accepted the offer of my hand if the Count had him of the strait I am in. And now, Count, you
made it?” have said that the Duke will take your wife.
“Yes, my lord, I would have accepted it; and Reach my friend and tell him where I am: do,
now that I have seen yon, I know that I would , this, and" on the honor of a gentleman (I am
never have ceased to bless the happy fate that your equal in rank, my lord Count), your wife
bound me to your side.” shall be restored to you, and you shall be pro-
“ What punishment is too great for the wretch tected from the anger of the Duke !”
who has defied his master, cheated his friend, “Ah !" said the Count, “I will bear your mes-
and robbed a lover of his lady ?” cried the Duke, sage to Sforza. I think I know your friend, and
angrily. . will rely upon your promise of protection. But
“ My lord, I know of none," answered Editha, as for my wife,” (the Count groaned) “ I married
coldly and clearly, knowing full well that she her for her beauty.—she a perfect stranger, too,
was speaking his death-warrant. and sought by the Duke. As soon as she found
“Leave it all to me.” answered the Duke, sig- out that she might have been a Duchess, she
nificantly. “Leave all to me; and good-even, turned a cold cheek upon me, and doubtless she
fair ladvi I hope yet to see that graceful coro
net give place to tile more regal one of a Duch
The Duke softly kissed her hand, and hastily
leaving the terrace, called for his attendants.
They came forth, and the Duke, without notic
ing the crest-fallen Count who stood at his side,
mounted his horse and rode away.
As soon as the Duke left her, Editha went to
her chamber and fastened the door, utterly re
fusing to see the Count for a moment.
At midnight, the Count was summoned from
his bed to attend the Duke. With his heart full
of direst misgivings, he went with the men who
came for him.
‘Now,” said the Duke, when Aloredo was pre
will be a Duchess when I am dead. I suspected
at first that you might be one of her retinue,
when you said you were from England.”
“ Who is this lady,—an Englishwoman ?” asked
“Yes. she is an English lady, beautiful as an
angel. Perhaps you may have heard of her.
See. here is her picture. Look upon it and say
if it is not wonderful that so sweet a face can
have a heart so cold and ambitious.”
He took the picture, and gazing at it, ex
“Editha Teynham ! Have you married this
woman, Count? Is she here? Where is she?”
“ Y'on are startled.” said the Count: “I am
sure you have heard of her. Y’es, she is my wife,
[For The Sunny South.]
l "Sl .VXY SOI TH” SOVXET.
Shall our aim be only level
With the plane of ancient sages ?
In the lights of by-gone ages,
Shall we idly rest and revel?
Beams of knowledge, pure and glowing.
Down the centuries are streaming—
Product of no idle dreaming.
Fruit of toiling genius growing.
From us now this debt is owing:
To amass the golden grain
That has grown from others' sowing.
And to sow it all again.
Thus, with usance, we shall render
This great loan to the Great Lender.
her burden, and taking it from her in spite of
her remonstrances, he threw the bridle of his
horse over his arm, and walked by her side to
the little log cabin over the hill, where, as she Sappho—A Tragedy is Five Acts. From the Press of
[For The Sunny South.]
[For The Sunny South.]
told him, she lived alone with her widowed
mother—her father having tilled a soldier’s
grave. She invited him to enter and get a drink
of cool water. He did so, and found the little
house, with its vine-trellised porch and windows,
to be the abode of neatness and taste. The
hearth was filled with green, fresh boughs; a
cluster of roses bloomed in a china vase upon
the little stand: a guitar lay upon the table, and
there were books, pictures, and other evidences
of refined taste.
He had carried the wood into the kitchen,
where they found the mother—a pleasant, intel
ligent-looking lady, busy canning fruit. His
new acquaintance, whom her mother called Net
tie, was given a basket of fruit to peel, and he
Trubner & Co.. London. By - Stella.'' (Mrs. Estelle A.
Lewis, formerly of Baltimore, now of London), author
of •• Records of the Heart, and Other Poems," and “The
King's Stratagem, or The Pearl of Poland.”
