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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