The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907, September 08, 1877, Image 1

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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 TEKM>,1 IN ADVANCE.