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[For The Sunny South.]
SAINT OGG.*
BY GEN. A. C. G.
To the river Floes, one night, a woman came;
Uer gown hung in tatters on her wither'd frame;
In her weary arms a little child was borne;
She look'd on the riTer and gave a deep moan.
The winds were raging high,
Low’ring clouds hid the sky;
The waters rav’d wildly,
Leaping down to the sea.
Quoth she: "Stranger, I pray thee ferry me o’er,
And my blessing rest upon thee evermore;
To yonder dim bank this night I must cross,
Or my body shall go floating down the Floss.”
"Xo," quoth he; “here abide
Till the wild winds Bubside;
No hand can safely guide
A boat to th’ other side."
Then np the bank striding a comely youth came—
A boatman of true daring,—Ogg was his name,
Son of Iieori, a chieftain bold of the times
Whose deeds have been told in legendary rhymes.
Quoth he: “I will take thee o'er,
Or this arm nevermore
Shall pull the plashing oar;
Stranger, I’ll take thee o'er.”
She sprang into the boat and sat on the prow,
In shrill voice crying aloud: " Eow, boatman, row!”
O’er the storm-crested waters, with steady hand,
Ogg guided his light boat safe to the land.
The woman leap’d ashore,
But clad in rags no more;
A robe of light she wore,
That flash’d the waters o'er.
With beaming face and angelic voice she Baid:
“Heaven’s blessings forever rest on thy head!
Hereafter thy boat a charmed life shall have.
And from the angry floods man and beast shall save
I bid thee now farewell.
My name I will not tell;
But wherever I dwell,
I’ll remember thee well."
She vanish’d, and darkness fell upon the place
Whence beam’d forth the light from her radiant face.
The gloom grew thicker, louder the tempest’s roar,
But Ogg row’d safely to the opposite shore.
Long years under his guide
His charmed boat did ride,
When others by its side
In the rough waters died.
At last Beorl’s brave son lay on hiB death-bed;
And when the sad word reach’d his boat, it is Baid,
By an unseen hand from its moorings set free,
On the surging waves it ran down to the sea.
All becalm’d there it lies
Till storms again rise
And overcast the skiea—
Then up the Floss it flies.
And when the flood rages fiercest, at midnight,
From its prow, o'er the waters shines forth a light,
Which reflects at the helm the Blest Virgin’s form,
And a face uublanch'd by lightning and storm.
When the danger is o’er,
The boat is seen no more
Until the tempest’s roar
Breaks again on the shore.
* The legend of St. Ogg is related in “ The Mill on the
Floss.” The writer has not seen it elsewhere.
[Written for The Sunny South.]
FIGHTING AGAINST FATE;
OR,
Alone in the World.
At that moment, Dusky sprang into the room | pilot in the dim light, and is taken prisoner. Carl Muller and Irma Reingold were orphans,
with glowing eyes and cheeks. She effects her escape after several days’ confine- Irma’s mother had died, and bequeathed her
“ He has come,—my papa has come !” she ment, and stealing up to the palace in the twi- ! only child to the care of her friend and neigh-
cried. “He rode np to the gate while I was : light, she hears her recreant lover uttering pas- bor, Dame Margery, and right faithfully had the
walking in the campus, and I took him into the ! sionate vows to Countess Nina, and in a frenzy 1 solemn charge been kept. They were very
parlor and told him all about yon, and he is j of rage and jealousy, resolves to be revenged, j poor, this queer old woman and the Kinderling
waiting to see you and thank you right now. . She gives no sign, however, but seeks another Irma, the latter earning a life-keeping mite in
Mill you not go in and see him, my darling god interview with the spy, and receives a dispatch the service of a hard task-master, Herr Hansei,
mother?” (for so she most frequently called her i from him, which she carries to General Mina, of who employed her to paint devices on tiny mar-
friend.) 1 the Queen's army, and thus betrays the spy into ble and porcelain slabs, for the lids of bon-bon
“I will see him to-night, dear, at the concert,” . the hands of his foes. He is arrested and con- boxes, for which morceaux of art the rich and
Esther said, glad to postpone hearing the , demned to die, but Zara, moved by love and re- great world pay large sums. The paintings
“thanks.” “So you are in a tumult of joy, morse, rescues him by a strategem that jeopar-; were executed in the finest style, dainty sprays
Dusky ?” ; dizes her own life and leaves her in his stead in : of Modena roses, clusters of purple-hearted pan-
“ Yes, and of triumph—Iotriomphe,” she cried, ’ the hands of the enraged enemy. ] sies, and tufts of gray-brown moss, over which
holding out her apron, in which sparkled a i Such, in brief outline, was the plot of the j latter work the little tired head was bent till the
number of gold pieces, beside a roll of bills, operetta on which Esther had expended so much strained organs of sight and sense would well-
“My father has money in plenty, and he has ! ingenuity and talent. The first scene passed off nigh faint with weariness and despair. But the
