Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 17, Number 36, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 26 February 1887 — Page 2

SCIENCE-i^Uf:

EFFECT vt3(

CHAPTER I.

The teacher closed the book. "My child," said he, "the world never knows its saints

and martyrs till 300 years after they are ^fter

dead. There are heroes always. Heroic men and women livo and walk tho earth to-day and their fellow men know it not A century later and mankind will read of them aud wonder at tho blindness of those who knew not their own bost and bravest. But we don't bum martyrs at the stake any more, Shirley. Wo torture their souls and let their bodies die a natural death." "I don't quite understand," said tho girl. "You don't understand? You never will, I hope. Marshal your army of Carstones nnd go home, General Shirley. The picnic is over." .v

The teacher turned into the path toward the village. "Good-by, Mr. Morrison," said the girl, 'oofeing after hiin. "Good-by, General Shirley."

GKNBRAL SHIRLEY.

Utfe sun was setting. Up on toe hillside the windows of the old stone house shone glorified. rf

There were six of the Carstone children under tho big willow by the mill race that afternoon. Names and ages respectively:

uveruuuii. iinuiw auu

I Shirley, 14 Tom, 0 Percy, 7 7' Ret, 3, and Baby, the ruler of

•Hf"

Brownie, 5 them all, not

juite 0 months. The old Rtono house stood ujton a hillside, is there still, for that matter. It was near a century old when our Carstones lived there. A great, cool, double porch extended across its front. Tbe littlo windows were like the oopholcs of a fort. The walls were a foot •thick. There wore deep, sunny windbw seats, where generations of kittens and Carstone babies alike curled up and went sleep.

The house bail belonged to the family almost from the pioneer days. The grim, fort llko walls had echoed many and mauy a year to tho sweetest music of all «the earth—the laughter of children. ShirJ^P Carstono's grandmother was born there, and her father. 'I'Lio family history, as far back as could bo known, had been an especially bright and sunny one. 8o much of innocent mirth had sounded through those wide old rooms so many years of gentle, tender, happy home life lmd passed there, that the very walls themselves seemed to havo caught at length some of the joy and light It was a fine, strong blooded race, with never a hereditary ailment of mind or IKXIV, never an inherited flaw of meanness or weakness. No Carstone had over shown himself a coward or been faithless to a friend. There was a knightliness, a gentleness, a courage and purity in the blood. It ran through tbe men and women alike.

Great orchards and fields surrounded the stone bouse. At the foot of the hill a wide, deep brook ran, heavily fringed with beeches and shiny Imrkod sycamore. A stone's throw from the house was a big water mill. It belonged with the estate, and it, too, was two generations old. Higher up, the brook had been partly .turned off into a deep, clear mill race. Tho water glided down and turned the huge mill wheel as softly as if it was afraid of disturbing somebody's afternoon nap.

Ah, those days wore before tho age of iron and steam! It was hereabout that successive families of Carstoue* had played. The hillsides were covered still with forest Shirley and the little ones played in their day as the others did before them. They darted in and out among the ti-ees like squirrels. They played bopecp like spots of sunshine and shadow over the mill wheel. They rod® the colts bareback and ran races with the calves and the shaggy house dog. They whistled to the bob whites and catbirds till tin? feathered creatures knew not which was their own mate and which a Utile rogue of a Carstone.

In the spring they dug tbe turkey pea, the bloodroot and the fragrant smalling sassafras. In the fall they gathered the paw paw and the hickory nut In tho winter they set traps for rabbits ami built snow forts or sat by the wide fire-place, where the biasing hickory log* crackled, and guessed riddles. When tbey parted for the night they sang the songs their mother taught them.

Not a tree in the forest but they knew from Its leaf not a flower or a shrub but they named by its name not a bird or a wild the woods hut they knew its baun Ihd its habit* bad a menagerie of pets, these woodkirai. There was Sherry, the tame

Sherry bad whipped the poultry yard, vegry polk* raa and hid at tbe sight of ^im. He chased tin beos from their nests

Ni devoured the egjs At odd spells he made itch off the buttons of old Sam's coat Be 4 alight upon tbe hare bead of that ra*]e colored gentleman at wholly wontmm and tangto his toes in tbe dfcni-

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r)\liaiNAL COPYRIGHTED STORY.

