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CHARLES L. CLEAVELAND.

BORN: CANADA, FEB. 25, 1855. The poems of Mr. Cleaveland have appeared in the Atlantic Monthly, Chicago Daily InterOcean, News, Current and other papers of

SHE SPEAKS. How fair the moonbeams mild that shine Within the apple boughs, and twine With peaceful light the loving leaves! Hark, love, the whip-poor-will that grieves, Amid the bluff's secluded wood, For some lost thing not understood. Our little friend within the grass, The cricket, as we slowly pass, Gives us a cheerful roundelay That chases every doubt away.

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A WILD FLOWER. Thou milk-white creature of May

White petals, and golden hearted What dreams of a vanished day

Hast thou in memory started! Thy sisters of long ago

Were sweet to their human brothers; And thou recallest the glow

Of a spring above all others. Ah, haply some careless wight

Shall look upon thee to-morrow, From a May day full of delight

That hideth no old-time sorrow; And thy kin of a future year

Shall meet him in sadder places; Then thou to his heart shalt appear

With earth's most heavenly graces!

CHARLES LORENZO CLEAVELAND. equal prominence, from which they have been copied by the periodical press. He is now a resident of Millbury, Mass., where he is well known.

STONE. Unlike all other shapes of carth that be They seem, in their uniqueness, to one's

thought To be with some ennobled passion fraught The rock's distinct and ancient chivalry!

PLOWING.
My furrow is a royal road;

A tender song I sing,
To think my love is standing where

The glass is glittering.

A PINE WOOD'S SONNET. This is the inner circle of the pines;

Yet here within the sweet and ancient shade

The calls are heard of labor and of trade, The saw mill's whistle, as the sun declines, Breaks through this solitude; and certain

signs Mark where shrewd men have keen inspec

tion made Of these tall timbers, whose square feet

arrayed Made quick their blood, as though with mel

low wines. And while that brook, like a full artery, With silent force throbs through the wood

land wild,
While like a breathing bosom does appear
The gentle waving of each rounded tree
That stirs within the evening breezes mild,

It seems the heart of Michigan beats here!

SYMPATHY.
Her sympathy is wide and sweet,

Joined unto knowledge deep and clear. Though never be the world complete, .

She holds the simple creed, good cheer, As much as is at life's command, To be the best for heart and hand.

THE BOYS.
We felt no need of art's adorning,

No thought of method's countless names. The wakeful currents of the morning

Were flashing in our lusty frames.

BYRON T. KING. BORN: PORTLAND, ME, APRIL 15, 1836. COMMENCING life as a bundle boy in a dry goods store, young King soon became one of the brightest and most popular dry-goods clerk in his native city. In 1871 he went to Boston, where he beeame one of the highest salaried men in the trade. But he would see the world, and in 1875 he started on a trip around the world; in four years he had traveled in Africa, China, India, Japan and the continent

And the earth is pledged for payment
Unto man for all his needs.
Nature is our common mother,

Every living man our brother;
Therefore let us serve each other,

Not to meet the law's behests,
But because through cheerful giving

We shall learn the art of living;
And to live and serve is best.
Life is more than what man fancies!

Not a game of idle chances;
But it steadily advances

l'p the rugged heights of time,
Till each complex web of trouble,

Every sad heart's broken bubble,
Hath a meaning most sublime.
More religion, less profession!

More firmness, less concession;
More of freedom, less oppression,

In the church and in the state;
More of life and less of fashion,

More of love and less of passion -
That will make us good and great.
When true hearts, divinely gifted,

From the chaff of error sifted,
On their crosses are uplifted,

Shall the world most clearly sce
That earth's greatest time of trial

Calls for boly self-denial,
Calls on men to do and be.
But forever and forever,

Let it be the soul's endeavor
Love from hatred to discover;

And in whatso'er we do,
Won by love's eternal beauty

To our highest sense of duty,
Evermore be firm and true.

[graphic]

BYRON T. KING.

MRS. LAURA A. RANDALL. of Europe. In 1879 Mr. King returned to this BORN: INGHAM CO., Mich., MAY 7, 1847. country and settled down to business as a This lady was married in 1865 to Dr. C. L. successful dry-goods merchant in Springfield, Randall, and still resides in her native state Mo. He retired from that business in 1889, as at Dansville. Her poems have appeared quite the Scott Investment Company, one of the extensively in the local press. largest corporations in the southwest, of which he is vice-president and general man

FLOWERS. ager, requires the greater part of his time.

