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tusmiiu huitiiif.
MRS. A. P. HILL,
Editbess.
The attention of all housekeepers is invited to this Depart
ment, and the Editress urges them to send her copies of
tried receipts. Let us make this an interesting and prof
itable Department.
The Sunbeam.
Sunlight is as important to the growth and
health of animals as of plants. Every one knows
that plants which grow in the shade are pale,
sickly and tender. No dark, rich color beauti
fies them until they are kissed by the sunbeam;
and it is equally true of persons. Those who
are confined to close, dark rooms never have the
ruddy look of robust health common to persons
who enjoy the genial, invigorating influence of
the sunlight. Pure air and out-door exercise
are fundamental physical law’s; to neglect them
is to sow the seeds of life—long disease and suf
fering. Children should be sent to play part of
every day—when the weather will admit—where
the sun will shine upon them, though at the
risk of soiling their clothes. When persons
walk for exercise, the parasol should not always
be interposed between the face and the sun, j
even though the complexion should be a little |
bronzed; the loss of the lily will be more than :
repaid by the hue of the rose. Plenty of sun- ,
shine should be freely admitted all over the
house, though at the risk of fading the carpets.
Sunbeam to mankind is no new idea. Even
the ancient pagans understood it. “They wove
bright fables in the days of old.” Their active,
vivid imaginations peopled earth, sea and air j
with divinities, and personified the agencies of j
nature in many a “debonair romance.” The !
mythic story of Prometheus and the sunbeam
embodied their idea of the life-giving, energiz
ing power of sunlight. The story is this:
Before the earth, sea and heavens were created, |
all things, wore one aspect, to which we give the
name of chaos—a dead, shapeless mass, in which,
however, slumbered the seeds of all things.
Nature interposed and put an end to chaos and
discord, and separated earth from sea, and
heaven from both. The fiery part being light
est, sprang up and formed the skies; the air
was next in weight and place; the earth being
heavier, sank below; the water took the lowest
toddling, wee thing espied close by the pave
ment a sm$ll bank of sand, and quick as thought
he was ankle deep in it, patting it and sifting it
through his fingers to the serious detriment of
the nice, white dress. And this stalwart man
stood by, evidently enjoying the child’s frolic.
It let a flood of sunshine into my own heart!
After indulging the whim a reasonable time, the
father said: “Come now, Johnnie, we must
move on, or we shall lose our evening’s walk.”
The child was obedient, though casting a linger
ing look at the miniature house he had moulded
so nicely over his foot; and though he dusted
his hand upon his Sunday rigging, there was no
reproof. Oh ! no, there was sunshine in John
nie’s heart, and the father doubtless thought,
better a soiled dress than that the sunshine
should be clouded. I watched the pair as they
passed out of sight, carrying with them all un
consciously a silent orison and a large slice of
my heart.
In the moral as in the natural world, good and
gracious results are obtained by simple, common
means,—the frolic of the child, the voice of in
nocent glee,
“ Came into my soul like the sweet South
That breathes upon a hank of violets,
Stealing and giving odor."
For a time, dark clouds were dispelled from a
suffering, care-worn heart. Nothing can be more
unwise and useless than to dwell upon the trials
and vicissitudes of life. “Let the dead past
bury its dead.” Better that we should open our
hearts and let in the sunlight of hopeful possi
bilities—adopt the battle-cry of the Crusaders,
“God wills it! God wills it!” “nor bate a jot of
heart or hope, but still bear up and steer right
onward. ”
Contributed Receipts.
Dahs.—Make a pint of corn-meal into a thick
batter with butter-milk sweetened with soda;
salt to taste; two eggs well beaten; drop from a
spoon on a hot stove-pan; bake just before
served, in a hot oven. Mbs. S.
