Newspaper Page Text
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twit. SUNNY SOUTH. ATLANTA. GEORGIA, OCTOBER 14 1893
BEAUTY'S POWER.
For This Page.
Oh beauteous one. your bewitch iog smiles
Causes the victim to fall at your feet.
He would not escape your dangerous wiles
And gladly is welcomed the hour you meet.
But what do you care for the mad love that Is
surging , . _
Up in his heart as a well spring of joy ?
His eyes are dazzled, your smile Is bewitching,
As you playfully murmur *• what a poor fool
ish boy I** . ,
Foolish to love, when your lips wove the chain
That now encirc : es this passionate youth?
Crushing his heart and mad’ning his brain,
He whose the soul of honor and truth.
Byes black as midnight, what well feigned sur-
prise ,
That love for you should be his fate!
When ’twas your pastime to watch his blue
eyes
Glow with the passion that will soon turn to
haste.
He sought to woo you with true loving art,
Not by the flattery so falsely bright,
But he's rejected—forever you part—
Gone is tne smile, from his eye the glad light.
You vainly craved homage, your triumph is
now,
Oft you’ve exultingly boasted the hour
When this proud youth to vour caprice would
bow . ,
A slave to your witchery and beauty s power.
—Jeanie Fields Whiteside.
A Bitter Experience.
Dear Householders:
protracted silence grief
During my
has changed
simply live in heathendom._
But thank Heaven ! I believe every
word that Earnest Willie writes, and
be says: “God can make even the
lowly valley a beautiful mountain
height, gilded with glowing faith and
crowned with glorious achievements.”
What would the Household do
without these two noble boys, Earnest
Willie and our far away “Zirline” and
O, a number of others. I never hear a
sermon but I have the blessed privi
lege of reading Rev. T. De. Witt Tal-
mage’s sermons. Love to all.
Ollie Lieu Shadows.
Jealousy and Love.
su-
so much as tol-
me.
And careful hours, with Time’s de
formed hand have written strange
lines in my face. And had it not been
for the dear Sunnt South and its
Household, my “grief” might have
been heightened. Though I’ve been
“incarcerated in a dungeon,” you
might say, still I’ve enjoyed your let
ters, unspeakably.
Some of them read as if they were
intended for me, but I know they
were not; for I am scarcely known to
the Household. I made my appear
ance twice, and then my love for
writing was unexpectedly snatched
from me. X
It has been quite a year ago since' I
sat by the “heater” busy as busy could
be, making a calico dress for myself.
Sam was very thoughtful, and kind,
and always willing and ready to do
anything to promote my ease and hap
piness. So he came to the kitchen
door, and said:
“I’ll take my dinner to-day, dear,
and give you ample time to have it
finished by time the ‘whistle blows’
this evening, and 1 shall expect to
meet you and the little ones on the
bridge.”
With a parting kiss, he left me
standing, snivering with cold, while
he with his lantern groping his way
to the mill through the (almost) im
penetrable thicket.
’Twas about 9 a. m. I had sat there
from four o’clock till nine o’clock and
was progressing nicely with my
dress; when I was summoned to the
door by a hello! I slowly put
the material down, and found “Uncle
Joe” standing at the steps, white as a
sheet. I smiled as usual, not thinking
that he had come to bring me sad
news.
“Well,’Mrs—I’ve a little sad news to
tell you. Sam got his right hand cut
off a little while ago. Come and we
will go where he is.”
My gracious! No one knows but
myself what thoughts Hashed through
my mind, nor how excruciating it was
to bear. I was soon on the road to
my poor unfortunate husband. I
oould do nothing but sit by him with
one hand on his forehead and the
other supporting his soon-to-be-cut-
off hand. I begged him to put his
whole faith in God. Be begged to die,
for there was no possible means of re
lief visible for him. The nearest doc
tor was seven miles away, and he had
no instruments suitable for perform
ing the operation. They sent to the
nearest town for surgical instruments,
but they failed to come. All bad been
done that could be, and their only re
source for performing the amputation
was an old ordinary hand-saw! “Un-
ole Joe” filed it nicely, and the proper
means of assistance was called for.
Then they told me to retire from the
room, which I did, offering up an un
heard prayer, that my dear husbadd
might be spared to me and my three
little ones.
