The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907, July 24, 1875, Image 3
[For Tlie Sunny South.]
Ol'T ON THE WILD.
BY E. C. FOSTER.
Oh! stranger, my little one’s out on the wild!
Shelter, I pray you, that fatherless child;
You’ll surely know her. with eyes so mild,
Out, out on the wild!
Out on the highway bleak I’ll go,
With heaven shut out by the blinding snow.
My lamb has no shepherd now I know,—
How the wild winds blow!—
Out of the fold, out in the cold,
Seeking the mart where bread is sold,
And human sympathy scantily doled,
And crime is untold!
Out on the pavement, still and dead,
With no one to answer her cry for bread.
And none to know when the spirit fled—
Our poor Winnifred!
There where the sound of revelry
Drowned the note of the hunger-cry,
The little curled head drooped wearily
With the last sigh!
Stretched on the snow lay the tender form
That we used to fold to our hearts so warm—
Hunted down by the cruel storm.
Haunted all day by that cry so low,
Where'er I stay or whither I go,
In agony ringing—I know, I know,
The last writhe and throe.
Morning and eve, early and late,
I am looking out for the little gate
To swing on its hinges and bring my mate.
How long shall I wait ?
0 God! there is something ever in view
To open the conduits of woe anew,—
1 stumbled last night on a little shoe—
Tho’ dark, my heart knew.
Father above, wilt thou shield my dove
Forever under Thy wing of love ?
Ob, take ine in mercy to Thee above,
And no more reprove.
DOSING WITH DAFFY.
We trust none of the friends of The Sunny
South neglected the excellent and timely article
“Short Graves,” written for a previous issue of
our paper by Dr. Stainback Wilson. We give
below a graphic illustration of the Doctor’s earn
estly advanced views, in the shape of a touching
story, apparently from real life:
“Ellen Buxton’s first baby was a little, delicate
creature, at first. Still it was a very pretty little
one, all declared, and the young mother was
proud and fond of it. For a while after its birth
she was weak and ailing, and was forced to stay
away from the mill, where she loved to work
and sing and ‘earn her own bit of money.’
She stayed at home and minded the baby, which
grew and did well, and became fat and rosy.
“After a few months, however, there was a
want of hands at the mill; they offered her work
once more, and she returned there again. Of
course her baby had to be put out to nurse.
There was a woman in the village who took in
children to do for them, and one morning Ellen
left lier's at old Sally Skene's house, on her road
down the hill, and took it up again when she re
turned at night from the factory. It was the
only one there when she first brought it in, but
the following week it had three little compan
ions, all under six months old.
“Gradually, the baby seemed to grow less in
stead of larger, but Ellen had never had any
thing to do with children, and knew nothing of ;
their ways, nor thought any harm. It grew
strangely fretful at night, and Amos once asked
her anxiously whether she ‘thought Sally Skene
did her duty by the baby ? it didn't look like the
same child.’ But she put the question aside.
‘Children had their ups and downs, I’ve alius
heard,’ she said.
“ One day she was coming home from her work
on a bright, frosty winter’s evening, when she
slipped on an icy stone in the flooded path, and
sprained her ankle so badly that she was obliged
to bide at home, having made it much worse by .
attempting to go again to the mill. The baby
came back to her now, for the time, of course.
It was hardly bigger than when she had given it
up, and instead of the crowing, active thing it
had been, it now alternated between fits of fret
ful moaning and dull, listless lying on its back.
It was old enough to walk, yet it hardly at
tempted even to crawl.
“Ellen, however, only knew it was ‘very
cross.' She was a kindly lass, however, and
therefore did not slap the ‘little tiresome thing,’ .brought herself to understand the meaning of
his father, admiringly. ‘ And I think lie’s ’most
as strong now as the best on ’em, for all he looks
a bit pale or so. It’s a good thing for him and
me too as you’re forced for to stop at home.’
“ ‘ Nay, but I mun go again as soon as my
ankle gets well again. Dearie me ! what a time
; it do take !’ answered his wife. * I wants a bit o’
! money for a frock for baby and a shawl for me,
and tiie new boots. And doctor’s stuff and the
illness and all, putting us behindhand so sorely
with things.’
