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VOLUME YI.
SATURDAY NIGHT.
Placing the little hats all in a row,
Ready tor church on the morrow, you know;
Washing wee faces aui little black fists,
Getting them ready and to be kissed;
Putting them into clean garments and white—
ITJbaJ is what mothers are to .night.
Spying out holes in the little worn hose,
Laying t>y shoes that are worn at the toes,
Looking o’er garment so faded and thin—
Who but a mother knows where to begiu ?
Changing a button to make it look right—
That is what mother); are doing to-night
Calling the little ones all round her chair,
Hairing them lisp forth their evening prayer;
Teaching them stories as Joseph of old,
Who loved to gather the lambs of his fold;
Watching, they listen with weary delight—
That is what mothers are doing to-night
Creeping so softly to take a last peep,
After the little ones are all asleep;
Anxious to know if the children are warm—
Tucking the blankets round each little form;
Ki.ssiug each little face, rosy and bright—
That is what mothers are doing to-night
Kneeling down gently beside the white bed,
Lowly and meekly she bows down her head,
Praying as only a mother can pray:
* ‘God, guide and keep them from going astray.”
MISCELLANY.
. HOW IT WAS,
‘Folds of the silk and cream-colored
roses. You will have the hats just
alike, then?’ asked Miss Lucinda Smith
the milliner.
‘Just exactly alike. It will please
Ilermione, and there is nothing I like
s > well as to please my pretty step
tnamra >,' answered \Linly Thetford,
lifting her sweet eyes for sympathy to
the precise countenance oi Miss Lu
cinda.
‘UinpM—so you arc very fond of
her, Linly?'
‘Yes, indeed! She is my best friend
since poor papa died; and being so
near of an ago, we are constant com
panions. I don't know what I should
do if it weren't for Ilermione; Rye
lands has changed so much since pa
pa's death.’
‘You have Mr. St. Charles’ company
a great deal, I hear.'
A flash like sunset dyed the beauti
ful brunette face.
‘Of course; he is Herinione'scousin,
and—and like a brother to me,' an
swered stooping over a box of
silk violets to hide her confusion.
‘Umphl—yes—well, it's aR right,
of course ’ remarked Miss Lucinda,
pinching out a brier leaf, and setting
the little rose more firmly on its stem.
'But didn’t it ever occur to you that
people will talk?*
‘About what?’ asked Linly, lifting
her hazel eyes to Miss Lucinda’s
profile.
‘llis being at Ryelands so much, so
soon after your father's death. Poor
man! dead but six months; I should
think your step-mamma, as you call
her f would have more respect fur his
memory than to 1
‘Than to what?' asked Linley, her
large, bright orbs growing larger and
brightet with Indignation. ‘What
have you to say against Ilermione—
against my father’s wife, Miss Lucin
da?'
‘Say?—oh, I say nothing. It's
what oth*r people are talking about.
But I must add tnat it is strange you
are so blind, Linly. 1 have known you
since you were a child—used to come to
Rveiands every spring to make caps
in your grandmother’s day, and your
mother always bought her bonnets of
me—and you were always bright
enough about other things. It’s strange
you can’t see.'
‘What?' with a thrill in the young
voi co.
‘Why, of course, your step-mother
married your father for his money,
and to have a home and position She
was only a district school teacher,
down in Marshfield, when he married
Eastman
her, and everybody knew she did
pretty well for herself when she mar
ried Dr. Thetford. But she was dead
la-love with her cousin, Rupert St.
Charles, and he with her; but they
were poor, and he working his way so
slowly throughcollege that she thought
there was not much chance there, and
so gave him up for your father. He
is now a promising young lawyer, and
she the mistress of Ryelands; what is
so likely? Lor’, you ain't going to
faiut, are you, Linly?'
‘Faint? No! The day is warm
and your store is close. It is foolish
for me to stay here listening to this
gossip. I do not feel in the least in
debted to you for repeating it to me,
Miss Lucinda. My beautiful step
mother loved my father dearly when
she married him—five years of utter
devotion to his interests, and her
crushing grief at his death, proved it
to rne—nor do 1 believe she loved any
one else when she married him. And
if she chooses to marry Mr. St. Charles
now, she is at liberty, for all Circle
ville/ and bowing with the barest
civility Linly left the shop.
The cool air of the village streets
cooled her burning cheeks; but how
her loyal young heart ached in her
bosom J Not for worlds would she
have had Miss Lucinda confirmed in
her suspicion that she loved Rupert
St. Charles; but it was the cruel tru‘h.
