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42
LILAC BLOOM.
[The literature of the day has not received a more
strikingly beautiful gem than the subjoined from the
pen of Miss Fannie May Witt, of the Sunny South.—
Kmtor Bouthkrn World.]
Bitter and few were our words that day
Under the lilac’s bloom;
And your face was os grand as face might be,
Btormily set toward a stormy sea,
Within souud of Its sullen boom.
And In all tbe gray of the days to come,
Away from the lilac bloom,
The sound of the sea a>crooning past
'Will picture your eyes as I saw them last,
Bitter and full of gloom.
I could not sleep with them In my hand—
The quivering sweet of the lilac bloom—
When the sod of the sea at lust is still
To me, where I’m lying white and chiil,
In the calm of my silent room.
HAKVKNT TIME.
BY PAUL H. HAYNK.
O'er all the land, a vision rare and splendid—
(What time the summer her last glory yields!)
I saw the reapers, by tall wains attended,
Wave their keen scythes across the ripened fields;
At each broad sweep the glittering grain stalks
parted,
With all their sunniest lustres earthward bowed,
But still those tireless blade-curves flashed and
darted
Like silvery lightnings from a golden cloud.
Then burst from countless throats in choral thunder
A strain that rose toward the sapphire dome;
Hushed In his lay, the mock-bird heard with wonder
The resonant gladhess of their'* Harvest Home/
And Kchoto far fells and forest fountains
Bore the brave burden that was half divine,
While the proud crested eagle of the mountains
Sent back an answer from his eyrled pine.
And still, the tireless steel gleamed in and over
The bearded cohorts of the rye and wheat,
TUI In long swathes, o'er topped by perfumed clover
They slept supinely at the laborer's feet;
And still thut harvest song rolled on, till even
Looked wanly forth from night’s encircling bars,—
When, like a pearl of music, lust In Heaven
•Its sweetness melted in a sea of stars.
O favored laud! thy bursting barns are laden
With such fair offspring of thine opulent sod,
At length thou art a rich Arcadiau Adeline,
Lapped in the bounteous benisonof Ood.
Pomona vies with Ceres • but less sober,
Trips down her orchard ways at gleeful ease,
And In the luminous sunsets of October,
Bhakes the flushed fruitage from her rustling trees
And as far os fancy’s kindling eyes can follow
The harvest-landscapes in their huie increase,
O’er radiant hill-top, and through shadowy hollow,
Oleums the white splendor of the l*tnntuf l*eacc.
Its bolls, wind wafted on their airy stations,
Hold spells of subtlest service, deftly furled— ,
Boon to unfold through marvelous transformations,
And weave their warmth uml com for t 'round the
world!
Ah! Christ be praised; where once o’er wold aud
water
Flashed back the fury of war's blood-red glare—
Where once the shrieks of frutricidal slaughter
Uied shuddering on the hot, voicantan air—
Only the breeze, In frolic charge, udvances,
To stir the tides, or win the foliaged pass;
The sunbeams only smite with wuverlng lances
The frail battalions of the leaves and grass 1
Then let our hearts-'eregrateful fervor falters-
To Him, whose love fulfills all pure desire,
Upwaft, as borne from bright, ethereal altars—
Tbe glow and grace of sacrificial fire.
For Plenty smiles alike on cot and palace,
And Peuce, so long to us an unknown guest,
Pours from the depths of her enchanted chalice
That heaveuly wine which brings the nations rest!
—Jlome and Farm.
HOW THE CRAZE SPREADS.
“ Why, how do you do, old follow ? I was
speaking of you to Muria only Inst night.
How’s your wife? Andthehnby? I sup
pose she’s quite a big girl by this time.”
Tbcspeaker, one of those genial, pleasant
wen, who seein to radiate good nature, ap
peared to have the delight of this unexpect
ed meeting largely to himself, for bis friend,
Paul Schaft, though trying to appear enthu
siastic, was evidently but little inclined to
answer at length the questions as to ids
doings, bis home and his family, which John
ltodgers poured out with such eagerness.
But this passed unnoticed by John, who,
perhaps, understanding his friend’s tempera
ment, continued his efforts to make him un
bend, and after a while partially succeeded.
"John," at length, began Mr. Schaft, "is
your wife testheiic?”
