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ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, MAY 1, 1*75. USHiJ' HH&i&Mt. MARY E. BRYAN, Editress. Atlanta in Spring Livery* Is it because the Spring has so long delayed her coming that she seems so much lovelier and fresher than we remember to have seen her? Or has she kept us waiting like a fashionable belle, that she might perfect her toilet and burst upon us in unwonted bloom and beauty, fresh from the hands of her tire-woman, radiant Flora? Certain it is, she has been unusually capricious. She made April fools of every one of us, sending the warmest messages of love and promise by her heralds, the sun and the south wind—mess ages that set us to clearing away coal-boxes, pack ing up cloaks and donning chip hats—when sud denly back came Boreas with a bluster that made the apple-blossoms shiver and everybody look blue except the owners of coal-yards. How we sympathized with the farmers, and almost wept to think of the poor helpless wheat and corn fields that would be trampled all night by the cruel north wind ! But Fate was kinder than our fears. It remained so windy that there was no frost to speak of, after all, and on looking out next morning, we were delighted to see that the delicate embryo plums were all right, and to know that the wheat and corn must have stood the test as well. At present there is not a trace left of this frosty visitation. The sky is deliciously blue; the air is balmy; the trees golden-green in their young foliage; and the south wind just stirs the apple- boughs, and sends a shower of perfumed snow to sprinkle tbe grass beneath. All the sweet accessories of Spring are out enjoying the sun shine to-day—bees, blossoms, birds, butterflies, babies (queer how many bright things begin with B!) and there, too, are beauty and bonnets, which are also out in their spring freshness upon the side-walks. Who was it that lately called Atlanta “ugly nnd rugged ” ? It was an envious libel. Not to speak just now of its handsome and substantial public buildings, the beautiful residences, with their ample yards adorned with such profusion of flowers and blossoming shrubbery, are alone sufficient to establish the city’s claim to beauty. The very irregularity gives occasion for pictur esque terraces, green slopes and graceful undu lations. Of course, in a city so lately and so rapidly risen from the ashes of destruction, there must be some room for improvement, especially in the matter of adornment. For instance, there is needed a public park — tastefully laid off, planted in flowers and shrubbery, with artificial rock work ivy-clad, with arbcrs containing rustic seats, and with a fountain playing in the center. Such a green oasis of refreshment is needed in some central part of the city, where business men could resort for an hour’s relaxation after the cares of the day—where ladies could meet and enjoy a little pleasant gossip—where lovers could promenade and children play, and babies (that, by the way, are so pretty and plentiful in Atlanta) could have the advantage of shade and fresh air, instead of being trundled about the dusty streets. The Young Women of the South — A Serious Question. What can be more saddening than now—even in these beautiful, jov-breathing days of spring— to hear expressions of hopeless despondency drop from the fresh lips of youth— to receive constantly letters from women, from girls in the first bloom of youth, breathing such sad, almost despairing language—saying of life that it is a burden, of the days that they bring only weari ness—that the present does not satisfy and the future holds no cup of promise for their craving spirits ? And this language is not sentimental cant. A look into the eyes, sad and apathetic or restless and seeking, proves that the poison of discon tent has its root in the heart. More terrible proof of this is furnished by newspaper reports of the prevalence of suicide and melancholy madness among young and respectable girls, usually above the average in intellect and refine ment. What is the cause of this wide-spread discontent that casts its shadow over so many households ?—that seems especially to haunt the pleasant-seeming homes of country and village ? Is it not because of the narrowness of their lives which admits of no intellectual stimulus, no discerning sympathy, no hopeful aspirations, no unusual activity, no vent for repressed ener gies that stir and fret within them like prisoned things ? Emotion, agitation, some stirring of the stag nant pools of thought and feeling, is essential to the healthy development of every nature that is not a mere machine. E^pry human being craves cA.