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K JOURNAL OF LITERATURE AND DOMESTIC
SCIENCE.
PUBLISHED MONTHLY.
Edited by KATE GARLAND,
ASSISTED BY THE BEST TALENT
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Athens, Ga., Dec., 1890.
Once more we are approaching the close
of a year! A year which was ushered
in with almost spring-like warmth and
beauty, and which has brought blessings in
abundance.
1 fear we never pause to think just how
great are our blessings. We couldn’t real
ize their magnitude, should we try. Os
course we have our troubles ; of course our
hopes are often but productive of ashes,
when we looked for bright wreaths of suc
cess exhaling the sweet odors of content
ment.
We think of these disappointed dreams;
they cling close to us and their shadows
fall about us. Our eyes are prone to dwell
upon these dark places, and we look not up
to the rays of sunshine and smiles of peace,
which beam upon us unacknowledged, un
perceived. We endeavor to shut our
hearts, lest trouble should enter therein, —
and, as a result, many of earth’s sweetest
offerings knock in vain for admittance.
Why will we thus keep our minds and
hearts on darkness, when happiness is the
reward of looking up? Why do we lock
out the sunshine, lest a shower should one
day come ? Why will we turn a deaf ear
to the appeals of distress about us, when
every act of charitable kindness makes two
hearts glad—and ’tie difficult to tell whether
the giver or receiver is most uplifted.
“In as much as ye have done it unto
one of the least of these my brethren, ye
have done it unto me.”
I wonder if any of us have stopped to
think of the full significance of Christmas!
I wonder if we could ever realize it, if
we tried! Think of the indescribable suf
ferings and self-sacrifices which gave us
this glad season ! Study the Character—
the one spotless character—which it com
memorates. Think how, for these long
centuries, it has been observed as a time
for joy and thanksgiving, and making glad.
Go back to your own innocent childhood
days and remember how your eyes bright
ened and your heart thrilled, at mention of
Christmas. How long it seemed in coming |
What would it bring ? And when at last
it was known that “to-morrow” would be
Christmas, how eagerly the little stocking
would be placed where good old Santa
Claus would be sure to find it I And then
you must hurry to bed, for who could sleep
late on Christmas morn ! But, reluctantly
would those little eyes close. Almost you
were persuaded to stay awake until old St.
Nicholas descended the chimney flue, and
est the prizes so dear to the childish heart.
But nature is top Hn<J to innocents to give
them sleepless nights, and soon the
treasures of Christmas time are spread
before your gaze—but ’tis in dreamland.
How old Santa Claus is filling that
stocking ! Why, it is just running over,
and he has to put a lot of things on the
floor, but so closely that there is no mis
taking who he intends them for. Isn’t it
strange that you were never afraid for old
Saint Nich. to come into your room,
when the thought of any one else would
bring trembling fright? No; for he had
been coming every year and had never
harmed you. He was a friend, because he
had always acted the part of a friend—
brought joy to your expectant heart.
How much do you do every Christmas to
brighten lives about you ? Every little one
has the longings which you once knew, but
many of them live on side streets and in
diminutive houses which Santa Claus can
not visit. Wouldn’t you be thrice repaid
—yea an hundred fold—for gladdening
these shadowed lives ? Try it. Perhaps
you do not feel able. Hasn’t God blessed
you with more than many others enjoy?
Then divide with them. The seeds thus
sown will usually yield a rich harvest—the
very sowing is a recompense. You know
of none who are naked, but of many who
are not warmly clad ; of few who are suf
fering for bread, but of many who never
see a tempting dish. Suppose you supply
them. Think you they will not feel thank
ful ? Think you that the deed will not be
blessed ?
Perhaps you know a man who thinks
that his brain must be fired by alcohol
because ’tis Christmas-time. Treat him
not harshly, but kindly. Tell him how it
hurts you that this sacred time should be
spent in drunken revelry. Tell him how
the faces of that .wife and those children
will be made to smile, and their hearts to
give thanks, if he will spend his money for
pleasures which all can enjoy, and go to
his loved ones in a condition to share the
home delights. Let it be said of you:
“She hath done what she could” towards
bringing light where there was darkness—
joy where there was sadness.
