JOHN H. SEAJLSJSSS^SS.
ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, JULY 7. 1877.
rpT7>T~> Q I $3 PER ANNUM
i JiiXvMb, i in advance.
N 0. 109.
YOUTH AND AGE.
In youth we climb the hill, and trace, we thick,
Upwards the streams of Truth. We And the spring.
Alone we kneel, or. as we stoop to drink,
Hear but the rustle of some angel's wing.
Age comes; we drink with angels on the hill
No more. Contented in the vale we dwell;
And jostle through the village crowd to fill
Our broken pitcher at the stagnant well. 1 ’
[For The Sunny South.]
BY MARY £. BRYAN.
It was impossible to remain quiet. She went
out into the open air. She walked rapidly. The
dreamy, purple sky, the earth and sea, veiled in
shining autumn mist, had no charm for her.
She saw nothing, felt nothing, but a longing to
escape the thoughts that seem to pursue her, to
stifle, to blind and bewilder her. She reached
the door of the fisherman's cottage. The fisher
man’s wife was spinning on the little piazza,
singing a shrill song to her wheel.
Her grandson, Jep, Marian’s warm admirer,
was sitting on the door-step mending a net and
whistling a tune, while his little sister sorted
heaps of delicate shells close by him. Jep had
been watering his China asters and heart’s-ease,
the seeds of which Marian had given him, for
his watering pot was by his side. He saw Mari
an as she came down the walk, and flung aside
“Hurrah .' here’s Miss Marian The said to his
And taking oft’his wide palmetto hat, he went
to meet her. His smile faded when he saw her
changed, melancholy face. He took the hand
she held out in silence.
“ Grandmother,” he called the next moment
to the old lady who had stopped her wheel.
She came forward, her kind face full of re
“ My child’." she
The word, the tone, broke down Marian’s for
titude. She threw herself on the motherly
bosom and sobbed bitterly. Jep drew his hat
over his eyes; the little girl dropped her shells
and came and took Marian’s hand, the tears of
sympathy springing to her blue eyes. At last
Marian raised her head.
“Mrs. Head,” she said, “I Lave come to ask
a favor of you. I want you to let my sister and
me make our home with you for a little while.
My sister is not well enough to go away yet, and
it is so gloomy up yonder. Besides, we have no
right to stay there any longer. We will gladly
pay you board, and esteem it an act of friend
ship beside, if you will let us stay here for a
few weeks. Have you a room to spare ?”
Mrs. Head hesitated.
“ Grandmother,” whispered the boy, eagerly,
“you know you have mother’s room.”
“Yes, I know. I was thinking if it would not
be too small. It is nice and quiet—a little way
off from the house. It was built for our poor
uttered in her quavering,
Visiting Dead Man’s Island.
pretty parasol. They wonld walk with the lady
a little way, and their artless merriment did her
good. It was a gleam of sunshine. Shadow was
waiting for her at the old house among the ce
dars. Dr. Norris was pacing the gravel walk in
agitation unusual to him.
“Marian,” he said, “your sister refuses to
“I knew she would, under the change of cir
cumstances—the opposition of your mother.
And you cannot shake her determination?’
Lucy. She was fond of studv and getting off to ’t i * Ti n 7 ? I* ' T’ In
herself with a book. And this boy here takes ! w * moving her an inch, bke
after her-only he hasn’t her merry, kitten-like I “ sbe ^ Perfectly unyielding. I
3 * j , t , r , , . never dreamed she had such a will,
ways, and is moping and melancholy like; but .. Grief has developed her character . Yester-
that s because of bis misiortune, poor kd. Will ; d she wfts clingiU P child to . dav she is a res _
you look at the room now, my dear;' ! •
• Marian went. It was a small room, but large ®, nffer - read y to face self '
enougb, connected with the other part of the I ’ a \ es ’ • • ... . .
house by a covered wav. The wails were hung I *<** not require it m this instance.
, - , • , , ° i Her duty is to nerself and to me.
with pretty, cheerful-colored paper. There were „ a ,/. , . c .