given me this to pay what I owe these people. j successfully, the effect of the songs and choruses mosses were wonderful things under her careful
He would have sent me money, but he has been j being enhanced by the presence of so many
everywhere out of the world, and he was afraid ‘bright faces, festive dresses and flowers; and
it would not reach me. How glad I am to pay j Florence Wynn as Nina, winning much applause
every cent to those that have grudged me the j for her graceful acting and admirable voice,
bread I ate and the scanty teaching they flung ■ Dusky’s role in this was a solo song in Spanish,
at me as they would throw a bone to a dog, more j which she turned into a surprise by dancing
to get rid of him than anything else ! But the . forward and whirling over her head a pair of
greatest debt I owe is to you, and that debt money castanets, to whose accompaniment she sang and
can never, never pay, though money you shall j danced as she had learned to do in Mexico,
have, my fairy god-mother. ” __ | greatly to the consternation of the faculty and
fingers, and the purple-hearted pansies glowed
like the living shadows that fell across the Rhine
with their petals of yellow gold.
Carl Muller had been employed by the same
Herr Hansei, and thus had the current of their
two yonng lives been united by the hand of fate,
that had made their mutual lot so hard and un
lovely. Herr Hansei had received an order
from a Paris tradesman for a number of boxes
with French mottoes and fleur de lys to be
She dived into her apron and took out a hand ; staid body of trustees, to whom dancing in a ! painted in the most delicate and intricate de
full of the gold pieces and tried to throw them religious college was an unheard-of thing. The signs, and the master did not hesitate to entrust
into her friend’s lap; but Esther stopped her, ; audience, however, applauded the innovation as j the order to Carl and Irma, pre-satisfied of
saying laughingly: j something that showed a gleam of originality. | the result, and the many thalers it will yield his
“ Fairy god-mothers give gold instead of tak- | But it was not until Esther appeared that the 1 avaricious grasp. Shining leaves, with simula-
ing it, Dusky, and even ordinary mortals do not j spell of genius was felt. From her first thrill- j ted dew upon them, the gray-brown stems, the
accept of the precious metal without first making ! ing whisper when, gliding from behind the vines \ snow-white, and parti-colored, lily-bells, were
out their bills in due form. Your father has 1 of the peasant’s cottage, she laid her hand on i there to be designed and copied on the cream-
commissioned a most unbusiness-like personage j the arm of the spy, exclaiming, “I am here, | colored slabs of rama stone and marble, and
to transact his money matters.” j Geronimo,” to the final scene, a hush of intense i Irma’s first day was full of brooding care. But
“I will be sharp enough with the others. I interest pervaded the assembly. They felt that j the two tablets were done, and she was very
shall take care that they receive no more than here was no studied, self-conscious amateur ren- j proud of her success, but, when the day was
dition, but an impersonation made vivid by | almost spent, had fallen asleep over the green
genius; that this was a voice not only grand by j baize table, with the golden head above the
nature and carefully trained, but informed with ; white arms, and had dreamed of the pure, white
expression by the imagination and feeling of the j lilies of dear old Stockholm, on the little lake
singer. Her voice took by surprise even those j where she had gathered them when a very little
who were familiar with it. To-night, it seemed J child on warm, bright days. They were not
their bills call for. But you, carissima,” she
said, kneeling smilingly yet in earnest, and of
fering the money again, “you, to whom I owe
so much—surely you ”
“Will accept nothing but your love,” Esther
interrupted, looking at her affectionately but
firmly. “So get up before you crumple your j to sound depths of pathos and passion it had \ fleur de lys, but water lilies, that breathed their
flounces, and put away your money until to- ! never touched before. i incense over the shining waters near her baby-
morrow, when Dr. Stum will be at leisure to see j In the last scene, where, having saved her false j home, and she remembered how pure and sweet
you.” lover by stratagem, and furnished him with her | they were as she laid them in the hands of her
But the child was too eager to free herself from ! disguise, she takes his place in prison, bids him j lady-mother when the stars came out to scan the
the galling burden of dependence. She went j farewell, and prepares for her own fate by mirror of the cool, fresh waves. There were
back to her father, who gave her permission to j prayer, Esther’s voice and acting rose to sub- ! singing birds, too, that blended in her dream
BY MARY E. BRYAN,
CHAPTER XYI.