Egg Custard.—Beat the whites and yolks of
four eggs separately, then add two spoonfuls of
the whites to the yolks; a tea-cup and a half of
sugar; a large table-spoonful of butter; flavor to
taste; bake in a rich crust. Take the remainder
of the whites, beat with three table-spoonfuls of
sugar, spread over the custards and return to
the oven until a light brown. This quantity
place and buoyed up the earth. The sky being j makes two custards. It may be converted into
cleared, the stars began to appear; fishes took
possession of the sea, birds of the air, and four-
footed beasts of the land. But a nobler animal
was wanted, and man was made. Prometheus
•and his brother Epimethius were Titans, a race
of giants who inhabited the earth before man
was created. To them the Supreme Ruler com
mitted the task of making this superior animal,
and of providing him and the lower order of an
imals with the faculties necessary for their pres
ervation. Epimethius undertook to do this, and
when the work was finished Prometheus was to
overlook it. Epimethius bestowed upon the
different animals the various gifts of courage,
strength, swiftness—wings to one, claws to an
other, etc.; but when man came to be provided
for, Epimethius had been so generous that his
resources were exhausted and nothing left for
man. In this perplexity he consulted his
brother, who with the aid of Minerva went up
to heaven and lighted his torch at the chariot of
the sun, and brought down the sunbeam to man.
With this gift man was more than a match for
all the other animals. Its influence gave him
vigor, intellect, wit, courage and determination;
and beside, with this fire he made weapons to
subdue the other animals, tools with which to
cultivate the earth, warm his dwellings, etc.
Prometheus was the friend of mankind, and his
good gift was the sunbeam.
While this story may “sound dull beside the
truth,” that “in the beginning God made the
heaven and the earth,” etc., yet, discarding the
“mythic fancy,” we may derive benefit from the
interpretation of the hidden meaning.
Says Johnston: “The relations which our
bodies bear to the light is delicate and mysteri
ous. Our feelings, and even our appearance
change with every change of the sky. When
the sun shines, the blood flows freely and the
spirits are light and buoyant. When gloom
overspreads the heavens, dullness and sober
thoughts possess the mind. The energy is
greater, the body is actually stronger in the
bright light of day. While the health is promo- J
ted, digestion hastened, and the color made to
play upon the cheeks when the rays of sunshine
are allowed to sport around us freely.”
There is another kind and quality of suns-
shine essential to health and happiness. I may
term it moral sunshine. In the language of an
other, “It is to give a heavy heart a little of the
joy of your cheerful one; give to a forlorn,
a lemon custard by grating in two small lemons.
Miss H.
French Pudding.—Put one quart of sweet-milk,
a pinch of salt, half a box of Cox’s jelatine in a
tin bucket; set this in a pan of boiling water;
when hot, stir in the yolks of six eggs. Then
have ready in a pan on the stove a tea-cup of
hot water and one of white sugar. Pour into
this the whites well whipped. Stir this together
and then add it to the yolks. Take it from the
fire, and when cool flavor with a tea-spoonful of
vanilla and pour into moulds. Eat with cream
or custard. In winter make it several hours be
fore it is used. In summer it may be made
the previous evening or set on ice. Mbs. K.
Strawberry Short Cake. — Make a dough by
rubbing into a quart of sifted flour a large
table-spoonful of butter, the same or a little less
of lard, one tea-spoonful of salt; wet it up with
butter-milk sweetened with soda. Roll half the
dough into a round cake half an inch thick;
touch the top of it all over with melted butter;
j roll the other half exactly the same size and
j place on top of the first; bake in a quick oven
without blistering. When done, shake the two
cakes apart, spread over fresh butter and then
stewed or canned strawberries. Pour the syrup
around. Should not stand after it is prepared.
Iced butter-milk is a delicious drink with this
cake. Cream sauce is good poured over it.
Mbs. H.
[For The Sunny South.]
Of Such is the Kingdom.
BY MISS H. B. B.
When Spring came, dropping her flowers into
the lap of earth, she dropped a little birdie into
our home-nest. A fair, white darling with soft
rings of golden hair curling over the beautiful
head; a rose-bud mouth, just made for kissing;
and eyes—oh ! such star-like, beautiful eyes, in
color like nothing in the world but delicate
wood-violets; and hands—such tiny, fairy-like
hands—always in motion, never still a moment.
; She was a darling, and oh ! how we loved her—
with a tender, reverential love—as we felt that
she was too fair, too pure for earth.
