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LOUIS X. 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

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 jos

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.


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 hum

ble the tiller of soil; Pinioned are angels of fortune, but wingless

the daughters of toil. LOUIS N. CRILL

Gilded the rainbow of hope, that bows o'er a comparatively short time appeared extensive

life of despair; ly in many prominent publications, including Sweet are the songs of the birds that warble the New York Truth Seeker, Sturdy Oak, and

in seasons of care. the American Nonconformist. In person Mr.

Gay are the symbols of fashion, in a city of Crill is five feet ten inches in height, weighs

mis'ry and pain; 175 pounds, and bas dark hair and eyes. A vol

Grand the cathedrals of state, while the poor ume of his poems will soon be published.

live in hovels of shame.

Rosy the tint of the sunset, that is domed in MOTHER'S ADVICE.

the sky of the west; When you grow up, my darling boy, Drifted away by the breezes are the clouds of To manhood, good and true,

dismay and distress. You'll find your sister don't enjoy

Noble the man of the present, that is free The rights by justice due;

from illusion and guile; You'll find it true that custom gives, Soothing the proffer of kindness, in an hour To man the higher place;

of misfortune and trial. That woman only strives, and lives

Robed in the mantle of glory, is the goddess of To perish in the race.

justice and right; When you grow up, my darling boy, Chased by the light of the morning, is the Admit the truth so plain,

darkness and gloom of the night. That woman's rights are to employ Onward humanity struggles, through the The products of her brain;

mist and the storm do they glide; To feast in banqueù balls of fame,

Tossed on the waves of the ocean, and then Beside her brother, man;

drifted ashore by the tide.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 sbare;
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

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.



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.


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

SONNETS – CUPID'S PLEA. Are matches made in heaven? Ah! no, not

all; For circumstance, and art, and mammon


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, ande'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

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,


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.

When mated not by love, for naught within One answering chord sends back to prof

fered boon.

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

With an arm of might,

At the dawn of light,
The blacksmith hies to his shop away

To labor till

The whippoorwill
At evening sings his vesper lay.

The bellows blow,

And the coals soon glow, Like the dazzling rays of the noon-day sun;

The huge sledge swings,

And the anvil rings
For the daily task is now begun.

The sparks as bright,

As the meteor's light,
From the vivid metal swiftly fly;

Whilst wreaths of smoke,

From the burning coke,
In beauteous columns rise on high.

List! list, the peal,

As on the steel
The hammers swiftly fall with might,

Like clashing swords,

When army hordes Contending meet in deadly fight.

Though on his brow

The sweat stands now,
He heeds it not but toils away,

Since Heaven has said,

Man's daily bread
By labor shall be gained each day.

The world may sneer

And cast a leer,
At the sooty smith, whilst passing by;

But what cares he,

With a heart as free
As the curling smoke ascending high.

'Tis not the shade

Of man, or trade,
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.

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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. bll men have their paternity

In common with their fellow men; Equality, fraternity,

Should rule the beart 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.

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