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ffatmeit and Huflwsl
BY HORNADY & ELLS.
VOL. IV.
®te ,§*** ansi §ajjtlsit,
DEVOTED TO RELIGION AND LITERATURE,
Is published every Saturday, at Atlanta, Georgia, at the
subscription priee of three dollars per year.
HORNADY & ELLS,
Editors and Proprietors.
H. O. Hornady.] [James N. Ells.
Steam Press of Franklin Printing House—J. J. Toon A Oo-
MISCELLANY.
HAPPY AT HOME.
Let the gay and the idle go forth where they will,
In search of soft Pleasure, that syren of ill;
Let them seek her in Fashion's illumined saloon,
Where Melody mooks at the heart out of tune;
Where the laugh gushes light from the lips of the maiden,
While her spirit, perchance, Is with sorrow o’erladen;
And where ’mid the garlands Love only should braid,
Is Slander, the snake, by its rattle 1 etrayed.
Ah, no 1 let the idle for happiness roam,
For me—l but ask to be “ happy at home i ”
At home ! oh, how thrillingly sweet is that word,
And by it what visions of beauty are stirred 1
I ask not that Luxury curtain my room
With damask from India’s exquisite loom;
The sunlight of heaven is precious to me,
And muslin will veil it if blazing too free;
The elegant trifles of Fashion and Wealth
I need not—l ask but for comfort and health t
With these and my dear ones I care not to roam,
For,nhi I am happy, most “happy at home!”
One bright little room where the children may play,
Unfearful of spoiling the costly array ;
Where, too, our dearest of ail on the earth,
May find the sweet welcome he loves at his hearth;
The Are blazing warmly—the sofa drawn nigh,
And the star-lamp alight on the table close by,
A few sunny pictures in simple frames shrined,
A few precious volumes—the wealth of the mind,
And here and there treasured some rare gem of art,
To kindle the fancy or soften the heart;
Thus richly surrounded, why, why should I roam ?
Oh 1 am I not happy—most “ happy at home f’’
The little ones, weary of books and of play,
Nestle down on our bosoms—our Ellen and May I
And softly the simple, affectionate prayer,
Ascends in the gladness of innocence there;
And now, ere they leave us, sweet kisses and light
They lavish, repeating their merry “ good-night I ”
While I with my needle, my book, or my pen,
Or in converse with His, am contented again,
And cry—“ Can I ever be tempted to roam,
Wliile blessings like these make me happy at home?”
“Only a Few Words.”
A HOME STORY.
Mr. James Winkleman shut the door
with a jar, as be left the house and moved
down the street, in the direction of his of
fice, with a quick firm step, and the air of
a man slightly disturbed in mind.
“Things are getting better fast,” said he,
with a touch of irony in his voice, as he al
most flung himself into his leather-cushion
ed chair. “ It’s rather hard when a man has
to pick his words in his own house, as eare
fully as if he were picking diamonds, and
step as softly as if he were stepping on eggs.
I don’t like it. Mary gets weaker and more
foolish every day, and puts a breadth of
meaning on my words that 1 never intend-
ed them to have. I’ve not been used to
this conning over of sentences and picking
out of all doubtful expressions ere ventu
ring to speak, and I’m too old to begin
now. Mary took me for what I am, and
she must make the most of her bargain. —
I’m past the age for learning new tricks.”
With these and many other justifying
sentences, did Mr. Winkleman seek to ob
tain a feeling of self-approval. But, for all
this, he could not shut out the image of a
tearful face, nor get rid of an annoying
conviction that he had acted thoughtlessly,
to say the least of it, in speaking to his
wife as he had done.
But what was all this trouble about?—
Clouds were in the sky that bent over the
home of Mr. Winkleman, and It is plain
that Mr. Winkleman himself had his own
share in the work of producing those clouds.
