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down, it was ran into the creek. Something j
like a'panic suddenly seized the men, and in a |
single moment it was decided to evacuate the
block-hhouse. The boat was large enough to
take all aboard, and the fort was stripped of pro
visions and ammunition and abandoned. The
boat was pushed out of the creek, and the cur- i
rent carried it slowly out of the neighborhood.
The surprise of Callie and Will at suddenly |
confronting each other was only equaled by their !
joy and gratitude, and joy and gratitude were
almost overpowered by the knowledge that the
brave old Carson was no more. They did not
knew the particulars of his death, but they knew
that the brutal savages had no mercy in their
hearts.
[Tor The Sunny South.]
HIS REPLY.
When friendship with a careful hand
Counts o’er her gems by memory’s sea.
I’ll hold thy pearl from off the strand,
And keep it to remember thee.
A pearl, a star, a moonlit flower—
These are my synonyms of thee;
Y’et I would not thy beauty’s dower
Should shine for any one but me.
For with thy smile to make it bright,
My path would seem a rainbow way:
Ana could I claim thy love, how light
My burdened heart would beat to-day!
great and noble soul shining in their dusky
depths. Lillie met this dark, handsome stranger
frequently at my aunt’s and abroad, until she
learned to love him; yes, love him with^the
ever to see anything beautiful till I come to Old walk, and up the ten worn steps, and see their
Oak. How do you make your flowers grow and images reflected in the same ancient mirror as
look so perfect? You must have some secret : they pass the worn hat-rack and open the mas-
charm.” sivedoorof the room in which Lina went that „„ ,
Lina stood on the piazza listening to the chat- day ten years ago, and sat down to read Voltaire strength of her warm, Southern nature; and he,
tering of the bright creature, as she flitted about | and wait for Rosamond. In that room to-day j too, professed to love her; but the time atlast
! the garden, admiring each flower in its turn. was another scene, in which the Lina of ten , arrived for him to return home, for he resided
“Rosamond, everything is perfect to a happy j years ago acted the part of smiling hostess in i in Florida. With many protestations of love
heart like yours. Now, none of those things her graceful, beautiful way, to the company ! and vows of constancy, he left her. For a time,
! yon speak of appear unusually lovely to me, be- gathered at Old Oaks. Only a small company it
cause my heart is clouded.” was, consisting of Rosamond and her husband
Rosamond stood up and surveyed her friend, and father, and one or two other gentlemen and
"■* r ' 1 ' ’ ’ ’*' vim— T ladies.
Rosamond’s husband was Dr. Winters, a well-
known physician, living in a luxurious home in
Charleston, whither he had carried fair Rosa-
“ Your heart clouded, Miss Lina? Why,
thought yon were as happy as the birds.”
“ Yon only thought that because you are as
happy as the birds yourself, my little friend ?”
The banks of the mighty river have not ech
oed the war-whoop for two-score years. The
canoe and the flat-boat have given place to the
powerful steamer and the capacious barge.
Broad fields, thriving cities and populous dis
tricts have taken the place of forest and swamp,
and most of those of whom I have written w ere
years ago laid away to rest forever.
Rosamond looked down thoughtfully and | mond to share his home eight years before. Dr.
his letters came frequently, but gradually they
came less and less often until they altogether
ceased. Lillie would ask a hundred times a
day, ‘What can be the matter?’ but at last she
ceased to ask about him or even to mention his
name. A look of unutterable woe and despair
settled upon her lovely countenance, dimming
the light of her azure eyes, stealing from her
[For The Sunny South.]
LINA OF OLD OAKS.
remembered how often she had wished tliat she Winters found that he bad chosen a jewel whose * cheeks the last vestige of color, making the
was a great heiress like Lina, and how happy
she had always thought she would be. She was
a girl who had been taught the simple lessons of
faith from her infancy; she knelt at her bedside
daily, and thanked God for life and its blessings.
lustre time could not dim, and little Lina had I light, buoyant step grow dull and heavy. My
crowned their married joy. Lillie became a changed being; her merry laugh
Nine years before, Lina Carrington had gone and gay song were never heard now, as had
abroad with her uncle’s family. Coming out been their wont. Oh! how I cursed the author
from the shadowy spell of her old home, she : of this sad change in her heart. But that is
Lina had closed the eyes of a little dead child
as she rodThome^nn’e thonehts fiBed*' her^mind Grayer made her heart pure and happy, and began gradually to feel the infinite wisdom and passed now, and I feel pity for the heart which
andshadedh“fine browOld <Sks her home i while her ^end, ^ great heiress, was so faith- j mercy of an All-wise Being beaming upon her at entertains so much perfidy.