I had not been absent long when I
saw a little boy coming out with a lit
tle box. On inquiry I found it to be
the hand of my poor husband, the
hand that for seven years had been
the only means of our support.
Poor Sam! he thought that it would
be a turning point in his life; he
thought that his milling career was
now ended. But the wound is well,
and he is forced to follow his former
occupation. Instead of using his right
hand, he uses his left.
He came home the other day with
bis shirt sleeve torn; I asked him
wbat had happened. He told me that
he came as near at “peas getting the
other hand cut off.
Oh! these horrid saw mills.
I dare say there is not a member of
the Household band that is as uncon
genially situated as I am. There are
actually five “whole” white families
here, about twenty negro families, no
church, no school, “no nothing” we
her part, was to’igllow full and perfect
freedom to my views on the subject in
case I was successful, an event I could
see she little anticipated.
Fellow citizens, come to my rescue.
Cyclo.
Reminiscent.
Aunt Lizzie, I do believe, is of wom
ankind the freest from jealonsy. She
hates it with a peculiar hatred. Not
only is she insensible to its blighting
and misery-creating influence, caus
ing distrust and separation where lov
ing trustfulness should reign
preme, but she cannot
erate it in others.
It puts her out of all conceit with
anyone to find that they possess a
jealous disposition.
She can see no good in being jeal
ous.
“But my dear Aunt,” said I the
other evening, as we sat out on the pi
azza after tea, “there is no good in it,
of course, but It is one ot the ills of
humanity.”
My Aunt, who was knitting, tossed
her head and continued to knit with
out making any reply.
“It is one of the trials that poor
weak sinful humanity has to bear,”
continued I, trying to draw her out.
“It is hateful,” said my aunt.
“It is one of the signs of affection,”
said I, “and one incapable of jealousy
is said to be also incapable of ” and
I stopped as my aunt replied smartly :
“You know it is one of the signs of
a narrow mind, and you ought to be—”
she stopped to pick up a stitch which
she had dropped in the moment’s
excitement.
“It suggests quite different thoughts,
and makes me think that where jeal
ously does not abound there is to be
found but little love—as I can prove
to you conclusively,” said I, warming
to something like enthusiasm.
My aunt continued her knitting, but
glanced up to give me a most incredu
lous look.
I mentally decided that to convince
her in the least degree would take
proof most conclusive:
“Aunt Lizzie, I can give the opin
ions of a host of people in confirma
tion of what I’ve said.”
“And who are they, pray?” said my
aunt, trying to appear indifferent.
“People who write for The Sunny
South, which is one of the best family
papers published in the Southern
States. In its columns are discussed
all kinds of subjects, which has a good
deal to do with its circulation, as a
great many people subscribe for it
solely on the merits of its several de
partments.
“In the Household all are free to en
gage in the discussion of any subject
that is likely to prove of general in
terest to the readers, and it can boast
of as brilliant a coterie of writers as
can be found in a similar department
of any paper, no matter where pub
lished.”
My aunt, who had never seen a copy
of the Sunny South, finished out her
needle, wound up the thread, stuck
the needles in the ball, and folding
her hands in her lap, looked at me
with an expression of wonder, min
gled with some curiosity and expecta
tion.
I almost wished my aunt had not
manifested quite so much interest, or
that I had not to such an extent
aroused her expectations; for though
all I said about the paper and its wri
ters had been said honestly, yet as I
contemplated their probable views on
the subjeot under discussion, a vague,
shadowy and indefinable feeling came
over me of having been a little too
confident—that after all they might
not so much agree with me, and aunt
would twit me for my arrogance.
“Just give me an opportunity of
writing a letter, and in the course of
a month or six weeks I will give you
an abundance of proof that more than
narrow-minded folks are afflicted
with a feeling of jealousy !”
Aunt Lizzie, in utter contempt for
my over-confidence, or in order to
allow me other testimony, made no re
ply, but again began her knitting
with calm indifference.
“If I should not prove it conclus
ively,” continued I, anxious to not ap
pear over-confident—“if I should not
prove it conclusively I shall at least
prove that my opinion is not as erro
neous as you believe; and that will be
proving a great deal, don’t you
think?”
My aunt said nothing, but looked at
me in a kind of half quizzical manner
as if she thought I was giving ground
rather early in the discussion.
