[For The Sunny South.]
‘•Come, play me a tune,” a little child lisp’d;
“Come, play me a tune that is gay.”
So the orgau man lifted the box from his back;
And sweet was the tune he did play,
And many the dancers that gather'd around—
Yet each one his own measure treads;
And little they thought that the music they bought
Was tearing a heart into shreds.
Ah! many a tree that is noble and grand,
When Winter has freighted with snow,
Shall wither; yet Spring will soon kiss the sod,
And the roses in stead may yet grow'.
So little we dream, when day after day
We pass by the lowly we meet,
That many a heart has been drifted from pain
By a beggar who starres in the street;
For while at the portal of yon castle gay,
Stands its mistress so loveably fair,
Her father is asking a pittance for bread
From her child who plays wantonly there.
Yet morn unto night have those skeleton hands
Enwrapt her so close to that breast,
And oft and again those now wither’d lips
To her childish cheeks have been press’d.
But riches are strong, and woman, when fair,
Is courted but seldom for nought;
And hearts that are crippled with trouble and care
Are oftentimes easily bought.
So now the old hovel is lonely and drear,
When night clouds their shadows have spread;
There are no tender lingers to soothen his brow—
None to break the dry crust of his bread.
The rickety chairs yet stand by the grate,
Where they sat at the edge of the night;
And the odd-fashion’d lamp, tho’ broken, still burns
As fair as when she used to light.
And the good story-book is lying hard-by;
Its leaves are all ragged from age—
For when we have loved the bird that has flown,
It is hard then to part with the cage.
And tho’ even she whom he’d struggled to keep
From the storms and the tempest of life,
Has forsaken, forgotten, neglected him—all
Since riches have claimed her for wife—
Yet Summer and Winter, in sunshine or rain,
Each day the old orgau he plays;
And the tunes are the same, in life’s darkest shade,
As the tunes of his sunnier days.
But soon shall the frettings and pangs of regret
By the whispers of Death be all stilled,
And the heart that is crowded by sorrowing grief
With Eternity’s peace shall be filled.
When we close our eyes for the long silent sleep,
And our souls bid adieu to the tomb,
We shall learn there are flowers that blossom at morn,
Yet others at night only bloom.
no voice in these matters, but -virtually, how
many votes do they cast! how many contests de
A matter of more moment claims the attention
of the fair sex. Hearts are won and ruled by
beauty; beauty may be the gift of nature; may
consist in classic face, in graceful form; may be
the impress of deep intellect or cultured mind;
may be a true index of sweet temper, of lovely
character—whatever it be, its possessor knows
that its charms are heightened, its power in
creased by becoming apparel. To array herself
in such garments is every one’s duty; and right
nobly do many of them perform that duty ! Why,
| then, should she not dress with care, with study,
■ with becomingness ? This is but another way
j of presenting beautiful views of life. Let critics
and reformers howl and shriek of the follies of
; to-day, decry our extravagances and bemoan
: our devotion to fashion, we are no worse than
| our mothers, our grandmothers, our great-grand
mothers, or our maternal ancestors since the
! day when Eve reigned queen in the hearts of all
mankind. Indeed, we are better than all our
ancestors, for we have reached almost perfection
in fabrics, delicate and multitudinous shades,
soft blending of colors, graceful and comfortable
. styles of dresses, cloaks and bonnets, making no
mention of the thick boots and cozy underwear.
I Yes, we thank the Fates that we live in this age,
when fashion has reached the acme of perfec
tion, and think we are more fortunate than any
of our grandmothers. IV e aver that Queen Eliz
abeth would willingly have resigned half her
power over mc-n s hearts and destinies, ambi
tious though she was, could she have arrayed
herself in some of the fairy-like costumes that
are being worn at some of the weddings of the
The bride’s dress was of reps silk front with
brocaded train. Long sprays of flowers, orange
blossoms and crush roses, intertwined with lilies
of the valley, trailed over the drapery and were
wreathed with the soft tulle vail, through which
sparkled diamonds in rich brilliance, the gift of
the groom. Simplicity and elegance were the
distinguishing marks of the entire toilette. If
any beauty could be added to the exquisite
grouping of lovely faces, gallant knights and su
perb toilettes, it was furnished by the rare ar
rangement of flowers, among which the delicate
smilax was profusely found, twined in garlands
round the chancel rail, pendant in festoons
from the chandeliers, plants and bouquets within
the altar emitting delicious perfumes.
