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BT MARIA LOU EVE.
She rocks us to Bleep—old nature, our mother.
And croon* her one song; for Rhe knows no other;
8uch an old, old song—all, would she but sing
Of the years to come, and what they shall hi ,ng.
Or would she but nod, and talk In their sleep;
We are sure sue knows, for she looks so deep.
We study the st irs—but alas, they are strung
On letters of light, in an uii known tongue.
Ho we msk the birds if they do not know
They tell us in song, but our ears a. e slow.
Then we pray the moon, as a hope fo-'orn.
What gifls she has brought in her silver horn.
But she only smiles—the best she can do;
And holds out her lamp, (or lovers to woo.
We seek for a sign, but none shall be given,
We’ll know it, at last, when the bolts a.e riven.
WINTER PICTURES.
Gloomy clouds are Rkiriinglow,
Their silent chambers tilled with snow.
Or, through the heaven's seudding fast,
Hurrying by w’-th chilling bla n.
Snow-birds, ne tlingelo.se together,
Brush and smooth each downy feather.
Twittering at the barnyard door.
Seat eh for seeus strewn on the tloor.
Berries are > ed on holly trees,
Head leives 1 usl le in the breeze.
Brown ghosts of flowers strew the mea l.
Blasts are scattei log the ripe seed.
Brooks eteen slow through quiet dalet,
Wiierv a<e "rouped the sp ckled quails.
Hilent wools, their songsters gone,
Only hear the nine's sail moan.
Winter comes In robes of snow.
W.lh while garments trailing low.
Marble domes of mountains high,
Whose hoary foreheads kiss the sky.
Winter come; with (besides warm.
Hearts that glow despite of storm.
Faire t are 1 tie~e flowers that blow
Underneath the chilly snow.
There are hearts litre winter flowers,
Blooming in the daikest hours.
And these are life's de .rest dowers.
Kentucky.
Christ
. 1 c.
How Tressy Got H er Christmas
“Things.”
Christmas was comiDg to two dear little prai-
rie-land children who had cnly heard of the
beautiful presents that make glad the hearts of
boys and girls fn the cities and towns.
‘Tressa,’ Mr. Whitter said, one bright day in
December, ‘can you keep bouse along with Jim
my, while your mother and me go over to the
settlement?’
Jimmy was the sturdy little son of the Hopes,
who were the Whittieis next door neighbors,
which meant that they lived a mile away across
the prairie.
‘Oh let me go, do father,’ cried Tress, spring
ing up from her patchwork—‘I’ll be just as
good!’
‘You can’t,’said her father, ‘we’ve got to bring
back meal and potatoes, and there won’t be
room. Be a good girl and stay at home. Jim
my and you can pop corn, and the time won’t
seem long.’
•Can we?’ cried Tress. ‘We’ll stay. Make
Jimmy come right off, father, do.’
•O yes,’ laughed Mr. Whittier, ‘he’ll be here
in ten minutes, never fear. ’ •
So father and mother and little Baby Robin
were tucked in the sleigh and started off. Tres-
sy sang gaily to herself as she ran into the wood
shed for the corn and the old popper.
‘I wonder why Jimmy don’t come,’she said
as she finished shelling, and flung the last cob
away, ‘it must be most fiv9. ’ And she peeped
out of the woodshed door that commanded a
good view of the trail for quite a distance. But
no one being in sight, she turned away, and be
gan to pick up kindlings to replenish the fire
for poppiog. Just then a little rustling noise
struck upon her ear. ‘Hoh-hoh, Mister Jimmy,’
she thought, ‘I won’t look around!’
But curiosity getting the better of her deter
mination, she turned her head, and there, stand
ing just outside the door, with his fore paws on
the Bill, and his two cruel eyes fastened on her
face, was a big, black bear! Tressy dropped the
kindlings and gave one bounce np the two steps
that led up into the house, forgetting, in her
fright, to close the door after her. Up followed
the bear. Now Mrs. Whittier had hung—the
last thing before she went away—ready to fry
after their long, cold ride, two slices of bacon
on a long nail that also held several strings of
apples left to dry. The bear, smelling these,
left Tressy for a minute, and ambling over to
the corner, he presently twitched them down,
and began to despatch them. Without stop
ping to think, Tressy flew to the door leading
to the stairs, and rushing up them to the loft,
she opened the little scuttle door and sprang up
on the flat roof, knowing from the stories she
had heard her father tell, enough of a bear's
chasing faculties to realize this was her only
hope. Trembling in every limb, and teeth chat
tering, she didn’t dare stop to think a minute,
even after th6 scuttle door was securely shut
between her and the bear.
