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OL. J. H. & W B, SEALS.jSS ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 2. 1878. Tl? D C >? :i pek annlm lJcihJlo ,iN (NAUVANCfv. NO, 176 .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 door-. To see the neat windows thrown wide to the stm- s'liuo: The porch where we sat i\t the close of the ci&Y* Where the weary foot,traveler was welcome to rest him. 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 unfurled. And the lawn was alive witli the thrushes and blackbirds, 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 elled: Alien feet your smooth borders, O garden, have trod; And those whom I loved are at rest from their la bors. Reposing in peaee on the bosom of God ! Temple Bar. —OR,— [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 •H ChH\ (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 er's friend. 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- Iv kept. " 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 a companion. The note was very brief and curt, and ran as follows: ‘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 —Thursday.’ ‘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 whitened. 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 before?' ‘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 you ?' ‘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 making comments. ‘I don’t like your appearance at all; you look pale and unhealthy. Not a bit like a girl from the country.’ Tm very sorry,’ I said; ‘but indead, ma’am, I have excellent health.’ ‘Then your face tells stories about you. You play, of course ?’ ‘Yes, ma’am.’ ‘You’re warm now. Go and play something. Can you sing ?’ ‘Yes, ma’am.’ ‘Then sing too; and look here, Miss—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 aloud— ‘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 that.’ 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 would break. 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? 1 ! | i l \