The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907, September 08, 1877, Image 1
MY BIRTHDAY.
BY MARY E. BRYAN.
“ It is your birthday—did you forget ?”
Hirttiday! The word had a hollow eound
Like a knell that comes when the leaves are wet; *
With the cheerful dawn that shines around;
Like a farewell coming with wave of hand
From one who stands on a sunlit shore
To one who floats from the flowery strand.
To a sea that darkens more and more.
My birthday ! Slowly I loosen my hair
And see through its dusk the silver glint.
I press my hand to my brow, and there
Feel the trace of the years' imprint.
My birthday ! The word has an iron fall,
And breaks the wreath of my dreams to-day,
’Tie no longer the time of flowers with me.
Dreams and fancies, you must not stay.
Keen delights in a’bird, a shower.
In a Bummer wood, where the squirrels are bold,
Or a frolicsome child—you are past my hour:
One should be graver, whose birthdays fold
So thickly about the brow—yet not
About the heart— wild, rebel thing 1
My l jrthday ! Why, yes. I had forgot.
I'll sit here alone to-day, and bring
My mind to the hue that best beseems
A life that has lost its goldenest gleams.
Whose is the patter of feet that fall ?
Whose are the chirrupy tones that call
"Mamma—so glad you is home to-day.
Lessus go down to the branch aud play
Nobody plays wif me like you;
We'll have boats and houses, we will—us two.”
And he tugs at my hand with eager joy;
I am not oid to my baby boy.
He does not see the silver threads
When Ilie with him on the grassy beds;
In the woods when the chestnut branches toss,
Where a pine bark boat and a sapling "hoss”
Are among his riches—there we launch
Our fleet well laden upon the branch,
And build mock bridges, aud, lired of these,
Lie and look through the whispering trees.
Aud the clouds take just as wonderful shapes,
And the tinted moss us cnnningly drapes
1 he limbs; and the partridge whistles as true
As when my birthdays numbered few,
And they thrill my hfart with as sweet a joy,
Aye, sweeter still, for the eyes of my boy
Mirror and double my own delight.
Ah I under the chandelier’s glaring light,
Under the roofs of social art,
Where smooth formalities chill the heart,
And to the eyes of women and men,
The record of times remorseless pen,
May show my birthdays well in my face.
Each subs'racUi)2.gj/iysYonthtol«nu'“
Itn. acre—out here in the good green wood,
Such thingBare otherwise understood.
Here, my hoy and I in the snmmer weather,
Aud the skies and the birds are young together.
There, stretched upon the humble pallet, lay the statue-like form of the young girl.
L O S T.
A ROMANCE.
BY JOHN C. FREUND, AUTHOR OF “ BY THE ROADSIDE.’’
CHAPTER XVI.
“ SHE WOKE ENDYMION WITH A KISS.”
An hour later Zollwitz had written a letter in
which he formally asked Mr. Darner to release
him from his engagement, giving no reason
whatever. He prepared to go out. He had heard
many of the guests leave, and had sent down
the message to Mr. Damer that he felt unequal
to return to the company.
Softly he went down. It was quite dark out
side, but the moon began to rise and he was anx
ious to cool his blood in its mild rays. Harry
and Ethel met him at the door.
“ Do come with us, Zollwitz. I have coaxed
mamma till she has allowed us half an hour’s
walk in the square garden in the glorious moon
light. Now do come—don’t mind Ethel. I’ve
got the key.”
Zollwitz would rather have avoided company,
but the same sweet voice that had once brought
him comfort, said;
“ I am so sorry Mr. Zollwitz, I hear my broth
er has again vexed you; do forgive him and don’t
be put out with us for it.”
The few innocent words calmed the morose
spirit in Zollwitz. He looked at Ethel’s face
and said;
“ To show you that my ill will goes no further,
I will with great pleasure accompany you."
All three entered the garden. The trees were
being clothed with fresh leaves, that painted
their forms caressingly in the pale shimmer; the
greensward reflected the shadowy dainty forms;
the few flowers hid their petals modestly from
the stealthy embrace of the night queen, and
the soft May night had fallen on the London
square garden with enticing witchery. Up and
down they walked, Harry boisterous to have both
his favorites with him, Zollwitz subdued and
abstracted, and Ethel trembling a little to be for
the first time in this interesting young man’s
company unrestrained in her conversation. Her
voice was low in tone, the bright langh that
sounded forth at other times seemed to be hid
away, and gently but eagerly she led Zollwitz to
talk of himself, of his home, of his aspirations,
of his rebuff that day—till his heart had been
unburdened and he actually became cheerful
and began to laugh himself. Ethel thought it
the most musical laugh she had ever heard.