-in-ment. Men find it in war, politics, busi- l. competition of pursuits, clashing of opin ions, attrition of minds. Women with more restless aspirations, more nervous energy and keener relish for activity—where shall they find vent for their superabundant vitality? Shall they find it in daily home avocations? Too often, in these impoverished times, such avoca tions consist of a monotonous round of drudg- gardens. Let them patiently cultivate as best they can any talent that they'may possess, not only as a source of present interest, but in the hope that they will be of practical use to them in the near future, when the South shall need skilled workers of every kind; when she shall have her own artists and engravers, her own publishers and authors: when she shall furnish designs for the printing of her own manufac tured fabrics and the ornamentation of fancy ar ticles of her own handiwork. Great help to mental culture as well as pleas ant relaxation may be cheaply obtained in the I choice pictures (engraved from fine paintings) and the exquisite little chromos that may be bought for so little and sent everywhere by mail, and from the literary journals and magazines, filled with illustrations and varied literature, that are furnished the whole year round for such a paltry sum,—the price of a tawdry ornament soon spoiled—of a ribbon or piece of trimming that does not really enhance the charms of the wearer or perhaps harmonize with the rest of her attire. . Letter from Florida. A letter from Indian River, Florida, repre sents that country as an earthly paradise at pres- j ent. Temperature perfect—neither too hot nor i too cold; air balmy and of velvety softness, laden | with the odor of ofange blossoms, yellow jessa mines and oleanders; bill of fare—tender veni son, wild turkey, mullet, and oysters taken fresh ; from the water at every meal, fresh beans, peas, | tomatoes and potatoes, with an abundance of strawberries and wild currants; amusements— j sailing with a stiff' breeze on the river, pepper- j ing away at the alligators and ducks, charming walks by the beach, salt-water bathing, lazy flirt- I ation, sleeping and eating. What more did the happy pair have in Eden ? “Then,” adds the letter, “what few snakes j there are run away from one.” And there, you see, Florida has the advantage of Paradise, for the ery, uncheered even by appreciative sympathy, j snakes were not so innocent and well-behaved The Dress Reform Movement. The caricatures in the comic papers and the would-be-funny flings of the press have given the public an erroneous idea of the dress reform movement, which was inaugurated last spring in Boston. The object of this movement, as ex plained by several eminent female physicians, seems to be to point out the way in which the present dress of women violates the plainest physiological laws, and interferes with full phys ical developement. The lectures hnve been collected into a book, edited by Abba Goold Woolson. It is really a most common-sense exposition of physical laws and the manner of their violation by the ordi nary female dress”, especially that of children. The book is full of practical illustrations of the way in which this evil may be remedied by im proved garments. “The suggestions of ’improved garments’ will repel some, perhaps, by recalling that monstros ity called the Bloomer costume: but the ladies constituting the committee who are urging this present reform on the attention of their coun trywomen are too intelligent not to realize the impossibility, at this stage, of inducing the mass of women to adopt any clothing which will make them look “singular” or “odd,” without having the sanction of fashion. They confine their re form, therefore, ehiefiy to a new system of un der-dress, which conforms in all particulars to the laws of health, and yet which involves no perceptible change in the external appearance of those wearing it. Indeed, the lady who is presented to us in one of the illustrations, as clad in the “improved garments,” would fill a creditable place in any of the ordinary fashion- plates.” Thanks to pretty little Orie Bell for a gener ous slice of her beautiful birth-day cake. Orie’s birth-day, like that of the lilies and pansies and other lovely things, comes in the sweet month of showers and sunshine — capricious April. Does she know that the “Fate Book" declares that a maiden born in April will surely be a coquette ? “ So let our little maid beware, Lest she make of her brigjit blue eyes a snare.” unbroken by any social or intellectual relaxation that is of a satisfying or stimulating kind. They dare not step outside the pale of custom to inau gurate any such “out vent” themselves; they would be frowned upon immediately, for custom, especially the custom of provincial society, is strict as the laws of Medes and Persians, and does not permit a woman to do a thing outside the ordinary tread-mill routine, though the thing be innocent and even good—a movement aesthetically or practically beneficent. Is not such a life a slow, spiritual inanition ?