‘Oh, Jimmy'll be killed!’ she cried, wringing
her hands, as a merry whistle rang along the
trail. •Don't', she screamed. ‘Jimmy, don’t
whistle—there’s a be-arY
But the wind took her voice the other way,
and still the whistle rang out, merry and clear.
Tresp, in perfect desperation, tore off her white
apron, aud flapped it in the breeze, screaming,
‘Jimmy!’
‘Hulloa!’ And the whistle came to a dead
stop.
‘Oh, don't come!’ cried Tress, motioning him
back and leaning over the edge of the roof.
‘Tnere's a bear in the house!
‘A bear 1 .’ said Jimmy incredulously, ‘hoh! I
don’t believe it! you've been dreaming and got
Beared!’
‘Oh, there is,’ cried Tress in the greatest ter
ror. ‘Don’t go in, Jimmy, you'll be killed—he
jumped into the woodshed and chased me all
into the house!'
‘Well,’said Jimmy, inwardly sniffing, ‘I guess
’twasa sqniriel: I’m goin’ to peep into the win
dow,’ So in spite of Tressy’s pleadings and be-
moanings, Jimmy crept np softly and took one
look in the little low window. And only one,
for be immediately bounced out into the read at
such a fearful rate, that Tressy, up high on the
roof, thought*surely the btar was after him. ‘O
'/is Tress!’ he gasped, ‘he’s awful big! and he's
a-lyin’ down on the rug.’
‘Do you suppose you could shut the door?
whispered Tress from her parapet, ‘so's to keep
him in till father gets home?’
•I don’t know,’ said Jimmy, who showed no
great desire to approach the house; but knowing
Tressv’s eves were upon him, he started with
knees’ tha’t knocked together in such a lively
manner that he could scarcely walk, and accom
plished the feat successfully. 'It’s done,’ he
cried, flying back into the trail. ‘I ain’t
afraid •'
•Now Jimmy,' said Tressy, ‘he might get ont,
yon know, or tear the house dowB, so you must
get somebody here, quick!’
•I'll run right home and get father, only I
don’t want to leave you,’ cried Jimmy, craning
[his neck to see his little playfellow.
•|f you don't get somebody quick, said Tres-
ay, ‘I shall freeze to death—my toes are just
like ioe, Jimmy Hope!’
Oh dear,’ said Jimmy, ‘it must be awful cold
up there! Tress, do keep a-walkin’—I wish I
could pitch my jacket up,' and he began briskly
to pull it off.
‘Dont, Jimmy,’ cried Tressy, ‘you couldnt
pitch it sos I could reach it—and besides do
hurry—I think I hear him a-movin !’
This had the effect to start Jimmy at a pretty
lively pace down the trail—but he didnt whis
tle.
To Tressy the minutes seemed like hours be
fore Mr. Hope and one or two men whom he
chanced to pick np, came to her resone. She
scarcely heard the preparations for the captnre,
and when his bearship was securely shot
through the little window, the shouts and
huzzas of triumph fell upon ears so benumbed
that they made but little impression. The
events of the past honr seemed like a dream,
and she was floating away—until strong arms
carried her down the little orooked stairs, and
into the old kitchen. Here she came to with a
gasp.
‘G, she aint dead!’ cried Jimmy in intense re
lief, ‘she aint\ Look at him, Tress—aint he a
bouncer!'
But Tressy turned away her head. ‘Ire seen
him enough,'she said.
‘Itstbe biggest one,’said one of the men,‘that’s
been around in these parts for one spell.’
'And that skin will fotch a lot of money,' put
in Mr. Hope. At the word ‘money’ Jimmy and
Tressy pricked up their ears to catch every
word, and then looked at each other and ‘Christ
mas’ was in their eyes.
