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I LONG have had a quarrel set with Time,

ATTIE LEONARD WRIGHT was born in Because he robbed me. Every day of life Was wrested from me after bitter strife,

Fort Wayne, Ind., December 9, 1858. When I never yet could see the sun go down

little more than three years old, her mother died But I was angry in my heart, nor hear

| and the following two years were spent at the home The leaves fall in the wind without a tear

of her grandfather, Rev. J. Ivers Whitman, of FairOver the dying summer. I have known

field, Ohio. About that time her father remarried No truce with Time nor, Time's accomplice, Death.

and she was taken to Fort Wayne to reside with The fair world is the witness of a crime

him. When she was twelve years old her stepRepeated every hour. For life and breath

mother died, and in less than three years afterAre sweet to all who live; and bitterly

wards she became the feminine head of her father's The voices of these robbers of the heath

house. When nine years old she began to attend

school, but could read and write well at that time. Sound in each ear and chill the passerby. -What have we done to thee, thou monstrous

She was graduated from the Fort Wayne High

School when she had attained her sixteenth year.
What have we done to Death that we must die?

The following June she was graduated from the
Training School, notwithstanding a ten weeks' ill-

ness endured that spring. The next two winters A DAY IN SUSSEX.

she taught in the public schools of Fort Wayne, but

her health began to fail, and for that reason she The dove did lend me wings. I fed away From the loud world which long had troubled me.

was obliged to give up teaching. She did not, how

ever, remain idle, but assumed charge of the houseOh, lightly did I fee when hoyden May

work, also giving lessons in vocal and instrumental Threw her wild mantle on the hawthorn tree. I left the dusty highroad, and my way

music. Five years passed thus, when she again

taught school, in the country near Fort Wayne, and Was through deep meadows, shut with copses fair.

later she also taught in Ohio schools. She was so A choir of thrushes poured its roundelay

ambitious that even in her busy life of teaching she From every hedge and every thicket there.

found time to learn painting, giving all her leisure Mild, moon-faced kine looked on, where in the

to that accomplishment. On her return from Ohio grass,

she was engaged as society editor on the Fort All heaped with flowers I lay, from noon till eve;

Wayne Morning Journal, which position she filled And hares unwitting close to me did pass,

for more than a year. A few years later she acAnd still the birds sang, and I could not grieve.

cepted a position as teacher of vocal music in the Oh, what a blessed thing that evening was!

schools of Fort Wayne, resigning that position Peace, music, twilight, all that could deceive A soul to joy, or lull a heart to peace.

to marry Mr. R. M. Wright. Mrs. Wright's first

literary work was done when she was little more It glimmers yet across whole years like these.

than fourteen years of age-a poem written in mem

ory of a classmate who had died. In later years she JUSTICE.

wrote many letters of travel, reports of various meet

ings, a few humorous sketches and a large number I hold the justice of Heaven Larger than all the science, and welled from a

of poems that have been published from time to

time. In addition to these accomplishments Mrs. purer fount.

Wright read medicine with her father for a number of - The Canon of Aughrim.

years, but disliked the practice too much to make it RICHES.

her profession in life, although she had rare gifts in

that direction, and would probably have been very Riches make selfish souls, and gain has an evil eye.

successful. She is passionately fond of animals and is - Ibid.

an expert horsewoman. The Leonard family is a IRELAND.

very old one, dating back eight generations in this All you have made it to-day is a hell to conquer

country and have been distinguished for fine memorand keep,

ies and rare musical and literary talent. Mrs. Wright Yours by the right of the strongest hand, the right

has a pleasant home in Fort Dodge, Iowa, where she of the rod.

resides, happy in the cares of her household and de. -Ibid. voted to her little son.

H. A. K.

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Fer 'n fall the roads is so muddy,

In winter ther drifted with snow; An' ’n spring the mud is repeated;

By June in the dust he must go; 'F it hain't one thing it's another

To make him feel mizzerble low.

Then ther's that dirty old school-house,

'Tain't fit fer to stable a cow; The ceilin' all frescoed with spit-balls

Thet's stuck frum the fust year tell now; The windows without any curtains

A comfortless place, you'll allow.