Drifting down the noble river, the pioneers I was an old place; everything about ’it was old! gening the teachings of faithless infidel- every step. After a year of travel, she felt her “Things went on so for some time when, one
und new dangers, but gained new hopes and execept Lina, who was just twenty-two; the house i to bring rest to her soul the li tie simple old nature softened into that something better day hearing a scream from Lillies room I
uuu new unu^cio,_uu. b . 1 I ., .. , J • Rosamond lm<l found it m her daily offerings and happier. Then she met Rnthven \\ ulby, a rushed to the spot. There lay my darling in the
found . _
found new homes. Peace came, happiness came,
and no Kentucky home knew more joy than the
one set up by Will Ross and his brave wife Cal
lie. Children blessed their declining years and
led them gently down the other side of life, and
while father and mother rest peacefully beneath
the willow, sons and daughters yet live to feel a
pride in the State whose honor will remain un
tarnished as long as true Kentuckians live.
[the end. ]
[For The Sunny South.]
MOTHER’S LETTERS.
was large and old, the grounds surrounding it
were very extensive, and the walls enclosing to th>d. < T °d who ever^
them were moss-trrown: the stone stens which .. ‘Rosamond, 1 want
hears. ! younger son of the venerable Lord Willby. He
them were moss-grown; the stone steps which I , -«o*wnona, * want to make some visits be- was a man of the great-souled type, and his
Lina mounted showed distinctly that they were dinner; come in and dress, or we shall be , heart turned to Lina Carrington for the grandeur
old, bv the worn places on each one. which the ut r p .. j her nature which he saw shining in ler
many feet of Lina’s many ancestors had worn J The lithesome girl came tripping up the ten lovely face. At the end of the season they’spent
— - - - - - - worn steps, singing some gay air, but as she i together in London, the two were married. As
looked into her friend’s clouded face, her eyes | Lady Willby, Lina came back to her old South-
becaine grave. She went to Lina’s side, and ern home. Looking into her face, we can scarcely name of the man who blighted my whole life,
threw her arms about her neck. realize the flight of time, for she is as beautiful and killed my pet—my sister— the only legacy
“Oh ! my best friend, I wish I could make ' to-day as when we first saw her in the old mir- 1 my mother left me. I was ill many weeks after;
there. When she had ascended the ten worn steps,
she stopped a moment on the piazza, and looked
at some flowers that were blooming in dark, mossy
stone jars. She broke one from its stalk and
smelled it as she stood there; then half absently
floor, dead ! Oh! how can I relate what fol
lowed? On raising her lifeless form, a piece of
paper was found in her clenched hand. On
opening it they found these lines:
“Married, on the lltli instant, by the Rev.
, Guy Livingston to Rosa Fontaine.”
“Guy Livingston! Yes, Belle, that was the
BY LOVELADY.
placed it in her hair. Her hair was dark and the I as bappy as I do, she said,
flower was red; the contrast was prettv, as she ! , The tears sprang to Lina s eyes, and she gently
could have seen had she glanced at her tall figure, J 8 lr ^. to a -
her fine nale brow nnd dark eves reflected in “ bit down here, Rosamond, and tell me about rrj r _ _
| tlie 0 j ( j mirror with its varnished frame that >' our uiother; I have never heard anything of of gloom so long brooding over it is lifted. Chil- end of this recital, but now she arose with eyes
rri.lor alnno which sl.e massed your early childhood; I believe I have heard you dren’s voices ring through its walls, and peace
ror, and but for the lovely girl who calls her
mama, she might pass for twenty-two again
to-day. : ance of those around it.”
Old Oaks is a happy home at last. The spell j Belle had been weeping softly long before the
for the first time I was allowed to visit Lillie’s
grave; it was grass-grown, and had the appear-
\o. II.
The ultimatum of the hopeful future for many
girls is elegant leisure. They plod through school
exercises as only the accessories of refined idle- he faceg of Lina . s grantlluo tber; of her sad
ness in young ladyhood, and unavoidable do- I . , . °
hung in the corridor along which she passed.
