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VOL. I.
THE DVAVII OF THE FLOWERS.
lit V. (\ BKYAXT.
The melancholy days arc come, the saddest ol the rear.
<>J" wailiug winds, and naked woods, and meadows
brown and sere.
II- i*>’d in the hollows of the grove, the wither'd leaves
lie dead ;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's
tread,
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrub
the jay.
And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the
gloomy day.
Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that
lately sprung and stood
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sister
hood ?
Alas! thoy all are in their graves, the gentle race of
flowers
Am i;, ing in their lowly beds, with the fair and good
of ours.
The rain is falling where they lie; but the cold No
vember rain
Calls not, from out the gloomy earth, the lovely ones
again.
The wind flower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the wild-rose and the orchis died amid the sum
mer glow ;
Hut on t ie hill the golden-rod, and tlm aster in the
wood,
Ail the yellow sun-flower by the brook, in autumn
beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls
the plague on men,
Au 1 the brightness of their smile was gone from up
land, glade, and glen.
And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still
so eh days will come,
I o call the squirrel and the bee from out their wintry
home;
When the sound of dropping nutoia heard, though
all the trees are still,
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill
Ihe South wind searches for the flowers whose fra
grance late he bore,
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream
no more.
Ami ibeu I think of ono who in her youthful beautv
died.
Ihefa v ’ m6fct ,)Ir »som that grew up and faded by my
side; J
lathe cold, moist earth we laid her when the forest
cast the leaf,
Ami we wept that ono so lovely should have a life go
brief;
' ot ’ not umue °t it was, that oue, like that young friend
of ours, •
bo gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the
flowers.
- -41 -
THE JEWELED SNUFF-BOX,
I.
() inspector Timmins, of the Great G. C.
. etilway Company’s service, thought it
\\. Yer y ijai,] case to have t > turn out of
liS wann bed at .the unearthly hour of
Uie morni »X at whfeh his wife gave him
a l )U - s “< told him it was time to get
U C* rose iii dudgeon, wont to the
window, and looked out, A cold, ag
gravating, December morning; nothing
!° socn except the dip he held
m liis hand, . and his own uushaven,
’au washed visage, glower!ugly sulkily
,mn * xv ife, a cheery little body
bd" on her Knees before the grate, trying'
v \ the embers of last ni-rht’s fire
with*the bellows. “Come, T. ” she said,
‘ ook « hai P. or you’ll be late. Bother
hie, it won’t light, and firewood’s so
awful dear.” .She drew a little bundle
rom , \ ts biding place, and lighted a
inatch beneath it ‘ There, that’ll do now.
>♦ fiat sort of a morning is it?”
Den t jaw. Ido declare it’s an abom
inable shame.”
What particular abuse the inspector
al!u:ie(1 t 0 can oover be known, for at this
momont the baby began to squall, and
urowned all other v -ices in its own The
who went to take it up.
"hush—fill—«!,; bless its little hear!
II ‘' Tall, s i it shall.”
‘ W arm my coffee,” said Mr. Timmins
magi st eria i ly
directly. Did it want its pan,
-■ pncious chicken, did it?” and Mis
' sot on the lire a can which did
h ■ Ord’s ffeC.
■Tn>poctor buttoned on his uniform,
“ il(i 11jUs< and upmj the insufficiency of his
saiary. In an adjoining room three other
srnal 1 persons awoke, and running in,
clung, in their night-gowns, round mam
my, and demanded to bo dressed.
vly coffee; shouted Mr. Timmins,
above the clamor.
"Fes, directly; only baby must have
his pap first,” ‘pleaded Mrs. Timmins,
hastening’ towards the fire.
Inspector Timmins wa« decidedly
cross that morning. He had full five
minutes to spare; but a gloomy desire for
martyrdom came upon him.
“Ve ry well. I sec lam to have no
coffee this morning,” ho said, and stalked
heroically out of the house, in the direc
tion of the railway station, at the en
trance of which it was his fate to stand,
and inscribe in a note nook the destina
tion of cabs that conveyed the passen
gers arriving by the mail train, du ■ every
morning at' 7, a. im, to their several
abodes.