HIGH

Peculiar Feat candescent thj

THE STOKK HOUSE.

The teacher i-eod: Forgetting herself, as was her wont, when she saw the flames come near him, she took leave of him and bode him go farther off, only asking that he would lift up the cross on high that she might see. lie went a little farther off, but still near enough to bear her say to the lost, in the Are, that her voices were of God. As the flames rose about her and drew her breath away, she told him in her soft, clear tones that she still heard her voiccs in the air. And they said to her:

Daughter of God, go on! Be not dismayed at thy martyrdom. Thou shalt enter at last into the paradise of God.

Then her head sank and her spirit went to Him. "Are the heroes and saints all dead asked Shirley. "Has thero ever lieen a saint since Joan of Arc was burned at the staker

Capstone.

By ELIZA ARCHARD.

[Copyrighted by the American Press Association.]

fled gray wooL Then 8am howled with wrath. Then, too, every curly headed Carstone dodged around the house, choking with laughter, -while the old man made complaint to their father. «Fo' de Lawd, if dat ar crow don't stop his foolishness dar'll be a dead bird roun' dis plantation, sho'. An' dem chillen a laffin' fit to kill."

There was Felix, the educated pig, who

was quite a gentleman. There was Billy, a youthful black sheep of the male sex. He was erstwhile as rrvreet and innocent a lambkin as over oponcd his eyes on a sinful world. But with the lapse of time Billy had grown bold and bad. After that BiUy wasn't a pet any more.

But there were plenty left to keep the circus going. Thero were so many indeed that the young ones could hardly find names for them,

the new

schoolmaster came he helped

them out. He taught Shirley Latin, and told wonderful tales of Greeks and Romans. The children gave the birds and beasts they tamed the names of these brave old heathen. A frisky young squirrel they named Dido. They were at a loss at first what to call the pair of colts that came and ate apples from their hands. But Mr. Morrison told them stories from the Odyssey, the Iliad and the -32neid till they took sides and fought the siege of Troy over again. They named the blooded colts Ulysses and Penelope.

Thero was a drab mouse that would scamper up Percy's 3leeve and hide, and eat cheese and toast off a plate at the table. The schoolmaster said it looked like their sister Brownie when sho peeped out from under her sun bonnet. They called the mouse Brownie. Snow, the pullet would "'possum" and pretend to go to sleep on Brownie's bed, to the ineffable delight of tho youngest among the merry crew.

The chronicler of the fortunes of the Carstones may well be pardoned for lingering over such idle nonsense. They themselves looked back to those days in after years as to a paradise. Heaven was in very truth about them in their infancy. Trouble enough came in later times to one and another. But in the saddest days there was still a remembrance of the old stone house. They were reared in the gentlest, kindliest way. Theirs was the ideal childhood. Despair, disease, sin even, might crush them in deadly fold later—naught could rob them of the power to look back and say:

But I was happy once! "4 ,, Fortunate such children!

CHAPTER n. SHIRLKY.

They wore wholesome pretty children, the five whom "General Shirley" marshaled for the home camp at sunset. Tom was a sturdy, broad shouldered lad—a frank, honest fellow. They called him the governor.

Percy was a little blue eyed lad, who took a childish interest in all living creatures. He studed the ways of birds and butterflies. He prisoned shining winged beetles and watched their offorts to cscape. He peered into snake holes, and* jggirabbft burrows. HismotherSfife birn her little Paul Prj

Then came Brownie, a dancing sunbeam oi a creature, who seemed good for nothing but getting into mischief. She was tho most thoughtless child of the six, and the most unlucky. A tangle of dark curls covered her head, and ever and anon tumbled down over her wide brown eyes. She was continually in trouble, always drawing on the rest for help and sympathy. "Whatover will become of Browflrer said their mother. "Whatever will become of tbe whole pack?" said their father. "You can't teach Ihcm all any longer. They ought to be in school this day, every little pest of them. But where to send them I don't know. We can't let them away from home, can we?"

