The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907, November 13, 1875, Image 7
[For Tbe Smiuy South.]
GEORGIA.
BY M. C. T.
As cross the heaven’s broad expanse.
Night drives her dark aud shadowy car.
While through her trailing sable robe
Shines forth one bright aud golden star,
So through the gloom that wraps our land
Iu folds as dark aud grim as fate
Beams forth, with radiance pure and bright,
The new life of our dear old State.
True hearts and brave have struck for thee;
Strong hands have held thy colors fast;
Aud soon again we’ll see thee stand
Where erst thou stood in years long past.
We see thee rise from out the waves
That long have ’whelmed thee, strong aud free,
With shame all past, now fresh and pure
As Aphrodite from the sea.
And Mississippi's shackled bands
Would lain clasp thine in friendly greeting;
And Carolina's humbled head
Is raised to see thy brave sons meeting;
While Louisiana's proud heart, wrung
With shame by bayonets tixed upon her,
Calls with a clarion voice to them
To help restore her “stabbed State honor.”
Now Memory’s magic hand withdraws
The curtain that obscures the past,
Aud from the darkness forth there comes
A shadowy baud of numbers vast,—
Of able statesmen, patriots pure,
Whose lives are now thy boast and pride—
As Cuthbert, Berrien, Crawford, Troup,
And scores of others true and tried.
Thou still hast sons as staunch and brave.
There’s o«< whose name shall live in story;
He risked a nation s last sad charge,
Aud led the vau in search of glory;
Yet who, though happiest when the hail
Of shell and shot did round him rattle,
Laid down with knightly laith his sword,
Aud tights for thee a nobler battle.
And by ..lis side another stands
Who 1 ears a name of brightest lustre—
Around which, lrom thy earliest days.
Heroic deeds and virtues cluster.
And though another people's love
Have given him his high place to fill.
Yet at the sound of thy dear name,
1 know his heart must ever thrill.
Aud still another son thou hast,
Whose fame is now thy proudest boast—
With giant mind aud patriot heart,
Forever ready at his post,—
Whose spirit-stirring words shall pierce
The cold, deaf ear of power aud might.
Aud tear from blinded eyes the vail
That hides from them the people's right.
Well may the tyrant cower to see
The radiance ot thy rising star.
Which now can claim such noble names
As Hill and Cordon aud Lamar;
For who can doubt, with men like these,
Georgia shall live her sorrows down.
And know aagin, iu years to come,
“The glorv of her old renown?”
Shreveport, Louisiana.
is one constant act of self-sacrifice and denial then make an arrangement to obtain supplies on dreamed of “ Aunt Nancy.” I could recall noth- This quite pacified her; hut I could see the
for the comfort of his family. The trouble is credit. The time of credit expired, she would : ing hut this. Aunt Nancy was mixed up with perplexed look coming back to her face again,
that liis salary is not as large as his large family apply for money to pay her hills, that she might all sorts of scenes and people. Occasionally, and she seemed to he looking among the red
requires, and even this inadequate salary is ir
regularly paid. He is too sensitive to expose
his difficulties, and as for asking for assistance,
I know of nothing that could force him to take
such a step.”
“Well, chile, de good Lord aint forgot you.
Since freedom, I’se seen a heap o’ ups and downs,
an’ times has been when it looked if I must per-
renew it. She failed to obtain much oftener something that Aunt Nancy had said darted coal of the grate for the solution of her prob-
than she succeeded, and the dark intervals— through my mind. When I left the room I had lem. - ‘
such an one we were then experiencing—wit- gathered no assistance from these dreams but “ Do you want to see me on business, Fanny ?
nessed to her almost more than human struggles such as might be obtained from that single name, I cannot see why a young girl like you should
to keep the hungry wolf of starvation from her “Aunt Nancy.” Aunt Nancy was no stranger come on such a cold morning like this to see an
children. But she generally succeeded, and tome, hut such a source of help seemed to he old lady like me. Tell me, child; the thing per-
when she did succeed, she would move about the most unpromising that could be conceived plexes me.”
