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TOTTl'd' TT A T.S 1 EDITOR AND .lULLLN Ji. E5JhALi&, -j PROPRIETOR. ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, JUNE 26, 1875. TERMS, VOL. I. [For The Sunny South. MV CIGAR. BY 8. DAVENPORT. To my lips I fondly press thee As a true and lasting friend, Dreaming golden dreams of pleasure As thy smoke in wreaths ascend— Smiling as the blue mist rolling Pictures scenes I hold most dear— Picture glasses red and brimming, Picture girls with golden hair. Far away into the purple Of the evening's gathering shade, Lovely faces smile upon me Where thy wreaths in garlands fade; Lordly boards with wine o’er-brimming Rise from where thou art curling blue, And I feel the warm hand pressure Of each friend that's tried and true. And from out thy misty circlet Comes a mother’s saintly face, And my boyhood creeps upon me With a reverence for her grace; And again I stand beside her In my childhood’s spangled dream, Peeping through the rosy curtain At the distant sunset gleam. Fairy hands have pressed thee from me, Laughing lips had rival claim, Rut they reigned in sunny weather,— Thou, my friend, art e’er the same. To my lips I fondly press thee As a true and lasting friend, Dreaming golden dreams of pleasure As thy smoke in wreaths ascend. [Written for The Sunny South.] TWICE CONDEMNED; OR, The Border Mystery. BY MARY E. BRYAN. > CHAPTER XX. —Concia’sion. Th6re w&s a witness to the interview between YIelicent and Mr. Avery. Outside, at the win dow which opened on the porch, stood Hagar eagerly peering through the half-parted cur tains. ' As she looked, her face assumed a malig nant expression, her eyes blazed fiercely, her bony hand clenched and trembled as it hung by her side. She heard a step behind her. and turn ing around, she saw Neil. She caught his arm and drew him to her forcibly. “ Look!” she cried, pointing to the space be tween the curtains. Involuntarily, his eyes followed the direction of her finger. He saw the sight that had aroused her anger,—Mr. Avery sitting near Melicent, bending over her, holding her hand in his and gazing at her with impassioned fondness. He turned off, his face a shade whiter and more haggard. “Come away, mother,” he said. “Don’t be spying her movements; it is an insult to her.” “ An insult to her ! What makes it one? Isn’t she one of us ? Have’nt you and I a right to see what she does? Why don’t you claim her? Why don't you force her to own you as her husband, and dare him to come near her ? ” “ I would not force myself upon her for my right hand: I would not intrude on her feelings; I would not impose myself upon her pity. No, no; don’t ever speak to her that way—as if I had any claim upon her. Let things be as they are, mother.” “ But you love her,” retorted the old woman, with a keen glance into her son’s face. “ You'd die for her this minute—you soft-hearted fool!” “I love her better than my own life,” he said, sadly. “And you shall have her in spite of him. What! because she has white hands and delicate ways, I suppose she’s too good for you—too good to stay with us! My fine gentleman there tells her , so, no doubt. He is the proper mate for her; he 1 is the one to take her to his fine home as David did the wife of Uriah. Let him take care, he’ll find worse than a Nathan in his path. Look at him now,” she continued, turning to the win dow and glaring through the narrow space in between the curtains. “See how he looks at her: and she—I tell you. bov.” she exclaimed, suddenly wheeling round anil grasping his arm, “ she loves him !” "I know it. mother." “And what will you do?” “ Do ? I can do nothing hut die. That is the only way to set things right and make her happy. ” -• Die*! yes, that’s just you. You’ll go off some where like a sick deer, and die, and leave her to him. I’d kill him first." “What good would that do? It would only break her heart.” “ She’s broke yours." “She’s not to blame for that. She could not help out-growing the liking she had for me, when she was little Milly. She’s grown since then body and mind, too—and she’s found a mate better suited to her. She’s not to blame if she loves him. Wasn’t he her husband ? Hasn’t her beautiful head laid on his bosom ? She might be his now, and happy as the day’s long in his home, if it wasn't for me. It's me that stands between her and happiness. Isn’t it better for me to die ? ” He pulled his hat down over his eyes, turned away from her and went out of the house. She looked after him a moment, and her features grew set into an expression