“ Quite right Mr. Zollwitz; meet my brother
on his own ground and don’t give way.”
“I shall soon give way to him altogether. I
mean to leave Harry.”
“Zollwitz, you won’t—or yes, you may, if you
take me with you. But then there is Ethel and
mamma and papa, and even Edward and the Pol
ly—no, I wouldn’t leave them. Zollwitz you
must stay.”
“ But in a free country we are nobody’s prop
erty.”
“ Oh, bother! we we don’t talk politics, if that’s
what you mean.”
“ Mr. Zollwitz,” put in Ethel, “I should talk
it over with my uncle and aunt; they are both
very fond of you and so are we all.” So quaint
ly was it said* by this unspoilt London lady that
it actually made Zollwitz laugh.
“ Do you laugh at our being fond of you, Mr.
Zollwitz?”
“ No, how could I? only it makes me laugh
that any one should be fond of me—it is so im
possible.”
“ You are ungrateful.”
“Harry. Harry, where are you with Ethel? It
is eleven o’clock—a pretty time to be out here
for a young lady.” The voice was that of Ethel s
brother outside.
“Here we are, but mamma allowed it.” The
door of the garden was thrown open, and before
I IJrTrOwhv.y in isiKftA —■>-*-——* —-
Harry, and AOllwitz. He bit his lip, Ethel s
brother bowed, and said nothing. Lucifer didn’t
love Mephistopheles and Mephistopheles didn’t
love Lucifer—no love lost there ! They all en
tered the house and disappeared to their various
apartments.
An hour later you might have seen that pale
young German student lying at his open win
dow and looking out—looking before him into
the garden, and catching the whispered breath of
the trembling shadowy leaves; looking rizht
northward into the clear palish sky, fixing his
gaze on that one star—but one—scintillating in
tensely, speaking, attracting, engulfing him in
its brightness. What was that star? Was it his
loadstar, would it draw him onward and become
his Deacon for life—wonld it? Should he stretch
his soul towards it and ask response? How
many of us ever see their loadstar? Many never;
wandering about on earth without that second
self, detached, falling single-souled to decay.
How many see it and miss it in their attempt to
grasp it, catching at some bright worldly metal
in its stead, and going down in their after de
spair to one of those cycles of misery which
Dante paints in his “ Inferno;” how many see it
and pass it, valuing it not, having no soul, and
asking no soul in return; how many see it, grasp
j it, and have it torn from them to be matched
with some inferior constellation; how many
reach it, obtain it, and glory in its ever-brilliant
possession, walking this earth like olden gods
in richest harmony, not dreading hunger and
thirst, want and misery, worldly honor and
pomp, hut ever clinging to that one bright load
star of their lives, in youth and old age, in joy
and sorrow? But few!
And Zollwitz thought; his whole soul went out
to that star, he embraced it, he spoke to it, he
asked of it his fate, he exhausted the little
I strength he had and laid his head on his arms
1 that his eyes might still behold it. Those eyes
closed, closed in sleep, and so she saw him, that
chaste, pale goddess of the night, to whom open
love was too voluptuous, to whom the golden
glare of the sun was too unlovely, so she saw
him with her silvery sheen and bent down over
him and kissed him, her Endymion, that she
might waken in that heart love—chaste love,
manly love, to find its loadstar. He looked so
lovely, could she have passed him by? So few
she ever saw now, this pale goddess, who cared
for her chaste embrace, liking gaudier pleasure,
that she lingered and lingered and held him in
his trance, till gently she left him, drawing one
more kiss from those youthfnl lips, having left
on them her mark, the awakening love!
CHAPTER XVII.
HAPPINESS.
The first faint gray of morning woke Zollwitz,
who, shivering, became conscious that there was
something wrong about him, and sought refuge
in bed. Warmth sent him again to sleep, and
not till the sun shed glorious rays right over
him did he wake, imbued with a deep, inexplic
able sense that he existed. He sprang up, the
sense of the value of existence pouring through
every fibre of his being; through every artery of
his body. Zollwitz knew that he lived—not as
a detached single creation, but as a portion of
the unity, as a particle of the entity, as a link of
the chain, as a necessary completion to some
body else. The goddess had left her ma>k, and
the awakening of the holiest human passion sent
a new, warm, vivifying life-stream through every
pore of this young man’s unspoilt nature—still
capable of receiving the impress of her pure
agencies. Zollwitz stretched out his arms—light
in his eyes, strength in his limbs. He bent for
ward, his brain harboring not a single definite
idea, but a superabundant joyous feeling cours
ing about him, and exhilarating his impulses to
their highest tension. An image rose before
him—the graceful figure of a young girl, whose
brown locks hung around her, whose white dress
floated before him into distance, and the breath
of whose words came like the echo of an JEolian
harp. “ Do you laugh at our being fond of yon,
Mr. Zollwitz?” Had poet eve* breathed diviner
words ? Had love ever inspired sweettr a scents ?
