Class _H^. ^^ 
 
 CopightN" I ^ I ■; 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 
 
PenP 
 
 EN r^ICTURES 
 
 V3r 
 
 AND 
 
 Other Gleanings 
 
 BY 
 
 PAULINE deLAUNAY 
 
 COLUMBUS, GA.: 
 
 Tho8. Gilbert, Publisher. 
 1898. 
 
 
2481 
 
 ^oU 
 3^,^ 
 
 P^V 
 
 Entered accordins; to Act of Conojress, in the year 1898, 
 
 By PAULINE deLAUNAY, 
 
 in tlie Offire of tlic Lilirariiiii of Congre>;s, at Washinj^ton 
 

 "Sometimes, A^rhen uncertain of a voice from its very 
 loudness, v^-e catch the missing syllable in the echo. In 
 God and Nature -we hear Voice and Kcho. When I 
 hear both, I am assured." — Drummokd. 
 
 He prayeth well, who loveth w^ell 
 Both man, and bird, and beast. 
 He prayeth best, who loveth best 
 All thinp^s, both great and small ^ 
 For the dear God, v?ho loveth us 
 He made, and loveth all." 
 
 — CoLKHIDGK. 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 My Bouquet Gathered on Wild wood Drive 9 
 
 Glen Lora 20 
 
 Mrs. Emma Ragland Tinsley 22 
 
 Our Little Librarian 24 
 
 My Chick-a-de-dee 24 
 
 Mrs. Eliza AVynne Shepherd 27 
 
 My Pearl 28 
 
 Miss Fannie Williams 29 
 
 Mrs. Lucy Shepherd 31 
 
 Two Sisters — Mesdames Addie Abercrombie Howard and 
 
 Emmie Abercrombie Nesbitt 32 
 
 Miss May Beall Frazer 32 
 
 Miss Corinne Worsley 33 
 
 Miss Moselle Worsley 33 
 
 Miss Corinne deLaunay 33 
 
 Miss Pauline deLaunay Shepherd 34 
 
 Mrs. Mary Downing Hill 35 
 
 Mrs. Norah Slade Scriven 35 
 
 Miss Maymie Banks 36 
 
 Miss Miriam C. Tillman 37 
 
 Mrs. Annie Hunter 37 
 
 Mrs. Florida Abercrombie Smith 37 
 
 Miss Annie Shingleur 39 
 
 Mrs. Pauline Virginia Carrington 39 
 
 Mesdames Elvie Flewellen Shingleur and Lottie Weems 
 
 Johnson 4v. 
 
 Miss Florida Wellborn 41 
 
 Miss Bennie Fontaine 43 
 
 Mrs. Clotilde deL. Hines 45 
 
The Lady of Belmont 45 
 
 My Little Wild Daisy 48 
 
 Miss Gertrude Eberhart 50 
 
 Miss Marie Blandford 50 
 
 Miss Mary Lou Redd 51 
 
 Mrs. Nellie Cooper Frederick 51 
 
 Miss Willie Blankenship 52 
 
 Mesdames Maria Nelson Woolfolk and Rosa Nelson Ticknor.. 53 
 
 Mrs. Amelie Compton Swift 55 
 
 An Inspiration 56 
 
 Mrs. Frances Hurt 56 
 
 Dr. and Mrs. Powell and Mrs. Donnell 60 
 
 To My Serenaders 63 
 
 To My Guitar 64 
 
 Little Elise Shepherd 65 
 
 Baby's First Grief 66 
 
 Mrs. Virginia Lindsey Woodruff 67 
 
 My Bouquet— Gathered on Third Avenue 68 
 
 Miss Mary Hanserd 73 
 
 Three Beautiful Brides 73 
 
 Mrs. Mattie Flournoy Adams 74 
 
 Mesdames Mittie Chapman Mott and Mary Lou Mott Wood- 
 
 ■ ruff 76 
 
 Mrs. Levisa Catchings Chamberlain 77 
 
 In Memoriam 78 
 
 My Rose 80 
 
 Esquihne 83 
 
 My Blonde and Brunette 88 
 
 Miss Lucy Blandford 88 
 
 Miss Sallie Cleghorn 89 
 
 Mrs. Mary Browne Slade 90 
 
 Mrs. Cornelia Bacon Osborne 91 
 
 Misses Clark 92 
 
 Miss May Wells 92 
 
 Misses Mabel Phelps and Gertrude Phelps 92 
 
 Wild wood— To Mrs. Annie Leonard Garrard 93 
 
 Mrs. Emily Meigs AVoolfolk 98 
 
 Mrs. Jennie Hinde 98 
 
Mrs. Ellen Charlton Hudson 99 
 
 When Susie Brought Her Baby In 99 
 
 Mrs. Cynthia Kent Chappell 100 
 
 Brave Heart and True 101 
 
 Miss Jennie Hart 102 
 
 L' Adieu 103 
 
 My Legacy 103 
 
 PROSE. 
 
 To My Readers 106 
 
 A Modern House-Party 107 
 
 Brother Jenkins' Sermon 114 
 
 A Defence of the Shop-Girl 117 
 
 Cuffee's Bravery 122 
 
 Girls 123 
 
 Forgiveness 130 
 
 The Georgia Chigger 131 
 
 I'm an Artist 131 
 
 Little Children 136 
 
 Dat Chicken Died Wid de Kolery ; 137 
 
 Aunt Ria's First Social Call 141 
 
 A Trip to St. Simons Island 147 
 
 Two Indisputable Reasons Why 153 
 
 A Little Child's Sayings 153 
 
 An Apostrophe 154 
 
 ©^■j® 
 
BOUQUET GATHERED ON WILDWOOD 
 DRIVE. 
 
 inscribed to mesdames 
 Annie Leonard Garrard, Balmie Lindsey Neil, 
 Fannie Neil Young, Belle Powers Carter, 
 
 Maude McClure, Mamie Reynolds Flournoy, 
 
 Mollie Gordon Chambers, Bessie Perkins, 
 Patsy Williams McCree, May Montgomery, 
 
 AND misses 
 
 Annie Garrard, Katie Neil. 
 
 Atlanta may boast of fair "Peachtree," 
 With its beautiful villas, grand to see — 
 
 I own, 
 Our Wildwood Drive, I'd not exchange. 
 Although, more modest is its range ; 
 
 And, why'^ 
 Because, along its winding way. 
 Graced with trees, and gardens gay, 
 
 I find 
 The rarest sweets that ever grew, 
 And blossomed. Now, would you. 
 
 Friends kind. 
 Like for me, simply, here to tell 
 What makes each hill, and glade, and dell, 
 
 So fair. 
 This pretty Wildwood Drive, along? 
 I'll tell it briefly then, in song, 
 
 Nor care. 
 Dear Friends, if Poets' Fame 
 Ne'er wreathe a laurel round my name, 
 
 If they 
 
10 
 
 To whom, this little song I sing, 
 ('Tis but a simple, heartfelt thing 
 
 To say) — 
 Shall, lovingly its mission take. 
 With love, it, only, for my sake, 
 
 Endow — 
 And, when the time shall come 
 That, I no more, may make my Home, 
 
 Where now 
 I live, and move in joy, among 
 Your cherished selves, where I so long 
 
 Your kind 
 Companionship so dear and sweet — 
 Peerless, elsewhere to ever meet. 
 
 Or find— 
 And, first comes Annie Leonard Garrard, and 
 Her little Isabel — Ah ! On land 
 
 And sea. 
 Seek far and wide, but fruitlessly, 
 I'm sure your search will be, 
 
 For we 
 Have met her duplicate, ah ! never ! 
 I clasp her to my soul, forever! 
 
 And name 
 For her, the Oleander pink, 
 Because on those sweet blooms, I think 
 
 A flame 
 Of glorious hue, glows, when the sun's rays fall 
 Thereon, that far surpasses all 
 
 The light 
 And glow of any other Flower 
 Created in garden rare, or bower 
 
 So bright! 
 So glorious, so rosy hued. 
 So, with a look of soul, imbued. 
 
 That I 
 Always must needs, in thought, recall 
 The dear, sweet Friend, who can enthrall 
 
 With eye, 
 
11 
 
 Of matchless dazzling beauty dark, 
 Kindled with love's electric spark, 
 
 And lips, 
 And face, and manner, all her own — 
 Unique, with strange magnetic tone 
 
 That sips 
 Its sweetness, from the reflex true. 
 Of loving kindnesses bestowed on you — 
 
 Bringing 
 Back into her happy life, again, 
 The sweets, she gives, not all in vain! 
 
 Singing 
 Unto her heart, all silently 
 Its eloquence ! 'Tis fair to see 
 
 And know! 
 Another reason, why I name 
 For her, the Oleander pink, its flame 
 
 Doth glow 
 And sweetest scents exhale, all the ivhole year, 
 In Summer's heat, or wintry weather drear, 
 
 In my 
 Fragrant greenhouse, blushes this rare Flower, 
 In loveliness eternal, with its mystic power, 
 
 And I 
 Cull, and breathe the odor, exquisite, 
 Saying softly, could an emblem be more fit 
 
 For one 
 Who, with her rare, sweet loveliness 
 Is born to comfort and to bless? 
 
 Upon 
 My life, how many sweets, hath she bestowed 
 Of solace, and of nameless good ! 
 
 And then 
 The tiny bud — Dear Isabel ! petite 
 And beautiful! saucy, and sweet! 
 
 Again, 
 How mischievous, this pretty, prattling thing — 
 This laughing, romping sprite, to cling 
 
 Alone 
 
12 
 
 In close aflfection, to the Mother dear, 
 Like a wee bud, nestling so near, 
 
 Upon 
 The selfsame stem. Cute, Baby Isabel! 
 I love ye both, my darlings, well; 
 
 And cull, 
 And place you, in my rare bouqurt 
 Of sweetest odors, colors gay. 
 
 So full! 
 And now, the "Rosebud'' daughter, I must claim 
 Sweet Annie, "Mamnurs" namesake, just the same. 
 
 So I 
 Will make, right here, sufficient room 
 For yet, another Oleander bloom — 
 
 Right shy 
 Of opening yet, its color roseate. 
 But, with them all, and fragrance is innate — 
 
 Upon 
 The threshold of young icomanhood she stands. 
 Holding within her fair, and dainty hands, 
 
 (Thereon 
 Inscribed) a ta))let, with its lines of white, 
 Shining, like halo, in its living light 
 
 "Be mine, 
 The power to bless this Wild wood Home, 
 From maiden youthful to l)ecome 
 
 And shine 
 Like her, whose name, I proudly bear — 
 Like her, a spell of love, to wear," 
 
 And so. 
 Dear girl, to thee, could I, no higher 
 Benison bequeath, nor any higher 
 
 Bestow 
 Of Angelic perfection. Loved, sweet, Wildwood fair; 
 I leave thee, with an earnest praver 
 
 That in 
 All future years, thou still wilt keep 
 Some portion of thy present glory heap — 
 
 Akin 
 
13 
 
 To Edenland! Another Flower among 
 My sweets 'Tis pretty Fannij Youmj , 
 
 And here 
 The little tendril, sweet Marie, 
 A tiny winsome pet to see, 
 
 So dear, 
 Obtuse, and dull I'd be, dear Friends, 
 Did I not see, the likeness blends 
 
 So well 
 With fragrance of the pure and meet 
 Tea Olive, and I deem it sweet 
 
 To dwell 
 A time sufficient, at this Home 
 Of loveliness, to gather some 
 
 Of many 
 Sweets, there growing. Fannie/s little girl 
 Comes first — bright, dainty as a pearl. 
 
 Is any 
 Baby dearer than her own sweet Maine? 
 Bright and sparkling with cunning repartee; 
 
 And now. 
 Another cluster of Tea Olive — Katiie Neil! 
 It would require a world of weal 
 
 T' endow 
 My pen with Poets' potent power 
 To paint her gladsome nature — richest dower; 
 
 Portray 
 Her charming freshness, dimpled elf, 
 Nothing could be prettier than herself. 
 
 Away 
 With any falseness, when nhe comes; 
 For all your arts, and moneyed sums 
 
 Appear 
 Like empty dross, when e'er compared 
 With Katifs blushing beauty, and shared 
 
 In dear 
 Sweet loving duty, round the hearth. 
 Oh, she makes that Home, blest spot on earth 
 
 Indeed; 
 
14 
 
 And, I must pluck another spray 
 For my lovely, sweet bouquet. 
 
 I need 
 Some more Tea Olive, for too much 
 Is hard to get. To smell and touch 
 
 How sweet. 
 Lovely Bessie, and the Mother 
 Must be gathered, by each other 
 
 'Tis meet 
 To place them. Dear unto my heart 
 This fragrance, of their lives a part; 
 
 And now 
 I hasten on to Evelyn Heights, 
 And watch the shadows of the lights 
 
 On brow 
 Of sloping hillside. There, Ma Belle 
 In all her beauty, wields a spell, 
 
 And sways 
 That lovely spot. My Mareshal Neil 
 Is she. Her many beauties steal 
 
 Their ways 
 Into one's heart, by her own fascination 
 Surer than Siren's incantation, 
 
 For tnis 
 Queenly Rose, is like her golden bair 
 And like her fresh rich glory, not so fair 
 
 It is; 
 But like her in its grandeur magnifique! 
 Yet not so perfect as her beautiful physique, 
 
 Nor sweet 
 As are the treasures of her heart. 
 Belle Garter'' s many charms impart 
 
 Complete 
 Attractions to her lovely personel! 
 Blonde so perfect, beautiful Belle! 
 
 Buds wee, 
 Nestling, close in love, about her. 
 As if never could they doubt her 
 
 Ministry. 
 
15 
 
 Little Belle, and Baby Kobert, so blonde, 
 Was ever blessed Mother more fond 
 
 Than Bellet 
 We love her, and the trio seems 
 Like some fairy sunny dreams. 
 
 To tell 
 Of all, thy glorious beauty. Belle, 
 Requires a far more potent spell 
 
 Than mine! 
 Unspoiled and undemoralized 
 By vain society — but prized 
 
 For thine 
 Sweet, many charms of heart and mind, 
 A charming housekeeper you'll find 
 
 Ma Belle! 
 Thrice happy mother, wife, and friend ; 
 How many joys your life attend 
 
 Ma Belle; 
 And now, in order next. Hill Crest 
 Arrests mine eye! A woman blest 
 
 With all 
 The joys and luxuries that life 
 Can offer — cup with blessings rife ! 
 
 I call 
 For her namesake — Chrysanthemum! 
 How hard, 'twould be, to fitly sum 
 
 The whole 
 Of this grand Flower's entirety ; 
 If so, what wondrous sweets you'd see! 
 
 A soul 
 As true as when refiner's fire 
 True gold has touched. Desire 
 
 No more 
 Of good within your heart than lies 
 Deep in her own, as in her eyes — 
 
 And o'er 
 Her face gleams out the love and light — 
 No pretense, and no sham — but bright 
 
 And warm 
 
16 
 
 In Maymie Reynolds Flournoy^s heart 
 Kindness and goodness find their part! 
 
 A charm 
 Dwells in such attributes, always, 
 Like breath of Flowers, on sunny days! 
 
 I sing 
 The praises of the heart I've tried. 
 Knowing it is to purest gold allied. 
 
 And bring 
 My grand Chrysanthemum, and place 
 It here, with clinging buds, the face 
 
 Of each 
 Young scion happy, bright, and glad. 
 And, if a lesson to them had 
 
 To teach, 
 I'd bid each one to emulate 
 Her good sense, and her goodness. Fate 
 
 Bestows 
 Not many lovelier than she! 
 Fair Hill Crest, two more forms I see. 
 
 As flows 
 This simple Rhyme — two women fair — 
 One is Mollie Chambers — there 
 
 Must be 
 A violet, her type to fitly pen 
 Perfuming all the woodland glen! 
 
 For me. 
 No sweeter Flow'ret grows than this — 
 The fairy Butterflies its sweets to kiss 
 
 Select! 
 And, now a little humming bird flies near, 
 And, warbling forth his song so clear. 
 
 As decked 
 With my bouquet, I stretch ray hand 
 To take the tiny warbler — and 
 
 It rests 
 A moment on the floral heap — 
 As if, the garnered sweets to reap — 
 
 Requests 
 
17 
 
 Me, silently, its downy crest to stroke, 
 'Though not a word has e'er the birdling spoke- 
 Then, ringing 
 At once a clear, sweet melody. 
 Swiftly it flew, away from me. 
 
 Still singing! 
 Dear little Birdie, I will name 
 You, for the gentle thought, that came 
 
 Unsought; 
 You shall be our own songbird 
 For, as your carol clear, I heard 
 
 So fraught 
 With music, sweet Maude McGlure stole 
 Softly near, and my listening soul 
 
 Exclaimed 
 Birdling! for our own favored one; 
 For her, who, all our hearts hath won, 
 
 You're named! 
 And now, Mrs. Perkins, with her three 
 Sweet cherubs — joy to all, who see — 
 
 Little Dears! 
 Prattling, romping, chatting, smiling, 
 Many a weary hour beguiling. 
 
 Appears; 
 Like dainty Multifiora Roses; 
 I cull them; pretty, charming posies; 
 
 And add 
 Them to my beautiful bouquet, 
 Glowing with hues as fair as May; 
 
 And glad! 
 Stay, yet a moment! Who is this 
 Bowing her head, and "throwing kiss 
 
 So sweet?" 
 Who lives the car-line, just across — 
 Her white hood gives a jaunty toss — 
 
 And feet, 
 So tiny, toddling, hurrying to press 
 My hand, and daintily caress — 
 
 I see! 
 
18 
 
 'Tis Patsy Williams 3Ic Greeks sweet child 
 Tripping so lightly, over heather wild 
 
 With glee! 
 'Tis darling little Martha McCree, 
 Baby darling of her mother — See! 
 
 The sprite ! 
 As the loving, fondling mother draws near. 
 Catching the laughing baby, dear, 
 
 In white. 
 She is my sweet pink Rose Sylx)hide, 
 A lovely, fragrant one, indeed! 
 
 All blest 
 Is this sweet woman, bright and fair. 
 For Love has placed on her his rare 
 
 Behest. 
 One more cluster for my bouquet, 
 To garnish the gorgeous, bright array. 
 
 Complete. 
 Where shall I find a snow-drop white, 
 To shine these blossoms amid, so bright 
 
 And sweet? 
 Blanche Montgomery — three years of age — 
 Must be inscribed on this loving page. 
 
 Wee tot! 
 With soft blue eyes, and golden curls 
 That glisten like fairy sheen of pearls. 
 
 And not 
 A look of that lovely face, 
 But one may always, easily trace 
 
 Resemblance 
 To dreams of Angel faces fair! 
 They surely are like in beauty rare 
 
 My semblance. 
 Dear is this baby, my own Godchild! 
 Her face is so fair, her eyes are so mild; 
 
 And near 
 To my heart they have grown to be, 
 May Montgomery — and Blanche, so wee. 
 
 So dear. 
 
19 
 
 Ah, Blanche! little darling, snoiv-drop white, 
 How, like a star, gleams your soft, mild light! 
 
 I pray 
 That, through life, our Lord will keep 
 A special watch o'er you— by day, and, in sleep; 
 
 Far away, 
 'Though you be, from my presence, dear child, 
 So dear — may the light all undefiled, 
 
 His luing 
 Ever cover, and shield thee, my pet; 
 My wishes, and prayers, you'll not forget — 
 
 But cling 
 To the vows I assumed, at the altar pure; 
 May their halo blest, through all time endure— 
 
 And when 
 Womanhood's after years shall dawo, 
 And babyhood, childhood, forever gone — 
 
 Again, 
 May you, on this page sweetly trace 
 My love, which no years can ever efface; 
 
 My prayers 
 Will follow you, far and wide. 
 And will often, in presence, mingle beside 
 
 And share 
 In your oivn, Blanche dear! My bouquet 
 Is all gathered, and placed in array, 
 
 Dear Friends! 
 If now, and in unknown, future years 
 A token of pleasure it silently wears, 
 
 Or lends 
 Any sweetness to Memory's hours — 
 These evergreen leaves, or these blossoming Flowers, 
 
 Revealing 
 A glimpse of my inner life as it goes 
 Out, in love, to each and all — how it glows 
 
 With feeling 
 Of kindest remembrance, of grateful love 
 For all the sweet pleasures, as here, I move, 
 
 Among, 
 
20 
 
 You, Dears — you've so often given 
 To my life, like glintings of Heaven, 
 
 Or song 
 Of the Angels unseen — then, not all in vain. 
 The mission so loving, if this modest strain — 
 
 These Flowers 
 So gathered, and named for each one. 
 May bring to our hearts, when these years are gone, 
 
 Glad hours ! 
 
 GLEN LORA. 
 
 TO MRS. LORETTO REBECCA CHAPPELL. 
 
 The day almost done, cometh on the dark night, 
 
 As drearily falleth the drizzling rain. 
 
 But the light of Glen Lora draws near, just in sight; 
 
 Nor shineth the guiding beacon in vain ! 
 
 I am hastening on, through the darkness and rain. 
 
 Still keeping that steady light within view ! 
 
 Glen Lora in sight! Let me hurry! 1 fain 
 
 Would reach that loved Haven, so true! 
 
 There's a dear one waiting for me, I know ! 
 
 Ah! I'm near; I see her; she stands in the door ! 
 
 That dear, precious Friend my heart loveth so ! 
 
 I am there! Apprehension and fear are o'er ! 
 
 Dear Heart of hearts! how I treasure thy love; 
 
 How I echo it clearly to your own. 
 
 ^Tis your own self alone, dear — my heart, can thus move, 
 
 Like a tendril, all closely, and nearly grown 
 
 Round the tree ! my soul clingeth fondly to thee ! 
 
 In all my joys, thoa art first to share — 
 
 In grief, thou'rt the first to bestow sympathy ; 
 
 For me, so tenderly always to care. 
 
 To thee, its mistress, an Empress there 
 
 Over hearts, and Home's own gladsome cheer, 
 
 With a sceptre, thine own charms bear! 
 
 Thou hast won my heart's allegiance. 
 
 Thou dear little woman — so charming! unique! 
 
 And I've learned to love thine eyes' earnest glance. 
 
21 
 
 As in love and fondness they to my heart speak. 
 
 Thou hast bound my heart with "a threefold cord^^ — 
 
 That strong, firm cord that knows no breaking.' 
 
 Thine is the tenderly loving word 
 
 For a heart in its desolate aching. 
 
 In the busy tasks of my toilsome way, 
 
 In the duties so pressing and many, 
 
 'Tis of dear Glen Lora I think alway'! 
 
 For to me, in this world, is there any 
 
 Place dearer, more like my own Home ? 
 
 Made so by the Mistress so lovely to me, 
 
 Who so frequently says, " My dear child, come 
 
 When you will — I've a welcome for thee!" 
 
 To me, this dear Home is a Haven of Rest ; 
 
 Thy love, dearest heart, to me a strong tower: 
 
 In my soul's secret chambers a cherished guest. 
 
 In Sorrow's dark days, or in Joy's bright hours. 
 
 Glen Lora! Glen Lora! my heart turns to thee. 
 
 The world may prove false — not the Spirit that sways 
 
 Thy blessed domain. Sincerity 
 
 There dwells, and greets me always. 
 
 Glen Lora, sweet Home of this darling Friend 
 
 Dear, shady, loved, woodland retreat. 
 
 With its grand arching trees, whose branches lend 
 
 Their gracious shelter in Summer's long heat. 
 
 Dear Home of love and affection art thou, 
 
 How my heart clings in fondness to thee! 
 
 Such grandeur, and beauty, and wildness enow 
 
 To bewilder the gladsome Fairies, and — me. 
 
 For my soul responds to these beauties rare — 
 
 Kind Nature's own lavish rich endow! 
 
 But, to me, more dear, aye, far more fair. 
 
 In that Home, is the beautiful brow, 
 
 The smile, the greeting, th' affection dear, 
 
 With a love seldom equaled, never surpassed 
 
 By friend for friend! I thank thee, dear Heart, 
 
 For the solace and joy thou hast been in the Past, 
 
 For the Present's bright glow! May the Future impart 
 
 Its radiance, undimmed, throughout our lives, 
 
22 
 
 And when over, for us, every struggle and care, 
 May the love undefiled, that always survives 
 Over Time, over Death! Be this my heart's prayer — 
 That, when no more in Life's strange wilderness 
 I journey along by the toilsome way; 
 When you, dearest Heart, no longer to bless 
 And to pet; when Glen Lora's sure ray 
 No longer is needed to hold out for me 
 Its beacon light; when. Love, you and I 
 Shall both, on Earth, have ceased to be; [^7^ " — 
 
 When, for us, shall have dawned the "Sweet Bye-and- 
 I pray that the Lord of the Harvest allot 
 Us a place very close to each other. 
 Still hand in hand in that Eden spot, 
 Still heart to heart, singing praises together. 
 That Home that knoweth no separation 
 Of true Friends! Amid the purity 
 And joys of that vast congregation, 
 May we dwell ever near, so near, I and thee! 
 * * * 
 
 Glen Lora, loved! My midnight lamp low burns, 
 
 And I must say good-night ! While life shall last, 
 
 In tender love, my spirit to thee turns 
 
 With yearnings oft — and loill till earthly years are past! 
 
 TO MRS. EMMA RAGLAND TINSLEY, OF MACON, GA. 
 
 Long years had passed since we had met. 
 
 Dear was her memory — and yet, 
 
 I wondered if she could forget 
 
 The friends of yore, as many do. 
 
 Or was she like the faithful few — 
 
 The gold refined — the tried and true? 
 
 I had not long to wait, to know. 
 
 For like a dream of sunny glow 
 
 That burnishes the long ago, 
 
 With wondrous glintings, that it seems 
 
 As if 'twere yesterday, when gleams 
 
 Of early, beautiful, bright dreams 
 
23 
 
 Flecked all the sky, with rosy red! 
 
 It can not be, those years have fled 
 
 And yet — the silent, shadowy tread 
 
 Of buried scenes, sometimes returns 
 
 And, for awhile as brightly burns 
 
 The light, in memory's fair urns. 
 
 As if, 'twere only yesterday! 
 
 When Flowers were gathered on each May 
 
 And hearts were young, and life was gay! 
 
 She stands before me — Emma, dear! 
 
 Still beautiful! Does she appear 
 
 Much changed? Each passing year 
 
 Has only mellowed, not destroyed 
 
 Her beauty — nor has Time alloyed 
 
 Her sweetness! I was overjoyed 
 
 To find her charms still unimpaired 
 
 Nay, more! for change had never dared 
 To touch her loveliness — but spared 
 Her soft, sweet, melting ways, to win 
 And charm, wherever met. If, in 
 This world of change, and wrong, and sin, 
 AH ivomanJiood, the gift possessed 
 
 To baj/le Time, as does this woman blest 
 
 This weary world would find some Best, 
 Some sweet and comforting surcease. 
 
 Would hear some inward song of Peace 
 
 Be conscious of some grand increase 
 
 Of Good! Her heart its freshness keeps! 
 
 And laughs at Time's gigantic leaps 
 
 In her sweet home she duly reaps 
 
 The harvest rich— Lovely and fair; 
 
 She deals out joys to loved ones there, 
 
 With those sweet gifts, divinely rare! 
 
 Mistress of hospitality — 
 
 In all the arts of courtesy 
 
 Polished and cultured charms, is she! 
 
24 
 
 OUR LITTLE LIBRARIAN. 
 
 TO MRS. NINA HOLSTEAD. 
 
 Can you, her chiefest charm define? 
 
 Or, have you ever thought 
 What is it, in this pet of mine, 
 
 With such strange influence wrought? 
 It cannot be her beauty rare, 
 
 For many, beauty own. 
 Without attracting^, e'en repel; 
 
 Nor yet, her mind alone, 
 'Though she is gifted there, also; 
 
 I think it, then, must be 
 Her manners, that always charm so; 
 
 At once 'tis clear to see 
 Her stamp of perfect Ladyhood — 
 
 Polite, considerate — 
 With elegance of ease — she's good. 
 
 And soul refined, inate; 
 With intuition requisite, 
 
 Modest, and chaste, and sweet. 
 Her tout ensemble exquisite, 
 
 A joy it is to meet! 
 
 MY CHICK-A-DE-DEE 
 
 TO MRS. BETTIE SHORTER FONTAINE. 
 
 My name for her is, my Chick-a-de-dee! 
 
 It suits her entirely, from my "point of view." 
 If you'll listcQ a moment, dear reader, to me 
 
 I'll tell you why 'tis a soubriquet true! 
 Long ago, when a child, the poem was read 
 
 Of "Chick-a-de-dee" to my childish ears, 
 And my young imagination was fed 
 
 In purest book-lore, for those childhood's years. 
 So, I watched from the windows for Chick-a-de-dee, 
 
 And, I placed some crumbs, on the old window sill, 
 Watching, and wailing, in innocent glee, 
 
 For my birdies, so loved, and so dear, until, 
 
■ • 25 
 
 • 
 
 One day, the}' came, sure enough to the spot, 
 
 Where the tempting viands, by me, had been spread- 
 How they twittered and chirruped! and, I, a tot, 
 
 Clambered all softly, and, leaned my head 
 The window panes 'gainst, their motions to see — 
 
 How happy they were, how gladsome was I! 
 They danced, and they chirruped, each Chick-a-de-dee, 
 
 Then flew to the yard, to some birds flitting by, 
 And asked them to come to the old window ledge 
 
 To partake of their bounty, each bobbing his head, 
 Escorting the guests, to the crumb decked edge 
 
 I had spread. Oh, birdies, I eagerly said 
 If you only would come, inside with me, 
 
 I'd give you the half of my crumbs and my toys. 
 WonH you come? Say, merry bright Chick-a-de-dee; 
 
 ' Tis a happy life mine, where nothing alloys. 
 But, they only bobbed, and chattered, and glanced - 
 
 With the cutest expression, that ever was seen; 
 And, right through the window they shyly glanced, 
 
 And looked up, so lovingly, straight at me. 
 As if saying, "We thank you, dear little girl, 
 
 "But our mission is here, in this strange Bird-land, 
 "As the w^orld moves on, in its busy whirl, 
 
 "Guided on, by that mighty, unseen Hand, 
 "We must cater to birds, less fortunate — 
 
 "But, I'll promise this, my little dear, 
 "To be your true, and devoted mate 
 
 "Every day, of this quickly revolving year, 
 "That you daintily place, these sweets, outside 
 
 "Will gather our clan, and will come to you 
 "Whatever the weather, whatever betide, 
 
 ''Dividing our store, with unselfishness true!" 
 Chick-a-de-dee! He went singing away 
 
 Far o'er the mountain, and river, and plain. 
 Yet, I went there, and watched and waited each day, . 
 
 And, often he came, to my pleadings, again! 
 Always chirping, and bobbing, and singing, 
 
 Always dividing his feast, with another! 
 The colder the day, the surer^, his bringing 
 
26 
 
 • 
 
 Some lone hungry mate, some birdling brother! 
 Ghick-a-de-dee! she is merry and bright! 
 
 Petite and coquetish — A woman sweet, 
 Bringing her gladness, and laughter light, 
 
 Sunshine overhead, and Flowers at your feet. 
 How I love, and cherish my Chick-a-de-dee! 
 
 Her presence is charming, contagious of mirth; 
 If the world had many, how happy 'twould be; 
 
 How sunny, and genial, the whole round earth. 
 There's never a heart, be it weary and sad, 
 
 And never a home, of the sick or the poor; 
 But she finds her way, with her coming glad, 
 
 Leaving love, and sympathy sweet, at the door. 
 In a grand old Mansion by River's side, 
 
 A woman, all sweetness, unselfishness. 
 Claims the grace to lovingly there preside. 
 
 With a rare benediction, to comfort and bless. 
 'Tis a type of the Southern Aristocrat, 
 
 In its broadest and highest significance; 
 So gracious its hospitality 
 
 Its innate refinement, is seen at a glance. 
 Such delicious viands, my Bii^die, spreads there! 
 
 Fit feasts for the gods, nothing more to desire! 
 The courtesy inborn, that warms the whole air 
 
 Of that Home! Can one, but love, and admire? 
 May you live on, and on, my own Chick-a-de-dee! 
 
 The world will be darker, when, from it, you go! 
 May all your sweet missions, to others, and me, 
 
 Gome hack, to your heart, in the years, that flow 
 Bringing some of the gladness, and freshness, and sweet- 
 ness, 
 
 You^ve given to us! Oh! heart, of pure gold! 
 When the all of Life (as years, in their fleetness 
 
 And strangeness revolve and depart) is told — 
 Sifting out purest hearts of unselfishness — 
 
 Gleaning the wheat — and, discarding the tares — 
 Disclosing the True, in this World's wilderness — 
 
 Dismantling the garb Deceitfulness wears. 
 When the Angels shall gather the " True and the Tried,^^ 
 
27 
 
 Sweet Charity summon her best votaries — 
 Brightly, amid those seraphs — the first beside — 
 
 TheyHl greet you, dear Friend, to crown and to bless! 
 Chick-a-de-dee — sweet Chick-a-de-dee! 
 
 Come again; as I write, at my window sill, 
 Comfort and bless, dear, and brighten me 
 
 Like the clear song of birdling, or rippling rill. 
 In summer's long heat, or in winter's cold snow; 
 
 Whenever you come, you bring sunshine to me! 
 'Tis a halo that follows, icherever you go, 
 
 My Chick-a-de-dee — sweet Chick-a-de-dee! 
 
