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ignoring the medium neutral tints of common
sense, to print it far whiter or blacker than it
deserves. ’Tis a good world, my masters—bet
ter than you think; for, as there is none that
may stand absolutely above and beyond the
brotherhood of error, so is there none, however
darkly fallen, but keeps somewhere a faint trace
of the Creator’s image, and it behooves us not
to sing p.'eans over a world regenerate which is
yet in its sins, or to sit in the scorner’s seat, cry
ing “avaunt!” to those who are but our fellows;
but to live the best and bravest life that Fate
makes possible, more concerned to mete out
justice than judgement to those with whom our
lot is cast, for God’s ways are not as man’s ways,
and oftener than not,
"The hearts that seem so cold,
If their stories could be told.
Would seem cast in gentler mould,
Would seem full of love and spring.”
“ Really, I had almost forgotten to ask you the
regulation question, to-wit: ‘How did you en
joy the ball ?’ ”
“Pretty well, but nothing in comparison with
the way I do the thought that it is over.”
“And was such a success ?”
‘■Yes ! I would rather be, as Seaton says, the
unaer-dog in a light than have a thing which is
even partly under my charge prove a signal fail
ure.”
“Everybody went away charmed, I believe.”
“Did you?”
“Certainly—with the ball. Did you notice
Mr. Willis?”
“Yes—a calf in Paradise for the time—and
Miss MeLean had on a new diamond of amaz
ing size. Why ! Where is yours?”
“ Up-stairs. I forgot—thaffis I did not think
to put it on.”
“ Wear it while you stay in this place. It will
save unpleasant remark if you do.”
“ What do you mean ?”
“Here is your locket.”
“You opened it?” her face flushing and a tre
mor in her tone.
“Yes—accidentally; but,” looking full into
the heavy, dark-veiled eyes, “ don’t grudge me
he determined to have some prime fun; and so
laid his plans accordingly.
The eventful day arrived, and with its coming
the courage of both parties threatened to ooze out
at their finger ends. Marriage did not seem so
simple as at first they had thought it.
“But,” said Tom to himself, (and the reflections
i of Minnie were of the same character,) “its too
late to back out now; them fellows never would
quit teasing: besides, maybe Minnie thinks so
much of me it would break her heart.”
So both of them grew sentimental and resolved
to sacrifice themselves for fear of breaking the
heart of the other.
Punctually at the time appointed Tom was on
the ground; but ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, and
then half an hour passed and no Minnie made her
appearance, he was growing impatient and con
siderably vexed, wondering how much longer it
would be required by the law of etiquette govern
ing elopements for him to wait before going Some
and giving up the enterprise altogether, (girls
don’t keep your lovers waiting, there is nothing
like waiting for cooling the tender passion,) when
the outlines of a female figure appeared in view.
It looked rather tall, and a trifle clumsy, but if he
noticed anything unusual, he attributed it to the
dimness of the light.
“I had very nearly given you out, you stayed
so long; I thought perhaps they had found us out
and shut you up somewhere,” said Tom as he
helped her in the buggy and then, as he noticed
how she was muffled up, he inquired “what are
you wrapped up so for, it isn’t cold by any means?”
“I know it” she whispered, “but I thought it
better to disguise myself, for fear we should meet
some one who would know us.”
“That’s a fact,” said Tom, and all the love that
hrd nearly deserted him half an hour before, re
turned as he admired his sweetheart’s discretion, j
Through all the long and lonely drive they met
no one save a negro mounted on a mule, and they
were then too near the end of their journey to
fear pursuit, even if he had recognized them.
Of all the sweet, soft nothings that passed dur
ing that ride, and the many caresses interchanged
[For The Sunny South.]
THE WIFE AGAIN.
BY KNICKOLAS KNUX.
Miss “Nellie Bly,” in her eagerness to cham
pion Hymen at ail risks, has misinterpreted my
views to some extent. I did not hold that a young
man should be wealthy and own a “ sumptuous
home ” before he thought of marrying. Such an
opinion, if carried into practice, would, it is to be
feared, result in the “ early failure of the race.”