From the church, the party proceeded to the
house of the bride’s parents, where music, danc
ing and feasting were continued until midnight;
and the next day, Mr. and Mrs. Bridgeford
started on a trip eastward. Among the beautiful
array of presents were a multitude of pieces of
solid silver, oil paintings, handsome bronze and
many choice floral designs. No friend seemed
willing to forget the occasion, and all seemed
glad to offer a testimonial of affection. We have
had a succession of grand weddings, and more
are expected, but none can exceed the magnifi
cent display of this, the artistic beauty of the ar
rangements at the church, the elegance of the
toilettes, the sumptuous supper and decorations.
[For The Sunny South.
“The Gentleman from New Orleans.”
BT AIT.EE PORTER.
One afternoon I stood leaning against the
ticket ofiice in the Union Depot, listlessly watch
ing the bustle, crowds and trivial incidents at
tendant upon the arrival and departure of trains.
As the new arrivals passed by, I noted those
whom I knew to be sufficiently distinguished to
figure in next day’s “personals.”
All at once, my attention was called to a
couple entering the reception-room. The man
was tall, black-haired and black-moustached,
had brilliant, sinister black eyes, faultless teeth,
thin hands tapering like a lady's, was genteel in
appearance and graceful in manner. The lady
was a young and beautiful girl, hardly seven
teen, a sunny blonde, quiet and demure, and
evidently an uncultivated country girl—a real
child of nature. I made these mental memor
anda as I stepped to the door and saw the man
stow the girl nicely in a seat at the furthest cor
ner of the room. Then he came out through
the door into the dej>ot, and as he passed me I
“spotted” him, to use a detective slang word.
He had attracted my attention, because I
thought the moment I saw him that he was
to a convenient station, ordering the arrest and
detention of our man.
Two hours later, a dispatch announced that
he was safe in the hands of officers, and upon
the arrival of the late night train, we had the ex
treme felicity of escorting Mr. Paul Deslonde
and his baggage to the jail. Miss Lula's money
and a small amount belonging to himself had
been taken from him by the capturing officers.
He was furious, passionately angry, and swore
vengeance upon all who were concerned in the
“ dastardly outrage,” as he was pleased to style
his arrest. When asked by the chief of police
to explain his conduct, he refused, saying that
he would explain only to Miss Lula, and that
she would understand and acquit him, and to
this end he demanded to be taken where she
was. I stepped up to him and said:
“ Gus, you can’t see her!"
At the mention of his name, he stared vio
lently at me in astonishment.
“Gus Daly, since he became ‘Mr. Paul Des
londe, of New Orleans,’ doesn't seem to remem
ber old acquaintances !” I laughingly remarked.
“Who the devil are you?" he exclaimed, an
ger and surprise mingling in the question.
“ I thought you never would forget me, Gus,
although I am a trifle older than when I wrote
up that knifing affair of yours in New Orleans,
an old acquaintance—now I knew I was correct, j and have some more beard on my face than
(Tor The Sunny South.]
BY H. B. B.
There never was such a baby; everybody said
This brings to mind some of the jealous re- so, and we all know that what everybody says
[For The Sunny South.]
LETTER FROM LOUISVILLE.
The Gay Season—Theatres —Olive Logan —
Opera an«l Amateur Theatricals—The Con
test for the Mayoralty—Matrimonial Epi
demic—A Wedding in High hife—Gorgeous
Florul Decorations — Elegant Bridal Cos
tumes and Presents.
