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REV. J. K. MASON, D. D.

BORN: BETHEL, ME., SEPT. 20, 1817. This gentleman received his education in Bowdoin College and Bangor Theological Seminary, and was ordained a Congregational minister in 1849. He was married the same year to Miss Susanna R. Twitchell, by whom he has several children now grown to

Waste it not in idle dreams;

For the moments

Swiftly passing, Bring you to th' Eternal Shore:

Near that Future,

Jesus helps for You will dwell in Evermore.

RECEPTION SONG.
Savior and dearest friend,
On whom my hopes depend;

Thou lamb divine;
I come to thee to-day,
To follow as I may.
0, let me ever say,

Thine - wholly thine!
I take thy cross — to bear;
And would thine image wear

Thro' life's dark way. Let me behold thy face, And live in thine embrace; Nor fail of thy rich grace.

Be thou my stay!
My heart to thee I give,
Help me for thee to live,

Almighty One!
Do thou my soul inspire,
Fill me with holy fire,
To lift thy banner higher,

Till victory's won.
This day I thee confess,
And humbly trust thy grace;

Incarnate God.
O lead me on I pray;
Keep me from sin's foul way;
Wash all my guilt away,

In thine own blood.
Accept the praise I bring,
While to thy cross I cling -

Borne for a world! How glorious is the throne, Whereon .. Thou art sat down:" O welcome me, thine own!

Jesus - my Lord.

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maturity. The Rev. J. K. Mason has filled pastorates at Hamden Congregational church for sixteen years; Thomaston for thirteen years; nine years at Fryeburg, and is now pastor of the Congregational church at Herndon, Va. This minister has also been chaplain of the Maine State prison; overseer of Bowdoin College for twenty-five years, and also one oi the class examiners, besides serving on other important committees. In 1872 Mr. Mason was the Maine commissioner in the International Penitentiary Congress held in London, after the adjournment of which he made the tour of Europe. He has also been honored with other positions of trust.

AN IMPROMPTU.

What is Life?"
"Tis a vapor;
Once appearing:

Soon dispellid;
Yet upon it hangs a Future,
Now but partially unveil'd.

Then improve it;
Make it useful: -

FOR A LADY'S ALBUM. I'm a book! and I've pages fair, Having lids that are tinted with colors rare; I am white, nor black, nor red, nor green, And shall afford no sanctum for anyone's spleen,

Nor a line for a flatterer's pen. I'm a gift! and I've language true, From a heart transparent as crystal dew. I am yellow, nor brown, nor gray, I ween, And contain no corner for anything mean;

Nor a page for what is vain,

MARY ELLA NOBLE. BORN: LOUISBURG, N. C., JAN. 3, 1865. The subject of this sketch follows the profession of school teaching, and is a resident of Athens, Ga. Her poems bave appeared in

That thrills through my bosom and all my

heart stirs; -
And the rapturous longing

Says to whom 'tis belonging, [hers. And I know the sweet voice and its music are

And I am her vassal

Who lives in this castle, bnd she, my dear sovereign, whose rule can

not err:
Her wish is my pleasure,

Her heart is my treasure,-
This castle. Sans-souci" is builded for ber.

Will it fall with the gloaming?

With the night that is coming? Oh! Prophet of Amours, Oh! say'twill not be,

For if it fall over,

I pray that it cover,
I pray that it cover my darling and me.

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MARY ELLA NOBLE. the Atlanta Constitution, the New Orleans Picayune, the Richmond Dispatch, and other publications. Miss Noble hopes to publish her poems in book-form in the near future.

A CASTLE IN THE AIR.
With visions and fancies,

My restless brain dances,
And builds me a castle so fair and so fine:

Of hopes it is builded,

With dreams it is gilded, This castle of air in the summer sunshine.

Like as perfumed odors

Through ivory pagodas,
That float from the gardens of spices and

myrrh ;-
Are the dreams full of glory,

That light up each story, [her. And fill all my castle with sweet thoughts of

I see with each vision
Of pictures Elysian,

[blur: Just one that is perfect without blemish or

It hangs on each ceiling,

Of worshipful feeling,
The glorified picture I paint me of her.

As silver bells ringing,
A sweet voice is singing,

THE FAR PASTURE. There are Water-cress and Brindle and Bess, But where is my Bonnie Kate?

Though I am to mind her,

Nowhere can I find her, And now it is growing late. Over the meadows and through the dark

shadows I have sought her long and well.

At last I have found her,

Tall grasses around her, Adown in the fragrant dell. She had gone astray, and had lost her way In the clover-blossoms white:

The cool, sweet clover

Had tempted her over To the pasture far to-night. I tenderly led her, through valley and

meadow,(To lead and not drive seemed but right.)

'Twas the sweet, white clover

That tempted her over, And who of us always does right? And the strangest feeling is over mestealing, And seems through the shadows to come,'.

As beneath the wide bars

And the silvery stars, Bonnie Kate and I go home. The damp dew is falling, dear voices are

calling:I too, have strayed off from the right;

For the sweet, white clover

Has tempted her over, I'm in the far pasture to-night. But oh! will He blame me, or seek to reclaim If I call to him now will He come? [me?

And over the meadows,

And through all the shadows, Lead His poor wanderer home?

