The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907, March 20, 1875, Image 4

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JOHN II. SEALS, - Editor and Proprietor. ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, MARCH 20,1875. Immense Success! — 100,000 Readers! — Great honor is due the South for the patronage they hare extended to this paper. It shows the culture and literary taste of the people. We shall doubtless soon number our readers by hundreds of thousands. Its success in so short a time is without a parallel in American journal ism. It will very soon have one hundred thou sand regular readers. The money must accompany all orders for this paper, and it will be discontinued at the expiration of the time, unless renewed. Write your name and post-office plainly. Club Rates.—Ten copies at $2.5C each, if all are ordered at the same time. jpg- Office of “The Sunny South” in Young Men’s Library Building, on Broad Street. jpg- Published every other Saturday for the present, but every subscriber will yet the full number of copies. Fifty copies make a volume complete. Special Agent for Texas. — Mr. George I. Thomas, of this city, has gone to canvass the great State of Texas for The Sunny South. Civil Rights.—Our predictions in regard to this ill-advised measure have certainly been ver ified. The Southern people have paid but little attention to it, and the colored race have branded it as a bad movement, and shown but little dis position to attempt to realize any advantages under it. The result is that it has fallen still born upon the country and utterly failed to pro duce any of the outbreaks which its originators and supporters anticipated. Such we knew would be the case if our people exercised due caution and refused to perpetrate the violations which certain politicians desired. The colored people have all the rights they want under the laws, and are not disposed to push themselves into places where they are not wanted. They have shown much good sense in this matter, and deserve great praise. They | have had sagacity enough to see no good in the The Death of Books .—Some author asserted manj- years ago that the book would kill the building, and to a large extent the prediction has been verified. In turn now, we predict that the newspaper will kill the book. Books are comparatively little read. Business men— and by this we mean merchants, mechanics, farmers, and all who are engaged in active pur- scb eme, but much evil to both races, and have I met ^ ler that -‘first time,” unless she could in- have too much beef-leather and too little of the spiritual to soar in aerial regions, and we hope some few at least of the human family will find it impossible to get off, an 1 remain with us here below. Now, here is a specimen of the one-and-half- millions which come in on every train. It is truly startling, and makes the head swim. The manuscript was neatly gotten up in every par ticular, and contained six stanzas on ‘‘Fond Memory.” YYe copy only two of them, to let the writer see how he soars in print; and we guess when he does, his “fond memory” will never forget it: “ Years have passed since first I met her. ■With au air childish grace; So much was she like an angel. Yet remember I the lace.” Now, we think it a great pity that you ever Club Rates.—Clubs of four and upwards can get The Sunny South for one year at S2.50. Any one sending a club of five and upwards at $2.50, shall receive a copy free for one year. “Rat in the Meal-Tub.’’—Don't miss a big laugh by failing to read the poetical take-off of Grant and Sheridan on the eighth page. It is too good to be lost. We have laughed ourself fat over it. The author is a Richmond gentle man. “ L. L. V.”—We are delighted to welcome again to our columns this well-known signature. Years ago Mr. Veazey won for himself, through the columns of the old Crusader, a most enviable reputation as a writer, and he now brings to The Sunny South all his old grace, beauty and finish of composition. A Book for Farmers.—We are indebted to Dr. E. M. Pendleton for a copy of his able and exhaustive work on the “Science of Agricul ture,” and it strikes us that it should be in the hands of every farmer. Let every one get a | copy at once. We shall give an extended notice of its leading features soon. For Sale.—A splendid Parker breech-loading, double-barrel shot-gun can be had at this office. It cannot be surpassed and is warranted in even- particular. A complete outfit of fixtures with six dozen shells and one thousand caps accom pany it. The shells will bear constant use for ten years. Price one hundred dollars. Splendid Contributions. — We invite special attention to the beautiful essay on Robert Burns, by “Pieciola,” our esteemed contributor from Mobile; the able and handsomely-written article on “ The Influence of Abstract Beliefs,” by Jon athan Norcross, Esq.; and the beautiful extract from the poem delivered in Thomasville by Col. J. A. Stewart. Our Portrait Engravings.