In the _Cosmopolitan_ of June, 1891, a sonnet appeared, "The Life Mask,"

and was reprinted in the _Review of Reviews_. Two of Mrs. McClurg's songs were set to music by Albert C. Pierson in the summer of 1890; "Lithe Stands my Lady"; "Je Reste et Tu T'en Vas"; the latter with a French refrain, the rest in English.

The last poem of Mrs. McClurg was published in the _Banner_, of Morristown, Dec. 24th, 1891, written to Mr. William L. King on his 85th Thanksgiving Day, and based on the Oriental salutation, "O King! Live forever".

Among the writings of Mrs. McClurg are also two articles on the Washington Headquarters of Morristown; being "quotations, comments and descriptions on two Order Books of the Revolution, daily records of life in camp and at Headquarters, in the year 1780." A pa.s.sage from this is given in the opening chapter of this book.

The "Seven Sonnets of Sculpture" came out in 1889 and 1890. This book was widely and favorably noticed by some of the largest and most important journals. Says the writer in the Chicago _Daily News_: "It was a happy inspiration that led Mrs. McClurg to the idea realized in the publication of her latest volume 'Seven Sonnets of Sculpture'. The work is artistic from cover to cover, but the conception of equipping each one of the stanzas it contains with a photograph of the piece of sculpture which suggested it, was unique. * * To translate a work of art from its original form to another, to find the hidden sense of a conception imbedded in stone and revive it in words, to endue marble with speech, is in its nature a delicate task and one that demands the keenest of perceptions and sensibilities." The author says, in her dedication that seven was a Hebrew symbol of perfection.

The sonnet we select from these, to represent Mrs. McClurg, is "The Questioner of the Sphinx". This sonnet was written from the impression received from Elihu Vedder's engraving of the Sphinx and the artist expressed in a letter to the author, his appreciation of the fidelity of the interpretation in verse of his picture. His criticism is perhaps the best that could be given.

"I think it," he wrote, "good and strong and shall treasure it among the few good things that have been suggested by my work. My idea in the Sphinx was the hopelessness of man before the cold immutable laws of nature. Could the Sphinx speak, I am sure its words would be, 'look within,' for to his working brain and beating heart man must look for the solution of the great problem."

THE QUESTIONER OF THE SPHINX.

(SUGGESTED BY ELIHU VEDDER'S PICTURE.)

Behold me! with swift foot across the land, While desert winds are sleeping, I am come To wrest a secret from thee; O thou, dumb, And careless of my puny lip's command.

Cold orbs! _mine_ eyes a weary world have scanned, Slow ear! in _mine_ rings ever a vexed hum Of sobs and strife. Of joy mine earthly sum Is buried as thy form in burning sand.

The wisdom of the nations thou has heard; The circling courses of the stars hast known.

Awake! Thrill! By my feverish presence stirred, Open thy lips to still my human moan, Breathe forth one glorious and mysterious word, Though I should stand, in turn, transfixed,--a stone!

Charlton T. Lewis, L.L. D.

A sketch of Dr. Lewis will be found under the grouping of _Lexicographer_.

The poem from which we select (reluctantly we take a part instead of the whole, for lack of s.p.a.ce), is an embodiment of the story taken from Theodoret. The poet has found in the beautiful tradition, meagre though it is, a lovely theme for his divine song of spiritual love and Christian martyrdom.

The following is the translation of the Greek pa.s.sage which heads the poem:

"A certain Telemachus embraced the self-sacrificing life of a monk, and, to carry out this plan, went to Rome, where he arrived during the abominable shows of gladiators. He went down into the arena, and strove to stop the conflicts of the armed combatants. But the spectators of the b.l.o.o.d.y games were indignant, and the gladiators themselves, full of the spirit of battle, slew the apostle of peace. When the great Emperor learned the facts he enrolled Telemachus in the n.o.ble army of martyrs, and put an end to the murderous shows."

_Theodoret. Eccl. Hist. v. 26._

The scene is Rome,--the place the Coliseum. It is the time of the games.

There are the crowds of eager people; the Emperor Honorius; the horrible Stilicho. Lowly and beautiful in his great love for Christ, Telemachus follows onward to the Coliseum to meet his sorrowful fate; holding in his voice the power that "stilled the fire and dulled the sword and stopped the crushing wine-press." He followed, silently, consecrated and alone, to "do the will of G.o.d."

TELEMACHUS.

I mused on Claudian's tinseled eulogies, And turned to seek in other dusty tomes, Through the wild waste of those degenerate days, Some living word, some utterance of the heart; Till as when one lone peak of Jura flames With sudden sunbeams breaking through the mist, So from the dull page of Theodoret A flash of splendor rends the clouds of life, And bares to view the awful throne of love.

The bishop's tale is meagre, but as leaven, It works in thoughts that rise and fill the soul.

He felt the soil, long drenched with martyr's blood, Send healing through his feet to all his frame.

He drank the air that trembled with the joys Of opening Paradise, and bared his soul To spirits whispering, "Come with us to-day!"

The longings of his life were satisfied, He stood at last in Rome, Christ's Capital, The gate of heaven and not the mouth of h.e.l.l.

Suddenly, rudely, comes disastrous change.

He starts and gazes, as the glory of the saints Fades round him and the angel songs are stilled: A world of hatred hides the throne of love; h.e.l.l opens in the gleam of myriad eyes Hungry for slaughter, in a hush that tells How in each heart a tiger pants for blood.

