Newspaper Page Text
12
}
THE SUNNY SOUTH. ATLANTA, GEORGIA SEPTEMBER 30 189$.
\
THE CHICAGO BHOW.
Wonders of the World’s Fair.
A visit to the Turkish Theatre—or
“Oriental Odeon” in the Turkish vil
lage is instructive. This is in Mid
way I’laisance. The Kalamounic
Drama is indeed interesting, and more
may be learned of the home and held
life, the war manners, weddings,
funerals and customs of the Turkish
people here in this theatre than ten
years study of the history of the peo
ple. No Empire is so interesting and
famous in sacred and profane history
as Turkey. It is the laDd of the Lib.e,
where all its events happened and there
are several things which can not be
understood without knowing the man
ners and customs of that country.
There are sixty live actors and actres
ses altogether at the fair, from
Turkey, and twenty stockholders.
The Turks who wear the white tur
bans are the Druzes, and the others
are the Kurds. Some are from Beth
lehem and Jerusalem, some from
Dama s cus, the oldest city, and some
from Beyrouth and some from Mt.
Lebanon, and some trom Smyrna,
Constantinople and Thesalonia. Their
musical instruments are the same as
used by the Prophet David. The
harp, timbral, and the stringed in
struments, are the same as the lyre
cymbals, etc.
* * *
Here may be seen Rosa, the famous
dancer.
Rosa’s merit rests chiefly on her
whirling dance, as she can whirl for
an hour without becoming dizzy. She
is considered a remarkable singer, al
so, in her own country.
Simon, of Zeibek, is also a noted per
sonage on the programme. He is a
skillful player on the Samlosa.
All the men who come from Smyrna
wear large girdles around their waists,
in which they carryjswords and pistols
at well as valuables.
Physicians in that country say that
they never remember of there being a
case of dyspepsia among these people,
as, by the belt, the stomach is kept
warm.
There is also a woman from Bethle
hem in the village, who wears the tra
ditional costume of the sacred city in
which the Redeemer of mankind was
born.
The styles never change in this an
cient town. It is a very queer coinci
dence that this woman of Bethlehem
is named Mary, (Mother of Jesus), her
husband is called Joseph, (as in the
olden time the husband of the Virgin
Mary), and their baby is named Aabeel
(meaning beloved.)
This Mary brought a cradle and all
its accessories to show the customs of
holy babies. The infants are robed in
swaddling clothes, as of old, and all the
money which she receives from her
husband and parents she attaches to
her cap.
The shepherd from Kurdistan is al
so a very interesting specimen of
manhood. We learn all about him
from a little c-rd he gives us, which
reads thus : Kurdistan is famous for
its large and good sheep, which differ
from the American sheep by their
large tail which weighs from fifteen to
thirty pounds. The sheep know their
shepherd by his felt coat, and will fol
low a stranger if he dons the well
known garment. He has a sling by
which he throws stones a long dis
tance, the same kind of sling used by
the Prophet David when he killed Go
liath.
* * *
The Mammoth Cheese in the Cana
dian Exhibit was manufactured at the
Dominion Experimental Dairy Sta
tion, at Perth, Lanark County, Onta
rio—207,200 pounds of milk were used
in making it; that quantity is equal
to the milk for one day in September
of ten thousand cows. J. A. Ruddick
was the cheesemaker, and he was as
sisted by experts from eleven adjacent
factories. The cheese weighed 22,000
lbs.net. It is incased in the mould of
steel in which it was pressed, and a
pressure of more than two hundred
tons was applied to make it perfectly
solid. It measures twenty eight feet
in circumference by six feet in height.
A special track has been made for
transporting it through Great Britain
after it leaves Chicago. It has been
sold to Mr. L. J. Upton, of London,
England, the retail dealer in teas and
provisions in the world. Mr. Lipton
has arrauged to exhibit the cheese in
every large city in Great Britain and
Ireland.
It took 1,$66 milkers to milk enough
for the cheese—which amounted to
20,720 gallons.
* * *
The mammoth flour barrel is a great
piece of cooperage, and cost over $$00.