What, what shall I tell you of? The gayest of
gay seasons is upon us. The winter is fully in
augurated. Parties and weddings and recep
tions are innumerable. The town is fairly alive
and society in constant preparation for a coming
event, declared by the lovers of pleasure to ex
ceed all others in magnificence, or pausing to
take a moment's rest from the last grand dissipa
Amusements, too, abound—dramatic, literary
and musical. Each evening, intellectual feasts
are spread for the hungry, and all invited to
partake at the—price of admission. How foolish
we Southern people are in regard to reserved or
take-’em-as-you-can-get-’em seats ! Now, in New
York, if you can’t afford to pay a high price for
a ticket to a reserved seat, you feel no hesitancy
in taking one in a less aristocratic location. We
are very independent, but a disregard of ridicule
would result in profit to our minds, and a saving
of many pennies. By the way, Louisvilie re
joices now in the successful introduction of the
penny system, after repeated attempts on the
part of the more economic of our population.
We fear that the reputation we enjoy of being
too religious to support more than one theatre is
too flattering; but true or false, Macauley’s is the
only first-class. Here we have had McCullough
nnd Barrett in pure tragedy, and have been edi
fied thereby. On Thanksgiving night, “Borneo
and Juliet ” drew a crowd, with the additional
marks in which other city papers have indulged.
“ Louisvills must be nearly without pretty girls
by this time, such a lively trade in the matrimo
nial market!” was the observation of a Southern
newspaper. No danger of our number of pretty
girls being diminished, though the number of
marriages be increased ten-fold. All the debut
antes are pretty as are the belles going off so rap
idly. Never within the memory of that oldest
inhabitant—who, by the by, has not died yet—
has been known such a matrimonial epidemic.
The contagion seems to have spread throughout
the land, invading all ranks and conditions of
society, and choosing an equal number of vic
tims of both sexes. In our city, even' week wit
nesses the nuptials of some belle and beau in
high life, each rivaling its predecessor in some
feature of elegance of display, or in a novel way
of conducting the church services. Though a
description of many would be delightful read
ing, let me give details of the last, which took
place on the twenty-fourth,—that of Miss Made
line Bobinson, daughter of J. M. Bobinson, Esq.,
to Mr. Will Bridgeford, a society beau and enter
prising business young man.
The ceremony took place in Christ church, the
oldest in the city. Tickets of admission to the
church were enclosed with the cards of invita
tion to the guests, thus securing the presence of
only chosen friends, and shutting out the mob
of curiosity seekers, who usually flock to such
scenes. Eight o’clock was the appointed hour,
but, of course, the bridal party were late. While
the guests waited, Professor Hast, who had
charge of the music for the occasion, gave a per
fect feast of opera airs and strains from well-
must be true.
“ The loveliest,” “the darlingest,” “ the sweet
est,” “the beautifulest.” Oh, there never was
such a baby!
“He’s got my foot,” says grandma No. 1.
“ And my hand,” quoth grandma No. 2.
“His eyes are exactly like mine,” said Aunt
“And his nose like mine,” said the other!
“He’s a Thompson all over,” quoth one!
“He’s a Wilson up and down,” quoth the |
“ His toes are like mine, I think,’’said mamma,
anxious to claim some part of baby.
In short, that baby is discovered to resemble j
every member of the family on both sides of i
the house, much to the disgust of its fond father, j
who hoped for the sake of its beauty that it j
would resemble himself.
Indeed, to behold that much congratulated |
and wholly uncomfortable individual holding j
the baby is a scene worthy of the pencil of an
“Of course, ‘papa’ must hold him first,” says j
the nurse, and he sits with arms outstretched !
and limbs trembling, holding that baby much
after the manner of one who holds a hot potato. !
He has sat thus for full fifteen minutes—it seems j
like ages—without so much as moving a muscle, [
or lifting an eye-lid, so fearful is he of crushing
the soft, jelly-like little morsel, bundled up in
muslin and flannel.
“Let me have him now,” begs Aunt Ellen, j
eagerly extending her arms, and papa yields
A slight deformity of his left ear fixed his iden
tity beyond question, the aforesaid ear having
been chewed out of shape by a bar-room loafer
in Nashville in 1872. Mentally, I said:
“Mr. Gus Daly, the Chesterfieldian gambler,
I believe ?”
Then, as Gus’ hair was of genteel length, I
began to count up how many months he could
have had since turned loose from the Tennessee
penitentiary, to which Judge Frazier sent him
for a nice little “bunko ” operation in the early
days of 1873.
