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W. SCOTT GARNER.

Yet intellect held firm her throne,

And genius wove her spell, BORN: PRESTON Co., W. VA., JAN. 16, 1848. Which happier hearts would gladly own

And coming ages tell. MR. GARNER was educated at Kingwood Academy and is now engaged in the publish- Fame's laurel wreath had ceased to charm, ing business and as editor of his publica

His early hopes had fled; tions. He has written over a hundred poems,

The one bright being he had loved

Was numbered with the dead;
And so he turned from earthly life

With weary heart and brain,
And sought the rest that follows strife-

That frees from care and pain.

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Thus fade the poet's dazzling dreams

Of honor, love and fame-
Shattered by Fate, at one fell stroke,

The shrine that held his name!
But in that land unknown to men,

Those dreams shall live anew!
Each bud of thought shall bloom again

Brighter than erst it grew!

FIGHT BRAVELY.
Fling your banners on the air!

You must fight the battle through
Life is full of anxious care-

Wonder not it comes to you.

Breathe your prayer for victory

While you're standing mid the strifel Swear eternal fealty

To the higher aims of life!

W. SCOTT GARNER.

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JENNIE H. RASMUSSEN.

BORN: DENMARK, OCT. 2, 1867. JENNIE was brought to this country when a babe, and now follows the occupation of bookkeeper at Albert Lea, Minn. Her poems

Often utt'ring truths so precious,

Truths that chide and animate. Youth's a blessing, heavenly blessing

For reflection, dark and deep, When the youth matures to manhood

And the sins seem grim and steep. Then () childhood! blessed childhood!

Wafts a peace naught else can bring, Breathes a rest almost unearthly,

Borne as on angelic wing.

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IF 'TIS ONLY THEE.
I will not mind, dear Father,
What grievings I may meet,
The many thorns and briars,
That hurt my tender feet,
If 'tis only Thy band that leads.
I will not mind the suff'ring,
What weights that o'er me roil,
The racking pains of body,
Or wrestlings of the soul,
If only Thy will be done.
I will not mind the darkness,
The cloud that hides Thy face;
That reils those loving smiles,
And sends me gloom in place,
If only Thou art smiling above.
E'en though the rod be lifted,
And falls with crushing blows,
I'll rise and call it blessed,
To feel these earthly woes,
If 'twas only Thy hand that smote.
The world may try to turn me,
Lay snares for many a fall,
But I will gain my object,
And conquer over all,
If only Thy arm uphold me.

GRIEF.
O, is there a mortal, who's onward in years,
That does not carry a grief?
0, is there a heart with feelings at all,
That has not sighed for relief?
We look at their faces - the mirror of hearts,
And what a difference we see,
Some carry their sorrows so silent and calm,
Approving it so should be;
Others so lightly and carelessly chase
Their grief and sorrow away,
They do not allow one hour of their life,
To pass in gloom and dismay.
O, life is a problem we can not explain,
Eternity only will tell

[tress, The why and the wherefore of mortal's disAnd show 'twas infinitely well; So wise is the mortal and noble is he, Whose fate 'tis to carry a grief, Who can smile at the clouds that threaten a and in waiting find a relief. (storm,

YOUTH.
Youth is pleasing, youth is charming,

There is something, O, so free,
In its movements, in expression,

Bubbling out from inward glee.
Age can charm us for a moment,

When it does itself forget,
But it lacks the gentle lightness,

of a heart for joy just set. Youth is richness, youth is glory,

Wrapped within, celestial bliss,
Spanned by beaven's and earth's affection,

Circled by the Maker's kiss.
Love and kindness, all spontaneous

Bursting out from inward store,
Has no bound, no form, no measure,

Empties out yet still there's more. Youth where virtue reigns exclusive

Knows no self-created sin,
Has not reached to the painful knowledge

Of a rebel host within;
Freely acts from inward motives,

Does not stop to calculate,

ARTHUR E. SMITH.

BORN: GRANVILLE, N.Y., JUNE 15, 1866. THE poems of Mr. Smith have appeared in Peterson's Magazine, New England Homestead, American Rural Home, Chicago Ledger, Albany Journal, Arkansas Traveler,

Sweet sing ye brooks within yon glade,

A melody divine,
For there's no fairer rural maid

Than bonny Nellie mine;
Ye zephyrs kiss her lips rose-red

And fan her lily brow;
Ye gentle violets hang your heads,

And low before her bow.
Sweet summer send your softest gale

To greet a lover's ear,
For there is coming up the vale

A bonny little dear;
She's coming now to meet her love

Beneath the trysting-tree,
While voices from the maple grove

Make joyful melody.

