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" The world, dear child, Ii as we take It, and
Life, be sure, Is what we make It”
Written specially for The Southern World.
BHMIE.
ny DAISY STAB.
Little Bessie 'neatb the willow
Dipped her white feet In the brook,
And the waters, winding, winding
In and out from nook to nook,
Showed her where to place the daisies
Here and there among her curls;
Showed her two blue eyes dancing
In and out among Its whirls.
Light of heart was little Bessie,
Pure as white clouds overhead;
Shielded, wrapped about with gladness,
On the golden Bunshlne fed;
She hud never known a sorrow,
All the world to her was fair
Sitting then beneath the willow.
Twining daisies In her hair.
Year by year, crept slowly onward v
Bessie to a maiden grew,
Btlll she sat beneath the willow
Casing In the waters blue.
To this willow bending, swaying,
Bessie's lovers used to stray;
Then she learned the Bad, sweet lesson
Most of women learn someday.
Learned the bliss and woe of loving,
Dreaming sweet dreams o'er and o'er,
Till the earth seemed a fair Eden,
Beautiful from shore to shore;
Till her heart was Ailed with rapture
Mixed with pain so sweet and sad,
That she smiled andslghcd alternate.
Sorrowful, yet oh, so glad.
Bessie loved and wed her lover,
Was a matron fair to see;
But the future of her love dreams,
Dreamed beneath the willow tree,
Never come to matron Bessie;
Life was real, enrnest, bright,
But the sky was not all sunshine
Nor the day without Its night.
Years sped on and Bessie's Bessie
Bat beneath the same old tree,
Twining daisies In her brown hulr,
Heart and life all full aglee:
Grew a maiden, heard the story,
New and sweet whenever told;
Droumed her love dreams sweet and tender,
Wed her lover young and bold.
Grandma Bessie’s faco grew wrinkled,
Brown hair changed to sliver sheen;
Time touched lightly, but the time come
When beside the rippling Btream,
Underneath the bending willow
Bessie’s bead was laid to rest;
And the grasses starred with daisies
Grew ere long above her breast.
Written specially for the Bauthern World.
“The Newsboys of Now Yorlt.”
This is a story especially for the boys, 1
tell you at the very beginning so that there
may be no mistake about it, but girls may
read it; oh, yes indeed, but as I said before
it is especially for the boys. So listen every
one of you. There are lots and lots of good
times in the world for boys, and I hope that
every one of you is in them, that you have
happy homes, fathers and mothers, or uncles,
aunts and brothers and sisters, who love
you dearly; warm comfortable clothes to
wear, everythng that is good for you to eat,
with a little candy thrown in sometimes to
sweeten you up a bit, plenty of books to
read, tools and playthings to work and play
with and the best of schools to go to, where
if you are only willing to study hard, you
will grow up wise and learned men. Some
of you are so fortunate as to live in the
country, where I am sure you have a speak
ing acquaintance with every dog, horse and
frisky calf that comes in your way, and be
tween fishing, hunting and roaming about
for the nuts in ‘the fall, and taking long
rambles witn your dog over the hills and
far away in search of an old gray rabbit,
another boy told you about, there isn’t a
moment to spare out of school. And dear
me, I’ve never mentioned the coasting, skat
ing, swimming, tree climbing and ball play
ing. Such lots of good times you country
boys all in them. City boys have good times
too, don’t you forget that either. There are
tops to spin, marbles to play, kites to fly;
then there are the parks to visit on a Sun
day afternoon where there are the ponies to
ride and the menagerie to visit and what
boy doesn’t like this last.
There is another kind of boy, a boy whore
lines are cast in very different places; who
is often hungry, cold, without even the
poorest of homes to sleep in, in the bitter
winter weather; a boy who wears such rag
ged clothes, the poorest of shoes, and whose
voice is hoarse and tired with shouting all
day long, who works hard for the few pen
nies he can earn in a day, he is of all sorts
and kinds; this boy he is tall and stout, lit
tle and big; comes from Italy, Germany,
England, Ireland, or is born right hero at
home, has a pleasant face or a cross one,
but one and all wear the uniform of old
rag* IMt W*
THE SOUTHERN WORLD, MAY 15, 1882.
18
worn out shoes; are all eager to sell you
something and that something is, news
papers.
No matter how early you may start out
In New York one will see the newsboys.
Look, there is one already leaning against
the wall with a smile on his funny dirty
face. He seems to be watching two dogs
who are growling over a stray bone in the
gutter; but all the time his sharp eyes have
seen our car, so just as it is opposite him
with a swing he is on the car step, the door
slides open with a real boy’s bang, as he
calls out "morning papers! Sun, Times-
Tribune and World.” But no one wants
a paper in the car, so he shuts the door with
another bang and goes back to the dogs.
