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[For Tbe Smiuy South.] GEORGIA. BY M. C. T. As cross the heaven’s broad expanse. Night drives her dark aud shadowy car. While through her trailing sable robe Shines forth one bright aud golden star, So through the gloom that wraps our land Iu folds as dark aud grim as fate Beams forth, with radiance pure and bright, The new life of our dear old State. True hearts and brave have struck for thee; Strong hands have held thy colors fast; Aud soon again we’ll see thee stand Where erst thou stood in years long past. We see thee rise from out the waves That long have ’whelmed thee, strong aud free, With shame all past, now fresh and pure As Aphrodite from the sea. And Mississippi's shackled bands Would lain clasp thine in friendly greeting; And Carolina's humbled head Is raised to see thy brave sons meeting; While Louisiana's proud heart, wrung With shame by bayonets tixed upon her, Calls with a clarion voice to them To help restore her “stabbed State honor.” Now Memory’s magic hand withdraws The curtain that obscures the past, Aud from the darkness forth there comes A shadowy baud of numbers vast,— Of able statesmen, patriots pure, Whose lives are now thy boast and pride— As Cuthbert, Berrien, Crawford, Troup, And scores of others true and tried. Thou still hast sons as staunch and brave. There’s o«< whose name shall live in story; He risked a nation s last sad charge, Aud led the vau in search of glory; Yet who, though happiest when the hail Of shell and shot did round him rattle, Laid down with knightly laith his sword, Aud tights for thee a nobler battle. And by ..lis side another stands Who 1 ears a name of brightest lustre— Around which, lrom thy earliest days. Heroic deeds and virtues cluster. And though another people's love Have given him his high place to fill. Yet at the sound of thy dear name, 1 know his heart must ever thrill. Aud still another son thou hast, Whose fame is now thy proudest boast— With giant mind aud patriot heart, Forever ready at his post,— Whose spirit-stirring words shall pierce The cold, deaf ear of power aud might. Aud tear from blinded eyes the vail That hides from them the people's right. Well may the tyrant cower to see The radiance ot thy rising star. Which now can claim such noble names As Hill and Cordon aud Lamar; For who can doubt, with men like these, Georgia shall live her sorrows down. And know aagin, iu years to come, “The glorv of her old renown?” Shreveport, Louisiana. is one constant act of self-sacrifice and denial then make an arrangement to obtain supplies on dreamed of “ Aunt Nancy.” I could recall noth- This quite pacified her; hut I could see the for the comfort of his family. The trouble is credit. The time of credit expired, she would : ing hut this. Aunt Nancy was mixed up with perplexed look coming back to her face again, that liis salary is not as large as his large family apply for money to pay her hills, that she might all sorts of scenes and people. Occasionally, and she seemed to he looking among the red requires, and even this inadequate salary is ir regularly paid. He is too sensitive to expose his difficulties, and as for asking for assistance, I know of nothing that could force him to take such a step.” “Well, chile, de good Lord aint forgot you. Since freedom, I’se seen a heap o’ ups and downs, an’ times has been when it looked if I must per- renew it. She failed to obtain much oftener something that Aunt Nancy had said darted coal of the grate for the solution of her prob- than she succeeded, and the dark intervals— through my mind. When I left the room I had lem. - ‘ such an one we were then experiencing—wit- gathered no assistance from these dreams but “ Do you want to see me on business, Fanny ? nessed to her almost more than human struggles such as might be obtained from that single name, I cannot see why a young girl like you should to keep the hungry wolf of starvation from her “Aunt Nancy.” Aunt Nancy was no stranger come on such a cold morning like this to see an children. But she generally succeeded, and tome, hut such a source of help seemed to he old lady like me. Tell me, child; the thing per- when she did succeed, she would move about the most unpromising that could be conceived plexes me.” her family with cheerful face and loving words, of. She was a maiden lady, and quite old. She j “I know of no business that I have with you, isli anyhow; hut I neber perished. De Lord'l ; although at her heart were gnawing two giant lived in the same town that we lived in. She was