And this was the way we decided to
let the matter rest; my letter was to
be written the very next day and the
whole affair stated. Aunt Lizzie, on
For The Household.
Somehow tonight, as I am enjoying
my cigar before retiring, my thoughts
refuse to dwell upon the things of the
present, but have stolen away through
the aisles of the years long gone.
Perhaps their wanderings are caused
by the letter from an old schoolmate
just received, filled with the reminis
cences of those happy days. Anyway,
the grey outlines of the old Academy
appear very distinctly.
There are the same old battered
desks, behind the raised lids of which
we enjoyed green appies, surrepti
tiously, during school hours; the same
old cracked stove that filled the room
with smoke, without heating anyone,
but above all, over the top of one of
the desks in the corner, the sweet face
of my first sweetheart—May Edwards.
She was ten, I about twelve. Mere
children, you will say; yes, but I loved
May with all the fervor of my child
ish heart, and with a consistency that
would do honor to many of the older
ones today.
I think I fell in love with May the
first day I was at school, but alas! as
Mr. Swiveller would say, “ ’Tis ever
thus, in childhood’s happy hour,” May
loved me not, and I had a rival. And
such a rival, too, in my estimation.
Ben Jones was freckled, his hair
was fiery (lovely auburn, May said),
and he was rough, uncouth; but who
shall judge a woman’s heart, whether
of two years or twenty?
I suffered more from the green-eyed
monster at this time than at any other
period of my life.
I tried all kinds of tactics. I put
myself upon my very best behavior, I
stood first in all my classes where Ben
was foot, I won all the medals and the
praise of all the teachers; but all this
had not the least effect upon the ob
durate little lady.
I kept myself in a state of perpetual
bankruptcy in order to supply her
with her favorite bon-bons, which she
divided with Ben. I think I even
contemplated suicide, but from some
cause or other gave it up; perhaps
she gave me an unusually sweet smile
on the day it was to come off.
My brothers of the Household, did
you never, on a freezing cold winter
morning, surprise your mother by go
ing into the front yard and diligently
pretend to saw wood, just to get a
glimpse of some charming May, or
Mary, as she tripped by to school?
How you fooled the dear mother, and
how happy you felt after you had
seen her go past—that is if Ben
wasn’t with her.
Well, I did that often; nay, more,
I even wrote some bushels of
what I fondly termed poetry, and
mailed it anonymously. Then for a
short time I played at Beau Brummel,
my scarfs were silken rainbows, my
collars misery, piled high up.
Ah me! the years are many since,
and May is, Mrs. Jones, I saw her yes
terday, together with several small
Jones’, but I have forgiven her of the
very poor taste she showed in not
choosing me, instead of Benjamin.
* « * •
I wonder where Darklight and Zir-
line, are? Which one of them was it
that was so smitten with the charm
ing young widow down South? or was
it both of them, and was it the same
widow. Perhaps one of them ere this
has won the prize, if so, young ladies
of the Household we excuse you, while
you go out and weep.
* * * *
Some Householder gives us “The
Woman of the Future.” Thats it ex
actly, let the woman of the future be
what the Southern woman was in
Ante Bellum days, and what, thank
Heaven, the majority of them are now,
women.
In my opinion, nothing so nearly
approaches the angelic, as a genuine
Christian, womanly woman, and the
recognition of this, by that chivalrous
sentiment in all true men, has placed
her upon the highest plane attainable,
by anything human, above which no
organization can raise, nor circum
stance lower her.
No sensible man denies the mental
equality of women—their achieve
ments speak for themselves, but alas!
that school girls will weep over Marie
Stuart, who never heard of Florence
Nightingale—know the whole life of
George Elliott, but never give a
thought to the gentle wife, mother or
sister, living within a stones throw of
them, who, by their sweet Christian
lives are winning others to God, and
Heaven.
Society women are writing books,
yes, but how many of those books
would we willingly put into the hands
of our children?
******
Ah, Mother Hubbard, you think the
refreshments, I am helping you hand
around, has gone to my head. Not so,
’tis only the company thats inspiring,
and,—my cigar is strong. To all
, adieu! Merle Monte.
The White City.