—We submit to the reading public and to all artists, if our portrait engravings have ever been surpassed if equaled. They are almost equal in finish to the finest steel engravings, and for correctness and faith- j ful presentation of the features of the human j face have never been surpassed on paper. The likeness of General Gordon is perfect suits — cannot take the time to pore over the large volumes in which literary sages have em bedded their wisdom. The grand old classics remain famous but unread save by professional students. From the newspaper or the magazine the great mass of people derive their supply of literary aliment. In these, short paragraphs may be read during the intervals of business, and a vast amount of entertainment or instruction gained without the persistent application which books require. It follows as a logical sequence that what is most sought will become best. As a matter of fact, the highest literary talent of the world is now employed, not in making books, but in get ting up newspapers and magazines. Through these media the best novelists, essayists and poets communicate to the public the produc tions of their pens. One scarce ever thinks of publishing a book unless it has first tested its popularity by passing through the pages of the periodical press. It may be questioned, too, whether authors do not receive more remunera tion for these advance sheets than when put up in calf or muslin. When the letters of Junius were published little more than a hundred years ago, it attracted great attention that, English so pure in diction and vigorous in expression should be found in a newspaper; and it was perhaps to this that they owe a large share of their fame. This has ceased to be a matter of wonder. In many of our lead ing dailies may be found reading which, in all the essential qualities of a good style, would not suffer by comparison with Junius. Much of the best writing talent of the country is now em ployed in the columns of daily and weekly news papers, and the man who confines his reading to these enjoys as good literature as our day affords. therefore refused to have anything to do with it. We speak of the great mass of negroes. A few worthless vagabonds here and there may have attempted and may yet attempt to test the mat ter, but they have soon discovered their mis take, and will certainly do so every time. They have been rebuked by their own race. The whole scheme has proved a failure, as every thinking man felt satisfied it would, for legislative enactments are powerless to set aside the laws of nature. A few misguided men can not meet in Washington City and regulate social relations in the South. We rejoice at the man ner in which the measure has been received, be cause it is an evidence of statesmanship and unusual self-control on the part of our people. The whole project originated in the idea that Southerners were an impetuous, hot-headed set, and would be instigated to violent outrages, and thereby give a pretext for the re-establish- ment of military power in our midst. But read Aunt Silvey on the situation. Hon. B. H. Hill.— The photograph of this distinguished Georgian is now in the hands of our artist, and a brilliant writer is preparing a j splendid and complete biographical sketch to accompany it. This announcement will be re ceived with great satisfaction by the public, as Mr. Hill has never before consented to be thus I presented on paper—having positively declined or refused hundreds of applications for his pho- j tograph. A Cheerful Woman.—What a blessing to a household is a merry, cheerful woman—one Bird Music.— **A light broke in upon my soul, It was the music of a bird; It ceased, and then it came again, The sweetest song ear ever heard. “That is the voice of Sirring,” said we, as a bird alighted at our window and poured forth a wild melody of song. The sunlight was bath ing the hill-tops with floods of molten gold; the soft breeze was playing in gentle dalliance with flower and shrub, stealing sweet odors at each touch; every object, whether animate or inani mate, seemed moved by an instinct of happi ness. No wonder that our winged visitor was merry, and that as he uttered forth the joyful lay, “Spring has come,” the refrain was caught up by a thousand throats in brier, brake and tree. As we threw up the sash to let in the waves of melody, a concert of joyful sounds greeted the ear, such as the best-skilled orches tral world vainly strives to surpass. Dear songsters! It thrills our hearts to hear your glad voices again. There is in your strain j a wealth of poetry such as no pen could write, and they awaken a rapture which no words could utter. What though you be of the small things ? you have in you more of power to please than have many that are great; for not “the eagle towering in his pride of place,” nor the ostrich j that “lifteth up herself on high and scorneth the horse and his rider,” can stir within the soul such profound emotions. Lulled to sleep by the influence of your sweet music, we might dream j ourselves in some fair}- hall in the city of the Caliphs, where the moonbeams play softly whose spirits are not affected by wet days or little disappointments, or whose milk of human kindness does not sour in the sunshine of pros perity. Such a woman in the darkest hours j through the rose-embowered oriel and the bul- J b i s most sprightly little daily. He is an honest, Atlanta Dailies.