Aunt Nancy. I hope that my visit is not annoy- keep you— keep up good heart. I’le see dat cares,—my father’s fast-failing health, and an quite wealthy, and was one of my father’s parish- ing.” you shall hah your big, warm fire in dat chim- | occult disease of her own, over whose secret ioners, but our family was connected with her “No; I ought to feel that it is a compliment, I ney to-night. I gwine right straight off to see i pain she often folded her robes in silence. by a tie stronger than this. She was my maternal suppose. I was reading the paper when you ’bout it.” To ^e parlor fire, Judy was particularlv atten- aunt. Her relationship to my mother's children came in. The stores seem to he full of finery.” With these words, our good old friend re- tive that evening. I attributed this fact to her was ver y remote, however, for she was a grand- ! “Are they ?” traced her steps,- and I was left again alone, promise to me.° After tea, while my father aunt of my mother. There was no intimacy he-i “ I ought to ask you ‘are they !’ Haven’t you The room was very dark now, for night had - - - - ■ quite set in. My mother’s room was cT | above the room in which I was sitting, ^ ^ a , could hear her footsteps as she moved about it j f 0 r ^ ie children. * The music ceased with the fully brusque. She was the most eccentric ; what is more, we do not expect to buy a yard of preparing it for the night. The younger chil- j snio king; and then my father read aloud from a w «man that I ever knew. Her means made her cloth this fall. Mama thinks that we can do dren were with her. Their merry laughter and book w £i c h one of our literary friends had lent entirely independent of the world, and npon very well without. She has worked wonders *1—• j— to jyjy purpose was not forgotten for a mo- them she leaned in preference to human sup- with our thick dresses of last winter. They are ment, I believe; and, with great pleasure, I at Ports. Her large estate she managed with the turned, brightened, and made a la mode, and we last saw him look at his watch, close the 'hook most consummate skill, employing as her assist- ; are almost deceived ourselves.” that he had been reading, and take into his ant an agent who had served her thus far thirty “Why, you surprise me ! And she does not hands our hook of family devotions. This was years. The diligent care with which Mr. intend to give you a single new dress ?” the signal of separation foViiTe ni ght.' and it was "Shroudy looked after Aunt Nancy’s interests was “She will not give me oqe. Why should she, not manv minutes later that I was up-stairs in onl y equaled by the diligent care with which wheu I have no need of it?” my own room, which was directly opposite my Aunt A ' auc y looked after Mr. Shroudy. Some “But the tiling is unheard of, child. I did mother’s. Judy’s thoughtfulness'had furnished sharp things she had said to him in the course of not believe thata niece of mine would ever begin me with the means of sitting up that night until their relations to each other, hut lie bore them any season without at least one new dress. I their quick steps came to me muffled by the dis tance, and the intervening floor and walls. But there was another sound that, at that time, ab- j sorbed all my attention. The room adjoining the | parlor was my father’s study. The door at the side ■ of the fire-place that opened into it was closed. ; From that room the sound proceeded. For some time I had heard his slow, measured step as he paced the floor. Suddenly it ceased. Then I heard his voice. He was praying. He seemed to be repeating, again and again, the same peti tion. I knelt, reverently, as near the door us I could, to join my petitions with his. I could hear the words now, “Give us^his day our daily bread.” His soul seemed to he in every word, j Over and over again that prayer went up, us this dav our I was quite ready to retire, by devoting to me old Cudjoe’s “last turn, ” and it was already blaz ing in the fire-place, and sending out its warm welcome to greet me when I entered the room. all quite patiently, believing that it was her mi- must look into that—I must look into that, ture to he sour, that every woman ought to have My heart stood still for a minute. I began to her eyes open to her interests, and more espe- tremble. The dream had guided me aright, it cially because she showed her appreciation of may he, after all. My course was mafked out. I With door locked, shutters bolted, aud curtains his qualities and services by paying him hand- “Pray, Aunt Nancy, do not speak to mama in that prayer went up, “Give i c j ose jy drawn> I wrapped mv dressing-gown some commissions. What was I to do with this upon this subject.” dailj bread. llien, hroui ground me, drew a comfortable chair near the lady ? htiil, I had dreamed about Aunt “You must think I have hut little to do to go plague, pestilence and famine, good Lord, de- dre _ an( j gave myself to my promised reflections. 