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VOLUME VI. autumn flowers. Fannie ihabelle bhebrick. 0 crimson-tinted flowers Tlmt live when others die, What thoughtless hand unloving Could ever [mss you ? You are the last bright blossoms, The summer’s after-glow, When all her early children Uavo faded long ago. Sweet golden-rod aud zeuia And crimson marigold, What dreuns of autumn splendor Your velvet leaves unfold. Long, long ago the violets Ilavo closed their sweet blue oyes, And lain with pale dead faces beneath the summer skies. And on their graves you blossom With leaves of gold and red, Aud yet—how soon forever Your beauty will be dead. The frost will come to kill yoit, The snows will wrap you round; Aud you will sleep forgotten Upon the frozen ground. Your tints are like the beauty The sun-light leaves behind, And deep and full of sadness. The thoughts you bring to mind. Dear memories of tho summer! Sweet tokens ot the past! You are the fairest flowers Because you are the last. —St. Louis Republican. MISCELLAJVY. A WIFE’S CONFESSION. I did not man y for love. Very few people do, so in this respect I am neither better nor worse titan my neighbors. No, I certainly did not many for love; I believe I married Mr. Cartwright simply because he asked me. This was how it happened. lie was the rector of Duveton, and we lived at the Manor house, which was about ten minutes' walk from the church and rectory. A\ r e had daily service at Doveton, and 1 nearly always attend it, and it came pass that Mr. Cartwright invariably walked home with me. It was a matter of custom, and I thought nothing of it ; it pleased him, and on the whole it was rather pleasant to me also. 1 must confess, however, I was rath er surprised when, one morning, as wo got to the avenue which led to the Ma nor house, Mr. Cartwright asked me to be his wife. 1 have never been able to find out why I said yes, but I did ; perhaps I thought it a pity to th.ow away so much love ; perhaps it was because lie was so terribly in earnest that I dared not refuse him ; perhaps I feared this P'do face, and his low, pleading voice would haunt me if I rejected his love ; °b perhaps it was because he only ft skcd me to many him —he did not ask me if I loved him, for I think he guessed I did not; perhaps it was all these reasons put together, but any bow I said yes and in due time we were married. I ought to have been very happy, for ho was a most devoted husband, but I was not, and though 1 did not notice it then, I know now that for the first six months after our marriage he was not happy either. It was all my fault—l either would not or could not love him ; I accepted his devotion to mo as a matter of course but I made no effort to return it, and I am sure ho had found out that he had made a mistake in marrying a wo man who did u't love him. One morning, about six months af ter our marriage, he told me at break lust that he intended leaving me alone lor a few weeks, to stay with his mother, who was not very well. lie watched the effect of this announce ment on me, but though I was really displeased, I concealed my annoyance, 4nd asked carelessly when ho would Stait. lie replied, the next day, if I had no objection, and so it was all set tled . lie was more affectionate than usual that day, and 1 was colder than ever ; 1 oply once alluded to his journey and that was to ask if I might have my sister Maud to stay with me while he was gone, The next nv Tiling I was anxious to avoid a formal parting, so I drove to the station with him. As the train moved oil I remem ered thi- was our "t Wimt§ first parting since our marriage, and I wished I had not been quite so cold. V hen 1 got home the house looked dreary and empty, and there was no one to meet me. Presently one of the servants came for the shawls, and with her Nero, Mr. Cartwright's retriever, which, when he saw I was alone, set np a howl for his master. I patted him and tried to comfort him, feeling re buked by his grief, as he followed me whining into the house. Every room seemed empty, and each spoke of the absent master At last I wandered into his study, where he spent his mornings, and liked me to sit and work, and now I remem bered how often I had excused myself saying 1 preferred the drawing room, and this reflection did not add to my happiness. There was a photograph of me on his writing-table, and another on the chimney-piece; on the walls hung two or three of my drawings, which ho had begged ol me when we were engaged; indeed the room was full of little re membrances of me; I opened a book I had given him, and in it was his name in my handwriting, and underneath it, in his own, “From