Just then sleigh-bells were heard. 'Here they
come!' oried Jimmy, ‘1m a-goin' to tell ’em
first.’
‘Come back, Jimmy,’ called Mr. Hope, ‘youll
scare Mrs. Whittier—let her git in fust.'
Tressy could hear l|er mother give a pleasant
little laugh, and say, ‘Its good to get home,
John,’ and theu the door opened and she saw
their faces! The rest was all eonfusion, and
when the hubbub cleared away, Tressy found
herself in her mother's lap, tightly clasped to
her heart.
‘Mv brave little girl,’ Mr. Whittier would say,
coming up every two or three minutes, and pat
ting Tressy's yellow head and then going off to
look at the bear again.
‘Ill give yon,' said one of the men, ‘ten dollars
for that bear.’
‘He's a beauty,’ said Mr. Whittier, pushing
his bearstrip’s paw with his foot. ‘You may
nave him—bes come in the right time for my
little girl's Christmas.
‘O!’ Tress gave a small howl at that, as she
sat in her mother’s lap. ‘Our Christmas has
come, Jimmy Hope! the bear’s brought it! the
bear’s brought it!.
So in the following days the two children
were taken over to the ‘Settlement,’and allowed
sweet liberty in buying of presents, till the
•bear-money’ was all gone.
And the result was that a tree, beyond any of
the brightest dreams of the children, blossomed
out into beauty, and stood oj Christmas night
in the very spot that their strange and unwel
come visitor had occupied. And the Hopes
were all there, even Aunt Jane, who had always
openly sniffed at Christmas, and she kept wip
ing her eyes on the blue stocking she tried to
knit while the fan was going on. And Jimmy
and Tressy, like two wild little things; hopped
and danced and made the kitchen ring with
their happy nonsense, while Baby Robin, his
cheeks like two pinks, satin the middle of the
floor,and crowed at everything straight through.
‘O, what a time, Jimmy!' said Tress in a pause
in the festivities, when they two fonud them
selves alone in a corner, munching candy-balls
contentedly. ‘Didnt I tell you folks had every
thing—on Christmas? Well, we had a bear—so
there, I didnt, tell a story, Jimmy Hope!’
‘No, you didnt’, gallantly observed Jimmy.
‘Well, this is your Christmas— now next year
its my turn. You see what I*11 have!’
‘Bettern a bear,’asked Tress, taking another
bite of her candy-ball.
‘Yes, sir!’ said Jimmy, unwilling to be
beaten. ‘Yes, indeed, Tress Whittier! I'm goin
to bave a Gorilla!'
Rills From the River of Life.
‘The church is a recruiting station from which
men should go out to fight the battles of the
Lord; not a hospital in which to live idly on his
pension.’
A Congregational minister in Brooklyn has
concluded that too much sermon’zing and too
few pastoral visits are not productive of the
same amount of good, in oonsequence of which
he has informed his people that one new dis
course on Sunday morning would be all they
could expect with an old one at night. How
many would have known the difference?
Mr. Moody is preaching in Baltimore to large
andiences, who are only admitted by having
tickets. This arrangement is to give all an op
portunity of hearing him and being accommo
dated with seats when they come, and prevent
those from different parts of the c : ty from fol
lowing him to his appointments.
Rev. Frank Moore, son of the late Dr. T. Y.
Moore, former prstor of the First Presbyterian
Church in Nashville, Tenn., has’accepted a call
to take charge of the First Presbyterian Church
in Covington, Kv.
More than sixty persons have been hopefully
converted near Carthage, N. C,, during a revi
val in thjB Union Presbyterian Church of taat
vic'nity.
It is f a’d seven hundred Chinese in California
have joined the Young Men’s Christian Associa
tion with a 4 view to instructing the Christian
doctrines.
A statue erected to the memory of Dr. Chal
mers, was lately unveiled in Edinburgh. Lord
Moncreiff, who presided, paid the following
beautiful tribute to his memory: ‘It was the
moral fibre of the man which raised him to the
distinction he attained; his power of making
deep religious impressions, his ardent, fervent
philanthropy, scorn of the base, admiration of
the beautiful, and noble impatience with small
er and meaner natures, a~d with these he com
bined a gentle, almost boyish sweetness, adding
the charms of a simple mind and glowing heart
to his mighty conceptions and high aspirations.