1 ^ ancy, and to Aunt Nancy I was goin liver us.” I heard Judy coming, and rose^ from! Wiiatyoung g irldoe8Iloto - " ’ ■■ - — Per- my knees with a new resolution formed, that I would, so far ar. a girl of fifteen could render I such assistance, he of actual use to my father. I It seemed to me that the formation of the reso- i lution brought comfort and almost healing to | my spirit. I had only determined that I would try and he of use, hut I was yet quite uncon scious of anything like a plan ov wuich to carry out my intention. I had now a new hope that sent its light to me, and made brighter the dark days that must elapse before it could he real ized. The very invention of a plan gave my thoughts pleasant employment. When Judy again entered the parlor, therefore, she found me in a state ol mind decidedly improved. Taat she observed it, I knew, and I was to have her attribute my improved condition to me whenever I was in this dear little retreat; and the gratification ofmy wtsh concerning the par- | k never seemed like drudgery to sweep the dust _ and speak to your mother. No; I shall not not "delight in the posses- i haps the avenue to usefulness lay beyond her speak to her; I shall give you a new dress tuy- ? And this was exclusive- comfortable hut gloomy threshold; perhaps that self.” sion of her own room _ ly my own. All that I possessed in the whole avenue might open in front of me before I world were to be found within these four walls, reached her home. But I had dreamed of Aunt There were my hook-shelves suspended by blue Nancy, and to Aunt Nancy 1 would go. cords against the wall. The progress of my lit- “Mama,” I said, as soon as we had risen entry taste was accurately defined by the miscel- from the breakfast table, “unless you wish me “Thank you; yon are very kind; hut do not think me ungrateful -1 cannot take it.” “Well, let it alone. Just like the rest of them, --poor anil proud—poor and proud.” “Oh! how entirely you misunderstand me! laneous topics discussed in the volumes that to stay at home this morning, I should like to go Proud! I am proud to a certain extent; hut I tilled them. I had the hooks which I had de voured with avidity when I was six years old; and, upon the lowest shelf, stood the hook that was then interesting me, not yet finis bed. My writing-desk stood upon a small table beneath these shelves, and that 'lo*k was fille.l with my curious efforts at different kinds of composition out for awhile.” “No, my dear,” my mother replied, “I have no use for you at home. Where are yon going.” “To Aunt Nancy’s.” “Aunt Nancy’s! Why, my child, what has put such a freak into your head?” “Well, the morning is delightfully bracing,” iiu.veu. A sense of independence, of delightful proprie- I said, “and I want to take a long walk. The ^omliGnn 1 tn Worship, nowhere else felt, was experienced by old lady said, the last time I saw her, some very biting things about my neglecting her.” Take care,” said my father, as he walked , • ... 1 C 1 C A • .1 iv L1LI VI ovvuiuu imv uiuucen iv auccp lut uuru Ximc luif, oum in > kuuli. go ug n amvvt lor Ure, especially as s e ound com or in e f m tb e carpe t or re-arrange, each dav, articles slowlv from his seat at the foot of the table to thought that she had been the chiet instrument ! 1 - b 1 • * -------- am not too proud to take from love and friend ship its holy gifts. Let me prove to you that I am not proud. You have offered to give me a new dress. I cannot take the dress; but, Aunt Nancy, if you will give me the money that you propose to spend for that dress, I will take it, and bless you for it as long as I live!” “Afraid of my taste, eli?” she asked, suspi ciously. “You want to suit yourself?” “ Oh, no, no !” I answered. “I want no dress; I want the money.” “Money?