Their mother shook her head. It would have been liko sending part of herself away. "I know what to do with 'ernl" cried little Percy. "Send 'em to the new school teacher. He plays the

4Star

nature

Spangled Banner' on the

violin, and has a glass case full of butterflies and humming birds." "And the boys say bo goes fishing with them, and shows them how to bait a hook better than old Pete himself can do it He's a good teacher," chimed in Tom. "And he shows tho girls how to make pictures, mid he picks the children up when they get knocked over in tho mud," lisped Brownie. "They say ho was educated over the sea, and that he knows Latin and Greek. Yes, and he can write poetry, too. They never had a teacher here befoit who could write poetry."

It was a softer voice that spoke this time— a voice that had a sweet, thrilling ring. It was Shirley who spoke.

Shirley was the flower and the star of them

Older by several years than any of the others, she exercised remarkable influence over them. Indeed, among the children they knew, she was the head and the leader. Not that she seemed old and overgrave for lier years. No sweeter, sunnier child alive than she. Her merrv, rippling laughter was like the music of a bird song. Her hair was light brown. She wore it in the fashion of tho time, in long, heavy braids. She was tall and strong for her years, with straight, black eyebrows, and large beautiful eyes, black at night and clear bright gray in the daytime. Wonderful eyes they were, reflecting, as face answers to face in the glass, tbe many sided

of the soul within. Now they flashed with scorn and anger, like Are from a flint again they wero tender and pearly as the dewdrop in the heart of a lily. Sometimes an intensely seeing, rapt look lay in them, as though all the things that are had been somehow burned away hi the white Are of thought, and this child looked far beyond and saw centuries into the future, and the things that are to be. They were strangely magnetic too. She drew whom she cbose toward her by a look. •When Shirley looks at you, you must come," said Brownie.

She was a very child in some respects, innocent and trusting, believing everything that was tokl her, as if sbehad been 5 yean old. As a scholar she was the pride of her parents and tbe prodigy of the neighborhood. All studfce came alike to her she was easily master in them aH In practical matters it was tbe sen*. Whatever work needed to be done, soch as little country maidens were wont to perform, her quick, strong hands could accomplish more rapidly than another. Her light, patient feet were always ready to run merrily at her mother* call. Shirley soothed the babies and mended their tittle garment^ Shirley weeded tbe garden and gathered in the vegetables, and she ang about her work Uka a redbtrd. She could swim, row a boat and ride a wild oott, and among all tlwehil-

TBRRB HAUTE SATURDAY EVEJSTLNG MAIL.

dren was none so fleet of foot as ahe,thJs strung, bright, happy girl ••Our Shirley's as good as a boy. saidTom. "She can do everything. There never was a girl like her."

A girl who was as good as a boy tor a "paid" yet could make even boys stand hn^ir when die felt like it—here was a superior being, indeed.

How tbey loved her, fattier and mother, brothers and sisters. She idolized them too, she reveled in her affections. If whatever she undertook she could accomplish better than other children, so her child friends felt, somehow, that Shirley could love them more then other people could. Her parents knew that Shirley would have gone through fire for them. Hers was a nature of flame and steel and crystal, and yet on one side of it of pearly tenderness and gentleness, too.

An uncommon destiny was predicted for tbe child. Her remarkable beauty attracted attention from all. To the fine, high bred features, brilliant eyes and straight, black eyebrows, was added a complexion rose tinted and radiant With every passing emotion the exquisite

color

came and went in her cheek

like the changing light on the burning breast of a dove. The oppression of her face was varied as the tints of the many hued sea. But tho countenance told always of a soul full of truth and strength, sunny sweetness and singleness of purpose.

All this in a child of 14? Yes, Shirley was not turned out of the common mold. She was as school girls might be, not as they are. Even stolid, average humanity recognized the power and the promise there was in her. Col. Carstono was a man of wealth. His children could have whatever he and the mother thought was good for them. What promise of lifo could be more rare and radiant than Shirley's?