“‘Money ain’t alius money’s worth,’ said
Amos, sententiously. ‘ There’s a deal more to
be thought on nor that. I don’t b’lieve we’re a
shilling better off, nor so well, with you going
off all day, and so much work to put out and
pay for.’
“Ellen did not answer.
“ In the night the child woke up very hot and
feverish, and moanjng with thirst. The whole
of next day he was very ill, and grew worse and
worse. The measles were very much about, and
he had been playing in a house near, where they
had appeared; he had evidently taken the dis
ease, and it would not come out. An old neigh
bor who came in gave him ‘a drink,’ and Ellen
tried every nostrum she could think of; but day
by day lie grew more suffering and more fretful.
He would eat nothing, and his thin face and
parched lips went to her heart.
“He cried all night, and neither Ellen nor
Amos could get five minutes rest.
“ ‘Whatever shall I do?’said she to her friend
who had dropped in to condole with her on the
sickly season, the bad potatoes, and the measles;
‘ he won’t lie still a minute, and I’m nearly worn
out wi’ watching.’
“‘Give him a little cordial, child,’said the
old woman: ‘it’ll quiet him in no time.’
“ ‘Doctor says he musn’t have any for his life,’
answered Ellen, hastily.
“ ‘Doctors is all nonsense; they don’t know: a
little’ll quiet him and do him good, and you’d
all three get your rest to-night. I’m sure you
want it. You’re but a poor creature yet. ’
“She went on persuading, and Ellen resisted
a little time longer, but at last she thought it no
harm ‘to have a little in the house.’
“ ‘ Don’t you send me more nor sixpen’orth,’
she cried; but as the evening drew on, the temp
tation grew too strong, with the tempting bottle
beside her and the child no better. If she had
known more about nursing, there were many
things she might have done to ease the child
and still his moaning; but she had never learnt,
and at last she gave him a little dose of the
‘Daffv.’
“Very soon he sank off to sleep, and when
Amos came back at night he leaned over the set
tle where he lay so still, and kissed him with a
smile.
“‘Why, the little one’s mending, Ellen; lie’s
as quiet as a lamb.’
“Little Willie waked, however, worse than
ever; and another weary night the poor parents
spent with him, for Ellen dared not give any
more of the ‘Daffy’ before her husband.
“The soporific, in fact, took away the very
strength needed to throw out the measles. The
next morning, after Amos had gone off’ early to
his work, and when still the child cried on and
on, she brought him down to give him some of
the gruel, and put just a very few more drops
into the basin, and then dozed off' at the foot of
the settle, where she had laid him, wrapped in
an old shawl.
“‘I must have an hour’s sleep. I'm so dead
tired,’ she said to herself.
“‘Why, Ellen, whatever have a happened to
the baby ?’ cried poor Amos, who had come back
from his work at breakfast time and found his
wife asleep and the child looking like wax-work,
lying, with its mouth open and its eyes staring,
by her side.
“Ellen sprang up.
“‘Oh! Amos, fetch the doctor! lie's dying!
Willie’s dying!’ she cried, as she wrung her
hands.
“Amos leaped across the room, and was gone
like a hunter. It was a weary time for Ellen,
watching and waiting. Oh ! how she longed for
the fretful little sobs, the tossings and the moans
which had wearied her so that she had given the
wicked poison ! The doctor was not at home,
and it was some time before he reached the
house.
“ ‘Well,’ said lie, cheerily, as he came in,‘and
how’s the poor babe?’
“But no sooner did he see the child on her
lap than he turned sternly on her.
“‘Is not this the little one whom I warned
you not to give cordials to? You’ve given him
another—the child's dying. I can do nothing
for him. He's been killed just as much as if his
neck had been taken and wrung.’
Ellen was aghast; somehow she had never
[For The Sunny South.]
THE HISTORY OF GEORGIA.