her family with cheerful face and loving words, of. She was a maiden lady, and quite old. She j “I know of no business that I have with you,
isli anyhow; hut I neber perished. De Lord'l ; although at her heart were gnawing two giant lived in the same town that we lived in. She was Aunt Nancy. I hope that my visit is not annoy-
keep you— keep up good heart. I’le see dat cares,—my father’s fast-failing health, and an quite wealthy, and was one of my father’s parish- ing.”
you shall hah your big, warm fire in dat chim- | occult disease of her own, over whose secret ioners, but our family was connected with her “No; I ought to feel that it is a compliment, I
ney to-night. I gwine right straight off to see i pain she often folded her robes in silence. by a tie stronger than this. She was my maternal suppose. I was reading the paper when you
’bout it.” To ^e parlor fire, Judy was particularlv atten- aunt. Her relationship to my mother's children came in. The stores seem to he full of finery.”
With these words, our good old friend re- tive that evening. I attributed this fact to her was ver y remote, however, for she was a grand- ! “Are they ?”
traced her steps,- and I was left again alone, promise to me.° After tea, while my father aunt of my mother. There was no intimacy he-i “ I ought to ask you ‘are they !’ Haven’t you
The room was very dark now, for night had - - - - ■
quite set in. My mother’s room was cT
| above the room in which I was sitting, ^ ^ a ,
could hear her footsteps as she moved about it j f 0 r ^ ie children. * The music ceased with the fully brusque. She was the most eccentric ; what is more, we do not expect to buy a yard of
preparing it for the night. The younger chil- j snio king; and then my father read aloud from a w «man that I ever knew. Her means made her cloth this fall. Mama thinks that we can do
dren were with her. Their merry laughter and book w £i c h one of our literary friends had lent entirely independent of the world, and npon very well without. She has worked wonders
*1—• j— to jyjy purpose was not forgotten for a mo- them she leaned in preference to human sup- with our thick dresses of last winter. They are
ment, I believe; and, with great pleasure, I at Ports. Her large estate she managed with the turned, brightened, and made a la mode, and we
last saw him look at his watch, close the 'hook most consummate skill, employing as her assist- ; are almost deceived ourselves.”
that he had been reading, and take into his ant an agent who had served her thus far thirty “Why, you surprise me ! And she does not
hands our hook of family devotions. This was years. The diligent care with which Mr. intend to give you a single new dress ?”
the signal of separation foViiTe ni ght.' and it was "Shroudy looked after Aunt Nancy’s interests was “She will not give me oqe. Why should she,
not manv minutes later that I was up-stairs in onl y equaled by the diligent care with which wheu I have no need of it?”
my own room, which was directly opposite my Aunt A ' auc y looked after Mr. Shroudy. Some “But the tiling is unheard of, child. I did
mother’s. Judy’s thoughtfulness'had furnished sharp things she had said to him in the course of not believe thata niece of mine would ever begin
me with the means of sitting up that night until their relations to each other, hut lie bore them any season without at least one new dress. I
their quick steps came to me muffled by the dis
tance, and the intervening floor and walls. But
there was another sound that, at that time, ab-
j sorbed all my attention. The room adjoining the
| parlor was my father’s study. The door at the side
■ of the fire-place that opened into it was closed.
; From that room the sound proceeded. For some
time I had heard his slow, measured step as he
paced the floor. Suddenly it ceased. Then I
heard his voice. He was praying. He seemed
to be repeating, again and again, the same peti
tion. I knelt, reverently, as near the door us I
could, to join my petitions with his. I could
hear the words now, “Give us^his day our daily
bread.” His soul seemed to he in every word, j
Over and over again that prayer went up,
us this dav our
I was quite ready to retire, by devoting to me
old Cudjoe’s “last turn, ” and it was already blaz
ing in the fire-place, and sending out its warm
welcome to greet me when I entered the room.
all quite patiently, believing that it was her mi- must look into that—I must look into that,
ture to he sour, that every woman ought to have My heart stood still for a minute. I began to
her eyes open to her interests, and more espe- tremble. The dream had guided me aright, it
cially because she showed her appreciation of may he, after all. My course was mafked out.
