[For The Sonny Sooth.]
OIjD mammy chloe.
The carriage is waiting beside the door.
And Cesar the coachman stands
Sadly caressing the iron-grays
Awaiting the mistress’ commands.
He may well be prond of his noble steedB.
Champing their bits so gay.
And the coach with its harness glittering bright;
Bot his heart is sad to-day:
For he hears the sound of weeping within,
And he thinks of the dreadful news
So lately brought to the loving heart
Now making its last adieux.
The master is wounded and dying, perhaps.
And tears are now falling fast,
As the faithful slave stands sorrowing there,
And thinks of the happy past.
Ah! well he remembers the beautiful boy.
His playmate in childhood and youth,
Who had ever been to his simple faith
A model of goodness and truth.
Together they learned of a Saviour's love,
As they stood by “ole Mistiss' ’’ knee;
Together they shared “ ole Mammy's ” love,
And frolicked in boyish glee.
Agaiu he stands by the bed of death
Where the dear “ ole Mistis ’’ lies,
Calmly awaiting her BummonB hence
To her home beyond the skies.
**‘Cesar,’ she said, an’ her voice was low
An’ sweet as de birds in June,
An’ I kno’ dat in heaven she's singin' now,
Wid her golden harp in tune:
• Cesar,’ she said, ‘I am goin’ home—
My words mus" be faint and few;
But I leave to guide you, de blessed Word,—
To God and your master be true.”
And now, while he pats the horses' mane.
He thinks of that far-olf day
When first he mounted the carriage box
And reined up the iron-grays.
Old Billy, the coachman, had feeble grown.
And Cesar, in all his pride,
Must go in his bran-new livery,
To bring home the fair young bride.
And then he remembers the sorrowful time
When grief filled his own young heart—
When told that from Phillis, the girl he loved.
He soon would be called to part.
But he goes, as of old, to “ young Mars Ned,”
And his trouble straightway confides;
The young lover’s heart is soon made glad,
And Phillis becomes his bride.
■‘An’ now dey tell me dis drefiul war
Is to set all de niggers free;
No white folks in all de lan’, I'm sho,
Are so happy as Phillis an’ me.”
Now Cesar must mount and away once more.
“Ole grays, you mus’ trabbel fas’.”
He hears the sound of his lady’s voice,—
“ Miss Claire is cornin’ at las'.”
The little ones cling around the mother still;
She kisses them o’er and o’er,
Then sadly enters the waiting coach
As the footman opens the door.
Just then the shrill tone of a woman's voice
Is borne on the autumn wind:
“ Stop, children, stop,—it will never do
To leave Mammy Chloe behind!”
Hastening down the graveled walk,
She comes in her Sunday dress;
A snow-white turban encircles her head,
And her 'kerchief is crossed on her breast.
With her sun-bonnet now in her tightened grasp,
A soft, warm shawl on her arm,
She is fully prepared all hardships to brave.
And shrinks front no danger or harm.
“O Mammy." the sorrowing lady cries,
“ You are too feeble and old
For such a journey; the way is long,
And the weather is growing cold.
I know your kind old heart. Mammy,
Is beating warm and true;
But in the dreary hospital,
There'll be no place for you.”
“ Oh, honey!” she gasps in a voice of woe,
“ My place is by youug Mars Ned;
I’ve nussed ’em all from ole Miss down—
I’ve watched by 'em living and dead.
Dese arms was de fus dat ever held
My youug Mars Ned when a babe;
Brudders an’ sisters. I've nussed 'em all.
From de cradel all down to de grabe.
An’ now in de hospittle, far away,
He's moanin' an’ pinin’, I kno’;
No matter who's dar, he'll be sure to find
A place for ole Mammy Chloe.
Well, honey, you has a rite, I kno’,
To say I mus’ stay behine;
But, Mistis, 'fore God I tels you now.
Somewhar on de rode you'll fine
Ole Mammy Chloe,—she will go afoot:
Yon may tine her cole an' dead;
But ’twill sho to be only on de rode
Bat leads her to young Mars Ned!”
[For The Sunny South.]
MR. PIPP’S EXPERIENCE.
BY SUSAN ABCHEH WEISS.
