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[For Tlie Sunny South.] Ol'T ON THE WILD. BY E. C. FOSTER. Oh! stranger, my little one’s out on the wild! Shelter, I pray you, that fatherless child; You’ll surely know her. with eyes so mild, Out, out on the wild! Out on the highway bleak I’ll go, With heaven shut out by the blinding snow. My lamb has no shepherd now I know,— How the wild winds blow!— Out of the fold, out in the cold, Seeking the mart where bread is sold, And human sympathy scantily doled, And crime is untold! Out on the pavement, still and dead, With no one to answer her cry for bread. And none to know when the spirit fled— Our poor Winnifred! There where the sound of revelry Drowned the note of the hunger-cry, The little curled head drooped wearily With the last sigh! Stretched on the snow lay the tender form That we used to fold to our hearts so warm— Hunted down by the cruel storm. Haunted all day by that cry so low, Where'er I stay or whither I go, In agony ringing—I know, I know, The last writhe and throe. Morning and eve, early and late, I am looking out for the little gate To swing on its hinges and bring my mate. How long shall I wait ? 0 God! there is something ever in view To open the conduits of woe anew,— 1 stumbled last night on a little shoe— Tho’ dark, my heart knew. Father above, wilt thou shield my dove Forever under Thy wing of love ? Ob, take ine in mercy to Thee above, And no more reprove. DOSING WITH DAFFY. We trust none of the friends of The Sunny South neglected the excellent and timely article “Short Graves,” written for a previous issue of our paper by Dr. Stainback Wilson. We give below a graphic illustration of the Doctor’s earn estly advanced views, in the shape of a touching story, apparently from real life: “Ellen Buxton’s first baby was a little, delicate creature, at first. Still it was a very pretty little one, all declared, and the young mother was proud and fond of it. For a while after its birth she was weak and ailing, and was forced to stay away from the mill, where she loved to work and sing and ‘earn her own bit of money.’ She stayed at home and minded the baby, which grew and did well, and became fat and rosy. “After a few months, however, there was a want of hands at the mill; they offered her work once more, and she returned there again. Of course her baby had to be put out to nurse. There was a woman in the village who took in children to do for them, and one morning Ellen left lier's at old Sally Skene's house, on her road down the hill, and took it up again when she re turned at night from the factory. It was the only one there when she first brought it in, but the following week it had three little compan ions, all under six months old. “Gradually, the baby seemed to grow less in stead of larger, but Ellen had never had any thing to do with children, and knew nothing of ; their ways, nor thought any harm. It grew strangely fretful at night, and Amos once asked her anxiously whether she ‘thought Sally Skene did her duty by the baby ? it didn't look like the same child.’ But she put the question aside. ‘Children had their ups and downs, I’ve alius heard,’ she said. “ One day she was coming home from her work on a bright, frosty winter’s evening, when she slipped on an icy stone in the flooded path, and sprained her ankle so badly that she was obliged to bide at home, having made it much worse by . attempting to go again to the mill. The baby came back to her now, for the time, of course. It was hardly bigger than when she had given it up, and instead of the crowing, active thing it had been, it now alternated between fits of fret ful moaning and dull, listless lying on its back. It was old enough to walk, yet it hardly at tempted even to crawl. “Ellen, however, only knew it was ‘very cross.' She was a kindly lass, however, and therefore did not slap the ‘little tiresome thing,’ .brought herself to understand the meaning of his father, admiringly. ‘ And I think lie’s ’most as strong now as the best on ’em, for all he looks a bit pale or so. It’s a good thing for him and me too as you’re forced for to stop at home.’ “ ‘ Nay, but I mun go again as soon as my ankle gets well again. Dearie me ! what a time ; it do take !’ answered his wife. * I wants a bit o’ ! money for a frock for baby and a shawl for me, and tiie new boots. And doctor’s stuff and the illness and all, putting us behindhand so sorely with things.’ “‘Money ain’t alius money’s worth,’ said Amos, sententiously. ‘ There’s a deal more to be thought on nor that. I don’t b’lieve we’re a shilling better off, nor so well, with you going off all day, and so much work to put out and pay for.’ “Ellen did not answer. “ In the night the child woke up very hot and feverish, and moanjng with thirst. The whole of next day he was very ill, and grew worse and worse. The measles were very much about, and he had been playing in a house near, where they had appeared; he had evidently taken the dis ease, and it would not come out. An old neigh bor who came in gave him ‘a drink,’ and Ellen tried every nostrum she could think of; but day by day lie grew more suffering and more fretful. He would eat nothing, and his thin face and parched lips went to her heart. “He cried all night, and neither Ellen nor Amos could get five minutes rest. “ ‘Whatever shall I do?’said she to her friend who had dropped in to condole with her on the sickly season, the bad potatoes, and the measles; ‘ he won’t lie still a minute, and I’m nearly worn out wi’ watching.’ “‘Give him a little cordial, child,’said the old woman: ‘it’ll quiet him in no time.’ “ ‘Doctor says he musn’t have any for his life,’ answered Ellen, hastily. “ ‘Doctors is all nonsense; they don’t know: a little’ll quiet him and do him good, and you’d all three get your rest to-night. I’m sure you want it. You’re but a poor creature yet. ’ “She went on persuading, and Ellen resisted a little time longer, but at last she thought it no harm ‘to have a little in the house.’ “ ‘ Don’t you send me more nor sixpen’orth,’ she cried; but as the evening drew on, the temp tation grew too strong, with the tempting bottle beside her and the child no better. If she had known more about nursing, there were many things she might have done to ease the child and still his moaning; but she had never learnt, and at last she gave him a little dose of the ‘Daffv.’ “Very soon he sank off to sleep, and when Amos came back at night he leaned over the set tle where he lay so still, and kissed him with a smile. “‘Why, the little one’s mending, Ellen; lie’s as quiet as a lamb.’ “Little Willie waked, however, worse than ever; and another weary night the poor parents spent with him, for Ellen dared not give any more of the ‘Daffy’ before her husband. “The soporific, in fact, took away the very strength needed to throw out the measles. The next morning, after Amos had gone off’ early to his work, and when still the child cried on and on, she brought him down to give him some of the gruel, and put just a very few more drops into the basin, and then dozed off' at the foot of the settle, where she had laid him, wrapped in an old shawl. “‘I must have an hour’s sleep. I'm so dead tired,’ she said to herself. “‘Why, Ellen, whatever have a happened to the baby ?’ cried poor Amos, who had come back from his work at breakfast time and found his wife asleep and the child looking like wax-work, lying, with its mouth open and its eyes staring, by her side. “Ellen sprang up. “‘Oh! Amos, fetch the doctor! lie's dying! Willie’s dying!’ she cried, as she wrung her hands. “Amos leaped across the room, and was gone like a hunter. It was a weary time for Ellen, watching and waiting. Oh ! how she longed for the fretful little sobs, the tossings and the moans which had wearied her so that she had given the wicked poison ! The doctor was not at home, and it was some time before he reached the house. “ ‘Well,’ said lie, cheerily, as he came in,‘and how’s the poor babe?’ “But no sooner did he see the child on her lap than he turned sternly on her. “‘Is not this the little one whom I warned you not to give cordials to? You’ve given him another—the child's dying. I can do nothing for him. He's been killed just as much as if his neck had been taken and wrung.’ Ellen was aghast; somehow she had never [For The Sunny South.] THE HISTORY OF GEORGIA. An Opportune Time for Writing It—Diity of the Georgia Historical Soetety, etc. BY I. R. R. in the premises, we doubt not, upon arranging the plan of the historical work, selecting the au thor, and perfecting the business details, that the Legislature of Georgia would extend any necessary aid by appropriation, with the reason able assurance that their action would meet the approval of every intelligent Georgian. The inquiry is doubtless often propounded by intelligent Georgians, who cherish a just pride and feel an abiding interest in all that pertains to the origin, growth and development of their noble old commonwealth, why have not the labors of the historian been directed to the task of ar ranging in consecutive order the materials that powers of woman's mind are not inferior to those j ■rhoe furnished, of men, but only different. It is even granted [For The Sunny South.] WOMEN AS WRITERS. BY ROSA V. RALSTON. It is now almost universally conceded that the each year of our State’s existent* and portraying them in their true light, and in terpreting them in their proper relation of cause and effect, give the people of Georgia a clear, truthful, yet graphic recital of their past life, worthy of the name of history—such an history as the cultivated mind of the State could regard as an household treasure, and would be willing to send forth to the world as a standard exposi tion of the series of events that are linked indis solubly w T ith her name ? No subject is more interesting to a people than that which imparts to them a knowledge of their origin; their aggregation into civilized commu nities; their efforts to establish government; the history of that government itself in its trials, struggles and triumphs, and in its dealings with the citizen—in the protection it extends to life, liberty and