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THE SOUTHERN WORLD, AUGUST 1, 1882.
“ The world, dear child, Is m wo take It, and
Life, be mire. I» what we make It."
TUB /ENTHBTIC DOLL.
BY OEOBOB COOl-KR.
Moat Kirin with their holla, have their trial*;
(Stand atralght, 8era|ihlna, now do')
My life la Just all self-denials,
And troubles, I have not a few i
I’ve done what I could for my dollies,
There’s Dorothy, once quite a queen,
I've humored each one of her follies,
And now she’s scarce lit to be seen.
Quite lately, the queerest of fancies
lias taken possession of her.
She won't wear a dress like Miss Nancy's—
A dull, grimy-green she’ll prefer.
Her waxen cheeks once were so rosy,
Just look at them now-leady white!
At a sundower, that once was so prosy,
She rolls up her eyes In delight I
There’s Betsey, she's rag’s, but she's proper,
And Dorcas—they'vegot too much sense.
Just see thatglrl weep 1 I must stop her—
She really Is so Intense!
My doll-house I'll lock, close each shutter.
And see what correction will do.
Ma says she’s too utterly utter;
/think she’s too utterly too!
A Liny Hoy ’s Plana.
MV JAMES OTIS.
Oolden Days.
Washington Lincoln Brown was as black
and us lazy a little darkey as ever was raised
in the State of Florida. He was perfectly
happy as long as he could lie at full length
in the sand, with the sun beating directly
down upon his woolly head, and hour after
hour would he take this sun-bath, appa
rently too lazy to brush away the flies that
stopped to feast upon the fragments of
sugar-cane which smeared his mouth with
sticky sweetness.
Never a complaint would he make while
he was permitted to remain there undis
turbed; but the moment his mother asked
him to get a pail of water or go the store on
the most trifling errand, Washington was a
very unhappy boy. To be obliged to walk
fifty yards, save for his own pleasure, caused
him to believe he was woefully abused, and
to be forced to prepare the kindling-wood
seemed to deprive him of all life.
Washington’s father often threatened to
And some work for him, whereby he might
do something toward paying for the food
and enormous amount of sugar-cane he ate,
and when these threats hud been first made,
the little darkey was in a state of most ab
ject fear. As the time wore on, however, and
the work was not provided, Washington re
covered his usual tranquil frame of mind,
believing that his father’s threats would not
bear any disagreeable fruits to him.
He never went fishing, “ kase dere's too
much work ef de fish bites," he said ; and,
as for playing marbles or ball, why he never
dreamed of doing anything so laborious.
Chewing sugar-cane was the extent of his
work, and there were times when even that
•required more effort than he felt capable of
putting forth.
One afternoon, while he was lying in the
sand with a piece of cane by his side, wonder
ing whether he had better try to eat it or not,
he saw his father coming up the road, lead
ing Fete Jones’ old yellow mule, Hamlet.
Washington was so Auch surprised that
he sprang to a sitting posture at once, with
out stopping several minutes to think about
it, os was his custom; and without knowing
why, the thought came to him that this dis
agreeable old mule was in some way con
nected with his father’s threat to provide
work for him.
“ Dere’s trubbie cummin’ fur dis chile, an
dat ole mule's gwlne to be inter it," he mut
tered.
And then he looked around uneasily, as if
trying to discover a way by which he could
leave the premises without being seen by
his father.
But Mr. Brown had his eyes on Washing
ton, apd it seemed as if Hamlet had also,
for he waved his wisp of a tail, moved his
ears back and forth warnlngly, and looked
altogether so wicked that poor little Wash
ington grasped his piece of sugar-cane as a
weapon of defense, waiting in fear and trem
bling, for the trouble that seemed to come
with the yellow mule.
There was a severe look on Mr. Brown’s
face as he stopped the ungainly animal in
front of bis frightened son, and asked,
sternly:
“Does yer see dis yere mule, Linkum ?"
Now it would have been very foolish, as
well as untrue, for Washington to have pre
tended that he did not see Hamlet, in all his
yellow ugliness, therefore, he nodded his
head in reply.
“Wall, 1’se done gone bought dis yere
mule, son; an’ now I reckon you'll do sum-
fin else ’sides rootin’ out yere in de sand."
Then Mr. Brown walked away with one
end of the halter in his hand, while Hamlet
followed in a sorrowful way, with his ears
flapping in the breeze, much as if he was
sympathizing with Mr. Brown for having so
indolent a son.
