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[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.