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VOLUME VI. I WLI> NOT DYE INWINTUR Ct TIT? OBTHOB OF ‘THOBTS ON A FAIDED BOK A. ’ I wml not dye in wintur, When wliiskie punchiz flo, When pooty gals air skatin’ O’er fc-alJs ef ice aud snow? When saasidge meet is phryin’, And hifckory nutH is thick, Owe, who wttd think of dyeing Ox even giltiu’ sick? I wnd not dye in spring time, k miss the turn up greens, & pooty song of leetlo irawgs, >* )*ky lark’s airly screams. When birds begin their wobblering & tuturs begin to sprout, When tuikies go a gobblerißg - I wud not then peg out. I wud not dye in summer, & leave the gat den sass, The rosted lam and buttermilk, The cool place on the grass. I wud not dye in summer, When everything’s so hot, A leave the wliiskie julips, Owe no, I'd rather not, t wud not dye in ortmn, With peachiz tit for eatin’; When the wavy korn is gettin’ ripe & kandydates is treatin’; For these and other reasons, I’de not dye in the phaul, it sence I’ve thort it over, I wud not dye at aw). MISCELLANY. ItiL-'SriFLjZL. V SOUTHERN ROMANCE. BY A. T. t. Oli, most beautiful south ! Land of the orange blossoms and magnolias, hand of the sweet smelling savors of die flower and chivalry of our country. Through which of thy bergs and vil lages can I wander without recalling Sente grand old romance, interwoven with the dull, every-day of life? It was one of the most beautiful lit tle bergs scattered along the banks of K , and looking from a distance like little bits of happiness in among the shadows, in which] the particular story I am about to relate occurred.— Hut had there been no romance what" ever connected with the place, it was a spot which nature had touched with such dainty fingers, that every lover of the beautiful would fain have lingered iie ir, situated as it was on the banks a stream so noted for its pictur squonrss. Here the old mill with its great wheel dipping into the vvabr with such a refreshing plash, plash, seeming in its business to put at deli* ance anything approaching to idle ness. A little further on the fall, seeth ing and bubbling in its giant strength, sending- up now and then little whirl pools of white mist, which, symbolical (, l life, made a great stir for a while and then died into nothingness. Just Up the road to 4he left, the village proper, with its broad, old-fashioned streets, and dear, roomy old house ■'vhicli I love to think of even *ow, so tall and imposing as they were, with their outside blinds, and white window curtains, provokingly drawn just ad mitting the outside to see enough of the interior to desire a more privileged v kw. At the end of the longest, broadest, most aristocratic of these streets, stood a house which was the pride of the village being larger and more elegant than any of its neigh, hors, This was Judge Eustace's ; in Hitt had been in the possession of the Kustace famdy for yeai s, and had been handed down from generation to gen eration, and preserved in-toto , each possessor in turn rather glorying in its ancient magnificence. Standing some what back from the street upon a shght elevation, the green lawn slop ing gently from all sides, it was par. ttally hidden from view by’the tall pop lars and clambering vines, which were the luxuriant growth of many years, and were planted by hands long since crumbled to dust. Within there seem cd to be something of unusual interest going on, and the passer-by might have soon found, if he had stepped to inquire, that it wa?~ even so. Myra, the only daughter, of the old judge, and the village belle, was expected to return, fresh from her Alma Mater, where she had taken high honors.— She had been motherless from infancy, and as she had been raised by a doting lather, and an equally doting nurse, she had grown into a beautiful and in telligent, though spoiled and perverse girl ; still she bad naturally a warm heart and winning manner, which had made her a favorite in K—. When she first reached home Myca was like a caged bird which upon gain ing its freedom, knows not how to use it; she ran from one room to another, now up stairs, now down into her fas thorns study to give him a hurried em brace, and then be off again. And her f&ther was infinitely happy in seeing her happiness. But this exuberance of spirits gradually wore away, and My** ra settled back into the old time life again. Of course she had a host of admirers, for where docs youth and beauty come that admiration does not follow in her train? But Myra had a happy home, and being a little selfish, very much spoiled and rather hard to please, she thought she would be in no huiry to leave it. So &lie had al lowed two years to pass since her re turn from school, coquetting with this one, smiling on that, and dropping looks of encouragement here- and there only