For a few moments there were thoughts
in Washington’s mind as to terrible deeds
which he would do, but he rejected them
upon deliberation, and went into the house
to learn just how it was his father proposed
that he and Hamlet should go to work.
It did not take him very long to discover
this highly important fact, for after Mr.
Brown had given the mule his dinner he
came into tbe house to tell his wife of his
purchase and plans. y
He had traded his oyster-stand with Mr.
Pete Jones for the mule, and he proposed
that Washington should utilize him by start
ing in the business of selling wood.
At the saw-mills the edges of the boards
and ends of the logs were thrown out for
any one who cared to carry them away, and
very many of the colored boys of Jackson
ville drove a flourishing business by selling
these pieces at the rate of fifty cents a
load.
Washington knew all about it, for he had
pitied those unhappy little darkeys who
drove back and forth in the streets, perched
on tbe sharp ends of the timbers, or labored
at the mills to fill their carts with market
able fuel.
The mere thought of the trouble which
had come upon him was too much for his
lazy spirit, and he went out to the poor apol
ogy for a stable, to indulge in his grief, at
the same time he berated the innocent cause
of bis suffering.
Hamlet was contentedly eating his rather
dry dinner of rice-straw, and did not pay
very much attention to his new driver until
Washington, in a spirit of inquislti'veness,
struck him on the hind-legs with a stick,
and then the innocent-looking animal flung
his heels against the side of the frail build
ing with a force that knocked olT several
boards.
“ Dat’s it,” chuckled Washington, think
ing he had found an easy solution to all his
perplexities. “ Keep on, an’ p’raps you’ll
done gone kick your head ofT!"
But Hamlet did not continue to that de
sired point, perhaps because it was too much
work, or perhaps because kicking his own
head off was rather too difficult a task.
Washington never worked harder in his
life than he did the remainder of that duy
trying to devise some way to escape the
coming labor, but all to no purpose; and
bright and early on the following morning,
his father awakened him to begin his new
duties as a wood-merchant.
His skin was already so black that the
frown he wore when he mounted the cart
and started Hamlet toward the mill could
not well make his face darker, but it gave
him a terribly discontented air, which did
not argue well for success in his new business.
“ I’se clean ’scouraged," he said to him
self, as he hung over the front of the cart in
a limp, helpless sort of way, after his father
had finished giving him orders as to how
and where he could sell his wood to the best
advantage; and Washington looked as he
said he felt, until he was nearly half-way to
the mill, and then a bright smile spread over
his face until his tuouih was opened so wide
that it scented almost certain his nose would
fall into it.
“If I could kill Hamlen, dat would fix up
de wood bizness,” he whispered to himself,
as he struck the mule a resounding blow
with a lath. “I’ll git him down to de mill,
and den I'll done gone drap a log ob wood
onto him an kill him dead."
The idea pleased Washington Lincoln to
such an extent that he leaned over the side
of the cart in an uncontrollable burst of
laughter, and then, as the more serious
phase of the case' presented itself, he mut
tered:
“Ef I do dat, daddy’ll lose de isterstandl
an’ Hamlen, too; but I can’t help it, fur ef
he 'Mists on makin’ me tote wood, up goes
de mule! "Then he laughed again as he pict
ured to himself the death of the animal that
was the cause of so much trouble to him,
and shouted, gleefully:
“Go 'longdar, you Hamlen! Show you’se
hoofs, quick 1 ”
So intent was Washington upon his mur-.
dermis thoughts, that the distance to the
mill seemed so short he was surprised when
he found himself already at the scene of
his proposed crime. But his surprise did
not prevent him from going to work yery
carefully in order to insure success.
He backed Hamlet up to the largest pile of
wood, and examined him critically, to make
sure he did not suspect what was about to
be done to him.
Then, in order to allay any suspicions the
mule might have had and concealed, Wash
ington threw several pieces of wood into
the cart, to make it appear as if it was his
intention to take a load.
All this time, Hamlet stood with his ears
dropping forward, evidently sleeping the
sleep of a tired mule; and it seemed to
Washington that he was in the best possible
position for the carrying out of his plan.
“Now we’se gwine ter fin’ out who’s
gwine ter tote wood all day,” muttered
Washington as he selected the heavy end of
a log as tbe instrument of execution, and
carried it, with no slight difficulty to the
cart.