Its dimensions are 10 feet x 10. The
successful placing ot the two glass
heads, which are 30 feet in circumfer
ence cost something like a thousand
dollars, aside from the barrel itself.
“Aunt Emma’s pan cakes” are a rare
treat to be had by passing through
the great barrel to the left
side.
• * •
The Old Mill, a faithful reproduc
tion, so they tell us, of an old flour,
mill near Reading, Pennsylvania,
built 150 years ago, is still operated by
a descendant of the original owners.
To show the advance that has been
made in the science of flour milling
since this old mill was built they give
a correct cut in wood carving of their
milling plant at Duluth, Minnesota.
It has an actual daily capacity of 6,000
barrels of flour and 160 tons of feed,
and is the largest flour mill in the
whole world. The products, of this
mill are unsurpassed for quality. The
old, original mill, with its steady,
drowsily turning wheel is picturesque
beyond description. It reminds one
of the primitive mills down in Dixie,
operated by the Georgia farmers, and
inspires many a poetically tuned mind
to sing its praises in modest verse.
* * *
A visit to the Diver’s is both inter
esting and instructive. The white
faced, red-haired lad who performs
his tireless feat of diving for dimes
and pennies for the edification of cu
rious throngs, inspires us with pity.
We are made to understand the perils
of 9uch a profession clearly, and look
on the corailed treasures of old ocean
with increased interest.
* * *
It is confusing to choose subjects
for description out of such an over
powering mass of matter. If some
one would only ask a few questions
about something that they would like
to be informed of, it would be easier.
But this constant “Tell us all about
the Fair 1” is maddening—30 I shall
wait now for queries.
Ruby Beryl Kyle.
Genlai.
For The Sunny South.
The ancient Hebrews called it “a
holy sprite.” Modern language names
it Genius.
Genius is to catch a glimpse of the
divine order of creation and act as in
terpreter to men who, having eyes, see
not, and ears hear not. It is translat
ing the language of Nature, and is the
same whether it speaks in the clarion
notes of eloquence or carves the “froz
en music” of statuary, or awakes the
world with strains from heaven-
taught fingers or with voice attuned
to the “music of the spheres.”
’Tis a subtile understanding of truth
eternal, which flows without impedi
ment from the brain to the tongue or
fingers.
The poet sings it, the painter paints
it, the orator speaks it. It deifies
beauty, immortalizes art. It is lighter
than ether, weightier than the earth,
more intoxicating than fine wines,
purer than water. ’Tis the voice
which expresses the unconceived
thoughts of humanity, who are start
led to find their latent feelings ex
posed. It is not of the earth, and yet
with the earth; a faint gleam from
the mind which without material
made the universe, and
Like sunshine strayed and broken by
the rill,
Tho’ turned aside, is sunshine still.”
’Tis a joy of the soul and not of the
senses. Genius is the student of na
ture, and traces her hieroglyphics on
the stratas of rocks, where she records
the flight of centuries, reads her elo
quence on the starry scroll of the
heavens, sees the law of truth in the
tinting of the flowers, in the arch of
the rainbow, the roll of the rivers, the
whispering zephyrs, the rending
storm, the summer showers or the
whelming avalanche. With the magic
key of wisdom Genius unlocks Na
tures potent mysteries to a wonder
ing world.
Genius is not merely the result of
training or education tho’ culture
sharpens it’s flashing scimeter, which
cuts away the obstructions of ignor
ance, and brightens it’s visions that
views the hidden forces of nature. It
measures space, probes the vasty
deep, glances back through the dark
ness of ages and onward and upward
to the yet to be. Genius is the Gol
den Jacobs ladder on which ascending
man can meet descending angels
Genius breaths a soul into it’s pic
tures, it’s poems, it’s statues, it’s les
sons, which will live when brazen
image and sculptured marble have
crumbled to dust.
Mary Fletcher.
An attempt to grow venison for the
New York market is to be made by L.
C. Houghton of Illinois, formerly
from Vermont. He has purchased
1,000 acres of land near his old home
in Halifax, Vt M around which he will
build a seven-foot high wire fence.
