Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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.”