Newspaper Page Text
[For The Sonny Sooth.]
SATURDAY NIGHT.
BY LOUISE RUTHERFORD.
All alone in the firelight’s gleam,
That glitters so rnddily bright,
I sit and think of the present, and dream
Of the fntnre that sheds not a ray, not a beam,
To cheer my journey adown life's stream
This sad, silent Saturday night.
But then to the past I ever can torn.
And there find a theme of delight;
For, gazing far back through the years, I discern
Some dearly-loved faces which Fate, ever stern,
Has severed too widely, and often I yearn
To be with them on Saturday night.
1 have stood by my father's chair.
Just under the lamp's soft light.
And stroked his dark, glossy locks of hair.
While he told us tales so quaint and rare.
Oh! it was an hour to us most fair.
And it came but on Saturday night.
I have knelt at my mother’s knee,
W’hen soft fell the shades of night.
And lisped the prayer she taught to me;
To the'merciful Father I could not see.
Ah! I do not pray now so trustingly
As I once did on Saturday night.
Union- Springs, Alabama.
“Tain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye.”
Bnt not from the same sublime elevation of that
great man. I hate the pomp and glory because
I desire them so much and cannot get them.
Recall my previous reference to the brown me
rino dress, and you have the key to my Pandora’s
box. Let me whisper in your ear that I have
dreamed of and pined for a black silk suit for
lo! these two years. And just at this very time,
above all others, I have wanted it, and, what is
better, there actually seemed a probability of
getting it until this last tax bill loomed up.
And now my black silk is to be swallowed up
by this cormorant, the internal revenue man—
[For The Sunny South.]
LETTER FROM NEW YORK.
A Dream of the Tropics—The ‘•Undertakers'
Picnic”—Lare-Naklng-The Institute Pair
—The October Monthlies.
New York, October, 1875.
For the past month or six weeks, there has been
on exhibition at Barnes’ Garden, on Fourteenth
street, a superb collection of tropical plants
and trees. Among them the sago, date, oil, and
other magnificent palms, branching their gigan
tic, fan-shaped leaves overhead and on all sides
mav it choke him until he is the color of my T V ■ , ,7 uu 1111
may n . , . ... ! like umbrellas. There is also the sugar palm,
hopes and my silk. Yes, I wished that suit „ T „..„ tu —V. ’.
{ hopes and my
above all things this winter, because Mabel Moore,
my nearest friend, is to have one, and because—
| because—I might as well confess it, Frank said I
would look positively majestic in a silk robe;
that I was already a* queenly-looking girl, and
| that with this addition, I would look nothing
less than an empress. Frank seems very fond of
a native of Java. The specimens of tree-ferns
are truly wonderful, many of them reaching to
a height of ten or twelve feet, and one being
over fifteen. The long, waving branches or
leaves (casting trembling lace-like shadows on
the graveled walks) are as delicate and feathery
as the most fragile swamp or lowland fern. A
splendid fern of the shorter kind is the Also-
! Tom; and yet he is more than five years older; ) u Australis, about two feet in height, which
at anv rate, he is constantly dropping in and {. r .’ , . • , b _ V
[For The Sunny South.
JUST HOW IT
IS.
at any rate, he is constantly dropping
| asking about his last specimens of birds, bring-
; ing him a book, or even a slip from a newspaper,
or something bearing upon his specialty. We
have always been intimate with Frank’s family,
but I never remember his coming so often to our
house as he does now, and is of course more
companionable. Frank is a handsome fellow,
1 and is always so polite to mother and me. He
1 told us last night that he had been assigned to
the first desk at Coleman’s, which promotion
j gives a decided addition to his pay. Frank’s
. taste about ladies’ dress is excellent, and he ad-
1 mires a black silk more than anything else. He
BY KITTY SOUTH.
forms a perfect fountain of beauty and grace.
The Adiantum Farleyense is the most exquisite of
all maiden hair ferns, the tremulous, tender
leaves being linked together with a thread-like
net-work of stems, ns delicate and small as strands
of hair, which gives it an appearance so frail and
delicate that it is in a continual aspen-like quiver.
This is a pot-plant, and would make an attractive
addition to window-gardens or hanging-baskets.
