J. H. & W B, SEALS.jSS
ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 2. 1878.
Tl? D C >? :i pek annlm
.MY OT,D HOME.
O utti.e bouse lost in the heart of the lindens.
What would 1 not give to behold you once more,
To inhale once again the sweet breath of your
roses, *• '
And the starry clematis that climbed round your
To see the neat windows thrown wide to the stm-
The porch where we sat i\t the close of the ci&Y*
Where the weary foot,traveler was welcome to rest
And ttie beggar was never sent empty away;
The wainscoted walls, and the low raftered ceilings
To hear the loud tiek of the clock on the stair;
And to kiss the dear faee bending over the bible.
That always was laid by my grand tat b er's chair !
O bright little earden beside the plantation.
Where the tall lleurs-de-lis their blue banners
And the lawn was alive witli the thrushes and
I would you were all I had known of the world!
My sweet pink pea-clusters! My rare honeysuckle!
Sly prim polyanthuses all of a row!
In a garden of dreams 1 still pass and caress yon,
But your beautiful selves are forever laid low—
For vour walls, little house, long ago have been lev
Alien feet your smooth borders, O garden, have
And those whom I loved are at rest from their la
Reposing in peaee on the bosom of God !
[OMP1IIIOII TO 1 LiDT.
COMPLETE A-V THIS ISSUE.
a. it r.
‘I’m very Borry, miss,' but I’m only a poor
woman myself, and if yon can’t pay the rent of
this room, I don’t see as yon can afford the rent
of the one upstairs.’
Here my landlady rubbed her nose viciously
upon her apron, and starred straight out of the
very dirty window.
As this was evidently a challenge to me to re
ply, I said, as firmly as I could, a few words
which brought out the reason for the woman’s
visit that morning.
‘Am I to understand then, that you wish me
to leave ?
•If you please, miss, at the end of the week,
for there’s the gent on the first floor would like
to have this bedroom.’
‘Very well, Mrs. Ruddock,’ I said; ‘I will find
a room elsewhere.'
•T'nanky, misfi,’she said sharply; and giving
her nose another vicious rub, she left me to my
thoughts—and my tears.
For I was weak, faint, and heart-sick, and the
coins in my purse had dwindled down, so that
if I did not succeed in obtaining an engagement
in a very few days, I had no resource but to
creep back to the country and avow my faiiure.
Just three months since, and we were all so
happy in the little country vicarage; and then,
in visiting one of his people, my poor father
caught a dangerous fever, while in tending him
dear mother was stricken with the same com
plaint, and ere three weeks had passed Minna
and I sat in the little study alone, in deep black;
for the struggle had been brief, and those we
loved lay together in the green churchyard, and
we were only intruders now in the little vicar
age that had been cur home.
We were nearly penniless, too, but a brother
clergyman of my father’s, quite as poor, came
forward aud offered us a temporary home till,
as he said, some opening should occur tor
I gladly accepted it for Minna; but for n
self, I was determined to try great London a:
unaided, battle for myself. In two years Jo
Murray was to come back from Australia
fetch me for his wife, and till then I would
independent. So the day came at last, wh<
with many tears, we two gills had to separa
and with aching heart I left the old Lincolnsh
home, and reached the great dreary void
London early one afternoon.
I was not long in finding a piece when
could stay, in the shape cf a second-floor fn
room in one of those heart-aching streets m
the Foundling—streets that echo from morni
till night with mournful cries uttered by vi
dors whose goods it is impossible to surmi
and with the dismal echoing tones of the vs
ous organs. So painful were these last to r
that often of an evening, when I have return
from a weary, disheartening search for an (
gagement, and sat alone and hungry, fearing
speed my money in anything beyond the
and bread-and-butter upon which I existi
these doleful strains—pleasant maybe to soon
have bad such an effect upon me that I ht
sat and sobbed till, utterly worn out, I have ft
en asleep, to wake, perhaps hours after, to fi
it very late, and crawled shivering off to bed,
As tbs weeks passed od, and niv advert!
ments and fees paid to the various registry o
ces had been without effect, I used to era
hack to my room, growing more and more d
heartened. I was always a plain, sallow looki
gir., and now in my fast wearing black I beg
to feel that I was day by day growing rnt
scabby and weary-looking, and that my feel
chances of obtaining a place were growing l
anu Ie.ss. ° °
I used to ait and ask myself whether I h
tried hard; and I intw I had; but. it was
ways the same; whether I advertised fora siii
tion as governess, or went from a registry off
to offer myself as companion to a lady it v
! alw “J s tbb same: r I noticed a look of diskppoi;
rnent as aoon as i entered the room for I v
(From Demorest for November.)