Going into the country? No, sir; not if I
know it! I have tried it, sir- tried it, and found
it to be a hollow delusion, a mockery, and a
snare. If you doubt the assertion, listen to my
experience, and judge for yourself.
I went to Sunnyside Farm. They advertised
"large, airy apeCrtments, abundance of fresh vege- j
tables, fruit and milk, with riding, boating and fish
ing. Terms moderate." Enoiigh. The follow- i
ing day found me in that earthly paradise.
The rooms were certainty airy enough, everv
one of them having at least three windows anil
as many doors, generally opening upon the
yard, with a gap at the bottom, for sake of fur
ther ventilation. As a pleasing variety, some
of them dragged, and could with difficulty be
opened or shut. The furniture of my own apart- j
ment consisted of a rickety bed, two chairs, a
chest of hard-bottomed wooden drawers and a
spider-legged “dressing-table” glass, in which I
beheld myself in the semblance of an exaggerated
goblin. Some nails behind the door ingeniously
answered the purpose of a wardrobe; and a love
of art was manifested in the appearance on the
mantle-piece of two plaster rabbits with purple
heads and green tails. There was also a picture
representing a simpering female, in no drapery
to speak of, clasping rapturously to her breast
some nondescript species of fowl. Mrs. Hodg-
ins, my landlady, subsequently informed me
that it was a dove; and I could see that its name,
or that of the young woman’s, was “Isabella.”
Mrs. Hodgins had three daughters—plump,
red-cheeked young women, who spent their
mornings washing, cooking and scrubbing, and
in the evenings appeared on the front porch, at
tired in flounced calico dresses, having their
hair adorned with tortoise-shell butterflies and
bows of scarlet ribbon. One of them was gener
ally, on these occasions, engaged in knitting a
very long blue worsted hose, while the others
preferred a book. I sometimes glanced' at the
title of the volume. Once it was “The Broken-
Hearted Bride,” and again, “The Silver Snow-
Flake of the Weriiwocomico Tribe.” I never
conversed with that young woman about Carlisle
and Tennyson. There was a young man, a
brother, who seldom made his appearance before
the guests, and when he did so, usually brought
with him a slight and appetizing stable odor,
which peculiar perfume also frequently pervaded
the house. The boarders weren’t partial to it,
though Mrs. Hodgins assured us it was “whole
some.” I hoped so, as in that case it might
counteract the effect of the viands to which she
generally treated us, —the hard com, the half
tea-pot. No cabbage and pork was ever seen on
their table. Instead, were what they called
dainty little dishes of French cookery—good
enough, if there had been sufficient of it. Some
of these dishes were so Frenchified that I gener
ally didn’t know what I was eating, only once I
recognized a bit of steak which had been left at
dinner, done over again for breakfast, smothered
cooked potatoes and apple dumplings, the greasy j in butter, and called fricassee a la something.
cabbage and skimmed milk. Yes, skimmed milk. T ’ 1 '“ iJ ~ ------
j The best of everything produced on that farm,
: in the shape of “ fresh fruit, milk and vegeta-
i bles',” was scrupulously set aside for the city
market, and the rest alone devoted to home con
sumption. As for meat, except in the shape of
lean ham and fat salt pork, it was a thing almost
unknown at that table. Fresh meat, they as
sured us. could not be had in the country. * But
; instead, there was limitless chicken—chicken
stewed, chicken roast, chicken broiled, fried,
boiled, grilled, and baked in pies, until I loathed
the sight of fowl—especially after having acci
dently witnessed the slaughter of one which had
for some days drooped and pined in the sol
itary seclusion of an old herring barrel under
my window. Mrs. Hodgins denied that that
fowl was served at table. I tried to believe her,
; but appearances were against it.
Riding? Yes, there' were two horses on the
place—one old anti half-blind, and the other
! vicious, which could be hired at livery-stable
prices.' I tried one—the first-mentioned—and
! lie stumbled and threw me into a mud-puddle.
each duty, cannot fail to derive a certain degree of
happiness from such a life. This does not come
all at once; there must be many sad failures be
fore the lesson is learned. Strong to endure as
I felt myself when the star of my love went
world poets, statesmen and philosophers. The
poet of the fourteenth century, leading his En-
dymion life, the practical man of the sixteenth,
and the philosopher of the nineteenth, are speci
mens of their ages, and can no more be taken
I began to be afraid of Miss Georgians. I
found myself growing nervous at her approach.