Another season is coming, Since 1868 various poems from the pen of Mr.

Swift passes the fleeting hours; King have appeared in the periodical press,

Coming with golden sunshine, and he has also contributed letters of travel

And its wealth of beautiful flowers. in Spain and Portugal and other countries.

As stars light the glorious heavens,

Flowers gem and beautify earth;
LIFE'S TRUE SIGNIFICANCE.

We thank the bountiful Giver,
Deeper than all sense of seeing,

For their fragrance, beauty and worth. Lies the secret source of being,

O flowers, sweet flowers in your brightness, And the soul, with truth agreeing,

Ye comfort and gladden our heart, Learns to live in thoughts and deeds; And help us along in our life work For the life is more than raiment,

To act nobler and better our part.

498

LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA.

JOHN SAMUEL LAFORTUNE.

Born: ELK CREEK, NEB., AUG. 22, 1862. EMIGRATING to California in 1875, Mr. La Fortune now resides at Tulare. At the age of twenty he became the associate-editor of a local paper, and from that time he has contri

The moon looks o'er the valleys, fair and

wide; And paints the verdure here in darker hue, And gilds the snowy mounts against the blue. 'Tis then the hour when loving eyes shine out, And Cupid smiles, and rosebud-lips do pout. Oh, California's hills and spangled bowers, Her singing birds and cool refreshing show

ers,
Her orange groves and her swift blushing

streams,
Are fairer than the poet's idle dreams.

[graphic]

ELDORADO.
Peace smiles upon the verdant hills

And o'er the flowery dells,
And from ten thousand flashing rills

Fair Nature's pean swells.
Here side by side this Spring-tide day,

Earth's fairest flowers gleam;
The royal purple and the gray

Contrast their glowing sheen.
There's “cattle on a thousand bills,"

The flocks roam by the lea;
While fields of grain the wide plains fill

From mountains to the sea.
The feathered songster blithely sings

Among the fruited trees.
From bloom to flower on busy wings

Speed on the busy bees.

The river's sing their songs of praise,
JOHN SAMUEL L'FORTUNE.

The wooded banks prolong; buted poems more or less to the public press.

The echo of their roundelays In 1887 Mr. La Fortune became the editor and

Their simple, grateful song. proprietor of the Tulare Democratic Free Afar the mountain's fleecy crown Press. For nearly three years this journalist And robe of dazzling white, has been connected with staff of telegraphic On fields of waving grain look down correspondence of the leading papers of the With brilliant sparkling light. Pacific coast.

There miners break the stubborn earth

Beneath the mountain pine,
CALIFORNIA SPRING.

Or toil where sunlight ne'er had birth
Our California hills are green, 'tis Spring, Within the gloomy mine.
The Vales are rife with Song and blossoming.

Acity stands beside the sea,
The flowers of many lands we here behold, A fair and saintly queen
In dress of amber, purple, red and gold. Her Kingdom is the dark-blue sea,

The hills and valleys green.
The birds in chambers green and streams
along,

There commerce threads its snowy wings The forests wake with bursts of matin song. Outreaching far and wide,

The wealth of foreign lands it brings Aurora gilds the stream, the field and plain,

On each recurring tide. And Ceres smiling walks the fields of grain.

0, land by many poets sung, At Eve when in the glorious golden west,

0, land by nature blest, The Sun has sunk behind the hills to rest;

How proud thy place, fair lands among, O'er the mountains like a blushing bride,

Bright daughter of the west.

KATHARINE J. MOORE.

BORN: BALTO, MD. One of the well-known local poets of southern Pennsylvania is Miss Kathie Moore. Although born in Maryland she claims Pennsylvania as her native state, her family locating there when Kathie was but a few months old. With the exception of two years and a half spent in

A gleaming of wide, white lilies,

A sail shining out like a star.
A vision outlying in sunshine;

A land and a river serene -
Life blooming and death like a river,

A tangle of grasses between.
Life blooming and death like a river;

Forever it touches life's strand,
With naught but a tangle of grasses

Dividing the water and land.

I CAN'T HELP IT.
If, in between my page and me,
This languid, dreamy weather,
There comes a face ) used to see
When we two were together;
If mem'ries of those sweet old days
Bloom out from time's embalming haze,
And thoughts more dear than I can tell
Awake and bind me with their spell, -
Well - I can't help it!
And if between my page and me,
This fragrant, sunny weather,
There comes a time I used to know
When we two were together;
And if I think her tender eyes
More pure than are these clear June skies,
And if I think her sunny smile
Might all earth's weary cares beguile,
Well – I can't help it!
A picture grows upon my page,
We two are there together;
We drive through mists of drenching rain;

But who minds cloudy weather?
KATHARINE JOSEPHINE MOORE.

