M

MARY A. RIPLEY.

ISS MARY A. RIPLEY was born in Windham, Conn., January 11th, 1831, and died in Kearney, Neb., June 3rd, 1893. She was the daughter of John Huntington Ripley and Eliza L. Spalding Ripley. The Huntington family is prominent in New England. One of its members, Samuel Huntington, signed the Declaration of Independence and the Articles of Confederation. Miss Ripley was, on her mother's side, of Huguenot ancestry, and descended from the French family, D'Aubigné, anglicized into Dabney. She was educated in the country district schools of western New York and in the free city schools of Buffalo. She taught school in Buffalo for many years. Her contributions to the press were, principally, poems, vacation-letters, terse communications on live questions, and brief common-sense essays, which attracted much attention and exerted a wide influence. In 1867 an unpretending volume of poems bearing her name was published; and later a small book entitled "Parsing Lessons" for school-room use was issued. This was followed by "Household Service," published under the auspices of the Woman's Educational and Industrial Union of Buffalo. With Miss Ripley the conscience of the teacher was stronger than the inspiration of the poet. Had she given herself less to her pupils and more to literature, she would assuredly have taken a higher place among the poets of our country. Her poems are characterized by vigor and sweetness. She was for twenty-seven years a teacher in the Buffalo High School. It was in the management of boys that she had the most marked success. The respect with which she is regarded by men in every walk of life is evidence that she made a lasting impression upon them as a teacher. Her clear-cut distinctions between what is true and what is false, and her abhorrence of merely mechanical work, gave her a unique position in the educational history of Buffalo. She resigned her position in the Buffalo High School on account of temporary failure of health. When restored physically, she entered the lecture-field, where she found useful and congenial employment. Her decided individuality made her a potent force in whatever sphere she entered. E. H. M.

FOR THEE.

I.

I WEARY, for the way is hard and long;
I have forgot my early morning song;
Foot-sore and faint, upon the ground, I lie;
Out of the dust I only send a cry
For Thee.

II.

I hunger, for my food is bitter bread,
Mingled with falling tears which I have shed;
Out of the arms of death, or ere I die,
My suffering soul lifts up her pleading cry
For Thee.

III.

I thirst; the cooling springs no more o'erflow,
The summer drouth has touched their sources so;
My spirit fails beneath a fervid sky,

Yet my hot lips still tremble with a cry
For Thee.

IV.

O, Way of Life! draw in my weary feet!
O, Bread of Life! of Thee I fain would eat!
O, Living Water! fill my chalice high!
O, Blessed Christ! now hear my suppliant cry
For Thee.

OUR FLAG.

SEE ye to it, O, my brothers!

That our fiag is not abased; That the rebel band is scattered,

And each traitor is disgraced; See ye that the lustful murderers Win no victory in the land; Boldly smite the craven Southron! God shall nerve the patriot hand.

See ye to it, O, my brothers!

That upon Potomac's shore, Where bright freedom hath her palacé, Justice sits forevermore;

See ye to it, that our country

Land baptized in martyr blood—
Comes from out this Red Sea trial,
Leaving slavery in the flood.

O, my brothers! God hath called you;
Take the gleaming sword in hand;
Fight beneath your starry banner,
For our glorious Motherland,
Till from ocean unto ocean,

From the lake chain to the sea,
Eastern hills and western valleys,
All our country shall be free.

INSIGHT.

WHO is the coward? He whose soul is dark;
Who sees no glory in a glorious cause,
Nor knows the secret of the changeless laws
That urge the nation forward. From the ark

I know you will say I am but a child,

That I can not toil as a soldier should, That the bugles rang and the lad went wild, The merriest youngling of your brood; Mother, but yesterday that was so,— I never can be a boy again, For Freedom is facing her terrible foe, And my country is calling her loyal men.

If the city streets must be filled with fops,
Flashing their diamonds and swinging their

canes;

If white-faced men must attend the shops,
With a human look but without the brains;
If the rich man's gold outranks the truth,
Cankering and killing the fettered soul,

Then the giant must fight with the beardless youth,

Ere the surges of treason backward roll.

So, mother, I throw off my college ways;
There are students enough-my place will be
filled;

I shall read my task by the cannon's blaze,
With the battle's roar shall my life be thrilled;
I shall strive to be what you said was rare,
A man that honors a noble land;
You'll not forget in your evening prayer
Your boy who fights with the soldier-band.

A MARCH INCIDENT.

