Newspaper Page Text
I
as a foregone conclnsion. All at once his face
clouded, and he said:
“ Mr. Roberts, I don’t know that yon’ve got
backbone! If yon haven’t the grit of a cata
mount and the cnnning of a fox, you'll make a
botch of this job.''
For reply, Roberts threw off his coat, rolled
up his sleeves, and opened his shirt-bosom.
Here was the mark of a bullet-wound; there the
flesh showed where the knife had opened it, and
the Colonel counted up the scars, and said:
“If you hadn’t backbone yon wouldn't be
carrying these around. I’ll trust you to do all
you can, and here’s your money !”
The next day the Colonel was allowed to pay
another visit to Walter. Since the young man
had escaped the guillotine, the guards were not
so strict, and his treatment was less barbarous,
though he was still carefully guarded.
“Walter, my boy,” said the Colonel, as he
seated himself in the cheerless cell, “yonve
got a heap of nerve and pluck, and I ve found a
man who’s got just as much more. Between the
two of you I think we can walk all around these
high-nosed Frenchmen!”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
[For The Sunny 8outh.]
“ ORIGIN OF KING LEAR.”
In a late issue of The Sunnt South, there ap
peared an article with the above title, in which
the story concerning the Emperor Theodosius,
told in the “ Gesta Romanorum,” is given as the
origin of “ King Lear.”
Since the matter is such as cannot fail to be
of interest to even a general reader, I hope to be
allowed to say something further upon it; and,
with due regard for the author of the above-
mentioned article, to offer a correction to the
statement, ascribing the origin of “ King Lear”
to the “ Gesta Romanorum.”
That the “ Gesta Romanorum,” or, at least,
certain portions of it, was known to Shakspeare,
is quite evident, since translations from it had
been published as early as 1577, and use of ma
terial, to be found in it, is certainly detected in
his work—as, for instance, the choice of the
three caskets in “The Merchant of Venice.” But
that from this source he derived the idea of
“ King Lear” is not only improbable, it is quite
certain he did not; for the story of Lear existed
in the literature of hi6 day in a form very simi
lar to that in which we now possess it in his
tragedy.
Following the best Shakspearian authorities,
the English genealogy, so to speak, of Shak-
speare's “ King Lear/’ may be traced as follows:
The historical legend of “King Leir and his
Three Daughters ” refers to the ninth century
before Christ. “ The oldest version of it,” says
H. H. Hudson in his preface to his edition of
the tragedy, “in connection with British his
tory is from Geoffrey of Monmouth, a Welsh
monk of the 12th century, who translated it
from the ancient British tongue into Latin-
From thence it was abridged by the poet’s fa
vorite chronicler, Holinshed.”
From thence it was transferred into the domain
of fiction, and in “ The Minor for Magistrates,"
1587, appears a poem entitled: “ Iloic (jueene
Cordila, in dispaire, slew her selfe, the yeare before
Christ, 800,” by one John Higgins. Mr. J. Payne
Collier, in his “Shakspear’s Library,” says, in
this connection: “There is nothing to connect
Skakspeare’s tragedy particularly with this speci
men of supposed auto-biography (meaning the
poem of John Higgins), but there can be little
doubt that he was well acquainted with so pop
ular n performance as “ The Minor for Magis
trates.” Higgins would seem to have been the
first (Harding in his chronicle excepted) who
put the story of Lear and his daughters into
verse; and he was followed in 1590 by Spenser,
who briefly introduces the chief circumstances
into his “ Faerie Queene,” Book II, Canto 10.
r-.i-.4A, ouuniea im true chronicle history of
King Leir, and his three daughters, GonoriU, Hagan
and Cordelia,” which is two years prior to the
entry of Shakspeare’s tragedy at the stationers',
the date of which entry is “November 26, 1607.”
That this play, printed, as the title page informs
us, ‘ ‘ <is it hath bene divers and sundry limes lately
acted,” was known to Shakspeare, cannot be
doubted; and that from it he derived the idea of
treating the subject dramatically himself, can
easily be believed on the internal evidence de
duced from a comparison of the two works where
in similarities are to be found. Especially no
ticeable among these resemblances may be
mentioned that of “ unmannerly ” Kent to the
Rerillus of the earlier play; a likeness which,
bemg, as it is, between secondary characters, is
strong proof that the one was suggested by the
other.