There are also fine cacti, (bananas, pineapples
(bearing), India-rubber trees, coral plants, etc.,
etc. One of the most remarkable plants is the
Chnnurraps Seenawana, a kind of palm, whose
trunk is closely wrapped with a cloth-like fibre
and whirring of machinery. In the centre of
the building is a large organ (the bellows being
supplied by steam) from the manufactory of
Jardine and Son. There are several colossal soda
fonts in the building, one towering up like an
Eastern mosque, with its glimmer of silver and
white marble. On the upper floor there is a pic
ture-gallery, and a restaurant for ladies; the
creature comforts, in the way of oysters, beer,
salads, etc., of the gentlemen are provided for
on the first floor, near the entrance. I shall have
to make another visit there before I can give an
exhaustive account, as it is impossible to see all
the articles exhibited in that enormous building,
and additions are being made, and changes taking
The Tempting Spirit.
We have often thought that we would like to
explore the boiling bowels of Vesuvius, and
study the secrets of that volcanic marvel; but we
know that its fierce fire is an element fatal to
such frail materiality as ours, and so the desire
is restrained. We would like to visit the deep
est caverns of the ocean—to pass along the un
trodden paths of the sea-bottom; but we know
that in that element the conditions of human
life are wanting. YVe would like, perhaps, the
, , ... strange, bewildering tempest of thought, thrill-
The October magazines are full of readable mat- : in S as armies rushing to battle, fierce as the
ter. The. Oalaxy contains additions to history
in tlieartides ‘‘Claims to the Discovery of Amer
ica,” by John T. Short, and the “Napoleon of His
tory,” by E. C. Grenville Murray; to biography,
in “The letters of Madame de Sabram,’ by H.
James, Jr., and a delightful article on Octave
strife of hostile hurricanes, resistless as the Al
pine avalanche, which results when the brain is
j fired and every nerve is strung to mightiest ac
tion by the poisoned fang of the serpent Alcohol;
bnt we know that these wild throes, departing,
Feuillet, by Albert Rhodes. Readers of romance i ] eave a p a i n , a nd that they are a destruction to
will be entertained by Rose Terry Cooke s “How 1
She Found Out,” “Leah ” and “ Dear Lady Dis
dain.” The poems of this number are by Mrs.
S. M. B. Piatt, De Forestand Fanny Barrow, and
none of them possess unusual or striking merit,
though they come from pens gifted with the . .
“divine afflatus.” The Atlantic has another very ! Bullt U P m bold rebellion between the soul and
health, and to life, and to souls. We know that
this bewildering tempest is but the wrestling of
reason with madness, and sometimes madness
wins; and then behold the nature of its empire!
Sscriin ‘r “‘s i .»
I am feeling ever so cross and crabbed to-day.
The ancient tabby that was crouching upon the
edge of the piazza, seeking to appropriate all of
the waning sunshine that Old Sol grants these
Indian summer days, and who was rudely pushed
away just now by Tom, to make room for his
own precious climbing, is not more thoroughly
at variance with fate. And yet, I am not an
cient, nor am I a cat; but I have been jostled i
aw T ay from the very edge of a gratification which j
promised me quite as much satisfaction as tab
by’s sunshine afforded her.
Ah me ! can any Euclid solve the problem of
the taxes? Why must they get higher and j
higher with each return of pay-day, while the
people who have to pay them get poorer and
poorer in the very same proportion ? I shall
take this opportunity now while mother has gone
out (with her usual saintly patience and meek
ness) to try and arrange for the payment of this
last “increased assessment,” to tell the whole
story of my wrongs. Mother thinks it unwom
anly and unchristian for me to talk as I do, and
she constantly reminds me of my brave father,
whose endurance of wrong was as sublime as his
death upon the battlements of Fort Sumter.
But it is all in vain for mother to try and incul
cate the martyr spirit in me. The lovely plant
is not indigenous, and unluckily, no matter how
often she transplants a healthy shoot, the soil is
too foreign - it is dried up and withered without
delay.
