Puslapio vaizdai

The editor and publisher, since January 1, 1919, of the Granite Monthly, has been named by the secretary of state of New Hampshire as his deputy, and for that reason finds it necessary to relinquish the pleasant, if not over profitable, task of issuing the state magazine. He is very glad to announce that his ownership of the Granite Monthly has been transferred to parties who have the ability and the disposition to make the publication a greater credit to and a more valuable asset of, the state, than it ever has been in the more than forty years of its honorable history. The change in editorship and management will take effect with the October number and we bespeak for the new regime a continuance of that friend

ly support and co-operation on the part of the contributors, subscribers. and advertising patrons which have made possible the regular issue of the Granite Monthly during the past three years and eight months.

On the eve of finally covering the editorial typewriter and balancing for the last time the publishers' books, our heart is cheered by finding in the mail a check for two years' advance subscription bearing the signature of the head of one of the greatest industrial enterprises in this country, a distinguished native of New Hampshire, who thus manifests his belief that his old home state should have a magazine of its own and that the Granite Monthly is enough of a success in that direction to merit his support.


By M. White Sawyer

Where majesty of hill is wide, God wrought With skyward fling, as eagle's wingcloud sought.

Deepening in blue with mist to distant glance,
Her outline purely shows as shadows dance.

'Ragged; Whose woods wind sung and piney sweet Recall each year the friends who love to meet.

Where mountain brook sings silver clear, God's rill Through cooling nook His anthem praises fill

Water music, trills true, snow white in sun
Green rimmed in fern, with straying wild root run.

'Ragged; where unspoiled Nature gives to man A loftier view, to glimpse her spiritual plan.


During the years of his active life, Captain Richard W. Musgrove of Bristol, soldier, editor, historian. and legislator, who was born Nov., 1, 1840, and died Feb. 19, 1914, was one of New Hampshire's useful, honored and influential citizens; a man of many friends and true civic spirit; and last, but not least, the father of six talented children, one of whom, Miss Mary D. Musgrove, has worthily continued, since her father's death, his valuable work as editor and publisher of the Bristol Enterprise, one of New Hampshire's best weekly newspapers.

An interesting feature of the Enterprise in recent years has been the serial publication of Captain Musgrove's Autobiography. Those who enjoyed reading it in the newspaper will be glad to know that Miss Musgrove now has issued it in handsome book form with an excellent frontispiece portrait of her father; making a volume which should be in every library in the state and which will have a strong appeal to every one who appreciates the value of first-hand historical testimony given by a keen observer, a just chronicler and a writer of simple, direct and most engaging style.

So charming are Captain Musgrove's recollections of his boyhood

and school days that one notes with regret how small a part of the book as a whole they make; but the interest they inspire is held without diminution by the succeeding chapters in which the author paints vivid pictures of the splendid service which the 12th New Hampshire Regiment rendered at Chancellorsville, Gettysburg and the other famous names that are inscribed on its battle flag.

At the close of the civil war Captain Musgrove accepted a commission in the regular army and served for a time on the western frontier. so that the closing chapters of his atobiography contain stories which will delight all boys of whatever age about fighting Indians. hunting buffalo, etc.

Those of us who know how sane and helpful was his outlook upon life, how well he judged men and measures, would have rejoiced had he continued his self-record to cover the period of his public service in his home state.

But we are glad of the book as it is and feel that public thanks are due to Miss Musgrove for thus honoring the memory of her father and at the same time making a valuable addition to the library of New Hampshire history and biography.


Miss Harriet Lane Huntress, one of New Hampshire's best known women and most useful public servants, died at her home in Concord, July 31. She was born Nov. 30, 1860, in that part of Meredith which is now Center Harbor, the daughter of James L. and Harriet Page (Perkins) Huntress, her father being the proprietor of the Senter House, a famous summer resort on Lake Winnipesaukee. Miss Huntress was educated in Massachusetts schools, but from 1879 resided in Concord, where in 1889 she began a connection with the state department of public instruction which continued unbroken until her death. She gave most valuable assistance to six state superintendents and was herself from 1913 a deputy state superintendent.

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Rev. Luther F. McKinney, former congressman from New Hampshire, died in Bridgton, Me., July 30. He was born in Newark, Ohio, April 25, 1841, and served in the Civil War. At its close he studied for the ministry at St. Lawrence University and held Universalist pastorates in Maine and New Hampshire. While thus located at Manchester he was four times the Democratic candidate for Congress and twice successful, in 1886 and 1890. In 1892 he was the Democratic candidate for governor of the state and in 1893 was appointed by President Cleveland as United States minister to Columbia, serving four years in that capacity. Upon his return to this country he preached for a time in Brooklyn, N. Y., but for a number of years had been located in Bridgton, the scene of his first pastorate, where he engaged in trade with his son. He continued his political activity there, serving in the state legislature and as a congressional candidate. He was prominent in Odd Fellowship and the G. A. R. and was for some years chaplain of the First Regiment, N. H. N. G. Mr McKinney was an able and popular preacher and a strong and forceful political speaker.

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uation from Dartmouth College in 1872 he began newspaper work upon the Springfield, (Mass.) Republican and there continued for three years, then joining the staff of the New York Times. The remainder of his life was devoted to the Times and from 1885 he had been its editor-in-chief. He was also the second largest stockholder in the corporation owning the paper and was its first vicepresident and a member of the board of directors. He was likewise a director of the Tidewater Paper Company.

He married Miss Frances Daniels of Plainfield, October 10, 1876, who died in 1906. A son and daughter, Hoyt Miller and Miss Madge Miller, survive him. The degree of doctor of laws was con

ferred on him in 1905 by Dartmouth College and in 1915 he received the degree of doctor of literature from Columbia university. In February, 1919, the French government bestowed the decoration of the Legion of Honor upon him and the Belgian government decorated him with the Order of Leopold. He was a member of the Century, Metropolitan and Piping Rock Clubs of New York City.

Mr. Miller was recognized as one of the ablest and best informed editorial writers in the world and especially during the late War his leaders in the Times attracted wide and respectful attention.


By Lilian Sue Keech

When nights has fallen, and the hour is late,
The dreams come stealing through the garden gate.
Past crimson roses, heavy with the dew,
White lillies, passion flowers of purple hue.

Upon his grassy couch, the old dog stirs,
As close beside him, a dream partridge whirs.

The shadowy forms flit through the fast closed doors,
And noiseless run upon the polished floors.

Along the wall, the horseman spurs his steed,
And ancient warriors drink their mug of mead.
The fairy dreams dance in the children's room,
And dreadful nightmares, in the background loom.

But in the chamber, where the dead doth lie,
Dreams may not enter, not with smile nor sigh.
Upon the quiet form, the pale moon gleams,
The walls are empty, there are no more dreams.

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