—for what?” “That, I cannot tell you. I want it not for . .. . . ... , i that may have been misplaced; or to throw out his large chair bv the fire,” that she does not say in securing >ot to me. . e came in wi ler j n j. 0 g re{der prominence, bv new arrangements some more biting things to vou to-day for not j myself. I want it—I want it for God.” strong arms laden with a supply of fuel, more of ^ pos8 £ ssionaj the beauty that they were neglecting her.” “I hope we have no Mrs. Jellabys coming on than sufficient lor tnr.t etenmg s use. capable of creating by happy combinations. I waited only long enough to receive some • » the family,” said the malicious old woman. Judy, you are a good mena, i said, as sne j am snre that j WO uld not have valued my room instructions from mv mother about supplying In a second, I found my ardor at freezing- laid her burden in the wood-box, and stood fiQ bighlv if its furniture had been simply mvself with warm wrappings, hastened to'mv point, and it was as much as I could do to keep brushing into tne box the splinters of wood bought and transferred from a warehouse to this , room to obey her instructions, and equip my- that had adneml to ac-r dress. “I cannot tell ° tmf . nt Bnt except the bedstead, every ar- | self for my walk, and started. A brisk walk of * , UU , -‘ l 1 * ’ •. ,, . T . oc . , tide was the creature of mv mother’s invention, about a half hour brought me to the street at the * b ’ C e ’ 8 1 ! taste, and, I may say, labor. The furniture con- head of which stood the imposing residence of sisted of rough frames. • The material of which Aunt Nancy. It was a large stone building, my tongue and my seat. I sat in silence, deter mined that she should renew the conversation. It was not long before she returned to it. “ Perhaps you think that I was proposing to give you a very handsome dress, and that you ** Anri v/Yn oro o irnti lorf 1 * tv , I 1*1 uumco.» mu maiciiiu ui » men ..xU.L11 xviiiixuv. At li kill atuu.tr ihiuuiul;. j ‘j » ~ Ana you are a wonuenm woman, Juay, ; t]iege f rames were made was furnished by a few surrounded by well-kept and extensive grounds can spend the money to a better advantage by [Written for Tbe Sunny South.] THE OLD KECTORT; OR, FANNY’S PROJECT. 1?Y Ii. WAYNE WILSON. It had been very cofd throughout that day of mid-November, which stands out now among past days as one of the saddest that I have ever known. The wind had not once lulled; there had been ro sunshine, and a cold, steady rain had been falling. The weather had been doing its best to make everybody feel “thoroughly un comfortable.” It was just the day when com fortable parlors and blazing fires are luxuries— when we long for night that we might repose in the cosy enjoyment of the shelter of a comfort able home, undisturbed by apprehensions of be ing compelled to leave the warm fire-side, and to expose ourselves to the coldness and damp ness without. Wrapped in a large shawl, I was sitting in our parlor, from which the daylight was fast hastening. It had been already pre pared by the untiring and tasteful hands of my mother for the winter, and it might havo stood as a model drawing-room for an humble rectory like that in which we lived, and for the family of a country clergyman, whose support was ex tremely moderate. But even this room, which had sometimes looked so cheerful, and always bespoke for us refined tastes, was cheerless enough at the time ol which I am writing. It had grown so dark that the articles of furniture appeared in uncertain outline. No fire burned upon the hearth. A silence that was oppress ive prevailed. I sat in a large chair that always stood beside the centre-table, and with my shawl gathered closely about my throat, rested upon the table my cold hands, in which I had buried my face. The day just closing had been ono of peculiar trial to us. We had actually suffered for the necessaries of life. The wolf was at the door. He had not actually entered, thauk God ! hut, so far as I could see, liis entrance was only a question of time. We had had a little to-day; to-morrow we might have nothing. I was star tled from my horrible anxieties by the opening of the parlor door. “Oh, Judy, how yon frighten me!” I ex claimed, as our good, faithful servant, the only one we kept about us, appeared before me. “Frightened ! At what, chile?” “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, as I shivered, and drew my shawl more closely around me. “Some times we feel more unprotected, even by God, than at other times; and every sound 6eems to he a threat of danger. Not even the cold is kept away from ns. ” “’Tis mity cold,” replied Judy, folding her stout arms, and heaving a deep sigh of sympa thy; “mity cold. And arter dis rain its agwine to git colder; and not one stick o’ wood in de whole yard!” “No; not one,” I answered. “ Is it not dread ful ? What are we to do ? If we only had wood enough with which to make a bright, warm fire this evening, we