He was so kind and refined in his
nature, so handsome and unspoiled by
his rapid success in life, no wonder
the girlish heart worshiped him. She
bad never believed that there was any
thing between the cousins but cousin
ly kindness and freedom. But perhaps
others knew better. May be she was
“blind.'*
A feellug ofbltter desolation fell up
on her as she entered the broad gates
of Ryelands, whence her beloved fa
ther, whose pet she had always been,
had bem carried scarcely a year be
fore. She loved Hermione, and had
believed that Ilermione had loved her
b st of anything in the world ; but
now it seemed as if she had no home
in any heart.
Mr. St. Charles' beautiful mare, Sul
tana, stood tied to a tree. For the first
time the sight gave Linly pain instead
of pleasure. She did not wish to meet
him, and she turned away from the
door, and took the garden path.
The grounds of Ryelands were old
and fine. The doctor’s large practice
and open-hearted hospitality had tors
merly kept muchstate, but of late was
very quiet.
She saw no one as her path led on
through the shrubbery ; but soon she
heard voices, and pausing to learn the
direction they were in, the following
conversation forced itself upon her :
‘I hardly know what to say.'
‘But Hermione, surely you trust
me ?,
‘Yes, entirely. But, Rupert, wait a
year. My husband has been dead but
a short time, and I shrink from such a
responsible act.'
‘I cannot wait a year. You know
how lonely I have been, and now that
I love one woman with my whole soul
—and she is and I can at least
take care of a wife—surely
you will not refuse ?’
‘Boor Rupert, I love you so much,
how can I ?'
‘Then you give your consent ?'
‘I do.’
Breathless with pain, Lin
ly tore herself breathless from the
spot. She sought the house now, and
fleeing to her own room, cast herself
across the bed, writhing with anguish.
Lost ! lost ! They had all left her.
She had not one.
‘The tea-bell rang ; she didn't heed
it. Inquiring voices called her name ;
she covered her ears with her hands.—
Twilight and darkness Ailed the pret
ty white room ; the whippoorwill’s call
came on the dewy air, and the piano
sounded softly in the room below. It
was Hermione’s touch, and Rupert St.
Charles was bending happily over ‘the
woman he loved with his whole soul,''
no doubt. Poor Liuly ! she wished
she could creep into her father's grave
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, APRIL 4, 1878.
and be out of sight of their happi
ness.
By and by. in the stillness, she
heard steps on the stair. Was Her
mione coming ? Yes, the door opened,
and Hermioue’s voice syllabled : ‘Dear
are you here ? We thought you had
not come from town.'
She advanced into the room, putting
the light she carried under a shade in
the corner.
‘You have come home with a head
ache, I know—the day has been so
hot ; but you ought to have drank
some Linly dear.'
The graceful form pressed the couch
by the girl's side ; a tender arm stole
around her neck.
‘1 am glad we can be quiet. I have
something to tell you. Did I hurt you,
Linley, with my ring ? Why did you
wince so ?'
'No, Hermione, no,' feebly.
‘Linly, something has happened to
day, which gives me great hope and
pleasure. Shall I tell you V
There was a little pause—such a
hard little pause.
‘Yes.'
‘You have known my cousin, Ru
pert St. Charles, a year, and you feel
quite well acquainted with him, go
you not ?'
'Quite well.'
‘He is all he seems to be, Linly. I
think you like him.'
No answer.
‘I hope you do, for he is just
what a young man ought to be—hon
orable, pure and steadfast—and the
woman who has won his love is fortu
nate indeed —blessed, if she returns it
—for he will make a devoted husband.
She euuld not have a better fate
than to be the wife of Rupert St.
Charles.'
Hermione Thetford heard her step*
daughters quickened breathing, but
could not see her face
‘I walked with him this afternoon in
the garden, and—surely, dear, your
head must be very bad. I heard you
moan.’
‘Very bad. But never mind, Her
mione.’
‘He urged me to a promise which I
was reluctant to give,
‘Yes.
‘1 hesitated to take a step he urged
upon me, because your father has
been dead just a short time, and oth
ers might think ’
‘You need not care what others
think if you are sure of your own feel
ings, Hermione/
‘lt is because I am sure of them,
Linley, that I at last yielded. I have
known Rupert from a child, and he is
one in a thousand. So dear, you will
forgive me if you are averse to this— ’
'Forgive? What should I forgive,
dear Hermione ?*
‘I yielded and gave my consent that
he should tell you his love, aud try
to win yours, dear. For nothing could
make me happier, my sweet girl, than
for you to marry my cousin.*
Hermione’s voice died away. There
was no sound in the darkened cham
ber. She listened anxiously fur Linly's
response; but the girl realized nothing
but the feelings of her own heart.
'Will you not speak, dear V
'What shall I say, Hermione V
‘Are you pained or pleased by what
I have told you V
'Hermione, I have been told that
you and Rupert used to love each
other/
'I have always loved Rupert as a
cousin loved—nothing more. It was
your father whom I loved, dear, and
so you are next dearest to my heart.