The fillibustering expedition had ended in
terrible disaster. The adventurers had been de
feated, captured and shot with their gallant
leader. A remnant only had escaped, and these
were hunted through the land with blood-hound
pertinacity. Such was the dreadful news fhat
reached Esther through the public prints and
prostrated her already overtasked nervous sys
tem. Before she recovered from the illness pro
duced by the shock, there came a letter from
Copley. “Do not despair,” he wrote. “I do
not believe that Harvey is shot or captured. I
cannot find his name in any list of the killed. I
will leave no means untried to discover every
thing.”
Two weeks afterward, he wrote: “I have in
formation I believe I can rely upon that Harvey
was alive and but slightly wounded after the
capturing squadron left. He was concealed and
well cared for by a secret friend of the revolu
tionists. I have dispatched letters to him by a
safe hand. If I fail to hear certainly of him
soon, I will take other means of finding out his
whereabouts and his condition. Be of good
cheer.”
Meeks elapsed, and she heard nothing more
of Harvey. It was well for her that her daily la
bors were engrossing. She had not leisure to
brood over her fears. The college commence
ment time was approaching, and students and
teachers were as usual collecting their energies
for an imposing exhibition. The music depart
ment was a showy one; it must contribute largely
to the display. Esther worked zealously to pre
pare her pupils so that the “show” they might
make should have a solid meaning. Her orig
inality could not follow beaten tracks, and she
composed and arranged an operetta that first
startled and then delighted the professors who
listened to its rehearsal. It was ingeniously
constructed so as to bring on the stage all the
available voices of her corps in a few showy pre
liminary scenes, while as the plot developed,,
there were introduced parts into which she
threw the genius and passion of her nature—the
plot, the words and greater part of the music
being of her own composing. Among her pu
pils, there was one who possessed a strong and
sweet soprano voice; one of the professors had a
well-trained tenor, and a gentleman of the town
volunteered-an excellent basso, but the role re- 1
quiring a powerful contralto had to be taken by
Esther herself.
The performance was set down for the last j
night of the commencement exercises. The af
ternoon business was over, the tedium of com
position reading having been relieved by well-
chosen music and by the sweet faces and fresh j
dresses of the youthful graduates, who glided
forward to receive their honors, so sylph-like
and radiant in white robes and flower-adorned !
tresses that it was easy to forget how much hum
bug there was in the whole business, and how
little was really meant by the diplomas, bestowed
with so much dignified empressevient and received !
with such blushing grace.
It was not yet sunset, and Esther was in her :
room, resting from the day’s fatiguing exertions
for a few minutes before dressing for the evening
performance. Several of her pupils were in the
room. One, a tall, graceful girl, had begged to
arrange Esther's hair, and was holding out and |
admiring its wavy masses as she stood behind
the teacher's chair. She was the soprano of Es
ther's little opera, and being an heiress and a
beauty, was the school-room queen.
“ Miss Bernard, you must wear my ruby spray
in this beautiful hair to-night,” she said. “Mill
you let me send it to you ?”
“I think not, Florence. It will be too rich
looking for my dress.”
“Did you not get the rich black moire yon !
spoke of?”
“No; only some black lace and a velvet bod
ice. I form'd I could not aflord the other.”
“I know the reason,” cried another of the
girls. “It was because Miss Bernard bought
such a beautiful dress for Dusky,—Swiss as fine
as any girl's in the school, and all over a mass
of frills—and then coral beads and bracelets ! I
declare I didn’t know 4 Ugly Duck ’ when she j
came down. And she recited well, and played !
better than Lula Somers, who has been taking
lessons twice as long.”