I have read this tragedy of “ Sappho ” side by
side, sometimes almost scene for scene, with a
work of the same length and title by Edda Mid
dleton (a translation from the German of Franz
Gillparzer), published in 1858 by the Appletons.
Mrs. Middleton was well known in New York
and London, and distingtiislied for her remark
able personal beauty and rare mental gifts.
There is much in her story of “ Sappho ” that is
tender and poetical, and occasional gleams of
much pathos and dramatic warmth: but I find
much more that is strong, fervent and intense
- . - in Mrs. Lewis’book. Edda Middleton’s “Sap-
THE WOODLAM) FLOWER; for an hour, and 'in the mean- L i nprfnm^. 1 • —'aIpII u’-” ri *L ^,i nn .j r ,cr, - ■ ;
° -,•> li a and pert umed: “Stella s a rich, glowing passion-
* ^ flower, velvet-petaled and burning at the heart
TAKING HER AT HER WORD.
BY MISS M. C. STEVENS.
Olive Hunt had been out riding with Arthur
Trawick, her betrothed lover, in tbe early morn
ing. As they alighted from the buggy at the
gate of her stately home, a young girl, with a
time drew her out in conversation, until she for
got her timidity, and revealed a cultivated and
thoughtful mind and rare refinement both of
feeling and thought. She had read much, but
had seen little of the world: and as he talked,
her naive, intelligent interest gratified and at
tracted him. He could see every emotion mir
rored in her clear, truthful eyes. Before he was
aware that the dinner-hour was near, he was
Place in the hands of Theodoric a sword, and
“Pardon, your Highness,” said Anselm; “but
the young man Theodoric is too weak to fight
with the Count.”
“What has weakened him?” demanded the
“ Starvation, my lord!” answered Anselm, in
“True—I had forgotten,” returned the Duke.
“But it matters not; do as I have told you. It
makes no difference which one kills the other;
I’ll have the head of the survivor for doing it.
There—take him away !”
“Oh ! my lord, listen to me !” cried Aloredo.
“No, I will not hear a word from you !” said
the Duke. “And, Anselm, in the morning, when
you find this fellow dead in Theodoric’s cell,
take a guard of honor, and bring hither the
Countess of Civitelli. Mark you, fellow,—treat
her with all respect; she is to be the Duchess of
“My lord !’’ cried Aloredo, “the Archduke of
Sforza gave his consent to my marriage,—nay,
even sanctioned it with his presence. You will
not dispute his will?”
“Take him away !” shouted the Duke. “Not
the devil himself should snatch him from my
grasp; and if the artist don’t kill him, I’ll have
him broken on the wheel to-morrow.”
The unfortunate Count was hurried away, and
thrust into the cell with Theodoric. To the as
tonishment of the artist, a sword was placed in
his hand, and they were left alone.
that hour she will plan her destruction ! Oh !
that my limbs were strong to fly with you, sir
Count! But do you go, and add to the message
I have already given you what you have just
told me. Say that Editha Teynham is in high
favor with my mortal enemy, and that not a
moment is to be lost!”
Theodoric sank back, almost fainting, and the
Count, his eyes now somewhat accustomed to
the dim light, looked upon him with amaze
“Y’our friend already knows that Editha is in
Tivoli, and that she is my wife,” said the Count.
“Whom, then, do you take for my friend?”
“The Archduke Sforza, of course,” answered
the Count. “Did you not have his safeguard
in your pocket ?”
“Aye, true. But it is not of the Archduke I
am now speaking,” answered Theodoric; “it is
for the girl with the basket to enter, bowing to
her as he did so. She was a pretty, modest-
looking girl, who blushed and cast down her
large violet eyes as she met the young man’s
look of involuntary admiration.
Olive waited for him while he latched the
gate; when he joined her, she said, with a curl
of the lip:
“ You are a perfect Quixote. Pray, does your
politeness require you to wait upon servants?”
Turning involuntarily, Arthur saw that the
cruel words had been overheard. The peach-
bloom color on the girl’s cheeks deepened to
crimson, her lips quivered, and tears sprang to
“Oh, Olive !” he whispered, “she heard you.
