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And in the cold ground they have laid him;
He was always home nights,

Never got into fights,

But death came along and betrayed him.

I shall meet him on the other shore where all is lovely,
and where sickness never comes.

"There, how's that?" inquired the poet, a bland smile covering his face. "Seems to me as if that went right to the heart."

The woman took the paper, read the notice over four or five times, and finally said:

"I don't want to seem partickler about this, and I know I'm a makin' a good deal of trouble. That would do for most any one else-it's the real poetry, but I'd like suthin' kinder different, somehow. He was a noble man. He never gave me a cross word in his life-not one. He'd be out of bed at daylight, start the fire, and I never got up till I heard him grinding the coffee. He was a good provider, he was. He never bought any damaged goods because he could get 'em cheap, and he never scrimped me on sugar and tea, as some folks do. I can't help but weep when I think of him."

She sobbed away for a while, and then brightened up and said: "Of course I'll meet him in heaven. It's all right. As I told you, I may never marry again, though I can't tell what I may be driven to. Just try once more."

She sat down to an old almanac, and the cutter resumed his pen. He seemed to get the right idea at once, and it wasn't fifteen minutes before he had the third notice ground out. It read:

IN MEMORY
of

HOMER CLINK,

who died

October 13, 1873,

Aged 41 years, 7 months, 21 days.

He was the kindest sort o' man;

He was a good provider,

And when a friend asked him to drink,

He always called for cider.

His wife she had a noble heart,

And though she may re-marry,

Whenever she thinks of Homer Clink,
Her heart a sigh will carry.

"That's good,—that just hits me!" exclaimed the widow, tears coming to her eyes. "I've got to go and do some trading; I'll be back in two hours. Put the inscription on handsome-like, and I shan't mind two dollars extra."

About noon her one-horse wagon backed up to the dealer's, and as the stone was loaded up, the widow's face wore a quiet smile of satisfaction.

ON THE SHORES OF THE TENNESSEE.

[The reader should commence this piece in a low, almost plaintive tone. In the last half of the eighth verse the exclamations should be given with spirit and rapturous delight. The student should carefully avoid giving the negra batois too broad. Where correctly spoken, it will prove enjoyable.]

"Move my arm-chair, faithful Pompey,

In the sunshine bright and strong,
For this world is fading, Pompey,
Massa won't be with you long;

And I fain would hear the south wind
Bring once more the sound to me
Of the wavelets softly breaking

On the shores of Tennessee.

"Mournful though the ripples murmur
As they still the story tell,

How no vessels float the banner

That I've loved so long and well.

I shall listen to their music,

Dreaming that again I see

Stars and Stripes on sloop and shallop
Sailing up the Tennessee;

"And, Pompey, while old Massa's waiting
For Death's last dispatch to come,

If that exiled starry banner

Should come proudly sailing home,
You shall greet it, slave no longer-
Voice and hand shall both be free
That shout and point to Union colors
On the waves of Tennessee."

"Massa's bery kind to Pompey;

But old darkey's happy here, Where he's tended corn and cotton For dese many a long gone year. Over yonder, Missis' sleeping

No one tends her grave like me; Mebbe she would miss the flowers She used to love in Tennessee.

"'Pears like, she was watching MassaIf Pompey should beside him stay, Mebbe she'd remember better

How for him she used to pray; Telling him that 'way up yonder White as snow his soul would be, If he served the Lord of Heaven While he lived in Tennessee."

Silently the tears were rolling

Down the poor old dusky face, As he stepped behind his master, In his long-accustomed place. Then a silence fell around them, As they gazed on rock and tree Pictured in the placid waters

Of the rolling Tennessee;

Master, dreaming of the battle

Where he fought by Marion's side, When he bade the haughty Tarleton Stoop his lordly crest of pride; Man, remembering how yon sleeper Once he held upon his knee, Ere she loved the gallant soldier, Ralph Vervair, of Tennessee.

Still the south wind fondly lingers
'Mid the veteran's silvery hair;
Still the bondman, close beside him,
Stands behind the old arm-chair,

With his dark-hued hand uplifted,
Shading eyes, he bends to see
Where the woodland, boldly jutting,
Turns aside the Tennessee.

Thus he watches cloud-born shadows
Glide from tree to mountain crest,
Softly creeping, aye and ever,

To the river's yielding breast.
Ha! above the foliage yonder,
Something glitters wild and free!
"Massa! Massa! Hallelujah!

The flag's come back to Tennessee."

"Pompey, hold me on your shoulder,
Help me stand on foot once more,
That I may salute the colors

As they pass my cabin door.

Here's the paper signed that frees you:
Give a freeman's shout with me,-
'GOD AND UNION!' be our watchword
Evermore in Tennessee."

Then the trembling voice grew fainter,
And the limbs refused to stand;
One prayer to Jesus-and the soldier
Glided to that better land.

When the flag went down the river,
Man and master both were free,

While the ring dove's note was mingled

With the rippling Tennessee.

MRS. ETHEL LYNN BEERS.

THE SCHOOL MASTER.

[This should be recited in a quiet tone, in an agreeable, almost conversa tional style.]

Brisk wielder of the birch and rule,

The master of the district school

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