And here is another with a bundle of papers
under his arm, another and another, a tall
one, a short one next. A hoarse strong
voice shouting papers on one block and a
shrill piping voice on the next
Now come with me to a place I want you
to visit: you remember that I said s great
many of these boys have no homes at all.
Some because their fathers and mothers are
dead, or others because their fathers and
mothers have been bad people and been
taken to prison. Then think how these boys
suffer for lack of clothes and food. How
wonld you feel if you were barefooted in
the bitter winter weather, if you never had
enough to eat, and your only bed in a cold
night was an old packing box on the side
walk or an empty ash barrel ? Well just
as you would feel and suffer, so many a
little newsboy has felt and suffered.
A number of years ago some kind gentle
men talked this matter over among them
selves saying, we must do something for
these boys. So they formed a society, and
the place I want you to hear about is called
the “Needy Newsboy’s Relief.” Here the
boys are furnished with warm dinners free
of charge. Here they come when times are
hard, here they are helped in many ways to
get good homes, given warm clothes, cheered
by kind words, and helped along over their
rough roads in life by the good people in
charge, who never forget Christ’s words,
“Inasmuch as ye do it unto them, ye do it
unto me.” W
A minister who had lost his child, asked
another minister to come and preach for
him. He came and told how he lived on
one side of a river, and felt very little inter
est in the people on the other side, until his
daugiiter was married and went over there
to live, and then every morning he went to
the window and looked over that river, and
felt very much concerned about that town
and all the people there “Now,” said he,
“I think, as this child has crossed another
river, heaven will be much dearer than it
ever has been before. Shall we not just
lot our hearts and affections be set on the
other side of the river? It is but a step; it
is but a veil; we shall soon be in the other
world.”
OUR YOUNG FOLKS LKTTKR-IIOX.
Dear Aunt Fanny—In my last I promised
to return from the place of my mother's
native region to my own home, about which
I know more. Poor mother, she often seems
ad in talking over the bright days of her
early life. She says we know so little of
our destiny. In all her juvenile years, she
never dreamed of a home here.
Now, as to the topography of this region I
almost despair. I hope the readers of the
Southern World will purdon my defects—
it is no small job. It is in the interior of
South Carolina, 30 miles west of Columbia,
air-line, as run by a railroad company. Our
residence is on the north side of North Kd-
isto river. Ascending a moderate inclina
tion from the river, you reacli a beautiful
level landscape of country, extending far
and wide; on reaching the top a moderate
sized cottage is our home.
This level is every way as far as the eye
can reach. The soil in part is fine sandy,
often mixed with darkand red cluy. A part
is very stiff, tenacious clay. In theefinter
is a little pond with several springs at its
margins running into it, but there is no out
let, as the plain seems to be slightly con
cave. On the south side of this pond, the
land is red and very Bticky in wet weather.
Here my papa planted an apple orchard; os
he says, on sandy land apple trees will die.
I wish I could tell you the names of the
different kinds of apples, but they are too
^numerous. The finest apples from May to
December, may be found in this orchard.
They are northern grafts, and he grafted
them himself. He has othor trees growing
in this orchard—the quince, damson-plum,
German, French, Italian, and English cber-
lies, M4 wlw wrtP of pw trees, An
attempt to describe how enjoyable this
orchard is in summer, is useless. Those
fine shady apple trees and the fruit wasting
under them, are strong attractions to it.
Papa says it cost him little trouble to make
it, and that every man should have one and
then Ills little boys would not learn to steal
fruit. Papa has also a good peach orchard,
but not on the same kind of soil—it is a
mixture of clay and sand. The fruit is
choice and generally in abundance. We
also have mulberries, muscadines, walnuts,
hazel nuts, figs, and strawberries in abun
dance. In my next I will go to the forest
fruits.
Our rivers, branches, in fact all our waters,
here are as clear as springs. At the river,
about a half mile you may see all winter
and spring, rafts of thousands and millions
of feet of lumber, makingits way to Charles
ton, where it is sold after a journey of three
weeks down the river.
Our water powers are very fine, their mar
gins are enveloped in perpetual evergreens,
and our highlands with heavy mantles of
long straw pines in a dark green state, all
winter and summer.
I have yet something to say about the
farming here, the sugar-cane, sorghum, po
tatoes and peas. C. J. S.
“C. J. S.," writes an interesting letter,
and will do well to cultivate the talent of
writing tersely and with life.
Blackville, S. C.
Dear Aunt Fanny—As I see you thought
enough of my first letter to give it a place in
the Letter-Box column, I will now write
you another, giving you a description of a
fishing frolic some of us high school boys
had last week. On Fridav afternoon, after
the school was dismissed for the week ten or
twelve of us boys concluded to go to a mill
about seven miles' from this place. We met
at half-past four o’clock and started out for
the mill; wo arrived about sundown and
started to fish a little while. The owner of
the mill came down and asked us where we
were going to sleep; we told him in the gin
house, if he had no objections. He said he
would show us a better place than in the
gin-house; so we went with him and ho
showed us a house near the mill, and we
went in and made up a fire; we had carried
nothing to eat, but we bought a fish and
killed a bird, so we cleaned and cooked them
before the fire. We eat what little we had
about H o’clock and were sitting down be
fore the fire, when we heard a number of
voices crying out “let’s burn the house
down.”
