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THE SOUTHERN WORLD, MABCH 1,1882.
18
0ttr §oni\Q 'golhs.
Conducted by Aunt Fanny.
“ The world, dear child, la an wc take It, and
I.ife, be sure. In what we make It.”
MABCH.
March! March! March I They are coming
In troop* to the tune ot the wind;
Ited-headcd woodpeckers drumming,
(fold-crested thrashers behind;
Sparrows In brown Jacket* hopping
Fast every gateway and door;
Finches with crimson caps stopping
Just where they Btopped years before.
March! March I March i They are slipping
Into their places at last,—
Little while lily-buds dripping
Under the showers that fall Inst;
Buttercups, violets, roses:
Hnowdrnp and bluebell uud pink;
Throng upon throng of sweet posies,
Bending the dewdrops to drink.
March! March! March 1 They will hurry
Fortli at the wild biighvsound,—
Blossoms and birds In a llurry.
Fluttering nit over the ground.
Hang out your Hugs, birch and willow!
Shake out your red tassels, larch 1
tlrass-lihides, up from your earth-pillow!
Hear who Is calling you—March 1
A Story for Bojra.
Tlte street isn’t the best place for boys,
especially after dark. All parents admit
that. Hut boys always like to get together to
play, so Johnny and Jimmy were allowed to
go out every night after tea, provided they
would come home before dark. But as “be
fore dark” is a very indefinite time these
long, bright summer days, especially when
there was a moon to rise at sunset, the boys
were instructed to come home when the town
clock struck eight.
Jimmy never made any fuss about this ar
rangement. . No matter what they were play
ing, eight strokes of the clock were sure to
call him out and turn his face cheerfully to
wards home. Not so with Johnny.
“I think it is a shame to have to go home
at just such a time every night,” he would
mutter to Jimmy. “The other boys don’t
have to. When I’m a little bigger I won’t
do it, so there!”
It was the day before the Fourth of July.
The townspeople had got up a celebration,
and hired the band from the city to play on
the occasion, which band was to give a con
cert that evening on the fair ground, a half
mile out of the village.
“We are all going, aren’t we father?”
asked Jimmie at the dinner table. “The
fair ground isto be all lit up, and people can
drive about in thir carriages and hear the
music."
“I would like to go,” said their father;
“but I have to take the evening train for
New York to meet a man on important busi
ness. And I don’t dare to trust any one else
to drive the ponies insuch a crowd and with
so much music in their ears.”
“Never mind,” said their mother, “you’ll
hear the band to your heart’s content, to
morrow."
Kight o’clock that evening found a large
rabble of small boys, Johnny and Jimmie
among them, following along behind the
huge wagon which was slowly carrying the
band from the depot to the fair ground. Why
they should follow the wagon is as hard to
tell as it is why small boys do a great many
other things they do, for the band was not
.playing at all. But their instruments were
in sight, and occasionally some member of
the band, as he unscrewed his instrument
and wii>ed it, would give a little “toot,”
which sound always gave the boys fresh
courage to think they would play pretty
soon.
“We mustn’t go any father now,” said
Jimmy when the clock struck. “Come,
Johnny."
“Oh, its awfully mean to have to go just
now. Let’s not go just yet. We want to hear
the band.”
“But we must go," urged Jimmy. “Come,
I’m off,” and off he went like a kite. John
ny turned doggedly toward the wagon.
“I’m going to risk it to-night, anyhow,"
he confided to Sammy Staples, a not too good
boy, who had a great influence over John
ny. “I presume father’ll punish me for it,
some way, but he don’t lick me very often,
and I can stand anything else.”
“Glad I han't got any father to boss me
round,” remarked Sammy, who, as may be
imagined, was a sore trial to his widowed
mother.
When Jimmy turned into the honffe yard,
there was his father in his best clothes, just
harnessing the gray ponies to the shining
two-seated carryall.
“Why, father, I thought you were going
away!"
'I got a dispatch half an hour ago that I
needn't go to-night, so I hurried home to
take you all to the concert. Where’s John
ny?”