The love-in-a-cottage marriages that were objected
to were those that are entered into without a
proper consideration of the future and its contin-
genices, or prudent provision for the same—with
A DEFENSE OF ZANTIPPE.
‘‘A defense of Zantippe 1 Pray what can be
urged in her defense—she whose name for centu
ries has been a term of reproach ?
YV ell! let us see .’ Who was she, and what did
she do ? She was the wife of one who, lost in
study, absorbed in philanthropy, was oblivious of
all the commonalities of life. Upon Zantippe de
volved all the cares which pertain to the house
hold. We are told that Socrates was a poor man;
we can well imagine, then, that often the providing
as well as the preparing fell to her lot.
Zantippe, then, provided for and regulated the
what—what I learned by it. It only makes me ! this record sayeth nought; nor is it necessary, tor
reverence you more, if that be possible, and I
know now how pitiful you are over my—infatu
ation. ”
“ O, Mr. Inge! I thought—I hoped—that was
all over with.”
most of our readers have been over the tender
1 ground of courtship and “know flow it is them-
j selves.”
Several times Tom would catch himself watching
j his companion curiously; there seemed something
“Yet it is hardly half a year since I began to | strange about her, though what it was he couldn’t
remember, and how long since that date?” touch- ; tell, and for that reason he at last dismissed it
ing the trinket in her hand.
“Women can do nothing but remember. Men
have so many diversions that it ought to be easy
for them to forget.”
j from his mind with the thought that it must be
his imagination.
Arrived at the house of the minister who was to
marry them Tom assisted Minnie to alight with a
“ It is—except in those cases where it were . verv lover-like manner, hitched his horse, and they
rw, A f 11 , ..1 i ,1 r P + V, An«/-. i, /I , m., 1 .1 v
best they did. Then they are admirably con
stant—as you ought to know.”
“Don't talk, please, in that hard way. It
hurts ine,” with a gesture of appeal.
“ And I do not want to do that; so I had best
go away until the rebellious fit passes. Good
bye. Go, rest and sleep until your bright looks
come back, or Mrs. Grundy will have it that you ; , ... . .
are fairly inconsolable about Colonel Windsor’s | a hout it, for our nen n a,
absence.”
Lvt goes to her room and sits just in front of
the heaped grate; seeming to find much matter
of speculation in its red, flaming mass. She is
pale with a gray, shifting pallor, and there are
tense lines about the mouth that match the shad
owed eyes. Her fingers tangle themselves in and
out of the silver chain she holds, but the action
seems more mechanical than conscious. Once
she touches the spring irresolutely, but shuts
the case again ere it is fairly open. Evidently,
she cannot bear yet to look upon the thing which
has been profaned by other eyes. Presently her
face softens, the rapid, restless fingers sink into
a quiet clasp; she drops the quaint bauble softly
in her bosom, as though it were something that
could be warmed there into life, and after a lit
tle, her head sinks to a restful pose, the tired
eyes are shadowed, and it seems that that sleep
which, saith the Arab proverb, makes us all
pachas has come to her with wings of healing.
No! The face is still too set for that. She is not
asleep, but dreaming, with shut eyes, of dead
years and vanished faces, and the glow, and
gleam, and glamour which, forgetful of shadows,
we baptise Long ago.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
J OH’S WIFE.
For a while there seemed to be a perfect mania
for elopement prevailing in our town and county.
Some infatuated couple in the neighborhood,
whose parents had objected to the match, and who
in consequence imagined themselves greatly per
secuted, had set an example which proved ludic
rously contagious, for little chits of scarcely four
teen and youths of very verdant age, upon whose
ruddy cheeks the down of manhood had not yet
made its appearance as well as old maids and baeh-
lors. all seemed to be affected more or less with it
One case developed such a ridiculous side of the
matter, that the passion for running away consid-
erably diminished after it occurred.