There are other points of resemblance between
these two plays, as well as between the later and
Holinshed’s Chronicles, which it is not improb
able Shakspeare also made direct use of in this,
as in other of his works, which might be men
tioned were it necessary to go into detail. Suf
ficient has been presented in the above, how
ever, to prove that, although he may hnve been
acquainted with the story about Theodosius, in
the “ Gesta Romanorum," it was not upon it that
Shakspeare founded his tragedy, but upon tho
earlier play, in connection with the Chronicle.
It may not be irrelevant to mention that it was
Spenser who softened the original “Cordelia”
into “Cordelia;” and that Shakspeare was the
first to change the original "Leir” into “Lear.”
The tragedy of “ King Lear” was first published
in 1(108.
[For The Snnny South.1
THE FAMILY HARP.
BT H. D. C.
Fair faces beaming round the honsehold hearth;
Toung. joyous tones in melody of mirth;
The sire doubly living in his boy.
And she, the rose of all that wreath of joy;
These make the home like some sweet lyre given
lo sound on earth the harmonies of heaven.
A sudden discord breaks the swelling strain,—
One chord has snapped; the harmony again
Subdued aud slower moves, but nevermore
Can pour the same glad music as of yore.
Less and less full the strains successive wake—
Chord after chord must break, ami break, aud break,
Until the lyre, on earth all dumb and riven.
Finds all its chords re-strnng to loftier notes in heav'n.
mellower tone than in the old days, “I have
come again to offer the same love you slighted
for a gilded home.' I have loved you long and
tenderly, and my soul cries out for the blessing
of your love, that could be the only crown my
innnhood craves. Will yon be my wife?”
[For The Sunny South.]
UNDER THE MAPLE.
BY MART PATTON HUDSON.
again, and taking the wondrous solitaire dia
mond from out its purple bed, slipped it slowly
on the little brown finger, and said; “My be
trothal ring”! A great sparkling, living, bril
liant gem it was, and Cyrus Boyd saw it_on the
slender finger, as she dried the dishes that eve
by the flickering light of the sickly tallow can
dle. He might have smiled, had his heart been
less sore, at the incauyruity of the coarse attire
and gorgeous gdbr, out he only sighed and turned
away, with his bleeding love for inward com
panionship. The die was cast—she bad chosen
the riches of Earle Place, and its glory of purple
and tine linen. Gen. Fleming knew before tlie
moon had risen that Katie Moore had chosen to
be his bride. No more would her bands be i and take the love I rudely trampled under wan-
stained by toil, but luxurious life would make j ton feet in the old days?”
them white and soft, like those of my lady Lane, Again, as then, he stood once more under the
the village doctor’s wife, and then, the great 1 old maple tree, thinking of all that had fallen
gem would not so- illy become the small and j out of his life since that evening when the rude
well-shaped hand, when the dishonor of toil awakening of his love-dream was forced upon
was taken from them forever. She reasoned ' him, and of the great completeness of the present,
thus to her heart, and strove to drive the phan- ' and he rejoiced within himself as he owned, ex-
[For The Suuny South.]
FIT TO BE AN ANGEL.
BY AIREE PORTER.
It was two o’clock in the morning and a busy
HiUi'MHi HIU wc IUI V* lie i , -- -- - ; i i j*
She had turned a startled face toward him ! day s reward in the shnpe of news had been dis
when he called her name, but the color slowly t posed of and the foreman was ringing up e
V # OP I ... •» •«» ■■_ l:i . -t- _ i: . ..pocutimn fn popoivo tha “ IOmiS HI III
died from off her rounded cheek, while she lis
tened to bis words and prayer-the prayer that
had made of itself a sacrifice pitiless and deep.
There was no proud, cold look in the velvet
eyes that turned toward him while she an
swered :
’“Wav I come? Mav I indeed be your wife.
