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6
the SUNNY S0HTU2 ATLANTA* GEORGIA OCTOBER 7 1893
i
A BREATH OF PRAYER.
For This Page.
O Jesus Lord—
O Christ i pray—
Dispel the night—
Bring the glad day I
▲ thousand ills
Can do no harm
If I but rest
On Thy strong arm.
And doubts and fears
Can have no place.
If I but see
Thy smiling face,
Come I wrap me in
Thy presence bright,
And joy shall till
The darkest night I
—Will D. LTpahaw.
(“Earnest Willie.”)
W
B ON’T you think it would be
nice to have a phonograph at
Mary Wilson’s house? Then
when Katy Reid “told tales” they
could be sent to us with less trouble
to Mary. Thanks dear for acceding
to my request that Katie be intro
duced to our family circle. I hope
that you wont move to Statesville
before Kitsie and Linwood see you.
And you who have located Mary Wil
son so long at Mooresville must now
send your letters to Statesville, JN. C.
* » *
HAT do you think of Tele
pathy? Could the Poet of
the Ranch have imbibed the
same ideas, from communication with
nature, that Father Ryan did? If I
am not mistaken there are passages in
some of Tennysons poems that are as
similar to poets of his country.
# # #
The gifted author of Lucile was ac
cused of appropriating the ideas of
George Sand. While ’tis said that
Mark Twain can make a person write
to him, simply by writing to them,
meditating and tearing up the letter
he has written.
I know two sisters that wrote to a
mutual friend, and there was only the
difference of one sentence. Both
wrote on the impulse of the moment,
and had no idea of the other’s move
ments. Italy believes in dreams, so
do many of us, but to me Telepathy
seems stranger than dreaming. What
think you?
* * *
The blue sky, the sunshine, the
songs of the birds and odors of the
flowers lift our thoughts; the roar of
the storm and bending monarchs
or the forest awe us, and why
cannot two people clothe their
thoughts in similar language since
the same or similar object or in
cidents create them? Still it is more
frequently observed that given the
same subject and not more than two
out of a score would write anything
very similar about it.
• « «
Before me is a slope, so full of yel
low blossoms that they seem a cloth
of gold, on further are the lapping
waves of the lake. Cool shadows are
oast by the trees and across it can be
seen a youth and maiden. It would
not be unnatural for two families to
give voice to the same ideas about the
scene and the couple. Therefore why
not allow the same in palsy and ro
mance?
* * *
S UT enough of this! Life is so
I full of mystery. Let us hope
' that the glass we now see
through so darkly will one day be
clear; and that each one of us will so
live that we shall not blush for shame
when we are known for what we
really are and not what we appear to
be. Faithfully Yours,
Mother Hubbard.
Tke Little Folk* About XSm.
The baby at our house is five years
old, but she is the baby, all the same!
Some time if you listen carefully to
the jenny wrens singing you’ll hear
them call her name—“Katy Reid,
Katy Reid,” they pronounce it quite
as distinctly as does the baby herself.
She is a fat, jolly, healthy little
thing, contented and happy—just a
sweet petted baby with rosy dimpled
cheeks, big brown eyes and long, sun
ny hair. And you should hear her
sing! Nobody teaches her, but she
catches up her songs from hearing
her sisters sing them. She couldn’t
be still long enough to have herself
taught anything. I’m sure you
would laugh to hear her talk
about “jailmans’to her father when he
oomes home from the county
seat. She has seen two or three pris
oners who were being taken to jail,
and these are the “jailmans,”. They
appear in all the “tales” she tells us,
and always as dreadful monsters. For
somewhere behind those big baby eyes
there are the most grotesque fancies,
and the child, who has never listened
to anything but the simplest nursery
stories, weaves them together into the
queerest tales, imaginable. Perhaps
you would like to have me tell you
one.
We were at the supper table, and
the baby announced her intention of
“tellin’ tales.” Her audience was all
! attention at once, and this is the
story her own words:
“Once time dares er little weensy
girl thest es long’s my littlest finger,
an’ her mamma was thes es long es
she was, an’ they lived inner teesy
weensy bouse by day se’fs.