Once, Jones asked me, with a timid, sickly
smile, “What she could mean?” Jones hadn’t
the courage to resist her; but I made a point of
avoiding the moonlight strolls and the senti
mental songs in the shade ' parlor. In fact, I
fled to Miss Wynter for re 7 . I affected a par
tiality for her society in c r to avoid that of
her too-sentimental sister. I pretended to have
colds, and she made me rye gruel and onion
syrup. She told me at length that my constitu
tion was delicate, and that I needed constant at
tention and nursing—that I ought not by any |
means to live alone, but with some one who ,
knew how to take proper care of me. I replied
that if I were rich enough I would hire a house
keeper. She said housekeepers were merce
nary—that I must find a friend who would not
be influenced by pecuniary considerations alone.
I answered sarcastically that if I could discover
such a disinterested person, I would engage her
immediately, and value her above gold. She j
looked strangely, very strangely. She also acted
A 1UAH UIJ OU11 IV UVU ’ O ' wiuvu
down, when there was no heart to share life’s j for each other than the licentious courtiers of
" George the Third for the great Shakspeare.
Under the regime of civilization, woman, too,
has taken a noble position despite stubborn op
position. Among barbarous races, what was
she but a slave of man and his beast of burden ?
And to-day, far away beneath an Oriental sun,
she—a wife—is pawned for her husband’s gam
bling debt! Like the burning lamps floating
down the stream so dark and mystic, and watched
by Hindoo maidens’ eyes, woman's rights shine
down the river of Time, shedding a radiance,
diffusive and inextinguishable. As an actor,
novelist and lecturer, she competes with the
“nobler sex.” In the school-room, in the sick
room, in all the private walks of happiness and
misery, she has shown herself God-like in de
votion, endurance and sympathy. Athwart the
mind’s eye, a few lights of the present age pass;
Rachel, queen of tragedy, with her black brows
overshadowing those wondrous orbs—the noble
Charlotte Cushman—“George Eliot ’’—and
good and ill with mine, I sank into such dark
ness of soul as I shudder to recall.”
“ Did Sidney die ?”
“To me. Two years from the day he left, I
saw his marriage in a foreign paper. That was the
end. Hush, God only chastens in love. I can see
the guiding hand in my whole life. Do yon re
member these lines in Phiebe Cary’s “Woman’s
« I would not make the path I have trod
More pleasaut or even, more straight or wide;
Nor change my course the breadth of a hair,
This way or that way, to either side.”
Sadie broke the eloquent silence that fell~on
both in that hushed tone we involuntarity’ use
when speaking of holy things.
“Mother said your life was a sacrifice, but I
could not understand why.,, But you must be
lonely now, the girls are married. What will
you do when Walter comes for me; I am almost
sorry to go.”
“I do not know. I‘have been thinking of
adopting”—a terrific noise startled them.
“ What is it?” asked Sadie, with white lips.
“An explosion, I fear; it is just time for the
evening train to come down.”
“ A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort and command,”
who bore the name of Mary Summerville.
Paul Hayne has sung with Southern fervor
his poem, “A Thousand Years from Now.”
------ . . * , o— -— j | Ruth’s surmise was too true; the train was : what, indeed, will be the condition of man when
Of course, my suit was ruined. I should not peculiarly. Hhe put her handkerchief to her almost torn in pieces; how any one escaped was so ln!in y years have come and gone, when mother
have minded it so much, but for seeing those
three young women in the tortoise-shell butter
flies giggling behind the window-blinds as I
alighted on my return. Not that. I am in the
j least sensitive to ridicule, being on the contrary
I remarkable for my independence of people’s
I opinions; but I must confess that I felt disgusted
at the coarse-mindedness of those young females.