Well, to begin with the beginning, motherand
Tom and I constitute the family. I was four
years old when father was killed, and Tom came
to us some months after we had laid him beside
little Allie in the church-yard. Of course, I
cannot recall much of the struggling, and plan
ning which mother had to do in those years im
mediately following the surrender, but a few
facts stand boldly out and cannot be erased by
succeeding years. I remember distinctly seeing
her arranging and re-arranging the bureau which
contained articles of father’s clothin
tenderly and tearfully she did this work! There
seemed something almost soothing in arranging
those drawers—some association of happy home-
life, and a lovelight would come into the eyes
even through the mist. But when she would
open the trunk which contained his wearing ap
parel while in the service, where each article
represented hardship, separation and death, oh!
what a burst of wild weeping and moaning en
sued ! I always dreaded to see her unlock that
trunk. It was not long before mother had to
part with one after another of these articles, so
sacred in her eyes, in order to procure the means
of subsistence. I remember at first it was a fear
ful trial to do this, and the usual result was one
of her terrible headaches, which is only another
name for an illness. But gradually that strength
which is born of suffering in a woman of mother’s
mould came to her, and she disposed of father’s
clothing, and many, many other things which
were sacred and dear, with wonderful calmness,
often resting her hand on my head, as I stood
beside her, and saying, “Only for you children
can I do this.” Once after this only do I remem
ber seeing her give way entirely to her feelings,
and that was when quite an enormous price, in
our poor, Confederate eyes, was offered for
father’s sword, which was imported and prized
as a Damascus blade.
We had had a very hard winter; both Tom
and I had been ill with tedious typhoid attacks.
The bills of physicians, apothecary and grocer,
beside the debt incurred for fuel, which was no
small item, from months of constant fires, were
all unpaid. The price offered for the sword was
enough to meet all these expenses, besides leav
ing a surplus suffleient to defray our stay for a
fortnight at a farm-house, which the doctor pre
scribed for us children. The sword was given
up, the purchase money lay in her grasp,
when suddenly catching up poor, feeble Tom
from the sofa, she wept over him, saying:
“Oh ! Tom, liow could I help it? I wanted to
keep it for you, but I could not—no, I could
not. ”
Yes, as far back as I can remember, mother has
practiced self-denial and the strictest economy,
and, with it all, we barely get along—simply
keep soul and body together. She has been
forced to deny me instruction in both music
and drawing; and how specially I should de
light in cultivating my talent for the last ac
complishment! As to the music, it is the vocal
branch that I love most, and, quite independent
of all masters in the art, I do sing with all my
soul. This is something that a girl can learn
from the birds and the stars and the flowers, and
all those things of beauty which serve to call
out music. I have sung in the choir at old
Trinity during the past summer, thanks to my
natural gift, and though no pay accompanied it,
still a constant improvement in my vocalization
has been the result. And now, since I have ac
quired a little notoriety in this line, Mrs. Beau
mont, over the way, has asked me to join the
Choral Union. I have attended two of these
meet iiigs, and think that I shall go quite regu
larly tuts winter; that is, as long as my brown
merino is presentable.
About Tom’s education, mother has to bear
sore disappointment. The boy is by no means
a fair specimen of the genus. He is very clever
in mathematics—the first in his class at the
Academy — but his specialty is ornithology.
His collect.o.1 of birds would please Audubon
himself; it is really quite won b rful. consider
ing his limited resources. To give him advant
ages for the perfecting of this bent of mind; to
place him wVr- lie could be fitted for useful
ness and distinction in this department has
been the dream with mother and Tom for six
years or more. But 1 am beginning to think
that this hope, like many others, is but an ignis
fatuus that leads you on but to deceive. Tom is
now in his fifteenth year, and without the cov
eted advantage presents itself pretty soon, it
can avail him nothing.
And now back to my cross and crabbed self,
can to-day ejaculate with Cardinal YVolsey:
invited him to spend Tuesday evening with
I them, and that he found them so very agreeable
as a family. Query: When Mabel gets her silk.
as the “Caffre’s wardrobe,” and one can easilv
imagine how quite a substantial garment coulft
be fashioned from its threads—substantial
will they not invite him round again, and.will : en , at any rate . for a dweller in Afri
he not find them still more agreeable? Of wher * tb nee J d not be verv fastidious as to tbe
course, Frank is nothing special to me, but I wamltb an J d tbickne ss of their costumes.
wouW enjoy so much havmg his opimon of my Anotber more beautiful, is the wonderful
silk, and hearing him say it I did really look like ; K )irilu Slnt<l , the flower of the Holy Dorethis-
know he likes Mabel i sma j[ wb (te flower, shaped like a butter-cup or
' philadelphns, growing on a long stem, after the
better than any of the girls in town except my
self, and I cannot for the life of me help think
ing that when she wears her “ dimpling silk,”
as the poet styles it, and I, as usual, my brown
merino (with the overskirt lengthened, of course)
she may outrank me with him.
