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THE SUNNY SOUTH. ATLANTA, GA„ SATURDAY MORNING, JULY 30,1887,
3
THE NEW COLUMBUS
—OR,-
}
Narrative of the Sole Survivor of Sir John Franklin’s
Last Arctic Expedition.
[COPYRIGHT SECURED. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]
CHAPTER XLIX.
THE FLEEING FAWN.
The desires of the human breast are far more
powerful than all the rationalism of philosophy.
When at times I would resolutely place myself
under command of my coel judgment, it was
it was easy to perceive that I was one among
the most fortunate of human beings, and hence
should be one of the happiest ’ Had I not, by
the most wonderful and unexpected means, es
caped from my hopeless amic imprisonment
and found myself in the midst of a friendly
and intelligent people who supplied me with
every comfort that I could wish for? “Most
certainly,” would always be the prompt answer
of my reason and sense of gratitude.
“Then are you not content?” the silent mon
itor would continue. And my lips would mur
mur “yes"; but a sinking sense of emptiness
in my heart would respond "no.”
And in the midst of festivity I continued the
embodiment of melancholy, all the more miser
able because forced to counterfeit a cheerful
ness I did not feel. I was indeed—to use the
effective words of an English poet—“crossed
by hopeless love,” and Seeing, whenever it was
possible, from the sight of human beings, I
gave myself up to the tempestuous tossings of
my passion.
At such times, resting moodily in some lone
ly, wooded spot, I found myself frequently
muttering over those lines of the same writer,
{which seemed to me a portrait of myself).
‘•There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreathes Its old fantastic roots so high,
Ills listless length at noontide would be stretch
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.”
I was completely enslaved by one desire—to
know and possess the woman I loved; and I
haunted the parks that formed part of ber
home and watched in vain for an opportunity
to address her. From the water-works of the
city a stream had been diverted to flow through
the wood, and at one place a rustic bridge was
thrown across the artificial brook, and on the
bridge was a seat which I suspected had been
placed there for the comfort of the young lady
1 longed so much to see again.
I went frequently at different hours, and
from a convenient place of concealment watched
the wooilana bench. But though the presence
of bunches of faded flowers seemed to prove
she was accustomed to resort to the spot, it
seemed l was destined to continued disappoint
ment. But my vigilance was at length re
warded.
Upon a well remembered occasion I was sit
ting in my place of concealment, upon the bough
of a great tree, watching through a small open
ing the bench on the bridge. One sitting on
the bench must necessarily confront me in my
position. The stieam passed under me, out
into an open space, and thence under the
bridge.
I became aware of approaching voices, and
very soon the lady whom I had been so long
seeking was sitting on the bridge, her lovely
face in full view. She was accompanied, as I
soon detected from the tones of his voice, by
th? father of Wona’s wife, and she seemed to
be listening in silence broken only by an occa
sional query or explanation.
“My child,” said the old man, as if continu
ing an unfinished discourse, “marriage is the
normal status of woman. As a maid she can
never know contentment, for life in that soli
tary state is spent in deep, though secret, re-
innings, regrets and longings for the last and
untried mysteries of matrimony.
‘But hasten not, in maiden verdancy, to
co iclude that I would promise perfect happi
nets in the married state. I am far from mean
ing you should believe that. Alas, bliss in
well-rounded and perfect measure is not known
to human beings.
•‘The initiated married, as well as the wonder
ing unmarried, have their pangs. They have
their secret and unsatisfied longings also. In- i >
deed, among all things in animated nature, do afloat and climbed breathlessly back to my
we know of one that is not so afflicted? I position in the tree again. But a few seconds
I he unconscious infant, born unsatisfied, | passed before the look of surprise upon the
The expanding mind young lady’s countenance announced that my
| “Tour feet most tread it; your beauty and
accomplishments predict and Impel it. May
your choice be fortunate, is my most earnest
wish. You know full well whom I prefer for
your husband. Your band is already sought
by many proper suitors. They will crowd
around you when you shall have emerged in
the full light of the fashionable world. Con
duct yourself with discretion and confide in
me for advice and guidance.”
Keen pangs of apprehension and jealousy
racked me as I heard these words, and in
creased my passion a hundred fold. (This
man, thought I, speaks very much as a father;
but how can it be possible he should have an
unmarried daughter and I remain in ignorance
of it? I, who am so Intimate with the family?
No, it cannot be. The lady is doubtless his
ward.)
“I have felt it to be my duty to speak at
length and freely to you about these matters,”
he continued. “Illusions that are harmless as
well as beautiful, may be preserved; those that
are hurtful should be dispelled. We would
not part with the rainbow, but the mirage
might well be dispensed with.”
The old man walked away, leaving the
young lady on the bridge. I could hear his
steps becoming fainter in the distance.
She sat perfectly still and gazed into the wa
ter, a picture of sadness. I saw her press her
kerchief to her eyes and tremble under influ
ence of convulsive sobs.
O, the fantastic devices of love! I had
watched and watched for this opportunity. I
had constructed a toy ship, rigged with masts
and sails, and carried it with me to the place
many times before, designing, if possible, to
make it the bearer of a message to her timor
ous heart. The very novelty of it, I fondly
argued, would be advantageous. I nervously
took out my tablets and scrawled with flutter
ing haste, the following:
There, through this tin; opening
Chance-wrought In Interlacing boughs,
I see her pensive, drooping face,
Where, spite her efforts to oppose,
The stealthy tear-arop halting fliws.
Malignant, envious, hateful Grief!
Whence are you come to smite this flower?
This blossom sweet that blithely grew
In sunshine, and no shadow knew
TUI brought within your fiendish power.
How dare you, devilish demon, raise
Your hand against so lair a shape?
So bright an eye? So sweet a heart?
And wreak on pleading Happiness
So cruel and so foul a rape I
Take form, aged monster! Even now
S and forth with Iron armor on.
Gorged with the blood of murdered joys,
And plethoric with garnered pain!
Stand! let me slay thee, or be si&ln!
Vain, gl lrious challenge! I but ravel
Was violence ever known to save
One burdened heart from sorrow’s pain?
Kind Muse accord a softer strain
To charm the sunshine back again!