How could you be so unkind ?”
“What if she did hear me? I suppose she
knows her position; if she’ does not, she ought
to be made to understand it. She is my laund-
tie. without hesitation, took the guitar and sang
several beautiful, old-fashioned ballads, in a
voice that was not only sweet, but showed care
To his own astonishment, the sun was setting
when he rose to go, and as he bid the mother
and daughter adieu, he asked and received per
mission to come again.
“A sweet, rare flower blooming in this wood
land retreat," thought Arthur, as he rode home.
Then he drew a parallel between her, in her
sweet, feminine grace and ^gentle refinement of
character, and th« beautiful, but haughty and
selfish Olive. He saw that his fancy for Olive
had been merely a passionate impulse; the
depths of his heart she had never sounded.
She had set him free, and now he had met one
who more fully satisfied his cravings for heart-
sympathy and sweet, household love.
Days passed, and his visits were to the cottage
of an Englishman. Will you seek him, Count? I ress, and if I pay her for her work, that is all in the glen, and not to the stately mansion on
All my promises shall be made good: and more, she has a right to expect.” the hill. As Nettie’s character revealed itself
much more, if you will do this. I know that “It is not. She has a right to expect courtesy day by day, he found her more loveable and en-
Paulo will seek him,—it is for this he has gone and kindness from a sister woman.” j dearing. •
Theodoric, who had been lying upon the floor,
slowly raised himself to his feet, and leaned
upon the sword which had been so hastily thrust
into his hand.
“Who is this, and why have you given me
this sword ?” he said at length, in a low, weak
“ ’Twas not I who gave you the sword—you
may rest assured of that,” answered the Count.
“ If I mistake not, it is the Count Aloredo who
is speaking to me?” exclaimed Theodoric, in
.“Yes, I am the Count,” replied Aloredo, “and
you seem to have recognized my voice; but if I
did not know that it is Theodoric who is here, I
am sure I should not know you. ”
“ You are the Count! Tell me, then, why this
sword has been given me?” said Theodoric.
“To kill me with,” replied Aloredo; “and
to Sforza; but I doubt if the boy will find him,
for he scarcely knows whom he seeks.”
“Give me this Englishman’s name,” said the
Count; “I will deliver your message to him.”
“ Seek, then, for a well-to-do peasant who
bears the same name that my servant does—
Miguel. That is my friend, and his name is
Percy Teynham. Tell him that his friend Adri-
elo is starving, and that Editha Teynham is
near him. That is all.”
“Did you say Adrielo? That is a rare name,”
commented the Count; “I will remember it.
When will the guard open your door ?”
“Just before day,” faintly answered Theo
“Y’ou seem to be very faint,” said the Count.
‘ A sister woman !’ Do you place me on a
level with a beggar like that ?”
“She is of your sex, and her face, her man
ner, tells she is feminine in nature as well as in
sex. She has delicacy and sensibility, and you
have wounded them to the quick."
“Really, you are very much interested in my
washer-woman,” drawled Olive, her face flush
ing and her beautiful mouth curling in high
All this time, Olive waited for the return of
the lover she had thought to humble; but he
came not. Then she humbled herself and wrote
asking him to return and forgive her. He was
too excellent a “catch” to be lightly given up.
He replied, telling her it was too late; he had
taken her advice, and was now engaged to the
lady she had herself suggested as a suitable
bride. With all his heart, he thanked her for
the suggestion. Olive was deeply chagrined,
By this time they had ascended the steps, and , and the circumstance taught her h bitter and
stcod upon the porch. The girl had also come needed lesson.
into the house, and carried past them her basket When the woods took on their gold and crim-
of beautifully white and fluted clothes. son splendor, Nettie Moss became the loved and
Arthur drew near his betrothed, and said to
with tropical fire and beauty. It has received
the heartiest appreciation and most loving wel
come from the English and American press.