— a starving of the finer part of one’s nature ? Dr. Coan takes a very feeling view of this question—for a man. He says: “I have seen no life sadder than that which is led in many of our country houses. A girl of talent discovers in her quiet home that she in habits a garden that can give her no adequate nourishment and breathes an atmosphere that has no breath of the life she needs. There is no society, no contact with superior persons, little access even to superior books. Her brothers go away freely, one by one, to seek a better fortune; but she must remain in this inactive home and wait she knows not for what. She sees that for a life-time she is to be subjected to an experi ment more cruel than that of the mouse placed in the exhausted receiver of the air-pump. The life of her body will continue, but only to watch the slowly wasting life of her spirit. No posi tion is more pathetic than this. What is the dread of future punishment in comparison with the present starvation of the soul? We need not anticipate an inexpressible misery nor expect to assign it to others. Purgatory is a present fact, but it exists in the best and purest households 1 rather than in the worst. It exists in the cramped homes of our country towns, where daughters walk sadly in their father’s gardens, restless, wan as the shades of Inferno.” The unsatisfied cravings, the aspiration to wards achievement, the hunger for activity, the longing for sympathy, the need of work of a kind to bring out their better faculties, the absence of appreciative society—of that tone of thought, feeling and fellowship so necessary to the devel opment of character—the lack, in short, of very many aids to healthy life and growth—these we have set down as among the causes of that epi demic of melancholy which seems to have in fected many of our more * intelligent and sensi- tive-souled young women. What is the remedy ? It is easy to answer in a general way,—a larger sphere of activity, a fuller festhetic culture, more stimulating social inter course. It is easy to lay down such a general plan of amelioration, but how is it to be carried out in a country where the want of money is felt to be such a drawback to all schemes for making life happier, fuller and nobler ? How can even the “hunger for activity” be appeased when the supply of workers so far exceeds the demand for work—when our cities are tilled with pale wo men seeking employment and finding none, be cause the wheels of all industries are clogged by this terrible bar to progress—want of money ? But there are tokens of a change for the bet ter—there is the glimmer of a dawning prosper ity to be brought about by a more enlightened public policy, by an improved system of agri- ! culture, by the influx of capital from other quar ters and the inaugurating of new industries that shall give employment to many who now seek it in vain. And when physical prosperity is in a measure restored, it will serve as a basis upon which in tellectual aspiration shall stand and reach up ward to that higher development which it craves. Then we shall have schools of design, public libraries, free lectures, and other agencies to in that garden of delight, as we know to our sor row. The Governor of Florida with his staff has just paid this portion of the country (near Indian River) a visit, for the purpose of choosing a site for the new Agricultural College. New hotels and branch railroads are in pros pect, and orange culture is becoming every year more remunerative. The Florida orange is wide ly known as the prince of the citrus family, and has established a special name and rank in com merce. It is anticipated that in a short time, the greater portion of Florida—the lovely Italy of America—will be one vast garden, orchard, and orange grove, with its beaches and its river and lake shores built up and adorned so as to render them comfortable and beautiful places of resort for the thousands of health and pleasure- seekers who annually take flight from colder latitudes- at the first approach of old Boreas. The Lady Washington Reception. The long-talked-of Martha Washington Recep tion took place on the sixth ultimo at the Acad emy of Music, N. Y. The spacious building was densely packed—floors, boxes, galleries, orches tra, balcony—every available inch of room was occupied by spectators. At ten, the curtain rose upon the grand tableau representing Hunting ton’s famous picture of the “Republican Court of Washington,” — sixty-four figures, finely grouped and