I have promised Rupert to urge you to
give him a little sign of encourage
ment, and so he has sent you this blush
rose. If he may speak to you, wear
it in your hair when he comes to-mor
row night; if you have nohope for him
you need not see him at all, dear, as
it may be painful to you, and will sure
ly dash his dearest hopes to the earth
So I will tell him as gently as possi
ble/
‘Giv6 me the rose/
Hermione unfastened the cool, fra
grant thing from her own dark hair,
and in the darkness saw its whiteness
lifted to her lips.
‘I will wear it.*
Soon all Circleville knew of Linly‘s
engagement, and this is the way it
was.
The Penniless Man—Canticles
by Caliban*
Blessed is the man who is penniless,
for he is never stricken—-for a dollar.
The deadhead annoyeth him not,
neither is he pursued by the book
agent.
He is not grasped by the lightning
rod seller.
The lunch fiend turneth away from
him. He is not asked to invest iu
church lotteries.
He has no friends to cocktail ; he is
poor and hath no enemies.
When he risetb in the morning his
stomach is not rebellious from over
feeding ; neither doth he chink his sil
ver and say, ‘l.ow shall I get rid of
these dimes
When he eateth he is not vexed by
a multitude of dishes. His bowels, by
reason of his sparingness, are not
troubled with revolutions.
His lands will never take unto them
selves wings, neither will the fire de
vour his water lots.
lie is not perplexed about taxes,
neither careth he for the rise in lum
ber.
Hetoileth not for gold, nor orateth
like Jones on silver.
lie hath no ti<*s for money, there-*
fore careth not to demonetize, never
theless a dime he will not refuse, nor
turn away from a rive-center.
YeSj a gerkin lie w T ill relish, and
storm the outworks of a steelclad bis
cuit.
He loveth none but himself* he is sel
fish; yea, fond of fish, clams in chow
der, oysters raw ; and lobsters in vine’s
gar. will he not despise.
He maketh his lair in a bar room;
he squatteth upon a keg w hile it is
day, and sleeps in a barrel at night.
Where the scent of whiskey is,
there he is found ; he snufteth the
lunch with frenzy, and crieth f 'TIa,
ha" at the chink of glasses. He liveth
like a ringtailed moke, and dieth like
a spotted jehosaphat.
What You Do, Do Well.
When you undertake to do anything,
be in earnest about it, do it with your
might. Fortune and fame are often
lost by not being in earnest. This is
a real world—a world of real work,
geal success, real conflicts, real failures,
real triumphs, real defeats. And let
no one be so overcmfi lent in his own
abilities as to look with indifference
up >n the difficulties before him—the
danger and tr als that he must p iss in
order to reach the g al upon which his
eye is fixed. Full and glorious suc
cess never yet did crown the languid
and indifferent exercises of the powers
of mind and body. It requires effort
to push one/s craft against the current
of rivalry, jealousy and vice; and if
one would have his progress marked
by complete triumph, his efforts must
be w’dl-directed, constant and unren
lax ng. But he who feels that he has
only to be inactive and wait lor the
wind of fortune to drift him into the
haven of wealth and fame, has lost
every promise of success, and is in far
more danger of ultimate disaster than
the tempest-tossed mariner, though
his mast be gone and his vessel shat
tered and torn by the raging sea. Be
in earnest; meet the difficulties which
daily arise with determination to con
quer aud rise above them. Let not
your adversaty find you sleeping or
dreaming of an easy conquest. Too
much confidence in one's powers is
fatal to success, and often brings de.
feat most di-astrous. Be faithful, be
true, be kind, be firm, be earnest.
“What is your occupation, bub V*
said a visitor at tbe capitol, of a bright
boy whom he met in the corridor.—
The boy happened to be a page in the
house. “Fin running for congress,
sir/’ he replied.
Honor Your Business*
We commend this paragraph from
the London Economist, to all who have
a ‘vocatiou t f
‘lt is a good sign when a man Is
proud of his Work or his calling. Yet
nothing is more common than to hear
men finding fault continually with their
particular and deeming them*
selves unfortunate because fastened
to it by the necessity of gaining a
livelihood. In this spirit men fret and
laboriously destroy all their comfort m
the work ; or they may change their
business and go on miserably shifting
from one thing to another until the
grave or the poor house gives them
fast grip. But while a man occasion
ally fails in life because he is not in
the place fitted for his peculiar
it happens ten times cflener that fail*
ure results from neglect and even con
tempt of an honest business. A man
should put his heart into everything
he does. There is not a profession that
has not its peculiar cares and vexa
tions. Commerce, in its endless varie
tieSj is affected, like all other human
pursuits, with trials, unwelcome du
ties and spirit-stirring necessities.—
Brooding over the frets and burdens of
your calling only gives them strength.
On the other hand, man has power
given him to shed beauty and pleasure
upon the homeliest toil, if he is wise.