The Civil Service Review says of it: “This drama
is rich in passages of intense passion and vigor
ous action.” The School-Board Chronicle: “It is
pitched in a lofty strain and shows much strength
of wing in the higher flights of poetry,” etc.
s an am-
congratulate our country
woman that she has won so distinguished a name
among the many aspirants for the laurel of dra
matic authorship. There is so much that is ma
jestic, so much that is delicate in this version of
the tragic history of Sappho, that I am at a loss
what passages to cull for quotation. I select the
following at random, as I cannot wander far
astray in this garden of enchantment. Of slan
der, Sappho says:
“I have stood face to face with Death; but Slander,
Ingratitude, are foes more terrible:
Death strikes and leaves us conscious of no ill—
They deeper stab, and stab, but do not kill.”
Alcieus gives a series of striking pictures of
Pisistratus and the gentlemen of his court. Of
Anacreon he says:
“ He’s straight when he’s not drunk, which being often,
He’s often crooked. His hair and eyes are dusky,
His nose large, pugged and winey.
Stesichomes is handsome, tall and stately;
Theogmis hoary; .Esop short and hunched;
Solon stout; Thespis withered; Ibycus
Young, nectar-lipped; Minermus Adonean;
Agrigeutuui stern, stoic, and savage-looking as his deeds,
Hath a highbrow, lantern-jaws, hooked nose, wide mouth,
Teeth long, thick, yellow like a cannibal’s.
And always has his bull upon his lips."
To Sappho Alcaeus speaks:
“Say only once ‘ I love thee,’ and my heart
Shall set it to the music of thy voice,
And sing it in the concerts of the angels.”
After Sappho has won the laurel, the people
“ Speak on, thy voice is music—
Sweeter than ever rapt Olympian ears.”
“ I am a poet, and not an orator.”
“The poet's both. His words are fire, his songs
The beacons burning Qn the heights of Time.”
Clitus, preparing for the home-coming of Sap-
[For The Sunny South.]
THE EDUCATION OF DAUGHTERS.
BT MBS. M. A. E. MORGAN.
Iam, indeed; but do not heed me. Make ^ “Don’t be angry, Olive. I will tell you the tiful home, to shed around his hearth the per
your escape; fly, if you value your life! Hark ! truth: more than once I have been pained to fume of a sweet temper and a gentle, affection-
they come ! Be ready !” find you wanting in consideration for the feel- ! ate spirit.
While Theodoric spoke, the sound of steps in ings of others. I would have my beloved—my ***
the passage reached the Count’s ear. The door wife that is to be —a true ;/enfle-woman, mindful
was opened: the Count sprang forward, threw of the feelings even of the lowly.”
the man headlong to the floor, bounded over his “You had better marry one of that class, if
prostrate body, and fled, calling back one word you wish your wife to exercise such tender sym-
as he went, and that one was “Hope !” pathy and consideration for them," Olive said,
The guard—he whom the Duke had called sneeringly. “Suppose you take my washer-
Anselm—was stunned by his fall, and had The- woman; I will guarantee her to (jet up (that’s the
odoric been able to walk at all, he might have laundress phrase, isn’t it?) your linen in first-
made his escape. As it was, he was barely able class style. ”
to sit on the floor beside the fallen man, and “Thank you. It would be a good idea to' get
bathe his brow with a few spoonfuls of water a wife that had some useful quality,” he replied,
left in his cup. Presently he spied a small flask stung by her taunting manner,
of wine hanging at Anselm’s belt; he withdrew it, “Certainly. Pray consider the suggestion,”
loving wife of Arthur Trawick, and gladly he pho and her new-found, adored lover. Phaon,
transplanted the woodland flower to his beau- says:
To look her prettiest; she’s to play the Hebe,
And lead the dancers in the Muses' revel.
Look to her garb. Let there be nothing in it
the quicker you do it, the better.”
“My lord, I do not comprehend your words,” . and having first moistened his own lips, forced she retorted' gathering up her train and sweep-
said Theodoric, amazed at what he heard. “Why a little of it down Anselm’s throat. It was full ing him a mocking courtesy, as she entered the
do you say that I, your prisoner through most fifteen minutes after the Count left him that the house and left him standing on the porch.
That can impede tbe poetry of motion:
Let fleecy skirts just dally with her knees.