Bnt here comes mother, with her face a shade
paler, and those two lines between her brows
deeper than when she went out, so I know she
has had to make a sacrifice of that one hundred
dollars which she has accumulated, almost cent
by cent, to give me that dress, and she must not
know that I have been all this while talking
about my troubles.
Well, I must say—
“ The hopes of youth fall thick in the blast;”
and if Frank goes much to the Moores’ this win
ter, and takes Mabel to the Choral Union oftener
than he takes me, will it not be that she looks so
elegant in her silk, and I look so old-timey in
my brown merino?
(Written for The Sunny South.]
THAT BOY OF MINE.
BY B. RIDGES.
I’ve forgotten how many babies spring up
1 annually in this world, but I am positively cer
tain that there never was, nor can there ever be,
a sweeter, smarter, or more interesting baby than
that boy of mine. Just five months ago he came
to us, and that five months has shaken more
wickedness out of me, and given me more gen-
un u happiness than five thousand Moodys an
° ' i Sankys could do.
Financially, I am irrecoverably busted; so
cially, an inveterate fraud; religiously, a regular
sinner from Sinnersville, but that boy of mine
knocks over with his chubby fists every cup of
sorrow my minor troubles fill abrim. This hap
piness—this healthful, glorious, sunshiny hap
piness-makes my labor lighter, makes the fu
ture brighter, and dispels every ghostly recollec
tion of the dark, dreamy days of the [last, giving
me hope, strength and joy, the greatest founda
tion a living man could ask for.
Here he is now ! and as I lay down my pencil
to release my whiskers from the precious grasp
of his wee fists, the musical gurgle of his baby
ish laugh fills my very soul with ecstacy and my
i heart swells with very joy.
Is he as sweet to other people ? Can they look
: at his dancing blue eyes, his velvety skin, his
| dainty dimples and cunning capers and think
with me and wife that he is the sweetest, smart
est and darlingest of babies ! Ah, no. They
I chuck him under his dimpled chin, praise him
j a little for manners’ sake, and he is dropped from
their thoughts. To us he is the pur excellence
j of perfection (if there be such a thing), and the
whole world full of shining gold dollars could
! not buy even his little finger,
No matter how tired I am when the bell has
sounded six o’clock, at the shop, after a hard
day’s work, I hurry home to play with the baby.
And with one little babyish, musical dido, the
cares, troubles and weariness of the long day
vanish, and I loosen the tethers of manhood
and am soon as much of a baby as the darling
cherub I fondle in my arms.
And as he sleeps, when bright, beautiful smiles
come and go, now creeping in ripples over his
pretty face, then scampering away in merry fright
as if afraid of waking him, wife and I stand watch
ing and picturing his far-off future. We long to
see him in trowsers -to buy him wagons and
hobby-horses, and hear his merry prattle ring
joyously through our home and hearts. Then,
idly longing, we want to see him with the flush
of boyhood on his cheeks—to see him trudging
along to school with his little tin bucket and his
bundle of books —the brightest scholar and the
best playfellow of the school. And then, still
idly longing, we want to see him when manhood
knits his comely form—to see him welcomed by
his fellows, towering above them all in intellect
and all the attributes of the Christian man,—
the highest wish of his mother’s heart, the very
acme of his father’s ambition.
But now he awakes ! The blue eyes open ten
derly, and, as he sees us, he laughs just such a
laugh as I imagine the angels laugh, and stretches
out his little hands for mama.
One little tooth—like a wee grain of rice set
in richest coral—has pushed its way through his
gum, and that makes him ten times more valu
able to us. We have watched for that tooth for a
month. Before it came wife would look for it and
forty times a day imagined that it was through.