Unitarianism appears declining in England.
At one time they numbered 370 churches. One
hundred of them are in much peril, while the
rest are falling off in membership and influence.
The island of Cyprus is attracting considera
ble attention since its attachment to the British
crown while the English are planning for its
spiritual welfare.
The opinions of Rev. Dr. L. Pierce, off the
South Georgia Conference, on sanctification, are
now being published in the Southern Methodist
Christian advocate, Nashville, Tenn. They have
a ring of the true metal. He says: ‘There is no
need of any special faith in order to a right ap
prehension and appreciation of promised sanc
tification, it being looked for as a man would
look for the ripening of his wheat or the mel
lowing of an apple.'
The following beautiful idea taken from the
Sunday Magazine, should be cherished in our
casket of precious thoughts and Sabbath medi
tations. ‘Remember that you may accumulate
immense fortunes, do many wonderful things
which Heaven may not disapprove and which
may fill the world with yonr praise, but you
must be saved if you wonld fill the heart of God
with joy, and shake all the heavens with shouts
of inextinguishable raptare.’
LOST GIPPY;
—OR-
Harry Walton’s Christmas Gift.
‘I have letters to answer. An revoir!'
Belle Thesler turned her proud, smiling eyes
npoD the inmates of the parlor, and then van
ished.
‘What do yon think of her, Harry?’ asked
pretty little Mrs. Le Rue of her handsome
brother. ‘Does she not look like a princess in
that rose-lined velvet robe, with those diamonds
in her black hair ’ What a form! What exquis
ite features ! What style ! What do you think
of her, Harry?’
‘I think she is a very beantifnl woman, sis,’
answered Harry Walten nonchalantly.
‘How indifferent yon are,’ returned his sister,
with a pout of impatience. ‘Belle is very rich
and greatly admired, and in every way just the
lady whom I would like to see your wife; and
Harry, are yon blind ?—she loves you !’
'Indeed!' was the provokingly unmoved ob
servation.
‘You are thirty-five, Harry,’ went on the eager
little matron, flashed and offended at his mock
ing tones; ‘it is quite time yon are married.’
•I agree with yon, Evie,’ replied her brother
frankly; ‘and I assure you that I shall be a bene
dict within the next year.’
‘And Belle ?’
‘I admire her, oertainly, sis, and only for one
thing, I might fancy her enough to ask her to be
my wife,’ he said.
‘And what is that, pray ?’
‘The face of another,’ he returned, his blonde
cheeks heating. ‘I met this other incidentally
and rendered her a trifling service, and that was
the beginning of an acquaintance that ended
with the day.’
‘Who was she?
•I do not know.’
‘Was she pretty ?’
‘A woman’s question ! No -she was divinely
lovely. Her hair was tinted like darkest amber,
and lay like folds of satin over the finest fore
head I ever saw, and her dark gray eyes and ten
der pink month expressed something of woman
ly goodness that I miss in your idolized Belle.
And she wore widow’s weeds,’
‘0 Harry, what nonsense ! What was the ser
vice you did for her ?'
‘It was slight. She was stepping on the plat
form of a car, when the train started and she
slipped and fell. I caught her just as the wheels
were upon her, and drew her back nnhnrt.’
‘And so saved her from death or horrible mu
tilation. O Harry !’
‘I did what anyone would have done, but the
incident was a sort of bond between us for the
time. I suppose I shall never see her again.’
‘And I foresee that yon will woo and wed Belle
Thesler,' said Mrs. La Rue.
‘Possibly, as I have resolved to marry,’ said
the young man.
There was the tap of dainty heels, the rustle
of a garnet-velvet robe, and the mnsical vibra
tion of a clear, high-bred voice interrupted the
dialogue.
‘O, Mr. Walton, yon promised me the opera to-
ntght, and I had quite forgotten. Pardon me
please. It is not too late, is it ?’
‘By no means. We will go if you will honor
me.’
And so they went together to the opera that
evening.