Only her father saw something that troubled him. "But I'm afraid for Shirley. 8be is so easily deceived," he said. "People bear their fate within their own breasts. The child would lie down and make abridge of herself for those she loved to walk over. She carries predestination of martyrdom within her, somehow." "Tom, dear, you always did talk a little nonsense, you know," said his wife. "Shirley's the merriest child I ever saw." "'Fore de Lord," said old Sam, "she's got more sense nor anybody I over seed, for a gal."

Shirley looked at her father instantly. "Papa," she asked, "hasn't a girl as much sense as a boy?"

Papa smiled, and did not answer, at first Then he said: '\f "Find out for yourself, Shirley."

The question took hold of her. It haunted her thought She had perceptions underneath the common perceptions. Where other children saw only the substance she unknowingly looked deeper, and saw tho spirit.

She read everything she could lay hands on. Her imagination took fire as she read of warriors, heroes and martyrs. Tho lesson of their mighty deeds sank into tho deep child heart, and blossomed in the clear child soul. Her world of fancy was peopled with loaders and princes like Moses, with Csesars and splendid crusaders like Richard the Lion Heart Bernard Palissy, defying hunger and want, opposing those whom he held dearest, tearing the very walls from his cabin, sacrificing all to achieve one splendid result— Bernard Palissy was to her tho deification of human will Through the years of approaching womanhood she walked as in a dream—

Nourishing a youth sublime

With the fairy tales aitscience and the long results of Time. l» Most, though, her heart went dut to the few women heroes and teachers whose names she met on the page of the world's history— Hypatia, Elizabeth, Zenobia. Her soul was on fire as her eyes bent over the page that told her about Joan of Arc, the inspired m%jj|f of Domremy. She, the woman soldier with the iron h'elmet resting npon her golden hair, with her shining ardor ami white war, horse, 'was tbe hijffest IjJrtjgreatest figure ot all to tho child Shirley.*

Later she read Homer, Milton and Shakespeare, and their stately music rang a rhythm to the beating of her heart. Still, too, and ever through the yeare of girlhood would come the old question she asked her father that day:

Has a girl as much sense as a boy? Why was there no woman Homer, no woman Shakespeare or Milton? Then Homer, and Joan of Arc, and Shakespeare, and Richard the Lion Heart mingled together in her dreams, till out of all there stood before her at last a vision of a woman poet who should be. She should be as great as the greatest, a majestic woman, poet, hero and teacher in one. But not a martyr. There were no martyrs in these days. Tho world hacLgrown too wise and kindly for that

So she reasoned. At last sho awakened once in the summer night suddenly. She saw the stars shining in at the window and heard the wind sighing through the willows down by the mill race. She whispered to herself and said: "I will be the woman poet. I, myself."

Then the new schoolmaster came.

CHAPTER III.

"-THK TEACHER.

The lively young man who had taught the Lin wood school three winters had accumulated savings enough from this honest industry to begin the study of law. Accordingly, the school was left without a teacher. One day a stranger brought a letter to the Presbyterian minister, applying for tbe vacant place. After some delay it was given him. He was of slender, though athletic build, with dark hair and dark gray eyes. His face was a fine, strong one, full of will and intelligence but it was not a peaceful face nor a face at rest

In the center of the shabby village was the grocer?—common club room for tbe male gossips of tho neighborhood. Travelers knew it was the grocery by token that it bad a box of blacking and two clothes pins in the window. The stranger teacher had a little room over this shop. He was quite solitary at first Of evenings he staid alone in this room and played a violin, sometimes far into tbe night Of afternoons, after school, he took long walks over the country roods and paths. Rain or shine, it was his habit, Indeed, he rather seemed to enjoy a walk in tbe rain, against the wind, with the storm beating in his face. He appeared more calm and happy after a five mile tramp in rough weather. At such times tbe people in the boose heard him often singing to himself, in a singularly deep, sweet voice, songs in an unknown tongue. Tbe impression of the stranger's dread and mysterious learning bad so deepened in a few months, that the simple country people declared be sang in Hebrew. But a farmer from over as* told them the words wero German. It was tho folk song of Germany the new teacher sang. Thereupon the grocer, with tbe air of one announcing a great truth, said: "Hat a Dutchman?*

Once, after a fierce walk, George Morrison, quite exhanstwl, threw himwlf full length npon the carpet in hfe Uttie room, with a pillow under his head. He thought at first to doae, but ti6 stovepipe bole in tbe floor was a

telelephone, bringing unerringly to his sensitive ear every Word spoken in the rustic shop below. He knew just how the male gossips were grouped. There was the 'Squire, who eat on a barrel head. There were the shoemaker and the postmaster. There was the lazv grocer himself, who sat npon an upturned empty soap box most of the time ami let his wiry little wife wait upon the customers.