And silken gaiters case her twinkling feet;
Down to her slender waist, as free as air,
Let fall the clusters of her raven hair,
And in the sable threads weave amber roses,
But not another ornament or gem;
To educate a daughter is to educate society Youth, unadorned, is beauty’s diadem.”
itself. Why ? Daughters will be mothers, moth- Sappho, in scorn to Pisistratus, who offers her
ers cement families, and families constitute so- his throne after Phaon has deserted and deceived
ciety. In short, woman is to be laborer, organ- her, makes answer:
izer, ruler and friend. She is to labor in soften- ■ If ’ thou didst proffer me a diadelu
ing the asperities of life, to direct th<3 distaff, the Sown with as many gems as heaven with stars,
loom, and the manufacture of all necessary ina- And every brilliant in it were a sun
terial, for she is informed respecting the wants Kcll l>smg a million times the god of day,
vile injustice, am to kill you ?”
“You are my prisoner no longer, sir artist,”
answered the Count. “ We are both alike in the
hands of the Duke of Tivoli.”
“ My bride !” exclaimed Theodoric, eagerly.
“Where is she, my lord ? I have spent days and
nights of anguish thinking of her. Only tell
me that she is safe, unharmed, and I will give
the sword into your hands; you may pass it
through my heart, if you will!”
“Thanks !” said the Count, bitterly; “and be
broken on the wheel to-morrow for doing it!
No, I will not take your life. The Lady Amalia
is well, and as safe as she can be, considering
that she is in the hands of the Duke, .and her
only friend in Sforza.”
“Her only friend! Whom do you mean?”
asked Theodoric, eagerly.
“ Her cousin, Paulo,” answered the Count.
“Paulo in Sforza! Has he indeed gone to
guard opened his eyes.
“Where is the Count?” were his first words.
“ Gone!” answered Theodoric.
“Escaped?” groaned Anselm. “Lord! how
dizzy my head is ! How long has he been gone?”
“I can’t tell,” said Theodoric; “half an hour,
“Half an hour! Then he is clear of the pal
ace by this time; no use to look for him. What
shall I do ? The Duke will kill me ! Oh ! how
giddy I am ! Ah! I have it! I shall tell the
Duke that when I came here this morning, I
found you had killed the Count, and so took
the body away for burial. Don’t you deny, sir,
or I’ll carry the Duke’s orders out to a point,
and not give you anything to eat. Here is a flask
I brought for you (you’ve been using it already)
and a morsel of bread. Don’t you deny it!”
With these words, Anselm scrambled to his
feet, went out and locked the door, leaving The-
Wounded, repelled, almost disenchanted from
the spell which the beauty and fascination of
his self-willed, spoiled and utterly selfish Jiancee
had cast around him, Arthur returned to his
buggy and drove rapidly away, not looking back
to see Olive, who peeped at him from the cur
tains of her window, sure that he would soon
return to her humbled and devoted. He did
drive over next morning early, and Olive met
him coldly, inquiring in a sarcastic tone if he
had considered her suggestion, and if he did
not think it would be a good suggestion to pluck
this “woodland flower.”
“Perhaps it would be,” he replied, thought
“In that case, you will need a love-pledge;
pray allow me to return this,” taking his ring
from her finger. “ I am tired of wearing it my-
of her family, and consequently of society.
How is she to know all these things and be
able to rule and direct intelligently? Experi
ence, observation, a quick perception of the fit
ness of things, are a good foundation in her
native composition on which to build a super
structure overlooking all the needs of society.
Mothers must be the educators of their daugh
ters, who, in time, shall perform the same office
for their daughters.
In all education an end is proposed, and the
energies of the educator are to be directed to
that end. Knowledge rules the world without
Daughters should be educated at home, or in
home-schools. Boarding-schools are the bane,
the ruin of womanhood. Nine-tenthspf all girls
sent to boarding-schools are ruined in health for
all time, lose all love of domestic duties, and
find in their affections a chasm broad and fatal
to a mother’s influence. How a loving mother,
I would not doff tbe laurel crown to wear it;
Enthrone Ciesura—seek no other queen."
