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

REV. JAVAN K. MASON, D. D.

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 of 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 dispell'd;

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

Then improve it;
Make it useful:-

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.

O, 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.

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.

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,

And she, my dear sovereign, whose rule can

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 me stealing,
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

MOLLIE MARTIN.

peared in Peterson's Magazine and the periodical press. She has also taught school.

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.

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.

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.

HORACE MCINTYRE.

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

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

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 pondered, is not venal

Adding 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.

Tenderly another message by his angel

Love is given,

Bearing unto him a pressage of that happiness 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; "

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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 explained how it was done,

And with frankness and confession viewed her battles lost and won.

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..for

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 sunshine rose and fel';

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.