The parties concerned were very respectable
people, the parents were in good standing in the
country and well thought of by every one; it was
a very suitable match, only the lad and lassie
were too young to think of marrying for some
time yet; and that was the objection of their pa
rents. He was scarce nineteen, and she just fif
teen, homely as mud fences, both of them, and
what they saw so infatuating about each other it
was difficult tor an outsider to imagine. They
were the talk of the town, (of which, by the way,
the newspaper of a rival county once remarked,
in one of his locals, “if a T woman was cut
in half the one half would slander the other,) with
their clandestine meetings, and frequent epistles
to each other. Said epistles being encouraged by
some one of the little darkies always loafing
around up town, frequently fell into hands for |
which they were not originally intended.
Some mischievous spirit would see Tom Hazel j
call one of these sable Mercurys, would watch
uutil became forth, waylay him, and take away
the note he was sure to have, read it and return
it, telling the messenger to take it where he was
sent, and keep his mouth shut about the waylay
ing, or he'd get a most unmerciful whipping.
The darky, having the fear of the flogging before
his eyes, would obey his instructions implicitly
and Tom would wonder “how the mischief them
fellows knew so much about his affairs; he was
sure he had never told any one what he wrote to
Minnie Watson, and he didn’t think Minnie
would’ yet there was that Pete Jenkins could re
peat every word.”
Time passed, and our young couple concluded
they could not stand it any longer; run away they
must.
After they had used up any quantity of good urevetana tne complin
note paper, and wasted much precious time, meet- 1 ^ ere lor *he first tune,
ing to talk over the projected elopement, every
thing was arranged, the time and place agreed
upon. Tom was to meet Minnie at the forks of
the road, (almost an hundred yards from the
house! at ten o’clock, with a buggy, from thence
the}’ were to ride as fast as they could into the
adjoining county, where he had engaged a minis
ter to marry them.
Tom bad nothing, and Minnie ditto; what they
were going to subsist upon after marriage was a
mystery, I do not suppose that troubled them much
however, if they thought of it at all, they thought
of course the old folks wouldn’t see them suffer.
Bv the usual means, Pete had kept up with their
movements, and when they determined to elope,
went in.
The man was prepared for them, and they were
soon standing up waiting to be united for better
or worse.
Tom wondered a little at Minnie keeping her
vail down and heavy waterproof on, but was soon
so absorbed in watching the minister he forgot all
incredible as it
may seem to the reader, had reached the ripe age
of almost nineteen without ever having beheld a
couple married, since he was large enough to have
remembered it, and he was anxious to know what
part of the performance fell to his lot; to jump
over a broom stick, or what.
He was soon enlightened, for the minister began
the ceremony and in fifteen minutes pronounced
them man and wife; and then asking permission
to salute the bride raised her vail and disclosed to
Tom’s distended eyes the mischievous face of that
torment, Pete Jenkins. Jhe minister drew back
offended, for he saw that the bride was a man,
(Pete’s countenance was adorned with a considera
ble shadow of a moustache, and side-whiskers were
visible on his cheeks,) and belived that the young
men were making sport of him., bnt a second glance
at Tom’s face assured him that at least he was in
nocent.
“What do you mean by such conduct,” said he,
in a stern voice, before Tom could gain breath.
“1 thought it was Minnie,” groaned Tom, “oh !
I’ll never hear the last of this; Pete, I’ve a great
mind to thrash you for this; if you were not so
much stronger I’d do it.”
“I wouldn’t Tom, you might get whipped, that
would make the story sound worse than ever; be
sides, you know I’ve really done you a service, as
you'll agree some of these days, when your are
old enough to have better sense; it would have
been the ruination of you and Min. to have mar
ried now; you’re neither one anything but chil
dren, and are not half as much in love as you let
on.”