 TO MRS. ELIZA WYNNE SHEPHERD. 
 
 You've often heard that money brings 
 
 Chief happiness to all below, 
 But she of whom my muse now sings 
 
 Doth find her joys, not in vain show 
 Or riches, or display, I deem — 
 
 She is an ancient, happy dame. 
 Reared 'neath the good, antique regime, 
 
 When goodness meant more than a name. 
 And modesty still lived on earth. 
 
 And girls were taught to ''keep the Home,^^ 
 And character was something worth, 
 
 And women gave to manhood some 
 Of their oivn reflections pure ! How 
 
 Happy is this friend of mine! She 
 Finds her world of rich endow 
 
 Of love, and kind, sweet sympathy 
 For all within her realm of sweet 
 
 And loving deeds. How blest among 
 Her flowers and trees, the greet 
 
 Of her glad, cheery voice; a song, 
 Or dream of beauty, not more bright 
 
 Than she — as standing there, a Queen 
 Of Love and Flowers! her gentle might 
 
 More potent! none, more blest, I ween! 
 Her life, I wot, a grand success 
 
28 
 
 And triumph is! dependent not 
 On outward things or show to bless, 
 
 But making Home a lovely spot 
 For children, friends, and all who prize 
 
 Her goodness, sense, society! 
 Nor want or suffering e'er denies, 
 
 Nor grudges hospitality! 
 Crowned are her years, with woman's glory, 
 
 Peace, and content, her heart's pure guests! 
 Loving to tell the "olden story," 
 
 Declining age, here sweetly rests! 
 Dear friend, thou hast my fealty; 
 
 Thou'st loved me all my changeful life, 
 Thou'st given me sweetest sympathy — 
 
 May all thy days, with peace, be rife! 
 May'st thou live long, to cheer and bless 
 
 The sweet Home-circle, and, thy friends! 
 Nor life's rich fullness, e'er grow less — ■ 
 
 And all the light affection lends 
 To cheer the pathway here, still burn 
 
 As ever bright as now. May flowers 
 Keep blooming near thee, and return 
 
 Their sweetness, through life's closing hours! 
 
 MY PEARL. 
 
 TO MRS. AUGUSTA BENNING CRAWFORD. 
 
 In this wilderness weary — we call the World — 
 
 As I pass through its maizes so dreary, 
 With its human ambitions, and hopes, and its cares; 
 
 Its huge disappointments, longings so weary. 
 The seeming, from real, as we learn to divine 
 
 The shallow from earnest, dross from the gold; 
 False hearts from the true ones, passing along 
 
 On my way musing, and seeing, revealing unfold 
 The Beal. I found, one day, a glistening Pearl 
 
 On the waste so weary, and clasping it near 
 My heart, I said: "Bright gem, close let me fold 
 
 You safely here" — gleam for me, like the tender tear 
 
29 
 
 In the heart of a Friend in sorrow! My Pearl! 
 
 My own true Giissie! with a face bright with love — 
 And, her soft, wavy hair — like music's rhythm — 
 
 Her happy laugh! Eyes like the stars above! 
 My Pearl! My darling! My beautiful pet! 
 
 A rainbow set in the sky of life! Thou 
 Art lovely to me! All tenderly sweet! 
 
 With womanhood's wreath I would crowm thy brow 
 With sweetest roses that ever blossomed! 
 
 With purest joys that the soul ever knowsl 
 By falseness untouched — by changes undimmed — 
 
 Growing sweeter, and brighter, to life's latest close! 
 
 TO MISS FANNIE W^ILLIAMS. 
 
 'Tis only seldom, in one's whole life 
 
 That one is apt to meet 
 A girl, with attributes so rife, 
 
 With gifts, both rare, and sweet, 
 Of brilliant mind, and heart, and soul, 
 
 Of blendings wonderful; 
 If half, the adequate, true role 
 
 Of all her charms, in full 
 Were told, it would of space require 
 
 Many a countless line, 
 And more of Genius' Poets fire. 
 
 Than humble pen of mine 
 Contains. Since first, I met thee Dear, 
 
 I felt thy beauty charm; 
 Then, gaining on acquaintance, near, 
 
 Thy love didst grow, and warm. 
 No more, a stranger to my heart. 
 
 But, friendly, grew the tie; 
 Owning strange fascination's art, 
 
 The depths that in it lie! 
 For me, I felt, life had revealed 
 
 A friendship, new and strong. 
 That Time, nor changes have congealed. 
 
 Giving my heart a song 
 
30 
 
 Of joy anew, and sweet, indeed! 
 
 Another human tie 
 To bind me to the earth — I read 
 
 My horoscope! that I 
 Each friendship new must nurture, love, 
 
 Must round my heart it bind. 
 As ^ift divine, sent from above, 
 
 Where, on earth, I find! 
 Its freshness to my life to add. 
 
 Its worth t'appreciate, 
 Wear near my soul the blossom glad, 
 
 The gem, thus given, by Fate! 
 I clasp you to my heart, dear girl, 
 
 And hold thee fondly there. 
 Praying, amid life's busy whirl. 
 
 This talisman ic prayer! 
 For her, by me, loved fond and well. 
 
 To find its answer true. 
 Within the echo of its spell. 
 
 Always as good, as pure. 
 Always as beautiful, as sweet — 
 
 For time, that changes, makes — 
 Converting those to-day we meet 
 
 As friends, to foes! and takes 
 Some beauty from this human life, 
 
 So fraught with change — 
 With sad surprises often rife. 
 
 With revelations strange. 
 If years should ever dim thine eye. 
 
 So dark, and soft, and bright — 
 Or pale those beauties rare, that lie 
 
 In rosy hues and light, 
 Mantling with beauty thy dear face. 
 
 Still — be it jjowerless 
 To dim thy soul! or to efface 
 
 Its altar's fire — make less 
 In worth, thy heart's affection pure. 
 
 Or mind's rich wealth! 
 May all these gifts always endure, 
 
31 
 
 Beyond the subtle stealth 
 Of any jjoicer on earth below! 
 
 Thy path be blessed, bright! 
 Will, all of good, life can bestow, 
 
 Leading to endless light! 
 
 TO MRS. LUCY SHEPHERD. 
 
 I must gather a bunch of Heartsease, 
 
 And, where shall I find these Flowers? 
 Along the wayside — under the trees 
 
 They grow — in June's bright hours! 
 Ah, here they are! so fresh and sweet, 
 
 So soft and velvety! 
 For a Fairy's dainty garden meet 
 
 Its sweetest sweets to be! 
 Luci/, Pauline, Triieheart and Elise 
 
 Each to me, beautiful ! 
 I'll cull these lovely, sweet Heartsease 
 
 And fill my basket full ! 
 And press, and keep them ever near 
 
 Within my heart's recess, 
 And they shall bloom there, always dear, 
 
 To brighten and to bless! 
 Dear Lucy, teach these little lives 
 
 To bloom in beauty fair, 
 Enriched with all that surely gives 
 
 The best endowments rare! 
 The pious life — the pure, refined^ 
 
 The thoughts, the acts, the woi^ds. 
 Reflect their image on the mind. 
 
 And echo to the chords 
 The mother tunes in infancy. 
 
 Oh! teach, and guide them well, 
 These little hearts and hands to be. 
 
 With strange electric spell. 
 Blessings to brighten life's pathway, 
 
 Lessons of love, to give 
 To many hearts. Ah, who shall say. 
 
32 
 
 While here on earth they live? 
 To make the world some better, that 
 
 These Heartsease blossom here! 
 To feel some good, begun — attained at 
 
 Close of every year! 
 To hardly strive, that Pearl to gain, 
 
 "Above all price," assessed — 
 Nor, be these precious lives in vain, 
 
 But pu7^e, upright, and blest I 
 
 TWO SISTERS. 
 
 TO MESDAMES ADDIE ABERCROMBIE HOWARD AND EMMIE 
 ABERCROMBIE NESBITT. 
 
 The one, with Angelic dignity 
 
 In gentleness excelling — 
 Soft as the blush of morn to see, 
 
 But, powerless the telling! 
 Sweet, as the Flower's fragrant perfume. 
 
 Her pure, calm loveliness, 
 Grand, with a life whose acts illume 
 
 Her limitless prowess! 
 Beloved — esteemed — by all, who know 
 
 That heart, and soul, so pure — 
 Lifted above the world's vain show 
 
 Her attributes endure! 
 The other, a mischievous, dimpled elf; 
 
 Saucy, coquetish, merry! 
 Laughing so lightly bright, and gay — 
 
 Lovely, and sweet, and cheery! 
 
 TO MISS MAY BEALL FRAZER. 
 
 A little "Rosebud" flutters near me. 
 My own Home nigh — a neighbor to be! 
 
 Is sweet. 
 As fresh as Appleblossoms in June, 
 Or, bright, glad notes, when lover's tune 
 
 Complete 
 Their light Guitars, is petite May Beall 
 
33 
 
 With artless wiles, and her cheery spell ! 
 
 I hear 
 Her footsteps at the front door way 
 My dainty, lovely, pretty Fay! 
 
 And dear 
 Has this little Rosebud grown! 
 Yes, we welcome, to Wynnton, her — as, our own 
 
 May Beali! 
 She is winning, and loving, cheery, and kind — 
 She's a girl very much — just, after my mind, 
 
 Mav Beall. 
 
 TO MISS CORINNE WORSLEY, OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 Like a dream of soft summer sky — 
 
 Pink, or blue, or amber soft; 
 
 Like a rose, just newly opened, 
 
 Or, a bird's faint song, aloft! 
 
 Like the violets, pure, sweet, incense. 
 
 Or the breath of Flowers in springtime, 
 
 Or a fleecy cloudlet's glinting 
 
 Is the subject of my Rhyme. 
 
 TO MISS MOSELLE WORSLEY, OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 She's a girl of wondrous beauty, 
 She's a dimpled, saucy sprite; 
 Wealth of tresses, softly flowing, 
 Glorious eyes, like star-decked night; 
 Independent, mischievous. 
 With her merry repartee, 
 And herself, like gleams of sunshine 
 Bringing gladness, fresh to seel 
 
 TO MISS CORINNE DELAUNAY. 
 
 Black grew the sunshine, of my life. 
 All heavy, grew the air; 
 In all the world's domain, so vast, 
 Was naught, but sorrow there! 
 
 (2) 
 
34 
 
 My soul was crushed with agony, 
 
 All comfortless, my heart! 
 
 The Cross itself seemed mockery. 
 
 An isolated part — 
 
 My being ciHeA in bitterness, 
 
 In silence, all alone — 
 
 Feeling the world's wide emptiness. 
 
 Its hollow aims, and tone — 
 
 Wild raged the torrents hoarse, strange sound; 
 
 No glinting in the skies, 
 
 ' Till, a white missive fluttered near, 
 
 ''Sister I sympathizer^ 
 
 TO MISS PAULINE DE L. SHEPHERD. 
 
 My own namesake, little darling, 
 
 How fondly I love thee, dear; 
 Invoking life's purest blessing. 
 
 Holding my heart so near! 
 Unto fair womanhood, approaching, 
 
 Its threshold standing near. 
 Trying to peer through its portals, 
 
 How brightly all things appear 
 To your young imagination. 
 
 Robed, with the rainbow's hues — 
 Radiant sheen, and shimmering, 
 
 Their colors prismatic diffuse! 
 Keep your heart pure, little darling. 
 
 Let your own life reflect 
 Charity, gentleness, sweetness. 
 
 As daily its depths you inspect, 
 And the world will surely echo 
 
 Whatever, your heart gives out 
 Unto it! Con this lesson early, 
 
 In the world's gi'eat, vast redoubt — 
 So, will the rainbow's glory 
 
 Your whole, human life illume! 
 Joy may sometimes with sorrow 
 
 Blend, but never, with dismal gloom. 
 
35 
 
 Give to the sorrowing-, gladness, 
 
 To the life embittered, love 
 Brimful of tender compassion; 
 
 Your own life keeping above 
 Aught that of coldness savors 
 
 Aught, in the least unrefined, 
 And your life will be full of gladness 
 
 With sunshine, all interlined! 
 Remember my own little darling 
 
 Who said those sweet words of yore, 
 "Pm the Lily of the Valley,'' 
 
 Remember this, evermore! 
 A little maiden, just budding 
 
 Into womanhood so fair 
 Should keep her thoughts and life, as pure 
 
 As God's own Ans'els are! 
 
 TO MRS. MARY DOWNING HILL. 
 
 A woman, all sweetness, sunshine, she- 
 Refreshing, contagious her cheerfulness; 
 
 In home's domain, she's fair to see— 
 ''To warn, to comfort, and to bless," 
 
 With her lovely children, handsome and bright, 
 With heart so hopeful and brave! 
 
 Her presence diffuses its love and light, 
 With power all sadness or gloom to lave! 
 
 TO MRS. NORAH SLADE SCRIVEN. 
 
 In a cottage by fair Lakewood 
 Dwells a woman beautiful — 
 Golden-haired, fresh and rosy 
 As any flower you'd care to pull. 
 With those pretty buds of beauty 
 
 Norah cita — Leila fair 
 
 Beautiful, and gay, and blithesome, 
 Eyes resplendent! wealth of hair! 
 Pictures they of wondrous beauty! 
 
36 
 
 Little cherubs, exquisite! 
 
 In that dainty Lovers own cottage, 
 
 For the Fairies' dwelling fit. 
 
 On the brow of hill at Lakewood, 
 
 Passing near, I always look 
 
 To catch a glimpse of Norah's darlings 
 
 In that pretty woodland nook. 
 
 TO MISS MAYMIE BANKS. 
 
 She is gone, to the Northern clime, so cold. 
 
 Our Maymie — And, how we do "mzs8" her; 
 I wish this moment, that, I could enfold 
 
 Her, unto my own heart, and kiss her! 
 "Our oivn little Maymie^^ — (cry my little dears!) 
 
 "Mignonne, don't you miss our own DearV 
 And Elise, with her eyes suffused with tears. 
 Cries, "Oh, me! It seems, like a year!^'' 
 Come back, to our homes^ oh, Maymie, dear! 
 
 Come back, to old Oeorgia''s shore! 
 Our hearts will keep you, ever near. 
 
 Our loves, follow you, evermore! 
 But the grand sunshine over our Southern clime, 
 
 Its Heavenly brightness, its genial air 
 That warms, as I write this simple rhyme, 
 
 Is not to be found, dearie, there. 
 Away in the sleet, and cold, and the snow. 
 
 Mid the blizzards and driving rain, 
 Our own little Maymie, why did you go? 
 
 Come back, our own darling, again. 
 Your room is empty — Its stillness seems 
 
 Like a sad souvenir of the Past; 
 Like the shadows dim, of dear lovely dreams, 
 
 Too beautiful, aye, to last. 
 Come back, my child, our Maymie petite — 
 
 Dear, precious one, how we do miss you! 
 Your love, and unselfishness — Ah, pretty Sweet 
 
 If I could tenderly fold you, and kiss you. 
 
3T 
 
 TO MISS MIRIAM C. TILLMAN. 
 
 As at my easel I labored, 
 
 Invoking the spirit of Art, 
 
 So near me, she worked also 
 
 At her own. As we sat, my heart 
 
 Was attracted this fair girl by — 
 
 A girl, who drew me straight 
 
 To her, by that fair, angelic face, 
 
 As quietly there she sate; 
 
 And I grew to love this maiden, 
 
 As, day by day, we came 
 
 At our easels, laboring jointly. 
 
 Adoring art the same; 
 
 And I soon was pleased to discover. 
 
 In Miriam^s soul and mind, 
 
 A woman, all loving, and lovely — 
 
 Cultured, bright and refined! 
 
 TO MRS ANNIE HUNTER. 
 (Our Rector's Wife.) 
 
 If, in human flesh and form, 
 
 The Angels walked this mundane sphere, 
 
 I'd seek thee first, and I would say, 
 
 I know this gentle woman dear. 
 
 So patient, charitable, sweet; 
 
 So lovely in her womanhood 
 
 Of purity and gentleness, 
 
 Unselfishness, and missions good, 
 
 Can nothing less than Angel be! 
 
 Model of home's best ornament — 
 
 In loving kindness pass the years, 
 
 In sacred, holy duties bent. 
 
 TO MRS. FLORIDA ABERCROMBIE SMITH. 
 
 Sweet Memory, takes me to the time 
 When you, and I, Dear, long ago, 
 Too:ether went to Nashville's clime! 
 
38 
 
 (Ah, how the years all swiftly flow!) 
 
 What comforts were we to each other, 
 
 Among so many strangers there — 
 
 Bearing our mal-du-pays together 
 
 As only loving hearts can share! 
 
 Then, when Society, you, claimed 
 
 And crowned you its bright, shining star. 
 
 Still, in my heart, your memory framed 
 
 Yet lives, through all those years afar! 
 
 Then, as a Bride, all beautiful — 
 
 Then Motherhood bequeathed her gift, 
 
 And filled your cup of blessing full. 
 
 As still, the years flowed on, adrirt ! 
 
 Still beautiful, as memory keeps 
 
 Her dial fair, but not dear Friend 
 
 As now! for Sorrow's wave, that sweeps 
 
 O'er all, or soon, or late — to blend 
 
 Its background, meet for light — as weeps 
 
 The slender Willow in the storm— ^ 
 
 But when 'tis passed, new strength has gained 
 
 And, in new beauty, as Sun's rays transform 
 
 Once more to loveliness, attained 
 
 By test of strength — so, to me, now 
 
 I see upon your dear, sweet face — 
 
 Upon that scarce yet furrowed brow. 
 
 Around those classic lips 
 
 I trace a beauty, and a strength — unseen, 
 
 Unknown to you — in all these years 
 
 When youth, and all that life's bright sheen 
 
 Might give — in glory did appear! 
 
 Brave woman! unexcelled to strive 
 
 With life's emergencies — so blest, 
 
 For its oivn ti^ue mission, still to live! 
 
 So strong to 6ear so well the crucial test ! 
 
 The ideal of a fond, unselfish mother! 
 
 AhoYQ false pride, not scorning duties, any! 
 
 Has life best aims, than these, another 
 
 Purer, higher, in her fields so many? 
 
 So when the Master's summons call 
 
39 
 
 Is heard, so softly on thy way, 
 May each hard trial — each, and all — 
 Lead, Friend, ''unto the perfect dayP' 
 
 TO MISS ANNIE SHINGLEUR, OF JACKSON, MISS. 
 
 This handsome girl, is rare, unique — 
 
 Most independent, she! 
 Impressive in her personel, 
 Charming and grand, to see! 
 Not influenced by every wind 
 
 And wave of circumstance; 
 Her brilliant mind, speaks in her face. 
 And dark eye's lucid glance — 
 In face, and form, and character, 
 
 A splendid woman, she, 
 In all her moods of coquetry, 
 
 A girl, I love to see! 
 
 TO MRS. PAULINE VIRGINIA CARRINGTON, OF 
 MILLEDGEVILLE, GA. 
 
 Sweet cousin mine, in this wide world of change, 
 
 'Tis good, sometimes to surely find 
 
 A woman, in whose life, the virtues many 
 
 So true, and high, in you combined; 
 
 Beloved by all, because of this, 
 
 Because thy heart, like a clear stream 
 
 Reflecting to the world outside. 
 
 Its pure, transparent, crystal gleam — 
 
 No falseness — naught but living Truth 
 
 And kindness, sweet unselfishness 
 
 And faithful love, find resting place 
 
 Within thy soul, so formed, to bless! 
 
 My heart's allegiance, cherished one 
 
 Thou hast! as long as life shall claim 
 
 Me — brighter light can ne'er illume 
 
 Its path, than thoughts of thy dear name! 
 
40 
 
 TO MRS. MARY LOU JONES BRUCE, OF WELLS VILLE, N. Y. 
 
 Oh, sweet as the song of a purlin.i»' brook 
 
 Winding its way, in summer, along, 
 Is her rippling laugh — and her blue eyes look 
 
 Soft, appealing! Ah, tame is my song 
 Of her lovely self — Since a little child 
 
 She has seemed to me, like a dream 
 Of Love! Sweet, confiding, all undefiled 
 
 By any sham, or feint — the gleam 
 Of her soul, doth shine in her truthful face, 
 
 Luminous, beautiful, and fair! 
 And, all that a pure heart, makes it, I trace 
 
 In the freshness glowing there! 
 Mary Lou, dear Pet, my heart would implore 
 
 Fate's richest dower on thee! 
 I love thee, Sweet, as in days of yore 
 
 And will, dear heart, eternally! 
 
 TO MESDAMES ELVIE FLEWELLEN SHINGLEUR, OF JACKSON, 
 MISS., AND LOTTIE WEEMS JOHNSON, OF ALABAMA. 
 
 Sweet Elvie! always gentle, always dear! 
 
 Adown the waste of years I love to gaze — 
 
 While memory pauses at the old School-house, 
 
 When you and I were happy — Golden days! 
 
 And you were sometimes pleased to hear me read 
 
 Amid those sylvan shades, in olden Time, 
 
 My childish tributes to the inspiring muse 
 
 And listen to my schoolgirl's simple Rhyme — 
 
 And, now again, though we, by wind and tide, 
 
 Have drifted far apart — in years, and change, 
 
 And sorrows dark, between — memories abide. 
 
 That once again my muse t'involTe, constrain 
 
 Compelling me to send this leaflet, sweet 
 
 And fresh, from my own heart to you, dear Friend — 
 
 Laden with weight of smiles and tears, as sweet 
 
 From Friend to Friend, who, since those childish years 
 
 Have kept the chalice of fond memory 
 
 Decked with one immo?- telle — both you and I ! 
 
41 
 
 Affection's dews still keeping them, all fair to see ! 
 And Lottie, too ! how near she seems to stand ! 
 In pictures of that fairy, far-gone time ! 
 It seems, as if those children were almost 
 Some olhera — and not we, ourselves! that clime, 
 Another world, more fair, more soft, more bright 
 Than now, so strange the passing years transform 
 Us, as it were; and yet, dear Lottie — Friend ! 
 Beloved still! Your heart that once was warm, 
 With true affection's fire, I feel, remains 
 The mme, in that, Dear — ^judging by my own ! 
 For, vain are all the changes, griefs, or pains. 
 To dim the picture's light, or touch, or tone ! 
 The picture of those happy, gladsome years ! 
 How sweetly do they now return to us 
 Amid our realistic life ! Like soft 
 Sweet pealing of the plaintive Angelus ! 
 
 TO MISS FLORIDA WELLBORN. 
 
 Sauntering my garden walks along, 
 
 'Mid many a blossom fair and sweet, 
 Grouped here and there the beds among— 
 
 A flowery carpet at my feet. 
 O'er head soft notes of wild birds' song; 
 Thinking, especially, just then 
 
 Of one loved friend — a charming girl — 
 Her type not often met, I ken — 
 
 I said, oh! lily white, unfurl 
 Your leaves, that I may trace, with pen 
 The image of my fair young friend, 
 
 Closely resembling thee, fresh flower, 
 As graceful on the stem you bend 
 
 And wield your witching fairy power. 
 Oh! lily leaves, your sweetness lend. 
 Your grace, your beauty, all combine, 
 
 Your fragrance, and your pearly gleam. 
 So like this dainty friend of mine, 
 
 An Angel's fingers surely seem 
 
42 
 
 T'have touched the petals, pure, divinel 
 For she is fair and tall like you. 
 
 With beauty, color, grace repletel 
 Rare gifts of mind, and spirit, too! 
 
 Xor would my picture l)e complete. 
 Were she less good, and sweet, and truel 
 But she is all that I would ask. 
 
 For thy fair prototype, proud flowerl 
 And so it seems an easy task, 
 
 As here I stroll in summer bower, 
 Amid these blossoms rare, to bask, 
 To single out this lily fair. 
 
 Bending above my garden walk — 
 A queen amid such myriads rare. 
 
 With Florida to sweetly talk, 
 While fragrance lades the summer airl 
 So does her life's perfume pervade 
 
 Insensibly, or near or far. 
 All whom she knows. Oh. wondrous maidi 
 
 Unto my hean thou'st grown so dear, 
 I feel that these few words I've said 
 Fail utterly all to convey. 
 
 Or half of what thou'st been to me, 
 "In happy moments, day by day;" 
 
 And — more — when sorrow heavily 
 Her burden laid, without one ray. 
 It seemed, of hope or glimm'ring light, 
 
 From out those depths to gently lead 
 Once more into life's regions bright. 
 
 Pointing to the blue sky o'er head, 
 Leading from out dark sorrow's night — 
 No touch fell softer dear, than thine, 
 
 Nor tears more sweet or more sincerel 
 And so I claim thee, love, as mine 
 
 Among the casket's treasures dear, 
 Friendship's own wealth, rare and divinel 
 Fain would I in a bouquet bind 
 
 Our many happy days together 
 Spent! Some with gold and crimson twined. 
 
43 
 
 Some with the grey of wintry weather; 
 All blessed with thy presence kind! 
 I will not look into the future's scroll, 
 
 Xor with prophetic vision ask 
 Its mystic pages to unroll 
 
 Their leaves — not mine, this task: 
 Rather into thine own pure soul 
 Would I its limpid depths survey. 
 
 And read in its transparency, 
 The pure, unsullied, white array 
 
 Which there my heart can always ?>ee. 
 Nor fear that it will fade away! 
 E'en as the sunset in our clime. 
 
 For concentration luminous 
 With gold, and crimson, more sublime 
 
 Than noon's rich gleams diaphanous, 
 Inscribed upon the disc of Time. 
 So may thy life, all beautiful 
 
 And useful, dear, remain: 
 Her choicest blossoms may'st thou cull! 
 
 Thy heart its perfume ever retain. 
 Of joy and love, and sweetness full! 
 
 TO >nSS BENNIE FOXTAIXE. 
 
 Like rippling water, clear and bright 
 
 Is Bennie! 
 I wist not, if a form more light. 
 
 If any 
 Pretty laughing maid, e'er sways 
 
 More hearts. 
 If any. hath more winning ways. 
 
 Coy arts. 
 Than Bennie! "Dainty she is, petite — 
 
 Bright eyes 
 Sparkling with fire, a voice so sweet, 
 
 Defies 
 The music of the warblins: bird. 
 
 Or bell. 
 
44 
 
 When, softly, on the air is heard 
 
 Its spell! 
 A clear, soft, tinkling bell, at eve 
 
 We love! 
 Or like a dream, that cloudlets weave 
 
 Above, 
 This toiling world! Like all of these, 
 
 Imbued 
 With magic power, to charm and please! 
 
 Denude 
 Life, of its many carking cares 
 
 Is she, 
 Who, now my mornings shares! 
 
 To be 
 A captivating, beauteous Belle — 
 
 To fetter 
 Hearts, and own their smiles, is well. 
 
 But better 
 Far, "than this, than these, than allV 
 
 Her power 
 Rich in its gifts of homers sweet thrall, 
 
 Her dower! 
 If, in Society, she shine a star 
 
 So bright; 
 Her radiance illume afar, 
 
 Whose light, 
 A beacon is, on Life's vast sea — 
 
 T' imbue 
 Strong manly hearts, the "good" to see. 
 
 The true, 
 More brightly still, around the hearth 
 
 And hearts 
 Of home, blest spot of all the earth! 
 
 Imparts, 
 Like benediction sweetly breathed. 
 
 The might 
 Of her sweet presence, wreathed 
 
 In light, 
 
45 
 
 Her beaming face, and graces bear 
 
 A kind 
 Sweet, nameless captivative, rare 
 
 To find! 
 
 TO MRS. CLOTILDE DE L. HINES. 
 
 I love to think of thee, Tedie dear, 
 
 As the merry sprite of yore. 
 With flaxen ringlets, laughing eyes; 
 
 Such dimples, as ne'r before 
 Played "hide and seek," on any cheek, 
 
 With mischief brimming o'er! 
 Warm heart, merry, tender and true. 
 
 Nor is this half the score 
 Of all the charms her beauty claimed. 
 
 Nor, of her heart, the store 
 Replete — in all that I have named. 
 
 And fondl}^ counted o'er! 
 Peace, crown thy present, future years. 
 
 With all her sweet content; 
 With all the gifts her fullness bears 
 
 Bv Heavenlv Angels lent! 
 
 THE LADY OF BELMONT. 
 
 TO MISS MARY E. COOK. 
 
 How shall I paint my Lady fair. 
 
 Queen fairy, of Belmont ? 
 Her classic face — her rich, brown hair, 
 
 My peerless Rose Bi-ahant ! 
 Gracious, and winning in her mien — 
 
 Vivacious, bright, piquante ! 
 Never was lovelier woman seen. 
 
 Than, Lady of Belmont ! 
 Eyes sparkling from her deep, pure soul, 
 
 In voice and all, cliarmante! 
 Oh 1 Skies, and Flowers, your sweets unroll 
 
 For her, of fair Belmont ! 
 
46 
 
 That I may better draw and paint 
 
 Her brow, and form, and face — 
 Fair maiden ! of that mansion quaint, 
 
 Can I, her beauties trace? 
 With queenly grace and dignity, 
 
 Sweet courtesy bestows — 
 Bright with her presence, regally 
 
 That quaint old mansion glows ! 
 That mansion, handed down of yore 
 
 From Southern sire to son ! 
 'Though ante helium days no more 
 
 May shine its walls upon, 
 Still stands the slanting hill-top fair 
 
 With o'er arching trees, 
 Ancestral glories still are there, 
 
 Grand, as one ever sees ! 
 The Yandal's ''raid?^ left them unharmed — 
 
 Themes, yet, for song, or story. 
 The fine old Homstead still is warmed 
 
 By Southern sun's rich glory ! 
 Shine on ! fair orb, and shed thy rays 
 
 Upon this Home of Beauty ! 
 Its mistress gifted in the ways 
 
 Of Love, and Song, and Duty ! 
 Fair Mistress of Belmont, I sweep 
 
 My lyre's sweet chords once more. 
 Invoking Destiny to heap 
 
 Her cup, all running o'er 
 With every gift that life may own 
 
 Desirable, on thee I 
 Long may rich Fortune, shower upon 
 
 Thy lot, her fealty ! 
 In all that makes this life, a token 
 
 Of that which is to come ! 
 My thoughts, fair maid, are faintly spoken- 
 
 Yet do they, straightway, from 
 Mine inmost soul, find feeble way to thee, 
 
 And thither, frequent wend 
 Fraught, with its friendly embassy, 
 
47 
 
 This tribute, now I send ! 
 Long may you reign the fairy Queen, 
 
 As still, in beauty wont : 
 For none, e'er lovelier was seen, 
 
 Than Lady of Belmont! 
 
 >K >K 'H 
 
 And yet, — I bid a moment stay ! 
 
 Thou missive of my heart ! 
 For, can I on thy loving way 
 
 Bid thee so soon depart 
 Until I add, all reverently, 
 
 As softly falls the hour 
 Of twilight, o'er the world and me 
 
 With all her mystic power ! 
 Whispering all gently, in her spell — 
 
 Of those now passed beyond 
 The portals of that misty line, I love so well ! 
 
 Dreams dear and fond 
 Are mingled in those gathering shades — 
 
 The Day and Night between — 
 And those dear ones, beyond these glades 
 
 In silence soft, are seen ! 
 I think of her, beloved and sweet — 
 
 Thine own dear mother — friend ! 
 And feel that, it is only meet 
 
 One rose, within; to send. 
 To her pure, spotless memory — 
 
 To her so gifted — loved — 
 Whose halo follows softly on thee — 
 
 As erst, on earth, she moved 
 And gave the world a legacy 
 
 Of womanhood's best type — 
 From vain pretense, and shams, so free; 
 
 Of mind and heart so ripe 
 With rarest gems — thy mother dear! 
 
 So be thy life, sweet friend, 
 Like her, whom still we all revere ! 
 
 And now I gently send 
 This little missive. Speed thy way 
 
48 
 
 As fast as thou art wont, 
 And take this simple friendly lay 
 
 To her, of fair Belmont! 
 Speed ! where the blushing roses sweet 
 
 Vie, with her cheeks, charmante — 
 To her, for every blessing meet, 
 
 The Lady of Belmont ! 
 
 MY LITTLE WILD DAISY 
 
 TO MISS DAISY SHORTER 
 
 Strolling the woodland sweets, amid 
 
 One summer's morn, 
 I spied a Daisy, almost hid 
 
 By tangled thorn 
 Of glossy, clustering bamboo vine 
 
 Trailing on ground. 
 Claiming the pretty flowret mine 
 
 Which there I found, 
 I pinned it near my heart, and wore. 
 
 Still thinking then 
 Of her whose name the flowret bore 
 
 In this wild glen! 
 Dear, dainty little friend of mine. 
 
 This namesake sweet 
 Bears fitting semblance fair of thine, 
 
 With charms replete! 
 For as it blooms all undefiled, 
 
 Blushing unseen. 
 Exquisite in its freshness wild. 
 
 Like you, I ween. 
 Unconscious of its beauty rare, 
 
 As dews impearl 
 Its snowy petals, sweet and fair. 
 
 So you, dear girl, 
 For me full many a charm possess; 
 
 Because not vain. 
 Because you do not seek t' impress 
 
49 
 
 And thereby gain, 
 On basis false, from any one. 
 