A Sorry old nag was the old gray horse,

With his roughened coat and his shaggy mane And his unclipped locks 'bove his well-worn shoes

And his knotted tail fringed with frozen rain And as he soberly went on his way Through the mud and sleet in the morning gray Very few, very few would have dared to say There was once a time when this old horse gray Was a brisk young nag-in the days that are

pastAnd had even been dubbed in those early days

“fast." But there had been a time when men shook their

heads And had even declared that the young gray colt,

With his swinging trot at a lightning-like pace

Would never do aught excepting to race. “For an honest day's work” said they, one and all “He'll be likely to balk and be sure to stall."

Ther hain't a tree that stan's nigh it

To keep off the blisterin' sun Thet strikes straight through them old winders

In the children's eyes-ev'ry one Scorchin' an' parchin' an' blindin'

Tell the long afternoon is done.



But a patient head and a loving hand Were guiding the gray colt's bridle rein And, although with many a fret and pain,

He learned to know when to stop and to stand. And little by little he learned the fact That, to always be able the right to act, For horses as well as for men it is true A moderate course is the best to pursue. So, jogging along through the mist and the rain Over the hill and over the plain, When it is wet and when it is dry The old gray horse goes patiently by; Carefully plodding where it is rough, Cheerfully trotting where smooth enough, Doing his best and doing his all Never known to balk, never known to stall. People may talk with a jeer and a frown Of his long-haired coat with its muu-stains brown, May laugh at the quaintly bundled up knot That nods behind to his regular trot But the old gray horse with an unmoved face Goes quietly by at the same old pace,


was born in Middletown, Frederick County, Md., February 19, 1861. He had no more educational advantages than those of his companions in the public and private schools of the village. At the age of fourteen he left school to enter the printing office of his father where he began to weave his fancies into rhyme, often composing at the case, and writing his verses out afterward. In 1881 he projected and published the Jolly Joker, a humorous monthly which enjoyed an enviable reputation, circulating all over the country; but a pressure of office duties forced him to abandon the enterprise, when at the height of its popularity.

Mr. Rhoderick is now, and has long been, assistant editor of the Valley Register, published in Middletown, besides being correspondent for a number of metropolitan dailies. Nearly all of his poems originally appeared in the columns of the Register. Mr. Rhoderick is fond of athletic exercises, and is a genial, whole-souled gentleman whom it is a pleasure to meet. In physique he is tall and well proportioned, has a good carriage, and a frank, open countenance. He is a favorite wherever known.

T. C. H.



Oh Flower of Spring, that lingered here to cheer

The briefer daylight of a ling'ring fall, Speak to my darling of another year

Of vines that drape an humble cottage wall, Of birds that build beneath its slanting eaves

And swing upon the rose-bush at the door; Of Hope that bourgeons with the budding leaves

And Love that waxes more and more. Smile in her face, my flower, and see thyself

Reflected in the dark depths of her dusky eyes; Smile, for the answer of her bending lips

Will stir thy beauty with a new, a sweet surprise. Nestle against her cheek my wee blue flower

And dream of summer winds and sunny days; Breathe in her ear a murmur of that hour

When last I saw her lovely flower-like face;
And tell her, oh my bonny blossom blue,

tell her, violets are true.
Tell her I work and wait for her alone
And tell her winter will e'er long have flown.

For the bounteous gifts of Heaven

That upon us have been poured, For the rich and plenteous harvest

In the barns and gran’ries stored, For the peace with which our land

Has been so gloriously blest, We would lift the voice in praises

And our thankfulness attest.


For the sunshine and the rain

That descended from above, For the increase of the harvest

And the Father's gracious love, For the year of peace and plenty

And for blessings without end, Let the voices of the people

In Thanksgiving praises blend. For the health that God has given

To the Nation, bought with blood; For the absence of contagion,

And of famine, and of food; For the blessings of kind Heaven,

That throughout the land extend, We bow in holy rev'rence

While Thanksgiving prayers ascend.

The years glide by, dear friend,

The years glide by.
Like ripples on a shoreless sea,
Where all beyond is mystery
And all behind is memory,
The years glide by.

- The Years Glide By.

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