“Behold the lilies of the field, they toil not,
neither do they spin,” pretty Kate Moore re
peated to herself, as she stooped to pluck a water
toms of remorse far from her, by these gilded
dreams of what the future was to bring, when
forgetfulness would come to licr. Gen. Fleming
was not very old, she further argued, and had a
gentle patrician manner, and so, after all, she
could do no better thing than to take the name \ maiden dream
and home he offered her, and live henceforth in
ultinglv, that he was far richer for all the pain
the past sad years had given him to bear. And
what were riches then to Katie Fleming? And
tlie wee, wee cottage under the hill was at
length a beautiful fulfillment of her earliest
lily from the edge of the limpid stream. Her j a life of splendor and ease, and when the mar- j
soliloquy was fraught with much discontent, for I riage rites were over, and there could be no
the demon of unrest within her heart marveled 1 “shadow of turning," then would the demons
why she was not fed and clothed without the | of . unrest leave her in peace forever, and white-
daily labor that embrowned her cheeks and little | winged happiness take its place and abide for
hands, and made the songs of the birds seem j a Y e - Had she known Cyrus Boyd s character
cheerless, for she coveted the “ purple and fine | less, she would hsj^liuilt castles in the air for
linen” nntmrel. in nlace of the coarse stnff her ! his inhabiting: Init she was sure he would accept
none of the price obtained for bis betrayal. She
[For Tho Suuny South.]
AFTER TEE FAIR.
BY KITTY SOUTH.
linen ” apparel, in place of the coarse stuff her
poverty wore. Shadows fell athwart the sun
shine, that lay so slumbrous and still across the
fields of new-mown hay, and the air was sensu
ous with the languor of exquisite scent and
hazy warmth. The cooing of the summer doves
answered the humming noise of restless insect
life, the whirring quails sped onward to the wood
bereft of their lowly homes, and tiny nestlings,
by the encroachment of the harvesters. Katie
Moore’s brown fingers wove garlands of the
snowy lilies that echoed yet with the song of the
honey-bee, and her heart was lightened some
what of its burden by the ripple of her song
and the rhythmic echo of the waters, edged by
the cool fern leaves and "fairy crowns,” that
smiled at her under the great shadow of the
maple. The Pewits turned their heads from
side to side, and wondered at the picture of the
little woman, as she crowned her pretty head
with the wreath she had woven and scanned the ! *“ T ' ,r
had made the sale, and must abide alone by the
terms thereof.
The weeks were long that followed the be
trothal, and Cyrus Boyd had bidden them all
farewell, and gone away, no one knew whither,
nnd he had not meant for them to know. In
the early nutumn, when the maple leaves were
hectic with the dying flush of summer, she was
married in the little village church. It was a
simple ceremony, and the bride was pale, like
the bridal roses she wore in her braided hair, but
very stately and self-possessed, as became the
station on which she stood. If regret had aught
to do with her pallor, it showed nothing in the
quiet dignity of her repose. Her beauty had
brought its price, and the goal was won. The
past, with its attendant ghosts of shameful toil,
was thrust aside to be remembered no more for-
The house is full of girls who came down to
us last week for the fair, nnd though it is a driz
zly, dreary November day, we manage to keep
warm nnd bright. This is Monday after fair
week. In consequence of this abominable rain,
the girls are not troubled with many calls to-day,
but sit about the house in groups, chatting of ;
the fun or pleasure which came to them at the
fair grounds,—the races, the S. C. ball, the con
certs, the club dance, and in short, all the de- j
lights of the past week are thoroughly discussed.
pressman to receive the “ forms ” of the paper
ns I left the office and hurried homeward. The
moon was shining briglitlj' and the air soft and
warm. Being weary and desirous of saving dis
tance I turned across a railroad track and passed
through a side street that I had sometimes trav
eled before. In this street, lived a number of
poor families in small neat cottages, and the
neighborhood was respectable, most of the resi
dents being laboring people. In one of these
cottages I had noticed there lived but two per
sons, an old and feeble lady and a not unhand
some, tidy and modest young girl. I knew noth
ing of them, further than that the young lady
was employed with an np-town seamstress, and
that her mother and herself were otherwise alone
in the world.
