21

THE

MARY MATHEWS BARNES.

'HE warm current of friendly partiality for the poems of Mary Mathews Barnes long ago flowed out over a wider and ever-widening circle of appreciative readers, and had there been any incentive through necessity or stimulus from ambition to induce the author to publish her writings, her name would have become a familiar one to the reading world. But for the sensitiveness and shrinking nature of the poet, it would have been borne on the tide of approval to the popular heart, for Mrs. Barnes has commanded in one unbroken sequence of commendation, the appreciation of cultivated critics—those whose training fitted them to detect readily the characteristics of genius as distinct from the qualities of talent.

For many years Mrs. Barnes has written verses in the leisure of her happy life. First her hymns sang themselves from her heart and then her poems caroled their way from her soul as naturally as the melody floats from the robin's throat, and she has reverently treasured them as a faithful guardian of a Heaven-entrusted gift. They have been preserved until their perfected notes could be given to the world, a boon not always, nor indeed very often, vouchsafed to verses.

Mrs. Barnes has the true poetical aspiration, and her motive for writing has been unsordid and unselfish. Her sonnets and lyrics answer to Matthew Arnold's definition of poetry, which is, "The best possible thing said in the best possible way." There is a spontaneous owning of and response to the poetic power which lays its hand upon the heart as some beautiful symphony in music enchants the ear by a spell of melody.

It is to the harmonious blending of the individual nature and the poetic power that is due the rarity of highest excellence found in the writings of Mrs. Barnes. Few of her classmates in Packer Institute, where she was for the most part educated, knew that the popular Mary Mathews was not American born and a Brooklyn girl. Her birthplace was Ireland and her ancestry Irish.

From a clever student she became a competent teacher; and for many years her life was devoted to inspiring the young with a love of study and a true appreciation of knowledge.

Allied to her broad culture is a manner gracious and refined; one cannot be in her presence without speedily detecting that subtle grace which belongs to a nature purified by love and sanctified by sorrow. The indefinable charm she exhibits in her poems, she manifests in her daily living, and her existence is a benefaction. While the outward

events of her fortunate career have been varied and pleasing, the enchantment of her life has come to her through her noble spirit. Every good deed has been outdone by the doing. She loses not the simplest occasion to throw the spell of love over the common, practical concerns of the day or the hour; and in all that she does, she impresses one with the assurance of her belief that the essence of life is divine, and divinity can be reached by right living.

Mrs. Barnes is a student of Shakespeare who has not been content to enjoy her ripe scholarship selfishly. For years she has had a large class of ladies who have met weekly at her house for the purpose of listening to her interpretations of the master poet, and of reading under her able guidance his immortal delineations of character.

She is the author of thirty or more wellknown hymns, many of them incorporated in song books; of a score or more songs and ballads, several of which have been set to music, and are familiar favorites, and of many lyrics and sonnets. Of her songs the most popular are "The Birds in the Belfry," "Songs that Words can Never Know," and "The Spring Will Soon be Here Again."

The poem "Epithalamium," has been published in a volume with illustrations by Dora Wheeler. Since the death of her husband, Mr. Alfred S. Barnes, the eminent book publisher and the beloved citizen of Brooklyn, Mrs. Barnes has turned her attention to her pen as a refuge and comfort, and her later poems exhibit an added strength, beauty and dignity pleasing to note. She is on the threshold of her popularity as a poet and before her lies a flowery mead, from which she will cause to spring many a ripened blossom of poetry in the time to come. The demand for her writings has led to the preparation of a volume which is to appear early in the coming year. L. C. H.

O SUN,

EPITHALAMIUM.

From out whose gracious rays Came forth the day of days, When my dear love was born,

Shine out!

And with your brightest ray

Bring gift divine to mark her wedding day.

A gift, a golden gleam,

A prophecy of good in every beam.

Rejoice with so much of yourself that in her lives.

Which she with loving joy to others freely gives.