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BENEATH THE FOREST'S SHADE. Beneath the forest's shade I rest,

Wearied by the noon's sultry heat, And hear the breezes from the west

Amid the tall pines singing sweet. Above me in the heated sky

Like a huge ball hangs the bright sun: While over all the mountains nigh

The haze of noon-tide settles down! Oh, glorious is the realm outspread,

The realm o'er which fair summer reigns, The wooded hills, the skies o'erhead,

The meads and broad extended plains! There o'er its channel deep and wide

The streamlet seeks the distant west; And o'er it softly the warm winds glide,

Tossing in ripples its silvered breast. I would that life would be as sweet,

Always at this noon-tide hour; But joy must die as at my feet

Must die sometime yon lovely flow'r! I would that life would glide as smooth

Betwixt its channels as yon stream, And that life's sunset bour would prove

To all more fair than poet's dream!

ARTHUR E. SMITH. Christian Nation and numerous other publications. He has written over six hundred poems, many of which have received very high praise from the press and public generally. Mr. Smith is engaged in mercantile pursuits in the state of New York at Belcher.

THE BONNY MAIDEN.
Sweet summer send your softest gale

To greet a lover's ear,
For there is coming up the vale

A bonny little dear;
The daisies blossom 'neath her feet,

Wild roses by her path,
While tbrushes answer – oh, so sweet -

Her merry, merry laugh.
Ye sunbeams play across the lea;

Ye willows fondly sigh;
For there's no fairer maid than she

Who now is drawing nigh.
Her sparkling eyes are like the dew

Upon a wild-wood's flow'r,
And o'er her cheeks of crimson hue

Aye smiles like sunbeams pour.

THE OLD TRYSTING TREE. When the dewdrops are falling

O'er the green, grassy plains,
And the night-birds are chanting

Their gladsome refrains,-
Then I think of the maiden

So dear, dear to me,-
And I go forth to meet her

'Neath the old trysting tree! CAO.-Oh, the maiden I love,

So loving is she!
There's joy when I meet her

'Neath the old trysting tree!

M. VICTOR STALEY.

BORN: OMRO, Wis., DEC. 19, 1866. In 1880 the subject of this sketch removed to Oshkosh, where he received the rudiments of his education. He has since studied at Lawrence University of Appleton, Wis., earn

He who speaketh words of comfort,

Hearts to cheer when dark the days, Shall receive the people's blessings,

And the world's unstinted praise.

DELORA. Oft have I stood by the purling stream, 'Neath the leafy shade of the forest tree, Where warbled the birds in their merry glee, And watched with pleasure the golden gleam Of the waning sun as it sank to rest Behind yon hill that towers in the westThat rises just west of Azora. Azora, whose waves of peaceful blue Ripple gaily along the pebble shore; While they whisper low of the days of yore, Recalling to mind one whom I knew One whom I have watched as she gamboled

free, As she laughed aloud in her childish glee; She, my fair-haired darling, Delora. But ten short summers of added bloom, Had deftly imprinted its beauty there, On the face and form of that elfin fair, When cruelly dark yawned the silent tomb; And I missed the form I was wont to see, And the merry laughter of childish glee, The innocent glee of Delora. My heart is sad for 'neath yonder mound, Now, almost kissed by the murmuring

stream, Tinged fair with the glow of the sunset

gleam, Where the wildwood flowers in beauty

abound, Lies the slender form of that fair young

maid, Yet, never shall out from my mem'ry fade, The remembrance of sweet Delora.

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M. VICTOR STALEY. ing the necessary means to do so during vacation time. The poems of Mr. Staley have appeared in the Chicago Ledger, Home Journal, the Oshkosh and Appleton papers.

THE AGE OF REASON. When this world awakes to reason,

Shall the worth of man be told; Not by jewels and silken garments,

Nor the glitter of his gold; But by noble deeds of kindness,

Actions pure, and free from sin, Then shall every wrong be righted

Right shall conquer, truth shall win. Then no more shall kings and princes,

Men of wealth and titled names, Claim the homage of the people,

While they live a life of shame; Then no more shall they be honored

As the foremost of their time, While their hearts are black as midnight,

And their souls are steeped in crime. When this world shall wake to reason,

He who struggles for the right, Down whose pathway deeds of kindness

Cast their rays of golden light;

THE SPIRIT QUEEN.

EXTRACT, And she did as he had bade her, Ruled for years the tribes around, Till the Manitou, her spirit Called to happy hunting-grounds. On the shores of the .. Capole," Smiling in its verdure green, There her tribe laid her in splendor, As became their Spirit Queen. On the night of her interment O'er her grave a storm arose, And the spirits from the waters Placed a rock o'er her repose; While, for many years her people, O'er her mound of tender green, Said peace-offerings to their idol, Wau-we-tee, the Spirit Queen.”

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