“ Still, I should have kept my money to make
myself presentable, had I been Miss Bernard,” :
Florence said coldly. “I am afraid ”
Afraid I will shame you to-night,” said the 1
J young teacher, smiling.
do as she pleased, and added if the money was
not enough, she must return for more. Then
she flew to the recitation-hall, where the presi
dent, surrounded by girls, was superintending
the putting up of more lights and the making of
some changes and additions in the arrangements
of the stage. Malking up to him, she made a
stately courtesy.
“Mell,” he said, looking at her, “what do
you want ? Do you wish me to admire you in
your fine feathers?—rather too fine for a charity
scholar,” in a muttered addendum.
“Dr. Sturm, how much do I owe you for board
and tuition ?”
“Mhatisthe use of naming the sum? You
] will never owe me less.”
“Name the amount, if yon please,” she in-
' sisted.
“Three hundred and ten dollars,” he answer
ed, wondering at her manner. “I made out the
I account last week and put down the amount on
| the side of loss.”
i She opened her apron and counted out the
I money in bills and gold.
“Now give me a receipt to take to my father,”
she said to the astonished president.
“Your father? Ah! has your father come?
Mhy did you not tell me, my dear Sadossa? Did
you show him into the reception-room ? I will
go back with you and See him. I hope he has
no notion of taking yon away from us.”
He put on his hat and offered to take her hand,
but pretending not to see the movement, she
walked rapidly ahead and ran up to Esther’s
room, calling back, when half way up-stairs:
“Tell papa, if you please, my dear professor,
what a fatherly love you cherish for me, and
how it would wring our mutual hearts to part
from each other.”
The mocking gleam fled from her face when
she entered Esther’s room, and Esther, already
dressed, turned around and smiled upon her.
“Esther, my queen, how grand and sweet yon
look!’’ she said, going up and kneeling down be
fore her, embracing her knees and looking into
her face with fond adoration. “Esther, my
queen,” she repeated.
“Mith but one little subject in the world,”
returned Esther. “ Well, I must show my au
thority over that one; so I command her to rise
and doff that nnfestive garment, otherwise apron,
and re-adorn herself with sash and wreath.” j
She rose slowly, still looking at the beautiful
picture that Esther made dressed in black with
her nobly-moulded arms and shoulders bare and
gleaming marble-white in contrast to the jet
black of the velvet bodice. A high Spanish
comb fastened np the heavy loops of lustrous
hair, behind which fell the Castilian vail of
black, rich lace. A garnet rosary and cross on
her neck, a pomegranite bloom like a jet of flame
on her bosom were all the ornaments she wore.
She was too pale to personate her character of
an impassioned Spanish girl, for old memories
had been at work as she handled the rosary her
mother had worn, and looped up the tresses Yic-
torine had loved to braid and Harvey had never
tired of admiring. But her color rose and
glowed vividly an hour afterward, when she
stood in the impromptu “green-room ” behind
the curtain, the soul of the night’s performance,
limity. The farewell was sung with such terri- ! with the perfume of the lily-bells, the Rocrow’s
ble agony of love that the entire audience leaned I mournful call, and the chirups of the Starling
forward and hung upon her tones with breath- j to its mate, that mingled sweetly with the dis-
less interest. j tant chimes of the convent bells. She heard her
It was at this moment of triumph that a snd- j mother’s voice, “Irma, little one, awake,” and
den, a terrible revulsion befell her. From that ! opened her eyes to see Carl’s face bent over her,
vast wreath of eager, admiring faces, there shot j and hear his voice in her ear, and before he had
forth the gleam of a serpent-like eye. It trans- j time to see the tears in her eyes, they were in
fixed Esther by its intensity of malignant tri
umph; it impaled her upon the cross of a bitter
memory. In an instant, the scene of exposure
the streets, filled with laughing, happy children,
God’s children of poverty, as well as the rich
and petted bantlings of luxury and wealth.
and shame at Haywood Lodge swam before her j The scene was no new one to Carl and Irma, and
vision. Here were the eyes that had fastened 1 they hurried through the noisy throng to their
upon her then with such vulture-like cruelty ! j poor, little home, where Dame Margery was
Here, they were, gleaming out from beneath the j waiting with a cheery welcome and simple re
sable bird’s wing upon a bonnet that shaded a j past for their coming. Carl’s home was with
beak-like visage he knew too well. Her enemy | them, and were it not for the additional income
had found her out. ! of his weekly mite, they could scarcely have
For one second she faltered, struck like a i contrived to live at all.
soaring eagle by a venomed shaft, then she con- J The moon shone overhead, and the perfume
quered her weakness and sang on—sang to the from the little jar of mignonette on the window-
end, till, with quivering arms extended, and np- j sill, floated to them during the few moments
raised, the last prayer came trembling and thrill- | that the three held their accustomed converse
ing from her lips.
