"I shall never see her more, Where the reeds and rushes quiver, Stand beside the sobbing river, I shall never hear her calling," etc. We hope our readers will read and appreciate this volume. It will amply repay them. "Bird" is a little colored girl about nine or ten years of age, who frequently steps into the kitchen of one of my friends to warm herself and get a bit of something nicer than she has at home. Mrs. H- found her there the other morning crouched down, negro fashion, beside the glowing range. "Well, Bird, how do you do nowadays?" "Oh, I'se wull, mum; I'se allers wull; dis chile nebber hab time to be sick." "And how do you get along at home these times?" "Oh, we'se gets 'long 'bout 'sever; tings gun up do, mitely; hain't a, mum? can't git loafer bread less en ten cents; an' meat an' taters glor-i-e! - dey gun up se 'ihg, mitey feerd dey neber fall dun agin in some pusson's mouves. But I duzzn't mine dat, mum; cos, A NEWLY published volume gives us a Ger- got more dan eber tu buy tings wid; but what man version of the familiar poem Anderson, my Jo:" "John keeps dis chile mad all de time, is hearin' dem chillun up dar hollerin' out-Linkum's dun it — Linkum's dun it, jes' as zo they'd know'd sumfin 'bout poltecks." "And it is Lincoln," said Bridget, the cook, with a good deal of asperity. "He's gone and freed all you niggers." "Na jes' see 'ere," and the little black fist came up; "ye'd better jes' stop sich talk an dat. I wont stan' it, nohow. We isn't niggers niggers!" And she made such a "snort” as only a black child can make,-" We'se African born - a culler'd race, an' jes' as good as enny white fokes, cos de same God, he dun make us all niggers. More likes you'ze niggers. Wat you'ze?-tell dat tu dis chile. You'ze Irish — Irish ! " and Gough himself couldn't have spoken a name more contemptuously. "Ye was jes' born in Ireland, an' yer fader an' yer mudder an' all yer 'cestry; ye'se, Irish to de back-bone; an' wat's a dunned site wus, ye'se McClellan, an' dat's wat ye can't sɩy ob enny culler'd pusson! Dey nose wat's de rite an' de rong. Dey nose”— But here Mrs. Hinterfered, for she knew by the angry light in Bridget's eyes that if she got a little more "roiled," the turkey would be scorched and the pudding cinders. "They know a good deal, Bird, - more than some folks think they do; but then folks shouldn't tell all they know. Here, take these doughnuts up to your mother, and here's an apple for you." LINES FOR MEDITATION. BEAUTIFULLY and tenderly wrought out is the comparison of the long-suffering of God to the affectionate care of a nurse, in these lines, from one of Quarles's Meditations: 66 "Tank yer, mum tank yer; dis chile neber tell all it nose ;" and making a rude courtesy, she disappeared, - peeping in though, after a moment, to give a sly glance at the irri- She holds him up and kisses him withal, tated cook, and saying, very slowly and emphatically, as she did so," Jes' az zo de Almity ad nuffin else up dar tu du but make niggers, niggers! He no better an spen' 'is time dat way. He make de culler'd race, cos he get tired ob zo many white folks, an' he want a little change, he du : an' wile he makin' dem, he zay to de debbil, ye tak' dese ugly lumps an mak' de Irish; yah, yah, yah!" and she banged the door after her just in time to save herself from the basin of soap-suds which Bridget flung after her. C. A. S. "An' sure, then, ma'am, an' I'm sorry to be draggin' ye doon stairs, an' ye not well; but ye see, ma'am, our Johnny got home from the war to-day." "Who's Johnny," my voice and heart softening. "Sure, Johnny's me oun brither, ma'am ; all that's lift me of six of the finest lads ever born in the auld counthrie; an' he's been to the war iver since it fust broke out, ma'am." "Is he going back again?" "Is he goin' back ma'am ! is he goin' back!! Is me Johnuy goin' back! An' sure, ma'am, an' what else would he be doin'!!! Isn't he a soger boy clare thro'? Is our Johney goin' back! Indade, then, he is, ma'am. He thinks a dale sight more o' shootin' a ribel than he does of huggin' his wife and kissin' his childer! Pity, too, ma'am, ther' warn't more as like him." And she went down to the kitchen muttering in an irate tone, "Is he goin' back-is our Johnny goin' back? As if he'd stay while there's a ribel abov' ground." C. A. 8. So God from man sometimes withdraws his Awhile, to