of hard determina tion. “That shan't be,” she muttered. “He shall have her; she shall live with him; she shall never leave this place. Til see to that. And my fine gentleman had better look out. ” Still muttering, she went out and made her way to the foot of the hill. There she waited by the roadside until Mr. Avery appeared. When he “Mind yon don't come here again,” she said, with her savage eye transfixing him. “ Mind you have nothing to do with her by word, look, or message. If you do, it will he worse for y T ou.” “Do you think I regard your threats, my good woman ?” he said, with a smile of contemptuous pity. “If you don’t think now that they are worth caring for, you will some day, as sure as you sit there. If you don’t mind them now, for your own sake, may be you will for her that you pre tend to care so much for. By trying to see her and keep her in mind of you, you’ll on^y make her bed the harder. She’ll suffer for it as long as she stays here; and she's not going off. If she don’t stay out of regard for my son, after all he’s gone through because of her, I'll find other ways to keep her. Y'ou may depend on that, and all yon do to make her think of you will only be the worse for her. So go, and don't come here another time ! ” She dropped the bridle she had grasped, and turning her back on him, walked away. He rode on slowly and thoughtfully. That last threat of Hagar’s had its effect. He did not fear for him self, but he had heard enough of the old dame’s malignancy to make him fear that she might persecute Melicent—perhaps do her some ter rible harm—if she was further exasperated by his visits or his interference. He resolved to keep away from Melicent for the present, and to watch over her interests indirectly. CHAPTER XXL Weeks of soft Indian summer weather passed away—not unhappily for Melicent. She found pure pleasure and consolation in the society of tier son. It was a comfort to rind that in spite of the rough surroundings and absence of cul ture in his life, his heart had received no taint. Good impulses seemed to have sprung up sponta neously anil grown without training, un.ess they may have received a direction from the gentle inliuence of Neil. But Manch was less timid than Neil. He was an out-spoken, honest, affec tionate child, quick-tempered but generous and forgiving, with a vein of originality anil quaint humor in his composition. Melicent would have been interested in him had theie been no tie of blood between them, and would have found it a pleasant task to teach one so eager lo learn and so grateiul for instruction. \\ hatever sad thoughts and heart-sinkings Melicent may have had in her solitary hours, she tasted the happiness of giving pleasure to others. She bought itlirough her agent, Manch, who was a capital hand at a purchase) a number of little comforts anil luxuries for the family household: finer ware and better food for the table, and a supply of such books, magazines and papers as she thought would awaken the interest and extend the mental range of tuose for whom they were intended. She read these aloud to the household in the afternoons and lengthening evenings, when they were collected in Hagar’s room, which was a pleasant place since Melicent had added to its habitual tidiness the comfort able charm of neat curtains, a shaded lamp, and a few articles of cottage furniture. The quick perception and active imagination of her listen ers seized with avidity upon the new food thus presented. Even Hagar. with her unlighted and forgotten pipe in her hand, would sit in the door anil listen intently to the lively or pathetic skctcucs of tile, i-c reminiscences of travel, or sometimes to the sparkling legend and fairy tales of Hans Anderson, strung on a golden thread of moral. Harriet, sitting on a stool at Melicent’s feet, was always her most attentive auditor, listening with such bright, intent eyes and changing looks that it was hard to determine whether she under stood all that was read, or only reflected the varying expression in Melicent's face. The evening readings and the enteitainin; ‘ YIY HEART HAS BEEN WITH YOL ALL THE WHILE.’ * - -P * - • - | first smile, the first bright, interested expression it had worn in many weeks. They lifted him out of the gloomy, tacitniL' mood in which he had been plunged ever since he found out how cruelly he had been deceived by the French syren who had wiled him into betraying his brother. When he discovered that through his weakness, Neil had been taken and condemned to die. his remorse was terrible. Unable to bear, in addition to his own seif-reproach, the abuse of Hagar. he hid himself in the woods, and came near falling a victim to starvation. Whether she talked or read, Melicent was sure of an appreciative listener in Neil. He was defi cient in intellectual grasp and of course in edu cation, hut he was a finely organized being for all that. He possessed the swift sympathies, the subtle perceptions, the keen sensibilities that make one companionable and responsive. After all. such natures as this are infinitely more inter esting and lovable than tl^ose of a higher culture and colder character. Neil was possessed of a good deal of mechani cal ingenuity, and could handle tools with almost the neatness and dexterity of a skilled workman. Both from the wish to please Melicent and to be employed, he set himself to carrying out all the small improvements she suggested on the place, and, tinder their united auspices, the “Wild Cat's Den ” became transformed into a comfort able and even pretty abode. With the aid of a hand or two hired by Melicent, there were soon new palings around the yard, a rustic balustrade to the porch, new windows with shades and enr- the squirrels in the tall pecan trees. The spell of the wild woods wrought upon Neil. The artificial barriers that had seemed to separate Melicent so widely from him disap peared under the free, broad influence of nature. As she walked home by his side, in the golden sunset, and he looked at her sweet face, shaded by the simple straw hat, he longed to take her hand in his and walk, as they had often done, through these same woods, hand in hand. A bird flew up in their path. They looked at each other. The same recollection flashed through the minds of both. It was at this very spot, under a dogwood tree not far from the road, that Melicent had once found the two large, clouded eggs of the whip-poor-will, laid upon the bare ground, from which the mother- bird had flown up in just such a way as the bird did at this moment. Here, she had come with Neil every evening at sunset until the eggs turned into two queer little balls of yellow down. “This is the same tree,” said Neil softly, as he looked into her eyes. “I wonder if it"is the same bird come back to visit her old nest.” The words were simple, but the look, the tone, made the faint color drop out of Melicent’s cheeks. It was the first time he had brought up a circumstance of mutual recollection—it was his first allusion to their past companionship. Melicent felt as though it was a withdrawal of the curtain of silence and reserve that he had tains: the spaces between the well-hewn logs of permitted to fall between them. She trembled, used path that he had often trod. He hastened on, almost in a run, for twilight was closing in. He reached the old live-oak tree and parted its heavy shroud of moss. Underneath, it was almost dark, and an owl, far up in the moss- muffled branches, sent forth a single unearthly scream. He made his way’ to the fisherman’s hut. His heart sickened as he heard a low groan within. As he entered the dark, damp room, he saw a form seated on the bench beside the unlighted hearth, the head bent down upon the hands. It was the old. remembered attitude. Manch went up to him and put his arm around his neck. Neil looked around. “Is it you?” he asked, in a husky voice; and drawing the child to him, he wrapped him tightly in his arms, and sat there silent for some moments. At last he said: “ It is late, and damp under these trees. Why did you come here, Manch?” “Because I knew you were here. Oh ! father, why did you come to this place ?” “It’s the only place I’m fit for, hoy. I can’t stay yonder, Manch; I can’t bear it. I'm only fit company for the owls and bats,” he added, trying to force a little lightness into his voice. “I had better come back and live here the rest of my days. ” j “Oh! "father, father! In this wretched, un comfortable place ! Think how unhappy it will : make her.” “I make her miserable anyway. There is only ] one thing I can do to render her happy.” He did not say what that one thing was, but Manch knew instinctively when he felt the con- : vulsive clasp of his father’s hand and the hot tear that fell upon his forehead. He knew that Neil meant that the one thing he could do for Melicent would be to remove the obstacle of his i life, which stood between her and her union with the man she loved. Some minutes passed in silence, then Neil ; said gently: “Manch, it is late; you must go back; they will be uneasy.” “I can’t go without