It was quite as much as he could lift, and
a great deal more weight than he would
have been willing to struggle with had it
not been that by so doing he saw a very
speedy relief from all his present troubles.
His intentions were to stand on the edge
of the cart, holding the log as high in the
air as possible, and then drop it on the un
suspecting Hamlet with force sufficient to
kill him.
After some difficulty he succeeded in get
ting on tbe cart, and poised the log for the
deadly blow. Hamlet was still sleeping,
and, with a chuckle of satisfaction, Wash
ington dropped the log.
He never knew exactly how it happened,
but it seemed to him the instant the log
left his bands that mule awoke, and in the
most vigorous manner. His heels came up
as the log went down ; the front of the cart
was quickly converted into kindling-wood;
Washington Lincoln Brown was thrown
far out on to the lumber-pile, and Hamlet
went up the street at a speed that astonished
even his most intimate acquaintances.
Poor Washington 1 When he crept out
from amid the lumber his mother would
hardly have recognized him, so bruised and
battered was he; and he limped painfully
home, fully realizing that lazy people often
times take the most pain.
He never forgot the lesson Hamlet taught
him and ever after that memorable attempt
to kill the mule he was An industrious boy
as one could find—or to express it more for
cibly, he was os industrious as he had been
indolent.
Carving “a Sow and
Philip Wood was a village carpenter, who
had developed an uncommon skill in wood
carving, and had made some striking figures
for the adornment of' his sweetheart’s
house, a lass above himself in rank and for
tune. In the hope of improving his circum
stances, and thus lessening the disparity be
tween them, he went to London, where he
sought work in vain, until his store of
money was reduced to a single guinea.
The huge dome of St. Paul’s was then ris
ing above the smoke of London. Philip
Wood applied to the foreman for work in
carving the wood for the interior. Repulsed
by him he haunted the place day after day,
and at last attracted the notice of the great
Sir Christopher himself.
“What have you been used to carving? ”
asked the architect.
The carpenter, in the extremity of his ag
itation, could only stammer out:
“Troughs, your worship."
“Troughs! ” said Sir Christopher. “Then
carve a specimen of your skill, a sow and
pigs, it will be something in your line—and
bring it to me this day week. I shall be
here."
The poor fellow shrunk away from the
laughter of the workmen, and returned to
his lodging in despair. But he had a friend
in his landlady, who advised him to take
Sir Christopher at his word, and carve the
best sow and pigs ho could in the time.
With his last guinea he bought a block of
pear wood, and by using his utmost dilli-
gonce finished the work in time, and took
it under'his apron to the appointed place.
The architect was there, and beckoned
the trembling carpenter to approach.
Upon inspecting the beautiful work, Sir
Christopher said:
“1 engage you young man. Attend at ray
office to-morrow forenoon."
A few hours after Sir Christopher came to
the carver again, and said to him:
“Mr. Addison wishes to keep your carving,
and requested me to give you ten guineas
for it."
Then added:
“Young man, I fear I did you some injus
tice ; but a great national work is entrusted
to me, and it is my solemn duty to mind
that no part of the work falls into inefii-
cient hands. Mind and attend me to-mor
row.”
It is a pleasure to know that the young
artist did much of the fine carving of St.
Paul’s and married the girl of his heart.—
Christian at Work.
Tell Your Mother, Girls.
We wonder how many girls tell their
mothers everything. Not those “young
ladies” who, going to and from school,smile,
bow, and exchange notes and pictures with
young men, who make fun of them and
their pictures, speaking in a way that would
make their cheeks burn with shame if they
heard it. All this, most credulous and ro
mantic young ladies, they will do, although
they will gaze at your fresh young faces ad
miringly, and send or give you verses or
bouquets. No matter what other girls do,
don’t you do it. School-girl flirtation may
end disastrously, as many a foolish, wretch
ed young girl could tell you. Your yearn
ing for some one to love you is a great need
of every woman's heart. But there is a time
for everything. Don’t let the bloom and fresh
ness of your heart be brushed off in silly
flirtations. Render yourself truly intelli
gent. And above all, tell your mother
everything. Never be ashamed to tell her,
who should be your best friend and confidant
all you think and feel. It is strange that
many young girls will tell every person be
fore "mother” that which it is most impor
tant that she should know. It is sad that
indifferent persons should know more about
her fair young daughters than she does her
self.
PilMIMl
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N. B.-Whe
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Address TUB P1TTN
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ESTABLISHED IN 1850.
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dSwW ee m p. 80UTH -