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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.