In the moment that succeeded, she heard not
the hush of awed emotion break into a tempest
of applause; she saw not the rain of flowers
around her, or the flash of admiring looks; she
only saw that malignant face: she only heard the
venomed hiss of the serpent that woke her from
her brief dream of security and respect.
The curtain fell amid redoubled applause, and
Esther, staggering into the recess of a window,
drew the folds of drapery around her and stood
there so marble-white and cold that Dusky, who
flow to find her, drew back in alarm.
“Papa,” she cried to a tall gentleman she had
brought with her, “she is fainting; what shall
we do?”
He threw open the window behind her, and
snatching a fan from one of the girls who had
approached, fanned her vigorously until, catch
ing her breath with a profound sigh, she raised
herself from her leaning posture, saying “ I am
better. I will go to my room.”
“Not yet, please, Miss Bernard,” interposed
together, and then the golden head began to
droop, and Carl went away to his pallet in the
wee attic, while Dame Margery plied, for hours,
her needle, by the brenzee taper, and gentle
dreams again hovered above the sleeping mad-
chen, with their moving visions of the sunlit
slopes of her other life, tliat had gone away too
far for her little hands to reach. But the love of
God was above her whole life, and there was
something inexpressibly sweet in the guardian
ship of the warden angel that watched over her
always, even as a mother love. The dingy little
room where Carl and Irma painted all the day,
overlooked a fashionable street, and on the other
side, opposite, was a great toy and fancy shop,
where children gathered in knots to gaze within
at the many wonderful things displayed there;
and here the hnrdy-gnrdy minstrels gathered
with their monkeys on pleasant days, but Carl
and Irma had no time for the melodies of the
harp and hnrdy-gnrdy, but must bend their
weary heads above the tablets of porcelain and
marble, with the bright clusters of flowers and
lady mother, who had been rich and beautiful
in her youth, and the little maiden fell to won
dering what life could be, of that other kind
than hers, and the day was spent in dreaming of
things that she might never know, while the
white fingers ssill wrought the marvelous flow
ers and moss on the little tablets.
The placid waters of the Rhine gleamed once
again in the purple and gold of the fading sun
light, when Dame Margery waited for them at the
little gate, and wondered greatly at their story
of Madame Yessineau’s invitation to tea, and was
very glad when she saw the eager look in Irma’s
violet eyes.
The time was a trifle more tedious than usual
to Irma, but at last the hours were gone, and the
tidy Katrine, maid of all work, ushered the two
guests into the presence of their hostess, Mad
ame Tessin eau, who greeted them very warmly
and hade them be seated by her chair near the
fire. The room was of the square, old-fashioned
kind, narrow-cased windows of the oriel shape,
and the broad, open, Dutch-tiled chimney-board
and fireplace, where a bright blaze threw forth a
cheerful welcome. The evening was cool, for
summer was in its wane. The blind organist
had a double object in this show of hospitality
to the little tablet-painters, and he soon pro
duced a letter from a tradesman in Paris, to
whom he had written about Carl and Irma, and
the offer had come to them, through him, of one
thousand francs a year, conjointly, for tablet
painting, and a sufficient sum would be advanced
for their passage to that city. It was a fortune
incomparably great to the poor starvelings that
could barely eke out a living of brown bread
and a daily morsel of cheese. Irma’s dreams,
she thought, of that other life were about to be
realized. She repeated to herself, over and over
again, “one thousand france!” Her portion
five hundred francs! “Dame Margery shall
have a new cloak for the winter, and we shall
have white bread every day, and a glass of wine
on Sabbath days.” She was fast forgetting her
kind benefactor, in her joy of dreaming, until
his voice aroused her:
“Irma, little golden hair, when yon are once
in the mighty city, with its life so different
from this, will yon ever think of me, and will
you sayan “Ave Maria” for me in the grand
cathedral of Notre Dame ? Mill you ever think
of the old time, when I came every day to the
little window to feel the progress of your pic
tures, as they came from under your little hands ?