The mirror was in truth ancient; it had reflected
the figure of Lina’s great-grandmother, in her
bridal robes of stiffest brocade; it had imaged
mestie duties are reluctantly performed with an
indefinite longing for the time when the woman
will be mistress of her undivided time. All the
great, mystical object of this transitory life is
subverted if only you learn the most approved
style of living in idleness. We are all depend
ent on somebody’s labor for all the good of life,
and is it independent ? Is it noble to receive all
and give nothing? In the economy of God’s
creation, nothing was made for itself alone, and
mother and her gloomy-eyed father,—all
whom were dead and lying in the old ancestral
burial ground, over shadowed by aged oaks.
The room that Lina entered was sombre in its
tarnished grandeur; the rich carpet and splendid
curtains were faded; the great piano was of old-
fashioned make, and the pictures which hung
from the lofty walls looked from frames of ancient
elaborate carving, and had their colors darkened
and mellowed by age. It was a strange apart
ment to be the sitting-room of a young girl like
the great fabric is mightily; tangled when any one Li but its som ,.^'character had already re-
;hXbii^at6?i™« ora wr°i“ r ,Tvt; ff -i'» /»»
, *3. , a. • a. at the face, you could discern that there was
alone for ourselves, and not degenerate into an ~ n
iAi *iAi more than mere gravity in its expression; there
unsightly excrescence, what else might have , , H J .. L ’ .
b J --- ’ b was gloom and unrest—a questioning, yearning,
say your mama died when you were a very little
girl.*”
“I was eight years old when my old nurse
came to me one morning and told me my beau-
a f tiful mama was dead; I knew that they thought
her ill unto death,'fi*? she often took me beside
her on her couch, and told me of the happy !
land to which she was going, and taught me
daily my little prayer, which I can never for- J
get—it will ever be dear to me. My father says
she was very beautiful, and that I am like her,
only my eyes are darker, and not so sweet as
mama’s were. The servants and the poor peo
ple speak of her now as an earthly angel, and
all who knew her loved her for her gentleness
and kindness. She was one whom the angels
had marked as their own, and she went to them
without a murmur. Her last words on earth
w’ere a prayer for papa and me.”
Tears chased each other down the fair, plump
flashing and form erect; she bade her good-by,
and love sit beside that hearth where Lina made and left the room.
an auto-de-fe of the bitter, bad books that bad What was the surprise of Guy Livingston the
been the bane of her ancestors, and had well- j next morning to find on his dressing-table a
nigh poisoned the spring of her own young life, cold note, releasing him from his engagement
j with Belle Clare, and forbidding him ever to
[For The Sunny South.]
Guy Livingston’s Perfidy.
In a cosy parlor of a beautiful residence, situ
ated in one of our most thriving Southern vil
lages, sat two girls, each engaged in some light
fancy work.
come into her presence again? Finding himself
defeated, but never guessing the real cause of
his defeat, this perfidious man left for “ parts
unknown.”
“Belle,” said Bertha at their next meeting, “if
I have wronged Guy Livingston in the least de
gree, God forgive me. Perhaps he meant to
keep liis troth with you; perhaps his wife is
dead. I have done what I thought to be my
■**«* r Qec V ,y T‘ e r 1 £££ ““wo«laKl EtS “ft
years, dropped her work m her lap, and sat . , 1 r ...
J * K ., . * a. i had adhered to wv former motto: ‘When sorrow
gazing out of the open window, seeming to see 1 *
nothing, though the landscape spread out before
her was worthy the notice of an artist.
What is the matter with my ‘ bonnie lassie ?’ ’
1 l A.T 1 • .1 1 » I ., Wllb i/lUULil HI1U Uliiesi H U Uc'SLlUIlIIll'. yciulllllp, l I ,I • . IT* a. I ll* l If IHU In bile lUUbbCl WHU HIV uumilt* :
been a beautiful sprig on the tree of humanity. ; „ i i_i i A „ cheeks ot the girl, and Lina stooped and kissed . A ^
™ , i *i doubting look that told ot a spirit dissatisfied , . t ■. , t 1 said .bertha Cameron, perceiving the pensive,
hrnm t.liA crml p m flip aravp avafv hnrir hoc _ _ _ npr rn htrlp r kkp rhar. h itkIpi hpr mvn pi'Ph . . . . . ’ 1 ° ., L . . . .
and seeking—seeking for what it had not found. ^ e , r ;i° ^ K>se Rinded her own eyes. thoughtful expression upon the usually bright
Deep in her soul, Lina felt the unrest, the long- ; G . oan 2 dress now ’ dear ’ and we wl11 make ■ countenance of her friend.