dressed in the elegant and impos ing costume of that period. Nearly all the prom inent characters of that memorable era of our republic are portrayed in Huntington’s picture; and in its living reproduction at the Academy, there were fifteen descendants of the originals in the painting. Several of the dresses were also heir-looms that have been handed down from those stately dames of the republican court to their fair descendants, and wer<f over a century old. We are relieved to find that Mr. Luther YVyman personated George Washington. We had a shuddering presentiment that General Butler or Senator Morton would undertake that character, and would unblushingly sport a badge with a gilt hatchet embroidered upon it and the motto, “I cannot tell a lie.” Wr. Wyman is said to have borne a strong resemblance to the I “father of his country,” and Mrs. Weir to have looked like Martha Washington just stepped I down from her picture. It is a pity the resem- | blance could not have extended deeper than ! clothes and hair powder, and struck in to the ! hearts and characters of these representatives of ; our forefathers and mothers. [For The Sunny South.] SONG OP JIERMAIDEXS. BY JEAXE. Down thro’ the depths of calmest deeps, Where water-wonders pass,— Where cool, dim light forever sleeps O’er wastes of tangled grass,— Where burning earthly gems are strewn. Untouched and showing fair.— We need no light but smiles alone, Xo gems to grace our hair; Ve pass in gleaming flocks along, In loveliness unseen— With hints of wild, low, gurgling song, Led by our Ocean Queen. O, earthly bank and hollow! O, earthly land asleep! We follow, follow, follow, Eulola through the deep! Up where the first pulsations thrill, Below the surface waves, Where first clear light, entranced and still, Our rippling tresses laves; Where throbs of that wild, upper life Beat faintly on the heart, Yet quiet, all secure from strife, Hath still her perfect part; Where weedy tendrils shooting down Move with the moving sea, And fishes, silver, gold and brown, Flash past unceasingly. O, lonely hill and hollow! O, lonely laud asleep! We follow, follow, follow, Eulola through the deep! And when the world is hushed as now, In midnight’s perfect moon, We drift above—a gleaming vow— And break with song its swoon. O, lovely earth! we thought thee glad Till, on a summer’s night, We saw an earthly maiden sad, Sit weeping in its light. She heeded not the sky above, The sparkling sea beneath; But ever moaned, “My love! my love! O, must I wait till death?” Sleep, lonely hill and hollow! Sleep, earthly land—sleep, sleep! We follow, follow, follow, Eulola through the deep! And once, in passing of a storm, We, flashing through the surge, Went chanting mild, sweet songs of calm, Along the dim sea verge. O, what so beautiful and far, Drifting on billows wild, Borne on a lost ship’s floating spar ? A mother and her child! O, what so fearful, cold and white ? Lips void of voice or breath— Wild, lovely eyes that know no light,— Is this what men call death ? O, dreary hill and hollow! O, earth, how canst thou sleep ? We follow, follow, follow, Eulola through the deep! Sweet evening hours have come and gone, Grand midnights drifted by; But never in the starlight wan, Or under moony sky, We see again the earthly shore, With longing for a part In its wild life. Xo more, no more, We yearn to read its heart! Hark! hark!—our'Queen’s low, sudden call! We plunge in glistening light! The first pale rays of morning fall,— We vanish with the night! Sleep, earthly hill and hollow,— You know no rest but sleep! We follow, singing, follow, Eulola through the deep! friSEiitie iiiiiiMtt, MRS. A. P. HILL, Editress. The attention of all housekeepers is invited to this Depart ment, and the Editress urges them to send her copies of tried receipts. Let us make this an interesting and prof itable Department. [For Tbe Sunny South.] Prayer. A Rose-BihI. Only- a rose-bud! l'et it has a lesson folded away in those spotless petals of creamy white ness, nestling so sweetly within the fresh green calyx. Fit type of a human soul as it comes to us fresh from Jehovah's hand, before even an impress of sin has marred its perfect purity! Who can tell whether the charming bud will expand into a matchless flower, delighting the eye, or unfold its leaves only to show an un sightly worm preying at its vitals? Who can say whether the spotless soul shall develop into a grand character or wither beneath the deadly upas of sin? Little wonder, then, that we lay our pretty floweret away, even ere it loses its charm—wish ing that we might shut out the world just as securely from the precious darlings of our hearts. Axxie H. Smith. The cyclone passed over Richmond with a fury unprecedented in the annals