And when you gather fleur de lys, breathe a
prayer for me, little madchen, and the fragrance
of their bells will carry it to the stars and the
home beyond, that I shall sometime see, when
these shadows are lifted from my eyes forever.
God bless and keep you, my children.”
There were tears in the old man’s voice as his
solemn benediction rested upon them, while
Irma kissed his hands, with swimming eyes cast
down. Madame Y'essinean was very glad that
this good fortune had come to them, and the
poor children bade them, the only friends they
had ever known, “ good-night,” with hearts too
full for words.
“Dame Margery, we have great news for you,
for us all. Me are to go to Paris, and have
riches and beautiful things, and sometimes ride
in the Champ Elysees !”
The violet eyes were wide open, and the face
all flushed with a joy too deep for even these
enthusiastic words to tell. Dame Margery laid
her hand on the child’s heated temple, and the
old woman’s face showed a fear that had found
a place in her heart; that the child of her love
and adoption was crazed and wild; that she
talked so incoherently of things they had never
known, except in dreams or the books of fairy
legends and enchanted lives. Carl smiled at
Irma’s vehemence, while he detailed the even
ing's conversation to their aged friend. The
hours were waning into the smaller ones of morn
ing ere sleep visited the eyelids of Dame Mar
gery and Carl Muller, while long the angel of
of Irma's life had guarded her restless slumber.
Herr Hansei was surprised and enraged when
“ the swallows ” unfolded to him the rich offer
of the Paris tradesman. He offered them a great
advance in the old price if they would remain
with him, but he saw that nothing would tempt
them from the future that had been provided for
them by their kind friend, the blind organist.
A month more, and they were in Paris, with its
ceaseless chime of bells, its minarets and mighty
hum of surging life. The tiny room that Carl
and Irma called their “studio” was cheerfully
lighted by a little sky-light of prettily stained
Florence Wynn. “Let me bring you a glass of moss that they had wrought thereon. That part ; glass, and they were very happy in their new
water, and try to steady your nerves for another j of the city they called home, was known as Die j home. Dame Margery s face was a constant re
little ordeal—nothing bad, though.” j Scicalben, because it was so quiet, and the fields j flection of Irma’s contentment, and the busy
“She means the presentation of the picture,” j stretched away so fragrant and green that “ the I sound of the wooden sandals’ echoed cheerily
whispered Dusky, who had before given Esther swallows” were not affrighted, and so built there, | the whole day long, while the heart of Paris
intimation that, at the close of the performance, j unmolested, their tiny homes, and reared their j throbbed ever on, regardless alike of the weal or
her music class would present her with a copy 1 young. Herr Hansei called his little task-people woe of the three wanderers from^ Baden, on the
of a celebrated picture of Sappho, which Esther j “the swallows,” as also did the blind organist, T ” ^ ’ 1 TT ’ ^ J
was said to resemble. j whose house ran back till the windows could
As Florence was hurrying away to get the overlook the little room where “ the swallows ”
water, a boy put a' little slip of paper in her
hand.
“Mhat does this mean?” she said. “Mama
sends for me to come to her out among the audi
ence. She says my aunt, Miss Bird, knows you,
Miss Bernard. I suppose she wants me to bring
her back here to speak to you. She only arrived
here this evening.”
Florence did not return. Esther heard it
whispered among the giris that there would be
no presentation.
“Mhat can it mean?” exclaimed Dusky, as
the audience began rapidly to leave the hall.
“It means,” answered Esther, grasping her
hand tightly and laughing bitterly, “that I have
been weighed in the balance and found unwor
thy of Sappho. It means that the sleuth-hound
daily sat, and Irma had once described to him
the various designs on the little tablets, and he
had remembered them all, and could place his
fingers on them lightly, and tell her, with re
markable accuracy, the roses and lilies apart.