O lovely creature Hr not hence
As dreading him who pens these words I
Like stealthy hunter, breathing low,
And treading softly lest be fright
The cautious game he fain would snare.
S) stand I In the leafy shade,
And watch thy movements, lovely maid!
Well may the weary doe take (right,
And well outdo the winds la flight.
When cruel Death with sharpened sight
Lurks watchful in each shady brake
Eager to burl destructive shaft;
But mark, sweet girl, for Love’s dear sake
That he who pens these pleading lines
Rears In bis burdened, bleeding heart
No huriful, dark or base designs.
Why, therefore, fly at my approach?
O fateful boat, I cast tbee now
Ungulded on the gliding stream;
O float, thee sately to her band!
She, whom a winged seraph seems
As on the bridge she sits and dreams.
Slipping noiselessly to the ground and plac
ing the poem in the bottom, I set the little ship
wit the yonng lady in this remarkable game of
hide and seek.
I have before alluded to the fact that as time
in this country is. not divided, between day and
night every twenty-four hours as in England,
a substitute necessarily exists here: that is to
say a certain number of hours are devoted to
rest, and an equal succeeding number con
sumed in labor. Now during the hours of
sleep, though the sun may be shining brightly,
yet the whole population is wrapped in slum
ber, the fields and work-shops and streets are
deserted, and stillness prevails as at the mid
night hour in England.
Causing myself to be awakened three hours
in advance of myusual time of rising, I left
the palace, and passing through the quiet
streets went into the garden I bad so frequent
ly and so fruitlessly visited.
Being familiar with all its windings, I had
no difficulty in finding the spot where I had
looked upon my beloved as she played and
sang with the harp, upon the first occasion
that I had beheld her. There was but one en
trance to this retreat, which was a thinly lat
ticed structure of wood. By the entrance
there was an evergreen tree rising not more
than ten feet from Die ground and its branches
were covered with a thick foliage.
I seated myself where, as I believed, my
godless was accustomed to sit, and occupied
the passing time in vain but delightful imaf
iaings, until I heard the signal of labor soum
ing from the bells of the city. Then I arose
and climbed up into the tree.
In about an hour I heird voices, and parting
the leaves that hung before me, I saw my
young lady coming down the path, attended
by the well known maid.
As they approached my tree the mistress
directed the maid to take her accustomed
place and give the usual signal in case of ne
cessity.
Then the lady approached the arbor. But
when she reached the tree in which I was con
cealed, she tnrned her back to me and laid her
beautiful hand among the branches.
Heavens! her hand was not twenty inches
from my own!
Looking pensively at the ground and gently
swaying her body to and fro, she stood there
fully a minute toying absently with the leaves.
How my heart throbbed! How I feared she
would hear its thnnderons beatings!
How I struggled to calm myself!
I know that but for the fact her eyes were
tnrned away, and that she played with the
branches with her own hand, my convulsive
tremblings must have betrayed my presence.
Omitting the tree, she turned into the arbor
and sat down, and a moment after a servant
appeared with the harp, and placing it by the
side of the mistress went back into the house
again.
Now my conscience began to upbraid me for
the part I was playing, and I wished I had not
come; but the sound of music sx>n drew my
mind away to happier thoughts.
She played for a time without singing, and
all the airs she produced were strains of sad
ness. Then she sang in a most plaintive man
ner the following melancholy song:
The sun rises freely at dawning;
U a trammeled be soars to the sky;
Uubnrdened be sweeps on bis travels;
No tear ever dlmmeth bis eye.
No sorrow e’er shadows his brightness;
an bb'
ilgb:
lory continues;
His besom ne’er heavetb a sigh.
His splendor glows freely on
Unlabored bis gli
craves its mother’s milk,
of babyhood demands ever new toys and car
resscs. Youth craves knowledge and longs for
years of maturity.
“A doubling lover at the beginning hopes
only for a smile or tender word—then for an
expression of love. That precious boon at
tained, he sues for the rich privilege of press
ing and kissing the loved one’s hand. Still un
satisfied, he fancies that if he could be per
mitted to encircle the shapely waist wi.h an
affectionate arm his happiness and triumph
would be complete. But no sooner is the flut
tering bird imprisoned than she is clasped with
sudden and fiery energy and smothered with
kisses.
“So the onward movement continues until
terminated by the natural and universal con
summation—marriage. ’ ’
After a short pause, during which his com
panion remained silent, the old gentleman con
tinued :
“Young manhood craves love, happiness,
matrimony, but realizes in the wedded state
far less of felicity than hope has promised.
“Age longs for renewed youth, but, knowing
this to be folly, craves for spiritual existence
beyond the grave.
“Watch the humming-bird as he flits rest
lessly from flower to flower. Is he not always
in search of a sweeter sweet? And it all, my
child, results from uur susceptibility to satiety."
(“My child!” I inwardly exclaimed with a
start. Was it possible this old man had an
other daughter besides Wona’s wife?)
“Your flowers,” said he, “that perfume and
beautify the garden; if you deny them water,
do they not wither until but a dry stem is lef i?
And if you surfeit them with moisture, their
foliage takes on the yellow hue of sickness and
the blooms droop and decay.”
“But,” interposed a voice that thrilled me
unspeakably (for it was the one voice I wished
most of all things to hear), “but is there not a
middle ground? Does not the p ! ant bloom in
perfection when moderately watered and prop
erly tended?”
“Yes,” replied her companion; “true
enough, In the study and observance of the
law of moderation, we must seek the surest
and most enduring enjoyment.”
“But can your tenderest and most watchful
care bring forth the flowers out of season? Js
it possible to make the plant bloom perpetu
ally?”
“If love, like the sun, flamed with perpetual
beat, then married life would be all that youth
in its most ardent imaginings, paints it.
“If the ecstasy of the honeymoon could sus
tain itself in undiminished fulness, then would
messenger was discovered. She watched it
eagerly as it approached, and I knew from the
manner in which she leaned forward and
looked straight down, that the vessel was
passing under the bridge. Then she sprang up
and ran rapidly off the bridge, and I divined
that she was in pursuit of the floating courier.
“She will come back to the seat on the
bridge to read the verses,” I said to myself.
But she did not reappear. I waited impatient
ly for many minutes. Still she did not come,
and I slipped cautiously down the rivulet past
the bridge in search.