my darling wife.’' I laid it down with a sigh as I thought how carefully he treasured everything I had ever given him, and how little care 1 took of all his gifts to me. Everything I attempted, everything I looked at, reminded me of his good ness to me and of my coldness and in gratitude to him. At last I went to bed, where, after working myself into a fever of anxiety lest he should not have reached tho end of his journey in safety, 1 at length cried myself to sleep. The next morning I went down to breakfast with a heavy heart for I knew I could not hear from him till the ueit day ; it seemed so strange to breakfast alone, and Nero seemed to think so too, for he was most unhappy, sniffling around his master’s chair in the most melancholy manner. My plate, for the first time since my marriage, was empty, as I sat down to breakfast; my husband, who was an early riser, always had a little boquet to greet me with every morning. Fre quency* I forgot all about it, and left it to be put into water by the servant; this morning I would have treasured it most carefully if he had gathered it. Al ter breakfast I determined to rouse myself, and go and visit some of the poor people in the village, so 1 filled my basket with some little delicacies for the sick and set out. Wherever I went it was the same story ; all held forth on my husband’s goodness and kindness, for all had been helped by him in some way or othei, and all loved and respected him. As I listened with burning cheeks I felt as if I was the only person on earth who had treated him with cruel ingrat* itude, and 1 was the very person whom he most loved and cherished. At last I went home, tired and sick at heart ; but there was no one to no tice I was pale and worn out, no one to get me wine or soflp to revive me, and no one to make me lay down and rest, as he would have done had lie been there. Oh, how I missed him! What afoul I had been 1 Was there ever woman loved or cared for as I had been ? Was there ever friend so ungrateful ? Oh, he never would come back ? Why had he gone away ? And conscience answered, “You drove him ; he gave you all he had to giv and in return you gave him noth ing but cold looks and unkind words ; and so be left you to seek love and sympathy from his mother.' This thought almost maddened me. In fancy I saw her sitting in my place by his side, loving and caresshig him us I had the best right to love and ca ress him. I pictured her receiving tenderly the loving acts I had received so coldly, and now I was seized with a jealous anger against her. I mentally accused her of estranging my husband from me, and of trying to win his love from me, as though his heart was not large enough for both of us. When Maud arrived, in the after noon, I treated her to a long tirade of abuse againt mothers in-law in ge acr al and my owa in particular, and I vented all the anger that I really felt against myself on the innocent Mrs- Cartwright. “Why, Nellie,* r said Maud, “I thought you lik' and Mrs. Cartwright so much and thought her so nice that you even wanted her to live with you,*only your husband, very properly, as mauuna, says, objected, v “So I did," I answered ; hut I did not know then she would ever entice my husband away from me in this way or of course I should never have liked her/ ‘Really, Nell, you are very hard on the poor woman ; for, as I understand, Mr. Cartwright went to her of his own free will, because she was not well, and he thought his company would do her good/ said Maud. Nousense ; I am sure he wouldn’t never have left me alone unless she'd put him up to it,' I replied rather crossly. ‘The truth is Nellie, you are so in love with your husband that you are jealous even of his mother ; and you are making yourself miserable about nothing. Why Mr. Cartwright will be back in a fortnight, aud I dare say you will get a letter from him every day; so cheer up and lets go for a drive, said Maud. I agreed to this plan, and giving Maud the reins, I layback and thought of her words. Was she right after all? Was I jealous? Was I really, as Maud said, in love with my hus band ? Hid I only found it out now 1 was deprived of his company ? Was this the reason that I could do nothing but inwaidly reproach myself for my conduct to him? Aud the longer I thought the more convinced I became that Maud was right, that I was jeal ous and that I was in love, as she call ed it. This knowledge did not make me happier, for I no sooner knew that I loved him than I longed to tell him so and make up as far as I could, fur all my former cruelty, for I could call my conduct by no milder word. I passed a sleepless night, and as I lay awake I