Let a man adopt his business and iden
tify it with his life, and cover it with
pleasant associations : for God has
given us imaginations, not alone to
make some poets, but to enable all
men to beautify homely things. Ileart
varnish will cover up innumerable
evils and defects. Look at the good
thing. Accept your lot as a man does
a piece of rugged ground, and begin
to get out the rocks and roots; to
deepen and mellow the soil, to enrich
and plant it. There is something in
the most forbidding avocation around
which a man may twine pleasant fan
cies, out of which he may develop an
honest pride.’
Keeping- up Appearances.
A member of the sanitary police
force came across a boy the other day
who was wheeling home a load of oys
ter cans and bottles, and curious to
know what use the lad could put them
to he made a direct inquiry.
*Going to throw them into our back
yard,* the boy said. I took two loads
home yesterday.*
‘But what do you use them for V
‘lt‘B a trick of the family/ grinned
the lad.
‘How trick ?*
T‘d just as lief tell you,* contmued
the boy, as he spit on his hands to re
sume hold of the barrow. *We‘re gos
ing to have some relations come in
from the country. We may not have
much to eat, but if they see these cans
and bottles and boxes they*ll think
w3 have had ‘isters, champagne, figs
and nuts till we have got tired of ‘era
and are living on bread and taters for
a healthy change.*
The officer scratched his ear like a
man who had received anew idea.—
Detroit Free Press.
A doting Chicago father has just
received his sou's expense account fur
the last quarter at Princeton. Among
the items.are : $9 for a revolver, $2 60
for ammunition, $4 for a burglar alarm,
$27 for blacksmith's and locksmith's
work to make the study door sopho**
more-proof, sl7 50 for half interest in
a bull dog, $9 for sword cane, $2 50
for loaded ditto, and S2O to doctor
for digging buckshot out of the calf of
his ’eg. The sympathizing progenitor
says it is very expensive work fitting
a man for the ministry.
The f blowing decision in a closely
contested debate over the rival yowers
of the pen and the sword was arrived
at in a Louisville literary society the
other day: 'De committee decide dat
de swoard has de most pints and de
best backin', and dat de pen is de
most beneficial, and dat de whole
ting is about a stan'-off.*
The mud dies hard.
The whole thing in a nutshell—the
worm.
Now we may begin to hear the crow
squawk snd see the little crocus.
Mules are only $35 in Alabama.—
Get one, it is not good for a man to be
alone.
A Bridgeport man arrested for
striking his wife Mary admitted that
Mary had a little lam.
It is becoming fashionable now to
spray the hair with cologne. Let us
spray.
“What will the present year bring
forth ?" asks an exchange. Bring
Fourth of July, of course.
An editor publishing a long leader
on hogs, a rival paper in the same vil
lage upbraids hiio for obtruding hia
family matters on the public.
The first hours of slumber are the
sweetest. If ever a man sleeps the
sleep of the just, it is when he is just
asleep.
“Well, I swan, Billy,” said an old
farmer to an undersized nephew who
was visiting him, “when you take off
that 'ere plug hat and spit two or three
times there ain't much lelt of you, is
tliar ? '
One reason why the Chinese are be
coming so popular as kitchen servants
is that they keep their hair out of the
butter. John never lets one of them
go away. No hair means uo heaven
with him.
A distinguished professor thought
to puzzle a maniac by the querry,
‘'how long, my good fellow, can a man
live without brain ? ’ r l he patient at
once replied, '‘l don’t know, doctor ;
how old are you ?”
'Tarn at your service,” said a young
clerk the other evening to a handsome
young lady, in answer to her inquiry
for a bow. “I am much obliged to
you/’ she said, “but I want a buff and
not a green one. He sank into his
shoes, and she went out.
Servant looks into the breakfast
room and says : “Please ma’am there's
a beggar womau in the kitchen who
wants something to eat ” ‘'Give her
the water in which the eggs were
boiled this morning, Bridget ; it’s quite
nutritious.”
A man, having lost his wife, was
asked to ride tc the grave with his
mother-in-law. He objected at first,
but allowed himself to be persuaded,
adding, however, 4 'l want you to un
derstand that it robs this occasion of
all pleasure for me.’'
A farmer having cattle trespassing
upon his grass fields posted up the fol
lowing: Notis—lf enny mans or
womans cows or oxen gits into these
here lots his or her tales will be cut
off as the case may be. I'm a Chris
tian, and pay my tax—darn a man
who lets his critters run loose says I.
They had been engaged a long time,
and one evening weie reading the pa
per together. '‘Look, love/’ he ex
claimed, “only sls for a 6uit of clothes.*
‘'ls it a wedding suit ?” she asked,
looking naively at her lover. “Oh,
no,” he answered, '‘it is a business
suit.” '‘WeU, I meant business,” she
r plied.
KO. 14.