“Ho wouldn’t come home with me.”
"Well, he will lose the concert then. Hur
ry in and wash up and dress as quick as you
cun.” a*"
Jimmy ran in and found his mother put
ting on her best bonnet, while sister Fan,
in gay attire, wus just commingdown stairs,
drawing on her gloves. They both took
hold and assisted at Jimmy’s toilet, as u
mother and older sister know how to do so
well, and in ten minutes they ull drove guy-
ly off.
"It’s too bad Johnny didn't come home,”
said his mother with a sigh, “he will lose so
much.”
“The best punishment he could have,"
said his father. “Itisagood thing foruboy
to learn thut it is for his interest to obey the
family rules."
The band wagon had just gone inside the
gate os they drew near the fuir ground.
Around the gate there was a gang of boys
who had trudged out there for nothing, all
sweaty and dusty and tired. • Johnny’s eyes
opened wide when he espied hisfutlier's car
riage driving up for tickets before going in
side. Bushing to it at full speed, he was
about to climb in.
"Stop, stop, my boy,” said his fatlier,
“you are a pretty object, barefooted and
dirty, to come in among clean, well-dressed
people.”
"I didn’t know you were coming,” fal
tered Johnny,“or I should have gone home.”
“Neither did I know it an hour ago or I
should liavo told you. But Jimmy didn’t
know it auy more than you did, yet he came
home.”
Johnny hung his head. No doubt lie was
ashamed to have his tears seen.
“I’m sorry, Johnny,” said his mother
kindly, “but if you had only come home
with Jimmy it would have been all right.
Of course you would he ashamed to go in
now, looking as you do.”
That was so. Johnny was very proud of
his appearance when dressed up, and could
never bear to go looking worse thun people
around him.
“Couldn’t I go home and dress and then
come back.”
"It would he too late,” said his father.
“Go home and go to bed uud get rested for
to-morrow. That’s the best thing for you
now."
Johnny went home a sadder and wiser
boy. If his pillow was not wet with tears
that night, there were tear marks in the dirt
on his face; for he was too thoroughly dis
couraged when he got home to thinl^of
washing up or doing anything but going to
bed.
“It’s kinder hard to follow rules always,"
ho said to Sammy Staples next day ; “but
sometimes a fellow ‘makes it’ to do so, ufter
all.—[Christian Weekly.
OlH YOUNG i'Ol.KS' LETTER BOX.
Dear Aunt Fanny : I thought I would
write yon a short letter, hoping you will ap
prove of It, and may-be publish it as 1 hope
you will. I am a little girl twelve years old,
and though 1 live in a village, still l like to
know all that is going on, and I always read
the “Southern World" and especially
Aunt’s department.
Now I want to ask the other little girls
who read this paper, and who live in so
many different places all over the country,
some in cities and some in farm houses and
some In little villages, but all very much
the same wherever they live. I want to
ask these girls if they dout think it would
be nice and improving for us all to get up u
correspondence and exchange letters, asking
each other questions—telling how we make
pretty fancy articles, and about the pluces
we go. Even if the couutry girls don't go to
as many places of amusement as the city
girls, I think They could write interesting
accounts of life in the country, and I really
think a correspondence through Aunt Fun
ny’s columns will im proveusall, don’t you?
I do hope some one will answer this letter, 1
um very anxious to hear of some protty
things to make for Christmas presents—I
want some new ideas for presents for boys,
I think it is so hard to make pretty things
for them. I have two brothers and we have
great fun. If Aunt Fanny will Hud room for
my letters I would like to tell the girls about
the “Cooking Club” we have here. I am
the president of it. Of course we only do
simple cooking now, but we expect to do
better all the time. I am afraid I am mak
ing my letter too long, so enough for this
time.
low a. Millie Cartsr.
Aunt Fanny thinks Millie Carter’s lettera
very nice one, she heartily approves of the
suggestion that it shall be the beginning of
correspondence in the columns of The
Southern Would between all the little girls
who want to get acquainted with each other
uud exchange ideus und thoughts.