The farm thus enclosed will be stock
ed with deer and sheep. In addition
to this several streams that flow
through the enclosure will be stocked
with trout. Mr. Houghton believes
that this will be a profitable business
enterprise, and possibly will solve the
abandoned farm problem. An en
closure ot 1,000 acrete can be kept free
from predatory animals, but there
will need to be some extra feed in
winter, for the sheep at least, and prob
ably also for the deer. In early set
tlement of the country it was not un
common for wild deer to be found in
farmers’ barn yards, eating hay with
the cattle during the coldest weather
in winter.
ACCORDING TO HIS LIGHT.
A Story of the Late Civil War.
For The Sunny South.
T WAS just at the darken
ing of a bright summer’s
day three years ago that I
was sent for to go to “Uncle
Jerry”—an old farm hand
dying in his lonely hnt be
low the quarter*.
The fact that Uncle Jer
ry’s race was almost run
caused but little excitement
on the plantation, for he
was nothing of “a chief
among his fellows,” but on
ly a poor, humble old man
little noticed except where
work came in—he was always wanted
then, and if ever there chanced to be a jab
particularly irksome and unpleasant, some
how it wa« sure to fall to Uncle Jerry,who
never failed to perform it with patient, un
complaining care.
I felt almost glad to know that he was
going out of his loneliness, and when I
saw him in his big chair near the open
window, he hardly looked, in the softened
light of the closing day, to be on the verge
of a great change.
His dim old eyes were eager and listless
and before I could speak, cried excitedly
“O, Missy! I feared yuh wa’ gwi’ come
,u’ I’d hatter go face my Jedge dout know-
iu’ what He gwi’ seh tuh me.”
“But Uncle Jerry,” I said gently, “I
cannot tell you what he will say to you
You, not I, know how ypu have served
your Master all these years.”
He shook his head despairingly.
“I dunno, Missy, I do’ understand.”
He looked out over the fields, a great
pain and perplexity creeping into his
voice as he continued:
“I ca’ see 'head er me—hits all dark—so
dark.”
“But Uncle Jerry what is it you dont
understand. Gant you tell me?”
“Missy,”—he leant towards me, a strain
ed tense look on his face. “Missy, if one
man kill anudder man, not kase he wuz
made wid da’ man, but kase he love him —
Gord kno he love him!—an’ he tink hit
wuzbes’ fuh him tuh kill him, does yoh
tink Missy, de good Lord gwi’ sen’ de
man what done de killin’ tuh Punishment
’kase he done what he tin* wuz right?”
“No, Uncle Jerry” I said, trying to com
prehend and answer rightly, this rather
vague story. “I think God looks into onr
hearts, and if we do a dreadful thing, see
ing it to be, by our poor ana feeble light,
only what is right and wise, then, God,
who knows onr frames and remembers
that we are dust, will be a kind and pit-
tying Judge.”
Uncle Jerry looked puzzled for an in
stant, then a great light flashed into his
old black face, and his eyes grew dimmer
with joyful tears.
“Dan Missy, I gwi’ see my Mars Don—
I sholy is, kase Gord must’ be done see
how dis ole nigger’s heart neber hed no
harm in it fnh he Marster. No, not fuh
Mars Don what I loved!
Mars Don wuz mv young Marster fo’ de
wah Missy” he went on, unconsciously
unfolding with each sentence, the brave
and beautiful story of a slaves devotion to
his Master. “Him, wid de twin brndder,
mekin me hab two young Marstera, ’in ole
Marster fuh de head boss.
Somehow nudder do’, I neber bin tink
so bout b’longin’ tuh Mara Dan ’n’ ole
Marster. I jes nachully seem tuh b’long
tuh Marse Don more ’n de res’, and seeiir
how my maw ben raise dem boys, loDg
side me fum de time Miss Lucy die when
dey ain’ no mo’n six weeks ole, ole Mara-
t«r jes’ gin me tnh ’em fuh life, ’n’ please
Gord, I try to serve ’em bofe faithful.