to give the young “lords of crea tion’’ a decided no when the affair came to the point,where the heart “lay bleed ing at her feet." But the ti me had ar rived when our fair heroine was to make a fair decision. Among her lovers there were two more ardent than the others, and who seemed determined to bring matters to a crisis. One, Dare Temple, was a Young man of noble birth, and far bet ter, of nob'e nature ; tall, slender and graceful, with a face which might have been called plain had it not have been fur his beautiful brown eve and manly, intellectual forehead; he bad loved Myra Eustace ever since together they played when children, and he had been her champion. Then as they grew op, it was always Bare who was ready ever to protect tier, first to wait upon her ; climbing to the tops of the high*, est tree to [carve her initials with his own. And now it was Dare who had made open confession of that love and was awaiting with suspense the final answer. The other, was a Frenchman, whom no one knew a tight concerning, s ive that he was handsome (unless in deed Yme might except the mouth, which had a look of cruelty and lack of character about it) and seemed to have no end of means . In fact he talked so much of his beautiful villain La Idle France, and in what a sad and sudden way he had been compelled to leave it account of difficulties which he always t >ok care not to mention, that the fairer portion of the inhabitants of K— had begun by pitying the unfortunate Professor, and had ended by making a perfect li on of him. ****** It was the day of a large party, such as only the old southerners know how to give. A lovely day in the fall of the year, when Myra, her heart beating tumultuously, went out to her favorite seat on the lawn in the shade of a largo poplar, to think. Yes, she had a problem to solve that autumn morning viz : Ah, reader, how many of us have attempted the solution of the same example, and at last been compelled to acknowledge that wo were but poor mathematicians. But to return to My r ra ; she had al ways thought (at least when she had allowed herself to think ot it at all) that she loved Dare ; and that he loved her with all the passion of a true man's nature, she had little reason to doubt. But Dave was poor, and if she married him she must sink into such a com monplace woman as those she saw around her, forgetting that in the per formance ot life's duties, no matter how insignificant, there rises up a sweet incense to the throne of the Fa ther, which helps to blossom into beautiful womanhood the most humble life. And . this she could never do ; she might have been content to do so once, but now, when every prospect with which such a brilliant future arose before her ; for had no not prom ised her everything if she would only go with him to his beautiful home in France. At this thought the infatua ted girl leaned back and commenced building fairy castles, in which, I re gret to say, Dare Temple and his sus pense was entirely' forgotten ; and she saw only a fair woman receiving such homage as she had read of, but never thought would come to herself. My ra’s day dream was interrupted by a call from the house, but the re sult of them was a short, cold note penned to Dare, bidding him never to come into her presence again, until summoned by herself. And a warm, impassioned billet, which quickly brought her lover to her side. The two letters were received in a manner characteristic of the different men ; Dare’s with a low moan and a whispered “forgive her, she knows not what she does,'' and M. de Joyeaux's, with a smile of satisfaction, which re vealed more clearly the cruel look, and a muttered “I'll secure my gam? yet.’* 0, Myra, why can you not see him now? 'f would help you very much in your problem. The next day the gossips were fur nished with a dainty morsel iu the dis appearance of Dare Temple ; and in the engagement of their village beau ty to ‘‘the catch'’ of the place. But like all nine days' wonders, it soon ceased to be a cause for wonderment at all, At first Judge Eustace violently op posed his daughter’s choice. It had been one of his pet schemes that his little girl should wed the son of his dear and well-tried friend, Henry Tem ple, of Temple Hall. But if he had any suspicion as why Dare left, he wise -1- kept them to himself: and thinking it better not to carry tilings too far, lest he should thwart bis own purpose, he at last acquiesced. So everything was in preparation for the great event, which was to take place during the holidays Myra was so busy during these days that she had little time for reflection ; nor did she care for it. She seemed like one in a dream who feared to turn lest she should be rudely wakened ; and if she gave a thought to the wanderer, she had but to look at the