Just then Daly came by me again, rattling the
checks for a couple of trunks which he had put
when I helped you into the Tennessee penten-
| tiarv on account of that $2,000 bunko trick.”
j “Porter?’’ he uttered inquiringly.
| “Yes; that’s the name !”
“I owe you three now, you infernal little rat!’’
I and he bit his lip in his rage.
“All right, Gussie,” I laughed; “if you ever
pay me they'll be the first debts you ever volun-
j tarily settled, ” and I left him to go to the hotel
j to inform Lula of our success.
! She was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude,
| and a very happy frame of mind came to her,
making her look and act doubly handsome. I
warned her to go to rest and refresh herself for
upon an outgoing train. He stepped up to the ! next day’s trial, and then I went to the office and
window of the ticket office, and bought one
ticket through to New Orleans. I thought he
should have bought two, as he had a lady with
him; but perhaps he had only been politely as
sisting her off the train, and she was awaiting
friends, who were to call for her. Doubtless,
this was true, for the VYest-Point train blew its
signal and started, and Gus stepped politely on
board, entering the Pullman sleeping coach.
Soon all the trains had pulled out of the shed,
the gates over the tracks locked, and the place
deserted, with the exception of several porters
and railroad officers. I stood near the recep
tion-room door, waiting for a friend who was in
side the ticket office transacting some business
with the ticket agent. Suddenly, I saw the girl
“wrote up” my old acquaintance for the third
time in my reportorial career, and each time in
a different city.
Next day Miss Lula was bright and blithe as
you please; Gus sullen and dejected, and I was
Tfie trial came off easily, for Gus waived an
examination, and was committed to jail in de
fault of a bond for his appearance at the next
term of the Superior Court.
Miss Lula received her money and baggage,
and I had the pleasure of seeing her safely on
the train, homeward bound, feeling amply re
warded for my part in the work by the sweet
smiles and kind words which she lavished upon
She reached home safely, astounded, and
loved ballads, in many of which “ the old, old : him to her with a sigh of relief, saying in a con- j
story was told once more.
While commenting on the concluding strains
of a sweet melody, the majestic tones of the cel
ebrated march from Tannhaeuser pealed forth,
and the relatives of the groom entered and took
the seats reserved for them. The march contin
ued, and the parents of the bride, with Mr. and
Mrs. Garvin Bell, the latter a sister of the bride;
came in. There was a pause of a few minutes,
an interval in the music, the doors were opened
wide, and the ever welcome “Wedding March”
from Mendelsohn announced the coming of the
bride. Now, a hush falls on whispering tongues
and all eyes are turned toward the broad aisle. I
“He feels like a hot poultice.”
“A hot poultice !” screams grandma No. 1 in
dignantly, while the nurse retires to conceal her
“I never heard anything like it,” pipes
grandma No. 2.
“Oh, Edward, I wouldn’t havn-Jipljeved it,”
comes in a smothered voice from under the bed
“I knew how it would be all along,” snuffs
grandma No. 1, who has the gift of foresight in
a remarkable degree.
Yes, I told Sarah a year ago he’d never care
-'j --------- - - “ J '•*** wuau
What a lovely scene! The youthful friends of! anything for that child,” chimes in grandma
the bride and groom have been chosen to attend 1 — - -
them to their marriage, to rejoice with them in
this happy hour and to hear their solemn vows.
The attendants came slowly down theaisle, eight
couples in number, and took their places alter
nately on the right and left sides of the altar,
leaving the space immediately in front for the
bridal pair. Dr. Craik, the venerable rector of
the church, assisted by Bishop Dudley, then
read the impressive service of the Episcopal
No. 2, who would have made an excellent clair
voyant had she ever turned her attention to it.
“He never did have the feelings of a father,”
adds grandma No. 1, which is undeniably a re
markable speech, considering that this son and
heir is the berated father’s first-born.
“I wouldn’t mind it, Edward,” laughs Aunt
Ellen, as the crest-fallen papa, who all this time
has stood with his back to the fire, and his hands
behind him, suddenly flies from the scene of his
two hearts that had been united almost from
Immediately following the benediction, as the
new-made husband and wife rose from their
knees, a song of joy greeted them from the choir
of the church, wlio were all personal friends.