property. Buckle, in his “His tory of Civilization,” tersely remarks, “that man, as a social being, can only be studied in society; and that as society itself exhibits va rious phases in various and successive epochs, it is history that must finally give us the evident knowledge of the human race.” The subject of history, while it has been carefully and pro foundly studied by thinking men at the South, has been but little cultivated in the way of ori ginal contributions. No Southern writer, until the close of the late war, essayed the task of writing a history of the republic, leaving the field entirely to Northern men, who have not always possessed that broad and catholic spirit which rises superior to sectional prejudice, and deals out even-handed justice in weighing the circumstances and events that have formed the history of our common counted* Too little importance has been attached to the subject of separate State history at the South. The labors of our State historians, while they have been highly commendable in design, have been for the most part confined to the acquisition of materials and compilation of statistics, and are usually the crude memoranda of events, without possessing any charm from the graces of style or the resources of philosophy. The by men of intellect that for richness of imagina tion and delicacy of fancy, she is superior. Some one has sagaciously observed that the “im aginative disposition belongs to the feminine nature,” and that “if women have not criticised as profoundly and created as grandly in litera ture as men,” it is probably owing to the dispar agement with which their intellectual efforts have so long been treated. Men, owing to their association and closer contact with the world at large, may acquire in a wonderful degree the power of depicting human nature as it is; but there is in the pro ductions of women, both prose and poetry, a beautiful blending of delicacy, pathos and ex quisite tenderness that is seldom found in mas culine productions. They strike a sympathetic chord in our hearts that men seldom touch. Theirs is the rare faculty of engaging the feel ings, taking possession of sensibilities, and lead ing the reader, by a fascination of their own, i through pages of depicted life and character, as deeply interested in the beings of their creation, in their joys, sorrows and various vicissitudes, as though they were really possessed of life. Who that has ever read the soul-stirring | “Psyche,” by the gifted but comparatively little known Mrs. Tighe. have not followed with una bated eagerness the ill-fated outcast, wandering : through forests and wildernesses, flattered and betrayed, till at last the gentle soul, “escaped from tumult,” soars away to other worlds, where she receives the just rewards of her trials, suf ferings and temptations while on earth? Moore expressed his admiration of this touching poem i in : “ Tell me the witching tale again. For never has my heart or ear Hung on so sweet, so pure a strain,— So pure to feel, so sweet to hear.” No one can read the fervid and impassioned lyrics of Mrs. Hemans and fail to be impressed with a sense of genius of the highest order. She always seemed like a strange, unearthly being, who. having swept over the earth on a short mission of love, emitting bright scintilla- ABOUT WOMEN. The British Queen was fifty six years old on Monday, May 24. Susan M. Hallowei.l, of Bangor, Maine, is to occupy the chair of Natural History at the new college for women soon to be opened at Welles ley, Massachusetts. Madame Le Vert read before a large and polite audience at the Galt House, Louisville, Kv., a few evenings since. Dr. L. P. Blackburn intro duced her. Mrs. Sallie Ward Hunt assisted in the entertainment. Rev. Phcebe A. Hanaford, pastor of the Church of the Good Shepherd, Jersey City, on the last Sunday in May exchanged pulpits with her son, Rev. Howard Alcott Hanaford, who is pastor of St. Paul’s Church, in Little Falls, N. Y. This is the first pastoral exchange on record between mother and son. Thirty-one young ladies of Warsaw, Ky., have signed a pledge, that during twelve months from May 1, 1875, they will not purchase any dress material costing over twenty-five cents a yard; that they will observe strict economy in the household, and use all means in their power to lighten the burdens of husbands and fathers. A beautiful and fitting tribute was paid to the memory of the late Alice and Phtebe Cary, a few evenings since, by their lady friends, who decorated their graves in Greenwood Cemetery with flowers. The sisters are buried beside an other sister, who died some years ago, and not far from the grave of their old friend, Horace Greeley. Madame Theirs, of her own notion and by general consent, appears to have placed herself in the position formerly occupied by the Em press Eugenie, so far as fashion is concerned. During the present season she has at least been successful, after much thought and consultation, in accomplishing a calico revival and restoring it to respectability in the fashionable world. The Empress Josephine was very fond