composed various letters of confession, which I resolved to send the following day ; but when morning came my pride stepped in, and I began to feel it would be impossible to write, and. I settled I must wait till my husband came home, and then tell him how his absence had altered me. I got up early and walked out to meet the postman, so anxious was 1* to get a letter from him ; it was the first I had ever received since our mar riage, and no girl was ever so anxious so pleased with her first love-letter as I was over this. It was a long letter, full of loving messages and terms of endearment, all of which cut ine to the heart, for they sounded like so many reproaches; in reality I think there was a tone of gentle reproach throughout the letter, lie gave ine an account of his journey and of his-mother's health, begged me to write him a few lines every clay, but he said not a word about return ing. 1 spent the morning answering it, much to Maud's amusement, who, of course, thougt I was pouring out vol umes of love and complaints of my temporary widowhood; after tearing up about a dozen sheets of paper, I at last sent a short note, cool, and with no allusion to my misery. The more I tried, the more impossible I found it to write ny expression of love or penitence, though I was hungering to do so. For a whole week I went on in this way, suffering more accutely every day, and every day receiving long, loving letters from Mr. Cartwright, and writing shorr, cold letters. 1 lost my appetite, I could not sleep at night, and the torture I was endur ing made me look so ill that Maud be came frightened and declared she would write and summon my husband home, and telling him that I was pin ing a wav for him. I forbade her doing this so sternly that' she dared not dis obey me, for I was determined that he should never hear from any lips but mine that at last his heart's desire was attained, for I loved. At last, when lie had been away ten days I could bear it no longer, for I felt I should have brain fever if I went on this way, so I determined to go on to Melton, where Mrs. Cartwright lived, and see my husband. I came to this decision one night, and went into Maud’s room early in the morning to tell her of any intention, I expected she would laugh at me, but I think she guessed something was wrong, for she seemed glad to hear it, and helped me pack a few things audsetoffin time for the morning train. It was a three hour’s journey. They seemed three years to me, for the near er I got to my husband the more im. patient I was to see him. At last. we got to Melton, a large town. Of course as I was not expected there was no one to meet me, so I took a fly to Mrs. EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 10, IS7S. Cartwright's house, where I arrived about three o’clock. I learned afterwards that Andrew was with his mother in the drawing room when I drove up, but thinking I was only a visitor, he escaped into the next room, so I found my mother in law alone. By her side were some of my hus band’s socks whiclfrshe was darning, socks which I had handed over to the servants to mend, and which 1 now longed to snatch away from his moth er. His desk stood open, a letter to me which he was writing lying on it. The servant announced me as Mrs. Andrews, my voice failing me as I gave my name, so that Mrs. Cart wright held up her hands in aston ishment when she saw who it was. ‘My dear Nellie 1 Has anything hap pened ? Ho tv ill you look 1 What is it ?' she exclaimed. ‘I want my husband/ Ig.is.ped, sink ing into a chair, for I thought I should have fallen. Without another word Mrs. Cartwright leit the room ; I feel sure now she guessed ail about it, and I can never thank her enough for for bearing to worry me with questions as to what I had come for. She came back in a few moments will', a glass of wine, which she made me. drink off, saying she would send him to me at once if I took it. I com plied, and she went for him ; in anoth er minute I heard his step outside the door, and then he came in. ‘Nelly, my love—iny darling, what is it ?' he cried, as I rushed into his outstretched arms, and hid my face on his breast, sobbing bitterly. For some moments I could not speak; at last 1 recovered enough to sob out : ‘Oh, Andrew, my love 1 my dear love ! can you ever forgive me ? 1 came to ask you, and to tell you I can’t live without you.