Only a few unguarded words had been spo
ken. Only words! And was that all 1
Words are little things, bus they some
times strike hard. We wield them so ea
sily that we are apt to forget their hidden
power. Fitly spoken, they fall like the
sunshine, the dew, and the fertiiising rain;
but, when unfitly, like the frost, the hail,
and the desolating tempest. Some men
apeak as they feel or think, without catcu-
Jsting the force of what they say ; and then
seem very much surprised if any one is hurt
or offended. To this class belonged Mr.
Winkleman. His wife was a loving, sin
cere woman, quick to feel. Words to her
were indeed things. They never fell upon
her cars as idle sounds. How often was
her poor heart bruised by them 1
On this particular morning Mrs. Winkle
man, whose health was feeble, found her
self in a weak, nervous state, h was only
by an effort that she could rise above the
morbid irritability that afffk-ted her. Earn
estly did she strive to repress the disturb
ed beatings ot her heart, but she strove in
A, sraurasous AM® 2 s l*ffiSA®X' MBWSJPAFjS®.
ring footfall was like a blow on the sensi
live, aching brain of his wife.
“ Too bad ! too bad ! ” he had just ejacu
lated when the bell rang.
“At last! ” he muttered, and theu strode
towards the breakfast-room. The children
followed in considerable disorder, and Mrs.
Winkleman, after hastily arranging her
hair, and putting on a morning cap, joined
them at the table. It took some moments
to restore order among the little ones.
The dish that Mrs. Winkleman had been
at considerable pains to provide for her
husband, was set beside his plate. It was
his favorite among many, and his wife
looked for a pleased recognition thereof,
and a lighting up of his clouded brow. But
he did not seem even to notice it. After
supplying the children, Mr. Winkleman
helped hitnself in silence. At the first
mouthful he threw down his knife and fork,
and pushed his plate from him.
“What’s the matter?” inquired his wife.
“ You didn’t trust Bridget to cook this, I
hope?” was the response.
“What ails it?” Mrs. Winkleman’a
eyes were filling with tears.
“Oh ! it’s of no consequence,” answered
Mr. Winkleman, coldly; “anything will
do for me.”
ATLANTA, GEORGIA, NOVEMBER 22, 1862.
vain. And it seemed to her, as it often
does in such cases, that every thing was
wrong. The children were fretful, the cook
dilatory and cross, and Mr. Winkleman
impatient because sundry little matters
pertaining to his wardrobe were not just to
his mind.
“ Eight o’clock, and no breakfast yet,”
said Mr. Winkleman, as he drew out his
watch, on completing his own toilet. Mrs.
Winkleman was in the act of dressing the
last of five children, all of whom had pass
ed under her hands. Each had been cap
tious, cross, or unruly, sorely trying the
mother’s patience. Twice had she been in
the kitchen to see how breakfast was pro
gressing, and to enjoin the preparation of a
favorite dish, with wh ; ch she had purposed
to surprise her husband.
“ It will be ready in a few minutes,” said
Mrs. Winkleman. “The fire hasn’t burn
ed freely this morning.”
“If it isn’t one thing, it is another,”
growled the husband. “ I’m getting tired
of this irregularity. There would soon be
no breakfast to get, if Iv ere always behind
time in business matters.”
Mrs, Winkleman bent lower over the
child she was dressing, to conceal the ex
pression of her face. What a sharp pain
now throbbed through her temples ! Mr.
Winkleman commenced walking the floor
impatiently, little imagining that every jar
“James!” There was a touching sad
ness, blended with rebuke, in the tones of
his wife; and, as she uttered his name,
tears gushed over her cheeks.
Mr. Winkleman didn’t like tears. They
always annoyed him. At the present time
he was in no mood to bear with them. So,
on the impulse of the moment, he arose
from the table, and, taking up his hat, left
the house.
Self-justification was tried, though not, as
has been seen, with complete success. The
calmer grew the mind of Mr. Winkleman,
aud the clearer his thoughts, the less satis
fied did he feel with the part he bad taken
in the morning’s drama. By an inversion
of thought, not usual among men of his
temperament, he had been presented with
a vivid realization of his wife’s side of the
question. The consequence was, that, by
dinner time, he felt a good deal ashamed of
himself, and grieved for the pain he knew
his hasty words had occasioned.
