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LOUIS N. CRILL.

BORN: SPRAGUEVILLE, IOWA, JUNE 3, 1867. LOUIS engaged in the mercantile business in 1882, and is the proprietor of a general merchandise store in Richland, Dakota, where he now resides with his wife, whom he married in 1888. He has but recently commenced to court the muse, yet his writings have in a

LOUIS N. CRILL.

comparatively short time appeared extensively in many prominent publications, including the New York Truth Seeker, Sturdy Oak, and the American Nonconformist. In person Mr. Crill is five feet ten inches in height, weighs 175 pounds, and has dark hair and eyes. A volume of his poems will soon be published.

MOTHER'S ADVICE.

When you grow up, my darling boy,
To manhood, good and true,
You'll find your sister don't enjoy
The rights by justice due;
You'll find it true that custom gives,
To man the higher place;
That woman only strives, and lives
To perish in the race.
When you grow up, my darling boy,
Admit the truth so plain,
That woman's rights are to employ
The products of her brain;
To feast in banquet halls of fame,
Beside her brother, man;

To show the world in deed and name
That woman's in the van.
When you grow up, my darling boy,
Stand firm for truth and right;
Disdain the fact that mother's joy
Is tinged with one sad blight.
Endeavor with your strength sincere
To abrogate the laws

That make a woman's life appear

A slave to any cause.

When you grow up, my darling boy.

In justice always scorn,

And ev'ry wrong try to destroy,

Until a good is born.

Remember that in future needs

Posterity may call

Upon the men whose earnest deeds

Gave equal rights to all.

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BORDER ECHOES.

Ripples of laughter will echo, in a valley of anguish and pain;

Carols of birds rent the air, when with sorrow the sky is aflame.

Nations are boasting in luxury, while its sovereigns are living in need; Liberty sits on its pedal, while the millions in serfdom do bleed.

Musical strains are vibrating, while the notes of distress reek the air;

Sunshine is sending its blessing, and the shadows of trouble are there.

Great are the names of the wealthy, but humble the tiller of soil;

Pinioned are angels of fortune, but wingless the daughters of toil.

Gilded the rainbow of hope, that bows o'er a life of despair;

Sweet are the songs of the birds that warble

in seasons of care.

Gay are the symbols of fashion, in a city of mis'ry and pain;

Grand the cathedrals of state, while the poor live in hovels of shame.

Rosy the tint of the sunset, that is domed in the sky of the west;

Drifted away by the breezes are the clouds of dismay and distress.

Noble the man of the present, that is free from illusion and guile; Soothing the proffer of kindness, in an hour of misfortune and trial. Robed in the mantle of glory, is the goddess of justice and right; Chased by the light of the morning, is the darkness and gloom of the night. Onward humanity struggles, through the mist and the storm do they glide; Tossed on the waves of the ocean, and then drifted ashore by the tide.

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LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA.

WE HAVE A LITTLE BABY.

We have a little baby

To cheer our hearth and home, To fill our hearts with gladness, And cause us not to roam. Its eyes do glitter fondly

In sweet affection shine; We see the image plainly

Of beauty most divine. They hold a hidden magic In every look and stare, Compelling pure devotion, Unceasing love and care.

We have a little baby

Our leisure to employ; It drives away all sorrow

And fills our lives with joy. The clouds have southly drifted, The sky is bright and clear, Then comes the tiny tendril

To draw our hearts so near;
And like the gentle zephyr

That woos the morning sun,
It brings to us the emblem
Of heaven here begun.

We have a little baby

So sweet, so pure, so fair,

To bear our name and fortune,
To drive away dull care.

It is a little fairy,

Bedewed with winsome smiles, And 'neath its little dimples We see its gleeful wiles. Just like the morning roses, Just like the morning dove, It is a little blessing

To link our lives in love.

A DREAM OF CHILDHOOD. Oh fast the years are fleeting My youthful days are gone, A childish heart's fond beating Is past the gray of dawn. Bring back those years of pleasure So free from toil and care; Those years that gave full measure To every joy full share; Bring back the golden beaming Of childhood's hopes and fears, Bring back the silver gleaming Of early gleeful years.

Resound those notes of laughter That echoed through the air, Bring back these long years after The joys that now are rare; Bring back the eager yearning For river dale and hill,

Where childish hope was burning

With joy its cup to fill.