Into the vast arena files a band Of Goths, the prisoners of Pollentia,-- Freemen, the dread of Rome, but yesterday, Now doomed as slaves to wield those terrible arms In mutual murder, kill and die, amid The exultation of their nation's foes.

Pausing before the throne, with well-taught lips They utter words they know not; but Rome hears; "Caesar, we greet thee who are now to die!"

Then part and line the lists; the trumpet blares For the onset, sword and javelin gleam, and all Is clash of smitten shields and glitter of arms.

Without the tumult, one of mighty limb And towering frame stands moveless; never yet A n.o.bler captive had made sport for Rome.

Throngs watch that eye of Mars, Apollo's grace, The thews of Hercules, in cruel hope That ten may fall before him ere he falls.

They bid him charge; he moves not; shield and sword Sink to his feet; his eyes are filled with light That is not of the battle. Three draw near Whose valor or despair has cut a path Through the thick ma.s.s of combat, and their swords, Reeking with carnage, seek a victim new The glory of whose death may win them grace With that fierce mult.i.tude. Telemachus Gazes, and half the horror turns to joy As the fair Goth undaunted bares his breast Before the butchers, and awaits the blow With peaceful brow, a firm and tender lip Quivering as with a breath of inward prayer, And hands that move as mindful of the cross.

And with a mighty cry, "Christ! he is thine!

He is my brother! Help!" The monk leaps forth, Gathers in hands unarmed the points of steel, Throws back the startled warriors, and commands, "In Christ's name, hold! Ye people of Rome give ear!

G.o.d will have mercy and not sacrifice.

He who was silent, scourged at Pilate's bar, And smitten again in those he died to save, Is silent now in his great oracles.

The throne of Constantine and Peter's chair, Speaks thus through me:--'In Rome, my capital, Let love be Lord, and close the mouth of h.e.l.l.

I will have mercy and not sacrifice.'"

The slaughter paused, he ceased, and all was still, But baffled myriads with their cruel thumbs Point earthward, and the b.l.o.o.d.y three advance: Their swords meet in his heart. Honorius Cries "Save,"--too late, he is already safe,-- And turns, with tears like Peter's, to proclaim, The festival dissolved: nor from that hour Ever again did Rome, Christ's capital, Make holiday with blood, but hand in hand The throne of Constantine and Peter's chair Honored the martyr--Saint Telemachus, And love was Lord and closed the mouth of h.e.l.l.

Miss Emma F. R. Campbell.

In our midst is a quiet, gentle woman who pa.s.ses in and out among us without noise or ostentation. Yet upon her has fallen the great honor of being the author of an immortal hymn.

In the _Canada Presbyterian_ of Feb. 9th, 1887, appeared an article ent.i.tled "A Great Modern Hymn." Also, it is said, that in a volume soon to be published on "The Great Hymns of the Church" will appear a paper on "Jesus of Nazareth Pa.s.seth By." From the first named, we cannot do better than quote:

"Among all the hymns used in recent revivals of religion, none has been more honored and owned by G.o.d, than this--none so often called for, none so inspiring, none bearing so many seals of the divine approval. This is the testimony of the great evangelist of these days, Mr. Moody, and this testimony will surprise no one who has ever heard it sung by his companion in the ministry, Mr. Sankey, who, under G.o.d, has done so much to send forth light and truth into dark minds and break up the fountains of the great deep, amid the ma.s.ses of G.o.dless men.

"As to the origin of the hymn--the circ.u.mstances of its birth--we have to invite the reader to go back some twenty-three years, to the Spring of 1864--to a great season of religious awakening in the city of Newark, N. J.

The streets were crowded from day to day and the largest churches were too small to contain the growing numbers. Among those most deeply moved by the impressive scenes and services was a young girl, a Sabbath School teacher, one who for the first time realized the powers of the world to come, and the grandness of the great salvation. As descriptive of what was pa.s.sing around her but with no desire for publicity, still, with the great desire of reaching some soul unsaved, especially among her youthful charge, she wrote the lines beginning with, 'What means this eager, anxious throng?'"

The hymn was first published under the signature "Eta", the author having sometimes appended to her writings the Greek letter, using that character instead of her English name. We quote again from the same source:

"Soon it rose into popularity and it is spreading still, not only in the English language, but in other languages--even the languages of India--(think of a recent account of an a.s.sembly of 500 Hindus enthusiastically using this hymn in the Mahrati and the Syrian children singing it in their own vernacular)--as the author thinks of all these things, she can only say with a thankful and an adoring heart: 'It is the Lord's doing and it is marvellous in mine eyes!'"

Miss Campbell has also written many other poems of beauty and articles in prose, which however, are all so eclipsed by this "Great Hymn" that perhaps they are not known or noticed as they otherwise would be. One in particular, we would mention, "A New Year Thought," published December, 1888.

Miss Campbell belongs also in the group of _Novelists_, _Story-Writers_, _and Moralists_. She has written a number of books for the young, among which are "Green Pastures for Christ's Little Ones"; "Paul Preston"; "Better than Rubies"; and "Toward the Mark".

Miss Campbell wrote by request, at the time of the Centennial Celebration of the First Presbyterian Church in October, 1891, a beautiful hymn for the occasion which was read by Mr. James Duryee Stevenson.

"JESUS OF NAZARETH Pa.s.sETH BY."

What means this eager, anxious throng, Pressing our busy streets along, These wondrous gatherings day by day, What means this strange commotion, pray?

Voices in accents hushed reply "Jesus of Nazareth pa.s.seth by?"