Boating? There were a couple of leaky-look-
ing row-boats moored by the side of a muddy
: creek, which they called a river. I hired one of
these, and got the farm-boy to row me. In my
; opinion, that boy was a humbug. The boat
| rocked fearfully from side to side, whirled
round till I was dizzy, then shot ahead at a fear
ful rate, and finally ran violently aground upon
1 our landing, throwing me backward oVer the
! seat into the dirty water at the bottom. I looked
for that boy next day, but somehow could never
catch sight of him except at a distance.
There was good fishing, so they told me, and
I resolved to try it. I had, before leaving the
j city, provided myself with all the necessary par- j humbug, a mockery, a snare and a delusion ?
aphernalia. It is true, I had had no experience,
eyes, and said that she was willing to do what j a miracle. Ruth’s home was close to the disas
she could, if I were really in earnest. I assured
her that I was so. Next day, Jones and Miss
Georgiana made such a persistent point of al
ways leaving ns alone together, that I began to
suspect something; and when that night Jones
said, slapping me on the shoulder, “ Well, old
fellow, and so it seems that we are to be kinsfolk,
hey?” I felt as though a bombshell had burst at !
my feet. I wrote to Miss Wynter. I told her
that I had just received information of the dan- |
gerous illness of a friend, and must hasten home.
I enclosed the amount of the bill and fled.
Would you believe that that woman followed j
me? Would you credit that she threatened a
suit for breach of promise ? And that she finally
delicately hinted a willingness to withdraw it for j
a “pecuniary consideration?” I paid her two 1
hundred dollars. Rather expensive charge, hey,
for a month’s “board in the country?”
Now, sir, am I or am I not correct in asserting j
that advertisements of country board are all a I
ter, and it was fast filled with the wounded.
Not until every sufferer had been made as com
fortable as possible, and provided with a careful
Earth has grown a hundred centuries more aged ?
Will he steal from nature the secrets of her gen
itive and life-giving forces, and stride onward
in civilization ? Will he grasp from the myste-
nurse, did Ruth think ot rest. Too weary al- r j ous depths of science and religion some Ja-
but anybody possessed of a little patience can
angle. I walked four miles through a burning
sun, spent a whole day tramping through mud
and mire, was nearly eaten up by mosquitoes,
but, though I got several bites, did not succeed
! in landing a fish. At length, I met a boy with a
j long string of them, from whom I purchased a
dozen. I did not mention to any one that I had
! not myself caught them. The boy said that the
fish in this river were sluggish, and in warm
weather could not be caught except by first stir
ring them up with a long pole or a few rocks.
This accounts for his having, with a common
; hook and twine, caught so many, while I, with
my patent rod and artificial flies, failed to take
Finding their “riding, fishing and boating”
all humbug, I gave up these, and sought to
amuse myself with walking. The first time I
went into the meadow, I was chased by a bull,
sir—a live bull! I succeeded in climbing a fence
! and thence mounting into a tree, where I re
mained for two hours, while that ferocious beast
tore round and round, bellowing and pawing up
the earth in the most frightful manner. Mrs.
Hodgins and a boy at length came to my rescue,
and drove the creature away.
After that, I avoided the meadows and tried
the woods; but there 1 saw snakes, or things that
looked like snakes; and in short, I found not a
safe place on all that large farm where it was
possible for a stout, quiet, elderly gentleman to
take a peaceful ramble in safety. Once a wild
colt persisted in running around and charging
at me until I thought the creature had gone mad.
' And on another occasion, a whole flock of sheep, ;
led by a ferocious-looking black ram, advanced
toward me with wild eyes and uplifted head, as
if meditating a grand charge.
I gave up walking abroad, and confined my- i
self to the yard and garden. But here, too, were
annoyances. I could not step out of the house |
without being instantly surrounded by a gab
bling and hissing flock of geese, which persisted
in following luy footsteps, to say nothing of a
great turkey cock, which the moment he caught
sight of me would strut toward me in a rage, ut- j
tering'hideous cries, and with everv feather on
Finally, I was compelled to limit my exercise
to a promenade on the long porch; but here
. were always half a dozen curs of every age and
. species, and if there is one thing of which I
have a horror above all others, it is hydrophobia.