As I oame to their little home a feeling of pain
came to me. From the windows, half open, there
came out and lost itself ’mid the moonlight, “a
dim, religions lanip-liglit,” that told of watchers
in the presence of death. Faintly I heard
moans of distress, and through the open door
saw the coffin of the dead. I stood still and
thought of the two inmates—could it be that the
angel of God had summoned from earth that
aged and care-broken mother? Had grief entered
in and the solitude of earth closed around the
youthful but bruve, loving heart of that daugh
ter? A score of questioning suggestions follow
ed each other in my mind. Just then, an old
man came out from the watchers and stood
against the gate, smoking his solacing pipe.
I approached and found him to be an honest
old laboring man of my acquaintance, and I
said:
“ Mr. , what is the matter?—is one of the
ladies dead ?”
Yes, sir; she’s been sick this two weeks, poor
Only a few beaux have dropped in upon us, and ( thi an - sbc d hard to live , but las’ night,
but for the innate mirth of these young hearts, | * & good £>rd sent death upon her.” And
our house might resolve itself into the calamitous ’ w * an wl d his s nnd Sighed,
condition ot the love-lorn who sings, .. Upon wbo> 1 » ir >_ XTp ^ n the mother ?”
The loug, long weary day
Is passed in tears away.”
For you, my readers, who are distant from
our little inland town of C , I must say a
word of this Fair week of ours. We too, have a
reflection of her lace in the shining water. 1 the yoathful woman he had chosen to preside
Cyrus Boyd, the maiden's rustic lover, sat on ; OTOr his palatial home, and no gold was spared
the fence, resting his scythe against the tree, i tor luxuries with which to surround the gem.
and looked npon the young girl who, all uncon- i A keen faculty of observation, blended, with a
scious of the scrutiny, still wove the fragrant ■ quiet reserve, did much toward softening the
lilies into garlands, and hummed a few notes of ' hard lines that .a u*-. ad left on her life, till one
“Barbara Allen.” The cloud was not wholly ! would have marveled that she had ever raked
“State Agricultural and Mechanical Society
„ ,, which holds this annual fair, beginning early in !
Gen. Merning was proud of the beauty of | November and lasting through a week. And
Oh. no, sir; not upon the good, old lady, sir;
the sweet-voiced and gentle-mannered young
girl, sir!”
“ Oh, that is very sad. One would have sup
posed that the old lady would die first,—what
will she do now without her only helper?”
“Indeed, sir, I don’t know; she won’t last
long, noway, sir, for you see she worshipped the
gone from the sweet mouth, and honest-hearted
Cyrus saw the lurking shadow there, and would
have given his life to smooth it away forever;
but somehow, of late, his betrothed had been
what a general gathering of thebestof everything , ( . hibl and sbe * s been nigh crazed since the poor
there is ! Best animals, best edibles, best work- , thin „ died Snre> she - s not to be wondered at
manship, best men and women in their best for t batj because that blessed girl was all the
clothes. world to the old lady. She was so kind nnd
I, Kitty, bold that these fairs are mighty good { . arefuli and worked so hard, and gave the old
things; the industrial benefits all concede, but W oman all that she had need for, and was so
For awhile, Kate Fleming’s life was crowned grandpam! from A- 8 ’ ° ! ^ved her. W hen she died last night, sir. there,
with contentment, but when the charm of nov- j jj ronnds l w ben -
elty had sobered into reality, and her heart would ? ered a (fectionn
strangely reticent,, and almost cold, and he was : r p am again the old life, she found that, like i breath assured
determined to know, to-day, if she really cared J tbe golden gdt of bartons, the chain slie had i brfcd »” Ami the sweet-faced old dame, who, just jtb bpr q n _ s ; r sbe W as one of the best
for him, or nay. He called her name soltly, as a ! taken glory m the forging was soon a burden of i through the monthly tending (usual upon such j ’ _ ‘ ’ r-’i be „ ood to her!”
mother might call the name of her sleeping ! wearisome pain. Though a simple rustic maiden : occurrences) ot “Mary’s ninth,” has run down j ® **\\hat made von all so "love her?”