teach his infant faith to stand; SOMETHING CHARACTERISTIC. ONE of the best things, writes a contemporary, fell under our observation a few days since. Our friend Jones wanted a servant-girl in his family, and went to an Intelligence Office and made known his wants to the proprietor. Says Jones, "Have you any first-rate servant-girls for the kitchen? I want one that can mind her own business and attend to her work." "Oh, yes!" said the proprietor," any quantity; let me show you one." Jones is at once introduced to a daughter of the Emerald Isle, and is greeted with, "An' does yer want a servant?" "Yes." "How many have yer in yer family?" "An' hev yer hot and cold wather?" "How many children hev yer? and do yer make yer girls work Sundays? Is the church far away?" All these questions and about fifty more were answered hurriedly by Jones, when he thought it about time to take the laboring oar himself. "You look," says Jones, " like a pretty nice girl, but I want to ask you one question, Do you play the piano?" with before I begins. I'm awful tempered, but I'm dreadful forgivin'. Have you Hecker's flour, Beebe's rouge, hot and cold water, stationary tubs, oil-cloth on the floor, and dumb waiters? Well, now, I'd like to tell you how I divide my time. "Monday I washes. I'se to be let alone that day. Tuesday I irons. Nobody's to come near me that day. Wednesday I bakes. I'se to be let alone that day. Thursday I picks up the house. Nobody's to come near me that day. Friday I goes to the city. Nobody's to come near me that day. Saturday I bakes, and Saturday afternoon my beau comes to see me. Nobody comes near me that day. Sunday I has to myself." We were once inquired of by a servant-girl we were about to engage, "Have you a lounge with nice pillows in the kitchen?" "No; why do you inquire?" "I am always used to having a lounge and pillows in my kitchen, so that I can lie down when I am tired." THE following is more curious than beautiful: FEMALE NAMES ALPHABETICALLY RHYMED. A is my Amy, so slender of waist; E is plump Ellen, by Edward embraced; Q some fair Querist, in blue stockings placed; S is brisk Sall, who a chicken can baste; Tis Theresa, at Love who grimaced; X is Xantippe, for scolding well braced; MORTIMER COLLINS. THE LADIES' REPOSITORY. MARY'S SCIENCE. By Mrs. Caroline A. Soule. THAT HAT must be Mary's," said old Mrs. Gray, as a sudden turn of the street brought the stage nearly opposite a pretty white cottage, whose steep roof was shadowed by two old elms, and whose front dooryard was gay with flowers. "Yes, and that is herself in the porch, and that yes, that handsome man beside her must be her husband. Yes, they see us, they are " - but further reverie was broken up by the simultaneous stopping of the stage and running to the gate of the couple who had stood watching it. Hands were shaken, kisses given and returned, and a dozen questions asked and answered, and then the trio went into the house, and the old lady was shown to a cool, airy chamber, neat as wax and tastefully furnished. "And now, auntie, you are to lie down and rest an hour, and then we'll have tea, and you shall see our baby, our little Annie. Charles wanted it named Mary, but I said no, no; Aunt Annie has been the best friend I ever had, and my first little daughter must be called after her. "If you want anything, please ring. I've tried to think of everything, but young housekeepers, you know, sometimes forget;" and with a merry laugh she closed the door. The old lady proceeded to undress. She found everything to her hand, plenAPRIL, 1865. VOL. XXXIII. · NO. X. she ty of cool water, old-fashioned Castile and new-fashioned honey soap; washcloths; coarse and fine towels; her own favorite pomatum, she recognized it by the perfume; camphor-ice; "How thoughtful of her! she knows how I suffer with my hands; brushes and combs ought to know I always carry my own, but then some people don't, and it was right for her to get some for her spare chamber, hope, though, she minds always to clean them thoroughly after each visitor; a brush broom and clothesbrush; just what I need this very moment," and she dusted her travelling-suit; "and I declare, a whole closet to myself; well, that is a comfort. I do hate to go a-visiting where I have to keep my gowns in my trunk, but some folks never think of such a thing as offering a body a press