I was driven from the porch by their incessant
snarling, snapping and barking, and took refuge
at length in my own room as the only available,
, safe and quiet retreat. But here the chickens
walked in and out by day, and the frogs in
truded themselves by night. On one occasion,
a stray pig found his way under my bed, and on
i another a bat knocked over my candlestick as I
was reading. Then the noises at night! What
j with the croaking of frogs, the hooting of owls,
and innumerable locusts, whip-poor-wills and
j katydids, I did not close my eyes the three first
nights of my stay, and indeed, felt that under
no circumstances could I become reconciled to
it. As to the mosquitoes, their name was legion
[For The Sunny South.]
most to move, yet too sympathetic to sleep, she
drew an easy chair to her own bedside and pre
pared to watch by the lovely young creature,
who lay there^ white and still, as if the little
white hands were folded forever.
Presently the great, dark eyes opened, and the
sweetest of voices asked, “Are you at leisure
now ? Will you please write a note to my hus
band and tell him where and how I am? He
will be so anxious. I should like him to come
“Yes, certainly, with pleasure; what is his
Did Ruth hear right ? Was the floor slipping
from under her feet, and the rush and roar of
Niagara filling her ears ?
How sepulchral her voice sounded, when she
asked again for the number of his office!
All that long night, and the longer day that
followed, as she kept her untiring care of his
wife, Ruth was nerving herself for the coming,
cob’s ladder, and ascend unto an estate as perfect
as that in which Adam awoke, and, lifting his
voice among the flowery walks of primal para
dise, sang his matin hymn to the Great Omnipo
[For The Sunny South.]
THIS AND THAT.
SOME MA'ESTIONS THAT PERPLEX ME.
When we read the long array of “Answers to
Correspondents ” in The Sunny South, we feel
like rushing wildly to its benevolent editor to
solve the many perplexing questions that startle
ns daily—all of them within range of a possible
solution; though at the same time we think he
might groan under his burden of interrogation
BY OLIVE LEAF.
“Cousin Ruth, why is it you have never mar
Sadie Gordon had been telling of her own en
gagement, and something in the eyes of her host-
i ess, a sad, wistful expression that spoke the pain
and regret of long years, prompted the question.
Ruth Linton's sweet face paled and her voice
quivered as she answered:
“Because I could love but once. You thought
hard of my refusing Dr. Leigh, but I had no
heart to give?”
j “Please forgive me; I did not mean to wound
i “I am not hurt. You said just now that life
had been all happiness since Walter loved you,
and a thought of what might have been saddened
; me. I was two years younger than you when
a young law student became an inmate of our
; house. I loved him from the first. He was so
noble, so much superior to the young men I had
met in society. I knew something of his history.
Youdil«m» I wfis,_Lbonore.d LhJsou who had sup- '
ported a widowed mother. I respected the man
who had educated himself and was winning
golden opinions from men of sterling worth. 1
might have grown to be a woman of fashion, but
he roused to action all the latent good in my na
ture. How pitiful and insignificant my former
life seemed. I know the sun never more surely
warmed a flower into life than his influence did
my better self, though I did not feel the truth
then as I do now.
“My eighteenth birthday, father gave me a
grand ball. That night was the noonday of my
life. It can come to a woman but once, that
brightest of hours, when she learns the love of a
true heart, God’s precious gift to the erring race,
is hers. Sidney Darrel loved me! That was joy !
enough. We were both so young that the years
we must wait before he could win a name and ,
home were but silver-fringed clouds in our sum- j
mer-time of love.
“Father had always shown Sidney every
possible kindness. My own brother could not :
have received more confidence and respect from j
him, and I was utterly unprepared for his refu
sal when we asked him to sanction our engage- j
ment. I am afraid I displayed too much of the !
Linton pride and temper, for father grew very j
angry and sent me to stay with grandmother,
while Sydney should remain in our house, which
you know was not long. We had one interview.
Sydney would have released me, but I would not
be free. I said I would wait years, if need be,
for my father’s consent, feeling sure that consent
was only withheld because of Sydney’s poverty.
^ , points, surely piercing to the innermost parts of
praying for strength to meet this Sidney of long the spirit. We thought of it again, and more ve-
ago. God help her; human will is too weak to bemently to-day, while plucking, en passant, a
control human hearts. She was standing by the spray of exquisite crepe myrtle trom a neighbor-
. window when he came, outwardly calm—only i * n ” y ar, t- and throngs of memories rushed tu-
the shadowy, violet eyes and sensitive mouth multuously through the mind. I his delicate
telling that she was suffering.