you, father.” “You must not stay in this damp, dismal place. It would distress your mother, my boy.” “I will stay where you do.” “Would you live with me here in this wretched abode, Manch? or'would you go with me wan dering into distant places—often foot-sore and *j, »,vuwub JftVQq to hoy »• .... j. ! xi „ • „ , ,, , u I would go with you wherever you went), bv the cawing of the crows and the chattering ot r ,, T ij i J n * - „„ *v;„ „—i—* ° father. I would leave all to follow you; you softness in the air, and a stillness broken on.t which the house was built were filled in with plaster, and the building and fences received an ample coating of stone-colored wash. Neil built a little summer-house for Harriet’s climbers, and heand Melicent brought jessamine vines from the woods and planted around it. The goldea afternoons often tempted them with Manch and Harriet out into the woods, where the trees were taking gorgeous autumn tints and the purple haze rested on the hill-tops, mak ing them seem dream-like and beautiful. When Manch saw Melicent seated under his favorite ash tree by the bayou, with her hat laid aside and her eyes full of smiles as she surveyed the heap of "treasures” he had taken out from their old repository in the hollow tree, which he had named the “Savings Bank.” he would have been perfectly happy but for the cloud he saw steal over his father's face. The old ash tree had as sociations for him also, and the recollection of loving looks, and words, and kisses, came to him at that moment with the hitter sense that they were forever things of the past. He put it aside, however, and listened with gentle inter est to Manch’s graphic account of his first meet ing with his unknown mother, when, riding upon Ylonsoon. she had “scared him up” from the bushes; of the fright he had given her by being stunned when the horse stepped upon him; of the progress they made toward acquaint- , ance under the old ash tree: her patronage of his bird business, from which he had now re tired, and her interest in,his original “Savings Bank." with its treasure of odd findings and scraps of books. "I’m a rich chap since then,” said Ylanch. “I have whole hooks with backs to them, and a trunk to put them in. The good fairy has come to me, as she did to the young folks in the story books. only instead of being a little, shriveled old god-mother, she’s my own mother — the sweetest and dearest mother a hoy ever had ” One afternoon, they made a longer excursion than usual—out to a certain pecan tree, which Manch had reported to be full of nuts. The way- led across the bayou and the road that ran on the other side— the same road along which Yleli- cent had been wont to ride on her visits to "Ish- mael’s cabin.” It was an afternoon of rare beauty. The mellow sunshine sifted down through the lofty canopy of gold and scarlet- i approached, she stepped out into the path beiore conversation of Melicent were a blessing to poor tinted leaves as through the stained glass dome jhim and stopped him. Gabriel Griflin. They brought to his face the of some mighty temple. There was a delicious and leaning against the tree, said: ‘ ‘ Let us wait for Ylanch and Harriet. ” Then she discovered she had not her gloves. “I must have left them at the pecan tree,” she said. Neil went hack at once to get them, leaving her standing under the dogwood tree. There was an undergrowth of sassafras bushes around it, and she did not see how near she was to the road until she heard the sound of wheels and saw a buggy approaching, drawn by two horses, whose proud shapes had a familiar look. They were driven by a gentleman, who had a lady by his side. As they came nearer, she recognized Ylr. Avery and Miss BradweU. They did not , see her: Ylr. Avery’s pale, handsome face, lighted with a smile, was turned to his companion, whose eyes were lifted to his while she talked with much animation and earnestness. YIelicent noted his attitude and air of raptu rous delight—her bright color, her eyes that sparkled under the waving plumes of her hat. •8/<e—YIelicent—stood there unrecognized, un thought of. Her heart, that had throbbed so wildly when she first recognized him. stood sud denly still, pierced by a keen pang of jealousy. A great wave of desolation and wounded tender ness swept over her. “He has given me up ! He has ceased to care for me ! Oh ! merciful Father, how miserable I am !” she cried, clasping her hands in the sud den anguish of the moment. She did not hear a step that had approached her, now walk softly away. She did not know that