or bureau;" and she proceeded methodically to take out her dresses, shake them thoroughly and hang them up. "And here's an empty bandbox; that's meant for my bonnet, I know; it was real good in her to think of it; I do hate to have my bonnet lying around here and there; and this bureau, I wonder if she meant me to use it; yes, for the drawers are all empty. Well, this is a comfort, for I never did want anything out of a trunk but it was sure to be at the bottom;" and forthwith underclothes, stockings, handkerchiefs, and all the etceteras of her wardrobe were transferred to the drawers. "These shoes, let me see, what'll I do with them? Why, I declare if here isn't a shoe-bag nailed on to the closet-door! Well, this does seem like home." And everything in perfect order, the old lady prepared to bathe and dress. "Well, if I ever!" she exclaimed, as she put down the pin-cushion on the toilet-table; "if here isn't a sewing-basket, with thimbles, needles, scissors, silk, thread, and everything a body'd be likely to want. I don't suppose she knew I always carried my huzzuf" (housewife) "with me, with all these things in it; but I always do, for I've been bothered to death with folks asking for a number ten needle, a thread of sewing-silk, a hook and eye, and some such thing when I was so busy I didn't know hardly whether I was on my head or heels. It isn't half the folks in the world that know how to visit, or how to make visitors happy; but I guess Mary does. I see, too, she hasn't forgotten a Bible and hymn-book, and I declare if here isn't a writing-desk, with paper, pens, pencils, ink, envelopes, and even a few stamps. Well, that is thoughtful, for almost everybody wants to write a line back as soon as they get to a place, but don't hardly ever do it, because it's so much trouble to get things together. I always make it a rule to carry my portfolio in my satchel and everything, even to a pocket-inkstand, that is needed to write with, for there's no knowing but an accident may happen at some place where you can't get such things. Well, well, I'm glad Mary has turned out such a good housekeeper. I was always afraid she'd be kinder shiftless. Not but what she knew how to do everything, for I brought her up as I would an own child, but she was too apt to put off things, and, there's no use in talking, you can't put off things in housekeeping. They've got to be done at just such a time or 'twill be all which and t'other." "Why, I don't believe you've rested yourself a bit, auntie," said Mary, just then knocking and entering. "The bed is as smooth as ever. Why didn't you lie down?" "Why, child, I haven't thought of such a thing. I've been putting my things to rights, and I feel all settled, already. I've a place for everything" and "And everything in its place; that's you, auntie, to a T. But come, now, see your little namesake." And she took the old lady to another large, airy chamber, where her husband sat dandling a beautiful child of six months. "Mother's darling," she said, putting out her hands; "come and see auntie. There," as she placed it in the old lady's extended arms," isn't she worth coming a hundred miles to see? Charles used to say he didn't believe Aunt Annie ever meant to come and see us, but I told him to wait patiently, the baby'd bring her, and you did, didn't you, sweet one?" and she kissed the dimpled cheeks. And then they all sat down and Mrs. Seymour told her aunt all about the cunning ways the little one had, — how it could "pat-a-cake" already, and put out its little toes to be told" this pig went to market," and that it never cried when it woke up, but always lay and cooed to itself, and that it had two teeth, and could almost sit alone, and "To sum all up," said Mr. Seymour, "there never was, in all the wide world, just such another wonderful baby;" and he caught the child and tossed it up till it fairly screamed with delight. In the midst of the merriment the teabell rang, and a moment after a neatlydressed, middle-aged woman entered, and going up to Mr. Seymour put out her hands. The little one sprung, and in a second was cuddled to her breast. "I guess she loves you," said Mrs. Gray, pleasantly. "Yes, indeed, ma'am; she's as good with me as with her mother." Then turning to Mrs. Seymour, "I left the blinds closed till you should come down, the flies are so troublesome." |