—In no city south of New York is there so much enterprise displayed by the daily press as in Atlanta. We are surprised every morning at the regular and punctual ap pearance of three large sheets filled with an as tonishing amount of most readable matter, em bracing, besides able editorials and choice selec tions, all the news from the various corners of the universe. The truth is, they give too much reading matter. It would consume the larger portion of every morning should any one attempt to read all they contain. The Constitution, published by W. A. Hemphill & Co., has for a long time been regarded as one of the leading papers of the State, and its influ ence is wide and powerful. It is ably managed in all its departments, and well deserves the im mense patronage it has always received. Its local editor, W. G. Whidby, is generally con ceded to be one of the very best in the State. The Daily Xeics, managed and edited by Abrams & Fitzpatrick, is a bold, outspoken sheet, and has won a wide popularity by its in dependent tone and able editorials. Its editor- ! in-chief, Mr. Abrams, is a vigorous writer and indefatigable worker. It deserves immense suc- i cess. The Atlanta Daily Herald, by Alston & Co., is doubtless the sprightliest daily in the State or in the South. It has successfully mastered all difficulties, and comes out in a splendid new i dress, and its influence and popularity are rap- ; idly widening every day. Its grand success is : the result of energy and determination, and we ! are delighted to know that it is on the high-road I to perfect independence. Its editors and pro prietors are genial and accomplished gentlemen, and while all of them are vigorous and brilliant writers, Colonel I. W. Avery is regarded as one j of the most polished writers in the State. Its local editors display remarkable enterprise in their search for local pabulum, and have become so expert as to be able to get up a most readable column when there is really nothing upon which | to hinge a paragraph. As an evidence of the popularity of the Herald, it was awarded the State printing by the late Legislature. We trust its prosperity may never know diminution. The Evening Commomcealth.—We are pleased to learn from Colonel Sawyer that he has per fected arrangements for reviving at an early day spire something better than these lines, and we should advise you not to remember that face another day, even though it was “so much like an angel.” Now, is it not strange that even this singer should ever have soared so high as to be familiar with the face of angels? “ Even had I never met her, From that hour until to-night. Think you not that I’d forget her. To me her image is ever bright.” Now, how is it possible for us to “think you not that I’d forget her”? We see no way in the world for us to do it unless it be through the bias of jurisprudence or internal suggestions, of which “we have not got none.” In his poetic enthusiasm, he then goes on to compare her to a “silver star” “In the bright-blue azure west.” We only publish these lines to give a specimen of the countless multitudes of inflated nonsense which pour into this office, and doubtless into most other printing-offices, and would urge upon the greater portion of our would-be-poets the propriety of dismissing such aspirations entirely from their minds. The old Latin maxim,. “Poeta nascetur non fit,” is certainly true. Poetic genius is a gift of nature, and unless she has blessed you with it, there is no use in trying to manu facture a poet out of yourself. It is time and labor lost. When you have an idea, put it down in plain, straightforward English. Don’t destroy it by by trying to make it jingle at the end of a couple of lines. Many a noble thought is thus cruelly butchered and lost forever. Don’t do it. Of course, these remarks do not apply to all. We have among our contributors a great many, both male and female, whose poems are beauti ful, sweet and rythmical, and we are always glad to receive them and particularly so when they are short. A Defense of Pretty Women. After all, is the world so very absurd in its love of pretty women ? Is woman so very ridic ulous in her chase after beauty ? A pretty woman is doing a woman’s work in the world, but not making speeches, nor puddings, but making life sunny and more beautiful. Man has foresworn the pursuit of beauty altogether. Does he seek it for himself, he is guessed to be poetic; there are whispers that his morals are no better than they should be. In society resolute to be ugly there is no post for an Adonis, but that of a model or guardsman. But woman does for man what man has ceased to do. Her aim from childhood is to be beautiful. [For The Sunny South.] Husbands and Wives of Modern Times. A THIRD PICTVRE.IX THE GROIjP. by githa edbich. Friends Ridges and Peach Blossom, are you not ashamed ?