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7
THE SUNNY SOUTH.
blending of one delicate shade into another,
to have an artist’s eye for noting the change
a small excess of color may make in “the
character of a mixed tint,’’ betokens the pos
session of no ordinary thought or feeling.
" We stop to reflect on the handiwork of God.
We look again and the eye beholds the brill
iant rays of sun bursting over hill and vale.
Tis a fair semblance of his dazzling beauty,
upon which the feeble eye can not rest. The
glistening dew-drop upon the wild rose but
bespeaks the purity of his presence. The
white lily on the lake but gives a semblance
of the Galilean lilies. The most delicate
flowers nurtured in the same soil as the hardy
weed, is but a picture of his humbleness and
sweet simplicity.
Sweet shadows, dear, sunlit hills, we’ll
never know thy worth till we are separated.
S. Helene.
With Happy Greetings.
I am very much interested in the House
hold and read the letters from its members
the very first thing after my Sunny arrives.
I was so glad when it resumed its old form
and you responded to the “Bugle-call,” I
thought of asking for admittance then, know
ing that you would be too happy to refuse,
but it seemed so much like a family reunion,
that I could not intrude
Earnest Willie, I shall expect a word of
welcome from you and you must introduce
me.
Musa Dunn, I like you very much, indeed,
but I see we differ in sentiments as to church
form. I love the kind of service that you de
scribe and I seem to be drawn into closer
communion with the Father and can enter
into it so much more heartily than I can ser
vices without a form of worship. Of course,
in some instances, there is more form than
real devotion, but I am happy in the belief
that these are exceptions. I tried the other
kind of service this summer. I was away
from home and attended the church of which
my hostess was a member and, in spite of my
efforts, my mind would wander to worldly
things, and I would find myself wondering
if my hat was on straight and if the paint
would rub off on my dress and if Mr. So and
so was looking at me or a some other girl
and if the minister was as hungry as I was;
because if he was—then I would come back
with a start to listen faithfully for five min
utes and again lose myself. Ncya I am sure
you didn’t do that atchurch. Did
you? Ai^J.was a prayer for
r “President of the United States, and
all others in authority,” there was another
for “all sorts and conditions of men,” I
imagine. And that certainly includes the
voters, for there are all “sorts and condi
tions” of them I am sure. But, as I said be
fore, you are a favorite of mine, and I want
you to like me. Will you try?
Firefly, don’t let the chill evenings cause
you to cease your shining. Settle in the
Household and continue to brighten us up.
Mary E. T., you are a woman after my own
heart. I want to know you better.
Eugene Edwards, I asked Earnest Willie
so much about you that he said he thought
well, he said it. I told him I did and that—
but, as you do not know me as well as I do
you, perhaps, I had better not repeat my
remarks upon the subject.
Ellen Starwood, Bonnie Sweet Bessie, Ike,
Zirline, all of you, I would like to talk with
you and tell you how fond I have grown of
you since the Sunny South first came into
our own little household, but—the waste
basket.
Bianca Grey.
The Passing of a Little Form Leaves Silence.
Dear Mother and Householders ; Lei has
gone away. There are no spankings, and
lamentations thereafter, these days, and the
neighbors are having a royally peaceful time
of it.
Funny how I can’t remember very well,
how naughty Lei was, and how often she was
bound over to keep the peace, and how much
more often she broke it all to smithereens !
All those things are very hazy indeed. I
can hear her saying forty times per diem
“I’m so hun-ga-wy,” or “I’m so ti—wed.”
(tired).
Poor old Mamie, the rag doll monstrosity,
who is now minus both the blue glass eyes,
she began life with—whose mouth puckers
up like a toothless crone’s and whose express
ive, if withered countenance, is gray with
age (and dirt) !
One look at her should be enough to bring
a smile to the face of a Sphynx—and yet—
laughter doesn’t swell up one’s nose and
leave one’s eyes red and aching, and the heart
that belongs to them more aching still.
“Buddie boy’s” little figure looks so lonely
tottering around without a playmate—he has
no one to build block houses with and to call
him “Ishe-pota-to,” “old man,” and every
thing else that may strike her fancy.
And when night comes on I fancy her say
ing :
“I’m so tiwed and sleepy—can’t you give
me my baf(bath) first an’ put me to bed.
Now let’s say our kingdom come prayer.
Good-night, ,daddy. Good-night Buddie
boy!”
I wonder if she is kept covered at night,
and who picks her up and kisses the hurt
place when she falls down(some twenty times
per day) and whether they curl her hair even
ings and make her pretty as she had to be
“for Daddy” when at home.
She will hardly fail to ask a blessing at the
table—not waiting to be asked, (it is an old
habit of hers) and it runs like this :
“Lord make us hanker (thankful) for what
we are ’bout to heave (receive), ’Tist’s sake,
amen.”
She had a lovely, waxen baby in her arms
when she got on the train, and the dolly’s
complexion looked very muddy and dissipated
indeed, by the side of Lei’s sea-shell cheeks.
