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VOLUME YI. CONSTANCY. BT MBS. ANNIE 8. "Yon will not forget me, Katie When I am gone away; Yon’ll not forget me, darling Katie, Whatever you may say?” Hi uot forget thee, Johnnie, When thou’rt off to the wars! And when thou dost return again. Covered with wounds and scars, 4.111 gtill be trie to thee, Johnnie, go proud to be the bride Of a brave and fearless soldier, Who's braved the Iwttle’s tide!” And then I left my daring. With a brave and fearless heart; I trusted as I loved her, Though hard it was to part. I thought ol her by night, by day, But never thought ot gmfle, And wheu the dreadful battle came I thought with pleased smile, Oh! if I should be wounded, She’ll love me all the more; She wud so when we parted. She said so o’er and o’er. Ah! soou a shell came screaming And tore one arm away; But worse than that befell me, I lost an eye that day. I laid upon the battle-field, And listened to the strife; I thought not of my own ills, Dear Kate would be my wife. And she would soothe the pain away, And be so proud of me, 'Twas thus my foolish thoughts ran on Through all that battle day. They bore me to the hospital. I cared not for the pain, My only thought was, haste the day Wbeu I’ll be well again. A comrade wrote to Katie, And oh! her brief reply, I thought ’twould surely kill me, Aud yet I could not die. 'Twas, I ‘John," she wrote, “you're wouuded, I’m Hoiry it is so; Deep in my heart I pity yon. And so dees husband, too. “‘I grieved so wheu you left me, I thought that I should die. And so, for sake of company, I married Joseph Nye. “But there is Maggie Wimple, Who lives across the way, Shea one-eyed and she’s simple, Aud will marry, I dare say. 44 Since theu I've thought that constancy Had better change her name, For it her name is “Woman,” I do not like the same. For woman will be constant, Wherever you may go; Bhe surely will be coustant Till sht finds another beau 1 MISCELLANY. ON LAKE IAMONIA. BY DAMON KKftR. rpon the fragrant summer air rises the happy laughter of sweet voices, And the tnurruur of snatches of con vers.ition. lamonia, the beautiful, stretches Jfar away, dotted here and there with umbrageous islands. The water ripples and curls, mirroring the fair m on, the planet of love, aud myr iad of twinkling stars. The lovely chalice of the “water ■queen/’ with its two feet of emerald green leaves, hold a disputed sway over the silver bosom of the lake with the nappy young people who have gathered on its shore to have an al fresco party. “Moonlight, music, love and flow era” reign supreme. The moon, as if in remembrance of Endymion, sends down her silver splendor to throw o ver the scene. Music from the guitars and and lutes float out upon the night air and Icve-strickeu swains “passion their voices* to the object of their adoration. Sumptuous magnolia flow, era bloom above their heads, snowy w-ater lilies float near them. lamonia, the loveliest of all the Florida lakes, beholds a fete such as has not been held on its grassy shores for many years Stately matrons move over the green swar l, thinking of “the days wlven they went gypsying/’— Pretty girls sit with their chosen cav aliers under the trees hoary with moss. One, the queen rose xf the r-oset>ud garden of girls, has just taken up a guitar and sings in a gay sweet vo : eo, "Fly my sjfiff among the rofce* She is loudly applauded and encored, but she declines singing again. There is one who does not join iu with the rest. Mr. Trevilyn is too eager tr see Miss Hfje Eastman tumes. j Barclay alone to urge her to sing foi I others All night he has bided his time. He has made himself generally useful to the elder ladies, and a gener al beau for the younger ones. Mr. ] Trevilyn is handsome, with dark brown hair, broVrn eyes and wriite skin. A Georgian, and a graduate of Georgia's famous college at A—and a first honor man. Well educated and handsome he is the cynosure of all girlish eves. He sees and hears only Belle Barclay, and impatient to have tier to himself, to have her all his for a little while, he leans over to her and says in a low voice : ‘Have you forgotten that we are to go up to the ‘basin, Miss Idle ? Rob inson aud others have gone/ M ss Barclay rises and bows her ex cuses to her friends, while Mr. Tie vilyn picks up the guitar, offers his arm, and escorts her to the wait ng boat and impatient boatman. He looks down into the fair, perfect face, with its wondrous brown eyes, scarlet lips, a face in which roses and lilies rival each other, and a mad longing seizes him to possess tin’s girl. He notes with a lover's par.ial eves tin* tall, ex quisitely molded form, her white dress festooned with gray moss; and looks enviously at the tube roses nestling at her white throat. The boat pushes from the shore, and the boatman oe gins to sing after the manner of Mark Twain's gondolier Belle idly draws her shapely fingers through the pelu cid water , catching at the sleepy lily buds that n and in the moonshine. Ms it not lovely?’ she asks in half a whisper, as if afraid to break the mag ic of the scene by the music of her own voice. ‘ls not that The loveliest moon that ever silver’d o’er A shell for Neptune’s goblet ?’ Her companion does not reply ; he is gazing into those 'twilighteyes'that are lifted with all the fevorofa sabaist at “vesper” to the beauty-crest of sum mer weather, and smiling Diana. He is contented with silence ; with her “silence was music from the holy spheres.’' She does not expect an an swer, for she leans back upon the crimson shawl and lets her dreamy eyes drink in the exquisite scene. This ebon Charon, who rows them so deftly over the lake in the wake of the river ripples of the preceding boats, hushes his song and sits looking at his passengeis. Shack knows well that Mr. Trevilyn loves Miss Belle ; he has interpreted Jong ago those would be careless questions about her; but Miss Belle does not care for him ? Is she not as kind and gracious to Mr. May bury or Mr. Coleman as she is to Mr. Trevilyn ? He shakes his sable head and mentally pronounces Jdiss Belle a coquett. Shack is eager to distance those other boats, to keeu up his reputation as the best oarsman on the lake, beta remembrance of a silver dollar in the depths of his pockets, and a promise that he would keep some distance behind, stills his ambL tion. Belle grew restless under the steady gaze of those brown eyes, forgets the beauty of Lake lamonia the exquisit • pearl-white blossoms that are her fel low voyagers for an instant as the waves rush before the prow and move them from their accustomed places It is uncomfortable to sit and be stared at if you are a beau ,y and a belle, so she takes up the guitar and sings a gay little chanson of m xmlight and flowers; it is hardly suited to the per fect beauty and quietness of the scene, but she does not care so the spell of those eyes are broken. “The spell is broken, the charm is flown." For Shack proves recreant to his trust, and they glide along side of one of the other boats. ‘Loiterers !' cries Miss Leslie, why have yon not caught up before? Was it not a premeditated art, Belle ' ‘Of course not, Mary. How far is it to the basin ? Can we not have a race there V Belle a-ks, in au eagt r voice. 'Yes, do !' shouted many voices, and amid the shouts from the other boats, Shack shoots ahead and floats out into the waters known as “ the ba sin.” They may write of Como of Leman, of Seneca, but lamonia, the beautifnl, presents to the eye, a it lies mapped in the silvery sheen of the moon, a sceue of perfect, exquisite beauty and peace. Nobly the hills rise on every side and encompass it. By daylight the hundred feet of water is emerald green •; not a leaf, twig, or flower is in its wind-rippled bosom. An island of two or three acres rises from the centre of ‘the basin' covered with a dense growth of stately magnolias, now in full bloom, aged oak .lives from the branches of which suspends grey moss fully tiree yards in length, float ing like gray curtains in the flower scented air To-night fairies have touched the so°ne. The water in ‘the basin' is sil ver waves ripple over its bosom; the island is a huge pearl in a silver set ting. The glossy green leaves of the magnolia reflect back the rays, now and then a snowy blossom, full of fra grance peeps out, The tops of oaks and cedars are silver and their gray burdens are changed into curtains of tangled silver threads. Cupid gives way to Momus, and the air is made merry with the shouts as they spin around the basin. It is rath er dangerous fun, to for this Eden, like all others, has its serpent in the shape of wide-mouth saurians, watch mg in the shadows, with curious eves all this revelry about their usually quiet homes. Ed Maybury does not relish Joe Trevelyn's monopoly of Miss Belle, atid after two or three races around the gem of an island. (Shack always came out ahead) he gives notice that it is half past eleven o'clock. They all start simultaneously for Drake's Landing. At a signal from the gen tleman in his b at, Snack drops behind and quietly glides through the channel until they reach where the pond lilies grow. Mr. Trevilyn reaches forward, nearly upsets the boat, but seizes the lily bud he wants. ‘l'll exchange with you, Miss Belle,' he says, holding up the dripping flow er, by its pink stem, and pointing to the tuberoses at her Miroat, that breathe out their heavy perfume on the night air. 