child, but only the scarlet flame that mounted j sbe not wholly devoid of womanly tact, and f or the fair, and is as cheery and animated over
her face, from neck to temple, would tell if he j sbe labored early and late to be a constant and ber f r j ends nIld her “best leaf lard” as heart
was heard; whether it boded joy or anger, he | devoted wife to the man who had chosen her to i cou [ d wish. Then look at those young folk, nnd
was not quite yet prepared to define. He could j share his “a™® aa< oundless wealth.^ bhe^was tell me if anything could be luckier for ltob
not say that she loved nim not, but “true love
vaunteth not itself,” and he called again:
“Katie, will you hear me now, will you hear
me once, and tnen. if you will it so, I will be
quiet forever. Will yon be my wife? I have no
lands or gold, but I am strong and brave, and I
love you so, lassie; will you help me build the
nest?” v t ,
But the cold look in the velvet eyeb hushed
his prayer, and a quiver of pain was in tlir -** 1 —
• '• . — things
tfifth 1 can give you, and I hare known of late
you have listened more to the voice of your
dreams than to my love, that would have wooed
too proud and had grown too cold to make n
moan of remorse or regret, while she must fill
up for herself, day after day, the cup of worm
wood and drain it to the dregs.
And so the years passed on, and the world
forgot that the elegant woman, wife of the proud
General Fleming, vas ever a gleaner in the
fields, while her beauty was the theme of every
tongue, put tln* rou Sh ’^crumple, and a verj-
U X u« one.'in_ .h« f * ajj-j 3 d V» , bt‘*ri71? flfe
world could n”t guess, and' the direful skeleton
than these many fair-week opportunities of bein[
with Bessie? May fair week ever live! We then
cast aside care and age; we all grow young, or
feel so; we all grow happy, or dream so.
Yes, as I begun by saying, the house is full of
girls; and this November day, with its cold rain
and leaden sky, which in England would be the
signal to a man for blowing out his hrains, and
What made us love her? Sure, sir, we
couldn’t help it! Why, sir, she was an angel on
earth to ns all. Nobody got sick, whether it was
a man, woman or child, that she didn’t act as
though it was her own mother or kin. She’d
sit up with them, nurse them, make tliom all the
nice little things to eat that she could. When my
own dear wife was so sick she came and stayed
by her like a sister and took Care of the children
as though they were her own. When Tom, the
orphan boy that drives the baker’s wagon, was
sick and had his leg broke, didn’t she tend to
to a woman for becoming “ one more unfortn- j b j m [j^e lie was her own brother? And of all
Howfinerry they are, atfcf but' three meritorious I wne ““ a . w was lree as wntor to a11 who come
1 men have called this morning! Only three,— I anrt ne ? cle<1 _ lt - No begger ever went from her
was securely hidden in the closet that no eyes n ? ve c , ert “oraing ! Only three,— t Landed noor
saw. Always with her was the memory of the fkce ' two enjbr - v0 Preachers trom the Theolog- I P oor . as sIl . e
of Cyrus Boyd when he tumeTfrom her as ! ^ al L ^minary, who, dropping water-proofs and ! thmk thftthfe « lven h<
was. She seemed to
given her in which to do good
fts ; deed, but bitter fruit, and even the glow of their
might cover the“saddened face' ofT’homeless | luxurious repining she could noTremembernow \ x 7 And no J a ™rd individually of these girls, j wj.° s?vV'” ^ “““ G ° d tLem to
binds him w i tb anv feeling of pleasant reverie and the , , e 1 ? “lttie Iredell, who is freshness and ,,, T ,, ,
to the Fatherland. Cyrus saw the olorv ! ashes were ever on her tin* „n ! bloom ltHolf - She has set her heart noon izoine- i , t ? !' 11 the story of an obscure,
covered a her ! bloom it ’ Solf ' 8he bas 8et her ^rt npon going I . “ f ! tbe story ot an obscure,
d of the manor” * out to oItl John Robinson’s circus with the voung : !™ e ancl bonest hfe ’ wblch must bave
the fnnXtoof ! Stone, and a rare treat will he enjoy in j lts rewar !l
[For Tlie Sunny South.]