I dunno how cum, I bin take up
so wid Mars Don—lessen hit wnz kase he
wuz sorter onlak de udder white folks. He
neber seem tuh keer fuh no buddy out
sid’n Mars Dan n’ ole Marster ’n me. Now
Mara Dan, he wuz diffunt—ins’ seem lak
he love evvey buddy—Mara Don de nicest
uv all, same ez Mars Don love him de
moest!
De way dem boys love one ’nudder wuz
suttinly ur caution! Hit seem lak de
same bref run ’em bof*! Ole Marster tdll
Vm how dey mought ez well be jine in de
flesh, seein’ how dey snttinly wuz jine in
de sperrit.
An’ dat good tuh look at! Nineteen-
yeer-ole six footers de bery day de fus’
gun wuz fired, an’ yuh couldn’ foun’ dey
matches nowhars ronn’ dem parts. No
ma’am! Not ef Mars Don ’n Mars Dan’s
ole Jerry duz sesso! Ole Marster tink
same ez I di<l bout dat—speshully when
we’a start off on a fox hunt of amawnin’—
dem boys on dey fine hosses, ’n me ridin’
behine on de lil’ sorril tuh look atter de
houna’ ’n sich—den ole Marster, he’d tell
'em how he wish dey maw could see
’em.
Missie, dem wuz good times! Dey gwi’
be no mo’ sich times in dis worl*. I ain’
sayin’ bow freedom is wrong, kase I dun
no ; Gord A’mighty, He de only one what
kno’ bout dat, ’n long ez de Good Book
sey He ca’ do no wrong, I ’low hits right—
leasways, I ain’t got nutt’n tuh complain
uv, seeiu how de good Gord tekin me tuh
Mars Don now.
Ma’am? What dat yuh bin sx me? Ef
I see any fightin’ whende wah wnz gwine
on T ^ ... , . , ( "iiujuii A uni lemu' ynn wnai—
Law chile 1 When I done ben troo mo I what I done tuh Marse Don ’n I ain eot
ittles fo’ I come tuh de one whar Mars too much bref l«f nnthi, ’ g
Marster w’dnt sayin’ a word—he hade helt
up high! (Mane Don wnz mulish, too,
when yuh tech ’im de wrong way) an’ den
Marse Dan ata’ at a hoggin’ yuh Marse
Don.
“Do n ez doin’ what he tink ez right,
fader.” Marse Dan say: “Hit’s easier fuh
him tuh fight ginae we den tuh light ginse
heprincip.es.” But Old Marster! Law!
Ole Marster, neber no no listen tuh him
’n ef be had’n ben a talkin’. Old Marster
wuz ez sot in he ways ez Marse Don. He
neber speak tnh him arter da’ day.
When de boys wuz gittin in de cyan
da’ ebenin’, Marse Don turn roun’ ’n see
me stanin’ side him on de platform.”
‘Whar yuh gwine, Jerry ?’ he ax me, da’
s’prise lak; he neber knowed what tuh
mek er me bein’ dar when he done bin lef
me up tab de house, but I biu tak a short
cut troo Marse George Peyton fiel’, ’n git
tuh de station fr’ dey git dar
“Marse Don,” I sez, “ain’ yuh kno
Jerry ain’goin'let yuh lef him behine?
when eberybuddy turn ginse ynh, J<*rry
givi’ all de mo’ stan’ by yuh, Marse Don ”
He neber say no mo’ den, ’n I foUer him.
Well, when de time come fuh Marse
Don tuh go part—Marse Dan gwine on de
South side ’n Marse Don on de tother—~
wus sorry fuh dem boys, I sholy wuz Day
tek on considerbul, ’n say how if one git
kilt, de tudder one gwine foller surnhow
I an' Marse Don went tcgedder. I wan
gwi lef him—nemmine w’»t he do. He
ain’ had no frien’s on da side—Marse Dan
S ot all he need; so 1 stick long tuh Marse
>on; an’ Missie, from de fu9’ Mansssa tell
de time when Ginnul Haygood Brigade
bin all cut up, I ain’t set eyes on Marse
Dan, an’ I wish tuh Gord I never bin see
him den!