Tom was very angry at first, and would not lis
ten, but after some talk of which he could not but
admit the truth, and Pete then promised not to tell,
he forgave him, and admitted “that he was glad,
for Minnie’s sake as well as his own, that they
were not married; for, come to think of it, he was
rather young to have the care of a family, suppos
ing that the old folks should not have relented.
True to his word, Pete did not tell, but it leaked
out somehow, for the next time Tom went to town
he was saluted upon all sides with inquiries for
his wife’s health and many other questions to
tease him. Pete suffered as much as Tom, for ever
afterwards he went by the name of “Mrs. Hazel,”
and “Toot’s wife.”
It was some time afterwards before Tom hap
pened to think, why it could have been that Min
nie did not meet him as she promised, and he
asked Pete if he knew anything about it.
“I’ll tell you Tom, if you’ll ..promise not to get
mad,” said he.
“1 can safely promise that, for I am only too
glad to escape being a married man.”
“Well,” began Pete, “I told Minnie’s father
and mother what you were up to, and the old lady
gave her a good lecture and then locked her up.
I wouldn’t have done it but I knew, and you know
too, that you didn’t care much for each other.”
a “trust to luck and love” feeling, and a vague i family, controlled the servants, guided the chil-
1 dren, faced butcher and baker, bore upon her
i shoulders the double care of herself and of her
! philosopher.
And what crime did she commit? She scolded ! .'
Ah ! my sisters, how many of us would not be
come Zantippes had we a double portion of care
! to carry?
We read, sometime since, an article from a dis
tinguished pen, in which this idea was advanced:
That for a man, even a genius, to reach high at
tainment in literature, to make grand and start
ling discoveries in science, he must be allowed to
devote all his time and energies to his subject,
untrammeled by the petty concerns of every-day
life. He must be relieved of all pecuniary, all
commonplace cares, by somebody, and left free to
pursue his lofty studies without distraction. Of
course, the wife is the proper one to do all this, if
she has the capacity for so exalted a position.
But the woman who takes upon herself to stand
before the sanctum of a man and guard it from
the common place, while he within soars on the
wings of genius, must have somewhat of the Roman
sentinel in her composition.
Health must mantle her cheek, energy play
round her’mouth; aye, fire flash from her eye.
Now we know to what heights- Socrates rose,
how he stood far beyond his age. We know, too,
that he was a poor man, and that notwithstanding
his philanthropy he had the common needs of hu
manity.
Whose was the stern, strong spirit that guarded
that study of Socrates ? Had Zantippe been a
fair, fragile creature, to be served rather than
serve, to smile and caress rather than to work and
to scold, where had been the philosopher?
The scold of Zantippe was not a fretful scold
that is just disagreeable without accomplishing j
its object, but a busy, energetic scold, that stirred
the house, making itself felt and regarded. Hab- j
its grow upon us, perchance this habit grew upon |
Zantippe under the pressure of accumulating cares
until she even scolded the philosopher himself.
What wonder, for certainly in spite of all his |
wisdom Socrates must have been a very aggravat-
Mbs. Florence’s Wabdeobe. — We find this
statement in a Cleveland journal: “Some idea
of the extent of the wardrobe Mrs. Florence has
for wear in ‘The Mighty Dollar,’ maybe ob
tained from the fact that it fills twelve large
trunks. She wore four dresses last evening—
one for each act—which were made by Worth,
the famous Paris ‘ man-milliner,’ especially for
this piece. They cost twenty-five hundred dol
lars, but are said to be worth much more
money. Nothing like them for richness and
elaborateness of design has been seen on the
stage in this city. She wore them last evening
for the first time, on the occasion of her benefit.
They were purchased for California, and were
not even worn in New York at any time during
her long engagement; but on her benefit last
evening, finding the opera house so neat and
tidy, and all the stage-settings so rich, she paid
Cleveland the compliment of appearing in them
It has been truthfully said: “A good wife is to
a man wisdom, courage and strength.” Oliver
Wendell Holmes, talking of little women, says:
“I have known more than onegeius, high-decked,
full-freighted, wide-sailed, gaypennoned, that,
but for the bare, toiling arms, and brave, warm,
beating heart of the faithful little wife that nestled
close in bis shadow and clung to him, so that no
wind or wave could part them, would soon have
gone down the stream and been heard of no more.”