Walking and Carriage Costumes,
neither pretty nor hrisrbt-lookiog. and my
mournful black helped to Badden my aspect.
It was always the same - the lady did not think
I would suit her; and in blank disappointment
I had to return.
And now—and now it had come to this; that
my landlady had grown as tired of me as the
people al the registry office, where I had more
than once beeD told rudely that I was not likely
to get a place as governess or companion, but
had better look lower. That afternoon, evi
dently suspicious of my ability to pay. and per
haps disgusted with my miserable way of living,
and afraid I should be left an invalid upon her
hands, she had —rudely it seemed to me—re
quested me to leave.
In my present circumstances I was utterly
prostrated by the news, for I dared not take
lodgings elsewhere; and I could see nothing
now but to sell a portion ot my scanty wardrobe
and gc back to beg for assistance from mv fath
What a change ! and how soon had my hopes
of independent action been blighted ! I was
heartsick as I thought how in that great city
thero was wealth being squandered, and luxury
all around me while I was literacy starving, for
my poor living was telling upon me fast. What
could I do ? What should I do?
It was with weary iteration I had said those
words, and wept till tears came no more, and a
dull, stolid feeling of dispair had come upon
me, I had almost shrunk away in the streets
from the bright-faced, happy girls I passed;and
at timer I found myself asking what had been
my sin that I should be thus punished.
I lay awake that night for many hours watch
ing the light from the street-lamp playing upon
my ceiling, and at last, towards morning, the
remembrance of words I had often heard came
to me with a calm sense of repose, trust and
restfulness, and I believe I fell asleep at last
with a smile upon my lips, repeating a portion
of that comforting sentence ending: ‘Are ye not
much better tl an they ?’
It was a bright, sunshiny morning when I
awoke to hear someone knocking at my door and
hurrying on a few things, I answered.
‘Ah! I was just a-going to take ’em down again,’
said my landlady harshly. ‘Some folks can af
ford to lie in bed all day; I can't. Here's two
letters for you; and mind this. Miss Laurie; I
never bargained to come tramping np to the top
of the house with letters and messages for you.'
‘I’m very much obliged, Mrs. Ruddock, ’ I said
gently, as I took the letters with trembling
hands, while, muttering and complaining, their
bearer went down stairs. It seemed very hard
then, but I believe it was the woman’s habit,
and that she was not bad at heart, but warped
and cankered by poverty, hard work, and ill-us
age from a drnnkan husband, whom she entire-
" One letter I saw at a glance was from Minna,
the other was in a strange crabbed hand, and I
1 longed to read them, but exercising my self-de
nial, I dressed, lit my fire and prepared my
frugal breakfast before sitting down and devour
ing Minna’s news.
What right had I to rnurmer as I did last
night, I asked myself, when she was evidently
so happy and contented? and then I opened,
with a flattering hand, the other letter and was
puzzled by it at first, but at last I recalled the
fact that three weeks Before I had answered an
advertisement in the Times where a lady wanted
The note was very brief and curt, and ran as
‘If Miss Laurie is not engaged she can call
upon Mrs. Langton Porter, 48 Morton Street,
Park Village South, at eleven o'clock to-morrow
‘At last!’ I said to myself, joyfully, and with
beating heart prepared myself for my journey,
for the appointment was for that morning.
Just as I had pretty well timed myself for my
walk, a sudden squall came on, the sky was
darkened, snow fell heavily, and in place of a
morning in spring we seemed to have gone back
iuco winter, for the snow lay thickly in a very
short time, and the branches of the trees were
Weak as I was, this disheartened me, but I
fought mvway bravely on, and just at eleven
rang timidly at the door of an important-look
ing house, and was superciliously shown, by a
stout, tall footman in drab livery, into a hand
somely furnished room. Everything in the
place was rich and good; heavy curtains hung
by window and door; skins and Etstern rugs
lay on the polished wood fl >ori aud a tremen
dous fire blazed in a great brass fire-place, and
the flames danced aud were reflected from the
encaustic tiies with which it was surroundrd
‘I’ll take your note ia,’ said the footman, as I
handed it. ‘You can sit down.’