‘ I would have said more but his kisses stopped my mouth, aud when at length lie let me go, there were other tears upon inv cheeks besides my own. That was the happiest hour of my life, in spite of my tears, and before mother-in-law again joined us, which she discreetly avoided doing until din ner-time, I had poured out all I had to tell into my husband’s ears ; and I had learned from him that he had left ine try what effect his absence would have on me; for lie had f It for some time that my pride was the great bar rier he had to overcome to win my love. He had judged right. Tie was too generous to tell how much he had suf fered from my indiffereuce, but I know it must have grieved him terribly, He is a different man noiv, he looks hap py, and 1 know lie would not change places with any one on earth. We went back to the rectory the next day, bat we could not persuade Mrs. Cart wright to come with us* she said we were best alone, and I think she was right.— Cassell’s Magazine. Comparing a Sermon to a Shirt. While on the subject of sermons, I cannot resist repeating a conversation between a friend and his farm servant, which illustrates the remark already made, that an Irishman is rarely at a loss for a reply or an excuse. ‘That was a good sermon, was it not, that we had last Sunday?' said the gentleman. ‘True for you, ycr honor, an illigant one. It done me a power of good m tirely.’ ‘l'm glad of that. Cun you tell me what partic daily struck you? Wuat was it about?’ ‘Oh, well,’ scratching his head, ‘I don't rightly—not just exactly know. I—a—l—a—where’s the use in telling a lie? Sure, I don’t remember one sin gle individual word of it, good or bad- Sorra bit of me knows what it was about at all. 4 ‘And yet you said it did you a pow er of good.* 1 ‘So it did, sir; IT! stick to that.' ‘I doirit seee how.‘ - - ‘Welt now, yer honor, look here. There s my shirt that the wife is after washing: and clean and white it is, by reason of all the water and the soap and the starch that's gone through it. But not a drop of them all—water, or soap, or Starch, or blue—has stayed in, d'ye see. And that's just the same with me and that sermon. Iris run through me, yer honor, and it's dried out of me; but all the same, just like my Sunday shirt, Pm the better and cleaner after it.‘ T here was more philosophy than he was aw *re ot in the quaint reasoning of the man. An impression lor o-ood or evil is often left upon the mind and bears fruit, when what has caused the influence has passed away from our memories. —Chambers Journal. Irish Jollity. The Irish are a jolly set of people, and nowhere is this characteristic trait more observable than on an Irish race course. The same drunkenness on an American race course would have re sulted in fights innumerable, but here all were in the best of humor and over flowing with fun and frolic. The deep er their potations the better they seem ed to agree. Perhaps tiie whisky they drink is of better quality than that to be had iu less favored parts of the world, and has a different effect on tho biain and animal spirits than the li quid fire which is administerd to the same class of people in America. Their bets ranged from a shilling to a crown and even the ragged and barefooted visitors indulged in small ventures on the result of the race. Avery ele gantly dress M lady, accompanied by a servant, followed the horses in each race, keeping close at their heels, and jumping the hurdles with an ease and grace that was as interesting to the spectators as the races. The space to the right of the judges’ stand was re served for the can iages of the gentry and managers, and the display of fine dresses aud elegant equipages was equal to that at the races of the Mary land Jockey club. They were accom panied by an extensive airay of ser vants in livery, and the rabble was carefully excluded from this section by a cordon of police officers, each with a rifle strapped to his shoulder. Here the betting was very heavy, even tho ladies having a venture on every race. Ihe free admission of pedestrians brought together all classes of people, and the most of those who came in vehicles left them, along the roadside to avoid the entrance fee. There were a number of gambling booths, which were crowded with people during the intermissions, but the ventures were mostly with very small coin. The whole ground was covered with mud, but no one seemed to mind it. 'The time made by the horses very slow, on account of the condition of the track, and they came to the winning post pretty well worn down. —Me Ful. ton in Baltimore American. i A Policeman’s Philosophy. A policeman having been called up on to shoot a clog in a yard on Brush street yesterday, took a seat on the fence, drew up his legs out of danger, and remarked to himself as he took aim: The seat of all vitality is the heart, and here goes/ A cow in the lot beyond threw up her head and went galloping around, and the dog trotted over the yard as if perfectly at home. Jhe officer got a good ready and observed: ‘The fear of death is often as strong ly exhibited in beasts as m man, and their dying agonies have been known to bring tears to the eyes of their ex ecutors/ Bang! A woman who was working up an old knot in the alley flung down the axe, put her head over the fence and warned the policeman that she didn’t want to be bothered anymore, though she wouldn’t object to his shooting up in the air if the po lice regulations required it. 