Surely not, and Tasso or Petrarch could not
have sung an intenser sonnet in return than
Zollwitz poured forth in one word—“Ethel!”
How different the room 1>* >d ! how differ-
, th . e L nn
necessity. Never had ZoRwftz 'dressed more
carefully. Human nature gave at once an out
ward expression to those inner feelings by the
desire to please. The brightest tie was actually
sought for, and the last touch and final look in
the glass showed him some one he scarcely rec
ognized. Where was that hollow-eyed, down
cast figure gone? There stood a man in the halo
of youth, strength and life’s vigor.
A knock at the door; Harry entered.
“Well, Zollwitz, this is the first time you
have overslept yourself. But what’s the matter ?
Are you going out for a holiday ? How awfull y
smart you look.”
“Smart? Oh! no, Harry; but I am sorry j
am late.”
“Zollwitz, I don’t know you. Have you in
herited a fortune? Surely you are not going
away. Has anybody been here this morning ?
You look for all the world as happy as if a whole
bag of money had been sent to you.”
“No, no, Harry; do come down now.”
“ Zollwitz, you are not going away ?”
“We’ll see.”
“ Bother ! I hate doubt; it kills one sooner
than the most dreadful certainty.”
As they went down, they met Lord Tenterton
in the hall.
“ I’ve just come for you, Mr. Zollwitz. Harry,
I must rob you of your tutor for one day. I
mean to show him something of my own London
life. Tell your father, Harry, that I have fetched
Mr. Zollwitz; I really cannot stay a moment.”
“ But Zollwitz has not breakfasted. Ah !
that’s it, why he is so smart.”
“No, Harry; I did not expect his lordship.”
“Well, I shall be a most miserable creature
all day; hut I’ll console myself with Ethel.”
“ I wish I could,” said Lord Tenterton. “I
wish I could,” thought Zollwitz, just as the
young divinity was coming out of the morning-
room and met all three.
Ethel blushed. She shook hands freely with
the noble lord, but she merely looked at the tu
tor, saying:
“ Good morning, Mr. Zollwitz. I hope you
are well. Harry said he had never known you
stay so long in your room.”
“ Thank you, Miss Ethel,” replied the tutor
confusedly, without exactly knowing why he
thanked her. 'The sense or nonsense of the
words did not matter in the least, but the beam
ing, speaking look that accompanied them did,
and made Ethel blush all the deeper.
“Miss Harrowby, go we must; my horses are
impatient; pardon our abrupt departure.”
The young lord once more shook hands with
Ethel, but Zollwitz bowed, bowed low, and sent
another look into her eyes. Ethel neither re
turned the bow nor look, but skipped off with
Harry.
“I say, Ethel, what’s the matter with you
both ? You’ve got a secret between you. That’s
just how you both look. Do tell me what it is,
or I shan’t like it.”
“Nonsense, Harry. Come, as we are alone,
we’ll read German together.”
Harry was mollified, but suspicions.
Tenterton and Zollwitz drove off in the hand
some tandem, up Constitution Hill and Picca
dilly.
“ I shall not take yc* t > v father’s house, as
I do not live there, bn to . v chambers. The
servants and all that s it oi living bother me; I
like to be independen*. and i .*e my own peo
ple near me, see who a I pl< • *, and do as I
please. I’m not rich. Mr. Z >vitz, but just
scrape through fairly, «, i a li e debt.”
What a couple of nobic me<. talking gaily
that May morning ! No he&uu. . n-j over-re
finement, no intrigue there. 1% rtoD straight
in body and mind; not a corner v a m-ral spi
der to spin a web in, in his cot, ,/0«i . n; the
third sor of his father and the representative of
the family’s talent—talent that came out now
and then in the ducal family, and was seldom
owned by the eldest son. They reached the
chambers, not far from St. James’.