“That man’s a coward who would make
A woman’s heart a stepping-stone to power.”
Sappho’s last words ere she threw herself
from the rock of Leucate are full of pathos and
beauty. I quote only a few words:
“The sorrows I have known have found no tongue,
The raptures I have felt I've faintly sung;
Words were too weak to hold the inspiration
With which the chalice of my soul o’errun,
And like sweet dew it back to heaven exhaled;
But on the brow of Time I’ve writ my name
Beyond the power of wrong to stamp it out,
Or envy to obliterate its glory.
Ages unborn shall laud the Lesbian lyre;
Sages and children speak the songs of Sappho,
While leaning front some star, I'll list their praises.
Mine error speaks; of the gods I asked too much:
I asked the laurel and the myrtle twined—
They gave the laurel, but refused the myrtle,
And to their will submissively I bow,
Forgiving mortals and immortals now.”
If there are blemishes in Mrs. Lewis' beautiful
ring?—in wishing to cancel our engagement?”
“Never more serious, I assure you. We do
not suit at all. Y’ou don’t like my independ
ence, and I don’t fancy your authoritative ways
and—pardon me—your low tastes.”
“You misunderstand me, Olive,—willfully, I
“I understand you very well; you are not so
deep as to be fathomless.”
“Olive, this rupture is of your own making;
I notice that several prominent journals, no- : I trust you will never repent it. I meant to tell
[For The Sunny South.]
' Though Lost to Sight, To Memory Dear.”
BY W. ISBELL.
Sforza ? How did he get permission to go, my odoric once more alone.
lord ?” The hour was propitious for the Count. He
“He ran away,-—took the clothes of the Doc- easily made his way out of the palace, found his
tor’s page, and left the lad in his place. In his horse where he had left it a few hours before,
place !—i’ faith ! truly in his place, for the Duke and, true to his promise, took the road to Sforza.
pretends he don’t know the difference; calls (to be continued.)
Antonio, Paulo, and has ordered Paulo to be
driven from the palace gates as an impostor
when he returns. What do you think of that,
sir artist, for a bit of revenge ?” asked the Count
“Terrible!” cried Theodoric.
“ Terrible it is !” groaned the Count. “What,
then, do you suppose he will do with you, who tably the Detroit Free Press, are discussing the you ofa fault as kindly as possible, and you
have defied him; with me, whom he finds in his origin of the line, “Though lost to sight, to have construed, or pretend to construe it into a
way?” memory dear,” and in the issue of the Free harsh exercise of authority. I regret what has
“What, then, have you done, my lord?” asked Press of the third of July, a verse is quoted, in happened, but I do not see that I am at fault.
Theodoric, his surprise-increasing every moment, answer to some correspondent, in which the line Good-by.”
“ Robbed him of a wife !” said the Count, with occurs, and to the author of this verse the Free She pretended not to see his outstretched
a bitter sneer; “and he has put me here to get Press attributes the origin of the line. I have hand, and only bowed to him in a cold, indiffer-
rid of me, that he may take her himself.” reasons for believing this statement to be erro- rent way. She had no idea he would leave her
“Surely, my lord, you cannot but ackno\\d- neous. In an issue of the Mobile Register of forever—she had too much confidence in her
edge the justice of Heaven !” said Theodoric, some time in August. 1873. appears a poem of attractions—and merely meant to humble him
earnestly. “Do you not remember that 'twasto two stanzas, each ending with the line in ques- by her anger, and cause him to come more corn-
secure possession of my bride that you had me tion. which poem the editor of the Register stated pletely into her power. She fully expected him
put upon the rack—thrust into this miserable to be the original composition in which the line to come back all submission. But he was made
prison ? Tell me, Count, is it Amalia whom the appeared. The author was stated to be an En- 0 f sterner stuff. Moreover, the glamour of pas-
Duke desires to be his wife?” glishman. whose name I fail to recall, as it was s ion was torn away, and he saw her character in
unfamiliar to me. The Free Press attributes the its true light. He began to see that he had
self, especially since it seems to be the symbol w !?° lias herself been educated at a boarding- “ "[“‘Yu*” toT uia terial* and~ few I have
of a bnnrWe and anthnritv that I am resolved school, can place her daughter in one, is a diffi- “»geaj, tney are immaterial ana lew. i nave
not to endure ” t y a cult question to answer, unless she acknowledge found less to admire in the prologue and epi-
' Olive are von in „ arnpst in returning this the fact that there she lost her best ideas of l°f? ue than in any other portion of the work.