“One night two auful jailmans come
ter de house. Ob, day ’s awful scarey,
an’ thest like boogers! Day had big,
scarey eyes, an’ ’stidder teef day had
sharp knifs growin’ in day moufs an’
day stuck out; an’ day thest nodded
day heads an’ cut things.
“When day got ter the little house
day kept on aoddin’ till day cut it all
down, an’ there’s the po’ little girl an’
her po’ mamma under the table.
“An’ so the jailman’s cut the little
girl open an’ had her for a water
melon, but day couldn’t eat her ’cause
she wan’t ripe; an’ day kep’ her mam
ma tell doomsday 1”
“Wasn’t there any big people?” Wil
lie asked.
“Yes,” the baby said, her eyes shin
ing. “One was so big ’at her head
was up in the sky an’ she couldn’t
reach down ter get suppin’ teat, so she
ate up the clouds; an’ she’s so hungry
an’ ate such a great big hole ’at all the
good people wha’ died an’ went up in
the sky didden’ have a single thing to
stan’ on’, an’ so day all come tumblin’
down.”
“And couldn’t they get back?” Dimps
asked.
“Yes, day got back,” the baby an
swered, a little pucker that had come
when she thought of the good people’s
misfortune vanishing before the smile
that came with a new idea.
“Yes, day every Jas’ one, even the
little ones, got back, ’cause the jail
man’s come, an’ one took the big wo
man by the feet, and one by the head
an’ day swung her till she frowed up
all the clougs; den made her stan’ up
an’ patch ’em nice, an’ set the good
people up frough theat er little wee
hole, an’ den she ment that too, an’
that’s all.”
Don’t you think that’s a funny tale
for such a little girl? But she could
never think of the same one again;
she is not the kind of child who learns
things by note, and if she ever tries to
tell any story she has heard, she
changes if so that you would never
know it. As Mark Twain says she
gets the facts mixed up with her bad
memory.
It goes without saying that wa
think she is a wonderful baby, and I
suppose she will be almost a young
lady before we realize that she isn’t a
baby at all.
Our baby has a little cousin who is
my namesake. They are twin cou
sins, because one is just as old as the
other. You don’t know how inter
esting it is to have them together.
One a merry, rosy little romp, the
other a fair, gentle, lady-like little
creature, with old-fashioned ways,
and quaint expressions that almost
startle you now and then.
One night some one was playing on
the organ, when Nellie Cordon’s moth
er put her to bed.
“Mamma,” she said, “I do love music
all the time, but ’specially when I’m
just on the edge of sleep.”
One day it was raining, and Nellie
was quietly looking out the window,
while Katy Reid played “camp meet
ing” in the corner, singing lustily.
“Why don’t you play, Nellie Cor
don?” I asked.
“I am watching your flowers aun
tie. I’ve found out why they bob
about so; they don’t want their faces
washed—just look at the petuinas!”
She is full of pretty fances, and ex
presses them so quaintly that one al
most forgets the little while she has
lived.
Isn’t it a pity that children cannot
remain fresh and simple, and sweet
always? How different these two
babies are now; but when a few years
have passed, only those who know
them best will be able to find
the real character of each
for they must conform to to conven
tional rules—they must be pressed in
to the same mould—taught exactly the
same things.
1 see this in the older children—in
the people all about me.
At school, quiet, timid, imaginative
Dimps is being carried straight along
over the very same way that Willie,
her practical, independent, light
hearted sister was taken.
Nobody tries to grow roses and lil-
lies and violets in exactly the same
way, and these flowers are no more
different from each other than are the
three daughters that belong to me,
and the fair little niece, who is as dear
to me as my own children are, is as
unlike her cousins as a snow drop is
unlike the roses and lillies and vio
lets.
Is it any wonder that our hearts grow
weak when we remember ^that these
human plants are being "grown for
God’s unfading garden?
Shall we be able to train them so
that each will preserve its individuali
ty and be just what God meant it to
be?
I have no patience with the idea of
“forming” character. It is only train
ing that we can do.
But there’s everything in train
ing.
Before me is a magnificent oak,three
centuries old, no doubt. It is a sort
of landmark, and one of the grandest
trees in the country.
Doubtless it is what its Maker in
tended it to be.
In the Japanese gardensare oaks just
as old just as certainly oaks, but they
are tiny, dwarfed things that my baby
could carry about in her play house.
