduated from the public schools of that city in 1880. In 1881 he became editor of the Fayette County News. Removing to California, Mo., in 1883, he started a job printing office and for nearly a year run a little sheet called Phifer's Paper, which gained quite a local reputation for humor. Selling the subscription to the paper, in 1888 he run, in connection with his job office, a campaign paper styled the Semi-Weekly Republican. He has originated several .. wrinkles" in printing, which were given to the craft through technical journals, and have passed into general use. Almost with the dawn of memory he manifested a liking for picture drawing; and while he yet sometimes makes sketches and even engravings (he never had any training for either, the passion for drawing seems to have merged into a passion for writing -- and
Of the Boogers, I'd jiss run
That I would happen upon.
If I had done anything wrong,
Ceppun my ma was along.
From the dead oak just below, Like a mentor weird, or seer,
Thus the wild voice echoes shrill, Till the judgment seemeth near, Ever one word, whipporwill,
Whipporwill! 'Mong the ruins will ring still, Whipporwill, whipporwill, whipporwill!
I was 'fraid 'twas the Bad Man come for me,
And my heart 'u'd go thumpity-thump. But I ain't 'fraid of the Bad Man, now -
Leastwise till I get dead;
Ceppun on Jim Smith's head.
Jiss true as ever you can:
Jever see the Bad Man?
To scare us to bein' good;
No more of the dark er the wood.
On him, un I guess he'd run;
Er I'd shoot him with my gun.
For the Boogers leave big folks be.
They jiss won't bother me.
A VOICE OF THE NIGHT. When the family sit outside
On the sultry summer night, And the frogs croak far and wide
And a dark wood bars the sight;
And the owl is by the mill,
And mosquetos hum in smoke,
And the lightning wrinkles up; When the evening air is full,
And the heart is calm and still, 'Mid the zephyrs sweet and cool Comes the sound of - Whipporwill, Whip
Lost in new Arcadian wild,
Near o'erpowered and defiled,
Kindly by Minerva heard,
By the brook that murmurs low,
ANGELS. I was passing along through the woodland,
And down through the meadows where The grass and leaves were rustling
In the cool October air -
And all was somber and gray ---
Blew smoke aloft like spray.
By his horoscope and art,
Transforming every part -
Where the grass was crisp and dead. 'Mid the broken lances of frost-sprites,
Where the grand onslaught had led Flowers wounded and dying,
The sweet ones and the bright;
Wrought in the silent night.
As the flower, and since forgot,
And by morning he was not. Stricken and weary and troubled,
He had toiled through the summer long, And his hopes, like leaves, had withered,
Clogging the channel of song.
At the close of a weary night,
Dawning beyond the height; And I wondered if an angel
Had not taken his soul in its flight: For he passed as if music was falling
And fading away with the night. I wonder if God does not pity
The soul that is burdened with grief, And at death send an angel from Heaven
To the weary one with relief. The angels are ever around us -
They speak in the passing breeze, They look with the eyes of flowers,
They rush through the swaying trees.
Each life has its romance fair;