He seemed to take strange interest and pleasure
in the fleur de lys, and would question her each
day about the progress of her painting. He
would ask her to reach a tablet to him that he
might feel the flowers, and he was always a little
brighter after this, for the sad old man was born
in bonny France, but had removed to Baden on
the Rhine in his youth, and had been an organ
ist in the churches until stricken with mortal
blindness, and then the churches to which he
had been so faithful had given him a liberal sti
pend, sufficient support for himself and wife,
Rhine. The Duke de Yoicee had offered a large
reward to any one who would paint, on a pair of
caillot rosat glass vases, to be presented to his
bride elect; the emblem of his coat of arms, sur
rounded by the “lilies of France.” Carl saw
the printed bill, and conceived the plan of essay
ing the work. Now, Irma could paint the flow
ers more delicately than he was able to do, and
the caillot glass was easy material, on which
to work the peculiar and rare design. For one
whole week he thought of nothing else, until he
had decided to invest a large part of his earn
ings in a pair of caillot rosat vases. Now, four
hundred francs was a great deal for a poor painter
to possess, but he had three hundred of it care
fully laid by, and the rest would soon be due, a
portion of which he had meant to invest in a
little turquoise ring for Irma. But he could do
without that now, and so the vases were pur
chased, and Irma worked very carefully on the
delicately tinted ware, and at last the great work
was done, the vases packed in a little wicker
basket, when they were ready to begin their
encouraging, reminding, drilling her excited pu
pils, and entering into the hour’s entertainment
with the zest, the unconscious abandon of her of slander has tracked me here, and that I must j who was a cripple, and never left her chair with-
impressible and elastic nature. j go away, Dusky.” j out the aid of Katrina, the waiting woman, and
The performance went on with great success, j She spoke wildly, with glittering eyes. Dusky ! a heavy staff. Irma had never se^n the blind _ .
The scene of the little opera was laid in Spain j looked anxiously from her friend’s face to that man except at the little window that was so close ; journey to the presence of the Duke, and the
during the seven years’ war. Under arches of j of her father. The swarthy, black-bearded man ; to her green baize table that she conld reach ; day was radiant with the happy sunshine of
flowers and vines, a company of peasant girls i had eyes that could look gentle as a woman’s, j forth her hand in greeting. He toM her while i hazy Indian summer. The anxious children of
meet to celebrate the birth-day of Countess Nina, i They were soft with pitv at this moment, as she worked, a great deal about his crippled wife, Bohemia stood before the palace gate and waited
bending down to Esther, he said: ; and about his own affliction, and Irma felt much • for a summons from the liveried page to the an.
“Mill you lean on me and let me take yon to i pity for the blind musician, who conld not see i dience with the Duke,
your room? The night’s work and excitement ! the blue of the summer heavens, the shine of j “And yon painted these beautiful things—
the myriad stars, or the waving cloud of the ' you, a daughter of the beautiful, have such a
Norseland pines, that were so many in the city ! talent? Mhy, child, it will make you wealth
■ arden, and she inwardly compared her life to beyond yonr wildest dreams. I have had eight
the beautiful daughter of the old nobleman,
whose tenantry they are. Countess Nina, lean
ing on the arm of her father, a grandly uni
formed, white-bearded old soldier, comes for
ward and distributes prizes of garlands and gay
ribbons and pretty compliments to the singers.
Mhile thus engaged, a young caballero comes
upon the scene, pale, and carrving his right arm i ^ ,,
in a sling. He is the bearer of a letter pur- Cell’! ftllU [THIll, 01’ 1116 SWtlllOWS.
porting to come from the old Count’s son, 1
have been too much for you.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
[For The Sunny South.]
who is a Colonel in the army of Queen Chris
tina. The letter reports a skirmish, in which
the writer’s life was saved by the young cav
alier who is the bearer of the letter and who
was wounded and disabled in defending his offi
cer. He is accordingly warmly recommended
to the father and sister of the Colonel.
Scene second shows the caballero domiciled
in the Count’s palace, freely admitted to his con
fidence, and entrusted with secret knowledge
of the movements and intentions of the Queen’s
army. It shows, also, the beautiful Nina fasci
nated by the courage and gallantry of her broth
er’s preserver.
Scene third reveals the true nature ot the cab
allero. He is a Carlist spy, sent to ingratiate
himself with the Count, who is a warm friend of
the Queen and privy to her councils, and to
elicit information concerning the movements of
the Christinas. The secret comes out in an in-
BX HABY PATTON HUDSON.