An Opportune Time for Writing It—Diity of
the Georgia Historical Soetety, etc.
BY I. R. R.
in the premises, we doubt not, upon arranging
the plan of the historical work, selecting the au
thor, and perfecting the business details, that
the Legislature of Georgia would extend any
necessary aid by appropriation, with the reason
able assurance that their action would meet the
approval of every intelligent Georgian.
The inquiry is doubtless often propounded by
intelligent Georgians, who cherish a just pride
and feel an abiding interest in all that pertains
to the origin, growth and development of their
noble old commonwealth, why have not the labors
of the historian been directed to the task of ar
ranging in consecutive order the materials that powers of woman's mind are not inferior to those j
■rhoe furnished, of men, but only different. It is even granted
[For The Sunny South.]
WOMEN AS WRITERS.
BY ROSA V. RALSTON.
It is now almost universally conceded that the
each year of our State’s existent*
and portraying them in their true light, and in
terpreting them in their proper relation of cause
and effect, give the people of Georgia a clear,
truthful, yet graphic recital of their past life,
worthy of the name of history—such an history
as the cultivated mind of the State could regard
as an household treasure, and would be willing
to send forth to the world as a standard exposi
tion of the series of events that are linked indis
solubly w T ith her name ?
No subject is more interesting to a people than
that which imparts to them a knowledge of their
origin; their aggregation into civilized commu
nities; their efforts to establish government; the
history of that government itself in its trials,
struggles and triumphs, and in its dealings with
the citizen—in the protection it extends to life,
liberty and property. Buckle, in his “His
tory of Civilization,” tersely remarks, “that
man, as a social being, can only be studied in
society; and that as society itself exhibits va
rious phases in various and successive epochs,
it is history that must finally give us the evident
knowledge of the human race.” The subject of
history, while it has been carefully and pro
foundly studied by thinking men at the South,
has been but little cultivated in the way of ori
ginal contributions. No Southern writer, until
the close of the late war, essayed the task of
writing a history of the republic, leaving the
field entirely to Northern men, who have not
always possessed that broad and catholic spirit
which rises superior to sectional prejudice, and
deals out even-handed justice in weighing the
circumstances and events that have formed the
history of our common counted*
Too little importance has been attached to the
subject of separate State history at the South.
The labors of our State historians, while they
have been highly commendable in design, have
been for the most part confined to the acquisition
of materials and compilation of statistics, and
are usually the crude memoranda of events,
without possessing any charm from the graces
of style or the resources of philosophy. The
by men of intellect that for richness of imagina
tion and delicacy of fancy, she is superior.
Some one has sagaciously observed that the “im
aginative disposition belongs to the feminine
nature,” and that “if women have not criticised
as profoundly and created as grandly in litera
ture as men,” it is probably owing to the dispar
agement with which their intellectual efforts
have so long been treated.
Men, owing to their association and closer
contact with the world at large, may acquire in
a wonderful degree the power of depicting
human nature as it is; but there is in the pro
ductions of women, both prose and poetry, a
beautiful blending of delicacy, pathos and ex
quisite tenderness that is seldom found in mas
culine productions. They strike a sympathetic
chord in our hearts that men seldom touch.
Theirs is the rare faculty of engaging the feel
ings, taking possession of sensibilities, and lead
ing the reader, by a fascination of their own,
i through pages of depicted life and character, as
deeply interested in the beings of their creation,
in their joys, sorrows and various vicissitudes,
as though they were really possessed of life.
Who that has ever read the soul-stirring
| “Psyche,” by the gifted but comparatively little
known Mrs. Tighe. have not followed with una
bated eagerness the ill-fated outcast, wandering
: through forests and wildernesses, flattered and
betrayed, till at last the gentle soul, “escaped
from tumult,” soars away to other worlds, where
she receives the just rewards of her trials, suf
ferings and temptations while on earth? Moore
expressed his admiration of this touching poem
i in :
“ Tell me the witching tale again.
For never has my heart or ear
Hung on so sweet, so pure a strain,—
So pure to feel, so sweet to hear.”