-ashamed of the pictures you are exhibiting to these good, innocent«yes of ours? If each one of you has a life-companion even ap proaching a resemblance to the pictures, then the gods help you. But unless yours are ex ceptionally exceptional cases, you yourselves are much in fault if there be such resemblance. If these are merely fancy sketches and I am persuaded they are—I object to your manner of treating the subject. I think our home life, our relations as man and wife are too sacrea, I may say holy, to be lightly, carelessly dealt with. I think we should not make them subjects of bur lesque and ridicule; they should be kept apart, above and beyond the influence of this travesty living Uge. I think it serves to lessen our ap preciation, to lower our estimation of anything to see it dragged through the mire and trodden under foot in the dust. Or even if the spirit of the occasion be simply amusement and fun, our respect is sensibly decreased by seeing things we have always revered tricked out in the harle quin’s dress and paraded before us as the sham of shams. Let us keep something in our hearts pure and untainted; let us shield something from the polluting fingers of this age of ours; let us have a “holy of holies,” where the love of our God and the love of our homes may be enshrined. In this time when nothing is safe from the scoffing tone, the irreverent allusion, I fear to see the least approach in that direction, and so would hold up to your view another picture, something as an offset to yours, friend Peach Blossom, “The Husband of Modern Times,” and yours, friend Ridges, “The Wife of Modern Times.” I know a little home in this “Sunny South” of ours where there is a husband and wife “of modern times,” for they are contemporaries of yours, Peach Blossom, and of yours, Mr. Ridges. The wife is the happiest woman I know, and the husband says with his own lips that no prouder, happier man walks the earth. Perhaps you will deem it an humble home, but few are otherwise these after-war times. A quaint brick cottage, sanded and painted gray, the shade of stone, and a small portico sheltering the door, which in summer is a per fect little bower; the morning-glory droops its royal-tinted head above the guest as he enters; the scarlet cypress swaying in the breeze mur murs welcome, and the rich-scented geraniums speak with their fragrant lips a cordial word to the visitor. Within, tiny rooms and walls, not delicately tinted, but a little coarse in their tex ture and simply white; but they are nearly con cealed (at least you scarcely note them, for the pictures and brackets scattered about.) There are vases rich in a wealth of simple grasses and forest leaves; mats of bright worsteds; a flower- stand; books and magazines about; many pretty little things which, though not counted in the costly bric-a-brac so profusely ornamenting the apartments of more elegant establishments, yet serve to rest the eye, to take away the bare, cold, cheerless aspect of a room dedicated conscien tiously to the necessary articles of comfort. There are little children playing about, toys scattered in the mother’s room, which perhaps you might think detracted from the much-desired appear ance of order; but it seems a happy place, and the children are laughing merrily. The mother sits in the corner busily plying theneedle; swift fly the fingers; a dress for baby rests upon her knee—a simple little robe, but dainty, since it is „ „ to drape the fair form of baby Clare; it is not Even as a school-girl she notes the progress of | lace a £ d ribbons> but the simple fabric we all brightens the house like a little piece of sun shiny weather. The magnetism of her smiles, the electrical brightness of her looks and move ments, infect every one. The children go to school with a sense of something great to be achieved; her husband goes into the world in a conqueror’s spirit. No matter how people annoy and worry him all day, far off her presence shines, and he whispers to himself, “At home I bul chants his night-long ditties amid the thick- clustering flowers. Fountains musically mur muring shed balmy essences on the air, which woo to slumbers. The light tinkle of feet on the marble pavement gradually dies away, leav ing nothing but the bird’s amorous descant to fall upon the ear. How pleasing, then, comes the fond conceit that she is endowed with inspi ration, and that her notes fondly syllable some shall find rest.” So day by day she literally re- ! i 0V ed one’s name. In scenes like these Poesv news his strength and energy, and if you know a man with a beaming face, a kind heart and a prosperous business, in nine cases out of ten vou will find he has a wife of this kind.—Ex. The (IraTe of “Highland Mary.”—Rev. Dr. Cuyler gives the following sketch of a jaunt in Scotland: “ One hour more brought us to the Tontine Hotel, at Greenock. This morning we sailed out through the rain to visit the one spot in Greenock which every man or woman who has a soul must visit—the tomb of Bums’ Highland Mary. This poor dairv-maid—immortalized in the sweetest of all love-songs—came from Mont gomery Castle to Greenock, died here, and was buried in the Presbyterian kirk-yard, just out of Crawford street. We soon found the tomb, to which a well-trodden foot-path leads. A grace ful marble monument, twelve feet high, covers the gentle lassie’s dust. It bears a sculptured medalion which represents Bums and the young lady clasping hands and plighting their troth, he holding a Bible in his hands. Beneath is' this inscription: “ erected oveb the grave of HIGHLAND MARY' IN 1842. ‘ O, Mary, dear departed shade. Where is thy place of blissful rest ?’ ” “These lines are from the impassioned verses, ‘To Mary in Heaven,’ and have been read through tears by many an eye. Wonderful is the charm of genius which could beat a pathway trodden by thousands of feet to the grave of an .humble dairy-maid who lived nearly a hundred I years ago. ” | might revel unceasingly and know no satiety of full joy. But we need not transport ourselves to East- i em lands in order to enjoy the enchanting sweet ness of bird music. Walk we forth when “the meek-eyed mom appears, mother of dews. ” Crys tal drops are empearling the gossamer webs on every bush and brier. The obscure bird whose croakings made night hideous Las fled away to her dark caverns. The lark has come forth, and his clarion notes sound forth as he soars away to meet the sun. “The swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall,” and the mocking-bird in wanton sport runs through all the varied notes of the feathered tribe. This is Nature’s concert, and man may not surpass it, though he string his harp to heroic measures, or through long- drawn aisles and fretted vaults with pealing anthems sound the note of praise. It is amid scenes like these that the soul is roused to thoughts “that voluntary move harmonious numbers!” Gay, joyous birds ! Graceful in form, elegant in coloring, melodious of voice, yon constitute one of the richest armings with which the Creator has blessed the earth. To other animals He has given greater strength and greater ability to help man in labors of necessity: but to none has He granted greater power of contributing to man s enjoyment by pleasing the eye and grati- fving the ear. industrious and deserving man, and we sin- | cerely trust may be successful. He gets up j an excellent paper always and should be patron ized. He will be assisted as heretofore by Wil liam R. Hanleiter, Esq., a forcible and graceful | writer. Save Us from the Poets!—Do have mercy on ! us, ye everlasting hosts of rhymsters! We are I covered up, hedged about, packed in, sub merged—yes, completely submerged in a flood ! of rhyme. The locusts of Egypt, Pharaoh’s I frogs, nor the leaves of Yalambrosa, bear any comparison in the way of multitude to the ava lanche of insipid metre which pours unceas ingly into this office. Unless there be some cessation, we shall be compelled to enlarge our sanctum and rent an adjoining building to secure storage for the precious manuscripts. It is alarm ing. The whole nation seems to be “plagued with an itching leprosy ” of verse, and the once clear and beautiful fountain of Castalia has now become a sorrowful mud-puddle. Goose Creek has been magnified into the Tiber, and Byron, Shakspeare, Milton, Moore and Kotzbue are in danger of a hopeless eclipse from the present literary incubation. What is to be done? Is there no way to check this superabundance of the “ divine afflatus ” ? Shall the whole nation be consumed by a flood of poetic fire ? Save us, we pray ! Shall the atmosphere remain so ob scured with flying steeds and singing muses? Forbid it, Minerva! Now do. O divine songsters, come down from your Parnassian heights and sojourn for a little while on terra firma, and suffer us to commune with you in plain, simple Anglo-Saxon. Suffer us to learn how you feel and what your ideas are, in plain English. Those heights are too dizzy for some of you, and the sooner you get down, the better. The wings of your Pegassus her charms—the deepening color of her hair, the growing symmetry of her arm, the ripening contour of her cheek. We watch with silent in terest the mysterious reveries of the maiden; she is dreaming of a coming beauty and panting for the glories of eighteen. Insensibly she be comes an artist; her room is a studio, her glass an academy. The joy of her toilet is the joy of Raphael over his canvas—of Michael Angelo over his marble. She is creating beauty in the silence and the loneliness of her chamber. She grows like any art creation,—the result of pa tience, of hope, of a thousand delicate touchings and retouchings. Woman is never perfect, never complete. A restless night undoes the beauty of the day; sunshine blurs the evanescent color ing of the cheek; frost nips the tender outlines of her face into sudden harshness. Care plows its lines across her brow; motherhood destroys the elastic lightness of her form; the bloom of her cheek, the quick flash of her eye fade and vanish as the years go by. But woman is true to her ideal. She won’t know when she is beaten, and she manages to steal fresh victories even in her defeat. She invents new concep tions of womanly grace; she rallies at forty, and fronts us with the beauty of womanhood; she : makes a last stand at sixty with the beauty of her age. She falls, like Caesar, wrapping her mantle around her—“buried in woolen ’twould a saint provoke!” Death listens pitifully to the longings of a life-time, and the wrinkled face smiles with something of the prettiness of eigh teen. Woman’s Attractiveness. Personal attractions most girls possess—at any rate in a sufficient degree to render them attract ive to somebody—for although there are stand ards and models of