'Natural history asserts that the erage life of a cauine is four years/ resumed the officer as lie brought the revolver down again, ‘and that they are subject to fourteen different dis" eases. I will now take that chap right behind the ear, penetrating skull and brain aud causing death in about four minutes/ The smoke had scarce li:ted when a melon peddler, whose horse was coming down the street at a slow pace, rose up in his wagon and and called out: ‘lt you boys doi/tstop shootin’beans at me I'll wollop the hull crowd, rich oucs and all! That *ere last one just tickled my nose!’ . ‘Natural hist—' began the officer, when the dog % discovered a hole under the* fence and slipped into the street and made off. ‘Natural history/ re peated the blue-coat as he dropped off the fence, ‘explicitly states that dogs must stand still when being shot at ° y and it I didn’t hit him it’s the fault of education/ —Detroit Free Press. It I were tQ choose the people with whom I would spend my hours of con versation they should be certainly such as labored no further than to make themselves readily and clearly apprehended, and would have patience and curiosity to understand me To have good sense and the ability to ex press it are the mest essential and nec essary qualities in companions. When thoughts rise in us tit to utter among familiar friends, there needs but very little care in clothing them.-- -Sleele. Rich Men’s Sons. The president of one of our largest banks said, a day or two since, that a rich man's eon had just letl his place and he was the last maa of the kind he should ever employ. The man was faithful, honest and tilled intelligently and well all the duties required of him; but just as he had become accustomed to his work he found out it was too confining and a raw clerk had to be put in his place. A bad look for rich young meiq but it is the old story re peated for the thousandth time. If rich men's sons will not endure the drudgery by which nearly all their fathers secured money and position, they must take a secondary place in the next generation; and oltoner they drop out of sight amid the idle worth less herd, if, indeed, they escape an association with loafcs and criminals. What say the labor reformers to facts like these, for facts they are without question? Nearly every man in any leading position in the community gan life poor. Let the sons of rich men take warning and go to work honestly and faithfully every day, if they hope to fill the positions held by their fathers.— Troy Budget. Intelligence of tire Magpie. A correspondent of one of the scien tific journals writes as follows in illus tration of the intelligence of a magpie: ‘Some years ago, when residing at Stowmarket, I was much struck with the intelligence of a magpie belonging to my next door neighbor. In a very short timOj and without any effort to teach it ou the part of any one, it learned the names of several members of my family, and never misapplied them. This proves that birds, in ac quiring human language, connect the object and the word, and do not use the latter at random. The magpie in question was evil-disposed, and loved £o annoy girls by pecking their feet; but oil the approach of a man or a boy it sculll .1 away, uttering a most unparliamentary phrase. Its leg hav ing' been accidentally broken, it repu diated all surgical aid. It used to sit on the sound foot and hold up the maim' and limb, looking at it disconlale ly, and peeking at the bandages, with continual ejaculations of I) it! and died at last worn to a skeleton.' To Know an American in Paris. W bile waiting for our breakfast one morning in a cremerie in Paris much frequented by foreigners, my friend Mme. B said, ‘I can point you out every American breakfasting here/ I looked around at the people seated at the different tables, and wondered if she were speaking seriously. In these days when fashion reduces cos tume and coiffure to such uniformity, and when the blood of every civilized race is mixed to a great extent with that of every other, distinguishing na tionality at sight appeared to me im possible. I asked my friend her se cret. ‘Oh, it is no secret/she replied, smil ing; ‘I don’t pretend to tell except when they are taking breakfast. They all put salt on their butter / ‘Your acuteness applies only to breakfast, then/ I said. ‘At dinner it would not serve you, I suppose/ I said this in a kind of savage way, hav* ing the common weakness that makes all people abroad defend their country men. ‘No/ she said; ‘we never put butter on the dinner table’—a fact that I had at that moment forgotten.