I preferred to stand, and as soon as I was
alone I shivered with fear and cold, as I caught
a glance of my pale, sallow face in a great mir
ror, Every moment I expected to see the own
er ot the place, bat I remained standing wear ily
for an hour, aud then I sighed aud turned wist
fully to look at the door, wondering whether
the footman had taken in the note which I had
given him as my passport -
I started, for close behind me, having entered
unheard, was a rather plamp, tall lady in black.
She was dressed as if for going out, and well
wrapped in furs.
*0a ! you ar- 3 waiting,’ she said, harshly; and
a shade of displeasure crossed her face as she
looked full at me till my eyes dropped. ‘There,
Miss—Miss —Miss —’
‘Laurie,’ I suggested.
‘Yes, yes; I kuo>w,’ she said sharpelv; ‘it is in
my note. Pray, why in the name of common
sense did you not sit down ? Take that chair.
Now then, have you been companion to a lady
‘No, ma’am,’ I replied; and then in answer to
her questions, all very sharply given, I told
her so much as was necessary of my story.
‘I don't think you will suit me,’ she said;
‘I've had misery enough, and I want some one
cheerful and pleasant, a lady whom I can trust,
and who will be a pleasant companion. ‘There,
I’m sure there is uot such a body in London,
for the way I’ve been imposed upon is dread
ful ! I’ve had six in six months, and the num
ber of applications I have had nearly drove me
out of my senses. I've had one since you
wrote to me—a creature whose sole idea was
herself. I want one who will make me her first
consideration. I dont mind what I pay, but I
want some one tall and lady-like; and you are
not pretty* you know.’
I shook my head sadly.
‘Humph ! Well,’ she went on, • ju won’t be
so giddy, and be always thinking of getting mar
ried. There, you need not blush like that; it's
what ail the companions I have had seem to
think about. You don’t, I suppose?’
‘I am engaged to be married,’ I said, hanging
down my head, 'in a couple of years.’
‘Ho ! Well, he mustn’t come here, for I’m a
very selfish, pragmatical old woman; and if I
engaged you—which I don’t think I shall do —
I should want you all to myself, What is he en
gaged in ?’
•A settler—abioad,’ I faltered.
‘Ho! That’s better; and perhaps he’ll settle
there altogether without you.’
I looked at her indignantly, and she laughed.
•Ah ! I know, my good girl. I haven't lived
to eight and forty for nothing. How old are
‘Twenty,’ I said, shivering, for her rough way
repelled me, and I longed to bring the interview
to an end.
‘Why, the girl’s cold,'she said roughly. ‘H’m,
twenty ! Here, go up to the fire, and have a
good warm; it's dreadful weather. There, puli
off your bonnet and jicket. Put them oa that
chair, and go closer to the fire; I've a deal to
say to you yet, lor I’m not going to engage any
yonDg person and nave to change directly.’
I obeyed, trembling the while, for I was very
weak; and she went on asking me questions and
‘I don’t like your appearance at all; you look
pale and unhealthy. Not a bit like a girl from
Tm very sorry,’ I said; ‘but indead, ma’am,
I have excellent health.’
‘Then your face tells stories about you. You
play, of course ?’
‘You’re warm now. Go and play something.
Can you sing ?’
‘Then sing too; and look here, Miss—Miss—
I was about to tell her my name, but remem
bering the last rebuff, I was silent.
j 'Now, !gok here, my good joung lady, how
! am I to remember your dreadful name? What
is it ?
i ‘Laurie, ma'am,’ I replied.
| ‘Of conrse it is; I remember it quite well.
Now go and play and sing something, and mind
| I don’t want my ears deafened with fireworks,
! and the drums split with parrot-shriek bravuras.
■ Sing something sweet and simple and old-fash-
! ioned, if yon can.’ she added ungraciously.
I crossed the room and sat down to the mag
nificent piano and for the next five minutes I
see med to be far away, down in the old home,
as I forgot where I was, in singing my poor
j dead father’s ftvorite old ballad, ‘Robin Adair;’
j while, as I finished, I had hard work to keep
j back the tear-'.
‘Bo—bin A—dair,’ she sang, as I rose, in a
! not unnleahing voice. ‘Now let me hear you
i read. I always make my companion read to me
j a great deal; and mind this, I hate to hear any
one drone like a school-girl. Go over there into
the corner of the window, and stand there.
