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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.