>, i:. *- , . “(she is making this sacrifice for the sake of
white dimity curtains to the windows, and sim- , „ i a -
,, J . ... i i .. 1 vour happiness. She knows h<
pie furniture about the room. The bed, with its t. , „
i. i j a , tond your mother is of you. She
gav aunt and lace bar loooed back with blue J . . . , , J
rydice, and their cage had always hung in her
room. But now the beautiful female bird was
dead. Missing the care of its beloved mistress,
and her sweet voice that had been wont to chir
rup affectionately while she fed and caressed it,
the little creature had pined away. When Ma
rian entered her sister’s room on that morning
after she had watched Alice through the crisis
of her illness, she found the little favorite lying
dead at the bottom of the cage, while her droop
ing mate perched above her, singing, as if he
sought, like the Orpheus of old, to recall the life
of his Eurydice by the spell of music.
Before she left the house. Marian went to her
sister’s room to take a mournful farewell of the
familiar objects it contained, and of the room it
self, where something of Adrienne’s presence
still seemed to stay. It had been sacred to her
ever since that solemn, supernatural hour when
her sister’s hand had seemed to touch her—her
sister’s voice to sound in her ear—that sweet,
solemn, thrilling voice which said: “ My sister,
how prond and j I am innocent.” Let it be what it might—mere
le cannot bear to ! mental impression or the actual whist
—ill. 1, T..... I AAGHIA VUUI UIUIUC1 BUI YOU. OUC DllDUUL UCHA IU I UiCUlOl 1 ID lli CHS1UIA UT lUe UCLUai Whisper Of SD
ribbons! looked very invith.fr Marian expressed 1 s *P ftr * te 7.°*T to break n P the P eaoe and UD10D ??8 el “ it8 iD v flaence remained intense, indeli
very inviting. Marian expressed
“It’s just like she left it when she went away,
poor dear, nigh upon six years ago. I’ve just
kept the dust brushed off, and let in the air
sometimes. I am prond that you find it to your
liking, and I hope your sister will find it the
same,” said Mrs. Head.
“ I think she will,” said Marian.
And she at once engaged the room, and in
sisted upon paying for a month’s board in ad
“ Captain Head will not object ?” she asked.
“Dear, bless you, no. Captain Head never
objects to anything I do in the house. I am
mistress here, and he is master on the - Spray.’
I rule on land and he on the water. Once I un
dertook to haves cleaning up on the ‘Spray.’
I dived into all the cuddy holes and dark cor
ners, and brought to light such quantities of
moldy potatoes and bread-crust, and cigar ends,
and bits of rat-eaten blanket, and broken crock
ery ware, and smoky old novels, and everything
else you can imagine. I gave the old craft a
thorough overhauling and plenty of soap and
water; and when the captain came back—he was
of a family.
“ She is more to me than all. Marian, tell her
this again—insist upon it. I cannot part from
her. Why should I ? What has she done?—the
sweet, innocent child. How can she help the
sin of others? And for me to turn away from
her now—now, in the hour of her trial—to turn
away and let her go out alone in the world, un
protected, uncheered, broken-hearted ! May
God desert me if I ever consent to do such a
ble as though the words had been stamped upon
her brain. Their tender, reproachful tone ! It
had seemed to say:
“And you, my beloved, could believe me
“Such a tone,” thought Marian, “might the
voice of Christ have taken when he said, ■ Have
I been so long time with you, Philip, and you
have not known me?’”
She recalled it with a pang of remorse as, ris-
thing. Marian, plead with her for me. Why, j ing from her bowed attitude over the little writ-
she even insists that it is best I should not see j ing-stand, she lingered a moment before closing
her again.” I the door.
“ You must come still as her physician. But; “I go away,” she said to the invisible pres-
do not urge the matter upon her any more just j ence in the room; “I leave this house because
now. Only wait. Things will change; the j it is best for one we love; but I do not desert
clouds will begin to break” I you. my lost darling. I shall stay near this
“Ah! Marian, how can they?” ] gloomy place, watching, waiting and hoping.