Take that book; you’li find the mark left in
where Miss Bellville—bah ! I believe her name
was Stubbs, and her father a green grocer—left
off. Now then, begin.’
She pushed a lounge-chair close up to the win
dow, and sat down with her hands in her muff,
while I stood there, feeling like a school- girl,
! and ready to drone, as I began to read with fal-
j tering voice what happened to be Thackery’s
moat beautiful chapter—the death of poor old
Colonel Newcome. I know my voice trembled
at times, and a strange sense of choking came
upon me as I went on battling, oh, so hard to
read those piteous heart-stirring lines ! but I
was weak aud suffering, I was faint with hunger
and exertion, sick with that despair of hope de
ferred. and at last the room, with its costly fur
niture, seemed to swim round before me, a cold
perspiration bathed my face, and with a weary
sigh I caught feebly at the curtains, and then
fell heavily upon the polished floor.
I have some faint memory of being lifted, and
wheeled in a chair whose castors I heard chir
rup, to the front of the fire, and then as my
senses began to return, I seemed to feel arms
round me, and a pleasant voice saying half
‘And she just lost her poor father too—to set
her to read such a thing as that! I declare I’m
about the wiekedest, most thoughtless and un
feeling old woman under the sun.’
Then there was the refreshing odor of a vin
aigrette, and the sick feeling began to pass away.
•I—I beg pardon,’ I faltered, trying to rise.
‘I beg yours, my dear,’ she said tenderly.
•Sit still, sit still. Now then, try and drink
Some sherry was held to my lips, and then I
was almost forced to eat a biscuit. They, how
ever, rapidly revived me, and I found Mrs. Por
ter had torn off her bonnet and mantle, and was
kneeling by my side.
‘That's better, my dear,’ she said, smiling at
me, as she passed her aim round me and drew
me nearer to her, and kissed me in a gentle,
motherly way. And now this was too much,
for I was weak and hysterical. I could fight
against harshness, but her tender words and
ways unlocked the flood-gates of my grief, and
I laid my head down and sobbed as if my heart
An hour later, after she had literally forced
me to partake of the breakfast that was ordered
up, she sat beside me, holding my hand, and
more than once I saw the tears steal down her
pleasant face as she won from me, bit by bit,
the story of my troubles and my bitter struggles
here in town.
At last I rose to go, trembling and expectant.
Would she engage me ? It was more than I
dared to hope.
‘Sit still, my child,’ she said tenderly. ‘It
has pleased God to make me—-a childless, wid
owed woman—His steward over much wealth,
and if I did not make this a home for one of His
tempest-smitten lambs I should be a worse wo
man than I think I am. Stay with me; we shall
be the best of friends.’
I stayed—stayed to know her real worth and
to win her motherly love—stayed to find, when
John Murray returned, that his love was greater
for my sister than for me, and patiently resign
ed my love to her, and then battled with a long
illness when they had gone together to the far-
off home. But every day gave me a new lesson
on not judging too hastily. That is ten years
since; and I am still in my peaceful, happy
home, though only as a companion to a lady.
A Connecticut Divorce.
An amusing divorce case is on trial in the su
preme court at Hartford, Coun. The parties are
E ( ward W. Cook, complainant, and Minerva
Cook. They lived in Evansville, III., and were
married in 1850. Mr. Cook was first witness
and gave a detailed account of his family trou
bles during twenty-one year's expe-ianee,bring
ing the trials of his life down to 1ST’, in which
time lie reached the crisis which grieved him.
His account of the afliir was very ludicrous. He
said that he and his wife had retired for the
night, and she requested him to move aiong to
ward the front of the bed to give her more room.
Like a faithful man he moved, but soon after
was told to move again, which he did, and kept
doing so until he was on the very edge ot the
bed. Then Mrs. Cook made a further demand
for more room, and Mr. Cook meekly told her
that he wasjhangiag on already and could not
move without going overboard; whereupon she
got her body into a firmly braced position,plun
ged her feet suddenly into the small of his back,
and he found himself in the middle of the room.
After that ho inhabited a lounge through fear,
and at last came to this State and applied for a
divorce. Mrs. Cook came on to remonstrate.
She denies many of the charges he makes.
‘Man seeks his affinity, birds are mated, fishes
have their loves, beats have a partner,but where
is affection shown In the vegetable world?' ex
citedly clamors a romantic young lady in an
agricultural exchange. Why; dear, haven’,
you ever seen apples pared? Yam, yam! Eh?