An admirer of women, and especially little women,
enthusiastically exclaims: “Of such are the angels
made.” That man has not had the rough edges
worn off yet.
hope that everything will turn out “ all right,”
but without a reasonable amount of care that it
| shall be so. If a young man can see his way
| clearly, he is justified in marrying; and he may
I be said to “see his way clearly” when he has a
good and permanent position in a paying business,
or is settled in a profession that commands a rea
sonable amount of practice. In such a case, the
prospect, so far as human knowledge and foresight
; can determine, is good, and success reasonably
| certain. Any misfortunes that may afterward
happen are to be accepted as the chances of life.
A young man with such a prospect may reconcile
j it to his judgment to assume the responsibilities
j of the wedded state.
| On the other hand, if the position is not well-
' paying and permanent, or if the business is one
that is likely at any time to fail, or if the profes
sion is not fairly remunerative, he is not justified
| in taking the risk of matrimony.
A young man of our acquaintance is a lawyer;
has settled in a village where his practice brings
him in some seven or eight hundred a year; his
character is good, and there is every reason for
him to believe that his business will increase. He
would be justifiable—nay, commendable—in mar
rying a sensible, economical woman ; for if he
married any other, his income wouid not suffice
for their support.
Another young friend of ours is a compositor in
a country newspaper office. His pay is forty dol
lars a month. He has no other income. He in
tends marrying at an early day a young lady who,
like himself, is very poor. Here the marriage
would be a risk. The business is precarious;
every city and town of importance is full of unem
ployed compositors, or compositors working at re
duced wages. Who will say that the young man
would be wise in taking upon himself the burden
of a family unless he has a comfortable little
“nest-egg ” at the savings bank.
A painful instance of a hasty and imprudent
marriage comes up to mind. A young man with
out money, but intelligent and with a fair educa-
cation, was admitted to the bar, and about sis
months afterward was married to a beautiful girl.
The place where he settled was already well
stocked with lawyers, and though he was attentive
to his business, yet there were other better-known
and more experienced members of his profession,
into whose hands the greater part of the business
naturally went. There were at least half a dozen
other young “ limbs” of the law in the place, who
were barely eking out a miserable support from
their profession.
In face of all this, the young man married,
trusting to “luck and love ” He did not get the
business he hoped for; indeed, his income was
not sufficient by half to provide the necessary
wants of life, and he has finally settled down with
his wife upon his poor old father, who has hardly
enough for himself. His pride is crushed, his
hopes are blasted, his future looks gloomy; he has
indeed been brought tp “ jei^rse, shame and de
spair.” But you may say, “ ^hy does he not go
somewhere else and settle?” Suppose he does.
He can hardly, at the best, raise money enough to
pay for his daily food. To go to a new place it
would require money, first to pay his travelii .’ ex
penses, and afterward to support himself and lam-
ily till he could make friends and get business.
This, in a strange place, where he would first have
to work his way into the acquaintance of the peo
ple and afterwards into their pockets—would
take time, during which he must live. But, says
somebody, he could go to work on a farm. Per
haps he might, but it would take money or credit
to run a farm, and he has little chance to get
either.
In short, the young man is but a representative
of a class, and we are sorry to say of a large and
perhaps growing class. We can point to many
like him, and we know of more than one wretched
home ; of many sad, worn-out wives who are
dragged about from place to place, living from
“ hand to mouth,” with no home and no prospect
for one ; of numbers of husbands who, try hard as
they may, find it almost impossible to feed and de
cently clothe their wives and children—who are
in debt, and continue getting deeper into this soul
crushing vortex, and who have accepted the situa
tion with a hopelessness that indicates a broken
spirit and an exhausted energy.