These were joined by others, among them, Mrs.
C. G. Davidson, that sweetest of singers. What
a beautiful idea was this singing of friends ! Po
etic indeed, and Arcadian in simplicity of con
ception, though artistic in skillful execution.
The words seem the impulsive outburst of affec-
attraction of the debut of a lady of this city as j tion, of friendly congratulation, of warm-hearted
horses and mules!”
So, thought I, Gus is up to some of his old
The young lady who gave me her name, not
necessary to be mentioned here, went on to tell
how Mr. Deslonde had boarded with her wid-
church, thus joining the hands and fortunes of 1 discomforture, while that angel baby unfeelingly I owed mother; how he had made himself almost
J 1 ■“ sleeps, careless of the pain he has been the
who had come in with Gus Daly step to the door confounded her mother with the story of her
‘ adventures, and luckily escaped the gossips, as
her engagement with Deslonde, alias Daly, had
not been publicly known, and my report avoided
A few days after Daly’s committal, a Nashville
paper published the account of his exploit, and
soon after there came an officer from Nashville
with a requisition for Daly, who was wanted to
answer an indictment for shooting, with intent
to kill, at another gambler. He ran away, and
had been “lying out” at B . In the mean
time, he was dealing in stock lightly, and giv
ing his bills of sales to some horse-thieves in
that section, with whom he was connected, they
using the genuine biils to assist in the sale of
stolen horses. Gus was taken back to Nashville,
and sentenced to five year’s imprisonment.
Lula has never ceased to be thankful for her
delivery from his machinations, and that she
suffered no worse than she did from her associa
tion with him. Her experience learned both
herself and her mother to be wary of suitors,
but despite all their care and caution, one has
been successful in his wooing, and last week
Lula came again to Atlanta for her trousseau.
She had no adventure this time worthy of note,
and as I am to go up soon and report the wed
ding ceremonies, I will not tell who “the gen
tleman from New Orleans ” is who has won
Lula’s heart this time.
and look out. She glanced her eyes hurriedly
over the deserted place, and shrank back with a
troubled, frightened expression upon her face.
“What’s up now?” I mused. “Her friends
have probably forgotten that she was to come to
the city to-day, or perhaps they didn’t recognize
her when Daly escorted her out of the cars.”
As these things passed through my mind, I
heard low, convulsive sobs coming from the in
side of the reception-room. I knew she was
crying, and in evident distress. I went inside
and spoke to her:
“My dear young lady, you are in trouble?
Please let me assist you, if I can.”
“Oh, sir!” and she raised her beautiful, tear-
filled and pleading eyes to me; “you are very
good, and I am lost and ruined !”
Then a fit of weeping prevented her speaking
for some minutes, after which I again spoke:
“What is the trouble, Miss, that I may help
you out of it, if there is a way out ? Here is my
card, and you need not fear to speak freely and
She looked at the card, and then dried her
tears partially. She told me her story in its de
tails, first asking:
“ Did you see Mr. Deslonde, the gentleman
who brought me here ?”
“Mr. Deslonde? Was the gentleman who
brought you from the cars into this room Mr.
“Yes, sir; his name is Mr. Paul Deslonde, and
his home is New Orleans. For several months,
he has been at II——, buying and dealing in
‘Juliet.” Lectures abound, readings and reci
tations are numerous. On Friday, the twenty-
sixth, Olive Logan, with her fund of anecdote,
her pleasant voice and fascinating manners, de-
lixered her lecture on “Successful People.” As j
usual, her audience was very large, and she was I
well repaid. Miss Logan must be one of the few j
advisers whose theory and practice conform, for |
she has certainly proven “successful.”
All the musical clubs have organized for the |
winter, and will soon begin to give publio re- |
hearsals. The third of December is now ap
pointed for the opera “Bohemian Girl,” with j
Miss Mattie Hopkins Clark in the role of Ailine. j
Though we do not anticipate the professional j
acting that we do from a regular opera troupe, I
the music will be faultless, and that, of course, I
is the value of opera. The “Mozart” promises
other feasts during the season.
There are a host of private dramatic and lit- j
erary clubs, whose attempts at comedy and even
tragedy evince much talent on the part of the j
members, and furnish instruction and pleasure
for the long evenings.