The days went by and Summer came, but it
brought no strength to our darling; the tiny
limbs did not grow any larger. Summer went
and Autumn came, and day by day we saw our
flower fade before our eyes. She did not fret
nor cry, but she suffered—oh! how she suffered!—
so patiently, so uncomplainingly. What a les-
friendless person a little of your large influence; son she taught us ! How often was her little
give to a person in perplexity a little of your ex
perience and counsel; give to a delicate, shrink
ing nature a little judicious praise.” While you
are pouring sunshine into the hearts of others,
by a reflex influence your own heart will be
cheered and warmed. ' And after all it does not
require great, heroic deeds to make happiness
for ourselves or others. It is oftener created by
the small courtesies and amenities of life, op- ;
portunities for which are constantly occurring if
we are only attentive to observe and improve
them. Unexpectedly a little ray of pleasant sun
shine breaks upon us from some little crevice j
not dreamed of. I was sitting, on a Sabbath
evening in one of the early autumn months,
upon the verandah of my boarding-house, wooing j
the ministrations of my two gentle nurses, air and
sunshine; feeble in health and depressed in spir
its, "there were shadows upon my heart that
seemed to outline the pictures of coming events.”
My attention was attracted to the opposite side
of the street by the approach of a father and
child, the former timing his steps to suit the lit
tle one. less than three years old. I say “father
and child; they were strangers to me, but I felt
sure they bore that relation to each other, from
the tender, patient care evinced by the adult. It
was evident the little one was leading him. The
hand laid gently and caressingly on our lips,
as if to still our murmurings. She was our
guardian angel. We felt purer and holier in her
presence, but we could not keep her. One sad
September day, as she rested in our arms, the
angels came for her; when the little hand was
icy with death’s cold clasp, it was laid gently on
our lips, and so she left us. She was happy,—
we knew that she was; but we—how lonely we
were. We wandered restlessly about the house.
How we missed the little form gone out of our
arms ! There was no longer any need to step
softly and speak low; she could not hear us.
H9W often we found ourself saying, “ Hush !
she is sleeping! Ah ! yes, she is sleeping; a
heavy footfall will not disturb her now.” We
sit down by the empty cradle, and our tears
flow. “Oh ! if we could only rock her to sleep
once more!” is the plaintive cry of our hearts;
but we are comforted when we remember that
the blue eyes that have closed on earth have
opened in heaven.
Oft in the still night-watches we feel the touch
of that little hand on our lips, and our heart-felt
prayer is, “Father, keep our treasure and let us
meet again.”
It’s a deep mystery—the way the heart of a
man turns to one woman out of all the rest he’s
seen in the world, and makes it easier for him
to work seven years for her, like Jacob did for
Rachel, sooner than have any other for the ask
ing. I often think of these words: “And Jacob
served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed
but a few days, for the love he had for her.”—
George Elliot.
[For The Sunny South.]
A Country u Tom-Boy M 011 Biscuit and Honey.
BY J. T. R.
In an old log house, a double log house,
That stood by a river’s side,
Lived a little girl, a raven-haired girl—
Her father and mother’s pride.
She’d be up by dawn early in the morn,
And out of the house would glide.
She could jump the rope and lather the soap,
Or do anything she tried;—
Could scale the fishes and clear the dishes
While slower folks were yawning:
When she was through she would chew gum tolu—
Not a “ flip ” cared she for scorning.
Though folks were about, she would “ giggle ” out
At whate’er she thought was funny;
And when they stared and gazed, and looked amaze,
She’d eat her biscuit and honey.
On a sunny day she would romp and play,
Heedless of childish toys;
She would skip o’er the lawn light as a fawn,
And whistle just like the boys.
*******
Now, she’s a grown-up girl; out in the world
She adorns a queenly station.
*Mong the noble and wise, her guileless eyes
Are brightest in the constellation.
And there’s a manly youth, well known forsooth,
With lordly and noble air,
Who knows there’s not a girl in Fashion’s whirl
So handsome, lovely and fair.
And ’neath woodland bowers he roams for hours,
In quest of flowers rare;
But the flower fairest, sweetest, rarest,
Is the one with raven hair.
Cupid knows this, and in infinite bliss
From his quiver, as he flies,
Plucks a little dart, pierces her heart,
And softens her pretty eyes;—
To the other then goes, increases his woes
(Of her he nothing revealed);
Then waved an adieu, and away he flew
To work in another field.
Both were sorely distressed—neither could rest;
They were dying to meet again
’Neath mystic bowers, midst fragrant flowers,—
Two hearts no longer twain.
He goes, just like a man, with pen in hand,
To pour forth his soul in verse;
She first to sighing, and then to trying
Some love-ditty to rehearse.
