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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.