“ Miss Linton, will you please come here, so
Col. Darrel may see who has been so kind to
Ruth turned, made one step towards them,
then stopped. Was it the light of the setting
sun that bathed the white face with such radiant
Colonel Darrel smiled as he took both hands
in his own, and listened to the low, murmured
words of welcome. Out of the house, away from
everybody, her swift feet went. Down in the
tangled orchard grass her joyful thanksgiving
was poured out to Him who watches the spar
row’s fall. There was a mistake somewhere;
this blonde-haired man was not the lover of her
heart. A shadow fell before her as she rose from
her knees, but she did not see it.
“I believe he has been true all these sad
He has. Ruth— my Ruth !”
Sidncj-F It wa.' hie very <=e ,f «fno<IiT>g
there—the old light in his eyes, the old smile on
his care-worn face; his hands holding her own,
as in bygone days.
“My darling, I never knew, until you wrote
that letter to my cousin Sydney, that you were
Explanations followed, interspersed with
smiles and tears. We have nothing to do with
these. But Sadie was bridesmaid soon after,
and now there are two Mrs. Sidney Darrels.
[For The Sunny South.]
THE REGIME OF CIVILIZATION.
BY SILVIA HOPE.
How striking, how revolutionizing, how indi
vidualizing has civilization been upon man!
The Indian, in his wigwam beneath the forest
tree; the African, ’mid his deep jungles; the
Hottentot, even the Hindoo, whose “melan
choly, meditative eyes ” retain tokens of that
ancient race from whence mythology and mys
tical philosophy are derived, afford significant
illustrations of this fact. Mark their features.
The brow is narrow, the nose flat, the eyes dull,
the skin coarse, and the limbs, though symmet
rical and lithe, lacking in that refinement and
delicacy of contour to be found only among peo-
myrtle holds the subtlest breath and fire of the
sunbeams that delight to drift into its rosy flut-
ings, and take there noon-slumber. It is then, and
only then that its subtle and inimitable perfume
' is smelled. Its emblem is love. One breath of
its fragrance ! and waves of memories and senti-
I ments, half lost in their divine etheriality, troop
in upon the soul with flood-tide swiftness, bear
ing down the Present and enthroning the Fast,
deified and robbed of all that ever left a shadow
on the heart; then it was penetrated by “thoughts
too deep for tears.” Again we w ished to ask, why
! is the perfmne of a flower so potent? Possibly
| you may not have seen this bloom of your
: choice for years, or thought of the associations
linking it to a past era, bin. at the first touch of
its fragrance, you behold tlie dead past returned
in all the beautiful robes of lift-;
“ For slight withal may be the thiugs which bring
Back on the heart the weight which it would fling
Aside forever; it may be a sound—
A tone of music—summers-eve—or spring—
A lj-.rtVr—the 1C 2.:i—the ecean— which shell wound
.Striking the eliotric chain wherewith we are darkly
True, a tone of music, a certain glimpse of land
scape, a voice, a melody, may awaken in the
caverns of the soul echoes of hushed music yo-
have pined to hear; but the scent of a Howe
recall the dearest bliss, the sweetest memories
the heart ever knew, and with these the afflu
ence of love, and all the heavenliness of its in
So we mused; thinking, too, of how little the
planter of that myrtle tree knew of the silent en
joyment another, for whom not intended, would
realize from its blooming. Of course it was a
woman’s planting, and could she have looked
down the years to its perfect growth, and seen a
wanderer reaping a secret pleasure thereof, sud
denly surrounded by a troop of glorious mem
ories, would she not have planted them till the
“’desert bloomed as the rose ” for many a weary
traveler? She intended good, and “a good in
tention clothes itself with power. When a god
wishes to ride, any chip or pebble will bud or
shoot out winged feet, and serve him for a horse.”
Did it ever occur to you, youthful reader, how
infinite is the beautiful ?—how surely that, when
planting selfishly for ourselves, we are, uncon
sciously oft, sowing an hundred joys for some
unknown, who will through soul-light transmit
their bliss down the years, until waves of liappi-
clandestinety’, and so we met only by chance.