handsome dia. mond which glistened upon her snow} r hand, to recall her to the present. Ev erything was nearly ready when Myra began to notice how strangely her father acted ; at.firstehc attributed it to his sorrow at parting from hor, but he grew so very moody and spent so many long hours alone in his study pouring over certain leather-bound vol umes, that had she not been so much occupied with self she must have seen there was something more than ordin ary troubling her father. One evening about a week before the long talked-of event was to come off, Myra, whoso trousseau was now all prepared, had just arrayed herself in the creamy satin and lace, which was to be her bridal dress Iler maid having put on the finishing touches; stopped and throwing up both hands said with a grin, (which gave her the appearce of having more than her share of ivories) ‘Lah, honey, you looks p* e a angel, ebry inch on yer!'> It was indeed a lovely picpp re which Myra caught from her mirror ; and she thought as she looked at all her beautiful surroundings, ‘Was any girl ever so happy as I am?" But little she knew how fleeting the happiness of this world ; she built her house upon the sand, and when the storm carne and beat upon it, it fell. She crossed the room, passed down the stairs, and was about to enter the library, when the white, scared face of her father startled her, and springing forward, regardless of her robes, she threw both arms around his neck and caressing him in that soft, winning way of hers, said, ‘Oh father dear, what is it?— Something has been troubling you for some time ; is it iny leaving ? Are you ill ? Father, dear father, do speak to me.’ For a long while Judge Eustac*e did not speak; then, as if half to himself he said : *oh, that I could have saved you this blow, or at least Have averted it, but it was impossible.' Then, as if nerving himself to a painful duty, he continued : ‘Myra, prepare yourself for the worst —ice are ruined ! ‘But, papa, must we give up eve rything ? my home, my dear, dear old home V ‘Yes, my dear girl, we'will soon be homeless, and still worse, penni less.' With these words the old gentle man buried his face in his hands, aud lor some moments all was still save the wind which whistled around the chimney, and the purr of the old eat which basked lazily in front of the tire. The couple were startled from their stillness by a sharp ring of the door bell. ‘Tis he, father,’ said Myra, spring ing up, and for a moment forgetting her trouble in her new found happi ness. ‘Yes,' said her father, kissing her, ‘go, dear, and be happy while you can.’ Myra recrossed the hall, and feeling confident that it was her lover, opened the door, thinking to give him a little surprise. But she wasj disappointed EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 17, IS7S. for it was only a small boy bearing a note for Miss Eustace Recognizing the dear, familiar hand, she eagerly broke the seal and read, and when she had finished, uttered a low moan and sank into a white heap upon the floor. LITTLE ETHEL. How long Myra lay there she never knew. When she awoke it was in her own room, and when she endeavored to raise her head from the pillow, she found it impossible; so she gave a deep sigh which called to her bedside a lit tle creature, whom to Myra’s scattered senses seemed an angel ; and if not an angel‘s, it was the face of a being almost ethereal and pure. But I shall have to ask the reader to go back with mo a little. The following morning after Judge Eustace had told his daughter of his loss, it became public If there was much surprise expressed among the inhabitants of K, that so “solid" a man as all supposed the Judge to be, should fail, it was almost lost sight of, when the whole truth became known. The greater surprise si completely swallowed up the less. Monsieur Joyeaux, who was a keen, far-sighted Frenchman, had beGrt com pelled to flee bis native country on ac count of a forgery, which had been traced to him. But escaping to this country, he had so far eluded his pur suers, when one morning he received a letter telling him that detectives were shadowing him, but that if he would re store in full the amount he had taken, he should not be prosecuted. Meeting Myra, he Was charmed by her beauty and youth, and more especially with her father’s well filled coffers ; so he thought lie had his game secure, when he was apprised of the Judge's failure. Finding all was lost, he penn ed a hasty note to the wretched girl, and left for parts unknown. Boor Myra ; the shock to her nerv ous system, in addition to her wound ed pride was so great that it was many weeks before she arose from her sick bed. There was much sympathy felt for the afflicted family, and many were the offers of assistance. But the Judge proudly rejected them ail ; indeed, he would have left it immediately had it not been for Myra's illn^~ s the 01/!o 1/! 