She was so happy—poor tot—her first visit
from home on the cars, a real up-to-date
dolly instead of “Rag Mamie,” and the allur
ing prospect ahead of chasing jack-rabbits
and riding the pony !
And I thought what a quiet, good time I
was going to have, doing a lot of extra work,
and enjoying myself generally.
1 haven’t begun yet. Maybe I will, when
I leave off picing up her discarded toys—for
get the picture she made when I told her
“Cindawella” for the hundredth time—blue
eyes shining and eager, cheeks delicately
flushed —the sunshine of her hair all agolw
in the lamplight—and encouraging little
leaders as “Yes, ma’am,' an’ then what else,”
every little while, as my attention was called
off to something else.
No doubt it is good for her to leave the
tread-mill monotony of home for a while, but
I, well, I think about the mothers who do not
expect their babies home any more—between
whom and them, the width of worlds inter
venes, and I vaguely feel the silence—the
terrible, blank, hideous silence that comes
with the passing forever of a beloved voice,
and the uncalculable unending space that
may be left by one small form.
Pats.
Flowers and Little Children.
I am very glad that so many of the House
holders have answered the “Bugle-call,” and
our interesting page in the “Sunny” seems
homelike and cheery again. Still there are
others that I wish would come. I wonder
where all the Householders are?
Well, dear ones, what have you been doing
with yourselves these bright summer days?
What books have you been reading ? It has
been a very busy summer to me ; but I have
been training the vines and watching the
flowers grow. Our front porch is covered
with moonflowers, and I like to sit in the
twilight and watch the petals of the snowy
blossoms unfold. Morningglories come up
of themselves. Some one said let them go,
that the moonflower would be enough, but I
always had a penchant for morningglories.
So I trained them at one side of the porch and
they are now blooming, and vie with the
other vines in grace and beauty. These frail,
tender blossoms bring sweet memories to me
of childhood days when I gathered the wild
ones that grew in the garden of our old home
by the riverside, they were as blue as the
summer skies.
Our neighbor’s yard across the way looks
very bright this evening, with the sunlight
kissing the flowers, the gay butterflies sipping
the sweets, with the drowsy hum of the bees
and the sweet laugh of the children playing
on the sidewalk, making this an ideal sum
mer day.
What a dreary world this would be without
the little ones. Richter said; “I love God
and little children.”
My thoughts recall a sweet, little face that
I have recently made a friend of. I do not
know her name, but she is all that is dainty
and sweet.
One Sabbath morning I was on my way to
Sunday-school, and passing her home, she
came running down the walk to the gate and
said to me;
“Don’t you want a flower?”
I said “yes.”
“Well, I will get you a pretty flower,” she
said, with childish earnestness.
So she flitted about from flower to flower,
like a bright butterfly, undecided which to
bring me; passing by bright nasturtiums,
dainty pinks, and lovely roses, she came to
me with a dewy morningglory in her dear,
little hands.
I placed the tender blossom in my book,
and when I look at it, I see sunny blue eyes,
and a sweet little fairy flitting from flower to
flower. I watch for her every time I pass by,
but I think she has gone off for the summer.
West End has four very pretty churches.
The Presbyterian is finished, and is very pret
ty and unique, while the Episcopal is a per
fect dream in architecture. We walked by last
night. It was lighted up brilliantly, and sit
ting in the the open window, was a dear little
kitten, which seemed to be enjoying the
music, and, perhaps, the sermon.
Luta Grey, I do not know whether pauses
in work are beneficial or otherwise, but this I
do know, since I have been wearing the
abominale bishop sleeves, I have taken many
pauses in my work. For instance, this morn
ing, going from the dining-room to the
kitchen with my hands full of plates, cups,
etc., my flowing sleeves caught on the door
knob, turning me completely around. I held
on to the plates, but cups went flying into the
middle of the floor.
I think oftentimes that pauses in work are
delightfully pleasant, when a cheery friend
calls and with brightness and chatter, makes
you forget work.
Amicus Curse, long may your life be happy
and bright, do not forget the Householders ;
and do not treat us as Oneal and Jill have,
come often with your interesting letters.
What a delightful description Florida Girl
gives us of her new home. I think I would
enjoy living in a tent.
It is getting late, so I will go and watch
those sunset clouds of wondrous beauty,
bathing the woods with their glowing light,
then I will see the moonflowers open.
Good-night dear ones—pleasant dreams to
all.
Good-night, dear little Mother Hubbard,
“When the twilight folds the flower,
I will fold thy name in prayer.”
Hope.
Here’s Your Chance.
In order to encourage my Sunny South
friends to aid in the sale of my book “Glean
ings from the Wayside,” (price 75cts) I offer
to boys and girls a fair percentage of sales
and to the one who sells the greatest number
of copies between now and Dec. ist, 1896, a
hand-crocheted bedspread, which sells at
$5.00, and which would make an acceptable
Christmas gift to the winner’s mother.
Address (Miss) Maggie Richard,
1421 Lumber St.,
Columbia, S. C.
SOCIAL) PROBLEMS.
Discussions bu The “Householders” o?
Questions Pertaining to Love, Mar
riage, Divorces, DanGing, Etc.