I With door locked, shutters bolted, aud curtains his qualities and services by paying him hand- “Pray, Aunt Nancy, do not speak to mama
in that prayer went up, “Give i c j ose jy drawn> I wrapped mv dressing-gown some commissions. What was I to do with this upon this subject.”
dailj bread. llien, hroui ground me, drew a comfortable chair near the lady ? htiil, I had dreamed about Aunt “You must think I have hut little to do to go
plague, pestilence and famine, good Lord, de- dre _ an( j gave myself to my promised reflections. 1 ^ ancy, and to Aunt Nancy I was goin
liver us.” I heard Judy coming, and rose^ from! Wiiatyoung g irldoe8Iloto - " ’ ■■ - —
Per-
my knees with a new resolution formed, that I
would, so far ar. a girl of fifteen could render
I such assistance, he of actual use to my father.
I It seemed to me that the formation of the reso-
i lution brought comfort and almost healing to
| my spirit. I had only determined that I would
try and he of use, hut I was yet quite uncon
scious of anything like a plan ov wuich to carry
out my intention. I had now a new hope that
sent its light to me, and made brighter the dark
days that must elapse before it could he real
ized. The very invention of a plan gave my
thoughts pleasant employment. When Judy
again entered the parlor, therefore, she found
me in a state ol mind decidedly improved. Taat
she observed it, I knew, and I was
to have her attribute my improved condition to me whenever I was in this dear little retreat; and
the gratification ofmy wtsh concerning the par- | k never seemed like drudgery to sweep the dust
_ and speak to your mother. No; I shall not
not "delight in the posses- i haps the avenue to usefulness lay beyond her speak to her; I shall give you a new dress tuy-
? And this was exclusive- comfortable hut gloomy threshold; perhaps that self.”
sion of her own room _
ly my own. All that I possessed in the whole avenue might open in front of me before I
world were to be found within these four walls, reached her home. But I had dreamed of Aunt
There were my hook-shelves suspended by blue Nancy, and to Aunt Nancy 1 would go.
cords against the wall. The progress of my lit- “Mama,” I said, as soon as we had risen
entry taste was accurately defined by the miscel- from the breakfast table, “unless you wish me
“Thank you; yon are very kind; hut do not
think me ungrateful -1 cannot take it.”
“Well, let it alone. Just like the rest of
them, --poor anil proud—poor and proud.”
“Oh! how entirely you misunderstand me!
laneous topics discussed in the volumes that to stay at home this morning, I should like to go Proud! I am proud to a certain extent; hut I
tilled them. I had the hooks which I had de
voured with avidity when I was six years old;
and, upon the lowest shelf, stood the hook that
was then interesting me, not yet finis bed. My
writing-desk stood upon a small table beneath
these shelves, and that 'lo*k was fille.l with my
curious efforts at different kinds of composition
out for awhile.”
“No, my dear,” my mother replied, “I have
no use for you at home. Where are yon going.”
“To Aunt Nancy’s.”
“Aunt Nancy’s! Why, my child, what has
put such a freak into your head?”
“Well, the morning is delightfully bracing,”
iiu.veu. A sense of independence, of delightful proprie- I said, “and I want to take a long walk. The
^omliGnn 1 tn Worship, nowhere else felt, was experienced by old lady said, the last time I saw her, some very
biting things about my neglecting her.”
Take care,” said my father, as he walked
, • ... 1 C 1 C A • .1 iv L1LI VI ovvuiuu imv uiuucen iv auccp lut uuru Ximc luif, oum in > kuuli. go ug n amvvt
lor Ure, especially as s e ound com or in e f m tb e carpe t or re-arrange, each dav, articles slowlv from his seat at the foot of the table to
thought that she had been the chiet instrument ! 1 - b 1 • * --------
am not too proud to take from love and friend
ship its holy gifts. Let me prove to you that I
am not proud. You have offered to give me a
new dress. I cannot take the dress; but, Aunt
Nancy, if you will give me the money that you
propose to spend for that dress, I will take it,
and bless you for it as long as I live!”
“Afraid of my taste, eli?” she asked, suspi
ciously. “You want to suit yourself?”
“ Oh, no, no !” I answered. “I want no dress;
I want the money.”
“Money?—for what?”