Another little girl wants us to insert the
following conundrums:
What animal carried the most baggage
into the urk ?—'The elephant who could not
go without his trunk.
What nnimuls took the least baggage into
the ark?—The fox and the cock, who only
took u brush and comb between them.
Wliut is the best time to rend the book of
Nature?—When autumn turns the leaves.
Kkskkve, Miss.,
Dear Aunt Fanny: I am not exactly a
subscriber of the Houtiieiin Would, but I
get a chance to read it twice a month at any
rate, so it is not necessary that I should be
one.
Thut the Southeun World is destined to
be the paper of the South, is a fact which is
evident, by the attachment nlreudy shown
it; it is a pupci that bus long been needed,
audit tills a vacancy which no other paper
could have filled, but it has a great respon
sibility thrown upon it; u paper of its kind
must have sound doctrine, and up to this 1
have seen no other on its pages. The paper
is worthy und should have the hearty sup
port of the people.
1 would be much pleased to correspond
withsnme of the cousins; below isan enigma
the whole being my name and address.
With best regards to you and cousins, I
am Yours truly,
B. D. Watkins,
Muycrsville, Miss., Issaquena, Co.
Numerical Enigma.
My 21, 11, 7, 2, 13, K, is u young lady,
My 10, 4, 14, 1, IK, 20, is u kind of stone.
My 3, 11,5,20, 14, is a fluid,
My fi, 22, 16, 24, is a salute.
My 10, 17, 10, IK, 4, 7, 8, is a rascal,
My, 2, 14, 13, 23, 0, is a piece of apparel.
My 21, 4, 12, is one of the months.
My whole contains twenty-four letters.
[We trust that our niecesand nephews will
write to our young nephew who writes
such a handsome und beautiful letter. Hope
lie will lubor zealously for the iucreuscd cir
culation of tlie World in his vicinity.
giibbat/i ffiwf
BENT.
My feet are wearied and my handsare tired,
My *uu! oppressed,
And with desire have I long desired
Best—only Best.
TIs hard to toll, when toil Is almost vnln,
111 barren way;
TIs hard to sow and never ipirner grain
In harvest days.
The burden of my days Is hard to hour,
llul Uisl knows best;
And 1 have prayed—but vain has been my prayer
For Best, sweet Heat.
'TIs hard to plant In spring and never reap
The autumn yield;
TIs hard to till the soli and when 'tls tilled to weep
O'er fruitless Held.
And so I cry, a weak and human cry.
Ho heart-oppressed;
And so I sigh, a weak and human sigh,
For ltest—lor Best.
My way has wound across the desert years
And cares infest
My path, and thro’ the flowing ol hot tears
I pine lor Best.
Two* always so; when still a child I laid
On mothers breast
My weary llttly head—e'en then I prayed,
As now, tfm Best.
And 1 am restless stlil; 'twill soon be o'er,
For down the West
Life's sun Is setting, nml I see the shore
Where I shall Best.
—[Fathkb Byan.
Boldness in Duty.—Do not bo embar
rassed in the outset of any good work. If
you are right go ahead. There can be no
possible danger or fear of failure in the
pursuit of any legitimate or useful labor.
The dangers may appear imminent, but
they vanish as you approach them. Bun-
yatt’s Christian saw lions in the path ahead
(us lie suppostd) but he went forward in the
path, and ns hu approached nearer the lions
were chained on either side, but there was
room between them for Christian to pan
unharmed. So it will be with you, my
brother; “be sure you are right, then go
ahead.” The apostles in the early days
were men of no special force; indeed, Peter,
the boldest and most efficient, was weak
enough to deny his Master, but he received
the baptism of the Spiritand waxed bold and
valiant. His weakness became strength.
What wonderful results followed the work
of tliis plain man, who commenced the
groat work of evangelizing the world, with
such seemingly weak resources I But ill
the might of Christ’s strength they accom
plished wonders. Paul suid, “when I am
weak then I am strong.” Again, “1 can do
all things through Christ who strengthens
me.” If we will put ourselves by faith and
humility under the leadings and teachings
of the Spirit, wewili never lack forstrengtli
in the time of need. Wo will And in the
trying hour that God "will work with us to
will and to do of his own good pleasure."