“Ascetic? Hal hal No, indeed; she
loves a good time as well as myself. To be
sure, being a square, old-fashioned Presby
terian, she can’t quite go to the theater, but
you should see her at the minstrels! Or, it
■he can make any child an excuse for the
circus, that’s her delight. Ascetic? No,
no."
" You misunderstand me," said bis friend,
with a slightly amused look, ** I said sesthetie.
Has she taken to painting on china, art
needle-work, bric-a-brac, and those things?"
John's jovial face grew almost grave. He
.had suspected things had gone wrong with
Paul, since he bad sold his snug farm, and
movadinto the city; but he waa notpre-
THE SOUTHERN WORLD, DECEMBER 1, 1882.
pared for this, and answered with some little
indignation in bis manner, "My wife paint
bar china! She's a deal too careful of it.
Not but what she’s quite a dab with the
brush."
Here Paul nodded sympathetically, and
murmured, "Oh she's got it like all tbe rest
of 'em."
" But," continued John, unconscious of
the mental interruption, "she thinks too
mucli of her china. Now tins, old milk-pans,
and slop buckets, and such like, she does
real good to with her paint, and though she
wouldn't like her neighbors to know it, for
folks is now getting so stuck up, and above
work—she has painted a fence. Not white
wash, you understand, but real paint. Ab
to needlework, my Maria was always a roas
ter hand at that. Why, don't you remem
ber ber cutting out the clothes for your first
baby, and helping your wife to sew on them?
I recollect how she wondered—” Here Mr.
Bodgers suddenly lost the thread of his dis
course, not wishing to " recollect" how Ma
ria bad wondered, “how that go-ahead Paul
had come to marry such a silly piece of lazi
ness,” —ami went on. " As to bricks, or any
thing of that sort, Maria always had a notion
there might be sulphur springs on the farm,
but I never heard her mention clay or
bricks.”
"Oh, how I wish I had staid on the farm,"
said Paul with a sigh. “ And you have six
children, John?”
"Six of’em, yes. And the youngest just
beginning to toddle round after mt. How
many have you ?”
“ Only two. Tbe eldest ten, and the other
a little thing just two years old. But my
wife is msthetic—paints,embroiders sun flow
ers, decorates."
“Then the business yon took up hasn’t
paid ns well us farming?”
Paul looked puzzled for a moment, not see
ing the drift of John's remark, and added,
“I’ve made plenty of money.”
Honest John could not conceal his indig
nation. " And you let that delicate wife of
yours paint and decorate! Maria never
could believe she could ha’ done it. I know
something about decorating. Had the meet-
in' house doneover,and the ‘decoration’ cost
a heap. But I didn’t know as women ever
did that; and to think that your wife ”
John closed his lips witli a "nap.
" You don’t understand, old fellow, and
I’m glad you don’t," said Paul. "It's re
freshing to meet some one who lias not gone
crazy on * blue and white,’ or 1 Japanese art,’
or something of that sort. I'll tell you
about it; we’ve an hour before we reach tbe
city."
"You see when we first moved to Yar
mouth, it was a very quiet place; near
enough to the city for me to go to and from
my place of business every day, and not so
near, 1 thought, as to tempt us with city
styles of living. But about four years ago
there came a indy to visit there who struck
up a great friendship with my wife* and she
was quite astonished that we took no art
paper. So as Jeannie was always fond of
reading any new papers, and I was always
ready to pay for them, she subscribed for the
one tier friend said was the best There was
the beginning of it. We had been careful,
and I lmd laid by a good bit of money, and I
was quite willing to furnish the parlor and
best bedroom anew. Well instead of Jeannie
and I going to the city together, and choos
ing the carpets and suites of furniture—hav
ing a pleasure-day together, and—"
"Topping off with the minstrels, if she
was like my Maria," Interrupted John.
“ Well, u pleasant time any way—instead
of this, my wife writes to the man who edits
her art paper, to ask his advice I And be
gave it. The wood-work was all to be painted
black and yellow, and he sent the wall-pa
per. There was a ‘ dado ’ and a 1 frieze,' and
stuff to go between them ; but Jeannie'd for
gotten to say that the house was an old-fash
ioned one, and though the rooms were large,
they were very low, and so, when wo came to
paste on the ‘ dado,’ there was only a narrow
strip between that and the 'frieze ’—and all
the rest of the paper was wasted) But, as
long as she just only ordered things, I didn't
so much mind. It was expensive, that's a
fact; but, as I told you, I've been making
money and could afford It, but—the house
got so dark, and so full ] All the comfort
able chairs were sent up to the garret, and
we have straight-backed things that look as
if you’d stolen ’em out of a meeting-house.
