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And in the cold ground they have laid him;
Never got into fights,
But death came along and betrayed him.
I shall meet him on the other shore where all is lovely,
"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:
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,
"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,
And I fain would hear the south wind
On the shores of Tennessee.
"Mournful though the ripples murmur
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
"And, Pompey, while old Massa's waiting
If that exiled starry banner
Should come proudly sailing home,
"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
With his dark-hued hand uplifted,
Thus he watches cloud-born shadows
To the river's yielding breast.
The flag's come back to Tennessee."
"Pompey, hold me on your shoulder,
As they pass my cabin door.
Here's the paper signed that frees you:
Then the trembling voice grew fainter,
When the flag went down the river,
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