“First, you must have something to eat. |
Jones, second breakfast. You won’t see much
hire of learning. I like the house and some
committee work; I like the park and my horses;
. I like a little racing; but I don’t go in for down
right politics, or anything social yet. I’m only
twenty-seven, and can talk; that pays. I know
4’$
and begin to work in right earnest. The family
always had a working member, and I don’t see
any chance for any one else to undertake it but
myself.”
“ You made a very good speech on the Irish
question, my lord,” said Zollwitz.
“Oh ! you read it, did you?” said the other,
coloring with pleasure. “ Ireland is a fund of
opportunity for a young politician, but I’ve not
yet taken the bait. I have just sense enough to
know that I am only fit as yet to hack other peo
ple’s opinions, and that a deeper insight than
mine is required to sound that old national sore
and apply wholesome remedies.”
“But you are going in the right direction;
and in governing, the right direction, my Pro
fessor told me, is everything. I could not see
1 our direction last year, when I left my university
I in disgust. I came here with high-flown ideas.
! They are all disappearing, but something more
! tangible is taking their place.”
| “Well, I suppose, instead of finding in En-
! gland the glorious land of liberty, you begin to
think, with other foreigners, it is all bosh, and
’ that we are going to the dogs and losing our old
honest name.”
“No, I do not. My studies tend all in an
other way. Let her remain the glorious land of
political liberty; let her remain, as the Portu
guese bard and refugee sang as he neared her
shores:
* Patria da !ei, senhora da justica,
Conto da foragida liberdade.’
Fatherland of the law, mistress of jnstice,
Asylum of foreign liberty.
Let her be ever aware that the green spot in the
ocean shines brightly to those who have strug
gled for political liberty at home, and in vain.
It may not be her liberty; it may often be op
pression; still the idea that there is in all Eu
rope one place where political movements are
equally respected, as being the concern of indi
vidual nations, represents such a high develop
ment of humanity that I trust, from my own ex
perience last year, the day may may never come
when any other action in the matter will be
taken. Political movements express themselves
in various ways, and the characteristics of vari
ous peoples have to be brought into account.
Till private crime can be brought home to that
delinquent, let no one suffer on these foreign
shores for political ones.”
“Bravo, Zollwitz ! But why so earnest ?”
“Because I am grateful; because here my ho
rizon has become enlarged; because here I begin
to understand the teaching of my own beloved
master, Professor Holmann.”
“ So you do not think that we are losing po
litical ground?”
“No; vou loosen my tongue, my lord. At
home I have no one speak to. Mr. Damer is too
busy and too practical to be able to encourage
my expressing my opinions; but Mrs. Damer
did request me to write an essay, which is nearly
finished. It is, however, delightful to have you
to converse with. We Germans like interchange
of thought. If you have to pay the penalty and
listen to me, it will be your own fault.”
“No, no; go on. I was not mistaken; jour
enthusiasm is novel and whets my political ap
petite. To-morrow you come with me to the
House.”
“ I shall be delighted to hear those men that
are beginning to give England the direction of
social development. I thought I knew much
of you when I came over here; I have studied
here much more, but I have learnt most from
my rambles; and I am becoming aware that an- j
other than a mere political standard is being set
up in your country. Have we passed through j
that phase of development? I am asking myself
here. Are we becoming aware that a higher aim j
has to be reached by mankind than political
power ? Is social science not the highest we |
can reach ? Political power is inferior in hu- j
manity to social development, and in England,
where political power has maintained for centu
ries such a decided sway, in England, I take it,
when the people will once understand it as a
] general question, will also be set up a lofty idea
of the social standard, and to my vision the
! transformation of aim is in that direction.”
“I am afraid you are getting beyond my
depth; I have never considered these questions.
I have gone on, as others did before me, backing
my party.”
“A political party, my lord; bnt there is an
other party to be backed—that of social improve
ment, on which we can alone build the former
in our day. Social improvement means politi
cal power and military strength. No nation ever
did so much for political life as the English; no
nation ever suffered so much for social ques
tions as the French; no nation ever so far devel
oped philosophy as the German. I am begin
ning to understand my great teacher now, that
all depends upon comparative comprehension.
They are all united, these great principles, and
have to be understood and reasoned, one from
the other. Upon the development of reason in
man depends our true liberty, and Milton’s
measured strains say:
‘Trne liberty
Is lost, which always with right reason dwells
Twinn’d, and front her hath no dividual being.
Reason in man obscur'd, or not obey'd,
Immediately inordinate desires
And upstart passions catch the government
From reason, and to servitude reduce
Man, till then free. 1
This is one of my teacher's favorite passages,
and yet he himself may not always be able to
obey that reason; him also I begin to understand
—the vast power of his rich intellect, and the
vividness of his human feelings. A chaos of
ideas has well nigh crushed me. 0 that I could
see some clear path out of it!”