A raw, dreary davit certainly promised
to be. The clothes of the posters hung
limply about them, their owners had a
general air of being shaken into them,
and the passengers scowled With a sense
of unmerited injury as the drivers shouted
out their addresses for the edification of
the general public. The rime got into
Inspector Timmon’s throat and nearly
choked him. r i lie driving mist had pen
etrated his inexpressibles during his walk
to the station, and made his nether limbs
feel rheumatic; he thought the company
ought to provide their officers with um
brellas.
but tie had not much leisure for such
reflections, ior passengers were numerous
that morning, and he went on half writing
down their directions, and checking them
off in his own mind. No. 12, Upper Lown
des Street, Swell. Direction doesn’t mat
ter ; not worth his while to bag anybody’s
box. 26, Finsbury Place, respectable
party, home from holidays ; he’s all
right. 13, St. Giles’ Road. The Is
lington Pet; coming home from a prize
fight most likely ; the Inspector looked
after him with interest. 32, Little Cor
ner buildings ; queer lot, likely to be
wanted, I should think. The direction
was carefully written down, and Inspector
Timmins heaved a sigh of relief as the
last cab drove off. As he put up his
note-book lie suddenly felt something
which might be a claw, or a mouth, take
firm hold of his calf. Ho gave a little
jump, excusable in a man who had been
for some time eyeing a while bull-dog*, the
property of a shabby dog fancier, stand
ing .suspiciously close to his legs. In
spector '1 imm ins started, but the claws
still kept its grasp without any of those
incisions peculiar to teeth, and at last he
looked down. He saw, a long way below
him, a small boy, a little child, not more
than two or three years old, crying bit
terly. After two or three seconds, ap
parently spent in thoroughly making* up
his mind that it did not intend to bite,
Inspector limmins stooped down and
looked more closely. He saw a small bit
ot puckered face, and two large bits of
chubby hands, and the thing said between
its sobs, “Please, sir, where’s mammy ?”
Inspector Timmins was not, by* any
means, a hard man, albeit the fog had
gone along way towards making him so;
so lie said kindly, “Hullo, young un,
what’s the row? Want mammy*, eh?
We’il find her in a minute,” as he really
thought he should, believing that the
child had strayed from his mother while
she was looking tor her luggage. They
walked down the platform together, the
big man and the little one, the small hand
laid confidingly in the great red fist ; but
no mammy was to be found.
“Lo -k here, what’s to be done?” said
the Inspector, showing the child to a po
liceman outside, when he had satisfied
himseli that the last passenger had de
pur ted.
“O, hand him over to me,” replied the
guardian o! the law. “I’ll take him to
the workhouse, and he’ll be claimed iu a
day or t*v \ Gome alone*, Johnny ” The
AUGUSTA, GA., MAY 23, 1868.
child brightened at the name ; it was
evidently the right one. “Come along,
Johnny, repeated the policeman, trying
to lead him away. But the little hand
clung to its first protector, and Mr. Tim
mins lingered.
“Where lire you going to take him ?”
he asked. “K Workho se, eh ? I’ll
come and look after him in a day* or two.
Poor little chap, he’s a’most too small for
a workhouse ; but there—l’ve got tor
ments enough at home,” he hardened his
heart at the thought of the morning’s
scone an i consigned his small charge to
the policeman’s care.
When Inspector Timmins reached
home he found a greatly improved state
of,things. The children were washed
and dressed, the baby asleep—it spent a
iarg'e portion of its existence in sleep,
that baby—the fire avus shining on a
breakfast already on the table, and the
fog had cleared off as the sun rose. The
fog had cleared off also from Mr. Tim
min s temper, and lie picked up one of
his children, and, forthwith, began a
noisy game of romps. But in the midst
ol the tun, little Johnny's puckered lace
recurred to his mind, and, above the
child s joyous shouts, he seemed to hear
the shrill treble that had piped out,
“Please, sir, where’s mammy ?” Some
how the play lost its zest after that; he
quieted his little boy, and told him ' the
story of the morning’s' adventure. Mrs.
lan rn ins was busy curt ing* bread end
butter, but she listened, too, and.a moth
erly look stole over her face.
“loor little fellow! why didn’t you
bring him here, T ? We’d kept him for
a day or two, and it's a sin to send a mite
like tnat to the workhouse, particularly
at Christmas.”
Mr. limmins brightened for a moment,
but then grew grave again.
T bad a halt a mind to,” he replied,
“and that’s a fact; but w*e havn’t over
and above much money to last till next
pay-day, and suppose he wasn’t to be
claimed ?”
“Well, and if he wasn’t,” retorted Mrs.
limmins, a pretty rose color spreading
itself over her comely face, “it isn’t much
tout a baby like that would eat, I suppose.
11l be bound his mother’s fretting finely
after him by this time ; and, O, Timmins!
only think if it had happened to one of
ours!”