Every time I came from work she would declare
most positively that the precious tooth was nearly
through. At last it came, and our hearts held a
general thanksgiving jubilee. We called in the
neighbors, and wrote to all our relations about
it. In tine, we came near going crazy over it,
but the boy did not seem to care any more for it
than if he had never heard of a tooth.
But I grow sleepy. Baby and wife have long
since gone to sleep, and my candle flickers in its
death throes. I go to bed as rich as a king, as
proud as a new congressman, and happy as a
sunflower.
manner of the gladiolus and tube-rose. As the
flower unfolds, a figure of a dove with outspread
i wings, perfectly shaped, with a round breast,
pink bill, and everything complete, is plainly
| seen in the very heart of the flower. Palms,
ferns, and various other tropical plants waved
i around us on all sides and overhead, and but for
the brisk whisper of autumn breezes in the air,
I we would have fancied that we had been trans-
' ported to one of the wondrous isles of the South
Sea, and that we were drinking in the cool, ver-
! durous, tranquil beauty of Charles Warren Sto 1-
i dard’s “Chapel of the Palms.” Such an exhibi-
I tion as this in the heart of a great, noisy city, is
l like a foretaste of paradise. I must not forget
the African Minow, a gorgeous black and orange
I chatterer, who greeted us at the entrance with
| the most peculiar hospitality, asking, in a rough,
' disagreeable voice, “ When are you going home —
I when are you going home ?” And, after seeing
i that we ignored the question, muttered, in a
hoarse, human whisper, “Do go home, do go
1 home;” “Go west, go west.” His voice is very
different from the metallic utterances of the par
rot family, and much more human. He would
| be a God-send to certain people, bored almost to
the verge of insanity by visitors who, having
nothing in the world to do themselves, calmly
conclude every one else to be in the same
lamentable condition; and, I think, would be a
’ peculiarly good investment for certain distracted
! editors that I wot of.
At the corner of Fourth avenue and
sparkling paper from Frances Anne. Kemble,
whose “Old Woman’s Gossip” is fast becoming
the attraction of the magazine. Hiram Rich con
tributes fire exquisite poems, full of lofty con
ception and faultless expression. Edgar Fawcett
and Mrs. Piatt’s poems are both good. Emily
God, it is defiant of the good. The terrific reign
of evil is set up. We know it is the strife of the
two spirits of the soul—each earnest for the em
pire, each eager to add another subject to his
master’s kingdom, and one has dwelt long in
Ford S“ Oleander Free is not a success in dia- j be sou ] ) even from infancy, and has checked
l ec fc storv-tcllinc. Tho ornoloo nn “ sniirnorn •
The articles on “Southern
Home Politics,” “Arthur Hugh Clough ” and the
very original and quaint paper entitled “ The
the youth in many a downward course. It is
from heaven. It would lead the soul up to God.
Curious Republic of Gondour” (which I take it ! The other is no stranger guest, but comes each
comes from the pen of the Editor, Mr. Howells) time in some new guise _the cunning, artful
render the October number one of unusual and !
striking interest. Harper insures our .attention
and delight in the outset with the excellent poem
“Alone Again,” by Jean Ingelow. Junius Henri
Brown, that most prolific of all magazine writers,
discourses on “Parisian Journalists.” M. D.
Conway gives the second paper on the “South
Kensington Museum.” Honorable S. S. Cox
touches up “Legislative Humors,” with an oc
casion tribute to Southern and YVestern States.
"The Origin of Maize” is very gracefully told in
a smooth-flowing poem by “Latienne” (Miss
Bachus, of Savannah), who is fast becoming well
known as a charming writer of both prose and
verse. The article on the “Land of the Lakes”
is beautifully illustrated and very well written.
Scribner’s most marked and interesting paper
is entitled “A Mad Ylan of Letters,” by Francis
Gerry Fairchild. In it he takes the ground that
Poe was not eccentric, but mad; and says that
he was a great sufferer from cerebral epilepsy.