Those springtide spells of beauty
That filled our hearts with joy,
Are changed to hours of duty

Our earnest thoughts employ.
The thrill of bush and wildwood
Where youthful fancy played;
The flowery paths of childhood
That led through dells of shade
Were changed to paths when lovers
In fondest passion dream,
Of secret joys that hovers
Where love doth reign supreme,
Recall the fondest token

By early childhood earned The spell of years is broken

The sweets of knowledge learned.

SUNSET.

I have gazed on the morning of life,
On the rose tinted flush of the scene,
When the faney of youth was still rife

And the beauty of springtide was green.
When the future was shining with splendor,'
Not a cloud in the dome of the sky:
And the pathway of youth was made tender
Though the driftwinds of sorrow were nigh.

I have gazed on the moontide of life,
On the midday of withering heat;
On the mingling of trouble and strife
And the feverish brow of defeat.

I have gazed on the heights of ambition
That ascend to the zenith of fame,

I have heard the pulsebeat of Life's mission
And I know that true Bliss is the aim.

I have gazed on the ev'ning of life,
On the sweetness of calm and repose;
On the surcease of sorrow and strife
And the grandeur that living bestows.
I have seen the gray shadows fast falling
'Round the tottering frame of old age,
And the echoes of night are fast calling-
Mother Nature has turned the last page.

I have gazed on the sunset at last,
On the vision of crimson and gold —
When the shade tints of ev'ning are past,
Then the beauties of Dawn will unfold.
I have gazed on the casket containing
The remains of a dear one who's gone,
And the symphonies sweet are refraining,
On the flight to the beauties beyond.

EXTRACT.

Charming the maiden that snatches a rose To pin on a lover's breast;

Grand is the passion the heart only knows When love is by love caressed.

LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA.

HUBBARD M. SMITH, M. D. BORN: WINCHESTER, KY., SEPT. 6, 1820. EARLY in life young Hubbard apprenticed himself to a saddler, and worked at that business until about twenty-one years of age. About this time he commenced the study of medicine, but did not practice until 1844. Two years later Mr. Smith married a friend of his youth; settling in Vincennes, Indiana, in 1849, where he has since resided. He has ever since been engaged in the practice of his profession, excepting about ten years in which he was engaged either in editing and publishing the Vincennes Gazette or acting as postmaster. Mr. Smith has filled many important posi

HUBBARD M. SMITH, M. D. tions- including U. S. Pension Surgeon for twelve years; and now fills the office of trustee to the Presbyterian church and the university. His poetical compositions have been published in the leading periodicals of America. Mr. Smith is a member of several medical societies, and has contributed prose to the medical press and associations. He became one of the charter members of the Western Writers' association of Indiana, and has read several poems before that body. His sons have become well known as men of ability-one as a United States Consul; another as a musical composer; a third son as a commercial traveler; and the fourth son is successfully practicing law in Dallas, Texas.

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Dr. Smith also has two daughters living at the old homestead. The Doctor is still actively engaged in the practice of medicine, being now the oldest of his confreres at Vincennes.

SONNETS-CUPID'S PLEA.

Are matches made in heaven? Ah! no, not all;

For circumstance, and art, and mammon

do

Much of the pairing of the world, they who Mark not the fact are deaf to Cupid's call, Yet, when, contrariwise, some people seek

The course of nature's plan to overthrow, Success may follow for awhile; but woe And sorrow afterward dire vengeance wreak. A monitor presides within the breast Of every mortal, as a living soul, Restless, and vigilant, and e'er in quest

Of some congenial spirit to console The aching heart, and give its longings rest, And nothing else its cravings will control. To farthest verge marked by the night and

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day,

Ere blighting sin the human race had

cursed,

The heavenly orbs their courses run, as first Through space they started in their trackless

way.

So, in accord with laws divinely made,

When left to freely choose, all creatures

mate,

And not by accident, which some call fate, And thus, through love, is Nature's voice

obeyed.

Are laws which seem to govern earth and

heaven,

Not made for man? Can he set them aside, When they for all creation's sum were given? Can he, through station, pomp or wealth,

or pride,

Or fame, atone for pure affection riven,
That on Love's altar once was deified?
The wedding bells with silver tongues may
ring

Their merry chimes, the ear to charm and

please,

And riches bring with them luxurious ease; But, ah, too oft they leave a poignant sting Where naught but joy seemed only due; for love

Cannot be bought with gold; respect, at

best,

Is all that mammon gains by rich behest Affection pure it cannot buy or move. Society, with artful charms may win

With dazzling rays, but all its glamor

soon

Wears off, as pleasures fade from gilded sin; And even Fame the heart cannot attune,

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Which he labors at, that gives him worth;

But heart and mind,
Which stand behind,

That give him greatness on the earth.

