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