We are to have a skating rink when the weather
permits it, where real fun will be found. The
rink for roller skating has become the attraction ;
for youth and children on holidays, and they
seem to enjoy the falls and bumps and bruises
more than champion success.
Municipal affairs engross the gentlemen, for
the mayoralty election is close at hand, and the
merits of the candidates are freely discussed by
the press, in the private parlor, on the street
corners, from the forum, at home and abroad.
Nightly bonfires illuminate the sky, crowds
gather round them, hurrah for the candidate
who furnishes the most to cheer the inner man
on each successive occasion, have a fight and go
home. One of the contestants claims to be of the
people, though now rich and possessing great
influence; the other, born with a silver spoon in
his mouth and not a favorite with the mob. Yet
the number *f the friends of each is really about
the same, and the result of the contest remains
a matter of doubt until the polls are closed.
“ Plebian ” and “Aristocrat ” are hurled by each
party to the other until we are reminded of the
bloody days of the French Bevolution. Is it that
to hold the highest office within the gift of his
town’s people yields a fame so desirable as to
make of no import the vile slanders circulated
by his rival? Or is it only determination to
struggle to the bitter end, and if he die, to die
hard ? Or is it that the emoluments are of suffi-
certainty to remunerate the immense out-
0 mores.' 0 tempores.' Women have yet
wishes for the future, the natural expression of
| loving hearts, eloquent as they are, the enthusi-
I asm with which they were sung gave fuller rich
ness to their sentiment. The chorus w r as sung
; in the original, and is the bridal chorus in the
j German opera. “Lohengrin:”
“ Faithful and true we lead ye forth.
Where love triumphant shall crown ye with joy!
Star of renown, flower of the earth,
Blest be ye both far from all life's annoy.
Champion victorious, go thou before!
Maid bright and glorious, go thou before!
Mirth's noisy revel ye've forsaken,
Tonder delights for you now awaken.
Fragrant abode enshrine ye in bliss,
Splendor and state in joy ye dismiss.
Faithful and true we lead ye forth,
Where love triumphant shall crown ye with joy.
Star of renown, flower of the earth,
Blest be ye both far from all life’s annoy.
As solemn vows unite ye,
We hallow ye to joy;
This hour shall still requite ye
When bliss hath known alloy.”
’Twas first arranged that the attendants should
enter the church from the side vestibules, the
bride coming in the centre; but owing to the
means of inflicting upon his paternal relative.
Yes; he “sleeps all the time.” “He never
cries.” “He is just the best baby in the world.”
“ He’s a perfect little angel.” “ Was there ever
such a baby?” “He’s grandma’s darling sugar
loaf.” “Papa’s little man.” “ Mama’s tweetny
meetny darling; so he is.” “He’s auntie’s inno
cent, lovely angel.”
Whether so much praise had a demoralizing
effect upon the angel or not, we cannot say, but
certain it is that before a great while that baby
began to show its true character. He would
wake up at the most unseasonable and unreason
able hours; he would cry when there wasn’t the
slightest occasion for it; he would render you
liable to unjust suspicions by suddenly shriek
ing as if you’d stuck a pin in him, when you
were doing your “best endeavor” to soothe him
to sleep. He would insist upon being trotted
until your limbs were nearly dislocated, and
your head ready to split; and the moment you
stop to rest your aching ankles, he compelled
a son, and during all this time made love to her
self—the only daughter. He had been exem
plary in all things—indeed, he displayed all
the graces and noble phases of true manhood,
and none of the vices, and both mother and
daughter were charmed and captivated by the
“gentleman from New Orleans.”
The courting sped smoothly, and Lula (that
was her given name) and Mr. Deslonde became
engaged. He received not many days before a
letter re-calling him at his earliest convenience
to New Orleans for an indefinite period. If he
and Lula were to be married it had best be done
at once. The good, simple-hearted mother con
sented. Mr. Paul Deslonde’s bride must shine
forth as a star, and great bustle was made over
the hurried event.
Poor Mrs. went into the town and sold
war whoop. He seems to have no pleasure ex
cept in the misery and the sufferings of others.