In de wus part uv da’ awful fightin’
kep clos’ aide Marse Don, kase I kno’ ef
he drap down, dey nobuddv gwine stop
tuh pick him up lessen hit’s Jerry.
Dere wuz brave fightin done on bofe
sides da’ day, sho’s you bawn
When GiDnul Hagood, him see how de
Yankees wnz gittin’ de bes* uv him, look
lak he mek’ up he min’ tuh do suppin
fine anyway.
Missie, da’ a fine man! God oughter
biu set da’ man nigh in de good Lan’ when
he come tuh die. Now Ginnel Hagood, he
hyur how we done got he flag, ’n, yuh
bleeve me, da’ same Ginnul Hagood didn
step up tnh de Yankee officer what lielt de
flag ’n tell ’im tuh giv’ 'im dem colors 1
Da officer, he hoi’ he groun’ lak a man
but de ole Ginnul wuz’n no ways put
down; he jes whip out he pistol, pop da
brave offijer offen he boss, jump on de
hoss he self, ’n grab de flag ’n lef.
While him n ne men wuz flyin’ de Yan
kees dey wnz pilin’ de bullets inter ’em
. Marse Don, he tek aim at a young feller
what wuz puBhin’ ahead troo ae mess ‘
skimish. He wuz'n nigh tuh Marse Don
’n he back wuz to’ds ’im, but when Marse
Don shoot ’n I see de boy tro’ up he arms
’n drap down, somehow nudder I jes seem
tnh kno’ hit wuz Marse Dan.
I ain* stop tnh look at Marse Don fo’ I
run tnh whar de boy bin drap, but time
I git dar, Marse Don wuz dar, too, ’n when
he see how it suttun’ly wuz Marse Dan
he jes lif him up in he arm, ’n ca’ him
oaten da’awfal place tuh whar a lil’spring
wuz runnin’nigh de fightin groun.’ Me
’n Marse Don do all we kin fnh him, but
twan’ no use—Marse Dan done dade!
tell Marse Don “Marse Don, but tain’ no
use, Marae Dan done dade soon ez da’ ball
struc’ him ”
N Marse Don, po’ Marse Don,’ atter he
see how da’ sholy is so, he teks ’n call
Marse Dan, “Dan, Dan, I ain’ kill yuh, is
I Dan.’ O, Dan, Dan, come back tuh me,
come back tuh me!”
Missy, he keep da’ ting up so long,
feel lak my heart gwi’ bus’ ef de ctiile
didn’ stop sich ca’ in on. I tell him so.
I tell him, “Marse Don, please Marae Don
don’ tek on so. Yuh neber lowed tuh
shoot Marse Dan, ’n he don’ b’ar yuh no
grudge nnther.
He rather yo’ han’ be de one tnh strac’
him down, kase he love yuh so. ’N Marse
Don, look at he face; don’ he look lak he
glad? Da’ de bery look he allays hez
when he please bout suppin’ nud'ter.’
But my Gord: Missy, all da’talk ain’
do Marse Don no mo’ good ’n so much
win’. Gob’ seem lak de boy wuz bruk in
de spirrit. Arter while he say.
“Tain’ no use talkin tuh me Jerry,
can git long dout my Dan. Tek keer dear
ole dad fnh me ’n Dan, ’n tell him tuh
forgee he boy ’n come tuh him soon ez he
kin.”
I kno’ den Missie, what Marae Don wuz
gwi’ do tnh he self, ’n I sez.
“Marse Don, don’ go ’n lef ole Marster;
he can’ git on dnut bofe er he boys. O,
Marse Don, fnh Gord sek don’t do dat!
Ef yuh tek ynh own life, Gord ain’ gwi’
le’ yuh go t ih Marae Dad, kase hits de
same f z murder.”