But wo had a gun with both barrels load
ed with buck shot, so we went to the door
and asked who was there and a crowd from
Blackville, more of our boys came running
in. We went to sleep about one o’clock. We
took off our coats and used them for pillows.
We agreed that the first one that woke must
arouse othe others. Two of the boys woke
about an hour after we went to sleep and
they thought it was nearly day as the moon
was shining so brightly. So we got up and
cooked a little piece of bacon that one of
the last party had brought and then started
to the mill. We came to a house and in
quired what time it was and found it to be
three o’clock,but we wenton to the mill and
fished until about eloven o’clock the next
day and then we started for home. We
caught only eleven fish but we had a splen
did time. I am willing to go again. Our
high school teacher came down the morning
before wo left; I will tell you something
about his expedition in iny next
Marion Izlab.
Marion gives a striking account of his
fishing frolic. We will bo pleased to hear
about the teacher’s expedition.
Stone Mountain, Ga
Dear Aunt Fanny—Mamma says she don't
expect you will accept me as one of your
little nephews as I can’t write myself. At
night after site bus gotten little baby sister
to sleep, I get her to read the nice letters
from tlie nieces and nephews to me, and I
have begged her to write a letter to Aunt
Fanny for me. I am five years old. Mamma
says I read very nicely in my little reader,
but can’t read well enough to read the let
ters in vour paper. She teaches me at home
as she thinks me too young to go to school.
I have a sister three years old name, Annie
Marsh, and one eight months old name Ida
Jimmie. I have a dog named Jip. Sister
loves flowers. Papa drove us out to the
mountain one afternoon and she got so
many wild violets. I wonder if any of the
nieces and nephews were ever on our big
Stone Mountain. We have a nice view of
it from our home. If any of the little
wwlat would Uko to k«»r (m U, I will beg
my mamma to write again sometimes when
she has the leisure. Mamma likee gardening
and she always look in your paper to see if
there is anything about the garden. Will
you allow me to call myself your little
nephew, Willie Hillyer Ragsdale,
The earnest solicitations of little Willie
has caused me to write this letter. He is so
fond of hearing me read, and you would be
amused to see how eagerly ho listens to your
letters. Mrs. M. R. Rausdale.
Willie is welcomed with all our heart into
our corner. We assure him that his aman
uensis will do honor to him and our comer.
Get her to give a description of Ston&Mount-
ain. All the great men have secretaries to
do their writing. When Willie rises to po
litical distinction like his father, he may
find secretaries who may write more rapidly
than his present one, but none who will
more faithfully and lovingly serve him.
Houstonia, Ga.
Dear Aunt Fanny—Will you permit a 14
year old country lassie to join your band of
nieces. I am living in the woods in reality,
and every morning am awakened by the
sweet voices of a large sylvan choir of hap
py birds. I see real pleasure in my flower
garden. The woods are filled with wild
flowers of rare beauty. I have only one
sister, Marian Mabel, seven years old. She
started to school lost week. In gathering
up her books she put in a Latin grammar, a
French reader and a Greek testament. She is
learnipg very rapidly and says that while it
takes five and six to make a class, she makes
one herself. When told the other day that
the doctor would cut a hole in in her arm
and put in sealing-wax to ward off small
pox she replied “then I’ll be waxinated.”
She saw brother Edgar trying to cut off a
decayed shoe sole with a crooked piece of
iron and said he was “cutting the lam pass out
of his shoes.” I hope my cousins will write
tome. Eva Estelle Whidby.
The country lassie with blooming cheeks
is ever welcome.
Adamsville, Ga.
Dear Aunt Fanny—I have a mischievous
sister named Fanny who is ever teasing me.
To see her forehead one will know she is the
bangingest girl alive. She keeps sending me
papers with Lydia Pinkham’s face in them,
just because she knows I hate to tee it. So
I wrote her yesterday:
There Is s (ace that haunts me over,
There are eyes mine always meet,
As I read the morning papers,
As I walk the crowded street.
Ah! sho knows not how I suffer
Iter’s Is now a world wide lame,
But till death that face will greet me
Lydia rtnkham Is her name.
If you'd have me do nothing rash
Seud no more of them to your sister.
May ——
May is welcomed to our corner. You should
not let your sister tease you so. Send her
boquets of clover blooms perfumed with
pennyroyal, every day and she’ll soon quit
teasing yom
Build a little fence of trust
Around to-day;
Fill the space with loving work,
And therein stay.
Look not through the sheltering bars
Upon to-morrow;
God will help thee bear what comes
Of Joy or sorrow.
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