On a clear bright night, on a moonlight night,
At the close of an Autumn day,
They met; tell-tale eyes and soft, truant sighs
Said—pshaw! you know what they say.
*******
They are now man and wife, living a life
Honored by Hymen, methinks;
But his lordship’s away—I’ll end my lay
When I tell you what she thinks.
She thinks there’s not a man in all the land
Worth more millions of money.
He has given her a name unknown to fame,—
He calls her Biscuit and Honey.
Eufaula, Ala., March, 1875.
[For The Sunny South.]
THE ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT
—OF—
ENGLISH LITERATURE.
BY HENRY ETHEL WHITFIELD.
CHAPTER III.
SIB THOMAS MOBE.
In 1480 was born one of England’s best and
greatest sons. This was Sir Thomas More, the
author of the far-famed “Utopia.”
It would be almost an unpardonable error for
one to attempt a sketch of the history of English
literature, and to leave this distinguished per
sonage in the background, after making simply
a brief reference to him. And it may be said
just here, once for all, that, in writing the his
tory of any country’s literature, the biographical
form must necessarily be adopted, to a consider
able extent; for simply a dry enumeration of
the names of authors, and a stereotyped com
ment upon their works, would not suffice to im
part enough living interest to the narrative.
To all liberal-hearted persons, it is pleasant
to search the annals of ancient times for men
who have figured conspicuously upon the thea
tre of life; and, having been so successful as to
find a name upon which there rests no dark
stain, it is especially cheering to pause awhile
and take a more minute survey of this hero of
the past, who once held proud senates enchanted
by his eloquence, or guided the ship of state
clear of craggy breakers by his sagacious states
manship. Yes, and mankind are rather prone
to slight the shining virtues of the living, and
to beg of antiquity some splendid model of hu
man excellence, by which to regulate their own
thoughts and actions.
Then, this being the true state of the case, it
cannot be unreasonable to spend some time in
studying the life and character of Sir Thomas
More. In fact, it is extremely doubtful whether
there has ever lived a man who was to him an
exact parallel in some respects—and, at that, in
those respects in which the majority of men are
very much alike.
Having been educated in the legal profession,
he commenced the practice of law at an early
age, and it was not long ere he had given strong
proof of a vigorous intellect and a manly intre
pidity. Soon after he became a member of Par
liament, the King, Henry the Seventh, had
brought before that honorable body a certain
measure which was to enable him to raise a sup
ply of money sufficient to carry into effect some
ambitious designs. It seems that the obsequious
members were afraid to offer the obnoxious bill a
determined opposition. But young Sir Thomas
rose in his place and attacked the King's demand
in an able and patriotic speech—thus giving an
earnest that he had a heart noble enough and a
will fearless enough to defend his country’s
rights against tyranny, although it came from
the august monarch himself.
By this course he gained the displeasure of
the "King, and he even thought of leaving En
gland for a time, to escape that sovereign’s ven
geance; but he only retired to his home, and
there occupied the while in pursuing his liter
ary and scientific studies. It was not a great
while, however, before Henry the Seventh died,
and then his son, Henry the Eighth, ascended
the throne. Now, our hero had nothing to fear;
so he resumed the practice of his legal profes
sion, and soon rose to eminence as a jurist and
advocate.
His brilliant career as a lawyer, attended by
the most triumphant success, attracted the King's
notice, and he was pressed to accept an honor
able office in the government; but being of an
independent nature, and but a poor courtier, he
was unwilling to avail himself of any of the ,
numerous opportunities that were now offered
him for basking in the fickle sunshine of royal
favor. He seems to have understood the charac
ter of his master perfectly; and he once remarked
that the King would sacrifice his head, if it was
, necessary to do so. in order to have some ambi
tious scheme carried out. Indeed, he seems to
have gone through life with a fixed foreboding
that an unfortunate end was awaiting him !
Yet he was finally constrained to yield, and
become an official, in spite of himself. After
the fall of the celebrated Cardinal Wolsey, .Sir
Thomas was installed as Chancellor of the realm.
This was the chief official station in the king
dom. and he undertook the weighty responsibil
ities incident to that position with much reluc
tance; but, when once seated upon that lofty
pinnacle of grandeur, he bethought himself only
of dispensing justice to all to whom it was due;
and he fulfilled his duties faithfully, “without
hope of reward or fear of punishment.”