The two trees received different
training.
Children are like plants. The far
ther I carry the simile the more per
feet I find the resemblance.
All plants are not vines, and you
would laugh at the gardener who
built a lattice for his apple trees, and
licac bushes, and left his grape vines
and honey suckles to support them
selves.
Cast iron rules will not work in the
flower garden, and it is criminal to
enforce them in the family garden
When a tiny seed is dropped into the
soil it has shut in its shell, the germ
of what it is going to be.
It may be a rose, it may be a nettle.
When the baby leaves appear they are
true to the nature of the seed, and if it
be a nettle all the care you can give it
won t make it a rose, and if it be a
rose your neglect will never make it a
nettle.
You may get a very handsome net
tle or a very shabby rose, but God
himself has decided what nature the
plant shall have.
It is the same with children. They
are not .characterless clay in your
hands that can take shape according
to your will.
Your training may spoil a sweet
flower or improve an imferior one, it
may give variety to the same class of
plants, but it cannot change the germ
nature of the thing that God has, for
some wise and special purpose, made.
I said awhile ago that our children
are being pressed into the same
moulds. To bring the idea alongside
the simile which suits it much better,
they are being trained by the same
methods.
In my own family I see it. The
three children so entirely dissimilar
are cared for just as if they were ex
actly alike. No gardener would give
a shrub a vine and a bulb just the
same sort of treatment, if he did his
flowers would be very imperfect speci
mens of their kind.
There is one rule that saves us.
When the human plant has attained
its full growth it is left alone. If it
be a strong plant it goes to work and
developes itself in spite of the train
ing that nearly ruined it. /
This gives us a chance of seeing
what original characters are like. But
the plants are not all strong, neither
in their general natures nor in their
individual selves, and these along with
those that have received persistent,
never-ceasing, pinching back, fill the
world with dwarf oaks and other mon
strosities.
They are the conventional, all-of-a-
pattern men and women who make
life monotonous, and who are as re-
diculous as the poor little oaks that
are nothing but pitiful curiosities.
But how are we to know the nettles
from the roses, and the weeds from
the lilies? and if we know, how are
we to make anything lovely and good
out of nettles and weeds? How shall
we make them fit for the garden of
God? Nothing is created haphazard
everything that is was meant to be,
else it could not be, for God is the
Father of all that is, and he is allwise.
Whatever he has made is good, be
cause He is Love.
How shall we think it out and find
just the thing that we are to do?
Ellen Frizzell Wycoff—“Mary
Wilson.”
'It !• A BMutr,”
Here is a letter from a Florida lady
who bought one of our sewing
machines. The letter tells the tale.
The story is a simple one. She wanted
a good machine and wanted it direct
from the factory, as she did not care
to have to pay the profits of several
middle men. She ordered one of our
machines which we send out with the
guarantee that they are as good in
every respect as a $50 machine. She
bought the machine with this under
standing and could have returned it to
us and have received her money back.
Instead of doing that she wrote us the
following letter which will give you
an idea of how well we have succeeded
in pleasing her.
Madisoit, Fla.
Editor Sunny Sooth,
Atlanta, Ga.
The machine I purchased from yon some
ago, arrived in good condition, having been
well packed, and le certainly a beauty, in ap
pearance it la beyond the expectations l
formed from reading your advertisement. The
reason 1 did not acknowledge the receipt of it
sooner was because 1 wished to thoroughly test
the machine first. This 1 have done, and find it
to be the most complete and satisfactory
chine we have ever tried. It is all yon claim
for it, and even more, being unusually light
running, and nearly noiselees.
Leaves from a Teacher's Diary,
By Josephine Brown.
Respectfully
Math: "
ttie Peek.
Noyember :—
Well, old diary, the first month of
the Dubose school was finished today,
and as you are my best friend in this
lonely spot, I’ll not forget to tell you
how glad I am to be able to look back
over one month of my work here as
finished.
No one has thought it necessary to
visit our school until tbis afternoon,
when, just before time for recess, little
Annie Garter marched up to mein the
midst of a recitation, saying:
“Teacher, Mr. Thomas is at the
door.”
“Don’t let me hender you,” he told
me, after seating himself in the chairs
they bad been liberal enough to pro
vide for me.