It was in this, better state of mind that
Mr. Winkleman returned home. The house
seemed still as he entered. As he proceed
ed up stairs, he heard the children’s voices,
pitched to a low key, in the nursery. He
listened, but could not hear the tones of his
wife. So he passed into the front chamber,
which was darkened. As soon as he could
see clearly in the feeble light, he perceived
that his wife was lying on the bed. Her
eyes were closed, and her thin face looked
so pale and death- like, that Mr. Winkleman
felt a cold shudder creep through his heart.
{Coming to the bed side, he leaned over and
| gazed down upon her. At first, he was in
doubt whether she really breathed or not;
and he felt a heavy weight removed when
he saw that her cheat rose and fell in feeble
respiration.
“his BANNER OVER” US IS “LOVE.”
“Mary!” He spoke in a low, tender voice.
Instantly the fringed eyelids parted, and
Mrs. Winkleman gazed up in her husband’s
face in partial bewilderent.
Obeying the moment’s impulse, Mr.
Winkleman knelt down and left a kiss up
on her pale lips. As if moved by an elec
tric thrill, the wife’s arms were flung
around the husband’s neck.
“ I am sorry to find you so ill,” said Mr.
Winkleman, in a voice of sympathy.—
“ What is the matter ? ”
“ Only a sick head-ache,” replied Mrs.
Winkleman. “ But I’ve had a good sleep,
and feel better now. I didn’t know it was
so late,” she added, her tone changing
slightly, and a look of concern coming into
her countenance. “ I’m afraid your dinner
is not ready ; ” and she attempted to rise.
But her husband bore her gently back with
his hand, saying:
“ Never mind about dinner. It will come
in good time. If you feel better, lie perfect
ly quiet. Have you suffered much pain?”
“ Yes.” The words left not her lips sad
ly, but came with a softly wreathing smile.
Already the wan hue of her { cheeks was
giving place to a warmer tint, and the dull
eyes brightening. What a healing power
was in his tender tones and considerate
words! And that kiss—it had thrilled
along every nerve —it had been as nectar
to the drooping spirit. “ But I feel so much
better, that I will get up,” she added, now
rising from her pillow.
And Mrs. Winkleman was entirely free
from pain. As she stepped upon the car
pet, and moved across the room, it was
with a firm tread. Every muscle was elas
tic, and the blood leaped along her veins
with anew and healthier impulse.
No trial of Mr. Winkleman’s patience,
in a late dinner, was in store for him. In
a few minutes the bell summoned the fam
ily ; and he took his place at the table so
tranquil in mind that he almost wondered
at the change in his feelings. How differ
ent was the scene from that presented at
the morning meal!
And was there power in a few simple
words to effect so great a change as this?
Yes, in simple words, fragrant with the
odors of kindness.
A few gleams of light shone into the
mind of Mr. Winkleman, as he returned
musing to his office, and he saw that he
was often to blame for the clouds that dark
ened so often over the sky of home.
“ Mary is foolish,” he said, in partial
self-justification, “to take my hasty words
so much to heart. I speak often without
meaning half what I say. She ought to
know me better. And yet,” he added, as
his step became slower, for he was think
ing closer than usual, “ It may be easier for
me to choose my words more carefully,
and to repress the unkindness of tone that
gives them a double force, than for her to
help feeling pain at their utterance.”
Right, Mr. Winkleman! That is the
common sense of the whole matter. It is
easier not to strike, than to help feeling or
showing signs of pain under the infliction
of a blow. Look well to your words, all
ye members of a home circle. And espe
cially look well to your words, ye whose
words have the most weight, and fall, if
dealt in passion, with the heaviest force.