—MarieHow land in Harper’s. Anew Duluth city ordinance gives the awful warning that 'any cow, of either sex, hereafter found spotting a bell or ringing the same within said limits, shall, upon conviction thereof, be subject to fine or imprison ment, or both, at the discretion of the court/ ‘I know where there is another arm just as pretty as this one/ said a young citizen to bis sweetheart, as he pinched her fair arm yesterday evening. The storm that quickly gathered upon the lady’s brow as quickly passed away when the young man pinched the other arm aud said, ‘it is this one dear/ A little five-year old boy, residing with his parents in the Cheney block, was a-iked by a lady a few days since for a kiss. He immediately complied, but the lady, noticing that the little fellow drew his hands across his lips, lemarked, Ah, but you are rubbing it off/ ‘No, I ain’t was the quick re joinder, ‘l’m rubbing it in/ Man proposes, but—he is not always accepted. The favorite flower for wedding bon nets—Marrygold. A Boston girl spoke of Lord Bea consfield's new honor as the ‘order of the elastic.' The latest style of hair is lunatio fringe. It is very popular for moon light partings. ■ . ■ A Western paper advises lightning*, rod agents and book canvassers to try their luck in Memphis, When may a man’s friends naturally suppose that- he has gone amissing? When has gone a-eourting. Many beautiful ladies when walking out are angry if they are gazed at, and indignant if they arc not. There is a man in Washington tho most powerful in the country. 110 carries a horse scar on his cheek. A Louisville reporter of the old school once wrote of a man who had been ‘overtaken by the bitter pill of adversity.' A man has recently invented an ap paratus for arresting and extinguish ing sparks. Are the girls going to stand that? The new song,‘Sounds ol Childhood/ recalls tender recollections of a mat* ronly shoe, a shrill treble voice, and an utter disinclination to sit. Child (praying)—Pieaso God make it a pleasant day to-morrow so we can go on our picnic. But if it isn't, keep us to feel that thou knowest best. The hoy who is having the first tooth pulled doesn’t care anything for the present, and the futurity is as blank as a last year’s watermelon. In the make-up of the modern small boy there is altogether too much whis tle for the amount of boy. It is most too much like using a two-quart fun nel in a three-ounce vial. - ‘Here it is ten o’clock,’ exclaimed Mrs. Mic, ‘and Ann is not in yet. Sho promised faithfully to return at eight/ ‘Have you forgotten,’ said her husband ‘that an is an indefinite article.* One half of the world don't know how the other half live/ exclaimed a gossiping woman. ‘Oh, well/ said her neighbor, ‘don’t worry about it, ’tisn’t your fault if they doi/t know.* A Michigan woman says she hopes not to go to heaven unless there are post offices there. She can think of nothing nicer than to bo handed a fat letter in a brown envelope by the general de livery e’erk. A hat fine dark hair you have got, Miss Ay—! My wife, who is much younger than you, has her hair quite gray/ ‘lndeed/ rejoined Miss YV ‘if I had been your wife my hair no doubt had been gray, too/ A Boston man advertises, ‘Y\ r ante& —girls to crochet/ Any girl who sub mits to that is likely to be worsted. It’s a crewel thing, but then we've heard of a chap darnin' his girl because of the crotchets in her head. Due owner of a pair of bright eyes says that the prettiest compliment she ever received came from a child of four years. The'little fellow, after gazing intently at her for a moment, inquired naively, ‘Are your eyes new ones?' A colored preacher In Norwich a while ago gave out the following an nouncement: 'Brothers and sisters, next Sunday, the Lord willing, there will be baptizing in this place, the candidates being four adults and three ad ul tresses/ They were sitting together, and he was arduously thinking what to say, when finally he burst out in this mans ner; ‘ln this land of noble achieve ments and undying glory, why is it that women do not come more to the front, aud climb the ladder of fame?’ 'I suppose,' said she, niting her apron strings, ‘it's on aecount of their pull backs.’ NO. 41