“I have faith to believe they will. God is j If you be stillalive, I shall find you out; if dead,
She took up her bird and turned away, mus
ing. He followed her, and detained her a mo
ment. laying his hand upon hers.
“You are goiug to leave the old house?” he
said. “You are quite right—quite right. It is
cursed,” speaking in a hollow whisper; “it is
“I am not going far,” said Marian, calmly.
“I, too, shall haunt this place until it gives up
its secret. I shall wait here for that.”
He looked at her sharply, as if studying in
her face the strength of her purpose, or the ex
tent of her knowledge, or her snspicions.
“l'ou are quite welcome to the oid barn,” he
said, carelessly; “welcome to it and its secrets,
its ghosts, rats and cobwebs. I am about to leave
it forever. ”
“ Did I not tell you I was going to cheat my
destiny? Iam going to be happy in spite of
fate. I shall go away. I shall put mountains
and rivers and seas betweeen me and this hated
place. I will collect the energies of my soul,
and blot out the past with one mighty effort, and
turn a new page of life. See ! I am yet young,
and my mind—my mind is in its vigor. Shall
fate blast an intellect like mine? Never! It
shall soar above misfortune; it shall shake off
the dust from its wings, to wrestle with science
in the high regions of thought. Mine shall be
the hand to unveil the grand mystery of animal
magnetism. Fame and power shall be mine ! I
have been gathering together gold. Without
gold, one cannot be free or happy. I am ready
now. To-morrow I shall go, never to return.’
But he did not go. The “inscrutable sove
reignty” he had spoken of ruled otherwise. The
hand of destiny interposed. The night before
he was to leave the house forever, be was smit
ten with a sudden illness. Old Jeannette down
stairs heard a shrill scream from her master’s
room, and rushing up, she found him lying in
sensible on the floor, with Socrates chatting over
him. It was the monkey whose shriek had
given the alarm. Dr. Norris was instantly sent
for. In a short time the patient recovered his
senses, but there was a prostration of strength
and a partial paralysis of the lower limbs. Quiet
and rest were enjoined, and the tortured and
restless spirit was chained down by it diseased
“He has spoken but little,” Dr. Norris told
Marian, in answer to the inquiry she had an ob
ject in putting; “hardly a word, indeed, except
in reply to my questions. But I have seen his
lips move with muttered words, and his hands
clench as though with repressed impatience.”
Marian had walked as far as the house every
day since her removal to the cottage, three days
before. She stood now near the outer gate, un
der the pine tree to which Skotos had been fas
tened. She was thinking of Mr. De Forest, but
only to connect his illness with the thought that
was always occupying her mind—the loss of her
sister. If he knew the secret of her disappear
ance, might it not escape him now, in the time
of bodily weakness and unstrung nerves? With
this thought influencing her quite as much as
natural humanity, she had shared the watch of
Jeannette the night before. But no intelligible
sound had escaped his lips. His countenance
and his actions had expressed a fierce determi
nation to struggle against disease.
When she was walking to the Cedars the day
after the seizure of Mr. De Forest, she encoun
tered the figure which had before strangely
affected her imagination. It was that of the
dumb fisherman of the island—that impressive
figure with the white hair and keen black eyes.
He was returning from the house, where Marian
found that he had seen Mr. De Forest lor a few
moments in the presence of Dr. Norris. A brief
communication had passed between them by
means of letters shaped on the fingers, which Dr.
Norris did not understand.
Marian stood for awhile, hesitating, under the
pine tree, after Dr. Norris had driven away; then
she opened the gate. The stillness was pro
found. The long gray moss hung from the trees
motionless in the breezeless air. Marian went
through the yard, round to the wing of the
house, and up the two flights ot stairs that led
to the room of Mr. De Forest, without meeting
may God in mercy permit me to penetrate the
| mystery of your fate, and take away the dishon-
j or that blackens your memory.”
As she went out into the open air, with the
tears nndried ttpon her cheeks, the canary broke
out into singing. It was the first time he
had been heard to sing since his lament over his
dead companion. It seemed to Marian a good
Near the gate was fastened the black horse,
dow. The climbing roses have made it look an
“And we shall have the soft cooing of the
pigeons, lulling us like the sound of rain on a
roof.” said Marian.