ing for change, the craving for something to fill 0U T„' 1SI S ’ 11TO , . _ . “Bertha, you have been my friend and con
flict strange vacuum which is known to every T . e nex , ‘ a ^, osamom was seven ee , a t fidant since I was a little child, and I have been
human soul, but which is felt with so much in- Ll , na 8 ave ll 1 er f book as a hlr } h *i* S lft T ' “ was I thinking how I could best inform you of a secret
tensity by such hearts as Lina’s. To the people : thandsomely-bound copy of “Jean Ingelow s with wh fa ich I have bee - trying to burden my
From the cradle to the grave, every hour has its
allotted work; and the girl who sits with folded
hands, disconnecting the opportunity from its
duty, is a ruthless destroyer. The ghosts of
murdered minutes will rise in judgment to
confront and condemn such an one.
Womanhood is incomplete without some noble 1 '' Poems.”
work. The true test of usefulness is the degree ,, • . ,. .J,, n ®. ’■• “Oh ! now I can read the ‘Songs of Seven’
of regret ocoiorrcl by «.•. »b»e„ce. W i (LSZ I “ »<“" “ 1 >«“i" -4 «» Httfi
more comfort we provide for others, the greater | en ® im in ,. ‘ SU ch vast wealth as hers can buv; t ° rned ea g arl J to her favorites, and began to
happiness we contribute to our friends, the more . t . y ,* » t . i i r • ’ **him* uor h^cf.inv^H v^r<*»v:*
_ 11 _ V i , but Lina s own heart knew how far aw.ay these
necessary we make ourselves to those around us, x* i . i ^ , .. J ~ ,
just in such measure do we accomplish the duty i P leasures soarfid lrou ‘ the 8 ras P of ber
assigned us, and in the same proportion do we j W1 . were tbfl butterflies ma(le> mama? ” she
lay up treasure to be gathered again. The had a ^ ed one day when a very little girl, and
woman who contemplates in life a luxurious I wben mama said , “To flutter among the beau-
chair of state in a home where everything and b
everybody is to contribute to her comfort and
chime her best-loved verses:
I wait for my story—the birds cannot sing it,
Not one as lie sits on tbe tree;
Tbe bells cannot ring it, but long years, ob bring itl
Such os I wish it to be 1”
“ Do you think, Miss Lina, that the long years
pleasure, exacting, m irauni, »my wuai sue ; q ow< , rs mode/,
,," t jo tut' ,‘d '-''.M.ys these strange mysteries had filled
11;’f , or ’ r f ! «P heFsbul Oftentimes she had looked at the
even worse, the consciousness with her friends g £ tel oakS) which ve name to her holue( with
ot reliet at tier absence. If some very trouble- x* i- ,
some, idle people I wot of would think for a mo- 21 n D ® S h l lr great ^ t >“ re g ar f.
ment and realize that their absence is always W' bark H „f g trunks, and the beau-
preferable to their presence, the thought might ^±1.1? \ If ? ' n \ l 1
stimulate them to a little exertion for the pleas- told were . tht! sa “ e 40 tbe treea that her
ure of others. I have labored all your life, my
dear daughter, to '
Nothing is truer than cue mi.icc uuu,u mmuiiiei . i ,.,, . , .
- , i i -ill ■ • i, I wav, she was still wondering whv
! hands and the evil workshop in idle tl „ - - b J
brains.
tiful flowers, my child,” she went away with an- ever brought anybody’s story such as they
other “why?” haunting her,—“Why were the i wished it to bei”
were to her; and there was no happiness for
t j£X" * >““* of | iSSSSSSSSi°t",Uri»ri“ingVe°
In this day of labor-saving machines
and finery, 1 know I have been ridiculed for
teaching my little girl knitting and patchwork.
It is not the sock and the quilt that I value, but
when I can interest my darling in any persever
ing occupation, and see the nimble little fingers
flying to keep pace with the honest purpose,
what care I whether it be patchwork or delicate
embroidery? My object is accomplished; and
far apart from the sum total of the work, I see
to herself, “ Will my heart ever be without this
unrest ?” Then she would get up and dress in
her costly robes and jewels, and go out among
the people to hunt change, and be Lina Car
rington. the wealthy heiress, the mistress of Old
Oaks, and the envied and flattered of all.
There was among the people a little girl, just
come out among them, to be initiated into their
manners and customs. Rosamond Trenholm was
“I daue : -I thiol. - ,
persons really It,, not know what sort of story
they do wish long years to bring them.”
Rosamond smiled.
“ Why, I know now exactly what sort of story
I wish the years to bring me; I want to be able
to look back through the vista and see a record
of my life as pure as that of my mother’s; that
is what I am craving to attain.”