1 homestead, —which bad to be sold, was bought in by a man from a distance, a young physician, who, not caring to settle there, had written to the Judge, offering to let them remain until his daughter should fully re cover. ’Tis a trite saying, and for that rea son apt to boa true one, “That it nev er rains but it pours and so certain ly thought Judge Eustace when in the midst of his other troubles he received a letter telling him of the death of his only brother, in a distant part of the country, and that he had begged with his dying lips that his brother would take charge of his child, who at his would be a homeless orphan.— At any other time the old gentleman would have responded gladly; but now it seemed too much, and he was temp ted to refuse the girl a home. But upon reflection, his better nature triumphed and he concluded to write for his neice, and quietly await events. In after years when lie thought of this day, how glad he was that he had done so. To return to My’ra. As before re lated, her call brought to her bedside a person with a face so sweet that for a moment she thought she must be dreaming, and that one of God's an gels had appeared to her dreams. So she faintly asked : ’Where am I ? Who are you ?’ ‘lnyour own comfortable bed, and I am your cousin, ’ replied a voice so sweet and low that Myra again opened her eyes and looked at her. As Myra attempted to speak, she playfully put one finger on her mouth and said : ‘No, no, dear, not now; be a little patient, aud it will all come in good time. I have strict orders to keep you quiet.' Then after shaking up her pillows and giving her some medicine, she turned to Myra and sain : ‘You have been sick a long while, dear, but the Great Physician has seen fit to restore your life. Shall I thank Him for you si nee you cannot for your self ?' Then kneeling at the bedside, with Myra's hand in bet's, she poured firth a prayer so beautiful, so eloquent, and yet po simple and heartfelt, that it caused Dr. Cunningham to stop up >n the threshold and bow bis head, feel ing that he was in the presence of a higher power. Then with that innate delicacy which marks the true gentle man, he gently closed the door in such manner that the girls might know of his presence just as Ethel had closed her prayer and risen from her knees. For a moment he stood outside to wipe away a tear whjoh this touching scene had brought to his then rap ping on the door he entered, saying in his cheery- way, ‘Hood morning, little nurse, how is my patient? Oh, much better I see' (advancing to the bed.) ‘The crisis past, though all danger is not } r et over. She will get well if care fully attended, and that she certainly will be, if I may judge from the past, lie said looking at Ethel and smiling* Then leaving some remedies and direct tions, he was gone. While it was true the crisis had been past, yet the shock to Myra's system had been so severe that her recovery had been very slow ; but she was now well enough to sit up a short time every day. During this time she had become pretty well acquainted with Ethel, and they often used to have long and delightful conversations together. One of Myra's favorite occupations at this time was to sit and watch the busy little figure as it moved about the room. I have alwaj's spoken of her as little, although she was near Myra’s own age ; but having received a fall in her childish days she injured her spine and hip in such a way that she had been a cripple ever since, and Tittle Ethel' she would be till her death. When Myra was able to leave her room, she came forth a noble Christian Woman, ready to do ‘what her hands found to do. c A-bout this time Judge Eustace re ceived word that the physician whohad bought the homestead wished to take up his residence there, so lie was com pelled to seek another home. Things are scarcely ever so bad as they first appear; aud after everything had been settled it was found that there was still enough left from the wreck of the Judge's fortune to support them comfortably. So the Judge had selected a pretty little cottage near the fall, and there in day or two they were all to remove.— A few evenings before they were to leave, Myra and Ethel were seated on I a lustic ®eat in the lawp } enjoying the heaiiUes of the place which was soon to be their home no longer, when suE denly Myra looked up and said: ‘Ethel, has papa ever told you who bought our home ? 1 have thought oK tea I would ask him but lie seems to feel so keenly the loss of it, that I say as litt• o as possible before him. ‘No, 1 don't know certainly,’ said Dthel. °Jis a physician by the name of Temple, or something like it, I think.’ At the name Myra started but com manding her feelings (for she did not wish Ethel lo know all of the past) said : ‘Some rich old gentleman who is attracted here by the beauty of our little village, probably/ ‘Can it be Dare,’ she thought ‘com** ing back to K— V And at this thought her heart gave a glad bound, but al** most immediately she remembered how rudely he bal been dismissed, and thought, ‘Cjuld I ever see him again ? No, no ; lie would scorn me. Can I, oh, can ever forget the bitter past V At the thought, Buell a tumult of feeling rolled over her that she leaned forward with her head upon her hand. Thus she sat for a long time, wheu a gentle arm was put around her, and Ethel said: ‘Myra, it is growing late, aud we must go within doors/ It was late that night when Myra fell asleep. ****** 'Tis two years since the events re lated above. Judge Eustace and his family h ive been living in Rose Cot tage long enough to call it home, and the old homestead has been occupied for some time by its new owner ; who who was no other than Dare Temple, returned to ,his native leaving he had, by perseverance, economy and the influence of a friend of father's, been enabled to carry into effect his ardent desire to study medi cine. Into this he plunged with such a zest that after a time he succeeded in working up a practice which gave him wealth and reuown. Hearing of Judge Eustace’s failure, and that the place was to pass into the hands of strangers he concluded to purchase it. Great was the delight of the vil lagers when it was noised about who was to have the old homestead ; some were disappointed that there was no body to open its hospitable doors.- But when they jestingly spoke to him of it, he shook his head in such a grave, sor rowful way that they knew the subs ject was a forbidden one, and said no more about. After Dare, or Dr. Temple, as we must now call him, had been in K— for some time, one of the dreadful fe vers so common in the south broke out and raged with great fury. The panic-stricken people knew not which way to turn. Those who could afford to do so went further north; but there were a great many who could not, and among them there was great suf fering. From the first Myra had de termined lo stay and do what she could, notwithstanding the protestas tions of her father. So she aud Ethel became ministering angels to the sick aud dying. Singularly enough both escaped the disease until towards the latter stage of it when Ethel’s strength seemed to entirely give out. At first at her earnest request they summoned no physician. But as her symptoms grew rapidly worse, Myra, whose very life was wrapped up in this “wee bit o* a thing,’’ could stand it no longer. So a messenger was dispatched bid ding Dr. Temple, with whom they had b dli been so intimately associated during the scourge which was passing over them, agaiD to come into Myra's presence. Upon his arrival Dr. Temple found Ethel very ill; she had been attacked With the disease in its most violent form and in her weakened condition there seemed little hope of her recov ery. For days and nights they watch ed together, Myra and Dare, for in the days gone by he had learned to love the little sufferer almost as much as Myra. At last the change came. It was about dusk when Myra was watching alone. Suddenly the door opened and Dr. Temple stood before her; for a moment he looked at her long and earnestly; then passing to the bedside and looking at the sleeper, he said: ‘Myra, (how strangely sweet the old name; she felt it thrill through her even then,) this night will decide all.' For some time both sat silently listening to the clock’s tick-tack, that representative of time which vve all find so necessary, and yet in every tick it warns man he is nearing eter nity. Presently the beautiful blue eyes opened, the lips parted in a smile when she saw the watchers, and she was about to speak. This time it was My ra's turn to list the warning finger. But the young girl only smiled and said: ‘No, no, dear, I have but a little while to stay; for oh, soon I shall be up there! But I have had such a beau tiful dream; I thought that I was in heaven, and it was lovely there; so many little children singing praises; older ones playing on all kinds of stringed inetruments;still others around throne, and all so happy. Then the music, I cannot tell you concerning it but did you onee hear it, the music of this earth would never satisfy you again. Then 1 looked at myself with n.y poor, crooked body and wondered what there could be for me in that place el perfect light—when lo! my angel mother appeared and bending low, raised me in her arms, to the Sa vior's feet, when he leaned down and took me to his bosom, and I was no longer the crooked little Ethel, but a, glorified being—made like unto him self. Could you—oh!