At length Jim Sweet said "That there new schoolmaster ain't much account,

I reckon. He's too darned gram

matical." "I beerd liim whip out the Presbyterian preacher in argument t'other day," said the postmaster.

Now Simpkins, the grocer, struck in. He had listened to all the rest first He had a solemn way of stating a stupid old fact as if it had been a great new truth. He was, therefore, esteemed a man of very profound judgment by everybody but his own wife. She saw through her husband's humbug, as wives, alasl too often do. Simpkins said, solemnly: "It's my opinion a man that can outargify the Presbyterian minister ain't a safe person to bo trusta? with the edication of our little

onea It's my opinion, further, that tho schoolmaster's got somethin' on his mind. Them close be wears ain't Linwood cut It's my opinion he's come from somewhere, and come down in tho world. It's my opinion" "Your opinion, Sim Simpkins!" exclaimed his wiry little partner, contemptuously. "If the schoolmaster's got something on his mind, it'd bettor be that than not to have any mind at alL They say he's come down in the world, do they? What of it? I've beerd say it was better to be dead lion than alive jackass. Ain't the Carstono children going to school to him, every one of 'em? A man's good enough to teach my children, if he's good enough to teach them. They're a manneredly family, from the oldest to the youngest, that they are!"

But the new master won the hearts of the children right speedily. There were an exquisite patience and kindliness in his ways toward them, as though something had schooled him through years to think of others rather than himself, and those others weak and childish. Ho had said he was 24 years old, but he looked years older. It was easy to see he had been born in a different sphere from the people he had come among. Even Jim Sweet recognized the fine, high bred ways that separated him from Linwood folk.

But it was true that he bad something on his mind. He was unhappy and wretchedly discontented. He had sought Linwood to be out of the world, and, haying his wish, he found, as many do, that his wish was just what he did not want The coarseness, the stolid self conceit, the prying curiosity, the illiteracy of the Linwood people chafed his soul till he was like a tiger behind bars, Oh, what would bring forgetfulness?

He had been in his new employ only two months, yet ho had grown weary and rockless. In a week more he would resign hi? place, be said to himself.» In this mood hi went to his task one morning. Entering the school house his eye rested on a group o.' handsome, tastefully dressed children. Next moment he saw that one, a girl, was oldci and taller than tho rest, and his wandering eye was instantly arrested by hor reinarknblr beauty. Tho group were new pupils.' Thej were the Carstone children, Shirley amonj. them. She lifted her eyes, and a flash of recognition passed between the two souls, thr child and the master?

It was a day of beginning in the lives of (tli. story/ has been very quiet thus far. enou^n come lateh From that day there was more of peace in the life of George Morrison. This girl pupil understood his plans with an instant, sweet recognition that surprised him. Gradually a better, more refining influence spread over tbe rude school. "Papa," said Shirley, "this newtftcher has opened anew world for us. Ask him to come te our house."

TODER THE WILLOWS.

So it came about that the lonely schoolmaster became intimate in the Carstone mansion. The minds of the bright, pretty children unfolded like a flower under his sunlike teaching. Two happy years they were under his instructions. Yet at first he almost broke Shirley's heart by his criticism. The thought of one great poem she was to write had by this time taken possession of her. The master read tbe clear soul as if it had been the depths of a crystal lake. "Others have written the epic of battles, Shirley," he said "let your poem be the epic of peace and progress in history."

When she was 15 she wrote some timid verses for his inspection. He gave them back all marked and erased. He had taken away her finest words, her most sounding passages. Shirley was intensely angry. She flung herself on her father's breast in a passion. "He crosses out the best of everything I write," sho said. "It's no us® my trying. I won't go to school any more."