“That, I cannot tell you. I want it not for
. .. . . ... , i that may have been misplaced; or to throw out his large chair bv the fire,” that she does not say
in securing >ot to me. . e came in wi ler j n j. 0 g re{der prominence, bv new arrangements some more biting things to vou to-day for not j myself. I want it—I want it for God.”
strong arms laden with a supply of fuel, more of ^ pos8 £ ssionaj the beauty that they were neglecting her.” “I hope we have no Mrs. Jellabys coming on
than sufficient lor tnr.t etenmg s use. capable of creating by happy combinations. I waited only long enough to receive some • » the family,” said the malicious old woman.
Judy, you are a good mena, i said, as sne j am snre that j WO uld not have valued my room instructions from mv mother about supplying In a second, I found my ardor at freezing-
laid her burden in the wood-box, and stood fiQ bighlv if its furniture had been simply mvself with warm wrappings, hastened to'mv point, and it was as much as I could do to keep
brushing into tne box the splinters of wood bought and transferred from a warehouse to this , room to obey her instructions, and equip my-
that had adneml to ac-r dress. “I cannot tell ° tmf . nt Bnt except the bedstead, every ar- | self for my walk, and started. A brisk walk of
* , UU , -‘ l 1 * ’ •. ,, . T . oc . , tide was the creature of mv mother’s invention, about a half hour brought me to the street at the
* b ’ C e ’ 8 1 ! taste, and, I may say, labor. The furniture con- head of which stood the imposing residence of
sisted of rough frames. • The material of which Aunt Nancy. It was a large stone building,
my tongue and my seat. I sat in silence, deter
mined that she should renew the conversation.
It was not long before she returned to it.
“ Perhaps you think that I was proposing to
give you a very handsome dress, and that you
** Anri v/Yn oro o irnti lorf 1 * tv , I 1*1 uumco.» mu maiciiiu ui » men ..xU.L11 xviiiixuv. At li kill atuu.tr ihiuuiul;. j ‘j » ~
Ana you are a wonuenm woman, Juay, ; t]iege f rames were made was furnished by a few surrounded by well-kept and extensive grounds can spend the money to a better advantage by
[Written for Tbe Sunny South.]
THE OLD KECTORT;
OR,
FANNY’S PROJECT.
1?Y Ii. WAYNE WILSON.
It had been very cofd throughout that day of
mid-November, which stands out now among
past days as one of the saddest that I have ever
known. The wind had not once lulled; there
had been ro sunshine, and a cold, steady rain
had been falling. The weather had been doing
its best to make everybody feel “thoroughly un
comfortable.” It was just the day when com
fortable parlors and blazing fires are luxuries—
when we long for night that we might repose in
the cosy enjoyment of the shelter of a comfort
able home, undisturbed by apprehensions of be
ing compelled to leave the warm fire-side, and
to expose ourselves to the coldness and damp
ness without. Wrapped in a large shawl, I was
sitting in our parlor, from which the daylight
was fast hastening. It had been already pre
pared by the untiring and tasteful hands of my
mother for the winter, and it might havo stood
as a model drawing-room for an humble rectory
like that in which we lived, and for the family
of a country clergyman, whose support was ex
tremely moderate. But even this room, which
had sometimes looked so cheerful, and always
bespoke for us refined tastes, was cheerless
enough at the time ol which I am writing. It
had grown so dark that the articles of furniture
appeared in uncertain outline. No fire burned
upon the hearth. A silence that was oppress
ive prevailed. I sat in a large chair that always
stood beside the centre-table, and with my shawl
gathered closely about my throat, rested upon
the table my cold hands, in which I had buried
my face. The day just closing had been ono of
peculiar trial to us. We had actually suffered
for the necessaries of life. The wolf was at the
door. He had not actually entered, thauk God !
hut, so far as I could see, liis entrance was only
a question of time. We had had a little to-day;
to-morrow we might have nothing. I was star
tled from my horrible anxieties by the opening
of the parlor door.
“Oh, Judy, how yon frighten me!” I ex
claimed, as our good, faithful servant, the only
one we kept about us, appeared before me.
“Frightened ! At what, chile?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, as I shivered, and
drew my shawl more closely around me. “Some
times we feel more unprotected, even by God,
than at other times; and every sound 6eems to
he a threat of danger. Not even the cold is
kept away from ns. ”
“’Tis mity cold,” replied Judy, folding her
stout arms, and heaving a deep sigh of sympa
thy; “mity cold. And arter dis rain its agwine
to git colder; and not one stick o’ wood in de
whole yard!”