Olive, are you in earnest in returning tins „v, j Sappho is delightful to read, study or recite, but
home, and now is unable to discern what is true
The accomplishments of music and the fine
arts should be cultivated—indeed, every knowl
edge that tends to make beautiful all the sur
roundings of home. The history of all time and
all nations should constitutes large share of the
knowledge of our daughters. With the knowl
edge of the facts of history, the philosophy of
these facts should be most strenuously incul
cated. Why did the men and women of history
live and act the history which we learn, should
be the important question to solve. Languages,
inasmuch as they show the genius of a people,
should constitute a large share of her acquired
treasure. Practical, rejuvenating nature should
be the epic to fill her soul with grand, ennobling
sentiment, and give serenity, constancy and
fidelity. A knowledge of all the intricacies and
mutations in numbers, space and distances, leads
to accuracy and inculcates grand ideas. She
should be familiar with all the thoughts of the
wise and learned in the sciences of mind and
matter. Physical life, with its requirements and
destiny, should be a well-studied and familiar
topic to her mind. The thoughts of those grand
souls who have devoted their lives to the pursuit
I fear (in these days of sham plays and sensation
alism) it will not become a success on the stage,
though Mr. E. Sterling, stage manager of Drury
Lane Theatre, commended the play in the
highest terms. If it does not become a standard
tragedy, it will not be because Mrs. Lewis has
not written well enough, but too well.
Mel R. Colquitt.
[For The Sunny South.]
POWER OF ONE IDEA.
BY L. L. V.
An ability to look at both sides of a question
is a very desirable faculty in many respects; but
it is not one which renders its possessor more
prompt and energetic in action. Hence we find
that all those men who have been most swift in
forming decisions, and most ready in acting on
them, have been, if not fanatics, at least persons
who looked at one side much more than the
others. This it is which gives fanaticism its
power. It looks at one thing solely, and brings
every energy to bear upon furthering one object.
It never pauses to consider how other persons
and other interests may be affected by the accom-
“ Sweetheart, good-by! The fluttering sail
Is spread to waft me far from thee,
And soon, before the foaming gale,
My ship shall bound upon the sea.
Perchance, all desolate, forlorn,
These eyes shall miss thee many a year;
But unforgotten every charm—
Tho’ lost to sight, to memory dear.
“Sweetheart, good-by! One last embrace !
O, cruel fate ! two souls to sever !
Yet in this heart's most sacred place.
Thou, thou alone, shall dwell forever.
And still shall recollection trace,
In fancy's mirror, ever near.
Each smile, each tear, that forms that face—
Tho' lost to sight, to memory dear.”
“No,” answered the Count, “it is not Amalia: — „ — —„— — — — , , , , , ,, , ,, , - , ...... , ~ . ., ..
and ’tis useless for vou to speak of Heaven’s jus- line to an American. I enclose the poem, which never really loved her, and to rejoice that the s ' lcl1 knowledge should be well known to her. and other interests may be affected by the accom-
” v in your hands; use it!” I cut out of the Register at the time. infatuation was over. By becoming wise herself, woman may become phshment of its purposes. To the fanatic this
’ ’ - - As he rode along slowly on the sandy, unecho- the best educator of her race. I ,« tb. tb,™ »11 world worth tbe «t„dv
ing road, he heard close to him a sweet voice
singing in the little oak thicket like a bird, and
caught a glimpse, through the trees, of a lithe,
slender figure in a neat-fitting calico dress, with
a gingham sun-bonnet on her head. She was
gathering the dry oak twigs that lay at her feet,
with now and then a knot of rich pine. He was
close to her, but the crackling leaves and twigs,
and the sound of her own merry song, had pre
vented her hearing his approach. His horse
suddenly neighed, and she turned quickly and
revealed” the face of the pretty laundress that
had been the innocent cause of his recent love- the sun, a little lemon-juice will restore their , ,, ,, ...