beauty, yet these do not pre vail with all persons. There is something won derful in the difference of aspect which the same face wears to different beholders. Probably the philosophical explanation of this is, that what is hidden to all others becomes apparent to the eye of love. How can a moderately good-looking girl in crease her attractions ? By culture. She must cultivate her mind. An ignorant and illiterate woman, even if she attract the attention, cannot retain the interest of an intelligent man. She must do this by reading, by study, by reflection, and by familiar conversation with the best and most highly educated persons with whom she comes in contact. But the heart must be cultivated as well as the head. “Of all things,” exclaimed a most ele gant and refined gentleman, after nearly a life time’s familiarity with the best society, “of all things, give me softness and gentleness in a woman." A harsh voice, a coarse laugh—trifles like these have suddenly spoiled many a favora ble first impression. The cultivation of the heart must be real and not feigned. A woman who studies to appear rather than to be good and generous, seldom succeeds in deceiving the opposite sex in these respects. She who in truth seeks earnestly to promote the happiness of those around her is very apt soon to obtain admirers among men. No woman ever otherwise so completely tri umphs over a rival as when she is in good ear nest to prefer that rival’s interest to her own. I Above all other requisites in a woman is con scientiousness. Without this touchstone of char- can wear; the azure heavens have lent to it their t shading, and the mother smiles to herself as she thinks “how sweet baby will look in this.” A step, the door opens, the mother looks up quickly with an expression of pleasure illuminating her countenance. But no, it is not he; she forgets he will not come to-night. Some one else enters. How small, how insignificant the statue of all others compared with his ! The twilight is deepening, work laid aside, and the mother draws the little ones about her, endeavoring with their child’s sweet love to fill up the meas ureless measure which only one in all the wide world can fill. The little ones are very precious— inestimably dear, but it is like feeding the ocean by handfuls or lighting the great world by tiny stars. “Ah !” sighs the mother, “I am glad the darkness has come, that I may not so plainly see my loneliness and the emptiness of every thing. I am most unreasonably lonely.” An other day, and glancing within, we see the hus band just returned. No “ weary labors for him.” His day’s work finished at the office, he is re freshed by the prattle of the children, rested by looking upon the tranquil, happy face by his side. He does not forget “ that children have a time for teething.” He takes the baby from its mother. “You must be weary, dear; let me have him.” The little one is tossed aloft, crow ing and laughing. He is cutting teeth at this very time, and often restless at night. In the morning the father rises and moves noiselessly about the room, lest the mother should awake— the poor, tired mother whom baby has claimed all night. But she does wake, and is up in a moment. “No, no ! I am not tired. You must not have your breakfast alone,” she says. Jack would have given up “the old gray felt hat" for all time rather than disturb that nap; and had he gone to “ the one closet, the receptable of all things” in search of it, would have thought to himself: “Poor Daisy, I wonder she does not lose her temper a dozen times a day; no place to put the things but this. I wish I could give her | a better home.” He thinks his little Daisy about equal to his mother—at least he tells her so; but Daisy, who knows that saintly mother, disclaims her right to such comparison. The wife is ap pareled daintily, though simply, and it is not needed that she should “ sit up ’til midnight fix- | >ng her lace and things ” to garnish her dress for the Sabbath toilet. Saturday is her busy day, and she slumbers early that -night, but her hus band’s buttons are all in place before she goes to rest. As I said, she is the happiest woman I know, and as you may judge, the honeymoon is far away in the past; but she tells me that never a harsh word has been spoken between them. She says he deserves the credit; he says it is his wife’s: I say it lies between them. Their life is a poem—an idyl as faultlessly fair and beautiful as any poet laureate ever dreamed. They live the poetry they used in the old boy-and-girl days faintly to outline in their hearts, not half believing that life held for them such a future. Now mine is a picture with no remarkable fea tures, and the artist by no means a genius, but I like it better than yours, Peach Blossom, or than yours, good Mr. Ridges. What think you? It makes a splendid appearance, and is the most promising effort to establish a first-class literary paper in the South that has been made acter, no matter what her charms and acquire- f° r a good while. Let us hope that it will sue- ments. she cannot expect to command the lasting deed—indeed, let us determine that it shall sue-^ regard of any man whose love is worth having, ceed.—Presbyterian, S. C.