“No; not one,” I answered. “ Is it not dread
ful ? What are we to do ? If we only had wood
enough with which to make a bright, warm fire
this evening, we might gather about it and try
to forget our cares until to-morrow.”
“An’ to think how much wood pass dis house
to-day ?”
“Yes,” I said, internpting her, “and it was
brought to the door for sale, hut we had to send
it away, for papa had not money enough to pay
for it. Poor papa!”
“Miss Fanny, don't you tink 'tis your pa’s
fault? He go ever}’ Sunday, and he preach to
people dat got plantation; dey got more wood
dan dey know what to wid; dey got waggin, boss,
an’ I know if your pa was only to ax it, dey
would send him wood. Your white preachers
aint like our colored ones. No, ma'am, I tell you
what dey aint. If our preachers aint got nuttin,
and wants it, dey’ll tell the people, if dey hah
to do it, in de pulpit, and dey gits what dey
wants, too.”
“ Don’t speak of anything being papa's fault,
Judy. He has done his duty, ever since I have
known him, as faithfully and conscientiously as j
man can. His congregation can blame him for
no failure of duty, and I am sure that his life !
I you are almost a fairy. Difficulties need not
1 try to frighten yon, for you seem to triumph
| over them so easily.”
“ Why, Miss Fanny, dis aint all. I got your
I ma’s box, up-stairs, full. And how yon tink I
' got it? We cullnd people helps each odder. I
j often helps ole Uncle Gudjoe, next door. Only
i last week, poor ole man, 1 cut out, and mnkel'or
j him two check shirts. I sews ior him constant
; since he lost his wife. So, just now, I went to
him, and tole him I wanted some wood, and de
ole man gim me as much as I wanted, an’ cut it
up for me. I left him at it. He gwine to bring
dat turn oher to me heself.”
I left her making the fire, and went up-stairs
1 to my mother’s room. A cheerful scene pre
sented itself as I opened the door of her cham
ber. tine would hardly have imagined, as ho
heard the joyous laughter of the children, and
then the musical responses of the mother’s voice,
or, as he saw the comfortable appointments of
the room rollickine under the influence of the
boxes such as merchants use for the transporta- which were protected from public intrusion by
tion of drj r goods, shoes, etc. Cheap, hut taste- , a massive fence of iron. Bathed in the bright
ful draperies covered all that was rough and un- November sun, it looked more like happy life
sightly; and I returned home ono day, after an than I had ever dreamed it could he made to
absence of a few weeks, to be surprised by re- look. As I stood at the massive iron gate, just
ceiving as my own this room, full of her own beyond which a flight of marble steps led to the
beautiful ideals and of the fragrance of fresh entrance of the dwelling, I saw that the hedges
been »ev.'
rlv framed, ’^kc gardener
■ Al»<vih mV jV:i, il. • :: ^u.rrewffijtugur
these proofs of my mother’s love, there was a that moment throwing open the glass doors of
ran at
great deal to stimulate me in carrying out my
heart’s wish. I felt the invigoration of purpose,
bnt as I approached the duty I shrank hack.
AYhat could I do ? I, a girl of fifteen, with no
co-operation and no resources, to earn money !
the conservatory, and beyond them arose a vis
ion of fresh, fair flowers, as choice as they were
fair, upon which my ej’es could have feasted for
hours. The sonorous hell soon brought to the
;ate an old and dignified butler who, upon leurn-
And this was what I was aiming at, the earning ing my desire to see his mistress, conducted me
of money to supply that wasted purse upon forthwith into the house. The shrill bark of a
etting two or three plainer ones with the same
sum.”
“I thonght of nothing of the kind, ma’am.
But we will not speak of it any more, Aunt
Nancy. I do not need a dress, thauk you.”
“Bnt you want the money?”
“I want the money.”
“Then yon shall have it.”
“Blessed he God!” I cried, as I placed my
cold fingers before my eyes to force hack the
burning tears that would come.
