warriors or be sick at heart after such a victory ?" Milfried answered kindly, yet firmly, "I grieve not that my brave people are slain. My child, my blue-eyed Frieda!" Then knew the mother that victory was bought at the price of their daughter. With pleading, beseeching words and tearful prayers, she begged that the god might be otherwise appeased, that he would spare their fair-haired, beautiful child. But no, the oath must be kept, the god appeased by this "pearl of great price." No Norseman ever spoke in vain, no promise was ever given to be unfulfilled. A Norseman's word was an oath in Valhalla, written on the ivory horns of Thor; though the heavens fall the oath must be kept! Milfried kissed his child farewell, bade the mother weep no more, and raised his bloody battle axe on high, to cleave those shining locks and still that prattling tongue. The silence of death held them in its chilling embrace. All were hushed in that moment of awful suspense. Up, up, rose the cruel, glistening blade, a moment more-lo! the massive oaken doors flew open, and a mighty voice of thunder roared: "Spare the child, thy oath is kept!" "WILX." A PUBLIC SCHOOL IDYL. RAM it in, cram it in, Children's heads are hollow; Slam it in, jam it in, Still there's more to follow Hygiene and history, Astronomic mystery, Greek and trigonometry Ram it in, cram it in, Children's heads are hollow. Rap it in, tap it in What are teachers paid for? : Bang it in, slam it in What are children made for? Ancient archæology, Aryan philology, Prosody, zoology, Physics, clinictology, Children's heads are hollow. Rub it in, club it in, All there is of learning; Quench their childish yearning That their heads are hollow. Scold it in, mold it in, All that they can swallow; Fold it in, hold it in, Stili there's more to follow. Faces pinched, sad and pale, Tell the same undying tale― Tell of moments robbed from sleep, Meals untasted, studies deep, Those who've passed the furnace through, With aching brow, will tell to you How the teacher crammed it in, Rammed it in, punched it in, PUCK. THE NEW SOUTH. {Response to a roast delivered at the annual dinner of the New England So ciety, 1887.] "THERE was a South of secession and slavery-that South is dead. There is a South of Union and freedom -that South is living, breathing, growing every hour." I accept the term, "The New South," as in no sense disparaging to the Old. Dear to me is the home of my childhood and the traditions of my people. There is a New South, not through protest against the Old, but because of new conditions, new adjustments, and, if you please, new ideas and aspirations. It is to this that I address myself. You have just heard an eloquent description o the triumphant armies of the North, and the grand review at Washington. I ask you, gentlemen, to picture, if you can, the foot sore soldier, who, buttoning up in his faded gray jacket the parole which was taken, testimony to his children of his fidelity and faith, turned his face southward from Appomattox in April, 1865. Think of him as ragged, half-starved, heavyhearted, enfeebled by wants and wounds. Having fought to exhaustion, he surrenders his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades, and, lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the last time to the graves that dot the old Virginia hills, pulls his gray cap over his brow and begins the slow and painful journey. What does he find?-let me ask you, who went to your homes eager to find all the welcome you had justly earned, full payment for your four years' sacrifice-what does he find, when he reaches the home he left four years before? He finds his house in ruins, his farm devastated, his slaves freed, his stock killed, his barns empty, his trade destroyed, his money worthless, his social system, feudal in its magnificence, swept away, his people without law or legal status, his comrades slain, and the burdens of others heavy on his shoulders. Crushed by defeat, his very traditions gone, without money, credit, employment, material or training-and, besides all this, confronted with the gravest problem that ever met human intelligence-the estab lishing of a status for the vast body of his liberated slaves. What does he do this hero in gray with a heart of gold-does he sit down in sullenness and despair? Not for a day. Surely, God, who had scourged him in his prosperity, inspired him in his adversity! As ruin was never before so overwhelming, never was restoration swifter. The soldiers stepped from the trenches into the furrow; the horses that had charged upon General Sherman's line marched before the plow, and fields that ran red with human blood in April were green with the harvest in June. From the ashes left us in 1864, we have raised a brave and beautiful city; somehow or other we have caught the sunshine in the bricks and mortar of our homes and have builded therein not one single ignoble prejudice or memory. It is a rare privilege, sir, to have had part, however humble, in this work. Never was nobler duty confided to human hands than the uplifting and upbuilding of the prostrate South-misguided perhaps, but beautiful in her suffering, and honest, brave and generous always. On the record of her social, industrial and political restoration we await with confidence the verdict of the world. The old South rested everything on slavery and agriculture, unconscious that those could neither give nor maintain healthy growth. The new South presents a perfect democracy, the oligarchs leading into the popular movement a social system compact and closely knitted, less splendid on the surface but stronger at the core—a hundred farms for every plantation, fifty homes for every palace, and a diversified industry that meets the complex needs of this complex age. Her The new South is enamored of her new work. soul is stirred with the breath of a new life. The light of a grander day is falling fair in her face. She is thrilling with the consciousness of growing power and prosperity. As she stands full statured and equal among the people of the earth, breathing the keen air and looking out upon an expanding horizon, she understands that her emancipation came because in the inscrutable wisdom of God her honest purpose was crossed and her brave armies were beaten. This is said in no spirit of timeserving and apology. The South has nothing to take back; nothing for which she has excuses to make. In my native town of Athens is a monument that crowns its central hills-a plain white shaft. Deep cut into its shining sides is a name dear to me above the names of men, that of a brave and simple man who died in brave and simple faith. Not for all the glories of New England, from Plymouth Rock all the way, would I exchange the heritage he left me in his patriot's death. But, sir, speaking from the shadow of that memory, which I honor as I do nothing else on earth, I say that the cause in which he suffered and for which he gave his life was adjudged by higher and fuller wisdom than his or mine, and I am glad that the omniscient God held the balance of battle in His almighty hand and that the American Union was saved from the wreck of war. This message, Mr. President, comes to you from consecrated ground. What answer has New England to this message? Will she permit the prejudices of war to remain in the hearts of the conquerors when it has died in the hearts of the conquered? Will she transmit this prejudice to the next generation, that in hearts which never felt the generous ardor of conflict it may perpetuate itself? Will she withhold, save in strained courtesy, the hand which straight from his soldier's heart Grant offered to Lee at Appomattox? Will she make the vision of a restored and happy people, which gathered about the couch of your dying captain, filling his heart with peace, touching his lips with praise, and glorifying his ath to the grave-will she make this vision, on which the last sigh of his expiring soul breathed a benediction, a cheat and a delusion? If she does, the South, never abject in asking for comradeship, must accept with dignity its refusal. But if she does not refuse to accept in frankness and sincerity this message of good-will and friendship, then will the prophecy of Webster, delivered |