The little ship lay in the grass on its side
where it had been hastily dropped, but the
message and sweet captor were gonel
CHAPTER L.
AN ABSORBING PASSION AND A DRAMATIC INCI
DENT.
I am sure there is no land on the globe
where beauty among women is so universal as
it is here.
True, I have not visited many parts of the
earth, but I have read more or less about all
nations.
And they each, doubtless, present many in
dividual specimens of the highest types of
female loveliness.
But here, though necessarily there are grades
of beauty, yet all the women, so far as my
extended observation has gone, are handsome
in form and feature; and many of them beau
tiful as the ideal conceptions of poets and
painters.
To the latter class belonged the lady who
had inspired in my breast a restless and de
vouring passion
And though I lived in the glare of the court,
and mingled daily with maids and matrons
of surpassing loveliness, yet they excited in
me n ithing above that elevating feeling of re ■
spect and pleasure which the presence of a re
fined woman never fails to inspire in the breasts
of men.
My mind and heart were filled with the im
age of the angelic creature who had woven my
unworthy name into her song, the words of
which I had written down, and was never
weary of repeating.
I made a thous ind resolves that I would ask
her parents to let me meet her—that I would
demand an explanation—that I would steal un
expectedly into her presence—brave anything—
everything in the effort to tear away the veil of
mysteiy through which I could see her dimly
like a bright star through a mist, but which
earth itself be a heaven, and man’s chief des : re though thin as air, seemed obdurate and unre-
would be for eternal existence here. But de
stroy one hope, and he forthwith constructs a
new one of the fragments of the old; hence his
wish for perfect bliss in the life to come.”
There was another pause, but the young wo
man still did not speak, and the talker re
sumed:
“The young husband and wife, each envel
oped—steeped—in love for the o.her, find
complete happiness—perfect satisfaction. Dar
ing this initiatory period of tender confidence
and consummated union, they desire, think,
dream of nothing but each other.
“But there was never a woman’s hand so
shapely or so soft but its electrical effects were
not lost by repeated fondlings. Never a wo-
lenting as an iron wall! But then my sense of
honor paralyzed my will, and held me back.
0, wili some soul reader tell us why it is
that though in the midst of cool waters yet we
thirst?
Why it is that though we mirgle with a
thousand women whose eyes may be like sum
mer stars, whose voices are seraphs’ notes,
whose forms and movements are like the soit
swaying of poesy, yet we are blind and deaf
and callous to their charms?
Why it is, in short, that for ns there is in
the entire world but one all-satisfying ideal?
Such is Love: whose torturing tempests only
one voice can still.
Whose raging fever only one fair doctress
man’s lips so sweet as to stimulate an un- can assuage
broken desire for their kisses. Whose yearning for sweetness only one pair
“Is there any fruit, or food, or cordial, so of lips can satisfy,
delicious that it will not become stale by con- j # *****
stantly partaking of it? any scene so beautiful |
as not to become commonplace by incessantly j But mark the insane folly of a lover. Does
gazing upon it? the old maxim, “All’s fair in love and war,”
“A lately married couple who love each propound a healthy moral principle?
other, may bo compared to two separate mu 1 went often to the home of iry nameless in-
sical instruments that have been tuned to play 1 amorata, but though I haunted the walks and
in concert. All the mental and physical emo- arbors that I took to be her favorite resorts, I
tions of the pair blend together with unbroken caught no glimpse of her form, nor heard any
harmony. But in later married life, though
their feelings will usually meet, it will fre
quently happen that one or other is not in ac
cord; nor can such inopportune languor be dis
sipated at the will of either, any more than an
unstrung harp can be made to play in concert
with a fully equipped instrument. Yet mar
ried life is, on the average much the happiest
lot for men and women.
“I am led to these remarks, my dear child,”
said the speaker in a tone that indicated he
was about to conclude, “by remembering that
your education is completed, and you are
about to make your entrance into society.
From thence there is a well-worn path—a track
marked by the feet of our mothers since crea
tion—the way that leads through courtship to
marriage.
sound of her voice. I saw frequently, howev
er, a servant whom I doubted not was the
lady’s maid, and I observed that when I ap
peared the maid never failed to sing a portion
of some song, and in a short time she would go
into the house. For a time this conduct was
inexplicable, but I soon concluded that the
girl was always on the lookout for me, and the
singing was a preconcerted signal which
warned the mistress o! my approach, and ena
bled her to retire lrom the grounds in time to
avoid encountering me!
And did I cease my visits then as a delicate
sense of propriety dictated I should?
I blush to say that I only pressed the en
chanting pursuit with greater ardor and even
recklessness.
Blind to ail consequences, I res lived to out-
In the sweet violet bours of morning
He laughs as he comelh our way;
In the dusk gathering hours o( evening
He smiles as he goeth away.
And the roses that bloom In my garden,
When cometb the unlabored spring—
They toll not In shedding their perfume!;
Spontaneous sweetness they bring.
And the birds trilling sweetly about us
Their Heaven-seat gushlngs of song!
Do they sorrow and strive for their joys,
As they flit the green branches among?
No. Each one Is happily mated,
And each one spontaneously led;
And life to these creatures Is gladness
Unclouded by doubt, or by dread.
But the heir e most gifted by nature,
And capable most to eoj iy—
M-m, reapeth his pleasures by labor;
Each benefit harbors alloy.
When he gathers Ills riches about him,
Calamity sweeps it away;
11 he loveth.some evil besets him,
And keepeth his passion at bay.
O wearisome custom that saddens
A bosom once b Itlesome and gay!
O tiresome shackles I bat bind me,
I would I could pluck thee away!
Why should not my happiness come
As it comes to the birds In the trees?
O why not my j >ys freely come
Like odors that float on the breeze?
O Mystery dark and unravelled!
O truth hidden deep in the past!
O goal of the far away Future-
Give, give us the secret at last!
There was almost a sob in her voice as she
sang the last line, and forgetting everything
but my love and my sympathy for her sorrow,
I slipped down from my perch, and entered
the arbor.
She sprang to her feet, and gaspingly cried
“Wauhama!” at the same time pressing her
hands nervously to her heart.
But then as if recollecting herself she said
confusedly, “No, no. Pardon, pardon! I do
not know’you. You are a stranger to me!”