Aunt Nancy whirled her chair from me, rose
to her feet, thrust her hand into her pocket,
drawing therefrom a hunch of bright keys, and
walking briskly to a book-ease in the further
corner of the room, unlocked a deep drawer and
which the comfort of so many depended—with frisk} - poodle greeted my entrance into the’ began to rummage among some papers. In a
which, in fact, my parents’ health, perhaps their heated hall, and as my guide opened a door in
lives, were associated. My reflections were the rear of the passage, I was almost deafened by
guided, in the first instance, by that old and fa- the singing of the three canaries that I afterward
miliar adage, “A penny saved is a penny discovered in the apartment. I entered the
earned.” It led me to ask what I could do in room, and before me sat Aunt Nancy. She had
few minutes, she came hack to the fire-place,
near which I was still sitting.
“When I spoke of giving you a dress just
now, Fannie,” she said, “I was thinking of a
neat, warm, grave worsted dress. Such a dress,
__ , .. ~ a ., , , . .it earneu. n icu cue uj ana wum l cuuiu un iu room, auti oeiore me sat .-xnur iinuci. ciue mm — ..
hl^rth 8 t hnTt h er 8 c nlTtc d “^ ed ^£ on . tl l e the way of retrenchment. What could I give just finished breakfast, and the small table with with the trimmings, can he bought, I suppose.
hearth, that there could he anything like sad
ness in the vicinity. The room had been !
already prepared for the night. The scenes now
enneting within it were connected with the un- i
dressing and snugly tucking into their beds of |
two irrepressible hoys full of health and life, !
and the baby-pet— a little girl in her third year.
As I entered, my mother was sitting in her large
rocking-chair, holding our baby in her lap. The
hoys were seated on the rug before the fire, and
one of them had just been reminded that he 1
must say his prayers. This never-forgotten duty
was always performed where our mother said
hers. She was inclined to the Catholic school
of churchmanship—believed in a religion that
lays claim to one’s wholo nature. With her, there
was a worship of the body as well as of the
soul; hence, she prized external aids to devotion,
and hence she had her oratory upon which
stood the symbol of our redemption, npon
which she had taught us all to look as we knelt
i before it, that we might understand the better
the value of the cross of Christ, and that we
might daily be reminded that, to be like Him,
we must become iutimate with crosses imposed
upon us by God. It was touching to see these
little ones go reverently to this spot, associated
only with holy thoughts, kneel upon the kneel
ing-hoard, clasp their hands together, and say
their simple prayers.
up ? As far as my education is concerned, I felt its snowy damask cloth had not yet been re- f°r between eight and ten dollars—I will say
that I could not apply my test. It was not for moved. So daintily had she partaken as hardly ten. Here is the money ior your dress, my
me to decide what studies or accomplishments I to make an impression upon the dishes that had child.
might abandon or retain. My parents were been prepared, and while with quiet step old ^tie extended her shriveled hand towards me,
properly the sole judges in that matter. I alian- Ben proceeded to remove the almost untasted and the crisp banknotes crackled with its tremor,
doned it, therefore, with the pleasant reflection repast, Aunt Nancy, in stone-colored delaine As I took the money from her, 1 seized her hand
that my education, although unusually liberal, morning dress, white waist apron, and lace cup with both my own and covered it with grateful
was requiring no outlay of money. My father that bordered closely a hard, wrinkled, sallow
was my teacher in English, Latin, French, and face, sat with her face toward a glowing fire of
loved hands the morn-
German. My musical education had been
solely under my mother’s control: and to her in
struction's I was also exclusively indebted for the
ability to execute in crayon and oil the pictures
that I felt very proud of, as I had often heard
them favorably criticised by judges of the art.
anthracite, holding
ing paper which she was carefully reading
through gold spectacles.
“Good morning. Aunt Nancy,” I said with
a tone the most cordial and sprightly.
She turned suddenlv towards me, and, for at
From education I turned to dress. Here again I least ten seconds I was only conscious that a
recognized forbidden ground. Here my mother [ pair of light blue eyes were raised above the
was sole judge. She knew what I required, and * before-mentioned frames of gold, and were de-
what I did not require. And I knew that, such liherately scrutinizing me from head to feet, and
was her sense of propriety, she would not add then from feet to head.
to my wardrobe one article that was unnecessary. “Oh! good morning Jane—Eliza—Maria—
I believe that she was often misunderstood in whatever your name may he, child.”
this matter ; hut I understood her thoroughly. “Fanny,” I suggested.