“Four long years of waiting, hoping and toil
ing. With each, my fondest dreams of his suc
cess were realized. Competence was his at last,
and such laurels as he had won might have
graced a king’s brow. We went to my father on
pie of civilized countries.
Upon the animal kingdom, remodelings have ■ ness hither may touch the crystal walls of heaven
been made through man's agency, changing the ° itself? One of our best writers has truly said:
“Life is a boundless privilege, and when you
pay for your ticket and get into the car, you
have no guess what good company you shall find
there. You buy much that is not rendered in
the bill. ” And so does the beautiful, like a si
red and golden fruit, that astonishes the eye of lent divinity or goddess, stand ever in your path
the beholder. A magic wand has waved over ; with open hands bearing offerings for your soul;
Flora’s realm, and weeds, Cinderella-like, have if you do not like them, that is your own blind-
color, form and instinct; within the vegetable
Sidney Darrell was too true to do anything \ world, the pomologist’s hand is carefully traced.
' ' Bitter, poisonous almonds have yielded luscious
peaches; hard, sour crab-apples, basking in
European suns, have been perfected into great,
and caterpillars were of one of the plagues of my twenty-second birthday, confidently expect- I doffed their homely garments and appeared in I ness. She knows naught of mine and thine.
Egypt swarming on the vines around my win
dow, crawling on my pillow, swimming in my
wash-basin, and making my blood run cold with
their unexpected wriggling down my back or
behind my ears. I could not stand it, sir—I
could not support the want of proper food, exer
cise and sleep. Above all, I was disgusted with
the perpetual coarse tittering of those three
young women in the butterflies, and at the end
of a fortnight, I left.
The advertisement which next attracted my
attention was as follows:
“Delightful country board, in a small private
family, for one or two single gentlemen. Pic
turesque scenery. Refined and cultivated soci
ety. Home comforts. Unexceptionable refer
ences required. Address M. W., Woodbine Cot
The answer to my letter was satisfactory, ex
cept that the terms were rather high. However,
I went to Woodbine Cottage. Why jt was called
so I don’t know, unless that there wasn’t a sprig
of woodbine on the place. Neither was it a cot
tage, but a dingy brick house of the shabby-
genteel sort. The family consisted of Miss
Wynter, a stiff, precise, middle-aged lady, and
Miss Georgiana Wynter, whose age it was more
difficult to decide upon. She said she was five-
and-twenty; I should set her down as some
dozen years older. She was tall and thin. She
wore her hair in a curly crop, like a school-girl.
She had very pink cheeks, and a perpetual ami
able simper. She was always quoting poetry.
Sometimes she was remarkably sprightly, and
then again would appear pensive and languish
ing. She said she had never in her life met
with a kindred spirit, and that she felt very
lonely in consequence. She seng sentimental
songs, and was partial to strolling on the lawn
in the moonlight, and she always managed to
get either Jones or myself to accompany her on
these strolls. Jones was the other boarder.
The Misses Wynter were very genteel. They
had superior table-linen and French china.
They served us with weak tea from an old silver
ing his cordial consent. Mine was not a patient
heart, and I could hardly bear his cold, pitiless
| rejection of Sidney this second time, when no
i reason was apparent. The bitter truth came at
! last. For months I had received marked atten
tion from a reputed millionaire. I had felt like
a guilty creature in doing so, for I hold human
hearts too sacred to be sported with, but father
had left me no chance to avoid him, and I could
not see where I was drifting Father was on
the eve of bankruptcy, and Gilbert Morris would
save his sinking credit at the price of my hand.
Don’t blame poor old father for urging me to
this loveless marriage. I know he suffered in
finitely more than Sidney or I. My step
mother was ill—dying, we thought, with con
sumption. She was reared in luxury, and it was
terrible to my father to think of her bearing pov
erty. I could not sacrifice myself, but I had
some property left me by my own mother, and
that sustained my father’s credit while my step
mother lived, which was only three months
“The morning before I gave Gilbert Morris
my final answer, I received a note from Sid
ney, saying he would sail within an hour for
Europe—that, as I was to be the wife of another,
he must travel to forget the past.