Did faint heart ever win fair lady?
I said, “O beautiful, mysterious girl, forgive
this intrusion. 1 would explain—”
“O I dare not!” she cried, hastening to the
entrance. As she passed me I seized her hand;
but she turned her dark eyes upon me, and
half whispered, "How dare you!" with such
impression that I released her hand at once,and
without pausing a second she left me and walk
ed rapidly toward the house.
I waited until the maid also left the garden,
and then 1 slipped into the stieet.
I now feared I would lose the friendship and
respect of the family. I dreaded the displeas
ure of Wona.
One thing, however, I inflexibly resolved.
That was that I would give up the pursuit. It
was evident now that f< r some reason which I
had no right to pry into—possibly a betrothal
—I was not to associate with the young lady.
Whether the arrangement accorded with her
feelings—whether she was unhappy in such en
gagement if it is existed—whether she cherished
a secret affection far another—seemed to be
questions ihat I could not honorably raise.
For by what means had I become cognizant
of the lady’s concealed love, it as I strongly
suspected, it really existed? First by accident
ally everhearing a ballad.
Second, by deliberate Sives dropping.
In accordance with my fixed resolution I
wrote the following letter:
Beautiful Lady: Be not. offended at sight of
this missive, i >r, if it shall be received with
scorn, deign to read the message it contains
before casting it from thee.
I owe thee a thousand apologies, and here
I make them with all earnestness and humil
ity.
Thou art a mystery that hast lost me my
wits.
Pursuing infatuatedly thy shadow, as one
followeth the capricious fires of will-o'-the-
wisp, I have fallen into the quagmire of indis
cretion.
Not by any means art thou blameab.e with
my conduct.
Thou hast the right to deny mine eyes the
pleasure of behold ing thee.
Has not an angel the privilege of being in
visible?
I only plead as excuse for my folly, the gen-
er <1 proneness of man to follow woman.
Shall not a freezing man seek tire?
A drowning man the shore?
A thirsting man water?
A benighted man the light?
A wretched man happiness?
However much annoyance I may have given
thee sweet girl, this much I say with my hand
upon a heart that knoweth not falsehood; I
have pursued thee with spotless respect; I
have hovered about tbee as softly as a child
that essayeth to capture the humming birds.
I now sadly,and reluctantly recognize that an
incomprehensible fate hath ordained I shall
not come near thee.
I yield with such poor fortitude as I am able
to command, and promise to pursue thee no
more. Mine honor bath asserted itself at last,
and will hold my feelings in control.
Forgive, if you can my past great follies, and
believe me to be sincerely your devoted ad
mirer and well-wisher for all the future.
Wauhama.
Carefully folding aod sealing it, I again stole
into that Garden of Eien, (would that 1 could
have been Adam to the pensive Fve that
haunted its walks!) and delivered the letter
privately to the maid, and told her to give it to
her mistress.
Then 1 went away, no more to return.
(to EE CONTINUED.)
Do You Want $100 in Gold?
Let all our Householders and friends call
attention to our extraordinary array of gold
and other valuable presents to Tie distributed
among the patrons of The Sunny South on
the first of October next. See first column on
4th page.
CHAT.
These are my halcyon days—my days of
“sunshine and rose leaves,” I am never so
happy as when all our large family are pres
ent—at least seveml of the members. And
while so many letters, filled with interest and
usefulness, are on hand, I wfU spread out the
voluminous folds of my well known dress, set
tle into some secluded comer, cross my hands
and listen while you chat for me.
Many thanks to all the contributors who go
to make up our kingdom, and may they still
continue to come, for, as Rosa Alba says,
there is never one too many.”
Mother Hubbard.
According to the chracter or extent of your
business set aside a liberal percentage for,ad
vertising, expend it judiciously and the result
will be protiiable. G.o. P. Rowell & Co., 10
Spruce street, New York, will give you good
advice and do your work so as to procure the
most for the money.
Random Thoughts.
Dear Mother Huubbard: I. did not mean to
stay so long away from the beloved Household,
and, as I am one of those who have been seem
ingly taking an endless holiday, I feel that it is
my time to speak; but no ideas present them-
^This lovely summer weather is delightful for
dreaming and castle-building—for wandering
in shaded wood paths, by cool streams, listen
ing to the dreamy cadences of the whispering
winds, or, on a still day, in dim-scented aisles,
pausing with the solemn, silent sound, and as
the little child said, 'Sistening to the still. ’
But for clearly-defined, comprehensive thought
this is 'he time of all others. When it seems
to me that I cannot think, vague ideas float in
my mind, but cannot be expressed.
Florida, you gave me a pretty sketch of
woodland beauties fn your summer retreat,
“Camp Tratquility.”- Is there, then, a spot
on this earth that can be called 'Tranquility”?
If there is an earthly resting place for the tired
heart it must be found among the forests and
flowers. I love woods as you describe them—
radiant with the bloom of spring, musical with
bird-notes. I love them in the dead green of
summer and in autumn, when every leaf is
touched with glory, brightening only to decay.
Florida, write oftener; I like your letters.
There are many lue you, Lallah Rookh—
many who love sad poems best—many who
th nk that “the sweetest soDgs are those that
tell of saddest thoughts.” It is because so
many of us are better acquainted with sorrow
than with joy. Ah, well,
“What is the me of endless sorrow?
Tho’ the sun goes down, it will rise to-morrow,
And life is not over yet.”
No matter what comes, the brightness of life
can never be for any of us entirely over.
My love to you, Stella and Cornflower.
Burton, what is the matter? I look for Bar
ton nearly every week, bat am always disap
pointed.
And Susie Steele, I fear your loving hand
colors too highly the picture you would present
to my friends. “One too many,” did you say.
Susie? In a garden many flowers may bloom,
some in conspicuous places where the sun’s
bright rays may deepen their gorgeous colors,
where storm and rain may bend and break,
others in sheltered spots where the sun fails to
touch their pale faces, where the rough wind
cannot find them. But each one blooms in its
place. There is not “one too many.” Many
of us long for another place in the world—an
other life. Bat whatever we are, however bur
dened and shadowed, if we cannot help our
selves, it must be that God wills me to occupy
that place and do that work.
