808 
THE LADIES 1 FLORAL CABINET. 
sing about my ears. Aristarchus kept droppiug to sleep 
only to be wakened by my warfare against those blood¬ 
thirsty natives. 
“ Cordelia, can't you get to sleep?” he asked, as I 
hit him a blow on the head in an ineffectual attempt to 
put a limit to the existence of one of the noisiest 
serenaders. 
“ No. I can't,” I answered, shortly, but I kept quiet 
for a few minutes, and then I began to feel a queer 
rustling and moving beneath me. and I straightway 
imagined snakes, centipedes, lizards and boa-constrict¬ 
ors concealed in that bed of boughs. When I could 
endure it no longer. I waked Aristarchus, and informed 
him that there was a snake in our bed. He didn’t be¬ 
lieve me. but I insisted that I should die of fright if that 
bed was not examined, so he got up. The tent was 
dark in. spite of the moonlight outside, so he went out 
to the fire and lighted one of the guide’s lanterns, and 
in so doing, waked up the occupants of the other tent. 
“ What's up ? ” demanded Ferguson. 
“ Cordelia and I.” was the answer, “there’s a snake 
in our bed, and I am getting a light so I can see to rout 
him -” 
The guides said there were no snakes about us. but 
they got up. nevertheless, and arming themselves with 
axes came with Ferguson to our assistance. I held the 
light, and the four men picked the bed carefully to 
pieces, and when the last bough was removed, they 
found on the ground a poor little frightened toad, which 
they tossed out into the darkness, after which they re¬ 
made the bed in contemptuous silence and departed. 
We settled down again, but I was, if possible, more 
nervous than before. I heard the slightest sound in the 
woods, magnified tenfold. Aristarchus had just fallen 
asleep again when I heard a terrible scream, as of one 
in mortal agony or terror. I shook hint until I suc¬ 
ceeded in waking him, when the scream was repeated, 
and apparently nearer than before. 
“What is that? Some one must be murdered!” I 
exclaimed. 
“It is only a panther, he won’t come near us, do let a 
fellow sleep,” and “a fellow” turned over with an im¬ 
patient jerk. 
“ Only a panther,” I repeated, “and only a piece of 
canvass between us and this wilderness of wild beasts I 
We shall all be torn to pieces before morning.” 
The other tent was so near us that the sound of my 
frightened voice wakened Ferguson, who called out to 
know what had happened now; when Aristarchus told 
him, he called back that tire camp-fire would keep all 
such creatures at a safe distance, and ho got up and re¬ 
plenished the blaze, and told us to go to sleep. Aristar¬ 
chus gladly obeyed, but I could not close my eyes. I 
lay listening to every sound, and imagining all sorts of 
horrible catastrophes, until I fell into an uneasy slum¬ 
ber, during which a huge panther jumped from one of 
the pine trees close by, and came crashing through our 
tent, and alighted beside the bed, where he stood growl¬ 
ing and shaking his claws over me, until I was roused 
by Aristarchus, who was standing beside me shaking 
me. and calling out: 
. “ Wake up, Cordelia, wake up ! You have kicked me 
out of bed, and screamed loud enough to wake the 
dead.” 
Then I heard Ferguson and the guides rapping on the 
outside of the tent, and calling out to know what was 
the matter. Aristarchus explained that I had been 
dreaming, and as they turned back toward their own 
tent, I heard Dickson say: 
"Good Heavens ! What a dream it must have been 
to set a woman to yelling like that!” And the other 
guide said, “I don't wonder her husband is out of 
health. She will be the death of us all at this rate.” 
And Ferguson answered, “ Don't you worry: she 
won’t stay two days. I dare say she’ll go back to 
Bartlett’s with you to-morrow.” 
“ Do you hear that, Aristarchus? I demanded, “I’ll 
stay as long as you planned to stay, if only to torment 
Ferguson.” 
“So you shall, Cordelia,” he answered, soothingly, 
“ never you mind what they say, I’ll stand by you.” 
Aristarchus soon fell asleep again, but I had to re¬ 
sume conflict with the mosquitoes, who did not give over 
the battle until nearly morning, when I succeeded in 
getting a brief nap. Mrs. Susie A. Bisbee. 
VALUE OF A GARDEN. 
I hold that any farmer who is worthy of the name, 
will prepare a small plot, of ground for his wife and 
daughters, and that he will, out of love for them, make 
it all they can wish or desire. It is these little things 
that make home pleasant and happy; and it has been 
the lack of these that has driven many a loving heart 
out into the world, and away from sterile, barren 
homes. Give the wife and daughters a place to plant, 
tend and rear their flowers; help them if needs be, al¬ 
though it may take an hour sometimes that is hard to 
spare, and you will a thousand times bless God for s- 
ordering your mind that you did it. What husband or 
father, rugged though his nature may be, does not 
fondly linger round a home made so bright and cheer 
ful by the fairy hands of his wife and daughters, scat¬ 
tering, as it were, in his way, the beauties of their little 
plot? What son or brother ever forgets his home, who 
has found his room daily perfumed with flowers, which 
have been raised by the hand of a fond mother, or 
gentle, loving sisters, and placed there through the 
promptings of their own affectionate hearts? What 
daughter ever forgets the home where she lias cultivated 
her little garden, and year after year been so happy in 
the blossoms which have been borne upon the plants 
she has watered and tended with such patient care? 
Parents, brothers, sisters, the dear old home—all come 
back to her, though years may have passed away, in the 
scent or bloom of every flower. The family is seldom 
unhappy, Whose dwelling is surrounded with shady 
trees, and whose garden is gay with cultivated plants. 
Do not then, I beseech you, forget the little flower- 
garden.— Peter. 