But he seh how he bleeve Gord’ll onder-
stand an’ forgee 'im, ’n seein how tain’ no
use tuh fool long wid Marse Don wheD
he got he hade sot, ’n I mek up my min’
tuh save Marse Don soul ef I ca’
sev he life. I aim kno’ what is right, but
I call on de Land, ’n sez “Gord, Gord, ef
Jerry doin’ wrong, furgee him; he ain’
nuthin' but a poor nigger Lawd, what
tryin’ tuh do de bes’ he know’ ho, fall he
yonng Master. What he promise tub tek
keer.” No Missie hit seem lake de Lawd
bin hyur me cry, kase such a quiet sorter
feelin’ come all over me, ’n den 1 pray
Him not le’ whut I wnz givi’ do kape me
frum gwine tuh Marse Don when I come
tuh die, kase I love him sc—da’ chile what
I wuz gwi’ sen’ tuh Him wid my own
han’ ! An’ now, at de las’, arter I bin
frettin’ all dese yeera bout Marse Don, de
good Gord, He taken da’ cross offen me,
n seh, ez ain’ nuthin’ but a po’ ole fool
nigger, he gwi’ le’ me go tuh Marse
Don.
But hyur! I ain’t telliu’ yuh what—
battles fo’ I come tnh de one whar Mars
Don wuz kilt? But I ain’ gwi’ tole yuh
bout dat yit.
Now, ole Marster, he wnz plntedly a
out ’n out South man, ’n what wid bein’
mulish in he ways, hit twan no wonder, dat
when Mars Don, de bery day dey wnz tuh lef
fnh de fightin’, come ’n tell old Marster
how he wuz gwi’ fight on the Yankee side,
ole Marster, atter he see dere ain’ no mov
in’, Mars Don, jes walks to de do’ 'n open
hit, ’n sez:
•Ynh kin go suh, 'n don’ you, ’n don’
yuh come hyur no more nnther. A boy
what kin fight ginse he own brndder 'n he
country, ain’ ntten tnh be in he daddy
house.”
Mane Don, git up ’n walk pane ole
too much bref lef nuther.
Well, Missie, arter I done baig Marse
Don not tnh kill heseif, he tell me tuh go
iotch ’im some water from de spring. I
kno what he up tuh, but I walk off lak j
gwine down de hill—watchin him all da
time, ’n presiny, when I see him put the
pistol tuh he hade’ I jes’ raise mine (l
wnzin’ furs off) ’n fire! He look at me or
minute, Marse Don did; he never kno’
what tuh meke er Jerry doin’ him da way
n I ben seein’ de look in he eyes eber
sence Missie—’n den, fo’ I cud git tuh
him, He drap down side Marse D in.
I ha’ done kill Marse Don, Missie—my
t v™ 6 T>on what ole Marster give me tuh
tek keer, ’n what I love mo’n me oie
blacksef!
• v. te u smooth lil’ eyurbs ober d* v. ,
in he hode (hit hurit mv heart tuh ,! ^
hole. Oh, Marse Don, Marse Don', Fa*'
I fix tub ca’ ’em hofe tuh old MarsteM5?
day bin clean gone. When I dr,v Un t i*
dedo.ole Marster wuz asertin’ L ,
piza; he git up ’n come to’ds de ~u 8
he see me, ’n he look da, ole ’n trilu.' 1
I hate tuh tole ’im bout de you^S a ’
ters, but I kno’ hit got tuh com? ^
brace up ’n speak out. ’ 0 I
“Ole Marster,” I sez, “I’ae done
bofe yuh boys back tuh yuh, ole Marsu*
He neber say er word, old Marster
3 38 tur’n roun’, walk strate intuh de W'
’n up tuh he room. He»ek tuh he ffi
da bery day, ’n please Gord! neber tit7
mo —failin’ in de min’ same ez he don« I-
de buddy. All de tire ’n sperrit wuzdJ?
beat outen ’im, ’n he wuz lak er Ul’ rhfi
tuh what he been. 8
Fo’ ne dade, he call me tuh ’im ’n ax m
ef I bin bury Marse Don in de Yank*!
uniform, ’n I tell him, “Yes, Marster ’’
“Jerry,” he sez, “Jerry, yuhoiwhtn' bin
do dat. Don, my po’ Don! Yuh breo’ vuh
ole daddy heart my son, (he’d go 0 n i a w
Marse Don wuz dah side ’im) but I didn'
wan’ Lucy tuh kno’ it. Lucy ’d ben pr oud
uv her boy, but not in da’ uniform—n„t in
da’ uniform!”