Rosa Alba.
j wrong to feel as I do, but there is a restless
ness in my n iture I can neither understand
nor explain; a longing for something unat
tained, that urges me forward to conquer
every obstacle and to rise above all opposition,
Is it ambition? Who can tell me?
Susie Steele
Coats' Bend, Ala.
ANOTHER VERSION.
BY KATE WARE.
Of the Nineteenth Century nuisances, who make me
very tlrod,
I’ve got a little list. I’ve got a little Ust,
And every single one ol them shon:d certainly be
fired.
For they’d none of ’em be miss’d—they’d none of
’em be miss’d!
Tue “Haggard” individuals who don’t think “She'
Is gr oat—
But read those poky novels which are really ont of
date.
The man who says that milk-shakes are Injurious to
the brain;
The dnde who whistles nothing bnt an operatic
strain,
And all voung ladles, who on singing Hlk-a-do in
sist—
rhey’u none of ’em be miss’d—they’d none ol ’em be
miss’d!
The famous Ice-cream cake man, who has things
all bis own way,
The everlasting pnnster— I've got him on the list.
Tue college students who get rattled on commence
ment day—
They never would be miss’d—they never would
be miss’d!
The chap who once said chestnut, but wi.h “Haw
thorn” now strikes you.
Because Hawthorne wrote “Twice told Tales”,
everybody knew!
The man wno doesn’t know that Billy Patterson was
killed;
The catcher of the local nine, who lets the balls get
spilled.
And tnat singular production, the “progressive
euchreist"—
I’m sure he’d not be miss’d—I’m sure he’d not bo
miss’d!
And Indeed there’s many others who might go upon
this list,
And they’d Dnoenf’em be miss’d—they’d none of
’em be miss’d 1
Jesnp, Ga.
Moonlight. Music, Prayer and Pro
test.
“Like meadows filled full of the moonlight,
Mixed with shadows and odorous balm,
Like the depth of the skies on a June night,
Filled full of an exquisite calm,”
Is the deep leeling of tranquil rest that fills
my heart to-night. The windows are up, the
moonlight wanders through in its calm purity,
and from the vines by the door, the breath of
the honeysuckle is overpoweringiy sweet. Soft
and mellow on the night wind came the deep
tones of an organ. Fuller and sweeter swells
the music, and leaning far oat I hear the
words, sung in a clear, rich soprano:
“I need the prayers of those I love!
« I need the sweet, sioeet feeling;
That suit for me is urged above,
Whene’er dear friends are kneeling.’
It is Annie. I listen again, and over the
three hundred yards between us, comes the
thrilling refrain:
“Amid life’s cares, I need the prayers,
Of those I love.”
I have heard the words a hundred times,
perhaps, yet never before have they come
fraught with such a weight of meaning: “I
need the prayers.” We pray often and fer
vently for those we love, yet how seldom re
member that they need not only the prayers
alone, but the knowledge that they are thus
remembered. How often do we make the fact
known to friends that we carry them before
God’s throne. This can be done in a way
neither presumptuous nor boastful. This as
sociation of ideas recalls a memory bright.
Once, long ago—30 long, measured by the
thoughts and hopes that only bloomed to
wither, lying between them and now—so long
that I sometimes feel that it must have been
a 1 most on the borders of another world—once,
when little more than a child, I was talking
with a small boy, a member of my Sunday-
school class, on the duty of prayer for our
selves and others, and he promised that he
would pray for me, too. Ti ue passed. Other
friends and faces came and went. Last sum
mer I saw him again. He had grown taller
and more manly, but he still had the same boy-
isn frankuess that Was his chief charm in the
past. We were talking of old days, and I
asked if he remembered the promise given.
He did; and then I a3ked: “And have you
kept that promise?” And the simple, thought
ful answer came: “Yes.” Ah, how it cheered
and encouraged me. No doubt others nearer
to me than that child had prayed for me, but
only be, beside my own family, ever told me
so. And the memory is one of the sweetest
my heart holds.
Rural Widow, I heartily return your hand
clasp.
Veritas, I thank yon beyond words.
Pccebe, dear, I cannot permit you to com
pare j ourself to such a pitiable object. But
since the idea is your own, be assured I shall
never spurn nor disregard my little companion.
I am too grateful for any kindness. But be
something dearer—be my friend.
Florida, my sweet adviser, I appreciate your
words. I laughed, howerer, when I read your
letter. Both yau and Phcebe misunderstand
me. It is not “idleness” norlaok of "employ
ment” at which I rebel. It is the sameness—
the unceasing monotony of the country life.
One day is just like another.” So few ad
vantages; so much ignorance and careless in
difference in regard to anything like improve
ment or progress. Work? I have work for
every waking minute, and yet it does not sat
isfy me. I have house and garden-work, fancy
and “unfaucy” work, Sunday-school and
charity work and 6ndiess other work. Any-
tliink, from the finest knit lace to a rag-carpet,
and from a card-board book-mark to a meal-
bag, finds a place in my catalogue. In faef. I
can do anything I have ever tried, except to
catch a fish or to ride bareback! 1 know it is
A Tribute to the “Hero of the Lost
Cause.”
Dear Householders: Perhaps some one will
invoke the old simile of the stage-coach when
when he hears a strange rap at the door—“Al
ways room for one more,” but in spite of the
yawning waste-basket and a doubtful wel
come from those who are within the mystic
circle, I will make an effort.
For nearly two years have I felt the influence
radiating from the genial Household columns,
and equally as long have I been worshiping
from a distance the many true Southern hearts
there, which are sending out their gentle aod
truly patriotic blood to vivify and enable
the purposes of the Southern youth. Long
may you continue in your noble work, worthy
Householders.
The South is my favorite subject, and Jeffer
son Davis is my favorite living hero. Carlyle
makes sincerity^ the basis of gieatness. Meas
ured by this standard, Jefferson Davis suffers
nothing. Early in life he became a pupil to
Mr. Calhoun—the famous State’s Rights advo
cate, and though it cost him property, position,
and political aspirations, yet throughout ali
the vicissitudes of his long life, he has never
ebaoged. Even his old enemy and rival Sena
tor Douglas did him the justice to admit that
Mr. Davis’ principles were the same in 1800 as
they had been in 1840, and now, almost thirty
vears having passed, it is truly inspiring to see
him standing still steadfast to those same prin
ciples.