Do we then say that young men ought not to
marry unless they have a fortune ? Far from it.
Few men in our South have fortunes. Many of
them have enough to support a family, and the
average young man, with prudence and economy,
can save enough in a few years to entitle him to
marry. If your prospect is good—if you can see
your way clear before you, then get married, if
you can get a good, sensible girl to have you—one
who will appreciate your circumstances and aid
you in bettering them.
But unless you have a good prospect before you,
do not marry. You may say that a wife can he ! p
you economise; that she will make your salary,
which you scarcely find sufficient for your own
wants, do for the necessaries of a family; that
marriage will do away with numberless little ex
pensive habits, etc. If you do not love a woman
well enough to give up these habits and save your
money before marriage, the probabilities are that
you will not do it afterward.
No, young man, if you are not reasonably sure
of success, it is an act of selfish cowardice for you
to ask a woman to share a lot that is unsettled,
unsafe, and probably in the end will bring her to
“ poverty and wretchedness.” The love of a true
woman will cling'to you through all your misfor
tunes, but when these are the result of your own
negligence and imprudent haste, the very tender
ness whicn clings closer to you and holds you
blameless will, if you have any manly sentiment
in your heart, make your self-reproach keener
and your shame harder to bear. Remember that
yours is not the only suffering that poverty brings.
You are a man, and can face the hardships of life;
but weak, dependent woman and helpless children
are the sufferers too—aye, and these suffer more
keenly through their very weakness and inno
cence. If you love a girl and want to marry, wait
until you can honestiv and honorably ask her to
marry you. Take her into your confidence; if she
is worth your having, she will wait with you, and
the happiness, so long deferred, will but be
sweeter when at last all obstacles are removed and
she is your own.
For the “Corner.”
MERRY BROWN THRUSH.
BY “COUSIN ANNIE.”
I’m a merry brown thrush, ma’am,
I lire up in this tree,
And here, snug within a nest
I have my birdies three.
“Why am I so happy ma’am.
Is it this I hear you say ?
“And why sing so cheerily
Throughout the livelong day?”
I’m sure. I cannot tell, ma’am
Unless it be from this:
I sing because my heart is full,
And running o'er with bliss.
I think I’m as happy, ma’am.
As ever a bird can be—
Scarce a sorrow do I know—
For, God is good to me!
He gives me all mv food, ma'am,
And wool to build my nest,
And these three birdies, wee, ma'am,
So snug beneath my breast.
And this is why I sing, ma'am,
So cheerily, all day.
You call me merry brown thrush,
And ask why I'm so gay.
For the ‘‘Corner.’’
LITTLE ROSA.
Deab “Cousin Annie,”—I have been reading
those nice little letters in the “Corner,” which
the boys and girls have written you. They are
so interesting that I feel just like they were ad
dressed to me instead of to you. Now, I don’t
like to be selfish and wait for them to do all the
writing. I am a very little girl, yet I am going to
see if 1 can’t do somelhing towards “keeping that
ball in motion” of which you spoke some time
ago. I haven’t any pretty canaries, large dog, or
nice pony to write about. I have very few pets.
I am an only child, so mamma, papa, grandma and
auntie all make a pet of me.
Now “Cousin Annie,” I want to tel! you about
a little orphan girl that lives in our village. She
hasn’t any pets nor any one to pet her. 1 feel so
soiry for poor little Rosa, for that is her name.
She is only seven years old. Her parents died
when she was just four. A kind lady and gentle
man took little Rosa to live with them. She was
very happy with her new papa and mamma. But
after a while one of Rosa's aunts said that she
wanted the little girl herself—that “she was such
a sweet little thing she couldn’t be satisfied with
out her.” So she took little Rosa from her pleas
ant home. But alas ! She has now grown tired
of her, and has been trying to give her away. She
treats her very badly, will not give her any nice
clothes to wear, nor let her go to Sunday school;
but worst of all, she encourages her own children
...j t 0 iH.use the poor little thing, and makes her
ing man in the household, with his cool indiffer- 8 i ee p in a dark-room by herself! Rosa is an af-
ence and his lofty philanthropy raising him above
the perplexities that will worry ordinary mortals.