Lina was silent for a moment, then said:
“Rosamond, tell me what books you read to
give you such beautiful faith in that other world,
which is such a dark mystery to me?”
“ Why, my dearest friend, you astonish me.
I read, first, my Bible and prayer-book, and
then many other religious works which are in
papa’s library. I love to read them ^erv often,
because I can see mama’s marks all through
them, and papa can tell me her views about each
of them as I read them.”
“And have you ever read Voltaire’s (the great
French author) views of your Bible teachings?”
t , Vi tUe ! her name, and Lina fancied her; the people said “ Not >' et ; papa says that it is awful, and I am
ance; a something is gained^^olav up inTieTv In’s j ®° s r a “ ond was a ve 7 fortunate girl to win favor ! too young to become acquainted with such per-
treasury. In the final account it will not be m Ll - Dl -‘ Carrington s eyes, and petted and
ressed her with double zeal, because the heiress
fancied her, and had invited her to Old Oaks to
I spend a great deal of time. Rosamond Tren-
I holm was very pretty, and fresh, and innocent,
and winsome in her manner, and she won Lina's
fancy from the first; her unsophisticated ways
w’ere so sweet to see amid the cunning wiles of
the people, and then she made Old Oaks very
bright with her merriment, and that was change |
asked what kind and how much is the sum total
of the work, but rather what lesson has been
learned by means of the work.
Do not understand me to insinuate that all the
end of life is manual labor. I insist that a con
siderable part of time is profitably spent in real
work—muscular exercise is healthful for soul and
body—yet God has given us various faculties,
win e r 3 f nTT dS , imi ry ement T for Lina, for it was very dull at Old Oaks, except of you in „
M hen I say to you, woifc, labor, be industrious, I wben tbe party and ba f] seasoIi bad come, and it that awful
nicious theories just now, but that I may read
it, or anything similar, in a few years; but I
present to you all the vast fields of physical and
mental labor. Just now, I am laboring to im
press you with the importance of not considering
manual labor in the least degrading. Your
hands ? Ah ! yes, what a horror to refined young housekeeper for company. 0
ladies are soiled red hands I know some who : womanll0 od, she consuh re
leave all the heavy work of tlieir homes to infirm j tl)H ns
mothers rather than spoil their snowy hands.
If I could once be convinced that the white, soft
hand is the type of a true heart, then I am
silenced forever. Until then, I am constrained
to remind you that if your mother’s hands were
softer and whiter your pathway would have been
blockaded with many more stumbling-stones
than j-ou have found in it. Don’t abuse your
hands, but use them nobly; the hands will per
ish, the purpose never dies. The great defect of
education or rather, cultivation—now-a-days is,
that it tends to degrade good, honest labor; yet,
in the sanctum of all true hearts there is a meed
of praise for all noble girls not ashamed to lend
a helping hand.
don’t think I will care ever to read such books;
my faith is too priceless to be trifled with, and I
think it best not to go into temptation, don't you?
Would you read it if you were in my place? - ’
“My dearest Rosamond, listen to me, for I
wish my words to impress you through all your
years as you have never been impressed before.
As you value your soul, which will be required
of you in another world, never turn one page of
man’s writings—never soil your pure
would not be here for some time yet.
Lina s parents had both died when she was
only fourteen, but she had continued to live on
at her old home with a maiden cousin and the
When she grew to
considered it her duty to open
i the house, as her ancestors had always done, and
; till it with company sometimes, and give balls,
| and parties, and masquerades, as they had given
| them, and then they always interested her, as
: they furnished something to hold her thoughts
! for a little while. She was of course a belle,
I much sought alter and admired by numberless
beaux; but the mask was too thin, and Lina
knew full well that her large Southern estates
and countless slaves were much more attractive
to the people and her beaux than herself; but
then, she did not feel this very deeply, for there j niains of a destruction I mean to make.
faith with one God-forsaken word that he has
written and left behind him to wreck so many
as he was wrecked—never, while you value hap
piness, or peace, and rest, turn from your Bible
to glean one line from infidelity, for, though
your faith may be too strong to succumb to its
darkness, the very trial is polluting. As I stand
before you, child, I would give ten years of my
life for your unshaken hope and faith. Old Oaks
has not known for many a j’ear, a spirit so pure-
hearted as you, Rosamond; for my grandfather
added Voltaire’s writings to its library, and
since the day he did so, a kind of cloud has
rested on all the old place, which was once, they
heart and mind, without the knowledge and as
sistance of you, my darling, but indeed I find l
it an impossibility. Therefore, to condense n
great deal in a very few words, I lim engaged.”