Many have been the tributes to his greatness,
Mr. Freeman, a distinguished English writer,
having visited the Confederate President, pro
nounced him “a Washington of another geuer
ation of the same race,” while “The Grand
• Hd Man,” who is now fighting so nobly the
battles of oppressed Ireland, did him simple
justice when he said: “Mr. Jefferson Davis
has created a nation.” And yet, were it pos
sible for History to cover herself in falsehood
or for the lettering on the Southern heart to be
smoothed away by the insidious hand of For
getfulness, the testimony of Nature would not
be wanting to confirm us in our opinion of his
greatness. To-day as he stands in his eightieth
year, having survived those against whom he
led his best efforts, and who were, according to
the world’s verdict, his conquerors, who does
not recognize Nature’s tribute to the man who,
by obeying ner laws has deserved this, her
richest blessing.
It is not expected oi the North to have the
claims of “Our Hero” to greatness allowed
they have felt too often the efforts which were
the outcome of that greatness. But of the
South, with whom he has kept such entire faith,
far otherwise is expected; were he the leader
of a successful cause, instead of chieftain of a
departed hope, it would not be neccessary to
make his last days, days of especial consola
tion; but such is not the case, and the only
way to make soft the rough pillow of defeat
is to moisten it with tears—copious tears of
gratitude and sympathy. No, dear House
holders, we, the Southern people, would be un
worthy of the name of “Southrons,” if we did
not our duty by this “Hero of the Lost Cause.”
Pardon me Mother Hubbard if I have made
this letter too lengthy. Love to all the House
hold from
Old North State.
Goldsboro, N. C.
This, That and the Other.
Dear Mother Hubbard, and all the Children
in the Cupboard: A month is a long, long
time to hold the tongue, and O, so much lon
ger where one must need stay in a room—
though i r , be a new room—3it in a chair—
though it be a soft chair—and nurse an ankle,
and it a lame ankle, besides. Because, you
see, the first thing I did when I had moved into
the new house and settled, was to unsettle,
tumble out of the back door—“ker whop”—
and strain my ankle. I don’t know why I did
such a thing, the act was not at all premedita
ted, I didn’t enjoy the performance in the
least, and I believe in my soul if I had found
anybody looking at me I should have been
guilty of murder, then and there. The very
moment I regained my equilibrium I swept the
horizon with my eagle eye, to sae if perchance
there existed a witness to my downfall, but
the one individual in sight—a workman in an
adjoining lot—bore my scrutiny, kept his face
straight, and. attended strictly to his own bus
iness with a steadiness that was suspicious, to
say the least of it. I am not altogether satis
fied about the matter yet, for somehow—I
cant say exactly how—his gravity appearod to
me, ratner over-done.
Florida, thou dear one, ’twas positively char
itable of you to desire to heir more of the new
home, when you knew I was just famishing to
talk of that some. Yes, ’tis finished, Bweet,
complete, and to me, more wonderful than
' the house that Jack built.” A wise body I
wot of says I should not praise what belongs
to me, but if I do not, who wili? And so I tip
tilt my nose at one angle, draw down my
mouth at the oth9r, lift up my voice and agree
only with those who vote my home perfect—
without a fault. Is your home pretty too.
Florida? ’
As a rule, I do not think deeply; as a rule,
some people are not capable of it; moreover, I
have an idea they are not happy who are given
to much thought, but your sweet words of com
mendation, Cornflower—your belief that I am
“one of those happy beings whom God created
for the especial purpose of making sunshine in
this gloomy old world”—threw me into a fit
of meditation so deep that it would have been
ludicrous had it not been so unusually solemn.
“Can it be true, really,” I questioned, ‘ has
the Good One given me a mission so divine as
that?” and being unable to answer myself, I
appealed to a friend who is supposed to know
(but doesn’t,) and after a most exasperating
deliberation he replied, “well, likely ’tis true,
for you often remind me of “the little girl,”
who had a little curl hinging on her forehead;
when she was good, she was very, very good,
bnt when she was bad she was horrid.”
Would you have felt complimented by such an
tnswer, Cornflower? Rather, were I not
! ‘damned by faint praise?” Dear, do you find
i 'his old world of ours “gloomy?”
Mother Hubbard fwhat misnomert), our
<rilliant bead, permit me to say your synopsis
•f “The Light of Asia” was perfect—thank
■ ou—enabling me to see beauties in the book
l had not aeen before, clothing in most pictur
esque language the very thoughts I had, my-
•* J tf, entertained, only they obstinately eluded
me until embodied by you. Lo! in return I
*ui unable to discuss Homer and Milton, for
I hough I have read both, I have studied neith-
« r ; and though I prefer Milton ’tis not that I
snow Milton more, bnt Homer less. The
power of appreciation is mine in fall, bnt the
gift of expressing myself on the things which
t >uch me most deeply, is strangely wanting.
Sad it is to be a dolt—sadder still to be per-
lectly aware of the factl
Our Maid of Athens desires to know Hag-
gar i’s object, or point in writing “She.” My
self, I think bis object most have been to cre
ate a sensation, in which he succeeded, and
the point—well, the chief point I noticed was
that horrid pinnacle of rock said to resemble a
“cock’s spar,” and the crossing of which
blanched Leo’s hair, scared Job to death, and
cansed me u> hold my breath until I like never
to have caught it again. Like the book? O,
yes, after a fashion. There is a morbid ele
ment in us all which craves such food, but 'tis
a sweet relief to turn from the feverish pages,
and wander away over the blue hills, the
smiling valleys, by the still waters, and amid
the quiet scenes of Longfellow’s “Hyperion.”
Ira Jones, the poem Sent is lovely—let me
thank you O, so mneb! Bat I do not want to
copy it—I like it as it is, in your writing, and
the yellow, old paper gives it a delightful air
of antiquity. Vfe are impatiently awaiting
the next stage of the “journey around your
room,” and among other curiosities grant us a
glimpse inside your scrap book—that index to
the compilers mind, don’t you think so? How
could you say you never get a word of thanks
from the household for your writings? Do
you ever thank us for our letters? My friend,
“what is sauce for the goose, is sauce for the
gander.’’ By-bye all. Musa Dunn.