of storms—a devastation utterly indescribable by tongue or pen—laying forests, fields and settlements in one common mass of ruin. When it reached the plantation of Colonel W—-—, his little daugh ter, a child of eight years, dropped to her knees and in the extremity of her peril cried out: “ Oh ! God, have mercy on us and spare mama and papa!” The storm swept on. Giant oaks that had wrestled with the winds for nearly a hundred years unscathed, dropped to the earth like a living form pierced to the heart by a hunter’s shot. The very grass lay crushed as if channeled and swept by a mighty stream. All' of the out buildings and houses in the negro quarter, some twenty-six in number, were riddled into atoms— not one timber left upon another. Y'et by some miraculous intervention, the dwelling was scarcely injured. Who dares to say that the still, small voice of that little one did not bend the ear of Omnipo tence and shelter those she loved from that arch demon revolving in phosphorescent light, but scattering death and desolation throughout the length and breadth of the land. H. C. W. Believe in Yourself. It is said that when John C. Calhoun was in Yale College he was ridiculed by his fellow stu dents for his intense application to study. “Whj’, sirs,” said he, “I am forced to make the most of my time that I may acquit myself creditably when in Congress. Do you doubt it ? I assure you if I were not convinced of mj’ ability to reach the national capitol as a representative within three years, I would leave college this very day. ” Let every j’oung man thus have faith in himself, and earnestly take hold of life, scorn ing all props and buttresses, all crutches and life preservers. Let him believe, with Pestalozzi, that no man on God's earth is either willing or able to help any other man. Let him strive to Flowers. ‘ Blessed be God for flowers— For the bright, gentle, holy thoughts that breathe From out their beauty like a wreath Of sunshine on life's hours.” I was pleasantly accosted by a friend recently, who asked: “ Is it really true that you are a member of Mr. Golding’s botany class a regularly entered j pupil?” I “It is really true," I replied, “according to Wor- | cester’s definition of the word pupil—‘ one un der the care of a tutor. ’ Why not ? Cato is said | to have learned Greek at eighty.” “ Well,” he replied, “I certainly admire your i pluck in undertaking so intricate a study at your time of life.” The amused look upon my friend’s face put i me upon making a defense. So I asked: “Because one has passed the meridian of life ; and is approaching the twilight shades, is it a j reason for closing all avenues to the understand- \ ing, allowing the mind to decline into absolute i sterility, and await, if not hurry on, that dire calamity, the decay of the mental faculties? I believe that under ordinary circumstances there need be no decay, but that by culture the mind may grow and expand to the utmost of life’s limit, and the acquisition of a new idea be as much a source of pleasure. ‘We should be scholars,’ says Mrs. Sigourney, ‘as long as any- thing remains to be learned. ’ So I cheerfully take my place in the class both as a teacher and a learner. I expect to be in some degree rejuve nated by intimate contact with beautiful, fragrant ; flowers. The study of botany will so refresh and ! invigorate mj* mind that it will be a sort of ‘fountain of youth’ to my mental powers.” Gracefully and kindly this friend took leave, expressing the wish that my “expectations might be fullj - realized.” Scientific men maintain that botany has strong 1 claims as a science, upon purely mental grounds; j that no studj* more thoroughly cultivates the \ perceptive faculties ; and that botany is capable of doing for the observing what mathematics does for the reasoning powers. Not only this; the earnest studj’ of it will invigorate the moral nature, refine the taste, and fill the mind with pure and happy thoughts. In a brief article like this, I can only make mention of a few of the advantages of a thor ough acquaintance with this science; I have not space to enlarge. Since the tendency of the study of botany is so exalted, why is so little attention paid to it in our schools? Indeed, many regard the time devoted to its pursuit as quite wasted. As I grow older and my sources of enjoyment narrow down, my love for flowers increases. I love wild flowers best of all; “ To me they fresher seem From the Almighty hand that fashioned all, Than those that flourish by a garden wall.” I never get so trustingly and lovinglj- near to my Heavenly Father as in the presence of these beautiful expressions of His benevolence. While I trust I have gone to Him through the blessed atonement, yet when I think at times