quarrel. She blushed deeply and turned to go, whiteness for the time, and lemon scan la relations, is surely a better man than the fanatic,
tice. The power is now
“No, my lord,” answered Theodoric. “I will
stain my hands with no man’s blood. Take you
the sword; I have not the strength to use it, (as
I would do against one equally armed). Take
the sword, and when next the keepers come,
rush upon them, cut your way out. and if you
succeed in regaining your freedom, hasten to
Sforza, and there seek one whom I will name to
you. Bid him hasten to me with all speed; tell
him that I am dying ! Take the sword !”
Theodoric fell back, exhausted, upon the low
bench that was his only seat.
“You are generous,” said the Count, new hope
springing up in his breast as he felt the sword
in his hand; “you are generous, sir artist. I
have wronged you terribly; I see it now as I
never could have seen it while in favor with my
master, and fired by ambition and revenge ! Why
not wash out in my blood all the insults I have
is the one thing in all the world worth the study
of human brains and the labor of human hands.
Upon this he concentrates all his powers. He
fritters away none of his strength upon outside
issues. He is never made to swerve from his
purpose by the woes which the carrying out of
his plans may cause; for these he either ignores
or considers them as unfit to be named amid
his great designs. What he wants to do is just
and holy, and if anybody or anything is injured
thereby it is but the consequence and penalty of
not being in sympathy with his designs.
, , - ... .. , j . The man who calmly considers what he is
of the hands, or if they have been exposed to ab(Jut tQ do> and looks / a t all its bearings and
In order to preserve the hands soft and white,
they should always be washed in warm water,
with fine soap, and carefully dried with a mod
erately coarse towel, being well rubbed every
time to secure a brisk circulation, than which
nothing can be more effectual in promoting a
transparent and soft surface. If engaged in
any accidental pursuit which may hurt the color
A man was recently accused in Paris of having
stolen a pair of trowsers from a dealer in the tem
ple. There were several witnesses, but the evi
dence was meagre, so the accused was acquitted,
offered you, and with this sword carve your own He was told that he might go “without a stain
path to freedom ?” on his character;” but there he stood motionless.
“Alas!” said Theodoric, “have I not told you At length he leaned over the side of the desk,
that I have not strength to hold the sword ? I and whispered, “ The fact is, sir, I do not like to
am starving, my lord ! Y’ou say that you have move until the witnesses have left the court.”
wronged me; atone for it, not with your blood,
but by seeking my friend in Sforza and telling
clasping her load of twigs aDd pine-knots with proper to wash them with. Almond paste is
soa P * £ but he will rarely be so much in earnest, and con-
both prettv, plump arms, from which the loose essential service in preserving the delicacy of S °
, 1 r , • v , 1 ,, , . „ ,, v . o j who look at both sides of a question, eitner take
sleeves feU away An overhanging bough the hands. ^ The following is a serviceable pom- onehesitatin „ lyandweakly , q orattemptamedium
knocked off her sun-bonnet, and there she ade for rubbing the hands’on retiring to rest:
stood, bare-headed and blushing, unable to pick Take two ounces of sweet almonds, beat with
up the bonnet without dropping her load of three drachms of spermaceti; put up carefully
wood. in rose-water. Gloves should always be worn on
Arthur leaped from his horse in A second, exposure to atmosphere,
picked up the bonnet, and saying “Permit me,”
hesitatingly and weakly, or attempts
course which is worse than either. Fanaticism is
a very bad thing, — especially when carried to
excess; but a certain degree of it is necessary
if one would be successful.
Why is that?” “Because, sir. I am now wear- with his most graceful bow. he placed it upon Cool and stormy days may be looked upon as
ing the trowsers which I stole.” her head. Then he insisted on relieving her of dress rehearsals for winter performances.
Don’t wait for somebody to lift you up to the /
place you aspire to; lift yourself.