It was a new, popular and much applauded af
fair, but to fastidious Harry Walton it seemed
very tame and commonplace. The glaring
lights, the nnnatnral poses, the mocking splen
dor of the costumes and the shrill, labored trills
of the extravaganza, irritated his susceptible
nerves, and he sank back in his box quite con
tent to watch the beautiful Belle Thesler, whose
classic face was amusingly expressive of his own
disapproval.
‘She has more mind and soul than I thought,’
he said to himself, as he drew her glistening,
snowy mantle about her bare, gem-adorned
shoulders, and saw the dissatisfied curl of her
rose-red lips. ‘She has never once lifted her
lorgnette to criticise the splendid^toilets worn
by her rivals of fashion. She has only seen the
stage and heard the discord. Like me she ex
pected to hear something that would make life
more endurable and sweet, and she is disap
pointed as I am.’
And as they drove home together, he felt that
his respect for the fascinating woman.was vastly
increased.
‘You were not pleased to-night,’ he observed,
as they neared home.
‘No,’ she answered with seeming earnestness,
‘I do not care for sonlless songs. I like best
those sweet, simple, stirring strains that arouse
my feelings, and make me long for a life of quiet
and affection—a cottage of love and roses ever
sweet and fresh beside unruffled waters.’
‘But could yon give up your life of excitement
and splendor for love and a cottage?’asked Har
ry Walton.
•I could, and gladly,’ she replied; and her
pleased companion never guessed that this
charming mood was assumed because she had
listened to his conversation with his sister, and
hearing, had vowed to impress him triat she was
not lacki ig in womanly goodness and sentiment.
Harry Walton felt his heart bounding with
dangerous swiftness in his bosom as Belie Thes-
ler’s dusky fingers twined about his hands as
she descended from the carriage, and only the
recollection of a pure face, brightened by eyes
of gray and framed in ambei-'.inttd hair, pre
vented a response of serious import.
‘I have won him,’ thought Belle Thesler in
her chamber that night; ‘I shall have a rich hus
band and plenty of money a id pleasure. He
thinks me all ‘womanly goodness,’ which virtue
is at a discount nowadays. Thanks to his pride
ne will never publicly discard me when he learns
that I am only heiress of my fine wardrobe and
paste jewels and a quantity of debts, that be will
pay, of course.’
Belle Thesler enjoyed her Elysium for several
weeks, and still her admirer did not make the
momentuous proposal. The grave and thought
ful man proved a capriciously tantalizing lover.
It was Christmas day. The city was alive with
people, Harry was standing amid a croud that
thronged the entrance of a fashionable hotel,
flanked by the finest emporiums of fashion.
At a little distance a fair-haired child, pitiful
in tatters and misery, sat sobbing on the curb
stone.
A carriage rolled up. The cabman sprang
from his box and flung open the door, from
which a lady in velvet and fuis and fluttering
plumes descended.
The lady was the beautiful Belle Thesler.
The miserable child was directly in her path.
With a touch of her polished Frenoh boot she
thrust the tiny vagrant aside, while an unlovely
frown disfigured her face.
‘I hate beggars,’ she muttered.
The words were spoken in low tones, but Har
ry Walton heard them even as he had seen the
rude act.
‘Belle Thesler is not the ‘one woman’ for me,’
he thought.
He came out of the crowd and helped the for
lorn child to her feet.
The child clung to him sobbing:
‘Take me to my mamma; oh, take me to my
own mamma,’ she cried.
‘Where is she? Did she leave you here alone
in the street ?’
‘No she didn't I was naughty and runned
away from home last night to see the Christmas
fire works at the corner—me and Mattie, my
maid, and Mattie, she stopped to talk to a man
and the crowd pushed me along, and a big.ugly
woman said go with her and she’d find Mattie,
and I went and she took me to an ngly, black
old hole—down cellar—and took off my brace
lets and my locket and all my nioe clothes and
put these old rags on me and I cried myself to
sleep, and this morning, she told me she wonld
take me home, and she left me in the street just
now,and I don’t know where home is. Oh, I'se
so hungry and I want to see my mamma so bad.
‘Where is your mamma?’ inquired Harry Wal
ton, sadly perplexed.