Thev were fellow-workers.
his, and a new contentment gave a brighter col- i specimens, prrsented at the palace for my in-
oring to her cheerless lot. Carl Muller had i spection, but I have never imagined anything to
known Monsieur Yessineau a long time, and : be like this. Here is my cheque for security,”
through him had obtained the situation of tab- the Duke said, “and leave the vases at the palace,
let painter for Herr Hansei, and he, in turn, had j you shall hear from me again.”
recommended the talent of little Irma to the j The angel of Irma’s life had given her dreams
Carl felt that and i master, who had never ceased to congratulate ! of other life than brown bread and toilsome days,
was proud of it, too. He thought of all life had himself on his good fortune in thus securing but this was something richer than the sapphire
brought them, and all it was°likelv to bring, her valuable sernce m the art. glory of the sunset bosom of the dear old Rhine,
and the clear-cnt face was raised for an instant to Monsieur Yessineau inquired very minutely ; j 1 ?. ne ? t <l ? ornin ? 1 ’ ^ re .T
the serene splendor of the setting sun, and a pa- of the two Bohemian workers the wages they i sented himself at the lodging ot e swa ows
thetic look stole into the brown eves, and lin- were receiving from Herr Hansei, and had ut- i anc J placed in their hands double the reward he
gered there till lighted into an amber haze by tered an ejaculation of surprise and contempt | had promised the successful artmt of he cailo
the golden glory reflected from the western sky. at the miserable sum he paid for the work that : painting. Gold, showers ol gold, to tnem, and
The boy was very wearv, and the thin hands \ was invaluable to him, and secured to himself j tears were in Irma s eyes, while tne -Unite smiled,
were idly poised on the low casing of the nar- an income that a Duke would not despise. He j as he held a handful of sovereigns beside the
row oriel window, from whence he looked to the muttered something about “ it would not always \ yellow curls and said: lou nave gold. Here,
placid waters of the Rhine, that were just now be so,” but “the swallows” did not understand httle one, that poverty cannot take away. _
lighted by the effulgence of the suntide. , his French, and so toiled on, never hoping, never ; l ater yhen Marne - argery s ovmg
“Irma,” he said, and softly touched the gol- trusting that anv other life would come to them i hands were folded over tne loving ea , and
den head of the sleeping girl beside him, “ wake ! than the one they daily led in the little dark j J rma wa . s Carl s bonnv bnae, an ere
from your slumbers and see the magical glow of room that overlooked the sunnv Rhine, the j back again to the banks of the beautilui Rhine,
sunset Our task is done, and see how much grand tov shop and the noisy street j anc *- I rl ? a s bender hands trarne e swaying
prettier are yonr fleur de lys than mine. The “ Carl! Irma !” ! vmes . of th ? blossoming loechiee above the Wind
terview of the Basque girl, Zara, whose love he lily bells hang so gently from their bended stems, 1 “ The swallows ” heard the voice of their blind organist, whose care for them had wrought this
has won. and whom he has enlisted^in his ser- j while mine look a wee hit ungainly beside them.” 1 friend calling to them from the little window, ; benizon of goodly things,
vice to carry dispatches to General Elio. Mhile i He carefully collected the girl’s scattered pal- and he delivered a message from Madame Yes- *"*
they are conversing, a detatchment of Chirstinos lettes and brushes, and placed them in the little sineau for them to come to tea with her the fol- Mhen you see an old man amiable, mild, equa
ls reported as coming up in search of a spy, of wooden box he had made for them with loving lowing evening. The musician's voice had a ble, content and good-humored, be sure that in
whom they have had vague intimation. The ! hands. His own were already out of sight, and pleasant ring when he gave this invitation to his youth he has been just, generous and for-
Carlist conceals himself in a cottage, and Zara, then he covered the sunny head with the little them. They had never before been asked to any bearing. In his end, he does not lament the past
disguised by his cap and long cloak thrown over hood, and together they walked homeward in house in Baden, and it seemed a very pleasant nor dread the future. He is like the evening
her short dress, deceives the soldiers and their the deepening shadows of the twilight. j thing for them; and Irma thought at once of her a fine day.
INSTINCT PRINT