The removal to the fisherman's cottage was
effected the next day. Alice was assisted to the
carriage, and the two sisters turned their backs
away at the time—he declared I had nearly upon the dreary house, mouldering forever in
ruined him; it would take him six months to the damp shadow of the live-oaks that guarded
gtt the hang of everything again. I've let the it on either side—those two huge, pyramidal I
‘Spray alone ever since. See, Miss Marian, trees,draped from apex to base in gray, funereal 1
here is_the pigeon-house not far from the win- Spanish moss, seeming a part of the house it- | Skotos, so named from the Greek word, signify-
self, and sharing its spirit of gloom and mys- ! ing darkness. His long limbs, his sunken sides,
tery. “ ; where the huge ribs could be counted, his
At the cottage, they were welcomed with quiet j drooping head and dejected air, showed that the
friendliness, and Marian found the little room j fierce pride and strength of this majestic animal
aired and cheerfully lighted—the green paper j were going from him. As Caleb had said, Black
As she was going away, Jep put a bunch of blinds half drawn over the windows, and a ! Skotos was only the shadow of himself. Hard
sweet violets slyly into her hand, and said, • south breeze stirring the muslin curtains. Ma- | usage had broken his spirit He turned his eyes,
with a beaming smile: nan saw her sister seated at the window, and foil of dumb, pathetic trouble, gratefully upon
“I am glad you are coming to live with us.
You shall have fresh flowers every morning
while they last. And you will sing for me some
times, won't you? I have heard of a wonderful
lady who stays with you up yonder, who sleeps
with her eyes open, and sings like an angel. I
have longed so much to hear her.”
“ She is not there any longer. I will sing for
you when I come, and my sister—she knows
manv beautiful songs.”
watched with a gratified glance the pleasant ex- Marian, as she rubbed down his neck with her
pression, that was half a smile, lighting up her ! hand and spoke to him pityingly.
wan face as she looked out at the children play
ing under the broad-leaved fig trees by the gar
den fence, while nearer the window the bees
were cheerily buzzing over a pot of flowers.
She left Alice sitting there, surrounded by
these cheerful influences, while she went back
to attend to the packing of a few books and
other articles that her sister prized as keep- u __
The little girl was swinging under a large live sakes, and to bring away the cage with its soli- . features on which the Furies seemed to have^set
oak tree outside the yard. She came up as she tary canary bird. There had been two, both i their stamp.
was saying good-bye'blushing and delighted to sweet singers, and Adrienne’s favorite pets, j “This is an object of real, not sentimental
touch Marian’s gloved hand and admire her They had been called by her Orpheus and Eu- j pity,” said Marian, pointing to the horse.
“Poor brute,” she said aloud; “it is hard j
that you must suffer for the sins of your human
“ Copying Sterne, and sentimentalizing over a ,
dumb brother?” asked a voice behind her.
The next instant Mr. DeForest stopped at her
side, and lookea down upon her with that sneer- j
ing smile which now showed so ghastly upon I
| “ Bather keep your pity for man, who alone
| knows what it is to suffer.”
j “ Man makes his own misery. He suffers be-
| cause he sins. His keenest pangs follow as a
I punishment. But this dumb brute has done
i nothing to deserve pain. He does not even com-
i prebend the cruelty he suffers. He is the slave
! of man. His master makes his destiny.”
j “As my master makes mine. Fate, God—how-
| ever you may name the master that drives me
: on with the whip and spur of circumstances
■ and inborn feelings, drives me on to fulfill a
destiny I do not comprehend, did not foresee
or shape. Over every life there rules this in
scrutable sovereignty—this hand that holds the
rein and urges the man to honor or to shame.
For is not this power wholly arbitrary in its ac
tion? ‘Jacob have I loved, and Esau have I
hated.’ ‘ One shall be taken and the other left.’