“My dear Mr. Zollwitz, you must not get too
metaphysical, like all your countrymen. Come,
let us have lunch and breakfast iD one, and then
for a ride.”
Lunch over, the two men lounged near the
window with cigars.
“I am sorry,” said Zollwitz, “that Mr. Damer
has not yet taken me to the House during all
that great debate; bnt to him it was of no im
portance; he said the battle would only begin
now. The development of trade and the pro
vision for ways and means are to him the very
I essence.yf government.” , ^ ,
! rough, |bu’i Darner is o£r migriiy ifian t*» valor,
j There is downright sterling stutf in him. Da-
) mer will one day be a great man, if he follows
his better genius and does not give way to one
bad quality he has.”
“What is that?”
“He is suspicious.”
No more was said; the horses stamped impa
tiently and danced off with equine delight.
“I shall take you a good long tour. I sup
pose you have seen little of London.”
“I have seen a good deal, but mostly at night,
in my long rambles to every portion of the me
tropolis. Although I am not a lover of low hu
manity, I am schooling myself to look upon its
various forms, that I may understand its social
composition.”
“You really speak like a Solomon, and yet are
so young. How did you come here ? Do tell
me the whole affair.”
Zollwitz recounted his adventurous flitting,
as they careered round Regent’s Park. Sudden
ly Lord Tenterton called out:
“There is my brother, the Marquis of Lomond.
I say, Lomond!”—he hailed a gentleman who
was approaching them in a most faultless drag—
“let me have a couple of riding horses. I don’t
feel up to driving, and I hate for a coachman to
do it. I want to show my friend the Row and
one of our suburban roads. Mr. Zollwitz, the
Marquis of Lomond.”
*>A.w—well—tell Dawson. Dooced fine-look-'
ing man that ?” said the Marquis aside. “For
eign ?”
“Yes.”
“What? count, duke, prince, anything of that
sort—incog—aw ?”
“Tutor.”
‘ ‘Bosh—like .you—aw. ”
Zollwitz had fortunately not heard. They
stopped before Lomond House, near Piccadilly,
and got the horses. Down they rode into the
Row. It was early in the afternoon, and few
people were about; some graceful Amazons were
taking a lesson rather than an exhibition ride.
The two rode out by the Brompton road. Upon
what should they come but Mrs. Damer s car
riage, with Ethel and Harry in it. What de
light ! Both gentlemen obtained permission to
accompany the carriage, and Harry shouted out
unceremoniously that Mrs Damer had promised
him a long drive, as he had no lessons. The
two ladies in fresh spring dresses, the bright
boy, the gentlemen on each side of the carriage
—it was such a happy party. They talked and
laughed right joyously. A little god with arrow
and quiver pushed his keen, dimpled face every
now and then right to Ethel’s side, sending off
arrows at poor Zollwitz till he was covered with
wounds. A few met Tenterton, but his lordship
was more inpervious—they glanced off some
times. Such eyes you should have seen; Zoll-
witz’s shone like the cerulean sky, Ethel’s glowed
in soft brown beauty, Harry’s looked every now
and then suspiciously around Jjke his father’s—
there was something he could not understand.
Mrs Damer and Tenterton both appeared pleased ..
that Zollwitz enjoyed his ride so much. •
When they returned, it was already time for
dinner.
“I cannot spare him yet; he 11 dine with me
at the Reform Club, ^nd then I shall take hifc '
out,” said Tenterton. '
“Forgive me, Lord. Tenterton j but Zollwitz
will come back ? ’ .
“I will, Harry,” said the tutor, with an earn
est pressure of the hand. t
Where did Lord Tenterton take Zollwitz to?
To the opera, the theatre, fashionable soiree?
Xo—you will know—to Evans’s supper rooms,
to shake hands with Paddy Green and hear an
English song.
It was the Budget night; both Zollwitz and'
Earry were in the stranger’s gallery; the then
Chancellor of the Exchequer was on his legs.
Zollwitz bent eagerly forward—he devouredav>
ery word of the lucid statement; he was Aston
ished at so much matter-of-fact brain-pt>V<
one who loved Greek verse and Latin verse
■
he
uetinct print
VOL. 111.
JOHN H. SEALS,
ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, SEPTEMREIt 8. 1877.
rpiTT'TDATQ j $3 PER ANNUM
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