That evening the master came as usual to the stone boose. But the brightest, sweetest face of all was not there as usual to greet him. ••Where's Shirley!" asked ho. «You have broken her heart," said the colonel. "You cut her poem all to pieces."

A look of keen annoyapoe, of pain, crossed the fine dark face. "But I could not help it," he said. "She too many words. Send lier to me, will you notf

The colonel brought her, leading her by the band, her face averted. "Here she is, Mr. Morrison," said be. Take her life, hot spare her adjectives!"

Se laughed and passed down the steps out of sight Shirley and the master were left alone. Shirley, strong, fearless girl though 4be was, trembled from head to foot. Sbe bad never been afraid of anything, hot here was- a new timidity stealing up from ber heart and slopping ber throat so die could not speak. As for him it may be that be trembled too. Be opened bis lips to speak. "Shirley,* be said. But the words died. strange gleam pased over hisfaoe. His lips qtrffered momentarily, bat he suppressed some kind of emotion, and said: 'You are my best pupil, Shirley the one I take most pride in. You are angry at your teacher. What hare I done? Have I

not always been kind and gentle to your Shirley found a voice, somehow, though it was a voice with a quaver in it "Yes, you have, Mr. Morrison. But I will never write anything again. Other girls write poetry for the school exercises. They take it out of books, and change it over so nobody will know it They hand it to you, and you say it is nice. I write my verses out of my own head. They are my own. And you mark them all over. I have torn the paper up. I will never write any more. Never I" "Just because it was your own and I saw rare promise in it, therefore I took pains to show you its faults. You use too much ornamentation. You imitate, without knowing it, other poets you have read. You must learn to be yourself. Come here, Shirley."

Sho obeyed, with downcast face. "My dear pupil, I would rather go away from Linwood altogether than to hurt you or offend you. But I am your teacher. Don't you think, child, I know better than you?" "Oh, yes, Mr. Morrison, I know that You have taught me about more things than I ever knew in the world. I owe everything to you."

And you will trust me for the future, will you not?" he said. He put one strong hand softly against each

pink cheek and lifted her face. He look«a down at her with his black-gray eyos, eyes so like her own, and said: "Dear girl, you do not know how much you have been to me. I bated mankind when I came here. There was not a living creature I cared for, or who cared for me. You and your father showed me there was still truth and honest feeling in tho world, bless your sweet, sunny soul! When I go away, whatever trouble is still to come, I shall know I have had some true friends, some hours that were happy. You are tho best, truest, brightest creature I ever met Would I wound your tender soul by so much as a word, do you think? You are the only one—Shirley, you aro capable of great things. If I can judge of anything, the time will come when all tho world will praise you. You will writo your poem, and do your work—a work such as no woman ever did before. I know that Yon will show all men the sweet, deep, marvelous strength that lies in a woman's brain. I believo in that, and I believe in you. Your vorscs will not lo fceblo nnd muddy and narrow—the kind most women writo. Yours will be tho grand, ringing lines of humanity and free womanhood. Because I know this, let me givo you such hints as I may, child. Will you do tljii and forgive me?"

Her lip3 quivered, but she was always ready to confess an error—the frank, true child. She said: "You are very, verj' good, Mr. Morrison and I was wrong and foolish. I will do my best and nevor give you trouble again. Forgivo me, dear master." "I will bring you a woman's poem and read it to you to-morrow, Shirley," be said. "Gather your little Carstones, and we shall have a picnic in tho afternoon down under the willows by tho mill race. I will read you Aurora Leigh. Good night, child."

He laid his hand caressingly upon her head, and slid it down softly over one of the fair braids. Did he press the long, fair braid to his lips as ho turned to go? Well, who knows? Shirley did not know.

It was their last quarrel.

From that day a now and tenderer tio seemed to draw them together. The picnios, as the children cj^led tliem^asted all throu^ the bright summer days. In the winter then weire picnics-i indoors. The teacher had seemedsouredrand reserved wheftJbocame to Linwood. He had a bitter, saraBMc tohgue when disturbed, which had drawn o%bim i% will at first But that had dmngpd. Ho had become gentle and genial, fie established a literary society among the rustics, tho first one over in tho village. It turning the thoughts of tho younger people in abetter and higher direction.