‘ Hath not the potter power over the clay, of
the same lump to make one vessel to honor and
another to dishonor ?’ Does not God say so in
the book you believe to be His word ? Yes, He
is arbitrary and implacable—this Master who
rides men to what goal He pleases. You will
say that they can break away, that they have
power and will within themselves. Aye, so .has
the horse; but you forget the iron bit of circum
stance. the spur of inborn inclination, and the
powerful hand that is felt to hold the rein. No, !
it is useless to resist,” placing his hand upon j any person. In fact, there were but two ser--
the saddle, and preparing to mount. Then, ! ants retained on the place—the stable-boy and
turnin'? again to Marian, with a fierce light j the housekeeper. The cook, who had fallen ill
flashing over his face: “But I icill resist,” he j with typhoid fever a few days previous to Adri-
said: “I will break the rein, or die in the effort, j enne’s disappearance, was still at the plantation
I will throw my past behind me, as dust is \ sick-room, to which she had been removed, and
dashed from the hoof of the untamed steed. I her place was filled by the silent mulatto wo-
wili shake off the Fate that rides me—be it god | man, whose tall figure Marian now saw sitting
or devil -and shape a life for myself.” ! at the head of her brother-in-law's bed. Weary
He clutched the bridle in his grasp, as he > with watching, the turbaned head of the mulat-
stood leaning against the tree to which Skotos tress had dropped against the bed-post, and her
was fastened” At the fierce sound of his voice, j eyes closed in sleep, but lightly closed, and
the horse trembled. How often had he heard ready to open quickly when there was need of
that voice pouring out its wild, blasphemous ut- ! her attention. On the floor by the bed the
terances to the wind that sped past as he toiled j monkey lay coiled up, with his head nestled
on with mating sides and wearv limbs ! i under his arm. He started up at the sound ot
Marian felt the uselessness of argument. ; footfalls, and eyed Marian suspiciously. Re-
“ Since vou are the destiny of Skotos,” she j suming his former position, he still watched
said, gently, “be a kinder one. Look at his her covertly, peering from under his eyes with
long frame; look at his wounded sides. And sinister, half-closed eyes. But Mr. De Forest
he has done such good service. He was so at- was not asleep. Though he lay with his face to
tached to you, and now—look how he trembles the wall, his attitude was not one of repose,
when you speak !” Suddenly he threw up his arm and ground his
“Yes, and now he has come to hate me, like teeth together with a force that indicated re-
the rest—even he.” j strained fury. He muttered half distinctly, and
Changing his tone abruptly, he spoke to the Marian caught the bitter words of Swift,
horse. “ To die like a poisoned rat in a hole,”
“ Skotos. poor fellow ?” he said, patting him followed by a low but awful imprecation. Then
gently upon the head. i he said:
At the sound of the kind accents so loDg un- j “ I ought to send to the island—I ought to
heard, at the kindly touch of his master’s hand, ! send to the island; but whom to trust?”
the poor animal raised bis head and responded , Marian listened eagerly, but he said no more;
by a low neigh of delight. He pricked up his and Jeannette waking up the next moment, she
ears and tried to arch his neck into its old proud spoke a few words to her, and swiftly retraced
curve. His dark eyes beamed with intelligent her steps. An idea flashed upon her she would
affection as he rubbed his forehead against his go to the island. This strange, dumb fisherman
master’s hand. This evidence of attachment in might have something to do with the mystery,
his poor, ill-use 1 1 orse seemed to touch this When she returned to the cottage, she was
strange man to the .eart. His mouth quivered, glad to find that Alice had been won to come into
He flung his arm around the neck of Skotos, the pleasant sitting-room, ana that she sat there
and dropping his head upon it, great tears watching with some degree of interest the deli-
gushed from ids eyes. Then, raising his head, cate shell-work wrought by the fingers of the
he suddenly tore off the saddle and bridle, and pretty child.
set the horse free to crop the short, thick grass Marian tound that the fisherman was caulking
that grew around. Marian looked at him, and his boat, and went down to the beach to see him.
asked of herself: He had finished the job, and having turned the
“Can this man be guilty of a deliberate and little craft back into the water and readjusted!
cold-blooded crime?” the sail, was contemplating his work with his J