 Their admiration. 
 'Tis in THIS way that yon have won 
 
 My heart's libation. 
 In all your saucy, winsome ways. 
 
 There is a spell 
 More potent than the Siren plays, 
 
 And ivears so well, 
 Because we know you as you are. 
 
 My pretty dear! 
 Like radiance of some far-oif star. 
 
 Distant but clear, 
 Which must be sought. We see, when found, 
 
 A pure, soft light, 
 Steadfast and safe, shedding around 
 
 Effulgence bright, 
 Whose emanations softly warm 
 
 Those fortunate 
 Enough to find thy worth! No harm 
 
 Could mar the fate 
 Of one so chaste as thou art, dear; 
 
 And so I take 
 This Daisy wild I found, and wear 
 
 For thine own sake 
 This blossom white! And so I send 
 
 My simple rhyme. 
 Asking a kindly thought, sweet friend, 
 
 As rolling time 
 Shall bear us on its tide so swift; 
 
 In future years 
 When thou the veil shall softly lift 
 
 With smiles and tears, 
 And memories through those vistas green 
 
 In beauty rise. 
 You'll deem this simple rhyme, I ween, 
 
 Not all unwise! 
 
50 
 
 TO MISS GERTRUDE EBERHART. 
 
 She must be my Crimson Meteor, 
 
 My red rose, in completeness, 
 With all her sweet mother's beauty, 
 
 A portion of her sweetness! 
 Glorious in coloring, and feature 
 
 So bright, and fresh and gay, 
 Laughing with blithsome merriment 
 
 And happy as the day ! 
 No gloom can ever long abide 
 
 In presence of her brightness, 
 Complaining hides her visage chill, 
 
 And darkness yields to lightness ! 
 Long may your roses brightly glow, 
 
 Long ma}^ your beauty flourish! 
 Affection's mission truly learned 
 
 That mother's heart to nourish ! 
 And, when old Time, with changeful touch 
 
 Shall give thee to another, 
 May Gertrude be as kind and true, 
 
 As her own lovely mother.' 
 Like her, in woman's best behest, 
 
 In home's domain supreme; 
 In Friendship, true as gold refined, 
 
 Possessing love's pure gleam ! 
 
 TO MISS MARIE BLANDFORD. 
 
 She is my little snowflake, 
 
 Is Marie Blandford fair; 
 A sunbeam, on a limpid lake, 
 
 Shining in beauty there ! 
 A perfect blonde, is sweet Marie, 
 
 AH unsophisticated. 
 And very dear, is she to me; 
 
 Her charms, not overrated. 
 Few hearts are warmer than her own, 
 
 None more true I ween — 
 You feel it, in her touch and tone. 
 
51 
 
 She reigns a fairy Queen I 
 Bright as a fresh rose, is her cheek, 
 
 With merry, sparkling eyes; 
 And, far indeed, must Poet seek, 
 
 To find a gem that vies 
 With my own Marie, sweet and dear! 
 
 Beauty and worth are her's, 
 Her many virtues, love sincere. 
 
 My true affection stirs ! 
 
 TO MISS MARY LOU REDD. 
 
 Like some quaint Cameo, carved by skillful hand 
 
 Of artist rare, clear-cut, and classic, stand 
 
 Out those features — Beauteous maiden tall and fair! 
 
 Some Grecian Goddess sure hath lent a share 
 
 Of her divine bestowals, and made thee 
 
 Dear girl, a picture beautiful to see ! 
 
 TO MRS. NELLIE COOPER FREDERICK. 
 
 My stately pink Camelia she 
 With stamp of Aristocracy 
 
 In features and in mien — 
 A handsome woman as you'll meet. 
 With courteous manners, voice as sweet 
 
 As Flowers on green 
 And grassy lawn — home's light is she 
 And truly too, deserves to be 
 
 The idol of her mother! 
 With equal grace, she reigns a Queen! 
 Respect, affection, all are seen 
 
 To husband, mother, brother! 
 Long may you Nellie dear, be spared 
 To light that home, so sweetly shared 
 
 By thee in Duty's task — 
 To bless, make happy, loved ones there; 
 Could 1 select a sweeter prayer. 
 
 Or higher blessings ask? 
 
52 
 
 TO MISS WILLIE BLANKENSHIP. 
 
 Do you know this woodland Fairy? 
 Flitting, laughing, making happy 
 
 All day long, 
 All who know, and come about her. 
 With her blithesome sweet mirth-making 
 
 And her song ! 
 She is winsome, is my Willie, 
 And her eyes are bright and sparkling 
 
 With delight! 
 And her cheeks are fair and rosy — 
 And her coming brings its welcome, 
 
 Sweet and bright! 
 Soft, abundant golden tresses 
 And her laughing lips revealeth 
 
 Teeth of pearl! 
 And we catch her sweet contagion 
 Cheery, mischievous, yet loving 
 
 Of this girl. 
 Of this girl, like rosy springtime! 
 Like ripe cherries to be gathered 
 
 In their red — 
 Like a rose, just in perfection, 
 With its breath of purest incense 
 
 From its bed! 
 Dearest, charming, winsome Willie! 
 Darling Friend, how dear I love thee, 
 
 None can tell! 
 All the joy that thou hast given. 
 All the sorrow thou hast solaced 
 
 With thy spell! 
 I shall love thee. Dear, forever, 
 Long as Time's strange mystic waters 
 
 Bear me on — 
 Far away, o'er heath and meadow, 
 Lonely forests, wildernesses. 
 
 All alone! 
 In the great fierce tide of battle, 
 
53 
 
 With its humaD hopes, endeavors, 
 
 To the goal 
 Where Faith ends, and Love immortal 
 Shall become high aspirations 
 
 Of the soul! 
 With a coronal of glory 
 Brighter far than earthly laurel — 
 
 Fadeless, too! 
 Far beyond the sunset's crimson, 
 Far above those dreamy vistas, 
 
 I look through! 
 
 THE TWO FORGET-ME-NOTS. 
 
 TO MESDAMES MARIA NELSON WOOLFOLK AND 
 ROSA NELSON TICKNOR. 
 
 Two sisters gliding, hand in hand, 
 Along life's sloping, pebbly strand, 
 
 Together; 
 United, heart, and soul and mind. 
 Most of their pilgrimage behind, 
 
 And whether 
 The sun shines brightly overhead. 
 Or, with clouds lowering o'erspread. 
 
 They feel 
 Each other's sorrows and their joy, 
 Exchanging many a sweet employ; 
 
 Jn weal 
 Or dark misfortune — always one, 
 In sympathy and love, upon 
 
 The waste 
 Of life's strong, surging sea, their boat 
 Glides smooth! O'er the blue waves they float. 
 
 As traced 
 In soft, white undulating lines, 
 As wistful vision clear defines 
 
 Its way! 
 Nearing the haven is the barque, 
 
64 
 
 The anchor almost cast — and, hark! 
 
 Away, 
 In unseen dwelling, heard but hid. 
 Do we not hear a soft voice bid 
 
 Them list! 
 A moment to a weird, sweet song, 
 Vibrating all the waves along. 
 
 And, wist 
 Ye not whence comes the soft, sweet strain, 
 Echoing low from boundless main? 
 
 I know 
 Well whence those holy carols come. 
 Bidding these mariners, bound for home, 
 
 In slow, 
 Soft measures of the ebb and tide 
 Of calm waves, rowing side by side. 
 
 The voice 
 Of her they loved so well in life, 
 With gentle words, and deeds of kindness rife, 
 
 "Rejoice! 
 Clear comes the mystic, strange refrain, 
 The death you moiu^n was my great gain! 
 
 I wait 
 Your coming, sisters dear; not with tears. 
 Nor any vain regrets, nor fears! 
 
 If fate 
 Could to you my new bliss reveal, 
 Could Heaven to mortals lift the seal, 
 
 And let 
 You glimpse one moment, realms within, 
 Where ne'er has entered pain nor sin — 
 
 Beset 
 By not one care, or doubt, or drear 
 Mischance, dear sisters, not a tear 
 
 Would dim 
 Your mortal eyes, nor on your heart 
 Would fall a shadow — if, could part 
 
 The rim 
 Of happy mist, your eyes and me between, 
 
55 
 
 How short the years that intervene! 
 
 Recall 
 Me only in your memory 
 As ahvays happy, as some dav you'll be, 
 
 And all 
 The love we cherished fondly when 
 I walked about your midst, and then 
 
 Remember, 
 When here, eternal is our love, so dear 
 No power of time or death can e'er 
 
 Dismember! 
 Sisters, sail calmly o'er life'e sea, 
 Obedient to Him, nearer and nearer me! 
 
 With strong 
 And steady oars row; the night 
 Is coming on apace, but bright 
 
 With song 
 Of the redeemed] I wait you here! 
 Ask not in vain, "Pilot, what cheer?" 
 
 But trust 
 Hint at the helm! His guiding power 
 Ne'er falters, not in darkest hour, 
 
 And must. 
 If you have faith, land safe on shore. 
 The reefers passed, the storm-clouds o'er, 
 
 To dwell 
 With me and all our loved ones here! 
 Sisters, 'til then (e're many a passing year), 
 
 Farewell!" 
 
 TO MRS. AMELIE COMPTON SWIFT. 
 
 If beautiful Venus, of yore, were here 
 
 ''For the fairest" th' inscription to claim, 
 No discord that fair assembly would stir. 
 
 For the apple of antique Fame 
 Would fall at thy feet, oh! lady fair. 
 
 So charming, so cultured, refined, 
 A heavenly vision of loveliness rare, 
 
 Beautv's own imaffe enshrined! 
 
56 
 
 AN INSPIRATION. 
 They are not far — those blessed Angel faces, 
 
 And forms, so precious to us, once on earth — 
 Like stars, amid the radiance of their light eternal 
 
 With glory of their new created birth ! 
 They are not long — those years that yet divide us 
 
 From voyagers all safely anchored there — 
 Mingled with harps, and voices triumphant. 
 
 Floats the refrain all softly sweet, and clear; 
 Not indistinct, the echo of that music. 
 
 Their tones responsive, individualize — 
 As listening to the hallowed, mellow cadence 
 
 We hush our breath, and straiu our eager eyes — 
 Nor are they dark, the spaces intervening — 
 
 We, on this side — they, just those clouds beyond ! 
 Encircling us, with nameless love o'erweening. 
 
 And intonations, dear, familiar, fond ! 
 Before that world of wondrous glory — 
 
 (Awhile to human ken and sight unknown — ) 
 Faith pauses — and the veil to lift refuses. 
 
 But whispers : "Weary wanderer, in this world alone, 
 Be patient, and with gentle touch, be truthful — 
 
 For the great Sea Captain's voice will call some day, 
 And the toilers by the lonely sounding sea 
 
 Shall embark for realms of endless, blissful Day ! " 
 
 TO MRS. FRANCES HURT. 
 
 Who does not know "Aunt Fanny," dear. 
 
 Fair Wynnton's dame, revered ? 
 Full many a changeful, checkered year, 
 
 Full many a scene endeared 
 By nameless memories, have passed above 
 
 Her life, and ours. Among 
 Those dear, familiar haunts of love, 
 
 A hallowed, sacred throng 
 Of faces — forms of long ago, 
 
 Unbidden, come to me! 
 Their smiles, and tears, and loves bestow, 
 
57 
 
 As with simplicity 
 Of my heart's own affection pure, 
 
 I here these mem'ries trace — 
 Nor many are more loved, or truer, 
 
 Than her's, whose name I place 
 Upon this page. Far back in years 
 
 Of distant childhood's time — 
 (How bright and beautiful the garb she wears,) 
 
 How dear the dear loved chime 
 Of that remembered, ancient bell 
 
 That called to Sabbath school — 
 The rustic "Brick School House." Oh, tell 
 
 Me ! as ye swiftly roll. 
 Ye years that softly come and go, 
 
 In shadow and in sheen. 
 Can life e'er hold another glow- 
 In years that roll between — 
 As bright, and cloudless, as when we, 
 
 "Aunt Fanny's" pupils were? 
 The quaint old "Brick Academy !" 
 
 On Sunday gathered there, 
 Pauline Semmes, and Becca, and I — 
 
 Elvie, and Lottie, too. 
 Am I, that same identity 
 
 As then ? Nay, look not through 
 That vista! 'It cometh not again," 
 
 Aunt Fann}", nor for you, dear heart, 
 Nor yet for me ! In vain 
 
 To dream — nor would I impart 
 A sadness, in these memories, 
 
 With spells of witchery — 
 Yet, o'er the landscape, my heart sees, 
 
 Dreams of infinity ! 
 And, all along that bygone path, 
 
 Aunt Fanny, thy dear form. 
 So oft, in blessed brightness hath 
 
 Like sunshine after storm. 
 Risen, in "beautiful relief," 
 
 The wreck of years amid — 
 
 (3) 
 
58 
 
 All interspersed with joy and grief, 
 
 The sunshine hid 
 Awhile — not ever quite erased — 
 
 Because God's mercy ever lives ! 
 Nor to the true soul is effaced 
 
 The soul that always strives 
 To see His Own, true, faithful hand 
 
 Leading us on, and on, 
 Through darksome wild, to Eden's Land, 
 
 When life's strange toil is done — 
 If it shall add one sunny ray 
 
 To thy declining year — 
 If, it shall make some lonely day 
 
 Less dreary to appear, 
 For you to know that deep adown 
 
 Within my heart's recess, 
 ' Mid all the years that e'er have flown 
 
 With their strange change and stress 
 Of life's vicissitudes, to you, 
 
 Aunt Fanny dear, and me. 
 Amidst it all, remembrance true, 
 
 And soft, and sweet, to see. 
 With gentle touch and tender tone. 
 
 Hath brought your image near 
 My heart, and like a silver zone. 
 
 You seem to me to wear 
 The clasp that truly binds together. 
 
 The Now, and Long ago, 
 The Wintry, and the Summer weather. 
 
 The years that softly flow! 
 The goodness of your life's impress 
 
 Reflected is, on many; 
 And, if I now were asked to guess. 
 
 If I thought there were any — 
 By old or young, more loved, revered, 
 
 On Georgia's soil, than thou — 
 I'd place with love, by time endeared. 
 
 The chaplet on thy brow! 
 Long may you live, to bless the Earth, 
 
59 
 
 Thy cheerfulness to lend — 
 Our grand old land-mark, of true worth, 
 
 The Past and Present blend! 
 You may perhaps, dear friend, remain 
 
 Far longer here, than I — 
 The reading of our life's refrain, 
 
 The when, and how, and why, 
 From mortal vision is withheld, 
 
 And wisely is it so; 
 Sometimes the slender willow felled. 
 
 While yet, in Summer's glow — 
 Leaving the grand Ancestral Oak, 
 
 A hundred years, or more! 
 And, so this blessing I invoke. 
 
 On you as years pass on — 
 May all, that it is best to have 
 
 Be given here, to thee. 
 And as Time's Ocean surges lave 
 
 Its shores unwearily. 
 Whatever sunshine or of gloom, 
 
 Be portioned in this life — 
 May Fate's strange parti-colored loom 
 
 Weave in her web, so rife 
 With changes, threads of shining light 
 
 And crimson colors glow — 
 May Peace, that Dovelet, pure and white- 
 Life's sweetest sweets to know. 
 Nestle all softly near thy heart. 
 
 My loved Aunt Fanny dear, 
 Her holy restfulness impart, 
 
 Thy solitude to cheer! 
 And, if before me, thou shalt hear 
 
 The Angel's whispering call — 
 May'st thou, without one shadowy fear, 
 
 With nothing to appall — 
 Go forth, into those realms, arrayed 
 
 In robes of spotless white — 
 Hearing His voice— "Be not afraid!" 
 
 "I am thy Life, and Light!" 
 
60 
 
 And dear, when thou hast reached that fair 
 
 And fadeless bliss, (unseen 
 Till gained,) Say, to my loved ones there — 
 
 (No longer, mists between) — 
 That I, a message send by thee, 
 
 And ask them, keep a place 
 Next to them, side by side, for me! 
 
 If you should trace 
 The least suggestion in their Angel faces, 
 
 Of any lingering wo — 
 If sorrow for my life, still leave her traces. 
 
 Or any token show, 
 They still are grieving for their loved "first born"- 
 
 Pray tell them for me. Dear, 
 That i, no longer sobbing and way-worn 
 
 Lament life's riddles here. 
 Tell them, with glad and thankful heart 
 
 I go, from day to day. 
 Nor pray rebellious to depart, 
 
 Nor grieving still, to stay. 
 But, waiting patiently, with soul 
 
 To bear His gracious will — 
 Hard striving, as the swift years roll 
 
 To do His bidding still! 
 
 TO DR. AND MRS. POWELL AND MRS. DONNELL, 
 OF MILLEDGEVILLE, GA. 
 
 Friends of my darksome, exiled years. 
 
 Beloved, revered and dear. 
 Through vistas made of smiles and tears, 
 
 I write your memories here; 
 My little brochure, incomplete. 
 
 Without a loving word 
 From my true heart unto your own; 
 
 And so a little bird 
 I call, and 'ere it erst hath flown 
 
 Away into its keeping. 
 Entrust these lines, my very own, 
 
61 
 
 In love's sweet chalice steeping! 
 So straightway from my heart to yours, 
 
 Dear friends of other days, 
 A flood of mingled mem'ries pours 
 
 All o'er these simple lays. 
 As I, in grateful love recall 
 
 With sacred memory 
 Each one, remembering fondly all 
 
 That ye have been to me; 
 Nature^s nobility can claim 
 
 No standard nobler, higher, 
 Nor grander characters hath Fame, 
 
 Divinity none nigher 
 Than those to whom these lines I send. 
 
 In deepest gratitude; 
 Whe'er in life my ways may wend, 
 
 I pray that every good 
 Within the power of fate to send 
 
 May on your pathway fall, 
 Whate'er fair fortune can create. 
 
 The highest, best of all! 
 You will rejoice, to hear, I know. 
 
 How happy I have been 
 Since we have parted, long ago — 
 
 (Great natures are akin 
 To sympathy — its first component part — 
 
 Gi-eat hearts are always tender !) 
 And ye possess this kindly art — 
 
 And I, the grateful sender — 
 Ye loved your goodness to bestow 
 
 In darksome years agone — 
 So now, I bid this Rhyme to flow. 
 
 All musical, upon 
 This page — and fain would I employ 
 
 This little Carrier Dove 
 To waft to you some of my joy 
 
 On its white wings of love ! 
 Thrice blessed have these glad years been, 
 God has been good and kind — • 
 
62 
 
 Above the strife of worldly din, 
 
 Leading me, rest to find — 
 Friends have been loyal, true and sweet. 
 
 And, if the storms have rolled 
 Sometimes in fierceness, it is meet — 
 
 The shadows with the gold 
 Must mingle, for a while, to shew 
 
 In radiance, bright and blest. 
 The glorious crimson "after-glow," 
 
 The calm, sweet, peaceful JRest! 
 I ask no chronicle of Fame — 
 
 Nor world's eclat be mine. 
 The only guerdon that I claim, 
 
 Would be, upon the shrine 
 Of womanhood, to purely place 
 
 A heart, true and refined 
 With life's best motives, there to trace 
 
 In lines, clear and defined. 
 The purpose of the higher life — 
 
 Each day try to bestow 
 Some sunshine on another — Rife 
 
 With sweetness, this to know! 
 Perhaps a tear, for some love-token, 
 
 Less bitterly may flow, 
 For one kind word, all softly spoken, 
 
 As the days come and go; 
 And I would ask another boon 
 
 From fate's rich boundless mine, 
 (Mayhap you'll smile, friends, as I croon 
 
 This strange and simple line), 
 But oh! the wealth of joy it brings. 
 
 Than gold of millionaire; 
 Better than notes the song-bird sings, 
 
 Sweeter, and far more rare! 
 It is a spirit that can bear 
 
 Whatever fate bestows! 
 Then will life surely, for us, wear 
 
 Sunshine coleur de rose! 
 Place all life's strange contingencies 
 
63 
 
 Upon that spotless altar; 
 Duty must loin hei^ argosies 
 
 With aims that never falter! 
 And as my silver-pinioned bird 
 
 Flies over hill and river, 
 Warbling the praises of our Lord 
 
 Ever, and still forever — 
 I see the blue clouds ope apace 
 
 Of canopy so fair, 
 And in those shimm'ring rifts, I trace 
 
 Clear, written in the air, 
 A sermon grander than e'er heard 
 
 From saintly, surpliced priest — 
 Something like this — (of holy word 
 
 And precepts not the least) — 
 When Heaven's bright portals shall unroll 
 
 For weary pilgrims' feet, 
 High on that white and shining scroll, 
 
 With never a tear-stained sheet, 
 Inscribed in lines indelible, 
 
 Embellished with the light 
 Of radiance ineffable — 
 
 Pure, and calm, and bright 
 Will live the names of those, who here 
 
 Ne^er faltered in their trust — 
 Unwavering, strong, and sincere — 
 
 And ''numbered with the justP^ 
 
 TO MY SERENADERS. 
 
 MISSES ELISE HANSERD, BELLE HANSERD, NELLIE HUDSON, 
 EVA SALISBURY. 
 
 Who, but your own sweet winsome selves. 
 Ye pretty, fluttering, chattering elves. 
 
 My blithesome serenaders — 
 Could bring such merriment and fun. 
 When the day's dull task is done. 
 
 My welcome night-invaders? 
 How joyous is their ringing laughter, 
 
64 
 
 Refreshing, and contagious, after 
 
 Day's dull toil is over — 
 Each with a gladsome greeting word 
 Like chirpings of some cheery bird 
 
 Amid her beds of clover! 
 The world is better, for your being, 
 And I am happier for your seeing, 
 
 And life is brighter far, 
 Because your sweet young lives make lighter 
 Earth, air, and sky! And night is brighter, 
 
 Where shineth, each a star! 
 I love ye. Dearies, every one 
 Who, to the pilgrim woman lone, 
 
 Such delight has brought! 
 Sweet serenaders, come again. 
 Nor is your happy mission vain. 
 
 The magic, you have wrought. 
 
 TO MY GUITAR. 
 
 Wake! once more to strains of gladness 
 
 As I sweep thy sweet chords o'er. 
 Far too long thou'st sung of sadness, 
 
 Wake to gladsome notes once more! 
 Sweet companion! ah, how often 
 
 Hast thou soothed a human heart, 
 Thine the gift to cheer and soften 
 
 Life's sad hours, joy to impart. 
 As the moonlight bathes the earth in 
 
 Radiant glory of her sheen. 
 Unseen hands to Angels' kin 
 
 Paint the wondrous moonlight scene; 
 Or Cco-equal in their might) 
 
 When "stars, the poetry of heaven," 
 Pearls the canopy of night 
 
 With glorious grandeur, surely given 
 To lift our minds and hearts aloft; 
 
 No other strains sound half so sweet. 
 So restful, as the cadence soft, 
 
65 
 
 For joy's ^lad hours or sorrow's meet- 
 Out in the mystic summer nip^ht, 
 
 The breeze cool greetin<^ from afar; 
 Toil is over, sweet and light 
 
 Falls music of the soft Guitar! 
 
 TO LITTLE ELISE SHEPHERD. 
 
 Oh! my Baby! my darling! my wee dimpled elf! 
 My Fairy of Beauty! None like your sweet self, 
 
 None so fair! 
 If I sin, in thus loving, this wee winsome thing; 
 (So tame seem the praises these simple Rhymes sing); 
 
 Dehonaire! 
 She ispiquante and saucy — she's gladsome and gay — 
 Frolicsome, laughing, the whole livelong day 
 
 Is Elise! 
 I kiss her, and pet her, but try not to spoil her — 
 I pray, that no shadow of sin, e'er will soil her. 
 
 Dear Elise! 
 Her eyes are like stars, resplendent to see — 
 Her voice floats like music amid her gay glee 
 
 As she shouts 
 Peals of laughter in her frolic and fun, 
 And e'en when sometimes her song is scarce done 
 
 And she pouts — 
 E'en then — like a rosebud, her dainty red lips. 
 Like a Fairy had touched with the prettiest tips 
 
 Of her brush — 
 She is lovely! Trusting and bright, and oh, so beguiling! 
 Whether sober, or romping, or pouting, or smiling! 
 
 In the hush 
 Of soft sleep, like a cherub reposing [closing. 
 
 With the deep fringed eyelids, o'er those wondrous orbs 
 
 And she sees 
 In her slumbers, those Baby-land wonders, [ponders, 
 And waking, she long on these strange dreams still 
 
 Bonnie Elise! 
 
66 
 
 BABY'S FIRST GRIEF. 
 
 Pit-a-pat-pit, sound the wee feet 
 
 Over the hall floor, into my room — 
 Baby stands in the door-way, cunning and sweet. 
 
 With cheeks like June roses in bloom! 
 "Tee — Moder — tee!" sweetly lisp the lips red — 
 
 Tripping still nearer, 'til close to my side — 
 " Wobbin, mine — Moder," the quaint words she said, 
 
 "Me fine him — Wobin mine! Moder" — she cried! 
 She holds a red Robin, in her small dimpled hand. 
 
 She has found 'neath the tall China tree — 
 Of its berries he ate, and fell down in the sand, 
 
 And Baby, the sprite, is in high glee. 
 On my work table, near me, my sewing I laid — 
 
 In my lap both the birdies I took. 
 As, stroking the feathers of Redbreast, I said: 
 
 Baby, mine, let me take him, and look 
 At your beautiful bird? "No, Wobin mine! ^^ 
 
 She persisted, as loth from her treasure to part — 
 And her face wore a look, strange, divine — 
 
 Like Raphael gives with his magic art 
 To the Child whom the Virgin's arms entwine — 
 
 Soft, pleading, and tender — wistful, and strange 
 Her tresses of gold, with new light seemed to shine — 
 
 Fearing to move, lest the picture would change. 
 Red Robin breathed faintly — I know not why — 
 
 If Baby had clasped her dear treasure too tight, [sigh; 
 Or, if he'd been frightened — he now breathed his last 
 
 Dead! with his plumage so gay, and so bright! 
 Still less do I know where Baby had learned 
 
 Aught of death. As I bent her little form o'er 
 I saw by her streaming eyes, as she turned. 
 
 She knew her pet Robin would return no more! 
 Down from my lap she now softly slipped, [Moder me!" 
 
 And sobbing in grief, "Wobin dead, Moder — Oh, 
 C!asping him tightly, as onward she tripped, 
 
 Nor paused, 'til she reached the old China tree! 
 It was my darling's first feeling of grief — 
 
 I followed behind, in mute sympathy — 
 
67 
 
 She made him a grave, and with wild oak leaf 
 
 And China blossoms, with her hands wee, 
 She covered the tiny little mound ! 
 
 Sophists, away with your dogmas, drear. 
 That childhood ne'er grieves, with your lore profound, 
 
 Baby's first grief was deep and sincere! 
 Came Baby one day, when months many had flown, 
 
 And, I thought, she had forgotten it quite — 
 In one hand she held a wild rose, full blown — 
 
 The other enclosed a Daisy white — 
 " For Wobin's drave, Moder," she softly said. 
 
 Holy is motherhood — God give me the power 
 To guide her aright — was the prayer I prayed. 
 
 God keep her, all tenderly, every hour! 
 I followed once more, my Baby child. 
 
 As she went again to the old China tree, 
 And bending low — Oh! Undefiled ! 
 
 She placed the flowers, with her hands wee, 
 On the mound still there. Sweet and low, I heard, 
 
 ' Dod bess Wobin, and my Moder, too," 
 As she bent o'er the grave of her Robin bird. 
 
 As they fell from her lips, like honey dew! 
 
 TO MRS. VIRGINIA LINDSEY AVOODRUFF. 
 
 Beautiful Lady, since early years 
 Of mine, I've always cherished you! 
 Your character more brightly wears 
 With all that's sweet, and pure, and true! 
 Thy heart teems with that sympathy 
 Christ taught his (earnest) followers here; 
 Thy Christian life, so plain to see. 
 Could only make me love, revere. 
 Whene'er I think of thee, thy name, 
 Could only make thee, friend, more dear, 
 Enduring/ friendship, love to claim. 
 
68 
 
 MY BOUQUET— GATHERED ON THIRD 
 AVENUE. 
 
 to mesdames 
 Sarah Hall Bradley, Anna Jones Pease, 
 
 Cynthia Hart Chappell, Carry Wynne Chancellor, 
 Nettie Dozier Pou, Jennie Dozier Little, 
 
 Nannie Leitner Howard, Pauline Ridgeway Clarke, 
 Susie Welborn Blackmar. 
 Augusta Benning Crawford, 
 Rebecca Flournoy Hamburger, 
 
 and misses 
 Ellie May Bedell, Anne McDougald, 
 
 Emily McDougald, Alma Williams. 
 
 (My Cannas.) 
 Look, at my group of Cannas grand! 
 No handsomer, in all the land; 
 Be ye the representative 
 Of those, who, on this corner, live 
 Sarah Bradleij, with her treasure 
 Little Elizabeth, giving pleasure 
 To all, within this mansion fair. 
 Blessings on them, ever there. 
 * * 
 
 My Bunch of Sweet Peas, 
 honorable mention(?) 
 
 Six varieties, when all are told. 
 
 Eyes sparkling, and laughing, and brimming with fun 
 With faces of cherubs, and tresses of gold, 
 
 A dear precious darling every one — 
 My Bunch of Sweet Peas! 
 Norman, and William, and Leonard, and Jack, 
 
 Vivian, and Henry — a mischievous band — 
 Of romping, and wrestling, and play, no lack, 
 
 The happiest glad group, in all the land. 
 This Bunch of Sweet Peas. 
 I cull from my garden, a lovely bouquet — 
 
69 
 
 Named for these Fairies — (Til have no other) 
 
 Sweet as e'er grows, of the Flowers in May, 
 
 And give this love-token to their darling Mother, 
 Sweet Anna Jones Pease.' 
 
 My Devonieusis Rose. 
 My grand Devonieusis pi?i^ 
 
 Will be her emblem here, I think — 
 Graceful it hangs, so sweet and pure 
 
 And long the odors, blooms, endure, 
 And one fair bud, like pale sea-shell, 
 
 Baby Loretta's name shall spell! 
 Dear Cynthia Chappell, wear those Flowers — 
 
 In early Spring, and Summer's hours. 
 Through all the Autumn, still they bloom; 
 
 Pray, near thy heart, dear, give them room. 
 
 * ^ * 
 * 
 
 My Pink Moss-Rose Bud. 
 
 Have you met today, my pink moss-rose? 
 
 Opening, and showing its colors fair — 
 Quaintly, its soft hues disclose, 
 
 Scenting the earlv Springtime air. 
 'Tis beautiful Elite May Bedell— 
 
 A winsome girl, a Columbus Belle, 
 Dainty and charming, blithesome is she, 
 
 Good for the eyes, and heart, to see ! 
 
 * , * 
 * 
 
 My Passaflora, 
 
 One day when weary at the Car wayside 
 
 Waiting to take my Homeward w^ay — 
 
 Passing near me, as I sat, I spied 
 
 A woman's face, to scan it well, I tried. 
 
 For 'twas divinely sweet! so 'I asked one 
 
 Who sat beside me (gazing still that face upon) 
 
 "Tell me, of her who passed, her name? 
 
 Susie Welborn Blackrnar, came 
 
 The answer — and I said, her face 
 
70 
 
 Is lovely, wistful, gentle 'tis, and sweet 
 
 As a Madonna's! and so, 'tis meet 
 
 To call her Passiflora — one for her and Baby wee, 
 
 So I send these Flowers to her, from me ! 
 
 * ^ * 
 
 My Bridesmaid's Roses. 
 See! how these Roses gleam in light, 
 
 What splendid color — odors rare! 
 Than Anne and Emily, not more bright 
 
 Or beautifal, or fair! 
 
 My Crimson Rambler Rose. 
 Have you seen the "Crimson Rambler," 
 That quaint, new blushing Rose? 
 Have you watched the lovely blossoms, 
 In the sunlight as it glows? 
 See it, and then tell me truly 
 If it be not sweet CanHe^s type. 
 With her rich, full noontide beauty 
 Like those blossoms hanging ripe? 
 
 My Apple Blossom. 
 I'm glad you've come, this Summer, 
 
 Nannie, my neighbor for to be; 
 I love your pleasant company, 
 
 And cheerful face to see! 
 So merry, chatting, as you are, 
 
 And little "toddling" too; 
 When you return to town again. 
 
 Whatever shall I do? 
 Take thou, these Apjjle blossoms pure, 
 
 Were any, ever so sweet? 
 A cluster apiece of blossoms fair, 
 
 Nannie and Baby to greet! 
 
71 
 
 My LaFrance Rose. 
 Bring the LaFranee, for my Gussie dear, 
 
 PiD it, amid her waves of soft hair! 
 Her own cheek's roses are blooming near! 
 
 LaFrance— just see, to your laurels there 
 
 My Star Jasimines. 
 
 TO MESDAMES NETTIE DOZIER POU AND JENNIE 
 DOZIER LITTLE. 
 
