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THE SOUTHERN WORLD* DECEMBER 1,1884.
Hme Circle.
Prince or pauper, woman or man,
Every cisature und>r heaven’s blue dome,
Has a longing In common, nestling close to each
heart, (or
Homo sweet home.
Written especially (or the Southern World.]
I.OVU-THF, PPZEI.E.
MAMIE 8. I'ADEN.
Two maidens—and each a lover—
A lover brave and strong!
To the wars away they marched one day,
On their merry lips a song—
“ O, (air my lady, be leal and true.
And I'll come back from the wars to you! ”
Two maidens weary with waiting.
And one as (also as (air,
Laughs lightly and sings tritely—
(Bride-flowers In her hair)—
" O, maids are plenty and lovers tew
If you wait (or the old, you may lose the new! ”
Two maidens weary with waiting
But one is leal (or aye.
No heart hath she (or marriage glee
Her song Is but a sigh—
“ Now, dead or living, and (alse or true,
There is no lover (or me but you! ”
Home at last, one lover
Came (rom the wars alone,
But he (ound hla lady wedded,
And Ills heart it turned to stone.
“ Ho, Death! Tby (avors I wear! ” ho cried,
But he sought death vainly lar and wide
And the other, whose lady waited,
Weeping the years away!
With his heart so true, pierced thro’and thro’,
In an unknown grsvo he lay!
O love Is a puzzle, with c ue unsaid,
And none shall know it till all be dead.
Written specially (or the Southern World. J
'Wlint no People <>o to Cliurcli
For?
IIY ANNABEL B. WHITE (BUSY BEE).
I’ll tell you, my brethren. The sub
ject is a trite one, but like many trite
ones, will bear repetition.
Now, what do we go to church for?
Unless we are very old, or tottering
on the brink of the grave, do we ever
heed one-third the minister’s discourse
after he haB given out his text? How
many church goerB can even repeat the
text itself, or tell where it may be found
a moment after the preacher informs
them ? Be bold and confess it, sisters,
that if you did not have what you term
"decentclotlieB” your (articular pew
would hold your magnificently arrayed
form much lesB frequently than it does.
How many of us ever think, as, Sun
day after Sunday we sit in our comforta
ble, well lighted churches, of the poor
who are not there, claiming us for kin
dred because Christ is the brother of us
all ? And we are Christians 1 We kneel
and fold our hands, and with many
words, but empty hearts, ask Cod to
bless “all people who on earth do
dwell,” while we do not even take the
rouble to find out where many of those
people do dwell.
God save us from cant and a religion
that deprives us of all innocent pleas
ures!
Faith should be free and bold, and
not narrowed to a hard, cold creed.
I shall now try to describe one wo
man as she prepares to attend some par
ticular church on some particular Sab
bath morning, and I venture to wager
there will be many thousands of women
just like her on that particular morn<ng.
It iB spring.
Her spring suit, over which she has
spent so much thought and care, ha6
come home.
She has thought of nothing else but
that same suit for a month or more.
First, the needed it. (Her seamstress
needs coal and beef for her family, but
that bill can wait, as she, the mistress,
muafhave some more of that "beaded
yak lace” for her dress). Well, she
needed a new dress, so she bought it af
ter thinking many days of the material
and style of making. Then Miss Mode
must make it even if she it high priced,
for no dressmaker in town can equal her
in “style and finish ” The dress is cut,
fitted, consulted over, tried on, finished
and sent home. Now there must be
gloves, hat and parasol to match the
costume. These are searched all over
town, found, purchased and triumphant*
ly carried home.
The day before Sunday, she sits down,
leans back in her chair and closes her
eyes weariedly. Is she tired ? 0, no;
she is thinking. Of what? Of herself.
She begins with her feet. Shoes,hose,
etc., dress, gloves, laceB, parasol, fan,
etc.
She opens her eyes quickly.
Yet, the hat everything in readinest for
her appearance in church to-murrow.
Sunday morning. She pinks and
prances before her glass as she makes
her toilet. She pins on bows and ap
plies powder. Pulls her bangs a little
lower, twitches back her overskirt, and
finally ties on her bonnet.
Beautiful i
She smiles. Everything iB per ect.
As she tugs at her gloves, she stands be
fore her mirror smiling—smiling. The
gloves are on and carefully smoothed for
the last time. O, dear! her bonnet is a
little too far over her hair I Supposing
she had gone among people looking that
way! The parasol is raised and held
over the left shoulder, and her head is
slowly turned to one side to note the
effect. She sighs, but it is a sigh of re
lief. The lining of her parasol har
monizes perfectly with her complexion.