of the purity and holiness of His character, I cannot look up and see His face through the mist of doubt and the sense *of utter unworthiness that fill my soul. But flowers take me out of myself and my own sinful nature. I only see written upon everj’ leaf and stem, “God is love.” “Not a beauty blows And not an opening blossom breathes in vain.” How strikingly they illustrate and symbolize many of the doctrines of Christianity—the con ditions and seasons of life ! They suggest many delightful trains of thought and emotion, and teach manj- sweet lessons of hope, faith and charity. I have a dear friend — pure and good, and refined to a degree a little less than the angels. She lives in her garden — a bright elysium, crowded with rare and beautiful flowers. “ Hyacinths, crimson and creamy white, • Woo the wind with a soft delight; Deepest purple and tenderest blue, Wonders of fragrance, form and hue; Blush-red, rosy, and pearl and pink, Giving their sweets to the breeze to drink.” May not much of the perfection of my friend’s character be attributed to her constant and inti mate communion with nature in her loveliest aspects? As she supports and binds up some trailing, prostrate vine, which but for her care would be earth-soiled and crushed, maj' it not suggest the thought, that to some human heart she can give strength and support? Y’es, she surely writes to me under the inspiration of this thought. As she waters and fertilizes her plants, furnishing the food which gives them vigor and beauty, she remembers to care for the poor and destitute. How delightfullj’ refreshing the odor of flowers comes in the calm twilight of the even ing, bringing full compensation for all the care b® a creator rather than to borrow. Instead of bestowed upon them! So, my sweet sister friend, A Miniature Flower-Garden.—A hanging garden of sponge is one of the latest novelties in gardening. Take a white sponge of large size and sow it full of rice, oats or wheat. Then carry on the work of culture so nobly* begun by ' place it for a week or ten days in a shallow dish, The sweet pea makes a beautiful temporary hedge trained upon a low trellis. The petunia be trained, and is very pretty. our public schools. Until that time, let our young girls of the South be patient and hopeful. Let them “take the good when denied the best” and struggle bravely against this spirit of discontent, not slighting the small joys that blossom at their feet through lifting eyes of vain longing to the roses that hang upon the walls of inaccessible and as the sponge will absorb the moisture, the seeds will begin to sprout before many days. When this has fairly taken place, the sponge may be suspended by means of cords from a hook in the top of the window, where the sun will enter. It will thus become a mass of green, and can be kept wet by immersing it in a bowl of water. —Household. wielding the rusted sword of valorous forefa thers, let him forge his own weapons, and, con scious of the God in him and the Providence over him, let him fight his own battles with his good lance. Instead of sighing for an education, capital, for friends, and declaring that “if he only had these he would be somebody,” let him re member that, as Horace Greeley said, he is look ing in the wrong end of the telescope, for if he were somebody he would speedily have all the boons whose absence he is bewailing. Instead of being one of the foiled potentialities of which the world is so full—one of the subjunctive he roes, who alwaj’s might, could, would, or should do great things, is what nobody can understand —let him be in the imperative mood, and do that of which his talents are indicative. This lesson once learned and acted on, and every man will discover within himself, under God, the el ements and capacities of usefulness and honor, “Getting on in the world.” Why was Noah never hungry in the ark? cause he alwavs had Ham with him. Be- may the twilight of your life be cheered by the fragrance of your Christian deeds; and when life’s toils and conflicts are over, you will have a right to walk by “the pure water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God, and to inhale the odor of the flowers and eat of the fruit which grow on either side of the river. ” I repeat, “ Blessed be God for flowers." Scat ter them everywhere, in beds and boxes. Make gifts of pot plants to children; instill into their minds a love for flowers,—it will awaken beau tiful and refined thoughts; and, as a means of grace, have them instructed in the laws which govern the vegetable kingdom, “from the cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop which springeth from the wall.” The sweet potato vine makes, when well culti vated, a thick shade; train it as other vines.