 Mothers dear, the brave Spartan dames 
 
 Gave their sons to battle field, 
 "On Honors scroll, inscribe your names 
 
 Or, come back, on your shields." 
 But you, dear Friends, have given your's, 
 Your darling, lovely, early Dead 
 
 To Heaven itself ! Sorrow o'erpowers 
 
 And clouds your lives, now dark o'erspread 
 
 But weep not, for in future years, 
 
 When Time, your grief shall soften, 
 Mayhap, these mournful, tender tears, 
 
 May turn to Pearls— and, 'though ye often 
 And always, dears, must miss your Dead, 
 
 Yet, in the silent hush of night, 
 A strange sweet benediction, softly said 
 
 By Angels, shall pour down its light 
 Into your mourning hearts. Did you not give 
 
 Them, e'er yet, to thein, griefs were unknown. 
 Or sin? In Life's bright mo7^n, they live 
 
 In Heaven. In beauty have their young lives flown 
 Not to the silent tomb, forgetfulness or dreams, 
 
 Or any vain regrets, but, to our Savio?^'s breast, 
 Where Light of Love immortal, fadeless gleams. 
 
 In the Home of sweet eternal Best! 
 Take, dears, these blossoms, purely sweet, and fair. 
 The quaint Star Jasmines, nestling tenderly; 
 
 Plant it around their graves— just "over there^^ 
 
 And let them bloom, in love, for aye! 
 
72 
 
 My Pansies. 
 Fair Becca Hamburger, quaint, petite. 
 And wee Baby Flom^noy, cunning and sweet! 
 My Pansies they are, expressive of love. 
 Fair as the skies, in the blue Heavens above ! 
 
 Come back, dear Becca, to our Wildwood Drive; 
 Baby, out he7^e, will much better thrive! 
 Come! build your own home, near fair ''Hill Grest,^^ 
 Where, in summers, you and Baby can rest! 
 
 My American Beauty Rose. 
 Dark and rich, in her regal splendor, 
 Lustrous eyes, and beautiful face. 
 Sweet Alma Williams, so much admired, 
 Her lovely type, I readily trace — 
 So beautiful! glowing with light and warmth 
 In the dark American Beauty Rose, 
 As it proudly lifts its graceful stem, 
 Its petals grand, to disclose! 
 * , * 
 
 My White Roman Hyacinths. 
 How sweetly pure, these blossoms white. 
 Blooming around, when all is drear! 
 Take them, Pauline, to where the ground 
 Keeps of your heart, what is most dear! 
 For her, the youthful daughter fair, 
 Just in the blush of maidenhood — 
 Why did Death, lay his sycle there? 
 Ah, who can shew us any good? 
 Dear Friend, with heart and soul bowed down. 
 We cannot tell! We only know 
 'Tis not a loving Father's frown — 
 ' Tis not in wrath, this fatal blow; 
 We know, dear Pauline, that for her, 
 Your own sweet Laura idolized. 
 And to your heart, far lovelier 
 Than aught on Earth — more dearly prized! 
 
78 
 
 Life's sun rose cloudless, faded while 
 Yet the glow, its beauty fair retained. 
 Knowing not, or grief, or any guile. 
 Her blissful Home eternal, gained! 
 
 TO MISS MARY HANSERD. 
 
 How much we all miss you. Dearie, 
 
 So gentle, beautiful; 
 So dear thy presence is, to me 
 
 Never stale or dull. 
 Exquisitely refined, I love 
 
 Companionship to share 
 With thee; and Music's gift is thine — 
 
 A girl divinely rare! 
 Mary, thy soft and liquid name 
 
 Falls sweetl}^ on my ear. 
 When e'er I hear it, do I wish 
 
 To keep thee always hei^e — 
 Columbus ill can spare thee, pet — 
 
 Thy beauty, or thy grace 
 In Memr'y's mirror, bright and clear, 
 
 I often see thy face ! 
 
 THREE BEAUTIFUL BRIDES. 
 
 to mesdames 
 Mary Fontaine Pou, Willie Redd Crowell. 
 
 Rebecca Flournoy Hamburc^er. 
 The first, was a vision of beauty 
 
 A blonde, a vision fair 
 Indeed — With bridal veil, all flowing, 
 
 And silken gown, so rare, 
 Of spotless white, the dreamj^ vision 
 
 Her blue eyes, pearly skin, 
 Her light blonde hair, her sweeping train — 
 
 Ah! was she not akin 
 To Angels? Then came the sweet Brunette 
 The second Bride so fair, 
 
 (3b) 
 
74 
 
 With eyes all luminous, like stars, 
 
 And dark, rich, glossy hair! 
 And snowy veil, and silken robe, 
 
 A train superbly grand. 
 All gracefully she glided, holding 
 
 In her trembling, dainty hand 
 Bride's Roses, like the first fair Bride 
 
 I told you of just now; 
 Fair Orange clusters clasped the veil 
 
 Upon her fair young brow! 
 And then the third in beauty came 
 
 Nor blonde, nor yet brunette — 
 Eyes changeful blue to grey, and hair 
 
 Not very light, nor yet 
 Was it, dark as the second Bride's, 
 
 Tresses of light brown hue. 
 Her low sweet, thoughtful brow adorned 
 
 Beneath the veil, seen through 
 Enveloped in a flowing cloud 
 
 Of gossamer, it seemed 
 Falling all o'er the silken gown. 
 
 Fairer than I had dreamed, 
 Holding the lovely Bride's bouquet 
 
 Of roses spotless white. 
 Where trailing tendrils touched the floor 
 
 Almost, and yet, not quite. 
 All beautiful they all three looked, 
 
 How could I e'er decide 
 Which of the three most beautiful, 
 
 Or which, the loveliest Binde? 
 All happy be, their pathways; blest 
 
 In all, hearts could desire! 
 Pure and eternal, brightly burn 
 
 Their altar's purest fire! 
 
 TO MRS. MATTIE FLOURNOY ADAMS. 
 
 Dear gentle friend of mine, 
 A strange sweet spell of thine. 
 My heart 
 
75 
 
 Enthralls, and knits to thee ! 
 When e'er thy face I see, 
 
 A dart 
 Of tenderest yearning, Dear, 
 Pervades my soul, so near! 
 
 For thou 
 Remind'st me of another — 
 My darling, j^f^^cioas Mother! 
 
 Thy brow, 
 Thine eyes, and gentle mien, 
 Bring to my heart a sheen 
 
 Of deep. 
 Sweet, tenderest memories — 
 Embalmed with love, and sighs, 
 
 I keep 
 In my soul's whitest cell! 
 I thank thee, for this spell. 
 
 Dear friend! 
 For this, I love thee well, 
 How fondly, none can tell! 
 
 And blend 
 Thine image in my heart 
 As, of herself, almost a part ! 
 
 And, then, 
 Your oion sweet self charms me ! 
 Your loving spirit warms me 
 
 I ken! 
 Sweet! Gentle! Tender! True! 
 I send this leaf to you. 
 
 And say : 
 While life, for us remains. 
 All sweetness, it contains, 
 
 I pray 
 May on your head descend! 
 If sorrow, with it blend, 
 
 May you, 
 Dear, always truly find 
 A heart as soft, as kind, 
 
 And true. 
 
76 
 
 As in my sorrow, Dear, 
 You've always been! Whene'er 
 
 In dreams 
 I call dear ones to mind, 
 Your image, love, I'll find 
 
 With gleams 
 Of loving tenderness! 
 With gentle heart's caress ! 
 
 I'd fling 
 Bright roses 'long thy way! 
 And to thy memory, for aye, 
 
 I cling! 
 
 TO MESDAMES MITTIE CHAPMAN MOTT AND MARY LOU 
 MOTT WOODRUFF. 
 
 How saucy, dear Mittie, you surely have grown, 
 About those precious Grand children of your's! 
 (Now, donH quote the adage of "Glass houses and stones") 
 But keep all such warnings right in your own doors! 
 But those children are handsome — magnificent — Dear! 
 And, when Mary Lou takes them out together, there 
 Are none more beautiful, none that outshine. 
 Except — (now, Mittie, don't box me!) except only mine! 
 Your two handsome boys, surely look like wee Pinnces, 
 And all the demeanor of each one evinces 
 That careful home training already is their's — 
 For that changeless sign, e'en childhood wears. 
 If Mary Lou's manners upon them descend, 
 And Grandmama^s virtues, also, sweetly blend — 
 Why, then, Mittie dear — they'll almost compare 
 With my three little cherubs, so brilliant and fair! 
 May your dear boys grow up to comfort and cheer — 
 Growing better, and sweeter, and brighter, each year! 
 Adhere to your counsels, so timely and sage, 
 And solace your lives, ''even down to old age!^^ 
 
77 
 
 TO MRS. LEVISA CATCHTNGS CHAMBERLAIN, OF ATLANTA. 
 
 Two little children, in Life's rosy May! 
 
 Over the gardens and hillside at play! 
 
 Gathering roses, and apples, and — joy! 
 
 Life is a dream, without any alloy, 
 
 Levisa, and I, in those yem^s long ago! 
 
 Was ev^er a spring as pure as the flow 
 
 Of that village resort? was ever a glow 
 
 Like those skies overhead? or a rill 
 
 At foot of the steep violet decked hill? 
 
 Like those, our childhood knew so well? 
 
 How we romped, and gamboled, none can tell — 
 
 Were ever such May-day festivals? 
 
 Were ever such merry shouts and calls 
 
 In the old play-ground 'round the old walls 
 
 Of that village school house? Did ever halls 
 
 Resound with such happy laughter, and fun, 
 
 Those glorious, merry May days, upon? 
 
 Were ever two children as happy as we! 
 
 Dressed all in white, the Queen's Rosebuds to be! 
 
 Our dresses, and tresses, like dreams to see 
 
 With beautiful rosebuds, and green, entwined! 
 
 When, our young hearts had n'er divined 
 
 Aught of life, save joy! And how^ we scattered 
 
 Bright flowers for our Queen! If they shattered, 
 
 In falling, their roseate leaves, did we read 
 
 Any prophecy silent, of coming years? Did we heed 
 
 Any warning? Not we! Angels on high 
 
 Were better — not happier — than you and I! 
 
 If those years went quick, and tJiese years come fast, 
 
 And parted your life and mine, wide, at last — 
 
 If, after long years, when I met thee again — 
 
 After much grief, disappointment, and pain, 
 
 If, when you, Dear, led me, hand in hand. 
 
 To the portrait of her, now gone to the land 
 
 Of the fadeless years, your own little girl — 
 
 Now safe from the risks of life's busy whirl — 
 
 And, softly told me : "I gave her your name; 
 
 For, never in life did another claim, 
 
78 
 
 Dear Friend, the love for you I possess!" 
 Such love, and devotion, I had not guessed! 
 And I felt, as I looked on that young lovely face 
 Of the little one there, not a shadow, or trace, 
 Or suggestion of aught, but pure happiness — 
 If, for some moments, we could not suppress 
 Some silent tears — as the flood of years 
 Came back, in the freshness it always wears 
 To my tender heart — still, I could not regret. 
 While gazing there, on your heart's early pet, 
 Your child's early death. Had she not lived, 
 And blossomed, and died — had she not thrived 
 On all that was beautiful, precious, and blest, 
 'Ere sin, or sorrow — disappointment, had guessed 
 In your beautiful home, where she blossomed, and died? 
 Where you mourned, dear heart, the cofiin, beside. 
 Her spirit still lingers to lead, and to bless 
 With an Angel's tender, pleading caress! 
 She hath missed all of sorrow she might have known! 
 How sweetly, for her, hath life's sun gone down! 
 But my namesake lives, in joy, " Over there!" 
 She hath crossed the River, to regions, where 
 Life's May days never end! Where evey- grows 
 ,In freshness many a blushing Ma3^-day Rose, 
 Ere yet one single shadow dimmed the light 
 Of her fair life — fresh with the glow, and bright 
 With all that love and fondness could bestow. 
 She passed from Earth to Heaven's eternal glow! 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. ' 
 
 IN LOVING MEMORY OF MY DARLING MOTHER, MRS. L. A. 
 DE LAUNAY, WHO ENTERED INTO HEAVENLY REST 
 
 OCTOBER 20tii, 1892. 
 
 " Ah ! for the touch of a vanished hand 
 And the sound of a voice that is still!" 
 
 What mystic sadness tints the air. 
 
 And flower-decked plains and meadows fair 
 
 Amid the perfumed roses rare 
 
 Of this clear, bright October ? 
 
79 
 
 Whence comes such plaintive song- of bird, 
 
 So late with notes of gladness stirred? 
 
 It seems but yesterday I heard 
 
 All joyous, gladsome greetings. 
 
 Something from out my life has gone; 
 
 Ah! desolation dark and lone, 
 
 Have all thine echoes floated down 
 
 Into the vast Forever? 
 
 Mother! thy child's heart grieves for thee! 
 
 Far, far into Eternity 
 
 Fain would I stretch mine eyes to see 
 
 Thy form all glorified! 
 
 Dark o'er me waves of sorrow roll; 
 
 Sharp thorns pierce hard mine inmost soul. 
 
 Is there no haven of promised goal? 
 
 No anchor past these billows? 
 
 The desolation sweeping o'er 
 
 My life, distresses thee no more! 
 
 Beyond the vistas of the unseen shore 
 
 My Angel beckons me! 
 
 Ah! may I come, with heart and soul refined 
 
 And purified! Not kenned by worldly mind 
 
 Is sorrow's mission — only defined 
 
 By Faith, and Love, and Hope! 
 
 Wet with affection's holiest tears 
 
 The love of all my life long years, 
 
 Whose every thought of thee endears 
 
 A spotless memory. 
 
 Upon thy grave this wreath I place, 
 
 As with a tender, gentle grace 
 
 Sweet memories cluster round and trace 
 
 Thy life's untarnished record! 
 
 So true and gentle, pure and good, 
 
 Fair type of loveliest womanhood, 
 
 I would not. Darling, if I could, 
 
 Bear to thee my heart's burden! 
 
 Fain would I rather pray that thou 
 
 My guardian angel may'st be now. 
 
 A heavenly halo round thy brow 
 
80 
 
 And in thy hands palm branches. 
 
 Watch o'er me, love, and guide me, for not long 
 
 Will be the time ere I shall join in song 
 
 With thee amid that Angel throng — ' 
 
 The song of God's immortal! 
 
 Lead thou me on, still upward, nearer, 
 
 Linked with thy spirit — dearer 
 
 E'en than when on earth — wearer 
 
 Not of cross, but crown! 
 
 Saviour of mercy, love and might, 
 
 Lead me all safely through life's darksome night. 
 
 All tenderly and gently into light 
 
 Ineffable beyond! 
 
 Beyond time's swiftly changeful years, 
 
 Beyond all shadows, griefs and tears, 
 
 Into the peaceful calm of those bright spheres. 
 
 Illumined by thy presence! 
 
 MY ROSE. 
 
 In my garden of roses rare. 
 Amid ten thousand blossoms fair. 
 Perfuming all the soft May air 
 
 Exquisitely, 
 At early sunrise or evening's close, 
 Its own pure incense sweet, bestows 
 On all around — so lovely grows 
 
 My own rose-tree ! 
 By hallowed dreams of Long Ago — 
 By all the years that ebb and flow — 
 By all the memories / love so, 
 
 I claim it mine! 
 Beneath my Mother'^ window-seat — 
 (Oh, years so fair! dear years so fleet! 
 Of fragrance cherished, holy, sweet 
 
 Of loves divine!) 
 A sweet, old-fashioned, rose-tree grew. 
 Whose blossoms laden with the dew 
 
81 
 
 Of crimson morn, I kiased, and knew 
 
 That rose as mine! 
 A prattling child of four years old 
 I watched the petals pink unfold 
 Amid >^uch dews, impearled with g'old 
 
 Of bright sunshine ! 
 This very month, the month of May, 
 (Oh, Heart! it seems but yesterdcuj 
 That scene of "May-day," fair and gay) 
 
 Our Royal Queen, 
 Appointed me her "Rosebud" fair 
 Amid that band so debonair e, 
 With flower-decked dress and flowing hair 
 
 Of sunny sheen! 
 We strewed the flowers her path along. 
 And gay with many a merry song 
 That scene sought to prolong, 
 
 Oh, happy band! 
 Clusters of rosebuds graced my dress, 
 And shone amid each shining tress, 
 Placed there with many a fond caress, 
 
 By her dear hand! 
 And then, again, (I mind it well — 
 For me it holds a mystic spell 
 Too deep for pen or words to tell) 
 
 My Father strained 
 Me to his heart and bade me cull 
 My little apron over full — 
 And while 1 reached my hands to pull, 
 
 His kisses rained 
 All thick and fast upon my head 
 And face. Ah! love divinely fed 
 By depths unsounded, and unsaid, 
 
 For tenderness I 
 Years afterward, when Sorrow's night 
 Enveloped my whole life — E'en sight 
 And sound, grew awful in their might, 
 
 My soul t' oppress. 
 When Childhood lost in Woman's years, 
 
 (4) 
 
82 
 
 1 knelt — each hope that Childhood weaves 
 Dispelled! I knelt in silent tears 
 
 Of bitterness 
 Beside the rose-tree of my Childhood's life, 
 Still with its buds and blossoms rife, 
 Unmindful of these storms and strire, 
 
 Whose hard impress 
 Crushed all my life with black despair — 
 God grant that some Repentance there 
 Dwelt in that agony of prayer 
 
 And duty stern! 
 Bathing the rose-tree with my tears 
 Mocked by " The Music of the spheres " 
 'Mid all the glory that the moonlight wears 
 
 Yainly to yearn 
 For all that ne'er could come again! 
 The echo of the years' refrain 
 Replied to all my prayer and pain 
 
 My heart to burn I * * * 
 Oh! sweet, old-fashioned, quaint rose-tree I 
 Bloom on, and on, for aye, for me! 
 'Till Life's swift river meet the sea, 
 
 Whose surges turn 
 To all Eternity! 'til Rest, 
 And Peace, shall crown as last behest 
 With Requium for the peaceful breast 
 
 Of Victory won! * * * 
 I, sometimes, in my dreamings, wonder 
 If, in that fair clime ''Over Yonder, ^^ 
 Where loving ties are never rent asunder, 
 
 When life is done — 
 And Time, and faded roses here 
 Give place to Flowers fair, "Up there" — 
 Whose leaves have never felt a tear — 
 
 If there grows 
 In Heaven a Flower more sweet than this, 
 Of Woman's tears and Childhood's bliss I 
 Sealed be its mem'ries with hallowed kiss, 
 
 My Mother's Rose! 
 
83 
 ESQUILINE. 
 
 TO MESDAMES BELLE MOSES LEVY, AND 
 NINA MOSES ROBINSON. 
 
 Fair Esquiline! On golden wings, 
 With song as sweet as bird e'er sings, 
 
 My spirit takes 
 Beyond the weird horizon's line, 
 To cherished hill of Esquiline, 
 
 Its groves and lakes! 
 Ah! fitly named ''The Poet's Hill,'' 
 With forests, cav^erns, rocks and rill — 
 
 And ancient Rome 
 Ne'er knew, nor joy, nor revelry, 
 Nor lovelier scenery might you see 
 
 From lofty dome 
 In far historic Italy, 
 Than broad expanse, boundless and free, 
 
 Ungirt by line 
 Of man's intrusion, glen and glade 
 Glintings of sunshine, forest, shade. 
 
 Of Esquiline! 
 Ah! Esquiline! quaint Esquiline! 
 Is it so long since once were mine 
 
 Those years, all crowned 
 With all that youth and beauty give? 
 Those years, when joy meant but to live! 
 
 When all around, 
 Of sky, and air, and waterfall, 
 And singing bird, their gladsome all 
 
 Seemed to bestow! 
 And life, a dream, was fair and bright, 
 Gilded with fairy, shimmering light 
 
 Of crimson glow! 
 Those "moonlight picnics" where, so oft 
 Beneath the radiance clear and soft 
 
 Of Luna's light, 
 As bands played on the evening air. 
 Bright forms of women, beauteous, fair, 
 
 Each with her knight 
 
84 
 
 Of Southern chivalry, while 
 Every hill and gladsome rill 
 
 Of Esquiline 
 Resounded with the ring of dance 
 And music! Scene of wild romance 
 
 Is thine! 
 Gone are those knights of Southrons bold, 
 And, with them, the romance of old; 
 
 For cruel war, 
 With clarion call, their duty claimed; 
 And, though unwritten, or not famed 
 
 In annals far, 
 Each name may not recorded be, 
 Nor shafts of immortality 
 
 Their columns rear. 
 Deep down where valor owns her part. 
 Embalmed within a nation's heart 
 
 With woman's tear, 
 Each Southern soldier lives forever. 
 Forgotten, or neglected, never! 
 
 Without a peer, 
 Their hallowed memories we enshrine. 
 And nurse them with a love divine. 
 
 Tender and dear. 
 Dear Albert Luria! Brother! Friend! 
 How many blessed memories blend! 
 
 And if some tears 
 Shall on this page so softly fall, 
 So like bright pearls they gleam (for all 
 
 Those happy years), 
 I could not brush the tears away. 
 But silently would bid them stay. 
 
 Nor feel the page 
 Were sullied as they lay thereon! 
 I pause to think how very soon 
 
 Is passed the age! 
 In this strange world, how brief 
 Its changeful course! The golden sheaf 
 
 Seems culled almost 
 
85 
 
 Before the blade of springtime green 
 Is quite unfolded. Sorrow keen 
 
 For those we lost 
 In those eventful, mournful years 
 Of cruel war; and silent tears 
 
 We sadly shed 
 For those so early lost, so dearly loved! 
 Come once again, nor all unmoved 
 
 We hear the trea,d 
 Of bygone mem'ries; in the hush 
 Of those dim corridors, the flush 
 
 Of bouyant youth 
 And early manhood's chivalry, 
 The eager, flashing, daring eye, 
 
 Inspired by truth 
 Of honor's cause, of knighthood brave, 
 Of patriotism, whose grand wave 
 
 Swept o'er our land. 
 Our loyal, brave, chivalric South! 
 And, plighting to her cause their troth, 
 
 Gave their right hand 
 In token of their pledge, and said: 
 "Be this my lordly accotade,^^ 
 
 "Upon this shield 
 Let me return with victory, 
 Or else, defending Right, I'll die 
 
 Upon the field!" 
 Dear Allie, that was thirty years ago, 
 (How swiftly does Time's current flow 
 
 With change replete), 
 When, on this fair midsummer's day, 
 I walked amid the flowers so gay, 
 
 And bright, and fair, and sweet, 
 And strolled adown the steep hillside 
 To valley low, where violets hide 
 
 And tangled fern; 
 Still on, to where a lonely spot 
 Tells lovingly thou'rt not forgot; 
 
 In memory's urn 
 
86 
 
 Thy loved and hallowed dust is sleeping! 
 And, Ihou above, thy meed art reaping — 
 
 The soldie7^^s crown! 
 Upon the slab the red sun shines, 
 And gilds the mournful tear-kissed lines 
 
 Of thy renown! 
 At ''Seven Fines, ^^ while gallantly 
 Defending Home and Liherti/! 
 
 That cannon ball 
 Thy grave so near, with eloquence 
 Tells of the charge, the brave defence. 
 
 Far more than all 
 The poetry of pen, or tears; 
 And, sounding down through countless years. 
 
 Infinitely, 
 The echo of thy deeds rolls on. 
 Long after we, its meaning con 
 
 All silently! 
 Another form by Alliens side is seen. 
 Twin Brother H, save in blood, I ween, 
 
 3Iii own, and only Brother! 
 Dear, darling Harry! Brother mine, 
 I draw the veil; the light would shine 
 
 Too rudely! Other 
 Mem'ries come, which I must bid 
 Depart; and I must close the lid 
 
 Of casket rare! 
 How well do I remember when 
 
 Ye twain bade me adieu; and then, 
 
 (Oh, Saviour spare 
 Me the penning of the tidings drear), 
 The death-knell fell too sadly on mine ear 
 
 And aching heart! 
 The one at "Seven Pines^^ (dear Allie) slain; 
 The other, precious Hai^ry, 'ere a stain 
 
 Of sin had part, 
 Or grief had entered in his life — 
 On manhood's threshold, 'ere the strife 
 
 Had scarce begun — : 
 
87 
 
 While full of promise, glory, hope, 
 The cycle of his horoscope 
 
 Its span had run! 
 Both gave the freshness of their glorious youth; 
 Eight, Honor, Chivalry and Truth, 
 
 Inscribed upon 
 (With all the love a Southern nation gives, 
 And tenderness in woman's tears, that lives) 
 
 Their grand esciitcheonl 
 Dear Esquiline! fair Esquiline! 
 Thy caverns lone, or scenes divine 
 
 From hilltop fair. 
 Empurpled, clustered vineyards vast. 
 Forests so grand, and flowers! thou hast 
 
 A spell so rare 
 And potent on my woman's soul, 
 That all the years which swiftly roll 
 
 Can never take 
 One tiny leaflet from the page 
 Of memory! Approaching age 
 
 One tendril shake 
 From the fair garland, close enshrined, 
 Deep in my heart, and soul, and mind! 
 
 To her who sways 
 Such gentle, lovely, magic power — 
 Its present mistress — whose rich dower 
 
 Of gracious ways 
 And influence seem to shed 
 A sweet aroma — all unsaid 
 
 Or told by pen — 
 I dedicate this simple lay. 
 Mellowed by memory's soft array! 
 
 And often when 
 In thought the golden days of yore — 
 ("Alas! the days that are no more,") 
 
 None brighter shine 
 Than those with crimson glory blent — 
 Those hours so gladsome, that I spent 
 
 At Esquiline! 
 
MY BLONDE AND BRUNETTE. 
 
 TO MISSES MAY AND CLIFFORD LAYFIELD 
 
 (My Little God-Children.) 
 
 Two little girls, my pretty dears! 
 
 Rosebuds, in childhood's happy years! 
 
 One with her eyes of brightest blue, 
 
 Where light shines from her soul on you; 
 
 With golden locks of sunny hair, 
 
 And cheeks all rosy, fresh and fair! 
 
 One with eyes like stars at night, 
 
 Sparkling and giving rays of light; 
 
 Long lashes fringed and black as jet, 
 
 And curly hair of rich brunette; 
 
 And both can sing like golden bells 
 
 That steal so softly through the dells. 
 
 Both are lovely, rich in store 
 
 Of loving heart and mental lore, 
 
 And very dear are both to me. 
 
 Giving my life sweet joy to see; 
 
 My lovely blonde and dark brunette. 
 
 Each is my darling, each my pet! 
 
 My own God-children — beautiful. 
 
 Hel]) me, dear Christ, to help them cull 
 
 The truest sweets of this rich earth. 
 
 To seek life's real, lasting worth; 
 
 To early turn their thoughts to Thee, 
 
 A life of love and purity! 
 
 A solace each to father, mother, 
 
 A comfort always to each other! 
 
 The Christian's life on earth to share. 
 
 The Christian's /acZeZe.ss ivreath to wear! 
 
 Grant that we all may meet in Heaven 
 
 These children sweet, that Thou hast given. 
 
 TO MISS LUCY BLANDFORD. 
 
 'Tis not alone, dear Lucy, 
 Thy cultured, classic mind — 
 'Tis not alone the heritage 
 
89 
 
 Of intellect I find 
 So charming in thee, dear, 
 Bat thy unselfishness, 
 Mingled with gentle deeds 
 And daily cheerfulness. 
 Home's special magnet, thou, 
 With countless ministrations 
 For those within that home. 
 Receiving thy heart's libations! 
 Tributes of love are all thy care — 
 Father, Auntie and Brother! 
 For them, in all this world. 
 Like thee, there is no other! 
 Give me the girl, domestic, kind. 
 Her icorth is gold, I ken, 
 Her duplicate is hard to find, 
 She^s the true heroine! 
 
 TO MISS SALLIE CLEGHORN. 
 (On receiving a beautiful pearl-handle pen, brought from the Exposition.) 
 
 How dainty is thy gift, dear friend; 
 
 How sweet the generous thought 
 That prompted you this gift to send, 
 
 In chastest beauty wrought. 
 I thank thee, dear, a thousand times, 
 
 Because you thought of me 
 When absent. Paltry seems my rhymes, 
 
 In lieu of this to thee. 
 Yet Sallie, dear, my heart has learned 
 
 In life's vast wilderness, 
 (As often for affection yearned, 
 
 Sometimes a dear caress 
 Has found,) to value every tender token 
 
 Of friendship here below — 
 A hand's warm pressure, kind words spoken. 
 
 Whatever friends bestow! 
 I write this tribute with the pen 
 
 Inspired by thee, the power, 
 
90 
 
 And beg you, dear, that sometimes when 
 
 In solitary hour 
 You sit, and idly muse upon 
 
 The friends who love you well, 
 Your glance may chance to fall upon 
 
 My rhyme's kind, friendly spell. 
 You'll give one loving thought to her 
 
 Who, when her memory strays 
 To those she loves to oft refer. 
 
 Beneath remembrance's rays, 
 May my name sweetly there return 
 
 And gild the page with love! 
 No matter, friend, if cold the urn, 
 
 Or if afar I rove, 
 Still think of me, all kindly friend, 
 
 As one who, all through life. 
 Sweet, loving thoughts of thee did blend 
 
 With kindest mem'ries rife! 
 And when our struggling days shall end. 
 
 The life-long battle cease. 
 All peaceful be its close, sweet friend — 
 
 Exultant our release! 
 This pearly pen-staff 'minds me, friend, 
 
 Of thine own pure, white soul; 
 An inspiration seems to blend. 
 
 And o'er these pages roll; 
 An inspiration given by thee. 
 
 My pure and white-souled friend; 
 So may it rest in love on me, 
 
 My thoughts with it to blend! 
 
 TO MRS. MARY BROWNE SLADE. 
 
 If I sought for a perfect womanhood 
 As mother, to "warn, command," 
 
 As wife, all lovely, pure and good, 
 
 Where, tell me, in all this Southern land. 
 
 Would I seek for better than thee? 
 
 As daughter, all sweetest obedience, love! 
 
91 
 
 What more in womanhood's scale can be 
 
 To fit thee, dear, for the angels above? 
 I love to hear thy soft, rippling voice; 
 
 What sunshine in thy laughter! 
 It seems to say, "Oh, heart, rejoice!" 
 
 In the years that may come after. 
 And the Autumn's purple, dappled, brown, 
 
 Gleam where youth's splendor reigneth now. 
 And the Springtime mellows down 
 
 Into life's ''ajtermath,^'' thy brow 
 Mayhap wear tresses tinged with grey 
 
 Where now the soft, dark locks entwine, 
 May all life's cares be lightly laughed away, 
 
 Love's friendship coronal be sweetly thine! 
 
 TO MRS. CORNELIA BACON OSBORNE. 
 
 Where shall I find a fitting flower 
 For the regal woman we claim our own? 
 Wielding her grand, majestic power 
 With gentle mien and mellow tone; 
 Queen of Columbus' Society, 
 Leading her votaries at her sway. 
 Her beauty, her quiet dignity 
 Win admiration, respect always. 
 How much Society to her owes, 
 This queenly woman, so fair and gay; 
 Suggesting, planning, accompanying those 
 Who love to bow to her potent spell. 
 Where in our Southland shall I seek, 
 O'er flowery meadow, garden and dell, 
 To find a flower her praise to speak? 
 I'll claim of the forest its queen. 
 Stately mistress of Southern flowers; 
 Oh, grand Magnolia! thou, I ween, 
 Art the flower I seek, in gladsome bowers 
 Of beaut}^ wild. Thy regal bloom 
 Shall be her type! Lofty and sweet. 
 Dispersing every shadow of gloom, 
 I hail thee as emblem meet! 
 
92 
 
 TO MISSES CLARK. 
 
 A bunch of roses, all pink and white, 
 
 Merry as the day; 
 Cheerful hearts and laughter light, 
 
 Blushes fresh as May. 
 Lillian, Mamie, Lucy, Annie! fair throng! 
 
 Like butterflies so gay. 
 Making music all day long; 
 
 What a bright array! 
 Home's sweet tasks no irksome duty. 
 
 No dull care — not they! 
 Making their life a scene of beauty. 
 
 Laughter and talk so gay. 
 I challenge the world to find a set 
 
 Of sisters more au fait 
 In home's own true accomplishments, 
 
 What more can I say? 
 
 TO MISS MAY WELLS. 
 
 Lovely, gentle, fair and sweet. 
 
 Like breath of Summer Roses, 
 All the incense, there complete. 
 
 This charming girl discloses! 
 Give me, her face, for model true 
 
 To paint an Angel pure. 
 For lasting worth, there are but few. 
 
 Whose charms like her's endure ! 
 
 TO MISSES MABEL PHELPS AND GERTRUDE PHELPS. 
 
 I never see ye, my darlings. 
 
 But your sainted mother's face 
 Comes to me, in its beauty — 
 
 As I, your features trace — 
 And, it gives my heart such pleasure 
 
 To see in your loveliness 
 The Mother^s "mantle," resting there; 
 
 Her gift, to charm, and bless 1 
 
93 
 
 Be like he7\ in your lives, dear girls, 
 
 In piety and love, 
 And she will sweetly echo in 
 
 Her glorious Home above, 
 All of your aspirations, dears — 
 
 Your lofty purposes 
 And efforts. Seek her virtues rare, 
 
 And sweetness to possess ! 
 
 WILDWOOD. 
 
 TO MRS. ANNIE LEONARD GARRARD. 
 