She had taste, ingenuity, a happy gift by which “Fanny! Well, so it is. Fanny ! Oh, yes, I
she could take old materials and make them know now. Y’ou are our clergyman's daughter,
new and fashionable. Somehow, she had only 1 If you came oftener to see me, I should find it
easier to recall your name.’
I wondered that the old lady was not utterly
deafened by the noise of her pets. I could
hardly understand what she was saying to me.
kisses.
“Don’t, don’t!” she said, petulantly, wrench
ing her hand from mine with the strongest effort*
but hardly had she effected its release when 1
felt it pass, almost with the rapidity of lightning,
over my curls, and when I raised my eyes I saw
the cold blue of.hers softened by tears.
The world calls this “a hard woman,” I thonght
as she moved slowly to her chair. The world
has slandered her. She has a human heart, and
every human heart must he soft, because one
like ours throbbed in the breast of humanity’s
liedeemer.
There was something about my auut’s manner
as she turned away from me to resume her seat,
that indicated plainly that the subject of her gift,
so entirely unlooked for by me, was disposed of
finally, so far as further communication between
us was concerned. That I was more grateful
than any additional expression could declare, I
felt certain that she was convinced. It was hard
to descend to anything like ordinary conversa
tion, and L at once commenced to indicate my
purpose of departure by drawing on my gloves,
and replacing around my shoulders the scarf
which I had thrown aside when I entered the
well-heated room. She made no objection to
peculiarly for the trying position which she had
been callled upon to fill during the past few
years. The time had been, and quite within
my recollection, when my father’s private in
come and her own combined, were qnite suffi-
to manipulate for a little while a relic of the
past, or a cheap fabric that at first sight I have
sighed hopelessly over, and it at once became
| stylish, making the rector’s daughter, arrayed „ _
My mother was not old. She was married at for the first time in it, the subject of remark for Every bird was singing, tbe poodle was snarling
twenty. I was her eldest child, and she had her extravagant dressing. I abandoned as hope- j and harking at me, and the parrot, until now
been married three years before I was horn, less the project of earning pence by saving them, concealed, began to rehearse his unmeaning
Naturally, she was a person of great hopefulness and turned to consider the question in another jargon,
and cheerfulness, and these brought with them form. Now I took the commercial view. Had I ! “Come to breakfast?” said Aunt Nanev, half my going; she did not even ask if I would stay
more energy than her strength allowed, for she | anything to give for a money equivalent? The i inquiringly. longer, but extended her hand as soon as I rose
was not strong. These characteristics fitted her question made me appear like a simpleton in. “Oh, no. I breakfasted nearly an hour ago. ’ I from my chair.
my own eyes. And yef 1 wasloo rniicn in earn- ' She turned her head abruptly to the tire as if “Good-by, good-by,” she said, nodding em-
est to he frightened away from it. I could sew; i she were guessing a conundrum. I felt utterly phatically. “Come and see the flowers the next
I could write; I could teach. Perhaps Judy’s I spell-hound, and every idea seemed to vanish time; and come as soon as you choose. I shall
old friend, Cudjoe, had some more check shirts j from me. For a minute I saw a ray of increased gi ye orders to Marshall to show them to you
to be made up. Oh ! if I had only asked Judy , intelligence flit across the wrinkled face. . She ! should you come when I am away trom home,
cient to make them independent of the salary to stay with me for a little while! I wanted to fixed her blue eyes on mine instantly, and, in I like you, child. Good-by.”
that he received as a clergyman. But the terri- i ask her, then and there, to ascertain and to se- the same uncertain tone, said: I took the passive hand that she extended to
ble war had made a ruin of their possessions, cure the work for me. I could sew neatly and I “Come to see the flowers in the green-house,
and ever since its close they had had only the j cheaply. I could write, too. My desk was filled Marshall is out there. It is too early for me to
uncertain support of a country parish. I shall with my compositions. We had a literary news- go out. He will show them to you. Be sure you
not review the dark pages of our family record— ; paper in town. Perhaps . I was now thor- | do not touch them.”
