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With the boys in blue to the front, often

times forsaken; The war over, for better or worse, Nellie was

taken. The first name was appropriate to the very

letter, In search of another, and for the want of a

better, Since for a girl a royal name is difficult to find, Liza Ann given to Batchelder's arts much

study in mind. Clarinda Jane Bartlett appears along in the

train, Fraught with such a name, will ever work

with might and main; With a heart as broad as the name, Cupid

from above For a Sanborn filled with sweet nectar, the cup of love.

(sire, Records old and poets many, sage alike with Gleaning for names, the spell was broken,

Laura Maria Sounded forth, and before the last maiden

corner passed, Tailoress she was, a Taylor truly is at last. Exploring the realms of the dead, the living

inspire, Sir John Franklin, Jr., explored no farther

than the choir, Perchance, charmed with Helen, a fair daugh

er of these lands, Has music enough, since they joined hearts

and hands. Giving many mechanics, the smith and the

wheel-right, But none skilled in oratory, nor teachers of

the right, To this sacradotal office was given George

Henry, Who associated with him in this portion, Jen

nie. Charles Albert, a mighty prince over his house

doth reign; To Frankie, his idol joined, forever to re

main, Not to a heathen God, all hallowed blood of

fering, But at liberty's altar, for freedom laboring. From the royal line of gubernatorial fame, Levi Woodbury, honest and true, derived his

name, Wandering far and wide over western prair

ies vast, Roamed till satisfied, concluded to take Tillie

at last. The parents before the altar consecrate a

teacher, And christened a circuit rider, Holman Kel

ley, the preacher.

The writer, to exalted fame no high claims

can lay, But to parents and Phie, ever grateful tribute

рау. Myron Lincoln, from Abe's own bosom with

genius full, The thunder and roar of engine and throttle

pull His bighest glory; and Maggie his fond admir

ation, Now flying on his steed o'er plain, sweeping

in rotation. The seventh son in row, failing in a name

more renowned, Almon Curtis, for his Addie, much preference

abound. The Doctor most aptly and potently applies

his skill, The old homestead in Bristol town, ever dear,

to till. Dear parents, of all your long and respectable

train, Only four of your own in old New England

remain; Six are scattered thoughout the great west for

a short time, And one is abiding in Florida's sunny cline. In this world of conflict and change sundered

must we be, But God grant that all may be gathered be

yond the sea. With devout thankfulness, not one is counted

to-day, With the sacred dead, consigned in mother

earth to lay. Sail on thou storm-rocked bark with thy sil

vered locks like sails Floating in the autumnal breeze, borne from

heaven's gales; Thy knitted bows, dew bedecked and all

wrinkled with age, Gemmed with many stars; thy soul's eternal

love engage. May it never tempest-riven be, or caused to

strand Till thy lives in snowy whiteness gain the

glory land. Thou hast almost gained the heavenly port:

Sail on! Night a little longer, then 'twill be eternal

morn. Once more dear ones we turn and linger in

the old home, While our hearts and minds arise to heaven's

dome, That in this dear home your children you may 503

often view, Till this spot and each other on earth we bid




BORN: KEMPER CO., Miss., OCT. 6, 1844. THE poems of this lady appeared quite extensively in the periodical press. She was married in 1866 to Capt. W. F. Young. She has

When th' faith we trusted wags its head. From out that mouth, iny lovely child,

Speak words of wisdom, gentle, mild, O, brow! with intellect abeam,

May thought and act and effort teem With good, and thus commend the ways

Of Him whom Heaven and angels praise. 0, time! deal gently with my jewel,

And safely through temptation's cruel And thorny pathway, lead my child;

Oh! lead her past each wicked wild. I wonder now and strive to see

What in the future thou wilt be, O innocence! it can't be true,

That crime thy heart will e'er imbue, Forebodings vain. My prayer shall be,

My God! I trust it all to thee.



EXTRACT. A father looks upon his boy with pride, With prospect bright the future lures his joy And admiration. His intellect he prunes, And with his own strong arm he leads him up The rugged hill to manhood-gives the world His second self, a noble scion, and then, In quiet content, he hails the sweeter calm or life's adieu.

MRS. FANNY SPEAR YOUNG. written both prose and verse from an early age. Mrs. Young resides with her family at Longview, Texas, where she has become very popular,

Old ocean wafts No lullaby so sweet as mother's words, The winds no language whisper half so pure, The brightest flower boasts no fadeless

bloom; And yet a mother's love endures forever. No cruelty, or absence, or frowning horde Of ills can break this tie of adamant, A mother's love is earth's one plant from


TO MY BABY'S PICTURE. O, image! dearer far to me

Than costuiest gem in earth or sea, Than diamonds, brighter, and aglow

With love, those eyes that glad me so. Those lips of coral, bathed in love,

Breathe sweets that lift my heart aboveThis mother's heart such transports share

That every care some bliss doth wear. O, eyes! may never sorrow blight

The sweet young joy that makes your light. May naught e'er dim those eyes with tears, From wrong. O Fate! guard well her years.

Alas! how bitter 'tis to feel

That woe to us is other's weal. Oh! may'st thou ne'er have foes assail thee, And th' ties thou deem dst could never fail

thee Prove broken faith. Our joy is fled,

FAITH. Faith soars aloft on eagle wing,

Undaunted e'er and sun-ward;
In triumphs thro' each fiery thing

In majesty 't moves onward.
With mighty stride o'er mountains rife

It mounts, the highest, the fleetest;
Beneath the boisterous storm of life

Faith finds a calm the sweetest.
With iron hand, faith grasps the throne

Of mighty God Jehovah,
And claiming heaven's sweets its own,

With joy it spreads earth over.
And faith will lead us home at last,

Where mind and soul are blended Where light and love are joined and blest

In wisdom's feast unended.