 Shall I paint this lovely, precious friend 
 
 As you see her now, fair and blest? 
 Her cheeks the rose and lily blend — 
 In her dark eyes no looi^Ws unrest 
 
 Doth coldly lurk — but lustrous, tender, sweet, 
 Their living warmth, and life, and light, complete! 
 I'll paint her first, as first I saw — 
 
 A little girl, with plaited hair 
 Of such a wealth, that one might draw 
 Those braids so dark and wondrous rare 
 
 All round, and round again that shapely head — 
 Those braids that seemed by radiant sunlight fed! 
 Stood the old school house, from the road 
 
 Away, embedded in tall trees 
 Of oak, and hickory — dense wood. 
 
 Thick copse, and vines — one seldom sees 
 
 A grander grove than where once proudly stood 
 The Wynnton girls' school house, in tangled wood. 
 Not, as a pupil, then did come 
 
 This pretty child— but, just (at least 
 So it did seem to me), for some 
 
 Of us 'big girls" to have a kissing feast — 
 We fondled, calling her by many a name 
 Endearing — and yet, they all just meant the same, 
 Sweet, Annie Leonard! Little pet 
 
 And darling! Years all swiftly rolled 
 
94 
 
 Along. Nor can I e'er forget 
 
 IIow soon this bud did seem t' unfold 
 
 Its pure, fresh loveliness, at fair Wildwood, 
 Fit name for Homestead, as it quaintly stood 
 Environed by those rims of hills 
 
 And forest grand — with many a spring 
 Of water, pure, where murmuring rills 
 Gave as their tuneful offering 
 
 Soft serenades in Summertime — at hush of night 
 And, nature clothed the scene with pure delight! 
 Again, I paint sweet Annie, dear. 
 
 So well remembered — when scarce seventeen 
 Brief Summers, with their clear, 
 Sweet halo, cast their shining sheen 
 
 Around her life, and crowned her — lovely, fair. 
 With dark, magnetic eyes — luxuriance of hair 
 To match, like canopy of night 
 
 In sky, a back-ground for the stars! 
 A thing of joy, sunshine, delight! 
 Softly, Remembrance now unbars 
 
 Her portals, and I see her Mother — -just 
 As I knew her when she won my love — and trust, 
 With all her goodness, sweetness, truth! 
 
 Sweet Annie was her idol, and 
 The, Belle of many a swain, in youth — 
 The loveliest girl in all the land ! 
 
 And 'ere the silvery moon had rose and waned 
 Scarce a few years — her hand and heart were gained 
 By one of Nature's noblemen — 
 
 And as I saw them plight their vow. 
 She gowned in silk — as standing then 
 With veil, and on her lovely brow 
 
 An Orange wreath. I felt, she d given a love 
 Unrivaled by the Angels fair above 
 In its own purity. Sweet Flower 
 
 Of Wildwood! years passed on, in jo}^, 
 (How fast they go ! seeming but hours 
 When grief withholds its dark alloy) — 
 
 A precious bud was given to the youthful pair, 
 
95 
 
 Sweet Baby Willie ! with his mother's eyes and hair, 
 And, for a few short years, this Flower 
 
 Was nursed and cherished in that happy Home — 
 Of all the boons within Love's power. 
 Recipient he — then, followed some 
 
 Dark, dreary years to me — an exile lone. 
 Not once unconscious — still in touch and tone 
 With memory. I often thought 
 
 Of that loved group at Wildwood fair, 
 And, Fancy, in my visions, sought 
 To picture how events were there 
 
 Transpiring. After years of grief, and yearning. 
 Once more, to dear familiar scenes returning — 
 I wandered to the grave yard still. 
 
 And traced upon the marble cold, 
 That it had pleased our Father's will 
 To take sweet Willie to His fold — 
 
 And, then, as years passed on — sweet Van-de- Van 
 Was given, to bud, and blossom for a span 
 In Wildwood Home — then, she too, died, 
 
 'Ere scarce three springtime suns had rose 
 And set — so, sadly, there, beside 
 
 Dear Willie, where the Laurel grows, 
 
 We laid, all tenderly, sweet Van-de-Yan — 
 'Ere scarce begun, her life's brief journey ran. 
 A few more years — a festive scene ! 
 
 The "Silver Wedding" of the pair! 
 Can twenty-five years, intervene, 
 ^maQ first I saw them standing where 
 
 Again they stand, same room, and self-same spot, 
 Mid scenes far more resplendent, and yet, not 
 More quaintly beautiful to me 
 
 Than in those years of Long Ago I 
 Friends greet them 1 Sweet to see 
 
 The Bride, not now, in gown of snow. 
 But lovely yet, as then! now, a silken gown 
 Of silver grey, shimmering with lace. Adown 
 Those years, her skiff has lightly sailed 
 Over smooth waters — pilot, safe, and true I 
 
96 
 
 She stands this eve, in fleecy laces veiled, 
 Lovely a woman, as e'er you knew ! 
 
 Wife, Mother, Friend, regally prond, in right 
 Of her liege Lord, her children sweet and bright I 
 Just twenty-five years gone, since they — 
 
 Her noble Lord, and she, did plight 
 Their loving troth. (I heard them say 
 On one occasion, that so bright 
 
 And happy had these sweet years been 
 They would be glad to live them o'er again,) 
 And this, of their fond, faithful hearts 
 True sentiment, more beauty gives 
 More splendor to the scene imparts. 
 And gladness to their happy lives 
 
 Than all the luxuries within those halls 
 Of Wild wood, or artists' frescoed walls; 
 And brighter than the diamonds there. 
 
 Gleaming at swan-like throat or breast. 
 Flashing in her dark, glossy hair. 
 Are her bright eyes, so full of rest, 
 
 Not from the diamonds borrow their light divine — 
 With her own heart's pure joy they glow and shinel 
 Loved Annie! Queen of Wildwood fair! 
 Wildwood! nestled in glen and glade; 
 Rare flowers lend to its charms their share. 
 And wtfter-oaks their superb shade 
 
 Contribute to that lawn so magnifique — 
 Of her liege lord's haut gout they proudly speak! 
 For that broad circle by his hand 
 Designed was, and sylvan lake 
 And winding walks so deftly planned. 
 Sweet, lovely Wildwood! it would take 
 Too long to number o'er thy beauties wild 
 Of rock, and fern, and streamlets, I have whiled 
 Away so many happy hours 
 
 Amid. Within this rim of hills 
 Are gardens full of loveliest flowers, 
 And founts, and softly gurgling rills; 
 
 Fish-pond with perch, and trout, and precious brim. 
 
97 
 
 That bravely venture near the circling rim. 
 All unconveyed to others here, 
 
 Sweet friend, the scenes drawn by my rhyme. 
 This portrait very faint, I fear. 
 
 Like all things else that are sublime — 
 The heart's affection, best interpreter 
 And reader is — and so I give to her 
 To whom this rhyme is sweetly sent 
 
 My heart's unspoken, true allegiance. 
 If she accept, then I'm content 
 That it should lack all radiance, 
 
 Save that which it may sweetly, aptly gain, 
 When her dark eyes shall read this simple strain; 
 And on the memory of the past 
 
 A thought, a smile, a tear bestow 
 In fondest love! Shall, at last, 
 My heart this satisfaction know, 
 
 My Muse will feel nor pain, nor e'en regret. 
 If sometime mine own eyes with tears are wet! 
 Sweet Wildwood Home! A brief adieu! 
 
 Long be thy vales, and glens, and glades 
 With verdure daily robed anew; 
 
 And when life's closing twilight shades 
 
 Sink softly, sweetly down those golden rims 
 Of hills, as erst awhile earth's glory dims. 
 Be thine the peaceful, hallowed rest 
 
 Of Angels, wrapped in soft repose 
 With those, so beautiful and blest, 
 
 Gone hence! So may thy "harvest" close, 
 Listening to lullabies as sweet, divine 
 As mothers croon to babes! Sweet Annie, mine. 
 May every deed of kindness, love. 
 
 And every sympathizing tear, 
 Be luaiting thee as ijearls above; 
 Or, as God's "ministering angels" here. 
 
 Hovering around thy blest, sweet, peaceful bed, 
 Crowning with immortelles of joy thy head! 
 
 (4c) 
 
98 
 
 TO MRS. EMILY MEIGS WOOLFOLK, 
 
 Ideal woman, art thou, dear Emmie, 
 
 My '^eidle weise,^' art thou ! 
 'Tis the Alpine Flower, so rare to find 
 
 On the snowy mountain's brow ! 
 It blooms, regardless of the sun — 
 
 Its warmth, and rays ignore; 
 The colder, harder is the weather 
 
 It blossoms more, and more ! 
 So, with the soul pure, and refined, 
 
 When trials hard assail, 
 The world's false shew, and emptiness 
 
 Their nothingness, avail. 
 Like, my own Alpine "eidle-iveise,^^ 
 
 Disdaining worldly ills 
 There, on the snow-capped mountain crest, 
 
 Its perfume rare distils! 
 Thy classic beauty, I admire 
 
 Thy genial charms, so many 
 Bright repartee, and brilliant wit — 
 
 But more than these — than any, 
 Thy lofty independent nature. 
 
 Afraid not, to be true, 
 Clothing thy mind, and spirit, with 
 
 Attractions ever new! 
 
 TO MRS. JENNIE HINDE. 
 
 For three years I had your companionship 
 
 Near my Wynnton home, so near, 
 And the more I knew you the more I loved. 
 
 As daily, you grew more dear! 
 Come back, from your wanderings, Lady, dear — 
 
 New York, San Francisco, grand. 
 Come back! for I miss you, dear, every day. 
 
 Come back! to our own sunny land! 
 Not all California's beauties, rare. 
 
 Her rich, soft alluring clime — 
 Her tropical glories, of water and land — 
 
99 
 
 Her scenery lovely, sublime, 
 Can give you, a heart that misses you, dear, 
 
 As I, in my Wynnton home, 
 Loved friend — sj^oilee — you have traveled enough 
 
 Hasten, ma chere, to me, come! 
 
 TO MRS ELLEN CHARLTON HUDSON. 
 
 Dear Lady, I wish for that summer again — 
 
 (The summer at Hilton, you spent) — 
 Your bright conversation, and gay sprightliness, 
 
 All the charms you so pleasantly lent 
 To my home, and my heart! that sweet summertime ! 
 
 Refreshing, it is, when we meet 
 With a person original, true, like yourself — 
 
 Come again, Lady, dear, I entreat ! 
 The South's aristocracy still has its " LeaveiV — 
 
 Not quite by the Nouveaux riche yet 
 Annulled — always recognized by a look, or a word, 
 
 Its seal is irrevocably set ! 
 Time can not alter it, wealth can not purchase it, 
 
 Something that's seen and felt, undefined—- 
 One knows it, on meeting, at one single glance — 
 
 Whateve7^, wherever you find! 
 Long may thy bright sallies of wit. Lady, dear, 
 
 Still flash from thy mind's brilliant ore — 
 Thy thoughts, independence — thy warm, loving heart — 
 
 Thy intellect's rare brilliant store! 
 
 WHEN SUSIE BROUGHT HER BABY IN. 
 
 TO MRS. SUSIE SWIFT WARNER. 
 
 The day was hot, and sultr}^, fair. 
 And not a zephyr stirred the air — 
 I heard a cheery voice and sweet. 
 Call to me, "Madame, pray see what 
 I've brought in, for you to look at — 
 My Baby dear ! Joan her name !" 
 I felt my praises, all too tame. 
 
100 
 
 As the wee, dimpled thing I took, 
 
 In its soft eyes, a trusful look 
 
 Of Baby innocence! The Fay 
 
 Ethereal, as skies of May ! 
 
 The tiny, pink-faced, blue-eyed love! 
 
 Oh! winsome darling! Pearl above 
 
 All dross of Earth! Sweet Baby Pet! 
 
 I feel its soft, sweet clinging yet 
 
 About my neck, and on nn^ cheek 1 
 
 Vain all the words I fain would speak 
 
 To tell its daintiness. So fair; 
 
 The soft exquisiteness of sweet 
 
 Joan ! a theme for Angels meet! 
 
 All suddenly, upon the air, 
 
 I felt a strange, sweet freshness ! There 
 
 Seemed upon the roses clinging near, 
 
 A new perfume, as, if to wear 
 
 Some snatches of the Baby^s 2nnk, 
 
 Soft cheeks, and fingei^tijys! I think 
 
 That Heaven itself, would lack in charm 
 
 Complete, if there, no Baby warm 
 
 With trustful love, and tenderness. 
 
 Stretched out its rosy hands, to press 
 
 And cling to us. Oh undefiled! 
 
 The glory of a little child! 
 
 Earth seemed to be, to Heaven akin. 
 
 When Susie brought her Baby in ! 
 
 TO MRS. CYNTHIA KENT CHAPrELL. 
 
 A stranger to our town she came, 
 
 A stranger to our homes and hearts, 
 Yet scarcely had I heard her name 
 
 Ere the strange charms that sound imparts 
 Thrilled through my heart, electrical 
 
 As owning Cynthia's pure, sweet charm; 
 I felt she had the power t' enthrall. 
 
 Friendships to win, doubt to disarm. 
 Softly our hearts and loves she stole, 
 
101 
 
 With dignified, magnetic mien; 
 All gracefully she fills her role 
 
 In social fetes, or Home's fair Queen. 
 'Tis there, J love to see her best, 
 
 Her quaint, sweet presence felt and seen; 
 And woman's highest, true behest 
 
 Of crowning glory has, I ween, 
 Ne'er rested yet, on one more fit 
 
 Her laurels, fresh and green, to wear; 
 Mind, voice and manner sweetly knit, 
 
 And heart-attributes rich and rare. 
 Dear Cynthia, may the silver bays 
 
 Of Fortune, shimmering with the light 
 Brighter and sweeter e'en than May's 
 
 Fair flowers and sunshioe, bring delight 
 On heart, and home, and life of thine; 
 
 Not joys ephemeral of a day. 
 But crowning thee with love divine. 
 
 When all things else have passed away; 
 Like silver crescent in the sky. 
 
 So beautiful, and chaste, and dear, 
 Illumining the vault on high. 
 
 Shedding its radiance far and near! 
 
 BRAVE HEART, AND TRUE. 
 
 TO MRS. CAROLTNE OLIVIA WILLIAMS. 
 
 As through Life's desert, barren, lone 
 
 I wandered, weary, sad — distressed 
 
 With thoughts of wrong and evil done 
 
 On God's fair earth, else bright and blest — 
 
 I met her, dear, when first I knew! 
 
 Oh, friend, beloved! Brave heart, and true! 
 
 Like gleaming star in firmament 
 
 Else dark, she shineth bright and clear; 
 
 Like sunshine after storm, she's sent 
 
 To be a guiding light — to cheer, 
 
 To bear, to solace, and to do! 
 
 Lofty and pure! Brave heart, and true! 
 
102 
 
 In all the world's immense domain, 
 
 Across the sea's white crested-foam 
 
 So far, so near, seek thou in vain. 
 
 For higher life whe'er you roam — 
 
 But yet, 'tis given only to few, 
 
 Like her's, I sing! Brave heart, and true ! 
 
 In face, and form so beautiful ! 
 
 Only an index to her soul 
 
 Of purest, highest purpose full. 
 
 Only a fitly written scroll! 
 
 Heart struggles, as they sweetly grew 
 
 To life's best mould! Brave heart, and true! 
 
 Return! thou wanderer from afar! 
 
 Come to thy mother's home, again 
 
 Those gates of feeling to unbar! 
 
 Come, far across the sea and main 
 
 Thy loving, filial duty do 
 
 To her! the bravest heart and true! 
 
 A heroine on "Life's battle-field!" 
 
 " The oil of gladness" on her pour — 
 
 Faith, hope and love, her spotless shield 
 
 A victor when the warfare's o'er! 
 
 Meekly she kneels — her crown in view! 
 
 Oh, friend, beloved! Brave heart and true! 
 
 TO MISS JENNTE HART, OF UNION POINT, GA. 
 
 Beautiful her classic face; 
 
 Index of her heart and mind — 
 Wealth of goodness, innate grace — 
 
 Where shall I a flower find 
 Sweet enough her type to be? 
 
 Grand enough, her likeness fair? 
 Perle de jar din, so to me, 
 
 Seems this woman, lovely, rare. 
 
108 
 
 L'ADIEU. 
 
 Not by thy heaps of gold, of wealth, of gain, 
 Banked in thy hidden treasured stores of pelf— 
 Nor, by the applause, which, mayhap, bears the stain 
 Of purchase, by none of these, weigh thou, thyself— 
 But, be thy manhood's noble estimate; 
 Thy womanhood^s sole measure, onlij thy loss 
 And sacrifice. These bear their precious freight 
 In the Eternal Life. All else is fruitless dross— 
 Whoever giveth most, hath most to give, 
 Who sacrificeth most, hath increased store; 
 Only those who live for others, truly live, ' 
 All else, but briefly. These forevermore! 
 "When the moon is old. 
 
 And the stars are cold. 
 
 And the books of the Judgment-day unfold." 
 
 MY LEGACY, 
 
 To be fulfilled, not, when for me 
 
 No more in life warm heart-throbs beat. 
 
 Not at my grave— for there will be 
 
 My Requium, sung in birds' retreat 
 
 Of strange, sweet loveliness ! Nor, yet 
 
 In marble shaft or costly flowers 
 
 Of stiff design, may-hap unwet 
 
 By one regretful tear." Such dowers 
 
 My true soul scorns. For daisies wild. 
 
 And violets, implanted bv God's hand,' 
 
 All An<jel-tended—\\\idQ^\e^ 
 
 (By touch of empty shew— 'though grand)- 
 
 Will spring up in that lonely spot 
 
 And bloom in sweetness daily, there! 
 
 To me, in life, your sweets allot ! 
 
 Bring to my heart your flowers, fair, 
 
 And love me, while I move among 
 
 You in my daily life! Bring Flowers 
 
104 
 
 Of sympathy and love ! My song 
 Is brief, dear friends — but hours 
 Consumed in saying, mean no more. 
 Love me in life^ and shew it me 
 Forever, and forever more! 
 Then, when, for me, life's brevity 
 Is done — to such dear ones who fain 
 Would gently wreathe my coffin lid 
 With flowers. Love gives, I'd not disdain 
 Their offering, nor tears, unbid ! 
 
S3 
 
 <>^% 
 
 f~Q) (d^K~^ 
 
 PROSE, 
 
 Humopoug and B'&herMige, 
 
 
 (5) 
 
To NIY READERS. 
 
 Many articles intended to have been comprised within the 
 following pages, including a novelette, necessarily had to be 
 omitted, being too voluminous for present practical purposes. 
 If any reader, among you, be disposed to misconstrue the true 
 mission of the pages herein contained, to scorn or deride any 
 moral happily evolved — any instruction to be gleaned, or advice 
 given — I will cheerfully bear in mind the words of one of Eng- 
 land's silver-penned writers, "Good counsel rejected, returns 
 to enrich the bosom of the giver." 
 
 It has been deemed best to omit, also, all Essays on scientific 
 questions, and topics of the day, until a future occasion. 
 
 If my brochure shall be refused, or happily meet with accept- 
 ance in your hearts — whatever its fate, I shall be prepared for 
 the issue, remembering always, "A prophet is not without 
 reward, save in his own country;" and, being no egotist, will 
 never die of "Great Expectations." 
 
 To the many who have so kindly encouraged me by their 
 approbation, I return my sincere, loving thanks. I send my 
 little brochure forth, straight from my own heart to yours, pray- 
 ing God's blessing attend its way, believing with Goethe, to 
 
 "Fret not over what is past and gone, 
 
 But, act, as if thy life were just begun. 
 
 Do thine own task, and therewith be content; 
 
 Then, all besides, leave to the Master Power." 
 
 —P. DE L. 
 
A MODERN HOUSE-PARTY. 
 
 AS SEEN FROM AUNT KIZZIE'S POINT OF VIEW. 
 
 Sitting" on the verandah, in the beautiful after-glow of 
 a lovely Summer afternoon, contemplating the mellow 
 crimson and gold of the broad expanse outspread before 
 me, unobstructed by city chimneys or glaring walls, 
 unmutilated by man's vandalism, lost in hallowed reve- 
 ries of the "clolce fa?- niente^^ of the restful surround- 
 ings, while birds and butterflies were having a royal 
 carnival amid my flowered sweets, I was suddenly 
 aroused from my revery by a cheery voice calling to me: 
 
 "Miss Geraldine, good evenin', ma'am. May I 'suit 
 you 'bout suppin'"? 
 
 Glancing to the spot whence the familiar voice pro- 
 ceeded, I saw the face and form of old Aunt Kizzy — an 
 ancient but small, dusky daughter of Ethiopia — as she 
 stood there, just outside the front garden railing, leaning 
 on it, with a most earnest, questioning expression on her 
 wrinkled features. 
 
 "Why certainly, Aunt Kizzy," I replied; "I am at 
 your service. "What is it you wish to consult me 
 about?" 
 
 "Well, Miss Geraldine, hit's dis, ma'am: I tole you 
 'tother day de House-potty had come, an' things looks so 
 sterious to me — bein' as dis ole nigger haint nuver seed 
 nuffin' 'tall like hit in all her days — an' bein' as Miss 
 Sally is dun gone 'way fur de Summer, an' I promised 
 her to stay dar en tik kere un her things while she he's 
 away, an' wants to keep my promise ef I ken, I'jes' 
 come to ax you what I mus' do 'bout it. Dey tells me. 
 Miss Geraldine, dat dese here young white gemmans is 
 rented de house, an' put dese young white gals dar, an' 
 what I wants to ax you is dis (her voice growing more 
 earnest), is it ^spectable"? Please 'form me, Miss, is it 
 right for me to stay dar wid all dis kavortin' a gwine 
 
108 
 
 on? Ef it is a onrighteous house, 1 jes' can't stay, kaze 
 I'se been a member of de church sence I was a young 
 gal, myself, a livin' on ole Marster's plantation, en is 
 always bore a good name, en I haint agwine to scandalize 
 myself now, in my ole age, mum, I haint (striking her 
 right fist into the open palm of her left hand for emphasis.) 
 Now tell me, please 'um, is it a o?2righteous house?" 
 
 "Why, no indeed, Aunt Kizzy. Those lovely girls 
 are as sweet and pure as the roses blooming near you; 
 and I have always advocated that the influence of such 
 girls was most refining and elevating to young men. 
 There is no harm at all in a House-party." 
 
 "But you see. Miss Geraldine, de preacher tells me 
 we mus' 'void de ''loarrence ub evil. He sez he gits it 
 fum de Bible. I kan't read myself, en don't want to, fur 
 a leetle eddication is done made a plum fool of dat yaller 
 boy Jack, my dead sister's son. De preacher sez, too, 
 we can't find a bunch of even fox grapes off'en a bramble 
 bush, nur ken we git a quince off'en a crab apple tree, or 
 somehow so. Now, den, ef dem ar white gals is sweeter 
 en a rose, en modester en a violet, as you say, den why 
 donH dey 'pear dat way?" 
 
 "Because the young are often frivolous with the best 
 intentions. The young men become noisy simply from 
 excess of the novel enjoyment of being in the sweet, 
 wild country groves, air and scenery; and all unconscious 
 to themselves these lovely, beautiful giris may become a 
 little hilarious because the young men are." 
 
 "No ma^am, Miss Geraldine, you is got it wrong now — 
 you is got it wrong. I sees it all wid my own eyes, en 
 hyears it all wid my own years, dat is I could hyear hit 
 all ef I could h3^ear anything fur de powerful sight er 
 rackit dey keeps up, which I canH always, fur sometimes 
 I ^clar, mum, hit sounds like a warhoop uv Injuns — hit 
 do, Miss — hit do; en hit is not de boys what sets de 
 'zample, but de gals! hit is, shore De ondacity uf dem 
 white gals heads all my days, en I's 'bout seventy; but 
 dey jes' do mortally dare dem boys — now, dey do — en 
 I'm jes' tellin' de plain trufe. De boys jes' can't hep 
 
109 
 
 dersels, mum. Ef enny body was to say eny thing to 
 me 'bout gittin' up a House-potty for my gran'chilluns 
 I b'leve I'd — yes— well, I b'leve I'd jes' cripple em— I 
 would, mum. En den dem ole white women whut dey 
 teleforms to town fur — dat tells de tale! Dat teleform 
 kant hardly git 'em out here to de Potty (I sees en 
 hyears all dis, Miss Geraldine); en I canH blame 'em, 
 fur dey can't do a blessed thins^ wid de Potty folks arter 
 dey gits here. I don't see no use ur dey comin', no 
 how; what good do dey do'f Not a 'tarnal thing ken dey 
 do wid 'em. I tell you, mum, dey kant so much ez hyear 
 der years, much less make 'em behave. De ole man, de 
 'Fessor, en de Capin, too, seems kinder loss like. Hit 
 Spears to be a leetle too much fur 'em bofe — all dis 
 kavortin\ Why, 'tother night, arter settin' up all— ur, 
 ruther, 'tother mornin^ — fur dey had never once laid 
 down — dey kep up dat turrible rackit 'till arter five 
 o'clock in de mornin'. Dey tuck sticks en pans en 
 knocked and beat on de walls ov dat house 'till de neigh- 
 bors thought dere wus a killin' ur a fire a gwine on — sich 
 banging en sich yellin', en a marchin' 'round de house. 
 I hadn't slep er wink; could'nt even nod, fur de rackit 
 Ez for my part, I was a thinkin' uv de Jericho walls 
 
 bein' torn down by blowin' de cows' horns (er de goats^ 
 
 dun forgit which — but don't make no difi'unce whut sort 
 er horns dey wus— enny how, de walls come down, dey 
 did — so de preacher sez); en. Miss Geraldine, I ^clare 
 'fore de Lawd, I thot dat House-potty^ s walls wuz a 
 comin' down. I was skeered, en wondered ef Judgment 
 day had suddenly come, en run fum de kitchen to de 
 door, a looking fur de fire en brimstone to fall fum de 
 skies. Sez I, 'Jack, you yaller rascal, whar's Miss 
 Shappyrune nowV fur Jack had told me de name uf de 
 ole white 'oman whut wus a stayin' dar to tik keer on 
 'em en make 'em mind wuz name Miss Shappyrune, en 
 dat she wuz a takin' de place uv der mothers of all dese 
 hyere young erals— 'Whar's she? en ef dere is enny Mr. 
 Shappyrune, her husband, in hyerin^ of dat teleform, for 
 de Lawd's sake. Jack, ring dat teleform now — ring it 
 
110 
 
 loud! Wid all clese Chilians uv ole Mr. Shappyrune's, for 
 de sake of all dem wives he must hev buried, to have so 
 many, tell him to hurry up en come on, fur dis here step- 
 ma, Miss Shappyrune, aint no use on airth to 'em in 
 any way, ez I sees; dey don't sem to know she's here, 
 much less a mindin^ her.' Ef you b'leves it, Miss 
 Geraldine, whut you think dat rascal, dat yaller boy, 
 'plies to me? He sez: 'Aunt Kizzy, I'm glad deys a 
 makin' sich a fuss — I is — kaze onced when me en my 
 base ball crowd uv culud folks was a plain' near Miss 
 Geraldine's house, we wuz jest a leetle noisy — nuthin' to 
 hold a light to dis here Potty — but she jes' gits dat air 
 pencil and leetle book er hyern en walks up to us en sez: 
 'Give me your names, boys. I am very sorry, but can- 
 not have such a disturbance so near my residence. I am 
 a true friend to all the darkies, being Southern born and 
 reared, but will not have this noise. 1 will take down 
 the names of each one of you, and carry the list to 
 
 Lawyer G . He has promised to help me; and 
 
 after he takes the list to Judge Kryouts, we'll see if you 
 will disturb me again.'" 
 
 "Aunt Kizzy, dat's bin' more en a year ago; but ef 
 you had a hyeard us a promisin' en a beggin' Miss 
 Geraldine, as she looked at us — a standin' there, so stric 
 like, but so sorry-like, too — you could b'leve me, when I 
 clars to you, us scattered quick, an' thanked her, en aint 
 never been noisy 'roun dar no mo. But Ise a gwine to 
 go and git up a crowd an' kick up fuss arter dis, en 
 sichivise. Ise a gwine to git up a House-potty, too; a 
 House-potty of pretty culud gals; and we's a gwine to 
 foller de 'zample of dese here white folks, en I'm gwine 
 to sassy Miss Geraldine, too, next time — I is, mun. 
 Now, us ken holler! jes much ez we pleasen to. Ef 
 Judge Kryouts lets dis House-potty pass, I Jes dares 
 eny Policeman to grab me. I voted for ^Kinley, en 
 heap uv dese rich white Yankees 'bout hyere tells 
 me dey gwine treat me equal kaze I did vote for 'Kinley." 
 
 ''Don't you dar'n tell me 'bout dat rascal 'Kinley. 
 Jack, sez I, don't you, nur none de rest uv de sateful 
 
Ill 
 
 white Yankee trash. Shore ez you does I'll knock you 
 spraulin' down hyere before me, like I did my gal Rody, 
 arter she'd run away wid dem lyin' Wilson raiders, 
 mo en thirty years ago, en den come back to Georgy, a 
 huntin' up me. You see, 'twas dis w^ay wid me en my 
 gal Rody, Miss Geraldine. Rody wus 'bout fifteen year 
 old. Dem white Yankee varmints toled her off, wid fine 
 promises of marryin' her en makin' a rich white lady 
 outen her. Not a word had I hyearn from her for five 
 year, when suddeutly one day she 'peared to me — walked 
 right in upon me. Sez she, to me, 'Lady, I am in sarch 
 of my mother, a dear ole culu'd lady I lef somewheres 
 'bout here 'bout five years ago, named Mrs. Keerziah 
 Jones. Lady, ken you tell me enny thing consarnin' her; 
 p'r'haps you mought'n hyearn tell on her?' I looked at 
 my gal Rody, dressed spic an' span in dat flamin' 
 finery. Sez I, 'Look er hyere, Rody, don't you call me 
 Lady — don't you call me mother, you black, white-eyed 
 jade. Pull off dat baby-lonish gyarments, dem varments 
 is dyked you up in — look at me, in my clean, checked 
 homespun en white apron, an' see ef you don't know 
 your ole mammy you left five years ago. 'Taint been 
 so long — en sepen your outlandish talk en furrin ways — 
 bein' a leetle taller, a heap leaner, en a powerful sight 
 sassier, you hain't changed much. Say, don't you know 
 me? I knowed you de minit I sot eyes on you?' But dat 
 lyin' huzzy ondaciously sez: 'No, Lady, I do not member 
 youl'" 
 
 "Miss Geraldine, when she stuck to lyin' so, sez I : 
 'Rhody, I knows you 'members dem Fourth July doins 
 on de plantation ebery year — de big peach pot-pies, en 
 de chicken pies, en roast pigs wid de red apples in dey 
 moufs, en de campmeetin's when so many uv us would 
 come thew (profess conversion), en de shoutin' — en at 
 Xmas times dem big bowls uv egg nogg, en de pile uv 
 comp'ny in de whitefolks' house — en de little niggers 
 dancin' 'O/uc/jen-in-de-bread-tray.' You haint forgit all 
 dat, and I knows it. Say, don't you know your 
 mammy yet, Rody?' Do you b'leve she still had de 
 
112 
 
 'surance to tell me 'NoV Wid dat las' lye uv hyearn I 
 raised up my right arm; I did double up my fist en 
 steps right up to dat lyin' vixen en knocks her sprawlin' 
 flat on de floor, and sez I, *Rody, now, do you know your 
 mammy? Is you convinced nowV So I tole Yaller 
 Jack 'bout it, sayin', 'Now, jes sure ez you sassys me, or 
 Miss Geraldine, or enny Southern whitefolks, I gwine 
 convince you, boy, dat you is still a nigger, by usin' de 
 same argufyin' I used on my gal Rody.' I didn't hev 
 to argufy no mo. 'I'll larn you how to turn a tarnd 
 fool 'bout Kinley, or enny dem vile, underhanded, creepin' 
 Yankees — dey so sneakin\^ " 
 
 "Miss Geraldine, dat House-potty is all on 'em Catholics. 
 Now I'se a dipped Methodis', myself. Dat's de best 'ligion 
 on de yairth. I don't bleve in close communion, but I 
 dose bleve in dippin\ So I'se been (iippecZ, en bleves 
 strong in my 'ligion. I'se lived 'bout en 'bout sense Ole 
 Master and Missis died, en once live wid a Catholic 
 family, en shore I knows em eber sense whenever I 
 happens to land again em; en all dis House-potty 'dout 
 hit's Miss Shappyrune, is Catholics." 
 "Why do you think so, Aunt Kizzy?" 
 "We)l, fur dis raison: 'Tother night dem boys en gals 
 set up sich a yellin' en hollin' dey starts all de neighburs' 
 dogs a howlin'. Deij call it singin\ but dis ole nigger 
 calls it yellin\ Well, ebery one un 'em hollered to de 
 Virgin Mary at onced, a beggin' her 'not to cry no mo,' 
 at de top of der lungs.* Sez I to yaller Jack, 'dey better 
 quit beggin' her not to cry no mo, en dey better 'gin to 
 cry sum dersels for der sins, or stop sum der sins; break- 
 fus fum six in de mornin' till twelve en one; er drivin' 
 roun' mos' all night; er rarin' on dem wheel things a 
 leetle arter daybreak; playin' kyards; dancin', en er 
 gwine on like suppin' wile like. I tell you, Miss, dere's 
 no 'ligion in enny sich; deys chilluns of Be/zah — all un 
 'em — en rite now ef Moses ur Belzebub, ur whatsumeber 
 
 * This charming House-party had made the neighborhood resonant with their for- 
 tissimo rendition of the ancient plantation melody, "Sweet Mary, Weep no More for 
 Me," and Aunt Kizzie had ignorantly mistaken the grand concert for an ''■Ave 
 Maria.''' She meant no sacrilege. 
 