a record of constant struggle with poverty—but j oughly enthused. I knelt down and prayed that j I did not know whether to feel resentment or
shall only say that finally my father sank he- | God would help me to help my father, i prayed amusement at this surmise. I tried to express
neath the struggle, and seemed unable longer to that the first step to be taken in my new project no emotion by my face as I answered:
direct the perplexing affairs of our home. My 1 he indicated to me that night in my dreams. I “I did not come to see your flowers ”
rose from my knees and went to bed. Excited , I had not finished my sentence before she
as I was, I hardly knew liow I fell asleep so : said in a piping, spiteful voice:
quickly. I was aroused from a most refreshing | “I am sure they are worth, well worth your
slumber the next morning by the “getting-up | seeing—”
bell,’’which, in our orderly household, had never It was now my turn to interrupt her, and I
failed, within my recollection, to encroach upon said hastily:
the lnxu.j of our morning naps. Isprangfrom “Oh! indeed they must be.
mother’s noble instincts had from that time as
serted themselves. I often think now of the
apparent impossibilities that she had to recon
cile. Onr family was a large one. They were
to be fed, properly clothed, educated, and,'added
to these expenses, were the other hundred daily
expenses of housekeeping. My father gave
every dollar of his salary, receiving nothin
me, and wished that she would permit me to
throw my arm around her and kiss the old face
that had been softened and even beautified in
my eyes by her generous sympathy. I found it
impossible to smother all emotion, and saying,
as I pressed the unwilling fingers that were
struggling now to free themselves from the press
ure that I had to give them, “I wish I could
make you or anybody as happy as you have
made me to-day,” I left her.
(CONCLUDED IN NEXT NUMBER.)
False Pride.—Never he ashamed to help your
self. The false shame which fears to be detected
The gardener ip honest manual employment; which shrinks
bed, startled by the fear that I had overslept my- j was opening the doors of the green-house while j from exposing to the world a necessary and lion-
even lor a newspaper—lus own clothing never self, and as I threw wide open the shutters next ; I was standing at the gate, and I saw enough to . orable economy; which blushes more deeply for
recognized in the calculation of expenses. There ; to my dressing-table, to admit the morning light ' make me wish that I could spend hours among \ a shabby attire than fora mean action, and which
K "* r ' na *“•'*'■“*•“" s 1 — 1 T **- - 1 —*-’-*■ ’’ ’■ 1 *- ~ ^-know how fond of flowers I • dreads the sneer of the world more than the up-
am sure from your remarks | braiding of conscience—this false shame will
prove the ruin of every one who suffers it to in
fluence his thoughts of life.
derful mother of mine, my father gave up unre- denly recurred to me, as well as the prayer that I
servedly his salary. He also relieved her of the had sent to heaven before I slept. I had prayed
education of those of ns old enough to be taught. ! that God would help me to help my father; and
Some of us he taught himself. The tuition of
those who were at school he canceled by assist
ing their teachers at certain hours of the day, or
days of the week. And now, what did my
mother’s resources amount to, after all ? We see
her with a small salary at her disposal. The
collections were made so irregularly that she
seldom had money in her purse. She would
I had also prayed that the first step be indi
cated to me that night in my dreams. Of what
had I dreamed ? Of whom ? I had a vague be
lief that my slumber had not been dreamless;
hut all had passed away from my mind, and I
found it impossible to recall anything definite.
Suddenly, as I was twisting my curls around my
bennmbed fingers, I remembered that I had
Well, go along and see them, if you choose.
They will lose nothing by being looked at. I
only say you must not pull them.”
I tried to feel amused, and said laughingly:
“No, I thauk yon. One visit at a time is as
much as any such inexperienced visitor as my
self can accomplish. This visit I intended, not
for the flowers, but for you. At some other time
I will return, if I can obtain your permission to
do so, and that visit shall be devoted to your
flowers.”
If we recognize the truth that every good sub
sists primarily in God and is derived from Him;
that the senses, which are channels of delight to
us, are his creative gifts, and that the things
which pleasantly affect the senses are likewise
from His hand, then, indeed, as we love our
selves and the senses, and pleasure and the im
mediate cause of pleasure, so shall we love
primal cause and source of all things.