He is full of deceit, hypocrisy and fraud; he is
opposed to the temperance reform, and when we
try to instill temperance principles into his ten
der mind, he goes off into horrible fits of colic,
maliciously grows dark in the face, and threat
ens to have a black spasm, until grandma, ut
terly deceived by his machinations, declares
that “he shall have a little toddy to ease that
dreadful pain, so he shall,” whereupon he in
stantly revives, and is transformed into an angel
| again. Furthermore, if offered paregoric when
great crowd, this programme was abandoned and | he has set his heart on toddy, he spits it in our
a small tract of land, a portion of the meagre
estate left by her husband, realizing S800 in
cash. Mr. Deslonde was coming to Atlanta to
buy his outfit, and to secure some jewels for his
bride. Lula had bought some silks and mate-
you to renew the amusement by giving a regular j rial, and would come to Atlanta with him to
the whole party entered by the main door. The
groomsmen and bridesmaids were Dr. Walling
and Miss Lettie Bobinson; Mr. William Munson,
of Cincinnati, and Miss Dora Bridgeford; Major
Harry Campbell, of Pittsburg, and Miss Florence
Dulaney; Mr. Ballard Smith and Miss Lucia
Houston; Mr. A. B. Pendleton, of Virginia, and
Miss Lizzie Bell: Mr. C. T. Collings and Miss
, Craddock, of Frankfort; Mr. Barnie Bobinson
and Miss Katie Bell; Mr. James Bridgeford and
Miss Worthing, of Little Bock, Arkansas. The
dresses of the bridesmaids were in white and
colored silks. The Misses Bell wore white and
1 stood at the extremes of the altar. The drapery
! of their dresses was of tulle with garniture of
white flowers. The next two, Misses Dulaney
and Craddock, wore pink silk, with profuse dra
pery of gauze de chamberey and garlands of pond
lilies on the skirt and on the waist with bouquet
in their hair. The next two ladies were Misses
Worthing and Houston, whose dresses were of
1 corn-colored silk and gauze de chamberey drapery,
with elaborate floral garniture of autumnal leaves
and crush roses, bouquets of same on bosom and
hair. Next to the couple to be married, one on
either side, were the sisters of the bride and
groom. Their dresses were of blue silk, full ,
drapery of crepe lisse, same shade. Miss Bobin
son wore sprays of pomegranates and apple blos-
faces without the smallest compunction of con
science. He delights in taking unsuspecting
people out of their beds on freezing-cold nights,
when the fire has all gone out, and the ther
mometer is down to zero, and compelling them
to race up and down the floor with him until
half frozen to death, when he proves that he is
possessed of a demon by smilingly going off to
sleep, as if nothing had happened. As he grows
older, it takes the entire household to amuse
him, and he tyrannizes over every one from
grandpapa down; his playthings must be the
very things we most value, and if refused any
thing, he yells and storms around until every
body is reduced to the most abject submission.
“What in creation is the matter?” exclaims
papa, startled from his afternoon siesta by one
of baby’s yells.
“ Why, Edward, he wants me to give him my
pearl necklace to play with,” expostulates mama.
“Give him the devil,” ejaculated papa sav
“Fortunately, he doesn’t want him, Edward,”
answered mama in a congratulatory tone, as she
surrenders the coveted necklace.
“Datso, missus,” chuckles black mammy; “ef
he did, you done hab to bring up ole Nick out
of his hole long ’fore dis.”
And that baby, having carried his point,
soms—an exquisite garniture. MissBridgeford’s 1 laughs and crows like an angel.
dress was elaborately ornamented in fringe of !
lilies of the vallev and autumnal leaves.
There never was such a baby, eh?
there never was!
have a fashionable milliner make the trousseau,
as well as to complete her purchases.
Mr. Deslonde was a man of wealth, and be
longed to the haut ton of New Orleans, and his
bride must enter the charmed circles in befit
ting style. So it was all planned and decided
upon, and Lula prepared for her trip, kissed
her mother, passed over her package of money,
over seven hundred dollars, to Mr. Deslonde,
and together they boarded the train for Atlanta.