113 
 
 dat pious, good man in de Bible wuz name what drawed 
 a line en axed de question, 'Whoeber's on de Lord's side 
 come over dis side de line en say so,^ I tell you, mun, 
 nary one would move till dey axed, 'Ken we tik our 
 kyards en dancin^ en wheels wid usV Its sich a bad 
 ^zample to set, Miss Geraldine. Look how its done 
 turned Jack a fool; en yestidy, when 1 wuz at de station 
 waitin' fur suppin' to cum out on de 'lectric kyar, some 
 little white gals wuz a waitin der, too. 'Mongst 'em wuz 
 yourn, Miss Geraldine; dem two pretty little gals uv 
 yourn. Knowin' how ez you wuz er tryin' to raze 'em 
 up pious, en knowin' you alius sets 'em a good 'zample, 
 I sez to de biggest one uv 'em: 'Honey,' sez I, 'you 
 wouldn't holler en cavort roun' like dat House-potty do, 
 would you, chile — I knows you wouldn't — settin' up en 
 hollerin' de liv' long night?'" 
 
 "Ef you b'leve me, Miss Geraldine, she 'lowed, 'Oh, 
 yes. Aunt Kizzy; how I ivould enjoy it!' 
 
 "I groanes, den, Miss Kizzy, kaze I thought de 
 oldest one would sho say, 'No, Aunt Kizzy, 72ot me.' 
 So den I turns my 'tenshun to dat leetle gal o' yourn, de 
 one what's jes' de 'very spit er yourself in looks and 
 ways en ebery thing. Sez I: 'Honey, don't you wish 
 you could alius stay leetle en young like you is noiu, en 
 neber git grown?' 1 farly jumped when dat purty leetle 
 cretur sez: 'No, Aunt Kizzy; 1 wish I ivuz grown dis 
 minit, so I could go to a german, en be at a House-jjotty .^ 
 Sich is de evil uv ^zample, Miss Geraldine; hits a bad 
 moriale, ez de preacher sez. 
 
 "Well, Miss Geraldine, I mus' be a gwine on my way 
 to fix supper for dat pistiferous House-potty. I'm much 
 obliged fer tellin' me hit Haint a o?2righteous house I'se 
 not convinced by no means, but den hit's some comfort 
 to dis unlarned ole nigger to hyear a Southern white 
 lady like yourself tell me hit aint, ennyhow, kaze I'se 
 alius had confidence in you bein' ez I knowed all your 
 folks fo de war, when us lived on 'jinin' plantations. I 
 was a young gal, jes growed up, and you wuz only a 
 leetle bit er chile. Thang God, de Housepotty breaks up 
 in too mo' days, and dey wont hev to beg me not to cry 
 
114 
 
 no mo', like dey does de Virgin Mary! No, Miss Geral- 
 dine! Dis ole nigger will shout for joy onced mo' in her 
 life when she see de las' one un 'em tik a bee-line for der 
 homes, wherever dey is. Miss Sally lef me hyere to 
 res', but blest ef I'se had res', ur sleep, sence dat House- 
 potty 's been out hyere, turnin' things up side-down." 
 " Your neighbors '11 all miss em ma'am — " 
 "And you, Aunt Kizzy, won't you miss them, also?" 
 " Yes, Miss Geraldine, I will. I'll miss 'em, but I 
 wont say now !" 
 
 And away old Aunt Kizzy walkod, leaving me to the 
 fast approaching twilight, with its weird, mystic dreams. 
 The silver moon soon gilded the clear heavens. Beneath 
 the resplendent orb the trees were casting their beautiful 
 shadows. Now and then a twittering bird, amid its 
 leafy home, trilled softly the parting note, adding sweet- 
 ness to the voices of the grand, majestic Summer night. 
 Odors of rarest flowers greeted me on every side; and 
 on that magic car — the "association of ideas" — I, sitting 
 there in the radiant moonlight, was soon transported, in 
 memory, from Aunt Kizzy's description of the modern 
 Houseparty — far away to ante-bellum years — to the first 
 Houseparty of my recollection. I was a child. It was 
 in the sweet month of October, near the Old Capital of 
 Georgia, composed of a fair assembly of the elite of the 
 day — Senators, fair ladies, entertained at the home of a 
 notably hospitable Southern family, with all the delicious 
 cuisine and service of ante-bellum times. 
 On some future occasion I may recount it. 
 
 BROTHER JENKINS' SERMON. 
 It was in the ante-bellum days, at a little country 
 church for plantation darkies. In those happy times it 
 was customary for the planters jointly to employ a 
 preacher, often a white one, to preach alternately on 
 several plantations, on Sunda^^s. A goodly number of 
 these similar rustic churches abounded, and the preacher 
 was always sure of good attendance. The owners' and 
 overseers' families often attended, also, always occupying 
 
115 
 
 the rear benches in the congregation. These churches 
 were not unfrequently constructed of logs. On "big 
 meetin' " occasions an addition was usually made of 
 branches of trees, being cut and arranged after the man- 
 ner of a porch, usually called a bush-arbor. On one of 
 these protracted meetings I was an attendant. It was a 
 bright Sunday in the Summer time. One of the mem- 
 bers was a stout, brawny woman, with ebony complexion 
 and strikingly contrasting eyes of glaring white, and 
 ver}^ large. She "shouted" so regularh^ I may say 
 invaribly, at the "big meetins" that the exciting cere- 
 monies would have been wholly incomplete without this 
 musical solo — devotional, if not, altogether, mellifluous. 
 
 I must say that Dinah's vocal contribution to the 
 services were always expected, by not only the darkies, 
 but also by the 'Umckra,^^ as the whites were often 
 called in olden times. The arbor was attached to the 
 side entrance, the door being left open, and a passage- 
 way left unobstructed from side-door, through arbor, so 
 one could easily find ingress or egress without disturbing 
 the worshipers. 
 
 On this special Sunday afternoon the preacher was a 
 low, fat, good-natured, old white man, whose profile 
 always reminded me of a pig, bearing strong resemblance 
 in features and expression to that very irreligious quad- 
 ruped. Old Brother Jenkins was explaining to his 
 congregation why he had not fulfilled his "/as' appint- 
 ment,^^ and excitedly apologising for the seeming remis- 
 ness, "My brethren and sisters,'' said he, " I was kep' 
 away from my appintment at this blessed Gopher Holler 
 Meetin' House by a Providential dispensation; an awful 
 'fliction of Providence has scathed me since I was las' 
 here, and at one time I feared I would never be present 
 here, with you, again. May you all be spared from a 
 like 'fliction, my congregation. I have been down in the 
 Yalley of Dry Bones, and heard their rattlin' and shakin' 
 since las' at Gopher Holler, but a Merciful Father has 
 brought me thew, an I rejoice to meet you all here 
 ao^ain." 
 
116 
 
 My curiosity had reached the climax, and I was invol- 
 untarily leaning -forward, as I sat on the rear bench, 
 listening eagerly for Brother Jenkins to disclose what 
 dire affliction had visited him, and had already decided, 
 mentally, that nothing less than the death of one of the 
 dear ones of home could have evolved such prolonged and 
 eloquent prelude from his lips. Dinah, the celebrated 
 shouter, had been groaning and rolling her huge white 
 orbs for some time. Her custom was always to sit by 
 some strong, stalwart darkey brother for the purpose of 
 having his strong arms to hold her when the proper time 
 arrived for that very essential service. She had nearly 
 reached the shouting point. Louder and longer sounded 
 those pious groans. "My brethren and sisters," said 
 he just then, ''the special dispensation of Providence 
 that kep' me from dis blessed Gopher Holler Church was 
 a v-i-o-l-e-n-t attac' of cramp colic 1^'' 
 
 At this surprising and impressive revelation, Dinah's 
 sympathetic and pious emotions were overpowering, and 
 she became so noisy, and withal, so active in her swaying 
 movements, to and fro, that her adjacent brother, was 
 wholly unable to obey her vociferous command, ''Hold 
 me! brudder, hold me!" Losing her equilibrium, she 
 rolled over the assisting brother on into the arbor, through 
 the unobstructed passage way, on, and still on, over the 
 sloping ''neiv ground.^'' The countless stumps tore cruel 
 slits in her gay, parti-colored calico dress. "Hold me! 
 brudder, hold me!" she was continually shouting. 
 
 At this interesting part of the performance, her hus- 
 band's form was seen, bareheaded, screaming and leaping 
 from the congregation following in Dinah's wake, not 
 recumbent like herself, but running at full speed to catch 
 her — " Stop dat nigger, dar? 'fore Jehovah dat nigger 's 
 tarrin' dat bran' new kaliker coat offen her! Wait twell 
 you gits on de white field coat, you huzzy ! Stop, I 
 say!" 
 
 But as well might that regretful consort have said to 
 the Chattahoochee River, "run up stream," and expected 
 obedience. "Hold me! brodder, hold me!" still rang 
 
117 
 
 with clarion tones, resounding from hillside and valley. 
 Just here I beat a hasty retreat from Gopher Holler 
 Meetin' House, and found a friendly pine, behind which 
 I indulged in convulsive laughter, the echoes of Dinah's 
 voice still shouting, "H-o-l-e m-e! budder, h-o-l-e m-e!" 
 
 A DEFENCE OF THE SHOP-GIRL. 
 
 I was once accosted by a woman who might have 
 attained to the rightful claims of gentility, save for her 
 superabundant amount of egotism. She possessed this 
 characteristic in such generous quantities as almost to 
 eradicate every other attribute except those engendered 
 by the ego. She was almost in an abnormal condition, 
 caused by this dominant power. It preponderated to 
 such an alarming extent, that she believed it her special 
 prerogative to go about the world offering gratuitous 
 opinions and advice to her superiors, conscientiously 
 thinking that no other human being knew anything half 
 so well as herself. Wholly ignorant of good breeding 
 herself, she could not possibly comprehend, still less 
 appreciate, innate politeness when she met with it. Ego- 
 tism positively entered into her physique — strange as it 
 may sound. One might read it in the expression of her 
 countenance, hear it in her voice, and see it in her car- 
 riage. She went about with a stiff neck, her nose stuck 
 up in the air — her whole look and manner impressing the 
 observer with the idea that this egotist seemed to be 
 inhaling the aroma so odoriferous of some def.unct object, 
 left usually to the kind attentions of the street scavenger 
 wagons, or else relegated to the courtesies of that stately, 
 although not extremely fastidious bird, the vulture — 
 commonly called by the little girls and boys of the town, 
 the buzzard. 
 
 This woman who assailed me, combined with her ego- 
 tism so much toadyism and obsequiousness, usual com- 
 panions, that I invariably experienced a chill of disgust 
 whenever meetinor her. 
 
118 
 
 On the occasion herein related, she accosted me by 
 saying: 
 
 "You are familiar with shop-girls. I am surprised; 
 and think your aristocratic relatives would be, too, if 
 they knew it." 
 
 ^' I commission you to inform them of it at once, that 
 is, if you'll first explain your definition of 'familiar,' I 
 replied." 
 
 "I mean the way in which you treat a good many 
 shop-girls." 
 
 I gave my assailant a look, saying: "If, by 'familiar,' 
 you mean kindness, consideration, respect, sympathy, 
 courtesy, then I accept your charge, and will reply to 
 you here, on the spot, face to face. 
 
 "I will begin by saying that this special shop-girl, to 
 whom you refer, is only one of many working girls and 
 women I take pleasure in trying lo help. The subject of 
 your remark is a perfect lady, in manner, deportment, 
 and principles; and being such, she is wholly your supe- 
 rior, in that she has never been known to meddle with 
 affairs not her own, or to rudely accost any one, on the 
 street or elsewhere. As to your social status, I consider 
 it only assumed and pretentious, for more reasons than 
 one. Have you, Miss Egotist, no cartes de visite on 
 your tablet of society left by those who either have been, 
 or their ancestors, shop-girls? It is nothing against 
 them, in my estimation. Why do you visit and invite 
 to your house these, and condemn me simply for being 
 considerate of the others? I will tell you: It is for the 
 one and sole reason that these former shop-girls with 
 whom you are 'familiar' (using your acceptation of the 
 word) have become rich by their shop wages having been 
 saved, or by their having married rich men; and you are 
 to-day acknowledging their money, socially; but it does 
 not do away with the shoprgirl representative. And if 
 today, suddenly, by any means ivhatsoever, these same 
 shop-girls you are deriding, should step into wealth, 
 your carte de visite, Miss Egotist, would be the first to 
 be received and left in the card-receiver by your own 
 
119 
 
 niammon-worshiping self, at her door. And since you 
 have rudely, and unprovoked, dared to impeach my per- 
 sonal right to judge and act for myself, I will say another 
 thing of this lady clerk, whom you attack through me. 
 None of her relatives have ever been known to recognize 
 or join the votaries of the demi-monde. Can you say 
 the same? 
 
 "You flush angrily, and say: 'But some of the shop- 
 girls' reputation is not blameless in that regard.'" 
 
 "Granted, and the same may truly be said of your 
 society members sometimes. Is the crime any less hein- 
 ous in the one than the other, because in one case the 
 girl is poor, and in the other riches excuse, in your eyes, 
 the transgression?" 
 
 "I would say to you, Miss Ego, that you would do 
 wisely and well to emulate the pure, honest, upright life 
 of many of these worthy shop-girls. Many of their 
 lives, if recorded, would add to the annals of the world's 
 truest heroines, in their unselfish acts to father, mother, 
 and the little ones, often sick or needy, in their patience, 
 chastity and enterprise. Learn, Miss Meddlesome Ego, 
 to attend to your own affairs. Go home, search upon 
 your book-shelves for Prof. Anybody^s elementally treatise 
 on common politeness for the house or street, read, pause 
 and digest that very valuable volume. Then get on 
 your knees (provided the attitude of kneeling does not 
 seriously pain your stiff neck), and ask God to help you 
 to eradicate some of that ego in you. ( Try yourself, 
 too, or all the asking will be in vain.) 
 
 "Now if you will take my advice, and do all this con- 
 scientiously, and persist in your efforts, then there may 
 yet be some hope that you, by some magnanimous possi- 
 bility of God's wondrous vouchsafed grace, may grad- 
 ually approximate to the good breeding, politeness and 
 thorough kindliness of heart and manner of these worthy 
 shop-girls." 
 
 Now, reader, you perhaps may be surprised, but I must 
 truthfully state that Miss Ego did not once even say 
 thank you, for my kind, compulsory homily! But she 
 remained silent, and I went on my way. I cannot yet 
 
120 
 
 say whether she has grown polite, and learned to drop 
 officiousness, for I am convinced that true politeness is 
 like one's backbone, or the shape of the nose — innate — 
 and inseparable from the whole of one's make-up. 
 
 There is such a thing as "righteous indignation." It 
 means a just, pardonable, commendable feeling of resent- 
 ment in a person, expressed by word and manner, to any 
 one who, with no provocation on the part of the assailed 
 party, rudely attacks the victim simply for want of good 
 breeding, simply from innate rudeness and coarseness. 
 
 Never, my reader, be you man, woman or child, make 
 the first encounter causelessly; but when thus attacked, 
 if you must strike, deal such a salutary, trenchant, stun- 
 ning blow that when your swell-headed assailant recovers 
 she will, at least, allow you the laissez /aire, even if 
 you cannot prevail upon her to con the instructive pages 
 of Prof. Anybody's volume, referred to above. It is a 
 gain to be rid of such persons. "Righteous indignation" 
 is your only weapon with the meddlesome Ego. 
 
 God bless the worthy, honest, industrious shop-girls! 
 shield and prosper them! It may be that when the pearly 
 gates are open in that unknown world of beauty and of 
 just rewards, many of the patient, unselfish toilers in the 
 shop may find those glorious portals open for their 
 entrance; when the egotistical, uncharitable critics will 
 be exiled, for egotism is always diametrically opposed to 
 sweet charity, without which all else is nothing. 
 
 Remember, the sensibilities of the egotist resemble the 
 thickness of the rhinoceros' hide; mild blows are unfelt. 
 
 How obsequious is the Ego! paying court in all quar- 
 ters, where self-interest is involved — be it social or 
 financial. 
 
 St. Augustine was once asked the question : "What 
 is piety, its^rs^ requisite?" 
 
 "Humilit}^" he replied. 
 
 •"And the second?" "Humility." 
 
 "And the third?" "Humility." 
 
 But not once does he say humiliation. Never! 
 
 If, for a reason, a person chooses to accept humiliations 
 
121 
 
 from one's own relatives, as a portion of his or her 
 imposed self-abnegation, for any offence, or wrong, done 
 those relativ^es, that is another thing, altogether, and 
 optional with the person humiliated. 
 
 But when an officious outsider arrogates to herself the 
 prerogative of saying one single insulting word, un- 
 provoked, strike hard with all the power with which 
 God has endowed you ; remembering that your quiver 
 must be armed with the arrow of Truth, else the missile 
 will have no effect, but fall wide of its mark. Strike so 
 forcibly that 07ie blow will be sufficieDt. 
 
 Silence is golden on many occasions, but it is power- 
 less when the insult demands " righteous indignation.'' 
 Never confound Humiliation with, nor substitute it for 
 Humility, for they are absolutely separate attributes. 
 
 Feeling has sacred rights, as well as action. Preserve 
 those rights. Let no rude outsider invade the holy 
 precincts. Yield not, with craven acquiescence, to over- 
 bearing egotism. 
 
 Do not vainly hope to eradicate that proud, arrogant, 
 presumptive, assertive trait in your assailant. Never! 
 But you may at least protect your modest selr from a 
 second onset from that obnoxious individual. 
 
 George McDonald graphically, and briefly, sums it, 
 with his fine descriptive, comprehensive powers, when he 
 thus describes the Egotist : 
 
 " He was a little cock who thought the sun had risen 
 to hear him crow" — (and the little egotistical hens and 
 pullets think the same.) 
 
 When our loving Father chooses to humiliate us, by 
 taking away our fortune, dear ones, friends, health, and 
 earthly hopes, accept the stroke, with meekness and 
 Humility — "Be still, and know, that I am God." 
 
 But never once allow the Egotist, man or woman, to 
 arrogantly dare question your right of self-government, 
 of thought, feeling, action, preference. Be not the 
 automatic victim of some audacious Egotist, else that 
 egotism will merge into hypnotism, and all unconscious 
 to yourselves, you become hopelessly controlled by a 
 
 (5d) 
 
122 
 
 dominant power — of a lower, coarser nature than 3'our 
 own, and the instant that occurs you have fallen from your 
 high estate — you have ignobly lowered your standard 
 of lofty manhood, or womanhood. You have sunk to 
 the despicable level of your dominant tyrant — the Egotist. 
 
 CUFFEE'S BRAYERY. 
 
 An aristocrat of the Southern type who was proverb- 
 ial for his elegance, and gentlemanly deportment, would 
 occasionally give vent to an oath when provoked beyond 
 measure. 
 
 An old darkey was telling another old darkey com- 
 rade, that on one occasion "Mars Kingsley used cuss 
 words to me." 
 
 " Cuss words/ ^^ replied Sambo. "Jim, I jes' tells you 
 what — dis nigger do, when Mars Kingsley dars to cuss 
 me — I jes' cusses him back — mouf to mouf, I does. I 
 aint gwine let no buckra cuss me now, I kin tell you, 
 Jim. No, Siree, I aint, muni not sence de Yankess 
 telled me not to, Why'ent ijou cuss him back, you nig- 
 ger, you?" 
 
 "Now, Sambo, you don't sho mean to 'sert dat Mars 
 Kingsley tuck your cussin'. do you? Dat is sprisin', 
 sho." 
 
 "He sho tuk de cussin', Jim — ef you don't b'leve dis 
 nigger, jes' try it. You know de Yankess sez us is good 
 ez de white folks, en / sho is gwine to cuss em ebry time 
 dey dars to cuss dis nigger." 
 
 Jim listened attentively for a few moments, removing 
 his tattered hat, and scratching his bald fringed pate, 
 then replied: "I'se gwine try it sho. I'se got some 
 business wid Mars Kingsley, 'bout some cotton I owes 
 him, en sho's he sassies me, I'se gwine cuss him. Ef he 
 tuk it fum you, Sambo, he'll tik it fum me." 
 
 And off he went, in search of Mars Kingsley. On 
 finding him, he began talking in a very impudent man- 
 ner, telling Mars Kingsley: "1 isn't gwine pay you 
 
123 
 
 'twell I gits ready." The Southern aristocrat absolutely 
 dazed at Jim's unprecedented and uncalled for insolence, 
 asked in an authoritative tone: "Jim, what do you 
 mean, you scoundrel, by addressing ine in such a man- 
 ner? " 
 
 Jim, here, replied with the longed-for oath, that he 
 really enjoyed — the time had come, and he had positively 
 asserted his equality with Mars Kingsley, by actually 
 cussin^ him. Before the oath had fairly left Jim's thick 
 Ethiopian rubicund lips, however, he felt a stanning 
 blow that felled him to the ground, and felt the pressure 
 of a pair of feet standing on his prostrate body, that 
 were vigorously performing the gymnastic exercise, vul- 
 garly called by niggers, stompin\^ "Oh Lawdy, Mars 
 Kingsley, jes' git off, en spar' de life of dis fool nigger 
 wonced mo', and [ clars by the Saint Bolumnu, I'll neber 
 cus you, nur no white bukra no mo'. Oh Lawdy! OhI" 
 
 When he finally rose, bruised and sore, "a sadder," 
 but certainly, "a wiser" nigger, he brushed the grit off 
 his clothes, picked up his sand covered hat, and looked 
 down the street at Mars Kingsley walking along in bis 
 usual grandiloquent manner. 
 
 "Fore Gawd, I'se been a fool, fer de las' time." Then 
 making his way back to Sambo, he said, "Nigger, whut 
 fur you tell me dat d — n lie fur? De minute I fairly 
 started to cuss Mars Kingsley de sparks flew outen my 
 eyes, I was sprawlin' on de groun' en Mars Kingsley on 
 top stompin' me mos' ter def." "You fool," said Sambo, 
 "You aholy didn't cuss Mars Kingsley to his faceV^ 
 "You said you cussed him." "So I did, nigger, but not 
 to his face — not oat loud! Dis nigger jes' means I cussed 
 him in my mine!^^ 
 
 GIRLS. 
 
 "Girls, like the priestesses of old, should be educated 
 only in sacred places; and never hear, much less see, 
 whatever is rude, immoral, or violent." 
 
 Not literally in a convent, as some might wrongly 
 
124 
 
 interpret "sacred places," as expressed so forcibly and 
 beautifully by Riehter. Reverently, tenderly, I touch 
 this topic, with a feeling somewhat as if unveiling- some 
 hallowed sanctum sanctorum. 
 
 You exclaim at once, "Indeed, I do not see why; I do 
 not understand, at all; I see nothing reverent about 
 yirls!^'' Such an involuntary remark from you is elicited, 
 as you think, instantly, of the girl of to-day as she is, 
 as she usually appears — her type, as viewed from the 
 general point of view — you have based your exclamation 
 on the impression the commonplace girl has necessarily 
 made on your mind. And you are not to blame. Alas! 
 for, indeed, many of them are only commonplace, I 
 deeply regret to say. 
 
 Girls of to-day allow such familiarity from the opposite 
 sex, are guilty of such laxity of deportment themselves, 
 of such lack of any deference to their elders — even to 
 their ])arents and grand-parents — .seemingly ignorant of 
 the very tirst recjuisites of politeness, which seemed innate 
 in the past generation, that when — very occasionally one 
 meets with an exception — a well-mannered, considerate, 
 deferential girl — a girl who repels the insolent familiarity 
 of boys and men — one is simply amazed, as greatly as 
 gratified and pleased. 
 
 Girls, as they should and can be, are God's highest, 
 best and most beautiful creations. Alas! the girl-child 
 of today actually loses her childhood 'ere she scarcely 
 reaches the threshhold of budding womanhood. I heard 
 a gentleman, not long since, say : " I wish I could see 
 some children once more — innocent, unsophisticated 
 children — as I remember them in my young days. Are 
 there any children now?" In vain you protest, and 
 say to me, " you are drawing isolated cases." By no 
 means. In proof of which the united opinion of the 
 majority of the best-bred men and women — persons of 
 polite rearing, refinement and culture — coincide with me. 
 Our opinions are justly formed — (reluctantly enough, 
 heaven knows,) from daily personal observation. How 
 
125 
 
 many of them are physical and moral wrecks, long before 
 they arrive at the age of manhood, and womanhood. 
 
 Mothers, if your daughters have been endowed with 
 gracefulness and beauty, teach them, religiously, that 
 kindness — genuine and heartfelt — must accompany these 
 gifts, or they become a curse, instead of a blessing. Only 
 a kindhearted person can possibly be uniformly polite. 
 Without true, steadfast politeness, a girl had far better 
 never have been born. If your daughter is specially 
 gifted, or talented — more brilliant in intellect than her 
 companions — receive these attributes as special favor 
 from the Great Dispenser of all things. But carefully 
 and early teach your girls that no real blessedness can 
 ever attain even brilliancy and attractiveness in a high 
 degree, if divested of what should always l)e the sweet 
 handmaiden of genius, viz: a loving, charital)le spirit. 
 
 Going too early into "society," mingling and associ- 
 ating promiscuously with boys and men — so often rough 
 and horrible in their deportment and conversation — sel- 
 dom making remarks unless attended with some impure 
 inuendos, takes the down from the peach, the freshness 
 from the cherry — while yet your girls are children in 
 years — leaving literally nothing in store for them when 
 they shall have reached young womanhood. 
 
 How is it with their education? Very much in this 
 wise: "Mamma. I don't want to go to such a school." 
 And the mother yields at once, without one dissenting 
 word; not but that in many instances the parent prefers 
 that very school, but simply that the child completely 
 governs the mother in all things. It applies to all ques- 
 tions of daily life. Does your young daughter wish to 
 attend festivals, receptions, operas, theatres, so frequently 
 in one week or month that you can see she is over- 
 fatigued, unfitted thereby from accomplishing any domes- 
 tic duty? (Indeed, she is already robbed of any inclina- 
 tion for anything domestic.) It never occurs to her, even 
 in the long Summer vacations, to prepare some dainty 
 dish for that fond, devoted father, who, in many cases, 
 labors so hard in order to lavish iuduluences on his 
 
126 
 
 spoiled darling. She does not even think of sweetly 
 meeting him on home's threshold with an atfectionate 
 greeting, placing his slippers ready for his tired feet. 
 Oh, no!" And yet how much it would lessen his labors. 
 How greatly would it increase the joys of home. But 
 the young girl has no time for that, she says, and yet 
 how many of them have time for frequently entertaining 
 boys with not sense enough, and less inclination, to make 
 their salt, and not sensibility enough to appreciate one 
 of the sweet arts the girl is devotedly wasting on him. 
 Often he cannot pay for the cigarettes he smokes, and 
 borrows the money to cash the soda-water drinks he gives 
 her. Bear in mind that this girl has not reached "grown 
 up years" — only a child! but fearfully, mournfully pa^-^ee 
 in all but years. Going out with chaperones, themselves 
 guilty of breaches of common politeness — allowing 
 familiarity and rudeness in those they pretend to chape- 
 rone, with never a reproving glance or word Think of 
 the thousands of dollars worse than thrown away on the 
 musical opportunities given these girls. Why? Not that 
 their teachers are incompetent; not that the girl is devoid 
 of voice or talent, but simply because the time that 
 should be daily, regularly apportioned to technique 
 theory, practicing, is given to Society — frittered away, 
 sinned away, correctly speaking — in straining her nerves 
 and ambitions to entertain and be entertained in frivoli- 
 ties divested of one pure, educating, elevating purpose. 
 The same may be said of the vast amount of money 
 wasted on giving them Art, and other accomplishments. 
 Their whole youth — childhood and womanhood — are 
 centred in demoralizing occupations. 
 
 Teach your girls, by your example and association, to 
 always greet each member of the family, and servants, 
 a pleasant "good morning," and "good night;" to keep 
 tidy, cleanl}^ rooms; to associate only with the pure and 
 good; select their companions for their personal merit, 
 and not for the amount of taxes paid by their parents on 
 personal property. Make your homes "sacred places" by 
 
127 
 
 their jmr it y, morality, and ostracism therefrom of rude, 
 coarse persons. 
 
 Dear girls, I would have you hospitable and sociable. 
 Few love you as I do. I want you to have your social 
 gathering's — wisely attended — to have a plenty of pleas- 
 ure, but not to indulge until it amounts to dissipation. 
 But I beg you, dear loves, to make these things only 
 secondary in your life occupations. Why not sometimes 
 offer, lovingly, to help weary mother with some of her 
 housekeeping? Sometimes give yourself a glimpse and 
 touch of the Divinity Himself by nursing and playing 
 with the baby? You know you cannot be ubiquitous. 
 No one can — least of all, Society girls and women. 
 
 Cultivate a cheerful sunshiny manner and speech. 
 Such a girl can give out more comfort and happiness — 
 can radiate around the dear home circle more true joy — 
 more real sunshine, than all the loud, rude, selfish, im- 
 modest girls, that go to constitute all the fashionable 
 fads and events, designed by Satan's votaries, in the world! 
 How frequently does the course of the stereotyped 
 girl of to day end in shame, and disgrace! If it involved 
 only herself, there were not cause for half the regret 
 there is. But, alas — while she "cannot touch pitch" 
 without soiling her own hands, and soul — she, likewise 
 can never, possibly do the latter without dragging also 
 into disgrace the names of her innocent family, some 
 grey-haired father must go mourning always — some 
 sweet, pure mother must break her heart in grief — some 
 innocent brothers and sisters must bear innocently their 
 share of her ignominy — and generation after generation, 
 must live and die, in the shadow, that one sinful girl has 
 entailed upon them. 
 
 The twenty-four hours of the day and night allow no 
 time, to be, at the same time, a true home-loving girl, 
 a devotee to vain empty amusements, carried to a sinful 
 excess. You cannot be both. Choose for yourself, and 
 choose wisely, and in time. Make your lives worth liv- 
 ing. Be something near and dear and helpful to home, 
 
128 
 
 to servants; to neighbors; to the suffering and poor, 
 wherever needed. 
 
 If you think, my dear girls, that I am an extremist — 
 if you are angry and impatient with me, mothers — I 
 heartily wish, that every one of you, could have heard a 
 sermon I heard in church in New Orleans a few years 
 
 ago by the Rev. Mr. W r, rector of that grand old 
 
 church. It seemed to me that every sentiment he uttered 
 was but the echo of my observations on society for several 
 years. He plainly, and oh! so lovingly told his congre- 
 gation that all efforts to accomplish good in the church, 
 or in the world, would be vain, while society remained 
 upon its present social basis. And, when summing up 
 the many evils, social, financial, moral, mental, he re- 
 marked calmly and sadly. 
 
 "And who is to blame? With deep regret and sor- 
 row, truth compels me to say the evil lies at the door of 
 you society women. You have put manacles on many a 
 man's wrists; you have put many a man behind the 
 prison bars — in anguish and disgrace, who otherwise 
 would have gone through life blameless." 
 
 Remember, dear mothers, for I love you all dearly, 
 that the gi7^Is you are rearing in all the present evils of 
 society, are daily and yearly growing into the women 
 who gradually reach the fatal precipice, and in their 
 fatal fall, must needs drag some innocent name, and lov- 
 ing life down with them 
 
 A constant desire to go, to hunt up other companions 
 than those at home, to make themselves conspicuous, an 
 insatiable desire for novelty and dissipation, have come 
 to be one of the dominating passions of girls of to-day. 
 
 Mothers, be careful what books 3^our girls read. 
 Worlds of endless harm are disseminated by impure, 
 sensational books. Pour passer le temps, girls will 
 dawdle over a novel, the latest fashion-plates, scandals 
 in high life, and g-loat over how some clever American 
 mamma "managed" to ally her daughter to a worthless, 
 dissolute scion of a broken down nobility. Again (and 
 this is perhaps one of the saddest features of the mature, 
 
129 
 
 elderly years of what girlhood merges into), they marry, 
 become mothers, their daughters become members of 
 Society; and when these mothers should long since have 
 retired from assuming the 7'ole of the young Society 
 woman, she will not relinquish these vanities even then. 
 When her greatest delight in life should be to help train 
 those precious little ones God has given her — alas! she 
 cannot! Love of Society has eradicated all love for such 
 occupations and duties. So long have frivolities absorbed 
 her very being, that she is environed; mind, heart, im- 
 pulse, desire and ambition know but one impetus. 
 
 Ask for your girls the highest, best gifts, and personally 
 help them to reach the pinnacle. Like the mother of 
 Zebedee's children, ask the loftiest gifts within power of 
 the Divinity. 
 
 "Oh, Mothers!" said Mme. de Remusat, "gather your 
 children about you early. Dare to say to them, when 
 they come into the world, that your youth is passing into 
 theirs! Oh, mothers! he mothers, and you will be wise 
 and happy." 
 
