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Entered according to Act of Congress, in June, 1868, by J. IV. Burke & Cos., in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the So. District of Georgia.
VOL. 11.
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
Life in the Country.
\ WTO
) Jjf-ra/r HERE, you dear old fellow, is
'h/wS ie last mouthful, and, indeed,
1- cann °l stay here to feed and
caress, you any longer,” said Susan
Gray, as she gently stroked the mane of
the pet family horse, “ Charlie,” which
her only brother Robert was about to
ride to the village on an errand for his
sister.
“Now, Robert, don’t you ride too fast
and worry the old fellow, and oh 1 be
ever so careful when you cross the creek,
the old bridge is so rotten ; and don't
forget to tell uncle and auntie and all,
how glad we’ll be to have them come ;
and be sure to get the sugar and coffee
from the store ; and, and 1 believe
that's all !”
“ I should think it was!” answered
Robert, with a prolonged whistle. “Now,
seriously, Susie, you don’t expect a fel
low to remember all that now do you ?
Let’s see, —‘tell uncle and aunty that
the creek is rotten and that the bridge
won’t hold it; and the sugar and coffee
how glad we’ll be to have them stay at
the store ’ —there, I guess we know what
we are about, don’t we Vic,” addres
sing his dog, who w'as looking as if he
understood every word of it.
“ Go along, you mischievous elf, and
see to it that in some of your pranks you
don’t get thrown off; you know well
enough what I mean.”
“And, I say, Susie, what shall I
tell John Harrison, if I meet him? To
take care and get thrown into the creek,
eh?”
“Tell him, Master Impertinence, that
if he don’t give you a thrashing, ‘at
sight,’ he need never speak to me again.”
“ All right, Susie, he shall have ‘ a
thrashing at sight.’ Get up, old fellow,”
to his horse, “git up, hip, hip, hurrah !’’
and away he went over the meadows, as
veritable a mad-cap as ever rode a horse.
Susan and Robert Gray had lost their
parents when very young, but a maiden
aunt of theirs having taken charge of
them, and come to live with them at
the old homestead, they had scarcely felt
MACON, GEORGIA, NOVEMBER 21, 1868.
the loss. Robert, was as yet but little
more than a boy,—entirely so, in his
love of fun and mischief, —but with all,
a kind, loving youth, who thought, as he
said, “ Sis Susie, second to nobody’s
sister, and a deal to good for that fellow
Harrison, who was always singing that
he ‘ knew a lassie that was awaitin’,
awaitin’.’ ” Susan, the elder, had grown
up quite a young lady, and loved her
brother dearly; but, somehow, there
was “such a difference between the man
Harrison and the boy Robert, that she
could not love them alike, to save her
life ;” at any rate, that was the way
she explained it to Robert, when he
asked her “ what he had done that she
should go and love anybody better than
him?” So, the aunt had been consulted,
preparations made, the day for the wed-
ding fixed, and Robert sent to tell uncle
and aunt and all, in the neighboring
village, how glad “we’ll be to have them
come” and see Susan Harrison com
mence her new “ life in the country.”
Life in the country! How different
from life in the city. No brick pave
ments, narrow streets and dirtier alleys,
but the clean, soft meadows, where the
violets grow ; no s m oky atmosphere,
tainted with the effluvia of filth, but the
pure, free, healthy air of heaven, meas
ured with no stinted hand; not the bust
ling, knock down and drag out life
of a city hack, but the quiet, peaceful,
pastoral life of a farmer, who plows
and sows with an abiding faith that a
kind Providence will give a bountiful
harvest in due season. The blessings
of God are not confined to any section,
they are bountiful, as his loving kind
ness is beyond measure, but in the di
stribution of them, the country has not
been forgotten.
Everything about the old homestead
was put in perfect trim. Out and in
bore evidence that a great festival was
approaching. The floors were scoured
till not a spot could be seen anywhere ;
the pantry shelves were full of dainties ;
the “ spare room,” transformed into a
“bridal chamber,” was appropriately
adorned, beautiful in the very simplicity
of its ornaments.
“Here we are, here’s all of us, in
spite of the creek and rotten bridge,”
said Uncle Harry, as he drove up to the
door. “ And where is that undutiful
niece of mine, who, not satisfied with
being our pet, must needs go off and hunt
up somebody else to spoil her com
pletely ?’*
“ Here I am, uncle, how you do talk,
you are almost as bad as Robert; and
oh! auntie, darling, lam so glad to see
you.”
“ God bless you, my child, always re
tain this sincerity of affection and I
shall have little fear of the happiness of
my dear sister's daughter.”
“ There, there, do give a fellow a
chance to put in a word edgewise,” said
Robert, coming up with an armful of
bundles. “ Here’s your coffee, sugar,
etc., etc., who wouldn't stay at the store,
no matter how glad you’d be ; said they
had as good a right to be at the wed
ding as anybody else; and as for John
Harrison , there, I am blest if she
ain’t gone ! If she runs now at the bare
mention of his name, what won’t she do
in a few years?” with which sage remark
Robert went in the house with his bun
dles.
Hush ! ’Tis the wedding morning.
Keep silence, tread lightly, ’tis sacred
ground. A young girl partakes to-day
of the great sacrament of her life. Child
hood’s joys and troubles are past; wom
anhood’s experience is before her; a
child to-day, she will now bid adieu to
its sweet existence forever. May she
never regret it, but enjoy a happy “ life
in the country.”
“ What God has joined together, let
no man put asunder.” R.
No. 21.