As illustrative of his singular probity, it will
not be amiss to relate a conversation between
him and one of his sons-in-law. Mr. Dauncy
had married one of Sir Thomas More's daugh
ters, and had, in all probability, proved a duti
ful son; but he, very naturally, felt an honest
desire to do something for himself in the way of
making money. So on one occasion he addressed
his father-in-law as follows:
“And since I have married one of your daugh
ters, and attended upon you always at your
house, I think I might expect to get something,
too. But you are so ready to hear every man,
poor as well as rich, and your doors are so open
to all who come, that there is no getting under
you. Whereas otherwise, some for friendship,
some for kindred, some for profit, would gladly
use my interest to bring them to you. I know I
should do them wrong if I should take anything
of them, because they might as readily prefer
their suits to you themselves; and this, though
I think is very commendable in you, yet to me,
who am your son, I find is not profitable.”
Sir Thomas, after offering some consolation,
concluded by saying:
“ Howbeit this one thing, son. I assure thee
on my faith, that if the parties will call for jus
tice, then though it were my Father whom I love
so dearly stood on one side, and the Devil whom
I hate extremely, stood on the other, his cause
being good the Devil should have Right.”
About this time the King was earnestly engaged
in his endeavors to deprive Queen Catherine of
her rightful position as queen consort. The
alleged motive was that she had been the wife of
Henry’s elder brother, and that, therefore, his
Majesty had been guilty of a heinous crime, in
the sight of God. in taking his brother’s widow
to be his wife. The King affected to be wonder
fully conscientious all at once, and even went so
far, in his infamous liyhocrisy, as to lament the
j unfortunate event that had caused him to have
unlawful intercourse with her who had been the
wife of the former Prince of Wales. He must,
indeed, be a credulous man who believes the
King to have been sincere in his professions.
The real cause of this extraordinary burst of
religious enthusiasm was just this: There was in
the retinue of Queen Catherine a beautiful young
lady, whose name was Annie Boleyn. His Maj
esty became enamored of the charms of this fair
maiden, and conceived a mad passion for her.
He could not put bounds to his desires, and he
was determined, at all hazards, to possess her,
even if it should be through the shame and
wretchedness of Catherine, who had been to
him, for the space of many long years, a true,
loving wife.
However, it was a matter of importance to have
! the act sanctioned by all whose opinion was
likely to be respected by the gazing world; and
i as Sir Thomas More was the foremost subject in
the whole realm, he was asked for his approba
tion. But he was too good a man to sanction so
cruel a deed, though his dissent was given in
the most respectful manner—so much so, indeed,
that his Majesty was constrained to excuse him
very graciously, and seemed not to take umbrage
at the unflinching steadiness of the subject—
though that firmness was exercised in opposition
to one of the most ardent desires that ever
burned in the breast of that ferocious tyrant,
than whom, with one exception, a baser despot
never sat on the English throne.
Thus fortunately did Sir Thomas weather this
storm; but, unfortunately, it was only the noisy
prelude to the yet more fearful tornado that was
soon to follow.
j Step by step had Henry gone in his breach
with the Pope, and it now became evident to
men of discernment that it had been made far
too wide and deep to be healed. More was dis
tressed at this sight, for he was a sincere Roman
Catholic. He accordingly prevailed upon the
King, through the intercession of the Duke of
Norfolk, to accept his resignation, and then
retired to his quiet home. He had not been very
long in this retreat when he was, on a frivolous
J pretense, brought to trial for treason.
King Henry had caused himself to be declared
the Supreme Head of the Church of England;
but More would not give in his adhesion thereto,
i as it—the act of supremacy—did away with the
authority of the Roman pontitt’. This was an
other cause of complaint against the ill-fated
man; and he was brought to trial for his life,—
not that he had ever committed any act that
could be construed into treason, but simply to
gratify the revenge of a cruel sovereign, who
thirsted for the blood of the man who was, of
all others, the most deserving of his esteem.