No one can read the fervid and impassioned
lyrics of Mrs. Hemans and fail to be impressed
with a sense of genius of the highest order.
She always seemed like a strange, unearthly
being, who. having swept over the earth on a
short mission of love, emitting bright scintilla-
ABOUT WOMEN.
The British Queen was fifty six years old on
Monday, May 24.
Susan M. Hallowei.l, of Bangor, Maine, is to
occupy the chair of Natural History at the new
college for women soon to be opened at Welles
ley, Massachusetts.
Madame Le Vert read before a large and polite
audience at the Galt House, Louisville, Kv., a
few evenings since. Dr. L. P. Blackburn intro
duced her. Mrs. Sallie Ward Hunt assisted in
the entertainment.
Rev. Phcebe A. Hanaford, pastor of the Church
of the Good Shepherd, Jersey City, on the last
Sunday in May exchanged pulpits with her son,
Rev. Howard Alcott Hanaford, who is pastor of
St. Paul’s Church, in Little Falls, N. Y. This is
the first pastoral exchange on record between
mother and son.
Thirty-one young ladies of Warsaw, Ky., have
signed a pledge, that during twelve months from
May 1, 1875, they will not purchase any dress
material costing over twenty-five cents a yard;
that they will observe strict economy in the
household, and use all means in their power to
lighten the burdens of husbands and fathers.
A beautiful and fitting tribute was paid to
the memory of the late Alice and Phtebe Cary, a
few evenings since, by their lady friends, who
decorated their graves in Greenwood Cemetery
with flowers. The sisters are buried beside an
other sister, who died some years ago, and not
far from the grave of their old friend, Horace
Greeley.
Madame Theirs, of her own notion and by
general consent, appears to have placed herself
in the position formerly occupied by the Em
press Eugenie, so far as fashion is concerned.
During the present season she has at least been
successful, after much thought and consultation,
in accomplishing a calico revival and restoring
it to respectability in the fashionable world.
The Empress Josephine was very fond of per
fumes, and above all of musk. Her dressing-
room at Malmaison was filled with it in spite of
Napoleon’s frequent remonstrances. Many years
have elapsed since her death, and the present
owner of Malmaison has had the wall of that
dressing-room repeatedly washed and painted;
but neither scrubbing, nor aquafortis, nor paint,
has been sufficient to remove the smell of the
good Empress’ musk, which continues as strong
as if the bottle which contained it had been but
yesterday removed.
It speaks gloriously for woman that the great
est achievements and events of England have
occurred during the reign of her queens. Under
the reign of Elizabeth, the Spanish armada was
Historical Societies that have been organized tions of beauty to be admired and adored, left deetroyed and Shakspeare appeared, to say noth
in almost every Southern State, possess valuable
stores of historical data, and should, through
their societies, offer such facilities and the nec
essary encouragement that will invite men of
genius and culture to the task of writing South
ern history—history that will not be merely an
array of statistics or an unadorned record of facts,
but will blend with these a philosophical view
of the laws of passion and of thought as they
have moved upon our people and incited them
to action —that will, in fact, reflect the genius of
our institutions and exhibit the true types of
Southern civilization. That era of almost unin
terrupted peace and unparalleled prosperity
that intervened between the American Revolu
tion and the late disastrous civil war, besides
constituting the golden age of American history,
has many other features of historical interest,
that the South should not pei:—i-isio go down to
posterity with oniy a Northern version. The
African slave trade, for a long time the theme of
abuse and villificatYon agaii^*heSor. t li, should
as many a mother does who first produces the
evil by neglect, and then punishes the poor
little victim of her folly.
“Ellen did her ignorant best for the child,
and it grew better. She was going to be con
fined again, but she had been injured by her
fall, and the baby was born dead. She was ex
ceedingly ill, and obliged to be attended by the
doctor again and again.
“ As he went out of the room one day, he saw
the small boy sitting on a ‘cricket’ by the hearth,
and took him in liis arms and looked into his
eyes.