I quote: “Edgar A. Poe was the victim of cere
bral epilepsy. The majority of his later tales are
based upon the hallucination incident to that
malady. Furthermore, he was always aware, in i
his later years, of impending dementia, and
lived and wrote on amid the impenetrable gloom
occasioned by his condition.” If this be true
(and it is much more generous and charitable
than the explanations given by Griswold and
others), we can but wonder and admire the mad
ness and disease which has given to the world
some of the most faultless poems and many of j f or t une
the most imaginative stories ever penned. If
“Annabelle Lee” and “To Annie” are the out
growths of “a mind diseased,” it were well that
some of our latter-day poets were struck with
the same madness. Scribner’s long'poem, “Jes-
| samine,” is by Geo. P. Lathrop, one of the edit-
A Swimming Girl.—The papers say an En
glish girl recently swam five miles in the
Thames; another capped the effort by swimming
seven miles; and now a third plucky little crea
ture has thrown all former feats by women in
the shade by making ten miles. The champion
is said by the London Times of the twentieth
ultimo to be about fourteen years of age. She
swam fairly the whole way, remaining in the
water two hours and twenty-seven minutes.
composed
plants, “the dusty miller,” the countless varie
ties of glowing amber and ruby colens, and looks
likean immense bouquet of rare, brilliant flowers.
There is a pretty history connected with it. The
original owner, being a lover of flowers and
plants, left a certain sum in his will to keep this
collection always fresh and beautiful. How po
etical and original the thought! and is it not
much more beautiful a memorial and monument
than the chill, cold eulogies of marble shaft and
granite vault?
Tae most cheerful picnic or merry-making
that 1 have heard of in some time was the “ Un-
dertakeis' Picnic.” The newsboys, police and
many other branches of trade and business have
had their frolic, and it seemed quite reasonable
and natural; but isn’t there just a spice of con
tradiction and irony in the idea of the “grave
diggers’ festival ?”
One of the newest and most interesting enter- I
prises here is the lace making factory at No. 907 !
Broadway, (Madame Carter’s). It has been or
ganized not only because it was a great need in !
! this country, and would enable the lovers of fine ;
laces to obtain them at much lower rates than
i when subjected to the exorbitant rates of impor-
| tation, but because it Would give employment to
large number of girls now idle or struggling for
j a mere pittance. These girls will be instructed
: free of charge, and so soon as they become skillful
, and capable, will he employed at wages ranging
i from three to six dollars per week. There will
i also he a parlor class where ladies can be taught
i this beautiful art, by paying a small amount for
their instruction. Like most new enterprizes, it
had not been very active during the summer,
and has been awaiting the revival of fall trade
to give it an impetus. The specimens shown at
Madame Carter’s are as delicate, filmy and beau
tiful as any of foreign manufacture, and repre
sent all the most elegant and difficult styles.
Madame Carter is well known as a designer of
fans, laces and hundreds of other pretty and
tasteful adjuncts of the toilet, and it is only nec
essary to know that she is at the head of this
manufactory to secure its immediate recognition
and success.
The Institute Fair is now open, and will con
tinue until late in October. The building be
tween Sixty-third and Sixty-second streets, on
Third Avenue, is an immense one, and though
the Fair is not considered so decided a success
as those of former years, it is still a very inter
esting one in some departments. The most com
plete and best filled section is that devoted to
machinery, the building being supplied with
steam sufficient to keep all the engines going at
lull speed during the hours of exhibition. Port
able steam engines, boiler feed pumps, steam
pumps, pile drivers, hoisting engines, all work
ing away with a puffing of steam and a rushing
of water; sawing going, cutting out frames and
fanciful scroll work, as if by magic, from one
piece of walnut or maple; sewing machines of
a dozen or more different makes stitching with
wonderful rapidity and accuracy, the motive
power being steam and the operators sitting
quietly by with idle feet and hands, scarcely
seeming to guide the work under the pri-sser
foot. New models in furniture, carriages, stoves
and ranges, tasteful collections of pa sse-partouts,
picture frames and ornaments, plated ware and
watches, tortoise-shell jewelry, laces, samples of
fine shoes, gentlemen’s clothing, French flowers,
shirts, glass blowers, exhibitions of rustic brack
ets, chairs, flower stands, settees, etc., collections
of embroidery and “spatter-work,” and of costly
scraps and perfumeries; these and many others
form the attractions of the place. The collec
tion of fruit is meagre, and of flowers also —
though the latter is excusable, as they have reg
ular flower-show days, w'hen this department is
full and interesting, and the florists could not be
expected to keep a constant supply of fresh
flowers there for nearly two months. There is a
band there led by Reiffe, which probably dis
courses sweet music, but which is somewhat
drowned and deadened by the constant buzzing
Mushroom-eaters can learn all about them in an
article entitled “Vegetable Eccentricities.”