“I looked for him to come to me when the
crash came and father died; but he never even
wrote. Still, I believed he would come back,
and in this belief lived and worked.
“There was no time to sit and nurse my grief.
My young step-sisters, Essie and Daisy, anil
myself must be supported. This dear old place
of grandma Kirks was left me; I had uncle Eben,
our faithful old gardener, so I commenced mar
ket gardening for a living. I tried teaching, too;
but it was so confining, I gave it up after one
term. I then added a small dairy to my garden,
and by close economy was enabled to live com
fortably, even happily-”
“ Happily ?” questioned undisciplined Sadie.
“ Yes; I do think any one who cultivates a sub
missive spirit, and conscientiously performs
robes so dazzling that the heavens, with their All is thine if you will, though you may not own
purple anil sapphire-tinted raiments, might j standing-room on God’s footstool! And more-
blush with chagrin at such rivalry.
In all conditions of life, in all ages, civiliza
tion has been marked. Its architectural fingers
have made modifications and improvements upon
the palace of the soul, specific and determined;
and these, in turn, have wrought changes upon
the body and face—the out-dwelling and win
dow of the inner man.
“ Like produces like.” This we see in every
condition of the children of time. The unedu
cated man, with his predominant animality,
writes upon his face with severe fidelity the war
waging between good and evil in his soul. The
refined man, passing his life in thought and stu
dious pursuits, manifests to us the truth that
the higher the culture, the more varied the ex
pression and the nearer to beauty’s perfection.
The physical man is thus but a photograph of
the mental and spiritual man; and the magnetic
influence which the French thaumaturge has
named I’esprit deviro, is the connecting link be
tween body and soul.
In different eras, men have lived and died, and
left monuments of themselves in the shape of
noble heads and features. The beautiful, poetical
face of Chaucer, the parent of English poetry, can
never be forgotten. One could look and admire
forever the broad, open brow, mastering the
lower part of the face at will, the straight sensi
tive nose, the sweet mouth, soft as a woman’s
and poetical in extreme—a mouth that Adam
m ight have possessed in his most innocent days—
and the chin, round and humane.
What a grand expression is that of Milton!
It is chiseled from a mind of sorrowful intel
lect, comparable with none save, perhaps, that
of “ the blind old man of Scio’s rocky isle,” who
begged his daily bread as, traveling from town
to town, he sang his lays to the music of the
The Elizabethan Age stands in bold relief in
the stride of civilization. Giant intellect aroused
itself from priestly domination, and gave to the
| over, “a man is a beggar who only lives to the
useful, for however he may serve as a pin or
rivet in the social machine, he cannot be said to
have arrived at self-possession. He does not
now the charm with which all moments and ob
jects can be embellished.”
Musing thus on the pleasure given by a little
flower, we felt the loveliest gratitude, and trom
gratitude we reasoned of virtue, Christian virtue,
and another question arose that we lugged in for
solution by the kind editor: Why is it that prim
itive Christianity, founded on “love thy neighbor
as thyself ” seems forever banished from any prac
tical usage? When the highest code of morals,
the Bibe, commands “ forgive seventy-times-
seven,” “lend hoping for nothing in return;
and we note it a common occurrence with the
church people, espousers of the cause of Christ,
to refuse a neighbor the use of a hoe, or a horse,
or a bucket of water, or a seat in his carriage,
or charity to his thought, patience for his weak
ness, light and sense for his lack of wisdom,
we very much fear that there is a deal of theory,
not much practice or works, and still less of
feeling, or religion; religion, which also means
love, or God.
Hushing these queries, with their brood of
hard, or bitter, or lofty reflections, we further
thought on the “times out of joint,” and again
stumbled on a rock of offense in the question,
Why do men, en masse, ignore or dread fine cul
ture, fine acquirements, exalted virtues, unusual
attributes in women ? Or in other words, Why
do they, in taking the most fatal step in life, sel
dom choose an equal or a superior? Without
citing evidences of the fact, we leave the subject,
and hope the editor will examine the long array
of evidence, solve the problem and “teach them
A half-finished horn, a slab-sided ’possum
dog, and a club-ax, make a nigger as happy as a