During the few hour's ride, Mr. Deslonde en
tertained poor, fascinated little Lula with rose
ate and golden pictures of the new world into
which he was soon to introduce her. The next
chapter has been already told, and the third be
gins at this point.
“Well Miss Lula,” said I, “it grieves me to
say that both yourself and your excellent mother
have been grossly deceived. Mr. Paul Des
londe is a villain whose real name is Gus Daly,
and whose society is that of gamblers, high
waymen, horse-thieves and convicts. I know
him of old, and recognized him a half hour
ago when he brought you into this room. Then,
I saw him purchase a ticket to New Orleans and
take the train going that way.”
Lula stared at me as though I had suddenly
developed an insane streak, and showed plainly
that she didn’t believe me.
“It’s only too true, Miss Lula, I am sorry to
say. Has he got your money yet ?”
“Yes, sir; I gave it to him, and he was to as
sist me in my shopping.”
“Then, believe me, he has undertaken the
entire contract, and if we are not in a hurry,
you will never see the money or him again !” I
“Oh ! what shall I do?” and she began weep
“ Don’t give way to your troubles so, but come
along with me to the hotel, and I will show you
how to get even with Mr. Gus Daly.”
She went to the hotel and made herself com
fortable, while I went off to the telegraph office,
Oh, no, j calling on my way to see the chief of police. It
! did not take many minutes to send a telegram
[For Tlie Sunny South.]
WAITING FOR AN OFFER.
BY BOSA V. RALSTON.
The idea generally prevalent among the oppo
site sex, that the entire unmarried portion of
womankind are ever waiting for some one to
come along and make them propositions of mar
riage, to which they are always read}' to accede,
deserves some consideration. Even supposing
such to be the case, the merit of patient endur
ance without a parallel .in the annals of history
must be accorded them. To sit down com
posedly and wait for the coming tide, not know
ing what their fate will be, whether the wheel of
fortune will turn for them good or ill luck,
would utterly eclipse anything recorded of Job
Of course women have to wait for an offer.
Their own natural modesty dictates, and custom
enforces it. They have not the privilege (though
I think they should have the right) of proposing.
But the idea that they are always waiting and
ready to take the “first chance,” is a preposter
ous supposition, to say the least of it. And this
has erroneously led to the conclusion that if
they are not married by the time they have
reached a certain age which mankind have unan
imously agreed upon as the boundary of young
ladyhood, it is because they have never had an
offer. Now, if women have to wait for some one
to propose, men have to wait for some one to
accede to their proposals. When I see a man who
has reached the ripe age of bachelorhood, I know
it was because his ideal wouldn’t exactly conform
to his wishes; for I don’t believe there ever was
a man who arrived at his fortieth year without
experiencing that mysterious sensation of the
heart called love.
But however much man may be disposed to
sneer at woman’s having to wait for an offer, it is
certain there was one who did not have to wait,
namely, mother Eve. In that case the order was
reversed, for it is evident that Adam had to wait
Marriage may or may not be the acme of hu
man happiness, but the joys it promises are very
uncertain. How often does a woman find, after
long years of waiting for the realization of the
pleasure connected with married life which she
hears so much of, that, instead of the joys she
anticipated, she has a brute for a husband, a
wretched hovel for a home too mean for human
existence, and life-long sorrows and disappoint
ments. In that case love becomes a secondary
state. All her womanly instincts and principles
revolt against such an existence. And the fre
quent broils and matrimonial disturbances con
sequent upon ill-formed unions are attributed
to the wife as the cause. The friends of the hus
band crowd around with their consolatory re
marks. They are “sorry for Bob. He is a nice
fellow, and it's a pity for a young man of his
qualifications to be tied down to that creature.
He would make his mark in the world if it were
not for her.” The friends of the wife, who were
perhaps more eager for the match than she was
herself,” expected it would be so. If she had
not been in such a hurry to get married, if she
had waited longer, she might have had a better
chance. And if a girl marries young, it is inva
riably assumed that it was her first offer.
Now, while I admit that it is natural for girls
to desire to better their condition in life by mar
rying, I insist that it is ungenerous to accuse
women of no higher ambition than waiting for
some one to transfer them from the “carpet ” to
the intricate realms of matrimony.