“ Who is the fortunate being that has won the
affections of my little belle?” asked Bertha,
showing surprise in both voice and manner at
the idea of Belle Clare being engaged, one upon
whom—being so much older—she had even ;
looked as a mere child, though the sparkling
| brunette was in reality eighteen.
“ His name is Guy Livingston, the handsomest,
riiOftl UVJLItMieui'ltJtl—but, JniTthu, vrhat’o thr
i matter? You look as though you had seen a
| ghost,” exclaimed Belle, astonished at the
strange pallor which had overspread the grave.
| sweet faee of her friend at the mention of Guy
Livingston’s name.
I “ Belle, yon have often heard me speak of my
sister Lillie,” said Bertha, struggling to regain
| composure.
“Yes, yes; but what has that to do with Guy,
or your ghastly face ?”
“Everything, as you will see if you will draw
your chair closer, and lay aside your work.”
Belle arising h'ew a low ottoman to the feet
i of Bertha, and patiently awaited the eommence-
I ment of the explanation.
“Belle, my dear, I am about to unfold a part
of my heart-history, which has never passed
any lips before; no, not even to you have I con
fided my secret—but really it was not my secret,
but one belonging to my (lead sister.”
Bertha had by this time composed herself,
and spoke in her own low, gentle voice.
“But to make my explanation explicit, you
must go back with me to the days of my child
hood. My mother died when I was thirteen —
Lillie was five; of my father, I have very little
recollection. I can never, never, forget that sad,
sad night when my mother died. Having been
called to her bed-side to receive her parting
blessing, she placed her hand, her slim, emacia
ted hand, upon my head, and in a weak voice
said: ‘Bertha, my darling, to your care I com
mit my baby Lillie Be as a mother as well as
a sister to her.’ The thin lips moved as if to
say more, but the hand resting upon my brow
dropped heavily upon the bed, her eyes closed,
and drawing me away, they told me my mother
had gone to live with God and the bright angels.
But for a long while I was inconsolable, and
wept bitterly. But grief soon passes away from
the heart of a child. Then came the thought of
Lillie and the last words of my mother. So, re
pressing my own tears, I bent all my energy to
the task of comforting her, whose piteous cries
after mother were heart-rending. I think if I
could have stayed in the old home with my lit
tle sister as a companion, I could have borne my
loss with greater fortitude; but we went to the
busy city to live with an aunt, who was ven’
sleepeth, wake it not.’”
“ Bertha, whatever he is now, my heart enter
tains not one tender feeling for him. Who could
think of the wrong he did to Lillie and not feel
a loathing horror of the perpetrator of that
wrong? Therefore, Bertha, my kind friend,
accept my many thanks and heartfelt gratitude
for your timely warning.’
Not many years elapsed before the papers
contained the account of Guy Livingston’s death,
caused from a blow received while engaged in a
drunken brawl.
Belle Clare is now happily wedded to a man
in every wav worthy of her, but even now she
shudders to think of the escape she made, and
in her inmost heart blesses her friend and pre
server, Bertha Cameron, who. is still living in
the beautiful home in which we last saw her—a
home left her by her aunt, who has been dead
several years.
The last knowledge of Guy Livingston’s de
serted wife, she was living in one of the busy
citi^^^)f Florida, striving to support herself and
helpless child by the needle.
SCIENCE.
was not one among her admirers upon whom
she wasted a thought.
A servant came in answer to her summons, and
Lina directed him to send a carriage for Rosa
mond Trenholm, to bring her to Old Oaks.