No specters grim

Appear to him,

At night to mar his sweet repose;

For in his mind

Sweet peace is shrined,

And on his cheeks health's hue e'er glows.

As thus he toils,

Life's sad turmoils

Are things to him as light as air;

For no thoughts rest

Within his breast,

But those which hope and love bring there.

MATTHEW H. PETERS.

BORN: RHENISH BAVARIA, JUNE 6, 1843. M. H. PETERS, the author of the following thoroughly American sentiment is by birth a German; was brought to this country when a babe and has grown up thoroughly imbued with the spirit of our institutions. He served

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MATTHEW H. PETERS. four years as a union soldier during the war of the rebellion, and was twice severely wounded, rising from the rank of a private to the rank of Major in his regiment - the 74th Ohio. He has served one term in the Illinois legislature, and was mayor of Watseka four years. In 1872 he started the Iroquois County Times.

THE GOLDEN RULE.

I ask not for myself a right
Which I to others would deny;
With all mankind I'd share the light
Nor would I rule by force of might,

But on the Golden Rule rely.

All men have their paternity

In common with their fellow men; Equality, fraternity,

Should rule the heart and guide the pen. And when this hallowed rule prevail Tyrants, crowns and kings shall fail, And man and woman equal born Shall stand erect that glorious morn And recognize the right of each To liberty of thought and speech.

LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA.

JUAN F.CAHILL.

THE life and labors of Mr. Cahill have been directed unswervingly to the development of more extensive commercial relation between the United States and all the other countries of the American continent. His

JUAN F. CAHILL. writings are better known throughout SpanAmerica than at home, particularly through his editorials which have appeared in El Commercio del Valle, published at St. Louis, Mo., and of which he has been editor and proprietor for the past fifteen years. Mr. Cahill has written extensively for the periodical press, and the poem, Mexico's National Anthem, of which he is the author, has already become very popular indeed.

TO THE WORLD'S ADVANCE THINKERS AND WORKERS.

Congenial spirits born in every clime! Fettered by no creed,unhallowed by no crime! You of magnetic power,- Kings of earth! Endowed with prescience 'mid surrounding

gloom,

You roll the stone from mind's obstructed

tomb:

Beget new thoughts and better systems plan; Iconoclastic Sampsons, leading brother man! Evolved from spheres and ages hoar with

rime,

Your footfalls lead Progression's march and

prime:

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Your psychic light, concealed in human form,
Pierces the clouds and calms the angry storm.
Nor age nor sex your mighty powers confine;
For light supernal through your spirits shine.
The controversial power, that peace withholds,
Grows less and weaker as your light unfolds.
Your strifes of mind, to realize God's plan
Of peace on earth and brotherhood for man,
Will soon the crown of brilliant victory wear
And full fruition to the nations bear.
This Great Republic's mission you will fill;
And, by your force of soul and wealth of skill,
Unite the waters on which commerce flows
From lake Itasca to the Barbadoes.

From northern Yellowstone to the Uruguay

Your Ocean-River craft will freely ply,
Upon the shallow waters come and go
And trend the Gulf of neighboring Mexico;
The Mississippi's mighty banks explore,
And cleave the waters of Colombia's shore;
And from each country bring the precious

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freight

From far Alaska to Magellan's Strait;
And homeward bear, across the ocean's breast,
Rich tropic treasures to our Potent West;
When thus exchanged the products of each

rone,

The North and South will bless this Eulophone

TO THE PAN-AMERICAN CONFERENCE.

A union of hearts and a union of hands,
A union no Kingcraft can sever

Is the union of sovereign Republican lands-
May it prosper, 'mid blessings forever!

Let war and its horrors forevermore cease
Where God-like intelligence reigns;
Where Washington waged every battle for

peace

And Lincoln broke slavery's chains! Where Andean heroes with Bolivar bled In defense of the same holy causeWhere Hidalgo and Morazan victory led 'Gainst Spanish oppression and laws! Where Liberty dwells on the seas and the lands

And her martyrs with glory are crowned;Be there union of hearts and union of hands Where American Republics are found!

A NOBLE NAME ENSHRINED.
Kind, curious reader, can you find,
Say I to those who thirst for fame,
Letters here so linked, combined,
If read aright, will spell a name;
Remember, you must be well skilled,
And sacrifice some of your time
To this anomalous labor which, fulfilled,
Will lend new prestige to my rhyme.

Why so? You ask - A name has here a shrine
Of grander merit than Golconda's mine.

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