“ ‘ That child has been dosed with “ Daffy,” or
some of those nasty opiates,’ said he; ‘I see it in
his face.’
“ ‘I’ve never given him none, sir,’ said Ellen.
“ ‘Then you’ve trusted him to those that did.
I've seen enough of that. And I don’t know
whether the babies that are killed outright have
not the best of it—those that live are so stunted
and sickly, and have often such wretched lives.
Now I tell you what, young woman, if you let
that child have any more of those filthy poisons,
you'll have murder on your conscience, for as
sure as fate he'll die of it; his brain has been
injured already. Now, mind, you’ve been
warned; there are many who say they don’t
know—you do.’
“He put down the baby and went out. He
was a good man and a very clever one, who had
been very kind to Ellen in her long illness, but
she was only angry and vexed with him for his
warning.
“ ‘I never gave the child aught,’ she repeated,
in an annoyed tone.
‘“No, but Sally Skene does, they all say.
And it stands to reason she couldn’t manage five
squalling weans, and she at her age,” answered
a cousin of Amos,who had come in to help nurs
ing while Ellen was ill.
“Little Willie improved while his mother was
at home, though he continued to be a puny
child, with a precocious look like an old man's.
He was very fond of his father, and would watch
for the top of his head coming in sight up the
steep path to the house, and run and put a pair
of old list shoes ready for ‘daddy,’ and sit on
his father’s knee, either patting his cheek, put
ting little bits of bread and bacon into his month
(never into his own), or leaning his golden head
against the great, strong breast, as bed-time
brought sleep to his weary bright eyes, but the
pride of life made him to entreat to ‘ sittee up a
little longer, please.'
“He was now a little over two years old, when
one day Amos came home early from the fair.
“ ‘See thee here, Willie, what a smart fairing
I’ve a brought tliee,’ said he, holding out a
spotted horse upon wheels.
“ It was the first regular plaything the child
had possessed, and he dragged it after him,
within and without the house, incessantly. He
would not be parted from it at night, but took
his precious steed with him to bed.
1 Ain’t he a pretty fellow, to be sure!’ said
the very plain words which the doctor had used
to her.
“‘But, sir,’ she moaned, in an awe-struck
whisper, ‘you dunna mean as them few drops
could be the death of him ?’
‘“Y’es, I do,” said the doctor, fiercely, ‘after
he had been brought to the state he was in by
months of drugging; and I told you so before.’
“He made her put the child into a hot bath,
but in a few minutes the poor little fellow ceased
to breathe—sleeping away from the stupor of
the opiate into the sleep of death without ever
even opening his eyes upon his poor mother.
“‘Oh! Willie, Willie, won't ye look at me?
Won't ye kiss me? And now you’re gone to be
an angel in heaven, and what will ye say up
there as I did to ye?’ she sobbed hysterically, as
she bent over him when the doctor was gone;
‘ and how ever shall I tell yer father, or show
him such a heart-sore as you ?’
“It was indeed a bitter sight for poor Amos,
who had gone to fetch some useless medicine for
the child.
“ My little ’un, my little ’un, come back to me;
come back to its daddy. Haven't ye never a
word for him as loves ye so? nor a thought for
him where you’re a gone to,—up there in the
sky along wi' the angels?’
“And he pressed the inanimate little head,
with its golden curls, against the breast where it
would never more rest.
“Ellen would have given worlds to cry, but
her eyes were dry and her heart felt like a stone.
Amos said nothing to her; he had met the doc
tor after he left the house and knew all. But
what use was there in reproaching her ? It would
almost have been a comfort to her if he had
broken out against her folly; for his dumb grief
as he sat g,azing into the tire, or turned out with
a groan into the dark night, seemed to burn into
her very heart, as she sat silent, feeling desolate
beyond words.