Ho and Shirley read and studied history, poetry and science. He taught her Greek and Latin, prose ar.d poetry. The girl, like himself, had the rare faculty of grasping a thought hi a glance. A few words upon its page would tell its whole story to her cl^r, alert brain. They wero days of perfect happiness and peace. But tbe girl's thoughts came back always to Joan of Arc, tho Maid of Domremy, the saint and martyr, with tho iron helmet pressing upon her golden hair. It was like the motive in a work of music. She wrote little poems still, but now tho master criticised them no more. Some had been printed. They had been copied and recopied, and went floating through the newspapers like beautiful waifs. Shirley was beginning to bo known already as a poet of no common order. "Shirley, you must write the best poem of your lifo for us next month," said tho president of tho literary society. "It is our last meeting of tho year you aro appointed for the poem for the public entertainment. Our literary society has such a name now that we must do something uncommon." "Yes," said tho executive committeeman, "spectators will come in from half the county. Linwood must keep up her reputation. Linwood forever!"

The evening came, and Shirley read her poem. Sbe surpassed all former efforts. Beside hor, as she read, was a vase of white rosebuds, rare and costly, of a kind unknown in Linwood. It was tho master's gift to his best pupil.

Mrs. Simpkins, her fast friend, told the story of her triumph to every stranger that came to the village.

Twas a night Linwood'll never forget, I reckon. The master, he'd trained Shirley,

and

practiced her on her readin' till it was that nateral you couldn't ha' told she wasn't talkin'it off out of her own bead. She was the beautifulest creetur' you ever laid eyes on. She looked for all the world like an angel, there dressed in snow white lusion. And her speech! Land's sake! It sounded like the organ playin' 'Gather at the River,' when Sunday school lets out It was just font, beautiful. When sbe got done, and made her bow, there was a minit of dead husb, like before the benediction in church. Then tbe people all fell to as they couldnt help themselves, and such a clappln' and cbeerin'was never beerd in Linwood before mb* since. 'Peared as though tbey would

Vn the girl and carry her off on their then and there. Shirley, sbe just blushed and looked that pretty till you felt you'd like to bite ber. She turned ber eyes this way and that, as if she'd like to hide, till her eyes lit on tbe master. He was fcitl Lag on the stage, with the Presbyterian minister and the doctor. He hadn't cheered ber at *11, bnt looked sober and set right still. But when Shirley looked at Mm, with the crowd a clappin' and a clappin', he jest reached across and shook ber hand, quiet and gentlemanlike. He was a little pale and serious, like he bad a pain or something. You could tee bow pleased he was, though, with his eyes athinin'. Bat be never said a word. «Wben the noise died away a little tbe Presbyterian minister be got up and waveif his hand far ten to be stilL Then be says: "'Ladks and gentlemen—I am requested by the linwood Literary society to close the oerdaesof theevecin'by a little ceremony not down in the regyler programme, A little sorprto has been prepared for the poet of the evatin', a youv la4y whom we all honor.

0 .:

-V I S^*'. W* *S*^, ,4^

On behalf of the Linwood Literary society, as a token of their high appreciation, I am requested to present this wreath of silver laurel leaves to Miss Shirley Carstone. Fame may -wreathe her brow with evergreens in after years, but she will never forget the inscription hero, 'Linwood crowns her poet'n "It said just that: 'Linwood crowns her poet' "Then you ought to have heerd the noise I It was wuss'u a revival meetin'."

But there was something good Mrs. Simpkins did not tell. She did not tell it because she did not know it Women generally keep a secret under similar circumstances.

When Shirley, half in a dream, looked at ber crown and her flowers that night at home, she found a little card among the white buds. The card said: "The master learns from his pupil."

[TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WKKK.]

Great

Battle

Is continually going on in thehuman system. The demon of impure blood strives to gain victory over the constitution, to ruin health, to drag victims to the grave. A good reliable medicine like Hood's Saraaparilla is the weapon with which to defend one's self, drive the desperate enemy from the field, and restore peace and bodily health for many years. Try this peculiar medicine. fpc?