might gather about it and try to forget our cares until to-morrow.” “An’ to think how much wood pass dis house to-day ?” “Yes,” I said, internpting her, “and it was brought to the door for sale, hut we had to send it away, for papa had not money enough to pay for it. Poor papa!” “Miss Fanny, don't you tink 'tis your pa’s fault? He go ever}’ Sunday, and he preach to people dat got plantation; dey got more wood dan dey know what to wid; dey got waggin, boss, an’ I know if your pa was only to ax it, dey would send him wood. Your white preachers aint like our colored ones. No, ma'am, I tell you what dey aint. If our preachers aint got nuttin, and wants it, dey’ll tell the people, if dey hah to do it, in de pulpit, and dey gits what dey wants, too.” “ Don’t speak of anything being papa's fault, Judy. He has done his duty, ever since I have known him, as faithfully and conscientiously as j man can. His congregation can blame him for no failure of duty, and I am sure that his life ! I you are almost a fairy. Difficulties need not 1 try to frighten yon, for you seem to triumph | over them so easily.” “ Why, Miss Fanny, dis aint all. I got your I ma’s box, up-stairs, full. And how yon tink I ' got it? We cullnd people helps each odder. I j often helps ole Uncle Gudjoe, next door. Only i last week, poor ole man, 1 cut out, and mnkel'or j him two check shirts. I sews ior him constant ; since he lost his wife. So, just now, I went to him, and tole him I wanted some wood, and de ole man gim me as much as I wanted, an’ cut it up for me. I left him at it. He gwine to bring dat turn oher to me heself.” I left her making the fire, and went up-stairs 1 to my mother’s room. A cheerful scene pre sented itself as I opened the door of her cham ber. tine would hardly have imagined, as ho heard the joyous laughter of the children, and then the musical responses of the mother’s voice, or, as he saw the comfortable appointments of the room rollickine under the influence of the boxes such as merchants use for the transporta- which were protected from public intrusion by tion of drj r goods, shoes, etc. Cheap, hut taste- , a massive fence of iron. Bathed in the bright ful draperies covered all that was rough and un- November sun, it looked more like happy life sightly; and I returned home ono day, after an than I had ever dreamed it could he made to absence of a few weeks, to be surprised by re- look. As I stood at the massive iron gate, just ceiving as my own this room, full of her own beyond which a flight of marble steps led to the beautiful ideals and of the fragrance of fresh entrance of the dwelling, I saw that the hedges been »ev.' rlv framed, ’^kc gardener ■ Al»<vih mV jV:i, il. • :: ^u.rrewffijtugur these proofs of my mother’s love, there was a that moment throwing open the glass doors of ran at great deal to stimulate me in carrying out my heart’s wish. I felt the invigoration of purpose, bnt as I approached the duty I shrank hack. AYhat could I do ? I, a girl of fifteen, with no co-operation and no resources, to earn money ! the conservatory, and beyond them arose a vis ion of fresh, fair flowers, as choice as they were fair, upon which my ej’es could have feasted for hours. The sonorous hell soon brought to the ;ate an old and dignified butler who, upon leurn- And this was what I was aiming at, the earning ing my desire to see his mistress, conducted me of money to supply that wasted purse upon forthwith into the house. The shrill bark of a etting two or three plainer ones with the same sum.” “I thonght of nothing of the kind, ma’am. But we will not speak of it any more, Aunt Nancy. I do not need a dress, thauk you.” “Bnt you want the money?” “I want the money.” “Then yon shall have it.” “Blessed he God!” I cried, as I placed my cold fingers before my eyes to force hack the burning tears that would come. Aunt Nancy whirled her chair from me, rose to her feet, thrust her hand into her pocket, drawing therefrom a hunch of bright keys, and walking briskly to a book-ease in the further corner of the room, unlocked a deep drawer and which the comfort of so many depended—with frisk} - poodle greeted my entrance into the’ began to rummage among some papers. In a which, in fact, my parents’ health, perhaps their heated hall, and as my guide opened a door in lives, were associated. My reflections were the rear of the passage, I was almost deafened by guided, in the first instance, by that old and fa- the singing of the three canaries that I afterward miliar adage, “A penny saved is a penny discovered in the apartment. I entered the earned.” It led me to ask what I could do in room, and before me sat Aunt Nancy. She had few minutes, she came hack to the fire-place, near which I was still sitting. “When I spoke of giving you a dress just now, Fannie,” she said, “I was thinking of a neat, warm, grave worsted dress. Such a dress, __ , .. ~ a ., , , . .it earneu. n icu cue uj ana wum l cuuiu un iu room, auti oeiore me sat .