“If they could have grieved together, she
thought it wouldn’t have been a hundredth part
as bad. Now her act seemed to have put a deep
gulf between them which she could not pass.”
be held up in tbr^Tgbt ou ■wkxl its puri
tanical authors, who have indulged in so much
cant against its inhumanity and barbarism,
should be exposed, and the just odium of man
kind visited upon them. The institution of
slavery itself, embodying many of the princi
ples of the early patriarchal institutions, and
sustaining an intimate relation to the higher de
velopment of human society, to be properly un
derstood as a moral and sociological problem,
must be viewed from a stand-point that is un
clouded by the mist of prejudice, misguided
philanthropy and fanaticism.
Nor should the South be content that the mo
tives and incentives that actuated her in taking
up arms in the late struggle, or the spirit of her
people during that eventful period, or the line
of policy pursued by her de facto*government,
be represented- through the distorted medium of
Northern history. Several productions since
the war have emanated from the Northern press,
purporting to be histories of “The Rebellion,”
over which the fell spirits of hatred and fanati
cism presided, rather than the muse of history.
Men whose whole energies for a life-time have
been devoted to courting inflammatory appeals
the world forever to join the seraph choir in
singing eternal praises to the fount of goodness
and mercy. I never read the tender, pathetic, ;
and tlirillingly beautiful poems of Miss Landon,
without wishing I could have shared the sorrows
of the unfortunate poetess, or averted the blow
that took her from earth.
Among prose writers, probably no one was a
greater blessing to her fellow-creatures than the
excellent Miss Edgeworth; and no one wrote
with more power, pursued with more unflag
ging zeal the instruction of the young, and gave
to the world more wholesome and unselfish
views on ethics and moral principles, than Mrs.
Hannah More.
But it is not necessary to refer to deceased
writers alone for specimens of the purest and
noblest type of feminine genius, for it is a well-
known fact that to-day tiie greatest master writers
of fiction are women,—George Eliot and George
Sand. And in our own country we see the pro
ductions of women enriching the pages of the
best--inngaziTi.es, papers and periodicals; and
they are continually winning for themselves .
bright laurels in the field of literature.
It would indeed seem that if men, from their
of Spenser and Bacon. In Anne’s reign,
Blenheim was fought, Gibraltar acquired, : >d
the United Kingdom established. Everyfc .Jy
knows that under Victoria, England has i .. t
likely reached the acme of power and prosper
ity; and under Mary, the Bank of England
established, whereby the nation's financial ^ -s-
perity was secured and “money panics” kept
under control.
Ween Henry Ward Beecher lived in Indianap
olis, his wife wrote a book entitled “From Dawn
to Daylight.” A correspondent of the Coicrier-
Journal recently interviewed citizens of that city
in regard to the publication. He says: “This
book created a commotion when issued. The
commotion was narrow but vigorous. Most of
the Lawreneelnirg persons pen-pictured were in
a rage; so also were many Indianapolis families.
With members of some of these latter I have
recently conversed concerning the book. Mrs.
Coward, a high-toned widow, nearly related by
marriage to Mrs. Beecher, said: ‘ It is an unpleas
ant book, and we tried to forget it; of course I
don't like to talk about it.’ Mrs. I)r. Parricide,
a widow of high tone also, whose family is said
to have been dramatized by the authoress, de
superior physical strength, were destined to j clined to enter into a lengthened conversation
wield the sword more powerfully in the field of
battle, it would at least be given to women to
achieve equally as great triumphs in the field
of literature; and they are in every way capaci
tated to do so. I see but one obstacle in the
way of their success, and that is their natural
antipathy for vigorous and long continued mental
exertion. But now that the scum of worldly
disparagement is broken, and due appreciation
is being accorded to their efforts, let them set
forth with new energy, new zeal on their noble
career.
“ Still achieving, still pursuing.
Learn to labor anil to wait.” . •
over the book: ‘Mrs. Beecher's book was so very
personal, that I do not wish to express myself
concerning it.’”
PARAGRAPHIC.
[For The Sunny South.]
• Domestic Economy.”
were traduced as the authors of wrong and out
rages that were never inflicted, and horrors and
tragedies that were only enacted in the fertile
imagination of the writers, can never “ vindicate
the truth of history” when the North and South
are parties to the record.