I tek ’n try tuh sorter rouse ole Marster
up.
“Marster,” I sez, “Marster, don’ you
fret biut dat. Marse Don, he dont
gone tuh de Lan’ whar dey ain’ no fightin’
praise God! ’n’ dey garmints what Gord
gib urn-”
“Yuh aho’Jerry ?” Ole Marster, he ax
me.
“Yes, Marster, I’se sho’,” I sez, ty
pres’n’y de Lawd call ’im, ’n’ ole Marster
went—went jes ez quiet ’n’ smilin’ ez he
uster tuh go to sleep in he beeg cheer on
de piza in de summer-time, ’N’ now,
Missy, I’se done tole yuh fur’s I kno, bout
Marse Don ’n’ Marse Dan ’n’ de ole Mars
ter. In a li’l’ while I’ll been foun’ how
dey coma on, but twon’ be fur Jerry tuh
tole yuh uat. I’ll jes res’ er spell now,
so’s I’ll be fittin’ to go tuh Marse Don
whendeLawd call me. I hops hit tain’
gwi’ be so bery long, kase hit do seem lak
I wan’ see my Marse Don de wus’ in de
wuri\”
And setting back in his chair with a
tired sigh, he patiently awaited the
blessed summons, which came a few hoars
later, and by the smile that followed, I
knew the noble, faithful soul was with
“Marse Don” at last.
Lilly Du Bosk.
THE CAVERN QUEEN.
CONTINUED FROM FIFTH PAQI.]
SO
has
She kept her resolve. John Olcott
had no opportunity to see her alone
for an instant. She was sweet, affa
ble, lovely to the final moment of the
parting at the railway station, when,
after her good-byes had been said to
him and his mother, she put her head
out of the moving car and threw a kies
to them from the tips of her fingers.
“I have lost her!” John Olcott groan
ed to nimself.
Her mother’s face wore a shade of
disappointment.
“The house will be terribly lonely
now,” she sighed, as they drove slow
ly home. “Constance is such good
company. This week has passed
quickly, I can hardly believe she
been with us so long. I wish—”
But she stole a look at her son’s
pale face, set in the mold of stern en
durance, and did not finish what she
had begun to say.
As for Constance, when she had
thrown that last kiss, sweetly regret
ful, yet bright and dry-eyed, she flung
herself back in the seat of the railway
carriage and dropped her gray veil
over her face to hide the tears she had
been doing her best to keep back.
Convulsively she pressed Amy 8
hand.
“Little one,” she said presently,
you are all 1 have now. I put my
past behind me. We will turn a new
page of life together. God has given
you to me. He brought me here for
this purpose, that I might find you
and attach you to me. Everything
that happens to us is for the best. It
is to shape our destinies in some way,
or to mold and chasten our natures.
I believe that our meting here was for
our good, for yours, Amy, as well
as mine. The All-controlling One
planned it, and it was wise. He shat
tered my idol, and He has given me a
friend, one that I may bring good to,
and that will bring good to me.”
And so began the new page oj
Amy’s life. One week later she stood
on the deck of the eastern-bound
steamer watching the fast-fading
shores they had left, and hearing Con
stance, who stood beside her, murmur
some lines of Byron’s bitter farewen
to his native land, and his apostrophe
to the vessel that bore him away :
bearest
“Nor care what land thou
me to,
So not again to mine.”
“Shall we never come back?” asked
the girl, smitten with a sudden pan#
of homesickness. If she had no friends
in this land they were leaving,
had the graves of ail she had held
dear.
“Come back? Yes, some day "ton-
stance answered. “But we will not be
the same, Amy—we will not be same.
shall have learned to school mj
heart to calm and correct obedience,
and you, Amy—your friends at The
Evergreens will never know you »
they should chance to see you after
you have developed. You are now *
bud with all its sweetest leaves y e[
folded. When we come back—if * e
eyer do—my bud will be a blossom.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]