He managed to totter along, by the aid of a
cane, to the hall where the court was awaiting
him. He was allowed to make a defense; but he
was top feeble to stand, and a chair was given
him. The argument he made in his own behalf
is a masterpiece of cool, calm, deliberate dis
course, and it would, no doubt, be highly inter
esting to the reader to have it all before him;
but space will not allow it, and he must rest
content with an extract. The speech began as
follows:
“When I think how long my Accusation is,
and what heinous crimes are laid to my charge,
I am struck with fear lest my Wit and Memory
[both which are decayed, together with the
health of my body, through a long Impediment
contracted by my imprisonment) be not now
able to answer these things on the sudden, as I
ought, and otherwise could. There are lour
principal Heads, if I am not deceived, of this
my Indictment, every one of which, God will
ing, I propose to answer in order. To the First
that is objected against me, that I have been an
Enemy out of Stubbornness of Mind to the
King’s Second Marriage, I confess that I always
told his Majesty my Opinion of it as my Con
science dictated to me; which I neither ever
would or ought to have concealed. But I am so
far from thinking myself guilty of High Treason
upon this account, that on the contrary, I being
demanded my Opinion by so great a Prince in a
matter of such Importance, whereupon the Qni-
etness of a Kingdom dependeth, if I should
have basely flattered him against my own con
science, and not uttered the Truth as I thought,
then I should have been accounted a wicked
Subject, and a perfidious Traitor to God. Herein
however if I had offended the King—if it can be
an offence to tell one’s mind plainly when our
Prince asketh us—I suppose I have been already
punished enough for this Fault with most griev
ous Afflictions, with the Loss of all my Goods,
and with perpetual Imprisonment; having been
shut up already almost these fifteen Months. ”
After proceeding some further he was inter
rupted by the Attorney General, who informed
him that, although they could charge him with
no overt act of treason, in regard to his denial of
the supremacy of the King, yet his very silence
was that which condemned him. To this child
like, villainous accusation, Sir Thomas replied
in the following forcible language:
“My Silence is no Sign of my Malicious Mind,
which the King himself may know by many of
my dealings; neither doth it convict any man of
Breach of your Law. . For it is a Maxim among
< Civilians and Canonists, He that keepeth silence
seemeth to consent. As for whai you say, that no
good subject will refuse to answer directly, I
think it verily the Duty of a good subject, except
he be such a subject as will be an evil Christian,
rather to obey God than Man. and to have more
care of offending his Conscience than of any
other matter in the World; especially if his Con
science procure neither heavy scandal, nor sedi
tion to his Prince or Country, as mine hath not
done: For I here protest unfeignedly that I never
revealed it to any Man living.”
The above is but a portion of a speech ot some
length; and it would be not very inappropriate
to give a full account of the proceedings, but it
would consume rather too much time and space.
Therefore, it need only be said that Sir Thomas
was found guilty by this partial tribunal, and
sentenced to “Be carried back to the Tower of
London by the help of the Sheriff, and from
thence drawn on a Hurdle through the City to
Tyburn, there to be hanged till he be halt dead:
after that cut down yet alive, * * * his lour
Quarters set up over four Gates of the City, and
his Head upon London Bridge.”
This terrible sentence having been pronounced
by the court, he was asked whether there was
anything more that he might feel inclined to
allege in his own vindication, and the following
is the reply this noble man gave utterance to;
“I have nothing to say. my Lords, but that
like as the blessed Apostle St. Paul was present
and consented to the death of Stephen, and kept
their clothes who stoned him to death, and yet
be they now both twain Holy Saints in Heaven,
and shall continue there friends forever; so I
verily trust, and shall therefore right heartily
pray, that your Lordships have now been Judges
on Earth to my condemnation, we may yet here
after all meet together in Heaven to our everlast
ing Salvation. And so I pray God preserve you
all, and especially my Sovereign Lord the King,
and send him faithful Counsellors.”
(TO BE CONTINUED. )
[For The Sunny South.]
A MORNING’S TRIALS.
Soft slumbers wrapped my senses in dreamful
bliss; heavenly scenes surrounded me; high
away on the highest throne sat the Son nearest
the Father; angels breathed their hallelujahs
and the notes were carried on elysian harps to
the dome of heaven’s cathedral and echoed with
a thrill, loud, intense and gloriously sacred.
Hist! What voice is that beyond the heavenly
portals ? Only the Peri warbling her song and
bringing the drop of blood that she may enter
the gates of pearl. Not yet, Peri,—
“ Holier far than e’en this drop the boon must he
That opes the gates of heaven for thee.”