MOLLIE MARTIN. BORN: KNAWHA Co., W. VA., Jan. 17, 1844. This lady has written poems on various subjects - sacred hymns, songs of home, temperance and patriotic songs, which have ap

Sweet little brown-eyed Effie,

Her heart with love did glow, She seemed to live for others,

That's why I loved her so. That sweet unselfish being.

Was like a cherub bright, That winged her flight from Heaven,

To guide my feet aright. Throughout the joyous summer

She wandered by my side,
And like a gleam of sunshine

Into my life did glide.
Oh, friend so true and faithful,

Oh, playmate kind and dear,
Blest with thy sunny presence,

Heaven seemed very near.
Her little feet grew weary

Along life's rugged way,
She laid her down to slumber,

One lovely autumn day.
A strange unearthly beauty

Over her features spread,
Then up the golden gateway

On snowy wings she sped.
Where night-winds softly whisper,

And stars their vigil keep,
And streamlets gently murmur

We laid her down to sleep; While I life's storms have breasted

Through all these weary years, My playmate dear has rested

Secure from grief and fears.

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ODE TO CHARITY, OR CHRISTIAN LOVE.

Sweet Charity, fair angel guest,

Come in and bide with me,
Sit thou enthroned within my breast,

Bid selfish feelings flee.
CHO.-Come in, come in, come in,

Thy peaceful reign begin,
Come in, sweet Charity, come in,

Come in and bide with me.
Then chords of sympathy will wake,

My heart with pity glow,
I'll freely give for thy sweet sake,

Will I thy alms bestow.
I'll aid the suffering, help the weak,

The sorrowing cheer and bless,
Unto the erring kindly speak,
And my own faults confess.

MY LITTLE PLAYMATE.
I'm thinking of a playmate,

Who made my childhood blest
Within the quiet churchyard

She peacefully doth rest.
Light as the winged zephyr,

Free as the birds of air,
We roamed the hills and valleys

When summer skies were fair.

MY MOTHER. My beloved Christian Mother, Who had trained my feet to tread In the peaceful path of virtue, Now is numbered with the dead; What a pang doth rend my bosom When I see her vacant chair, Then I turn my thoughts to Heaven, For I know my mother's there. Now my pathway will be lonely, Chords of sadness shade my brow; None to share my joys and sorrows, For I have no Mother now. Safely o'er the waves of Jordan Thou was borne on pinons white To that pure celestial region Where the skies are always bright. Farewell kind and loving Mother Since the Savior saw it best For to call thee home to heaven, There to mingle with the blest. When life's toils all are over Then I hope with thee to meet, Where the tree of life is blooming We will join in converse sweet.

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HORACE MCINTYRE. QUITE a few poems have appeared from the pen of the subject of this sketch. Mr. Mc

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Tenderly another message by his angel

Love is given, Bearing unto him a pressage of that happi

ness in heaven. That 'twas given with assurance of a heart

as pure as rare, Pressed his life beyond endurance, unto

bliss beyond compare. « Hold," he cried, “ your beauty smites me

with a force I can't withstand;" · Hold," my conscience almost blights me;

by your kindness I'm unmanned. -. Why should you to me, a stranger, such

rare sympathy reveal?" Why should you entail such danger as

with wayward souls conceal?" But through tears and smiles she beckoned

Come up higher, you're not lost!” . Time to you my friend is reckoned; but a

dark vale must be crossed.” Then with innocent expression she explain

ed how it was done, And with frankness and confession viewed

her battles lost and won. Then a mist arose before him, for his eyes

were dimmed with tears, And a shadow hovered o'er him, mingling

doubt and hope and fears; And he prostrate fell before her,

joy I look to thee .. Be my guide," did he implore her. But to

Jesus pointed she.
All my hopes have fled," he faltered,

I am, alas, so weak;" “ All my ways she deftly altered, now I die

she will not speak;” Weak and vile and sad, forsaken, broken

hearted, bruised and sore; ..By her hand my faith is shaken, all her

kindness I deplore."

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For my

HORACE M'INTYRE, Intyre is a resident of Ainsworth, Neb., where he is engaged in publishing.

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THE JOY OF KNOWING. Dark and gloomy were the days, for sad

were his surroundings, When an angel in her ways, touched his

heart to quick reboundings, He could not tell from whence she came, for

silent was her coming, But he softly breathed her name in his heart

song's soulful humming. Eagerly he sighed in wonder at the mystic

message pouring, Soft as zephyrs – deep as thunder - from a

distant storm cloud roaring. Then again to silence lapsing. In his heart a

prayer upheaving, Bore his soul away enraptured – mortal for

immortal leaving. Back again, to earth returning, all, he pon

dered, is not venalAdding fuel to the burning yearning in his

station regal, For, while power to him was granted, all his

mandates would be vain, Save his life be all recanted and at Jesus'

feet be lain.

Chide me not," she faintly pleaded, for

I'm weak as well as you; Moral strength I've sadly needed - Jesus is

my All, my True – ..To his guidance I command you, turn to

him yet while you may, • And my fervent prayers I lend you-will

you not?-I pray you, pray." Silence reigned supreme, but in his heart he

felt that all was well; On his brow the warmest beam of angel sun

shine rose and fell; Tenderly it firmly drew him toward the

Realm of endless day; And the very hand that slew him tunes his

harp and lights his way.

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