Mrs. T immins caugt it up her youngest
but one, and gave him a sounding kiss.
Presently she got up and inspected the
contents of a box, with a slit in the lid,
that was hidden in a drawer. She stood
thinking for a minute or two, and then
returned to her husband’s side.
“I’m afraid we can't do it,” she said,
softly. “II bd known, I’d have put off
buying the winter trocks ; but 1 got’em
now, and there.s so little money left, I'm
afraid we oughtn’t to do it for the sake
of our own, but— " and a tear stood in the
mother’s eye.
“Ao, ot course we oughtn’t,” said
Timmins, testily. “X told you so all
along. And then a huskiness got into
nis throat, and alter he had cleared it, a
silence fell upon the little family.
Tiie next morning Mrs. Timmins found
time to accompany her husband on a
visit to the workhouse, to “look after”
little Johnny. Mrs. Timmins carried
with her a couple of oranges, and a tin
trumpet, the confiscated property of her
son and heir. They had nearly reached
R Workhouse, when a woman,
poorly dud, with a young, pinched face,
that was not without a certain wild beauty,
and dishevelled hair, turning the cor
ner ot a narrow street, came into a violent
collision with Mr. Timmins, iv.covering
herselr immediately, she brushed roughly
past him, and sped, at full speed, down'a
dark passage. Mrs. Timmins looked after
her with some surprise, and the next mo
ment she and her husband were surround
ed by a little crowd headed by two police
men in a great hurry.
“DM you see a woman pass just now ?”
asked one of them, “young and rather 1
good looking? She’s been robbing a
jeweller's shop, and we thought we saw
her turn this way.”
**\es, yes,” replied Timmins, eagerly,
catching the prevailing excitement, “she
ran up against me not a minuet ago
She went down that] passage,” and he
pointed to the alley where the woman had
disappeared. With a hasty “thank you,”
the policeman hurried in the direction in
dicated ; but they were soon at fault
again, and Timmins and his wife having
followed for a minute or two, disengaged
themselves from the crowd, and walked
on. Arrived at the workhouse, Johnny
was found, his puckered face more puck
ered still, crying piteously in the corner
in dire disgrace. The nurse of the ward,
an old crone, whose temper had soured,
pointed him out vindictively.
“Drat the child, I can't do nothing with
him; that’s the way he’s been a going on
the whole blessed morning. Mammy,
mammy, indeed! 1 wish his mother or
anybody else aid come and letch him out,
for he’s no butter nor a nuisance here ”
Mrs. T immin’s bright eyes darted dag
gers at the old dame as she passed her,
and in a minute she had gathered little
Johnny into her kind arms, and was cud
ding him upon her lap, where the child's
sobs soon subsided, under the combined
influence of kisses and oranges. The lit
tle fellow was worn out by crying, and he
nestled directly into his new resting* place,
and went fast asleep, clasping one of Mrs.
Timmin,s fingers tightly in his mottled
hand. It went to the mother’s heart to
have to leave him, but she felt that in the
the present state of the family funds
they could not venture to burden them
selves with this helpless child. She laid
him tenderly on one of the beds in the
ward, kissing the flushed cheek, and gen
tly drawing her finger.
“Be kind to him, poor little duck,” she
said to the old dame, “he’ll soon get
used to it; but he is but a baby, and it's
hard for him to be taken from his moth
er,” and, in an unusually subdued mood
Mrs, Timmins descended the stairs to
join her husband below.
Mr. Timmins, meanwhile, bad been
sitting on a bench in the sun, with an old
pauper, whom he had known in better
days ; a thin, chatty old fellow, with
small, crafty eyes, and long, bony hands.
“Got such a thing as a pinch of snuff
about ye, Mr. Timmins ?” he asked,
peeping hungrily into the Inspector’s face.
“Why,.yes,” replied the gentleman, “I
thought may be you'd like some, so I
filled my box before I started. Have a
pinch?” He put his hinds iu his coat
pocket, and drew thence—a gold Louis
quatorze snuff-box, from tho lid of
which beamed a lovely enamelled face,
sot round with large diamonds. Mr.
i lmnun’s eyes opened to that extent
that there was reason to apprehen I that
he would never be able to close them
again ; his companion’s glittered like an
edd raven’s, the jeweled toy lay shining
on the big palm.
“Well—” at last sail Mr. Timmins,
drawing a long breath. A moment after,
“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed, “I’ve
hit it! It must have been put in my
pocket by that ere woman we met, with
the police close at her heels. Serve her
right, if she did get caught,” added Mr.