We are told that Socrates learned in his later
years to bear with patience the scolding of his
wife; rather let us believe that he learned to ap
preciate the worth of his wife and her scolding.
Have we made good our defense of this much
abused sister? You will say, perhaps, could not
all the good have been done, and better done with
out the scolding?
1 answer, Zantippe was only a woman.
Only a woman, with a woman’s failings: yet are
we not prepared to assert that had there been no
Zantippe there had been no Socrates.
CHILDREN’S CORNER.
(Cormnunicaiioiifl for ihia colnnan mnst. bft Addressed
to Mi6s Annie M. Barnes, Atlanta, care of Sunny South.)
Notice to “Corner” Contributors.
We have on hand quite a number of lengthy
MSS., too lengthy by far for our limited space.
W’hat we need at present is a supply of short,
sprightly articles. Won’t some of our young
friends, and old ones too, send us a batch of this
kind ? We would be glad to hear from all of you
and will give each one a showing as early as pos
sible, provided you prove intertaining.
“Violet,” Covington, Ga. Do not get impatient;
your story will appear in a week or two. It is
quite creditable. Let us hear from you again.
“Mande,” Richmond, Va.: Your MS. is not
suitable for the “Corner.”
“M. M.,” Louisville, Ky.: Your article, while
it displays some talent for composition, is rather
“too high flown.” You had better keep out of
very deep water.
“Florine,” Dallas Texas : Please forward your
full name. We do not publish any MSS. unaccom
panied by the name of the author. A. B.
For the “Corner.”
OLD WINTER.
BY “FANNIE.”
I love the spring with its balmy air,
Violets blue and daises fair;
The summer, with its fruits and flowers
And gay birds, perched among the bowers;
Autumn, with its apples sweet,
And the brown nuts, so nice to eat;
Yet I love old winter too.
Though he brings a boisterous crew,
Though he comes with step so bold,
And with fingers icy cold,
Y'et, in spite of snow and storm
Beneath it all his heart is warm.
I love him for the joys he brings.
Skating, sliding and other things,
Though he maxes our noses bine !
Yet he warms onr hearts all through,
He eends the gong and story round.
He makes our blood to glow and bound,
And brings Christmas with its joys,
That festival for girls and boys.
For the “Corner.”
A SHARP ROY?
BY “COUSIN ANNIE.”
An absent-minded Ohio woman got the coffee
pot ready for boiling and then carefully placed it
on a chair and set herself on the stove. Although
the occasion was dreadfully suggestive of some of
the early martyrs she managed to derive some con-
solationoui of it from the well-improved opportu
nity it afl’orded her of obliging her husband to boy
her a new dress.
Brigham Young acknowledges he loved not
wisely, but too often.
It was a Sunday or two ago.
He was a sharp little fellow of Class No. 9. The
subject of the morning’s lesson was Faith. The
teacher was trying to illustrate by Bible incidents.
The class was apparently much interested.
She had already told them of Elijah’s trust in
God, and how he was fed by the ravens in the
wilderness.
The next illustration was of the Hebrew chil
dren, who putting their faith in God walked un
harmed through the fiery furnace.
Then came the story of Daniel in the lions’ den.
The teacher was very particular in describing
Daniel’s heroism, his calm undaunted spirit amid
the awful dangers which surrounded him and how
he thrust his hands into the very mouths of the
roaring lions.
“Now, Johnnie.” said she to our youngster,
“what does this story show?”
Johnnie braced himself up against the back of
the bench and fixing his big moon eyes full upon
the teacher’s face, fairly shouted:
“Why it showed the old fellow had spunk.