To one and all I hope that this may be
not only a merry Christmas, but a blessed
Christmas; that the close of this year’s
record may be crowned with flowers from
which the thorns are absent.
A Christmas number of Woman’s Work
without Mrs. Miller's department! Too
bad isn’t it ? I think so, and know that all
will be disappointed ; but then, these mat
ters cannot always be avoided. Mrs. Mil
ler, you know, lives a long way off—but
not so far as to have no troubles to inter
fere with good wishes and intentions. Per
haps she has much more to engage her
mind,heart and hands, just now,than most of
us—for she is up in Dakota, where the brave
and treacherous red man is threatening
the safety of his pale-faced brother. When
circumstances will allow, I doubt not that
our good friend will have much to tell us
of her experiences and thoughts. Hers is
a busy life, even when surroundings are all
serene—and I was sorry when one of her
kind notes told me of the moving Indians
near her, of a house-moving which they
were having, and of many duties and per
plexities which were falling to her lot. But
I don’t think her good nature and sweet
temper had been changed. What a bless
ing is a cheerful, happy heart!—the result
of a wise head.
Mrs. Miller, in her modesty, suggested
that I substitute extracts this month; but
where could I “copy” her department? I’d
rather wait for the return of the absent.
The pleasure of presenting to our read
ers a picture of Mrs. S. C. Hazlett Bevis,
is one which we have desired for quite a
long while. Once before, it was almost
realized—but a merciless fire destroyed the
office wherein the cut of her portrait was
resting, and no more has been seen of that
cut! But, thanks to the art of reproducing
features on metal, we have received anoth
er—which is given elsewhere, in connec
tion with that author’s highly valued con-
tributions to this issue. Os the picture, we
cannot say how true a likeness it may be,
as the original has never charmed us by
her presence—but they who can speak
advisedly say, that the depths of those eyes,
the impressiveness of those smiles, the soul
ful expression of that face—cannot be imi
tated.
We know Mrs. Bevis—our readers know
her—by the beautiful and pathetic articles
with which we have been favored from
time to time. In them we perceive the
generous, sympathetic and touching im
pulses of a noble soul. In them there is a
vein of tender sadness, which clearly shows
they were prompted by a true charity for
those who err or suffer in this world. We
recently made mention, on this page, of a
handsome little volume of poems—collected
from those which have been written by
Mrs. Bevis. We feel sure that many of
our friends will prize these—both for their
poetic merit and for the love which they
feel for the author.
At the close of the year, it is well to look
back and see what has been accomplished.
I have no boasts to make for Woman’s
Work. It is giving pleasure and doing
good in many homes, to judge from the
letters of appreciation which reach me. It
has made many new friends and nearly all
our old ones are still with us. To these is
largely due the credit for the high position
which our paper occupies in public favor—
to these will be largely due the praise for
improvements which may be noticed from
time to time.
Have you thought of some feature,
which, in your opinion, should be added to
Woman’s Work? If so, I invite you to
write your views fully. No one connected
with our work, claims to know too much for
suggestions to be welcome. I heartily
join a lady who recently wrote :
“I hope every friend of Woman’s Work
will aid in continuing its originality—in
making it as different from, and as far su
perior to other periodicals as possible.”
To each and all, I once more extend my
thanks for your favors, and invite you to
our columns. May your every commend
able effort be rewarded, during this holiday
season and at all seasons.
It is difficult to say which is the greater
defect in a parent—strictness and firmness
in his family, without feeling and affection,
or feeling and affection without strictness
and firmness. Under the one bad system
the children are apt to become slaves or
hypocrites; under the other tyrants or reb
els. But true love is always firm, and true
firmness is always love.
CONSUMPTION CURED.
An old physician, retired from practice,
had placed in his hands by an East India
missionary, the formula of a simple vege
table remedy for the speedy and permanent
cure of Consumption, Bronchitis, Catarrh,
Asthma and all Throat and Lung Affec
tions ; also a positive and radical cure for
Nervous Debility and all Nervous Com
plaints. Having tested its wonderful cura
tive powers in thousands of cases, and
desiring to relieve human suffering, I will
send free of charge to all who wish it, this
recipe in German, French or English, with
full directions for preparing and using.