“Heather-Bloom,” by Mary E. Bradley, is musi
cal and beautiful. “H. H.” (Helen Hunt) con
tributes a sonnet. I hope we shall not lose her
beautiful poems and prose articles when she
goes to Colorado. She is to be married this ' revelry,
month to a Mr. Jackson, of Colorado, a banker, i Oh, thirst! much as thou hast won from hie, I
serpent!
Clothed in sunshine and merriment, it comes
; to the school-boy, with marbles and tops or fish
ing-tackle, and lures him to the play-ground or
brook, and makes him truant. Clothed in gold,
it comes to the man of business and wins him
| from his stern integrity. Clothed in the pride
of worldly power, it invades the sanctuary and
wins the worshipper from the cross, the insig
nia of disciplesliip, to bow to the Baal of world-
I liness—wins the herald of the gospel of peace
and salvation and love from his allegiance, tempts
him to dishonor his office, converts his talents,
and prostitutes the sanctuary to secular schemes.
Seldom, perhaps, is the evil spirit more seduc
tive than when clothed in the wihlering dreams
induced by the intoxicating cup—seldom more
seductive, seldom more fearfully destructive,
seldom more successful in its work of woe. It
hurls reason from its throne. This is, perhaps,
almost its last work; but before this, it binds
such giant gyves upon the will that one is ready
to say, “Talk not to me of reason. I know that
I am rushing on to ruin, but what recks the rev
eler? YVeleome, ruin and revelry ! There’s my
give me the flowing bowl! Take the
long-cherished home of my fathers, but give me
the frothing tankard. Here’s the clothing of my
old, once-loved mother; let the blood cool and
curdle in her veins—give me what will make
mine boil and surge again. Take the food of
my famishing lamand give me what wiii
quench this fiery thirst. Pour me a brimming
measure, for I will pay yet grander guerdon.
Here’s my health and large division of my earthly
years; and here’s my character as a man, my in
tegrity, my honor—all this I give thee; give me
Is it not enough ? Then have I more.
and will hereafter reside in that State. Another
noteworthy marriage is the union of Mrs. Lillie
Moulton (the charming soprano who warbled for
us all down in Dixie three winters ago) to Kam-
merherr I on liegeman Lindecrone, the Danish
minister to this country. Denmark has given
us two of her sweetest singers, and it is but fair
that we should give her one of ours.
Mel R. Colquitt.
TEM PERANCE.
OFFICIAL ORGAN OF THE I. O. G. T.
Thu Lodges are Responding. j
YY r e give below the names of the lodges which
have responded in behalf of their official organ, j
All of them will respond- None are too poor
to take two copies, and some will take many
more than two. YVe shall publish all that re
spond, and jteep them standing in type. Social j
Lodge, located at Jewells’, sends up S10 for four i D. Ford. YVith such material as there is in this
am rich still. I have trust in God; I have hope
of life, eternal life in Christ. Take them; I give
thee my inheritance, my hope, my God, my Sav
ior, my soul,—I give them all; I give them for
ever, to experience ag.ain the strange excitement,
the bewildering tempest of intoxication !”
YVe say we would like, perhaps, this fearfully-
costly revelry, and to explore the deep caverns
of the sea and the volcano’s bosom; but the laws
of nature forbid us to indulge these likings, and
we obey.
Good Templar Briefs.
Harmony Lodge No. 205, of Augusta, is one of
the leading lodges in the State, and will yet be
more prominent. At their regular meeting on
the evening of the ninth instant, two of the most
gallant as well as prominent young men of the
city were initiated,—YV. M. D’Antignac and Dr.
j copies. Let us hear from all at once.
Lodge 171, at Jewells’ Mills, four copies. S10.
Lodge 257, at Bartow, two copies, SO.
Lodge 387, at Jonesboro, two copies, $5.
Salvation for the Drunkard.