Rzcrbation. —Recreation is intended for
the mind as whetting is to the scythe : to
sharpen the edge of it, which otherwise
would grow dull and blunt. He, therefore,
that spends his whole time in recreation is
ever whetting, never mowing; his grass
may grew, and his seed starve. As, eon
trarily, he that always toils and never re
creates, Is ever mowing, never whetting;
laboring much to little purpose; as good
no scythe as no edge. Then only doth the
work go forward wb<n the scythe is so sea
sonably and moderately whetted that it
may cat, and so cuts that it may have the
help of sharpening. I would so interchange
that 1 neither be dull with work, nor idle
and wanton with recreation.
[Bishop Hall.
“ I could write down twenty cases,” says
a pious man, “when I wished God had done
otherwise than he did; but which I now
now see, had I had my own will, would
have led to extensive mischief.”
A little thing comforts us, because a lit
tle thing afflicts us.
The Village Hebe.
BT PAUL H. HAYNX.
The growing tints of a tropic eve
Burn softly on her cheek;
And you know that her voice is rich and low,
Though you never have heard her speak;
So full are her gracious eyes of light,
That the spirit of joy wells over,
And wherever her blissful pathway tends,
A glory flits on before.
Oh! very grand are the city belles,
Of a brilliant and stately mien,
As they walk the step of the languid dance,
And flirt in the pause between;
But beneath the bows of the'hoary oak,
Where the minstrel-fountains play,
I think that the artless village girl
Are sweeter by far than they.
Oh 1- very grand are the city belles,
But their hearts are worn away
By the keen edged sword, and their lives have
lost
The beauty and mirth of May;
They move where the sun and starry dews
Reign not; they are haughty and bold,
And they do not shrink from the cursed mart
Where Faith is the slave of gold.
But the starry dews and genial sun
Have ripened Tier youth to love,
And for one fond look to the earth below,
She hath ten for the heaven above;
Her feet are beautiful on the hills,
As the step of an Orient morn,
And Ruth never was so fair as she
In the midst of the autumn corn.
Come, Effie, give thy loyal hand,
It is pure as the Parian stone —
And tell me again I may call thee mine,
When the winter winds have flown.
It is true that you make the storm-clouds bright,
But is’t not fitter that we
Should wed when the Spring—thy sister—comes
To be a bridesmaid to thee ?
The buds shall blossom as bloom our hopes,
And the earth make glad replies
To the music that ripples about our hearts,
Into marvelous harmonies;
And between the nature that glows without,
And the nature that thrills within,
The delicate morning of Love shall close,
And its bountiful noon begin.
Rats.
We met lately with a book on natural
history, in which the writer, who is an en
thusiastic lover of animals, devotes a large
space to the history of Rats. He took much
pains in collecting every variety and taming
them, so that he could observe their habits.
You would be surprised to know how many
kinds there are —the brown rat, which in
fests our houses and gives us so much trou
ble, being the most common, or untamea
ble. There is a very beautiful white rat,
found in some parts of Europe and Asia,
which is large, strong and sagacious.
Rats are like squirrels in their habits
and food —have such mouths and teeth, and
handle their paws in the same way. Like
them too they can climb, though not so
nimbly; and like them, they live in boles,
though they prefer the ground, while squir
rels generally inhabit hollow trees.
They keep themselves as clean as kit
tens, and much in the same way. After
eating or drinking, they always spend a long
time in wiping their tiny mouths with their
paws. They are very fond of water, and
can not live long without it. If shut up in
a cage where they can get no moisture,
they die in a day or two. The Naturalist,
to whom we have referred, once caught a
large and savage rat, and shut him up in a
cage. It was so fine an animal, and being
of au unusual species, he desired to tame
it. But the rat resisted all overtures until
the second day, when the Naturalist per
ceived that he acted very strangely; he
was languid, and, without making any ef
fort to escape from the hand which approach
ed him, would turn up his eyes in a piteous
manner. His master then placed a spoon
ful of water under the bars of the cage,
when the whole aspect of the poor creature
was immediately changed. He ran to the
bars and, drinking the water eagerly, mani
fested almost as much joy and gratitude as
a human being could have shown.