It is needless to describe the feelings of that
teacher.
Just now Johnnie is not so quick about answer
ing questions at Sunday-school. He always waits
until the other boys have had a chance, for says
he:
“I don’t want to look too biggerty, like I thought
I was awful smart and knowed it all—so I lets the
other fellows try first.
fectionate little girl, and wishes she had some one
to love her. I would be so glad if mamma would
let Rosa come and live with us and be my little
sister. “Cousin Annie,” 1 do wish I was a grown
lady and had heaps of money. I would give ever
so much of it to the poor little orphans.
Our Sunday-school teacher told us the other
day, that we ought to do some extra work for our
parents and make some money to give the poor
orphan children. We can do this much anyhow;
we can always speak kindly to them and show
them how sorry we feel tor them.
I don’t think that we children who have kind
parents to love us can be thankful enough to our
Heavenly Father for this great blessing.
But I will not write you any more just now,
for I expect some more of the little girl,will write
to you this week. I hope so anyhow, for 1 do
love to read their letters.
Good-bye, “Cousin Annie.”
From your little “Cousin,”
Pearl White.
Pleasant Hill, Ga.
NEED I GO TO SCHOOL ?
“O Father ! need I go to school?” said Johnnie
one morning, as his mother was getting him ready.
“I don’t understand books; I never shall. I had
rather cut wood in the forest with you, and work
ever so hard.”
“Johnnie, how did we fell that big tree yester
day ?” asked his father.
“A stroke at a time, and keeping at it,” an
swered the boy.
“Yes,” said his father, “a word at a time, and
keeping at it, will make you a good reader; a sylla
ble at a time, and keeping at it, will make you a
good speller; a sum at a time, and keeping at it,
will make you good in figures; an idea at a time,
and keeping at it, will make you master the hard
est book in the world. A p itient keeping at it,
Johnnie, and you will be a scholar.”
“Is that all ?” asked Johniiie.
“All,” said his father.
“I do not know but what I can do that,” said
Johnie; and before six years from that time, he
stood first in the highest class in school.—Ex
change.
For the “Corner.”
From ‘‘Our Youngest Contributor.”
Dear “Cousin Annie,”—I saw little “cousin”
Birdie’s letter in the “Corner” and I think it is
such a nice one for a wee girl like her to write.
What a splendid dolly that must be of hers. Do
you think she would let me nurse it too? I won
der what its name is.
1 have a doll also. I don’t know whether it is
as fine a one as Birdie’s or not yet I think it
must he anyhow. My doll’s name is Ariana
Estelle. I call her “Stella” for short. I am not
as old as Birdie. I will not be six until the seven
teenth of this month, (Oct.) So you see, “Cousin
Annie,” as yet I am your “youngest contributor.
Did Birdie write her letter herself? My mamma
is writing this for me, but I am telling her what
to say. I cannot write well enough yet. I can
only make a few of the letters. Sometime I am
going to send you a letter, “Cousin Annie,” that
I have written all by myself that is if you will
promise not to laugh at it. But I will tell you
good-bye now.
From your loving little “cousin.”
Olivia J. Mitchell.
A business house in
spicuously displayed in its
Truthfulness is a corner-stone in character, and skull, and printed in large
if it be not firmly laid in youth there will always head these words of warning
be a weak spot in the foundation. mer.”
Two little boys, who were familiarly called Tom
and Jack, on their first day at school, were asked
their names, to which the first replied, “Tom.”
“That is not polite,” said the teacher; your real
name is Thom-as; be sure and always say Thom
as. And now, my little man”—turning to Jack,
whose face seemed suddenly to brighten up with
the light of a new idea—“what is your name?”
“Jack-as?” triumphantly exclaimed the
urchin.
A village pedago
boy, pointed to the le
knew it. “Yes, sir.'
knows him very well b
I can remember his
Johnnie says his rewa
candy, and his punishme
the rod; in which he disco
ishment is a good lickin
good.