-xnur iinuci. ciue mm — .. hl^rth 8 t hnTt h er 8 c nlTtc d “^ ed ^£ on . tl l e the way of retrenchment. What could I give just finished breakfast, and the small table with with the trimmings, can he bought, I suppose. hearth, that there could he anything like sad ness in the vicinity. The room had been ! already prepared for the night. The scenes now enneting within it were connected with the un- i dressing and snugly tucking into their beds of | two irrepressible hoys full of health and life, ! and the baby-pet— a little girl in her third year. As I entered, my mother was sitting in her large rocking-chair, holding our baby in her lap. The hoys were seated on the rug before the fire, and one of them had just been reminded that he 1 must say his prayers. This never-forgotten duty was always performed where our mother said hers. She was inclined to the Catholic school of churchmanship—believed in a religion that lays claim to one’s wholo nature. With her, there was a worship of the body as well as of the soul; hence, she prized external aids to devotion, and hence she had her oratory upon which stood the symbol of our redemption, npon which she had taught us all to look as we knelt i before it, that we might understand the better the value of the cross of Christ, and that we might daily be reminded that, to be like Him, we must become iutimate with crosses imposed upon us by God. It was touching to see these little ones go reverently to this spot, associated only with holy thoughts, kneel upon the kneel ing-hoard, clasp their hands together, and say their simple prayers. up ? As far as my education is concerned, I felt its snowy damask cloth had not yet been re- f°r between eight and ten dollars—I will say that I could not apply my test. It was not for moved. So daintily had she partaken as hardly ten. Here is the money ior your dress, my me to decide what studies or accomplishments I to make an impression upon the dishes that had child. might abandon or retain. My parents were been prepared, and while with quiet step old ^tie extended her shriveled hand towards me, properly the sole judges in that matter. I alian- Ben proceeded to remove the almost untasted and the crisp banknotes crackled with its tremor, doned it, therefore, with the pleasant reflection repast, Aunt Nancy, in stone-colored delaine As I took the money from her, 1 seized her hand that my education, although unusually liberal, morning dress, white waist apron, and lace cup with both my own and covered it with grateful was requiring no outlay of money. My father that bordered closely a hard, wrinkled, sallow was my teacher in English, Latin, French, and face, sat with her face toward a glowing fire of loved hands the morn- German. My musical education had been solely under my mother’s control: and to her in struction's I was also exclusively indebted for the ability to execute in crayon and oil the pictures that I felt very proud of, as I had often heard them favorably criticised by judges of the art. anthracite, holding ing paper which she was carefully reading through gold spectacles. “Good morning. Aunt Nancy,” I said with a tone the most cordial and sprightly. She turned suddenlv towards me, and, for at From education I turned to dress. Here again I least ten seconds I was only conscious that a recognized forbidden ground. Here my mother [ pair of light blue eyes were raised above the was sole judge. She knew what I required, and * before-mentioned frames of gold, and were de- what I did not require. And I knew that, such liherately scrutinizing me from head to feet, and was her sense of propriety, she would not add then from feet to head. to my wardrobe one article that was unnecessary. “Oh! good morning Jane—Eliza—Maria— I believe that she was often misunderstood in whatever your name may he, child.” this matter ; hut I understood her thoroughly. “Fanny,” I suggested. She had taste, ingenuity, a happy gift by which “Fanny! Well, so it is. Fanny ! Oh, yes, I she could take old materials and make them know now. Y’ou are our clergyman's daughter, new and fashionable. Somehow, she had only 1 If you came oftener to see me, I should find it easier to recall your name.’ I wondered that the old lady was not utterly deafened by the noise of her pets. I could hardly understand what she was saying to me. kisses. “Don’t, don’t!” she said, petulantly, wrench ing her hand from mine with the strongest effort* but hardly had she effected its release when 1 felt it pass, almost with the rapidity of lightning, over my curls, and when I raised my eyes I saw the cold blue of.hers softened by tears. The world calls this “a hard woman,” I thonght as she moved slowly to her chair. The world has slandered her. She has a human heart, and every human heart must he soft, because one like ours throbbed in the breast of humanity’s liedeemer. There was something about my auut’s manner as she turned away from me to resume her seat, that indicated plainly that the subject of her gift, so entirely unlooked for by me, was disposed of finally, so far as further communication between us was concerned. That I was more grateful than any additional expression could declare, I felt certain that she was convinced. It was hard to descend to anything like ordinary conversa tion, and L at once commenced to indicate my purpose of departure by drawing on my gloves, and replacing around my shoulders the scarf which I had thrown aside when I entered the well-heated room. She made no objection to peculiarly for the trying position which she had been callled upon to fill during the past few years. The time had been, and quite within my recollection, when my father’s private in come and her own combined, were qnite suffi- to manipulate for a little while a relic of the past, or a cheap fabric that at first sight I have sighed hopelessly over, and it at once became | stylish, making the rector’s daughter, arrayed „ _ My mother was not old. She was married at for the first time in it, the subject of remark for Every bird was singing, tbe poodle was snarling twenty. I was her eldest child, and she had her extravagant dressing. I abandoned as hope- j and harking at me, and the parrot, until now been married three years before I was horn, less the project of earning pence by saving them, concealed, began to rehearse his unmeaning Naturally, she was a person of great hopefulness and turned to consider the question in another jargon, and cheerfulness, and these brought with them form. Now I took the commercial view. Had I ! “Come to breakfast?” said Aunt Nanev, half my going; she did not even ask if I would stay more energy than her strength allowed, for she | anything to give for a money equivalent? The i inquiringly. longer, but extended her hand as soon as I rose was not strong. These characteristics fitted her question made me appear like a simpleton in. “Oh, no. I breakfasted nearly an hour ago. ’ I from my chair. my own eyes. And yef 1 wasloo rniicn in earn- ' She turned her head abruptly to the tire as if “Good-by, good-by,” she said, nodding em- est to he frightened away from it. I could sew; i she were guessing a conundrum. I felt utterly phatically. “Come and see the flowers the next I could write; I could teach. Perhaps Judy’s I spell-hound, and every idea seemed to vanish time; and come as soon as you choose. I shall old friend, Cudjoe, had some more check shirts j from me. For a minute I saw a ray of increased gi ye orders to Marshall to show them to you to be made up. Oh ! if I had only asked Judy , intelligence flit across the wrinkled face. . She ! should you come when I am away trom home, cient to make them independent of the salary to stay with me for a little while! I wanted to fixed her blue eyes on mine instantly, and, in I like you, child. Good-by.” that he received as a clergyman. But the terri- i ask her, then and there, to ascertain and to se- the same uncertain tone, said: I took the passive hand that she extended to ble war had made a ruin of their possessions, cure the work for me. I could sew neatly and I “Come to see the flowers in the green-house, and ever since its close they had had only the j cheaply. I could write, too. My desk was filled Marshall is out there. It is too early for me to uncertain support of a country parish. I shall with my compositions. We had a literary news- go out. He will show them to you. Be sure you not review the dark pages of our family record— ; paper in town. Perhaps . I was now thor- | do not touch them.” a record of constant struggle with poverty—but j oughly enthused. I knelt down and prayed that j I did not know whether to feel resentment or shall only say that finally my father sank he- | God would help me to