WHAT ABOUT SWEETHEARTS?
Dear Householders ; I have been interested
in the letters written by Gem, especially the
one in which he speaks of lang syne sweet
hearts. I wish to know how we are to dis
tinguish between sweetheart and something
dearer. Why is it that we have so many
sweethearts and love each in turn as fervently
as the last. Would a marriage with any of
them result happily? Development and
growth is the natural order of things. The
feeling on both sides would become stronger
as the years advance. I mean, of course, if
it be truly reciprocated. Happiness could be
the only possible result. ■ Yet, how often are
we deceived. I believe that a marriage was
never consummated, that the contracting
parties ever dreamed a divorce would follow.
Something must be wrong with our method
of falling in love, or why are so many honest
people deceived? If unhappiness be the re
sult, you say they never truly loved. Others
are supremely happy and they, seemingly,
loved in the same manner.
Yet, who would give up his old sweet
hearts? Ah, the sweet memory of them
cheers even the wayfaring man, making glad
his past and present like oases in desert lives.
Perhaps, in the far-away future, we each may
meet the sweetheart of our dreams. How
shall we know? We believed we had met her
many times before. We hope—we know—it
will be perfect happiness. Yet, half the
world search for that and find it not. Must
we grope blindly on in the dark and be taught
only by experience? Love, sometimes, is a
treacherous guide.
Can a woman marry whomsoever she
chooses? I believe nearly all who have
spoken upon this matter, have taken the
affirmative. I take the negative, not alone to
champion the cause of Little Billie, this
youthful “musketeer of the brush,” who feels
sure his Trilby would never have taken that
liberty until he had asked her nineteen times,
but because I believe she can not. If a man
have not a choice of his own, then, perhaps,
she might take hope. Since he is about to
lose the high prerogative of voting, be sure
he will but cling the closer to this one of
choosing.
Very truly,
Karl Kaiser.
Some boys were asked to define “editor.”
Here are some of their definitions ; “An edi
tor is a man who handles words.” “An edi
tor makes his living out of the English
language.” “An editor is somebody who
does not do anything himself, and when
WOMEN DISCOURAGED.
SOOD AND SUFFICIENT REASONS
FOR THE BLUES.
Doctors Fail to Understand Symptom*
That Are Danger Signals.
A marked trait in woman’s character
is to place implicit confidence in her
physician.
A man must work entirely from the
cry in the
treatment
']j oi female
diseases,
for unfor
tunately
facts based
upon actual
knowledge, belong
to the female sea
alone. Many wo
men who peri
odically suf
fer with at
tacks of
faint
ness, diz
ziness,
extreme
lassitude,
don't care”
or want-to-be-left-alone feeling, do
not at first realize that these are
the infallible symptoms of womb
trouble and the forerunners of great
suffering.
Soon they grow to feel that the
doctor does not understand their case.
Then they remember that “a woman
best understands a woman’s ills,” and
turn to Mrs. Pinkham.
The following letter is but one posi
tive illustration of this fact:—
“Four years ago I began to suffer
with great weak
ness of the genera
tive organs. My
worn b was pro
lapsed ; 1 suffered
with continual
backache and all
the other pains
that accompany
that weakness. I
tried doctor after
doctor, had
operations. The
final operation
after which I
became a total
wreck, .was
scra ping of the
Womb. A friend, one day, recom
mended to my husband your Com
pound. He bought me a bottle. The
relief I experienced after taking it,
was wonderful. I continued its use,
and I am glad to say my recovery is a
perfect surprise to everybody that
knows me.”—Mrs. B. Bi.uiim, 4940 San
Francisoo Ave., St. Louis, Mo.
somebody else does, goes and tells other
people all about it.” “An editor is a man
who has the industry of the beaver, the in
stinct of a bee, and the patience of an ass.—
Ex.
A German inventor has hit upon a method
of putting a granite sole on boots and shoes.
He mixes a water-proof glue with a suitable
quantity of clean quartz sand and spreads it
over the leather sole used as a foundation.
These soles are said to be very flexible, non
slipping, and practically indestructible.
An interesting novelty, used as a pen-
w per, made in form of a bird. On squeez •
ing it in the hand, the bill opens to grasp the
pen. The “bird’s” mouth is lined with flan
nel, which wipes the pen clean as it is with
drawn.
A Common Practice.
It’s quite common for some tradespeople to
persuade a customer to take some other arti
cle instead of that called for. It is some
times called substitution, but it’s cheating
the customer out of that which he wanted. 1
is always done for a mean motive. The dea-
er who does this has no consideration for hi*
customer. It’s like getting rid of something
in which the dealer himself was swindle*!,
and yet he must get his money out of it by-
deceiving the customer. We say to the read
ers of this Journal that when you ask for
Simmons’ Liver Regulator, don’t take any
thing else instead—it’s the best liver medi
cine. The advertising is increasing the de
mand for it, and the people who call for it
should get it, especially so because there is
no liver medicine like Simmons’ Liver Reg
ulator. Insist upon having it, and note
that the Red Z is on the front of the package.