But the Peri spoke with my brother’s voice,
“Susan ! Susan, get up; I want breakfast.” No
heaven, no angels; and I am only Susan, after
all; so I turned on my pillow. “A little more
sleep, a little more slumber, a little more fold—” |
Y’es, I was gone— fast asleep.
“Susan, Susan, will you never wake? The
cook is gone; for mercy’s sake get up and see
about breakfast.”
“Yes—yes, I am up;” and in a few moments
had donned my wraps, and was deep in the mys
teries of the kitchen. The fire in the stove
blazed and crackled merrily. The black cook
ing-pans were getting rosy in the animated
warming pp. The water simmered, bubbled,
and threw out its steam, reminding me of the
long-ago when genius saw in the rising and fall
ing of a kettle-lid the the embryonic iron-horse
plowing his way through the trackless forest.
The soft, snowy flour was in the tray waiting
for the ingredients. The chicken was prepared
for broiling; I understood the process thor
oughly, and soon had it cooked rich and brown,
and putting it in a dish, placed it near the
stove to keep warm. A squirrel skinned and
salted lay stretched in its four-legged propor
tions ready for cooking. I scarcely knew how to
begin about it, but decided at last to extend it
in a long pan and fry it entire; but it scorched
at all the joints and would not cook, and worse,
the eyes in its stiff, naked head glared at me
with a reproachful, heinous stare, like that which
some doomed, sin-cursed spirit might cast up
from the molten mass of a burning Youtarers.
I turned it over, changed its position again and
again, but to no purpose; the wide-open eyes
preserved their horrible fixedness. I walked
around the stove, here, there and everywhere,
but all in vain—I had no power to resist the
fearful mesmerism of those dead eyes; and I
looked, shuddered, gazed, trembled and looked
again. Making a desperate effort, I threw my
self into a chair at the eastern window. The
king of day “on wings of glory ” was whirling
on his way. Dull, gray clouds were blushing at
their own pallor before the burnished glory of
the new-born light. Brighter, brighter it glowed.
The gray clouds were gone, and the oriental sky
was one intense, fiery splendor. Clatter !—clat
ter !—s-mash ! What is it? The thieving, vil
lainous dog ! My dishes, chicken and hot waffles
were lying in fallen majesty on the floor.
“ Oh ! I can’t see what to do !”
This was literally true, for tears blinded my
eyes, and like most girls I sat down to have a
“good cry.”
“ Oh ! do not cry; I can manage it.”
It was my mother’s pleasant voice that spoke.
She had eggs and cold meat, and could dispense
with my chicken.
“ But, oh !” and her eyes laughed merrily, “ I
fear your squirrel will not be tender; but never
mind—it will do.”
I let her finish cooking the breakfast. After a
time, she gave me a dish.
“Carry this in; breakfast is done.”
I held my hand for it without looking and
went into the dining-room: hut just as I started
to put the dish down, I glanced into it, and hor
ror of horrors!—there sat the squirrel, brown
and crisp, with its dead eyes glaring, staring,
flaring at me. My soul sickened, my strength
gave way, I dropped the dish, screamed when
the squirrel fell on me, reeled, staggered and
fell. My dear mother came in, and seeing my
pitiable condition, actually laughed, hade me go
to my room and make myself presentable. I
obeyed her, feeling like a tired, whipped child.
But I ate no squirrel for my breakfast, nor have
I ever been able to partake of it since. Yet that
morning of miseries was not without its lessons,
for I have learned to rise early, so that a morn
ing’s golden-tinted eastern sky has lost some of
its novelty. I have learned to love and to com
mit to memory’s faithful tablet the domestic re
ceipts of Mrs. A. P. Hill, published in The
Sunny South ; and more, I have learned that all-
important truth, “That civilized man cannot
live without a cook.”
Girls should be warned of the danger they
run in marrying railroad brakemen. An enthu
siastic member of that fraternity, on being awak
ened the other night from a dream of an im
pending crash by a train, found himself sitting
up in bed, holding his wife by the ears, having
nearlv twisted her head off in his frantic efforts
to “down brakes.”
“ Oub lights, though of the lesser ones, should
be carefully trimmed, and every possible acces
sion made to its means of burning and shining,
however small a sphere of illumination it may
be able to create in so dark and thick an atmos
phere.”
“ Some mourn the punishment of sin, hut not
the sin itself.” i