All spirits of error shall be cast out; WHITTIER'S MANTLE. WHO shall catch his falling mantle, Stamped with Freedom's emblems bright? Who shall sing, now he is silent, In this Crisis, for the Right? Who shall sound from mount to hill-top Who shall voice the cry of sorrow Other poets interpret nature, In as sweet and clear a song; Who shall be such valiant minstrel, Cheering on Truth's hosts 'gainst wrong? Who will plead so well for Justice? Who will lay on Freedom's shrine, Love's bright chaplet twined from blossoms Plucked from Tree of Life Divine? A LESSON IN LOVE. STRANGER than aught on earth, is woman's mind; Take up the scroll of hist'ry; there you'll find Napoleon to Neipperg! note how low The Empress Marie fell, who could bestow The love for which the Elban Exile pined, On one-eyed Neipperg, ugly, old and grim, With black patch where a bullet ball had struck; While her illustrious husband sued in vain For notice from the woman raised by him To the proud throne of France; when dire ill-luck Had bowed the mighty Hero's head in pain. CONTRAST. Now mark the contrast in a woman's heart! Was that her awful anguish was a blow From him, for whom she would her life bestow; 'Twas he, whose hand had sent the piercing dart, Which tore her quiv'ring soul with bitter woe; 'Twould seem but just such blow her hate had earned; But when his head was bowed on Elba's Isle, And comfort him, whom Marie spurned, THE POET'S SONG. Joy took up the harp of Life, "That's not as we find life," they say. By toiling souls who worked and wept. But when pale Grief with melting tone, "Hark! to that angel's sweet refrain!" That is in truth the song of life; We've known the Love, we feel the Pain; And only Grief's deep sympathy, Can make the poet's meaning plain." THE SONG OF THE UNIVERSE. The grand Oratoria of Creation, God speaks, and suns flash into light; -Ibid. ONE JOHN OTIS BARROWS. NE day a large boy, tired of the seclusion and monotony incident to hard and continuous labor on a poor, rocky farm in Eastern Connecticut, remarked to his elder brother: "If I had a thousand dollars I would see the inside of some college." "Well I wouldn't," was the reply. The boy was obliged to remain on the farm, to help his aged father and mother until he was twenty-one. When relieved of this duty, he borrowed fifty dollars of a friend, and set out for Kimball Union Academy, at Meriden, N. H. There, teaching school one term, and working on a farm every vacation, he fitted for college in two years, and entered Amherst before visiting his parents, having never, until he went to the academy, been absent from the paternal roof over a single Sabbath in his life. This prolonged first absence was necessitated by lack of funds; by no means caused by lack of filial affection. He was an unusually devoted son, and sent his worthy parents, regularly, most loving and cheering letters during this time. He was enrolled among the Freshmen as John Otis Barrows, of Mansfield, Conn. Mr. Barrows can boast of Puritan blood, pure and simple. His father, Andrew Barrows was descended from one, who, if he did not "come over in the Mayflower," certainly arrived very soon after. His mother, Sarah Storrs, was a lineal descendant of Samuel Storrs who came from Suttoncum-Lound, England, to America in 1663. Mr. Barrows was born August 4th, 1833. He is one of six sons, and the youngest of a family of nine children. Graduating in 1860, he studied divinity one year at East-Windsor Hill, Conn., and then two years at Andover, Mass. After graduation, he labored as a pastor, in New Hampshire, six years, when, resigning the pastorate of the old First Church of Exeter, with his wife, Clara Storrs Freeman, he sailed for Ceserea, Asia Minor, to labor as a missionary of the American Board. They had at the time two small children, and some of the incidents of their journey up through the Cilician Gates of the Taurus Mountains were more interesting than agreeable; but at last they reached their home in safety. After spending six or seven years in the interior, they removed to Constantinople. At the end of ten years absence from America, they returned for a visit, but illness in their family compelled them to forego the privilege of entering again upon the work they so dearly loved. Mr. Barrows has spent the years since his return, in 1880, in pastorates in Atkinson, N. H., and in Newington, Conn., being at present at the latter place. In 1884 the Congregational Sunday-school and Publishing Society published a charming book of his, entitled: "On Horseback in Cappadocia." His poems are of a more recent date, he never having attempted anything of the kind until within two or three years. E. F. S. A. IN HEAVENLY PLACES. AT sunset oft along the lower sky When in the heavenly places he abides, HOUSEHOLD VOICES. 'Tis sweet to hear, in pensive hours, When thoughts come to the lonely couch When gently fold the wings of night, Then in the song that downward floats Is heard the music of the notes When tears of grief make dearer still They come, as borne by gentle wing, The angel footsteps fall; They come as words which angels sing, And sweetest of them all. Then make the household love so strong, That household voices true Will nevermore one buried wrong In memories renew. Let every deed we do to-day To dear ones pleasure give, WHAT SHALL BE MY PRAYER? I ASK Thee not, O Lord, for rest- I ask Thee not to wipe the tears From eyes that now so often weep; But rather make these tears a spring Of new affections pure and deep. I ask Thee not to lift the hand That thou hast laid upon me sore; But rather grace to feel 'tis Thine, And from its touch to love Thee more. I ask Thee not to let me see, Whilst thou would have me live below; But rather ask in Thee to trust 'Tis sweet to trust aud wait to know. AGAIN TO THE WORK. We would stay on this high mount of vision, But look down on the world just below us, Yes, with gladness we'll seize our old armor, And none of these labors remain, M ISABELLA WILSON MCCONIHE. RS. ISABELLA WILSON MCCONIHE, youngest daughter of John and Elizabeth Buback, was born January 15, 1826, in the county of Lancaster, Pa., where she dwelt in an earthly paradise of beautiful scenery until she was twelve years of age, when her mother, with her family, (her father having died), removed to the State of Ohio, afterward to Illinois. The natural and picturesque beauty of the home of her childhood early inspired her artistic taste to give expression to her thoughts in poetry. Mrs. McConihe has the true poet's love for the beautiful in nature and art, and had she cultivated her love for form and color might have excelled with pencil and brush as her work already accomplished gives evidence. At seventeen she taught her first term of school in the country, the second in town where many of her scholars were older than herself. At nineteen she was married to Mr. Seth Wilson, a prosperous business man and honored citizen of Medina, Ohio. Mr. Wilson died early in life; after five years she married Mr. Lucian Harper McConihe of Princeton, Ill., where she had a pleasant home endeared to her by her devoted husband and loving children, two of whom, a son and daughter are living, and a wide circle of friends. For the last few years her home has been in northern Iowa. MY ROBIN AND BLUE-JAY. M. M. T. THE prettiest picture that I ever have seen, So while I'm admiring this picture so fair, His sweet cheery tones ring out with the dawn, First matins, then snatches of songs on the lawnHe sings while it rains on his darling brown head, He sings to his mate when she dreams in her bed. Love mellows each tone of the sweet warbler's voice, Like Indostan's thrush to the mate of his choice. |