^ I — • m ‘ v I uunj iu u < c niiu <ui nuut, « uv
say, the most beautiful and attractive of homes fashionable, and after providing a governess for
to its masters. Rosamond, come to the library ; llSj sbe left us entirely to her care, and took no
in one hour from this; I wish you k) see the re- ( further concern of us. By and by, when I was
.. eighteen (just your age, Belle), my aunt tried
Phosphoric Acid as a Fertilizeii.—The fol
lowing extract from a lecture by Dr. E. M. Pen
dleton, at the dedication of Moore College,
j University of Georgia, will doubtless interest
! all of our intelligent agriculturalists: “It has
i been demonstrated that phosphoric acid is the
only mineral element needed to be applied to
| the worn soils of Georgia to restore them to their
pristine fertility. This fact has been so clearly
established by a number of experiments, and its
rationale is so clear and logical that we have no
more doubt of it than of the correct solution of
any math- statical problem. Take the leading
agricultural products of the country—cotton,
corn, wheat, oats, peas, etc. The average per
cent, of silica, carried off in their seeds, is only
1(5.0; of lime, 24.2; of chlorine (in peas and
cotton, we have no estimate for the cereals) 27.3;
of soda, 39.6; of sulphuric acid, 41.3; of potash,
! 50.0; of magnesia, 03.9, and of phosphoric acid,
- 85.2. Now, it should be borne in mind that
what is left in the stubble and in the roots of
the plants is, when decomposed, ready at once
for the use of succeeding crops. It is as me
chanically tine as it can be made, and mostly in
soluble forms. Phosphoric acid is the only one
of them all that is likely to go back into insolu
ble conditions unfit for plant food. But admit
ting all that mineral food left in the debris of
plants is available for the forthcoming crops,
we have left of silica enough for six crops of
seed equal to the one taken oft - ; of lime, more
than enough for three crops, and of chlorine
not quite enough for three; of soda and sulphu
ric acid, enough for one and a third; of potash,
nearly enough for two-thirds, while of phos
phoric acid there is just enough left for one-
sixth of a crop. Is there any wonder then that
sulphuric acid is the first mineral ingredient
exhausted from a soil, when the available form
is slow to be developed, easy to be thrown back
into insoluble forms, and when there is seven
times as much of this prepared food taken from
the soils in the seeds, as is left for future crops
in the vegetable matter? Is :t any wonder that
when soluble phosphoric acid is applied to worn
soils, such wonderful results should be produced
without the application of other mineral ingre
dients? And when applied even to the richest
Satisfied it Wouldn’t.-The other evening I , V waK8 '
, , • T , , b Ihen she sat down to read while waiting for her
iAartid*1.1 m ?,l lb? 1 ^ r ® a , ch *P g h k “ d i friend. The book she was reading was bound
tnano, ToftMil.! n , A^ time-blackened calf, spotted and defaced.
^ l 1 ..??c‘ k , . T. . ‘ d ’ 1 m' 1 A 1 ! There was one little square spot which looked
an old lady from Jasper on her bonnet and set
ting her nerves to [day. “ What on earth’s the
matter?” she exclaimed. “Oh, the train’s
broke in two!” replied a gentleman who sat in
the next seat. “ Ugh ! I should say so,” the old
lady said, looking at the broken bell-cord. “Did
they s’pose such a
Lina left her companion and went straight to i to persuade me to take an interest in such amuse- j virgin soils, that it should produce such largely
a bbrary ’ cl . os *ng the door behind her. I meats as she delighted in; but finding I was so increased crops? Then whenever a soil has the
At the appointed time, Rosamond knocked at . aver se to them, she finally allowed me to follow remains of one crop of vegetable matter upon
the library door. A voice bade her come in my ovvn inclination, and having prevailed upon it, minus the seed, there is plenty of all the con-
| through the profound stillness that reigned ber to dismiss our governess, I applied myself „tituent in an available condition, except phos-
witlnn. Lina stood there pale as death. Point- j to the (to me) pleasant task of instructing Lillie, | phoric acid, to make a good crop, and the suc-
ln £ h? the bearth, she said, hoarsely . i f or j cou ]d scarcely bear the child out of my cession continues as long as there is a good sup-
I 1 here, Rosamond are the remains ot those sight Lillie was a fragile> tender little thing, j p i y of organic matter. Where this fails, rest
accursed teachings which have caused a cloud l — > - —i- ^ -• —u *—•» - * : 1 b - - ’
square spot w’hich looked j ^ccurseu teachings which have caused a cioun i w ho, the doctor said, could never stand a great
new and bright; it was where the title had been { f° hang so darkly for years over my stately’ sbo ck—it would be certain death; therefore, I
pasted, and had been carelessly torn away a lew home. I have burned the last page of V oltaire, i g narded her with untiring vigilance. When my
years back by Lina’s father, who read that same : au< f fhat heap of ashes is all that remains. Ah . j ( ] ar ii ug had gained her sixteenth birthday, my
book with as much avidity as Lina now dis- I f would to God that my heart could as easily be , auu t, in honor of the occasion, gave hera party,
played. As she scanned its p i^e-, the carriage cleared ot its darkness as my home has been of j Qh ! will I ever forget how beautiful my darling
was heard at the gate, and Lina laid her book Cliuse . Now again, child, I solemnly adjure [ looted on that night? Every expression on her
and rotation of crops should follow, in order
that by weathering, an increase of potash and
magnesia might be produced, which would be
much cheaper than any attempt to supply the
demand with commercial fertilizers. All* this
has been demonstrated by us, and the facts, the
theorv and the logic, have all resulted from our
likeVa^wouT^hold Strain toefther?” StnDg i ?, 11en u l ,on the table ’’ Lehol.l! tlie picture of ! you, as you value all thingsidear, ail things; pure j i ove ly face is as perfectly graven upon my mem- j experiments. Carried out in practice on all the
^1-,. ’ k • \ oltaire stared at you with his name in his own Jioly, nete/% If*3?™*, ° r ^ as ** ^ ^ een on b r night instead ot j farms of Georgia with its
beneath
We learn that during the past week, within a
radius of four or five miles, in Robertson county,
live or six tobacco barns have been burned, con
taining in the aggregate about 40,000 pounds of
tobacco. The fires are said to have been caused
by the ignition of gases evolved from the to
bacco during the process of drying.—ClarksvUle
Chronicle.