BORN: CANADA, DEC. 14, 1850. DURING a busy life Mrs. Magee has occasionally found time to court the muse, and her poems have frequently appeared in the local

Dream on for soon enough thou'lt wake to

stern reality; Be not impatient,- lagging time ere long will

use his wings, Then watch – for only active hands can catch

the good he brings! And, little maid with beaming face and softly

glowing eyes, In which a child's unconscious grace and wo

man's power lies. The path that thou art treading now is fair

with budding flowers Enjoy their bloom, they'll vanish soon with

girlhood's care-free hours.

Now time reveals the man's strong will,
Youth's radiant halo lingers still,

But life is growing real.
With busy hands and active brain,
The toiling man strives hard to gain

The dreaming youth's ideal.
The maid, her happy, girlish days
Half-hidden by time's misty haze,

In earnest, thoughtful mood,
At last within the threshold stands,
Takes up, with untaught, trembling hand,

The task of womanhood. 'Tis thus life's springtime slips away, Till, flying fast, each summer day

To man and woman calls; (Time's sands, how swiftly now they run!) Let summer's work be quickly done, Before the autumn falls!"

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press. She hopes to publish a book at no distant date. Mrs. Magee is now a resident of Michigan at Golden-Rod Place.


PART I. Just merging from the simple walks of child

hood's merry ways, The youth and maiden, peering forth with all

impatient gaze, The fields of man and womanhood, in glowing

color see, And long to pass the border line,- to solve

their mystery Time passes all too slowly now, scarce seems

to move at all, While o'er the youthful senses, dreams of fu

ture blessings fall: For that future in the distance, ever fair and

tempting lies, Youth fain would overleap all bounds and

seize the glowing prize. 0, thou whose boyish mind is filled with visions

fair to see!

Softly now, with measured tread,
Trembling feet with snowy head,
All youth's glowing fire dead,

See the aged come!
Broken idols, severed bands,
Chastened hearts and patient hands,
Wide for them the portal stands,

They are almost home. Through the changing scenes of life, Fraught with joy - with sadness rife, Past the dreaming, past the strife,

Seed-time, harvest gone; Backward turn the dimmed eyes, Back to where the life-work lies, Deeds of light or darkness rise,

Past recall, - they're done! Memories happy, memories sad, Bright or gloomy, good or bad, Noble acts or errors made

Each and all abide; While time's stream flows softly on, Bearing to the land unknown, Sage and infant, - every one,

On its ceaseless tide.


Born: PARSONSFIELD, ME., AUG. 1, 1827. The poems of Mrs. Shores have occasionally appeared in the Sunday School Times, Mother's Journal, and the local press generally.

I am looking o'er the dreary mist,

Which, stretching far away,
Conceals the mountain's wooded brow
And the broad river's sparkling flow,

And dims the light of day,
Makes sad this fading light of day.
And now my busy faney fills

That mist with richest dower
Of gorgeous scenes in eastern clime,
Palace, and dome, and vesper chime,

For this lone twilight hour,
This still, sad, dreamy hour.
Beyond it all I seem to hear

Old Ocean's murmurs come,
And see the white sails dimly glide
Far off on the receding tide,

Joyfully sailing home;
Bearing fond hearts toward home.
Would that it were not fancy's dream

And I were on that sea,
Rushing as swift as thought can fly
Through mist and foam and surging high

My home once more to see, With my loved ones to be.

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MRS. CLARA M. A. SHORES. She has written simply for the pleasure of it. Mrs. Shores resides with her husband and children at West Bridgewater, Mass.

Is the life of song so fleeting?
Like an airy shade a-greeting

of a thrush or linnet in the dewy morning? Nay immortal is its power, Life on earth is but an hour

(ing. of its endless inspiration, its eternal dawnWords of joy, or sobs of sorrow, Love's enchantment, hope's bright morrow, Calm of peace, or thrill of pleasure Will o'erflow in rhythmic measure, While the soul bas glad existence in worlds

of divine adorning. When thou hast almost crossed the ocean, Passed its heaving, wild commotion, Almost reached the restful, quiet haven of

thy quest, When Jerusalem the golden” In the twilight is beholden, Faintly gleaming through the amber, au

tumn heavens in the west. Take thy lute again for singing, All thy youthful fire upspringing,

Like the swan's thy last song be thy best.

I am sitting in the moonlight

And looking o'er the snow,
Where shadows from the tree tops

Are gliding to and fro,
And I am thinking of the shadow

of that Reaper cold and strong, Who is gathering in his harvest

Night and day the whole year long. To some he seems an angel,

With face of heavenly light; To others grim and fearful,

With countenance of night; But I have only seen his shadow

Fall o'er the loved ones gone, And I've shuddered at his footsteps

As I've heard them stealing on. And yet my heart oft prayeth,

Let the sbadow fall on me; 'Tis not because so radiant

Is that changeless smile I see On the still face stamped forever,

Of the pale earth-freed one, 'Tis not because the sorrowing

And toiling all are done.
No, 'tis a sweeter blessing,

My soul desires to win
From the shadow of the Reaper,

'Tis freedom from all sin; For those who sleep in Jesus

Are free from earthly stain, And when the shadow falleth

They'll know no sin again.

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