It is astonishing where they all come
from. There seems to be no place where
there is a bole large enough to hide a rat
where one may not be found, and, if driven
away, others come. But they will not atay
where they are constantly disturbed, and
they very much dislike to have eats and
terriers prowling round their holes.
Another curious fact is, that they destroy
each other. If a number are confined to
gether, they will be sure to fall to fighting,
and a powerful rat has been known to kill
TERMS —Three Dollars a-year.
twenty or thirty others, only himself being
left alive. They also destroy each other
when left at liberty—particularly if one
becomes wounded or ill, in which case he is
soon despatched by the rest.
It is said that no rat has ever been found
asleep. This Naturalist informs us that
among the hundreds which he had tamed
and observed, he never saw but one asleep,
and he was not certain of that. We should
add that he never succeeded in taming any
perfectly, though generally they would be
come so accustomed to him in a single day
as not to bite.
Rats have been used for food by those
who have no other meat. In the South Sea
Islands, the missionaries found that the In
dians thought their flesh very dainty.—
John Williams, a noble English Missiona
ry, who, after laboring many years among
the South Sea Indians, was at last killed by
them, informs us that one time, when a
good many of the Indians had become
Christians, and they were all very desirous
to try to do right, a committee of chiefs
came to him and said they wished to ask a
question. It was, whether it was wicked
to eat rats? Mr. Williams told them that
he thought there was no sin in it particu
larly, but that he would give them better
meat, and so furnished them with some
pigs and goats from which they might raise
up others.
Dr. Kane informs us that when he was
in the Arctic regions, he and his men near
ly starved for want of fresh meat, and be
came very sick. One day he opened a
collection of insects or plants which he had
accumulated, and found to his sorrow that
the rats had eaten them all. It occurred to
him to punish them in the same way. So
he made a little bow and arrow, and the
next rat which ran out he popped over,
cooked him and ate him. He assures us
that the rats’ flesh was very palatable, and
he continued the practice as long as the rats
lasted, to the great improvement of his
health and increase of his strength.
Sometimes they commit queer freaks.—*
A friend of ours, an old gentleman, was
once standing in a store room, where two
men were trying to kill a rat. It ran upon
the shelves, and behind the barrels, and
between the boxes, and they pursued it ev
erywhere, punching with sticks, rattling
with broom handles’, and trying to grasp it
with the tongs. But it eluded them for a
long time, when, being hard pressed, it sud
denly ran out and rushed up one of the
legs of our friend’s pantaloons, quicker
than thought. It was summer, and he wore
a very loose pair of linen trousers, and a
linen coat. He was much terrified, but be
ing a man of presence of mind, stood per
fectly still. Up—-up —up —the rat traveled,
scratching its way. Thick of a rat travel
ing up your back! At length the rat
emerged at the top, and standing one instant
on our friend’s head, made a desperate
jump through the window and disappeared.
Ths Sense op Acceptance with God. —
There is au ink with this wonderful proper
ty—that as often as we suffer it to grofr
cold, no trace of the writing can be seen,
and as often as we subject it to gentlaheat,
the letters, words and sentences come out
distinctly to the eye. If the temperature
be varied for that purpose, it may be made
to pass repeatedly through these alterna
tions of visibility and invisibility.
Does not this fitly represent the expert
ence of the Christian, with respect to that
assurance of his gracious estate which has
been written on the fleshly table of the
heart? Only when we come, and while
we walk near the jire of the Spirit , can
the precious record be read. As we
wander from that fire, and fall into a state
of coldness, it waxes dim, aud vanishes
away, and leaves a dreary blank behind it.
Alas, that our attainments in the divine life
should rise no higher than this alternation
between the visibility and invisibility of
the inward pledge aud promise.
[Religious Herald.
To give brilliancy to the eye, shut them
early at night and open them early in the
morning, and let the mind be constantly
intent on the acquisition of knowledge, or
on the exercise of benevolent feelings.
It were to be wished that the enemies of
religion would at least learn what it
or* they oppose it, /
NO. 3.