‘Does yon know where the big fountain is
with the red glasses all shining on one side of
the trees? My mamma lives there in a great,
nioe house.’
‘What is her name?’
‘Me don't know. Me is Gippy.'
‘Gippy what?"
‘Gippy Moore. Can’t you 'derstand?' demand
ed the small vagrant, stamping a little, impati
ent foot, clad in blue kid that twinkled, muddy
and soiled, from under her ragged garments.
‘I will find your mamma.’ said Harry Walton!
and regardless of the sneer of his supercilious
acquaintances who had watched the little scene
from the hotel steps, and the wonder in the
proud, black eyes of Belle Thesler, who had re
turned to her carriage, he put the poor lit*!
waif into a cab beside himself and drove hon.
ward to his sister.
‘Why Harry!’ exclaimed Mrs. Le Rue; ‘this
child is the daughter of Mrs. Sydney Moore—
yon have heard of the millionaire, Jonas Moore?
Yes? Weil, Mrs. Sydney is his widow. I do
not know her personally. She belongs to the
exclusive bon ton, yon know. This morning I
saw in the papers that her little child was miss
ing and that she was nearly crazed about it. The
police force were all set at work to hunt the lit
tle thing and a large reward is offered for her
recovery. You are in luok, Harry. You may
get a reward.’
•Why Evie! as if I would take the money.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean the money, but yon may
get a reward in auother way. Mrs. Moore is
young and pretty, they say—and oh! so rich.
You can make the most of this service, Hal. I'll
dress this sweet babe—I've seen her in the park
with her nurse and wished for her a hundred
times—and you must take her to her mother. I
am not sure but this fair Sydney might make
you a more worthy wife than even our dear
Belle,’ said this anxious match-maker, sotto voce.
‘I should not marry Belle Thesler if she were
the empress of the whole world,’ returned the
young man decisively. ‘She is a hollow, gilded
image. She has no more heart than yonr mar
ble Psyche.’
‘Oh Harry!’ this form of ejaculation was a fa
vorite manner of remonstrance with Evie Le
Rue when she differed in opinion with her
brother.
‘I can’t help it, sis,’ returned her brother; ‘it
is not for beauty and money and style and sta
tion I shall give up my Sweet freedom. The
woman I marry must be—’
‘A paragon of perfection,’ interrupted his sis
ter, impatiently, and careless of the tautology
of terms. ‘Then you will never have a wife.’
Harry Walton was not inclined to disagree
with Evie Le Rue’s opinion. He had had his
fancies, and they had not been few; but he had
never met his ideal until he saw the gray eyes
and amber hair of the lovely, unknown woman
whose life he had saved. But it was not the
beauty of form and feature that enchanted his
memory—it was something of soul and intel
lect that he remembered as seeming kindred to
himself.
But be put aside all sentiment, and was again
the calm, kindly, courteous gentleman, as he
placed the happy, prattling Gippy by his side
in his carriage and drove to the elegant mansion
on; he square.
The child was wild with delight when she saw
the familiar facade of brick and granate and the
tall vases brimming with the glowing flowers
that the frosts had not blighted.
Confusion and distress evidently reigned
within. A crowd had gathered around the gate,
servants were harrying across the veranda, and
the moment Hal descended from the carriage
with his prize, a shout went up, and several of
the servants ran indoors crying:
‘She’s found, mistis 1 , she‘s here.’
Then Harry heard aery of joy, and the next
instant out flew a slender figure dressed in black,
who rushed up to the child and clasped her in
her arms, showering kisses and crying with joy.
The sweet face, the auburn tinted hair, the
willowy grace, it was Harry’s ideal—his dream-
love; it was the lovely unknown of the railway
episode, to whom he had brought back her child.
Naturally there was a pathetic scene and a
very proper sort of acquainiaae followed between
Harry Walton and the courted, aristocratic Mrs.
Sydney Moore; but it was not until the most
delicate of lilac and purple had displaced the
crape and the sable and gloomy ‘weeds* that
this lover told the woman he adored how Cupid
had been aboard the railway train that olden
day, and how sorely the nectar-tipped arrows
had wounded his heart.