BY SYLVIA HOPE.
Nine of Diamonds—A Curious Account-
Various reasons are assigned to account for
Cyrus saw the glory of the i * s hes were ever on her lips and ^
suntido softly changing into the tender light of ' l*f e - Though the high-born “lord _____
evening, and he felt how bitter a thing it was, | knew that a seal was set above the fountum~of! C1 ™“ e '“ u “ 8 rare lreal will fie enjoy in |
this thrusting away from him the dear hope of ! ber heart, whose music had never responded to i , vl ? g ber blmself - A secret in your ear,
making an altar-place for himself and Katie i his touch, yet ho was satisfied with her meed of *T ou ^iH never whisper? Well, this same < . v ... .
Moore. If hypenon locks, a jewelled pin, and 1 kindly mftnner and polite regard. He had made I - voun 8 le 8 al b R bt was here last evening, and be- | bLAAlh A l AN OIjU Ah >? orArER.
well-cut cloth, were the insignia of nature’s no- | a fair purchase and had secured full value for Cftme sal } c . y , tb ? sociable length of his call, I
bility, then Cyrus Boyd would have fallen low ! his price, and he had never regretted his choice ! 1 ” norod bis cahmistic rearing, and said with all
in the balance poise. His lines had not fallen I He guessed not the ’ -• b -• ’ 1 nncimn h* *>™.i .. .
in pleasant places, nor had fortune made of him j ma de its abode with’
a pampered thing, but the divinity of his man- j them both that he knew ,
hood, that would brook no human aid, was ! that made up the measure uu™ ». i
strong within him, and had made its signet seal I Tbat she could dress with elegance in costly at- to be cruclfietb All this is very naughty,
on the strengthful face and well knit form. It 1 tire, and fare '
was such a face as a traveler might see in a i rift te onion
crowded mart, so full it was of masterful repose, j well-ordere
and turn again to see once more, for a brief hoi- I the things n CU - UCU i K , uul ■ ... , , . , ■ . v —
— i-.j ± t v « latter belonging has gone into the possession of
r from Scotland. Who but Lillie
„„„„ could have told at the breakfast table
and sincerest purpose. Katie Moore fe7t~ his I time. ° * i bow Will had failed to find the steps that dark
eyes upon her, and his gaze pierced her like | .. Winter wore away and spring came back to £2.“ . t -i£ 1 ? b J da “®!v and Low I “John Schoonmaker has one-half of a saw-
liberty. ’
“ Tlie army of the Rhine has taken Manheim
and Frankfort.”
“Holland is evacuated.”
There is local news:
thorns: It was a hard moWoYbi«er“st^ggto ; the earth onc^ mo/e,‘healed lysong of bird ! ^rcfrlnd ^ ^ ^ 1 milled a“heaTtby! a^'negre wen^h
for him, and no less bitter to her, in the meas- ; an< t smile 0 f flower. The cuckoo came again, ! T be P ? rcb j '? m a g am > when Will, spite of the ; for sale.”
ure of her strength; that was a rivulet to an i aQ J told the starlings and blackbirds about its J 5i?? P i f? x _ d ? r _°® a ? a ? they drove to the ball, de-
ocean compared to the passion that swayed his ! name, and the year°was rich with pulsing life. I ?- la - red 11 was not dark, for “there were two bright
con 1 * lint Vin» a i . F* l T.n • « i ■» . _ . *
soul; but her face kept its stony calm, and not a
the nine of diamonds being called the curse of line softened benenth tbe long and lingering
Scotland. First—Mary of Lorraine introduced farewell look. “Katie!” again the name fell
the game of comet© into Scotland, at which the ' l "~ *
nine of diamonds is the winning card, and ruin
ed many Scottish courtiers thereby. Second—
Because George Campbell, in the reign of Mary
Stuart, stole nine diamonds out of the Scotish
crown. The whole of Scotland was taxed for it,
and the card was called, in consequence, not
only the curse of Scotland, but said “George
Campbell.. Third—James, Duke of Y'ork, is said
to have introduced the game into Scotland,
which by others is ascribed to Mary of Lorraine.