Neil had stood behind her and heard her exclamation. A few moments after, Ylanch came up with Harriet. “Ylother, here are your gloves,” he said. “I met father, and he gave them to me. He says we lii r.at go on and not wait for him. YIelicent felt at once a chill apprehension that he had seen her agitation and that it had wounded him to the heart. She took Harriet's hand and walked home in silence. Ylanch was also un- wontedly taciturn and dispirited, and Harriet, whose moods reflected those she loved, looked at them in her child-like, puzzled way, and fore bore to ask questions or to trouble them with her prattle. YVhen they reached the house, Ylanch set down his basket of nuts and hurried back. At the foot of the hill, he turned off into a little un need me most,’’said theboy, clasping his father’s neck more closely with his slender arm and lay- | ing his cheek to his, as in the prison days. He spoke no more, and did not move until Neil, rising slowly, said: “Let us go back. It will not do for you to stay here any longer. The fog is rising from the •bayou, and we have no fire to keep down its bad effects.” And hand in hand they returned through the dusk, and met at the gate the anxious face of YIelicent. She asked no questions then, but she knew in her heart where they- had been, and she lost sight of her own sorrow in her sympathy- for Neil. Pretending to scold them, she play fully took a hand of each (how the touch of her soft fingers thrilled the man who loved her so!) and drew them into the house, where she poured out for them cups of steaming coffee (best anti dote for malarial fog), and talked as cheerfully as she could to dispel the sadness she could not fail to see in the face of Neil, reflected, in spite of himself, in the countenance of Ylanch. The next day, Neil was ill with one of his old rheumatic fevers, and YIelicent took her place at his bedside and nursed him with untiring faith fulness day and night while his sickness lasted. One night, when the fever was at its height, and she was watching him alone, he tossed restlessly and moaned her name. She looked at him a moment, hesitating, and then bent down and kissed his forehead—his lips. He opened his i eyes and looked at her with sudden recognition; a glow of unutterable happiness overspread his face and was succeeded by a look of peace. After that, he was tranquil and raved no more, and next morning the physician pronounced him greatly better. CHAPTER XXII. As Neil became convalescent, there was one circumstance that forced itself upon him, though it seemed to have escaped the attention of the rest. Hagar had always been so wild and strange in her ways that any additional degree of singu larity was only- set down as some new phase of her natural eccentricity. But her conduct now betrayed the influence of an all-absorbing mania. Neil perceived it, and it gave him great uneasi ness, even apprehension; for this mania had YIelicent for one of its objects. Hagar's feeling for YIelicent was a singular one. Though she often spoke to her harshly and scornfully, she secretly- regarded her with almost passionate ad miration and pride. She gloried in her beauty, her accomplishments, her refinement—“fine lady ways,” as she termed them, which she affected to hold in contempt. She had determ ined from the first that she would keep YIelicent with her at all hazards—a resolve which had its origin, partly, in her dislike for the “high headed Ylayor,” who, in her eyes, represented the laic she hated so bitterly, conceiving that it had wronged her, and, partly, in her admiration for YIelicent and her love for Neil, which resem bled the mother instinct of a savage or an un tamed animal, ready to fight and to die for its offspring, hut unable to express itself in gentle words or tender actions. It was this determination of Hagar to keep YIelicent with her as one of her family, and this unreasoning prejudice against Ylr. Avery, that Neil saw had grown into insanity. He felt it intuitively when he looked into her eyes as they rested on YIelicent, or when she spoke of Ylr. Avery or heard his name mentioned. Though her feeling for these two was widely different, she was crazed in respect to both. Ylr. Avery- had apprehended truly when he feared that she was capable of going almost any length to pre vent YIelicent from leaving her house and re turning (as she supposed she would do) to him—- capable of using force or stratagem—of injuring or maiming her in some manner, so that shei should not be able to go away. And in herf INSTINCT PRINT