Sent by mail, by addressing with stamp,
naming this paper, W. A. Noyes, 280
Powers' Block, Rochester, N. K
THE BEST WAY
To secure good agencies of everything
going, is to send 10 cents to the Agents’
Record and have your name and address
inserted therein. You will then get letters
and circulars from all portions of the
country, making you good business offers.
Address, Agents’ Record, Box 42,
Atlanta, Ga.
|
WEDDING INVITATIONS.
Elegant and correct styles of Wedding
Invitations are furnished by the Consti
tution Job Oeeice, Atlanta, Georgia,
Samples are expensive, and will be sent
upon receipt of 25 cents.
There is no beautifier like the wish to
scatter joy not pain around us,— Emerson.
anil Sfrls.
For Woman’s Work
1I IL
J HE CAPTAIN’S STORY.
A TRUE INCIDENT.
“Out of the strong came forth sweetness.'’
were dull times up at Ca a
Apache—nothing' stirring. Not e,
cowardly red skin had skipped h
reservation for months, and this
little post was fast going to sleep up there
among the hills. A body had to pinch
himself now and then to see if he were
awake, and many a prayer went forth out
of profane lips for “just a little brush with
the injuns, if only to stir a fellow up a bit!”
But for dress parade, our swords might
have rusted in the scabbards; and a sudden
onslaught from the savages might have
found our muskets charged—not with pow
der, but with the dust of ages I Matters
had about reached the last pass, and the
soldiers threatened to make war upon one
another if some common foe were not fur
nished them speedily. If there is anything
in life like a “painted ship upon a painted
ocean” it is the pomp and circumstance of
glorious war, during times of inglorious
(?) peace!
As I was saying, we were on the verge
of an enchanted sleep, up there in the
ratified atmosphere of Jhe Rockies; but
our Prince Charming finally came one
day. He came in the guise of a cowboy,
who demanded an immediate interview
with the commanding officer.
It was then we learned that something
was up what—nobody knew, nobody cared,
so long as there was a scout going out, and
each man hoped it might be his turn,
That the detail would go according to ros
ter, every one knew well enough, but
there was frequently chance for exchange,
and each officer vied with the other to
show his disinterestedness in offering “to
take this detail.”
It was just at dusk that the news went
abroad, and I was returning from the
corrals when I noticed the gathering about
the office, and joined it to inquire the
cause. There was much loud talking and
eager questioning in the group collected
there, but I could gather nothing relative
to the coming expedition, for every one
talked at once—asking questions that no
one seemed able to answer.
Pretty soon the adjutant sallied forth,
looking business-like and important, and
immediately the nature of his orders was
made known.
Oh I the disgust and disappointment de
picted on the faces of that little group.
The discontent and apathy deposing
the whilom eagerness that had so briefly
usurped their own accustomed throne!
How they scatter, these disgruntled soldiers,
with execrations, to their sleeping quarters!
there to grunt and mope, as is their wont
—when it is known that only a handful of
scouts is going out to a ranch, in the valley
near by, on some peace errand !
Not caring to face the torrent of oaths
and maledictions in which I knew the dis
concerted soldiery were wont to vent their
grievances down at the quarters, I loitered
about the office for a time, intending to
await the adjutant’s leisure, in order to in
quire into the particulars concerning the
sortie.
I learned that the cowboy had reported
a little child as lost from a ranch twelve
miles out, and that the commanding officer
had immediately ordered out the scouts to
assist in the search for him.
“Great God I” I exclaimed, on receiving
this intelligence. “A little child astray at
night, in this devil-infested region ! ”
After quitting the office, I wandered
about the deserted parade, unable to with
draw my thoughts from the little wanderer,
whom I knew to be enduring untold ills,
wherever he might be.
Through persistent dwelling upon the
matter, I began to weave, from the bare
facts of the adjutant’s statement, a little
romance, involving aU the details of the