Thy boo-00-00" uttered so far apart Lies deep within my heart, 'Tis oh so sad! so sad! Wilt thou cease thy strain so dreary? As I through the wildwood go To the brook that runneth clear. If O, bird! thy strain you'd change, It would please me more. But thy boo-oo-oo" beyond the tree Still keeps echoing back to me Cursed bird! repeat it o'er CONTENTMENT. Contentment, thou art everything; Pure are the lives that keep thee, A PRACTICAL JOKE. She sat by the dim firelight; And the moon cast her beams on the wall. He came of course as he promised, To give her an evening call. She gently said, "Good-evening;" Her voice was sweet and clear; But to him it was not natural As it fell upon the ear. And she, herself was not the same; She treated him so cold. He longed to speak the words of love, But feared that he'd get sold. His thoughts were off in dreamland As they sat so far apart; And the silence of his once talkative love, Cast darkness over his heart. At last he arose to kiss her As parting time drew nigh; But I hardly think he finished kissing, What was it? It was the servant girl "TIS ONLY A PICTURE. "Tis only a picture - that is all: My angel father? "Tis only a picture that is all: Yet it helps to keep his memory clear; And often helps my heart to cheer, When clouds float low- and life seems drear, O angel father? "Tis only a picture- that is all: Yet it brings to me another day, When near his knee I loved to play; "Tis only a picture - that is all: But as long as the stars shine from above, O angel father. LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. 432 MARIE WALSH-CAHILL. BORN: NEW YORK CITY, ABOUT 1850. As the author of Hazel Kirke, The World, and Saints and Sinners (novelized from plays), and the original novel of His Wife or his Widow, this lady has gained quite a reputation in the world of literature. Commencing her literary career when very young by writing for a Boston Weekly, she has since dramatized a num MRS. MARIE WALSH-CAHILL. ber of popular novels and written several original dramas, which have been produced in the leading cities of America. In 1867 the subject of this sketch became the wife of Edward Walsh, a gentleman engaged in mercantile pursuits in New York City. She was left a widow in 1883, and resided in Brooklyn until 1890, when she married M. J. Cahill, the popular Chicago publisher. O'ER PAMPAS WILD. O'er pampas wild, through tall mesquite, While through the plains we onward flash, For curled upon our pommels high A trusty lasso bear we all; The frightened herds before us fly, Our lasso's chains are strong, though small; It is the serpent of the plain, The victims rear and plunge in vain. And so! And so Our lassos thus we throw ! Our leather rings we throw! O'er pampas wild, through tall mesquite, Then taketh sleep, the great king's gift; We are the monarchs of the plain His lasso never coils in vain. And so! And so Our lassos thus we throw ! Our lassos thus we throw ! MARY J. KING. BORN: SOUTH SCITUATE, R. I., MARCH 10, 1852. COMMENCING to write poems at an early age, they have since appeared from time to time in the local press. Miss King follows the occupation of a weaver, at Crompton, R. I. MOTHER. Dear, gentle, loving mother, In the midst of life's stern duties We see thy gentle eye. We seem to hear thy loving voice And told us God was there; And give to each one fond embrace, When evening prayers were said. What was it in the morning Awoke us from dreams of bliss, As it sweetly brushed each little cheek? As fond memories recall the past, When we think of thee, dear mother, Oh! What sadness filled our dwelling, Because our mother's there. In St. Mary's hallowed ground, That He may reunite us When our task on earth is done; We trust for us she is pleading Before our Savior's throne; Oh! how sweet will be our union there Where parting is unknown. JOHN A. VINEY. BORN: BODKINS, OHIO, MAY 28, 1853. AFTER receiving his education at the Biddle university of North Carolina, John A. Viney entered the ministry, and is now located at El Paso, Texas. Since 1881 he has written quite a few poems that have been published. SAVED AT LAST. When waked by the alarm of death And prove his pow'r to utmost bound? Yes children, hung there on his cross, A thief close by his Savior's side; When hope of life to him was lost, Was saved by faith in Christ, then died. Take hope then you whose mothers gone, Who sought her God in dying breath; She safely was convoyed beyond To the sweet saints' immortal rest. 434 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. CLARA H. MOUNTCASTLE. BORN: CANADA, NOV. 26, 1837. AT the age of twenty-six Miss Mountcastle entered a private school as teacher, which position she held for two years. She then studied painting in water colors and in 1870 took five prizes. Since that time she has taught drawing in many prominent schools. ART THOU THINKING OF ME. I feel an intangible presence, A something that whispers, my darling, My spirit communes with thy spirit; And haunts me wherever I be. There is naught in this world that can give me A tithe of the joy that doth fill My being, when whispers thy spirit To mine that thou lovest me still. MRS. VITULA M. CLARK. BORN: MINIER, ILL., JAN. 30, 1867. THE poems of this lady have appeared in the Bloomington papers. She was married in 1889 to Mr. J. H. Clark of Fern Hill, where she now resides. NIGHT. CLARA H. MOUNTCASTLE. In 1882 she published the Mission of Love and Other Poems, and later published a novel. As a mark of appreciation of her literary work, Miss Mountcastle was in 1889 unanimously elected as honorary member of the Trinity Historical Society of Dallas, Texas. MY SISTERS AND I. The years roll on, youth flies apace: The stars gleam forth their soft and silvery light, The sad winds moan and sigh; And fleecy clouds of grayish white Sail slowly o'er the sky. Hushed are the many sounds of day; Clasped in slumber's sweet embrace, The wild beasts rest within their hidden lair; To Him who watches o'er their youthful LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. GRANT LEE SHUMWAY. BORN: NEW WINDSOR, ILL., MARCH 7, 1865. REMOVING to Nebraska at the age of twenty, Mr. Shumway has made that state his headquarters ever since. He has published a poem in book-form, entitled The Sod Cabin, GRANT LEE SHUMWAY. which is a very able and interesting production. Mr. Shumway now has the management of the Ashford Advocate, a position that affords him better opportunities for literary work than he has heretofore enjoyed. SUNSET ON THE PLATTE. Upon the bridge, above the flowing river, There we admired the fast declining day, Like those dark waters, moving on forever, Each heart was borne, in ecstacy, away. The sun sank low behind the horizon; It lighted up the fleecy western sky: [gone; An emblem of great persons, when they're They leave a brilliant lustre, when they die. The sky back to the stream, reflecting, cast Resplendent light, of purple and of gold; And all the rainbow colors, changing fast From lurid red, 'til fading gray, turns cold. But here and there the shimmering surface mars Its glossy face, by interceding bars; And where the elements each other wars, The spray-fleck'd sand shone like bright Glittering stars. 435 A pine root clinging to some shoal, here, Reached forth its various prongs, and sepa rate, Resembling the antlers of a deer, Whose form lies 'neath the stream, Inanimate. One lovely islet, deck'd with foliage green, Breaks the bright scene, reaching from Shore to shore. Tranquil, she reigns, an Oriental queen; An intervening gap, and then another But, from the crag of noble grandeur, leaping, Our vision falls upon the level plain. As monitory of the coming night. By nature drawn, and painted on the sky THE SOD CABIN. EXTRACTS. ..Will," she began, you know that you Once told me of your fair-haired lass, What would she think poor girl? Alas! If you in absence prove untrue. Ah! This must never come to pass Go back to her- Come not to me Unless she kindly sets you free Of her free will. I cannot speak The love I have for you, but ere |