Then came the painting on china—I liked it
at first."
“Did it herself?" asked John, with inter
est
“ Yes; and considering it was home-made,
it wasn’t bad. But Jeannie lost her head
about it She'd be ’grounding' a plat* and
the baby bad to go hungry."
“Lost something- besides her head, I
should say," muttered John.
" Or there would be a meeting of the Dec
orative Society, and as she was president, she
had to go, while poor little Ursula—isn’t it
an old-fashioned name for a baby ?—was left
to the nurse, and was bad with the measles
before we found it out Then came the
glass-staining, and the nursery windows
were all fixed up with colored glass like a
church window. Really very pretty, but
you couldn't open one of them."
“But the wont of all is the ‘ bric-a-brac.’
That meaus everything from a cabinet down
to an egg-shell, costing ten times what it is
worth. Our house is full of the stuff, and
little Sule—I can’t always say Ursula—Is
just as careless as a baby as if her mother
knew nothing about {esthetics, and you bet,
she makes havoc amongst the bric-a-brac.
Yesterday she was shut up in a closet till I
came home, 1 ’Cause I boked a itty cup,’ she
said. But the cup was a real ‘something,’
with a grand name, and had cost thirty dol
lars."
“ Whew!” exclaimed John.
“Oh! it's all very lovely looking for a
while. Only the ‘dado’ and the ’frieze’
have made Jeannie hate the house. But I
tell you I’d give a good deal for a real, old-
no, I mean new-fashioned tea, out of plain
white china, so that you could enjoy it, and
not be admiring the painting, and compli
menting the artist; and I long to sit in a
comfortable chair, without a chair-back.”
“ Don’t you like a back to your chair, old
man 7"
"Wait till you see a ‘chair-back’ and
have to admire tbe needle-work,and hear all
about it! Then, even Mamie has caught
the craze, and is intense and unnatural.
Little Sule is the only natural thing in the
house."
“ I'm real sorry," said John, sympathetic
ally. " Do you thi nk Maria could help you ?
What say you to bringing your wife and
children—the two won’t count among our
half-dozen—and staying awhile at the farm.
Maybe if your wife got away from that so
ciety, and left her art paper behind—"
Paul Schaft thought tbe offer a most kind
ly one, at all events, and the friends parted,
with the understanding that they were to
meet again at Moss Farm, the following
month.
Mr*. John Rodgers, whole-souled and hos
pitable as her husband, yet felt some fears
when she heard of all that Jeannie Schaft had
learned.
“Yes," said John, "she can paint on
china, and work flowers on silk and canvas,
and pays no end of money for old cups and
saucers, but you're to hold your own. or you
won’t do her one bit of good. I ain’t afraid
of your being taken up with such folly," be
added with a tone of pride in his voice, as
helookedon the thorough-going country ma
tron ; the best butter maker in all the neigh
borhood, and a master-hand at crullers and
doughnuts.
June brought the expected visitors. Could
that eusy, languid woman of the world be
the helpless Jeannie of former years ? Sule
was the only one of the family that Mrs. Rod
gers and ber girls could understand—at first.
But alas! the guests bad not been In the
house more than a week, when Tot, the Rod
gers baby, was heard screaming with delight
over the “ pitty fower " in her bread and
milk bowl painted, oh! wonder of wonders,
by Polly Rodgers!
Paul Schaft gave a warning sigh—too late I
John confessed to pride in his daughter’s
taste and skill, and was even found bringing
home stray peacock’s feathers to be placed
"tcsthetlcally” in the sitting-room; while a
‘ dado" of India matting gave a new and
cool look to the parlor. And so, by degrees,
instead of Mrs. 8chaft's being won back to
simplicity, the whole Rodgers family caught
the craze, and the visit from which such dif
ferent results had been expected, ended in
Polly Rodgere being carried off to spend the
winter in Yarmouth, and entering as an art
studentat the society's rooms.