Only let us bo bold to take up the cross, und
we shall accomplish wonders to ourselvos.
I.IIl'OKTt.MTV.
He stamtetb knocking at the door;
“O tsmt! bow lung ? bow long?
Weeping, thy patience I adore,
And yet the bars are strong.
Lord, draw llioin from me, for my gaud 1s weak,
The night Is chill. Enter thou till tlie streak
Of ruddy morning Hush the day's young elieek!"
lie stnndetb knocking, knocking still;
“Hwcet, pleading voice I bear,”
The inlst Is rolling tram the hill.
The fourth slow watch Is near:
Through the small lattice I beheld his faec.
In the cold star-light, full of pitying grace,
Yet, how to guest him in so mean a place!
lie standelli knocking, kms'klng loud!'
Yes! for the timbers creak ;
Eastward there low'rs an angry cloud;
•'Sweet Savior, bear me s|s-ak;
Oil, hide not there to feel the drenching rain !
I bid llice welcome; hut ill grief ami pain
Tell Thee, my strength against these bare Is vain.”
Ife standelli knocking, knocking oft,
The day of grace wears on,
The chiding spirit whispers soft,
"Perchance ho may lie gone
While thou still llngorost.” “Not the tiars alone
Keep thee out, Lord; against the dour Is thrown
Hand-bugs of care and hoarded gains uud stone.”
Me stnndetb knocking, knocking faint
"Blest Savior, leave me not;
But let me tell thee my complaint,
The misery of my lot,
And let me sweep tlie lloor thy feet must press,
Beck myself royally for thy caress,
Make myself worthy ere thou stoop to blew*!"
lie stnndeth knocking, knocking still;
“Lord, help me in my doubt.
Must I put forth this feeble wt II
To draw thee from without?
Then help my weakness." Hear each stern liar give.
The door Hies backward; He but whispers “LiveI"
While on Ills putlcut breast. I, weeping plcnd,
"Forgive.” —New Y’ork Tribune.
Importance! of Little Tiiinus.—Many
years ago tlie keeper of a light house off tlie
coast of Florida, accidentally broko a pane
of glass while lighting his lump for the
night. It wus too lute for him to repair it,
and as the wind was blowing strongly he
fitted a strip of tin into the sash to prevent
the lights from being extinguished. The
lamps sent tlioir cheering rays far out to sea
save where the piece of tin threw a dark
shadow, widening as It fell upon the distunt
waters, till it covered many u mile. Vessels
passing thut way during tlio night saw no
light where one ought to have been and
some were wrecked ui>on tlie rocks and
precious lives were lost because, while tlie
lamp was burning brightly, it did not shine
where It should. So a single fault, or a
vicious habit, or an uncontrolled tcm]>er,
often hinders some of tlie Christian's light,
and souls aro lost because they ubide in tlie
shadow, and they are not led to tho true
light that lighteth every man that cometh
into the world:
"Oh, light divine, so full, so (reel
Oh, world thut lies In nlglit I
Oh, guiding radiance, shine through mo
Brightly and still more bright.
Nor over bo thy rays In vain
Because I am a darkened pane.”
Every man should so act in this world as
when he leaves it, to leave it in u happier
and better condition in some respects than
he found it. It is by little things that great
ones are accomplished. A writer of some
note said, “Truo glory consists in doing
what deserves to be written; in writing what
deserves to be read; and in so living as to
make tlie world happier atul butter for our
living it.” God never designed that man
should be an idler.
" Into these checkered Uvea of ours,
The rain will sometimes fait,
Yet Faith's clear eye cun always see,
Hod’s sunshine over all.”
The promise, “My grace is sufllcent for
thee,” 1b a consoling one to every Christian,
and at the same time the communicable, or
Christian graces, “love, joy, peace, long-
suffering, gentleness, goodness, meekness
and temprance" are food to his soul. Th e
Christian graces have been compared to
trees—the more they are shaken by storms
the deeper root they take, and the mor
fruit they bear.”