Don’t bother your head about people who are
going about trying to take away your character.
Very likely it will do you good. Men are very
often like a pair of boots—the more they are
blackened, the more they shine.
The latest discovery at Pompeii is that of the
figure of a woman lighting a fire in the cook-
[ stove, while her husband is asleep in bed.
^Nothing of the lost arts about that.
handwriting beneath it. Oh! terrible book,
given to the world by a terrible man ! Would to
God that the last sheet of it had perished, while
it lay a heap of manuscript upon tae author’s
study-table. How many more souls might
have been saved how much more beautiful
faith might have lighted the world, had this
awful man not left the poisonous trail of a is evil
genius behind him.
Lina’s soul was > just the one to receive such
subtle teachings, but the little lamp of faith and
hope was not yet gone out, and often struggled
with the eclipsing shadows of doubt; as it did
to-day. How different would have been her life,
had she gone to that blessed book, which lay
always near her, but, alas! covered with dust
and neglect
“Miss Lina, your pinks are lovely, and these
roses—oh! aren’t they exquisite? I don’t seem
insulted by reading one line of these infidel
teachings!”
*******
Old Oaks is ten years older to day than it was
when Lina stood over a pile of ashes, and so sol
emnly w. rued her young friend. Two children
are playing beneath the spreading shades of the
broad, green oaks on the lawn—one Lina’s, the
other Rosamond’s. The taller, dark-haired girl,
with the far-off look in her black, liquid eyes, is
Lina’s child, and tlie blue-eyed sprite, with
happy, dancing ways, is Rosamond’s little one.
They are called Rosamond and Lina too—Lina’s
child being Rosamond, and Rosamond’s child
Lina. Now the two have chased butterflies until
their little feet are weary of the fairy amusement,
and the beautiful child-mother, Rosamond,
passes her arm around little Lina and draws her
toward the house. They walk on up the long
two long, bitter years ago. She was dressed
pure, simple white, with a sash of blue ribbon
and knots of blue—just the shade of her heav
enly eyes — nestling among her long golden
curls. Oh ! would to God I had never seen that
night. Little did I think, while dressing my
darling with such pride and care, that that fatal
party would be the last she would ever attend.
But I must hasten, as it is growing late. Among
that gay party gathered in the handsome parlor
of my aunt’s residence, was one gentleman who
devoted himself exclusively to my sister, en
tirely ignoring the presence of the many belles
of fashionable society. Belle, he was the hand
somest man I ever saw—tall, well-formed, with
dark curls clustering around his white, lofty
brow, and eyes dark as midnight—eyes which
no maiden could resist when he turned their
light upon her, with the love of his seemingly-
eeonomy of organic
matter and of nitrogen, and the application of
but one universal element, the amount saved to
the farming interest would be incalculable.”
Mr. Haetshorne, an Englsli traveler, recently
gave the British Association an account of the
Weddas, a wild tribe which lives in the interior
of Ceylon. These Weddas are about five feet
high, live on water and roast monkeys, and are
incapable of laughter. Who could laugh on roast
monkey and water ?
• Mm. Brazza and Marche recently set out from
Paris to undertake a five years’ exploration of
tropical Africa, under the auspices oC the Society
of Geography, aided by a small grant from the
French Government.
Two letters have been received in London,
with maps, from Stanley, the African explorer, J
written on the banks of the Victoria N’yanza. r