'Will you? how kind of you! laughs Belle, mockingly, undoing the brooch that holds the coveted flowers. ’Mine are half withered, you see, while yours are as fresh as only a pond lily can be. Thanks! as he drops the flowers into his eager, outstretched hand, receiving the lily in return. 'I am the gainer,' he says, in a tone of rapture, even to possess so small a thing that was once hers. ‘I shall keep it always,'in low tone. She carefully wipes the wet stem, holds it up against the dark puffs ot hair and asks : ‘llow does it look ?’ Such a glow comes to his dark eyes as hi' leans forward and says with thrilling emphasis : “Fairer than Phebe’s sapphired-regioned star, Or vesper, amorous glow worm of the sky ; Fairer than these though temple thou host none Nor altar heaped with flowers ; Nor choir to m ike delicious moan Upon the midnight hours ; No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet From chain-swung censor teeming.” Belle shrinks from the passion she has evoked and trails her hand through the water absently. Shack says to himself: ‘Ciar for it, be f s saying a rhyme to her. Must be mighty ’ligious young man. I alius dus notice dese Georgi ms is .nighty religious fellows/ Belle interrupts Shack’s communing with : 'Hurry, Shack, they'll land before we do. Ah! as they glide swiftly through the water-weeds at the motion of S lack's our, ‘we’ll reach the goal first.' Mr. Trevilyn's handsome face shows disappointment. He has expected and hoped that Belle will give some token of regard for him, but she does not, and he sits and caresses the flowers she has worn, now and then raising them to his lips. She sits upright, laughing, and clapping her white hands softly as they distance fitst one boat and then another, pay no heed to the man she knows is watching her every movement with jealous caro and pas sionate love. Site successfully con ceals from Mr. Trevilyn the charm his low spoken words have over her, only now and then turning her bright, happy face as he addressed her in a low voice. A dozen eager hands are ready to assist Miss Bello from the boat; but she gives the preference to Ed May bury, and springs out, leaving Mr. Trevilyn to comfort himself with her guitar. He will see her to-morrow, he tells himself, and learn his fate. As he thinks of what he hopes her answer will be his face flushes and his eyes glow, and such a passionate longing comes over him to tell it to her now. No, he must wait. He cannot content himself with other girls now, neither does he care to run the gauntlet of h s friend's remarks. He tears a lea: from a blank book aud writes : “I will call to-morrow, Miss Belle, before I leave for Thomasville. I hopeto find you at home and alone. J.J T. EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1878. He underscores '‘alone" deeply, that will tell her that it is something of im portance to him. He gives the note to Shack and a second dollar goes to keep company with the first, bids him give it to Miss Belle. Then Mr Trevilyn walks along the lake side, turns ofl and sits down by a tree to look out on the lake and dream of his beautiful love. Two young ladies, iutent upon the baskets that have been stowed away after the feast, pass near him. One sa} T s, with a mouthful of chicken salad : 'Belle is an arrant flirt, is she not ? ■ Engaged to hall a dozen of these fel lows, and going to marry a man as fat as Falstaff and as rich as Croesus/ ‘I have often heard her say that she was going to marry for money, 4 re turned the other. The girls go past him unaware of his proximity disappear among the trees. He sits as one who had received a blow. The lovely scene is lovely no longer; the glad voices are harsh and discordant; there is*a gay song floating out from among the trees —it seems his funeral dirge. He mutters: ‘Marry for money ! All those sweet smiles were the wiles of a finished co quette ! A Loivlie to lead men to de struction. And I, oh God—how I loved her!’ He gets up and goes away, not knowing or caring whither. Morning dawns upon this sinful, beautiful world of ours. Belle has read the little note, has smiled to think of last night’s revelry. It is not dis pleasing in the least to have a man that you admire, respect and like at your feet. She wonders what he will say and what will her answer will be. She is undecided as to that. Fate is kind to her she thinks when her sister goes off to spend the day. She pins the lily bud, no longer a bud but a full bloom flower, in her hair and waits. Waits all day, alone, for the coming of Mr. Trevilyn At last Mrs. Maybury, with whom he is staying, comes over. Her first words are : ‘Oh, Belle, Mr. Trevilyn has gone home. He left before daylight. You naughty girl to serve the poor fellow so ! We all know into whose keeping he has given his heart.' Summer deepens into autumn and autumn into winter. Spring comes with its floral treasures. Lmiouia's placid bosom is the scene of merry-making once again. Magno lia blossoms distil their perfume to the breeze that rustles their leaves. White and yellow lilies dot the shining surface of the lake ; snowy cranes fly about or stand on one foot iu solemn grandeur in shallow water. Apart from the rest stands Belle Barclay, watching the sun as it slowly sinks to the western horizorn. This line from Ossian occurs tojher : ‘Often, like the evening sun, comes the memory of former times over my soul/ She is a proud giri, too proud to think longingly aft- r and sigh ‘what might have been/ She stands looking out on the water, and the boats, smil ing to think ot ital! when she is called to go with a party just forming, up to the basin. As she steps into the boat s line one cries, in hearty welcome : Why, Joe, old fellow, I am delight ed to see you. Quite an unexpected pleasure. We are going up to the basin—won't you go. She does not tremble or turn pale, she turns around and sees Mr. Trevilyn shaking hands with a dozen or two friends. He is nothing to her, she says, trailing her hand through the water.— Just then someone says: Mamie, Belle Fountain never mar ried her Croesus after all. You know I told you last year that she was to marry an old ) Belle hears no more, the boat rushes out into the water, propelled by Shack —but Mr. Trevilyn bears it all with eager ears. j He understands too, and turns to his friend for assistance, i ‘EI I must go up the basin ; can't you get me a boat V he says with ea gerness. Mr. May bury secures the desired boat for ijis friend, gets into his own with his fair crew, and they follow in the wake of the others. Mr. Trevilyn lands soon after Belle does, walks up to her and tenders his hand. She places her's in it ; she does not wish him to think that ahe cared in the least about his broken engagement. He then begs that she will permit him to row her around the basin. ! When they are out on the deep sea-green water, lie takes up his oars : and says: ‘I mu-1 apologize for breaking my engagement with you last summer. I was ’ ‘lt is unnecessary, Mr. Trevilyn,'she says, with trenchant emphasis, raising her beautiful eyes to his ; A cloud passover his handsome face but it instantly dispels as he watches her. He tells her of it all. Mr. Trevilyn pours foith his tale of love eloquently and rapidly, and ex cites Belle's keenest sympathy, as he vividly paints his year's s rrow. At last she yields, for “Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that trembling, pass ed in music out of sight.’ lamonia, rig tly named 'the beauti ful' by the reil man, we must bid you adieu. With one last lo k at your sunny sloping banks, majestic, moss dropped trees, one last look upon the flower-dotted, tranquil bosom "and ern eiakl islands we “Turn away, aud know not where, Dazzled and drunk with beauty. ” A Dead Failure. A small newsboy who is every morn ing to be found on t>e steps of the People's Savings Bank was yesterday morningobserved by a polieeman to remove his stockings and shoes at an early hour and hide them under the steps. The lad then took great pains to exhibit his bare feet to all passers, and was often noticed standing on one leg, as if the cold pavement was very painful Man after man passed with out a word ol sympathy, and the sales of papers did not increase by one. By and by along came a man with a red nose and a good-natured look, and the boy held out a paper and said: ‘Have a paper—my feet are almost, frozen/ 'Eh? Barefooted? 4 queried the man as he halted and looked down. ‘Yes, and my feet are freezing/ ‘Are, eh? See here, bub, I‘ll put you up to snuff. Let 'em freeze, and then take a lay off in the hospital f>r all winter. Nice fries—chicken soup —nothing to do, and your feet'll thaw out early in the spring and shed every stone biuise. Fact, bub—tried it for seven winters myself.' The boy looked after him in a doubt ful way, and then made for his shoes on a skip, muttering: ‘Mebbe he lies and mebbe lie don't, but I‘m busted up as clean as the chap who held his watermelons over winter for a rise. Ouch! whar's them stock uns and cowhides? 