“As your month was about out,
thought I’d jest drap in an’ have a lee
tie talk with you, ao* see how things
was moving along fur my
self. I’ve been aiming to come over
every week since school opened, but
our cotton crop tried to open all at
once, an’ it has kep’ me an’ the ole
woman busy to keep up with it since
the kids started to school. But I’m
hendering you from your work, so I’ll
jest set here an’ look on ontel you
give recess, an’ then we’ll talk of some
things consarning our school.”
As I resumed my recitations I won
dered what direction his “leetle” talk
would take, but I was not terrified
like I was the last time I stood before
him. It was the day school opened.
We gain courage by experience, and
I am happy to know that I am getting
bravely over my useless timidity.
When recess came I told him 1 had
twenty minutes at my disposal, and
would be glad to listen to anything he
might have to say regarding our
school.
“Wall, Miss Brown, let me fust get
rid of this terbacker, aa’ then I’ll be
ready for business. Some folks can
chaw, spit an’ talk all the time, but I
never wus built that away, I reckin’,
though the main reason that keeps me
fum it, is because I lost all my jaw
teeth before I lamed to chaw, an’ if
you ever chawed terbacker you know
you oain’t very well talk and chaw at
the same time, onless you’ve got some
jaw teeth.
The mainest thing I wanted to ask
you about wus the way you teach
little fellers. My little gal, Sallie, has
been coming every day since school
started, an’ she don’t know one of her
letters, an’ when I asked her what it
meant she tole me you had never
teached her ehny of them. I never
like to be the fust one to raise a kick
—so I said nothing to enny one about
it; but yisterday ole Granny Smith
was over to our house an* she said it
was her her opinion that some of us
had orter come over here an’ show
Miss Brown bow to larn children
their letters.
“Last night I asked my little gal
what you did to keep her out of mean
ness, an’ she tole me yon was laming
her to read an’ write. I wouldn’t be
lieve her ontil I called up my oldest
boy, Archie, an’ he tole me the same
thing. I then asked her if she had
tole you she didn’t know Jier letters
an* she said she had. Air these things
true, Miss Brown, I mean air you try
ing to teach onr chillern to read be
fore they know one letter from an
other?”
“What the children told you is all
true, Mr. Thomas,” I replied, “and if
you will only have patience and give
me time I can teach them to read
much better without their knowing
one letter of the alphabet.”
“You can, can you? How is it that
no one else has ever been so smart?”
Choking back the laugh that bad al
most escaped, I told him that I was
not the only one using that method of
instruction; that all over our glorious
country teachers were leaving the old
ruts and adopting the easiest and
plainest methods of reaching a child’s
understanding.
“Do you mean to tell me that you
can l&rn a chile to read before be
knows his letters? An* if they don’t
larn them now, when, in the name of
airth, when do you aim for ’em to be
gin? ”
“Never mind the letters, Mr.
Thomas, for they will soon learn them
from copying and setting them in
words so often, and after they have
mastered a good many easy words,
then we’ll take those apart and set
what they are made ^of and what
sounds produce them.”
“Did you ever know any teached
that way, Miss Brown?”
“Many,” I replied, “and if you will
wait awhile, I hope to show you some
here.”
“Wall, you seem to git along with
the kids all right, an’ as I tole yon be
fore, I don’t like to be the fast to kick,
and mebbe you’ll larn ’em something.
Yon know I am one of the trustees,
and am sorter responsible for the way
the school goes on, bat, I’ll give you
a trial an’ let you have your way this
time, though I don’t doubt bat yoa
will come back to the ole way yet.”
“I’ve done tack ap more than your
recesB time, so I’ll be going. Come
home with the kids some evenin’ an’
stay all night with us. Oar grab haint
as fine as some folks, but m e hh n
can stan’ it one night.” bbe
joi
After he was gone and the chn*
h ? d .5 e9 i? nied their les8 ons our rf 6 ®
chatterbox, Ruth Mays, slin Ded httl «
in A whlfinov
in a Whisper asked me if i
glad “that old squint-eyed
gone.” 3
“What do you mean, Ruth?
u Pani
wasn’t
c »t w&i
are you talking of in such a’di^ Who
ful manner?” ^ uaa,sr espect.