So, with smiles dimpling her face she
goes forth—to God’s sanctuary.
Does she think of the Word as the
minister speaks ?
No, indeed! She is thinking of her
looks and her clothes.
And this is the modus opsrandi of the
majority of female Christians. This is
Christianity! This woman draws her
elegant dress aside as a poor woman
passes her in the street, and gazes with
hard, pitiless eyes at the bony hand ex
tended across her path pleading “for
charity.”
How I should hate to be rich—and
heartless!
Written especially (or the Southern World.]
The village GosHlp.
BY COKA CLARE.
The village goBBip is a very wise per
sonage in a certain kind of knowledge—
indeed, a good circulating library for its
dissemination in any small community.
She is of no particular age, and may be
a married or sigle woman; and is found
not only among the lower classes, but
occasionally, the village aristocracy (?)
produces the gossip in Bilk robes and kid
gloves, and her spiteful inuendoeB are
all the more hurtful for being aimed at
the highest marks that come wi'hin the
range of her telescope vision.
The village gossip pokes her nose
around considerably. Though she may
not be personally acquainted with the
parties, she can go “ ever so far back,”
and tell who MrB. A., or Mrs. B. married
—if first, second, or no cousins at all;
and she can count in her fingers how
many babies Mrs. L. had—how many
boyB and how many girls, and if they
have all had the whooping cough,
measles, or “bad worm spells.” She
can tell how often Tom Jones goes to see
Mattie Johnson, and if he stays till ten
or twelve o’clock; and if Mattie is mak
ing up her Bpring clothes, the village
gossip knows she is going to get married,
or she tells it, which amounts to the
same thing.
When she becomes acquainted with a
woman she makes a pump-handle of her
self until she finds out from her new ac
quaintance if Blie ever had a father or
mother, brothers or sisters; how old
they are, where they reside, what means
of support have they; if Mr. and Mrs.
So-and-so is a cousin, uncle or aunt; if
her brothers and sisters are all in matri
monial bonds, when and whom they
married, and what number of offspring
has blest their respective conjugal
estates.
The village gossip always drinks tea
or coffee, and likes it rather strong—and
if the latter prefers it without much
cream or sugar, or none at all. She is
fond of attending funerals, and can tell
if the bereaved relatives “ seemed to
take it mighty hard;” and she also likes
to go to see people who are “mighty
sick,” though while there she may be
of no use, only to ascertain how many
groans the patient gives in ten minutes,
what kind ot physic has been given, and
who is the attending physician. She
is very anxious to know if that medical
individual thinks the patient will live or
die, but generally prefers to hear the
latter verdict, just for the sake of the
lively sensation in retailing such a cheer
ful bit of gossip.
If Mrs. G.’s last baby has twin toes,
or a curious mark anywhere on its little
body; if Mr. B. got “ tight ” the other
day and kicked up old barry at home;
if Bailie T. “turned out bad;” or Mrs.
D.’s husband ran off and left her a lone
widow—if there is a blot in the escutch
eon of any one’s family, the village gos
sip knows it all, can relate the particu
lars with greater precision, and dish out
the delicious morsels with a smack of
the lips delightful to behold.
But there is scarcely a limit to what
thiB feminine individual does know about
everybody’s affairs, but her own; and
it is the worst side of the question that
she fills her news-bag nearly altogether
with evil tidings—indeed, seems to have
a morbid and voracious appetite for bad
news. To tell something that will create
a coldness, or break up the friendship
between individuals or families, seems
to be an especial.delight.
A female scandal-monger is bad
enough, and is a curse to any commu
nity; but from a regular “ news-toater ”
in pantaloons, “good Lord, deliver us!”
They infest many communities, espe
cially in small towns, and degrade the
standard of manhood. Men call them
selves the “lords of creation,” but if
one of them has nothing else to do ex
cept loaf around small stores, or stand
about the streets and tattle like a peak
ed-nose shrew, had he not better be at
home nursing his wife’s or mother’s
baby? or with an instructive book or
newspaper, trying to increase the growth
of his puny brain? The women ought
to take him in hand, put a petticoat on
him, stick a high comb in his head,
a corn cob pipe in his mouth, and set
him down in the chimney-corner
among all the old women in the neigh
borhood, who smoke “ home-made bac-
cer,” and can make an old setting-hen
“spread herself ” on twenty-four eggs,
and not lose a chick.
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