I have been to that great White
city—made with hands—wandered
mid its white column, gazed up at
arches, high as the lofty trees of my
native forest, caught a glimpse of
past ages, and stood still and ponder
ed on the mighty works of man. I
have stood under its lofty domes,
marvelous in fresco and painting. I
had read cf this city but I bad not
dreamed of the reality. The first
thing we did on entering the grounds,
was to take a ride on the Intramural
railway which runs around the whole,
and then a scene of beauty burst on
our view. Great white palaces, with
towers and minarets and domes, with
the flags of’all nations floating in the
breeze. Then we descened to explore
this realm of beauty. I shall not take
you into these great buildings, lest
weary you, but come with me to the
shore of lake Michigan, watch the
waves beat and toss themselves against
the p*er, and far away on the billows,
are majestic steamers sailing away
On the shore of this lake stands Ger
many, by far the most handsome of
any foreign building.
It has lofty domes, but instead of
carving, we find coats of arms and
heraldry, painted in bright colors,
and on entering you are struck with
the vast numbers of books, the Dr. re
marked, “it would not be Germany
without books.”
In a few minutes we found ourselves
in Ceylon, here in every show case
you find a minature elephant, boxes in
the form of their feet.
A short walk took us to India, at
last I stood amid the gorgeous fabrics
of the east, and the dusky Indian
showed you his wonders in ivory,
from which they carve everything.
At every corner stood a statue of
Buddah, often life-size. Then back to
civilization we wandered. Lured by
a burst of wondrous music we entered
Brazil, here we found ourselves sur
rounded by coffee, coffee, nothing but
coffee, but we must not linger, for over
there lies Florida, a trip through it
will repay you. Let’s rest beside a
lagoon which you find everywhere.
There are great courts in front ot all
these buildings, with steps,* leading
down to the water.
There is one magnificent statue of
Columbus, another stands far across
the lagoon, it is gilt and represents
Liberty. And over there is the Indian
village, with its wigwams, and Indian
men and girls weaving baskets.
Rocking on a lagoon yon see three
quaint looking ships, and when you
read their names you find they were
the ships of that first voyage of Co
lumbus.
On our way to Midway we will pass
through the Horticultural building,
and now we find ourselves under the
great glass dome, and in the center of
this are palms and flowering plants
and vines, towering at least one hun
dred feet above you.
A short walk and we find ourselves
in Midway, and beside that wonder of
the Fair, the Ferris Wheel. I saw
some men fixing the frame work, and
they looked like little boys. It makes
your head dizzy to look to the top.
On one side you see the streets of
Cairo, and over there is Donegal cas
tle in the Irish village and the Java
village, and then the German village,
and the South Sea Islander’s Theater,
and mingling with the crowd are all
these foreigners. I bought a chate
laine of a Persian, and he crossed him
self with “Good luck to yo u lady.”
You look and look until you are
weary of rugs and carpets, and pot
tery.
We peeped into a tent where the
wild sons of the desert were camped.
It takes no stretch of the imagination
to fancy yourself in a foreign land.
We drank delicious tea in Japan. We
saw them making glass in the Libby
glass works.
But there is on« scene I shall never
forget. We were sitting in front of
the Electricity building as night came
down over the city. When all at once
the light began to flash out from min
arets and domes, and the light flashed
across the water, while here the gon
dola, with its picturesque gondolier
glided in and out under the bridges.
And the great Electric fountain began
to play, a Fairyland I heard men
whisper, it was lovely as a dream,
great white palaces one blaze of light,
the fountains change from white to
pink, then to green and blue and red.
After that we entered the Electric
building, bat I shall tell you nothing
of the great balls of fire, all colors, and
the great pillar in the center which
some unseen touch can turn from a
blaze of white to red and pink, blue or
green. You are impressed as never
before with the marvel of Electricity.
As you wander on you are struck with
the power of the search lights, throw
ing their beams for miles and miles in
one great intense beam of light, shift
ing and crossing.
We saw wonderful fireworks on the
lake, but we did not see the lake for
the multitude of people.
As we wended our weary steps
homeward there were thousands pour
ing over the bridges.