Fourth—The Nine of Diamonds Pope, at Pope
Joan, and Scotch Presbyterians gave it a bad
name accordingly. Fifth—Because every ninth
king of Scotland was a bad king, and diamonds
representing royalty, the nine of diamonds was
therefore stigmatized. Sixth—Because, accord
ing to false report, the Duke of Cumberland
wrote a cruel order at Cnlloden on the back of
the card in question. Seventh, and lastly—The
Dalrymple (Earl of Stair) family was a family
of Whigs, to one of whom Scotland owed the
massacre of Glencoe, and to another the defeat
of the intrigues of the Stnarta at the French
court. . The Dalrymples bore nine lozenges (sol-
taire-wise) in their coat-of-arms, bearing some re
semblance to the nine of diamonds, to which
card the Scottish Jacobites are said to have given
the name of the Curse of Scotland, in token of
their hatred of name, title, and the memory of
Stair and Dalrymple. What is wanted is the
date at which the name was first given.
A little boy gazing npon an old picture of his
mother, taken in alow dress, remarked, “Mama,
you was mos ready for bed when dat picter was
tooken.
. *• A B aoOK LTW young man of observation mon
itions that girls who wear striped stockings pre-
"fer to kick the gate open. ’ —r
from his lips, trembling as they were with the
suffering that filled his heart, and that tone of
his clelt its way like a sword to the port
als of her soul; but the dragon, ambition, for
bade pity to yield one tithe of reward to the de
spair that wrung the strong man’s heart. She
could change this tone of his into a melody of
Joy, but tb e dragon's fiat had gone forth, and
her weak will was powerless to save.
“You would have been safe with me, Katie-
I wonld have cared for you, loved you and
watched over your happiness as no other man
will ever do. I would have sheltered you safelv
from all storm, but you will not ” J
She had no word for his pleading, and a mo
ment more she saw the shadow of his form across
the fields of scented hay; the birds had ceased
their song, and only the whip-poor-will’s lonely
cry was heard from the belted meadow fields
Something akin to remorse stirred within her
but the serpent had passed over the flowers and
bereft them of their fragrance and beauty. At
first, tlie desire for “something higher” had
only been a dream of beautiful things, but it
had assumed of late the form of stem resolve
Her beauty had now its dower, and ambition
stilled the memory of the love dream. She drew
the letter she had that day received, from her
pocket and read the lines over and over again,
till the words were set to the dreary sound of
the far-off whip-poor-will’s cry. As she looked
across the fields of grain that lay between her
and the Earle Place, she coaid just see the tur
rets rising, dim and dark, in the greatenine
gloom of the twilight hour. And then, with one
heart-pang, she had crashed the tender dreams
that she had nurtured, of a home in a wee
cottage, where Cyras Boyd’s face would be her
daily vision, and his love her daily joy The
letter in her hand had a double meaning
now, as she smoothed it out before her once
“ Alexander Grant” (probably an ancestor of
U. S. G.) “bas a letter in the post-office;” and
General Fleming’s home was desolate, for the bim ’’ wb ° but our Lillie would | “Matys Van Steenbergh wishes the public to
master lay in state. Done was tbe work of his t fo' n Vwn to ber fl prett - v bead m ,°^ dire £ ' understand that be no longer trusts bis wife
worHly hands, and Kate had performed the last Veil* with^HWmS I in^ri ! Hannah - anii determined^to pay no debts of
sad office for him, to whom she owed all the , ’w-n her sweet amiability, 111 bet she her contractin'*. ”
nas a Will of her own !
grandeur of which she was mistress; and though
she sorrowed not as one bereft of all hope in
life, yet he had been always kind and observant
of her comfort, and the house was lonely with
out his guiding hand. He had been kind, but
selfishness was not wffofly apart from him, as
she learned but too truly when, after his death,
she found the bulk of his property left to her
with the condition that she remained his widow.