4 — Det. Free Press. Too Much School. The following idea*, from the Puila delphia Press are correct: ‘When the doors of the school-house close in the afternoon upon the school children, they should literally close out from them all that pertains to school until the opening next morning. A teacher should be a teacher, not sim ply a hearer of recitations. Lessons should be learned and taught at school —never at home. The teacher has no right to impose upon parents the most annoying part of the work. She has no right to take from the child a sin gle moment of the few hours it has out of school.' To which the Cincinnati Star wisely adds: ‘The hours of an active school day are not over long, it is true, but they are as many and as long as the aver age mind of a child should be kept at the tension of learning. The lessons of school should be learned as well as recited in school, and the home hours should really be home hours, unbur dened with school Childhood needs its lecreation, its sleep, its rest quite as much as it needs its arithmes tic, grammar and geography/ The Printer’s Dollars. The pi inter’sdollars; where are they? A dollar here, a dollar there; scattered over numerous small towns all over the country, miles and miles apart.— How are they to be gathered together? The printer will have to get up an address to those widely scattered dol lars like the following: ‘Dollars, halves, quarters, dimes and all manner of fractions into which ye arc divided, collect yourselves and come home. Ye are wanted! Col lect yourselves, for valuable as ye are in the aggregate, single ye will not pay the cost of a g.thering. Come in here in single file, ihut the print* r may form you info a battalion, and send you forth again to battle for him and vind cate his credit.' It ader, are you sure you haven’t a couple ot the priuUu’s (follavc sticking about your ‘old clothe.-?' The Diminutive Statesman. The following 1 anecdote of Ilun. A. H. Stephens is an amusing illustration .( the *u- rises which olten await peo-* pie who reckon intellect by personal size. The statesman has had to bear the consequences through his whole life of a slight form and boyish look, but these deficiences have had mostly only an amusing and sometimes an agreeable effect. In the earlier part of his reer; a great commercial convention of many States was hold at Charleston, S. C., and Mr. Stephens having been asked to make the great speech of the occasion consented to do so. His fame had already extended beyond the coun trj’ in which he lived, and expectation was greatly excited at his anival. To avoid the crowds at the hotels lie had asked two merchants who were of the party, to engagejiim rooms at the hotel where they were to stop, and in due time he arrived with them. The lady who kept the house, in great ex citement, was engaged in looking out for her guest, was of as much conse*- quence as a President, but she was not in the least aware that he had come. In the meantime the tired statesman had thrown himself on a lounge for the purpose of resposc, and his two friends stood near him. The lady bustled in, and seeing, as she supposed, a country lad, who had come to see sights and l\ea r Stephens, actually occupying the best place and his slices also on the sofa, she said with great kindness but some firmness: ‘My son, you should let the gentle** men have the best place, but put your het on the floor, for we are trying to keep tilings nice for the great Mr. Stephens/ When one of the laughing merchants pointed to the smiling boy, with his wonderful eves and said, ‘ This is the Hon. Alexander H. Stephens, madam,* and ho arose and gave her his hand the expression of her countenance was a subject for Hogarth. He Greased the Buggy. . The man who obeyed directions to “trim the orchard/' by first cutting down all the. trees, lias found a kindred spirit as thorough as himself. The Valh jo (Cal.) Chronicle, says; J. W Farmer hired an old sailor to work around his place the other day. The man is a willing soul, but his knowledge of farm matters is fearfully limited. Tuis morning Mr. Farmer told him to go out and grease the buggy. The man went, and when Mr. Farmer n>t long after stepped to get into the vehicle to come to town, he drew liis hands back in wonder to tied them greased. Examination showed that the whole buggy, from top to bot tom, running-gear, body, shafts, and all were covered with a slick coating of grease; everything was greased ex cept the axles. The man had also greased a carriage in the same careful and thorough manner, even t> its whole top, and stood by admiring his handiwork with all the satisfaction of a person who thinks he has done a job exceedingly well. Mr. Farmer got into the carriage and sadly drove to town. When lie got here it was probably one of the most horrible looking sights in the shape of a vehicle ever seen. The road was, of course, dusty, and