And if I call that time most fair,

And wish that we again were there, traveling, the whole of her life has been

And if I fancy that she, too, passed quietly in the little valley city of

Deems that the gladdest day she knew, York, Pa. Miss Kathie graduated from the

Well - I can't help it! high school of that place in 1876, and for several years thereafter taught school. Later Ah, well! those days are past and gone Miss Moore took charge of The Kaleidoscope, Those days of perfect weather; a child's magazine. She is now engaged as

Our paths lie so remote.-could they editor of The Home Guard, and also is now

Have once been near together? the editor of The Fountain, a first-class month

But if I long, just once, to go ly magazine devoted to supplementary read

To where the cool north breezes blow, ing in the schools.

And if I long, just once, to see

That face grow bright with smiles for me,
THE TANGLE OF GRASSES.

Well - I can't help it!
A tangle of dripping grasses
With daisies abloom and sweet,

EXTRACT.
A shining of placid waters
Where land and the river meet.

There's a patter and a tapping on the pane,

And the music of a steady falling rain,
Beyond, fair slopes of the grasses,

As it falleth,
Fair clumps of the daisy sheen,

Falleth,
A sky stooping tenderly over,

Falleth,
A soft wind blowing between.

On the earth so brown and bare,
Beyond on the fair, wide river,

Where in summer time the grasses grew A glinting of sunlight afar,

So green and high and fair.

JOHN LETCHER PATTERSON.

BORN: LEXINGTON, Ky., JUNE 10, 1862. GRADUATING at Harvard in 1883, Mr. Patterson later entered the profession of teaching, and is now principal of the high school at Ver

To palpitate in sweet alarm.
The aspen trees resent the kiss
The saucy reveller gave, trembling
Musically to eye and ear,
While silver leaves beam like faint stars
And twinkle in the tender blue.
A careless dreamer lies beneath
The milky way of leaves, and loves
To hear the tales the aspens tell
How such a lover said . I love,"
And carved within their suowy peel
Two names he would were one.

[graphic]

OVER A PICTURE.
Sweet girl, I love thee for thy face
Where soul and beauty find a place
To dwell with purity. A mien
Of poesy's conceit bast thou -
In Grecian mind thou must have been
A Goddess meant for Parian snow.
God took the thought and chiseled thee
From his divine and throbbing clay.
Above the pictured face I dream
And look until my eyes grow dim;
Her features blend into a blot,
My heart's cold altar of desire,
Her eye, a flame forget-me-not
Shall light forever with pure fire,
And by those heaven-tender eyes
Shall burn a holy sacrifice.

TO A MOCKING BIRD.

When the slender shallop of the moon
JOHN LETCHER PATTERSON.

Glides among the stars on the purple sea, sailles. Prof. Patterson has contributed quite Propelled by sails unseen and winds unknown, extensively some very fine poems to the lead Dashing softly earthward a silver spray, ing magazines, and hopes soon to issue a vo Wakeful thou art singing dreamily. lume of his productions.

All unbeautiful is now unseen

Beneath the silver-plating of the spray,
TWO SIGHS.

The white-robed Earth swings incense to her
One sigh for a song,

queen,
For a song that is sung;

And silent are the choristers for thee
It was sung me erst long

To sing the solo of thy roundelay.
Was the song.
And one for a rose,

Poet-laureate of blossomed glace,
For a rose whilom white,

The interwoven notes of melody
It is faded to-night

Which loudly fill thy ruffled throat or fade,
Is the rose.

And faint in tenderness from tree to tree

Were made for such a night, the night for
Love sang me the song,

thee.
And love gave me the flower
In a long vanished hour-

Fragrant almost is thy minstrelsy! [bliss-
Rose and song.

I scarcely know which sense receives the

I hear it, smell it with the apple tree,
And so will I sigh

And even feel it with the breezes' kiss,
Since 'tis all love has left;

So all pervading is its tenderness.
When in thought I'm adrift,
Will I sigh.

And beautiful is each phantasy

Awakened by thy song - a prayer were true UNDER THE ASPENS.

Than any christian even sent on high, The minstrel wind's love-touch has made And peaceful calmness comes with thy adieu The gleaming bosom of the lake

As that pure orison transcends the blue.

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