Boston Courier: In old times parents brought children up, but now children bring parents down.

What makes the breath so fragrant, pure? What makes the rosy gums endure? What makes the teeth so pearly white? What makes the mouth a dear delight? Tls SOZODoNT, that precious boon Which none can use too late, too soon.

It Is Never Too Late

to cleanse the teeth, and render the breath odoriferous with Fragrant SOZO- I' DONT, but it is best to use this Vegetable Elixir before the teeth begin to fail, and the breath to lose its freshness. "Spalding's," celebrated Glue, usoful

andtruo-

qualities. The returns a meft strength, effecting cures hltfe Send for book containing addltic

"Hood's Saraaparilla tones up purifies my blood, sharpens my a seems to make me over." Jar.' .Register of Deeds, Lowell, Mass^

V'^(

All Medical Authorities

Agree that catarrh is no more nor less than an inflammation of the lining membrane of the nasal air passages.

Nasal catarrh and all catarrhal afToction of tbe head are not diseases of the blood, and it is a serious mistake to treat them as such. No conscientious physician ever attempts to do so.

It is held by eminent medical men that sooner or later a specific will bo found for every disease from which humanity suffers. The facts justify us in assuming that for catarrh at least a positive oare alroadv exi ts in Ely's Cream Balm.

Ttch and scratches ot every kind cured in 30 minutes by Wool ford's Sanitary Lotion. Use no other. This never fails. Sold by W. C. Buntin, Druggist, Terre Haute, Ind. tf.

Hood Sarsaparfl/a

Combines, in a manner peculiar to Itself, the best blood-purifying and strengthening remedies of the vegetable kingdom. You will find this wonderful remedy effective where oj medicines hav^falled. Try it, noj purify your blood, regulate^ 'and priyenew lifo aud vis

I too OOfl' cured.'

%$fs*

HALL'S

3' M,

$100

F. J. CHENEY A CO., ylM i'rop'rs, iolcdo, Ohio. -^7. Pold by Druggists, 75 cents.

CATARRH CU£E

FOR TORPID LIVER.

A torpM lifer ieraagM thewholeaya-

Sick Headache, Dyspepsia, Costiveness, Rheumatism, Sallow Skin and Piles.

Tktre la tottar raaeiy for tkaaa cmmsm Osaaaaa tfeM Tali's Lifer nils,m»m trial winpreve. Price,Me*

Sold Everywhere*

I CURE FITS I

Wfcaa *r ear* (t

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iriorlty of Corallne over horn rwhalebone has now been demoted by over six years erper*t is more durable, mora agents ^flpmfortable, and NEVER jft aijjaxia^ flUr

Corsets

HOMl'SOK,

"Hood's Sareaparllla beats alBothers, and Is worth its weight in gold." I. BlBBniqaoir, "-iV too Bank Street, New xork City.

Hood's Sarsaparlllaf

Sold by all druggists. $1 six for 95. Madefy, only by 0. HOOD & CO., Lowell, Mass. I

IOO Doses One Dollar*

$ioo

REWARD

Vj„,

The readers of tho Haturday Even in# Mall will bo pleased to 'fA learn that there Is at least one dreaded disease that science has been able to cure In all Its stages, ,. and that is Catarrh. Hall's Catarrh

•3FZ

Cure Is the only positive cure now known in the medical fraternity. Catarrh being a constitution:*! disease requires a constitutional treatment Hall's Catarrh Cure Is taken Internally, acting directly upon the blood and mucus surfaces of the system, thereby destroying the foundation of the disease and glv- i»» ing the patient strength, by buildIng up the constitution and assist- mr Ing nature In doing H* work. The Proprietors have so mn rh faith In Its curative powers tha they offer ssk one hundred dollar*, lor any case It fulls to cure, ^"iid for list of testimonials. Address,

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Wjm, 1 ten* aiN Bn 4kmm af ITS, MrIlarsr «r

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$ MMif, 01 a#4 Ar a MaL aat I wn ear* f. ntwik a. a.

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