Timmins, indignantly, “the jade! putting
such things in an honest man’s pocket.
But what a beauty, it is, to to be sure!”
He examined the box more closely,
opined it, and found engraved on the
inside, H. Stevens, No. 8, Princess Gar
dens. He pointed it out to the old man
whose crooked fingers were already
hovering about the box as if they longed
t » clutch anything so precious.
“Look here, the hinge is a little broken;
that’s why it was sent to the jeweler's most
likely. I wish I knew the shop. It
must be nearer my place than Princess
Gardens.”
“Why, you’d never, never - the old
man’s eagerness choked him —“m v. r give
a prize lik- this back, and get nothing
but Thai k you’ for your trouble! Wait a
day or two : it ’ll be advertised iu the
papers with a fine reward ; take it back
then, and you’ll get twenty pounds, and
then you won't forget poor old Tomkins,
will you ? and the old man subsided into
a whine.
Mr. Timmins drew himself up. “Non
sense, man ; I can’t keep it a day with
the name inside. I shall walk over with
it this evening.”
At this juncture appeared Mrs. Tim
mins, with rather flushed cheeks, and ra
ther red eyes, which opened almost to the
dimensions of her husband’s when they
fell upon the suff-box.
“Mercy on us, T.!’’ she cried, when she
had heard the story. “I declare it’s given
me quite a turn, and turns enough I’ve
had up stairs with that there blessed babe
a Clinging to me as if he was my own, and
that there beast of a nurse.” Mrs. Tim
mins was considerably excited,
au!' said the old man, laying one of
his bent yellow fingers on her sleeve;
“yon tell him to keep it till it’s adver
tised ; lie’ll listen to you Twenty pounds
he might gain by it—twenty pounds,”
and the old eyes glittered as if they saw
the coins. J
\\ omen’s honesty is more assailable
than men’s. . “Why certainly,” said Mrs.
Timmins, without hesitation, as soon as
she understood; “Tomkins is quite right.
Os course you’re not bound to go trape
sing aJJ over the town, without even
knowing whether you’ll get paid for the
loss of time. And if twenty pound is
offered, I’ll be bound it wouldn’t be
missed cut of a gentleman’s pocket, and
it would do us a power of good, and hon
estly come by, too,” she added decisively.
Timmins wavered. Before him, too,
had arisen a golden vision of the com
forts and luxuries those twenty pounds
might bring to bis poor household. He
felt unusually inclined to defer to his wife’s
judgment.
“Well, I don’t know that it would he
dishonest,” he began, “but—”
es, yes, you tell him ; he’ll do it for
you,” crooned the old man.
All at once Mrs. Timmin’s bright eyes
softened.
“0, Timmins!” she exclaimed : “only
think! it we had twenty pounds, we could
take that poor baby, as it’s heartbreaking
to see up stairs, it ’ud keep him a long
time, and we’d take our chance of his not
being claimed, Upon my word, Tim
mins,’ she concluded, warming with her
subject, “I think it your duty,°when God
lias sent you the means by the hands oi
that wretched creature, to use them for
the child's good.”
Poor Timmins! his defences were
weak. The twenty pounds had already
assumed the form ot a possession of his
own, which it would be a stretch of hon
esty to forego. \V as he in a position to
be so extra scrupulous? And what w*as
he asked to do ? Merely keep the box
for a day or two. Why lie must do that,
at any rate ; he could not spare time
from his work within that time. Besides,
in his heart lie did long to be able to
keep the boy. The angel of honesty
spread his wings and took flight, and
Timmins and his wife walked home on
excellent terms with each other.
A day or two later the advertisement
appeared, and sure enough a reward of
twenty pounds was offered for the box.
Tirmnin’s conscience was quite at rest by
this time, and he settled with his wife
that she should go to the workhouse,
claim little Johnny, and meet her lord af
terwards at the jeweller’s shop. Sh\
good, motherly soul, was brimming over
with i'.iniiiy delight in her errand. She
carried a large basket filled with cakes
and apples, as a Christinas box to the
other small workhouse children, and the
rosy glow on her sunny face rivaled the
irait in color. Timmins, meanwhile, pro
cco e l .to the jeweller’s, a large, magni
fleent. shop, in a broad thoroughfare.
y ’ bou he reached it, he stared through
the piate-g3a.es vs ind >w in admiration, it
No. IG.~S