 Be brave enough to snatch your darling girls from the 
 vortex of demoralization that encompasses them. Impress 
 upon them that a girl who allows rudeness and familiarity 
 from the tpyiciil boy and man, soon sinks into equal vul- 
 garity as himself. 
 
 A young girl — modest, refined, dutiful, in whatsoever 
 station her duties place her — maintaining her o\v n individ- 
 uality of purity of thought, manner, word — irrespective 
 of her companions' criticisms and gibes, is one of the 
 most refreshing things in all this wide world. Every 
 one of you, my dears, can be just such a charming, lovely 
 person, if you wish. Try it, and see what an infinite 
 amount of happiness it will bring. Then, indeed, many 
 homes, depressed by the presence of ennuyed girls — 
 worthless, and sewing the seeds for life-time misery — will 
 become "sacred places" of peace and joy. And you will 
 soon learn to love to avoid every thing that is "rude, 
 immoral and violent." You will become "priestesses" — 
 not of secluded monasteries — but happier far, a thousand 
 
 (6) 
 
130 
 
 fold, and just as good, and pure, and useful, as veiled 
 Nun of celebate vows — priestesses, verily, around domestic 
 altars of purest affection, making happy and guiding 
 into a higher life some fortunate husband, who can fondly 
 and proudly date his upward career, his real happiness, 
 from the hour you taught him, hy your own girlish 
 abhorrence, and ostracism of everything that savored of 
 coarseness or familiarity, to deport himself in accordance 
 to your high standard of what constitutes the true gen- 
 tleman, else forfeit all claims to your acquaintance and 
 companionship. 
 
 FORGIVENESS. 
 
 Not because we wish their forgiveness; not because we 
 feel we rightly deserve to suffer; not even, because we 
 are endeavoring, by so doing, "to return good for evil;" 
 nor, simply, in order to live "peacefully with all men, as 
 far as in us lies." 
 
 The one grand, sublime, Christian reason, can only truly 
 be for the same reason, that Christ, in his agony on the 
 cross, rendered: "Father forgive them, for they know 
 not wnat they do." 
 
 They have broken our hearts, wrecked our lives; but 
 the very coarseness of their natures makes them callous, 
 ignorant of the great offense and wrong they have 
 inflicted; nor could they possibly, comprehend such a 
 feeling, if expressed by the injured. They have been 
 basely ungrateful, false, unworthy of anything but abso- 
 lute contempt from God and man. They can no more 
 comprehend the evil done than a person wholly deficient 
 in the slightest musical talent, or training, could com- 
 prehend the divine Sonatos of Beethoven, or creations 
 of a Listz. 
 
 The blind cannot see, nor the deaf hear, the dumb 
 speak, or the lame walk. 
 
 I once knew a person, whom the scarlet fever had 
 deprived of the sense of smell. In vain, for him, were 
 the roses' odors distilled, or violets' perfume exhaled. 
 
131 
 
 Coarseness cannot understand, even remotely, exquisite 
 refinement, or pious devotion, cruel natures know not 
 how to be kind; dishonor fails to comprehend the loftiest 
 honor; diabolical, selfish lasciviousness, cannot conceive 
 the remotest idea of lofty principle, and sublime self- 
 abnegation. "Father, forgive them, for they know not 
 what they do." 
 
 THE GEORGIA CHIGGER. 
 
 Southerners, familiar with the diminutive size of the 
 energetic, persistent, irrepressible insect, yclept, Georgia 
 Ghigger, will appreciate the following: 
 
 An ancient dame, who was a martyr to the invasion 
 of brigades of these pests, was in the habit of relegat- 
 ing the task of finding, and exterminating these ene- 
 mies to all physical comfort, to a little darkey. One day 
 the lady said to her, "Roxy, you can't see them can 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, ma'am, I ken." 
 
 "Well," responded the lady, "I can't, unless I had a 
 microscope. Can you see the heads?" 
 
 "Oh! yes, ma'am." "But you can't see the feet?" 
 
 "Yes'em, I ken see de foots, too!" 
 
 "Well, I know you cannot see the eyes." 
 
 "Yes^em, I ken see de eyes too." 
 
 "Then, Roxy, tell me what sort of eyes have they." 
 
 "Dey is got blue eyes ma'am — I ken see 'em j^lain.^^ 
 
 I'M AN ARTIST. 
 
 "Miss Geraldine," said Pheby, "Dare's er nartis at 
 de do' — at de front do' ; say he "^got some fine, new Art 
 'terials to shew you; en sides dat, he say ez how he's 
 sho got some bery Hickler ^jjortance business wid you." 
 
 "Pheby," I replied, "why do you annoy me in this man- 
 ner when 1 am so busy? Have you not sent away a thou- 
 sand traveling agents without coming to me? Have I not 
 told you to ahvays say to them that 'The Lady buys 
 
132 
 
 nothing at the door; never opens it to, or ever sees trav- 
 eling agents, and never keeps any money in the house? 
 Now, whj could you not obey me this time as here- 
 tofore?" 
 
 "Kaze, Miss Geraldine, dat nartis kum fum 'tward de 
 house en dem lots you wants to sell; en when he sez 
 'Tell de Lady I'se got some Hickler en ^portance busi- 
 ness I karn't ^splain to nobody 'tall sepin^ herself, I 
 thinks to myself — now, dis nartis is sho wantin' to buy 
 er rent; dems de raisons I comes to you, Miss; en he 
 sez, too, be sure en tell de Lady dat I ain't gwine to 
 entertain (detain) her but three minutes. 'Scusen me, 
 please. Miss." 
 
 The words "particular and important" had the same 
 effect on my cranium as they had produced on Pheby. 
 Thinking, and faintly hoping, that perhaps some kind 
 angel — patiently and industriously fighting his way 
 through all the density of McKinleyism — had at last 
 landed in my vicinity to buy or rent an abiding place, I 
 laid my work aside, arose and said: 
 
 "Well, Pheby, it does sound and look like business. 
 I'll accompany you as far as the front hall. Admit him, 
 but be sure you remember to remain standing at the back 
 of my chair until the departure of dat nartis.''^ 
 
 "Yes, Miss." 
 
 "Placing some chairs, Pheby opened the front door. 
 Expecting to see a man with some visible samples of the 
 divine Art of painting, imagine my surprise and con- 
 sternation when in walked a tall, slim, seedy, shabbily- 
 dressed, coarse-looking, red-nosed man, accompanied with 
 a young, common-looking woman, holding a very young 
 baby in her arms. No portmanteau, no sachel, no pack- 
 age of any kind was visible. Mentally wondering where 
 the Art materials could be, and on not seeing them, more 
 thoroughly convinced that some kind-hearted estate agent 
 had sent this unknown party to me to rent a house, I 
 politely asked them to be seated, pointing to the chairs. 
 "What is your important business that can be explained 
 only to myself, sir," I inquired. 
 
133 
 
 "Yes, nica'am, I'll explain!" said the man; "won't 
 detain you more than three minutes. You see, ma'am, 
 I was a try in' to git my wife to my ivife^s father, and 
 I'm just from Blanktown, but I don't live there, an' I 
 don't know your name, an' who lives at the next house?" 
 
 Almost dazed with amazement, I interrupted him by 
 saying : 
 
 "But, sir, this is not telling me your business with me? 
 What is it, do you want food or clothing? If so, 
 I'll help your wife and babv that way, gladly. Please, 
 at once, state your business, for my time is precious?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, sutenly, immejitly, ma'am; I wonH 
 detain you more than three minutes! As I was a sayin', 
 I was a try in' to git my icife to my wife^s father, an' 
 my baby was sick with the colic last night— (here I 
 glanced at the fat, healthy -looking representative of dat 
 nartis) an' we staid at the"^ hotel last night, an', as I was 
 a sayin', I was tryin' to get my wife to my wife's — " 
 
 "Sir," I interrupted him, ''what do you wish with me; 
 in Heaven's name tell me! You sent word by my servant 
 to me that your business with me was imp07Hant — could 
 be explained only to myself— and, besides, that you were 
 an Artist, with some new art materials to exhibit!" 
 
 At these important words, the seedy, slim "naHis^" 
 darted through the front door, and returned in an instant, 
 bringing a little basket, the exact counterpart and model 
 of the Concord grape basket, with which we are all 
 familiar. 
 
 As he approached me, I heard a suppressed giggle 
 from Pheby, behind me, and when "dat nartist'^ removed 
 a dingy, greyish, dirty cloth, suggestive of a possibility 
 of having once been white, a long time ago; and proudly 
 pulled out and held up two dirty vials filled with a muddy- 
 looking fluid, Pheby 's giggling was no longer sup- 
 pressed, but gave place to laughter, shaking my chair 
 withal, thus disgraciuLT all the years' training of politeness 
 and courtesy I had striven to impress on that obtuse 
 Ethiopian handmaiden ! 
 
 As for myself I was too amazed — too indignant to 
 
134 
 
 speak, or even to ]an<j^h. ''Dat nartis^ " brazen effrontery 
 and shrewd deception dazed me for a moment. Finally, 
 summoning all the friij^idity and contempt my nature was 
 capable of, I screamed out, 
 
 And, is this your important^ individual business, with 
 me?" 
 
 Not in the least abashed, my tormentor, with much 
 chic, replied: 
 
 "These are my Art materials, ma'am. I'm an Artist! 
 If you have any furniture, no matter how fine, or old, 
 that's broken, ruined, or scratched, or defaced, one appli- 
 cation of this Art material will make it good as new. ' 
 
 "Exciise me, sir, said I. With all your brass and de- 
 ception, I must thank you for one thin^?. No other 
 tramp, or agent, or beggar, or impostor, has ever yet, 
 previously resorted to your ruse — imporlant business.' 
 You have duped me. and my servant, but it will never 
 occur again. After //iix, we are prepared for any out- 
 rageous imposition, and will never be duped, similarly 
 again." 
 
 With these words, I withdrew to the rear of the hall, 
 while Pheby involuntarily walked square up, confront- 
 ing "dat Artis" and family with these indignant words: 
 
 "Look er here, white folks! you sho mus' be er gwine 
 on, now. My miss is got lots uv pashuns, but I be- 
 switched. ef you all aint 'nuff to make ole Job cuss ef he 
 wuz here — 'er nartis.' Yes, you's one, mebbe! you 
 varmint uv er eel lookin' white man, ez you is." (There 
 was a large tapestry painting on a panel in the hall, 
 representing Robert Burns and Highland Mary. Pheby, 
 invariably called it Robert Lee and Mary, by a slight 
 mistake. Glancing at it, now, she angrily exclaimed, 
 her Ethiopian liberal lips curled in scorn, and her voice 
 drawling out the words in a nasal twang): 
 
 "You er 'Nartis/^ I reckin you is! 'Fore gracious, 
 when you sont my miss word, I thinks to myself, en' 
 when you stepped so pui^t like to de v'rander, to git dtm 
 'terials, I makes sho, sez I: Now, dat nartis, wid his fine 
 picters, is sho gwine turn down all my Miss Gerald ine's 
 
135 
 
 paintins', ^cludin^ Robert Lee en Mary! en den white 
 man, you vile 'poster, ez you is, when you fotch in dat 
 ole dirty rag* en barsket, en had de 'shuranee to onkiver 
 two nasty vials of nuthin' scepin' muddy branch water/ 
 Get out dis house, I say, dis minute! Ef I only had 
 dem 'vials of wrath' what St. Moses 'forms us, is gwine 
 to be poured out on de wicked, I'd dash 'em on you now. 
 I wouldn't, en couldn't wait for de las' day of jestice. 
 I'd jes' hordshushly consume you, wid 'em, dis minit, 
 soon ez I could git your pisened body outen dis here 
 house! Three minits, indeed/ you lyin' varmint! I'se 
 listened good, en I haint hyeerd you tell a single trufe 
 yit, I haint! Lawd knows, you'se come nigher enter- 
 tainin' my miss fum her work er half hour, den, jes' 
 three minits/ Git out, I say!" 
 
 As Pheby stood directly in the front doorway while 
 delivering her stirring oration, thus effectually barri- 
 cading, unconsciously, "dat nartis" and family's egress, 
 those interesting persons, that charming trio stood await- 
 ing Pheby's removing the formidable obstacle (her form), 
 the young woman still holding the baby, who with wide- 
 open, observant eyes, was staring hard at Robert Lee 
 and Mary, doubtless feeling an embryo inspiration of a 
 coming genius, to be developed in maturity into a pro- 
 fession, master of which the young aspirant would event- 
 ually wear the laurels of his ^^a^er familias, and be 
 dubbed "dat nartis " 
 
 Finally, it slowly dawned on Pheby's obtuseness that 
 she was impeding their exit. She moved aside, com- 
 manding them, "Go out!" and as they passively obeyed, 
 Pheby watched them until they had passed through the 
 gate, saying: 
 
 "Now, Nartis, I 'vises you to git anuder chorus sepitV 
 I ivas a tryin^ to git my wife to my wife^s father. Lawd 
 knows, I'se tired of dat, sho. Git a new tune, nartis, 
 for gracious' sake — ef hits nuthin' but *De ole cow she 
 cross de road,' or even, 'Grasshopper settin' on a sweet 
 'tater vine.' Dem is sholy m,o interesting den sayin' over 
 en over agin, 'twell a body feels like pins is er stickin' 
 
136 
 
 *em, 'I was a try in' to git my wife to my wife's father.'" 
 I stood there laughing, now that it was all over, feel- 
 ing I had my revenge in full compensation for the annoy- 
 ance of the imposter. 
 
 "Miss," said Pheby, "I'se done onravelled de myst'ry 
 of 'dat nartis.' Dat er 'oman is some po gal he is desaved, 
 en he wants to git her en dat ar baby back to de ole man, 
 en den /le'.s- gwine stial away, all unbeknown'st to 'em 
 all. Ef you 'member. Miss, dat nartis nuber wunced 
 stated whar he wus er tryin' to git hissef ter, he didnH. 
 Ef he tells many mo sich lies ez he's fooled dis nigger 
 wid, en he gits his serts (deserts), hit's my 'pinion he'll 
 land in torment, where he sho do 'long! Er Nartis! I do 
 say de word!" 
 
 LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 God bless them, every one — girls and boys — pretty 
 and homely, good and bad, rich and poor, white and 
 black, bond and free! They are the oases in the deserts 
 of life; flowers in a thorny wilderness; music in a harsh, 
 discordant world; the blue sky, through storm-clouds; 
 pearls amid the dross of the wayside; sunshine in C(-ld, 
 dark wintry weather; brightest companions in our joys; 
 sweetest solace in our griefs; divinest inspiration in a 
 world of mammon-worship and hard selfishness. How 
 inestimable is the debt we owe them, and how far we 
 should always be from forgetting that they are not 
 responsible for being here, in this strange, unjust battle- 
 ground of life, and hence we should bear with them in 
 all their remissness, and forgive all their transgressions. 
 They are the rainbows after the storm; butterflies of 
 Heavenly daintiness in the blushing rose-beds, and lilies' 
 snowy petals. 
 
 How often, when enjoying the exquisite presence of a 
 charming little child, have I wished vainly that I might 
 keep it always an innocent fondling! How I regret to 
 see the babyhood slipping away from the kissable darlings, 
 the dawning of the self-conscious hoy! I simply adore 
 
137 
 
 the big. fluffy, snow-ruffled collarette of the tiny boy in 
 ' kilts," or knee pants. And, oh ! with what dread I 
 apprehend the first doffing of the same — to make place 
 for the appearance of the man's attire — long pants and 
 standing-collar! The first time my own little beautiful 
 boy was decked in his first man's imitation suit, and 
 came into my presence, with his self-assertive, conscious, 
 strutting, peacock manners, a consternation seized my 
 being and I could not, for my life, answer the eager, 
 upturned, questioning look on his beautiful face, as He 
 still stood near, waiting for my compliments — waiting 
 for me to say, 'How lovely, a\y little man!^'' But I 
 could not, the words died in my throat. In my agony I 
 was reflecting that my hahy boy had merged into boyhood, 
 and the baby was gone forever! 
 
 "Well, Mignonne," said his clear, silvery voice, "You 
 seem to be blind, to-day! Didn't you notice any diff'er- 
 ence in me?" 
 
 It had come! Triumphant in his little standing-collar 
 and appropriate tie, he was all unconscious of my tender 
 regrets! With dry eyes, but choking breath — a forced 
 smile on my lips — I snatched him up, folding ray arms 
 tightly around him, and in a strangely-sounding voice 
 tried to say the words he so longed to hear. 
 
 Thank God, for little children! If ever I am fortunate 
 enough, when life is over, to enter Eden's pearly gates, 
 I pray my Heavenly Father to appoint me superintendent 
 of the whole domain of the creche! 
 
 DAT CHICKEN DIED WID DE KOLERY. 
 
 It was on the eve of my departure for a visit to the 
 World's Fair at Chicago. Calling up my servant, an 
 old darkey woman, said, I: "Pheby, I shall leave so 
 very early to-morrow morning, you must prepare my 
 breakfast to-night, all except the coffee." 
 
 "Take this change," said I, "g«> out and purchase me a 
 large frying size pullet, fry it deliciously, as you know 
 how to do, and put it in my luncheon basket with the 
 
138 
 
 beaten biscuits and other refreshments, and have every- 
 thing ready. Call me at 5 o'clock to-morrow morning, 
 bringing the coffee when you summon me It will be 
 the last fried chicken and beaten biscuit I'll see, Pheby, 
 until I return from Yankeedom." 
 
 "Yes, Missus, I'll be on time, and have ebery thing 
 cooked right. I hyear em say dem sateful Yankees neber 
 seed no decent cookin', nor eber mixed wid any decent 
 white folks, 'twill dey kums Souf, mongst 1/4.7" 
 
 Bidding me good night my sable maid left me. Next 
 morning she summoned me promptly, bringing with her 
 a cup of delicious cafe noir, and the breast of a fried 
 chicken and biscuits. 
 
 " How refreshing," I said, "and the chicken is perfect. 
 It is so much larger than I expected, as you told me a 
 day or so ago, there were only broiling size ones to be 
 procured around here, now." Pheby gave a low signifi- 
 cant chuckle. "Humph, Miss, en I tole you de trufe, too, 
 dere haint no full size ones to be got round hyere. Dis is 
 Kris's pe^ pullet — dat un he thinks such a powerful sight 
 on — en ef he kjus to fine out I had kilt dat darlin' 
 chicken uv his'n — well, 'twould about be time I was a 
 preparin' for journey to de graveyard, Mun, hit would. 
 You see, diH^n is de only one what's big full size. Didn't 
 you hyear a powerful racket in de back yard dis mornin' 
 'bout daybreak? Well 'twas Kris, a cussin' en er gwine 
 on 'bout dis hyere same pullet, but I'se fixed it all right, 
 an quoUed that mendacious African at last You see, dis 
 is how it was: Yistidy mornin' when Kris fed his 
 chickens, dis h3'ere pullet was a prancin' en croonin' en 
 friskin' roun' like a young gal fixin' de table fo de log 
 rollin', looking 'sheep-eyed' at dat game rooster, fur all 
 de world, Kris said, I usen to, Missus, when / wus a 
 courtin' him — de insurance uv dat nigger is 'posterous, 
 shor 
 
 Well! so, den, dis mornin' when he called de chickens, 
 his pet pullet wus a missin', en no wonder neder, fu I 
 had sholy kotch dat frisky jade, picked, fried and cooped 
 her safely, fur de las' time, in dat lunch basket to travel 
 
139 
 
 on to de Fair." (Here Pheby chuckled with evident 
 exultant pride;. 
 
 So ez I vvus a gwine on to lorate to you, Miss, when 
 Kris misses de pullet, he turn right straight to me, in 
 course] hit's a habit uv his'n I've never yit been able to 
 break dat African fum, durin' all dese forty years I'se 
 been fool enough to wait on en sarve him; so turnin', ez 
 I sez, to me, as usiale, sez he, 'Ole 'oman, whar''s my pet 
 pullet?' Miss, right dar at dat tickler pint Kris looked so 
 straight into my very eyes, dat fur a minit sez I to 
 myself, .s7io, Kris must er seed me kill dat pullet; but den 
 I 'lected, no, he couldn't had er seen me, kase I 'members, 
 sho, he did not git home fum de liel 'twill dem prep'ra- 
 tions in dat stove wus done. So, den, I feels bole en 
 good, en 87io-like agin, en I looked des ez straight den 
 into Kris' eyes, en sez I, 'pun de spot right dar, wid him 
 a star-gazin' into my eyes en me er star-gazin' into 
 hisin, 'Kris,' sez I, 'you's got leetle to do, 'pears to me, 
 leetle to do, to cum er axin en er scusin' me uv knowin' 
 what's cum uv dat cacklin' huzzy uv a pullet. Gawd 
 knowslhaint done nuthin' to your tarnal pet pullet.' 
 Suddently, Miss, de sweet black angels 'spires me wid a 
 idee— a idee what I felt would make dat nigger shet his 
 mouf and stop his gashiatin' en cussin'. So I sez, 'Kris, 
 what pullet you mean? You haint a furrin' to dat brown 
 pullet, is you?' 'Dat very brown pullet, ole 'oman; how 
 in de yairth could you er thunk I didnH mean dat same 
 pullet?" 
 
 "Kaze, sez I, I thought you knowed Kris, dat dat 
 pullet died ivid de koleryp^ 
 
 "Miss, sJio hit 'pearedlike Kris would 'bout faint when 
 dat 'formation struck his 3^ears." 
 
 "Ef I had er thunk any less uv you, Miss, I'd been 
 sorter sorry fur Kris. Sez he, 'Died wid de kolery ? 
 Why, ole 'oman, dey neber has a chicken died wid dat 
 pistiferous, ketchin' disease 'mong varments sencel'sbeen 
 tendiu' em myself. What good do it do for Miss Geral- 
 dine to walk so piert over dis hyere place ebey week, en 
 me follerin' 'roun' arter her, lookin' for some spot, or 
 
140 
 
 some hof^ or chicken trof, makin' me put lime here, 
 coperas dere, to keep ebery thing clean en healthy; en 
 arter all dat carrin' on, en 'spense, fur me to hev my pet 
 pullet die wid de kolery so suddently?" 
 
 "You look er hyere, Kris, sez I, I'se tired uv all dis 
 argufyin, I is." 
 
 "Taint no kolery no where's 'tall roun" — Kris grins 
 again. "Jes let me ax you one question," sez I, "you 
 thick-headed African, en I wants dat to satisfy you, en 
 make you shet your mouf — er cussin' en er gwine on so 
 'bout one dead chicken, when de yard's full uv nice, live 
 ones. Ef you don't shet up swarin' so right mendaciously 
 in de very face of de Almighty, dont mind He'll sen' dem 
 plages of Egypt on you, en de locuses will eat supp'n in 
 dis yard sides wild honey, en de frogs wont leave you 
 standin', nor settin', nor sleepin' room — much leasenere 
 all des chickins. Shet up, Kris, fo de locuses comes en 
 eats des live chickens, en if you 'scapes dat, en den—ef 
 you don't shet up you'll be whar Dives is, en when you 
 can't get no mo water en he's got all des years, you'll 
 sho think den, hits better to do douten one ole pullet den 
 to do douten one single drap uv water! 
 
 You will mun, I tell you nigger. Now shet up! dis 
 minute, and let des one question I'm gwine to ax you, 
 settle all dis argurfyin, and shew you de salvation of de 
 Lord. Kris, tell me dis: Didn't Mr. Blake go to town day 
 foe yestidy, to his bizness, jest as well as ever he wus?" 
 "Yes." "Well in course, you knows he did, en didn't 
 dey bring him home dead dat very day?" "In course dey 
 did." Well, den Kris heve some sense, en be cornvinced, 
 when I shores you, dat dat\s de way wid de chicken kol- 
 ery. Yistidy your pet pullet wus live en well, today, 
 she's dead." Wid dat strong argufying, I quoited and 
 cornvinced him, en he et his brekfus en went 'long to de 
 fiel, but ez he went outen de gate I hyears him say to 
 his sef: "Hits bleeged to be like Pheby sez. I'se never 
 knowed her to desave me 'bout nuthin, all dese forty 
 years, but hits powerful s-t-r-a-n-g-e!" 
 
 "Miss Geraldine, I neber wus so glad to see dat 
 
141 
 
 'tarnal nigger go out en shet de gate behind him, en mos 
 shet his big mouf, in my life as I was dis mornin.' " 
 
 It suddenly occurred to me how often some of my own 
 chickens had, all at once, mysteriously disappeared; but 
 I remembered that "silence is golden"'sometimes. This, 
 I felt, was surely one of the times. It was no use in pro- 
 testing when Pheby started out with the corollary, "Dat 
 chicken died wid de kolery." Blackstone, and all his 
 honorable colleagues and successors, could never have 
 offered more incontrovertible arguments, and none, I'm 
 sure, could ever have approximated to Pheby's absolute 
 sanp; fr^oid of word and manner. 
 
 "Pheby," said I, "you have done very wrong; you 
 have taken what was not yours, and besides you have 
 deceived your husband. These are grave offences. If 
 I give you a quarter to give to Kris as remuneration for 
 his pullet, will you give it to him? If so, I will gladly 
 do so." 
 
 "Now, Miss Geraldine, I gwine tell you de trufe, 'fore 
 Gawd. I haint gwine tell anuder lie, en me en you jes^ 
 'bout to part, at dat. No, Miss Geraldine, I won^t. jes' 
 shore aze you sends dat quarter to Kris, I'se gwine git 
 me sum ^backer wid hit — I is." 
 
 It was quite evident that all attempts at convincing 
 the intractable Pheby, of elucidating to her the double 
 error she had been guilty of, viz., defrauding old Kris of 
 his pet, and deceiving him as to the manner of that inno- 
 cent fowl's demise. She took the waiter and dishes, 
 retiring through the door, with the words: "No, I'll not 
 'sturb dat African no mo; now I'se got him quoit on 
 dis present subjec', des let him keep on b'levin', just as 
 sartain as faith, dat dat chicken died wid de kolery." 
 
 AUNT RIA'S FIRST SOCIAL CALL FROM DE 
 WHITE GEMMAN EN DE WHITE LADY. 
 
 Personal resemblances, occasioning mistaken identity, 
 are the sources of tragic and comic consequences. In 
 what I shall here relate, a comic scene ensued: 
 
142 
 
 On a bright sunny afternoon, I left home to call on a 
 neighbor, and not deeming it of sufficient importance to 
 mention my absence, closed the front door, and had 
 started out, when a friend met me, saying: "I was 
 coming in, but as you are going out, I'll come another 
 time. Here is the second volume of that book I promised, 
 and if you will excuse me, I'll go on, as I have a press- 
 ing engagement — came more to bring the book this time, 
 really than to call." That changed my plans — the book 
 just brought me, I was longing to read, so I re-entered 
 my front door, and decided to spend the afternoon with 
 my volume of wisdom and beauty, instead of making a 
 visit. Meantime, my lady friend, who was considered 
 so strongly to resemble me, took her departure. 
 
 I retired to my library, doffed my hat, and was soon 
 enjoying the reading of my treasure. 
 
 All at once, I heard voices in my rear yard, the nasal 
 sound, and pronunciation informed me correctly, that a 
 yankee man and woman were there, talking with my old 
 darkey. Aunt Ria. I thought these proceedings rather 
 strange — certainly unconventional in Southern neigh- 
 borhoods, to say the least, but, concluded I would re- 
 main quiet, and unseen, unless called for. After an 
 hour's visitation these mellifluous voiced "down-easters" 
 departed. It was still, comparatively early in the after- 
 noon, so I remained still undisturbed, reading. 
 
 Finally, about sunset, I came out in the flower gar- 
 den, and was strolling around amid its myriad sweets, 
 when old Aunt Ria joined me saying, very ecstatically: 
 "Well Miss, suppin's happened to your ole nigger, dis 
 day, what is nuver happened to her afore." 
 
 Instantly diviaing the true situation, and substance of 
 the revelations about to be made me, I quietly remarked: 
 "Well Ria, what is it?" 
 
 Clapping her hands together, simultaneously while 
 jumping lightly up and down, and with a countenance 
 radiant, and jubilant with exultant joy, the old darkey 
 eagerly, and rapidly ejaculated: 
 
143 
 
 Miss, de white gemman, en de white lady, is at las' 
 called on your ole nigger. 
 
 I never thunk to see it. I'se hyeard un it, en dream't 
 un it ever sence the 'mancipation en de Wilson raiders, 
 when dey cum thew here, promised us dis, but I had 
 'bout gin it out, like I 'is dat promise of dern, uv dem 
 forty acres uv Ian' en dat mule. iVary nigger is ever 
 got dat Ian' en mule yit. I done quit lookin' fur it, I is; 
 but mebbe now, sence de white gemman, en de white 
 lady, is shonuf called, dis blessed day, on dis ole nigger, 
 mabbe noio de Ian', en de mule, will cum 'long, too." 
 
 (At prospect of the verilication of such paradisaical 
 visions, Ria's clapping of hands together, and up and 
 down motion, cleaving and jumping from the ground 
 alternately, increased, as she said :) 
 
 "Miss, 1 haint been so happy, I haint felt so nigh 
 Heaven since long time ago, when I 'come thew! at the 
 Campmeetin' in Hog Waller.'" 
 
 Realizing that things around my premises might 
 assume a somewhat serious aspect, as to color and 
 equality, under Ria's new dispensation of received social 
 distinctinctions, I silently "put on my whole armor" of 
 what I deemed wise demeanor and finesse, and said : 
 
 "What did your yankee visitors do and say, Ria, tell 
 me about it?" 
 
 "Well, Miss, when I fust seed 'em, er comin' in to de 
 back yard, 'stid uv de front, sez I, to myself, dey sholy 
 knows I aint white, I recon dey des want some water, 
 en couldn't git no hyerin at the front do. Spec Miss 
 mus sholy be sleep, or gone out some whar, but what 
 susprised me wus dey didn't onced ax for you, Miss. I 
 say, sez I, Mr. Foxy en Mrs. Foxy, will you hev a 
 cheer? handin' dem a split-bottom cheer apece. az I axed 
 'em, still er listenin' out for 'em to say, 'Ria, is your 
 Miss at home?' " 
 
 "But ef you b'leve dis nigger. Miss (clapping and 
 jumping, again becoming accelerated), dey still nuver 
 onced axed fur you, nur never did even ax if you wus in 
 de house. (Ria did not know, as I intuitively did, that 
 
144 
 
 these yankees had seen my friend leave my gate and go 
 out, and mistook her for myself, on account of the resem- 
 blance between us). Stid of dat, dey said to me, 'Mrs. 
 Maria Jenks is your name, I believe, my good lady, is it 
 not?' " 
 
 "Den, Miss, I gins to feel sorter shame, ur suppin' so. 
 I dunno why, but I sorter stuttered en said a curtesyin. 
 
 "Not zackly, dear gemman en lady; dey mostly calls 
 me Ria Jinks, en sum on de culud folks sez Mrs. Jinks, 
 but you two knows what's right, in course. / kaint 
 read.' 'My pore, good 'oman,' dey said den, Miss, 'We's 
 gwine to try to larn you before long; here is a trac, a 
 'ligious trac, we fotch you.' ("Dat aint der purty lan- 
 guage. Miss, but you knows how kreckly dey pernounces; 
 I des has to say it my way, but I'se sho er tellin' you 
 zackly what de segashiashur meant). 
 
 "Den dey call me up side um en sez, 'Dear Mrs. 
 Jenks — dey did, mun — come hyere, en look at these 
 purty picturs. I dessay you is nuver seed the picters of 
 any black Angels?' 
 
 "Miss, I nuver had seen none but ivhite uns, en my 
 heart gin a big thump, hit did, when I look over der 
 shoulders at de book, and sho nuf, I sees a black Angel, 
 wid raving jet wings of long feathers, en I could scacely 
 hep shoutin'. 
 
 "Den dey said: 'Mrs. Jenks, we b'leve you, with your 
 black skin, is jes as good ez your missis, en all dese 
 yuther white uns of de Souf; en de black Angels purty 
 ez de white uns.' " 
 
 "How long did your yankee visitors remain, Ria," I 
 inquired, thinking she had talked too long already. 
 
 "Well, Miss, jis 'bout ez long as de quality ladies what 
 cums to call on you, wid de kyards — jis 'bout." 
 
 "And did they sell you the book of black Angels, Ria, 
 or give it to you, or carry it with them?" 
 
 "Well, dey lef it; hit's in my house. I axed em if 
 dey had gin it to me, en dey 'low, lookin' at one nudder, 
 'Yes, dear Mrs. Jenks, we give it you on sartain kindi- 
 
145 
 
 tions nv futur siderations,^ ef you knows what dem 
 blessed en purty words means — blest ef /knows." 
 
 Beginning to realize now that unless I asserted my 
 authority and supremacy at once, it might soon be too 
 late for "moral suasion" to achieve its effect, I stepped 
 nearer old Ria, and, looking her steadfastly in the eyes, 
 said I: 
 
 " Now, Ria, listen to me, pay attention, and take heed: 
 These yankees thought 1 was absent. They never once 
 came to the front door. They have really called on you 
 as their equals. I have heard these things are custoniary 
 in Yankeedom, among the lower classes of whites. But 
 listeji well, Ria, you are never to return this social 
 call; nor ever again to receive them, or allow them to 
 enter my rear yard, under penalty of yourself being 
 banished forever from my premises." 
 Ria evinced genuine amazement. 
 "Yes, Miss, in course,''^ she said. 
 