Cyrus Boyd read the notice of the rich man’s
death, and mused with bitterness as the memory
of what might have been echoed through his
heart, and over it all there lingered the far-off
fragrance of a hope that he might win her yet to
him, and no power on earth shonld keep her
from him if her love bade her come. He would
wait years for the right to woo her again, not as
a prosperous man, but with nothing still in his
hands but the great love that had never faltered
in the years that had drifted between them.
And Nannie Withers, with her great, soft eyes,
where you plainly read:
The sun was sinking lower and lower behind
the purple and gold-tinted clouds that swathed
the evening sky, and the scent of new-mown
hay was mingled with the odor of water-lilies in
the hands of Kate Fleming as she sat again
under the maple tree, and the old-time fragrance
of meadow honeysuckles was around her. Years
had come and gone, and wistful shadows rested
in the corners of the lovely mouth, where once
the roses and dimples played. Cyrus Boyd
scarcely knew that he had taken the old path
until he found himself standing just where he
stood that summer evening years before and said
his last farewell The years seemed like a
strange dream to him when he saw once more,
in the old place, the woman for whose sake he
had become an exile, and for whose sake the
farrows were many in the broad brow.
“Katie,” he said softly, and his voice had a
“ Love reqnited.
Fondly plighted,”
needs no word of mine to tell her happiness.
Young Fanny is fresh and fair, but shy and
blushing, scarcely realizing her freedom 'from
the school-room, and I find she is rather startled
by the abandon ot these fully fledged.
If I could only introduce, in propria persona,
this whole bevy, who are making the old brick
house resound with mirth ! Here is our clever,
blue-eyed Stella, and the laughing punster, Ze-
lica, whose toide ensemble declares her French
blood, and lastly, the junior of the circle,’ who
is “Just where the brook and river meet,” our
child-like woman and womanly child, pet Lizzie.
But down goes my pen now, for I am due
down-stairs, “on hospitable thoughts intent”
Hoping for a like success to fair week of 1876,
and a re-union of all the “ fair women and brave
men ” who have filled this house after the fair, I
say au revoir.
A Danbury deacon nearly captured five boys
who had been devastating his chestnut trees on
Sunday afternoon. Shaking his fist after their
retreating forms, he angrily shouted, “The
sneaking little devils ! if I had hold of ’em one
minute I’d—,” and then suddenly espying his
pastor on the scene, he impressively added, “I’d
pray for them. ”
A good book and a good woman are excellent
things for those wljo know justly how to appre
ciate their value. There are men, however, who
judge of both from the beauty of the covering.
The man best sooted to his business — the
chimney-sweep.
The inner columns are barred in mourning.
There is a great, a solemn local news — Wash
ington is dead, and lies in state at Mount Ver
non.
“There were the graves, the spacious avenue,
the beautiful mansion—but, alas ! tbe august in
habitant was now no more.”
“In the long and lofty portico whereof the
hero walked in all his glory, now lay the flirouded
corpse.”
“Between the hours of three and four o’clock
the sounds of artillery from a veffel in the river
awoke a-frefh our solemn sorrow. The corpse
was moved; bands of raufic, with mournful
melody, melted the soul into all the tenderness
of woe.”
“ The sun was near setting. Alas ! the son of
glory was now set forever. No! The name of
Washington, the American President and Gen
eral, will triumph over death ! The unclouded
brightness of his glory will illuminate future
ages.”
Beneath these prophetic words, are a few
lines “By a Young Lady:”
** Where'er I turn the general gloom appears-
Theae mourning badges fill my soul with fears
Hark! yonder rueful noise—tis done, 'tis done!
The silent tomb invades our Washington!”
The young lady is dead; her dimpled hands
can no longer set to rhymth her national sor
rows, nor her dark, impassioned eyes turn Yearn
ingly toward her Southland.
\V ith tender care, I fold np the relic of 1800
and lay it away turning my sober gaze upon a
fresh, bright sheet, contiguous. Ah what a
contrast! Paper white and smooth as a magno
lia leaf, elegant illustrations, type that is a feast
to the eye, articles crisp, condensed, varied - wit
wisdom and charming fiction; a place for every
thing and everything in its place. Such is the
newspaper of to-day.