It' were impossible, too, tffnt any Southern
writer, upon the immediate close of the late con
flict, could have framed into an historical record
the exciting causes that produced the war and
the more tragic events that the war itself gave
rise to, without having the springs of passion
deeply stirred, and too partial history the re
sult of his effort.
Ten years have now elapsed since the South
furled her banner on the field of Appomattox
and yielded to “the inexorable logic of events.”
The fierce passions and bitter hate engendered
in bloody strife have subsided. The mistrust
and alienation of sections, fostered and pro
longed by the dominant faction of the Republi
can party for purposes of evil, have met the con
demnation of the American people, and the
signs at present lead us to hope that we are, in
the near future, to be an united and homogeneous
people. And while we should endeavor to has
ten the era of harmony and good feeling by
joining the Northern people with sincere and
hearty accord in celebrating the approaching
centennial, we should yet keep alive the memory
of the men who illustrated upon the battle-field
the
ern
courage in action, their heroism in suffering, is
a rich legacy that should be preserved for future
generations in the enduring form of written his
tory. Our young men should be taught their
first lessons of patriotism in a study of the men
and measures that have given life, strength and
character to our State institutions, and learn
that a maintenance of the principles of local self
government, which underlie., and. support the
Speaking of lecturers, how small the sum | whole structure of American institutions, is a
“How indispensable a part of female educa
tion is domestic economy! How absolutely
such knowledge is needed in this land of free-
in the daily press, in which the Southern people ! dom and independence, where riches cannot ex
empt the mistress of a family from the difficulty
of procuring efficient aid, and where perpetual
changes of domestics render perpetual instruc
tion and superintendence necessary.”
That’s so, but what is to be taught the boys ?
Domestic economy ! In many cases, very many
cases, this means for the women to draw water,
chop wood, make fire, milk cows, and cook din
ner. The boys are brought up for counter-
jumpers, doctors, and lawyers.
A country will never be regenerated by talk
ing of what the females are to be taught; it can
only be done by what the men do.
There are more women to-day in honest em
ployment in the United States than there are
men. In 1870, there were in Georgia 434,382
females employed, while there were only 401,547
men employed. Y’et there are idiots who prate
of teaching women to cook, wash, and iron !
It is not intended to deny the importance of
proper instruction to women in the duties of
the household; but I do say the country will
prosper more if the men will work more and
talk less. Arnot.
How to Toll a Laily.
received by the foremost of that profession in
our day compared with that paid to the platform
men of antiquity ! Herodotus, for example,
when an old man, read his History to an Athe
nian audience at the Panatheniac festival, and
so enchanted them that they gave him ten tal
ents, or $12,500, as a recompense. Isocrates re
ceived a sum equivalent to $10,375 for one ora
tion ; Virgil, for his famous lines on Marcellus,
was rewarded by a gift of $8,500; and according
to Suetonius, Tiberius presented to Asellius
Sabinus 400,000 sesterces (about $18,700) for a
dialogue he wrote between a mushroom, a cab
bage, an oyster, and a thrush, in which they
disputed among themselves.
The girls complain that the times are so hard
the young fellows can’t pay their addresses.
Two ladies may get into a street-car, and
although we never saw either of them before, we
shall select you the true lady. She does not tit-
ter when a gentleman, handing up her fare,
courage, patriotism and honor cf our South- J knocks off his hat, or pitches it away over his
land. Their devotion to principle, their nose; nor does she receive her “change, after
“ • this (to him) inconveient act of gallantry, in
grim silence. She wears no flowered brocade to
be trodden under feet, nor ball-room jewelry,
nor rose-tinted gloves: but the lnce frill around
her face is scrupulously fresh, and the strings
under her chin have been handled only by dainty
fingers. She makes no parade of a watch, if she
wears one; nor does she draw oft' her dark, nently
fitting glove, to display ostentatious rings. Still,
we notice, nestling in the straw beneath us, such
a trim little boot, not paper-soled, but of anti-
consumption thickness; the bonnet upon her
head is of plain straw, simply trimmed, for your
true ladj- never wears a “dress hat” in an omni
bus. She is quite as civil to the poorest as to
the richest person who sits beside her, as equally
regardful of their rights. If she attracts atten
tion, it is by the unconscious grace of her per
son and manner, not by the ostentation of her
dress. We are quite sorry when she pu!ls the
strap and disappears.
sacred trust committed to them, and must be
preserved and perpetuated at any cost or sacri
fice. This cannot be better done than by plac
ing before them a history of their State, con
taining all that is valuable in matter, written
with clearness of statement, power of analysis
and attractiveness of style, that will give it lit
erary as well as intrinsic excellence.