 "And they told you, Southerners — white folks— were 
 no better than you. But listen, again, Ria: God made 
 you and I both — that is true. He made all nations, and 
 all things, but see how differently He made white and 
 black folks. 
 
 " He made you black, did he not?" 
 " Yes, ma'am !" 
 " And me, white?" 
 "Yes, ma'am I" 
 
 "And gave me straight, smooth, soft hair, and made 
 your hair kinky ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am, dats bleeged to be true, sho !" 
 " And He made me free, and you were set free by the 
 yankees when their envy, hate and malice could no longer 
 brook our wealth and prosperity?" 
 " I'se hyeard dat's so, too. Miss!" 
 
 "And Ria, was there any property awaiting you, 
 when you arrived in this world?" 
 
 "None, as I'se eber hyen tell uv, Miss?" 
 "Well, Ria, you and 1 were born different in that respect 
 also, for there were great preparations made to celebrate 
 
 (6e) 
 
146 
 
 my first birthday — beautiful clothing, a lovely home, 
 lands, and slaves, etc., all ready for me, when I came. 
 Now if you came into the world in utter poverty and 
 slavery, and God had already issued the Decalogue, one 
 of whose commandments is: 'Thou shalt not steal' — 
 that commandment written for the obedience of every 
 human, who ever has, or ever shall in all future years 
 arrive into this world — then God has commanded you 
 not to steal, has He not? Why, most assuredly you 
 understand that. There were no means of education 
 awaiting you, either, but there were for me? 
 
 "So, then, if He made me white and i/ou black; me 
 with straight hair; you with kinky; me born in freedom; 
 you in abject slavery; me rich and you poor; me your 
 superior in every conceivable thing, and entirely differ- 
 ent from you, then you cannot possibly, in even the 
 smallest detail be my equal; and, if God gave you noth- 
 ing but your being and told you not to steal, and did not 
 command you to beg, but did most positively command 
 you to work, therefore, all these things being facta, and 
 as long as you live on my place — in the cottage I own — 
 and work for me, according to our mutual contract, 
 although, the laws consider, and call you free, as long as 
 I pay you for your services, and I am white and you are 
 black — Ria, always remember, / am your mistress, and 
 you are my nigger, regardless of all the white gemman 
 Yankee Foxys and the white lady Yankee Foxys; and 
 the very first time you receive a visit from any yankee, 
 in my rear yard, or say one word to me of their calling 
 you my equal, you will be banished from my presence, 
 and from my premises forever, just as effectually as 
 Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden, and all the 
 yankee books of all the black angels will be powerless to 
 obtain an entrance -here again. Remember Ria, you 
 will always be my nigger as long as you live here, and I 
 pay you." 
 
 Whether thoroughly convinced, I cannot vouch, but 
 old black Ria quietly responded: "Yes, Miss — I knows 
 it — in course I is." I had won the victory. 
 
147 
 
 A TRIP TO ST. SIMONS ISLAND — MANY 
 INTERESTING EXPERIENCES. 
 
 Leaving Brunswick on the Ijoat Eginont, sailing down 
 the Oglethorpe river a distance of twelve miles, over 
 smooth, shining waves, along beautiful scenery of grass- 
 covered islands and shores of glimpses of houses and 
 trees — an hour's delightful sailing brings us to lovely St. 
 Simons. Then taking a street car, iu a few moments 
 reach the Hotel St. Simons, situated very near the beach, 
 and at present in charge of our obliging host and his 
 gracious, agreeable wife, our hostess — Mr. and Mrs. 
 
 C D . All the way as we approach we are 
 
 impressed with the pureness, lightness, freshness, deli- 
 ciousness of the air — a constant sea breeze wooing us to 
 absolute restfulness, so greatly needed in summer. There 
 are a number of cottages for boarders, besides the spacious 
 hotel — accommodations for many, whether invalids or 
 pleasure-seekers. A broad, grassy, green sward in front 
 of the hotel is beautiful — with spraying fountains dotted 
 here and there; with groups of merry, romping children, 
 and promenades, for belles and bi^au.s, leads immediately 
 down to the smooth, broad, white, beautiful beach — where, 
 seating one's self, we are greeted by the fresh salty, inspir- 
 ing breath of the great boundless sea. How inex- 
 pressibly weird, lovely, beautiful, the low plaintive 
 chants and sublime anthems sung by those sea-green 
 waves and white capped surges! Truly do we realize 
 the aptness of little Florence Dombey's reply to dear 
 Paul, when she said, " 'Tis the voice of the Great Creator." 
 Never do we feel His wondrous creative power. His 
 vast infinity, His sublimity displayed, as when by the 
 "sad sea waves," instinctively we murmur the exquisite 
 poem of Bishop Keble : 
 
 " Why should we faint and fear to live al >ne? 
 
 Since all alone, so Heaven has willrd, wc die ; 
 And not the tenderest heart and nt-xt our own, 
 Knows half the reasons, why we smile or sigh." 
 We cannot know whether the many beautiful flower- 
 gardens, described so vividly by Talmage, all grow 
 
148 
 
 beneath the sea, far, far down from mortal eye; but we 
 do know that while resting beside these smooth waters, 
 thinking of the many lives, the beautiful lives, that have 
 sank beneath some cruel wreck at sea, that Keble's soul- 
 composing lines are sadly, but beautifully, appropriate : 
 
 "While clinging ever to ray Father's breast, 
 In perfect rest !" 
 
 Viewed in the glow of the sunlight, these flashing 
 waves, ever restless, ever changing, resemble millions of 
 starry kaleidoscopic gems in their incandescent sparkles. 
 Over the waves are gliding great steamers, light sail 
 boats, skiffs, fishing boats, crabbing boats, tiny 
 canoes, and as the beautiful shadows fall night 
 comes on. Old Neptune, as for further contravSt, 
 o'er the realms, holds dark, frowning sway, mighty in 
 its bleakness, vastness and majesty, but not so attractive 
 to us as in the light of day. A three minutes' walk 
 brings us to the alluring surf of whose delightful baths 
 no pen or word may justly tell, for it must be seen and 
 felt to be rightly understood and appreciated, and worth 
 to the bather's benefit all the fresh-water baths combined. 
 The very necessity for meeting the surf, and "holding 
 one's own" against splashing wave, is in itself bracing 
 and strengthening. The warm delightful temperature 
 heated by the life-giving sun, the warm grateful feeling of 
 the whole physical system, the healthy glow pervading 
 the entire body, the rapid reaction render surf bathing 
 too enjoyable to describe. 
 
 And then the charming drive on the beach, and 
 through the surf, involuntarily reminded me of George 
 McDonald's vivid description of Malcolm's frequent sea- 
 plungings as he so often rode the demon horse, Kelpie, 
 down into the surf calming the brute's fiery frenzy, with 
 a magic power nothing else could do. A surrey drive 
 along another road, literally hedged on either side by fra- 
 grant myrtle and blooming bays, environing acres and 
 acres of thickly studded palmetto. A very carpet of this 
 beautiful growth, great deep forests which seem never to 
 have been trodden by human foot. Truly, Diana must 
 
149 
 
 have held high court amid these magnificent trees, 
 mosses, ferns, pahnetto and rippling streamlets. We 
 pass a lovely rural cemetery in which stands a quaint 
 rustic church, and many grave-stones. The whole liter- 
 ally canopied with great gnarled magnificent oaks verily 
 veiled, in a wilderness of long grey mourning moss. Ah! 
 how weirdly, plaintively, lovely — on and on. We arrive 
 at the antique villa of historic Frederica, where Gen. Ogle- 
 thorpe held the Spaniards at bay. The old canon 
 armory still remains in a dilapidated condition. The 
 dwelling is still kept in repairs and is occupied. A flower 
 garden in front is overrun with thick clustering trees of 
 lemons, oranges, hanging with fruit. Great beds of 
 wild heliotrope and lantana trail over the ground, and 
 the finest Sago Palms imaginable. One was six feet 
 high, and the lady occupant of the place told us it was 
 twenty-five years old. The same kind of beautiful moss- 
 draped oaks overhead and all around as far as eye could 
 see. As we stood on the grounds by the old armory a 
 lovely boat glided by on the rippling waves bound for 
 Savannah leaving the loveliest shining whiteness along 
 her way. Returning to our hotel many small farms of 
 corn, cotton and watermelons were seen. Our drive also 
 led us by "Kings' Retreat," the former summer residence 
 of Hon. T. Butler King and family. 
 
 It now resembles more a cemetery than dwelling, 
 whose ancestral halls once resounded with laughter and 
 dancing and music, where were wont to assemble the 
 wealth and beauty and chivalry of the land. As we 
 drove along the broad, stately avenue o'er-arched with 
 moss-hung oaks, we involuntarily repeated some strains 
 from Ossian. As we neared the Hotel Simons, driving 
 on the beautiful beach, we witnessed the loveliest drifts 
 of snowy, fealhery sand— literally around and under our 
 vehicle, all along our way in front, drifting, floating, 
 finer, softer, lighter than snow, than fairy's dream, yet 
 not one grain of sand alighted in our faces or eyes. It 
 was simply v/onderful, like a misty, ineffable dream of 
 exquisite beauty. As we reach our hotel, strains of 
 
150 
 
 delightful music, "discoursed" sweetly by the baud, 
 pianist, flutist, violinist, greet our delighted ear. Such 
 gentlemanly musicians playing morn, noon and night 
 until the "wee small hours," to whose inspiring strains 
 light feet trip tuneful time, pay full devotion to light- 
 some terpsichore. We met many pleasant people from 
 many places. The fare of the table is excellent and 
 abundant, and those fond of turtles and crabs can here 
 feast royally. We saw one of the huge, live turtles, 
 weighing between three and four hundred pounds. A 
 charming little tot, a brunette girl, the daughter of the 
 well-bred pianist, and his wife sat near me at the table, 
 and somewhat resembles my beautiful four-year-old girl 
 baby, of Columbus, whose presence, with that of my 
 silver-tongued baby boy, was all we needed to make St. 
 Simon a perfect Paradise. "Oh," now you say, "you 
 are over-drawing this island, you are borrowing from 
 your poetic, enthusiastic imagination. If I go there I 
 can't find all this." My friend, I protest. I am greatly 
 under-drawing everything. One may go into a beautiful 
 flower garden seeking a thorn; well, one will be sure 
 to find it! But one who goes into a garden seeking a rose 
 or lily will be sure to find that, also. If you fail to dis- 
 cover all we have told you about St. Simons, and more, 
 infinitely more, we will only say this, that the want lies 
 in your own heart. 
 
 Of course, at all Summer resorts you will meet the 
 typical "growler," but he or she usually belong to the 
 par venues — the snobocracy — who go to such places not 
 for rest or improvement, but simply for effect. They are 
 people usuall}^ with shallow brains and little liearts. Pity 
 them! They do not know any better than to complain. 
 It is the true aristocrat — true by birth, breeding, rear- 
 ing, who has been accustomed to the "best" from great, 
 great, great grandparents, who are least exacting of car 
 drivers, conductors, hotel-keepers, servants, &c. This 
 may seem strange to you, but it is truth. 
 
 How reluctantly we left this beautiful, enchanted Isle! 
 We went there to find some absolute rest, bestowed by 
 
151 
 
 the boundless sea, and surf-bathing. We found that and 
 more besides. 
 
 Having met there among the many pleasant guests 
 some charming Brunswickians— so well bred and ele- 
 gant—we were greatly surprised on our homeward jour- 
 ney to find, while awaiting the train in Brunswick, that 
 there were no street cars of any description in this beau- 
 tiful city, and no "waiting room" at the depot, with such 
 a lovely City Hall, Park, majestic Square, its 0-lethorpe 
 Hotel, elegant private residences, gardens, &c. It is 
 passing strange. Such a time as we had with a porter! 
 
 In the first place they all had a dazed, experienced 
 look about them— combined with this there seemed an 
 utter disinclination for a "job"— a lazy, don't-care, 
 thriftless appearance they presented. 
 
 I had been "doing" the city au pied, as I had several 
 hours to wait for the Columbus train, and, as before said, 
 there being an absence ol any street car, after concen- 
 trating and collecting my various packages of souvenir 
 shells, mosses, etc, I engaged a porter for a stipu- 
 lated price— fixed by himself, to which I agreed— 
 for which consideration he was to accompany me, 
 carrying my valise and packages, to the 'depot! 
 We trudged along a considerable distance, until 
 within about one-quarter of a mile to our destination, 
 when he suddenly stopped, and to my consternation,' 
 struck for higher wages. Now, what was I to do? I 
 instantly reflected. Well, this is worse than the Pullman 
 porter ? Silence is golden, never more so than when 
 traveling. I gave no outward manifestation of my 
 inward capprehension; but quietly remarked: "See here, 
 porter, this wont begin to do; you have already come 
 a long way, and unless you go all the way you forfeit 
 your pay; you get nothing. You had better proceed, for 
 I shall not add a copper to what we agreed upon. 
 I never yield to menial. And unless you do get on 
 with these packages to the depot, I will be compelled 
 to call a policeman and let you settle it with him, and 
 
15^ 
 
 you know that policemen are not only the bravest but 
 the best men in the world." 
 
 It is needless to say he at once went on his way, joy- 
 fully, we all the while uttering an earnest but silent 
 invocation for the power of marching him to the tune of 
 Dixie to the river brinii and serving the same fate as the 
 Hon. John Sands of ancient renown, is reported to have 
 allotted his unsuspecting spouse. This same execrable 
 porter had already been the means of one of our shell 
 packages being misplaced by his over-weening stu- 
 pidity, so we paid and dismissed him While sitting 
 outside the depot on a pair of broken scales, instead of 
 having a nice quiet waiting room, in which to sit, as we 
 have in Columbus, footsore and weary, we ruminated 
 mentally if Col. Job of Uz had only waited until now, 
 he would never have won those laurels for being the 
 most patient man. It would certainly have been omitted 
 in Bible and Catechism. No man would ever have won 
 those honors for they would certainly have been placed 
 on the brow of a tired woman tourist that July day in 
 Brunswick. If there is ever a new edition of "Fox's 
 Book of Martyrs," we claim honorable mention upon its 
 unsullied record. And should there ever be a new ad- 
 dendum to our Litany, may it read thus: 'Good Lord, 
 send Brunswick a waiting room for tourists at her 
 depot, and give her a more conscientious porter." How- 
 ever we were so delighted to have found our misplaced 
 packages of pretty shells that we freely forgave the 
 porter. 
 
 Lost in sweet dreams of the magic sea-girt isle of 
 St Simons, we were soon speeding, on the Columbus- 
 bound train. 
 
 Changing cars at Union Springs, we cannot refrain 
 from mentioning the elegant breakfast served there. It 
 was more, much more, than we expected at a wayside 
 country inn. This house is kept by the Chappells, and 
 it was delightfully refreshing. 
 
 The immaculate linen, luscious tomatoes, peaches, de- 
 licious light rolls, tender, perfectly cooked steak, eggs, 
 
153 
 
 etc. A faultless menu, that would have done credit to 
 St. Simons itself. In a brief time we reached Home, 
 Sweet Home. Dear old Columbus, whose people have 
 such golden hearts and loving words that I am proud to 
 number many of them as dear, dear friends. 
 
 Long will the sweet memories of St. Simons cluster 
 around my heart. "Deo Yolente," hoping to see it again 
 at some future day. I reluctantly waft my adieus to 
 the beautiful isle. 
 
 TWO INDISPUTABLE REASONS WHY. 
 
 There was once a man to whom the Fates of success in 
 any thing, seemed opposed. 
 
 He was not known to have any bad habits. Always 
 appeared to have some plan on foot by which he might 
 earn an honest livelihood, and yet he always failed. 
 
 I said once to an old Georgia Cracker, speaking of 
 the impecunious man referred to, "I wonder ivhy Mr. 
 
 is alvvays so unfortunate in his attempts at any 
 
 thing? He seems to be a temperate, good-hearted 
 fellow?" 
 
 "Well," rejoined the Georgia Cracker, "I ken tell you, 
 hits fur two reasons: One reason is he haint got no 
 sense, en toother reason is he^s a plum fool ! " 
 
 A LITTLE CHILD'S SAYINGS. 
 
 A pious mother whom I knew always tried to inculcate 
 the feeling of thankfulness for God's mercies early into 
 the hearts of her little ones. On one occasion a little 
 boy was sent to answer the door bell. An old lady 
 entered and made a brief call. After she had gone, the 
 little boy said to his mother : 
 
 "Well, mamma, I am thankful noiv — I thank God he 
 did not make me as ugly as he made old Mrs. ." 
 
 A brilliant little girl who dreaded to see Sunday 
 arrive, because on that day her mother partially restricted 
 
 (7) 
 
154 
 
 her in some of her amusements, asked, "How many days 
 before Sunday?" 
 
 On being answered, she said: "Well, I'm going to 
 move to a city where there is no Sunday." 
 
 Her grand-mamma mildly reproved her, saying: "You 
 cannot find such a city, except in heathendom ; you 
 ought to love Sunday, because it is the Sabbath of our 
 dear Savior! " 
 
 Ignoring this pious advice altogether, the little girl 
 immediately replied: "Well, then, I will find me some 
 Jeivs, and go and live with the Jews !" 
 
 On another occasion this little girl was allowed to 
 accompany her mamma to a "german," to look on the 
 dancing and enjoy the band-playing. Being a very close 
 observer, and noticing in the society group a very dudish- 
 looking, but very dissipated and unhealthy individual 
 apparently, the child called her mother's attentien to 
 him, saying: "Mamma, that one looks like he is just 
 about to turn grey! " 
 
 AN APOSTROPHE. 
 "Oh I that mine enemy might write a book ! " 
 Job! Thou man of the Land of Uz ! Type of the 
 perfect, patient man ! The man who possessed his soul 
 by his patience; and in that ownership — in ^/m^ posses- 
 sion — richer than in all his vast acres of land, cattle, 
 provender, houses, or any other earthly stores. Sweet 
 Arabian poet, surrounded by tropical plants and blossoms 
 of glory, fanned by spicy breezes, rivaling the pristine 
 loveliness of Eden itself! Soft, sweet odors of the 
 Eastern clime- — fragrant "Araby, the blest!" I salute 
 thee ! Know ! Oh, thou ! Who hast won for all Time 
 the immortal laurels as the just reward for the most 
 patient of all God's humanity here, that the anathema 
 thou didst heap upon the head of thine adversary, •• Oh ! 
 that mine eneni}^ would write a book!" would, in this 
 Jin de cicle — this nineteenth century — have been only 
 an approximation to a light penalty — in truth, almost a 
 
155 
 
 blessing compared to the more aggravated and intense 
 agony consequent upon ''proposing to publish sl book by 
 a certain time. 
 
 Col. Job! (I use the title, believing that the Boston 
 been-si?ind yankee and "carpet-bagger," have long since 
 made their trip to Arabia, even as salamanders burrow, 
 and invade every earthly precinct where there is any 
 possibility to swindle a white man, or hoodwink a nigger, 
 or assert a title.) Presuming some of these sort to 
 have reached the neighborhood where your sacred spirit 
 still wanders near — presuming that these yankees are 
 Goloneled or Majored by the Arabians, even as the 
 Georgians obsequeously do, and thereby impressing 
 worthy young Southern boys (whose fathers died on the 
 battle-field trying to repel the avaricious, brutal yankee 
 invader) with the idea that they must pander to, and yield 
 their independence — even of thought — to these yankees; 
 and are doing only their duty when they help "^to place 
 them in positions of authority, while the"^ Southern-born 
 reared boys must go begging for work, {without a title) 
 feeling that to be a plain, honest Mister is almost a 
 disgrace. 
 
 Presuming that if you still existed, in the flesh, rev- 
 erend Col. Job! that you, too, would be mortified if 7iot 
 addressed by a title, because these yankees are so pan- 
 dered to, and win their titles so readily from gullable 
 Southerns, therefore, I hail and greet you, Col. Job, of 
 the land of Uz, claiming your commiseration for a few 
 moments, feeling assured that when you shall have pe- 
 rused this Apostrophe to your highly esteemed patient self, 
 you must, necessarily, admit the fact, that compared to 
 wishing, "Oh! that mine enemy might propose to publish 
 a hook, ^' your mild anathama, Colonel, "Oh! that mine 
 enemy might iv?Hte a book," is only a blessing entailed 
 upon his innocent head — only sugar plums, thick and 
 sweet, as those at a Roman carnival, compared to pro- 
 posing to publish a book — for. Colonel, ivriting is as 
 easy as the breath that comes involuntarily, or the song 
 
156 
 
 I sing going about my daily housekeeping duties — a 
 seemingly unconscious thing. 
 
 Rest peacefully in your stone sarcophagus — if there 
 you now reside — or travel over the world in exhibits, 
 or pose as an embalmed precious historical mummy in 
 some yankee museum — whatever, wherever you are now, 
 sweet be your slumbers, congratulating yourself, offering 
 devout orisons of grateful ejaculations that you lived in 
 those far-gone ages; that you were a man; that all your 
 pecuniary and domestic losses returned to you again, 
 even while still in the flesh; and above all things, Colonel, 
 be thankful that by no possibility can you ever be a lone 
 woman living in this nineteenth period, who idiotically 
 proposed to publish a book ! 
 
 "Such an one I knew." Not living a thousand miles 
 from me, I f«)rmed a passing acquaintanceship with this 
 woman. She, having met with so many kindly words of 
 encouragement, so many gratuitous overtures to help her 
 all they could by way of soliciting contributors to this 
 proposed publication, and being of an affectionate, grate- 
 ful, appreciative temperament, felt constrained to, and 
 did, offer a handsome hand-painted oil painting to the 
 person obtaining the largest number of subscribers. 
 
 Shade of the mighty! Symbolic of perfect patience, 
 bear with me, and sympathize! Diligently did this woman 
 copy, day after day, week after week, page after page, 
 for printer's press. 
 
 Looking up from her desk one day, as she sat there at 
 her work by the window, she saw a bevy of little girls 
 and boys, and several wheelbarrows. Not having ordered 
 any, not having the remotest idea of their meaning or 
 purpose, the woman arose, went to the front door, and, 
 on opening it, said: 
 
 "Good morning, my little dears. What in the world 
 do all these wheelbarrows mean?" 
 
 "Well, you see, Madame, we heard you had a great 
 many pictures to give away in exchange for old books; 
 so w^e've collected all we could at home, and from the 
 
167 
 
 neighbors around, and brought them here to swap with 
 you." 
 
 Explaining politely their mistake, I returned to my 
 desk, but scarcely had I resumed my task when the post- 
 man's whistle sounded, and in a few moments my servant 
 handed me a voluminous mail — one especially unfamiliar 
 looking package, being a cedar cigar box, labelled 
 ''Duke's^ 
 
 "Miss, dat sho is a blunderbuss, haint it? Dey sholy 
 kyar'nt be fur you — dem's Segyars haint dey? Lem me 
 run quick fur de mail man, en ketch him en gin him dis/o 
 you opens it. Some young fool er nudder uv a boy is er 
 waitin' fur dese Segyars, I'll bet, munP'' 
 
 "But, Judy, it has my address on it, this box," and 
 proceeded to open the same. What was my conster- 
 nation to find it full of little blank pieces of paper, accom- 
 panied with the following note : 
 
 Esteemed Madame: 
 
 "Having heard that you had ofiFered to paint any- 
 thing anybody wanted, if these parties would only buy 
 a book you proposed to publish, we, the undersigned, do 
 hereby promise to take one copy, jointly between us, our 
 Co., provided you w\\\ first draw, paint, deliver by mail 
 to our address free, these cards, herein sent you — only 
 the small number of one thousand. We require that 
 each design shall be entirely original and each different 
 from the other. You must expedite the job. Telegraph 
 us what day, hour, and minute they will reach us, and 
 you must also pa?/ for telegram, at your own expense. 
 We beg you will not feel overcome with gratitude, and 
 not to waste one second in returning thanks. Philan- 
 thropists, like ourselves, are so accustomed to emotional 
 ejaculations of thanks rendered us daily for similar be- 
 stowals of our favor, that we weary of it, preferring, 
 from the 'common herd' of laboring people, like yourself, 
 only despatch in business. Please hurry up with our 
 Cigarette advertisements!^^ 
 
158 
 
 "P. S. — Please hurry up, and be sure to remember that 
 you foot the expenses of the telegram. 
 
 "Respectfully, Snooks & Co., Agents^ 
 
 Judy, who had remained standing at my elbow, dur- 
 ing my perusal of this very edifying communication, 
 now asked: 
 
 "En who is de feller, dese hyere kyards is sont to, en 
 wharfs de Segyars, I made sho was in dis here sateful 
 box?" 
 
 Mildly I replied: "Mr. Snooks, I believe Judy," 
 amazed, humiliated, chagrined, blushing at my own pre- 
 varication to the unsuspecting dusky Judy, but heartily 
 congratulating myself that my Ethiopian inquisitor 
 could not read. 
 
 "You can go now," said I. 
 
 She departed, leaving me to pursue my monotonous 
 task; but I had not resumed it for more than an hour, 
 when I was again interrupted. 
 
 "Miss, dere's er ox-kyart out dar at de lot gate. Er 
 white man en 'oman en three leetle chilluns is driv five 
 miles, dey sez, fur you ter tick der picters; sez ez how 
 dey hyeern you tuck em cheajJ, fur any thing in pay you 
 could git. Mus' I open de gate en fotch em in, er is you 
 er gwine out dere to dem, Miss? Dey sez dey's in a pow- 
 erful hurry, en how you musen keep em waitin' long, 
 bein' ez der yej^lin^ is slow, en dey aims to git back 
 home, ef dey kin, fo' night." 
 
 Almost desperate, I followed Judy to the kitchen 
 porch, in order to rectify the mistake these poor persons 
 had made, so as, at least, to prevent a recurrence of similar 
 persecutions from others. 
 
 "Judy," said I, "go to the gate and say to them, I'm 
 sorry not to be able to oblige them, but its a huge mis- 
 take. I have never even thought of advertising that I 
 would take pictures cheap — photographs. It is really too 
 absurd." 
 
 But the pater familias — the honest ox-driver — had 
 evidently heard my and Judy's dialogue. Through the 
 
159 
 
 gate I saw him rise to his full standing height, and peer- 
 ing through the gate apertures from his lowly convey- 
 ance, in which were snugly, if roughly, ensconced a 
 country woman and three little girls, with rustic toilettes 
 of gay cotton goods and gingham sunbonnets. The 
 head of the family now saluted me in true backwoods 
 provincialism. 
 
 ''Yah, lady! I heerd what you said on de porch ter yer 
 nigger 'oman, but yer see we'll ha' to pay ef us goes to 
 town, en pay money at dat. None uv us is uver had 
 our picters tuck, en my ole 'oman en little gals is so pow- 
 erful anxious to hev em tuck, en heerin' you had adver- 
 tised to tick picters for any thing — provender, or aech 
 like — dat havin' no money, I'se fotch you ez fine er 
 jjossum ez ye ever seen in all yer lire! Look at him! 
 (reaching down and holding up the black-eyed, ugly pris- 
 oner, in the coop of slats.) 
 
 "The plot is thickening," (as the freshman porer over 
 sensational novels excitedly says) was my mental reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 "Now, say lady, canH we trade?" persisted my tor- 
 mentor from the ox-cart: "I fotch him, pine blank, jes 
 fur tis tickler purpose. Picters is high in town?" 
 
 Appreciating the man's genuine simplicity, and real 
 earnestness, I politely explained to him his egregious mis- 
 take. I fell forty degrees in his estimation on assuring 
 him that 1 never had, andnever could eat 'possum, even in 
 ante-bellum times, when that inviting looking quadruped, 
 when dressed for the table, ornamented with his appur- 
 tenances of red apples, chesnuts and parsly, so often 
 served as a favorite dish on Southern plantation boards — 
 and bidding the family in the ox-cart, including 'possum, 
 and all, a kind adieu, I returned to my desk, only to find 
 a man and woman outside, on front verandah, standing 
 at the Library window (sash was lowered, fortunately.) 
 
 "What is it, good folks? Can I serve you in any way?" 
 said I. 
 
 "Yes'em" — as the unknown party unfolded a small, 
 oblong card-board box, displaying to my astounded vision 
 
160 
 
 a number of newspaper-printed pen advertisements — 
 clippings — 
 
 "Lady, we wus tole you wanted ter swap lots uv ole 
 books fur des hyeer newspaper pen-picters — en bein' ez 
 we is po', en kant read, but wants ter larn how — en 
 wants to see ef us, en our chilluns kant larn to «^it 
 edicated at home ef us did have some books, fur us aint 
 got none — nuther do us tick a paper, but us made bole to 
 see ef de rich town-folks would hep us, en dey is gin U3 
 all dese. (See!) Dey calls des un de Founting pen, en 
 dis yuther un dey calls de Spenseran pen !" Now, how 
 many books is you gwine to swap us fur all dese hyeer 
 pen-picters? Hit tuck lots uv time to git em all up !" 
 
 Utterly dazed, but not yet altogether and absolutely 
 speechless, I replied : 
 
 "Please inform me what earthly use do you — does any 
 one not a natural-l)orn siniplcton — supposel could /^o.s\S'i6/// 
 convert these advertisements into? I cim not ivuigine, 
 in the faintest degree I" 
 
 "Why,, to paint, en den sell 'em. Lady, in course-^ 
 dat's whut de town folks tole ug, ma'am, en sholy you is 
 not gwine to 'low us to lose all de time we spent en er 
 gittin' uv um up. en er coming hyere too?" 
 
 "I am sorry you have lost anything by me," (said I, 
 for the faces of these honest })ersons were growing lugu- 
 brious in the extreme), ))ut [ really could never have 
 imagined that any one could make such mistakes, I 
 have a little cold bread and cake in the house, and I can 
 make you a cup of coffee, if you like, for you look tired, 
 but it is utterly impossible for me to exchange angthing 
 for your pen advertisements. 
 
 "I'll give you some refreshments, if you like, for you 
 look weary.'' 
 
 But another surprise awaited me, for at this juncture, 
 my tormentors grew suddenly angry, scowling at me 
 fiercely, and saying: 
 
 "We won't have yer ole tarnal bread en cake, ner 
 cotfy nuther. Beswitched ef us will. Come 'long Nancy," 
 said the ole man; "let's shake dis hyeer dus' fum oti'en 
 
161 
 
 our feets, en be er gwine on; dat's de way dese hyeer 
 high-minded rich folks allers treats de po.' " 
 
 "Yes," replied Xancy, "en all our time on dese 'pen 
 picters is loss. Let's go on back to de cotton patch, en 
 nuver trus^ rich folks agin — no /no'." 
 
 "In your patience, possess ye your souls!" sighed I, 
 as I took my pen in hand, again resuming my so often 
 interrupted work. Again Judy came in, saying a lady 
 had driven by and left a note to be handed to me. Open- 
 ing it, I read: 
 
 "My Dear Madame — Having been informed that you 
 are representing me, in your forthcoming volume, as the 
 Tulip, I request you, please, to change it to a Sunflower. 
 I think it suits my styh', as I am considered fine-looking. 
 Keep your tulip for the emblem of some less distin- 
 guished-looking woman. 
 
 Respectfully 
 
 I began to feel a little angered. A sudden inspiration 
 seized me. 
 
 "Judy," said I. "Look in that second drawer, get 
 that piece of crape, go and tie it on the front door; close 
 these Library shutters; kindle a fire up-stairs, and if any 
 more wheelbarrow, 'possum, pen advertisements, Duke 
 cigarettes, or notes handed from persons for me, arrive, 
 just say to them I am dead." 
 
 "Law, Miss, fur how longV^ with distended eyes and 
 accelerat<Hl speech. 
 
 "Until this calamity he overpast: 
 
 "Until I (ell you I've come back to life?" 
 
 "But, Miss, you haint gwine die right now sho nuff. 
 What in de gracious is gwine come uv your ole darkey, 
 ef you does?" 
 
 "Go, Judy — obey me implicitly." 
 
 I thought of the story of 'Chicken Little," so often 
 related to my childish, eager ears, but found no comfort 
 there, for it requires but small stretch of imagination to 
 mistake a "rose leaf" for a piece of the "sky," in a 
 chicken^s brains, I surmi.se. But — I desist, and draw 
 the curtaini 
 
 (7f) 
 
162 
 
 Col. Job, are you convinced? If ever, in your peace- 
 ful abode in Arabia, a single thought of having been 
 uncharitable in life, when heaping your anathema on 
 your enemy's head, remember just a little of my expe- 
 rience, herein related, and enjoy the contrast. Youi^'s was 
 only a ''trifle light as air," a breath, a sweet bon-bon, a 
 caressing phrase of endearment, compared to what you 
 might have endured, had you existed now. "Oh! that 
 mine enemy might 2:>ropose\o publish a book," and that, 
 too, within a given time. If I have any enemies, I could 
 never wish them such a punishment, such a penalty. 
 
 "Shade of Arabian Poet ! Once more I salute thee ! 
 We may meet again, under happier auspices. Until 
 that hopeful time, allow me to say. Colonel, ''Au revoir, 
 but not good-bve .'" 
 
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MAR 7 1698 '1 
 
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 1903