In a great meeting in Lancashire, my home,
where it was the custom to invite sinners to
what we calleil the “penitent form,” for prayer, J
there was a poor, wretched drunkard. As he j
was going out, some one asked him to remain.
“You don’t think I can be a Christian?” said ;
the poor drunkard. “ I do,” was the answer, “ if
you are a sinner.” “But I am not going to sign
the pledge any more,” said he; “I’ve signed it
twenty times, and never will again.” “No matter,
go and kneel with the others there, and we will
pray for you.” So he went, and good people
knelt beside him and prayed, As he was kneel
ing there, the chapel door opened, and a poor
little girl put her pale face inside. She had on
no bonnet; her clothes were in tatters, and the
rain dripped from them in little pools at her
feet. She was afraid, at first, to come in to the
light and warmth out of the storm, but the man
at the door drew her in. “YVhat do you want,
little girl?” “ Please, sir, I heard as my father
was coming in here, and I came to see if it was
true. YVliv, that’s my father,” she said, pointing
to the kneeling drunkard. “ Tell me, please sir,
what he is doing.” Then, permission being given,
patter, patter, patter went the little bare feet up
the aisle to the penitent form. She knelt down
by her father and putting her arms around his
neck, said, “Father, what are^you doing here?
“I’m asking God to forgive me for my badness.”
“And if He forgives you, shall we be happy
then?” “Yes.” “Shall we have bread then?”
“Yes.” “YVill you never strike me again?”
“No.” “And will you stay here till I bring my
mother?” “Yes.” Out she went into the storm,
and soon returned with a wretched-looking
woman wb,o had a tattered shawl over her head,
and this poor wife went and knelt down by her
husband’s side, and prayed: “ O God! save me
too!” And God heard and saved them all.
J ust as I was leaving England a friend came to
me to say good-bye. “ I have been,” said he, “to
the home of that drunkard’s family to take tea.
You would not know them. There is a plenty to
eat, plenty to wear. Their home is a little heaven. ”
O friends, Jesus left heaven to make people
glad.—Harry Morehouse.
lodge, we shall expect good results.
J. K. Thrower, Grand YVorthy Treasurer and
District Deputy for the Fifth Congressional dis
trict, went down to Clayton county on Satur-
1 day, the ninth instant, and organized Mt. Zion
: Lodge No. 435, with a fine list to start oil’ with,
' and a fine set of officers.
S. C. Robinson, Grand YVorthy Secretarj', made
a rousing speech at Hamilton Lodge room on
the evening of the fourteenth, and was followed
by YV. A. Breckenridge, of Lawrenceville, and
R. E. O’Donnelly, Lodge Deputy of Hamilton
Lodge.
H. K. Shackleford went to Paulding county on
the sixteenth, and organized a splendid lodge of
Good Templars, which is No. 430.
Th# Good Templars of Carroll county will
hold a mass-meeting on the twenty-third instant.
A grand basket dinner and some eloquent
speeches are the attractions.
Every lodge in the State that has not recom
mended a Deputy for the year, or subscribed for
The Sunny South, should address the Grand
Secretary at once.
A private letter to S. C. Robinson, Grand YVor
thy Secretary, from Gainesville, says the Good
Templars are looking up in that city since the
Grand Lodge close 1 its s -ssion.
On the Highway of Pleasure.
Our respected Mayor, YV. S. YY T illiams, Esquire,
is being feted and lionized in a perfect round of
admiration by his temperance friends South. At
Louisville, Kentucky, lie was met by the Grand
YVorthy Secretary of the State; at Nashville, Ten
nessee, by the Grand YVorthy Chief and Grin l
Secretary, and at Atlanta, Georgia, by Colonel
Hickman, J. G. Thrower, S. \V. Robinson and
others. At this last pla -.<■ lie was presented with
the freedom of the city, by the Mayor, and he
and his amiable wife were the guests of Colonel
Hickman, at his beautiful home. YVe hope Mr.
YVilliams will not be so very favorably impressed
with the Americans and their country that he
shall cease to feel, “Then- is no place like our
beloved Canada,” but trust that he will come
again witn renewed health and vigor, and
more cheenul spirit to perform his arduous
duties among ns.—Canada Casket.