Shall we have the history of Georgia written ?
and how shall the purpose be accomplished ?
It occurs to us that the Georgia Historical Soci
ety should take the initiative and move forward
at once to meet the desideratum. Conducted
under its auspices, the people of Georgia would
“Parson, don't you think marriage a means
_ _ of grace?” “Certainly; anything leading to
have ample guaranteed the value and excellence j 7'epentance is a means of grace.”
of the work, and manifest their appreciation by
prompt and cheerful subscription. If it should
be the pleasure of the Historical Society to act
! Adam was the swiftest runner on record, being
i actually the first in the human race.
“Digby, will you take some of this butter?”
“Thank yon, ma’am, I’m a Good Templar; can’t
take anything strong,” replied Digby.
There are in Texas eighty-two priests, eighty-
five churches, one hundred and sixty-five chap
els, and a Catholic population estimated at two
hundred thousand.
Thirty-Seven foreign nations have promised
to be in at the Philadelphia Centennial, and
New Jersey is considering a proposition to be
come the thirty-eighth.
Poor little America and her Centennial!
Japan has just been celebrating the two thou
sand five hundred and thirty-fifth anniversary
of the Japanese Empire.
Newark, New Jersey, now has one hundred
l churches to one hundred and twenty-five thou
sand inhabitants, as against Brooklyn’s two hun
dred and thirty-five to nearly a half million.
If it be true, as the Boston Post declares, that
there are but forty-one thousand lawyers in this
country, the people should demand that the
government take immediate steps to augment
the supply.
Everybody would have one hundred and sev
enty-five dollars if all the property in this coun
try were to be equally divided. It is not to be
divided, however, until there is enough to give
every one five hundred dollars.
A farmer of Westchester county, New York,
has just ploughed up two bushels of Revolu
tionary cannon balls, which are supposed to
have been buried by the American rebels one
hundred years ago, or thereabouts.
An ex-Confederate soldier and an ex-Federal
met in the top of Bunker Hill monument, a few
days ago, and formally shook hands, at the top
of two hundred and ninety-five steps, “over the
bloody chasm.” They were perfect strangers.
A Philadelphia firm is planting several thou
sand acres of land in Virginia with seeds of for
est trees -black and white walnut, locust, hick
ory, chestnut, etc. Unless America is to become
a desert in the next century, forest trees must
be cultivated more rapidly than they are now
destroyed.
A new religious vagary in California is a sect
ot ‘.‘Child Christians,” who interpret literally
the passage,* “ Except ye be converted and be
come as little children, ye shall not enter into
the kingdom of heaven.” They endeavor to feel
and act like chiidren, playing childish games
and adopting an infantile manner of speech.
A gentleman of Richmond, Virginia, makes
a business of dealing in Confederate money and
postage stamps. There are many people in vari
ous sections of the world who are anxious to
get hold of this species of property for souven
irs, and Confederate money is now worth two
dollars per thousand, while some of the old
postage stamps bring five dollars each.
A very tall and shabby-looking man—a fellow
that reminded yon of a vagrant letter from a
font of forty-line paragon extra condensed—
stepped up to one of our bars last week, and,
after pouring a glass of liquor into his long
throat, blandly asked the bar-tender if he could
change a twenty-dollar bill. That gentleman
gently informed him that he could. “Well,”
said the tall one, with a sigh of satisfaction,
“I’ll go out and see if I can find one;’’ and lie-i
plunged out into the cold world on his mission.