" China painting," "art-needlework," and
"bric-a-brac," are now household words at
Moss Farm, but the basis of a good, solid,
practical bringing-up, has given to what
John will still sometimes call " the craze," a
sensible turn; and the girls, who bad never
possessed much surplus money, have so per
fected themselves in the particular branch
to which the taste of each bad led her, that
many an added comfort, as well as many “a
thing of beauty which is a joy forever,"
finds place amongst the adornments of Moss
Farm.
John and his friend often visit each other,
and their wives, in comparing experiences,
confess that both in tbe useful and tbe orna
mental, then may be a happy medium, and
nimr. t—rr----~; t ' — ~ -■ -
learn the valuable lesson of being "temper
ate in all things."—Hora Lidvabd in Demot
es? s Monthly Magazine.
WOMANHOOD AND PBOVEBBS.
Turning over tbe pages of that wonderful
Spanish story “Don Quixote ;” we meet with
many strikingly suggestive proverbs con
cerning man, bis hopes, duties, ideals, and
difficulties, but those few which refer espec
ially to women were evidently originated by
men, and those moreover Spaniards.
From tbe second part we cull the follow
ing : "The virtuous maid and the broken leg
must stay at home.”
“A woman and a hen are soon lost by gad
ding abroad."
“ Between a woman’s ‘yea’ and‘nay’ I
would not venture to stick tbe point of a pin”
is evidently the personal experience of a
Lothario who had never been frowned upon
by womankind.
In the following, also from the second
part, a graver note of suggestiveness is
touched: “ The dead woman was frightened
at her that was beheaded: ” in other words,
we are all to prone to criticise severely those
errors and frailties which are not exactly
ours, foigetting that we ourselves are worthy
of condemnation also, for sins which are not
less, but quite as heinous as those of others
seem to our untempted hearts.
In Futtenham’s “ Arte of English Poetry,”
a curious and interesting work, published
about the end of the sixteenth century, the
author, speaking of the tender-heartedness
of the female sex in general, alludes to the
common proverb, “A woman will weepe
pitie to scea goslinggo barefoote.”
There must have been a touch of real hu
mor about the originator of this ancient pro
verb, ridiculing, but nevertheless, loving,
tbe prodigality of tenderness which caused
him such amusement.
"A fair wife and a frontier castle breed
quarrels" reads like the sigh of some baro
nial Benedict who fruitlessly thirsted after
quietness in the weary ages of warfare.
"Mills and wives ever want" was no doubt
the miserly conclusion of some mediieval
Harpagon; one can almost recognize the
snap with which it was uttered in the lacon
ic brevity of the phrase.
"Who lets bis wife go to every feast and
his horse drink at every water shall neither
have good wife nor good horse” was possibly
the self exculpation of a martinet, who real,
ly objected to the extravagance of bis help
meet’s festal garment, but succeeded in
persuading himself and his acquaintances
that he was a very pattern of magnanimity!
exercising a judicious rule over tbe morals of
his submissive spouse.
"Choose a house jiade and a wife to make’*
said some strong-minded gentleman, who
Battered himself that he had moulded the
character of the girl whom he had married
who very probably all the while had gained
entire ascendency over him in essentials by
flattering his weak point of moulding her in
non-essentials.
“He that tells his wife news is but newly
married.”
This is evidently a sorrowful fragment
from the experience of a patient individual
who had been so unfortunate as to mate with
a gossip.
One detects the smart of unforgotten scan
dal in the words.
“ A woman conceals what she knows not”
was the axiom of a worldlier prudence,
which is more suggestive of the proud re
serve of Spanish manhood.
“A poor beauty finds more lovers than
husbands" was perhaps the sorrowful ex
perience of some pretty but penniless maid,
en.
"Beauty draws more than oxen" may have
been the expression of some envious “proud
sister" of real life; but both proverbs are
just as likely to have been originated by men
as women; there is nothing distinctively
about them.
“Never was a bad woman fair" Is a beauti
ful old proverb which sounds so very like
the pure heart of George Herbert himself
that one is almost tempted'to imagine him
its author
“A house and a woman suit excellently,"
and "the wife is the key to the house" are
proverbs to which every- reader will agree
immediately as true.
“A gentle housewife mars the household,”
on the other hand, strikes us upon first ex
amination as fallacious.
‘ Gentle" has however, probably somewhat
altered its meaning in modern time. It is
possibly used here in the sense of dandified.
A housewife who is too fine a lady to su
perintend her servants, mars the household,
in which mum of course it still continuea
true.