‘Sydney, the moment I saw you, I knew I had
met the only woman I could ever love enough
to make my wife.’
And the lovely woman, who had been wedded
when a thoughtless girl by sordid parents, to a
senile money-king whom she esteemed but nev
er loved, nestled her bright head within the em
bracing arm and whispered: ‘My .Harry.‘
A Romantic Marriage.
A Peculiar Wedillng Night-
Rev. M. M. Landrum, M. D., whilst far away
from home, was taken suddenly and seriously
ill. In the midst of strangers, he felt very des
olate and longed for the loving sympathy of
some dear friend. Naturally his thoughts turn
ed towards Miss Irene M. Yerby, the orphan girl,
who, years before, had been received into his
family, whose worth he had learned to appre
ciate and who was still an innate of his home in
Bairdstown, Georgia. With weak and tremb
ling hand, he wrote her a short letter, stating
his condition, asking her to come to him and in
the capacity of a wife fili the position of nurse
and comforter. The lady, on receiving this no
tice, did not for a moment hesitate, but with
true womanly instinct hastened to her distressed
friend; and, standing beside the bed wherein
the sufferer lay, with his feeble band clasping
hers, became united for life to her beloved ben
efactor.
Hand in hand, with hearts united.
They were bridgroom then and bride—
Each to each affection plighted—
Thus, the marriage knot was tied.
The above ceremony was performed at the
Kimball House, Atlanta, Georgia, on Saturday
night, December the 7th, 1878, in presence of
the following distinguished persons:
Rev. H. H. Tucker, D. D., officiating minis
ter, and lady; also, Mrs. Dr. Jones. Rev. Dr. j
James W. Lawton and lady. Dr. W. M. Wil
lingham (House Representative) and lady. Co 1 .
Samnel Lumpkin (Senator) and lady. Mr.
Wily, Kimball House propiietor.
The bride, although a total stranger in the
oity, received several handsome presents.
So much for this romantic, Saturday night
marriage, but the undersigned is curious to
knew, how came the officiating minister to be
married on Saturday night, years ago, it being
such a peculiar night for a wedding.
ZOKOXOBBE.
Attanta, Ga.
Mr. Sankey is singing ^Switzerland.
The Family Quadrille.
A PRKTTT PARLOR SCENE.
Mother sits at the piano; the blinds are down,
for it is twelve o’clock and we are in the sumi er.
The first notes, softly struck, vibrate with a sort of
tenderness throughout the vast parlor. Two
children, who were playiDg in a corner, stopped to
listen to the music, and their two little heads euri-
ously looked to mother. Charles put a finger
across his lips, and rose noiselessly; Mimi keeps
rocking her doll and speaks motherly to it in a
low tone, pulling off its stockings all the while.
Charles walks slowly, a fan in his hand. He
listens to the melody, that is now more accentuated.
With the greatest care the child brings a foot stool
near the piano and seats himself there. His
mother has heard him, and turning her head she
exchanged a smile with the little man. He has
understood; he knows he can stay now. His
pretty, limpid look—the true sign of a pure soul—
goes up and down from the maternal face to the
hands that strike the key-board. His fau persists
in beating time ; his mouth opens, all the exhuber-
ance of life which is in that young and healthy
little body seems at rest, as intoxicated by the
*> arm of that sweet melody. One plays well for
oh an interested audience.
\t the other end of the parlor, Mimi has shaken
l f tir nead surrounded by graceful locks as by
a leu aureole. She rose, and with impatient
fe" he began to turn, slowly at first and noise
lessly on the carpet, holding by the hands her own
daughter, as she calls her doll. Now she turns
around the chairs, raising her arms and repeating
t* herself:
“I dance, I dance.”
Then, looking to her brother, she whispered :
“Come and dance with me, my Charlie.’’
Charles made an energetic negative sign, but the
little girl was not now looking at him. She was .
busy whipping her doll, which, running against a
chair, had considerably damaged it« - little wax
nose.
The mother heard the noise of the w.i
the sonorous slapping by the little hand made tio
turn round, and she inquired, laughing, what was
the matter. This broke the charm, and the sweet
Rossini flew out through the window.
Charles left his foot stool, and climbing u on his
mother’s knees:
“Is it hard to play ?” he asked.