of per fumes, and above all of musk. Her dressing- room at Malmaison was filled with it in spite of Napoleon’s frequent remonstrances. Many years have elapsed since her death, and the present owner of Malmaison has had the wall of that dressing-room repeatedly washed and painted; but neither scrubbing, nor aquafortis, nor paint, has been sufficient to remove the smell of the good Empress’ musk, which continues as strong as if the bottle which contained it had been but yesterday removed. It speaks gloriously for woman that the great est achievements and events of England have occurred during the reign of her queens. Under the reign of Elizabeth, the Spanish armada was Historical Societies that have been organized tions of beauty to be admired and adored, left deetroyed and Shakspeare appeared, to say noth in almost every Southern State, possess valuable stores of historical data, and should, through their societies, offer such facilities and the nec essary encouragement that will invite men of genius and culture to the task of writing South ern history—history that will not be merely an array of statistics or an unadorned record of facts, but will blend with these a philosophical view of the laws of passion and of thought as they have moved upon our people and incited them to action —that will, in fact, reflect the genius of our institutions and exhibit the true types of Southern civilization. That era of almost unin terrupted peace and unparalleled prosperity that intervened between the American Revolu tion and the late disastrous civil war, besides constituting the golden age of American history, has many other features of historical interest, that the South should not pei:—i-isio go down to posterity with oniy a Northern version. The African slave trade, for a long time the theme of abuse and villificatYon agaii^*heSor. t li, should as many a mother does who first produces the evil by neglect, and then punishes the poor little victim of her folly. “Ellen did her ignorant best for the child, and it grew better. She was going to be con fined again, but she had been injured by her fall, and the baby was born dead. She was ex ceedingly ill, and obliged to be attended by the doctor again and again. “ As he went out of the room one day, he saw the small boy sitting on a ‘cricket’ by the hearth, and took him in liis arms and looked into his eyes. “ ‘ That child has been dosed with “ Daffy,” or some of those nasty opiates,’ said he; ‘I see it in his face.’ “ ‘I’ve never given him none, sir,’ said Ellen. “ ‘Then you’ve trusted him to those that did. I've seen enough of that. And I don’t know whether the babies that are killed outright have not the best of it—those that live are so stunted and sickly, and have often such wretched lives. Now I tell you what, young woman, if you let that child have any more of those filthy poisons, you'll have murder on your conscience, for as sure as fate he'll die of it; his brain has been injured already. Now, mind, you’ve been warned; there are many who say they don’t know—you do.’ “He put down the baby and went out. He was a good man and a very clever one, who had been very kind to Ellen in her long illness, but she was only angry and vexed with him for his warning. “ ‘I never gave the child aught,’ she repeated, in an annoyed tone. ‘“No, but Sally Skene does, they all say. And it stands to reason she couldn’t manage five squalling weans, and she at her age,” answered a cousin of Amos,who had come in to help nurs ing while Ellen was ill. “Little Willie improved while his mother was at home, though he continued to be a puny child, with a precocious look like an old man's. He was very fond of his father, and would watch for the top of his head coming in sight up the steep path to the house, and run and put a pair of old list shoes ready for ‘daddy,’ and sit on his father’s knee, either patting his cheek, put ting little bits of bread and bacon into his month (never into his own), or leaning his golden head against the great, strong breast, as bed-time brought sleep to his weary bright eyes, but the pride of life made him to entreat to ‘ sittee up a little longer, please.' “He was now a little over two years old, when one day Amos came home early from the fair. “ ‘See thee here, Willie, what a smart fairing I’ve a brought tliee,’ said he, holding out a spotted horse upon wheels. “ It was the first regular plaything the child had possessed, and he dragged it after him, within and without the house, incessantly. He would not be parted from it at night, but took his precious steed with him to bed. 1 Ain’t he a pretty fellow, to be sure!’ said the very plain words which the doctor had used to her. “‘But, sir,’ she moaned, in an awe-struck whisper, ‘you dunna mean as them few drops could be the death of him ?’ ‘“Y’es, I do,” said the doctor, fiercely, ‘after he had been brought to the state he was in by months of drugging; and I told you so before.’ “He made her put the child into a hot bath, but in a few minutes the poor little fellow ceased to breathe—sleeping away from the stupor of the opiate into the sleep of death without ever even opening his eyes upon his poor mother. “‘Oh! Willie, Willie, won't ye look at me? Won't ye kiss me? And now you’re gone to be an angel in heaven, and what will ye say up there as I did to ye?’ she sobbed hysterically, as she bent over him when the doctor was gone; ‘ and how ever shall I tell yer father, or show him such a heart-sore as you ?’ “It was indeed a bitter sight for poor Amos, who had gone to fetch some useless medicine for the child. “ My little ’un, my little ’un, come back to me; come back to its daddy. Haven't ye never a word for him as loves ye so? nor a thought for him where you’re a gone to,—up there in the sky along wi' the angels?’ “And he pressed the inanimate little head, with its golden curls, against the breast where it would never more rest. “Ellen would have given worlds to cry, but her eyes were dry and her heart felt like a stone. Amos said nothing to her; he had met the doc tor after he left the house and knew all. But what use was there in reproaching her ? It would almost have been a comfort to her if he had broken out against her folly; for his dumb grief as he sat g,azing into the tire, or turned out with a groan into the dark night, seemed to burn into her very heart, as she sat silent, feeling desolate beyond words. “If they could have grieved together, she thought it wouldn’t have been a hundredth part as bad. Now her act seemed to have put a deep gulf between them which she could not pass.” be held up in tbr^Tgbt ou ■wkxl its puri tanical authors, who have indulged in so much cant against its inhumanity and barbarism, should be exposed, and the just odium of man kind visited upon them. The institution of slavery itself, embodying many of the princi ples of the early patriarchal institutions, and sustaining an intimate relation to the higher de velopment of human society, to be properly un derstood as a moral and sociological problem, must be viewed from a stand-point that is un clouded by the mist of prejudice, misguided philanthropy and fanaticism. Nor should the South be content that the mo tives and incentives that actuated her in taking up arms in the late struggle, or the spirit of her people during that eventful period, or the line of policy pursued by her de facto*government, be represented- through the distorted medium of Northern history. Several productions since the war have emanated from the Northern press, purporting to be histories of “The Rebellion,” over which the fell spirits of hatred and fanati cism presided, rather than the muse of history. Men whose whole energies for a life-time have been devoted to courting inflammatory appeals the world forever to join the seraph choir in singing eternal praises to the fount of goodness and mercy. I never read the tender, pathetic, ; and tlirillingly beautiful poems of Miss Landon, without wishing I could have shared the sorrows of the unfortunate poetess, or averted the blow that took her from earth. Among prose writers, probably no one was a greater blessing to her fellow-creatures than the excellent Miss Edgeworth; and no one wrote with more power, pursued with more unflag ging zeal the instruction of the young, and gave to the world more wholesome and unselfish views on ethics and moral principles, than Mrs. Hannah More. But it is not necessary to refer to deceased writers alone for specimens of the purest and noblest type of feminine genius, for it is a well- known fact that to-day tiie greatest master writers of fiction are women,—George Eliot and George Sand. And in our own country we see the pro ductions of women enriching the pages of the best--inngaziTi.es, papers and periodicals; and they are continually winning for themselves . bright laurels in the field of literature. It would indeed seem that if men, from their of Spenser and Bacon. In Anne’s reign, Blenheim was fought, Gibraltar acquired, : >d the United Kingdom established. Everyfc .Jy knows that under Victoria, England has i .. t likely reached the acme of power and prosper ity; and under Mary, the Bank of England established, whereby the nation's financial ^ -s- perity was secured and “money panics” kept under control. Ween Henry Ward Beecher lived in Indianap olis, his wife wrote a book entitled “From Dawn to Daylight.” A correspondent of the Coicrier- Journal recently interviewed citizens of that city in regard to the publication. He says: “This book created a commotion when issued. The commotion was narrow but vigorous. Most of the Lawreneelnirg persons pen-pictured were in a rage; so also were many Indianapolis families. With members of some of these latter I have recently conversed concerning the book. Mrs. Coward, a high-toned widow, nearly related by marriage to Mrs. Beecher, said: ‘ It is an unpleas ant book, and we tried to forget it; of course I don't like to talk about it.’ Mrs. I)r. Parricide, a widow of high tone also, whose family is said to have been dramatized by the authoress, de superior physical strength, were destined to j clined to enter into a lengthened conversation wield the sword more powerfully in the field of battle, it would at least be given to women to achieve equally as great triumphs in the field of literature; and they are in every way capaci tated to do so. I see but one obstacle in the way of their success, and that is their natural antipathy for vigorous and long continued mental exertion. But now that the scum of worldly disparagement is broken, and due appreciation is being accorded to their efforts, let them set forth with new energy, new zeal on their noble career. “ Still achieving, still pursuing. Learn to labor anil to wait.” . • over the book: ‘Mrs. Beecher's book was so very personal, that I do not wish to express myself concerning it.’” PARAGRAPHIC. [For The Sunny South.] • Domestic Economy.” were traduced as the authors of wrong and out rages that were never inflicted, and horrors and tragedies that were only enacted in the fertile imagination of the writers, can never “ vindicate the truth of history” when the North and South are parties to the record. It' were impossible, too, tffnt any Southern writer, upon the immediate close of the late con flict, could have framed into an historical record the exciting causes that produced the war and the more tragic events that the war itself gave rise to, without having the springs of passion deeply stirred, and too partial history the re sult of his effort. Ten years have now elapsed since the South furled her banner on the field of Appomattox and yielded to “the inexorable logic of events.” The fierce passions and bitter hate engendered in bloody strife have subsided. The mistrust and alienation of sections, fostered and pro longed by the dominant faction of the Republi can party for purposes of evil, have met the con demnation of the American people, and the signs at present lead us to hope that we are, in the near future, to be an united and homogeneous people. And while we should endeavor to has ten the era of harmony and good feeling by joining the Northern people with sincere and hearty accord in celebrating the approaching centennial, we should yet keep alive the memory of the men who illustrated upon the battle-field the ern courage in action, their heroism in suffering, is a rich legacy that should be preserved for future generations in the enduring form of written his tory. Our young men should be taught their first lessons of patriotism in a study of the men and measures that have given life, strength and character to our State institutions, and learn that a maintenance of the principles of local self government, which underlie., and. support the Speaking of lecturers, how small the sum | whole structure of American institutions, is a “How indispensable a part of female educa tion is domestic economy! How absolutely such knowledge is needed in this land of free- in the daily press, in which the Southern people ! dom and independence, where riches cannot ex empt the mistress of a family from the difficulty of procuring efficient aid, and where perpetual changes of domestics render perpetual instruc tion and superintendence necessary.” That’s so, but what is to be taught the boys ? Domestic economy ! In many cases, very many cases, this means for the women to draw water, chop wood, make fire, milk cows, and cook din ner. The boys are brought up for counter- jumpers, doctors, and lawyers. A country will never be regenerated by talk ing of what the females are to be taught; it can only be done by what the men do. There are more women to-day in honest em ployment in the United States than there are men. In 1870, there were in Georgia 434,382 females employed, while there were only 401,547 men employed. Y’et there are idiots who prate of teaching women to cook, wash, and iron ! It is not intended to deny the importance of proper instruction to women in the duties of the household; but I do say the country will prosper more if the men will work more and talk less. Arnot. How to Toll a Laily. received by the foremost of that profession in our day compared with that paid to the platform men of antiquity ! Herodotus, for example, when an old man, read his History to an Athe nian audience at the Panatheniac festival, and so enchanted them that they gave him ten tal ents, or $12,500, as a recompense. Isocrates re ceived a sum equivalent to $10,375 for one ora tion ; Virgil, for his famous lines on Marcellus, was rewarded by a gift of $8,500; and according to Suetonius, Tiberius presented to Asellius Sabinus 400,000 sesterces (about $18,700) for a dialogue he wrote between a mushroom, a cab bage, an oyster, and a thrush, in which they disputed among themselves. The girls complain that the times are so hard the young fellows can’t pay their addresses. Two ladies may get into a street-car, and although we never saw either of them before, we shall select you the true lady. She does not tit- ter when a gentleman, handing up her fare, courage, patriotism and honor cf our South- J knocks off his hat, or pitches it away over his land. Their devotion to principle, their nose; nor does she receive her “change, after “ • this (to him) inconveient act of