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Louis Albert Banks

What good can come out of Nazareth? has been answered again. From infancy to childhood, and from childhood to the boy preacher of sixteen, we find him in Oregon. Charles Parkhurst, the great divine and reformer, says of him: "Louis Albert Banks, after leaving Philomath College, commenced to preach the gospel in Washington Territory, and many were converted. From seventeen to twenty-one, he taught school and studied law, being admitted to practice in the courts. He received his first regular appointment from Bishop Gilbert Haven, and was stationed in Portland, Oregon. Fearless as a reformer, in his pulpit, he has been shot down by the infuriated saloonist, and mobbed by the anti-Chinese rioters." He has occupied some of the wealthiest pulpits of the Methodist Episcopal Church in the United States, where he has met with remarkable success as a minister and as an author.

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His principal books are "Censor Echoes," "The People's Christ," "The Revival Giver," "White Slaves," "Common Folks' Religion," "Honeycombs of Life," "The Heavenly Tradewinds," "The Christ Dream," "Christ and His Friends," "The Saloon Keeper's Ledger, "Seven Times Around Jericho, "The Hero Tales from Sacred History," "An Oregon Boyhood," 'Sermon Stories for Boys and Girls, "The Christ Brotherhood" and "Immortal Hymns and Their Story." Dr. Banks's popularity as an author is such that the great reformer in writing an introduction to one of these books said, "To be invited to a place beside the author of the volume, and to present him to the reading public, is a delightful privilege.'

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Mr. Banks's books and sermons may fitly be termed "the Wild Flowers of Oregon," for he has culled the lambs' tongue, the rhododendron, the wild lilac, the field lily, the honeysuckle, and the wild grape, and taken this

handful of wild flowers from the hills and valleys of Oregon and woven them into beautiful sermons and books-thus furnishing a delightful source of help to thousands of men and women on both continents. Indeed, his style may be defined as the wild flowers of Oregon so delicately transplanted from the mild atmosphere of the West into the conservatories of the rigid East that they have lost none of their original fragrance or beauty. Thus, through Dr. Banks our scenery has flowered out upon an eastern landscape and developed into a beautiful style which he may proudly call his own; and while the scholars of the East may notice the exotic elements in it they cannot resist the pleasure it gives them; therefore, they will encourage Dr. Banks in preserving his literary identity in the fast-flowing stream of books he is pouring out upon the reading public.

Belle W. Cooke

The following poems were written by Mrs. Belle W. Cooke, of Salem, a lady who has obtained considerable distinction. She is the author of an interesting volume of poems, and wherever known is recognized as a woman of culture and high social attainments. Her home at the present time (1902) is in San Francisco, California.

SEATTLE.

Queen city by the Northern Sound,
High seated on thy sloping hills,
Begirt with snowy mountains round,
Thy beauty all my being thrills.

When burns the sunset in the west,

With crimson bars and purple shades,
On dark Olympus' snow-flecked crest
A misty crown gleams out and fades.

While on Tacoma's kingly face

The rosy blushes gleaming lie,

And changeful hues, with wondrous grace
Across the watery mirror fly.

When morning looks through fringe of trees,
And tips the western peaks with gold,
And misty veils curled by the breeze
Lie on the water, fold on fold-

Then rocky gorge, and tree-crowned spur,
Touched by the pencil of the dawn,
With rounded heights, and groves of fir,
Spring out to greet the beauteous morn,

The ice-crowned king with shadows cold
Sparkles and glistens white and grand,
And beauty wakes in wood and wold,

And beams from nooks on every hand.

Long may thy beauty bless the earth,
And teach the lesson God doth mean,
And nobler men in thee have birth
Than ever yet the world hath seen.

I KNOW NOT.

I know not what the day may bring
Of sorrow or of sweetness,

I only know that God must give
Its measure of completeness;
I reach for wisdom in the dark,

And God fills up the measureSometimes with tears, sometimes with cares, Sometimes with peace and pleasure.

From hours of grief and saddened face
True wealth of heart I borrow,
And heavenly wisdom oftenest comes
Clad in the guise of sorrow;

I know not which is best for me
Of all his mercy bringeth,
I know his praise every day
My willing spirit singeth.

I know not what my life may yield
Of fruit that will not perish,

I know God gives both seed and soil,
And all the growth must cherish.
How great his work! How small my part!
I wonder at my weakness,

And his great patience fill my heart

With gratitude and meekness.

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