“Why, I mean old man Thomas n
is nothing but an old cat and He
one at that. Pap says he brok? 6411
every school ever begun here W h? n I p
couldn’t run it to suit hisspif b A y h he
Miss Sadie wus teacher here'S
cry every time after he left an' b k! a
tell us how the prairie wind wus him
ing her eyes, jest like we didn’t knn»
she wus hurt Decause he fussed at h».
so much about how she wus teach!
On she rattled so fast I could hardi»
prevail on her to to stop, but finall? i
persuaded her to hush and made he!
promise to quit using nick-name!
when talking of old people.
Ruth had, however, confirmed
belief regarding our trustee. From
the first he had impressed me as be
ing one of those dominering mortals
who feel it their duty to rule every
one they come in contact with. I am
not the least bit discouraged with the
outlook bere.
Some of the children have as bright
minds as I’ve ever seen, and who
knows? Some of these little, uncouth
looking, ragged urchins may one day
occupy the highest position given by
the people under our glorious form of
government. Stranger things have
happened.
‘Sunny” Wedding.
Dear Household : A short time
ago I witnessed a beautiful marriage
in which, I feel sure, many of you,
will be interested. Our ex-“Mother
Hubbard,” who stood beautifully at
the helm of our Household before our
present “Mother Hubbard” began in
the autumn of ’88 her reign of pros
perous peace and love. She of whom
I speak was Miss Callie Cochran, and
she married Mr. Samuel Pierce Lind-
ley at the Methodist Church, at Pow
der Springs, Pastor John A. Reynolds
officiating. *
Musa, 1 can’t tell of the event in
detail. I can’t tell with “society”
minuteness of how the bride was
dressed; I know not how to speak of
frills and furbelows, laces and loops,
do know that the wedding was a
great event in the little town, and
that it was one of the most beautiful
that I ever witnessed.
I know that the little flower girls—
Misses Emma Florence and Ludie
Lindiey, looked almost like dreams of
Fairyland. I know that the ushers
and attendants looked handsome
enough, beautiful enough and happy
enough to get married themselves. I
know that that superb pianist and
rioh-voiced “prima donna,” Miss Bes
sie Anderson, evoked the gentle
strains of the wedding march, m tones
as musical as Euterpe; and I know
that as the bride stood at the altar,
leaning on the arm of the fond groom,
faultlessly attired in creamy “some
thing” and snowy “something else,”
she looked as calmly beautiful as Flor
ida Girl’s picture of the fascinating
girl graduate to whom “life seemed
but a beautiful garland.”
Mr. Lindiey is a popular and stir
ring business man of Powder Springs,
and “Miss Callie,” as I call her—well,
she is a rare blending of the intel
lectual, cultured and thoroughly do
mestic woman. (Catch the whisper:
such a blending as I want for a wife
some day. Sure enough! I mean it.
I do wonder who she is!)
The first time Miss Callie ever came
to Powder Springs was when, as
“Mother Hubbard” in ’88, she, with
“Georgia,” “Flora,” and the genial and
brilliant son of “Erin,” “J. F. S.” came
to visit her then unseen Household
boy on bed, “Earnest Willie,” whom
she had so generously introduced to
tbis bright and much-loved baud.
Little did I dream then that she
would one day come to brighten a
home so near the spot that she and
her little company brightened that
day so much for me, filling it with a
rare, sweet happiness so treasured yet
by us all.
The warm fidelity of her friendship
for me since then has been very re
freshing, and hence my simple little
wedding gift was verily a heart-throb.
Silver and gold had I none, but such
as I had, gave I to her.
Just before going down to the
church that evening. I took a pen,
wrote, and banded her these words:
Blessings on your marriage eve—
The brightest and the best 1
Heart to heart forever cleave,
Obeying Love’s behest.
United, too, in Christ our Lord—
This be my earnest prayer ;
Then bliss will bless your earthly hoai0>
And crown your hearts ‘Up Ther^
God bleu you both I
Your faithful invalid friend,
Willie D. Upshaw.
(“Earnest Willie- )
T HE Leading Specialists
^ eases peculiar to men and
of Atlanta In
women, are u
Hathaway & Co. 22 1-2 South Broad St-,Allans*
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