Waxahachie, Tex.
Briefs About Books—Thoughts and
Incidents from the Fen of Little
Bess.
Thanks, Musa Dunn, for your kind words—
it is so pleasant to know “an eye will mark
oar coming?’ and enjoy what we say, no dif
ference how badly we may know it is said.
I can return your compliment and would add
a good deal more only mutual admiration has
been voted ont of these columns. I am afraid
yon succeeded better with nice mnslin than 1
am going to with my white lawn, because I
have no fondness for the strictly womanly art
of fitting and draping.
We have had snch a charming summer, al
ways enough rain to “temper the glare of the
sun” and keep the atmosphere cool, but I tell
you it keeps the farmers busy to manage the
weeds.
A great many from our town have gone to
the country or springs, and more are going,
but we still have enough for a lively time—had
a euchre party the other night and a church
festival last night, so you see we believe in
blending things. And snch a barbecue last
Saturday—two United States Senators, a Con
gressman, a Governor, two prospective Gov
ernors, and a host of lesser lights to talk the
dear people to death. How unsatisfactory a
politicians life must be! Surely the fear that
they die only proves that they live. I would
not be one (would you?) for the world, but I
suppose the country could not get along without
them and am heartily glad that so many covet
the position.
I want to tell the Household of a peep I have
recently had into the homelife of a family that
seems harmoniously happy, but the reality
was such a shock I cannot help asking if happy
marriages are indeed the exception and not the
rule. I know this couple married for love and
both are educated, cultivated persons, point
ing with pride to the “family tree” on each
side, yet the gentleman constantly indulges
and gives free rein to a temper that would dis
grace an ignorant savage. The wife was a
beautiful girl with clear blue eyes that were a
true index to her loving heart and sunny dis
position; soon af.er marriage she grew thin
and pale, and w.thout any apparent cause her
health gave way until she is now extremely
delicate, but there is always a smile on her lips
and a cheerful flow of spirits that makes her
society very charming, and her home is a pop
ular resort. No one dreams of a skeleton in
her closet, and if her eyes are ever heavy-lid
ded. people attribute it to ill health, because
her smiling face and cheerful conversation
seem to show a heart at ease, and every one
apeak* of her husband’s devotion. Sevi
times when she has neared death’s misty
ley, he seemed wild with grief, and lavished
money and attention upon her, but a few days
after convalescence that same anxious husband
has lavished the most withering abuse upon
her because he failed to find a trivial object—
perhaps a cake of soap—where he thought it
ought to be. Often she is listening with pale
shocked face to one of his tirades when com
pany is announced; one moment to collect her
self and she greets them with her usual ploas-
ant welcome, while her better-halt keeps ont of
sight a little time, then comes smiling and af
fable as usual. H o tells her he cannot control
himself when he gets provoked and is not re-
spoasible for his words. I used to think all
married people who loved each other were
happy, but since this peep behind the curtain
my faith is wavering. Come to my aid, ye
older Householders, and tell me if the majority
of married people who loved each other, disa
gree and grow indifferent as they grow older.
I cannot bear to think it, nor is there any com
fort in the idea that the love is there but not
manifested only in the presence of danger or
death.
No, no, Cornflower, never allow yourself to
drift into cynicism, for there is always beauty
and gladness in the world if we will only brush
aside the cobwebs and look for it. I can ex
tend the hand of sympathy for I know a great
deal about weak eyes—no soreness nor inflam
mation, but just an inability to use them for
any length of time. I was once unable to be
in the sunlight for months, bat, after what
seemed a small eternity, a part of the strength
came back.
Many comments have been made about dif
ferent books, but I believe none of you have
mentioned Ben Hur, by Lew Wallace—it is
sufficiently new to be talked about is it not,
Mother Hubbard? I think some of the de
scriptions, and even whole chapters, are per
fectly grand. Just read the race between Ben
Hur and his bitter opponent, and see if you do
not rash along with breathless interest—then
read the CruciGxion thoughtfully, and the
brightest sky of a July day will cloud, and
your heart beat wildly as you see
“How the solid rocks were rent,
Through creation’s vast extent.”
How many have read Les Miserables? I am
ashamed to say I am only beginning it.
This is my first real long letter, Mother
Hubbard, so please receive it and let me come
again soon, for I dearly love to talk.
Little Bess.
Leona Just from a Visit, with
Pocket Full of News.
Dear Mother Hubbard: Several months have
issed since I absented myself from the
Iousehold, and now, like a tired child return
ing to its home, I want to see you all.
In my travels I visited Atlanta, and had the
pleasure of meeting Calla Lily, of the Letter
Box, who told me in answer to inquiries about
you, that you were sick. I regretted to hear
' , for I was anxious to meet yon.
The Fourth was ushered in, nut with the
booming of cannon or rattle of musketry, as in
the days of yore, but upon its early breath
were wafted songs of praise to the Giver of all
good; it was coLvention day with us. Several
Sabbath-schools met together in our town, a
number of delegates were present, and we had
a delightful time. Mr. LaPrade, an eminent
divine from Washington, preached an eloquent
sermon, productive of great good I think he
is a man whose intellect towers far above the
masses. Others were with us whose dis
courses were good and to the point.
And now guess who I met’ One of our
stars? Yes, for I saw J. E. Wray. I never
saw a young man so over-powered by the Holy
Spirit as he seemed to be, under the influence
of Brother LaPrade’s sermon. His face was
radiant; he stood up before that vast con
course of people and told what God bad done
for him. Our meeting was protracted and he
remained with us uhtil yesterday, the guest of
my brother. He is but a boy in appearance,
and is quite young. When Conference meets
he will offer hi aiself, and I have no doubt of
his acceptance. He gave me one of his poems,
which, for depth of thought and beauty of ex
pression, cannot be excelled.
Norwood so famed for her hospitality and
good dinners gave evident proof of it on the
Fourth. Every breeze was pregnant with the
odor of barbecued meats, and when dinner
was announced we all repaired to the grove.
I never saw such a profusion of everything to
please the eye and taste. I stood opposite a
plate of fried ohicken, and woman like—soon
found myself picking about for my favorite
parts.