help my father, i prayed amusement at this surmise. I tried to express neath the struggle, and seemed unable longer to that the first step to be taken in my new project no emotion by my face as I answered: direct the perplexing affairs of our home. My 1 he indicated to me that night in my dreams. I “I did not come to see your flowers ” rose from my knees and went to bed. Excited , I had not finished my sentence before she as I was, I hardly knew liow I fell asleep so : said in a piping, spiteful voice: quickly. I was aroused from a most refreshing | “I am sure they are worth, well worth your slumber the next morning by the “getting-up | seeing—” bell,’’which, in our orderly household, had never It was now my turn to interrupt her, and I failed, within my recollection, to encroach upon said hastily: the lnxu.j of our morning naps. Isprangfrom “Oh! indeed they must be. mother’s noble instincts had from that time as serted themselves. I often think now of the apparent impossibilities that she had to recon cile. Onr family was a large one. They were to be fed, properly clothed, educated, and,'added to these expenses, were the other hundred daily expenses of housekeeping. My father gave every dollar of his salary, receiving nothin me, and wished that she would permit me to throw my arm around her and kiss the old face that had been softened and even beautified in my eyes by her generous sympathy. I found it impossible to smother all emotion, and saying, as I pressed the unwilling fingers that were struggling now to free themselves from the press ure that I had to give them, “I wish I could make you or anybody as happy as you have made me to-day,” I left her. (CONCLUDED IN NEXT NUMBER.) False Pride.—Never he ashamed to help your self. The false shame which fears to be detected The gardener ip honest manual employment; which shrinks bed, startled by the fear that I had overslept my- j was opening the doors of the green-house while j from exposing to the world a necessary and lion- even lor a newspaper—lus own clothing never self, and as I threw wide open the shutters next ; I was standing at the gate, and I saw enough to . orable economy; which blushes more deeply for recognized in the calculation of expenses. There ; to my dressing-table, to admit the morning light ' make me wish that I could spend hours among \ a shabby attire than fora mean action, and which K "* r ' na *“•'*'■“*•“" s 1 — 1 T **- - 1 —*-’-*■ ’’ ’■ 1 *- ~ ^-know how fond of flowers I • dreads the sneer of the world more than the up- am sure from your remarks | braiding of conscience—this false shame will prove the ruin of every one who suffers it to in fluence his thoughts of life. derful mother of mine, my father gave up unre- denly recurred to me, as well as the prayer that I servedly his salary. He also relieved her of the had sent to heaven before I slept. I had prayed education of those of ns old enough to be taught. ! that God would help me to help my father; and Some of us he taught himself. The tuition of those who were at school he canceled by assist ing their teachers at certain hours of the day, or days of the week. And now, what did my mother’s resources amount to, after all ? We see her with a small salary at her disposal. The collections were made so irregularly that she seldom had money in her purse. She would I had also prayed that the first step be indi cated to me that night in my dreams. Of what had I dreamed ? Of whom ? I had a vague be lief that my slumber had not been dreamless; hut all had passed away from my mind, and I found it impossible to recall anything definite. Suddenly, as I was twisting my curls around my bennmbed fingers, I remembered that I had Well, go along and see them, if you choose. They will lose nothing by being looked at. I only say you must not pull them.” I tried to feel amused, and said laughingly: “No, I thauk yon. One visit at a time is as much as any such inexperienced visitor as my self can accomplish. This visit I intended, not for the flowers, but for you. At some other time I will return, if I can obtain your permission to do so, and that visit shall be devoted to your flowers.” If we recognize the truth that every good sub sists primarily in God and is derived from Him; that the senses, which are channels of delight to us, are his creative gifts, and that the things which pleasantly affect the senses are likewise from His hand, then, indeed, as we love our selves and the senses, and pleasure and the im mediate cause of pleasure, so shall we love primal cause and source of all things.