gallantry, in grim silence. She wears no flowered brocade to be trodden under feet, nor ball-room jewelry, nor rose-tinted gloves: but the lnce frill around her face is scrupulously fresh, and the strings under her chin have been handled only by dainty fingers. She makes no parade of a watch, if she wears one; nor does she draw oft' her dark, nently fitting glove, to display ostentatious rings. Still, we notice, nestling in the straw beneath us, such a trim little boot, not paper-soled, but of anti- consumption thickness; the bonnet upon her head is of plain straw, simply trimmed, for your true ladj- never wears a “dress hat” in an omni bus. She is quite as civil to the poorest as to the richest person who sits beside her, as equally regardful of their rights. If she attracts atten tion, it is by the unconscious grace of her per son and manner, not by the ostentation of her dress. We are quite sorry when she pu!ls the strap and disappears. sacred trust committed to them, and must be preserved and perpetuated at any cost or sacri fice. This cannot be better done than by plac ing before them a history of their State, con taining all that is valuable in matter, written with clearness of statement, power of analysis and attractiveness of style, that will give it lit erary as well as intrinsic excellence. Shall we have the history of Georgia written ? and how shall the purpose be accomplished ? It occurs to us that the Georgia Historical Soci ety should take the initiative and move forward at once to meet the desideratum. Conducted under its auspices, the people of Georgia would “Parson, don't you think marriage a means _ _ of grace?” “Certainly; anything leading to have ample guaranteed the value and excellence j 7'epentance is a means of grace.” of the work, and manifest their appreciation by prompt and cheerful subscription. If it should be the pleasure of the Historical Society to act ! Adam was the swiftest runner on record, being i actually the first in the human race. “Digby, will you take some of this butter?” “Thank yon, ma’am, I’m a Good Templar; can’t take anything strong,” replied Digby. There are in Texas eighty-two priests, eighty- five churches, one hundred and sixty-five chap els, and a Catholic population estimated at two hundred thousand. Thirty-Seven foreign nations have promised to be in at the Philadelphia Centennial, and New Jersey is considering a proposition to be come the thirty-eighth. Poor little America and her Centennial! Japan has just been celebrating the two thou sand five hundred and thirty-fifth anniversary of the Japanese Empire. Newark, New Jersey, now has one hundred l churches to one hundred and twenty-five thou sand inhabitants, as against Brooklyn’s two hun dred and thirty-five to nearly a half million. If it be true, as the Boston Post declares, that there are but forty-one thousand lawyers in this country, the people should demand that the government take immediate steps to augment the supply. Everybody would have one hundred and sev enty-five dollars if all the property in this coun try were to be equally divided. It is not to be divided, however, until there is enough to give every one five hundred dollars. A farmer of Westchester county, New York, has just ploughed up two bushels of Revolu tionary cannon balls, which are supposed to have been buried by the American rebels one hundred years ago, or thereabouts. An ex-Confederate soldier and an ex-Federal met in the top of Bunker Hill monument, a few days ago, and formally shook hands, at the top of two hundred and ninety-five steps, “over the bloody chasm.” They were perfect strangers. A Philadelphia firm is planting several thou sand acres of land in Virginia with seeds of for est trees -black and white walnut, locust, hick ory, chestnut, etc. Unless America is to become a desert in the next century, forest trees must be cultivated more rapidly than they are now destroyed. A new religious vagary in California is a sect ot ‘.‘Child Christians,” who interpret literally the passage,* “ Except ye be converted and be come as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.” They endeavor to feel and act like chiidren, playing childish games and adopting an infantile manner of speech. A gentleman of Richmond, Virginia, makes a business of dealing in Confederate money and postage stamps. There are many people in vari ous sections of the world who are anxious to get hold of this species of property for souven irs, and Confederate money is now worth two dollars per thousand, while some of the old postage stamps bring five dollars each. A very tall and shabby-looking man—a fellow that reminded yon of a vagrant letter from a font of forty-line paragon extra condensed— stepped up to one of our bars last week, and, after pouring a glass of liquor into his long throat, blandly asked the bar-tender if he could change a twenty-dollar bill. That gentleman gently informed him that he could. “Well,” said the tall one, with a sigh of satisfaction, “I’ll go out and see if I can find one;’’ and lie-i plunged out into the cold world on his mission.