With much love to yon all, I am,
Norwood, Ga. Lxoxa.
i IRUUISn MfSTiKfe ’
A Sick Man’s Wife Disregards the Druggist’s
Advice and So Saves the Lite of'
Her Husband.
I am a wood carver by trade and it is
out of my line to write lcll.-r.; But my
wife thought it was no more than right
that I should let you know what your
remedy has done for me, and I think
so too.
I live in East 157tli street, west of
Third avenue, and have lived there for
about twenty-three years, where I own
real estate. Up to the time I am abont
to mention I had been a strong, well
man. There was always more or less
malaria in the neighborhood, but I had
not personally suffered from it. It was
in 1880 I had my first attack. It came
on as such attacks commonly do, with
headaches, loss of appetite and ambi
tion, chilly sensations with slight fever
afterwards, a disposition to yawn and
stretch, and so forth. I was employed
at that time at Killians & Brothers,
furniture manufacturers, in West 32d
street. I hoped the attack would wear
off, but as it didn’t I consulted a well-
known and able physician in Morris-
ania, who gave me q mine and told me
what to do. I can sum up tile first four
and a half or five years of my experi
ence in few words. Occasionally I
was laid up for a day or two, but on
the whole I stuck to my work. 1 kept
taking quinine, in larger doses from
year to year, and kept on getting weak
er and worse, slowly hut surely, all the
lime. My trouble was now well de
fined and its symptoms were steady and
regular. 1 had dumb ague in its worst
form, and it was grinding me down in
spite of all that I could do or the doc
tors could do. It hehl me in a grip like
fire in a burning coal mine. The poison
had gone all through and over me and
nothing was able to touch it. I was
fast losing flesh and strength, and about
March, 1884, I knocked off work entire
ly and went home to be down sick, and
to die for all I could tell. 1 ran down so
rapidly that I soon became unable to
walk any distance. Later I went from
room to room in my own house only by
friends holding me up by each arm. The
doses of quinine were increased until I
often look thirty grains at a dose. The
effects of this tremendous stimulation
was to make me nearly wild. It broke
my sleep all up, and I often walked the
floor, or staggered about it, all night
long, scarcely able to bear any noises
or - even human speech. My temper
was extremely irritable. As to food,
one of my little children would eat
more in a meaj than I could in a day.
1 would order food and then turn from
it in disgust. I lived on quinine and
other stimulants and on myself, like a
hear in winter. The quinine set my
head in a whirl, and the liquor—given
as a medicine—made my stomach so
sick I could not tolerate it. “
From 175 pounds (my proper weight)
I rau down to 97 pounds—the weight
of a light girl—and was scarcely better
than a skeleton.
If an ybody had taken a hatchet and
knocked me dovjn and killed me I should
hare been better off.
During the latter part of this period,
early in 1886, my physician said:
“Miller, there’s no use in my taking
any more money of you, I can’t do you
any good. I might pour pounds of qui
nine down your throat and it wouldn’t
help you.”
On.the strength of this I gave up the
use of quinine altogether, and made up
my mind to do nothing more and take
my chances.
Three weeks afterwards—about the
last of May—my wife saw an advertise
ment of Kaskine in a New York paper.
She told me of it. I said: ** Stuff and
nonsense! it can’t do me any good.”
But she went to a druggist’s, neverthe
less, to get it. The druggist advised
her against Kaskine: he said it was
nothing hut sugar; that she ought not
to throw away her money on it, &c.
He said he didn’t keep it, but could get
it if she insisted on having it. Turn
ing away in disgust my wife spoke to
our neighbor, Mr. A. G. Hegewald.
who got her a bottle at a drug store iu
Sixth a van ue.
Almost against my will, and without
the least faith, I began taking it. In
one week I was better. I began to
sleep. I stopped “seeing ghosts.” I
began to have an appetite and to gain
strength. This was now the first of
June. 1886, and by the end of that
month I was back at my bench at C. P.
Smith’s scroll sawing factory in 116th
street, where I work now.
Since then I have never lost a day
from sickness. Taking Kaskine only,
about forty pellets in four i qual doses
a day, I continued to gain. The ma
laria appeared to be killed in my sys
tem, and now I've got back my old
weight—17f) pounds—and my old
strength to labor. I am an astonish
ment to myself and to my friends, and
if K iskinc did not do this I di n't know
what did. The only greater thing it
could do would be to bring a dead man
to life. Fhkdv'.iuok A. Miller,
630 Eas I.j/Ih Street, New York.
P. S.—For the absolute truth of the
above statement i-refer to the following
ijentlemen, who are personally ac
quainted with the facts: Mr. Alex
ander Weir. 636 156th St.: Mr. George
S annul, 158th street and Court.Iandt
avenue: Mr. A. Meelnis. 154th street
and Conrtlandt avenue: Mr. P. F.
Vaupol. 154th street and Conrtlandt
avenue: Mr. John Ltinny, 630 East
158th street: Mr. John Kenshaw, 124
125th street, and many others. I will
also reply to letters of inquiry.
We submit that the above astonish
ing cure, vouched for as it is by repu
table men, is deserving of a thorough
and candid investigation by thinking
oeople. And we further submit that
when druggists turn away customers
l>v falsifying the character of a remedy
because they do not happen to have it
on hand, they do a great wrong. If
this afflicted man had not disregarded
the druggist's advice and sent else
where for the remedy he would without
doubt have been ill his grave.
Other letters of a similar character
from prominent individuals, which
stamp Kaskine as a remedy of un
doubted merit, will be sent on applica
tion. Price. *1.00. or 6 in*!ties. $'>-'*>-
Sold by Druggists, or sent by mail on
receipt of price.
The Kaskine Company, 54 Warren
St., New York.
Shopping by Mail made Easy and Profitable
Something new in trade. Distant buyers benefited.
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any part of U. S. A ereat Music and Art Hoo&e thus
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Catalogues free. Cheapo*t place South to bay.
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refunded if goods don’t suit.
Special Terms to Teachers and Schools. Write na.
LUDDEN & BATES. •
Southern Muale House, SAVANNAH, GA.
THE BE EAT MUSIC AM ART EMPORIUM OF THE SMTR.
OPiUM HABIT CUBKD.-l ask no
know you ore cured. Dr.
tt Am, Kicnmaod, lad.