the dust had gatheied to somewhere near the depth of an inch on every square inch of its surface. The carnage looked as if it had been built dusty and then driven across the plains and on a trip through the Yo-emite, and had tipped over uumberless times on the route. It is now at Henderson’s being cleaned. We have not learned whether the man's wages have been raised or not. A German forest kbeper, eighty-two years old, not wishing to carry to the grave with him an important secret has published in the Leipsic Journal a receipt he has used tor fifty years, and which he says, has saved several men, and a great number of animals, from a horrible death hydiophobia. The bite must be bathed as soon as possi ble with warm vinegar and watei, and when t 'is has dried, a few drops of muriatic acid poured upon the wound will destroy the poison of the saliva, and relieve the p itient from all pr* sent or future and vnger. 1 he beginning of faith is action, and he Oil ly be! ieves who struggles; riot he who merely thinks a question over A la iy wlio weighs 100 p nmls here wou: l weigh 2,700 pounds if on the urfaoe of the sun. Turkeys arc getting ripe.^ A water-spout—a temperance leo ture. The ‘skeleton of the hearth,’ is the latest name given to the rum bottle. When gamblers fail to agree, they pour Iloyle on the troubled waters. A Burlington woman calls her hus band ‘Darkest Hour/ because he comes just before day. A fellow in Chicago, who bit of half of a man's nose, was bound over to keep the piece. It has never been ascertained how much old ocean measured ’round her grav and melancholy waste. He saw a negro Rinoking a mocr schaum. ‘Thunder!’ lie exclaimed, ‘why, the pipe’s coloring him/ In former times the man ate tho cream (if the cat didn’t anticipate him) but now they cremate the man. One of the vilest deceptions of the day is the small fried oyster, which is made to appear largo by means of a huge Indian meal epidermis. ‘Love h blind ’ and that is the rca** son why it can get along with one small hand lamp, turned down as low as it will go, as well as under a blazing chandelier of fifty burners. An editor i:i describing the doings of a mad dog, says: ‘He bit the cow in the tail, which has since died/ This is very unfortunate for the tail, but wc naturally fee! some interest to know what became of the cow. A Boston editor’s little cherub said her ‘Now 1 lay me’ the other night, adding a prayer for her father, mother, brothers and sisters, and wound up with the words, ‘and, O God, bless me and make me the boss little girl.’j ‘lt seems to ine,‘ said a customer to a barber, e that in these hard times you ought to lower your prices for shav ing/ ‘Can‘t do it,* replied the barber. ‘Now-a-days everybody wears such a long face that we have a great deal more surface to shave over. 1 Irate passenger to cabman, who gets ofi his box and opens the carriage door: ‘I told you I lived at the top of the hill, not at the bottom.’ Cabby: * Whist, your honor; I’ll merely slam the door, and the baste’il think you’;e out, and go up the hill like the divil.’ A gentleman being threatened with an infectious fever, said to his little son, who in affectionate mood wished to embrace him, ‘You mustn't hug me; you'll catch the fever.' Willie, stand ing back, looked in amazement on his papa, who, by the way, is a pattern of propriety, and quickly asked, ‘Why* papa, who did you hug? 1 A New Jersey physician, heavily loaded with town lots, for which he had only paid in part, hastily prescribe ed a bax of pills for a patient and al lowed his mind to wander back to his real estate. The patient asked how the pills were to bo taken. The doc tor replied, 'One third down, the ba 1 - ance in six and twelve with, interest/ ‘ls the doctor in?' asked an anxiou* looking young man. ‘No, sir/ replied the person addressed, 'but you can leave your order on the slate. Is it a very urgent case?'' ‘Well, yes/ tho young man said, ‘rather urgent, I think. Just as I s'arted away from home my youngest brother was tailing out of a second-story window.’ It is given out that ladies will wear vests precisely like the gentlemen this, winter. 'Alien a married man goe3 to bed he will have to put a chalk mark on Lis vest, or next morning be may slip on his wife’s and not discover his mistake until he inserts his thumb and forefinger in the light hand pocket for a pinch of fine-cut and fin is nothing but a piece of chewing-gum and thd stub of a short black lead-pencil. Then lie will suddenly remember that there was a rwll ot one dollar greenbacks in the left-hand po k t of bis vest—that is, if he is an editor, he will—and ne wil rush back home in Ilarug time. NO. 45.