—would you— keep me from such perfect re-s-t?” With these words the dear spirit winged its way back to its Creator, and all was still. Great grief was felt in that house hold at the blow which had fallen up on them. Great grief was also felt throughout the village when the death of Ethel was known, and a larger fu neral, perhaps, never wended its way to the old Fall Cemetery, where on a beautiful day in October they made for the “little Ethel 5 ' a bod in the au tumn leaves. A plain white stone, bearing this inscription, marks the spot: LITTLE ETHEL. She hath done what she could. So went out the young life, but its influence lived like a halo of light around the lives of Myra and Dare for many a year. My reader, you have guessed the rest? Yes, they were married very quietly; but I'll venture two happier, nobler hearts never beat beneath a bridal altar. Both having taken a deep draught of the bitter, could bet' ter appreciate the sweet. Dire had refitted and refurnished the old home stead, and to this he drove his bride on the morning of their wedding. They were welcomed home by Julge Elis' tace; who ruet them at the tresbold, and gave them a father's bl* sdng lie also lived to see another Ethel within these doors, but this time a noisy, mischievous little elf, who imposed upon grandpa dreadfully. —Chicago Ledger. x wax figures do not. lie. Made of awl work—shoes. A taking person—A policeman. Who can understand a cornstalk? The chap with a glass sigh—The toper. m m The tramp's favorite sweetening— Loaf sugar. A mule will behave himself eleven year and six months just to have one off-hand shot at a middle stud. Boston school-house doors swing both ways, and teachers have an aw fnl advantage over a bad boy. Thousands of boys would go dirty all summer, if it were not wicked and dangerous to bathe in the river. The brewery of trouble dong not produce beer. But the imbibing of too much beer sometimes brews trouble His name was Wrath, and when he asked bis girl to marry him, she gave him a soft answer, and a soft answer turneth away Wrath. If you are stung by a bee, use harts horn; if bitten by a snake, get drunk. A great many people say, Oh, hang a bee sting! give us a snake bite. !he grand and awful difference be tween a tree and a bore is—hurrah, now!—the tree leaves in spring, and the bore—why, he never leaves. '1 lie ‘Age of Man’ furnishes an inter esting field for speculation, but by caramon consent the age of woman is a matter which is left entirely to faith. Scientific men say that a person is an inch taller in the morning than in the evening. In spite of all this we all know that men get fearfully high in the evening sometimes. Love impresses its tender image on all its environments. Even the scat tered peanut shells at the front gato Monday morning arc silent witnesses of ks ail-embracing sway. An old lady from one of the rural districts astonished a clerk in one of the stores a few days ago, by inquir ing if he had any yaller developements sioh as they did up letters in. He went to a neighbor’s house for a cup of sour milk. ‘I haven't anything but sweet nnlk,’ said the woman pet tishly. 'l’ll wait till it sours/ said the obliging youth, sinking into a chair. Probably the mild-eyed goat is the only animal ever invented that can cat twenty-four hours a day, and then get up an hour before day and devour a flour barrel and seven old fruit cans for a lunch. Mrs. P. says she is much disinfected with tier new residence caparisoned with her old one, which was on the road to a populous symetry, where she was enlivened sometimes by seeing a dozen funerals in a day. A chap o! reckless language, speak ing to us regarding the “crash," said that the bankrupt law was a ‘sort of crash towel for wiping out indebted ness.’ He went out before active measures could be taken. — A little four-year-old, a native and resident of New Jersey, while watch ing the lightning flashes from his nur sery window a few evenings since, during a storm, turned to his nurse and remarked that ‘God was scratch ing matches against the sky.’ ‘Do you know,' remarked a rather fast youth, the other day to a stutter ing friend to whom he was slightly in debted, ‘do-you kn w that I intend to marry and settle down?' ‘I don't know anything about it, 'was the reply; 'b-b-but I think you had better stay single and settle up.' Yesterday two grammarians were wrangling, one contending that it was only proper to say ‘my wages is high,’ while the other noisily insisted that the correct thing was ‘my wages are high.' I 1 inally they stopped a day laborer, and submitted the question to him, which do you say, ‘your wages is high, or your wages are high?’ ‘0 to the divil \vid yer nonsense,' he said resuming his pick, ‘yer nayther ov ye right; me wages is low, thundering low.' NO. 42;