The fair is eight miles from the city,
and one morning we took the Whale
Back, an immense excursion steamer
on Lake Michigan, for the fair, and
wbat a cool, delightful ride we had!
the heart of busy, rushing Chicago
Lincoln Park, with its lakes .‘nfl
flowers was a relief, and you find
kind of animals there. a a 1
I stood on a bridge spanning
Chicago river, while the puffing steam
tug towed in the great three-nJ^
g«?n. t0 ^ loaded with lumber and
t tel1 you 1 was n °t sorry when
I left the crush at the union depot and
hnm? A *5® Cbica »° * AltSn tor
home. And now the White Citv il
only a beautiful memory, and th«
green fields and murmuring trees » r «
around me once more. It is sad to
think that in a very short time that
city will be no more, the busy multi
tude will be gone, the streets “lent"
and the wondrous buildings a thing ot
the past.
And this, my dear loving band is
the simple story told by
a .. „ Gypsy.
Armstrong, Mo.
A Medley.
Dear Household: My heart was
so full of a sorrowful subject, when I
returned from a round of calls this af
ternoon, that I came near afflicting
you with it. I will only tell enough
“to point a moral.” It is of how two,
who loved each other devotedly, al
lowed themselves separated by false
hood and calumny.
When they learned the truth it was
too late, for all time too late, too late!
She had married to please her par
ents, he, in desperation, had, like
John Livingston, Jr., in “Lena Riv
ers,” proposed to the first one he met,
had even married her, and so, two
lives were blighted, two hearts
wrecked.
When I looked on her pathetic face,
I felt a fierce anger towards that wick
ed meddler, who gained nothing, but
a blackened soul, for her work. Mor
al. If you love truly, let no third
party interfere.
Now I will try and make you smile
as it is less disfiguring than tears, and
much more enjoyable.
A young lady friend had gone on a
visit to a sister in a small town; she
was suddenly stricken with acute
rheumatism. The young gentlemen
in town, ignorant of her affliction,got
their amateur band together to give
her a serenade.
Her brother-in-law, thinking it a
good opportunity to impress her mind
seriously, was holding family prayer
in her room. All were on their knees
near her bed, and he was pouring out
his heart in fervent supplication,
when the band struck up on the gal
lery, not two feet away, with the negro
melody.
“When you hear my bones a brilin’
don’t you grieve after me.”
The supplicant’s voice wavered and
faltered, but determining that Satan
should not conquer, he rallied his
scattered forces and poured forth his
heart with greater fervor; louder he
prayed, louder played the band, until
the victim of the double visitation
could stand no more, but with peals of
laughter, peal on peal, put to flight
both parties.
I am enthusiastic about our House
hold plant’s (Cundurango’s) last
learned article; is he a hybrid? (high
bred).
Mary Wilson’s good, true sermons
should bring in a fruitful harvest of
golden sheaves. I wish she had the
far-reaching power to build up all
that Mrs. Humphrey Ward’s sacrilig-
ious hand has sought to pull down.
Has the threat of some one to ad
minister corporal punishment to
Eugene Edwards’ knee breeches had
the effect of quenching his spirit?
Girls of the Kingdom, James Whit
comb Riley needs a wife dreadfully, to
do for him what Mrs. Talmadge does
for her husband, buy his tickets and
see that he doesn’t get left or lost by
every train, tags him for every trip.
Who will volunteer?
I hope our dear Mother Hubbard’s
Rose-Jar is like Uncle Sambo’s pro
spective ’possum feast in the happy
hunting grounds “unlimitable.”
La Mascot.
«V mt as Represented.
The following letter is a good om
and we are always glad to find oui
subscribers pleased with anythin;
which they purchase from us. A pre
mium which gives poor satisfaction if
the worst advertisement a paper cac
send out. On tne other hand where t
genuine bargain is secured throug!
—_i*. -- * all
Wi
^cuuiuc uai^aiu is ocuureu tmo
your favorite paper it becomes all tbi
dearer to you in consequence,
are fully aware of this, and for tb«
reason we represent our premiums ei
actly as they are. If you buy our ms
chine and do not find it well wort
twice the money you pay us for i
send it back to ns at our expense an
we give you our word we will refun
you the money paid us for it. Ever
machine is sold with this guarante
But see what Mrs. Boykin says:
Gadsden, Tenn.. August 24th 1&' 3 -
Editor Sunny south.
I must write you how well pleased I uo
our new machine: It is just the very thing
was represented to be. We are very proud <
it, and it does as good work as the fifty or stf
dollar machines. I will canvass some for yoo i
this neighborhood as much as I can.
Respt.
Mrs. Mary E. Botki>.