So early was the spring, that still
The snow-drifts lurked beneath the hill,
And all the meadows that I crossed
Half humid were, half dry with frost,
And Oh! the sweet wet scent of earth,
The sense of new and wondrous birth,
The glint upon the chestnut buds,
The sunshine in such generous floods
That each white drift I sauntered by,
Less white, less wintry, seemed to lie.

But when at last within the wood
In cloistral chill and gloom I stood,
So dense the bare boughs' tangled shade,
Scant progress there the spring had made.
Long miles I'd journeyed just to look
At one dear little laughing brook,
And now, alas! still winter-bound,
It mutely slumbered in the ground,
So fettered by the ice and snow
That sorrowful I turned to go.
Then slowly into life it woke,

And timidly at first it spoke,

And one by one cast off its chains,
Half severed by the recent rains,
And sudden tinkled forth to greet

With all its own old music sweet
The wanderer, who so far had come
And would have grieved to find it dumb.

So was it given me to see
Peculiar magic worked for me.

A trifle? Oh, of course! But still,
What if a heart were like that rill,
And after winter should at length

Know spring-time's glorious hope and strength,
Should feel the green moss droop and dip
In welcome, and the loosened slip
Of pebbles, see the rootlets stirred
To action by some mystic word,
And watch the first brave robins fly
Across the vivid windy sky,—

What if 'twere yours, this happy heart
Thus strangely called to bear a part
In Spring's entrancing glow and gleam?
That does not such a trifle seem!

A RAINY NIGHT.

BLACK against the murky sky,

Oak trees toss their branches bare, While the last leaves riven fly

On the wet and whirling air; Rain like swift descending lash

Beats the cold and sodden sward, And the wild keen lightning's flash Cuts the darkness like a sword.

God be thanked for night and storm!
'Tis a blest relief to know
Nature hath the power to form
Other things that suffer so,
Things besides my tortured heart,
Torn with infinite despair.
Tempest, I of thee am part,

And thy maddened ragings share!

CONSCIENCE.

WHEN dogs are sleeping, let them quiet sleep,
Lest, wakened, at thy throat they furious leap;
Walk warily, for fear the surly hound
Called conscience rouse and drag thee to the
ground.

TWO MEMORIES.

A SUMMER'S day, the fleeting gleam
Of white arms glancing through a stream,
Anon a drenched and laughing face
Raised for a moment's breathing-space,
And then the maiden floated, light

As any lazy lily might.

So close the rippled waters clung
About that naiad, fair and young,

So gently kissed, one might have guessed
They loved the creature they caressed.

A winter storm, a darkened room,
A myriad blossoms' sad perfume,
Loose curls against a placid brow,
Pale lips, their smiling over now,
Small hands, quite done with work and play,
Eyes shut from love and life away,
Cheeks, yester-month youth's tender rose,
Blanched as her pall of soft, soft snows.

M'

HENRY CHANDLER.

R. HENRY CHANDLER was born in Springfield, Mass., in 1830. He is a descendant of William Chandler, one of the early settlers of Andover, who came with his family from England in 1637, whose lineage has given a number of distinguished names to literature, the arts, the pulpit, the forum and to American patriotism. His earliest recollections are of tales of financial disasters which culminated during Van Buren's administration, in which his father lost a fortune. When he was six years old, the family emigrated to the West, leaving Springfield in a "carryall" for Albany. In 1851 Mr. Chandler went to Buffalo, secured a place in the Commercial Advertiser printing-house and began to develop the method of engraving known as relief line, and was among the first to make a practical use of photography in the illustrative arts. A successful business followed and in 1861 he became associated in partnership with Mr. E. R. Jewett, then proprietor, who later sold the Commercial to a new firm, reserving the engraving business, which was continued for fifteen years under the firm names of E. R. Jewett & Co. and Jewett & Chandler, and since by Mr. Chandler. Both members invested their separate profits in Buffalo real estate, having unbounded faith in its future. Mr. Chandler's enthusiasm led him into speculative operations in that line, and the panic of 1873 found him burdened with more than he was able to carry during the long business depression that followed, and in 1879 he surrendered his property to his creditors.

Mr. Chandler has not only made improvements in the arts to which he is devoted, but has patented numerous devices in other lines. D. I.

THE SISTER ISLES.

BRUSH past the antique gates, unhinged, forlorn,
Which tribute claimed on some remembered morn,
And lightly tread the firm, enfranchised way
That spans a rift where wildest waters play.

A moment pause, that you may there discern
Diverging paths that bend and hither turn,
All trending to a symbol of the sea,
Whose dim horizon hints eternity.

Some ways, obscure, your eager footsteps bring
Beside a shaded, cool, pellucid spring

Of limpid waters, bubbling from a fount,
As sparkles trickle from a crystal mount.