To try his talents he strikes here and there with
his short, round little fingers, making fantastical
arpeggios aud sounding formidable chords never u
dreamed of even by the most whimsical German ”
composer.
This seems to be the music for Mimi : she jumps,
bounces, sings, turns all around the room and,
red as a cherry, and almost exhausted, she runs,
or rather rolls like a ball, into the arms already
open to receive her.
All of a sudden, Charles has an inspiration.
Leaving the piano and standing before his mother :
“Dance with us, mamma,” he said, “please, say
yes, dear mamma darling."
Both little ones cover her with kisses, they coax
her to dance, their impatient little hands pall un
mercifully her skirts and hold to them with a
strength almost equal to their desire.
“But it is too warm, children.”
“I'll fan you when we get through, mamma,”
and Charles triumphantly agitates his fau before
his mother.
She yields at last, or rather surrenders. How
could she refuse?
She took Mimi’s hand, and Charles stood'oppos
ite to them. Then they started the quadrille—
only three of them—but what matters it ?
Mimi holds her dress with one hand, and jumps,
jumps so high that she falls. Then such an ex
plosion of silvery laugher! >
Charles makes a cavalier seul, half bold, half
timid, always seeking the eyes which are like a
looking-glass to his own, and when near his two
co-dancers, joyously and deliberately takes their
hands for tlie round.
At last the mother, exhausted, sits on the carpet.
Charles is by her, and uses his fan zealously,
She closes her eyes as for sleeping, but the
two little elves wake her up by choking her with
caresses.
The door opens and father enters.
“What are you all doing here ?” he inquired,
smiling.
Then Charles, out of breath, cries :
“Little papa, it's mamma giving a ball!”
What ball was ever so truly gay, and who could
object to such dancing ? y.
MEN AND WOMEN,
Mrs. Welton has got a divorce from Mr. Wel-
ton in Lichfield. It appears that Mr. Welton
tied her up with a olothes-line, and poured ker
osene oil all over her, and threatened to illnm-
inate the surrounding country with her, as he
could well afford to do so, as oil is but 20 cents
a gallon.
Mrs. Maekay, wife of the Bonanza King, has
over 250,000 worth of jewelry, and when she gets
the toothache she suffers just as much as the
woman whose bracelets and diamonds came
from the ninety-nine cent store.
—Prince Lucien Bonaparte is now living in
London and is devoting himself to the work of
collecting the creeds of all religiocs and sects, j
with a view to their classification, his object be- j
ing simply scientific or anthropological. In the
collection and classification of dialects Mr. Con
way says the prince is unequalled.
Leonard Platt, of Sheldon, la., eloped with
two girls, was pursued and overtaken by their
parents and married one of them, the other, who
had lost the toss, being taken home by her
father.
William J. Wilson, the negro who founded
the Freedman’s Bank, has just died at Washing
ton. He wa3 a man of energy and activity, and
well educated, and started a freedman’s bank
in the cellar of a building in the cent.al part of
Washington, to which speedily the negroes in
trusted their savings. Soon he moved into more
pretentions quarters and might have got along
nicely had he not listened to frihnds who urged
him to apply to Congress for a charter for the
the bmk and power to start branch institutions.
From the first the bank grew until there were
at least 100 branches in the different Southern
cities. The District Ring got hold of it, and
lent the money on worthless securities, and
down it went, all of Wilson's property going
with it. His daughter, who had led colored
fashionable Bocietv in Washington, got a situa
tion as teacher and Wilson obtained a clerkship
in the Post-Office. He was fifty-nine at the time
of his death, an LL. D. of an Ohio college, and
the blackest hegro in Washington.
San Anotonia. Tex., December 14 —Yesterday
a man named Greismar fled, drawing $15,000
from the bank and leaving his wife penniless in
this city. Parties here and in Galveston say he
swindled D. <fc A. Oppenheimer, and local mer
chants claim a loss of $1,000. Farther informa
tion is awaited with anxiety.
A lady in Somerset county is just finishing a
bed quilt which she began 52 years ago. It con
tains 6,000 pieces.
‘No man is so insignificant as to be certain
his example can do no harm.'